After Being Forced into Marriage with My Paranoid Dead Husband - Chapter 1

Clouds obscured the moon as gloomy winds wailed. Qing Ling stood by the window dressed in a lightweight white garment, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His delicate and refined face was haggard and pale, his eyes bloodshot as he stared straight at a bronze mirror placed before the window.

Inside the bronze mirror, a dark shadow stood right behind him.

Someone was standing there.

Yet the entire room was empty; only Qing Ling stood there rigidly staring into the bronze mirror. Clearly, it had just entered autumn, yet he felt as though he were standing in the piercing, bone-chilling wind of the dead of winter, plunging into an ice cave that chilled him to the bone.

He had been haunted by this thing for three whole days already. There was no rhyme or reason, no known cause or effect, turning his eighteen years of dead-water-calm life suddenly completely upside down.

A sudden gust of wind blew the window open. The oil lamp burning in the room flickered a few times before going out entirely. Qing Ling trembled as he stumbled back a step, his spine slamming against a cold chest. It felt like a layer of winter ice over river water, devoid of even a shred of living warmth.

The next instant, a chill landed on his shoulder.

That was a kiss.

That thing… was kissing him.

Qing Ling’s struggling movements felt as though they had been frozen in ice. Held from behind by that thing, a hand with no warmth stroked his waist.

He had nowhere to escape. It was not as though he had never struggled, but it was merely a mayfly trying to shake a tree. In the end, he could only force his face away, his hoarse refusal sounding like a pitiful plea.

“No…”

The response was a cold, mocking sneer.

“Hah…”

Knowing that it would not let him go, Qing Ling suddenly raised his eyes and saw scarlet blood appear out of thin air on the bronze mirror, stroke by stroke forming twisted characters that gradually took shape, Death.

That thing wanted to kill him! Yet it kept delaying, acting in such a leisurely manner as if teasing a prey that had fallen into a net, wanting to slowly peel him apart and grind him to pieces before swallowing him whole. How truly vicious.

Anger and terror intertwined then.

“Let go of me…!” Qing Ling finally roared out at the top of his lungs. “Let go… Don’t touch me! Get away!”

A slender, ice-cold hand clamped around his throat, as if mocking his overestimation of his own capabilities, or perhaps acting as a silent yet powerful threat.

Just when Qing Ling thought he was about to be choked to death right then and there, that hand abruptly released him. He was picked up, carried, and tossed onto the couch. With his eye rims turning red, Qing Ling gritted his teeth and trembled as he asked, “Who are you…?”

The movement behind him paused. A rusty, low, and obscure syllable slowly sounded, carrying ridicule and malice. “My wife…”

It did not answer, but Qing Ling froze completely at those three words, his thoughts abruptly pulled back to that night three days ago.

Beneath Dragon-Slaying Mountain, it had long been gloomy and rarely saw much sunlight. Qing Ling had lived right here since birth. Three days ago at night, while half-asleep, Qing Ling had heard the sounds of wind and percussion instruments drifting from the mountain—a bizarrely cheerful yet gloomy and uncanny tune, completely unprecedented in the desolate mountains.

He had wanted to go take a look, but he could not open his eyes, and his mind grew increasingly unclear. In a daze, like a puppet on strings being manipulated, he was made to put on cumbersome garments. Then came a long, bumpy journey, blankly and dazedly not knowing where he had been sent, only vaguely remembering pale dragon-and-phoenix candles, white double-happiness characters pasted on the walls, and an embrace and kiss as cold as ice.

“M-y… w-i-f-e…”

Word by word, it sounded like a rusty blade slowly being drawn from its scabbard, called out with such coldness and resentment.

Perhaps because he was not entirely clear-headed, upon waking up Qing Ling had still suspected how he could have had such a dream, and with a man at that…

Yet right up until he sat up from his familiar room and saw the scarlet garments laid out neatly on the couch wide sleeves wrapping around the lapels, curved-hem deep robes, cut in the style of women’s wedding attire from some unknown previous dynasty—Qing Ling was astonished, and along with that astonishment came the recollection of what he had experienced that night. For a time, he felt both startled and ashamed, until full realization set in, leaving behind only stark terror.

That garment could neither be thrown away nor burned. No matter what he did, it would always reappear completely intact inside his room. Furthermore, Qing Ling discovered that heavy fog had risen outside, and he could no longer walk out of this courtyard.

The night sky outside the small courtyard lacked stars and moon, heavy grey clouds looking as though they might crash down at any moment and swallow the entire mortal world. On the couch, Qing Ling could not break free, filled with humiliation and resentment. Aside from the young servant who tended to him in the courtyard, he had never seen anyone else, nor had he ever grown close to anyone. How could he have ever imagined that one day he would be humiliated like this by something whose identity he didn’t even know?

“Why?” Qing Ling asked with a crying tone. “Why? Why is it me?”

This time, the response was a kiss falling upon his back.

Qing Ling could not win against it. His body was no longer his own, but had fallen under the other’s control.

…I do not know how long passed before Qing Ling finally broke free of that control. He sat up in a wretched state, curling up into a corner and pulling the quilt over himself to cover his body. Even though such an action seemed useless and laughable, it was the only way he could think of to preserve his remaining shred of dignity.

Boom a torrential rain poured down outside, lightning flashing and thunder rolling. In the momentary flash of light, Qing Ling caught sight of the handsome face of the person standing before the couch: dressed in black robes with loose hair, only his complexion was excessively pale. Clearly, the corners of his lips were hooked in a smile, but his eyes were filled with venomous, gloomy hostility.

The instant the thunder crashed, his figure gradually faded away, though his lips moved slightly.

You cannot escape.

Seeing it clearly, Qing Ling’s already paper-pale complexion turned even whiter. He struggled to grab the clothes that had been stripped from him earlier and put them on, his footsteps stumbling and floating as he walked toward the window. Splashes of slightly cool raindrops landed on his face. Even with such heavy rain falling, the fog surrounding the small courtyard still had not dispersed.

Even the young servant who always served here was nowhere to be found. In the desolate mountain, the howling sound of wind and rain filled the air, without star or moon, as if only he remained left in the entire heaven and earth.

Yet Qing Ling let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Over the past three days, this was the only brief moment he could shake off that thing. What on earth was that?

A mountain sprite, a netherworld monster, or a ghostly evil spirit?

No matter what it was, things could not be allowed to continue like this. Qing Ling propped up the bronze mirror that had fallen onto the table at some point. The scarlet, terrifyingly twisted characters upon it were still as clear as before. That thing… would kill him.

Whatever was happening now was merely an appetizer. His body, his life that evil spirit, whether human or demon, wanted it all. Yet Qing Ling lacked even the ability to refuse, just like these past few days…

Qing Ling closed his eyes.

He had to escape. He had to escape from this place…

To go to Lincang City. Steward Yu Bo, who had passed away a few years ago, had said that his main family branch was the Qing clan in Lincang. Abandoned in these barren mountains for a full eighteen years, Qing Ling knew the main family might not necessarily tolerate him, but that was still his only place to go.