Chapter 35: Safest Place in the City
For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of dying foxfire and the distant echo of alarms. Yumi stood in the heart of the destruction she'd caused, utterly unbothered, licking sauce from her fingers like a cat that had just knocked over a vase and found it full of cream.
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. Her previous irritation shifted into sharp focus. Yumi’s usually sly, flowing speech had been reduced to blunt, simple phrases. It was more than just a quirk.
“Why are you talking like that?” Su Yao asked. Her voice lost its edge for a moment. “The grunts? The broken sentences? You’re usually more articulate, even when you’re talking about eating people.”
Yumi’s grin faded. She reached up with one clawed finger and unhooked the simple black choker around her neck. Then she tilted her head, exposing the pale skin of her throat.
There, just below her jawline, was a vicious, still-angry wound. It looked like her vocal cords had been physically scraped out through her skin. The flesh around it glowed with a faint, sickly green energy that fought against a gumiho’s potent regenerative abilities. It was healing, but agonizingly slowly.
Su Yao’s breath caught. She recognized the spiritual residue: a soul-rending technique, designed to permanently disable and cause a slow, decaying death.
“Who did that?” Su Yao’s voice was dangerously soft.
Yumi pointed a claw at Li Xiu, who was still looking apologetic about the microwave incident.
“Not her,” Su Yao said. “To her?”
Li Xiu’s face fell, the memory flashing in her eyes. “There was an incident before Yumi was officially hired. An assassin used a cursed needle, meant for my neck. It would have, well.” She gestured helplessly. “Yumi moved faster than I could see. She took the hit that was meant for me.”
Yumi tapped her own throat, then pointed at Li Xiu’s pristine neck, and finally gave a thumbs-up. A proud, savage light shone in her eyes.
“She transferred the injury,” Mizukume stated, analyzing the wound with detached interest. “A gumiho ability, rarely used. She pulled the metaphysical wound from the mistress’s body and anchored it into her own. A lethal curse for a human would become merely a debilitating, slow-healing injury for a nine-tailed creature. What a fascinating, if brutish, form of loyalty.”
Li Xiu nodded. Her eyes glistened. “She saved my life. And she hasn’t been able to speak properly since. The doctors here say the curse is resisting even her healing.”
Su Yao looked from the earnest heiress to the injured gumiho, who was now re-fastening her choker to hide the ugly wound. The chaotic, self-serving fox spirit had willingly crippled her own voice, her primary tool for seduction and trickery, to save her mortal employer.
“So the bodyguard is earning her benefits package,” Su Yao remarked. The sarcasm in her voice was undercut by a thread of newfound respect. “And someone out there is still trying to kill the Li heiress with soul-rending curses.” She filed that away as another problem for later. “Your new wine had better be transcendent, Yumi. Consider it hazard pay.”
Yumi just grinned, a silent, promising flash of teeth.
The pieces, once scattered and chaotic, began to snap together in Su Yao’s mind with an audible, psychic click. She stood amidst the ruins of the government headquarters. The scent of scorched circuitry and Yumi’s promised screaming-wine hung in the air, but her focus was entirely inward.
Souls.
It was always about souls.
Li Xuan had attempted a soul-alchemy, trying to transmute her very essence. The Yamato stitched monsters together from stolen souls and divine authority in the Nue. They farmed spiritually sensitive children, harvesting potential. They created echoes like Mizukume, forging souls from void-stuff and memory.
And now, someone had cast a soul-rending curse designed to permanently erase a human spirit and aimed it directly at Li Xiu.
The pattern was unmistakable. A terrifying expertise in soul manipulation was the common thread.
How many people in this world, she wondered, a cold dread settling in her gut, are this deeply, intimately knowledgeable about the workings of the soul?
It was a forbidden art, even in her ancient days. Now, it seemed to be the cornerstone of every major threat she faced.
That led to the final, crucial question: Why Li Xiu?
Her thoughts raced back to what she knew. The Li family “curse.” The men die too soon of systemic failure. The women are naturally attractive to spirits, requiring perfume to mask their scent.
“What if the souls of Li women are something else?” Su Yao murmured aloud, her eyes widening. “A resource? A key component?”
She looked at Li Xiu, who was now anxiously discussing compensation for the damages with a harried-looking accountant. Li Xiu was a living, breathing focal point for spiritual energy.
Someone, someone with the same deep knowledge of souls as Li Xuan and the Yamato, had just tried to annihilate her soul with a specialized curse.
They wanted her gone.
Was she a threat? Or was she a resource they feared falling into the wrong hands?
Mizukume, following her train of thought, whispered in her eerie, monotone voice, “The vessel is often targeted for its quality, or for the lock it’s meant to open.”
Su Yao’s gaze hardened. The Li family were central to this. Li Xiu was a primary target in a hidden war over the very fabric of souls. The man who started it all, Li Xuan, was likely her own ancestor.
Their hunt for the mask was now inextricably linked to the mystery of the Li bloodline. The master of souls pulling the strings was still waiting in the shadows.
Su Yao’s gaze swept over the cracked concrete, flickering energy conduits, and the general aura of post-explosion chaos. She then looked back at Li Xiu, pristine and earnest amidst the ruin.
“Out of all the places in this city,” Su Yao said, her voice flat. “A billion-dollar family empire, fortified estates, private islands, you choose to intern here? In this, spiritual demolition zone?”
Li Xiu clasped her hands in front of her, a picture of sincere conviction. “My parents insisted. After the incidents, they conducted a full threat assessment. Their analysts concluded that, statistically, this is the safest place in the city for me.”
Director Hao, who had been quietly bleeding stress from his pores, looked up. A flicker of morbid pride shone in his eyes. “She’s right. The attack success rate against this facility is zero. Also, the survival rate for personnel stationed here during said attacks is surprisingly high. Mostly.”
“The safest place,” Su Yao repeated, deadpan. She gestured to the smoldering cafeteria. “The place that just got half of itself blown off the map by a microwave.”
“It was an internal accident!” Li Xiu clarified quickly. “The perimeter held and the structural integrity of the core vaults was never compromised. See? Safe.”
Su Yao stared at her, then at the destruction, then back at her. The logic was so perfectly, bureaucratically airtight it was maddening. This was a honey pot, disguised as a fortress.
The safest place was the one where all the danger was concentrated and managed.
“Your parents,” Su Yao said slowly, “are either geniuses or utterly insane.”
“They’re very good at risk management,” Li Xiu said with a polite, final smile.
Mizukume let out a soft, appreciative hum. “To place the most valuable treasure inside the dragon’s hoard, trusting the dragon’s own greed to protect it from other thieves. That is a classic, if audacious, strategy. I approve.”
Su Yao finally understood. Li Xiu was here because of the danger. This was the one place where every supernatural threat was cataloged, monitored, and, most importantly, where Su Yao herself was most likely to be.
I am here. There is no greater security than that.
“Was anyone harmed?” Su Yao asked. The question was sharp, practical, cutting through the earlier absurdity.
Director Hao, still dusting debris from his shoulders, shook his head. “Miraculously, no. Casualty report is zero. There was a few bumps and bruises from the evacuation, but no serious injuries. The blast was, contained, for the most part. Spiritually violent, but physically localized to non-essential areas.”
He gestured around the ruined operations room. “The structural wards absorbed the brunt of the metaphysical force. It’s the infrastructure that took the hit. And the budget.” He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of procurement forms yet to be filed.
“See?” Li Xiu added, her voice bright with relief. “Perfectly safe.”
Yumi gave a thumbs-up from the wreckage of the cafeteria. A few last sparks of rogue foxfire fizzled out around her claws.
Mizukume tilted her head. “The building sacrificed its well-being for its inhabitants. A noble, if inanimate, martyr. Perhaps it deserves a promotion. Or a proper funeral.”
Su Yao absorbed the information. Zero casualties. Just property damage. And a sentient, spiritual headquarters that had essentially taken the hit for its team. It was, she had to admit, impressive in a deeply unhinged way.
Her momentary appreciation for the building’s sacrifice shattered as her gaze swept the chaotic scene again. Two key figures were missing.
“Where,” she demanded, her voice cutting through the din, “are Jinse and Kitty?”
Director Hao’s face, already pale, gained a greenish tint. He adjusted his cracked glasses. “Ah. That. The feline entity, Kitty, regenerated faster than projected. The moment she was coherent, she and the Goddess Jinse, departed.”
Su Yao went very still. “Departed for where?”
“They didn’t file a travel itinerary,” Director Hao said, his voice strained. “But they appropriated a high-speed spiritual transit vehicle. And they left a note.” He pulled out his tablet, pulling up a scanned image of a sticky note.
The handwriting was Jinse's, elegant and furious: “Going to get my revenge. Don’t wait up.”
Scrawled underneath in a different, claw-like script was: “Yamato go boom.”
Su Yao stared at the note. An ancient weariness settled over her. “Those two idiots,” she breathed. “They just left to charge into the heart of the Yamato operation alone? What were they thinking? That’s a delivery service!”
Mizukume, who had been examining a cracked wall with detached interest, spoke without turning. “They were thinking that a goddess’s pride is a sharper weapon than patience. And that a messenger’s vengeance is a swift one. It is, objectively, a terrible plan. But it has a certain narrative elegance to its futility.”
“They don’t have the firepower,” Su Yao snapped. “Jinse is bodiless, leeching off a weak medium. Kitty just got un-killed! They’ll be captured, dissected, and added to the next monstrosity!”
“A distinct possibility,” Mizukume agreed serenely. “But consider the alternative of them succeeding through sheer, unadulterated rage. Divine fury is often explosive.”
Director Hao wiped his brow. “We’ve lost all tracking on them. They knew how to bypass our systems.”
Su Yao pinched the bridge of her nose. The chessboard kept getting more complicated. Now two of her most important pieces had decided to turn themselves into cannonballs and launch themselves at the enemy king.
It was reckless and stupid. But she could spare them a grudging, terrifying flicker of understanding. She knew what it was to be that furious.
“Fine,” she growled, lowering her hand. Her eyes glinted with a new, cold light. “If they want to be the distraction that breaks the Yamato’s lines, we’ll use it. We find that mask. Now. While they’re busy.” She looked at Mizukume. “No more relaxing. The idiots have forced our hand.”
Mizukume gave a slow nod. Her schoolgirl uniform seemed to drink the light. “As you command, landlord. The farce evolves into tragedy. Or, perhaps, a comedy. The line is so very thin.”
“Wait,” Li Xiu interjected. Her brow furrowed in polite confusion as she looked between Su Yao and Mizukume. “What mask?”
Su Yao, her patience worn thinner than a ghost’s conscience, pulled out her phone and shoved the image of the mass-produced white Hannya mask toward Li Xiu. “This mask. The one we’ve been turning the world upside down looking for.”
Li Xiu’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh! That one!” She smiled, completely oblivious to the seismic shift she was causing. “I have one.”
She then proceeded to reach into the elegant, custom-made pocket of her designer blazer and pull out an exact, pristine replica of the white oni mask.
“You, have one,” Su Yao repeated. The words were hollow. “In your pocket.”
“Of course,” Li Xiu said cheerfully. “They were giving them away for free last week to commemorate the soft opening of that new ‘Museum of Folklore and the Supernatural’ downtown. It was a promotional item. They had a whole bin of them. I thought it was rather stylish.” She tilted her head. “Is it important?”
Su Yao slowly reached out and took the mask from Li Xiu’s hand. It was cold, cheap plastic. Utterly mundane. And it was the key to a potential apocalypse.
“Giving them away,” Su Yao echoed. Her voice was dangerously quiet. “In a bin.”
Director Hao made a small, choked sound behind them. The sound of a man realizing his agency’s entire existential crisis could have been solved with a trip to a gift shop.
Mizukume finally spoke. Her eerie monotone was laced with what might have been awe. “The ultimate camouflage. Lost in plain sight, among thousands of its identical kin, distributed through the mundane machinery of commerce.” A slow, terrifying smile spread across her face. “It’s beautiful.”
Su Yao looked from the mask in her hand to Li Xiu’s innocently curious face. The grand conspiracy, the global hunt, the soul-rending curses, it all came down to this party favor.
She closed her eyes. The weight of nine thousand masks, and the sheer, stupid irony of it all, finally crushed her.
“Someone,” she whispered, “is going to die for this. Slowly.”
Before anyone could stop her, driven by a flicker of curiosity, Li Xiu took the mask from Su Yao’s limp hand and playfully put it on.
A brilliant, cold white energy erupted from the mask, enveloping her completely. Her body went rigid. Her hands fell to her sides.
When the light faded, her posture had changed into a stance of poised, ancient confusion. The voice that came from behind the mask was layered with echoes, sharp with disorientation and a weary authority.
“Why am I alive? What is this place? This isn’t Mount Togakushi, what has happened?”
Su Yao’s foxfire ignited around her fists on pure instinct. “Get out of her. Now.”
Mizukume took a step forward. She titled her head. A spark of genuine, historical recognition shone in her hollow eyes.
“Mount Togakushi?” Mizukume’s eerie monotone cut through the tension. “That voice, the aura of crimson leaves and wrathful ice. Are you the Kijo, Momiji?”
The entity in Li Xiu’s body went perfectly still. The white mask slowly turned to face Mizukume.
“You, know of me? How?” The voice was wary, intrigued, and utterly lost. “I was sealed. I felt the void, and then, a bin? There was a bin.”
Su Yao looked from the possessed Li Xiu to the knowledgeable clone. The pieces of this new, ridiculous catastrophe slotted into place. The mask was a prison. They had just handed the warden the keys, courtesy of a supernatural museum’s promotional giveaway.
Her eye twitched. “Let me guess,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Another legendary figure from ancient Japan, suddenly popping up in downtown Duwang. Is there a dimensional leak? A cosmic tourist agency? Why?”
She whirled on Director Hao. “Please tell me this isn’t a reciprocal phenomenon. Tell me figures from our ancient history aren’t currently causing havoc over there.”
Director Hao, who had somehow produced a flask from his ruined suit and was taking a long, desperate swallow, lowered it with a grimace. “About that.” He sighed, the sound of a man who had given up on reality.
“Our intelligence suggests that Zhuge Liang, the Sleeping Dragon himself, is currently residing in Kyoto. He has a moderately successful Youtube channel about Three Kingdoms-era military strategy and vintage fan collection.”
Mizukume let out a thoughtful hum. “A logical cultural exchange. We receive a vengeful kijo in a party mask and they receive a legendary tactician who has monetized his intellect through a digital platform. The balance of cosmic absurdity is maintained.”
“He has a channel?” Su Yao repeated. The words tasted like ash. History and legend was being cut up and sold as memes.
The entity in Li Xiu’s body looked between them. The mask conveyed a sense of utter bewilderment. “Zhuge Liang? The strategist of Shu? He lives? As a you-tuber?” The ancient kijo seemed more shaken by this news than by her own inexplicable resurrection.
“Apparently,” Su Yao snapped, massaging her temples. “Welcome to the modern world, Kijo Momiji. Where legends retire to become influencers, and your prison cell was a freebie in a gift bag.”
She fixed Director Hao with a glare. “We need a bigger team. And a better interdimensional immigration policy.”