Little Pink Starfish

It had only been two days since the monsters arrived at Nanchun Restaurant, and already they’d left a deep impression on the humans.

Just days earlier, the temperature in the surrounding mountains had begun to warm—but after the monsters showed up, the entire mountain turned icy and snow-covered again almost overnight.

Liu An sat on a couch, quietly snapping off the icicles that had formed on the window frame while watching people around him snapping photos.

Next to him, the reporter bro asked, “Hey, any pretty girls hit on you these past couple days?”

“Can you stop thinking with your lower half?” Liu An turned to him. “You’re a reporter, for god’s sake. Took all that effort to get in here, and you’re still obsessing over girls instead of focusing on interviews.”

“That’s because you’re out of touch,” the guy said. “You know the room next to yours? Ever wonder why the door shuts so early every day?”

“Why?” Liu An eyed him.

“That’s because…” the reporter leaned in mysteriously, “every night, that rogue cultivator brings back a different girl or two…”

“Huh?!” Liu An’s eyes went wide. He stared at the reporter for a while before muttering, “I… I didn’t notice.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re clueless,” the guy smirked. “But hey, give me some credit—I’ve already dug up quite a few juicy details in just two days.”

“Hey, the conference has already started. What are you two still lounging around for?” a passing Taoist suddenly said.

“That kind of meeting isn’t for small fries like us rogue cultivators,” Liu An didn’t even budge from his seat.

“You want in or not?” the reporter bro jabbed him in the arm.

“How would I even get in?” Liu An asked.

“Just say the word,” the reporter replied cryptically, refusing to explain further.

Liu An gave him a look—seriously tempting to punch—but couldn’t deny it: if he could get in, of course he wanted to.

So he followed the guy sneakily toward the front.

Meanwhile, Yuan Yuanyuan was already seated inside, sipping tea.

It was a formal setting, and one was expected to dress appropriately. Hats were a no-go.

Having never participated in something like this before, Yuan had dressed based on her memories of high school class meetings—she wore the most “formal” outfit she’d brought and even removed her usual hoodie.

In front of her, the balding middle-aged man was speaking.

“We must… promote harmonious development between humans and monsters… facilitate mutual progress… ensure both sides benefit… we should maintain friendly relations and continue along our existing path…”

He read from a sheet of paper in front of him, his voice thick with a Northwestern accent.

Yuan sat there thinking: Oh my god.

She was facing three humans, with a whole sea of people seated behind them. There were cameras filming, and scribes taking notes.

Before coming, she’d expected a grand and dramatic scene. Something intense, like a battle arena. Blood, shouting, chaos.

What she got instead… was this.

A painfully dry meeting.

Yuan had studied science, not humanities. If she had, maybe she could at least glean something meaningful from this political babble. As it stood, all she wanted was to sleep. The chandelier above her was blinding, and even that couldn’t keep her awake.

In front of her was a bowl of tea, a stack of blank paper, a brush, and ink.

On the human side? Bottled water and ballpoint pens.

Yuan propped her chin on one hand, trying to listen to the bald man’s speech—already ten minutes in and still going strong.

Her sharp ears picked up whispers from the crowd below:

“Hey, look at Baldy Tang—he’s glowing.”

“Of course he is. Got promoted right before this, probably getting another bump after.”

“When’s this thing gonna end? I wanna head into the city. Rare chance to visit the Northwest.”

“Dunno. But if you’re going into town, better leave early. Public transit stops early. It gets dangerous after dark around here.”

“No worries. I secretly brought a few Void Step Talismans.”

…You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Yuan’s lips twitched into what might’ve been a sneer—or a polite smile. She switched which elbow she leaned on; the first was going numb.

“…Once again, we hope this conference concludes successfully. Thank you, everyone.” Finally, Baldy Tang wrapped up. Yuan joined in the polite applause.

She felt like she was wasting her time. So far, this was nothing but a long-winded formality.

When she’d first entered and seen the layout, she’d imagined something tense. A battlefield between monsters and Taoists. But nope—just endless speeches.

There were many aspects of human behavior she disliked. One of them was this—talking endlessly and saying nothing.

The meeting hall was structured like a Roman coliseum: concentric circles radiating from the central platform.

At the very center was a small stage where speakers stood.

Yuan sat in the first ring—eight people total, split evenly between humans and monsters.

The space was so big that unless someone raised their voice, much of what was said was lost. With her sharp hearing, Yuan caught fragments of whispers, but otherwise, it was almost too quiet.

She glanced up at the chandelier—bright, dazzling, probably an antique.

She looked back down at the bald man under the spotlight. From her angle, his shiny head was catching every beam of light.

She wondered if she looked just as conspicuous to the crowd behind her. Hundreds of people must be staring at her back.

She chuckled quietly. Honestly, she should’ve sat properly. Even in a class meeting, she would’ve tried to look attentive.

Whether or not you paid attention, appearance mattered. At least it stopped people from bothering you.

Before yesterday, she absolutely would’ve done just that.

But today… she just didn’t have the energy. Still, not doing it felt wrong too.

So she sat propped on one hand, not writing notes, just listening quietly—unlike everyone else.

“Thank you.” After Tang stepped down, the white-bearded elder on the monster side rose.

Yuan had met him the previous night. He seemed to be a water-type monster—she could smell the scent of water on him.

He didn’t say much, just a few lines: “We hope to reach an outcome we all find satisfactory.”

When he said that, Yuan glanced at the four human representatives. No reaction.

“Alright. Let’s move on to the meeting agenda,” one human rep said, lifting the materials on the table. “First, we’ll discuss the disposition of the seven captured monsters. Then we’ll address three postwar treaty provisions, and finally the matter of territorial divisions along the Northwest Line.”

“Understood.” The white-bearded elder nodded.

A human representative stood up to begin: “Regarding the disposition of the seven monsters, they violated Article Eleven of the postwar supplemental agreement…”

Just then, Yuan felt a gentle pinch on her arm.

She turned slightly. The old man next to her blinked at her meaningfully.

He gestured toward the pen and paper in front of her. She picked up the brush but didn’t write anything.

“Hey, that’s Yuan in front,” the reporter bro whispered to Liu An.

Liu An stared at Yuan, a little dazed. He chuckled. “Funny. We searched all over for her, couldn’t find her. Now she’s just sitting there, plain as day, in front of hundreds of people.”

The reporter nudged him. “See? I told you our press pass would be useful.”

“It really is,” Liu An nodded, glancing at the meeting topic written on the agenda sheet:

“Disposition of the seven monsters, three postwar treaty provisions, Northwest Line territorial divisions…”

Liu An’s eyes widened. “Wait, they’re redrawing the Northwest Line?”

“Of course,” the reporter said. “Back when this region was undeveloped, no one cared. But now the Northwest is growing—more people, more monster attacks. They’ve been planning a redraw for a while. At the very least, push the monsters into the less populated zones.”

“Oh…” Liu An nodded. “Three treaty provisions…? But there are over a hundred clauses in the postwar agreement. Which three?”

“The main three: one, humans can’t seize monster territory; two, monsters can’t harm humans freely; and three, how to handle monster generals,” the reporter said.

“…Why are those lumped together?” Liu An looked puzzled.

“You’re still in school, right? No wonder,” the reporter chuckled. “Work a few years and you’ll get it. Around here, people talk about this all the time. But if you’re from somewhere else, you might never hear it.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know either. When I was in the Northeast, no one mentioned it. But ever since I came to the Northwest, I hear it constantly. I figure it’s because this area’s a frontline zone—more direct contact, so people simplified things into buzzwords.”

Liu An nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly looked up.

The chandelier above was glaring, like a giant spotlight.

Yuan stared at it too—an antique crystal fixture. It was beautiful, but painful to look at.

The hotel clearly had a long history—you could see it in the art on the walls, in the lights above.

She suddenly thought: Why bother taking pictures outside? The inside’s way more photogenic.

—Northwest Tribunal, also known as the Tribunal Hall.

Built in the late 19th century as a secret court, once used during the war. After the conflict ended, it was repurposed as a banquet hall for human-monster negotiations.

The light above was so bright it hurt. Yuan remembered wondering, when reading the comic, why they always drew the Tribunal lighting so harsh. Now she knew—this kind of chandelier would produce that intensity.

She looked toward the center platform. That had been added recently.

In the past, there was no stage—just a chair.

A wooden chair with armrests, with leather straps—for binding someone.

A century had passed.

Now she sat in the front row—the same spot where the judges once sat.

Yuan shielded her eyes and muttered a curse.

“Uncomfortable?” a voice asked beside her.

It was the white-bearded elder. She shook her head.

She wasn’t about to leave. She hadn’t forgotten why she was here—among all the big-name humans, the monsters only had one real fighter: her.

She was here to hold the line.

To back the monster side.

The human speaker had finished. It was time for the monster side to respond.

Technically, Yuan should have spoken next.

But she didn’t move. The old man beside her stood up instead.

People below began to whisper.

“Hey, did you notice? Yuan didn’t speak,” the reporter said to Liu An. “Everyone’s waiting for her. I swear, at least half of them came here just for her.”

Liu An’s brows furrowed.

Yeah… why hadn’t she said a word?