Before my grandfather died, he left me a teahouse, a book with blank pages, and one instruction:
"Don't let those old geezers starve to death."
I thought the "old geezers" meant his card-playing buddies.
It wasn't until the old man who'd been mooching tea zapped my TV with a thunderbolt that I learned the truth: these old geezers really were ancient.
Marshal of the Thunder Department (tea-mooching edition), Weaver Girl (knitting edition), Xing Tian (headless and irritable edition), the Queen Mother's daughter (internet-addicted shut-in edition)...
A group of broke immortals have holed up in my little teahouse, mooching food and waiting to die, bickering with one another every day.
My job is to help them piece their shattered divine essences back together, one fragment at a time.
To restore Lei Zhentian, I need to get the people he killed to say, "I don't blame you."
To restore Zhi Yun, I need to find someone to wear what she weaves.
To restore Xing Wuwei...
Forget it. He doesn't even have a head.
Other people cultivate immortality, level up, and fight monsters.
I heal the emotional wounds of immortals.
Others ascend and become gods.
I just want them to learn how to be human first.
I'm Sun Chen.
Twenty-eight years old, mortal.
I know nothing about the laws of the divine realm or the cycles of heavenly karma.
I only know to ask one question:
"Does it hurt?"
