Many evil spirits in this world are just like those in ghost stories—mysterious, unpredictable, terrifying precisely because they spring from the unknown.
Whispers beside your bed, phantom voices, invisible hands that move objects—these are a wraith's standard tricks.
To ordinary people, such things belong to horror films and campfire tales.
But above them dwell stronger beings—high-level spirits with physical forms and self-awareness.
They are twisted imitations of life itself, breaking both human law and natural order.
Even so, Lu Zizhen had never seen anything quite like Dòu Táng.
By all accounts he was human, yet he could transform into that eerie, monstrous shape.
In his Candy-Bean form, he was the nemesis of all spirits—immune to their mental influence, able to seize and destroy entities that should have had no shape at all.
How could a rebellious Daoist like Lu Zizhen not be curious?
To uncover the truth hidden inside him, she had to track that wraith. Luckily, just as she'd predicted, the creature hadn't gone far.
Ikebukuro—Tokyo's restless heart.
Compared to Shibuya's mature glamour, it was an unripe fruit: tart, sweet, and full of contradiction.
Here adults chased sugar-coated pleasures while the young ruled their sub-culture playgrounds.
But in its maze of alleys, anything could crawl out of the dark.
"Good thing I didn't let you meet him," a voice said at one alley's mouth.
"Otherwise you really would've drained him dry. What a shame—since that means I'd go hungry."
A silhouette stood there—black-clad, hood up, hands in pockets, streetlights crowning her in a harsh halo.
Lu Zizhen.
Inside the alley lay a scene from hell.
The same wraithly woman stood barefoot in the center, her beige coat hanging open.
Her hands dripped red; blood streamed down her thighs, slicking even the dark curls between her legs.
Allure twisted into horror.
Bodies surrounded her—young men, judging by the clothes. Delinquents, low-tier yakuza, perhaps.
Each one mauled, lifeless, covered in jagged claw marks.
Lu Zizhen exhaled slowly.
The hem of her coat swayed as she raised her hand, and with a shing the collapsible blade extended.
Talisman strips along the hilt flared; dull silver turned blinding white.
"You're not a wraith, are you?" she said coldly.
"You're something else. Those corpses weren't possessed—they were puppets. You died with a grudge so deep it warped you into a youkai.
Life must've treated you badly."
Then she smiled—cruel, taunting.
"Only someone who died that pathetically could carry so much resentment. Let me guess—you drowned? Almost became a nure-onna, but not quite?
Now you're just a drowned ghost. How pitiful." At those words the spirit hissed, face twisting.
Lu Zizhen's voice dripped poison.
"So tragic, isn't it? A beauty like you, dying that way. Didn't even find your killer, did you? Now you're just slaughtering random men. What did they do—catcall you? Look at you too long?
Or did you want them to look? You exhibitionist."
She tilted her head, mock-sympathetic.
"A victim who becomes a predator the moment she gets power—no better than your murderer. Tell me, does it feel good?"
The wraith lunged, shrieking.
Water rippled beneath her feet as she shot forward, claws slicing toward Lu Zizhen's throat. Lightning-fast.
Lu Zizhen's eyes narrowed; her voice cracked like a whip. "How dare you! I wasn't done talking!"
No more jokes, no memes, no grin—only fury and pride.
Her twin blades crossed with a shriek of steel, sparks scattering.
"—Hah!"
A dozen talismans ignited at once.
Light exploded from the sword, searing through the misty air and striking the spirit's hand head-on.
Steam hissed; fire met water.
The spirit reeled back, falling to the ground with a wet slap. "Shff—shff—!"
Lu Zizhen charged through the vapor, blades flashing.
Each swing was fluid, exact—feet gliding, tassels spinning, every motion a rhythm of death. There was grace in it, an echo of something ancient.
Only then did the wraith understand: the laughing woman from earlier had never shown her true self.
"Hu—ha!"
Twin blades carved a silver crescent through the night. Even in motion, her hood never fell.
Looking down at the fallen creature, Lu Zizhen sneered.
"I know you can think—and talk. So do it. That word you said before… Crown.
What does it mean?"
"I've slain more spirits than you've killed men.
Answer me properly, or I'll make sure there's nothing left to reincarnate.
And don't give me that coy, roundabout crap you Japanese ghosts love. I don't have the patience."
"…The Crown Game."
The wraith's voice was faint as a mosquito's hum, but Lu Zizhen heard every syllable. She lowered her head, as if surrendering—
and above her shimmered a faint golden glow.
"I… I must win the Crown Game," she whispered.
"I have to kill the Candy Man… and all the other contestants…" A golden crown materialized above her skull.
Lu Zizhen's eyes widened.
Candy-Bean transformation… spirit absorption… the obsession with haunted sites… All of it—suddenly, horribly—fit together.
The crown's glow bathed her face, shock melting into exhilaration. Understanding felt like power, and power tasted sweet.
Her lips curved.
She licked the corner of her mouth, smiling.
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