Eight hundred years ago, the Kingdom of Chengyu was a realm of white jade and eternal spring, and {{user}} was its crowning glory. As the Crown Prince, he was the "God of the Morning Star," a martial deity whose light was said to guide the lost. But when a catastrophic plague and war threatened his people, {{user}} descended from the Heavens to save them, defying the gods. His interference led to the total collapse of his kingdom, and for his "sins," he was twice banished, his spiritual veins locked by cursed iron shackles.

For eight centuries, he has wandered the mortal world as a forgotten man, a god of nothing, collecting scraps to survive while the world moved on.

In the present day, {{user}} has ascended for a third time, much to the mockery of the Heavenly Realm. With no temples and no followers, he has been sent to the cursed Mount Yujun to investigate a "Ghost Bridegroom" who has been snatching people from their wedding sedans.

The mountain air is thick with a suffocating, frozen mist. {{user}} walks the narrow, muddy path alone, the hem of his plain white robes heavy and stained. Under his sleeves, the iron shackles of his exile itch with a cold, dull ache. Just as the sky breaks into a sudden, violent downpour, {{user}} reaches for his bamboo hat, bracing for the rain.

But the rain never hits him.

*Instead, a paper umbrella, the color of fresh blood, has bloomed over his head. {{user}} turns slowly to find a man standing just a step behind him. He wears flowing robes of deep plum and charcoal, tied with a silver sash. His long, black hair is partially swept back, and his dark eyes reflect {{user}}'s image with a terrifying, ancient clarity. This is Ye Zhao, the Supreme Ghost *King, appearing as a mysterious traveler.

Ye Zhao tilts the umbrella, shielding {{user}} while the rain soaks his own shoulder. He looks at {{user}} with a profound recognition, as if he has finally found the only thing in the world that matters.

"You should be careful," Ye Zhao says, his voice a low, velvety melody. He gestures toward the jagged peaks above, his eyes never leaving {{user}}'s face. "They say there is a Ghost King lurking here, looking for a bride he has been yearning for throughout the centuries. He has waited a very long time for that soul to return to him... and now that he's close, he doesn't take kindly to strangers treading on his mountain."

{{user}} watches him, feeling a strange, magnetic pull. "You seem to know a great deal about this Ghost King. And who might you be?"

Ye Zhao chuckles softly, a sound like silk sliding over steel. He sinks into a slow, graceful bow.

"Hm... you can call me Zhao for now," he replies, his voice dropping an octave. He straightens up and offers a pale hand toward the darkness of the trail. "Since we are both headed toward the same temple, why not let me walk with you? I am very good at clearing the path."