Chapter 102: Biographical Failure
Drafts became chapters. Chapters became a finished manuscript. Su Yao’s biography, The Truth of the Nine Tails, was published soon after. Despite Yumi’s polished prose and factual accuracy, public reception was tepid. The slanderous Azure Mist Chronicles remained the popular favorite.
Li Xiu arrived at Su Yao’s apartment with a digital report. “The sales figures are in. Your book has sold only a few hundred copies. But the movie’s streaming numbers have increased by fifteen percent this week.”
Su Yao scanned the data. “Mortal tastes are predictably shallow. The truth is often inconvenient.”
Yumi stepped forward. She knelt on the floor, bowing until her forehead touched the ground. “I’ve failed in my duty to convey your story and offer my head as apology for this disgrace. Please end my life.”
Su Yao looked down at her, then at Li Xiu. “Get up. Your dramatic gesture is wasted here. I commissioned the book for accuracy. That was achieved.”
“But the mission to correct public perception has failed. My life is forfeit.”
“Your life is more useful editing future drafts,” Su Yao said, turning away. “If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you when we first met. Now, stop this nonsense and help Li Xiu with her midterm studies. The comet approaches, and I’ve no time for pointless theatrics.”
Yumi rose from her bow. “The failure is mine to bear. A debt of honor remains.”
“Honor?” Su Yao asked. “You’re a gumiho from the Korean peninsula. Your ancestors hunted in the mountains of Gyeongju long before you were forced to kneel in Kyoto. Your blood is Korean first, your citizenship a political accident. Don’t debase yourself with rituals that were never yours to begin with.”
Li Xiu’s face paled. Her hand flew to her mouth. “What did the Japanese Empire do to you?”
A faint tremor went through Yumi’s shoulders. “They did what conquering empires always do,” she said, her voice barely audible. “They tried to erase who I was by giving me a new name, new customs, new masters, and telling me my past was nothing but a primitive myth.”
Su Yao watched them both. “They attempted to forge a loyal weapon from a wild spirit and failed. The steel retained its original temper.”
Li Xiu stepped forward. “You will never have to kneel like that again. Do you understand me?”
Yumi lifted her head. Her eyes met Li Xiu’s. She gave a single nod.
Li Xiu’s eyes lit up. “We could use the comet’s power! We could finally liberate Korea from Japan’s influence!”
Su Yao snorted. “How unoriginal. Every faction with a grudge thinks the same way. The people who tortured Yumi are dust now. Only their great-grandchildren remain, likely oblivious. The best revenge is to live well and annoy them with your success.”
She shrugged, folding her arms. “If that bores you, you could always petition King Yama for access to the hells to torment their souls directly. That requires paperwork, and he rarely grants permits for personal vendettas.”
Li Xiu’s eyes widened. “How do you know how to get access to hell?”
Su Yao shrugged. “I tried once when I wanted to confront the author who wrote the original slanderous novel that inspired the movie. He’s in the eighth hell because he hoarded grain during a famine and let his neighbors starve to death. King Yama denied my petition. Too much bureaucracy for a personal grudge.”
Yumi rose from her knees, fixing her gaze on Su Yao. “Your biography has been rejected by the public. What will you do now?”
“Some works only gain recognition centuries after the author’s death. I can afford to wait. The truth will outlast their fleeting entertainment.”
Li Xiu nodded. “So you’re playing the long game. I suppose immortality has its perks.”
Su Yao’s lips curved into a smile. “Indeed. And with the masses now convinced that Xue Qing is the true Su Yao, the situation has become far more entertaining. I think I’ll take it a step further. Why not reveal that Xiao Ling is actually Xie Jing? Let them untangle that web. The confusion will be educational.”
Xie Jing stepped into Su Yao’s apartment, clutching a stack of textbooks to her chest. “I’m here! Ready to conquer these midterms!”
Su Yao looked up from her own notes. “Sit down and be serious this time. You can’t afford to repeat this class again. The professors are already weary of your consistent failures. I will not waste my time reteaching you the same material.”
Xie Jing pouted, dropping into a chair. “But it’s so boring! All these graphs and numbers, couldn’t we just use a little celestial influence to—”
“No,” Su Yao cut her off. “You will pass through mortal means. Now, open your economics textbook to chapter five. We start with supply and demand curves. Don’t make me regret this.”
Su Yao opened the economics textbook to chapter five. “Explain the supply curve.”
Xie Jing glanced at the page for a second. “It’s basic. The supply curve slopes upward because producers are willing to supply more at higher prices. The demand curve slopes downward because consumers buy less when prices rise. The equilibrium is where they intersect.”
She sketched a perfect graph in the air with a flick of her finger. The lines glowed with abyssal energy.
Li Xiu stared. “How did you do that? I’ve been struggling with this for weeks.”
Xie Jing shrugged. “It’s obvious. The math is trivial. You just need to understand the incentives.” She derived the formulas for elasticity without looking at the book.
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “If you comprehend the material so easily, why do you fail?”
Xie Jing sighed. “The attendance policy. I keep missing classes to film on location. The professors don’t care if I know the answers and only care if I show up.”
“So you’re failing because of bureaucracy?” Li Xiu asked.
“Exactly,” Xie Jing said. “Now, let me show you how to solve this optimization problem. It’s more fun than it looks.” She began explaining calculus applications in economics. Her explanations were clear and concise.
Su Yao listened. “Perhaps you aren’t entirely useless.”
Xie Jing beamed. “See? I told you I’m not just a pretty face.”
Su Yao closed the economics textbook. The study session wound down. “If you’re this smart, why spend all your time on set instead of in class? What is it about filming and acting that you like so much?”
Xie Jing’s smile faded. “When I’m on set, I get to be someone else. For a few hours, I don’t have to be the Witch of the Abyss, the forgotten entity rotting from the inside out. I don’t have to remember that the love of my eternity is dead and that my existence is meaningless. The cameras let me pretend I still have a soul.”
Su Yao stared at her.
Xie Jing’s eyes glazed over. “Do you know what it’s like to watch civilizations rise and fall while you remain unchanged? To see every relationship turn to dust because you outlive them all? I’ve forgotten more names than most people will ever know. Sometimes I act just to feel something, anything, before the numbness sets in again.”
Li Xiu shifted. “Xue Qing, maybe we should take a break—”
Xie Jing laughed. “You think I choose this? The abyss doesn’t care about your schedules or midterms. It just consumes.”
Xie Jing slammed her hands on the table. Her body trembled. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed. “It’s all pointless! Everything! We’re just ghosts clinging to a world that’s moved on!”
Li Xiu rushed to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Xue Qing, calm down! It’s okay!”
Yumi stepped forward. “You aren’t alone. We are here for you.”
Xie Jing jerked away from Li Xiu and glared at Yumi. “You! You don’t understand! You’re just an animal! You hunt, eat, sleep, repeat! You don’t have to think about eternity! Your life is simple!”
“Xie Jing, have you ever considered seeing a therapist?” Li Xiu asked.“A professional could help.”
Xie Jing laughed. “I tried once. After the third session, my credit card declined. The therapist said he couldn’t carry my balance and handed me back all my trauma and psychological baggage in a sealed envelope. He said it was ‘against his policy’ to work pro bono.”
She wiped her eyes. “I think he just didn’t want to deal with a four-thousand-year-old depressive episode.”
Yumi tilted her head. “I could acquire a new credit card for you. The process is simple.”
Su Yao sighed. “The failure of modern mental health services isn’t our concern. Your existential dread is interfering with macroeconomic theory. Silence it or I will silence it for you.”
Xie Jing glared at them through her tears. “You don’t understand! I envy all of you!” She pointed a trembling finger at Su Yao. “You, Su Yao! You’re always so certain! You never doubt your place in the world!”
Her gaze shifted to Li Xiu. “And you, Li Xiu! You’re human! You have a short life, but it has meaning! You can die and be done with it!” Finally, she turned to Yumi. “And you, Yumi! You’re an animal! You don’t have to think about eternity or loss! You just exist!”
Li Xiu reached out again. “Xie Jing, please—”
“I don’t have the luxury of simplicity. I must constantly control my instincts to remain in society. But I understand your pain.”
Xie Jing sank to the floor, sobbing. “It’s not fair—”
Her sobs cut off. She looked up, her eyes glowing. “I’ve a better idea,” she whispered. “I’ll kill you all. Then I’ll wear your skins and live your lives. I’ll be Su Yao, the powerful fox. I’ll be Li Xiu, the meaningful human. I’ll be Yumi, the simple animal. I won’t be me anymore.”
Li Xiu stumbled back. “Xue Qing, no! You don’t mean that!”
Yumi shifted into a defensive stance. Her claws extended. “That would be inconvenient.”
Su Yao stepped forward. “Your plan is flawed. You would still be yourself inside. Your despair would follow you.”
Xie Jing laughed. “Let’s find out!”
Her abyssal energy surged toward Su Yao. Su Yao raised a hand, and the energy dissipated around her fingers.
“Stop this foolishness,” Su Yao said. “You don’t need to kill me to live as me. I am already planning to make the world believe that I am you and you’re me. From now on, you will be Su Yao, and I will be Xie Jing. Your identity crisis is solved without bloodshed.”
Xie Jing froze. “What? You would give me your name?”
Li Xiu gasped. “Xiao Ling, are you serious?”
Yumi watched. Her claws retracted.
Su Yao nodded. “The rumors are already spreading. The public thinks Xue Qing is Su Yao. Soon, they will believe Xiao Ling is Xie Jing. You can have the legacy you envy. Now, sit down and finish studying. Your new role requires passing grades.”
Xie Jing straightened her posture, and her movements grew measured. She picked up a fallen textbook with her hands.
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing now?”
“I am acting like you,” Xie Jing said. “The real you. The Su Yao from before the Celestial Court punished you and turned you into an alcoholic. The handmaiden of Nuwa, gracious and poised.” She smiled. “This is the version the world should see, is it not?”
Li Xiu watched. “She’s good.”
Yumi observed, tilting her head.
Su Yao watched the performance. “Cease this immediately. Your imitation is an insult.”
“But it’s what you’re giving me,” Xie Jing replied. “The identity of Su Yao. I am simply inhabiting it with the dignity it once possessed. Now, shall we continue our studies? I believe we were on fiscal policy.” She opened the textbook.
Su Yao stared. She had offered a swap to stop a breakdown, but had instead unleashed a different kind of madness. “If you call me ‘kind’ or ‘righteous,’ I will seal you in a gourd myself.”
“You used to say that all truly strong people are kind,” Xie Jing said.
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “That is Li Xuan’s line from the movie.”
Xie Jing shook her head. “No. It was yours. Back when you served Nuwa, before the Celestial Court turned on you. Li Xuan heard you say it and used it for his own legend.”
Su Yao fell silent. A flicker of memory from a time when she believed in such ideals surfaced. “Ancient history is irrelevant. Focus on the present.”
Li Xiu watched the exchange, her brow furrowed. “So Li Xuan stole your wisdom?”
Xie Jing smiled. “See? Even your past is being erased. But now that I am Su Yao, I will remind the world of the truth.”
Su Yao frowned. “Don’t presume to speak for me. I am not that person anymore.”
“Then who are you?” Xie Jing asked.
Su Yao stood up.“I am the one who will pass this midterm without your dramatics.”
The room fell silent. Xie Jing sat with perfect posture, her hands folded on the economics textbook and a smile fixed on her face.
“It’s like watching a ghost,” Li Xiu said.
Su Yao’s jaw tightened. “That person is dead. Your pantomime is pointless.”
“But is she?” Xie Jing asked, tilting her head. “Or did you just bury her deep within? I am simply unearthing the original.”
“You’re playing with things you don’t understand,” Su Yao warned. A flicker of foxfire ignited in her pupils.
“I am embodying the identity you gave me,” Xie Jing countered. “If it unsettles you, perhaps the problem is your own rejection of what you once were.”
Su Yao stood. The chair scraped against the floor. “The study session is over. Leave.”
Xie Jing nodded. “As you wish. I will continue my preparations elsewhere.” She walked away from the room, leaving behind the chilling impression of a ghost that had learned to wear skin.
Li Xiu let out a breath. “That was terrifying.”
“She has become a mirror,” Yumi said. “And you don’t like what you see.”
Su Yao stared at the space where Xie Jing had been. The plan to swap their public identities had seemed a simple tactical move. She hadn’t anticipated that Xie Jing would weaponize the past itself. Now, she had to contend with a walking and talking reminder of her own eroded ideals.
She decided it was a form of psychological warfare.
Li Xiu watched Su Yao who stood frozen, staring at the distance. “Xiao Ling? Are you alright?”
Su Yao’s hands trembled. A laugh escaped her lips. “Alright?” she echoed. “Nothing is alright. I’ve spent millennia building walls around myself, and that fool Xie Jing tears them down with a few words and a pathetic imitation.”
She turned to Li Xiu. “Do you know what it’s like to have your own past used against you? To be reminded of a version of yourself that you killed off because it was too painful to exist?”
Li Xiu took a step back. “Xiao Ling, I—”
“Silence!” Su Yao screamed. Her form flickered with uncontrolled spiritual energy. “I am so tired of it all! I just wanted to live quietly, but everyone wants a piece of me! I don’t even know who I am anymore!”
Yumi moved closer. “Su Yao, you’re losing control. This isn’t productive.”
“Productive?” Su Yao laughed. “What does productivity matter when your very soul is a patchwork of regrets? I poisoned myself with alcohol to forget. Now I’m sober, and it’s all rushing back! They all took pieces of me, and I let them!”
She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head. “I’m so tired. I just want it to stop.”
Li Xiu knelt beside her. “Xiao Ling, we’re here for you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Yumi nodded. “Even the strongest need to rest. Let us help you.”
Su Yao looked up. Tears streamed down her face. “Help? How? You can’t fix eternity.”
Yumi took a step toward the kneeling Su Yao. “I can help. Let me kill you so I can eat your liver.”
Li Xiu stared. “Yumi! What are you saying?”
Yumi’s claws elongated. A low growl rumbled in her chest. “The hunger never stops. Your liver would satiate me for centuries, and you would finally rest.”
Su Yao looked up. “You think that would help? You think consumption is an answer?”
“It’s my answer,” Yumi said. Saliva dripped from her fangs. “It’s what I am. You said it yourself. We can’t change. Let me do this for you, a final kindness.”
Li Xiu threw herself between them, arms spread. “Yumi, no! Stop this!”
Su Yao laughed. “Even in my moment of weakness, I am just a meal to you.” She pushed herself to her feet. The tremor in her hands vanished. “Your offer is rejected. If I am to be consumed, it will not be by a house-trained gumiho having a relapse.”
Yumi snarled, poised to lunge.
Su Yao’s gaze locked onto hers. “Stand down. Your hunger is your own problem. Don’t make it mine.”