For centuries, no one came. Until one stormy night, a poor, stubborn scholar named stumbled inside, fleeing bandits. Chapter 1: The Uninvited Guest Phong was not brave. He was simply unlucky. With his bamboo backpack full of old love poems (which he secretly wrote but never dared to send), he tripped over the palace’s threshold.
Linh’s lips quirked. “Is it working?”
“Then write a vow for me.” From the shadows materialized Ma Thiên Linh . He was terrifyingly beautiful: long black hair like spilled ink, skin pale as jade, eyes crimson as blood-soaked peonies. A crown of bone and thorns rested on his head.
Slam. The doors locked themselves.
“You really are the one.” He stepped closer, lifting Phong’s chin. “My curse: I must find a soul who willingly binds theirs to mine, not out of fear, but out of… se duyên . True affinity. I’ve eaten ninety-nine greedy cultivators. I’ve scared away ninety-nine brides. But you? You care about brushes.”
The palace hummed. Lanterns lit themselves one by one, revealing a long, red-carpeted hall. But instead of ghosts jumping out, a brush and inkstone floated toward him. A silken scroll unrolled, with elegant, chilling words: “Ngươi có duyên với chủ nhân nơi này. Hãy viết lời thề kết tóc. Nếu không, vĩnh viễn không được ra.” (You share a fate with the master of this place. Write a wedding vow. If not, you shall never leave.) Phong blinked. “I… I’m a broke scholar. I don’t even have a wife. Or a husband, not that I’d mind, but—wait, master ?!”
“Ah… a haunted house. Wonderful,” Phong whispered, teeth chattering. ------- Ma Cung di Se Duyen Bl
Linh appeared in a wedding robe, no longer joking. “Last trial. Kiss me willingly, or the door opens. One is freedom. The other is me.”
A cold breath brushed his ear. Then, a voice—low, teasing, and ancient—whispered:
“I am terrified,” Phong admitted, clutching his poetry book. “But your calligraphy set is very high quality. May I borrow it after I die?” For centuries, no one came
The palace showed Phong his deepest wish: not fame or gold, but a warm hand holding his while reading poetry under a peach tree. The illusion placed Linh beside him, softer, mortal. Phong almost surrendered. Then he noticed—the phantom Linh had no poetry book. “Real Linh would mock my bad verses,” Phong said. “You’re fake.” The illusion shattered.
“Your line ‘moon like a cold dumpling’ is terrible, husband.”
Phong saw the ghost of a young soldier he’d once failed to save in a past life. The soldier pointed at Linh. “He was that soldier. You left him to die on a battlefield.” Phong wept, but knelt before Linh’s mirror reflection and said, “Then let me pay this life instead.” The mirror cracked. He was simply unlucky
The candles flickered.
“Gladly. But first, another kiss.”