I am NOT a Demon Queen!

Reality was clearly no longer interested in behaving. Su Yao paused in the doorway. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to physically squeeze out the insanity. Nohime’s voice, crisp and curious, floated out from the cracked fridge door.

“It is, intriguing,” the Yuki Onna mused. “You know of my husband, the great Lord Nobunaga, the Demon King. Yet you claim no knowledge of me. Why is that?”

Su Yao turned back, leaning against the doorframe. She looked at the ethereal woman currently using her butter compartment as a footrest.

“Because I know the big names,” Su Yao said. Her tone was flat and factual. “Your husband was a historical figure of immense impact who unified a fractured nation, changed the face of warfare, and got himself nicknamed after a demonic celestial being. He’s the kind of person who gets movies, video games, and entire academic conferences dedicated to him.”

She gestured at Nohime. “You, with all due respect to your chilly constitution, are historically speaking, a supporting character and a footnote. The legends about you are vague, niche, and largely overshadowed by the man you married. History only remembered you as a ‘mysterious wife of unknown origins.’”

Nohime processed this. A faint line appeared between her frosty eyebrows. Clearly, she was unaccustomed to being considered the less significant half of the couple.

“I see,” she said. Her voice was cooler than the air around her. “So in the annals of history, I am merely the ‘mysterious wife’.”

Nohime was silent for a moment, contemplating her historical obscurity from inside a 21st-century refrigerator. “Perhaps it’s time to correct the record, then.”

“Great,” Su Yao deadpanned. “You can start by not getting us both captured or obliterated by a possibly-fake sorcerer. One world-shaking crisis at a time, please.”

Su Yao left the Yuki Onna to her existential crisis and her chilled accommodations. The sheer, layered absurdity of her life settled around her like a familiar, uncomfortable cloak. She was housing a historically overlooked snow spirit married to a legendary demon king, all while preparing to confront a public-relations-savvy version of a legendary exorcist.

I need to find Zhang Wei and Director Hao. And maybe a very, very strong drink, Yumi’s forgetfulness be damned.

Nohime’s voice, sharp with a scholar’s indignation, cut through the fridge door again. “Wait a moment, you claim to ‘know the big names.’ You know of my husband, the Demon King. Yet you professed ignorance of Abe no Seimei? This is an inconsistency.

“If your knowledge encompasses the great calamities and rulers of history, Seimei’s name should be among them. He was, by any measure, a ‘big name.’ Perhaps your historical education is selective?”

Su Yao let out an exasperated sigh, turning back to face the appliance. “It’s regional.”

Leaning against the counter, she addressed the fridge like a professor lecturing a particularly dense student. “I am a Nine-Tailed Heavenly Fox of the Middle Kingdom. My ‘big names’ are the Jade Emperor, the Yellow Emperor, the great dragons and phoenixes of my own cosmology. Or the Buddha, for heaven’s sake.”

She ticked them off on her fingers. “I know your husband because ‘Demon King of the Sixth Heaven’ is a title that echoes across spiritual realms. It’s a concept. A job description for ultimate ambition and chaos. That kind of energy gets noticed everywhere.”

“Seimei, however,” she continued, “was a specialist, a master of a specific, localized tradition of Onmyōdō. He was the ultimate authority on Japanese spirits and rituals. To me, he was a renowned local expert in a foreign province. Impressive in his field, certainly. But not part of my core curriculum.”

“Do you know the name of the greatest court astrologer from the Tang Dynasty’s Xuanzong era?” She gave the fridge a pointed look. “The one who could predict droughts by reading the cracks in a turtle shell? No? Exactly. He was a big name in his own backyard. Seimei was the Japanese equivalent.”

Nohime was silent for a long moment from within her chilly hideaway. “I suppose that is a logically sound if provincially arrogant framework,” she conceded. Her voice was slightly muffled. “To think the Master of Yin and Yang could be considered a ‘local expert’…”

“Welcome to the wide, wide world of celestial chauvinism,” Su Yao said dryly. “Now, if you’re done auditing my historical knowledge, I have a ‘local expert’ to deal with who may or may not be a fraud and whose public approval ratings are currently higher than mine.”

As she walked away, she muttered under her breath, “I once hosted a banquet that made the Queen Mother of the West jealous. But no, let’s all focus on the guy with the paper charms and a TV deal.”

The hum of the refrigerator seemed to take on a newly contemplative tone.

Su Yao’s phone buzzed again. This time, it was from an unknown number. The message was brief and utterly baffling.

Unknown: The one claiming to be Seimei is an impostor. Trust no one. -A.D.

She stared at the screen. A.D.? Her mind, already crammed with fox spirits, snow women, and demon kings, scrambled for a reference. Albus Dumbledore? Alexandre Dumas? Some new player in this mess?

Her thumbs flew across the screen.

Xiao Ling: Who is this? How do you know he’s not Seimei? And how did you get this number?

The reply was almost instant, and infuriatingly simple.

A.D.: Magic.

Su Yao stared at the word. “Magic.” That was it.

A part of her, the ancient, proud part, was deeply offended. Magic? She was the embodiment of primordial power! She had cultivated for millennia! She could unravel souls and reshape reality! ‘Magic’ was what mortals called parlor tricks!

Another part of her, the part fused with Xiao Ling, was just tired of the cryptic nonsense.

She immediately called Zhang Wei.

“We have a new problem,” she said the moment he picked up. “Someone with the initials A.D. just texted me, claiming Seimei is a fake. When I asked how they knew, they said ‘magic.’ Track the number. Now.”

She could hear Zhang Wei’s weary sigh through the phone. “A.D.? Could be anyone. That’s a fake name, an acronym. I’ll see what I can do, but if they used ‘magic’ to contact you, they probably used it to hide their tracks too.”

“Just do it,” Su Yao snapped, ending the call.

She looked at the message again. Trust no one. That included the sender. This could be a genuine warning from a hidden ally. Or it could be Seimei himself, or the impostor, playing an even deeper game, trying to sow paranoia within her own ranks.

“Magic,” she muttered to herself. The taste of the word was bitter. It was the most unhelpful, arrogantly vague answer possible.

She shot a glare at the refrigerator. “If you’re somehow involved in this, I’m unplugging you.”

There was no response from the fridge, just the steady chill.

Su Yao slumped onto her sofa. The conspiracy was sprouting new branches faster than she could chop them down. Now she had to contend with a mysterious “A.D.” who communicated in single-word taunts.

“Fine,” she whispered to the empty room. “If it’s magic they want, it’s magic they’ll get.”

But first, she needed Director Hao to run a trace. Maybe, just maybe, she would have to fill out a form to requisition a celestial-level truth-detection artifact. The red tape was going to be a nightmare.

Her phone buzzed once more. The screen lit up with another message from the enigmatic A.D.

A.D.: Meet me at Duwang University West Library third-floor archives, 2 PM. can’t divulge sensitive information over monitored channels.

Su Yao stared at the message. Jian Feng’s university.

The location was specific, almost academic. It felt intentional. A library archive was a place of quiet secrets.

She typed back a single character.

Xiao Ling: Why?

Her reply was just as swift.

A.D.: Because you are the variable he didn’t calculate. I have something he does not want you to see.

Su Yao leaned back. The gears in her ancient mind turned. This was either a spectacularly obvious trap laid by Seimei to draw her out, or it was a genuine offer from a third party who knew enough to be dangerous to both sides.

The red bean buns came to mind first, now sitting in her fridge next to a Yuki Onna. After that came the staged monster attacks and the televised heroics. Then there were Nohime’s “feelings,” and finally the sheer, overwhelming bureaucracy blocking her at every turn.

This was a potential shortcut, a possible key.

Her decision was made. She would not go in blind, and she certainly would not go as ‘Xiao Ling.’ This required a different approach.

She sent a quick text to Zhang Wei.

Xiao Ling: A.D. wants a meeting at Duwang University West Library archives, 2 PM. Have a team do a passive sweep. No engagement, I’m going in alone.

Su Yao stood up and walked to her room to change. If she was going to meet a mysterious informant who communicated in cryptic messages and claimed to have ‘something,’ she was going to look like someone who could handle it. The time for playing the harmless schoolgirl was temporarily over.

As she pulled on a sleek, dark jacket, her phone buzzed with Zhang Wei’s acknowledgment. The game was escalating. For the first time all day, Su Yao felt a flicker of something other than exhaustion. It was the sharp, cold thrill of the hunt.

“Alright, A.D.,” she murmured, checking her reflection. Her eyes glinted with their original, ancient sharpness. “Let’s see what ‘magic’ you have for me.”

She left the apartment. The universe, it seemed, had finally decided to give her a direct lead. Now she just had to hope it stayed off a sniper’s crosshair. Either way, she was about to get some answers. Or cause a spectacular scene in a university library. Possibly both.

The clock struck two as Su Yao stepped onto campus. Her aura was restrained, and her mind was sharp. Every sense was locked on the coming exchange.

Su Yao pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, her footsteps sounding louder than she expected against the wooden floor. She slowed instinctively, aware of how exposed the open space made her feel.

Light from the high windows caught in the drifting dust and briefly obscured her view, forcing her to blink and scan the room more carefully. Only then did she notice the room was empty save for one person.

Sitting at a long wooden study carrel was a young woman who looked decidedly out of place. She had pale skin, high cheekbones, and hair the color of wheat. Her features suggested Slavic ancestry. She looked up as Su Yao entered. Her eyes were a startlingly clear and calm grey.

Su Yao approached. Her footsteps were silent on the worn carpet. She stopped before the carrel, her arms crossed.

“You're A.D.?” Su Yao asked. Her voice was low and devoid of the ‘Xiao Ling’ affectation. “State your business on Chinese soil, or I'll have you deported so fast your head will spin.”

A small, knowing smile touched the girl’s lips.

“I am not a foreigner,” she said. Her Mandarin was fluent and unaccented. “I was born in Harbin. My name is Anastasia. You can call me An Na.”

Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, An Na. You have five seconds to convince me you're not wasting my time. How do you know the one calling himself Seimei is an impostor?”

Anastasia leaned forward. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the real Abe no Seimei was a femboy.”

Su Yao stared. The ancient, unflappable Nine-Tailed Heavenly Fox, who had faced down betrayals, armies, and cosmic voids, felt her entire worldview stutter.

“...What?” was all she could manage.

“A femboy,” Anastasia repeated, as if discussing the weather. “Effeminate and pretty. He had a taste for silks, delicate perfumes, and a level of personal grooming that was, frankly, avant-garde for the period. The man on television, for all his elegant robes, carries himself with the rigid, unyielding posture of a military general. It’s a crude imitation. Anyone who actually knew him would see it.”

Su Yao finally found her voice, a strangled, “How could you possibly know that? Don’t you dare say ‘magic’.”

Anastasia’s smile widened. “I was there in Heian-kyo, in a previous life. Everyone from that time who had eyes knew what Seimei was like. His aesthetic preferences were as much a part of his legend as his shikigami.” She gestured around the archive. “I'm a history postgraduate now. It helps me access records and blend in. As for your number and why I contacted you...”

The girl pulled out a sleek tablet, showing a complex data-tracking interface with glowing lines connecting photos and names. Su Yao’s picture was there, linked to a central node representing the false Seimei.

“I've been tracking everyone the false Seimei has shown a focused interest in,” Anastasia explained. “You are his primary target of study. I contacted you because you are the biggest anomaly in his data, the one variable his system can't seem to categorize. We have a common interest.”

Su Yao looked from the bizarrely specific historical gossip to the modern spyware on the tablet. It was the most unhinged, yet strangely compelling, intelligence briefing she had ever received. She pulled out the chair opposite Anastasia and sat down. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her own face.

“Alright, An Na from Harbin,” Su Yao said. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know about the real Seimei’s wardrobe. This might be the most useful weapon we have.”

Anastasia nodded. Her expression turned scholarly. “It’s one of the less-documented but consistently whispered truths about his early life. His mother Kuzunoha had desperately wanted a daughter. When Seimei was born male, she improvised.” She pulled a weathered, leather-bound journal from her bag, opening it to carefully copied passages from much older texts.

“According to court diaries and servant gossip from the period, for the first several years of his life, until he was formally presented at court, Seimei was raised and dressed as a girl. Kuzunoha bestowed upon him an extensive education in poise, aesthetics, and the intricate social arts typically reserved for noblewomen.”

Ana looked up. Her grey eyes were sharp. “This is fundamental to understanding his character. His infamous calm and ability to survive the viper’s nest of the Heian court with such effortless grace was rooted in that unique upbringing. He understood performance, subtlety, and the power of perception in a way a man raised traditionally never could.”

“The impostor has the power. He has the knowledge. But he lacks the essence. The man on television moves with the weight of expected masculinity, of rigid authority.” She tapped the journal. “The real Seimei moved with the fluid, unreadable grace of someone who had mastered both masculine and feminine roles from childhood and transcended them both. The difference, to an educated eye, is glaring.”

Leaning back, Su Yao processed this. It was an intimate piece of historical insight, the kind that never made it into the official records. Ana’s absolute certainty made sense. A person’s fundamental relationship with their own identity and presentation was nearly impossible to perfectly fake, especially across centuries of cultural context.

“So the false Seimei can mimic the spells and the speeches,” Su Yao summarized, “but he can't mimic the soul of the boy who was raised as his mother’s daughter.”

“Precisely,” Anastasia said, closing the journal with a soft thud. “He is a brilliant forgery of the public figure, but he is a failure at replicating the private man. That failure is his vulnerability.”

Su Yao looked at the young woman from Harbin, a reincarnated soul with a historian’s mind and a spy’s instincts. She was perhaps the most unlikely ally imaginable. “Alright,” Su Yao said. A new plan was forming. “Then we attack his authenticity. We expose the performance.”

She met Anastasia’s gaze. “We need to find something only the real Seimei would know. Something from that hidden childhood. A memory, a preference, a secret only Kuzunoha’s son would possess.”

Anastasia’s smile returned, fierce and bright. “I've already started compiling a list.”

“Okay.” Su Yao leaned forward. Her earlier predatory intensity softened into focused practicality. “You have the historical insight. What can I do to help? What’s my role in this?”

Anastasia looked down on her tablet. Her fingers were still flying across the screen, cross-referencing databases. “Nothing,” she said. Her tone was flat and final. “The best thing you can do is stay out of my way. I already have a plan. It’s intricate, precise, and I don’t need any complications.”

Su Yao blinked. The blunt refusal momentarily stunned her. After being the center of every cosmic crisis for weeks, being outright dismissed was a novel experience.

“Let me get this straight,” Su Yao said. Her voice dropped into a dangerous, quiet register. “You contacted me, dragged me to a library archive, and fed me classified historical gossip about a legendary sorcerer’s cross-dressing childhood just to tell me to stand down? You called me here so I wouldn't accidentally make your job difficult?”

“Correct,” Anastasia said, finally looking up. Her grey eyes were utterly serious, devoid of malice but also of any need for collaboration. “By informing you of the situation, I am making sure you don’t blunder into my operational path with your characteristically direct methods.”

She tilted her head. A faint, analytical frown was on her face as she studied Su Yao.

“If you must know, the reason I chose to contact you specifically beyond your status as his primary target is that you, remind me of Kuzunoha. There is the same air of ancient, possessive power, masked by a form that disarms expectation. It felt appropriate.”

Su Yao was left speechless for the second time in ten minutes. She had been insulted, sidelined, and compared to the mother of the man who might be her greatest enemy, all in one breath.

A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. It was an unpleasant smile.

“Fine,” Su Yao said, standing up. “I'll stay out of your way. But remember this, An Na from Harbin.”

She placed her hands on the table, leaning in. “Don’t come crying to me when your ‘intricate, precise’ plan inevitably hits a snag that requires a wrecking ball. You'd better have a hell of a lot more than ‘magic’ to offer when you realize you need the ‘complication.'”