Standing amidst the cold gazes of the officers, I felt my inner world surge like a tidal wave. In that moment, all the fear, anger, helplessness, and even a flicker of hope, coalesced into a force that seemed to be pushing me towards an unknown abyss.
The phone spirit's words were like a pebble dropped into the lake of my heart, rippling outwards. I turned to look at its small face etched with anxiety. It was merely a tiny electronic life form, yet its voice held an unusual firmness.
"Let us prove the innocence of the yokai. Perhaps that can change everything." Its voice was almost a whisper, but it resonated clearly within me.
I took a deep breath and lifted my head. All the yokai's eyes were fixed upon me, filled with expectation and unease. For them, this was a chance at rebirth, an opportunity to break free from fear. And for me, it was an unprecedented adventure – not only to protect the yokai but also to shatter the deep-rooted prejudice of human society.
"I will prove it to you," I said to the officers, the determination in my tone surprising even myself. This was not just a challenge; it was a cry for understanding.
The young officer who had sneered earlier remained impassive, watching with cold eyes, seemingly waiting for my so-called "proof." The other officers remained silent, standing still, their gazes like sharp, deep blades.
"Then let's see who is truly afraid," I murmured to myself.
"Master, how shall we prove it?" Jin San gently tapped my ankle with his tail, a hint of worry in his eyes.
"Wait a moment," I whispered back. A thought flashed through my mind – the yokai's past. They had once been guardians, sages, even friends of humanity. These forgotten stories were the best evidence of their innocence.
I turned to the yokai, my gaze growing firm. "We need to let humans see your truth. Your stories, we will tell them together."
The yokai exchanged glances, seeming hesitant, but eventually, they all nodded, indicating their willingness to participate in this act of proving themselves.
In the unspoken understanding between me and the yokai, I began to formulate a plan. This time, we would let humans witness the true faces of the yokai and hear their untold stories with their own ears.
"Phone spirit, help me contact that folk tale program," an idea suddenly struck me. "We'll do a city-wide live broadcast, letting everyone see the yokai's stories and hear their heartfelt voices."
The phone spirit swiftly sprang into action, and within seconds, a call was connected to the program organizer. "Hello, this is Li Chuan-Cheng. Is your program currently recording content related to folk legends?"
I briefly explained the plan, emphasizing that this was an opportunity to showcase the yokai's true identities. The program host on the other end was initially skeptical, but after my detailed explanation, they surprisingly agreed to our request and said they would arrange it as soon as possible.
With all preparations in place, the day of the live broadcast finally arrived. Posters for the program could be seen in the streets and alleys of the city, emblazoned with the words "The Truth of Yokai: Unraveling Human Fear," undoubtedly attracting many curious viewers.
At the beginning of the program, all the yokai, including Jin San and the tiger yokai, appeared on stage. They did not transform into human forms but remained in their original appearances – fox, tiger, river deity, and others. At this moment, the yokai were no longer the "monsters" of the streets and alleys but beings with flesh and blood, with emotions.
I stood aside, observing the reactions of each audience member. Initially, when people saw the majestic figure of the tiger yokai, a gasp swept through the venue, and some even subconsciously recoiled. Then there was Jin San, his dazzling golden tail swaying gently, his eyes revealing tenderness rather than threat.
Next, the program moved into the "Yokai Stories" segment. Each yokai shared their past, recounting how they had once been guardians, sages, how they had lived alongside humans, and how they had gradually been forgotten due to human alienation.
The most touching story was that of the river deity. He had been the protector of a village for generations, but as the villagers gradually distanced themselves from him, he grew weaker and weaker, eventually losing all incense offerings and faith. At that moment, an emotion of profound sadness spread through the live audience.
"We do not wish to be enemies of humans, only hoping to find belonging once more," the river deity choked out, a sentence that silenced everyone.
As the stories concluded, I noticed that the audience's reaction gradually shifted from fear to understanding and sympathy. Within human hearts, a subtle change had begun to take root.
I looked at the yokai beside me. At this moment, they were no longer beings hidden in the shadows but were proving their innocence to the world in their own way.
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