An Shouxin’s fragmented soul was barely held together but scattered in an instant out of anger by Melonhead. Lan He only managed to catch a wisp, muttering, “I really need to take this back to report…”
“Whoosh!” Liu 13 leaned in and blew a gust of ghostly wind, completely dispersing the remaining soul.
Lan He: “…”
Liu 13 gave him an indifferent look.
Just as Lan He was about to say something, a voice from nearby cried out, “Ah… Ah…” Turning his head, he saw someone sitting up on the grass.
“Where did that demon wind come from? It nearly blew me away.” It was a woman dressed in a suit skirt. She tried to get up but fell back down again.
Oh my, there’s a person here. That whirlwind earlier was really strong; hopefully, she wasn’t hurt.
Lan He, concerned, floated over. Looking down, he noticed the woman’s face was unnaturally flushed, reeking of alcohol, and her brow was dark—no wonder she was unlucky enough to encounter a ghostly whirlwind.
“Help me up,” the woman said, looking up at him.
“…” Lan He figured her luck was too low, allowing her to see him, and she was drunk enough not to distinguish between people and souls.
Reluctantly, Lan He turned to glance behind him, then bent down and helped her up. “Miss, are you okay?”
“Bleh… I’m fine,” the woman slurred, stumbling again. Lan He saw her knee was bleeding.
Seeing her blurred vision from the alcohol, Lan He extended his furry paw and rubbed her injured knee.
“Hey, I’m fine now,” the woman said, walking a few steps unsteadily, though the pain was gone. “Thank you, doctor…”
Lan He: “You’re welcome. Where’s your phone? Let me contact your family.”
Taking the phone she handed over, he sent a message for her.
The woman stared at him blankly and suddenly said, “Doctor, why are you wearing red now? But you—you’re really good-looking. You shouldn’t be a doctor; you should become a star—”
Lan He sent the message, saw the reply, and returned the phone to her. “All right, just wait here.”
The woman said, “You look familiar, like… like some actor. Really, doctor, you should become a star. Promise me.”
“Snap out of it!” Lan He said into her ear. “I’m already famous!”
The woman: “???”
Her drunken mind couldn’t process this, but Lan He’s companions in the distance burst into laughter.
When her family arrived by car, they found her sitting alone by the roadside. Helping her up quickly, they asked, “How did you end up drinking so much? Let’s go home—who sent the message for you?”
“It was him, right there,” she said, pointing to the empty space. “Doesn’t he look like some famous actor?”
“Sure, sure, like Lan He, okay?” her family responded casually.
“Exactly like Lan He!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement and waving toward the window.
Lan He, hands behind his back, raised one hand in a slow wave.
Old Bai, nursing his injured tongue, praised, “Wow, in just half an hour on the job, our boss is already this impressive. No wonder he’s the mayor—so approachable, too!”
Everyone: “…”
Such a dutiful son.
“Maybe don’t say anything more,” Lan He said, amused and exasperated. He took some incense ash and smeared it on Old Bai’s tongue, then on Song Futan’s injured hand.
“An Shouxin is completely gone, so there’s no rush to report back,” Lan He said to First Lady Hu. “You’ve all worked hard tonight.”
First Lady Hu was usually strict with rules, but seeing Lan He’s suggestion and noticing Hu 79 looking pitifully at her, she reconsidered. “Indeed.”
“Then let’s not go home until we’re drunk tonight! Drinks are on me!” Lan He declared enthusiastically.
The crowd cheered, “Woohoo—”
…
…
Half a year later.
The buzz around *Ghostly Charm* had yet to die down, and *Old Tales of Mountains and Rivers* had begun its theatrical release. Lan He’s portrayal of Master Jing Sheng was universally praised, and discussions about whether Lan He could win the Golden Lily Award for Best Actor with his role in the former filled every street and alley.
Thanks to his stunning performance in *Ghostly Charm*, he was a strong contender for Best Actor. The film had garnered significant attention post-release and had already claimed victory in several prelude awards to the Golden Lily. If Lan He could secure the Golden Lily tonight, it would be a perfect conclusion.
At the award ceremony, Lan He walked the red carpet with Song Futan. After *Ghostly Charm* aired, audiences learned that the movie’s protagonist was inspired by Lan He, and many revisited Song Futan’s “confession.” The couple’s popularity soared to national heights, and their joint red carpet appearance received universal approval.
However, after the red carpet, Lan He disappeared for a while, leaving only Song Futan in his seat. The chair marked with Lan He’s name remained empty, sparking concern among viewers watching the live broadcast. What was Lan He doing? Had he and Song Futan argued? Or had he succumbed to the pressure?
Song Futan’s expression remained calm, as if Lan He’s absence was of no consequence.
Even the organizers were anxious. They discreetly approached Song Futan, noting that Lan He’s dressing room remained unresponsive. The Best Actor award was imminent, and as one of the frontrunners, Lan He needed to appear whether he won or not—it was essential for the show.
“He’s attending to something but should make it in time,” Song Futan replied. Just as they started to breathe a sigh of relief, he added, “If he doesn’t, I’ll accept the award on his behalf.”
The staff: “…”
They hesitated, wanting to ask, “Are you that confident he’ll win?”
When the host invited the presenters and introduced the Best Actor nominees, even showcasing clips of their performances, Lan He finally entered under the gaze of countless eyes.
Coincidentally, the screen was displaying a scene from *Ghostly Charm* where Xiao Lai slays a deity—a scene where the protagonist’s name was never mentioned. Yet, in interviews, the creative team unanimously referred to him as Xiao Lai, a nickname that intrigued fans and led to speculations about its private significance to Song Futan and Lan He.
Lan He’s entrance prompted applause. He bowed slightly to the crowd before sitting down and whispered to Song Futan, “Phew, made it back from the underworld just in time.”
Before Song Futan could ask about the outcome, the award presenter had already opened the envelope and cheerfully announced, “The 53rd Golden Lily Award for Best Actor goes to the one who delivered an exceptional performance as himself—”
By this point, whistles erupted as the audience understood what was coming.
“Lan He!”
Lan He barely had time to warm his seat before standing again. He hugged Song Futan and whispered, “Does your hand still hurt?”
“No,” Song Futan replied. The bite mark on his left hand from that day was still visible and would take three years to fully heal.
Lan He hugged Song Qiyun as well before ascending the stage to accept the trophy. “Thank you.”
He spoke with emotion. “Thank you to Xuang Guang, Director Song, and everyone involved in *Ghostly Charm.* As many viewers have said, this was my ‘defining work,’ and I have deep feelings for it.”
As he spoke, Xiao Yuqian whistled below, causing another round of laughter.
“I’ve rehearsed my acceptance speech countless times, but today I want to say something different. On the red carpet earlier, a reporter asked me what I thought about ghosts outside of scripts. Do I truly not believe in ghosts at all?” Lan He, known as the entertainment industry’s most famous atheist, brought up the subject unexpectedly, leaving everyone puzzled. *Ghostly Charm* didn’t feature traditional ghosts, and though the topic seemed unusual, the government officials present didn’t object, so the organizers let it slide.
“Actually, I think the so-called ‘ghosts’ are nothing to fear. Legend says ghosts fear the wicked—if you’re bad-tempered, you can vent your anger on them. Ghosts respect the kind-hearted—if you’re generous and charitable, ghosts will serve you. There’s also a saying that ‘people fear respect, ghosts fear offerings.’ With proper offerings, ghosts can’t cause trouble. Why should humans fear them? Ghosts fear too many things—offerings, talismans, even human vitality. In contrast, it’s the ‘living ghosts’ among us—the schemers around you—that are far more terrifying than the dead.”
“I hope my audience, like Xiao Lai, can hold onto their faith, slay gods when needed, and slay ghosts when required. Thank you.”
As Lan He stepped off the stage, thunderous applause erupted.
Viewers of the live broadcast scratched their heads. “He’s got a point, but does he mean ghosts are real or not?”
“I think he’s saying believe it if you want, but don’t be scared. If anything, ghosts are probably more afraid of us.”
…
“Xuang Guang’s hand isn’t feeling great, so we’ll skip the party and celebrate with family instead,” Lan He declined all invitations to post-award celebrations. That night, *Ghostly Charm* swept nearly all major awards, cementing itself as the undisputed winner. Unfortunately, Song Qiyun’s bronchitis kept him away from the festivities, and Lan He and Song Futan remained low-key, leaving only the other creators to revel.
Lan He drove to Juehui Temple. The serene temple stood peacefully under the night sky. The two walked toward their meditation room. Lately, they had been staying at Juehui Temple, a tradition Song Futan had maintained yearly. Though no longer necessary, the cool, tranquil atmosphere still drew them and their family for occasional stays.
Lan He took Song Futan’s hand, kissed his fingers, and said, “Write for a bit, then rest. Don’t overdo it, or it’ll hurt again.” Song Futan had been working on a new script, and his injured hand occasionally throbbed.
“I know,” Song Futan said, pulling Lan He closer. “How did your negotiations in the underworld go?”
Earlier, Lan He’s disappearance during the awards ceremony was due to his soul temporarily leaving for the underworld.
After Lan He’s successful ritual victory, he constantly urged the underworld to assign a new City God deity—being a City God was far busier than an Impermanence. How could he possibly continue traveling to other regions?
Time wasn’t on Lan He’s side, so he frantically requested to resign.
But neither the underworld nor the netherworld was willing to let him go. Whether it was true or not, they claimed they were short-staffed and that his victory was a sign of divine will. If he couldn’t keep up, then he should dedicate himself full-time. They even specially approved him to serve as a *living City God*.
The Black and White Impermanence were among the few in the underworld who knew the full story. Lan He had just learned why Xie Bian had always been strange toward him—it seemed they hadn’t gotten along well in Lan He’s previous life.
But after all that had transpired, Xie Bian began to sympathize with Lan He and even supported his case.
Thus began a six-month-long tug-of-war between Lan He and the underworld, as he fought fiercely to safeguard his rights.
“Finally, it’s settled. They’re sending a new City God to take over, but I can’t just leave my position outright,” Lan He explained.
Song Futan asked, “So, you’ll continue as a living Impermanence?”
“No,” Lan He replied. “They gave me an honorary City God title. I’ll receive both the underworld’s City God subsidies and special stipends from the netherworld…”
Song Futan: “…”
Holding back laughter, Song Futan said, “So basically, you’re still working part-time?”
“What else could I do? They said it’s my destiny. They promised fewer tasks, but I’m still responsible for being a ‘spiritual pillar.’ The new City God will act as my deputy to handle trivial matters.” Lan He sighed. “What spiritual pillar? They just want to use me as a scare tactic for evil spirits.”
Song Futan couldn’t hold back and let out a soft laugh.
“You’re so happy about this,” Lan He said gloomily. “What? Thrilled to keep being the City God’s partner?”
“…” Song Futan sighed helplessly as they arrived at the meditation room.
The faint sound of evening prayers from the monks at Juehui Temple echoed in the air. A cat wearing a neck cone darted past, its silhouette gliding through the moonlit courtyard. Not far away, Master Budong was dozing off at a stone table, his head nodding precariously. His tablet still replayed the evening’s awards ceremony, indicating he’d been watching the live broadcast earlier. With An Shouxin gone and Lan He officially instated, Budong’s mind, once clouded by deception, had now cleared.
Two weasels perched on his knees, playfully tickling his nose with their tails. They were Melonhead’s two daughters—one wasn’t enough for him, so he claimed credit for helping Lan He drive An Shouxin to his demise and squeezed in two more.
A silver-white snake slithered down from a tree and stealthily stole the tablet from Budong, skillfully switching it to a TV drama channel.
Meanwhile, Old Bai, Hu 79, and Bai Wu were playing cards nearby, with a bundle of incense sticks as their stakes, while First Lady Hu presided as referee.
As soon as Lan He appeared, everyone cheered and raised their hands in celebration, instantly livening the atmosphere: “Woo—congratulations on your award!”
The shout startled Master Budong, nearly causing him to topple onto the table. Rubbing his nose, he smiled and clapped his hands.
Looking at the lively gathering of weasels, snakes, and spirits, Lan He shed silent tears of a burdened parent…
Song Futan gently wiped his tears. “So happy?”
“If you keep this up, I won’t share my stipend with you,” Lan He teased.
“What?” Song Futan had thought Lan He’s talk of stipends was just venting. Now he realized it might be something extraordinary.
“The first month’s stipend—I insisted on getting this.” Lan He slowly pulled out a brand-new soul-reaping cord. Their previous one had been destroyed by An Shouxin. “The higher-ups wanted to replace it with a real red string, but I told them no. Using a soul-reaping cord as a red string might be crude, but it has its charm. No way I was giving this up.”
Song Futan’s surprise gave way to joy. He picked up one end of the cord and exchanged it with Lan He, tying it around each other’s wrists before sealing it with a kiss.
Old Bai immediately led the applause.
The evening breeze rustled the shrubs. In the distance, the evening bell tolled as a little donkey trotted over, nuzzling their hands. Song Futan gently pushed it away and deepened the kiss.
“Click.” In the shadows, a black snake pressed the shutter button with its tail, capturing the moment for eternity.
—
Author’s Note:
Thank you all for your support over the past three months. This marks the end of the main story. I’ll take a short two-to-three-day break before starting the extras. I’ve been unwell and dealing with allergies lately, so I need a breather. _(；′д｀)_ Feel free to suggest ideas for the extras!