"No, he helped me. Otherwise, what I made would still be the same kind of garbage."
Facing Fu Qian's question, Rachel scattered the works she'd just warned him not to touch across the floor with a clatter.
It was obvious that she wasn't as satisfied with them as she'd seemed earlier.
"What you see is only the surface. It's far more than just this cabinet and the paintings on it—"
But the bone-deep hatred in her eyes didn't lessen at all with that gesture.
"I know. It's all one unified whole, right? Every move you make, every reaction to a threat... all of it perfectly hides him."
Fu Qian interrupted her without a care, gesturing around them.
What was so hard to understand? Performance art was art, too.
Rachel's "artistic awakening" had clearly reached a fairly advanced stage. Merely imbuing paintings with meaning could no longer satisfy her; she found it shallow and dull.
Dennis, who had come to her, had offered her a new theme and ignited her creative passion.
To hide someone completely with an overbearing, unrestrained, and utterly unconcerned attitude was indeed rather unusual.
Especially when the person being hidden was so special.
Fu Qian lowered his head and looked at the boy inside the cabinet. The boy's eyes were moving more freely now, but he still showed no sign of getting up.
Even so, it was impossible not to notice the specks of blood on his hands and clothes.
"You killed Ivan?"
Fu Qian nodded in greeting and casually asked.
It obviously wasn't the boy's blood. His vital signs were perfectly normal.
And underground in this area, as far as Fu Qian knew, there was a fresh corpse with its throat cut.
He'd already remarked that the knife work was mediocre, and in theory, Ivan should