Hao crossed his arms, letting the applause echo around him. His lips twitched upward in quiet approval.
Looks like the old man could already qualify for one of Earth’s top-tier international billiards tournants. Nine-ball, straight pool, even snooker if he studied the rules.
Didn’t really matter. Elder Bai Qingshui had already reached the level where form, aim, and table control moved as one.
And it wasn’t just raw talent either. That wasn’t sothing you achieved by "vibes."
That kind of consistency, that shot placent, that unshakable flow - Hao had only seen it a handful of tis. Mostly online.
Comntated, analyzed, slowed down fra by fra, usually with a big red circle around the cue ball path.
The kind of stuff where fans said "this man isn’t playing pool, he’s conducting it."
And to think... the last ti Hao had a perfect ga?
It was a Thursday.
Not even a special one.
It had been pure luck. An accidental break shot where everything fell into place. Balls dropped where they shouldn’t.
One even hit another and sohow rolled backward into the pocket. He just rode the wave and didn’t question it.
He’d ended up with a perfect finish that day. Not a single miss, against Mo Xixi.
Of course, he played it cool. Wiped his cue, gave a small nod, muttered sothing like "Not bad." Then casually walked off to eat cup noodles.
To the custors?
It had been a god-tier display.
They thought every shot had been ticulously planned. Every bounce, part of so profound sequence only Hao could see.
In truth, he spent most of that match wondering whether to eat chicken or beef instant noodles afterward.
But nobody questioned it.
Because in their eyes, even Hao’s clumsy chalking of the cue tip held hidden aning.
As if they believed he was just too deep for the mortal realm to understand.
He sighed to himself.
Ah, what a strange world he’d ended up in.
Still, Hao couldn’t really bla them.
Not when he looked back on everything that had happened since he’d first woken up in this bizarre little dinsional store.
He didn’t do anything on purpose.
But after a dozen small miracles and a few misunderstandings layered one after the other... well, this was the result.
He scratched the back of his head.
Yeah. If he were them, he might also believe the mysterious storekeeper was so unfathomable master.
A sage of snacks. A daoist of convenience. A recluse from the higher heavens who descended not to conquer - but to sell carbonated drinks.
The truth?
He was a decent shot at billiards. Pretty good at stocking products. Had a nice voice if he coughed first.
Not exactly material for legends.
And yet... if he said that out loud?
They’d probably just nod solemnly and mutter sothing about "The Humble Path of the Supre Hidden Realm."
High chance it would be Dou Xinshi.
The guy nearly teared up last week when Hao ate with him at the sa ti, sitting across the table and casually asking if the noodles were good.
It was the most emotional lunch of Dou Xinshi’s life.
If Hao so much as said "I was just lucky," Dou Xinshi might throw himself to the ground in a full kowtow, shouting about fate, humility, and transcendent realms of custor service.
Honestly, at this point, Hao was just glad nobody had tried to make a statue of him yet.
Though... he’d once caught both Old Tiger Zhao and Dou Xinshi circling him with brushes in hand, muttering about posture, symtry, and how hard it was to accurately sculpt the magnificent face of Hao.
Magnificent? Hao squinted at his own reflection in the polished glass door refrigerator last night and saw "above average at best."
Handso? Sure, he’d give himself that.
But the way Dou Xinshi once said. "Esteed One’s jawline alone could cut through karma," felt a bit much.
And don’t even start on Old Tiger Zhao, who genuinely asked if Hao had descended from an immortal bloodline because "no mortal should have that eyebrow-to-eye ratio."
So. That threat still lingered.
If left unchecked, it was only a matter of ti before soone submitted a spiritual art piece called "The Enlightened Gaze of Senior Hao" to a sect-wide exhibit.
Or worse... commissioned a limited run of jade pendants with his face carved into them.
Honestly, if soone ca up to him tomorrow and asked if they could na their child Hao’er Jr., he wouldn’t even be surprised.
He probably wouldn’t mind either.
As long as it didn’t cause any trouble for the store—scare off potential custors, or make future visitors think this place was so kind of cult in disguise—it was fine. Really. Live your best life, na your kid whatever.
Just don’t let the fanaticism start impacting sales.
Because that was the line.
If so wide-eyed outer sect disciple started setting up incense burners at the store entrance or bowing to the refrigerator before buying Peach Oolong Tea, it might raise questions. Or worse, rumors.
And in the cultivation world, once sothing beca rumor, it beca lore.
Still, even if it did start spiraling that way... Hao knew the system would step in if he intervened himself.
Besides, for now, he was content.
The store was doing well. Everyone who ca in at least once seed to co back. He rembered every regular by face now.
Their orders were already burned into his ntal shelf like second-nature muscle mory.
Yue Xueyan, who always bought a cup of spicy instant noodles, a Soft Serve Vanilla Ice Cream, and a can of Peach Oolong Tea.
Lin Yijun, who always ca by just for the drinks - sotis skipping the noodles entirely - just to try a different canned refreshnt each visit.
It wasn’t flashy. But it was his.
He didn’t know how long this peaceful rhythm would last.
Didn’t know when the store would be pulled into sothing bigger, or when the people walking in today might vanish tomorrow - called away by sect duties, breakthroughs, or simply the changing tide of fate.
But that was okay.
It wasn’t fear of the future.
It was simply a quiet appreciation for the now.
So things weren’t ant to be held forever. So things were just ant to be enjoyed, mont by mont.
And Hao was learning, slowly but surely, to cherish them as they ca.
Hao blinked.
Ah, right. He was still the host.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he lightly tapped the mic crystal embedded in the table and cleared his throat.
"We’ll be taking a ten-minute break before the next match."
A few murmurs rippled across the room, mostly from those holding in a second round of excitent. But before anyone could disperse too far, Hao raised his hand again.
"Oh, and - one more thing."
He grinned.
"During this break, anyone can purchase any product. And it won’t count against today’s daily product limit."
Silence.
Then a beat of confused blinking.
Then -
"Wait... really?"
"Eh? So I can get another Peach Oolong Tea after the tournant?"
"Blessed be the storekeeper!"
People were already getting up.
So stretched. So dashed. Others tried to maintain their dignity while speed-walking directly to the fridges.
This particular announcent hadn’t been made earlier. Not in the schedule, not on the signs, not even in the fine print.
Was it a stroke of marketing genius?
A tactical delay to ensure maximum refreshnt sales at the peak of audience engagent?
Or...
Was it because Hao had simply forgotten to ntion it earlier?
Who could say?
Certainly not Hao, who stood there smiling with that exact expression cultivators often had when trying to look mysteriously wise while actually hiding the fact that they had completely blanked.
Well, no harm done.
If anything, the timing worked perfectly. This was exactly the kind of peak-mont twist that could earn points in audience mory.
He watched the line form, already identifying regulars just by the way they moved.
There went Old Tiger Zhao with his Soft Serve Chocolate Ice Cream craving again.
Dou Xinshi already had two cups of instant noodles in his hands.
Hao let out a satisfied sound, feeling the buzz of the store around him.
The tension from earlier - gone.
So of the early losers who had looked heartbroken just an hour ago were now laughing, crowding around the drinks section, comparing the fizz levels in different cans like wine tasters. One or two even forgot they had been eliminated and were already planning strategies for "next round" until soone gently reminded them they were, in fact, out.
But they didn’t even look upset anymore.
Because at the end of the day, the tournant wasn’t just about winning.
It was about that extra canned drink they normally couldn’t buy twice in one day.
"This tournant... not that bad actually."
"Yeah. It felt cruel at first, but now..."
"Maybe we should do this every week?"
"I’d settle for once a month."
"No, weekly. That way I get an extra drink and I can claim I’m improving myself."
They were shaless.
Absolutely shaless.
But Hao didn’t mind.
He let them talk, let them joke, let them dream. The store was a space for all of that.
If a small tournant and a one-ti rule tweak could make people happy - even those who didn’t make it past round one - then it was worth it.
Besides, wasn’t this the whole point?
Not just to sell, but to make people want to return.
And judging from the twinkle in their eyes and the extra drink in their hands, they absolutely would.
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