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This, thought Shang Qinghua, was not what he had in mind at all. Fearless investigators were meant to be admired and recognised; they were meant to jet-set between exotic locations, signing books, leading seminars and unsuccessfully fending off the advances of beautiful strangers. While he could admit his imagination might be a little overactive, Shang Qinghua was absolutely certain that fearless investigators weren’t meant to be perching on a hard plastic chair in a drafty community centre, shuffling papers on a chipped laminate table while their best friend rolled their eyes and picked at their teeth.
“Okay then,” Shang Qinghua began, his voice overloud and echoey in the mostly empty room. “Agenda point one: raising awareness of the demon situation.” Directly across from him, Shen Qingqiu groaned aloud.
Misunderstood, Shang Qinghua reminded himself as he counted to ten in his head. Fearless investigators were also misunderstood. “Is there a problem?” he asked with a saccharine smile.
“That,” replied Shen Qingqiu, “has been the opening agenda point of every meeting since you set up this” – he looked around at the vacant seats and clearly decided to be generous – “group.”
Biting back a sarcastic response, Shang Qinghua fixed a pleasant expression more firmly on his face. Irritating as the man undoubtedly was, Shen Qingqiu was his friend, and the only reason there were any attendees at this or any other meeting of the Purposeful Investigation into the Demon World group. Despite obviously not sharing Shang Qinghua’s belief that demons walked among them, Shen Qingqiu had never missed a meeting, or an opportunity to rubbish Shang Qinghua’s ideas and methodology. It was an odd way of showing support, but Shang Qinghua would take what he could get.
Lately, Shen Qingqiu had started dragging along his work colleagues to Shang Qinghua’s meetings. That he did so to increase the number of people making fun of Shang Qinghua and everything he believed was irrelevant – just one true believer among them would be all that was needed. Even better if said believer was loaded and could bankroll Shang Qinghua’s ambitious plans to study, track and finally unmask the demons that obviously lived among them. So far though, no joy. Everyone Shen Qingqiu had taken along had listened to Shang Qinghua’s theories with the sort of forced cheerfulness reserved for toddlers and old people in care homes before making their excuses and all but sprinting from the building.
Today’s attendees, at least, seemed a little more promising. Shen Qingqiu had apparently run out of junior colleagues to bring as, this time, he’d arrived with his boss. A pleasant man: smiley, sincere. Yue something or other. When he arrived, he’d spent a long time in the corner studying Shang Qinghua’s investigation board, complete with glossy pictures connected by red string, with evident fascination. It was meaningless, of course; a prop. Shang Qinghua had seen them in police procedural shows and always wanted to have one himself.
The other new addition was an unexpected one. The young woman who had appeared seemed far too intelligent to associate with Shen Qingqiu, but she was also a co-worker. She’d heard about the group from her brother, who’d been dragged along the previous month. When he’d heard this detail, Shang Qinghua had gone pale and sidled further away from her, but so far she seemed far less hostile than her sibling, which, in fairness, was not difficult. When Shang Qinghua asked her what brought her to the meeting, she had smiled enigmatically and continued to examine some of the more exotic artwork in his collection.
Clearing his throat and shuffling a stack of papers (blank, but waterboarding couldn’t have extracted that detail from him) Shang Qinghua tried again. “Very well, on to agenda point two: recent evidence of demon existence.” The woman – Liu Mingyan – dragged her gaze away from an illustration of a demon in an advanced stage of dishabille and looked up. Yue Qingyuan’s expression became, if such a thing were possible, even more encouraging.
Clicking a button, Shang Qinghua brought the antique projector stuttering to life, and an image began to take shape. “As you can see,” he began, “this is one of the more promising leads we’ve found. This is a park to the west of town, and shows a demon who —”
“Wait,” interrupted Shen Qingqiu. “A what?”
“A demon,” repeated Shang Qinghua, dragging out each syllable. “You know? What we are looking for? The purpose and entire founding reason for our group?”
“But that’s not a demon,” replied Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua gasped.
Squinting and tilting his head from side to side, Yue Qingyuan spoke. “ It…could be a demon. If you look at it from this particular angle…”
Shen Qingqiu sighed. “It could similarly be Bigfoot, the Grim Reaper, or a heavy-set person who didn’t have time to brush their hair that day.”
Snatching up the remote, Shang Qinghua turned the projector off, scowling darkly when it failed to make a suitably satisfying snap. Across the table, Yue Qingyuan nudged Shen Qingqiu and muttered something under his breath.
“That was not harsh,” explained Shen Qingqiu. “And don’t encourage him. He sees demons everywhere! He’s terrorised every local character within a 5-mile radius since this obsession began.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have. You performed a citizen’s arrest on the poor man who lives in the block of flats opposite yours because he hadn’t cut his fingernails in a few months.”
Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to refute this foul slander, then shut it again hard enough to clack his teeth together. “Fine,” he grumbled, “I did do that. But in my defence, they did look very much like claws. They were black, for God’s sake.”
“He plays in a death metal band,” said Shen Qingqiu, with exaggerated patience.
Skimming over his notes, Shang Qinghua sighed. He didn’t think anyone seemed much in the mood for agenda point three: overnight demon stakeout. He’d keep that one for next time.
“Okay, let’s call it a night. I trust I’ll see you all at the next meeting?” Liu Mingyan didn’t respond before heading for the door. Shang Qinghua glared at her retreating back. Rude. And he was sure he’d seen her stuff some of the pictures from his evidence board into her bag. Yue Qingyuan made some noises which could easily have been taken as agreement, but the speed with which he left made Shang Qinghua quite sure he was yet another of Shen Qingqiu’s colleagues who would never be seen again.
“Try not to take it too hard.” Without being asked, Shen Qingqiu was tucking in chairs and tidying away paper as he spoke – a sure sign he was feeling sorry for Shang Qinghua. “You must admit,” continued Shen Qingqiu, “the study of demons is a pretty…niche interest.”
Stiffening, Shang Qinghua folded his arms and fixed his eyes on anything but Shen Qingqiu, who finished wheeling the evidence board into a cupboard and walked over. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you never mentioned demons once, then you read a few novels and it’s like your whole brain was rewired.”
“But they’re so fascinating,” whined Shang Qinghua. “The more I read about them, the more plausible it all gets. Did you know,” he continued, eyes shining again, warming back up to his topic, “that just about every culture has its own version of demon myths? The belief goes back millennia – there are written records of demons dating back at least four thousand years. And the similarities in the myths are uncanny, even between civilisations which had no contact with one another. How do you explain that other than there must be some truth to the stories and —”
Cutting him off, Shen Qingqiu turned Shang Qinghua round by the shoulders and eased him towards the exit. “I know; you’ve told me before. Several times.”
Straining his head round to make eye contact, Shang Qinghua continued unabated. “But have I also told you that almost all cultures believe demons interact directly and extensively with humans? The ancient Mesopotamians, for example, believed there was a specific type of demon called ‘galla’ who —”
“Enough,” cried Shen Qingqiu. “Whatever it is you want to tell me, I’ll listen. But please, for the love of all that is holy, let’s go get something to eat while you do it. If I must listen to another of your TED Talks, I’d rather do it on a full stomach.”
Smiling, Shang Qinghua flicked off the lights and shut the door, mentally preparing a list of topics. This was going to be fun.
***
This was not Shang Qinghua’s idea of fun. He sighed dramatically for the third time in as many minutes.
Across the table, Shen Qingqiu scowled but took the time to finish his mouthful of food before speaking. “What’s the problem now?”
“This,” replied Shang Qinghua, voice dripping with disappointed accusation, “was not what I had in mind.”
After dabbing his lips delicately with a napkin, Shen Qingqiu smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Are we or are we not enjoying a meal together, one which I am paying for?”
Shang Qinghua nudged doubtfully at his lukewarm Big Mac, dislodging a piece of flaccid lettuce which slithered off the burger to join its fellows in the base of a greasy cardboard container. “I’m not entirely sure this counts as—”
Lifting an imperious finger, Shen Qingqiu interrupted. “Did you specify where or what you wanted to eat?”
“No,” admitted Shang Qinghua, reluctantly.
“Well then,” said Shen Qingqiu, dismissing the line of conversation and returning his attention to his grilled chicken salad. In the privacy of his mind, Shang Qinghua considered the wisdom of taking correction from a man who only recently stopped bringing his own cutlery to McDonald’s. He decided to change the subject.
“What you specified,” said Shang Qinghua, pointing a chip in his companion’s general direction, “was that we’d continue to discuss demons. But all you’ve done is ridicule my theories.” He threw the chip in his mouth and chewed more loudly than was strictly necessary.
“In my defence,” replied Shen Qingqiu, grimacing, “your theories do tend to be…ridiculous.”
Drawing in breath to protest, Shang Qinghua instead inhaled food and began to cough. When his struggles subsided, he threw a hurt look at his friend.
“Don’t pout; you know I didn’t mean it.” Leaning closer, Shen Qingqiu lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about we play your favourite game? There’s plenty of people here.”
They’d been friends long enough for Shang Qinghua to recognise when he was being manipulated, but he allowed himself to be mollified anyway. It really was a good game. He leant back a little in his chair, glancing around the restaurant. Finding the perfect candidate, he smiled. “Fine,” agreed Shang Qinghua. “But I get to go first. Loser pays next time?”
Shen Qingqiu nodded in agreement, lips curved enigmatically.
“Sucker!” exclaimed Shang Qinghua. “I have already found a winner.” He focused on a diner to the side of the food counter and completely out of Shen Qingqiu’s line of sight. “Your four o’clock. Male, dark hair, thirties. Sitting on his own. He is" – Shang Qinghua leant forwards and continued in a dramatic stage whisper – "dipping his chips into his Milkybar McFlurry.”
With perfect casualness, Shen Qingqiu turned his head enough to look. He put another forkful of salad in his mouth and chewed methodically, leaving Shang Qinghua to stew in suspense. “No,” he said finally.
“What!” cried Shang Qinghua, incredulous. “You cannot seriously believe any human would eat like that?”
Shen Qingqiu drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I just don’t see demons as fans of white chocolate.”
“Fine,” Shang Qinghua muttered with little grace. “Your turn.”
Nodding, Shen Qingqiu scanned the room with exaggerated seriousness, considering every patron until Shang Qinghua was all but squirming with impatience. “How about him?” Shen Qingqiu said at length, indicating an older man, hunched over a value cheeseburger and dressed entirely in beige.
“Really?” asked Shang Qinghua after a pause, unsure what his friend considered demonesque about what had to be the most nondescript person in the building, and possibly the whole city. “He seems entirely normal. I’m more likely to be a demon than he is.”
“Look under the table,” replied Shen Qingqiu.
It took a moment for Shang Qinghua to make out what had caught Shen Qingqiu’s attention. “No shoes?” he said, surprised. “I mean, it’s not the most hygienic of choices, granted, but I hardly think it marks him out as non-human.”
“Of course,” agreed Shen Qingqiu, “but look at the amount of hair on his feet.”
Throwing all pretence of subtlety out of the window, Shang Qinghua looked from the unfortunate man’s feet to Shen Qingqiu and back several times, his entire head pitching like a ship in a storm. “And?” he asked, perplexed. “This makes him a demon because…?”
“Oh, you know,” said Shen Qingqiu. “From the films.”
Shang Qinghua stared, blankly.
“The films,” continued Shen Qingqiu. He frowned slightly, looking to the stained ceiling for inspiration. “The ones with the ring and the talking trees.”
Realisation dawned on Shang Qinghua, and he throttled the urge to throw his milkshake in Shen Qingqiu’s too-earnest face. “Those are hobbits,” he hissed, clutching the table in a death grip. “HOBBITS! Not demons. I can’t believe you’ve been coming to my meetings for almost six months now, and you can’t even remember the most basic demon features. If you honestly think—"
The glimmer of amusement in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes stopped Shang Qinghua mid-sentence. The unfathomable bastard was messing with him. Well, Shang Qinghua was not going to stand for this. Minor tantrums in fast-food joints notwithstanding, a man had to have his dignity. He tensed, readying himself to leave; he was going to flounce.
“Before you storm out,” said Shen Qingqiu mildly, folding his paper napkin into a neat square, “you might want to check out the man directly behind you.”
His intention was to tell Shen Qingqiu to ram it up his arse and leave with his nose in the air, but somehow Shang Qinghua found his head obediently turning to look.
Even perched on a cheap plastic stool, the man behind him managed to radiate grace and power. Shang Qinghua began to work through his customary checklist. The man’s hair was dark, and worn longer than had been fashionable for a very long time. His nails were certainly longer and darker than average, and it wasn't hard to imagine prominent canines behind his plush lips. He was tall, he was muscular, and his eyes were a shade of blue so glacial that Shang Qinghua almost shivered.
“You’re staring.” Shen Qingqiu’s amused voice shook Shang Qinghua from his reverie, and he turned to face his friend again, closing his mouth with a snap. He sat motionless, rendered, for perhaps the first time in his life, utterly speechless. “Well?” prompted Shen Qingqiu as the silence drew out, “What’s your verdict?”
A sound from behind him twisted Shang Qinghua around in his seat again. The stranger was rising to leave. Shang Qinghua spun back to his original position and stared ahead, watching more discreetly using the mirrored back wall. He would stay alert while the man left, observe closely, as a fearless investigator should, and file away any information for later. He would not overreact. He would not get carried away like he had in the past. And what he absolutely, definitely would not do was follow the man like a deranged stalker.
Shang Qinghua kept his promises as the maybe-demon unfolded himself to his full height, and held firm when he swept a long overcoat over his muscular body. Then, as he swept past their table, a cool breeze fluttered Shang Qinghua’s burger wrapper and pebbled the skin of his forearms. Without any conscious input from his brain, Shang Qinghua got to his feet.
“I take it I win?” asked Shen Qingqiu with a smile. Shang Qinghua ignored him and made a beeline for the exit, slipping through the door before it swung shut.
The man should have been easy to follow. The focus of Shang Qinghua’s attention was well over six feet tall and proportionately broad. The streets were quiet at this time of day, the people on the pavements sparse and hunched against the persistent drizzle. He should have stuck out like a sore thumb. Somehow, though, Shang Qinghua kept losing sight of his quarry.
The man moved faster than anybody that size had a right to, slipping round corners and reappearing further up the street than seemed possible, leaving Shang Qinghua breathlessly trying to keep pace. Worse, he ghosted in and out of the shadows, seeming to vanish in the gloom of the stone buildings and overcast sky. Several times, Shang Qinghua was sure he’d been left hopelessly behind, only to catch a flicker of midnight blue clothing just before its owner disappeared.
Red-faced and winded, it took Shang Qinghua until the building was almost in sight to realise that his chase was leading him towards his own block of flats. He stuttered to a stop. It had to be a coincidence, right? Shang Qinghua was seized by a rare moment of doubt. Like dragons, the lore surrounding demons was fascinating, but you wouldn’t necessarily want either turning up in your back garden. He could hear Shen Qingqiu’s mockery in his mind as clearly as if he were there. Surely you’re not going to chicken out now? After you might actually have found what you’re looking for? Shang Qinghua shushed the voice impatiently and scanned the area. Nothing. He scuffed his feet in irritation; whoever he had been following was gone.
On autopilot, Shang Qinghua headed for home - he’d had quite enough of Shen Qingqiu’s gleeful superiority (real or imagined) for one day. Shang Qinghua’s fingers twitched in anticipation – so many observations to write in his special notepad! So much red string to add to the board! – but he couldn’t help but circle back to his anxieties, worrying at them like a loose tooth. Demons in novels were great. Fierce, gifted…sexy. But did he really want to meet one in real life, or was it just that the idea—
Shang Qinghua’s train of thought derailed completely when he walked into a wall that some inconsiderate person had installed right where the front door of his block of flats used to be. A wall which appeared to be clad in a familiar midnight blue overcoat.
Ah. So he hadn’t lost his target after all. As the man turned around, Shang Qinghua lifted his eyes until he was looking directly at his face. Even through the grease-distorted reflections of a McDonald’s mirror, Shang Qinghua had been able to tell the stranger was attractive, but now he saw that this did not do him justice. He was unnaturally good-looking, like one of those models from perfume ads who could only have been grown in a lab somewhere.
“Urf,” said Shang Qinghua, eloquently. He cringed and tried again. “Who are you?” At least rude was better than incoherent.
“Mobei-jun. I live here.”
He most certainly did not. Shang Qinghua would definitely have noticed. Wait. There was a vacant flat opposite his. This must be his new neighbour. A distant, over-excitable part of Shang Qinghua took great pleasure in pointing out that, at some point, his new neighbour would be showering and changing and otherwise being completely naked with only a few flimsy walls between them. The mental image blanked Shang Qinghua’s mind for a moment. When he came back online, Shang Qinghua realised he had remained silent for far too long.
“And you are?” Mobei-jun (he could forgive a stupid name on someone who looked like that) was regarding him like a specimen under glass. Aware he needed to respond, Shang Qinghua instead found himself helplessly smiling wider and wider. Speak, he exhorted himself. Say something. Say ANYTHING.
“I’m Shang Qinghua,” he forced out, voice squeaking slightly. “Are you a demon?” Shang Qinghua clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. He had said that out loud.
Mobei-jun stiffened, and for a split second, his eyes seemed to flash a lighter blue. Shang Qinghua braced himself for the inevitable laughter, but Mobei-jun did not appear amused. He moved closer, crowding Shang Qinghua until he teetered on the edge of the door stoop. Mobei-jun dipped his head, lips inches from Shang Qinghua’s ear.
“Yes.”
***
“Drink.”
Shrinking away from the proffered glass of water, Shang Qinghua tried, improbably, to curl up even smaller on the couch. Mobei-jun’s couch.
“Um…no.” Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened. “I mean no thank you, of course,” he added hurriedly, resisting the urge to bob his head. Mobei-jun made no move to withdraw the drink, and Shang Qinghua tried very hard not to fixate on the network of veins on the back of his hand, or the way condensation from the glass was slowly tracing its way across his skin.
“You should drink,” pronounced Mobei-jun, knitting his eyebrows in a way that made Shang Qinghua want to curtsey, or throw himself out the window, or both. “You fainted.”
“I did not!” protested Shang Qinghua. “I fell off the step.” As if that’s any better, he thought, wincing. Mobei-jun turned away, giving Shang Qinghua the space to spiral in peace. His inner voice was whistling like a tea kettle. DEMON! DEMON! I actually found a demon! And certainly, Mobei-jun was…extraordinary. He didn’t look like anyone Shang Qinghua had ever met; he didn’t move like them either. And that particular blend of terrified and horny he was inspiring in Shang Qinghua? It could only be the work of dark magic.
On the other hand, surely a much-anticipated first meeting with a demon couldn’t be this humdrum? Mobei-jun didn’t have a blackened iron throne; he had a couch. With throw cushions. His walls were beige. Shang Qinghua was pretty sure he could see the corner of a ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ sign hanging in the kitchen, for fuck’s sake.
Footsteps drew Shang Qinghua’s attention. Mobei-jun was returning, minus the glass of water. He stopped directly in front of Shang Qinghua, looming over him. Shang Qinghua looked at him expectantly, but it appeared that Mobei-jun was happy to simply observe his visitor.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” said Shang Qinghua, filling the awkward silence. “Very…neutral.”
Nothing.
“And that plastic plant? So realistic – it almost had me fooled!” Shang Qinghua sighed. He could chatter for days – it was basically a founding tenet of his personality – but, whatever else the guy might be, Mobei-jun was clearly not a fan of small talk. “It’s not the decor I would expect from a…” Shang Qinghua left the last word hanging, inviting Mobei-jun to complete the sentence. Perhaps he had misheard.
“From a…?” prompted Mobei-jun, face blank.
“You know,” said Shang Qinghua, gesturing circles in the air with his finger in a futile attempt to induce Mobei-jun to continue. Mobei-jun held his gaze steadily, unblinking. “From a demon,” Shang Qinghua blurted out, exasperated. “Where are your war trophies, the skins of your kills, the still-bloody hearts of your enemies, bound in an earthen jar for all eternity?”
“I’ve found they upset people,” replied Mobei-jun, without a ripple of expression on his face, “so I hid them.”
Shang Qinghua barked out a laugh which died on his lips when he realised Mobei-jun was not joining in. “You’re not joking, are you?” he asked, voice hardly more than a whisper. He lurched up from the couch, stumbling out of reach of Mobei-jun’s steadying hand. “You mean every word.” Shang Qinghua’s voice was louder now, sharper, edged with hysteria. He pressed his fingers to his temples as though he could manually still his swirling thoughts.
“Are you well?” asked Mobei-jun. “Are you going to faint again?”
“I DIDN’T FAI —” Shang Qinghua took a deep breath. “Look, M —” He cut himself off again. It really was a ridiculous name. “Mobei-jun.” Shang Qinghua sounded out the words under his breath as he backed towards the door and stifled another round of nervous laughter. What else could he call him? “Big, sexy demon?” He shook his head. Too on the nose. “My neighbour?” Shang Qinghua’s back hit the door of the flat, and his eyes startled up, meeting Mobei-jun’s across the room.
“Whatever you choose to call me,” said Mobei-jun, “I will answer.”
Shang Qinghua flattened his hands against the door behind him in an attempt to steady himself. “How did you…? You couldn’t have heard that.”
“It’s a demon thing,” replied Mobei-jun, who was slowly but surely closing the distance between them.
Shutting his eyes, Shang Qinghua started to count to ten before realising he couldn’t quite remember how. He had to get out of here, now, before he really did faint.
“Well,” he squeaked, “It’s been lovely to meet you, but I’d better go. I have to…” Recognising that if counting was beyond him, he had little hope of conjuring a likely excuse, Shang Qinghua turned and wrenched the door open, stumbling into the hall and all but slamming it behind him. His fingers fished in his pockets for the keys to his flat. Why weren’t they there? He froze. They must have fallen out in Mobei-jun’s living room. As Shang Qinghua made peace with the fact he would simply have to leave it all behind and start a new life with only what he was wearing, his nails snagged on his keys. He let himself in and sagged against his front door, panting.
As his breathing slowed, Shang Qinghua assessed the damage. He’d made quite the spectacle of himself in front of his new neighbour, but that was inconsequential; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time, or probably the last. He could simply avoid Mobei-jun. Living opposite him could make that tricky, but Shang Qinghua was confident he could adapt to a hermit’s lifestyle, or fake a bang on the head which left him unable to speak or understand English. Running away from his problems had become something of a speciality over the years.
This time though, the idea didn’t sit comfortably, no matter how Shang Qinghua tried to settle it into his brain. Whatever else he might be, Mobei-jun was hot, and there was definitely a spark of…something between them. Reluctantly, Shang Qinghua admitted to himself that he wanted to see Mobei-jun again. What he did not want was to contemplate his own grisly demise, and even the least dangerous demons in lore were more indifferent than benevolent. It was a problem.
Even worse was the looming prospect of having to see Shen Qingqiu at some point in the near future and explain his abrupt departure from their lunch date. And there was no point in lying – he’d never once been able to fool Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua could see it now: the poorly contained mirth at Shang Qinghua falling off the step, the suppressed laughter at his new neighbour princess-carrying him to the third floor. By the time Shang Qinghua admitted he had fled from the first actual demon he had ever met, Shen Qingqiu would have shed every ounce of his carefully curated poise and would be rolling on the floor, clutching his sides.
This would not do.
The too-easy admission of Mobei-jun’s nature, the twee decor, the utter lack of a savage attack on Shang Qinghua’s person. Shang Qinghua’s mirthless laugh echoed through his flat as he walked to his computer. That crack about hiding demon paraphernalia? Exactly what someone pretending to be a demon would say. Shang Qinghua stabbed the power on, drew up his seat with a flourish and readied himself for some serious research. If Mobei-jun wasn’t a demon, then Shang Qinghua was just the man to prove it.
***
Grumpily, Shang Qinghua nudged at the index cards scattered across the floor with his toes. Seconds before, it had been a painstakingly handmade compendium of demon classification; now, after he had hurled it to the floor in a fit of pique, it was a trip hazard. Shang Qinghua glowered at the little rectangles as if his current dilemma were a problem entirely of their making. It turns out conventional wisdom was correct: it really is difficult to prove a negative.
The novels he had devoured, the late-night research, the fastidiously collated and highlighted compendium that was now spread haphazardly across his carpet… All of these things had primed Shang Qinghua to identify demon traits, not explain them away. Luckily, he had a supportive, if caustic, network of one to fall back on. Shang Qinghua grabbed his mobile from the desk.
Me: Bro, I need your help
SQQ: Have you been arrested again?
Me: Not this time
Me: It’s about the McDonald’s guy
SQQ: Oh Christ
SQQ: He caught you following him, didn’t he?
SQQ: Do we need to navigate another restraining order?
SQQ: ANSWER ME
SQQ: I need to know what I’m dealing with. What did you say to the poor guy?
SQQ: Wait
SQQ: You accused him of being a demon, didn’t you?
Me: Uh-huh
SQQ: And?
Me: And it’s complicated.
Me: I need to call an emergency meeting
SQQ: Because?
Me: We need to test him
SQQ: Test him?
SQQ: You mean he said he WAS a demon?
Me: Tomorrow. 6pm
SQQ: Fine
SQQ: But know that I am sick of your shit
Throwing his phone back on the desk with a clatter, Shang Qinghua sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. That had gone better than expected. Now for the hard part.
Outside Mobei-jun’s flat, Shang Qinghua straightened his spine and puffed out his chest. Perhaps their first meeting had been a little…unorthodox, but, this time, Shang Qinghua was ready. He had rehearsed what he was going to say in front of the mirror. Extensively. He raised his hand and knocked purposefully.
The instant the door swung open, Shang Qinghua launched into his speech. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I think we might have got off on the wrong f…uck.”
His sexy next-door neighbour, who may or may not have been a demon, had answered the door topless, and now Shang Qinghua was faced with Mobei-jun’s nipples. Did demons even have those? Were demons mammalian? Was this more proof that Mobei-jun was lying? How long could a person stare at another’s nipples before it was considered impolite? Slowly, Shang Qinghua raised his eyes to meet Mobei-jun’s. They were glittering with what Shang Qinghua could only hope was amusement.
“Tomorrow!” Shang Qinghua forced the word out between palpitations and waited for a response, carefully fixing his gaze somewhere over Mobei-jun’s left shoulder.
“What about tomorrow?” prompted Mobei-jun after an extended silence during which Shang Qinghua tried to decide if the twinkling of multi-coloured fairy lights from inside the flat made it more or less likely that his neighbour was demonic. Shang Qinghua let his eyes slip shut in mortification, and the lack of bare skin in his peripheral vision granted him enough emotional wherewithal to formulate a full sentence.
“Are you free tomorrow?” I would like to take you to—”
“Yes.”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes startled open. “I haven’t even told you where I’ll be taking you.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
For a brief moment, Shang Qinghua risked looking at Mobei-jun again. He seemed sincere; at the very least, he wasn’t openly sniggering. “Really?” asked Shang Qinghua, not quite believing his luck. Even Shen Qingqiu had taken several days of persuasion to attend a meeting, and had since called in any number of favours, and they’d been friends for years.
Standing aside from the door, Mobei-jun motioned for Shang Qinghua to enter. “So where are we going?” Without waiting for a response, Mobei-jun turned and slipped into what was presumably the bedroom. Shang Qinghua was not following him in there. Instead, he raised his voice, wincing as it cracked even more than normal under the strain.
“I, uh, run a sort of group. We meet occasionally to discuss…” Shang Qinghua trailed off. It all sounded so ridiculous now he was saying it out loud. How had he never realised this before? Mobei-jun’s head appeared from the doorway of the bedroom, the rest of him mercifully hidden by the wall.
“Discuss what?” asked Mobei-jun. “And don’t shout,” he continued, tapping his ear, “I can hear you speak from anywhere on this floor.”
Mobei-jun’s words earlier that day echoed in Shang Qinghua’s head. It’s a demon thing. He laughed nervously. “About that. It’s actually a… What I mean to say is…”
As Shang Qinghua fumbled, Mobei-jun had reappeared, fully clothed and appraising Shang Qinghua with one eyebrow raised.
“It’sademoninvestigationgroup” squeaked Shang Qinghua, rattling through the words as fast as humanly possible. He squinted at Mobei-jun with trepidation.
Cocking his head, Mobei-jun blinked, his mouth soundlessly forming words. Demon. Investigation. “You have a group? And…meetings?” Mobei-jun looked to Shang Qinghua for confirmation, and he nodded with a nervous enthusiasm that threatened to unhinge his head from his neck.
“And you want me there because?” Mobei-jun’s tone was as bland as his decor. He didn’t seem confused, or angry. Simply curious. When he didn’t get a response, Mobei-jun stepped towards Shang Qinghua. “A guest speaker?” he prompted. “A demonstration?”
Shang Qinghua winced. “No, not that.” He took a deep breath and ploughed on. Far too late to back out now. “I want to test you. I want to see if you really are a demon.”
Moving closer, Mobei-jun locked eyes with Shang Qinghua, his gaze intense, nostrils flaring. Shang Qinghua tensed, ready to flee or play dead as the situation demanded. As quickly as it had changed, Mobei-jun’s demeanour relaxed, and Shang Qinghua let out a shuddering breath.
“You don’t believe me,” stated Mobei-jun, certain. “Why?” When he didn’t get a response, Mobei-jun cut the distance between them further, observing with interest as Shang Qinghua visibly warred between ogling his new neighbour and running for his life. “Ah. Maybe you don’t want to believe.” The tips of his teeth were beginning to show from beneath Mobei-jun’s top lip, and a faint rumbling was coming from his chest. Shang Qinghua gulped.
“I have offended you,” began Shang Qinghua. “I apologise. There is no need for you to—”
“You haven’t offended me,” Mobei-jun interrupted. “I find the idea of you testing me” – he leant forwards, his final word spoken close enough to stir the hair behind Shang Qinghua’s ear – “intriguing.”
Determined not to give Mobei-jun any further reason to think he was a simpleton, Shang Qinghua resisted the urge to blink dumbly and pushed on, grasping at the threads of his unravelling conversation. “Tomorrow it is then. It’s a bit of a walk, but we could take the bus. Wait.” Shang Qinghua stopped and looked at Mobei-jun uncertainly. “Do demons take the bus?”
“You tell me,” replied Mobei-jun, expressionless.
Shang Qinghua hastily bit back a sarcastic response; this was not Shen Qingqiu he was dealing with. “Then how would you usually travel?” For a split second, it seemed to Shang Qinghua that the air thickened in his throat, and the shadows around Mobei-jun deepened. As quickly as it happened, the feeling was gone.
“All in good time,” replied Mobei-jun, easing past Shang Qinghua to open the front door. Taking his cue, Shang Qinghua walked out into the hallway, hovering uncertainly, bewildered by the day’s events. “Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow,” confirmed Mobei-jun. “I look forward to it, little human.” The door clicked shut, leaving Shang Qinghua alone with his jumbled thoughts.
***
“He certainly looks the part,” said Shen Qingqiu, lifting the paper cup of vending machine coffee Shang Qinghua had shoved at him towards his mouth and then setting it aside with a moue of distaste. “He’s even bigger than I remember from yesterday.” He turned to Shang Qinghua with an expression that was one step shy of gloating. “You must be delighted.”
Scowling, Shang Qinghua took one glance at the dubious contents of his own cup before discarding it on a table. “Well, I’m not.” He turned to watch Mobei-jun, who was studying the investigation board with evident curiosity, pausing occasionally to pluck at one of the lines of red string.
“So I gathered. At any point during this process,” asked Shen Qingqiu, “are you going to enlighten me as to why you want to prove that… What did you say his name was?”
“Mobei-jun.” Shang Qinghua was still tracking the object of discussion, who had moved away from the board to the nearby tables. Mobei-jun lifted his cup of coffee to his face and inhaled deeply.
“Ah, yes. Mobei-jun. A very normal human name. So,” continued Shen Qingqiu. “We are trying to prove he is not a demon. Despite you spending half a year trying to find someone, anyone, that you could prove was a demon.”
“Correct.”
“Splendid,” said Shen Qingqiu, turning to join his friend in observation of Mobei-jun. “Then, though I cannot claim to understand your thinking, I hope for your sake he turns out to be entirely unremarkable.” Across the room, Mobei-jun took a sip of his coffee as Shang Qinghua shuddered in sympathy. With no hesitation, Mobei-jun lifted the cup again and drained it with relish. Shen Qingqiu's eyebrows flew to the top of his forehead.
“NO!” barked Shang Qinghua. “This,” he said, raising an admonishing finger, “means nothing.”
“But…That’s not normal. It must taste like—”
“Coffee. Humans love coffee. Well-known fact.” Shang Qinghua took a fortifying breath and turned towards the back of the room before Shen Qingqiu could share any further inconvenient opinions “Come on,” said Shang Qinghua. “We might as well get started.”
When he was a few feet from the…test subject, Shang Qinghua cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you for agreeing to be here. This is Shen Qingqiu, my best friend, and fellow member of the Purposeful Investigation into the Demon World group.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Despite his aversion to physical contact, and contact with other people in general, Shen Qingqiu was rising to the occasion admirably, smiling politely and extending a hand in greeting. Mobei-jun scanned Shen Qingqiu from head to toe and then conspicuously folded his arms. Shen Qingqiu gave a tight-lipped smile and motioned for Shang Qinghua to continue.
“Right, um. The tests.” Shang Qinghua took an uncertain step forwards then stopped. “Let’s start with your cla— nails. We’ll begin with those.” After casting a final suspicious glance at Shen Qingqiu, Mobei-jun relaxed his shoulders and unfolded his arms, extending both hands towards Shang Qinghua. He had already caught a glimpse of Mobei-jun’s fingernails when he’d checked him out in McDonald’s, and seeing them again under unforgiving fluorescent lights knotted Shang Qinghua’s stomach. Definitely longer than normal, slightly curved, and darker too.
Behind him, Shen Qingqiu sucked in a breath. Shang Qinghua whirled around to glower at him, and to buy some thinking time. All was not yet lost. Some people just had…different hygiene standards. Who was Shang Qinghua to judge? And the colour? Easily explained – he’d made that exact mistake before. Shang Qinghua waved away the ruler Shen Qingqiu was thrusting towards him and turned back, ready to quiz Mobei-jun about his opinions on death metal music.
Huh.
While Mobei-jun’s nails were certainly still darker than normal, they didn’t seem quite as long now. Shang Qinghua blinked repeatedly. The curve was gone too. They were positively ordinary.
“Did you see that?” Shen Qingqiu hissed into his ear. “His nails—”
“Look perfectly normal, yes,” interrupted Shang Qinghua. He blinked once again for good measure. He must have been seeing things.
“But I swear they—”
“Shush.” Shang Qinghua gestured impatiently at Shen Qingqiu and refocused his attention on Mobei-jun. “Teeth next, please.” A hint of a smile was already curling Mobei-jun’s lips, and Shang Qinghua looked at them with trepidation. In his room last night, Mobei-jun’s smile had exposed the tips of his teeth. But not this time. Shang Qinghua reached up impulsively, stopping and snatching his hand back inches from Mobei-jun’s mouth.
Mobei-jun smiled wider, then purposely bared his teeth. Even. White. Strong. Canines very slightly prominent. But not…demonic. Shang Qinghua allowed his eyes to linger on Mobei-jun. This was going better than he had thought. Perhaps it was safe to start imagining sucking one of those plush lips into his own mouth without fear of getting disembowelled.
With a slight skip in his step, Shang Qinghua returned to the table where he’d left his carefully prepared paperwork. With a flourish, he raised his pen and scored through the section marked ‘Non-invasive physical tests’, adding ‘No conclusive demonic features’ in the remarks box. He turned to Shen Qingqiu. “This is going well, isn’t it?”
“If you say so,” he replied lightly. “What now?”
“Go grab the stuff; we’ll do the sensory response tests next.”
While Shen Qingqiu collected a cooler bag in the corner, Shang Qinghua drifted back to Mobei-jun. “Thank you again for agreeing to this.”
“My pleasure,” rumbled Mobei-jun. “Tell me,” he said, pinning Shang Qinghua with his glacial eyes. “Are you getting what you’d hoped for?”
Was he? Shang Qinghua hesitated. Even he wasn’t sure what outcome he wanted from these tests. Not really. If in doubt, prevaricate. “What do you mean ‘hoped for’? I am a disinterested observer. I am merely following where the data leads me.”
“Quite,” interrupted Shen Qingqiu, the scepticism in his voice as unnecessary as the way he dropped the bag directly onto Shang Qinghua’s toes.
With a muffled squeak, Shang Qinghua extricated his feet from under the bag and fished a box of matches from its depths. “Okay!” he exclaimed. “On with the tests. These are designed to check your reaction to heat and cold. As everyone knows, many demons have an affinity to one of the classical elements, and…” Shang Qinghua’s burgeoning monologue withered under the weight of Shen Qingqiu’s impatient glare. “Anyway,” he continued, directing his next words to Mobei-jun, “if I could have your hand?”
Touching Mobei-jun’s cool skin as lightly as he could, Shang Qinghua turned the proffered hand palm upwards to avoid further contemplation on the typicality or otherwise of Mobei-jun’s nails. He struck a match, cupping and angling it until it burned steadily. As Shang Qinghua moved it towards Mobei-jun, the flame guttered and winked out of existence. The same thing happened to the next. And the next.
After half a dozen wasted matches, Shang Qinghua gritted his teeth and calmly placed the box back in the bag, having manfully resisted the urge to hurl it across the hall. He turned to scowl at Shen Qingqiu. “This is your fault.”
“And how did you arrive at that conclusion?” enquired Shen Qingqiu.
“You brought faulty matches.”
“Yes,” replied Shen Qingqiu, voice dripping disdain. “I am sure that’s what’s happening here.”
Biting back a retort which could only make matters worse, Shang Qinghua bent and collected another object from the bag. “Fine,” he snapped, sounding anything but. “Next test.” He slapped a dripping bag of partially defrosted ice into Mobei-jun’s palm, which was still patiently hovering in the air after the matches debacle. He whirled to Shen Qingqiu in triumph.
“See?” he crowed. “It is all your fault. Your cooler bag is a piece of shit, and the ice must have got the matches wet.”
“They lit, didn’t they?” replied Shen Qingqiu, with that tone of patient forbearance which always made Shang Qinghua’s teeth itch. “If I were you,” he continued, “I’d be more interested in what the bag in your thoroughly human neighbour’s hand is doing now.”
Shang Qinghua turned to look. It was…doing nothing. He stared a little harder and tilted his head. Nope. Not a thing. Mobei-jun was holding it with no signs of discomfort, but hardly any time had passed, and it was a bag of supermarket value ice, not liquid nitrogen.
“And?” prompted Shang Qinghua, as obnoxiously as he could.
“It’s stopped dripping,” sighed Shen Qingqiu.
It was true. A cursory glance confirmed as much. “So what?” demanded Shang Qinghua. "It wasn’t exactly pouring out to begin with.”
“And the drops on the floor?”
Shang Qinghua’s gaze fell to the cheap linoleum. There was no telltale sheen of wetness. In fact, the area under Mobei-jun’s hand was paler than the rest, practically white. And was it glittering? It looked almost like ice. How could—
“Can I let go of this now?”
Startled, Shang Qinghua’s eyes automatically rose to Mobei-jun’s face. “Uh, sure.” He took the ice from Mobei-jun, turned, and tossed it back into the bag, where it landed with a loud thud. When Shang Qinghua’s attention returned to the floor, Mobei-jun was standing directly on the patch of… whatever. Shang Qinghua’s gaze flicked from the floor to Mobei-jun, whose expression was as mild as his decor.
Slowly, Shang Qinghua backed away to where his clipboard was. He raised it and stared hard at the paper before scoring through the second section and writing ‘Tests invalid - faulty equipment’ underneath. Behind him, Shen Qingqiu scoffed.
“Right then,” announced Shang Qinghua. “Nearly done – one more test.” He turned towards Mobei-jun, who was looking vaguely disappointed, to explain further. “Demons, some of them, are creatures made from shadow. As such, they often lack shadows of their own.” Shang Qinghua strode over to the projector, still set up on its table. He pressed a button, and the lamp flickered before settling into a warm glow. “Shen Qingqiu, if you please.”
Footsteps echoed through the hall, fading an instant before the room fell into almost total darkness. Somehow, without seeming to move, Mobei-jun was right beside him, close enough for Shang Qinghua to hear his breath and feel the brush of their clothes touching. “What now?” he purred, directly into Shang Qinghua’s ear.
Taking two smart steps away for his own sanity, Shang Qinghua swallowed before replying. “If you could go between the projector light and the wall, please.”
Mobei-jun moved away silently, and Shang Qinghua lost him for a moment in the gloom. When he appeared again on the edge of the projector’s glow, Shang Qinghua turned all his focus to the patch of light on the wall. Mobei-jun stepped in front of the lamp and, for a split second, nothing happened. Shang Qinghua held his breath. Then, Mobei-jun’s shadow appeared; perfectly in place, perfectly normal. It must have been a trick of the light. Or the angle. Or something.
“Could you move around a bit, please? For science.” Shen Qingqiu’s words floated across from the far corner of the room where the main light switch was.
Irritation flickered across Mobei-jun’s face, but he complied with the request, moving first to the right, then to the left, before lifting each arm in turn. It was almost convincing. After every movement Mobei-jun made, there was a delay before his shadow matched. It was nearly imperceptible, but jarred nonetheless – like watching dubbed dialogue. With a flash of hot panic, Shang Qinghua flicked the projector off, plunging the room to black.
As Shang Qinghua stood, rooted to the spot, there was a high-pitched whine, and the fluorescent lighting flickered back to life. Shang Qinghua screwed his eyes both against the glare and to better pretend he couldn’t see both Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-jun approaching.
“Well then, what’s the verdict?” asked Shen Qingqiu carefully. To his side, Mobei-jun stood watchful, expression unreadable.
Shang Qinghua lifted the clipboard still held loosely in his hand and went to war with himself. Any fearless investigator worth his salt could see that the test results were…questionable at the very least. But. Standing in front of Mobei-jun – whoever he truly was – the hypothetical existence of demons seemed insignificant. An afterthought. Shang Qinghua had found what might turn out to be a genuine connection. That was more important than all the investigation boards and compendia in the world.
Lifting his pen, Shang Qinghua barely hesitated before scrawling ‘Inconclusive’ in the comments section for the final test. He raised his eyes to Mobei-jun’s. “You’re not a demon,” he said, unable to keep the relief – or the disappointment – from his voice.
Mobei-jun stood, passive. Shen Qingqiu sighed and motioned for Shang Qinghua to join him, ushering him to the far corner away from Mobei-jun. “So,” he said. “Not a demon.” Shen Qingqiu looked from Shang Qinghua to Mobei-jun and back again. “This is what you’ve decided?”
“I proved it,” muttered Shang Qinghua.
Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Shang Qinghua dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.
“Very well. If this is the resolution you want, I support it.” Shen Qingqiu squeezed Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
As Shen Qingqiu gathered his things and made his way out of the hall, Shang Qinghua approached Mobei-jun, stopping directly in front of him and raising his head to make eye contact. Shang Qinghua opened his mouth to speak, but Mobei-jun was faster.
“Thank you, little human. I enjoyed being tested.” He smiled, and the tip of a perfect white canine slid from beneath his lip. “I enjoyed failing – it’s not something I’ve had a chance to do before.”
“Huh?” Shang Qinghua shook his head witlessly. “You-you…failed deliberately? Why would you even do that?”
“When I told you I was a demon, you backed off. I wanted you…closer.” To prove his point, Mobei-jun moved towards Shang Qinghua, crowding against him. “Now, I’m not a demon; I heard you tell your friend you proved it.”
Heard it from the other side of the hall. It’s a demon thing, he’d said before. It was true after all.
“Oh shit. You really are a demon,” breathed Shang Qinghua, eyes wide.
“Only if you want me to be.”
“Absolutely not; demons are frightening creatures,” Shang Qinghua protested. He began to step back to make space between them when Mobei-jun caught him around the waist and held him in place.
“You’re not frightened of me.”
“Yes I am – I’m terrified!”
“You might think you are, but you don’t run.” Mobei-jun bent and pressed his face to Shang Qinghua’s hair. “You don’t even smell afraid.”
Shang Qinghua shivered as Mobei-jun’s breath ghosted over his scalp. He glanced over at his investigation board and its fanciful illustrations; he considered the feeling of Mobei-jun’s tautly muscled arm pushed into the small of his back.
Maybe, just maybe, he could have the best of both worlds.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Let’s imagine, for the sake of argument, that you are a demon…”
Mobei-jun smiled wider and – oh my – there were his real teeth, curving down and pushing against his plush lower lip. Shang Qinghua stared.
“They did not look like that earlier.”
“They retract. So do these.” Against the small of his back, where Mobei-jun’s hand still rested, Shang Qinghua felt five pin pricks. Claws. They began to trail lower. Shang Qinghua squeaked and dropped his clipboard. He moved away. But only a little.
“As I was saying, if you are a demon. If…” Shang Qinghua’s voice broke off. “You don’t intend to hurt me?”
“Never.”
Shang Qinghua sagged a little in Mobei-jun’s grip. He exhaled slowly, feeling a weight he’d barely been aware of lift. “Fine. Demon it is then.” Shang Qinghua paused, then grinned. “This is a big deal for me, you know? I think I deserve some sort of demonstration. Now it’s your turn to prove you are a demon.” He raised a finger to stall any protests. “Long fingernails aren’t going to cut it.”
Without letting go of Shang Qinghua’s waist, Mobei-jun thrust his free hand towards the floor. The entire floor sparkled in a mosaic pattern. Ice. Shang Qinghua laughed out loud, his breath hanging in the air before him, and looked around in wonder. Mobei-jun was right – he wasn’t afraid. “Very pretty,” teased Shang Qinghua. “Is that all you’ve got?”
The air thickened in Shang Qinghua’s throat, and shadows gathered around them. With a snap of his fingers, Mobei-jun opened a portal of pure darkness.
“Now that,” said Shang Qinghua, “was impressive.” Emboldened, he flattened his palm against Mobei-jun’s torso.
“Then you’ll come with me?” growled Mobei-jun.
“That depends. Where does it lead?”
“My bedroom.”
“In which case,” said Shang Qinghua, tangling his fingers in the hair at Mobei-junj’s neck, “definitely.” Mobei-jun hissed.
Shang Qinghua took a final glance around the room, then kicked away his clipboard, sending it skidding across the ice. Who needs an investigation group when you have a real-life demon? Pushing his hand to Mobei-jun’s chest, he toppled them both into the void.