"Dong Leimi... Dong Leimi... Dong Leimi."

"Studying is also about finding Dong Leimi, and finding clues about Merka is also about Dong Leimi."

"I really can't avoid this topic." Turing muttered quietly.

Then Turing seemed to notice something and looked towards the circular platform in the center of the room, only to find Dong Leimi still sitting there with a smile, seemingly unaware of Turing.

Turing pursed his lips, then opened another bottle of white paint and mixed it on the palette.

Around Turing, there were about twenty people sitting scattered around, each lost in thought in front of their own easel, figuring out how to make their brushstrokes. However, Turing was already halfway done by now.

During today's art class, perhaps everyone had grown tired of painting still life and landscapes, so they asked Sister Dong Leimi to be the model. Reluctantly, she agreed, unable to resist the enthusiastic requests from the children.

Dong Leimi sat quietly like a painting, with a sturdy frame that combined both horizontal and vertical lines, and elegant curves like gentle waves.

There was no coquettishness, yet her figure exhibited grace and beauty.

She was a typical Acadia beauty.

But Turing was becoming increasingly impatient with his depiction.

In the end, no matter what Turing painted, it always looked like a copied image from a camera. However, it was not as detailed as a photograph.

At first, the professors would happily showcase Turing's paintings and give him praise. But gradually, after becoming tired of seeing paintings that were indistinguishable from reality, they stopped encouraging Turing.

Perfection meant one thing - it wasn't worthy of praise.

The problem was Turing didn't know what he was doing wrong.

If art is the product of human processing of reality,

then what should be done with art already processed by someone else, like Turing?

How could art produce more art?

If this were two years ago, Turing would have been busy preparing for the upcoming fireworks festival.

But somehow, Turing now had the leisure to contemplate about Merka.

"It has been a week since Elizabeth told me about Merka."

"I still haven't found the opportunity to ask Dong Leimi about it." Turing sighed softly, glancing at the progress of the others.

"Be patient, Turing. There will be time to ask after this class." Turing took out another blank paper and covered the half-finished portrait of Dong Leimi, then began preparing the palette again.

In theory, when painting the human figure, one should at least sketch out a framework and fill in the base.

But Turing didn't do that.

He started with a brushstroke, then continued with the movement of his brush.

Eyes, nose, ears. Even without outlining the structure of the face beforehand, Turing knew exactly where they should be.

Merka's hair, Merka's eyelashes, Merka's fingernails.

Turing couldn't wait and started painting faster.

Mysterious expressions, exaggerated creativity, continuously, incessantly, under Turing's skilled fingers, the brush strokes blossomed into beautiful images.

Only now did Turing realize that he had never carefully observed Merka before.

He was truly gentle in every way, radiating a sense of peace.

Gradually, as if infected by the Merka in the painting, Turing's brush became light and his lips curled up into a sweet smile.

In Turing's strokes, the wide gaps of Merka's fingers, the graceful arch of her eyebrows, and the subtle clavicle, all exuded a sunny charm.

"Although Merka looks like the moon, she gives off the feeling of the sun."

The afternoon sunlight... especially when the sun is obscured by clouds and disappears without a trace, it is at its best.

Warm and tranquil, like the green grass he lies upon, like the old sheep chewing on the grass.

Or, like gently caressing the sheep himself, the only person exempt from the sunlight under the shade of the tree.

He can see the sunlight, but not quite see it. He is completely in cahoots with the sunlight. Anyone who gets distracted for a moment will overlook his existence, assuming that he is one with the environment.

Unbeknownst to Turing, he unknowingly added a hazy sun to the top left corner of the canvas. It wasn't until the real slanted sun shone upon the canvas that he realized there was no one around.

The empty easel had been tidied up and leaned against the wall at a distance, lined up like a row of judges scrutinizing Turing.

"Why haven't you left yet, Ochilia?"

"Oh, Ochilia... Is this painting Merka?" Suddenly, a voice as gentle as water came from behind Turing, startling him to the point where he thought the sunlight was speaking.

Turing turned around and saw Donremy, sun-kissed and golden behind him.

"It's really beautiful... It reminds me of many things from the past."

Donremy's lips trembled, as if trying to convey something more profound.

[Does she know Merka?] Turing immediately became alert, his expression turning serious.

Seeing Turing's change in demeanor, Donremy smiled helplessly and quickly waved his hand, saying, "It's okay, it's okay. I won't go around telling people."

"Even teachers had crushes on boys in their class when they were younger. It's normal." Donremy seemed to have made up her mind and nodded understandingly.

"But... how should I put it."

"Merka is not a good choice." Donremy looked at Turing's profile, saying something profound.

"Ah, I'm not saying Merka is bad, on the contrary, Merka is very good." Seeing Turing's questioning gaze, Donremy quickly changed her statement.

"But..."

"People are like this, the more you understand, the more you forgive. One's character can become ruthless even when they are in love."

"Without the power of a god, but with the temperament of a god."

"It can cause a lot of trouble for those around them..." Donremy squinted her eyes, absentmindedly looking at the Merka in the painting, trying to find traces of others in him.

"Anyway, it's not suitable to be lovers." Donremy smiled kindly and reached out to touch Turing's small head.

[What is she saying?]

Turing didn't care about these vague things and decided to speak directly, "I heard that you used to work in the intelligence department."

"There's a secret place in the intelligence department, do you know where it is?" Turing looked up at Donremy, her face shining with sunlight, unable to make out the expression clearly.

"Did Maria tell you?" Donremy's voice carried a hint of complexity. "Actually, it's not really a secret... but if you want me to say, I hope to hear your reason."

Turing looked at Donremy in the sunlight, like a saint.

An intuitive alarm bell rang in Turing's heart, and he thought it would be best to tell the truth.

"I found out about it myself. I heard that Merka works there, and I wanted to see Merka... Is that okay?"

Donremy fell silent for a moment.

"Just to see Merka?"

"But, I have another, better plan."

"Ochilia, do you want to hear it?"

-----------------------------------------------------

"How about it?" Hamlet crossed his arms, looking impatiently at Merka.

"It's not a bad plan... although I don't know why you're helping me." Merka lowered his head, contemplating as he pressed his chin.

"Well, let's do this. I'll allow you to monitor me throughout the whole process. When the plan is in action, you can also go to the data room to monitor Turing, so as to prevent any unexpected surprises," Hamlet said.

"It's not monitoring, it's protecting. And if I wanted to monitor you, do I need your permission? I have a lot going on, and I have plenty of work to take care of," Merka replied.

"Tsk tsk." Hamlet, who had no job, sneered disdainfully.

"At that time, you are not allowed to run away. Come with me to the data room. Don't you dare touch Turing's personal belongings when she's gone."

"After all, you are a drug addict. Just carrying drugs with you is already dangerous enough."

Merka cleared his throat and said helplessly.

"Now I will tell you the solution to the 'Left Rotation Gate', so that you can enter the 'conference room'."

As soon as Hamlet heard Merka say this, his mouth under the mask couldn't help but curl up, silently laughing.

"Ah... I can't hide from Turing forever."

"Although I don't want to rely on you, there is no other way."