The purple Lamborghini Revuelto cut through the morning fog like a hot needle through silk. Chen Feng drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding a slightly soggy breakfast burrito.
As he cruised toward the Su Group skyscraper, his mind—usually a calm lake of indifference—flickered with a rare spark of curiosity.
"I stabilized the Dao. I compressed the dimensions. I hit the 'Factory Reset' button on the universe," he mused, watching the wipers clear the mist. "It was supposed to be a clean wipe. A world of mortals, smartphones, and manageable taxes. So why does every third person I meet smell like a reincarnated immortal with a grudge?"
He thought about the "Clown" at the park, the "Mole" Director Zhao, and the "Giant" with the broken sword. They weren't just lucky mortals; they were Remnants.
"The Great Reset wasn't as clean as I thought," Chen Feng realized. "When I plugged the holes in the Dao, some of the old energy must have leaked into the new world's fiber-optic cables. The 'Secret' of the reset isn't a secret if you were standing close enough to the explosion when it happened."
He shrugged, the thought sliding off his mind like water off a lotus leaf. Whether they knew or not didn't really matter. It was like ants knowing about the existence of a lawnmower—it changed their perspective, but it didn't change the outcome if he decided to start the engine.
As the skyscraper loomed ahead, Chen Feng's mood brightened. He wasn't thinking about the hostile takeover or the "Root" of the conspiracy. He was thinking about the law of averages.
"Meiling is a fire-attribute beauty—passionate, stressed, and prone to yelling," he calculated. "Xuerui is an ice-attribute beauty—cold, elegant, and currently obsessed with my 'interface.' And Xia is the budding sprout."
He tapped his chin. "In the old world, a Sovereign of my standing usually had a court of at least twelve Jade Beauties representing the different phases of the moon. This era is technically more advanced... surely the ratio should be higher?"
He adjusted his sunglasses, a faint, hopeful smile on his lips. "If I have to deal with corporate drama, the least the universe can do is provide a 'Healing-Type' nurse beauty or perhaps a 'Stuttering Librarian' with hidden depths. It's only fair for the man who saved reality."
The lobby of the Su Group was a war zone. Reporters were being held back by security, and the "Inner Disciples" (middle management) were running around with stacks of documents, looking like they were ready to jump into the decorative fountain.
The elevator dings. Chen Feng steps out onto the executive floor.
He isn't carrying a briefcase. He is carrying a large, stuffed panda he won at the amusement park and a half-empty bag of churros.
"Chen Feng!" Su Meiling shouted, sprinting toward him. She looked like she hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she was holding two phones. "Director Zhao is in the boardroom right now! He's presenting the 'evidence' of my father's fraud! Where have you been?!"
"I was exploring the Dao of the Ferris Wheel," Chen Feng said, offering her a cold churro. "Did you know that at the highest point, you can see the curvature of the earth? Or maybe that's just the vertigo."
"I don't want a churro! I want you to stop him!"
"Stop him?" Chen Feng walked toward the boardroom doors. "Meiling, I'm a bodyguard, not an auditor. But I suppose if I'm going to spend the afternoon here, I should make sure the seating is comfortable."
He kicked the double doors open.
Inside, Director Zhao was standing at the head of the table, projected financial spreadsheets illuminating his smug face. "...and thus, the only logical conclusion is the immediate removal of Chairman Su and the appointment of an interim—"
Zhao stopped. Everyone turned.
Chen Feng walked in, plopped the giant stuffed panda into an empty leather chair, and sat down next to it.
"Don't mind us," Chen Feng said, leaning back and putting his feet up on the glass table. "The panda is here as an independent observer. He's very strict about corporate governance."
"This is an outrage!" Zhao barked, slamming his hand on the table. "This man is a vagrant! A security guard! Who does he think he is?"
Chen Feng looked at Zhao, then at the "Mole" aura pulsing around the man's heart. He then scanned the room, his eyes lingering on a new figure sitting in the corner—a woman in a sharp, scarlet dress with glasses and a notebook. She was stunning, with a quiet, observant intensity that made her stand out like a ruby in a coal mine.
"Aha," Chen Feng thought, his interest finally piqued. "The 'Librarian-Type' has appeared. The universe provides."
He ignored Zhao entirely and winked at the woman in red. "You. The one with the pen. Are you taking minutes, or are you writing a poem about the downfall of a mediocre man?"
The woman blinked, her cool composure wavering for a split second. "I am the legal representative for the Minority Shareholders, Mr. Chen."
"Perfect," Chen Feng said, tossing a churro onto the table. "Eat that. It'll help you focus. Zhao, continue with your presentation. I want to see how much effort you put into these lies. I appreciate good fiction."