The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 273: Is the Overlord Returning?
Time stretched infinitely in that moment.
He Xiaoping's body stiffened like a sculpture.
That untimely groan of the door hinge, that beam of light tearing through the church's gloom, nailed her firmly in place.
The priest's inquiry still echoed in her ears, yet it felt distant and muffled, as if separated by a thick layer of water.
Behind the monitor, Hou Hsiao-hsien remained silent.
All camera angles unanimously abandoned the grand narrative, their lenses locking onto He Xiaoping's face.
They aimed to capture every minute tremor of her muscles, to capture that struggle, hope, and final madness suppressed to the extreme, yet on the verge of eruption.
The groom standing opposite her, that honest, portly merchant, had his joyful expression frozen.
He felt the hand he was holding growing cold and trembling uncontrollably.
"Wanbai?" He called out softly, instinctively.
This single word became the final wave that shattered her defenses.
He Xiaoping's body trembled uncontrollably.
She abruptly closed her eyes. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
That wildfire of desire to look back was strangled in her heart with all her willpower.
She couldn't look back.
Gu Wanbai was already dead.
She died the moment she personally offered that birthday cake, only for him to heartlessly throw it to the wolfhound.
What stood here now was merely an empty shell named Gu Wanbai, who needed marriage to secure a stable life in her remaining years.
A single scalding tear escaped from the corner of her tightly shut eye.
It traced a path down her exquisite makeup and fell onto the pure white veil, blooming into a small, damp stain.
Then, she opened her eyes.
In those eyes that had just weathered a soul-shattering tsunami, all storms had subsided, leaving only a profound stillness.
She lifted her head, facing the ordinary man before her who could offer stability, and forced a nearly flawless, bridal smile.
"I do."
Three words, clear, steady, without a trace of hesitation.
The voice echoed in the empty church, tolling the final death knell for this grand funeral.
In the shadows of the church's last row.
Jiang Ci's gaze never wavered.
When those three words pierced through the crowd and landed clearly in his ears,
his body, which had been tense all along, finally relaxed a fraction.
It was a profound relief that came from shedding all burdens.
She was safe.
She was finally safe.
This girl he had protected with everything he had had finally found a harbor to shelter her from the storm.
A stable future without conspiracies, without bloodshed, and without him.
He raised his hand, intending to adjust the brim of his hat that was pressed too low.
The moment his fingertips touched the brim, he realized his fingers were trembling slightly, disobeying his command.
In the end, he made no sound, nor did he cast another glance.
He turned, walked against the intrusive light from the doorway, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped out.
The lead cinematographer instinctively split a lens to follow that departing figure.
Amidst the suddenly erupting blessings and applause within the church, amidst the holy wedding march,
that figure in a gray trench coat, with a slightly hunched posture, seemed so out of place.
Yet it held an indescribable, tragic nobility.
In the spot he left, on the corner of that long bench, something remained.
Not some valuable gift.
Just a small piece of paper, repeatedly folded, its edges worn fuzzy from handling, tinged with the yellow of age.
Half of an old theater ticket.
...
The wedding was over.
The guests gradually dispersed, wearing satisfied smiles, discussing the bride's beauty and the groom's good fortune.
He Xiaoping changed out of the cumbersome wedding dress and back into her own plain clothes.
She followed behind her "new husband" and "father," preparing to leave.
As she passed the last row of the church, pulled by an invisible thread, she stopped as if possessed.
Her gaze fell upon that empty long bench.
That half of an old theater ticket, stained by time, lay there quietly.
She walked over, bent down, and picked it up.
When her fingertips touched the familiar rough surface of the paper, when she saw the name of the play—long since carved into her bones—
an agony she had forcibly buried throughout the entire scene erupted at this moment like a volcano, breaching all her rational dams.
She didn't cry out.
She just held that half of a small theater ticket, as if holding her entire dismembered youth.
Then, silently, slowly, she crouched down.
She buried her face deep into her knees,
her whole body curled into a ball, her shoulders shaking violently,
suppressed sobs wrenching from her throat.
"Cut!"
Hou Hsiao-hsien's voice, hoarse and distorted, finally rang out across the film set.
This was the final "Cut!" for the entire production of *The Lurker*.
This time, there were no cheers for wrapping.
In the church, all crew members, regardless of rank, had reddened eyes.
They watched quietly as that figure curled on the ground, crying until her whole body trembled, immersed in a vast, inexpressible sense of regret, unable to extricate themselves.
The church door was pushed open again.
Jiang Ci walked back in from outside.
He took off his hat and took a deep breath of the fresh air outside the church.
Shen Qingyuan's life had ended.
His mission was also complete.
Hearing the movement, He Xiaoping slowly looked up.
She stood up, tear stains still on her face, and walked step by step to Jiang Ci.
This time, her eyes held no fear or rejection, only a calmness and clarity born from experiencing the extremes of joy and sorrow.
Under Jiang Ci's astonished gaze, He Xiaoping opened her arms and hugged him tightly.
This was an actor's deepest respect for another actor.
She whispered into his ear, in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"Thank you, Jiang Ci."
"Thank you for giving Gu Wanbai the best love, and for giving her... the most painful ending."
...
The film *The Lurker* finally drew to a close after nearly three months of shooting.
The wrap party was simple, held at an ordinary restaurant near Hengdian.
Hou Hsiao-hsien remained taciturn as ever, but for the first time, he took the initiative to toast Jiang Ci with a glass of wine.
At the banquet, Zhao Zhen and Chen Mo looked at Jiang Ci with complex expressions, seeming to have something to say but hesitating.
In this film, they had vividly portrayed two lackeys that made people grit their teeth in hatred, their acting recognized by the "tyrant," yet a shadow had always hung over their hearts.
"Ci-ge, do you think once the movie is released, I'll be completely done for in the love department?"
Zhao Zhen said with a bitter face, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a joke.
Chen Mo adjusted his glasses and, unusually, chimed in, "We might get eggs thrown at us on the street."
Jiang Ci ignored their banter. He ate quickly.
Lin Wan had already booked him a direct flight to the capital for tonight; he had no time to linger here in melancholy.
The nationwide promotional tour for *The Legend of Han and Chu* was about to begin.
The Hegemon was about to return.
