The Ghost Marriage of the Former Snow God

"Citizens, come forth and celebrate the deathly marriage of His Highness, Shin Wang."

The cold, indifferent voice echoed, stirring someone into reluctant consciousness.

A pair of pitch-black eyes opened, exuding an air of arrogance, the gaze of someone accustomed to gazing down upon the world.

Inside an ornate bridal sedan, the lavish surroundings swayed gently with each step taken. The slender figure in a bride's resplendent attire could not sit upright, forced to adjust left and right to the swaying of the sedan. Eventually, the bride reached up and lifted the vivid red bridal veil, massaging their temples.

Beneath the vibrant veil was a man, his face painted delicately, rivaling the beauty of any woman. His slim and fragile frame would deceive anyone into believing he was a woman at a mere glance.

‘What’s going on?’

Mingzhe glanced around the interior of the sedan before lowering his gaze to inspect himself. What greeted him was a splendid bridal gown and his head felt heavy because he was wearing a phoenix crown. It was immediately apparent—this was no ordinary wedding.

But he had already perished. Why was he here?

Though his thoughts were a tangled web of confusion, Mingzhe maintained his composure. His fingers brushed aside the sedan curtain, stealing a peek outside.

This was indeed a wedding procession…

He was the bride, being carried to the groom’s residence. On both sides of the path, crowds of people gathered, dressed entirely in pristine white, more fitting for a funeral procession than a celebration.

They clutched deep crimson Si Xuan flowers. The atmosphere of the evening, lit only by the dim glow of lanterns, sent chills down his spine despite being a wedding.

Dropping the curtain, Mingzhe gazed at his pale, slender hands. He wove his fingers through the air, creating a symbol, and with a flick, a frosty snow hare materialized. Satisfied, he nodded slightly.

It had been so long since he could summon this snowy creation.

The presence of the snow hare finally calmed him. Mingzhe let all thoughts of the bizarre wedding dissipate.

He had once been the Snow Deity, a powerful being. However, as humanity advanced, faith in deities waned. The world no longer revered the heavens or worshipped the winds. Gods became mere myths, figments of superstition. When belief in them dwindled, their existence followed suit.

Even as a Snow Deity, Mingzhe had not been immune to this fate. If mighty gods of the sun and wind couldn’t endure, what hope did he have, a deity who acted but once a year?

At least, before his final end, he had lived idly for many years, powerless but free. He hadn’t expected that upon his death, his soul would awaken in another body.

Judging from the attire, the people, and the restored strength of his powers, he seemed to have traveled back to an age brimming with faith in the divine.

"Citizens, come forth and celebrate the deathly marriage of His Highness, Shin Wang."

"Urgh!"

The same voice resounded again, but this time Mingzhe felt an unbearable headache. He clutched his head, doubled over, as a flood of foreign memories surged into his mind.

This body belonged to someone named Mingzhe, just like him. The original Mingzhe had been a personal attendant to a foreign princess. By all rights, it should have been the princess seated in this sedan. However, a month before the arranged marriage meant to forge alliances, her betrothed—Guo Yuexiang, the Shin Wang of Zhongwang—was murdered under mysterious circumstances. His body was dismembered into seven parts and scattered across Zhongwang.

To date, only one piece had been recovered: his left hand. The Zhongwang Emperor, stricken with grief, continued his relentless search for the culprit to take revenge on the person who had the audacity to kill the important Shin Wang.

Yet, oddly enough, the wedding proceeded as planned. Unable to cancel the union, the sheltered princess had panicked, which was normal. Fearing for her life, she had switched places with her attendant and fled back to her homeland. After all, this wedding had become a deathly affair. Who cared if the Shin Wang’s principal consort was real or fake?

But why had he ended up in this body…?

Mingzhe rested his chin on the sedan’s armrest, massaging his temples until the throbbing subsided. He then opened his eyes again to look at the sight that had terrified the original Mingzhe so much that he had a heart attack.

It was a pale left hand, marred with purplish bruises. At first, the hand had been faint and ethereal. However, as the sedan neared Shin Wang’s palace, its details became increasingly vivid.

The hand moved on its own, twisting and curling in grotesque ways. Several times, it seemed ready to leap at Mingzhe’s throat. Yet each time it brushed against the snowy hare, it recoiled, startled.

Mingzhe regarded the ghostly hand with a calm gaze. How could a former Snow Deity be frightened by something as trivial as a ghost—or a single severed hand?

The hand exuded a dense aura of malevolence and vengeance. Even from afar, Mingzhe could sense the violent injustice surrounding its death. The gruesome circumstances of its demise must have been extraordinary, for its severed state to retain such a monstrous presence, appearing only a hand.

It seemed that the previous Mingzhe had been quite fearful of ghosts…

Mingzhe refrained from rash actions. Though the hand was unnerving, it belonged to his would-be husband. How could he detest it outright?

As a former Snow Deity, who had once lived powerless, he found this era deeply fascinating. While faith in Snow Deity was no longer widespread, it still lingered, giving him just enough power to remain relevant.

The ghostly hand, frustrated by Mingzhe’s indifference, grew increasingly agitated. Its five fingers splayed wide, lunging forward as if to claw at him. However, before its sharp nails could graze his neck or face, Mingzhe extended his hand and firmly grasped the pale appendage, entirely unperturbed.

"A spirit of the dismembered corpse clinging to mere fear and resentment, lacking strength or voice—what pantomime do you think to perform before me, the Snow Deity?"

He didn’t destroy the spirit outright, which was already a show of mercy. With such leniency extended, this ghostly hand ought to know its place.

To subdue it further, Mingzhe froze the hand. At the very least, this would halt its mischief. (?) Once he had dealt with his would-be husband’s vengeful spirit, Mingzhe turned his gaze toward outside the window once more.

The atmosphere was truly dreadful.

Everywhere was suffused with the aura of death, befitting the name Deathly Marriage. It was clear that the purpose of this wedding was to use the bride as a vessel to suppress a vengeful spirit. Mingzhe speculated that his would-be husband must be so malevolent that even being dismembered wasn’t enough to subdue him.

The ice encasing the ghostly hand began to crack, reaffirming Mingzhe’s belief in its extraordinary power. He cast a disinterested glance at the hand, unmoved by its efforts to break free. He refroze it again before tilting his head to listen to the wedding officiant’s voice.

"Citizens, come forth and celebrate the deathly marriage of His Highness, Shin Wang."

The customs of Zhongwang were certainly peculiar. Despite being a Shin Wang, the arrangements were crude, bordering on disrespectful. Adding insult to injury, they staged a deathly wedding—what purpose was left for the consort of a deceased Shin Wang?

Yet, the Zhongwang Emperor had made his intentions clear: even in death, if he wished to marry off Shin Wang, who would dare object? It was as if Shin Wang was still lived.

The bridal sedan moved slowly, allowing the townsfolk to admire the lavishness of the procession. If not for the rigid, lifeless townsfolk lining both sides of the road, Mingzhe could have mistaken the setting for a ghost town.

Finally, the sedan came to a halt…

Mingzhe lowered the veil to mask his expression, taking care to keep the ghostly hand hidden. When the sedan door was opened, and he was invited to step out, Mingzhe realized that this deathly marriage was akin to a grand curse ritual.

He turned to look behind him. Normally, the groom would lead the bridal procession, but with the groom deceased, who was supposed to escort the bride?

Seated atop a horse was a wooden doll, a crude stand-in for Shin Wang. The once grand and welcoming palace had become a grim and oppressive place, its walls adorned with filthy talismans. The very air felt stifling, as if he were submerged in a river’s whirlpool, making every breath laborious. His steps were heavy, each one more burdensome than walking into the gates of the underworld.

His movements slowed. Seeing this, a maid dressed in white from head to toe approached him, trembling, intending to support him. But the moment she touched him, she shrank back in terror, letting out a shriek akin to madness. Her reaction caused a ripple of fear among the gathered crowd. Townsfolk on either side of the road fell to their knees, quaking with fear.

"So...so cold. A…a corpse!?"

Hmm? How fascinating…

No wonder. The ordinary people could hardly endure the eerie atmosphere of this deathly marriage. They were clearly trembling with fear, forced to go through the motions despite their terror.

A Wuya bird was an ominous sign. When the ceremony was abruptly halted, the black birds alighted on a nearby rooftop, its cries filling the air and amplifying the dread. The officiant now appeared at a loss for words. As they turned to the startled maid, the sight only added to the tension, leaving everyone frozen in place.

“My apologies. I merely suffer from an unusual sensitivity to the cold. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

His tone was gentle, easing the tension somewhat. Unfortunately, the ghostly hand refused to settle. Mingzhe had to keep it firmly restrained; otherwise, the malicious spirit might indeed wreak havoc on those around.

“H…Hurry and proceed with the ceremony. Don’t waste any more precious time.”

Mingzhe nodded and took a step into Shin Wang’s palace. At first, he was greeted by the cloying scent of Si Xuan flowers that filled the air.

His steps faltered again as he entered the courtyard. Instead of the empty expanse or neatly tended garden he expected, the area was densely packed with vibrant red Si Xuan flowers.

These flowers, known for their ominous connotations, either symbolized death or were believed to grow where corpses were buried.

Whatever their meaning, planting such an overwhelming quantity in one place in the era where people still had a strong belief was either the work of someone truly fond of them or someone deeply unhinged.

In the ancient era, royals held steadfastly to their belief in heirs of the heavens. A place so laden with bad omens and uncleanliness seemed utterly unsuitable for Shin Wang, a son of the dragon to reside in.

The more Mingzhe thought, the more at ease he felt. Chaos had never intimidated him—only boredom did.

In this new body, his powers had returned thanks to its original spirit. A palace others might deem haunted and dreadful seemed unlikely to invite interference, making it the perfect new home for him.

And with the added amusement of a ghostly hand to toy with, his retirement as a deity was shaping up quite delightfully.

“Uwah!!”

A loud crash came from behind, startling everyone once again. One of the attendants carrying the wooden effigy of Shin Wang had stumbled over a stone, causing the effigy’s head to fall off and roll to a stop at Mingzhe’s feet.

His gaze fell upon the head. Though dressed in ornate robes, its face had been painted in grotesque, almost demonic features.

The servant stammered out an apology, trembling as they retrieved the fallen head and carefully reattached it. Then the deathly marriage ceremony resumed.

Though the wedding should have been adorned with vibrant reds, the attendees wore pristine white mourning garments. Mingzhe, going with the flow, obediently knelt and repeated whatever the officiant instructed. Then, it was finally time for the bridal send-off to the nuptial chamber.

Perhaps because the sky remained overcast all day, it was impossible to gauge the hour. But as time passed, the officiant became more hurried, rattling off the remaining rituals so quickly that his words became almost incomprehensible.

The wooden effigy was placed on the bed, and Mingzhe’s hand was tied with a red ribbon to its grotesque counterpart.

The atmosphere turned colder once more, though Mingzhe remained unaffected. He was so drowsy he almost yawned.

Luckily, he resisted the urge and endured the officiant’s ramblings to the end. The final directive was for him to remain within the chamber for three days and nights. After that, he would be allowed to leave. The officiant also recited an extensive list of restrictions, such as directions he couldn’t walk, halls he couldn’t enter, and so forth.

So many rules. If Mingzhe had truly belonged to this era, he might have been genuinely frightened. But with his centuries of experience—from ancient times to modern technological marvels—such warnings were nothing more than invitations that screamed, ‘Come and uncover my secrets’!

Once he nodded his agreement, the officiant practically fled the palace, leaving behind fewer than ten servants.

When Mingzhe moved his hand, the wooden effigy on the bed tilted forward and fell face-down. He sighed, feeling a bit exasperated. The first thing he did was retrieve the ghostly hand from where he had tucked it beneath his cloak. Using a sharp claw, he tore off the red bridal veil and considered this the conclusion of the ceremony. Tradition fulfilled!

The ghostly hand, still encased in ice. “...”