Although she hadn't even made a sound, Fu Qian understood what Tan Ying meant.
The next moment, he nodded.
He had to admit, she had quite an imagination.
After one shock after another, she had come up with an explanation for Xixi's behavior remarkably quickly.
And that explanation matched his own view: like Truman, who was supposedly trapped in a gigantic studio, she believed she was an actress under the scrutiny of the entire world.
In fact, ever since he'd met this unusual client, Fu Qian had been trying to figure out the cause of that sense of incongruity.
As a consultant with professional ethics, Fu Qian never profiled his clients in reverse. But even going by the most obvious impressions, his client was undoubtedly quite different from the person standing before him.
Setting aside the absurd possibility that someone had stolen her account, Fu Qian's first thought was that her perception was somehow skewed—in common parlance, that she wasn't quite right in the head.
After only a few words, he was certain that such a distortion existed.
She was poised and well-spoken, yet there was something unmistakably performative about her.
Every gesture and word seemed to engage with some invisible scrutiny, as if she were standing center stage.
It was a profoundly abnormal state, entirely different from mere affectation.
Given that, he hadn't been particularly surprised when she'd said she'd spent over a month in a neighboring city waiting for his reply.
Though she'd asked for his opinion, when Tan Ying saw Fu Qian nod, her face still paled further.
Under the dim yellow lights of the corridor, Lady Xixi was watching them with an inscrutable smile.
Thinking back over their interactions along the way, Tan Ying found the whole thing utterly bizarre.
Just like Truman in