Ninety percent of the room froze on the spot. Even the classmates from the police academy sitting at my table looked totally blank, like they'd all been collectively petrified.
"He objects? This isn't his wedding—what gives him the right to object?!"
Even Tie Ningxiang, seated right beside me, hadn't seen it coming. She tugged at the hem of my suit and hissed, "Gao Jian, are you out of your mind?"
"Wait—his name's Gao Jian?"
"What's his background? He actually dared to disrupt the heir of the Jiang family's wedding?"
"Never heard of him in Jiangcheng. Could he be some rich kid from out of town?"
"Doesn't look like it. Just some average guy—his suit's nothing fancy. Doesn't seem like he comes from real money."
The air beneath the grand chandelier was thick with whispers. Every elite in the room had now shifted their attention to one man—me.
"Gao Jian, don't do anything stupid!" Ye Bing called out from the stage, her voice tight with embarrassment. She clutched her wedding ring like it was the only anchor keeping her upright, afraid the scene was about to spiral.
Jiang Chen, the groom, stood stone-faced, visibly irritated. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he'd grown up surrounded by admiration and flattery. No one had ever dared make a fool of him in public—until now.
"What the hell is he thinking? They're already at this point in the ceremony—what, is he going to steal the bride?" someone muttered. "Even if Ye Bing were willing, does he think he can just waltz out of here? There are eleven full security teams in this building."
You don't become heir to Jiangjin Real Estate by being stupid. That whole playboy persona—half of it's just a mask.
Jiang Chen locked eyes with me. Until today, I doubt I ever registered on his radar. We were from two different worlds: one raised in a penthouse, the other in the shadows—selling adult novelties in a strip-mall shop like some gutter rat scraping by.
The air was suffocating. The carefully scripted wedding ceremony had been thrown off course, and the host fumbled for words, trying to recover the flow. Just as he lifted the mic to salvage the moment, Jiang Chen strode over and snatched it from his hands.
"I think I've heard of you. Gao Jian, right?" His voice echoed from every speaker around the hall, like I'd just been ambushed from all sides.
I stood beside my table, saying nothing. Lit a cigarette, slow and calm.
"Dude's got nerves of steel."
"He's the first guy I've ever seen slap the Jiang family in the face in front of a crowd."
"Secretary Zhang, get me this guy's full background. I want it on my desk."
There were more than just Jiang family allies here—plenty of rivals and sharks too. The moment they caught the scent of blood, their instincts kicked in.
Seeing I wasn't going to answer, Jiang Chen's face darkened. Unlike me, he was the center of attention today. He was the Jiang family. And he couldn't afford to lose face like this.
He stepped off the stage.
This golden boy in his spotless white suit, groom of the hour, heir to a fortune—strode straight toward me.
"I'm a reasonable man," he said coolly. "You say you object—fine. Then give me a reason. If it makes sense, I'll accept it. But if you're just here to cause trouble… then don't blame me for calling security."
The words were calm, the tone controlled. Classy, poised—classic Jiang family posture.
I blew out a slow stream of smoke and watched the faint twitch in his eye. Rage was simmering just beneath the surface—barely restrained.
"You want a reason?" I said. "Fine. I don't think you can make Ye Bing happy."
"What?" Jiang Chen actually looked stunned—like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You think I can't make her happy?"
"If I can't," he sneered, "then you think you can? You, who smokes five-yuan garbage cigarettes?"
"Jiang Chen's good to me," Ye Bing said, stepping forward, wedding dress trailing behind her. She glanced at the table full of familiar faces and paused. She hadn't invited them. What she didn't know was that, aside from me, all of them had been flown in by Jiang Chen himself.
"There's no man in this world who cares for me more than he does."
"The man who cares for you most?" I said softly. "Did you know that this very man—who vows to love you forever—is using this ceremony, this 'sacred' moment, to pass the ghost child haunting him… onto you?"
"Is that love?"
I kept my voice low. Only Ye Bing, Jiang Chen, and Tie Ningxiang heard it.
"You… what are you talking about?" The women were bewildered, but Jiang Chen's face changed instantly—his mask of composure shattered, replaced by cold fury and panic.
"He's never loved you," I said. "You were just the right tool. Like this suit I'm wearing. I hate suits. As soon as I leave, I'm throwing it away."
"Bullshit!" Jiang Chen's knuckles turned white, veins bulging across the back of his hand. In the world he lived in, raising a ghost child was a deadly secret. Exposing it was unthinkable.
"Gao Jian," Ye Bing said, voice trembling, "whatever you're trying to prove—stop. Don't drag this out. I hope you find someone who truly belongs with you. Okay?"
She still thought I was doing all this because I wanted her back.
"Relax," I said. "The day you left for school overseas alone—I stopped expecting anything from you. I'm speaking now just to return a favor."
"Back when I was arrested for the Rainy Night Serial Murders, you were the only one in our class who believed I was innocent."
"Why bring that up now?" Her voice softened. Memories of five years ago flickered in her eyes. "We've grown up since then."
"Exactly," I said. "That's why I won't throw my life away for you again."
Ash crumbled from my cigarette as I looked her in the eye.
"Remember what I said. That's the last conversation we'll ever have."
There was no reason to stay.
I turned, ignoring the stunned faces of my old classmates, and glanced across the room at the finely dressed guests—every one of them playing some kind of game behind their smiles.
This wedding might've cost a fortune, but it had no warmth, no joy. Honestly, I wanted to grab Jiang Chen's mic and say: "With all due respect—every last one of you is trash."
He could tell I was leaving.
Jiang Chen's expression shifted rapidly—he couldn't just let me walk. But trying to stop me might trigger a scene they couldn't cover up. Either way, he'd lose face.
He was stuck.
When I turned my back, I saw it—that flicker of malice in his eyes.
"You came all this way," he said, tone suddenly light. "At least stay for a drink."
He clapped his left hand down on my shoulder.
And just like that, I felt it—that cold, creeping sensation. Like I'd just been targeted by a viper.
If I'd checked my Netherworld Live Show phone just then, I would've seen it: the ghost child slithering down Jiang Chen's arm, claws aimed straight at my eye sockets.
A chill ran down my spine. It was just like that night at the Anxin Motel—when the ghost's hands had closed around my throat.
Instinct kicked in.
With the same hand I'd used to cast the Heaven Thunder Talisman, I bent my fingers inward—index, middle, ring, and pinky pressed tight, thumb tucked across the nails. The palm thunder seal: formed in one smooth motion.
"Gao Jian," Jiang Chen hissed through clenched teeth, barely audible, "some people are meant to be above you. Born to be feared. Today I'll make you suffer. Later, I'll ruin you slowly."
As he muttered his incantation, I silently recited the thunderseal formula Liu Banxian had taught me.
"Still got the nerve to talk? Fine, I'll start small—take his eyes!"
I felt the spectral chill stab toward my face—like twin daggers aimed at my eyes.
But I wasn't going down.
"In the name of thunder, strike swift as starlight. Spirits of the Eight Directions, lend me your might. Celestial charm, heed my call! Dryan Luodana, Tonggang Taixuan—cut down demons, bind evil, vanquish the wicked, preserve the Dao!"
Thunderseal activated.
My palm struck Jiang Chen's arm. There was no real talisman—but the residual energy from the last rite surged through me, channeled into the strike.
To the guests, it looked like I just patted his arm.
But in the spirit world—the blow hit like divine retribution.
The ghost child shrieked and recoiled, scrambling back into Jiang Chen's body.
Normally that wouldn't have been so effective. But it was noon—yang energy at full force. The spirit was already weak. And it wasn't built to kill—just to cling.
It panicked and withdrew, dragging blood and soul with it.
The backlash hit Jiang Chen like a train.
"You!" His arm spasmed, recoiling as if electrocuted. He staggered backward, crashing into a banquet table, landing on the floor.
Honestly, I hadn't expected the rebound to be that severe.
But he brought it on himself.
I felt nothing but indifference.
"You? Resorting to cheap stunts like a street scammer?" I looked down at him, my tone cold. "Come on, everyone saw it. I just lightly tapped your arm."
From above, I looked down at the almighty Jiang Chen—now half-sprawled on the floor, his crisp white suit soaked in soup and sauce, smeared in color like some drenched barnyard chicken.