Chapter 115: Evening in Beijing

Having seen all Andong had to offer, Su Yao boarded the train at Andong Station. There was no direct high-speed rail link to the deep south, necessitating a transfer in Shenyang. She found her seat and stared out the window as the landscape began to move.

The journey to Shenyang was uneventful. She transferred to a southbound train to Shenzhen. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels was a monotonous backdrop.

Hours later, she disembarked at Shenzhen North Station. The humid air of the south hit her as she exited. She made her way through the crowds to Luohu Station, shuffling through the turnstiles with a throng of daily commuters.

In Hong Kong, she decided to verify the legends of the Mang Gui Kiu bridge before departing. She took a taxi to Kowloon City. Before long, she stood before the Mang Gui Kiu bridge, taking the form of a simple concrete overpass.

Su Yao extended her spiritual sense, scanning the structure. Her probe found only emptiness. The bridge was inert. She frowned. Either the ghost was exorcised long ago… or it moved on.

“Pathetic,” Su Yao said. Perhaps the legend was a fabrication, a story told to frighten children and attract tourists. The name ‘Severely Haunted Bridge’ was a misnomer.

She pulled out her phone and searched for other famous haunted bridges. Japanese bridges dominated the result, each steeped in tragedy and ghostly legends.

Ichijo Modoribashi.

Matsue Ohashi.

Oiran Buchi.

Yagiyama.

She frowned. Why did that islands have such a concentration of spiritually active locations? Perhaps that’s why their population is declining. All these ghosts must be driving people away. Or killing them. That would explain a lot.

Su Yao turned her back on the bridge and hailed another taxi to the Central Ferry Pier where she bought a ticket for the next boat to Duwang. As the ferry pulled away from the dock, she watched the Hong Kong skyline recede. The entire trip had yielded no worthy adversaries or hidden truths.

The ferry docked at Duwang with a familiar groan of wood against tires. As Su Yao disembarked, the city’s dense spiritual static washed over her. She walked through the streets to her apartment. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing her in the quiet space.

She dropped her bag by the door and went straight to her desk, pulling open a drawer to retrieve her residence booklet and national ID card. A passport was the obvious next step. The local so-called haunted sites were spiritual wastelands.

A little research led her to darker places. Singapore’s Changi Hospital or Japan’s Aokigahara Forest promised actual resistance.

She opened her laptop. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard to pull up the passport application guidelines. The requirements involved photos and forms. She noted the address of a designated photography studio, planning to visit first thing in the morning.

But first, a call to Zhang Wei. As a government consultant, international travel required some form of notification. She picked up her phone and dialed, pressing the device to her ear.

It rang twice before he answered. “Xiao Ling? You’re back?”

“I’m. I need a passport. I’m traveling to Singapore or Japan soon.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Why? Is there a mission I don’t know about?”

The supernatural sites there are more promising. “That information is classified, Zhang Wei.”

“I’ll look into the procedures. But you know there might be restrictions, especially with your status.”

“Handle it. I’m going to get my photos taken tomorrow.” She ended the call and placed the phone on the desk. Next, I should check the visa requirements for Singapore and Japan. She reopened the laptop and began browsing consulate websites.

Su Yao stared at the Singapore Immigration & Checkpoints Authority website. The official page was gone, replaced by blocky text.

‘Apa beza singapore dengan yakult? Dalam sebotol yakult ada lebih banyak culture daripada seluruh singapore.’

The site has been defaced. A juvenile insult about a lack of culture. She refreshed the page. It remained unchanged. A country that can’t protect its own websites can’t host a worthy haunting. Changi Hospital is off the list.

She closed the browser tab for Singapore and opened a new one for Japan. Aokigahara, then. The Sea of Trees. A place of accumulated despair should be more resilient. She began searching for the Japanese visa application process.

Her phone buzzed. Zhang Wei was calling. She answered. “The Singaporean immigration website is compromised. I’m no longer interested.”

“Compromised? What do you mean?” Zhang Wei asked.

“Someone replaced it with a joke about yogurt. It’s beneath my consideration. Focus on Japan. I will need a visa for a prolonged stay in the Aokigahara region.”

“Xiao Ling, that’s a highly sensitive area. The Japanese government monitors it closely. It won’t be a simple tourist visa.”

“Then arrange the appropriate credentials. I’m a consultant for Stabilization. Frame it as a cultural exchange or a threat assessment. I don’t care about the pretext. Just get it done.”

She ended the call and looked at the Japanese consulate website, compiling a list of required documents. The forms are more complex. This is already more promising.

Su Yao stared at the list of required documents for the Japanese visa application: a guarantor form signed by a Japanese national, three years’ worth of financial statements, confirmed hotel bookings, and a letter explaining the purpose of her visit.

She scrolled further. They require a certificate of employment and tax records to visit a forest.

This is insanity. The paperwork is designed to break the spirit. I would need to forge Xiao Ling’s entire financial history and invent a corporate sponsor just to visit a suicide forest. Su Yao closed the browser tab with a sharp click. The bureaucratic defense of Japan is more formidable than any spiritual ward I have encountered. It’s a nation protected by paperwork.

Her phone buzzed again. She answered. “The visa requirements for Japan are impossible. I’m not submitting my tax records just to stare at trees.”

“I did try to warn you,” Zhang Wei said. “Their system is thorough.”

“Thorough isn’t the word. It’s a form of psychological warfare. Find another way. Get me a diplomatic passport. I’m a government consultant. Use that.”

“That process is also—”

“Figure it out.” She ended the call. This is a waste of time. Perhaps I should simply go. What border could truly hold me? But the prospect of the avalanche of paperwork it would leave for Zhang Wei to resolve served as its own deterrent.

Su Yao glanced at the stack of documents on her desk. I would still obtain the passport photo. The destination remained undecided, however. She grabbed her keys and left the apartment, heading for the photo studio.

A mundane errand was preferable to prolonged negotiations with the Japanese consulate.

Regulations were a kind of enclosure. But what if she stepped beyond them entirely? She paused on the sidewalk, the metal of the keys cool against her palm. The Dark Realm conduits connected to Japan. I could phase directly into Aokigahara.

The Yamato factions monitored those pathways, and their wards had grown more refined since the rise and fall of the false Seimei. An unauthorized entry could be interpreted as provocation, inviting a response that might spiral into open conflict.

Su Yao resumed walking. Possessing legitimate documentation widened her range of options, especially in regions with fewer unreasonable barriers. Nova Moskva, for example. Zhao Ze had mentioned another fox was there. It could be Cheng Lian, or someone else.

A passport is a key. Even if I never used it for Japan, I would have it.

She entered the photo studio. A young man with a camera looked up from his computer. “Passport photo?” he asked.

“Yes. Standard requirements.” Su Yao stood against the plain white background as directed.

The photographer took several shots. “Okay, done. You can choose the best one.”

They all look identical. The face of Xiao Ling, a perfectly ordinary human girl. “This one is adequate.” She pointed at a random frame.

“Okay, I’ll print them. Wait a moment.”

She paid the fee and took the small envelope containing the photos. One step closer. If the doors are locked, I will use a key. If the key does not work, I will break the door. But first, I will try the key.

Su Yao left the studio and looked down at the freshly printed passport photos in her hand. The image of Xiao Ling’s face was crisp, without a single blur or static distortion.

In the past, her presence would have disrupted the camera’s electronics, leaving behind a corrupted image that hinted at her true nature. With the Modern Exorcist crew, that distortion had always been chalked up to the spirits they encountered.

Anywhere else without ghosts to blame, the interference would have been unmistakably hers.

She looked from the photo to her own reflection in a nearby shop window. The realization was clear.

There was no longer a divide between Su Yao and Xiao Ling. The union had stabilized her essence that even sensitive electronic sensors now registered her as human.

Su Yao pulled out her phone and dialed Zhang Wei. “The photos are done. I need the passport processed quickly. Also, look into entry requirements for Nova Moskva. I have business there.”

Zhang Wei sighed. “Nova Moskva? That’s a private resort. It’s not exactly a standard destination. I’ll see what I can find, but it might require an invitation or special access.”

“Then get me an invitation.” She ended the call and started walking toward her apartment.

If I can blend in this completely, perhaps I should test other limits. Can I pass through airport security without triggering alarms? She entered her building and took the stairs up. My old contacts in Luoyang and Beijing might not sense my approach. I could walk right past them without triggering a recognition response.

She pulled out her phone and opened a flight booking app. A short domestic trip to Beijing is in order. I can observe the old yaoguai clans from a distance and test the airport security systems simultaneously.

Using the government-linked account Zhang Wei had set up for her, Su Yao selected a flight for the next morning. She packed a small bag. No need for disguises. I will go as Xiao Ling. That is the entire point of the test.

The next day, she arrived at Duwang International Airport. Su Yao watched the security checkpoint ahead. Now we see.

Su Yao placed her bag on the conveyor and walked through the metal detector. It remained silent. The full-body scanner lit up with a generic human outline. No anomalous readings appeared. Fascinating.

After collecting her bag, she proceeded to the gate. The systems see only a human girl. She found her seat on the plane. When I land in Beijing, I will visit the old tea house near Houhai. If the waitress does not drop her tray in shock, I can go anywhere undetected.

The plane’s cabin was full. A boy was clinging to his mother’s arm a few rows ahead of Su Yao. “I don’t want to sit down! The plane will crash!” he wailed.

His mother tried to soothe him. “You’ve watched too many movies. Flying is the safest way to travel. Much safer than a car. And besides, this isn’t flydubai. The co-pilot isn’t going to suddenly pull out a knife and try to stab the captain. You’re perfectly safe.”

The boy continued to sniffle, unconvinced.

Su Yao stood up and walked over to their row. She leaned down, looking at the boy. “There is nothing to worry about,” she said. Her voice was even. “If an accident does happen, the death will be instantaneous and painless. You won’t feel a thing.”

The boy’s tears stopped. He blinked. “Really?”

“Really. It’s like switching off a light.”

The boy considered this, then nodded and sat down, buckling his seatbelt with a determined click. “Okay.”

His mother stared at Su Yao, her mouth agape.

Su Yao gave a small nod and returned to her seat. Once the worst-case scenario was defined, fear lost its power. She looked out the window as the plane began to lift. Another observation. The Xiao Ling persona could deliver blunt truths and somehow make them comforting.

A woman in the adjacent row flagged down a flight attendant. “I requested a vegan meal,” the woman said.

A few minutes later, the flight attendant nodded and returned with a tray. On it sat a single banana and a pair of disposable chopsticks.

The woman stared at the offering. “This is the vegan meal?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s fruit-based and meets vegan requirements,” the flight attendant replied before moving on.

The woman picked up the chopsticks, attempting to peel the banana with them. Under the wooden sticks, the banana skin slipped.

Su Yao observed the struggle. If she applied minimal pressure with her thumb, the peel would split. But she is committed to the tool provided.

Eventually, the woman gave up. She peeled the banana with her hands, eating it quickly. Then she placed the chopsticks back on the tray untouched.

The solution was available, but she followed the presented method until it failed. Human stubbornness is consistent. Su Yao returned her gaze to the window. The clouds below were a flat white expanse.

A young boy pointed out the window at the white puffs below. “What are clouds made of?” he asked the man beside him.

“Linux servers,” the man said absently.

The boy frowned. “What are Linux servers made of?”

“The modular design combines the Linux kernel with various free and open-source software, managed by a package management system,” the man replied, still typing.

As Su Yao watched the exchange, the plane began its descent into Beijing. That was when turbulence shook the cabin. Several passengers gasped. One person screamed.

The wheels met the runway and laughter replaced the screams. Humans adapted quickly once the threat had passed.

After landing, Su Yao collected her bag and joined the flow toward the exit. Like people, airports were predictable once you understood their design. The airport security didn’t detect any anomaly. Now for the true test.

Outside, she hailed a taxi and gave the address of the old tea house near Houhai. For a moment, she watched the driver in the mirror, expecting him to recognize her. He nodded and pulled into traffic without comment.

The Pu Lu Tea House sat by the lake, unchanged. Su Yao chose a window seat. When the waitress arrived, she set down a menu and moved on without a second glance.

“Longjing tea,” Su Yao said.

The waitress wrote it down and left. She returned with the tea set, seeing only a customer instead of a calamity or a curse.

Su Yao poured the tea. The aroma was acceptable. She sipped it while watching a few elderly men playing chess and a couple whispering. They ignored her.

I’m functionally invisible to the supernatural community in this form. She finished her tea and placed the cup down. I can operate in Beijing without triggering any awkward historical conversations.

She paid the bill with her phone and stood up. The waitress gave a standard “thank you for coming” as she left. Su Yao walked out onto the street, blending with the crowd. Next, I will check into a hotel. She began searching for nearby hotels on her phone.

Hotels? I hate them. The sheets always smell of semen.

But that was why it was perfect. No one who knew Su Yao, the Hostess of the Jade Mountain, would think to look for her in a place like this. They would scour ancient courtyards or spiritual ley lines, never imagining she was hiding in an ordinary chain hotel with free Wi-Fi.

Su Yao booked the cheapest room she could find near the city center and paid through her digital wallet. She stepped back out onto the street. Another taxi carried her toward Joy Inn on Dongzhimen Street, the city lights smearing into color as she leaned against the window.

The taxi stopped outside a brightly lit building with a flickering sign. She paid and entered the lobby. A clerk handed her a key card after checking her ID. “Room 901. Elevator on the left.”

She took the elevator up, watching her reflection fragment across the mirrored walls. Inside the room, she locked the door and stood still for three seconds, looking around. It was small, with a double bed and a desk.

The room is as impersonal as I expected. She dropped her bag on the bed and sat at the desk, pulling out her phone again. Now, while I’m here, I should research Nova Moskva further. Or perhaps see if Zhang Wei has made progress on the passport.

Su Yao typed ‘Nova Moskva’ into her phone’s browser. The results loaded. It was a private resort on the island of Bali. Bali was part of the Islamic Republic of Indonesia, but much of its land was owned by a Russian oligarch.

Indonesia have an ongoing tension with Singapore. Perhaps there will be something interesting to observe.

The news was still full of the plantation dispute. Clips of a speech by Muchammad Abdurrohim looped across several channels, the Indonesian president announcing that the Indonesian Republican Guard Corps (IRGC) would enforce the expulsion order after the Solomon Group failed to withdraw.

Ayatollah Naedar Hashir had also issued a statement condemning the expansion of palm oil plantations, particularly the practice of clearing forests by fire, warning that the destruction of the forests would bring consequences that went beyond environmental damage.

Across the border, another headline showed Prime Minister Soran Ibrahim standing before a row of uniforms as he announced that the Malaysian government had authorized the Biosphere Security Assessment Alliance (BSAA) to assist authorities in securing the plantations.

The Democratic Republic of Singapore had yet to respond, leaving its position on the escalating dispute unclear.

She opened a map of Southeast Asia. Her finger traced the distance from Bali to Singapore. It’s too far from the plantations.

Then she saw Bali’s proximity to Australia and almost smiled, thinking of the emus. They might be a more formidable adversary than any navy. Even the Royal Brunei Navy who fought sea monsters for breakfast.

Was it the emu’s strength or something lacking in the Australians that made the war so lopsided? The Australians themselves couldn’t be that weak. They had survived there.

There were 48 million emus in Australia and there were 3,457,380 inhabitants in Uruguay. So if the emus decided to invade Uruguay, each Uruguayan would have to fight 14 emus.

Australia, the continent where everything is designed to kill you. From the flora and fauna to the very landscape itself, everything is hostile. She stared at a map of the country, tagging places where the land wanted you dead, the sea wanted you dead, or both.

If Nova Moskva proves disappointing, Australia is the logical next destination. The spiritual energy of a land that deadly must be potent. She leaned back in the hotel chair. But there is no rush. I have all of China to travel now. Unseen and unrecognized, I can go anywhere.

People were far more likely to pick a fight with a stranger than with someone whose danger was already established.

She began mapping out an entire itinerary for China and beyond. Then a quieter voice surfaced from within, laced with the languid grace of the Eternal Banquet.

You are planning again, charting paths to futures that may not exist. When did you become so preoccupied with what comes next? Her mental calculations stalled. Imagine the present as a cup of tea. You are only tasting the list of ingredients for the next one. Put down the list. Drink the tea.

You are right, Su Yao acknowledged. She closed the browser on her phone.

Su Yao rose and crossed to the kettle by the wall. She filled it at the sink and switched it on. As it hissed, she unwrapped the hotel’s lone tea bag and dropped it into a mug.

What are you doing? The hostess asked.

Drinking tea, Su Yao answered, watching the pale thread of steam coil upward.

Not literally. You know what I mean.