Even though she wasn’t a student anymore, and Chai Yuanlin wasn’t her professor, Shang Jingyan still felt that familiar guilt of “my professor is asking about my thesis while I’m off on vacation.” She cleared her throat and sent over her address at Rose Heart.

Chai Yuanlin was silent for a few seconds before finding a way to frame it as a compliment. “Not bad. Work-life balance.”

Shang Jingyan: “…”

Now she felt even guiltier.

Chai Yuanlin began transferring files to her. Most of the materials could be sent digitally, but the most important thing she was mailing was the exam equipment. Since the real test would be done with pen and paper, she also included printed exam booklets to help Shang Jingyan get used to the format.

As she clicked through and accepted the file transfers, she also started searching for details about the exam format. With only a month left and only now getting around to asking what was actually on the test, even she had to admit she was impressive.

Finding the answer, she breathed a sigh of relief—good, the main focus was still on creating dreamscapes.

The Dreamweaver Association’s entrance exam had two parts: a written test and a live dreamweaving challenge. The written test covered essential knowledge and accounted for 40% of the total score. The practical portion involved drawing a random theme and creating a dreamwork on the spot, with scores determined by a panel of judges and public voting.

Interestingly, the scoring criteria even included physiological indicators, such as adrenaline levels and mental fluctuation—remarkably similar to the system’s “Heartbeat Points.”

Didn’t that give her a huge advantage?

Shang Jingyan sincerely typed: [X71, thanks for giving me a head start on studying.]

–

While waiting for the exam materials to arrive, Shang Jingyan got a head start on reviewing online.

And quickly discovered the most frustrating part of the written test: the general knowledge section.

“Why does being a Dreamweaver in this world require so much random knowledge?” she groaned, rubbing her temples before slumping back into her chair.

Alliance history, planetary history, population distribution—fine, she could begrudgingly accept those as essential knowledge for an interstellar citizen.

But “Which Dreamweaver created which work on which planet?” “What’s the emblem of such-and-such planet?” “Why is the ocean on Planet X green?”—why would any normal person need to know this?!

X71 tried to comfort her: [Yan Yan, based on our past conversations, I believe the Dreamweaver Association is similar to government-affiliated positions in your previous life, so the level of difficulty in the exam is quite normal.]

Shang Jingyan: […]

Thanks. That only made her headache worse. She never had to deal with civil service exams in her past life, yet here she was, trapped in one now.

A particularly mischievous thought crossed her mind: Maybe entertainment industry directors in her past life had it too easy. If they had to pass an exam like this, the quality of films audiences got to see would probably double.

Just then, her lightbrain chimed with a new message. Shang Jingyan immediately abandoned her studies, convincing herself that a fifteen-minute chat break was perfectly reasonable.

The sender was Pei Yi. After their last meeting, they had exchanged contact info.

Pei Store Manager: Director Shang, I watched your short films. Finished “Eldritch God,” and I’m following “Rouge Comb” now.

Pei Yi’s username was simple—just “Yi.” His profile picture was a minimalist white bunny doodle. “Pei Store Manager” was the nickname Shang Jingyan had given him.

Shang Jingyan: What did you think?

Pei Store Manager: Surprising! (And, of course, a little terrifying, haha.)

Pei Store Manager: Even my spirit beast really liked it. That’s pretty incredible—it rarely shows interest in anything.

He attached a video of his Angora rabbit perched on his shoulder, eyes glued to the screen. Its fur was puffed up in fright, but it still refused to look away.

Thinking back to how Dr. Tian’s unicorn at the healing center had been startled, Shang Jingyan replied: You guys are pretty brave.

Pei Yi sent a GIF of a spinning bunny, seemingly taken from his own spirit beast.

Pei Yi really was unique. Most people with Externalization Syndrome, if not outright depressed, at least wouldn’t be this relaxed and upbeat about it.

Shang Jingyan: Your bunny reaction memes are cute. ^_^

Pei Store Manager: I made a whole set! Here, I’ll share some with you. [Bunny Hands on Hips.jpg]

A string of bunny emojis followed—[Bunny Heart Gesture] [Bunny Shocked] [Bunny Disdain]… Shang Jingyan chuckled and saved them all one by one.

For someone with Externalization Syndrome, spirit beasts were a sensitive topic. Yet Pei Yi openly used his to make memes.

Pei Store Manager: Honestly, watching your films might actually be helping me. I slept through the night for the first time in ages. As a thank-you, I want to send you some sweets. Are you able to receive a delivery?

Shang Jingyan: I’m at Rose Heart right now and won’t be back anytime soon. If you want to send something, it’ll have to wait until I return to V059 or go through interstellar delivery.

Since she had to oversee the haunted castle set construction, she’d be staying put for a while. Sending sweets via interstellar shipping seemed excessive—it wasn’t like the test booklets that needed careful packaging.

But Pei Yi didn’t seem concerned about cost. He simply sent a [Bunny OK] emoji. I’ll send it once it’s ready.

Well, considering he owned a tea lounge that was supposedly failing but still wasn’t worried, and even planned to relocate to the central star system, he clearly had plenty of money to burn.

Shang Jingyan saw no reason to refuse and ended up giving out her address for the second time that day.

–

Three days later.

Shang Jingyan received a delivery notification. The sender was only listed as Chai Yuanlin, but Pei Yi also messaged her: Your package has arrived. You can pick it up at the castle’s package station.

Had he forgotten to send her a message earlier?

She slung on her bag and headed out. After picking up her test booklets from the outdoor locker, she turned a corner—and stopped in her tracks.

Not far away stood a young man in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. His wavy hair was tied into a small ponytail at the back of his head. Who else could it be but Pei Yi?

Beside him crouched another young man, holding a gift box as well. Blonde-haired, green-eyed, wearing a baseball cap, sucking on a lollipop, looking utterly bored—it was Yu Yao.

Did these two know each other?

Pei Yi raised his gift box, smiled, and said, “Surprise!”

“Why did you come in person?” Shang Jingyan was caught off guard, taking the box and teasing, “What, is your tea lounge doing interstellar deliveries now?”

“Director Shang gets VIP treatment,” Pei Yi said solemnly, mimicking a delivery app’s voice with a hint of amusement. “Angora Rabbit Tea Lounge, at your service~”

Shang Jingyan laughed. The packaging was exquisite, a transparent panel revealing neatly arranged, beautifully crafted sweets inside, their sugary scent drifting through the air.

She used the classic social maneuver: “Well, since you’re already here, why not come inside?”

Yu Yao, who had been ignored, waved. “Hey, hey! Did you not see me? I brought a gift too.”

Shang Jingyan finally spared him a glance, her tone half-joking, half-exasperated. “Why are you here?”

For some reason—maybe lingering from the original owner—whenever she dealt with Yu Yao, she found herself naturally taking a more casual attitude.

“I just wanted to see what you were up to at Rose Heart. On my way here, I noticed this guy carrying a gift box with your name on it, so I got curious and asked about it. We started chatting and ended up waiting for you together. By the way, this lollipop was a gift from Pei Yi!”

You Yao stood up, twirling the lollipop in his fingers as he leaned in toward Shang Jingyan, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “Pan, is there something going on with you?”

Shang Jingyan shot him a glance and said flatly, “Have you picked up the gossip habit too? Also, just call me by my name.”

That “others” she referred to? Pretty much everyone in the interstellar world outside of the Reality Matter Group. The Reality Matter Group rejected popular trends, and that included being obsessed with romance. Their rules were as strict as a bunch of Puritans.

Pei Yi was walking a little behind them, too far to catch their conversation, but Shang Jingyan still chose her words carefully.

You Yao grinned, completely unbothered. “I’m just looking out for you.”

He tossed the lollipop into the air and caught the paper stick with precision, the pink candy tracing a shining arc.

“No need to worry,” Shang Jingyan said. Romance wasn’t on her agenda at the moment.

In her past life, she’d reached the heights of being a renowned director. Over three decades, she’d had her fair share of relationships—nothing messy, just mutual enjoyment and clean breakups.

But in this world? She had to be extra careful. Everyone here was ridiculously love-obsessed. One wrong move, and she’d get labeled a heartbreaker.

The VIP suite had a small lounge area. Shang Jingyan poured Pei Yi some black tea and told You Yao, “There’s bottled water in the fridge. Get it yourself.”

“Come on, Director Shang, that’s blatant favoritism!” You Yao complained dramatically.

Left with no choice, he helped himself. As he passed by the desk, his eyes landed on Shang Jingyan’s study materials. “Oh, so you’re still prepping for the membership exam? Some vacation you’re having—meetings, exams, where’s the relaxation?”

You Yao was adaptable; when Shang Jingyan ignored him, he took the initiative and opened his own gift box. Inside were a few tins of cookies, surprisingly just as exquisite as Pei Yi’s desserts.

Shang Jingyan felt like she was back on set—having You Yao around was like dealing with a thousand chattering parrots. She grabbed a cookie and asked, “When are you leaving?”

“Leaving? I’m not going anywhere. I’m on an extended vacation too, and I’ve already booked a room in the castle,” You Yao said, shaking his keycard triumphantly.

Pei Yi added, “I’m planning to stay at Rose Heart for a few weeks as well. I take a trip every year, and this time, I chose here.”

Shang Jingyan figured it was probably because of his condition. For someone with Externalization Syndrome, there weren’t many safe ways to stimulate emotions, and travel was one of the few options.

An idea suddenly struck her. She looked at the two of them and said, “Since you’re both sticking around… how about helping me with a test in a few days?”

Interstellar construction was lightning fast, and Xue Jiang’s haunted house was already taking shape. Pei Yi and You Yao would be perfect as the first batch of test-run visitors, wouldn’t they?

–

A week later. Friday, 11 PM.

“Your Void Syndrome actually improved?”

Her manager stared at Wu Rui’s medical report, shocked.

“That’s right. I owe it all to Director Shang,” Wu Rui replied with a smile.

Compared to the last time Shang Jingyan had seen her, Wu Rui was like a completely different person. The most noticeable change? The dark circles under her eyes were gone. No more heavy makeup needed to cover them up—her gaze was bright, alive, full of energy.

Her manager clicked his tongue in disbelief. He hadn’t even gotten around to watching Rouge Comb yet, but now he was starting to take interest. “Huh… well, in that case, maybe making a comeback isn’t impossible after all.”

Wu Rui had insisted on taking the role for free, despite her manager’s protests. In last week’s episode, her character Gu Lang’s appearance had stunned viewers and even landed her a brief trending spot on the web. But most of the praise went to Shang Jingyan for her casting choices and ability to shoot beautiful actors—after all, Wu Rui’s screen time had been minimal, just that one striking entrance.

Her manager had asked her before, “Why didn’t you push for the lead role? That Tang Chuntao was a total newbie back then, way less famous than you, and now she’s getting way more buzz. If you’d knocked her out of the running, it would’ve been you in the spotlight.”

But Wu Rui had stayed calm. “I’m an actress. My job is to follow the director’s vision and play the role that suits me.”

Her manager had nearly torn his hair out in frustration.

Wu Rui wasn’t obsessed with reclaiming fame. She hadn’t been that famous to begin with, even before she got sick. What mattered to her was acting, and Shang Jingyan had given her back that chance. For that, she was truly grateful.

Starting from episode three, her screen time was about to increase significantly.

She hadn’t seen the final cut yet, so she was already sitting in front of her lightbrain early, waiting.

How would the audience react to her Gu Lang?

She was nervous but excited.

–

Ao Qingxue’s live stream room.

The screen was still black, but the comment section was already buzzing.

[It’s starting! Got my snacks ready.]

[I’ve been stressing all week about how Gao Xiaoyun is going to survive this!]

[I’m different—I spent the week writing Gu Lang x Gao Xiaoyun fanfic, hahaha. Am I the only one shipping them?]

The episode opened with the Gao family summoning a spirit medium. The woman’s face was painted with oil-based makeup, talismans and ritual tools hanging from her robes. With her wild hair and mysterious aura, she looked the part.

After listening to their description of events, she declared with absolute certainty, “It’s a Lingering Wrath. This kind of spirit is born from the grudge of a drowned woman and will seek revenge on anyone who crosses its path.”

The entire Gao family was gathered, still in mourning for the second son. The room was filled with people dressed in white mourning clothes, the atmosphere thick with grief.

Master Gao, pale and desperate, asked, “Then… how do we get rid of this Lingering Wrath?”

“It’s drawn to water. The only way to banish it is with fire—force it back and seal it in a dry place.”

The spirit medium had said “banish,” not “destroy.”

Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd. Gao Xiaoyun, who had been hiding in the back, suddenly heard her shout, “You! You have ghost energy on you!”

The crowd parted instantly. The medium grabbed Gao Xiaoyun’s sleeve and yanked out the comb hidden inside. Her expression changed dramatically. “Hawthorn wood—ghost wood! How dare you use something like this?!”

“W-What? No way!” Gao Xiaoyun hadn’t expected to be exposed so quickly. Thinking fast, she stomped her foot in frustration and said, “You’re wrong! This was my mother’s keepsake. It’s walnut wood, not ghost wood. You’re making things up!”

“Master, should we burn the comb? And what about my daughter—should we marry her off immediately?” Master Gao asked, looking ready to shove Gao Xiaoyun out the door then and there.

But the spirit medium hesitated. “It’s hard to say. I need to check further.”

She glanced at Gao Xiaoyun, then added, as if reconsidering, “…Since it’s a keepsake, I may have been mistaken.”

“I need a quiet room, a basin of clear water—white porcelain, the finest quality. No one is to disturb me tonight.”

[Is this superstition or legit?]

[In this world, supernatural beings exist, so there must be real exorcists too.]

[Is she the real deal, or just putting on a show?]

That night.

“Gu Lang, oh Gu Lang… what do I do now?”

Gao Xiaoyun paced anxiously in the courtyard, glancing toward the medium’s room.

Then, as if to soothe her worries, a voice whispered through the night—

“Don’t worry.”

Gao Xiaoyun’s eyes lit up. “Gu Lang!”

Under the moonlight, the Bone-Faced Scholar stepped forward, his silhouette shifting like ink on silk. His voice was gentle. “I’ll handle it. Don’t be afraid, Ah Yun.”

With a flick of his wrist, he unfolded his fan three sections wide. Painted on its surface was an ink-wash magnolia. As soon as Gu Lang pressed his bone-white fingers against the fan, the magnolias bloomed, transforming from ink into real blossoms, sprouting branches that stretched toward the old spirit medium’s room.

Then—clang! A golden barrier erupted outside the room, emblazoned with fiery totems. The pure white magnolias were instantly incinerated, reduced to nothing but ashes.

Gu Lang let out a cold chuckle, his eyes gleaming with scorn. At that moment, he finally seemed alive in the audience’s eyes—not just the tender, devoted lover, but a formidable demon. To him, everyone besides Gao Xiaoyun was nothing more than ants.

He stepped forward from the sea of flowers, flicking open his fan another notch. This time, it wasn’t magnolias on the fabric—it was an ink-black dragon, coiling and thrashing.

Gu Lang’s expression turned icy as the dragon surged forward, shattering the golden barrier. Silence fell.

Then, from within the room, came the sound of someone coughing up blood.

Gao Xiaoyun hesitated. “Is it over?”

Gu Lang extended his skeletal hand, breaking off a single joint as smooth as white jade. The moment it touched the ground, a delicate flower blossomed, from which a tiny silver figure emerged, dashing toward the old spirit medium’s quarters.

Ao Qingxue couldn’t help but think: Director Shang really knows how to create characters that make people fall head over heels. From the Eldritch God to Gu Lang, they were all beautiful yet eerie, strangely mesmerizing in their unpredictability.

And the horror backdrop only made these two feel even more alien than any non-human love interest in modern romance stories.

“She’ll understand when she sees it.”

Gao Xiaoyun blinked. “And if she doesn’t?”

Gu Lang sighed, pulling her into his arms. “Then that would be a shame.”

From beginning to end, Gao Xiaoyun had been an observer—first worried, then exhilarated, and finally lost in confusion.

“Gu Lang… I never knew you were this powerful.”

“But why do you care for me? I’m just an ordinary girl… We met by chance when I was sixteen, wandering in the garden one night.”

[First time I’ve seen a main character in a short drama straight-up ask, ‘Why do you love me?’ Do you even need a reason?! (confused)]

[If we applied this logic to romance dramas, half of them would crumble, lol.]

[But honestly, Gao Xiaoyun isn’t exactly ‘ordinary.’ She dared to fall for a bone demon, spent the night alone in a rundown temple, and let’s not forget—she was sneaking out at sixteen. That takes guts!]

Gu Lang didn’t answer her question. Instead, he simply said, “You don’t need to overthink it. Just know this—I won’t hurt you.”

His gaze softened as he looked down at her. Only then did Ao Qingxue realize, “Wu Rui is actually amazing. I can’t believe she wasn’t famous before this.”

Half of Gu Lang’s face was bare bone, leaving him with no facial muscles to express emotion. That meant Wu Rui had to rely entirely on the upper half of her face to convey feelings—and yet, there was no stiffness, no overacting. Every shift in expression was clear and deliberate.

—

The next morning, a furious roar erupted from the old spirit medium’s quarters.

“Lying hag!!”

Master Gao hurled a porcelain basin to the floor, shattering it into shards.

Turns out, the Gao family had waited all morning, but the old spirit medium never emerged. When they finally mustered the courage to check, they found the room empty—save for a letter.

The message was simple: Your household’s demon is too powerful. I can’t handle it. I’m getting the hell out of here. Best of luck finding someone else!

The comment section exploded with laughter.

[This battle of wits between exorcists and demons is way more fun than the romance plot, not gonna lie…]

[Too short! Someone please write an extended version!]

[I went down a rabbit hole researching ancient folklore after watching this. Turns out, there’s so much cool stuff!]

Master Gao, feeling completely duped, fumed and ordered men to hunt down the old crone and drag her to the authorities.

Still determined, he brought in a Daoist priest next.

This one had an even grander entrance, demanded an even higher fee, and looked every bit the part—loose robes, a wine gourd hanging at his waist, all swagger and mystique.

Upon arrival, he immediately dismissed the old spirit medium’s conclusions. “What ‘Soft Tresses Entwined’? What kind of demon even has a name like that?”

Stroking his beard, he pointed straight at Gao Xiaoyun. “The real problem lies with her! Master Gao, I see it now—your daughter is a harbinger of disaster! You must get rid of her!”

He also requested a private room, claiming he would duel the “house spirit.”

“Wait, I thought the problem was my daughter? Now there’s a house spirit too?”

“This isn’t something you’d understand.” The priest waved him off, then added reassuringly, “No need to worry, Master Gao. I’ve already cast protective spells over your estate. As long as you hire me to stay here long-term, your family will be safe year after year.”

That night, Gao Xiaoyun sat anxiously. “Gu Lang, are you going to use your bones to ‘remind’ him again?”

She cradled the finger joint he had lost last time, looking pained.

Her comb had been confiscated by Master Gao and tossed into the fire, burned to cinders.

Gu Lang, however, merely snapped his fan shut and sneered. “Him? Not even worth it. Now any random hack thinks they can challenge me?”

This time, it seemed the demon’s patience had finally worn thin.

The next day passed without incident, making Master Gao believe he had finally hired a real expert.

But that night, he was jolted awake by a faint rustling noise. Peering around in the dim candlelight, he spotted something shifting in the beams.

Lifting his candle, he looked up—

And saw a mass of dripping wet hair spilling from the ceiling.

At first, it looked like a stain. But it was alive, writhing and growing, tendrils slithering through the cracks in the roof.

Master Gao’s face went pale. “It’s back?! High Priest! High Priest, save me!!”

He didn’t even make it to the door before something yanked him off his feet. Hair coiled around his limbs, hoisting him into the air.

“Wife! Wife, help me—!”

He switched targets, now pleading with his wife. By then, he was dangling midair, his feet kicking frantically, his face turning purple.

The candle tipped over, but the slick strands of hair slithered away from the flame—and some even reached out to smother it.

Just then, his wife bolted upright in bed. But it wasn’t his cries that had roused her.

Her eyes were open, but vacant. She wore a serene smile.

Ao Qingxue shivered. The comment section went wild:

[I wasn’t scared when Master Gao got grabbed, but THIS? My skin is crawling!]

[What happened to her? Is she possessed by the hair?!]

[What is she about to do?!]

Like a puppet on invisible strings, Mistress Gao rose, her bare feet soundless against the floor. She walked to her vanity, picked up a wooden comb—

And began to brush her hair.