[Xiao Xingchen stands back up, expression incredulous, before he also thinks on the works he just heard. He pulls up his sleeve and slides his fingers across his device, the electronic voice announcing what he’s touching. On touching the clock icon, the voice announces that the time set by this place is currently 06:02.

Just past sunrise…]

They must have closed the very moment the morning began. But I’ve certainly never heard of a market that disappeared when it closed. Perhaps it shouldn’t be a sur—ah?

[He reaches to touch his hair behind him. It’s as soft and silky as ever how would he be an ethereal cultivator otherwise, but he can’t notice how his hair now resembles a waterfall of ink. If he was to ever slouch, his hair’s ends would brush the floor again.]

I don’t believe I’ve done anything different with it…