Kris Ivy

“Because it wasn’t enough to be accompanied by the beast who scared the crap out of every god in Heaven, Xuanzang was assigned a few more traveling companions. The gluttonous pig-man Zhu Baijie. Sha Wujing, the repentant sand demon. And the Dragon Prince of the West Sea, who took the form of a horse for Xuanzang to ride. The five adventurers, thusly gathered, set off on their—

“Holy ballsacks!” I yelped. I dropped the book like I’d been bitten.

“How far did you get?” Quentin said.

He was leaning against the end of the nearest shelf, as casually as if he’d been there the whole time, waiting for this moment.

I ignored that he’d snuck up on me again, just this once. There was a bigger issue at play.

In the book was an illustration of the group done up in bold lines and bright colors. There was Sun Wukong at the front, dressed in a beggar’s cassock, holding his Ruyi Jingu Bang in one hand and the reins of the Dragon Horse in the other. A scary-looking pig-faced man and a wide-eyed demon monk followed, carrying the luggage. And perched on top of the horse was . . . me.

The artist had tried to give Xuanzang delicate, beatific features and ended up with a rather girly face. By whatever coincidence, the drawing of Sun Wukong’s old master could have been a rough caricature of sixteen-year-old Eugenia Lo from Santa Firenza, California.

“That’s who you think I am?” I said to Quentin.

“That’s who I know you are,” he answered. “My dearest friend. My boon companion. You’ve reincarnated into such a different form, but I’d recognize you anywhere. Your spiritual energies are unmistakable.”

“Are you sure? If you’re from a long time ago, maybe your memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“The realms beyond Earth exist on a different time scale,” Quentin said. “Only one day among the gods passes for every human year. To me, you haven’t been gone long. Months, not centuries.”

“This is just . . . I don’t know.” I took a moment to assemble my words. “You can’t walk up to me and expect me to believe right away that I’m the reincarnation of some legendary monk from a folk tale.”

“Wait, what?” Quentin squinted at me in confusion.

“I said you can’t expect me to go, ‘okay, I’m Xuanzang,’ just because you tell me so.”

Quentin’s mouth opened slowly like the dawning of the sun. His face went from confusion to understanding to horror and then finally to laughter.

“mmmmphhhhghAHAHAHAHA!” he roared. He nearly toppled over, trying to hold his sides in. “HAHAHAHA!”

“What the hell is so funny?”

“You,” Quentin said through his giggles. “You’re not Xuanzang. Xuanzang was meek and mild. A friend to all living things. You think that sounds like you?”

It did not. But then again I wasn’t the one trying to make a case here.

“Xuanzang was delicate like a chrysanthemum.” Quentin was getting a kick out of this. “You are so tough you snapped the battleaxe of the Mighty Miracle God like a twig. Xuanzang cried over squashing a mosquito. You, on the other hand, have killed more demons than the Catholic Church.”

I was starting to get annoyed. “Okay, then who the hell am I supposed to be?” If he thought I was the pig, then this whole deal was off.

“You’re my weapon,” he said. “You’re the Ruyi Jingu Bang.”

I punched Quentin as hard as I could in the face.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“The sheer amount of effort I was putting into these essays had to add up to something. It would be a violation of thermodynamics if it didn’t.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to look at my arm trailing away like the streamer on a bike handle.

“I can’t be stuck like this!” I wailed. Visions of having to gnaw it off like a jackal in a trap flooded my brain.

Quentin knelt before me and put his hands on my trembling shoulders.

“You’re not going to be stuck,” he said, his voice low and reassuring in my ears. “You are the most powerful thing on Earth short of a god. You can do absolutely anything. So believe me when I say you can certainly change your arm back to normal.”

He held me firmly, the way you’d brace someone trying to pop a dislocated joint back into place. “Just relax and breathe,” he said. “It’ll happen as you will it.”

I took his advice and focused on calming down. Focused on nothing. Focused on him.

I couldn’t really feel my arm retracting. And I certainly didn’t want to look at it happening. I just . . . remembered how I was supposed to be. I kept quiet, kept at it for what must have been a good ten minutes, until I could feel both of my hands firmly on Quentin’s broad back.

“There you go,” he said.

I opened my eyes. My arm was normal again. I was aware that we were sort of hugging.

I buried my face in his chest and blew my nose on his shirt. “I’m a human being,” I muttered.

“I never said you weren’t.”

I raised my head. Quentin looked at me with a smile that was free of any smugness. He didn’t even mind my snot on his lapel.

“Reincarnation as a human is practically the highest goal any spirit can achieve,” he said. “It’s considered the next best thing to enlightenment. If anything, I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished.”

I’m not sure why, but the rage that had been so palpable before seemed to float away at his words. Like I could have been angry with him forever had he said anything different.

I was mildly relieved. It was a hell of a one-eighty on my part, but right now I didn’t think I wanted to hate Quentin until the end of time.

“Genie Lo, you are unquestionably, undeniably human,” he said. “You just . . . have a whole bunch of other stuff going on as well.”

“Tell me about it.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“Spiritual power isn’t just or merciful. It’s fair. That’s what makes it so dangerous.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo