Chapter 1: The Arrival of Ghosts

The afternoon when the [Ghost System] invaded human society, it came without warning.

Li Zhi was on set filming a Republican-era drama, playing the Ninth Concubine, a marginal character with barely any screen time.

But in this day and age, for an unknown actress like her to land even a small role was already considered fortunate.

Li Zhi wasn’t the ambitious type. She was content with small things, which was why—even though she’d been stuck with a “forgettable face” for years, never managing to gain popularity—she still bounced around different sets with enthusiasm, holding onto her love for acting.

The director, in order to perfectly recreate the atmosphere of the Republican period, had rented a century-old courtyard house as the filming location. The current scene was of the male lead marrying yet another concubine, with Li Zhi’s Ninth Concubine sitting alone by the well, silently weeping.

Everything was ready. As soon as the director shouted “Action,” Li Zhi slipped into character.

Seated sideways, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, she suddenly caught a glimpse of a pair of embroidered shoes standing next to her skirt.

It was a woman’s feet—pale and bluish, with thin veins protruding over the arches. The delicate red embroidered shoes glimmered faintly, leaving damp footprints wherever they touched the ground.

A chill ran up her spine. Li Zhi jerked her head around, but there was nothing—just empty space, as though it had all been her imagination.

Only the director’s irritated voice broke the moment: “It was going perfectly! What the hell are you doing?”

Li Zhi froze for a second, then gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Director, I couldn’t find the right angle.”

The director scowled. “One more time. Get ready.”

Li Zhi settled back into position, her face angled toward the camera. Just as tears began to well up again—that pair of embroidered shoes appeared once more.

This time, they were even closer. The small, narrow toes touched the heel of her own shoe, pressing right up against her.

Li Zhi’s heart clenched. And the moment that dripping wet hand clutched her shoulder, she instinctively reached out to grab it—but caught only thin air. Before she could react again, an invisible force shoved her into the well.

Chaos erupted on set. Fortunately, Li Zhi knew how to swim. She immediately grabbed the rope used for drawing water and was dragged out of the freezing well by the panicked crew.

Filming was halted. The stagehands were still shaken. “Did you skip breakfast or something? How the hell did you just fall in like that?”

It was nearly midwinter. The icy chill left Li Zhi’s lips pale. “I saw a pair of embroidered shoes. Someone pushed me.”

Silence blanketed the set.

One crew member stammered, “There wasn’t anyone around you... No one pushed you.”

Dozens of people were watching. The cameras were rolling. It was clear—she had been sitting perfectly still one moment and had suddenly toppled in the next.

Li Zhi knew what she saw. And she knew that the force pushing her down hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

Her faith in twenty-plus years of materialism wavered in that instant.

Because of the accident, filming was called off for the rest of the day. Yet only a few hours later, news came from the set next door: someone had died during a wire stunt gone wrong.

An extra came rushing back, face pale with fear. “Litchi! I just heard from over there… That courtyard we’re filming in—it’s cursed! Back during the Republican era, several concubines hanged themselves there… and someone threw themselves down that very same well!”

Normally, Li Zhi would have chalked this up as idle gossip. But after what she saw—the embroidered shoes, the hem of that faded dress with red stitching—she knew it hadn’t been her imagination.

She figured she’d better go visit a temple soon. Maybe even reconsider her whole belief system.

That afternoon marked the beginning of the world’s descent into chaos.

First came the online posts. People claiming they’d seen dead relatives. Then came a terrifying spike in sudden deaths—falls, drownings, car crashes, suicides. All around the globe, the air grew thick with the stench of death.

Claims of ghost sightings grew rampant, though most still refused to believe.

Until the government issued an official announcement:

Attention, citizens of the world: Earth has been invaded by a civilization possessing technology superior to our own. This invasion manifests itself as paranormal and ghost-like phenomena. Special task forces have been formed, but at present, we have no means of neutralizing this advanced technology. Please remain indoors, avoid dangerous objects, and seek assistance from local Daoist or Buddhist associations if necessary.

Ghosts… were real.

With that official announcement, global panic set in. At home, Li Zhi could hear terrified screams echoing through the streets from outside her bedroom window.

Ms. Shang Jinru burst in, wielding a frying pan, shrieking, “Zhizhi! It was a ghost that pushed you into that well! The government confirmed it! Quick, quick! You head to the Daoist temple—I’ll go to the Buddhist one! Anything that wards off evil, we buy it all!”

Having survived shortages of vegetables and salt during crises, Ms. Shang was prepared.

Li Zhi stood up and started putting on her coat. “Shuangshuang’s still at school—I need to pick her up first.”

Ms. Shang dragged her toward the door. “Your brother’s already on it. He’s taking her to the supermarket to stock up. I’ve arranged everything!”

They had barely taken a few steps when Ms. Shang’s hand suddenly closed on empty air.

Li Zhi… vanished right before her eyes.

Before she could even scream, every electronic device in the house flickered on—TVs, phones, computers—all blaring static before a dim video feed emerged on-screen.

A cold, mechanical voice echoed through every ear:

“Welcome to the grand celebrity survival show ‘Horror Variety’. Please use your precious vote wisely—it’s extremely important to the players. You may now select your favorite livestream from the homepage, learn about the rules, and check the popularity rankings. Enjoy the show. We hope you have a pleasant viewing experience.”

Ms. Shang stumbled toward the TV with stiff limbs, staring in horror as the screen displayed a group of dazed men and women—and among them was her daughter.

—

Li Zhi felt like she’d been sucked into a pitch-black tunnel, unable to see her own hand. By the time light reappeared, she was standing at the foot of an ancient bridge.

It was an old stone arch bridge, stretched between two mountains, its base hidden beneath a dense, swirling fog. Above, the heavy sky pressed downward as if squeezing everything between heaven and earth into this narrow passage.

The bridge was shrouded in mist; the far side completely obscured.

No signs of civilization. Just skeletal trees with bare, gnarled branches stretching like clawed hands into the fog—shadows of ghosts, twisted and grotesque.

Teleportation? Li Zhi couldn’t think of any explanation besides the supernatural.

The only comfort was that she wasn’t alone.

As she focused on the others, her eyes widened slightly in recognition.

Six or seven years in the entertainment industry, dozens of dramas filmed—and this was her first time standing among so many top-tier celebrities.

Seriously—who were all these people?!

There was Lian Qinglin, the boy-band idol and national heartthrob; Chi Yi, affectionately called the “Nation’s First Love”; the award-winning actor Zhu Zhibo. The other three weren’t A-listers but were still well-known: a sharp-tongued host, a veteran variety-show comedian, and a popular stand-up comic. Compared to them, Li Zhi’s fame wasn’t even on the same map.

Eight people in total. Among them, only one man seemed calm, and he was the only one Li Zhi didn’t recognize. Everyone else looked terrified, still shaken by the global announcement they’d just seen before being dragged here.

No one spoke. Li Zhi glanced around and finally focused on the calm, unfamiliar man.

He actually smiled faintly, like someone about to enjoy a show. Li Zhi’s instincts told her he was different, so she broke the silence. “Excuse me… do you know what’s going on here?”

Her voice cut through the oppressive silence, drawing everyone’s attention to her—and to the man she addressed.

The man smiled wider. “You’ll know soon enough.”

And sure enough, a few seconds later, a bizarre announcement echoed around them:

Ding! Congratulations, you’ve been selected to participate in ‘Horror Variety’~

Because you’re beloved celebrities with lots of followers, you’ve been chosen! Use your popularity to survive! Shine bright—you’re the stars!

The player with the lowest popularity score after completing the scenario… will become dinner for the ghosts. Work hard, okay?

Be famous… or die~

A mechanical female voice, playful and malicious, like a hand gripping their fates, ready to toy with their lives.

Chi Yi burst into tears first. “What kind of sick joke is this? I don’t want to do this show! Is anyone there? I want out!”

She was still wearing her long, flowing red carpet gown, heels digging into the dirt, makeup still flawless despite the situation—a jarring image of glamour amid desolation.

But the only reply was the low howl of the wind.

With Chi Yi’s sobs leading the way, a few other terrified celebrities started crying too.

The unfamiliar man gave Li Zhi an intrigued look. “Everyone else is crying. Aren’t you afraid?”

Standing there in pajamas and slippers, Li Zhi muttered, “…I want to cry. But I don’t cry pretty like they do. Better save the embarrassment.”

She asked him, “Is this live-streamed?”

The man nodded. “Yes. Everything you do here is being broadcast to the audience.”

The crying stopped immediately.

The phrase from before echoed in everyone’s minds: the least popular will be eliminated and become food for the ghosts.

Popularity.

This was a survival game based on popularity.

For entertainers, variety shows were nothing new. Two of them had risen to fame on reality shows alone. And what was most important in variety shows? Image.

But… would crying like this help or hurt their popularity?

Everyone’s expressions shifted as they processed this new angle.

Li Zhi, calm as ever, continued, “So what do we need to do to get out of here alive?”

The man answered, “Complete the tasks. Finish the scenario, and you can leave. But the place is crawling with ghosts and dangers—you could die at any moment.” He looked down on the group with faint amusement. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you clear the game.”

The others instinctively moved closer to him for safety, but Li Zhi stayed put. “Who are you? You don’t seem like a first-timer here.”

Finally, the man introduced himself: “Xu Shu. I’m your newbie guide. And no—I’m not from your world. In my world, ‘Horror Variety’ has been running for ten years.”

Shock rippled through the group.

“Different world? You’re saying you’re from a parallel universe?” someone asked, horrified.

Xu Shu chuckled. “Is that hard to believe? Haven’t your scientists proven this stuff yet?”

Li Zhi raised her hand calmly. “Three questions: How is popularity calculated? Are the audiences only from our world? And how many people usually survive each scenario?”

Xu Shu smiled, this time genuinely impressed by her composure.

Maybe this world wouldn’t be so boring after all.