Quick Transmigration: The Beautiful Host Wants to Have Both Love and Career

Li Qinglan chimed in, "Yes, the dish smells delicious, but we do need to be careful when helping out."

Li Qinglan tapped her fingers lightly on the table, a hint of tension in her eyes.

Jun Li Que nodded slightly and said, "That's right, it's better to be careful."

The group sat around the table, initially chatting, but gradually, everyone sensed something was amiss.

"Strange, why am I suddenly so sleepy?" Yun Rancang rubbed his eyes, looking puzzled.

"I also feel something's not right. This drowsiness came on so suddenly," Jun Lique said, forcing himself to stay awake.

Everyone looked at each other, trying to figure out the reason, but no one thought of the drug.

After all, the colorless and odorless drug was too well hidden to be detected.

"Maybe we're just too tired," Li Qinglan guessed.

"Maybe, but this drowsiness is just too intense."

The others echoed this sentiment, yet remained oblivious to the approaching danger.

Before long, the intense drowsiness completely took over, and one by one, everyone closed their eyes and fainted.

The room fell silent, as if time itself had stopped flowing.

The four of them fell into a deep sleep as if shrouded in a dark curse, and the surroundings fell into a deathly silence.

After a long while, the door that had been tightly closed slowly and silently opened.

The old man, like a ghost emerging from the underworld, re-entered the living room.

His figure looked particularly eerie in the dim light, with an unfathomable expression on his face.

Several people followed behind him, like ghosts crawling out of a dark abyss; judging from their clothes, they seemed to be villagers.

Their eyes were empty and cold, like soulless shells.

Their footsteps were light and silent, as if they were gliding through the air.

A sinister aura hung over everyone's face, as if they were shrouded in the shadow of death.

The entire living room was instantly enveloped in a terrifying atmosphere, sending chills down one's spine.

The old man stood there quietly, his cloudy eyes coldly sweeping over the four sleeping people.

There was not a trace of pity in his eyes, as if he were scrutinizing the prey he was about to capture.

The villagers following behind him remained motionless.

Like silent sculptures, only the slight rise and fall of their chests indicated that they were still alive.

An eerie atmosphere permeated the air, as if an unseen evil force was surging within.

The atmosphere was cold and oppressive, making it hard to breathe.

It was as if countless eyes were watching from the darkness, waiting for the right moment.

The old man slowly raised his hand, his withered fingers pointing at one of the people.

His movements were slow and stiff, as if time had frozen.

The hoarse voice seemed to come from hell, carrying a chilling aura that sent shivers down one's spine.

"Take them away."

The villagers immediately sprang into action, their movements mechanical and stiff, like manipulated puppets.

Their faces were expressionless, only showing a numb indifference.

They lifted the four unconscious people as if they were carrying inanimate objects.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, as if they had rehearsed countless times.

On the way out, the old man's sinister, hawk-like eyes were fixed on the four sleeping people.

Then he slowly extended his finger, pointing precisely at one of the people, his tone sinister and resolute:

"He's the one."

This person is of great use; the rest should be placed in the woodshed and kept under strict guard, ensuring nothing goes wrong.

The villagers responded mechanically, like soulless puppets:

"Yes."

Their voices were hollow and muffled, as if they were coming from a deep underground cave.

Then, following the old man's instructions, they stiffly lifted the other three people and slowly walked towards the woodshed.

Their footsteps were heavy and dragging, making a chilling sound in the silent night, as if the rhythm of death was slowly beating.

The door to the woodshed creaked open, and a musty, rotten smell wafted out.

The villagers expressionlessly tossed the three men carelessly into a corner of the woodshed, as if they were nothing more than a pile of lifeless objects.

At this moment, the old man led the chosen person to a dimly lit room.

The room was filled with a mysterious atmosphere, and strange tools and talismans were placed around it.

An eerie light flickered in the old man's eyes. He slowly walked to the man's side and gently stroked his face with his withered hand.

"You will become our sacrifice."

The old man's voice was deep and hoarse, as if it were a call from hell.

The man remained unconscious, completely unaware of the fate that awaited him.

"Village chief, these are clothes."

The villagers' voices echoed in the dark space.

The villagers held the clothes in their hands, their bodies trembling slightly, their tone revealing extreme respect, as if they were facing a terrifying ruler.

The clothes exuded an old and decaying aura, as if they were relics unearthed from an ancient tomb.

The village chief stood in the shadows, his figure indistinct, only his eyes gleaming with an eerie light.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and hoarse, like the whisper of a demon:

"Is the altar all prepared?"

The villagers quickly replied:

"Everything is ready, except for the offerings."

His voice was filled with fear and unease, as if he knew how terrible what was about to happen was.

The village chief nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the unconscious man, his eyes revealing a frantic desire.

"Put the clothes on him, then take him to the altar."

His commands were concise and ruthless, sending chills down one's spine.

The villagers trembled as they took the clothes and cautiously approached the unconscious person.

His movements were stiff and mechanical, as if he were controlled by some evil force.

He gently put the clothes on the person, every movement filled with care and respect.

"Yes."

The villagers' response was as faint and powerless as the buzzing of a mosquito.

He lifted the unconscious person and slowly walked towards the altar.

As the villagers carried the person close to the altar, an even stronger stench of decay wafted over them.

The so-called altar was made of black wood and emitted an eerie luster.

The surface is covered with various mysterious and terrifying patterns, which look like ancient incantations or demon totems.

Some patterns are twisted like snakes, while others are sharp like thorns, appearing particularly ferocious in the dim light.

The villagers carefully placed the unconscious person on the altar.

The moment the unconscious person's body came into contact with the altar, it seemed as if an invisible force trembled slightly.

The interior of the altar seemed to emanate a mysterious attraction, as if it wanted to devour people.

The villagers quickly withdrew their hands, as if afraid of being tainted by the evil power in the altar.

He stepped back a few paces, his eyes fixed on the unconscious person on the coffin.

At this moment, the green flames reflected on the altar, making the patterns even more clearly visible, as if they were writhing, exuding a chilling aura.

The whole scene was like a terrifying nightmare from which there was no escape.

A group of people dressed in black robes stood silently around.

Their faces were covered by black hoods, revealing only pairs of empty and lifeless eyes.

Holding a white candle in his hand, the flame flickered erratically, its faint light shimmering in the darkness as if it might go out at any moment.

The elderly man presiding over the ceremony slowly walked out.

He was dressed in a black Taoist robe embroidered with mysterious runes, and held a peach wood staff in his hand, engraved with ancient incantations.

The old man's face was solemn, and his eyes revealed a profound wisdom and a mysterious power.

The old man coughed lightly, the sound echoing in the silent courtyard, as if it were a summons from the underworld.

He began to sing:

"Though separated by the realms of Yin and Yang, our bond continues today through this ghost marriage."

A new soul, adorned in red and white, is joined in marriage between the realms of Yin and Yang.

A new journey begins on the path to the underworld; the ceremony of a ghost marriage is performed today.

Though separated by life and death, our love remains unbroken; the red thread of fate binds us once more, sealing our destiny.