The More Tragic I Act, the Stronger I Get — My Fans Beg Me to Stop Killing Off My Roles-Chapter 277: The Hegemon Marches Forth, His Edge Fully Revealed

The fourth day of his forced vacation.

Jiang Ci no longer wandered aimlessly around the courtyard like a lost, soulless ghost.

During breakfast, he calmly finished a bowl of plain congee.

Putting down the bowl, he made a request to Lin Wan sitting across from him.

"Sister Wan, I want to use the gym."

Lin Wan looked up, her gaze shifting away from the magazine in her hands to look at him.

After several days of forced rest, the sickly gloom that had clung to him from Shen Qingyuan had dissipated considerably.

Yet, the entire person still exuded a weak, scholarly air.

"The basement, open twenty-four hours," Lin Wan approved.

The professional level of the basement gym in Xishan Yihao Yuan was comparable to a national team training base.

Stepping inside, the crisp air immediately sharpened Jiang Ci's spirits.

He didn't head straight for the cold equipment, first spending half an hour warming up on the treadmill.

Then, he summoned the system panel.

【Physical Optimization LV1】.

This skill, in his past filming,

had mostly been used to cope with the physical exertion of fight scenes and running.

Jiang Ci's goal was clear.

He wanted, in the shortest time possible, to shed Shen Qingyuan's sickly thinness

and once again reclaim the spirit and vigor that belonged to Xiang Yu.

He walked towards the squat rack.

The weight on the barbell started at a number difficult for an ordinary person to bear, then continuously increased.

Sweat quickly soaked through his back, dripping down his jawline to strike the floor one drop at a time.

The sore, swollen feeling brought by lactic acid almost threatened to drown his will.

Yet, on Jiang Ci's face, not a trace of pain could be seen.

On the contrary, within this extreme physical torment,

his spirit, which had become scattered from idleness, was regaining its sharpness.

In the study on the second floor.

Lin Wan was quietly watching everything happening in the basement through the split-screen monitor on the wall.

On the screen, Jiang Ci was performing high-intensity deadlifts.

With each exertion, the muscle lines on his back tensed and bulged, outlining a startling silhouette.

He wasn't training for the visually aesthetic "bodybuilding" common in gyms.

Every movement of his training—bench press, pull-ups, rows… all pointed towards the most primitive explosive power and combativeness.

As his muscles engorged and swelled, that gentle, slow-moving youth who quietly drank congee at the dining table was disappearing.

A primal, aggressive sense of power belonging to a male creature was gradually emerging.

The night before the roadshow.

Lin Wan lifted the ban on the villa's home theater.

Jiang Ci walked in alone.

On the giant screen played nothing else but that classic masterpiece in Chinese cinematic history, *The Farewell My Concubine*.

When he saw Cheng Dieyi on the screen, face painted with heavy stage makeup,

shouting with maddened obsession, "Being off by a year, a month, a day, even an hour… none of that counts as a lifetime,"

not a single ripple appeared in Jiang Ci's eyes.

He was watching "Yu Ji," but thinking of the "Hegemon."

His gaze locked onto the Duan Xiaolou played by the veteran actor on screen, but his brow furrowed tighter and tighter.

The performance was near perfect, but that was the Hegemon within the "drama," the stylized embodiment on the Peking Opera stage.

What Jiang Ci sought was the "person" stripped of makeup, standing by the Wu River's edge, left with nothing but boundless desolation.

He was peeling away those formulaic performances, analyzing their core,

searching for a gait, center of gravity, and gaze belonging to a hero at his end that a modern audience could empathize with.

Finally, he turned off the video.

This was a final act of "spiritual synchronization."

He wanted his body to completely forget Shen Qingyuan and remember anew that Hegemon of ages past.

Early morning of the seventh day.

The first rays of sunlight pierced through the thin mist, shining into the courtyard.

Several black entourage vans came to a silent stop at the villa's entrance.

The country's top-tier celebrity styling team had arrived at Xishan Yihao Yuan.

What they brought were not the latest runway pieces from major luxury brands.

Instead, they were several suits of high-end custom tailoring, sealed within protective dust bags.

The cut of these suits was extremely sharp.

Within the industry, this style had earned a very fitting name.

"Thug Suits."

The chief stylist was a refined man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

He held a makeup brush, intending to perform an artistic creation on Jiang Ci's face.

In today's entertainment industry, the popular look is the flawless, delicate idol makeup.

"Teacher Jiang, your skin's base is excellent. We'll just brighten your complexion a bit, then draw in some aegyosal…"

Before he could finish, Jiang Ci raised a hand to stop him.

"Unnecessary."

"Just look sharp and spirited is enough."

The hairstylist took over the task.

He used hair gel to comb back and fix all of Jiang Ci's slightly long bangs.

When that full, smooth forehead was completely exposed to the air,

something sealed by that gentle exterior was utterly released.

That college student wearing linen loungewear, holding a teacup, appearing gentle and harmless… had completely vanished.

In the living room.

Sun Zhou was holding a cup of hot coffee, so nervous his palms were sweating.

He still hadn't dared to look Jiang Ci directly in the eye.

These past few days, Ci-ge seemed like a different person.

He even wondered if Ci-ge might have actually developed some psychological illness.

Just as his thoughts ran wild,

a series of heavy, powerful footsteps sounded from the spiral staircase on the second floor.

"Thud."

The sound carried the oppressive presence of a large predator, pacing unhurriedly into its own territory.

Sun Zhou subconsciously looked up.

With just one glance, the coffee cup in his hand trembled, spilling scalding liquid onto the back of his hand and his pants.

He remained completely unaware.

On the staircase, a man was slowly descending.

He wore a sharply tailored, pure black three-piece suit,

his tie impeccably knotted, accentuating his broad shoulders, long legs, and upright posture.

That face was clearly still Jiang Ci's face.

Yet the impression it gave was entirely of another person.

A sense of oppression tinged with the scent of blood washed over him.

Sun Zhou's pupils abruptly constricted, his mind going blank.

The coffee cup in his hand trembled,

scalding liquid splashing onto his pants,

yet he felt no pain whatsoever.

Because the impact of the person before him was far more violent than any burn.

The face was still Jiang Ci's face,

but the Ci-ge from a few days ago, who stared blankly at roses, exuding an aura of dejection, was utterly gone.

Sun Zhou's mouth hung open, his throat dry. After a long moment, he managed to squeeze out a stammering sentence:

"Ci… Ci-ge? You… you're not going to a roadshow, are you planning to reclaim the kingdom?"

Lin Wan put down the script she was polishing, looked her "creation" up and down, and finally revealed a satisfied smile.

"Good."

"This shell is sharp enough."

"You may march forth."

Jiang Ci descended the final step, giving a slight nod.

He walked to the sofa, picking up the long, pure black trench coat that had been prepared long ago.

With a flick of his wrist, the coat drew an arc through the air, settling steadily over his shoulders.