Inside the gallery, every painting depicted stunning young women. All signed with the same name: Qin Bufan!
Take this one, *Girl Eating Grapes*: a pure, innocent girl lounging lazily on a bed, sunlight bathing her rosy skin in a golden glow.
The white gauze curtains billow in the breeze, revealing her bare profile.
A single purple grape dangles from her lips as she gazes seductively at the viewer.
Vivid, dripping temptation—that's the first impression it leaves.
White, gold, pink, purple—the colors blend into something forbidden yet mesmerizing.
Another, *Running*: a girl in a white blouse and shorts, sprinting freely across a track field.
Sunlight, sweat, youth—all woven into a single vibrant moment. Qin Bufan's brush captured the raw vitality of a teenage girl perfectly.
The exhibition featured countless styles.
But Alex stopped dead in front of a painting titled *Imprisoned*.
A naked girl locked inside an ancient castle. Dark green vines coiled around her chest; a blood-red rose covered—and pierced—her lower body.
A pitch-black raven perched on her shoulder. The whole scene radiated gloom and menace.
Yet Alex caught something in her eyes: pure terror. Her fingers trembled unmistakably in fear.
That kind of raw, involuntary panic couldn't be faked by a model posing. Only real danger triggers those subconscious micro-movements.
It reminded him of the ancient Chinese story of Xi Shi clutching her heart.
During the Spring and Autumn Period, the legendary beauty Xi Shi—one of China's Four Great Beauties—was renowned for her elegance and breathtaking face. Every man who saw her fell instantly.
But heaven, jealous of her perfection, gave her a strange affliction: chronic heart pain.
Whenever it struck, she would clutch her chest and furrow her brow in agony—yet somehow, the expression only made her more alluring.
Her ugly neighbor, Dong Shi, tried imitating it. The result? People found her even more repulsive. Hence the idiom: "Dong Shi imitating Xi Shi's frown."
Alex had studied photos of the missing girls. None matched this one.
But those evasive eyes, that genuine fear—they didn't look staged.
Either the painter had witnessed this scene firsthand and painted it from memory…
Or he'd captured the exact micro-expressions from some film or reference with uncanny accuracy.
At the same time, Sophia leaned close and whispered: "Think of this exhibition as a Lolita showcase—minus the formal labels."
"*Girl Eating Grapes* and *Running* are classic sweet Lolita."
"*Imprisoned* and that one over there, *Cursed*—pure Gothic Lolita."
"Those aristocratic girls—*Girl with a Pearl Earring*, *Oriental Princess in Western Gown*—they're classical Lolita."
"And the girl on the steam locomotive? Steampunk Lolita…"
Sophia had clearly done her homework before they arrived.
If they classified further, Emma Hayes fell squarely into Gothic Lolita. Qin Bufan had even commissioned a French tailor for a perfectly symmetrical dress to match.
The answer was practically screaming.
Alex grew more convinced Qin Bufan was involved. He whispered to Sophia: "Honey, notice anything? All these paintings were completed this year. Can one artist realistically produce this many works in such a short time?"
He kept staring at the completion dates: April, June, and so on.
Suddenly, a staff member approached and carefully removed *Imprisoned* from the wall.
"Hey—we weren't done looking," Sophia said, exchanging a glance with Alex.
The staff member bowed apologetically. "Sorry—this piece has been sold. We need to package it and deliver to the buyer."
"Sold?" Alex narrowed his eyes. A strange feeling rose in his chest.
Sophia sensed it too. She pressed: "How many pieces from this exhibition have sold so far?"