Chapter 36: Pity and Tenderness

The entire film crew spent the night in a chorus of vomiting. Tan Xueci felt a bit nauseated, and after listening for a while, he pulled He Xunye and they secretly slipped out of the room.

Tonight was a sleepless night. It was already past 3:00 AM, but police lights were still flashing outside the hotel.

Tan Xueci hooked his arm through He Xunye’s, hugging it tightly to his chest. He thought he could faintly hear the sound of chanting.

“Hubby,” Tan Xueci looked up, dazed. “Did I hear wrong?”

The monks from Qilian Temple should be performing rites near that factory, but the factory was in the suburbs—at least an hour’s drive away. How could he possibly hear them from so far?

“You didn’t.” He Xunye’s heavy, dark eyes looked down at Tan Xueci. He reached out and pinched his soft cheek, playing with it for a moment.

Actually, Tan Xueci was well-suited for the metaphysical profession. His spiritual intuition was strong, and his talent far exceeded those disciples He Wuling had brought along for training. No matter what he studied, he would learn quickly.

But He Wuling had no intention of taking disciples, and He Xunye didn’t plan on letting Tan Xueci get too involved.

Tan Xueci’s fate was very strange; his “skeletal weight” was less than one liang.

In Feng Shui and skeletal divination—the basics of their trade—one’s fate is roughly calculated based on the weight of their bones derived from their birth date and time. Bone weight that is too light or too heavy is unfavorable.

If it’s too light, one is plagued by disasters and illness. If it’s too heavy, a normal person cannot “suppress” the fate; for example, an Emperor’s fate is seven liang and two qian, which is almost the limit of human bone weight.

A weight below three liang is considered light—such people easily see “dirty things.” Those around one liang usually die young.

The evil ghost looked down, pinching Tan Xueci’s soft cheek. Although he had fattened him up a bit recently, he was still thin. His complexion was pale and sickly. When he held him, he felt like he had no meat on his bones, and he felt a sudden tug at his heart.

His wife, thin as a kitten, his face smaller than a palm, even his life was lighter than others—less than a single liang.

He looked so pitiful.

He was an evil ghost, yet he actually felt an emotion like “pity.”

With a fate like Tan Xueci’s, he should have died of illness just after birth. It was impossible for him to have lived until now. Although he didn’t know why he hadn’t died, he was certain: his wife’s life was a “ghost’s life,” not a human’s.

While he was talented in matters of ghosts and gods, he was also easily entangled by such things until death.

He didn’t care about his life or death—whether Tan Xueci was dead or alive, he was his wife; to him, there was no difference. However, he hoped his death would be granted by him, rather than letting him be killed by some random ghost or spirit.

Tan Xueci was feeling lightheaded. They were talking normally when He Xunye suddenly pinched his face, then slid his hands under his armpits and lifted him up to weigh him.

Tan Xueci, his feet off the ground, muttered softly to himself. He felt like a piglet being weighed—the little “Snow Pig” had finally been fattened up and could be eaten, or sold for money.

When He Xunye set him down, they walked along the street by the hotel. Beijing was prosperous even at night, but it was after 3:00 AM and they weren’t in the city center. There were very few cars on the road—only the occasional one passing by—and they unknowingly wandered into a nearby open park.

Previously, Tan Xueci would never have dared to enter such a dark place alone at night. But with He Xunye there, he didn’t seem afraid of anything; he only felt the moonlight was exceptionally bright tonight.

An evil ghost didn’t fear the cold, but Tan Xueci had changed into a thick coat, so He Xunye had changed into a black wool overcoat to match him.

As they walked, Tan Xueci suddenly paused. He turned and plunged into He Xunye’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his waist and whimpering softly.

“What is it, Xiao Xue?” The evil ghost still acted like a gentle husband, stroking his head and asking softly.

Tan Xueci burrowed into He Xunye’s coat. His shirt button pressed against his cheek, and after nuzzling him a few times, he nudged the button aside. He looked up, acting a bit shy and slowly hinted: “Hubby, there’s no one here.”

He stood on his tiptoes, leaning closer to the man.

He Xunye, however, acted as if he didn’t understand. His cold palm pressed down on his head, pushing him back down. His thin, red lips curled into a grin that was both inhuman and slightly wicked: “There’s no one here, so is Xiao Xue scared? Do you want to go back?”

Tan Xueci bit his lip. His lips were still slightly swollen from the evil ghost’s sucking the night before. He bit down on the tender flesh, unable to make a sound.

“If Xiao Xue doesn’t speak,” the evil ghost’s long, narrow black eyes crinkled with a smile, “how will Hubby know what you want?”

Tan Xueci grew anxious. He lifted his face to nuzzle He Xunye’s lips, but he backed away from him. He sputtered for a long time, his ears turning red, before finally whispering: “I want… want to kiss.”

He Xunye gave a low laugh and stopped dodging. Tan Xueci pressed his soft lips against his. He wanted to deepen the kiss, but then he flinched away, saying timidly: “No, don’t be like that… just nuzzle. I don’t like it when you lick so hard, it makes me feel like I’m being swallowed.”

The evil ghost’s eyes turned dark and crimson, but he actually stopped obediently. His palm still cradled the back of his head, but his movements became gentle.

Tan Xueci got the kiss he wanted for a while, closing his eyes in satisfaction. Because of the height difference, as he tilted his head up to kiss him, he ended up swallowing more of his “saliva.” He kept gulping until his cheeks were flushed. Finally, he whimpered for He Xunye to let him go.

Opening his eyes, he met the evil ghost’s eyes, which had turned almost blood-red. He could no longer ignore it. He swallowed again and whispered in a weak voice: “Hu… Hubby, your eyes are so red.”

Hubby looks quite ghostly.

He had heard that normal ghosts were white and vengeful ghosts were red—like the legend of the red bus, or the red-clothed patient in the hospital at night. Yellow and green ghosts were also said to have heavy “malice.”

“Hubby,” Tan Xueci didn’t let go of him, still holding him tightly. He looked up and asked, “How did you die?”

His husband didn’t look like someone in poor health, and aside from the red eyes, he was very handsome and not disfigured—it didn’t look like an accident.

Could he have been murdered?

He Xunye didn’t answer. The blood-red color in his eyes gradually faded, and he reached out to stroke Tan Xueci’s cheek.

Just as Tan Xueci was about to speak, he suddenly heard a sharp, cold burst of laughter from the nearby woods. It sounded like several ghosts. Terrified, he immediately dove into He Xunye’s arms.

The evil ghost frowned and walked over, holding his wife. There were several ghosts who looked like young people in their twenties, gathered around a bowl of raw rice as if performing some ritual.

“Please don’t make so much noise at night,” the evil ghost spoke politely. “It’s a nuisance to the neighbors. Thank you.”

A few years ago, “ghost-summoning games” had suddenly become popular in Beijing. Besides those He Xunye had dealt with before, several groups of young people had died. These ghosts looked like they had died back then.

After dying, they hadn’t moved on to reincarnation. Instead, they lingered here to play, behaving similarly to water ghosts—trying to lure passers-by into joining them so they could kill them. They were even worse than water ghosts; a water ghost drags someone in to take their place so they can reincarnate, but these ghosts were just purely malicious.

The ghosts never expected that while playing a summoning game, they would actually summon an evil ghost. They smelled a particularly delicious “yin energy” but didn’t dare to even look at Tan Xueci. Abandoning their bowl of rice, they scurried away, trembling and clutching their heads.

Tan Xueci hadn’t expected to see the day when ghosts would flee in disgrace before him.

With the mood spoiled, they stopped wandering and He Xunye held him in his arms as they walked back to the hotel.

As they crossed an intersection, Tan Xueci saw two ghosts pulling each other’s hair over some incense. He let out a sigh of relief, secretly glad he had burned so much for his husband; otherwise, wouldn’t he have to fight for food on the roadside too?

He also saw a ghost in white floating by someone’s window. He picked up a stone and accurately beaned the ghost on the head.

The ghost, bleeding from its seven orifices, turned around fiercely intending to cause trouble. But upon seeing the grim, handsome face of the evil ghost beside him, it immediately wiped the blood off its face, picked up the stone, handed it back to Tan Xueci, and ran away with a small scream.

They were just minor spirits; all of them combined wouldn’t be enough for the evil ghost’s dinner.

“Xiao Xue is so impressive,” the evil ghost seemed to chuckle, his dark phoenix eyes curving as he played along. “Without Xiao Xue, Hubby wouldn’t dare go out at night. Will Xiao Xue always protect me?”

Tan Xueci felt like he was walking on air. Suddenly, he felt he could punch evil spirits and kick the King of Hell. His snowy little face tilted up; he stopped clinging to He Xunye’s arm and instead took his hand, walking ahead of him.

Whenever he saw a ghost, he threw a stone. He looked every bit the reliable head of the household.

The evil ghost watched his little wife “bonking” ghosts in front of him. When they reached the hotel, he brushed the sweat off the tip of his nose. His tone remained gentle as he suddenly asked, “Where did Xiao Xue go during the day?”

Tan Xueci’s bright face froze. He stammered, “Hubby, I felt like something ‘dirty’ was following me—the one that touched me before. I went to the temple to pray.”

“Is that so?” The evil ghost smiled and didn’t press further.

The director and the others had been vomiting all night. The rooms smelled sour and foul, so they had all come downstairs. They hadn’t eaten much all day and weren’t in the mood for delivery, so everyone just made a bowl of “Turkey Noodles” (fire noodles).

A dozen people were squatting in a row eating instant noodles, their professional image completely gone; they didn’t even care if paparazzi caught them.

Tan Xueci let go of He Xunye’s hand and ran over to make a bowl, squatting between Jin Chen and Meng Zhi to eat.

Everyone else looked sickly. Whether it was the bloody remains of Wen Yaochuan or the bodies and human flesh they had encountered before, they were all too nauseated to eat. Moreover, more than half the crew had diarrhea. They didn’t know why—it was as if they were cursed.

Only Tan Xueci buried his face in his bowl, slurping happily. He loved spicy food.

Lu Qi sat nearby, looking dazed.

Wait a minute.

He suddenly realized something. He used to think Tan Xueci was the one with mental health issues, but could it be that he was the one? Between eating human meat and encountering ghosts, he didn’t believe for a second that someone falling down the stairs would break into that many pieces.

It had to be the work of a ghost.

Lu Qi broke into a cold sweat, shivering. He suddenly admired Tan Xueci. He had only been dealing with this for a few days and was already at his limit; Tan Xueci had dealt with it for over ten years. How does a normal person survive that?

Only a “fool” could survive it.

Tan Xueci ate every last bit. He held his bowl blankly; he hadn’t planned on eating tonight, but he had “accidentally” finished a whole bowl of Turkey Noodles.

After this late-night snack, the crew officially disbanded. Tan Xueci slung on his small backpack and returned to the He family home.

He had been bullied on set, but now that it was time to leave, he felt a bit reluctant. He truly loved acting. The set had many people, making him feel like he always had company—not like he was forever alone.

Tan Xueci thought the matter was over. He stayed home waiting to see if any new roles would come his way, but a week later, he suddenly received a call from Lu Qi.

“You… I… Sigh,” Lu Qi spoke with a complex tone. “Get ready to move up in the world.”

Tan Xueci didn’t understand, so Lu Qi told him to check the trending searches.

Tan Xueci’s phone had a screen-reading function for the blind. Although his literacy wasn’t quite high enough to read the trending topics, he could get the gist of it.

He opened it and saw several deep red “Explosive” tags. The top one was a “Major Intentional Homicide Case.”

The investigation into the “Flesh Lingzhi” had moved quickly. He Biansheng, Xu Zongdu, and some high-level executives at Wen Yaochuan’s company were suspected of murder. Wen Yaochuan’s fans had initially caused a huge uproar, refusing to believe he was truly dead.

[Is this a joke? Brother Wen was supposed to collect an award at the end of the year! He won Best Actor for the movie he did last year. He slept less than three hours a day for that role. How could he possibly leave without a word? What right do you have to say he’s dead??]

[There’s definitely something wrong with your crew. There’s a killer! Maybe everyone from Zhai Fang to Brother Wen was killed by that person. Why aren’t you investigating? @EntanglementOfficial]

[Exactly. Everyone else on the crew should be investigated one by one. I don’t believe the killer can’t be found.]

Some even called out Tan Xueci and Meng Zhi. Especially Tan Xueci—he already had a lot of negative press, and the three people who died had all had conflicts with him. Some even said Tan Xueci had a “heavy baleful aura” and that being around him might cause others to die.

However, the official police report soon came out, stating that Wen Yaochuan was a suspect in the murder of a fan with whom he was in a romantic relationship. The search rankings exploded. Wen Yaochuan’s public image had been so pristine that people couldn’t imagine his fall from grace, especially in such an absurd manner.

[My god, sleeping with fans AND murder? He’s a beast in human skin. To think he faked it so well.]

[No wonder Meng Zhi’s Weibo background has always been a cloud she photographed at night. Sigh, Xiao Yun (Little Cloud) is probably watching over Xiao Hua (Little Flower) from the sky now. They won’t be separated again.]

[After all that, it turns out he brought it on himself. He had a guilty conscience, so he panicked at night and fell to his death. What does that have to do with our Xiao Xue? The poor kid finally got a role, didn’t make a cent, and was almost ruined by these people.]

[Exactly. They called Xiao Xue “hard-fated,” but it’s their own lives that weren’t tough enough—dying at the slightest touch—and yet they blame others for having a good life. Come on, my fate is “hard” too. I’ll be the first to jinx you and see whose fate is harder.]

If it had just been that, it wouldn’t have affected Tan Xueci much beyond clearing his name. But the assistant director, having experienced so much, decided it was better to do fewer bad deeds. He would take the heat himself rather than let the other actors’ work go to waste.

Since the company had collapsed, he had all the “scrapped” footage. He edited a thirty-minute short film, specifically including the ending of Entanglement filmed by Tan Xueci and Meng Zhi.

Tan Xueci played the antagonist, Zhou Xia, who was ultimately beaten to death for stealing. He had stolen a watch worth over 3,000 yuan. He grew jealous watching the male leads constantly give the heroine gifts. He had no money to buy things for the person he liked. A person with such a dark heart like his could never tear off that layer of skin to stand beside her as his true self.

Beneath his beautiful exterior was a flow of black water. He was deeply insecure and didn’t believe the heroine could truly love him. He deceived himself, thinking she only grew closer to the others because they gave her nice things—that if he had money, she would come to him too.

So, seeing a wealthy-looking person enter a bar, he followed them and stole the watch they had left on the sink. But he was caught before he could run. The owner, drunk and fueled by rage, beat and kicked him.

Zhou Xia was already frail and in poor health; he was beaten to death on the ground. His only family was his grandmother, who died that same night from the grief of his death. In the end, he didn’t even have a funeral. Only the heroine went to the school rooftop to leave a bouquet of flowers for him; they had chatted there many times.

In truth, she had liked Zhou Xia. She wasn’t entirely unaware of his darkness, but how can a heart in love find its object “dark”? She had been waiting for the day he would be honest with her. Even if he chose to be a dark mushroom or a rat in a gutter, she would have run with him until the day they left the gutter behind.

The assistant director included a shot of Tan Xueci looking down from the rooftop. The wet gray sky was drizzling, and the boy’s black hair was soaked, making his pale face look even more gloomy and somber. There was no trace of cowardice, only a cold, clear beauty—as if he wasn’t the one being bullied at school, as if he wasn’t the one being accused online of slandering colleagues and sucking up to sponsors.

Then the heroine stood below, holding an umbrella and waving at him. The girl wore no makeup, but her umbrella swayed slightly in the summer rain like a white gardenia.

Finally, the camera slowly pulled away to the back of Jin Chen’s character leaving, followed by the original promotional tagline for Entanglement:

Let us be entangled until the end.

The assistant director posted the short film on the crew’s official Weibo at 8:30 PM. Given the recent attention, it surpassed 10,000 views in minutes and exploded on the trending searches within twenty minutes.

[Arghhh! You dead ghosts Zhai Fang and Wen Yaochuan, I hate you! Because of you, we can’t see the full movie.]

[I’m crying my eyes out. Just those few seconds of Zhou Xia being beaten to death made me sob. I can’t imagine how hard I’d cry if I saw the whole thing. Puppy crying.jpg]

[Holy crap, this is amazing! Regardless of anything else, Tan Xueci’s acting is genuinely incredible. I don’t understand why his agent hid him away with no interviews. He’s only in his early twenties and can portray such somber pain so well; why worry about him not becoming famous?]

[Mwah mwah, our Xiao Hua (Little Flower) has improved so much in this role. Please, let her never encounter another “dead ghost” male lead again.]

[Wait, is this for real? I didn’t know these actors before. But Tan Xueci’s Weibo… I clicked on it and he’s only done one horror movie? That ghost jump-scare nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought my phone had a virus. Wiping sweat.jpg]

Followers for Tan Xueci and Meng Zhi skyrocketed. Every time they refreshed, the count jumped by thousands. Even Jin Chen caught the wave, gaining over 100,000 followers.

Tan Xueci, in particular—Lu Qi’s bumbling management had accidentally given him a mysterious public image. Seeing his looks combined with such acting talent made him even more intriguing to the public.

Lu Qi also had a Weibo. He had been an agent for seven or eight years and only had 300 followers; overnight, he gained tens of thousands. His private messages were filled with people demanding to know if he was intentionally sabotaging Tan Xueci.

Lu Qi was scolded severely, but he wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he felt great. He even changed his “crying monkey” profile picture to a monkey wearing a big gold chain.

Tan Xueci became an overnight sensation. All his screen time to date added up to less than thirty minutes. Fans edited a compilation—simple cuts without much technique—and it quickly hit the trending searches.

The ten-plus years of being trapped in a small attic, the ten-plus years of muddling through ghost encounters, and the ten-plus years of being an anonymous “gutter rat” like Zhou Xia were shattered in a single night. It seemed everyone had suddenly discovered that Tan Xueci existed in this world.

People cared about every clip he had filmed, praised the cute sheep plushie he had secretly photographed and posted, and noted that he must have lost several more pounds based on his recent footage.

Despite being entangled by the most ferocious evil spirit he had seen in over a decade, love from all over the world was now pouring in.

Lu Qi told Tan Xueci to check Weibo. He didn’t know if he had, but he didn’t send him any messages all night. Worried, he ran to the He family home the next day. Pulling back the duvet, he saw Tan Xueci’s eyes were as swollen as two red peaches.

Lu Qi also felt like crying for some reason. He was about to hug him when he turned and met the “funeral portrait” of He Xunye on the nightstand. It was like a bucket of cold water over his head; he stood bolt upright.

God, something is very wrong.

His scalp tingled. There really were ghosts in that crew; could it be that Tan Xueci’s “dead husband” also truly existed? He made a quick recovery, changing his intended hug into a handshake.

Tan Xueci looked up, his eyes watery and dazed.

“Mie-ah,” Lu Qi said, patting the back of his hand like a kind elder. “I see you’ve learned a lot of characters. We need to be picky with scripts, no rush. But a variety show reached out to you, and I think we should do it.”

A travel variety show called Mountain Wanderer had invited Tan Xueci and Jin Chen, saying they were short two male guests. It was a slow-paced travel show that combined live streaming with recorded segments—staying in various mountain villages for ten days to two weeks to experience life and promote intangible cultural heritage.

If it had been something academically demanding, Lu Qi wouldn’t have dared suggest it for Tan Xueci, lest the next day’s headline be “Desperate Illiterate Storms the Entertainment Industry.” But this time it was about making handicrafts and the like. Lu Qi thought it was fine; even if he were clumsy and made something ugly, it wouldn’t be a major flaw. Plus, since Jin Chen was going too, Lu Qi could go along to look after them.

Tan Xueci didn’t understand much of this and simply followed his agent’s arrangements, so he nodded in agreement. Lu Qi had him sign the contract.

The show was starting soon; they had to leave in three days. The guests had been decided in advance, but one had pulled out last minute. Since Tan Xueci was currently trending, they wanted him as a replacement. Jin Chen was essentially a “buy one, get one free” deal, benefiting from Tan Xueci’s popularity.

After Lu Qi left, Tan Xueci pulled out his suitcase and began packing. Outside, it was drizzling, and pale, branch-like lightning streaked across the sky. He had just packed a few clothes when he looked up and was startled.

He Xunye had appeared at some point. The evil ghost sat on the edge of his bed with his long legs crossed, watching him. He smiled at him against the dark curtain of rain and asked, “Is Xiao Xue leaving?”

He wore a black suit, his tall, silent figure appearing like a ghost that could never return home in the continuous rain.

Tan Xueci’s heart skipped a beat. He had been squatting on the floor; now he shuffled over and rested his chin on He Xunye’s knee, remaining silent.

The evil ghost pinched his cheek. His eyes were a deep, ghost-like crimson, completely undisguised, yet his tone remained gentle: “Where is Xiao Xue going? Can’t you take Hubby with you?”

Tan Xueci leaned on He Xunye’s knee and took his hand to kiss it. His heart was racing. He Xunye also fell silent, asking nothing more.

Three days later, before dawn, Tan Xueci left the He family home alone. He went first to the mountains to hand something over to the Taoist priest at Qingya Temple, then went to meet up with Lu Qi and the others.

When He Xunye opened his eyes again, he saw countless red strings woven into a formation. Every string had been soaked in cinnabar, hung with bells, and plastered with yellow talismans, trapping him within.

It was late at night. A group of Taoist priests surrounded him in a formation. The leader was exceptionally lean and refined; though his hair was graying, his gaze was sharp and focused as he held a Seven-Star Sword, pointing it between heaven and earth.

The evil ghost tried to move his feet, only to find he was pinned in place. His dark phoenix eyes were still curved, but there was no hint of a smile—only a gloomy, deathly silence. One word at a time, he whispered:

“Tan… Xue… Ci.”

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