Chapter 184: Filial Piety

During the meal, the players finally figured out each other's identities.

Aside from the six actors among the players, there was also the female lead Ning Xue’s assistant, her stunt double, a production assistant, a camera assistant, and two miscellaneous workers who did everything from playing corpses to handing out boxed meals. Truly a ragtag crew—somehow, they’d managed to cobble together an entire film team.

Li Feng and the burly man beside him were both bodyguards for the crew. The director, in pursuit of authentic filming locations, kept dragging them to remote, desolate places. According to the NPCs, the crew had once been robbed on the road, so bodyguards were indeed necessary.

Seeing his sister, Li Feng’s perpetually furrowed brows finally relaxed. He approached with his boxed meal and asked quietly, “Everything alright?”

Li Zhi shook her head and shared the information she’d gathered with her brother.

The other player working as a bodyguard alongside Li Feng was Jing Da, also a member of Peacock. Taking advantage of the cover provided by eating, he shielded his lips and quickly said, “There are five members of Tianwen here. Xie Zhen, the actor; Chen Jiaoyun, Ning Xue’s stunt double; Shi Ziliang, the camera assistant; Huang Jingtong, the production assistant; and that odd-job worker Zhong Yun. Be careful.”

These were just the ones they knew about. Whether there were any unfamiliar faces like Lu Caiwei, Jing Da couldn’t say.

By the end of this dungeon, Li Zhi’s collaboration with Peacock would undoubtedly be exposed. Jing Da only needed to guard against Tianwen’s players inside the dungeon when passing her information. As for the audience watching this unfold outside the dungeon, it didn’t matter—they couldn’t relay anything to their comrades inside anyway.

The comments section immediately erupted:

[What’s this supposed to mean? Is Li Zhi collaborating with Peacock?]

[Rumor has it Li Zhi’s being targeted by Tianwen. Her teaming up with Peacock makes sense.]

[Tianwen, you’re in for it now.]

[Why is Tianwen after Li Zhi? Is it because Hou Zhao lost to her in the last dungeon? Hou Zhao, can’t take an L?]

[The Tianwen leader’s always been petty and vindictive. The system really gave too many second chances to scumbags.]

[Go Li Zhi! Smack Tianwen’s heads in! Teach them a lesson!]

[Your leader already got wrecked by Sister Zhi. What makes you small fries think you can turn the tide?]

……

Squatting on set eating boxed meals was an experience Li Zhi hadn’t had in a long time. Beside her, Lu Caiwei sighed between bites, “I really miss the old days of filming.”

Not far away, the female lead Ning Xue, who was dining privately with the director under a canopy, threw a tantrum at Jiang Can—complaining the soup was too hot, the dishes too cold. Jiang Can didn’t lose her temper, responding gently and busying herself without even getting a bite to eat.

Lu Caiwei grumbled, “Even in a dungeon, we run into diva celebrities. I’d love to punch her!” She waved at Jiang Can, “Jiang Can, come eat first.”

Jiang Can had just finished reheating Ning Xue’s meal. She turned and smiled, “I’ll be right there.”

Another player couldn’t help but remark, “Jiang Can’s so patient. I’d have lost it by now.”

Yan Yingrui, holding his boxed meal, chuckled nearby.

After the meal, the sky darkened. Dungeons rarely had dusk—the gloom simply gave way to pitch black. The director gathered the actors to briefly explain the scene.

Aside from Ning Xue, who’d bought her way into the crew, and the male lead Lu Ao, the others had pitifully few lines. Ning Xue even complained about Lu Ao’s dialogue, asking the director, “Can’t his lines be cut? He’s stealing my spotlight!”

The director looked awkward. “He’s the male lead. He’s supposed to have more lines.”

Ning Xue: “Isn’t this a female-led movie? I don’t care. He can’t upstage me.”

She even shot Lu Ao a glare.

Lu Ao, the young master born with a silver spoon in his mouth: “……”

Damn it! His privileged temper was flaring up!

Among the six players, Lu Ao played the male lead, Lu Caiwei was the scheming girl secretly in love with him, Li Zhi was Ning Xue’s best friend, Zhao Yangzhou was the best friend’s boyfriend, Tianwen’s Xie Zhen played Ning Xue’s lovestruck pursuer (aka the simp), and another player, Yuan Qing, was Ning Xue’s ex trying to win her back.

The entire plot revolved around Ning Xue—truly a female-led film.

After listening to the director’s explanation, Li Zhi finally pieced together the first half of this horror movie’s story.

The protagonist, Xiao Xue, had been plagued by bad luck after graduation—failed jobs, a cheating boyfriend, losing money on investments. One day, she encountered a self-proclaimed master who told her the dark aura between her brows and her streak of misfortune were due to her ancestors’ improperly buried graves.

The master warned her to relocate the graves, or she’d face bloodshed—or worse, death.

As a modern college student raised on materialism, Xiao Xue scoffed. But not long after, her father died in a car accident. At the funeral, she saw the master again.

When the master sighed and shook his head, Xiao Xue suddenly remembered his warning. She rushed out to question him, but he’d vanished. Grief-stricken and terrified, she confided in the male lead, who’d come to pay respects. He suggested accompanying her back to her hometown to relocate the graves and ease her mind.

After much hesitation, Xiao Xue agreed. Her best friend and the friend’s boyfriend also offered to go. Three others joined for various reasons. They decided to leave for her hometown at dawn.

A classic horror setup. Once they arrived, the deaths would begin. By the end, probably only the leads would survive. Li Zhi silently mourned her impending cannon-fodder fate for a second.

“Alright, it’s about time,” the director said, sitting before the monitor with a walkie-talkie. “Let’s begin.”

The night scenes outside the funeral home were shot first, followed by the indoor mourning hall scenes.

The side characters had nothing to do outside. Lu Caiwei sat beside Li Zhi, watching Ning Xue under the spotlight. Her earlier envy now felt genuine: “Do you think we’ll ever act again?”

Would they ever return to normal lives?

Li Zhi patted her shoulder. “We will. Just hang in there.”

Lu Caiwei rested her chin on her hand, grinning. “If that day comes, I want to act with you!”

Li Zhi smiled. “Sure.”

The outdoor shoot lasted over an hour. By the time they moved indoors, everyone was freezing. Li Zhi overheard an NPC mutter, “This funeral home’s unnaturally cold. The further in you go, the worse it gets. Feels cursed.”

While moving props inside, a staff member suddenly rushed out, shouting, “Make way! Make way! A deceased is coming through!”

The crew quickly stepped aside, clearing the entrance.

The sound of weeping and floating joss paper accompanied the procession. An elderly couple led the way, clutching a black-and-white portrait of a young, smiling woman as they wept. Four workers in black carried a paper coffin behind them, stepping over scattered joss paper as they loaded it into the hearse. The vehicle, marked with the character for “funeral,” drove off toward the crematorium.

Someone whispered, “So young. Parents burying their child—how tragic.”

Once the hearse was gone, work resumed. The director, smoking by the entrance, watched the vehicle disappear before beckoning the cinematographer. “Come here.”

When Li Zhi returned from moving props, she saw crew members hauling cameras toward the crematorium.

She paused, asking a nearby girl, “What are they doing?”

The girl glanced outside. “Oh, the director sent them to film some footage.”

The deceased had just been taken for cremation, and now they were going to film it? What exactly were they planning to capture? While realism was the goal, this was taking it too far!

Li Zhi rubbed her temples, but the group was already gone. The crematorium was barely a hundred meters away—their figures soon vanished into the dark. She could only pray they didn’t bring anything back.

Back in the hall, the director was briefing Ning Xue by the monitor. With the cinematographer away, filming paused until he returned with the crew.

The side characters’ scenes wrapped quickly, leaving Ning Xue to carry the rest.

Li Zhi observed the crew who’d returned from the crematorium. They seemed fine.

Lu Caiwei approached. “Li Zhi, bathroom break?”

Li Zhi nodded. Another player, Xing Qingyue, hurried over. “Me too!”

Using a funeral home bathroom at night took courage.

The trio left the hall. Remembering the earlier incident, Li Zhi avoided the previous restroom and found one in the opposite direction.

The emergency exit light flickered overhead, casting an eerie green glow down the hallway. The bathroom layout matched the one from before—three stalls, no mirror above the sink, and peeling wooden doors that creaked ominously.

“Hurry up. The sooner we’re done, the better. This place is terrifying,” Lu Caiwei muttered, darting into the first stall. “Don’t lock the doors—just close them.”

If something happened, locked doors would hinder rescue.

Xing Qingyue agreed, entering the second stall. Li Zhi took the last, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Lu Caiwei called out mid-business, “Li Zhi? Qingyue?”

Xing Qingyue: “Here!”

Li Zhi also responded.

Lu Caiwei’s voice echoed in the tiled space. “Let’s keep talking. Otherwise, if something happens, we might vanish without noticing.”

Li Zhi chuckled, about to reply, when a pair of red stilettos appeared in her line of sight.

The stall door had a ten-centimeter gap at the bottom—just enough to see the steps outside when squatting.

The high heels stood motionless on the steps, pale feet visible. They’d appeared abruptly, soundlessly, right outside the thin wooden door.

Li Zhi hadn’t locked it.

Long-nailed hands slowly reached in, gripping the door’s edge, and pulled it open.