Chapter 104: OS (5)
104 – OS (5)
Qi Yun: “Seduce him?”
Lin Xun: “You’re now a beautiful fish, sickly beautiful at that. Look at his eyes—doesn’t he seem like he wants to devour you?”
Qi Yun: “Fuck.”
Qi Yun: “My cultivation isn’t very high right now, and I don’t have my sword.”
Lin Xun: “He’s an ordinary person. You can handle him easily.”
Qi Yun: “Why do I feel like it’s anything but easy?”
“You disappoint me,” Lin Xun said. “Where’s the dignity of a sword cultivator?”
Qi Yun: “Fine, I’ll do it. But what has he done?”
Lin Xun: “He filmed a horror movie, shot in a basement and a cold storage room. When we were exorcising demons that time, we found that some of the frozen mannequins in the cold storage contained real human remains.”
Qi Yun: “Damn.”
Lin Xun: “And a similar case happened a few years ago in a manor in the suburbs. That manor was also once under his name.”
Qi Yun: “Damn, so he’s a dismemberment serial killer?”
“Possibly.” Lin Xun: “You’re acting in his film now, so it’ll be easy to get close to him. You can gather some clues.”
Qi Yun: “What if he wants to dismember me?”
Lin Xun: “Then call for your senior brother.”
Qi Yun rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and stopped communicating with him telepathically.
Over there, Director Gao Liao began explaining the film.
The background of his presentation slides was a dense, ink-green mass, with varying shades of color blocks intertwined in an indescribable manner—crowded yet loose, filling one’s field of vision. It made Lin Xun feel a bit nauseous, just like the decorative paintings in that manor.
However, Director Gao Liao explained it very well.
This wasn’t a commercial film, nor was it an art film. Strictly speaking, it was the purest form of horror. Most horror films on the market rely on supernatural elements and gore to attract attention and sell thrills, but Lost Coast was different—it pursued an extreme, pure form of fear. This fear didn’t come from ghosts, spirits, murderers, or the dark side of human nature, but from the existence of another kind of colossal creature. The kingdom deep in the ocean was the habitat of a civilization different from humanity, where massive, ancient beings lived—ugly in form, beyond human comprehension, and possessing unimaginable power. Compared to these beings, who had undergone billions of years of civilization cycles, humanity was but a speck of dust. The mortal fear humans felt in their presence was insignificant to them—this was what the film aimed to convey.
The protagonist came here in pursuit of the mermaid in his heart but encountered ugly, bizarre, and frenzied giant communal creatures. After enduring shock and torment, he gradually came to appreciate another kind of unique beauty. The thrill of the senses could become addictive. Realizing his own insignificance, he developed a worship for these god-like beings and even wanted to remain in the deep sea forever, becoming their follower. This was the meaning of “lost” in the title Lost in the Deep Sea.
As Director Gao Liao spoke, a fanatical expression appeared on his face, making Lin Xun feel that he wasn’t just explaining the film but wanted everyone present to experience the sensation he wished to convey.
Lin Xun lacked an artistic sensibility, so he couldn’t immerse himself in that fanatical atmosphere. However, it was clear that several people in the audience were already captivated.
At that moment, Qi Yun’s voice transmission came through: “So expensive, how many special effects would this need.”
Lin Xun: “I was thinking the same. How much is your acting fee?”
Qi Yun: “Not high, I don’t have many scenes.”
Lin Xun: “But I think you’ll be filmed beautifully.”
Qi Yun: “He’s my bread and butter now. Alright, I need to listen seriously, I’m sure I can play the dream fish perfectly.”
Qi Yun actually started paying attention. Meanwhile, Lin Xun remained casually listening throughout.
After finishing “fear,” Gao Liao began discussing “admiration for strength.” The sailor ultimately lost himself in the deep sea precisely because he was drawn to the ancient power of these massive creatures. People always notice things that far surpass them in certain aspects—this is a kind of fear, or envy, which sometimes transforms into love.
Lin Xun thought he was right. For example, his male idol’s programming skills far exceeded his own, so he admired him. However, his idol wasn’t perfect either—his Dong Jun sometimes lacked a sense of security, was a bit paranoid, and needed him around, which made Lin Xun like him even more.
In the end, he was still just an ordinary person.
Lin Xun’s attitude toward the lecture gradually turned passive until Director Gao Liao’s performance finally ended. After the screenwriter spoke for another twenty minutes or so, they moved into the free discussion session.
Qi Yun had been introduced by Butterfly Madam, so even though he was a new face, many people still came to exchange pleasantries with him, including several seniors in the industry.
If this were the usual Qi Yun, he would have been delighted. But the current Qi Yun was a half-dead fish, gasping after every few steps. After exchanging pleasantries with so many people, he could barely speak anymore. Just as Lin Xun was about to pour him a glass of water, he saw a disposable cup filled with water being handed directly to Qi Yun.
Qi Yun took it and whispered weakly, “Thank you.”
Lin Xun looked up and saw that the person who handed it over was none other than Gao Liao.
Qi Yun held the cup and took small sips, finally showing a hint of vitality in his eyes.
Then Gao Liao asked, “You are Qi Yun?”
Qi Yun: “Yes, Director.”
Gao Liao’s gaze lingered on his body and face for a long time before he finally said, “You carry the scent of water.”
Qi Yun murmured softly, “Thank you.”
After he finished drinking, Lin Xun took the cup, walked a few steps away, and tossed it into the trash bin. When he returned, he saw Gao Liao extending his right hand toward Qi Yun in a handshake gesture. Qi Yun reached out, and his slender, pale fingers were grasped by Gao Liao—it looked like a firm grip, lasting about five seconds before letting go.
Gao Liao: “Looking forward to working with you.”
Qi Yun: “…Looking forward to working with you.”
“If you’re not feeling well, you can rest first,” Gao Liao said. “Your scenes aren’t heavy, so don’t push yourself.”
Qi Yun: “Thank you, Director.”
Gao Liao turned and left.
Lin Xun watched as Qi Yun gritted his teeth.
Lin Xun: “Tsk.”
Qi Yun snapped, “What are you tsking about?”
Lin Xun: “Tsking at how pretty you are.”
Qi Yun: “Get lost.”
Lin Xun didn’t know what to do besides laugh.
Who would have thought that beneath such a sickly, beautiful appearance lay an uncultured, irritable sword cultivator?
At the very least, when he first met Qi Yun, he never imagined this person would end up in such a state—and even seemed to have been taken advantage of by the director during the handshake.
After that, things remained calm. The crew members formed a WeChat group, with the opening ceremony scheduled for the next day, followed by a four-month filming and production period. Qi Yun only needed to stay on set for ten days.
Qi Yun looked up from his phone screen and bared his teeth at Gao Liao’s retreating back.
Lin Xun asked, “What’s wrong?”
Qi Yun replied, “He wants to add me as a friend.”
“Go for it. If he wants to hit on you, let him,” Lin Xun said. “The task of exorcising demons and solving cases is all yours now.”
Qi Yun shot him a glare, wiping his hands repeatedly on his clothes while muttering, “Monks are better. They won’t even let me touch them. If I try to hug one, it’s like I’m trying to kill him.”
Lin Xun: “.”
His phone suddenly lit up, instantly popping up several messages. He tapped to open them—they were from Jia Gou.
Jia Gou: Where the hell are you?
Algorithm: Something came up. I’ll be back soon.
Jia Gou: As if I care where you are? Your husband asked.
Algorithm: ??
Algorithm: Tell him I’m at Chaoyang Community. I’m heading home right away.
Jia Gou: ?
Jia Gou: He’s at Chaoyang Community right now. He came to pick you up, but guess what? You flew the coop.
Algorithm: .
Algorithm: I’m done for.
Jia Gou: You’re dead.
Algorithm: I’m going back now.
Jia Gou: Go straight home. He took the cat and left after confirming you weren’t there.
Algorithm: That just makes it worse.
Jia Gou: Hehe.
Closing the screen, he said to Qi Yun, “I’m in deep trouble. My boyfriend’s looking for me, so I have to go back. Hang in there on your own.”
Lin Xun added, “Goodbye. I’ll have my senior come pick you up. Hold the fort.”
Qi Yun exclaimed, “Hey! You!”
It seemed he wanted to grab Lin Xun’s clothes to stop him from leaving, but he was too weak and couldn’t hold on.
Lin Xun slipped away immediately.
Friends are like birds in the same forest; when disaster strikes, each flies their own way. After all, no matter how weak Qi Yun was, he was still a Golden Core merman and a Golden Core sword cultivator—unlikely to have his vow of celibacy forcibly broken. That’s right, sword cultivators also have a vow of celibacy similar to Buddhists, as they hold their “sword heart” in high regard.
On the way, he sent a message to Dong Jun, saying he’d gone out for something and was on his way back.
Dong Jun: ^^
A Happy Zhi Zhen: Mwah.
Dong Jun: Mwah.
The hour-long drive felt unbearably long. Dong Jun’s car was already parked in the yard.
He took a deep breath, feeling like a rabbit about to be tossed into a pot, and pushed open the door with the mindset of bravely facing his doom.
Dong Jun wasn’t in the living room, which he had already anticipated. He went upstairs and entered the bedroom.
Dong Jun was still wearing the same clothes from when he left in the morning, sitting on the bed with his back to him. Zhi Zhen peeked out from behind his shoulder, showing two ears and half its head, letting out a soft “meow.”
Lin Xun inexplicably felt the guilt of a husband returning late after leaving his wife alone at home. He sat down beside Dong Jun.
Zhi Zhen wrapped its tail around his arm.
Lin Xun said, “I’m back.”
Dong Jun replied, “Mm.”
Lin Xun apologized, “I’ll tell you where I’m going from now on.”
Dong Jun: “Mm.”
Lin Xun continued apologizing, “I thought I’d be back soon.”
Dong Jun: “Mm.”
Lin Xun persisted, “I was wrong.”
Dong Jun glanced at him.
Lin Xun whimpered softly.
Dong Jun’s attitude was as gentle as a spring breeze. “I brought you a gift.”
Lin Xun asked, “What is it?”
Dong Jun replied, “Not giving it anymore.”
Lin Xun said, “I was wrong.”
Dong Jun seemed to raise an eyebrow with interest. “What exactly were you wrong about?”
Lin Xun mumbled, “Didn’t I just say it all?”
Dong Jun said, “You didn’t say it right.”
Lin Xun replied, “I can’t think of any other words.”
His idol gave him another cool, indifferent glance. “Keep thinking.”
This person really is hard to coax.
Lin Xun: “Then teach me?”
Dong Jun: “No.”
Lin Xun: “Please teach me, so I’ll know how next time.”
Dong Jun: “You’re already assuming there will be a next time.”
Lin Xun: “.”
Lin Xun: “Just take my words with a grain of salt.”
A faint smile flickered in Dong Jun’s eyes, the kind of look one gives to a little rabbit or kitten.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said calmly. “No matter what you do, I won’t do anything to you.”
Lin Xun: “…Oh.”
Lin Xun: “But if you’re unhappy, I’ll be unhappy too.”
Dong Jun: “I won’t make you unhappy.”
He stood up, walked to the computer desk, and opened a file—the Goddess of the Luo River file.
Lin Xun watched as he clicked on an unfamiliar icon on the desktop and performed a series of operations.
The room suddenly darkened.
Dong Jun said, “This is for you.”
In the pitch-black room, a faint yet clear blue light suddenly appeared.
Lines of 0s and 1s intertwined, flowing like a Galaxy, and a suspended figure slowly materialized before Lin Xun.
It was a humanoid form, a young boy around twelve or thirteen years old, with long silver hair. In the silence, he slowly opened his eyes—frost-blue irises, delicate and beautiful features with a touch of cool detachment. He wore an exquisite silver-patterned white robe adorned with blue buttons, resembling a fairy-tale elf prince.
“Hi,” he extended his hand toward Lin Xun, his voice familiar. “Hello.”
Lin Xun’s voice trembled slightly: “What’s your name?”
“Goddess of the Luo River.”