After the "Dust-Slaying Spirit Beast" (the Roomba) had effectively pinned the assassin to the wall, Chen Feng did what any responsible 21st-century citizen would do: he ignored the body, finished ordering his pizza, and went to sleep.
He woke up the next morning to the sound of Su Meiling pounding on his door. When he opened it, she was staring at the unconscious man still stuck to her wall, hovering six inches off the ground in a localized gravity field.
"Chen Feng," she whispered, pointing at the assassin. "What... is this?"
"That's a 'Large Dust Particle,'" Chen Feng said, yawning. "My familiar caught it. By the way, your world's 'Extra Cheese' is a formidable trial for the digestive tract. I feel my foundation shaking."
Meiling insisted on taking him to the Su Group headquarters for a "strategic briefing," which Chen Feng understood to mean "sitting in a metal box on wheels while staring at a screen."
As they sat in gridlock traffic, Chen Feng watched the people on the sidewalk. To him, the city was a mess of tangled karmic threads.
"Why is everyone staring at that small black mirror in their hand?" he asked, gesturing to a teenager crossing the street. "Are they scrying for omens?"
"It's called a smartphone, Chen Feng. They're checking social media," Meiling said, rubbing her temples. "Wait... why is your face on my screen?"
She turned her phone toward him. A video titled "COOLEST HOODIE GUY VS. THREE SUITS" was trending on TikTok. It was the footage of his fight from the previous night, filmed by a passerby. The comments were a battlefield:
@DaoSeeker69: "That's clearly wire-fu. Fake!"
@TechBro99: "Look at his center of gravity. That's a master of physics, not a fighter."
@SpiritGirl: "He's hot in a 'I haven't slept since the Ming Dynasty' kind of way."
"I have become a 'Viral Sensation,'" Chen Feng noted. "Is this a high-ranking title in your current Sect? Does it come with a tribute of spirit stones?"
"It comes with a lot of unwanted attention," Meiling groaned.
The Coffee Shop: Alchemy for the Masses
Before the office, Chen Feng demanded a stop at a place called "The Alchemist's Grind"—a trendy coffee shop.
Inside, he watched the barista with the intensity of a grandmaster watching a pill-refining ceremony. The steam, the tamping of the grounds, the precise temperature of the milk—it was all strangely familiar.
"He is rushing the extraction," Chen Feng whispered loudly. "The fire-attribute energy is peaking too early. The resulting elixir will be bitter and lead to internal turbulence."
The barista, a young man with a man-bun and a nose ring named Leo, looked up. "Excuse me, man? It's just a flat white."
"A 'Flat White'?" Chen Feng stepped forward.
"You treat the Bean Dao with such levity? Give me the tamper."
Before Meiling could stop him, Chen Feng was behind the counter. He didn't use magic—just the perfect, stabilized precision of a man who had lived for ten thousand years. He pressed the coffee puck with exactly 25.4 pounds of pressure, aligning the molecular structure of the grounds.
When he poured the milk, he didn't make a heart. He etched a miniature Spirit-Gathering Array into the foam.
Leo took a sip of the leftover dregs. His eyes shot open. His chronic sinus infection cleared instantly, and for the first time in six years, he felt like he didn't need a nap.
"I... I can see the fourth dimension," Leo whispered.
"It's just decent coffee," Chen Feng said, taking his cup and walking out. "Though the 'Bean Dao' could use more lightning-toasted beans."
As they reached the office, a delivery scooter skidded to a halt in front of them. The rider, a scrawny kid named Xiao Bo, jumped off. He was covered in sweat and carrying a stack of "Heavenly Noodle" boxes.
Xiao Bo tripped over a curb, the boxes flying toward the pavement.
In a flash, Chen Feng reached out. He didn't catch the boxes; he gave the air a slight flick. A cushion of pressurized air caught the noodles and gently lowered them into Xiao Bo's arms.
Xiao Bo stared at his hands, then at Chen Feng. He didn't see a "Viral Sensation." He saw a God.
"Master!" Xiao Bo shouted, dropping to his knees on the busy sidewalk. "Teach me the Way of the Hovering Noodle! I have been late for three deliveries this morning! My rating is 3.2! I will be exiled from the platform!"
Chen Feng looked down at the boy. He saw a spark of genuine desperation—the same spark he'd seen in disciples who climbed the 9,999 stairs of his old palace.
"You wish to learn the Dao of Logistics?" Chen Feng asked.
"I wish to not be fired!" Xiao Bo pleaded.
"Fine," Chen Feng sighed. "First lesson: Stop looking at the ground. The Dao is in the traffic lights. If you time your breathing to the rhythm of the green signals, the city will move for you."
"Chen Feng, we are late!" Meiling grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the elevator.
"Train well, Noodle-Sovereign!" Chen Feng called back.
As the elevator doors closed, Chen Feng looked at the reflection in the gold-plated mirrors. He was a bodyguard, a barista, a viral meme, and now, apparently, a mentor to a delivery boy.
"This 'Restored World' is far more exhausting than the Great War," he muttered. "Meiling, does your father's office have a reclining chair? My 'Salted Fish' cultivation requires a nap."