At thirty-four, I lost my job.
The afternoon I was "graduated," I thanked HR as I signed the paperwork. That night, an old book with no title slipped into my hands: Gan Bao's Records of the Supernatural. From that day on, I could see the monstrous forms beneath people's skin. The boss who made empty promises had a pastry demon underneath, its mouth full of paper pastries. Behind the KPIs squeezing employees dry lurked a cricket feeding on human blood. The service window that wouldn't let go of its procedures was a faceless face.
Slaying demons takes no brute force, but three proofs: the demon's true form, its actions, and its victims. With every demon I slay, I accumulate merit and rise in rank, while watching new layers of skin grow across my palms day by day. It's called skin erosion. The greatest risk for a demon slayer is becoming a demon.
While slaying demons, I still have a mortgage to pay in real life. My former boss, Zhou Mingyuan, is a pastry demon. My colleagues are wearing skins, and even the manager at the delivery station has a cricket clinging to his back. My family and a girl named Li Ji are my only cure. But the deeper I go, the more I discover: beneath this city lie five levels, the Skin Market, the Underworld, the Royal Court, layer upon layer, hiding a far greater skin.
His name is the King of Chu. He wants me to take his place.
He says those who get laid off will all become people who lay others off in the end, unless someone dares to tear this skin away.
I open Records of the Supernatural in my palm: do I slay demons, or not?
Tags throughout: Urban Fantasy, Urban Supernatural Powers, Face-Slapping Comeback, Rules
