When midnight rang out, the city’s neon lights trembled in the wind, and a stack of gray-green ghost money silently landed in a young man’s palm. It was an invitation from the underworld, and a ticket into a terrifying world.
He was no one special, just one face in the crowd, until a bizarre murder case dragged him into the crack between the worlds of the living and the dead. Fear surged like a dark tide. The ghost money burned in his hand, transforming into a rusty bronze bell. When it rang, the world fell silent, as if even the shadows were holding their breath. His body temperature dropped by one degree.
Troubles came one after another. Paranormal incidents multiplied, his vital yang energy dwindled, and debt-collecting ghosts whispered in his dreams. He had to choose between “staying alive” and “getting stronger.” Yet salvation always arrived when it seemed least likely: the System quietly activated, lighting a glimmer in the chaos. It offered no promise of redemption, only the optimal solution: exchange ghost money for talismans, summon spirits, or even buy a haunted house capable of withstanding attacks from vengeful ghosts. But every choice came at a greater cost: his body temperature dropped another degree, his yang energy diminished further, and the shadow in the depths of his soul grew darker.
He began to understand that in a world where fear was currency, true extravagance wasn’t spending money like water. It was daring to cast his final coin toward fate before the ice sealed over his body.
When human fear is no longer worth anything, and death becomes the interest we pay every day, can we still believe that warmth exists?
