Chapter 29: Li Kuan

“……”

Chu Susu neither confirmed nor denied it. She merely revealed a faint mocking smile, her gaze circling the “evidence” pinched in Xia Zilu’s hand. She didn’t show the great shock or outright disbelief that Xia Zilu had expected.

She just looked over so calmly, inexplicably making Xia Zilu tense up as a sudden cold sweat broke out over her.

But right after, Xia Zilu remembered that this time, she wasn’t talking nonsense or making a fuss without reason—she had solid evidence in hand. So she straightened her back, brimming with confidence as she cast aside all her guilt.

She wasn’t lying! She had specially hired someone to tail and photograph that Han Xuan woman, even investigating her past background. Xia Zilu could guarantee it was all real, with photos as proof!

If you dare to do it, don’t be afraid of it being exposed!

People came and went through the women’s restroom, and quite a few cast curious glances at the two of them standing there.

“I have evidence.”

Xia Zilu pushed open the emergency exit door and glanced back, waving the stack of photos clutched in her hand. She couldn’t wait to show it all to Chu Susu:

“Come over, I’ll show you.”

Word had gotten out that there was an authentic Manet on display today, drawing crowds who rushed to see it. They clustered around the painting, admiring the unique texture and feel of the pigments left behind over a century ago, itching to reach out and touch it to be satisfied.

In the crowd at the back, a black figure hurried past, not sparing even a single glance at the painting everyone was clamoring toward.

Amid the congestion, it seemed someone was tailing the hem of that skirt. Even after being shaken off several times, they persistently chased after again.

Like a starving mad hound spotting a juicy slab of fatty meat, drooling uncontrollably and refusing to give up the pursuit no matter what.

The venue was circular, and after going around once, she quickly reached the end, about to loop back to the start.

In stark contrast to the sea of people, the final few photos at the tail end were completely ignored. After all, with a genuine Manet here, who would bother snapping pics of other paintings?

Han Xuan’s footsteps slowed to a stop here, the sound of her black boot heels tapping against the floor echoing through the space.

In the moment she turned her head, it was just like an oiled paper umbrella spinning lightly, her skirt flaring into a round shape.

The light shone down from above, casting shadows over the left half of her body, perfectly covering the eyepatch over her left eye.

Han Xuan looked at the person about three meters ahead: “Something wrong?”

It was a tall, burly man in the venue’s security uniform. He frowned as he sized up Han Xuan and strode closer: “Miss, I’m staff here. Could you please remove your eyepatch?”

“Oh? Why?” Han Xuan asked softly.

“Sorry, just standard security procedure.”

Han Xuan tilted her head, her glossy lips curving into an innocent smile: “Oh? Do you suspect I’m hiding a painting in my eyepatch to steal it?”

But in reality, that was impossible.

“Sorry, miss. Just standard procedure.”

No matter what she said, the security guard just kept repeating the same rote lines.

A few passersby who saw the scene couldn’t help whispering: “So weird, why check an eyepatch?”

“Yeah, eyepatches are either for disabilities or illness. This is too much.”

“Even if there’s no disability and she just wants to wear it, how does that relate to the exhibition’s safety? Forcing her to take it off for inspection—what’s the thinking there…”

But no matter how the onlookers pointed and gossiped, the security guard remained unmoved, like a wooden puppet endlessly repeating—

“Please remove your eyepatch.”

Han Xuan stood there silently, utterly isolated and helpless, the very picture of a pitiful girl being bullied.

She forced a smile at the people nearby: “It’s fine. The security brother is just doing his job. I’ll take it off.”

What a kind girl. The passersby watched with righteous indignation but could do nothing, leaving soon after.

Han Xuan turned her head to the side, untying the eyepatch ribbon from behind her ear. It fluttered in the air like a black butterfly with broken wings, fragile yet beautiful.

That left eye, finally exposed, stared quietly at him from the shadows:

“Come on.”

The security guard stepped forward, and Han Xuan obligingly brushed aside the hair on both sides, letting him lean in close to inspect.

After a careful check, he asked, “Miss, you don’t have any eye disability or illness, so why wear an eyepatch? Doesn’t it affect your walking?”

People accustomed to binocular vision would easily lose balance and fall if suddenly deprived of one eye’s sight while walking.

Yet this young lady before him showed no such issue; her gait earlier had been no different from a normal person’s.

Han Xuan kept her hand raised, brushing her hair, perfectly blocking the view of anyone passing by. In a low voice, she repeated his question:

“Yeah, why is that?”

Her left eye didn’t so much as blink before suddenly rotating gently.

The security guard met her gaze, and in an instant, he blanked out. Involuntarily, he lifted his head, his eyes glued to that pupil, unable to look away.

“Why do you think?”

All he could see was a viscous black like ink, but deep within, there seemed to be a faint unusual color. Then, like molecules rapidly diffusing in scalding water, it spread wider and wider, erupting uncontrollably.

Han Xuan’s entire left eye filled with smoky purple, the round pupil morphing into another shape, emanating a ghostly glow that illuminated the security guard’s face—as if the next moment, it would swallow him whole.

“Tell me, why?”

She asked softly once more, her upturned lips like a scythe dripping scarlet blood beads, hovering over his neck.

The security guard’s eyes lost focus, standing blankly like a wooden chicken. Soon, like a robot booting up a program, he spoke:

“Because you… have a stye.”

At some point, an imperceptible trace of purple had tainted his pupils too.

Han Xuan’s voice remained flat and unchanged, yet it whispered like a murmur from the depths of hell, bypassing his eardrums to nail straight into his marrow.

“Then tell me, who sent you here?”

These scent-tracking mad dogs—she’d tear them all apart.

The security guard blankly uttered something. Then Han Xuan’s lips curved faintly as she turned her head again, refastening the eyepatch.

The dimples on her cheeks remained as pure and innocent as ever, showing no abnormality.

“Is the inspection done?” she asked timidly. “I want to go back and keep viewing the exhibition…”

The security guard, who had been so aggressive moments ago, suddenly turned subservient like an obedient servant, even using polite honorifics:

“No issues. Sorry for holding you up, miss. Hope your stye heals soon.”

Passersby shot puzzled looks at the security guard: “Seriously don’t get it—what’s there to check about an eyepatch?”

“Yeah, the exhibition time is so limited—who’s to blame for the delay?”

Inside the emergency stairwell, Xia Zilu pulled the photos from the manila envelope, spreading them one by one before Chu Susu.

“This was a few days ago. She came out of a pet shop and got into another person’s car. You should know how much that car costs.”

A seven-figure white Porsche, an uncommon model, impeccably maintained. In the photo, Han Xuan was pulling open the passenger door, about to get in.

“She was with the person in the car.”

From a side-rear angle, Han Xuan and the driver turned to talk.

It was a long-haired woman—her face not visible, but her poise suggested striking beauty. Her fair arm draped lazily over the steering wheel.

“They…” Xia Zilu pulled out the third photo.

The woman leaned over, and Han Xuan leaned in too, their figures overlapping.

Gotta say, the photographer she hired had good skills. From behind, it looked just like the woman burying her head in Han Xuan’s neck—utterly ambiguous.

“See what she’s holding.”

It was a bank card, pinched between Han Xuan’s fingertips and lightly dangled—captured perfectly.

“Mm.” Chu Susu looked them over seriously before countering, “So?”

Xia Zilu froze. This wasn’t the reaction she’d imagined at all. Shouldn’t Chu Susu be shocked and furious?

“So… she’s already seeing someone else.” She hammered the words. “You saw the car too—this isn’t being kept, what is it?”

Chu Susu let go, allowing the photo to flutter to the ground: “Why can’t it be a ride-share she called?”

Who the hell drives a Porsche as a ride-share driver? Xia Zilu’s chest tightened. She couldn’t understand why Chu Susu wouldn’t believe such obvious evidence right in front of her.

“Then how do you explain the bank card? Clearly given to her by the other woman.”

“Couldn’t it be her own card?”

What kind of bewitching potion had that vixen Han Xuan fed Chu Susu?! Xia Zilu nearly lost control of her emotions, but luckily, she had more ammo.

“Look at this.”

The last few photos remained in the manila envelope. With her rhinestone-studded manicured hand, she yanked them out viciously, spreading them one by one for Chu Susu.

“She started hanging out with this woman back when she was in high school,” Xia Zilu said through gritted teeth. “Look, the license plate number is the same.”

This time, the photo was very low resolution, clearly snapped on a phone and then printed out.

The background showed the entrance to a secondary school, with a car parked not far away. The make was indistinct, but the license plate numbers were flashy as hell, ending in 666—easy to spot and screaming that the owner was filthy rich or some big shot.

It matched that Porsche from before.

Beside the car stood a side profile of a girl with a backpack and a ponytail. Though her features were much more immature than now, it was unmistakably Han Xuan from her high school days.

“All her high school classmates knew about this. They’re the ones who took these photos,” Xia Zilu said smugly. “Someone who’s been twisted from a young age—you’d better look closely.”

Photos were scattered across the floor. Chu Susu glanced down and spotted that one again, the overlapping figures of the two. It was as if she could see right through it: that woman kissing and sucking at Han Xuan’s neck, leaving one red strawberry mark after another…

Wait, strawberry marks?

Chu Susu’s brows furrowed quietly. In a flash, she remembered that video call with Han Xuan the other day—the intriguing little red mark she’d spotted on her neck.

The photo on the floor had a date stamped in the bottom right corner.

That string of numbers matched the video call exactly—same day.