【…Hey, is that thing… moving?】

Gao Xiaoyun had her back to the camera, completely unaware. But on the ground, that severed head was slowly, jerkily, starting to move.

Lu Zibing hadn’t even finished exhaling when his breath caught in his throat, his words cutting off mid-sentence.

A faint scratch broke the silence.

Gao Xiaoyun struck a match, the tiny flame casting flickering shadows. In that shifting darkness, it looked like countless fine strands were writhing, slithering around.

A long, drawn-out shot built the tension, the background music rising—higher, sharper—like someone had dumped a bucket of ice down Lu Zibing’s spine. Then, the instant Gao Xiaoyun turned her head—

The music exploded at full volume, and the head lunged straight at the screen!

“AHHHH!!—”

A ghastly, contorted face filled the entire frame. Beneath its cracked, deathly pale skin, writhing black threads pulsed and squirmed. Even in its empty eye sockets, they fought to crawl outward, wriggling like a mass of grotesque, staring pupils—locked onto Gao Xiaoyun.

“W-WHAT THE FUCK?—Why is it moving?!”

The screaming in the livestream overlapped with the screams on-screen. Lu Zibing’s office chair shot backward as he kicked off, his legs giving out as he crashed straight to the floor.

Gao Xiaoyun shrieked, flailing wildly with the candle in her hand, while that thing clung to her collar, trying to climb up to her neck.

And the horror kept escalating. The clay statue on the floor began melting, chunks of mud sliding off, dripping onto the ground—

—and those pieces moved.

The candle holder crashed over. The light snuffed out. Darkness swallowed everything whole.

“AAAAAHHHH!! HELP!! HELP ME, DON’T COME ANY CLOSER—!”

The vision was stolen from both Gao Xiaoyun and the audience. The fear was so overwhelming that some people couldn’t even scream anymore. The only sounds in the blackness were frantic, chaotic noises of struggle.

She scrambled to escape, but at the same time, something dark surged through the cracks in the windows and doors, a shadowy tide threatening to swallow the entire monastery!

Lu Zibing, shaking so badly his limbs were useless, crawled toward his screen and slammed the video shut. “NOPE! NOPE, I’M DONE, I’M FUCKING DONE FOR THE NIGHT!!”

The screen went black, but the horrific sound effects still echoed in his ears. Slumped back in his chair, he wiped his face, his nerves finally giving out as he howled, “Who the hell made this?! What kind of evil genius Dreamweaver come up with this nightmare?? I’M OUT—”

【Thanks, streamer, I’M CRYING TOO. We’re done, we’re ALL done!】

【WHO found this horror film? The Dreamweaver’s ID is ‘Jingyan’—it should be ‘Scaring Everyone’ instead?!】

【I’m so freaked out. I’m gonna have nightmares tonight. MOM HELP ME (sobbing) (sobbing)】

The chat went insane, a flood of messages calling for their mothers, too overwhelmed to even roast Lu Zibing for his humiliating breakdown.

After a moment, though, someone cracked up.

【Honestly, though, streamer, you killed me. One second bragging, the next crying. I was screaming, but then YOU made me laugh!】

【Lu Zibing: ‘My mouth is the bravest part of me.’】

【Bro, I TOLD you—never trust your own confidence (doge emoji). From now on, we call you Lu the Coward.】

Lu Zibing: “…”

His face was still wet with tears. He couldn’t even argue.

Swallowing his pride, he gritted his teeth. “Jingyan, huh? I’ll remember you. Oh, I’ll definitely remember you.”

—

Lu Zibing’s wasn’t the only livestream airing Rouge Comb that night.

—

Central Star System.

Thanks to her fan art, Ao Qingxue’s stream had gained some traction. It still wasn’t popular by any means, but at least her viewer count was higher than before.

A lot of her audience were intergalactic exiles, illegally bypassing restrictions just to soak up the vibe of a real horror stream.

Most of them had already survived Eldritch God screenings, so even when the severed head jump scare hit, they felt the terror—but it wasn’t enough to make them shut the video off.

As the black tide of shadows sealed the monastery shut, a small object suddenly slipped from Gao Xiaoyun’s sleeve.

The comb.

Tiny, insignificant—yet in that moment, it was like divine intervention. The instant it fell, the severed head and the melting clay stopped dead, as if someone had hit the pause button.

For a moment, all that remained was the relentless sound of wind and rain.

“Gu Lang…? Gu Lang, is that you?”

Choking back tears, Gao Xiaoyun clung to the comb, aiming it at the crumbling statue. “Don’t come closer! Stay away!!”

No one answered.

【I-Is it… over?】

【The episode’s almost done, so it should be… right? No way they’d kill off the protagonist in episode one (crying).】

【Most people get lost and meet a prince. She gets stuck with ghosts at a haunted temple. What the hell.】

There’s a faint skittering noise. Bugs and small creatures crawled from the shattered statue. Gao Xiaoyun, trembling, forced herself to stand. She didn’t dare look back, just curled up on the other side of the room and relit her candle.

【Imagine being stranded, alone, in the wilderness—trapped in a haunted temple with a ghost, and outside is just a giant graveyard… JUST KILL ME NOW.】

【This is textbook ‘between a rock and a hard place.’】

【Hey, at least it’s not an Eldritch God.】

【…What WAS inside that statue? Those black strands, wriggling like that—was it hair?】

【Wait, a comb countering hair actually makes sense… but I feel like it won’t be that simple. Is her lover really on her side?】

【Doesn’t matter what WE think—what matters is, after this, will the protagonist trust him more… or start doubting him?】

A single candle flickered to life.

In the ruined monastery, battered by wind and rain, its glow was small—fragile—but still burning.

She was destined to spend the night like this.

As it turned out, Gao Xiaoyun trusted Gu Lang more. She clutched the comb tightly, as if it were a personal talisman.

By the time the rain stopped and morning came, it was almost noon when the voices of searching servants echoed outside. Only then was Gao Xiaoyun taken home—proving just how little her family actually cared about her.

There were no ghostly flames, no dense fog, no supernatural illusions outside now. Even as she left, she never put the comb back on the beam.

The final shot: Gao Xiaoyun stepping into the carriage, wheels rolling away into the distance. End of episode one.

A chill still lingered on Ao Qingxue’s back. She rubbed her arms and muttered, “This feels completely different from Eldritch God…”

The first episode didn’t reveal much. There was no major crisis for the protagonist, yet the atmosphere was downright eerie—an oppressive kind of horror.

She scrolled through the comments and spotted a particularly amusing one:

[Ugh, I want to know what happens next, but I’m too scared to watch alone. I searched the entire star network for a live stream, and thank goodness you finished it. My favorite streamer literally cried from fright.]

Ao Qingxue: “…Huh? Pfft.”

Who’s that easily scared?

—

“Director Shang, Director Shang! How’s the first episode’s feedback?”

Tang Chuntao had just stepped off the star-rail train and rushed straight to Shang Jingyan’s place. The moment she opened the door, she fired off the question.

She was even more nervous than Shang Jingyan herself. Up until now, she had only been a student—this was her first time acting in a professionally produced short drama.

Out of all the leads, she was the only one in the first episode, meaning she had to carry the entire thing on her own.

“It’s great.” Shang Jingyan handed her the screen, where comments praised her performance.

[Finally, the main cast list isn’t blank this time. Tang Chuntao—is she a newcomer? Her acting was totally immersive.]

[Director Shang really knows how to pick people.]

[I was completely in Gao Xiaoyun’s shoes—her fear was so infectious…]

Rouge Comb was off to a strong start, with the momentum of an instant hit.

Tang Chuntao held her face, grinning like an idiot, while Wu Rui and You Yao sat nearby.

It was the first time the team had gathered in person. Partly to celebrate wrapping up filming, but also because today was Valentine’s Day—Shang Jingyan’s birthday. She was officially an adult now, and with the first episode’s success, it had turned into an impromptu celebration party as well.

Walking through the city’s quiet late-night streets toward a barbecue joint, Wu Rui sighed, “If only people knew how terrifying the stuff we just filmed was.”

Even the most recognizable face among them, You Yao, wasn’t recognized by anyone on the way. Shang Jingyan felt almost surreal. Counting her past life, it had been a long time since she’d had such a carefree night out with a film crew.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky. The night market was lively, bathed in neon lights and the scent of sizzling food.

Their destination was a grill house.

“To Director Shang’s success!”

“Skyrocketing fame! Viral sensation! Woohoo—!”

“Past midnight! Officially an adult! That means you can legally drink now, Director Yan!”

“Cheers! Hey, boss, bring us the biggest bottles of beer you’ve got!”

Plates of sizzling meat and vegetables kept arriving, steam rising into the air. V059 was famous for its seafood, especially the blue-shelled crabs—each person got one, and soon a small mountain of shells piled up on the side.

To Shang Jingyan, Eldritch God felt like just a script, but Rouge Comb—her first real collaboration with actors—felt like the true beginning of her directing career in this world.

She casually popped open a bottle, chugging half of it in one go while You Yao and Tang Chuntao clapped in approval.

“Yan-jie? Is that you?”

As she set the bottle down, a hesitant voice came from the side.

Shang Jingyan blinked and turned her head, meeting a few familiar faces. Four words popped into her mind: fair-weather friends^[1]a person who stops being a friend in times of difficulty.

It was the old crowd she used to drink and party with—purely surface-level friendships. Running into them here wasn’t all that surprising. The original owner of this body had spent most of her time idling around, frequenting night markets and barbecue joints with them.

The group, dressed in flashy clothes and heavy makeup, hesitated as they looked at her table. They seemed unsure. Shang Jingyan had changed so much.

Sure, she was still eating and drinking, but the people around her carried a different aura—the kind you get after accomplishing something real.

“What a coincidence. Yeah, it’s me.” She nodded.

She realized that none of the original owner’s memories stirred at this moment. She remembered their names, but there was no emotional connection.

Shang Jingyan suspected that the original owner’s aimless lifestyle had been a front. The real reason was likely tied to the Reality Matter organization.

“We just finished eating and saw you on our way out.”

“Birthday cake—oh right, it’s your birthday today.”

“Happy birthday!”

“Haven’t seen you in ages, haha…”

Awkward small talk ensued, a few half-hearted congratulations thrown in. Then silence.

“Well, we’ll get going. Enjoy your night, Yan-jie.”

As they walked away, Shang Jingyan suddenly had a strange feeling—like at this very moment, her life had fully diverged from its original path.

“Youthful rebellion, right?” You Yao chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her.

As her old friends disappeared into the distance, Shang Jingyan looked down at the blue-shelled crab in front of her, feeling strangely unsettled.

She still remembered—that night, the original owner had been eating blue-shelled crab with alcohol. She’d gotten blackout drunk, hit her head on a coffee table, and in her near-death state… Shang Jingyan had transmigrated into her body.

True to its name, the crab had a deep blue shell, but its meat was pristine white, with an incredibly fresh taste.

After a few rounds of drinks, the heat was getting to her. She stepped outside for some air.

Leaning against the wall of an alley beside the grill house, she lit a cigarette.

Interstellar cigarettes contained no nicotine and weren’t addictive—just a stimulant to help clear the mind.

It was almost a joke. If it was only about staying awake, they could’ve just made it into candy. But no, they insisted on keeping the form of a cigarette.

Still, it worked as a psychological substitute for her past addiction.

She took a drag. Mint-flavored.

Dressed in only a black tank top, with her winter coat draped over one arm, she stood under the alley light, exhaling smoke.

Her right arm bore the same tattoo she had in her past life—Pan, the goat-headed god. The intricate black design gleamed with green gemstones where the eyes should be.

Two passersby slowed as they glanced her way, whispering to each other.

“…Is it her?”

“But the age doesn’t match…”

“…It’d be so awkward if we were wrong…”

Overhearing their murmurs, Shang Jingyan smirked. “Are you talking about the cop from Married to the Eldritch God?”

“Oh—yes!” The two girls, caught off guard, turned red but quickly grew excited. “Are you…?”

According to this body’s age, I should probably be the one calling you ‘jiejie’ here.

A director making eighteen—and even twenty-rated horror films, yet only just turning legal today. Now that’s tragic.

She didn’t confirm or deny, simply flicking away her cigarette with a grin. “So, what do you think of Eldritch God?”

“Director Shang is so mysterious. No one’s ever seen her in person.” The young girl chattered away. “And today just happens to be her birthday! Haha, for someone with her kind of Dreamweaver style, it’s pretty funny that she was born on such a sweet and romantic day.”

“Yeah, what a coincidence.” Shang Jingyan smiled faintly.

February 14th—Valentine’s Day. It was the same here as it was in the West.

But she preferred introducing her birthday like this: it was the release date of her favorite horror movie, The Silence of the Lambs.

In her past life, she’d made this joke in tons of interviews, and all her fans knew about it. No one here knew those classic films, but the way these people looked at her—with admiration and affection—was exactly the same.

“Followed.” Shang Jingyan tapped her light-brain twice, using a side account to follow her own fan page. “By the way, my new series Rouge Comb premieres tonight. Have you guys watched it yet?”

“Ah! We were out shopping and totally forgot!” The girl gasped and quickly pulled up the homepage. “Oh my god, it’s real! I’ve been waiting for this trailer forever…”

Shang Jingyan blinked and grinned. “Make sure you watch it, okay?”

…

After saying goodbye to the fans, maybe it was the alcohol kicking in, but Shang Jingyan found herself zoning out for the rest of the party.

Wu Rui, still recovering from her void syndrome, hadn’t been drinking and was the most sober of the group. Tang Chuntao, on the other hand, was already drunk out of her mind, clinging to a streetlight while belting out love songs.

And Yu Yao? Surprisingly quiet after getting wasted. He actually looked like he was trying to pull off the “mysterious cool guy” act.

After dropping Wu Rui and Tang Chuntao off at a hotel, Shang Jingyan returned to her own place.

She didn’t turn on the lights. After washing her face in the sink, she leaned on her arms and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

The girl in the mirror had long, wavy silver-gray hair, pale skin, sharp features, and thin lips drained of color. Her striking green eyes flickered under the neon glow from outside, giving her an almost otherworldly edge.

The original owner of this body looked almost identical to her—just a lot younger.

Sometimes, Shang Jingyan felt like she had traveled back to her rebellious high school years, rocking white-dyed hair and green-colored contacts.

She walked back to the dark living room and sat there for a while before idly downloading a Universal Language Dictionary on her light-brain.

Her cold, pale fingers scrolled down to the “K” section and stopped at the word “horror.”

Example sentence: “Breaking up with her was the most horrifying thing in the world.”

There was nothing wrong with the sentence itself. But somehow, everything in this world seemed to hint at just one thing—love. As if that was the only option.

Ever since she crossed over, Shang Jingyan often felt like this world wasn’t real, like she was living in a dream she would wake up from at any moment.

Was that even possible?

Everything here was normal—except that horror didn’t seem to exist. Darker genres were also significantly watered down.

But seeking thrills was part of human nature. Ever since the dawn of civilization, humans had carried memories of fear. So how could no one have ever thought of making horror films before her?

That was the one thing that never sat right with her. Did the audience here just have a completely different mindset?

…But tonight’s little encounter told her otherwise. These fans of hers? They were no different from the ones in her past life. They screamed and obsessed over her work just the same.

So then… was this world’s so-called “normal” really normal at all?

X71 whispered: 【Yan Yan, are you worried?】

It had started calling her “Yan Yan” like the others, dropping the more formal “you.”

Shang Jingyan didn’t reply.

The glow from the screen outlined her sharp, cold profile.

After a while, she shook her head. 【It’s nothing.】

The screen dimmed. The room fell into darkness.