The Wedding Escort

Translator: Cinder Translations

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"Fatty," Jiang Cheng suddenly said. 

Fatty nodded repeatedly while walking, "Doctor, just say it, I'm listening." 

"Go back and tell them everything that happened today." 

Fatty blinked. "How should I say it?" 

"Just tell it as it is," Jiang Cheng said. "In detail." 

"But Doctor, you should just tell them yourself," Fatty said awkwardly. "You know I'm slow-minded. I'm afraid I won't explain things clearly." 

Jiang Cheng exhaled and complained in a rather dissatisfied tone, "If they'd believe me, would I need you to do it?" 

As expected, things turned out just as Jiang Cheng had anticipated. 

No, not just as expected—worse. Much worse. 

Fatty sat by the table while everyone else formed a circle around him. But strangely, even though they were listening to his story, their eyes were fixed on Jiang Cheng, filled with suspicion. 

It wasn't until Jiang Cheng consciously took a few steps back, distancing himself from the group, that their brows relaxed, and suddenly, Fatty's words seemed much more credible. 

"So, this Steward Zhou infiltrated the Huang residence later? He was the father of the deceased woman, seeking revenge?" You Qi asked in surprise. 

Zuo Jing glanced at him and added, "Not just revenge—he wanted to use dark arts to bring her back to life." 

They now understood that the human-skin drum and the midnight performances were all orchestrated by Steward Zhou and his people, creating opportunities for the ghost to kill— 

All to ultimately revive his daughter. 

"But how did they manage that?" You Qi looked around in confusion. "Master Huang built such a vast fortune; he shouldn't be so easily manipulated, right?" 

"They used Young Master Huang as the key," An Xuan said calmly. "After his son's death, Master Huang was grief-stricken. I believe Steward Zhou must have hinted that he had a way to bring Young Master Huang back to life. That's why Master Huang disguised himself as his son—he was bewitched by them." 

Without a doubt, this was the most reasonable explanation. 

"How much time do we have left?" Xia Meng asked, raising a crucial question. 

"Not sure." Fatty imitated Jiang Cheng's earlier gesture and spread his hands. "The book recorded that there were four days left, but I don't think that's accurate. At most..." He raised two fingers and shook them. "Two nights." 

"Does the book mention how to deal with this ghost?" Although the chances were slim, An Xuan still asked. 

"No." 

"Then we should stop the ritual," Chen Qiang suddenly suggested. "I mean, if we all refuse to act in the next performance, wouldn't that break the ceremony?" 

"But that might also mean violating the rules, leading to unforeseen consequences," Jiang Cheng responded naturally. 

As soon as he spoke, everyone instinctively recalled how Tang Shirou had died—she was the perfect example. 

"The ghost shouldn't attack everyone who breaks the rules, right?" You Qi supported Chen Qiang's idea. "If all of us—" 

"Who will be the first?" An Xuan lifted his head and asked the most critical question. His gaze was calm yet carried a strong sense of oppression, making You Qi immediately fall silent. 

Time was precious; they couldn't waste it on meaningless debates. 

"Mr. Hao, do you have any insights?" An Xuan turned to Jiang Cheng. 

Zuo Jing also focused her gaze on Jiang Cheng's face. No one truly believed Fatty could have gathered such crucial information—this was clearly Jiang Cheng's doing. 

Perhaps he was hiding more clues that no one else had realized. 

"I think we should check the painting first," Jiang Cheng suggested. 

The painting was covered with a red cloth. The deep crimson color made An Xuan and Zuo Jing feel extremely uncomfortable, as if a blood-red battle flag was fluttering before them. 

You Qi stood nervously in front of the covered painting. After all, he was the one who had hung the cloth there. In his hometown, people believed that red cloth could ward off evil. 

Old mirrors or ancient paintings, when left alone for too long, were said to accumulate spirits. Covering them with red cloth was a way to prevent misfortune. 

Before entering this nightmare, You Qi—a burly man—didn't believe in such superstitions. But now, he had no choice. He had seen firsthand that ghosts were real, and they were far more terrifying than he had ever imagined. 

"Who did this?" Xia Meng asked knowingly. "Take it off yourself." 

You Qi swallowed hard, seemingly wanting to explain, but after seeing the others' expressions, he wisely shut his mouth. He quickly grabbed a stick from outside and used it to lift the red cloth away. 

The moment the cloth fell, Zuo Jing, standing closest, gasped sharply. 

The painting… had changed. 

The woman in the painting had completely turned her face forward. Her once gentle smile had morphed into an eerie expression. 

Her eyes were icy cold, and her brows were exaggeratedly arched, making her look exactly like the painted paper effigies used in rituals. 

Sure enough, time was running out. 

The background of the painting had also changed—more details emerged. A blood-red full moon hung in the sky, casting a sinister glow over a pavilion. A paper effigy sat atop a drum, beating the human-skin drum. 

Even through the painting, a chilling sensation seeped out. 

"Dong. Dong. Dong." 

Suddenly, a knocking sound echoed. 

At the door, the middle-aged woman's corpse-like face appeared. 

She stood outside without stepping in. 

Perhaps because they now understood the truth, the group instinctively distanced themselves from her. These eerie servants were likely actors from Steward Zhou's troupe. 

While Master Huang had descended into madness, they had taken complete control of the household, rendering him powerless. 

"The Master asked me to inform you," the middle-aged woman said in a chilling tone, her gaze sweeping over the group. "At midnight, when the drum sounds, you must come to the lakeside to perform with the Young Master." 

"Tonight's play is called—The Wedding Escort." 

The woman turned around, picked up a tree branch from outside, and began snapping it into short pieces with her nails. 

Her fingernails were unexpectedly sharp, like razor blades. 

"During the Wedding Escort, no matter what you see or hear, you must not make a sound," the woman instructed. "Not until the play is over." 

"Each of you must hold one piece in your mouth and only remove it after the performance ends." 

She raised her hand, revealing a small pile of broken branch segments. 

The nearest person, You Qi, hesitated but reluctantly stepped forward to take them. 

"Hehehe…" 

The woman suddenly chuckled. 

Startled by the sound, You Qi's hands trembled, nearly dropping the pieces. 

"You may distribute them among yourselves," the woman said before turning away. 

"W-what's going on?" You Qi stammered, his hands shaking. He stared at the broken branch pieces in his palm, then looked up in terror at the others. 

At that moment, everyone already had one piece in their hand. 

Except for him—he had two. 

(End of the Chapter)

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