The scent of formaldehyde and dust, thick as a shroud, was Lu Feixing’s rude awakening. He lay sprawled on a slab of cold, polished granite, the chill seeping through a garment far too ornate for a Monday morning. His eyes, accustomed to the dim glow of neon signs and grimy alleyways, blinked open to a gloom draped in a jarring crimson. Red wedding silks, heavy and ornate, hung from the high, cracked ceilings, swaying slightly in a phantom breeze. Paper lanterns, the kind lit for festivals or funerals, cast flickering, melancholic shadows across peeling plaster walls. He pushed himself upright, a groan escaping his lips. His head throbbed, a dull echo of whatever knocked him out. He looked down at himself: a lavish, blood-red groom’s robe, intricately embroidered with gilded phoenixes and swirling cloud motifs, replaced his usual worn hoodie and jeans. A matching red veil, thick and heavy, was draped over a small, lacquered box on the slab beside him. The air was heavy, tasting of stale incense and something metallic, like old blood. “Seriously?” he muttered, running a hand over the impossibly smooth silk. “This is a bit much for a prank.” His phone, a cheap, battle-scarred model he’d practically conned off a vendor, vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. The screen, usually displaying his custom ‘Exit Strategy’ wallpaper, now showed only a single, stark notification from an app he’d never seen before: *Midnight Absolution*. [NEW GAME INSTANCE: THE VERMILLION BINDING] [PLAYER: LU FEIXING] [LOCATION: CI'AN GENERAL HOSPITAL - JADE GATE MORTUARY] [OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE THE GHOST MARRIAGE RITE BEFORE THE FIFTH WATCH (MIDNIGHT)] Feixing snorted. A game? He hated games. Especially ones that sounded like thinly veiled excuses for manual labor. He scrolled down, his fingers brushing the cold glass. [RULES OF ENGAGEMENT:] [1. THE GROOM MUST HONOUR HIS BRIDE. FAILURE TO ACKNOWLEDGE OR DISRESPECT HER WILL INCUR IMMEDIATE RETRIBUTION.] [2. THE WEDDING DOWRY, LOCATED IN THE GOLDEN LOTUS WARD, MUST BE DELIVERED TO THE BRIDAL CHAMBER (JADE GATE MORTUARY) BEFORE THE FOURTH WATCH.] [3. THE SACRED VOWS MUST BE EXCHANGED UPON THE ALTAR OF ETERNAL REST. PREMATURE ABANDONMENT OF THE RITE IS FORBIDDEN.] [4. DO NOT DEFILE THE BRIDAL SILKS. DO NOT DISTURB THE ANCESTRAL SPIRITS. THESE ARE THE PATHS OF THE BLESSED.] [5. ANY VIOLATION OF THE ABOVE RULES WILL RESULT IN INSTANTANEOUS, IRREVERSIBLE DISMEMBERMENT BY UNSEEN FORCES.] Feixing read Rule 2 again. “Golden Lotus Ward… Bridal Chamber… Dowry delivery.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, basically, a fetch quest. In a hospital. At night. With ghosts, probably. Absolutely not.” His extreme laziness wasn’t just a character flaw; it was a fundamental principle. If there was a hard way and an absurdly dangerous, borderline suicidal shortcut, Feixing would always pick the latter. Walking through a haunted hospital to pick up a dowry sounded like the hard way. Tedious. Exhausting. Unacceptable. He glanced at the red box on the slab. A dowry chest, presumably. It was small, no bigger than a shoe box. Why would the notification place the requirement across the compound if an identical container sat within arm's reach? A decoy, or a bureaucratic trap requiring a stamped route. The rules were always tricky, designed to trick you into following the most dangerous path. “Fine,” he murmured, tapping the screen. “If I’m the groom, and the bride’s here, then why do I need to go anywhere?” His gaze swept around the mortuary. The air grew colder, the flickering lanterns casting longer, more distorted shadows. A low, mournful melody, like a funeral dirge played on an ancient erhu, seemed to emanate from the very walls. From the deepest shadow in the corner, where a cracked porcelain basin sat beneath a dripping tap, a figure began to coalesce. First, the outline of a woman, slender and tall, draped in similar crimson silks, though hers were heavier, older, almost black with age in places. Then, details emerged: long, unbound hair, black as midnight, trailing to her waist; a pale face, impossibly smooth, devoid of expression save for eyes that held the depth of a thousand-year-old sorrow and a razor-sharp edge of betrayal. She wore a high-collared gown, more fitting for a warrior than a bride, a faint shimmer of archaic armour visible beneath the silk. Her hands, delicate yet strong, were not empty. One held a fan, closed tight like a bladed weapon, the other, a long, slender ceremonial sword, its hilt wrapped in faded red ribbon. The air curdled around her, setting the suspended dust motes spinning in tight, violent drafts. She moved with a silent, predatory grace, her bare feet making no sound on the grimy floor. The funeral music swelled, a lament for the living and the dead. Her eyes, fixed on Feixing, promised a swift, brutal end. Most players, faced with an apparition radiating such unvarnished malice, would scream, flee, or scramble for a hidden weapon. Feixing did none of these things. He simply watched her approach, a slow, predatory stroll that promised dismemberment. As she drew near, her face perfectly composed, her sword beginning to rise, he tilted his head, a small, audacious smirk playing on his lips. “Well,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the growing terror. “It’s a good thing I got dressed up. Wouldn’t want to show up to my own wedding looking like a slob, would I? Though, if I’m honest, Bride, you’ve outshone me completely. That shade of red truly complements the fire in your eyes.” The sword, a hair’s breadth from his throat, halted. The mournful music faltered, a discordant note slicing through the air. The bride's expression remained unreadable, but the subtle tremor in the hand holding the fan, the slight pause in the cold fury of her gaze, was all the confirmation Feixing needed. His absurd, life-threatening shortcut had just begun to work.

The Lazy Groom