I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 593 - 593 592. The First Seven-day Memorial Service_1

Chapter 593: 592. The First Seven-day Memorial Service_1 Chapter 593: 592. The First Seven-day Memorial Service_1 The opening segment of the plot, which is supposed to be scary, actually seemed rather ordinary to Stephen, of course, the cold drafts that seemed to blow from right behind his neck were indeed quite an experience.

This segment mainly struck Stephen as very eerie.

The flickering candlelight, the drifting white silk, the two coffins, the empty soul hall—there was an indescribable sense of strangeness.

In the West, funerals weren’t like this; typically, the deceased would be placed in a coffin from the morgue, and after the viewing, they would immediately be buried without this custom of displaying the body in the hall for several days.

Even in some old-fashioned places, they might chop off the head of the deceased and place it between their legs to prevent them from being bewitched into resurrection by vampires, returning to the world of the living.

This was a custom from the East.

A term like “head seven” would have been incomprehensible to Stephen if he hadn’t learned Chinese; he doubted he would ever understand what it meant in his lifetime.

Moreover, the beginning of the story had an inexplicable sense of reality; over the years he had spent in the country, Stephen even thought that this might be a story that had recently happened in some mountain village.

The entire sequence didn’t feature any actual ghosts, but the atmosphere alone made Stephen feel as if something unclean was lingering there.

He had previously seen materials on “Nine Streams” organized by “Lu Scholars,” and guessed this must be the Yin Yang Eyes.

The Yin Yang Eyes concept also had similar notions abroad, but for foreigners, ghosts were visible to everyone—little girls with holes in their heads, pale-faced women crawling out of TVs, bag-headed chainsaw murderers, and all, the more blood and gore the merrier.

Or to put it in Stephen’s terms, there was no such thing as invisible ghosts.

If ghosts were invisible…

Stephen suddenly felt a surge of fear.

Many images popped into his head.

Like a room empty of people where a rocking chair moves by itself, curtains are drawn, and water glasses shift.

Just thinking about it was a bit frightening.

Stephen remembered when “Cry” first aired, there were news stories of viewers too scared to go home afterward; he had once ridiculed these cowards, only to spend a day in the restroom at his location after watching the movie.

If this movie was going to play with those themes, he’d need to be careful.

Fortunately, the following plot did not race towards a ghostly direction.

After the title appeared, accompanied by strong and vigorous brush-written characters, an era was outlined.

[In times of war and chaos, when people struggled to survive, major forces entrenched in Jiangcheng, teeming with restless ambition…]

The sun rose, and a train crossed the vast land.

The camera moved inside the train.

Lu Ban was gazing out the window, lost in thought, next to him sat the person with Yin Yang Eyes who had just resolved a child’s parent’s “head seven” soul-calling.

Outside the window, the land showed signs of devastation, rice fields were abandoned, farmers wore tattered clothes, plumes of gun smoke rose in the distance. Coming into the city area, the streets were dirty and disordered, with some people starving and freezing, others living in drunken stupors, the contrast between strolling soldiers and students engaged in high-minded political talks was striking, evoking a flood of emotions.

Stephen came from a developed country; he had only seen scenes like this in history books after going abroad, and they hadn’t deeply moved him. Yet, the realistic set and the actors’ performances still immersed him.

A child scampered through the noisy train, quickly filching a passenger’s wallet.

Lu Ban was about to speak up to warn them, but the person beside him held him back.

Then that person stood up, brushing past the child, and after a dizzying battle of wits, had the wallet in hand, returning it to its rightful owner.

Lu Ban and the man got out of the car together, exchanged pleasantries, and after the other introduced himself as He Chong, the scene froze, gloomy.

Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“I never met my great-grandfather. My grandfather told me he was a very stern man, often wearing sunglasses, giving my grandfather and my father a strict telling-off. He wasn’t slick, and perhaps even rather harsh and uncompromising. My grandfather said, those who lived through that era were all like that, always holding on to certain principles.”

He Jiaoyang appeared on the big screen.

It seemed to be an interview show; he was in the position of the interviewee. At first, he appeared a bit nervous, but as he continued his narration, he seemed to relax somewhat.

This reaction was quite genuine.

The interview segment didn’t last very long; just through the recounting of the grandson, it roughly sketched out such a person, giving Stephen a certain impression of He Chong.

The plot continued to move forward, and more descendants of the Nine Streams made their appearances.

And with that, came the depictions of their predecessors by these descendants.

In the past, these individuals were full of spirits, each looking like an elite, as if capable of anything.

But now, through the memories of their descendants, another side of them was revealed.

The energetic-looking woman became gentle and kind in her old age.

The worldly-wise and shrewd man ended up being the most reliable father in his son’s eyes.

The singer who pursued fame and fortune returned to family life, spending the rest of his years humbly crooning lullabies only in the quiet of the night.

Only the person whose eyes couldn’t tolerate the slightest disagreement remained unchanged until old age.

Stephen felt as though he had seen the conclusion, yet it seemed as if something vital was missing.

His curiosity was piqued, wondering what happened in Jiangcheng decades ago that led to these changes in these people.

At least for now, Stephen knew one thing, which was that it seemed none of these people had died.

For Lu Ban to make a movie without death was indeed rare.

After all, in his last film, he had obliterated the entire world.

If, by the end of this movie, none of the people from the Nine Streams really ended up dead, Stephen would have to respectfully call Lu Ban a greatly merciful and compassionate living Bodhisattva.

For Stephen, watching a domestic film posed one troublesome difficulty, which was recognizing faces.

Just as Easterners tend to think Westerners all look alike, Westerners have the same issue with Easterners.

Especially since in European and American films there are usually black characters, so at least by skin color, Easterners can distinguish some characters. But in domestic films that only feature Chinese actors, many foreigners are left wondering, who is this, who is that, who the hell is this?

They simply can’t tell apart.

However, in this particular film, Stephen didn’t encounter such an issue, because each character’s appearance was accompanied by a narrative description, and these people had very distinctive characteristics and ways of conducting themselves, which left a rough impression on Stephen within a short time.

What is this, this is acting!

Stephen saw the characters in the film become aggressive and ready to fight at Dai Yuanyang’s words, almost coming to blows, and quickly, the most hot-tempered He Chong took the lead in striking, and the two started fighting.

“Kung fu!”

Stephen initially thought he would see some flying around or using tables, chairs, and benches as weapons in the fight, but the combat method of the two men exceeded his expectations.