Previously, a video of Ethan Clark drawing circulated online.

The gentle and refined young man, with delicate features, was painting terrifying and ferocious images. On the paper, lifelike ghosts bared their sharp fangs at him, as if they would bite off that beautiful, slender hand in the very next second.

It was a contrast like beauty and the beast, delivering a powerful visual impact—unforgettable at first glance.

Countless people grew curious and intrigued; the horror artist Ethan Clark became famous overnight.

……

At the same time, in the private lounge of the art exhibition building, Ethan Clark walked over to the sofa by the floor-to-ceiling window, carrying a glass of water.

Sitting on the sofa was an elderly man named Henry Foster, a world-renowned psychiatrist before his retirement. He had just returned to the country in the past few days, and because of Ethan Clark's dissociative identity disorder, he had maintained correspondence with Ethan Clark for twelve years.

Ethan Clark handed the water to Henry Foster, sat down on the sofa opposite, and smiled sincerely. “I heard you’ve been having trouble sleeping, so I didn’t add any tea leaves—just a bit of lily to help you rest.”

Henry Foster looked at the lily unfolding in the water and couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You don’t need to act like a central air conditioner with me.”

After all, Henry Foster had met Ethan Clark’s alter, and knew what kind of demon was hidden beneath that gentle face. Even the highly social main personality in front of him was nothing like what he appeared to be—he was practically a lunatic.

Ethan Clark lazily glanced at him and said with a smile, “You’re still useful to me, after all.”

Henry Foster was momentarily speechless.

Ethan Clark clasped his hands together. “I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve found a way for me and Logan to separate.”

Logan Clark, Ethan Clark’s alternate personality.

Henry Foster looked up in shock, thinking he must have misunderstood. “By ‘separate,’ you mean…”

“Exactly what you’re thinking,” Ethan Clark sneered, enunciating clearly, “Let Logan Clark obtain a body and separate from me.”

Henry Foster was full of disbelief. “How is that possible?”

It’s easy for a personality to disappear, but to separate… that was pure fantasy. In his thirty or forty years of practice, Henry Foster had never heard of such a thing.

Ethan Clark took out a thick stack of documents from under the coffee table and handed them to Henry Foster.

Henry Foster took them, completely baffled.

On the very top page, it read:

Zhou, male, late-stage lung cancer, recuperating at home.

Disappeared suddenly from home this June; his family searched anxiously.

Five days later, Zhou suddenly returned home. The family gathered around the table to celebrate, but Zhou was killed when a crystal chandelier unexpectedly fell from above the dining table and smashed his head open.

Upon investigation, all the screws holding the chandelier in place had inexplicably come loose at the same time.

On the second page:

Huang, female, full-time housewife. Due to multiple abortions in her early years, she was unable to have children, and had poor relationships with her husband and in-laws.

In mid-May this year, she went out to buy groceries and vanished without a trace. Four days later, she reappeared at the entrance of her neighborhood, only to be mauled to death by a dog in the security office that had suddenly gone mad.

The strange thing was… after killing her, the dog was no longer mad.

The third page, the fourth page…

As Henry Foster continued reading, he felt increasingly alarmed. All the cases were bizarre and flawless accidental deaths.

Henry Foster couldn’t help but glance at Ethan Clark. So, Ethan Clark had been investigating these things in recent years?

Ethan Clark took a sip of water and said, “Ninety-nine percent of the cases in that stack are these kinds of ‘accidents.’”

He spoke lightly and casually, but as Henry Foster felt the weight of the documents, it was as if invisible strands were wrapping around his neck, tightening bit by bit, stealing his breath.

Henry Foster’s lips went dry. He subconsciously asked, “You just said ninety-nine percent—what about the remaining one percent…”

Ethan Clark glanced at him, smiling meaningfully. “They’re inexplicable winners in life.”

Henry Foster was surprised. “Inexplicable?”

Ethan Clark leaned forward, flipping through the page numbers in the lower right corner of the documents, pulled out a few sheets, and handed them to Henry Foster.

On the first page, it read:

Gao, female, botched plastic surgery, limited by medical technology, her face had been beyond repair for nearly ten years.

In April this year, Gao disappeared without a trace. Half a month later, she returned, and not only had the terrible scars on her face completely healed, but she was so beautiful and radiant that those around her didn’t even recognize her.

Henry Foster flipped through the pages in disbelief.

All the cases were like this: at first, they had unfulfilled wishes, then disappeared for a period of time, and upon returning, their bizarre dreams had come true.

A pauper became rich overnight, someone born blind regained their sight, even people who had already been placed in coffins came back to life…

“How could this be…” Henry Foster muttered.

Ethan Clark smiled and asked, “Did you notice the… common thread among these people?”

The last three words lingered on Ethan Clark’s lips for a moment, carrying a hint of intrigue.

Henry Foster pondered for a moment, then had a sudden realization. “They all had wishes they couldn’t fulfill. For example, the man with late-stage lung cancer wanted to live, the housewife wanted to get pregnant…”

“They all disappeared for a while, and when they came back, they either died in an ‘accident’ or lived gloriously…”

Ethan Clark nodded, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling window at the white-collar workers coming and going in the building across the street. Their makeup was flawless, their clothes were stylish and bright, and their smiles were warm.

All glitter on the outside.

Ethan Clark watched for a while, then let out a soft scoff and said nonchalantly, “No matter how perfect someone is, they have desires—things they want but can’t have, whether temporarily or forever.”

“Some choose to suppress them and become contented saints. Others let themselves go, and in the endless pursuit, hope is born and destroyed, over and over again.”