The late afternoon sun painted the floating archipelago of the Radiant Dawn in strokes of warm honey and melted bronze.
High in the upper skybox, shimmering golden auroras from the hard-pity summon drifted across the clouds like translucent ribbons of spun jade.
A profound, restorative stillness settled over Solitude Spire.
Down along the suspension bridge connecting the Seventh Spire to the rest of the academy, an unnatural hush held sway.
Arch-Inquisitor Valen stood stationed at the bridgehead in his formal enforcement robes, arms crossed over his chest.
Behind him, two dozen elite academy enforcers patrolled the perimeter on tiptoe, their boots wrapped in padded velvet cloths to ensure no stray pebble scraped against stone.
Valen personally glared at every passing disciple who dared clear their throat.
"Step lightly, fools," Valen whispered with deadly intensity, his hand resting on his sheathed rapier. "The Supreme Solar Patriarch is entering his afternoon meditation. If anyone allows an errant sound to carry across this gorge, I will personally assign them three years of latrine duty in the lower abyss."
The disciples nodded in terrified silence, holding their breath as they hurried past on velvet-wrapped toes.
Fifty paces beyond the bridge, Solitude Spire was an oasis of undisturbed tranquility.
Down in the clover meadow, the Thunder Gryphon let out a long, rumbling snore.
The massive golden beast lay curled on its side like an overgrown hound, basking in the warm afternoon sun.
Its feathered chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic contentment.
Every few minutes, a tiny, harmless ring of violet ozone drifted from its nostrils, dissolving harmlessly into the fragrant mountain breeze before it could reach the eaves of the cottage.
The gryphon stretched one enormous golden wing lazily across the clover, yawning with a soft, toothy squeak before tucking its beak back beneath its downy feathers.
A few yards away, near the low stone garden fence, the former terror of the northern void was diligently at work.
Lord Nether-Bane, the ancient Ghost King, knelt among the clover in his stained hemp apron.
With surgical, trembling precision, the skeletal monarch used his small iron trowel to lift a stray dandelion root from the dark soil.
Beside him, two spectral corsairs carried a small wicker basket between them, floating two inches off the turf to ensure their movements produced zero sound.
Whenever the Ghost King's trowel made the faintest clink against a pebble, his jaw rattled in panic.
He immediately froze, hollow eye sockets darting toward the porch, holding his breath until he was certain the Recluse had not been disturbed.
The garden was flourishing with breathtaking beauty.
In the center of the patch, the five-star Sun-Lotus Cabbage spread its twelve emerald leaves wide beneath the sunlight.
Its central golden flower pulsed with a slow, soothing heartbeat, releasing a honeyed, sun-kissed warmth that circulated across the entire peak.
Thanks to that magical vegetable, the mountain air remained locked at a comfortable sixty-nine degrees, keeping the chill of the high-altitude winds completely at bay.
The Ghost King looked at the glowing cabbage with paternal tenderness.
He patted the damp soil around its roots, wiping sweat from his bleached skull before bowing toward the porch in silent, reverent reporting.
Up on the covered cedar porch, Barnaby the clockwork owl stood faithfully on his perch.
The plump brass automaton had tucked his metallic wings neatly against his rounded sides.
The thick black rubber stopper remained jammed firmly between his brass mandibles, holding the polished copper tip in an unbreakable grip.
Felix had upgraded him to that rubber stopper back in Chapter 015 after Barnaby had chewed through his original wine cork.
Ever since then, the clockwork bird had ceased squawking his pompous morning motivational aphorisms at sunrise.
Instead, his amber crystal lenses glowed with a dim, tranquil light.
Inside his brass chest, his internal gears produced a faint, rhythmic *tick... tick... tick...*
The sound was as steady and comforting as an ancient grandfather clock, weaving an acoustic blanket over the porch that swallowed every stray gust of wind.
Beside the porch railing sat the low cedar tea table.
Underneath the short left table leg, Grandmaster Vivienne’s purple Sovereign Heart Seal held the table rock-steady against the floorboards.
Not even a millimeter of wobble remained in the antique wood.
On top of the table, a stack of imperial delivery manifests and Felix’s scribbled gacha drop rates remained pinned flat beneath the glowing, fist-sized Soul-Pearl the Ghost King had surrendered.
Lyra Ashford sat on the polished cedar planks at the edge of the porch.
Her ancestral silver rapier rested flat across her lap, its polished blade reflecting the soft golden auroras dancing in the sky.
In her delicate hands, she held a simple clay teacup filled with steaming Supreme Mountain Mist tea.
She took a slow, reverent sip.
The warm, nutty nectar washed through her spiritual pathways, soothing her meridians and filling her soul with crystalline peace.
For the first time since she had fled the bloody coups of the Ashford Clan three months ago, Lyra felt completely, entirely safe.
She looked toward the center of the porch.
There, resting in his deep woven recliner, was Senior Brother Felix Vance.
He wore his loose hemp tunic, faded trousers, and straw slippers.
On the wooden side table beside his right hand sat the white porcelain Infinite Cozy Teacup.
Even now, forty minutes after it was poured, a gentle, fragrant wisp of steam rose from the amber surface.
The absolute thermodynamic law-lock held the liquid at precisely 68.5°C, as hot and delicious as the very second it was brewed.
Felix reached out with a lazy hand, lifting the teacup to his lips.
He took a slow, deeply satisfying sip of the warm, nutty tea.
Back on Earth, an afternoon gaming session always meant lukewarm mugs of stale tea abandoned on messy computer desks.
Every hot drink had an invisible stamina timer ticking down toward disappointment.
Here, however, the warmth was eternal.
"Man," Felix whispered, a faint smile touching his face. "Never having to drink cold tea again is the greatest quality of life feature ever invented. The devs actually cooked with this update."
He set the teacup down with a soft, clean clink.
He picked up the AetherDeck from his lap, tapping the power notch to check his afternoon dashboard:
Felix scrolled through the numbers with half-closed eyes.
"Nine hundred million units per hour," Felix murmured, his voice heavy with sleepy satisfaction. "Ten thousand roast buns in the pantry. Ghost King keeping the yard clean. No one bothering me for three spires in every direction."
He tapped the screen to confirm the idle background farm.
The obsidian slate dimmed to a quiet, warm amber glow.
Felix set the AetherDeck face-down on the side table, right beside his forever-warm teacup.
He reached up, grabbing the wide brim of his faded straw hat.
With one slow, relaxed movement, he pulled the straw hat down over his eyes, blocking out the golden afternoon sun.
He crossed his hands over his stomach.
Deep inside his chest, his Sol-Class core pulsed with a slow, magnificent rhythm.
The fifteen-million-degree nuclear furnace fused hydrogen into helium in continuous, perfect hydrostatic balance.
The heat radiated outward through his ribs, wrapping his entire body in the clean, dry comfort of a personal sun-warmed blanket.
It was neither too hot nor too cold.
It was pure, effortless warmth.
Lyra Ashford turned her head, watching Senior Brother settle into his recliner.
She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.
She felt the faint, comforting gravitational hum that pinned the peak in place against the void.
*An entire mortal empire mobilized twelve dreadnoughts to arrest him,* Lyra thought, her eyes shining with quiet, profound devotion. *The Supreme Sovereign of Solaris knelt in his own court and surrendered ten thousand dishes of imperial tribute.*
*The greatest diviners of the continent wept before his celestial dragon omen.*
*Yet Senior Brother sought none of it.*
*He does not desire imperial thrones. He does not desire sovereign titles. He does not care for mortal glory or worldly power.*
*His Dao is the Great River of Inaction. The eternal stillness that moves all creation while remaining completely untouched by the dust of the world.*
*He slumbers, and the universe bows.*
【Target: Felix Vance】 【Status: Supreme Inaction Achieved】 【Inspector Note: Has successfully automated his entire existence. You may now close your eyes and ignore reality until dinner.】
Lyra smiled softly, turning her gaze back toward the golden cloud ocean.
She lifted her clay cup and took another warm, peaceful sip of mountain tea.
"Sleep well, Senior Brother," Lyra whispered into the fragrant breeze. "Your sanctuary is at peace."
Down in the clover, the Thunder Gryphon let out another soft snore.
Near the garden fence, Lord Nether-Bane quietly emptied his weed bucket, wiping his brow with his hemp apron before tiptoeing back to the cabbage patch.
On the cedar railing, Barnaby the owl kept his silent, rhythmic watch: *tick... tick... tick...*
And on the covered porch, beneath the brim of his old straw hat, Felix Vance let out a long, happy breath.
"Best game ever..." Felix mumbled.
His breathing slowed.
His muscles completely relaxed.
Within seconds, the Supreme Solar Patriarch of the High Sun Empire slipped into a deep, dreamless, perfectly warm afternoon nap.