Chapter 134: Children’s Laughter (13)
An Nanyuan dazedly pinched his own cheek. Only when the sharp pain hit did he hiss through his teeth and finally confirm—this wasn’t a dream.
Because of his past experience in Family Tomb Village, where he was dragged into the world of shadow ghosts while asleep, he didn’t dare move this time. Instead, he sat trembling in the chair, nervously scanning his surroundings, afraid that any sudden movement might provoke something terrible.
From the looks of it, he was inside a newspaper office.
The room was huge, with newspapers and various books stacked high like mountains, burying the desks completely. Maybe everyone had been too busy—like they’d just finished a tough battle—because many books were left open, tossed aside without being closed. The place was messy, but the air was thick with the scent of ink and paper.
The wide office was completely empty. An Nanyuan was the only one sitting behind the frontmost desk.
Even though he didn’t know what was going on, just from the way the desks were arranged, he could guess that the owner of this particular desk held a fairly high position.
His gaze drifted down to the nameplate on the desk, confirming his suspicion.
Editor-in-Chief of Binhai Daily: Nan Shan.
An Nanyuan blinked, completely baffled.
He remembered clearly—he should have been in a hotel. Even if he had lost consciousness and been kidnapped by some crazy fan—after all, the entertainment industry wasn’t short on stalkers, and top-tier idols often had to deal with obsessive affection—being kidnapped and spied on was practically routine.
But even so, wouldn’t they have dumped him in a warehouse or another hotel room? Why would someone bring him to a newspaper office?
Then suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of himself—and he realized something horrifying.
His clothes had been changed.
An Nanyuan: “!!”
He broke into a cold sweat on the spot, a hundred awful scenarios flashing through his mind. All the celebrity scandals—those whose careers had been ruined by a single photo or video—came flooding in. He frantically started patting down his body to check himself, already preparing for the worst.
Sorry, manager… I think I might have to retire early. My only regret is not getting revenge on Yaxing Company. But who knows, maybe they’ll be happy to see me fall. After all, I ruined their golden boy, Anthony. Sigh… they’ll probably be thrilled when the news breaks. Damn it…
Wait?
His wild thoughts came to a screeching halt. His hands were resting on perfectly normal clothes, and a confused expression came over his face.
The person who had changed his clothes hadn’t done anything inappropriate. The outfit he was wearing now was even more modest than his usual casual clothes—completely proper. It was so decent, it seemed like there hadn’t been any ill intentions at all.
A collared shirt, vest, corduroy suit. There was even a pair of glasses clipped to the breast pocket.
He looked more like a teacher or an editor.
And combined with the fact that he was now in a newspaper office… could it be that the person who brought him here just wanted to play some kind of cosplay?
An Nanyuan felt like his brain was about to short-circuit. He immediately stood up and not only examined himself more thoroughly but also started rifling through everything on the desk, desperate to figure out what exactly was going on.
But the more he searched, the more alarmed he became.
There were receipts in the pockets, a small notebook with randomly jotted-down ideas, pens and glasses in the jacket, and a wallet containing several bank cards. On the desk, an unfinished draft lay open with a fountain pen beside it, and there was a stack of folders next to that, as if the editors had just handed in their work, waiting for him to review it.
And apparently, he had been working overtime at the office because of this.
In the dimly lit office, only the green-shaded desk lamp illuminated a small portion of space. Standing there with a folder in his hands, An Nanyuan suddenly felt like his heart had plunged into freezing water—icy cold, all the way to the bone.
Whoever did all this had been disturbingly meticulous. It was as if he hadn’t been randomly dressed up and dumped into a strange place, but rather… he **was** Editor-in-Chief Nan Shan, working here at the newspaper office. And he had just woken up from a quick nap.
As for stages, celebrities, and variety shows, they now felt like a bizarre, fantastical dream to him—so much so that upon waking, he couldn’t tell whether it had all been real or imagined.
The moment he thought about variety shows, Yan Shixun’s face suddenly flashed before An Nanyuan’s eyes. That fleeting image pulled his heart—once sinking into despair and loneliness—back to the world of the living. He was definitely not Editor-in-Chief Nan Shan. He was An Nanyuan! It was to follow Yan Shixun and witness a broader, unknown world that he had stayed in variety shows all this time.
Since he had already encountered walking corpses and vengeful ghosts, maybe this was just another unknown realm—perhaps caused by spirits and monsters!
That thought reinvigorated An Nanyuan. He forced himself to calm down and swept his eyes across the office, hoping to find evidence to support his theory.
But just as his gaze moved, it suddenly froze.
…Wait. Something seemed off.
His brain warned him: Turn back. Take another look.
With doubt in his heart, An Nanyuan turned back and examined the press office more carefully. Then, he realized what felt so wrong—why were there no computers in a newsroom?
Not just computers. Printers, fax machines… all the usual office equipment he was familiar with was missing. In their place were telegraphs and old-fashioned manual typewriters.
A vague suspicion rose in An Nanyuan’s heart. He hurriedly rummaged through the desk to find the most recent newspaper. And when he saw the large, ink-stamped date, he completely froze on the spot.
He was in an era from a hundred years ago.
Unless the person behind all this had an obsessive attention to detail and went so far as to rebuild and redecorate the entire building just to trick his eyes—it would’ve taken immense manpower and resources, all for the sake of scaring him—
Otherwise…
The newspaper slipped from An Nanyuan’s hands. He was deeply shaken and stumbled out of the office, desperate to find anything outside that could disprove his theory.
However, outside the newspaper building was an empty street at midnight, not a single soul in sight. The dim streetlights cast a yellow glow over the black-and-white signboards unique to old Binhai. In the distance, neon lights still flickered in color; dance halls and cinemas were lit up, yet not a sound could be heard.
The cold late autumn wind howled into An Nanyuan’s chest, like it was piercing straight through him, making him shiver violently.
—This was actually old Binhai from a hundred years ago.
And the street scene was exactly what he had seen earlier that afternoon in the concession district.
“What is this…” An Nanyuan’s voice trembled, rising in disbelief: “Did I… time travel???”
[…….]
On the live broadcast screen, which An Nanyuan couldn’t see, the viewers who had just been hoping he’d come to the same conclusion as Yan Shixun were now left speechless.
[Bro, what are you even doing?? Look at Brother Yan, then look at yourself! Can’t you say something a little more credible? If you keep this up, I’m really gonna believe you’re just a pretty fool! *angry cat meme*]
[LMAO I thought his shocked expression meant he uncovered some earth-shattering secret. I actually got my hopes up. But no—he really thinks he’s time traveled?? HAHAHAHA.]
[Pfft, to be fair, if it were me, I might think the same thing. Honestly, Director Li’s set design is insane. Everything—from costumes to props—is spot-on. Except for Chi Yan. I still think casting her as Lin Ting was a mistake.]
[Wait, isn’t An Nanyuan an idol? He can act this well? If I didn’t know this was scripted, I’d believe he really woke up alone in some strange place. He’s too convincing.]
[Didn’t Chi Yan say each person only gets their own part of the script? If Director Li used hidden cameras for realism, maybe he didn’t give them full scripts at all—or fake ones—to get more authentic reactions.]
[Director Li is a genius! This effect is way better than those awkward crossover performances.]
[…But I still can’t figure out how Director Li switched the camera so seamlessly from Brother Yan’s side to this.]
An Nanyuan stood frozen like a statue at the entrance of the newspaper building for a long while before slowly coming back to his senses. He turned back and dashed into the seemingly safer building, panicking as he ran back and forth, calling out the names of the production crew—especially Yan Shixun’s—hoping to find even one familiar face.
In an unfamiliar environment, when the brain was overwhelmed by panic and unable to function normally, it began to imagine things.
An Nanyuan ran until his throat ached from breathing, but inside the newspaper building, he was completely alone. All he could hear was his own rough, beast-like panting and his irregular, pounding heartbeat. Then, unable to stop himself, he began imagining all sorts of terrifying scenarios—flashes of every horror movie and show he’d ever seen flooded his mind.
Ghosts crawling out of mirrors. Female spirits who’d cut out your tongue if you screamed. Corpses sealed behind concrete walls. Vengeful ghosts hiding around corners. Children silently watching you from under desks and in shadows. Female spirits with broken limbs crawling across the floor…
Or monsters lurking in the fog, waiting for the right moment to strike. Zombies from bio-labs. People used in brain experiments who no longer knew where they were…
All the fragmented and chaotic scenes An Nanyuan had previously seen overlapped and replayed vividly in his mind, becoming increasingly clear.
He had always possessed a strong power of association.
Though it had once led him, as a child, to become arrogant after reading fantasy novels about invincible heroes—believing he too would someday rule the world—it had also pushed him to persevere. That imagination helped him endure the pain and hardship of his trainee years, eventually allowing him to climb to where he was now.
But at this moment, his ability to connect ideas failed him completely. Instead of helping, it only intensified his fear and panic, leaving him like a headless fly, blindly crashing through corridors.
Then, as he turned a corner near the staircase, he came face-to-face with a grotesque ghost.
The specter’s face was pale blue, and it dragged a massive axe across the floor. An Nanyuan was so close to it that he could see the decaying flesh on its face and neck, as well as the dark purple veins snaking across its skin.
In that instant, all the fear and panic within him exploded, becoming the final straw that broke his mental defenses entirely.
“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
He screamed, spun around in a frenzy, and bolted back downstairs without thinking, “Brother Yan, help me—!!”
But his desperate cries only echoed through the empty building, making the silence even more haunting.
It was as if all the monsters slumbering in the dark had been stirred awake by the voice of the living, poking their heads out from the shadows, gazing hungrily at fresh flesh and blood.
Even the audience watching the live stream held their breath. Their hearts pounded as they stared at the screen, watching An Nanyuan run for his life.
Those who had been busy discussing Yan Shixun and the strange child who had suddenly appeared were now wholly consumed by An Nanyuan’s terrifying predicament. Their hearts thudded violently, swept up in his intense emotions.
The camera continued to shake with every step he took. His ragged, panicked breaths and cries for help transmitted clearly through the microphone, making the viewers feel as if they were right there with him. For a fleeting moment, it didn’t feel like An Nanyuan was the one running.
It felt like it was them.
An Nanyuan kept glancing behind him, terrified the axe-wielding ghost might catch up. Because of that, he wasn’t paying attention to where he stepped.
Suddenly, he felt his foot kick something, and the next moment, he was thrown forward uncontrollably.
The scenery around him rose sharply as he flew, and then—“BANG!”—he crashed hard onto the cold marble floor.
An Nanyuan groaned from the pain, but before he could gather his thoughts, he realized his hand had touched something icy.
It felt like frozen leather—but even stiffer, bone-chillingly cold.
Or maybe…
An Nanyuan suddenly remembered that sensation. It wasn’t leather. It was more like the skin of a corpse. And when his fingers subconsciously groped around, they found what felt like the outline of an arm.
He froze completely, as if refusing to accept reality. Bit by bit, he began to lift his head.
And right then, a female ghost lying on the ground also raised her pale blue face, hidden behind a curtain of black hair. Her soulless eyes stared straight into his, while her arm—bent at a grotesque angle—began to reach for him.
…He had tripped over her. Now he had fallen right next to her.
An Nanyuan: “!!!”
“AHHHHHHHHHH!!”
His scream turned hoarse as he shrieked at the top of his lungs. His soul felt like it had been ripped from his body. Terrified out of his wits, he scrambled to get up, flailing like a panicked animal. His limbs didn’t seem to obey him, and he kept tripping over himself.
“Brother Yan! Brother YAN!!!”
His terrified shouts sent chills through the live audience. Some of the more timid viewers muted the video or shut it off entirely.
[This is just cruel… does Director Li have some grudge against An Nanyuan? He’s clearly suffering more than anyone else.]
[Well, Brother Yan is over there. Before he returned to the Jing residence, even Zhang Wubing and the others were scared out of their minds.]
[I get it, I feel the same. It’s like every ghost has now set their sights on An Nanyuan. He’s barely taken a few steps and already bumped into several of them inside that building.]
[Wait a sec, don’t some of these ghosts look kind of familiar? Actually, some of them don’t even look like ghosts—they look like deranged serial killers or something.]
[Now that you mention it… yeah! That one—wasn’t it based on a British urban legend? And the one that tripped An Nanyuan just now looked like a ghost from Japan, right? Hold on—now the one staring at him in the mirror looks exactly like the ghost from that horror movie! I watched it just last night! What is this, a whole haunted mash-up?!]
[Holy crap, I’m just watching from bed and I’m already sweating buckets. Imagine how desperate An Nanyuan must be over there. So tragic… Director Li’s really gone too far.]
Meanwhile, even as the audience continued to chatter, An Nanyuan kept running into ghosts nonstop.
The frequency and intensity of these encounters were so high, it made people wonder if every ghost in the world had gathered in the newspaper building.
An Nanyuan had long since lost all sense of self. His limbs were so weak they felt like noodles, with no strength left in them. Yet, he still clenched his teeth and forced himself to flee.
But, as always, the more you feared something, the more likely it was to happen. The moment An Nanyuan dreaded most kept arriving over and over again—he had no choice but to let out another scream and double back once more.
The newspaper building had turned into a hunting ground for monsters. They surrounded from all sides, full of malice, their cold gazes fixed on their prey’s panicked expressions as they let out gleeful laughter.
“Cackle cackle cackle…”
“Cackle cackle cackle…”
In his panic, An Nanyuan’s ears were practically useless, but the viewers watching the stream could hear the childlike laughter clearly, leaving them in utter disbelief.
[Did anyone else hear that? It sounded like a kid laughing. Didn’t we hear this same laugh back with Brother Yan? Why is it here too?!]
[My nerves are shot, I swear! Can they just stop laughing already?! AHHHHH!!!!]
[To the person above, please use the mute button! I just muted the stream and it feels so much better now.]
[Speaking of Brother Yan… wasn’t he always asking Director Zhang to imagine an alpaca or something? He said imagined things would become real. Could it be the same case with An Nanyuan?]
[Oh crap! If that’s true, then An Nanyuan is in trouble! I tried this before, and the more scared you are, the easier it is to imagine stuff—it’s a vicious cycle! He might not make it out of this!]
[Crying… please, I’m praying like mad right now.]
In his blind panic, An Nanyuan misstepped on the stairs and fell, crashing hard against the front of the newspaper building. The heavy glass-inlaid wooden doors burst open from the impact.
The cold wind from outside blew in, chilling An Nanyuan’s sweat-drenched body to the bone.
And in that moment, his previously overheated, frenzied mind suddenly cleared.
Right—there didn’t seem to be any monsters outside. He didn’t have to keep running around inside the building!
He scrambled up and stumbled out the door.
Viewers in front of the stream collectively breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was finally safe.
An Nanyuan thought so too.
Unfortunately, he relaxed too soon.
On the empty street, he stood alone, disheveled and panting heavily, thinking he had escaped.
But the dim streetlamp above flickered a few times with a buzzing sound, like the voltage was unstable, then shut off completely, plunging the entire street into darkness.
Out of the thick fog came slow, heavy, irregular footsteps and thudding noises.
It sounded like a horde of monsters was approaching from all directions, hidden within the dense mist.
Cold sweat rolled down An Nanyuan’s forehead. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the sweat-soaked clothes on his body now felt icy cold.
He stood frozen, like his brain had short-circuited—unable to run, unable to hide. He just stared blankly into the fog, waiting for whatever was about to happen.
Viewers watching the stream were drenched in anxiety. The more hot-tempered ones practically wanted to dive into the screen and drag An Nanyuan out themselves.
But just then, the roar of an engine cut through the fog. Headlights blazed through the darkness and a car came speeding straight toward An Nanyuan.
Some of the more timid viewers had already covered their eyes, too afraid to watch.
[AHHHHH BROTHER WHAT ARE YOU EVEN THINKING?! Can’t you just imagine an alpaca or something?! What even IS this thing now?!]
[AN NANYUAN GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!]
Along with the engine roar came a loud crashing sound, followed by heavy thuds—like the car had smashed through something and burst through the fog, completely unimpeded.
Only then did An Nanyuan finally see what it was.
—An old-fashioned Chevrolet, a classic car long extinct from the market.
But this vehicle, which should have been displayed in a museum, had just sped in like a race car. It skidded to a sharp, stylish stop, tires screeching against the ground as it came to a halt right in front of An Nanyuan.
The rush of wind made An Nanyuan squint. When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he saw the car window roll down. Lu Xingxing’s bright, carefree grin popped out from inside.
“Hey, bro! Need a lift?”
Lu Xingxing was dressed in a deep green suit covered in sequins and rhinestones. The color was wild, but his handsome face pulled it off with ease. Under the suit, he wore a black mesh shirt sprinkled with gold and silver glitter that sparkled under the headlights.
Flashy, but gorgeous.
An Nanyuan was stunned. He practically turned into a statue, his brain unable to comprehend what was going on.
“I’m happy I found you, but if you want to reminisce, let’s save it for later.”
He jerked his thumb toward the rear. “On my way here, I saw a whole crowd of zombies back there—looked just like something out of a Hollywood blockbuster. No clue which genius conjured that up~”
He whistled, as if both impressed and entertained, carrying that fearless youthful energy.
“If you don’t get in now, I’m not sticking around to handle the zombies.”
He shrugged innocently. “My master only taught me how to deal with corpses, not zombies.”
An Nanyuan felt a wave of embarrassment from Lu Xingxing’s words, but he also heard the approaching noises again from within the fog. He didn’t have time to figure out why zombies were suddenly showing up in the concession district. He yanked open the car door and jumped in.
Before he could even settle into his seat, Lu Xingxing slammed on the gas. The car shot forward, slamming An Nanyuan into the backrest so hard his vision went white.
But with someone familiar at his side, and a vehicle that felt like a moving fortress, An Nanyuan finally felt a sense of safety.
He caught his breath and finally asked, “What’s with the outfit?”
“You’re asking me?”
The wind rushed through the open window, whipping Lu Xingxing’s clothes and hair around. As the shifting lights and shadows flashed over him, it became unclear whether it was his outfit enhancing him or his presence enhancing the outfit—but he looked every bit as dazzling and radiant as his name implied.
Like someone who had once wandered through perfume-filled ballrooms a century ago, leaving no true feelings behind—only a lingering trace of fragrance before vanishing.
The kind of person you could never quite forget.
Even An Nanyuan, who was used to seeing handsome men and beautiful women in the entertainment industry, couldn’t help but be stunned for a moment.
Lu Xingxing turned his head nonchalantly and said, “I haven’t even asked you yet—what’s with your getup? Did you give up being a celebrity to become a teacher now?”
He let out a snort of laughter and floored the gas pedal on the deserted street, pushing the car to its limits. When he saw the zombies shrinking in the rearview mirror, left far behind, he laughed and said, “I don’t know how you feel about our situation, but I have to say this—whoever arranged our identities must be out of their mind!”
“Do you know where I woke up? The Paramount Ballroom! I was a damn male dancer!”
Lu Xingxing shrugged. “No way Laozi (I) was putting up with that crap, so I just jacked the boss’s car and ran. What do you think? Pretty cool ride, right?”
An Nanyuan looked at Lu Xingxing with a complicated expression. His lips parted slightly, but he had no idea how to comment on the situation.
—Lu Xingxing always had a way of destroying his image the moment you thought he looked cool.
He was basically the husky of the entertainment industry—chaotic but charming.
But unexpectedly, before An Nanyuan could say anything, a cold snort came from the back seat.
“Calling yourself ‘Laozi’ at such a young age? Who taught you that?”
Lu Xingxing shrank his neck and immediately shut up.
An Nanyuan was amazed and quickly turned around to see who was speaking in the backseat—someone who had this kind of power over Lu Xingxing.
—He’d never seen Lu Xingxing fear anyone, except maybe Yan Shixun!
But with just one glance, An Nanyuan froze in the front passenger seat.
The spacious backseat was crowded with five men dressed in Taoist robes, clearly portraying themselves as Taoist priests. An Nanyuan vaguely recognized a few of them. They looked like the ones from Haiyun Temple who had come to help when the TV program had gone awry.
He remembered that they were supposed to be Taoist Li, Taoist Song Yi, and another named Taoist Ma.
The other two smiling, seemingly good-tempered taoists were unfamiliar to him.
“Lu Xingxing, what the hell…” An Nanyuan was dumbfounded. “Did you bring the whole Haiyun Temple with you? This is one hell of a backup squad!”
Lu Xingxing looked glum, his face twisted in frustration, but he didn’t dare explain.
The old Taoist in the backseat picked up a scripture book next to him and whacked Lu Xingxing on the back of the head with it. “You and your master both need to go back and relearn everything! Saying you’re from my sect is an embarrassment. After I die, I won’t even be able to face Gou Dan in the afterlife! Look at Yan Shixun, then look at yourself—both from Haiyun Temple, and yet the difference is this stark!”
Beside him, Taoist Song Yi nodded in agreement. “Lu Xingxing, you just said zombies are unbeatable. Did it never occur to you to integrate what you’ve learned? I’m truly disappointed in you.”
The moment he spoke, he stepped right on a landmine and got caught in the crossfire.
The old Taoist pointed at his nose. “You and your disciple are exactly the same! And you’ve got the nerve to criticize him?”
The unfamiliar but smiling priest sitting nearby tried to mediate with a good-natured attitude.
Meanwhile, Taoist Ma rested his face on one hand, looking out the window, still managing to sigh, “Ugh… So crowded.”
An Nanyuan: “…”
He slowly turned his head back to look at Lu Xingxing, his expression filled with disbelief. So this was how those aloof, untouchable Taoist masters behaved in private?
“They’re not really my master, uncle-master, or grandmaster. Don’t overthink it.”
Lu Xingxing mumbled gloomily, “They’re not even real people… Ugh, the situation’s just way too complicated right now. I don’t want to explain.”
Cat shutting down and refusing to explain.jpg
But even though Lu Xingxing said that, his usually flamboyant demeanor had noticeably dulled, and he looked deflated.
Like a spoiled rich kid who acted wild in front of friends but turned into a well-behaved puppy when brought home in front of the ancestors.
An Nanyuan looked at him with a complex expression, as if wanting to speak but holding back.
And Lu Xingxing couldn’t help but remember the moment he had just woken up. He had knocked over a bunch of bouncer-sized bodyguards in the ballroom, stomped around in high-heeled boots and a flashy performance suit, stormed into the boss’s office and given him a good beating, then stole his car and took off.
As he drove away, he had grumbled in his head—if his master ever saw that, he’d definitely get chewed out to death.
While thinking this, he suddenly imagined his master yelling at him as usual.
Then, sure enough, Taoist Song Yi appeared in the backseat and scolded him viciously: “What the hell are you wearing? Instead of studying diligently, you mess with music all day—and now you’re even learning this nonsense?”
Caught off guard, Lu Xingxing had no time to question how Taoist Song Yi had suddenly appeared. Maybe he had learned teleportation?
But all he could do was silently shrink back and take the scolding like a quail.
Thank god the grandmaster wasn’t there—otherwise, he’d be doomed. But maybe if Master Uncle Ma had been around, he might’ve helped…
As he continued to daydream, Lu Xingxing suddenly snapped back to reality—only to be horrified by what he saw in the rearview mirror.
The back seat was now neatly filled with people in a row.
Lu Xingxing: !!!
Ancestor, I’m amazing!! I can teleport people now!! Is this some kind of “mind creates reality” or “words become spells” ability??
But the joy didn’t last long before he noticed something was wrong.
These people weren’t actually his elders or familiar Taoist masters.
Even though their faces and voices were identical to the ones in his memories, their power wasn’t right.
And as he kept driving and observing the things happening along the way, Lu Xingxing slowly realized—
What he imagined in his mind… was manifesting in reality.
“In short, you better stop overthinking,” Lu Xingxing advised An Nanyuan seriously. “Especially don’t think about anything dangerous.”
An Nanyuan: “…Thanks for the warning, but you might be a little too late.”
Lu Xingxing raised an eyebrow, about to ask what he meant—when suddenly, out of the fog by the roadside, a Godzilla-like monster burst forth. Its massive body threw its head back and let out a sky-shaking roar.
Lu Xingxing stared in stunned silence.
“What the hell, bro, are you seriously that messed up in the head?!”
He went nuts: “Zombies were one thing—but Godzilla?! What’s next, SpongeBob and Ultraman? Am I gonna see Guan Yu fighting Qin Qiong???”
“Can you stop imagining this stuff already? I don’t know how to fight that! I’m not some monster genius like Yan Shixun!!”
His mouth ran wild, but his hands didn’t dare slow down. He slammed the gas pedal and swerved hard, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the fog-shrouded monster.
An Nanyuan touched his nose guiltily and gave a fake cough, not daring to speak again.
The antique car sped down the road like a bullet.
On-screen, the viewers following their perspective couldn’t help but comment: [Knew it. I knew this setup was gonna spiral out of control.]
[Lu Xingxing’s imagination is terrifying. Imagine if I was clubbing, and suddenly thought about my dean or homeroom teacher—and they appeared behind me… death glare.jpg]
[Okay wait—why is this kinda awesome? The cinematography’s insane, it really feels like I’m in the car with them.]
[I just remembered why I first fell for Lu Xingxing—it’s that fearless, high-spirited energy. Ugh, and his outfit here is killer. The director really knows what they’re doing.]
But neither An Nanyuan nor the viewers—whose vision was confined to the camera—noticed what was happening elsewhere.
At the editor-in-chief Nan Shan’s desk, a translucent figure slowly took form.
She wore modern, fashionable clothes, and a luxurious diamond necklace dangled from her wrist, but when she lowered her eyes, the scholarly aura beneath her stunning appearance became unmistakable.
She reached out, gently brushing her fingers over the pages An Nanyuan had tossed onto the desk, as if caressing a lover’s face.
The name she traced over again and again…
Was none other than Diplomat Jing Xiuwen.
And at the top of the manuscript, the byline read:
Editor: Lin Ting.
The woman let out a long, sorrowful sigh that echoed through the empty newspaper office.
…
Lu Xingxing now felt that the dumbest decision he ever made was spotting a fellow human after seeing the zombies—and dragging An Nanyuan into the car with him.
This guy’s imagination was insane!
“Can you just not think for a second?! Look at all the stuff chasing us now! Even if they’re fake, they’re still dangerous, okay?!”
The engine roared as Lu Xingxing shouted in desperation, practically tearing his throat out.
And in the backseat, aside from the Taoists, there were now several other passengers—contestants from the show whom Lu Xingxing had picked up along the way. Even Li Xuetang had somehow ended up in the car!
It was way too crowded, and with Lu Xingxing driving like a maniac in a centuries-old vehicle, the strain was too much. The tire exploded with a loud “bang!”
Reacting instantly, Lu Xingxing flung the door open and jumped out, yelling for everyone to evacuate and find shelter nearby.
“Hurry! Before the monsters An Nanyuan imagined catch up, we need to find cover!”
The people in the back scrambled out and followed him toward the nearby buildings.
On the sign hanging over the doorway, it clearly read: Jing Estate.
Tightly wound and alert, Lu Xingxing didn’t stop to overthink. At some point, the Taoist elders had vanished.
He slammed the courtyard gate shut behind them with a bang, finally taking a breath before leading the group toward the house.
But the moment he pushed the door open, he locked eyes with Yan Shixun.
Lu Xingxing: “…?”
An Nanyuan, stunned for a moment, was overwhelmed with emotion and nearly cried out in joy, “Brother Yan!”
Lu Xingxing, however, stared at the corpse lying at Yan Shixun’s feet, hesitating. “Uh… are you guys having a murder party in here?”
Yan Shixun’s expression twitched, then he smiled, picked up his ceremonial cane, and strode toward Lu Xingxing.
“Wait, wait, Master Uncle! What are you doing?!”
“Ahhh Master Uncle I’m sorry!! QAQ!!”
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