Netherworld-grade promo…
Jian Yi thought it to himself in silence. One of his shows had once had such a botched promo campaign that his fans had roasted it as “netherworld-grade promo.”
Ji Yi had expected this kind of answer from the ghost director. Haggling was always a process, no one ever said yes the moment you opened your mouth.
So Ji Yi nodded and said, “I know your work is hard, and that you’ve been preparing for this a long time. Swapping out an actor now would cost you. But I’m sure Jian Yi would be willing to compensate you for that loss.” He was hinting for Jian Yi to pick up the cue.
Jian Yi caught Ji Yi’s look at once and nodded rapidly. “I’ll pay. I’ve got plenty of money.”
Take a big star away from the ring lights and the crowd of fans, and he’s really no different from an ordinary person. Especially after Jian Yi said “I’ve got plenty of money” a second time, Ji Yi thought quietly to himself that this was probably the textbook case of more money than sense.
In Ji Yi’s experience dealing with ghosts, most of them would give ground at a moment like this and happily take the cash. On this point the Yin and Yang Realms were, to a degree, of one mind: as long as the money was right, what couldn’t be negotiated?
The camera ghost beside the director already had a look of open greed on his face, glancing again and again at the director.
But the ghost director said, “Money’s no use. The role’s already been cast.” Then he shot Jian Yi another resentful glare and cursed, “If you hadn’t sworn up and down back then that your acting was so good, would I ever have picked you?”
Good acting?
Ji Yi turned a strange look on Jian Yi.
Jian Yi bowed his head, ashamed. “Back then I was, uh, kind of blindly overconfident.” He didn’t want to admit that he’d gotten so drunk on his fans’ flattery that he’d lost his head and bragged shamelessly to the ghost director.
Hearing the director talk like this, Ji Yi knew this wouldn’t be easy to settle. He didn’t expect the ghost director to be such a man of artistic integrity and principle.
Afraid Ji Yi would say “Forget it, then,” Jian Yi grabbed his arm. “Bro, bro, save me. The second it gets dark they haul me off, and I’ve already missed several night scenes back in the living world. If this keeps up my company’s going to drop me.”
Ji Yi took a step back. “You hear that, this is a real problem too. He is a living person, after all. Shooting your film is more of a favor. Shouldn’t the premise be that it doesn’t interfere with his work in the living world? Why don’t the two of you coordinate your schedules?”
There was some sense to that. The ghost director thought it over, and his attitude wasn’t so hard-line anymore. “That works too. Can’t make things too difficult for a colleague from the living world.”
Seeing the negotiation reach this point and still finding himself unable to escape the ghosts’ clutches, Jian Yi felt wretched for a while.
Ji Yi, meanwhile, was rather impressed by the ghost director, truly a man unmoved by money. Who’d have thought the netherworld held ghosts of such principle.
Then he heard the ghost director pipe up crisply, “Oh, right, that thing about the money you mentioned earlier, let’s talk that over too.”
Ji Yi: “…”
Guess he’d spoken too soon.
Once they’d worked out the sum Jian Yi was to pay, Ji Yi felt he’d already done everything he could. He turned to head back with his handful of local ghosts, he wanted to turn in early and get a good night’s sleep.
Before Ji Yi could get away, Jian Yi hurried over. “Bro, thank you, really. Say, let’s add each other on WeChat.”
Ji Yi hadn’t just helped him, he was also the first person Jian Yi had ever seen stay this calm facing a whole crowd of ghosts. He’d nearly come to lean on him. Figuring this business wasn’t over yet, Jian Yi thought adding a living-world WeChat contact would let him consult Ji Yi again once he returned to his body.
Watching the friend request come through on his phone, Jian Yi said, “Bro, the moment I’m back in my body I’ll accept it. I’ve got to thank you properly, I’ll send you a big red packet.”
Ji Yi bid the ghost film crew goodbye and headed back to the old house the way he’d come.
There were surely all sorts of fierce beasts, snakes, and insects in the mountains, and Ji Yi knew in his head he ought to be careful. But coming out of Beishan and stepping onto that nameless slope behind the old house, knowing was one thing and feeling was another.
Insects chirred and birds called right beside him. Sometimes the low howl of wind and rain scraping over the mountain seemed to brush past his flank. The old ghosts around him all looked distinctly ill at ease, yet Ji Yi felt calm and relaxed, as though he sensed there was nothing in these mountains that would harm him.
Old Man Li and the others were beyond grateful that the matter had been resolved so neatly. The whole way back they kept muttering that once they started working for Ji Yi, they’d throw their old lives into it.
Ji Yi chimed in now and then, but mostly he just listened.
The old ghosts drifted along, so apart from their voices the only sound was Ji Yi’s footsteps. In his head Ji Yi was tallying up the coming renovation and purchasing costs. He was doing everything at the last minute, just a couple of days ago he’d bought a book on the guesthouse business to read.
His mind wandered this way and that, and by the time he came back to himself he realized it had been quiet beside him for quite a while. Looking back, Ji Yi found the local ghosts, who had been right on his tail, were all gone.
It was only a light gust of wind, yet Ji Yi sensed something had changed. The bright moon at the edge of the sky suddenly seemed several times more radiant, lighting up the woods. The grain of the big tree beside where Ji Yi had stopped stood out sharp and clear, the tangle of rocks and green plants, and, suddenly, a man standing on a rock.
Lin Zhao.
Lin Zhao looked much the same as the last time Ji Yi had seen him, hair still bound up meticulously. Under the cold moonlight, even the gaze he turned on Ji Yi seemed plated with a layer of chill.
Only now did Ji Yi understand why the old ghosts had all vanished, they’d probably hidden themselves out of fear of Lin Zhao.
“Uh, good evening.” Since Lin Zhao wasn’t speaking, Ji Yi figured he’d better say something, and got out a dry little greeting.
“You told Bolao last time that you meant to open an inn here?” Lin Zhao asked.
“Yes.” Ji Yi nodded.
“Ever since you came here, living people have kept coming close.” Lin Zhao leaped down from the rock, landing without a sound, and moved toward Ji Yi. His tone left Ji Yi unable to tell whether he was reproaching him or something else.
“That’s hard to avoid, sometimes there’s a delivery to pick up, and there’s some decorating to do.” Ji Yi explained. Then, hesitating, he spoke the thought in his heart. “You don’t actually dislike living people, do you?”
Lin Zhao’s cold gaze swept across Ji Yi’s face. “I loathe them utterly.”
His tone and expression carried a proud disdain, and in that moment his stare made Ji Yi feel that, in the other’s eyes, he was probably no better than an ant.
“So I can’t open the inn here?” Ji Yi asked. He’d assumed Lin Zhao had shown himself precisely to tell him that a hateful human should get as far away as possible.
Recalling how wary the locals were of this place, he figured that Lin Zhao, its guardian, must indeed find humans repugnant, unwilling to have the slightest contact with them. Maybe his earlier guess had simply been wrong.
But to his surprise, Lin Zhao said, “You may.”
Huh? Wasn’t that a total contradiction? Ji Yi couldn’t quite make sense of it.
“How many people a day will come to stay at this inn of yours?” Lin Zhao asked.
Not only was he letting Ji Yi open the place, he even seemed keenly interested in the details of it.
Ji Yi didn’t understand where the question was coming from, but he answered anyway. “Hard to say. I figure a dozen or so a month should turn up.”
His attitude was thoroughly zen, he wasn’t really burning with any grand ambition to make the business a success. Ji Yi simply found living here comfortable, comfortable enough that he didn’t want to leave for the time being.
“Only a dozen or so?” Lin Zhao’s tone was quite displeased, and his expression finally shifted a little. He had the look of a young man to begin with, and this flicker of expression seemed to crack his aloof coldness, revealing a touch of boyishness. He looked at Ji Yi with a face that said “you’re utterly hopeless.”
Ji Yi was baffled by the look, and inwardly none too pleased. “A dozen people are still customers. Besides, what business is it of yours?”
Not counting a red-bean bun as real food, huh [1]looking down on something perfectly good jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2931963_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2931963_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });. He hadn’t even said that if a dozen people came to stay every month right after opening, he’d already be quite satisfied.
Lin Zhao didn’t expect Ji Yi would be so bold as to snap back at him. His eyes went cold, and he fixed Ji Yi with an icy stare.
Ji Yi’s heart pounded with unease, but he still figured that if Lin Zhao wanted to strike him dead it would take no more than the lift of a hand. Merely intimidating him with a glare meant Lin Zhao probably didn’t want to lay hands on him yet, so he stared right back. “You care about this, is there something you want to use my inn for?”
If Lin Zhao truly didn’t care whether he opened the inn or not, he wouldn’t have come to seek him out on purpose. Loathing humans on one hand while allowing Ji Yi to open the guesthouse on the other, and caring about the foot traffic too, meant he must have some ulterior aim.
Sure enough, after a moment’s silence Lin Zhao said, “I’m looking for someone.”
He gazed off toward the world beyond the mountains and spoke in a reminiscing tone. “Before he left, he told me that one day he would surely return to this place. I promised him I would guard it well and never leave until he came back. That’s why I’m letting you open the inn, and you must draw in as many guests as you can, so that I can search for him.”
“So is the one you’re looking for a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know. He was reborn into the mortal world, how would I know whether he’s a man or a woman now?” There was regret in Lin Zhao’s voice. “I don’t even know his age or who he is.”
Ji Yi was at a loss for words. “Given all that, you think the person you’re looking for might be among the guests my guesthouse draws in? Do you have any idea how many people there are in China, how many in the whole world?”
Lin Zhao asked scornfully, “How many?”
Ji Yi said, “China alone has one point four billion, and the whole world has seven point seven billion!” Even fishing a needle out of the sea [2]searching for the impossible jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2931963_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2931963_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], }); would beat using his guesthouse to find someone.
Lin Zhao shot back, “Then how can you be content with a dozen or so guests?”
Written plainly across his face was “just grind yourself to the bone and be done with it.” It sent Ji Yi flashing right back to his corporate-drone days [3]his old life as an overworked office wage-slave jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2931963_1_3').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2931963_1_3', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, the figure standing before him was like some conscienceless capitalist, the kind that made Ji Yi’s palm itch to slap him.
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