COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

Eventually, the hotpot broth simmered down to a golden murk, its surface dotted with half-dissolved quail eggs and a single tofu cube drifting like a survivor at sea.

Around the table, the ghost merchant had begun recounting Qing invasions while the snake spirit was threatening to transform mid-meal just to prove a point about gender theory.

"We should go before Chewie starts grilling the furniture," Eathan muttered, watching the eleven-year-old eye a decorative bamboo tray with increasing intent.

"Fascinating," Emily said flatly, standing up. "We'll be on our way."

Outside, night had settled in full.

Shanghai was always luminous, but tonight the city was extra thrumming. More divine beings than usual seemed to be out and about, some masquerading as tourists, others as street performers or delivery drivers.

Eathan didn't need immortal senses to feel it—the whole city was a knot of coiled realms, overlapping at the seams.

"Man," Luke said, stretching with both arms above his head. "All that broth and zero dessert. I'm emotionally betrayed."

"There's a bubble tea stand back at the corner," Sera offered, twirling her camera strap.

Chewie pointed across the street. "That entire alley looks cursed. Or trendy. Bet we'll find something cursed and trendy in there."

Eathan was too spiritually lagging to object.

So they wandered.

What they stumbled into wasn't a regular night market, nor a standard spiritual bazaar. It was something in between—a realm pop-up anchored across wardlines, the kind that wasn't there yesterday and wouldn't be there tomorrow.

Talisman booths blinked beside fortune-telling stalls with QR codes etched into inkstone. Vendors sold piercings and "soul-cleanse matcha." Kids ran past wearing temporary tattoos shaped like the Azure Dragon.

Luke, wide-eyed, whispered, "This is like an outlet mall made in heaven."

Chewie slurped something violently purple. "More like Heaven's tax evasion corner, but sure."

They passed a stall where a vendor was chanting incantations into a bubble tea cup before sealing it with a glowing sticker. Eathan wasn't sure whether to laugh or ask for a sample. He did, however, spare a quick minute to check his holopad.

[SpiritTube Live: Council Hearing – Recess Day Two] was still trending, and RealmNet memes were now evolving. One remix titled "Council of Ten, but it's a shoujo anime" had gone viral, complete with soft focus shots and petals swirling behind Li Wei's deadpan face.

He was still halfway through liking the post when someone blocked their path.

"Excuse me," came a voice smoother than satin.

They glanced up collectively.

The newcomer was—unreasonably beautiful, in a way even immortals would be annoyingly fond of: tall, traditional robes impeccably pressed, long, silvery hair braided with translucent beads.

"Travellers," he said. "Have you ever considered the true arc of mortal destiny?"

The group blinked.

"The Yellow Emperor once asked the same, thus I believe destiny that brings us all together tonight," he continued. "Have you heard of the Path of Returning Radiance?"

That got an eyebrow lift from Emily. "Is that a wellness brand or a cult?"

The man smiled, all teeth and tranquility. "We're a cultivation sect."

Eathan, just mid-sip of his peach-pomegranate bubble tea, coughed violently. "Wait—you mean like… actual xianxia cultivation?"

"We prefer the term spiritual mentorship network," the man replied evenly. "We offer ascension tracks for the spiritually aligned. If you feel disconnected from your path, from your legacy, we can help."

"I didn't know sects had HR that participated in recruitment fairs," Luke muttered, genuinely fascinated.

"Outreach division," the man corrected smoothly, tapping the spiral emblem on his chest. "We believe the world is changing. And some lineages—long dormant—are waking up."

Sera tilted her head. Luke leaned toward Eathan and whispered, "He's got sales pitch aura. Run."

Eathan's [Calamity Radar] gave the faintest flicker. Then, nothing.

The man smiled again. "You're exactly the kind of talent we seek."

Before any of them properly objected, they found themselves standing before a discreet booth set neatly between a fortune-teller's tent and a vendor hawking sweet potato lattes. At first glance, it was ordinary—lacquered wood panels, calligraphy banners proclaiming promises vague yet noble:

The Path of Returning Radiance

Awaken your inner legacy. Ascend with purpose.

Eathan squinted, mouthing the words silently. Subtle enough to pass as a high-end incense kiosk—just pretentious enough to be immediately suspicious.

And the man standing beside them—Brother Yunle, as he introduced himself—was even worse.

The cultivator bowed, one hand pressed sincerely over his chest.

"Forgive my excitement," Yunle said. "The Path was founded after the Age of Sundering—a chaotic time when divine veils thinned, mortal memory fractured, and spiritual cultivation became essential to the very survival of humanity."

"Never heard of you guys." Emily crossed her arms loosely.

Brother Yunle's smile remained perfectly courteous. "Because we don't advertise to the uninterested."

His gaze flicked—not impolitely, but purposefully—past her shoulder. Right toward Eathan, then Sera.

"But as you passed, your friends' spiritual signatures flickered distinctly." He inclined his head respectfully. "I merely answer what the Path reveals."

Sera blinked. Eathan, who had been eyeing the scrolls lying on the stand shelves, froze. Behind them, Luke was busy poking a wind chime that hummed in 5.1 surround sound.

Chewie raised a brow and leaned in.

"What about mine?" she asked, eyes gleaming.

The recruiter—ahem, "cultivator"—gave a sheepish laugh, eyes darting away. "Yours… ah… reads like the aftermath of a celestial weapons test."

Chewie beamed. "Nice."

Emily, however, folded her arms tighter. "The 'Age of Sundering' is not a thing. Doesn't exist in any historical record. That's either a marketing gimmick or a poorly researched fantasy novella."

"Ah, but history is often a function of the victors' vanity, is it not?" Brother Yunle smiled. "As a part of the Path, we exist not to resist the collapse—but to prepare for the reunion with the great Yellow Dragon."

"The what?" Luke asked, chewing on a durian mochi. The next second, he perked up.

"Are you promoting a new show or something?" Sera raised a finger, and Luke perked up.

"Oh! Is this a viral animation campaign? 'Cause we totally learned about this in Chinese Myth. The Yellow Dragon dude, right? The one who snacked the Four Guardians and then received divine punishment." He turned to Eathan, bouncing. "This is one of those show adaptation promos, right?!"

Brother Yunle tilted his head slightly. "According to the Path, it was not the Yellow Dragon who broke the oath. It was the Guardians who abandoned him."

"Sure." Emily gave a long, disapproving blink. "And I'm the reincarnation of the Tiger."

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The cultivator merely smiled, too gentle to argue. "We believe," he went on, "that the Sundering scattered not only relics, but people. Legacies. Lineages. To return them is to stabilize the fractured Realms."

Sera tilted her head like she was actually intrigued. "And how do you find these so-called lineages and legacies?"

"We don't," he replied. "They find us."

He reached beneath the booth counter and withdrew four scrolls—each wound in delicate cord, shimmering with a faint spiritual glow. They looked like ceremonial invitations, or the kind of resume Taeril might send to the Council just to cause a panic attack.

"For you," Yunle said, handing one to each of them.

Eathan's scroll pulsed in his hand—just once—before going still. Sera's glowed a beat longer, thrumming like a heart beneath paper. Luke's started… smoking. Very gently.

Emily did not take one.

Yunle smiled anyway. "250 yuan, each."

"…"

The entire group dropped the scrolls, turning as one. Even Luke, who had previously tried to lick a glowing banner, had the sense to take a step back.

Then out of nowhere, the cultivator hand shot out—faster than it should have.

He caught Eathan by the wrist, stopping him as his friends drifted further into the crowd. His grip was cold. Not the chill of wind or water—but old cold.

"Vessel," Yunle said softly.

Eathan froze.

"Be careful," he whispered. "Not all Courts are aligned. Not all Guardians remember what they once promised."

The words slithered through Eathan's spine like a prisoner's secret.

"The Age of Return is coming," Yunle added, as his fingers withdrew. "And some truths cannot stay buried."

He bowed. Deeply. Without mockery.

Then, with the quiet snap of collapsing space, the booth vanished before his eyes.

No shimmer, no spark. Just a silent fold, like the universe tucking away a lunch napkin. The scent it left behind curled through the air was like the aftermath of lightning striking incense.

Eathan stood still for a long moment.

"Vessel," Yunle had whispered.

Not You are a vessel. Not I know what you are. Just the word, as if it alone would more than suffice.

"Slowpoke." Chewie nudged him, appearing from nowhere. "You good?"

"Yeah," Eathan said.

He was not good.

Still, he turned and walked after the others, who were already halfway down the row of booths. The neon glow of the bazaar felt... off now, like someone had dimmed the saturation of the world by half a shade.

He pulled out his tablet as they walked and punched in a search on RealmNet:

[Path of Returning Radiance]

No hits.

Not even in the deep-laid RealmNet archives, not even when he enabled SpiritNet integration and dropped into encrypted mode to access content from the Realm of the Passing. He tried again:

[Jade Court revival groups]

[Yellow Dragon fan cults]

[Sect recruitment tracking]

Still nothing.

Luke peered over his shoulder. "Okay, that guy was at least two different types of terrifying."

"I got three," Chewie muttered.

"Definitely a cult," Emily said.

"I kinda liked the scroll, though," Sera added.

Eathan internally screamed.

And then paused. Because in the corner of his vision, something fluttered.

A moth—no, a paper moth, gold-laced and semi-transparent—floated down from the overhead lights, spiralling slowly. It hovered once, then settled briefly on Sera's shoulder as she leaned over to study a fortune-telling stand.

When she turned to ask what they were looking at, it vanished.

But Eathan had seen it. In that split second, the wings had shimmered with a symbol—circular, fractal, edged in divine calligraphy.

He didn't recognize it now, but someday, he would.

Although it'd be too late then.

***

SEALED CHAMBER. 22 HOURS LATER.

The petals still hung in the air.

Floating, motionless, as if the entire Chamber had been caught mid-exhale. The lotus motif had intensified—streaks of gold shimmered underfoot, and the qi layering was so thick it could've passed for pressure armour.

The Chamber had reconvened.

And the silence was louder than the last trial session.

Meng Po of Seat 004 was the first to move.

Clad in slate-blue silks, the goddess tapped a knuckle against her seat. Reaching for her holopad, she brought up a translucent panel of rift closure data—numbers, equilibrium curves, timestamped logs of mortal satisfaction surveys with over 90% approval. One clip briefly flared, showing a local Shanghai grandmother praising the "clean-up crew with the nice eyebrows."

Her voice cut across the Chamber: "The submitted figures have been verified across three authorized archives. I have reviewed the rift closure cadence. I shift my stance to conditional support. Reality compels correction."

Lady Foxfire sighed, draped along her lotus seat as though it were a chaise lounge. "Oh, very well," she drawled. "White's a pain in the ass, but I never vote for boredom. And frankly, watching him slam half the bench was delightful."

She saluted the air.

"I vote in favour of continuing the performance."

"Seconded," Peng called out, yawning as he lifted a golden wing.

Taeril didn't move. Just inclined his head a fraction.

Then came the silence of Wen.

For a moment, it seemed he might not speak. His eyes were shut again, his face the picture of perfectly contained serenity. A full minute passed before he breathed out, shoulders loosening by a hair's breadth.

"Seat 009 rescind its charges," Wen said. "The evidence submitted does not meet Council-grade prosecution standards." His gaze flicked to the side—to Li Wei, whose expression had not changed once since entering the Chamber.

Li Wei inclined his head. A nod so precise it could've been drawn by a ruler. Straight-backed, he then silently directed his vote in favour of Seat 001.

Then Wen added, almost reluctantly, "And for the record—the White Tiger's absence no longer qualifies under negligence."

At that, even Ao Bing stiffened.

Four votes.

Then came Erlang Shen. His spear clicked once against the floor, silver filigree humming against the surface.

"I abstain," he said coolly. "Seat 002 adheres to the Noninterference Charter. However, I advise that the internal irregularities within Seat 006's submissions require review. The dispute lacks sufficient linearity for final resolution."

That made four in favour.

Two against.

Two neutral.

The balance had shifted.

And Qiongqi felt it in his bones.

"This," he snarled, "is a farce!"

His spiritual pressure surged—like a snare pulled tight. A suspended lotus petal nearest his bench blackened instantly, curling at the edges.

"The tiger's twisted half the Council into his circus—and the rest of you sit in your gardens while the Realm rots!"

He rose, and divine energy roared through the Chamber. A golden barrier flared up to contain it, but the dais still cracked under his heel.

The reaction was instant.

Erlang Shen shifted, not quite lifting his spear. Li Wei narrowed his eyes, weight shifting to the heels of his boots. Even Lady Foxfire sat upright.

But Taeril—

Taeril didn't blink. Instead, the air stilled, and the Jade Deity Avatar pulsed.

There was no sound. Just a note—a frequency so divine it bypasses hearing and strikes directly at the soul. The lotus petals snapped into formation, sharpened midair.

Above the Council table, the divine script flared into existence:

"Seat 005."

Qiongqi's growl was silenced mid-breath. His mouth moved—but no sound came out.

"The Sealed Chamber does not abide temper. Nor does it tolerate obstruction. One Greatness watches."

"You will not speak again in this Hearing."

The sound dropped into the Chamber like a cosmic anchor, dragging the air into silence. Qiongqi collapsed the next second.

Not in a flailing way, nor defeat. Just—folded, as if the weight of what had been spoken rearranged his existence. The lotus seat beneath him paled to ash-grey. His mouth moved relentlessly, but again, no sound followed.

His right to respond had been erased from the very logic of the Hearing.

Even Taeril, who had spent the last three days suplexing expectations and tap-dancing on protocol loopholes, lowered his eyes—a bare tilt of his head. This was no performance; no chess move.

This was power. And power was absolute.

"All charges filed under nullified seats are void."

"As per Protocol 2-X: Temporary Reassignment of Nullified Seats."

And then came the scroll.

It materialized midair, unfurling with a dignified slowness, golden ink already burning into its spine. Gasps flickered like startled flame along the perimeter.

Clause: If a Council seat's motions are nullified by majority vote and/or found unsubstantiated or tainted by conflict of interest, said seat will be suspended from voting and motion submission until internal review.

Protocol 2-X—a rarely invoked contingency law drafted during the First Fracture Era. It had come into existence after an incident where civil infighting among high seats once delayed divine response long enough for a rift to overrun two islands and half a star fragment. Protocol 2-X was not a punishment. It was a mechanism.

Qiongqi, Seat 005: Filed volatile, evidence-light charges. Lost composure mid-Hearing. Attempted spiritual intimidation within the Sealed Chamber.

Ao Bing, Seat 006: Submitted structured, but ultimately baseless motions. Implicated in spiritual currency rerouting under sworn testimony.

It did not, contrary to popular RealmNet threads, reassign seat power. Unfortunately, the White Tiger was not gaining control of anything.

However, Ao Bing's and Qiongqi's seats? Silenced.

Their filings were now officially classified under the Cloud-Jade Ledger as [Frivolous]. A blinking notice appeared in the divine interface above the bench:

[SEAT 005 – FILING PRIVILEGES: SUSPENDED]

[SEAT 006 – MOTION AUTHORITY: REVOKED & PENDING REVIEW]

[INTERNAL AUDIT – IMMEDIATE COMMENCEMENT]

Qiongqi could only grit his teeth in silence. His glare was volcanic, but impotent—like a chained beast behind display glass. Beside him, Ao Bing said nothing. He bowed deeply and without flair. It was a gesture not of remorse, but of acknowledgment. The man might burn a dozen plans in private, but publicly? He wasn't foolish enough to challenge the Jade Deity twice.

And as the decree sealed itself into the Cloud-Jade system, the petals began to drift again.

Gravity returned, and so did the external reality. Taeril, still seated with grace, finally lifted his teacup. It had not cooled.

He took one sip.

The sound echoed through the Chamber like punctuation.

***

Far from the Chamber, beneath street lamps and moonlight, Eathan stared down at his holopad. His breath misted slightly.

SpiritTube was losing its mind in real time, again.

[@godofsnackz]: THE JADE DEITY JUST GAGGED A DEMON. LIVE

[@ChronicScroller]: about to tattoo the stream link onto my future gravestone

[@divine_edits_sanctified]: just posted: "Council of Ten – but it's a palace drama" feat. dramatic zooms and Taeril's hair in slow motion. Link is embedded below, don't forget to like and repost!

His fingers hovered for a second before swiping out of the stream. The air felt a bit thinner. The world had shifted again.

"Guys!" Luke's voice called from somewhere up the street, lit by paper lanterns and qi-infused street lamps. "Wait up! Is that a green stinky tofu stand?!"

Eathan closed the SpiritTube tab. He straightened and ran to catch up.

After all, the Council Hearing might be nearing its end, but spring break was just getting started.