Emperor Xuan of the Great Xia Dynasty felt his left eye develop a nervous twitch that rivaled a tap-dancing cockroach. This bratty Qin family whelp had just pulled a verbal judo move smoother than a greased watermelon. By declaring the emperor *wasn't* here as a guest, the kid had essentially painted His Majesty as a troublemaker crashing a family reunion—with nine ancient swordsmen elders sipping tea nearby. One wrong move, and Xuan might end up as tomorrow's dumpling filling.
On the other hand, admitting to being a guest meant coughing up a gift worthy of an imperial visit. His Majesty clutched his jeweled belt protectively, mentally inventorying his bling: *Nope, not the Dragon Scale Armor. Absolutely not the Phoenix Feather Boots. Those took three centuries to craft!*
"*Gasp!*" Little devil Qin Feng clutched his chest dramatically, channeling the energy of a soap opera heroine. "Could it be…the mighty Emperor of Xia showed up *empty-handed*? At a *baby shower*? The scandal! The *shaaaaame*!"
The Qin elders sipped their tea with faces smoother than polished jade. Not a single one moved to rescue the emperor. After all, this pompous windbag had nearly triggered a premature birth with his earlier "aura flexing." If not for the political fallout, they'd have turned him into a human piñata already.
Emperor Xuan's smile resembled a constipated pufferfish. With theatrical slowness, he produced a lacquered box containing nine miniature swords—each glowing with enough mystical energy to power a small city.
"Behold! The Nine Swords of Chang Kong!" announced an elder, nearly spilling his tea. "Forged by the legendary Sword God himself! Individually, they're sharper than a Karen's Yelp review. Together? They could shred an army of demigods!"
Xuan's eye twitch escalated. He'd spent *decades* tracking these relics, bribing tomb raiders, and outbidding auction houses. Now he had to surrender one to this ankle-biting gremlin?
But before he could say "pick one," Qin Feng yoinked the entire box like a raccoon snatching a diamond necklace. "Thanks, Uncle Emperor! You're *totally* the coolest!"
**Ding!** A cheery system voice chirped in Qin Feng's mind: *[Congratulations! You've embraced villainous excellence by swindling divine weaponry! +1,000 Bad Guy Points!]*
The emperor's soul left his body. "I—I meant to offer just—"
"*Ahem!*" The Qin elders erupted into a symphony of bootlicking:
"Such *generosity*! Truly, Your Majesty's heart is as vast as the Pacific!"
"We're *literally* crying! If I were 500 years younger and a lady, I'd propose on the spot!"
"Gifts? Pshh! Discussing repayment would *insult* His Majesty's dignity! He's basically the Elon Musk of mystic treasures!"
Qin Feng sealed the deal by kowtowing three times—the same energy as a kid guilt-tripping grandma for extra Halloween candy.
Emperor Xuan's blood pressure spiked. *Note to self: Next time invade a family gathering, bring riot gear.*
But the gremlin wasn't done. Qin Feng blinked up innocently. "Hey, Uncle Emperor, did you know there's a *super important* rule where grown-ups *have* to give newbies a welcome gift? It's, like, written in the Constitution or something."
Xuan's eye twitch now qualified as a medical emergency. "*What* constitution?!"
The elders nodded sagely. "Oh yes, Article 69, subsection 'Bribing Tiny Tyrants.' Very sacred."
"*Yikes!*" Qin Feng fake-swooned. "The *Emperor of Xia* stiffing a kid? Next thing you know, he'll be canceling Christmas!"
Defeated, Xuan unhooked a jade gourd from his belt—its surface etched with glowing runes resembling a caffeinated spider's web. "Here! The Heavenly Treasure Gourd! It's like a Red Bull for cultivators—boosts focus, prevents demonic possession, *and* recharges your mana mid-battle. Happy now?!"
Qin Feng snatched it with the speed of a TikTok influencer grabbing free merch. "Thanks, bestie! You're *so* valid!"
**[Ding! Host has mastered the art of 'friendly robbery'! +1,000 Bad Guy Points!]**
As the emperor stormed off muttering curses involving "raccoon reincarnation," the Qin elders high-fived. One whispered, "That kid's gonna bankrupt heaven itself by age ten."
Meanwhile, Qin Feng juggled his new toys, plotting: *Nine swords for sword-juggling TikTok challenges, and a gourd to store my Capri Sun! Adulthood's overrated anyway.*
Thus began the legend of the Thieving Toddler—a name that would echo through taverns, terrorize tax collectors, and eventually trend #1 on Divine Weibo.