"Six years old now," I announced, stretching with the kind of languid effort only a professional napper could achieve. Sunlight slanted across my bed and made the silver dragon embroidery on my robe look like it was judging me for moving.
[So am I!] Z popped up in my vision, all bright text and bad timing.
"Hehe, I'm already Level 22," I boasted, checking the neat little stat window that pleased me more than it should.
[Right. None of your clan guards can touch you now. They only look scary while they're standing still.]
"Exactly. I farm reputation points by sleeping. It's basically mass outreach in this world—soft PR through slumber."
Today was the Five Clans meeting. A summit full of old men who'd terrify me if they weren't so busy turning into proud grandpas whenever I smiled.
[It's just a bunch of Wargods bragging about their grandchildren and accruing political favors. Very boring, very formal, lots of ceremonial tea.] Z's tone could be sarcastic in text and somehow softer when he lied.
"And those old people are literal Wargods," I said. "After seeing Grandpa Yun Tie's true level, I'm a little… intimidated."
[Right. Yun Tie: Level 3,649. You're not even one percent of that.] Z's font pulsed like a smug heartbeat.
"And yet he adores me. Gaslighting continues to be incredibly efficient."
[Your Dao of Gaslighting is at twelve percent success rate. You're basically a walking PR campaign now.]
A knock. "We're going now, Executive Officer." Commander Liang's voice was all grunt and respect; the Crimson Troops loved titles almost as much as they loved discipline.
"You might be asking why he calls me that," I explained to Z as if he didn't know everything already. "They made me 'Executive Officer' because a three-year-old once punched a middling trooper and looked adorable doing it. Commander Liang decided that looked like leadership."
[It's a strategic appointment. Your job is symbolic and sleep-based.]
"Precisely my kind of job."
A system task floated into view.
[Daily EXP Task — Choose one]
• Hunt rabbits x3
• 10 km run | 200 push-ups | 100 sit-ups | 100 sword swings
• Perform all 13 forms of the Sword God's Book techniques x20
"Perfect. I'll take the third—looks difficult but fast. Four hours of awkward motion, then back to the bed."
[You're terrible at time estimation.] Z winked in text.
I pulled on my light-blue robes, ruffled the snow-white hair into artful mess, and smirked at my reflection. Sharp silver eyes peered back as if to say, "I will do the minimum and still win."
The carriage ride to the Gu Clan estate was the kind of rich-people smooth that makes you sleep out of spite. Halfway there, Z pinged urgent text.
[Presence behind. Possible assassin.]
I glanced back in case of drama and saw nothing but hedges and another carriage full of bored nobles.
"Where?!" I asked, mildly interested in the possibility of interruption to my nap schedule.
Gramps—Yun Tie—laughed like a landquake. "Sir Lei, come out now! My genius grandson has sensed your presence!"
From the shadow a man stepped forward, bowing with theatrical respect. "I am surprised. Rarely does anyone detect me so quickly."
Gramps crowed like a rooster. "Well, he is my grandson. Show them that's true!"
I yawned and said, very slowly, "Oh. An assassin trying to play dramatic. Cute."
The would-be killer, watching me, went slack-jawed. There was something disarming about a child who spoke with the bored cadence of someone who'd rewatched the same cutscene ten thousand times.
A little girl slipped past the guards then—two neat buns, big curious eyes, and a basket of herbs that smelled like someone had turned a pharmacy into a child. She looked at me, froze, squeaked, and ran away. Typical anime first-meeting energy.
"Don't mind her," said one of the clan attendants. "The young miss is shy."
I scanned the hall as we entered. The meeting chamber had five carved chairs circling a round table—the kind of set that said "we settle continental affairs here and then have snacks." At them sat four men whose names you didn't forget because your life depended on not forgetting them. System screens chimed into view.
[Name: Gu Tian | Clan: Gu | Level: 3,512 | Title: Iron Fist Patriarch — Formations & Beast Command]
[Name: Dan Shen | Clan: Dan | Level: 3,488 | Title: Alchemy King — Pillcraft & Refinement]
[Name: Lei Bai | Clan: Lei (Ice) | Level: 3,551 | Title: Frost Sovereign — Ice Arts]
[Name: Mu Rong | Clan: Mu | Level: 3,470 | Title: Mountain Crusher — Wood & Healing]
"That bunch could crush me under a thumb," I said.
[So don't anger them.] Z's text flickered like a calm warning.
The stern patriarchs regarded me at first like predators checking a plush toy. Then—something happened that would make a dramatist weep: every single one of them softened. The Iron Fist Patriarch's jaw relaxed. The Alchemy King's eyes misted. The Frost Sovereign's shoulders unknotted. The Mountain Crusher's face melted into a precise, ridiculous version of grandpa bliss.
"Is this the genius of the Yun Clan?" Gu Tian boomed, then immediately reddened as if he'd been tricked into showing feelings.
"Ye—yes," I said, wavering between amusement and calculated politeness.
I watched four men who could level a battlefield turn into doting old fools. The Dao of Gaslighting hummed in the back of my skull—12% efficiency, remember—and the reputation meters in my head ticked up.
"Who'd want to stay with these chummy grandpas?" I murmured to Z.
[They are Wargods who adopt plush toys. Still dangerous.] Z's text had a tiny heart and a skull emoji and I didn't ask which half I should take seriously.
Gu Tian leaned forward and announced with the kind of solemnity usually reserved for opening new gates to heaven, "We have heard of your deeds, young master. Your clan's word carries weight."
I considered an already refined gambit. "If everyone insists on believing nonsense," I said with the precise sigh of a man doing charity, "I might as well exploit it. I have five minutes, then I'm napping."
There was a rustle of approval that felt suspiciously like a standing ovation by invisible hands.
Dan Shen's gaze lingered on me like a scholar whose favorite scroll had finally moved. "You speak like one who understands more than his years," he said. "The Dan Clan has one young student—she would benefit from guidance."
A tiny sound at my elbow made me glance down. The girl from earlier—hair in buns, herb-scented—hid behind a pillar, peeking. She looked like someone who stored questions in a basket and never asked them out loud.
"A pupil?" I asked, theatrically reluctant. "I—teach? Hmm. I suppose I could do the minimum."
[You just accepted a job. You are now financially and karmically entangled.] Z's font flashed red and a tiny tally of reputation points winked up.
"Fine," I said aloud, the words almost a yawn. "But only if she promises to work. I offer 'sleep-based pedagogy.'"
The girl's face lit up like the moment you discover a free item in a game. She hurried forward, cheeks pink, and clutched at her basket in a way that said her grandfather had expectations and she was on the verge of failing them.
Grandpa Yun Tie clapped like he'd trained his whole life for that sound. "Excellent. A disciple for my grandson to mentor! The Yun Clan prospers!"
I felt it then: opportunity. Reputation was a resource, and the Five Clans' affection was essentially unlimited currency if you had the right wallet. I'd been born into a family that gave me everything except the will to stand up. That I could manage.
Z hummed approvingly. [Congratulations, Grand Strategist. You have turned a nap into a political alliance.]
"Exactly as planned," I said, and for dramatic effect I stretched and prepared to go take the most public nap of my life.