Chapter 42
A few days later, when Lin Na enthusiastically began to arrange the shooting plan for the subsequent scenes, Liu Yifan found her.
"Director Lin," her voice was calm, yet filled with unquestionable determination, "I don't think the beacon tower scene is going to work."
Lin Na was stunned, almost thinking she had misheard. "No? What's wrong with that? We all thought it was perfect!"
"It doesn't feel right." Liu Yifan said concisely, looking at her with clear eyes, "Besides, it's not beautiful enough."
"Not beautiful enough?" Lin Na was completely confused. "That kind of extremely complex and destructive beauty is already the most vivid!"
"It's not the kind of beauty I want." Liu Yifan shook his head, his tone unwavering, "It doesn't feel right either. It needs to be reshot."
Lin Na tried to communicate: "Yifan, I understand your high demands on art, but the scheduling, the setting, and the actors' state of mind in this scene have all reached their peak. The cost and uncertainty of reshooting are too great. Can you tell me specifically which part feels wrong? Maybe we can make some minor adjustments..."
"I can't explain it clearly." Liu Yifan interrupted her, his eyes filled with an almost paranoid focus. "It's just a feeling. It's not right. We have to reshoot it."
"Then...how long will it take you to adjust?" Lin Na took a step back.
"I don't know." Liu Yifan's answer was unusually frank, yet also unusually cruel. "It might be quick, or it might... take a long time. I have to wait."
"Wait? Waiting for what?" Lin Na couldn't help but raise her voice.
"When I feel it's right." Liu Yifan looked at her, his eyes calm but with an artist's unquestionable determination.
This news exploded like a bomb among the core members of the crew.
The production director was the first to jump up, nearly losing his temper. Every day of delay meant a huge financial drain, disrupting the entire project schedule. Everyone thought it was perfect, but the lead actor demanded indefinite reshoots with some vague excuse like "it doesn't feel right"? This was a disaster!
All the pressure fell on Lin Na. She tried to communicate with Liu Yifan again, but his attitude didn't soften. She wasn't throwing a tantrum, nor was she threatening. She truly, deeply believed that the performance was wrong. That certainty left Lin Na feeling powerless.
In the end, this issue was reported up the chain of command and inevitably came to Zhou Ping'an.
Su Ying flew to Rongcheng with a detailed report and reported to Zhou Pingan in person about this serious "artistic disagreement" and the huge costs it might bring.
She tried to state the views of all parties as objectively as possible, but her tone inevitably revealed her confusion about Liu Yifan's "willfulness" and deep concern about the future of the project.
Zhou Ping'an listened quietly, with no expression on his face. His fingers tapped unconsciously on his legs, his eyes fixed on the window.
The office was so silent that Su Ying could even hear her own nervous breathing.
After a few seconds, Zhou Pingan turned his gaze back to Su Ying. His tone was steady, without a trace of emotion, but with an unquestionable decisiveness:
"If she says it's not enough, then it's not enough."
Su Ying was stunned. She opened her mouth but found that she couldn't say anything.
Zhou Pingan ignored her reaction and continued speaking, his tone still calm, but it seemed to set an unchangeable tone for the entire incident:
"Do as she says. Time and money are not a problem. Wait for her."
This sentence is like a pardon, but also like a shackle.
It endows Liu Yifan with supreme artistic authority, while also placing the entire project in suspense in an unknown and exhausting state of waiting.
When the news reached Xiangbei, some people were shocked, some were puzzled, and some complained secretly, but no one dared to question it anymore.
When Liu Yifan learned of Zhou Ping'an's decision, her face showed no sign of surprise. However, a complex, indescribable light flickered deep in her eyes. She said nothing, remaining even more silent, immersing herself in a state of "waiting" that no one could understand.
The entire massive crew seemed to have pressed the pause button, falling into a strange stagnation surrounding the scene that was considered perfect but rejected by the protagonist. Everyone was waiting, waiting for the moment that Liu Yifan described as "feeling right" that would arrive at an unknown time.
Filming at Xiangbei Studios had reached a strange standstill, with the entire crew waiting for that moment, the one Liu Yifan described as "feeling right," that would arrive at an uncertain time.
As the days passed, Liu Yifan became more taciturn. She no longer participated in any discussions and spent most of her time alone in her hotel room or the empty palace area, like a frozen statue, immersed in an inner storm that no one could understand.
She repeatedly watched replays of the "beacon fire scene." Her performance was technically impeccable: the depth of her smile, the emptiness of her eyes, the sense of emptiness conveyed by her body language, all precisely replicated the director and the script's requirements.
But a voice deep inside her was sharply denying it: No. That's not it.
In that smile, there was contempt, boredom, sarcasm, and emptiness...but it lacked the most core thing that could make the "Smile That Could Overthrow a Nation" truly destructive.
She was like a puzzle solver faced with a pile of puzzle pieces. Although each piece was in the right place, the pattern she formed was completely different from what she expected. She was missing the bottom layer, the negative that determined the final image.
Late at night, she woke up from another suffocating dream. In the dream, Zhou Ping'an stood atop the cold throne, his back like a silent mountain. No matter how she ran, shouted, or even destroyed everything around her, she couldn't get him to look back at her.
That absolute feeling of powerlessness and being invisible is more despairing than any specific fear.
She sat on the edge of the bed, cold sweat soaking her forehead, her heart beating wildly in the silence.
"No...it's not like that..." he muttered to himself.
A true smile that can captivate a country should not be just about resistance.
King You of Zhou lit beacons and teased the princes to win her a smile. This was itself an extreme act of conquest, with the entire world at stake. He used destructive means to try to conquer her emotions and prove that his power was sufficient to subvert all rules.
And what about Bao Si?
If her laughter was merely a mockery of his stupidity, or an expression of her indifference to her own fate, then she would still be passive, an object in this game of conquest, a pleasing, indifferent symbol.
The real Bao Si should be the main character of this game.
Her smile should not be a rejection or indifference of conquest, but a kind of... acceptance, or even active completion.
She finally understood what the missing link was.
It is a sacrifice. An active, conscious, selfless sacrifice of self.
Instead of passively watching King You of Zhou overthrow the empire for her, she took the initiative to throw herself into the blazing fire as the final sacrifice. At the cost of her own destruction, she conquered the king who had tried to conquer her.
Her smile, at that moment, was a near-divine compassion and mockery, a result of seeing through her own fate and actively choosing to dance with it. She laughed at his futility, because in the moment he thought he had conquered her, she had already, through self-sacrifice, achieved the ultimate conquest of his soul. She became the only variable beyond his control at the pinnacle of power, yet ultimately defined his fate.
It was not that King You played tricks on the princes to make Bao Si laugh, but that Bao Si sacrificed her entire country to complete the final conquest of King You.
This thought was like lightning, splitting open all the fog in her heart!
The reason why the previous performances "felt wrong" and "were not beautiful enough" was because their core was "rebellion and nothingness", their posture was alienated, and their energy was inward-looking and defensive.
The "sacrifice and conquest" that she now understands is proactive and offensive in nature, its attitude is to embrace destruction, and its energy is outward-radiating and devouring.
The "beauty" that the latter can bloom is incomparable to the former - it is a kind of beauty that burns itself out, extremely cruel and extremely brilliant.
She needed to make Zhou Ping'an (King You of Zhou) not only see her beauty at that moment, but also feel the fear and shock of being crushed by her choice.
In order to perform this "conqueror's" smile, she needs the last and most crucial touchstone - Zhou Pingan himself.
She could no longer "observe" or "experience" the withdrawn, defensive Zhou Pingan. She needed to face the conqueror Zhou Pingan, who was omnipotent and in control in the fields of business and technology.
She was going to conquer him. Or more accurately, she was going to complete a performance, in which she needed to verify and learn from him the true reaction of a "conqueror" when he was conquered in reverse, in order to ignite her last and most brilliant smile.
This is no longer field research, it is a decapitation operation.
Having made up her mind, Liu Yifan didn't inform anyone, not even bringing an assistant. One morning, she took the latest flight alone and flew to Rongcheng again.
This time, her purpose was extremely clear. There was no longer any inquiry or hesitation in her eyes, only a firmness and calmness that was almost like a martyr.
She was going to meet him. Not as a collaborator, not as an observer, not even as a potential admirer.
Instead, Bao Si, who was about to be sacrificed, went to meet the final king who had to be conquered by her.
-------
2:30 in the morning, Rongcheng.
The city fell into a deep sleep, only scattered lights breathing in the thick night. The old neighborhood where Zhou Ping'an lived was completely silent. The sound-activated lights in the corridor flickered on and off one by one, following Liu Yifan's light yet resolute footsteps, engulfing and then spitting out her lonely figure.
She stood in front of the familiar door, without knocking or hesitation, and opened the door directly with the key - this key was the one he gave her, and now it became the only token for her to complete this ultimate ceremony.
The room was warm and quiet. The air was filled with the faint lingering scent of the wood incense she had chosen earlier, mixed with the fragrance of ink from books. Moonlight filtered through the soft off-white curtains, casting a hazy glow on the carpet and softening the lines of the room.
This place is no longer the deserted inn she had just arrived. Every detail - from the soft cushions on the sofa to the lush green fig tree on the coffee table - bears the traces of her having lived here. It is a carefully cared-for space full of life.
This reassuring sense of familiarity, created by her own hands, formed an almost cruel contrast with what she was about to do next.
She didn't turn on the light.
The night light was enough to illuminate her path.
Liu Yifan stood in the center of the living room and began to remove his clothes piece by piece, with an almost solemn slowness. This was no longer a matter of stripping off clothes, but rather a removal of armor, a cleansing before sacrifice. Each strip of fabric was like shedding a layer of armor. His movements were precise and calm, without a trace of hesitation, as if he were performing a sacred ritual.
When the cool air of early spring touched her completely exposed skin, she took a deep breath and her body tensed slightly. It was not fear, but the final confirmation of her absolute nakedness.
The night light caressed her body unreservedly, outlining every smooth and flexible curve. It was not a sensual tease, but a powerful, almost sacred beauty.
Her shoulders were straight and relaxed, her collarbones defined like butterfly wings, her waistline narrowed and then extended into a full curve, her legs straight and powerful. In the dim light, her skin shone like ivory, delicate and smooth, like a meticulously polished, living work of art.
This body, having worn countless costumes and cameras, now sheds all externally attributed values and symbols, returning to its most authentic state. It is no longer the capital of an international movie star, nor is it an object to observe and be observed.
It becomes a pure, most primitive and most powerful weapon, a sacrifice offered without reservation. Its beauty is direct, its beauty is open, its beauty is...breathtaking.
She walked barefoot on the soft carpet like a silent shadow towards the closed door of the master bedroom.
The door was unlocked. She pushed it open gently.
The room was darker than the living room. Only a faint red light from the electronic device beside the bed reflected the outline of the sleeping figure on the bed and his steady breathing.
Without the slightest hesitation, she walked straight to the bed, lifted a corner of the quilt, and as if returning to a destined place, she slid in silently, close to the source of warmth.
The mattress sank slightly at her arrival.
Almost at the same moment, Zhou Ping'an, who was sleeping, did not stiffen as if he had woken up. Instead, it was as if he had sensed some long-awaited call in the deepest dream. His body moved slightly subconsciously and extremely naturally. A sense of familiarity buried deep in his instinct made him accept this sudden closeness even unconsciously.
His breathing rhythm changed, from the deep and long one in deep sleep to a slightly shallow and rapid one, as if he was slowly floating up from the bottom of the water to the shallows where dreams and reality met.
He did not open his eyes immediately, but his brows knitted slightly, not out of vigilance, but a vague perception process of confirming some huge existence.
He smelled that familiar, elegant scent, mingling with the cool air outside, like an imprint etched into his soul, unaffected by sight. Then, he felt the cool touch of her skin against his warm arms and side. It was a chill tinged with determination, yet it instantly ignited the blood coursing beneath his skin.
Only then did he slowly, as if in slow motion, open his eyes. In the darkness, his pupils adjusted incredibly quickly, without the slightest hint of fresh-awake confusion, only a deep, almost engulfing focus. He tilted his head, his gaze fixed precisely on her face, so close to him. There was no shock, no question, and no defensiveness.
His eyes were as complex as a deep ocean that had instantly condensed all its storms. There was a profound understanding within them, as if he had already subconsciously foreseen this moment; an indescribable, almost painful touch, struck hard by her desperate "sacrifice"; and a surging, surging emotion that defied any logical framework, breaking through all rational barriers and churning violently within his eyes.
He saw the determination in her eyes, the desperation of exposing herself completely and leaving no room for retreat, and he also saw beneath that determination, a barely perceptible trembling, waiting for the final judgment.
He understood everything. Why she had come, what she wanted, what she was doing—in a way that was more complete than he had ever imagined.
All words have become redundant. Any inquiry, any analysis, any evaluation, at this moment, is a blasphemy.
He was silent, just looking at her deeply, deeply, as if he wanted to see through her eyes into the depths of her burning soul.
Then, he reacted.
Not pushing away, not asking, not any retreat.
He raised his hand, his movements slow, as if weighed down by overwhelming emotion, yet filled with an undeniable resolve. His fingertips trembled slightly, carrying the warmth of a fresh awakening, and he touched her cold cheek ever so gently, as if touching a fragile, priceless treasure, or confirming an unbelievable dream that had finally come true.
His palm finally covered the side of her face completely, the warm palm ironing her slightly cool skin, bringing a shiver of warmth. This was a gesture of complete acceptance, even with infinite pity.
His Adam's apple rolled, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, no syllable came out. Only those eyes, at such close distance, told it all—shock, pain, understanding, and a primitive and surging resonance that almost swallowed each other.
He didn't need her to speak, didn't need her to explain. The moment she arrived in this way, he understood everything. This ultimate "sacrifice" that he had been subconsciously waiting for, perhaps even dreading, had finally arrived.
And he was completely broken down and couldn't refuse at all.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
