When Yan Zhao approved that leave request, several of the Underworld's old ancestors were in seclusion, while the rest were playing dead. Not one of them came to take over the seal. She picked up her pen, wrote, "Yan Zhao is approved for one year of leave," stamped it with her personal seal, and slapped it onto the desk. That settled the matter.
By day, she wandered around the human world and sampled tasty food. At nightfall, she checked in at the Underworld. Perfect.
Until a crack at the entrance to the old street dragged her inside.
When she opened her eyes again, everything was red. A paper doll maid with an embroidered smile called her "today's bride," and an unfinished wedding dress lay on the bed. On its underside, a sharp object had scratched out a line of small characters: Skin for the wedding clothes, bones for the altar, flesh for the seat of honor, a feast for all, blood to stain the bridal gown, and organs to offer the elders. A wedding banquet where the living were the main course.
Ninety percent of her magic had been sealed.
To find out who was behind it, she could only take things one step at a time.
No rebellion, little husband.
