HEIFEIGU -Chapter 135

When it came to Fan Qingshan’s scenes, Qian Shuyun’s director’s chair was empty.

Yin Wenshan floated over and glanced at Xie Jixing, who was sitting on a small stool nearby.

“Sit.”

After saying this, he elegantly adjusted his posture and stared at the monitors.

Although Qian Shuyun and Yin Wenshan had similar life experiences, the different eras they grew up in made their personalities very distinct.

Yin Wenshan, with some mixed-blood lineage, had sharper, deeper features. The makeup artist softened them, and he instantly looked gentler.

With his hair slicked back into a classic style, wearing a vintage British suit and gold-rimmed glasses, even slowing his movements made him almost indistinguishable.

Qian Shuyun had carefully studied all of Yin Wenshan’s films and often observed his ghost form.

He noticed that Yin Wenshan seemed naturally observant. Before doing anything, he instinctively surveyed the situation.

All his actions seemed premeditated—slow but elegant.

This was Yin Wenshan’s most distinctive little trait.

When Qian Shuyun arrived on set, he seemed like a completely different person.

Even time itself seemed to bend back, transporting everyone to that era.

Yin Wenshan, sitting upright in the director’s chair, stared at the monitors with a hint of nostalgia, as if seeing his younger, ambitious self.

Even portraying a movie star of a bygone era was second nature to Qian Shuyun.

The early scenes went smoothly, and Yin Wenshan’s own ghost was very satisfied.

Every day he floated by the director’s chair, holding a paper cup of tea, happily pretending to sip from it.

When they shot the scene of the Fan family massacre, Yin Wenshan’s ghostly energy suddenly became unstable.

He had never witnessed the real destruction of the Fan family. Though the scene was recreated, and technically fake, the real events had been even more brutal.

Late at night, the authorities forcefully broke into the Fan household, killing indiscriminately, sparing neither servants nor children.

Even the stronger house guards, armed with sticks and knives, were no match for the armed soldiers—they were like meat on a slab.

Before his death, Mr. Fan desperately pulled off the attacker’s cloth covering their face, only to find it was the trusted government army. He was then beheaded.

His eyes were full of fear and hatred, dying with unresolved pain.

The Fan family’s warehouses were emptied, and all annexes were ransacked.

Even the gold, silver, and jade bracelets on the wives and servants were stolen.

Before Zhucheng fell, a fire broke out in the east of the city.

Fan Qingyan, on her way to Su City for business, was abducted before even entering Zhucheng.

For women like her, humiliation was more enjoyable than outright murder.

A certain officer had long coveted the Fan family’s high-standing young lady.

Now that the Fan family was in trouble, it was his perfect opportunity.

Fan Qingyan was dragged out of her outer garment and pushed into a room.

The man sitting in a chair sneered at her. “Miss Fan, besides your useless brother, your whole family is dead. Serve me well, and you might live a few more days. Otherwise, maybe I’ll hand you over to the Japanese.”

Yin Wenshan’s ghostly energy surged toward the actor playing the officer.

Fortunately, Xie Jixing’s quick reflexes released a Yin Fire, burning it away.

“Cut! Got it,” Xie Jixing called from beside the empty director’s chair, since Qian Shuyun wasn’t present for this scene.

The ghostly energy was scorched, and Yin Wenshan’s body regained partial clarity, though the black energy still leaked uncontrollably.

Through the blur, he heard Qian Shuyun say, “Let the actress recover her emotions before continuing.”

It was acting.

Yin Wenshan’s raging ghostly energy calmed slightly, and his pure black eyes gradually cleared.

Ghosts do not cry, yet two streams of black and red energy flowed from his eyes, mournful and piercing.

On set, Jiang Yue, playing Fan Qingyan, turned and violently kicked the wooden bedpost.

She also spat out a few particularly filthy curses. When actors play emotionally suppressed scenes, they often force themselves out of character this way.

These curses stabilized Yin Wenshan’s ghostly energy.

The person before him was not his composed, proper sister.

A lady of that era would never speak such dirty words.

But what about his sister?

What had she endured at that time?

Yin Wenshan never dared think about it.

He removed his glasses, letting the world blur.

At that moment, he did not want to see anything.

Qian Shuyun whispered to Xie Jixing, “Did Master Yin have a problem just now?”

Xie Jixing nodded slightly and looked at the ghost in the director’s chair, curled up and covering its face. He sighed.

How should he comfort it?

What should he even say?

The Xie Jixing who could go head-to-head with trolls for three days straight couldn’t utter a single word now.

Yue Qinyao, who had originally come just to watch the commotion, hung nearby in a tree.

Seeing Yin Wenshan like this, her black hair gently entwined around him, softly touching his ghostly energy.

A soft, delicate hum could be heard—only Xie Jixing and Yin Wenshan could hear it.

Yue Qinyao was singing a lullaby.

The gentle melody matched her voice perfectly. Yin Wenshan in the director’s chair paused.

His mother had passed away early; he was raised by his sister.

This lullaby was the one his sister often hummed to soothe him.

He had mentioned it to Yue Qinyao a few times—he didn’t expect she actually learned it.

Yin Wenshan looked up at Yue Qinyao in the tree.

She transformed into the image of herself before death: her face smashed inward by stones, her body covered in mud and blood.

Her ten fingernails had been worn down from trying to claw up the well walls.

Under Yin Wenshan’s gaze, this horrifying image slowly transformed into the gentle lady in a traditional Xiuhe dress, with her hair neatly coiled and her feet dangling gracefully.

It was like a rebirth.

The faint humming stopped, and Yue Qinyao looked at him.

“They have already started a new life. You need to look forward too.”

Usually, Yue Qinyao acted cute and silly in front of Yin Wenshan. This time, she truly acted as a sister.

Yes—he had to move forward.

Yin Wenshan breathed on his glasses, wiping them with the hem of his clothes.

The scene in front of him became clear again.

Xie Jixing nodded at Qian Shuyun, and the cameras started rolling again.

In the frame, Fan Qingyan quickly calmed down, trembling as she unbuttoned the first button of her qipao.

Her expression mixed humiliation and anger, but her eyes were full of resolve and determination.

One button, two buttons, three buttons.

After undoing the third button, Fan Qingyan lifted the hem of her qipao and moved closer to the officer.

The more she lifted it, the higher it went, almost revealing her entire leg.

The officer’s lecherous eyes fixated on the patch of pale skin, a lewd smile spreading across his face. “Miss Fan is so skilled… has someone already taken advantage of you? But this time it’s free—I won’t complain…”

Before he could finish speaking, Fan Qingyan leaned in and plunged a sharp metal hairpin into the side of his neck.

The stench of blood sprayed all over Fan Qingyan’s face.

The hairpin had been a gift from Fan Qingshan to his sister, hidden at the root of her thigh. Flat and razor-sharp, it left no trace even under her fitted qipao.

“One,” Fan Qingyan murmured softly.

She withdrew the hairpin and placed it into her hair bun, then reached into the officer’s belt holster and pulled out his sidearm.

The gun’s magazine was full—but only seven bullets.

Fan Qingyan deftly chambered a round. “Such a pity, only seven.”

The door opened from the inside. A guard directly opposite looked up—and a bullet struck him squarely between the eyes.

“Two.”

No one had expected that the seemingly delicate Miss Fan from the Fan family would possess such courage and skill.

The gun fired, and all the soldiers rushed toward her.

Fan Qingyan didn’t even know where she had been shot first.

At that moment, only one thought filled her mind:

She had to empty the gun.

“Three.”

“Four…”

The light before her eyes began to blur. The tip of her tongue tasted blood, and Fan Qingyan collapsed, still clutching the empty pistol in her hand.

When Fan Qingshan received the news in Yang City, he gritted his teeth but couldn’t control himself. His eyes bloodshot, he slammed his fist onto the table.

A porcelain cup shattered, cutting a long gash into his finger.

Fan Qingshan didn’t move, just stared as the blood dripped steadily onto the table, forming a small crimson pool.

He knew that the authorities were already watching him, and his situation was extremely dangerous.

When sending out messages earlier, he had warned all the contacts he could reach.

Now, with the rest of the Fan family dead, only he remained. Fan Qingshan desperately wanted to detonate a whole pack of explosives and kill all the enemies to avenge his family.

But he couldn’t. Many comrades still depended on him.

If he could hold out one more day, they would have one more chance at victory.

As a public figure, every wound on Fan Qingshan would draw attention.

The redness in his eyes slowly faded.

He rose calmly, stepped on the shattered porcelain until it broke further, then collected all the fragments and flushed them down the toilet.

Next, he went to the kitchen, took a kitchen knife, and simulated the angle of dropping it, cutting into the same place where the porcelain had cut him.

The knife cut deeply, instantly replacing the original scratch with a clear blade wound.

If a scar remained, it would be obvious—a knife scar.

Fan Qingshan watched the blood drip for a while. As the sharp pain dulled to a throbbing ache, he cut a shallow second wound next to the first on the adjacent finger.

“Ten fingers connected to one heart”—most people couldn’t bring themselves to hurt their own hands. But Fan Qingshan’s two cuts were fast and precise.

He wasn’t just covering up the original wound—he wanted the physical pain in his hand to ease the pain in his heart.

Once he had completely suppressed his emotions, Fan Qingshan called his assistant in a measured tone, asking them to schedule a hospital appointment so he could get a tetanus shot.