Something is Watching Us

The air inside the ancient castle seemed frozen by a layer of cold frost that had accumulated over the years. Even with several thousand-watt lamps blazing at full power, they couldn't penetrate the viscous shadow lurking at the corner of the long corridor.

This was a reshoot for Scene Eleven. Director Zhang Cheng sat behind the monitor, his brows knitted into a tight knot, the walkie-talkie in his hand creaking from the pressure of his grip. This scene should have been wrapped up long ago, but for some reason, the extras in today's group were in an extremely eerie state, and even the lead actress, Lin Wanqiao, had suffered several NGs in a row.

Shen Zhixia carefully shrank back less than two steps behind Lu Chenzhou, her toes barely brushing the edge of his long shadow. She remembered Lu Chenzhou's instruction—she could not leave his side beyond three steps. At this moment, half her face was buried in her hair, and her moist eyes were scanning the surroundings uneasily.

She could sense a very uncomfortable presence.

It wasn't her own Yin Energy, but a much older, more violent resentment seeping out from a narrow crack in the corridor wall, half-covered by wallpaper.

"All departments, get ready! One more take! Lin Wanqiao, watch your expression—you're supposed to be terrified, not spacing out!" Director Zhang's voice echoed through the empty corridor, carrying a barely suppressed anger.

Lu Chenzhou stood at the center of the frame, wearing a dark gray Republic-era long gown, his brow bones looking even sharper under the lighting. He didn't turn around, but his left hand hung below his sleeve, his thumb slowly and rhythmically rolling the string of Black Sandalwood Beads.

Shen Zhixia could feel that every time he rolled a bead, the suffocating pressure in the air diminished slightly.

"Teacher Lu, sorry to trouble you to guide the blocking again." The floor manager hurried over politely, handing him some water to soothe his throat.

Lu Chenzhou gave a slight nod, his smile as warm as an impeccable mask: "It's fine. Everyone's under pressure. Cooperation is only natural."

The moment he turned, his gaze seemed to flicker briefly across the empty space behind him. Shen Zhixia was so startled she shrank further into the shadows, her heart racing with doubt: Was he looking at me, or at that crack?

"Action!"

As the clapperboard fell, at the far end of the corridor, Lin Wanqiao came rushing over with her skirt hem lifted, followed by several extras dressed as servants. According to the script, they were supposed to be startled by the commotion in the "haunted house" and flee frantically toward the exit.

Lin Wanqiao ran with great effort, her hair disheveled and the rims of her eyes slightly red—she really did convey that sense of being shattered while fleeing from something unclean.

However, just as she ran past Lu Chenzhou and was about to enter the close-up position, Shen Zhixia clearly saw a wisp of ink-black mist seep out from the crack in the wall.

The black mist burst into the air like countless tiny tentacles, carrying a shrill screech that only spirits could hear.

"Don't look back..." Shen Zhixia murmured softly under her breath, even though she knew no one could hear her.

But then, a bone-chilling scene unfolded.

Lin Wanqiao's footsteps came to an abrupt halt. Not just her—the three extras following her also seemed to have their necks forcibly turned by some invisible thread. In the exact same second, they all stopped in perfect unison and twisted their heads toward the bare wall on the right.

Their movements were extremely stiff, and even the faint, grating sound of cervical vertebrae grinding could be heard.

Director Zhang behind the monitor shot to his feet, the walkie-talkie clattering to the floor with a slap.

"Cut! Cut! What are you looking at? Is there gold on the wall?" Director Zhang stormed into the set, roaring.

The scene fell into dead silence.

Lin Wanqiao seemed to have just woken from a nightmare. Her body trembled violently, her face deathly pale as she stared at the wall, then looked blankly at the director: "I... I don't know. I just felt like someone was calling me from over there..."

"Nonsense! That wall backs onto a sealed stairwell. Who could be there?" Director Zhang paced back and forth in agitation. "And the rest of you? Why did you turn around too?"

The extras exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes full of terror: "Director, we just felt... it was especially cold over there, like something was staring at us. We couldn't help turning around."

Shen Zhixia pressed herself against the wall. She could see it clearly—the black mist was spreading along the plaster, and some strands had even wound around Lin Wanqiao's ankles. This wasn't aimed at her at all. This was some kind of malevolence awakened deep within the castle, venting itself.

This resentment isn't mine, Shen Zhixia tried desperately to convince herself. Although she was a ghost, she had never thought of harming anyone, nor did she possess this kind of bone-chilling malice.

"Director Zhang, maybe everyone's just too tired. Hallucinations happen often."

Lu Chenzhou's voice broke the silence. He stepped forward, naturally positioning himself between Lin Wanqiao and the wall.

Shen Zhixia noticed that Lu Chenzhou's path was very deliberate. With each step, the sound of his leather shoes striking the floor was as steady as a bell, landing precisely on the nodes where the black mist was spreading.

He walked up to Lin Wanqiao and, appearing to comfort her by patting her shoulder, actually raised his left hand slightly as he passed by her. Shen Zhixia caught a glimpse of an extremely faint silver glint between his fingers—the Silver Talisman Buckle flashed briefly under the lights.

"Teacher Lin, the lighting where you're standing might indeed be a bit glaring," Lu Chenzhou said with a gentle smile, casually pulling Lin Wanqiao half a step to the left.

That half step was just enough to pull Lin Wanqiao out of the entanglement of the black mist.

Lu Chenzhou turned around, facing the problematic wall. He raised an eyebrow slightly, as if pondering the scene, or casually suggesting: "The plaster here seems to be peeling a bit, and the reflection angle is off. Props team, could someone come take care of it? It might affect the visual effect."

He said it lightly, like an award-winning actor with an extreme attention to detail.

"Right, right, take care of it!" Director Zhang, relieved to have an excuse to back down, quickly waved the props team over.

Shen Zhixia saw that before the props team arrived, Lu Chenzhou appeared to lean casually against the wall, his right hand bracing against it, his long fingers pressing precisely over the crack from which the black aura was seeping.

A faint golden light flickered briefly in his palm, and the wild resentment seemed to meet its natural enemy, instantly shrinking back deep into the wall crack.

Shen Zhixia was stunned.

He saved these people.

This realization made Shen Zhixia's originally cold heart tremble slightly. She had always thought Lu Chenzhou was a moody overseer, but at that moment, the silhouette of him standing in front of everyone gave her a long-lost sense of safety—something belonging to the living.

Lu Chenzhou withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. He suppressed the bitterness rising in his throat and turned to give Shen Zhixia a look.

That look was very cold, carrying a warning: Stay put.

Shen Zhixia quickly shrank back, docile as a quail. She realized that as long as she stayed by Lu Chenzhou's side, those resentful energies couldn't harm her. This kind of "rule" was both a constraint and a hidden form of庇护.

Lin Wanqiao still hadn't recovered from the shock. She looked suspiciously at the wall, then at the shadowy spot where Shen Zhixia was standing. Although she couldn't see Shen Zhixia, that persistent sense of wrongness made her nervous and uneasy.

"Shenzhou-ge, did you... not notice anything strange?" Lin Wanqiao lowered her voice, her fingers nervously twisting the lace trim of her costume.

Lu Chenzhou adjusted his sleeves, his tone flat: "What do you mean, Teacher Lin? If you're referring to that collective lapse earlier, I suggest you go home and get some more sleep. Spending too much time in a place like this castle can easily wear down your nerves."

His detachment was perfectly measured—enough to shut Lin Wanqiao up while maintaining his aloof persona as an award-winning actor.

Hundreds of miles away, at the Shen Group Building.

Shen Mingheng sat in his dimly lit office. On the massive screen in front of him, the surveillance feed from the castle's film set was streaming in real time. Although signal interference caused occasional snowflakes on the画面, he had still keenly caught what just happened.

The collective head-turn.

Shen Mingheng's fingers stroked the bridge of his frameless glasses, his gaze dark and menacing.

"That thing in that place really can't stay still," he muttered to himself, his voice cold and devoid of warmth. "Lu Chenzhou, are you really there to shoot a film, or to dig up old grudges?"

He picked up a black document folder on the desk and opened a page—it was the case-closure report from ten years ago, regarding the castle fire and Shen Zhixia's fall.

"Tell the people on the set to keep a close watch. Especially on that 'shadow' beside Lu Chenzhou." Shen Mingheng gave the order to the seemingly empty office, and a low voice from the shadows seemed to acknowledge the command.

Back at the castle, the atmosphere hadn't fully improved despite Lu Chenzhou's suppression.

"No, I still feel something was off about that last take." Director Zhang sat in front of the monitor, the more he thought about it, the more he felt something supernatural was going on.

He had built his career on horror films and had a professional sensitivity to these kinds of "accidents." The way everyone had moved in perfect unison at that moment was too precise, too unnatural—like they were being commanded by something.

"Old Li, pull up the replay of that take. Slow motion," Director Zhang said to the cinematographer.

Hearing this, Shen Zhixia's heart leaped into her throat.

She was now a deceased soul. Although ordinary people couldn't see her, on high-precision camera equipment that might even capture special wavelengths, no one could guarantee that traces wouldn't be left behind.

What if they caught her on camera? Or caught the abnormal phenomenon of Lu Chenzhou's earlier intervention?

Lu Chenzhou's expression also darkened. He stood three steps away, his gaze shooting toward the monitor screen like a bolt of cold lightning.

Although he could suppress the resentment, he couldn't block the footage that had already been recorded.

"Director, I don't think that's necessary. It was just a blocking mistake..." Lin Wanqiao also moved closer. Subconsciously, she wanted to avoid seeing that playback.

"Shut up. Watch the replay!" Director Zhang stared stubbornly at the screen.

Cinematographer Old Li operated the control stick, and the画面 began to rewind.

Nervously, Shen Zhixia drifted behind Lu Chenzhou and instinctively grabbed the back hem of his long gown. Lu Chenzhou's body stiffened slightly, but he didn't shake her off like he usually would.

On the screen, the画面 was rewinding frame by frame.

It was the shot of Lin Wanqiao running, with the mottled light and shadow of the corridor in the background. As the progress bar moved, Shen Zhixia saw that a few seconds before the collective head-turn, the air in the corner of the frame seemed to distort.

An extremely fine patch of "snowflakes"—caused by signal interference—was spreading from the wall crack.

And that patch of snowflakes was now slowly shifting shape on the screen, like a living thing.

"Wait, stop here!" Director Zhang pointed at the screen, his voice trembling.

The画面 froze.

At the moment Lin Wanqiao turned her head, in the shadow behind her, there seemed to be a blurry, semi-transparent silhouette, quietly staring at the lens.

Even stranger, the原本应该清晰的画面 was now shrouded by a faint layer of black mist. The black mist wasn't recorded in the footage—it seemed to be seeping out from inside the screen itself, slowly crawling along the edges of the monitor.

"What... what is this?" Cinematographer Old Li's voice was already tinged with tears.

Shen Zhixia was horrified to realize that the resentment hadn't disappeared—it had crawled into the camera through the electrical current of the filming equipment!

It wanted to use the lens to carry the curse out of this place!

"Lu Chenzhou..." Shen Zhixia couldn't help calling out to him for help.

Lu Chenzhou still stood motionless, but Shen Zhixia could feel the aura around him rapidly condensing with cold. The Black Sandalwood Beads on his wrist emitted a faint resonance, as if teetering on the edge of extreme danger.

Director Zhang's hand trembled as he reached toward the screen, wanting to see more clearly.

"Play it," Director Zhang gritted his teeth and gave the final order. "Put that close-up of the head-turn on full screen!"

At his指令, the cinematographer pressed the play button.

The monitor screen flickered twice, let out a piercing electrical screech, and a face—extremely zoomed in, almost distorted—was about to appear before everyone.

Was it Lin Wanqiao's face... or something else?

Shen Zhixia closed her eyes, not daring to look anymore.

And Lu Chenzhou's right hand had already silently pressed against the Soul Guard Talisman at his waist. If the画面 really revealed something, he would have no choice but to take the most extreme measure—to make the entire crew's memory of this moment completely断层.

The light from the monitor reflected on everyone's face, pale as paper.

The画面, moved.