Today, the weather was heavy and gray.
Above Yudu City, it looked as if someone had smeared thick ink across the sky. Even at noon, the world felt more like midnight.
Bitter winds howled between the high-rises, tugging at the rain-soaked banners until they fluttered violently. At the end of that storm-tossed cityscape stood a luxurious villa complex. Even in this weather, the place looked almost beautiful.
Ji Yu stood at the entrance of Building Three, an umbrella in one hand and her beloved guitar in the other.
Hardly anyone ventured out in this downpour—who would risk ruining their expensive clothes in such dirty rain?
Ji Yu pulled out a few tissues, wiping her bare legs where the water had splashed. She wore a simple white dress, the kind of plain beauty that seemed completely out of place in this storm. A clean, fragile figure, standing in a world of beasts.
"Mo Yachen… you're home, aren't you?"
For some reason, storms always soured his temper. And today was no different.
He was inside, painting. The floor, littered with crumpled sheets of paper, revealed just how poor his state of mind was.
Hearing her voice, Mo Yachen gave a quiet laugh. His gaze softened at the girl who always managed to lift his mood.
"You came in this weather? But Xunhan isn't home today. I can't keep you company. Why don't you just watch from the side, or do your own thing?"
"Mm… then I'll just keep myself busy for now."
"You can also take a shower first. You must be soaked, coming through that rain."
Ji Yu hesitated, glanced down at her damp clothes, then finally nodded. She set her guitar case aside and walked toward the bathroom with practiced ease.
Left alone again, Mo Yachen closed his eyes, his fingers moving gracefully in the air, sketching lines that existed only for a moment.
Boom!
A lightning strike lit up the sky.
The sound rolled through the villa.
Inside, Ji Yu hung her underclothes on the wall of the bathroom.
"Do you know what Yachen's first style of painting was, Ji Yu?"
"Mm… I think it was realism? Most of the ones I've seen were people, trees, flowers—things from everyday life."
"Yes. That's what my mother always told the world, before… that incident."
"Mo-jie… what exactly was that incident?"
Steam fogged the mirror. Ji Yu wiped it away, staring at the reflection of her pale-blue eyes. She wanted to see something hidden within them—an answer, a truth.
But all she found was coldness. Doubt. Was it really right to peel open someone's old scars, scars that had already scabbed, maybe even healed?
Another clap of thunder shook the building.
Ji Yu slipped into a fresh dress and returned to the living room.
"Mo—"
He didn't look at her. He only cracked his eyes open for a second before closing them again, sketching shapes in the air as though painting the unseen.
Ji Yu studied him, then bent down to pick up one of the discarded canvases. Her gaze swept across the room, remembering something.
This villa… it was full of paintings with missing faces.
Crash!
Lightning split the sky again.
"After that incident, it wasn't that he couldn't paint. He just… changed his style."
"From Impressionism… to something darker."
"…To horror."
Ji Yu soon found the hallway.
A gallery of canvases lined the walls—each one a grotesque piece, faces slashed away, warped into monstrosities.
With every flash of lightning outside, the paintings seemed to twitch, to stir.
She leaned closer, her pale-blue eyes dimming as she studied them. Her shadow stretched across the floor, thin and ghostly beneath the flashes of white light.
Her fingertips brushed one painting—a woman lying in a bed of roses, struggling.
Then another strike of lightning revealed the truth.
They weren't roses at all.
They were the carved decorations of a guitar.
"She was my closest friend. A guitarist my father personally trained."
"And because she was chosen by him, others envied her."
'Why her? We're in the same class, yet her scores are lower than mine. Why does she deserve your attention?'
"That's what they told him."
"My father never answered. He wouldn't stoop to such childish questions. But then… one day, they discovered something."
"She…"
In the living room, Mo Yachen frowned.
The storm outside was so thick the lights could barely hold back the darkness. Rain hammered the windows, lightning fractured the sky into a thousand pieces.
His hand trembled slightly.
Ji Yu, afraid to be alone, rushed back to the living room. Her face was pale, lips pressed tight.
The storm raged, rainwater drumming a violent rhythm on the glass. Ji Yu clutched her chest, steadied her breathing, then finally spoke—her voice slicing through the silence.
"Mo Yachen… I have something to ask you."
She was standing right before him now.
Her presence felt icy, like the storm itself had followed her in.
"Those paintings in your villa—the ones with the faces slashed away… what are they?"
Her gaze moved past him, toward the shadows where the grotesque canvases hung.
He opened his eyes, calm, thoughtful. For a long moment, he seemed to search his own memory. Then, as if realizing something, he gave a faint smile.
"Oh. You mean those? Honestly, I'd almost forgotten about them. I didn't think you'd be interested in those failed drafts. They don't fit my reputation anyway—you, a complete outsider, must see how frightening they are. So even if they aren't failures, I'd never display them."
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. But his eyes—normally warm when he looked at Ji Yu—were sharp, cutting, almost cruel in the dim light.
Ji Yu didn't believe him. She lowered her head, then pressed further.
"Then… what about Liu Qian? If you can paint like that, why hide it? Why erase the faces?"
Mo Yachen narrowed his eyes. The dim light gleamed in them as he stared at her. Finally, his lips curved.
A laugh.
Cold, humorless.
The kind of laugh he'd worn when they first met—serious, distant, dangerous.
The sound made Ji Yu flinch. Her doubts, her accusations—suddenly they all felt fragile, hollow.
"Who told you that name?" His voice cut the air. "Was it Xunhan?"
"I told you before—stop digging. Stop bringing it up."
His figure was swallowed by the darkness as he stepped to the window. Rain drenched his shoulders the moment he pushed it open, lightning flashing behind him.
Then he turned, his eyes lost, unfathomable.
"Do you really like peering into people's ugliest, most painful memories?"