“Since we've already decided, why don't we go see if anyone's around?” Yuan Meng said softly.
Yuan Xingcheng nodded. “Right. Let's split up — check the village and the area around it. Those people pretending to be ghosts probably haven't left the village.”
To him, his aunt was a god; everything she said felt right. The clues the production team had fed them were garbage — they should listen to her.
After a quick discussion, they split the group. The two most timid, Yang Liu and Yuan Meng, were paired together; the rest scattered to look for the “ghosts.”
“Can I go alone? Or at least be with someone else,” Yang Liu complained, looking at Yuan Meng with obvious distaste. “She just cries all the time. I’d go mad if I had to be with her.”
Hearing that, Yuan Meng puckered up and dipped her head, dramatic tears welling and falling to the ground — a perfect, exaggerated display of constant sobbing.
“Yeah, it’s not great to put the two shyest together,” Mo Lin said, then rearranged the teams. Yuan Meng and Yuan Xingcheng — the close sibling pair — were together; Yang Liu went with Xiang Bo. Mo Lin was left alone.
“That’s unfair. I don’t want to be stuck with a cling-on,” Xiang Bo protested first.
His complaint was waved away by the group. His standing in the troupe wasn’t exactly solid.
“The one to watch is Yuan Meng — focus the cameras on her. Keep the photographer tight,” the director said with a wicked smile.
She’d ruined all his carefully planted false leads; today he'd make sure she understood the director's power.
Yuan Meng and Yuan Xingcheng were scouring through the village when a lanky tongue-flapping “ghost” leaped out of a haystack ahead.
They both froze. Yuan Xingcheng didn’t have time to react; Yuan Meng stared at the fake tongue.
It was so fake it was offensive. The production team had money — couldn’t they at least make it believable? No atmosphere at all.
The staff, ready to give them a fright, froze too. Their reaction wasn’t what he’d expected. Yuan Meng hadn’t even cried. Were they stunned into silence?
The actor with the long tongue shuffled closer. Yuan Meng instinctively frowned, as if she wanted to yank that grotesque thing off, then suddenly remembered her role.
She let out a small, staged scream and slipped behind her nephew.
Exactly as she wanted, Yuan Xingcheng sprang to shield her, stepping forward to shoo away the crew members.
The faux-ghosts withdrew — mission accomplished. The two thought that was the end. It had only begun.
All afternoon, things kept popping up: stray “spirits” here and there, each designed to make Yuan Meng shriek.
At first she played it up: flustered expression, tears at the corners of her eyes — pathetic, and exactly what the audience wanted.
But the same stunt repeated over and over, and Yuan Meng grew irritated. The director really thought he could fool her with cheap scares? She refused to keep playing.
The next time a ghost bounded out, she chose to go limp. Blank face. Unmoved.
From that pretty, composed face there was one unmistakable message: utterly done with life.
[Hahaha, the director's being awful. I can feel Sister Yuan getting annoyed — if it were me I'd be pissed too.]
[Looks like Yuan Meng is actually getting braver. If she loses her fear entirely, she ought to thank the director.]
[Just tear an arm off the director, honestly. Reasonable.]
[Please stop, I'm so tired of being scared for a whole season.]
Viewers online found it hilarious. Those who knew Aunt Yuan's personality — especially Yuan Xingcheng — were laughing even harder. He held himself back; if he laughed out loud, Aunt Yuan might take it to heart. Knowing her, she'd remember and he'd be in for a scolding later. Still, it was so funny.
After dark the groups regrouped; everyone had dust on their faces and looked exhausted. The director had run them ragged.
Yang Liu’s face still looked white with fright, as if she might snap from the strain.
“Lucky we didn’t leave those two together,” Xiang Bo sighed. “If they’d been paired, they’d probably have scared each other to death.”
He’d endured so much — eerie music, sudden noises — he was too tired to complain further.
“Yuan Yuan isn’t scared anymore,” Yuan Xingcheng said, barely holding back a smile as he remembered her deadpan face. “The director sent so many people at us this afternoon; we barely went anywhere — mostly we were dealing with staff members.”
Xiang Bo didn’t see the humor, just nodded heavily and even patted Yuan Xingcheng’s shoulder in a comradely way.
Each group reported back: with the director’s interference, no one had found any real clues. The news dampened spirits. It had been a long, fruitless afternoon.
Tired to her bones, Yuan Meng went back to her tent and lay down, already plotting how to get back at the director. She’d marked this grudge down.
She’d performed for a long time — never had she been so worn out.
A tempting aroma drifted into the tent; Yuan Meng’s nose twitched and her stomach gave an audible gurgle.
Before Mo Lin could call her, she unzipped the tent and walked out.
“I was just about to call you. Who knew your nose was so sharp?” Mo Lin joked.
Yuan Meng rubbed her belly and smiled. “I’m starving. Your cooking smells amazing — it wakes up the greedy bug inside me.”
Embarrassed, Mo Lin ladled her an extra helping. Yuan Xingcheng glanced at his own bowl and smirked.
Of course — he knew he would.
Dinner revived Yuan Meng somewhat. Food really is its own kind of therapy; Mo Lin cooked well, and she wasn’t just flattering him.
After they ate, they discussed night watches. In the end they decided the least useful ones — Yuan Meng, Yang Liu, and Yuan Xingcheng — would keep watch. Xiang Bo and Mo Lin were exhausted: Mo Lin from cooking and organizing, Xiang Bo from chasing the crew; after dinner Xiang Bo promptly fell asleep.
So the girls were paired for the night shift. The diva finally had nothing to say.
They agreed only in principle. Yang Liu thought Yuan Xingcheng difficult to be around and would rather not be with Yuan Meng either; if she protested, she’d be left to watch alone. So the two girls sat together in mutual annoyance, literally keeping as much distance as the tent would allow.