Chapter 5

The top-tier male star in the entertainment industry suddenly died, with the funeral being kept simple and not even publicly announced. Anyone with a bit of sense could tell that something was off about this.

Ling Chen previously refrained from asking, out of respect for the deceased as someone working in the funeral industry; now he was asking because, as an innocent bystander, he wanted to know how to lay the “duckling” to rest.

He Jinchao had already ruled out three incorrect options—depression, overdose, and “feng shui” (a traditional Chinese belief)—last night, but there were still many other possibilities left.

Ling Chen couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild: Did the movie emperor uncover a high-level company secret and get silenced? Or was he a cold-hearted person who was killed by a jilted lover?

When Ling Chen helped, He Jinchao change clothes last night, he quietly observed his body. Apart from the marks left by hospital resuscitation, there were no other visible injuries. He Jinchao’s face also didn’t show typical signs of drowning, suffocation, strangulation, or allergic reactions to drugs.

So, what was the cause of his death?

“I don’t remember,” He Jinchao finally said.

Ling Chen nodded. “Oh, so it’s because you don’t remember… What? You don’t remember???” He was extremely surprised. “How can you not remember?”

He Jinchao replied, “I looked at the calendar on the wall, today is Monday, right? But my memory only goes up to the day before yesterday, which was last Saturday. I recorded an interview that day and then went home to rest. I remember I had no schedule on Sunday, but what happened that day is a blank in my memory. It seems like I just took a nap, and when I opened my eyes again, I was already in the funeral makeup room.”

“…”

In other words, He Jinchao had lost an entire day’s memory, and his death was utterly mysterious and unclear.

What puzzled Ling Chen the most was that He Jinchao had died just like that, and he wasn’t even remotely anxious about it!

Ling Chen said, “Your emotions seem too stable. You’re a top-tier male star, and you died like this. Normally, you should be desperately trying to find out the truth of your death, desperately trying to resurrect yourself. If you can’t, you should at least turn dark, right?”

“How to resurrect?” He Jinchao countered.

Ling Chen blurted, “Find some soul vessels?”

He Jinchao politely declined, “My nose is the original one. Many fans are waiting to go down the slide on it. If I don’t have a nose after being resurrected, they’d be heartbroken.”

“…He Jinchao,” Ling Chen shuddered, unable to stop himself from calling his real name, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very narcissistic?”

Although they had only interacted for less than twelve hours, Ling Chen was increasingly convinced that He Jinchao was very different from the perfect male god on the movie screen. Even the thickest fan filter was shattered into pieces.

“Many people have said that” He Jinchao surprisingly replied, “But if you wake up every morning and see my face in the mirror, you’d become narcissistic too.”

Ling Chen: “…”

This guy wasn’t even thinking about resurrection. Since he was already like a piece of frozen meat, it would be better to just lie quietly in the freezer.

—-

Let’s put aside the dead guy for now; the living matters more.

Ling Chen hadn’t eaten all day and was famished by now. His living quarters were assigned by the company, located in a dormitory area behind the funeral home, and there was no way to order takeout (nor would any delivery driver dare to take the order). Usually, he had to go to the cafeteria to eat.

But today, Ling Chen didn’t want to go outside. Fortunately, he had some stockpiled snail noodles in his fridge along with a bag of wilted vegetables.

When he opened the snail noodles package, He Jinchao stepped back warily, instinctively covering his nose and mouth.

Ling Chen: “Can you smell it?”

He Jinchao: “I can’t smell it.”

Ling Chen: “Then why cover your nose if you can’t smell it?”

He Jinchao thought about it and then moved closer to Ling Chen, curiously watching him cook the snail noodles. He had a private chef for his daily meals, and even during his filming, a nutritionist followed him. He had never eaten such “junk food” before. He had heard people talk about the sour and spicy taste of snail noodles, so he had wanted to try it, but now that he was dead, he still hadn’t had the chance.

At the stove, Ling Chen worked quickly and soon had a steaming bowl of noodles ready, with chili oil mixed into the brown broth and vegetables and pickled bamboo shoots floating in the soup… Even though He Jinchao had lost his sense of smell, taste, and hunger, he still couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

After preparing the noodles, Ling Chen didn’t pick up his chopsticks right away but rummaged through the cabinets for dishes.

He usually ate alone, unlike other colleagues who liked to gather in groups. He only had one set of dishes at home, so he had to dig through the cupboard to find the second set.

He put half a bowl of soup noodles in a small bowl, stuck the chopsticks straight into it, and placed it in front of He Jinchao, casually saying, “You eat this portion.”

He Jinchao looked at the small bowl in front of him. “…For me?”

Ling Chen: “Who else would I give it to? You were practically drooling when I was cooking the noodles.”

He Jinchao was puzzled. “But how do I eat?”

Ling Chen: “Just eat the way any ghost would eat.”

He Jinchao: “…”

The problem was, He Jinchao had never seen any other ghosts eat.

He floated around the bowl of snail noodles, still pondering how to eat the “offering,” but before he could decide, Ling Chen had already moved to the living room with the small cooking pot.

The dorm was a simple one-bedroom apartment with basic appliances but no furniture, which Ling Chen hadn’t bothered to buy in the three years he had lived there. He only had a solitary folding chair in the empty living room and used a large express box as a table. This minimalist style, if you want to be polite, could be called “simple”; if you’re being harsh, it could be called “bare.”

Ling Chen sat down on the folding chair with the small pot of noodles, turned on the TV, and began eating.

He Jinchao had previously wanted to ask him, “Why don’t you buy furniture?”

Ling Chen, slurping noodles, replied, “No need. I’m not stupid enough to spend my own money on furniture for a company dorm.”

The folding chair was cheap and sturdy, and it worked perfectly fine for one person.

He Jinchao was about to say something, but Ling Chen interrupted him: “And no talking while eating.”

He Jinchao: “…”

Ling Chen didn’t really watch TV, he just liked some background noise, whether it was a variety show, a tear-jerker, or the news—it was all the same to him as long as there was some noise.

As he ate the hot bowl of snail noodles, Ling Chen intended to watch a drama to pass the time. However, after flipping through a few channels, he accidentally found an interview with He Jinchao.

A month ago, He Jinchao’s new film “Chasing Stars” had been released. The film tells the story of the first group of astronauts after the founding of New China. He Jinchao played the lead role, portraying a character whose age spanned from 18 to over 70. His performance was delicate and superb, and the movie’s ticket sales had already surpassed 2 billion yuan after half a month of release.

The interview on TV was centered around “Chasing Stars,” with all the main creators present. He Jinchao sat in the front row, surrounded by everyone like a star among stars.

He wore a simple, elegant suit, with a neat collar and cuffs. His hair was meticulously styled, and he wore a faint smile. He sat casually, yet without appearing too laid-back.

Sometimes, when the host asked a question, the guests took turns answering. While others responded, He Jinchao listened attentively, never interrupting or stealing the spotlight from anyone else. But when the microphone reached him, he immediately became the focal point, speaking eloquently and making sharp, insightful remarks about the film and his character.

People like this… someone like He Jinchao—

“Xiao Ling, what does luosifen taste like?”

—How could it be this nagging, annoying ghost around Ling Chen?

Ling Chen tossed his chopsticks aside and turned to look at He Jinchao, who was still studying the luosifen: “Didn’t I tell you not to talk during meals?”

He Jinchao looked innocent: “So, you’re allowed to make noise watching TV, but I can’t say a word?”

Ling Chen pointed at the well-dressed figure on the TV: “That’s noise? That’s obviously you!”

He Jinchao raised an eyebrow, glancing at the interview on the TV, and said confidently: “That’s the me from half a month ago. ‘White horse is not a horse,’ how can He Jinchao from half a month ago be compared to today’s He Jinchao?”

Ling Chen: “…”

But he only wanted the He Jinchao from half a month ago, not the one in front of him.

Ling Chen said, “I thought your agency would announce your death immediately, but when I turned on the TV, I saw you hopping around alive.”

He Jinchao responded with certainty: “They can’t announce my death.”

“…?”

Seeing that Ling Chen didn’t believe him, He Jinchao explained: “Before I died, I recorded interviews, shot magazines, and TV ads, all of which have stockpiles. They’ll release them gradually, enough to last two to three months. After three months, when the movie stops airing, ‘I’ can naturally go into ‘seclusion.’ If anyone asks, they’ll say I’m reading scripts and preparing for the next project. Anyway, my personal social media accounts are controlled by the agency, and every month or two, they’ll post a few photos in my tone, pretending I’m still alive… After dragging it out for a year, the company can smoothly announce a ‘retirement statement,’ saying ‘I’ decided to go behind the scenes or study abroad.”

Since entering the industry, He Jinchao has always kept a low profile, rarely exposed when not filming. Fans have long gotten used to his secretive seclusion. With a little guidance from the agency, fans will easily believe it.

Ling Chen incredulously asked, “Isn’t this lying?”

“Exactly, this is lying,” He Jinchao replied, “But once they announce my death, the company’s stock price will definitely drop, and the ongoing movies and endorsements will be affected. From what I know about CEO Wang, he definitely wouldn’t risk shareholder money on ‘honesty.'”

Ling Chen put down his chopsticks, feeling disgusted by it all: “What a reason full of the stench of copper. If I were you, I’d haunt CEO Wang in his dreams every night, forcing him to announce it.”

“No, I won’t,” He Jinchao gave an unexpected answer, “I don’t want my fans to know about my death.”

“Why?”

“Because for fans, the best ending to their beloved idol’s story is ‘retiring to live a peaceful life in an unknown place.’ They’ll be sad for a while, but they’ll gradually focus on other things,” He Jinchao’s gaze softened, his tone serious. “No one can accept the sudden death of their idol. It would be a massive, painful collective trauma. Some of my fans are quite young, and I don’t want my departure to cause them to do anything irrational.”

“…” Ling Chen stared at him, stunned.

Before the feeling of being touched could even last, He Jinchao suddenly smiled brightly at him, with a look of pride in his eyes: “By the look on your face, does it mean you’re charmed by me, this great star, again?”

Ling Chen immediately broke his composure.

With a dark face, he took the small bowl of luosifen that had been in front of He Jinchao and moved it back in front of himself.

He Jinchao was shocked: “What’s wrong with you? You gave me food and now you’re taking it back?”

Ling Chen said righteously: “The tribute is supposed to be eaten, if the ghost doesn’t eat, then the human eats.”

He Jinchao immediately made a request: “Then tomorrow, when you bring me tribute, I want an iced Americano.”

“Do I look like an iced Americano?” Ling Chen said coldly, “I only have instant coffee here, take it or leave it.”

He Jinchao wasn’t discouraged by Ling Chen’s cold words and continued to haggle: “I have money, I can buy it myself.”

“You have money?” Ling Chen retorted, “Paper money? Should I burn it for you in a dream and give it to your agent?”

“Of course, real money in my bank account!” He Jinchao replied, half laughing, half crying, “Although I don’t remember how I died, I still remember my bank card password. I have a few foreign accounts that even my agent doesn’t know about, and I can transfer money from them without anyone finding out.”

Ling Chen remained uninterested: “How troublesome, just bear with it.”

“I’ll give you five hundred for one cup of coffee.”

“???”

He Jinchao threw out another bait: “Not only that, if you help me with one thing, I can transfer all the money in my account to you.”

After spending just one day together, He Jinchao noticed that Ling Chen placed great importance on money. To earn a bonus, he’d get up in the middle of the night to do makeup on a corpse, unafraid to share a room with a ghost; to save money, after moving, Ling Chen didn’t buy any furniture, using a mattress on the floor as a bed and a folding chair in the living room as a sofa… So, He Jinchao used the money in his accounts as bait, hoping to lure Ling Chen in.

Sure enough, hearing that he could inherit He Jinchao’s fortune, Ling Chen couldn’t stop his throat from moving as he swallowed hard.

“…You, wait a minute.” Ling Chen, holding onto his last bit of rationality, asked, “You need to tell me what this ‘help’ is before I agree. If it violates any rules, I won’t help.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a legal favor,” He Jinchao smiled, “But this favor, you’re the only one who can do.”

“?”

“I only have one request: as long as you can find any way to get me out of this state—whether ‘resurrected’ or ‘completely dead’—then after I’m gone, all the money in my account is yours.”

It’s said that money makes ghosts push the mill, but if the ghost has money, who will the ghost make push the mill?