The agent’s voice came through Bai Chen’s earpiece. “Bai Chen, you didn’t even thank Xuzhou Big Shot. You need to be warmer to him. Do you know how many big stars and their fans are eyeing him like hawks? He’s our top donor. If you’re this standoffish, aren’t you afraid he’ll jump ship to someone else?”
The agent wasn’t exaggerating. Xuzhou Big Shot’s existence was no secret. Ever since he registered an account on White Net and occasionally posted updates, the comments sections were flooded with fans from other celebrities, sharing photos of their idols to catch his eye.
If the comments were like that, the private messages had to be even wilder. Plenty of stars were probably pitching themselves in all sorts of ways.
Bai Chen had already moved on to signing for the next fan, paying no mind to the agent’s words.
With so many fans, he couldn’t sign for every single one. He took a few steps, signed another, and each recipient let out an uncontrollable scream.
When he reached a male fan, Bai Chen hadn’t even lifted his pen yet when the young man thrust out his arm in excitement. “Bai Chen! Can you sign on my sleeve?!”
Bai Chen felt the gaze from his right rear suddenly grow heavier. Smiling, he said, “No can do.”
That gaze lightened again.
Though Bai Chen didn’t sign the young man’s sleeve, he gently pressed back the vein that had bulged out from his sleeve in excitement.
Once more, the gaze weighed down heavily.
The male fan flushed from his wrist all the way to his face. His veins throbbed so violently they nearly burst through his skin.
Bai Chen and the people around him acted as if they saw nothing. Bai Chen kept signing and accepting gifts as he went. Only after more than ten minutes did he reach the gates of Film City.
He stood beneath the white wall, a layer of sunlight gilding his soft hair. His slightly upturned eyes curved into crescent moons as he gave a slight bow to the fans. “Thank you for coming.”
“Aaaahhhhh!!!!!”
“Bai Chen! Mommy loves you, Bai Chen!”
“Wifey, I love you!”
“Hubby, hubby, look at me!”
Dong Man’s eardrums were nearly shattered.
She understood the fans’ frenzy all too well. This superstar had more than enough charm to drive anyone mad. Even her own eyes were red-rimmed.
Dong Man quietly took another step back, slipping into the rear ranks.
She had been standing fairly close up front earlier, but she hadn’t dared ask Bai Chen for a signature. The Living Dead had been watching Bai Chen the whole time—especially when he was signing for fans—and she feared drawing his attention.
Just as the Living Dead had fixed his stare on Bai Chen, she had tried reading the Living Dead’s mind.
What terrified her was that she could barely read anything at all. It was her first time encountering such a thing. When she activated her Mind Reading Skill on the Living Dead, her consciousness plunged into endless darkness and nothingness. She saw nothing, felt nothing; all her senses vanished, severing her from the world. A massive wave of panic crashed over her in an instant.
She nearly ended the reading right away, but it was too rare an opportunity. Trembling all over, she forced herself to hold on, floating in the endless dark until, from some impossibly distant place amid the void, she heard a voice.
“He’s so beautiful today.”
“Every inch of his skin glows pink. Why? I…”
Dong Man’s mind boomed like thunder, her consciousness swallowed by the surging darkness. She cut off the reading immediately and crouched to the ground. Hidden by the crowd, she gasped for air, her shaking palms frantically rubbing the dirt on the ground, clinging to the tangible reality to fend off the void’s terror.
Even after ending the reading, the fear didn’t fade. Instead, it seeped deeper into every part of her body, arriving with cruel delay. She had to keep stroking solid objects to resist it. If not for fear of suspicion, she would have reached out to the fans on either side. What she craved most was something warm and alive.
She stayed like that for a long while, until Bai Chen finished signing.
She watched him bow to them, his smiling eyes like crescent moons, his glow like sunlight itself. In that moment, all her terror vanished in a flash. Along with the endless darkness, she felt the sunlight truly falling on her skin.
She nearly teared up. She understood those screams, the laughter, the hysterical weeping.
Except for the fan beside her, who kept swallowing convulsively. Red saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth, pooling at his feet into a bloody little stream.
Dong Man backed away repeatedly. Her only skill was Mind Reading; she was fragile as glass and couldn’t risk touching that blood.
After Bai Chen entered the set, the fans began to disperse. Dong Man blended in like any ordinary fan, heading to the base of the walls outside Film City, where crowds of people awaited jobs, along with her teammates.
Once she’d briefed them on the situation, she made a bold announcement in the System Group.
Team Two Captain Dong Man: 【Everyone, Team Two has found our direction. Sorry, but it feels like we’ll have the easiest mission this time.】
Team Two Captain Dong Man: 【I never imagined it’d be this simple to find something to keep the Living Dead interested.】
Team One Captain Du Feili: 【?】
Though Dong Man had trembled in panic earlier and truly sensed the Living Dead’s terror, she was smiling now.
For the Living Dead, the Book Transmigration Bureau Mission’s prerequisite was keeping him interested in this world—ensuring he wouldn’t barge into their reality the moment they crossed paths. It was clear now: Bai Chen was the anchor holding him here.
It was hard to keep someone fixated on another for a long stretch, but keeping someone from straying far from Bai Chen? That shouldn’t be difficult at all.
Call her reckless or swayed by how Bai Chen had soothed her earlier—either way, she was betting everything on him!
Spotting what looked like the director emerging, the petite, adorable girl tied back her hair with fresh determination. “On your feet! We’re crashing Bai Chen’s crew as extras. Field crew would be even better!”
In the makeup room of the Dark Blood production, Bai Chen saw Chu Xuzhou again just ten minutes later.
They had been idol and fan before. Now they were actor and investor.
The director, sharp as ever, chimed in. “I’ll go check if the others are done with makeup.”
Once the director left, only Bai Chen, Chu Xuzhou, and the makeup artist remained.
It was the makeup artist’s first time working with Bai Chen. Still adjusting to his features, she threw herself into her artistic creation with excitement and focus.
She was applying eyeshadow now. Bai Chen’s eyes were half-closed as he felt the delicate brush sweep lightly over his eyelids, followed by a gaze tracing the same path. It swept over every inch of his face.
That gaze shadowed the various brushes, outlining his features.
Bai Chen’s meticulously groomed, elongated brows furrowed slightly—not in displeasure, but from sheer overload.
He had absorbed so much love today. Even now, a subtle yet potent strand seeped through his skin into his body.
Long ago, Bai Chen—who sustained himself on love—had realized that love came in many flavors: for pets, friends, celebrities, family, lovers, masters, gods… No type was inherently superior, but people’s capacity and intensity varied.
The more suffering, the more love they gave. The more loneliness, the deeper it ran. The more madness, the heavier it weighed. The stronger the person, the more potent the energy.
As the center of attention, basking in fans’ cheers under the spotlights, he received vast quantities of love—but only enough to fill his belly. It paled against being cradled by the boy, gazed at as he slept. That left him splaying his paws like a contented cat, purring deeply.
The entire street of fans shrieking at his sight provided ample love, yet it couldn’t match the energy in the gaze now tracking the brushes across his face.
The gaze pierced like acupuncture needles, painless yet penetrating his delicate skin. Energy trickled from the “tips” into his capillaries, already brimming with love. They swelled faintly, faint blue-purple traces blooming beneath his pale skin.
There was just too much today.
As his brows furrowed, Bai Chen pursed his lips. The lip gloss brush happened to get caught, as did the gaze shadowing it.
Dozens of seconds later, the makeup artist asked, “Teacher Bai Chen, why are you tearing up?”
Bai Chen’s face needed no foundation, but for the overall look, she had applied a thin layer. To fit his character, she’d emphasized the outer corners of his eyes with pink liner. Now, a single tear glistened there.
It had welled up in his eyes, not yet large enough to fall as Bai Chen tilted his head back slightly. It had only smudged a bit of the pink shadow and foundation.
At her words, the young man on the sofa finally stirred.
He drew a neatly folded white handkerchief from the shirt pocket inside his jacket, leaning forward to dab the tear. But just as the fabric neared, it—and the gaze—halted.
His eyes fixed there, as if beholding some captivating, unprecedented wonder.
Only after a long moment did he delicately touch the corner of the handkerchief to the tear, preserving the makeup without causing Bai Chen the slightest discomfort. The motion was gentle, a stark contrast to the gaze’s intense energy.
“That’s more like the attitude you should have,” Bai Chen said, looking at him. “The attitude toward your master.”
The makeup artist, who had stepped aside, widened her eyes and glanced at the major investor whom even the director handled with kid gloves.
Chu Xuzhou showed no reaction to Bai Chen’s words. Staring into Bai Chen’s still-pink eyes, a flicker of puzzlement appeared in his abyss-deep gaze, black as night. “Why the tears?”
The corners of Bai Chen’s tingling lips twitched. He exhaled slowly. “Not telling you.”
“Out of the way. I need to change,” Bai Chen said.
The agent arrived at the set over an hour after Bai Chen. He fretted constantly about him. Whether shooting dramas or other events, he shadowed every one. Even if held up by business, he stayed connected via what looked like an earpiece, issuing worried reminders.
It all stemmed from Bai Chen’s early days, when he was like a child adrift in the entertainment industry’s chaos—far too worrisome to leave alone.
Rushing in with a cute girl in tow, he spotted Xuzhou Big Shot standing at the makeup room door, head bowed over the handkerchief in his hand. He looked utterly absorbed, like a scholar pondering some grand thesis.
The agent hurried forward with warm enthusiasm. “Xuzhou Big Shot, thanks for coming in person. Bai Chen must be thrilled.”
He extended both hands for a shake.
From his many interactions, he knew Xuzhou Big Shot was mysterious and immensely wealthy, yet approachable—no trace of the arrogance typical of the elite. Every time, Xuzhou Big Shot shook his hand.
With the handkerchief in his left, the right was free for a shake—to let the agent bask in that tycoon’s aura.
But just as he reached out, the ever-gentlemanly Xuzhou Big Shot clutched the handkerchief tighter with his left and flipped his right palm inward, back facing out—a clear rebuff.
The agent: “?”
