I am NOT a Demon Queen!

By the time night settled over the coast, arrangements were already complete. The government transport deposited her at a secure pier in Duwang. A high-speed ferry, its hull etched with faint containment runes, waited to take her to Hong Kong.

The journey was brief and functionally silent. Su Yao stood at the rail, mentally reviewing the dossiers on Macau’s major casino families.

From Hong Kong, a nondescript black sedan whisked her to the Hong Kong-Zhuhai-Macau Bridge. As the car merged onto the vast, elevated roadway stretching across the sea, Su Yao observed the structure with a critical eye.

“An impressive feat of engineering,” the driver, a Stabilization agent, commented. “Shortens the travel time significantly.”

“It’s a tether,” Su Yao replied. Her gaze scanned the seemingly endless bridge. “A physical and symbolic leash linking the outlying regions to the mainland. The movement of people, goods, and energy across it has become important.”

The agent fell silent.

Upon reaching the Macau portal, the transition was seamless. The sedan moved from the stark modernity of the bridge into the garish, neon-drenched streets of the casino district. The air itself changed, thick with the scents of perfume and stale tobacco.

The car pulled up to the opulent entrance of The Golden Phoenix, one of the older, more established casinos. Su Yao stepped out. The persona of ‘Madame Meng’ settled over her like a cloak.

“Your luggage will be taken to your suite, Madame Meng,” the agent said through the open window. “Good luck.”

“I don’t require luck,” Su Yao stated. Her eyes were already scanning the casino’s grand entrance, parsing the spiritual signatures of the doormen and the passing guests.

She turned and walked into the glittering chaos. Her first objective was clear: find the high-stakes baccarat tables. That was where the pressure was highest, and where any newly empowered individuals would be most tempted, and most exposed.

Su Yao took three precise steps into the cavernous, chandeliered lobby of The Golden Phoenix. Her senses automatically mapped exits, security personnel, and the fluctuating spiritual auras of the crowd.

Crack.

The sound was distant, muffled by the casino’s ambient noise. A fraction of a second later, a searing impact struck the side of her neck, just above the collarbone. The force was enough to spin a normal person around. A warm trickle of blood seeped into the collar of her designer dress.

An ordinary bullet from an ordinary high-precision sniper rifle fired from a significant distance.

Her analytical mind processed everything in a microsecond: the trajectory, the velocity, and the caliber. It was a professional shot, intended to sever the carotid artery or shatter the spine. The weapon would have been lethal for any mortal and was a deeply insulting choice to use against her.

Su Yao allowed her body to be jerked sideways with the impact, stumbling into a carefully orchestrated collapse against a nearby marble pillar.

She hit the floor, letting her head loll. Her eyes fluttered shut. The flow of blood from the wound was already slowing to a trickle as her flesh knit itself closed around the flattened round, but she made sure the initial stain looked dramatic.

Chaos erupted, and screams tore through the air as frantic calls for security rang out. Patrons stampeded away from the entrance.

She observed the responses through slitted eyes. The security team was well-drilled, establishing a perimeter, but their auras spiked with genuine fear. This was an external provocation.

An interesting opening move, she thought from the calm center of her feigned incapacitation. But it’s too crude for the black robes, too mundane. A test? From a local power? Or a rival gambler using mortal means to eliminate competition?

A casino manager in a sharp tuxedo knelt beside her. His face was pale. “Madame! Can you hear me? Medic! We need a medic!”

Su Yao allowed a weak, gurgling cough, playing the part of a woman clinging to life. Someone in Macau knew she was coming, and their first response was a sniper rifle. It was almost charming in its simplicity.

Let them think they’ve drawn first blood, she mused, keeping her body limp as hands lifted her onto a stretcher. Let them get comfortable. The moment they check their hand, they’ll find I’ve already dealt the winning cards.

As she was carried on the stretcher, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the panicked whispers of casino staff filling her senses, Su Yao’s mind raced through the probabilities. Or is this just the enemy of the person whose identity I’m using now?

That shot was too precise, too professional for a random act. It reeked of a targeted assassination.

Who even is Madame Meng?

The cover identity provided by Zhang Wei’s team was supposed to be a mainland businesswoman with sufficient wealth to explain her presence at high-stakes tables. The dossier had been sparse on personal history, focusing on financial backing and behavioral patterns.

Had they slipped her into an identity with pre-existing baggage? A rival? A jilted business partner? The simplicity of the attack suggested a mortal enemy unrelated to the spiritual threat she was hunting.

She kept her breathing shallow, her body limp, as medics wheeled her into a private clinic within the casino complex. Through slitted eyes, she noted the security detail. They were tense, armed men with the hardened auras of ex-military. Their whispers were sharp and worried.

“Who would hit Madame Meng here? The timing is too coincidental.”

“Her people in Shenzhen have been quiet. This has to be from the Hong Kong side.”

“The boss wants this contained. No police.”

Su Yao stored the fragments. So Madame Meng had ties to Shenzhen and potential rivals in Hong Kong. This was a mundane power struggle, a distraction. But distractions could be useful. They often drew out the very elements she sought.

A doctor approached. His hands glowed with a faint diagnostic spell. Macau’s underworld had some spiritual resources, after all. As he reached to examine her neck, Su Yao decided to accelerate the game. She let her eyes snap open. Her hand clamped around his wrist with imperceptible speed.

“Tell your boss I wish to speak,” she said. Her voice was low and steady, no trace of injury. “The shot was meant for Madame Meng, but I’m not her. And I’m very interested in who wants her dead.”

The doctor froze, his diagnostic spell sputtering out. His eyes widened with a strange, weary resignation. He allowed her grip to hold him.

“No one,” he whispered. His voice was raspy. “And everyone.”

Before Su Yao could demand clarification, the curtain to the makeshift medical bay was swept aside. A man stood there, impeccably dressed in a tailored silk suit. His hands were clasped behind his back. He was of indeterminate age. His face was smooth, but his eyes held the weight of decades of calculated ruthlessness.

“The good doctor is prone to philosophical vagaries,” the man said. His voice was a calm, measured baritone. “He means that ‘Madame Meng’ is a ghost, a fiction my organization created to lure certain investors from the mainland out of their carefully guarded territories. It seems one of them discovered the ruse and sent a rather direct reply.”

He stepped closer. His gaze appraised Su Yao with a cold, professional interest. “You aren’t Madame Meng. Which means you are either from a rival syndicate, or you are something else entirely. The fact that you are alive, let alone conscious, and that a 7.62mm round seems to have done little more than ruin your dress, strongly suggests the latter.”

Su Yao released the doctor’s wrist. “The shot was a test for me.”

“An unintended one, but still worth noting nonetheless,” the man conceded with a slight nod. “I’m Gao Shun. This is my establishment. You’ve walked into my web using a name I spun. That makes you my problem. But a problem that can survive a sniper’s bullet is also a potential asset.”

He gestured to the room around them. “The doctor is correct in his way. ‘Madame Meng’ has no single enemy. She is a concept. Concepts attract opposition from all directions. You’ve inherited her war without any of her context. An unfortunate position.”

Su Yao stood, brushing a speck of imaginary dust from her sleeve. The blood on her neck had already dried and flaked away. The skin beneath was perfectly smooth. “Unfortunate for whom? I required a cover to investigate the disruptions in your city. It seems I have been handed a key role in its primary conflict.”

Gao Shun’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “And what is your verdict so far?”

“That your security is competent against mortal threats,” Su Yao said. Her eyes locked with his. “But the city is changing and the rules are being rewritten. The sniper in the distance is the least of your concerns. I’m here to find the things that bullets can’t harm.”

“Then it seems our interests may align, for now,” Gao Shun said. “You need access. I control it. And I need to understand the new players on my board. You appear to be an expert in the, inexplicable.”

“Then we have an understanding,” Su Yao stated. “You will provide me with the resources and freedom to operate. In return, I will neutralize the threats you can’t see. Starting with the one who tried to shoot your ghost.”

She stepped past him, toward the door. “Cancel my suite. I no longer require the identity of Madame Meng. From now on, they will know me by my results.”

“An agreement, then,” Gao Shun said. A flicker of interest was in his otherwise impassive eyes. “But if we are to be associates, what should I call you?”

Su Yao’s gaze drifted past him, landing on the doctor who was now nervously packing his medical kit. His face had a vague, nagging familiarity. Something about the set of the jaw and the weary slope of the shoulders reminded her of a mortal man, centuries ago, whom Baoqing had experimentally turned into a demon after he begged to be with his demon wife forever.

It was a messy, sentimental affair. The wife’s name had been Xiao Bai.

“A name,” Su Yao said. Her voice was flat. “You may call me Xiao Bai.”

She delivered the name like a thrown knife, watching the doctor intently for any flinch, any flicker of recognition in his spiritual aura.

There was none. The doctor simply finished securing his bag. His expression was one of professional concern and residual fear, completely untouched by the name. He was just a man, a different man.

A coincidence of features, Su Yao concluded internally. The mortal genome has a limited portfolio of expressions.

Gao Shun raised an eyebrow. “Xiao Bai? A common name. It tells me nothing.”

“It tells you that names are as disposable as identities,” Su Yao replied, turning her attention back to the kingpin. “And that I have no interest in the past histories of the people in this room. My focus is on the disruption occurring now. The sniper was a symptom. I will find the disease.”

She walked toward the door. The persona of Madame Meng was completely shed. “Have your people secure the sniper’s nest. I want the bullet casing, the angle of entry, and any biological traces. Don’t touch the spiritual residue, I will handle that myself.”

Gao Shun gave a slow, approving nod. “How direct. Very well, Xiao Bai. My resources are at your disposal. For now.”

Su Yao had a lead, however thin. A mortal sniper, a tangled web of corporate espionage, and a city ripe with chaotic power. It was a start. The doctor’s lack of reaction to the name ‘Xiao Bai’ was one less loose thread to pull.

The door swung shut behind her as she stepped out of the clinic. A thought surfaced, unbidden and almost amusing. The real Xiao Bai and that fool Xu Xian, are they still breathing down the centuries?

She recalled the tales of the white snake spirit and her mortal-turned-demon husband. They were sentimentalists, but durable ones. If they were alive, they’d be powerful. Powerful beings tended to notice when their names were being tossed around by someone causing a stir.

Would they mind me borrowing the name? she mused. A cold smirk touched her lips. Probably. But if they are out there, hearing that a ‘Xiao Bai’ is making waves in Macau might just lure them into the open. It would be a little controlled chaos, meant to flush out potential assets or threats.

Gao Shun emerged beside her. His guards formed a discreet perimeter. “The sniper’s nest is being secured as you instructed. What is your first move as Xiao Bai?”

Her eyes scanned the casino floor, noting the faint spiritual tremors from the newly empowered gamblers. “My first move is to make the name known. Find me the highest-stakes table available. Spread the word that a woman named Xiao Bai is here to break the bank.”

Su Yao chose a baccarat table shimmering with the most intense, if unrefined, spiritual energy. Three of the six players glowed with the distinct, chaotic signature of the Duwang awakening. They thought themselves clever, using their new gifts to nudge fate.

One, a woman with too many rings, was subtly heating the edges of specific cards to mark them. Another, a man in a loud shirt, had a telekinetic grip on the shoe, ready to skip a card. The third, sweating profusely, was attempting a crude probability warp, trying to make the Banker win through sheer force of will.

They were children playing with dynamite.

Su Yao, now ‘Xiao Bai,’ bought in with a stack of high-denomination chips provided by Gao Shun. She placed her bet on Player.

The game began and the woman with the rings smiled as she received a card she had pre-warmed. Su Yao flicked a fingernail under the table. A wisp of foxfire, colder than absolute zero, shot out and neutralized the heat signature on every card in the shoe. The woman’s smile vanished. She stared at a hand that was now completely unreadable to her.

“Your method lacks subtlety,” Su Yao commented without looking at her. “Thermodynamics is a blunt instrument for baccarat.”

On the next hand, the man in the loud shirt focused. His telekinetic grip prepared to cheat the deal. Su Yao took a small sip of water. As she set the glass down, the vibration traveled through the floor, up the table leg, and into the shoe, creating a harmonic resonance that shattered his spiritual concentration. The card he meant to skip was dealt. He flinched as if struck.

“An unstable foundation,” Su Yao noted. “Your grip is all force, no finesse. You might as well try to hold water with a sieve.”

The third man, the probability warper, was pouring all his energy into the Banker’s hand. Su Yao simply exhaled. The breath was infused with a fragment of her own celestial authority over chance and fortune. It was an override. The local probability field, which he was straining to bend, suddenly snapped back to its natural state with the force of a released spring. It then gently tilted in Su Yao’s favor.

The Player hand won again and the warper gasped, clutching his chest as his own rebounding energy knocked the wind from him.

“Your will is a scream in a hurricane,” Su Yao said, collecting her winnings. “Mine is the eye of the storm. You can’t command the weather by shouting at the clouds.”

Within four hands, she had publicly dissected and dismantled their every attempt to cheat. They stared at her. Their newfound power was revealed as a pathetic toy in the face of true, ancient mastery.

“The house thanks you for your demonstration,” the pit boss murmured, his face pale as he watched the three powered cheaters slink away, utterly humiliated.

Su Yao stacked her chips. “Your security is still inadequate.” She stood. “The next ones who try this won’t be so easily discouraged. Or so easily broken.”

She left the table. The name ‘Xiao Bai’ was already spreading through the casino in a whisper of fear and fascination. Her bait was set. Now she waited to see what bigger fish it would attract.

Near the service entrance, three newly powered cheaters huddled together. Their auras were dimmed with humiliation and fear. They flinched as she approached, a unified movement of prey spotting a predator.

“You,” the telekinetic man stammered. “What do you want? We’re done! We lost everything!”

“Your current application of power is wasteful and doomed to failure,” Su Yao stated. Her voice was devoid of judgment, merely stating a fact. “You attempt to cheat a system that is itself a structured cheat, a redundant and pointless endeavor.”

The probability warper looked up. Desperation was in his eyes. “What else are we supposed to do? This thing inside us is like an itch we can’t scratch!”

“Exactly. A pointless irritation,” Su Yao agreed. “However, that irritation has measurable utility. The government is currently hiring for its Anomalous Materials and Containment division, offering adequate pay. Among the benefits provided is dental coverage. You will be taught how to channel your ‘itch’ into tasks more productive than losing money to a casino.”

They stared at her, utterly bewildered. “The government?” the card-heater whispered.

“Yes. They require individuals who understand the crude, early-stage manifestations of spiritual power like you. You’ve already demonstrated a willingness to misuse your abilities, which gives the psychologists a clear baseline for your rehabilitation. Your failure here is, in fact, your primary qualification.”

She produced three plain white business cards from a hidden pocket. They were blank except for a single string of numbers that was a secure line to a Stabilization recruitment desk.

“Call this number and mention my name, Xiao Bai. It will fast-track your application.” Her gaze swept over them, cold and final. “This is the only logical next step in your survival equation. Continue on your current path, and you will be arrested by mundane authorities or eliminated by supernatural ones. Accept, and you become a contained, budgeted asset. The choice is simple.”

The telekinetic man reached out a trembling hand and took a card, the other two following suit. Their expressions were a mixture of terror and dawning, reluctant hope.

“Good,” Su Yao said. “Now, leave. Your audition is over. I have a sniper to trace.”

She turned and walked away, leaving them clutching their government lifelines. Three problems, neatly identified, processed, and delegated.

It was, she reflected, a far better use of resources than letting them blunder into the path of the real players. And it expanded my influence within Zhang Wei’s bureaucracy. All in all, a productive night.