Lu Zhaoyan materialized in a torrent of crimson silk and funeral white, landing with an undignified thud on lacquered floorboards that gleamed like polished obsidian. The air hung thick with the scent of aged incense and wilting chrysanthemums, a stagnant sweetness that wrestled with an undertone of damp earth and copper. His bespoke suit, usually immaculate, felt foreign, too modern for the archaic gloom that pressed in from all sides. Around him, a grand hall unfolded, draped in celebratory red and mourning white banners, a bizarre contradiction. Paper lanterns, painted with smiling, dead-eyed figures, cast flickering shadows that danced like specters on the intricate carvings of a colossal, jade-inlaid altar at the far end. Then the voice came. It was not a voice, but a resonance that echoed in the marrow of his bones, a sonorous boom that bypassed his ears entirely, registering directly in his mind. It carried the flat, terrifying authority of a high magistrate handing down an inescapable verdict. [Welcome, Participant 703,241, to Instance S-77, ‘Qingya Manor’.] Zhaoyan’s eyes, sharp and calculating, darted around, assessing the threat. He had faced down corporate titans and ruthless embezzlers, but this… this was new. He ran a hand through his immaculately styled hair, a rare flicker of unease crossing his features. “Participant? Instance?” His voice, though calm, held an edge of dangerous curiosity. [The Nether-Court System extends its profound felicitations. You have been selected as the Groom in a Calamity-tier spiritual matrimonial contract. Objective: Fulfill the terms of the marital pact, or face permanent confiscation of all soul-assets.] “A matrimonial contract?” Zhaoyan scoffed, a cynical twist to his lips. “I specialize in dissolving those, not entering them. And ‘soul-assets’? Is this some kind of extended metaphor for a bad marriage?” [Negative. The consequences are literal. Failure to adhere to established covenants will result in punitive physical audits, up to and including total soul-forfeiture to the Nether-Court. Your current role: Groom. Your assigned partner: Lady Bai Yixue. Current timer: 00:00:00 / 08:00:00. Midnight is the designated hour of finalization. Failure to complete the ritual by midnight results in full asset forfeiture.] An S-rank zone. Calamity-tier. A ghost wedding. Frost prickled along his collar, biting through linen to numb his neck. He had treated relationships as business transactions; now the ledger was literal. [To facilitate a harmonious union, the Bridal Mandates are presented. These edicts function as the foundational framework of Qingya Manor. Violations incur audits. Attend closely, mortal Lu Zhaoyan.] A ribbon of vermilion light unrolled in the air before him, glowing with ancient, barbed script. The System’s voice, devoid of mercy, began to enumerate the rules: [Decree One: The Groom shall offer absolute deference to the Bride and her ancestral customs. Disrespect incurs immediate audit.] [Decree Two: The Groom shall not refuse any gift or sustenance offered by the Bride or her household. Refusal of the Nuptial Wine shall result in the repossession of the Groom’s digestive system.] [Decree Three: The Groom shall not gaze directly upon the face of any Paper-Skin Maid. Their eyes are not meant for mortal sight. Breaching this decree results in the immediate repossession of the Groom’s ocular organs.] [Decree Four: The Groom shall participate willingly and joyously in all matrimonial rites. Hesitation or sorrow invites a penalty of existential despair.] [Decree Five: At the stroke of midnight, the Groom and Bride shall perform the Three Sacred Bows. Failure to complete this final ritual will result in the permanent sealing of both souls within the Manor’s foundation.] [Further edicts will be revealed as proceedings progress. Observe and obey. May your union be… eternal.] The vermilion ribbon vanished. Zhaoyan's face settled into practiced neutrality. His mind, trained on hostile depositions and deceptive fine print, picked through the terms. “Unilateral conditions without discovery, enforced by summary mutilation. Standard abusive arbitration.” Just then, a faint rustling broke the oppressive silence. From the shadows between two tall, ceremonial screens, a figure emerged. It was a woman, or rather, a meticulously crafted paper effigy, taller than Zhaoyan himself. Her face was a stark, painted mask of white, with two unnervingly wide, black eyes that seemed to bore into nothing. She wore a pristine white shroud, and in one delicate, papery hand, she held a crescent sickle that caught the altar candles. A Paper-Skin Maid. And she was moving towards him. Her feet made no sound against the lacquer, sliding forward with an oily, hypnotic glide. As she drew closer, her head tilted, and those painted black eyes seemed to fixate on his. She paused, less than three feet away, and slowly, deliberately, raised the curved blade. Her body language was clear: *Look at me.* Baiting him. Testing the rules. Zhaoyan’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. In calculation. He had the advantage of knowing the terms. Decree Three: *“The Groom shall not gaze directly upon the face of any Paper-Skin Maid.”* With a smooth, unhurried motion, Zhaoyan closed his eyes. Completely. The world plunged into darkness. The rustling of dry paper intensified; cold iron grazed the air beside his cheek. The air grew heavy, expectant. “The terms of Decree Three, as recited,” Zhaoyan’s voice cut through the silence, clear and precise, “specify that the Groom ‘shall not gaze directly upon the face.’ To ‘gaze’ implies a conscious act of vision, an intentional perception through the eyes. By closing my eyes, I am physically incapable of performing such an act. Therefore, no ‘gazing’ has occurred. Furthermore, legal precedent regarding ‘blind agreements’ or contracts entered into without full visual disclosure often grants certain allowances or nullifies specific clauses. My current state, being effectively blind to the Maid’s visage, places me under such an allowance. To penalize me for what I cannot perceive, given the express wording, would be a clear breach of due process and a misapplication of the binding terms.” The silence that followed was absolute. The oppressive aura of the Paper-Skin Maid seemed to waver, a flicker of something akin to confusion emanating from the seemingly mindless effigy. The icy edge drew back from his cheek, drifting away with a crisp rasp of paper. [Contract interpreted. Loophole identified. Compliance acknowledged. Soul-Merit awarded: +1. Penalty for Decree Three averted.] Zhaoyan opened his eyes. The Paper-Skin Maid was gone, vanished back into the shadows as if she had never been there. A spark of golden light, no bigger than a firefly, drifted into his chest, absorbed upon contact. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. “Good to know the System respects its own fine print. This isn’t some barbaric slaughterhouse; it’s a court of law. And I’ve never lost a case.” His gaze swept over the opulent, terrifying hall. Every detail, every custom, every ritual – they were all just clauses. Lethal, yes, but still clauses. He just needed to find the hidden stipulations, the precedents, the exceptions. And he would. He would survive this trial, dissolve the union, and strip the entire estate clean in the asset split. A low, mournful wail echoed from outside, a sound like a thousand weeping spirits. It grew louder, closer, accompanied by the slow, rhythmic crunch of heavy footsteps and the jingle of innumerable tiny bells. The grand double doors at the far end of the hall, carved with intricate depictions of grieving immortals, slowly began to creak open, revealing a glimpse of the moonless night sky. A procession of silent, lantern-bearing figures in funeral white began to file in, their faces obscured by deep hoods. And then, carried by eight hulking, silent figures, a palanquin of burnished crimson wood and veiled scarlet silk entered the hall. It was impossibly ornate, draped in chains of jade and silver, its form exuding an ancient, suffocating power. A cold so profound it felt like a physical blow radiated from within, a tangible aura of immense, ancient malice and sorrow that made the very air crackle. Calamity-tier. His bride had arrived.

The Bridal Decrees