Wu Jin heaved a sigh of relief when the instance scene began.
Unexpectedly, there was no drama behind the canvas of <Time Saving Truth...>, no fighting at all. There was only a light projected in the dark.
It was like a long and boring movie being played, captured from one camera from beginning to end.
It was Lemoyne, who painted his last work on canvas in 1737.
He had curly white hair, like the ghost in the Hercules Salon, and he wore a simple robe. There were many boards in his studio, but they were all covered up with black cloth. He painted in a small room with no light, and the scene was gloomy and cold.
He turned to Wu Jin and described with disgust the lies and jealousy that had all but beaten him into the ground.
Vera whispered, “If we watch on like this... will we be able to see the scene just before he killed himself? Or a sudden homicide?”
Wu Jin shook his head, “The instances in the gallery are only 20 minutes at the most. It’s not enough for him to finish the painting.”
“But there must be a key clue here.”
The two of them approached the projection of Lemoyne without the painter being aware of them there.
It was just a movie, Wu Jin thought to himself. Even at this moment, for the Lemoyne who lived in 1737, he and Vera were merely ghosts who’d broken into his studio.
The moment they arrived in front of the painter, Wu Jin froze. Lemoyne’s eyes were bloodshot, and they looked as though they hadn’t been closed in a long time.
The painter kneaded the tip of his brush and swept it over his palette. It seemed that he was creating in anger––when he finished with the brush, he was once again controlled by reason, filling in the colors peacefully, the tip of the brush smoothly sliding over the canvas.
One stroke, two strokes. Wu Jin fully believed in the results of the investigation into the cause of Lemoyne’s death. He was in a state of extreme schizophrenia.
The painter set down his paintbrush and began to sketch the goddess Truth with a long graphite-like stick. The goddess had her cheek raised, and when the painter drew, she looked light and gentle. With only a few strokes, her face and facial features were already outlined.
“He’s sad...” Wu Jin was stunned. “Could the clue be in the goddess of truth?”
Vera suddenly sucked in a breath of cold air and tugged at Wu Jin’s sleeve, “Look, look at his lines!”
Wu Jin narrowed his blind little guy eyes for a long time and only felt that she looked familiar. Vera finally couldn’t help reminding him, “The painting in the corridor just now, the dead lady on the funeral bed.”
“That’s his dead wife.”
Lemoyne drew out the lines, rubbed them out again, redrew them, and then rubbed them out again. He did it so many times that even Wu Jin could remember that face in his mind––
In his mind, countless clues appeared at random.
“He began to grow schizophrenic a year ago, powerless against his depression and paranoia.”
“The size fits. It’s 170×140... Although it’s not the one we’re looking for, it was framed in 1736.”
Lemoyne died in 1737, and his wife had been buried in 1736.
He’d painted the goddess of truth with the face of his dead wife, and imagined his wife’s death as a ‘lie’. He pretended that he was a warrior who reversed time. He beat down Falsehood with a sickle and brought his lover back from the hands of death––
YOU ARE READING
Surprise! The Supposed Talent Show Was Actually-?!
Science Fiction-for offline purposes only - Book 1 Synopsis: Wu Jin, as a trainee from a certain entertainment company, had a peerless, stunning face. He was qualified to debut as a lead performer even if he just sat there and did nothing. After signing up for a...
