Chapter 36: Existing is Exhausting
Director Hao, ever the pragmatist even in the face of dimensional collapse, cleared his throat. “Ahem. Miss Momiji, was it? Putting aside the circumstances of your arrival. What, precisely, are your capabilities? We need to assess your utility and threat level.”
Momiji considered the question. The voice that emerged was calm, almost gentle. “My blood demon arts can heal the sick. I can teach reading, writing, arithmetic, and sewing.” She said it with the simple, unshakable certainty of a primary school teacher listing her qualifications.
Su Yao stared. “Sewing,” she repeated, flatly.
“Advanced needlework,” Momiji clarified. A hint of pride sounded in her layered voice. “Embroidery, specifically. I was renowned for it.”
Director Hao looked like he was trying to compute this information and failing. “Healing is useful. But sewing? Reading? You’re a legendary kijo, a demoness of Mount Togakushi! Where are the storms? The curses? The general wrath and havoc?”
A wave of cold indignation emanated from the masked figure. “I am a noblewoman. My power was in cultivation and refinement.”
Mizukume let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Don’t mistake a sheathed blade for a lack of edge, mortal. The most dangerous curses are often stitched into the fabric of fate with a single, perfect thread. The most devastating storms begin with a single, misplaced word.”
Su Yao pinched the bridge of her nose. “So we have a demonic Japanese noblewoman who specializes in literacy and home economics, currently possessing the body of a Chinese billionaire heiress, in the wreckage of a government base that was just blown up by a Korean fox spirit over a microwave.”
She looked at Director Hao. “I need a flow chart. And that screaming wine. Now.”
Momiji, meanwhile, seemed to be examining Li Xiu’s hands. “The stitchwork on this blazer is adequate, but the thread tension is inconsistent.” She looked up at the stunned Director Hao. “Shall I begin the lesson?”
Su Yao cut through the talk of embroidery with the sharpness of a guillotine. “Enough about sewing. The man who trapped you in this mask, what do you know about him?”
The masked head turned towards her. “A man,” Momiji’s echoed voice stated. The simplicity of the answer was somehow insulting.
“He wore a white mask, like this one, but it was part of him. He sang to me in a low, empty song that pulled at the edges of my soul. Then he drew a part of me out and bound it here.” She gestured vaguely at the plastic mask. “It was a harvest.”
“Was he Japanese? A cultivator? A priest?” Director Hao pressed, leaning forward.
Momiji seemed to ponder this. “The song was old. Older than any nation. The vessel he wore felt temporary, like a rented robe. His essence was of the void between places. I know nothing else.”
It was everything they already knew, just framed in slightly more poetic language. The man was a hollow vessel for the mask’s power, using ancient songs to harvest souls. They had learned this from the Nue and Mizukume. They were going in circles.
“Useless,” Su Yao muttered, turning away in frustration.
“But,” Momiji’s voice stopped her. “The fragment he took, it was a perfect copy, like a face reflected in still water. He is a forger of souls.” Her masked gaze shifted to Mizukume, as if seeing her properly for the first time. “Like that one. She feels the same. He is printing counterfeits.”
Mizukume, the ultimate counterfeit, gave a slow, approving nod. “She perceives the medium. An astute observation for a needlework instructor.”
Su Yao’s mind raced. A forger.
That was the through-line. Li Xuan was trying to forge her into a mortal life, the Yamato forged a god in the Nue, and the man in the mask forged echoes of legendary spirits.
“So we’re looking for the head of a supernatural counterfeiting ring,” Su Yao concluded. The scope of the enemy’s ambition finally came into terrifying focus.
Director Hao looked ill. “The paperwork for that is unprecedented.”
Before anyone could respond, Momiji, examining a frayed wire from the wreckage with academic interest, asked, “The loud box that made the food too hot, is it related to his operation?”
Su Yao just stared at the ceiling, wondering if Li Xuan’s poison had somehow sent her to a special kind of hell tailored specifically to her sensibilities.
Director Hao’s words landed with the dull thud of undeniable, grim logic.
“It makes a certain twisted sense,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage the absurdity into something manageable.
“If your core operation is spiritual counterfeiting, mass-producing echoes of legendary beings, where better to set up shop than the world’s acknowledged capital for, well, for copies? The infrastructure is already here. It’s a perfect camouflage.”
Su Yao stared at him. The sheer, blasphemous scope of the idea momentarily overwhelmed her ancient sensibilities. “You’re telling me,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “that the Yamato, or this ‘forger’, chose to base their operation to create fake gods and demonic echoes in China, because of our superior knockoff manufacturing capabilities?”
“From a logistical and operational security standpoint, it’s brilliant,” Director Hao insisted. A hint of professional admiration warred with his horror. “No one would look twice at a shipping container full of ‘ancient relics’ leaving a Shenzhen special economic zone. They’re just lost in the noise.”
Mizukume nodded slowly. A terrifying gleam shone in her doll-like eyes. “Of course. To hide a leaf, use a forest. To hide a forged soul, use a nation renowned for its mastery of replication. The poetry of it is, exquisite.” She glanced at Momiji. “You were stored in inventory.”
Momiji, the kijo currently possessing a billionaire heiress and discussing embroidery, let out a soft, echoing sigh from behind her mask. “To think my legacy was reduced to logistical efficiency.”
Su Yao felt a headache of cosmic proportions brewing. The enemy was using the entire modern globalized economy against them. They were fighting in shipping ports and factory floors.
“So the ‘man in the mask’,” Su Yao summarized. The fight drained out of her to be replaced by a vast, weary realization. “Could literally be any factory owner, any import-export magnate, or any guy with a connection to a plastic mold injection facility.”
“Essentially, yes,” Director Hao confirmed. “Finding him just became, once again, both infinitely easier and infinitely harder.”
“Then we don’t find him,” a new, groggy voice interjected.
Everyone turned. Zhang Wei was stumbling out of a med-bay. His arm was in a sling and his hair was disheveled. He pointed a finger at the white mask in Momiji’s, Li Xiu’s, hands.
“We find the source?”
“We find the factory that made this specific batch of masks. The one given away at the museum. If he’s using them as vessels, he’ll have a connection to that production line. It’s a needle in a haystack, but it’s a smaller haystack than ‘every man in China’.”
Su Yao looked from Zhang Wei’s determined face, to the mask, to Director Hao’s overwhelmed one, to the two ancient Japanese entities contemplating the intricacies of modern supply chains.
“Fine,” she said. The word was a surrender to a new level of insanity. “We’ll audit a plastic factory.” She looked at Mizukume. “You’re the logistics expert now. Figure it out.”
Mizukume gave a slow, serene blink. “I shall begin by cross-referencing museum promotional budgets with regional polymer suppliers. This is far more engaging than pirate cartoons.”
As the team pivoted from cosmic warfare to forensic accounting, Momiji quietly asked, “Would anyone like a lesson in hemming while we wait?”
A chorus of “NO!” was the most unified thing they had done all day.
The full might of the government’s digital dragnet was deployed. It took their tech team less than ten minutes to trace the barcode on the mask’s packaging.
Director Hao read the result from his tablet. His face was a mask of exhaustion. “The factory is, the ‘Lúnyù Polymer & Novelty Co., Ltd.’ A wholly-owned subsidiary of,” He paused, swallowing hard. “The Li Group.”
All eyes turned to Li Xiu, who had thankfully regained control of her body. The mask was now held loosely in her hands. She blinked, processing the information.
“Well, of course it is,” she said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world. “It would be far more difficult to list the industrial sectors in this province that we don't have a stake in. Plastics, especially for consumer goods, is one of our core holdings. Why wouldn't we own the factory?”
Su Yao stared at her. “You own the factory that mass-produced the vessel for a soul-forging, apocalyptic-level artifact.”
Li Xiu considered this, then nodded. “Yes. The quarterly reports from that sector have been quite strong. The profit margins on promotional items are excellent.” She offered a polite, confused smile. “Is there a problem?”
Zhang Wei, leaning heavily on a broken console, let out a strangled laugh. “A problem? No. We’re just trying to stop the end of the world, and the key component is being manufactured by your family’s profitable side business. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Director Hao sank into the one remaining intact chair. “So the trail leads directly back to the Li family’s industrial empire, an empire currently being targeted by soul-rending assassins and now implicated in manufacturing tools for cosmic-level soul forgery.”
He looked at Li Xiu. “Miss Li, with all due respect, what the hell is going on with your family?”
Li Xiu’s smile remained perfectly placid, though a flicker of genuine concern finally entered her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps we should schedule a board meeting?”
Su Yao reached for her gourd, remembered it was empty, and let her hand fall with a slap against her thigh. The conspiracy was coming out of their own faucets, manufactured in a factory they technically owned.
“Cancel the meeting,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously calm. “We’re taking a factory tour. Now.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Li Xiu said. Her voice was polite but firm, stopping Su Yao in her tracks.
Su Yao slowly turned back. “What?”
“You can’t just do a factory tour without an appointment,” Li Xiu explained, as if speaking to a child. “There are protocols, safety briefings, and non-disclosure agreements to be signed. The visiting party must provide a list of attendees at least 24 hours in advance for security clearance.”
“The earliest available slot is, let me see,” She pulled out her phone, scrolling through a corporate calendar. “Next Tuesday, between 2 and 3:30 PM.”
“Next Tuesday,” Su Yao repeated. Her voice was a low, deadly whisper.
“The supply chain management division is very strict about unscheduled site visits. It disrupts the production quotas,” Li Xiu added, looking genuinely apologetic. “Even I can’t just walk in. I’d have to file a Form V-7 with the logistics department.”
Zhang Wei buried his face in his one good hand. “We are trying to avert a potential spiritual apocalypse, and we’re being stopped by corporate paperwork.”
Mizukume let out a soft, appreciative sigh. “Bureaucracy, the true ultimate defense. I have never felt more seen.”
“Fine,” Su Yao snarled. Her patience evaporated. “We’re conducting an unscheduled, high-priority security audit on the authority of him!” She jabbed a finger at Director Hao.
Director Hao straightened his tie, seizing the thread of legitimacy. “Indeed. By the authority vested in me by the National Supernatural Threat Containment Bureau, I am commandeering this facility for immediate inspection.”
Li Xiu’s phone buzzed. She looked at it. “Ah. The head of plant security has denied your request. He says all audits require a minimum 48-hour notice, as per subsection C, paragraph 12 of the Group’s internal security policy, which was co-drafted with the very same Bureau.” She showed them the screen. “He’s copied Legal.”
Director Hao deflated. “He’s right. We co-wrote that policy, to prevent rival agencies from spying on our corporate partners.”
Su Yao looked from the polite, implacable heiress to the defeated spymaster, to the smirking clone. The very system designed to protect the mortal world was now actively protecting the enemy hiding within it.
“Unbelievable,” she breathed. The mask in Li Xiu’s hand seemed to mock her as the key to everything was sitting in a factory she technically owned, guarded by procedure and precedent.
“So,” Mizukume mused, “do we forge the paperwork, or do we simply burn the building down and sift through the ashes? The latter is traditionally faster.”
Li Xiu looked horrified. “Arson would require an environmental impact report that takes months to approve!”
The sheer, bureaucratic absurdity of it all, the forms, the denials, the environmental impact reports for hypothetical arson, snapped something inside Su Yao. It was a deep, quiet, and final exhaustion.
If I were gone, none of it would matter anymore. It would be so easy to just stop. The thought spread through her mind like a dark, still ocean, pulling her down. Everything felt too heavy to carry.
But as the welcoming darkness began to pull at her, something pushed back.
It was a sensation. Phantom aches from scraped knees of a childhood fall. The dizzying thrill of a rollercoaster. Stubborn warmth from a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. It was the mundane, messy, and utterly human will to live.
Then, it coalesced into words, spoken from the very core of her being, in a voice that was both entirely her own and yet distinctly, younger. Simpler.
I am you. You are I.
Su Yao froze. Her internal focus sharpened to a razor’s edge. Xiao Ling? she thought. The name was a foreign and familiar prayer.
There is no ‘Xiao Ling’ separate from you, the presence responded. Its tone was of simple fact. Just as there is no ‘Su Yao’ separate from me. The truck didn’t kill me and leave a vacant house for you. It shattered the vessel, and we pooled together in the dark. When we woke up, we were us.
A flood of sensations followed. Heart-pounding panic on a math test she hadn’t studied for. Crushing loneliness at lunch, all by herself. Fierce, protective love for her Auntie. Raw, heroic impulse that made her shove a little boy out of the way of a truck without a second thought for herself.
You feel the weight of millennia, the presence whispered. I feel the weight of a physics final. Which is heavier? We carry both. You want to give up because the problems are too big. I know how to keep going because the problems have always been too big. You just do the next thing. Fill out the stupid form. Get the screaming wine. Find the mask.
Su Yao heard the echo of her own ancient defiance, now tempered by a mortal girl’s stubborn will to survive. The dark ocean of despair receded with the simple, grounding weight of a shared existence. Her exhaustion was still there, a deep and weary bone-ache.
Except it was just a fact, one more problem to be dealt with.
When she opened her eyes, the impossible quest were all still there. But she was no longer alone in facing it. She took a deep breath.
“Fine,” she said aloud. Her voice was rough but steady. Su Yao looked at Li Xiu. “Get me that form. We’re doing this.”
She was both Su Yao and Xiao Ling at the same time. Their story was far from over.