The black Maybach cruised through the traffic, its body reflecting the sunlight with sleek lines.

Inside the car, Qin Mingyuan sat in the backseat, his elbow resting on the window sill, his fingertips propped against his chin, gazing at the rapidly passing scenery outside.

He had just finished a lunch with a business partner, drinking two glasses of red wine, a faint scent of alcohol lingering on him. Perhaps because of the slight buzz, his sharp eyes appeared mistier, making him seem much gentler.

Even so, Zhou Yang, sitting in the passenger seat, didn’t dare to casually turn around and chat with his boss. He sat properly, only occasionally replying to work messages on his phone.

At an intersection ahead, the traffic light turned red, and the moving cars halted. Zhou Yang, his eyes downcast, focused on typing.

“Zhou Yang.”

His boss’s voice from behind made him jitter, his fingers trembling for fear of being misunderstood as slacking off. He opened his mouth to explain, “President Qin, I wasn’t…”

“What’s the schedule for the afternoon?” Qin Mingyuan didn’t care what he was about to say, his gaze still outside on a billboard.

Zhou Yang was startled by the sudden question but quickly responded, “There’s a meeting at four o’clock.”

Qin Mingyuan glanced at his watch, “Two hours, that should be enough.”

Zhou Yang was puzzled and was about to ask what was enough when he met his boss’s eyes in the rearview mirror and instinctively fell silent.

“After the intersection, find a place to stop.” Qin Mingyuan instructed without further explanation, returning his attention to the window.

The driver acknowledged and, as the light turned green, stepped on the gas, and the car slid forward.

The car stopped at a spot on the roadside, and Qin Mingyuan opened the door and stepped out, straightening the wrinkles caused by the drive. He turned to his assistant who was about to follow, “You go back to the company first, have the driver come pick me up later.”

“Ah?” Zhou Yang, who had pushed the door half-open, stopped mid-action, seeing his boss’s uncompromising face, he dared not ask where he was going and retracted back into the car.

Watching the Maybach drive away, Qin Mingyuan turned and walked towards the exhibition hall he had noticed earlier. The roadside billboard had specific information about the art exhibit, which included today, and would end at six o’clock.

Visiting art exhibits was one of Qin Mingyuan’s few hobbies, a habit developed with his grandfather.

Although he couldn’t paint, he always felt very peaceful when visiting art exhibits. It was a feeling that he found comforting.

Over time, whether in good mood or bad, he would seize any chance to visit. He would occasionally buy a few pieces that caught his eye.

As the elevator door “dinged” open, Qin Mingyuan stepped out, his black coat over his suit lifted slightly as he walked, making his tall figure quite eye-catching. Many onlookers glanced his way inadvertently. He had long been used to such attention and walked through the corridor to the exhibition entrance with an indifferent gaze.

Inside, the space was vast, with a very artistic decor style. The crowd was not small, yet it was very quiet, with conversations held in hushed tones.

Qin Mingyuan enjoyed this serene atmosphere, hands in his coat pockets, walking towards a wall, lifting his eyes to view the framed artworks.

A whole row of paintings hung on the wall; he examined them one by one, his steps gentle.

The exhibit featured works by newcomers; since they were not by the same artist, the styles varied. Some were abstract, some realistic, catering to different tastes.

Qin Mingyuan had no particular preference; he based his interest in paintings on first impressions, willing to spend more on those he liked and dismissing those he didn’t as mere waste paper.

Love it to the extreme, loathe it to the extreme—his grandfather had often said this was a flaw in his character. As a businessman, one should never reveal personal tastes to prevent opponents from exploiting them.

Later, he even learned to taste every dish twice at meals, always maintaining a bland expression, which greatly pleased his grandfather.

In fact, until his grandfather’s death, Qin Mingyuan had never changed; he had just learned one thing: to hide.

Keep unspeakable words to oneself, place undesired objects in one’s home, face disliked individuals without a change in expression, criticizing them harshly in his mind without showing a hint of it on his face.

“Hello, sir, are you interested in my painting?”

Perhaps he had drifted too deep into thought, having lingered too long in front of a painting. A young man in his late twenties approached him. His hair reached his neck and was slightly curly. He wore a camel jacket and ripped jeans, very stylish.

“I can talk to you about the inspiration and insights behind it.”

While speaking, Qin Mingyuan glanced at the painting in front of him—an abstract work with chaotic lines and shapes piled up, hardly artistic in his view, making his head spin, he frowned, “No need.”

He didn’t intend to engage further and walked away.

Artists at such exhibits, especially those without much fame, usually attended to gain exposure and possibly find buyers for their works.

Not all artists are aloof from worldly concerns; while chasing beauty and dreams, they must also consider how to survive, with artwork undoubtedly serving as the best merchandise. Meeting the right viewer might even fetch a better price.

The persistent young man followed Qin Mingyuan, clearly among those trying to make a sale, from head to toe exuding an air of affluence.

“This piece might be a bit hard to understand. I have other works in the exhibit; would you like to see them?” The young man felt his eye for people was as sharp as his eye for art; he should be able to strike a deal with this distinguished-looking man.

Qin Mingyuan stopped, the young man’s eyes brightened, but Qin Mingyuan didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall.

The painting was not complex; it depicted a small, pitch-black room, literally black, making him wonder if the artist had used an entire tube of black paint to create this dense effect.

In the middle of the blackness was a small window, light seeping in from the outside, casting a small patch of light on the floor, with lush tree shadows visible outside.

It was a painting with a stark contrast between light and dark, hung in an inconspicuous corner, possibly unnoticed by some passersby.

Seeing his gaze on another artist’s work, the young man followed his look and scoffed disdainfully, crossing his arms, “This painting’s concept seems ordinary, too plain, and the composition is not perfect. It must be an absolute beginner’s work…”

“You’re very noisy.” Qin Mingyuan finally gave him a look, clearly irritated, “Are you a product salesman?”

The young man paused, his expression contorted, clearly feeling insulted, his face turning sour as he walked away, muttering disdainfully, “Turns out he’s an art ignoramus!”

Qin Mingyuan didn’t care how angry he was, turning back to the painting, his eyes circling it several times, landing on the corner where it was signed: Si Yu.

It sounded like a woman’s name. He blinked slowly, curious about the mood in which the artist had created this painting.

“Do you like this painting?”

A voice beside him asked. Qin Mingyuan turned to see a woman in her thirties, dressed in a gray suit, standing a few steps away.

He didn’t speak, thinking she might be the artist of this painting, trying to sell him her work, just like the young man before, until his gaze dropped to the work badge on her chest.

The woman allowed him to assess her, smiling appropriately, “Would you like me to explain it a bit?”

Qin Mingyuan raised his eyebrows noncommittally, turning back to the painting.

Understanding his gesture, the woman stepped half a step closer, beginning, “Actually, very few people are interested in this painting. Its composition is too simple, and its concept is almost self-explanatory. Many guests who admire profound thoughts find little to appreciate in it, and although its meaning is beautiful, the imagery is too dim, the colors too monotonous; most people don’t like it.”

“Self-explanatory?” Qin Mingyuan tilted his head to look at her.

“Yes, the light in the darkness,” the woman pointed gently at the beam of light in the painting, “There’s light in the heart, and even in darkness, there is nothing to fear—that’s what most people think.”

Qin Mingyuan listened quietly to her finish, and for a rare moment, smiled slightly, “I think quite the opposite.”

Trapped in a pitch-dark, gloomy space, seeing light but unable to grasp it is more terrifying than having nothing at all.

“What?”

His voice was low, and the woman didn’t catch it, asking confusedly.

Qin Mingyuan didn’t explain further, his expression returning to calm, “I’d like to meet the artist of this painting.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman shook her head, “Si Yu has fully entrusted his works to the exhibit’s agents. He’s not here, you might not be able to meet him.”

Qin Mingyuan was a bit surprised; young, unknown artists usually cherished every opportunity. This indifference was quite rare, quite interesting, “Does the exhibit have any other works of hers?”

The woman shook her head again, apologetically, “Only this one.”

This time, Qin Mingyuan wasn’t surprised, nor particularly cared; it was just a casual inquiry, “Can this painting be purchased?”

The woman nodded with a smile, “Of course, would you like me to wrap it up for you now, or would you like to look at other works?”

“Wrap it up for now.” Qin Mingyuan checked his watch; it was just past three o’clock, plenty of time left. With an interesting acquisition, he was in a good mood.

The woman put on gloves, took down the painting for packaging, and he wandered around for another look, spotting the young man from before who seemed to have found someone who could “appreciate” art. They were deep in conversation.

Qin Mingyuan didn’t head that way, instead turning in another direction. His phone vibrated in his pocket at that moment, and he pulled it out.

Tsk, irritable, he licked his back teeth; it was that persistent protagonist again.

Pressing the answer button, his voice was colder than his face, “Hello.”

“Brother Mingyuan, I auditioned for Director Li’s film!” The person on the other end obviously didn’t sense his mood, sounding very excited.

If he hadn’t been selected, that would have been surprising. Qin Mingyuan sat down on a stylishly designed bench by the wall, replying calmly, “Congratulations.”

“It’s all thanks to you, Brother Mingyuan. If it weren’t for you, how could I have had the chance to audition for Director Li? I really appreciate it.” The young man’s voice was lively and cheerful, his gratitude genuine.

Qin Mingyuan’s face remained expressionless, mentally noting that the roles were set, and the protagonist would soon meet the male lead.

For him, it was a cause for celebration, but in the novel, it was a heartbreaking start for the original character.

Before he could say anything, Yun Yuexian continued, “I was going to invite you for a meal before, but I might not have time now. The production team is in a rush; I have to join the crew tomorrow, I’m really sorry.”

No need to be sorry; better to stay with the male lead in the crew and not come out. Qin Mingyuan’s gaze fell indifferently on the opposite painting, replying, “It’s okay, there will be other chances.”

“Brother Mingyuan…” After sharing the happy news, the person on the phone hesitated, pausing for a long time before saying, “My father mentioned…”

“Sir, your painting is ready. Shall we go to make the payment now?” The timely appearance of the staff member paused the voice on the phone, lifting Qin Mingyuan’s spirits. He replied without hesitation, “I’ve got something here, I’ll hang up first.”

Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and pocketed his phone.

Seeing his nod, the woman carrying the paper bag with the painting led him to make the payment.

Qin Mingyuan followed, hands in his pockets, contemplating that the meeting between the two protagonists should mark the formal unfolding of the book’s plot, and his presence as a side character would instantly diminish.

The original character had visited the filming set a few times during this shooting period, but to avoid rumors of Yun Yuexian being kept by a sugar daddy causing him trouble, he hadn’t even told him, just discreetly watched from a distance.

Thus, he had witnessed the interactions between the two protagonists, sensing something that had darkened his mood for a long time.

Hopelessly stupid, Qin Mingyuan scoffed at the notion, only wanting to use this opportunity to completely distance himself from others.