(Scene opens with Yao Yao seated cross-legged on a very plush chair. A steaming cup of cocoa sits beside her.)
Author: Thank you for being here today, Yao Yao.
Yao Yao: I wasn't given a choice. I'm pretty sure this counts as kidnapping.
Author: It's a celebratory bonus chapter.
Yao Yao: Celebrating what?
Author: Milestone! You hit 100 followers. On one platform, at least.
Yao Yao: Only 100? I'm adorable, cute, a magic genius with perfect hair and shiny pink eyes! Where are the other 10,000?! I demand a recount.
Author: If we get to 10,000 followers, I'll give you magical pink hair and your own theme song.
Yao Yao: Plus a spirit dragon that can fly me around and we have a deal.
Author: (cough) Fine. Not like it's ever going to happen anyway… Let's start with the first question.
Author: So, Yao Yao—what's it like to die and be reborn as a five-year-old?
Yao Yao: Honestly. I'm happy with my face, at least. But my height? It's deeply offensive.
Author: You're five. Your height isn't going to offend anyone.
Yao Yao: It offended me.
Author: Okay, whatever. Anyway, if you had to rate your current life out of ten stars, how many would you give it?
Yao Yao: (snorts) One star.
Author: Just one?
Yao Yao: One for the aesthetics. I have nice eyes.
Author: And the rest?
Yao Yao: Let's see… so far, I've crawled through dirt, weaponized tears like a scam artist, and emotionally manipulated half a city. On second thought… make that half a star.
Author: I'm pretty sure the guards you've conned would give you negative stars if they could.
Yao Yao: Rude. I'm leaving.
(She starts sliding off the chair.)
Author: Wait—no! Yao Yao, come back! We're only on question two!
Yao Yao: I have rights. I'm filing a complaint with the Spirit Union.
Author: I'll give you snacks!
Yao Yao: Am I a kid to you? I'm forty, in case you forgot.
Author: Okay, alright! The expensive kind. With glitter. Costs a bomb.
(She pauses mid-stride. Then slowly climbs back onto the chair.)
Yao Yao: Fine...
Author: (exhales) Alright, alright. Let's try something fun, then. In this world, spirits exist. So if you could summon any one of them, with no rules and no consequences, what would it be?
Yao Yao: A spirit that spits gold bars.
Author: That's oddly specific. Why gold bars?
Yao Yao: Coins take too long to spit. I'm trying to retire early.
Author: You're five.
Yao Yao: Exactly. Start young, retire younger.
Author: I don't think that's how life works.
Yao Yao: Spoken like someone without a gold-spitting spirit. No vision. That's why you're still working.
Author: (inhales sharply)
Author: How about we change the question... So, if you could say something to your past self right before the accident, what would it be?
Yao Yao: …Hmm. "Run faster."
Author: Huh?
Yao Yao: I mean... obviously? She got hit by a car! A little cardio might've changed everything.
Author: That's not what I meant. And you were hit because you did not obey the traffic rules.
Yao Yao: Fineee. Then maybe I'll tell her, "Don't worry, you'll still end up fabulous. Just shorter. And with pink eyes."
Author: Yao Yao. You're forty on the inside, perhaps you should act like it? If you don't show some depth, you'll lose all your followers.
Yao Yao: That's fine. I'll reincarnate into someone else's novel. New life, a bigger fanbase, and better writing, too, you know.
Author: (grips the script and forces a smile) Right… we should continue.
Author: The next question is a hypothetical one. If you could trade places with anyone in your new life for a day, who would it be?
Yao Yao: Does it have to be someone from my new world?
Author: Well… ideally, yes? Why?
Yao Yao: Because if not, I pick you.
Author: What?! Why me?
Yao Yao: Clearly, I need to know what kind of choices you're making up there in your little brain. Maybe if I had written the story, I would've summoned a cool ancient dragon already, instead of blowing up a sacred artifact and ending up on the King's blacklist.
Author: Okay, technically, you didn't blow it up.
Yao Yao: If that wasn't blowing it up, then what was it? Come on, you tell me? A fireworks display? I even got escorted out like a criminal!
Author: C-calm dow–
Yao Yao: And not to mention the emotional trauma? My existential crisis? They were even going to throw me into the royal dungeon?!
Author: No! They were not going to throw you into a dungeon. That's quite an exaggeration... I was building the story—
Yao Yao: (cuts in) You were building trauma. And I handled the situation fabulously well, by the way.
Author: I—okay, you know what? Moving on. Next question.
Yao Yao: Oh, of course. Just skip past the trauma. That's what authors do, right? Scribble out disasters like it's no biggie, then casually move on like a merciless little god playing with people's lives.
Author: That's not—
Yao Yao: "Oh no, our poor protagonist nearly died! Anyway, what's your favorite food?" Unbelievable. My emotional damage has a word count, doesn't it?
Author: (deep breath) Alright, fine! Message received. Loud and clear. I'll log your emotional feedback for the next chapter. Can we please move on before this turns into a complaint session?
Yao Yao: (stares blankly at the author)
Author: (drinks water) N-next up… what is one thing you absolutely cannot live without in this new world?
Yao Yao: (places hand on chest) Hope.
Author: Really?
Yao Yao: Hope that one day, I'll get a spirit. Hope that one day, I won't be thrown into jail for existing. Hope that one day… you'll stop ruining my life.
Author: Okay, OKAY! I'll give you a spirit! A strong, powerful spirit! Are you satisfied now?!
Yao Yao: Hmph. See? That's all it takes. A little complaining, and suddenly God listens.
Yao Yao: Go on, next question. Preferably one that doesn't involve setting me up for future trauma.
Author: …Why do I feel like I've lost control of this interview?
Yao Yao: (smirk)
Author: (sigh) If you could give your story a title, what would it be?
Yao Yao: (tilts head) "Reincarnation is a Scam: A Memoir."
Author: Okay, never mind. We're done here. (shuffles papers and flees)
Yao Yao: (sips cocoa smugly) I'll expect royalties. Or gold bars. Whichever's faster.
[No spirits were harmed in the making of this interview. Just an author's sanity.]