Chapter 5

“Bai Chen! Bai Chen!!!”

The shouts rang out like thunder at the gates of Film City.

Dong Man blended in with the fans, hoisting a support sign for Bai Chen as she screamed his name at the top of her lungs. She shouted even louder than the most enthusiastic male fan nearby, drawing repeated glances from the veteran supporters beside her.

“Sister, don’t get too worked up yet,” one of them said. “Bai Chen’s RV pulling up doesn’t mean he’s getting out right away. You can save your energy for when he actually steps down.”

“Oh? Is that how it works?” Dong Man rasped, her throat already raw, a sheepish grin on her face. “I only just became a fan after seeing his ad a couple days ago. First time chasing him in person—thanks for the heads-up, sister.”

“No worries, newbie.” Fans were all family, after all. The girl leaned in kindly. “Bai Chen’s health isn’t great, and his schedule’s packed. He often naps in the RV. Unless it’s urgent, his assistant and driver won’t disturb him. We saw the door didn’t open right away, so we keep it down.”

“Got it, got it—thanks for letting me know!” Dong Man replied. “Being a Bai Chen fan feels so wholesome. Earlier, one sister gave me her extra sign when she saw I didn’t have one, and now you’re sharing all these tips. All his fans seem like the nicest people.”

The girl beamed, delighted. “Welcome aboard! Let’s charge into battle for Bai Chen together.”

Dong Man blinked her round, doe-like eyes and nodded eagerly. “Please take good care of this newbie, sister.”

After chatting a bit more, Dong Man cautiously glanced to her left front. “Sister, that guy standing in the prime spot by the car door—with hardly anyone around him—is he Bai Chen’s bodyguard?”

She didn’t dare stare. That man was their Book-Transmigration Team 2 target: the Living Dead.

Just as Du Feili had said, the Living Dead was an incredibly young-looking man. Neither his age nor his vibe suggested a corpse king who had wandered the world for centuries.

In the biting cold, he wore a slightly thin casual outfit. When he tilted his head to listen to the excited female fan beside him, he came off like a thoughtful college guy—maybe even a hot-blooded athlete who didn’t mind the chill.

A closer look revealed his vibe wasn’t purely frat-boy. He was gentlemanly and attentive, but a touch slow to react—not dull, exactly, but detached, as if adrift from the world.

Dong Man had first noticed him while he was handing out fan goodies. Shocked, she’d pretended to be a newbie fan sizing him up alongside a couple others. Even then, she’d felt it: he stood there, interacting with people, yet somehow wasn’t fully present. The feeling lingered even when he spoke.

“That’s him—Xuzhou Big Shot!” the fan exclaimed proudly, following Dong Man’s gaze. “He’s a fan too, but a big-spending one. Super VIP status. We’re all happy to yield the best spot to him!”

So the Living Dead really was a Bai Chen stan.

To this day, they still didn’t know his real name. The novel just called him the Living Dead. Xuzhou sounded like his online handle, so learning it on day one was a solid win.

Dong Man mulled this over silently while keeping the chatter going with the fan, probing how obsessed the Living Dead was with this celebrity. “Ah, so he’s one of those big-spending superfan bosses. I saw Bai Chen endorsing some super pricey luxury brand lately—Xuzhou Big Shot must’ve snapped up a ton, right?”

“Xuzhou Big Shot doesn’t buy the luxury stuff Bai Chen endorses.”

He didn’t buy luxury goods? Wasn’t he loaded?

“Xuzhou Big Shot only goes online to battle the endorsers of those luxury brands.”

Dong Man: “…?”

The fan gushed with excitement. “Bai Chen owes so much of his success to Xuzhou Big Shot’s protection. Back when a single photo of his face blew up online, he turned down Starlight Entertainment, and everyone thought his career was toast. He did fade out for a while… until Xuzhou Big Shot stepped in.”

“He trashed the endorser for Faraway—that-old powerhouse way bigger than Starlight. That move cracked open the industry doors for Bai Chen again. Then Xuzhou Big Shot invested in his drama, and Bai Chen delivered, rocketing straight to A-list status with one show. Now he’s shooting his first movie. The sky’s the limit!”

Dong Man: “…”

Was this really just a fan? Not a financial backer?

On second thought, if he were a sugar daddy, would he be freezing his butt off here with the common fans, just to catch a glimpse? Shouldn’t Bai Chen be the one rushing to meet him?

As Dong Man pondered this, she noticed the Living Dead’s expression shift. The detached air vanished from his pitch-black eyes as they locked on the RV door. Moments later, the crowd’s roars exploded anew.

“Bai Chen! Bai Chen! Bai Chen, I love you!!!”

Amid the frenzy, Dong Man edged forward discreetly. She needed to get within ten meters of the Living Dead.

Her skill, Mind Reading, only activated that close.

When the Book Transmigration Bureau assembled this team, her rare, versatile ability made her the top pick after Du Feili. They’d debated sending her to the temperamental celestial master instead—her power could pinpoint whatever set off that “princess” of a guy.

In the end, though, she’d been assigned to the Living Dead.

Beyond her experience and knack for fun—which might help engage their target—there was a bigger reason.

Du Feili had pointed out that the Living Dead’s mind was the hardest to read. He seemed utterly indifferent, drifting through the world like the emotionless living corpse the novel described. Truly understanding his inner thoughts might be the key.

This rare chance to peek inside a century-old wanderer of the weird world—she couldn’t pass it up.

Before she could tune into the Living Dead’s thoughts, Bai Chen stepped out of the RV. Dong Man slammed on her mental brakes. “Holy shit… holy shit!”

She’d first seen his face on a support sign and been dazzled enough. But she’d dated three actors and two idols—she knew celeb photos were airbrushed perfection, especially fan merch picks. Real life rarely topped them. She’d braced for disappointment.

Reality hit like a truck, though, leaving her double-swearing in awe.

No need to dwell on this A-lister’s flawless features. Once beauty hit that level, charisma shone through aura and vibe.

Dong Man couldn’t put the feeling into words.

It was like catching a newly single friend red-hot in love at first sight. Romance transformed people; lovers glowed, radiating something extra.

This star had that vibe cranked to infinity. Love brimmed inside him, saturating every cell, nurturing his body. Overflowing from his faintly flushed, dewy eyes, it lent him a heart-shaking allure.

Stunned, Dong Man forgot her skill until Bai Chen’s face vanished from view, his back to her as he approached the Living Dead.

Fresh off his nap in the RV, Bai Chen still hadn’t fully shaken the drowsiness.

His breaths came deeper than usual, each exhale hot. Warmth suffused every cell. It had started when he saw the Boy offering to slice flesh from his own arm to feed him.

He didn’t eat meat—any kind turned him off.

But he thrived on love from others, from creatures. The more, the better; it filled him with bliss.

He was born to feed on affection, sustained by adoration… a person.

Now at the RV door, he drank in the fans’ wild cheers—each packed with love. It soothed and delighted him. Yet all their voices combined paled against that one moment: the Boy’s obsessive, surging devotion crashing over him, leaving him limp, barely able to stand.

Ordinary love and special love fueled him differently.

And here was a “special one.” Bai Chen turned to the young man whose gaze pinned him.

His agent’s voice crackled through the wireless earpiece: “Bai Chen, go grab the fans’ letters and gifts. Sign some autographs.”

Bai Chen loved collecting letters and gifts—they brimmed with love. Signing was a joy, too.

Purring with satisfaction, eyes damp and narrowed, he headed straight for the staring young man. First, as always: accept his gift, then sign the sleeve.

The first time, Chu Xuzhou hadn’t brought photos or anything signable. Bai Chen had assumed no autograph needed and started to leave when the man extended his hand.

Pale and large, the palm hovered open, fate lines twisting intricately across it.

Thinking he wanted a hand signature, Bai Chen grasped the stiff fingers. Clumsily, stroke by stroke, he inscribed his name into the cool, dry palm, embedding it amid the whorls.

Only as he turned to sign for others did Chu Xuzhou speak. “I wanted… on the sleeve.”

So Bai Chen added one to the inner wrist cuff.

Since then, their ritual: sleeve signatures. Fans knew the unspoken bond.

This time, Chu Xuzhou offered his right hand. Bai Chen took the gift in his left, pen in right, and signed the pale gray fabric.

Writing steadied with support, so he rested his hand and wrist on the man’s broad palm’s back half. No matter the pressure, it held firm—stiff, but steady.

His pale-pink palm rubbed against the cold-white one. Blood, laced with overflowing love, ran hot. The flushed, soft heat pressed down, as if imprinting deep lines into the other.

Signature done. Amid the street-shaking cheers, his fingers—seemingly by accident, hidden—trailed the wrist midline to that first palm inscription. Index and thumb pressed; pen tip dimpled the center, a sharp-not-painful black dot like a secret mole on the pallid skin.

Pen withdrawn, the heated palm flushed deeper pink.

The whole thing: two seconds. Sparse crowd. Roaring fans noticed nothing.