The problem with being immortal isn't the existential dread or watching dynasties crumble. It's the late-night cravings.
I, Chen Feng—once known as the Limitless Sword Sovereign who split the Southern Seas, and currently known as "the weird guy in 302 who wears a parka in July"—stared at the glowing red error light on the vending machine in the lobby.
[COIL JAMMED: PLEASE SELECT ANOTHER ITEM]
"I have survived the Tribulation of Nine Thunders," I hissed at the glass. "I have meditated in the heart of a dying sun for a century. I will not be denied a bag of spicy prawn crackers by a rusty metal spring."
I considered flicking a finger to send a microscopic blade of Qi through the glass to "adjust" the mechanism, but I hesitated. The last time I used spiritual energy near electronics, I accidentally fried the building's Wi-Fi router, and the landlord—a woman who possessed a terrifying aura far deadlier than any Sect Leader—had threatened to evict me.
"Modern technology," I muttered, giving the machine a tactical kick. "No soul. No respect for the Dao."
I walked out onto the street, the neon signs of the city reflecting in the puddles. Modern mana was thin, tasting like exhaust fumes and electricity, but it was all that remained since the Great Spiritual Ebb of the twentieth century.
As I passed a darkened alleyway, the air suddenly grew cold. A ripple in the aether—sharp and annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear.
"Chen Feng! Halt in the name of the Immortal Affairs Bureau!"
I didn't stop. I didn't even turn around. I knew that voice. It belonged to Lin Xiao, a junior inspector who took his job far too seriously for someone who still lived with his mother.
A flash of blue light erupted in front of me, and Lin Xiao appeared, stumbling slightly as his "High-Speed Dao-Step" failed to stick the landing. He was wearing a slim-fit suit that looked uncomfortable and holding a handheld spectral scanner that looked like a modified smartphone.
"You're emitting a localized disturbance, Senior Chen!" Lin Xiao panted, pointing the device at me. "The Bureau's sensors picked up a spike of Sword Intent. Are you trying to ascend to the Higher Realms without a permit again?"
I held up my empty hands. "I was trying to get a snack, Xiao. The 'Sword Intent' you felt was just my righteous indignation at a jammed vending machine."
Lin Xiao squinted at his screen. "Then why is your resonance at a Level 5 'World-Ending' frequency?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, cracked jade pendant. It glowed with a faint, sickly green light.
"It's an antique," I said. "A souvenir from the Ming Dynasty. It acts up when it's humid."
"That is the Soul-Withered Talisman of the Ghost King!" Lin Xiao shouted, his voice cracking. "You're using a Grade-A cursed relic as a keychain?"
"It's sturdy," I countered. "Do you know how hard it is to find a keychain that doesn't break when I accidentally exert my physical strength?"
Lin Xiao opened his mouth to recite the Provisional Code of Supernatural Conduct, but his phone chimed with a frantic notification. He looked at it, his face turning pale.
"I have to go," he hissed. "There's a group of rogue fox-spirits running an illegal mahjong parlor in the basement of the bank. But I'm watching you, Sovereign! One more unauthorized ripple and I'm reporting you to the regional supervisor!"
He vanished in a flurry of blue sparks that smelled faintly of ozone and cheap cologne.
"Give my regards to the Bureau!" I shouted at the empty air.
I sighed and turned toward the 24-hour convenience store three blocks away. Living forever was exhausting, and the stairs to the third floor weren't getting any shorter. But as I looked up at the moon—a celestial body I had once tried to paint my name on during a drunken night in the year 800—I couldn't help but smirk.
At least the convenience store sold fresh buns.