Stendhal Syndrome [Entertainment]

"Fate brought us close to each other in this world, and we hurt each other almost as much as we could. He came to give me the final blow when I died. -Stendhal "The Red and the Black""

"You know, in fact, he doesn't love you at all."

In his dream, Meroving heard such a voice whispering to him, he was running in the cosmic galaxy in embarrassment, passing by planets, caught by the halo, could not find the source of the voice, only heard He mocked him.

The voice continued, "Lance Meroving, you are pathetic."

"Director Mo, which of the movies you made is your favorite character?" During the interview, the reporter asked Mo Ci.

He was standing on the red carpet, wearing a black bowler hat, dressed like a gentleman in the middle ages, and his long hair was tied up like the high mane of a galloping horse.Yu Chu stood beside him, listening to his director's answer.

"My favorite character is, of course, Mr. Y in "Stendhal Syndrome." He paused, with a smile on his lips, "I even want to fall in love with him. It's that kind of feeling, destined, heartbeat .”

The reporter knew that this was an exaggerated description, and it was the promotional period of "Stendhal Syndrome", so this answer was naturally appropriate. Director Mo will probably have a new answer next time he changes to a movie.So he continued to ask, "Then Yu Chu, what do you think? What does Mr. Y mean to you?"

Meroving, who was staring at Mo Ci's side face, was startled awake. He quickly reacted and smiled gently, "Mr. Y, he is a new beginning for me. My feelings for him are complicated."

"Can you describe this feeling for us in detail?"

Yu Chu helped his glasses, which seemed to block his gaze, "Sorry, my Chinese is not very good, I can't describe this, anyway, it's very complicated."

"You know how you feel about him, you just don't dare to say it." The voice in the dream said to Meroving, "Because you are afraid that he will be angry if he hears it."

Merovingian was very calm. He was trapped in a cage of starlight, sitting on a seat covered with thorns, like a king who would restore his crown even if he lost his subjects and land.

"I love and hate him," he said with a smile, his eyes full of cold air. "But what does it matter? He's just a fictional character that I play."

He emphasized his tone, "Without me, he is nothing."

The voice laughed when he heard this sentence, "Do you believe it when you say this? I really want to give you a mirror now, so that you can see how cruel you are."

"Do you know?" Mo Ci held the microphone and smiled softly at the camera, "Lance, he really looks like Mr. Y. Just one glance, the first time I saw him, I felt like my Mr. Y Live it."

His eyes were deep and scary, as if there was another world inside, and there was a person in that world that they couldn't see. "I was on top of him, and I saw my Mr. Y—resurrected. He stood there, waiting for me to stop him."

Mo Ci closed his eyes at this point, and his voice was a bit painful, like a lonely wild goose that had lost its partner, sighing in despair. "However, he was resurrected, but died again."

"Why do you say that?" the host asked him.

"I saw it with my own eyes. I fell in love with him through the camera, and once again experienced the parting of life and death with him. I watched him die in front of me. The blood flowed all over the place, almost staining his painting That painting, that scene, is sad and charming."

Meroving watched Mo Ci's interview and turned off the TV when he got here. He knew what the death he was talking about was.

It was in Florence, at the end of the play.

Mr. Y died, when he finished painting that painting, he died of the delusion and pretense of art.

After that scene, no one yelled for a card for a long time, and then all of them saw Mo Ci sitting in the director's chair with tears on his face.

They heard him call his name, and he covered his face and curled himself up, calling Mr. Y's name, over and over again.

They saw him leave in a daze, and no one told their director that this was just a movie he made, and Mr. Y was just a character he created, all of which were fake and none of them existed.

At that time, Meroving felt that his heart was also hurting, as if someone had pinched the softest part, wanting to kill him with one blow, forcing him to kneel down and beg for mercy.

"Why again?" the host asked, he knew that Mo Ci had lost his mind this time, and he could almost foresee the hits and ratings this show would bring.

Mo Ci recalled his behavior as a murderer at that time.

He created his Mr. Y, who has everything he likes, romantic, elegant, persistent, informal, born for art, and has the ambition to conquer history and the future.

He loved every quality and characteristic of him, wrote many short biographies for him, and arranged for him his favorite ending—death for art.

In fact, there is nothing here. The most frightening thing is that after talking about this and filming it into a movie, he clearly felt the panic and sorrow coming, and he wanted to overturn his boat.

"Last time, I killed him with my own hands, in order to arrange a tragic and beautiful ending for my script. I personally announced his death sentence. This is a murder. I am God, and I am even more a murderer."

The host could already feel that something was wrong with Mo Ci's state, like falling into a nightmare. He felt a little guilty, but he continued to ask, "Then do you regret it now?"

Mo Ci was silent for a long time, and then said, "I can't regret it, I can only let him live again. This is the limit I can do."

In fact, that day in Florence was not only the death of Mr. Y, but also the opening of a new relationship.

That night, Meroving knocked on the door of his director's room. He was wearing a bathrobe with his collarbone and chest exposed. After Mo Ci opened the door, he walked in and closed the door, then pressed him against the door panel and kissed him. Take off your clothes.

In the aftertaste of the orgasm, he kissed his eyes, only to realize that he had kept them closed, as if he had no idea who he was kissing and having sex with.

He couldn't see his eyes, but for the first time he felt a little shameful to take advantage of it.But if he was given another choice, he would still do it. He had to take advantage of it because he had other plans.

After turning off the TV, Meroving went to get a bottle of brandy. The spirit burned his chest and gave him another dream that was almost comatose.

"You don't come to find me, you know who I am, don't you?"

Merovingian was trapped in the Milky Way, and waves hit him one after another, making him struggle between life and death.

"You don't need to let yourself live in such a pitiful and humble way. Look at your current appearance, what are you? Do you know how embarrassed you are? You are like a beggar, pretending to be deaf and dumb. Are you really Do you think you can get what you want?"

"Why did you drink so much wine? A whole bottle of brandy." When Mo Ci woke him up, his expression was a little reproachful, his brows were slightly frowned, "Did you have a nightmare, I see you broke out in a cold sweat."

Meroving shook his head and looked at him without speaking.

"Go take a shower, honey, take a shower and then go to bed."

"Wash with me." Meroving knelt on the sofa and clasped his wrist.

Mo Ci raised his eyebrows, leaned down and kissed him on the lips, "Honey, I think you're implying something else to me."

"Yes, you are right, Mo Ci, I want you."

They did it once in the bathroom, then collapsed on the bed, with trembling fingertips and hot breath.

"You are too enthusiastic today, my sweetheart, is this the hidden function of brandy, used to add to the fun?" Mo Ci kissed his Adam's apple again, with a sticky tone.

"Maybe, who knows." Meroving responded with his Adam's apple rolling up and down.

"Who knows?" Mo Ci speeded up, "Honey, I guess your body will tell me the answer."

10

They fell asleep exhausted that night, and Meroving finally found the man. He saw his back, and saw him turn around. It was a face exactly like his.

"Look, you know who I am." The man said with a face exactly like his, with a smile on his face.

11

"What are you going to do? Or, how do you want him to live? I think you understand what I mean. The film has been shot, the box office is hot, and many people watch it. According to you, every time it is screened, Mr. Y Just died again. Is that so?"

"Then what do you think I should do?" Mo Ci asked back.

The host was stunned for a moment. Obviously, this made him unable to answer.

"He won't die again." Mo Ci laughed, with a strange light in his eyes, "I've realized that I love him, so I won't let this happen."

12

"Yes, I know who you are." Meroving stood up from the galaxy, and suddenly all the light disappeared, leaving him standing in the dim universe and looking at that person.

He and that person have the same face.

"You are Mr. Y."

"More than that, I have more than this identity, you know it well."

Meroving raised the corner of his mouth, "Don't you just want to hear me say it yourself, are you the one Mo Ci really loves?"

The man smiled, with a faint light in his eyes, he didn't know whether it was pity or ridicule. "That's why I said you are pathetic. Lance Meroving, I have reason to sympathize with you, don't I?"

13

"You're awake," Mo Ci glanced at the phone screen, "23:[-] p.m., dear, I was the one who moved last night, why did you fall asleep so tired in the end?"

"Maybe I experienced a losing game in my dream." Merovin said hoarsely.

"Then what did you dream about?"

Merovingian shook his head, "I can't remember."

"Forget it, how about packing up and going out to eat, I found a good restaurant."

Meroving looked at him as if he had made up his mind, then pulled him over and hugged him.

"it is good."

14

"But, he loves you who I played, doesn't he?" In the dream, Meroving held the last position and said to that person.

"Didn't I say it before? Lance is almost a copy of Mr. Y, isn't he?" In the unaired program, Mo Ci said to the host with sad and joyful eyes.

15

--you are lying.

--you're lying.

—You guys are crazy.