Yuan Yuanyuan was slumped over in a chair. She heard Liu An moving around—he had come in.
Actually, about half an hour ago, she’d planned to go upstairs and pass out on her bed. But in the end, she just… never got up. She stayed collapsed on the chair.
Now that Liu An was here, Yuan Yuanyuan felt strangely at ease. This guy would definitely tidy the place up—both inside and out. She wouldn’t have to worry about the mess all over the floor. By tomorrow morning, Liu An would’ve cleaned it all up… and brought breakfast too.
She was in the middle of these hazy, half-asleep thoughts when she suddenly felt something heavy being draped over her. Reaching out blindly, she touched the fabric—it was her quilt.
She rolled over, tucking herself into the blanket, burying her mouth and chin into the soft fabric.
Liu An looked at the boss lying across two chairs, analyzing her sleeping posture. Being slim really had its advantages… otherwise, she’d probably fall off those chairs.
After watching her for a bit, he dragged a couple more chairs over, placing them beside her, then spread the quilt wider to help her lie more comfortably.
The moment he moved the chairs, the boss immediately rolled over, going from a neat, curled-up sleeper to a full starfish sprawl. She yanked the blanket up with her. Liu An sighed to himself—so the extra chairs really were comfier, huh?
Shaking his head in mild exasperation, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping the trash off the floor.
A sea of blood.
It stretched from the horizon to the heavens. A few black crows flew overhead, leaving dark trails across the red sky.
The ground was covered in corpses—piled one on top of another with no end in sight. It was as if nothing else existed in this world.
From the horizon, the sun began to rise—huge, filling one’s entire field of vision. It was so large, it was almost terrifying.
A rough, raspy voice spoke near her ear.
“Tell me… what happens when a person dies?”
After the voice faded, silence returned. A long, oppressive stillness, the kind that made people feel like dozing off.
Then, another voice answered faintly.
“…”
It was hard to make out—sounded both distant and close at once.
What were they saying?
The voice was so faint, but oddly familiar.
Yuan Yuanyuan suddenly sat bolt upright.
“Ah!”
She moved so fast, she didn’t even notice the person standing in front of her.
Liu An had just been observing her closely, trying to figure out why she wasn’t waking up. From 3 a.m. last night to now, she’d been dead asleep.
Just as he finished preparing breakfast, he heard a few faint murmurs. After searching for the source, he realized they were coming from the boss.
When he leaned in, he found her sleep was anything but peaceful—like she was stuck in a nightmare. She kept muttering unintelligible things. Worried, Liu An had started pulling the quilt back, trying to give her some air.
Right at that moment, she snapped up like a fish jumping out of water—and smacked him square in the nose with her forehead.
Two voices screamed in pain at the same time. Birds from the nearby tree startled and flew off.
Liu An immediately clutched his nose and squatted to the ground, feeling something wet around his nostrils…
“Sorry! Sorry!” Yuan Yuanyuan clutched her forehead and rushed over, helping Liu An up.
Still dazed, she stared at him and thought: Dude, what are you doing? Why are you in here so early in the morning?
Liu An waved her off while staggering to his feet. “Boss… you were having a nightmare.” Then he stumbled off like a man defeated.
His retreating figure looked inexplicably tragic.
Yuan Yuanyuan sat on the makeshift bed of chairs, watching the early morning sun. It was still pretty early; the sun hadn’t fully risen and wasn’t too blinding yet.
She sat in silence, thinking: A nightmare? I had a nightmare?
What did I even dream about?
After pondering for four or five minutes, she sat there with a head full of messy hair, lost in thought. The smell of food from the kitchen finally snapped her out of it. She groggily got up and shuffled over.
They did have a kitchen—though Yuan Yuanyuan rarely used it. She had mostly just let it sit there unused. But ever since Liu An came, that space had come alive. The guy could do everything.
She picked up a bowl and walked to where Liu An was cooking.
Liu An glanced back and saw her—hair like a bird’s nest, eyes still sleepy. Without a word, he lifted the lid and ladled out a scoop of porridge for her.
She took the bowl and began sipping as she walked.
Liu An turned off the stove. Seeing her drink without asking for anything else, he sighed and grabbed some pickled vegetables from the side to bring over.
By the time he returned, the boss was sitting in a chair in her black loungewear, sipping porridge. The quilt had been tossed aside.
He placed the pickles on the table and looked at her. Isn’t she cold? Just came out from under a warm blanket and now she’s chilling in that thin outfit?
She was so slim that the black outfit made her look even thinner. She drank her porridge slowly, wrist thinner than the handle of their broom.
After watching her for a while, Liu An finally said, “I bought some hangover medicine. If you’re not feeling well, take one after you eat. Don’t drink that kind of strong stuff—it’s bad for you.”
Yuan Yuanyuan slurped her porridge and looked at Liu An. She rarely drank, but last night, while rummaging for chips, she’d found a bottle of Erguotou (Chinese grain alcohol).
Human minds are mysterious. For some reason, in that moment, she decided to down the whole thing—for courage, maybe.
She’d never even finished a full beer before, but white liquor? Turns out, it hits hard. After chugging that bottle and reading manga, she’d started to feel pretty bad.
It was technically the first time she’d ever really gotten drunk.
She looked at Liu An, wondering if she’d done anything embarrassing. Should I ask? Would that be weird?
But she stayed silent.
Liu An, unaware of her inner turmoil, watched her drink quietly and wondered if she’d even heard him.
Back when he was learning Daoist arts, his master was a notorious drunk. Nobody else cared enough to look after the man—except Liu An.
The master was one of the lowest-ranking Daoists, tasked with supervising around thirty junior disciples. The others all looked down on him. Every time he got drunk, Liu An was the only one who carried him away.
The master died young. Rumor had it he drank himself to death. But Liu An never got confirmation—he hadn’t seen him for a long time before his death, and the sect had already forbidden him from teaching by then.
Liu An shook his head and looked down at his palm. Faint black lines of ink marked it—written with a carbon pen. The text was already fading after one night.
“What are you looking at?” a voice suddenly asked above him.
Startled, Liu An looked up to see Yuan Yuanyuan standing over him, casting a long shadow.
She was staring at the words on his hand. And somehow… she recognized a few.
She remembered that during her days of drifting, she had once hung out with a rat demon. Both of them were low-level demons, but to her, that rat had been unbelievably skilled.
Whenever other demons came to fight, the rat demon could instantly identify their spells after just a glance.
Back then, Yuan Yuanyuan had been completely clueless. The rat had seemed like a god to her—able to identify hundreds of demon arts on sight. She had no idea how he did it. She could only sit beside him and silently give him virtual thumbs-up.
Now that she thought about it, most of those spells had actually been basic ones.
Somewhere along the way, Yuan Yuanyuan had reached a point where she, too, could identify spells with a glance.
Like now—she’d just glanced at Liu An’s palm, and something clicked.
“…Are you studying illusion magic?” she asked hesitantly.
In the morning sunlight, she looked at Liu An, who seemed momentarily frozen.
“…Yes,” he replied after a pause.
Liu An’s mind buzzed.
Looking at the boss in her black clothes, he suddenly felt a surge of fear—and a hint of… killing intent?
It wasn’t rational. But it was bone-deep.
He’d always studied in secret. Writing in his palm made it easier to memorize and less likely to forget.
He had copied it from one of the highest-level Daoist manuals he’d found before being expelled from the sect. He had spent an entire night cramming the whole thing before he left.
He never thought anyone would understand it. He’d been completely confident. After all… this was sect-level material.
And yet now—the boss had called it.
And she was right.
It really was illusion magic.
She continued to gaze down at him, her face expressionless but somehow making his spine tingle.
Liu An’s mind raced—Did she see through it?
The physiology of demons and humans differed greatly. Liu An clenched his twitching hand.
“You should’ve asked me if you wanted to learn that,” the boss said casually.
Yuan Yuanyuan looked at the notes on his palm and thought—He’s trying to learn trickery magic, huh?
Honestly, she was really good at that kind of stuff.
Liu An had always been so diligent and reliable that she felt a bit guilty. Now, she saw a chance to repay the favor—and got weirdly excited.
She cheerfully trotted off to the kitchen to get herself a second bowl of porridge and chomped on a strip of pickled veggie.
The air in the room felt warmer. The sun had fully risen, shining through the window and lighting up their faces.
Liu An sat there, dazed. He could hear his heartbeat pounding. It felt like he’d just woken from a nightmare.
“You messed up the second line,” came the boss’s voice from the kitchen. “But don’t worry, I’ve got a better way. Took me forever to figure it out. I’ll show you this afternoon—get some sleep first.”
Little Pink Starfish 
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