The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 272: A Final Farewell Within the Same Time and Space

That Weibo post from Director Hou landed like a thunderbolt dropped into the midnight sea of emotions.

The hand clutching a shattered wineglass, a mix of wine and blood,

was a painting of ruin and self-destruction, branding itself onto the hearts of everyone who saw it.

"My god… is that hand actually bleeding?!"

"Zoom in! The knuckles are taut, the skin has gone white from the force, the places where the glass cut through have flesh turned inside out, you can feel the pain seeping out of the screen!"

"That line from Director Hou, 'then you better not watch the ending,' is that an outright provocation to us?!"

"I have a feeling Shen Qingyuan's ending is going to be a thousand times more brutal than anything we imagined."

Malicious curiosity and masochistic craving fermented across the internet like a virus.

Bilibili, the paradise of fan-made edits, was overnight baptized in the blood of The Lurker.

Countless montage masters sprang into action. Relying only on the few shattered behind-the-scenes clips officially released and that single "bloody hand" photo,

they ground out innumerable versions of "love, hate, and betrayal."

In the "Sickly Warlord x Fallen Heiress" edit, Shen Qingyuan becomes the man who appears gentle as jade,

but in truth treats his lover like a canary, breaking every feather just to possess her exclusively in paranoid obsession.

In the "Undercover Agent x Patriotic Student" montage, he becomes the man walking on a blade's edge,

forced by belief to push away his beloved with his own hands, nursing wounds alone through countless nights—the lonely brave one.

Every video's bullet comments were spammed with "stabbed me to death" and "not enough, give me more."

The Lurker, a film not yet released, saw its hype pushed to a new pinnacle.

Viewers formed a pathological consensus: knowing it's a blade, they deliberately throw themselves at it.

They couldn't wait to see how Director Hou and Jiang Ci would personally tear apart this happiness built to perfection.

All the outside clamor had nothing to do with the set.

Three days later, on the outskirts of Hengdian, an old church rented by the crew lay so quiet it had no sound.

The Lurker's final key scene was being prepared here.

Gu Wanbai's wedding.

The church had been decorated to a holy, magnificent degree.

Hundreds, even thousands of pure white roses stretched from the entrance all the way to the altar.

Beneath stained glass windows, the choir boys stood in white robes, solemn and silent, waiting.

But this ultimate celebration, to every crew member who knew the ending, looked unbearably desolate.

It was a grand funeral.

Burying the last of a girl's love and innocence.

Behind the monitors, Director Hou was speaking softly with an actor.

The actor was in a suit, slightly plump, wearing an honest, simple smile and nervously rubbing his hands.

He was the "groom" in this wedding scene.

A good man from a well-off, respectable family.

Director Hou had chosen him because of his ordinariness.

That ordinariness formed the cruellest contrast to Shen Qingyuan's astonishing brilliance and dangerous charm.

He represented the safest future Gu Wanbai could choose after her heart had died.

And that very safety was a form of slow torture.

In the makeup room, He Xiaoping sat before the mirror in a pristine white wedding gown.

Her makeup was flawless, the veil cascading like a waterfall.

But the eyes she looked back at herself with in the mirror were a wasteland drained of all feeling.

The woman in the mirror was beautiful, but soulless.

She had become Gu Wanbai.

There is no sorrow greater than a heart turned to stone.

At the other end of the church, near the entrance in the shadows,

Jiang Ci wore an unremarkable gray trench coat and a low baseball cap, blending in with the extras.

He reined in every ounce of presence, slightly hunched, looking like a passerby who'd come to watch a spectacle.

Before the take, Director Hou pulled He Xiaoping and Jiang Ci aside.

The directions were simple, yet demanding to the point of perversity.

"Shen Qingyuan must not be noticed, he can only watch."

"Gu Wanbai must not turn back, she must only move forward."

"You are in the same space, yet you must exist in two worlds. What I want is a complete parting within the same time and space."

He Xiaoping nodded.

Jiang Ci gave a slight "hm."

The clapperboard dropped, and the wedding march began to play slowly.

At the altar, the honest, dependable groom's face radiated sincere happiness.

The heavy wooden doors were pushed open.

He Xiaoping, arm linked with the old actor playing her father, stepped onto the aisle strewn with white roses, one step at a time.

Her steps were steady; a deliberately calibrated faint smile graced her lips.

But that smile did not reach her eyes.

She was acting the part of a happy bride.

Performing it for everyone present.

Performing it for the love she had buried dead.

From the shadowed last row of the church, Jiang Ci lifted his head.

His gaze passed over the crowd and landed on that slender figure wrapped in white veil.

There had been a time when this girl's eyes were full of him.

She would blush at his sweet words; a bouquet of wildflowers from him would make her pulse quicken.

Now she was walking toward another man, about to say "I do" to him.

He watched her take each step into a secure future where he had no place.

Regret swelled to full.

This was the price he had chosen to pay.

He had pushed her away with his own hands; now all he could be was a bystander, witnessing her happiness.

[From photographer's assistant Wang Fang, Heartbreak Value +12]

[From lighting technician Li Ting, Heartbreak Value +15]

…

On the system panel, scattered Heartbreak Value numbers began to tick upward.

They were the onlookers' sighs for this silent farewell.

He Xiaoping reached the altar.

The old actor solemnly placed her hand into the groom's.

The groom gripped her hand; his palm was warm and solid.

He offered her a smile that could reassure any woman.

He Xiaoping smiled back with a perfect arc.

They turned together to face the priest.

The solemn benediction echoed through the church.

Shen Qingyuan, as played by Jiang Ci, stood in the shadows.

He watched that figure, so near yet so distant, until his eyes ached.

At last the priest closed the Bible and asked the question that decides fate.

"Groom, do you take—"

The groom, unable to contain himself, answered loudly, "I do!"

A ripple of approving laughter ran through the crowd.

The priest smiled and turned to the bride.

"Then, Miss Gu Wanbai, do you—"

At that precise moment,

the church's silence was pierced by a sharp "creak."

The wooden door that should have been firmly closed, whether pushed by a stray draft

or because the hinge had finally given out, slowly opened a narrow slit.

A shaft of blinding afternoon sunlight streamed through the door crack.

The beam cut through the dimness, passed over every guest,

and landed squarely on the pure white hem of He Xiaoping's gown before the altar.

Her body stiffened all at once.

She didn't hear another word from behind the priest.

Every sense was seized by that grinding hinge and the abrupt light.

She froze mid-motion.

An instinct, raw and irresistible, erupted from the depths of her soul.

To turn back.

She wanted to turn back.

The love that had been forcibly suppressed by reason and mercilessly buried by reality

rose in one final, desperate revolt, stirred by this single shaft of light.

She subconsciously tried to glance back once.