The Czech rain drummed against the stained-glass windows of the Klementinum, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and the terrifying focus of a man who had moved from "Gentleman Thief" to "Bureaucratic Nightmare."
"Gary," Chen Feng said, hovering six inches off the floor as he meticulously polished a bust of Aristotle. "The alliance is a curious thing. They think in terms of battles and divine strikes. They don't understand the most fundamental law of the universe."
"Gravity?" Gary asked, currently labeling a box of 'Books about Cabbages.'
"No. Interest." Chen Feng landed softly. "Every time they interrupt my 'Salted Fish' peace, they are essentially borrowing time from me. And I, as the Sovereign, have a very high lending rate."
He pulled out a ledger that looked suspiciously like the Manuscript of Fate but was now bound in cheap, black plastic. He began to calculate.
"One divine thunderbolt over Tokyo? That's a three-century late fee. Seraphina's private jet crossing into Czech airspace? That's an administrative surcharge. By the time they arrive at my door, they won't just owe me an apology; they'll owe me the deed to their respective dimensions."
Chen Feng decided to take his daily "Constitutional Walk" through the library. It was a ritual designed to maintain the "Librarian Vibe" and to ensure that no one had moved the 14th-century maps of Bohemia by so much as a millimeter.
As he walked, his hands clasped behind his back, he encountered a group of architecture students huddled over a blueprint.
"Shh," Chen Feng whispered.
The students didn't just stop talking; they felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to organize their pens by ink density. Chen Feng nodded in approval.
He passed a shelf where a book was slightly leaning. To a normal person, it was a minor tilt. To Chen Feng, it was a structural collapse of the aesthetic order. He tapped the shelf, and the books snapped into a perfect, vertical line with a sound like a gunshot.
"Gary, why don't they understand?" Chen Feng mused, pausing by a window to watch the distant lights of a black SUV—undoubtedly a scout for the Gala Five—driving through the village. "I have literally reset their existence. I have given them gold waffles. I have provided umbrellas. I am currently protecting them from the boredom of their own lives."
Reminiscing the "Speed Bumps" of the Past
He leaned against a globe, spinning it slowly with one finger. His mind drifted back to his previous obstructions—the ancient kings who tried to tax his tea, the star-gods who thought they could fence in a nebula.
The King of the 9th Realm: Once tried to arrest Chen Feng for "loitering in the astral plane." Chen Feng had responded by turning the King's entire palace into a giant, immobile sponge. It took three generations for them to dry it out.
The Solar Council: They once sent a fleet of ten thousand ships to demand he return a "stolen" sun. Chen Feng didn't fight them; he simply replaced their ship fuel with high-quality grape juice. They spent a century drifting through space, making very expensive wine.
"They never learn," Chen Feng sighed, his eyes reflecting the deep violet of a dying star. "The Gala Five and these Regional Deities... they think they are the protagonists of a grand drama. They don't realize they are just the 'Speed Bumps' in my retirement plan."
To "evade" the alliance, Chen Feng didn't build a fortress. Instead, he spent the afternoon setting up the most sophisticated, humor-based defense system in history.
The "Labyrinth of Literature": He rearranged the library's corridors so that anyone with "Aggressive Intent" would find themselves walking in a circle that led exclusively to the section on "The History of Potato Peeling in the Middle Ages."
The "Stuttering Ward": He placed a spell on the front door. Anyone entering with the intent to "seize" a treasure would find that they could only speak in rhymes.
The "Gala Five" Greeting: He prepared five customized library cards.
"Gary, when they arrive, don't use the 'Aegis Net' disruptors," Chen Feng commanded, handing Gary a stack of laminated cards. "Give them these. Tell them they have been pre-approved for a loan of one book each, but if they speak above a whisper, the fine will be their ability to use a smartphone for a decade."
"Boss, you're a monster," Gary said, looking at the cards.
"I'm not a monster, Gary," Chen Feng said, sitting back in his high-backed chair and opening a book on how to grow prize-winning petunias. "I'm a Librarian. And my patience is currently on a very short loan."