At first, Dou Chunting’s explanations were quite serious, but as soon as he mentioned the 1982 Zhong Kui painting, everyone couldn’t help but laugh, even though it might indeed be genuine.
“Come on, don’t laugh. I’m giving a proper explanation,” Dou Chunting complained. He regretted buying the 1982 painting now, but there wasn’t anything better available at the time.
What everyone didn’t know was that although the painting was a gift from the investors, Dou’s father had entrusted the task to him, so he had carefully searched for it himself, determined not to get scammed. When they chuckled, Dou Chunting became a bit sensitive, fearing that he had made a mistake.
Someone asked, “We know you’re serious, but that painting is really expensive. Can I ask, has the artist passed away?”
As everyone knew, the works of deceased artists often sold for much higher prices. Though they weren’t experts in traditional Chinese painting and had no idea if Dou Chunting’s millions were well-spent, the fact that the painting was from 1982 made them curious.
Dou Chunting replied, “Of course, the artist has passed away.”
He had taken his time to consider all angles before making his decision.
The group responded with a collective “Oh,” accepting that the painting, regardless of other factors, was at least rare.
Still, Dou Chunting felt the group wasn’t showing enough appreciation, craving their recognition. He almost wished for a ghostly incident on set to prove the value of his collection. He dragged people one by one to admire the painting, and even Lan He was pulled in for his opinion.
Lan He immediately surrendered, “I think something this expensive must have something special about it. But I really don’t know anything about painting, and I’m not into superstition, so I’m not interested in its added value. You should ask your brother.”
Half of what Lan He said was genuine. He truly didn’t understand paintings, though he could at least tell that the red cinnabar on the judge’s robe was quite vibrant.
Dou Chunting shook his head after hearing Lan He’s response, “You…”
Lan He: “??”
What kind of tone was that? It sounded like he was being treated as an ignorant child.
“Let’s talk about something else. We’ll be heading to Dai’an for location shoots soon, and I’ll be going too,” Dou Chunting said.
*Ghostly Charm* had an important scene that wasn’t ready yet. After shooting some scenes in the capital, the crew would head to Mount Tai for location filming. By the time they returned, the set should be ready to resume filming.
Mount Tai, located in Dai’an, Shandong Province, also known as Dai Zong, was the leader of the Five Sacred Mountains and, according to legend, the location of the Eastern Hell of the underworld. However, Lan He had never visited either the human Mount Tai or the mythical underworld beneath it.
That’s why, back when Lan He joked with Song Futan, he had said, “The biggest dream of this little underworld officer from the Eastern Hell is to visit Mount Tai.”
Since *Ghostly Charm* had originated from Lan He’s experiences, Song Futan had based parts of the script on the Eastern Hell, naturally choosing Mount Tai as a filming location. Besides, there were local spots inspired by underworld legends that could be rented for filming.
However, when Dou Chunting mentioned that he was coming along, Lan He asked, “You’re coming too? What for?”
“To keep busy… My dad said I should go and toughen up a bit,” Dou Chunting replied.
Lan He nodded. Given that Dou Chunting’s family was in the business, even though they were the ones spending the money, it wouldn’t do for him to be clueless about the production process. He was probably being sent along to gain experience.
…
After the opening ceremony of the production, work officially began.
Lan He had spent a lot of time preparing for this script. Though he was the inspiration for the character, it was an entire story with its own core, and he couldn’t just wing it. The shoot went smoothly overall, except for the frequent feeling of being watched when he was with Song Futan.
It wasn’t just because of the earlier hype surrounding their story. Many members of the crew were part of Song Qiyun’s old team. As insiders, they had heard about Song Futan’s habits and were naturally surprised to see him sticking with the crew.
When word spread, netizens had mixed reactions. Initially, about half of those shipping the CP were just having fun, given how dramatic the twist had been. Even straight guys joked about it being true love.
Who would have thought that Song Futan would be so devoted even afterward? It was like he was forcefully making it undeniable.
As the crew threw themselves into work, with Lan He being the lead actor, he only occasionally went online to see what people were saying. When he had time, he would nap in a corner or the nanny van. The 1982 Lingpan painting that Dou Chunting bought was always brought along with the crew. Half-jokingly, everyone remarked that it truly was a “spiritually responsive” Lingpan painting since nothing strange had happened, proving its worth.
Old Bai came to visit Lan He during one of his breaks. He floated into the set, whistling, and saw Song Futan sitting on a wooden chair outside the nanny van, basking in the sun and reading a book. “Hey, Xiao Song, where is he?”
Song Futan looked up, “Who?”
Old Bai: “…”
Was this a joke? Who else could he be looking for here? Xiao Song really had become… well, birds of a feather flock together!
Old Bai clasped his hands together, speaking respectfully, “Father, where’s Mother?”
Song Futan: “………………”
He pointed behind him, indicating inside the van.
Old Bai grinned smugly. Who couldn’t respond with some sarcasm?
He floated through the door and was immediately greeted by the sight of Zhong Kui in a bright red official robe, glaring with wide, fierce eyes. Old Bai’s expression froze in terror as he shrieked and tumbled to the ground, utterly panicked. “Ah!! Ah!!”
Lan He, disturbed by the noise, opened his eyes and saw Old Bai wailing like a banshee. “Who’s the heartless one that put a portrait of Zhong Kui here? How could you be so lacking in virtue?!”
Not to mention Xiao Song, who had pointed him in the right direction without warning him!
“Starting the day with some early New Year’s greetings, are we?” Lan He casually helped Old Bai to his feet.
Little ghosts fear bigger ghosts, and although Old Bai was a ghost, he still had a natural fear of the high-ranking judge Zhong Kui. As a ghostly bureaucrat, he was slightly less terrified than an average ghost, but he still stood there trembling, unwilling to get too close. “I was scared to death. Why does that portrait look so much like the real Zhong Kui? The aura is overwhelming.”
“Is it?” Lan He moved the painting closer to him. It seemed Dou Chunting hadn’t been exaggerating. If he had been rich enough to keep this painting at home back then, Old Bai might never have drafted him as a laborer…
Old Bai immediately shrieked in fear, “What are you doing?! Don’t come near me! I’m here out of the kindness of my heart to visit you!”
Lan He replied, “I burned a letter for you days ago, and you’re only showing up now. Such a lack of filial piety.”
“I didn’t burn the letter! I was just really busy at the time!” Old Bai wailed, “I’m so tired, I’m under so much stress! That’s why I came to you for comfort.”
And now he started crying, sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe.
It was true, though; he had probably been working over capacity for a while now. Lan He put the painting away. “Alright, alright.”
Old Bai clutched his chest, sniffling. “Ugh… Could you give me some money? I feel terrible…”
Lan He: “…”
This was classic Old Bai. Lan He pulled out a box of paper ingots. “I’ll be going on a trip soon.”
A look of deep reluctance appeared in Old Bai’s eyes. “You haven’t even left yet, and I already miss you.”
Lan He said calmly, “Could you at least look at me while you say that?”
His eyes were practically glued to the paper ingots. This was some superficial father-son relationship.
Old Bai finally looked at Lan He and gave an awkward laugh. “Hehe, right. I also have some good news. First Lady Hu’s side will soon have the golden roof fixed, and the bridge is already under construction. The chaos will soon be over. I’ll put in a good word for you when it’s done!”
“That’s great. First Lady Hu has been working hard,” Lan He said with a sigh. “But no need to put in a word for me. Last time you said you’d submit my materials, but I never heard anything back. By the time I actually get a reward, I’ll probably have already been reincarnated.”
Old Bai: “…”
Old Bai asked, “So, where are you heading? Is it far? How long will you be gone? I need to know if this box is enough.”
Lan He: “Dai’an.”
Old Bai burst out laughing. Since he was responsible for the capital region, if Lan He were going somewhere far away, he could have taken the ghost roads for a quicker journey. But Dai’an wasn’t too far; it was in the Mount Tai area, near the headquarters! How convenient would it be to visit him there?
“Hahaha! Excellent! You might as well visit the underworld there. You’ve never been to the Eastern Hell, have you? As a ghostly bureaucrat, how could you not have visited the Eastern Hell yet?” Old Bai said with enthusiasm.
After receiving his money, Old Bai didn’t linger long. He chatted with Lan He for a bit more before leaving.
Lan He stepped out of the van just in time to spot Dou Chunting. Remembering how Old Bai had cried like a dead man earlier, he called out, “Brother, that Lingpan painting of yours—I just realized how fantastic it is. I can really feel its worth now. It truly lives up to the price!”
Dou Chunting: “??”
How had Lan He suddenly come to this realization? But Dou didn’t care. He proudly said, “See? I told you it was worth the money! Look at my keen eye!”
He was so pleased with himself that he decided he would personally treasure the painting once the filming was done.
.
The capital was only about two hours away from Dai’an by high-speed rail, and six or seven hours by bus. Lan He and the film crew arrived at Dai’an and checked into the hotel that had been arranged for them. By this time, it was already after dinner, and the filming in the area was set to begin the following day.
“Hmm… The City God Temple in Dai’an is located around here. It should be more convenient to enter the underworld from here, right?” Lan He said, studying the map. “I’m kind of curious to check it out. What do you think?”
He sighed dramatically, “What if you get scared? There are so many ghosts, and it’s different from the regular underworld—they’re all from the Daoist branch.”
Song Futan couldn’t help but plant a kiss on Lan He’s hair. “Let’s go check it out. We’re already here.”
Lan He: “…”
What was this? Stealing my lines and leaving me speechless?
Song Futan, seeing Lan He at a loss for words, kissed the corner of his mouth as well. “Besides, the classics say that Mount Tai is one of the world’s famous mountains, overseeing the vast universe and serving as the eternal guardian of rivers and mountains. It’s also the place where life, death, and misfortune intersect. How could we not visit?”
Just as Lan He was about to agree, Song Futan pressed another kiss on him, making it hard to respond. “What are you trying to say?”
How could he say anything? Every time Lan He opened his mouth, Song Futan swooped in for another kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen it.
Lan He: “…”
It was only after a while that Song Futan released him. “Hmm?”
This time, Lan He learned his lesson and kept his mouth shut, muttering a few incoherent sounds. Whether Song Futan could make them out or not didn’t matter: “Let’s just go!”
It wasn’t unusual for Song Futan to stay in Lan He’s room, though he rarely spent the night. The two lived in neighboring rooms, and most of the crew had no clear idea about their relationship.
For now, the general impression was that the two were close friends. Song Futan’s usual demeanor of austerity, always dressed in his formal black attire, added to the ambiguity.
Given the current environment in China, even if someone’s orientation was different, they certainly wouldn’t make it public. Many celebrities in the industry, no matter how obvious, would never admit it, or risk being blacklisted by the authorities.
That night, Lan He and Song Futan locked the door and left their bodies behind to roam freely outside the hotel.
In this world, the day belonged to humans, while the night was the domain of ghosts. Ghosts gathered in all sorts of places—at intersections, by bridges, and in dark corners.
As they walked along, Lan He spotted a group of ghosts sitting by a bridge. These ghosts were dressed in rather old-fashioned clothing, their styles varying greatly, but they all shared one common trait: their bodies appeared sunken, with broken heads and blood flowing. These were likely the injuries that had caused their deaths.
“Why do they all look like they jumped to their deaths?” Lan He muttered, “Is there a club for ghosts who fell to their deaths here? They’re all gathered together.”
Song Futan commented, “I don’t think they jumped from buildings. Their clothes look ancient.”
Lan He said, “But they all seem to have died from a fall.”
Song Futan nodded, “They did fall to their deaths—from the highest point in Dai’an.”
Lan He paused for a moment before realizing, “… Mount Tai?”
Song Futan nodded again. Since he had written about it, he had done his research. “Besides those who accidentally fell on the pilgrimage paths, there’s also the ancient ‘Cliff of Self-Sacrifice’ at the summit. Mount Tai was believed to be the place where ghosts would return, and there was a popular belief that jumping off the cliff could save a loved one’s life. People would pray for their relatives’ recovery and jump themselves, despite repeated bans. There was also a belief that jumping could lead to immortality. That’s why there’s a carving at the cliff that reads ‘Grieve for the Foolish.’”
Lan He frowned.
Daoism teaches the importance of preserving life, but these stories about sacrificing oneself for others or achieving immortality through suicide were nothing more than misguided superstitions. It reminded him of people who became obsessed with time-travel novels and sought death themselves.
The world of gods and ghosts changes with humanity, closely tied to the living. Gods can both assist and depend on the living, and even emperors in the mortal world could confer titles upon deities. The living authorities had long since forbidden acts of self-sacrifice.
So did these people achieve immortality? No, most of them became wandering souls, unable to reincarnate, lingering at the foot of Mount Tai, watching the ever-growing pile of bones and sighing in regret.
These ghosts gathered together, likely because they had shared similar fates and could wallow in their sorrow collectively.
As Lan He and Song Futan passed through the crowd of ghosts, Lan He said, “Excuse us.”
Several ghosts lifted their flattened heads to glance at them, then scoffed when they heard their modern speech, “Outsider ghosts, be careful where you tread.”
Lan He: “…”
Song Futan: “…”
One ghost even noticed the staff tied to Lan He’s waist, a gift from the immovable protector Fudo Myoo, and laughed mockingly. “He’s even carrying a walking stick. How weak must he be?”
The ghosts puffed up with pride, strutting around arrogantly. “What are you looking at? This is Mount Tai territory, the capital of the underworld! Where are you two from?”
Though they had gathered to lament their fates, they weren’t sad all the time. These ghosts weren’t melancholic but rather boastful.
In the mortal world, there’s the capital, and in the underworld, the capital has historically been beneath Mount Tai. Mount Tai was also a sacred site where emperors performed rituals to the heavens. Even though the Eastern Hell had long been absorbed into the greater underworld system, the local ghosts still carried themselves with special pride.
Lan He floated forward normally, without lifting his head as the other ghosts did, which made them think he lacked grandeur.
Since Lan He wasn’t wearing a uniform, it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t recognize the staff tied to his waist. But he found the situation with Song Futan amusing—people from the capital in the living world, encountering ghosts from the capital of the underworld, and being looked down upon by them…
When they asked where he was from, Lan He decided to answer, curious about what else these ghosts might say. “Uh, we’re from Beijing. He’s from Beijing; I’m from Hunan.”
The group of ghosts whispered among themselves for a moment, then reached a consensus: “Not bad, pretty decent.”
“Yeah, it’s not too far.”
“I’ve heard the Dongyue Temple and the Temple of the Goddess over there are pretty well-managed…”
Beijing, as the capital of the living world, was home to one of the four major City God Temples, which earned it some begrudging respect from these ghosts.
It wasn’t like in ancient times, when ghosts traveling to other regions needed official documents and were often left wandering aimlessly, one of the most painful fates for a ghost.
Nowadays, as long as they weren’t bound to the place of their death, ghosts could find ways to travel. So when Lan He and Song Futan, as “out-of-town” ghosts, appeared here, no one was particularly suspicious.
“Is this your first time at Mount Tai? There are a few places you should definitely check out…”
Despite their pride, the ghosts were quite helpful, giving them a rundown of local temples and scenic spots. One of them sighed, “The view from the cliff where I jumped was absolutely breathtaking back in the day. I used to go there to reminisce, but recently there have been too many ghosts going there for nostalgia, and it’s just not the same anymore.”
This one seemed to have died a long time ago—probably one of the earliest “self-sacrificing” ghosts.
“No kidding. One time, I went up there and saw my own son offering me some buns. So many years have passed; who knows what he’s reincarnated as now.”
Time had certainly flown by. After exchanging a few words, Lan He and Song Futan continued on their way.
After crossing the bridge, a self-sacrificing ghost stretched out his leg, blocking their path. When Lan He tried to walk around him, the ghost stretched his leg even farther, distorting his whole body in the process.
Lan He: “…What’s your deal?”
The self-sacrificing ghost glanced at Lan He’s “walking stick” and lazily asked, “Heading to the scenic area to climb? Two bucks, and I’ll be your guide. Up ahead, there are a lot of *Shigandang* stones. Without a ghost guide, you won’t know how to navigate.”
*Shigandang* stones are quite famous—they’re placed for protection and to ward off evil spirits. Typically, they’re erected outside houses, at street corners, or on bridges, inscribed with the words “Shigandang of Mount Tai” to bring peace and avert misfortune.
Lan He couldn’t help but laugh. “No need, I’m not here to climb the mountain.”
He was going down, not up.
Lan He figured this ghost was similar to the earlier ones, with an amusing way of talking.
The self-sacrificing ghost glared at them, and blood began to drip from the corners of his eyes. In a threatening tone, he said, “I’m offering you help out of the kindness of my heart!”
This ghost had been dead for so long that he no longer received offerings. Besides the occasional festival when he could scrounge up some paper money or food, he usually bullied weaker ghosts to get by.
Lan He realized he had run into an underworld thug. Speechless, he said, “So even in the underworld, there are black-market tour guides, and you’re forcing me? I said I’m not here for sightseeing.”
“I don’t care what you’re here for,” the self-sacrificing ghost snapped. He was getting annoyed now, sensing that Lan He wasn’t being cooperative. From his tone, it sounded like he was newly dead, and he had already mentioned it was his first time at Mount Tai, so the ghost felt no need to hold back.
The self-sacrificing ghost stood up, and the other ghosts turned to watch, curious. He sneered, “If you know what’s good for you, stay put. I could call a hundred brothers over in a second to chop you down.”
Puffing out his chest, he boasted, “You’re an out-of-town ghost, and this is Mount Tai territory!”
Lan He: “…………?”
Author’s Note:
Lan He: I may be here for the first time, but even I want to say: *This is Mount Tai territory!*
These guys don’t know who they are messing with