---
I died doing CPR on a golden retriever.
Technically, the retriever was doing CPR on me. There was a Frisbee, a muddy slope, a heroic leap, and then seventy pounds of wagging love driving my skull into a park bench. My last mortal thought: Fine. Next life? I'm opening a pet shop. No humans allowed.
The universe heard me.
---
I woke to the smell of hamster bedding and cheap incense. A cracked bell over the door tinkled as if remembering how to be cheerful.
Counters. Cages. Fish tanks gurgling like old men. A sun-faded poster of a smiling cat giving a thumbs up (paw up?) that said "ME-OW MUCH FUN!" in a font designed by a war criminal.
On the wall: a plastic lightbox sign wired to an ancient timer. It hummed, flickered, and flashed HAPPY PAWS PET SUPPLIES in bubbly pink.
Then it sputtered, coughed, and flipped to a different face entirely—hand-painted black lacquer, gold characters sharp as sword strokes:
DAO BEAST PAVILION — ALL CONTRACTS BINDING
The sign jittered back to HAPPY PAWS like it had said something it shouldn't.
I sat up behind the counter. My hands were younger. My wrists didn't ache. My reflection in the candy jar for dog treats showed a guy with black hair, passable jawline, and the haunted eyes of someone who had seen the inside of a cat carrier.
"Hello?" I tried. My voice came out in a cough. "Is… anyone… the manager?"
The bell dinged.
A phone vibrated on the counter. My phone. Lock screen: WELCOME, SHOPKEEPER. No brand. No buttons. Just a calm, glowing interface and a small paw print icon that pulsed like a heartbeat.
I pressed it.
> [SHOP SYSTEM ONLINE]
Welcome, Shopkeeper.
Mode: Calibration.
Tutorial Length: ~ 12 hours.
A customer has entered. Tutorial skipped.
"Wait, what—"
"'Scuse me, mister?" A kid in a school uniform peeked over the counter. Nine, maybe ten. Big eyes. Backpack with a rhino keychain. "Do you sell bunnies? Mum says I can have one if it doesn't bite like the last one did and also if it doesn't cost 'my left kidney'."
The phone flashed:
> [FATED CUSTOMER DETECTED]
Name: Piper Hart (Mortal)
Wallet: $32.50 AUD and a coupon for free chips.
Request: "A bunny."
Fate Thread: Strong.
Risk: Low (…ish).
I blinked. "We… have bunnies."
We did. Three cages down. One rabbit blinked back at me, white as sugar, ears like twin commas. Cute. Utterly ordinary.
The screen overlaid text on the rabbit like a video game tooltip.
> [APPRAISAL]
Species: Moon Rabbit (Ancestral) — sealed
Temperament: Tidy. Judgemental.
Hidden Trait: Lunar Step (hop precisely on anything, including air, once per night).
Evolution: Immortal War Bunny (Requires: moonlight, fresh greens, sincere pats).
Bite Risk: …yes.
I closed my eyes and opened them again. Still there.
"Why is he staring like that?" Piper whispered. "Is he broken?"
"He's… evaluating your karmic suitability," I said, because my mouth was an unlicensed radio station just pulling in whatever signal was loudest. "What's your budget?"
She counted coins. "Thirty dollars. And chips."
A tiny notification ticked at the top of my phone.
> [SIDETASK: SAVE A SMALL LIFE]
Objective: Place Moon Rabbit with a kind owner before sunset.
Reward: +10 Spirit, +1 Shop Expansion Point, +1 "We Don't Sell Kidneys" reputation.
Penalty for Failure: Rabbit will remain judgemental. Forever.
"Sold," I said, because who was I to argue with destiny and free chips? "But you have to agree to the Responsible Owner Basics."
I narrated as I went, because the screen wanted ceremony:
"Fresh greens daily. No carrots every day. No microwaving. No—this is important—no trying to teach it kung fu."
Piper saluted. "Aye aye."
We did the paperwork. Piper named him Sir Hopsalot with the solemnity of a general knighting a toaster. The phone purred.
> [CONTRACT: SMALL COMPANION]
Moon Rabbit ↔ Piper Hart (Mortal)
Bond Quality: Gentle
Karmic Feedback to Shopkeeper: +10 Spirit
Upgrade Unlocked: Appraisal Lv.2 (Common → Rare)
Piper's Mum's Opinion of You: To be determined.
Warmth slid through my chest, a fizzing soda-bubble glow that pooled in a place I didn't know I had. The shop brightened. The cracked bell sounded less sad.
Piper hugged the rabbit carrier. "Thank you, mister!"
"Remember," I said, leaning in, "if he ever looks at the moon and starts walking up the air, that's normal. Just… let him finish."
She stared. "Are you… joking?"
"Yes."
(I was not.)
She left. The bell dinged. The sign overhead flickered like a nervous eye.
HAPPY PAWS.
DAO BEAST PAVILION.
HAPPY—
The sun slid down the window like an egg on a non-stick pan. It hit the horizon.
Something inside the walls exhaled.
The fluorescent tubes went dim. The air thickened with a scent like cold iron and rain. The hamster cage rattled. The poster cat's smile developed fangs.
The sign rolled to black lacquer and gold with a decisive thunk.
DAO BEAST PAVILION — ALL CONTRACTS BINDING
My phone vibrated hard enough to crawl six inches.
> [NIGHT MODE: OPEN]
Mortal veil: Lowered
Cultivator perception: Enabled
Warning: Do not sell Phoenix hatchlings as "parrots."
Secondary Warning: Do not sell anything as "parrots."
A gust of night wind shoved open the door.
An old man in a charcoal suit strode in like thunder wearing loafers. Long hair bound with a jade clasp. Eyes like he'd read the terms and conditions of life and decided they were negotiable.
"I sensed a qilin's breath," he said, voice dry enough to start brush fires. He looked me over like a ledger. "Where is the cub?"
I smiled the kind of smile you use on tax auditors and apex predators.
"Welcome to Happy—Dao Beast Pavilion," I said. "Do you… have a loyalty card?"
"Child." His gaze cut to the cages, to the tanks, to the shelves that had grown new shadows. "Do not trifle with the Four Rivers Sect."
Four Rivers. Cool cool cool. Sounded like something that collected taxes with swords.
I tried to stall. "Have you considered a goldfish? Very affordable. Great for beginners. Teaches patience."
He put a jade token on the counter. It glowed like a summer afternoon made of money. "I will pay whatever you like."
The system threw confetti in my face.
> [HIGH-TIER CUSTOMER DETECTED]
Name: Elder Wu (Four Rivers Sect)
Temperament: Majestic, brittle knees.
Request: Qilin cub.
Budget: Yes.
Risk: Medium-High (ego + brittle knees).
"About the qilin," I said, "see, earlier there was a rabbit—"
My phone blared a siren.
> [SHOPKEEPER, NO]
Do not confess you sold destiny to a child for $30 and chips.
Do. Not. Confess.
I coughed. "—a rabbit-shaped energy fluctuation. Very transient. It hopped. A lot. Hard to catch."
He closed his eyes. His hands trembled. "The qilin has already chosen its mortal? For— for how much?"
"Money is a social construct," I said wisely. "What truly matters is the bond between—"
"How much," he repeated, in the tone that turns mountains into compliance.
I looked at the receipt.
"Ten," I whispered.
He swayed. The jade token slid off the counter. He caught it with a hand that could pulp walnuts.
"…thousand?" he asked, seeking mercy in math.
"Dollars." I coughed. "Australian."
Silence. The fish tank bubbled like a laugh trying not to be rude.
Elder Wu inhaled. Exhaled. A hurricane reconsidering its life choices. When he spoke again, it was clean and sharp.
"Very well," he said. "The Dao chooses strange roads. The qilin will bless the child's house. So be it." He pointed a knuckle at me. "You. You will ensure the rabbit's safety. If the Four Rivers finds even a scratch—"
"We are a family-friendly establishment," I promised. "We carry band-aids with cartoons."
My phone buzzed, gratified.
> [REPUTATION +1: "Oddly Principled"]
New Tag: Shopkeeper Sells Destiny to Children
Note: This is… not an ideal tag.
Elder Wu's gaze softened by one molecule. "Then I will purchase… something else." He scanned the room and stopped at a tank that had definitely not contained anything ominous five minutes ago.
A goldfish hovered near the glass, watching him. It blinked like a tiny monk considering enlightenment.
> [APPRAISAL]
Species: Goldfish
Hidden Bloodline: Flood Dragon (minuscule) — sealed
Evolution Trigger: Unattended wishes, thunderstorms, dramatic music.
Risk: Do not sneeze near it.
"Oh," I said faintly. "That one's… mostly decorative."
Elder Wu leaned closer. The goldfish leaned too, like it wanted to touch foreheads. My phone hissed.
> [DO NOT SELL.]
[DO NOT—]
[—WHAT ARE YOU DOING, HE IS MAKING THE FACE HUMANS MAKE AT PUPPIES—]
"I'll take it," Elder Wu said softly, as if confessing to a great love. "Name your price."
"Two hundred," I blurted, then panicked. "And a bag of gravel. And a plant. The plastic ones are fine."
He paid in jade, which the register ate with a dainty crunch like it was a biscuit. He left with the goldfish in a bowl, walking as if cradling a star.
The bell chimed.
I sagged.
The hamsters sighed in chorus.
My phone displayed a progress bar like a smug caterpillar.
> [TRANSACTION COMPLETE]
Karmic Feedback: +20 Spirit
Shop Funds: +…unhelpful jade
New Perk: Night Counter (Cultivator) — bargain while terrifying.
Warning: You have just adopted a flood dragon's taxes.
"What does that mean, taxes—"
The lights flickered. Somewhere, thunder rolled like a bowling ball down heaven's throat.
A message spooled across my screen in big, friendly letters:
> [RANDOM EVENT: CHAOS ALWAYS WINS]
Customers: Incoming (2)
— Council Inspector (Mortal): suspicious of your signage, hates reptiles.
— Masked Rogue Beast-Tamer (Cultivator): wants "whatever fell off a phoenix."
Prize: +Reputation if neither party sees the other.
Penalty: Council fines and/or duel.
Timer: 00:02:00
"No."
"Yes," said the universe, tapping the bell with one finger.
The door slammed open so hard the poster cat flapped.
A woman in a municipal vest marched in with a clipboard that could kill. Her expression suggested she had ticketed clouds for drifting. "Good evening. Council Animal Welfare & Business Compliance. We've had reports of non-standard signage, improper classification of exotic animals, and…" she sniffed, "…incense."
At the same time, the back door— which had not existed until right now— slid aside. A tall figure in a black cloak ducked through, aura prickling the hair on my arms.
"Shopkeeper," the mask intoned, voice like a raven with a law degree. "I require phoenix down. Ten grams. Unburned."
"Hi!" I said brightly to the inspector. "We're just a normal, wholesome, fully compliant—"
"Phoenix down," the masked one repeated, louder. "Un. Burned."
The inspector squinted past me. "Did that person say 'phoenix'?"
"No," I said. "He said—" I waved vaguely. "—fennel. He's making a salad."
My phone screamed.
> [STEALTH CHECK: FAILED]
Advice: Create Distraction
Suggested: Release Hamster.
Better Suggestion: Do Not Release Hamster.
The hamster cage door popped open by itself with a genteel ting.
"No!" I lunged.
The hamster—a beige bean with legs—stared into my soul and discovered a previously unknown desire to become legend. It leapt from the cage, hit the counter, ricocheted off the card machine, and vanished into the cat aisle like a wrestling move.
"Is that safe?" the inspector demanded.
"It's a… store enrichment activity," I said. "They love parkour."
From the back, the masked tamer inhaled sharply. "I can smell divine ash."
"That's… cinnamon dust," I said. "Seasonal. Very autumn."
"Do you," the inspector said slowly, "have permits for… cinnamon?"
My phone coughed up an icon I hadn't seen yet. A roll-down grate over the counter. A Night Counter.
> [PERK: NIGHT COUNTER (CULTIVATOR)]
Effect: While raised, mortals perceive normal retail counter.
Cultivators perceive contract altar.
Cooldown: 60 minutes
Button: RAISE COUNTER (Y/N)
"Yes," I hissed, jabbing Y.
A metal grille slid from the ceiling with a silky shhhhnk, splitting the counter in two realities. On the inspector's side: a cheerful POS with a jar of lollipops. On the masked tamer's side: an obsidian altar with a quill that wrote with fire.
The inspector blinked. "Is that… new?"
"We renovate constantly," I said, as my left hand (mortal) rang up a bag of duck treats for the inspector's imaginary dog, while my right hand (cultivator) negotiated a No Phoenix Theft in a Residential Zone clause with a man whose aura could set drapes on fire.
"Phoenix down," the tamer growled, sliding a pouch that smelled like thunderstorms and second chances across the altar. "Ten grams."
I glanced at the shelf. A jar labeled NOT FOR SALE sat next to ABSOLUTELY NOT FOR SALE and PUT THIS BACK. Under them: a safer option— a vial of Firebird Molt (Ethically Sourced From Shed Feathers Found On Tuesdays).
"Rare," I said smoothly, lifting the Tuesday vial and keeping the phoenix jar out of reach. "Ethical. Sustainably harvested. Notes of… Tuesday."
We signed in fire.
On the mortal side, the inspector slapped a red form on the counter. "You are in violation of Section 9B: Ambiguous Signage." She peered at my fish tanks. "And is that a goldfish? Those aren't allowed without a heater if the ambient temperature—"
Thunder rattled the window.
The goldfish tank glowed.
My phone vibrated so hard I thought it would dig through the counter and tunnel to safety.
> [EMERGENCY: EVOLUTION TRIGGERED]
Subject: Goldfish (Flood Dragon)
Cause: Unattended wish + thunderstorm + dramatic music (Elder Wu humming)
Location: Currently in transit down South Street
Secondary: Sympathetic Tank Resonance in-shop.
Evolution In-Shop ETA: 00:00:10
"Nope," I said to the universe.
"Excuse me?" said the inspector.
"Everyone out," I said, very politely, smiling the kind of smile that padded animals see before a bath. "We are closing for… fumigation."
"Fumigation at night?" The inspector arched an eyebrow that could do pull-ups.
The masked tamer's head tilted. "Ah," he said, as the air gained weight. "You own a flood dragon."
"I own," I said, "a very normal fish. Which is not going to—"
The tank lit up like a paparazzi convention.
The goldfish inside lengthened, spine unfurling, scales catching lightning in a dozen shades of impossible. The water bulged upward as if remembering it could be a cloud.
The bell dinged one last time, very softly, like a tiny prayer.
My phone displayed a countdown.
3… 2… 1…
The goldfish took a breath, decided to be a dragon, and went vertical.
Water followed.
So did my scream.
> [CLIFFHANGER ACHIEVED]
Chapter Rewards: +1 Bookmark, +1 Comment, +1 "LMAO"
Reminder: Mop aisle is on sale.