"...And this concludes our tour of the School of Drama and Film. I hope Young Master Li found it inspirational!" Dean Zhao said while wiping a couple of drops of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "If the Young Master is comfortable with that, we can go to my office and discuss our collaboration further... There's no need to suffer out in the sun."

"That works for me, Dean Zhao," Li Zhen answered, his voice steady and deep but with a slight roughness to it, hinting at stones rubbing each other at the bottom of a river. It seemed that everything about him was just like that, monotone and raw. His body was tall, and his frame was big, with a shadow that towered over Zhao Feng... However, that was to be expected from an Alpha. His face was angular and almost statuesque, dominated by a slightly curved nose and intense gaze, but all his sharp edges were blurred behind strands of curly dark hair, gently framing his jaw when not tucked behind one ear. 

In a sense, he looked like beautiful memorabilia, standing in the corner of a war memorial, forgotten and untouched by time. There was an elegance in his detachment, an appeal that didn’t strive for attention... But it was just that. Amagnetism born of stillness.

He wasn’t interested in being seen, watched, or admired. He simply existed.

As for the way he presented himself, Li Zhen's style was just as unassuming as the car he drove. That morning, he was dressed in a grey sweater that hung loosely on his frame, its collar slightly stretched because of wear, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. There were no unnecessary accessories, no piercings in his ears, and not even a watch, a look so bland it stood out like a sore thumb amid the colorful scenery of an Art University where everyone competed to show their authentic self.  

If there's anything about him... It's probably those hands, Dean Zhao thought while enviously watching Li Zhen's hands come out of his pockets. Compared to his own little sausages, Young Master Li had long and elegant fingers, with very sharp joints. However, his palms were calloused from handling hard materials all year long, and even his nails were neatly cut but only half-cleaned, with obvious traces of dried clay at the edges. It should have been a very careless, even dirty appearance, and yet... Li Zhen's hands looked like they were sculpted from marble, just like a statue that only gained life halfway, forever doomed not to escape its concrete prison.

“This way, please.” Dean Zhao opened the door to his office with a flourish, motioning for Li Zhen to enter first.

Young Master Li stepped inside and let the familiar cold blast of artificial air hit him in the face. The office was spacious, glossy, and newly renovated to impress donors, but it did absolutely nothing for him. Judging by his senses, it still smelled like paint, with a vague taste of sour ambition. Li Zhen's eyes skimmed over the carefully arranged trophies and framed photos of celebrity alumni, covering the walls like decorative medals on a general’s chest. In the end, he sat down without waiting to be told to.

Once inside his own territory, Dean Zhao finally regained a bit of his usual composure, determined to hook the big fish that stumbled into his net. "Young Master Li," he started. "I was told you're interested in collaborating with our university for the annual gala..."

"It's my father who's interested," Li Zhen answered. "I'm just following his orders."

Looks like this Ancestor doesn't care for formalities... Dean Zhao thought. The corners of his mouth twitched while the wheels in his head started spinning, thinking that the child was way too blunt for his own good. 

"Then, how about we discuss what we can do for the Young Master?" Zhao Feng started. "As you probably know, our university hosts an annual charity gala that's very well received in the art scene... In addition to organising exhibitions for the students and giving them opportunities to shine, the faculty is also required to prepare a performance or installation, in rotation. This year, it's the turn of our School of Drama and Film and, as the Dean, I would like to offer the Young Master a warm welcome..." 

Reaching this point, Zhao Feng's voice gained a sort of seductive quality, whispering to one's most hidden desires: "Young Master Li, you might think there's no link between sculpting and performing arts, but there's no limit when it comes to the act of creation..."

"You can imagine whatever you want, with no restrictions. If anything, we'll back you, give you all the budget you require, and allow you total creative freedom. Young Master Li, this could be your personal moment, an opportunity to show everyone what you've become..."

"It would be a pity not to take it."

Even though Zhao Feng exhausted all his strategies to pinpoint exactly what approach worked best for Young Master Li, Li Zhen didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, watching a small white bird fly past the window, its shadow flickering across the office floor. Something about that image, maybe the fleeting shape reflecting on glass, made him think of the university again... But not as it was, but as it used to be when he was younger. When he was still no one...

...Back when he didn't know what it meant to carry a surname like a coffin strapped to his back. 

Li Zhen blinked once, slowly. “I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “I’ll have to see the space first.”

Dean Zhao’s lips twitched again, caught between a smug victory and a confused grimace. “Of course, of course!" he quickly agreed, afraid the boy might change his mind. "I’ll have the stage blueprints and last year’s layout delivered to you by this afternoon!”

Li Zhen nodded, then stood up, planning to leave the office. However, there was a small, barely perceptible pause in his movements before he turned and added:

“I won’t perform. I don’t like the theater.”

Zhao Feng opened his mouth and closed it again. “Naturally,” he said, though inwardly...

He was already thinking of loopholes. 

There were many ways to be part of a performance without performing. For example, collaborating with a faculty member... Or mentoring a student. Or even better… 

Perhaps being forced to improvise when things got out of control, nee~

But that was for later. Right now, all that mattered was that Li Zhen hadn’t said no.

The fish liked the offered bait, sinking its plump lips into the golden hook.