The sensory impact of this painting is quite intense. The stark contrast of exceptionally bright colors makes it difficult not to feel shocked at first glance.
Zong Qi felt mentally overwhelmed, his thoughts floating and sinking, staring blankly at the painting.
It wasn’t until a slender hand reached over, picked up the light-blocking cloth from the ground, and covered the painting on the easel, that the black-haired young man realized he was drenched in cold sweat.
“This is still an unfinished work, not ready to be shown yet.”
A pleasant male voice came from beside him, deep and magnetic, like a mountain spring tapping on pine stones.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Zong Qi stammered, then froze when he looked up.
The person standing by the easel was tall and thin, his face cut by the sunlight into indistinguishable light and shadow. His white hair was tied at the back, with thin glasses chains hanging down, softening the cool and somber features of his profile, adding a touch of ascetic scholarly air.
He was wearing nothing but a simple white shirt, yet his skin was even paler than the fabric, almost sickly white. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, making the blue veins on his arms stand out starkly.
Without needing an introduction, Zong Qi automatically matched this person with the name on the studio door. Even though the person looked too young to be associated with the word “professor.”
“Hello.”
The man first smiled faintly, dispersing the inexplicable sense of dissonance.
“Hello, Professor. I am Zong Qi from Class 2, Directing, Batch 16. I knocked on the door but didn’t hear a response, and since it wasn’t locked, I ventured in to place this here.”
As he explained, Zong Qi’s voice grew softer.
His face gradually turned red, inwardly screaming in embarrassment.
Before entering, Zong Qi hadn’t expected this to be a private office. Being caught in such a situation was so embarrassing that he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
“I really apologize, I didn’t know that was an unfinished work of yours.”
The black-haired young man bowed at a ninety-degree angle, staring at his shoes, holding the document above his head with both hands.
“So you are the student Professor Cheng mentioned.”
The sound of the document being taken and flipped was close, “It’s fine, it’s an unfinished work that needs more detail adjustments.”
Even after an oil painting is considered finished, it can still be repeatedly modified with new layers of paint, as long as it hasn’t been varnished, which means the work is not yet complete.
Zong Qi breathed a sigh of relief and watched the white-haired man walk to the desk, “Please, have a seat.”
He walked over cautiously and sat down, watching the man casually place the tonearm on a vinyl record. The golden phonograph, shaped like a gramophone, started to play a melodious violin tune.
“Teacher, I—”
“No need for such a formal address,” Yu Chenxue said, “Professor Cheng only asked you to stay by my side for some artistic immersion. I do not hold the final assessment score for your aesthetics course. Strictly speaking, I am not your teacher.”
“Oh, okay, Professor Yu.”
Zong Qi quickly corrected himself, watching the person across from him push a steaming cup of black tea toward him, with freshly cut lemon and sugar cubes placed beside it.
Yu Chenxue smiled warmly, “Relax, you’re too tense.”
For a moment, the studio was filled only with the intertwining sounds of violin and clarinet, and the soft clinking of a silver spoon stirring in the cup.
The tea was slightly hot, and the rising steam warmed his thoughts, helping Zong Qi to relax.
Through the mist over the tea, he secretly observed the person opposite him.
Few people chose to dye their hair pure white, as even slightly dull skin tones struggled to carry off this color, let alone growing it long.
It seemed that long hair was always a staple of artists. Zong Qi’s own hair was only slightly over his ears because he had been too lazy to get it cut.
It was no exaggeration to say that he had never seen anyone so good-looking.
If he could, Zong Qi would rather use the word “beautiful” to describe him. Beauty does not distinguish by gender, and more importantly, it was not just his appearance but the out-of-this-world, high, and pure aura that was most striking, each inch a gift from the creator, unbelievably beautiful.
Under the cheerful tones of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor, Yu Chenxue lifted his teacup.
“Feeling better?”
Zong Qi touched his head shyly, “Much better, thank you, Professor Yu.”
“Now that you’re relaxed, let’s begin.”
Begin?
The black-haired young man’s pupils showed undisguised confusion, sitting up straight like facing a headmaster.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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“Yxjs.”
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“P’w gfjvs, Ugbofrrbg, qifjrf ub jtfjv.”
Although Professor Yu said he wasn’t responsible for the practical course’s final score and couldn’t decide if he would pass the retake, Zong Qi had no doubt that trying to muddle through would end poorly.
“Good.”
The psychology professor’s long fingers tapped lightly on the table, “What did you see in that painting just now? Feel free to speak your mind, anything goes.”
An unexpected yet reasonable question.
Zong Qi secretly sighed in relief.
This kind of picture-interpretation question was always a basic one in aesthetics courses, aside from other questions extending into philosophy, and practical classes often placed a world-famous painting for students to appreciate.
“Well, the painting has bright tones, but unexpectedly makes people feel oppressed.”
Zong Qi carefully answered, “At first glance, it even felt a bit hopeless and painful, uh, even nauseating.”
Yu Chenxue kept smiling, nodding slightly, encouraging him to continue.
“Later, I realized this unsettling element might come from the atmosphere in the painting because those colors are stacked one after another. It’s not that they are untidy, it’s just a bit crazy, but also quite beautiful.”
After speaking, Zong Qi felt uneasy.
Just like a writer’s text, an artist’s painting could reflect their mental state. Of course, this rule doesn’t apply if the creator is aware of it and deliberately changes it.
Usually, Zong Qi wouldn’t comment recklessly in front of the creator, and if he did, it would be with high praise.
But maybe the tea was at the right temperature, the sunlight was spreading on the floor, and there was some well-timed encouragement, making Zong Qi inadvertently reveal his true feelings, only to add a dry “quite beautiful” at the end.
After hearing his answer, the studio fell into silence.
After a long time, the crisp sound of a teacup being placed back on its saucer was heard.
“Very unique insight, Student Zong.”
The lenses obscured the deep colors behind his eyes, the psychology professor placed his hands on the table, slightly raising an eyebrow, “The main subject of that painting is Vincent van Gogh.”
Zong Qi suddenly understood.
Due to his aesthetics far ahead of his time, Van Gogh was not understood during his lifetime, living in poverty, and only sold one painting in his life.
However, after his death, his paintings were auctioned at astronomical prices. People praised him as a great artist, a pioneer of expressionism, and a beacon of the nineteenth century.
He was most famous for cutting off his own ear and, in a state of mental derangement, shooting himself in a wheat field.
No wonder Zong Qi found the sky in the painting somewhat familiar, as it bore some resemblance to Van Gogh’s famous work “Starry Night,” including the palpable madness he felt from the painting because Van Gogh was often called a madman besides being an artist.
“That’s why your conclusion amazes me. Very few people can see such deep meanings in the painting—”
The words were cut off by an unexpected ring.
The white-haired professor raised his hand, showing an apologetic look, and turned to walk behind the studio bookshelf.
Almost immediately upon turning, the man’s deliberately gentlemanly smile vanished.
Compared to the main hall with large floor-to-ceiling windows, it was much darker behind the bookshelf. The warm yellow retro light illuminated rows of neatly arranged heavy books with gold letters that gleamed like they were burning.
The man stood in the shadow of the partition, his fingers sliding from “Napoleon’s Code” to “Critique of Pure Reason,” his jawline cold and indifferent.
The person on the other end of the phone sounded nothing like the leader of a large organization, speaking respectfully, “Teacher.”
Zong Qi watched the professor leave and turned to sneak a piece of sugar into his tea.
The white sugar quickly dissolved in the red tea, mixing with freshly squeezed lemon juice, tasting sweet and sour, and delicious.
The new professor seemed approachable, so maybe he could negotiate to consolidate and fix the practical class times later to avoid disrupting his regular livestreams and directing work.
Yes, Zong Qi had quickly adapted to his new role as a director.
After all, work is work, and this was just returning to his original job, which was nice.
The studio still flowed with the soothing melodies of violin music, bathed in bright sunlight.
As Zong Qi sipped tea and squinted to unlock his phone, a notification popped up.
[Notification: The main script of “Horror Village” will begin shooting at 9 AM the day after tomorrow. Please submit the cast list in the system software by midnight tonight. Points will be deducted for late submissions.]
Zong Qi: “” So soon!
He recalled his life-and-death struggle with the serial killer in the short script “Mental Hospital” and was filled with worry about the upcoming main script.
“I hope it’s a supernatural film, at least there would be immunity.”
The young man with black hair shook his head, throwing the thoughts out of his mind, and looked down to open the horror film director software.
The only lit poster in the main script film was pulled out and placed in the “About to Shoot” column.
Title: Haunted Village
Shooting Duration: 7 days
Number of Cast Members: 7
Allowed Assistants: 1
Shooting Pass Criteria: Actor scream value of 5000, script exploration progress of 70%, surviving actors no fewer than 3
Junior directors cannot choose their shooting role, currently drawing the role for this shoot
Available roles for drawing: Actor, Supporting NPC, Film Designer
Drawing result: Actor
Note: Once promoted to Intermediate Director, you can freely choose roles
Please wait, the actor role is being automatically generated
Actor Code: (Blank)
Actor Level: E-level Actor (Has not participated in a main script)
Representative Works: None
Zong Qi filled in “worker” for himself.
He didn’t quite understand what the other roles were for, but fortunately, he didn’t draw one this time. By the time he did, he should be able to figure out the differences.
The system worked quickly, immediately moving on to the next step after confirming one.
Director Q has chosen to participate in “Haunted Village” as an actor, and currently needs to select 6 more actors
Tip: Actors can be arranged to participate in the main script. After the end, they need to be paid. Hiring actors of different levels requires paying different amounts
Payment: Director Points
Soon, six level options appeared on the phone screen, namely S-level, A-level, B-level, C-level, D-level, and E-level actors.
Among them, the payment for an S-level actor was marked clearly as 50% of the points earned from shooting a movie.
Paying actors their fees made sense.
But this also meant that if he chose to hire an S-level actor for “Haunted Village,” half of the earnings would have to be paid to that actor.
Zong Qi: “”
Fortunately, he had chosen the actor role earlier, perfectly saving the cost for one person.
As thrifty as he was, it was absolutely impossible for him to hire an S-level actor!
He decisively shifted his attention to the other levels.
The payments for each level differed, decreasing from top to bottom.
A-level: 20%, B-level: 10%, C-level: 5%, D-level: 3%, E-level: only 1%. Comparatively, S-level actors were indeed very costly.
“Six actors, then let’s choose six E-level ones, wishing for good luck.”
Thinking this, the frugal director Zong Qi selected six E-level actor tags.
Actor levels affect the final number of surviving actors. It’s recommended to choose carefully.
Perhaps noticing his thriftiness, the system gave a subtle reminder.
So, Zong Qi reluctantly deleted three E-level actors and replaced them with one C-level and two D-level actors, totaling 13% in payment.
If possible, he would have liked to let Xiaohong take an actor slot too.
Unfortunately, after thinking it over seriously, he felt that if Xiaohong went crazy, it might attack indiscriminately. So at most, Xiaohong could be placed as an assistant.
Fortunately, the system told him that the assistant’s reward points would be settled by the assistant’s actor system and would not require additional deduction from Zong Qi.
Basic participation information has been completed. Do you want to post the recruitment? Yes or No
Zong Qi chose yes.
What he didn’t know was that this simple action would cause a storm in another system.
The cast list will be released at midnight tonight. The “New Director’s Handbook” has been placed in your backpack, please look forward to it.
After finishing all this, the young man with black hair put his phone back in his pocket thoughtfully.
He had already roughly understood the rules of short scripts and impromptu shootings, but he was completely clueless about main script shootings. It was also confirmed that other people in this world had similar systems, including the actor system.
But why was he chosen by the director system?
Perhaps it was because he was an unfortunate film school student who delayed his graduation?
Zong Qi thought uncertainly.
Everything about the horror film system was shrouded in mystery, just like that secretive organization. The difference was that one, if used well, could become his aid, while the other was a hidden enemy ready to show its fangs at any time.
Unknowingly, the first movement of the E minor had already finished playing, and the steaming hot tea was gradually cooling in the air-conditioned room.
While Zong Qi was immersed in his thoughts, the long-closed door creaked open.
“Sorry, I had an urgent matter, kept you waiting.”
The psychology professor closed the door behind him and smiled apologetically, “Well, if there’s nothing else, you can go for now.”
“As for Professor Cheng’s thoughts, I prefer a more free-form approach rather than conventional storytelling. I need to attend an art exhibition next weekend, and I’ll contact you then. For now, you’ll have to temporarily act as my assistant.”
Yucheng Xue blinked at him, “Compared to the boring classroom where you stare at plaster statues, this is also a form of alternative art appreciation, right?”
Zong Qi was stunned for a moment and quickly stood up to bow, “Of course, thank you, Professor.”
After leaving his contact information and saying goodbye, he still felt a bit dazed.
Unexpectedly, without any effort, he had gained flexible class time. Zong Qi was pleasantly surprised.
Normally, retaking a practical course would mean spending a lot of time in school with art students. However, now that Professor Yu had spoken, it saved Zong Qi almost half of the trouble. And honestly, visiting exhibitions was much more interesting than identifying various artworks in a classroom, especially with the chance to experience being an artist’s assistant.
Professor Yu is really nice. Zong Qi couldn’t help but think.
Not only is he a rising artist but also a psychology professor at Capital University, and he’s so good-looking, talented, gentle, and elegant—a true prodigy.
In the melodious background music, the white-haired professor slowly took off his glasses.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, just like many artists leave the eyes for last when painting, as they determine a person’s temperament.
The silver glasses with long chains that Yucheng Xue held had no prescription; their only use was as a disguise.
Because once the glasses were removed, those deliberately concealed, mercilessly cold deep blue eyes would be fully revealed, starkly different from the gentle professor image, brimming with aggressiveness.
Usually, Yucheng Xue would never take off his glasses.
But this time…
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the departing figure.
Zong Qi wouldn’t know that early this morning, all his files from childhood to now had been sent to the table where the man was just having afternoon tea, for the mysterious mentor standing atop the Ouroboros organization to review.
Parents died, raised by grandparents.
Grandfather mysteriously disappeared when he was seven, and grandmother fell seriously ill in his senior year of high school. To treat his grandmother, he secretly sold the only remaining old house, but unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned, and the old lady passed away when he graduated from college, leaving him alone.
The later information was reconstructed based on surveillance devices, detailing the whole process of him single-handedly taking down a serial killer at the Zhaohua Renxin Mental Hospital.
Recalling the black-haired young man sitting restlessly, hesitantly mentioning seeing madness in the footage, cautiously checking if he was upset, the man curled his lips, the displeasure from the phone call quickly dissipating.
Kind, principled, always optimistic. Unafraid of any difficulties, shining on his own.
Like a clean, pristine sheet of white paper, never marked by anyone, waiting for an artist to dip their brush and freely leave marks.
It had been a long time since he encountered such a suitable lamb.
Yucheng Xue thought pleasantly.
Somehow I remember other novel with horror actor system… So this is how it looks like from Director’s side.