“Director Zhong… I think… I’ve been… poisoned… by a plant… please… call… a doctor.”

 

Pang Xinhao went back to his room, splashed some water on his face, then collapsed onto the bed, completely dejected. He still wasn’t good enough. Director Zhong had already taught him step-by-step, correcting every movement and every expression. They had shot the scene countless times, yet he was still the same person cursed with “disfiguring-style” acting.

Pang Xinhao lay sprawled out in a big “大” shape, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. The stagnant gloom within his soul slowly seeped out and merged with the lingering resentment that Qi Wanlian had left inside him during the script read-through a few days earlier.

That resentment had long been blocked by the yang energy in the soup Zhong Jiudao brewed, preventing it from invading Pang Xinhao’s mind. But today, wrapped in negative emotions, the resentment finally found its opening.

In a daze, Pang Xinhao seemed to see Qi Wanlian’s face appear on the ceiling, and the glass wall from his dream reappeared between them.

Qi Wanlian slowly reached out her hand toward him. Pang Xinhao’s eyes went wide.

He had no idea how Qi Wanlian had appeared on the ceiling of his room, nor did he have the clarity of mind to care. A soft voice kept whispering in his ear, telling him that as long as he grasped Qi Wanlian’s hand, all his troubles would disappear.

Once again, Pang Xinhao dragged the chair onto the bed. He wondered what he could use to shatter the barrier between himself and Qi Wanlian—but the ceiling was far too thick. There was no way he could break through it.

At that moment, Qi Wanlian gently pointed toward the desk in the room. Pang Xinhao looked over and saw that inside the blue-and-white porcelain vase—previously just a decoration—there was now a bouquet of fresh, dark red flowers.

The cleaner always came to tidy the room while Pang Xinhao was away. He had never once seen this mysterious cleaner, nor could he get any contact information even after asking Director Zhong, yet the room was always spotless.

The flowers in the vase must have been placed there by the cleaner while everyone was filming. They were beautiful—petals the color of coagulated blood, blooming quietly in the shadows.

“Do you want these flowers? I’ll give them to you,” Pang Xinhao said as he picked up the bouquet.

Standing on the chair atop the bed, he tiptoed and offered the flowers toward Qi Wanlian on the ceiling.

At last, the petals touched the ceiling. Qi Wanlian extended a hand—one that passed straight through the barrier of the ceiling—and grasped the dark red flowers.

Manju Shahua, also known as the Red Spider Lily (NT: literally “flower of the other shore,” a symbol of death and the underworld), did not exist in the human world, growing only where yin energy was dense, and was nearly extinct in recent years.

Qi Wanlian drifted down lightly onto the bed, as though weightless. Pang Xinhao fell dumbly from the chair. Thankfully, the bed was soft, and he wasn’t hurt.

“You look so troubled. Is there anything I can help you with?” Qi Wanlian asked, her eyes gentle and affectionate, her caring words like those of a considerate confidant.

“You can’t help me,” Pang Xinhao said, his painful memories stirred as he clutched his hair. “I… I’m afraid of cameras. The moment I see one, my facial muscles twitch uncontrollably, and I make these twisted expressions I can’t even imagine myself.”

A pale, slender hand gently pulled him close, resting his head on her shoulder.

“How pitiful. How did it end up like this?” Qi Wanlian’s voice was like a feather, softly drifting into Pang Xinhao’s heart and soothing his deepest pain.

“I only acted in a very, very low-budget web drama, but it unexpectedly went viral. At first, everyone praised me, and I was so happy—I searched for my own comments everywhere. But later, more and more people started insulting me, and more and more people secretly filmed me. I became terrified of cameras, so scared that I couldn’t act normally at all. To overcome that trauma, I forced myself to stand in front of cameras and keep acting—but the more I acted, the worse it got. Now it’s a conditioned reflex: the moment I see a camera, I start glaring and baring my teeth.”

Seeing a saviour at last, Pang Xinhao revealed the deepest secret of his heart to Qi Wanlian.

“I see. Then you just need to stop seeing them,” Qi Wanlian said, her icy hand covering his eyes. “As long as you trust me, you won’t see the cameras anymore.”

The darkness before his eyes made Pang Xinhao feel safe. He completely lowered his mental defence.

“You’re so good to me. I trust you,” Pang Xinhao said.

“Then you must protect me well. Don’t let Zhong Jiudao discover me. If he does, he’ll drive me away from your side,” Qi Wanlian said.

“That won’t do!” Pang Xinhao hugged her tightly around the waist.

“Do you know what leaf blindfold is?” Qi Wanlian plucked a leaf from the Red Spider Lily.
“When Director Zhong is focused on filming, stick this leaf over his eyes. He won’t be able to see me anymore. Then I can forever blind your eyes and cover your ears, so you’ll never fear others’ gazes or insults again.”

“Alright.” Pang Xinhao clenched the leaf tightly, an unnatural look appearing in his eyes.

He stepped out of the room. At that moment, they were filming a scene between Luo Huai and his girlfriend Xiaoyan. Luo Huai had never dated before and wasn’t used to intimate contact with a female actress, so Director Zhong was giving him guidance.

“Just treat Xiaoyan as me,” Zhong Jiudao said. “The one you’re hugging is me, and the one kissing your cheek is also me.”

Luo Huai’s eyes went wide instantly. He shook his head. “That’s even worse!”

“Then…” Zhong Jiudao glanced sideways and noticed Pang Xinhao. “What about treating her as him? You two are closer.”

Luo Huai stared at Pang Xinhao’s face for a moment. “I’ll try.”

Sure enough, once Luo Huai imagined Xiaoyan as Pang Xinhao, his interaction with the actress became much more natural. This scene didn’t require Luo Huai to display intense romance—Xiaoyan was simply acting cute and coaxing him into accompanying her to Fu Yue’s villa. Luo Huai naturally agreed, needing just a bit of coaxing in return, to show how strong their relationship was and to lay groundwork for later suspenseful events.

Zhong Jiudao focused intently on the actors’ positioning and expressions through the camera. At that moment, Pang Xinhao silently approached from behind. Seizing the instant Zhong Jiudao was absorbed, he tiptoed up and suddenly covered Zhong Jiudao’s eyes, laughing as he said, “Guess who I am~”

Zhong Jiudao immediately flung Pang Xinhao’s hand away and frowned at him, careful not to interrupt the actors’ performance.

Only after Luo Huai finished the scene and Zhong Jiudao called “Cut” did he have time to deal with Pang Xinhao.

“What are you doing?” Zhong Jiudao said displeased.

“Nothing, I just wanted to find the feeling for acting. Director, how was my performance just now?” Pang Xinhao asked.

Zhong Jiudao sized him up, seeing nothing obviously wrong. “Looks like you’ve mostly recovered, if you’re in the mood to interrupt filming. Do you realize you weren’t just disturbing me? What you did could have ruined the entire take. If that had been their best performance, you would’ve destroyed it!”

“Yes, yes, yes, my fault!” Pang Xinhao nodded repeatedly. “I won’t dare do it again!”

Seeing his sincere attitude, and not being hot-tempered himself, Zhong Jiudao said, “Since you seem in good shape, let’s try a scene. You washed your face just now? Go touch up your makeup.”

Pang Xinhao obediently nodded, returned to his room for a while, then came back to have the makeup artist fix him up.

Once he was ready, the set was finished as well, and they prepared to shoot Pang Xinhao’s scumbag scene.

“You’re going out with Xiaoyan? I’m your girlfriend, she’s your ex—have you ever considered how I feel?” Xiaoyun, who played Pang Xinhao’s girlfriend, delivered her jealous scene steadily, perfectly conveying pain and anger no matter how many takes it required.

“Go!” Xiaoyun pointed at the door. “Go! If you leave, don’t come back!”

Pang Xinhao grabbed her hand, looking hurt. “Don’t say that. It makes me sad.”

“What are you sad about? You’re going out with Xiaoyan—you should be thrilled!” Xiaoyun snapped angrily.

(NT: Xiaoyun (little cloud) and Xiaoyan (little swallow) are both written and pronounced differently in Chinese)

“It was you who told me to leave, so I’m heartbroken.” Pang Xinhao gazed at Xiaoyun with deep affection, her reflection mirrored in his eyes; his whole heart and vision were filled with this girl.

Under such a gaze, Xiaoyun turned her head away with tears in her eyes. “You’re always just soothing me with empty words.”

“It’s my fault,” Pang Xinhao said. “Xiao Luo asked me to bring my girlfriend along to hang out. I thought we hadn’t gone out in ages, so I wanted to go with you. I didn’t think about anything else at all—I almost forgot who Xiao Luo’s girlfriend even was.”

Pang Xinhao’s lines did not completely match the script, but Zhong Jiudao didn’t call for a stop. After all, the script had many flaws, and Pang Xinhao’s improvised words were far better than what was written for coaxing a girl.

Zhong Jiudao stared intently at the two actors who were filming.

“You could forget who she is?” Xiaoyun snorted coldly, but it was obvious her anger was already fading.

Pang Xinhao sweet-talked Xiaoyun some more, and when he saw that she was no longer angry, he picked up his phone and said, “I’ll call Xiao Luo right now and tell him I’m not going. Let’s refund the tickets—hopefully the cancellation fee won’t be too high.”

“Don’t call,” Xiaoyun said as she snatched the phone away. “The refund fee is pretty expensive.” She casually scrolled through his social media, and only after seeing there were no chat records with other girls did she finally relax. “You’d better behave yourself properly later. I’m your girlfriend.”

Pang Xinhao gently wrapped an arm around Xiaoyun with a reassuring, dependable air, and the two made up again.

“Cut!” Zhong Jiudao said. “That scene was shot well. We’ll just reshoot a few angles later.”

This time, Pang Xinhao didn’t pull exaggerated faces at all. Instead, those expressive, affectionate eyes of his actually enhanced his looks, as if automatically adding a soft-focus filter to his face.

A Pang Xinhao like this—even just standing there—made it easy to understand why he could deal with several girls and still leave them unable to forget him.

Zhong Jiudao looked into Pang Xinhao’s eyes and felt that those tender, passionate, deeply emotional eyes—naturally luminous—seemed oddly familiar, as if he had seen them somewhere before.

“Thank you for your guidance, Director Zhong. I can finally act naturally now,” Pang Xinhao said as he looked toward the camera, his gaze unfocused.

When he looked at the camera, his eyes were like those of a blind person.

“While you’re in good form, let’s shoot the next scene,” Zhong Jiudao said.

The next scene was Pang Xinhao’s face-off with Luo Huai’s girlfriend, Xiaoyan. There weren’t many lines—just a movement, a look.

This was filmed outside the villa. Luo Huai had finished his water and asked if anyone had some. Xiaoyan and Pang Xinhao both took out their own bottles at the same time.

Xiaoyan had a bottle of a drink, while Pang Xinhao had a bottle of mineral water. They both handed the drink to Luo Huai simultaneously, their gazes meeting and stirring countless memories.

It turned out the drink Xiaoyan took out was once Pang Xinhao’s favorite. And the bottle of mineral water Pang Xinhao had was what Xiaoyan used to drink back when she quit sugary drinks to lose weight.

The bottles clinked together, and Pang Xinhao’s ring finger brushed lightly—and imperceptibly—against the back of Xiaoyan’s hand, his gaze lingering with entangled emotion.

Xiaoyan froze for a split second. The next moment, she quickly glanced at Xiaoyun, lowered her head guiltily, and withdrew the drink.

In the end, she couldn’t bear to give Luo Huai the beverage her ex-boyfriend once loved.

Not a single line was spoken between them; everything was conveyed through expressions and movements.

Pang Xinhao’s eyes seemed able to speak. In that instant, they told countless emotions—bit by bit, all left unspoken.

Xiaoyan’s performance had always been steady, but under Pang Xinhao’s influence this time, she displayed more layered emotions. Even the moment where she pulled back the drink—unable to give her current boyfriend the drink her ex loved—was an improvised addition on her part.

“Good performance,” Zhong Jiudao said.

After the scene ended, Luo Huai looked at his friend as if seeing him for the first time and said in surprise, “You acted way too well. When I saw your eyes just now, I almost got pulled in.”

“Really?” Pang Xinhao said, as if seriously examining this friend for the first time. He reached out and lightly brushed Luo Huai’s neck. “The first time I met you, I felt that you were more suitable.”

“More suitable for what?” Luo Huai asked curiously, completely oblivious to the ambiguous gesture.

“Nothing,” Pang Xinhao smiled. “Luo Huai, do you want to come stay in my room tonight? I don’t sleep well alone.”

“I already told you to stay with me,” Luo Huai said without any awareness. “We can run lines at night too. You insisted on living so far away—why don’t you come to my place?”

“No. You come stay with me.” Pang Xinhao stared at Luo Huai, his tone faintly commanding.

“Alright then,” Luo Huai said.

Being able to finish three scenes smoothly in one day was already exceeding expectations by far. Zhong Jiudao, ever the conscientious “chef,” cooked dinner, had everyone drink soup, and then told them to return to their rooms to rest, advising them not to go out after 8 p.m.

Pang Xinhao didn’t drink the soup. While Zhong Jiudao wasn’t paying attention, he quietly poured it away.

That night, Luo Huai hugged the script and moved into Pang Xinhao’s room. Flipping through it, he said, “There’s also a scene where you get possessed by a ghost and lure me to a dangerous place to eat me.”

“There’s such a scene?” “Pang Xinhao” said. “I haven’t read your human script.” He placed a cluster of red spider lilies beside Luo Huai.

“Wow! The way you’re talking is really creepy—are you already acting?” Luo Huai was completely unaware of the spider lilies. “By the way, your acting improved by leaps and bounds today. How did you do it? Did Director Zhong’s words make everything suddenly click for you?”

“Director Zhong?” “Pang Xinhao” covered his mouth and chuckled. “You could say that. To blind his eyes, I really racked my brains, thought of countless ways, and humbled myself in front of him for a long, long time before finally getting this chance.”

Luo Huai looked at “Pang Xinhao” in confusion. “I get the ‘chance’ part—you really seized it today and acted amazingly! I should learn from you. But what does ‘humbling yourself’ mean? Do you think the pay is too low? That’s my fault—how about I give you my pay?”

“What a silly child,” “Pang Xinhao” said as he sat close beside Luo Huai. On the other side, the red spider lilies flickered with an eerie crimson glow. “But I like silly children like you—silly, easy to deceive.”

Luo Huai: “…So even in the script, am I one of the backups?”

He tried to shift his body away, but brushed against the spider lilies beside him. A piercing pain instantly surged through his palm.

It wasn’t physical pain, but a bone-chilling aura that pierced straight into the soul. Just touching the flower’s stem left half his body stiff and frozen.

“Is this flower poisonous? Am I poisoned?” Luo Huai said, half his body numb. “Help me call an ambulance—or we can do what Director Zhong taught us: burn some paper, treat it as plant ash, soak it in water, and drink it.”

“Director Zhong? A cute, foolish child like you is indeed more suitable than Pang Xinhao as a possession target.” “Pang Xinhao” shoved Luo Huai down onto the bed and slowly leaned over him.

Half of Luo Huai’s body was stiff. He watched as “Pang Xinhao’s” expression gradually turned alluring, becoming more and more like the expression of Qi Wanlian from his memories. With the half of his mouth that wasn’t fully numb, he muttered indistinctly, “You’re acting just like… ghost possession…”

“Pang Xinhao” frowned slightly. “Even like this, you’re still afraid? Be good and open your mind to me. If you don’t agree, it’s very difficult for me to proceed.”

One of Luo Huai’s ears was numb as well, and his hearing gradually faded. He asked vaguely, “Open… what?”

With a loud bang, the door was kicked open. Zhong Jiudao appeared alone in the room, grabbed Pang Xinhao by the back of the neck with one hand, and said coldly, “Open the door.”

“Director Zhong?” Luo Huai’s vision blurred, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He could only murmur hazily, “I think I’ve been… poisoned… by plants… please… call a doctor…”

After saying that, Luo Huai fell unconscious.

Zhong Jiudao then pulled out a bunch of white shadow out from the back of Pang Xinhao’s neck with one hand, and Pang Xinhao collapsed unconscious onto the floor as well. With both humans in the room now unconscious, Zhong Jiudao no longer needed to hide his identity. Holding Qi Wanlian’s soul in one hand, he looked down at her from above and said coldly, “Qi Wanlian, do you really think I’m blind?”

 

Translator : DarNan