Damn Profiteer
The system lay trembling in its little Coffin.
Yes, it dragged that little Coffin out again.
It had been a while since I'd seen it, and a thin layer of ash had settled on the Coffin lid. It patted it with its little paws, raising a cloud of fine dust that made it sneeze three times.
Bringing it back out wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment decision.
The system is well-thought-out.
After all, a system with such a troubled history, constantly targeted by the death stare, might actually come in handy someday.
It's always better to be prepared than to be caught off guard.
Indeed, it's more reassuring to lie here.
The Coffin lid was half-open, revealing only the system's round, luminous head.
For a fleeting moment, when it left its host's body, it truly believed it was going to perish there.
After failing to become a ruler 998 times, he finally managed to latch onto the host's powerful backer on the 999th attempt, but before he could even properly enjoy the peak of his life as a ruler, he was about to be buried.
This script is too cruel.
So, at that critical moment of life and death, the system made an incredibly tragic decision.
A flood of memories rushed through its mind: all the energy it had accumulated over so long, all the savings it hadn't had time to spend, and a wave of sadness washed over it.
Why keep all this when we're about to die?
Flowers, all flowers, not a single one left!
With tears in her eyes, she opened the online store, didn't even look at it, and emptied her entire shopping cart with one click.
Then the problem arises: it's not dead.
The host, as if a god had descended to earth, saved it, using his Divine Power to wrap it up completely.
I feel incredibly safe; my life is safe.
But when the system looked at its empty shopping cart and its "wallet" with zero balance, it felt as if it had been struck by lightning.
He's not dead.
But now, it seems no different from being dead.
Her hard-earned savings were gone again.
We've gone back to square one.
The system was crying its heart out, like a tiny fountain made of matchsticks.
Wait, it seems like returns are still possible.
The system fumbled through the order history, repeatedly tapping the return button.
Then, it saw a line of cold, small print.
"Items sold in this store do not support returns within seven days without a reason, nor do they support returns with a valid reason."
The system lay paralyzed in its Coffin, its eyes vacant, like a small ball of light that had lost its dreams.
Bah! You damned profiteer, why don't you just rob me!
The system grumbled angrily while pounding the Coffin lid several times with its tiny, matchstick-like hand.
Despite its scolding, it honestly rubbed the newly purchased items back and forth with its other hand.
To be honest, he was actually quite happy after buying these things.
So the system lay in its Coffin, sometimes crying over its empty wallet while hugging its newly bought skin, and sometimes chuckling to itself, its entire being oscillating between "bankruptcy" and "making a killing".
But who is the culprit behind all of this?
It is the God of Time!
If it weren't for that wretched god, it would at least have some assets now, if not a bulging wallet, instead of being reduced to counting its newly emptied shopping cart and wiping away tears in its Coffin.
Hmph, he's just a god who can't even drink alcohol, what's there to be arrogant about?
Unfortunately, his friend, his own host, is a god who loves drinking and brewing wine. What's that called?
This is called a divinely ordained tool of revenge.
The system got more and more excited as it thought about it, and it even wrote out the script in its mind: every time the host finished brewing a new jar of wine, it would urge the host to visit the Temple of Time, and let the God of Time sit by and watch the host drink cup after cup, the aroma of the wine filling the entire temple, but he would not be able to taste a single drop.
Make him so hungry he'll be drooling!
After thinking it over, the system eventually calmed itself down.
The Coffin stopped shaking, his mood calmed down, and he even started happily planning the specific execution plan.
But as it was thinking, it suddenly jolted awake, and alarm bells rang in its mind.
Wait a minute, it's true the God of Time can't drink alcohol, but that's because he's afraid of getting drunk. What if one day the host suddenly gets the urge and brews a jar of wine that won't make you drunk at all? Wouldn't that play right into the God's hands?
No, absolutely not.
The system's tiny hand slapped the edge of the Coffin, silently making a decision.
It must keep a close eye on things; from now on, it will personally oversee every jar of wine brewed by its host, ensuring that the God of Time never drinks a single drop of wine that doesn't make him drunk.
Want to drink the host's wine?
Dream on! Not a chance. We've welded the windows shut too.
Meanwhile, Wuma Xiu heard every single word of this rambling.
As Gods, the system's inner monologues were crystal clear to him, as if they were being shouted into his ear through a megaphone. He had been feeling sorry for the jar of "Reunion," but when he heard the system's rambling revenge plan, he just found it amusing.
But when he heard the last part, he paused.
Yes.
He has completely gone astray.
From the very beginning, he equated "not being able to drink alcohol at certain times" with "not being able to get drunk at certain times."
Because he himself got drunk from the wine he brewed, he tacitly accepted that the God of Time and wine were destined to be apart.
But who says alcohol has to make you drunk?
God of Wine brewed many kinds of wine, trying all sorts of strange and unusual recipes. He brewed wines that could make people speak the True Words, wines that could make people sing off-key... He brewed all of these.
Of course, the wine on these bottles is all for the purpose of playing tricks on certain gods.
Who let the God of Lies deceive him, and who let the god of song laugh at him...?
It veered off course.
Why doesn't he just brew a kind of wine that won't make you drunk at all?
Wuma Xiu's mood improved; he couldn't wait any longer.
"No, we can't wait any longer, let's brew it now."
He clapped his hands together and gave a loud thud.
The system had a bad feeling about Wuma Xiu's words.
Why does the host want to brew wine now?
Wuma Xiu waved his hand, and all sorts of brewing equipment emerged from the void, including earthenware urns, wooden barrels, millstones, and filter cloths, all laid out on the ground.
He moved extremely quickly.
Selecting ingredients, proportioning, grinding, blending... soon the prototype of a new wine was taking shape.
But at the very last step, Wuma Xiu's hand suddenly stopped.
"The Holy Spirit Grass is gone."
Holy Spirit Grass is extremely rare, and can only be found by chance.
Wuma Xiu had some in stock, but he had just used it all up and hadn't had time to restock. If he were to set off to find more now, it would take at least a long time.
But his enthusiasm was at its peak, and he couldn't wait any longer.
Wuma Xiu considered whether he should make do with something else for now.
But you can use other ones.
However, the taste of the brewed product wasn't what he had imagined.
At that moment, the God of Time spoke.
"I'll do it."
He raised his hand and opened the Pocket Watch.
The hands on the clock didn't move, but a crack appeared in the space in front of him.
That is the entrance to the River of Time.
The river flows silently, and the light and shadow of millions of years have intertwined on its surface to form countless dazzling threads.
The God of Time reached into the river, his fingertips parting the layers of time to pluck a blade of grass.
Holy Spirit Grass.
The leaves were covered with dewdrops, glistening with the scent of who-knows-when, and a strip of cloth.
"You didn't steal this from someone, did you?"
"I ask," Wuma Xiu asked doubtfully.
The God of Time threw the strip of cloth into the River of Time, thus returning it to its rightful owner.
"It doesn't matter, he'll die soon anyway. Whoever grabs something unclaimed gets to keep it."