Zaoya’s name was simple, with few strokes, making it easy to learn. By the light of a flashlight, she grasped it quickly, practicing with a small branch on the ground.

Soon, she was able to create the characters independently.

“Write” was a generous term; she was more accurately “drawing” them, tracing the shapes Wen Renxi had shown her.

“I can write it!” Looking at her handiwork, Zaoya beamed at Wen Renxi, comparing it to the original.

It was her name.

“Amazing! You learned so fast. We started with the basics in school. You’ll do great outside,” Wen Renxi applauded, joined by a surprised Han Jiao.

“Yeah, it took me ages to learn my name. You’re so talented,” Han Jiao added.

Even knowing this was a nightmare, Han Jiao couldn’t help but join in. She found herself growing invested as Zaoya practiced, and a genuine smile spread across her face.

Embarrassed, Zaoya tucked her fingers, the characters repeating in her mind.

The mountain nights were cold, even in summer. The girls huddled together for warmth, staying alert. To avoid falling asleep, Han Jiao started a conversation.

“Our professor said the village has unique customs. Zaoya, can you tell us about some interesting things?” she asked, also hoping to gather information.

Wen Renxi glanced at Han Jiao, not interrupting.

She was also curious about Shangyang’s eccentricities.

Han Jiao wanted to learn about taboos and rules, but Zaoya spoke of her wedding dress.

She touched the white gown, which looked eerie in the night.

“Here, it’s an honor to have a daughter marry in a snow wedding gown. Everyone envies it.”

Han Jiao was briefly stunned.

She assumed the white dress was for a ghost marriage, or simply a sign of Zaoya’s family selling her off for the Hu’s betrothal gift. But there was more.

“Two hundred years ago, a remarkable woman lived here. Her fiancé died before their wedding. She insisted on marrying him in her white gown. At her departure, she promised her family prosperity. She was buried with her fiancé, and her family became wealthy, even producing an official.”

Zaoya’s story was muddled, but Wen Renxi and Han Jiao understood.

Wen Renxi knew what was coming.

“So, families are proud to have daughters marry in a snow wedding gown. The daughter brings them luck and prosperity,” Zaoya continued.

However, snow wedding gown brides were rare. First, there had to be an unmarried dead man. Married men, with wives, didn’t count.

“When Mr. Hu died, the whole village watched. The Hu’s chose me. My parents and brother were thrilled, but I was terrified.” Zaoya buried her face in her knees, shaking. “I betrayed them. It’s an honor, but I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

“My marriage will bring good fortune and prosperity. My parents are using the betrothal money for my brother’s wife. A snow bride brings luck. Many will want to marry my brother. But I’m too scared. I’m a bad daughter…”

Sitting down, Wen Renxi had pulled out her knife, holding it close. Hearing Zaoya, her grip tightened. Tears welled up.

Han Jiao was even more agitated, her face twisted in rage.

It was repulsive.

“Nonsense! You’re not bad! Your parents and brother are worthless! They’re using you to get what they want. You’re their daughter, their sister. How can they sacrifice you, marry you to a corpse?”

“If they want wealth, why not marry themselves? Only cowards use their women!”

“Don’t listen to them. They’re tricking you. You did the right thing, ruining their plans!”

Zaoya’s parents and brother, seeking wealth and protection, and the Hu’s, wanting their dead son served in the afterlife, all their schemes deserved to fail!

Why should Zaoya be sacrificed?

Han Jiao was furious.

Everything, all the advantages, seemed to hinge on sacrificing Zaoya. Even Zaoya thought it was right, only escaping because of fear. But it was wrong!

It shouldn’t be like this.

Wen Renxi blinked, teary-eyed, watching the furious Han Jiao. Zaoya stared innocently, as if Han Jiao would grab the knife and slaughter the entire village.

By their expressions, Wen Renxi seemed more pitiful.

Meeting their gaze, Han Jiao’s fury faltered.

She…

She remembered her mission: return the escaped Zaoya, so she could “consummate” her marriage and be used by both families…

The thought made her uneasy. She repeated it was just a nightmare, not real. No guilt needed.

She was just doing her job.

Still, she felt stifled.

Zaoya smiled, dimples showing. “Thank you for helping me. I feel safe with you. Is the outside world really so good?”

Her curiosity was genuine.

“…It’s alright,” Han Jiao said, looking away, her enthusiasm gone.

Wen Renxi stepped in, describing the outside world to Zaoya.

She painted a vivid picture of Zaoya’s future, kindling her hopes.

Looking at Zaoya, Wen Renxi was resolute.

She’d take her away.

Players? Villagers?

She’d show Zaoya the world.

As time passed, Wen Renxi’s throat grew dry, and Han Jiao and Zaoya grew drowsy. Wen Renxi was also exhausted, and stopped talking to rest.

…

In Hu’s residence, Shangyang Village, Mr. Hu raged over Zaoya’s disappearance. Shao Xiaofeng, wearing glasses, brought a girl with an identical face.

She followed stiffly behind him.

“Mr. Hu, I brought the bride back!”

Shao Xiaofeng had researched the mission, giving him an advantage. Knowing Huang Pingyu went to search for Zaoya, he had a different plan.

He had a doll that could mimic anyone he saw. He planned to substitute it, bypassing the search and delivering the “bride” immediately for completion.

He hadn’t told the others, fearing their attack. He chose the dead of night.

“Hurry, let the bride and groom consummate their marriage. The auspicious hour is passing.”

Shao Xiaofeng seemed considerate, and Mr. Hu was delighted. He ordered the “bride” taken to the coffin.

Watching “Zaoya” obediently confined, Shao Xiaofeng relaxed, waiting for the mission complete message. As for the others, he didn’t care.

The dungeon was unique; he needed to leave quickly. Others’ lives were irrelevant. Everyone was out for themselves here.

He certainly was.

But as he relaxed, the air seemed to vanish. He gasped, but couldn’t inhale. He felt suffocated, his face turning red. He clawed at the ground, trying to call for help, but no sound came. The others stared at the coffin, oblivious.

His eyes rolled back, his limbs convulsed, then stilled. A body lay on the ground, dead from asphyxiation.

As Shao Xiaofeng died, Mr. Hu’s face twisted in disgust. He shoved open the coffin and pulled out the “Zaoya,” spitting on it.

“Damn! I want a woman for my son, not a man! The bastard tried to trick me!”

Simultaneously, in the forest, Zaoya, previously asleep, opened crimson eyes. But in an instant, the red was gone, and the dangerous aura vanished.

Wen Renxi, hand on her knife, opened her eyes as Zaoya closed hers.