Hello. It's a pleasure to see you, and I'd just like to take the time to thank you for reading this book. 

Admittedly I'm not quite sure why you made the decision to read this book, but you made the decision and at the end of the day, that’s what counts.

As novels go, the format of this one is rather unusual (to put it politely), and I figured I'd take the equally unusual step of adding an editor’s foreword as a bit of an explanation, so that there might not be any undue surprises later.

Some have said that a prefatory note is a bad idea. It means, they say, that the novel has no hook. I disagree: I was fishing when I was given the manuscript, and lost my fish hook while handling it, so it must be in here somewhere. (If you see it, do feel free to let me know.)

But back to the preface.

I was lounging on the banks of the lovely Kallimacktan River, when first I received the manuscript; and it plunged me into a bottomless hell from whence I have found no escape. 

Calling it a ‘novel’ is, perhaps, too charitable. It was hundreds of pages of the worst prose I have ever seen, entirely disordered, without plot or character or atmosphere. 

But amidst the endless chatter and inane babble I was able to discern the semblance of a story, and with my editorial machete hacked and slashed through the wilds of nonsense until I was able to give that story birth.

Eventually I discovered that it was not one story, but several, haphazardly interwoven into one another in some farcical attempt at avant-garde ‘experimental’ fiction. Being a rational cat, I began to separate them into their constituent components. This was met with no small amount of hostility by the Author.

We fought. A last alliance of people who like good books marched against the Author, and on the very slopes of Mount Oom we fought for the freedom of sane writing.

You hold the outcome of our battle in your hands.

This is not one tale, but several tales. (I thank the Author for showing some mercy.) Each one is the length of a volume and can be enjoyed on its own; nevertheless, I must agree with the Author that they are better together. 

(Even if I don’t quite see the merit in including forty thousand words on the subject of massage in the context of a battle against aliens.)

The first of our fair narrations concerns the activities of Hong Yu, noodle shop repairman, and his valiant struggles against those cultivators who would despoil the gentle noodle shop.

I had asked the Author to contribute something to this forward, but he declined, saying he wanted to do some final groundwork during my introduction, to ensure the story started without a hitch. So without further ado, I’ll invite him to begin his story.

Hello?

Helllooo?

Helllllloooooo? 

Mr. Author? Are you there?

Enh, whatever. He's probably ready.