The rusted shears descended, a glint of scarlet light catching on their worn edge, snapping shut a hair's breadth from Wei Chen's neck. A sound, sharper than any blade, ripped through the air – a keening wail from Jiang Muxue that seemed to flay the very fabric of the Nether-Realm. Her red veil, previously still, now billowed outwards, and from beneath it, a blinding storm erupted. It wasn't just frost, though icy gusts howled through the ruined manor; it was a furious vortex of vermilion petals, each one edged with razor-sharp ice. The Soul-Eater of the Yanluo Gate, a grotesque composite of shredded souls and paper, shrieked a soundless agony as the storm engulfed it. Its papery hide tore, its skeletal frame disintegrated, dissolving into a maelstrom of snow and flakes of joss paper that scattered like ashes. In less than a breath, the monstrous dragon was gone, purged from existence, leaving only a lingering chill and the scent of burnt paper. Jiang Muxue’s form remained veiled, but the air around her crackled with raw, untamed power. Her focus, needle-sharp and arctic, shifted from the vanished beast to the debris pinning Wei Chen. With an unseen force, the burning timber that seared his leg lifted, not gently, but with a swift, violent jerk, flinging the heavy beam aside as if it were a twig. Wei Chen gasped, his leg free but throbbing, the flesh beneath his torn robe already blistering. He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain, his gaze fixed on the bride whose rage had just saved him. Madame Hua, suspended in the air, her grin fixed but her eyes wide with a terror that finally pierced her paper mask, shrieked. “Impossible! The seals! You—!” Jiang Muxue didn't respond with words. Her will alone was a weapon. Tendrils of ghostly energy, vibrant and deadly, lashed out from beneath her veil, seizing Madame Hua. The matchmaker’s paper-flesh body, once a source of grotesque strength, now tore like damp parchment under the invisible assault. Her limbs were ripped away, then her head, her fixed grin shattering into grotesque fragments. Spectral hands, formed from the bride’s fury, crushed the remaining pieces of Madame Hua, absorbing the fading vestiges of her power. The air thickened with a nauseating sweetness as the matchmaker was not just destroyed, but utterly consumed, leaving nothing but a lingering, sickly-sweet scent and a faint whisper of lost souls. Gao Wei, who had been scrambling away from the dragon’s rampage, stared in horror, his face ashen. He clutched a fistful of warding coins, trembling, utterly bewildered by the sheer destructive force. This was beyond any 'survival' he understood. Wei Chen, despite the agony in his leg and the smoke stinging his eyes, managed a pained grin. He limped towards Jiang Muxue, who now stood amidst the swirling remnants of Madame Hua’s essence, her power resonating with a terrifying new depth. He took her icy hand, pulling it to his lips. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a private affirmation amidst the chaos. “My bride,” he murmured, his voice husky, “you truly are a force of nature. I knew you wouldn’t let them ruin our wedding night.” Jiang Muxue gripped his fingers in return, her touch glacial, pressing the cold band of a jade thumb ring against his bruised knuckles. [THE DIRECTOR OF RITES: Anarchy. The Architect’s Seals breached. The Hour of Finality accelerates. Midnight in 00:05:00.] Bloody calligraphy blazed across the cracked stones, the numbers dripping, counting down with terrifying finality. Five minutes until purging. Wei Chen’s grin didn’t falter, though a flicker of genuine urgency entered his eyes. He had wanted to break the system, to unseal his bride, but he hadn't accounted for the Director of Rites simply deciding to end the game early. He turned to Jiang Muxue, his gaze intense. “Five minutes. We need to reach that ancestral hall now. You want to be truly free, don’t you? Then we move.” He pulled her gently, the lingering pain in his leg a sharp reminder of their dwindling time. The ancestral hall lay beyond the northern corridor, its paper lattices rattling in the sudden draft.

A Vow of Ruin