“Alright, let him come for the audition; I’m available anytime,” Zhong Jiudao said immediately.

Zhong Jiudao knew full well that these fierce ghosts were not benevolent beings. The reason they were so obedient boiled down to three factors.

First, they had been bound by the previous Taoist master and trapped in the mansion for decades. Anyone in such a situation would want to escape and gain freedom. These fierce ghosts could appear in daylight and even continuously generate electricity for three, five, or seven days. With such formidable power, who would willingly remain imprisoned? Who wouldn’t want to “walk around under an umbrella during the day” (NT: idiom meaning enjoying freedom in comfort)?

Second, they had previously contracted with the Taoist master, so they naturally understood that using ghosts came at a price. The price paid brought them considerable benefits, so of course they wanted to compete for positions.

Third, these were all old-society ghosts with limited experience. They probably genuinely liked movies and wanted to satisfy their curiosity about acting. Being a star probably never occurred to them, as in their era, stars were mostly opera performers of low social status; they couldn’t realize how highly sought-after being a celebrity was in today’s society.

Zhong Jiudao was confident in using them because he knew how to control them.

Directing ghosts boiled down to two points: one was to entice them with benefits, the other was to beat them up.

When one had sufficient strength, the first point was less important. For example, with these fierce ghosts, simply telling them that those who didn’t get a film role would be turned into mobile power sources — who would dare demand benefits? They would all scramble to audition.

Zhong Jiudao leaned back in his chair, leisurely watching the ghosts demonstrate their powers, thoroughly enjoying the fun of casting.

To keep them in check, Zhong Jiudao prepared a resume sheet for each ghost, forcing them to leave a trace of their soul energy on the sheet as a written constraint.

Besides basic info about each ghost, the back of the sheet contained Zhong Jiudao’s evaluation, scoring the ghosts on appearance, physique, etiquette and speech, literacy, skills, acting (ability to conceal their ghostly nature), and role suitability. Final selection would be based on these scores.

Out of 100 points, Qi Wanlian in the white Cheongsam scored 100 points in appearance alone, with physique and etiquette each 20 points, literacy -20 points, skills -20 points, acting unknown; total 100 points—a high score.

The Western-Dress Ghost Fu Yue scored 90 in appearance, 10 in physique, -40 in etiquette, 10 in literacy, -20 in acting, and 50 in skills, totalling 100 points as well, tying with Qi Wanlian.

Aunt Yang’s appearance wasn’t high-scoring, but her acting was recognized by trained actor Luo Huai, giving her a high score. Combined with high skill points and role suitability, she was preselected.

The remaining ghosts were mixed in quality. Their skills were diverse but mostly useless. Skills like accounting or gardening were ordinary, while talents like running with one’s head, forcing people to kill each other under illusions, hanging five people with a tongue, or parasitizing humans to produce ghost fetuses were difficult to use in practice. Such abilities received negative points.

Zhong Jiudao spent the entire night selecting and finally preliminarily confirmed ten actors. Without usable skills as criteria, he had to rely on appearance. The film had poor hardware and a mediocre script; the only way to attract audiences was through attractive actors.

Fortunately, the ghosts had existed for many years. Even if some were originally ugly, they could apply masks or other means to become beautiful. With generally good looks, Zhong Jiudao only needed to select the best.

By ten o’clock in the morning, the actors were chosen, and contracts were signed individually. Zhong Jiudao wrote detailed contracts specifying that they could not disturb human colleagues, reveal their identities while filming, cry at night in the mansion to give the impression of being exploited by the director, etc.

In short, Zhong Jiudao included all prohibitions he could think of. Violators would be immediately replaced; after all, twenty-three other ghosts were lined up waiting to act—they were not short on actors.

Regarding benefits, Zhong Jiudao promised that from the start of filming until the movie’s release, each ghost would receive spirit money (NT: joss paper used in offerings to the dead) and things they liked, along with periodic offerings of human food. Except for Aunt Yang, the other ghosts lacked cooking skills and didn’t dare eat what she cooked. Having been hungry for decades, their eyes were “green with hunger” (NT: expression underlying the extreme hunger, green is a common supernatural colour in Chinese ghost stories); oh, some were not green from hunger, they had been green since death.

Some audacious ghosts, like the Western-Dress Ghost Fu Yue, even tried to bargain for Zhong Jiudao’s magic and the pure yang blood of a Taoist. Zhong Jiudao punished her with a Flame Talisman for an hour and warned that if she repeated the offence, her role would be replaced by another, forcing her to work as a textile labourer.

Fu Yue had the highest combat power in the mansion, but her brain was the least useful. She was the first to provoke Zhong Jiudao and the first to demand pure yang blood; Zhong Jiudao was concerned about her temperament as an actor.

So Zhong Jiudao boldly wrote in the contract: “The director has the right to replace actors at any time,” secretly encouraging the unselected backup actors to report any violations. Successful reports could lead to replacement; even if unsuccessful, if the facts were true, they could receive a cameo role.

After preparing contracts for the ghosts, Zhong Jiudao retrieved contracts for normal human actors. For the pay section, he wrote “friendship zero-pay appearance”, signing it himself in imitation of the actors.

After finishing the two sets of contracts, Zhong Jiudao let out a slight sigh. As a Taoist master, he hadn’t been eliminating demons to protect the Dao; instead, he was directing ghosts in a film. As a director, his career had just begun, and he was already walking down the path of using non-human actors—there was no turning back. Truly, no matter which profession he tried, he hadn’t been able to fulfil his duties properly.

At this point, all he could do was put in his utmost effort to make this film well and deliver a result that satisfied everyone.

Worried, Zhong Jiudao carried a stack of contracts out of the screening hall, only to bump into Luo Huai, who was wandering near the entrance. A few of the contracts meant for humans fell to the ground.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Luo Huai quickly bent down to pick up the contracts. “I-I was just taking a look around the mansion. It’s really so big and beautiful!”

He handed the contracts back to Zhong Jiudao, slowly lowering his head under Zhong Jiudao’s stern gaze, and quietly said: “Also… I’m a little hungry. I know there’s food in the kitchen, so I tried making something myself, but I failed. I was looking for Aunt Yang and heard some noise here, so I thought I’d try my luck. I-I did knock outside the door!”

To prevent sounds inside the screening hall from leaking out, Zhong Jiudao had set up a soundproofing talisman, which not only kept inside sounds from escaping but also prevented outside knocking from being heard inside.

He trusted that Luo Huai wasn’t lying, because Luo Huai’s living-human scent was strong. If he had stayed outside the hall for long, the thirty-three fierce ghosts inside would have noticed him immediately—they were not to be trifled with. Only because Luo Huai had just arrived at the hall entrance and Zhong Jiudao happened to open the door did the ghosts fail to detect him.

It was already nearly noon; they were indeed getting hungry. Even Zhong Jiudao felt his own stomach “gurgling”.

After yesterday’s food poisoning incident with Qian Duoqiun, Zhong Jiudao had bought fresh ingredients and didn’t dare let anyone else touch them. He personally cooked lunch and dinner, and set up talismans to protect the food from being contaminated by the fierce ghosts.

Luo Huai thought the delicious meals he had yesterday were made by Aunt Yang, but in fact, Zhong Jiudao had cooked them himself. If Aunt Yang had done it, he would have already ended up in the ICU.

Today, Zhong Jiudao was so busy with auditions that he lost track of time, leaving Luo Huai starving and forcing him to cook personally. Unfortunately, Luo Huai’s cooking skills were poor, and he nearly set the kitchen on fire.

He really almost burned the kitchen. Luo Huai didn’t know how long to heat the oil. After pouring the oil into the pan, he waited for it to “boil.” After a while, the oil caught fire, startling him and making him flail in panic.

Fortunately, Luo Huai had at least basic fire safety awareness. He didn’t use water to put out the fire; instead, he bravely covered the flaming pan with a lid, successfully extinguishing it.

After such a heart-stopping and soul-shaking episode, Luo Huai obediently turned off the electricity and gas, still shaken and feeling guilty, wandering around looking for someone.

It was only after seeing Zhong Jiudao that he became so flustered that he bumped into him, messing up the contracts and accidentally noticing the words “friendship 0-pay appearance” on the contract.

There were about ten consecutive 0-pay contracts, including one for the superbly skilled Aunt Yang! Besides tribute films or films done as a favour, where in the entertainment industry would so many actors appear for free? The only explanation was that Director Zhong must be exceptionally talented.

Even if he himself was unknown in the entertainment industry, he must have a strong family background in the arts.

Seeing such a director cook for him and clean up the kitchen aftermath, Luo Huai felt a bit anxious. He couldn’t sit still and paced around Zhong Jiudao like a cat.

Zhong Jiudao saw the fear in Luo Huai’s eyes and his hesitant expression. He suspected that last night the young man might have seen something he shouldn’t, and he furrowed his brows, thinking about how to keep him quiet.

It wasn’t impossible to consider Qi Wanlian’s suggestion to confuse Luo Huai’s mind and forcibly erase his memories, but doing so would shorten Luo Huai’s yang-life (NT: lifespan of a living person). Moreover, any misdeeds committed by the ghosts under the Taoist master’s orders would increase karmic debt on the master himself, which would eventually backfire.

Should he pay money to keep him quiet? As a rookie director generating electricity for his dreams, where would Zhong Jiudao find that much money? His heart was full of anguish.

Seeing Zhong Jiudao frown, Luo Huai also became extremely anxious, hurriedly saying: “Sorry, I’m in the way. I’ll move aside immediately.”

He shrank into a corner of the kitchen, thinking: ‘Should I apply to appear for 0-pay too? But after this film wraps, I won’t have a place to stay. Ten thousand yuan could barely rent me a small studio apartment.’

“Time to eat.” Zhong Jiudao’s expression was calm as he set the dishes on the table, deciding to discuss how to keep Luo Huai quiet while eating.

Since it was already noon, Zhong Jiudao simply cooked lunch himself—four dishes and one soup, with a basic balance of meat and vegetables.

“Let’s eat it.” Zhong Jiudao said.

“This meal is already very abundant! Not settling at all!” Luo Huai stuffed rice into his mouth to avoid saying “0-pay” aloud.

Seeing him devour food, Zhong Jiudao frowned: “You play a young, easily frightened college student. You don’t need to be too thin, but shouldn’t be too fat either. Also, you are the face of this movie, so control your weight.”

“Oh, okay.” Luo Huai changed from shovelling large mouthfuls to eating slowly, chewing carefully.

“After watching Aunt Yang cook last night, besides admiring her superb acting, did you have any other thoughts?” Zhong Jiudao asked.

“Very professional.” Luo Huai answered seriously. “Having so much blood on her face must have been uncomfortable. And when she chopped the frozen meat, each cut removed a chunk—it must have required enormous strength. To perform such a terrifying scene and create an immersive experience, she’s a senior I respect. I want to learn from her and definitely not hold this film back.”

He didn’t seem to have discovered anything unusual. Zhong Jiudao observed him and tentatively said: “There are many actors playing ghosts in this film. If you see anyone with a particularly sinister aura, looking like they’re about to harm someone at any moment on set, that’s an actor, understand?”

“The girl in the white qipao costume yesterday, was she an actor too?” Luo Huai asked.

“Yes, she is also extremely dedicated to her acting career. If she says or does anything, it is certainly for the role,” Zhong Jiudao said.

“Yes, I should also start maintaining my character state from today,” Luo Huai patted his chest.

“That’s not necessary; just staying like this already highly overlaps with the character,” Zhong Jiudao said.

Zhong Jiudao confirmed that Luo Huai hadn’t discovered the truth about the “colleagues.” Luo Huai, having received Zhong Jiudao’s approval, felt slightly relieved and thought he probably didn’t need to voluntarily lower his pay anymore.

The atmosphere at the dining table eased considerably. Luo Huai looked at the empty house and couldn’t help asking: “Why aren’t Aunt Yang and the other actors coming to eat? Aren’t they on set?”

Ghosts obviously couldn’t eat with humans. Even if Zhong Jiudao told Luo Huai they weren’t there, he would need to figure out some excuse for the future.

Zhong Jiudao thought for a moment and said, “They have high dietary standards and bring their own meals, so they don’t eat with us.”

“To maintain their figure, right?” Luo Huai nodded stupidly. “Then they must be the type of actors who have assistants to take care of them?”

“Yes.” Zhong Jiudao smiled, thinking he could pick a few from the remaining 23 ghosts to act as assistants, carrying empty meal boxes to make it look normal. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain why a group of actors didn’t eat.

Luckily, he had a deeper conversation with Luo Huai, which allowed him to fill in gaps and avoid many potential problems.

“I’m really looking forward to this movie!” Luo Huai, thinking about working with such a talented director and such professional, high-standard actors, was filled with anticipation. He couldn’t help asking: “When will filming start?”

“The cinematographer is already booked, many props have been gathered, and the costumes are supposed to be replaced in three days. Only three key actors are missing, Qian Duoqiun is looking for them,” Zhong Jiudao said.

The hardest part was still the three actors, as it was difficult to find someone like Luo Huai—naïve, low-budget, but very attractive.

“Are you still missing actors?” Luo Huai was shocked. He thought that if Zhong Jiudao could find so many skilled actors willing to appear for 0-pay, there should be no worry about casting.

Zhong Jiudao said: “There are enough backup actors, just not the right ones.”

It wasn’t convenient to have ghosts play humans, and human actors’ pay was very high.

“What kind of actors are you looking for?” Luo Huai asked.

Zhong Jiudao said: “I plan to cast two males and two females, about your age, and I’m not too concerned about their fame—just young and good-looking is enough. As for acting skills, a little lack won’t matter. We have enough shooting time to polish their skills on set.”

High-profile actors were too expensive; poor actors were actually better—they were cheaper. With a group of immersive, skilled ghost actors guiding human actors, Zhong Jiudao was confident in training them.

The requirements weren’t high, just good-looking, and they could help coach acting. Luo Huai swallowed a spoonful of soup, thinking about Zhong Jiudao’s criteria.

Zhong Jiudao observed Luo Huai’s expressions, noticing his face was very expressive; any thought would show clearly. Such physical features and personal quality made him slightly better suited for reserved roles, but outgoing roles would shine—he was a very versatile actor.

“Do you have any actors you want to recommend?” Zhong Jiudao noticed Luo Huai’s thoughts and proactively asked.

Luo Huai quickly said: “Yes, I have a friend. His acting is famously exaggerated; he had a brief period of fame, but now he’s widely criticized and no one hires him. Can he come for an audition?”

“Was he popular before?” Zhong Jiudao frowned, wondering if his pay would be high.

“This is his photo,” Luo Huai took a photo from his phone and handed it to Zhong Jiudao. “He’s acted in many web series and has been criticized for ruining the acting. He once vowed that anyone who could improve his reputation for poor acting, he would pay them to film.”

“Okay, let him audition. I am available anytime,” Zhong Jiudao said immediately.

 

Translator : DarNan