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Qing Ling was haunted by a fierce ghost that appeared out of nowhere.
From then on, his life, which had been as calm as stagnant water, was stirred by towering waves. A single marriage contract bound Qing Ling to a predetermined destiny; he could neither escape nor hide. No matter how unwilling he was, he could only submit to bullying and humiliation.
Some people are born with lives as thin as paper, having past-life grievances and hatred forcefully imposed upon an innocent person. Qing Ling knew full well that he was merely a mayfly in the vast sea, insignificantly frail, unable to contend with the heavens and powerless to fight the earth.
Yet, he did not want to die.
That life-claiming fierce ghost choked his neck, his voice as piercingly cold as ancient, unmelted ice:
“What does it matter if you are unwilling? How many people in this world can have things their way? All living things are mere straw dogs; I am, and so are you no one can escape.”
“Qing Ling, fall into the Asura Path [Hell Realm] together with me.”
That was a curse no less terrifying than the four words your time of death is approaching.
Whether human or ghost, when love reaches its deepest depth, withered bones can bloom with flowers.
