I am NOT a Demon Queen!

Freshly changed, Su Yao felt her impatience sharpen into something closer to anticipation. She phased to the riverbank. The secluded curve of water behind the old industrial sector was their usual spot. Bai Lang was already there, leaning against a ginkgo tree and grinning.

“Took you long enough,” the wolf spirit said, then gestured with her chin. “Look who I dug up.”

A woman stepped out from behind the tree. Her face belonged to the actress Su Yao had seen on a dozen movie posters, the one who had played her in the slanderous Azure Mist Chronicles. But the spiritual signature emanating from her was ancient, cloying, and unmistakably familiar.

“Su Yao!” the woman trilled, clasping her hands together. “It’s been forever!”

Bai Lang, enjoying the spectacle, made the introduction. “Su Yao, this is Xie Jing.”

Su Yao’s expression froze into a mask of pure, unadulterated contempt. Xie Jing was another nine-tailed fox from her era infamous for her single-minded adoration of Li Xuan. Breathing the same air as her caused Su Yao to feel several brain cells wither and die.

“You,” Su Yao stated. The word dripped with frost.

“It’s me!” Xie Jing beamed, completely oblivious to the killing intent. “When Bai Lang told me you were awake, I just had to come! We have so much to catch up on! Do you know I’ve been keeping up with all the modern movies about Li Xuan? The one I starred in was the most accurate, of course. I made sure they captured his noble brow and kind eyes just right!”

Su Yao closed her eyes for a brief second, summoning borrowed patience. “You portrayed me being slain by him.”

“Well, yes,” Xie Jing said, blinking as if this were obvious. “It’s the most romantic part of his story! His greatest triumph! I would have loved to have been slain by him. It’s so tragic and beautiful!” She sighed dreamily.

Bai Lang snickered. “See? Told you you’d want to meet her.”

Su Yao opened her eyes and fixed Bai Lang with a stare that could flash-freeze hell. “This is your idea of an ‘old friend’? This, historical reenactment of intellectual deficiency?”

Xie Jing pouted. “You’re still so mean, Su Yao. I thought you’d have mellowed out after dying and coming back.” She leaned in. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, is it true? Is he really, gone? Li Xuan?”

Su Yao simply stared at her. The silence was more crushing than any verbal reply.

Xie Jing’s shoulders slumped. “What a tragedy! The world is so much duller without him in it.” She then perked up again. “Oh! I’ve a collection of limited edition Li Xuan keychains! I can show you!”

Su Yao turned to Bai Lang. “I’m going to dismember you.”

Bai Lang’s grin widened. “And miss all the fun? Come on. Let’s go get some drinks. I want to hear you two ‘reminisce’.”

“There is nothing to reminisce about,” Su Yao stated. Her voice was utterly flat. In a single, fluid motion, she produced a dagger from nowhere and plunged it into Xie Jing’s chest.

Xie Jing let out a dramatic, gasping squeak. “Oh! How rude!”

Bai Lang stared. Her jaw was slightly slack. “What are you doing?!”

Su Yao pulled the dagger out and stabbed her again. “Since Xie Jing was the Witch of the Abyss, whose entire schtick is about not dying, it should be perfectly okay for me to stab her.” Stab. “Repeatedly.” Stab. “Right?”

She twisted the blade. “Because meeting her makes me want to stab someone. Specifically, her.”

Xie Jing looked down at the rapidly multiplying holes in her designer blouse, pouting. “This is vintage! And you’re being so unreasonable. I was just trying to be friendly!”

“You breathed in my direction,” Su Yao said coldly, delivering another precise stab. “That is an act of psychological warfare I will not tolerate.”

She pulled the dagger out and immediately plunged it back in. “This is for slandering my name and turning me into a ‘Demon Queen’ in that cinematic drivel.” Stab.

Xie Jing blinked. “But I thought the role was very compelling—” she started.

“And this,” Su Yao interrupted, striking again, “is for undoubtedly being the one who cursed Li Xuan’s descendants. This reeks of your particular brand of sentimental, convoluted nonsense.” Stab.

“I would never! I adored him! A curse is so unsubtle!”

“Don’t lie to me.” Stab. “This one is for creating the black robes. You’re their master, aren’t you? This level of dull persistent annoyance has your fingerprints all over it.”

“Me? Manage an organization? The paperwork must be dreadful, I’d never—”

Stab. “And this is for inventing bubble tea. It’s a diabetic abomination, and you have the poor taste to be responsible.”

Stab. “This is for the 2008 financial crisis.”

Stab. “This is for that one pothole on my street that never gets fixed.”

Stab. “This is for the existence of mosquitos.”

Bai Lang finally grabbed Su Yao’s wrist on the upswing for another thrust. “Okay, I think she gets the point. Even if she can’t die, you’re going to give her a complex. And you’re blaming her for arthropods now. That’s a reach, even for you.”

Su Yao yanked her wrist back. The dagger disappeared. “She deserves blame for the general state of the universe. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

She glared at Xie Jing, who was patiently picking at a loose thread on her ruined blouse. “I’m getting a headache from your mere existence. Let’s get this over with. But you’re paying for the drinks.”

Xie Jing pouted, delicately prodding one of the freshly healed spots on her chest. “But why do you dislike me so much? Truly? We were practically neighbors for three millennia!”

Su Yao’s glare could have frozen lava. “Because,” she bit out, each word sharp as a blade, “you were the Witch of the Abyss. The silence at the end of all things. A being even the Celestial Court hesitated to provoke. I respected you once.”

She took a step closer. Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “But then you discovered Li Xuan. And you became this simpering, sighing simpleton whose entire existence revolves around a man who found you as intellectually stimulating as a pet rock. You traded the respect of primordials for the collection of keychains. Your decline is the greatest tragedy of our age, and being near you is a constant reminder of it.”

Xie Jing had the audacity to look thoughtful. “Oh. That.” She waved a dismissive hand. “That was all so dreary. Being feared is so isolating. But Li Xuan! He had such a nice smile. It’s much more fulfilling to appreciate beautiful things than to be some looming, dreadful entity.” She beamed. “Don’t you think?”

“I think,” Su Yao said. Her voice was dangerously low. “That perhaps the Celestial Court did to you what they did to all of us. They turned me into an alcoholic the same way they turned Bai Lang into a tinfoil-hat-wearing UFO conspiracist.”

She gestured between the two of them. Her expression was one of utter disgust. “And they turned you, the once-dreaded Witch of the Abyss, into a lovesick idiot. In other words, you aren’t in your right mind. Neither of you is. I’m surrounded by celestial casualties, and it’s exhaustingly pathetic.”

Bai Lang looked offended, clutching her chest. “Hey! My theories are based on empirical evidence and a superior olfactory sense!”

Xie Jing just blinked, processing this. “You think the Celestial Court made me love Li Xuan? But that’s so romantic! It means our love was written in the stars! It was fate!”

“Enough.” Su Yao’s voice cut through Xie Jing’s romantic delusion. She reached out with her spiritual sense, a precise, surgical probe aimed at editing. She attempted to temporarily suppress the neural pathways associated with Xie Jing’s memories of Li Xuan, to make her forget the man even for just a single, blissful moment.

Xie Jing’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “I… what was I...?” Her gaze drifted to the sign of the bar across the street, seemingly captivated by the blinking lights.

The world continued to turn, utterly indifferent.

Su Yao withdrew her influence. The vacuous adoration immediately flooded back into Xie Jing’s expression. “Oh! Right! Li Xuan’s favorite color was azure, like the sky at dawn on—” she was cut off as Su Yao’s hand clamped over her mouth.

“The theory is invalid,” Su Yao stated. Her voice was flat with a fresh layer of contempt as she ignored Xie Jing’s muffled protests. “No celestial safeguard was activated. Your idiocy is tragically your genuine state of being.”

She released the other fox, wiping her hand on her pants as if touching something foul. “The Celestial Court is innocent of this particular crime. You are simply like this.”

Bai Lang, who had been watching the experiment with interest, shrugged. “So she’s just naturally a lovesick fool. Honestly, that’s almost more depressing.”

“Indeed,” Su Yao said, giving Xie Jing a look of pure, undiluted pity. “It means there is no cure. Let’s get that drink. I need to scour the memory of this entire conversation from my mind.”

Bai Lang chuckled, nudging Su Yao with her elbow. “Isn’t she better this way? Because previously, she wanted someone who could kill her to appear. Now, she’s just happily obsessed with a dead guy. It’s a step up from suicidal boredom, right?”

Su Yao shot her a withering look. “No. Wanting to die is a logical response to an eternity of existence. This is a descent into voluntary brain damage. She traded the dignity of seeking oblivion for the humiliation of unrequited fandom. It’s a downgrade from tragedy to farce.”

Xie Jing, overhearing, sighed dreamily. “But love is the greatest adventure of all! Even if it’s unrequited, it gives life meaning!”

Su Yao pointed at Xie Jing without looking at her. “Case in point. Let’s go. If I’ve to listen to another word, I might just grant her original wish myself.”

Xie Jing clasped her hands together with a hopeful smile. “Then can we at least get milk tea before you kill me?”

“Fine,” Su Yao gritted out, steering Xie Jing by the elbow toward a nearby Chagee. “But if you order something named ‘Love Potion’ or ‘Eternal Devotion,’ I will pour it over your head.”

Bai Lang skipped ahead, peering at the menu. “Ooh, they have a new ‘Brown Sugar Bobo Milky Way’! Sounds cosmic!”

Xie Jing clasped her hands. Her eyes scanned the board. “Do you think Li Xuan would have liked the classic milk tea? He was so traditional, yet so thoughtful.”

Su Yao ignored her and addressed the barista with dead-eyed efficiency. “One plain jasmine green tea, no sugar.” She then pointed at Xie Jing. “She will have the sweetest, most diabetic concoction on the menu with extra whipped cream. And she’s paying.”

Xie Jing pouted but handed over her credit card. “I’ll have the ‘Strawberry Cloud Macchiato’ with extra heart-shaped sprinkles! For Li Xuan!” she trilled.

As the drinks were prepared, Bai Lang elbowed Su Yao. “Come on, live a little. Get a bubble tea. The tapioca pearls are like little chewy enemies you can destroy with your teeth.”

Su Yao took her plain tea with a sniff. “I only consume sustenance for function.”

When Xie Jing received her drink, piled high with cream and sprinkles, she immediately took a selfie with it. “This is so him! Sweet, with a hidden depth!”

Taking a long sip of her bitter tea, Su Yao wished it were something stronger. “I need to find the black robes soon. Any more of this, and I might join them just for the silence.”

Su Yao watched as Xie Jing meticulously arranged her macchiato for another selfie, babbling about how the foam swirls reminded her of Li Xuan’s robe patterns. The sheer, unending inanity of it should have been unbearable. But a cold, logical thought crystallized in Su Yao’s mind.

She turned to Bai Lang. Her voice was low. “The black robes will never fulfill their objective.”

Bai Lang paused, a tapioca pearl halfway to her mouth. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Their goal is to eliminate our kind. But Xie Jing is the Witch of the Abyss. She can’t be killed. Even if they somehow took out every other nine-tailed fox, she would remain, endlessly sighing over a dead man.”

Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “This also rules her out as the mastermind. Why would she orchestrate a campaign to eliminate competition when she can simply outlive everyone? It would be redundant. And she lacks the ambition or focus for such a scheme. She’s too busy curating her Li Xuan shrine.”

Bai Lang considered this, then nodded. “Yeah, that tracks. So we’re back to square one with the black robes. No closer to finding their leader.”

“Exactly.” Su Yao took a final sip of her bitter tea, crushing the cup in her hand. “Which means this has been a waste of time. Let’s go, I’ve classes to attend.”

She glared at Xie Jing, who was now trying to lick the heart-shaped sprinkles off her drink without messing up her lipstick. “And you. Stay out of my way. Your existence is a distraction I can’t afford.”

She phased directly from the milk tea shop to the hallway outside the lecture hall. Settling into her usual seat at the back, she scanned the room out of habit. Her gaze paused on the digital roster displayed on the lectern. One name, perpetually greyed out to mark absence, was now highlighted in green:

Xue Qing.

As the professor began his droning lecture on market elasticity, the door slid open. Xie Jing entered, offering the professor a graceful, apologetic smile before taking a seat near the front. She wore a tasteful pantsuit. Her posture was poised and attentive. She pulled out a tablet. Her expression was one of focused intellect.

“Sorry for the interruption, Professor,” Xie Jing said softly.

The professor waved a hand. “Take your seat, Miss Xie. We were just discussing price sensitivity.”

Su Yao observed. A cold curiosity cut through her annoyance. Xie Jing answered a question about fiscal policy with a coherent, well-reasoned response that drew a nod of approval from the professor. She was performing the role of a serious, slightly aloof star student perfectly.

“In a mixed market system,” Xie Jing said calmly, “elasticity fluctuates depending on consumer perception, not just income.”

“Precisely,” the professor replied, pleased.

This public persona was a fully functioning mask, a carefully maintained image to facilitate her mortal career. The obsessive, brain-addled fool was a private indulgence. It was a fascinating, and utterly pathetic dichotomy.

“How tiresome,” Su Yao murmured under her breath. “So this is the version you show the world.”

When the class ended, Xie Jing gathered her things with efficient grace and left without a backward glance. It seemed that for her, the ‘Su Yao’ from the riverbank and the ‘student Xiao Ling’ in the lecture hall were entirely separate entities.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Xie Jing said politely.

“Don’t forget the reading for next week,” he reminded her.

She smiled. “Of course.”

Su Yao decided to waste one afternoon. She followed the ‘actress Xue Qing.’

“Let’s see how long this act holds,” Su Yao whispered, slipping into the crowd.

The actress left the economics building and walked across campus with a measured, purposeful stride. She stopped at a professional filming permit office, submitting paperwork for an upcoming shoot with polite efficiency.

“Here are the revised location forms,” Xie Jing said.

The clerk skimmed them. “Everything seems in order.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Then she went to a cafe. She ordered a simple black coffee and spent twenty minutes reviewing a script. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration. She made a phone call, discussing scheduling conflicts with her agent in calm, professional tones.

“I can move the rehearsal to Thursday,” she said into the phone. “Yes, I’ll adjust my classes accordingly.”

“No, it won’t be a problem.”

There were no sighs and mentions of Li Xuan.

“No dramatics,” Su Yao scoffed quietly. “How disappointing.”

Su Yao observed from the shadow of a nearby archway. Her senses were extended. Xie Jing’s spiritual signature was muted, tightly controlled, revealing nothing of the abyssal power or the fangirl’s frenzy beneath. It was the performance of a perfectly normal, slightly famous mortal student.

“So careful,” Su Yao murmured. “You hide it well.”

This mundane normality was, in its own way, more irritating than her idiocy. It was a flawless facade. Su Yao hated not being able to see the cracks.

“Hmph,” she said softly. “Everyone fractures eventually.”

As Xie Jing stood to leave, she disposed of her coffee cup in the recycling bin and checked her watch. Then, without turning her head, she spoke softly into the air. Her voice carried just enough to reach Su Yao’s ears.

“Are you quite done, Su Yao? Stalking is so undignified. If you wanted my schedule, you could have just asked. I’ve a photoshoot at Studio B in fifteen minutes. You’re welcome to watch me pretend to be happy for a living detergent brand.”

She finally glanced over her shoulder, meeting Su Yao’s hidden gaze for a split second. A flicker of genuine amusement was in her eyes before the professional mask slid back into place. Then she walked away, leaving Su Yao standing in the shadows. Her surveillance had been discovered and utterly dismissed.

Su Yao phased directly into Xie Jing’s path just outside the studio, causing the actress to stop short.

“You can act perfectly normal,” Su Yao stated. Her voice was low and flat. “So why the incessant brain-addled fangirl performance around me and Bai Lang? Are you purposely trying to irritate us? Is this some game to you?”

Xie Jing’s poised expression remained, but a weary shadow flickered in her eyes. She glanced around the empty corridor before answering. Her voice was softer than usual.

“An act?” she repeated. A hollow smile touched her lips. “After a few thousand years, Su Yao, I don’t know what is an act and what is real anymore. The obsessed fangirl, the serious student, the poised actress, they’re all just costumes. The ‘me’ that remembers being the Witch of the Abyss is so far away it feels like a story about someone else.”

Her eyes were clear and open as they met Su Yao’s gaze. “That version of me is exhausting to maintain around you. You remember her and expect her. So I put on the easiest costume I’ve. The one that doesn’t require me to think or feel the weight of eternity. It’s the path of least resistance.”

She shrugged. It was a delicate, hopeless gesture. “Maybe the fangirl is the real me now. What if I just finally broke after so long? Does it matter?”

Before Su Yao could respond, Xie Jing’s phone buzzed. The vacancy in her eyes vanished, replaced by professional alertness. “That’s my call. The detergent awaits. Try not to stab anyone before I get back.”

Leaving Su Yao standing in the hallway, she walked past her into the studio. The question hung in the air, more unsettling than any direct provocation. Does it matter?