Ince watched Xu Xiaoyou walk away, an awkward expression on his face; this was the first time he had ever been given the cold shoulder.
In this city paved with gold, most people behaved with polite decorum. People as blunt as her were a rarity.
He did not feel disheartened by this minor setback and continued searching for his next target.
He soon found a blue-haired girl in the crowd. Snowflakes dusted her shoulders, landing on her pure white dress. The girl's eyes were bright, and her body swayed to the melody of the guitar in her arms. Her light, beautiful voice drew many people to stop and listen.
After a brief performance, the crowd broke into applause. Ince seized the opportunity and thrust his camera in front of the blue-haired girl.
Being so close to the lens, Tang Xin was momentarily flustered, but she soon gave a gentle smile. "Excuse me, is this a street interview?"
Ince said, "Miss, your singing is quite good. Everyone is applauding for you."
"Is that so? Thank you for the compliment."
Ince continued, "Your aura is also quite nice, but don't you think your cheap outfit is a bit out of place for a scene like this?"
Tang Xin looked down at her white shoes and then glanced over her dress, not seeing anything wrong. "Is it?"
"I saved up for a long time to buy these clothes. I actually think they look quite nice."
"Are you having some financial difficulties at home? I heard there's a poverty relief house near Belvedere Square. Do you usually go there to eat and rest?"
"Really? There's actually a place like that? Where..."
Tang Xin's eyes were bright, but before she could finish, a blonde girl took her hand and led her out of the crowd until they disappeared from the camera's view.
Ince sighed. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt; perhaps he really shouldn't point the lens at vulnerable people.
The audience behind the curtain would probably prefer to see people from high society losing their composure.
With that thought, his gaze quickly locked onto someone in the crowd. The man wore a black trench coat, sunglasses, and a grey deerstalker hat. His hands, clad in pure black gloves, held a briefcase. He was wrapped up tightly and looked very low-key, not standing out in the crowd at all.
As a film professional and a cinematographer, the more subtle the details and beauty in life were, the harder it was for them to escape his eyes. His intuition told him that this stylish-looking man would have a great presence on camera.
He quickly approached the man. Before he could even speak, the man lowered his voice and asked, "Have you arrived?"
"I'm doing a street interview," Ince said instinctively.
The man nodded, his presence restrained and steady. "Follow me. The good show is just beginning."
Ince didn't understand the meaning behind the man's words. He suddenly had the feeling that he was filming a spy thriller, and this stylish man before him was actually a spy sent by some hive city to infiltrate the Star of Art.
The feeling of being swept into a storm of espionage instantly energized Ince. No matter what, he couldn't let an opportunity like this slip away.
After following the man for a distance, they arrived at Platform No. 1. Under the grey stone dome, the man leaned against a concrete pillar thick enough for several people to encircle. He used a demon hunter lighter to light a cigarette, waiting for a certain moment to arrive.
"Set up the camera. Remember to record both me and the platform. Document this artistic moment."
Ince trotted over to the man's side and set up the camera according to his instructions. At that moment, he felt like a real lackey.
Why did it feel like he had to do whatever the other person said? Ince was startled by the thought, but then he reconsidered. In a spy movie, the sidekick who follows the spy into the underworld is actually quite cool. He also thrust his hands into his trench coat pockets and straightened his back, trying his best to look a bit cooler.
"What are we doing next?" Ince asked, mimicking the man's voice.
He didn't understand why the man chose this platform. He remembered that this was the platform for the Heart's Desire train, and it was rare for a train to pull in here on a normal day.
Looking around, the passing figures had thinned out at some unknown point. The empty, crescent-shaped platform was left with only him and the man. The atmosphere felt a bit desolate.
The man did not answer the question. Behind his black sunglasses, he took in the entirety of Platform No. 1.
After exhaling a cloud of smoke, the man asked, "What do you think is the main theme of this age?"
"The main theme?" Ince was stunned. Why was the man abruptly asking him such a philosophical question at a time like this?
But he still cooperated and answered, "Order?"
"Wrong. The main theme of the Primeval Era was violence and chaos. People plundered for a mouthful of food, slaughtered for a place to dwell, and used any means necessary to survive. Everyone was a beast driven by primal desires."
"And in our Starry Age, under the gaze of the distant shore, everyone lives within established rules and frameworks. Three radiant stars rise and set every morning and evening. It seems like everything is proceeding in an orderly fashion, and society is operating stably."
"But that doesn't mean the main theme of this age is order."
"In places where people can and cannot see, oppression and exploitation exist every single moment. The wealthy ride steam trains toward the golden age, using the lifeblood of those at the bottom as fuel. They brainwash them with rules and frameworks, diverting social contradictions so that they hate each other and fight amongst themselves, unable to unite. How is this not also a form of violence and chaos?"
"In the Starry Age, we are nothing more than beasts draped in the cloak of civilization."
"Order never existed from the start."
"Nothing is more deserving of the name 'art' than using the most brilliant flames to forcibly tear open the social framework constructed by the upper class, stripping away the fig leaf of beastly civilization and letting people see their ugly, filthy, and undignified forms."
As he listened, Ince finally realized something was wrong, his pupils trembling.
Wait, brother, your words don't sound right. Why do you sound so much like someone from the Ascetic Sect!?
It seemed he had accidentally responded to the secret code of those lunatics and stepped onto a sinking ship!
Ince glanced at the briefcase in the man's hand and swallowed hard. Just as he was about to make a run for it, he was grabbed by the collar and yanked back by the man.
Seeing Ince's reaction, the man also realized something. "You aren't one of ours?"
Ince squeezed out a smile that looked worse than crying. "Brother, I think my mom has dinner ready. I need to go home and eat."
The man sneered. "That doesn't matter. Whether you are one of ours or not, you must record this great and artistic moment for me."
Ince looked at the gun muzzle poking out from under the man's trench coat, wanting to cry but having no tears.
He was just a director of a small, broken film crew on the verge of disbanding. How could he be so unlucky? To randomly pick someone for an interview and have it be a lunatic from the Ascetic Sect—who could he even complain to?
Just then, a gentle female voice echoed over the platform.
"Heart's Desire train No. 0E3605 is about to arrive at the station. Station personnel preparing to receive passengers, please proceed to the corresponding platform and prepare to assist passengers in an orderly disembarkation."
On the electronic board above the platform, red characters rearranged themselves to display the arrival information.
[Time until Heart's Desire No. 0E3605 enters the station: 00:02:59.]
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