Sheng Quan had no time to appreciate the smiles of the prop team.
Her attention was completely captivated by the Ten Great Immortal Palaces.
She had deliberately avoided checking the construction progress earlier, wanting to save the full visual spectacle for herself upon completion.
And Yu Xiangwan truly lived up to his reputation as the "miracle-working" production supervisor from the books—he had somehow managed to bring the Ten Great Immortal Palaces to life with 200% of the intended grandeur.
At the very least, the expensive CGI scenes from the xianxia dramas Sheng Quan had seen in her past life couldn't compare to the intricate, awe-inspiring reality now laid out before her.
The palaces themselves were secondary—what truly stood out were the large and small mechanical props like the coiling dragon pillars. *The Path of Cultivation* wasn’t set in a typical immortal realm but rather a cultivation world, filled not just with demonic and spiritual beasts but also all manner of magical artifacts.
As the screenwriter had put it: *The pursuit of convenience is human nature. With so many cultivators, some choose to endure harsh conditions, while others indulge in luxury. Some seek an emotionless Great Dao, while others embrace passion. The cultivation world is vast—no type of cultivator is truly unusual.*
Add to that the fact that cultivators often lived for centuries, with a deep historical legacy—how could there not be inventions and innovations? Especially when spirit stones were a renewable resource, blah blah blah.
This expansive worldbuilding made it clear just how ambitious the screenwriter was, clearly aiming to create an entire xianxia universe.
Coincidentally, Sheng Quan’s ambitions were just as grand.
And even more coincidentally, her wealth was more than enough to fuel every one of them.
The Ten Great Immortal Palaces represented the mightiest sects in the cultivation world, and naturally, they were equipped with the most numerous and advanced magical artifacts. Originally, these structures and tools were meant to be rendered with CGI—but now, they stood before everyone in breathtaking reality.
Yu Xiangwan, standing beside Sheng Quan, introduced each feature in his deep, soothing voice:
*"These moving puppet soldiers are embedded with the latest technology. For maximum visual impact, they’re uniformly three meters tall, programmed with patrol routes. When needed for a scene, they can be controlled from backstage."*
*"The dragon’s eyes have motion-tracking capabilities, functioning like surveillance cameras. If something moves within its line of sight, its head will slowly follow."*
*"The flying boat docked on that high platform has a wooden exterior, with long ‘leaves’ on either side that gently sway up and down. But for flight scenes, we’ll still need wires and effects."*
*"The disciple dormitories can double as crew accommodations during filming. The kitchen is over there."*
Xu Man, trailing behind them, was practically starry-eyed.
Filming a movie was never done in strict chronological order. While the Ten Great Immortal Palaces were still under construction, she had led the crew across the country, shooting at every scenic location they could find.
In fact, the exterior shoots weren’t even finished yet—she’d only returned now with the art and props teams to check on the completed sets and leave them to prepare the filming grounds. After this visit, she’d have to fly back to the remote mountains where shooting was still underway.
But now…
*"I don’t even want to leave. These buildings, this design—the final product is going to look incredible."*
Every time she saw another "artifact," Xu Man’s mind immediately conjured up how it would appear in a specific scene. No need for close-ups—just treating these marvels as mundane elements would make for an absolute visual feast for audiences.
The mere thought of it sent a thrill through her, lightening her entire body.
It was like craving instant noodles and immediately finding hot water ready—with a side of ham sausage to boot.
Sheng Quan understood Xu Man’s excitement.
She wasn’t a director, but she was a seasoned viewer.
In her past life, she’d visited film studios during her travels, but those were usually just faux ancient cities—walk through, take a few photos, done. But here, every few steps through the Ten Great Immortal Palaces revealed intricate details worth pausing to admire.
Even if *The Path of Cultivation* flopped, Sheng Quan could probably make a fortune just from ticket sales alone.
Clearly, Xu Man and Sheng Quan weren’t the only ones who saw the potential. The investors and their representatives, who had also squeezed in time to visit, couldn’t stop marveling:
*"Chairman Sheng, your team is full of talent! To achieve such spectacular results in such a short time—remarkable."*
*"Once filming wraps, you could turn this into anything and still turn a profit."*
*"Profit? More like a goldmine. Even *I* want to visit—once this place opens, it’ll be a money magnet."*
Now they regretted not pushing harder to invest in the construction. The result far exceeded anyone’s expectations.
One investor even suggested: *"When the film’s about to release, we should announce that the Ten Great Immortal Palaces are real sets. That’ll definitely generate hype and draw audiences in."*
Film productions usually kept both plot details and sets under tight wraps—actors signed NDAs, leaks were forbidden, and big-budget projects often locked down entire sets. *The Path of Cultivation* was no exception. The construction site had been fenced off from the start, and the contractors had signed confidentiality agreements. In a city like Mo Du, where skyscrapers sprouted like weeds, no one paid much attention to yet another construction zone.
But that had been the investors’ initial stance. Now, standing before these "immortal palaces" that felt more real than reality, they changed their minds.
*So what if the sets get leaked?* The xianxia genre was already niche—no one would bother copying it. And even if someone tried, replicating these massive, real-life palaces would be financially impossible.
With the genre’s current slump, *The Path of Cultivation* was already starting at a disadvantage. Leaking these stunningly authentic sets would do more good than harm.
The more they thought about it, the more excited they grew, turning hopeful eyes toward Sheng Quan.
But she didn’t commit. *"The promotion team has other plans for that,"* she said, shifting the topic. *"Xu Man, how much longer until you wrap exterior shoots and return here?"*
Xu Man wanted to say *"Right now!"*—but she was still grounded enough to answer regretfully, *"At least two more weeks."*
Exterior shoots were grueling, especially on location. It wasn’t something you could just rush through. The fact that even Xu Man, who rarely tanned, had darkened three shades was proof enough of how tough it had been.
*"Two weeks… that should be enough,"* Sheng Quan mused. *"Have the crew members who’ve finished their parts return first, along with the extras. Wasn’t there a massive ‘Ten Thousand Swords Return’ scene that needed training? Use these two weeks for that."*
Xu Man agreed. The "Ten Thousand Swords Return" was a true spectacle—they might not need ten thousand extras, but for the desired effect, five hundred was a must. Getting that many people to move in unison *and* look good doing it required serious rehearsal.
Luckily, each of the Ten Great Immortal Palaces had a grand plaza at its entrance—more than enough space for training.
Once Xu Man nodded, the plan was set into motion.
The extras had no objections to the training—after all, they were still getting paid for it. As for staying and eating with the crew and signing confidentiality agreements, that was nothing new; those in this line of work were already used to it.
But when they finished signing the agreements and arrived on set, all several hundred of them were stunned.
Most of these extras were experienced supporting actors and long-term crew members. The fact that the production team had gone all out to hire so many people for training alone was already impressive enough to earn gasps of admiration. But when they saw the Celestial Palace set, they realized what true extravagance looked like.
Although the main crew was reportedly still shooting exteriors off-site and hadn’t even begun setting up equipment yet, the sheer opulence on display was enough to get everyone excited.
Not only were they all being hired as long-term crew, meaning higher pay than usual, but they also saw a glimmer of hope for actual screen time.
The brand-new "sect robes" handed out to them—not reused "accessories and magical artifacts"—along with the two weeks of posture and combat training beforehand, made it clear that their faces would actually be visible on the big screen when the movie released.
And while supporting actors generally had it better than regular extras, they still didn’t earn much. Most couldn’t afford posture or martial arts classes, so this collective training with professional instructors was essentially free lessons for them.
Extras weren’t limited to just one role, either. If someone performed well and caught the director’s eye, they might be given additional parts. For example, at this very moment, Sheng Quan, leaning against the railing and observing the extras’ training below, spotted someone promising.
"That one at the very back, practicing sword forms—the one in Heartgaze Sect robes. Give him more fight scenes."
Yu Xiangwan, hearing this, picked up a telescope (the immortal sect’s grounds were so vast and elevated that distant training platforms could only be seen clearly with one) and quickly located the extra Sheng Quan had praised. The young man stood out distinctly among the crowd.
His swordplay alone was eye-catching, and since the extras were practicing in full sect attire—robes and wigs included—to ensure natural movements during filming, the young man genuinely looked the part of a cultivator disciple, and a formidable one at that.
Yu Xiangwan had an iron grip on the crew’s details and could even recall the extra’s name on the spot:
"His name is Yuan He. The fight choreographer mentioned him to me too, said he has exceptional talent in martial arts, works hard, and has excellent proportions. If you’re interested in him, should we try to sign him?"
Yuan He…
Sheng Quan hadn’t expected to randomly point out a character mentioned in the original novel.
Yuan He was indeed a martial arts prodigy. While his looks weren’t top-tier in the ruthlessly competitive entertainment industry, his slender frame was incredibly photogenic. Despite not appearing overly muscular, his fight scenes radiated explosive intensity.
However, in the book, he’d been in his mid-twenties when introduced. Here, he looked no older than eighteen.
The novel had only mentioned that Yuan He retired at thirty due to chronic injuries from his stunt work in his youth. Could this be that very "youth"?
Since he was a familiar face, Sheng Quan nodded.
"See if he’s willing to sign with the company. Even if he doesn’t, give him a role with plenty of fight scenes. And have the choreographer teach them how to minimize impact and protect their bodies during stunts."
By now, Sheng Quan was unfazed by encountering "book characters." After all, *Starlight* was an epic ensemble novel with a sprawling cast. Just during the *Cultivators* auditions, she’d run into several near the end.
She’d also reviewed the actor list. Even excluding those who hadn’t joined yet, five of the performers brought in by Xu Man had appeared in the novel. So it wasn’t surprising for a supporting extra like Yuan He to show up too.
Her focus now was elsewhere: "Is *Laugh Squad* all set?"
Her assistant, Dong, quickly responded, "Yes, Chairwoman Sheng. The company has negotiated with them. They’ve agreed to collaborate, and we’re now finalizing details."
"Good." Sheng Quan leaned on the railing, watching the extras in their sect robes practice sword forms in unison on the massive training platform paved with "jade." "Place the pre-designed mazes at every entrance. Now we just wait for the guests."
****
*Laugh Squad Friends* was a moderately popular variety show that filmed and aired simultaneously. The guests had to complete various challenges set by the production team, and thanks to its fresh, interactive format and the cast’s willingness to go all out, it had gained traction after airing, even boosting the guests’ fame.
Ou Zheng was one of those who’d ridden the show’s wave.
This episode’s challenge was a big one: the crew had hidden "treasures" all over Shanghai, and the guests had to find them using clue hints. They could also livestream to ask viewers for help.
However, these "treasures" weren’t exclusive to the guests—audience members could hunt for them too. If a viewer found one first, the guests would have to figure out how to retrieve it from them.
A city-wide scavenger hunt, livestreamed and interactive? Though the task seemed daunting, Ou Zheng’s worried expression was mostly for show.
Success wasn’t critical in this kind of lighthearted variety show—unlike the cutthroat competition shows next door. As long as the laughs kept coming and viewers enjoyed his screen time, that was victory enough.
Ou Zheng knew exactly how to play up audience engagement. After briefly explaining the rules on stream, he set off across the city with his cameraman in tow.
As he ran, he "complained" to viewers:
"What was the production team thinking? The whole city of Shanghai! And these clues? ‘A road shaped like a butterfly’s eye’—what kind of description is that? There are so many roads here; how am I supposed to find the ‘butterfly road’?"
"And you guys—the ones giving fake addresses—just you wait! Other guests’ viewers might’ve already solved it, but mine are all just laughing at me. Quit it! If I lose, you’re all going down with me."
The chat exploded with "HAHAHAHAHA." Between the banter and puzzle-solving, Ou Zheng’s humor kept viewers hooked, and as time passed, more and more tuned in, eager to see if he’d uncover the "treasure."
After getting a tip from the audience, Ou Zheng pulled up a map and headed to three butterfly-shaped landmarks by taxi.
The first stop was a dog park. After an enthusiastic greeting from the pups, he had to concede: no treasure here.
At the second location, Ou Zheng followed the trail until he spotted a heavily cordoned-off area.
"Since when was this under construction? It wasn’t like this last time I came."
Viewers from all over chimed in with theories.
【Surrounded so tightly, explore it!】
【This place looks familiar. Last time I was here, it was under construction.】
【There’s nothing around except some buildings. This landmark must be wrong.】
【Ou Zheng, don’t chicken out! Explore it!】
【Explore it!!!】
Because of Ou Zheng’s habit of "investigating even a single leaf," most of the live-stream audience egged him on to explore.
Ou Zheng naturally agreed without hesitation:
“Alright! Then let’s take a look!!”
As he moved closer, some viewers immediately started teasing him.
【Such a huge area fenced off with barbed wire—maybe it’s a military zone.】
【Spread the word: Ou Zheng’s about to get arrested.】
【HAHAHAHA don’t scare Ou Zheng, he’s already nervous!】
Ou Zheng did hesitate, but only because he wasn’t sure if this counted as trespassing. Seeing that the accompanying cameraman didn’t object, he cleared his throat and put on a brave face:
“Who’s scared? I, Ou Zheng, fear nothing! I’m just checking if this barbed wire is electrified. Hold on, let me circle around and see if there’s an entrance.”
After searching for a while, he actually found an opening and slipped inside. The deeper he went, the weirder it felt: “Why does this thing feel like a maze?”
【Confidence boost—it *is* a maze.】
【Looks like Ou Zheng’s luck is holding up. He found the right spot.】
【This has to be set up by the production team. Who else would build a maze in the middle of nowhere?】
【Go for it, Ou Zheng!】
At this point, the audience was still enthusiastically cheering him on, curious about what challenge the crew had prepared.
When Ou Zheng realized the cameraman had fallen behind, they didn’t seem concerned.
【No worries, just push forward!】
【Yeah, we’ve got the recording.】
【Ou Zheng: Today, I’m the cameraman.】
Encouraged by them, Ou Zheng kept walking, muttering to himself: “This maze is way too big. I’ve been walking forever and still can’t find the exit. What if I’m stuck here?”
“If I really get lost, remember to call the cops for me.”
“Did the production team blow their entire budget on this? A maze this huge just to trap me—they must be loaded.”
The audience was starting to get bored too.
【Why hasn’t he gotten out yet?】
【Checked the time—fifteen minutes already.】
【The crew really went all out this time.】
【Is Ou Zheng actually stuck?】
【Exit!!! I see the exit!!!】
The viewers weren’t the only ones excited—Ou Zheng bolted toward it, phone in hand.
But when he burst through, he froze.
Before him stood an enormous, layered celestial palace, guarded by towering three-meter-tall armored giants wielding weapons as they patrolled.
The live-stream viewers were even more stunned than he was.
“What the—what *is* this?!!”
