Chapter 8: Death Is Far Too Costly

After lunch, Chu Tianfeng didn’t rest at noon. He wished he could devote all twenty-four hours of the day to cultivation.

He used his phone to search the internet for information on spiritual herbs and fruits. Chu Tianfeng discovered that Earth was surprisingly rich in such resources, almost encompassing all the herbs necessary for the early stages of cultivation—though their names differed from those on Blue Moon Star.

For example, all the herbs required to refine Foundation-Nurturing Pills, which were crucial for breakthroughs at the Qi Refinement stage, existed on Earth in abundance. As for the herbs needed for advanced stages, it was unclear whether they truly didn’t exist on Earth or if the limitations of Earth’s medical knowledge meant they simply hadn’t been recorded.

Moreover, he found these spiritual herbs and fruits to be remarkably cheap.

Take the Foundation-Nurturing Pill, for instance. On Blue Moon Star, a single ordinary pill would sell for over ten low-grade spirit stones.

Spirit stones, the universal currency in the cultivation world of Blue Moon Star, could be used both for trade and for cultivation, given their rich concentration of pure spiritual energy. There were four ranks of spirit stones: low, medium, high, and supreme. A single supreme-grade stone could be exchanged for ten high-grade stones; each high-grade stone could be traded for ten medium-grade stones, and each medium-grade for ten low-grade stones.

Spirit stones could also be used in the mortal market—a low-grade stone could be exchanged for two taels of silver, a medium-grade for one tael of gold. Roughly calculated, a Foundation-Nurturing Pill was worth at least a tael of gold! At current market value in China, that was about fifteen thousand yuan.

With ten pills per batch, one batch of Foundation-Nurturing Pills on Blue Moon Star would be worth about one hundred and fifty thousand yuan.

Yet, when Chu Tianfeng tallied up the cost of all the herbs needed for a batch on Earth, it came to just over four thousand!

Of course, these herbs were all dried and had been picked long ago, so their medicinal potency was significantly diminished—perhaps only half remained. Still, they should be worth at least thirty to forty thousand yuan.

But for Chu Tianfeng, this was good news. He was utterly broke—this month’s wages would barely reach a little over four thousand, just enough for one batch of pills.

He still needed to eat, and he also rented a place in Shudian, with monthly rent and utilities to pay. On top of that, in just over a month, school would start again and he’d have to pay a hefty tuition fee of sixteen thousand yuan!

Thinking of all this, a headache crept in.

If things became desperate, he’d have to seek out Deputy Director Liu Zhijian of “Bloodstained Spring and Autumn”—that man still owed him over eleven thousand. Any shortfall, he’d have to borrow from someone else.

But unless it was absolutely necessary, he truly hated the idea of borrowing money.

After dinner, Chu Tianfeng still hurried to the lakeside to film.

Tonight’s scenes were both action sequences, and there were two of them.

Naturally, Quan Hengchang and Han Xinwen were present as well. Xiang Yanping was absent, likely still recovering from his injuries in the work shed.

The three of them were once again playing the role of Cao’s soldiers—doomed ones, at that.

The first scene: death by fire.

Their boat was struck by countless flaming arrows, igniting a raging blaze. The three of them, dressed in thick protective suits, were soaked with sweat even before filming began, thanks to the summer heat.

Chu Tianfeng and Han Xinwen died on the boat, while Quan Hengchang leapt into the lake for his demise.

As soon as Director Yang shouted “Action,” the three were set ablaze.

Quan Hengchang deliberately let out ear-piercing screams, then staggered to the bow and plunged headfirst into the lake.

Chu Tianfeng and Han Xinwen collapsed on the burning deck, unmoving for several seconds as the camera zoomed in. Only when Director Yang called “Cut” did the crew rush in with extinguishers to put out the flames.

After a bit of cleanup, the three gathered again at the lakeside.

“Damn it, that was a lousy way to die,” Han Xinwen complained loudly as he plopped down on the grass.

“What happened?” Quan Hengchang asked.

Chu Tianfeng sat cross-legged out of habit, his gaze also falling on Han Xinwen.

“My eyebrows are half gone—burned off. So irritating.” Han Xinwen shoved his face close to Quan Hengchang.

The night was pitch-black, but Han Xinwen’s face was even darker—like it had been painted over with tar.

“Yeah, looks like they’re burnt,” Quan Hengchang examined him closely. “Don’t worry, just draw them back on.”

Han Xinwen rubbed his forehead. “Well, at least I got to act alongside Wu Bai. Losing two eyebrows was worth it.”

Quan Hengchang was speechless. He clapped Han Xinwen’s shoulder. “Your idol was on another boat. He didn’t even notice you; even if you’d burned to death, he probably wouldn’t know.”

Chu Tianfeng smiled. Just before he’d caught fire, he’d indeed seen Wu Bai on the neighboring boat. Wu Bai had just finished his scene and calmly smoked a cigarette, watching as Chu Tianfeng and Han Xinwen set themselves alight, an amused expression on his face.

An hour later, they shot the second scene.

This time, they died from a rain of arrows.

At Director Yang’s cue, the three mingled with thousands of other Cao soldiers, charging forward.

One after another, they let out tragic cries and fell. As they hit the ground, they stuck flaming arrows into their own backs.

They lay close together, making it easier to look out for one another.

“This hundred yuan was so easily earned, I almost feel guilty,” Quan Hengchang joked.

Chu Tianfeng was at a loss for words.

“We get paid tomorrow,” Han Xinwen said, rubbing his missing eyebrow. “If you really feel guilty, just give me your share.”

After wrapping up, Quan and Han returned to the work shed to sleep, while Chu Tianfeng, claiming he couldn’t endure his coworkers’ snoring, insisted on resting by the lake. In reality, he cultivated through the night, only dozing off on the grass for an hour or two at dawn.

The next morning, Chu Tianfeng met up with Xiang Yanping, Xu Yan, and Jiang Ziyue. Together, they cheerfully ran to the finance department.

To his surprise, Chu Tianfeng received over five thousand yuan—about a thousand more than he’d expected.

He realized this was probably a ripple effect from his last impressive display of bravado.

Afterward, as they left the finance office, they ran into Zhang Qiang and Yan Bin.

The group quickly greeted them.

“Little Chu, I was just looking for you,” Zhang Qiang called out.

Ever since Hua Wu had introduced him to Zhang Qiang, the man had been exceptionally—almost overwhelmingly—enthusiastic towards Chu Tianfeng.

A bit uneasy, Chu Tianfeng replied, “Oh?” The extra thousand still made him nervous—was Zhang Qiang going to take it back?

“Director Yang has seen you perform several times and thinks you’re quite skilled. He wanted to know if you’ve trained in martial arts,” Zhang Qiang said, pulling him aside.

“I’m alright,” Chu Tianfeng exhaled, relieved that money wasn’t the issue.

“That’s good. By the way, do you know how to ride a horse?” Zhang Qiang asked.

Chu Tianfeng hesitated, then answered, “A little.”

He was referring to his past life on Blue Moon Star, not his current life on Earth. The horses there were similar to those on Earth, but in his previous life he had mostly ridden spiritual beasts. He had only ridden horses a few times during his Qi Refinement days; after forming his foundation, he could fly on a sword and didn’t bother with horses or even spirit beasts.

His present self could drive a car but had never ridden a horse.

“Here’s the thing. We have a stunt double who’s suddenly unavailable. I talked with Director Yang, and we’d like you to fill in. If you’re willing, we’ll sign a new contract,” Zhang Qiang said, stroking his chin.

“Of course, I’d love to,” Chu Tianfeng thought to himself. Hua Wu’s introduction had really made a difference.

Xiang Yanping and the others looked at Chu Tianfeng with envy and genuine happiness for him.

Zhang Qiang patted him on the shoulder. “Go find Props Manager Li when you have time—I’ll let him know. For the next few days, skip the regular scenes and focus on practicing horseback riding.”

“Thank you, Director Zhang.” Chu Tianfeng was quite pleased. After all, a stuntman wasn’t just another extra—the pay should be much better.

“You’re welcome.” Zhang Qiang headed off to the canteen and then to the finance department.

Yan Bin also clapped Chu Tianfeng’s shoulder. “Opportunities are for those who are prepared. Make the most of this.”

“Thank you, I will,” Chu Tianfeng nodded firmly.

After Yan Bin left, Xiang Yanping and the others dragged Chu Tianfeng outside the production team’s temporary office.

“Time to treat us, don’t you think?” Jiang Ziyue exclaimed excitedly.

Xiang Yanping nodded in agreement.

Chu Tianfeng could only be honest. “Money’s tight for me right now. How about I treat everyone after I track down Director Liu and get my money back?”

He hadn’t expected that, after once being wealthy beyond measure, he’d find himself in such a predicament.

“Forget it, Chu Tianfeng really doesn’t have much money,” Xu Yan said softly, her kindness always apparent.

“Fine, we’ll listen to Xu Yan,” Xiang Yanping conceded. “I heard the crew has returned to Tianhai. Last time they came to Shudian for reshoots, but you guys missed them.”

He always followed Xu Yan’s wishes without question.

“Oh? Do you know exactly where in Tianhai they are?” Chu Tianfeng asked. Eleven thousand yuan was worth dying a hundred more times for—he couldn’t give up easily!

“No idea,” Xiang Yanping shook his head, “but they do frequent reshoots in Shudian. You could try waiting for him there.”

He wasn’t keen on the idea, but there was no better option.

“Good. I’ll head to Shudian when I can—I must get that money back,” Chu Tianfeng was overjoyed.

If he could recover that eleven thousand, two-thirds of his tuition would be covered. The remaining third, he believed, could be made up with this month’s performance fees, and he wouldn’t have to borrow money.

“By the way, I heard being a stuntman is very dangerous. I forgot to ask Director Zhang earlier—what exactly will you be doing?” Xu Yan suddenly asked.

She was more thoughtful than the others—always considering more, and further ahead. As a sophomore majoring in performance, with over a year of acting experience, she knew well the risks of stunt work.

“That’s right, I’ve heard many stuntmen are martial artists who can perform high-difficulty moves,” Xiang Yanping added.

“It doesn’t matter. If others can do it, so can I,” Chu Tianfeng replied. After two nights of cultivation, he had already accumulated a fair amount of true energy and felt much more confident.

“Don’t kid yourself—those stuntmen have trained for years. What makes you think you can match them?” Jiang Ziyue immediately retorted.

“I agree with Ziyue. Chu Tianfeng, you should ask for details. If it’s dangerous, I’d advise you to pass on the money,” Xiang Yanping said calmly.

Xu Yan raised her right hand in support. “I agree.”