Reverend Suburbia: The HOA Tribulation

"Fang Yuan, hand over that damn Spring Autumn Cicada right now, or I'm slapping you with every unpaid HOA fine with compounding interest!"

"Listen to me, you old bastard Fang, as the HOA President, this is your last warning, stop resisting! Today, the entire neighborhood watch has gathered to throw your creepy bug collection in the dumpster. We've surrounded your cul-de-sac, there's no escape, those fees will be paid!"

"Fang Yuan, you sociopathic entomologist! Just so you could feed organic mulch to that cicada, you ruined the subdivision's landscaping and dug up everyone's front lawns. This is an unforgivable violation of the community guidelines!"

"Look here, you demon! Three hundred years ago, you borrowed my leaf blower and never returned it. My family has been mourning the loss of our perfectly manicured lawn for nine generations! Today, I’m getting that leaf blower back!"

Fang Yuan was wearing a faded, oversized hoodie from a thrift store and worn-out sweatpants. His hair was a mess since he hadn't showered in three days, and he was covered head-to-toe in sticky, red liquid after nervously spilling his XXL cherry slushie all over himself. He looked around. His stained hoodie flapped in the wind like a forgotten flag at a tailgate party. Because of the numerous slushie spills on his clothes, a small, sticky puddle had formed beneath his feet.

The mob surrounding him consisted not only of angry boomers clutching community rulebooks, but also furious soccer moms wielding rolling pins and Stanley cups. Some were yelling, some were scoffing, and others stood back in pure disgust at the giant bug in his hand. They weren't making a move; nobody dared to approach because everyone was terrified that Fang Yuan would throw that massive insect right at their faces.

This tense standoff lasted for six hours, right until the sun began to set and the smell of neighbors firing up their backyard BBQs drifted through the subdivision. Having stood as still as a statue this whole time, Fang Yuan slowly turned his body. The crowd suddenly took a synchronized step back and braced themselves.

His face pale from losing so much of his cherry slushie, Fang Yuan looked at the setting sun and chuckled softly. "The sun is setting, the streetlights are about to come on. The grill is hot, the burgers are flipping. No matter how much debt you have in life, everything eventually gets foreclosed..."

As he spoke, memories of his life flashed before his eyes. He endured a harsh life for 300 years, and lived another 200 years in basements with terrible Wi-Fi. Being a demon was hard work; it meant constantly arguing with Karens from the HOA and putting the trash bins out on the wrong day.

"I failed in the end," Fang Yuan sighed. "If this Spring Autumn Cicada actually works, in my next life, I'm definitely not moving into a neighborhood with an HOA!"

From the crowd, shouts erupted: "What is this weirdo saying?", "Watch out, he's gonna throw the bug at us!", "Give me back my leaf blower!" Just then, Fang Yuan raised the bug into the air, and the bug suddenly sneezed. Instead of the expected mystical, massive explosion, a thick smell of mothballs filled the air, accompanied by a blinding, neon-green flash.

At the same time, a pair of bewildered eyes blinked in the darkness. "Gu Yue Village... 500 years ago?! So the bug actually worked..." Fang Yuan muttered as he stood by the window, looking outside. The core function of the Spring Autumn Cicada was to reverse time, and Fang Yuan had truly been hurled back into the past.

He took a deep breath and looked at his young, smooth hands. As the sound of rain filled his ears, he closed his eyes. "500 years of experience, it truly feels like a dream," he whispered. But suddenly, there was a loud, aggressive knock on his door.

The voice from outside was all too familiar: "Fang Yuan! I know you're in there! You're three months behind on rent, open this door right now!"

Fang Yuan swallowed hard in the silence. He had reversed time to escape 500 years of HOA fees and debts, but he had forgotten one bitter truth: No matter how far back in time you go, the landlord is always at the door.