The rain finally stopped.
The air was thick with the rusty smell of churned earth, and a faint, almost imperceptible, metallic odor. It was the smell of blood, stubbornly clinging to the damp air after a night of torrential rain.
Shen Qingqiu awoke from her unconsciousness.
She wasn't lying on the cold, muddy ground she had imagined, but rather nestled in a hard, flat embrace. That embrace was neither warm nor soft, like a piece of cold iron polished smooth by time.
She opened her eyes with difficulty, water droplets rolling down her eyelashes, her vision still blurry.
The first thing she saw was a half-moon.
For some reason, the moon looked particularly eerie tonight. In the peripheral vision of Shen Qingqiu's still-recovering [Overclocked Vision], the edge of the pale, cold moon wasn't a smooth curve, but rather displayed extremely fine, jagged pixels. It was like a cheap painting hanging in the sky, its edges slightly curled from dampness.
"…Seventeen?" she called tentatively.
The "sculpture" behind her stirred.
Seventeen looked down at her. His movements still possessed a chilling mechanical quality; the turn of his neck even made one worry about the sound of gears meshing. His jet-black eyes were terrifyingly deep in the night, with a faint blue light occasionally flashing at their depths, as if scanning her vital signs.
"Vital signs…stable. No need…reboot."
His voice was still hoarse, with a metallic chill, each word seeming to be carved from an ice cellar.
Shen Qingqiu struggled to stand up, only to find herself being held in his arms with one hand. The posture was strange, not like holding a person, but more like carrying a valuable, fragile piece of luggage. His arm showed no muscle contraction, its steadyness frightening.
"Put me down," Shen Qingqiu whispered.
The blue light in Seventeen's eyes flickered, as if processing the command. Two seconds later, he released her, letting Shen Qingqiu's feet touch the ground.
He made no attempt to help her up. The instruction was "put her down," and he simply put her down.
Shen Qingqiu staggered, barely managing to steady herself by grabbing onto a withered tree. She gave a bitter smile; it seemed expecting this "Heavenly Dao Antivirus Program" to show mercy was harder than expecting a sow to climb a tree.
"Where are we?" Seventeen didn't answer, but instead raised a pale finger, pointing to a forest shrouded in thick fog ahead.
Following his direction, Shen Qingqiu saw a shocking splash of red.
It was a sedan chair.
A bright red bridal sedan chair that had fallen into the mud.
Shen Qingqiu's heart skipped a beat; her keen intuition for danger instantly tensed her. She gestured for Seventeen to follow, and the two silently approached the fog.
The closer they got, the stronger the stench of blood became, almost nauseating.
A brutal massacre seemed to have just taken place here, but eerily, the scene was eerily quiet. A dozen corpses lay scattered on the ground, belonging to a wedding procession. The sedan chair bearers, the matchmaker, the guards—none were alive.
Shen Qingqiu crouched down, examining the nearest corpse.
No knife wounds, no poisoning.
The deceased's face showed extreme terror, as if they had seen something indescribably horrific. Shen Qingqiu activated [Overclocked Vision], her pupils slightly contracting.
In her vision, the corpse's internal organs… were shattered.
Not shattered by external force, but as if some high-frequency sound wave had instantly penetrated the body, causing every cell to resonate and rupture. What chilled her to the bone even more was that faint gray spots had appeared on the surface of the deceased's skin—data necrosis?
"Seventeen, on alert," Shen Qingqiu commanded in a low voice, then walked towards the overturned bridal sedan chair.
The sedan curtains fluttered in the wind, like a summons to a spirit. She used a gold hairpin to lift the curtain.
A bride sat regally inside the sedan.
Wearing a phoenix coronet and embroidered robe, her hands clasped on her knees, her posture as dignified as a doll. If it weren't for her head drooping eerily over her chest, Shen Qingqiu would almost have thought she was still alive.
The bride clutched a warm, smooth jade pendant tightly in her hand, engraved with the character "Su" on one side and "Lin" on the other.
"The Su family is marrying into the Lin family..." Shen Qingqiu's mind raced, searching for information from the original owner's memories.
In Cangzhou, two prominent families stood. The Su family was a scholarly family, while the Lin family was a powerful force controlling the canal transport. This marriage should have been a grand event that caused a sensation throughout the city, so why had this wedding procession died silently in this desolate wilderness?
Suddenly, a cold wind blew by.
The gold hairpin in Shen Qingqiu's hand suddenly became scorching hot. She whirled around, only to see Seventeen staring intently at the bride's corpse, his right hand slightly raised, a dangerous black light gathering at his fingertips.
"Source of contamination...delete."
"Stop!" Shen Qingqiu grabbed his wrist.
Seventeen froze, the black light dissipating. He turned to look at her, puzzled, seemingly unable to understand why the "erroneous data" couldn't be destroyed.
Shen Qingqiu didn't explain. Her gaze darted back and forth between the bride's corpse and herself.
Her current situation was extremely dangerous. The Shen family's pursuers and the mysterious puppeteer were both searching for her. Her blood-stained wedding dress was too conspicuous, and the identity of "Shen Qingqiu" was now a death sentence.
She needed a new identity. An identity that would allow her to enter Cangzhou City openly, and even gain the protection of a powerful force.
What could be more suitable than a bride who had just died and desperately needed her husband's family's protection?
"I'm sorry, Sister Su." Shen Qingqiu clasped her hands together, bowed to the corpse, a resolute glint in her eyes.
"Since your soul is gone, lend me this body. I will avenge you; I will walk your path."
An incense stick later.
Shen Qingqiu stepped out of the sedan chair.
She had changed into her magnificent phoenix coronet and wedding robes. The rouge and powder left in the sedan chair concealed her pale face, and in the flickering candlelight, she possessed a breathtakingly alluring beauty.
She turned to Seventeen, who had been standing silently under the tree.
"Throw away this sword," Shen Qingqiu said, pointing to the dulled steel knife she had taken from the assassin in Seventeen's hand. "From now on, you are not an assassin; you are the Su family's mute bodyguard." Seventeen tilted his head, seemingly trying to understand the underlying logic of the role of "mute bodyguard."
"And…" Shen Qingqiu approached him.
Seventeen was too perfect. That inhuman perfection would draw attention like a radiant light in a crowd.
She reached out, her fingertips catching a drop of mud and blood from the ground.
Seventeen instinctively wanted to lean back, but Shen Qingqiu's "Don't move" gaze froze him in place.
A cold, delicate touch came; Shen Qingqiu's fingers lightly traced his high, straight nose, leaving a winding trail of dirt on his left cheek, obscuring his overly sharp handsomeness. Then, she tore off a strip of cloth from her wedding dress and roughly wrapped it around half his face, revealing only his deep eyes.
"Remember," Shen Qingqiu said, standing on tiptoe, close to his ear, her warm breath brushing against his cold earlobe. "Your task is singular: obey me. Without my orders, you are not allowed to kill, speak, or... emit light." Seventeen looked down at the girl so close to him.
His image was reflected in her eyes, as well as the deathly darkness behind him.
Just then, the data stream in his eyes showed a slight disturbance once more.
[Command received: Highest priority. Bound object's emotional fluctuations: Calm (90%), Fear (5%), Expectation (5%).]
He slowly nodded, stiffly uttering a single word:
"...Yes."
...As dawn broke, the rapid sound of hooves shattered the deathly silence in front of the Lin family's old mansion.
The Lin mansion's gates were tightly shut, and the two white lanterns hanging under the eaves appeared starkly white in the morning mist—this didn't look like a wedding, but rather a funeral.
"Open the door! Open the door quickly!"
Shen Qingqiu had completely entered the role. She stumbled and fell against the Lin mansion's gate, her hair disheveled, her body covered in mud, her once bright red wedding dress now a shocking sight.
Seventeen, like a silent shadow, carried a long sword wrapped in tattered cloth, protecting her like a mountain.
The gate creaked open a crack.
An elderly man, resembling a steward, peeked out. Upon seeing the scene before him, he nearly dropped his lantern in fright.
"This…this is Madam Su? How did she arrive so soon? Wasn't the auspicious time noon?" Shen Qingqiu abruptly raised her head, her beautiful eyes instantly brimming with tears, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She grabbed the old steward's sleeve, her nails digging almost into his flesh, her voice shrill and desperate:
"Dead…all dead…"
"Dead? What?!" The steward was horrified.
"The wedding party…all at Luofeng Slope…encountered a ghost! Only Ah Qi and I escaped with our lives…" Shen Qingqiu sobbed, subtly observing the steward's micro-expressions.
Under the [Overclocking Vision], she clearly saw that when the steward heard the words "Luofeng Slope," his pupils dilated instantly, and his heart rate soared from 70 to 120 in a second.
That wasn't surprise.
That was fear.
Even…a hint of expected guilt.
"Quick! Let the young mistress in!" the butler shouted frantically to the servants inside, his eyes avoiding Shen Qingqiu's gaze, only glancing briefly at the masked, chilling "mute guard."
The Lin mansion's gates slowly opened, like the gaping maw of a giant beast.
A chilling draft rushed in, carrying the heavy scent of sandalwood and ashes.
Shen Qingqiu stepped over the high threshold. She lowered her eyes, using the gesture of wiping away tears to conceal the fleeting, cold sharpness in them.
She sensed it.
The air in this Lin mansion held a faint fluctuation, the same as that of the "giant eye" from last night.
If the martial world was a fabricated, lower-dimensional realm, then this deep mansion might be the node connecting to some terrifying truth.
"Seventeen," she murmured to herself.
The cold shadow behind her moved slightly closer, a silent response and protection.
A faint smile curved Shen Qingqiu's lips.
Since this world is an absurd drama, then she, a demon who crawled back from hell, wouldn't mind playing her part alongside these gods and Buddhas.
At this moment, the morning mist gradually dissipated, and the first rays of sunlight shone on the rows of pale lanterns in the Lin residence, giving them an inexplicably eerie bluish glow.
A grand drama about a "ghost bride" officially began.