The Actor 02

After several people had died, Fang Zhiyi spotted Squire Ma hiding in the back. He gave a bitter smile—one so chilling it nearly took Squire Ma’s life.

But then Fang Xiuyun stepped forward. Having learned the truth from the Old Troupe Leader, she rushed out.

"Fang! Fang Zhiyi! It’s me! Brother Zhiyi! I’m the baby girl you saved!"

The crowd fell silent at her words. Even Fang Zhiyi, his eyes streaming with bloody tears, turned his attention to her.

Squire Ma’s breathing grew ragged. "No wonder my family has suffered misfortune all these years. You wretched thing still lives!"

Fang Zhiyi’s flowing sleeves suddenly tightened, then lashed forward—but Fang Xiuyun threw herself in front of Squire Ma, arms outstretched. The sleeves froze mid-air. Fang Zhiyi stared blankly at the woman he had saved eighteen years ago, while Squire Ma, still trembling, looked on in shock.

"Brother Zhiyi, the operas say vengeful spirits must turn to goodness. You can’t keep harming people!"

Fang Zhiyi gazed at the woman dressed in stage robes, momentarily lost in thought.

In that instant, Squire Ma seized his chance. Years ago, he had hired bandits to kill a Taoist priest but kept the man’s spiritual tools. Now, the Steward arrived with one of them—a soul-suppressing bell—and hurled it at Fang Zhiyi. The ringing unsettled him, stirring doubt. He didn’t dodge. The bell struck him, but a mere mortal wielding a tool couldn’t subdue a vengeful ghost. It was almost laughable.

What truly troubled him was whether he had been wrong all along.

Then a voice shouted from below: "Evil spirit, cease your violence!" A Young Taoist Priest leaped from the crowd, brandishing his tools as he engaged Fang Zhiyi in combat. Though Fang Zhiyi was no match for him, escape was still possible—until Fang Xiuyun spoke again.

"Let me chant the scriptures for your peaceful passing, Brother Zhiyi. Can’t you let go of your hatred?"

Fang Zhiyi hesitated, giving the priest an opening. In a flash, he was sealed inside a ceramic jar.

Fang Xiuyun remained in Qinghe Town. Her act of protecting Squire Ma moved the aging man, who decided having a daughter might not be so bad. He acknowledged her as his own, renaming her Ma Xiuyun.

Ma Xiuyun became renowned as a great benefactor and a Taoist practitioner, training alongside the Young Taoist Priest. The surrounding villages praised her for "returning kindness for malice" and vanquishing the vengeful ghost. She basked in their admiration, vowing to protect the region’s peace. Years passed, and countless lost souls fell to her hand. She was hailed as a living bodhisattva—some even erected statues in her honor.

As for Fang Zhiyi, he faded away long before. A ghost trapped in confusion, unable to reincarnate or take revenge, sealed in a jar until his existence dwindled into nothingness.

Fang Zhiyi exhaled sharply. "Damn, that felt like watching a movie!"

Little Hei scratched his head. "Since you’re a spirit now, this is how you experience it. Pretty entertaining, right?"

"Entertaining my foot! What kind of monster did the original host even save?"

Little Hei had no reply.

"What’s the current timeline?"

"You’re still sealed. In one day, the Old Troupe Leader will arrive with his performers."

Fang Zhiyi grinned, crimson tears streaking down his cheeks.

"Host, could you not smile like that? It’s creepy."

"You think I want to?"

The next day, just as in the original story, the troupe settled backstage, and the servants accidentally tore the talisman suppressing Fang Zhiyi.

Feeling his freedom return, Fang Zhiyi was ecstatic.

"Little Hei, there aren’t any good people here, right?"

"Host, stay calm!"

"I am calm. Damn it, I had to wait a whole day!"

Onstage, instruments began to play, followed by melodious singing—a birthday tribute.

After adjusting to his spectral form, Fang Zhiyi lunged toward the woman onstage.

Soon, Fang Xiuyun realized she could no longer control her body.

Fang Zhiyi decided to embrace the rules of Chinese horror—after all, opportunities to be a vengeful ghost were rare.

"What use is karma’s ledger fair~"

"When hell’s own ink dissolves to air?"

"White ants gnaw through coins once gold~"

"The Judge’s brush now hooks the soul~"

Fang Zhiyi burst into laughter. "Ahahahaha!"

The audience gaped. How could a woman’s voice suddenly turn into a man’s?

Fang Zhiyi pointed at Squire Ma in the back. "Squire Ma, behold and see~" Slowly, he emerged from Fang Xiuyun’s body, revealing his true form—a blood-soaked opera singer, half his face smeared with stage makeup turned scarlet.

"Do I look familiar, old friend?"

"Host, you’re really nailing this!" Little Hei clapped.

"Back in ancient times, I had nothing better to do than listen to operas. Picked up a few things."

Squire Ma’s eyes bulged, his finger shaking as he pointed. "Y-you! You’re still here! Guards! Guards!"

Some older members of the crowd recognized the ghost.

Chaos erupted.

Fang Zhiyi watched them, smirking, then locked onto his targets. With a flick of his sleeve, one fleeing man clutched his throat and collapsed, his skin mottling blue as he convulsed and died.

Then a second. A third.

Little Hei pointed. "That one in the back! He bullied the original host too!"

Fourth.

"Brother Zhiyi! It’s me!" Fang Xiuyun rushed forward. Clearly, the Old Troupe Leader had told her the truth—about her origins, and why she bore the name Fang.

"I’m the baby girl you saved!"

Fang Zhiyi paused, staring at her.

Squire Ma, already terrified, wheezed and pointed at Fang Xiuyun, too shaken to speak.

Fang Zhiyi didn’t strike him yet. Letting the old man die so easily would be too merciful.

Fang Xiuyun mistook his hesitation for sympathy. Confidently, she stepped between him and Squire Ma, arms spread, resolve firm.

"Brother Zhiyi, the operas say vengeful spirits must turn to goodness. You can’t keep harming people!"

Fang Zhiyi wanted to slap her—but feared dirtying his hand.

Encouraged by his silence, she pressed on. "I’ve already let go of the past. Brother Zhiyi, can’t you do the same?"

Fang Zhiyi glanced down at his translucent form, reminding himself to stay composed. Then he looked up, his smile laced with sorrow.

"Oh? Let go? I traded my life for yours, and now you tell me you’ve ‘let go’?"

The anguish in his voice made the crowd turn to Fang Xiuyun.

She faltered.

Fang Zhiyi pressed on, gesturing to the nearby river.

"Do you remember how cold that water was?"