Chapter 2 | Screenwriter of a Reviving World

Song Mo's cheat was so simple it felt like someone had activated an idiot-proof mode for her.

It only had two functions: one was earning 【Screenwriter Points】 through writing, and the other was exchanging those 【Screenwriter Points】 for lifespan.

The more detailed the script she wrote and the closer it was to reality, the more likely it was to become real—and even manifest in the physical world.

Meanwhile, the corpse—which the cheat referred to as a 【Low-grade material】—had now turned into a brief, ink-wash style line of text floating in midair.

【Low-grade material: Wang Dazhi's Corpse (Click to view details)】

Everything in the room that belonged to Wang Dazhi had been erased by a mysterious force—blood, clothes, hair... even the stench of decay.

Her first major problem was solved, but her shrinking lifespan still hung over her head like a sword of Damocles.

Song Mo stuffed that half-piece of skull back in, secured it with a bit of tape, and scratched her head helplessly.

She stared blankly at the long line of ink-wash characters in the air:

“A script, a script... What kind of exciting script do you even want? Mystery, thriller, romance, fantasy, or social satire, hot-blooded sports—?”

“Just tell me what you want to see, damn it!”

She had never encountered such a difficult client.

It was like someone giving her a hammer and a sheet of iron, and then telling her:

Alright, your goal is to build an aircraft carrier. You have the tools, you have the materials, now go.

But they didn't specify the type of aircraft carrier, nor the model, and certainly not what font size, typeface, or weight the labeling on the hull should be.

...

【Material: None】

【Draft 1: ...Song Mo can achieve immortality and never die.】

【Requires 100,000,000 Screenwriter Points. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 2: ...The resurrected Song Mo finds that her wounds have healed, and she can replenish her energy simply by basking in the sun.】

【Requires 1,000,000 Screenwriter Points. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 3: ...The resurrected Song Mo returns to her original world.】

【No response to this request. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 4: ...The Song Mo of this world has come back to life.】

【No response to this request. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 5: (Input Low-grade material: Wang Dazhi's Corpse) ...Wang Dazhi's corpse disappears, and all biological traces he left in the rental apartment are cleared by an unknown force. The police will not find Song Mo, nor will they suspect her of murder.】

【Requires 100 Screenwriter Points. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 6: From a physiological, physical, and supernatural standpoint, Song Mo truly comes back to life, and the wound on her head heals.】

【Requires 5,000,000 Screenwriter Points. Script materialization failed.】

【Draft 7: (Input Low-grade material: Missing piece of skull) ...With the help of an unknown force, Song Mo comes back to life, picks up her missing piece of skull, puts it back, and the skull heals...】

【Requires 10 Screenwriter Points. Script materialization failed.】

...

After trying dozens of times, Song Mo finally figured out a pattern:

The more detailed and logical the script's description was, the fewer Screenwriter Points it would cost, and the more likely it was to become reality.

But right now, she didn't even have enough points to fix her skull.

—Wang Dazhi was a living person. If his family reported him missing, it would only be a matter of time before the police traced it back to her.

Therefore, Song Mo's immediate priority was to recycle this waste and use the corpse to write a good script that could earn her some Screenwriter Points.

“What should I write?”

Song Mo pondered for a long while. Suddenly, a short story from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio popped into her head, and inspiration instantly surged.

【Draft 65: (Input Low-grade material: Wang Dazhi's Corpse)

...Wang Dazhi's corpse appears by the side of a national highway several kilometers away and begins to move on its own... It lives its life normally, just as it did when it was alive... Until night falls, and his family finally notices something is wrong, unleashing a series of terrifying events...】

Song Mo's thoughts raced. As the ink-wash characters rapidly materialized, she constantly filled in various details.

This short script was like a skeleton gradually taking shape, slowly growing flesh and blood until it became full and complete.

【Script 1: (Consume Low-grade material: Wang Dazhi's Corpse), requires 0 Screenwriter Points. Do you wish to materialize this script and name it?】

【Prompt: Once the script is successfully materialized, Screenwriter Points will be awarded based on the script's quality and its real-world impact.】

“I knew it!”

Song Mo snapped her fingers in delight. Ignoring the chilly breeze blowing through the back of her head, she added a few more details before solemnly confirming her choice:

【0 Screenwriter Points consumed. Script materialized successfully. Named: —《The Corpse Awakes》】

【Generating script performance. Please watch patiently and await the evaluation results.】

...

In the sweltering midsummer heat, waves of 39-degree Celsius heat beat down on Jiangcheng. The asphalt road emitted a burnt smell. Along the national highway, he walked forward, seemingly aimless, but actually heading straight in the direction of home.

The sunlight fell on "Wang Dazhi's" face. His complexion looked only slightly paler than when he was alive, his eyes vacant, and his body slightly stiff.

Honk—

“Are you in a rush to reincarnate or jump into a river?! Standing there dazed on the side of the highway! You old bastard!”

A passing truck driver honked his horn. Catching sight of the large bloodstain on Wang Dazhi's undershirt, his eyelids twitched, and he hastily dialed the police.

It made no response, only raising its head blankly. Within its empty skull, there was only a single, vague thought:

Go home.

Shortly after nine in the morning, the traffic on the highway grew denser. "Wang Dazhi" had been standing by the roadside for half an hour without moving a muscle, drawing side-eyes from many drivers and passersby:

“That guy looks like he has some mental issues. He's been standing there forever without moving. He didn't even answer when the police questioned him. Did he escape from some asylum?”

“Looks like it. His eyes are so vacant. Stay away, don't get involved.”

The two police officers who arrived after receiving the call patiently tried to talk to him:

“Sir, can you hear me? Does anything hurt? Do you remember how you got here?”

"Wang Dazhi" did not speak, his lips remaining tightly sealed.

One of the officers gently patted his shoulder. In the sweltering ninety-degree heat, a sudden shiver ran down the officer's spine.

The body temperature was low—not like a normal person's at all. The skin felt slick and greasy, like a slab of pork belly freshly taken out of the freezer to thaw.

The officers didn't think much of it. They encountered several lost psychiatric patients like this every month. Their only option was to take him back to the station, look up his identity, and wait for his family to pick him up.

To avoid blocking traffic, the two officers supported "Wang Dazhi" from both sides and helped him into the police car. His knees barely bent when he walked, and his movements were incredibly stiff. The younger officer muttered under his breath:

“Why is this guy so heavy? His whole body is stiff as a board, and he's not putting any weight down at all. It feels like carrying a corpse.”

The older officer rolled his eyes at his colleague and told him to watch his mouth:

“Psychiatric patients are all like this. I once met one who refused to cooperate and tried to bite everyone he saw.

I bet he's just some drunkard who got into a fight... Let's move. Traffic's been backed up for ages.”

"Wang Dazhi" sat quietly in his seat, maintaining the exact posture he had when he got into the car. His eyes stared straight ahead like a painted statue.

Meanwhile, the body camera on the officer's chest blinked with a red light, dutifully recording the scene.

...

At 2:30 PM, Wang Hao received a call from the Chengdong Police Station. At the time, he was slouched on the sofa playing video games with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His in-game character had just been killed, and he cursed in irritation:

“Hello? Who is this? The police station?”

Wang Hao bolted upright, a trace of fear naturally creeping onto his face. But after hearing the details, he let out a long sigh of relief:

Good, at least he wasn't caught red-handed secretly filming. He knew his dad was a crafty old man; he had probably caused some trouble somewhere and was now playing dumb at the station.

He just wondered if his dad had gotten the job done. He was still planning to make a fortune off those pinhole cameras.

By the time Wang Hao arrived at the police station, the officer on duty was already waiting for him at the entrance. After verifying his ID, the officer brought "Wang Dazhi" out of the reception room:

“We did a quick, basic check. There are no obvious external injuries, but his body temperature is a bit low, he won't say a word, and his reactions are extremely sluggish.

You should take him to the hospital right away to get checked out. If he bumped his head, a brain injury is no joke...”

“Sure, sure, I'll take him to the hospital as soon as we get back.”

Seeing that the officer hadn't mentioned anything about the hidden cameras, Wang Hao finally let his heart settle. Helping "Wang Dazhi" out of the station, he leaned in and whispered impatiently:

“Dad, did you get it done? Did you get the camera back? Where is it? I'm waiting to sell the footage.

Are you getting senile in your old age? Why did you go during the day? Couldn't you have picked a night or when they were working the night shift?”

—He had absolutely no idea that Wang Dazhi had actually been missing the entire night.

"Wang Dazhi" finally reacted. He slowly raised his head as if confirming something, but only a raspy "heh-heh" wheeze escaped his throat.

“No way, are you really senile? You didn't get caught, did you? Unbelievable, I just asked you to retrieve a camera... Let's go, let's go home. This is so embarrassing.”

Wang Hao's face darkened as his anticipation turned into annoyance. He sized up his father from head to toe, noticing his pale face and genuinely vacant eyes. It didn't look like an act.

Only then did it dawn on him that his father might have actually lost his mind.

...

When they returned home, Wang Dazhi's wife, Liu Mei, had just returned from walking the dog around the neighborhood, only to see her husband in this state.

She immediately began to wail and lament her bad luck, clamoring to take him to the hospital. But Wang Hao, panting from the exertion, threw him onto the sofa and snapped:

“What doctor? Dad eats so many supplements normally; he's healthier than anyone. A hospital checkup will easily cost another four or five hundred yuan.

Don't we have cold medicine at home? Just brew a packet, force it down his throat, and tuck him in under a blanket to sweat it out.”

“But why can't he speak? He wasn't in bed when I woke up this morning. What kind of wicked deed did he do to get scared half to death like this—?”

The moment Liu Mei said those words, she noticed her son's eyes darting around guiltily.

She immediately realized what was going on. Grabbing the toy poodle in her arms—which had been shivering uncontrollably since they walked in—she hurled it at her husband:

“Wang Dazhi, you wicked bastard! Did you sneak into the tenants' rooms again?

Oh, you're going to be the death of me! Didn't I tell you? If you get caught doing this kind of thing, you'll go to prison! Where will I hide my face then?”

—Wang Dazhi had previously stolen a tenant's clothes and was nearly caught, and it was Liu Mei who had helped cover it up.

Who would have thought he would dare to do it again?

Of course, she had absolutely no intention of stopping him or calling the police.

The poodle whimpered in pain, tucking its tail between its legs as it scrambled under the sofa, refusing to show its face.

"Wang Dazhi" slowly turned his stiff neck, staring intently in the direction where the poodle had vanished.

...

“Mom, stop nagging. Didn't he get away with it?

Besides, only three girls from out of town live in that rental. Even if they found out, it wouldn't matter.”

Wang Hao held up his phone, urging Liu Mei to transfer money to him:

“I promised my friends I'd meet them at the internet cafe to play games. Transfer me five hundred yuan first. I won't be back for dinner tonight.”

“You and your father are both debt collectors sent to torture me. I must have owed your family in a past life... When are you going to bring home a daughter-in-law so I can have a grandson?

Let me tell you, I think those young tenant girls are quite nice. They're young, obedient, and tall. Any kids they have are bound to be tall too... If all else fails, I'll ask them in a couple of days...

Don't fool around like your father does every day. If you get caught one day, it'll be hard for you to find a wife.”

With her husband in this state and her son still thinking of going online, Liu Mei shook her head helplessly. Still, she transferred the money, gave her son a few more warnings, and turned to head into the bedroom without sparing a single glance at "Wang Dazhi."