Jiang Chen wanted one thing.
Peace.
Which was, evidently, a myth of greater rarity than a ninth-stage cosmic dragon egg—because peace had officially packed its bags and sprinted over the nearest mountain the moment the Blade Pavilion showed up waving banners with his face printed across them.
Not just one face.
No, that would have been too reasonable.
There were versions. Variants. Stylized expressions.
Jiang Chen sipping tea with a "Wise and Distant Gaze."
Jiang Chen leaning against bamboo with the caption "Unmoved by Heaven or Desire."
Jiang Chen smiling faintly beneath a blossom tree with the words "Petal-Soft Insight, Sword-Hard Heart."
"Where did they even get these?!" Jiang Chen barked, clutching one of the banners like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline.
Feng Ziyun, polishing his blade with a squirrel tail (the squirrel had offered it willingly, apparently), looked up proudly. "Master, we only leaked your image to six sects. It must've gone viral."
"I am not a seasoning packet!"
Zhi Rou nodded solemnly. "Indeed. You are the main course. The world is only now waking up to its hunger."
[DING—Zhi Rou's poetic obsession has reached Level 3. She will now compose spontaneous odes during combat.]
Jiang Chen stared at her. "…That's not a good thing."
She was already pulling out a brush.
Meanwhile, the Blade Pavilion's diplomatic envoy was having a crisis.
Not because they had lost the duel—though they had.
And not because their top disciple, Yue Qian, had just declared herself a disciple of a man who looked like he slept through a hurricane.
But because their internal treasury division had just sent an urgent message.
"Master Qian," an elder whispered to Yue Qian as she re-tied her hair, eyes locked on Jiang Chen's distant figure like he might vanish into mist at any second. "We've just received a report. The Pavilion robes we printed? The ones with his face?"
"Yes?"
"They're… sold out."
"…What?"
"Across three provinces."
Another elder stepped forward, trembling. "And, um, the snack line…"
"What snack line?"
"The 'Jiang Chen Enlightenment Biscuits.' Flaky, buttery, with a hint of peach blossom. People swear they feel their sword intent rise after eating them. Our factories can't keep up."
Yue Qian narrowed her eyes.
A biscuit shaped like his face.
"Bring me a box," she said, too calmly.
Back in the Forest of Tranquil Silence—now louder than ever.
Jiang Chen had managed to escape the Blade Pavilion's poetry circle by pretending to be asleep.
He wasn't, of course.
He was hiding behind a rock, sipping tea like it was medicine for his nerves.
From a distance, Yue Qian stared, frowning. "He sleeps again. At the most pivotal of times. This must be his way of conveying something deep."
Feng Ziyun gasped. "A message?"
"Of course. Every action of his carries layers." She paused. "Tell me… do you think I should also cultivate stillness?"
Ziyun scratched his head. "Master Jiang once said nothing for a whole hour while looking at a dumpling. I believe that's why I broke through."
[DING—"Dumpling Meditation" has been recorded. Effect unknown. Hypothesis: Frustration converts to insight.]
[Zhi Rou's inner fire has flared! She is now attempting "Silent Elegance Cultivation." You may experience random haikus nearby.]
Later that afternoon, Jiang Chen finally returned to his courtyard—what was supposed to be a private haven with cabbage rows and an old rocking chair.
Instead, he found:
A shrine built by fans made entirely out of tea leaves.
Two girls fighting over who got to sweep the stone path.
An official from the Spirit Market Association holding a crate of biscuits.
"Congratulations, Esteemed Senior!" the man cried, sweat on his brow. "Your face-flavored enlightenment snacks have outsold three popular alchemists and a sacred peach!"
"My what now?!"
The man gestured to the crate.
The biscuit had a little smiling imprint of Jiang Chen's face.
He held it up. "If you chew here"—he pointed at the cheek—"the peach flavor bursts. Here—" he tapped the forehead, "—you feel mentally refreshed."
Jiang Chen nearly passed out.
"I didn't approve this!"
"Which is why we are now here to offer you a thirty-percent royalty and an honorary shareholder's robe!"
He held up a smaller robe.
It also had Jiang Chen's face on it.
"I'm going to burn this place down," Jiang Chen muttered.
"Ah!" the merchant clapped. "Dark humor! Brilliant! We shall make a limited-edition 'Flames of Insight' flavor. Spicy. Fiery. Heart-purging!"
That night.
Zhi Rou sat quietly by the garden.
Feng Ziyun had fallen asleep sitting up.
Yue Qian sat alone on the roof, twin swords crossed behind her. She wasn't usually one for lingering... but this place, somehow, had a strange pull.
Down below, Jiang Chen stood at the edge of his small vegetable patch, trying to convince a cabbage to grow faster by glaring at it.
The cabbage did not respond.
He sighed.
"I just wanted to be left alone, dammit…"
[DING—You have gained 1,000 new followers from three provinces. New nickname assigned: 'The Serene Demon of the Soil.']
"…What does that even mean?"
Elsewhere, again…
A masled young woman with an umbrella stood in the rain, her sword humming at her side.
"He appeared," she murmured.
A servant behind her bowed. "Shall we contact the Pavilion?"
"No. They're too loud."
She turned, eyes gleaming.
"I will meet him myself."