The Director of Rites’ edict faded, leaving the air in the bridal chamber tasting of ash and ozone. Wei Chen pushed himself upright, his back protesting, the phantom cold of Jiang Muxue’s lips still clinging to his own. He eyed the heavy, sealed door, then the spectral woman whose form now held a terrifying, delicate solidity. “Ancestral hall, you said,” Wei Chen murmured, testing the words. “How does one get to the ancestral hall when the matchmaker has sealed us in like a jar of pickled plums?” Jiang Muxue turned, her red veil a stark slash against the dimly lit room. She didn’t speak, but a flick of her sleeve drove a surge of freezing mist across the door. The thick, lacquered wood groaned, the yellow strips Madame Hua had pasted over the latch curling and smoking as the frost bit deep. A sharp, cracking sound, like old bones snapping, split the silence. The door sagged inward on one hinge, the yellow wards reduced to brittle black flakes. “Efficient,” Wei Chen commented, a wry twist to his lips. He rose, adjusting his wedding robes. “Lead the way, my bride. And try not to turn our escort into an ice sculpture until absolutely necessary.” They stepped out into a dimly lit corridor, the air damp and heavy with the scent of decaying paper and something metallic, like old blood. Shadows stretched long and distorted from the few flickering wall sconces. A soft scuttling sound drew Wei Chen’s gaze to a dark alcove. Two eyes peered out from behind a cracked partition. Gao Wei, pressed flat against the wall, a joss stick clutched in his trembling hand, looked like a mouse caught by two cats. “You… you broke out!” Gao Wei gasped, his voice thin with disbelief and fright, his eyes darting from Wei Chen to the silent, imposing figure of Jiang Muxue. “Not exactly a prison break,” Wei Chen corrected smoothly. “More of a bridal procession, wouldn’t you agree? We’re heading to the ancestral hall. Wouldn’t want to be tardy for the next stage of our unholy matrimony.” Gao Wei whimpered, shaking his head. “The patrols… the paper servants are everywhere! And the wards! You’ll never make it. Madame Hua will shred you both!” “Ah, but that’s where you come in, my friend,” Wei Chen said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re the veteran, the expert on navigating this labyrinth of terror. Guide us. Consider it a bridal gift. Or, perhaps, a down payment on not becoming the next decorative paper lantern.” He offered a charming, unsettling smile. Gao Wei shrank back against the molding, fear warring with a flicker of desperate hope. “Me? But… but the rules! The System will know! And her… her presence breaks everything!” He gestured vaguely at Jiang Muxue. “Exactly,” Wei Chen purred, taking Jiang Muxue’s cold, delicate hand in his. Her skin was like polished jade, and a jolt of frigid energy flowed through his palm. With their clasped hands, a faint crackle echoed through the corridor, and a nearby talisman, depicting a weeping willow, visibly withered and turned to dust. “Her presence cracks the cage, Gao Wei. It’s what we need. You just need to show us the path around the things that try to mend it.” Gao Wei looked from the crumbling talisman to the intertwined hands, then to the unreadable expression behind Jiang Muxue’s veil. The logic, twisted as it was, seemed undeniable. “Alright,” he croaked, finally, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “But if we die, it’s on you, Wei Chen. Every last shred of us.” “A risk I’m always willing to take,” Wei Chen replied, a predatory glint in his eye. “Now, where’s the quickest route to these esteemed ancestors?” Gao Wei, still trembling, led them through a maze of narrow, winding corridors. Paper servants, their faces frozen in vacant grins, shuffled past at regular intervals, the tallow flames in their hollow sockets glowing faintly. Each time one neared, Wei Chen would subtly tighten his grip on Jiang Muxue’s hand, and a ripple of unseen energy would emanate from her, making the paper figures shudder and briefly falter in their patrol before continuing on, seemingly none the wiser. With every disrupted ward, the manor groaned, the very foundations of the Nether-Realm instance straining under the bride’s reawakening power. They reached a set of carved moon gates that opened into the main courtyard, a vast expanse of dark flagstones lit by the eerie glow of blood-red silk spheres. The air here was colder, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant, discordant funeral music. As they stepped into the open, a low, guttural growl ripped through the air, shaking the very stones. From the shadows of the courtyard’s largest willow, a monstrous form unfurled. It was a serpent, crafted from countless layers of dark, coarse paper, its scales ragged and its eyes glowing with a sickly, phosphorescent green. It was grotesque, its horned skull disproportionately large, its mouth agape to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp paper fangs. The most terrifying aspect, however, was the faint, translucent faces pressed into its papery hide, writhing in silent agony – the souls of failed grooms, twisted into the beast’s very essence. “The Soul-Eater of the Yanluo Gate,” Gao Wei whispered, his voice cracking, his face bleached of color. “Madame Hua’s personal guard. It’s fueled by the anguish of the fallen. We can’t fight it!” Madame Hua herself materialized from the willow’s shade, her paper-flesh face stretched in a triumphant, malevolent grin. In one hand, she clutched her rusted shears, their blades gleaming dully in the lantern light. “Caught you, little bride and your tainted groom,” she hissed, her voice like grinding stone. “You thought to escape the presiding decree? Foolishness! The overseer demands his due. The beast will have its feast.” The paper serpent roared again, a sound like a thousand tearing scrolls, and lunged. Wei Chen, without hesitation, pushed Jiang Muxue behind him, stepping forward into the creature’s path. “A paper worm?” he scoffed, his voice carrying surprising volume and disdain. “And I thought the Qiao family had taste. This looks like something a street urchin would craft from last week’s funeral pamphlets. A truly pathetic display for such a grand occasion!” The dragon paused, its ghastly green eyes focusing on Wei Chen. A ripple of furious energy emanated from its form, and the souls embedded in its body seemed to wail louder. Madame Hua’s grin tightened. “Insulting the sanctified instruments! Your soul will be the first to be pulped!” “Pulp away, you miserable excuse for a matchmaker!” Wei Chen retorted, gesturing dismissively. “You couldn’t match a pair of socks, let alone a bride and groom. Your beast is as flaccid as your authority!” Enraged, the paper monstrosity snapped its massive jaws, lunging with renewed ferocity. Wei Chen danced back, his movements surprisingly agile. “Gao Wei! Those coins of yours! Distract this glorified kite!” Gao Wei, his hands shaking, fumbled in his robes, pulling out a handful of brass coins etched with protective symbols. He hurled them, one by one, at the dragon. Each coin that struck its paper hide erupted in a flash of pale blue light, causing the creature to shriek and recoil, momentarily disoriented. Wei Chen continued his taunts, drawing the construct’s full, furious attention. It swung its colossal tail, aiming to crush him. He rolled, narrowly avoiding the impact, but the force of the blow was immense. The tail slammed into a thick, ornate stone support pillar that held up a section of the manor’s overhanging eaves. The pillar groaned, cracked, and then, with a deafening roar, crumbled inwards. Burning timbers and heavy stone rained down. Wei Chen, caught in the debris field, cried out as a searing beam of wood pinned his leg, searing his robes and flesh. A gasp of pain tore from his throat. Just as he struggled, Madame Hua descended from the air, her shears held high, their rusted blades catching the scarlet illumination, ready to sever his trapped, exposed neck. [THE DIRECTOR OF RITES: The Groom is impaled. The Bride’s protection falters. The Rite of Unveiling demands a heart. The Hour of Consumption approaches.]

Hall of the Ancestors