[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-ring-of-fate":3,"chapter-the-ring-of-fate-the-ring-of-fate-chapter-955":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Ring of Fate",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2298924,4496,"Chapter 955: Art Studio (End of Month, Requesting Monthly Tickets)","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-955",955,"\u003Cp>Sifangjie is near Yangdu’s famous attractions, part of the old district; Jinxiu Dongfang Community is also quite old, with no building exceeding six stories and no elevators installed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian followed Anderson’s back, turning toward the building closest to the community entrance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he climbed the stairs, he couldn’t help raising his right hand to pinch his nose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Strong, mixed odors filled the air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson turned his body sideways and laughed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The whole building is under renovation.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two wads of white paper had somehow been stuffed into his nostrils.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Why is everything being renovated?” Lumian didn’t hide his confusion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson glanced at him and smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This community is too old—most owners have moved out and are renting out their empty units. Someone rented all the rooms in this building, planning to…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here, Anderson paused. His smile became more visible in the dim stairwell, his voice dropping lower.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...to open a themed guesthouse.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The ‘Mute Art Studio,’ right? That person is you, isn’t it?” Lumian had prepared himself for this, frowning slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But isn’t there still an art studio in this building?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“How can you say you rented all the rooms?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson tightened the white paper wads in his nostrils.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is it possible the person who runs the art studio is also the one who rented the other rooms?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He wants a guesthouse near the attraction, hidden in the community, themed around art.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian still pinched his nose, feigning sudden understanding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I see.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Due to the overpowering renovation smell, neither slowed their pace as they reached the top floor—the sixth floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Both units on this floor had open doors; on the wall directly facing the stairwell was a vivid mural, its center featuring four characters:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mute Art Studio”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s quite a peculiar name,” Lumian honestly remarked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Here, the renovation odor had faded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson removed the white paper from his nostrils and explained seriously:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Painting uses hands, not mouths. ‘Mute’ represents the studio’s expectation of its students: focus, silence, dedication.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s a great explanation,” Lumian clapped loudly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson didn’t take offense, smiling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I didn’t make that up—it’s what the studio owner said.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“My sister once taught me dialectics—she believed even the worst words have a positive side. Do you agree?” Lumian asked with a smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson nodded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you think it’s right, then it’s right.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He led Lumian toward the left door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian didn’t rush in; he stood at the threshold, surveying the fairly spacious living room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The space had clearly been modified: oil paintings hung on the walls—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>one depicting darkness with distant gold-red “dawn,” another showing surging deep-blue waves of “storm,” a third with countless blurred figures walking a wasteland as “pilgrims,” and also a grotesque “monster” emerging from the seabed and “pirates” desperately saving their ship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The “pirates” painting triggered a sudden memory in Lumian: the latest issue of “The Great Adventurer,” where he’d seen vines sprouting from the figures’ heads, bearing watermelons, and milky-white liquid spurting everywhere on deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Is this recreating Germaine Sparrow’s experiences? As Lumian pondered, he stared for two seconds at the monstrous leech-like creature, its mouth bristling with sharp teeth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson walked to the easel in the center of the room and turned around.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian glanced around, then stepped inside at a steady pace, “puzzled.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Where’s the studio owner?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson raised his right hand and pointed at himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re the studio owner?” Lumian “surprised” to confirm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson nodded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian suddenly smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Why aren’t you speaking? Did your throat suddenly go mute? Did you become a mute?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson, in his black T-shirt, began signing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian stared for a long time but couldn’t understand what he meant, then mused:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I wonder if there’s an app that translates sign language...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson picked up a brush, took a blank sheet of paper, and wrote in dark red ink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike Lumian and the others, he could write the universal script of the Dream Metropolis.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian focused his gaze and read what was written:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s best not to speak inside the studio. Pretend you’re mute.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Anderson’s expression darkened as he added another line in dark red:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You just spoke.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck, as if a cold wind had brushed past.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t turn around—he seemed to feel nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson wrote another line; the dark red pigment now appeared brighter, almost vivid:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Do you know this person?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After writing, he turned the easel to reveal the painting to Lumian.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It depicted a woman: tall, slender-faced, with pale blue, clear eyes, strikingly beautiful and dignified, carrying an odd sharpness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was Lumian himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His female form!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian’s face broke into a smile as he answered Anderson’s question:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I don’t know her.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As his voice echoed, something cold and wet pressed against his back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian whipped his hand backward, palm igniting in crimson flame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the flame compressed layer by layer, he saw what had attacked him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the giant “leech” from the “monster” painting—its pink, translucent body extended from the canvas, its mouth gaping wide enough to swallow an adult’s head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the dense rows of pale, blood-soaked fangs, Lumian slammed the now nearly white-hot fireball directly onto it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>BOOM!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fireball exploded instantly, engulfing the leech emerging from the painting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fiery shockwave surged outward, threatening to ignite every painting, every easel, every person here!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, blue seawater surged from the “storm” painting, flooding the room and dousing all flames.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian vanished from his spot, reappearing behind Mute Anderson.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes had turned utterly iron-black, reflecting a pale white.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian clenched his right fist and thrust it forward—CRACK!—striking Mute Anderson’s back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The punch carried a thunderous explosion, tearing through Anderson’s flesh, piercing his body, and striking the oil painting and easel bearing Lumian’s female form.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mute Anderson’s body shattered instantly, thinning rapidly into a portrait with a massive missing section.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That portrait, along with the painting of Lumian’s female form, burst into crimson flame and within seconds turned to black, lightweight ash.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Mute Anderson reverted to a painting, the seawater flooding the room and the monsters struggling to emerge vanished instantly, leaving only the still, silent oil paintings.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian scanned the room and saw the “monster” painting truly lacked the giant leech; the studio floor was littered with water stains and unburned paper scraps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The place became eerily silent—no living thing remained except Lumian.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian then checked both rooms composing the studio and found no other anomalies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The paintings no longer felt strange or mysterious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He left, descending the stairs, and saw tenants in the community gathered in small groups, glancing around curiously.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had heard the explosion but found no source, and no building showed damage—they could only attribute it to a high-speed fighter jet flying overhead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian walked through them, returning to the community entrance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes suddenly caught a figure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The figure had golden hair, blue eyes, wore a white shirt and black trousers, hands in his pockets, as if just another onlooker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson Hood!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Lumian, Anderson feigned surprise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re already here? You’ve been inside the community?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m used to arriving early.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson laughed along.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Me too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Lumian stepped up to him, Anderson smiled and asked:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Did you have fun just now?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Very much,\" Lu Mi said, keeping his smile, with implied meaning. \"I'd like to do it again.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anderson Hood gave a slight nod.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was about to speak when he suddenly glanced left and right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Let's do it next time,\" Anderson said, returning his gaze and smiling. \"Contact me on WeChat.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He lifted his right hand, holding his phone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn't mention visiting the studio, nor did he ask if Lu Mi's friend was interested in enrolling; Lu Mi also didn't bring up the topic, and waved goodbye:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I'll go then.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Goodbye,\" Anderson also waved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Mi passed the tutor and walked toward the roadside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A gray sedan pulled up and stopped before him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lu Mi opened the door and got in, saying to the driver, Anthony:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"To Gongren Road.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Anthony nodded and drove the car into the stream of traffic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Franca, Rosan, and Zhou Mingrui had arranged to meet for dinner on Gongren Road, where there was a yu er chicken hotpot restaurant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the car moved, the sound of chewing echoed continuously from the back seat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…………\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At Gongren Road, inside the restaurant named \"Yizhou Shaoji Gong.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Franca and Rosan arrived early and chose a window seat, ordering chicken and taro, but nothing else.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each ordered a bottle of chilled soy milk, and neither thought it odd that Zhou Mingrui had picked such a noisy, lively, unpretentious place to eat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What mattered was whether it tasted good!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At nearly six fifty, Zhou Mingrui entered wearing a black shirt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Over here, over here!\" Rosan waved happily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Mingrui walked around other tables and joined them, saying as he sat down:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Something came up just before quitting time.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We planned for seven,\" Rosan said, unconcerned, pointing at Franca. \"This is my neighbor and coworker, Luo Fu.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhou Mingrui glanced at Franca and smiled:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We've met already. Let's order.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Franca looked at the darkening sky outside and felt a twinge of unease.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>PS: End of month—please vote for monthly tickets~\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1541,"2026-06-20T06:22:37.987Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","a8d7bb60b763463f0ea872874a2af2b74709bd0abbba1164d2387839ac6714fa","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-956","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-954",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-ring-of-fate-cover.jpg"]