The scent of old incense and fresh blood clung to Gao Lanshan’s lungs, each breath a gritty sandpaper rasp. His leather shoes, usually so good for navigating slick wedding venues, skidded on the lacquered floor of what used to be Banyan Peak Academy’s Dormitory 4. Now, the modern boarding school corridor was a twisted mockery of an ancient wedding hall, every surface draped in heavy, vermilion silk that pulsed with a faint, malevolent light. Gilded paper-cut designs depicting sorrowful phoenixes and weeping dragons peeled from the walls, revealing the faded posters of pop idols and academic schedules beneath. The air thrummed with the low, discordant wail of a suona, a funeral horn, somehow amplified to fill the entire space. Behind him, a rustling chorus grew louder. “Come, dear groom! The bride awaits!” a reedy voice shrieked, followed by the snip-snip-snip of enormous shears. Lanshan risked a glance over his shoulder. A dozen 'Red Silk Cutters' – paper-mache bridesmaids, each five feet tall with hollow, painted smiles – surged forward, their stiff red robes swishing like rustling leaves. Their hands, crafted from brittle yellowed paper, clutched garden shears that glinted wickedly under the spectral light, easily a meter long. They weren't just decorative; these things could prune a man in half. “Ladies, ladies! You’re rushing the groom!” Lanshan called out, his voice a practiced balm of mock-charm, even as adrenaline screamed in his veins. “A man needs his moment of pre-nuptial terror. It’s traditional!” The paper figures didn’t respond to his wit, only quickened their pace, their empty eye sockets fixed on him. Lanshan ducked under a sagging red lantern, its tassel brushing his hair, and rounded a corner into a room that had once been a common lounge. Now, it was a cavern of hanging red silk, like the belly of some colossal, festive beast. Before he could find another exit, a chirpy, synthetic voice echoed through the space, momentarily drowning out the suona. [Welcome, Participant 734, to the ‘Ghost Wedding’ instance!] Lanshan skidded to a halt, the sudden halt nearly sending him tumbling. “Oh, goodie. Thought I was just having a particularly vivid nightmare after that spicy hotpot.” [Your consciousness is now fully locked within the Samsara Protocol. Please adhere to the ‘Rules of Matrimony’ for a successful ceremony!] Text, shimmering in scarlet and gold, projected itself onto the silken walls around him, too bright to ignore: **Rules of Matrimony:** 1. Do not look under the veil before the ceremony. 2. The Maid of Honor must always walk behind the Groom. 3. Accept all gifts from the Matchmaker. 4. Drink the cross-cupped wine. “Aha! Rules!” Lanshan exclaimed, tapping a finger on the holographic display. “Always good to know the playbook. Though, ‘don’t peek’ is hardly revolutionary. And ‘Maid of Honor’... wait, where’s *my* maid of honor? Is it one of these lovely ladies with the pruning shears? Because I have some concerns about their temperament.” Before the Matchmaker OS could respond, the ceiling directly above Lanshan’s head groaned. A spiderweb crack ripped across the plaster, revealing splintered wood and a glimpse of an impossible, swirling void beyond. Then, with a shriek that ripped through the suona’s mournful tune, a figure plummeted through the gap, landing in an ungainly heap amidst a shower of plaster dust and broken ceiling tiles. “What the—?! I just wanted to loot the high-tier dorm rooms!” The figure scrambled up, spitting dust. It was Tang Mingze, Lanshan's self-proclaimed rival, a hardcore gamer known for his snobby disdain for ‘casuals’. Mingze’s usually immaculate, expensive gaming gear was now torn, his face smeared with grime, and his eyes wild with terror. “Lanshan? You’re here too? You casual scum, what did you break this time?!” [Violation detected! Participant Tang Mingze has breached spatial boundaries! Re-assigning role to ‘Maid of Honor’ to ensure ceremonial integrity!] Before Mingze could protest, a flash of blinding pink light enveloped him. When it dissipated, he stood stiffly, his shoulders slumped. His tactical vest and branded hoodie were gone, replaced by a frilly, bubblegum-pink dress with puffed sleeves and a ridiculous oversized bow on the back. A matching pink ribbon was tied clumsily into his dark hair. His mouth dropped open, staring downward in utter disbelief. “No. No, no, no!” Mingze stammered, his voice climbing to a hysterical pitch. He clawed at the itchy lace on the dress’s collar. “This isn’t real! I’m a high-level raid leader! I don’t wear… *pink*!” Lanshan chuckled, a genuine, delighted sound that cut through the tension. “Mingze, my dear, you look… fetching. Truly. It brings out the fear in your eyes. And isn’t this convenient? My Maid of Honor! Just in time to respect Rule Two.” He winked. “Now, about that ‘cross-cupped wine’…” [Warning, Participant 734! Your headset’s internal battery is now tied to your real-world cardiac rhythm monitor! Remaining operational time: 04:00:00. Failure to complete the instance before battery depletion will result in cardiac arrest. Good luck, groom!] The chirpy voice faded, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake, broken only by the continued snip-snip-snip of the approaching paper shears. Lanshan’s smile faltered. Four hours. That wasn’t a game timer; that was a death sentence ticking down in his actual chest. The humorous facade, so often his shield, felt suddenly flimsy. “Four hours?” Mingze whispered, forgetting his pink indignity for a moment. “They’re not… they can’t be serious. This is a game!” “Oh, darling, they’re deadly serious,” Lanshan murmured, his gaze sweeping the silk-draped room, searching for an escape, a plan. The silhouettes drew closer now, their forms visible through the swaying silks. “And our bride isn’t exactly the forgiving type, I imagine. Not with all this… theatricality.” He felt a sudden shift in the air, a drop in temperature that made the hairs on his arms rise. The suona music swelled, echoing with a deeper, more ancient sorrow. The very fabric of the crimson hangings at the far end of the room rippled, as if disturbed by an unseen wind. A pause, thick with anticipation, settled over the warped dormitory. Then, slowly, gracefully, two massive, pale hands, elegant as carved jade, parted the heavy red curtains. Behind them, obscured by a shimmering, blood-red veil that cascaded like a waterfall, stood the bride. Pei Ruoxue, the terrifying boss, was here.

Till Death Do Us Purge