Chapter 8: Recording

“I don’t have a phone,” Zhu Sheng said calmly.

The people around him fell silent.

It sounded like a flimsy excuse. The kind nobody would believe.

Director Zhang suspected he was being turned down, but he asked carefully, “Do you not have one, or is it broken and you haven’t had a chance to replace it?”

“I can’t afford one.”

Director Zhang and his crew: “…?”

The old monk quietly took a sip of water.

Zhu Sheng had no phone or bank account, so he could only pay in cash. But Director Zhang and the others hadn’t brought nearly enough cash with them. These days, everyone used their phones to pay; even if you carried cash, it was only a few hundred yuan.

In the end, Zhu Sheng told Director Zhang to transfer the money to the old monk’s account.

Once they had settled everything, Director Zhang and his crew hurried back down the mountain to hold a meeting.

To capitalize on the buzz, they decided to film two days earlier than planned. They would start first thing the next morning, and someone would come up that afternoon to rehearse with Zhu Sheng and explain exactly what he needed to do.

That would still leave Director Zhang and his crew most of the day to set up the props and the filming location.

With time so tight, Director Zhang admitted there was an element of gambling involved. But the show was a flop anyway. One more failed episode wouldn’t make much difference.

If the show had any buzz, he wouldn’t have climbed all this way himself to persuade Zhu Sheng.

And if the livestream went badly, they could always put in the work during post-production.

Director Zhang, a man who liked to take risks, told his assistant director, “Hesitate, and you lose!”

Before leaving, though, he couldn’t resist asking the question everyone online had been asking:

“Mr. Zhu, can you really fly?”

Zhu Sheng had only learned yesterday that people in this world couldn’t fly. Even a jump of just a dozen feet required machinery. He replied, “…”

He chose to ignore a question he couldn’t explain.

Fortunately, Director Zhang didn’t press him. He just laughed and left.

After all, people couldn’t fly. He must’ve been out of his mind to ask such a stupid question.

As a variety-show director, Zhang knew perfectly well that eighty percent of the reason Zhu Sheng’s short video had gone viral was his face.

He couldn’t help it. This was a world that was as superficial as it was realistic.

Once Director Zhang and the others had gone, the old monk smiled at Zhu Sheng.

“Your ID card should be ready. Have Xuan Kong take you to the bank this afternoon and open an account. It’ll be more convenient.”

They’d be back before long, and the trip wouldn’t interfere with the rehearsal.

Thanks to Xuan Kong’s explanation, Zhu Sheng understood that a bank was like a money house, only more convenient. Once you had an account, you could withdraw money on your phone or at any branch.

Cash was awkward to carry. The old monk said that once Zhu Sheng had opened an account, he would transfer the first money Zhu Sheng had earned here into it.

Zhu Sheng said there was no need. The money could count as payment for the food and lodging he’d received during his stay.

The old monk: “…”

He turned to his senior disciple and spoke earnestly. “Once you go down the mountain, take Patron Zhu around and teach him a little about the cost of things here.”

That was leaving aside the furnishings in the room Zhu Sheng slept in. Thirty-five thousand yuan would feed one person for more than two years, even at their temple.

Xuan Kong accepted the heavy responsibility with a complicated look.

At Director Zhang’s request, Zhu Sheng couldn’t reveal his identity before filming began, so he wore a mask for the trip down the mountain.

Xuan Kong changed into ordinary clothes as well, covering his shaved head with a cap.

And so Immortal Lord Wuyang went down the mountain to experience modern life once more. When he returned, he had an ID card, a bank card, and a phone of his own.

He had also bought several sets of clothes.

He still wasn’t used to short sleeves and shorts, so he bought long pants and long-sleeved shirts that covered his wrists and ankles. For shoes, he chose the simplest, lightest canvas sneakers.

After one trip, Zhu Sheng had a rough idea of the prices in this world.

A bowl of plain noodles that used to cost two or three copper coins went for around ten yuan here.

By the time they returned to Sangshan, the people coming to rehearse had just arrived.

When all was said and done, Zhu Sheng was only an NPC whose job was to hand the celebrity guests clue cards. He barely had to speak, and the work was simple enough to understand at a glance.

But time was short, so Director Zhang ran him through the rehearsal again and again, only letting him go once everything was right.

Afterward, Zhu Sheng returned to the little courtyard. He had just gone into his room when a voice from the next room over—one that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—spoke up.

“I heard you found a job. Congratulations.”

Zhu Sheng wasn’t in the habit of sharing the details of his daily life. He paused before answering Xi Chengu.

“Thank you.”

Looking at the light in Xi Chengu’s room, Zhu Sheng wondered for the first time whether the other man was seriously ill.

He’d been on the mountain for several days, and though their rooms were close, they’d never met face-to-face.

He hadn’t even glimpsed so much as a corner of Xi Chengu’s clothes.

The man seemed never to leave his room. It gave him an odd, mysterious air.

Perhaps Xi Chengu sensed that Zhu Sheng wasn’t much in the mood to talk. A long time passed without another word from next door.

Just as Zhu Sheng thought that would be the end of their conversation for the night, Xi Chengu spoke again.

“This job will introduce you to a lot of people. You’ll hear all kinds of opinions. If you’re only doing it for the short-term pay, you might want to think it over.”

Zhu Sheng’s expression shifted slightly. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

The old monk and Xuan Kong had explained the pros and cons of appearing on a variety show that day. Zhu Sheng had already considered them for himself.

He simply found Xi Chengu a little strange.

They had no real connection. It didn’t seem as if they knew each other well enough to discuss this.

“I wouldn’t call it advice,” Xi Chengu said evenly. “Just making conversation.”

Before Zhu Sheng could respond, he added, “While I’m staying up here, you’re the only person I can find to talk to.”

Zhu Sheng knew Xi Chengu had come to the mountain to recuperate. Compared with the bustle and prosperity below, this place was remote and quiet.

Especially at night, when only the mountain wind listened to anyone’s words.

But Zhu Sheng wasn’t the sort of person who could chat warmly just to keep someone company, so he didn’t answer right away.

“Do you want to be famous?” Xi Chengu asked.

“Not particularly.”

Zhu Sheng now knew that “celebrity” and “internet star” weren’t people’s names. And Wu Ziming, who had stopped him before, had been right: famous people could make a fortune every day and be adored by thousands.

But that wasn’t what Zhu Sheng wanted.

The great path he’d once pursued was gone, and he hadn’t yet found a new path of his own.

Everything had its cause and effect. Zhu Sheng believed there was a reason he had ended up in this world.

Zhu Sheng usually woke at six every morning to practice swordsmanship. Influenced by his routine, Xuan Kong appeared in the courtyard a little after seven with a yawning Xuan Shi in tow, ready to practice their fists.

Xuan Kong and Xuan Shi weren’t Buddhist disciples in the traditional sense. They practiced martial arts to keep fit, and the old monk hadn’t taught them much.

Aside from chanting sutras, they only ever went through the same few sets of Great Arhat Fist.

The two brothers usually had school, so they only had time to practice during holidays.

Now, though, they were a little more enthusiastic about it—especially Little Xuan Shi, who could think of nothing but mastering Shaolin martial arts and learning to fly just like Zhu Sheng.

It would be so cool!

But their hearts weren’t in it. Their punches were soft and sloppy, without any real form. Immortal Lord Wuyang watched from the side, frowning.

He had never seen such a terrible version of Shaolin Fist.

The old monk appeared beside him at some point and smiled.

“Patron, you have an impressive command of martial arts. Why not give them a few pointers?”

Zhu Sheng drew his gaze back. “I’m not a Buddhist disciple.”

The old monk nodded, still smiling. “So you do know it.”

Zhu Sheng: “…”

Immortal Lord Wuyang had one particular talent: he never forgot anything he saw. He really did remember some of the Chan Buddhist martial arts.

But he didn’t practice that path, so his movements had form but lacked the spirit of Chan Buddhism.

In short, he could perform a Shaolin set cleanly and completely, but he couldn’t bring out its full power.

Still, that was more than enough to guide Xuan Kong and Xuan Shi, who had barely gotten started.

Seeing Zhu Sheng’s expression soften, the old monk called a halt to the two boys. His look carried a deeper meaning.

“You won’t get an opportunity like this often. Both of you had better pay attention.”

The full name of the set Zhu Sheng demonstrated was the Prajna Great Freedom Divine Power. It had been created by the old abbot of the Chan temple in his youth, so the name was every bit as casual as its creator.

The Prajna Great Freedom Divine Power looked simple, but once mastered, its power was boundless. The old abbot had once leveled a mountain with a single punch and made a name for himself in one battle.

Xuan Kong and Xuan Shi hadn’t expected Zhu Sheng to know Shaolin martial arts at all. When he threw a punch, they could feel the wind from it even at a distance.

The moves were similar to the set their master used, but the two versions had entirely different qualities.

Their master’s punches were good exercise. Zhu Sheng’s carried real power; every strike cut through the air.

And though he performed the steady, forceful movements with effortless poise, his striking good looks lent him an almost otherworldly grace.

It was a pleasure to watch.

Xuan Shi’s admiration for Zhu Sheng had gone beyond words. He leaned toward Xuan Kong and whispered, “Patron Zhu’s punches look great, but that one looked like it could actually kill someone.”

Xuan Kong’s thoughts weren’t much different. “Yeah…”

How could this man know how to do everything?

He performed Shaolin martial arts so well, he had to be the real Shaolin disciple!

Xuan Kong felt as if he were only now getting his first taste of Buddhist martial arts…

He glanced at the old monk, wondering where on earth he’d found Zhu Sheng and lured him back to their temple.

By the time the set was over, Xuan Shi was looking at Zhu Sheng as if he were a bodhisattva.

He followed him around like a little shadow, begging him to teach him a few more moves. Once he’d learned them, he could brag to his schoolmates and make them take back all those times they’d called him a fake monk!

But there wasn’t much time. Zhu Sheng couldn’t teach them for long before someone from the production crew came to fetch him. The guests had reached the foot of the mountain, and it was time for their NPC to take his place.

Director Zhang’s variety show was called Incredible Journey. The budget was limited, so they couldn’t afford any of the hottest stars. Of their three guests, the biggest name was veteran actor Xiao Ming, a man with genuine talent but little fame.

Seven or eight years ago, Xiao Ming had even won a Best Actor award. But he’d never been able to regain his momentum. Now that he was past his prime, the scripts he was offered didn’t even have him in the supporting cast. The title card “Special Appearance” was all that kept his name afloat.

The other two guests were a little-known female singer and a male newcomer whose way into the show had been paid for by an investor.

The young woman who’d rehearsed with Zhu Sheng the day before had seen how little he knew about the business, so she’d given him a word of warning.

“Besides the three guests, the NPC you’ll be working with, Cheng Shuyu, is signed to a talent agency.”

In other words, Cheng Shuyu had a company behind him. Zhu Sheng shouldn’t cause trouble for him.

These days, companies sent their new talent to better productions if they had money and connections. Otherwise, they tried to get them onto variety shows.

Even a guest who only appeared for a few minutes in a popular show would have countless people scrambling for the spot.

For those without connections or ability, even an NPC role on an obscure show was worth competing for.

At least your face got out there, right?

In the fame-and-fortune business of showbiz, there was always competition. The rivals just changed depending on your level of fame.

Zhu Sheng had no intention of pursuing a career in the entertainment industry, so he didn’t need to study it in depth. Still, he appreciated the young woman’s kindness.

By the time he reached the appointed spot, his partner, Cheng Shuyu, had already arrived.

Compared with Zhu Sheng’s casual long sleeves, long pants, and canvas sneakers, Cheng Shuyu was polished down to the last strand of hair.

He wore head-to-toe designer streetwear, pale eyeshadow and tightlined eyes, a natural-looking touch of lipstick, and even a skull earring…

His hair and makeup had taken more than two hours, but the finished look was fresh and effortless. Anyone who saw Cheng Shuyu would think he was a sunny, handsome young man. He certainly stood out.

He was the sort of clean-cut heartthrob who regularly appeared on university confession pages.

A petite girl stood beside him, holding an umbrella over his head.

Zhu Sheng looked up.

It was summer, but the nine o’clock sun wasn’t fierce. The trees overhead blocked most of it, and the shade kept the path cool.

Cheng Shuyu had been looking at his phone. He heard someone approach and glanced up at Zhu Sheng.

The casual look on his face changed the moment he got a good look at Zhu Sheng. His expression soured before anyone could miss it.

Zhu Sheng said nothing. He walked straight to his mark.

Cheng Shuyu had been ignored. His expression darkened further, and he muttered a curse before glaring at the assistant holding his umbrella.

“What’s with him?”

Where had that guy come from? Why hadn’t he heard about him before?

The young assistant had been dazzled by Zhu Sheng’s face too. It took Cheng Shuyu’s harsh voice to bring her back to herself. Her arm trembled as she shook her head.

“I-I don’t know.”

Cheng Shuyu glared after Zhu Sheng, thoroughly put out. He asked in a low, angry voice, “Which agency is pushing this newcomer? Who got him into this show?”

Cheng Shuyu had only just graduated from university and signed with his agency. Incredible Journey was his first job since joining the company.

He was only playing an NPC who offered clues, but his manager had told him it was a chance to get his face out there.

The company had already talked things over with the production crew and arranged for him to get extra screen time.

When the show aired, the company would pay for some shills to get “Most Handsome NPC” trending.

But now…

Cheng Shuyu glanced at Zhu Sheng and thought, with painful clarity, If we share a frame, who’ll even look at me when the show airs? You’d have to be blind!

The assistant, who had no idea what he was thinking, hurriedly shook her head. It was her way of saying, I don’t know either…

Cheng Shuyu gripped his phone. He wanted to call his manager and demand an explanation, but then he thought better of it. Wouldn’t making that call be like admitting he couldn’t compete with someone else?

Besides, this was a livestream. It was about to begin, and a phone call wouldn’t help.

Proud as he was, Cheng Shuyu eventually put his phone away. He straightened up, abandoning his earlier slouch, and fixed his gaze on the mountain below.

They were both newcomers. It was still anyone’s game once the livestream began.

Cheng Shuyu and his assistant whispered together, certain their voices were too low for Zhu Sheng to hear. Neither of them knew how sharp his hearing was.

They hadn’t just been speaking too softly for most people to hear. Immortal Lord Wuyang could even hear the faint sounds of Cheng Shuyu tapping out a message on his screen.

Zhu Sheng simply didn’t care what Cheng Shuyu thought.

He looked down at the winding mountain path and wondered when the guests would arrive.

At the same time, the three guests finally started up the mountain under the livestream cameras, following the clues they’d been given.

To make sure his thirty-five thousand yuan paid off, Director Zhang had put Zhu Sheng at the very first checkpoint.

Once the viewers got excited, the show would attract more people to the livestream.

He hadn’t paired Zhu Sheng and Cheng Shuyu because he had anything against Cheng Shuyu. He’d promised the newcomer’s agency he’d get extra screen time.

Then he’d met Zhu Sheng and thought, What could get Cheng Shuyu more screen time than being paired with someone who already has buzz?

That way, he could keep his promise to the agency and show more of Zhu Sheng’s incredible face. A win-win.

As for which one the audience liked more, that wasn’t something he could control.

Director Zhang had no idea how badly Cheng Shuyu was taking it. He was still congratulating himself on his perfect arrangement.

Incredible Journey really was obscure. Half an hour into the livestream, the number of viewers hadn’t even reached a hundred thousand.

Some of those were fake viewers supplied by the platform.

All three guests were doing their best, but none of them had much of an audience.

The staff looked at the paltry number of viewers and the nearly empty comments section, their spirits sinking.

The numbers were so bad it felt like a public execution.

The hashtag about the handsome stranger was still trending, but even Director Zhang wasn’t sure how things would go. A handsome person in real life could step in front of a camera and still fail to win anyone over.

People might even decide the whole thing had been cooked up by an agency.

But then Director Zhang looked at the desolate livestream.

Forget it. We’ve got nothing to lose. Might as well try.