Chapter 241 The Twelfth Day of Entering a Restricted Novel

Chapter 241: The Twelfth Day of Entering the Restricted Novel

The morning sun, not yet hot, had a warm, cozy feel, casting dappled shadows on An Yi's hand through the car window.

He drove through the city, already stirring to life, and arrived at a modern exhibition hall located within the cultural park.

Today, a niche interstellar photography exhibition was being held here, showcasing not the works of various artists, but real images captured by human probes dispatched to the depths of the universe, color-processed professionally.

For An Yi, who had once resonated strangely with drifting celestial bodies, this kind of authentic, magnificent record moved him far more than any fictional beauty.

He wondered if his An Yi Star had a counterpart in this world too.

The interior of the exhibition hall was designed with dark tones, as if simulating the deep backdrop of space.

Huge photographic prints hung on the walls like windows, bringing distant cosmic wonders right in front of you.

The Orion Nebula spread like a burning, brilliantly colored giant curtain—swirls of purple, indigo, and orange-red gas and dust intertwined and roiled, a cradle of star birth.

The Crab Nebula displayed a kind of delicate aftermath of violence, with filament-like matter expanding outward at tremendous speeds, the center still seeming to retain the immense energy of a supernova explosion.

Surrounded by these images, human existence felt utterly compressed, leaving only a sense of one's own insignificance and the silent, majestic power of creation.

An Yi wandered alone among them, his deep eyes reflecting the glow of the nebulae. Each time he gazed into this boundless expanse, different ripples stirred deep in his soul—echoes from past resonances, and a quiet meditation on eternity and the unknown.

He stopped in front of a particularly striking photo.

In the frame, two massive galaxies were slowly colliding and merging under the pull of gravity. Their original structures were being stretched and twisted, scattering dreamlike trails of light made of billions of stars.

This grand process, measured in eons of time and light-years of space, had an inhuman, almost cold grandeur—exactly the kind of beauty An Yi appreciated, encompassing destruction and rebirth, order and chaos—eternal.

“An Yi.”

A familiar voice sounded not far to his side.

An Yi turned his head slightly and saw Chu Chen standing a few paces away.

Behind his rimless glasses, his eyes clearly reflected An Yi's figure.

“You're here.” An Yi's lips naturally curved into a gentle smile. He wasn't surprised.

The information about this photography exhibition had been shared by Chu Chen a few days ago during a break in their project discussions, hoping An Yi would be interested.

And indeed, An Yi was very interested.

Chu Chen stepped forward and naturally stood beside An Yi, close enough to feel each other's presence but not too close, without invading each other's personal space for viewing.

He too looked up, and they gazed together at the image of the colliding galaxies.

After a few moments, taking in the visual impact, he turned his head and let his gaze fall on the elegant profile of An Yi's face. “Mm.”

He paused, then spoke with his usual earnestness, the content blunt with no buffer: “I've missed you.”

An Yi raised an eyebrow, used to Chu Chen's straightforward honesty.

At least this was way more comfortable than words laced with calculation or ambiguous flirtation.

He let out a low laugh. “We've been seeing each other almost every day these past few days.”

Their collaborative project had just passed a critical phase of intense work; indeed, the two had been spending a lot of time together discussing and making decisions. Today's exhibition was a temporary break.

Chu Chen shook his head, his expression even more serious. “Even seeing you every day, I miss you every single moment.”

An Yi temporarily shifted his attention from the majestic galaxy photo to Chu Chen entirely. “Are you sweet-talking me?”

He expected Chu Chen to stay calm and just nod.

Instead, upon hearing this, Chu Chen's eyes went wide, like he'd heard something shocking.

Then, under An Yi's gaze, color visibly rushed from his cheeks to his ears, even his neck turning a faint pink.

“Is… is this… sweet talk?” he stammered, his tone a little panicked. Then, suddenly, he bowed seriously to An Yi. “I'm sorry!”

An Yi: “????”

This sudden apology caught him off guard—rare for him.

He bluntly asked: “Why are you sorry?”

Chu Chen looked up, blush still fresh on his face, but his eyes were profoundly sincere. He explained, “Although I have expressed my affection to you, we haven't established a stable relationship yet. Blurting out sweet talk like that… isn't it a bit reckless? Aren't I being disrespectful to you?”

He paused, then continued earnestly, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I wasn't trying to say sweet nothings just now. I was just stating my feelings for you.”

After this explanation, he looked at An Yi with great gravity, seeking forgiveness. “Can you forgive me?”

An Yi pulled his gaze away from Chu Chen—a mix of curiosity and disbelief—and looked at the man, who had blushed and apologized over a single sweet talk remark. He finally laughed out loud.

“I forgive you.” An Yi played along, his tone teasing. “Dr. Curly.”

Hearing An Yi call him “Dr. Curly,” Chu Chen instinctively tugged at his messy curls, as if a bit embarrassed, and gave a soft “Mm.”

An Yi calling him Dr. Curly…

How intimate…

After this little interlude, they walked side by side slowly through the hall.

They stopped again in front of a close-up of Jupiter's Great Red Spot—that massive storm.

It was a terrifying cyclone larger than Earth, spinning for centuries. The photo clearly showed the swirling cloud bands at its edge and the relatively calm but energy-packed core.

Chu Chen seemed especially interested in this photo, staring at it for a long time, his gaze focused as if trying to unravel all its secrets.

After a moment, he murmured thoughtfully, “It's a bit like…”

He paused, then turned to look at An Yi, who was quietly appreciating the scene. “…a bit like the feeling you give people.”

An Yi glanced at him sideways, a question in his eyes.

Chu Chen's expression was very serious; it didn't seem like a joke.

An Yi couldn't help but chuckle softly. “Am I the eye of the storm?”

But Chu Chen thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not the eye.”

He pointed vaguely at the magnificent, colorful vortex in the photo. “It's… the storm itself. From the outside, it looks grand, calm, and even has a certain beauty.”

His eyes shifted back to An Yi's face. Those clear eyes seemed to pierce through An Yi's gentle surface straight to his core. “But when you get close, or go deep inside, you feel the power within the core: the power to destroy all established order and rebuild new rules among the ruins.”

An Yi was slightly stunned by these words. Then, the smile at the corners of his lips deepened a little.