Old Seven went forward, with a smile on his face, and said,
"Good morning, Fellow Daoist Mortal."
The little boy looked at him with a blank face and said,
"Good morning."
For some reason, he seemed serious at this moment.
Old Seven, who saw the kid acting like he didn't know him, said,
"Fellow Daoists, can I and my friends here ask you some questions?"
The little boy rolled his eyes at him and said,
"Old Seven, don't you see I'm working right now? You should come when office hours are over. Right now, I should wait for people to come so I can interview them."
Old Seven didn't know what to say.
Working on what? What are office hours?
Seeing the awkward situation, Big Brother came forward and asked,
"Greetings, Fellow Daoist. Is it possible for us to participate in this interview?"
The little boy became excited.
"Yes, yes—cough—I mean, sure! Which one of you wants to be interviewed? Please raise your hand."
There was a look of anticipation in the little boy's eyes.
At this moment, everyone, without knowing why, raised their hand.
It was as if something told them they would lose the best opportunity of their lives if they didn't.
The little boy, who seemed happy, turned around and yelled toward the house,
"Send out eight chairs for our participants, please!"
Then he looked at them again, smiling like a professional interviewer.
At this moment, eight silver lights came out of the house, and seven small silver chairs appeared in front of the group, with the last one in front of the table.
Looking at the size of the chairs, the seven adults on the scene were speechless—and so was the little boy.
Little Mortal looked at the chairs, then at the people in front of him, and then back at the house.
"Aren't you supposed to be intelligent? They're adults and the elderly. I want to interview them, not their grandchildren. Send out eight adult-sized and comfortable sofas, please."
Then he looked at the crowd with an embarrassed smile.
The eight small chairs turned into silver lights again and went back into the house.
A brief moment later, eight brown lights came out, and this time, they transformed into eight brown, adult-sized sofas.
One landed at the front of the silver table, and seven at the back.
"Please sit, everyone so that we can start our interview."
Everyone sat down on the sofas, wondering what this polite little man was going to interview them for.
But the moment they sat, they forgot about everything. Their minds became calm and clear, like clear water in a fountain.
What kind of sofa was this?
They had a comfortable feeling they couldn't describe.
The little boy looked at them and said,
"Okay, Old Seven, we already know each other, so let's start with you. I'll ask you some questions. Please answer carefully and truthfully."
Old Seven came back to his senses and, reluctantly, walked to the front seat. He sat upright, a little nervous, and said,
"Please ask. I'm all ears, Fellow Daoist Mortal."
Little Mortal picked up his pen, ready to write something on the paper, and said,
"Name... No, wait. Tell me your Dao-Beast—ehem—I mean, Daoist name. I heard it's trendy here. Later on, I'll choose one for myself too, hehe."
Old Seven said,
"Mediator."
Little Mortal nodded.
"Tell me a little about yourself—or your reputation in this world of savages—No, wait, I mean, the cultivation world!"
The crowd furrowed their eyebrows.
Did he call our world the "World of Savages"?
Old Seven looked at the excited boy and answered,
"I was a rogue cultivator all my life. But because I tried to stop some fights between the Demonic and Righteous Paths here and there, people started calling me 'Mediator.' Later, like the rest of the Fellow Daoists here, I was lured into this trap around 300 years ago. And because I was the seventh person to be trapped, my Fellow Daoists here called me Old Seven."
Little Mortal, unlike what the crowd expected, seemed to know precisely what trap Old Seven was talking about and commented,
"So that's why you're alive and haven't been hit with lightning and gone puff."
After saying this, he started writing Old Seven's name on the paper in the third row, under the shocked gazes of the group of trapped big shots.
Every time he said something random, it made them even more curious about his background.
Little Mortal, after finishing writing, opened the black box on the table and took out a black-framed glasses to look at Old Seven.
When he was done, he placed the glasses back in the box and added a number in front of Old Seven's name:
**[ 3. Mediator (Old Seven)
Power = 91.4
Age = 3250 ]**
Old Seven, still in shock, thought to himself,
When was I supposed to get hit by lightning?
Like everyone else, he took a curious look at the paper.
Because the table was small and lower than them, they all saw the other two names written on it:
**[ 1. Wise Turtle
Power = (Classified Information)
Age = (Classified Information)
2. White Tiger
Power = 91.9
Age = 6540 ]**
The little boy turned his head toward the house again and said,
"Special Force Token, please."
Then, before Old Seven could react, a black light shot out of the house and—pah—hit his forehead. A cold object dropped into his hand.
He looked down and saw a black metallic token in his palm.
There was a symbol on its circular surface: two hands protecting a sphere in the middle.
When Old Seven raised his head to ask the little boy what to do with the token, he saw him already standing up and storming toward the house with an angry look!
Little Mortal, looking furious, entered the house.
A moment later, an angry child's voice came from inside, yelling,
"How dare you attack the elderly!?"
Before anyone could find out who had attacked the elderly, they heard the sound of fighting following the angry shout.
They saw him attacking the big backpack with his little hands and legs, while the backpack—the one that had attacked the elderly—seemed to be trying to run outside.
After getting beaten up for a while, the backpack finally found an opportunity and ran outside.
The moment it was out, the little angry boy jumped out of the window and blocked its path.
The backpack turned around to run back into the house, but—
"It's too late, big guy."
The boy yelled at it, grabbed it with both hands from behind, arched his body backward, and with a perfect suplex—BAM—slammed the backpack onto the terrace floor!
Tremble!
After that, the backpack didn't move anymore.
It was as if its back was broken and turned into a regular backpack—lifeless and miserable.
The corners of some of the "elderly" people's eyes began twitching.
The little boy looked at the lifeless backpack with dissatisfaction, tidied his suit and tie with an ehem, and returned to his seat, huffing and puffing.
When he sat down again, he smiled kindly and said,
"Excuse me, everyone. Some technical difficulties needed fixing. Let's continue."
The audience was speechless. It seemed that not only could they not predict his movements, but even this so-called "storage backpack" from the little boy's hometown, which the little boy had hoped to use to run away, couldn't detect him either.
What was more shocking was the last technique—when the boy slammed the backpack onto the terrace floor, the force behind the impact affected the restriction of the entire village!
Even they, the strongest group of people in the current world, couldn't do anything about this restriction, let alone shake it.
And what was the deal with this backpack? Could it run? Listen to this little guy's commands? Were rare "intelligent treasures," of which they had seen one or two in their entire lives, supposed to be this smart?
This backpack was far more innovative than anything they had ever seen—it was only short of talking. The little boy spoke to it as if it were a real person.
Little Mortal looked at Old Seven and said,
"If you have any questions, ask. If not, the next person can come for the interview."
Old Seven, who had been waiting for this opportunity, said,
"Fellow Daoist Mortal, I have many questions for you—ones that might answer some of the other Fellow Daoists' questions too. I hope you can bear with me."
The suited-up, professional-looking little boy nodded.
Old Seven said,
"Fellow Daoist, what did you mean by, 'So that's why you didn't get hit by lightning'? Why would I get hit by lightning and go puff—I mean, die?"
Little Mortal answered in confusion,
"Didn't your 'Planet Manager' tell you?"
Now it was Old Seven's turn to be confused.
He looked behind him to see if the others knew who this "Planet Manager" was, but they shook their heads.
They had never heard of such an entity.
"Who is this 'Planet Manager,' Fellow Daoist Mortal?"
Little Mortal scratched his head and said,
"How can you not know him? That old dying guy who opens the portal for you when you go to your neighboring planet—the same guy keeping you here so you don't mess around outside."
Old Seven was now even more confused.
"What is this 'planet' you keep mentioning, Fellow Daoist Mortal? And we have neighbors of it, too? And what old dying guy?"
When Little Mortal saw how clueless he was, he waved his hand.
"Forget about it. Let's continue with the interview. It seems you're more clueless than I am about your world. But don't worry—I have some information about it here. Part of it I'm 100% sure, and the other part needs confirmation, which you guys can help me with."
Before Old Seven could say anything, Big Brother, who seemed unable to wait any longer, said,
"Fellow Daoist Mortal, I know all of these friends like my brothers and sisters. How about I tell you their information so you don't waste too much time on the interview?"
But Little Mortal shook his head.
"No, that's not how interviews work. Next person, please."
Sixth Sister, chuckling at Big Brother's rejection, walked forward, sat on the sofa, and said,
"Greetings, Pillow Dao-Beast."
And after that, there was silence.
Everyone looked at Sixth Sister with piercing eyes.
They thought she had forgotten the warning they received—and since time had been "reversed," she wasn't supposed to remember his mistake!
But before they could start blaming her—or before she could apologize to the kid for making fun of him—they heard the little boy say,
"You're a rogue cultivator like Old Seven, right?"
Sixth Sister nodded nervously.
"I knew it. You've never been to any sect, so you haven't been educated properly. 'Pillow Dao-Beast' is wrong—the right word is 'Fellow Daoist.' Repeat it with me now: Fellow Daoist."
Sixth Sister tried to repeat after him,
"F-Fellow Daoist."
"One more time: Fellow Daoist."
"Fellow Daoist!"
"Good! Now, let me show you how to write it and—"
Seeing the little boy entering teaching mode—as if he truly believed time had reversed and the woman in front of him was genuinely ignorant—Old Seven interrupted him and said,
"No need to teach her, Fellow Daoist Mortal. I'll teach her later."
The little boy, who had been midway through pulling out his notebook, said,
"Okay."
Then he looked at Sixth Sister and said,
"Daoist name and a brief introduction, please."
Sixth Sister, still slightly embarrassed, said,
"I am 'Charm Demoness.' In the cultivation world, people know me as 'The Lady Who Likes to Play with People's Feelings,' and I was active as an assassin until I was baited here. Oh, and my only disciple is the Supreme Elder of the 'Demoness Sect'—one of the two strongest sects of the current era."
Little Mortal asked thoughtfully,
"Your assassination targets were all high-level cultivators, right? That's why you're still around, too."
Sixth Sister nodded at the first part but was confused by the second.
"I was going to 'puff' too?"
But Little Mortal didn't answer. Instead, he added her name before examining her with his black-framed glasses.
[ 4. Charm Goddess (The Lady Who Likes to Be Funny, But She's Not)
Power – 91.2 | Age – (Classified Information) ]
Seeing the extra line in front of her name, Charm Goddess gritted her teeth but said nothing.
The little boy glanced back at the lifeless backpack and said,
"Another token."
This time, a token slowly emerged from the backpack's lid and dropped into Sixth Sister's hand.
"You can go and wait for the final results of your interview. In the meantime, try to learn how to write 'Fellow Daoist' before the interview is done—or you might be disqualified. Next, please."
Sixth Sister, no longer in the mood for jokes, sat beside Old Seven and pretended to practice writing 'Fellow Daoist' while the others smirked teasingly at her.
This lady with the venomous tongue had finally met her iron wall today.
And so, the interview continued…
Fifth Sister—a middle-aged woman, slightly chubby, with fiery red hair and eyes—was next.
"My Daoist name is 'Fire Goddess.' In the past, there was a demon invasion near my home, and I burned everything that came out of the passage they used. But no one believed me. They thought I was lying—that I'd just burned a mountain for no reason. Hmph!"
Fifth Sister seemed genuinely bitter about the matter, but the little boy's expression shifted slightly.
"Ms. Fire, what did those demons look like? And when did they come? Red skin with bone weapons, or black skin with stone weapons?"
Fifth Sister's eyes widened.
"You believe me? Wait—how do you know they were black with stone weapons?! It was over 2,000 years ago! But I remember them like it was yesterday!"
Little Mortal chuckled.
"I'm sure you didn't clean up all of them. At least one must've escaped. And how do I know this? I can't tell you now."
After examining Fifth Sister with his glasses, he began writing:
[ 5. Fire Goddess
Power – 91.7 | Age – (Classified Information) ]
"Next Fellow Daoist, please."
Fifth Sister reluctantly left with her guardian token, and Fourth Brother took her place.
With his silver hair, sharp eyes, and upright posture, this man exuded nothing but confidence.
"I am Sword God, the former sect master of the strongest sect in the Righteous Path—the Sword Sect."
That was all he said—and indeed, it was enough to summarize his reputation in the cultivation world of this era.
Little Mortal's eyes sparkled just from looking at him. After inspecting him with his glasses, he wrote:
[ 6. Sword God
Power – 91.9 | Age – 2000 ]
Next was Third Sister's turn—an old lady with green hair and eyes, blessed with innate nature affinity.
She sat down with a kind, grandmotherly smile.
"Everyone calls me 'Grandma.' I've never killed in my life, so all Fellow Daoists in the cultivation world are kind to me. They see me as a harmless old lady—nothing special, just someone who makes pills here and there."
Little Mortal, as if approving of her claim, smiled back.
But when he put on his glasses, he suddenly gasped. He frowned, took them off, and smacked the glasses against the table a few times—as if doubting what he'd just seen.
He put them back on and stared at Third Sister again.
After a moment, as if figuring something out, he said,
"Oooh, you're one of them!"
Then he nodded and wrote:
[ 7. Grandma (?) (Illegal Immigrant)
Power & Age – (Classified Information)
(Can't be accepted right now, but she can be a key member for the third step of the plan.) ]
With a dissatisfied look, he said,
"Come closer."
Third Sister's eyes constricted slightly at his words—"You're one of them"—but she remained silent, giving him a meaningful look as she leaned forward.
Little Mortal stretched out his hand, grabbed her ear, and yanked her closer.
The crowd was stunned by his audacity!
But no one dared intervene.
Grandma, however, was terrified.
The moment the boy touched her, she felt like a child caught red-handed by her mother!
Little Mortal stared her dead in the eyes and said sternly,
"I registered here for the guardian position."
The old lady's eyes widened. Her heart pounded as she realized:
He knows exactly who I am!
Then he continued,
"Do you have a problem with that?"
Grandma gulped and shook her head.
"I don't."
The boy released her ear and said,
"I need you to take me to your side later when I'm done here. Is that fine?"
Grandma nodded.
"Yes."
Little Mortal nodded back.
"Thank you. You can go back. Next, please."
The crowd, having witnessed the exchange, was baffled.
Is something wrong with Third Sister? Guardian position? Taking him to her side? What were they talking about?
Next was Second Brother—muscular, with a gray beard, gray hair, and bronzed skin—the infamous Blacksmith, blessed with innate divine power.
"I come from the desert. There, they call me the 'Infamous Blacksmith' because of my works… and the way I handle iron. I came to this side of the world after hearing a call—one that promised me a new way of smithing. But I ended up here instead."
The little boy, after examining him with his glasses, said,
"That old manager is so sneaky. But he had no choice—he needed to keep this planet's power in 'saving mode.' So he lured you here with the illusion of a new smithing technique instead of forcing you and wasting energy."
[ 8. Infamous Blacksmith
Power – 91.9 | Age – 3480 ]
The crowd smiled bitterly.
Was this little boy mocking them, or did he know why they were trapped here?
Finally, it was Big Brother's turn—golden-haired, with shining eyes that held a hint of ancient wisdom.
"I am this generation's 'Scholar.' In each era, there is only one of us. The previous Scholar, before ascending to the Immortal World, chooses a disciple, imparts all knowledge from past Scholars and his own, and then departs."
Finding someone so knowledgeable, Little Mortal grew excited.
"Good! So you know a lot. That means I can ask you the things I want to know!"
[ 9. Scholar
Power – 92 | Age – 4001 ]
"Okay, Big Guy—give the rest of them their guardian tokens too!"
The others received their tokens as well.
"Alright, everyone. Please wait while I organize the information and choose the team members. After that, we'll start the Q&A session."
Big Brother coughed and asked,
"Excuse me, Fellow Daoist Mortal—what is this 'Q&A session'?"
The little boy looked at him, dumbfounded.
"You guys are so outdated, aren't you? Q&A means Question and Answer!"
Everyone:
"Ooooh…"