Chapter 7: He Was the One Who Killed Me

He killed me.

The moment this thought crossed my mind, a dull pain throbbed in my head.

Anger and regret surged within me, emotions swirling so intensely that I felt like a balloon swelling to the point of bursting.

Isn't it said that after death, one can become a vengeful spirit to claim the life of their enemy?

Yet here I am, powerless, forced to watch my enemy hold my paintings, basking in praise, while I can do nothing.

I can only helplessly witness Gu Tingchu appropriating my artwork as his own.

When I first created these paintings, it was never for the sake of praise.

I have always loved to paint. Ever since Qiao Yanxin forbade me from painting openly, I resorted to doing it in secret.

In recent years, because of Qiao Yanxin and Gu Tingchu, my emotions were in turmoil.

Insomnia clung to me relentlessly; only sleeping pills could bring a semblance of rest.

It was only after seeing a psychologist that I learned I had developed depression.

I told no one about this; even if I did, it wouldn’t have helped.

The doctor advised me to engage more in activities I enjoyed, so I threw myself into painting with fervor.

Sometimes, I would spend entire days in the studio without eating or drinking, lost in my art.

Only while painting did my heart find moments of peace.

Yet, I never imagined Gu Tingchu would steal my paintings.

Seeing the pride he could no longer conceal on his face, I clenched my fists tightly, hatred boiling inside me, though I was utterly powerless.

Gu Tingchu was reveling in the admiration of the crowd when suddenly someone shouted out,

“That’s ch’s signature!”

At the sound, everyone turned to look at the paintings in the studio. It was as if they had discovered a new world, eagerly discussing.

“ch” is my pseudonym.

I wanted to paint and share my work without the Qiao family discovering it—most importantly, without Qiao Yanxin finding out—so I had to use an alias.

I chose the name because it stands for "change."

I wanted to change, and through painting, change myself.

In my second year of high school, I entered an international painting competition abroad and unexpectedly won first prize.

From that moment on, my name gained fame internationally.

Later, I took part in numerous domestic competitions, all of which I won without exception.

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I never collected any awards in person; submissions were all made online.

Many studios had reached out to me, but I refused them all.

Thus, no one knew my true identity.

I only had one social media account, where I posted one or two paintings each week.

That account gathered quite a following. Once, I accidentally logged into the wrong account and posted a painting on my personal profile.

This caused quite a stir; many speculated I was actually ch, while others thought I was trying to ride the wave of popularity, as I had never posted painting videos on my main account.

I paid little mind to these rumors. Even when online debates raged, I made no effort to explain.

Popularity comes fast and fades just as quickly.

As expected, within a month, people gradually forgot the incident.

Unexpectedly, years later, Gu Tingchu dug up my earlier paintings.

I habitually signed my works, so anyone who had seen my paintings could recognize them at a glance.

At Gu Tingchu’s art exhibition, when ch’s paintings appeared, everyone naturally assumed Gu Tingchu himself was ch.

Gu Tingchu neither immediately confirmed nor denied it.

He embodied the indifference of an artist to perfection.

Perhaps to create hype, the exhibition invited numerous media outlets.

Soon, the revelation that Gu Tingchu was ch trended wildly.

Many of my former fans flocked to see, expressing shock.

Gu Tingchu was handsome, with a soft, jade-like charm appealing to all ages.

Once it was known he was ch, his personal account gained countless new followers overnight.

Everyone praised his looks as matching his talent.

Gu Tingchu’s parents ran a small restaurant, which received massive exposure after this, attracting an unceasing stream of customers.

Without a doubt, my prior exposure as ch was dragged back into the spotlight and harshly criticized.

Many descended upon my personal account, unleashing torrents of abuse.

Some went so far as to insult me on the Qiao family’s official page.

Even the charitable deeds I had done under ch’s name were credited to Gu Tingchu.

Witnessing all this online, Gu Tingchu curled his lips into a faint smile.

Beside him, Qiao Yanxin furrowed her brow tightly.

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She had no idea who ch really was, though she had seen my paintings before.

These paintings here were identical to mine.

Though unwilling to believe I was the genius known as ch, deep down she harbored doubts about Gu Tingchu’s claim to that identity.

“Tingchu, are you really ch?” she asked.

She had seen Gu Tingchu’s paintings as well, noting his solid technique but lacking spark. These works before them were clearly of a higher caliber.

Upon hearing Qiao Yanxin’s words, Gu Tingchu hesitated, then his face clouded with melancholy.

“Yanxin, don’t you believe me? If I’m not ch, then where did I get these paintings? Besides, ch is just another name for Chu. I just never said it before. If it’s not me, then who else could ch be?”

His words sent my blood pressure soaring in an instant.

How dare he twist the meaning of my name?!

With his level of skill, he hardly deserved to be ch!

My teeth itched with fury; I wanted to punch that arrogant face right in front of me.

Qiao Yanxin pressed her lips together, seeing Gu Tingchu so upset for the first time, yet she did not rush to comfort him.

“I just feel your style seems different from before.”

Gu Tingchu shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yanxin, artists’ styles evolve. No one sticks to the same style forever.”

As he spoke, his fingers naturally reached out to hold Qiao Yanxin’s hand.

But she shuddered and instinctively pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Gu Tingchu raised an eyebrow.

Qiao Yanxin paused, realizing her reaction was a bit extreme.

She awkwardly touched her nose and said, “There are too many people here. Let’s go to the auction.”

Soon, they would auction off the paintings Gu Tingchu had stolen.

My heart rebelled fiercely—I did not want to see my paintings sold—but my body moved uncontrollably following Qiao Yanxin.

Passing through the crowded throng, my eyes caught sight of someone strikingly familiar.

Turning my gaze, I saw the person’s face was masked.

Only the eyes were visible, yet I recognized immediately—the one who had killed me!