Chapter 44

After a while, Zhou Ping'an tapped lightly on the bathroom door with his knuckles twice. The sound was dull and almost inaudible in the mist.

"I'm going out."

His voice came through the door, low and hoarse, no emotion could be discerned, and he didn't wait for a response. After he finished speaking, footsteps began to sound, gradually fading away until the sound of the door being gently closed could be heard.

He left. No explanation, no apology, no attempt to clean up the mess. Was it to escape his out-of-control self, or to give them both a moment of absolute silence to process this near-destructive confrontation? He couldn't tell.

In the bathroom, the sound of water had long stopped.

Liu Yifan, still leaning against the cold tiled wall, slowly slid down to sit on the floor. The towel was loosely wrapped around him, and water dripped from the ends of his hair, making a clear sound in the silence.

She hugged her knees and buried her face in them.

Damn, I’m still in pain.

This silent curse was directed at the man who had lost control, and also at the body that had been sacrificed by himself and recorded all the fierce collisions.

She succeeded. In an almost cruel way, she finally broke through his layers of rational shell, forcing out his most primitive and undisguised reaction, and saw the surging, even dark, possessiveness and fear beneath his calm mask.

This was originally the "material" she had always dreamed of as an "experiential" actor, to observe the ultimate human nature.

However, what she had not anticipated was that when that pure, uncontrolled male power came crashing down on her, what was instantly pierced was the "performer" shell that she had carefully constructed to protect her inner core.

At that moment, she was no longer the calm, detached actress who "experienced" Bao Si. Fear, anger, a sense of violation, and an unfamiliar, physiological tremor... all these most real and primitive emotions, like a tsunami, broke through her psychological defenses.

She was forced to fall from the "acting" state and return to the complete "Liu Yifan" herself.

This feeling of naked, defenseless exposure made her feel more helpless and...exhausted than any performance difficulty.

A deep feeling of exhaustion, almost drowning her, spread from deep within her bones.

She maintained this posture for a long, long time, until the sunlight from the window shone through the frosted glass, making the bathroom glow slightly.

Finally, she raised her head, her face expressionless, only a sense of emptiness and calmness after excessive exhaustion. She stood up, carefully dried herself with a bath towel, and changed into clean clothes, her movements mechanical and slow.

She walked into the living room. There seemed to be a lingering tension in the air. She noticed the slight dent in the sofa, and could almost feel the heaviness of him sitting there.

Without stopping, she headed straight for the kitchen and boiled a pot of water. The sound of the boiling water was particularly harsh in the overly quiet room. She brewed a cup of strong green tea, cradling the warm cup in her hands as she walked to the French window.

Outside the window, Rongcheng gradually woke up in the morning light, traffic began to surge, everything was in order, forming a huge contrast with the turmoil in her heart.

She took small sips of the slightly hot tea. The warm liquid slid down her throat, slightly dispelling the coldness and exhaustion in her body.

Her gaze was unfocused in the distance.

After calming down, she began to replay everything that had happened since early morning from a new perspective.

Zhou Ping'an's reaction, though brutal, perfectly confirmed her earlier suspicions—the root of his fear wasn't simply about "intimate relationships," but a deeper fear of his "perfect symbol" being tainted by "real human nature" (including desires, flaws, and possessiveness). He both longed for and feared the truth.

And what about herself?

She had always thought she was the master of this "experience," calmly observing, analyzing, and even "taking advantage" of his reactions. It wasn't until he tore off all pretense and used the most direct means to force a response from her that she realized with horror that she, too, was deeply trapped.

Her concern for him had long since transcended professional boundaries. The urge to understand him, even... to conquer him, also stemmed from an unnoticed desire deep within her heart.

There were no winners in this battle. They had brutally torn apart each other's protective layers, revealing each other's most vulnerable and true sides.

The teacup was empty and she let out a breath.

The room fell completely silent, leaving only the sound of my own heartbeat, hammering heavily against my eardrums.

Liu Yifan walked to the window, looking out at the gradually awakening streets of Rongcheng, her gaze unfocused. After the inner storm, a nearly cruel calm slowly permeated her mind like ice water.

She began to transcend her emotions and calmly analyze the situation she had just experienced and would have to face in the future, like a surgeon dissecting a specimen.

The most beautiful Bao Si could not fall in love with King You of Zhou.

This thought, like an icy blade, loomed large in her consciousness. Once it was mingled with love, even the slightest stirring or dependence, the coldness ceased to stem from a complete disregard for the power game and became a woman's resentment or anger toward a particular man.

That would be cliché and would completely ruin the tragic heights of the character.

She recalled Zhou Ping'an's uncontrolled eyes, the scorching temperature of his fingertips, and the shudder that flashed through her heart under that powerful invasion, which was not entirely a resistance... All of these had to be completely stripped away, crushed, and burned.

If she wants to fulfill the Bao Si in her mind, she must personally uproot Liu Yifan's feelings for Zhou Ping'an.

This sacrifice shouldn't just be about the body I sacrificed last night. That's too superficial.

True sacrifice must be spiritual castration. She must sacrifice all the tenderness, expectations, and even unwillingness that may have sprouted in her heart to the perfect character soul that is about to be born.

Only this most thorough and cruel self-sacrifice can achieve the ultimate reverse conquest of the man at the pinnacle of power.

Because when she could stifle even her own truest emotions, no force in the world - not his power, not his wealth, not even the waves he stirred in her heart - could bind or define her.

Only then would her smile truly be a "smile that captivates a nation." In that smile, there was no love, no hate, no resentment, no desire. There was only a tempered, absolute nothingness, and above that nothingness, a condescending mockery of all rules and fate.

That is the ultimate beauty, the ultimate coldness, the ultimate destructive power.

Thinking of this, a shudder mixed with great fear and great excitement swept through her whole body.

She herself doesn't know whether she can come out of this complete self-sacrifice in the future.

It is possible that after this leap, there will no longer be a "Liu Yifan" in the world, and only a perfect but empty carrier of "Bao Si" will remain.

This realization sent a chill through her bones, yet also brought with it a calm, almost martyr-like resolve.

She took a deep breath, and her eyes refocused, becoming unfathomable, as if she had already foreseen the lonely and beautiful dead end that led to the pinnacle of ultimate art.

Xiangbei Cinema. Late night.

The vast palace cast a towering, silent shadow in the moonlight, like a dormant beast. All the noise had died down, the staff had long since departed, leaving only the sound of the wind blowing through the halls, bringing with it the unique coolness of the desert's edge.

Liu Yifan didn't turn on the light.

Alone, clad in her elaborate, heavy black palace dress, she stepped up onto the empty rammed earth platform and made her way to the center of the hall. The soft rustling of her robes brushing against the cold ground was the only sound in the boundless silence.

She did not look at the lofty and ferocious bronze throne, but slowly sat down on the ground, in the most central and empty place in the hall, as if she was sitting in the center of nothingness in the entire world.

The moonlight slanted down from the high window, casting a cool silver edge around her, but it could not illuminate her lowered face and bottomless eyes.

She needed to be here, on this ultimate stage that he had used all his resources to build for her, to complete the final and cruelest sacrifice - to completely strip away Liu Yifan's feelings for Zhou Ping'an, bit by bit.

She must deconstruct any emotions that point to love. Like the strictest judge interrogating a prisoner, like the most ruthless programmer debugging code, she must give an absolutely rational, absolutely self-serving explanation for everything she has just experienced, one that serves her ultimate goal.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, as if entering a meditative ritual.

My thoughts started to flow backwards.

The latest memory is the hottest and the most painful.

—The mist in the bathroom, the uncontrolled dark fire in his eyes, his heavy breathing, the irresistible force that clamped her wrist, and the beast-like growl that tore through all disguises: "Do you want me—or Liu Yifan!"

Her fingertips curled slightly in her sleeves, as if she could still feel the scorching temperature and the trembling of being violated.

Peel off.

She muttered to herself. This wasn't "love," it was simply the primal collision of the desire to conquer and be conquered, a male's instinctual declaration of territory. It was a power Bao Si needed to understand and utilize, not an emotion Liu Yifan should indulge in.

The scene reverses.

- When she woke up in the morning, he saw the heavy, complex look of regret and guilt in his eyes, and his hesitant, trembling fingertips stroked her cheek.

At that moment, she almost thought she had touched true heart.

Peel off.

She scoffed inwardly. It was merely the pity of a man sated by sated possessiveness, mingled with male vanity. It was a false sense of tenderness a victor felt for his spoils. It had nothing to do with "love."

The scene changes again, time continues to go backwards, and countless fragments flash by.

——He tacitly agreed to her words "do what you feel comfortable" when she renovated the living room.

Peel off.....

——When he saw that she was tired after returning from Paris, he said, "You seem to have become thinner."

Peeling off...

—Even earlier: "I think her own beauty is not suitable for love."

…

My thoughts finally stopped here.

Under the moonlight, his calm and resolute voice echoed clearly again, like the verdict of fate:

"So, in my opinion, your beauty doesn't just belong to you."

“It’s more like a kind of…public aesthetic asset that belongs to a broader category.”

"I have the responsibility and the ability to preserve it in its most perfect state in a way that goes beyond commercial purposes."

"That's why I came to you."

…

It turns out that everything was already destined.

From the very beginning, the way he looked at her was not that of a man looking at a woman.

Rather, he is a top engineer and strategist who is examining a rare and extremely valuable work of art and planning how to "preserve" it in the most extreme way possible, maximizing its value.

The huge resources he poured into it, the tremendous effort he put in, and even the occasional concern he expressed that was misinterpreted by her... all of these served this supreme goal.

Everything he did was not for the sake of getting "Liu Yifan".

But it is to perfectly "preserve" the aesthetic symbol called "Liu Yifan".

What he feared was never losing her, but that his carefully planned investments and projects would be contaminated by the variables of "human nature" and could not achieve the expected "perfection".

All her previous attempts, all her expectations, and even the self-doubt caused by his retreat... now seemed like a huge misunderstanding and self-conceit.

A cold tear slipped from the corner of her tightly closed eye without warning, crossed her pale cheek, and quickly disappeared into the heavy lapel, leaving no trace.

It’s not because of sadness, but because of the absurdity after enlightenment and...complete relief.

It turned out that what she thought was a complicated emotional game was actually a war she fought alone from the beginning to the end.

She slowly opened her eyes.

The last ripple in his eyes was like a lake frozen by moonlight, completely returning to a dead calm. It was a kind of clarity that was drained of all emotion, almost to the point of nothingness.

She raised her hand, and her fingertips gently brushed across the cold embroidery patterns on the palace dress. Her movements were so gentle that it felt like she was touching an object that had nothing to do with her.

She succeeded.

She finally completely separated herself from this emotional entanglement that had to disappear.

From then on, he was the leader of the project, the investor of resources, and the strategist who pursued the ultimate results.

She is the core asset of the project, an aesthetic symbol waiting to be perfectly "preserved", and an executor who must achieve the highest artistic goals.

What remains between them is the purest, coldest, and safest instrumental rational relationship.

This is the only path to becoming the "perfect Bao Si".

She stood up slowly, and her dark palace dress spread out in the moonlight like spread crow feathers.

She raised her head and looked at the boundless night sky outside the hall door, and the corners of her mouth slowly and little by little curved upwards into a very faint arc.

There was nothing in that smile.

But it seemed as if the entire dynasty had been overthrown.

(over)