Zhong Jiudao picked up the half-bottle of ketchup on the table and fell into thought. There was still half a bottle left; it seemed it could be put to use—perhaps to film a short video or something.

Pang Xinhao ignored the camera not because he was captivated by beauty, but because Qi Wanlian gave him an overwhelming sense of pressure.

Paying attention to the camera came from the psychological need to care about and maintain one’s image, while ignoring the camera entirely was purely the survival instinct of a herbivore.

She was clearly a beautiful and gentle woman, her arms so slender they seemed as if they would snap with a single bend. Yet she gave Pang Xinhao the sense of danger of being stared at by a venomous snake, forcing him to gather all his focus to deal with her.

“Have some tea,” Qi Wanlian said elegantly as she handed him a teacup.

“Thank you.” Pang Xinhao nervously squeezed his fingers; his palms were covered in cold sweat.

“I’ve heard about the matter between you and my daughter,” Qi Wanlian said straight to the point. “To be honest, you don’t quite meet my standards for choosing a child.”

The statement sounded somewhat strange. Pang Xinhao sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to continue the conversation. “You’re right. I’m not worthy of Xiao Yue, so we’ve already broken up a long time ago.”

“But since Xiao Yue likes you, I’ll still give you a chance.”

Qi Wanlian lightly sipped her tea. A trace of moisture remained on the corner of her lips; she stuck out her tongue and gently licked it away. Yet her gaze remained fixed on Pang Xinhao, as though she were anticipating some kind of feast.

“You don’t need to give me a chance. We’ve already broken up,” Pang Xinhao said, waving his hand.

Unable to withstand the pressure of her gaze, his eyes began drifting left and right. By accident, he met the camera lens. The moment he saw it, his expression stiffened again.

The cameraman frowned. That expression was ruined again; the whole performance would be spoiled. He glanced at Zhong Jiudao.

But Director Zhong still didn’t call “cut.” Instead, he watched Qi Wanlian’s acting with full concentration.

“What are you looking at so seriously?” Qi Wanlian stood up and walked in front of Pang Xinhao. Her gaze swept across the camera, giving it a stunning frontal shot, while revealing a contemptuous expression—as though there were something terrifying to Pang Xinhao behind the camera, but something Qi Wanlian completely disdained.

She stepped forward and grabbed Pang Xinhao’s chin, forcefully twisting his face toward her so that he had to meet her gaze. Her sharp nails dug firmly into his skin, and Pang Xinhao felt as if his jawbone was about to be pierced through.

“Is that thing prettier than me? Your heart should be placed on me instead.”

Qi Wanlian placed her hand on Pang Xinhao’s chest.

In the eyes of the others, she was merely touching his chest.

But in Pang Xinhao’s eyes, he suddenly felt dazed. It was as if he truly saw Qi Wanlian exert a little force—her hand plunging deep into his chest and gouging out his heart.

The pain in his chest—whether real or an illusion—no longer mattered. In panic he screamed, scrambled to his feet, shoved Qi Wanlian away, and fled.

It was as if his eyes were covered by a mist of blood; everything in his field of vision was crimson.

He didn’t know where to run, where safety lay. In his panic, he suddenly saw Zhong Jiudao standing beside the camera.

Amid the endless sea of blood-red, only Zhong Jiudao’s colours were normal, making him incomparably reassuring.

Clutching his chest, Pang Xinhao ran straight toward him, not noticing the camera at all. He stretched out his hand and cried: “H-help me!”

The camera faced Pang Xinhao directly, clearly recording his terrified and pleading expression. Even his pupils trembling continuously with fear were captured in perfect detail.

“Cut!” Zhong Jiudao finally called.

With that single word, the blood-red vision in front of Pang Xinhao abruptly vanished. It was as if he had been saved. He collapsed onto the ground and panted heavily, as though he had finally escaped a path of survival from certain death.

The onlookers began applauding at the same time. Luo Huai happily said, “Old Pang, your acting was incredible!”

Even the cameraman nodded at Pang Xinhao and gave him a thumbs-up.

Pang Xinhao, however, felt both the relief of surviving a catastrophe and confusion.

Had he… actually acted?

Wasn’t it just that Qi Wanlian was too terrifying, making him run away uncontrollably?

What Pang Xinhao didn’t know was that the others couldn’t see the blood mist or the heart being gouged out at all. They only saw Qi Wanlian’s beautiful yet vicious expression. It looked frightening, but not enough to terrify them.

In that performance, the more outstanding part was actually Pang Xinhao—his horrified eyes and desperate escape only emphasized how terrifying Qi Wanlian was.

“You were amazing!” Luo Huai said. “And you’re so good at blocking and facing the camera! That last expression—right up close to the camera, and your expression was still so real and detailed. Incredible!”

Pang Xinhao: “……”

Did he… look at the camera just now? He hadn’t seen that thing at all. His only thought had been to find Director Zhong to save him.

“Take a rest and calm down,” Zhong Jiudao said. “Your acting is finally starting to improve. Tonight come to a meeting—I’ll talk through the scene with you.”

“O-okay!” Pang Xinhao agreed hurriedly.

The thought of meeting Director Zhong at night gave Pang Xinhao an immense sense of security. Fortunately it was Director Zhong!

If Qi Wanlian had handed him a room key card at this moment and said, Come to my room tonight, Pang Xinhao might have burst into tears on the spot and knelt down begging her to spare him.

Next, the Qi Wanlian who looked like a ferocious ghost in Pang Xinhao’s eyes filmed several additional close-up shots facing the camera. She even held a fake heart prop, poured ketchup over it, and licked the ketchup from her hand. The result was both bloody and gorgeous, carrying a horrifying beauty.

To make Qi Wanlian’s acting more realistic, Zhong Jiudao had earlier burned incense and offered the bottle of ketchup beforehand, turning it into something ghosts could consume.

When the ketchup dripped over the heart prop, Qi Wanlian smelled the sweetness and uncontrollably licked it for real. A blissful expression appeared on her face as she murmured involuntarily, “So sweet.”

Before her death, Qi Wanlian had lived in an era of extreme material scarcity and had never seen something Western like ketchup. Modern processed foods, meanwhile, often recklessly add sugar to enhance flavour.

The sweetness of this bottle of ketchup clearly exceeded the standard.

Sugar brings intense pleasure to the brain, and the brain has a mysterious and indescribable connection with the soul. Even after being offered through ritual, the sugar could still bring joy to ghosts.

Qi Wanlian had never tasted anything so delicious in life or after death, and she couldn’t resist eating another bite, completely forgetting her dignity.

“Ugh…” Sitting on a chair to rest, Pang Xinhao saw this scene and couldn’t help turning his face aside and gagging. Still affected by the hallucination from earlier, he kept having the feeling that Qi Wanlian was doing something indescribable to his own heart.

A sweetness that humans could not smell spread throughout the entire villa. The other ghosts smelled it as well, and this group of ignorant ghosts immediately began drooling.

With Zhong Jiudao suppressing them, the ghosts didn’t dare disrupt the filming to rush forward and snatch the ketchup.

Only Fu Yue—who could always recover no matter how many times she had been “charged up” before—was completely unafraid of Director Zhong’s oppressive aura. She stormed onto the set with one step, her eyes blazing red as she glared at Qi Wanlian.

“How dare you!”

Faced with such an intrusion into the scene, the few staff members present were obviously flustered. The cameraman looked to Zhong Jiudao for help, but Zhong simply pressed his hand down slightly, signalling them not to stop.

Fu Yue had already changed into her costume (the ghost actors’ costumes were folded from paper and burned over by Director Zhong—extremely cost-effective). She wore a modern red dress and looked extraordinarily beautiful.

She glared at the ketchup and pointed at Qi Wanlian. “You actually dared to do this behind my back…”

Zhong Jiudao secretly cast a spell, preventing Fu Yue from speaking further, avoiding the possibility that she might say something like “eating delicious food behind my back.” Leaving the line intentionally vague made it easier for people to interpret it as “digging out my ex-boyfriend’s heart behind my back.”

At the same time, Director Zhong, who was secretly controlling everything, cast his spell without showing any change in expression. A thought was transmitted directly to Qi Wanlian.

Receiving the signal, Qi Wanlian immediately turned her head cleverly and said to Fu Yue, “Why are you angry? It’s not like I won’t give you any.”

She beckoned with her hand. “Come here, my good daughter.”

Fu Yue walked over stiffly.

Qi Wanlian handed the ketchup to her, smiling like a witch tempting someone to fall into the evil path. Lowering her voice, she spoke in an extremely sinful tone: “Have a taste.”

The ketchup was so sweet that Fu Yue naturally forgot about being angry and took a bite as well. She and Qi Wanlian were both ghosts from the old society who had never seen much of the world. Growing up, their sugar intake had never been sufficient. After tasting something this sweet, she couldn’t help but have tears in her eyes, her face full of emotion as she said, “So sweet!”

It created a scene where Fu Yue—who looked vividly like someone who still possessed conscience and humanity—was completely lured by Qi Wanlian into falling into the endless Hell. Both the visual shock and the psychological terror reached their peak.

“Ugh!”

This time it wasn’t Pang Xinhao. Qian Duoqun and the actress Xiaoyan also couldn’t take it anymore. Together with Pang Xinhao, they turned their backs and crouched on the ground, retching.

Only Xiaoyun remained; she hadn’t vomited from fear yet, but her face had already turned deathly pale. She turned away, unable to keep watching.

Only Luo Huai, who looked past the surface to see the essence, gazed at the filming scene and quietly said,

“Now I kind of want to eat bread with ketchup on it… but the calories are too high, so I can’t.”

“Alright.” Zhong Jiudao stopped filming and warned Fu Yue, “Your improvisation worked well this time, so I’ll forgive you for now. But don’t let it happen again.”

Fu Yue sniffed, greedily inhaling the lingering sweetness before replying somewhat unwillingly, “Fine.”

Qi Wanlian pursed her lips and smiled, saying to everyone, “The performance just now went a bit too far in intensity. Sorry about that. I’ll go wash my hands.”

Holding the prop heart, she hurried away. It looked like she couldn’t stand the greasy feeling of the ketchup, but Zhong Jiudao knew in his heart that Qi Wanlian had rushed off to secretly eat it all by herself.

The cameraman and Zhong Jiudao replayed the footage together to check whether there were any shots that needed to be reshot.

The cameraman rubbed his arms while watching the footage. “The actors sacrificed too much for this. This scene is really creepy.”

Seeing that the scene had turned out perfectly, Zhong Jiudao stared at the remaining half bottle of ketchup, looking thoughtful.

Next, they filmed a supplementary shot of a doll that had been cut up until it looked like a piece of torn cloth. The doll’s hairstyle somewhat resembled Pang Xinhao’s, and the character “Hao” was written on it.

Originally, this doll had no role in the scene. But earlier, when Pang Xinhao accidentally noticed the camera and his expression stiffened again, Qi Wanlian improvised, turning the moment into one where Pang Xinhao had seen something terrifying. So they had to film an additional frightening shot to switch in during post-production editing.

There were quite a few dolls in the villa, probably because the previous owner had children. However, when they moved away, they left all the dolls behind in the house. They must have been frightened by them quite a bit.

Zhong Jiudao chose a doll with black hair and casually trimmed its hair into Pang Xinhao’s hairstyle, creating this terrifying doll prop for the reshoot.

Everything was so meticulous and economical.

After a busy day, when they had dinner that evening, aside from Luo Huai, everyone else looked rather unwell.

Aunt Yang had specially prepared a jar of fragrant and spicy chili sauce. Everyone had praised it when tasting it earlier. Qian Duoqun had even declared that with this jar of chili sauce, he would finally be able to put on some weight.

But at dinner, aside from Luo Huai, no one touched the chili sauce. The two girls only drank soup.

During the meal, Zhong Jiudao said, “From now on, the actors who play ghosts in the crew are not allowed to claim they are ghosts and scare people during normal interactions. Everyone has already adapted to their roles enough. If they keep ‘adapting,’ it will start affecting the mental state of the other actors.”

The four human actors raised ten hands in agreement—the extra two hands belonged to Qian Duoqun.

Qian Duoqun had truly had enough. Others could still treat everything as acting, but he knew those actors were actually ghosts. Scene after scene was enough to scare him to death!

“I’ll inform the actors who weren’t present today tonight,” Zhong Jiudao said.

He really needed to properly educate this group of ghosts. They shouldn’t keep saying things like “When I was alive…” or “When I died, it was so tragic…” every time they opened their mouths. Was that really something worth competing over or boasting about? It was all leftover dregs of feudal society. It had to be changed!

After dinner, everyone returned to their rooms to rest. The two girls even locked their doors from the inside. Unless it was Director Zhong, they wouldn’t dare open the door for anyone else. Pang Xinhao obediently went to Zhong Jiudao’s room.

“Come take a look at your performance today,” Zhong Jiudao said, playing the footage they had filmed earlier.

“Please don’t…” Pang Xinhao clearly resisted. “It was too scary. I don’t want to watch it again.”

“Are you scared of the scene, or are you unable to face your acting and your face?” Zhong Jiudao asked.

Pang Xinhao’s expression instantly stiffened, and he didn’t answer.

Zhong Jiudao said, “How long has it been since you watched your own performances?”

Pang Xinhao avoided Zhong Jiudao’s scrutinizing gaze. He hadn’t looked at himself on screen for several years.

Zhong Jiudao continued, “Instead of watching how you actually perform in film and television, you go online to scroll through comments and get upset every day looking at meme images made by netizens?”

These words finally pried open Pang Xinhao’s mouth. “Director, did you install surveillance cameras in my house? How do you know everything?”

“Not really,” Zhong Jiudao said. “I’ve simply seen too many people like you. When they know they’ve done something wrong, instead of facing the problem directly, they use even more methods to cover it up.”

Back when he followed his parents working as Celestial Masters, many clients who felt guilty toward ghosts at first refused to say what kind of grievance existed between them and the spirits. Instead, they would throw money around to force the exorcists to perform rituals and beat the ghosts until their souls scattered, pushing all the blame onto the ghosts. Only when forced to a certain point would they finally tell the truth.

Pang Xinhao’s situation was different from those people, but the psychological state was the same.

Zhong Jiudao could not read people’s hearts, but his talent was extremely strong. He could see through the state of a soul—whether it was fear or avoidance—and it was all within his sight. Whether dead souls or living souls, none could escape his eyes.

“Watch the video. You have to take the first step,” Zhong Jiudao said.

Pang Xinhao couldn’t resist, so he could only brace himself and watch his own performance. Seeing his stiff self in front of the camera in the first scene, he clearly showed a look of disgust—obviously hating the version of himself acting on camera.

But as the scene progressed, Pang Xinhao saw that under Qi Wanlian’s guidance, his expressions gradually became lively and natural. The disgust slowly faded, replaced with some surprise.

He hadn’t deliberately tried to strike handsome angles or expressions in front of the camera. Instead, he had cowardly been scared out of his wits and fled in panic. Yet surprisingly, it looked quite pleasing on screen.

The expression of being scared silly certainly wasn’t handsome, but it was very natural. Compared to his earlier expressions—one looked like a stiff puppet, the other like a human being.

Zhong Jiudao pressed the pause button. The screen stopped exactly on a shot where Pang Xinhao’s face was twisted in distortion, ugly enough to be turned into a meme reaction image. Pang Xinhao immediately felt miserable again.

“Still images and moving images are different. Motion focuses more on the continuity of movements and expressions. Even for the most perfectly good-looking actors, or performances at the level of Best Actor or Best Actress, if you capture a still frame from moving footage, there will still be moments where the face looks terrible,” Zhong Jiudao said.

“As long as you become famous, you’ll face rumors and criticism. No matter how well you do, someone will find fault. Among a thousand compliments, if you only care about the one criticism, aren’t you making things too hard on yourself?”

Pang Xinhao showed a thoughtful expression.

“Don’t be afraid of your expressions collapsing. If there’s really a problem, the director will help adjust and correct it. And don’t be afraid of the camera. A person’s appearance changes constantly as they age. The camera preserves every stage of you—whether good or bad. When you look back after ten or twenty years, all of it will become precious memories.”

“But… I’m afraid of the camera…” Pang Xinhao finally said what was in his heart.

“That’s nothing to worry about,” Zhong Jiudao said confidently. “Your scene partner will help you forget the camera. Just slowly desensitize yourself.”

Pang Xinhao: “……”

That was certainly true. Let alone the camera, he had almost forgotten he was still alive.

“Oh right,” Zhong Jiudao added, “have you been seeing hallucinations or sleepwalking lately? Don’t worry too much. It’s caused by excessive stress. It may happen again in the future. Once filming is finished and the pressure decreases, it’ll get better. You can also take some vitamins to improve your immunity. You’ll recover. Don’t randomly take medication meant to treat mental illnesses, or you might actually make yourself sick.”

“Okay.” Pang Xinhao nodded.

After this deep conversation with Director Zhong, Pang Xinhao felt as though he had been given a new lease on life. He became full of hope for the upcoming filming and returned to his room happily.

After he left, Zhong Jiudao picked up the half bottle of ketchup on the table. He felt that this prop could still be put to use—perhaps to film a short video or something.

 

Translator : DarNan