Feng Guang’s voice turned cold. “You don’t need to trouble yourself with this matter.”
“I never intended to trouble myself for you,” Yu Shu shrugged. “Xia Feng Guang, do you believe there are people in this world whose sixth sense is hundreds of times sharper than others? A sense so fast it transcends time and space, allowing glimpses of the future?”
“Yu Shu…” Feng Guang twitched her lips. “Don’t tell me you can see the future.”
“Want to bet on it? Our production won’t be able to start filming tomorrow.”
Feng Guang thought of An Yi. Her reply was curt and indifferent, “No bet.”
“What a pity,” Yu Shu said, his melancholic eyes betraying no regret. “Xia Feng Guang, you’re in great danger lately. Take care of yourself.”
“Are you going to tell me you’ve foreseen something bad happening to me?”
Yu Shu shook his head. “I can’t see it. It’s just a feeling that you’re in danger. Take care, or else the title of Best Actress, which puts you on par with me, will have to go to someone else. Sigh, how tragic. Beauty, like great generals, is doomed to fade before the world sees them grow old…”
As abruptly as he came, Yu Shu left with a shake of his head and a sigh, his departure just as puzzling as his arrival.
“Crazy,” Feng Guang muttered coldly.
Yet, as indifferent as she appeared outwardly, deep down she was gripped with fear. She had always thought Yu Shu was just a handsome but brainless man. To her surprise, he seemed to harbor many secrets. And she couldn’t deny it—his words had successfully unsettled her.
People are like that. It’s better to believe something exists than to dismiss it as nonexistent. When someone says you’re going to die, you might laugh it off. But when a second person says the same thing… fear takes root.
Especially when Yu Shu had mentioned the man who appeared outside her door every night—a man dressed in black, like a corpse… That “Mr. A.”
Feng Guang glanced down the empty hallway. She almost felt as if a pair of eyes were watching her. No longer daring to linger, she turned, took out her room key card, and entered her suite. As she stepped inside, she noticed an envelope tucked by the door.
Perhaps a staff member had slid the letter under the door, assuming no one was inside.
But what sent a chill down her spine was the white envelope itself—and the golden gypsophila seal on it.
That man again…
After standing frozen for a long time, Feng Guang finally remembered to lock the door. She hesitated to touch the letter, fear paralyzing her. Yet after deliberating, she bent down to pick it up, curiosity overriding her dread. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.
Feng Guang,
This might be the last letter I ever wrote to you. Do you think my handwriting has gotten uglier? Don’t mind it—I barely have the strength to hold a pen anymore.
I’ve received my critical condition notice. I was prepared for this outcome, so I don’t feel sad. I just feel… unwilling. If I’m destined to die, why did I have to meet you?
Feng Guang, this unwillingness is your fault. That day at the Moon Elder Shrine, you shouldn’t have crashed into my arms. If I hadn’t met you, I could have accepted this unfair fate more easily. But there are no “ifs.” I believe that even if I could do it all over again, I would still choose to meet you that day. The only difference is, I wouldn’t let you leave.
So, this is your fault. But I’ve fallen in love with this fault. In that sense, perhaps the mistake I’ve made is even greater than yours.
In this world, everything can be calculated—money, power, even love. But you… you are the one thing I can’t calculate. Because the moment I saw you, the rationality I once prided myself on completely collapsed.
For instance, I’ve thought more than once—if I truly die, I’d drag you down to hell with me.
Lucien On ABRWF Chapter 43.2