Portented perils which went entirely unnoticed, alas, by the target of their malfeasance. No, far from worrying about the violence directed at him, our monotonous protagonist was engaged in any entirely superior activity - superior, for it involved drinks.

Hong Yu, the Victorious, the Triumphant, the Conqueror of Damaged Noodle Shops, was enjoying a glass of wine after a long, hard day of repairing noodle shops and doing some touch up repairs on the local orphanage.

It had, apparently, been set on fire by some demonic cultivators some days before (although Hong had gotten the impression they weren’t particularly competent), and had once more been in need of repairs.

He had dealt with the dreaded cattle muncher assailing the town’s noodle shop beef supply. After her devastating defeat on the field of battle (or the Go board of battle, as it were), Yue had folded.

“So, why do you go about savaging cattle in the dark? I won’t say you’re the first author I’ve met who does that - you’re not - but it still seems like a waste of time.”

“Filial piety,” Yue replied, moving another rock on the board (they were having a rematch - which Hong would also win).

“I still remember the story of my parents meeting. My father tried to eat my mother alive; she tried to sexually drain him of his energy. That’s when they realised it was a match made in Heaven. They’ve been happily married ever since.”

Hong surreptitiously wiped a tear out of his eye. He always liked soppy stories.

“Though they had three daughters, they never had any sons, so my father gave the duty of being a filial eldest son to me. Hence I must follow in my father’s footsteps, and kill and devour an animal twice every lunar cycle. (Without forgetting to be a virtuous person, who pays for her meals.)”

Hong nodded. He’d expected as much, and it made his own duty that much harder. It was one thing to fight a horrible monster, but how could he fight one which was engaged in acts of filial piety? After all, as Confucius says, “filial piety is the root of all virtue.”

Fortunately, he was no brutish cultivator, but a noodle shop repairman. And a noodle shop repairman was one engaged in the most sacred of deeds - the guardianship of the holy places (noodle shops) - and hence needed always to be prepared.

Hong reached into a storage pouch, and pulled out a stack of papers. The fox looked at them curiously.

“You said you need to kill and devour an animal, yes? So it can be something besides cows?”

“Yes but no. It can be an animal other than a cow, but not just any animal; it has to be a farm animal.” (This wasn’t quite an honest response on Yue’s part: it could be any animal whose death would distress humans, but she had no particular desire to go about savaging puppies.)

Hong had expected this too - the magistrate would never have come to him complaining about a monster eating voles in the woods, after all.

“Well, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is it can’t be cows: there aren’t enough of them to sustain your deprivations. There is, however, good news. I took advantage of the access to the city records given to me to help me track you down, and was able to perform a quantitative analysis on the region’s animal stocks. The result indicated that the loss of two chickens a month will have no discernible impact on the amount of chicken available to noodle shops. It is my formal recommendation, as the clear victor of this combat [he had just won the second game of Go] that you abandon your bovine predilections in favour of something less foul, by virtue of being more fowl.”

Yue considered this. “What about ducks?”

“Also fine,” said Hong, who always double-checked his research in case his initial proposal failed. (There was a surprising amount of paperwork involved in repairing noodle shops.)

They shook on it then; and so it was that Hong solved the case of the cattle muncher.

The next morning he was able to confidently report to the magistrate that no cattle-munching monster would be munching on cattle in the region again. The highly specific wording of this statement did not make Magistrate Su’s heart feel at peace - nor did Hong’s refusal to take any payment for his victory - and the magistrate’s anxiety was justified three months later when he heard quacking from his duck pond and went outside to check, only to be beaned in the head by a sackful of cash.

Sadly for him, however, he had never signed a contract with Hong on the matter, and as the Noodle Shop Repair Sect didn’t guarantee monster slayings (which had nothing to do with noodle shop repair) there was nobody to whom he could complain.

Accordingly, he did the rational thing, and turned the mysterious monster into a tourist attraction.

But back to the present.

His work for once done, Hong had retired to the noodle shop for tasty noodles and wine.

Alas, pleasure is always short-lived, and misery inevitable. As Hong ate his noodles, at peace with himself (though not, alas, the world), a haggard cultivator hurled himself into the room.

He was out of breath, in more ways than one, for it was clear his qi was as exhausted as his body. He panted, looking around the restaurant. Then his gaze met Hong’s, and he froze.

Hong, entirely undistressed (if unimpressed) at the interruption, continued to sip his wine.

“Yuan Shi, was it? It has been awhile. Have your arms healed properly?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Before Yuan could respond, a second cultivator hurled herself into the room. The ice cold beauty’s jade skin was ruby red in anger, her sword blazing with qi as she pointed it at poor Yuan’s head.

“Yuan Shi, you blithering cretin! You’ve courted death for the last time! Draw like the man you pretend to be, before I gut you like the pig you are!”

Hong clapped politely at such an ornate insult. It seemed the proper thing to do, even if he was planning to pound her head into the floorboards, imminently.

But Yuan Shi (the aforementioned blithering cretin) did not draw.

Instead, to the complete surprise of Xian Xinyue - for that was the woman’s name - he turned to some random youth in the corner and, kowtowing on the floor, started to apologise effusively.

“Honourable Master, I swear to you, by my honour, that appearances do not match reality. This woman and I are absolutely not planning to do any kind of fighting in this noodle shop. She’s simply… joking?”

The question mark hung loosely in the air, and Hong raised one eyebrow sceptically. (Much like his master’s, it was magnificent.)

Xian Xinyue was furious. She’d never met this “Honourable Master” of Yuan before her regression, but she was certain that the bastard was lying about their relationship and didn’t know the youth any better than she did. Nor was she particularly inclined to let such a vapid lie (doubtless intended only to make her pause) stop her from claiming a revenge she’d travelled through time to achieve.

Vines burst through the floorboards as Xian Xinyue, young mistress of the Mystic Lima Bean Sect and much-beloved protagonist of hit webnovel The Return of Xian Xinyue, activated her sect’s signature technique (Grow the Beans, Second Form).

Hong began to rise to his feet, but before he could do anything Yuan Shi, Young Master of the Candied Lampwick Sect and much-loathed antagonist of hit webnovel The Return of Xian Xinyue, launched himself towards the woman. He began whispering in her ear at the kind of breakneck speeds of which only cultivators are capable.

“ …Noodle Shop Repair …didn’t listen …pumpkins …fight …three dead …a wombat’s foot…”

Xian’s eyes widened. “Wait, you can do that with serviettes?”

She looked in frank terror at the bemused youth, realising why, exactly, Yuan was addressing a man who’d never taught him anything (barring the lesson of pain) as a Master.

Then she realised what she’d been about to do in a noodle shop, at which point her expression became altogether more meek. She coughed, sheathed her sword, and made a ‘tada’ motion.

“Surprise! I figured I’d surprise Yuan Shi, that wonderful expression of porcine masculinity and infinitesimally luminous intellect, with a burst of… uh… greenery for… our first date?”

“A burst of greenery, from the floorboards? Why not give him a potted plant? And if it had to be from the ground, why not the good earth outside?” Hong asked.

Xian blanched. Said out loud, it was a thinner explanation than even she had thought. And of course, now that he’d gotten Hong off his back, Yuan certainly wouldn’t be coming to her aid-

“It’s for the dance routine,” Yuan interjected.

“The Mystic Lima Bean Sect is famous for their actualisation of the doctrine that All is Dance - based off an innovative reading of that dictum of Laozi, ‘the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step’ - and that buildings are the mere refraction of the Cosmic Dance as manifested by Man. She’s long known I was entranced by the idea, and doubtless thought only to please me. You’ll have to excuse her enthusiasm; she forgot where she was.”

Xian couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on her face - was this even the same Yuan Shi? He was like a totally different person - but he’d given her an out, however stupid, and she was going to take it.

“Yes. We’re very proud of our dancing, over at the Mystic Lima Bean Sect, and I couldn’t help but want to share it with the man I’m,” and here she swallowed her pride, “considering marrying. Do forgive me.”

“Dancing? You can dance?” This was not from Hong Yu, but one of the other patrons in the shop. Xian closed her eyes momentarily, cursing the man to have unfilial descendants, but she had no choice: having committed to the role, she would have to act it out.

Unfortunately, not only was dancing not a feature of the Mystic Lima Bean Sect, but it wasn’t even a skill Xian Xinyue possessed personally. (She was more into sewing.)

In ancient times, when they were still just a farmer’s cooperative, the sect had had a sacred dance. But though some of its steps were still known, there were none who knew the moves in full, and it had not been danced for four hundred years.

There was, sad to say, but one dance Xian knew, and thus one dance that she could do in this situation.

And so, with all possible solemnity, Xian began to do the can-can.

Hong, that demon of the noodle shops, watched her impassively, rage growing on his face. At length he stood up, walking towards her. Her heart beat faster and faster, as the restaurant’s patrons - sensing a fight - grew quieter and quieter.

He crossed his arms. “That’s your sacred dance?”

Xian’s heart rate spiked. She was about to say something when Hong continued. “That wasn’t the sacred dance of the Mystic Lima Bean Sect the last time I saw them perform it.”

She froze, foot in midair. There was no way he knew the original dance.

“Err, it wasn’t?” Yuan - who of course didn’t know they did once have a sacred dance - said lamely, burying any chances she had of bluffing. She internally cursed the man.

“Of course it wasn’t. Now move aside,” Hong commanded, gesturing for Xian to stand in the corner. He took off his robe, throwing it perfectly onto the coat rack.

He flicked his fingers in a strange form. There was a burst of noodle-scented qi, and the sound of cabaret echoed through the silent restaurant. Hong struck a pose.

Then, materialising a cane of pure yellow qi, he began to dance. His legs swung wildly, the cane whirling about as he sped to and fro across the floor.

He danced in place, swinging the cane back and forth, then cut a caper to the ethereal trumpet’s trill. The crowd went wild.

Xian just watched in shock. How in the ballyhoo did he know her sect’s ancestral dance? Though few steps were still known, they were clearly recognisable in Hong’s dance… and, from the way Hong danced, they had been mastered. The steps were perfect, the execution impeccable.

Then Hong began to sing, tap-dancing in time to the music. His baritone wove itself into the music, and as his dance continued Xian found to her great surprise that now she knew how the journey of a thousand miles could be contained in a single step.

So… he hadn’t wanted to harm her. He had just wanted to fix her dance.

Xian felt her entire body collapse with relief.

And then she realised that, if he knew her sacred dance, he was also entirely aware that everything Yuan and her had said was complete bull.

He stared her dead in the eyes, his own eyes totally dead.

Immediately, the relief fled.