At some point, four red trays had been placed in the courtyard.
They looked like they were meant for wedding gifts.
Qin Ming dashed to the first tray and placed the mirror he was holding into it.
In that instant, the sinister aura surrounding him abruptly dispersed.
It seemed he'd chosen the right item for the offering.
Just then, the door to the room on the right slammed open.
Qing Xuan, dressed in cyan, spun through the air and shot toward them,
chased by three translucent ghostly women—the same ones who had earlier emerged from the walls.
Giggling, they waved handkerchiefs in pursuit of Qing Xuan.
Qin Ming stepped forward, igniting flames in his right hand.
Boom!
A burst of red fire scattered the ghostly figures.
Qing Xuan arrived breathlessly, holding a red bridal quilt in her arms.
It was embroidered with a pair of mandarin ducks playing in water,
and in the center, a large character for "double happiness" (囍).
She placed the quilt into the second tray.
Fifteen breaths later, Zhou Chang ran out from the back room.
He looked disheveled—his robe was torn, and blood trickled down his face.
He held a comb in his hand.
"Damn it! What the hell were those things?
My Flower-Picking Finger technique hit them like striking cotton—completely useless!"
He walked over and placed the comb into the third tray.
At that moment, the door of the front-right room was thrown open.
Da Kui and Xiao Dengzi came bursting out together.
Xiao Dengzi clutched a ceremonial scale tightly while Da Kui gave chase.
"That scale's mine! I found it first!"
Xiao Dengzi shouted, "Whoever grabs it first gets it!"
Da Kui looked enraged.
He stomped the ground and leaped into the air.
Just as Xiao Dengzi was about to reach the trays, Da Kui punched him in the temple—blood splattered.
"Screw you!"
Da Kui followed with a kick, sending Xiao Dengzi flying into a tree.
Da Kui placed the scale into the fourth tray.
Sure enough, in the next breath, the large red five-meter door before them creaked open with a rumble.
The four gifts floated from the trays and drifted inside.
Qin Ming led the way toward the doorway.
As the four stepped through, they spotted Xiao Dengzi still collapsed in the corner.
To their horror, he was furiously clawing at the dirt, shoving it into his mouth—handful after handful.
Was he insane?
Zhou Chang scolded, "Are you sick? Why are you eating dirt?"
Xiao Dengzi didn't stop.
He kept digging and devouring soil, his hands torn and bloody.
His mouth and throat were stuffed with dirt.
Eventually, he collapsed, suffocated to death.
Qin Ming glanced at Qingxuan.
"Looks like we were right. Only four gifts. Anyone who didn't secure one… dies."
Just then, two paper dolls appeared floating in the courtyard—
one male, one female, their faces painted with rouge, lips unnaturally red like blood.
Their limp arms swayed in the wind,
but their eyes moved like those of the living, scanning left and right.
"These creepy things…" Da Kui clenched his fists.
Zhou Chang stopped him, "Don't act rashly—they might be guides."
Sure enough, the dolls raised their floppy right arms, pointing to the main hall up ahead.
Lanterns glowed warmly inside.
The group followed the paper dolls into the hall.
At its center stood a writing desk with a blank sheet, ink, and brush.
Above it, a wedding invitation bore golden characters:
"The groom is invited to compose a wedding poem!"
In most transmigration stories, this kind of poetry challenge would be a plagiarist's paradise.
But in this world, plagiarism meant death.
Writing a poem from scratch was far harder.
And Qin Ming lacked the talent for poetry.
A cold wind swept through the hall.
Lanterns swayed, casting flickering shadows.
Qin Ming noticed several paintings hanging to the left.
The first depicted a woman in a yellow dress teaching soldiers how to make explosives.
The bombs worked impressively—soldiers applauded her success.
The second showed the same yellow-dressed woman teaching girls to make perfume.
They applied it to their arms, sniffing and laughing in delight.
The third portrayed a royal wedding—
a red-robed girl smiling as she took the emperor's hand and entered a bridal sedan.
Officials clapped joyfully.
But behind the crowd, a green-robed woman wept bitterly, her face twisted with rage and sorrow.
Suddenly, Da Kui slapped his forehead.
"I get it now! I've heard of realms like this—transmigrators abuse native NPCs and spark hatred.
This one must be the same. That transmigrated girl made bombs, perfumes, won the emperor's heart, and married him.
The weeping green-robed woman is probably a scorned concubine who resented the transmigrator.
This realm was born of her resentment!"
Zhou Chang stroked his chin. "I agree. So, if anyone plagiarizes a poem, the ghost bride—who hates transmigrators—will strangle them."
Qingxuan frowned, deep in thought.
She found their reasoning convincing.
She turned to look at Qin Ming.
His handsome face carried a thoughtful expression.
"Qin Ming, what do you think?"
Da Kui sneered, "What's there to think about? It's a trap meant to bait transmigrators into revealing themselves so they can be killed."
Qing Xuan tugged Qin Ming's sleeve.
"They're already ahead of us. This is clearly a trap—if you plagiarize, it proves you're a transmigrator!"
"No," Qin Ming shook his head.
"Do you remember what the ghost bride said at the start?"
"Gunpowder blew open my grave, perfume turned to poison.
These eyes that read, this mouth that ate—Heartless man, I only wanted to marry!"
"I thought about that too," Qingxuan said.
"Isn't she blaming the transmigrator for blowing up her grave and poisoning her?"
Qin Ming shook his head.
"That's not the right interpretation."
Just then, Da Kui grabbed the massive red door and tried to force it open.
"This is clearly a setup. We don't need to write a poem—we just bust it open! Plagiarizing means death."
But just as he spoke, a creaking sounded above.
A gleaming guillotine blade dropped from overhead!
Da Kui instinctively channeled his spiritual power to escape,
but pale arms reached out from the corners of the door, pinning his limbs in place.
"Boss! Save me—!"
SLASH!
The guillotine cut cleanly down his body, splitting him in two—blood gushed everywhere.
Zhou Chang leapt back in shock, retreating in silence.
"What the hell? Are we really being forced to fall into a plagiarist trap?!"
Qing Xuan gripped her black-gold blade, eyes fixed on the door.
Where had those hands come from?
She was panicking—if they couldn't plagiarize, how could they pass?
She turned anxiously toward Qin Ming—
but he was still calmly observing the three paintings.
She was secretly in awe.
He was so composed in a crisis.
Qin Ming focused on the first painting.
The yellow-robed transmigrator seemed to smile at him.
He looked closer—and noticed a red birthmark on her neck.
In the second painting, she had the same mark.
Proving it was the same woman.
In the third painting, the green-robed woman who cried also had the red mark.
Qin Ming's heart pounded.
He remembered the ghost bride from earlier—she too had the mark.
Which meant... the ghost bride wasn't a native.
She was the transmigrator!
The one who had suffered in this realm… was her!
"Qingxuan, prepare the ink."
"What? Qin Ming, you're going to write a poem?!
If you do that, they'll know you're a transmigrator—you'll die!"
"Prepare the ink. Trust me!"
"…Okay."
Qin Ming picked up the brush, dipped it in ink,
and although his calligraphy was poor, he still wrote a short poem on the blank scroll:
Let us drink and grow old together.
With music in hand, may peace last forever.