PPS Chapter 138

Chapter 138: The Eve of the Banquet

These three days felt exceptionally long. Chu Zhaoyi stayed in the studio, barely stepping out. Even at night, he only dozed off on the recliner in the studio.

Zhang Anru and Xie Tingyun felt increasingly uneasy.

The meals they sent over were mostly untouched when brought back.

However, the three-meter-long painting in the studio was visibly nearing completion.

Until the final stroke was added on Sunday morning.

Chu Zhaoyi placed the rose symbol in the lower right corner, gazing at the rising sun.

It was Sunday already.

Gu Yusen had said he would appear at the banquet today.

The moment Zhang Anru pushed open the studio door, she froze. On the three-meter-high linen canvas, dark red thorns crawled across the entire gray-black sky like blood vessels.

A heart trapped in a glasscover was suspended in the center, each capillary adorned with withered rose petals. Most bizarrely, a sprout emerged from the heart’s opening, the tender leaves covered in blood-like dewdrops.

“This is…” She instinctively took a half-step back, bumping into Xie Tingyun. Her gaze was fixed on the massive artwork, while Chu Zhaoyi sat quietly on a chair to the side, watching the chirping birds outside the window.

When Chu Zhaoyi looked up, his eyelashes were still dusted with dried gold powder. He reached for a white cloth to cover the painting. “When does the banquet start?”

Anyone who suddenly saw this painting would feel a sense of almost eerie fear.

Zhang Anru snapped back to reality upon hearing Chu Zhaoyi’s voice. “In three hours. The stylist is downstairs.”

“Okay.” Chu Zhaoyi stood up, his dark eyes devoid of color. Coupled with his slender frame, he resembled a ghost wandering the world.

This time, he didn’t have a flare-up. He walked down the spiral staircase.

In the dressing room, Chu Zhaoyi allowed the stylist to work on him.

He sat in front of the makeup mirror, his reflection as pale as an uncolored canvas. The stylist gently brushed aside the hair on his forehead, revealing his dark, ink-like eyes.

“Mr. Chu, please lift your head slightly.” The makeup artist reminded him softly, her brush lightly sweeping across his cheeks, trying to add some life to his pale complexion. Chu Zhaoyi cooperated mechanically, his eyes still unfocused, as if his soul had drifted elsewhere.

As the stylist adjusted his suit, her fingers gently touched his shoulder, feeling the stiffness in his body. The black velvet tuxedo clung to his slender figure, making him look even taller.

“Mr. Chu, what do you think?” The makeup artist asked cautiously, trying to get his attention.

Chu Zhaoyi slowly raised his eyes. The man in the mirror had been carefully groomed and transformed. His pale complexion had been perfectly touched up, the fatigue between his brows and eyes concealed, replaced by a hint of cold elegance.

If one ignored his dark eyes, he truly resembled the precious young master of the Xie family that grew up.

“Okay,” he replied faintly, his voice barely audible.

The stylist pinned a brooch on his chest—a delicate red rose. Chu Zhaoyi glanced down, his fingers gently stroking the petals.

“Mr. Chu, you look perfect,” the makeup artist said with a smile.

Chu Zhaoyi didn’t respond, but slowly stood up, the black suit making him appear taller, yet even more solitary.

When Zhang Anru pushed open the door, this was the scene she witnessed. Chu Zhaoyi stood by the window, his back straight but exuding an unspeakable loneliness. She sighed softly, walked over, and patted his shoulder. “A’Yi, it’s time to go.”

Chu Zhaoyi turned around, nodded, and followed Zhang Anru out of the dressing room.

The banquet wasn’t at home; they needed to drive to the venue.

Zhang Anru knew he liked quiet, so Chu Zhaoyi was alone in this car.

“Young Master, please buckle up. It will take about half an hour,” the driver’s respectful voice came from the front seat.

The light scent of cedar mixed with bergamot filled the car. Chu Zhaoyi leaned back in the leather seat, his eyelashes casting butterfly-wing shadows on his eyelids.

The sound of tires crunching over fallen plane tree leaves faded in and out.

“Your complexion isn’t very good.” The driver’s voice was coated with honey-like sweetness. “Would you like me to open a window for some fresh air?”

Chu Zhaoyi wanted to shake his head, but found his neck filled with quicksilver.

The car’s aromatherapy diffuser hissed, releasing white mist. In a daze, he saw his breath turning into the shape of rose petals. His fingertips touched the cold metal edge of his phone. The lock screen showed 16:07—53 minutes until the banquet started.