Translator: CinderTL
Jiang Cheng wouldn't respond to such a stereotypical villainous statement. Based on his years of watching movies, those who spoke like this were either cannon fodder or hidden powerhouses.
The person standing before him was clearly not the former.
According to the usual movie plot, someone would inevitably challenge or even mock such a statement, only to be instantly killed by the speaker in the next second.
And the death would be gruesome.
A sinister aura spread through the room, as if a gray filter had been added, and a faint unease began to ferment. Jiang Cheng vaguely sensed that something was about to happen.
As his eyes darted around, searching for an escape route, something beside him seemed to move. He looked down at Lin Chen.
Lin Chen's finger twitched.
Jiang Cheng's expression changed.
Though it felt like a long time had passed, in reality, only a few seconds had gone by in his heightened state of tension. Now, he understood what had previously eluded him.
So when he saw Lin Chen open her eyes and sit up groggily, he didn't show any surprise. He simply watched quietly.
Lin Chen seemed to have forgotten what she had done earlier. She sat on the bed for a while, her head bowed, her body pitifully thin.
A faint gray aura enveloped her. After returning from death, the despair in Lin Chen's heart seemed to have deepened.
She got off the bed, not bothering to put on her slippers, and walked barefoot on the cold floor.
Like a zombie, she walked to the large picture frame.
At this moment, the frame offered Jiang Cheng no sense of artistic beauty; instead, it made him uncomfortable.
Standing in the corner of the room, the easel, almost as tall as Lin Chen, looked more like a gallows to Jiang Cheng.
Expressionless, Lin Chen picked up a brush and began her next creation.
There was no technique, only the unrestrained release of despair. The thin canvas now resembled a battlefield of carnage.
It was hard to imagine what this frail woman had been through.
Slowly lowering his hand, Jiang Cheng turned and locked eyes with the black-clad man, Wu. Those crimson eyes were also fixed on Lin Chen.
It was as if he was admiring his most cherished masterpiece, or like a younger brother filled with attachment to his older sister—an attachment akin to opium.
Madness.
Morbidity.
And even more terrifying was the pure, heart-stopping intensity of it.
"Why?" Jiang Cheng asked Wu, his voice no longer restrained. "She kills herself at this time every day, only to wake up again."
"You've trapped her in this cycle!" Jiang Cheng shouted. "You're using her despair to create more and more Urban Legends!"
"I'm protecting her," Wu's tone was flat, devoid of emotion. He gazed at the nearly deranged woman in front of the easel, his eyes filled with infatuation. "The reason my sister became like this is that she doesn't know how to protect herself. She's too weak, completely unaware of the darkness in this world."
"She always chooses to forgive, to endure, keeping everything buried inside, never telling anyone." Wu's expression began to shift, and blood-red curses, like talismans, appeared on his skin. The atmosphere gradually spiraled out of control.
"I told her to kill those who hurt her, but she refused!"
The black trench coat fluttered without wind, and Wu's shadow appeared on the wall behind him. Yet, the shadow was far taller and more terrifying than the black-clad Wu himself.
It seemed that the black-clad Wu in Jiang Cheng's eyes was merely a facade, the tip of an iceberg visible on the water's surface, while the true Wu lurked beneath the icy depths.
And this tip of the iceberg had already driven everyone to a dead end.
"Only by letting my sister create urban legends herself will she come to understand the true nature of this world. I won't allow anyone to harm her."
Wu gazed at Lin Chen, who was painting, with a look of deep affection. It was hard to imagine that such a handsome face could bear such sharp eyebrows.
A chill, like an electric current, shot through Jiang Cheng's body. He felt as if he were being watched by a devil, yet Wu wasn't even looking at him.
In Wu's eyes, there was only room for one woman.
He stood there silently, seemingly indifferent to everything, as if nothing mattered as long as Lin Chen was by his side.
Shifting his gaze, Jiang Cheng paused involuntarily at the next scene. It wasn't the black-clad Wu staring at him, but the shadow Wu had left on the wall.
The shadow was formless and intangible, towering over three meters tall, with parts of it even bending onto the ceiling, almost merging with the darkness.
Embedded within it were a pair of narrow, crimson eyes, coldly fixated on him.
Jiang Cheng could actually sense a strong desire emanating from those eyes.
It was coveting something.
From him.
"Ah! Ah!" Suddenly, a woman's heart-wrenching scream pierced the air. Lin Chen dropped her paintbrush, staring at her own creation.
The despair that had been accumulating was now completely spent. After regaining a sliver of her senses, Lin Chen absolutely could not accept that she had painted such a bizarre and eerie piece.
She broke down, clawing at her own body, and finally her face. Her fair skin was torn, leaving bloody streaks.
Jiang Cheng winced just watching.
Seizing the moment when the black-clad Wu was distracted, Jiang Cheng didn't hesitate. He dashed forward, his hand reaching into his pocket.
His intention was clear.
He wanted to show Lin Chen her previous painting, the one depicting the benevolent side of Wu, to awaken her past memories and the original intent behind creating Wu.
Creating Wu had merely been Lin Chen's way of escaping reality. What she had initially wanted to create was the benevolent side.
As for this dark version of Wu, its emergence was just a terrifying byproduct.
What was even more frightening was that this byproduct had taken control of its creator, completely suppressing the benevolent side.
But fortunately, it couldn't destroy the benevolent side.
Just as no matter how strong a person is, they can never eliminate their own shadow.
An overwhelming, terrifying pressure surged from behind, and the glint of a blade instantly illuminated the small room.
What was even more bizarre was that, although Wu was behind him, Jiang Cheng felt as if the blade was about to strike his forehead.
But luckily, Jiang Cheng was just a fraction of a second faster.
A fine crack had already split his forehead, and a few drops of bright red blood trickled down. The benevolent Wu was hidden deep within Lin Chen's heart.
Only, and only through this painting, could the benevolent side be awakened, and all of this be brought to an end.
But in the next second, Jiang Cheng stopped.
His hand remained in his pocket, and he didn't pull out the painting.
Lin Chen stood before him in confusion, his face a mix of pain and bewilderment, everything so vivid it felt like reality.
And the blade that was about to split Jiang Cheng's forehead from between his brows suddenly vanished.
An eerie calm hung in the air, as if nothing had happened at all.
(End of the Chapter)
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