She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 56

◎"First Curse—Heaven and Earth—"◎

Before today, Yan Luoyue would never have imagined that even a ghost marriage could end in divorce.

The logic behind this was as absurd as "taking off your pants before farting" or "scientists finally breeding mosquitoes that can survive winter"—ranking among the world's top eight most unnecessary endeavors.

For a moment, silence enveloped the temple, inside and out.

The only sounds were the wild wind howling across the plains and Ling Shuanghun's voice as he delivered a thorough explanation, the sole movement in this world.

According to Ling Shuanghun, he had only come across one record of a "ghost divorce" in an ancestor's miscellaneous notes.

That record was extremely brief, spanning no more than three lines.

"If my great-uncle's research is correct, this should be a peculiar custom derived from mixed settlements, originating among a small group of hybrid descendants of humans and demons."

This phenomenon only occurred among mixed-blood descendants living together.

After all, ordinary humans kept weddings and funerals strictly separate—red affairs as red affairs, white affairs as white affairs.

To mash these two events into one, forcibly turning them into a red-and-white affair, was the result of blending cultures from other races.

Ling Shuanghun explained on the spot: "In the demon realm, demons gather in tribes, forming communities."

Marriage between two tribes often symbolized an alliance.

Correspondingly, if they wished to sever that alliance, they would send the male or female demon from the other tribe back to their original clan.

—Oh, and if relations between the two tribes were particularly hostile, they might not return the person intact. Sometimes, just the original head would be sent back as a symbolic gesture.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Even though she had heard of the demon realm's blunt and brutal ways before, every time she encountered such news, she couldn't help feeling grateful.

Thankfully, she had been born into the Turtle Clan, which had been assimilated into human society for a thousand years.

They say the land shapes its people.

Yan Luoyue strongly suspected that the Turtle Clan in the demon realm wouldn't be as zen as their human counterparts.

Over there, they were probably all hot-tempered folks, ready to bash each other with their shells at the slightest provocation.

Wu Manshuang listened attentively to the lesson, pondering carefully.

"So, these mixed descendants of humans and demons inherited some demon customs. Whenever they disagreed, they would... divorce?"

"More or less, but not for themselves—they divorced on behalf of their ancestors."

Ling Shuanghun was meticulous in correcting his wording.

"Whenever major conflicts arose, they would consult their family records, dig up graves, exhume coffins, and have two descendants don wedding robes to hold a divorce ceremony in place of their ancestors."

—Who would've thought? Living couples could separate if they wished, and even the dead could get a ghost divorce!

Wu Manshuang: "..."

Yan Luoyue: "..."

She felt this shouldn't be called a ghost divorce—it should be called a "cloud divorce."

Even Yan Luoyue, who had been exposed to vast amounts of bizarre information, found this custom utterly macabre.

—Taking advantage of the dead being unable to talk, huh? You quarrel, then dig up your ancestors to divorce them???

Yan Luoyue couldn't resist saying, "What kind of unfilial descendants are these? Didn't their ancestors rise from their coffins, grab mourning sticks, and bash their heads in one by one?"

"Who knows?"

Ling Shuanghun shrugged innocently, delivering a deadpan joke without changing expression.

"Look, this village is now filled with paper figures and no living people. Maybe the ancestors already rose from their graves and smashed every descendant's skull."

After Ling Shuanghun recalled the relevant historical records and traced the origins, the true identity of that ethereal voice also became clear.

"If I'm not mistaken, that voice is the lingering resentment of the Matchmaker Temple."

Folklore often spoke of mystical legends—certain temples, pagodas, or broken bridges were said to be particularly conducive to love at first sight.

Among mortals, this phenomenon was called "great for seeking romance."

But in the cultivation world, there was a specific term for it: "lingering resentment."

"Prolonged, intense emotions can give rise to lingering resentment. As far as I know, some temple halls encourage people to renounce worldly life, some buildings inspire scholars to become top examinees, and some matchmaker trees facilitate lifelong bonds..."

At this point, even Ling Shuanghun, with his extensive experience as a historian, couldn't help twitching at the corner of his eye.

"Of course, a Matchmaker Temple whose lingering resentment specializes in ghost divorces—this is the first time I've encountered something like this!"

Being a historian was great—the more you recorded, the more bizarre things you encountered.

And in this case, a certain someone's influence was undeniable.

Ling Shuanghun sighed. "Yan Luoyue, you might genuinely have some Turtle Clan divination talent in you—next time, let's travel together again."

Yan Luoyue: "???"

Reflect on that—is that any way to speak?

Just as the turtle and crane were about to start bickering again, that eerie voice resurfaced inside the Matchmaker Temple.

It didn’t seem to care that Ling Shuanghun had exposed its origins. Instead, it kept urging the three of them to hurry up and begin the ghost marriage ceremony.

"Can't wait any longer... don't want to wait... can't wait any longer... don't want to wait..."

The voice seeped into their eardrums, sending faint waves of dizziness through their minds.

At the same time, silvery light flickered inside the temple as the positioning arrays activated repeatedly, making the entire Matchmaker Temple tremble like a ship sailing through rough seas.

Yan Luoyue closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples. "For lingering resentment to be this powerful is rare."

Back at the academy, some teachers had lectured about lingering resentment.

But according to Feng Xiaoyuan, ordinary lingering resentment couldn’t harm people.

At most, it could evoke vague feelings or amplify preexisting thoughts. The most it could do was appear in a dream.

Exceptionally intense lingering resentment, however, could invade one’s consciousness—similar to the folkloric concept of "ghost possession."

...But this Matchmaker Temple—who knew how it had forged a connection with these arrays?

Yan Luoyue had heard of lingering resentment possessing bodies, but she’d never heard of it possessing arrays!

"Yan Luoyue, stop overthinking it," Ling Shuanghun said with a bitter smile. "Before today, no one could’ve imagined a Matchmaker Temple specializing in divorce either."

The red-crowned crane spread his wings to maintain balance. Amid the temple’s violent tremors, he stretched out like a white sail against the wind.

Ling Shuanghun raised his voice. "Fine, a ghost divorce ceremony it is! No need to rush—we’ll do it now!"

Half an incense stick’s time later, the Matchmaker Temple’s lingering resentment finally received the message and ceased its quaking.

"Now... begin..." the voice intoned darkly, laced with threat.

Ling Shuanghun took the wedding robes from the paper figures, shaking them out to reveal bloodstained silk fabric before handing them to Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang.

"Put these on for now. Just endure it a little longer."

This wretched temple could rearrange their positions at will, had lethal arrays for defense, and wasn’t even afraid of Wu Manshuang’s poison.

Until they were fully prepared for a fight to the death, they had no choice but to play along.

Frowning as she draped the robe over herself, Yan Luoyue whispered, "Do you know how to officiate a ghost... divorce ceremony?"

Looking at the bloodstains on the clothes, Yan Luoyue couldn't help but wonder: Had the previous wearers of these garments met misfortune because they mistakenly performed a "Netherworld Divorce Ceremony" as a "Netherworld Wedding"?

But this custom was far too obscure.

If not for Ling Shuanghun, the little historian in their group, who could have guessed that such an absurd folk tradition even existed?

Ling Shuanghun forced a bitter smile. "My granduncle's records only had three lines... I'll try to improvise."

He raised his head, gazing at the high beams of the ceiling, his tone gradually steadying.

"It's waited so long for the three of us who understand these rites. Surely it won’t punish us for minor mistakes."

Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang each draped themselves in red robes.

The three of them formed a triangle, backs facing inward, vigilantly observing the movements within the temple.

Once Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang had donned the wedding attire, two faceless paper figures—whose features Wu Manshuang had earlier torn off—stepped forward from the crowd.

Their hollow, blackened faces "exchanged a glance" before crawling into two open-lidded coffins.

At the same time, a faint snap echoed through the air.

"..."

Wu Manshuang's eyes were veiled with white silk, making it impossible to exchange glances. So instead, he nudged Yan Luoyue’s shoulder in silent communication.

Ling Shuanghun stood with his back to the coffins, while Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang faced them directly—watching as the paper figures crawled inside.

The moment the paper figures entered the coffins, a silvery-gray thread at their feet abruptly snapped.

So that was it—these paper figures had been controlled by a single thread lying flat against the ground.

No wonder their feet had dragged along the floor the entire way, never lifting.

Yan Luoyue blinked, finding the thread oddly familiar. It looked a bit like... a bit like...

Ah, it resembled the tendon threads of the Thousand-Faced Demon!

She turned to Wu Manshuang and mouthed, "Thousand-Faced Demon?"

Wu Manshuang shook his head.

In the demon realm, many creatures used similar threads.

Even with his inherited encyclopedic knowledge of demonic beings, he couldn’t identify the species based on a single thread.

However, one thing was certain...

"Demon."

Wu Manshuang silently mouthed the word to Yan Luoyue.

He never spoke to her without absolute confidence.

Now that he had dared to say it, he was certain—the hidden mastermind behind that thread was undeniably a demon.

Well, well. So a demon had meddled in this.

Yan Luoyue let out a soft tsk and leaned back in tactical retreat.

This abandoned village must have been some kind of feng shui hotspot.

It had somehow gathered a 3,000-year-old wartime formation, the lingering resentment of a local matchmaker temple, and now the dubious machinations of a demon.

The three forces tangled together like a chaotic stew.

The thought made Yan Luoyue shake her head in self-mockery.

In its past life, this matchmaker temple might have been a cup of bubble tea—half of it just toppings, thick as porridge, a bizarre yet flavorful mix.

Ling Shuanghun picked up the upside-down dragon-and-phoenix wedding invitations on the altar. The moment he touched them, he exhaled slightly in relief.

There wasn’t just one invitation—there was a stack.

That meant there were many divorce ceremonies to perform, giving them plenty of time to maneuver.

Taking a discreet deep breath, Ling Shuanghun steadied himself. "Let’s proceed with the first couple’s... or rather, former couple’s divorce."

Holding one invitation in each hand, he first read the left one aloud: "Hu Tuji!"

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Wu Manshuang: "..."

The name was so unconventional that its mere three syllables radiated profound philosophy and Zen-like mystery.

It forced every listener into deep contemplation: Was this "Hu Tuji" a fox spirit, a rabbit spirit, or a chicken spirit?

Ling Shuanghun cleared his throat and repeated, "Hu Tuji!"

Wu Manshuang stiffly nodded. "Present."

Ling Shuanghun then read the right-hand invitation, this time a much more ordinary name: "Zhao Hong'er."

Yan Luoyue responded, "Also present."

In the next instant, Ling Shuanghun transformed one arm into a white crane’s wing.

Like a shaman performing a ritual, he struck it like a drum with a resonant thwack.

The crane’s melodious song echoed through the moonlit temple, its lingering notes making the place feel even more eerie and mysterious.

Ling Shuanghun lifted his voice in song:

"Three lifetimes of misfortune, bound in marriage.

A journey through mountains and rivers—harsh and unyielding.

Fated ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‍in past lives, strangers in this one.

Sever the ties—sever the ties—sever the ties!"

As the song ended, Yan Luoyue was utterly impressed.

Between the drumming and singing, Ling Shuanghun was putting more effort into this divorce ceremony than most would for a wedding.

Having opened the proceedings with his crane song, Ling Shuanghun took a deep breath.

His granduncle’s records had only one line about the Netherworld Divorce Ceremony:

"A wedding is sealed with three bows; a netherworld divorce ends with three curses—a spectacle to behold."

Ling Shuanghun reasoned: A divorce must be the reverse of a wedding, replacing the three bows with three curses. Right, he had it!

Clenching his fists beneath his sleeves, he steadied himself and called out, "First curse—the heavens and earth!"

Wu Manshuang: "..."

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Wait, what?

Was this how divorces were done?

Something felt... off.

Yan Luoyue felt she should say something.

But Ling Shuanghun’s improvised ceremony was so counterintuitive that her mind went blank—except for one phrase: "What the hell?"

...Well, maybe that counted as cursing the heavens?

As for Wu Manshuang, he stood frozen like a stone statue on a remote island, seemingly petrified for eternity.

Judging by his posture, this absurdity had dealt a severe blow to the young snake’s psyche.

From now on, his understanding of human values might never recover.

Seeing that Wu Manshuang refused to curse and Yan Luoyue’s attempt was too crude, Ling Shuanghun took it upon himself to demonstrate.

Clearing his throat, he parted his lips, and the crane’s song reverberated hauntingly through the temple.

With dramatic flair, he sang:

"Oh blind heavens above, why did you pair me with this wretched soul?"

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Unable to hold back, she burst into laughter.

Ling Shuanghun generously encouraged her, "Laugh louder if you want—better yet, curse a few times while you’re at it."

That would lighten his workload.

In the culture of the demon-blooded, love and hatred were expressed freely.

Whether marrying or divorcing, both were considered joyous occasions—so laughter was perfectly acceptable.

"Hahahahaha!"

Taking his words to heart, Yan Luoyue laughed heartily.

Yan Luoyue laughed while rubbing her stomach, but as for cursing... the little turtle wasn’t very skilled at that.

Using Yan Luoyue’s laughter as a delay, Ling Shuanghun’s mind raced, trying to figure out how to proceed with the next step.

Logically speaking, "bowing to the elders" was the standard order in a wedding ceremony.

But directly replacing it with "cursing the elders" seemed a bit illogical.

After all, it wasn’t the elders who had forced this sham marriage upon them.

In that case, then...

Ling Shuanghun took a deep breath, his voice carrying far and wide: "Second curse—the unfilial descendants!"

He deliberately added the word "unfilial" before "descendants," giving himself some leeway in case the ritual went awry.

The echoes of the second curse reverberated through the vast, empty Matchmaker Temple, but the silence that followed left all three of them uneasy.

Yan Luoyue whispered to Ling Shuanghun, "Are you sure about this?"

This step was too unusual—she still felt something was off.

Ling Shuanghun stood tall, his clothes impeccably neat, save for a single bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

His expression remained composed, but through gritted teeth, he squeezed out an answer that sounded utterly panicked:

"I don’t know the exact customs. Every step—I’m making it up on the spot!"

With him playing such a reckless tune, it wouldn’t be surprising if the Matchmaker Temple reacted in any way.

So, little Yan, little Wu—you two better brace yourselves.

Ling Shuanghun’s attitude was so unapologetically shameless that Yan Luoyue was momentarily stunned.

Her lips twitched as she retreated to her original spot.

Wu Manshuang suddenly took a step closer to her, then tugged lightly on her sleeve and gave it a small shake.

Since he couldn’t communicate through eye contact, Wu Manshuang often relied on body language to convey his thoughts.

This time, it wasn’t because he had made some new discovery.

He had simply sensed Yan Luoyue’s slight unease and wanted to comfort her.

As the three of them waited anxiously, the Matchmaker Temple finally responded.

From the paper figures quietly placed against the wall, two stepped forward. Their feet brushed the ground as they shuffled forward step by step.

The two paper figures reached the coffins and then—thud!—dropped stiffly to their knees, their soles still pressed flat against the floor.

The posture was so awkward and unnatural that their lower legs crumpled flat under the strain.

Apparently, these were the unfilial descendants ready to take the scolding.

Hah—Ling Shuanghun had guessed right.

Yan Luoyue quickly urged, "Xiao Ling? Master of Ceremonies? Hurry up and curse them!"

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Ling Shuanghun glared. "Shouldn’t you two be the ones doing the cursing?"

Yan Luoyue threw up her hands in defeat. "But neither of us knows how to curse properly, and we’d just miss the point!"

"..."

Master of Ceremonies Ling Shuanghun reluctantly took over the cursing duties, grumbling under his breath.

He took a sip from his water flask to wet his throat, then belted out in a resonant voice:

"Worthless descendants, ah—why did it take you till today to think of severing this ill-fated bond—?"

Yan Luoyue: "Pfft."

Ling Shuanghun shot her a look, only to see even Wu Manshuang stifling a laugh under his hood—clearly, he had been thoroughly corrupted by Yan Luoyue!

The two paper figures hunched their shoulders slightly under Ling Shuanghun’s scolding, looking appropriately chastised.

They kowtowed once to the coffins, then stood up—their flattened legs still not restored.

Using those flattened limbs as support, they shuffled back to their original positions.

Now, the divorce ritual had only one final, most crucial step left.

Ling Shuanghun gritted his teeth, summoning courage no less than that of burning one’s boats or fighting with one’s back to the river.

In his clear, resonant voice, the white crane declared: "Husband—and wife—exchange curses—!"

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Wu Manshuang: "..."

Even though they had expected this last step, the sheer audacity of it nearly knocked them off their feet.

Seeing one of them lower their head and the other cover their face, neither moving for a long while, Ling Shuanghun clutched his chest in despair, feeling utterly betrayed.

"Don’t tell me... you want me to curse on your behalf for this step too?"

If that were the case, Ling Shuanghun mused, the Matchmaker Temple might as well not have dragged these two in at all.

They could’ve just let him handle everything—playing the groom, the bride, and the master of ceremonies all by himself.

One man putting on a three-act show—by morning, he could’ve divorced countless couples single-handedly!

Even from a distance, Yan Luoyue could hear Ling Shuanghun grinding his teeth.

Pressing a fist to her lips to suppress a smile, she solemnly declared, "No, we won’t trouble you with this, Xiao Ling. Have some water and rest for a bit."

The moment she finished speaking, Wu Manshuang looked up helplessly.

In this step, the "husband and wife" prefix didn’t matter—it was essentially no different from children playing house.

What truly troubled Wu Manshuang was the "exchange curses" requirement.

He had learned a few curse words. If Yan Luoyue wanted to curse at him, that was fine.

But if he had to return the favor...

Judging by Wu Manshuang’s expression, if he could avoid this dilemma, the little green snake would gladly cut out his own tongue on the spot.

"..."

In the age of the internet, there’s a theorem known as the "Relative Awkwardness Theorem."

When the other person’s awkwardness far surpasses your own, you’ll suddenly feel at peace—even finding the whole situation trivial.

At this moment, this theorem manifested perfectly in Yan Luoyue.

Originally, the thought of exchanging curses with Wu Manshuang had made her quite uneasy.

After all, Wu Manshuang was an extremely earnest little snake.

No matter how much Yan Luoyue teased him, he usually took her words at face value and followed them wholeheartedly—even now, he was still diligently practicing the comedic monologue "Listing Dishes."

If she cursed at such a guileless child and he took it seriously, how heartbroken would the poor snake be?

But the moment she saw Wu Manshuang’s current state of extreme awkwardness, inspiration struck, and Yan Luoyue instantly felt much better.

Free from her own embarrassment, she even found the mood to tease him.

Covering her mouth with a fist to hide a smirk, Yan Luoyue whispered playfully,

"Don’t worry, just curse at me freely. Do you not know how? Want me to teach you a few lines?"

Wu Manshuang shook his head so hard his hair whipped into a blur, nearly achieving the same effect as a high-speed fan on its maximum setting.

Suppressing a grin, Yan Luoyue remarked innocently, "I remember you used to be quite good at cursing. Back when we first met..."

During their first encounter, Wu Manshuang had been mistaken for a demonic snake by a cultivator and locked in a cage.

The reason for his capture? His eagerness to learn had led him to flawlessly mimic the phrase, "Damn it all, screw your grandmother’s legs!"

According to the cultivator’s recollection, the little green snake had not only nailed the pronunciation but also the tone—lacking only a pair of hands to place on his hips for full effect.

Wu Manshuang: "..."

Mentioning this past humiliation made Wu Manshuang’s face instantly pale.

In an instant, it was as if invisible sprites had painted Wu Manshuang with a layer of red dye, flushing him from his forehead all the way to the tips of his ears.

Yan Luoyue even wondered if she could see wisps of steam rising from his face.

If she were to press her palm against the little green snake’s cheeks right now, it would undoubtedly make for a top-tier hand warmer.

With a teasing smile, Yan Luoyue said, “Well then, shall I start by ‘scolding’ you?”

Wu Manshuang exhaled as if granted a reprieve, nodding repeatedly in eager agreement.

Yan Luoyue enunciated each word deliberately, calling out the name: “Hu Tuji!”

Though she spoke the name aloud, her left thumb and forefinger curled into a circle around her right wrist, mimicking the shape of a bracelet.

Clearing her throat, Yan Luoyue put on a serious face and “scolded”: “You’re just too adorable!”

“!!!”

Caught completely off guard, Wu Manshuang jerked his head up.

He had braced himself for any kind of reproach, prepared to endure whatever came his way.

Yet Yan Luoyue effortlessly shattered his defenses.

This “harsh scolding” was entirely unexpected, yet it felt utterly fitting.

Moonlight never stings—it only bathes you in its gentle glow.

Behind the white veil, Wu Manshuang, struck by such direct praise, widened his eyes in flustered surprise.

He saw Yan Luoyue grinning triumphantly at him, her hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, brimming with vitality…

It was the same expression she’d worn when she joked about kidnapping him or forcing him to learn the comedic monologue A Menu of Dishes.

Like a flurry of snowflakes scattered over barren earth—glistening and pure, yet not the least bit cold.

If you caught these “snowflakes” in your palm, you’d find they weren’t fragile crystals that melted at a touch, but soft, downy feathers.

Warm and pristine.

Gather enough of them into a nest, and even the most cold-blooded little snake could curl up inside and weather the harshest winter.

Without thinking, Wu Manshuang murmured in reply, “I… I wasn’t adorable before.”

Certainly not “too adorable.”

The one who was truly “too adorable” was Yan Luoyue.

It was only because he’d once been worn on her hand, borrowing a trace of her warmth, that he’d gained even a sliver of charm.

Wu Manshuang leaned forward slightly, about to say something—if he could mimic Yan Luoyue’s style and “scold” her back, he felt he might just manage it!

Suddenly, his gaze sharpened, darting toward the foot of the coffin.

Even through the veil, Yan Luoyue sensed the icy intensity of his stare.

In a flash of understanding, Wu Manshuang grabbed Yan Luoyue’s sleeve and traced a few quick strokes on her palm with his gloved fingers.

Yan Luoyue caught the signal and nodded in acknowledgment.

Their “quarrel” had been anything but heated, and by now, they’d fallen into prolonged silence.

The Matchmaker’s Temple seemed baffled, unable to comprehend why the “spousal bickering” segment had turned out so dull.

The floor trembled faintly, creaking as if urging them on.

Ling Shuanghun closed his eyes, massaging the cinnabar mark between his brows, resigned to covering for his hopeless friends.

Taking a deep breath, he spun a blatant lie: “Ah, as we can see, the ‘former groom’ and ‘former bride’ are now exchanging… whispered insults…”

Yan Luoyue: “…”

Wu Manshuang: “…”

Whether it was the cringe-worthy titles of “former groom” and “former bride” or the linguistic acrobatics of “whispered insults,” it was all nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Yan Luoyue couldn’t help but marvel: when it came to the art of creative embellishment, Ling Shuanghun had truly mastered it.

The temple might have been skeptical, but Ling Shuanghun’s smooth-talking eventually won it over, and the floor’s restless tremors stilled once more.

Ling Shuanghun exhaled in relief.

Not wanting to tempt fate, he hurriedly ushered the two “actors” into the next phase.

“The ceremony is complete! Now, the former groom and former bride shall take up the scissors and sever the red silk knot—”

This time, without needing Ling Shuanghun’s cue, Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang stepped toward the altar.

They picked up the rusted iron shears and brought the blades to the crimson silk flowers tied across the two coffins.

If not for the gloomy sky outside, the dozen-odd pallid lanterns indoors, and the motionless paper spectators who didn’t even applaud…

The scene might have resembled a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a coffin sponsored by the Matchmaker.

Ling Shuanghun did his best to handle all the vocal parts.

The crane demon’s sleeves fluttered gracefully as he sang, though the lyrics were decidedly off-key—

“You wretched soul, from this day forth, we sever all ties, cutting karma clean~~~~”

While singing, Ling Shuanghun frantically signaled Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang with his eyes.

Following his cues, the two brought the scissors down with a decisive snip, slicing through the aged red silk.

The tattered flower slumped to the ground like a rooster with its neck abruptly lopped off.

At that very moment, two slender threads slithered along the seams of the wooden planks, creeping up the edges of the coffins and adhering to the paper figures’ feet.

With a rustling of paper, the two lifeless effigies—previously motionless in their coffins—suddenly stirred, sitting upright as if infused with life.

In a flash, Yan Luoyue yanked loose the veil tied behind Wu Manshuang’s head.

Simultaneously, Wu Manshuang tore off his right glove and lunged forward, seizing the silver thread.

The filament was unnaturally tough and razor-sharp.

The moment it touched Wu Manshuang’s bare palm, it split his skin like a blade meeting unprotected flesh, leaving a straight, bleeding gash.

Ignoring the pain, Wu Manshuang tightened his grip, his gaze sharpening into twin swords—sheathed for a decade, now unsheathed and piercing toward the thread’s source.

Blood gushed like rainwater gathering on eaves or beads slipping off a broken string, pooling rapidly on the wooden floor into a small, dark puddle.

The entire sequence—Yan Luoyue tearing off the veil, Wu Manshuang grabbing the thread—unfolded in the blink of an eye, no longer than a single second.

“…Hm?”

Suddenly, Yan Luoyue heard a clear, melodious voice hum in faint surprise.

The sound seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once—directionless, as if it had sprung from her own mind, a hallucination born of tension.

A heartbeat later, Wu Manshuang released his grip.

The silver thread had already bitten deep into his flesh; another moment, and it might have sawed into bone.

The filament, now preoccupied, retracted swiftly underground, vanishing as if startled by the struggle.

Wu Manshuang shut his eyes, knowing Yan Luoyue’s worried expression would be etched in his mind even without seeing it.

He obediently extended his left hand and immediately declared, "Just a scratch, nothing serious."

Yan Luoyue slapped a large glob of ointment into his palm.

Eyeing the clearly excessive amount of medicine, Wu Manshuang looked a little helpless, but he still followed Yan Luoyue's instructions, smearing a thick layer of the sweet and delicious medicinal paste over the wound.

Ling Shuanghun leaned in closer. "Well? Did you figure out what it is?"

Wu Manshuang nodded, his expression grave. "It's immune to my poison… and my gaze. It's a Left-Spiral Snail Demon."

Theoretically, Wu Manshuang had never encountered anything that could resist his toxicity.

As long as it made contact through pores, mucous membranes, or blood, the poison would take effect within a few breaths.

Just now, Wu Manshuang had held onto the creature's silver threads for nearly ten seconds—the entire length of the wire soaked in his flesh and blood.

If an ordinary person were subjected to that, even if their nerves didn’t immediately necrotize, their movements should at least slow down.

But the demon remained unaffected because those silver threads weren’t its meridians or any kind of bodily transport system.

In fact, that thread was the Left-Spiral Snail Demon’s shell.

This was a demon with extraordinarily strong defenses—so tough it could swear brotherhood with the Turtle Clan.

Its appearance resembled a field snail, its soft body covered in a layer of hard armor, though the opening at the top was smaller than a snail’s—no bigger than a thumbnail.

Because all its "spirals" twisted to the left, the creature was named the "Left-Spiral Snail Demon."

Yan Luoyue had once made a monster card for the Left-Spiral Snail Demon and knew its characteristics well.

She suddenly understood. "No wonder it’s immune to your gaze."

Because the Left-Spiral Snail Demon didn’t have eyes to begin with.

—So, if you lack morals, you can’t be morally blackmailed. If you blind yourself first, you can’t be petrified by a gorgon.

Countless silver threads of the same material twisted together to form this demon’s spiral shell.

These threads were exceptionally sharp, tough, and even had a certain elasticity.

On the outermost layer of the shell, there were dozens to hundreds of "threads" that served both offense and defense.

They usually hid among the rest, appearing to be part of the shell. But at critical moments, they could shoot out as weapons, slicing through flesh.

After reducing its prey to a pulpy mess, the Left-Spiral Snail Demon would then use its threads to gather the bloody paste and feed it into the tiny hole on top of its head—no larger than a fingernail.

"Wait a second," Ling Shuanghun interjected this time. "If the only opening is on its head, how does it… handle waste?"

Wu Manshuang thought for a moment. "From what I know, it uses the same hole for eating and… expelling. Or maybe it’s not excretion—more like vomiting?"

"Right," Yan Luoyue recalled the male voice from earlier. "Did either of you hear someone else speaking just now?"

Both Wu Manshuang and Ling Shuanghun shook their heads.

"Maybe I misheard."

By now, Wu Manshuang had retied the white gauze over his eyes, and the wound on his hand had scabbed over.

Meanwhile, the Matchmaker Temple—always a step slow to react—seemed to have only just registered the scent of blood.

And then, it suddenly went berserk.

"Get out… don’t eat yet…"

The temple trembled as if in fury, its doors and windows slamming open and shut repeatedly, like someone gasping heavily for breath.

"My ritual… the ritual… isn’t finished yet… don’t you dare touch…"

Huh? Were the Matchmaker Temple and the Left-Spiral Snail Demon having a falling-out?

A flash of silver light rippled across the wooden floor—the activation of a formation.

The temple grew even more enraged. "I didn’t tell you to touch it… disobedient… disobedient!"

Yan Luoyue and Ling Shuanghun exchanged a glance.

In that instant, all the previous mysteries unraveled in the wake of their opponents’ bickering—

Yan Luoyue finally understood:

The Matchmaker Temple’s obsession didn’t influence the residual formations here. Instead, it controlled the Left-Spiral Snail Demon.

It couldn’t manipulate the formations directly.

Only by commanding the Left-Spiral Snail Demon and using its threads could it activate or deactivate the formations.

This created a strange symbiotic relationship between the two demons:

The Left-Spiral Snail Demon didn’t understand human formations and could only obey the temple’s orders.

The Matchmaker Temple, unable to lure human officiants, used the snail demon’s paper puppets as bait.

Any human or demon lured here who made a mistake in the divorce ritual would be devoured by the Left-Spiral Snail Demon as food.

This partnership was seamless, like two tightly interlocking gears.

Only the cultivators and mortals drawn into the abandoned village became the silent, crushed flesh beneath those gears.

Watching the Matchmaker Temple throw its tantrum with such grandeur, Yan Luoyue felt a spark of inspiration.

These two shady collaborators didn’t seem entirely in sync.

If that was the case… could they deepen the rift between them and make these demons turn on each other?

Yan Luoyue tugged at Wu Manshuang’s sleeve, and he immediately understood, flattening his palm before her.

As she scribbled furiously on his hand, Ling Shuanghun kindly reminded them, "Cover it with your sleeve."

The Matchmaker Temple could manipulate formations—it probably had some literacy and might decipher what they were writing.

Before Ling Shuanghun could finish that thought, Yan Luoyue turned to him with a radiant smile.

"It’s fine," she said confidently. "We’re writing in pinyin."

See? Her decision to start Wu Manshuang’s compulsory education with the multiplication table had been the right one.

—At this moment, the glow of knowledge shone equally on both their faces.

Meanwhile, the usually erudite crane historian stared blankly, like a dropout who’d never received his elementary school diploma.

"…"