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The two stood before the Ancient Shrine—still dilapidated, swaying precariously.

No door guarded the entrance. Inside loomed a dim, eerie space. At its center, a stone platform held two portraits: groom and bride.

Zhong Cheng’s task? Take the groom’s portrait—his own.

Placed side by side, they resembled twin “double happiness” characters, symbolizing marriage.

Damn it!

They had to be separated!

Villagers claimed this ghost marriage would please the Ghost Emperor.

But Zhong Cheng thought otherwise. If She truly existed? Forced to marry a stranger? Any sane woman would be fuming.

Canceling the wedding was for everyone’s good.

His peace, Her peace, the village’s safety—that was true harmony.

“Zhong Cheng, are you *sure*?” Tie Niu asked gravely. “Calling off the Ghost Emperor’s wedding? If Her Majesty gets upset…”

“Whether She’s willing, I don’t know. But *I’m* not!” Zhong Cheng shot back.

“What if angering Her Majesty brings disaster to Bao Hua Village?”

“Then *you* take my place, Tie Niu! You’re sturdy, skilled, yang-energy strong, with that rugged face wealthy aunties adore. She’ll love you.”

“No, no, no! I have a girlfriend! I’d never betray her! I, your humble servant, cannot comply!” Tie Niu declared, teeth gritted.

Zhong Cheng saw right through him. Not inability—just cowardice.

*Big and strong, yet this scared? Pathetic.*

“Ahem! It’s not fear! My life force can’t withstand Her Majesty’s aura! But *you*—blessed by ancestors, tough as nails! Married to Her for half a year and still lively?”

“Then why cancel?” Tie Niu pleaded.

“Hmph! I don’t care, I won’t listen—your nagging’s useless. *No one* stops me today.”

Tie Niu pounded his chest. “Then I, Tie Niu, risk my life to stand with you! Let’s go!” He turned to his phone:

“Villagers! We’re entering the Ancient Shrine to confront Her Majesty! Life or death—send ‘polite’ gifts for armor! Wish us luck… ciao~!”

Gifts flooded the screen. A “rocket” from Zhao Niutian lit it up.

“Thanks! With your blessings, I fear nothing! Death? Bring it on! Ciao~!” Tie Niu flashed a “666” hand sign.

Zhong Cheng: …

*Still livestreaming? Professionalism or greed?*

“Turn it off.”

“Why? Ten thousand viewers = ten thousand witnesses! If something happens, they’ll call help!”

…Fair point. Zhong Cheng let it go. Simple task: enter, grab the portrait.

They vaulted the fence. Zhong Cheng led; Tie Niu followed, waving his selfie stick.

“See? Eerie, right? Thousand-year-old shrine! Normally forbidden—disturbing Her Majesty! You’re lucky today…”

“The chill hits instantly! Yin energy seeps in with every breath! Damp, gloomy—like the underworld! Can’t stay long,” Tie Niu intoned solemnly.

Zhong Cheng almost believed him. *Chill? Damp? Everything’s normal.*

Viewers ate it up, spamming gifts.

*City schemes are deep… but village tricks run deeper.*

Such earnest viewers, happily fooled. Easy money.

*Later, I’m splitting the loot.*

Zhong Cheng reached the portraits. He studied the groom’s likeness—uncannily *him*, in wedding robes.

“Not bad craftsmanship.”

Watercolor. Rough strokes, yet vivid—especially the eyes. Unexpectedly handsome.

A flicker of vanity.

His gaze shifted to the bride’s portrait. Features hidden by a red veil. Only crimson lips showed, a tiny mole at the corner—a “beauty mark,” strangely alluring.

*Can’t judge beauty from this. Back-view killer? Face under the veil might be hideous.*

Yet… intuition whispered: *She’s beautiful.*

He shook his head. *Nonsense. Artist’s imagination.*

“Wait… did Her portrait look… prettier today?” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

*Misremembering?* Impossible—he was an art student.

Strange. He dropped it.

Tie Niu confirmed: Grandpa painted both. Only he in the village had such skill. Grandpa’s influence made Zhong Cheng an artist.

Enough chatter. Grab and go.

He tucked the groom’s portrait under his arm.

Tie Niu stepped before the Ghost Emperor’s portrait, palms pressed, bowing deeply:

“Your Majesty, deepest apologies! Zhong Cheng’s young—he has his own path. Please be magnanimous! Don’t blame him or the village! I’ll send offerings: gold ingots, candles… burn paper maids, strong male servants, even a Ferrari! More if needed—just soothe Your anger!”

Zhong Cheng shook his head inwardly. *Hopeless.*

Rustle… rustle…

A faint sound nearby. He glanced—nothing. *Rat.*

Rustle… rustle…

As he turned to leave, the sound returned—clearer. From above.

He looked up.

Pitch black. Nothing.