COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

Throughout the Shanghai cityscape, billboards began to shift. One above the expressway flickered with RealmNet static before coalescing into a bold, animated header:

[LIVE IN 48 HOURS]

THE TRIAL OF THE CENTURY: WHITE TIGER VS. COUNCIL OF TEN

Hashtags streaming underneath:

#WhiteTigerTrial

#CouncilVs001

#WillHeShowUp

#CanYouSubpoenaABeastGod

Floating text scrolled underneath with increasing speed. Divine jade shard betting odds, memes of courtroom edits, someone animating a 16-bit RPG battle between the White Tiger and a giant balance scale.

One meme simply read: "He ghosted the Council for 15 years… and now he's bringing the receipts."

Mortals walked past the billboards; some stopping to take a curious photo, while others passed them without sparing more than a glance. It wasn't exactly rare for fans to rent out billboards these days to promote their favourite shows and celebrities—real or fictional.

Eathan barely processed it when one of the billboards flew past him as they exited the parking lot tunnel. A small part of him was processing the impending divine trial. A larger part was wondering if his life had just been turned into a multiversal sitcom crossover.

The spiritual vehicle was now fully transformed into a luxurious 7-seater electric SUV. It glided through the edge of Shanghai like a phantom—its reinforced tires whispering against the asphalt, glass glinting with anti-rift warding seals.

Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of mortal awe and immortal apathy.

Meng Yao was at the wheel, spine straight as a sword stroke, eyes scanning the highway as if it were a tactical map (apparently, using auto-driving vehicles was a sin when one of the passengers was the "revered Commander White"). In the passenger seat, Chewie was wiping her holopad with one hand while finishing the last of a tanghulu skewer with the other.

The executive seats, plush enough to tempt sleep from the dead, held two very different kinds of exhaustion. Eathan, left side, still looked like someone who'd been hit by a truck full of karmic debt. His eyes were open, but spiritually? Rebooting. Taeril, right side, was immaculate in a high-collared dark coat, ankles crossed like he hadn't obliterated a peril's avatar off the sky's axis just hours ago.

The back row contained the mortals, still recovering from arrival whiplash. Luke had pressed his nose to the tinted window three times already, muttering about city skylines. Beside him, Emily looked equal parts bored and alert—shoulders straight, eyes vigilant, the way smart people get when they know something's off but can't yet file a complaint.

And in the window seat, Sera twirled the strap of her retro camera, looking mildly delighted by everything—the car, the conversation, the fact that they were currently surrounded by spiritual fields of third-degree sanctity.

"Nice to meet you all," Taeril said, twisting slightly in his seat. "Taeril White. I manage a small corner store where Eathan works."

Luke sat up so fast his seatbelt locked. "You're the corner shop boss?" He blinked. "Like—like the guy with the freezer that smells like osmanthus and doom?"

Taeril's eyes glinted. "The very same."

"Wait, I remember now! You were also at CHN 104 that one time, and then my party!" At the thought, the boy smacked his head in epiphany. "But what are you doing here?"

"Well," Taeril replied with a benign smile. "Won the lottery last month. Decided it was time to experience a slower pace of life abroad. Eathan came along as my full-time intern. Rather serendipitous, no?"

Eathan stared at him, slack-jawed. That was—technically—so far from the truth it circled back and punched the timeline.

Luke, ever the golden retriever in luxury, nodded with perfect seriousness. "Makes sense. Ethan's always attracting weird once-in-a-lifetime stuff."

"…Thanks?" Eathan muttered.

The conversation then veered toward the usual vacation banter—school updates, food lists, and Emily's meticulous six-day itinerary that included scenic hikes, bath houses, and somehow a glamping yurt hosted by a self-proclaimed exorcist with five stars on Travel-Dot-C-N.

"But dude." Luke turned to Eathan again, legs bouncing. "You're really interning while abroad? I didn't know you were ambitious like that!"

Eathan opened his mouth, then remembered he hadn't slept in twenty-six hours and most of his limbs still hurt from spatial dissonance backlash.

"…More or less."

"He requested temporary academic leave," Taeril said, voice sliding into the car cabin like aged wine. "Company matters."

Luke perked up. "Wait, for real? That's so sick. What company? Ninecent? BiteDance? Is it that new AI company everyone's scared of?"

Taeril didn't blink. His tone made the next words sound perfectly normal. "Celestial-Integrated Multirealm Stabilization Registry."

There was a pause.

"A start-up," he added.

Chewie, now lounging with her boots up, snorted. "Company's got great benefits. Explosions. Unpaid overtime. Demonic parasites."

Luke nodded slowly. "Wow. That sounds… powerful."

"It's niche," Taeril said, smiling faintly.

"Oh! Is that why you've been skipping Algorithms, Chinese Myth, and even Data Structures?" Luke said. "Dude. This is way better than passing any of them."

"It's… complicated," Eathan muttered.

Emily leaned slightly forward from the back row, chin resting on her hand. "And what's your role in the company, Mister White?"

Taeril tilted his head, the jade pin glinting behind his ear. "Operations management. Field stability. Occasionally HR."

"Occasionally?"

"When things scream."

Meng Yao's knuckles whitened on the wheel. Her glare into the rearview was about one decibel away from becoming a spiritual suppressive field. The mortal girl had interrupted a Council-ranked commander. A war deity. A—

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Emily, bless her, either didn't notice or didn't care. But the man in front seemed faintly entertained.

"Quite sharp," Taeril noted.

"Should I not be?" she asked. "You're not exactly radiating 'mid-level management.'"

"Don't look like HR, either," he offered mildly.

Chewie nearly choked. Eathan nearly rolled out of the moving vehicle. Meng Yao nearly inhaled through her nose so hard that the air temperature dropped five degrees.

"Gutty," Chewie muttered, grinning wide.

Sera Dream faced the eleven-year-old, eyes lighting with amusement. "You look a little… familiar."

Chewie blinked. "What?"

"Reminds me of a ferret I used to own."

Chewie did not blink. "What?"

Eathan decided that if divine retribution occurred right now, he would simply lie down and let it take him.

Unbothered by the mortal chaos, Taeril merely leaned back, glancing out the tinted window. "You're all welcome to stay," he said, "at one of my off-site villas, if the arrangement suits. It's on the way."

It wasn't pushy. Just polite, gentlemanly. Like declining would be the real offense.

Luke didn't even hesitate. "Oh, hell yes. I mean—respectfully. I already booked two hotels by the Bund, but I can cancel those in a blink."

That was just Luke. Loaded, yes—but for him, having fun with friends outranked any brand of indulgence. He wasn't spoiled. He was someone who'd drag you into a helicopter joyride and then split the hoverpad bill with exact decimals.

Eathan, meanwhile, was doing math in his head.

Villa?

Villa?

"I've been working overtime this whole week just to sleep in a shared HQ cot," he leaned sideways in a discreet whisper. "Since when was there a villa?"

Taeril shifted his direction slightly, eyes amused. "My dear intern, villas are for resting, not crisis containment. But if you'd like to start logging overtime hours in scenic locales, I can certainly speak with Human Resources."

"You are Human Resources," Eathan hissed.

"Exactly."

Luke pumped a fist into the air. "Best spring break—ever!"

Emily's brow arched. "Do we get temperature-controlled robes?"

Sera beamed. "I love gardens."

Eathan buried his face in both hands, knowing exactly how this week was going to go.

Taeril smiled slightly, turning to look out the window again.

"Vacation," he said. "A very mortal notion."

***

They arrived just after dusk, the villa emerging like a secret folded between dimensions—hidden behind a gateway of plum blossoms that shimmered out of phase with the physical world. The moment Meng Yao keyed in the sigil code, the gates whispered open, and the car glided up the curved path lined with lanterns that pulsed with a qi-sensitive glow.

"...Is this a temple?" Luke breathed, nose pressed to the window again.

"Nope," Chewie said, unwrapping another tanghulu. "Just one of Mister White's houses."

One of.

Beyond them stretched a private estate half-camouflaged by plum mist and sophisticated fengshui layouts.

The koi pond came into view first—water so still it reflected the twilight sky, and fish that floated through the air above it like slow-moving constellations. One of them turned, flashed gold, and spat out a fortune scroll. It was caught midair by a breeze and delivered into a stone basin.

Luke had already rushed forward, wristpad activated. "Bro, what even is this place? The AR installation is insane. It's moving in 4K."

He snapped a selfie with a koi. The fish winked.

Sera stood beside a plum tree, head tilted. "This garden's folded. Four-dimensional structure. Subtle layering, though. Whoever enchanted this knew restraint."

She paused.

"Or something like that."

Eathan's mouth opened, then closed, deciding that some questions were left better unspoken.

Taeril stepped out last, smooth as always. The moment his shoes touched the threshold, the seals on the villa flared once, then dimmed, accepting his presence like an old friend. His coat caught the lantern-light, not a single thread out of place.

"I'll leave it to you all to get settled," he said.

"Wait," Eathan said, jogging after him. "You're not staying?"

Taeril glanced over his shoulder. "Preparations need to be done."

"For the Hearing?" Eathan asked, though he already knew the answer.

Taeril gave a light nod. "Some people seem determined to commit social suicide in front of a live studio audience."

Eathan stopped at the first cobbled step. Behind him, the others were laughing—Luke asking if the koi could take selfies, Emily trying to test the curvature of the gravity well near the moon gate. Mortals in spring break mode, wide-eyed and weightless.

Taeril stood ahead of him, framed by lantern light and divine geometry, hair catching the glow like a blade unsheathed.

And for just one breath, the two of them felt like they belonged to entirely different worlds.

The White Tiger turned to go.

"Wait—" Eathan snapped out of it, taking half a step after him. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

Taeril paused. The lanterns flickered.

"I'll watch the livestream," Eathan added, straightening his spine. "Least I can do."

The man stood motionless, then turned with a half-smile—one of those maddeningly unreadable ones that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Try not to comment in all caps," Taeril mused. "You'll scare the livestream moderators."

Then, with the same elegance he wore into war, he vanished through the stone path, like dusk itself had folded him away.

Eathan stared after the lingering shadow. He then turned back to his friends, who were now trying to convince a koi to teach them how to play mahjong. His head hurt.

And the Hearing hadn't even started yet.

***

SEALED CHAMBER. DAY OF THE COUNCIL HEARING.

The Sealed Chamber opened for the first time in centuries, and reality folded around it like paper conceding to flame.

Tucked into the heart of the old city, somewhere between time-warped hutongs and lotus-drenched reflection ponds, the Council of Ten's High Tribunal, Shanghai edition, shimmered into being. Mortal eyes would see only fog, but those attuned to spiritual frequencies would find themselves pulled gently—inevitably—into the bloom.

The building was a structure not built, but remembered. A perfect sphere from the outside, gleaming like a pearl submerged in twilight, suspended just slightly off the ground. And inside?

Inside, the Chamber bloomed.

The seating was amphitheater-style, arranged in a ten-point ring around a central platform of woven jade and obsidian. Above the central dais, a constellation of lotus petals drifted in zero gravity. Each petal shimmered with faint motifs of the past—storm clouds, sword halos, even an entire mountain range once.

Nine of the Ten Seats were filled. The Tenth—long sealed, long empty—remained untouched beneath a veil of white flame. Each seat bore the insignia of its occupant's domain.

Today, even the flowers held their breath.

Across the Six Realms, the stream exploded into motion. In web taverns, spirit-beast dens, demon newsrooms, and celestial scroll cafés, the SpiritTube feed flickered into view:

[LIVE NOW]: Council Hearing

#CouncilVS001

Eathan, perched on the edge of the villa's koi-pond pavilion, sat cross-legged with SpiritTube cast across the air in front of him.

He had woken early, washed his face, even prepared snacks as he checked his [SYSTEM] thrice. It felt like exam day, except the teachers were all gods and one of them was his boss. Eathan was already three keyboard-smash comments deep before remembering Taeril's non-aggression warning.

The stream finally stabilised, and at the center of it all, the Jade Deity pulsed into existence.

He did not appear in person, of course. The Avatar—a construct of fractal glass, white-gold circuitry, and eyes that shimmered with all four seasons—stood at the center of the Tribunal like an automated judge. Its voice, filtered through divine echo, resounded:

"The Hearing of Bai Hu, Commander of Area 001, has been called to order. Attendance confirmed: All seats present. Live broadcast authorization enabled. Motion formally logged in the Cloud-Jade Ledger."

"Begin transmission."

The lotuses stopped moving.

Inside the Chamber, the floor shivered once as Ao Bing stood first. His robes were sea-glass and shark bone, a cold aesthetic pulled from the deepest trenches. When he spoke, his voice was calm but biting. Almost performative.

"Council members," he began. "Let it be known that I, Seat 006, file formal charges against Seat 001—currently held by Bai Hu, White Tiger of the West. It has been fifteen mortal years—5518 mortal days—since Seat 001 last engaged in formal inter-realm governance. During this time, Area 001 has suffered record stability failures, audit flagging, and unreported node collapses."

He didn't look at Taeril directly.

"I therefore raise Charge One: Dereliction of Duty. And Charge Two: Repeated Absence—two-hundred forty-seven consecutive Council meetings. An unacceptable precedent."

His hand rested on the edge of his coral-etched seat.

"We demand clarity. Or we request dismissal."

Before the murmurs had even started, Wen stood as well, lifting his eyes from a glass tablet and across the seats. "Addendum charge: Unauthorized Obfuscation. Data logs from the Cloud-Jade Ledger have been censored, rerouted through RealmNet cloaking protocols."

Qiongqi didn't even bother standing. The crimson demon was already half sprawled across his spiky throne, fangs glinting from the shadows. When he spoke, it was with low, carnivorous glee.

"Blatant evasion," he growled, tail coiling around the dais. "We've let him run wild long enough. Hiding under mortal dirt, dodging meetings like a spoiled cat. I say we remove him now. Suspend privileges. Burn his seat to ashes."

From across the ring, Taeril White exhaled.

Then, he stood.

He wore ceremonial black shot through with the faintest silver—barely visible unless the light hit just right. His hair was tied back with a single jade pin. As he stepped onto the open floor, the floating lotuses shifted—not away, but toward him, aiming like bullets.

A quiet pulse moved through the Tribunal. Taeril didn't bow, didn't blink. He simply smiled.

"I see we've all been busy."

And so, the Council Hearing began.