It not only masked Pang Xinhao’s acting shortcomings, but also made the interplay between the two appear extremely natural.

 

Zhong Jiudao seriously considered the possibility and shook his head regretfully. “No. They don’t have ID cards.”

Without ID cards, they couldn’t sign contracts with other production teams. His own crew was essentially a one-man rule, so he could naturally use them as actors. Other crews, however, required formal contracts.

Seeing that Zhong Jiudao was protecting them, the ghosts silently drifted behind him one by one, their eyes burning an eerie green as they stared at Qian Duoqiun. One even removed its eyeballs and threw them at Qian Duoqiun’s feet, staring at him in death without closing its eyes (NT: idiom meaning dying with unresolved grievance or resentment).

Most of the ghosts were from the old society. In their understanding, once they became ghost servants, they were Zhong Jiudao’s slaves. If Zhong Jiudao were kind-hearted, their days might still be bearable. If he showed not the slightest mercy toward ghosts, they could only be left to others’ mercy.

Even if one day Zhong Jiudao felt Fu Yue’s strength was insufficient and let her devour Aunt Yang to replenish her power, Aunt Yang would have no way to resist.

If he coveted Qi Wanlian’s beauty, he could take her as well. Even if the Celestial Master himself had no interest in ghosts, he could order Qi Wanlian to serve others.

Most of them had been ill-fated in life. If, after becoming ghosts, they were still destined for such misery, it would be better to have their souls scattered instead.

In truth, their understanding of actors and celebrities was vague. They believed Qian Duoqiun wanted them enslaved and driven by others, so their hearts were naturally filled with hatred and fear.

Qian Duoqiun perfectly demonstrated what it meant that “money can even make Duoqiun push the millstone” (NT: meaning money can make anyone do anything). Looking at these distinctive ghost actors—who could even adjust their appearances slightly with illusions—his mind was full of grand plans to start a company and make a fortune. He completely failed to notice the blood-red eyes full of hatred at his feet, focusing only on persuading Zhong Jiudao.

“You’re too old-fashioned! We can start a company!” Qian Duoqiun said. “We can draw up an agency authorization agreement, have them authorize all entertainment-industry work to our company. Then employers only need to sign with us. And this wouldn’t be a labour contract—it would be an agency contract. No need to file with the labour bureau, no need to pay social insurance and housing funds. This kind of contract is usually only used if they think we breached it and sue us—but they can’t go to court anyway. Who would know whether there’s a contract, or whether documents are attached?”

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

Qian Duoqiun was extraordinarily gifted—his twenty thousand yuan had not been unjustly spent!

Even with the full proposal laid out, Zhong Jiudao still shook his head. “Ghost-binding is no easy matter. I do not feel at ease placing them in others’ hands. Even if I can always sense their movements, distant water cannot quench a nearby fire (NT: idiom meaning remote help cannot solve urgent problems). If their ferocity erupts and I arrive too late, disaster may already have been wrought.”

The ghosts sighed in relief. Qi Wanlian even wiped non-existent tears, looking deeply grateful.

“Ah!” Qian Duoqiun let out a long sigh. “Then let’s shoot short videos. Aren’t you a director? In your spare time, film some short videos with the leads and post them online. They’re more likely not to go viral—but if they do, we can save on promotion costs.”

This seemed feasible, and the ghosts had no strong objections.

They had pledged loyalty to Zhong Jiudao. They were willing to be commanded by him alone, but not by others.

Especially not by that sly, shameless-looking Qian Duoqiun!

“Alright, everyone find your own rooms to rest. From now on, the third floor will be your resting quarters. During rest time you may not go to the second floor to disturb your colleagues, but during filming you may move freely around the crew,” Zhong Jiudao said.

After becoming ghost servants, they no longer dared cause trouble. No longer confined to the screening room, their range of movement expanded.

The ghosts were delighted and scattered to choose rooms. One ghost, passing Qian Duoqiun, couldn’t resist pulling out its intestines and wrapping them around his neck—not to strangle him to death, but at least to disgust him to death.

“Hel—help!” Qian Duoqiun screamed. Now deprived of the protective filter of money, he finally knew fear, reaching toward Zhong Jiudao for rescue.

Zhong Jiudao flicked a finger, removing the intestines, and sighed. “Old Qian, if you’ve done nothing guilty in the day, you won’t fear ghosts knocking at midnight. If you did not feel guilty toward them, those intestines could not have harmed you much.”

Qian Duoqiun’s yang energy was weak now, making self-protection difficult. If it were Luo Huai instead, the little fool would probably have said to the ghost, “Is this a prop? It looks so real! Though the blood smells a bit fishy—I want a shower.”

“Fine, I’ll donate to charity from now on,” Qian Duoqiun said, clutching his neck.

“Not just you. If this film makes money in the future, a portion of the ghost actors’ rightful earnings should also go to charity, to accumulate virtue for them,” Zhong Jiudao said.

Qian Duoqiun suddenly remembered something. “Director Zhong, you never warned me to keep this secret.”

“No need. Even if you told others, they might not believe you. Speak not casually of ghosts and gods; speak too much of the underworld, and you invite ghosts to shorten your life,” Zhong Jiudao said calmly. “Besides, you weren’t planning to tell anyone.”

Someone already busy redefining himself as a future company boss making money—how could he possibly tell? That concept probably didn’t even exist in Qian Duoqiun’s mind.

Zhong Jiudao’s kind advice was more effective than a threat. Qian Duoqiun immediately covered his mouth, absolutely not daring to speak of it, lest other ghosts be summoned.

The ghosts dispersed, and the night passed in peace.

Early the next morning, Luo Huai, who had slept extremely well, was awakened by the fragrance of breakfast.

He sprang out of bed and nudged Pang Xinhao in the neighbouring bed. “Get up! Aunt Yang made breakfast today! Her cooking is way better than Director Zhong’s—come eat something hot!”

From the aroma alone, Luo Huai could tell it was Aunt Yang’s cooking. He still remembered the fragrance of the porridge Qian had drunk on the first day.

“Why are you so excited? As actors, do we deserve gourmet food?” Pang Xinhao climbed up looking exhausted, feeling miserable.

He didn’t remember at all how he had acted so well yesterday. He definitely had scenes again today—what was he going to do?

Pang Xinhao looked in the mirror and frowned. “Why do I look so good today?”

No eye bags, no dark circles, no acne. His skin was dewy and smooth, complexion rosy—better than after a facial treatment.

After days of looking haggard, Pang Xinhao touched his face. “Did I really sleep that well?”

With such good condition, he didn’t even need nude makeup. He splashed a little water on his face and went downstairs with Luo Huai.

In the dining room, not only Aunt Yang was there—Xiaoyan and Xiaoyun were too. They were sitting around a woman, chatting happily about skincare, fitness, and diet.

The woman in the middle was Qi Wanlian.

Upon seeing Qi Wanlian, Pang Xinhao felt two completely contradictory emotions. One was a heartfelt admiration for her inner strength and a faint flutter of attraction. The other was a fear and chill rising from the depths of his soul—so strong that he didn’t even dare look at her directly.

“Wanlian, how old are you this year?” Xiaoyan asked.

“Much older than you,” Qi Wanlian replied.

“You’re lying. I’m 23 this year. I think you’re only about 20! From your bearing I feel like calling you ‘older sister,’ but looking at your face, I’m the older one,” Xiaoyun said.

“Twenty?” Qi Wanlian revealed a nostalgic expression. “Indeed. Many years ago, on the very day I died, it was my twentieth birthday.”

Xiaoyan shivered, her face showing she couldn’t stand it. “Oh my god, are you already getting into character? Don’t say such scary things so seriously. I almost believed you.”

Qi Wanlian extended her slender hand, white, tender, and slim. She tucked the loose strand of hair behind Xiaoyan’s ear, her fingertips resting against her cheek, and said softly: “It would be better if you believed it. This vibrant, supple skin full of life—this is exactly what I desire.”

“Scared you to death, haha!” A bright, hearty laugh rang out, dispelling the yin energy in the dining room. Luo Huai sat beside Xiaoyan and spoke to the three of them.

Only then did Xiaoyan feel sensation return to her frozen arm. She took the initiative and said to Aunt Yang, “I’d like a bowl of soup.”

Smiling warmly, Aunt Yang carried the entire soup pot directly to the table, letting everyone serve themselves as much as they liked.

Even Pang Xinhao, who usually didn’t like soup, drank a bowl. Qi Wanlian, however, sat far away while everyone else drank, quietly watching them.

“Aren’t you eating?” Luo Huai asked.

“I already ate upstairs. I need to maintain my figure,” Qi Wanlian replied.

Everyone glanced at her slender waist that seemed small enough to be encircled in one hand, thinking that maintaining such a figure must not be easy.

Soon Director Zhong and Producer Qian also came to the dining room. Producer Qian looked unwell today; his hands trembled incessantly as if he had Parkinson’s disease. Only after drinking three bowls of hot soup did the shaking stop.

Director Zhong, as always, remained steady, reserved, and composed. While eating breakfast, he said, “We’ll adjust today’s scenes. Your flashback scenes won’t be shot in the villa—they require a new set. We’ll first film the villa scenes and interact with the ghost actors.”

In fact, the flashbacks could also be filmed inside the villa. They would only need to redecorate a few rooms to resemble a modern campus or a street corner. Today’s interaction with the ghost actors was mainly to resolve Pang Xinhao’s issue.

Since Qi Wanlian was confident she could cure Pang Xinhao’s psychological symptom of having his facial features go wild at the sight of a camera, then they would hand the stage to her first.

After breakfast, they went outside to film a scene set inside the villa.

The perspective: four university students standing outside the villa, seeing a woman in a black qipao standing on the third floor. A cigarette burned in her hand as she quietly watched them.

This scene had to be both beautiful and terrifying. The woman in black needed to appear stunningly beautiful, yet also dangerous.

Traditional horror films would use sound effects and cinematography to solve this problem. But that would heighten the horror at the expense of beauty.

Qi Wanlian needed no special effects. She simply stood there—the fusion of two contradictory temperaments.

The supporting actors had no parts in this scene and could have gone to rest. Yet they all came to watch the filming without prior arrangement, wanting to see their scene partner’s ability.

On the third floor, the heavy curtains parted just enough for one person to stand in the gap. Qi Wanlian stood before the window, her gaze resting on the cameraman and the actors below.

She possessed an ultimate still beauty—so beautiful she seemed like a painting, like a black lotus blooming at dusk. Yet when she lowered her eyes to look at the crowd, her gaze was not human.

It was difficult to describe the shudder her gaze induced. It was not the look one gives to one’s own kind, but the condescending stare of someone preparing to kill. When her gaze fell upon your arm, a phantom pain arose, as though flesh were being sliced away piece by piece. When she locked eyes with you, you would involuntarily avert your gaze—because if you continued looking, you would feel as though your eyes were being gouged out alive.

Qi Wanlian stood silently for a moment, then suddenly revealed a beautiful smile.

The smile seemed to savour something, as though recalling a pleasant memory. Yet paired with that gaze resting upon you, it felt as if she were relishing the sight of you already shattered into pieces.

With just that single expression, one’s heart tightened painfully, breath nearly stopping.

“Cut.” Zhong Jiudao called up to Qi Wanlian.

Qi Wanlian stubbed out her cigarette, nodded politely to Zhong Jiudao, and walked away from the window.

It was only at this moment that a trace of equality appeared in her gaze toward Zhong Jiudao, and the previously frozen people slowly regained their composure.

The cinematographer in charge of filming exhaled, flipping through the footage they had just captured. He said in awe, “I almost thought she was going to come through the camera and eat me. I’ve never filmed anything like this before—an aesthetic that makes you shiver.”

Zhong Jiudao nodded. “The performance isn’t bad, I suppose.”

If a powerful ghost could not display such elegance, they would be laughed at in the ghost world.

He stepped back and suddenly bumped into someone. Turning around, he saw Luo Huai quietly standing behind him, with Pang Xinhao, Xiaoyan, and Xiaoyun pressed against Luo Huai. The four of them clung to Zhong Jiudao like conjoined infants, hiding behind him.

Zhong Jiudao: “…What are you doing?”

“N-not sure! I just inexplicably felt a bit cold in the summer. Director Zhong is probably tall, full of firepower, lots of heat—standing behind you is especially warm,” Luo Huai said.

Zhong Jiudao: “Afraid?”

The four nodded in unison.

“Good. That’s the right reaction,” Zhong Jiudao said with satisfaction.

The four: “……”

Were they really going to act opposite ghost actors next? It felt like they might get scared to tears.

After setting up the scene for the next shot, Zhong Jiudao scanned the four. “Next scene: Script Scene 33. Pang Xinhao and Qi Wanlian’s face-to-face scene.”

The other three breathed a sigh of relief, while Pang Xinhao exclaimed, “Huh? Why do I go first?”

“Aren’t you good at acting?” Zhong Jiudao smiled. “Yesterday, you demonstrated textbook-level acting. Today, just perform well.”

“No, I didn’t, I’m not mentally ready yet…”

Before Pang Xinhao could finish, he felt a push from behind. Stumbling forward, he was picked up by Zhong Jiudao like a little chick and placed onto the set.

Before leaving, Pang Xinhao looked back to see who had pushed him. Turning around, he saw all three forming fists in unison and calling out together: “Go for it, Ah Hao! We’ll be waiting for you!”

“A bunch of traitors!” Pang Xinhao lamented. Weren’t they all supposed to be scared of ghosts together? Why was he the only one going on stage?

The cinematographer faithfully filmed this moment, thinking it would also make a good behind-the-scenes clip.

Pang Xinhao, pushed like a duck onto the rack, saw the camera pointing at him and immediately ignored his fear of Qi Wanlian. All his focus shifted to how to look perfect in front of the camera—so he wouldn’t be criticized again for looking ugly, rustic, dark, short-legged, thick-waisted, fat-faced, or with uneven features.

He instinctively posed with what he believed were perfect expressions and postures, which actually made him look stiff and unnatural.

Making expressions in this state was nothing short of a disaster scene.

The cinematographer, seeing such an awkward face in the frame, looked up at Zhong Jiudao. Normally, at this point, Zhong Jiudao would have called “Cut.”

But this time, Zhong Jiudao said nothing, waiting for Qi Wanlian to make her move.

This scene depicted the four students already suspecting that the entire villa was full of ghosts, about to flee, when Qi Wanlian called out to Pang Xinhao to discuss the matter of his daughter Xiao Yue with him.

Feeling guilty toward his ex-girlfriend Xiao Yue, Pang Xinhao followed her to the study, only to fully realize Qi Wanlian’s true form, and he ran away in terror.

Qi Wanlian was probably wearing ageing makeup, looking like a well-maintained forty-year-old woman. She appeared in her early thirties, but her demeanour revealed her true age.

Yet she remained beautiful.

Once she entered the scene, Pang Xinhao’s gaze locked on her, temporarily forgetting the camera.

The cinematographer, watching the footage, silently went “huh.” This shift perfectly explained Pang Xinhao’s previous restlessness, which had made his face stiff like sitting on pins and needles before Qi Wanlian appeared, and then his involuntary fear once she did appear.

It not only masked Pang Xinhao’s acting flaws but also made the interplay between the two appear incredibly natural.

 

Translator : DarNan