Sister Cui took a deep breath. “Who’s in your team right now?”

Shang Jingyan replied, “The official answer is: we have promising prospects, top-tier technical support, and a plan to recruit two people for a small team. We’re currently reviewing 101 candidates and warmly welcome outstanding talent to join us.”

“…And the non-BS answer?”

Shang Jingyan held up a single finger. “Just me.”

“…”

Sister Cui’s mouth twitched. She had a strong suspicion that Shang Jingyan’s so-called “review of 101 candidates” just meant browsing their online profiles.

She tried to pick out the most plausible part of that statement. “And your ‘top-tier technical support’ means…?”

Shang Jingyan, without a shred of shame, pointed at herself. “Me.”

She was already making films solo—wasn’t that high-level enough?

Sister Cui was this close to cursing. “I…”

“Hold that thought! Just watch my film first, and then I’ll walk you through my next project—”

With that, Shang Jingyan enthusiastically invited Sister Cui over to her place, her tone so natural, her manner so practiced, it was like she’d already conned hundreds of investors before.

Sister Cui found herself being half-dragged forward.

“…What the hell happened to this kid?”

—

Three hours later.

Sister Cui walked out of that tiny, rundown apartment, still dazed—and somehow, two million star coins had vanished from her account.

…But, to be fair, Eldritch God was actually fresh, creative, and terrifying. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she knew one thing: it was good.

And the trailer for Shang Jingyan’s next project? Also looked pretty damn solid.

Sister Cui took a drag of her cigarette, shaking her head with a wry smile.

How much money could this kid actually take back? Oh well, consider it an investment in the dreams of the next generation. Dreamweaving, right?

“Take care, Sister! Come back anytime!”

Shang Jingyan waved enthusiastically as Sister Cui walked off.

The system, having just logged back in, was shook. 【I was offline for a little while… WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!】

Shang Jingyan, mysteriously: 【That’s a secret.】

Back in her past life, when she was a total nobody, she’d still managed to talk investors into backing her. Compared to that, getting Sister Cui on board this time was a piece of cake.

Two million. In her past life, that wouldn’t have been nearly enough. But here? If she tightened her belt, she could make it work.

She’d already finished the trailer for her next project solo. Smiling to herself, she tapped away at her keyboard and posted an update:

【Chinese horror short film Rouge Comb is in production! First trailer drops today. Stay tuned for the premiere. [Video link]】

—

The buzz from the theme competition was still growing, drawing more attention to this up-and-coming newcomer, Shang Jingyan.

On V061 Star, in Chai Yuanlin’s office—

Xiao Zhang held up her tablet excitedly. “Professor! That newcomer I mentioned? She won first place in the theme competition! Do you want to check out her winning piece?”

On her screen was Shang Jingyan’s verified profile.

“Oh wow, what a coincidence—she just posted an update…” Xiao Zhang’s eyes widened. “It’s a new trailer?”

She actually won first place?

Chai Yuanlin was a little surprised. After a brief moment of thought, she said, “I’ll watch her first film before bed. Let’s check out the trailer first.”

“…Uh, before bed…” Xiao Zhang hesitated, almost wanting to warn her that Shang Jingyan’s work was probably not bedtime-friendly—but she held back.

Well, her professor was way older than her, so her psychological endurance should be a lot stronger… right?

As Chai Yuanlin watched, she picked up on something bold:

The release date? TBA.

The cast list? TBA.

And yet, she still went ahead and dropped the trailer.

Just like the comments were saying—this newbie Dreamweaver had guts.

—

Rouge Comb – Synopsis:

“Secluded in her chambers, she idly sits, unwilling to groom herself, knowing all too well how much she has withered away.”

Miss Gao Xiaoyun, the third daughter of the Gao family, goes on a spring outing and receives a comb from her beloved—a promise that he will one day marry her. She brings the comb back home, but from that day forward, strange occurrences begin to unfold…

Genre: Historical, Horror, Thriller, Romance.

—

The “Horror” and “Thriller” tags? Shang Jingyan created them herself.

And when you click on them? Only her work showed up.

A one-woman army.

The trailer was ninety seconds long.

The moment the title Rouge Comb appeared on screen, Chai Yuanlin’s eyes lit up. “Good handwriting.”

At the bottom of the video, there was a note: Calligraphy by Director Shang.

Xiao Zhang didn’t know much about calligraphy—these days, barely anyone studied it. But even to her, those three words carried an undeniable elegance.

That elegance, however, had been altered—processed and stylized to exude an eerie atmosphere.

The “Rouge” character darkened, as if drenched in blood, until it fully transformed into a deep crimson. Below it, animated blood began to drip down the screen.

And the “Comb” character? If you looked closely, every stroke of ink was made up of countless strands of hair.

The trailer opened with shimmering leaves and blossoms swaying gently in the breeze, bathed in soft, dreamlike light. Amid the haze, two silhouettes nestled close together.

Even without seeing their faces, their gestures and posture exuded blissful intimacy.

A young man’s voice, warm and clear, whispered over the scene:

“On Qingming Festival, meet me under the locust tree west of the city. I have a gift for you. But don’t let your family find out—if they do, we’re finished.”

The next shot showed Gao Xiaoyun returning home, clutching a delicate comb.

So far, nothing seemed remotely scary.

The comment section was already going wild with sarcastic optimism:

【Good news: Director Shang finally has money to hire actors. The protagonist even has a name!】

【Bad news: The cast list still says TBA. Looks like she’s still using digital models for now.】

【Hey, this opening’s actually pretty sweet? Way more wholesome than Eldritch God. I should be fine this time!】

【Wait a sec… those establishing shots were pretty huge. Director Shang really knows her stuff, huh? Even top-tier Dreamweavers don’t dare mess with historical architecture…】

The audience quickly pieced it together: the voice belonged to Gao Xiaoyun’s secret lover.

A few quick shots painted a picture of the prestigious Gao family—outwardly glamorous, but rotten to the core. Her mother had died young, her father was rigid and cold, and her stepmother was nothing short of cruel. She had an older brother and two younger ones, all beloved by the elders, while she alone was left out in the cold, never knowing what family warmth felt like.

It wasn’t hard to see why—when there’s no love to be found at home, you look for it elsewhere.

Then, the murmurs began.

“Was it you who broke the vase yesterday?”

“That’s odd… Do we have rats in the house?”

“What was that noise?… Hey, is anyone there?”

“People keep hearing footsteps in the old manor late at night…”

“Maybe we should call in a spirit medium…”

“Wait… would that affect my son’s official career?”

A cacophony of overlapping voices played in the background, setting the stage for the strange occurrences linked to the comb.

Between these scenes, the camera kept cutting to a tangled mass of hair.

It slithered like something alive, writhing and twisting, as if feeding off the whispers around it.

Xiao Zhang stared at it for too long, and an icy chill shot up from the soles of her feet. Why the hell did a clump of hair look so terrifying?!

【Holy shit, why is the hair MOVING?!】

【My back is crawling already.】

【Whose hair is that?!】

A soft, lilting voice drifted in.

“Gu Lang, the comb you gave me is beautiful.”

“Gu Lang, I’m about to be married. When will you come for me? I don’t want to marry…”

“Gu Lang… Gu Lang, when will you comb my hair?”

The camera cut to the female lead, dressed in a crimson wedding robe, looking every bit like a bride awaiting her groom.

A haunting children’s song echoed in the air—pure, innocent voices singing in perfect harmony, accompanied by giggles, claps, and the tinkling of bells.

“Marry a chicken, follow the chicken… Marry a dog, follow the dog… Marry a corpse, stand by its grave…”

The comments exploded.

【Wait, what does that mean?! Don’t tell me it’s what I THINK it is—“Marry a corpse”?? Is the female lead supposed to marry a dead man?!】

【I study historical texts, and yes—this was a real thing. Families sometimes arranged ghost marriages to ward off bad luck.】

【This is so creepy… I just looked it up. It’s called a ghost wedding.】

From the details so far, Rouge Comb seemed to follow the structure of classic folk tales.

A young woman, deeply in love, yet bound by the constraints of an ancient world, where marriage was dictated by her parents. Whether she could elope with her lover depended on the story’s direction—hopeful or tragic.

Then, from the silence, a piercing melody struck like a knife.

A shudder ran down Xiao Zhang’s spine. It took her a second to recognize the sound—a suona^[1]Chinese double-reed woodwind instrument.

Nobody ever used the suona in digital composition software. Not because they couldn’t, but because they didn’t know how to make it fit.

But here? It was perfect. Chillingly perfect.

A funeral procession passed by.

At this point in the story, Gao Xiaoyun hadn’t married yet. But there she was, peering from the second floor of her boudoir, watching the scene unfold.

Ash-yellow spirit money fluttered through the air. The slow, solemn march of mourners wound its way down the street.

Gao Xiaoyun’s face was pale as a sheet. Her gaze darted toward the coffin in the procession—then quickly away, as if afraid to look for too long.

“The comb… yes, the comb… only it can bring me comfort.”

She sank to the ground, curling into herself, her long black hair spilling down her back. She was dressed in mourning white, stark against the dim room.

The camera panned from above—she looked like a fragile white flower, pure yet on the verge of withering.

And then, the final shot.

The camera tilted downward.

The screen was swallowed by a mass of hair.

From beneath the strands, blood seeped out, staining the white fabric red.

The eerie suona wail faded into silence.

Xiao Zhang stared at the black screen, frozen.

Then, her heart pounded with a rush of uncontainable excitement.

【Oh my god, that was INSANE! A minute wasn’t NEARLY enough—I NEED the full film NOW!】

【I just burrowed under my blanket, and I’m still not safe.】

【Director Shang, I’m ordering you to release it by TOMORROW!!】

Eyes sparkling, she turned to her professor. Sure enough, Chai Yuanlin was just as stunned. Xiao Zhang eagerly shook her arm.

“So, Professor? What do you think? Hehe… do you think this newbie has what it takes to be my future junior?”

—

Now that Shang Jingyan finally had funding in hand, she could stretch her wings a little.

In this era, Dreamweavers could craft entire films using only their mental power, renting out digitized likenesses of actors—or, they could invite real actors to log into the virtual network and direct them in person.

No matter the age, nothing was harder to replicate than the human touch.

A Dreamweaver could control every detail of a production, imprinting their vision onto the work. But often, a brilliant actor’s performance could bring something unexpected—something that elevates the entire film.

Many times, it was the chemistry between the director and the actors that determined whether a film became a legend.

Shang Jingyan loved discovering great actors.

But she never expected that before she could even go looking, an actor would come looking for her.

And not just any actor—

Wu Rui.

The very actress whose digital likeness she had used for the female lead in Eldritch God.