The tavern's heavy oak door creaked open with a sound like a sigh, admitting a swirl of celestial dust and the faint scent of lavender. The usual raucous chatter died down as all eyes turned toward the newcomer - not because he was intimidating, but because he was transparent. Not metaphorically, but literally. The figure hovering in the doorway was about sixty percent visible, his edges blurring like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.
Luo Feng set down the glass he'd been polishing as the spectral customer shuffled forward, his single visible foot (the left one) making no sound on the wooden floorboards. The right leg faded into nothingness just above the ankle, giving the distinct impression of someone who'd been cut off mid-step for eternity.
"I used to bless socks," the apparition announced mournfully, his voice echoing slightly as he slid onto a barstool that had once been part of a divine throne. "Now I'm a pun."
The Death Queen, who had been meticulously arranging poison vials behind the bar, paused to examine the newcomer. "You're the God of Lost Socks," she stated, not bothering to frame it as a question.
The translucent deity nodded so vigorously his form rippled. "The one and only! Though these days, mostly just the 'only.'" He gestured to his missing foot. "See what happens when humanity stops believing in you? First they stop pairing you properly, then you start unraveling at the seams."
Luo Feng opened his mouth to respond, but the Death Queen was already in motion. With the practiced ease of someone who'd spent centuries dosing drinks, she slid a teacup across the bar and added a single drop from a vial labeled 'Emotional Truth Serum #9.'
The sock god accepted the tea gratefully, not noticing how the liquid shimmered slightly as it passed through his semi-corporeal fingers. He took a sip - or performed the motion of taking a sip, at least - and immediately burst into tears.
"It's just so hard!" he wailed, spectral tears evaporating before they hit the bar. "The left socks never understand the right socks! They're meant to be together, but they keep getting separated in the wash! And the dryer? Don't even get me started on the dryer!" He dissolved into incoherent sobs, his form flickering dangerously.
Luo Feng shot the Death Queen an accusatory look. She merely shrugged, swirling a glass of something that bubbled ominously. "What? He needed to get it out."
As the sock god continued his lament ("And the worst part is when they find new partners! A striped ankle sock with a polka dot knee-high? The betrayal!"), Luo Feng's eyes wandered to the deity's remaining foot. The sock he wore was a vibrant argyle pattern, its colors slightly faded but still holding strong against the forces of entropy. Its mate was conspicuously absent.
An idea struck him.
"Alright," Luo Feng announced, slapping his hands on the bar. "We're starting Sock Loss Therapy. Session one: visualization exercises."
The sock god sniffled. "Visualization?"
"Close your eyes—well, metaphorically—and picture your missing pair. Where do you think they are right now?"
The deity hesitated, his form pulsing faintly. "The... the laundry dimension?"
"Exactly!" Luo Feng gestured expansively. "And are they suffering? Are they lonely?"
"I... I don't think so?"
"Of course not! They're probably having the time of their life! Maybe they've formed a support group with other singleton socks. Maybe they've started a sock band. The point is, they're happy."
A miraculous thing happened then - the sock god's edges became slightly more defined. His remaining foot seemed to plant more firmly on the floor. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Luo Feng said with absolute certainty. "And you know what? Somewhere out there, there's a sock who's missing its pair too. And when the time is right—when the cosmic laundry cycle completes—you'll find each other again."
The Death Queen rolled her eyes so hard it was audible, but the effect on their customer was undeniable. His form solidified further, the argyle pattern on his sock brightening noticeably. "That's... that's actually very comforting," he admitted.
When the sock god finally departed hours later, he left behind two things: a five-star review carved into the bar's surface with some sort of divine energy, and a single striped sock that hadn't been there when he arrived. Luo Feng picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The fabric thrummed with residual magic, the threads shimmering like they contained entire constellations.
The Fox Spirit materialized at his elbow, peering at the sock with interest. "That's going to be trouble," she observed cheerfully.
Luo Feng sighed, tucking the sock into his pocket where it immediately vanished, only to reappear tied around the handle of a beer tap across the room. "Yeah," he agreed. "Probably."
Somewhere in the multiverse, a washing machine shuddered. A dryer hiccuped. And in a dimension made entirely of mismatched footwear, a single argyle sock perked up as if hearing a distant, familiar voice.
END OF CHAPTER 103