Shang Jingyan only needed one hour to finalize the script outline. Next came the most crucial step—filming.
If this were her previous world, she would never have been so bold. With only twenty days to find actors, rent locations, and sign contracts… that would’ve been a complete fantasy.
But in the interstellar virtual Net, none of this was an issue.
For instance, when it came to casting, entertainment companies in the interstellar age offered a “likeness rental” service. With limited funds, Shang Jingyan could only afford to rent the likeness of a minor, obscure local star, leaving her with just 4 Star-Coins from her original 54.
Scenes, lighting, and other effects could all be simulated in the virtual Net—and all of this was powered by spiritual force.
Since logging in, Shang Jingyan had encountered this term countless times. The fragments of memory she inherited from the original owner were incomplete, and nowhere did they include any information about spiritual force. It was as if it had vanished along with the original consciousness.
So, what was her own spiritual force level?
If she wanted to become a Dreamweaver, this was a question she couldn’t avoid.
She found a manual titled “Youth Spiritual Force Awakening Measurement Guide,” switched her wrist terminal to spiritual force visualization mode, and followed the steps to close her eyes.
She imagined a room in her mind.
The size and detail of the “spiritual force landscape” reflected one’s spiritual power. The most commonly used setting was a house—because for most people, a home was the safest, most grounding place.
The room in Shang Jingyan’s mind expanded and filled rapidly—first a bed, then tables, chairs, carpets… this was her home from her past life, every inch designed by her own hands.
The reading on her wrist terminal quickly surpassed 80 points.
Once the bedroom was complete, she still felt it wasn’t enough. Her perspective zoomed out, expanding the house into a full villa.
The score reached 90.
She pushed open the front door, and beyond lay a courtyard, fences, horses, and forests—her old estate.
Beyond the manor stretched more: countryside, cityscapes…
She didn’t notice when the numbers exceeded 100, then turned to A+, then climbed: S, S+…
Immersed in a strange euphoria, she felt like a god—until a piercing red light flashed before her eyes, and her terminal forcibly logged her out.
A wave of pain tore through her head, accompanied by weakness and hunger. She jolted upright, clutching her aching skull, and saw the terminal black-screened with a glaring red error symbol.
“…?”
Did she just break it? This thing looked expensive!
Panicking, she fiddled with it until it rebooted successfully. She didn’t dare test it again and rubbed her brows. “Forget it. Let’s just start filming. Whatever comes out, comes out…”
Two days later, Central System, Main Star.
“Another sleepless night, huh…”
A young woman lay on her bed, scrolling through a site listlessly. Dark shadows pooled beneath her eyes—she looked exhausted but felt no sleepiness.
Her name was Ao Qingxue, a small-time streamer on the StarNet, known online as “Azure Snow.” Her channel focused on gaming and digging up obscure, hidden gems.
“Let’s see if we can find something interesting to watch,” Ao Qingxue muttered to her livestream, her voice weak. The chat was sparse—she wasn’t very popular, and it was the middle of the night on the Main Star, so viewers were scarce.
The Changqing Net’s “Married First, Love Later” event wasn’t very popular either. Too many works flooded the Net every day. While Changqing was the largest entertainment platform in the Elfa System, Elfa was a remote “exile system.” With all that combined, there was little buzz.
Only niche streamers like her, who focused on obscure works, paid attention here.
The event was already more than halfway through, and voting patterns were set. Few new entries appeared.
[Can’t sleep either. My Spiritual Void Syndrome’s acting up. Need something boring to knock me out.]
[The previous entries were garbage. I laughed more than I swooned.]
The chat was blunt—most viewers were just killing time.
Insomnia was a common symptom of Spiritual Void Syndrome. Most interstellar citizens were familiar with it; they watched Dreamweavers’ works as a form of therapy to keep it under control.
Ao Qingxue rubbed her temples, her mind foggy. Her condition had worsened to level two—she hadn’t slept in three days.
“Which one should we watch today…”
As she scrolled, a thumbnail caught both her and her viewers’ attention.
[Wait, what’s that?]
[Never seen that before—must be new.]
[Weird cover art!]
[Who submits this late into the contest?]
Among the warm, pastel-colored romance covers, this one stood out—a dark-hued thumbnail featuring a deep violet tentacle with suckers, half-shrouded in mist.
[Cool colors? Can that even make a romance?]
[No romantic vibe at all. I bet it’s a clueless rookie…]
Ao Qingxue stared at it, goosebumps rising. Neither she nor her viewers had seen this style before. Curiosity sparked.
The short film was titled “Married to the Eldritch God.” Only Part One was out—thirty minutes long.
[Eldritch God? Ugh, another myth theme? Overdone!]
[Read the description! …What the—such a lazy bio?]
Below the thumbnail was a single line:
“After a year of dating, the male lead and his beautiful girlfriend survive a car crash that deepens their bond. They decide to marry. For their honeymoon, they travel to a gothic castle…”
Dreamweaver ID: Jingyan Suoyouren (Gender: Female; Years Active: 0; Past Works: None)
Most absurdly, the Dreamweaver seemed broke—only the leads’ faces were rented. Everything else used default starter models.
The chat exploded:
[Cliché opening. Boring already!]
[OMG, default models?! That’s bottom-of-the-barrel quality. Is this a joke?]
[Gothic castle? What even is that?]
[I looked it up—some lost architecture style. Is the creator going to fake it?]
[Streamer, let’s watch it!]
[I’m ready to die laughing, hahaha.]
Ao Qingxue perked up. For a streamer, nothing beat “so-bad-it’s-good” content. If it was hilarious, maybe tomorrow she’d trend for once.
She clicked play. The screen opened on pure darkness, with a blood-red title slowly emerging. The words “Eldritch God” splattered like wet blood.
Ao Qingxue frowned. Something about it unsettled her.
The title faded. Noise bled in—screeching tires, screams, dirty flashing lights—then a car crash. Likely the dream or memory from the synopsis.
Suddenly, the screen went black.
“Huh? Did it freeze?” She leaned forward to scrub the timeline—when a face lunged out of the darkness.
“Ah!!” She screamed, heart pounding, nearly flinging her terminal.
At the center of the screen was a beautiful woman’s face.
Her pupils were pitch black. Wet curls clung to her pale skin. A white nightgown dripped down her shoulders, her long hair damp like a flower kissed by dew.
Yet her gaze—straight, unblinking—sent a chill crawling up the spine.
The chat exploded:
[WTF?! What kind of shot was that?! Nearly gave me a heart attack!]
[I just threw my cup across the room! Is this supposed to scare us?!]
[This Dreamweaver might actually be interesting…]
[Wait—did you see that? They used antique filming lenses from the last star era. That’s why her face warps when it gets close! Aaaah!]
On screen, the woman tilted her head, inching closer, her beauty distorting as she whispered softly:
“Darling… another nightmare?”
Ooohhh this is noicceeeee
Thnx ya for the chappiieeee~