Chapter 24: Five Stars

Business at the Lin Fan Teahouse had settled into a terrifyingly stable equilibrium. The chaotic, frantic energy of the initial weeks had given way to a well-oiled machine of pristine hospitality and profound psychological conditioning. The line outside the front doors every morning was no longer a restless mob of eager cultivators, but a disciplined, hyper-polite queue that resembled an imperial audience. Stray dogs crossed the street in absolute silence, and even the local sparrow population seemed to chirp in a respectful, muted tone.

The pavement outside remained uncracked and pristine—primarily because Crimson had taken to floating a fraction of an inch above the municipal stones to avoid wearing down the Owner's property. The reformed bandits swept the front steps with such ferocious, rhythmic dedication that the jade stone looked like it had been polished by diamond buffers.

Late in the afternoon, during the brief, peaceful lull between the heavy lunch rush and the evening tea wave, Lin Fan sat behind the polished wooden counter. Before him lay a neat stack of small wooden blocks, a sharp piece of charcoal, and a hand-carved wooden box with a narrow slot cut into the top.

It was time to scale up.

The teahouse was undeniably popular, filling every seat indoors and out, but Lin Fan knew that resting on one's laurels was the fastest way to retail stagnation. To unlock higher-tier System inventory—such as superior tea grades, automated brewing apparatuses, or perhaps an advanced pastry warmer—he needed more Hospitality Points. And to generate those points efficiently, he needed metrics. He needed to understand what his customers truly thought, where the friction points were, and how his staff could optimize their performance.

"Alright everyone, pull up a chair," Lin Fan called out, tapping the wooden box.

Instantly, the teahouse staff materialized. Sect Master Lu hurried over from the kitchen, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. The five reformed bandits snapped to attention, holding their mops like ceremonial halberds. And Crimson glided silently from the doorway, his red eyes settling on the counter with unwavering focus.

"Starting today," Lin Fan explained casually, sketching categories onto a master sheet of parchment with his charcoal, "we are implementing a primitive customer feedback system."

The staff exchanged profound, serious glances. To them, this wasn't a simple suggestion box; it was an imperial edict from the Supreme Expert, a divine trial designed to measure their spiritual and professional worth.

"Customers can rate us on four specific pillars," Lin Fan continued, ticking them off one by one. "First, the Tea. Second, the Service. Third, the Cleanliness. And fourth, the Overall Experience. It’s a simple one-to-five-star scale. And to ensure honesty without fear of divine retribution, the submissions are entirely anonymous."

"Anonymous..." Crimson murmured, tasting the word on his tongue like a rare vintage poison. "A veil of absolute secrecy. To protect the weak from the consequences of their own critique."

"Exactly," Lin Fan nodded, completely misinterpreting Crimson's dramatic flair. "It lets people speak their minds so we can improve. If something's wrong, we fix it. If everything's great, we keep doing it. Simple as that. Now, put the box by the exit, and let's open the doors for the evening rush."

For the rest of the day, the feedback box sat quietly by the front door. Watching the customers interact with it provided a masterclass in mortal anxiety.

At around four o'clock, a scholarly young cultivator from a prestigious regional sect finished his cup of Green Heart Tea. He walked nervously toward the exit, holding a small parchment slip as though it were a live grenade. He glanced fearfully at Crimson, who was standing nearby radiating a calm, terrifying aura, and then looked at the feedback box. Sweating profusely, the scholar furiously scribbled a row of glowing, enthusiastic checkmarks, practically shoved the paper into the slot, and bolted out the door as if fleeing a collapsing dimension.

Another merchant, desperate to curry favor with the establishment, wrote a review that was essentially a three-page religious hymn praising the structural integrity of the tea table, awarding five stars across every category with an additional note offering to deed a small mountain range to the teahouse.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and the "CLOSED" sign was flipped, the wooden box was stuffed to the brim with parchment slips.

Lin Fan pulled the box onto the counter, popped open the latch, and tipped it over. A cascade of folded papers spilled across the wood.

"Alright, let's see how we did," Lin Fan muttered, pulling a clean ledger toward him and picking up his charcoal.

The atmosphere in the teahouse grew so thick you could cut it with a knife. Sect Master Lu held his breath, his eyes wide. The five bandits leaned in so close their noses were nearly touching the counter. Crimson stood rigidly behind Lin Fan, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression carved from ancient granite.

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For the staff, this moment of judgment carried more weight than any breakthrough heavenly tribulation.

Lin Fan began sorting the papers into stacks, scanning the ratings with a practiced eye.

"Let's start with Cleanliness," Lin Fan said, flipping through the stack of scores. He paused, a small smile touching his lips, and looked over at the bandits. "Five out of five across the board. Every single slip rated the floors, tables, and windows as flawless. The Dishwasher Guild completely swept the category."

For one second, time seemed to stop.

Then, the bandit leader let out a wild, deafening war cry that shattered all remaining tension.

"WE DID IT!" the bandit leader sobbed openly, grabbing his second-in-command and shaking him violently by the shoulders. The five hardened thugs dropped their mops and began high-fiving each other with unadulterated, hysterical joy, celebrating louder and harder than they ever had after successfully ambushing a heavily guarded treasure caravan on the mountain passes.

"The Owner has validated our existence!" another bandit cheered, wiping a tear of pure happiness from his eye. "We are elite custodians of the void!"

"Settle down, settle down, you're scaring the remaining tea leaves," Lin Fan chuckled, waving a hand to quiet them down before picking up the next stack. "Next up... the Bakery Department."

Sect Master Lu stepped forward, his hands trembling violently.

"Lu, your bread scores," Lin Fan said, flipping through the parchment. "Five out of five for texture and softness. Customers are saying the crust is crisp, the inside yields perfectly to the bite, and it doesn't sound like masonry work when dropped. Outstanding job."

Sect Master Lu’s eyes rolled back in sheer, overwhelming emotional ecstasy. He collapsed gracefully to his knees on the jade stone, pressing his palms flat against the floor as silent tears of profound validation streamed down his face.

"The Dao of Water... and yeast..." Lu whispered to the floorboards, his soul ascending to a higher plane of culinary enlightenment. "My perseverance has finally touched the heavens."

"Alright, wonderful," Lin Fan said cheerfully, reaching for the final stack of parchment slips. "Now let's look at the Service category."

Lin Fan pulled the top slip from the pile. He glanced at the numbers, blinked, and stopped dead.

He tilted his head, bringing the paper closer to his face in the dim lighting. He flipped it over, checked the back, and then looked up slowly.

The teahouse, which had been filled with the joyous cries of celebrating bandits and weeping bakers, plunged into a silence so absolute that the buzzing of a distant insect outside sounded like a falling meteor.

Lin Fan cleared his throat.

"Crimson."

"Yes, Owner?" Crimson replied. His voice was completely flat, though the air pressure in the room suddenly dropped by half an atmosphere.

"You got a one out of five for service."

Crimson froze.

He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He slowly reached out across the counter, took the small piece of parchment from Lin Fan’s fingers, and stared down at the harsh, jagged ink mark written on the page.

One.

Not five.

One single star out of five.

Crimson’s mind raced through centuries of martial memory. He had stood at the center of brutal, multi-realm clan wars where rivers of blood ran red. He had survived cunning palace assassinations, lethal soul-destroying poisons, and terrifying Saint-realm tribulations that split the heavens wide open. He had faced down legendary beasts and legendary masters without flinching.

Yet nothing—absolutely nothing—in his entire existence had ever inflicted such profound, catastrophic psychological trauma upon his soul as this single digit.

"Owner," Crimson whispered. The temperature of the room began to drop, frost rapidly blooming across the pristine glass windows.

"Hmm?" Lin Fan asked innocently, flipping to another slip.

"Who submitted this?"

Lin Fan didn't look up from his ledger. "Anonymous. That was the whole point of the system, remember?"

Crimson’s eye twitched so violently it looked like a structural failure in his facial muscles. A dark, suffocating shadow fell across his features, blotting out the ambient light of the teahouse.

"I understand completely," Crimson said softly, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, hollow resonance.

Lin Fan finally looked up, noticing the sudden, lethal shift in the atmosphere. He frowned slightly. "Why are you saying that like you're planning a multi-continental genocide?"

Crimson smoothly snapped his posture back into rigid alignment, plastering a terrifyingly polite, shark-like smile across his face. "I merely wish to understand my shortcomings, Owner. To learn. To grow."

"Good attitude," Lin Fan nodded approvingly, turning back to his records. "Always value constructive criticism. That's the hallmark of a true professional. Make sure you smile a bit more tomorrow; maybe that'll bump you up to a two."

"Understood, Owner," Crimson replied smoothly.

But behind that polite facade, deep within the dark recesses of Crimson’s mind, a completely separate, highly homicidal trial was already underway.

I WILL FIND YOU, Crimson's inner consciousness roared with the fury of a thousand dying suns, locking onto the mental profile of every single living being who had crossed the threshold that day. Whoever you are, you ungrateful, blind mortal worm... I don't care if you're a Golden Core elder or a sect master's favored disciple. I am going to trace your spiritual signature across the four continents, hunt down your entire bloodline, and erase your physical body and soul from the fabric of existence. One star?! You dare rate a Saint one star for service?! I held the door open for you! I didn't even draw my sword until you reached the porch! I will show you what true, unadulterated customer dissatisfaction looks like!

"Crimson?" Lin Fan called out, snapping the Saint out of his murderous internal monologue.

"Yes, Owner?!" Crimson barked, instantly standing at hyper-attention.

"Lock the front door. We're done for the day. Great numbers overall, high Hospitality Points recorded in the System, and everyone learned something." Lin Fan stretched his arms, closing the ledger with a satisfying thud.

"At once, Owner," Crimson said, gliding smoothly toward the front door. He turned the heavy iron lock, his red eyes glowing faintly in the twilight, plotting a silent, meticulous hospitality audit of the entire mortal realm.