"President Song?" A crew member looked at him in surprise, staring in the direction he had appeared from. "You... have you been here all this time?"
Song Ping glanced back at the public restroom behind him and cleared his throat. "Yes, why?"
"Nothing..." The crew member didn’t dare say anything aloud, but inwardly, he couldn’t help but wonder. He had been adjusting faulty lighting equipment on the nearby open ground for hours and hadn’t seen anyone come or go. If Song Ping had been here the whole time, that meant he must have been hiding in the restroom...
Song Ping was well aware of the misunderstanding but could only wipe his face in resignation. After receiving his senior sister’s call earlier, he hadn’t wanted to waste time, so he had flown back on his sword, activating a newly developed magical artifact from the cultivation world—a barrier that reduced ordinary people’s perception of cultivators. In other words, it made cultivators practically invisible to mortals.
He had flown straight to the film set, but with so many people around, he chose to land in the restroom, thinking it would be the least conspicuous place to reappear before deactivating the barrier. Unfortunately, he had been caught red-handed by the crew member at the entrance.
Maintaining his composure, Song Ping strolled away with his hands behind his back, shaking off the crew member’s bewildered gaze before quickening his pace toward the filming location.
Tonight’s moon was dazzlingly bright, making the scattered stars seem dim in comparison.
Xu Shulou leaned against a wooden frame, gazing up at the moon while reminiscing to immerse herself in the right mood. Hearing his footsteps, she turned to look at him.
For a fleeting moment, Song Ping seemed to see the senior sister from centuries ago—the one with a trace of aloof sharpness in her demeanor. The other junior disciples had joined the sect later, only knowing the gentle and carefree version of her. But he had witnessed her as she once was.
The night their master first brought him to meet the senior sister had been just like this—under a sky of stars, with her standing in the moonlight. Song Ping suddenly realized how many years they had lived in this world. Generations of mortals had come and gone, yet for cultivators like them, the moonlight remained unchanged, year after year...
Xu Shulou smiled, breaking the serene and distant image. "Is our junior sister still playing with her gift?"
"Yeah," Song Ping snapped out of his thoughts and nodded wryly. "I had to make the lonely journey here alone to work."
Before Xu Shulou could respond, the director rushed over, grabbing Song Ping’s hands and shaking them vigorously. "We had no choice! We originally wanted Bai Roushuang to help with a cameo, but that wasn’t ideal. Luckily, Xu Shulou mentioned you know martial arts, so we’re counting on you. Thank you for coming to save the scene, President Song!"
So, the one rolling around on an asteroid right now could have been him instead? Song Ping freed himself from the director’s grip and glanced at his senior sister, who was once again looking skyward, avoiding his gaze. "...No problem. Should I go change into costume now?"
"Yes, yes! Little Li, take President Song to makeup!"
Soon, Song Ping returned, now wearing a long-haired wig and ancient-style robes. The crew couldn’t help but stare—his presence wasn’t that of a refined, worldly gentleman. He carried an air of upright steadiness, just as Sheng Wuyou had once described him: "the kind of person who looks open-hearted and honorable at first glance." Now, everyone on set felt that with this look, he wouldn’t even need to act—it was obvious he was playing a chivalrous hero.
Song Ping instinctively glanced toward Sheng Wuyou, who was also staring at him, lost in thought.
He lowered his eyes slightly, feeling a faint ache in his chest.
Tonight’s moonlight was too beautiful. Throughout history, poets had written about the moon—using its glow to express homesickness, longing, and unrequited love. Perhaps such radiant moonlight truly did stir tender emotions, because Song Ping suddenly remembered the distant past. Before marrying Sheng Wuyou, many had worried he might regret it someday. Now, after centuries, he could finally answer that question—he had never once regretted it.
Xu Shulou suggested to the director, "Why don’t we shoot on an actual rooftop? This wooden frame isn’t helping with immersion."
The director hesitated. "Is that safe?"
"It’s fine," Xu Shulou assured him solemnly. "I wouldn’t joke about my own life or anyone else’s."
Had Song Ping not been here, and had she been acting opposite a mortal actor, she would never have made such a request.
Song Ping naturally agreed. The director studied them both, still uneasy. "Then... which building in the film city do you think would work?"
Xu Shulou quickly picked one out and pointed. The director shook his head. "That whole area is abandoned. The only reason it hasn’t been demolished is because they’re waiting for some unlucky crew to rent it for explosion scenes."
"How much would it cost? Can we afford it?" Xu Shulou inquired.
"It’s not too expensive, since no one’s rented it in years... Wait, are you serious?" The director gaped at her, but her resolute expression made him realize he might just become that "unlucky" crew.
Since the investor had the final say, and Song Ping insisted on spending the money, the director reluctantly gave in. He quickly called a contact managing the film city, waking them up with the request. Amid protests, they secured the building, then insisted on equipping Xu Shulou and Song Ping with safety harnesses and precautions—just in case.
By the time everything was set up, the moon was beginning its descent. Not wanting to waste the perfect lighting, the crew hurried into position and started filming.
Dressed in a flowing green robe, Song Ping stood on the rooftop, facing off against Xu Shulou. The crew couldn’t help but murmur—regardless of how the fight would look, the atmosphere alone was already convincing.
Time was tight, leaving no room for retakes. Fortunately, unlike the previous actor, Song Ping needed no adjustment period. He and Xu Shulou moved in perfect sync. At the director’s cue, he raised his sword, its blade gleaming with moonlight like frozen river light.
Though all disciples of Bright Moon Peak were taught by the same master, their swordplay reflected their personalities. The youngest, Bai Roushuang, wielded a deceptively soft and winding sword energy that hid an unyielding core. Xu Shulou’s strikes were overwhelming and relentless—most opponents were too busy fearing for their lives to appreciate the artistry. Song Ping’s sword energy was neither sharp nor ethereal, striking a perfect balance—simple, unadorned, and precise.
The moment he made his move, the director knew the scene was in good hands.
Someone whispered in awe, "President Song actually knows what he’s doing."
The scene naturally held no murderous intent, but the onlookers, witnessing Song Ping’s professional stance and imposing aura, instinctively held their breaths, their hearts leaping into their throats. Yet Xu Shulou effortlessly parried his swordplay, her skirt swirling and dark tresses flying as she slipped through the flurry of blades. With a graceful somersault, she darted behind Song Ping and unsheathed her own sword. Under the moonlight, a flash of steel erupted like lightning—or perhaps like a sudden blizzard.
"Wait—was that leap done with a wire or did she jump herself? Is someone controlling the wires? Or is this the legendary qinggong?" The spectators gaped in awe. The producer nearby nearly lunged for the director’s monitor, itching to replay the scene, but managed to restrain himself.
Under the clear autumn moon, by the flowing waters of the celestial terrace, the director pulled the main camera back, framing the two figures on the rooftop as silhouettes.
Bathed in the radiant moonlight, someone suddenly recalled Bai Roushuang’s melodramatic remark—that dazzling, peerless moment from the past.
Apart from the clashing of Xu Shulou and Song Ping’s swords, the set fell into hushed silence. The audience felt as though they had been whisked away into a fleeting dream, transported to an era of wandering swordsmen, stumbling upon an exhilarating duel.
Perhaps when the duel ended, these spectators could wander to the end of the street, buy a jug of wine, and amble down the long road, their hearts brimming with fervor before drifting into slumber, dreaming of swordsmen. The next morning, they might boast to others about having glimpsed an immortal.
Or perhaps they’d feel a tinge of regret—because such brilliance could only ever be a fleeting encounter, a single glimpse of an immortal’s unparalleled grace…
Xu Shulou, of course, remained oblivious to their poetic musings. As she sparred with her junior brother, her thoughts drifted to the new prop sword the crew had provided after the show’s success—far better than the old one, gleaming beautifully under the moonlight.
Seizing the perfect moment, she gave Song Ping a slight nod. Understanding her cue, he leapt high, gripping his sword with both hands and bringing it down in a forceful slash. Xu Shulou crossed her blade to block, but the momentum of his strike didn’t stop, forcing her down—straight through the roof.
"Ah—!"
Screams erupted on set. The director shot up from behind the camera, sprinting toward the scene, only for Song Ping to sheepishly wave his hands. "Don’t panic, it’s fine—just part of the act."
Xu Shulou had already scrambled back onto the roof. "Relax, all for the show."
"…" After verifying she hadn’t broken anything, the director nearly cursed, forgetting all about the investors’ dignity. "You’ve got nerves of steel! I almost thought the whole crew would end up on the evening news!"
He then shot Song Ping an accusatory glare, as if questioning why he’d gone along with the madness. Song Ping couldn’t help but feel amused—ever since their younger days, anyone who spent time with Xu Shulou quickly accepted her chaotic nature, while her juniors were inexplicably seen as the responsible ones.
"The full moon’s about to set," Xu Shulou reassured the director with a smile. "Besides, the mood just called for it, didn’t it?"
"…" The director stomped his foot in frustration—only for the already precarious rooftop, weakened by Xu Shulou and Song Ping’s earlier crash, to crack beneath him. He wobbled, nearly tumbling down.
The next second, the entire crew craned their necks at a perfect 45-degree angle, staring in awe as their leading lady grabbed the director by the collar. Using the wire rope, she swung through the air, dragging him along toward the ground. The moonlit night was breathtaking—Xu Shulou’s sleeves billowed like an immortal descending from the heavens. But as they neared the ground, the crew realized the wire wasn’t long enough. Xu Shulou seemed ready to jump, but the director in her grip let out a shrill shriek. Helpless, she swung back up.
What should have been a celestial vision now looked… slightly absurd. The director’s wide-eyed, open-mouthed scream, paired with their mid-air swaying, evoked an uncanny resemblance to a pair of apes swinging on vines. The crew stood frozen, torn between two wildly different fantasies.
