The film’s story unfolded slowly, Rick and Ilsa’s time together in Paris dreamlike—sweet, yet tinged with sorrow.
The Paris of the black-and-white screen was forever shrouded in a hazy, soft glow, so perfect it felt unreal.
Then Ilsa appeared again. Rick put on that cynical, world-weary mask and coldly refused to help her.
Leaning against Shen Wu’s shoulder, Jiang Nuan sat half-reclined on the bed. “This guy is laying it on way too thick.”
She was completely caught up in the movie, her tone carrying a hint of exasperated frustration. “He obviously cares about her to death, but he insists on pretending he doesn’t care at all. Isn’t that exhausting?”
“The finest performance is when you fool even yourself,” Shen Wu said softly, his gaze fixed on the screen. “Until you can no longer tell what is real and what is false.”
“You know quite a bit about acting, don’t you?” Jiang Nuan tilted her head and glanced at him. “Professional instinct for an intelligence officer?”
“My mother was an actress,” he said. “A stage actress.”
“Wow, you’ve never mentioned that before.” Her interest immediately piqued. “A stage actress? Then she must have been an incredible performer!”
Shen Wu was silent for a long while.
The only sounds in the room were the movie’s score and snow striking the windowpane outside.
On the screen, Ilsa was explaining why she had left all those years ago—why she had vanished without a word at the train station in Paris. Tears trembled on her lashes.
“Her name was Shen Tang,” he said quietly. “She was one of the Federation’s finest stage actresses.”
Shen Tang met Shen Wu’s father when she was twenty-one. He was thirty at the time—the heir to the Li family, a man from the Federation’s highest circles of wealth and power, never short of women at his side.
“It was a very clichéd story,” Shen Wu said. “A young actress thought she had found a love she could entrust her life to. She even gave up the brightest years of her career on stage.”
“Even without a name or status, she willingly hid in that man’s shadow.”
In those years, she often received calls from him late at night.
“I won’t be coming home tonight.”
Even if tears had been on her face just moments before, the instant the phone rang, she would compose herself and answer in the gentlest voice, “It’s all right. You’re busy. I’ll wait for you.”
The moment she hung up, her smile vanished.
Young Shen Wu would stand outside the door, peering through the crack as he watched his mother cry before the mirror—cry until her entire body shook.
Then, the moment she heard him outside the door, she would immediately wipe away her tears, turn around, and smile at him.
He could not tell which one was his real mother.
The one who cried? Or the one who smiled?
She would crouch down, stroke his head, and solemnly teach him, “Remember this, Little Wu: never let others see your true emotions.”
She taught him how to maintain a proper smile at banquets, how to politely greet the women around his father with “Hello, Auntie,” and how to bury every emotion he was not supposed to have.
“She was a good actress.” A self-mocking smile touched Shen Wu’s lips. “By the end, she had acted for so long that even she forgot what she had originally been like.”
When he was six years old, he awakened the Eye of Truth.
It was a curse-like ability, forcing him to see the truth hidden behind everyone’s words and actions.
Hypocritical smiles, insincere praise, carefully packaged lies.
He saw the uncles and aunties at banquets smiling kindly at him while calculating how to swallow up the Li family’s assets. He saw the people gathered around his father, their eyes filled with greed for wealth and contempt for his mother.
That same year, his father was going to marry the Sun heiress.
For the sake of the family’s interests, that man had not hesitated to abandon the woman who had spent so many years hidden in his shadow.
On the eve of the wedding, his mother overdosed on medication and took her own life.
She died quietly, wearing the most exquisite makeup.
Just like the heroines she had played countless times, she left the world with her most perfect face.
At the funeral, the Li family mourned her death.
But Shen Wu saw it.
[An actress, through and through.]
[Shameless. She followed him around for all those years without so much as a title.]
[Even in death, she had to make a scene. How unlucky.]
The man in his impeccable suit stood before the coffin, his expression solemn. “She was always too sensitive. I gave her the best life possible, but she simply never knew how to be content.”
Everyone praised him for his compassion and generosity.
But Shen Wu saw the truth: all the man thought was that she had been a nuisance.
He was even calculating whether this funeral would affect his marriage to the Sun heiress.
He did not care at all.
Little Shen Wu stood before the coffin, looking at his mother’s face, so carefully made up.
In that moment, he finally understood: in this world, truth was punished. That was why everyone chose to perform.
And he had been cursed to become the only audience member who remained awake.
Jiang Nuan was stunned for a long while after hearing this.
The film’s hero and heroine were in the midst of a heated argument, but all she could hear was Shen Wu’s quiet narration.
He spoke with such calmness, as though he were telling someone else’s story. Yet that only made it more painful to hear.
A sour ache slowly rose from her heart.
She felt the arms around her tighten, even squeezing hard enough to hurt a little.
“The Li family?” she finally found her voice, breaking the silence. “The Li family that was pulled into this restricted zone together with the Qiming Foundation and the Bai family?”
Shen Wu nodded, his chin brushing against her hair. “But the Li family members who were drawn in are gone now.”
“What do you mean... gone?” Jiang Nuan’s heart gave a violent lurch.
“I cleared them out.” He took a sip of red wine from his glass. “During the second month after entering this restricted zone.”
He set the glass back on the bedside table with a soft clink.
“Unfortunately, that man isn’t here.”
Jiang Nuan’s breathing stalled.
She looked at Shen Wu. His lashes were lowered halfway, and there was nothing in his eyes but cold, utterly emotionless indifference.
He was not merely saying it. If that man had been dragged into this restricted zone as well, Shen Wu truly would have killed him.
Leaning back against him, a thought suddenly crossed Jiang Nuan’s mind.
The person holding her was far more dangerous than she had imagined.
Yet strangely, she was not afraid.
“But...” Jiang Nuan asked in confusion, “with an ability like yours, why didn’t the Li family take you back?”
An ability like the Eye of Truth should have been something the most powerful families fought over.
“They did.” Shen Wu gave a cold laugh. “After my mother died, that man found out I’d awakened an ability and took me back to the Li family.”
“He gave me the best education, brought me to every kind of social occasion, and had me help him discern his competitors’ true cards.”
He took another sip of red wine. “Later, I grew tired of that life. I joined the investigation squad and took back my mother’s surname.”
“From then on, Li Wu was dead. There was only Shen Wu.”
Outside the window, snow continued to drift down in thick, silent flurries.
On the screen, Rick was seeing Ilsa off. In the airport’s heavy fog, he watched the woman he loved walk into another man’s arms, speaking those famous words: “We’ll always have Paris.”
“We’ll always have Paris.” Shen Wu watched the scene and repeated the line.
“But it was all a lie,” he said softly. “What they had was nothing more than an illusion polished by memory. The real Paris had long since burned away in the fires of war.”
