At dinner, Jiang Luo was called to the dining hall.
He was the last to arrive. Except for the Fated One, everyone else was already there, gathered around the table having hotpot.
There was only one empty seat left—next to Feng Li. Jiang Luo walked over and sat down. Just as he picked up his chopsticks, Ji Yaozi came over with a glass of alcohol. “Drink with me?”
Hotpot and a bit of liquor in the middle of winter—what could be better? Jiang Luo pushed his glass forward, his gesture expressing agreement.
Ji Yaozi filled it to the brim and gave him a knowing look.
Jiang Luo raised the glass to his lips, but before he could drink, the Heavenly Master sitting on his left coldly ordered, “Put it down.”
The smile at the corner of the black-haired youth’s lips froze.
Feng Li took the glass from Jiang Luo’s hand and gave Ji Yaozi a look of disapproval. “Don’t pour him any more.”
Ji Yaozi scratched his head awkwardly, “I thought he was old enough to drink?”
“He was sick yesterday,” Feng Li took the glass and sipped from it himself, his voice calm as he made the decision for Jiang Luo, “No alcohol or spicy food for a month.”
Ji Yaozi gave Jiang Luo a sympathetic look and helplessly took back the bottle.
Across the table, Lian Qiang and Lian Bing had just been winking at Jiang Luo, but after hearing the Heavenly Master’s words, they exchanged glances and clicked their tongues.
Too strict. Good thing our own master isn’t like that.
But Jiang Luo just laughed and didn’t mind at all. “Then I’ll listen to the teacher.”
The doors and windows were tightly shut; everyone was sweating from the heat, and the glass windows were fogged with steam.
Outside, the sky grew darker. The dining table remained lively and noisy. Daoist Wei He and Ji Yaozi drank quite a bit with Feng Li, seemingly trying to get him drunk.
Dinner lasted until nine o’clock.
Just after nine, the wind outside finally began to die down—but a different sound came faintly from the distance, drifting into the dining hall.
The younger ones who had already finished eating were the first to notice. Lian Xue tilted her head, listening carefully, and said hesitantly, “Martial Uncle, I think there’s music outside.”
Lian Qiang nodded quickly. “Martial Uncle, I hear it too.”
Daoist Wei He set down his chopsticks and listened intently. Sure enough, faint, enchanting music could be heard from outside.
It was distant, yet somehow felt like it was right there on the mountaintop.
Strange. In the dead of winter at night—why would there be music?
Daoist Wei He considered it for a while. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”
The crowd filed out. Just as Jiang Luo was about to follow, he noticed Feng Li still sitting motionless. As a model “respect-your-teacher” student, Jiang Luo stopped and asked with concern, “Sir, aren’t you coming?”
Feng Li calmly finished the last sip of wine, placed the cup down, took out a tissue and wiped his hands, and then stood up. “Let’s go.”
Jiang Luo glanced at his expression. Feng Li looked normal, his steps steady, eyes clear—he didn’t seem drunk.
They were the last to leave, walking one after the other out the door. Outside, the entire “No Worldly Thoughts” people had already gathered.
Someone was rubbing their eyes in disbelief. “What is that?”
Jiang Luo made his way through the crowd. He saw Ji Yaozi and the other elders standing at the very front—even the Fated One was there. Jiang Luo’s curiosity deepened. He stepped up beside Ji Yaozi and was stunned by what he saw.
From the foot of the mountain, a procession of people holding red lanterns was winding its way upward. With drums and gongs, the parade had already reached halfway up the slope. The crimson firelight shone bright, dyeing the snowy ground blood red. In the center of the procession was a large red bridal sedan chair.
Daoist Wei He was shocked. “That’s a ghost wedding parade!”
Leading the procession were long, lean cat-spirits. Black-furred cats stepped elegantly across the snow, their dark coats blending with the night, only their glowing green eyes visible—bright and eerie. Snake spirits slithered on either side of the group, the scraping sound of their scales across the snow sending chills down the spine.
High above, Soul-Stealing Birds circled and cried, their shrill screeches melding with the ghostly music.
With drums and song, the once bare and silent mountain was now filled with one lively, dancing procession growing ever closer.
Pale, corpse-faced dead people carried the bridal sedan chair. They wore festive red clothing, with a large “Double Happiness” character stitched at the center of their chests, and their lips painted a terrifying shade of crimson.
Ji Yaozi’s face turned grave. “A hundred ghosts coming to escort a wedding—who could command such a grand display?”
Jiang Luo squinted at the ghosts and spirits. “A hundred ghosts?”
“Major ghosts, hanging ghosts, water ghosts, and even child ghosts, grave ghosts, disheveled-hair ghosts…” Ji Yaozi pointed them out one by one, his head spinning. “There’s even a daolao ghost.”
Jiang Luo was surprised. “I thought daolao ghosts only appeared in the mountains of Linchuan, Jiangxi.”
“I thought so too,” Ji Yaozi said, “but I’m sure I didn’t mistake it. That’s definitely a daolao ghost. When it appears, there’s often heavy wind and rain. I was wondering why the wind suddenly turned strange today—it was because of this.”
“Why are there so many ghosts?” Daoist Weihe exclaimed in shock and anger. “What kind of ghost wedding needs to pass over my mountain?!”
Feng Li clasped his hands behind his back and spoke lightly, “Let’s see if they actually try to cross. If they do, then make them change their route.”
If they could be diverted, then divert them. Otherwise, a clash with the hundred ghosts would only result in heavy losses for both sides. But if the ghosts were obstinate and insisted on crossing the mountaintop, then they’d just have to show a little strength to intimidate them.
The children who had come to watch were all sent back. They’d never seen such a spectacle before and walked away turning back at every step, reluctant to leave. Even the three young ones—Lian Xue and the others—who had no means of defending themselves were driven back into the courtyard.
Jiang Luo remained and said to the funeral shop owner, “I’ve encountered the Red and White Twin Evils before. The music now isn’t quite the same as what accompanied them.”
“Of course not,” Ji Yaozi said. “The Twin Evils are Evils. A ghost marriage may be from the underworld, but it’s still a joyous occasion. They’re completely different things.”
As they spoke, the procession had already reached halfway up the mountain, heading toward the summit.
From the mountaintop looking down, the scene was magnificent. The front of the procession was about to reach the top, while the rear was still wandering at the foot of the mountain. Ji Yaozi was right—the scale of this was outrageous.
Jiang Luo clicked his tongue in awe. “Getting married after becoming a ghost—it’s even more of a spectacle than for the living.”
Daoist Weihe silently hoped they’d take a detour, but the procession stopped precisely at the spot where the outer formation had been destroyed during the day. The long line formed a ring, encircling the entire summit.
The drumming and music stopped, and a deathly silence fell over the mountaintop.
Daoist Weihe furrowed his brows. He cleared his throat, voice loud and clear: “This mountaintop is the residence of this old Daoist! You should detour if you need to detour, return if you need to return! Don’t stop here and get in the way!”
At his words, the ghosts actually began to stir. A few child ghosts carrying red human-skin drums stepped to the front, banging on the drums strapped to their backs with all their strength, shouting with all their might: “Our master wishes to see Jiang Luo, disciple of the Heavenly Master Residence! Master Jiang Luo, please come out! On this beautiful night, please ascend our bridal sedan!”
After catching their breath, they shouted again: “Our bridal sedan is crafted from ninety-nine pipa ghost bones, adorned with ninety-nine pieces of bridal cloth from wedding ghosts, and the cushions are made from flesh and skin, sewn from nine layers of dead men’s hide. Soft to sit on, breathable, and exquisitely beautiful!”
After reciting this, they saw the group before them frozen in shock, with no response. Ge Wuchen turned to Chi You and said, “Master, Benefactor Jiang has not replied. I took a look—besides the Fated One, Feng Li and Ji Yaozi are also on the mountain. Shall we continue?”
Chi You curled his lips lazily. “Continue—until I see him.”
“Yes,” Ge Wuchen replied.
Receiving his master’s order, Ge Wuchen walked over to the drumming child ghosts and handed them a pre-prepared collection of love lines, instructing them to read aloud from it. He then ran over to the musicians and urged them to resume the drums and gongs—to stir the atmosphere.
Huali stalked over, face dark, and sneered, “Ge Wuchen, you’ve been offering Master all kinds of plans to pursue Jiang Luo these past few days. This ghost marriage was your idea too. What exactly are you plotting?”
Ge Wuchen smiled slightly, turning his prayer beads as he chanted, “Amitabha. Since Master has someone he likes, as his subordinate, of course I must help him fulfill his wish.”
Huali gave him a cold look, sneered again, and turned away.
The little ghosts began to recite love confessions. They shouted at the top of their lungs as if they believed their effort alone would make Jiang Luo agree. The lines were unbearably sappy—Jiang Luo listened expressionlessly.
“What do they mean by this?” Daoist Weihe’s chest rose and fell with fury. His voice grew louder, furious. “Who is your master?! Have him come out and face me!”
At this, the child ghosts perked up as if they had been drilled countless times. In unison, they shouted—
“Our master is Chi You! The youngest head of the Chi family, the most gifted prodigy in the occult world, with strength unparalleled in history! Our master is as handsome as a god, gentle and considerate, morally upright, with elegant taste, perfect physique, and astrologically a perfect match for Mr. Jiang Luo! A couple destined by heaven!”
The cat spirit and the soul-wounded bird chimed in, seeming to echo the little ghosts’ proclamation.
Daoist Weihe’s hands trembled with rage. “Chi You—Chi You! He’s gotten this arrogant?!”
Feng Li’s expression was terrifyingly cold. His eyes were deep as he looked at the miasma of ghosts before him.
“I just made up my mind today to kill him—and here he comes,” Feng Li’s voice was icy. He slowly turned the jade ring on his finger. “I’ll go deal with him.”
But Jiang Luo called out, “Sir, wait.”
Feng Li halted.
Jiang Luo walked up to the Fated One. Lowering his head, he looked intimately close and said, “You were right earlier.”
He smiled faintly at the Fated One, his eyes calm and firm with complete trust. “For the sake of the occult world, we each must do our part. As for this ill-fated bond between Chi You and me—I want to handle it personally. I’ll eliminate this wicked ghost with my own hands.”
He spoke gently, as if discussing something trivial, yet said exactly what the Fated One most longed to hear: “I will kill him.”
The Fated One’s eyes shimmered as he slowly smiled. “Go.”
As he spoke, he gently raised his hand and softly brushed aside the hair on Jiang Luo’s forehead—part encouragement, part hypnosis—as he murmured, “Go kill him.”
Standing among the crowd of a hundred ghosts, Chi You silently watched Jiang Luo’s interaction with the Fated One.
He narrowed his eyes, the smile on his face growing wider and more crooked. The red lantern’s glow cast an ominous, bloody hue across the corner of his lips.
During the day, Jiang Luo had stood closely beside his master, intimate and affectionate.
And now at night, he was whispering and clinging to the Fated One again.
He hadn’t taken Chi You’s words to heart at all.
Cold and innocent on the surface, but always subtly seducing underneath.
He needed to be properly caught and taught a lesson.
