“Honorable Immortal, please enjoy the offerings. If they’re not enough, just say the word—I’ll make sure you’re satisfied. All I ask is that you protect this junior brother, drive away every demon and monster, and I’ll burn paper gold ingots and candles for you every single day,” Zhong Cheng muttered to the shrine.
Naturally, the Immortal gave no reply. Celestial beings were aloof by nature—why appear casually? Wouldn’t it scare little kids?
Zhong Cheng straightened up. His worries lifted. A wave of relief washed over him. Demons and monsters were just filthy things that shunned the light. They only stirred trouble to frighten people—utterly beneath notice. Nothing to fear.
Rustle, rustle.
A faint sound came from behind. Zhong Cheng turned. It was from the storage room. Though the main room was lit, the storage space stayed pitch black, as if something hid within.
Another rat? Wait—why was this door always left open? Grandpa and Grandma weren’t careless people.
He walked over to close it.
Rustle, rustle.
Louder this time. In the darkness, something blurry writhed and churned—a bottomless black vortex hiding countless tentacles, ready to lunge. A cold, watchful gaze. An icy breath washed over him.
Zhong Cheng froze. Fear gripped him.
“What are you doing, groom?”
“Think burning incense would save you?”
“I quite like those candles… mind if I take a bite?”
“…”
Zhong Cheng spun around and walked away. *I misheard. Just the wind. Definitely the wind.*
I don’t care. I’m not listening. Chanting nonsense to block it out.
Don’t think. Thinking makes it real.
Back in the courtyard, his grandparents sat at the table, dishes laid out. Seeing their pale, flustered grandson, they asked what was wrong. Zhong Cheng brushed it off, grabbed chopsticks, and ate fiercely—as if devouring food could drown out fear. Head down, he shoveled rice. Remembering his noon appetite, Grandma had cooked extra. Four bowls later, plates cleared, belly slightly rounded, lips glistening—he finally felt full.
He retreated to his room. Locked the door. Shoved chair and cabinet against it. Closed the window. Plugged in his phone. Skipped showering. Pulled the blanket over his head. *Just sleep. Sleep till dawn. Then I’m safe.*
But his nerves were frayed. Counting sheep did nothing. Two hours crawled by. *Phone’s charged… maybe scroll a bit? Might calm me down.*
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Footsteps outside. *Probably Grandpa and Grandma.*
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Closer. Stopped right at his door.
Zhong Cheng’s blood ran cold. *Very wrong. Extremely wrong.*
He wanted to call out—but what if answering invited *it* in?
Humidity rose. Air turned icy. Exactly like last night.
*I’m awake. This isn’t a dream.*
*…Was last night real too?*
Don’t ask. Call it a dream.
Cover ears. Bury head. *Sleep. Sleep! Why won’t you sleep?! Damn it, body clock broken?!*
*Thud.*
A knock. He jumped.
*Pretend I’m not here. Maybe they’ll leave.*
(He knew instantly—it wasn’t Grandpa or Grandma. They never knocked; they’d just call.)
*Thud, thud, thud.*
Rhythmic. Persistent.
Silence from Zhong Cheng.
*Thud, thud, thud.*
*Thud, thud, thud.*
*Thud, thud, thud.*
How annoying! Think you’re some cheerful sunbeam going *thud-thud-thud, la-la-la*? Knock once, twice—know when to back off! Knock knock knock, damn it! He was panicking beyond belief. *Just leave! This clingy pestering is unbearable. Read the room!*
On a deathly silent night, only knocking… terrifying.
*Click.*
The door swung open.
Air turned glacial.
*Crash.*
The barricade shoved aside.
"…" Zhong Cheng.
*Locked it! How?! And why knock so long if you could open it? Malicious.*
He almost wanted to punch something—then remembered: not human. Power gap immense. Abandoned the thought.
*All that kowtowing, burning offerings… useless. Total sham. Superstition harms.*
*It can’t see me. It can’t see me. It can’t see me…*
Clutching the blanket tighter.
No effect. Footsteps reached the bed.
His slippers—once facing outward—now rotated 180 degrees toward him.
Surrounded. One peek = game over. He gripped the blanket like a lifeline.
*They can’t see me. They can’t see me. They can’t see me…*
"Groom, we’ve come to fetch you."
"No use pretending—you’re wide awake."
"Lord Ghost Emperor knows you broke the engagement *again*. She’s furious. We’re taking you to her. Hehehehe…"
Damn it.
Last night *was* real.
No way was he seeing the Ghost Emperor tonight—especially while she was raging. Walking into gunfire.
"I’m… sick. Really unwell. Tomorrow? *Cough cough cough*."
"Groom, your acting needs work. Faking illness won’t fool us. Hehe."
"Even if truly ill—when the Ghost Emperor summons, refusal is not an option."
*Monsters with high combat *and* brains? How are humans supposed to play this?*
File a complaint: unbalanced game design. Literally unplayable. Harder than Dark Souls. Miyazaki himself would call it unfair.
A crushing weight pinned him down. Utterly immobilized. Like a salted fish stripped of dreams—powerless against this violation, he could only lie still and submit.
Damn!
Sleep paralysis. Again.
The blanket yanked away. Familiar, grotesque grins surrounded him. Were they smiling kindly? Mocking? He was thoroughly spooked.
An invisible force lifted him. He floated behind them out the door.
Beyond the gate, a bridal sedan chair waited.
Zhong Cheng stepped in. Four shadowy figures hoisted it and marched toward the Ancient Shrine.
