Forget it—you can never wake someone who’s pretending to sleep.

Zhong Jiudao was a people-oriented director—punishing the ghost actor who broke the rules and sneaked into a male actor’s room was one thing, but the real priority was the two male actors who had been harmed by vicious ghosts.

He quickly swept his gaze across the room and saw half a bottle of mineral water on the table—it was likely what Pang Xinhao had left unfinished.

Zhong Jiudao casually unscrewed the cap, tossed Qi Wanlian’s soul into the bottle, tightened the lid, and swiftly drew a suppressing-evil talisman on the outside.

With that talisman in place, Qi Wanlian had no way of escaping the bottle.

Zhong Jiudao opened his Heavenly Eye and saw that one spot of the talisman on the ceiling had already been corroded, with yin energy continuously seeping in. Just as he was about to repair the formation, a head suddenly poked out from the ceiling.

The male lead of his new film, Shen Leshan, stuck his head out and asked, “How is it? Don’t be greedy—once you take over a body, take the blood immediately and leave fast!”

The moment Shen Leshan lowered his head and met Zhong Jiudao’s gaze, he was so startled that he immediately shrank back, and the yin energy seeping into the room vanished as well.

Zhong Jiudao glanced at the dark-red flowers on the bed that had already begun to wither and let out a cold laugh.

Well played. The flower that destroyed the formation had been planted by the Third Concubine—Fu Yue; the flowers were placed inside by Aunt Yang under the guise of cleaning; the one who bypassed the formation and possessed Pang Xinhao was Qi Wanlian. And judging by Shen Leshan’s behaviour just now, it was clearly him who had masterminded everything behind the scenes, persuading Fu Yue and Qi Wanlian—mortal enemies—to join forces.

His four lead actors certainly had guts.

Inside the mineral-water bottle, the half-transparent Qi Wanlian wore a bitter expression and weakly pleaded about something. There was no need to listen—she was obviously making excuses, shifting all the blame onto the other leads.

Zhong Jiudao couldn’t be bothered to listen to her fallacy and casually drew a Forget-River Talisman on the bottle.

The River of Forgetfulness was the river that flew toward the underworld. Its waters were bitterly cold to the bone. Countless souls of the netherworld—if unable to board the ferry—fell into the river and suffered eternal freezing torment, until they dragged another soul down as a substitute to take their spot before they can crawl ashore.

Talismans were a means of communicating between the yin and yang realms, using special symbols as medium and spiritual power as fuel.

The Forget-River Talisman worked by drawing in water from the River of Forgetfulness. Only a tiny amount was needed to make the soul inside the bottle experience bone-piercing cold.

Zhong Jiudao shook the bottle hard a few times. Qi Wanlian instantly wilted. Submerged in the water, her soul turned half-transparent, drenched and pitiful as she looked up at him.

After temporarily sealing Qi Wanlian away, Zhong Jiudao repaired the talisman array in the room, collected the completely withered flowers, and used his spiritual power to expel the yin energy from Pang Xinhao and Luo Huai.

Luo Huai was an obedient actor who drank soup three times a day; his yang energy was abundant. If not for his naturally weak constitution and a name that carried ghostly connotations (1), he shouldn’t have been injured at all. He was like a child born frail—no matter how much nourishment he received later, he would always be weaker than others.

This time, both he and Pang Xinhao were attacked by fierce ghosts. Pang Xinhao was the one possessed, yet his body suffered little harm. As long as Qi Wanlian was driven out, a casual bowl of hot “plant ash water” would have him lively as a dragon and tiger (NT: full of vitality).

But Luo Huai, who had merely brushed against a flower branch, was gravely injured.

With his Heavenly Eye open, Zhong Jiudao clearly saw that Luo Huai’s so-called numbness on half his body was because the flower had taken root inside his soul. Countless vines had already crawled over half his soul, feeding on it to grow.

His name was also poorly chosen. “Name” sounds the same as “fate”, and it was widely believed that a bad name can harm one’s fortune—hence the importance of naming.

(NT: name: 名, míng. Fate: 命, mìng)

“Luo” belonged to water, which was yin in nature. With an already unfavourable surname, he was given the name “Huai.” Leaning on wood beside ghosts —no wonder plant-based evil entities could grow within his soul.

(NT: Luo in reference to Luo river. Huái (槐“pagoda tree”) is written as 木 (wood) + 鬼 (ghost).)

Even so, with the protection of the soup, ordinary evil ghosts shouldn’t have been able to harm him this easily.

Fu Yue was simply too strong. The fact that a single flower could break Zhong Jiudao’s formation spoke volumes about her power.

No wonder Fu Yue was the strongest vicious ghost in the villa, not needing deception like Qi Wanlian. Qi Wanlian needed Pang Xinhao’s willing consent to possess him; Fu Yue could take half a life with nothing more than a flower.

Luo Huai’s injury was difficult to treat. Zhong Jiudao tossed the still-unconscious Pang Xinhao aside, laid Luo Huai flat on the bed, and unfastened his buttons.

To save Luo Huai, he had to forcibly drive out the yin-wood entwined with his soul using immense spiritual power. This process would inevitably damage Luo Huai’s soul, so Zhong Jiudao had to bite his fingertip and use his blood to draw talismans on Luo Huai’s body, protecting his soul with the blood of a Heavenly Master.

This was the method Zhong Jiudao hated most since childhood. His elders would casually bite their fingers or spit heart’s blood to fight enemies. It looked impressive, but in reality their ten fingers were often ruined, in extreme pain, their fingertips in a pitiful state.

It was precisely because he hated biting his fingers that Zhong Jiudao trained his spiritual power like mad as a child, learning all kinds of unconventional talismans to avoid that pain.

Though he disliked it, Luo Huai’s injury was his responsibility, and Zhong Jiudao would heal him no matter what.

He bit his left index finger and placed the bloodied fingertip on Luo Huai’s chest. Just as he was about to draw the talisman, a loud clang came from the doorway.

Qian Duoqiun stood there chewing gum, so startled that he nearly swallowed it whole.

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

In his rush earlier, he had kicked the door lock broken. Though he remembered to close the door, it couldn’t latch—just barely shut, easily pushed open.

Spiritual power had already gathered at his fingertip. Not casting the spell would cause backlash. With no time to explain, Zhong Jiudao steadied his breath and focused, drawing talismans in one smooth flow across Luo Huai’s left shoulder, chest, and abdomen.

His cultivation was profound—his brush moved as if guided by divine inspiration, the talismans completed in one breath.

Seeing Zhong Jiudao acting so brazenly even after being caught, Qian Duoqiun hurriedly blocked the door with a chair and rushed over, grabbing Zhong Jiudao and shouting, “You can’t do this!”

Fortunately, Zhong Jiudao had already finished. Luo Huai’s blood flashed briefly with light before sinking into his soul.

The yin-wood spreading through Luo Huai’s soul was forced out and instantly turned to ash upon contact with air—completely invisible to the naked eye.

Qian Duoqiun shoved Zhong Jiudao off the bed, quickly buttoned Luo Huai’s clothes, and said in disappointment, “I misjudged you!”

He had been about to sleep when he heard a loud bang outside, as if something had been smashed.

Worried that props were damaged, the conscientious producer ran out to check. Seeing Pang Xinhao’s door ajar, he cautiously pushed it open and witnessed the scene.

Pang Xinhao lay on the floor, his life or death unknown. Luo Huai was unconscious on the bed, shirt undone. Zhong Jiudao knelt astride Luo Huai’s legs, one hand pressed to his chest.

In that instant, only two thoughts filled Qian Duoqiun’s mind:
First—close the door so this doesn’t blow up.
Second—knock some sense into Zhong Jiudao.

Unfortunately, his combat strength was too low. If Zhong Jiudao hadn’t stood up himself, Qian Duoqiun wouldn’t have been able to move him at all.

“How could you—” Qian Duoqiun said in frustrated disappointment at someone’s failure. “If you were rich and powerful, with handsome men and beauties lining up willingly, I might disapprove but couldn’t say much. But look at you—poor production, barely tricked some naïve actors in, and you still have the nerve to make a move on them? That’s heartless!”

“Mmm…” Luo Huai let out a soft groan—clearly the treatment was working and he was about to wake.

“What do we do, what do we do…” Qian Duoqiun paced anxiously, unable to think of how to explain things. After all, it looked very much like both actors had been violently knocked out by Zhong Jiudao.

Zhong Jiudao sighed. Paper can’t wrap fire forever (NT: idiom meaning the truth will eventually come out).

He grabbed Qian Duoqiun by the collar and tossed the skinny man out the door, saying, “Go wait for me in the third-floor home theatre. I’ll explain everything properly in a bit.”

“Are you trying to send me away on purpose?” Qian Duoqiun asked suspiciously.

Zhong Jiudao couldn’t be bothered to explain. “Aunt Yang, take him away. This is the last chance I’m giving you all. If he so much as gets a scratch before I reach the screening room, I guarantee the villa will be brightly lit all night.” (NT: implying severe consequences and total exposure)

“Yes, Director Zhong,” Aunt Yang said respectfully as she drifted out from the wall beside them.

“Huh? Aunt Yang—where did you come from? Huh?!” Qian Duoqiun was so frightened his eyeballs nearly popped out.

“Mr. Qian, this way please.” Aunt Yang gestured toward the staircase, and a gust of yin wind dragged Qian Duoqiun straight to the entrance of the third-floor screening room.

The door creaked open by itself without any wind. Aunt Yang stood behind him, revealing eight eerily pale teeth in a courteous smile. “Mr. Qian, please go in.”

Before Qian Duoqiun could resist, an enormous suction force pulled him into the screening room. He didn’t even manage to scream.

After temporarily sending Qian Duoqiun away, Zhong Jiudao helped Pang Xinhao sit upright in a chair, then leaned against the window himself. He quietly recited a Mind-Clearing Incantation to awaken the two unconscious men.

He bore responsibility for what happened today.

The crew was too busy. The director had turned into an octopus with eight arms—filming, directing, moving props, cooking—everything piled onto one person. Zhong Jiudao was stretched too thin to notice that several lead actors were secretly carrying out schemes under his nose, coming up with such vicious tactics.

Another problem was that Pang Xinhao’s acting was truly terrible.

When hiring, Zhong Jiudao had no room to choose—he could only hire cheaply. Being able to bring in an actor with Pang Xinhao’s looks at that price was already rare, and Zhong Jiudao was reluctant to replace him.

Besides, Zhong Jiudao had been young and arrogant, firmly believing there was no actor he couldn’t teach. Even if someone was truly awful, as long as he demonstrated properly and had the actor copy each movement and expression repeatedly, it would eventually work.

Who could have known Pang Xinhao’s acting problem was no longer something professional training could fix—it was fundamentally hopeless.

Today, Zhong Jiudao really had been blinded by a single leaf blocking the eyes. But he wasn’t blind—he could clearly tell Pang Xinhao was a completely different person than before. Combined with the location of Pang Xinhao’s bedroom, a little analysis was enough to deduce that Pang Xinhao had been possessed.

Yet at the time, Zhong Jiudao simply didn’t think it through. He rushed to finish Pang Xinhao’s scenes, deliberately preventing himself from thinking further.

In the end… he had simply been dazzled by the acting and unwilling to think deeper.

Only after wrapping up and returning to his room did Zhong Jiudao reflect carefully, realize something was wrong, and notice that Luo Huai was staying in Pang Xinhao’s room that night. He immediately rushed over to stop it.

He had been greedy. This responsibility was his to bear.

He thought with a heavy heart: tell the two of them the truth, offer a sincere apology, and agree to pay hush money.

Thinking of this, he couldn’t help but viciously shake the mineral-water bottle again, churning the contents upside down. Qi Wanlian inside was shaken until she was barely hanging on.

Zhong Jiudao’s current financial situation was “barely making ends meet”. All his assets had gone into making the film—there was no way he could afford hush money.

But that was fine. He had skills; he could repay with labour.

In the future, whenever Pang Xinhao or Luo Huai encountered evil entities, Zhong Jiudao could immediately step in—working to pay off the debt.

For now, the hush money was tentatively set at ten million per person, with prices adjusted based on the level of the evil entity—from one million to ten million. If they encountered a fierce ghost like Fu Yue, one job would clear the debt. In fact, the two might even end up owing Zhong Jiudao money—but he wouldn’t nitpick over that.

In a split second, Zhong Jiudao had already planned an installment-based hush-money repayment scheme.

Once the Mind-Clearing Incantation ended, Luo Huai and Pang Xinhao opened their eyes simultaneously.

Luo Huai groggily rubbed his eyes and climbed out of bed. He touched his arm and said in confusion, “I must’ve slept in a bad position and pressed on my arm. Half my body went numb—good thing I woke up in time.”

Pang Xinhao rubbed the back of his neck. “Ow, ow—do I have cervical spondylosis or something? My neck hurts like hell!”

“You’re awake?” Zhong Jiudao said gravely.

They both looked at him. Luo Huai asked strangely, “Director Zhong? Why are you in my room?”

“Think carefully about what happened,” Zhong Jiudao said.

Pang Xinhao racked his brains but couldn’t recall what had happened all day. He remembered failing at filming, returning to his room and crying for a long time, then falling asleep. In his dream, Qi Wanlian had been holding him tightly, refusing to let go.

At this point in his memory, Pang Xinhao blushed slightly and felt too embarrassed to speak first.

Luo Huai, who hadn’t been possessed, remembered most of it. “Just now Lao Pang and I were rehearsing lines. His possessed acting was so good! He dragged me into the scene, and I got scared and fainted!”

Zhong Jiudao: “……That’s all you remember?”

“Something’s missing,” Luo Huai rubbed his temples. “Didn’t I go look for you? The reason was… I was rehearsing with Pang Xinhao, went to find Director Zhong’s guidance... Right! We went to find Director Zhong for acting guidance!”

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

After possession, memory confusion was indeed common—but someone like Luo Huai, who filled in and beautified his own memories, was a first for Zhong Jiudao. Was this the brain’s built-in beauty filter?

No wonder Luo Huai’s constitution attracted yin so easily, yet he had lived peacefully for so many years—it was probably due to his optimism.

Aside from domineering ghosts like Fu Yue, most spirits couldn’t directly attack humans.

People were born with three protective lights, which prevented ghosts from harming them. So ghosts must first attack the mind, using fear. Once the spirit was damaged, the lights weakened, allowing evil to exploit the opening.

Even Qi Wanlian needed to exploit Pang Xinhao’s psychological trauma from bad acting before she could possess him—ordinary ghosts were even more limited.

Luo Huai was naturally optimistic. No matter how ghosts tried to scare him, he stubbornly refused to think in that direction. This naive mindset ended up protecting him instead.

Realizing this, Zhong Jiudao hesitated. If he exposed the existence of ghosts, it would explain everything now—but would harm Luo Huai far more in the future.

Once Luo Huai started suspecting ghosts and spirits, then unless Zhong Jiudao stayed by his side for decades, Luo Huai would never have peace in his life given his constitution.

While Zhong Jiudao was torn, Pang Xinhao asked Luo Huai, “What did you just say? My acting was good?”

“Yeah!” Luo Huai pulled out his phone. “I recorded you while filming. You were like you’d unblocked your Ren and Du meridians, your acting improved by leaps and bounds! What’s your secret? Teach me!”

Pang Xinhao stared at the person in the video, dumbfounded, wearing a ‘handsome guy, who are you?’ expression. He had no memory of any of it.

‘Could it be that my acting becomes amazing when I sleepwalk?’ Pang Xinhao couldn’t help thinking.

Meeting Luo Huai’s admiring gaze, Pang Xinhao swallowed his doubts and forced himself to say, “Yeah. I just suddenly learned how to act. Probably quantitative change led to qualitative change—everything I learned before finally clicked.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about acting anymore, right?” Luo Huai said sincerely, delighted for his friend. “That’s great! You can make a comeback!”

Encouraged by Luo Huai, Pang Xinhao gradually developed thoughts like ‘I can do this,’ ‘I’ll get better,’ and ‘change has already begun.’ He clenched his fist and said, “Thanks to Director Zhong’s guidance, I’ll work even harder from now on!”

“Thank you, Director Zhong!” the two said in unison.

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

Forget it. You can never wake someone who’s pretending to sleep.

 

--

Note from the translator

(1) Luo Hai’s name

“Luo” (洛) is the name of the Luo River (洛水), which in Chinese literature is strongly associated with spirits, the afterlife, and the boundary between worlds.

Huai (槐) means pagoda tree, which has long been considered a yin tree in Chinese folklore. Traditionally, pagoda trees were believed to attract spirits, and in old cities they were often planted near graveyards, execution grounds, or temples.

Translator : DarNan