The King of Xiuxianjuan returns to modern times and becomes a landlord

The two recalled last night's events. He Qingming appeared before them, his deep eyes concealing a hidden secret. In exchange for these secrets, he asked Bai Fan and Di Xin to invite Ying Ni to the Lantern Festival. They hadn't thought much of it at the time, simply considering it a simple invitation, but they hadn't anticipated Ying Ni's reaction. Now, as the SUV drove away, they realized they might have fallen into a trap set by He Qingming. He Qingming's plan seemed far more complex than they had imagined, and their priority now was to find a countermeasure quickly to avoid being manipulated by him.

On the night of the Lantern Festival, lights blaze ablaze, and all of China is filled with festive joy and warmth. Colorful lanterns hang high on both sides of the streets, and the atmosphere is bustling. Smiling faces, people clutch colorful lanterns, gather together to admire the lanterns and guess riddles. However, deep in the mountains, a forgotten village lies shrouded in a dead silence, oblivious to the festive atmosphere of the outside world.

On the stone tablet at the village entrance, mottled writing is faintly visible, yet no one deciphers its vicissitudes of history. Walking along the winding path, one encounters bloodstains, a horrifying sight. An ominous shadow hangs over every doorway, like the whisper of death. The bodies of men lie scattered about, some slumped on thresholds, others huddled in corners, their faces frozen in terror, as if they experienced unspeakable terror before their deaths.

A suffocating black aura permeated the village air, a sinister presence that spread like a physical entity from the village entrance to the hills behind. The ancestral hall on the hillside was the village's only remaining vestige of life. Inside, the surviving villagers trembled, their eyes filled with despair and helplessness. Outside, the figure of a red-clad ghost loomed, her eyes like blazing flames, revealing endless resentment and evil.

However, when the red-robed ghost's gaze fell upon the faint yet resolute golden light above the ancestral hall, her movements suddenly froze. The golden light seemed a protective barrier, preventing her from easily intruding. She stood there, a sneer curling her lips, as if her original intention had changed. She was no longer eager to end these people's lives, but to make them live in eternal fear, experiencing a torment worse than death. As the old saying goes, sometimes the pain of life is far more unbearable than death.

In this cursed village, the joy and peace of the Lantern Festival seem like something from another world. Here, there is only endless darkness and despair, and the cold sneer of a red-clad ghost echoes on the night wind. The nights of this village are devoid of festive laughter and joy, replaced only by the ghost's whispers and the villagers' fear, forming a stark contrast.

Inside the ancestral hall of this ancient village, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere hung heavy. The mottled murals and faded couplets on the walls bore witness to the passage of time, and now, they seemed to bear silent witness to a tragedy unfolding. In a corner, several elderly men sat together, their faces etched with the wrinkles of time, their eyes gleaming with anxiety and fear. Their voices were low and hoarse, and they cursed continuously, as if this could dispel the fear and guilt within them.

"I should have asked a Taoist priest to suppress Zhaodi," an old man said in a trembling voice, his hand tightly gripping his cane as if it were his only support. His voice was filled with helplessness and regret, but also seemed to be mixed with complaints about the unfairness of fate.

"That's right, if it weren't for her parents, she would have died long ago," another old man echoed, his voice tinged with sarcasm and coldness. His words revealed his contempt for life and his blind adherence to traditional customs.

"Isn't it just about letting her accompany a few people?" Another voice sounded, with obvious disapproval, as if in their eyes, a girl's life and dignity were far less important than their own face and interests. They seemed to have forgotten that everyone has their own value and dignity, which should not be trampled on so easily.

"Retribution, retribution," sighed an old man, his voice filled with helplessness and regret, but also with complaints about the unfairness of fate. They seemed unaware that their own actions were the root cause of all these tragedies.

The village chief stood nearby, his brow furrowed, his eyes gleaming with determination and anger. One of the few educated members of the village, he had tried to prevent this tragedy, but his voice was insignificant before the stubbornness and traditions of his people. His juniority meant he couldn't influence the elders' decision, and he could only watch helplessly as those innocent girls were sent into the abyss.

"Alright, stop talking. Now that things have come to this, let's think of a solution. Who knows how much longer this ancestral hall can hold out." The village chief finally interrupted the tribesmen's complaints, his voice tinged with helpless determination. He knew the resentment of the girls had become an unstoppable force, and that Zhaodi, the girl they had once despised, had ascended to the realm of the Ghost King and returned to seek revenge.

Those who died in the village were all accomplices in the original perpetrators of the crime, and the main culprits were none other than the elders in the ancestral hall. They had once thought they had everything under control, but they had never anticipated that their actions would lead to such dire consequences. They now understood that everyone's actions had corresponding consequences, and they must bear the consequences of their own actions.

The atmosphere within the ancestral hall grew even more solemn, as if even the air had grown thinner. The elders' curses gradually died down, replaced by a dead silence. Only their rapid breathing echoed in the empty hall. Only now did they realize that they had no escape and could only face their fear and guilt.

Inside the main hall of the ancestral hall, several village elders racked their brains trying to suppress the red-robed demon. They gathered around an old wooden table, wielding various talismans and magical instruments, chanting incantations, attempting to exorcise the ominous aura using ancient methods. In a side room, the Zhang family father and son discussed how to atone for their sins. They sat on worn bamboo chairs, their expressions serious and their conversation in low voices.

"Father," Zhang Guangyao said in a low, firm voice, a gleam in his eyes that couldn't be ignored. "The resentment here is so deep that the National Security Bureau will definitely notice it. Once they get involved, some things can no longer be concealed." His tone was filled with concern for his father, as well as anger and helplessness at the current state of the village. He knew that if things continued to deteriorate, not only would the entire village be plunged into panic, but even his family would be implicated.