Lan He had originally been standing quietly behind Master Budong. Since the master remained motionless, Lan He thought he might be waiting for Si Kong to arrive. Si Kong was now the abbot of Juehui Temple, essentially the second-in-command.
Unexpectedly, Master Budong’s hand reached out toward them.
Lan He asked in confusion, “Abbot?”
Master Budong’s gaze remained unfocused. After a long pause, he managed to squeeze out two words, “…salvage souls.”
Lan He was shaken. He remembered.
Just like eating, drinking, and chanting scriptures, it had become second nature to him. Even though his consciousness was clouded, he still remembered that on this day every year, he had to strike the ancient bell, redeem wandering souls in all directions, and suppress the evils of the mountains and rivers.
However, he no longer had the strength. So, following his instincts, he chose Song Futan and Lan He.
“Amitabha,” Si Kong chanted a Buddhist phrase, “You two, please proceed.”
There was no need to elaborate on Lan He; his name was now rather famous in the underworld, carrying a certain level of deterrence. Moreover, he held Master Budong’s staff. As for Song Futan, Si Kong had no objections at all. After all, despite being the second-in-command, he believed that if Song Futan had decided to become a monk, he might have already become the president of the Buddhist Association of North China…
Lan He looked at Master Budong’s insistently raised hand, silently stepped forward, and stood alongside Song Futan. With their fingers intertwined, they struck the six-hundred-year-old ancient bell with force.
“Dong—Dong—Dong—”
In that moment, the sound resonated in all directions, reaching the depths of the netherworld. A single toll of the bell was equivalent to reciting the entire twenty-three thousand-word scripture. It was as though the sound materialized, piercing through curling smoke and conveying a message to every corner, salvaging countless souls.
After the bell tolled.
Everyone outside the hall rushed toward the incense altar. Only a few celestial beings, visible only to Lan He and the others, remained standing in place. Whether it was the mischievous Hu 79, the unruly Liu 13, the loyal Eastern Peak’s First Lady Hu, or the devoutly Buddhist Chang Yueyuan, all five celestial beings stood solemnly, bowing toward the hall.
The bell’s lingering resonance lasted for over two minutes. Lan He’s heart seemed cleansed by the deep sound of the bell. As the year transitioned to the next, blessings echoed from outside the hall. Suddenly, he and Song Futan said to each other almost simultaneously, “Happy New Year.”
They smiled and then turned to the still-silent Master Budong, saying, “Happy New Year to you, too.”
Although there was no response, Lan He became more determined to uncover the truth and restore Master Budong’s consciousness.
Due to the number of people at the temple, Chen Xingyang couldn’t find Lan He again and sent him a string of question marks on WeChat. Amid all the “Happy New Year” messages, Lan He only noticed it after he returned home.
Lan He: [It’s nothing serious. I just told the abbot I have a friend who’s not doing well mentally, so he let me strike the bell to pray for blessings.]
Chen Xingyang: [??? I don’t believe it! That’s Juehui Temple’s great bell! Are you secretly planning to become the abbot? And who was that beside you? I feel like it was Teacher Xuangang. Aren’t you supposed to be spending the night with your partner?!]
To divert attention, Lan He sent a voice message: “Yeah, that’s my partner.”
Chen Xingyang: [????????????]
As expected, Chen Xingyang’s attention shifted entirely to his partner. Bewildered, he bombarded Lan He with questions about when, how, and why, as well as why Lan He had recommended fluorescent powder to him, leading to his partner disliking it.
He sent many voice messages, only to receive two replies in the end:
[This is Song Futan.]
[It’s late. Time to rest. Happy New Year. Goodbye.]
Chen Xingyang: “…………”
Song Futan glanced down inadvertently at Lan He, who was typing on his phone. He caught a glimpse of the screen and read aloud, “This is Song Futan…?”
Lan He grinned sheepishly. “Otherwise, he’ll keep asking endlessly.”
Song Futan chuckled softly, noncommittally, then carried him upstairs to the third floor.
…
…
The next day, Lan He woke up at noon to find his phone flooded with messages and numerous missed calls, all from his agent. Unsure of what the urgent matter was, he called back, first wishing his agent a Happy New Year.
The agent spoke strangely, “Happy New Year… Lan, have you been under a lot of pressure recently? You seem tired a lot. If there’s anything on your mind, you can talk to me.” If she weren’t in her hometown, she would have already gone to Lan He’s house.
Lan He: “Huh?”
Cautiously, he asked, “What happened? Did someone in the company have a breakdown?”
Were they checking in with artists one by one?
That didn’t seem right. He was the busiest in the company, and even he hadn’t broken down.
The agent’s voice turned teary, “It’s you! What’s going on? Why did you go to a temple to ring the bell? I knew it—taking *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers* was a mistake!”
Ringing the bell as a monk for just one day!
What the heck. Lan He smacked Song Futan hard to wake him up, “I didn’t! And you didn’t say that initially—you said the script was great… Hey, stop crying!”
Lan He paused. “Wait, how did you know I rang the bell at the temple last night?” He had told Chen Xingyang not to tell anyone, and Chen wasn’t the type to spill secrets.
The agent replied, “Sob… Everyone knows now. A reporter from *Beijing Daily* took photos, and your fans recognized you from your ears.”
Lan He: “???”
What the heck!
Following Lan He’s cue, Song Futan quickly checked the news on his phone. Sure enough, it was true. The front page was a New Year-themed collage, with the main image showing the bell-ringing ceremony at Juehui Temple. Due to the angle, only Lan He was captured—Song Futan was blocked. But even so, Lan He’s hat and scarf, which only exposed his ears, were enough for fans to identify him.
From the comments section, it seemed the agent had exaggerated. In addition to his ears, details of his everyday clothing had given him away. Still, it was impressive how sharp-eyed his fans were to piece it together.
The great bell of Juehui Temple wasn’t something just anyone could ring. Offering incense might be competitive, but ringing the first bell? That was on another level. If anyone got the chance to ring the great bell, it would be worth far more than the three million yuan for the first incense. At that level, money wasn’t even the main factor!
Having slept through the morning, Lan He had missed the entire fan speculation process. By now, the narrative had evolved to: “Lan He, once devoid of any faith, succumbed to immense pressure after rising to fame. During the filming of *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers*, he gained enlightenment from studying Buddhism and sought refuge at Juehui Temple. The abbot, in turn, accepted this lost soul adrift in the entertainment industry.”
Song Futan read out a few comments. Lan He lay back, clutching his head. “If I didn’t know the truth, even I’d believe it!”
It actually sounded pretty convincing.
Meanwhile, his phone was filled with question marks from Daoist priests: “Hey, bro, didn’t we agree no switching sides??”
Song Futan nudged Lan He, “Get up. Time to do some damage control.”
Lan He: “…”
Lan He’s fans were bewildered, trying to reassure one another: “Your idol can’t have renounced the world; he’s just playing a monk.” Beijing-based fans, however, were less optimistic: “That great bell at Juehui Temple isn’t something just anyone can ring.”
Lan He reached out to Juehui Temple and the director of *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers* to issue an urgent clarification. He first admitted that it was indeed him ringing the bell the previous night, but denied any intention of becoming a monk. He explained that he had become acquainted with Master Budong during the filming of *Ghostly Charm* and had taken classes at Juehui Temple while filming *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers*. They had simply become friends.
The abbot had been unwell, so Lan He had temporarily assisted him in ringing the bell. However, spiritually, it was still the abbot performing the task. There was nothing special about the event, and Lan He reiterated that he had no intention of converting to Buddhism. He also encouraged everyone to look forward to the upcoming release of *Ghostly Charm.*
He shared several stills from the two films, including behind-the-scenes photos of him taking lessons with Master Budong, which had been taken by the director.
The director of *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers* also spoke out, explaining that it was purely a matter of mutual affinity. While Lan He might have a natural connection to Buddhism, talk of him becoming a monk was entirely baseless.
These clarifications were echoed by Juehui Temple, which confirmed Lan He’s personal connection to the abbot. Daoist priests were quick to like and share the clarifications.
Some individuals who were more familiar with such matters remained skeptical. However, they were a minority and only had a superficial understanding, so the truth remained elusive, unable to stir up any significant backlash. Meanwhile, the idea that Lan He and Juehui Temple were collaborating to promote his new work gained more traction.
With that, the rumors of him joining a monastery were quashed…
[“I knew it!! No way he’s becoming a monk—I haven’t had enough of Lan He yet!”]
[“? Those who said Lan He couldn’t play a monk, come forward and take a walk.”]
[“Damn, when you put these statements together, it’s like saying, ‘If I wanted to become a monk, I could be the abbot anytime.’”]
[“LMAO, it really does sound like that. Too bad Lan He is upright and principled.”]
[“I was terrified earlier. Now I finally have time to admire the photos of my idol ringing the bell. So handsome! Even with glasses, a mask, and a scarf, his ears exude serenity.”]
[“You’re exaggerating. This is just a coordinated publicity stunt—Juehui Temple has sold out.”]
[“They’re obviously joking. Look at the stills he posted—they’re genuinely stunning. It’s a completely different vibe from Zhang Xunchun, ethereal and poised. Even sitting with a high monk, he doesn’t fall short.”]
[“Publicity? Sure, but try finding anyone else who could get Juehui Temple to cooperate with publicity. Try approaching that bell, and you’ll be escorted straight to the police station.”]
Any prior doubts about Lan He’s ability to portray Master Jing Sheng had completely dissipated by now.
—
*Ghostly Charm* had already begun its promotional campaign, as per pre-signed agreements. The project was one Lan He and Song Futan had poured their heart and soul into. However, Lan He was also investigating Master Budong’s case, leaving him with almost no free time.
For instance, Lan He went to follow up on Melonhead Immortal. This involved documenting another feng shui-related disturbance from the past two years, which Lan He had originally resolved but revisited for more details.
“Master Lan, you’re truly living the dream—a happy family with many children,” Melonhead Immortal remarked enviously.
Lan He replied with a sarcastic smile, “Enough. Raise your own children.”
Melonhead Immortal rubbed his hands together. “I heard from Old Bai that the underworld plans to erect a statue of you?”
Lan He squinted at him. “What for?”
—Old Bai had indeed been talking about submitting paperwork to recognize Lan He’s contributions. The plan had already been approved: a small ghost was sent to inform the artisans to carve Lan He’s likeness into a statue for the Eastern Peak Temple in Beijing.
“What would I even do with that?” Lan He retorted.
Melonhead Immortal explained, “You could receive incense offerings. Though it’s not a living shrine for you, Eastern Peak Temple’s incense offerings would include your share—it’s a great merit. Throughout history, what more could gods and spirits seek than to have their image immortalized and enjoy incense offerings? You might not care now, but after death, you’ll see its value.”
Family spirits often had shrines at home with tablets representing them, which was essentially the same thing—just not as prestigious as a statue. Whether a statue or a tablet, both were sacred and inviolable, as they symbolized the deity or spirit in essence.
There were even old legends about women whose souls were chosen by mountain gods or land gods to be wed in temples. To save these women, families would create a statue as a substitute and place it in the temple.
Lan He showed Melonhead Immortal merchandise based on his roles, from posters to figurines and highly detailed action models. “I’ve had plenty of likenesses made already.”
Melonhead Immortal: “…”
Shaking his head, Melonhead Immortal mused, “The idols of the past and the idols of today—what a fascinating comparison.”
However, Melonhead Immortal’s main point was to express how much he admired Lan He for his importance in the underworld, hoping to strengthen their ties. “Actually, I have a painting I’d like to offer you. It’s a reproduction of the *Eighty-Seven Immortals Scroll* by a famous artist!”
“No thanks, you keep it,” Lan He declined coolly, knowing that accepting such a piece would make it harder to turn down future requests from Melonhead Immortal.
After leaving, Song Futan asked, “Do you know what the *Eighty-Seven Immortals Scroll* is?”
Lan He looked blank. “No idea.”
Song Futan explained, “The original painting is attributed to Wu Daozi and was later owned by Xu Beihong. Its value is immeasurable. Given Melonhead Immortal’s age, his ‘famous reproduction’ is likely from a Qing Dynasty artist. If he’s offering it to you, it’s likely a rare and valuable piece, probably more so than *The Court of Assembled Immortals* or the Lingbi Judge painting.”
Lan He: “…”
Melonhead Immortal was really pulling out all the stops to curry favor!
Rubbing his forehead, Lan He sighed, “Let’s table that for now. I can’t deal with raising more responsibilities.”
Compiling data was an enormous task. After a significant effort, Lan He and his team finally managed to organize most of the incidents for review.
“There’s additional information you can get from the Capital City God Temple. They’ve been maintaining records, too,” Old Bai suggested while reviewing Lan He’s files.
As a local governing body for the underworld, the City God Temple was also responsible for maintaining order in the underworld.
However, being located in Beijing, the capital’s situation was especially complex. Over the past two years, it had taken combined efforts from Juehui Temple, Eastern Peak Temple, Miaogan Mountain, and the City God Temple to resolve issues collaboratively.
“Got it. Based on current data, it seems no significant cases have been left unresolved. Even though supernatural incidents have risen sharply, they were ultimately resolved. The only fallout has been the exhaustion of many masters.” Lan He rested his chin on his hand. As one of the last atheists in the entertainment industry, he increasingly valued his stance. Many of his industry friends who weren’t previously devout had all gone incense-burning over the New Year.
“Of course, a few cases were more dangerous. A slight mistake in this densely populated city could have caused chaos…” Lan He highlighted several cases in red, including the one involving Liu 13.
The current data reinforced the conclusion that these incidents had a degree of human manipulation. Lan He, however, couldn’t yet trace any leads to the culprit and felt as though he might have missed something.
“Am I overlooking the issue because I’m viewing it from a human perspective?” Lan He muttered, fiddling with a piece of paper. “If only we could capture Hu Si’s missing soul fragment. Did she jump off a cliff and stumble upon some bizarre fortune? Why is she hiding so well?”
He turned to see Song Futan deep in thought. “Have you figured anything out?”
Song Futan came back to himself. “…Not yet, just a vague feeling.”
“I’ll send the current data to Wang Lili first,” Lan He said, rubbing his head. “And then I have to attend the premiere… exhausting.”
Song Futan’s attention shifted momentarily. Seeing how Lan He was overworking himself day and night, he leaned in and kissed him.
—
The premiere for *Ghostly Charm* was held three days before its official release, with some early screenings in select theaters during that period. Many fans got the chance to attend the event and preview the film in advance.
Both Lan He and Song Futan wore black formal suits. Despite normally avoiding red carpets—even for his own works—Song Futan made an exception this time to walk with Lan He, given the movie’s special significance as the project that brought them together.
In *Ghostly Charm*, Lan He’s character didn’t have a romantic subplot. However, as he and Song Futan walked out together, juxtaposed with the pairing of Xiao Yuqian and Yu Mengmeng, the two of them looked more like a couple, eliciting cheers and screams from the crowd.
Some reporters egged them on, asking them to link arms.
Lan He and Song Futan simultaneously raised their arms, waiting for the other to link. After a brief pause amid the laughter, they instead chose to shake hands, prompting the cheers to turn into whistles.
Lan He glanced around.
Nearby, several of his family spirits were also present, some there to support their master and others there for his romance.
Chen Xingyu had also been invited and brought along Miaomiao. Although the child usually loved lively occasions, he started crying the moment he saw Liu 13.
With a dark expression, Liu 13 grumbled, “Why are kids even allowed in here?”
Hu 79 stepped forward, using a furry paw to stroke Miaomiao’s face. The child finally calmed down and laughed, saying, “That’s Chen Xingyu’s son.”
Liu 13 didn’t know who Chen Xingyu was.
Hu 79 added nonchalantly, “It means her mom’s a celebrity, so of course she can come.”
Chang Yueyuan quipped, “Who doesn’t have celebrity parents nowadays, huh?”
“Get lost!” Liu 13 snapped, throwing a punch at her.
Lan He averted his gaze, pretending not to notice the chaos in that corner, just like everyone else.
The journey of *Ghostly Charm* from conception to release had been fraught with challenges. After walking the red carpet, the final trailer was screened, followed by some short clips to tease the audience, before the main cast and crew were invited on stage for a Q&A session.
In addition to Lan He and Song Futan, a notable highlight during earlier promotions was Xiao Yuqian. He had mentioned several times in interviews how he finally got to act opposite his dream actress in this film.
The host brought it up again: “Can you tell us if it’s a romantic scene?”
Xiao Yuqian hesitated, “Uh… can I say, Director?”
Song Qiyun replied, “Haven’t you already revealed it to the whole nation with your expressions?”
The audience burst into laughter.
Embarrassed, Xiao Yuqian admitted, “I couldn’t help but brag.”
Later, Xiao Yuqian grew reflective, saying, “At first, I was really interested in the protagonist role. Everyone knows by now—I lost out to Lan He. It was frustrating at first, but then I shifted my focus to the second lead. Working with Mengmeng was such a joy. And honestly, after seeing Lan He’s performance, I had no complaints left. It felt like the role was made for him, as if it was his destiny. It’s incredible. They’re like the same person and yet not the same, probably because it’s a story from another world. It’s amazing. I even thought, how lucky an actor must be to encounter such a role.”
As the audience listened, they assumed it was the usual practice of praising a colleague. But Xiao Yuqian’s earnestness stood out. Words like “destiny” highlighted his admiration, and the implication was clear: Lan He’s personality was naturally suited to the character.
No one found it odd. After all, people had speculated before about why Song Futan seemed particularly fond of Lan He. Everything has its reasons.
Just as Xiao Yuqian said, it was lucky to find a role so aligned with one’s looks or personality, especially in a project by a renowned director and screenwriter. Of course, personal talent also mattered, but natural compatibility couldn’t be forced.
Lan He grinned as he watched Xiao Yuqian speak.
But Song Futan, deep in thought, felt a surge of emotion.
He had never disclosed something before—not even to Song Qiyun, who was unaware of their relationship. But now that Song Qiyun knew, there was something Song Futan needed to clarify.
So, as everyone watched the typically reticent Song Futan lean toward Lan He’s microphone, curiosity piqued.
“Actually,” Song Futan began, “the lucky one is me.”
“Huh?” Xiao Yuqian looked at him, puzzled. The audience smiled, waiting to hear what Song Futan, usually so tight-lipped, might share about the creative process.
Lan He raised the microphone slightly, his gaze fixed on Song Futan, as if knowing exactly what he was about to say.
Sure enough, Song Futan turned to Lan He, his expression calm. “This protagonist—I created him after meeting Lan He. He’s based on him. For a screenwriter to have the chance to invite the very inspiration for his character to play the role, I think the lucky one is me.”
He was incredibly fortunate. Even in hindsight, every misunderstanding along the way felt like a precious gift.