Chapter 7

The girl standing beside the manager chimed in at just the right moment. “Brother Li, don’t you have something to tell Teacher Bai Chen?”

The cute girl was Dong Man.

She had brought her teammates to the gates of Film City in search of extra work. For her, it was child’s play—her mind reading skill let her instantly discern what the directors were looking for in performers. She simply catered to their preferences, mirroring their ideal image of her.

That casting director wasn’t from Bai Chen’s crew, but under her mind reading assault, he still spilled plenty of details. His biggest help came in the form of introducing her to Bai Chen’s manager, who had just stepped out of a car.

Bai Chen’s manager seemed swamped. Spotting the familiar casting director amid the auditions, he strode over and said, “I’m looking for a production assistant for Bai Chen. Someone sharp-eyed, street-smart, patient, even-tempered, detail-oriented, observant, trustworthy-looking but presentable, able to pull all-nighters, in good shape, and with high stress tolerance?”

The casting director fell silent.

Dong Man stepped forward.

At the very least, her mind reading prowess and keen observation had her winning Brother Li over in just a few words. In no time, she landed a trial position.

Now, with impeccable timing, she gave the awkwardly extended hand of the manager an easy out.

It was as if she knew exactly why the Living Dead refused to shake the manager’s hand—even though his right hand was free. The reason was absurd, yet thrilling to her.

Today, Bai Chen had signed his sleeve. Signing a sleeve might not be some big secret, nothing to hide, but she had seen Bai Chen’s hand brush against the Living Dead’s.

Plenty of fans refused to wash their hands after shaking their idol’s. That was normal. But for it to happen with the Living Dead? That carried real weight.

He didn’t want anyone wiping away the trace of Bai Chen’s scent from his hand.

Tsk.

“Right, right! I’ve got business with Bai Chen. Xuzhou Big Shot, I’ll head in first.” The manager seized the out, mentally bumping Dong Man’s score up by ten points.

Chu Xuzhou nodded and turned to leave ahead of the manager.

The manager eyed his retreating back with puzzlement before stepping into the makeup room. He asked Bai Chen, “Did you just run into Xuzhou Big Shot here?”

Bai Chen nodded.

The manager pressed, “How’d it go?”

Bai Chen replied, “Fine.”

The manager reminded him once more. “You have to get along well with Xuzhou Big Shot. He’s our biggest—and only—backer. Think about it: cozy up to him, and you won’t need to suck up to other investors or directors. Meanwhile, other stars are jumping through hoops. Hell, treating Xuzhou Big Shot like royalty sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”

Bai Chen didn’t respond. Instead, he glanced at the girl trailing behind the manager.

“Oh, right.” The manager added, “This film’s a grind. One assistant won’t cut it for taking care of you, so I found you another production assistant. She’ll look after you during the shoot.”

Dong Man immediately bowed at the waist. “Please, use me however you need!”

As long as she could latch onto the Living Dead, she’d do anything for him. Treat him like an ancestor? A quarter of the world’s savior? No problem!

The manager blinked.

Bai Chen’s long eyes flicked toward her. He studied her for a few seconds before a smile welled up from the depths of his ink-black, faintly green gaze and spilled over his makeup-paled lips. “I like you.”

Dong Man looked up, utterly flattered. “You like me? What an honor!”

Bai Chen said, “Mm. You harbor… goodwill toward me.”

Dong Man nodded vigorously. “Of course! I like you too!”

Bai Chen took two steps closer. Dong Man was petite and adorable, not even five-foot-two. He leaned down, his smiling face drawing near hers, his words laced with deeper meaning. “Then watch me closely.”

Dong Man didn’t grasp it at the time. Staring straight into Bai Chen’s face left her mind reeling.

It was like beholding someone nurtured by the Creator’s own affection, now layered with heartbreaking, fragile makeup. The combination sparked some magical chemistry, making every actor or idol she’d ever crushed on seem like damaged goods—utterly flavorless.

The manager felt a twinge of unease. He hadn’t even confirmed if Dong Man was sticking around, yet here was Bai Chen warming to her like this.

With a dissatisfied glance at Dong Man, his competitive instincts kicking in, he snatched the tattered windbreaker from the rack and draped it over Bai Chen himself. “This scene’s gonna be rough, but once it airs, fans will love you even more. Tons of new ones will fall for you.”

He’d figured out the pattern: anything that boosted fans or drew more adoration got Bai Chen’s full enthusiasm.

Sure enough, Bai Chen said, “Let’s go. The set’s ready.”

The film he was shooting was a horror flick—the most popular genre around. And it was the biggest production in years, boasting top-tier talent from director to screenwriter, right down to the art and lighting departments.

That was why Chu Xuzhou had bankrolled it.

Dazed by the massive windfall from the heavens, the director had stammered, “Can we have Bai Chen play the second male lead?”

Chu Xuzhou had asked, “Why not the lead? Not enough funding?”

“No, no! Plenty—enough for another standard film!” The director clarified, “Our protagonist is modeled after Heavenly Master Qiao Qingshuang. Celestial Master Qiao commands too much respect. It’s not about money…”

The manager had jumped in right away. “Second lead’s perfect! Second lead is great!”

One mention of the prototype being the fearsome Qiao Qingshuang, and the manager nearly wet himself. Even if the director offered the lead, they wouldn’t dare take it.

He knew the score: Bai Chen’s status in the industry, his popularity, public image, and acting chops fell short for such a protagonist. Accepting it would torch his goodwill with casual fans—and worse, provoke Qiao Qingshuang’s wrath. Game over.

Back when they discussed it in the teahouse, Bai Chen had been dozing on the sofa.

When he woke, the manager told him they’d landed him the second male lead in Dark Blood. The role suited him perfectly—guaranteed to shine.

The “perfect” role in the manager’s eyes was that of a painter. While sketching outdoors, he wandered into Weird Manor, endured torment and humiliation from its eerie horrors, blackened into one himself, and nearly killed the protagonist before rescue.

Today’s first scene: the painter awakens, suspended in a manor attic by grotesque veins, his body twisted into the contorted pose from one of his paintings.

His facial makeup was done, costume on. Body paint would come after the veins were wrapped, applied on-site by the stylists and makeup artists.

The attic already held the director—and one other person.

Dong Man finally got why fans called the Living Dead a stan rather than a sugar daddy. Trailing him everywhere? Total star-chaser behavior.

Once Bai Chen arrived, the director rose. The Living Dead at his side stood too, his gaze locking precisely onto Bai Chen.

Dong Man tensed. A hollow panic bubbled up from her depths again, drawing her instinctively closer to Bai Chen.

She could only use mind reading three times a day, and she’d burned through her quota. Strangely, that eased her. No more readings meant no plunge into endless darkness and void.

After using the skill on so many people, Dong Man had come to realize her experience correlated tightly with their inner worlds.

Reading a gentle soul might immerse her in water or soft clouds.

A warm, passionate one could feel like sunlight or a balmy summer day.

But with the Living Dead? Nothing—no senses at all. Just boundless dark and nothingness. At first, she’d assumed his power overwhelmed her, punishing her presumption.

Afterward, she wondered: What if that’s just his inner world?

Darkness. Endless void.

Until a distant voice echoed from what felt like the universe’s edge: “He looks beautiful today.”

The void was void no more.

Just like how Bai Chen’s silhouette was mirrored now in those vast, empty eyes.

Survival instinct kept Dong Man from looking at the Living Dead. She turned toward the attic instead—and nearly blurted “Holy shit.”

Veins carpeted the ceiling and floor in writhing masses, dripping blood. The room reeked of gore and some horrifying, nausea-inducing stench she’d never smelled before.

What the hell was this?

Hang on—you’re shooting a horror film without props or effects? Using real eerie horrors?

Stifling her flight reflex, she quickly pieced it together.

Bai Chen walked to the attic’s center. Two men in white, gloved up, grabbed thick veins. They must have some special ability; the previously twitching, menacing things calmed in their grasp.

The props team delivered a painting—an abstract one, blood-red sunset backdrop with a figure twisted midair into an unnatural pose that unsettled just looking at it.

Dong Man wanted nothing to do with mind reading its painter.

The stylist pointed to it. “Teacher Bai Chen, that’s the pose we want to recreate. But it’s brutal on flexibility, so we’ll approximate as best we can. It’ll hurt—speak up if you need to stop.”

Dong Man blinked.

She eyed the eerie pose in the painting, then the scalp-tingling veins, then Bai Chen’s face and skin. Imagining the bloody, gorgeous tableau, she got why the manager said this scene would win over hordes of new fans.

She understood now what passed for blockbuster filmmaking here: sanity-draining horrors, heart-stopping performances, visuals worth millions per frame.

Under the stylist’s direction, the two white-clad men began wrapping veins around Bai Chen to match the painting. They planned to hoist him up, starting at the waist—cinching tight, looping back to bind his arms.

That’s when disaster struck. The veins were fine through his clothes, but the instant they touched his bare skin, they went berserk. One led to hundreds across the attic, all surging madly toward Bai Chen.

“Watch out!”

“What the hell?!”

“Bai Chen! Run, Bai Chen!”

“Stop them! Celestial Master! Celestial Master!”

Chaos erupted. The two white-clad men yanked with all their might, slashing with swords and talismans. Severed veins kept crawling toward Bai Chen in fragmented pieces.

The blood vessel closest to Bai Chen had gone berserk, spreading wildly across his body, while the others that brushed against him were on the verge of overwhelming him from every direction.

Suddenly, every single one of them froze.

A dark film condensed over the bright red blood, and then the vessels dropped stiffly from Bai Chen one by one, scattering haphazardly around his feet. They lay there motionless.

Tracing back along the first one to stiffen led straight to a drained vessel clenched in Chu Xuzhou’s pale hand.

Those who snapped out of their shock rushed to Bai Chen’s side, checking him over and asking if he was all right.

Bai Chen kept his head down as if badly shaken, his eyes fixed on a limp vessel draped across his foot. His lips trembled faintly. “I’m fine.”

Only then did the director turn to the two figures in white robes. “Celestial Masters, what just happened?”

The two Celestial Masters exchanged a glance, bewilderment clear in their eyes. One of them stepped forward. “Sorry, we have no idea.”

The director pointed at the rigid vessels, his voice tight with tension. “So it’s…?”

“Not dead yet,” the Celestial Master replied.

The director pressed on. “Can we keep going?”

“Sorry,” the Celestial Master said. “We can’t control it.”

For some reason, the Vascular Strangeness flew into a frenzy the instant it touched Bai Chen. Even shattered into segments, the pieces strained to crawl toward him. Against that kind of madness, they were powerless. It seemed like nothing short of total annihilation could stop it from going after him.

The director stood there dumbfounded. These two Celestial Masters had been brought in from Frost Mountain at great expense just for this film, both disciples under Qiao Qingshuang. They couldn’t possibly be frauds or good-for-nothings. If even they admitted they couldn’t control it…

“But it’s totally docile in Xuzhou Big Shot’s hand,” Dong Man said, mustering her courage.

The director blinked in sudden realization. Right—it was totally docile in Xuzhou’s hand!

He hurried over to the young investor. “Xuzhou, we put a ton of effort and money into acquiring this Vascular Strangeness. If we can’t use it, the movie’s impact will take a huge hit—”

“Just say it plainly,” Chu Xuzhou replied.

The director swallowed. “Could you tie Bai Chen up in that pose with the vessel?”