Little Pink Starfish

Yuan Yuanyuan walked out of the corridor and only after turning a corner did she see a group of monsters standing there.

She was momentarily stunned. The monsters, seeing the blood on her hands, were startled. Yuan Yuanyuan waved them off to indicate she was fine, shook the blood from her hands, and walked out from among them.

Only after stepping outside did she realize just how crowded the corridor had been—not just with monsters, but humans too. Everyone stood quietly on either side as if they all knew something.

Yuan Yuanyuan glanced at the Taoists on her left. They didn’t know what had happened, but seeing the blood on her hands, they instinctively stepped back to make way. The humans and monsters on both sides slowly retreated to give her a path. As she cast sidelong glances at them, Yuan Yuanyuan couldn’t tell what the Taoists and humans had done while she was inside, but the mixture of monster aura and human breath in the air made her heart beat faster.

In that heavy atmosphere, she vaguely felt a kind of stifled tension, as though everyone present was silently suppressing something. But as Yuan Yuanyuan passed between them, no one dared block her path—both humans and monsters stepped aside.

She walked forward steadily without once looking back. Only after she passed the human “wall” did she turn around and see that it had filled the entire corridor behind her. Beyond that wall, the hall was completely empty—even the lights had been turned off.

She walked through the unlit corridor, retracing her steps from earlier, until she reached a “Do Not Enter” sign posted at the exit.

If someone had been standing at the entrance looking in, they would never have guessed anyone was inside—this corridor looked completely abandoned and sealed off.

Yuan Yuanyuan pulled open the curtain slightly and looked out the window along the corridor. The square below was still packed with people. She saw several cameramen standing around, some wearing logos of major TV stations.

Camera flashes kept going off, and with her sharp hearing, she could even make out someone speaking Mandarin clearly and formally.

It seemed that the events of earlier had been kept entirely from the public. No one outside knew what had happened. Was this the humans’ decision? The monsters’? Or… a joint effort?

Judging from how smoothly everything had played out, it was likely the third. Today, the humans and monsters had worked together too seamlessly—they had clearly decided to keep this quiet. Neither side wanted things to escalate, so they chose to handle it in the shadows.

Yuan Yuanyuan looked out, then pulled the curtain shut and continued walking forward.

Most likely, the moment she entered earlier, the corridor had already been filled with Taoists. The monsters had probably been brought by the white-bearded old man.

Speaking of him—Yuan Yuanyuan suddenly paused. She turned around, realizing he hadn’t come out with her. She had been in such a rush that she hadn’t noticed. It seemed he had stayed behind to deal with the mess the humans had made.

That was just as well… Yuan Yuanyuan truly wasn’t good at dealing with this kind of thing. Letting him handle it was best. She still didn’t understand why the humans had tried to capture her.

She kept walking, thinking back to the moment she saw what that square-faced Taoist had pulled out. At that moment, her mind had nearly snapped.

That incantation he chanted was a section from the Blood Jade Demon Manual, specifically from the “Sealing” chapter. Yuan Yuanyuan had never paid much attention to it before, not knowing what it was for, but she had memorized it perfectly—better than she’d memorized the Three Hundred Tang Poems. It had saved her life.

As soon as she heard the chant, she realized what he was trying to do—he was preparing to seal her.

She hadn’t known why he had drawn that sword, but the ritual required a lot of preparation—one key step was channeling the curse into the target’s bloodstream. How? By stabbing a sword into the body—preferably the abdomen—so the curse could travel up the blade.

That sword could indeed be considered a sect treasure. Preparing it took a full day, using blood to carefully inscribe symbols along the blade, then embedding them inside the sword until it looked ordinary again.

If this method had truly been passed down, that sword would absolutely be a sacred relic. She hadn’t figured out what the jade willow leaf was for, but its shape implied it paired with the sword. When she was stabbed, she instinctively triggered an illusion, then slashed her own hand in hopes of drawing the curse up with her blood—but they had seen through it.

Whatever. Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t mind anymore. Before seeing that sword, she had thought the monsters were a pitiful joke. Now… she realized both sides were jokes.

There’s always a bigger fool. This was just two weaklings pecking at each other. Only Yi Qi stood above it all.

Too bad Yi Qi had died early. If he had lived to see this, he’d have laughed himself senseless.

Yuan Yuanyuan now had many questions, but couldn’t act. If they’d intended to seal her, why not do it days ago? Why now?

Another thing—what was with that item? It had the same signature as the “textbook.”

Now, a bold idea came to her: Was Yi Qi actually a double agent? Had he worked undercover on the human side before switching to the monsters and successfully infiltrating the Blood Jade Demon Army?

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense—he had always been called a traitor, and the monsters’ hatred of him was oddly intense.

But then she shook her head. That theory clashed with what she already knew. Fat Cat had clearly told her Yi Qi was labeled a traitor for opposing the mass slaughter of humans. At the time, there had likely been a surge of extreme sentiment among monsters, and for a supposedly iron-blooded general to vote against it would have made him a pariah.

Fat Cat had only ever mentioned that Yi Qi opposed the slaughter—he never said Yi Qi had defected. Plus, if he were truly a spy, why would the humans demand his death as one of their three post-war conditions? What spy gets executed by their own side?

After mulling over it for a long time, Yuan Yuanyuan realized she might be overthinking.

She’d forgotten something important—Yi Qi had worked as a spy in human territory. Maybe those items were leftovers from that period.

And so… she came up with two more theories:

First, why had Yi Qi left something like that behind?

Second… Yi Qi was just that insanely capable. Beyond belief.

Damn. She really wanted to see those Taoist “textbooks” and find out what else Yi Qi had left behind.

Yuan Yuanyuan felt a gnawing itch of curiosity. But getting that book from the humans would be hard. This time, it had been dumb luck that she stumbled on such a big secret. Probably only Yi Qi and a handful of people had known about it—everyone else was already gone.

She walked toward her room, still deep in thought. As she passed her door, she paused, staring at the painting on the wall.

She touched it gently, remembering how it had made her cry that morning. Maybe she was just too sensitive lately. She had no idea why she’d cried.

Too much stress, maybe? Overthinking everything?

Whatever the reason, she forced herself to forget it afterward. No point in overanalyzing unsolvable mysteries.

She opened her door and heard a girl inside talking on the phone.

On the other end, someone was exclaiming, “Oh my god! You—you actually saw it? You were there when he cried?”

Yuan Yuanyuan silently closed the door behind her like a cat.

“Yeah, I saw it. Did you see my post on Moments?” the girl was saying. “I didn’t expect it either… but he was just standing there. I was shocked. But now, thinking about it, maybe it was fate.”

“Come on! Drop that calm act! I don’t believe you’re not excited. If you don’t fess up, I’ll pinch your tits when you get back!” The girl on the phone was super hyped. “I knew I should’ve gone with you, even if my dad yelled at me! Where is he now?”

“Well, it’s too late now. He just left and told me not to follow him. Guess where I am right now?” Her voice cracked with barely contained laughter.

“Where?”

“I’m in his room.”

The other girl exploded. “Oh my god, oh my god! How did you get in? What’s it like?”

“It’s… just a normal room.” The girl tried to sound calm, but Yuan Yuanyuan’s sharp ears could still hear her excited heartbeat. She changed the subject. “I also saw that painting. I think it’ll show up in the comic much later. Want me to take a picture?”

“Take a pict—”

A low, cold male voice suddenly spoke behind her.

“Take a picture… of what?”

“Ah—!” The girl shrieked in terror and tumbled off her chair. She stared at Yuan Yuanyuan in horror.

Yuan Yuanyuan asked, “What were you going to photograph?”

The phone had been dropped and the call had disconnected. Whether it was from the fall or the person on the other end hanging up, who knew.

“I… I…” the girl stammered. Yuan Yuanyuan knew she’d entered too quietly. She normally wasn’t that stealthy—it had been unintentional this time.

She stared at the girl and was reminded of a memory from long ago—standing at a sink, wiping away blood, while overhearing others discuss her. One moment she felt like herself, the next like a stranger.

It was surreal. She could see through every emotion on their faces—feelings she’d once experienced herself, now so distant.

Everyone was happy talking about what they’d seen, eager to share their own take. It was just gossip—entertainment to be admired, envied, and shared. Human nature.

Or maybe it was that illusion of deep emotion—people chasing things that moved them, only to realize they were the only ones moved. Talking about it became a way to comfort themselves, or to impress others by pretending not to care.

Sometimes, you get hurt and can’t let go. You pretend to be noble, or you stand on the sidelines and judge, gaining a false sense of righteousness. But the person in the mud just feels lost—and only you are truly moved.

Might as well eat some popcorn and laugh at the fool across from you—it’s more satisfying.

But you can’t deny… it feels damn good. Being moved by your own narrative can be euphoric.

It’s distant and painful to overthink, so Yuan Yuanyuan stopped. But now that feeling was creeping back again.

Still, as the saying goes, “Do not impose on others what you wouldn’t want yourself.” She’d been a shut-in for years, already detached from these things. She’d broken every “Seven Deadly Sin” herself. So even if this girl had crossed a line, Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t punish her. She simply led her out.

Before they left, she said coldly, “Don’t speak of what happened today. Delete everything. Or you might die.”

Her tone was icy and terrifying. The girl nodded dumbly in fear.

Yuan Yuanyuan wasn’t lying. Her actions today were supposed to be top secret. If word got out, this girl could get herself killed.

She had so much more she wanted to say—things like “Kid, you chased me all the way here. Maybe use that time to study, find a good partner,” or “Some things aren’t as fun as you think. If someone else had been here instead of me, you might not have made it out alive,” or “My life isn’t as interesting as you think. Sometimes… I’m just miserable.”

But she said nothing. Because how others saw her was always different from how she felt.

She closed the door behind the girl and lay down on her bed. She sniffed the sheets—good, the girl hadn’t touched anything, just sat on the chair.

Lying in bed, her thoughts drifted. A strange idea popped into her head—

Yi Qi… it’s all your fault for being too damn cool. You maxed out the style points. If you were still alive, maybe I wouldn’t have to take your place and be this exhausted.

I could just sit back and admire your handsome face, lament your tragic past and even more tragic future… then clutch my face and cry, “So tragic, so tragic, so tragic…”

Maybe I’d even end up like Fat Cat, scheming my way into the Monster Chronicle, only to show up as some random bar girl… pouring drinks, getting secretly thrilled over a single panel, pretending to be cool when asked, acting aloof…

She chuckled at the thought, but quickly lost interest. She lay back and drifted off.

Right before she fell asleep, a faint feeling passed through her mind—something about that “painting” the girl mentioned… She felt like she was on the verge of understanding something, but not quite.

But the thought vanished, and Yuan Yuanyuan soon fell asleep—into a black, dreamless night.