Yang Liu raged at the crew so suddenly that the cameraman hadn’t even had time to cut the feed. The whole thing went out live.
The chat exploded.
“Here we go… she fell and now she’s blaming the production? Have you seen anyone else trip? So dramatic.”
“Yang Liu, are you okay? Come on—this director isn’t some newbie. Does she want to wreck her career?”
Most viewers thought Yang Liu was being melodramatic, but a few sympathized—after all, who could stand a beautiful woman coated head to toe in mud?
“Yang Liu, don’t get worked up,” the director hurried over. “This village is remote. We only brought a little water for basic cleaning. It’s a tough location—please, bear with us for now.”
He kept giving her meaning-without-words looks: suffer now, we’ll make it up to you later. But Yang Liu couldn’t see past her anger.
“You’re just brushing me off!” she spat. “This mud is filthy. A bit of water won’t get it off. And you knew we were coming to a godforsaken, filthy place—how could you not prepare proper water for the guests? This is outrageous!”
Her rant grew louder, hysterical. The crew tried every calm argument, but Yang Liu wouldn’t relent; the director’s patience thinned.
“There are a lot of people on this show. Bringing water for everyone isn’t easy. Even if we split what we have, there isn’t much. We can’t give you a full wash. Use what we’ve got if you want, or record while dirty—your choice.”
He walked away.
Silence fell for a few minutes. The other staff kept their heads down; the four Yuan siblings were watching the drama for entertainment and stayed out of it. Then a raw, wailing sob burst through the quiet.
“They’re all bullying me! Of course the other guests are against me—this director must hate me, everyone’s ganged up on me! Maybe… maybe that corpse was placed there for me, just to get me covered in mud!”
Yang Liu’s cries lingered over the village like a ghostly echo. In that strange atmosphere she was more terrifying than anything supernatural; some viewers even assumed it was a staged bit. The truth was darker—Yang Liu was not in control of herself. A ghost had taken hold of her.
The four Yuan siblings and the crew could only stare at her in disbelief.
Xiang Bo and Mo Lin had gently tried to get her to walk slowly, but she hadn’t listened and had thrown herself into the mud. Now she insisted someone else had framed her. Some people never look inward; everything is always someone else’s fault.
“Yang Liu… the director did leave some water here. So… are you going to wash or not?” Yuan Meng asked, her voice small and earnest. She honestly didn’t understand how cruel people could be—that kind of calculation was foreign to her—so she worriedly reminded Yang Liu.
Yuan Meng had to keep her on-brand—sweet, naive, sincere—so she meant every word. But Yang Liu read it as mockery.
Yang Liu glared at Yuan Meng. Her eyes were raw and red from crying, but the look was vicious enough to make Yuan Meng shrink back.
“But… if you don’t wash, you can’t keep filming, right? If you refuse they’ll deduct your pay!!!” Yuan Meng’s face lit up at the mention of fines—money made her animated. The chaotic chat turned to laughter; Yuan Meng’s reputation as a little money-obsessed cutie was already well known among viewers.
On the surface the chat was amused, but on set things were tense.
“What do you mean, Yuan Meng!” Yang Liu snapped, and for a second looked like she might lunge.
Yuan Meng backed up a few steps. Yuan Xingcheng stepped forward without thinking, cutting in front of her like a shield.
“Do you look down on me?” Yang Liu sneered. “It’s just a penalty. If you’re tight on money, that’s yours. I don’t have to be like you.”
She spat the words and stood her ground.
“Why so hostile? If you want to quit, fine—just pay the penalty and go! You’ve wasted so much time already. I want to finish this so I can go home and see my husband!” Yuan Meng’s eyes glistened; when she mentioned her husband she sounded oddly earnest.
That move wasn’t just for show—Yuan Meng really did want to speed the shoot along. The day had already been derailed too many times by Yang Liu.
“You’re getting rid of me?!” Yang Liu’s temper flared. “Fine—if you want me to leave, I won’t!”
She surprised everyone by walking over to the small basin and beginning to scrub herself with the sparse water. The director, watching from the side, leaned in to Yuan Meng and murmured, “Nice work. That probably saved us a lot of trouble—if she’d walked, it would’ve been a mess.”
The director’s half-smile and squint looked like praise. Yuan Meng’s cheeks warmed—was he really complimenting her, or mocking her for trying to push Yang Liu out? The cameraman caught the whisper and the exchange went live. The chat immediately praised Yuan Meng for her quick thinking, convinced she’d used reverse psychology to get Yang Liu to wash and keep filming.
A few skeptical viewers scoffed: maybe the director was overreading things—maybe Yuan Meng had just wanted Yang Liu gone. Those comments drew replies, and the assumptions began to swing both ways.
“What reverse psychology?” Yuan Meng said aloud, meeting the director’s eyes. If he was trying to be sarcastic, she didn’t need to pretend. “Director, you might be mistaken… how many delays has she caused today? How much time have we wasted?”
“Honestly,” she added, earnest and insistent, “we should just stop letting her film. She’s such a time sink, and… she’s really scary. You know I’m timid—I’m genuinely afraid.”
She nodded hard, as if to prove her fear.
The director blinked, unsure how to answer. The whole set turned awkward. The live chat hesitated too, then shrugged—Yuan Meng’s blunt, unfiltered nature was part of her charm. Most viewers quickly switched back to applauding her authenticity, peppered with laughing emojis racing by across the screen.