CDJMM – Volume 4 – Chapter 1 Filming in the Interstellar Era (1)

Volume 4 Filming in the Interstellar Era to Recreate Earth’s Ancient Civilization

Le Jing was woken by the violent banging on the door.

The moment he regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was a coldness that seeped into his bones.

He opened his eyes in a daze and instinctively tried to sit up, but his head spun violently. He fell back heavily, splashing water everywhere.

Only then did he realize—he seemed to be lying in water.

He paused for several seconds until the dizziness gradually faded and he finally freed himself from the sensation of the world spinning. Only then did he manage to look at his surroundings—and it looked like the scene of a murder.

A bathtub filled with blood-tinged water, a floor stained with splatters, and a corpse soaked pale lying in the tub—himself.

Even with his unusually strong mental fortitude, Le Jing still froze for a second before he understood what was going on:

Clearly, the body he had transmigrated into had slit its wrists not long ago.

The pounding on the door grew even more frantic, as if the whole room were shaking.

Le Jing immediately pressed his left hand tightly over the severed artery on his right wrist to slow the bleeding, then raised his right arm and staggered out of the bathroom.

He stumbled across the cluttered, dilapidated living room—it seemed the original owner lived in pretty poor conditions.

When he reached the door, he paused, momentarily dumbfounded. The white metal door didn’t even have a handle. Smooth as a mirror, he had no idea how to open it.

He thought for a few seconds, digging through the fragments of the original owner’s memories, and then tentatively pointed his index finger at a circular protrusion on the door. A soft “beep” sounded, and the door slid open automatically, revealing the person who had been banging on it.

A woman in her forties or fifties stood outside, heavily made up, reeking of cheap perfume.

“You brat, you’ve already owed two months of rent—” Her furious expression froze the moment she saw the state he was in.

He didn’t need a mirror to know how terrible he must look. His clothes were soaked into a bloody mess, his entire body swollen and pale, and blood was still trickling from his upraised wrist. He looked exactly like a water ghost from a horror movie.

The woman clutched her chest and let out a short scream. “Shi Jing! What on earth—?!”

Le Jing gave her a weak smile. “Sister Zhang… could you help me call an ambulance?”

Landlady Zhang stared at the blood still spilling from his wrist and immediately understood the situation. “You’re so young, why would you do something so stupid—An ambulance? That’s expensive! You’re already dirt poor—” She abruptly changed the subject. “Anyway, the wound isn’t that big. I’ll go get an emergency medical kit and treat you myself.”

“No, I need—”

Before he could finish, the woman had already rushed off.

He took a deep breath, his body swayed, and he could no longer stand. Leaning against the doorframe, he slowly slid down as his vision darkened.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he heard the hurried sound of Sister Zhang rushing back upstairs. Even from afar, she shouted, “Aiyo, I’m really going to lose big this time! Once you’re better, you must pay me back for the medical supplies!”

Le Jing wanted to respond, but his vision went black—and he knew nothing more.

When he woke again, he was lying on a bed.

He stared blankly at the yellowed ceiling. His mind, hazy since the moment he woke in this world, finally grew clearer.

Shifting his eyes around, he noticed he was dressed in clean clothes, the wound on his wrist had completely disappeared, leaving only a faint scar, and his body was warm, no longer chilled from blood loss. Clearly, Sister Zhang had dragged him back from the gates of hell.

A wound that should’ve required emergency hospital treatment had been cured with a household medical kit? It looked like he had arrived in an advanced technological era.

From the kitchen came an off-key humming—Sister Zhang.

Le Jing closed his eyes and took the chance to examine the original owner’s memories.

It was now Star Year 6017. His current location was several tens of millions of light-years away from the Milky Way.

Seven thousand years ago, Earth had already been destroyed. The surviving humans took their spaceships and jumped through wormholes, seeking a new Earth they could live on.

After nearly a thousand years of searching, they finally found a suitable planet—Peace Star—where the original owner lived. In the centuries that followed, humanity kept expanding and eventually occupied five more resource-rich planets. These six planets formed what was now the Earth Alliance.

The original owner was named Shi Jing, a director—though a poor and struggling one, hence the two months of unpaid rent.

From his memories, Le Jing understood that with advanced technology, even moderate injuries could be treated with home medical kits. Ambulance fees were exorbitant, far beyond what penniless Shi Jing could afford.

He really owed the landlady a huge favor this time.

“You’re awake?” Sister Zhang came out of the kitchen, relieved when she saw his open eyes. She placed the bowl of chicken soup on the bedside table and casually turned on the holoscreen. “I made chicken soup. Drink it once it cools.”

A cheerful advertisement jingle filled the cramped little room, adding some life to the otherwise suffocating space.

Le Jing nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Sister Zhang. If it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead.” His eyes reddened slightly, his gratitude sincere. “I’ll never forget how you saved me.”

“How much were the medical supplies? I’ll definitely pay you back someday.”

Sister Zhang patted his shoulder lightly. “Enough. Talk about that when you’re better. You’re still young—what could possibly be so unbearable? No matter how hard things get, you can’t just give up! Once you’re dead, nothing is left.”

She paused, then added bluntly, “And don’t forget—you still owe me two months’ rent. And now I’ve saved your life. If you really want to thank me, get well, and make money so you can pay me back.”

Le Jing couldn’t help laughing. Sister Zhang seemed rough and sharp-tongued, but she was soft-hearted—a genuinely good person.

He nodded seriously, meeting her tired, bloodshot eyes. “I will live well. And I will repay your kindness.”

His voice was firm, like a vow carved into stone.

Zhang Yanfang didn’t take it to heart. Pretty words were easy to say, and she hadn’t saved him expecting gratitude. A life was a life—if he had died right in front of her, she would’ve felt guilty for the rest of her life.

She replied casually, “Alright then, I’ll be waiting for that gratitude.”

The commercial ended and a movie began to play. Sister Zhang glanced at the screen and suddenly her eyes lit up. “Ah! It’s The Eastern Red!’”

Le Jing looked up. A few breaths later, his smile grew faint and cold. “You really like that movie?”

Without noticing his reaction, Sister Zhang nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! After the Great Migration, there was a huge gap in ancient Earth’s cultural heritage. Kids today are so restless—no one bothers studying those outdated antiques. This movie draws from ancient Huaxia history and still turned out so well. It promotes ancient culture—it’s rare, truly rare.” She suddenly remembered something. “I heard Director Tian Hui went to the same school as you? Do you know him?”

A strange smile crossed Le Jing’s lips. “Of course I know him. I just doubt he’d want to see me.”

She misunderstood. “Makes sense. He’s a famous director now.” She looked at the chicken soup. “Drink while it’s warm. I put the rest in the warming cabinet—make sure you drink it. I’m heading back. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thank you for everything, Sister Zhang.” He nodded obediently. When the door finally closed, the smile disappeared from his face.

He looked at the movie playing—The Eastern Red—and felt only irritation. It must have been the original owner’s emotions reacting.

The title The Eastern Red held a double meaning. It was the name of the first satellite launched by ancient Huaxia, and also a reference to the passionate, red-tinged era during the early days of the Third Technological Revolution (Earth’s 20th century).

Because of lost history, the movie made certain artistic adaptations. It followed Wang Ying and other intellectuals making different life choices in a turbulent era, depicting the lives of Huaxia people thousands of years ago with strong educational value.

How did Le Jing know all this so well?

Because the script of The Eastern Red was written by the original owner.

But it had been stolen by his classmate Tian Hui, who registered the copyright first, filmed it, gained fame and wealth, and became a rising star in the directing world.

Shi Jing, meanwhile, had no money, no background, and no connections—completely powerless against a rich second-generation like Tian Hui. He could only swallow the injustice.

Afterward, every movie he tried to make was overlooked. He became so poor he could barely eat, while the one who stole his script prospered. In despair, he slit his wrists—and that was when Le Jing transmigrated into him.

As for revenge… that could wait until he had enough money to survive.

The aroma of chicken soup stirred his hunger. Le Jing lifted the bowl and drank it all in a few gulps.

The original owner must not have eaten well in a long time—one bowl didn’t even fill him. He dragged himself to the kitchen, opened the warming cabinet, and drank the second bowl clean. Only then did he feel full.

Feeling sticky and reeking of blood, he decided to take a shower. But entering the bathroom again, he was hit by the smell of the blood-filled tub—like a slaughterhouse.

The household cleaning robot had broken long ago, and the original owner couldn’t afford a new one, so he had to clean it himself.

By the time he finished cleaning and showering, it was already 8 PM.

He lay on the bed, sore and exhausted, turned on his light-brain device, and prepared to earn his food money for the next few days.

The method was simple—film pay-per-view movies.

In the interstellar era, rapid technological progress had revolutionized filmmaking. A brand-new production method swept the star-net, allowing ordinary people to create movies.

Traditional films required real actors, props, and sets—expensive and risky. If a movie flopped, investors lost everything. Thus AI films were born.

AI films—also called virtual films—used computer-generated actors, props, sets. Intelligent AIs could simulate human emotions—though they still fell short on subtle expressions, which was why real actors weren’t completely replaced.

The original owner had made a few AI films and uploaded them online. Very few had watched them, and all the profit combined wasn’t even 100 star-coins.

He had been indignant, but Le Jing understood the real reason—his films were too artsy.

Even in ancient Earth’s era, arthouse films rarely did well. Some couldn’t even make it into theaters.

Le Jing respected the original owner’s artistic ideals, but art doesn’t have to be niche. It could be elegant yet accessible.

This era was the best of times and the worst of times.

Technology advanced, but brought restlessness. Cold machinery couldn’t fill people’s longing for truth, goodness, and beauty.

This era was lost.

Earth, their only mother planet, had been destroyed. Humans had drifted through space for a thousand years before finding a new home.

The thousand-year wandering carved insecurity and confusion into every Earth Alliance citizen—no matter their species, gender, age, or faith. They were all rootless.

During the journey, countless accidents caused most records of Earth’s civilization to be lost. The new Earth people would never find their full history again.

And so they questioned, they searched, they felt lost.

This was why The Eastern Red exploded in popularity.

Because Le Jing remembered.

He came from ancient Earth. He remembered the civilizations Earth once created—the pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall of China, cuneiform and oracle bone script, Babylon’s Hanging Gardens, ancient India’s religions and sciences…

And the people who shone like stars in the river of history—sages, heroes, revolutionaries, kings, generals, brave souls who fought fate, ordinary people who flashed brightly for a moment…

Any one of them could fill dozens of episodes of a drama!

They were Earth’s long-lost treasure.

And now, it was time to return them to Earth.