Chapter 69: The Literary Atrocity
With the false Seimei unconscious and the eclipse energy safely dispersed into the city, Su Yao phased back into her apartment. The chaotic fervor of the square faded into a satisfying silence. Let the mortals deal with their sudden spiritual allergies for a while.
Her eyes fell upon the first edition of Chronicles of the Jade Maiden and the Moonlit Prison, still resting on her table.
Now, she thought. A slow, sharp smile graced her lips. I can finally start working on the sequel.
If a bored noblewoman’s self-insert story could shape centuries of belief, then her own counter-narrative, written with vengeful intent, could dismantle it. She would write the truth, or failing that, a version of it so compelling it would become the new truth.
She opened a new document on her laptop. The blank screen glowed in the dim room. Her fingers hovered over the keys.
Chapter One, she typed. In which the so-called ‘Jade Purity Maiden’ returns from a well-deserved nap, to find her name being dragged through the mud by incompetents and her legacy being used to justify apocalyptic real estate ventures.
This was a spiritual weapon. Every word would be infused with her will, a subtle curse rewriting reality itself. She would make sure the Li family, starting with Li Xiu, had their names prominently listed in the acknowledgments. They were going to help her publish their own family’s humiliation.
Satisfied, she leaned back. Beating people up was a temporary solution. Rewriting the story they lived in was true, lasting power, and it came with far less cleanup. Now, she just needed a publisher, an aggressive marketing campaign, and perhaps a few “corrective beatings” for any critics.
Su Yao stared at the screen. The words of her first few chapters glared back at her. She had just finished writing a particularly dramatic scene where the ‘Jade Purity Maiden’ returned to Duwang and immediately started beating up corrupt officials with a fan made of celestial jade.
As she read it aloud, her own voice faltered.
“'The Maiden’s eyes flashed with the fury of a thousand suns, her voice like the ringing of a sacred bell as she declared, ‘Justice shall be served!''” Su Yao muttered, then winced. “This sounds like a bad parody of the original.”
She scrolled through another chapter, where the Maiden gave a speech about civic duty while levitating over a pile of garbage. “'O, citizens of Duwang, let us cleanse this city with our hearts and hands!'” Su Yao groaned, rubbing her temples. “I sound like a public service announcement with delusions of grandeur. This isn't a spiritual weapon; it’s a cringe-fest.”
Her phone buzzed with a message from Li Xiu.
Li Xiu:How’s the writing going? My family is already having nightmares about the acknowledgments.
Su Yao typed a quick reply. Her fingers stabbed the screen.
Xiao Ling:It’s terrible. I need a ghostwriter. You're drafted.”
Li Xiu’s response was immediate.
Li Xiu:What? I'm not a writer!
Xiao Ling: You're a Li. This is your family’s mess. Get over here now.
Su Yao replied, then deleted the current draft, saving it in a folder labeled ‘Literary Atrocities.’
Maybe she needed finesse. If that meant coercing a business student into co-authoring a celestial rebuttal, so be it.
Li Xiu arrived at the apartment looking like she was walking to her own execution. She shuffled in, clutching her bag like a shield. “Okay, I'm here. What’s so terrible that you need me for?”
Su Yao pointed at the laptop screen without looking up. “Your family’s legacy of bad writing is contagious. I tried to write a corrective sequel, and it reads like a propaganda pamphlet written by an angry bird. Fix it.”
Li Xiu leaned over and scanned the text. Her eyebrows climbed higher with each line. “'The Maiden’s heart wept for the city’s spiritual decay, but her fists wept tears of justice?’ You have her weeping with her fists?”
“I was being metaphorical,” Su Yao snapped. “You're the business major. Make it marketable.”
“Marketable?” Li Xiu pulled out her own laptop, looking determined. “Fine. Let’s pivot. We need to appeal to modern audiences. The Maiden needs a love interest. Maybe a brooding demon lord who reforms for her?”
Su Yao stared at her, deadpan. “No.”
“Or a rival celestial being? A love triangle?” Li Xiu continued, typing furiously. “We can call him ‘Dark Moon Lord’ or something. He’s misunderstood, but the Maiden sees the good in him—”
“Stop,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously calm. “I am not writing fanfiction about myself.”
“But conflict drives engagement!” Li Xiu insisted, now on a roll. “We need a villain everyone can hate. What about, a corrupt city planner who’s behind the spiritual pollution? The Maiden can expose him while delivering witty one-liners.”
Su Yao snatched Li Xiu’s laptop and read the new draft aloud. “'The Maiden landed on the mayor’s desk, her hanfu fluttering in the air conditioning. ‘Your corruption ends now,’ she declared, pointing a finger that glowed with the power of a thousand suns.'”
She looked up. Her expression was utterly flat. “You've made it worse. This is now a bad superhero comic.”
Li Xiu deflated. “I told you I'm not a writer. My expertise is in supply chain logistics.”
“Then we're both doomed to be plagued by your ancestor’s boredom for another century,” Su Yao said, closing the laptop with a sigh. “Maybe I should just beat the truth into people instead. It’s faster.”
“Wait!” Li Xiu said. A sudden idea sparked in her eyes. “What if we leak the truth through a viral social media campaign? We could use memes!”
Su Yao massaged her temples. The urge for a strong drink was overwhelming. “Memes? I'd rather face the Jiao Long again.”
From the corner of the room, where the shadows seemed to cling a little tighter, a figure stepped forward silently. Yumi, Li Xiu’s gumiho bodyguard, had been observing the entire exchange with an expression of serene detachment. She was so still and unobtrusive that Su Yao had genuinely forgotten her presence.
Yumi glided over to the table. Her movements were fluid and silent. She picked up Li Xiu’s laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. After a moment, she turned the screen to face Su Yao and Li Xiu.
On the screen was a draft of a new opening chapter. It was concise, sharp, and devoid of the melodrama that had plagued their previous attempts:
The so-called Jade Purity Maiden never was sealed on the moon. She was busy. When she returned to Duwang, she found her name being used to sell spiritual snake oil and justify petty tyranny. So she did what any reasonable ancient being would do: she started breaking things.
Su Yao read it. Her eyebrows rose. It was direct, irreverent, and perfectly captured her attitude. “Huh. Not bad.”
Li Xiu peered at the screen. “It’s blunt. But it works! How did you?”
Yumi simply smiled. A faint, knowing curve of her lips. She typed another line.
Sometimes the truth just needs a clear voice and a willingness to enforce it
Su Yao nodded slowly. “Alright, Yumi. You're now the head of creative direction for this project. Li Xiu, you handle distribution. I'll provide the, motivational enforcement for any reluctant publishers.”
Yumi gave a slight bow, then pointed at the laptop and made a writing motion, indicating she would continue refining the text.
Li Xiu sighed in relief. “Thank you, Yumi. I owe you one.”
Yumi typed one more message.
This is more interesting than watching Li Xiu practice corporate mediation. Also, the original novel’s prose was weak. I have standards.
Su Yao almost laughed. “Finally, someone with sense. Let’s get this done. I want this sequel trending by the end of the week.”
She watched as Yumi’s fingers continued to fly across the keyboard. The only sound in the room was the soft tapping of keys. It was then she realized the gumiho hadn't uttered a single word since she'd started.
“Your throat,” Su Yao stated. Her gaze sharpened. “Did you take another curse for Li Xiu? Are you injured?”
Yumi finished the sentence she was typing, then turned the laptop slightly so Su Yao could read the response.
I type faster than I speak. Less room for misinterpretation.
Li Xiu chimed in from the side, nodding. “It’s true. She’s been like this since she recovered from the last incident. She says verbal communication is, ‘low bandwidth.'“
Su Yao snorted, a grudging respect in her eyes. “Fine. As long as it doesn't hinder your ability to do your job. Or this one.” She gestured at the manuscript.
Yumi typed a single character in response.
?
She immediately returned to refining the text. Her focus was absolute. Su Yao shook her head. A mute gumiho bodyguard who communicates in emojis and brutal prose. This timeline gets stranger by the second.
“Alright,” Su Yao said, refocusing. “Now that the creative department is finally functional, let’s talk distribution. Li Xiu, I want this book in every digital storefront and physical bookstore in the city by the end of the week. Use the family name. Make it a ‘lost manuscript’ suddenly discovered. Yumi, keep writing. I'll handle the, motivational outreach to any publishers who need convincing.”
“Understood,” Li Xiu said, pulling out her phone and opening a contacts list that probably contained every publisher and distributor in East Asia. “I'll leverage the ‘historical preservation’ angle. The Li family name still carries weight in academic circles. We'll frame it as a recovered, suppressed text.”
Yumi, without looking up, tapped a single key, making a bullet point appear on the screen.
- Leak excerpts to occult forums first. Generate organic buzz.
- Use bot accounts to create demand. Manufacture ‘outrage’ from traditionalists.
- Coordinate physical drops at known spiritual hotspots. Create scarcity.
Li Xiu paled slightly at the mention of the family accounts but started typing rapidly on her phone. “I'm drafting the press release now. ‘A long-lost sequel, challenging the established celestial canon, discovered in the Li family archives...'”
“Boring, but serviceable,” Su Yao dismissed. “Yumi. The manuscript. How soon can you have a complete draft?”
Yumi’s fingers never stopped. She highlighted a progress bar at the bottom of the screen: 85%. Then she typed a new message.
First draft in two hours. Final edits in four. Requires one (1) pot of high-grade oolong tea and no interruptions.
“Done.” Su Yao snapped her fingers. A pristine bag of tea leaves and a ceramic pot materialized on the table beside Yumi. “Li Xiu. Make the tea. You're the intern now.”
As Li Xiu scrambled to boil water, Su Yao looked over the rapidly filling document. The prose was clean, cutting, and perfectly undermined the original novel’s sanctimonious tone. It was a demolition job disguised as literature.
Finally, she thought. A genuine, predatory smile graced her lips. This might actually work.
Beating the truth into people was satisfying, but beating them with the truth, wrapped in a perfectly orchestrated media blitz? That was a new kind of violence. One she could get used to.
Su Yao watched Yumi’s fingers fly across the keyboard. The manuscript was growing at an alarming rate. Li Xiu was nervously brewing tea. Her phone buzzed constantly with updates from her contacts. The operation was in motion.
For the first time, Su Yao felt a flicker of the cold, calculating satisfaction of a plan coming together.
If this works, she thought. Her mind was already racing ahead. I could use the same method to fix my own story.
The idea was so obvious she almost laughed. For centuries, she'd been plagued by that ridiculous Azure Mist Chronicles portrayal of Su Yao as the world-ending demon queen slain by the righteous Li Xuan. But she was the Hostess of the Eternal Banquet, a pinnacle of refinement and power.
If a bored noblewoman’s fanfiction could shape reality, why couldn't she rewrite her own narrative?
She imagined it as a tell-all memoir, perhaps. ‘Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Hostess: The Truth Behind the Eternal Banquet.’ Or something more aggressive, like a documentary exposing the lies of Li Xuan’s betrayal. She could leak it through the same channels, use Yumi’s sharp prose and Li Xiu’s connections to make it go viral.
Let the world see her as the sophisticated entity she was.
Yumi finished a paragraph and turned the screen, showing a particularly biting line that dismantled the ‘lunar imprisonment’ myth. Su Yao met her eyes and gave a slight nod.
“Once this is done,” Su Yao said aloud, “we have a new project. My biography. I think it’s time the world learned what really happened at the Eternal Banquet.”
Li Xiu almost dropped the teapot. “You want to write a book about yourself?”
“A correction,” Su Yao corrected. Her smile was sharp. “If I'm going to be famous, I might as well be famous for the truth. Or at least, my version of it.” She glanced at Yumi. “You'll handle the writing. Li Xiu, start scouting publishers.”
Yumi typed a single word in response.
Finally.
In the days that followed, the leaked manuscript went viral.
It started in the obscure corners of occult forums, where users dissected the ‘lost chapters’ with frenzied excitement. Then, excerpts flooded social media, boosted by Yumi’s legion of bot accounts and amplified by genuine shock.
The hashtag #RealJadeMaiden trended globally.
A popular vlogger did a tearful reaction video to the passage describing the ‘Maiden’ coldly dismissing the idea of lunar imprisonment as ‘logistically unsound and terribly drafty.’
A university professor gave a lecture deconstructing the new text’s literary merits over the original, calling it ‘a devastatingly pragmatic deconstruction of myth-making.’
The public, already primed by Su Yao’s very public and very violent vigilante appearances, eagerly embraced the new narrative. The image of the Jade Purity Maiden was irrevocably shifted from a distant, suffering saint to a hands-on, no-nonsense enforcer who preferred breaking jaws to giving blessings.
As for the false Seimei? Kobayashi Akihito, still in government custody, was reportedly apoplectic. His remaining followers disbanded overnight. Their faith was shattered by the revelation that their entire belief system was based on a Ming-era creative writing project. His ‘purification campaign’ was now a laughingstock.
Su Yao observed the fallout from her apartment, scrolling through the chaos with a deep sense of gratification. On screen, a news channel showed a clip of the false Seimei’s abandoned stage being repurposed for a pop-up bubble tea shop.
“See?” Li Xiu said, standing beside her, looking both exhausted and triumphant. “You don't always have to punch your way to the truth. Sometimes you can just, publish it.”
“Don't be naive,” Su Yao replied, looking at the screen where a meme of the Jade Purity Maiden photoshopped onto a motivational poster about ‘physical problem-solving’ was going viral. “The publishing was just the delivery system. What gave it weight is the threat. They believed the new story because they knew the woman in it wouldn't hesitate to enforce it.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across Su Yao’s face. It was a victory. A small one, perhaps, in the grand scheme of cosmic conspiracies and ancient betrayals, but a victory nonetheless. It proved the method worked.
The world now knew the “truth” about the Jade Purity Maiden. Soon, they would learn the truth about Su Yao. She would make sure it was a story they wouldn't dare to misquote.
She turned away from the screen. The false Seimei was broken, the maiden’s myth was corrected, and the city was quiet for a moment.
“Good,” Su Yao said to no one in particular. “Now for the main feature.”
Su Yao phased directly into Zhang Wei’s office at the government headquarters. He jerked back from his monitor, spilling cold coffee across a stack of reports.
“Could you not,” he began, grabbing a tissue.
“Any progress tracking the Chi You Men cartel?” Su Yao cut in, ignoring his protest and the spreading stain.
Zhang Wei sighed, wiping his hands. “They're ghosts. We've traced shell corporations, intercepted encrypted messages that just lead to dead ends, and tracked spiritual signatures that vanish into thin air. They're professionals.
He leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking softly, eyes lingering on the flickering holographic map between them. “The only solid lead we have is a pattern of unusual spiritual energy fluctuations around a specific shipping container yard near the old docks. It’s faint, but it’s the only thing that hasn't been scrubbed.”
“A shipping container yard,” Su Yao repeated. Her voice was flat. “How mundane.”
“The best hiding places often are,” Zhang Wei said, pulling up a satellite map on his screen. “It’s a logistical hub. Things come and go constantly. Perfect cover.”
“Send me the coordinates,” Su Yao ordered, already turning to leave. “I'll conduct an inspection. Personally.”
“Xiao Ling, wait,” Zhang Wei said. His voice dropped. “Intel suggests they might be moving something soon. Something big. The energy spikes correlate with the lunar cycle. They might be trying to capitalize on the residual energy from the eclipse for their own ritual.”
Su Yao paused at the doorway. A cold smile touched her lips. “Even better. I'll give them a hands-on demonstration of why messing with celestial cycles is a bad idea.”
She glanced back at him. “And Zhang Wei? Keep digging. I want to know who their financiers are. Reviving a dead dynasty and a dead god can't be cheap.”
He nodded grimly. “We're trying. It’s like chasing smoke.”
“Then stop chasing,” she said. “Start predicting where the smoke will go next. I'm going to go straight to the source of the fire.”
With that, she vanished, leaving Zhang Wei alone with his spilled coffee and the unsettling certainty that a significant portion of the shipping yard was about to become a very active warzone.