Chapter 217

She opened the other files one by one, finding it fascinating to read others’ psychological and behavioral analyses of her.

These analyses of her psyche, predictions of her behavior patterns, and targeted operational manuals did not make her angry or furious at being seen through.

She was merely astonished that someone in this world understood her better than she understood herself.

Though their intent was impure, even entirely conspiratorial from start to finish, she felt seen, truly understood.

Perhaps for her, pure understanding—even tainted by filthy motives—was more compelling than false affection.

It was indeed strange: an analysis report born of manipulation had achieved the deepest understanding; a performance steeped in conspiracy had triggered the most genuine emotion.

Her hand paused as she flipped to the appendix: “Emergency Protocol After Exposure.” First rule: Present this manual and admit everything. Her moral scrupulousness and obsession with absolute truth would lead her to value candor in an unusual way. Her desire for understanding would outweigh her anger at betrayal. Calculations showed a probability of forgiveness exceeding 68%.

She froze, staring motionless at those lines.

Even her current “astonishment” and “possible forgiveness” had been calculated in advance. She wasn’t just reading a manual for manipulation—she was reading a guide to her own present and future emotional responses.

A sense of absurdity suddenly rose in her chest: What was real? What was false? Were her actions born of her own will, or were they subtly guided by others?

Everyone around her—did their attitudes toward her stem from their own feelings, or were they guided by manuals like this one?

How many people sought to influence her through language, emotion, behavior, and environment, all to achieve control?

She suddenly let out a soft laugh—not of joy, but of recognizing the absurdity of her world: the rare, cherished emotional connection she had believed was real was merely a chapter in someone else’s script, labeled with a page number.

She looked at Chris, her gaze devoid of hatred, only the cold scrutiny of a researcher and profound exhaustion.

“The person who wrote this report understands me better than I understand myself. And you executed it well—your performance was flawless.” Her voice drifted lightly: “You all performed beautifully…”

Chris’s heart suddenly clenched, as if gripped by an invisible hand, yet his face broke into a smug smile: “I thought I did well too. I did extensive research for this role, poured more effort into it than ever before—more than any film character I’ve ever played.”

“Too bad no Oscar statuette was awarded to you,” Yang Yi said coolly.

Chris’s body turned icy. He opened his mouth, only to find his throat blocked. His Adam’s apple jerked violently; when he spoke again, his voice was indistinguishable from his usual tone:

“I’ve already received the greatest reward—the title of god among men. This is the brightest medal on my resume. Shouldn’t I be proud?” He raised an eyebrow, revealing a rare, playboy-like demeanor.

“Yes, a tremendous achievement,” Yang Yi replied indifferently. “I heard the CIA has a Wall of Honor—only their most elite agents and spies are enshrined there. Your portrait should hang right in the center.”

Chris said nothing, only smiled—but the smile was hollow, as if his soul had drifted away, leaving only a shell seated there.

“Then let’s return to the matter at hand,” Yang Yi continued, her gaze sharpening again. “What information did you transmit to them?”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. In the early meetings, they asked detailed questions about our dates and extracted information themselves… They believed assigning me specific tasks would risk exposure. Later, I gave them nothing.”

“Why?” Yang Yi’s gaze was calm.

“I don’t like being threatened,” Chris looked up at her, a strange smile appearing on his face. “I told them you were completely in love with me. If they pressured me further—or threatened my family—I’d confess everything to you. With your abilities, you could destroy the entire Ark Country in an instant. Since then, they’ve stopped contacting me.”

“When?”

“The first time you came to my house.”

Yang Yi fell silent for a moment.

Chris stared at her without blinking, as if she were the last sliver of light before death.

“The DNA I left at your place—how did you handle it?” Yang Yi asked again.

“I cleaned it all meticulously.”

Yang Yi tugged at the corner of her mouth. “How?”

Chris rose, walked to the cabinet, retrieved a lab-grade DNA cleaner, and placed it on the table.

She leaned back against the sofa, arms crossed, watching Chris across from her, expressionless, as if weighing something.

Chris remained silent.

He hated her silence now—he’d rather she rage at him, beat him, cruelly torture him, or—kill him—anything was better than this silence.

He also hated her unnatural calm.

Suddenly, everything around them trembled. In an instant, the computer, the table, the vase, the walls—even the entire villa—shook at a bizarre frequency.

Yang Yi’s expression was cold; her eyes, once seeming shy, now held only ice.

Kill me… Chris thought, and suddenly felt lighter, as if his mist-like soul had returned to his body—he felt alive again.

He gazed greedily at her eyes, her face, even her icy expression.

The trembling reached its peak. In an instant, the computer, the table, the floor, the entire villa—all collapsed into dust, leaving only the chairs they sat on intact.

Chris looked around and saw only fine powder slowly drifting to the ground.

“Do you know? I once had a dream. In it, you looked deeply affectionate—but then turned into a venomous snake,” Yang Yi said, watching him. “Later, I deliberately ignored that dream…”

Chris’s lips twitched, his voice hoarse: “Darling… kill me…”

“You’re not worth it. Don’t worry—I won’t kill you. You, alone, aren’t worth breaking that boundary.” Yang Yi extended her right hand and gently stroked his face, as if touching the most precious, most fragile treasure in the world.

“What a perfect face. What a perfect performance.” She sighed. “I respected you, so when I broke up with you, I wanted to let you go…”

She stood, looking down at the face more radiant than any artifact, “But now, I’ve changed my mind.”