COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

[Ledger Tap (Lv. 1)] has been activated!

Timer: 00:59

The second Eathan activated [Ledger Tap], his vision exploded.

Semi-transparent screens unfurled across his view like a virtual storm—blinking incident codes, equilibrium graphs, node coordinates mapped in endless layers. The entire Mortal Realm was bleeding from the seams, and he had exactly one minute to glimpse how bad it was.

Eathan swiped through the displays quickly, his brain struggling to keep up.

The first sector popped up—Area 003: Americas & Pacific Rift. His eyes watered from the sheer number of blinking sabotage flags, and that was just Li Wei's turf.

"...Damn, Captain Li really wasn't kidding about the chaos margins."

Scrolling faster, he glimpsed a few other regions, missing some others.

Area 004 (Arctic Reach & Polar Void) — Meng Po, Realm of the Passing.

Area 005 (Middle Crescent & Sahara Gate) — Qiongqi, Demon Realm.

Area 008 (Greater Night Market & Shadow States) — Foxfire, Spirit-Beast Realm.

Area 009 (Silk-Road Veins & Trade Spirits) — Wen, Bodhi Realm.

"…"

Everywhere he flicked, he saw corruption points, distorted node patterns, rift tears flickering in ominous red.

Timer: 00:10

Panic scrolling.

He slammed the interface back to the top, heart pounding. At the very top was Area 001. The commander's name flickered neatly across the screen in glowing celestial script:

Area 001 (Pan-Asia & Ancestral Vaults) — Bai Hu, Heavenly Realm

Eathan's brain short-circuited for a beat. "...Who's Bai Hu?"

Li Wei, half-distracted while pouring mystery liquid into a cracked thermos, answered offhandedly:

"Huh? It's Taeril, obviously."

[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION

[Ledger Tap (Lv. 1)] access to Cloud-Jade Ledger has terminated!

Cooldown: 04:59

[Ledger Tap] auto-terminated with a gentle, almost mocking chime. Its screens blinked out all at once, leaving Eathan staring at empty air.

"...Wait, hold up."

He thought he'd misheard just now. His brain internally began to fold inwards into a question mark, then another, and another, until he was practically a walking punctuation mark of confusion.

My corner shop boss runs all of Pan-Asia?

His mind screeched at him.

"Taeril White... Commander Bai Hu... The White Tiger... Pan-Asia?"

He inhaled sharply.

"What the actual—"

***

Somewhere deep beyond mortal clouds and spirit veils, the Council Chamber unfolded into existence.

It was not a room, but a domain carved between realms: endless black marble underfoot, a heavy sky of smoky gold overhead. At the center stood a vast, circular table—an illusion woven from old oaths and stricter rules, polished until it mirrored the shifting stars. Ten seats surrounded it. Nine were filled. One—cold and dark—remained empty.

The absence of the Tenth Seat, left vacant after the Black Flood deity's unfortunate disgrace, caused a slight but constant instability in the entire ring system. The seat shimmered irregularly, as if the network sensed something broken at its core. And yet, this disturbance seemed to be overlooked entirely by the central emblem of the Cloud-Jade Ledger—the crystalline core that recorded every equilibrium fluctuation, every rift, every political motion across all sectors.

It floated at the very peak of the chamber, like a dormant, unforgiving guardian.

At each seat of the table hovered shimmering holographic emblems: banners representing realms, sectors, and the invisible fault lines between them. The air was brittle with barely-contained hostility.

The northern quadrant was occupied by Ao Bing, East-Sea Dragon Prince of the Demon Realm, his expression carved from ice, with silver-blue hair cascading over his sleek robes. Beside him, in a seat marked by misty lotuses, lounged Wen, serenity masking something sharper beneath.

To the west was a figure monstrous and half-shadowed. Qiongqi tapped his claws lightly against the table, indifferent yet watchful. The mortal Li Wei sat beside him, letting out a sigh coated in fatigue while he made eye contact—a signal for help—with Erlang Shen, sitting across the table.

At the south end, Lady Meng sipped her tea with a kind of funereal patience, her hair pinned with skeletal silver clips. To her left was Lady Foxfire, seemingly taking another one of those RealmNet photos she always uploaded to her fan group chats. And to her right sat Great Peng, leaning over to get his golden wing into the shot.

At the apex of the circle sat Taeril White.

Here, now, stripped of the lazy smiles and casual indifference he showed mortals, he was something else entirely. He sat like a blade, perfectly balanced on its edge.

Motionless, expressionless.

Just like the warlord he was, wrapped tight beneath mortal skin.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

"Are we starting now?" Great Peng poked his head around. "Let's not waste more time. I have a stream scheduled for later."

Qiongqi smiled, showing too many teeth. "Indeed. Wasting time is something Commander White seems proficient at these days."

Taeril didn't even spare so much as a glance his way. Erlang Shen, ever the intermediary between thunder and civility, cleared his throat. "This emergency session was summoned to address Area 001's recent audit flags."

His third eye, hidden under a simple golden circlet, glinted faintly as he scanned the room.

"Commander White. Your sector has registered thirty-three unresolved rift incidents. Budget reports indicate... restricted flows. Field stabilization rates have plummeted below protocol minimums."

Everyone steered their gaze, gauging the war deity, who was known once as the Pale Judgment. The accusation hung in the air, wrapped in bureaucratic velvet.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Ao Bing leaned forward, fingers steepled. "And yet, Commander White has remained conspicuously absent from all scheduled Council appearances for the past fifteen mortal years."

He made eye contact with Lady Foxfire, who smiled thinly.

"One must wonder... what vital responsibilities have occupied our dear White Tiger so thoroughly that the Mortal Realm's equilibrium was left unattended?"

Soft ripples of agreement—some masked, some blatant—stirred around the table. Even Lady Meng, who rarely cared for politics, glanced up from her tea with a rare flicker of interest.

Taeril did not move. Didn't even blink. He simply sat there, white hair falling loosely over one shoulder, clad in simple black—a deliberate contrast to the ornate robes of his peers. Only the faint tap-tap-tap of his finger against the chair arm betrayed his awareness of the hostility building like a brewing storm.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut the silence like a polished blade.

"I manage my sector as I see fit. Area 001 remains standing. Regions remain stable. Mortals remain unaware. That's the only metric that matters."

Ao Bing's smile sharpened, almost wolfish. "Standing? Perhaps. But compromised. Not to mention, we have received other... troubling reports."

He paused.

"Certain anomalies. Energies unregistered in the standard node calibrations. Unauthorized stabilizations... or shall I say, unauthorized vessels?"

The temperature in the chamber dropped by degrees, like a knife slipped under the skin. Taeril lifted his eyes then, lazily, almost amused. Yet the look he gave Ao Bing was the same as the kind that once, long ago, had sent legions scattering at his approach.

"This is not personal. Only business," Wen intervened. "Maintaining equilibrium standards, after all."

Taeril leaned forward slightly—just enough to cast his presence like a falling shadow over the table. His voice, when it came, was cold enough to snap ice. "You confuse standards with sabotage, Wen. Careful—even lotus roots rot at the core."

Wen's smile did not waver.

But his shadow twitched.

The East-Sea Dragon Prince did not relent. He chuckled under his breath, his voice was almost soft, almost kind. "But surely, the rumours cannot be wholly baseless. I have heard many stories, spurring up all recently, about how Commander White has grown attached to certain... relics."

He paused, as though struggling to choose the right terms.

"You cannot hide it forever, you know," he said. "Whatever it is you've been so desperately shielding all these years—what you tucked away fifteen mortal years ago—the tides will drag it into the open."

He leaned back, the faintest trace of satisfaction curling his lip. No one spoke the word aloud, yet the implication threaded through every mind present:

Qilin.

Across the table, Meng Po stirred her tea quietly, her gaze unreadable. Li Wei, the only mortal at the table, merely observed—a worn neutrality carved into his features after years of dealing with immortals squabbling like crows.

Lady Foxfire flicked her fan open with a snap, veiling half her amused smirk. "Perhaps we should put it to vote then," she said, the edges of her words glinting like flames. "Whether a commander so... distracted... still deserves his seat."

A few murmured agreements followed. Subtle currents shifted as allies and enemies rearranged themselves beneath polite words.

Then, Taeril rose from his seat.

No raising of voice, no power surge. He simply stood, and in that moment, the very air of the Council Chamber strained. Somewhere distant, mortals might have looked up, uneasy, as an unseen pressure brushed the edges of their dreams.

The White Tiger smiled—cold, merciless, and utterly without apology.

"Vote, if you wish."

He spoke as if daring them. As if daring the whole system to collapse around him.

"But understand this: Strip me of command, and you will find none left willing to stand between your ambitions and the floodwaters waiting to drown you."

The words dropped like iron weights, and for a long, heavy second, no one moved.

Then, Erlang Shen leaned back, sighing, as if already weary of the inevitable bloodbath to come.

"The Hearing is scheduled," he said. "Ten mortal days. Prepare your cases. Defend your sectors. And pray your balances hold."

Around the table, holograms flickered. Council seals locked the session.

Far below, across the Mortal Realm, the ground would soon begin to tremble.

***

Outside, far from all the plotting gods and monsters, Eathan was kicked out of Li Wei's node lab without ceremony. Apparently, the man had some emergency meeting to attend, leaving him all on his lonesome way.

Still dazed from the earlier revelation, he stumbled through the city streets like a broken wind-up toy, ending up instinctively back at the corner shop—COZMART.

The familiar ding of the automatic door welcomed him. Other than that, the shop was too quiet. No customers, no casual background hum of the city bleeding in from outside—just the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, flickering faintly. Eathan dragged himself to the battered couch near the counter and flopped down, mind still whirling.

His boss—

No, the commander—

No, the literal White Tiger—

—was sitting on the highest seat in the inter-realm council.

"...My boss runs Pan-Asia. My boss is literally on the Council of Ten." He let his head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "This has gotta be some long-con prank, right? Chewie's filming this, right?"

Unfortunately, no hidden camera popped out to reassure him. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, just for a second—

Thud.

The door to the backroom creaked open. Instinct screamed at Eathan a split second too late. By the time he processed it, his eyes had already flung back open. He found Taeril standing there, calm as a cloud, and his sleeves rolled slightly at the wrists.

"Holy— Boss—!" Eathan nearly jumped three feet in the air. "Please make some noise next time when you move. Are you a cat or something?"

Taeril didn't answer. Instead, he leaned lightly against the doorframe, eyes half-lidded. Something about him was different.

Sharper, maybe.

Or a little older, in a way that had nothing to do with physical appearance.

Definitely no longer just his lazy, coffee-slurping boss. The air around him felt heavier now, dragging invisible lines across the room.

Taeril glanced at him then—just a glance—but there was something complicated buried behind it. A tension pulled taut under that usual mask of indifference. A pause settled between them, and for one strange moment, Eathan thought the man might actually say something—something important.

Instead, barely audible, he heard Taeril murmur under his breath:

"...It's true. I can't hide it forever."

Eathan blinked, sitting up straighter. "Boss?"

But Taeril was already dialling a number, slipping seamlessly back into the cool, distant authority he wore like a second skin.

"Prepare the jet," he said simply into the receiver.

The words sliced cleanly through the stagnant air. Eathan bolted upright mid-thought. His brain felt like it had just been hit by a frying pan.

"…Huh?"

Taeril hung up and looked over, meeting his eyes without a flicker of warmth. Something heavy flickered in those black depths, but whatever it was, he didn't let it surface. Instead, he snapped his fingers once and pointed to the door.

"Clock out. Now."

***

Ten minutes later, Eathan found himself bundled into the second black car with tinted windows of the day, still clutching his COZMART work jacket like a lifeline.

The vehicle sped through city streets slick with evening rain, weaving toward the private airfield on the outskirts of town. The tarmac unfolded under floodlights, and waiting at the end of the runway, like something straight out of a billionaire drama series—was a sleek private jet. Snow-white hull with runic engraving faintly pulsing along the sides. Its engines rumbled low and steady, ready for flight.

At the foot of the stairs stood Chewie. The eleven-year-old leaned lazily against the railing, chewing bubble gum. The propeller gust pushed through her black bob. She tucked some hair behind her ear and waved casually at Eathan, as if she were the one picking him up from elementary school this time.

"Took you long enough," she called. "We almost left without you."

Eathan stumbled out of the car, mouth working uselessly. He pointed at the jet, then at Taeril, and finally at the sky.

"…Who are you people even anymore?"

Taeril didn't even pause. He strolled up the ramp like he owned the heavens themselves, gave a careless jerk of his chin at Eathan. "Move it. We're on a time crunch."

"But—but I didn't bring my passport."

The man only stared at him in silence, and Eathan recoiled instinctively. A good two seconds passed between them. Then, left with no better options—and because somewhere deep down he had the survival instincts of a cockroach—Eathan gritted his teeth and followed.

Inside, the jet was understated yet luxurious—dark leather seats, polished wooden fixtures, and a built-in node stabilizer that softly hummed in the walls. A conference table at the center flickered with an inbuilt holographic map of East Asia.

Chewie threw herself onto a couch and promptly took a nap. Eathan sat stiffly across from Taeril, who was flipping half-heartedly through a sheaf of printed Council documents, completely ignoring the laws of mortal stress. He stared at the white-haired man for a long moment, trying to find the words.

After a good fifteen seconds, Eathan croaked out. "So. Uh. Boss. Just curious. Are you gonna explain why we're... flying in a private jet you apparently own?"

"Accumulated wealth. Mortal contracts. Tech patents. Legal loopholes. Standard practice." Taeril didn't even look up. He sipped from a plain black thermos like he hadn't just detonated Eathan's reality. "Hiding in plain sight is easier when you pay taxes and own property deeds."

Eathan clutched his head.

"So you're telling me you're a multi-billionaire immortal council commander slash corner-shop boss?"

Taeril finally glanced up, one brow arching faintly in amusement. "What, you thought immortals lived on air and good vibes?"

He opened a can of black coffee from the mini-fridge and took a sip.

"Our ancestors built empires while mortals were still learning fire. You think maintaining a supply chain is hard?"

"So then," Eathan asked, incredulous. "What's with the corner shop?"

Taeril took another sip.

"A retirement plan wouldn't hurt."

The familiarly sarcastic tone in his voice gave Eathan a sense of comfort. He couldn't help but mentally exhale. Although he was still very much confused, at least it felt like he was talking to someone he knew again.

Outside the window, the endless city lights blurred into veins of molten gold across the black earth. Inside, Eathan sat still, continuing to fight off the urge to break into a full existential crisis at cruising altitude. After several long moments of tortured contemplation, he spoke again:

"Say… Where exactly are we going?"

Taeril leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, expression smooth as glass. The can of coffee was now empty.

"Area 001's headquarters."

Eathan's brain short-circuited once more. Taeril gazed toward him, eyes tinted with amusement.

"Eathan, have you ever been to Shanghai?"