THE VILLAGE OF RED SHADOWS

The neon lights of the city felt like a lifetime away as the black van rattled down a dirt path shrouded in unnatural fog. Inside sat Gu Miaomiao, an 18th-tier actress whose career was currently a wreckage of scandals and malicious headlines. Opposite her, a nervous assistant looked at her with pity, as if she were a lamb being led to a slaughterhouse.

“Relax, honey,” Miaomiao laughed, her voice airy yet sharp. “It’s just a reality show. They aren’t going to eat me alive.”

Miaomiao knew her reputation. To the public, she was a “green tea bitch” trying to cling to the coattails of the legendary Film Emperor, Zhao Yan. To her manager, she was a final asset to be squeezed for views. But Miaomiao had a secret they didn’t: she was born with “Yin-Yang eyes.” Raised by a grand-uncle in the mystical arts, she saw the world not as a stage, but as a battlefield between the living and the restless dead.

The van stopped before a desolate village. This was the set for the horror reality show Escape from Yanghong Village. The air here was heavy—sticky with a chill that didn’t come from the wind.

As she stepped out, the livestream began. Four other guests were already there: Li Ngọc, the veteran Film Queen; Truong Vien Chi, a rising idol; Luc Vu, a famous child star; and Bach Tu Tu, a popular “Little Flower” actress who had previously forced Miaomiao to wear “ugly makeup” on a film set to avoid being upstaged.

The atmosphere turned icy the moment Miaomiao appeared. The livestream chat flooded with vitriol: “Why is she here?” “Stay away from our idols!”

But the real chill came when a final Maybach arrived. A pair of long legs stepped out, followed by a face that defined perfection. Zhao Yan had arrived. The man Miaomiao was rumored to be stalking was now her co-star.

The Director’s voice crackled over the speakers: “Welcome to Yanghong Village. Fifty-five years ago, this village was wiped out in a single night. Your mission: Escape.”

The guests were blindfolded and led into a dark, enclosed space. When the blindfolds came off, they were in a dim, ancient courtyard. The air smelled of damp earth and old incense. Miaomiao’s eyes narrowed. While the others saw elaborate props, she saw the thick, black Yin energy swirling like ink. Ghosts with hollow eyes lingered in the corners, watching the “intruders” with predatory hunger.

“We need to find the Village Chief’s house,” Luc Vu suggested, trying to sound brave.

They moved through a corridor lined with old, decaying photographs. Suddenly, Bach Tu Tu screamed, “The person in the photo… he just smiled at me!”

“It’s just a trick of the light,” Vien Chi reassured her, though his hands shook.

Miaomiao looked at the photo. The ghost inside bared its blood-stained teeth at her. Miaomiao didn’t flinch. She stared back until the ghost, disappointed by her lack of fear, slunk away. Pitiful, she thought.

As they reached the Chief’s house, a heavy door creaked open. A man with skin like crumpled parchment and a sickly white face appeared. The Village Chief.

“You are the tourists?” his voice sounded like stones grinding together. He looked at Zhao Yan with visible distaste—Zhao Yan possessed an incredibly powerful “Yang” aura, a natural deterrent to the weak-willed dead.

The voice of a woman, distorted and eerie, echoed from the ceiling: “Fifty-five years ago, the village died. Today, the Chief invites you to his son’s wedding. To leave, one must stay as the bride.”

The room transformed. A long, narrow path appeared, leading to a grand hall lit by flickering red lanterns. Over a dozen banquet tables were filled with “guests”—pale, motionless figures that even the livestream viewers began to realize weren’t human. The cameras were still rolling, but the production team outside had lost control. The livestream couldn’t be shut down.

“We have two sons,” the Chief hissed, pointing a yellowed fingernail at Bach Tu Tu. “This one… she looks like she can bear many children. She stays.”

Bach Tu Tu collapsed into tears, grabbing Zhao Yan’s sleeve. “I’m scared! Miaomiao, you’re brave, why don’t you go?”

“Why me?” Miaomiao asked coldly. “Because I’m not as famous as you?”

Vien Chi chimed in, “Miaomiao, just agree. We can’t all die here.”

Suddenly, a new figure drifted into the hall. A bride in a blood-red kimono, her ankles shackled, her eyes weeping gore. Behind her followed a woman in white with a noose still around her neck.

“Enough!” Miaomiao’s voice rang out, shattering the illusion of the helpless actress.

She turned to Zhao Yan. “Hold this.” She slipped a protective amulet onto his wrist.

The ghosts lunged. The “guests” at the tables rose, their limbs cracking, their faces tearing open. The other actors screamed and fled, but there was no exit. The village had become a pocket dimension.

Miaomiao didn’t run. She bit her finger and drew a glowing seal in the air. “I forgot my tools today,” she muttered, “so you’ll have to settle for a fist.”

With a terrifying burst of speed, she punched the nearest ghost. Its head spun off and dissolved into gray ash. The livestream chat went dead silent, then exploded: “DID SHE JUST PUNCH A GHOST?” “GODDESS MIAMIAO IS AN EXORCIST?!”

The Village Chief roared, his form expanding into a monstrous shadow. “You will be my concubine!”

“In your dreams, old man!” Miaomiao summoned a shimmering spiritual sword from thin air. She fought with a lethal grace, her blade cutting through the darkness. She freed the shackled female ghosts, who had been victims of the village’s human trafficking past.

“Kill them,” Miaomiao commanded the female spirits. “Take your revenge.”

The hall became a whirlwind of spectral violence. Miaomiao stood at the center, her hair flying, her face pale but determined. She channeled Zhao Yan’s powerful Yang energy through her sword, unleashing a golden wave that purified the village, turning the screams into a final, haunting silence.

Miaomiao woke up in a hospital bed to the sound of her grand-uncle scolding her. “You brat! Trying to be a hero without your equipment?”

She wasn’t a tier-18 actress anymore. She was a national sensation. Her Weibo followers had jumped from thousands to ten million. People weren’t calling her “green tea” anymore; they were sharing her photos to “ward off evil” and “pass exams.”

Bach Tu Tu and Vien Chi’s careers were in tatters—the livestream had captured their cowardice and their attempt to sacrifice Miaomiao.

A few months later, on the set of a new high-budget cultivation drama, Miaomiao found herself staring into the eyes of her male lead: Zhao Yan.

“You’re still following me?” she joked during a break.

Zhao Yan leaned in, the scent of fresh sandalwood surrounding him. He pulled out a small box—a ruby rose necklace. “I’m here to repay my life-debt,” he whispered. “You once told me you had a fiancé from your childhood named ‘Little Fish’?”

Miaomiao froze. “I… I made that up to reject you.”

Zhao Yan smiled, a look of pure triumph in his eyes. “My childhood nickname was Little Fish, Miaomiao. You didn’t make him up. You just forgot he was me.”

Years later, when their marriage certificate was posted online, the internet didn’t just see a celebrity couple. They saw a match made in heaven—the Man of Sun and the Maiden of Moon.

As Miaomiao sat in their home, Triệu Yến leaned over, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Since I’m your ‘Yang source,’ shouldn’t we continue our ‘dual cultivation’ tonight?”

Miaomiao laughed, pulling him close. The ghosts were gone, and for the first time, the future looked bright.