◎Lonely Village, Wild Graves, Paper Bride and Groom◎
The tremors from the flying disc’s sudden disturbance reverberated through its interior, alerting all three passengers.
Beneath her white veil, Wu Manshuang’s long lashes fluttered—she was the first to react.
Despite Yan Luoyue and Ling Shuanghun’s sharp eyes, neither could discern how Wu Manshuang had instantly moved from the farthest corner to the disc’s entrance.
Her left hand lightly pinched the fingertips of her leather glove.
"Was soone trying to attack you?" Wu Manshuang turned to Yan Luoyue, asking with earnest concern.
"No, probably not," Yan Luoyue replied, though she too found the situation odd.
"When I designed this flying disc, I made sure it would alert imdiately if another vessel approached."
Yet the disc continued descending, eventually forced into an ergency landing.
One by one, they stepped out—Wu Manshuang first, Ling Shuanghun last, with Yan Luoyue sandwiched between them like the creamy filling of an Oreo.
The setting sun bathed everything in a warm, golden-red glow.
A cold wind swept across the desolate wilderness, devoid of any signs of life. There was no trace of what had attacked their flying disc.
But the attack was undeniable.
A fresh scar marred the disc’s surface, cleanly severing the cloud pattern Yan Luoyue had ticulously polished.
Frowning in mild irritation, Yan Luoyue muttered, "What’s going on here?"
Exchanging puzzled glances, none of them had an answer.
After a mont’s thought, Ling Shuanghun transford into his elegant red-crowned crane form.
With a graceful sweep of his wings, he caught an updraft and soared into the sky.
As the crane ascended, Yan Luoyue studied the clean cut on the disc and suddenly felt a strange suspicion. "Wait, I think—"
Before she could finish, a streak of silver light shot up from the ground, aiming precisely for Ling Shuanghun’s feathers.
He banked sharply, narrowly avoiding the attack.
But the silver light, undeterred, split into four or five more beams.
For a mont, Ling Shuanghun twisted and dodged midair, his usually dignified crane form now resembling a dancer in a lively folk routine.
Only when he swiftly shifted back to human form and landed did the silver beams cease their pursuit.
The mont his feet touched the ground, Ling Shuanghun’s first instinct wasn’t to speak—it was to straighten his disheveled robes and smooth his hair.
Now, the culprit behind the attack was clear.
Ling Shuanghun adjusted his headpiece and neatly tucked back a loose strand of hair.
"It wasn’t a cultivator attacking ," he said. "It was an array formation."
The realization struck Yan Luoyue like lightning. "Ah! An anti-flight array, right?"
Chiyu City, which they had just passed, had such an array—forbidding flying vessels and sword-riding cultivators from crossing overhead.
So anti-flight arrays were even stricter, prohibiting birds as well.
Just now, Ling Shuanghun had been targeted despite being in crane form.
"That’s strange," Yan Luoyue mused, checking her map. "There’s no marked anti-flight array here."
Ling Shuanghun frowned, then recalled sothing from his clan’s historical records.
"During the Demon-Subjugation War, this area was designated a military zone. Many arrays were set up, including anti-flight formations."
But according to records, those defenses should have been deactivated long ago. Why had the array suddenly awakened to attack them?
Ling Shuanghun straightened his sleeves. "As a historian of the Crane Clan, it’s my duty to investigate such anomalies and docunt them."
As soon as he spoke, Yan Luoyue’s mind conjured the deep, dramatic voice of a certain docuntary narrator:
[After a thousand years of slumber, the ancient array awakens. Its rciless rules descend once more.
A flying disc deliberately downed, a crane ruthlessly assaulted, a green sword nearly drawn in panic…
Chaos, intrigue, love and hatred, unseen eyes watching…
Is this the distortion of human nature, or the collapse of morality?
Tune in to Ling’s Unofficial Histories, Episode One: The Mystery of the Fallen Flying Disc.]
Suppressing a laugh, Yan Luoyue cleared her throat. "Let’s not. I’d rather not star in Mystery Science Theater."
Now that she knew it wasn’t a deliberate attack, Yan Luoyue relaxed.
With a smile, she said, "We of the Turtle Clan have our own motto: Survival is victory."
Before their journey, Sister Yu had specifically warned Yan Luoyue—since this was her first long trip, she should prioritize safety.
If they encountered anything suspicious, the best policy was to steer clear.
—Footnote: Excerpt from The Art of Longevity, page 123, by the Turtle Clan’s Elder.
Ling Shuanghun: "…"
With their opinions divided, Wu Manshuang’s stance beca crucial.
Without hesitation, she sided with Yan Luoyue.
Two against one—an overwhelming victory.
Just as Yan Luoyue prepared to stow the flying disc and detour on foot, a minor complication arose.
The anti-flight array’s strike had damaged the chanism controlling the disc’s size adjustnt.
In other words, the disc couldn’t be shrunk and stored away.
"…"
Repair materials for the disc were common enough, but Yan Luoyue hadn’t brought any.
Now, they had two choices: walk to the nearest city for supplies, or enter the array’s range to investigate—and ideally, deactivate the anti-flight formation.
"Seems like fate’s decided for us," Yan Luoyue said, rubbing her nose. "Honestly, I’m a little curious too."
Following the array’s traces, the trio ventured deeper.
No further attacks ca.
As dusk faded into night, the last remnants of sunlight vanished below the horizon, and darkness settled over the land.
Yan Luoyue tapped the ground with a makeshift walking stick, listening to the winter wind’s mournful howl.
Casually, she remarked, "Perfect atmosphere for a ghost story."
The mont she spoke, Ling Shuanghun suddenly exclaid, "Look! What’s that?!"
Yan Luoyue burst out laughing. "Oh co on, Xiao Ling, you’re really going for it—ah!"
Her head jerked up so fast she nearly bit her tongue.
Amidst the withered trees ahead, a shadow flickered past—pale white, like a specter from the underworld.
It lingered in their vision for only an instant before vanishing without a trace.
"…"
The three exchanged uneasy glances, montarily speechless.
Though they were cultivators, this was their first encounter with sothing truly supernatural.
"Was… was that a ghost?"
"Hard to say."
Since Yan Luoyue was the one who started this conversation, she had to see it through to the end.
Yan Luoyue blinked and took the initiative to reassure them, "It's fine. Probably just another cultivator grounded by the no-fly decree."
After a mont of thought, she analyzed the situation with well-reasoned logic, drawing from movies and shows she’d seen before:
"I don’t think we need to worry. Even ghost stories need the right atmosphere to set the mood."
"For example, since we’re in the middle of nowhere, there’d at least need to be an abandoned village or a graveyard as the backdrop for the story to unfold."
Her words sounded incredibly professional and convincing.
Thus, all three of them exhaled deeply, as if swallowing a calming pill.
They continued forward, their minds at ease.
Then, less than fifteen minutes later, the silhouette of a lone village appeared in their line of sight.
And sure enough, scattered near the village were a few unmarked graves.
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Wu Manshuang: "..."
Ling Shuanghun: "..."
For a mont, the air seed to solidify into sothing heavy and suffocating.
Only the cawing of crows trembled overhead before fluttering away.
After about half a minute, Ling Shuanghun respectfully turned to Yan Luoyue. "Yan Luoyue, any thoughts on our current situation?"
Yan Luoyue let out a dry chuckle. "Coincidence. Must just be a coincidence."
She pressed on, laying out facts and reasoning: "If this really were a ghost story, there’d need to be props to set the scene—paper effigies, coffins, white lanterns..."
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the overgrown, desolate village suddenly lit up with nightti lights.
The glow passed like a relay from one end of the village to the other.
With their keen cultivator vision, the three could clearly see that every lantern hung in the village was pure white.
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Wu Manshuang: "..."
Ling Shuanghun: "..."
"Now, I only have one question," Ling Shuanghun murmured eerily. "Yan Luoyue, what exactly is your relationship with Master Yan Bixin?"
This bizarre scenario felt eerily familiar—like a story he’d heard before.
Not only had he heard it, but he’d even recorded it in unofficial historical texts!
Yan Luoyue: "..."
To be honest, we’re the sa person—born from the sa parents, hatched from the sa egg.
…………
The night was tense, the wind urgent. The silent, isolated village in the distance exuded an eerie, sinister aura.
After exchanging glances, the trio decided that whether this village was a dragon’s den or a tiger’s lair, they would venture inside.
After all, they were already here.
More importantly, after thorough confirmation by Yan Luoyue and Ling Shuanghun—both novices in formations—the core of the no-fly array was likely set up within the village.
"Don’t worry, I’m here," Wu Manshuang said reassuringly.
"Thank you, Wu Manshuang," Ling Shuanghun replied, deeply moved—before raising another question. "If ghosts really exist… can they be poisoned?"
Wu Manshuang pondered seriously for three snaps of a finger.
After that, Yan Luoyue answered for him.
"It’s fine, Ling Shuanghun. Even if ghosts can’t be poisoned, at least we can!"
Stunned by Yan Luoyue’s "kill or be killed" attitude, the two boys remained silent as they charged into the village.
The mont they crossed the village entrance, several figures stepped forward to greet them.
A closer look revealed that these figures moved stiffly, their bright-colored clothes fluttering unnaturally in the wind, swaying like oversized roly-poly dolls.
A faint mist shrouded the villagers, obscuring their true forms.
Only when they ca within three feet did Yan Luoyue and the others see their faces clearly—each one was a hollow shell made of paper!
This was a village of paper effigies!
The realization sent a chill down their spines.
Ling Shuanghun’s expression froze as he muttered, "Yan Luoyue, you said we’d need paper effigies as props… and now here they are."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She had no rebuttal.
Ling Shuanghun clearly rembered her earlier words: "You also ntioned coffins..."
With white lanterns and paper effigies already present, how long until coffins appeared?
"Stop repeating it," Yan Luoyue groaned, covering her eyes in agony. "Trust one last ti—it can’t be that accurate. Coffins won’t just appear out of nowhere!"
"..."
Ling Shuanghun fell silent, fixing her with a gaze full of accusation and suspicion.
The paper effigies said nothing—their painted mouths couldn’t speak.
Each one wore a stiff, lifeless smile, their crimson lips slightly parted. Their pitch-black eyes were dull yet seed to stare unblinkingly.
"..."
Wu Manshuang frowned slightly. "Are they demonic creatures?"
He combed through his inherited mories but found no matching traits.
Ling Shuanghun observed carefully before concluding, "No, they’re likely native spirits from the human realm."
One was a walking encyclopedia on demonic creatures, the other a historical expert—and both were avid scholars.
Even surrounded by paper effigies, they couldn’t resist exchanging academic insights.
Yan Luoyue: "..."
According to Ling Shuanghun, the way demonic creatures caused havoc differed from how human realm spirits operated.
In Yan Luoyue’s understanding, the forr was like a Western B-grade horror flick—demonic creatures specialized in gory, R-rated carnage.
The latter, however, resembled East Asian supernatural horror—terrifying through rules and causality.
Within a spirit’s rules, sothing as trivial as stepping forward with your left foot first could send your head flying in an instant.
The analogy was so vivid that Yan Luoyue even pictured famous scenes involving Sadako, Hanako, and Kayako.
Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she rubbed them vigorously.
The paper effigies neither attacked nor spoke. They simply ford a circle around the trio, their garish, artificial smiles unwavering.
Yan Luoyue tentatively greeted them, "Hi?"
The paper effigies swayed silently in the wind.
Wu Manshuang, anwhile, tried to blend in—literally. He muttered, "Excuse ," before dripping a drop of blood onto one effigy’s shoulder.
The blood blood like a flower on the paper, blending seamlessly with its gaudy, festive robes.
The bloodstained effigy continued grinning vacantly, its painted red cheeks complenting the faint tallic scent in the air.
Ling Shuanghun’s guess was right—these "ghosts" were indeed immune to poison.
"But they’re still just paper," Yan Luoyue pointed out.
Ling Shuanghun cautiously speculated and boldly tested his theory: "Paper's weaknesses are external force and fire, so these paper figures should also..."
As he spoke, he reached out and poked one experintally.
Instantly, there was a loud riiiip—the paper figure directly in front of Ling Shuanghun had a long strip torn from its face.
Ling Shuanghun: "..."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Ling Shuanghun reflexively raised his hands, his movents suddenly becoming stiffer than the paper figure’s.
He muttered, "My apologies, Paper Brother, I truly didn’t know you’d be so... fragile."
The wind howled around them.
The paper figure lifted its hand in confusion, the torn strip of paper dangling from its face, fluttering helplessly in the cold breeze.
Ling Shuanghun instinctively took half a step back.
To be honest, the mont he saw the paper figure raise its hand, he half-expected it to slap him across the face.
That fluttering scrap of paper, trembling like a flag in the wind, was an unbearable test for anyone with even a hint of obsessive-compulsive tendencies.
Yan Luoyue resisted, resisted again, and finally couldn’t hold back any longer.
With a long sigh, she reached out and tore the paper figure’s entire face off.
"!!!"
"I’m sorry, I really am," Yan Luoyue apologized sincerely. "But this is like peeling off a hangnail—once you see it, you just can’t resist!"
"..."
Perhaps to prevent the trio from making any more unexpected moves, the previously silent paper figure finally spoke.
Its voice was chanical and flat. "The three of you, please follow ."
As it spoke, it turned and led them deeper into the village, almost as if it couldn’t wait to get them moving.
As if responding to so unseen signal, the mont the faceless leader moved, the other paper figures also stirred to life.
Their movents were strange—their feet seed glued to the ground by magnets, never lifting, but instead sliding across the dirt with soft, rustling steps.
The sound of their shuffling was eerily synchronized, as if urging the visitors to hurry up and follow.
The three drew closer together, exchanging glances. Wu Manshuang, who couldn’t remove his white veil, communicated through gestures instead.
Ling Shuanghun: Should we follow?
Yan Luoyue: Let’s go. The traces of the formation are deep in the village anyway.
Wu Manshuang gestured for them to look back.
Yan Luoyue turned—and imdiately noticed sothing amiss.
At so point, the village’s layout had silently shifted. The change was so subtle, so imperceptible, that none of them had noticed until now.
The path they’d taken to enter the village was gone.
"!!!"
This village was undeniably strange. If it could rearrange the entrance path in the blink of an eye, it could surely manipulate other routes as well.
Even if they turned back now, there was no guarantee they could leave.
So, for now, it was better to follow the paper figures into the heart of the village.
Even if it was a dragon’s den or a tiger’s lair, they’d have to brave it.
The paper figures twisted and turned through the village’s winding alleys.
Sotis, three or four would walk side by side on a narrow path, each pressed into a paper-thin sliver.
As they followed, the trio tried to morize the route.
But soon, they realized it was futile.
The paths behind them shifted just as the entrance had—silently, seamlessly, without warning.
Landmarks, directions, using buildings as reference points—none of the usual navigation tricks worked in this desolate village.
Ling Shuanghun even boldly drew a mark on the ground right in front of the paper figures.
A mont later, right before their eyes, a small hut sprouted from the earth, erasing the mark entirely.
"..."
At this, the paper figures surrounded them, clapping their hands in eerie unison.
Their stiff arms jerked upward, colliding with hollow, soundless thuds.
The wild wind whistled through the gaping hole in the leader’s face, producing a mocking hooo sound, as if laughing at their futile efforts.
After at least another seventeen or eighteen twists and turns, the trio was finally led to a temple.
The wooden plaque above the entrance was thick with dust, a prominent crack running down its center.
Yan Luoyue squinted, studying it for a long mont before recognizing the faded characters beneath the gri: Matchmaker Temple.
Staring at the crooked plaque, Ling Shuanghun murmured, "For so reason, I have a strange premonition..."
Yan Luoyue hissed through her teeth, "Xiao Ling, shut your beak."
Given their distant avian ancestry, cranes and crows did share so kinship.
But on this night, where every word risked becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy, even the slightest utterance could be the final straw.
The next mont, the temple doors creaked open on their hinges, swinging wide to reveal the interior.
The instant they saw what lay inside, all three gasped in unison.
—Coffins!
—Where prayer mats should have been, beneath the shrine’s altar, two coffins lay side by side!
"..."
Ling Shuanghun turned to Yan Luoyue, his expression a mix of grief and disbelief. "Xiao Yan, you told to shut up?"
Between the two of them, who was the one with the track record of uncannily accurate prophecies?
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She had no retort.
Ling Shuanghun sighed dramatically, summoning his historian’s flair for narration as he recited:
"Turtle shell divination is an ancient practice. Before the calculations of celestial ons were systematized, both humans and demons used this thod—burning turtle shells to divine fortune. Turtles, it seems, have a natural gift for foresight."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Even now, Ling Shuanghun couldn’t resist sharing obscure historical trivia:
"According to unofficial records, before the Demon-Subduing War, divination customs in the demon realm were far more... direct."
He half-closed his eyes, adopting a solemn tone:
"Before battle, they’d capture an unlucky turtle, sacrifice it alive, and toss it into the fire—roasting the poor creature... ahem, I an, burning its shell—then interpreting the cracks to predict the battle’s outco."
"This brutal thod fell out of favor after one such ‘auspicious’ reading preceded a crushing defeat."
"Legend has it, a certain fox elder once posed a thought-provoking question: If the turtle couldn’t foresee its own capture, how could its shell possibly predict the future?"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
That question struck at the heart of the matter—brilliantly put!
Sure enough, Ling Shuanghun continued, "After that, the practice of using live turtles for divination fell out of fashion. But so tribes remained stubborn—when seeking ons, they’d specifically target the fastest turtles, the ones that seed to know they’d be caught..."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
"Thank you, Xiao Ling, my friend," Yan Luoyue said with a strained smile. "Next ti I visit the demon realm, I’ll rember not to run too fast if soone tries to catch ."
Ling Shuanghun humbly replied, "No need for thanks, Xiao Yan. Our friendship is as solid as gold and stone."
The two bantered back and forth, yet their feet remained firmly planted in front of the temple doors, unmoved despite the paper figures behind them stomping impatiently.
anwhile, these two amateurs in formations scanned the ground left and right, searching for any trace of the shifting array.
"Apologies, please wait a mont," Wu Manshuang interjected politely from behind, diligently holding back the paper figures.
Every ti one of the shuffling paper creatures tried to push them into the temple, Wu Manshuang mimicked Yan Luoyue’s thod—ripping off a piece of the paper figure’s face with a swift motion.
Now, out of the dozen or so paper figures surrounding them, only one still had a face intact.
The rest bore gaping black holes where their features should be, looking even more unsettling than before.
Despite facing re paper constructs, Wu Manshuang remained a civilized and courteous little snake.
In a gentle tone, he politely warned, "Could you please wait patiently? If you take three more steps forward, I’ll have to tear you again."
The paper figures: "..."
Yan Luoyue, sensing sothing off: "..."
Ling Shuanghun, who had long recognized Wu Manshuang’s latent danger: "..."
Ling Shuanghun cleared his throat, about to dredge up a folk tale or two about paper figures, when suddenly, a window in the temple creaked open.
Without wind or rain, the window swung back and forth like a mouth opening and closing.
At the sa ti, a voice finally erged from within the temple.
The speaker’s reaction ti was sluggish, their words drawn out as if they’d sworn brotherhood with a sloth, giving Yan Luoyue an oddly familiar sense of hocoming.
"Haa... haa... haa..."
The ethereal voice chuckled in sync with the window’s movents: "You... talk... so much..."
"Then... today... you’ll... be the... officiant..."
"?" Wu Manshuang pointed uncertainly at himself. "I?"
How novel—in all these years, this was the first ti anyone had called him "talkative."
"No, it’s referring to Xiao Ling," Yan Luoyue asserted, drawing from her years of experience dealing with the Elder Council. "People who speak this slowly usually have delayed reactions. My guess? It just finished processing Xiao Ling’s historical anecdotes."
The three stood in silence for a full cup of tea’s ti before the voice leisurely praised, "You... are... right..."
The trio: "..."
Ling Shuanghun adjusted his hairpiece, tucking back a loose strand, and declined with dignified poise:
"A gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall. I must decline this invitation."
Yet the mont he finished speaking, the temple’s threshold abruptly shifted beneath their feet.
Right before their eyes, the dilapidated temple perford an illegal expansion.
In the blink of an eye, the threshold slithered underground, looping around their soles and stretching out behind them.
In other words, the temple had swallowed Yan Luoyue and the others whole!
"..."
Only after the fait accompli did the temple’s voice leisurely add, "Thank... you..."
The trio: "..."
No, don’t thank us—this was clearly a forced transaction!
And wasn’t it only Ling Shuanghun who was supposed to officiate? Why were Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang bundled in too?
Not only was this temple coercive, but it also demanded a buy-one-get-two deal?
Without the sound of flint striking, the white lanterns hanging in the temple lit up one by one.
In their glow, Yan Luoyue took in the temple’s interior.
The most striking features were the two black-lacquered coffins placed side by side in the main hall, their sliding lids half-open.
Between them hung a faded silk wedding sash—the kind bride and groom hold during ceremonies.
The shrine was empty, devoid of idols or ancestral tablets.
The altar bore no offerings—no fruits, no roasted chicken or fish.
Only two upside-down wedding na cards and a rusted red pair of scissors lay on the dusty table.
Ling Shuanghun’s gaze lingered on the scissors, his expression shifting from wariness to contemplation.
Scanning the surroundings, he murmured, "This setup seems familiar... I must’ve read about it sowhere..."
Further inspection revealed tattered red "double happiness" characters plastered haphazardly on the walls.
Though crooked and split down the middle, these decorations filled Yan Luoyue with foreboding.
Combined with the temple’s earlier request for an officiant... emmmmm...
Yan Luoyue whispered, "I have a theory."
Ling Shuanghun whispered back, "Please, Xiao Yan, for the love of all things holy, don’t voice any more theories while we’re here."
Yan Luoyue shot him a glare, but before she could retort, two garnts descended from above.
One was a bride’s gown embroidered with dragons and phoenixes, the other a groom’s robe adorned with peonies.
With wedding attire, "double happiness" decorations, and a hastily recruited officiant...
The ceremony about to unfold in this temple was painfully obvious.
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She emphasized, "This ti, I didn’t even say anything."
Ling Shuanghun tactfully suggested, "Xiao Yan, just a thought... perhaps you should take up ventriloquism?"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Whether she needed ventriloquism lessons was debatable.
But if Ling Shuanghun wanted to avoid future beatings, he’d better master the art of tactful speech.
The sly tortoise and crane continued deflecting bla, neither willing to voice the inevitable conclusion.
Only the innocent serpent remained unaware of the subtext.
Wu Manshuang frowned and asked bluntly, "I’ve seen this setup in the mortal realm... Is this... a ghost wedding?"
Ling Shuanghun exhaled in relief. "You said it."
Yan Luoyue shut her eyes in resignation.
Among the three of them, Ling Shuanghun had already been chosen as the officiant.
So, who would be left to don the wedding robes as the bride and groom? The answer was obvious.
Heaven bore witness—Wu Manshuang was still a little snake catching up on his nine years of compulsory education, while Yan Luoyue was also a young turtle in the midst of growing up.
Yan Luoyue exclaid in shock, "We're just children!"
The little snake and little turtle were innocent—why were they being subjected to such a supernatural ordeal?
Not long after, that eerie voice spoke again, slow and breathless, carrying an unsettling tone.
It urged, "Hurry… begin… now."
Yan Luoyue shot a aningful glance at the two boys on either side of her before retorting, "What if we don’t begin?"
As she spoke, she stomped her foot hard.
Channeling spiritual energy into her sole, she imdiately smashed a hole through the worn-out floor of the matchmaker’s temple.
For a mont, all three of them tensely watched the spot beneath Yan Luoyue’s foot.
If this attack, like the earlier tearing of the paper effigies, went unpunished, they were ready to tear the whole place down.
The spirit that had lured them here clearly had no intention of tolerating further defiance.
As the floor shattered, the ethereal voice let out a piercing shriek.
Wu Manshuang and Ling Shuanghun acted simultaneously, each grabbing one of Yan Luoyue’s arms and yanking her backward.
The next instant, a streak of silver light erupted from the ground where she had just stood.
It sliced upward like a guillotine, grazing the tips of Yan Luoyue’s toes before cleaving through the air with a sharp whistle.
The silver slash struck a temple beam, leaving a gash as deep as a bowl’s mouth.
The strange voice screeched, "Begin now… begin now…"
It also threatened, "No more… mistakes… this ti! Another mistake… and it’ll be like… this!"
Before the words faded, dozens of paper effigies—so with faces, so without—flooded into the temple.
The paper figures picked up the two wedding robes from the ground and shook them open.
Instantly, the musty stench of old blood perated the crumbling temple.
Beneath his white veil, Wu Manshuang’s gaze sharpened.
anwhile, Yan Luoyue keenly noticed the countless blackish-brown stains—dried splatters of blood—dotting the two wedding robes.
The paper effigies advanced stiffly toward Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang, clearly intending to drape the red garnts over them.
The voice grew louder, as if it could no longer contain its impatience. It repeated incessantly, "No mistakes… no mistakes… no mistakes…"
Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang exchanged glances, their faces equally blank.
They knew nothing about ghost marriages—let alone normal wedding customs.
Wu Manshuang was a given.
As for Yan Luoyue, though she had spent five years among the turtle clan, she had never attended a single wedding.
—Her turtle clan hadn’t seen a newlywed couple in twenty years. None of them were in any hurry to marry!
At this critical juncture, Ling Shuanghun suddenly clapped his hands together.
"Wait, I rember now."
"Really?"
"Xiao Ling, you rember the ritual steps?"
Ling Shuanghun opened his eyes and declared with absolute certainty, "This ceremony isn’t a ghost marriage."
"What?!"
Ling Shuanghun exhaled deeply.
He pointed at the severed red characters on the wall, then at the withered red flowers between the two coffins, and finally at the rusted iron scissors on the altar.
"This must be an extrely rare custom. I’ve only seen fragnts of records about it…"
"Xiao Ling, stop keeping us in suspense. Just say it."
Ling Shuanghun’s eyes glead as he enunciated each word, "In short, this isn’t a ghost marriage—it’s a ghost divorce."
Yan Luoyue: "…"
Wu Manshuang: "…"
For a mont, sheer astonishnt overwheld every living being present, rendering them speechless.
Perhaps worried Yan Luoyue didn’t understand the term "divorce," Ling Shuanghun added an explanation:
"‘Ghost divorce’ is the literal antonym. If joining two families in matrimony is a ‘marriage,’ then severing that bond is naturally a ‘divorce.’ By the sa logic, if ghost marriages exist, then ghost divorces must too."
Yan Luoyue: "…"
No, you don’t get it. That’s not what’s shocking .
—Ghost. Divorce.
Just listen to the term. Feel the implications. Does this make any sense?
So spirits were still breathing, yet this decrepit temple had already classified them as part of the "netherworld."
And so creatures hadn’t even acquired a wife yet, only to lose one through divorce proceedings!
Yan Luoyue pinched the bridge of her nose and sucked in a sharp breath.
She truly hadn’t expected the underworld’s matchmaker temple to be so… progressive in its services. Since when did its business extend this far?
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