The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 266: The Final Waltz

Simultaneously with the star-studded brilliance of the National Grand Theatre in the capital, the night in Hengdian was completely monopolized by the film crew.

The once decadent and opulent retro district was now heavily guarded.

Neon signs still flickered, but their light and shadow could not penetrate the transformed "Paramount Ballroom."

This was no longer a dance floor; it had become an execution ground.

Cold barbed wire replaced velvet ropes, and fully armed Japanese military police with loaded weapons took the place of waiters holding champagne flutes.

The only things that remained unchanged were the mirror-smooth floor at the center of the dance floor and the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, refracting a sinister light.

The heavy door was violently pushed open from the outside.

Jiang Ci, portraying Shen Qingyuan, was dragged in, supported by two military policemen.

His expensive white suit had long been stained with blood and grime into unrecognizable rags.

Whip marks tore through the fabric, revealing lacerated flesh beneath.

His left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle,

and with every drag, a faint yet distinct sound of grinding bones could be heard.

"Kneel!"

The military policemen tried to force him to the ground, making him face his final judgment in the most humiliating posture.

Just as his knees were about to touch the icy floor, Jiang Ci's body defied the laws of inertia.

Using his fractured left ankle as a pivot, he executed a bizarre force-dispersing movement,

instantly disrupting the balance of the two military policemen behind him.

Instead, he used their forward momentum to "squeeze" himself free from their grip.

Leaning on his intact right leg, he staggered upright in a precarious, swaying stance.

Slowly lowering his head, he ignored the excruciating pain from his leg bone and the mocking or indifferent gazes around him.

He raised his hands, caked with dried blood,

and with trembling fingers, straightened his crooked bow tie.

Then, he raised his hand and gently brushed off a speck of nonexistent dust from his shoulder.

Every movement was slow and labored, yet carried a composure that seemed bone-deep.

This elegance in the face of death was more provocative than any furious roar.

A slow, deliberate sound of leather shoes clicking echoed.

Watanabe, portraying Major Takahashi, walked out from among the military police, swirling a glass of crimson liquid in his hand.

He stopped in front of Jiang Ci, admiring his own handiwork, his "masterpiece."

"The former top young master of Shanghai,"

Watanabe's Chinese carried a strange accent, full of mockery, "now, truly a beautiful dead dog."

With that, he flicked his wrist.

The red wine in the glass was splashed entirely onto Jiang Ci's face.

Jiang Ci remained motionless, letting the cold liquid trace the contours of his cheeks as it dripped down.

He extended his tongue and lightly licked the wine stain from the corner of his lips.

Then, he raised his head, his eyes blurred by bloodstains, and gazed calmly at Takahashi.

"What a pity."

A line of fluent Japanese, tinged with a Kyoto accent, escaped his chapped lips.

"Using a Lafite bottle to hold cheap stuff from Yamanashi Prefecture."

"Major Takahashi, it seems your time at the Material Strategic Reserve Department did not elevate your taste."

"A cuckoo occupying a magpie's nest is, after all, just a wild bird."

The mockery froze on Watanabe's face,

his fingers gripping the glass turning slightly white from the force,

the disdain in his eyes rapidly replaced by a sinister gloom.

Takahashi's rage was ignited.

But he didn't want to shoot this man so easily.

Physical death was too cheap; what he wanted was the complete destruction of his spirit.

"Men!" Takahashi waved a hand towards the band nearby. "Play music! Play the most cheerful waltz!"

The band dared not disobey. After a flurry of panicked preparation, a light, melodious waltz

absurdly filled the murderous execution ground.

Takahashi then pointed at the group of arrested, trembling progressive students huddled in the corner.

"Drag one out!"

A military policeman roughly dragged out a young girl from the crowd, her face already drained of color from terror.

Takahashi pointed at the girl, then at Jiang Ci.

"Mr. Shen, aren't you most skilled at dancing?"

"This is the last dance of your life. Don't disappoint me."

In the crowd, He Xiaoping (Gu Wanbai) stared intently at the man at the center of the dance floor.

She had always believed Shen Qingyuan was that traitor who had betrayed his beliefs for wealth and glory, a coward clinging to life.

But at this moment, the resilience and mockery deeply hidden in that man's eyes fiercely shattered her perception.

Dragging his broken leg, Jiang Ci performed a flawless invitation to dance for the girl trembling with fear.

He embraced her and stepped onto the dance floor.

Every turn, every step, was torture from the searing pain at the fracture site.

Yet the smile on his face grew increasingly gentle.

That smile was meant to soothe the fading life in his arms,

and also, through this absurd dance, to deliver the most merciless mockery to Takahashi.

One circle, then another.

Amidst the spinning, Jiang Ci's gaze pierced through the layered crowd, past the cold gun barrels and indifferent faces.

His line of sight met Gu Wanbai's within the crowd.

In that moment their eyes met, there were no lines.

Yet He Xiaoping felt pinned in place by that gaze.

There was too much in those eyes, a weight so heavy it stole her breath.

Her mind went blank. All her past hatred and contempt for this man

shattered completely at this moment, turning into silent ashes.

Takahashi finally lost all patience.

This cat-and-mouse game bored him.

He drew the pistol from his waist.

"Bang!"

The gunshot drowned out the final note of the waltz.

The girl in his arms went limp and collapsed into Jiang Ci's embrace.

Warm blood quickly seeped through, staining the last clean patch of his white dress shirt.

Jiang Ci showed no trace of panic.

Holding the girl, he slowly knelt on one knee.

He gently laid her on the floor, his movements so tender, as if placing a priceless treasure.

Only after doing this did he slowly raise his head.

He looked directly into the dark muzzle of Takahashi's gun.

On his battered face, a breathtaking smile suddenly bloomed.

"Takahashi, do you hear it?"

His voice was soft, yet it clearly pierced the ears of everyone present.

"This dance is dedicated to you."

That breathtaking smile on his face deepened,

his eyes filled with bone-chilling pity, as if looking at prey about to step into a trap yet unaware.

"This is not the finale of a waltz. This is... a prelude, a funeral march for you, and for all invaders."

Takahashi's pupils constricted. A sense of foreboding seized his heart.

Jiang Ci looked at him and, with lip movements only the two of them could clearly see,

silently uttered that codename—"Abyss."