The transition from "Gentleman Thief" to "Lifestyle Guru" didn't happen because of a divine revelation or a cosmic shift. It happened because of a particularly stubborn grease stain on Chen Feng's favorite red blazer and a four-hour marathon of late-night infomercials in a Tokyo hotel room.
It was 3:00 AM. Chen Feng sat cross-legged on a silk rug, surrounded by his "acquisitions"—the Sun-Disk was currently being used to keep a pot of green tea warm, and the Star of the Nile was being used as a makeshift mirror for Gary to pluck his eyebrows.
"Gary," Chen Feng said, pointing a remote at a screen where a man was passionately selling a blender that could also play jazz.
"Look at him. He's not selling a machine. He's selling a life. A life where you have time to make green juice and listen to Coltrane. The world is obsessed with how to live, yet they have no idea why they're doing it."
"Boss, you're overthinking it," Gary mumbled, wincing as he pulled a hair. "He's just selling a blender."
"No," Chen Feng's eyes flashed with a sudden, playful clarity. "The thief phase was about the thrill of taking. But a Sovereign shouldn't just take—he should experience. I've been a god for millions of years, but I've never been a middle-aged man who knits. I've never been a barista who forgets your name on purpose. I want to master the 'Vibe' of every human niche."
The next two weeks were a whirlwind of the most bizarre preparations the world had ever seen. While the Gala Five were busy coordinating with global intelligence agencies to predict his next "attack" on a treasury, Chen Feng was busy in the backstreets of Kyoto, studying the "Aura of the Ordinary."
The Wardrobe Shift: He didn't discard the red blazer, but he began pairing it with items that suggested "Expert but Relaxed." He spent three days debating the difference between "Eggshell White" and "Pearl White" for his new linen trousers.
The Skill Acquisition: Using the Emperor's First Breath, he didn't summon storms. Instead, he used the primordial energy to perfectly temper the clay for a pottery class. He spent eight hours learning how to make a mug that looked "intentionally rustic."
The Digital Footprint: He had Gary set up a "Sovereign Socials" account. Not to threaten world leaders, but to post blurry photos of his morning toast with captions like: "Crumbs are just the universe's confetti. #SaltedFishLife #LifestyleSovereign."
"The governments are losing their minds, Boss," Gary reported, holding up a tablet showing a 24-hour news cycle dedicated to Chen Feng's choice of footwear. "There are three documentaries currently in production about why you've started wearing Birkenstocks."
"Let them analyze," Chen Feng chuckled, carefully organized his collection of vintage fountain pens. "They're looking for a strategy. I'm looking for a mood."
The fame of the Reality TV Judge lifestyle eventually became too "loud." The noise of the cameras and the constant chanting of #LetHimCook began to interfere with Chen Feng's appreciation for the "Quiet Vibe."
On the final night of the show, after he had given a standing ovation to a man who could play the flute with his nose, Chen Feng stood up and addressed the camera.
"You've been a wonderful audience," he said, his voice echoing across the globe. "But I've realized that the most important stories aren't told on stages. They're stored on shelves. I'm retiring from the limelight. If you need me, I'll be somewhere between 'History' and 'Fiction'."
The preparation for the Librarian phase was the most meticulous yet. Chen Feng decided he needed a location that felt like the "End of Time." He chose a forgotten, Gothic-style library in the mountains of the Czech Republic—a place so old the books were held together by dust and ancient spells.
"Gary, we need cardigans," Chen Feng announced as they packed their bags. "Lots of cardigans. And we need to practice the 'Librarian Shush.' It has to be authoritative, yet weary. It has to say, 'I know the secrets of the universe, but I'm currently more concerned about your overdue fees.'"
"Boss, you're taking the Manuscript of Fate to a library?" Gary asked, lugging a trunk full of tea. "Isn't that like bringing a nuke to a knife fight?"
"On the contrary," Chen Feng smiled, adjusting his new spectacles (which had no lenses). "The Manuscript is the only book that truly belongs there. It's the only one that can keep up with my reading speed."
As the Gala Five scrambled to find the "Mystery Library," Chen Feng was already sitting in a high-backed leather chair, a shawl over his knees, carefully stamping a return date on a book about 14th-century agriculture. He felt a deep, profound peace.
Ring. Ring.
He looked at his phone. Lin Xia. He didn't answer. Instead, he sent a text: "Shhh. I'm in a quiet zone. I'll call you during my lunch break. I found a book on how to bake the perfect scone. Expect a delivery."