The Entire Immortal Realm Is Begging Me to Stop Running a Stall

My name is Su Fuxue. I'm the only mortal in the immortal realm, and I run a little teahouse called Forget Worries at the end of Ascension Street.

The Demon Venerable said my tea tasted like dishwater. I “accidentally” splashed him with it, and the bottleneck he'd been stuck at for three hundred years shattered on the spot. He hugged my foot-washing tub and asked if there was any left.

The Immortal Emperor said I spoke ill omens. I “couldn't help” telling him his forehead looked dark. Three days later, his inner demon tribulation dissipated, and he hauled over a Dao Enlightenment tea tree he'd treasured for ten thousand years, asking how many years he had left to live.

Then one day, the sky split open, and a Chaos Behemoth capable of swallowing the sun and moon tore right through the immortal realm.

Every immortal turned to look at me, the “poor mortal.”

I set down my teacup and sighed:

“Dear customer...”

“We're closed.”

Then I mended the sky.