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墨書 Inktalez
In 2012, a friend I rarely contacted suddenly reached out to me. His surname was Lin, and we called him Xiaolin. Interestingly, I had met him during a Daoist exchange meeting in 2009 that my master took me to. He was younger than me and had just taken on a master whose lineage was related to Master Xiao but from a different sect. The exchange meeting had very few attendees, especially young people. It was primarily a gathering for the older generation of masters to discuss profound topics and share insights, which we young ones found utterly incomprehensible and uninteresting. So, during the three-day event, the three of us spent most of our time in an internet café.
Initially, we weren't very familiar with each other, but after an incident where Master Xiao's temper flared up and led us into a brawl with some local ruffians—one that we lost miserably—we ended up bonding through shared hardship. We became close friends, referring to each other as brothers and adopting a heroic demeanor typical of Jianghu figures. However, Xiaolin eventually found cultivation too arduous; he struggled to remember all the talismans and incantations, leading to his dismissal from his master just a few months later.
Despite our differing paths, our friendship remained intact. We appreciated his reckless nature during fights; it wasn't that he was truly reckless but rather that he valued loyalty, which resonated with us. Although we kept in touch less frequently afterward, whenever we had the chance, we would check in on each other's lives. We often referred to our friendship as one of gentlemen, as calm as water.
Though he lacked stability in his pursuit of Daoism, Xiaolin harbored a grand dream of becoming an actor, much like Mr. Stephen Chow from "The King of Comedy." He aspired to shine brightly in the acting world. Unfortunately, he didn't have the same luck as Stephen Chow in finding a mentor and ended up working as an extra for various film crews without any connections. For nearly two years, he endured this life for just a few dozen yuan a day plus a boxed meal. I often hoped to spot him among the crowd actors in various TV shows and movies, but sadly, I never recognized him on screen—not even among the countless inconspicuous corpses I searched through.
This time when Xiaolin reached out to me, his first words weren't about where I had been making money lately; instead, he earnestly said, "Brother Liu, our film crew has encountered some ghostly affairs. Could you come help us resolve it?"
I joked back, "Are there any big stars involved? If not, I'm not interested."
He replied, "There are no big stars—it's a drama set in the Republic of China era with all third-rate actors. This time I'm not just an extra; I have a supporting role with individual lens time. If you come help out and we resolve this issue, it might benefit my future acting career."
"Without big stars involved, I'm not going," I teased again. "You should ask Master Xiao; he loves running around."
"Really, stop joking around, Brother Liu! Master Xiao is too far away; you're right here in Guangzhou just like us. It’s just a small favor for you to help out. Come on; I'll buy you drinks—anything you want!" His urgency suggested he had already promised the crew that I would assist.
Feigning deep thought, I said, "Alright then, how much is your crew offering for this?"
After a moment of silence, he replied, "Can we consider this a personal favor? I didn't ask the crew for funding; I told them I had a friend who could handle it and save them some money. That's why they agreed to give me more lens time."
I felt somewhat speechless but brushed it off and continued, "Then tell your crew they need to add more lines for me; otherwise, we're at a disadvantage."
He saw that I agreed and happily said, "Brother Liu, don't joke around. A corpse needs lines; otherwise, it would be a case of corpse fraud."
Well, here we go, directly playing a corpse. I felt a sense of sadness for his struggles over the past few years. Hearing him say that made me want to tell him: "Brother, give it up. You have no background, no money, no connections, and you haven't received any professional training. Why are you so determined to become an actor?" But we had already told him this many times before, and it never worked. In the end, I had no choice but to say something contrary to my feelings: "Alright then, when and where?"
He replied, "Right here in Yuexiu. Are you coming over now or later tonight?" I said now would be good; it had been a while since I last saw him, so let's have dinner together. He laughed and said, "Sure, I'll treat you."
When I arrived at the agreed location, he was already waiting outside. He told me he was staying at a guesthouse that charged only a few dozen yuan for a bed, all covered by the production team. I chuckled and asked him, "How come the corpse you played can die multiple times yet still stays with the crew?" He explained, "No, I only die once, but we have to shoot many lenses. Right now, I'm helping the Props Team manage and prepare some props, so I'm staying with the crew as staff. Hehe."
From his smile, I could see pride—an unmasked pride filled with satisfaction. It seemed that this was enough to make him happy. I didn't continue to tease him and instead said, "Congratulations then, Xiaolin! You're one step closer to your dream. Come on, let me treat you to some authentic Cantonese cuisine. By the way, you're not in a hurry, are you?"
He replied, "Not at all; I just need to be at the set by seven tonight." I looked at my watch; it was already five-thirty. I abandoned the idea of having a drink with him and led him into the nearest restaurant that had decent food and fewer people. There are many great places to eat in Guangzhou, but during meal times, you usually have to wait in line for half an hour or more. With only this little time left, there was no chance for us to eat at a good place; we could only make do.
After ordering our dishes, we caught up on each other's lives and called Master Xiao together. On the other end of the line, Master Xiao was anxiously shouting like a monkey about wanting to fly over for drinks with us. Then he started yelling about wanting to go back to an internet café to find someone to fight again and vent his frustrations from the last time he got beaten up. I chatted happily as if we were back three years ago when we used to fight together. However, things had changed; those reckless deeds of our youth were no longer suitable for us. Each of us had our own life pressures—forget fighting; we didn't even have an interest in watching others fight anymore.
After hanging up the phone, our food arrived. We each took a small bottle of strong liquor; even though we had things to do later that night, it felt wrong not to have a drink after such a long time apart. After finishing our first glass of liquor, we began discussing this project.
Xiaolin told me they were shooting a ghost film set during the Republic of China period, which involved many scenes of burning joss paper at midnight intersections. Before filming began, he had suggested they shouldn't actually do these things—either replace joss paper with regular paper or take measures to ward off spirits to avoid attracting any supernatural attention—but the director refused. He claimed that using regular paper wouldn't look realistic and that taking protective measures would affect the authenticity of the visuals. In short, he didn't believe in such things and thought they wouldn't really attract ghosts. But as they say: when you walk by the riverbank, how can you avoid getting your shoes wet? Some things will prove their existence precisely because you don't believe in them.
It's worth noting that back then, the National Radio and Television Administration still allowed horror films; people could turn into ghosts and animals could cultivate into monsters after the Republic of China era. Even high school romances could succeed before graduation! However, none of this is permitted anymore.
Returning to Xiaolin's production team situation—after failing to persuade them and fearing that his corpse scenes might not be preserved on film if he pushed too hard—he kept quiet about it. They filmed for over a month without any incidents despite doing some spirit-summoning scenes until last night's shoot when problems arose.
What happened? Well, last night’s script called for burning joss paper at midnight at an intersection again. Coincidentally, it was also a full moon night with bright moonlight and strong Yin energy. To achieve realism, they began filming right at midnight near a cemetery intersection. The plot went something like this: Old Man Xu's daughter died tragically while wearing red clothes and shoes and became a vengeful spirit; a scheming ghost catcher suggested burning joss paper at the intersection on this full moon night to help her soul move on—though his true intention was to harm Old Man Xu himself! Who wrote this script? Why would they choose such an ominous setting? It was bound to cause trouble!
Everything was ready, and the offerings were all genuine items. The Joss Paper, Incense, and red candles were all authentic. The lens was set to a long distance, creating a far-off view, meaning that no one was allowed within a few meters of Old Man Xu. Finally, the lens captured the scene, but when it was played back on the machine, something went wrong. Originally, there should have only been Old Man Xu in the lens, but when the recording came out, several people appeared densely packed in the frame. Aside from Old Man Xu kneeling on the ground burning paper, others were circling around the pile of Joss Paper outside, each with pale faces that glowed faintly blue under the moonlight. It was enough to send chills down anyone's spine.
The recording terrified everyone in the crew. The lens had captured an outdoor scene and only a brief memory image. Therefore, there weren't many people present; besides Old Man Xu, there was a director, two cameramen, a member of the Props Team, and one from the Lighting Team. Only the camera operator and the director had seen that segment of the recording, along with Xiaolin from the Props Team. Before the director could express his shock, another cameraman rushed towards the actor who had just finished burning paper and shouted loudly, "Hey, sir! Sir! What's wrong?" Xiaolin looked up and saw that not far away, the actor who had been sitting on a small stool burning Joss Paper had collapsed to the ground, convulsing uncontrollably.
Sorry for the late chapter. Thank you all for your persistent voting; there are only nine days left. Thank you for your hard work. Thanks to Zoe's Enchanted Home for the fine wine and In the Rain Lotus for the eleven flowers. It seems like another update is coming soon due to your support.
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