Her voice, a dry rasp against his ear, carried the stagnant cold of ditch-water. Rong Ji’s eyes narrowed, searching the heavy silk that obscured her face. “Frozen it? What, are you a walking icebox, bride?” His sarcasm, usually a shield, felt flimsy against the raw power that had just surged through him. He could feel it now, a faint, internal tremor, like a fragile glass bell ringing deep in his core, the venom held in stasis. [The Midnight Broadcast: *Your bride is so protective! +100 Ratings for an unexpected display of affection!*] Qinghe’s grip tightened, then released him as abruptly as it had taken hold. “The anchor binds me. The current binds you. We are… connected.” She drew back, a ripple passing through the red fabric as she leaned away. “The wine was a test of your… *faith*. And your defiance was noted.” Outside the chamber, the water was now at Rong Ji’s waist, the murky surface reflecting the sickly glow of the paper lanterns. Tang Ze, shivering beside a bewildered Ding Ruo, splashed towards them. “Rong Ji! The river keeps swelling! It’s almost to my *chest*! We need to find higher ground, or at least a boat!” He pointed frantically at a floating paper effigy of a sedan chair, bobbing eerily in the currents. “A boat won’t help if the temple sinks,” Rong Ji retorted, wading out of the chamber, Qinghe following silently, her movements fluid despite the water’s resistance. “This isn’t just a flood. It’s a script. And the script demands we find the ‘Wedding Contract’ to sever the curse, or so the Announcer implied.” He sloshed towards a crumbling stone archway leading deeper into the temple’s structure. “Any folklorists here know where ancient temples keep their… *marriage certificates*?” Ding Ruo offered softly, “Usually in the ancestral hall, or perhaps near the main deity’s shrine. They would be inscribed on parchment or bamboo slips, often sealed within a ceremonial box.” “Hall it is,” Rong Ji declared, glancing back at Qinghe. “Lead the way, bride. You seem to know this place like the back of your… *veil*.” The repository room was a tangled maze of waterlogged shelves and crumbling scrolls, smelling of swamp mold and river mud. The water here was deeper, swirling with forgotten ink and brittle fragments. Tang Ze fumbled with his handheld camera, the lens misting over. “This place is giving me serious ‘cursed library’ vibes! And these paper figures… why are there so many *eyes* painted on them?” He gestured nervously at a row of floating, wide-eyed paper children, their silent gazes unsettling. “Bridal Etiquette Rule No. 3: ‘Do not touch the Ancestral Effigies’,” Rong Ji recited from memory, his eyes scanning the gloom. “And ‘Do not step on the Scattered Relics’.” He pointed a finger at a shimmering, almost invisible thread stretched taut just beneath the water’s surface, barely discernable against the muddy floor. “That looks suspiciously like a tripwire.” Ding Ruo, attempting to navigate a particularly narrow aisle, stumbled. Her arm flailed, catching a rickety shelf laden with what looked like stacks of brittle, yellowed paper talismans. The cedar frame split with a sharp crack, dumping a drift of dry talismans across the surface. They instantly dissolved into black ink, staining the churning pool. The fragile, bone-dry papers were now ruined, a crucial resource gone. “Oh! Oh no! I am so sorry!” Ding Ruo gasped, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m so clumsy! I didn’t mean to!” Rong Ji simply scoffed. “Careful, folklorist. That’s probably another rule you just broke. The spirits *love* a good mess.” He wasn’t entirely convinced by her feigned distress, but dismissed it as the typical fumbling of someone out of their depth. He turned his attention back to the water, where a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer indicated the path of another submerged tripwire. Unknown to Rong Ji, Tang Ze’s camera, having briefly cleared its lens, had captured Ding Ruo in the background. Her face, for a fleeting moment, wasn’t contorted in panic, but held a thin, triumphant smile, her eyes glinting with a cold, almost predatory satisfaction. The camera flickered, then fogged again. “This way,” Qinghe’s voice cut through the tense silence. She moved with an eerie grace, her red veil barely rippling, parting the water as if it were air. She led them past a series of submerged alcoves, her hand brushing Rong Ji’s as she navigated a particularly tricky section where the floor fell away into an unseen abyss. His skin prickled at her touch, a strange warmth battling the lingering chill of the poison in his veins. “You’re surprisingly good at this ‘drowned exploration’ gig, bride,” Rong Ji murmured, allowing his fingers to intertwine with hers for a moment longer than necessary. “Been here before?” Her gaze, though hidden, felt intense. “Longer than you can comprehend, groom.” She paused before a large, ornately carved stone slab, half-submerged. Its surface was covered in faded, intricate carvings. “The records are here.” Working together, their hands brushing often in the murky water, Rong Ji and Qinghe carefully cleared away decades of silt and algae. Beneath it, a complex pictogram emerged: a weeping woman, her form entwined with a massive stone, like an anchor sinking deep into the earth, with chains extending from it, disappearing into the temple’s foundations. Runes etched beside it spoke of a ‘Spirit Anchor Stone’ and a ‘Binding Vow’. “So, you’re literally tied to this place,” Rong Ji muttered, the implication sinking in. “A permanent resident.” [The Midnight Broadcast: *Oh my! A tragic secret revealed! +200 Ratings for emotional resonance!*] Before he could fully process the information, a deep, resonant *BWOOONG* echoed through the water. The sound wasn’t just heard; it vibrated through his very bones, a mournful, drawn-out toll that reverberated endlessly. The second drowned bell. The water in the archives began to churn violently, rising with alarming speed. Scrolls and debris swirled, and the floating paper effigies seemed to gain a new, frenetic energy, their painted eyes staring wide. Tang Ze backed into a floating shelf. “It’s happening again! The water’s going to swallow us whole!” Then, with a dull *CRUMPH* that rattled his teeth, the heavy stone slabs slammed shut from the outside. The grating of submerged counterweights ground to a stop, leaving only the frantic splash of water against their chests and the dying hum of the bell.

Drowned Secrets