At that moment, Zhong Jiudao witnessed the most exquisite acting in the world; even if only one-tenth of its brilliance could be displayed, it would be more than enough.

Pang Xinhao had a whole night of chaotic, disordered dreams. In the dream, Qi Wanlian was floating above his head, a layer of glass separating the two of them. Qi Wanlian gently tapped on the glass and said something to him, but he couldn’t hear it clearly.

In the dream, Qi Wanlian wore a sorrowful expression, looking as if she wanted to speak yet holding back, which made Pang Xinhao feel heartache just looking at her. He reached out to touch the glass, but suddenly jolted awake, only to discover that at some unknown point he had dragged a chair onto the bed, was standing on it, holding an umbrella, and poking the ceiling with it.

Pang Xinhao was frightened by his own behaviour. He had never had a habit of sleepwalking before! Could it be that becoming increasingly no longer popular and the mounting pressure had caused psychological issues?

After this shoot wraps up, I’ll book a doctor’s appointment, Pang Xinhao thought to himself.

To avoid anyone discovering his strange midnight behaviour, Pang Xinhao moved the chair back to its original place. The umbrella was his own, and he hid it back inside his suitcase.

He even wanted to pat the dust off the bedsheets—after all, dragging a chair onto the bed would surely have dirtied them.

Yet the sheets were spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere, apart from the impressions left by the four chair legs.

Curious, Pang Xinhao lifted the chair and wiped it with his hand. The chair was as clean as new.

The carpet in the room was also immaculately cleaned, without a trace of dust.

If these items were brand new, that would be one thing—but the chair and carpet were clearly faded from age, obviously furniture that had been used for two or three years. It was unclear how they had been cleaned so thoroughly.

Pang Xinhao had stayed in five-star hotels while filming before, yet even the best hotels never cleaned as meticulously as this production crew.

I wonder which cleaning company they hired. I should ask for a business card, he thought. I could hire them to clean my place in the future.

The crew started work at 9 a.m. and ate breakfast at 8. Because of the non-stop nightmares, Pang Xinhao woke up a little past 5 a.m. It was still far from breakfast time, and he couldn’t fall back asleep. He kept opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling, deep down feeling an inexplicable urge to poke a hole through it.

After lying there sleeplessly for half an hour, Pang Xinhao finally got up to wash up, only to discover that the dark circles under his eyes were especially severe. In the mirror, his eye sockets looked sunken, his face haggard—like he’d been drained of vitality by some monster.

“Damn, how did it get this bad?” Pang Xinhao rubbed his face at the mirror. “I’m only twenty-three—one bad night of sleep shouldn’t wreck me like this!”

He hurriedly took out his makeup and began applying it to his face.

Pang Xinhao wasn’t a professional makeup artist, and his skills were average, but covering blemishes and brightening his complexion was easy enough. The dark circles quickly disappeared, and with foundation and blush added, the Pang Xinhao in the mirror once again looked like a lively young man.

I need to do a ‘no-makeup’ look, he thought. I can’t let people tell that I’m already using makeup to cover dark circles at my age.

After fussing in front of the mirror for quite a while and making sure no one could tell he looked unwell, Pang Xinhao finally felt reassured.

Seeing that it was already 7:30, with only half an hour left until breakfast, Pang Xinhao decided to step out of his room and take a walk around the villa.

He wasn’t stupid. He could clearly tell that Luo Huai’s so-called “big-name director” and “highly skilled actors” crew was actually very poor—but the money was spent where it mattered. For example, this luxurious villa and the costumes worn by the lead actors last night. Pang Xinhao knew a thing or two about costumes—every one of them was hand-stitched, which must have cost a lot.

Overall, it was a crew genuinely trying to make a good production. If the director was capable and he could learn some skills by following him, then even zero pay wouldn’t be a loss.

As Pang Xinhao stepped out of his room, he heard crackling sounds coming from the kitchen downstairs. He cautiously went over to take a look and saw Director Zhong cooking personally, with Aunt Yang standing beside him.

Pang Xinhao: “……”

This crew—production management, props, continuity, art direction—all done by the director alone. And now even the three daily meals were prepared by the director himself?

“Director Zhong, my scenes aren’t many. I can handle the cooking,” Aunt Yang suggested. “You’re too busy.”

“I’m not comfortable letting you cook,” Zhong Jiudao replied.

Even if Aunt Yang no longer  possessed the power to make people foam at the mouth from her food, meals cooked by a vicious ghost still carried heavy yin energy. Eating it long-term would weaken a person’s health. Zhong Jiudao could only prepare the ingredients for lunch and dinner while making breakfast, but this wasn’t a sustainable solution.

Should I hire a professional chef? Zhong Jiudao felt deeply troubled.

In truth, it wasn’t hard to eat Aunt Yang’s cooking safely. As long as Zhong Jiudao burned talismans and infused them into water daily, and had the humans drink a cup of warm talisman water before every meal, they would be immune to all evil spirits. But he couldn’t guarantee that in the scorching summer, everyone would drink hot water every time. If even one person skipped it for one meal, another “foaming at the mouth” incident would occur, making it look like food poisoning—which was unacceptable.

He might be able to fool Luo Huai, but not necessarily everyone else.

Even without eating Aunt Yang’s food, the humans still needed to drink talisman water occasionally. The villa’s yin energy was heavy, and without resistance, it would harm their health. At minimum, they needed it once a week.

Every morning, Zhong Jiudao used talisman water to cook porridge and soup, insisting that the crew drink it daily—ensuring everyone would consume it at least once every seven days.

“Director Zhong,” Pang Xinhao greeted him as he came downstairs.

Zhong Jiudao looked at the man who stubbornly insisted on living beneath a ghost nest and felt a headache coming on.

The previous night, while Pang Xinhao wasn’t in his room, Zhong Jiudao had secretly entered and covered the ceiling with talismans, ensuring that the ghost upstairs had not even the slightest chance of entering the room.

Still, he wasn’t fully at ease. He carefully examined Pang Xinhao’s complexion and, seeing that it looked fairly good, asked, “How did you sleep last night?”

“Very well!” Pang Xinhao replied firmly, trying to conceal his sleepwalking. “How is this villa designed? It’s the height of summer, yet it’s so cool without air conditioning. I even slept under a thick blanket and slept comfortably till morning.”

“Your room is in a special location—it may be colder than the others,” Zhong Jiudao said casually as he placed the soup on the table. “There are plenty of rooms prepared by the crew. You can switch anytime if you want.”

“No need,” Pang Xinhao was eager to stay away from others, in case his sleepwalking noises were overheard. “My room is exceptionally clean—not a speck of dust. I’m very comfortable there.”

Standing in the shadows, Aunt Yang smiled faintly. It walked slowly to the dining table, ladled out a bowl of soup, and handed it to Pang Xinhao. “Madam, drink the soup.”

“Thank you,” Pang Xinhao took the bowl and sipped it. “It’s delicious! But why are you calling me ‘Madam’?”

“She’s practicing her lines. It’s no different from ‘Big Brother, drink your medicine’ (NT: a famous line from Water Margin drama, often implying poisoned medicine or something ominous),” Zhong Jiudao said as he set down the cold dishes.

Pang Xinhao almost spat out the soup. Why did it suddenly feel like Aunt Yang was serving him poison?

Still, he couldn’t bear to waste it. Once the soup went down, he felt warmth spread throughout his body, and the sensation of his soul nearly freezing stiff gradually faded.

After finishing one bowl, Pang Xinhao drank another and asked, “Where are the other actors? I saw them go up to the third floor last night.”

“Yes,” Zhong Jiudao replied. “They don’t really like interacting with others and eat in their rooms.”

“Is that so?” Pang Xinhao felt a vague sense of disappointment. He had been hoping to run into Qi Wanlian during daily interactions—it seemed he’d only be able to interact with her during filming.

Soon, the other actors arrived at the dining room one after another. Each time someone arrived, Aunt Yang would ladle out a bowl of soup, giving off a clear ‘you’ll drink it even if I have to feed you’ air.

The two female actors were reluctant at first, but after seeing Aunt Yang’s expression, they drank it without realizing it. The soup was beneficial to their health—after drinking it, their yang energy was abundant, allowing them to resist the yin energy on set. Thus, even though Zhong Jiudao’s cooking skills were only average, everyone still found the soup delicious.

After the meal, the makeup artist hired by Qian Duoqian arrived. Everyone put on camera-ready makeup and prepared to start filming.

“I thought you’d save money and do their makeup yourself,” Qian Duoqian leaned over to Zhong Jiudao and whispered.

Zhong Jiudao replied, “After some time, I’ll still have to do the makeup personally.”

After some time—when filming the actors’ death scenes and their transformations into ghosts—Zhong Jiudao’s makeup skills would finally come into play.

As a director, one has to understand a bit of every profession. Even if you can’t do makeup yourself, you must at least be able to describe the look you want. For this reason, Zhong Jiudao deliberately went to study makeup in college. Unfortunately, everything he produced always ended up looking like corpse makeup.

It was probably related to his upbringing. If asked to do special-effects makeup for corpses or ghosts, Zhong Jiudao would be even more professional than top-tier makeup artists.

But for living people, this was money that couldn’t be saved.

Everyone changed into the costumes prepared by the crew. Though they were modern clothes and not from any luxury brands, they were exceptionally comfortable and well-fitted, with excellent design—the two female actors’ waists even looked noticeably slimmer.

“These aren’t hand-tailored clothes, are they?” Xiao Yan, who played Luo Huai’s girlfriend, asked.

“They were altered overnight according to your measurements,” Zhong Jiudao replied.

Last night, Fu Yue had repeatedly defied discipline. Zhong Jiudao gave her a thorough ideological and moral education, letting her feel the cleansing baptism of the fire of justice from the depths of her soul. After receiving this “education,” Fu Yue suddenly became much more well-behaved and stayed up all night tailoring several sets of clothes for the actors, not sleeping at all.

Of course, she didn’t need to sleep anyway.

Thinking of how the lead actors were becoming more and more “well-behaved” and “obedient,” Zhong Jiudao nodded in satisfaction. The production crew was starting to look more and more like a proper one.

Film and television productions are not shot in script order, but rather out of sequence. However, when time is sufficient and conditions allow, it’s best to shoot in order.

Zhong Jiudao’s crew was small and low-budget, and aside from this production, neither the lead nor supporting actors had other engagements. They could follow the crew throughout the entire shoot. Under such circumstances, filming slowly according to the script was feasible, and it was also easier for the actors to get into character emotionally.

The early stage was a period of adjustment, and the filming workload wasn’t heavy, allowing everyone to properly mesh with their roles.

The two female actors were set up as best friends on the surface but at odds underneath. They portrayed this very well—without any guidance from Zhong Jiudao, they could naturally act out that “plastic friendship” (NT: slang meaning a fake or fragile relationship).

However, Xiao Yan and Xiao Yun got along very well in private and weren’t surface sisters. With women’s keen intuition, the two of them always felt that in an environment like this, if they weren’t together like conjoined twins, something bad might happen.

Zhong Jiudao was very satisfied with their sense of self-protection and repeatedly encouraged them to drink the soup. In a villa with such heavy chill in the air, not drinking it could easily lead to illness.

In the height of summer, who doesn’t want ice cream, iced milk tea, or cold cola? The two girls didn’t really like drinking soup. The first day it was novel, but drinking the exact same soup for three days in a row—anyone would want a glass of iced fruit juice.

They were already reluctant to keep drinking it when, coincidentally, Xiao Yun’s menstrual period arrived. This time, not only did she feel no pain, she was as lively as a dragon or tiger (NT: idiom meaning extremely energetic) and completely unaffected.

The two discussed it privately and concluded that it must be the effect of Director Zhong’s soup. Not only did they obediently drink it every day, they even secretly asked Zhong Jiudao for the soup’s secret recipe.

How could Zhong Jiudao give them a recipe? He could only say, “The hotter the summer days, the more you should drink hot water—it helps nourish the body. You’re best off drinking it with all three meals a day.”

With such noticeable effects, the two became especially enthusiastic about drinking it. They even got thermos bottles and treated the soup like water. Every day on set, they were brimming with vitality, and even occasionally eating Aunt Yang’s secretly made pastries caused no problems.

Although Luo Huai had a light eight characters (NT: spiritually weak and prone to supernatural influence) and even bore a name that leaned on wood and clung to ghosts (NT: a name considered inauspicious in feng shui), he had the advantage of arriving early and living next to Director Zhong’s room, leaving the lead actors with no chance to lay hands on him.

His role also suited his personality very well. As long as he acted naturally, nothing would go wrong, and filming was fairly relaxed.

The only problem was Pang Xinhao. After truly taking him on as an actor, Director Zhong realized just how much exaggerated acting could affect a person.

In fact, Pang Xinhao’s early-stage role wasn’t hard to play. He just needed to portray someone fickle — being intimate with his girlfriend Xiao Yun on one hand, while secretly exchanging flirtatious glances with Xiao Yan behind Luo Huai’s back.

In Zhong Jiudao’s mind, this role only needed to achieve one thing: be handsome.

He had to be handsome—only then would it make sense for two women and one female ghost to fight over him. Pang Xinhao’s looks were quite good; if his eyes carried just a bit more affection, it would be enough to handle the role.

Yet the moment Pang Xinhao faced the camera, his expression became extremely affected and artificial. When told to flirt with his eyes, he exaggeratedly wriggled his brows and eyes. When told to coax his girlfriend Xiao Yun, he sounded like he was reciting a textbook.

Zhong Jiudao was very patient, explaining the character’s psychology to him again and again, yet Pang Xinhao still couldn’t act it out.

To help him understand, Zhong Jiudao even personally demonstrated. He asked Luo Huai to act opposite him, assuming Luo Huai was his girlfriend. He gently took Luo Huai’s hand, and in eyes usually cold and stern, tenderness welled up. He lowered his head slightly and looked into Luo Huai’s eyes.

Zhong Jiudao’s height matched Luo Huai better than the female actors’. Looking at Luo Huai, he said, “Everything from before is in the past. My present and my future are only you. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?”

Seeing the emotion-filled eyes, Luo Huai’s face flushed slightly. Thinking of another person who had once been his ex-girlfriend, his heart became a tangled mess—both fond and sour.

“If you’re unhappy, then we won’t go out to play with them,” Zhong Jiudao lowered his head and whispered by Luo Huai’s ear. “We’ll go traveling—just the two of us, no one else.”

“Okay!” Luo Huai’s eyes lit up, then dimmed again. “But I already promised Xiao Yan, and the tickets are bought. The refund fee would be really high.”

“Then… how about we wear couple outfits?” Zhong Jiudao brought over two props.

“Sure!” Luo Huai took the clothes and finally stopped being upset.

“Cut!” Zhong Jiudao called “cut” on himself. He withdrew the deep affection from his eyes and said to Pang Xinhao, “You only need to remember one principle: no matter which girl you’re facing, you must treat her as the most important person in your heart. You can’t tell which is more important. Whoever gets angry, you have to feel heartache for her. No matter what you’re really thinking, you must show it on the surface. That’s how you become a successful flirtatious scumbag.”

Everyone: “……”

Director Zhong, you really look like a scumbag!

Luo Huai had been pulled into the scene by Zhong Jiudao and was still a bit dazed, clutching the prop clothes in his hands and unwilling to let go.

Seeing Zhong Jiudao’s exquisite acting, Pang Xinhao let out a long sigh. “I need to go to the restroom.”

“It’s fine, we’re still relatively flexible on time right now. Go take a break,” Zhong Jiudao comforted him.

After Pang Xinhao left, Qian Duoqian quietly poked Zhong Jiudao. “You’re impressive. Do you have rich emotional experience to be able to act a scumbag so convincingly?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” Zhong Jiudao replied. “It’s just that when I was a teenager… Stop gossiping. Move the props. Let’s shoot the next scene.”

Qian Duoqian didn’t get the answer he wanted and could only rub his nose and go back to work.

Zhong Jiudao sighed inwardly. He truly had no experience in this area—back when he was a teenager, his father had thrown him into a group of vicious ghosts to temper his mind. At that time, his cultivation wasn’t as powerful as it was now. He could only rely on talismans to protect himself and had no way to expel so many evil ghosts at once.

To lure him out of the talismans’ protective barrier, those vicious ghosts went to extreme lengths, using every trick in the book—cheating, trickery, and deception alike.

It was then that Zhong Jiudao witnessed the most exquisite acting in the world. Even if he could display only one-tenth of that brilliance, it would be more than enough. After all, that was acting that struck straight at the soul.

Translator : DarNan