Chapter 78

78. The Secret of the Red Belly Band

Okay. I’ve seen a lot of wild things since becoming the director of Lingyou Zoo—talking deer, fire-breathing birds, the occasional divine tantrum—but nothing prepared me for this.

Because standing right in front of me was her.

Daji.

Yes, that Daji.

The infamous nine-tailed fox from Chinese legends. The very embodiment of beauty and doom. Executed ages ago. Or, you know, so the stories said.

But there she was. In my office. Wearing a pristine white dress, looking like the most innocent girl on Earth.

“You… you… how can you look like this?” I asked, mouth dry.

She was… adorable? Like, actually cute. Not the seductress who brought dynasties to their knees, but a soft-voiced, gentle-looking little thing who held the hem of her skirt and smiled at me sweetly.

“For the sake of Lingyou,” she said, “if I showed up in my adult form, it’d only cause trouble.”

She wasn’t bragging. Just stating a fact. The terrifying part? I believed her.

I asked her name, and she blinked innocently. “I don’t really have one. You Su is just what the director calls me. It’s Daji’s clan name—I borrowed it. I couldn’t exactly call myself Daji, could I?”

Compared to Lu Ya’s dramatic entrance, You Su’s arrival was like a breeze. Thoughtful. Cooperative. No lightning bolts, no flaming demands for housing upgrades. When I told her the room was simple, she just nodded and said, “I’ll follow the director’s arrangements.”

Was… was this how it felt to be respected?

I was still riding that high when Lu Ya shoved past me with a face like he’d smelled a rotten egg. “Send her far away. She reeks.”

I muttered, “What a temper…”

You Su, ever composed, just shrugged. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve the Daoist Lord’s attention. He was already kind today. Director, I think that’s because of you.”

Kind?! That was kind?

Still, she had a point. Lu Ya was restrained by the system. If he wasn’t, I’d probably be a scorch mark on the floor by now.

Suddenly remembering the clothes I bought earlier, I knocked on Lu Ya’s door again. “Master, I noticed you always wear the same outfit, so I bought you some extras—”

He cut me off with a bang, door slamming shut.

“They’re not clothes! They’re my feathers!” he shouted.

Okay, okay! Note to self: never suggest laundry to a bird deity.

So I gave up and showed You Su to her room—at the opposite end of the hallway, just in case—and gave her a quick tour of the zoo. She asked smart, thoughtful questions. Didn’t even blink when I offered to register her as an Arctic fox.

“Sure,” she said.

I almost cried. Lu Ya, on the other hand, had demanded to be registered as a top-tier protected species. Probably wanted government subsidies.

You Su glanced over. “Those food supplies—are they for Xiao Su and Liu Bin?”

My blood ran cold. “They’re, um, employees. Not… for eating.”

She smiled. “Oh. That’s fine too.”

I was officially terrified.

We decided to say she was Lu Ya’s cousin. Everyone bought it. Gorgeous people must run in the family.

As we walked, she listened attentively to the zoo’s situation, then said thoughtfully, “So your problem is not enough visitors?”

“Yes,” I admitted, scratching my head. “I’m promoting online, but…”

“Why not partner with schools? Offer free field trips. It’ll cost a bit, but the impact will be worth it.”

My jaw dropped. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Can I… try later?” I said. “I’m not great at networking.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t scoff. Just said, “We can take it slow. I’ll do some research and help out.”

God, she was nicer than most of my college classmates.

“You’re so kind. You’re a literal fox spirit, and you’re still trying to help me.”

She smiled. “It’s not a big deal. We’re in this together. If I do a good job, I get a higher rating—and maybe my freedom.”

“…Freedom?” I blinked. “Wait, isn’t this a volunteer assignment?”

You Su widened her eyes and tilted her head toward Lu Ya’s door.

“I look like someone who volunteers to help others?”

I stared. She wasn’t wrong.

Then came the kicker: “I made a mistake and was assigned to provide services. If you’re not satisfied, you can give me a bad review… or ask for a refund.”

Refund?!

So that’s why she was so nice. She was forced to be nice.

Which raised a more urgent question: What the hell was Lu Ya’s excuse?!

Fueled by righteous indignation, I banged on Lu Ya’s door again. He opened it, looking like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

“What now?”

“I just found out… volunteers get ratings?”

He froze. Then exploded. “You fox! If you give me a bad review, you’re dead! Don’t you dare withdraw me!”

Apparently, this gig was cushy. And he didn’t want to lose it.

“I dressed up like a zoo animal for you! I lived in a cage!” he ranted.

“And now you’re swooning over that fox! She’ll ruin you! Haven’t you read about King Zhou of Shang?!”

Wow. He really went there.

Still, I pushed. “Then at least act like you’re here to help. You didn’t come out of the goodness of your heart.”

Lu Ya grumbled, “The master helps people…”

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying it.”

He screamed, “Get out! Or I’ll eat you!”

Okay, maybe I went too far.

Just then, a system notification popped up.

Congratulations! Task complete. Claim your reward?

I clicked “Yes,” and the screen displayed today’s optimal feeding plan. Apparently, it even calculated exact portions for every animal. Including…

Lu Ya.

“Three-legged Golden Crow No. 1.”

There it was, printed in bold on his food barrel.

“What the hell does a three-legged golden crow even eat?” I muttered.

Answer: beef and cabbage.

I hauled the barrel out, only for Lu Ya to see the label and explode.

“I will NEVER eat this humiliation!!”

Fine. I’ll eat it then.

I took it to the kitchen, stir-fried it with some basic seasoning, and it smelled amazing. I ran to get a bowl of rice.

Five minutes later…

I came back to see Lu Ya at the stove, stuffing his face with my beef.

I stared. He froze. We both blinked.

“What happened to fasting? And pride? And shame?” I asked, pointing at the half-eaten plate.

His face turned red. “It’s my food! Don’t you dare steal it!”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted rice.”

“…Yes.”

And that was how I ended up watching the great Daoist master, Lu Ya, wolfing down beef and cabbage with rice in my kitchen. Like a mortal. Like a very hungry, stingy mortal.

When I asked where the ingredients came from, he smirked. “Not from the human realm.”

Apparently, it all came from the Immortal Realm. That’s why it tasted like heaven itself.

I took one bite and nearly cried.

And then he told me I couldn’t buy it.

Honestly, at that point, I was questioning the whole point of being human.

From that day on, I guarded the feed like a hawk. If those ingredients were from the Immortal Realm, then every cabbage leaf was a national treasure.

The villagers didn’t get it. But the animals sure did.

Especially the lions. They were purring. Like overfed housecats.

And me? I was just a zoo director. Living among gods and monsters. Cooking beef for a bird who thought he was royalty.

…It’s fine. Totally normal.

Right?