Chapter 5: Severed Limbs

Director Wang was utterly perplexed. This person had been introduced by a friend—if he really was implicated in a murder, how could he show up so brazenly? But with that kind of demeanor, he didn’t seem quite right for the original role either.

What kind of cold-faced beauty could ever look like someone who’d stabbed a man to death? That’s more of a protagonist’s air. Arms folded, chin resting on his hands, Director Wang sized him up from head to toe.

He was a good director, sharp and full of cunning ideas. The moment he saw Mo Fei standing there with downcast eyes and an impassive expression, inspiration sprouted in his mind like golden seeds bursting through fertile soil.

Twisted—so twisted. That’s exactly how a deranged killer should be. Someone who blends into the crowd, unremarkable at first glance, but if you happen to look over, you’re struck by the chilling aura that seeps from the shadows around him.

This was the kind of psychopathic killer he wanted—a figure who wouldn’t be dragged off in handcuffs at first sight on the street, but whose menacing presence would freeze your blood. Those brutish extras with thuggish faces were nothing compared to this.

Yet, despite his brewing new vision, the cast and crew were already assembled and shooting had begun. To change the script now would unravel the entire production. Worse still, if he wanted to elevate Mo Fei’s role, the screenwriter would probably hang himself with a script page, and the leading men would all object. The investors would never let him off the hook.

A film crew was not a director’s personal fiefdom; everyone needed to work and earn their keep. If he always did things his own way, there’d be enough starving directors, actors, and writers to circle the globe.

Director Wang sighed and asked, “Who’s your agent?”

“Lu Chunqiu,” Mo Fei replied obediently.

Director Wang nodded as if he understood. “Ah, her.”

He’d never heard of her, but whatever—he’d deal with it when they signed the contract.

“Um—” Director Wang hesitated.

Sensing his cue, Mo Fei offered his name. “I’m Mo Fei. The ‘Mo’ from ink and the ‘Fei’ from wantonness.”

“Little Mo,” Director Wang chuckled, though something felt off. “Good name, good name. I look forward to your performance.”

Mo Fei smiled in return. “I’ll rely on your guidance.”

Director Wang’s smile faded. “I know you young people with real talent don’t want to be overlooked, but the world forces us to take things slowly. When we start filming, hold back a bit. There will be other opportunities to work together, understand?”

“Huh?” Mo Fei, unaware of the director’s mental gymnastics, blinked in confusion. “Hold back?”

Director Wang nodded. “I understand how you feel—you have acting chops but people only care about your looks, so you’re frustrated. That’s how all the male actors start out. No need to rush to prove yourself.”

Mo Fei’s expression gradually went blank.

Director Wang patted him on the shoulder, encouragingly. “You have a great twisted killer aura. We’ll definitely work together again. Let’s call it for today.”

Now Mo Fei understood.

Director Wang thought he was dissatisfied with being cast as eye-candy and was trying to upstage the leads to secure a better position.

Mo Fei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That wasn’t his intention at all! Being a pretty face was great—easy money, even if there was no future in it. But when you’re down to instant noodles every meal, who can afford to worry about the future?

Still, this was a lovely misunderstanding. Neither the makeup artist nor the director intended to call the police—an unqualified triumph. And from the way the director spoke, there’d be more work after this project; no fear of going hungry.

Mo Fei’s smile widened. “Director, rest assured—your expectations are my goal. Absolutely!”

Director Wang, seeing his attitude, relaxed as well. If this guy had been arrogant, he’d have reconsidered casting him at all. Talented people were everywhere; there was no need to give himself a headache by hiring someone with their nose in the air.

But as things stood, if Mo Fei performed well, he’d have no qualms about using him again next time. Nowadays, finding an actor with the right attitude, looks, and talent—and who was affordable—was harder than finding a spouse.

Mo Fei retreated to a corner to reflect on himself—mainly to reflect on that damned ability of his. It was a passive skill, completely uncontrollable.

Taking advantage of the time before filming began, Mo Fei pulled out a small mirror, trying to adjust his facial expression to look less morose.

A grown man, hidden in a corner, making faces at his own reflection—baring his teeth one moment, sneering coldly the next.

Third Male Lead happened to witness this scene. He shuffled nervously toward the director, intent on suggesting they check Mo Fei’s medical and criminal records.

He didn’t look healthy at all!

Mo Fei realized his efforts weren’t helping, so he put away the mirror and checked his phone. He always kept it on silent during work, and now noticed a missed call from Lu Chunqiu.

Since it was his first time joining such a big production, even with many clients to manage, Lu Chunqiu would surely make time to show up and sign the contract. She was probably calling for directions.

He hesitated about calling back, glancing at his cracked phone screen. He was worried a single call might finish off this old friend for good, and then he’d be completely cut off.

While he was debating, a piercing scream erupted from the direction of the makeup room—a shrill, grating sound like nails on a chalkboard, drilling into everyone’s eardrums.

All the busy crew members froze and turned toward the source.

Director Wang was the first to react. “What happened?!”

A masked girl at the makeup room door stammered, “There’s—there’s—there’s—”

Director Wang, growing impatient, strode over. “There’s what? Bugs? Why are you screaming like that? Can you stop making trouble for me?”

Mo Fei, holding to the philosophy that it was a crime not to watch a spectacle, slipped quietly along the wall to join the crowd.

Inside the makeup room, the girls clung to one another for comfort, but the real commotion was in the adjacent prop room.

The prop master—a burly man—stood there, his face twisted in terror as he pointed at an arm on the floor, voice cracking. “I didn’t make that! It wasn’t me! I swear!”

Director Wang glanced over.

In a crew shooting a battle-royale film, was a random arm really so unusual?

“If you didn’t make it, then you didn’t. Why panic?” Director Wang picked up the arm, intending to toss it back into the prop pile.

But the moment he touched it, he sensed something was wrong.

As a seasoned director, he’d handled every kind of prop—none ever felt like this.

This texture was too soft...

The prop master’s face was a mix of dread and awe. “Director, I really didn’t make this—I think it’s real.”