“Lord Ghost Emperor, may we offer the groom a toast? Hehehe.”

“Granted.”

With permission secured, the ghosts erupted in excitement. Cups and bowls in hand, they swarmed Zhong Cheng with fervent enthusiasm.

Zhong Cheng sighed inwardly. *Why didn’t the Ghost Emperor even ask me? Do I have no say at all?* Truth was, his alcohol tolerance was paper-thin.

He wanted to refuse—but their faces were terrifying, their eyes gleaming with the hunger of starving beasts. Refusing might anger them… and lead to *very* unpleasant consequences. Trapped deep in the ghost den, surrounded by a chaotic swirl of spirits, he had to tread carefully. Even cowardice was survival. Steeling his nerves, he drank. Again. And again.

Weak from exhaustion and potent liquor, after just a few cups, his vision blurred. Consciousness frayed. His body swayed, tilting dangerously. At the last second, he managed to slump onto the table—avoiding the cold floor.

Strangely, the surface felt soft… with a faint, soothing fragrance. *Must be a passing-out hallucination.*

“The groom’s out cold! Carry him to the bridal chamber!” a ghost announced.

A raucous clamor followed.

…

…

.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. Zhong Cheng slowly stirred awake, brow furrowed in discomfort. His mind felt foggy—like someone with low blood sugar waking at dawn, awareness thin and fragile.

*Huh? What’s going on?*

Blinking open his eyes, he froze at the vibrant red unfamiliar room. He was in bed. A large, comfortably firm bed—far too ornate for his taste. Aside from lingering weakness, his body felt intact.

Then he turned his head.

A woman lay beside him. A stunningly beautiful woman. Sharing his bed.

*Did we… last night…?*

If so, as a man, he had to take responsibility. *I should marry her!*

—but the moment he recognized her pale face…

Zhong Cheng jolted fully awake. *Ghost Emperor!* Memories flooded back: the forced drinks, the blackout. *What happened after? Why are we in the same bed?!*

Heart pounding, he lifted the quilt. Clothes neatly in place. No disarray. Not what *that* would look like.

*So… relieved? Or disappointed?*

Not the time.

Eyes wide, he stared warily at her. Serene in sleep, utterly still. No malice visible. But he dared not relax. She was the Ghost Emperor—unpredictable, notoriously cruel. Crimson hair spilled across the pillow. A simple white robe beneath the crimson quilt. Deathly pale skin, yet undeniably breathtaking. (*A necrophiliac would swoon. Not that I was staring at her chest! Definitely not.*)

He noticed: no rise or fall of breath. *Right. She’s a ghost.*

Curiosity nudged him. *Just a tiny check… won’t wake her, right?*

The instant his fingers neared her nose—her eyes snapped open.

*Holy crap!*

His heart skipped half a beat. Dying of fright? How absurd. Even as a ghost, he’d never admit *that* cause of death.

Her eyes glowed crimson, locking onto him. A cold sweat broke across his back. He yanked his hand back.

“I-I just wanted to check if you were breathing! Nothing else!” he stammered.

“Is that so?” Her voice held playful amusement. “This one is a ghost. No breath. Don’t believe me? Try again.”

*Can I?*

Curiosity overrode fear. He reached out. Waited. Nothing. Zero airflow. He withdrew instantly, lying rigidly still—eyes forward, monk-like calm.

“You seem afraid of this one,” she murmured. “Am I truly so frightening?”

“Yes,” Zhong Cheng admitted bluntly.

“Why? This one won’t *eat* you.”

*No—but you’ll drain my yang!* The bloody image of that Big-Headed Ghost King flashed in his mind.

“Rest assured,” she added, tone turning coaxing, “this one may be cruel to others… but you are different. You are this one’s husband.”

“Um… this might upset you, but… we’re not suited. Maybe call off the marriage…?” Zhong Cheng mumbled weakly.

“The wedding cups are already shared. Speak up—this one didn’t hear you.” Her eyes flared crimson. *Blinding.*

*Can you turn that off?!*

“N-nothing! I said nothing…” His face fell.

She shifted closer. The thin robe parted slightly. *So ample. So pale.* His eyes betrayed him. She noticed—but only smiled, pressing nearer until their faces nearly touched. A soft pressure brushed his arm. His pulse raced.

“Husband…” Her whisper dripped honeyed temptation. “This one can’t wait any longer… I want you…”

*What?! Straight to *that*?!* Teasing him like this—so coy! *Just say it! I won’t resist. I can’t.* To survive, he’d have to surrender his decade-cherished virginity. A pity… but hope remained while he lived.

He noted the red bridal decor, the “Double Happiness” quilt. *Shouldn’t something… happen?*

Her fingers tilted his chin. Inches apart. His heart hammered.

Then—she parted her lips. Inhaled gently.

His yang energy surged out like a breached dam, swirling into azure smoke. Strength vanished. Weakness returned.

“Husband’s yang is divine… utterly addictive,” she murmured, licking her lips. “Apologies. Draining you twice so soon… I simply couldn’t resist. Fortunately, you survived.”

Zhong Cheng: %*&#&…

*Of course.* He’d imagined kindness. “Husband” was just a label for emergency rations. This marriage had to end—before he was drained dry.

Never… never gonna happen.