The dozen or so ghosts expressed their dissatisfaction with the film’s ending, making Zhong Jiudao wonder whether he and they had even watched the same movie at all.

When the woman in the Western dress was stuck to the ceiling to serve as a mobile power source, a wind of yin energy (NT : meaning carrying chill and resentment) swept through the haunted house. Zhong Jiudao merely counted roughly, and already reckoned more than a dozen streams of yin wind. Who knew how many restless spirits this mansion was hiding.

When he first rented this house, Zhong Jiudao had originally planned to capture the fierce ghosts within. After subduing them, he would contact the landlord; out of gratitude, the landlord might waive part of the rent. The money saved could then go toward his film crew’s budget — maybe even renting a few proper costumes.

But after seeing this new “use” for the woman in the Western dress, Zhong Jiudao thought there was no need to exterminate everything. Perhaps he could find even more ways to save money through these evil ghosts. If he could avoid taking action, he would.

His refraining from action was not out of coldness. Rather, ever since he left home, his father — in order to cut off his dream of becoming a director — had forbidden him from engaging in the family’s traditional profession.

As for the family profession, of course it was the ancient, traditional, and mysterious vocation of the Tianshi (NT: tiān shī = Taoist exorcist / master of the occult arts).

The Zhong family was a lineage of Taoists, handed down for thousands of years. It had reached its peak several centuries ago, but gradually declined in the new century.

What declined was not only the family’s reputation, but also the magical power of its descendants. As the era entered into a time of peace, resentment and grievances in the world dispersed; the power of Taoists also weakened. Strangely, the two were not opposites in a “one rises, one falls” relationship, but instead linked: if resentment was strong, so was their power; if resentment was weak, so too their power.

Each generation of Zhong descendants was less gifted than the last. Just as the elders were despairing, Zhong Jiudao was born.

From birth, his talent was astonishing. Not only was he unmatched among his peers, but even if one looked back five hundred years, there had not been a talent as extraordinary as Zhong Jiudao.

When he was born, his left hand clenched as if gripping something. The elders opened their Heavenly Eye (NT: tiān yǎn = a clairvoyant, mystical “third eye” that can see beyond the physical) to peer at his hand, and saw that in his palm he held an invisible pen. From birth he could draw talismans barehanded — without talisman paper, cinnabar ink, or any external tools.

The entire Zhong clan trembled. With such a gift, Zhong Jiudao must surely be the unparalleled genius to lead the family into another golden age!

The only thing that puzzled the elders was that the pen in his left hand was not a brush, nor even a fountain pen, but some strange kind of pen. Years later they realized it was called a gel pen.

But when Zhong Jiudao stubbornly chose film school, the elders realized this “pen” might not mean what they had hoped.

To make him turn back, the Zhong family cut off his tuition and living expenses. Film school was expensive — they thought he would not last and would be forced home.

Yet Zhong Jiudao, brimming with magical power, could never starve wherever he went. By casually taking on a few jobs, he earned enough for his tuition and living expenses, and even saved two million yuan (NT: 260 000 euros). So he would not have to worry about food and clothing for the next ten years.

With no alternative, the family told him: if he wanted to pursue his dream, he could not use the family’s traditional arts to make money. Otherwise, he must return home to inherit the family trade.

From then on, Zhong Jiudao never acted of his own initiative. When encountering supernatural events, he would notify the nearest Taoist priest, never relying on his own power for profit.

Even in renting this haunted house, Zhong Jiudao had not planned to drive out ghosts to raise funds for the crew. He only hoped the landlord would reduce the rent. If the landlord truly gave him money, he could not take it — that was the rule, and part of his agreement with the family.

Zhong Jiudao wanted to realize his dream, while also respecting the family’s ways. After all, he had been the one to set aside the family career; not making money from spiritual power was only natural.

But using spiritual power to save money… that shouldn’t count as breaking the agreement.

He quickly estimated: the ghost woman in the Western dress carried strong yin energy. Judging by the current strength of the Five-Thunder Talisman, it would take at least seven days and nights of ritual to eliminate her completely — saving a great deal on electricity bills. But the Five-Thunder Talisman only lasted six shichens (NT: traditional Chinese time units, each about two hours), so every twelve hours he would need to redraw one.

It couldn’t just be used for lighting.

Zhong Jiudao casually pointed, moving the ghost woman from the ceiling to the main power switch of the house, making her provide stable, continuous power for the entire mansion.

Watching Zhong Jiudao commit such a cruel act, the woman in the white cheongsam trembled, curling her body to shrink her presence as much as possible, praying this ruthless Taoist priest would grant her a swift end — and not let her suffer like the woman in the Western dress, whose soul could not even scatter freely.

Zhong Jiudao went upstairs, casually opened a bedroom door, and saw it full of dust — unlike the tidy garden and hall.

“These ghosts can’t do proper work, just superficial jobs.” Zhong Jiudao frowned slightly and asked the woman in the white cheongsam downstairs: “Who cleaned the garden and the hall?”

Frightened, her shoulders twitched before she answered: “The fallen leaves in the garden were swept by old servant Ding, the flowers were planted by the Third Concubine, and the hall… was cleaned by Aunt Yang.”

“Have Aunt Yang clean a few more bedrooms,” Zhong Jiudao instructed directly, not asking who the Third Concubine was.

As soon as he spoke, a yin wind swept through, blowing the dust and cobwebs out the window and into the soil. The room instantly became spotless, cleaner than a five-star hotel.

Aunt Yang did not show herself, but her skilled, professional service proved she was obedient, considerate, and harmless.

Zhong Jiudao nodded toward the swirling yin wind and politely said, “Thank you.”

He carried his suitcase inside, placed his most valuable camera on the table, and hung his clothes neatly in the wardrobe.

Originally, Zhong Jiudao had prepared to spend an entire night cleaning the mansion. Now, with the “warm hospitality” of the house’s “native residents,” he had little to do that evening.

Lying on the bed for a while, Zhong Jiudao grew slightly bored. Thinking of the upcoming film shoot, he felt a bit uneasy. Ghost exorcism was his trade, and living in a haunted house gave him no fear — even a touch of ease. But shooting a full-length film was a first; with no experience, he was very nervous.

He ran through the things he needed to do in the coming days, making sure there were no oversights. Then he pulled out a file box from his suitcase, filled with the script, reference materials, and some classic film DVDs he had collected for study.

Nowadays, with streaming apps and TV casting so common, few people still watched DVDs. These discs were old keepsakes from his school days. He brought them to the haunted house because the rental description had mentioned that the villa came with a home theatre.

Anyone who could afford to buy such a large house was naturally not short of money. The place was fully equipped with all kinds of facilities, but unfortunately, before they could even use them, the “native residents” of the haunted house had scared them away.

Zhong Jiudao picked out a few DVDs, then took out a thick notebook. He planned to watch another round of classic films, studying the techniques and expressions of the masters.

He walked out of his room and saw that all the doors to the second-floor bedrooms were open, each room spotlessly clean. Clearly Aunt Yang had been working diligently.

The woman in the white cheongsam was still huddled under the staircase on the first floor, motionless, waiting for Zhong Jiudao’s instructions.

Looking at the clean rooms, Zhong Jiudao thought, even if there’s no merit, there’s still hard work (NT: idiom meaning even if results aren’t impressive, effort still deserves recognition), so he said:
“As long as all of you work hard and don’t harm people, it’s not impossible for us to live together in peace.”

The white-cheongsam woman lifted her head, her face full of joy, and curtsied deeply: “Thank you, Taoist priest, for the grace of not killing me.”

She was about to kneel, but Zhong Jiudao — as a young man of the new era, daring to break from tradition to pursue his dreams — naturally could not bear such feudal gestures. He immediately said: “I don’t have those feudal preferences. You may go.”

The white-cheongsam ghost was as if granted a great amnesty, and hurriedly disappeared with her candle at the last step of the staircase.

Aunt Yang’s yin wind was quick and efficient. In the blink of an eye, the entire house was cleaned. Zhong Jiudao went up to the third-floor screening room, saw that the equipment was intact, plugged in the power, and chose a film to play.

It was a classic horror film, full of things worth learning. As he watched, he carefully checked his previous notes, adding new insights whenever he noticed details. Very soon, the notebook was filled with dense writing.

Whenever he wrote notes, Zhong Jiudao would pause the film, only resuming after finishing. Since he had already watched this movie dozens of times and could recite the plot backwards, he no longer cared about the viewing experience, only the details that could be studied.

When he pressed the pause button for the umpteenth time, an anxious voice came from the corner of the screening room: “Paused again! Two whole hours, and we’ve only watched thirty minutes! It’s killing me!”

Zhong Jiudao put down his pen, tilted his head slightly — only then realizing he was not alone in the theatre.

From the walls, the ceiling, beneath the floor, and inside chair backs, countless heads poked out. More than a dozen fierce ghosts stared unblinkingly, watching the movie along with him.

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

He had been so focused on studying that he hadn’t noticed. These fierce ghosts had not released killing intent or malice, only squatting cautiously in the room. He had failed to realize that he suddenly had so many “audience members.”

The fierce ghosts, too, had hidden their aura to quietly observe this uninvited guest. Midway, they were drawn into the movie, unable to tear themselves away. But Zhong Jiudao paused again and again — one time even pausing the same one-second frame three times. Finally, these “audience members” could not bear it, and spoke up, revealing their presence.

One man and more than a dozen ghosts stared silently at each other, neither knowing who was more afraid.

The ghosts of this haunted house were all from the old society (NT: i.e., people who died before 1912, pre-Republic-era). Most wore long gowns and short jackets, except for the impatient one who had spoken. That ghost was in a suit and leather shoes, hair slicked with pomade, combed neatly back. He looked very young, about just over twenty.

Seeing Zhong Jiudao’s gaze fall on him, the suit-wearing ghost gave an embarrassed smile, half-hid his body inside a desk, leaving only his head showing, and pleaded: “Taoist priest, forgive me. The film you played was simply too good. I was so absorbed that I lost control for a moment… I promise I won’t make a sound again to disturb you. May I humbly beg the Taoist priest to let me finish watching the movie?”

The dozen ghosts around him trembled in fear, yet still stayed in the theatre, eagerly hoping Zhong Jiudao would press play again.

Do they like movies too? Zhong Jiudao had never studied evil spirits in such depth. Curious, he restarted the film. This time, he didn’t pause to take notes, but let it run to the end.

When the end credits rolled, the suit-wearing ghost couldn’t help but sigh: “That was so good. Only… the ending was a bit tragic.”

“Tragic? How so?” asked Zhong Jiudao.

It was a movie with a relatively good ending. How could the suit-wearing ghost see it as tragic?

The suit ghost replied: “The protagonist at first could command the winds and rains (NT: idiom meaning to wield immense power), surrounded by countless beauties, and with so many living people’s yang energy to feed on — that’s exactly the life I long for! But unfortunately, the villain was despicable and sealed him in the end. Truly, it makes one weep and sigh! (NT: idiom, “those who see weep, those who hear grieve,” expressing deep sorrow). Still, the first 80 minutes were great. We can’t deny the whole film just because of the ending.”

It was a 90-minute film: for the first 80 minutes, the protagonist was crushed by the ghost, and only in the last 10 minutes did they discover a way to seal the fierce ghost and escape alive. It should have been terrifying at first, then a climactic release, leading to a smooth and satisfying conclusion. But to the suit ghost, the whole story was completely reversed.

“Exactly, exactly,” agreed another middle-aged ghost in a long robe beside him. “The villain’s only redeeming trait was being good-looking. If only the protagonist had been able to possess his body, that would have been perfect.”

The white-cheongsam ghost had also appeared among the movie-watching group. She murmured:
“The villain was indeed a handsome young man, but unfortunately, he was fickle and heartless. He deceived the heroine who loved the protagonist, tricking her into helping him harm the protagonist. But in the end, he did not join her in a lovers’ suicide; instead he let the Taoist priest release her soul. Not only was he heartless, he was also cruel and ruthless, betraying her deep devotion!”

Zhong Jiudao: “……”

The dozen ghosts each voiced their dissatisfaction with the film’s ending, leaving Zhong Jiudao to wonder whether he and they had even watched the same movie at all.

 

Translator : DarNan