Chapter 111: Hunting Hobbies
“Let me see. Albion’s last recorded territorial violation was...” The dragon paused. “No. That was the western isles dispute. Before that was the matter of the northern sea passage.”
Su Yao stared. “Do you actually have records of these grievances?”
“Obviously. One does not maintain a millennium-spanning grudge from memory alone.”
Su Yao watched the dragon shuffle through imaginary shelves only she could see, searching for the relevant grievance. She pulled out her phone and called Zhang Wei. He answered on the second ring.
“What do you know about Albion?” she asked.
“Albion? He’s the director of the British Museum. Why are you asking about him?” Zhang Wei replied.
“The dragon in Old Duwang wants to fight him,” Su Yao said.
Zhang Wei let out a sigh. “Tell the dragon to get in line. Half the supernatural world wants to fight Albion to reclaim their stolen artifacts. The museum’s collection is a graveyard of looted treasures.”
She held the phone to her ear. “Who else wants to fight Albion?”
“The list is long: Azi Dahaka, Balaur, Fernyiges, Kukulkan, Vritra, Watatsumi, Zirnitra, and many others. The museum’s acquisition policies have angered powerful beings across multiple continents.”
“I see. So the dragon would be one among many in this dispute.”
The head maid listened to Su Yao’s exchange. “The Master’s dispute is one of many, but it’s no less significant for that. The integrity of one’s hoard is a personal matter.”
Su Yao focused her spiritual senses on the maid. “You aren’t some zombie, are you?”
The head maid’s lips curved into a smile. “This one is a baigujing. Or what the Japanese invaders called a hone-onna. What do you intend to do with that information?”
“Fight me,” Su Yao said.
The head maid shook her head. “I could simply rip your skeleton from your still-living body. It would be a very short and pointless fight. Moreover, engaging in combat here would destabilize the chamber. I’ve not yet repaired the damage from the previous disturbance. A cave-in would be inevitable.”
Su Yao noticed the Jiao Long’s eyes fixed on her. “What’s on your mind?”
“I think you need a hobby. Something besides picking fights with my staff.”
Su Yao’s considered the words. “Hobbies are for mortals with limited lifespans. I’ve eternity to fill.”
“Then find a better way to fill it,” the dragon replied. “Start a collection. Learn a craft. But stop challenging every entity you meet to combat. It’s tiresome.”
The head maid nodded. “This one could recommend several calming activities, such as tea ceremony or flower arranging. They are quite meditative.”
Su Yao glanced between them. “I will take it under advisement.”
She walked away and phased back into her apartment, leaving the dragon and her maid to their preparations.
A hobby. The dragon’s words echoed in her mind. What an absurd suggestion. She paced across the room. I’m a Nine-Tailed Heavenly Fox. I’ve witnessed empires rise and fall. I don’t need a pastime.
The head maid’s offer of tea ceremony or flower arranging followed. Meditative activities designed to calm the mind. As if my mind require calming. It requires stimulation.
She stopped by the window, looking out at the city. The constant seeking of conflict has become repetitive. Everything from the arcade to the sewer battle had ended in trivial outcomes. Perhaps the dragon has a point. Not that I would admit it.
Her phone buzzed with a notification from the FFF chat group. She ignored it.
What would constitute a suitable hobby for an immortal? Something that demands precision, strategy, perhaps even destruction, but in a controlled manner?
Kayo and Osakabehime have their streaming, Xie Jing has his acting, and Yuzuriha has her family life. Even the head maid has her duties.
Very well. I will investigate this concept. But if it proves troublesome, I will return to more direct methods. She picked up her phone, opening a search for ‘advanced spiritual crafts.’ This may require personal experimentation.
Su Yao scrolled through the search results. Her eyes skimmed over images of intricate red cords woven into complex patterns: Chinese knots. Jie (结). The explanations described them as symbols of luck and connection. Some sources claimed certain knots could trap evil spirits or bind blessings.
How pedestrian. Twisting string into decorative shapes.
She studied the patterns. They were structured and mathematical. Certain knots like the Pan Chang knot were endless, symbolizing eternity. Others, like the good luck knot, were layers of interlocking loops, a physical manifestation of interconnected fates.
A physical craft. One that requires precision and an understanding of pattern and tension. It’s a form of spatial manipulation on a miniature scale. The symbolism is irrelevant, but the discipline of the act matters.
She recalled the head maid’s controlled spiritual energy. Such refinement came through millennia of practice and focus. In theory, a meticulous task like knotting could serve as a grounding exercise.
It would be a challenge of a different sort than a battle, acting as a test of patience and fine motor control. If certain knots truly can bind spirits, then learning them is also weapon research.
Su Yao phased to a craft store, materializing in an aisle filled with spools of silk cord. She selected a roll of the deepest red thread. She would start with the basic two-coins knot. If it proved beneath her, she could always use the cord to strangle something.
She placed the spool of red silk cord on the counter. The cashier, a young man with glasses, smiled as he scanned it. “Ah, the red thread! You know, in Chinese mythology, this represents the red thread of fate. It connects two soulmates destined to be together. I hope you find yours soon.”
Su Yao looked at him. “My soulmate is already dead.”
The cashier’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Without another word, Su Yao paid for the thread before phasing out of the store and reappearing in her apartment. She unspooled a length of red cord and began following a tutorial on her phone for a basic two-coins knot.
Her fingers fumbled with the simple silk cord. On her phone, the two-coins knot diagram showed the correct pattern. The threads slipped and the loops were uneven, resulting in a lopsided mess. She untied it with a sharp tug.
Su Yao tried again and again. Each attempt resulted in a more tangled snarl of red. The cord snapped in her hands on the third try. Third time’s the charm, they said.
A hobby is an activity one enjoys. She stared at the broken ends. This isn’t enjoyable. It’s generating frustration. Therefore, by definition, it has ceased to be a hobby and has become a source of irritation.
She dropped the spool of thread onto the table. It rolled off and onto the floor, but she made no move to retrieve it. The brief foray into handicrafts was over. She went to bed, deciding sleep was preferable to another attempt.
“This was a mistake,” she said to the empty room.
For seven days, Su Yao’s apartment became a graveyard of abandoned hobbies. A high-end calligraphy set was her first victim. The ink bled. Her brush strokes looked less like art and more like declarations of war. The brush snapped in her hand.
“So this is what they call self-expression,” she murmured. “Barbaric.”
Next, a bonsai tree. Su Yao observed it for hours, expecting it to achieve perfection on its own. She rejected the idea of forcing growth with magic, deeming the practice undignified. The tree was abandoned on the windowsill.
“Grow,” she told it. When it did not, she added, “I’m giving you time.”
A virtual café management game followed. She optimized for pure efficiency by firing all the digital staff for laziness and drove the business into bankruptcy by selling only water. The game suggested she ‘relax.’
“That is what I’m doing,” Su Yao replied, before closing the application.
An embroidery kit ended with a needle stitching through the fabric and the table. Another stitch threatened to sew the thread into the space-time continuum, requiring a minor dimensional correction to undo.
“…Unacceptable,” she said, setting the needle down.
Streaming was considered and dismissed as performative boredom.
By the week’s end, Su Yao stood amidst the evidence of her failure. The dragon was wrong. These activities are for minds that need filling. Mine requires worthy opposition.
With a wave of her hand, she incinerated the clutter. Ash scattered across the floor. The urge for a real fight returned. She welcomed it.
If I can’t find a worthy opponent outside, I will create one inside. The Handmaiden aspect is the most irritating. The one who speaks of kindness and strength. If I isolate that fragment and give it form, I can finally pummel it into submission.
She focused her will, drawing on her spiritual power. A portion of her essence split away, coalescing into a second form beside her. It was her mirror image, but its posture was straighter.
The Handmaiden clone looked at its creator. “This is a futile exercise. We are one. Harming me is harming yourself.”
Su Yao cracked her knuckles. “I’m counting on it. Now, defend yourself.”
The Handmaiden clone shook her head. “I will not fight you. This violence serves no purpose.”
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. “Treat it as practice. My duel with Yuzuriha ended in a single strike. I lost. I must improve. You are a part of me. Help me train.”
“The way to improve is through understanding,” the Handmaiden replied.
“Understanding is for philosophers. I need combat readiness.” Su Yao lunged forward. Her fist aimed at the clone’s face.
The Handmaiden sidestepped. “Striking me will not change the past. It will only feed your anger.”
“Then let it feed!” Su Yao pivoted, launching a kick infused with spiritual energy. The Handmaiden phased through it, appearing behind her.
“This is wasteful,” the clone said. “You are avoiding the real issue.”
Su Yao growled, summoning her Void-Severing Glaive. “The real issue is that I was defeated. I will not be again. Now, fight back!”
“You are angry you could not fight the leviathans and the Deep Praetor. But you’re reaching for the moon’s reflection on the water. You will never grasp that fight, no matter how hard you try, if it’s never meant for you.”
Su Yao’s knuckles turned white around the glaive. “I don’t believe in destiny.” She lunged. The blade sliced through the air where the clone had been.
The clone reappeared near the window. “Your desperation is a cage. You built it yourself.”
“Then I will break out by breaking you!” Su Yao phased, appearing before the clone. Her fist glowed with raw energy. She struck, but her hand passed through the clone as if through smoke.
The clone’s form solidified behind her. “This is pointless. You are only wasting your power.”
Su Yao turned. “Then give me a better target! Tell me who to fight!”
“The only enemy here is you,” the clone said. “And you’re losing.”
Su Yao lowered her Void-Severing Glaive. “By that logic, you’re losing too,” she said.
The clone nodded. Its form began to fade. “Then perhaps we both need a change. Consider a hobby that does not involve creating something like traveling. See the world. It might provide the perspective you seek.”
Su Yao watched the clone vanish. Traveling is a non-creative activity. It requires only movement. I can observe without engagement.
The semester’s end always sent students drifting across continents in search of adventures. With the campus a smoldering ruin, the extended break made it the perfect time to travel. Perhaps she could borrow the habit of wandering.
She phased out of her apartment, reappearing on a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean. The waves below crashed against the cliff in a constant roar. This is as good a place as any to start. She gazed at the horizon. Her thoughts were momentarily stilled by the vastness.
Su Yao stood on the cliff. The ocean breeze tugged at her clothes.Aplace I haven’t been before, where they speak a language I understand.
Her mind filtered through options.
Kaohsiung and the rest of Taiwan were dismissed. The memory of the Abyssal Gulper was too fresh. She had no desire to be near waters that reminded her of that encounter.
Taipei remained under Chinese administration, while Kaohsiung operated under the joint Chinese-Japanese security agreement established after the Dark Tide. The Japanese fondness for fussy regulations made even harmless things liable to become troublesome.
Someone had been dragged away at the Kaohsiung MRT over a black case stuffed with toy parts. An officer insisted the Beyblades were no toys at all, claiming Moses had once split the Red Sea with one.
Singapore was also eliminated. The rising military tensions with its neighbors made it a potential tinderbox, especially after recent accusations that Singaporean companies under the Solomon Group were driving deforestation in Sarawak and Sumatera that worsened flooding while profits flowed back to Singapore.
Of course they claim palm plantations count as forests. Mortals always reach for convenient truths.
Without the deep taproots of real trees, there was nothing to hold the soil and drink the excess water. Palms floated on the surface as the land drowned beneath them.
The governments of Indonesia and Malaysia had already revoked the group’s concessions and issued expulsion orders, giving its personnel weeks to leave their operations there.
A geopolitical incident would complicate a simple trip.
Also, dealing with Malay shamans and martial artists held little appeal. In her experience, most only knew how to do one thing: kill.
Why is every art they practice lethal? As if an entire region collectively decided subtlety was optional. And the passport. Even if the borders were stable, processing the documentation is a hassle. Mortal bureaucracy is a special kind of torment.
The mainland, then. But which part? She had walked the length of the Yellow River, meditated on Mount Hua, and even spent a century in the bureaucratic purgatory of Beijing. Her mental map of China was extensive.
Her gaze turned north toward the frigid expanse of Heilongjiang province. Harbin held a certain appeal. The rail tunnels were a point of strategic interest she hadn’t yet personally inspected.
Harbin, it is.
Su Yao phased back into her apartment. The destination was decided, but the method required consideration. She could travel to Shenzhen, then take a series of trains north to Beijing and to Harbin. This would be a gradual terrestrial approach, allowing for observation of the countryside.
She could take a flight from Shenzhen to Harbin, but the confinement of an aircraft and the proximity to so many mortals was a deterrent.
A cost-benefit analysis of time and potential annoyances was in order.
She pulled out her phone and called Zhang Wei.
“I’m traveling to Harbin,” she said. “What is the optimal route? Ground transport from Shenzhen, or a direct flight? Provide your assessment of the logistical variables.”
“I’m surprised. You’re not asking the government to provide you with a private jet?”
“I’m a better person now. And I’m not some corrupt politician using state resources for a personal vacation. My moral decline has not reached that particular nadir. Now, your analysis of the travel options.”
“Right,” Zhang Wei said. “Well, the high-speed rail from Shenzhen to Beijing is efficient and comfortable. You could then transfer to another line to Harbin. It would take roughly half a day. A flight is faster in the air, but you have to account for airport security, boarding, and potential delays. Given your low tolerance for queues and mortal procedures, the train might be less aggravating.”
“I will take the train,” Su Yao said. “Thank you for the information.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “You’re welcome?” Zhang Wei hesitated. “Are you feeling alright? You just thanked me.”
“I’m functional,” Su Yao replied. “The gratitude was a logical acknowledgment of good service. Don’t misinterpret it as a personality shift.”
“Right. Of course. I will notate that in your file.” Zhang Wei paused. “Do you need any arrangements made for the train tickets?”
“I will handle it. Don’t concern yourself further.” Su Yao ended the call.
Su Yao stood in her apartment. The next step was finding accommodation. Hotels and inns were unacceptable. Past experiences she had no intention of recalling or detailing had rendered them distasteful.
She pulled out her phone and called Yuzuriha.
“I’m traveling to Harbin. Do you have any properties there I could rent for the duration?”
Yuzuriha replied after a moment. “You may stay in my house there for free, provided you don’t claim ownership of it or attempt to evict me.”
Su Yao’s brow furrowed. “Why would I do that? That would be a waste of energy.”
“The last time I let anyone stay on my property, they were Bolshevik sympathizers. They kept trying to evict me claiming private property should be abolished and housing redistributed.”
Su Yao processed this information. “I’ve no interest in political ideologies or social reorganization. Your property is safe from my interference.”
“Very well,” Yuzuriha said. “I will send you the address and access codes. Do try to avoid drawing attention to the place.”
“Understood.” Su Yao ended the call and began gathering a few essentials for the trip.