The truth was simple: Zhong Cheng was never the master. Never had been. He held no authority. Before the Ghost Emperor’s overwhelming power, he was just a little brother.
The littlest brother of all.
Forever pitiful, helpless, weak.
No right to refuse—and refusal meant violence.
He’d nearly fallen for the Ghost Emperor’s earlier act: that alluring, gentle-wife facade.
Old habits die hard—the ancients weren’t wrong.
How could the notoriously cruel Ghost Emperor change so easily?
The moment Zhong Cheng resisted, she instantly dropped the act, turned violent, nearly killed her own husband.
But don’t think he was broken, resigned, or afraid.
Today’s Zhong Cheng was all in. Fearless.
Who courts death best? The Zhong family—hands down!
“Beat me to death, drain me dry—I still won’t yield!” Zhong Cheng declared, voice firm with resolve.
“Husband, so stubborn,” the Ghost Emperor pressed, tone sharp. “I’ve been clear. Why won’t you take your wife home to meet your parents? Or… do you have another woman waiting?”
If only. Sadly, no.
“Just submit to Lord Ghost Emperor, groom—cackle! Or you’ll regret it.”
“Defying her never ends well.”
“Can’t wait to see how she torments him next—cackle cackle!”
Ghosts on the bus watched with gleeful anticipation, reveling in the drama.
Sure, humans love spectating—but heartless ghosts joining in too? Where’s the justice?
“Wang Nima, drive faster,” the Ghost Emperor sneered.
“Hold tight, groom! This ain’t no kindergarten shuttle—cackle!” The driver slammed the accelerator.
Inertia pinned Zhong Cheng hard against the seat.
Vroom vroom vroom.
A roaring engine. The bus shuddered violently, groaning like it might collapse.
The passenger bus shook like a sieve. Danger prickled Zhong Cheng’s skin.
Worse—the Wang Nima-possessed driver began drifting on the mountain road.
Bumpy terrain. High speed. Wild drifts. Didn’t he see the sheer cliff beside them?
One slip—certain death.
The driver feared nothing. Deliberately courting death, dragging everyone along.
This was a one-way ride to the crematorium. Ever seen a hearse drift? Get ready for a lifetime memory.
Way more intense than Chimelong Paradise’s vertical roller coaster.
No seatbelt. Zhong Cheng tumbled left, right, forward—completely helpless.
Ghosts sat perfectly still, faces alight with thrill, savoring the “hearse drift.”
Zhong Cheng alone suffered. He wanted to cry.
At a cliffside curve, he glanced out—saw the thousand-meter abyss. His soul nearly fled.
Turns out… he was afraid of heights.
Even here, the possessed driver kept drifting.
Screech!
Tires skidded. Bus scraped the guardrail—dangerously close. Too close.
Zhong Cheng’s heart hammered. Breath caught.
Ghosts bobbed heads wildly, cackling maniacally, shaking like they’d lost their minds.
Damn it!
You wanna die? Don’t drag me down!
Vroom…
Another drift. Inertia threw Zhong Cheng straight into the Ghost Emperor’s arms—a soft, yielding warmth.
Terrified, he clung to her like a lifeline. Didn’t care about offending her. Didn’t care about being drained.
“Husband… clinging to your wife?” she murmured, voice dripping with sinister sweetness. “Daylight not enough? Eager for something…?”
“Tell Wang Nima to stop drifting! I won’t let go until it slows!” His voice trembled, thick with tears.
“Oh? Afraid of an accident?” A sly smile played on her lips. “Simple. Promise to be a obedient husband—I’ll slow it down instantly.”
“I agree! I agree! Slow down now!” Zhong Cheng shouted, desperate to be heard.
A triumphant smirk curled her lips.
Speed dropped.
Driver and ghosts looked disappointed, still craving thrills.
“How much longer will you hold on?” she reminded coolly.
“Sorry.” Zhong Cheng released her hastily. Pulling back, his eyes flickered with regret.
Earlier—too scared to notice. Now—steady. He finally registered it.
So soft. So full.
No body heat—a downside—but the comfort remained.
Like embracing Mother Earth: deep, familiar, stirring longing.
He almost wished to hold on forever.
“What are you thinking, husband?” Her tone turned icy.
“Nothing!” Zhong Cheng replied stiffly.
She let out a low chuckle. Had she seen through him?
Zhong Cheng lowered his gaze, sitting like a Zen monk in deep meditation.
The Ghost Emperor turned cold eyes to the ghosts.
“You may leave. Even in my absence—no misconduct. Or face the consequences.”
“Yes, Lord Ghost Emperor!” they chorused, bowing deeply.
Beneath the reverence, excitement bubbled—like students freed by the final bell, ready to unleash their inner weirdos.
The Wang Nima-possessed driver pulled over, set the handbrake, then released the spirit. A translucent Big-Headed Ghost shimmered free.
Other ghosts floated up, vanishing through the roof.
The eerie chill vanished. Sunlight flooded the bus.
The possessed humans blinked back to normal, faces regaining color.
Three others remained besides Zhong Cheng and the Ghost Emperor.
“What happened?”
“How did we get here?”
“Wait—when did *they* board?”
Bewildered, they remembered nothing.
Necks twisted—sharp pain made them grimace.
Like their spines had been wrenched 180 degrees, snapped back, shaken raw.
Rubbing sore necks, they winced until the ache dulled.
They stared at the two strangers in the back.
Zhong Cheng? Unremarkable—easy to miss.
But *her*? A stunning beauty—how was she unnoticed?
Bizarre.
A deep exhaustion weighed on them, as if they’d endured hours of brutal labor.
Especially the driver: hands ached from gripping the wheel, muscles burning with the ghost-memory of frantic drifting.
Don’t judge by his burly frame, belly like he was nine months pregnant, thinning hair. Young him? A rebel. Mountain roads. Speed. Thrill.
He knew that feeling all too well.
