Chapter 17: The Bride of the Enigmatic King (17)

“Why should I care? A father’s debt should be paid by his wife and daughter—perfectly justified! If you won’t agree to this ghostly marriage with our young master, then don’t dream of your Jiang surviving!” The old man with the dry pipe barked an order, “Tie them up! Ahua is already betrothed to our young master. Who’d have thought she’d be so unfaithful? Well, toss her and her paramour into the river! It’s a ghostly marriage anyway—whether the bride is alive or dead hardly matters!”

He was ready to bind and kill people right in front of the players.

Tang Mu stepped forward. “Murder is a crime, you know.”

The old man with the pipe fell silent.

“And even if it’s a ghostly marriage, you’re being far too careless. Shouldn’t you at least check their birth dates and times? You can’t just grab any woman for the ceremony, can you?”

He stared at her in silence.

“I know a thing or two about that,” Tang Mu continued. “How about you give me your young master’s and Ahua’s birth dates? I’ll help you work it out.”

“Get lost!” the pipe-smoking elder snapped, finally losing patience. “Know your place! You’re a player, not an NPC! Don’t think you can boss around NPCs just because you’re easy on the eyes. Stand aside!”

Tang Mu shrugged, spreading her hands. “Come on, Grandpa. As an elder, you should set a better example for us youngsters. Killing people in front of us—the flowers of our great new era—will leave scars on our innocent souls!”

“So take my advice, Grandpa: be a good person, don’t hurt others. Otherwise, when the ghostly ship reaches shore, the Ghost King will see you dead.”

The old man glared at her in silence.

This was supposed to be a horror-themed game, for heaven’s sake. Enough with the socialist new-age talk. It’s the metaverse already. It’s 2190! After tsunamis, famine, typhoons, earthquakes… Human life is the cheapest resource—every extra day is a bonus. What’s the point of all this chatter? Go cool down somewhere else!

Seeing how patient the pipe-smoking elder was, others drew near. “I don’t agree with her at all. I think you’re right. Ahua and Jiang have no sense of contract—they deserve to be—”

Splash!

Before he finished, the old man tossed him overboard. His teammate met the same fate.

The remaining players trembled at the sight.

Why did it seem like this NPC made his decisions purely by looks—who to eliminate, who to keep?

This was way too unfair!

After tossing the troublemakers, the old man returned to his usual self, puffing leisurely and blowing smoke rings as he glanced over the players on the ghostly ship.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get back to serving the food!”

“Oh, right, right!” The servers and cooks hurried off to the kitchen.

Tang Mu, however, didn’t leave.

She watched as Ahua and Jiang were bound to the railings on deck by the old man’s men. Sensing that he might have useful information, she sidled up to him.

“Grandpa.”

The old man with the pipe stiffened. In just a few minutes, he’d gone from “sir” to “grandpa,” and now “old grandpa”?

Ignoring his frustration, Tang Mu pressed on, “So what’s the trick to clearing this game? Why not just tell me?”

He was silent for a long moment. Tang Mu was about to give up when he finally spoke, puffing on his pipe.

“The Ghost King is the woodsman.”

Tang Mu blinked in confusion. “What?”

“After I threw Ahua and Jiang into the river that year, Jiang became a vengeful ghost and slaughtered everyone in our village.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“And Ahua’s nickname was Yaya.”

Tang Mu was silent.

So that was it. She was starting to piece together the plot of “The Ghost King’s Bride.”

The story must have gone like this: Years ago, Ahua was forced by the local gentry into a ghostly marriage. Jiang, full of resentment and newly granted supernatural powers, massacred the entire village—especially those who had taken part in the affair. He trapped them all in this tiny world, forcing them to die over and over for what they’d done.

As for Ahua’s grandmother—Old Ghost Lady—perhaps she died of heartbreak after learning her granddaughter’s fate and was then bound to the ghost ship by Jiang.

Having killed so many, Jiang, now evolved into the Ghost King, had lost his mind entirely. He was consumed by hatred.

The happiness he’d been denied—he would make sure no one else could have it, either. He forced Old Ghost Lady to seek new brides for him, but in reality, Ahua had long since been locked away in his haunted palace. Brides like Tang Mu, ferried across the river, were never meant to marry the Ghost King at all.

They only existed to satisfy his bloodlust.

His beloved Ahua was dead. Therefore, no bride in the world deserved to live.

A truly tragic tale of love denied.

But wait—Yaya was right there in the haunted palace. Wasn’t the Ghost King now with Yaya, doing all kinds of shameful things?

So why was his resentment still so great?

“That’s where you all went wrong,” Tang Mu couldn’t help lecturing the old man. “The young couple had a good thing going, and look what you did—couldn’t stand their happiness, had to tear them apart. And if that wasn’t enough, after she died, you insisted on burying her in your family plot.”

“If I were Jiang, I wouldn’t stand for it either.”

“Honestly, slaughtering the entire village was a pretty mild form of revenge.”

The old man with the pipe said nothing. If Tang Mu weren’t so pretty, he’d have smashed her with his pipe by now.

“We haven’t finished our meal,” he said, trying to steer things back on track. “Head to the kitchen and bring out the next dish. When the ship docks, you’ll know everything you want to know.”

But Tang Mu didn’t move.

“Why does the woodsman die when the ship reaches shore?” she pressed, brimming with questions. “Could it be that Jiang, as a woodsman, felt too weak to protect Ahua, and so believed he deserved to die at that moment?”

She shared her guess and watched the old man closely.

He hesitated, neither confirming nor denying.

That was all the confirmation Tang Mu needed.

“All right, old friend. The dish you ordered—steamed deer tail—will be right out.”

The old man, now dubbed “old friend,” cursed inwardly. He wanted to toss Tang Mu overboard.

But—well, he was a sucker for a pretty face.

Back in the kitchen, Tang Mu was once again met with Wang Qing’s resentment.

“It’s her fault Jiang Xiuwen died! Didn’t you see how close she was to those ghosts? She’s working with them!”

Something must have set Wang Qing off—her first words were to fling mud at Tang Mu.