Chapter 35: Nazha: Do You Believe in Past Lives?

“Brother?” Zhang Yang repeated Nazha’s earlier address, a hint of teasing flickering in his eyes. “Nazha, did you stay up all night studying the script last night? Are you still half-asleep?”

Half-asleep? Not quite, she thought—she distinctly remembered checking her cat-eye watch before opening the door and even securing the chain lock. Yet, there was an overwhelming sense that she had experienced so much.

A look of bewilderment clouded Nazha’s face.

Right, she realized with a jolt, I’m Guli Nazha now, not Zhao Jingniang.

Daydreams often foretell nocturnal visions; surely, her intense focus on the script just before bedtime must have led to such a vivid dream. But how could a mere fantasy feel this real? The scenes, storylines, dialogues—all perfectly matched Zhang Yang’s written script.

It must have been…just a dream, she concluded.

“I suppose I was indeed half-asleep,” Nazha said with an awkward chuckle. “Um… Brother—Zhang Yang, do you need something from me?”

“Need something? More like you were truly out of it.” Zhang Yang activated his phone and held it up for Nazha to see. “Take a look at what time it is right now.”

“8:17!” Nazha’s pupils contracted as clarity washed over her.

Today marked her first scheduled shoot. She was supposed to join Lin Feng’s team at a nearby Daoist temple for filming, set to depart at 8:30 sharp. Time was already running short.

“Oh no! Give me a moment, Zhang Yang,” she exclaimed, suddenly alert. “I’ll be ready right away.”

Nazha touched her nightgown briefly before letting out a startled cry. She hastily turned and retreated into her room without even closing the door behind her.

She now felt an inexplicable trust towards Zhang Yang, leaving no guard up within herself against him.

Leaning against the doorway, Zhang Yang watched as Nazha stood by the sofa, fretting over a pile of clothes. Crossing his arms, he said, “You don’t need to dress meticulously for your performance later. The simpler you can manage, the better.”

Upon hearing this, Nazha immediately had an idea. She picked up a long yellow floral skirt with scattered blooms and laid it on the bed, then prepared to change back into her sleepwear.

Zhang Yang was left speechless—Should I stay or should I go?

Just before divine light could descend upon them, Zhang Yang reached out and gently closed the door.

He knew he wasn’t cut from the cloth of virtuous gentlemen, but neither did he consider himself a sleazy peeper who would indulge in voyeurism. If he wanted to admire Nazha’s figure, he’d have to rely on his own charm; otherwise, what good would his rebirth and newfound abilities be?

“Ah!”

As Nazha was about to slip back into her nightgown, she suddenly realized that Zhang Yang still lingered at the door, watching her intently. Instinctively halting her movements, she turned around.

Seeing the door already shut, she let out a relieved sigh and murmured, “How could I doubt my brother? He escorted me thousands of miles, never once crossing any boundaries… Oh wait.”

Nazha felt like she must be losing her mind.

She had heard tales of method actors becoming too immersed in their roles, unable to separate fiction from reality—and sometimes falling for co-stars as a result. But how could she find herself so deeply entrenched in character when she hadn’t even officially started performing yet?

Could it be…she possessed innate talent after all?

Taking a deep breath to steady her emotions, she dismissed her wild thoughts. She changed out of her sleep pants into more practical attire, then slipped on her skirt, leaving only her graceful swan-like neck exposed to the air.

She dashed into the bathroom, completing her morning routine in five minutes flat. Grabbing her phone, room key card, and several pages of script, she stepped out with purpose.

“Brother Zhang, let’s go,” Nazha said, her bare face exuding a refreshing innocence that seemed untouched by worldly concerns.

Zhang Yang remained silent, leading her down the elevator to the hotel lobby where they met up with Lin Feng and the rest of the crew.

“Everyone’s here. Shall we set off?”

The production team had chartered a bus for their excursion, allowing the small group to travel together towards the nearby Daoist temple.

In the vehicle, Zhang Yang sat next to Nazha. Though neither spoke, both were engrossed in reading through the scripts—yet anyone who cared to observe them closely would notice their lack of concentration.

Nazha was still grappling with last night’s dream; its details began fading away while the emotions it evoked grew clearer.

Meanwhile, Zhang Yang was poring over the Opportunity Handbook in his mind. The benefits gained from entering dreams had whetted his appetite—he couldn’t wait to accumulate more character points and opportunity points.

[Guide: (Locked/1 Character Point)]

Time: March 19th, 7:01 AM

Location: Lao Hengdian Steamed Bun Shop

[Guide: (Locked/1 Character Point)]

“The first three aren’t worth considering; there simply isn’t enough time.”

“The fourth opportunity is nearby. I’ll check it out early tomorrow morning.”

Over these past few days, Zhang Yang had been closely monitoring the opportunities listed in his chance manual for any updates.

Some were too far away to reach within the allotted time, while others seemed impractical just based on their location descriptions. With only nine character points remaining, he couldn’t possibly pursue every opportunity—he needed to be selective.

“However, lacking an opportunity point doesn’t mean I can’t seize an opportunity at all.”

“Using an opportunity point merely provides me with guidance on how to capitalize on chances. But that doesn’t imply I can’t achieve success through my own abilities alone.”

“I do wonder though—if I manage to grasp an opportunity by relying solely on myself, will I still earn an opportunity point?”

“After all,” he mused, “opportunity points allow entry into dream realms as various characters, granting random inheritance of those characters’ skills.”

Perhaps someday, he thought optimistically, I might even acquire immortal cultivation techniques or advanced black technology manufacturing methods?

Zhang Yang vividly recalled that when inheriting a character’s abilities, they would adapt according to the rules of each world—a fact that fueled his imagination despite its speculative nature.

“Brother Yang.” Nazha suddenly tugged at Zhang Yang’s clothes.

“Hm?” Zhang Yang snapped back to reality, a smile gracing his face.

“Believe in reincarnation?” Nazha asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“I do,” Zhang Yang replied without hesitation.

“Really?” Nazha’s gaze brightened instantly.

“Of course.” Zhang Yang answered solemnly. “I believe my previous life was as Emperor Qin Shi Huang.”

“If you were indeed Emperor Qin Shi Huang,” he continued jestingly, “then I’d be willing to fund your endeavors!”

Nazha fell silent for a moment before rolling her beautiful eyes. If only you had claimed to be Emperor Taizu of Song, she thought wryly. Then I might have considered it.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” she muttered, though there was no real malice in her tone.

As they arrived at their destination—an hour-long bus ride later—the vehicle pulled into a parking lot. The crew members disembarked one by one, setting up camera positions around the Daoist temple under Lin Feng’s meticulous direction.

Before filming began officially, Zhang Yang approached him. “Brother Lin,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow’s scenes—both the circus act and the fight sequence. Do you mind if I share some new ideas?”

Lin Feng had risen through the ranks from martial arts instructor to stunt double, eventually becoming a renowned action director known for his solid foundation and innovative vision. He was always open to hearing actors’ suggestions—as long as they proved useful. His willingness to listen earned him respect within the industry; even top stars like Zhang Yang felt comfortable approaching him with creative input.

” weren’t those moves we designed a few days ago good enough?” Lin Feng asked, puzzled.

He had grown to admire Zhang Yang greatly. Not only did the young man possess the looks of a top-tier heartthrob, but he was also a skilled martial artist—a natural fit for action films. Among all the youngsters Lin Feng knew, only Liu Yifei, whom he’d worked with on Heroes of Mount Shu, could match Zhang Yang in both beauty and her ability to endure the rigors of stunt-heavy roles. She too could be considered a qualified “blade maiden” actress.

Speaking of which, Liu Yifei seemed to be filming recently with the neighboring set of Four Great Detectives…

“In my research,” Zhang Yang explained to Lin Feng, “I stumbled upon something interesting about Zhao Kuangyin. He was renowned for his mastery of both fist and staff techniques. While many know of his Imperial Ancestor Long Fist, his most formidable skill was actually the Imperial Ancestor Dragon Coiled Staff. I thought it might be worth designing a sequence around that—using staff combat instead.”

In truth, Zhang Yang had long been aware that Zhao Kuangyin excelled at both boxing and staff fighting. However, due to his own average proficiency with staff maneuvers, he had previously opted to design sequences focusing on swordsmanship and spearplay, prioritizing style over substance.

For a typical melodramatic historical series, such an approach would have sufficed; after all, what mattered most was looking impressive on screen. But this situation was different now—he was portraying Emperor Taizu himself.

The Dragon Coiled Staff technique wasn’t just effective; it was equally elegant and commanding—a perfect choice for depicting imperial majesty.

“Staff combat,” Lin Feng murmured contemplatively. “Can you pull it off convincingly?”

His lack of outright rejection meant there was still room for negotiation.

Zhang Yang smiled warmly. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”