"Mr. President, this is the herbal soup that the lady asked me to deliver."
The maid respectfully placed the porcelain bowl on the table in front of her, her gaze curiously sweeping over the paper crane on the chair beside her before she slowly withdrew.
As the maid left, the President picked up the soup bowl and smiled at the paper crane, saying, "Won't you have something to eat, senior? This medicinal cuisine was meticulously prepared by a Pill Master under my command. Even after my daily consumption, it has proved quite beneficial and can enhance one's constitution somewhat."
The President looked at the paper crane before him, very curious about the current state of the Immortal behind it.
Was it a true descent to the mortal world? A severe wound left untreated? Spellcasting across realms? Or the old switcheroo... or perhaps some other, even more peculiar state?