“Don’t try to muddy the waters. Right now, you’re the prime suspect. So—was it you or not? Just be honest. Stop dodging the question,” Zhong Cheng pressed.

“So what if it was? So what if it wasn’t? What can you possibly do to this one?” the Ghost Emperor taunted, utterly fearless.

So blunt?

Zhong Cheng, who’d been all bluster moments ago, instantly fell silent, cheeks flushing with awkwardness.

Like thin window paper ruthlessly pierced—revealing something utterly unsightly beneath.

He was all talk. Truth was, he had zero idea how to actually deal with the Ghost Emperor.

Awkward.

Watching her arrogant smirk—the kind that screamed *money talks*—Zhong Cheng felt a sudden, irrational flare of anger.

He wanted to slap her face hard, then sneer even more arrogantly: “I’m not singling *you* out. I’m talking about everyone here—you’re all trash.”

*Slap her hard.*

“Even if I can’t touch you… I refuse to believe there’s *no one* in this world who can handle you,” Zhong Cheng declared stubbornly after a long pause.

Just venting frustration—but did it actually work?

Sure enough, the Ghost Emperor’s eyes narrowed. Her expression turned grave, as if he’d struck a nerve.

Could someone *really* exist who could rein in the Ghost Emperor?

Zhong Cheng wasn’t stupid—reckless, yes, but a sharp college student. One thought, and it clicked.

There *had* to be something she feared.

Otherwise, a being like her would’ve run rampant long ago, turning the world into a living hell. Peace like this? Impossible.

Logic confirmed it.

But… what could possibly control someone this powerful?

Surely not *actual* gods?

Zhong Cheng doubted it. Last time he prayed at the ancestral home—trying to “hug the thigh” of a deity—it did nothing. Those ghosts even mocked him.

*Unforgettable humiliation.*

“Just confess. Did you secretly drain Auntie Zhang’s yang energy? Sneaking feasts behind my back? Leniency for honesty, severity for resistance—got it? Causing a scene helps no one. Confess, and I’ll treat you to pork chop rice. Deal?” Zhong Cheng said, face cold like a seasoned interrogator.

Knowing the Ghost Emperor had fears boosted his confidence.

“This one states plainly: Auntie Zhang and the others *were* drained of yang energy,” the Ghost Emperor replied.

“So it *was* you?” Zhong Cheng frowned.

“What do you think?”

“Again with that? Hmph. Don’t fool me. It’s you. In Xingfu Lou Residential Complex, besides you, no other hidden ghosts exist. Only one truth—who else could it be?”

“The truth is singular. But ghosts… aren’t limited to just one,” the Ghost Emperor sneered.

“Another ghost?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Come out. Let your husband see you.”

The Ghost Emperor’s Shadow Wraith rose abruptly, twisting into a blurry, flat humanoid shape. It grinned wide—a chilling, sinister smile—and waved at Zhong Cheng.

“…” Zhong Cheng had nearly forgotten *it* was there.

“Stand down,” the Ghost Emperor commanded.

The Shadow Wraith shrank instantly, reverting to an utterly ordinary shadow. Unbelievable—if you hadn’t seen it yourself.

A sour feeling hit Zhong Cheng. *Sleeping beside my wife… even during intimate moments… with a third party watching?*

How was anyone supposed to bear that?

“So… *it* drained Auntie Zhang’s yang energy?”

“What do you think?”

*Again? Can’t you be original?*

No matter how Zhong Cheng pressed—even dangling pork chop rice—he got no straight answer. Left to guess: likely the Shadow Wraith. Acting alone? With permission? Unknown.

But one thing was clear: no one harmed people near *him*.

Zhong Cheng stated firmly: secret feasting ends. Now.

Neither the Ghost Emperor nor the Shadow Wraith acknowledged him. Total ignore.

Undeterred, he tried reforming them with the Party’s ideology—urging them to be “useful ghosts for society.”

Too annoying. The Ghost Emperor hit him with ghost oppression. Zhong Cheng collapsed onto the bed, utterly paralyzed.

“Last question… when you eat… do you even *leave saliva*?” he asked, lying flat in utter defeat.

He still couldn’t let it go.

The Ghost Emperor shot him a look of pure exasperation, turned, and left—no answer.

*She’s doing this on purpose. Leaving me itching. So infuriating.*

He wasn’t freed until noon, when lunch needed making.

…

After lunch, afternoon arrived. Under his sister’s *vehement* insistence (National Day holiday nearly over—last chance to play before school!), they headed out.

Zhong Cheng had zero interest. He *knew* his sister would extort cash from him.

But the Ghost Emperor? Genuinely curious about human entertainment.

Under her insistence, Zhong Cheng had no choice but to yield.

First stop: cinema.

A massively hyped film—already smashed the billion-yuan box office, still climbing.

Quality? Irrelevant. Hype drew crowds. Even if pure marketing, people *had* to see it. A very Chinese trait: love for joining the buzz.

Post-movie? Something to discuss, a social media check-in. Decent entertainment.

Inside: dim scene, visibility under five meters. Faint red and green lights glowed distantly.

Rows of seated figures, all facing away—only heads visible, neatly aligned.

Anxiety-inducing BGM seeped from all sides, drifting like a demon’s breath. The eerie atmosphere spiked sharply.

Oppressive. Terrifying.

On screen: the leads crept into a basement, searching in near-darkness.

Suddenly—a deathly pale face lunged forward…

A choked gasp echoed.

Dead silence. Not a word.

Only the rustle of snack wrappers—now unnervingly eerie.

Terror hung thick. Absolute stillness.

Zhong Cheng frowned. *A trending ghost horror film? Rare.*

In China, ghost movies *always* ended with “it was just a hallucination.” Never real.

No wonder the genre struggled.

Revealing ghosts as illusions? Unsatisfying. Only fools enjoyed that.

That this film went viral anyway? A miracle.

*Must have serious backing.*

He glanced sideways. The Ghost Emperor watched intently, completely absorbed.

*A real ghost… watching a ghost movie… seriously?*

Would she find it boring? Need saving?

This scene felt… deeply, strangely awkward.