Wang Lili was stunned by Old Bai’s absurd actions. “Wait, you… you’re out here claiming someone as your father in public? Does this even make sense?”
Just a moment ago, Old Bai was talking about how he was Xiao Lai’s earliest partner and the one who brought him into the business, and now he was calling him “Dad.”
Old Bai was floating higher and higher, with his tongue sticking out, and paired with his pale face, he looked especially eerie. He was desperate, using a strategy that hurt himself more than it hurt the enemy, yet he stiffened his neck and said, “I feel like it.”
Wang Lili sneered. Old Bai was trying to intimidate him with height and appearance.
But the more Old Bai acted like this, the more Wang Lili resisted. As a police officer, still in uniform no less, his courage was through the roof. What’s the deal? You might be a low-level spirit, but I’m a low-level cop, and I was even awarded as one of the top ten excellent officers last month!
Wang Lili pointed up at Old Bai, using the same tone he would to shout at a local gangster: “Stop messing around! Don’t think acting all ghostly will scare me!”
Lan He couldn’t stand listening anymore…
And Old Bai? He kept floating higher, as if the higher one stands, the more right they are. Lan He grabbed the soul chain connected to Old Bai and pulled him down bit by bit.
Hu 79 felt this scene seemed familiar, and after thinking for a while, he realized—it’s like flying a kite!
“Alright, alright. Don’t push too hard. After all, we’re working together. Weren’t you planning on giving him the Golden Gatepost?” Lan He pinned Old Bai down, preventing him from floating away again. “Let’s focus on the task. His colleague should be back soon.”
Unwillingly, Old Bai handed over the Golden Gatepost to Wang Lili, warning him, “If you have your own colleagues, don’t steal from the underworld.”
Wang Lili took the Golden Gatepost and scoffed, “Tch…”
Before he could finish saying a word, he squatted down—while the threshold might have been made of painted wood, the Golden Gatepost was pure gold. His face flushed, but even while squatting, he straightened his back, forcing himself to act natural. “We’re cooperating just fine.”
Old Bai gave a smug smile, as if he had expected this, flicking his long tongue around.
“Enough, enough,” Lan He pulled the two apart, otherwise Old Bai’s tongue might have flicked onto Wang Lili’s face. “Officer Wang, your colleague is back.”
Wang Lili’s colleague drove up. Since he couldn’t see the ghosts or the fox, he parked beside Wang Lili. “Why are you squatting there?”
It was a bit dark, and Wang Lili struggled to stand up while holding the Golden Gatepost. “This… come help me lift it.”
“What is it?” His colleague got out of the car and took a closer look, immediately recognizing it from photos. “Oh my god, is this… the Golden Gatepost?!”
Wang Lili had barely retrieved the Golden Threshold when he already made a name for himself within the Beijing police system, even making it into the newspapers. And now, with the return of the Golden Gatepost, he was on his way to gaining further recognition.
“Yeah, the Golden Gatepost,” Wang Lili confirmed.
“Where did you find it?” His colleague was so excited his voice nearly cracked.
Wang Lili glanced at Lan He, who nodded back at him, and at Old Bai, who was standing with his hands on his hips. He braced himself and said, “I… I just found it.”
Colleague: “…”
His colleague was exasperated. “Last time, you said you just ‘found’ it too!”
Had it not been for Wang Lili’s absurd explanation going unquestioned by higher-ups, his colleague would’ve refused to believe it the first time. And now it was happening again. Was the entire world’s missing artifacts just going to be found by Wang Lili?
“Seriously, let’s hurry back and notify the owner,” Wang Lili said, getting into the car with his colleague and heading back to the station.
Lan He watched them drive off and felt at ease.
“I should be heading back too. I’ll pass on this family fun,” Lan He said, giving Old Bai a teasing smile.
Old Bai: “…”
In his usual carefree manner, Old Bai demanded, “Give me money and equipment!”
“…I’ll make it up to you later,” Lan He replied. Since the equipment was useful, he figured he’d just provide more of it.
Hu 79 was full of sighs. This was more than just a father—it was like having a king as a father.
…
When Lan He returned, his soul hadn’t yet reached Song Futan’s car. From a distance, he saw a group of people outside the car—it was the program crew. As he got closer, he overheard them trying to persuade Song Futan to open the door:
“Lan He still hasn’t woken up…”
“Teacher Xuangguang, please open the door. We’ll accompany you to the hospital.”
“We’re not professionals. Even though you said it’s nothing serious, let’s have a doctor take a look just to be safe.”
Song Futan: “Okay, I’ll take him to the hospital now.”
Director: “Then I’ll go too. Please open the door.”
Song Futan: “…”
Chen Xingyang had already slipped away after shooting the final scene, but the director kept a close watch, constantly asking about any updates. He wanted to check on Lan He and decide whether to take him to the hospital, as he had a bad feeling about the situation.
Song Futan had no choice. Lan He was in a hurry and had left quickly, and right after his soul left his body, the director had noticed. Otherwise, it would have been better to arrange to take Lan He’s body to his home and wait there.
The director was concerned and also worried that something might happen to the crew.
Lan He, hearing the conversation, realized it was a close call. Luckily, he hadn’t been gone for long. He quickly re-entered his body, sat up, and turned over.
“Lan He?” The director let out a sigh of relief when he saw him get up. “You’re finally awake!”
“Ah, Director? Sorry, did I worry everyone? I’m feeling much better now. I just dozed off; I was so exhausted that I slept deeply.” Lan He quickly got out of the car and apologized to the director.
“Just fell asleep?” The director was skeptical. “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
“It’s nothing, just a bit of a stomachache from the cold. I asked Master Xuang Guang to let me rest in his car—it was quiet and warm. Thank you, Master Xuang Guang.” Lan He quickly tried to clear Song Futan’s name.
“Oh, I see,” the director finally relaxed. “Alright, Xiao Zhou, hurry and take Lan He home to rest. And sorry to trouble you, Master Xuang Guang, for delaying your trip home.”
“?!” Song Futan hurriedly replied, “It’s fine. He…”
Previously, Lan He had always waited until filming was wrapped up and then hitched a ride home with Song Futan. At most, only Chen Xingyu and the others knew about this. But now, without any further explanation, the staff had already helped him into the crew’s car.
Lan He could only look back with a pained expression and bid farewell to Song Futan, “Goodbye, Master Xuang Guang, and sorry for the trouble today.”
Song Futan: “…………”
The director and others were chilled by the sight—why did Song Futan’s face look so grim whenever Lan He spoke to him?
Damn, could it be that the reason he didn’t want them to see Lan He earlier was because he had a problem with him? They had seemed to get along okay before, with no real interaction to speak of. Could it be that delaying his wrap-up time made him unhappy? Poets really have deep thoughts!
Lan He had no idea that strange rumors were circulating within the crew. He simply focused on the next day’s news, which indeed mentioned that, following the retrieval of Golden Threshold, Golden Gatepost had also been found. The magical part was that it was recovered by the same police officer—truly a case of fate…
Additionally, there was news and discussion online about the mysterious ringing of the ancient bell at Juehui Temple again. The first time, it was said to be part of an inspection and maintenance routine, but was that really the case this time too? Something didn’t seem right—there must have been some supernatural cause.
Blogs and forums related to the paranormal were abuzz with excitement, with theories ranging far and wide:
Why did the hundred-year-old evil-repelling bell suddenly ring? Was it caused by demons, or was it a prayer from a high-ranking official? Could it have anything to do with this year’s numerous Dharma assemblies?
However, the mystery was soon debunked—it turned out that a mentally ill patient had run into Juehui Temple and banged his head against the bell. Photos from the hospital were even released.
This made all those bloggers who had analyzed the event for so long quite embarrassed, and they started a new topic: “Just how hard is the human skull?”
Beijing’s urban legends were too numerous, and this one didn’t stir much of a wave.
As for Lan He, aside from running around with the crew, he spent his time at home folding paper. Half a month flew by, and before he knew it, the premiere of *Chase* was upon them.
The premiere was held before the official release during the Chinese New Year holiday, at a cinema inside a large shopping mall in Beijing. Some audience members, media, and celebrities were invited, making the event lively and bustling.
Although Lan He’s agency was small and lacked experience, they still knew how to borrow outfits and style him for the event, so he was dressed neatly in formal wear.
At the venue, Chen Xingyang, who had long been famous, of course, stood out. He didn’t have a girlfriend, so he brought his sister, Chen Xingyu. Liu Chunyang also used other well-known actors for his roles, causing endless screams as they walked the red carpet.
Song Futan also attended. Not only did he come to show support, but he also brought Song Qiyun along.
Song Qiyun was quite puzzled. He had initially refused, wanting to rest and spend time with his wife visiting his father-in-law, but for some strange reason, his father-in-law had kicked him out and told him to attend the event…
Regardless of the reason, Song Qiyun’s appearance excited the media. When did the two big directors become so close? Song Qiyun, who usually avoided the spotlight, had even come to support the premiere?
Lan He’s heart had been restless since the morning, and he became even more nervous as the event approached, like a student anxiously waiting for the results after submitting an exam paper.
Song Futan didn’t walk the red carpet but patted Lan He on the shoulder before stepping on stage, noticing his anxiety.
The subtle woody scent from Song Futan helped calm Lan He down as he looked into his eyes. Song Futan’s eyes were as deep and dark as black jade, making Lan He feel as if he might fall in if he stepped closer. He murmured unconsciously, “Thank you…”
Song Futan, realizing Lan He was staring into his eyes, found himself unable to look away. Being gazed at like this made him feel both slightly nervous and expectant, yet he didn’t want to break the connection.
“Come on! Let’s hit the red carpet!” Liu Chunyang suddenly appeared, laughing wildly. “Hahaha, you’re coming with me—I can’t wait to scam the audience!”
Lan He: “…”
Song Futan: “…”
Liu Chunyang dragged Lan He away. As he struggled, Lan He turned back and waved at Song Futan, who responded with a faint smile.
…
Zhou Huiqin was a lucky audience member, having won tickets to the *Chase* premiere through the official Weibo account. She was usually busy with work and didn’t have time for travel, so she used movies as a way to relax.
Recently, she had seen the trailers for *Chase*. To be honest, her initial reason for following the film might have been different from other viewers.
Others were likely drawn by Liu Chunyang’s reputation, their fondness for Chen Xingyang, or perhaps they were captivated by Lan He’s charm. Zhou Huiqin, however, felt a strange familiarity with Lan He’s eyes.
But if a friend asked her why they seemed familiar, she wouldn’t know how to explain.
After all, she couldn’t exactly tell people that the actor’s eyes vaguely reminded her of a ghost messenger she once encountered. That ghost had left a deep impression on her during a strange ride on a paper bus… Saying something like that would make her sound crazy.
Of course, that was just her first impression. After watching a few more trailers and appearances by Lan He, Zhou Huiqin began to think he was rather cute and lively. As for the ghost messenger, he had been powerful but also somewhat gentle, a stark contrast to Lan He.
People often resemble each other, but no one could look exactly the same.
During the red carpet event, Zhou Huiqin held up her poster and camera, taking photos and asking for autographs from the stars. When Lan He and Liu Chunyang appeared, she joined the crowd in waving and shouting, “Lan He! Over here!”
When Lan He looked over and smiled shyly, showing his dimples, Zhou Huiqin and the others were enchanted. “Ah, so sweet!”
Seeing someone in person was quite different from seeing them in photos or videos. Lan He appeared more vivid and dynamic in real life. Zhou Huiqin, who had never been one to follow celebrities, found herself awestruck by the beauty of Chen Xingyu and captivated by Lan He’s smile, her heart racing. Her excitement grew as she eagerly awaited the screening.
Soon, the event transitioned to the movie screening.
Everyone took their seats as the lights dimmed, and the theater grew quiet. Zhou Huiqin adjusted her breathing, excitedly waiting.
Finally, the familiar coiling dragon logo of Kunlun Pictures appeared on the big screen.
The movie naturally began with the male lead. Liu Chunyang’s storytelling style was always praised, with distinct camera movements and editing that gave the audience a sense of exhilaration.
Chen Xingyang’s portrayal of the protagonist, Meng Jing, immediately grabbed attention, unraveling a mystery.
The audience collectively thought: Liu Chunyang’s skill is as steady as ever—consistently excellent.
It wasn’t until twenty minutes in that Lan He’s character, Zhang Xunchun, appeared, following an impressive scene involving a flock of pigeons.
Under Meng Jing’s command, his pigeons collided with those of the enemy. The sound of pigeon whistles served as the background music, their varied tones forming a harmonious melody that soared into the sky. Accompanied by the pigeons’ combative movements, the whistle grew more intense, the screen rapidly cutting between shots, amplifying the audience’s tension.
It was during this movie that Zhou Huiqin learned what pigeon whistles were. She hadn’t expected a pigeon scene to be shot like this. Despite being a collision of bird flocks, the special effects made it feel like a fierce battle between two armies!
The attention to detail was natural and rich. The integration of the pigeon whistle sounds was particularly well done, leaving Zhou Huiqin thoroughly entertained.
Then came a shot from a low angle, with bright lighting as Zhang Xunchun appeared, leaping over a wall. He looked clean and vibrant. The camera zoomed in, capturing his aura. Zhou Huiqin even heard several low gasps of admiration from people around her. These sounds carried a sense of awe and praise. She, too, felt herself slowly becoming a fan…
The audience, already familiar with the film’s promotional materials, couldn’t help but agree with Liu Chunyang’s earlier comments: Zhang Xunchun was indeed sweet, his charm pure and natural, and incredibly lively. It wasn’t just the trailers that captured this; the full film was equally captivating.
However, as the plot progressed, some sharp-eyed viewers and critics began to sense that something was off about Zhang Xunchun’s character.
Sure enough, those delicate hands that had expertly carved pigeon whistles now gripped a knife and, with startling precision, plunged it into someone’s throat without a trace of hesitation. His expression in the subsequent close-up was cold, sinister, and filled with malice, even tinged with madness—completely different from his earlier warmth.
Zhou Huiqin: “!!”
That single look sent a shiver down Zhou Huiqin’s spine, giving her goosebumps. It also made the co-stars’ trembling reactions seem all the more real.
She even heard the girl beside her murmur in a frightened voice, “Oh my god…”
Many in the audience were similarly shocked: This was not what they had expected. Who was this villain?!
The story revealed Zhang Xunchun as the antagonist, but his earlier behavior and the impression given in the trailers—along with Liu Chunyang’s promotional comments—had painted him as a sweet and innocent character.
Those who had followed the actor knew he was also a “parenting blogger,” a persona completely at odds with his villainous turn.
It wasn’t that the twist itself was unprecedented, nor that it was a shocking revelation. In fact, it was quite logical. The pigeon whistles, the knife, and many lines of dialogue had all hinted at this twist.
But this reversal… How to explain it? Mainly, it was Zhang Xunchun’s gaze on the big screen—it was too powerful, even frightening, like being stared down by a malevolent spirit. It gave everyone the chills and a sense of discomfort.
While Zhou Huiqin wanted to discuss it with her companions, the rapid pace of the unfolding story left the audience with no time to speak. All she could do was scream inwardly: Liu Chunyang, you’re such a big liar!
Many media representatives had already started jotting down key points for their articles by this point. With their sharp instincts, they could sense that this particular scene would be a hot topic among the audience.
However, what they didn’t expect was that an even more shocking moment was still to come—the fate of Zhang Xunchun.
After his identity was revealed, Zhang Xunchun exuded the aura of a big boss. The lighting and atmosphere around him further highlighted his powerful presence, and every move he made radiated confidence. That beautiful face no longer had a trace of sweetness; instead, it left the audience feeling that he was both handsome and ruthless.
Despite his agile skills, when he ultimately lost to the protagonist, he ended his own life using a piece of silver from the chair. In his final moments, his face was expressionless, but his eyes conveyed a complex mix of emotions—resentment, hatred, and even a hint of fear. It left the audience with an empty feeling, as though they were witnessing someone truly facing death.
After his suicide, the audience felt both relieved that the crisis was over and reluctant to say goodbye to such a compelling and charismatic villain. Some wished he had stayed alive just a little longer—his fights were so captivating!
Zhou Huiqin even had a somewhat absurd thought: it felt like Lan He’s performance continued even after his character’s death!
As the scene lingered on the protagonist, Meng Jing, holding Zhang Xunchun’s lifeless body, the color drained from his face, and the lack of life in his body, paired with the lighting, gave the audience an eerie sense of coldness.
Playing a corpse—yes, that also required acting skills.
Even after the movie ended, Zhou Huiqin kept replaying some of Lan He’s key scenes in her mind. With her extensive experience watching films, she had to admit that Lan He’s overall performance and attention to detail had left her deeply impressed. He had infused the character with a unique charm, truly bringing Zhang Xunchun to life.
The media present were also murmuring amongst themselves. Chen Xingyang had delivered a consistently strong performance, and the tension between his and Lan He’s characters was palpable. But Lan He, being a fresh face and offering such a dramatic twist, naturally left a stronger impression. His sickly, haunting eyes and death scene were so compelling that some people wondered if he had spent time in a prison or hospital to get into character.
One reporter, after racking their brain, suddenly remembered their research and exclaimed, “Damn, during the casting process, Liu Chunyang said he picked Lan He because he was great at playing dead. Turns out that was not only true but also a spoiler!”
As for the reactions from the general audience, which were less nuanced but more straightforward, they went something like this:
“Whoa! The movie was awesome, the pacing was great!”
“Whoa! Chen Xingyang is still so handsome! And Zhang Xunchun is so sweet!”
“…Whoa! Zhang Xunchun is actually the twisted villain?!”
“Whoa, but still kind of hot~~”
“He’s dead, dead, dead, dead—he died so well, but I kind of don’t want him to be dead. Can’t we resurrect him for a sequel and keep him as the boss…?”
Even as the host stepped on stage, the buzz in the audience continued, indicating just how enthusiastic the response was. “From the warm applause, we can tell that everyone really enjoyed the movie! Let’s invite the creators to the stage for a little chat, shall we?”
Another round of eager applause followed, welcoming the cast and crew to the stage, accompanied by a flurry of camera flashes.
Appearing once again before the audience, Lan He still had that well-behaved demeanor, sitting next to Liu Chunyang. But now, no one could look at him the same way…
If it weren’t considered a spoiler, people would have rushed to Weibo by now to scream: “The movie has a crazy twist, and Zhang Xunchun is terrifying!”
“Now, let’s have some questions from the media and audience. I’m sure everyone is eager to ask something,” the host said, calling on people. Naturally, the first questions went to the lead actor and the director.
There were compliments for Chen Xingyang, as well as some angry remarks aimed at the director for his “deception”—Liu Chunyang had previously misled people in Lan He’s comment section by claiming that the full movie was even sweeter. “Zhang Xunchun is the villain!!! You liar!!”
Liu Chunyang shamelessly replied, “I only said the full movie was sweeter. Didn’t the beginning have enough sweetness?”
The audience: “…”
Well… yes, it was sweet at the beginning. Zhang Xunchun really was an adorable cutie…
And even later, he was truly handsome—so handsome that, despite being the villain, you couldn’t help but feel a certain affection. It had nothing to do with his actions, just an admiration for his looks.
The host then pointed to a female audience member for the next question, the same one who had earlier called out “Lan He!”
She took the microphone, visibly excited, and started with, “Lan He…,” but quickly corrected herself, “Big Brother Xunchun!”
The audience burst into laughter.
They completely understood where she was coming from.
Even Zhou Huiqin had the same thought. At the beginning of the movie, Lan He did seem like a lively young boy, but after watching the whole film, especially his later performance, who could still call “Zhang Xunchun” a little brother without hesitation?
Lan He, on the other hand, was elated. Throughout the event, he had been observing the audience’s reactions, and it seemed like everyone was enjoying the film and his performance. “No need to be shy, call me whatever you like.”
The woman awkwardly responded, “I’ll stick with Big Brother… Well, I just felt that Zhang Xunchun’s eyes before his death were very powerful. And after he died, it really seemed like… you captured the essence of death so well! I was blown away—it was even more impactful than his transformation! I wanted to ask, did you practice that?”
Lan He glanced at Liu Chunyang, relieved that the director hadn’t been crazy enough to make him “die” on stage. “Yes, I did practice. I used techniques like yoga to control my breathing and create a longer, more realistic death-like state…”
He went on to explain, using some terminology and acting techniques he had learned beforehand. The audience nodded along, impressed by the calm yet impactful performance—it had been honed through hard work and practice.
The host then called on a tall, muscular man with tattooed arms. When this guy stood up, he turned to Lan He and said, “Big Brother Xunchun, that look in your eyes when you changed faces really scared me! Back when I used to hang with gangs, if I had seen someone like you, I would’ve quit on the spot…”
Lan He: “…………”
The audience burst into laughter again. What kind of audience member was this? He had a vibe straight out of *Water Margin*, and the guy seemed like he had quite the story himself.
“I’m serious! You played it well. Zhang Xunchun isn’t just a cute little brother—the later part was very intense,” the tattooed man continued, giving Lan He a thumbs-up and delivering another memorable line, “I gotta say, Big Brother Xunchun, you really know how to die!”
Amidst the laughter, Lan He could only smile wryly. “Thank you.”