Chapter 157: Xu Chu Stamps to Death

He loathed it entirely—her radiant warmth, the way she seemed open to everyone. He longed to tear her apart, to keep her locked by his side for all eternity, never letting her go anywhere. How agonizing his inner turmoil was, as selfish possessiveness and pure affection tore at each other, nearing the breaking point. He was utterly incapable of reining in his desire; he wanted to gouge out every pair of eyes that had ever looked upon Ah-Hua.

He only ever wanted to watch Ah-Hua smile for him and him alone...

Sweet Potato left her seat as instructed, sneaking her way up to the second-floor rooftop.

Meanwhile, the art competition downstairs commenced.

As it reached the final wave of entries, Zhong Huayan's artwork was neck-and-neck with another piece.

"Both paintings are works of genius; their techniques are nothing short of divine craftsmanship. The lines are far too fluid, clearly created under a state of utter relaxation and confidence. It takes at least a decade of mastery to achieve this."

"However, I can perceive a rather distinct meaning in this particular piece, whereas that other one—though seemingly flawless—leaves me somewhat uncertain of its underlying intent."

"I vividly remember the artists behind these pieces. One is a professor from the Central Academy of Fine Arts who easily advanced through the preliminary rounds and secured third place in last year's competition. The other is this year's dark horse, a fresh college student who has relied on this esoteric, obscure painting style throughout the first two rounds; yet, because of her impeccable technique and profound imagery, she has fought her way out."

Zhong Huayan was soon called forward by the judges, and the group began to converse in low murmurs.

"Student Li Yanyan, could you tell me why you chose to present this painting in such a grid-like format?"

"Years ago, Crows used this grid structure to express humanity as a highly constructed composite. Building upon that foundation, I more rigorously incorporated the principles of fluid dynamics, making the flow even smoother and more natural. This resembles humanity as seen through nature's eyes."

"A colorful visage, as if veiled by misty paper, allows one to glimpse the essence of nature through the haze—repressed yet surging. The moment a camera lens focuses, it causes subjects to disperse outward from a single point, shifting from blurred to clear. I captured the central core. This is both supernatural and the eye of nature."

Her logic was exceptionally clear, and her expression was both reasonable and moving.

This painting had been born precisely from a delicate and acute sensitivity to all things in existence.

The artwork was titled *The Eye of Nature*.

It was the manifestation of sunlight falling upon white paper in various forms.

After careful viewing and deliberation, the judges awarded Zhong Huayan ninety-nine points.

They gave the other, a Chinese professor, ninety-eight points.

That single-point difference lay in an ethereal, elusive spirituality.

As for why she was not awarded a perfect score, it was because her previous two paintings and this current piece varied too much in style, making it difficult to categorize as a singular artistic identity. However, this was not a pressing issue; the artist could consider developing a cohesive series to solidify her style.

Seeing the exceptionally high score of ninety-nine on-site undoubtedly left the subsequent contestants struggling to breathe. When scores were this high, it easily crushed one's morale.

Only a perfect score could claim the ultimate victory.

The media present frantically snapped photographs of the stunning woman. Tomorrow, this genius girl would undoubtedly grace the headlines. Only Fu Yanyan broke from his usual solemnity, taking prayer beads from his assistant's hands and slowly turning them over between his fingers, exuding a heavy, ominous stillness as if a storm were about to break.

His gaze was profoundly heavy. Given the choice, he would never have wished to commit such a mad act today. This was Ah-Hua's most majestic, proud, and glorious moment, yet everything was about to slip out of control.

Just as Zhong Huayan, overjoyed, trailed the hem of her white dress as she walked toward the man, a sudden scream echoed from upstairs—a woman's muffled cry.

Zhong Huayan instinctively looked up toward the upper floor, a faint sense of unease washing over her. By all logic, Sweet Potato should have returned long ago.

A foreboding premonition followed close behind.

With a look bordering on despair, Zhong Huayan stared at the calm man standing below. For a fleeting second, Fu Yanyan desperately wanted to evade that gaze.

Yet he did not. Instead, with a terrifying composure, he watched the woman whose body was growing limp, tears swirling in her eyes.

Fu Yanyan felt as though his heart were being sliced to pieces. He simply could not fathom whether he would completely shatter in the moments to come... He was truly losing the ability to suppress it. Why must she be so disobedient... forcing him to this extreme.

At that moment, he was as cold as a demon from hell, or a stone Buddha in a temple looking down upon the cruelty of the mortal world with serene detachment.

His expression was too chillingly devoid of life.

Disregarding the gazes of everyone present, Zhong Huayan broke into a run toward the second floor.

On the rooftop, she nearly collapsed, the hem of her white dress pooling on the ground. Before her eyes lay a scene of carnage—blood covered the ground.

Sweet Potato was a girl from the countryside. Today, she had purposely chosen her finest dress, and now, a dagger was plunged straight into her chest. That upright dagger had brought the young girl's life to a definitive end.

She would never again hear the sound of that sweet, unpretentious girl calling her name. Zhong Huayan could not bear to imagine whether this child's parents and younger brother would be heartbroken beyond measure. If Sweet Potato had ascended to heaven, would she resent her?

Weeping bitterly, Zhong Huayan hurried forward, her clean hands gripping the handle of the dagger tightly. Looking at the corpse that had yet to cool completely, devoid of breath, she noticed a single tear slipping from the corner of Sweet Potato's eye. No one knew what she had been thinking in the final moments of her life... Perhaps it was resentment, perhaps reluctance. It must have hurt terribly... The pain-contorted and stiffened expression from before her death still lingered on her face, unable to relax.

"Sweet Potato! Ahhh! Wake up... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"

Crying out hoarsely, dragging her blood-stained dress, Zhong Huayan scrambled clumsily over to Xu Chuyin's side.

Tears streamed down her face, her vision entirely blurred. She pulled the boy into her arms. The youth had already lost his breath, his throat slit by a single blade. At his youngest, most tragic age, he had left this world in the most miserable manner. He had clearly been prepared to face justice—why had the heavens not granted him a shred of survival?

Recalling the past events, Zhong Huayan felt a choked sensation in her chest, as if she could no longer breathe. His features remained delicate and pure, but now possessed the rigidity of a frozen stream—lifeless, dead, forever unable to speak or smile again. Though he had acted recklessly and committed wrongs in his youth, he had truly awakened...

Flashbacks flickered through Zhong Huayan's mind.

Memories of Xu Chuyin.

His arrogance and dominance at school, in the academic building, by the swimming pool, in the performance hall...

The time he risked his life to save her when Xu Yaochuan attempted to humiliate her, and the late-night snacks they shared.

The whispered words in the underground palace of Macau, spoken with fearless candor. The unyielding iron backbone he displayed on the fighting ring, his body covered in the scars of past injuries, and finally, his resolute determination on Moon Cliff Mountain to turn over a new leaf without a single ounce of regret.