While the business world of the 21st century was currently on fire—Director Zhao making power moves in boardrooms and Su Meiling and Lin Xuerui forming an unprecedented "War Cabinet" in his living room—Chen Feng was standing in line for a churro.
"Chen Feng! You can't just leave!" Meiling had screamed as he walked out the door. "The Su Group is being dismantled! Your employment contract is at stake!"
"Meiling," Chen Feng had replied, his hand on the door handle. "If the building falls, the Wi-Fi will eventually stop working. That is a 'Future Chen Feng' problem. Currently, 'Present Chen Feng' has a 2-for-1 voucher for Happy Valley Amusement Park that expires at midnight. The Dao of Time waits for no man."
Chen Feng stood at the entrance of the "Dragon's Breath" hyper-coaster, a towering structure of steel that loomed over the park like a sleeping metallic beast. Beside him, Gary—the former God of Wealth—was hyperventilating into a souvenir popcorn bucket.
"My Lord," Gary wheezed, his new suit already stained with mustard. "We should be at the casino. We should be manipulating the stock market! Why are we in a place that smells like vomit and over-fried dough?"
"Look at the track, Gary," Chen Feng said, his sunglasses reflecting the steep 90-degree drop. "The mortals have built a machine that simulates the 'Trial of the Void.' They pay money to feel the terror of falling, only to be yanked back by gravity at the last second. It's poetic. It's a low-budget version of reincarnation."
They strapped into the front row. As the coaster climbed the lift hill with a mechanical clack-clack-clack, the entire city of Shanghai sprawled out beneath them. Chen Feng could see the Su Group skyscraper in the distance, probably crawling with frantic lawyers.
"Higher..." Chen Feng whispered.
"I'm going to see the ancestors!" Gary shrieked.
The coaster reached the apex. For a split second, they were weightless—a moment of "Absolute Stillness" that Chen Feng hadn't felt since he stabilized the core of the sun. Then, the world dropped.
As the wind whipped his hair and Gary's soul seemingly left his body through his mouth, Chen Feng started laughing. He didn't use his Qi to stabilize the car; he let the G-force slam him into his seat. He was enjoying the sensation of being completely, utterly out of control.
After the ride, while Gary was hunched over a trash can, Chen Feng wandered toward the "House of Mirrors."
He paused near a man dressed as a melancholic clown, handing out balloons to children. To any mortal, he was just a tired employee in face paint. To Chen Feng, the man's presence was a jagged hole in the local energy field.
The clown looked up. His eyes weren't those of a performer; they were cold, calculated, and carried the faint, sickly green tint of the "Internal Parasite" association. He held a balloon out to Chen Feng.
"Life is a circle, friend," the clown whispered. "Sometimes you're at the top, sometimes you're the one being popped."
Chen Feng took the balloon string. "And sometimes," he said, leaning in, "the clown gets his makeup smudged because he's poking his nose into a Sovereign's vacation. Tell Director Zhao that if he wants to play in the shadows, he should at least learn how to hide his scent. You smell like cheap greasepaint and treason."
The clown's smile didn't waver, but his hand tightened on the remaining balloon strings. "The Director is merely a branch. The root goes much deeper, Sovereign. The world didn't reset for you to eat churros. It reset to be harvested."
"Good luck with the harvest," Chen Feng said, walking away and popping the balloon with a flick of his nail. "The soil around here is remarkably stubborn."
The "Salted Fish" Philosophy
By evening, Chen Feng was sitting on a bench, watching the fireworks display. He had successfully ignored seventeen 'SOS' texts from Meiling, four 'I will kill you' emails from Xuerui, and a calendar invite for an emergency merger meeting.
He looked at his Richard Mille watch. It was 9:00 PM.
"Gary," Chen Feng said to the shivering accountant sitting next to him. "Do you know why I don't care about the Su Group falling?"
"Because you're an immortal being with a detached perspective on mortal suffering?" Gary guessed.
"No," Chen Feng said, biting into a second churro. "It's because I've realized that in this world, 'Power' is just a series of permissions. Zhao thinks he's winning because he's changing the names on the deeds. But if I decide the building doesn't exist... it doesn't exist. Why fight over the furniture when you own the air?"
He stood up, the purple Lamborghini keys jingling in his pocket.
"But I suppose the girls are going to be loud if I don't show up tomorrow. And I did promise Xia I'd pick her up."
He looked back at the amusement park one last time. "Gary, tomorrow we go to the office. But not to work. I hear the Su Group has a rooftop helipad. I've always wanted to see if I can hit a golf ball into the Huangpu River from that high up."