Little Pink Starfish

Ji Qiu, of course, knew exactly what he was doing… He had drawn Yi Qi vividly, placing the peerless, stunning man before everyone’s eyes—including Yuan Yuanyuan’s, right there through her phone screen.

Yuan Yuanyuan watched Yi Qi’s every movement on the screen, and for a moment, she felt as if she had been drawn right into the scene. Her soul seemed to be swept away by a kind of beauty she had never experienced before. The two people beside her, even if they hadn’t meant to peek, couldn’t help but see her screen in such a cramped space. Her phone was held low, but it was impossible not to glance. Now, they too were quietly watching the comic on her screen.

Ever since she began playing the role of “Yuan,” she had tried to imitate every aspect of the character. She had thought she was doing a pretty good job—at least no one had seen through her. But now, seeing this real Yi Qi… she realized just how shallow her impersonation had been.

Sometimes, no one else can tell if something is real or fake—but the fake itself always knows.

There’s a kind of beauty that is effortless, natural. Yi Qi’s beauty was just like that. Yuan Yuanyuan had always tried to masculinize her features, to tone down the overly delicate face she had. She believed that masculine energy helped her pass as a man. But now, looking at the Yi Qi in the comic… she suddenly felt as if something new had entered her world.

Yi Qi didn’t hide his face at all. That was what shocked Yuan Yuanyuan the most—he proudly displayed it. His allure wasn’t forced; it simply was. Every smile, every expression was genuine, completely unmasked. Of all the illustrations she had ever seen, no one had ever captured that breathtaking yet nonchalant charm like this. Yet he wore a pure white robe—like a brilliant red plum blossom blooming in the snow.

Until now, Yuan Yuanyuan had only ever associated Yi Qi with cunning and resilience. She’d never seen this side of him before.

He sat on a snowy corridor, drinking. The snow fell thickly, the air bitterly cold. The world outside was a blur of white, the sky pitch-black. A single red plum blossom bloomed outside the corridor. A full moon hung above.

Beyond the corridor was a deep well. Despite the frozen world around, the water inside still flowed. Snowflakes fell softly into it, slowly turning the surface white. As Yi Qi watched, a giant plum blossom drifted from the well tower and landed at the center of the water, sending ripples across the surface.

His deep, dark eyes watched the blossom. He gently raised his wine cup and took another sip. “Idly watching flowers bloom and fall; letting the clouds drift as they will.”

Sometimes, people can be struck dumb by a single thing. Yuan Yuanyuan hadn’t been this awestruck in a long time. Except for the brutal death scenes she had seen before, this was the second time Yi Qi had appeared—this time in a scene that felt closest to his daily life when he was still alive.

Today, for the first time, she started to truly grasp the kind of person Yi Qi had been.

He was nothing like her.

While she tried to suppress something within her, Yi Qi was constantly releasing something. That contrast was stark and visceral.

The two people beside her were still watching the screen. Yuan Yuanyuan knew they were watching, but she didn’t care—right now, all she wanted was to keep watching. Even though the character on screen had her face, Yi Qi and the previous “Yuan” were worlds apart.

He had come back to life.

Not through her imitation—not through the stand-in version she portrayed—but as himself.

The Yi Qi on screen was like a drifting immortal in white robes. She had always imagined spies like him to wear black, and had worn black herself to cultivate that atmosphere. But the real Yi Qi could make white look more deadly and mysterious than black ever could.

Ji Qiu was a master of composition. The entire scene was layered in black and white—a stunning contrast, almost unearthly in its impact. The scenery didn’t just frame Yi Qi; it was part of him. In that stark, colorless world, he was the only dazzling burst of vivid life. And it felt natural, not forced.

Everything Yi Qi did—every glance, every subtle smile—felt divinely bestowed. Yuan Yuanyuan couldn’t even begin to describe it, much less reproduce it. The look was seductive without effort.

His long hair spilled across the corridor floor. A delicate hand beside him poured wine. A snowflake drifted into the cup and melted on contact with the warm liquor—then he drank it.

Yuan Yuanyuan used to tell herself to be more elegant, more mysterious, more poised—qualities she had only read about Yi Qi in old texts. She had always imagined Yi Qi to be principled, responsible, sharp, maybe even manipulative.

That’s the image she had been working so hard to embody.

But now… now she realized she had been wrong.

The Yi Qi in this comic was a man who seemed effortlessly romantic.

His eyes were soft—far too soft for a man—and yet no one could mistake him for a woman. Yuan Yuanyuan couldn’t fathom how someone so gentle-looking didn’t come across as feminine. That kind of softness would’ve looked effeminate on anyone else, but not on him.

And now, she couldn’t stop flipping back to those few panels. For twenty whole minutes, she went over four or five drawings of Yi Qi again and again. She couldn’t remember the text—couldn’t remember what anyone said. All she saw was him.

Time seemed to stop. She thought she’d only glanced at a few pages, but when she looked up—it had been twenty minutes. And she hadn’t absorbed a single plot point.

God, how did I lose so much time staring at a few pictures? she wondered.

Feeling a little self-conscious, she glanced at the elderly man and the red-robed woman. Suddenly she felt like a fraud, like a cheap knockoff of the man in the pictures. Sitting here drinking wine together while reading the same comic… it made her flush with shame.

Awkwardly, she lowered her head, trying to discreetly flip pages to avoid making the others wait. Demons might not understand comics, so she felt responsible for managing the pace. And compared to their serious expressions, she felt painfully shallow—just gawking at pretty faces while others were hunting for meaning.

She told herself to focus, but the moment her eyes drifted back to the screen, she was gone again.

This must be from long ago, she thought in a daze. Maybe later she’d need to study some old video references or find actors who resembled Yi Qi for practice…

She turned another page—and there he was again. A never-before-seen drawing of Yi Qi, this time from a different angle.

Her thoughts shattered again. Everything she’d just been planning vanished. She stared at the picture, completely immersed. Her mind emptied out.

Flip. Flip.

Normally, she followed the storyline panel by panel. But this time, she hadn’t followed a single plot thread. All she wanted was more images of Yi Qi.

When he appeared—she was hooked. When he didn’t—she skimmed until he came back.

She was still a woman, after all. This kind of beauty… she had no resistance.

If only this issue had more pages… longer scenes… If only she could keep looking at him forever.

Just imagining it made her feel full of joy.

But all good things end.

The last page turned. The chapter closed. The screen mimicked the folding of an ancient scroll.

And in that moment… a deep emptiness sank into her heart.

Why… why did it end so soon? she thought, scratching at her hair. She turned—and suddenly realized an entire hour had passed.

What?!

Eyes wide, she realized she’d never spent this long on a single issue before. Normally, even when reading carefully, half an hour was plenty.

And now? She couldn’t even remember what the main plot was.

As she sat stunned, the old man beside her quietly said, “Lord Yuan… the wine has grown cold.”

Suddenly, she snapped back to reality.

Right. There were two people with me. She had no idea how obvious her trance had been. Luckily, she’d gotten good at poker face lately. Maybe the only strange thing was how long she took to read… but she could explain that away—“Just reminiscing,” or something like that.

She hurriedly said, “Has it been that long? Let’s drink again, then.”

The red-robed woman beside her seemed dazed too, though Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t notice.

She lifted the cold wine and downed it in one gulp.

But her mind was still replaying those images.

Later… once they leave… I’ll read it again, she thought.

Read it all again—and this time, I’ll pay attention to the plot too.