Xiao Mei did not set out to create a religion. She just wanted to talk to the kitchen auntie about the tournament.

  It started by the washing troughs. Her hands were plunged into freezing, soapy water, scrubbing blood off a junior disciple's torn tunic.

  "He didn't even drop his book," Xiao Mei whispered. She checked over her shoulder to make sure the proctors weren't listening. "Luo Jian came at him with a flaming leg. The sky was literally burning. The husband turned a page, and Luo Jian hit the wall so hard the bricks turned to flour."

  The kitchen auntie stopped chopping radishes. She looked at Xiao Mei.

  "A hidden Saint?" the auntie asked.

  "Has to be," Xiao Mei nodded frantically.

  The auntie told the logistics master. The logistics master, who handled the rationing ledgers and possessed a highly dramatic imagination, told the outer gate guards that night.

  "He caught a Celestial suicide strike with an invisible barrier," the logistics master said, gesturing wildly in the dark. "A hidden Celestial. The Sect Master married a monster."

  The gate guards, bored and hungry on quarter-rations, told a passing merchant caravan trying to cross the southern river blockade. The merchants told the river toll operators.

  By the fourth day of Mo Zheng’s economic siege, the story had warped entirely. The friction of ten thousand terrified, starving people needing a savior had sanded away the mundane reality of a man reading a book.

  He didn't turn a page. He manipulated the foundational gravity of the mountain. He isn't a hidden Celestial. He is an ancient ancestor who possessed a mortal shell. He doesn't need qi because he breathes the Dao.

  The rumors bled out of the Qinghe Mountain Range. They seeped into the neighboring territories.

  Fifty miles to the north, the Azure Stream Sect was currently evaluating their alliances. Mo Zheng was starving White Jade. Surrendering to Iron Blood seemed like the only logical mathematical choice.

  Then, the reports from the tournament arrived.

  Sect Master Liu of Azure Stream sat in his grand hall, listening to his spymaster describe a mortal who deleted kinetic energy by turning a piece of paper. Liu was an old man. He had survived seventy years in a violent region by knowing exactly when to bow.

  "A reincarnated ancestor," Liu murmured, stroking a long, thin white beard. "Living in the Eastern Pavilion. Eating burnt pork buns to mock the concept of mortal sustenance."

  "The Iron Blood Vanguard hasn't attacked the gates since the tournament," his spymaster added. "Mo Zheng is using a siege. He is afraid of a direct confrontation with the husband."

  Liu stopped stroking his beard. A profound, opportunistic clarity settled over him.

  If Mo Zheng was afraid, Azure Stream needed to pay their respects immediately.

  The Eastern Pavilion looked terrible in the morning light.

  The weeds in the front yard had reached knee height. The paper screens on the windows were yellowed with age. A dead pine branch rested precariously on the slanted tile roof.

  Sect Master Liu stood at the edge of the dirt path. Behind him stood two of his highest-ranking Core elders. They wore formal ceremonial robes of deep azure silk, embroidered with silver water patterns. They carried heavy wooden boxes filled with thousand-year ginseng, condensed spirit stones, and rare northern teas.

  They were sweating.

  "Look at the weeds," one of the elders whispered. His voice trembled. "They grow in chaotic patterns. But if you blur your eyes... it’s a natural chaotic trapping array. He is using raw nature to mask his domain."

  Liu swallowed. The inside of his mouth tasted like old ash.

  They had bypassed the Main Hall entirely. They had ignored Elder Shen Mu’s frantic, screaming demands for a formal audience at the outer gates. They had walked straight up the mountain to find the myth.

  "Quiet," Liu hissed. "We are in the presence of the void."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The three men stepped onto the creaking wooden veranda.

  Liu raised a trembling fist and knocked twice on the wooden door frame.

  Tap. Tap.

  The sound was swallowed by the mountain wind.

  Inside, Wei Tian was asleep.

  He was lying on his side on the narrow wooden bed. The cheap buckwheat pillow was bunched up under his neck. He was dreaming about a civilization that had built their cities entirely out of musical frequencies. They had been very loud. He hadn't liked them.

  Tap. Tap.

  Wei Tian opened his eyes.

  He didn't move. He lay there, staring at the grain of the wooden wall. The sun wasn't fully up yet. The ambient temperature of the room was hovering near freezing.

  He closed his eyes again. Maybe they would go away.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  "Senior," a voice called from the other side of the paper screen. It was an old voice, thick with artificial reverence and genuine terror. "This humble one is Liu, Sect Master of Azure Stream. We have come to offer our deepest respects to the mountain's hidden peak."

  Wei Tian sighed. It was a long, slow exhalation that ruffled the edge of his blanket.

  He sat up. He didn't bother finding his cloth shoes. He was wearing a thin, unbleached cotton sleeping robe. It tied at the waist with a frayed string. The left shoulder was slipping down, exposing his collarbone. His ink-black hair was completely chaotic, sticking up in three different directions on the back of his head.

  He walked to the door. The floorboards creaked under his bare feet.

  He slid the door open. The runners desperately needed grease. It shrieked.

  Sect Master Liu and his two elders instantly dropped to their knees. The expensive azure silk of their robes pooled in the dirt and dead pine needles on the veranda. They pressed their foreheads against the rough wood.

  Wei Tian stood in the doorway.

  He looked at the tops of their heads. He looked at the heavy wooden tribute boxes resting next to their elbows.

  He didn't look at the spirit stones. He was looking at a large, fuzzy green caterpillar slowly inching its way across the lid of the nearest box. It had fourteen legs. It was making very steady progress.

  "Senior," Liu said to the floorboards. His voice vibrated with tension. "We bring tribute. Azure Stream recognizes the true depth of the White Jade Sect. We ask only for your continued benevolence in this region."

  Wei Tian shifted his weight to his right foot. The wood groaned.

  He reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

  He didn't emit a suppressing aura. He didn't leak a fraction of cosmic gravity. He didn't do anything. He just stood there, existing as an absolute, geometric void in the center of their spiritual perception.

  To the three kneeling men, the silence was deafening. It wasn't the silence of a man ignoring them. It was the silence of a deep, black ocean watching three pebbles drop into its depths. The lack of any recognizable human emotion—no arrogance, no welcome, no anger—was fundamentally terrifying.

  He isn't even looking at us, Liu thought, a cold sweat breaking out across his ribs. We are dust to him. We aren't even worth a breath of his qi.

  Wei Tian watched the caterpillar reach the edge of the box and stretch half its body over the precipice, waving blindly in the air trying to find the next solid surface.

  "The wood is rotting," Wei Tian said.

  His voice was a flat, raspy croak. He hadn't used his vocal cords since yesterday afternoon.

  Liu stopped breathing. His mind raced, frantically decoding the metaphor. The wood is rotting. The region is decaying. Iron Blood is the rot. He is telling us the structure of our world is collapsing.

  "We understand, Senior," Liu choked out, pressing his forehead harder against the floor. "We will adjust our posture accordingly. We will not succumb to the rot."

  Wei Tian looked down at the old man's hat. It had a ridiculous blue feather sticking out of the back.

  He was tired. It was too early for metaphors. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

  He reached out. He took hold of the door frame.

  He didn't say thank you. He didn't acknowledge the tribute. He didn't tell them to leave.

  He just slid the door shut.

  Clack.

  The lock fell into place.

  The three men remained kneeling on the veranda for ten full minutes. The wind howled through the courtyard. Frost began to form on the edges of the tribute boxes.

  Finally, Sect Master Liu slowly raised his head. His face was completely bloodless.

  He looked at the closed paper screen. He looked at the perfect, undisturbed silence of the dilapidated pavilion.

  He stood up. His knees cracked. He motioned silently to his elders. They left the boxes exactly where they were.

  They walked backward down the dirt path until they reached the main courtyard.

  Waiting for them near the central spirit vein was Elder Shen Mu. The White Jade elder looked apoplectic. His green robes were perfectly straightened, but the dark, bruised bags under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

  "Sect Master Liu," Shen Mu forced a tight, diplomatic smile. "I apologize for the confusion at the gates. The Sect Master's... quarters are not meant for receiving regional dignitaries."

  Liu didn't smile back. He looked at Shen Mu with a mixture of pity and profound dread.

  "You fools," Liu whispered. The wind snatched the words, carrying them across the empty jade tiles. "You have a sleeping god in your backyard, and you treat him like a stray dog."

  Shen Mu’s smile vanished. "Excuse me?"

  "We are returning to our peak," Liu said, signaling his elders to follow. "Azure Stream officially denounces the Iron Blood Sect's blockade. We will send supply caravans through the northern pass by midnight."

  "Liu, wait—" Shen Mu stepped forward, his hand raised.

  Liu didn't stop. He didn't look back.

  As the Azure Stream delegation passed through the outer gates, the spymaster leaned close to Liu’s shoulder.

  "Sect Master," the spymaster murmured. "His aura. Or... the lack of it."

  "I felt it," Liu said. He wiped a layer of cold sweat from his forehead with a silk sleeve. "Or rather, I felt the absence of reality where he stood. The legends were wrong. They understated it."

  Liu looked back at the jagged silhouette of the Qinghe range.

  "He is exactly as terrifying as they said. Perhaps more so. He didn't even care enough to threaten us."

  Back in the Eastern Pavilion, Wei Tian was already asleep.

  The green caterpillar had successfully navigated the edge of the tribute box and was currently making its way across the veranda floorboards. It was a very good morning for the caterpillar.