Little Pink Starfish

In the Penguin chat group, people always stayed up late. They called it “cultivating immortality,” though no one knew if they were actually ascending—what was certain was that everyone looked like they were about to drop dead from exhaustion.

Tonight’s discussion revolved around differences in art styles among various illustrators. The group’s art veterans weighed in with their opinions.

“Ji Qiu draws the most beautiful demons. They all have this ethereal vibe.”

“The hair and clothing are especially well done. So many characters, and not a single repeated face! Unlike some comics where everyone shares one face—it’s amazing.”

“See? Not all Chinese comics are the same. Ji Qiu’s ink-wash style gives each character a unique aesthetic.”

“Who’s the best-looking one so far? I think that white-robed guy from the last chapter is super handsome. The ink style made him look like a cool boy from a shoujo manga.”

“I love the way Ji Qiu paints blood in ink. It’s the first time I’ve felt how beautiful blood can look in this hazy, flowing style. It’s like it’s suspended in water.”

…

In a dimly lit room, two candles flickered quietly on a table.

Yuan Yuanyuan sat before a porcelain dish roughly the size of her face. She picked up a small blade and gently slid it across her palm.

A line of red blood slowly trickled down, glowing vividly under the candlelight.

Her face, bathed in flickering light, shifted between shadow and flame, unreadable.

With one hand, she pressed the wound lightly to coax more blood out.

Once the bottom of the dish was thinly coated, she withdrew her hand and began wrapping the wound with a bandage. The candle flames trembled suddenly.

The blood in the dish began to ripple, forming a tiny whirlpool at its center. Finally, a small red bead surfaced at the bottom of the dish.

Yuan Yuanyuan stood up, staring at the bead. She blew out the candles—first the left, then the right.

Then she flipped on the overhead light.

The once eerie, ritualistic setting vanished in an instant, replaced by mundane normalcy.

The white fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Yuan Yuanyuan rubbed her eyes and yawned. She pushed in her chair, then started peeling wax residue off the table.

This was actually her kitchen. The altar-like table was her dining table. The porcelain dish? Just her microwave-safe plate.

She scooped the little red bead out with a spoon, rinsed it under the tap, then swirled the dish full of blood.

The liquid, slightly thick, swirled lazily in the shallow plate.

Every month, Yuan Yuanyuan had two blood-related chores: one was her period, the other was this.

The red bead-looking thing? It was her rent.

She kept a steady pace of making one bead a month, and paid rent every three months.

She’d learned this demon spell ages ago. It was one of the first she mastered. The method was simple: a dish, two candles, and channeling demonic energy into blood to form a bead. It was supposedly an ancient offering method used by weak demons to serve strong ones.

She could barely remember what the demon who taught her looked like—someone as weak as her. They struggled to survive for a week… then the other demon died.

Yuan Yuanyuan stared at the blood, lost in thought, then poured it into a Tupperware container. After wrapping it tightly in cling film, she stuck it in the fridge.

If someone asked her what had changed the most since becoming a demon, she’d say: her courage.

She used to flinch at even fictional depictions of people cutting their hands to summon stuff. Now? She could draw a summoning circle in blood and poof—summon some unnamed ghost warrior without even flinching.

She tossed the red bead into her nightstand, then sat on her bed, pulling out her phone to Google:

“How much does hospital blood cost?”

She scrolled through results. One said: “800 yuan for 400cc.”

400cc… how much was that, really?

As she was about to keep searching, another more serious question popped into her head:

Can you get takeout…?

She stared down, lost in thought, before—

“Yuanyuan?” Li Zi Jie’s voice jolted her out of it. “Why are you—”

She rubbed her eyes and looked at her phone’s live voting feed on Dream Manga. The Black-Robed Man’s name had officially changed to “Yuan.”

The name came from the platform itself. Previously, readers had just called him “Black-Robed Man,” but one morning, without warning, it was updated to “Yuan” on the voting list.

Yuan Yuanyuan kept reopening the app, increasingly agitated as she read the comment section.

“What’s up with Faning and Tong Xin? I thought she was a good guy. Why did she suddenly betray him?”

“It’s not exactly betrayal… If you look closely, there were signs in earlier chapters—she looked grim when standing next to Faning.”

“So what’s going to happen to Faning now?”

“Not sure… But I have a bold theory.”

“Me too. I think Yuan will save him. He’s helped before—feels like Yuan’s the main character’s cheat code.”

“Yeah, like a mentor character. Since Faning doesn’t get support from his own sect, he’s basically relying on Yuan.”

Yuan Yuanyuan stared at the comments.

Over eighty percent guessed that the person who would save the main character… was her.

Her? No way.

She angrily tossed her phone aside and scrubbed at a cup with unnecessary force.

“Hey, easy!” Li Zi Jie said. “You’re rubbing the design right off.”

Yuan Yuanyuan froze, then resumed scrubbing more gently.

…Peach Blossom Alley.

There was no Peach Blossom Alley nearby. But two subway stops away, there was a place called Peach Blossom Garden.

A tiny garden filled with peach trees. This time of year, the blossoms were probably gone.

Yuan Yuanyuan felt like weeds were sprouting in her brain. The more she told herself not to think about it, the more it pushed to the surface—relentless, like wildfire.

“Hey? What happened to your hand?” Li Zi Jie asked.

“I was letting out some blood…” Yuan Yuanyuan muttered.

“Oh. Thought someone bullied you,” Li Zi Jie replied.

Yuan Yuanyuan looked at her hand. The cut was deep—still not fully healed.

Demon wounds usually healed fast. She’d just… overdid it.

On the way home, she glanced at the tavern’s glowing sign, then walked into the night. A strange thought surfaced in her mind:

What if no one comes to save the main character this time?

This world is real. It’s not just a comic anymore. If no one helps him, will Faning actually die? Or will Ji Qiu save him anyway?

As she pondered, she passed a store window with red heels on display. Her reflection appeared on the glass—slightly distorted.

If 80% of readers guessed the same plot twist… the story would probably follow it.

What happens when the stage is set, but the actor doesn’t show up?

She stared at her reflection for a long time, then suddenly turned around.

She ran—straight toward Peach Blossom Garden.

If Faning had been poisoned in the last issue, then by now—based on the timeline—he should’ve already reached Peach Blossom Alley.

It had been a whole day. He might already be dead.

Yuan Yuanyuan ran fast—like a gust of wind along the empty streets.

Peach Blossom Alley… could it be Peach Blossom Garden?

As soon as she stepped into the garden, she felt a sudden warmth envelope her.

The out-of-season climate shocked her system to full alert.

Her heart thudded. Of course… Peach Blossom Alley was Peach Blossom Garden. She didn’t even know why her guess was so accurate.

The pitch-black garden was blanketed in pink petals. She looked up—blossoms drifted down from the branches above.

A breeze swept past, scattering flowers across her shoulders. She inhaled—peach fragrance filled her lungs.

Modern structures dotted the garden, now dull and lifeless, cloaked in an eerie stillness.

Only the faux-classical elements still retained their vivid colors.

But it’s already autumn.

She took a deep breath and walked forward. The garden was dark, unlit, but faint green fireflies floated around.

All other flowers had withered. Only the peach blossoms remained, painting the entire place pink.

She passed a small fountain and arrived at a gazebo. From afar, she spotted a peach tree blooming wildly beside it—so massive it nearly covered the entire structure.

The tallest tree in this area… and Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t remember it. She was sure there used to be a willow.

Everything felt surreal, but this wasn’t an illusion.

A week ago, she wouldn’t have known that. But now, she could tell—it was an illusion. A powerful, wide-reaching one.

Where there’s illusion, there’s a way to break it.

She shifted into another form and crept forward. Peeking into the gazebo, she saw someone lying there.

A girl. Face delicate as a peach blossom, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully.

Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t recognize the face, but the outfit? She knew it. It belonged to Faning’s sect.

This is a trap.

She looked around, trying to recall a spell. She unwrapped the bandage on her wrist, pressing down on the still-healing wound.

A drop of blood flowed out.

How did the incantation go?

She dipped her finger in the blood and whispered the spell, dabbing it at the corners of her eyes.

The stain faded into a watery crimson—like something suspended in liquid.

“No wonder they say you’re prettier than most women.”

…

Yuan Yuanyuan froze.

A woman’s gentle voice rose beside her. “Such a beautiful drawing. I’d love for you to paint me too.”

Her hand lowered, heart pounding.

Shitshitshit—BOSS?! THE BOSS IS HERE?! THE BOSS IS HERE?!

I’m out! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! I’m gonna die!

“I saw the comic too. Beautiful work,” the woman said. “Do you know what kind of background Ji Qiu has?”

Her voice grew softer. “But tell me, why did you run away back then? Why didn’t you just hide that thing on your chest?”

Yuan Yuanyuan glanced down. A red jade pendant rested quietly on her chest.

The voice continued, “Tch… dragging things out like this. You’re worse than a woman. I ought to give you a nickname… how about ‘Yuanyuan the Sissy’? What do you think?”

Yuan Yuanyuan turned. The woman wore an elegant pink dress, her hair in a classical bun, a peach blossom pinned at her temple.

Is that supposed to be… an insult?

Words like “Rabbit Lord” and “Boytoy” flashed through Yuan Yuanyuan’s head.

Such classy insults… demons really are educated folk.

She barely understood nine out of ten words the woman had said—but the info dump was massive.

Yuan Yuanyuan slipped a small knife from her sleeve and swiftly blocked a peach blossom branch flying her way.

Meanwhile, back in the Penguin chat, the immortality cultivators were still awake.

“I tried copying Ji Qiu’s blood-painting technique with watercolor. Almost nailed it.”

“Was it hard?”

“Yeah, my eyes are dead. Ji Qiu paints blood with crazy detail.”

“Why not try using real blood? I swear it looks exactly like it was painted with real blood.”

“…Can you not? Please?”