On Lu Zizhen's end, things had already erupted into a full-blown urban-fantasy warzone. Meanwhile, Dòu Táng was still wandering the deserted corridors alone.
"Got it… the equipment room."
He stopped before a dim hallway lined with doors—classrooms, club rooms, and one marked
Teaching Equipment Storage.
He grabbed the handle.
Locked.
He pushed again.
Still locked.
Left, right—same result.
But Dòu Táng was confident.
He believed the door could be opened.
Bang!
With a light shove, the door gave a miserable creak and collapsed inward with a crash.
See? Opened just as he thought.
As for the consequences… not his problem.
Inside, the room was packed with dusty props and broken furniture. At the far end hung a full-body anatomical model—an old skeleton on a steel frame.
That was his target.
Digging up every scattered bone across campus would take forever, so he chose the direct route—
capture the skull's resentment by giving it a new host.
If he could fit that cursed skull onto this model's neck and seal them together, the spirit's anger might quiet.
That was the best-case scenario.
Worst case?
Grind the skull to dust, toss the vengeful soul into the Tang Dou Ren realm, and let it play the
Crown Game for eternity.
Playtime's free. No refunds. Don't miss your chance!
Dòu Táng approached the skeleton, studying it with a craftsman's focus. Then, from the back of its neck, he deftly unhooked the skull.
Whose bones they were didn't matter. The person was long gone; the soul had moved on. Respect for the dead—yes.
But not when they stood in the way of the living.
"Whoever you were," he murmured, pressing his palms together, "sorry, but I'll be borrowing your bones. If your soul's still hanging around and you're unhappy, come find me. I'll help you move on."
Had the skeleton's owner heard that, they'd probably have stood up just to punch him. Then he lifted the cursed skull in both hands.
"Same goes for you. Got a problem? Come talk to me." Which, really, sounded a lot like I dare you.
Blasphemy disguised as sincerity—but Dòu Táng had no idea.
Crack… crackle… crunch.
The skull splintered slowly in his hands. Dòu Táng's grip tightened, eyes narrowing, fingers twisting with inhuman strength. Pale fragments turned to powder and sifted down.
When he finished, nothing remained but gray dust.
He tucked the teaching skeleton under one arm. The steel rods clattered and rattled like a marionette as he moved.
Carrying the bones, he sprinted up the stairs, kicked open the rooftop door, and stepped out into the night.
There—
a white lab coat swayed gently in the wind. Hovering above it was a faintly glowing skull.
Just as Dòu Táng expected, it looked as though an invisible body wore the coat—only the skull visible.
…Come to think of it, kind of a weirdly lewd mental image.
Normally a sight like that should've been horrifying.
But to Dòu Táng, who'd seen far worse, it barely earned a blink. He raised the skeleton and said flatly, "Want it? New body."
"…Do I look like some cat-eared freak with a head-swapping fetish to you?"
…Huh?
Wait—how the hell did this ghost know that meme?!
As Dòu Táng blinked, the figure solidified: a translucent man in shirt and slacks, features blurry, skull faintly visible through his skin.
He looked like a slime trying to cosplay a human.
"You've retained consciousness?" Dòu Táng asked, frowning.
"Of course," the man said easily. "And I even know who you are—Kiryu Dòu Táng. That girl this afternoon, the one who screamed? Kume Chinatsu, right?"
He spread his arms and smiled faintly. "Name's Ejima Izae. I used to be this school's physician—twelve years ago."
"I'm not exactly a vengeful spirit," he added with a chuckle. "Call me a bound spirit, maybe? Another few decades underground and I might've evolved into a full-blown Jizō Bodhisattva."
The spectral doctor sat casually on the rooftop edge, chin propped on one hand, grinning in the moonlight—a scene that should've been absurd, yet somehow felt profoundly wrong.
It was Dòu Táng's first time meeting a ghost that could talk back.
Inside, though, Ejima was terrified.
The man before him looked human, but the pressure radiating from him was suffocating. The resentment bleeding from Dòu Táng's soul made his spectral body quiver.
Peering into that shadow, Ejima sensed a bottomless pit of hatred and malice—yet none of it seemed directed at him.
When Dòu Táng had dug him up in daylight, Ejima had only just awakened—he hadn't sensed that monstrous power, nor seen the Candy Man form.
Now, dread gripped every particle of his spirit.
Dòu Táng exhaled slowly, suppressing curiosity. "So what happened to you? Why were you dismembered?"
Ejima tilted his head. "…Good question. Why was I dismembered?"
Dòu Táng set the skeleton down beside him.
That simple motion made the ghost tense like a cornered animal.
Why does he look like he's about to bolt?
"I—I really don't remember!" Ejima stammered. "Honestly! I only regained awareness after being unearthed. Before that, everything's fuzzy. I just remember someone kneeling before me sometimes… chanting sutras."
"After I came to my senses, I wandered the school. Watched the students. That's all I know! I swear!"
"I see…"
"Do you know who dug you up, then?"
The ghost touched his chin—a strangely human habit. "Hmm… No. I don't remember that either."
Dòu Táng's killing intent eased a little. If this spirit had possessed someone, his quiet school life would've gone up in smoke by now.
"Then do you know anything about the strange phenomena around campus? The ghost-wall effect? Anything unusual?"
Ejima thought for a long moment. "Wait… I think I do remember something…"
His voice trailed off. The memory clearly hurt. Sweat—if you could call it that—beaded on his translucent face. His glow dimmed.
"I was… I volunteered for something, didn't I? But what was it for…? I can't remember. Wait, Kiryu-kun—tonight, is it a full moon? What… what day is it?"
Dòu Táng's voice turned cold.
"Tonight is the Zhongyuan Festival—the Ghost Festival. You'd call it Obon here." "The night of the Hundred Demons' Parade."
Ejima Izae's body trembled.
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