00: How I Accidentally Joined the Triad While Looking for Waifus: A Shanghai Story

✧༺♥༻∞ INTRODUCTION ∞༺♥༻✧

• Height: Perfect for selcas

• Special Ability: Making everything worse in the best possible way

• Hobby: Getting recruited by criminal organizations by accident

• Current Goal: Turn Shanghai's magical underground into a dating sim

• Fatal Weakness: Pretty girls who could definitely kill him

My name is Eugene Kao, and I have a condition.

You see, whenever I spot a potential waifu, I absolutely MUST create chaos. It's like a disease. A beautiful, designer-clothes-wearing disease that's gotten me:

- Expelled from Beverly Hills High (worth it)

- Exiled to Taiwan (also worth it)

- Currently speedrunning Shanghai's most eligible criminal list (definitely worth it)

[Eugene Kao's Guide to Waifu Spotting!]

Step 1: Spot pretty girl

Step 2: Immediately say something that will ruin your life

Step 3: ???

Step 4: End up on another government watchlist

Current Waifu Situation Rankings:

- Lin Yu (Ex-Girlfriend★) (Still reading my WeChat moments) (Definitely not stalking me back)

- Snake Tattoo Lady (SSR Rarity) (Might kill me) (Hot)

- Bubble Tea Goddess (Divine Tier) (Literally divine) (Bad at it though)

- Various Crime Boss Daughters (Limited Time Units) (Please don't tell their fathers)

[Communication Level 1]

Can talk to anyone, anytime, usually making situations exponentially worse

[Charm Level 100]

Successfully convinced three different girls in Taipei he was three different K-pop idols (in one night)

[Survival Instinct Level -9999]

See: That time with Lin Yu and the interpretive dance routine revealing her secret agent status

This is my story of failing upwards so spectacularly that even the universe got confused.

(Lin Yu, I know you're reading this. Your new haircut looks great. Please stop sending assassins.)

💀😣Begin the spectacular disaster?//

❀.(*´◡`*)❀

01: Shanghai in the Rain

The rain fell like a curtain of jade needles across Shanghai's Waitan, each drop carrying the weight of Caera's mounting frustration. Her Italian leather boots, now thoroughly ruined, slapped against the rain-slicked streets with the fury of small thunderclaps. Above her, the Oriental Pearl Tower pierced the pewter sky like an ancient demon's spear, its purple-pink glow reflecting off the roiling surface of the Huangpu River, creating ripples of neon that danced like restless spirits seeking harbor.

"Useless, utterly useless," she muttered, her words carried away by the wind that whipped between the architectural giants of Jin Mao and the Shanghai World Financial Center. Their gleaming facades watched her struggle like impassive judges, their heights reaching toward heavens that had, in her mind, thoroughly abandoned her today. The modern towers stood as stark contrasts to the ancient power that once flowed freely through these streets, now buried beneath layers of concrete and ambition.

Her blood sugar crashed somewhere between "murderous" and "apocalyptic," each step without her driver or her usual morning tea pushing her closer to the edge of divine impropriety. The rain plastered her designer silk blouse to her skin, the fabric now as transparent as her failing attempt at maintaining dignity. Each gust of wind sent shivers through her body, not from cold – gods didn't feel cold – but from the growing sense of disconnection from the spiritual currents that should have been as natural as breathing.

A group of tourists huddled under the protective awning of a nearby shop, their cameras still pointed skyward despite the downpour. Their excited chatter in various languages mixed with the rhythm of the rain, creating a mundane symphony that grated against her divine senses. Caera felt their eyes on her – another spectacle in the endless parade of Shanghai curiosities. If they only knew they were watching a goddess brought low by something as mundane as a missing driver and an empty stomach. Their photos would capture more than they realized: the moment when divine grace succumbed to mortal inconvenience.

The neon signs above cast their garish light through the rain, transforming each droplet into tiny prisms that scattered her reflection across the wet pavement. In these fractured images, she caught glimpses of herself: proud posture failing, perfectly styled hair now a defeated mess, the careful mask of divine composure slipping with each squelching step. The puddles beneath her feet turned into mirrors, each one reflecting a different facet of her diminishment – here, the slight tremor in her hands; there, the tightness around her eyes that betrayed her growing panic.

Thunder rumbled overhead, not the dignified voice of heaven but a mocking laugh that echoed between the buildings. The sound resonated with something deep within her, a vibration that should have connected her to the dragon veins running beneath the city's surface. Instead, she felt only the hollow absence of that connection, like a phantom limb that still ached with remembered power.

"Divine failure," she spat, the words tasting like bitter tea on her tongue. The self-deprecation carried a sharp edge of truth that cut deeper than she cared to admit. "Can't even maintain the spiritual balance of a single district without everything falling apart." Her words fogged in the air before her, carrying traces of fading golden light – the last visible remnants of her divine essence struggling against the mundane world's encroachment.

The rain intensified, as if heaven itself sought to wash away her pretensions of authority. Each drop that struck her skin felt like a tiny judgment, a reminder of her increasingly tenuous connection to the celestial realm. The surrounding skyscrapers seemed to lean inward, their glass and steel surfaces reflecting infinite versions of her defeat back at her. In their windows, she watched herself transform from frustrated deity to something altogether more vulnerable – a being caught between worlds, belonging fully to neither.

A taxi splashed through a puddle beside her, sending a wave of street water across her already ruined outfit. The driver didn't even slow down, couldn't perceive the divine retribution he should have faced for such an insult. In that moment, Caera felt the full weight of her diminishment. Time was when her mere presence would have commanded respect from every spirit and mortal in the district. Now, she couldn't even keep her shoes dry.

The jade sphere in her purse remained stubbornly inert, its weight a constant reminder of her purpose here. It should have been humming with power, resonating with the ancient spiritual highways that crisscrossed beneath Shanghai's modern streets. Instead, it sat as lifeless as a department store trinket, another symbol of her failing connection to both this city and her divine heritage.

Ahead, through the curtain of rain, she could make out the warm glow of Uncle Bao's shop. The sight of it sparked equal parts relief and dread in her chest – relief at the promise of shelter and sustenance, dread at having to face yet another witness to her current state. The protection runes above his door flickered in greeting, their light dimmer than usual, as if even they could sense her weakened state.

"Get it together," she commanded herself, trying to summon the authority that should have been her birthright. But her voice wavered, undermining the attempt at self-assertion. The rain continued its relentless descent, each drop another second ticking away in what felt increasingly like a countdown to complete divine obsolescence.

Uncle Bao's Tea Shop

The bell above Uncle Bao's door – cast in the reign of Qianlong and steeped in three centuries of prayers – sang with the voice of ancient magic, its bronze tongue speaking in tones that rippled through the qi of the room like stones dropped in still water. The sound carried memories of temple ceremonies and midnight offerings, of whispered devotions and answered prayers that had seeped into its metal like tea into porcelain. Caera burst through beneath its song, bringing with her a storm of rainwater and wounded pride that set the protection runes flickering like startled fireflies.

The shop's interior embraced her with the warmth of a grandmother's kitchen on Double Ninth Festival – all amber light and aromatic memories. Incense wove through the air in precise calligraphic strokes, drawing characters of sandalwood and agarwood that spoke of temple gardens and midnight ceremonies. Along the wooden beams overhead, protection runes pulsed in quiet conversation with Shanghai's dragon veins, each character a testament to centuries of magical refinement. Their gold-green light cast gentle shadows that danced across walls lined with tea canisters, their ancient seals promising everything from "Dragon's Breath Clarity" to "Immortal's Peaceful Heart."

A young couple sat in the corner, sharing a pot of "Lovers' Destiny" tea, the steam rising between them forming subtle shapes of intertwined phoenixes. Their jade rings clinked against the porcelain cups in harmony, each note a quiet promise of futures entwined. Near them, a student frantically scribbled in his notebook, his "Scholar's Focus" blend casting faint golden equations into the air above his cup before they dissolved like morning mist.

Uncle Bao hunched over his ledger like a mountain over a precious valley, his weathered hands moving brush across paper with the deliberate grace of a temple calligrapher. Silver threaded his beard like strands of midnight frost, catching the light of paper lanterns that swayed overhead like lazy spirits. Behind him, shelves of tea stretched toward the ceiling in a tapestry of possibility – each canister a world of flavor and memory waiting to be awakened.

The walls themselves seemed to breathe with history – dark wood panels that had absorbed decades of tea steam and whispered prayers, their grain forming patterns that sometimes resembled ancient maps of Shanghai's spiritual pathways. In one corner, a cat drowsed on a silk cushion, its black and white patches arranged in a perfect yin-yang, its dreams adding to the shop's subtle enchantments.

"Ah, Little Goddess," Uncle Bao said, the title falling from his lips with the weight of jade tablets in an emperor's tomb. His eyes, sharp as fresh-cut nephrite beneath decades of laughter lines, took in her bedraggled state with the careful assessment of one who had served tea to river dragons in disguise. "You look..."

"Don't." Caera's voice cracked like imperfect porcelain. She pulled the jade sphere from her soaked Hermès bag, its surface as clouded as the Huangpu on a polluted morning. The artifact should have sung with power, should have connected her to the dragon veins that laced beneath Shanghai's steel bones like golden threads through imperial silk. Instead, it sat in her palm with all the spiritual potency of a water chestnut.

The shop breathed around them with quiet life. Steam rose from patrons' cups in deliberate spirals, carrying whispers of enchantments meant to grant everything from business luck to filial harmony. An elderly woman in the corner sipped her oolong while her jade bangle – older than the Republic itself – clinked against porcelain in notes that sounded suspiciously like ancient prayers. Two young businessmen shared a pot of tieguanyin, their laptops displaying charts that shifted between modern market data and I Ching hexagrams depending on how the light caught them.

A group of tourists near the window whispered in excitement as their "Fortune's Favor" tea leaves arranged themselves into prophetic patterns at the bottom of their cups. One gasped as her cup revealed the shape of a dragon, though whether it was the tea's magic or the shop's natural tendency toward auspicious signs was anyone's guess.

Caera's fingers traced the activation runes on the sphere's surface, each movement growing more desperate until frustration won out over finesse. The sphere slipped from her grasp like an unfilial spirit, bouncing across the counter with the hollow song of untapped potential. Tea – a special blend meant to align one's qi with the city's spiritual currents – cascaded across Uncle Bao's ledger. The liquid bled between worlds, ancient Chinese characters dissolving into modern accounting columns, creating a mess as tangled as the fate lines in a fortune teller's rejected palm.

"My, my. You're really living up to the 'smallest goddess' title today, aren't you?"

The voice cut through the shop's serenity like a steel needle through silk, sweet as moon cakes but lined with bitter melon's bite. Lin Yu materialized from between the shelves like a fox spirit stepping through temple shadows, each movement precise as a calligrapher's final stroke. Her qipao whispered modern Suzhou silk secrets, but her eyes held the calculating gleam of someone who had watched cities rise and fall like tides on the Huangpu.

The air around her shimmered almost imperceptibly, like heat waves rising from summer-baked stones. The protection runes overhead flickered in her presence, their light dimming and brightening in a pattern that might have been coincidence – or might have been recognition of something that walked the boundaries between divine and mortal with careful precision.

Uncle Bao's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering over the Bund. His gaze danced between the sphere and the spreading stain, reading meanings in their patterns as clearly as oracle bones in an emperor's court. "The dragon veins are not to be trifled with, Little Goddess," he murmured, his voice carrying echoes of midnight temple bells and ancient warnings. "They carry Shanghai's lifeblood through channels older than the first emperor's dreams, through paths that remember when this land was nothing but reeds and river spirits trading stories with the moon."

The tea's spreading stain began to form patterns on the ledger – shapes that resembled the city's waterways, or perhaps the dragon veins themselves, mapping connections and powers that flowed beneath Shanghai's modern surface. Each seeping character seemed to pulse with a life of its own, ancient ink merging with spilled tea to write new prophecies in a language few remembered how to read.

He paused, his usual jovial demeanor cracking like Ming dynasty porcelain to reveal something ancient and worried beneath – a glimpse of the man who had served tea to gods and monsters long before Shanghai dreamed of reaching heaven with glass and steel. "This sphere..." His fingers hovered over its surface, not quite touching, as if reading heat from ritual incense. "It chose you for a reason, even if that reason remains clouded as today's sky."

"Like everything else in this cursed weather," Caera muttered, but her attempt at sarcasm couldn't quite mask the tremor of uncertainty that rippled through her voice like a pebble disturbing a temple pond's surface. She watched as the tea continued to spread across the ledger, each seeping character a reminder of her failing grasp on both the mundane and divine. The liquid formed patterns that looked almost like prophecy, if one knew how to read the spaces between spillage and stain – patterns that spoke of changes coming to Shanghai's spiritual landscape as surely as autumn brings the mid-month moon.

Around them, the shop held its breath like a meditation hall before the morning bell, as if the very walls were listening to this exchange between failed goddess, ancient shopkeeper, and whatever Lin Yu truly was behind her mask of mortal sarcasm. The protection runes pulsed once, strongly, before settling back into their gentle glow, like guardian lions acknowledging a shift in the boundaries they watched.

The jade sphere caught a ray of light that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the physical shop, and for just a moment, Caera could have sworn she saw Shanghai's true face reflected in its depths – not the city of glass and steel, but the older one, the one that still dreamed in dragon veins and whispered prayers to gods both remembered and forgotten. Then it was gone, leaving her with nothing but cooling tea, the weight of Lin Yu's calculating gaze upon her back, and the growing certainty that her divine failures might have consequences far beyond a ruined ledger and wounded pride.

Tension Between Caera and Lin Yu

The spilled tea continued its slow conquest of Uncle Bao's ledger, each seeping character transforming into whispered prophecies that neither goddess nor shopkeeper dared to read aloud. Lin Yu's presence filled the small shop like ghost moon incense – subtle yet impossible to ignore, carrying undertones of secrets as bitter as winter melon soup. She moved with the fluid grace of a shadow across jade, each step a calculated performance in the theatre of power that played out beneath Shanghai's mortal skin.

The jade sphere lay between them on the counter, its surface now reflecting the shop's golden light like distant stars drowning in the Milky Way. Tea droplets gathered around its base like supplicants at a temple gate, each one catching fragments of Lin Yu's knowing smirk. Caera's fingers itched to snatch it back, to prove her worth, but pride held her still as a terracotta warrior facing eternity.

"Your talent for chaos remains unmatched," Lin Yu said, reaching past Caera to pluck a tea canister from the highest shelf. Her sleeve – Suzhou silk in the precise shade of midnight over the Huangpu – brushed Caera's shoulder with deliberate lightness, a touch soft as butterfly wings but sharp with unspoken challenge. "Though I must admit, watching you try to handle spiritual artifacts is better entertainment than the Kunqu Opera at Yuyuan Garden."

The protection runes overhead flickered at her words, their ancient light dimming like lanterns before a storm. Even the shop's resident cat – previously contentedly dreaming on its silk cushion – opened one eye to watch the exchange, its pupils vertical slits of ancient wisdom.

"Don't you have a secret meeting to attend?" Caera's words carried the bite of winter wind off the Huangpu, each syllable frozen with the kind of fury only a slighted goddess could muster. "Some shadowy gathering where you can properly appreciate your own cleverness?"

Lin Yu's laugh felt like silk wrapped around steel, a sound that could cut as easily as it could caress. "Not until after your next disaster." She began measuring tea leaves with precise movements, each green spiral falling into her cup with mathematical perfection. The scent of Dragon Well tea rose between them, carrying memories of simpler days when their friendship wasn't laced with thorns and hidden daggers.

Uncle Bao moved between them with the careful grace of one accustomed to navigating divine tensions, his weathered hands working to salvage his ledger while his eyes darted between goddess and mortal like a sparrow watching rival snakes. Each blotted character represented centuries of carefully maintained balance now disturbed, each stain a new variable in Shanghai's spiritual equation.

"The dragon veins grow restless," he murmured, more to his ledger than to them. "They feel the discord above, just as they taste the rain that falls like tears from heaven's eyes." His brush moved across the paper, less to save the accounts than to trace new patterns in the spilled tea's prophecy.

Outside, thunder rolled across Shanghai's sky like drums in an ancient temple, drawing their attention to the window. The modern city's reflection wavered in the glass – neon signs and corporate towers ghosting over their traditional surroundings like layers of rice paper painted with different eras. For a moment, the Oriental Pearl Tower's reflection seemed to pulse in time with the jade sphere's dormant heart.

Lin Yu's phone buzzed against the counter, its screen flashing with characters that disappeared too quickly for Caera to read, though she caught glimpses of what might have been old seal script mixed with modern encryption. Something shifted in Lin Yu's expression – subtle as shade changing with the sun's movement, but enough for Caera's divine senses to catch. There was knowledge there, heavy as temple bells before dawn.

"Perhaps," Lin Yu said, her voice carrying that honey-poison sweetness again, "our smallest goddess should focus on mastering her teacup before attempting to channel Shanghai's spiritual arteries." She lifted her perfectly prepared tea in a mock toast, the liquid catching light in ways that seemed to write prophecies of its own. "After all, even the Jade Emperor had to learn to walk before ascending the heavens."

The words struck deeper than they should have, finding purchase in the cracks of Caera's confidence like frost in stone. She watched as Lin Yu's fingers traced unconscious patterns on her phone – patterns that reminded her of old protection sigils, though surely that was just her imagination made feverish by failure and low blood sugar.

A group of tourists by the window gasped collectively as their fortune tea leaves arranged themselves into what looked like a perfect dragon, its body coiling through their cups in unified warning. Or perhaps blessing – in Shanghai's spiritual landscape, omens often wore multiple masks.

"Your concern is noted," Caera replied, summoning every fragment of divine dignity she could muster from her rain-soaked soul. "And entirely unnecessary. This is merely a temporary... adjustment period." The jade sphere seemed to pulse once, faintly, as if responding to her determination – or perhaps mocking it with the gentlest of divine laughs.

Uncle Bao looked up from his ruined ledger, his eyes carrying the weight of centuries. "Adjustment periods," he said softly, "are when the dragon veins are most vulnerable. When old guards change, when new powers rise..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to Lin Yu with an unreadable expression that seemed to peel back layers of her mortal disguise. "Time flows like tea through a fine strainer, Little Goddess. What remains caught may be more valuable than what passes through."

Lin Yu's phone buzzed again, more insistently this time. She straightened, her posture shifting from casual disdain to something more purposeful, like a fox spirit dropping its human mask. The air around her shimmered with barely contained power that set the protection runes dancing in agitated patterns.

"Well, it seems my entertainment for the morning must come to an end." She moved toward the door with liquid grace, each step precise as calligraphy. "Try not to flood any other historical establishments while I'm gone." She paused at the threshold, the rain creating a shimmering curtain behind her that transformed her silhouette into something almost mythical. "Though I suppose even divine failures serve their purpose in the greater scheme of things."

The bell chimed her departure with a tone somehow darker than when Caera had entered, its ancient bronze voice carrying notes of warning that set the cat's fur on edge. She was left with Uncle Bao's quiet ministrations to his ledger, the jade sphere's stubborn silence, and the growing certainty that Lin Yu's barbs carried more purpose than mere cruelty.

In the window's reflection, the Oriental Pearl Tower pierced the rain-heavy clouds like a needle threading heaven to earth, and Caera wondered – not for the first time – what tapestry was being woven while she fumbled with its smallest threads. The tea stains on Uncle Bao's ledger had begun to dry, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like a map of Shanghai's underground streams, or perhaps something deeper, older, hidden beneath the city's modern skin like secrets beneath a courtesan's smile.

The jade sphere sat cold in her palm, its surface now clear enough to reflect her face – showing not the composed goddess she pretended to be, but something more honest, more vulnerable, and perhaps more powerful for its very humanity. Shanghai's rain continued to fall outside, each drop a prayer or a prophecy, while inside, the protection runes hummed a melody older than the city itself, waiting for someone to finally understand their song.

Interlude: Divine Lights

*A note found in Uncle Bao's ancient ledger, dated 1882:*

The day Shanghai first lit its electric lights along the Bund, three river dragons mistook them for stars fallen into their territory. The resulting water spout knocked out half the power grid. Local goddess at the time tried to mediate by offering tea to both dragons and engineers.

Resolution: Dragons now help power Shanghai's grid. Engineers still find mysterious tea leaves in their circuit boxes.

*Margin note in Caera's handwriting:*

"At least I only short out protection runes. Grandmother once caused a city-wide blackout trying to make her tea water 'the perfect temperature.'"

*Uncle Bao's cat's contribution:*

一 (One) pawprint smudging out the word "perfect"