Chapter 31: Horror Video

On the Blue Sea Video website, the account [Horror Old Liu], which had been silent for over twenty days, uploaded a new video.

Boasting over six million followers and famous for both its erratic update schedule and authentic horror content, this paranormal video account saw its new upload immediately propelled to the top of the Blue Sea Video trending charts by fans who had been waiting for ages.

“Holy crap, it’s still more than half a month until the Qingming Festival¹. Is it really appropriate to release something this ghoulish so early?”

“No updates or activity for over twenty days… I thought you’d skipped town, but turns out you were just charging up a big ultimate move.”

“Old Liu, which movie studio did you go undercover… I mean, intern at? Is this a movie trailer you stole?”

“You’re being reckless, Brother Liu! You’re going to end up in jail for this! How about you leave me the USB drive with the movie files before they lock you up? I’ll cherish your legacy.”

“Breaking News: Program details for the Underworld’s Qingming Festival Gala have been leaked.”

“The person who appears at the very end is so good-looking. Is he some new idol? (I’m not talking about Old Liu, I mean the handsome guy who appeared before him.)”

“He looks a bit familiar… Wait, isn’t that the pretty-boy streamer who was being heavily promoted by the big shot ‘Ganfan Huahua Shijie’ a week ago? That big shot’s money power is invincible. It’s only been a week and there’s already a movie trailer.”

“@Ganfan Huahua Shijie, the big shot’s money power can even be used in the underworld. Money makes the devil turn the millstone²—the ancients truly didn’t lie to me.”

“@Ganfan Huahua Shijie, does the big shot need any more leg ornaments³? I’m a college graduate, I know to seek shelter when it rains, and I don’t pick up random things off the ground to eat.”

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. Lin Zixin was driving his sports car and singing along, planning to skip class for some street racing.

While waiting at a red light, he casually checked his phone, only to find that his Blue Sea Video account had suddenly received a massive number of @ mentions.

Although Lin Zixin was frequently teased and tagged due to his habit of giving massive tips, which kept him at the top of the Blue Sea Livestream fan rankings, the number of notifications today was clearly abnormal.

Watching the red notification dot jump back to 99+ the instant he cleared it, Lin Zixin’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies were immediately triggered. If he didn’t get rid of that red dot, he would be genuinely miserable.

Lin Zixin pulled his car over to the side of the road.

He wanted to see exactly who was so bored that they kept desperately tagging him.

Lin Zixin was currently at a street racing hotspot. Further ahead was a winding mountain road, surrounded by desolate wilderness with no signs of human habitation. The people who came here were basically second-generation rich kids driving sports cars or modified vehicles; no one else would ever pass through.

Because of this, Lin Zixin simply turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, sitting on the hood of his sports car as he clicked on the notifications.

After clicking through, he realized that most of the tags originated from a horror video—a horror video only two and a half minutes long, posted a day ago.

Lin Zixin was already very interested in horror videos and paranormal matters. After Xie Sui helped resolve the issue with his family’s ancestral hall, confirming that ghosts truly existed in this world, his curiosity regarding those unknown entities had grown even stronger.

Thus, without the slightest hesitation, he clicked on the video posted by Horror Old Liu.

The first few seconds of the video were pitch black, followed by the rise of a sobbing, mournful background music.

Accompanied by the intermittent wailing of a piccolo, the blackness that occupied the entire screen slowly retreated—it turned out that the initial darkness was a pitch-black pupil pressed tightly against the camera lens.

A female ghost with entirely black eyes and no whites looked down into the lens. Her hands were braced on the ground, and her long hair hung down like a black curtain, obscuring both sides of the frame. Her pale, greenish face was presented in a dramatic close-up, forming a triangular composition.

The corners of the ghost’s mouth, stitched into a smile, remained curved upward. Her all-black pupils held an infinite tenderness as she pressed a deathly pale hand against the side of the frame, as if caressing a lover’s face.

In the next instant, bloody tears overflowed from her eyes and dripped onto the lens. The camera seemed to fall into a pool of blood, instantly submerged by a vast expanse of gore until only red remained in the frame.

The sorrowful flute music gradually faded, replaced by a heavy thumping of drums.

The frequency of the drumbeats was like a beating heart—thump, thump—growing stronger and stronger, as if something was gestating within the blood. The surging blood slowly condensed into a concrete shape following the rhythm of the drums.

The frame shook, and a phantom figure dressed in a red bridal gown flashed by. Self-walking embroidered shoes moved from the distance toward the camera before coming to a halt. The dragon and phoenix embroidery patterns were fixed in the center of the screen, slowly fading out.

Immediately after, the camera zoomed out instantly, revealing a world composed entirely of black and red to the audience.

In this blood-red world, heaven and earth were mirror images of each other. Two tulou buildings stood—one rooted on the ground, the other hanging upside down in the sky.

Red lanterns on the circular eaves swayed gently. Red silk hanging from the sides of the lanterns either drifted toward the sky or dangled toward the ground. In the void between the two tulou, some unknown force seemed to be guiding the mirrored buildings toward each other, attempting to make them merge completely.

The constantly unfurling and curling red silk looked like countless specters draped in red robes, moving with the wind as they drifted slowly between the inverted, mirrored buildings.

The drumming ceased, and the cold, lonely sound of a zither⁴ echoed, interspersed with the ringing of bells. Black mist appearing from nowhere instantly dismantled the two red tulou.

The screen shifted from red back to black.

However, unlike the opening scene, this blackness was tinged with a dim, bloody light.

A piece of white paper money⁵ with a square hole in the center drifted out from the end of the black mist, tearing through the darkness.

Vast quantities of white paper money fell like autumn leaves. Eerie green Ghost Fire surged from the depths of the mist. Two tall, thin, white ghostly figures wearing high hats flicked their white water sleeves and waved soul-summoning banners, swaying as they emerged from the fog.

Behind these ghostly figures were two rows of white-clad spirits carrying a sedan chair, accompanied by many fanged, green-faced monsters guarding the sides of the procession.

Ghost Fire emitting an eerie fluorescent glow dispersed the black mist, slowly revealing paper-mache buildings standing on both sides of the street.

The image began to shake slightly as the lens tilted downward without warning, and the background music and video audio suddenly cut out.

In this silence, a black beast claw abruptly extended from behind the camera-some massive predator was crouching behind the person filming.

The sound of hurried breathing suddenly rang out.

In the next instant, the camera tumbled violently as the perspective swung sharply toward the rear.

Standing behind was not a monster, but a young man.

The man had a handsome face, but his skin was deathly pale and devoid of color. His exquisite features looked like a meticulous ink wash painting rendered on white Xuan paper-he looked like a paper effigy come to life.

The camera trembled again. The person holding it seemed to sense something and slowly moved to the side.

The camera continued to push forward, but the height of the frame remained unchanged. As the lens moved, the image shifted into a narrow horizontal composition, with black bars at the top and bottom squeezing the video into a thin strip, creating an incredibly uncomfortable sense of oppression.

As the camera panned, the thing standing opposite the man revealed its form-it was a massive, pitch-black monster resembling a wolf-dog.

It stood on two legs like a human, its hideous mouth split open in a cunning, cruel grin directed at the man.

At the same time, the sounds of flutes, pipes, drums, and zithers erupted together, followed immediately by the blare of a suona⁶ that drowned out all other instruments. The fanged, pitch-black monster leaped up, lunging at the man with extreme speed.

Under the close-up of the massive claws that occupied nearly half the screen, the man looked as frail as a sapling swaying in the wind, yet there wasn’t a trace of fear on his face.

He didn’t move. He watched the approaching monster with indifference, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy, as if he were looking at weeds by the road or stones on the ground. Those dark, deep pupils seemed like abysses capable of absorbing all light; no person or thing could truly enter his sight.

Just as the background suona reached its climax, just as the massive claws were about to crush the man’s skull, and just as the tension had been built to its peak, the screen suddenly went black. The video stopped abruptly.

Liu Wuyong’s weathered, decadent face suddenly appeared in the center of the screen. He stared with dead-fish eyes⁷, reading in a monotone, expressionless voice: “To find out what happens next, please follow the Blue Sea Livestream platform host @XieSui. On March 15th at 9:00 PM, we will be hosting the Appraising Popular Supernatural Entities livestream. You are all welcome to join us. Be there or be square.”

Lin Zixin’s breath hitched in his throat, and he couldn’t help but curse along with the scrolling comments.

“This is so jarring, I never expected it to be a livestream ad!”

“Ahhh, why stop there! Old Liu! Have some humanity!”

“Man, your beauty has successfully caught my attention. (P.S. Not talking about Old Liu) (P.P.S. Old Liu, you need to shave.)”

“That’s it? I waited over twenty days and you just gave me an ad? Old Liu, have you run out of talent? See you at the livestream! If the stream is garbage, I’m unfollowing and blocking you in one go.”

Lin Zixin had been completely captivated by the video content. It wasn’t until the video ended and he heard Liu Wuyong’s words that he suddenly realized the pale man who appeared at the end was Xie Sui, the person who had solved his family’s ancestral hall problem.

It had only been a little over a week since they last met, but Xie Sui seemed to have changed a lot… whether it was his appearance or his aura, he felt even more formidable now.

Backing out to his notifications and looking at the messages tagging him, Lin Zixin scratched his head in confusion.

This time, he really hadn’t commissioned Horror Old Liu to build hype for Xie Sui. In fact, after Xie Sui finished the job for his family, the two hadn’t been in contact. They were purely one-time business partners.

Lin Zixin glanced at the time on his phone.

Today was the 15th, and it was currently 6:00 PM, three hours away from Xie Sui’s broadcast.

The desire to go for a high-speed drive suddenly vanished. Lin Zixin decided to wait in his car to watch Xie Sui’s livestream.

Horror Old Liu’s edited video had successfully piqued his curiosity. He couldn’t wait to see the follow-up and find out exactly what that black monster was.

Lin Zixin idly scrolled through social media, searching for topics related to Horror Old Liu.

It would be great if he could watch it live on-site. He was genuinely interested in those ghosts and monsters now; watching through a screen wasn’t nearly thrilling enough.

**

Not far from where Lin Zixin was parked, near a weed-covered ditch away from the main road, sat a somewhat dilapidated van.

Liu Wuyong and Xiao Wu were rolling up their sleeves and unloading items from the vehicle, beginning to set up the scene for tonight’s livestream.

Once most of the things were organized, Xiao Wu wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat directly on a nearby pile of grass, pulling several sheets of paper from his jacket and beginning to mutter to himself.

Seeing him like this, Liu Wuyong sighed softly. “Xiao Wu, stop memorizing. The script is just a reference for you. Just play yourself.”

Xiao Wu nodded stiffly, stood up from the grass, and walked a few steps with his arms and legs moving in sync on the same side.

Liu Wuyong massaged his forehead in exasperation. He had a feeling this was going to be a disaster… was it too much of a stretch to have Xiao Wu play the victim haunted by the Yawu-po? This guy was too straightforward; he didn’t have a lick of acting talent.

Xie Sui’s upcoming livestream was about the Yawu-po. Liu Wuyong and Xiao Wu had prepared the dry ice, speakers, and other atmosphere-building props. The filming equipment for the livestream was also ready. They were just waiting for Xie Sui to bring the Yawu-po over before starting the broadcast.

The script for this livestream involved Xie Sui starting with urban legends from supernatural forums, explaining the background to build a horror atmosphere, and then “coincidentally” encountering the victim, Xiao Wu, who was being haunted by the Yawu-po.

After that, it would depend on Xie Sui’s ability to react. In the process of “training the dog” during the livestream, a qualified host needed the ability to develop the plot based on the live comments.

In short, if most of the audience believed in the legend, they would claim Yawu-po was fake; if few believed, they would claim she was real.

The goal was to use a rebellious attitude to clash with the audience, pushing their emotions to the limit to provide them with the “relaxing” entertainment of an emotional vent.

It was a very simple livestream, with only a few lines of script. The only real requirement was for Xiao Wu to show genuine fear.

Old Liu patted Xiao Wu on the shoulder, motioning for him to sit. It was still early and Xie Sui hadn’t arrived yet, so he figured he should say something to distract Xiao Wu.

“Xiao Wu, when our former boss assigned you to me, I happened to see your resume.”

Thinking back on it, Old Liu felt a bit sentimental.

He had been forcibly conscripted by that fellow Zhang Dadao, while Xiao Wu had accidentally stumbled right into the hands of an evil cultivator like Zhang Dadao while looking for a job. Xiao Wu was truly unlucky. In any other company, making a mistake at work would cost you money at most, but under Zhang Dadao, a mistake could cost you your life.

Old Liu paused and continued his attempt at comfort. “I remember your resume mentioned you had acting experience performing musicals on a public stage. Just relax. We’re just acting out a livestream script; isn’t that easier than a musical? By the way, let’s talk about the musicals you’ve been in. I only know Phantom of the Opera. Did you ever perform in that one?”

Xiao Wu gave a sheepish smile. “No, I’ve only ever performed in one musical… back in kindergarten for the Children’s Day performance. I played a tree.”

Old Liu fell silent.

Setting aside the fact that kindergarten was far too long ago to be relevant, the experience of playing a tree was more like being a background prop than actual acting, wasn’t it? Young people these days really would put anything on their resumes just to pad them out.

However, Old Liu’s opening gambit worked, and the tension on Xiao Wu’s face faded significantly.

He followed the topic and continued, “Actually, kindergarten was probably the time my family was most proud of me. I really regret not studying harder. I dropped out of junior high to follow my big brother into the underworld, but eventually he used me as a scapegoat. I did three years in prison for him. Now I’m in my twenties and still haven’t accomplished anything.”

Old Liu patted Xiao Wu’s thick shoulder. “It’s not too late to start working hard now. You’re still very young. Working with Boss Xie has a bright future.”

Xiao Wu nodded vigorously.

Even though Old Liu had accidentally exposed his overly-embellished resume, the conversation had clearly helped Xiao Wu relax.

While waiting for Xie Sui to arrive, Xiao Wu took out his phone and started scrolling through the videos Old Liu had posted, trying to contribute to the view count.

“Old Liu, you really are a million-dollar editor. With these cuts and the background music, even I, who walked through the Yin-Yang Gap with you, can’t recognize the place. It’s so artistic, like a movie with special effects,” Xiao Wu said while scrolling. “By the way, I didn’t see that stitched-up female ghost or the one in the wedding dress at the beginning of the video. Are those new ghosts the boss caught for you?”

Old Liu said calmly, “Those were all ghosts kept by our former boss. I’ve accumulated a lot of ghost footage over the years; I was just too lazy to use it before.”

As the video reached the end and showed Yawu-po lunging at Xie Sui, Old Liu couldn’t help but laugh. “If I had edited even one second more at the end, the secret would have been out, because the very next shot is the boss raising his leg and kicking that dog flying. To make Yawu-po look terrifying, I had to find quite a few angles before I barely managed to get a successful shot.”

Xiao Wu thought of that hyena monster that was only as tall as a ten-year-old child and nodded silently. To make that thing look so formidable, Old Liu really was impressive.

Just as Old Liu and Xiao Wu were discussing the video, Xie Sui happened to arrive at their location.

His breathing was slightly uneven, and he waited a moment before speaking to them. “Sorry I’m late. This place is too remote. The taxi driver was afraid I was a highway robber and refused to drive past the intersection back there, so I had to run the rest of the way.”

The three of them had rented a van, but just as they were about to leave, Xie Sui had something urgent to handle and couldn’t come with Old Liu and Xiao Wu.

The reason they chose such a remote location for the livestream was for fear that Yawu-po might accidentally harm ordinary people.

Although Yawu-po seemed weak when facing Xie Sui, it was still a genuine urban legend monster. Killing an ordinary person would be all too easy for it.

Seeing his boss arrive, Old Liu quickly pulled Xiao Wu to his feet and picked up a laptop from a nearby haystack.

Sure enough, Xie Sui’s first question was, “How is the video’s popularity doing now?”

Old Liu skillfully pulled up the data charts from various platforms and turned the laptop screen toward Xie Sui. “After a day of fermenting, the video has broken out of its niche and reached the trending searches on social media.”

“I have a lot of active followers, and to encourage them to leave more comments, I added a little stunt at the end of the video. Although most of the comments at the end are cursing me, the video’s popularity has skyrocketed.” There were many ways to edit a video, and Old Liu had chosen the one that would generate the most comments and bullet chat.

“Right now, this video is number one on the Blue Sea Platform’s horror and supernatural category trending list, and fifteenth on the site-wide trending list. It’s eighth on the social media trending searches. Most of the heat was generated by users from supernatural forums who swarmed onto social media. After all, the Yawu-po legend started with them. Those forum users are fierce; the entire community came out to argue with people questioning Yawu-po’s existence, which tore our video straight onto the trending lists.”

Looking at the numbers that were still climbing on the screen, Xie Sui could already imagine how explosive the upcoming livestream would be.

If there were no popular supernatural events to livestream, they would create one themselves to get on the trending list, and then livestream it… in a sense, it could be considered sustainable development.

“Now we just have to wait. We start the broadcast at nine o’clock.”

For some reason, even though he had livestreamed alone twice before, Xie Sui felt a strange sense of nervousness before starting this broadcast.

Was it because he had to perform for the camera in front of two living people like Liu Wuyong and Xiao Wu? He couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward.

Xie Sui let out a soft breath, trying his best to steady his nerves.

This was the first time he had ever livestreamed with assistants present. He just hoped everything would go smoothly.

Translator’s Notes