Two days later, Qian Luo headed to the location shoot with a cat perched on her shoulder.
The assistant director frowned at the feline. “Hey, this shoot is going to be exhausting. Why bring a cat? You’ll probably be the first to faint, and we’ll have to carry both of you back.”
Qian Luo, playing the role of a general errand runner, was clueless. “Aren’t we going to a villa?”
A producer chuckled. “She really is someone recommended by Manager Yin—so green. Learn as much as you can from the crew.”
Qian Luo murmured an acknowledgment. She preferred the assistant director’s blunt shouting over the producer’s barbed politeness.
Ye lifted her emerald eyes and shot a glance at the producer. The producer returned a smile, and neither said a word.
Only upon arriving did Qian Luo realize that filming a “mountain villa” movie actually meant going to a villa in the middle of a desolate mountain. There was no electricity, no water, and no food. The crew had to haul up portable generators, stacks of dry rations, and barrels of water. It was the perfect rhythm for a real ghost encounter.
Qian Luo had assumed most of this was added in post-production with special effects.
The assistant director was a talker. Since she was hand-picked by Yin Tong, he assumed her “background” was sky-high. Yet, he liked her because she was the first “connected” girl he’d met who was actually humble. He kept chatting her ear: “See this place? It was actually haunted back in the day. Only a perfectionist like Director Long would be dumb enough to insist on filming a horror flick here. He says the ‘atmosphere’ makes the actors perform better. I say we’ll probably end up as a headline: ‘Crew vanishes in haunted mountains, all returned as vengeful spirits.’”
Qian Luo scanned the house. It was dilapidated, but she didn’t sense any history of gruesome murders. Sure, because it had been abandoned so long, a few wandering ghosts might have crashed here for a few days while waiting for reincarnation, but it wasn’t a site of Great Evil. It was perfectly safe.
In fact, she felt that if the crew knew they had a professional ghost-tamer with them for such a creepy shoot, they’d probably sleep a lot better.
Qian Luo couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Ye, sitting on her shoulder, flicked out a soft tongue to lick her cheek and hissed dismissively, “Don’t be arrogant.”
“Oh,” Qian Luo muttered, caught.
“You! Go help move the equipment!” the assistant director barked. “Aren’t you the errand girl?”
Qian Luo chirped a “coming!” and jogged over to help. The producer watched, smiling with a hand to her throat. “We can’t let her do the heavy lifting. Let the boys handle it.”
As she spoke, Qian Luo single-handedly hoisted a massive stack of crates. The entire prop team stood frozen, jaws dropping as they exchanged stunned looks.
The producer went silent.
As she hauled the equipment, Qian Luo spotted “Big Head” Long sitting on a rock, discussing a scene with a short-haired actress. As she walked past with her mountain of gear, she caught a glimpse of the director through the gaps in the boxes. She took two more steps, then suddenly broke into a cold sweat. She back-pedaled immediately, staring intensely at the director.
Director Long, who had been focused on his actor, looked up to see a small girl carrying five times her body weight, staring at him with a bizarre, haunted expression.
It was daytime, but the mountain was eerily quiet, and everyone had horror scripts in their hands.
The director felt a sudden chill. “What?”
Qian Luo shifted her heavy load. “That rock can’t be moved. Stop sitting on it.”
As a director, being told what to do by a random errand girl was a first. He wasn’t angry, just confused. “Why?”
Qian Luo scrambled for an excuse. “…It’s blocking the way.”
The short-haired actress: “…” The crew: “…”
She was likely the first person in the history of cinema to talk to a director like that as an entry-level worker. The producer chuckled. “Quite a blunt little girl.”
The assistant director backed away. “Don’t look at me.”
Director Long was surprisingly humble. He grinned. “Alright then. I’ll just move it back to where it was.”
Qian Luo’s heart nearly stopped. Her grip slipped, and the pile of equipment hit the ground with a massive THUD right on her toes. She hopped around in pain for a second before screaming, “You moved it?! From where? Where did you get it?!”
The prop team rushed over to save their precious gear, one of them screaming at her, “How could you drop these! Do you know how much this costs? If you can’t carry it, stay out of the way!”
Qian Luo was shoved aside, but she stood there dazed. Her mind was screaming: He moved a Soul-Suppressing Stone! My god, he moved a Soul-Suppressing Stone!
The director was utterly bewildered. “What’s the deal? Is it bad luck or something? Should I move it back?”
Qian Luo didn’t even answer. She turned and sprinted toward the back of the mountain, leaving a trail of confused and swearing crew members behind her.
…
There are countless types of Soul-Suppressing Stones in the world; even a professional might not recognize them all. However, Qian Luo recognized the calligraphy on this one.
She had a Second Uncle in her sect who was a free spirit. After graduating, he never took official cases. He just traveled the country. If he found a haunted house, he’d stay the night for free—but since he was poor, he couldn’t afford hotels. To keep himself safe, he’d grab a random rock, scribble a half-finished Soul-Suppressing incantation on it, and pin the ghost under the rock while he slept.
When he left the next morning, he never “finished” the seal. If anyone moved the rock, the ghost was released. Her sect had been cleaning up his messes for years, teaching disciples to recognize his messy handwriting so they could exorcise the spirits before anyone got hurt.
Now, this director had released a ghost right as the crew was about to film a horror movie.
I hate that Uncle, Qian Luo thought. Tonight is going to be a disaster.
She found a spot in the back hills and began setting up an array. Even if the ghost wasn’t a “Vengeful Spirit,” she had to be ready. Ye crouched on a pile of fallen leaves and stretched. “Don’t be so nervous. Wild ghosts in the mountains can be quite fierce. If it kills you, it’ll be quick.”
“Lady Ye… I’m sorry for everything I’ve done wrong in the past. Please stop being mad,” Qian Luo pleaded.
Ye licked her paw. “I’m not mad. I’m having a great time.”
Qian Luo: ╥﹏╥
…
She spent the afternoon setting up traps while the busy crew ignored her. Once finished, she went back to help.
“You’re back!” the assistant director said. “Go scrub the swimming pool.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you read the script? There’s a scene tonight. The former mistress of the house takes a bath, comes out of the water—standard horror movie fan-service—and then gets dragged back under by a ghost.”
“A bath… in a swimming pool?”
The assistant director snapped, “You know what I mean!”
The pool wasn’t too dirty, and they spent the afternoon scrubbing and filling it bucket by bucket since the pipes were clogged. By nightfall, the pool was full and surrounded by flickering candles and warm, sultry lighting.
Lin Wanchen made her entrance.
She wore a tight, pink one-piece swimsuit. Even in the dim light, her skin looked flawless and pale. Her curves were stunning—slender waist, full chest, and long, elegant legs. She illuminated the gloomy atmosphere just by standing there.
Qian Luo’s eyes widened. The “Film Queen” was still a knockout.
Lin Wanchen slowly entered the water, her body glistening. The lighting crew moved in to capture every drop. As she submerged and wet her hair, she looked incredibly alluring.
Then, the “ghost” appeared—the short-haired girl from earlier. With messy makeup and a long-haired wig, she looked hideously distorted.
Why use a pretty girl for this? Qian Luo thought. Just hire an ugly guy; no one can see the face through the wig anyway.
As the scene progressed, Lin Wanchen prepared to climb out. The ghost grabbed her ankle, and Lin Wanchen began to struggle and thrash with professional intensity.
As Qian Luo watched, she noticed someone else.
A girl was sitting on the edge of the pool, hugging her knees. She looked incredibly bored, watching the two actors in the water. Qian Luo did a double-take—there was no such person on the crew.
Ye licked Qian Luo’s neck. “There she is.”
Lin Wanchen was screaming and clawing at the pool’s edge, playing her part perfectly. The director didn’t call “Cut.”
The girl sitting on the ledge watched Lin Wanchen’s hand reach for the rim. She reached out a finger and… poke. She gently poked Lin Wanchen’s arm. Then, she saw the ugly “ghost” actress lunging forward, so the spirit girl reached out and snatched the wig right off the actress’s head.
Suddenly, the long-haired ghost was a short-haired girl again.
The crew: “…” Director: “CUT!”
Qian Luo was nearly dying of suppressed laughter. The Film Queen was being “dragged down” by a fake ghost, while a real ghost sat right next to her, clearly annoyed that the actress’s makeup was too ugly to bear.
…
The real ghost is a critic! While the crew is frustrated by the ‘technical’ glitch, Qian Luo has to figure out if this spirit is just mischievous or if it’s waiting for the cameras to stop rolling to take a real ‘bath’.