Hai Xianmo stood before them with his hands folded, smile as crisp as his robe layers.
“Once again,” he said, “welcome, honoured Enlightened Phantom, Virtuous Spirit.”
Eathan tried not to wince at the title. “Just… Eathan is fine.”
“Of course,” Xianmo said smoothly. “Honoured Eathan.”
Chewie coughed into her fist. “Honoured Chewie too, please.”
“Naturally, Honoured Chewie.”
The twelve-year-old beamed, and Eathan shook his head.
“Please, seat yourselves.” Xianmo waved them to a low table. “Tea? Nostalgia buns? Fragmented memory biscuits?”
“We’re good,” Eathan said quickly. The less he swallowed in here, the better.
Chewie plucked a biscuit anyway.
The director chuckled that rich-man smile Eathan would stumble upon on InterGram, then settled opposite them. “First, Honoured Eathan, allow me to congratulate you on your tier assessment. T2 classifications are exceedingly rare–less than one and a half percent of our population meet the threshold.”
Chewie tilted her head. "And Tier-1?"
"Tier-1?” Xianmo’s eyes curved into crescent moons. “Beings whose spiritual radiance eclipses mere mortal comprehension. Only the Passing’s immutable cosmic laws and the ancient deity Chang’e herself reside there. Even our Lady Meng and Lady Foxfire remain eternally fixed in the esteemed Tier-2—no being in memory has risen above, save those divine exceptions."
“Huh.”
“But regardless, honourables. You have no cause for concern regarding… previous altercations.” His eyes twinkled. “Certain T4s will think twice before bumping into you in the future.”
Chewie’s smirk sharpened. “Shame.”
Eathan winced inwardly. The more attention he received, the deeper his soul seemed intent on retreating into existential despair.
“Um… about that.” He coughed. “How exactly are tiers decided here? We’re… new.”
“An excellent question!” Xianmo brightened. “Karmic evaluations in the Passing are determined via a weighted cumulative assessment of your deeds across multiple reincarnations. We do not judge a soul based solely on a single lifetime, you see. That would be… quite meddlesome.”
He tapped his stylus; a projection flickered into life between them, showing a line graph of peaks and valleys.
“Each life leaves a karmic imprint. The heavenly algorithms assess the impacts of your actions—weighted by context, intent, and outcome.” He smiled. “Numbers, of course, are obfuscated. We reveal only tiers. Precision invites arguments; tiers invite acceptance.”
Eathan stared blankly the graph. The director took that as a cue to continue.
“Indeed, your current karmic score, combined with accumulated merit, has placed you among the Enlightened Phantoms,” he said. “Your record indicates karmic weight equivalent to multiple lifetimes of righteous action and, if I may say, rather exemplary adherence to cosmic ethics!”
Chewie made a choking noise that was definitely not a laugh.
Eathan stared at the projection, swallowing.
Fragment of Qilin, he thought. Auspicious Beast of morality and good fortune. Of course.
The Auspicious Beast presence inside him—those quest completions, those reckless attempts at saving people who technically weren’t his business—had apparently added up.
Xianmo clicked his tongue approvingly. “It is little wonder, Honoured Eathan, that the Passing’s systems had only flagged your recent arrival. Not to mention,” he added, stylus flicking, “your karmic value appears to be actively accruing. Intriguing.”
Eathan’s HUD pinged, unhelpfully:
[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION:
Due to recent events, [Karma] has increased by 100!
[Karma]: +11660
“Can’t imagine why,” he muttered, then asked again, “so qi is useless here?”
“In this realm, yes,” Xianmo said. “Qi is for the living. Karma is for the dead, the almost?dead, and the temporarily visiting.” He gave Eathan a respectful nod. “Qi?based skills will be suppressed or translated into equivalent karmic interactions. You may find some of your abilities… muted.”
“Womp-womp,” Chewie said, crunching on another biscuit.
“Think of it as a helpful reminder you are outside your usual jurisdiction,” the director said cheerfully. “However—” His gaze sharpened. “Your Tier?2 status grants many conveniences. Many checkpoints will wave you through. Some information that might be… difficult for others to access can be expedited for you.”
Chewie’s eyes lit up. “Like restricted files on, say, recent cross?realm anomalies?”
“Chewie,” Eathan said.
“Just asking.”
Xianmo steepled his fingers, head tilting in thought. “Within regulations, of course. Even Enlightened Phantoms must sign the proper forms.”
A soft chime sounded from the wall, and the next second a fresh ID plaque had slid out of a slot near his elbow. Xianmo took it and handed it to Eathan with both hands.
The new card was heavier than before, edged in pale gold.
[SPIRITUAL ID]
Name: Lin, Eathan
Status: Visitor – Provisional
Tier: 2 – Enlightened Phantom
Notes: VIP Access Verified · Checkpoint Exemptions (Standard) · Bureaucratic Gravity (Minor)
As he examined the lines, his HUD popped another line:
[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION:
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED!]
? SKILL: Bureaucratic Gravity (Realm-Local Passive)
? USE: Spirit officials are 20% more inclined to answer your questions honestly and process your requests faster
? SIDE EFFECT: Increased unwanted attention
“Side effect,” he repeated under his breath. “Yeah, noticed.”
Xianmo was still talking. “—should you require lodging, the Tier?Two guest quarters are, of course, open to you. And if you find the paperwork burdensome, feel free to invoke your VIP queue privileges at any major checkpoint.”
“Thank you,” Eathan said, because that was what you said to high?ranking bureaucrats, even dead ones.
All around them, attendants appeared as if summoned by the word “VIP”, drifting in from the sides with the efficiency of migrating geese. They bowed in sequence, murmuring something like, “May your karma be smooth,” and “Thank you for choosing our Bureau.”
Eathan instinctively stood up from the couch and fumbled a bow back and nearly mis-timed it, almost headbutting the nearest attendant. “Uh—may your… paperwork… be, uh, fast.”
The attendant made a strangled noise, which might have been a suppressed laugh or a sob. Even Xianmo looked somewhat pained.
“Now,” the director said quickly, steering them away before Eathan could commit further etiquette crimes. “As a Tier?Two arrival, you are entitled to full complimentary hospitality during your initial adjustment period. We have arranged accommodation at the Bureau’s partnered establishment—Presidential Suite at Dwelling, overlooking Midnight Avenue. Our finest.”
Chewie’s eyes lit. “Presidential.”
Eathan blinked. “That sounds… generous, but we really shouldn’t stay long. We have—”
A quest. A time limit.
A god to drag home.
He caught himself, words tapering off. Xianmo’s gaze flicked over his face, sharp behind the pleasant curve of his mouth.
“—things,” Eathan finished weakly. “Important things to do.”
“There is always something important,” Xianmo said, almost sympathetic. “All the more reason to rest while you can.”
It was a nice line. Eathan might have let it slide if not for the small analytic thread that had been growing louder in his head since he’d first set foot in this realm.
He let the silence stretch a beat longer than polite, then tilted his head.
“How long have you worked here, Director Hai?” he asked.
Xianmo’s brows inched up, amused by the pivot. “Here, specifically? At the Bureau of Karmic Affairs, classification division… hmm.” He considered. “Three hundred and twenty-seven mortal years. Give or take a calendar reform.”
Chewie whistled. “So you’ve seen… a lot.”
“Paperwork,” he said. “Yes.”
“And visitors?” Eathan pressed lightly. “Like me. Other Tier?Twos.”
“Ah.” Xianmo’s eyes warmed, though the smile didn’t change. “Once every few decades, perhaps. Your kind is… memorable.”
Eathan felt Chewie’s gaze on him. He cleared his throat.
“Then, you’d know patterns. If, say, a Tier?Two suddenly showed up right after a… spiritual incident. Hypothetically.”
“Eathan.” This time, it was Chewie’s turn to give him a nudge. “We’re in the middle of the government’s HR department.”
Xianmo’s smile went from polite to just this side of knowing.
“Everything is classified, of course,” he said. “And yet, patterns are visible. A Tier?2 visitor arriving shortly after a core dispersal? One would hardly need a third eye.”
The words dropped soft and heavy between them.
Core dispersal.
Eathan went very still. He didn’t mention anything about a core.
“Do take care, honoured ones.” Xianmo merely inclined his head, looking utterly unaware of the words that had just come out of his mouth. “The Passing enjoys visitors who leave on time.”
“…Yeah,” Eathan said. “That’s the plan.”
They bowed. Chewie’s was brisk, his more awkward. As they turned to go, Hai Xianmo added, almost as an afterthought:
“Oh—and if you happen to encounter anyone wandering without proper paperwork…”
They paused.
His smile sharpened, eyes glinting with something like humour and long-suffering exasperation. “Tell him his backlog has reached three centuries. He will know what that means.”
A flicker of azure scales in Eathan’s memory.
Chewie’s mouth twitched. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
“I’m sure you will,” the director murmured. “Escort!”
The word barely left his lips before they were surrounded again. Two ghost guards in black?and?silver livery materialized at their sides, bowing so low their foreheads nearly kissed the nebula carpet.
“Honoured Enlightened Phantom, this way, please. Your carriage is ready.”
***
The “carriage” turned out to be a floating palanquin woven from night?blooming lotuses and purple clouds. Four lanterns hung from its corners, each flickering with a hazy hue. The moment Eathan stepped on, the entire structure dipped in deference.
“Uh.” He hovered on the threshold. “Is there, like… a bus option?”
“No,” Chewie said, already hopping in and sprawling like a tiny warlord. “Accept the treatment, Tier?Two.”
The guards looked torn between horror and agreement.
“Please,” one whispered, hands wringing his sleeves, “don’t say ‘bus.’”
“?”
Eathan sat, rigid as a plank.
The palanquin lifted, gliding out into Midnight Avenue’s twilight. From above, the market unfurled like a living scroll: stalls glowing neon jade, vixens flicking tails lit by SpiritTube screens, jiangshis in aprons hawking skewers that smoked regret and nostalgia in equal measure.
The guards kept bowing—at every mild bump, every turn, every time Eathan accidentally met someone’s eyes.
“Honoured Enlightened Phantom, forgive the turbulence—”
“It’s fine, really—”
“Honoured Enlightened Phantom, please mind your robe—”
“These are just my regular pants—”
“Honoured Enlightened Phantom, apologies for the unsightly cloud density—”
“Dude,” Eathan muttered under his breath. “I literally blew up a convenience store this week.”
Chewie made a strangled sound trying not to laugh.
They arrived too quickly for his dignity to recover.
Dwelling loomed ahead, a skyscraper shooting up into the moon, enveloped by many balconies draped with purple vines. The sign above the entrance shimmered in four scripts at once, promising “Discrete Luxury, Smooth Rebirth” in elegant brush strokes.
At the entrance front was one simple word, carved out in a minimalist font:
| dwelling. |
Inside, more bowing.
By the time they reached their suite, Eathan’s neck hurt from over?correcting his own attempts at politeness.
The door slid open on silent rails.
He forgot how to breathe for a second.
The suite was… excessive. A sprawling flat the size of half a football field, walls of glass looking out over all of Midnight Avenue. A sunken living area shimmered with cushions in gradient silver. A tea alcove surrounded by an indoor lantern creek. From the living area, a bedroom wing drifted off to each side, separated by hanging gauze curtains embroidered with silk that fluttered without a breeze.
“…The wardrobe space is bigger than COZMART,” Eathan muttered as he poked his head into the dressing room.
Chewie marched straight into the living room, threw herself onto the largest cushion, and bounced. After a second, an arm shot up in a tiny thumbs-up.
“Acceptable.”
The door slide close as they stepped fully inside. A discreet panel lit up on the wall, projecting neat script in front of Eathan’s face:
| dwelling. | — Presidential Suite
Honoured Guest: E.L., (Tier?2)
Companion: C.J. , (Tier?4)
Assigned Personal Butler: Hai Xianmo
Service available: 24 hours / 7 emotional seasons
Eathan stared.
Chewie peered over his shoulder. Then she started cackling.
“Hold on,” Eathan said, squinting. “Why is he—”
The wall chimed again. This time, a small holo-window opened with Hai Xianmo’s very composed face.
“Good evening, honoured guests,” the director?turned?butler said with a bow. “I am at your service for the duration of your stay. Should you require anything—room adjustments, meal arrangements, transport to reincarnation processing—please do not hesitate to contact me.”
“You…” Eathan said slowly. “Our butler?”
“Of course,” Xianmo said. “Karmic management is a… multi?hat position.”
“You’re quite persevering.”
“My spirit is contractually obligated to remain, yes,” Xianmo said cheerfully, either not catching the comment or ignoring it on purpose. “Now, you must be exhausted from your entry. I have taken the liberty of suspending all incoming solicitations. Please rest. Breakfast will be delivered at your preferred emotional time.”
“Our what?”
“Do you prefer to wake up in melancholy drizzle,” Xianmo asked, “or yearning breeze?”
Chewie perked up. “Yearning breeze.”
“Excellent choice,” he said. “I shall inform the weather spirits.”
Eathan nodded, then checked his [SYSTEM] as a habit.
[Main Quest]: Survive the Realm of Passing and return to your physical body!
Time Limit: 7 days.
Time Remaining: 6 days, 18 hours, 12 minutes…
He exhaled slowly. They were on a time crunch; rest was a luxury they couldn’t afford right now. And if Hai Xianmo knew even half as much as his hints suggested…
“I assume you’re quite knowledgeable of what there’s to do around here,” he said.
“Of course.” Xianmo blinked, as if not expecting him to say that. “Might I inquire whether you have any specific attractions you wish to visit during your stay?”
He gave a small, practiced smile.
“We offer curated itineraries for all tiers. Pilgrimages to the Pillars of Lost Intentions, guided tours of the River of Oblivion, discounted tea ceremonies at Lady Meng’s outer halls…”
“Got any recommendations for somewhere with good information?” Chewie asked from across the penthouse suite, already heating up a bamboo basket of Joyful Buns.
Eathan shot her a look. She shot him one back: Subtlety is for cowards.
Which was to an extent—fair.
It’d be stupid to mention the White Tiger’s core directly. Not with looming dangers still crawling through this realm and the emoticon ghost’s numerous warnings looping fresh in his mind.
“How about somewhere,” Eathan said slowly, “with… old things.”
Hai Xianmo’s eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly.