This dimly lit inn, with a brightly painted depiction of the Four Heavenly Kings in female forms on the wall, naturally drew the attention of the True Martial Taoist and the female Martial Artist.

"Brother Duan Lang, why are all the Four Heavenly Kings women?" the female Martial Artist asked suspiciously.

The True Martial Taoist named Duan Lang was equally puzzled. Since entering the inn, he had felt something was off, but the divinatory signs were uncharacteristically tranquil.

In his usual travels through the Jianghu, encountering haunted markets wasn't unusual. He had seen noodle soup made from human brains—heck, he had even accidentally eaten a bowl once.

Such occurrences would typically show warnings in the divinatory signs, allowing him to narrowly escape danger in the end. But this small inn presented signs of tranquility, accompanied by an indescribable eeriness.

At a time like this, should he trust his intuition or trust the divinatory signs?

The masters and senior brothers of True Martial Mountain had warned him repeatedly: always trust the divinatory signs; why?

Many True Martial Taoists who relied on intuition had met their deaths, only to later discover that their so-called intuition was nothing more than an Illusion Technique from malevolent spirits and demons.

"Nine in the third place: The noble one remains vigilant and cautious all day long, as if in danger, yet avoids error… Precisely the middle-course, tranquil divinatory sign."

Duan Lang was not the type to be careless. His martial prowess and cultivation ranked among the top of his peers, and the number of demons he had slain exceeded twenty. He had witnessed many bizarre and surreal events, yet the scene before him still left him baffled.

He cautiously said, "Wang Yan, perhaps we don't need to be afraid."

Wang Yan couldn't suppress the uneasiness in her heart and said, "What if we leave now instead?"

Before the words fully left her mouth, the waiter floated—almost eerily—backwards into view.

"Oh my, dear guests, your dishes are already being prepared, why leave now?" the waiter urged repeatedly.

His voice carried an air of deliberate eagerness.

Faced with his wife's suggestion, Duan Lang hesitated. He turned toward the door and performed a quick calculation with his fingers.

The divinatory signs pointed to great peril.

"Look at this sign—it's a portent of great calamity; outside might be even more dangerous," Duan Lang said while shaking his head, lifting his trouser hem to sit back down.

"Besides, speaking of odd things, perhaps the Martial Artist who briefly glanced at me earlier is the true anomaly here."

"Brother Duan Lang, you mean he's suspicious?"

"If he weren't strange, why would he glance at me like that? Better safe than sorry; what if he targets us later? He might just be restraining himself because we're inside this inn. Rather than stepping into the unknown outside, it's better to stay here for the moment and probe into the matters concerning this inn."

Duan Lang let out a world-wise sigh:

"They say that demons and ghosts are unpredictable, but what is truly unpredictable—are ghosts more inscrutable or are humans?"

Having walked many paths and faced countless experiences, he had come by this realization.

Ghosts can harm people, but humans can harm people too. So, which is harder to fathom? Ultimately, it's the human heart that's unfathomable!

Hearing Duan Lang's reflection, the female Martial Artist Wang Yan was struck by the sentiment. She said nothing further and sat back down, her eyes glimmered with admiration.

Under Wang Yan's gaze, Duan Lang felt not only pleasure but also a surge of confidence.

He looked up and noticed two Daoists not far away. Out of caution, Duan Lang ventured to ask them a few probing questions. However, the two Daoists were clearly unscrupulous types; overcome by fear and trepidation, how could they dare reveal the origins of this peculiar inn?

"Dead fellow Daoists, not dead me," the unspoken sentiment hung thick in the air.

Soon afterward, the waiter brought out the dishes one plate at a time.

Dishes of both meat and vegetables filled the table, the aroma intoxicating.

Having journeyed through the underworld together, Duan Lang and Wang Yan had endured harsh days, surviving on little more than wind and dew. Now, faced with a table full of delectable dishes, their appetites were fully aroused.

However, comparing the dishes to their original order, they noticed two items were missing.

First was the Husband-and-Wife Lung Slices; second was the Wife Cake.

"Oh dear, my memory is terrible! I forgot to bring them out," the waiter exclaimed after being reminded.

He promptly retreated back into the kitchen, and a shout came quickly after:

"The dishes are too heavy; I need someone strong to help carry them out!"

Initially, Duan Lang and Wang Yan didn't want to intervene, but the waiter's incessant shouting became intolerable. As a Martial Artist, Wang Yan stood up resolutely to lend a hand.

A woman trained in martial arts often carries a decisively bold and forceful demeanor. Before Duan Lang could calculate the divinatory signs, he saw Wang Yan resolutely striding into the kitchen.

He grew uneasy and cast another divination.

Once again, the outcome was tranquil and balanced.

After repeated confirmations and cautious probing, Duan Lang let out a sigh of relief.

From inside came the sounds of someone struggling to move heavy items, punctuated with groans of effort.

After a good while, the waiter emerged carrying a plate of Husband-and-Wife Lung Slices, but Wang Yan didn't follow behind. Then, the waiter turned back into the kitchen.

Next, only the waiter returned, carrying a plate of Wife Cake.

One plate of Husband-and-Wife Lung Slices; one plate of Wife Cake.

Both dishes looked sumptuous, fragrant, and highly enticing.

Wang Yan did not return, and Duan Lang became increasingly suspicious. Still, he waited a while longer. Growing bored, he finally reached to take a piece of Wife Cake with his chopsticks.

After tasting it, Duan Lang was struck by its incredible flavor—it surpassed the cuisine of even the most lavish teahouses and restaurants!

His appetite surged; he couldn't help devouring one piece after another, all while asking:

"How is this Wife Cake made? I must learn the recipe so I can make it myself back home."

The waiter chimed in enthusiastically, "Oh, sir, will you be making this for your wife?"

As Duan Lang ate, his mood grew increasingly elated, a sweet feeling bubbling up within him. He laughed, "The Taoists don't have rules about men handling outdoor affairs and women household matters."

He wondered how this pastry-like Wife Cake could possibly taste so sweet. Simply savoring it brought him pure joy.

"Such marital bliss," the waiter gave him a thumbs-up.

"What exactly did you put in this Wife Cake to make it smell so wonderful?" Duan Lang asked, fixating on the golden, inviting treat.

Duan Lang initially thought the waiter was joking, but seeing the serious expression on his face, doubts filled his mind.

His gaze shifted past the waiter, slowly landing on the kitchen.

Blood began to ooze from inside.

Duan Lang froze like a statue, a wave of nausea and the urge to vomit washing over him.

Under the immense shock, Duan Lang's face became ashen, his voice quivering as he asked:

"What?"

The waiter continued smiling and said:

"Your wife, the one named Wang Yan, right? I killed her and saw she still had her soul, so I arranged a ghost marriage for her. In the underworld, ghost marriages are perfectly normal."

As if to confirm the waiter's words, faint ghostly lights flickered in the dim kitchen.

The female Martial Artist Wang Yan's body was intertwined with that of the Martial Artist who had been killed earlier—a grim tableau that seemed to convey something unspeakable.

The blood flowing forth resembled a groom's ceremonial headpiece and a bride's crimson wedding shawl. A single red candle burned atop, dripping its wax tears continuously.

Duan Lang stood as though struck by lightning, his throat choked with silence, incapable of making a sound.

Just as he let out a furious roar and prepared to draw his sword,

The waiter struck a claw onto his crown.

Duan Lang's Three Souls and Seven Spirits emitted wails of agony as they were methodically extracted by the waiter,

"Premium-grade souls—they're perfect to feed to Chaos!"

And just then,

A voice echoed from the second floor, shrill and despairing:

"It's him, it's him! That man named Song!

He killed our people, he killed our people!"

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