I Could Never Fall In Love With A Villain - Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Interpreting it as a Heartbeat

An awkward silence descended upon the meeting room.

Mu Xuan shot Mu Yin a warning glare. She simply shrugged and went back to doodling in her notebook. You insist on making me answer, and then you get upset when I tell the truth, she thought. Why are leaders these days so hard to deal with?

The team leader took a cue from Mu Xuan’s nod and continued.

“After several group discussions, we’ve reached a consensus—we’ve decided to curate a trending topic that leverages ‘positive energy’ to pivot public perception. We plan to collaborate with grassroots or popular independent artists.”

“These artists are typically low-profile and possess a true craftsman spirit. The public won’t find them repulsive; instead, they’ll see us as promoters of art that benefits society…”

The screen displayed several sets of works and active Weibo discussions.

“These are the artists we want to invite.”

“The most popular and our primary target is this mysterious sculptor named ‘S’.”

“His works are incredibly expressive, often abstracting human emotions in a way that provokes deep reflection. He has the largest following among all these artists.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve reached out multiple times but have been unable to establish contact with ‘S’.”

The room erupted into debate. One faction was eager to volunteer for another attempt, while the other was ready to give up on this artist who seemed obsessed with playing hard to get.

Just as the deadlock intensified, Mu Yin, who was busy slacking off, was summoned for the second time.

Mu Xuan spoke flatly: “Hand this task to Mu Yin.”

The tip of Mu Yin’s pen carved a deep, jagged line across the paper. She looked up, pointing at herself. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Mu Xuan leaned back in his chair, his tone casual yet brook no argument. “Since you’ve been so focused on writing things down, I’m giving this opportunity to you.”

Mu Yin didn’t know what had suddenly possessed his brain. She offered a plastic smile. “But this doesn’t seem to fall within my job description.”

Mu Xuan had clearly made up his mind. “You are part of this project. When the project faces difficulties, everyone should find ways to solve them.”

Mu Yin couldn’t be bothered to argue. Work was work, no matter the task.

…

The Bridge Effect

As soon as the meeting ended, Mu Yin tried to catch up with Mu Xuan to ask a few questions. To her surprise, as soon as his gaze swept over her, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He avoided her eyes and strode out of the room without looking back.

I wasn’t insulting him when I thought his brain was malfunctioning, she noted. I was just stating a fact. She really needed to find a chance to give him a psychological consultation.

Mu Yin shook off the weirdness, went downstairs to buy two coffees, and sought out the project manager. She wasn’t the “original” Mu Yin; she wasn’t going to bumble through this. She needed to understand the specifics of “S” and the project requirements.

Everyone assumed Mu Xuan was just messing with his sister for fun. To their surprise, Mu Yin was incredibly serious, asking sharp, pertinent questions. The manager dropped his dismissive attitude and provided detailed files.

…

After the briefing, the manager went to the CEO’s office for a report. Mu Xuan’s injury was better, and he had returned to work yesterday, appearing as cold and professional as ever.

However, mid-conversation, Mu Xuan suddenly turned his gaze out the window.

The manager grew anxious. Is he deep in thought about a new business model? Or is my proposal so naive he can’t even look at me?

Finally, Mu Xuan spoke. “Do you know what the ‘Suspension Bridge Effect’ is?”

The manager blinked, confused, before replying, “I believe it’s a classic psychological concept.” He quickly elaborated, “When a person is in a dangerous or stimulating situation, they experience physiological arousal—like a racing heart. If they happen to meet a member of the opposite sex at that moment, they might mistakenly attribute that physiological reaction to romantic attraction for that person.”

The manager added cautiously, “Are you suggesting our next marketing campaign should revolve around psychological concepts? It’s quite novel.”

“…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mu Xuan said.

“Then your meaning is…?”

Mu Xuan sighed, his eyes still fixed on the window. “Never mind. Forget it.”

The manager was baffled. God, the money is so hard to earn. After a moment, he pushed an unopened coffee across the desk. “Mr. Mu, have some coffee. Mu Yin bought this…”

Before he could finish, Mu Xuan whipped his head around. “She bought it for me?”

Uh… actually, she bought it for the manager. He didn’t like coffee but brought it up to be polite. But seeing Mu Xuan’s state, he decided to play along. “Yes, Mr. Mu. She’s working very hard and has already gone to contact the sculptor S.”

Mu Xuan picked up the coffee but didn’t drink it. His expression flickered through a dozen emotions. “Don’t mention her name lately.”

“Huh?”

“Hearing her name gives me a headache,” Mu Xuan muttered. He then noticed the manager reaching for the coffee and snapped, “You can go now. Leave the coffee.”

…

The Sculptor’s Secret

According to the files, the mysterious S had a studio in the outskirts of Jiabei. Using the Mu family connections, Mu Yin managed to reach the sculptor’s assistant, Mi An.

Mi An agreed to a face-to-face meeting—though it sounded more like a face-to-face rejection.

The studio was a two-hour drive away. Mu Yin arrived in the afternoon, wiping sweat from her brow as she rang the bell. A young man in glasses opened the door.

“Hello, I’m the Xiao Mu who contacted you.”

“Hello. I’m Mi An, S’s assistant.” He led her inside but laid down the law immediately. “You can say whatever you want, but I won’t guarantee I’ll pass it on. S hates marketing. He’s my boss, and I won’t risk my job for you.”

Mu Yin smiled. “That’s fine. I’m just an employee too. I’ll do my job, you do yours. No pressure.”

The studio was industrial and minimalist. But no one would call it “simple,” because all attention was instantly commanded by the sculptures. They were filled with raw, abstract emotion. Mu Yin was mesmerized.

While Mi An went to prepare tea, Mu Yin stood before a specific piece. “Does S like Reverse Psychology?” she called out.

Mi An froze. “Reverse Psychology?”

“It’s a strategy that uses psychological resistance to achieve a goal,” Mu Yin said, walking closer to the work. “Like a parent telling a child ‘you absolutely cannot eat snacks,’ which makes the child want them more.”

She gestured to the sculpture. “Take this piece. The colors are so vivid they suggest an innocent fantasy, rather than a deliberate distortion. It’s a psychological game between artist and audience.”

She smiled thinly. “The audience would rather believe a rational narrative than accept that the artist’s mental world might be breaking down. Because artists have a ‘profound’ aura, people default to believing their explanations are true.”

“I’m curious…” Mu Yin murmured. “Is he using Reverse Psychology to hide something dark, turning his art into a social experiment? Testing how many people are domesticated by appearances, and how many can see through the disguise?”

…

Mi An stood in the hallway, clutching his phone. “Are those her exact words?” the voice on the other end asked—it was calm, gentle, and polished.

“Yes… S,” Mi An replied cautiously. “Would you like to see her?”

There was a light, cold chuckle from the other end. “A self-righteous person… why should I see her?”