A man with a dream of becoming a director.

 

“Mr. Zhong, over here!” A man in a suit waved when he spotted Zhong Jiudao.

Dragging a huge suitcase behind him, Zhong Jiudao walked toward the suited man. He stopped about a meter and a half away, gave a polite yet distant nod, and said, “I don’t see the house.”

The suited man was the real estate agent Zhong Jiudao had contacted. He wanted to rent a historical villa, and today the agent was supposed to show him around.

“It’s nearby. Head northwest, about two kilometers walking,” the agent said.

Zhong Jiudao glanced at his oversized suitcase and the uneven, worn-down road. Walking two kilometers like that seemed troublesome.

“No worries, I’ve got photos of the house on my phone, and I brought the contract too. If you’re satisfied with the photos, we can sign the contract here,” the agent said.

It was clear he had no intention of actually taking Zhong to the property. Zhong Jiudao traced a faint pattern with his left index finger on the palm of his right hand, then raised that hand and brushed the agent’s forehead with his palm.

The agent froze briefly. Then Zhong Jiudao opened his hand toward him and said, “Show me the photos.”

Words spilled out of the agent’s mouth uncontrollably: “Forget the pictures. They’re all carefully Photoshopped, totally different from the real thing. No one’s lived there in two or three years, no upkeep, it’s all dust and cobwebs. I’ll find the unedited photos for you.”

Zhong Jiudao took the phone, flipping through the genuine pictures. The villa’s structure was still sound; though built in the last century, the materials and design were excellent, and it had withstood the test of time. The owner had even done some renovations in recent years—keeping the vintage charm while installing modern utilities like electricity, plumbing, a bathroom, and kitchen. Both historical and convenient.

“The house looks good. Once it’s cleaned up, it’ll be beautiful. Why Photoshop the pictures?” Zhong Jiudao asked.

“No one dares live there! It’s infamous as a haunted house. After the renovations, the owner’s family had nothing but misfortune. They couldn’t sell it, so it just sat with us for rent. When I took over, I snapped a few photos, but I got sick for days after!” The agent smacked himself, shocked at his own honesty.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Zhong Jiudao asked.

“If I’d told you, would you still rent it? Even if you did, you’d use the haunted-house angle to bargain down the price. I actually doubled the owner’s asking rent!” Again the agent slapped himself, horrified at his own words.

“I recorded what you just said. Should I file a complaint against your company for deceiving customers?”

The agent panicked, blocking him quickly: “No, no, please! How about this—I’ll rent it to you at the landlord’s original lowest price, and I’ll give you a 20% discount on the agency fee, okay?”

Zhong Jiudao just looked at him.

“Fine! 50% off the fee! Or I’ll find you an even better place!” the agent pleaded.

“No need. This house is perfect—spacious, well-designed, historical, and most importantly, cheap. Nothing could be more suitable. I’ll sign the contract now,” Zhong Jiudao said.

The agent finally sighed in relief, pulled a contract from his briefcase, filled in the price, and handed it over.

Zhong Jiudao signed, paid, and rented the place for a year—the landlord’s minimum term. He knew it was a haunted house but still took it. What a strange man.

“Mr. Zhong, this place really is cursed. Why rent it?” the agent asked, bewildered.

“I’m a director. I need a place like this to shoot a film.” Zhong Jiudao reached out as if retrieving something invisible from the agent’s face, then said, “Be honest in the future.”

With that, he lifted his enormous suitcase with ease—as if it were a carry-on—and strode steadily toward the haunted villa. At nearly 1.9 meters tall, he made the 32-inch case look light as a 20-inch.

The agent watched until Zhong disappeared from view, muttering to himself, “What’s wrong with me today? Why did I spill every secret?”

While the agent fumed in regret, Zhong Jiudao was in good spirits—after all, he had secured the perfect place for a bargain price.

Back when he took the college entrance exam, he had defied his family’s plans and secretly applied to the film academy’s directing program. His father had been so enraged he declared their relationship severed, forbidding him from ever returning home.

For two years of university, Zhong couldn’t go home at all. Only after his mother’s mediation did his father grudgingly allow him back for New Year’s—but he still demanded that Zhong switch paths after graduation, take the graduate entrance exam, and pursue the future they had chosen for him.

But Zhong had a dream: to bring the stories in his mind to the big screen. He insisted on becoming a director.

Both father and son were stubborn. They finally struck a deal: Zhong would have ten years after graduation to pursue film-making. If he failed to achieve success, he must return to the family home and take up the career arranged for him.

His father also swore never to fund his projects—and warned colleagues not to invest in his films.

Now, Zhong had just graduated, and the ten-year pact had begun. He was preparing for his first movie.

With no industry backing, he relied only on two million yuan he had scraped together through part-time jobs and mysterious gigs during college. The budget was painfully tight, so he had to save at every turn.

He’d originally planned to rent the villa for just three months, but the landlord required a minimum of one year. Fortunately, the haunted reputation slashed the rent by more than half, saving him a fortune.

Dragging his heavy suitcase two kilometers, Zhong finally reached the gates.

It was a standalone garden villa with a large yard and high gates. Around it grew century-old trees, tall and thick, casting the entire property in shade. The air was cool, but the shadows made the place look eerie.

He glanced upward—the sun had just slipped below the western horizon. Dusk had fallen.

Taking out the keys, he opened the weathered gates.

The courtyard inside was nothing like the photos the agent had shown.

Those pictures had shown weeds everywhere, piles of dead leaves, and ivy choking the walls—a scene of utter desolation.

But now, stepping in, there wasn’t a single fallen leaf. The garden was cleared, planted with dark red flowers.

In the fading light, the blossoms released scarlet pistils, and if one looked closely, each seemed like the face of a beautiful woman, with the pistil as crimson lips.

The stone path was spotless. At its end loomed the villa itself, magnificent, encircled by countless red flowers—like the gateway to another world.

Zhong Jiudao walked down the historic stone path. Faced with the uncanny sight, he merely smiled. “Saves me the cleaning bill.”

As the last trace of sunlight vanished, the tree-crowded yard sank into darkness faster than the outside world. Zhong saw candlelight flicker to life in an upstairs window.

Anyone else would have fled in terror. But he wasn’t about to abandon the bargain. Using his key, he turned the rusty lock and pushed open the heavy door.

Creaaak. A gust of icy wind rushed out from within.

On the first floor, oil lamps hung along the walls. As Zhong stepped inside, one by one they lit up, glowing faint green and illuminating the hall.

Zhong frowned. “Didn’t they say the place had electricity? Why are we still using candles? The equipment needs power. Even phones need charging.”

Ignoring the uncanny sight, he strode in to look for a power source.

Just then, a woman in a white cheongsam appeared at the door. She held a red candle, her face flickering in and out of view under its light, like a drifting ghost.

Her steps made no sound—she seemed to float, silently gliding behind him. Reaching out her hand, she whispered: “This is not a place for you. Leave at once.”

A sound like ghostly weeping suddenly rose from behind him. Zhong Jiudao turned back expressionlessly and saw the woman’s pale fingers with their unnaturally long nails. Calmly, he said: “How is this not the place I should be? I rented it. I’m the tenant now. Who are you, and why are you in my house? The one who should leave is you.”

He even pulled out the lease agreement, showing the legally binding signature, the official seal, and the attached copy of the owner’s authorization letter to the agency—reasonable, legitimate, and indisputable.

The woman in white blinked at the document. Slowly she withdrew her hand, retreated two steps while holding her candle, and in a lowered voice said: “This humble woman… has lived in this house for quite a long time.”

“Oh? For how long? Do you have legal rights of residence? If you can’t prove it, then you should leave, otherwise you’re infringing on my property rights.” Zhong Jiudao pressed the light switch on the wall.

Click. The chandelier lit up, flooding the hall with bright light like daylight. The woman in the white cheongsam flinched, raising her hand to shield her eyes.

Zhong glanced at her feet—she cast no shadow in the glaring light. Understanding dawned on him. He switched the light off again and muttered, “This house is too big. Turning on every lamp wastes electricity. Better to save power before filming starts.”

Once the lights went out, the woman in white clearly relaxed. She gazed at him with ghostly eyes and whispered: “I… truly have dwelled in this residence for over a hundred years.”

“In some foreign countries, long-term occupancy automatically grants residency rights, and even the landlord cannot evict the tenant. But our country has no such laws. Unless you have a contract from the owner granting you rights, you’ll have to move out.” Zhong Jiudao gestured politely for her to leave, then ignored her and went upstairs after touring the first floor.

When he had flicked on the lights, he had already taken in the entire layout: the walls were spotless, no dust or cobwebs, and in the corner servant’s room, a faint shadow had flickered past—something else was living there too.

The second floor was the living quarters. The staircase was old and creaked underfoot. After a couple of steps, Zhong Jiudao stopped and looked back. The woman in white hadn’t followed. She remained below, candle in hand, glaring up at him with resentment.

“Why didn’t you come up?” Zhong Jiudao asked. “If you’re not coming, fine. Then lend me the candle—my phone’s about to die, not convenient to use the flashlight.”

The woman in white: “…”

Before she could speak, another woman appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a Western-style gown. She said to Zhong Jiudao: “Because upstairs belongs to me. A lowly concubine like her is not worthy to ascend.”

The woman in white remained on the first floor, her face showing both resentment and fear.

“Still clinging to that nonsense in this day and age?” Zhong shook his head. “This is my house now. In a few days there will be others here for filming. You’d best move out quickly.”

The lady in the gown twisted her beautiful features into something grotesque. Blood trickled from her forehead, her entire head splitting apart. With a shriek, she hurled herself down from the top of the stairs at Zhong Jiudao: “If you won’t leave, then die!”

Zhong Jiudao’s face did not change. He sidestepped her assault, but the staircase beneath him shook violently, threatening to throw him down.

He stood steady, but his large suitcase wobbled, nearly toppling. Seeing it about to fall, Zhong Jiudao quickly steadied it.

This time, his expression did change.

“I asked you nicely to vacate, and yet you dare damage my belongings?” His voice sharpened. Inside that case was the extremely expensive camera equipment he had rented. If it broke, how would he ever pay?

Zhong Jiudao raised his left hand, sketching rapidly in the air. A silver talisman materialized before him, drawn with flawless speed. In less than a second, the charm was complete.

With a flick of his finger, the talisman shot toward the woman in the gown.

Struck, she was blasted against the ceiling. The glowing talisman wrapped around her body, silver light flashing, faint thunder rumbling in the air.

Pinned against the chandelier, she became a conduit—the lightning of the talisman feeding power into the lamp until it shone brightly again.

Zhong Jiudao nodded in sudden realization. “So the Five-Thunder Talisman can be used to save on electricity. But the current is unstable, easy to burn out appliances. Needs improvement.”

After a moment’s thought, he swiftly drew a few adjustments into the air, weakening the talisman’s destructive force and altering it for stable output.

Lightning charms only respond to yin energy or malicious spirits. In an ordinary person’s hands they were just scraps of paper. But this improved version, encountering constant evil energy, delivered a steady stream of power.

The hall shone like daylight. Standing on the stairs with one hand on his suitcase, Zhong Jiudao looked down into the bright hall.

The fierce ghosts lurking in the mansion’s shadows saw the gown-clad woman nailed to the ceiling, serving as a living power source. Terrified, they hugged their icy bodies, sealed their blood-dripping mouths, and dared not make a sound.

Satisfied at last with the restored silence, Zhong Jiudao continued upstairs to inspect his future filming location.

 

 

Translator : DarNan