Little Pink Starfish

On nights when Demon Chronicles updated, Yuan Yuanyuan always prepared something for herself. Back when she was broke, it used to be just a cup of tea.

Now that she had a bit more money, she went down to the convenience store and bought four different flavors of chips and a bottle of milk before heading upstairs.

She had recently classified cola as a restricted item. Since she was already doing sit-ups, cutting out soda wasn’t that big a deal. She sat on her little bed, drew the curtains, turned on a small orange light, and snacked alone while watching a drama.

She was watching an American crime series. When one of her favorite side characters recently died, she cursed silently, “fxxk,” turned off the show, and glanced at the time. It was already 12:30, so she brightened the light and opened the latest Demon Chronicles chapter.

Lots of people had already read it by now. Yuan skimmed a few comments but didn’t pay much attention, instead diving into the update. The story had progressed to Fa Ning struggling against the effects of a strange Taoist technique he had been practicing, trying to resist its growing influence over him.

The technique came with some intense side effects—chief among them, unexplained bursts of aggression. Fa Ning, once a steadfast boy whose sect had been destroyed yet never abandoned his principles, was now discovering he could snap over trivial things. And his outbursts were becoming disturbingly frequent.

At first, Yuan thought the comic was finally shifting into edgy horror territory. But then she realized she’d overestimated it. Fa Ning had even less guts than she did—he monitored every change in himself more tightly than she ever did.

The most ridiculous example?

One day, he ordered beef noodles. He went to grab the vinegar and discovered the bottle was empty. And then… he snapped.

And he didn’t just rage. Everything on the table came to life.

The chopsticks grew tiny arms and legs. All of them looked like (._.) and tried to crawl out of the holder—basically a chopstick zombie apocalypse.

Thankfully, the restaurant was mostly empty. Sweating bullets, Fa Ning knocked the tiny chopsticks unconscious and shoved them back in the holder.

[Ordinary Taoists might let minor ghosts possess them or gather souls. Fa Ning had no clue how he’d summoned that kind of energy. For the first time in his life, he stole something—he smuggled out a box of chopsticks.]

“God, I want one…” Yuan stared at the zombie chopsticks, suddenly wondering if she could awaken the chopsticks in her house. Probably not—the spirits in her place weren’t that playful. She’d probably summon a bunch of Q_Q sadsticks instead…

She crunched another chip and kept reading. She wanted to see if Ji Qiu had written in a solution. If there wasn’t one, she might have to burn offerings for Fa Ning herself. If he went full psycho, she’d be dealing with a lunatic down the line.

But no. The problem wasn’t a raving lunatic—it was…

…a hardcore masochist.

[Fa Ning figured there must be something wrong with him if he could rage over beef noodles lacking vinegar. He wandered through hospitals trying to get a diagnosis. First regular ones, then a doctor he’d once known. None of them helped.]

[Frustrated but helpless, Fa Ning had to keep working—he’d spent too much money on doctors. He picked up a ghost-hunting job nearby and kept juggling work and medical visits.]

[Then came the turning point—on the job, a powerful ghost seriously injured him. His blood spilled across the floor, horrifying the client who thought their “master” was dying in their living room.]

[But as he lay bleeding, Fa Ning suddenly felt calm. The agitation that had plagued him vanished.]

[He blinked, as if he’d just opened the door to a whole new world.]

…

Yuan, reading on her phone, also felt like a door had been opened.

This is forced masochism! This is workplace abuse, man!

The manga seemed to be making… what kind of point exactly?

For the first time ever, Yuan read a comic and wanted to scream at the screen: What kind of “new world” did you just open?! Close it now! Don’t give up on therapy!

But Fa Ning didn’t go back for treatment. He gave in to it. What calmed him wasn’t healing—but blood loss.

[He tried several theories. The true nature of this technique was that it ramped up your aggression—made you want to kill. Only when you’d lost enough blood did you calm down.]

[He likened it to beastfolk—when possessed, they became rage-filled killing machines. The more they were attacked, the more excited they got.]

[That night, Fa Ning dreamed he became such a creature—eyes glowing red, nothing left but slaughter.]

[He woke up in terror.]

[Sitting up in bed, dazed, it took him a long time to fall back asleep.]

Yuan read this with an expression of pure disbelief. Okay. Maybe I’m not the most miserable one anymore.

She shook her head. That cursed technique must be strong. Probably written by some ancient powerhouse. Still, maybe this was how Fa Ning would finally level up as the protagonist.

With mixed feelings of sympathy, awe, and a desire to smother him so he wouldn’t come bother her later, Yuan kept reading.

Now that he had found a coping method, Fa Ning became surprisingly calm. He began studying the technique with complete focus. His resolve made Yuan feel inadequate.

Other characters trained in icy springs or secret grounds. Fa Ning sat in his room memorizing mantras—then calmly stabbed himself.

Yuan winced the whole way through. She could imagine how the other readers were reacting—no wonder she’d seen comment after comment like:
【Tragic】
【So tragic】
【I love protagonists like this】
【…?】

She’d only skimmed the chapter earlier, but now she was reading carefully.

[Because of prior confusion, Fa Ning had only read a few pages. But flipping further, he noticed that at the very end of the book, hidden in the binding, was a tiny, faint pink signature.]

[Curious, he carefully undid the stitching and revealed the stamp:]
“Compiled by X Qi.”

[“Compiler”—likely the editor or author. But who was this person?]

…

Sitting in front of her phone, Yuan suddenly let out an “Ah—?”

Her blood surged up to her cheeks. Her face flushed hot. Some health show had once said this was bad for your skin, so she went to the fridge, grabbed an unopened soda can, and pressed it to her face.

She came back and kept reading.

[The X was obscured by the binding hole—an old-style manuscript punctured and stitched. Normally you’d see the signature clearly, but the careless binding had hidden it.]

[Fa Ning was disappointed. He wanted to know who had written it. But finding that compiler would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.]

[Back in the day, several major Taoist sects had compiled collections of techniques, some by anonymous contributors who poured their life’s work into them. Many signed simply as “Compiler XX.” Seeing the last character was “Qi,” it was likely just a codename. Fa Ning gave up on identifying them, deciding to honor them as an unnamed senior.]

[That attitude held… until he came across another book.]

[Coincidentally, this second book was authored not by a human, but by a demon.]

…

Yuan sniffed.

[One day, Fa Ning obtained a very old book of trickster techniques from a demon. It was so ancient that the stone tablet it was carved on was cracked all over. While flipping to the end, he saw a familiar handwritten mark: “Yi Qi.”]

[“Hey, where’d you get this?” he asked the Taoist who sold it to him.]

[“From an old demon,” the man said. “Back in the day, he was a famous trickster. Took us a dozen men to take him down.”]

[Fa Ning stared at the stone. He’d bought it because the handwriting seemed oddly familiar. He brought it home, determined to study it carefully.]

[Now, with these two strange books—one Taoist, one demonic—he was thoroughly intrigued. What was going on? No matter how he tried to explain it, he couldn’t.]

Yuan’s eyes glazed over. The chips lay forgotten.

She’d never expected that the first time Yi Qi’s name would appear in the manga, it would be like this—carved into some Taoist’s training manual.

Those two words, sitting quietly at the bottom of the panel, seemed to reveal a buried history. For Yuan, who knew the name’s weight, it hit hard.

But for most demons, who didn’t know Yi Qi? It probably meant nothing at all.

Yuan slowly picked up a chip again and started munching, her expression calm—like nothing had happened.