Chapter 4: The Ripper

The staff member’s voice echoed throughout the entire set via the loudspeaker, snapping Mo Fei out of his brooding state. He came to his senses to find everyone on set staring at him in unison.

Mo Fei’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Is there something dirty on my face?”

No one in the crew noticed anything amiss about Mo Fei, and their gaze shifted back to the staff member holding the loudspeaker.

That staff member felt a little awkward himself. When he’d spotted Mo Fei earlier, it was as though he’d glimpsed a venomous snake lurking in a damp, shadowy corner—the chill ran down his spine, and cold sweat beaded on his brow. The cry of “call the police” had almost slipped out unconsciously.

But now, looking again, it was just an ordinary, slightly shy, and handsomely unremarkable young man.

“Gather up, gather up,” the staffer called.

Mo Fei cast a resentful glance at “Moth to Flame,” but could do nothing about it. And those skill descriptions—cute antics, mocking taunts. If it kept this up, he’d find a dump truck and end it all, dragging the card down with him!

Mo Fei tried to intimidate the card with a vicious glare, but nothing happened. Clearly, threats were useless. Forget it, forget it. Better to live poorly than die well; every day survived is a day earned.

Director Wang, having made mostly quick, low-budget films, wasn’t one for ceremony. He gathered everyone in the morning, and in the afternoon, set up a table and lit incense—such was the opening ritual.

Mo Fei was still troubled by the skill attached to “The Ripper.” This card hardly seemed the sort to play nice. When “Buddha’s Disciple” appeared, it was as if holy light suffused the room; but when “The Ripper” showed up, wouldn’t he end up arrested as a fugitive?

Lu Chunqiu had already been rescuing him far too frequently over the past week—any more, and she’d start cursing him out.

He slipped into the makeup room and checked his reflection. With “Outlaw” bolstering him, Mo Fei’s entire presence became several degrees darker.

That morning, he’d radiated a saintly aura, as though he could forgive all the sins of the world. Now, the Mo Fei in the mirror had his eyes lowered, his expression casual and indifferent, as if the law held no meaning for him. His lips were pressed flat, hinting he could lash out at any moment.

Mo Fei startled himself, letting out a muted curse, nearly stepping back in fright.

The contrast was staggering, as if he’d become a completely different person.

He pulled out his phone, intent on snapping a selfie for Lu Chunqiu and the young officer he’d just added to his contacts. The former might need to bail him out, the latter might try to arrest him. Better to give them a heads-up; precautions never hurt.

He’d done nothing wrong—just eaten a meal, thoroughly law-abiding!

Mo Fei aimed his cracked phone screen at the mirror, unable to see the result clearly, and frowned as he tried to adjust the angle.

The makeup artist noticed this odd fellow snapping photos in front of the mirror and tapped his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, it’s the actresses’ makeup time. Mind not hogging the mirror?”

Mo Fei glanced at him, and the makeup artist’s expression froze.

Wasn’t the villain supposed to be played by the lead actor? Had the lead already donned his final villain makeup? Whose skills were so convincing—it looked downright unsettling…

Mo Fei, seeing the makeup artist’s reaction, realized he was no longer the beloved monk but instead someone who might soon face the justice of “The Ripper.” He hastily replaced his grim look with an exaggerated smile.

“Sorry about that, it’s my first time in a big production like this. I was just curious about the makeup room. I’ll get out of your way!”

He bowed repeatedly, shuffling toward the door, inwardly praying the makeup artist wouldn’t think to call the police or report him to the director.

If he lost this opportunity, Lu Chunqiu would surely pummel him. Absolutely!

The makeup artist frowned, then suddenly reached out to stop him. “Wait!”

Mo Fei’s heart skipped, and he kept his head bowed, afraid his mere gaze might startle the innocent staffer.

Unexpectedly, the makeup artist approached, earnestly pulling out her phone. “Let me take a picture of you, will you?”

Mo Fei looked up, bewildered. “Huh?”

“Your look is spot on!” The makeup artist’s face was a mix of terror and awe. “That’s what being at the top of the food chain feels like, what it means to dominate a room with a glance—”

“Director Wang wanted that dazzling black, and I’ve finally found it!” The makeup artist was nearly in tears with excitement.

The scene where the lead transforms into the villain was crucial. They’d tried several times, but never achieved Director Wang’s demand for “a fear that’s not surface-level, but from deep within.”

Honestly, the makeup artist had half a mind to ask the lead to actually commit a few murders to see if that would give Director Wang the effect he wanted. Was this even a reasonable request?

Now, seeing Mo Fei as “The Ripper,” the makeup artist felt revived. Dazzling black, radiant white—Director, I’ve fulfilled your task!

Mo Fei didn’t understand why the makeup artist was so thrilled, but at least she wasn’t scared. Cooperating for a photo was a small matter.

As she snapped pictures, she dragged him over to introduce this effect to Director Wang. The feeling was hard to describe—a rare visual shock.

The makeup artist was convinced the camera would dilute the impact; only seeing it in person could convey the full effect.

“Sit here, I’ll go call them,” she pressed Mo Fei into a chair, barely containing her excitement as she shouted outside, “Director! Director Wang! Look at the treasure I’ve found!”

Director Wang, hearing her voice, impatiently scratched his ear. “Is it a beautiful actor or flawless skin? If you’ve got nothing better to do, study more makeup tutorials instead of making a fuss over nothing.”

“It’s neither!” The makeup artist gestured wildly. “I’ve found the feeling you described! Come see!”

Seeing her bouncing with genuine excitement, Director Wang sighed and reluctantly followed. “If you’re exaggerating, you’re dead.”

When Director Wang entered the makeup room, she made a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Director Wang glanced over and his breath caught.

Mo Fei was perched on the chair, one arm draped over the back, his tousled hair falling over his brow. His lips were pressed in a slight frown, his entire demeanor radiating displeasure.

Good heavens, that face was all gloom and dissatisfaction, as if he was ready to butcher someone at a moment’s notice.

Director Wang touched his chest, feeling his heart skip a beat. He asked the makeup artist, “Who is this?”

She paused, dumbfounded. “He’s not an actor?”

Sensing a misunderstanding brewing, Mo Fei instinctively put on a false smile. “Director Wang, I’m the fifth male lead you interviewed this morning. My name is Mo Fei.”

Director Wang recalled at last—the fifth male lead, recommended by a friend. But he remembered this guy as nothing like this.

When he first saw Mo Fei, he’d thought a monk had come begging for alms, and now, after just one boxed lunch, the man looked like he was carrying a murder charge.