"Young man, talking like that’ll get you stabbed. Ever watched *School Days* or *White Album*?"

As he lectured with smug satisfaction, a sneaky little shadow suddenly slithered beneath him.

He noticed, glanced down—thought nothing of it at first. *Someone probably dropped something.*

But the shadow slowly rose, crept closer. From the gloom emerged a ghastly, twisted face, mouth stretched ear to ear, cackling wickedly.

A chilling breath washed over him—like an AC blasting below ten degrees. He shivered uncontrollably.

Stunned speechless.

Then the shadow shot out a foot-long tongue, *slap-slap*, smacking his cheek. Damp. Reptilian. A cold sweat drenched him; his heart shattered.

He’d always hated reptiles—they made his skin crawl.

But this shadow? Far worse.

He was reduced to a shrieking mess, unleashing ear-piercing screams:

"AAAAHHHHH—!"

Like a helpless girl ambushed at midnight, pouring every ounce of strength into screaming, praying for rescue.

The entire theater turned. Every gaze locked onto him.

Disgust filled their eyes. *Daring to cause a scene mid-movie? Where’s your decency?*

Oblivious, he kept shrieking like he’d seen a ghost.

Well—he *had*.

"Ghost! Right here! A ghost…!"

"Sir, please quiet down. You’re disturbing others."

Two staff rushed over. He remained frantic—jittery as if overdosed, pointing wildly at the floor, sheer terror on his face.

Flashlights swept the ground. Nothing.

"How?! It was *here*! Saliva on my face—wait… gone? This doesn’t make sense…"

"Sit quietly. Or we’ll escort you out."

Flustered and babbling, he was dragged away, still yelling for everyone to flee.

No one budged. All dismissed it as a prank, watching his exit with unanimous disdain.

*We’re educated citizens. Think you can fool us?*

*Watch a horror flick, then cry ghost? Who’s he scaring?*

*Chaos-lovers like him deserve a beating.*

Outside, he kept ranting. Staff finally called the police.

Inside, calm returned. Seats filled. Movie resumed.

Though many simmered quietly—they’d missed the climax.

"Was this your doing?" Zhong Cheng turned to the Ghost Emperor.

She merely smirked, seductive and silent.

No words needed. She’d done it.

Zhong Cheng didn’t blame her. Silently flashed a thumbs-up.

That guy had muttered nonstop behind them. Zhong Cheng was fed up. *We’re all single dogs—why torment fellow single dogs?*

Before he could speak, karma struck.

Recalling the man’s utterly terrified face, Zhong Cheng felt a flicker of schadenfreude. *Served him right.*

Not that he endorsed her methods… but targeting jerks? Sometimes justified.

Peace settled. Zhong Cheng glanced around.

Couples everywhere. Girls clinging to arms; guys "comforting" them—*really* laying on the affection.

Envy prickled. *I want that too.*

He glanced at the Ghost Emperor. Ice-cold face. Unshaken by the film. No excuse to offer his arm.

But surrounded by disgustingly happy real-life lovebirds? Resentment flared. His mind raced.

*Hmph. After draining so much yang energy… shouldn’t I get something back?*

A clever plan clicked.

"Want to borrow my arm?"

"Why?"

"You might not know—it’s cinema etiquette. During horror movies, girls *must* cling to the guy’s arm."

"Etiquette? Why?"

"Long story. Just look—every girl’s holding tight. Right?"

"Not doing it would be rude. I’d lose face. Get laughed at." Zhong Cheng’s tone dripped earnestness.

The Ghost Emperor frowned. She knew the modern world… incompletely. Cinema customs? A blind spot.

*Knowledge blind spots.*

Civil engineers know "mm"; others blank.

Grocery aunties know grams per *jin*; students ask which dynasty.

Girls spot brands instantly; guys clueless.

Kids "quantum speed-read"; adults call it nonsense.

Different fields, different expertise. Learning takes time.

Even humans aren’t omniscient—let alone ghosts.

Zhong Cheng was exploiting her gap.

Arm extended. She didn’t move. Skeptical? Or just stubborn? *What a reserved female ghost.*

Hmm… She’s a ghost. Does human etiquette even apply?

"You don’t believe me?" Zhong Cheng asked, face radiating *feigned* sincerity.

Silence. Her poker face revealed nothing.

"If you won’t hold mine… let me hold yours. Sitting this long without contact? Weird. People will judge."

"I’ll hold you."

Worn down by his coaxing—and the sea of cuddling couples—she relented. Peer pressure won.

She wrapped her arms around his, leaning in like a delicate bird clinging to its mate.

*Thrilling.*

All that smooth-talking paid off. ✓

Soft touch. Sweet scent of her hair. A flicker of excitement surged—nearly slipped into a perverted grin.

*Stocks soaring… soaring… still soaring! Pure profit.*

Bullied for so long? Time to collect interest.

This was just the start. Compound it: double in a week, triple in a month, quintuple in a year…

Would she ever repay it?

Maybe never.

*That’s the brazen way of predatory lending.*

Zhong Cheng leaned closer, resting his head on her fragrant shoulder. Bliss.

To onlookers, they looked like a deeply devoted couple.

Only flaw? Zhong Cheng, pillow-ing on *her* shoulder… looking every bit the pretty boy.