Little Pink Starfish

The next morning, students returned to school as usual. For the completely ordinary human students, they had no idea what had happened the night before.

The schoolyard was filled with elderly folks doing morning exercises, just like always. The ground was slightly damp, as if coated in dew. Budding branches swayed gently in the breeze.

In every classroom, students earnestly recited their lessons. Experimental High was a top-tier school, and its students were known for their diligence. From the back window, the teachers could see everything at a glance.

The senior year teachers and the academic director made their usual rounds. Class One was focused and studying hard, which earned a satisfied nod before they moved on to Class Two…

These were the flowers of the motherland—so bright and full of promise.

But when the director reached the doorway of Class Twenty, he froze.

Every student was holding a pen. Every few seconds, their fingers would flick…

Swish—swish—

The room was dead silent. Each student had a workbook open, but no one was writing anything. They just kept… flipping their pens.

Thirty students. All doing the exact same thing.

If it were just one or two, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But the whole class, synchronized like this—it was surreal.

The director furrowed his brow and knocked on the door before stepping in. “What are you all doing?”

“Reporting, sir! We’re not doing anything,” the class rep immediately stood up and answered.

“If you’re not doing anything, then focus on studying! What’s the point of spinning your pens?” the director scolded.

After he left, the pen-spinning paused briefly.

Then a few minutes later… resumed.

Their first-period teacher—a gentle-looking middle-aged woman—entered and was briefly stunned by the scene. But once she figured out what was going on, she couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation.

The moment she entered, every student stopped spinning their pens and looked at her with bright, eager eyes. The teacher placed her materials on the podium, smoothed her tone, and said:

“Class, I know trickster arts are interesting and important, but let’s not lose sight of the fundamentals. Offensive techniques are the basics…”

Boom!

The class erupted.

“Teacher, did you see that video from last night? That trickster demon was incredible, right?”

“Teacher,” another student raised a hand, “can trickster demons actually be useful in large-scale battles?”

The teacher was more patient than the grumpy old man who usually taught trickster arts. Students preferred her and often asked her questions.

She thought for a moment before replying, “Honestly, what we saw that trickster demon do last night… is not something most could replicate. It’s not practical for the average trickster demon to use those techniques in large-scale combat—especially for students like you who haven’t even mastered the basics. Achieving what he did would take exceptional skill…”

“Aw…” The class sighed in disappointment.

She smiled helplessly.

Meanwhile, Yuan Yuanyuan had just woken up after nearly a full day of sleep. She got up, started getting ready for work, and immediately received a… penalty notice.

Of course, demons didn’t call them penalties. They just said “punishment.” So when Yuan opened the fine, she stared at it in confusion for a long while, seriously contemplating quitting on the spot.

The dumbass squad leader even asked her what insights she gained from this mission.

Yuan thought for a second and replied, “My insight is… this disguise only works on dumb demons. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t be fooled.”

…She got chewed out.

Completely dumbfounded, Yuan stood there thinking, That really was my main takeaway!

She was supposed to be a “demon,” yet humans recognized her more than demons did. Even old grannies were calling her “Yuan” to her face.

Same planet, different treatment—how is the gap this wide?

While trying to calculate how much money she’d have left this month after the fine, the squad leader knocked on the desk. “Finish your report from last night. Write it properly this time. No half-assing it.”

“A report… you actually want one?” Yuan asked.

“Whether I want it or not, you need to clean up your mess,” the leader snapped. “Clear up the fact that what happened two nights ago was a coincidence. Use whatever excuse you want—just clarify it.”

Yuan left, still completely confused. What do you mean it was “a coincidence”?

She hadn’t been online or visited the tavern in days. She had no idea that after her video went viral, countless demons had tried to imitate it—leading to numerous accidents.

By the third day, injuries were piling up. Even deaths had occurred.

The flood of copycats chasing that one dazzling moment resulted in disaster. Few had the skills to replicate it—and many paid the price.

It was a massive headache for the higher-ups. No one even knew how Yuan pulled it off, and before they figured it out, they had to manage the fallout.

Still unaware of any of this, Yuan finished her report and handed it in. When she returned home, she found Liu An gone again. He’d left behind a pot of dumplings and a note: “Heat them up and eat. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She tucked the note and the dumplings away and went to cook for the kids.

According to them, they were from a nearby kindergarten. With no one at the orphanage these days, they’d been sneaking over to pick leaves and hadn’t gone back in a while.

Even though they were rowdy, Yuan liked them. They weren’t bad kids. After feeding them, she walked them back to their kindergarten, leaving the house quiet once again.

Only then did she pull out her new phone.

Her old one had been fried when she ran into the fire that night, so she’d bought a new one—bigger, smoother, much nicer to hold. She powered it on and immediately opened the latest Demon Chronicles.

Poor Fa Ning was having a rough time. So rough, Yuan barely had the heart to keep reading…

The reason?

Fa Ning had hit a bottleneck in his cultivation. Desperate to break through, he’d used his remaining funds to buy books from a rogue cultivator market.

Most of the books were normal.

But one slim booklet stood out. Cheap, unassuming—yet the moment Fa Ning picked it up, he felt a chill.

No one else noticed anything odd, but he sensed a strange wind around it. Spooked, but intrigued, he began reading.

The first glance left him stunned—like the classic manga reaction: “Nani?!” Yuan nearly screamed at the page, wanting desperately to see what was written, but of course the comic never showed the actual contents.

Fa Ning called it “a bold and crazy idea.” Five minutes in, he’d decided the author was a genius lunatic. The text gave off the same eerie chill as the book itself, but the techniques were captivating.

He didn’t dare practice them at first, but curiosity won. He read it once, then threw it aside.

But as time passed, things got worse.

One morning he woke dizzy and disoriented. Sitting at the edge of his bed in a daze, he suddenly tore through his room to find the book—and started learning the later techniques.

He didn’t tell anyone.

But it didn’t feel right. His mental state kept slipping. During the day, he’d space out for long periods. Other times, he’d be hyper-alert, needing to forcibly calm himself.

It was bad. He knew it.

Eventually, Fa Ning realized he had to figure out what this book was—and how to escape its grip.

Yuan was convinced this was Ji Qiu’s doing.

It just had that cursed-random-gift vibe. That’s exactly what Ji Qiu would do. One weirdo book hidden among dozens of normal ones—classic setup.

She didn’t say anything aloud.

But while everyone was commenting things like “What’s wrong with Fa Ning?” and “Ji Qiu’s gonna go berserk!”, Yuan stayed calm. Until the comic ends, Fa Ning’s still safer than me.

Reading the newest chapter, she began to imagine—what if Fa Ning eventually gets strong enough to defeat Yuan?

That would make sense, narratively. After all, the boss exists to pave the way for the hero.

But the thought still filled her with dread.

As the final boss… could she really deliver the necessary gravitas?

She wasn’t sure. Suddenly, she even started worrying on behalf of the manga’s editor.

And just as she was spiraling through these mixed emotions…

Someone was already on their way.

A person who had quietly tracked down her address.

In his hand?

The very video of her from that night—the one that stunned everyone who watched it.

And his goal?

To find her.

And ask about what really happened in that footage.