As the world entered a new era, the monsters and malevolent spirits of old gradually faded from
public sight.
But things don't stop existing just because people stop seeing them.
Can't carry a sword? Use a collapsible one.
Can't wear a shrine maiden's robe? Try techwear instead.
The spirits hadn't changed—they were still born from human hatred and ugliness.
But the people who hunted them had.
They'd become quieter, subtler, less visible.
In the old days, exorcists stood tall in bright robes so the desperate could find them.
Now, anyone could just search "haunted places near me."
And so, the Taoists, the priests, the spiritualists—they all faded into the background.
Lu Zizhen was one of those people.
Unlike others who hid themselves completely, she refused to blend in—her fashion sense was
simply too loud to die.
Right now, a ponytailed beauty in half-functional techwear pants and a see-through baseball
jacket was sprinting through the streets, her collapsible sword gleaming under the streetlights.
To a bystander, she probably looked like a fashion influencer filming a nighttime promo video in
Ikebukuro.
But that swordlight—oh, it was real.
What should have been a cheap telescoping prop now shone like tempered steel in her grip.
Even Dòu Táng had never seen something that embodied "modern supernatural" quite like this.
If you looked closely, faint talismans were wrapped around the hilt—each one burning out in a
slow fade as she moved.
Her eyes sharpened. Deep within her, a sleeping bloodline stirred awake—an inheritance forged
through centuries of Taoist struggle.
That bloodline dragged her into the memory of her ancestors: robes fluttering, toes tapping
temple dust, each generation standing between the living and the damned.
For hundreds of years, her family's line had endured.
What remained was a legacy—not of blessing, but of burden.
The same attunement that made her powerful also made her a magnet for spirits.
A double-edged sword.
Those who hunted monsters often drew monsters' eyes.
To the world, people like her were "gifted exorcists."
But compared to Tang Dou Ren—who could directly touch spirits and ignore illusions—she was
still human.
Anyway—back to the street.
The woman in the yellow coat still crouched on the ground, noisily slurping marrow from the
pork bone.
She hadn't even noticed Zizhen's approach.
The silver blade descended in a clean arc—
Ch-ch-ch!
A sharp hiss sliced the night.
Dozens of thin jets of water erupted from the ground like needles, deflecting the strike in perfect
rhythm.
Zizhen froze mid-swing.
She's controlling the water?
There was restraint in the counterattack—intentional restraint.
Enough precision to warn, not to kill.
Her eyes narrowed.
She's not feral… she's self-aware.
The thought hit like ice water.
Zizhen leapt back, landing lightly, blade raised.
The spirit finished gnawing her bone.
Her unnaturally long tongue slithered back into her mouth with a wet slurp.
Then came another—slurp, slurp, gulp.
The sound crawled down Zizhen's spine.
No time to joke around now.
"Run!" she barked. "Huaiyin—get home and find your brother!"
Without looking back, she hurled three Tang Beans to the ground—no hesitation, no
half-measures.
Then she grabbed Huaiyin's hand and bolted, leaving their grocery bags behind on the soaked
pavement.
The beans hit the puddle at the spirit's feet and rolled to a stop.
The woman in yellow slowly folded her coat shut again, hiding the pale, glistening skin beneath.
"…Crown…"
The word oozed from beneath her dripping hair—soft, trembling, yet heavy with something
ancient and cold.
The sound stretched unnaturally, sticky and slow.
Huaiyin froze.
Zizhen didn't know anything about "crowns."
She only knew Dòu Táng was hunting sixty targets.
She didn't know Huaiyin herself was one of them.
But Huaiyin knew.
The moment she heard that word, her blood ran cold.
She could only stare, paralyzed, until Zizhen dragged her away.
The spirit didn't follow.
Instead, she looked down—toward the puddle.
Three massive silhouettes rose from the water, swelling and solidifying beneath the moonlight.
Three towering, muscle-bound, pink-skinned men—each one a Tang Dou Ren.
(Yes, this buff form was Lu Zizhen's personal request. Don't judge her.)
[Muscle Form: Increases strength by 50%. Compatible with all costumes.]
The trio struck synchronized poses under the moon, muscles glistening.
If the spirit had ever seen JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, this could've been an art piece.
Behold—the Three Buff Brothers Under the Moon!
The lead Tang Dou Ren pointed at the ghost, then drew a finger across his throat in silent
warning.
The other two crossed their arms and tilted their heads, radiating judgmental energy.
Any sentient being—human or otherwise—would've been too stunned to react.
Because really…
Who wouldn't pause at the sight of three pink muscle men posing dramatically in the middle of
an empty Tokyo street?
"Wuhuuu!!" the leader roared, then lunged forward.
BAM!
His fist slammed into the woman's torso, sending her flying several meters before she rolled to
a stop.
The other two clapped and flexed in celebration.
Then—
Glug… glug…
The woman stirred.
The puddle beneath her began to spread, filling the air with the heavy stench of seawater.
Her drenched body rose unnaturally, like a puppet on invisible strings.
The three Tang Dou Ren hunks crouched low, arms wide, ready to grapple.
And then—
A flicker of gold.
Something sliced across the street—swift, precise, impossibly fast.
When the light faded, silence followed.
The slurping had stopped.
Only the crunching remained.
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