HEIFEIGU -Chapter 132

Xie Jixing spent a whole night reading the script.

The character based on Yin Wenshan was named Fan Qingshan, and the one based on him was Zhang Xianhai.

Although he had witnessed Yin Wenshan’s torture, compiling a person’s life into a full story in writing gave a different feeling.

The story was told from the perspective of the two male leads.

Initially, they had no interaction.

Fan Qingshan was a young master of a prestigious family, educated both at home and abroad. Their stores dominated the most prosperous street of the city.

Yet he fell in love with cinema.

With his unique looks and noble gentlemanly demeanor, plus the support of the Fan family, he quickly became a major movie star.

His father was a patriotic Confucian businessman but mistakenly trusted the incompetent and corrupt government.

Silver coins were sent in truckloads, thinking that donations would turn into guns, food, and supplies for the war.

But ultimately, they ended up in the private pockets of the bureaucrats and profiteers.

The northeastern part of the country had already fallen, and the war continued expanding.

Their city was in the south, but if the war kept losing, one day it would reach them.

Fan Qingshan felt this path was unfeasible, so he chose a more dangerous one.

He secretly joined the underground party, doing intelligence work.

His celebrity status greatly facilitated his work.

Until the war reached the doorstep of their city.

The authorities were incompetent, planning to abandon the city. One high-ranking official even betrayed them to surrender to the enemy.

The Fan family, the most coveted prize in Zhucheng, was the first to be betrayed and handed over to the enemy.

Nearly a hundred people in the family were slaughtered overnight, leaving only Fan Qingshan alive.

Soon after, he was captured during a large-scale crackdown on underground party members.

Despite enduring excruciating torture, he refused to reveal the whereabouts of the other comrades.

Fan Qingshan was used by the authorities as a scapegoat, branded a traitor and a collaborator. They even pinned the entire fall of Zhucheng on the Fan family and on him alone.

Zhang Xianhai was a minor Taoist priest, orphaned and raised in a mountain temple.

When the war broke out, his master said that every man is responsible for the rise and fall of the world. So, he followed his master and senior disciples down the mountain.

They fought all the way from the coast to Zhucheng.

His master and senior disciples were killed in the previous battle, leaving only Zhang Xianhai with a guerrilla squad to wage urban warfare in Zhucheng.

The squad shrank from fifty to twenty, and then from twenty down to only two.

Eventually, only Zhang Xianhai remained.

He discovered the location of an enemy munitions depot and planned to blow it up himself.

The depot was heavily guarded during the day, so Zhang Xianhai decided to act under the cover of night and crouched in a hidden corner to wait.

The night wind grew colder and colder, unnaturally so.

Shivering, Zhang Xianhai drew his peachwood sword—and encountered a ghost.

The ghost was pitiful, covered in wounds, its eyes seemingly damaged and unable to focus properly.

It drifted straight toward Zhang Xianhai, only realizing it had collided with him when burned by the sword.

The ghost froze for a moment, its gaze clearing slightly enough to recognize the human figure before it. It planned to float past Zhang Xianhai toward another direction.

Zhang Xianhai thought that maybe he could become like this tomorrow, or perhaps lose even this tiny fragment of a soul and dissolve into a pile of ashes.

He spoke to the ghost, “Where are you going?”

The ghost stopped and looked back at him. “You can see me?”

“I’m a Taoist. I’ve had the Yin-Yang eye since I was a child.”

The ghost seemed intrigued, floating down to sit beside him. “Then, where are you headed?”

In a chaotic world, neither humans nor ghosts had a place to belong.

Zhang Xianhai stared at the munitions depot in the distance. “I plan to go and blow it up.”

The ghost was silent for a long while before finally seeing the depot clearly. “Alone?”

Zhang Xianhai lowered his head and replied softly, “There’s no one else.”

“There are at least seven or eight of these depots in Zhucheng,” the ghost said, placing its cold hand on Zhang Xianhai’s shoulder. “Blowing up just one won’t make much difference. Zhucheng is doomed, and you’re still so young…”

Though the ghost didn’t finish his sentence, anyone could hear it: he was urging Zhang Xianhai to run.

“And you?” Zhang Xianhai studied the ghost’s wounded body. “So miserable, and branded a traitor.”

The ghost paused, letting out a pitiful laugh like the sharp cry of a night owl.

“Killing one isn’t a loss, killing two is a gain,” Zhang Xianhai wiped his peachwood sword. “Here, I only have this package of explosives and this sword.”

“Here, let’s make a deal,” he said, pushing the sword toward the ghost. “You lure the people away, I’ll go in and have some fun.”

The ghost touched the peachwood sword lightly and was immediately burned, turning into a wisp of smoke.

This Taoist is serious business—using a peachwood sword against a ghost.

The night owl’s cry lingered for a while. The ghost looked at Zhang Xianhai. “Fine, let’s go in and have some fun.”

Flames shot high into the sky, and the small peachwood sword was forever left embedded in a boulder halfway up the mountain.

This was the only interaction between the two male leads in the film.

Xie Jixing’s eyes were swollen after watching.

Zhang Xianhai was similar to him, but not exactly the same.

That little Taoist did not possess the Yin Fire capable of burning a hundred thousand evil spirits; he was just a mortal, with at most a single bag of explosives.

Xie Jixing tossed and turned, unable to sleep, even thinking of sending Qian Shuyun two packages of blades.

He lit his phone—2:40 a.m.

Unable to resist, he sent Qian Shuyun a message:

Qian Shuyun!!!: 【(little cat holding a kitchen knife)】

Much better.

Just as Xie Jixing was about to sleep, Qian Shuyun called with a voice message.

His voice was muffled, clearly still waking up. “What’s up?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Xie Jixing asked, surprised.

“I was,” his voice clearer but huskier than usual, “but since you contacted me, I woke up.”

“Didn’t you set Do Not Disturb?”

Feeling a little guilty for waking him with an emoji, Xie Jixing hesitated.

“I did, but you weren’t included.”

He heard him swallow—he seemed to drink a couple of sips of water.

“And I set a special ringtone. As soon as it rings, I wake up.”

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping so late?”

Xie Jixing curled up under the covers, Qian Shuyun’s voice near his ear, as if embracing him.

Deep and gentle, making him unconsciously want to confide.

“I just finished reading the script.”

Xie Jixing turned over.

“I feel a little sad.”

Qian Shuyun, now giving up on sleep, sat by the headboard, softly asking, “Why sad?”

“I don’t know. My heart feels heavy… uncomfortable.”

Xie Jixing even reflected: “Maybe because life is too good right now, I’ve become fragile.”

Qian Shuyun laughed softly. “Our Xingxing, you deserve to live well.”

“To eat delicious snacks, drink sweet drinks, wear beautiful suits.”

“To have a great job, lots of friends, a caring master and senior brother.”

Here he began slipping in personal touches.

“And a boyfriend who loves you very much.”

“And a bunch of fans who adore you.”

“Pfft,” Xie Jixing laughed drowsily, half-asleep. “Are you using this as an excuse to confess?”

“Do I need an excuse to confess?” Qian Shuyun continued soothing him. “I can do it anytime, anywhere.”

His tone was hypnotic, soft and gentle. Xie Jixing felt his eyelids grow heavy.

“Stop talking,” he murmured with eyes closed, “I’m sleepy.”

“Sleep,” Qian Shuyun said, looking at the little god-of-wealth avatar on the phone. “It’s late. Xingxing should sleep.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

Whether Xie Jixing heard that last line, he wasn’t sure. All he heard was his steady, long breathing.

Qian Shuyun hung up and lay down again.

Hm… fine. Now he couldn’t sleep.

Before dawn, he went to Song Chu’s small villa to pick him up.

Xie Jixing was still asleep, but Xie Zhi’ning was up, doing morning exercises in the yard.

Qian Shuyun greeted him, ran a few laps with Xie Zhi’ning, then returned to the villa and received a bowl of medicinal broth.

Xie Zhi’ning observed carefully.

He realized that Qian Shuyun was much more well-behaved than his mischievous little apprentice.

He didn’t sneakily discard anything he didn’t like, nor leave it at the bottom of the bowl.

“How’s your health now?” Xie Zhi’ning stroked his beard, pleased.

“Very good,” Qian Shuyun said, full of energy but not exaggerating.

“After Xingxing helped me exorcise the ghosts, I got much better, but since I was disturbed for a long time…”

“My sleep quality was poor, and rainy, cold days made my joints ache.”

“After Master gave me acupuncture, I felt my whole body relax.”

“I slept especially well yesterday, so I got up early today.”

“Can I ask Master for the recipe of this medicinal broth? I want to learn to make it myself in the future.”

The old man was very pleased, grinning as he wrote down the recipe.

When Xie Jixing finally woke, he saw Qian Shuyun helping Master sort herbs in the small yard.

Was he seeing things?

Xie Jixing rubbed his eyes.

“Xingxing, awake?” Qian Shuyun immediately noticed him. “I brought breakfast. I kept it warm in the kitchen. Let’s eat first.”

Seeing the custard buns before him, Xie Jixing was still dazed.

Custard buns for breakfast?

“What about the medicinal broth?” he asked cautiously, chewing a bun, afraid it might just be a dream.

“I ate it,” Qian Shuyun served a bowl of century egg porridge.

Phew. Relieved, Xie Jixing finished the bun in one bite.

“After eating, pack up and come with me,” Qian Shuyun poured him a cup of juice to prevent choking.

“Really?” Xie Jixing asked, mouth full of buns, mumbling.

“Yes, Master has agreed.”

“And it’s far from the film studio and company here. Not convenient. My place is much closer.”

“The movie should start filming next month. I’ll help you get through the script before then.”

Xie Jixing swallowed everything. “Okay, I’ll stay there.”

“But let’s be clear—no romance until filming wraps!”

“Why?!” Qian Shuyun was shocked.

“I’m afraid if I’m too happy, I won’t get into the character,” Xie Jixing pushed away his leaning head. “Boss Qian, keep your distance.”

The character of Zhang Xianhai is one Xie Jixing wants to perform well.

Song Chu, eavesdropping at the stairs, was very satisfied, grabbed two char siu buns, and left.

Qian Shuyun sighed, pushing the luggage, hating himself for it.

Originally, the plan was to use the pretext of the movie to get him back home and have a proper romantic time.

But as it turned out, if he said he didn’t want to, then he really didn’t want to.

Well, these past few days had been a complete waste.