Chapter 53: A Prayer in the Dark

Since Yu Chu would later become a villain, he naturally didn’t die in this scene.

Whatever the reason that made Shen Wenrui change his mind—perhaps he couldn’t bear to lose his beloved creation, or perhaps seeing Yu Chu wish for death made him unwilling to let him have his way—the thought process of a madman was impossible to understand.

No matter what, Shen Wenrui ultimately let go of his hand.

Yu Chu coughed violently, taking massive gulps of oxygen, barely making it back from the gates of hell.

Afterward, he completely became Shen Wenrui’s subordinate, his life entirely held in the other’s hand.

However, a drama is a drama, and reality is reality; average people can still distinguish between the two.

When Shen Jin and Pei Liu shot this scene, it was naturally impossible to actually strangle him.

They merely acted out a crazed posture with protruding veins, while Pei Liu actually felt nothing, and the purple bruises on his neck were just the work of the makeup artist.

Pei Liu’s shooting went very smoothly.

Along the way, he had accumulated experience, and his control over brewing emotions to get into character, as well as separating himself from the role afterward, had improved significantly.

With few NGs, the director praised him with satisfaction, giving Pei Liu a great sense of achievement, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

Watching him, Shen Jin couldn’t resist wanting to touch his face.

Without restraining himself, he reached out and gently rubbed his cheek with his thumb.

The skin was delicate, soft, and smooth, like a piece of flawless warm jade, feeling exceptionally good to the touch, making him reluctant to pull away.

Pei Liu felt a tickle, tilted his head, and looked at him in confusion.

Shen Jin retracted his hand, saying flatly: “…Your powder is caking.”

Pei Liu realized what he meant, thanking him for the reminder: “Then I’ll go find the makeup artist to touch it up.”

But in reality, there was no such thing.

Pei Liu assumed Shen Jin was teasing him on purpose, feeling a bit helpless.

Just as he was about to stand up and walk out, black mist drifted from his shadow, slowly condensing into a tall, dark silhouette.

With hair cascading like a waterfall, he stood tall and upright.

Pei Liu froze instantly.

Xie Wuyu asked: “Do you have an answer yet?”

Pei Liu’s nerves tensed, and he said calmly: “I’m still not sure.”

Xie Wuyu: “I can’t let you keep looking forever. The game has a time limit too.”

He hadn’t mentioned this before.

Although Pei Liu knew there had to be a time limit, since the entity hadn’t raised it, he naturally wouldn’t proactively remind him.

Now that he couldn’t avoid it anymore, Pei Liu asked directly: “When is the latest?”

Xie Wuyu: “Tomorrow night.”

He had some business to take care of, and his return would likely be around this time.

Pei Liu lowered his head, falling into silent thought.

At this moment, he felt a slight weight on the crown of his head; Xie Wuyu was ruffling his hair.

Pei Liu was startled, a strange sensation flashing through his mind.

Xie Wuyu’s action was natural, and after ruffling his hair, he vanished.

Pei Liu had no time to delve into it, turning to observe the people on set.

But the reality was that clues were too scarce, making it very hard to guess.

It was like working on a complex advanced mathematics multiple-choice question: after calculating for a long time, his answer didn’t match any of the options A, B, C, or D.

Pei Liu silently put on a mask of agony.

Having diligently worked on the problem until the next afternoon, cramming until the very end, he broke down and began to abandon all hope.

‘Look on the bright side, I’m going to die soon anyway.’

‘Why torture myself like this?’

‘I might as well go out and have a great meal; treat it as my last supper.’

Thus, Pei Liu went to the city center, headed straight to a seven-star hotel, and ordered a table full of dishes.

The cooking process was complex, the presentation exquisite, and the taste was truly top-tier.

Pei Liu ate with relish, immersing himself in the gourmet food and temporarily forgetting his anxiety.

After eating his fill, he thought about how he had never been in a relationship, and felt it was a bit of a regret to die a virgin.

But looking for someone to date right now wasn’t realistic; would it be better to visit a male host club?

Not that he had to go all the way, but watching a male strip show and appreciating a feast of male beauty seemed quite nice.

Pei Liu didn’t even realize whether there was something wrong with the fact that, as a self-proclaimed straight man, his first instinct was to visit a male host club.

However, in the end, he only thought about it and didn’t act.

Instead, he picked up his phone and started playing a game.

At the start of the match, he ran into reliable teammates, performed flawlessly himself, got a pentakill, and later took the MVP of the match.

In gacha pulls, with a ten-fold pull, he immediately got the card he wanted—one UR, three SSRs, and the other cards were also very good.

Pei Liu giggled while clutching his phone.

What is going on with this situation? My luck is off the charts!

Pei Liu suddenly recalled what the young monk at the temple had said to him: favored by the deity, deeply protected. Was this luck granted by the god?

Comparing a god with an evil spirit, a god had to be more powerful, right?

Pei Liu suddenly felt that he probably wouldn’t die.

While he was smiling, someone walked past him, but stopped by his table.

“Pei Liu?”

Hearing the familiar voice, Pei Liu looked up, surprised to find it was the screenwriter, Gao Wenhao.

Gao Wenhao gave a refined smile: “What a coincidence, you’re eating here too?”

Pei Liu nodded: “Yes, what a coincidence. Teacher Gao, are you alone?”

Gao Wenhao: “No, I came with a client. They had to leave early, so I’m alone now. If you don’t mind, shall we have a casual chat?”

Pei Liu naturally wouldn’t refuse.

After learning about the ghost wife, he wanted to find an opportunity to talk to the screenwriter, but they were both busy, and this matter was best discussed in private.

Finding a suitable entry point was very important.

“Of course I don’t mind. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time. After reading your novel, I became a fan; your writing is truly excellent.”

Gao Wenhao sat down, waving his hand modestly: “I’m not as good as you say; the writing of my late wife was truly excellent.”

Pei Liu had been thinking of how to transition to the topic, not expecting the other to hand it to him. He feigned curiosity and asked: “It seems you really love your wife, bringing her up in every conversation. May I be so bold as to ask about your love story?”

Gao Wenhao’s expression turned gentle, and he said softly: “Actually, I read her works very early on. I really liked the duel between the protagonist and the villain, the reasoning and solving of cases; the plot was tightly knit, and the twists were always spectacular—unexpected yet reasonable upon closer thought.”

“I was a fan of hers from very early on. When we first met, I was running a handmade crafts shop, and business wasn’t good. She happened to come to my shop to gather material. At the time, I was reading her novel and even argued with her about the plot, each holding our own view. She said that was what the author thought, and I retorted asking how she would know, so she directly said: ‘I am the author.’”

“I was dumbfounded at the time, never expecting to be so close to my goddess. Later, we exchanged contact information, chatted frequently, went out together when free, and unknowingly got together. Come to think of it, my writing novels was also guided by her; she said since I liked it so much, I should try. So I really tried. She was my first reader and gave me many valuable suggestions.”

Pei Liu listened to his slow narration, not expecting such a backstory between them. It wasn’t as rumored—meeting at an authors’ convention—but much earlier, when they were goddess and fan.

His words were filled with lingering love, clearly a devoted couple.

Pei Liu hoped all the more that his wife could fulfill her wish and reincarnate in peace. She surely wouldn’t want her own yin energy to cause harm to her husband.

Pei Liu subtly asked Gao Wenhao if there were any important promises between them as a couple that hadn’t been completed, leaving behind regrets.

Gao Wenhao lowered his eyes. Thinking of something, his gaze darkened.

Pei Liu assumed he had touched a sore spot, hesitating on whether to continue asking.

Gao Wenhao composed himself and said softly: “Her regret was probably not being able to write more novels.”

This was difficult to handle; it was impossible to have a ghost continue writing novels. After all, a spirit formed from obsession lacked clear consciousness.

Pei Liu had no solution.

The two went to the parking lot together, chatting as they walked. Pei Liu sent him the name and address of the temple, hoping the god would guide her.

The underground parking lot was spacious and quiet, with rows of sedans parked. Although there were cameras, they were at corners, entrances, and exits, unable to cover every spot; there were always blind spots.

Clearly, this was one of those places in TV dramas that easily triggered dangerous plots.

Pei Liu had never been afraid before, but for some reason today, he had a bad premonition.

There was some distance between his car and Gao Wenhao’s, and they just happened to pass by Gao Wenhao’s car.

“Then I’ll leave, bye-bye.”

Pei Liu waved and was about to continue walking forward, but he never expected to encounter a scenario from a TV drama—or rather, the plot of the script he acted in.

Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his neck, and icy liquid was injected into his veins.

Pei Liu felt his body lose strength, his consciousness gradually blurring as he fell backward.

Someone caught him, picked him up, put him in the car trunk, and bound his hands and feet expertly and swiftly.

Pei Liu could only vaguely see Gao Wenhao’s eerie, smiling face before his vision went dark, and he lost consciousness.

***

When Pei Liu woke up again, it was pitch black before his eyes, his head spinning and his breathing obstructed. He tried to use his bound hands to push himself up, but his head immediately met an obstacle; the space was very small.

He slowly remembered: he had been knocked out by Gao Wenhao and placed in the car trunk.

Why? Why did Gao Wenhao do this?

He couldn’t understand; this was too much like what a killer would do in a suspense drama.

Pei Liu’s heart raced, and he swallowed hard, telling himself he had to calm down first, not panic—panic was the most useless thing.

He recalled that some car trunks had an escape mechanism; as long as he found that button, he could open the trunk from the inside.

But Pei Liu struggled to feel around for a long time without finding it.

This car didn’t have one.

After moving around, he increasingly felt a lack of oxygen, his head spinning, chest tight, unable to catch his breath.

Was he really going to die here?

Who could save him?

Pei Liu curled into a ball. His shoulder accidentally pressed against something hard.

He thought for a moment before realizing it was the deity statue; it had probably fallen from his collar when he rolled over.

Pei Liu lowered his head, his face touching the deity statue, a tear falling onto it.

Regardless of whether it was useful, he couldn’t help but pray silently.

Please, God, save me.

***

Under the dark night sky, in the remote suburbs, only one car was driving along the road.

In the driver’s seat, Gao Wenhao was humming a song, in a pleasant mood.

But suddenly, the streetlights went out one by one, as if swallowed by the darkness, and the straight road continuously vanished.

Thick black mist covered the sky and earth, fiercely lunging at the only car.

As if hitting an invisible barrier, the front of the car violently crashed, letting out an explosive roar. The front of the car suffered a violent impact and squeeze, severely deforming, and the windows shattered like a spiderweb.

Gao Wenhao was covered in shattered glass, his legs crushed, his bones breaking inch by inch. The flesh on his entire body felt a sharp pain of being torn apart, forcing him to let out a shrill scream.

But everything that occurred at the front of the car didn’t affect the trunk at all; there wasn’t even any vibration from the impact, nor could any screams be heard. All he knew was that the car had stopped.

Pei Liu was vigilant, his body tense.

The car trunk was opened, and bright light spilled inside.

Pei Liu barely half-opened his eyes, seeing a tall, slender figure standing against the light. He couldn’t see clearly, but it was very familiar.

Through the black mist, he quickly recognized him.

It was Xie Wuyu.

A flawless, handsome face offered him a slight smile.

He looked less like a savior and more like a psychopath looking at his prized prey.

Despite this, Pei Liu strangely breathed a sigh of relief at Xie Wuyu’s arrival.

Xie Wuyu leaned over, reached out to carry him out, and with a casual swipe of his finger, sliced through the ropes binding his hands and feet.

The drug’s effect hadn’t dissipated. Pei Liu’s body was weak and limp, and he could only lean in his embrace, trembling slightly.

Xie Wuyu stroked his back gently to comfort him, his actions tender, his gaze icy.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure he dies a very painful death.”

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