Repairman

In the heart of a sky temple suspended among swirling storm clouds, a nude warrior-woman with glowing jade eyes balances effortlessly on the back of a colossal, golden koi fish that swims through the air like a phantom. Intricate dragon tattoos slither across her skin, shifting and coiling like living ink. With one hand, she holds a porcelain teacup, from which a swirling dragon-shaped wisp of steam rises, hissing ancient proverbs in a forgotten language. Below her, an endless battlefield stretches into the mist, where monks with flaming halos duel shadowy figures made of pure void. A thousand-foot-tall stone Buddha, cracked and weathered by time, looms over the horizon, its half-lidded gaze flickering with quiet amusement as its fingers slowly form cryptic mudras. Giant, spectral hands emerge from the clouds, clapping together with thunderous applause each time a warrior lands a perfect strike. In the distance, a cherry blossom tree the size of a mountain sheds petals made of glowing embers, each one drifting downward to become a masked fighter in golden armor, their movements impossibly fluid, as if they are being written into existence with every step. Above, the sky splits open like rice paper, revealing the enormous face of an ancient master peering down from another dimension, his long white beard stretching endlessly into the void. As the woman takes a sip of her tea, time itself pauses for a single breath, the entire temple frozen in a moment of absolute balance—before everything erupts back into motion with the sound of a gong that rings from nowhere and everywhere at once.