Little Pink Starfish

Yuan Yuanyuan hadn’t finished reading the comic when she suddenly heard a knock on her front door.

When she opened it, she found Xiao Ying standing outside, holding a large bag of snacks and staring at her.

“I saw your lights were on and figured you were back,” Xiao Ying said. “Let me in.”

Yuan Yuanyuan stepped aside, and Xiao Ying darted in like a flash, plopping down on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” Yuan Yuanyuan asked.

“My mom took my phone. I wanted to finish watching Monster Chronicle before bed—otherwise I can’t fall asleep,” Xiao Ying replied.

“…Then maybe just don’t watch it?” Yuan Yuanyuan was a little speechless, but still tossed her phone to Xiao Ying. “Hurry up and finish it in half an hour, then go back to sleep.”

She turned and went to the bathroom to grab a rag, wiping the dust off her apartment. She had work again tomorrow, and she was coming home less and less often these days.

“Yuan Yuan-jie,” Xiao Ying’s voice suddenly echoed in the small, dimly lit room, “what do monsters… usually do in their daily lives?”

Her voice was soft, like she was sleep-talking.

Yuan Yuanyuan kept wiping the windowsill as she replied, “A monster’s life? Hmm… honestly, not much different from a human’s. Get up in the morning, hustle to put food on the table, go to bed at night. You’ve seen how lame I am… It’s not all apocalyptic battles. I probably can’t even beat a ninja. Real life and comics aren’t really the same.”

“Are there monsters like the ones in Natsume’s Book of Friends?” Xiao Ying half-reclined on the sofa. “You know… warm, beautiful ones. Tree spirits or fairies—elegant and ethereal…”

“I’m sure there are,” Yuan Yuanyuan said. “There are lots of beautiful monsters, and lots of cool ones too. If they’re good at transformation, they can be gorgeous. But monsters like that don’t really have anything to do with small fry like me.”

“…” Xiao Ying turned to look at Yuan Yuanyuan. “Yuan Yuan-jie, are monsters born knowing all those monster techniques? Like in comics—fire powers, wind powers, that stuff?”

“Fire and wind powers?” Yuan Yuanyuan suddenly felt the urge to laugh for some reason. She tossed the rag aside, sat down on the couch, and asked, “What are you really trying to say? Just tell me.”

The room fell silent again. Xiao Ying shut her mouth tight.

Yuan Yuanyuan stared at her. She could tell—Xiao Ying definitely had something on her mind. Otherwise she wouldn’t be this hesitant.

“I just…” After a long while, Xiao Ying sat up. “I think the monsters in Monster Chronicle are so cool… like those powerful big monsters—Yu Wu, Yuan, that guy in white, and that new one in the red sweater who looks like he could destroy the world with a glance. I… kind of envy them.”

“You… envy that?” Yuan Yuanyuan was silent for a full minute before finally speaking.

“They’re just… cool.” Xiao Ying suddenly didn’t want to keep talking. She pushed Yuan Yuanyuan away. “Go clean your cabinet. Don’t worry about me.”

Yuan Yuanyuan sat dazed on the couch for about two minutes before muttering, “Oh,” and turning back to clean the cabinet.

She wiped for a while. When she noticed it had gone quiet behind her, she turned and saw that Xiao Ying had fallen asleep.

Xiao Ying’s breathing had grown slightly heavier at some point. Yuan Yuanyuan glanced at her for a bit, then grabbed a blanket and covered her gently, turned off the light, and picked up her phone.

The next chapter of Monster Chronicle was about monster customs. Every year during New Year’s, monsters would offer tribute to the powerful ones. It wasn’t mandatory, but most monsters would still prepare a gift. Each year, these tributes would pile up, and the big monsters would sometimes compare who got what.

Not only did the big monsters compete, but even the little ones would gossip about it. It was a major conversation topic—who got the most, who got what, and who didn’t get anything at all.

Yuan Yuanyuan skimmed the comic, seeing examples of tributes the monsters had received that year. She browsed absentmindedly—until one detail caught her eye. It was about the tributes from City C.

There were many tributes in City C that year, sent to various big monsters. Yuan Yuanyuan spotted a few familiar items among them, shown in lavish settings—luxurious cabinets, tranquil bamboo huts, grand plazas.

One panel caught her attention—she instantly recognized her own cabinet. It was unmistakable.

The festive scene depicted in the comic was lively and detailed. Honestly, if not for the comic explaining all these monster customs, she wouldn’t have known any of this. She had always passed New Year’s in a daze—lacking the means to celebrate the human holiday, and not knowing how to do the monster one.

She’d seen monsters preparing excitedly in past years, but she never knew what for.

Now, seeing this, Yuan Yuanyuan had a sudden thought—maybe she should try preparing something in the monster style this year?

But… who would she even give it to?

She kept reading. The story shifted to something about Fa Ning and introduced a new girl—beautiful, with a special kind of aura.

Still, Yuan Yuanyuan frowned.

She didn’t know why, but the girl’s face… looked familiar. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember. That kind of itching, frustrating forgetfulness—it drove her nuts.

Crap! Is there something wrong with my brain? I can’t afford a checkup at the end of the year!

She smacked her head and put her phone down to sleep. Meanwhile, on the other side of City C, Liu An let out a long sigh as he looked at his phone, scratching his head.

Reading the comments under the comic like “Aaaah! She’s so pretty! Hurry and make her yours!” only made him feel worse.

“Make her yours, my ass,” he muttered. “See a pretty girl and just want to collect her? What is this, an SSR gacha? You think you’re Seimei or something?”

Modern readers, man… Liu An really didn’t get them. Not just comics—even in novels, someone has a rare skill and people start chanting “collect collect collect.” A girl shows up and it’s “collect” again. Like they’re playing a stamp collection game.

Thinking back to that girl, his head ached again—not because he didn’t like pretty girls, but because that one had been… something else.

That day, he was processing a corpse and hadn’t yet sent it to the cremation site when a girl chased after him.

She wore white, barefoot, blood on her feet. She ran over in a hurry. At first, Liu An had been polite, until she saw him stitching the body and suddenly snapped—crying, screaming, and grabbing the corpse.

Liu An was stunned. Needle in hand, he watched her snatch the body and shuddered.

Lady, doesn’t that need stitching? You’re bleeding everywhere—and don’t swing it like that, you’ll spill the brains!

After she finished crying, she spoke to the body for a long time.

Liu An sat quietly, listening.

From what she said… the body was her ex-boyfriend. They had eloped.

Oh… a twisted version of the Legend of the White Snake. But a bad ending.

Honestly, a monster daring to fall in love with a human, daring to elope, daring to cry over his corpse—it must’ve been true love. Liu An was impressed.

But still… something felt off.

He glanced down at the three shallow scratches on his back.

From the tussle that day—the girl had scratched him by accident while grabbing the body. He’d refused at first, and she’d come at him wailing and clawing.

Qiu Qiu, you’re biased! You didn’t even draw that scene! Or the creepy stuff the girl said. You just showed her running over and cradling the body tenderly. Didn’t even explain their relationship. No wonder the readers got excited—they think she’s some fragile white lotus!

Liu An grumpily closed his phone. Though nothing in today’s comic made him happy, he did learn something.

Like that strange tribute custom. He’d heard of it from an old Taoist, but thought it was niche. Turns out, it was a major event—almost as important as Chinese New Year.

Maybe I should… blend in a little? Liu An wondered. Otherwise people might think I’m weird.

He looked at San Dao Scar snoring beside him and began to think: So… who should I give something to?

…

Yuan Yuanyuan was casually browsing the comic site when she stumbled on a surprising number of Monster Chronicle fanworks.

She clicked through—romance, BL, even a few yuri stories.

The fandom had grown without her noticing. Not surprising, though. The comic was perfect for both shippers and fantasizers.

Some fans had wild imaginations. After seeing one obscure crack ship between Hong Xiu and Ran Niang, Yuan Yuanyuan felt strangely fearless. Damn… some of those fan artists were good.

Stay calm, stay calm. She slapped her head. Stay off the dark path! It’s almost year-end—you can’t afford a doctor!

After a while, one clean and elegant fan comic caught her eye. Not just because the art closely resembled the original—it had an intriguing premise.

The story? A regular human transmigrates into Yuan.

The title? When I Became Yuan.

Yuan Yuanyuan clicked in and read a few chapters.

The beginning was standard—inner turmoil after becoming Yuan. But the artist was sharp. She’d picked up on subtle clues in the original. In her comic, she hinted that Yuan might have been wrongly accused in the Judgement Court arc.

Huh? Yuan Yuanyuan blinked and checked the artist’s name.

Gao Ling—a female artist.

Very perceptive.

The comic went on to depict many speculative backstories for Yuan, including a dramatic rewrite of the court scene—suggesting he may have been framed. Yuan Yuanyuan was shocked.

This artist’s got guts. It’s like drawing Itachi as a tragic hero before he ever got a redemption arc. Predicting a future classic fan-favorite.

But something felt off as she kept reading. Two things, actually.

First, the comic made Yuan so tragic—like the whole world had betrayed him.

Sure, he was tragic. But this was told entirely from Yuan’s perspective, so the sadness was dialed to eleven.

Second, it made Yuan too powerful.

After the transmigration, the protagonist could destroy everything with a wave. The grandiose scenes felt like they were mocking Yuan Yuanyuan’s own reality—still memorizing spells and barely getting anywhere.

Still, most transmigration stories were like this. Without that power fantasy, the plot couldn’t move.

Just imagine… becoming someone legendary overnight. Instant power. So satisfying.

Like Xiao Ying said this morning—“Aren’t monster powers innate?” Her eyes were full of envy when she asked.

She wanted that kind of power.

…

[I looked at those people across from me. Their eyes glinted red.]

[Fresh blood trickled down my body, pooling beneath me. A lock of hair stuck to my cheek.]

[I heard their whispers.]

[They’re going to execute me. I know it.]

[In that moment, it was like all sound vanished. It was just me… and the chair.]

…

Yuan Yuanyuan shivered.

That was a scene from the fan comic—Yuan just before he turned dark. The artist’s premise was that Yuan blackened after his judgment… and then got transmigrated into.

And then? Became a world-destroying powerhouse.

Each chapter showed him killing someone, wiping out families, toppling clans.

Yuan Yuanyuan read for a long time, watching this version of Yuan flying around committing genocide, and suddenly wondered what she had done lately.

Monday: work, train.
Tuesday: work, train.
Wednesday: work, train…
Weekend: catch up on sleep, read comics, train.

For a second, she felt a strange guilt…

God, I’m such a slacker. I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry.

But really… isn’t this just how most people live? Even Yuan—was he really so different?

Yuan Yuanyuan shook her head and went back to memorizing spells. She didn’t notice that the fan comic she’d just read was now the fastest-growing in bookmarks.

…

Some things are totally ridiculous.

But people like it that way. And everyone believes it’s true. Isn’t that enough?

Thrills. Tragedy. Heroes.

People love putting someone on a pedestal—and speculating about their feelings and daily life. Just like Gao Ling imagined Yuan’s despair and drew his day-to-day vendettas.

Yuan Yuanyuan did the same sometimes, without realizing it.

And when everyone thinks something is true… whatever the real story may be, the narrative itself becomes fascinating.