The silence of the cavernous hall was not empty; it throbbed with the hundred-eyed scrutiny of the phantom kin. Their forms, draped in dark, loosely woven funeral silks, seemed to ripple like heat haze, making it impossible to discern individual features. Yet, the pressure of their collective gaze was heavy, solid, and entirely malevolent. “Starving, indeed,” Tang Mingze muttered, adjusting the pink veil that kept slipping over his eyes. His voice was low, taut with suppressed panic. “They look like they’re starving for *us*.” Lanshan chuckled, a low, confident sound that seemed to cut through the oppressive atmosphere. He winked at the hunched silhouette seated at the head of the banquet board closest to them. “Just playing hard to get, darling. Give them a moment.” He spared a glance for Pei Ruoxue. She stood perfectly still, a lone vibrant splash of red against the funereal gloom, her veil obscuring her expression. But Lanshan, with his practiced eye for emotional tells, caught the subtle tremor in her hand, the way her shoulders seemed to curve inward. It wasn't the regal sorrow he'd seen before; this was something deeper, an exhaustion that ran deeper than code. [Matchmaker OS: Esteemed groom! Esteemed maid of honor! Your new family awaits your respect! Please join them for the traditional ‘Soteria Libation’!] A single, gnarled hand, skeletal and adorned with jade rings, rose from the table beside him. It pointed to a row of small, terracotta cups filled with a viscous, black liquid that sat beside the steaming dishes. The dishes themselves, though unfamiliar, looked disturbingly organic, some resembling clusters of fungi, others glistening like raw organ meat. A low, guttural murmur swept through the assembled spirits. “Soteria Libation?” Tang whispered, his voice laced with disgust. “Soteria means salvation or deliverance. They’re offering us salvation… from life, probably.” He pulled out his personal data slate, its screen glowing faintly, and began to tap furiously. “System override tags are flashing across her base script. Boss parameters forced by external script injection. This entire courtyard loop isn't her design.” Lanshan didn’t need the technical readout. One look at Ruoxue, her head bowed slightly, her presence radiating a quiet despair that was far more potent than any of her earlier threats, told him everything. This wasn’t *her* wedding. It was *her* cage. And suddenly, his own survival, his ticking battery, felt secondary. He wanted to pry open the bars of this digital purgatory and set her free. He straightened, his grin softening into something more genuine, less a defense mechanism and more a promise. He took Ruoxue’s hand, his thumb stroking the cool back of her palm. “My dear, you look troubled. Don’t tell me your household is giving you grief already? I thought we agreed no drama until after the honeymoon.” Her head tilted, and through the sheer red silk, he felt the ghost of her gaze. A flicker of surprise, then something akin to gratitude, touched the air around her. The sorrow didn’t vanish, but it lightened, like a storm cloud revealing a sliver of moon. He turned to face the silent throng of shades, his voice resonating with an easy charm. “A grand toast! Excellent! To new beginnings, and even newer in-laws!” He strode forward, past the grotesque dishes, and snatched up one of the black-filled cups. The liquid within seemed to absorb light, an oily, noxious sheen on its surface. He caught a faint, sickly sweet aroma, like decaying flowers and formaldehyde. “Ah, an acquired taste, I see,” he announced, raising the cup high. “But fear not, esteemed elders. Your new son-in-law is a man of robust constitution and even more robust affection!” He winked at a hollow silhouette resembling an elderly woman, her hair bound in a severe, high bun. “Especially for the matriarchs!” The elder aunt seemed to shift, her chin angling down an inch. Lanshan took a deep breath. This was it. He emptied the cup in a single, audacious gulp. The liquid was acrid, burning a trail down his throat that felt like molten lead. His stomach churned violently, bile scouring the lining of his throat. His real-world pulse hammered through the sensor pads; gray static fringed his retinas. [Matchmaker OS: Remarkable! Groom has consumed ‘The Bitter Brew of Boundless Belonging’! +5 Affinity with Clan Wei!] Clan Wei? Ruoxue’s clan, then. He risked another glance at Ruoxue. She was watching him, a new intensity in her gaze, a concern that transcended the game’s programming. Tang, for his part, looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from sheer horror. “Delicious!” Lanshan choked out, managing another winning smile despite the lingering metallic taste in his mouth. He picked up two more cups. “But surely, my bride shouldn’t have to suffer such a potent beverage on our special day! No, no, leave the hard drinking to your new, dutiful son-in-law!” He presented one cup to Ruoxue, then winked at the aunt again. “And for the most beautiful matriarchs of Clan Wei, a toast to their wisdom and grace!” Before the auntie could respond, or before Ruoxue could even think of touching her cup, Lanshan downed both. The second and third draughts burned like lye, turning his knees to lead while clammy sweat soaked his collar. [Matchmaker OS: Astounding! Groom has consumed ‘The Somber Spiced Solace’! +10 Affinity with Clan Wei!] [Matchmaker OS: Unprecedented! Groom has consumed ‘The Draught of Departing Dreams’! +15 Affinity with Clan Wei!] Tang hissed, “Are you trying to kill yourself? The game wants us to *refuse* the drink, not guzzle poison!” “Relax, Maid of Honor,” Lanshan gasped, leaning heavily on the table for a moment. He could feel the system’s poison debuffs stacking, his internal UI flashing warnings of 'Toxic Burden' and 'Spirit Sickness'. Yet the ghostly banquet guests stirred, their murmurs dropping an octave. The aunt smoothed the hems of her funerary sleeves. “Sometimes, a little self-sacrifice is the quickest way to a woman’s… or a ghost clan’s… heart.” He then launched into a barrage of elaborate toasts, praising the ancestors’ “impeccable taste in funeral silk” and their “youthful radiance despite the rigors of the grave.” He downed every cup offered to Ruoxue, absorbing the venomous concoctions himself, his body wracked with tremors but his smile unwavering. With each swallow, the interface chimed with bonus favors, and the paper-pale host settled back onto their benches in bewildered amusement. “My darling bride,” Lanshan said, turning back to Ruoxue, his voice thick with the effects of the poison but still laced with affection. He carefully took her chin, his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw under the veil. “You have a truly… *vibrant* family. But perhaps, for now, we’ve had enough… spirited conversation. What say you to a little dessert?” Ruoxue’s hand, which had been clutching the red silk of her dress, slowly uncurled. He could feel the warmth of her breath, impossibly real, against his fingers. A soft, breathy sound escaped her, a laugh that held genuine amusement, and a hint of something deeper, something touched by his reckless devotion. [Matchmaker OS: Attention! Attention! Groom’s actions are unacceptable! Bridal Purge protocols initiated! Commencing 'Hard Mode'!] The cheerful voice of the Matchmaker OS suddenly took on an edge of digital fury. The murmurs of the ancestral shades died out, drowned by a drone vibrating through the floorboards. The steaming dishes on the tables, which had until now been merely grotesque, began to writhe. What looked like clusters of dark fungi bubbled and split, revealing chitinous carapaces. The glistening, organ-like masses swelled and burst. In moments, the entire banquet table was covered, not with food, but with a swarming, undulating mass of flesh-eating corpse beetles, their mandibles clicking with predatory intent. They rose in a tide of black, scuttling over plates and cups, their collective gaze now fixed, not on the table, but on the three living intruders.

Toasting the In-Laws