Jin Yan claimed to be an entertainment reporter.
But everyone who knew him understood what that really meant. Secretly filming actors. Sneaking into film sets. Catching idol groups off-guard at festivals.
In other words, a senior-level paparazzi.
He had a gift too—no matter how innocent a photo looked to others, Jin Yan could twist the angle just right to make it scream: affair!
So when he caught wind of a horror movie shoot featuring several sexy actresses and directed by none other than Director Sun—the hottest name in film lately—he saw a golden opportunity. He decided to sneak into the filming site. Again. Not like it was his first time.
Donning construction worker clothes, a hard hat, and even lugging around a fake saw, Jin Yan blended right in. This look got him into most places without raising suspicion.
But the moment he stepped onto the set, something felt… off.
Too quiet.
No shouting from the director. No buzzing crew. No assistants rushing around with drinks and snacks. It was eerie.
"Where is everyone?" Jin Yan muttered, frowning.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Hey, are you sure the info is legit? It's dead silent here. Doesn't feel like a shoot at all."
"Oh, come on. We've worked together how many times now? Why would I lie about this?" the voice on the other end scoffed.
Annoying, but fair. Jin Yan hung up and looked around again. A gust of wind kicked up, rustling some loose plastic bags. A chill ran down his back.
"Creepy," he mumbled.
Then came the scream.
A shrill, desperate cry tore through the stillness—short, sharp, and then... gone.
Jin Yan froze. Cold sweat broke out on his back.
What the hell was that?
It was full of raw fear, like someone who knew they weren't going to make it. But why so short? Why did it cut off like that?
Had someone just been... killed?
"No way," he whispered, forcing himself to stay calm. He reached inside his coat and gripped the metal baton he always carried for emergencies. Security guards, crazy fans—he'd dealt with them before.
"I really hope I don't need this today."
Step by cautious step, Jin Yan moved toward the sound. Silence had returned, so heavy it felt wrong. Finally, he reached a small wooden shed and could hear faint voices from inside.
He reached for the door—but just as his hand hovered above the handle, he felt it.
Someone breathing behind him.
Hiss—hoo—
Heavy, steady, silent breathing.
They stood close. Too close. Jin Yan's body locked up. The stories he'd heard, the urban legends he'd brushed off—they all came crashing into his head.
His legs buckled. He collapsed onto the ground and, against his will, looked up.
What he saw nearly stopped his heart.
A man stood over him, tall and silent, wearing a pitch-black baseball mask with two jagged slits carved out for the eyes. Cold, merciless eyes stared down at him.
He wore overalls, spattered with dark, dried blood. In his right hand was a massive machete, the blade also stained.
Jin Yan's thoughts raced.
Did… did this guy kill the whole crew?
Is that why it's so quiet here?
The scream… was that the last survivor?
And now… it's my turn?
His pupils dilated in horror.
Then everything went black.
---
The door of the shed opened.
A young assistant poked her head out. "Brother Li! Lunch is ready—there's ribs today… uh, who's that?"
She pointed at Jin Yan, unconscious on the ground.
Li Si pulled off the black mask, blinking in confusion.
A crowd quickly gathered. One of them squinted, then exclaimed, "Wait... isn't that the paparazzi guy?"
They glanced between Jin Yan and Li Si's full horror getup. The realization hit, and the crew burst out laughing.
"Pfft—ha ha ha…"
"Serves him right…"
The laughter echoed across the set.
It was like—after your own house collapsed, the neighbor's house collapsed too. Immoral, sure. But so satisfying.
Director Sun finally stepped forward, clapping his hands. "Alright, alright, that's enough. Call an ambulance, get him out of here. And this afternoon—back to desensitization therapy."
Groans followed.
Li Si's "therapy" was simple but brutal: a non-stop horror film and gore reel marathon, followed by close-up face-offs with him in full costume.
And it worked.
Actors stopped fainting. Or at least, most of them did. A few still couldn't hack it. So the doctor didn't even bother leaving anymore. He parked a medical van right outside the set. When someone fainted, they got loaded in. Once five had stacked up, they were driven off together—like body collection in a zombie flick.
But thanks to that, the filming of Crystal Lake Massacre suddenly became very efficient.
Things moved smoothly—until about a week before the wrap, when Director Sun brought a new face to set.
"This is Master Chen from Jinmen," he announced with a grin. "A martial arts instructor. Born in Baguazhang. He designed the final two fight scenes."
Master Chen looked young—maybe thirty—but his energy was sharp and precise. He skipped the pleasantries and got right to work.
Funny, patient, and methodical, he coached each actor with expert care.
"Good. Now bring your leg up just a bit more. Don't worry about looking tired."
"Nice punch! But neater next time, remember what I told you."
Everything was going great—until he reached Li Si.
Li Si ran through a few punches and kicks, his expression calm, movements fluid.
Master Chen watched silently for a moment.
Then, frowning slightly, he spoke:
"Little brother… something about the way you move—it doesn't seem quite right."
---
To be Continued...