Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

With the hoarse sounds of chitin being chewed, the girl's originally delicate skin grew paler and paler, and her already thin wrists became even more slender, with the veins clearly visible, as if life were slipping away.

Through this willing dedication, she could clearly feel that the scope and intensity of the laws and regulations were constantly rising, like soaring into the sky, far surpassing her previous self.

Listening again, Sir Barthes continued to speak of the beauty of Tingen, to sing of the people's suffering, and to praise each other's sacrifices.

He cited numerous masterpieces by renowned artists, pointing out their outstanding features and detailing their achievements.

In an instant, applause, shouts, and cheers erupted like a surging tide, intense and fervent. Even those who did not understand aesthetic shaping or the elegance of art applauded one after another, offering their approval in perfect harmony.

However, the most shameless, insidious, and vicious form of praise in the world is to use hardship and suffering as inspirational stories to fool the people at the bottom and to divert attention from pent-up contradictions.

Therefore, someone needs to awaken them, someone needs to expose them, someone needs to hold up the mirror so that the world can see those ugly faces.

So Watson lowered his eyes and saw his own silver-gray pupils through a puddle of water—in those warm, moon-lake-like eyes, Charlotte was sleeping peacefully with her golden hair flowing down. Watson smiled, and Charlotte, in her sleep, also smiled faintly.

So, the silver-haired girl, back to the sunlight and bathed in the rain, spoke of injustice and evil, and stepped alone onto the stage destined for sacrifice, singing the first note of this opera.

boom.

A splash of blood splattered, a beautiful figure trembled slightly, and then she collapsed. A scream erupted, and birds scattered.

Chapter 87 Goodnight, World (Part 2)

The prelude to the central courtyard had begun. The jockey, perched high above, unveiled the curtain behind him, revealing a massive fortress painting rendered in ink. It stood on the cliff corner, towering over the coast, majestic and imposing, seemingly reaching straight to the sky.

"In the future, we will build skyscrapers and line the docks; in the future, Tingen will be well-connected, attracting countless celebrities, and leaving behind lingering praises..."

With his hands raised high and a broad smile, Cliff, like a revered leader, spoke of an incredibly bright vision and the flourishing development of Tingen under his leadership.

"Thank you for coming today, adding to the splendor and charm of this grand event. Today, we are honored to have the opportunity to showcase your renowned masterpieces!"

The curtain was fully drawn back, and sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows into the spacious gallery. Raindrops pierced through the thin mist, carrying the faint scent of oil paint and turpentine. Each painting was carefully arranged in the atrium exhibition hall, exuding its unique artistic charm.

Some paintings are colorful, like a spring garden, while others have simple lines, revealing the austerity of contemporary art. Without exception, they are all depictions of the prosperity of the empire and eulogies of the great achievements of the emperor.

On the stage, officials, nobles, and celebrities stood tall and spoke eloquently, sometimes asking the painters about their inspiration, sometimes dealing with reporters' eager interviews. Every gesture was unrestrained and composed, as if the world was looking up and they were at peace with themselves.

Below the stage, laborers, workers, and ordinary people gazed into the distance with longing on their faces, trying their best to listen to the words of the person in charge, searching for laws and regulations that could improve their current suffering. Unfortunately, they could hear nothing, see nothing, and get nothing at all.

Like steps separated by distance, the actor on stage is the protagonist, while the audience is merely the spectator. The gap between them, even after a lifetime of hard work, is tragically insurmountable and they can never be equal.

How ironic that the bridge between art and humanity has been severed; art is no longer rooted in reality, but merely sketches out castles in the air with vibrant ink.

The opening ceremony concluded with these remarks. As the applause grew thinner, the orchestral harmonies resumed, overshadowing the appeals and desires, and presenting only the voices that the powerful wanted to hear.

"We are fortunate to be invited by Mr. Bathory today, and the King's Theatre Company is able to present you with a delightful performance. Years may pass, but the classics remain unchanged. Today's performance is a work by the famous playwright Dross, the love story of Maria and Fane, the classic comedy 'Rigoletto'!"

With that eager voice, actors dressed in gorgeous costumes and wearing exquisite masks entered the front hall to the sound of light music and began to dance the minuet, a popular dance in the court.

Picking up his glass of wine, Cliff leaned down and mingled with the high-society figures coming and going. He looked at the extremely respectful theater director and the crowd of people surrounding him, nodding and grinning with satisfaction, as if the performance was a free gift to the people.

A scene of revelry unfolded, with every figure walking through the courtyard wearing a radiant expression. Some brought out exquisite pastries and fruits, bowing to greet their distinguished guests, while others set out glasses filled with wine, personally toasting the celebrities. Extravagance, enjoyment, and a life of debauchery filled the air. Even though they were just inconspicuous supporting characters, their faces were filled with excitement and laughter, as if they had become one with the glamorous atmosphere of the moment.

"Love is the sun of the soul, it reigns supreme above all. Lovely girl, love me as I love you deeply."

"Tender words filled my girlish heart, like a sacred voice from heaven. What a lovely name you are, you stir my heart, the happiness and joy of love will be forever etched in my memory! All my thoughts and desires fly with you, even in death I will not forget, you are engraved in my heart, you will be forever engraved in my heart!"

The songs intertwined, a beautiful duet accompanying the ear, expressing the beauty of love and describing the indulgence and pleasure of aristocratic life. But when the lights shone on those sallow and emaciated faces, it seemed absurd, bizarre, and utterly ridiculous.

Maria was eventually moved by Fang En's passionate performance, but she didn't know that the person she loved had already betrayed her. If she knew that this deep affection was only one-sided, if she knew that it was a deception from the beginning, would she still be so infatuated?

The narrator read on with vivid expression, and under his impassioned narration, the male lead of the play stepped onto the stage and sang a cheerful, light-hearted song:

"Women are fickle, like feathers in the wind, constantly changing their minds and their tone. They seem adorable, and they have a knack for it, switching between tears and smiles one moment. If you believe her, you're a fool; you can't tell the truth when you're with her. But this love is so intoxicating; if you don't love them, wouldn't you be wasting your youth?"

The actress collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down her face without hesitation. She had witnessed Fang En embracing her lover and whispering the sweet words he had once spoken to her.

"How vile! A lie from beginning to end, which I listened to, which I once believed. My heart has been deceived, how unfortunate, how heartbroken! How could I have fallen in love with such a person!"

How wonderful! Fann speaks of love in a high-pitched and sweet tone, while Maria cries out and sheds tears with all her might, and then the duet complements each other.

"When Maria learned the truth, she looked at her lover with tears in her eyes. Her grief and anger were overwhelming and lasted all night. Everyone could feel her heartbreak."

"You lied to me, Fann. You said you would grow old with me and spend your life with me. I thought nothing could separate us, but now—Fann, why did you lie to me!"

It was a low sob filled with unbearable sorrow.

Ultimately, she couldn't bring herself to blame the one she loved so deeply; how could she bear to part with someone so passionately? But then the male lead of the drama walked towards her, and he said—

"Light the lamps!"

As the film drew to a close, accompanied by the narration, the stage manager behind the scenes gritted his teeth and hoarsely shouted, "All the support staff, take your positions!" Sweat beaded on each of their foreheads as they nervously controlled the spotlights. As if to alleviate a nameless unease, they all yelled in unison:

"Light the lamps!!!"

The brightest, most dazzling lamp was lit, and a storm raged, the sky grew increasingly gloomy, and the glass lamp rattled and creaked in the wind, its light shining obliquely onto a person below the stage.

She was dressed in a deep blue outfit, and bathed in the lamplight, she was so beautiful she seemed otherworldly. Her purplish-black suitcase reflected a dazzling light, and the uneven distribution of light and shadow, created by the interplay of morning light and shadow, adorned her graceful figure. She was a beauty in the sunlight, a lover in a play, and a willing sacrificer.

Stepping across the laid-out red carpet, she leaped onto the stage, like a black and gold night butterfly fluttering gracefully, both elegant and dangerous.

The sunlight breaking through the clouds couldn't illuminate her face, just as dark clouds obscured the heart of the lake. Her silver-gray eyes, tinged with a pale blue melancholy, were like a gentle spring rain falling on the azure waves.

The actor playing the male lead was about to begin reciting his lines when a thunderclap startled him so much that he trembled violently, his mind went blank, and he felt so desolate that his throat tightened, unable to utter a single word.

Fortunately, the real lead actress took the microphone and stood on the stage. She bent down and took Maria's slender hand, but did not look at the delicate and limp woman. Instead, she looked down into the distance and at her own birds, filled with tenderness and helplessness.

She simply said:

"Feel sorry......"

In a single sentence, the silence turned to clamor, the fading light to dazzling brilliance, and the scene in the courtyard came into view, with the faces of the crowd appearing one after another. Opera is for performance, but reality is the true reality.

The story of the birds belongs to Watson, while the re-blooming of the black flower belongs to Charlotte.

The dim sky resembled the human heart, but a beam of light rose from the ground, cutting the somber color into several petals. Blossoms bloomed in the dark clouds, large and round, like sunflowers chasing the sun in the dead of night. These sunflowers lit up the sky, treating the world as a flower basket, unrestrained and carefree.

"It's fireworks," someone said dreamily.

The cluster of fireworks was beautiful, but fleeting, as brief as a startled swan, as dazzling as spring blossoms. Hundreds of streaks of light fell, instantly illuminating everyone's eyes. They had never seen such bright and amazing fireworks in the long night, like giant flowers blooming across the sky, like untapped hope, illuminating the whole world.

Under the vibrant and colorful morning light, Watson pursed his thin lips and raised his voice, “Like the Udumbara flower, which blooms only once in a short time, she knew her life was fleeting, and she knew her sin lay within herself. Though she was initially unintentional, when emotions run deep, who can distinguish the threads of truth from falsehood?”

"She loved so deeply that she even deceived herself. She condemned her selfishness and wanted to win him back, but she didn't know how to say it."

With her head tilted slightly back, tears welled up in her eyes like never before. The silver-haired girl was immersed in the opera, just like Fang En facing her lover's questioning, just like a puppet who knew her own destiny.

The narrator says, "He said—"

She said love is too extravagant, even she can't tell the difference, and in the next life... don't believe your own words.

The final words echoed in everyone's ears, and everyone praised the troupe's acting skills, but for some reason, the little birds' eyes welled up with tears, and they felt a profound tremor in their bodies and minds.

The curtain falls, the opera ends, but Watson's footsteps never cease.

She crossed the divide between the poor and the lowly, walked to the top of the front hall, and stood upright before the knight.

Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, unlike the reporters who showered her with compliments, she neither flattered nor fawned, but simply observed quietly.

"You came to the rescue just in time, ma'am."

Taking a bite of a fresh grape, Cliff wiped the water from the corner of his mouth and looked at the girl in front of him with great interest.

Her figure was as straight as a pine tree, possessing both androgynous charm, yet she retained a gentlemanly demeanor and a ladylike grace. He had never seen a girl with such beauty. Since planting O'Shaw, that beautiful flower, in his back garden, few people had been able to attract his attention in terms of temperament and appearance.

Similarly, he had noticed the male lead's rudeness and knew that without the former's intervention, the opera would have spoiled everyone's enjoyment. Even if he didn't care about the opinions of those commoners, the success of the art exhibition was ultimately a matter of his own reputation, and to some extent, the other party had indeed helped him.

"Josephine?!"

Compared to the man's composure, Leona had already lost her composure. As she exclaimed in surprise, she subconsciously reached for the leather whip at her waist.

However, after just one glance, the blonde young lady stopped talking and dared not make any move.

"Madam, did you have a chance encounter with my daughter?"

"Yes, in a rather unpleasant meeting."

"I see. I apologize for my poor parenting."

Cliff didn't think much of it. He had seen too many girls from poor backgrounds who wanted to use opportunities to climb the social ladder and climb the social ladder, and he was happy to use his power to help these poor people.

Isn't this the whole way of showing kindness to the people?

It was a contemptuous laugh.

"Madam, it seems you have studied opera. Dros's works all require a solid foundation to perform well."

"Life is also an opera. As long as you immerse yourself in it, you can perform it very well. It's just a pity that the wonderful elements in the opera are always untouchable in reality."

The bracelet on the wrist then took root, sucking the flesh and blood of this spirit puppet. The law of 'extraordinary prohibition' was subtly conveyed in this cryptic statement, and under the watchful eyes of many, it formed an iron curtain of rules binding them.

“A very interesting insight. However, this was only the first act of the opera. The final scene of life and death has not yet unfolded. I wonder, madam, if I might be fortunate enough to hear your beautiful voice again?”

"Of course, sir, but before that, I have a request."

It wasn't a whispered request, but a demand for equality.

“You should see my paintings, see my depictions of Tingen, as a traveler, as an ordinary person.”

It is not a hope born of weakness, but a matter of course.

"With great pleasure."

Following Cliff's confirmation, the reporters' guns and cannons were all turned towards Watson and the scrolls she took out of her suitcase.

It is a black and white sketch, simple and unadorned, unlike the works of masters. It is a description of the human affairs of the world, of the toil of workers with sweat streaming down their backs, and of the refugees huddled in a corner, shivering in the wind and rain...

It's the most accurate portrayal of reality.

Time ticked by, and silence settled with furrowed brows. Gradually, the laughter and chatter faded away, and the lively discussions ceased. Cliff frowned, his heart burning with restlessness.

He was impatient, his previous calm completely gone, and like a torrential downpour of thunder, he said in a deep voice.

"What are you trying to say, ma'am?"

“It’s not that I want to say it, but that you, all of you should open your eyes and see those things that have been ignored and neglected. That is the truth of Tingen, the ruin and hardship beneath the prosperity, the bitterness of people barely surviving despite their best efforts.”

As the girl spoke, the sea breeze swept across the courtyard, causing the petals to flutter and the silver hair to dance. Under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, Watson loosened his grip on her hand, letting the gray and white paintings be swept away by the spring tide.

Against the backdrop of lights, fireworks, paintings, and a gentle breeze, Watson turned around, opened his arms, and greeted everyone. His silvery-white, velvety hair flowed freely, like a pure white angel descending to earth, or a clean bird taking flight.

Papers of all shapes and sizes flew over her supple figure, drifting up and down, swirling in the air over everyone's heads, landing in every corner of the courtyard, like a dream.

Naturally, they also drifted past the little birds.

Melina clutched the hem of her skirt, looking worriedly at her friend. Winnie gazed at the scene in the painting and the people outside it, suddenly realizing something. Sofby held a piece of paper, seemingly recalling the many evenings they had spent together.

Unfortunately, Watson had no time to observe the birds' expressions; she was completely unaware even as drifting catkins landed on her shoulder. She was solely focused on Cliff and the nobles before her.

Her thin lips uttered firm words; she said:

"Forgive my limited knowledge, but I cannot see the future. I can only see the present, the people of Tongze, and the suffering and exploitation they endure. The promised benefits have not been implemented, the high-rise buildings you envisioned cannot change their impoverished lives, and the laws you created do not consider them in the slightest."

"Guards, drag her out."

Cliff's expression grew increasingly cold, even revealing a hint of ferocity, as he ordered the servants standing below to refrain from listening to his harsh words.

The armed guards stretched out their iron wrists, seized the slender arms, and dragged them downwards without any mercy.

How could the delicate flower withstand such relentless destruction? The flowing blood stained the mud and left marks on her fair knees. Tears welled up in her eyes, but the girl stubbornly held them back.

She stood firm, not faltering even with the bright red bloodstains clinging to her arms. She raised her head, refusing to yield even when her neck was forcefully pressed down.

Like a mountain eagle, she soars through the sky, her long cry piercing the thick twilight of Tingen, sending hoarse words to awaken the blue sky.

"Prosperity is an illusion, blooming flowers are fleeting, art only shines for your sake, and you pay more taxes only to maintain that old-fashioned dignity..."

Finally losing patience, Cliff stood up and walked step by step to the girl. The demands for fairness and civil rights were the very kind of cries he loathed.

He took the guard's longsword, and was almost swayed by anger, but then suddenly realized his mistake and stopped moving.

No, his emotions couldn't be so easily provoked.

Unfortunately, once the signs were confirmed, it was too late before we could turn back.

boom--

As they drew near, a gunshot rang out, the bullet piercing Watson's chest, splattering red blood that bloomed like a vibrant red flower on his fair back.

The man, keeping his promise, lowered his felt hat and disappeared into the vast crowd. Cliff was about to shout angrily, "Who fired the shot?" when he saw the girl's body tremble slightly. Although her breathing was getting weaker, she raised her pale lips and smiled incomparably brightly.

In a voice that only the two of them could hear, she said:

"kill me."

It's the tone of a victor.