Bridegroom, please step inside...

Before he could react, the Little Golden Flood Dragon Scissors seemed to be knocked away by an invisible force, landing back in his palm with a clang. No matter how he tried to activate them, they would not budge!

This is bad!

The old man exerted a little force with his wrist. Yang Yong felt an immense force tug at him, and his entire body was dragged through the temple doors like a rag doll!

The survivors behind him were no exception. Every one of them was pulled inside.

Bang!

The temple doors slammed shut behind them.

Darkness engulfed them completely.

Then seven or eight middle-aged women dressed as matchmakers crowded around him.

Their faces were caked in white powder, their lips eerily red. Their hands were like claws as they gripped Yang Yong's arms tightly.

"Bridegroom, this way, please~"

"The bride is still waiting for you~"

Their voices were shrill and thin, as though they were pinching their throats as they spoke. They gave off a mixture of scented powder and rotting flesh that nearly made Yang Yong gag.

They held him up as he stumbled through the banquet.

The "guests" were still staring at him, their mouths stretched into stiff curves. The greed in their eyes had grown stronger, as though they might pounce at any moment and tear him to pieces.

Although the Coffin Temple had looked no bigger than a palm during the day, walking through it now felt like navigating an endless maze. They wound around turn after turn, the path beneath their feet growing narrower and the light around them dimmer.

Yang Yong's scalp prickled, and he cursed Cao Xianming a thousand times over in his mind-

Old Cao! You damn screwup!

You only told me to follow the Blood Moon. You never said how to deal with a ghost marriage trap like this!

Now no one will answer me no matter who I call! Get over here and save me!

All he could do was clutch the One-Yang God-Sealing Banner in his palm and repeat silently, The data doesn't lie. The data doesn't lie... Entering this temple was the choice with the highest chance of survival...

As he repeated this, a hand suddenly reached toward his crotch!

"Fuck!"

Yang Yong jolted all over and slapped the hand away, glaring furiously. "What are you doing?"

The matchmaker covered her mouth and giggled, her voice shrill and cloying. "Forgive us, bridegroom... We servants are only thinking of our young lady's lifelong happiness. We must inspect you to see whether your body... is up to the task..."

"Up your mother's ass!"

Yang Yong let loose a torrent of curses. "Even if someone has to inspect me, it's not your place! Have your young lady come herself! I know my own damn body!"

The matchmaker looked utterly "ashamed" at his abuse. She actually covered her face and began sobbing.

Her cries were as piercing as a ghost's wails, echoing through the empty corridor and making Yang Yong's skin crawl.

But he had no time to worry about that.

He was hemmed in on every side and could not run. The Little Golden Flood Dragon Scissors would not work, and he did not dare casually try the One-Yang God-Sealing Banner, the only thing he could still use.

Who knew whether it would enrage these Eerie!

Just then, he caught a glimpse of the scene behind him out of the corner of his eye.

Old Zhao, the driver, and the other survivors.

They were surrounded by a group of "ushers" dressed in mourning clothes. Every one of them was deathly pale, their legs shaking like leaves, yet none dared make a sound.

The ushers' faces were as white as paper, their eye sockets pitch-black. They stiffly gestured for them to sit.

Old Zhao swallowed.

He was just an ordinary driver who had spent half his life driving buses before the apocalypse. When had he ever seen anything like this?

But he knew this was no time to act tough.

He saw the ushers' faces blackening and rotting at a visible rate. If he did not sit down now, there might not even be bones left of him!

Old Zhao dared not hesitate. He found a nearby table and sat down.

The dishes on the table looked, smelled, and tasted enticing, with gleaming braised pork knuckle and steamed fish that looked fresh, but Old Zhao only felt his stomach churn-

There wasn't even a blade of grass in this temple during the day. How did all these dishes appear out of nowhere at night?

Is this food... meant for people?

Could it be made from rotten meat and maggots?

He dared not think any further. He only felt sick.

When the other survivors saw Old Zhao sit, they hurried to follow his example, finding seats without daring to breathe too loudly.

Sure enough, only once everyone had taken their seats.

Did the ushers retreat expressionlessly to the walls, where they stared fixedly at them like stiff wooden posts.

Occasionally, a "waiter" passed by carrying a dish, moving with light, drifting steps as though weightless. Sauce dripped from the dishes, and when it hit the floor, it actually hissed and sent up wisps of black smoke.

Watching this, Old Zhao felt his scalp prickle.

How is this a wedding feast?

It's clearly a banquet for the dead!

The guests are ghosts, the cooks are ghosts, even the people serving the food are ghosts!

Only by desperately letting his mind wander, thinking of scenes of watching people film in Hengdian before the apocalypse, could he barely suppress the terror in his heart.

Just then.

A "guest" in ancient clothing at his table held out a wine cup toward him, his mouth stretching into a stiff smile. "Drink... have a drink..."

Old Zhao's scalp tingled. He could only steel himself and raise his cup to clink it against the other's, then secretly pour the wine into his sleeve while the other was not looking.

The icy liquid soaked through his clothes, carrying a foul, fishy stench.

But he had not expected this.

Once that first toast had been made.

The "guests" at his table actually crowded over one after another with wine cups in hand, muttering, "Have a drink," and, "Bottoms up." The chill in their voices nearly froze him stiff.

Looking at the ghostly faces gathering around him, Old Zhao cried out inwardly in despair-

Mr. Yang! Where are you? Hurry and save me!

Meanwhile, Yang Yong, on whom he had pinned such high hopes, could barely fend for himself.

The matchmakers held him up and pushed him into a steaming room.

A huge wooden tub stood inside. The water in it was an eerie red and gave off a heavy scent of powder, faintly mixed with a trace of blood.

"Bridegroom, hurry and bathe and change..."

The matchmakers giggled and lunged at him, their hands tugging at his coat all at once.

"Get away!"

Yang Yong growled and violently shook off their hands. Shielding his chest with both arms, he quickly backed into a corner. "Everyone out! I'll do it myself!"

His gaze was as fierce as a wolf driven into a corner.

The matchmakers exchanged glances, then giggled and withdrew.

Before leaving, they left behind a bright red groom's outfit.

The clothes were as red as blood, so glaringly red it was frightening.

Yang Yong looked at the tub of bloody water, his stomach churning.

Bathe? Like hell I will!

Who knows what's been soaking in this water!

He hastily scooped up a few ladlefuls of water and splashed them over himself, pretending he had bathed. Then he grabbed the groom's outfit and threw it on haphazardly.

The moment the clothes touched his body, a bone-piercing chill seeped in, as though countless icy hands were crawling over his skin.

Before he could recover, two women dressed as maids took him by the arms and led him out again.

The two maids had delicate, pretty features, but their faces were as white as paper. Their steps were light and drifting, and they cast no shadows.

Holding Yang Yong up, they led him around turn after turn before finally stopping outside a door adorned with a bright red double-happiness character.

"Bridegroom, please step inside..."