Little Pink Starfish

…Honestly, Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t want to bring up such a buzzkill of a topic right now, but the truth was — after buying that instant noodle, she was down to her last few hundred yuan.

Her first twenty years of life had been fairly uneventful. But the past few? Total chaos.

She remembered how, a few years ago, she’d used her university degree to land a decent job — only to get into trouble just a few days in… all because of her “species.”

Back then, she was still kind of a noob (not that she was much stronger now), and she panicked. She quit her job and drifted around — all the way to where she was now.

In the past few years, Yuan Yuanyuan had taken on all kinds of random gigs — mostly short-term jobs that paid daily, so she could vanish at a moment’s notice.

Truth was, she hadn’t held a proper job in ages.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, chin in hand, she mulled it over: the way she was now, it’d be hard to settle down anywhere. For the past two years, she’d scraped by on what her parents had left her, plus a bit of side income.

She’d pinched every penny… but even so, her funds were nearly drained.

Because even if she was a yokai, she was a very… un-yokai-like yokai. Over the years, she’d observed the way other yokai lived and had come to some conclusions. There were a few main types — but none had it as bad as she did.

Strong yokai could claim territory, blend openly into human society, and nobody dared say a thing. They’d even be praised as “powerful players.”

Weaker yokai either clawed their way up the ladder or just scraped by — but even they didn’t have to worry about rent or food. They could squat in some back alley at night, and when it came to food… well, humans and yokai alike could be “edible.” With luck, they might even get some loot during a hunt.

Even docile, non-troublemaking yokai often belonged to some sort of group or clan.

But Yuan Yuanyuan? She couldn’t blend into either world — not the human one, not the yokai one.

Everyone else was doing just fine. Only she, this pitiful little half-yokai, was stuck in limbo.

Honestly, compared to the mysterious “Jiqiu” looming over her, Yuan Yuanyuan felt like her water bill and Wi-Fi bill were a much more immediate threat.

She chewed on her fingertip, then walked to the window and peeked at the glowing lights below, planning to ask around the next day about short-term gigs.

That café from earlier seemed decent. Maybe the Sichuan restaurant next door needed someone…

---

“No? You don’t pay unless I work a full month?” Yuan Yuanyuan frowned. “Oh, okay… thanks anyway.”

She hung up and slumped in defeat.

Outside, the streets were full of people — all she could think was: money money money money…

Good thing she was a somewhat-educated, morally upright 21st-century woman. Otherwise, she might have seriously considered some less-than-harmonious life choices by now.

She sighed. Most places needed commitment — show up on time, stay at least a month, or no pay. But in her situation, she didn’t dare stick around too long anywhere.

She stepped out of the shop and looked down the long street. Her legs were sore after a full day of walking.

By now, the sun had started to set. Pinkish light spilled between the buildings.

She happened to pass a large supermarket — perfect for sneaking in a bit of AC and a bathroom break.

She knew exactly where the restrooms were. After reaching the sinks, she splashed her face with cold water, drenched in sweat from the heat.

As she looked up into the mirror…

Black T-shirt. Jeans. Water droplets clinging to her cheeks, strands of hair plastered to her face.

Her black eyes were expressionless.

She stared for a moment — then bent down and splashed her face again.

Behind her, she heard girls chatting.

“What else do we need to buy?”

“Got the pork ribs, got the bamboo shoots… just yogurt and bottled water left, right?”

Yuan Yuanyuan wiped her face once more and looked up again — and froze.

She stood there, stunned for five or six seconds. Then the sound of a toilet flushing snapped her out of it. She rushed into a stall and slammed the door shut — BANG!

“Whoa!” a girl next to her flinched. “What’s her deal?”

Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t care. Her heart was pounding.

Her face…

Even after the other girls left, she stayed hidden in the stall, still dazed.

She covered her face and tried to revert it.

But… it wouldn’t change back.

Her heart pounded louder. She glanced around — only stall doors and silence.

“…Jiqiu, is that you?” she whispered.

The restroom was deathly still.

“I just want to know… what you’re trying to do. Can you tell me something, anything…?”

Still no reply.

She looked down at herself. Her body had transformed into the “man in black” — taller, flat-chested, even her voice now masculine.

“…Are you seriously gonna draw right now?” she mumbled. “Look, if you draw a scene where the male supporting character walks out of the women’s restroom, the readers are gonna riot, okay?”

She was rambling. She didn’t even know what she was saying anymore.

Then—

Hehehe…

A strange laugh echoed out of nowhere.

It wasn’t male or female. Young or old. Yet clearly… human.

For a second, Yuan Yuanyuan even considered rewinding time just to hear it again.

She looked around — nothing. No yokai. No human presence.

The sound had no source, no trace, like a hallucination.

And with that… she knew this weird saga had entered a whole new phase.

She slowly pushed open the stall door. The restroom was empty. Bright lights shone down from above — revealing a sentence on the mirror, scrawled in what looked like lipstick:

“I want to play a game with you.”

She stared at it. Then at the tightly shut restroom door.

The air was heavy, still.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, then nodded slowly.

“…Okay. What kind of game? Tell me.”

The red words on the mirror smeared, as if rubbed out by an invisible hand.

Another line appeared:

“Use this identity more often. Let me finish my comic.”

…

Yuan Yuanyuan nodded again.

As if pleased, the invisible presence wiped away the second line too — and suddenly the mirror exploded into motion.

Countless red lines overlapped on the glass — scribbles, sketches, messy handwriting, like a child’s chaotic drawings.

They were unsettling — like dozens of unrelated images being forced together into one disturbing mess.

Yuan Yuanyuan’s eyes followed the red lines, watching as they drew, erased, re-drew.

She could only catch fragments — too many details vanished before she could register them.

Her brain was still trying to process everything when, at last, a single clear sentence formed:

“Try staying like this until you get home.”

…

The mirror blinked — and suddenly, it was clean. Polished. Normal.

Sounds from outside the restroom filtered back in.

Yuan Yuanyuan snapped out of it, startled — but the message had seared into her brain:

“Stay like this until you get home.”

She took a deep breath. Voices outside were faint but growing louder.

She turned to the window.

…No good. Too many people outside.

Tch.

Thankfully, there weren’t any cameras in the restroom. But once she stepped out, that would change.

She ducked her head, pushed open the door, and walked quickly into the store.

She tried to recall the layout — there should be a hat section somewhere…

Even though she was nearly broke, she had no choice now.

She kept to the edges, avoiding the crowd. She passed the pet food aisle — less foot traffic there.

As she rounded a corner, she sensed two people nearby.

“Should we get this brand?”

“Not sure… I heard this one’s bad for cats?”

Yuan Yuanyuan tried to quietly slip behind them, head down — but just then, one girl turned around.

“Huh?”

She quickly looked away.

“What is it?” her friend asked.

“Look behind you… Is that cosplay?”

“Which one?”
“The guy in black.”
“Oh! From that new comic, right?”

“He’s kinda hot though…”

Yuan Yuanyuan’s heart skipped a beat. She darted past the cat food and made it to the hat section.

She grabbed a baseball cap, jammed it on her head, paid, and got the hell out of that supermarket.