The scene changes, and he sits on a retro wooden chair, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the chair tightly, the veins on the back of his hands visibly prominent.
This time, his gaze was no longer unfocused, but fixed, with an almost pathological concentration and obsession, staring directly at the camera.
His eyes were incredibly complex, containing unfathomable love, the pain of unrequited love, a frantic possessiveness, and an undeniable threat.
It's as if it's saying, "You are mine, and can only be mine. Even if it means destruction, I will not let you go."
The corners of his mouth even curled up in a very faint, distorted arc, not like a smile, but more like a desperate mockery.
His disheveled hair fell down, partially obscuring his vision, but adding to his sinister and mysterious aura.
"Yes! That's it! Go even crazier! Go even more desperate!" Jin Zheyu's voice trembled with excitement. The camera was almost shoved into his face, capturing the trembling of every muscle and the surge of every emotion in his eyes.
Next came the motion capture. Following instructions, Ou Yang walked slowly in front of the backdrop, then suddenly turned around, his eyes filled with surprise and annoyance at being spied on.
He was then asked to lie on the ground, with lights shining directly on his head. He raised his arms to shield his eyes, as if he could not bear the scorching light. His shirt ripped open wider with the movement, revealing more of his pale skin, which was so fragile that it seemed vulnerable.
Then, he sat up abruptly, ran his hands through his hair, and forcefully combed it back. He tilted his head back, his neck forming a delicate and graceful arc, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he were silently roaring, enduring immense inner torment.
At that moment, he was like an elegant madman, dancing wildly on the boundary between reason and madness.
He even picked up a prop, an old canary cage, pressed his face against the cold metal bars, and peered through the gaps into a space filled with longing, confinement, and a heartbreaking submissiveness.
He gently stroked the edge of the cage with his fingers, his eyes glazed over, as if he were caressing a lover's cheek, a gesture both affectionate and eerie.
Throughout the entire shoot, Ou Yangguang was completely immersed in the emotions guided by Jin Zheyu and in the photographer's own complex state of mind.
He poured all his recent stress, conflicts, confusion, loneliness, longing for warmth, and obsession with recognition into the camera without reservation.
He was no longer himself; he became the emotion itself, the "monster" driven mad by love and trapped by obsession.
Standing outside the arena, Lee Seung-hwan watched Ou Yangguang, who seemed to be burning his life force under the bright lights, and felt extremely complicated.
He had never seen this side of Ou Yangguang before; it was so impactful, so...heartbreaking.
The filming lasted for several hours. When Jin Zheyu finally shouted "Cut!" with satisfaction, Ou Yangguang seemed to have all his strength drained away. He collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, his forehead covered in a fine layer of cold sweat. The intense emotional detachment left him feeling utterly exhausted.
The staff applauded, and Jin Zheyu stepped forward, personally helped him up, patted him on the shoulder forcefully, his eyes filled with admiration: "Fantastic! Ou Yangguang, you are a true artist! The results of this shoot will absolutely amaze everyone!"
Ou Yangguang forced a smile and thanked him.
After removing his makeup and changing back into his own clothes, the sunlight outside stung his eyes as he stepped out of the studio.
He put his hat and mask back on, covering himself up and returning to being the low-key idol he always was.
On the way back, he was unusually silent, just leaning against the window and resting with his eyes closed.
Looking at his pale profile, Lee Seung-hwan couldn't help but ask softly, "Are you alright? Were you... too engrossed in the moment?"
Ou Yangguang slowly opened his eyes, a trace of lingering gloom still visible in them. He shook his head, his voice a little hoarse: "It's nothing, brother. I'm just a little tired."
He looked out the window at the rapidly receding street scene, feeling utterly empty inside.
This shoot was like a cathartic release, and also like a brutal self-examination.
Those "yandere", "vulnerable", and "crazy" images captured by the camera are a true reflection of a corner of his inner self.
He carefully concealed this under the guise of his idol status and a heavy shell.
Jin Zheyu's camera, like a sharp scalpel, dissected his carefully maintained facade, revealing the raw, bloody truth beneath.
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