A group of girls stood by the water fountain, one of them holding a phone. When Su Yao walked through the school gates that morning, the girl with the phone nudged her friend.
"There she is," the friend whispered, but not quite quietly enough.
A boy across the courtyard stopped mid-step, his backpack sliding from one shoulder. He pointed. "Hey, isn't that—"
A voice boomed from the doorway of the main building. "Xiao Ling!"
She turned. The science teacher was practically jogging toward her, a wide, slightly bewildered grin on his face.
"Goodness, Xiao Ling," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I was just saying to Ms. Yang... you certainly made quite the impression last night. The phones were ringing off the hook this morning. ‘Is it true?’ ‘Is she alright?'"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Honestly, Modern Exorcist? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still am."
Su Yao offered a small, stiff smile. "Good morning, Mr. Chen."
She gripped the straps of her backpack and kept walking until she spotted Wong Lei at her locker, already being crowded by a group of overly enthusiastic students Su Yao barely recognize, likely spiritual enthusiasts from another class or even another school.
“Look!” one of them exclaimed, pointing at Wong Lei. “That’s the one who cleansed the whole school!”
Wong Lei looked up. Her face was a mask of confusion. “What? I didn’t—”
“Don't be so modest!” another girl gushed, cutting her off. “Everyone’s talking about it! The oppressive feeling is gone! The cold spots vanished! You must have performed a massive purification ritual! That’s so amazing!”
Wong Lei, who had indeed done nothing but buy talismans online, shook her head frantically. “No, really! It wasn't me! I couldn’t do something like that!”
Her denials only fueled their admiration. “See? So humble! A true master doesn't seek credit!”
“Your power must be incredible to work on such a large scale without anyone even noticing you doing it!”
Su Yao watched from a distance. One eyebrow raised in sheer amusement. Wong Lei was drowning in praise for a feat she had no part in. Her desperate honesty was being mistaken for humility.
At least the real ones were paying attention to the right thing, Su Yao thought. Anyone who actually knew the craft would understand that much. Whether she had once played an exorcist on television or not was irrelevant.
She decided to save the girl from her unexpected fan club and walked over. The crowd parted slightly for her. Their whispers intensified.
“Wong Lei,” Su Yao said. Her voice was calm.
Wong Lei looked at her. A flicker of relief was in her eyes. “Xiao Ling! Tell them! You know I didn't do anything!”
The group of enthusiasts turned to look at Su Yao. Their expressions were curious.
Su Yao offered a small, enigmatic smile. “Wong Lei has always been dedicated to her studies of the spiritual arts. She prefers to keep her methods private.” She placed a hand on Wong Lei’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”
Wong Lei stared, utterly bewildered by the lifeline she was being thrown, which confirmed the lie without actually confirming it.
The group gasped. Their eyes were wide with newfound respect. “We understand! Discretion! The mark of a true expert!”
They bowed slightly to a speechless Wong Lei and scurried away, whispering excitedly about the “humble exorcist master” in their midst.
Once they were gone, Wong Lei whirled on Su Yao. “Why did you say that? They think I’m some kind of genius!”
“Because it’s funnier this way,” Su Yao replied with a shrug. “And it gets them to leave you alone faster than the truth would.” Her gaze sharpened. “But since we’re on the topic of the school’s spirits, I have a question for you. About the Azure Dragon Orphanage.”
Wong Lei’s confusion instantly morphed into shock, then suspicion. “The orphanage? Why are you asking about that?”
“Call it a hunch,” Su Yao said. Her tone was light, but her eyes held a weight that promised she wouldn't be brushed off. “You and Jian Feng came from the same place, didn’t you?”
Wong Lei’s face went pale. The name ‘Jian Feng’ seemed to hit her like a physical blow. The simple, praised girl was gone, replaced by someone who looked genuinely afraid.
“How, how do you know that?” she whispered.
Su Yao’s smile was thin and knowing. “I know many things. Let’s talk.”
She turned and walked towards a deserted classroom. Her expectation of being followed hung in the air like a command. After a moment of panicked hesitation, Wong Lei scurried after her. Her earlier pride from the false praise had completely evaporated.
Su Yao closed the door behind them. The click of the lock sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She leaned against the teacher’s desk, fixing Wong Lei with a flat, expectant stare.
“Talk.”
Wong Lei wrung her hands. Her eyes darted everywhere but at Su Yao. “There’s nothing to talk about! It was just an orphanage! It closed down years ago!”
“An orphanage that produced Jian Feng, the Luo family’s star exorcist, and you, a girl obsessed with the occult,” Su Yao stated. Her voice was devoid of inflection. “That seems statistically improbable. Try again.”
“I don't know anything about Jian Feng! He was older! He was adopted before I really knew anyone!” Wong Lei insisted. Her voice trembled.
Su Yao took a single step forward. The air in the room grew still, heavy with an ancient pressure. Wong Lei flinched as if struck.
“Let me be clear,” Su Yao said. Her voice was a low, chilling murmur. “I am not interested in your denials. The Azure Dragon Orphanage is a point of interest. You will tell me what made it special, or I will find a much less pleasant way to extract the information. Your choice.”
The threat was delivered with such casual certainty that all fight drained from Wong Lei. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“It, it was a strange place,” she whispered, finally looking up. Her eyes were wide with fear. “The director. He had patrons. Rich, powerful people who would visit. They were there to look at us.”
“Look at you for what?” Su Yao pressed.
“They were testing us,” Wong Lei said. Her voice was barely audible. “They’d bring in weird objects, see if we were scared. Sometimes they’d leave things in the rooms at night. See which kids had bad dreams, which ones saw things the others didn't.”
She shuddered. “They were looking for kids who were Sensitive. Who could perceive things.”
Wong Lei hugged herself. “Jian Feng was one of the first they found. He was always different. He saw things clearer than anyone. They took him away pretty quick after that. The Luo family ‘adopted’ him.”
“And you?” Su Yao asked. “You clearly have some minor sensitivity. You sense things. Why weren't you taken?”
A bitter, ashamed look crossed Wong Lei’s face. “I wasn’t good enough. My sensitivity was weak. Unreliable. I saw shadows, felt chills. Jian Feng saw details. I failed their tests. They left me behind. All I got was an obsession and a bunch of useless talismans to try and prove I was worth something.”
The pieces snapped together for Su Yao. The orphanage was a farm. A screening facility for powerful families like the Luos to identify and acquire children with spiritual potential, grooming them into tools. Be it exorcists, servants, or in Jian Feng’s case, a marketable star.
Meanwhile, the rejects, like Wong Lei, were discarded and left with just enough knowledge to be desperate but not enough to be useful.
Su Yao leaned back. The oppressive aura vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. “I see.”
Wong Lei stared at her, breathing heavily. “Why do you care? What are you planning?”
Su Yao offered a thin, humorless smile. “Let’s just say I have a professional interest in the spirit world. And I dislike loose ends.” She walked to the door and unlocked it. “Our conversation is over. You can go.”
Wong Lei fled the classroom without a backward glance.
Su Yao stood alone in the silence.
A breeding ground for expendable exorcists, she mused. The Luo family’s “righteous” operation was even more cynical than she'd imagined.
Jian Feng was a product, raised from childhood for his utility. It explained his arrogance and his deep-seated insecurity.
The school day ended without further incident. As Su Yao was packing her bag, a hesitant voice called her name.
“Xiao Ling?”
She turned to find Li Xiu standing there, wringing her hands. Her expression was a mixture of guilt and anxiety.
“I need to apologize,” Li Xiu blurted out. Her voice was low. “About last night. With Jian Feng. I didn't mean for you to find out like that.” She took a shaky breath. “And because of it, because you saw us, and he knows you know, your job is in danger.”
Su Yao slung her backpack over one shoulder. “Is it?”
“People who have conflicts with Jian Feng at the studio never last,” Li Xiu said. Her eyes were earnest with worry. “His influence is too strong. He’ll find a way to get you fired, claiming you’re unprofessional or that your techniques are unsafe. It’s a tactic he’s used before.”
Su Yao considered this. The threat was mundane, almost charming in its pettiness.
“It’s unlikely they will fire me,” Su Yao stated. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
“How can you be so sure?” Li Xiu pressed. “You don’t know how he operates!”
“Because Director Luo believes a demon queen is awakening,” Su Yao explained, as if discussing the weather. “The Crimson Calamity Queen, to be precise. He believes the recent spiritual unrest is a precursor to her return. And he believes that my ‘pure spirit’ and ‘unprecedented talent’ are heaven-sent gifts specifically to counter this threat.”
She looked at Li Xiu. Her expression was utterly deadpan. “They think I’m their chosen one. Their divine weapon against the coming apocalypse. Firing me over a personal squabble with their star would be counterintuitive to their survival strategy.”
Li Xiu stared, her mouth slightly agape. The explanation was so absurd and utterly detached from the corporate backstabbing she was worried about, leaving her momentarily speechless. “A demon queen? They really believe that?”
“That is their operational thesis, yes,” Su Yao confirmed. She began walking toward the school gates. Li Xiu fell into step beside her, too stunned to do anything else.
“It’s all rather dramatic,” Su Yao continued. “Though I doubt this ‘Crimson Calamity Queen’ actually exists. It sounds like a convenient narrative to justify their budget and their fear. Most ancient evils do.”
She said it with the casual authority of someone who would know.
Li Xiu could only shake her head in bewildered disbelief. The world she thought she understood of business deals and social alliances had just been cracked open to reveal something far stranger and more terrifying beneath. Xiao Ling, the girl who had saved her brother, was standing at the center of it, discussing apocalyptic prophecies with the boredom of someone choosing a lunch menu.
“Just be careful, okay?” was all Li Xiu could finally manage.
“Always,” Su Yao replied. Her gaze already looked past Li Xiu, toward the studio where her next performance awaited. The fate of the world, apparently, depended on it. Or at least, the Luo family’s ratings did. It was all the same to her.
Mei’s voice cut through the hallway, bright and unnervingly cheerful. “Wow, so that’s what all the whispering’s about! A demon queen? Cool!”
Su Yao and Li Xiu turned. Mei leaned against a row of lockers, munching on a bag of chips. She had clearly overheard everything.
Li Xiu flushed, embarrassed. “Mei! This is serious!”
“I am being serious!” Mei said, crunching down on a chip. “The Crimson Calamity Queen? Yeah, I know about her. Total badass. Wiped out three heavenly sects in a single night during the War of Ashen Heavens.”
Li Xiu raised a hand. “Mei! Breathe!”
Mei ignored her. “Her signature move was the crimson fire that burned both body and soul, leaving nothing but glassed earth and silent screams. The records say her eyes glowed like hells’ own forge, and she rode a chariot pulled by three damned souls she never bothered to name.”
She paused to swallow another chip. “Also, she really hated bad calligraphy. Executed a court poet once for a poorly drawn character. Legend says that’s what started the whole war, actually. A misspelled insult.”
The casual, incredibly detailed delivery left Li Xiu utterly speechless. Even Su Yao’s eyebrow twitched in surprise. Director Luo’s version had been vague cataclysm. Mei’s was disturbingly specific.
Su Yao’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know all that?”
Mei shrugged, dusting chip crumbs from her fingers. “How? Duh. Of course I know.” She struck a dramatic pose, pointing her chip bag at them. “Because she’s me.”
Li Xiu’s jaw dropped. Then her face crumpled into exasperation. “Mei! Stop it! This isn't a game!”
Mei held the pose for a second longer before deflating with a giggle. “Okay, fine, you got me. I made it up.” She waved the empty chip bag. “The part about the chariot was cool, though, right? I should write a novel.”
Li Xiu let out a frustrated groan, rubbing her temples. “You’re impossible! You can’t just joke about something like that!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Mei said without sounding sorry at all. “But the bit about the calligraphy is totally in this super obscure web novel I read last week, Chronicles of the Silent Scorch. The rest I just embellished. It’s more fun that way!”
She linked arms with a fuming Li Xiu. “Come on, don't be mad! Let’s go get bubble tea. My treat to make up for freaking you out.”
As Mei dragged a protesting Li Xiu away, she glanced back over her shoulder at Su Yao and gave a slow wink.
Su Yao stood alone in the hallway, watching them go.
She knew, with the cold certainty of an ancient being, that Mei hadn’t made those details up. They had the ring of truth, the kind of specific, bizarre detail lost to history but preserved in the darkest, most accurate corners of it.
A slow, intrigued smile spread across Su Yao’s face. It seemed her bubbly, bubble-tea-obsessed best friend was a far more interesting source of information than anyone had suspected.
The wink lingered in Su Yao’s mind long after Mei had dragged a sputtering Li Xiu around the corner. The details about the Crimson Calamity Queen had been too vivid, too oddly specific to be a complete fabrication. Chronicles of the Silent Scorch, Mei had said. A super obscure web novel.
Back in her room, Su Yao opened her laptop. A quick search brought up a fiction site called Scribbler’s Hub, the home of original stories. It took little time to find: Chronicles of the Silent Scorch, a novel with a handful of chapters.
The author’s username was LunaLuvr99.
Su Yao’s eyes narrowed. She knew that name.
She opened a popular mobile game called Unlimited Nikki, an open-world gacha dress-up RPG that Mei was obsessed with. She found Mei’s profile. The username was also LunaLuvr99.
A slow, dry chuckle escaped Su Yao’s lips. Of course.
The next day at school, she cornered Mei by the vending machines.
“LunaLuvr99,” Su Yao stated without greeting or preamble.
Mei, who was trying to shake a bag of chips loose, froze. Her head slowly turned. “Huh?”
“That’s your username for the gacha game. And for the web novel site where Chronicles of the Silent Scorch is published.” Su Yao’s gaze was flat, expectant.
Mei’s face went through a rapid series of expressions: shock, panic, then a resigned slump. The bag of chips finally clunked into the tray. She retrieved it with a sigh.
“Okay, you got me,” she mumbled, ripping the bag open. “Yeah, I wrote it. So what? It’s not a crime.”
“Your knowledge of the Crimson Calamity Queen was from your own imagination.”
“Pretty much,” Mei said through a mouthful of chips. “I mean, I did some research on old myths for inspiration, but most of it was just me imagining things. Readers eat that stuff up.”
She shrugged, a defensive gesture. “And yeah, maybe I slipped some of it into conversation. Gotta do some self-promotion. Thought it might sound more legit if I acted like it was real history.”
She looked at Su Yao. A flicker of her usual mischief returned. “You’re not mad, are you? It was just a prank. A really, really detailed prank.”
Su Yao looked at her best friend. The source of the terrifying, apocalyptic legend was nothing more than an author trying to drum up readership.
The sheer, absurd mundanity of it was almost more impressive than if Mei had actually been the demon queen.
“No,” Su Yao said. A genuine, amused smile finally touched her lips. “I’m not mad.”
It seemed the ‘Crimson Calamity Queen’ was, in fact, a complete fiction. The Luo family was basing their entire doomsday operation on the equivalent of fanfiction.
The situation was so hilariously pathetic it looped back around to being brilliant.
Mei beamed, relieved. “Great! So, wanna be my first beta reader? I’m stuck on a fight scene.”
“Perhaps later,” Su Yao said, turning to leave. She had a righteous persona to maintain and a delusional cult of exorcists to manage. She did it now with the private knowledge that the great evil they feared was born from her best friend’s overactive imagination and a desire for more online clicks.
It was, she decided, the most modern twist on an ancient prophecy she could have possibly imagined.
The absurdity of the situation lingered with Su Yao like a pleasant aftertaste. It made the tediousness of school almost enjoyable.
As they walked home together, Mei, buoyed by the revelation that her secret was out and Su Yao wasn't angry, was in an exceptionally good mood. She chattered about plot points and character motivations. Her mind was clearly still in her fictional world.
Then she suddenly stopped. A thoughtful frown was on her face. “Hey, Ling Ling,” she began. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re, like, super strong now, right? With all that exorcist stuff.”
Su Yao glanced at her. “I manage.”
Mei’s eyes gleamed with a sudden, unsettling excitement. “So, you could probably, you know, do stuff. For real. Not just on TV.”
“Such as?”
Mei leaned closer. “What’s the most people you think you could kill at once? Like, if you really wanted to. And how would you do it? Something messy, or something clean? I’m brainstorming a climax for my next arc, and I want it to be realistic.”
She said it with the same casual curiosity she might use to ask about homework. There was no malice in her tone, only the pure, detached interest of a writer seeking authentic details.
Su Yao considered the question with the clinical detachment of a seasoned professional. “It depends less on my capability and more on the density and mobility of the targets,” she replied. Her tone was as casual as if discussing the weather.
“A sufficiently potent area-of-effect spiritual technique could liquefy the internal organs of a packed crowd simultaneously. That would be relatively clean externally.”
Mei tilted her head. “And if ‘clean’ isn’t the priority?”
“For something messier but more energy-efficient, targeted sonic vibrations could induce spontaneous cranial combustion. The visuals would be more dramatic for your readers.”
Mei’s eyes went wide, sparkling with inspiration. “Liquefy internals, spontaneous combustion. Yes! That’s perfect! So visceral!” She pulled out her phone, frantically typing notes. “You’re the best, Ling Ling! I never would have thought of that!”
She finished typing and looked up, beaming. “Thanks! This is gonna be so much better than just having her swing a big sword around!”
“You’re welcome,” Su Yao said. It was the most normal and productive writer-research conversation she'd ever had.