Adam Brooks is a smuggler, not a foul-mouthed shrew. He turned and left, but not before pacing back and forth in front of her door—his feet tracing out a strange pattern. Right at the entrance of the fierce fat lady’s shop, he laid down the simplest first-class immortal array: the Flowing Water Array. Money flows like water, once gone to the east, it never returns. This was a simple wealth-dispersing formation; in the Immortal Realm, even the watchdog at the gates of the Lingxiao Palace wouldn’t lose the bone in its mouth to it, but in the human world, this was a genuine immortal array! Seriously, is an immortal array something to be trifled with? Adam Brooks spat fiercely: “That’s what you get for selling me shoddy goods! Damn it, even smugglers have a reputation to uphold, and you dare sell me fakes…”

Adam Brooks left in a huff. A few invisible currents of air circled the once-bustling shop twice, then drifted out the door like a breeze. The customers who had been discussing big deals suddenly found the products less and less appealing, and one after another, they got up to leave. The fat woman scrambled to stop them: “That was just a misunderstanding, that guy’s a rascal, always cheating and swindling people in the market. We sold him good stuff, and he goes out and swaps it for bad, then demands a refund. Only I can handle him, I’m telling the truth…”

But the immortal array had already started to work. Those people weren’t leaving because of her earlier cursing, but because they no longer thought much of her goods. The shrew cursed angrily: “It’s all that little brat’s fault!”

Adam Brooks had no time to tangle with the fat woman. Every extra hour spent in the human world increased his risk. The people from the Immortal Enforcement Bureau were no joke—if they found him, with his measly first-stage immortal level, he wouldn’t even survive the first strike of the Kunlong Whiskers.

There are nine ranks of immortal officials, and nine stages of immortals—the fewer the ranks, the higher the official; the more the stages, the stronger the immortal. A first-stage immortal… basically, anyone who can ascend can at least make it to first-stage.

Adam Brooks owned property in this city. He didn’t have an ID or household registration, but so what? The city was full of houses rebuilt from urban villages—pay the money, get the key, and you could move in. No property rights, but cheap. Adam Brooks didn’t plan to sell, so it saved him expenses.

The room was empty except for a row of fast chargers that caught the eye. Adam Brooks took out several high-capacity batteries and plugged them into the array of appliances. Then, hugging his head, he flopped onto a comfortable lounge chair nearby. Adam Brooks might be a profiteer, but he wasn’t a miser—he cared about his quality of life. This lounge chair was the latest model, soft and comfortable, and that world-famous concept furniture chain had fleeced him for three thousand dollars.

Lying on the S-shaped lounge chair, Adam Brooks stretched lazily and muttered to himself, “With life like this, who needs to become an immortal?” Thinking of his own experience of becoming an immortal, Adam Brooks’s good mood vanished. He sat up from the chair and sighed, “Forget it, better think about what to send up there to make some money…”

Adam Brooks’s gaze fell on the chair beneath him, and a lightbulb went off: “How could I be so stupid, not thinking of such a ready-made good thing.”

Furniture—sure, immortal realm furniture is beautiful, but when it comes to practicality and comfort, it’s far inferior to what’s found in the human world. Humans really are a lazy species. Even immortals have to cultivate, sometimes even more obsessively than mortal cultivators. Cultivation means sitting for long periods, sometimes for years on end. Even an immortal body can’t take it—backaches and sore waists have become occupational hazards for immortals. If only there were a massage chair, the cultivation maniacs in the immortal realm would surely find life perfect.

Adam Brooks felt this was a business worth doing, but soon he frowned—there was a very real problem in front of him: he couldn’t possibly carry a huge massage chair up to the immortal realm.

Items from the human world carry “mortal aura”—the bigger the item, the more mortal aura it has. The Immortal Enforcement Bureau has special immortal artifacts monitoring all nine realms of the immortal world; as soon as mortal aura appears, it’s immediately detected. Adam Brooks had only a pitiful bit of immortal spiritual energy on him—enough to wrap and conceal small things like computers or CDs, but if he tried to fly up with a big massage chair, he’d be caught and executed on the spot.

A spatial pouch? If Adam Brooks had such a high-level treasure, would he need to smuggle at all?

A spatial pouch is a supreme treasure in the immortal realm—even among the top officials who govern the nine realms, few first-rank immortal officials have one.

But such a small problem was nothing to a first-stage immortal like Adam Brooks, who aspired to become the number one smuggling kingpin in the immortal realm. He already had an idea. Looking at the batteries on the charger, which still needed another hour to finish charging, he opened the door and dashed to the supermarket.

“Hey, hey!” As soon as he stepped out, he ran into an old lady—her aged arms and legs moved like lightning, and she actually managed to grab hold of Adam Brooks, an immortal: “Pay the electricity bill!” Adam Brooks watched as the numbers on his electricity meter kept jumping up, and thought viciously to himself, “Looks like I’ll have to raise the charging fees!”