Little Pink Starfish

Tang Shi felt a strange unease rising in her heart. Readers who had followed the comic from the beginning were actually all similar to her in this regard—the artist’s narrative direction had always been fairly obvious, and subtle shifts in tone could usually be sensed through the plot.

Like now, the subtle shift in how Yuan was being portrayed—many readers had noticed it. At first, they couldn’t quite process it, but their intuition told them something major was coming. It was just that their mindset hadn’t yet caught up, and they couldn’t quite articulate what exactly it was.

Luckily, this chapter wasn’t one of those that ended in just a few panels. There was still a lot of story for readers to explore.

In Yuan Yuanyuan’s view, much of what was depicted in this chapter had actually already happened—this was just the piecing together of those events, like editing together old photographs, steeped in a kind of black-and-white tone.

What did Yuan mean by those words? Had he already mentally prepared himself for the state of his body?

That was what made things so unnerving. If Yuan had known something was wrong with his body, why had he never mentioned it? And judging by his usual demeanor—calm, in control—there was never a hint that he might be unwell.

And the way he spoke… he didn’t seem like the usual Yuan at all. It was like he’d become someone else. That shift gave people a sense of inexplicable dread.

The chapter had opened with only a small interlude like this, but the scene soon jumped from that pitch-black background to pure white.

The abrupt transition was a little jarring, but the bright visuals offered some comfort, momentarily dispersing the eerie tension from before.

That opening felt like a brief insert—then the story quickly cut back to Fan Ning’s side. Recently, the anti-war group’s momentum had been immense. The Mask Organization’s weapon store had been blown up, and their pressure had significantly lessened.

Fan Ning had a lot on his plate. Yuan, who had fallen into the river, had already slipped from his mind—unless he was cultivating, Yuan never crossed his thoughts.

He truly didn’t expect that man to return to his life. But one day, passing through a plaza, he seemed to catch sight of a strange black figure.

Fan Ning felt uneasy. He walked toward it, but the shadow vanished—like a hallucination.

Since then, Fan Ning had felt restless. For a Taoist, that kind of feeling often signaled something was about to happen—and Fan Ning’s premonitions were often accurate. This wasn’t the last time, either.

He frequently woke from sleep, jolted by nightmares—though he could never remember the details. It was the kind of dream that left a residue of dread, even though the specifics were fuzzy. This happened to him several times in the following days.

Fan Ning couldn’t say for sure what was going on, but his instincts told him something bad was coming.

After Yuan’s disappearance, most people expected the Mask Organization to fall into disarray. But instead, they swiftly elected a new leader. This “real boss” wore a mask, and no one knew what he looked like. His sudden rise shocked many.

What surprised people even more was that under this new leader, the Mask Organization hadn’t suffered any losses in their subsequent operations—they were performing smoothly, against all expectations.

Although Fan Ning had a nagging feeling that something was off, he hadn’t told anyone. With so much going on, he had no time to address it and could only set it aside for now.

Recent events had caught everyone off guard. Things seemed to happen without a sound or ripple, yet everything moved forward as if nothing had changed.

After finishing the chapter, Tang Shi felt a heavy, indescribable weight in her chest. It wasn’t that anything particularly dramatic had happened—it was more that the whole chapter exuded a calm before the storm kind of tension.

It felt like… a screw had just come loose, and soon, a whole chain of events would unravel.

Meanwhile, Yuan Yuanyuan muttered to herself while reading, “Damn, the real boss just jumped in and took over, huh…”

She wasn’t particularly focused on the comic’s content. She was more annoyed by the Mask Organization’s status update. After Yuan’s disappearance, the real boss had kicked him aside and taken control, leaving the organization seemingly undisturbed.

But, in her view, managing to sabotage the Mask Organization’s weapons cache “on her deathbed,” so to speak, and taking out a wave of spies in the process—totally worth it.

With the fat cat gone, Yuan Yuanyuan was free to do a lot of things she couldn’t before. For now, Yuan was “off the board.” Fan Ning was uneasy. And though the Mask Organization looked stable, its foundation had already been shaken.

From what she had gathered, Yuan Yuanyuan suspected the real boss of the Mask Organization had panicked. Seventeen’s previous accomplishments were too numerous, and now, maybe that was why he was so quick to seize power.

But to Yuan Yuanyuan, it didn’t really matter. She’d once toyed with the idea of taking out the boss and seizing the position herself.

Based on her years of reading manga, she was curious how far Jiuqiu would go to whitewash Yuan now. Right now, her role was to carefully manage what direction this broken comic would ultimately take. She didn’t know yet—but she found herself excited by the uncertainty.

Gao Ling, meanwhile, felt even more anxious. Her earlier belief that Yuan wouldn’t die was based on the idea that he still had major storylines to carry. But now it seemed Jiuqiu was trying to whitewash him—and at this exact moment.

Whitewashing was fine. Just not now, damn it!

The more Jiuqiu tried to redeem Yuan, the more nervous Gao Ling became. Because only dead characters get whitewashed in ways that feel poignant.

Her worry was so consuming that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly for several days. She waited restlessly for Monday’s update, just like everyone else. And deep down, they were all fixated on a single question: Is Yuan really dead?

In the end, Gao Ling sat pale-faced before her computer, heart sinking. It’s over. Yuan really seemed beyond saving.

Truth be told, even Gao Ling couldn’t fully believe it. In her mind, a character like Yuan should have lasted until the final arc. But then a line echoed in her head:

“This is the real world, not a fictional one. There are some things not even a manga artist can control.”

She remembered again that line Yuan had spoken at the end of the last chapter.

She had heard it before.

In fact, Gao Ling hadn’t been sleeping because she’d been haunted by nightmares—bloody faces, cold corpses, and images she couldn’t shake. Every time she closed her eyes, something horrific would flash before her.

She’d once told a friend about it. The friend had paused, then replied:

“Yuan fell into a river. Even if something really happened, he wouldn’t be bloodied like that. Don’t worry too much.”

Gao Ling didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe I should just stop talking about this stuff. I’m not ready for the kinds of answers I’m getting.

Meanwhile, the internet reacted completely differently. It descended into pure euphoria. People sat radiant before their screens, newly energized.

The comment section for Demon Notes exploded. Everyone felt like they were witnessing the rise of a new domestic classic. This chapter’s plot had gone god-tier.

For a long time, fans had joked that Demon Notes was fun, but it lacked a defining moment—something that instantly etched it into readers’ memories. Until now, it hadn’t quite reached legendary status.

But this chapter? It pushed Demon Notes past the threshold. People said it had finally broken through. It was the manga even schoolkids would know about.

It started by replaying Fan Ning’s growing unease from the last issue—something that hadn’t been explained yet. But now, subtle hints were emerging.

Fan Ning had been dreaming a lot. Until now, he hadn’t seen anything clearly in those dreams. But this time, he seemed to catch glimpses of someone’s silhouette.

Gao Ling was holding her breath reading this part. She saw Fan Ning dreaming of a pitch-black landscape, with blood-red clouds in the sky. The surroundings were desolate. In the distance, crows circled overhead.

Fan Ning didn’t know where this place was. It didn’t feel like a normal dream—it felt like a memory, something from long ago.

He couldn’t control his body. He walked slowly across the barren ground, searching for a way out. In the distance, he vaguely saw a few shadowy figures.

He approached—and saw a scene that felt disturbingly familiar.

A few people stood with their backs to him, throwing someone into a well. Their faces were unclear. Only the one being thrown in was visible.

Fan Ning thought he asked someone nearby what they were doing. The figure turned and said:

“We’re throwing him into the well. Then we leave.”

“Why?” Fan Ning asked dumbly in the dream. “Why throw him into the well?”

“Throw him in,” the faceless person replied. “Only then will the war end.”