At 7:13 AM, Li Jian's smartphone screamed at him.
📢 "AWAKEN, DISCIPLE! THE SUN HATH RISEN, AND YOUR DAO REMAINS UNFORMED!"
Li Jian groaned into his pillow. "It's Sunday…"
📢 "NO EXCUSES! YOUR MIND IS STAGNANT! YOUR QI POOLS ARE A MUDDY SWAMP OF LAZINESS!"
He reached for the phone, missed, and swatted his table lamp instead. It fell with a thud and knocked over a plastic cup of last night's instant noodles.
The noodles, which had solidified into a new species overnight, landed squarely on his face.
"Spiritual enlightenment," he muttered, picking tofu bits off his cheek. "So far, it tastes like soy paste and disappointment."
"Good! Self-awareness is the first step to awakening."
"Shut up."
⸻
By 8:05 AM, Jian sat cross-legged on his living room rug, trying to "meditate" while Sheng Tai hovered nearby, a glowing, miniature grandpa floating out of the cracked smartphone like some ancient holographic screensaver.
Elder Sheng Tai had fully manifested this time — well, half-manifested. His translucent upper body floated above the screen like a Daoist genie, complete with long robes, flowing beard, and comically tiny reading glasses perched at the tip of his glowing nose.
Also, for reasons Jian would never understand, he wore a belt with labeled potion vials that jingled every time he floated sideways.
"Clear your mind."
"I can't. I'm hungry."
"Then embrace your hunger as a lesson."
"I embraced a burrito last night. That didn't teach me anything except regret."
"Silence your thoughts."
"They're loud."
"Empty your mind."
"It is empty. That's the problem."
Elder Sheng Tai glared over the rims of his ethereal glasses.
"Fine. If you cannot meditate, we begin with breath control."
Jian perked up. "Like, breathing exercises? That I can do."
"You shall inhale the Qi of Heaven through the tip of your spine and circulate it to your Lower Dantian."
"…The what now?"
"It's beneath your navel. Your center of spiritual gravity. Focus. Inhale through the nose, draw the breath deep, and picture divine mist coiling around your core."
Li Jian closed his eyes, took a breath… and choked on a puff of incense smoke from the burner Sheng Tai had conjured midair.
He coughed for two full minutes.
"Your meridians are as clogged as a mortal's internet connection during Spirit Streaming Hour."
⸻
After the tenth failed breathing cycle, Jian opened one eye.
"Look, Grandpa. Maybe we got off on the wrong… scroll. What if I just uninstall you?"
"You dare!"
"I've got the settings menu right here. Factory reset."
"Blasphemer! This device is now my vessel! My soul would be erased!"
He tapped around the menu anyway, scrolling with one hand while drinking canned soy milk with the other.
"Let's see. Reset… format storage… exorcise angry ghost app…"
"Foolish child! The Spirit Mirror cannot be dismissed with mortal gestures! Not even the 'slide to power off' ritual!"
Jian paused. "But what if I jailbreak it?"
"NOOOOOOO!"
The phone buzzed violently. A surge of golden script flashed across the screen, and a pop-up message replaced the settings menu:
❗**"This device is now spiritually bound. Root access denied. Reset attempts will anger the heavens (and me)."**
He blinked.
"…Did you just lock me out of my own phone?"
"A good cultivator must not waste time doom-scrolling memes and courting spirit tribulation through questionable search history!"
Li Jian groaned.
"Okay, you win. But only for a week. One week of this Dao crap, and then I'm finding a monk, a priest, or a tech support hotline."
"Agreed."
They stared at each other in begrudging truce.
Then Sheng Tai muttered, "I liked the memes. Especially the one with the cat and the cucumber."
⸻
By lunchtime, the phone's battery hit 3%.
Everything dimmed. Sheng Tai's form flickered like a candle in a wind tunnel.
"My connection… to the mortal plane… weakens…"
"Good," Jian said, chewing on a sandwich.
"I require… Qi…!"
"You need a charger. Welcome to the modern era."
"You possess a portable array for transferring lightning Qi?"
"You mean this?" Jian held up a power bank. "Yeah. I got it on sale. 20,000 mAh. Works great when the power goes out or your ghost mentor forgets to recharge."
He plugged it in and the screen pulsed with golden light. Sheng Tai glowed brighter, hovering higher, robes flapping as though caught in a cosmic breeze.
"YESSSS… ELECTRIC QI FLOWS THROUGH ME ONCE MORE!"
The lights flickered. The toaster beeped in the kitchen. His cactus burst into brief flower.
Li Jian raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
"I feel reborn. This… Lightning Essence… is incredible. Refined, condensed, conveniently portable…"
"Want me to get you a solar charger too? For outdoor enlightenment?"
"Such treasures! This realm's artifacts are far more practical than those of old."
He paused.
"What else can this spirit mirror do?"
"Well, besides hosting you? Uh, memes, messages, GPS, dating apps…"
"Explain 'dating apps.'"
"Hard pass."
⸻
At 3 PM, Sheng Tai declared they would begin again — this time outside.
Li Jian begrudgingly dragged a cracked plastic monobloc chair out to the balcony of his apartment complex. They lived on the fifth floor, where the wind was strong and the neighbors louder.
"The chair is unstable."
"You said to sit in nature."
"This is not nature. This is a rooftop garden made of cigarette butts and broken dreams."
"Still counts."
Jian plopped down. The plastic groaned ominously under him.
Sheng Tai floated in front of him, arms crossed, ghostly robes billowing. "Begin."
Jian closed his eyes.
A dog barked below.
Someone two floors down began karaoke — an off-key rendition of "Heaven Knows" by Orange & Lemons.
Jian cracked an eye. "This is spiritual harmony?"
"The tribulation of sound is a test. Endure it."
He closed his eyes again.
Then his stomach growled loud enough to echo off the water tank.
"…Can we take a snack break?"
"You must first devour the hunger of your soul before devouring instant noodles."
"So that's a no."
⸻
After a failed meditation session and an even worse chair, they retreated back inside. The rice cooker beeped expectantly on the counter.
Jian looked at it. Then looked at Sheng Tai.
"…So. Alchemy?"
"Yes. The art of transforming the mundane into the miraculous."
"Using… this?" He gestured to the rice cooker.
"It is round. It produces heat. It latches closed. It is a cauldron in disguise."
"I'm pretty sure this thing still has burnt rice stuck to it from three months ago."
"Perfect. Residual Qi seasoning!"
"…Ew."
"Let us begin refining a Vitality Pill."
Jian frowned. "We don't have any spiritual herbs."
"What do you have?"
Jian opened the fridge. "Soy sauce, spring onions, one egg, an expired milk, ginger candy, and a half-eaten apple."
"Ginger candy and apple. Combined, they possess warmth and sweetness — Wood and Fire alignment. Add them to the cauldron."
He did. The cooker beeped in confusion.
"Add some water but not too much. Now recite the incantation."
"Which is?"
"Oh great fire of rejuvenation, stir the soup of awakening into—"
"Rice cooker just clicked off."
"…Unplug and plug it back in."
They tried again.
A few minutes later, a sticky, bubbling sludge formed inside the pot. It smelled vaguely of mint, regret, and toothpaste.
"Is this safe to eat?" Jian asked, grimacing.
"Only one way to know."
Jian took a spoonful. It sizzled and he tasted it. Then, he immediately bent over the sink to gargle water for five straight minutes.
"IT'S BURNING THROUGH MY TONGUE AND MY PAST LIVES!"
"Congratulations. The purification has begun."