Chapter 1: The Scent of Ghosts

Filming for the TV drama "Treasure" was nearing its end. Most of the cast had already wrapped up, and the remaining crew needed to head to Yantang Village to shoot the last scenes. This village still had hundreds of ancient residences, including ancestral halls and opera stages from the Ming and Qing dynasties, all remarkably well preserved.

The local city government had long wanted to develop the area, and indeed, the film crew had been drawn here to shoot.

The car stopped at the parking lot at the village entrance, and the crew filed out one after another.

Ashley Grant got off the car carrying his own luggage. The mountains were much cooler than the lowlands, and he wore a dark blue hoodie and deep-colored work pants. Because of his role, his bangs had grown so long they nearly covered his eyes.

In this drama, which didn’t have many male roles, he barely counted as the fifth male lead. But as a barely-known D-lister, neither his company nor the crew had assigned him an assistant, so of course he had to do everything himself.

Ashley Grant didn’t mind. The crew had rented a local house for accommodation, and the rest of the way had to be walked. He strolled along with the crew’s cameraman, Brian Carter, chatting idly. The two had met on this project. Though their jobs were different, they were from the same hometown and shared similar interests. After a few months, they’d become friends.

The roadside was lined with Qing-style buildings. The crew had already sent people to scout the location, but the village official who greeted them still skillfully introduced everything: “Here are two carved lions, one big and one small. That’s ‘Tai Shi Shao Shi’—a pun meaning ‘Grand Tutor and Junior Tutor.’ Our village has produced officials before…”

Ashley Grant looked around. No wonder they’d chosen this place for filming—the preservation was excellent. Any repairs had been done by old craftsmen using traditional methods, keeping the original flavor.

The village official went on to brag that their official ancestors had once invited a descendant of Guiguzi to do feng shui and design the ancestral house. Everyone just laughed it off—just like how every local snack claims some connection to ancient emperors or celebrities. It’s just something to listen to and move on.

Even though many people had left, the remaining crew was still a sizable group. Up ahead, there were the sounds of firecrackers and commotion, so the procession slowed down.

“Achoo!” Ashley Grant rubbed his nose and heard the word passed down from the front: “Someone in the village passed away—they’re holding a funeral…”

Out of respect for the deceased, everyone bowed their heads as they passed by, some even giving a slight bow, so the pace naturally slowed.

His view was blocked by the crowd, but when Ashley Grant reached the front, he saw an open space with a mourning hall set up. Inside was a coffin, an Eight Immortals table, a photo of the deceased, and an electric eternal lamp. On either side were paper effigies of a boy and girl. In front of the table was an iron basin where someone was constantly burning paper, smoke curling up.

At the main road entrance on the other side, several young men were trying to set up a tall paper funeral banner.

There was nothing to lean the banner against, so they tried to prop it up with wooden sticks. The banner had four sections and needed to be assembled and raised. But for some reason, after fiddling with it for ages, they just couldn’t get it to stand.

Villagers gossiped openly:

“The banner won’t light up? The filial son wasted his money, huh?”

“Who knows why the banner won’t stand up…”

With talk like this, the face of the bereaved son grew darker and darker.

Brian Carter put his palms together in a mock prayer and muttered quietly, “What’s that? Why can’t they get it up after all this time?”

He’d never really experienced traditional funeral customs, and Yantang Village still kept very old rituals.

Ashley Grant said, “That’s a gold and silver banner—a rare big item among funeral paper offerings. Each one costs at least a thousand yuan, and it’s usually set up at a prominent intersection.”

The head cameraman was nearby and looked at Ashley Grant in surprise. “You’re not that old, but you know about this? Last time you and Little Brian drew lots, you even used your phone for an electronic draw and didn’t want to pay one yuan to get the result.”

Ashley Grant: “…Was it really necessary to repeat the whole story?”

Brian Carter grumbled too. “Can you really get scammed out of a yuan?”