Chapter 14 Part 2

He snapped photos and sent them to the curating senior.

[Zhu Ran]: I saw that series. It’s in a private art museum on Hong Kong Island.

[Chen Yixin]: Wow! What a coincidence—that’s fate!

[Zhu Ran]: I can’t believe it either.

[Chen Yixin]: Maybe it’s destiny. You’ll definitely keep doing photography.

Zhu Ran was silent for a while before replying: Maybe.

This time, his refusal wasn’t as firm as it had been on the island.

They continued browsing the second-floor galleries. On a small display nearby sat two shriveled orange peels.

“What are you looking at?” Song Xingchen had walked past but came back when he saw Zhu Ran stopped. “Is this an exhibit too? I thought it was trash someone threw. Smells kinda nice though. Could it be exhibited Xinhui Chenpi?”

Zhu Ran shook his head. “This should be a modern art installation.”

“Art installation?” Song Xingchen stared at the two orange peels again, shaking his head regretfully. “Still don’t get it. Contemporary art is going further and further down the abstract path.”

Zhu Ran explained to him, “Look at the state of this orange. The flesh has been scooped out, leaving just the peel. Then someone sewed the peel back together with thread, pretending it’s a whole orange again.”

Song Xingchen: “I see that, but why do it?”

“Even though the artist tried hard to disguise and repair it, we can all tell this sewn-up shell is no longer an orange.” Zhu Ran paused here for a moment before continuing, “It’s like people’s experiences. The harm might be in the past, but the effects never disappear. No matter how hard we try to mend it, we’re just maintaining a facade of calm.”

“Oh, so that’s it…” Song Xingchen finally got it and sighed. “The artist is impressive, expressing such a profound truth with just two oranges.”

Zhu Ran: “But that’s just my interpretation. The artist might’ve meant something else.”

Song Xingchen: “I think you make a lot of sense. What do you think, Boss Huo?”

Huo Boyan was quiet for a moment, his gaze falling on Zhu Ran’s back through his glasses before he nodded. “I agree. Very enlightening.”

This area was full of installation art. On the way downstairs, they passed a staircase covered in red threads. Countless red lines stuck to the walls wove into a dense net, with little human figures hanging from it like a spider’s hunt.

“So shocking,” Song Xingchen said. “Perfect for a horror game boss map.”

Below the red lines was a semi-open art space that felt like part of the same piece, but it was completely empty.

“What’s this one?” Song Xingchen wondered.

Zhu Ran didn’t answer. He walked straight into the empty space.

It turned out to be an installation: once someone entered the designated area, it triggered numerous red beams. Like the physical red lines binding the figures on the wall, these beams restrained the body from every angle.

Zhu Ran stood in the center in his white shirt and black pants, his body pierced and bound by the red lines. His cheeks, neck, back, chest, waist, legs, hips—even his slender wrists—were covered in traces. The lines flowed over him, inescapable no matter where he moved.

The scene was eerily terrifying, yet it held a strange beauty that reminded Song Xingchen of horror game scenes he’d played.

He wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but when he looked up, he saw Huo Boyan’s gaze locked firmly on Zhu Ran, as if those red lines came from his eyes.

Song Xingchen instinctively sensed danger and didn’t say a word. When Zhu Ran emerged, he casually remarked, “What an amazing installation.”

Zhu Ran seemed still immersed in the moment’s emotions. He lowered his long, thick lashes and took a while before murmuring an “mm.”

Huo Boyan said nothing, just muttered about going to the restroom and hurried off.

Song Xingchen didn’t want to stay with Huo Boyan anymore—the mature adult gave him too much pressure. Plus, he felt Huo Boyan’s gaze earlier was off. He asked Zhu Ran, “Can we head out first?”

Zhu Ran was thinking the same thing. They sneaked away together.

The later exhibits were quite grotesque: they passed animal corpses in formalin, a sculpture of a body with multiple heads. Song Xingchen marveled as they went, still complaining to Zhu Ran on the way out.

“This counts as art? Way too perverted.” Song Xingchen paused, then added, “But you’d definitely like it.”

Zhu Ran: “I do like it, but I’m not that perverted.”

Song Xingchen smugly: “See? You admit you’re perverted.”

Zhu Ran was speechless. “I meant the curator is perverted.”

“Who’s perverted?” A mild, low voice rang out. Huo Boyan had appeared at the door at some point.

“…No one.” Zhu Ran inexplicably felt guilty.

Huo Boyan raised a brow. “You said the curator is a pervert?”

Zhu Ran suddenly remembered the source of these tickets, and how Huo Boyan and Huo Junlin had shown up out of nowhere. He probed, “You wouldn’t happen to know the curator, would you?”

In the evening light, the soft sunset bathed the plaza in front of the art museum. Huo Boyan stood with the light behind him, smiling faintly at Zhu Ran. “I am the curator.”

Zhu Ran: “…”

“Song Xingchen,” Zhu Ran’s face suddenly changed as he said seriously, “Can you stop spreading rumors that the curator is a pervert? He collected all these precious artworks and kindly let us in for free. Not thanking him is one thing, but calling him a pervert?”

Song Xingchen: ???