COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

By the time Eathan stirred, dusk had already spilled across the river like molten gold. The skyline was fractured in silhouette, skyscrapers still trembling with residual leyline feedback, their reflective windows catching the last of the sun.

He blinked against the light. The world had stopped ending.

The glass bench beneath him creaked as he sat up. He stared at his hands—scraped, yet strangely intact. He felt vaguely cheated: surviving rifts only to eat pavement wasn't exactly a victory. Cracking his neck, Eathan stretched halfway as he realized two things:

His bones hurt in places he didn't even know had names.

His Qi Token balance had finally been replenished.

Quickly activating his [Minor Reconstitution] to patch his wounds, he surveyed the rest of his surroundings.

Across the temple courtyard, Chewie was in a loud and righteous verbal brawl with Lady Foxfire and Great Peng—something about "weaponizing fruit-based projectiles" and "streaming ethics." Quine Long lounged nearby, inspecting nonexistent dirt beneath his fingernails.

Meanwhile, Meng Yao stood near a fallen pillar, finishing a wrap-up report to HQ admins. Her tone was clipped and efficient even as she held an ice pack to her shoulder.

"We'll need a status report to the Department of Oversight in thirty," she spoke into the device. "I'm filing the node grid reroute as an atmospheric anomaly."

Around him, emergency reinforcements moved methodically—operatives in neutral uniforms sealing leylines and rerouting qi streams. Several mortals stumbled past, glancing at cracked sidewalks and skewed lamp posts. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, emergency vehicles maneuvering cautiously around flipped cars.

Eathan pushed himself upright, blinking as scenes of the battle resurged into his brain. He nearly tripped over a snapped pole as he made his way to the Deputy Bunny Director. "How… can we even explain this?"

Meng Yao calibrated two anchor seals, activating portable wards that hummed across the devastated plaza. Their resonance gradually smoothed the turbulent qi, settling the residual rift static into a manageable current.

"The Azure Dragon's barrier absorbed roughly eighty percent of damage." She flicked her wristpad without looking up. "The rest—buildings and casualties included—will be attributed to a spontaneous seismic event."

"A what?"

As if tending to her words, civilian memory had already begun the healing ritual of denial. Citizens shuffled away, guided by operatives distributing explanations that straddled absurdity and realism. Meng Yao tilted her head to a mortal official nearby, whose voice was crisp and practiced as he rapid-fired into a communicator.

"Yes, an isolated earthquake—triggered from incompatible Spirit Static residue. Buildings 0013A and 214C are unsalvageable. The rest can be stabilized; insurance will cover them."

Eathan blinked, then turned his gaze back to Meng Yao. The latter lifted her chin, expression unmoved. "Mortals accept it quite well these days."

On mortal media platforms, the representatives have chalked it up to a "multi-structure circuit surge"—a polite euphemism for buildings that had erupted into fireballs, supposedly caused by a spontaneous earthquake.

As for the battle at the Bund? Most Shanghai locals now only remember a "weird lightning show."

"Wait, we had an earthquake?" a teenager mumbled, staggering past Eathan. "Can't believe I didn't record anything for MixTok."

Eathan stared. He glanced toward Quine Long, now leaning against a damaged temple wall and surveying the minor chaos with detached amusement. Noticing his gaze, the dragon shrugged, lips quirking in that infuriatingly ambiguous half-smile.

Eathan narrowed his eyes. "Do you ever actually help clean up your messes?"

"I believe I already handled approximately eighty percent of it." Quine Long's brow lifted just slightly. "Which can arguably be rounded up to one hundred."

"You caused a literal natural disaster."

"Incorrect." He smiled. "I prevented a catastrophe and left behind only a minor inconvenience. Quite different."

"How is that diff—?"

"Clause 47B," Quine said, as if quoting divine scripture. "Boundary Conduct Ordinance: Property damage exceeding fifty thousand mortal dollars must be reported immediately to the Earthly Court Branch. Thankfully, mine was only spiritual."

"You… memorized divine bureaucracy?"

"Only the clauses I routinely break."

"Finesse over fines." Finn passed by them with a serious nod. "Convenient barrier work."

"How reassuring," Eathan muttered, gaze sliding across the fractured pavement. More mortals moved in hoards, guided by emergency personnel, believing wholeheartedly that they'd survived nothing more severe than an intense seismic tremor.

A few meters away, Chewie stood atop a bench, angrily eating tanghulu after apparently losing the debate on "streaming ethics". Diagonal from her, Xenis argued earnestly with a confused insurance representative, his gestures growing more animated as he brought the representative's palm onto his shoulder to count his injuries.

Taking in all this chaos, Eathan rubbed his forehead with a sigh. Perhaps immortality involved permanent brain damage.

He looked again to Quine Long for confirmation but found the spot empty. The dragon had vanished as abruptly as he'd arrived, leaving behind only residual qi and unanswered questions.

Eathan scrunched his nose. He could not follow the dragon's logic—none of it made sense. Then again, trying to understand immortals was like deciphering an upside-down crossword puzzle while on fire.

A paper cup landed abruptly in his lap.

"Refill," came a familiar, lazy voice.

Eathan jolted upright, nearly dropping his battered barcode scanner. Taeril White, the man who had suplexed an ancient peril remake, stood beside him, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. His hair was back to its normal length just above his shoulder, but steam was still rising off his coat like it hadn't decided whether he was divine or freshly brewed.

Eathan stared at the man, then at the cup in his lap, incredulous. "You just bodied a mythological beast under five minutes. You can get your own caffeine."

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"I could," Taeril said, drawing out each syllable. "But then you'd have to explain why the café barista called you 'Commander Lin.'"

Eathan opened his mouth, then closed it. He hated how much lore this man had on him.

Before he could fire back, footsteps approached—two sets, graceful and deliberate.

Lady Foxfire descended like smoke in high heels, her illusionary gown shimmering somewhere between celebrity and catastrophe. Great Peng accompanied her, adjusting the tie of his windswept jacket, his man bun tousled as if fresh from a shoot for Immortal Vogue.

Taeril turned, that polite, razor-smile sliding into place like a sword returning to its sheath. "Ah," he said, tone cool. "Come to conduct post-battle interviews?"

"Not at all, darling." Lady Foxfire fluttered her fan. "Though your camera angles were—" she cast Eathan a smirk "—divine."

Great Peng raised two fingers in greeting. "Censorship's still off. RealmNet's still unwell."

Eathan, still awkwardly sandwiched between a crumpled cup and a war deity, shuffled a centimeter sideways.

"Why am I still here?"

"Because your superior officer told you to stay put," Taeril replied without turning.

"And—" Foxfire laughed lightly, eyes twinkling as she sauntered closer. "Because it's time."

She reached into her sleeve and flashed something between two fingers. It unfurled midair—an official scroll, sealed with Council wax and smelling faintly like divine chashu buns. Without ceremony, she tossed it toward Taeril. He caught it with one hand. The moment the scroll contacted his palm, it flared once—just once—before dimming with a pulse like a heartbeat.

[OFFICIAL SUMMONING FROM THE COUNCIL OF TEN]

RECIPIENT: Bai Hu — The White Tiger; Guardian of Metal and Autumn; Commander of Area 001

Presence is required at the Sealed Chamber.

TIME REMAINING: 47:59:59

NOTE: Non-attendance will trigger Divine Contract Breach Clause 7.4

"Wilful Absence from a Council Summons may result in a Chain Penalty, which includes but is not limited to forced ability lockout, karmic combustion, or severe memory erasure of all involved parties."

Scrying Threads Active. All movement is now tracked.

See you soon.

— The Council

A soft glow pulsed from the seal, etching itself onto the back of Taeril's hand for one breath before vanishing.

"Formal now, aren't they?" Lady Foxfire smiled.

Taeril didn't blink. He just sighed and tucked the scroll behind his back, as if it were an overdue receipt.

Eathan, still cradling the empty coffee cup the man had tossed at him moments ago, stared at the scene in mild horror.

"They just… forced the Council Summoning like that?"

"Mm," Great Peng said, not looking up from his wristpad. "Classic clause 7.4. Only used when someone ghosts the Council invite three times in a row."

Eathan's jaw dropped. He turned to Taeril, horror creeping in. "You ghosted the Council?!"

"They sent the first one to COZMART," Taeril replied, completely unfazed. "I disregard junk mail."

Chewie tilted her head. "Did you at least recycle?"

He gave her a blank look, which might have meant either "of course" or "are you insane?" Eathan couldn't tell.

Lady Foxfire laughed behind her fan, while Peng muttered something that sounded like "pettiness after all these years."

Eathan's jaw slackened as the immortals continued their banter. He stared blankly into the courtyard, the full surrealism of the moment settling in.

Around them, emergency crews evacuated citizens, explaining away crumbling infrastructure with rehearsed phrases about seismic activity and "incompatible Spirit Static." Immortals lounged on park benches across from a shuttered tanghulu stand, discussing divine bureaucracy. Mortals scurried beneath the carefully maintained illusion of normalcy.

And Eathan just sat there, soul still rattled from the battle, and now this divine circus of gods casually ruining his stress levels.

And what's worse? This chaos was likely only the beginning.

***

Lady Foxfire and Great Peng left the outskirts of Jing'an Temple to visit some local influencer hotspot, while Quine Long disappeared off to who knows where. By the time things finally settled down, dusk had long leaned over the skyline.

The roads hissed beneath the tires of the spiritual vehicle, the faint hum of leyline interference still vibrating from the seatbelt clasps. Steam curled from the back of Taeril's coat where residual qi still hadn't fully settled—quarter divine, three-quarters very annoyed commuter.

In the left executive seat, Chewie balanced the grip of her blade across her lap with one hand and a skewered tanghulu in the other. She angled a look at the seal engraving now dimly pulsing on the back of the White Tiger's hand.

"Guess I better pack popcorn," she mumbled. "It's courtroom season again."

Eathan blinked from the backseat, his forehead resting against the window. The world was passing in cinematic smears of Shanghai traffic and spiritual haze, but none of it felt real. His bones ached in a suspiciously metaphysical way. His left sneaker was half butchered, and his clothes smelled faintly of ozone. Somewhere in his socks, he was pretty sure there was still rift dust from the Taowu detonation, but he was too tired to check.

A notification pinged on his wristpad. He blinked blearily at the caller ID.

[Luke Tam]

"Oh no."

Homework 8. Algorithms. He was supposed to email that last week. Guilt surged through him like a passive debuff. Eathan swiped to answer, already reaching for a lie.

"Hey, I was gonna send you the—"

"Bro!" Luke's voice hit like a flare grenade. "We just landed in Shanghai! Just me and some friends. Wanna hang?"

The car's silence grew violent. Eathan froze mid-blink. Around him, the divine-grade air still crackled with residual rift energy. All blood drained from his face in that single second.

"You're… where?"

"Is this a mortal friend?" Meng Yao said, looking away from the road and towards the rearview mirror from the passenger seat. "Did he just say landed?"

Chewie turned her head sharply, tanghulu stick pausing mid-chew. Her eyes gleamed.

"What terminal?"

***

PUDONG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. AREA 001.

Pudong was less airport, more sprawling realm. Eathan had forgotten how massive it was. Last time, he'd walked out of a private terminal with Taeril's divine clearance—today, he was just a spiritually exhausted intern trying to find Terminal One's arrivals gate.

He and Chewie wandered the concourses like lost children. The air was thick with mortal travellers, RealmNet courier drones (disguised as CCTV cameras), and the scent of overpriced milk buns. Overhead, SpiritTube floated ads for divine skin serums and anti-possession amulets—all hidden from the mortal eye.

"Did the terminal always have eight wings?" Eathan muttered.

"Dunno," Chewie replied, chomping on a tanghulu stick. "You're the one who's somewhat mortal."

Eventually, they found the arrivals gate. People trickled out in small bursts, luggage trailing behind them like sluggish familiars. Eathan scanned the crowd nervously, praying his friends hadn't decided to become cursed between flights.

Then, he saw him.

Through the gate doors strode Luke Tam, wearing sunglasses indoors and dragging a cherry-red suitcase like he was about to be cast in a teen drama reboot. His grin was bright enough to be illegal in three realms.

And behind him—

The first was a girl with shoulder-length auburn hair in a loose half ponytail, wearing retro glasses and a floral-print sundress layered under a bomber jacket. Around her neck hung an old camera like a holy relic.

Sera Dream, a friend of theirs both.

Eathan watched as her gaze flicked across the terminal once and lingered on the qi-charged drone for a beat too long. His internal radar pinged wildly, but the [SYSTEM] said nothing—just flickered curiously.

Then came the real punch to his solar plexus.

Emily Lutin.

Eathan's stomach performed a synchronised dive.

His ex-crush (not by choice), turned near-death experience, turned possessed succubus host, turned headshot casualty. The same one who'd had her head blown off by the eleven-year-old currently chewing tanghulu beside him.

That Emily Lutin was now waving at him with a smile.

"Hey, Eathan!" Luke called, gesturing to the two beside him. "This is Sera, that's Emily." He gave him an innocent, golden-retriever grin. "Pretty sure you all know each other."

"Hello," Emily said with a smile, as if their last interaction did not involve exorcism trauma and explosive receipts.

Eathan stared.

To be fair, the girl looked completely normal. Her smile was vibrant, her wave cheerful, and she greeted the two of them from across the rails like she didn't remember being exorcised in the middle of the Humanities Building's rooftop. Which, to be fair, she didn't. Quine Long had personally erased the memory.

Chewie, beside him in her camo hoodie and fanged smile, crunched into her tanghulu skewer.

"Oh," she said around the candy, "look who respawned."

"Don't say it like that."

"You want her to remain a decapitated disaster instead?"

Eathan internally combusted.

"…I think I'm gonna have a stroke."