Chen Feng had always believed that the universe owed him a debt of silence. After saving reality, he expected a cosmic "Do Not Disturb" sign to be hung over his life. Instead, the universe decided that Tuesday would be the day it tested his patience with the most grating of mortal species: The Young Master.
He was sitting at a trendy outdoor café, nursing his strawberry milk, when the first "Trial of the Suitor" arrived.
A silver Ferrari skidded to a halt, nearly clipping Chen Feng's purple Lamborghini. Out stepped Young Master Wei, a man whose tan was as fake as his personality and who wore more cologne than a duty-free shop. He was Meiling's primary "arranged" suitor—a man who thought the Su Group was his personal piggy bank.
"So, you're the 'consultant' I've heard about," Wei sneered, looking at Chen Feng's flip-flops with visceral disgust. "Meiling is a jade flower. You? You're the dirt she accidentally stepped in. Stay away from her, or I'll have your 'bodyguard' license revoked by lunch."
Chen Feng didn't even look up. He was busy trying to get the last drop of milk from the straw.
Slurp.
"Did you hear me, peasant?" Wei barked.
"I heard a sound like a mosquito in heat,"
Chen Feng muttered. "But since I don't have a flyswatter, I'm ignoring it. Move your car, Wei. Your exhaust smells like a failing economy."
Before Wei could explode, another car—a matte-black Bentley—pulled up. From it emerged Colonel Yan, a man with a military posture and a scar across his jaw that screamed "Main Character Backstory." He was the man the Lin family wanted for Xuerui—a "True Master" of modern combat.
He walked past Wei as if he didn't exist and stopped in front of Chen Feng. "I've seen the museum footage," Yan said, his voice a low growl. "You have talent. But talent without discipline is a waste. Xuerui needs a shield, not a jester. Leave the city, and I won't have to break you."
Chen Feng sighed. Two Young Masters, one café, and zero peace. "You know," Chen Feng said to the sky, "in the old world, people like you were called 'cannon fodder.' You'd show up in Chapter 3 to get your teeth kicked in and never be seen again. Why are you bothering me? I'm literally just a guy with a drink."
The tension was thick enough to choke a dragon, but it was suddenly cut by a woman walking past the café. She wore a simple white sundress, carried a book of poetry, and moved with a grace that felt... ancient.
She was beautiful—perhaps the most stunning woman Chen Feng had seen since the Reset. Her aura was like a deep, silent well.
Chen Feng, feeling a rare surge of his "Sovereign" instinct, leaned forward. "Fair lady, the sun is high and the tea is cold. Would you care to grace this humble table?"
The woman didn't stop. She didn't even turn her head. She didn't even acknowledge that a man had spoken. She simply kept walking, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if the "Sovereign of the Nine Heavens" was nothing more than a blade of grass on the sidewalk.
Chen Feng sat frozen, his hand still mid-gesture.
"Did... did she just 'Ghost' a Sovereign?" Gary whispered from the next table, horrified.
"She didn't even look at the Lamborghini," Chen Feng noted, genuinely wounded. "This is a disaster. My charm is malfunctioning. The Dao is truly broken."
From the high-rise window of the Su Group across the street, Su Meiling was watching the scene through a pair of binoculars. She saw the confrontation, saw the suitors, and saw Chen Feng's pathetic attempt to flirt with the passing stranger.
"He's a genius," Meiling whispered to herself, her heart heavy with frustration. "He saw through Zhao's fraud in seconds. He moves like a god. He could lead this company, he could lead the country. So why..."
She watched him go back to poking his strawberry milk carton with a depressed expression.
"...why is he so content to be a vagrant?" she groaned. "He has the power to change the world, yet he'd rather argue with a clown and chase churros. Is the 'Great Chen Feng' really just a salted fish with a high IQ?"
She didn't understand. To Chen Feng, "changing the world" was work. And work was the one thing the Sovereign had sworn to never do again.