Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

953 Art Studio

Sifang Street was located near a famous scenic spot in Yangdu, part of the old town area. The Jinxiu Dongfang Community was also quite old, with no building exceeding six floors or having elevators installed.

Lumian followed behind Anderson, turning towards the building closest to the community entrance.

As they climbed the stairs, he couldn’t help but raise his right hand to pinch his nose.

A mixture of strong odors permeated the air.

Anderson turned sideways and laughed. “The whole building is being renovated.”

He had somehow already stuffed two wads of white paper into his nostrils.

“Why is everything being renovated?” Lumian didn’t hide his confusion.

Anderson glanced at him and said with a smile, “This gated community is too old. Most owners have moved away and chosen to rent out their vacant apartments. Someone has rented all the rooms in this building, planning to…”

At this point, Anderson paused, his smile becoming more pronounced in the dim stairwell as his voice deepened. “Planning to open a boutique hostel.”

Colorful, right? And that person is you, right? Lumian was somewhat mentally prepared for this and frowned slightly as he said, “Isn’t there still an art studio in this building? How can you say all the rooms have been rented?”

Anderson tightened the white paper wads in his nostrils. “Is it possible that the person who opened the art studio is the same one who rented the other rooms?

“The boutique hostel he wants to open is adjacent to scenic spots, hidden in a gated community, with painting as its theme.”

Lumian, still pinching his nose, feigned sudden realization and said, “I see.”

Due to the strong renovation smells permeating the stairwell, the two didn’t slow their pace as they conversed, quickly reaching the top floor, which was the sixth floor.

The doors of both units here were open, and on the wall facing the stairwell was a brightly colored mural. At its center were four characters:

“Mute Art Studio”

“That name is quite… special,” Lumian commented sincerely.

By this point, the renovation smells had faded.

Anderson removed the white paper wads from his nostrils and explained earnestly,

“Painting is done with hands, not mouths. ‘Mute’ represents the studio’s expectations for its students: focus, quietness, and dedication.”

“That’s a great explanation,” Lumian applauded.

Anderson wasn’t offended and said with a smile, “This isn’t my forced interpretation, it’s what the studio owner said.”

“My sister once taught me dialectics, believing that even the worst words can have a positive side. Do you think that’s right?” Lumian asked with a smile.

Anderson nodded. “If you think it’s right, then it’s right.”

He led Lumian towards the door on the left.

Lumian didn’t rush in, standing at the doorway to survey the fairly spacious living room.

There was a piece of darkness with only a hint of golden-red “Dawn” in the distance, a “Storm” with deep blue waves surging, “Pilgrims” with numerous blurred figures walking across a wasteland, and a grotesque “Monster” emerging from the seabed alongside “Pirates” trying to save their ship.

The “Pirates” painting suddenly reminded Lumian of the latest volume of “The Great Adventurer”. He saw vines growing from the figures’ heads, bearing watermelons, while milky white liquid sprayed everywhere on the deck.

Is this recreating Gehrman Sparrow’s experience? As Lumian pondered this, he stared for two seconds at the sea monster that resembled a giant leech with its maw full of sharp teeth.

Anderson walked to the easel in the middle of the living room and turned around.

Lumian looked around once more before slowly following him in, “curiously” asking, “Where’s the studio owner?”

Anderson raised his right hand and pointed at himself.

“You’re the studio owner?” Lumian “surprisingly” confirmed.

Anderson nodded.

Lumian suddenly smiled. “Why aren’t you speaking? Has your throat suddenly gone hoarse? Have you become mute?”

Anderson, wearing the black T-shirt, began using sign language.

Lumian couldn’t understand what he was expressing even after watching for a while, and thoughtfully said, “I wonder if there’s an app for translating sign language…”

Anderson picked up a paintbrush, took a piece of white paper from nearby, and wrote something in dark red.

Unlike Lumian and the others, he could write in the common script of the dream city.

Lumian focused his gaze and saw a sentence written on the white paper: “It’s best not to speak in the studio, treat yourself as if you’re mute.”

Lumian raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, he saw Anderson grimly add another line in dark red paint: “You just spoke.”

Lumian suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck, as if a cool breeze had blown past.

He didn’t turn around, seemingly feeling nothing.

Anderson wrote another passage, the dark red paint appearing to become much brighter: “Do you know this person?”

After writing, he turned the easel around to show the painting on it to Lumian.

It depicted a woman, tall with a slender face, light blue and clear eyes, strikingly beautiful with a peculiar sharpness.

This was Lumian himself.

It was his female form!

Lumian’s face broke into a smile as he answered Anderson’s question, “I don’t know her.”

As his voice echoed, something cold and wet suddenly pressed against him from behind.

Lumian quickly reached back to grab it, his palm suddenly erupting with crimson flames.

As the flames compressed layer by layer, he saw what had attacked him.

It was the giant “leech” from the “Monster” oil painting. Its pinkish, nearly transparent body had extended from the painting, its maw opened to its fullest extent, large enough to bite off an adult’s head.

13:25

Looking at the densely packed, ghastly white teeth with blood-colored roots, Lumian directly slapped the fireball in his hand, which had turned from crimson to nearly white, onto it.

Boom!

The fireball exploded instantly, enveloping the sea monster that had emerged from the painting.

The shockwave carrying flames quickly swept outwards, threatening to ignite every painting, every easel, and every person here!

At that moment, from the “Storm” oil painting, the azure seawater surged out, pouring into the room with a splash, extinguishing all the flames.

Lumian’s figure disappeared from where he stood, reappearing behind the mute Anderson.

His eyes had turned completely iron-black, reflecting a ghastly white.

Lumian clenched his right fist and thrust it out with a smacking sound, striking Anderson’s back.

This punch, accompanied by a thunderous explosion, tore through Anderson’s flesh, penetrated his body, and hit the oil painting of Lumian’s female form and its easel.

The mute Anderson’s body suddenly ruptured, quickly thinning and transforming into a portrait painting with a huge hole.

This portrait, along with the oil painting of Lumian’s female form, was ignited by crimson flames, turning into black, light ashes in just a few seconds.

As the mute Anderson reverted to a painting, both the azure seawater that had poured into the room and the sea monsters eagerly trying to emerge suddenly vanished, leaving only the motionless oil paintings.

Lumian scanned the room and found that a giant “leech” was indeed missing from the “Monster” painting. The studio floor was covered with water stains and incompletely burned paper scraps.

The place became eerily quiet, with no living beings present except for Lumian himself.

Lumian then went through both rooms that made up the studio, finding no other abnormalities.

Those paintings were no longer eerie or mysterious.

He left the place, going down the stairs to see tenants of the community gathering in small groups, looking around.

They had heard the sound of an explosion earlier but couldn’t find its source or any damage to the buildings in the community. They could only attribute it to a high-speed fighter jet passing overhead.

Lumian passed through the group and returned to the community entrance.

Suddenly, a figure was reflected in his eyes.

The figure had blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, with hands in pockets, looking like someone watching the commotion.

Anderson!

Anderson Hood!

Upon seeing Lumian, Anderson asked with a surprised expression, “You’re already here? Have you already entered?”

Lumian smiled. “I’m in the habit of arriving early.”

Anderson smiled as well. “Me too.”

As Lumian walked up to him, he asked with a smile, “Did you enjoy yourself earlier?”

“Very much,” Lumian maintained his smile, saying meaningfully, “I’d like to do it again.”

Anderson Hood nodded slightly.

He was about to speak when he suddenly looked around.

“Maybe next time,” Anderson said with a smile, shifting his gaze back. “Let’s keep in touch via WeChat.”

He raised his right palm, holding his phone.

He didn’t mention visiting the art studio or ask if Lumian’s friend was interested in taking classes. Lumian didn’t bring up these topics either, waving his hand and saying, “I’ll be going then.”

“See you.” Anderson waved back.

Lumian walked past the tutor towards the roadside.

A gray sedan pulled up and stopped in front of him.

Lumian opened the door, got in, and said to Anthony in the driver’s seat, “Let’s go to Worker’s Road.”

Anthony nodded and merged into traffic.

Franca, Luo Shan, and Zhou Mingrui had arranged to have dinner on Worker’s Road tonight at a taro chicken hotpot restaurant.

As the car drove, chomping sounds continuously came from the back seat.

…

On Worker’s Road, inside the “Yizhou Roast Chicken” taro chicken hotpot restaurant.

Franca and Luo Shan had arrived earlier, choosing a window-side table. They had ordered chicken and taro but hadn’t selected any other dishes yet.

Each of them had ordered a bottle of iced soy milk, not finding any issue with Zhou Mingrui choosing such a noisy, lively place that wasn’t quite bourgeois enough for a meal.

What mattered was whether the food tasted good!

At nearly 6:50 p.m., Zhou Mingrui, wearing a black shirt, walked in.

“Over here, over here!” Luo Shan waved cheerfully.

Zhou Mingrui weaved through the other tables, came over, and said as he sat down, “Some extra work came up just before clocking out.”

“We agreed on 7 p.m.,” Luo Shan said, not minding at all. She pointed at Franca and said, “This is my neighbor and colleague, Luo Fu.”

Zhou Mingrui glanced at Franca and said with a smile, “We’ve met before. Let’s order first.”

Franca looked outside at the darkening sky, feeling a bit uneasy.