Hook: An Inspector Descends
The celestial clouds parted once more.
This time, no lightning. No divine bride. Just… paperwork.
Lots of it.
Scrolls, ledgers, floating abacuses, and the most terrifying of all—an audit checklist blessed by the Heavenly Order of Compliance.
Mu Lian turned pale.
"No."
I peeked up from my hammock. "What's wrong?"
"The worst thing possible."
I gasped. "Did we run out of tea?"
"Worse," she said. "The Heavenly Accreditation Office is sending an inspector."
There was a long, pregnant silence.
"…That's a thing?" I asked.
"Yes," she growled. "To be a recognized sect in the Divine Registry, we need to pass their review. If we fail, we lose all official recognition and get downgraded to a 'spirit-themed recreational commune.'"
Fang Mei blinked. "That sounds kind of fun."
Mu Lian glared at me.
"You. This is your fault."
I sat up slowly. "...That's fair."
The Arrival of Inspector Varnish
A silver cloud descended gently over the sect courtyard, revealing a middle-aged man dressed in flowing, pristine robes. Not one wrinkle dared appear on his clothes.
His hair was perfectly parted. His scrolls floated beside him in alphabetical order.
His name was Inspector Varnish.
He bowed, curtly.
"By order of the 7th Department of Celestial Compliance, I am here to determine whether this institution still qualifies as a sect under Article 42-G of the Daoic Regulation Codex."
He glanced around.
"Where are the cultivation arenas?"
Fang Mei pointed to the goat pen.
"Where are the ranking disciples?"
Mu Lian gestured at a sleeping squirrel wearing a mini robe.
"Where is the sect head?"
I waved from the hammock.
Varnish twitched.
Trial by Bureaucracy
The inspector conjured a spiritual scroll.
"Section 1: Organizational Structure. How many disciples do you currently have?"
I held up fingers. "Three-ish."
Mu Lian cut in quickly. "We have twenty-seven initiates in correspondence learning. We train through remote talisman lessons and dream lectures."
"Dream lectures?" Varnish asked.
"We nap," I explained. "Sometimes really well."
Varnish blinked.
"Section 2: Sect Contributions. What technique has your sect innovated in the past decade?"
I snapped my fingers.
"Lazy Qi Looping."
He frowned. "Explain."
"Cultivation method that recycles spiritual energy through a reclining posture. Minimal effort, maximum passive gain."
Fang Mei added, "It's also great for digestion."
The Inspector vs. the System
Varnish scribbled furiously.
"Your funding is listed as 'spiritual side hustle profits' and 'occasional artifact raffles.' Do you understand how many celestial violations that is?"
"Yes," I said.
"Do you care?"
"Only on Tuesdays."
"Today is a Tuesday."
"Oh no."
He pressed a rune on his scroll.
"Due to repeated irregularities, this sect is on the brink of probationary disbandment. Unless you can prove, within the next 24 hours, that your existence offers unique value to the cultivation world."
Mu Lian turned to me in desperation.
"Do something!"
I stood.
Then slowly walked toward the tea kettle.
Fang Mei asked, "Are you… making tea?"
"No. I'm making a point."
The Trial of Daoic Worth
We gathered in the main courtyard.
I stood across from Varnish, holding a cup of tea and a sleepy expression.
He summoned a giant golden abacus sword.
"I'm invoking Article 9-Z: Trial of Daoic Worth. Prove your philosophy in direct demonstration."
"Gladly."
I poured the tea. Slowly.
"Inspector," I said, "You believe value is measured through obedience to structure. But the Dao flows freely. It bends. It naps."
He lunged forward with bureaucratic precision.
I dodged by reclining. His sword stabbed the ground next to me.
"You mistake laziness for enlightenment," he spat.
"No. I mistake overwork for blindness."
The Spectral Interference
Suddenly, the ghost of the Founder floated down, munching on spectral dumplings.
"Is this about compliance again?" he asked.
"Yes," Mu Lian hissed.
The ghost waved at the inspector.
"Listen, back in my day, I wrote the rules. But then I realized most of them just made people anxious and sweaty. So I rewrote them."
"You… rewrote the Celestial Codex?" Varnish asked, aghast.
"Yes. But I was lazy about it, so I just added footnotes to loophole the whole system."
He handed Varnish a glowing scroll titled "Clause of Daoic Discretion: The Napping Amendment."
It was signed, sealed, and acknowledged by an Elder Heaven Entity.
The Bureaucrat Begins to Crack
Varnish stared at the document.
Then at the hammock I was sliding back into.
Then at the tea kettle, perfectly steeped.
His shoulders slumped.
"I spent three centuries in the Heavenly Office trying to ascend through paperwork," he muttered. "And you—through naps and nonsense—found a path no one else even looked for."
I offered him tea.
"It's never too late to nap."
He took it.
Then sighed.
"...You pass."
System Message: Accreditation Maintained
The Broken Heaven Sect retains its official status.+4 Sect Reputation: "Unexpectedly Compliant"New Visitor Type Unlocked: Curious Heavenly FunctionariesYou have impressed the Bureau of Compliance.Reward: Bureau's Casual Stipend – Gain monthly spirit stones with no attached expectations (as long as no one looks too hard).
Closing: The World Takes Notice
Days later, rumors spread:
"The Broken Heaven Sect outmaneuvered celestial law by doing almost nothing.""A new Dao is emerging—soft, slow, and somehow functional.""Heaven is confused."
We received letters from wandering cultivators, burned out from war and ambition.
Some asked to visit.
Some asked to join.
One sent us a celestial blanket.
Mu Lian looked at me.
"You might be accidentally starting a movement."
I shrugged. "Deadbeat Revolution?"
She groaned. "Don't give it a name."
Fang Mei held up the stitched slogan from our entrance gate:
"Lay Down. Power Up."
I grinned.
The Dao of Comfort had begun.