The tavern's usual cacophony of clinking glasses and drunken boasts died down as the makeshift stage—really just three ale barrels shoved together with a warped plank across them—shuddered under the weight of divine presence. Varkus, the Thunder God turned tax-dodging rebel, hauled himself up with the grace of someone who'd spent centuries smiting mortals and approximately three weeks practicing "casual slouching." His stormcloud cloak billowed dramatically despite the complete absence of wind, because some habits even fallen gods couldn't break.
"Alright you lot," he growled, flexing fingers that still crackled with residual lightning. "This one's called 'Ballad of Tax Evasion'—verse twenty-seven, revised edition."
The opening chord from his lute (which he'd fashioned from the remains of a broken lightning rod) sounded suspiciously like a thunderclap. Then he began, his voice the rumble of distant storms:
"They said pay your tithes in gold and grain,
But I hid my coin in the hurricane—
The Pantheon wept, the scribes did rail,
While I laughed and drank their finest ale!"
Li Qing, who had been in the middle of freezing a troublemaker's trousers to his stool, paused mid-spell. Her eyelid twitched.
By verse four, the entire tavern was roaring along to the chorus, tankards pounding in rhythm:
"Dodge the levy! Skip the toll!
Bury your wealth in a demon's hole!
If the taxman comes to seize your stash,
Just tell him 'Varkus sent you'—and watch him crash!"
The Death Queen, despite herself, was mouthing the words. The Fox Spirit had produced a tiny set of cymbals from somewhere and was clashing them with unnecessary vigor. Even the Void Emperor had paused his mopping to glare from the shadows, though his foot was tapping.
Then came verse twelve.
"And when they caught me at long last,
With thirty years of taxes past,
I grinned and said with godly cheer—
'The statute of limitations ends THIS YEAR!'"
A frosty crack cut through the cheers. Varkus's ale, halfway to his lips, froze solid in its tankard.
The crowd went silent.
Slowly, the Thunder God turned to face Li Qing, who sat primly at her usual corner table, the very picture of innocence—if one ignored the glacial shimmer still fading from her fingertips.
"...Really?" Varkus asked, shaking his frozen drink.
Li Qing sipped her tea. "Tax fraud is a crime."
"I'm the god of thunder!"
"And now you're the god of waiting for it to thaw."
The tavern exploded with laughter. Varkus scowled, but there was no real heat in it—just the grudging affection of someone who'd been out-pettied by a master. He set the frozen tankard on the edge of the stage, where it began collecting bets on how long it would take to melt.
Then—movement near the back.
The sock god, translucent as ever, had clambered onto a stool to applaud, his single foot phase-clipping through the seat every time he bounced. No one had the heart to tell him. His cheers were silent—ghosts of sound from a ghost of a god—but his grin was brighter than it had been in centuries.
Varkus saw. Something in the Thunder God's expression softened.
"Encore?" someone shouted.
The Thunder God's answering grin was all teeth and lightning. He strummed his lute.
"Alright, this one's called 'How to Launder Celestial Gold'..."
Li Qing's fingers flexed toward her teacup. The tavern held its breath.
Somewhere in the chaos, Luo Feng leaned back and watched his strange, wonderful family with a quiet smile. The ice would melt. The songs would continue. And tomorrow—
Well. Tomorrow could wait.
END OF CHAPTER 110