73: The Vision of the Heart

"Sometimes..."

Scarlett's voice was as soft as a dreamlike murmur, yet it entered Lin Feng's ears with clarity.

"If you want to see more clearly, you must first close your eyes."

"Feel it with your heart."

The moment she finished speaking, she reached out a slender finger, its tip carrying a hint of coolness, and lightly tapped Lin Feng's temple.

"Your problem isn't technical; it's 'here'."

Her voice possessed a peculiar magnetism, as if it could penetrate his skull and directly touch his thoughts.

Lin Feng's body stiffened involuntarily.

He could feel the coolness of her fingertip, the warmth emanating from her body, and even more so, the blatant aggression in her emerald green eyes.

This woman was teaching him how to do things.

Yet, he couldn't refute her.

Because every word she spoke struck the deepest chords of his inner desires and confusion.

Scarlett withdrew her finger, the smile at the corner of her mouth deepening.

She turned and walked toward the interior of the villa.

"Come in. My real gallery isn't out here."

Lin Feng followed behind her, stepping into this box of light perched on the cliff.

The interior decor was minimalist yet luxurious.

There were no superfluous decorations; every piece of furniture was like a work of art, with fluid lines and a sense of design.

The walls were pure white, adorned with several massive paintings.

These paintings lacked any concrete forms, composed entirely of various chaotic blocks of color and wild lines.

Although Lin Feng didn't understand modern art, he could feel the overwhelming aura of immense value emanating from them.

Scarlett stopped in front of a painting.

It was a painting dominated by dark red and black tones, with countless twisted lines intertwined, interspersed with a few flashes of blindingly bright yellow, like a struggle in the dark.

The entire painting exuded a sense of oppression and mania.

"What do you see in this painting?"

Scarlett didn't introduce the artist or the background; she directly questioned Lin Feng.

Lin Feng looked at the painting, his mind racing.

He tried to analyze the composition, the use of color, and the movement it might belong to from an art history perspective.

"From a compositional standpoint, it breaks traditional balance, using irregular lines to create a sense of turbulence. Color-wise, the contrast of red and black symbolizes conflict and..."

"Stop."

Scarlett interrupted him, her voice carrying a trace of unquestionable decisiveness.

She shook her head, a hint of disappointment appearing on her face.

"I'm not testing your knowledge of art theory, Lin."

"Don't look with your brain. Use your eyes, feel it with your heart."

Her voice softened, becoming full of guidance.

"Forget the composition, the colors, the movements."

"Just look at it. What does it make you think of? Anger, joy, or... chaos?"

Chaos?

This word was like a key, instantly flipping a switch in Lin Feng's mind.

He followed Scarlett's guidance and closed his eyes.

Those chaotic blocks of color and lines reassembled in his mind.

They were no longer a painting.

They became a crowded arena, a boisterous sea of voices.

The dark red and black were the opponents' jerseys, the airtight double-teams, the cage that trapped him tightly.

And those flashes of blindingly bright yellow... were the fleeting gaps he was desperately searching for, the opportunities his teammates created by running.

Everything was twisting and intertwining, full of uncertainty.

He saw himself being double-teamed by two people, his passing lanes completely blocked.

He saw Howard pinned down by the opposing center in the paint, unable to move.

He saw Gasol facilitating from the high post, but his passing lane was anticipated by the opponent.

Finally, he saw Nick Young completely wide open in the corner.

That was the most rational, and the only rational choice.

Then, the basketball left his hand, tracing an arc he couldn't control.

Finally, there was that crisp sound of the ball hitting the front of the rim.

Failure.

Chaos.

Desperately searching for a sliver of order within the disordered chaos, only to be ultimately swallowed by it.

Lin Feng snapped his eyes open, his breathing somewhat hurried.

He looked at the painting again, his gaze completely transformed.

"It's chaos."

He spoke slowly, his voice a bit raspy.

"And the desire to find order within that chaos."

Hearing this answer, the disappointment on Scarlett's face was instantly replaced by surprise and appreciation.

She smiled with satisfaction.

"It seems you understand art better than I imagined."

This answer moved her more than any analysis of art theory.

Because this was Lin Feng's own feeling, something he had dug out from the depths of his soul.

The night grew deeper and deeper.

From outside the terrace, the sound of the waves came in waves, like the breathing of the earth.

The two didn't return to the terrace; instead, they sat casually on the floor in this art-filled living room.

That bottle of '82 Lafite was treated like an ordinary drink.

They started talking from that painting, discussing chaos and order.

From chaos and order, they moved on to acting and basketball.

"So, the anticipation you mentioned is about finding that singular order within this chaos in advance?"

Lin Feng raised his glass, seeking guidance from this Hollywood queen.

"Not exactly."

Scarlett shook her head. The alcohol brought a charming flush to her cheeks, yet her eyes remained clear.

"Sometimes, order isn't found; it's created."

"Created?"

"Yes," Scarlett said, looking at him. "When a top-tier actor gets a script, they don't think about how to play the role well. They think about how to make that character the absolute core of the entire play, making everyone's emotions follow their rhythm."

"He'll use a single look to make his opponent forget their lines."

"He'll use a pause to make the director reluctant to call 'cut'."

"He'll use an ad-libbed line to change the entire direction of the script for himself."

"He's not searching for order; he's using his performance to forcibly create a new order that belongs only to him."

Scarlett's words sent a massive shock through Lin Feng's mind.

Creating order!

This was more domineering and more captivating than seeing through the future!

On the court, if he could do the same... using his own rhythm to forcibly disrupt the opponent's defensive deployment.

Using a fake to completely collapse the opponent's help defense system.

Using a drive to create open opportunities for his teammates that they hadn't even imagined themselves!

That was true control of the game!

"I understand."

Lin Feng murmured to himself, an unprecedented fire burning in his eyes.

Scarlett watched him as he was set ablaze, the smile at the corner of her mouth becoming even more charming.

She knew the fish had completely taken the bait.

No, perhaps both of them were each other's prey.

In this moment, their souls resonated at an unprecedented level.

Both were monomaniacs in their respective fields, lunatics with an extreme desire for victory and control.

Scarlett stood up and reached out her hand to Lin Feng.

"My gallery has one last exhibition hall."

Her voice sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet living room.

Lin Feng didn't hesitate and took her hand.

Her palm was warm and soft.

Scarlett led him through the living room and into the master bedroom.

The lights were off.

One entire wall of the bedroom was a massive floor-to-ceiling glass window.

Outside the window were the star-filled sky and the boundless black sea bathed in moonlight.

The stars and the sea seemed within reach.

This was her most precious and most private art gallery.

Under the catalysis of alcohol and the atmosphere, Lin Feng cast aside all distracting thoughts.

The Los Angeles Lakers' six-game losing streak, Kobe's trust, Taylor's comfort, the news of Yoona's imminent arrival... everything was pushed to the back of his mind in this moment.

He looked at the lethally charming woman before him, into those emerald green eyes that seemed capable of devouring everything.