As Zhong Cheng turned and strode away from the Ancient Shrine, he noticed villagers lying in wait all around, peeking and peering at him.

When had they arrived? What were they up to, sneaking around like that?

The moment Zhong Cheng drew near, the villagers instantly scattered in all directions—movements nearly synchronized, only their escape paths differed.

Like runners at the starting gun, they bolted with full force, vanishing in a cloud of dust.

Zhong Cheng frowned. It made him feel like a walking omen—like people avoided him as if he were cursed.

After a moment.

Zhong Cheng reached the gate of the ancestral home and pushed straight in, with no heart to admire the aged courtyard.

In Bao Hua Village, where folk were simple and homes held little value, doors stayed unlocked when someone was home.

Inside, he spotted his grandfather seated on the threshold, puffing a water pipe.

Sparse white hair crowned a thin frame draped in a light jacket, smoke curling with each breath.

Slightly weathered and lean—the very image of a village elder.

“Well, if it isn’t my good grandson. Back already?”

Seeing his unexpected return, the grandfather showed little surprise—likely tipped off by a villager.

He’d already set the pipe aside.

Zhong Cheng skipped pleasantries, stepping close with a trace of irritation.

“Grandfather. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?”

“That thing at the Ancient Shrine—how did I end up married to the Ghost Emperor? A ghost marriage! And I knew nothing!”

“Oh, that. It’s a long story…”

The grandfather fell silent, searching for words. To sharpen his mind, he reached for the pipe again and resumed puffing.

Zhong Cheng snatched it away. “Cut it short.”

He knew his grandfather’s ways: simple truths wrapped in mystery.

Childhood story sessions had drilled this rhythm into him—every pause meant ten slow puffs, minutes wasted before continuing.

Normally, he’d wait patiently. Not today. Someone had messed with him. His patience was gone.

“Leniency for honesty, severity for resistance. Talk now, or I keep the pipe,” Zhong Cheng warned.

“You rascal! Give it back—I’ll speak!” the grandfather grumbled, reaching.

Zhong Cheng sidestepped easily.

“No clear explanation? No pipe.”

The grandfather’s pine-needle-white eyebrows twitched; he huffed and glared.

Helpless, he surrendered. “Fine. Short version.”

Over the past year, strange things plagued Bao Hua Village.

Livestock vanished without a trace.

Infant cries echoed from the mountains at midnight.

Children sleepwalked out of homes.

Field vegetables rotted in patches.

Mutilated wild boar carcasses appeared on the slopes.

One villager, returning late, barely survived a beast attack.

Others fell ill—vomiting, diarrhea—doctors and medicine useless. Frail elders succumbed.

The downhill clinic suspected contagion: sprays drenched the village, fourteen-day quarantine enforced. Nothing changed.

Fear spread. Superstitious villagers whispered: something unclean had awakened on the mountain.

They went to the Ancient Shrine, praying the Ghost Emperor would suppress it.

Prayers failed. Strange events continued.

Then someone realized: to gain her aid, they needed a tribute.

“No profit, no motion,” went the saying. Why would the Ghost Emperor help for free?

Villagers gathered in the Zhong ancestral courtyard. Someone—no one claimed it—suggested a ghost marriage.

Rumor said the Ghost Emperor was female and single. A companion would please her. Even spirits get lonely.

They’d give her one.

But the groom must be worthy—handsome, educated, from a respected family. No disrespect.

Thankfully, no one proposed killing or grave-robbing. A living groom sufficed.

Still, young men refused. Inauspicious. Dangerous. What if she took him to the netherworld?

Debate turned to blame-shifting: “My house is broken! My son’s plain-looking—how could he suit the Ghost Emperor?”

Days passed with no decision.

Then someone named Zhong Cheng: handsome, well-educated, cultured, from a prominent family—perfect in every way.

The Ghost Emperor would surely approve.

The grandfather resisted at first. Villagers pressed: “The Zhongs are village pillars! You’re the former chief—you must lead!”

“Your ancestors served high office. Strong fate. He’ll survive.”

Worn down, he agreed. His own grandson became the groom.

The whole village celebrated the ghost marriage with festive fanfare.

Afterward, the strange occurrences vanished like clouds after rain.

The sick recovered. Peace returned.

The Ghost Emperor, it seemed, was pleased.

“So you agreed without telling me? Betrothed me to the Ghost Emperor? That’s a violation of my rights,” Zhong Cheng said sternly.

Being shoved into a ghost marriage out of nowhere—no one would take it lightly.

“What choice did I have? Your qualifications are best in the village: smart, well-bred, handsome—even handsomer than that Cai-whatever-kun or Wu-whatever-fan guy. Everyone recommended you. As former chief, I couldn’t play favorites,” the grandfather replied.

“Flattering, sure. But I’ll pass on the ghost marriage,” Zhong Cheng said, arms crossed.

“Ahem. Don’t overthink it, grandson. Just a formality. Nothing happened to you. Now the Ghost Emperor’s happy, Bao Hua Village is safe, everyone’s at peace. Isn’t that good?”

“When you’re good, I’m good, everyone’s good—that’s what truly matters,” the grandfather added.