Chapter 884: Picture Book

Heimu stood still, his gaze sweeping over the ticket vending machine, the route map board, the ticket gate, and beside the gate a few rows of public seats with metal frames, cushions of dark‑green soft plastic that under the green light almost blended into the background.

Ge Lei Xiu did not go with Ying, nor with Kesi Mo.

She cradled a drawing board, her ice‑blue eyes drawn to something beside the row of public seats on the platform.

She tilted her head; the golden hair ornament swayed lightly among her hair, then she stepped forward with her white‑silk‑wrapped calves, the shoes clacking as she walked that way.

She squatted, the drawing board resting on her knees, and reached under the seat to pull out several items.

"There's a picture book."

Her voice was soft, yet unusually clear in the cavernous subway station.

Heimu turned around.

Ying's steps halted, and she turned back from the edge of the platform.

Kesi Mo also hurried back from the opposite end, her shoulder pads emitting a faint metallic click as she turned.

The three converged from three directions to the side of that public seat.

Ge Lei Xiu squatted on the ground, four booklets neatly arranged before her.

The covers were uniform off‑white cardstock, without title or author, only a faint pencil doodle in the lower right corner as a mark—a small flower, a star, a kitten, a leaf.

Ying reached for the leftmost one and opened to the first page.

Her movement was so light it resembled unwrapping a package that might contain a trap.

Her gray‑purple eyes fell on the opened page and lingered for a second.

Her pupils contracted minutely in an instant, as if she wanted to say something but didn't know what.

The tips of her ears flushed a light pink at a visibly rapid pace.

Heimu noticed Ying's oddity and leaned over for a glance.

Just a glance.

Then she quickly averted her gaze, looked back, averted again, and finally snatched the booklet from Ying's hand to flip through herself.

Her eyebrows lifted a half‑inch, her mouth corner twitched unnaturally, and the page‑turning speed increased, each page raising her brows a bit higher.

When she reached the fourth page, she silently closed the booklet, placed it on her knees, and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand as if wiping nonexistent sweat.

"Who drew this?"

Kesi Mo had not yet realized the seriousness of the issue.

She reached for another booklet, the one whose cover featured a kitten, and opened to the first page.

The warm orange pattern on the mask vanished instantly.

It stayed out for a full second, then began flashing wildly at three times the normal speed, flashing like a triggered alarm.

She turned to the second page; the orange pattern's flash rate had become so fast it was indistinguishable to the naked eye.

When she reached the third page, her fingers began to tremble, her blood pressure soaring rapidly.

Those fingers, sheathed in ice‑blue armor, pinched the booklet's edge, the metal joints at the knuckles emitting a faint creak.

If one word were to describe the booklet's contents, it would be "explicit".

If two words were needed, it would be "extremely explicit".

Qianjie was depicted as a taciturn gang enforcer, wearing an open leather jacket, sitting in a dim corner, gazing out the window with a gloomy stare.

Kevin was drawn as a scarf‑wearing youth—more precisely, a young man whose eyes held three parts pity and seven parts restraint—carrying a cup of hot cocoa toward that dark corner.

The dialogue between them was placed in a speech bubble beside the illustration, the font neat and rounded, yet the content sent chills down one's spine.

Qianjie's line was: "Why do you come near me? Do you know that anyone who gets close to me gets hurt."

Kevin's line was: "Then let me get hurt. I don't care."

The next page featured a double‑page spread of Qianjie pressing Kevin against a wall, the composition highly dynamic, lighting expertly handled, and the speech bubble read: "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you."

Ying stood nearby, her gaze involuntarily drifting to that page before snapping away.

Her lips opened slightly, then closed again.

Then she performed a gesture perfectly matching her character: she placed the booklet she held back onto the seat, stepped back a pace, let her hands hang at her sides, and her expression returned to the standard blank stare.

But the tips of her ears were redder than before.

Heimu had already turned to another booklet.

This one—she glanced at the label on the cover: "Girls‑only".

One of the protagonists was Ying herself, the other was Ling.

The Ying in the picture wore a customized assassin uniform, the hem of the skirt clearly shortened, sitting on a rooftop with two glasses of wine placed beside her.

Ling sat beside her, looking up at the starry sky, and said a line written inside a huge heart‑shaped speech bubble.

Heimu hadn't had time to read the exact words when Ying, moving at teleport‑like speed, snatched the booklet from his hand.

She moved fast, precise, ruthless, making no sound at all; after taking the booklet she pressed both hands behind her, hiding the book, her gray‑purple eyes extremely calm as she looked at Heimu and, in her indifferent tone, said, "There's no need to keep reading this."

Heimu stared at Ying's face, cold enough to almost freeze, then glanced at the slightly trembling fingers she kept hidden behind her back, opened his mouth, and swallowed the retort he had about to utter.

"…Fine."

And over at Kesi Mo's side, the situation had completely spiraled out of control.

She flipped to a page in her own booklet; the protagonist depicted was herself, with long green hair, a taciturn gaze, wearing a partially removed knight's uniform, being hugged around the waist by someone.

That person's face was rendered with fine pencil lines, soft contours, eyes closed, gray‑brown hair spilling over the shoulders—clearly Su.

The dialogue in the speech bubble was so cheesy it made one's hair stand on end, each line beginning with "Kesi Mo…" and ending with "…okay?"

The next page was a double‑page spread, the following page a close‑up, then another—

Kesi Mo closed the booklet.

She lowered her head, the shoulders of her armor trembling slightly, making it hard to tell whether it was Rage, shame, or pure collapse.

She tightened her grip on the booklet, the joints of her ice‑blue armor creaking, while the warm orange pattern on the visor flashed, almost emitting white light.

Then— Screech.

The booklet was torn in half from the middle.

Screech, into four pieces.

Screech, screech, screech, Kesi Mo moved with extreme speed and ruthlessness; each tear carried a force with nowhere to vent, paper shreds fluttered from her fingers, landing on the deep‑gray floor tiles of the platform like a small pile of white snow.

When she finished tearing the booklet in her hand, the paper scraps on the ground had already piled into a tiny paper mound.

Ying lifted her head and looked at her.

Ge Lei Xiu also lifted her head and looked at her, her ice‑blue eyes blinking.