Rong Ji preferred his morning tea brewed with water clear enough to reflect the faint, dusty light filtering into his shop, ‘The Spirit’s Grin’. It was a small, defiant ritual amidst the growing pile of unpaid bills and the mocking silence of unsold hex-warding charms. This particular morning, however, his ceramic cup filled with something that looked less like tea and more like liquefied grave-dirt. A thick, viscous sludge, smelling faintly of stagnant riverbed and something metallic, gushed from the faucet, splattering across the chipped porcelain.
“Oh, come on,” Rong Ji muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not even the plumbing respects a man’s peace anymore.” He slammed the faucet shut, but the dark residue clung to the enamel like a bad omen.
The old, grainy television in the corner, usually displaying static or a forgotten infomercial, sputtered to life. A swirling vortex of cinnabar and obsidian filled the screen, accompanied by a saccharine, distorted jingle that made the fine hairs on Rong Ji’s neck bristle. A chipper, synthesized voice, stretched thin with static, announced, *“—Good morning, valued contestant! We hope you’re ready for a truly unforgettable experience! You have been selected for mandatory casting in this cycle’s Midnight Broadcast! Prepare for the Wading-Crane Temple Instance! Your journey begins… now!”*
Rong Ji barely had time to register the words before the floor beneath him dissolved. The stale air of his shop evaporated, replaced by the shocking chill of water. His vision whirled, a kaleidoscope of dark stone and murky green, then snapped into focus.
He stood, or rather, waded, in knee-deep, frigid water. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying incense. Around him, primeval, moss-covered stone pillars stretched into a perpetual twilight, supporting a roof lost in the gloom. Ornate carvings of stoic, unsmiling guardians peered down from crumbling archways. The shrine was less a structure and more a skeletal memory, its courtyards now an extension of some unseen river.
“A mandatory casting, huh?” Rong Ji’s voice, usually sharp, was a little hoarse from the sudden shift. He ran a hand through his damp, black hair, water dripping from his chin. “I didn’t sign any waiver for this avant-garde drowning experience.”
From a rusted, waterlogged radio perched precariously on a submerged stone bench, the cheerful, glitching voice returned, louder now, echoing off the water-slicked walls. *“—Welcome, welcome, new arrivals! To ensure a smooth and entertaining experience for our esteemed spiritual audience, please familiarize yourselves with the Bridal Etiquette! Your survival ratings depend on it!”*
Across the courtyard, tethered to a crumbling pagoda with ropes of withered silk, floated a large, lacquered signboard. Its surface, strangely dry, glowed with an eerie, internal light, displaying stark cinnabar characters:
**BRIDAL ETIQUETTE – WADING-CRANE TEMPLE INSTANCE**
*1. The Bride’s Veil must remain untouched. To uncover her face before the ceremony is to invite eternal lamentation.*
*2. Speak not ill of the Ancestors. Their ears are long, and their patience short.*
*3. The Wedding Procession demands respect. Do not interrupt its passage.*
*4. Offerings to the Drowned Spirits sustain the waters. Neglect this, and the waters will claim you.*
*5. The Drowned Bell tolls for the Lost. Each chime brings the flood closer.*
*6. The Main Altar must remain dry until dawn. Failure will result in permanent binding.*
[NEW QUEST: SURVIVE THE BRIDAL ETICHETTE! Current Rating: 0. Fulfill requirements to gain ‘Auspicious Fortune’.]
“Auspicious Fortune?” Rong Ji scoffed, his gaze sweeping over the ominous rules. “More like ‘Auspiciously Drowned’.” He was about to voice another, more pointed complaint when a frantic splash interrupted him. A figure, soaked to the bone and clutching a compact, waterproof camera like a lifeline, stumbled directly into him.
“Watch it!” the newcomer yelped, nearly dropping his camera. He was a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with petrified pupils and a mouth that seemed perpetually open in a silent scream. His neon-yellow vest, emblazoned with the logo ‘Tang’s Tech Travels’, glowed incongruously in the dim sanctuary. “They’re coming! The paper dolls! They’re chasing me!”
Rong Ji steadied the man, pushing him gently away. “Paper dolls? Here I thought my biggest worry was dying of tetanus from this water.” He squinted past the stranger's shoulder. Indeed, through the swirling mist and the bobbing detritus, a small armada of figures drifted. They were paper effigies, larger than life, crafted with gaudy red and gold robes, their painted faces frozen in grotesque smiles. Their hollow eyes, though fixed, seemed to follow movement, and they drifted with an unnatural, purposeful current.
“They’re not just dolls, they’re… *animated*!” Tang Ze whimpered, ducking behind Rong Ji. “They were whispering!”
Rong Ji watched as one of the effigies, a particularly gaudy figure with an oversized paper head, swiveled its formless body towards them. A low, rustling sound emanated from it, like dry leaves skittering across stone. It began to paddle, slowly but steadily, towards their position.
“Whispering, huh?” Rong Ji murmured, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. He reached into his soaking robes, pulling out a small, intricately carved wooden stylus. With a quick, practiced motion, he pricked his thumb, drawing a bead of blood. He then rapidly sketched a sigil onto the wet, weathered stone of a nearby pillar – a swirling knot of protective energy, shimmering with his own vitality.
“Alright, paper boy,” he muttered, flicking his wrist. The blood-talisman flared, a burst of raw spiritual energy, and then dissolved into the water. Its effect, however, was immediate. The approaching effigies, which had been homing in with unnerving precision, suddenly faltered. Their painted eyes glazed over, and they began to drift aimlessly, bumping into each other, their whispers replaced by confused, rustling murmurs.
“What… what was that?!” Tang Ze gaped, his terror momentarily forgotten in stunned awe. “Did you just… blind them?”
Rong Ji wiped his thumb on his robes. “They’re not blind. Just a little disoriented. They hate having their little spirit-sight messed with. Gives us a bit of breathing room.” He glanced back at the rule-board. “Let’s see, the etiquette rules… don’t say anything about *not* messing with the decor.” A faint, defiant smirk touched his lips.
[RATING UPDATE: +50 ‘Audacious Defiance’! Current Rating: 50. Total Audience Engagement: EXCELLENT!]
The metallic clang of a distant bell, muffled by the rising water, echoed through the vast, sunken compound. It was a deep, mournful sound, vibrating through the very stones. The sunken foundations groaned in response, and Rong Ji felt the water around his knees subtly, almost imperceptibly, deepen.
He exchanged a wry look with the trembling streamer. The sound seemed to pull at something centuries-old, drawing the eye towards the largest, most ornate structure in the courtyard. Heavy, vermilion doors, adorned with tarnished gold phoenixes, creaked open with an agonizing slowness, revealing a cavernous darkness within. A faint red glow pulsed from deep within the inner chamber, beckoning them into the heart of the curse.