Little Pink Starfish

Yuan Yuanyuan looked at that engraved “17.”
Previously, readers didn’t understand the meaning behind the number. But now?
The moment it was mentioned, everyone knew exactly who it referred to.

Those lines Yuan had spoken earlier came rushing back to the readers’ minds. At the time, they didn’t seem connected to anything—but now, they clicked instantly.

“You think you can use this to defeat me?”
Readers suddenly had an epiphany.

Of course. If that thing was created by Yuan himself, then trying to use it against him was downright absurd.

On the ground lay fragments of shattered jade. Humans and demons stood around in stunned silence.
Only Yuan’s voice echoed in the room.

His anger was visibly intense. But this time, unlike the past, readers didn’t laugh or joke.
Instead, they fell silent.

Though the artist hadn’t drawn it in full detail, a deep sorrow seeped through the screen.

Why was Yuan so angry?

Readers could now piece together what had happened—not just from the broken jade, but from the decorations in the room.

There were strange black markings on the floor, like talismans.
Combined with the fact that this incident was completely unknown to the outside world, it was easy to deduce:
This was likely a secret assassination attempt by a human organization, specifically targeting Yuan.

It was covert—not a single word had leaked out.
That alone made it deeply unsettling.

Since when were humans doing things like this…?

Rewatching this old scene, readers now saw it in a completely different light. Yuan had clearly endured something huge—and terrifying—back then.
Another question emerged:
Why was something Yuan created now in human hands, being used against him as a weapon?

Did the humans not know that item originally belonged to Yuan?
Why make such a foolish mistake?

Truth was, the Sanqing Sect really didn’t know. They only realized it through the manga.

But the people implicated were just too obvious.
Within a day, readers had figured out which sect was behind it.
Sanqing tried to seal the whole sect, but couldn’t suppress the public’s chatter.

Readers, now deep into sleuth mode, started speculating how Yuan’s possession had ended up with the humans.
Eventually, through scattered clues, they arrived at a plausible conclusion:

This item was likely something Yuan had left behind back when he was still operating as “Ran Niang.”
Back then, no one knew that Ran Niang was Yuan.
So years later, everyone had forgotten—and the humans, unknowingly, repurposed the item as a powerful weapon to use against its own creator.

Casual readers, lacking emotional attachment, flooded online threads to flame the humans for their stupidity.
Those who knew the truth tried to be more “civil,” claiming that Yuan was too cunning and had lived too long, and that the Sanqing Sect had just been careless.

Readers based their conclusions on the letters Faning had unearthed from the sect—evidence that Yuan had once worked as a spy.
But until now, they hadn’t grasped what exactly he’d been doing.

This chapter made one thing clear:
Yuan’s position among the humans had been extremely high.
So what exactly had he done in that role?

Another subset of readers began focusing on a different question:
What kind of person was Yuan back then?

Was he—as he appeared now—a traitor reviled by all, a street rat spat on by everyone?

Or… was he once a glorious figure, standing atop the demon world, revered by thousands?

---

Xiao Xi sat in front of her computer.
She was one of the most active “Holmeses” in the fandom lately—a group of amateur detectives dedicated to digging up hidden plotlines in Yao Ji and compiling them into fan theories.

A few days ago, she’d still been grumbling about all the villain-redemption arcs.
Now?
She stared intently at her screen, scribbling notes in her notebook like a madwoman.

“Hey, Xiao Xi, what are you doing? Reading that new Yuan fanfic?” her friend texted.

Yuan fanfic.
The words made Xiao Xi stiffen. She looked at her phone, froze for a second, then quickly replied:

“That kind of thing? No way, okay?”

“Aw… but it’s really popular right now! This one’s actually good, so I thought I’d recommend it…” her friend said.

Xiao Xi didn’t hear a word.
She sat there, stiff as a board, staring at her screen, trying to focus again—but her brain refused to cooperate.

After ten minutes of struggling, she gave in.
Like a thief in the night, she cautiously opened the link her friend had sent her.

---

Because the manga was serialized, new chapters sparked instant fan creations—some within an hour.

There had been other popular domestic comics before, but nothing had ever blown up this fast.
This was the first time Chinese fans had experienced the “one-hour fanfic drop” phenomenon firsthand.

Xiao Xi clicked in.
Her scalp tingled—it was new.

Don’t ask how she knew. She just did.

There hadn’t even been time for the fanfic site to refresh its listing yet, and it was already posted?

Annoyed but impressed, she clicked on the fic.
It was obviously written in response to the latest chapter.

Wow… what a legend.
They must’ve started writing the second they finished reading it.

The author had left a long preface:

【Ah… after reading the latest chapter, I suddenly felt like life wasn’t worth living anymore.
So I decided to write this fanfic to vent. Otherwise, I was gonna implode from frustration…】

Then the fic began.

The author had a poetic style—lots of flowery prose.
It started like this:

【Awakening from a dream, I looked out the window. The sky was already pale with dawn.
Everything in that dream… felt real.
I remembered the old days—when I used to drink and sing alone beneath the moonlight.
The glories of the past… now feel like the most beautiful kind of desolation.】

---

Xiao Xi’s friends probably didn’t know she liked this kind of flowery writing.
If they did, they’d probably drop their glasses in shock.

She’d never let anyone see this side of her.

But when she read that final line, her heart twisted like it had been stabbed.

“The glories of the past… now feel like the most beautiful kind of desolation.”

There was a reason she liked this author.
Sure, their style sometimes seemed a little pretentious—but it always hit the emotional core.

Most writers who try to sound profound end up sounding like nonsense.
But this author? They made conflicting words—like “beauty” and “desolation”—clash in a way that actually worked.

The sentence hit her right in the feels.

She kept reading.

The fic described Yuan at his peak—back when he was still Ran Niang, wearing flowing red robes.

The image was glorious:

Scarlet robes swirling. Every movement calculated. One glance, one smile—enough to shake the soul. Under moonlight, a hundred spirits stood behind him. He drank from a jug of rough wine, tall and proud. The moonlight, clear as water, couldn’t outshine his brilliance.

This was based on hints from the latest chapter.
In fact, Yuan’s past probably surpassed even this in magnificence.
Too bad readers never got to see it.
They could only imagine it through works like this.

Xiao Xi was completely immersed in the beauty of Yuan’s past…
Until the tone suddenly shifted.

Now, Yuan wore black.
He no longer led the ghosts.
He stood silently behind them, walking alone in the dark.

His glorious prime…
had become boundless desolation.

He had nothing left.

But then again—how could something so desolate also be described as beautiful?

The author added a subtle theory—not fully original, more like a logical deduction from recent canon:

Yuan is still undercover.
But unlike before, now he has nothing.
The only thing he still holds… is the same conviction that once burned in the red-robed Ran Niang.
That conviction is what keeps him going.
Alone. In the dark.

To hold onto your ideals when you’ve lost everything…
To remain steadfast under a thousand pointed fingers…

Compared to the dazzling youth he once was—Yuan, now, is even more beautiful.

But then Xiao Xi wondered—

Was this beauty, born from desolation, also the thing slowly destroying him?

After all these years… everything had changed.
If not for that old conviction, would Yuan have lived a happier life?

Could he have married, settled down, lived peacefully?
Instead of relying on this cruel, desolate kind of “beauty” just to stay alive?

Xiao Xi sat in silence.

Then suddenly threw herself onto her bed.

Rolling.
Back and forth.
Completely out of control.

“Ahhhhh—”

She screamed into her blanket.
It had been forever since she felt this way.
Last time might’ve been when she read that legendary fandom-wrecking fic years ago…

Why hadn’t she realized before that Yuan was this shippable?!
So tragic, so alluring, with that whole Ran Niang crossdressing backstory—it was irresistible.

Please let the official manga follow this path too…

Then again, this was a shonen-action series. Probably wouldn’t get too wild.

Still—

HOW COULD YUAN BE THIS GOOD TO SHIP?!
HOW?!

She’d ship him for the rest of her life.

Xiao Xi got up from bed, completely serious now.

If the official plot really made Yuan this kind of character, then he’d be moonlight in countless hearts.

And all of Xiao Xi’s former dislike?
Long gone. Vanished into the stratosphere.

In fact, her current reaction could be summed up with one term:

Yuan fanfic deep-closet stan.