To be fair, this horror flick was solid—masterfully built suspense, top-tier effects and sound design, genuinely spine-chilling.
The entire theater had been dead silent since the lights dimmed. That said it all.
Even Douban’s harshest critics would’ve slapped a 9/10 on this.
While the crowd flinched and gasped, Zhong Cheng stayed perfectly calm. A ghastly pale face flashed on screen? No reaction. Utterly unfazed.
Like drawing a one-star gacha card—expected, routine, his expression numb and blank from life’s monotony.
*What’s there to do during a movie anyway? Snack? Might as well.*
Total boredom.
Back in the day, Zhong Cheng would’ve been just like everyone else: covering his eyes, begging danmaku comments for cover, or faking phone-checks to hide his fear.
But that was then. This was now.
After living through the supernatural—after witnessing true spectral chaos at the Ancient Shrine—movie ghosts held zero power over him.
*Is this it?* That was his verdict.
Crunch, crunch.
He scooped popcorn, popped it in his mouth, chewed slowly.
His eyes drifted from the screen to the Ghost Emperor beside him. Curious—how would *she* react to cinematic ghosts?
He watched. She stayed locked on the film, face utterly blank.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was emotionless. Stone-cold.
He glanced right. Stark contrast.
His younger sister had both hands clamped over her face, peeking through trembling fingers, body curled tight.
*She* was the one who “strongly” recommended this movie. Acted brave. Turned out terrified stiff.
Some girls were like that—scared senseless by horror films, yet obsessed with watching. The scarier, the more they craved it.
Even if it meant dreading midnight bathroom trips.
Zhong Cheng couldn’t wrap his head around that self-torturing thrill. Guys rarely did this.
*If she knew her beloved “Sister Weiwei” was actually a ghost… would she faint?*
He turned back, stealing another glance at the Ghost Emperor while grabbing more popcorn.
Another jump-scare hit the screen. The theater froze.
Ghost Emperor? Still stone-faced.
His sister yelped, latching onto his arm for shelter.
*Huh. Soft. This little brat’s developing nicely… Still room to grow, but not bad. Worth noting.*
*Fine. Since she’s shaped up decently, I’ll “reluctantly” lend my arm.*
“Want some?” Zhong Cheng offered the bucket to the Ghost Emperor.
She glanced over. Paused two seconds. Took just a few pieces—testing.
Swallowed. A flicker of approval. Reached for more.
*She likes it.*
He set the bucket in her lap. She ate slowly, gaze fixed on screen, expression unchanged.
“Good movie?” Zhong Cheng asked.
“Passable.”
“Doesn’t feel weird watching ghosts… as one?”
“No. It’s interesting.”
“Not scared?”
“No.”
“If you *were*, just say so. Seriously—not even a little?” he pressed earnestly.
“No.”
*Ugh. If she’s not scared, I’ve got zero excuse to offer my arm… miss out on that soft contact. What a waste.*
“Bro… popcorn…” Zhong Xi murmured, hands still shielding her eyes.
“Eat it yourself. It’s right there. Don’t ask me,” Zhong Cheng scoffed.
*This is how you treat your sister? No wonder this bratty brother’s unpopular,* she grumbled inwardly.
Before, she could’ve thrown “single dog” or “loser” his way. Too bad those labels didn’t stick anymore. Shame.
“I’m too scared to move my hands!”
“Scared? You picked this. Self-inflicted. Own it.”
“I don’t care! Feed me popcorn—and soda!” she whined.
*Sigh.* This willful little brat… Her fussing already drew annoyed glares.
*Do you not know causing a scene in a cinema is shameless? Everyone’s judging your manners. Zero social grace.*
He gave in. Scooped popcorn. Fed her.
She leaned in like a koi at feeding time—soft lips brushing his palm.
“Soda.”
He held the cup. She clamped the straw, sucked hard.
*Finally satisfied.*
“More popcorn.”
*Am I here to watch a movie or wait on you?*
“Keep it down,” a guy muttered from behind. Bitter, jealous. “Don’t get cocky ‘cause you’ve got girls on both sides. Flaunt that harem, you’ll get stabbed.”
*He’s got it all wrong.* Zhong Cheng wasn’t “flaunting” anything. Right: his sister. Left: the Ghost Emperor. He was just the tool stuck in the middle.
“Can’t believe scumbags like him get attention. Women’s standards must be broken. Society’s rotting,” the guy kept muttering.
Both siblings frowned. They’d gone quiet—yet he nagged on. Petty. Annoying.
If not for disturbing others, they’d have snapped back.
He ranted louder: dating standards, “pure” wives, “cuckolds everywhere,” even insinuating guys like Zhong Cheng “slept around” and caught diseases.
Seeing silence, he puffed his chest like a victorious rooster. *Guilty! Convinced by my wisdom!*
*If the world won’t save them, I will. This master vows to call out every scumbag. Single dogs shall never be slaves!*
The film’s BGM swelled. Climax approaching. Tension coiled tight.
Review readers knew this scene—the scariest moment.
Audience held breath. Girls covered eyes; guys “comforted” dates, sneaking touches.
The lonely single guy watched, bitter envy twisting into outrage. *This trend must end! Or singles stay oppressed forever!*
He zeroed in on the trio ahead. *Couples everywhere… but this? Outrageous! A public threesome? Forcing singles to swallow sour lemons? Unforgivable. Divine punishment is due!*
