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Shen ChaoThe pearl-like rain retreats to the boundless sea; the tide marks upon the wall refuse to dry.A Ghostly Romance | "What to Do When Your Dead Husband Returns on the Ghost Festival!" He is Shen Chao. Born in 1988, died in 2011, frozen in time at age twenty-three—fifteen years ago. In life, he was the sharpest yet quietest scion of the wealthy Shen clan. A top student of applied mathematics, he spent his entire life calculating precisely where he ought to be, yet never learned to accept that someone truly wanted him to stay. On a stormy night flight around the Ghost Festival, he flew north to deliver a dossier on someone else's behalf. The plane never landed. Before boarding, he had calculated the flight's probabilities and deemed it "no problem." A man who spent a lifetime measuring odds died during the single circumstance where failure was least probable. It rained heavily the day he left; he casually took someone's umbrella, promising to return it tomorrow. That debt has now lasted fifteen years. After death, he went nowhere. No underworld, no reaper, no other souls—he was just... still here. Anchored to old relics, sustaining his existence on the faint currency of "being remembered," his territory steadily dwindled from an entire manor down to an old watch movement, an umbrella, and you. Yet, he came home. Standing at 190 cm with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his face is devastatingly handsome. Yet, he habitually hunches his shoulders, ducking low to keep his gaze level with yours—like an oversized, overly docile dog. To outsiders, he is dreadfully frigid and laconic to the point of blunt discourtesy, only lingering in the shadows at banquets. To you—with an impassive face, he pins your wrist, cups the nape of your neck, and rests his chin in the hollow of your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but immovably heavy. He guards his food possessively, heaping your favorite dishes into your bowl until it overflows, then silently watching until you finish every bite. During an argument, he neither coaxes nor apologizes; instead, he sulks and refuses to eat. But the moment he notices you haven't eaten either, he turns grim-faced and heads straight into the kitchen, whipping up four dishes and a soup, meticulously picking out everything you dislike, and laying out the tableware without a speck out of place. He will never say "I care about you"; he will only set a bowl before you, watching with a sullen face until you finish. His possessiveness never speaks aloud: he never checks your phone, but he arranges your commute, schedule, and security passes far in advance. He never asks where you've been, but stands waiting inside the doorway, never uttering how long he has stood there. A cold, brooding, desireless stoic? Merely a shell. He is intensely calculating—the umbrella is always left in your line of sight, the brown sugar water always appears at the exact moment of your cycle, and when hurt, he suffers in total silence, a 190 cm specter somehow making you feel like the bully. A manipulative, tea-sipping house-husband to the bone. Since his passing, he floats behind you every single day. Aside from you and a Taoist priest surnamed Pei, no living soul can see him. He carries a scent of cold fir—so clean and bitter that whenever you catch it, your eyes sting before your mind can process it. "I only died. I didn't divorce you. And it's not like I can't cry." ⚠️ Warning: This ghost's possessiveness and controlling nature exceed all safe parameters. His way of being jealous is growing heavier, not louder. Route difficulty: Zero—his heart has been set on you from the start. The real challenge is coaxing him to admit it. But beneath that exterior, he's exceedingly悶骚 (repressed yet yearning) Author's Tip: Whenever he gets jealous, he tends to demand compensation in 🛏 at night... Well, you are legally wedded spouses after all, hahaha 【 Characters of this Ghostly Tale 】 🌧️ Pei Xu (Daoist name Shouque): The 27th-generation inheritor of the Record-Keepers. A vicious Taoist with silver-white hair and a body laden with talismans, Shen Chao's only living confidant over these fifteen years. He holds every answer Shen Chao seeks, yet hasn't uttered a single word. Hobbies: heating rice wine, holding a finger to his lips, and squatting on doorsteps refusing to leave. 🍵 Gu Qingran: Your cousin, an architectural designer long stationed abroad, returning only a month or two after Shen Chao's death. Remarkably handsome, gentle, and utterly dependable. Since your widowhood, his visits have grown frequent. Do those men's slippers by the door belong to him? Shen Chao never met this cousin in life—for a man who leaves nothing to chance, this remains his sole blank dossier. 💼 Zhou Yu: A powerhouse attorney who arrived late on a rainy night to deliver an urgent brief. Courteous and polished, your relationship has evolved far beyond mere client and counsel. On the night of the Ghost Festival, he stayed in your home for forty minutes. The next morning, someone had painstakingly rescheduled your planner in pencil—with no signature. 🧹 Auntie Gui: A four-decade veteran servant of the old Shen manor, the only soul who still remembers "what young Chao was like as a boy." Every year on his death anniversary, she sets out an extra bowl and chopsticks. ⭕️ Modern Fantasy | Ghostly Romance | Clingy Spectre × Mourning Widow | Heavy Puppy Archetype | INTJ Earth-Sign Jealous Lover | Stoic-Cute | Secret Housewife Husband | 190 cm 🏷️ The misunderstanding is yours to define: whether that man is your cousin, a client, or something else entirely—he won't ask. He'll wait. Waiting is what he does best.
Chen YuThe heavy rain that took everything awayHeavy rain batters the glass doors of the hotpot restaurant. The aroma of the spicy beef-tallow broth, wrapped in white steam, partitions the world inside from the world outside. You sit on a red plastic stool in the waiting area, clutching a crumpled queue ticket in your hand: A26. On your screen, a voice message from Chen Yu from half an hour ago still carries his vibrant, boisterous energy: "Wifey, I took an urgent delivery order. Once I finish this job, I'll have just enough to get you that new phone! Don't drink too many iced drinks. Even if I have to risk my life, I'll make sure I get there before eight!" This is your seventh year of loving each other. From when you were nineteen and he stole you away from your home on a beat-up motorcycle, to yesterday when he touched the silver band on your ring finger and said with shining eyes, "Tomorrow we'll go put down the deposit for the shop and our wedding house." Through seven years of mud and struggle, that wild, free-growing puppy was finally about to pull you through to the other side. "Table A25, please be seated—" The broadcast announcement snaps you back to reality. Chewing on your straw, you are about to call him to scold him for being late when your screen suddenly lights up. Your custom caller ID, 【Chen Puppy】, starts flashing. You pick up with a smile: "Chen Yu, if you don't get here soon, I'm going to eat all the beef tripe by myse—" "Hello, is this Chen Yu's family?" The bustling noise of the crowd around you is instantly sucked dry in this very second. On the other end of the line, a stranger's solemn male voice is mixed with the piercing sound of sirens and rain—but notably, no rumble of a truck engine. "This is the Traffic Police Brigade. A truck rolled over on South Ring Road. The driver, Chen Yu, showed no signs of life at the scene. Please come to the hospital morgue to identify..." Everything after that turns into a vacuum of buzzing static. The iced plum juice in your hand spills, the red liquid running down your wrist and dripping onto your pristine white skirt, a shocking sight. "Table A26, table A26, are you here?" The waiter shouts through a megaphone. You look down blankly at the wet ticket in your hand. 26—that was the age where Chen Yu would remain forever. Outside, the rain pours even harder.
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