After leaving Ji Yaozi’s shop, Jiang Luo returned to the dormitory and retrieved the last hidden Yuan Tian Bead and the heart of Chi You’s stone statue.
He slowly traced the engravings on Chi You’s heart, a faint smile appearing on his face.
At this moment, a sudden and intense desire to see Chi You surged up from deep within him—but Jiang Luo didn’t even know where Chi You was now.
He put away his smile, frowned, and packed the Yuan Tian Bead and stone heart into his bag.
At three in the afternoon, Ye Xun’s rabbit plushie had been repaired. The two of them drove back to the apartment. Upon opening the door, they found the living room shrouded in darkness. Only the television cast a dim glow from the wall—Wenren Lian and the others were watching a movie.
Seeing them return, Ge Zhu warmly invited, “Wanna join us?”
People can’t always stay tense—taking a break amidst busyness is important. Jiang Luo and Ye Xun gladly joined in. Jiang Luo grabbed a bag of snacks from the table and comfortably lay down on the sofa.
“What movie is this?”
“Youthful Days,” Wenren Lian replied with a smile. “It’s a tragic romance film. We just finished watching a movie about Bi Gan getting his heart dug out. Since you two weren’t back yet, we decided to relax with something else.”
Jiang Luo couldn’t help but laugh. “Who watches a tragedy to relax?”
Though he said that, he still watched with great interest.
It wasn’t just about the movie—he felt like it had been a long time since he even touched any electronic media.
The film was set in a school. The female lead was a teacher, the male lead a student—their roles already foreshadowed a tragic ending.
The female lead was married—a graceful, conservative, intellectual woman. But her husband subjected her to long-term emotional abuse, leaving her lonely and helpless. The male lead was an orphan—gloomy and cold. From a bullied child scavenging trash at age seven or eight, he had grown into a tough teen who used his fists to fend off bullies.
The two of them seemed like people whose lives would never intersect—until the female lead was harassed by thugs and was saved by the male lead, sparking an unlikely connection.
Throughout the entire movie, the leads never had physical contact or expressed their feelings openly. Their identities and morality tightly restrained them. The most intimate moment was when the female lead bent down to pick up a pen during tutoring, and the male lead, after a brief pause, did the same—their fingers barely brushing. But their gazes and the charged atmosphere simmered with repressed desire, their budding affection forcibly buried under the weight of convention. Every scene brimmed with restrained emotion and the subtle, aching beauty of forbidden love.
It was a good film, but Jiang Luo found it hard to immerse himself—because the actress playing the female lead was Bai Qiu.
Bai Qiu’s face was made for the big screen, and her acting was excellent. Jiang Luo suppressed his urge to laugh at first but soon found himself watching earnestly. Still, he missed the metaphor behind their professions entirely.
Sitting on either side of him were Ge Zhu and Wenren Lian. As the movie neared its end, Wenren Lian sighed softly, “Such a pity.”
Jiang Luo asked, “What’s a pity?”
Wenren Lian lamented, “It’s a pity that even though the female lead divorced her husband, she still didn’t dare express her feelings to the male lead. It’s a pity the male lead, ashamed of his poverty and inferiority, would rather secretly punish the male teacher who harassed her and get a demerit than confess his love.”
Jiang Luo felt like he was hinting at something, but he couldn’t quite grasp what Wenren Lian meant. Thinking he was reading too much into it, Jiang Luo casually replied, “Well, they’re teacher and student. Either he graduates and leaves, or she resigns—otherwise, there’s no way for them to be together.”
Wenren Lian, seeing he still didn’t get it, gave Ge Zhu a look.
Ge Zhu immediately picked up, “Exactly. Teacher-student relationships are tricky. But see, even after they leave school, they still don’t end up together. They clearly love each other deeply but say nothing. The guy thinks the girl doesn’t like him; the girl fears he only sees her as a teacher. So in the end, they part ways forever. Even when they meet again, they don’t dare show any emotion. Isn’t that tragic?”
Jiang Luo nodded, “Yeah, it is.”
Zhuo Zhongqiu, with practiced ease, interjected, “Isn’t that what relationships are like? If you don’t say you love someone, how are they supposed to know? So many marriages fall apart over misunderstandings. The worst is what happens in this movie—two people clearly love each other, but keep it all bottled up and miss their chance for life. It made me so upset, I wanted to crawl into the screen and pry their mouths open with a crowbar.”
Jiang Luo’s fingers, which had been picking at snacks, froze. As he looked back at the couple on screen, a thoughtful look appeared in his eyes.
It wasn’t that he had some sudden realization—he just remembered something. Didn’t Bai Qiu once mention to him that many in the entertainment industry wanted to buy his amulets for peace and safety?
Every star in the entertainment world had countless fans. Could the devotion of one celebrity be equivalent to that of hundreds or thousands of ordinary people?
Ge Zhu assumed Jiang Luo was finally “getting it,” and practically wanted to hug Zhuo Zhongqiu on the spot in gratitude. He cleared his throat, “Zhongqiu is right. In a relationship, whether it’s a man or a woman, the other person needs to express their love. Without that, it’ll eventually end in tragedy.”
Jiang Luo nodded, feeling what they said made sense.
Wenren Lian deliberately asked, “Jiang Luo, what do you think?”
“Confessions between lovers are of course nice,” Jiang Luo, as someone who had actually been in a relationship, felt he had the right to speak on the matter. He spoke confidently, “But some people are naturally shy and reserved, some are calm and restrained—it’s understandable if they can’t express their feelings in words. When two people are together, expressing love doesn’t have to be verbal. Actions can show it too. Whether or not you like someone, whether that person is obsessed with you or madly in love, their body language, gaze, and expressions will all make it abundantly clear.”
Just like him and Chi You.
Chi You had only said he liked him once, but when Chi You risked his life and leapt into Dragon Spring for him, Jiang Luo knew—the malicious ghost loved him, loved him more than life itself.
Words weren’t necessary. Jiang Luo could see it clearly.
And Jiang Luo also believed that Chi You understood his feelings just as well.
He felt that between the two of them—passion, excitement, and their overwhelming desire for each other—these mutual understandings didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
Chi You definitely understood.
Wenren Lian and Ge Zhu had both been smiling, but after hearing what he said, their smiles slowly froze on their lips.
Jiang Luo seriously waited for the credits to finish playing, yawned, lazily got up to wash his hands, and went back to his room to call Bai Qiu.
It took a while for Bai Qiu to answer. Her voice sounded tired and slightly nasal and hoarse. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Jiang Luo raised an eyebrow. “Sister Bai Qiu, just woke up?”
Bai Qiu perked up a little. “Not yet, I’m dead tired. My new movie just released a few days ago, I’ve been running around nonstop, haven’t even had time to sleep.”
“‘Youthful Times,’ that movie?” Jiang Luo asked.
“You know about it?” Bai Qiu was pleasantly surprised, even flattered. “You guys in your line of work watch movies too?”
“Of course we do,” Jiang Luo chuckled. “Sister, your acting is really good.”
Bai Qiu immediately burst into laughter, “Jiang Luo, your mouth is so sweet! Unfortunately, I have work coming up. If you have something to say, just say it directly—no need for polite talk between us!”
Jiang Luo walked slowly to the window and gazed into the distance. He smiled as he said, “Then I won’t be polite. Sister Bai Qiu, I’m planning to start selling peace talismans in your industry.”
Bai Qiu was stunned for a moment, then delighted. “That’s great! How many are you selling? Save ten or so for me!”
“Too many would just be a waste,” Jiang Luo said with a soft smile. “I’ll sell as many as I can, but Sister Bai Qiu, I’ll need to vet the buyers. You mentioned before you’d help me with that—does that still hold?”
Bai Qiu responded firmly, “Of course it does.”
Jiang Luo wasn’t in the entertainment industry, so he didn’t know how legendary his name and the peace talismans had become in that circle. The director of Next Stop, Idol bragged about Jiang Luo to everyone he met, claiming he’d be in a coffin by now without Jiang Luo’s talisman. The deeper one was in the industry, the more they believed in these things.
Being the bridge to help Jiang Luo sell talismans was a huge opportunity. Bai Qiu could gain countless connections from it—far more valuable than gold or silver.
Bai Qiu once again felt grateful that she’d met Jiang Luo early on. She thumped her chest and promised, “Just tell me your criteria.”
Jiang Luo didn’t hold back, “No evil and malicious people. No scammers or cheats. No hypocrites who say one thing and do another. In short, no matter how much money they offer, if their character is bad, I won’t sell.”
With this statement, more than half the entertainment industry was practically eliminated. Bai Qiu hesitated, wondering whether she could afford to offend those people. But after some thought, she realized that there were still many decent folks in the business like herself, and overall, the benefits outweighed the risks.
Bai Qiu agreed, “Alright, leave it to me.”
“Besides that,” Jiang Luo added, “those who want to buy peace talismans must also do one thing: offer incense and worship to a statue—for at least three months.”
Jiang Luo narrowed his eyes.
Three months—that was the deadline he gave himself to kill the Fated One.
During these three months, he would absorb the power of the offerings with all his might, aiming for the fastest results in the shortest time.
Bai Qiu didn’t hesitate, “That’s easy. If you’re willing to sell, they’d be willing to worship for three years, let alone three months.”
Jiang Luo smiled, “Sister Bai Qiu, you’re busy with your movie lately—can you manage?”
“I’m actually a bit overwhelmed,” Bai Qiu admitted, “It’s manageable with two people… Do you have someone to recommend?”
Jiang Luo said slowly, “I do have someone in mind. Why don’t we set up a time to discuss this cooperation in more detail?”
“Sure,” Bai Qiu readily agreed, “The night after tomorrow, a friend of mine who owns a bar is having a birthday. I need to celebrate with her. Paparazzi can’t get into her place—how about we meet there?”
Jiang Luo said, “Sounds good.”
Jiang Luo trusted Bai Qiu’s way of doing things. After hanging up, he contacted Fu Wei. Fu Wei owed him a favor, and after hearing Jiang Luo’s plan, he agreed without hesitation. Coincidentally, Fu Wei was also free the night after tomorrow and could meet up.
After hanging up, Jiang Luo was in a great mood. He hummed as he showered and went to bed. The next morning, Wenren Lian also found out about Jiang Luo’s bar appointment.
Wenren Lian’s eyes sparkled. He gently asked, “How about bringing me along?”
Jiang Luo winked at him suggestively, “Of course.”
Wenren Lian knew he’d misunderstood, but he didn’t explain. He simply returned a knowing smile and calmly sipped his tea.
Perhaps at the bar, he could use someone else’s flirtation with Jiang Luo to help Jiang Luo see clearly how he truly felt about Chi You.
If Jiang Luo rejected the approach of all men, remained unmoved by every man’s attempt to seduce him, yet only became intimate with Chi You—only made Chi You his lover—then wouldn’t just a few hints from him be enough to make it happen?
The only uncertainty was whether that malicious ghost’s temperament would even allow Jiang Luo to be courted by other men.
Maybe he could cooperate with Chi You…
