Elder Grandpa Bound to a Smartphone

The day began like most other days in the Li household: with a broken rice cooker and a spiritual crisis.

"Grandpa, you boiled the quartz powder again," Jian groaned, poking at the scorched black crust glued to the bottom of the family's last remaining pot.

"I was tempering it for clarity! The Dao of Refinement has no room for impatience," came the staticky protest from the cracked smartphone wedged between two empty teacups.

"You set the timer for five hours, Grandpa."

"It was an approximate five hours."

"I was at school!"

"I was in transcendental meditation!" Sheng Tai snapped. "Besides, if the cooker is broken, use your qi. What did we train for?"

"I trained so I wouldn't die walking past haunted vending machines. Not to become a living stovetop."

"Semantics."

Jian sighed, then turned back to his small kitchen alchemy station, a converted rolling cart crammed with bottles labeled things like Salt of the Moonless Sea, Grass That Lies About Being Mint, and Definitely Not Mercury (Trust Me).

He was experimenting with a new blend—a spiritual tea meant to calm qi turbulence in the soul. His classmates had been especially annoying lately, especially that girl who kept throwing paper talismans at him and yelling "begone, spirit!" in front of the gym lockers.

He needed something that could actually settle frayed nerves without knocking someone unconscious or accidentally summoning a yak demon again.

"This time," he muttered, grinding the last of the Silver-Eyed Chamomile buds, "it won't make you see through time. Probably."

Grandpa gave an approving buzz. "A wise choice. Chamomile pacifies the Heart Meridian. Add two pinches of Cloudburst Petal. Not three, unless you want to hear your own thoughts debating politics."

Jian reached for the petal jar and paused. "Do my thoughts have political opinions?"

Grandpa chuckled ominously. "You'll find out."

⸻

By mid-afternoon, the tea was ready. A single cup of pale, glowing amber liquid steamed on the countertop, faintly humming in the key of B♭ major.

Jian admired it with a cautious sort of pride. It smelled like sunrise and that one time he got a hug from someone he liked.

"Name it," Grandpa demanded, voice echoing with the solemnity of ancient sect masters.

Jian held up the cup, considered the subtle swirl of qi, and said, "Calm-Aura Chamomile?"

"You disappoint me."

"…Still better than your last name. 'Mortal-Binding Spirit Mucus'? Really?"

"It was accurate!" Sheng Tai huffed.

They were still bickering when the front door slammed open.

"Hellooo, mortal minions! I've brought potato buns and sarcasm!" a voice sang out.

Jian's cousin, Li Min, breezed into the apartment like a one-woman typhoon. She was dressed in her usual half-pajamas, half-glam rock ensemble and radiated the chaotic energy of someone who once tried to astral project in a department store and got stuck in the air vents for an hour.

Min spotted the tea. "Oooh, what's this?"

"Wait—!"

But before Jian could stop her, Min had already sipped half the cup.

"NO—!"

Too late. The last of the experimental brew slipped into her mouth like a divine secret.

Jian and Sheng Tai both stared.

Min blinked once. Twice. Her pupils dilated until they looked like moonstones.

She sat down on the floor, cross-legged.

And then she said:

"…What is a chair?"

Jian froze. "Oh no."

"Like, seriously," Min continued, staring into the void, "what defines it? Is it still a chair without legs? What if it's just a floating idea of a chair? Am I the chair?"

Sheng Tai gave an excited crackle. "Oho. Fascinating."

Jian pointed wildly. "Fix her!"

"She's not broken. She's… enlightened."

Min reached out and gently patted the table leg. "Everything is a seat if your mind accepts it."

Jian knelt beside her. "Min. Cousin. That wasn't normal tea. That was for stabilizing inner qi. It's not meant for—"

"I have transcended," she whispered reverently. "I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"That spoons are just lazy forks."

Sheng Tai was cackling now, his pixelated face flickering between ancient sage and emoji gremlin. "You have invented an entire philosophical sect in under five minutes. I am so proud."

⸻

The next hour was the longest of Jian's life. Min didn't move from her spot on the kitchen floor, but she talked. Oh, how she talked.

She talked about the impermanence of soup, the illusion of clocks, and at one point had a fifteen-minute monologue on why doors are metaphorical lies. At some point she tried to feed her phone a raisin and whispered, "Your suffering ends now, little rectangle."

Jian paced, panicked, while Grandpa encouraged the madness.

"This is a rare state of Spirit-Softening Insight," Sheng Tai lectured. "Few cultivators reach it willingly. She has stumbled upon the Dao of Profound Nonsense."

"That's not a Dao! That's just Min!"

"Exactly! Her natural affinity must be high!"

"She thinks pants are just leg prisons!"

Min, still cross-legged, raised her hand. "If I wear one sock, am I truly half-protected? Or am I merely aware of my own asymmetry?"

Jian dropped to the floor in despair. "She has questions. So many questions."

⸻

Evening arrived, as did thunderclouds and a mild spiritual pressure fluctuation that smelled faintly of sulfur and confusion. Min was still in philosopher mode. She had now moved onto tactile philosophy.

"Feel this," she whispered, pressing her cheek against the refrigerator. "It's like… cold honesty."

"Please stop."

Jian sat beside her, exhausted, while Grandpa narrated like it was a nature documentary.

"And here we see the Lesser Cousin, mid-enlightenment, communing with the Kitchen Elemental. Observe how she debates the concept of temperature with absolute confidence."

"Why did the tea do this?" Jian groaned. Grandpa adjusted his tone. "Your concoction was too balanced. Perfect internal harmony opens the Gate of Inquiry. It's like letting your soul take a vacation and leaving the body in charge of overthinking."

"So how do I stop it?"

"Wait until the spiritual resonance wears off. Should be… an hour."

Jian checked the clock and said "That's what you said two hours ago."

Min, now laying on her back and staring at the ceiling, whispered, "I miss being unaware of ceilings."

⸻

Eventually, as the last rays of daylight vanished behind the buildings, Min sat up straight.

"Jian."

He flinched. "Y-yeah?"

She stared into his eyes, pupils finally returning to normal. "I just had the strangest thought."

"Oh boy."

"I think chairs are just obedient floors."

"…Please lie down again."

"No, really. I feel like I dreamed about a talking teabag and an orchestra of soap bubbles. Also, was Grandpa narrating everything in my head?"

"Define 'everything,'" Grandpa said innocently. Min rubbed her eyes. "Ugh, I feel like I got hit by a poetry truck. What did I drink?"

Jian hesitated. "…New tea."

"Did it contain ghost fennel again?"

"No. Just a few spirit-soothing herbs."

She squinted. "I feel like I achieved spiritual clarity and also forgot how to tie shoelaces."

"That's just normal side effects."

Min nodded solemnly. "…Cool. I'm taking the rest to school."

"You're NOT."

She stood up, wobbling only slightly, and patted his head. "Thanks, little cousin. I'm off to yell at clouds."

"Wait—"

But she was already out the door.

⸻

The silence after her departure was immense. Jian slumped over the tea cart and called "Grandpa."

"Yes?"

"I don't want to make tea that turns people into some confused poets."

"Why not? That's how we get sect followers!"

"I want to sell it someday! Like normal calming tea!"

"Then name it properly," Sheng Tai said. "Branding matters."

Jian thought for a long moment. Then he scribbled something on a label and stuck it to the remaining flask.

Spirit-Mellowing Decoction.

"Hm," Grandpa mused. "Understated. Mysterious. Slightly terrifying. I approve."

Jian gave a tired grin. "Thanks."

Then the phone buzzed again.

"Also, the rice cooker is on fire."

"WHAT?"

⸻

Bonus Transcript: Ten Minutes Later

Jian: Why does the fire smell like licorice!?

Grandpa: I may have dropped some Nightroot in while you weren't looking.

Jian: NIGHTROOT IS A HALLUCINOGENIC!

Grandpa: Only if combined with cheese.

Jian: WHY WOULD YOU ADD CHEESE!?

Grandpa: I was experimenting with taste fusion!

Jian: You're a ghost! You don't eat!

Grandpa: That's discrimination!