The studio was filled with a terrifying atmosphere, yet Luò Wǎn knelt in front of Shěn Jī, her head resting against the cold glass wall, watching as the water slowly rose.

Among all the people in the studio, only these two were alive. However, soon Shěn Jī would be drowned by the rising water, and Luò Wǎn could only watch helplessly as she died.

She murmured, "Lǐ Dàlù, you idiot, where are you? Why don't you come to save me? Shàngguān Liúyún, where have you been?"

Meanwhile, these two men were each in a corner of the city, drowning their sorrows in strong liquor at bars, seeking to numb their troubles.

Outside, a faint sound, barely perceptible but incredibly piercing, reached Luò Wǎn. She dared not turn around or even wanted to. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer until someone gently crouched beside her.

Luò Wǎn slowly turned her head, her eyes filled with tears. Through the mist, a handsome face appeared before her, bearing an expression of fragile, helpless sorrow.

Luò Wǎn's heart sank, feeling as though death might be nothing more than a fleeting firework, but this pain made it hard for her to breathe. If given a choice, she would rather die a thousand times than see this face, than understand this reality."

"Xiǎomù..." Her cry of anguish, originating from the deepest part of her heart, fell in the midnight like a despairing bird crashing to the ground. The most beautiful and pure thing in her life had been shattered before her eyes. She closed her eyes, turned her head away, and a tear, as large as a bean, fell from her face, too mournful to be described in words.

"Don't cry; I won't hurt you."

A gentle, warm hand reached over to softly wipe away her tears. These hands had once saved her in the darkness, had patted her shoulder when she was sad, and had searched for her in her most desperate moments. Yet, in this moment, she truly felt the cruelty of life.

She wasn't afraid. If she were to die now, it might be a form of happiness. In her heart, Xiǎomù had already become her own kin—the handsome and refined man who had picked a magnolia flower for her on a small path, the man who had fought others to protect her, the man who had dragged her through the darkness in a frenzy. He had long become the person she trusted most.

All along, she had been afraid that Shěn Jī would harm this seemingly pure and kind boy. She had opened her arms, willing to quarrel with Shěn Jī, and had protected the boy like a mother. But now, it was Shěn Jī who was truly injured and facing death—Shěn Jī, trapped in that sealed glass box, helplessly looking at her.

"Xiǎomù, open the box. Shěn Jī is dying—please." She slid down softly in front of Xiǎomù, kneeling before the man. "Please, don't kill anyone else. Don't keep making mistakes. It's already enough.’"

She looked up, gazing at the women trapped in the glass containers behind the torn oil paintings—rows upon rows, layers upon layers, densely packed throughout the house filled with paintings. These women were both beautiful and tragic, their eyes reflecting despair. The reason for their deaths was same and only one;

They had fallen in love with a man they shouldn´t have.

Yet, death seemed to leave their vitality untouched; they all looked at her, looked at Xiǎomù, vibrant and alive. Enough. Their souls had already decayed, but they still needed saving.

Xiǎomù also knelt down, gently holding the trembling Luò Wǎn in his arms. "These are all the women I've loved, but none of them has ever made my heart ache and made me feel such sorrow and reluctance as you do."

Xiǎomù said softly, "The first time I saw you, you were walking along that long driveway, struggling in your high heels, and carrying that ridiculous dress. But your eyes and your eyebrows were truly so beautiful, like stars falling to Earth."

Luò Wǎn thought of that moment, lowering her head as tears fell like broken beads, each one hitting the ground.

"So, I always wanted to take you to see the fireflies over there. I told the woman who committed suicide that I no longer loved her, and she followed us to the mountaintop, almost killing you. It's my fault; I'm sorry for frightening you."

Xiǎomù's hand touched her warm lips. Luò Wǎn looked up, gazing into Xiǎomù's eyes, which were as pure and transparent as the azure sky. She asked in surprise, "Were you involved with that woman? Did she commit suicide for you? But what about Shěn Jī?"

"Hmph, do you think I would only have one woman? Do you think I truly loved them? No, I was only infatuated with the moment of their death. I was obsessed with their eternity, like an oil painting—eternal, never aging, never becoming ugly, never turning to dust even after ten or a hundred years."

Xiǎomù held his head in agony and said, "I thought I would never love any woman, but I was wrong. I fell in love with you. I've been avoiding you all along because I don't want to kill you, to turn you into a specimen and hang you in the space of time forever. You would be lonely that way.’"

Xiǎomù, in a frenzy, held her tightly and said, "But why? Why do you keep making mistakes, chasing again and again, pleading again and again, just for an answer? If you hadn't entered this studio today, I would never have come near you. You could have married my older brother—he's a good man. I would have watched you from afar, watched you grow old and become less beautiful, as long as you were happy. But why did you come in? Why?"

Xiǎomù held her so tightly that Luò Wǎn could barely breathe, and inside the glass container, Shěn Jī witnessed the scene. Perhaps she could hear everything happening outside, for the expression on her face was one of hatred. She hated the world, hated this man, hated this deception, and hated even more the woman who had gained Xiǎomù's true love.

Shěn Jī knew she had completely lost. Hatred filled her heart, and the vengeful spirits in the studio slowly drifted toward her tank. Her heart was gradually being tainted.

Luò Wǎn also held Xiǎomù tightly and said, "Wake up, Xiǎomù! None of this is your fault—wake up! Your grandma died because of you, didn't she? She used her life to call back your lost soul. I beg you, please wake up!’"

Xiǎomù pushed her away and said, "You don't love me. I don't want your sympathy or your pity. I don't want you to bestow your feelings upon me like charity. You're torn between my older brother and that blind man—who does your heart truly belong to?"

"The corner of his mouth curled up as he looked at Luò Wǎn with a wicked gaze, and he said, word by word, "I really want to cut out your heart and see—who exactly is in there?"

Luò Wǎn's heart tightened. Such painful words—she could no longer bear them. Clutching her chest, a wave of pain surged through her.

In the bar, as Lǐ Dàlù was drowning himself in alcohol, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest; his vision blurred. The pain came so suddenly that he stood up, threw down some money, and ran out as if mad.