Chapter 17: Hunter

Chi Lanyi finally snapped back to attention. He looked down at the mentors and hurriedly smiled: “I… this is the only kind of expression I know.”

As he spoke, he zoomed in on the photo, wanting to explain the content of his mood board haltingly. At the spot he magnified, a piece of polyester had its edge burned till it curled and hardened, like the scab of a wound.

This kind of scorching required very precise technique; too heavy, and the material would be ruined; too light, and it would have no effect. Within the entire grade, only Chi Lanyi possessed this technique. Chi Lanyi wanted to start explaining from this polyester, but one mentor interrupted him.

“I see a very strong… tug-of-war of emotions with humidity. It’s cold lines in damp air, and a sense of order struggling to be maintained despite the invasion of rainy days. Your expression is exceptionally excellent. At 19, I definitely couldn’t reach this level.”

Chi Lanyi paused, unsure if this was praise. Another mentor asked him: “What are those eyes?”

In another corner of the mood board, a pair of eyes was obscured by blue flames and silk ruffles simulating rain—yet even so, it stared coldly at the outside world.

Upon seeing those eyes, Chi Lanyi trembled for a second. He knew very well who the owner of those eyes was.

Chi Lanyi hastily lowered his head: “It is a kind of gaze… it’s the most strongly felt motif I’ve experienced recently. Fashion allows us to gain power in being watched…”

“…Extremely delicate yet repressed, professional cutting, innovative techniques, the romantic elegance of decadence… It’s very good.” Someone praised.

Chi Lanyi was interrupted again. He was a bit bewildered, suddenly realizing these people seemed not to care at all about what he was saying.

One mentor spoke intensely: “But it’s too personal, too chaotic; there’s absolutely no way for it to enter a systematic brand narrative! What do you think is good about it?”

Chi Lanyi wanted to explain further, but the mentor who had just praised him spoke first: “But it’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anyone express passion and pathology so darkly yet poetically, so repressed yet sexily. Look at the way he handles lines, the way he handles color transitions… that proficiency and naturalness cannot be taught; it’s entirely the trace of genius.”

Chi Lanyi stopped talking.

He watched like a bystander as those two people argued over him, back and forth. One person retorted: “But the art academy isn’t a psych ward! We want designers, not self-immolators.”

The other jeered: “Are you jealous of him?”

“Me, jealous? I’m trying to save him! If you let him continue in this direction, he’ll destroy himself within half a year!” That person slammed the table, “You’re the one indulging him, the one who will destroy him!”

“Stop!”

Someone rapped the table to end the argument.

“All of your debates prove one thing—it can make a group of harsh people like you argue to this extent. This piece is immensely valuable. Today, we’ve seen presentations from four students, and he is the only one who has caused such intense disagreement among us.”

The gray-eyed mentor looked at Chi Lanyi: “Chi, you heard them too. They think you’re a knife—sharp, dangerous, hard to handle. Some also think you’re a genius—extreme but beautiful. Do you have anything you want to explain?”

Chi Lanyi watched them, red-faced and panting, like an outsider.

Now, they finally let Chi Lanyi speak. But Chi Lanyi, for some reason, felt deeply exhausted: “…I have nothing to say. I just drew. It’s all on the mood board.”

He had displayed all his ability on the mood board. What more could he say? And just moments ago, when Chi Lanyi wanted to speak, these people wouldn’t even let him open his mouth.

So, Chi Lanyi wanted to explain nothing more—perhaps these people had no ears, but they at least had eyes, didn’t they?

Moreover, Chi Lanyi didn’t want to change a thing. If in the very beginning, Chi Lanyi truly had looked forward to their feedback, after hearing that marketplace-like quarrel, Chi Lanyi no longer held any expectations.

He knew he had talent; he didn’t need their mediocre evaluations, Chi Lanyi thought to himself.

Several more rounds of discussion ensued, without Chi Lanyi’s participation. The gray-eyed mentor summarized: “Your mood board has passed the first round. But you need to learn how to further organize this chaos into a communicable language.”

He paused, then added: “Your pain has been seen by us. You possess a very rare talent… but it can also consume you. You must learn how to control yourself rationally, learn to express, learn to interact normally with people, and to listen to what others are saying.”

Chi Lanyi stared blankly at that mentor, suddenly finding the world absurd—these people argued back and forth about a discussion that didn’t include him, and in the end, they started attacking his personality?

What were they all talking about? Was what these people were arguing about his work, or the right to define him? Or was there no “him” in this argument at all—were these people just fighting over their own right to speak?

“Otherwise, no matter how talented you are, to the industry, you will still be utterly worthless. No one will think you’re a genius; you’ll just be a piece of scrap.”

Chi Lanyi’s face abruptly turned ugly, as if these people had finally poked his reverse scale, to the point he could bear it no longer. He reached out and unplugged the cable connecting his laptop to the big screen. Looking up coldly, he said: “Are you all finished now? If what follows are more personal attacks against me, can I leave?”

The few mentors were dumbfounded—they hadn’t expected such a quiet and introverted student to suddenly display this sharp aggressiveness. The mentor who had originally disliked Chi Lanyi was directly provoked: “What kind of attitude is that?!”

Chi Lanyi acted as if he hadn’t heard. That mentor, seeing Chi Lanyi’s impassiveness, shouted: “What, do you think you’re some super genius? Or a famous designer? You’re only a sophomore, I’m telling you, at your age, even designers who go down in history had to listen to other people’s opinions…”

Chi Lanyi frowned. He wanted to say something. But that mentor continued: “If you don’t even have this basic resilience, I suggest you drop out and go home right now. The fashion world doesn’t need big babies.”

Bang.

A string in Chi Lanyi’s mind seemed to snap.

By the time he came to his senses, he was already hugging his laptop and had dashed out of the lecture hall. This incident scared the three students waiting outside—and also frightened the mentors inside the lecture hall. A female mentor murmured, “Good heavens…”

Chi Lanyi fled wildly. Silence reigned in the lecture hall for several seconds, and then, intense voices erupted.

Someone accused Chi Lanyi of having no manners. Someone said Chi Lanyi was emotionally unstable. And some quietly reflected on their own words—but were quickly refuted by others.

Amidst the chaos, only the person in the very back row of the meeting hall stood up.

That person’s position was too far to the side, and too cold and low-key, so much so that Chi Lanyi hadn’t noticed his presence just moments ago. Yet his standing up now startled everyone. A company representative quickly asked him: “Mr. Gao, sorry about that, there was a bit of a disturbance…”

“It’s nothing, I’m going out to take care of something.” Gao Rong said.

He left the room with an indifferent expression. The company representative nervously watched his back, afraid he had been offended by that student’s disrespect—or disgusted by the chaos before him.

But Gao Rong paused at the doorway. His fingers, pressed tightly against his trouser seams, clenched fiercely.

And then, he abruptly relaxed his fingers, as if giving up on something, and chased in the direction Chi Lanyi had vanished.

…

Chi Lanyi didn’t go to the studio.

He hid in the restroom on that floor, smoking. The acrid, spicy flavor scraped his throat harshly, but Chi Lanyi took several fierce drags. He was enraged, wanting to smash all the glass mirrors, until the fury gradually gave way to immense, creeping fear.

In an instant, Chi Lanyi was horrified.

What had he just done? He had just run straight out of the lecture hall, hadn’t he?

The more Chi Lanyi thought, the more frightened he became. He gnawed frantically on his fingers, wanting to calm himself down, but was swallowed by boundless panic.

He splashed his face with cold water—but it wasn’t enough. He used the cigarette butt to burn his palm—still no use. Chi Lanyi felt around, looking for a comfort object, but his hand touched a small knife on his keychain.

That knife hung there, originally used for cutting paper. Chi Lanyi pushed the blade out. Looking at the sharp edge, he suddenly gritted his teeth and aimed it at his arm.

As if stabbing himself once would allow him to calm down. Abruptly, an enraged voice sounded from behind him: “What are you doing there?!”

Chi Lanyi was so startled his hand loosened. The craft knife fell along with the keys, creating a loud clatter on the floor.

He frantically stooped to pick up the knife. But another hand was faster—picking up his knife and that string of keys.

Gao Rong retracted the blade into its sheath. He looked coldly at Chi Lanyi.

“Give… give it back to me!”

Chi Lanyi cried out.

He subconsciously reached out to grab it, but Gao Rong dodged him. In that moment, Chi Lanyi saw an immense coldness in Gao Rong’s eyes that he had never witnessed before.

Gao Rong looked at him as if looking at a colossal problem.

Chi Lanyi stiffened for a moment. In that instant, he felt almost shattered.

Gao Rong had seen everything, hadn’t he?

Gao Rong had seen him arguing with those mentors, seen him running out hugging his laptop, seen him running to the restroom to smoke, and even picking up a knife trying to self-harm.

Gao Rong probably also saw those eyes on the display board—and maybe, even recognized whose eyes they were.

Chi Lanyi uncontrollably felt like crying. He felt that at this moment, Gao Rong must be thinking he was a terrible, huge problem.

Gao Rong lowered his head, as if looking at Chi Lanyi’s arm, confirming whether there were any self-harm scars there.

Chi Lanyi instinctively stepped back, but Gao Rong seized his forearm.

The moment their skin touched, Chi Lanyi’s mind went blank for an instant. Then, he screamed: “Let me go!”

Yet Gao Rong acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

Gao Rong rolled up his sleeve and examined his skin inch by inch. At that moment, Chi Lanyi finally couldn’t take it anymore.

He struggled harder and finally managed to shake off Gao Rong. Chi Lanyi yanked his sleeve down, covering his breakdown with hysteria: “Stop pretending to be a good person! Don’t think I don’t know what intentions you have towards me!”

Gao Rong finally looked up at him: “What intentions?”

Chi Lanyi actually laughed strangely.

“You came to school to find me, didn’t you? I’ve never heard of an investor following a project he invested in so incessantly. You came to see me, to attend this boring review just to see me.” Chi Lanyi glared at Gao Rong angrily, “You must be dying of frustration? You want to sleep with me that badly?”

Chi Lanyi spoke faster and faster, things he normally didn’t dare say spilling out like a chain of firecrackers. He grew angrier and angrier, wanting Gao Rong’s mask to crumble before him.

“You know what? I drew your eyes on my background board.” Chi Lanyi changed tack, “You think I’m afraid of you? No, I’ll just let the whole world know you have those filthy designs on me. You’re like some pervert, following me every day…”

“Is that so,” Gao Rong said flatly.

Chi Lanyi wanted to continue, but Gao Rong, looking at the cigarette in Chi Lanyi’s hand, suddenly said: “Have you eaten lunch?”

Chi Lanyi paused, then continued to press Gao Rong: “Gao Rong, don’t change the subject—let me ask you, have I ever seduced you? Have I ever said any sweet words to you? Why are you chasing after me so relentlessly? I’ve already said, I don’t want to see you…”

“Chi Lanyi. Calm down.”

“It’s you who chased me, you who wants to play with me, you who wants to force me.” Chi Lanyi screamed, “Now you follow me to the restroom again, you grab my hand, what exactly do you want…”

“Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.” Gao Rong said, “Chi Lanyi, I know you’re very scared right now.”

“Scared? Me, scared?” Chi Lanyi bluffed, “What makes you say I’m scared? I’m not scared at all…”

Gao Rong continued: “It’s not as bad as you think. They were the ones who said inappropriate things first; the person responsible for this incident isn’t you. They are mentors hired by ANI; they have a duty to treat you professionally, like a designer. They are the ones who did wrong, they are the ones who need to apologize, not you.”

Chi Lanyi’s face instantly turned deathly pale. He began to tremble. Gao Rong went on: “And also, you showed them your talent. Your design career isn’t that fragile, and it won’t be cut off just because you offended a few corporate mentors. On this point, I can guarantee you.”

Gao Rong was solemn. Chi Lanyi asked: “What makes you guarantee?”

Gao Rong glanced at him, his voice flat: “Because I am Gao Rong, and also because I am a major shareholder of ANI.”

As if Gao Rong had absolute confidence—that he could always resolve any trouble for Chi Lanyi.

Chi Lanyi was stunned. His fingers trembled, and a bit of cigarette ash dropped onto his palm, making him hiss.

Cool fingers grasped his wrist.

Chi Lanyi instinctively tried to pull back. Gao Rong said lowly: “Don’t move.”

He used his thumb to brush away that bit of ash, then pulled out a wet wipe from his coat and quickly, gently wiped Chi Lanyi’s palm.

Chi Lanyi stared at him blankly. The earlier mania and explosive rage seemed to have suddenly subsided. He watched the moist trail left on his skin.

This was the first time Gao Rong had touched his skin.

Cold, cool, carrying a strangely calming sensation for him.

“Why do you carry wet wipes with you?” Chi Lanyi was puzzled.

Gao Rong paused. As if suddenly realizing something, his fingers tightened.

Chi Lanyi did design work. Chi Lanyi’s hands got dirty far too easily.

Chi Lanyi’s hands would get smudged with ink from drawing, smeared with powder from marking lines, covered in loose threads from cutting fabric, and sometimes, there would be accidental cuts.

Chi Lanyi always wanted to appear before the camera in the neatest state. He was often anxious about this, even developing the strange habit of excessive hand-washing. Over time, as Chi Lanyi’s spouse, Gao Rong had also developed the habit of carrying wet wipes. He wiped Chi Lanyi’s hands, maintaining Chi Lanyi’s cleanliness when there was no restroom nearby.

Holding the wet wipe, Gao Rong was horrified to realize he had once again fallen into Chi Lanyi’s trap. A hunter, acting like a guardian wiping Chi Lanyi’s hand?

Should a hunter, like a guardian, be thinking about how to pressure ANI to make those four mentors apologize to Chi Lanyi?

“…I forgot.”

So, after a long time, Gao Rong said this.

His tone was calm, as if from beginning to end, he was a cold hunter who had never stirred with a single trace of emotion.