The story reached the city before the proof ever did.
It did not arrive with banners or proclamations. No envoy stood in the square to declare it. Instead, it came the way all dangerous truths did—folded into conversation, diluted by retelling, strengthened by repetition.
Lin Chen first heard it at the granary.
Two dockhands were arguing over a broken crate, voices raised more from habit than anger.
"You're lifting it wrong," one snapped.
"I lifted it the same way yesterday."
"Yesterday wasn't after the news."
"What news?" the other asked.
The first man lowered his voice instinctively, as if the walls themselves might overhear.
"They say the Holy Son of the Nine Heavens broke through again."
Lin Chen stacked another sack and listened.
By midday, the story had shape.
By evening, it had weight.
At a tea stall near the eastern market, a group of travelers sat close together, cups forgotten as words spilled out faster than caution.
"Domain Mastery," one said, tapping the table for emphasis. "They swear it's confirmed."
"That fast?" another replied. "He only entered Nascent-level oversight a few years ago."
"That's what makes it terrifying," a third muttered. "Domain Mastery before a century has passed."
Lin Chen poured hot water into his cup and waited.
"He didn't just break through," a woman said, voice hushed but excited. "He fought someone."
"Who?"
"A Void Integration expert."
That drew a pause.
Even the street noise seemed to thin for a moment.
"That's impossible," someone said flatly. "Void Integration cultivators don't lose. They don't even fight unless they're certain."
"They say he forced the fight," the woman insisted. "Not recklessly. Cleanly. And he won."
"How?"
"No one agrees on that part."
Lin Chen took a sip of tea.
By the third retelling, details sharpened.
Dao Xuan had broken through to Domain Mastery Realm under open skies.
Heaven had responded—not violently, but decisively.
The domain he manifested was described as clear, ordered, and inevitable.
And when a Void Integration cultivator attempted to test him—
The test had failed.
In the evenings, storytellers adjusted their tales.
They stopped exaggerating Dao Xuan's background and began emphasizing restraint instead.
"He didn't chase," one said.
"He didn't boast," another added.
"He acknowledged victory and left."
That, Lin Chen noticed, impressed people more than power ever could.
At the inn, a merchant spoke quietly to the owner while counting coin.
"If a Domain Master can defeat Void Integration…"
"…then Heaven is accelerating," the owner replied.
"What does that mean for us?"
The owner shook his head. "It means the scale is changing."
Lin Chen finished his meal and stood.
By the end of the week, the story had reached the court.
Lin Chen did not hear it directly.
He heard it through reaction.
Clerks moved faster.
Debates shortened.
Documents that had lingered unsigned were suddenly stamped.
A name no one spoke openly had begun influencing decisions.
In the archives, a junior official whispered to another while Lin Chen carried ledgers past.
"If he's already Domain Mastery…"
"…then even Holy Lands will have to recalibrate."
"…Void Scripture won't ignore that."
The second official swallowed. "No one ignores that."
Lin Chen placed the ledgers down carefully.
Outside, the city adjusted again.
Sect representatives became more polite.
Cultivators argued less loudly.
Rumors of confrontation faded, replaced by speculation.
What would Dao Xuan do next?
Where would he appear?
Which kingdom would become relevant simply by proximity?
Lin Chen walked through the market at dusk, lanterns flickering to life around him.
The legend followed.
Not him.
The air.
Two young cultivators argued near a stall selling talismans.
"If he can beat Void Integration," one said, eyes bright, "then Domain Mastery isn't the ceiling anymore."
"It never was," the other replied. "But now it's visible."
Lin Chen passed them without slowing.
Later that night, a man at the inn raised his cup and spoke too loudly.
"To Dao Xuan," he declared. "Living legend of the Nine Heavens!"
A few others echoed him.
Some out of admiration.
Some out of fear.
Some because legends felt safer than uncertainty.
Lin Chen did not raise his cup.
That was his reaction.
Not dismissal.
Not disdain.
Just… absence.
He understood what they were reacting to.
Domain Mastery defeating Void Integration did not merely signify strength.
It meant authority had teeth.
Void Integration cultivators represented detachment. Distance. Untouchability.
To defeat one was not just to win a fight.
It was to prove that Heaven's alignment could still reach into absence.
Lin Chen recognized the implication immediately.
He did not comment on it.
That night, as he walked back from the docks, he paused on the bridge over the canal again.
Lanternlight trembled on the water.
He rested his hands on the railing and looked down.
Inside him, silence shifted—not disturbed, not threatened.
Contextualized.
Before, Dao Xuan had been a man he met.
Now, Dao Xuan was a symbol.
Lin Chen found that distinction important.
He did not feel challenged.
He did not feel inferior.
He did not feel curious in the way others did.
Instead, he felt something closer to recognition.
So Heaven has chosen clarity.
That was all.
Lin Chen understood something the city did not.
Legends were not dangerous because of what they could do.
They were dangerous because they simplified the world.
They gave people something to point at.
Something to align with.
Something to fear instead of thinking.
The next morning, a new notice appeared near the court.
Unsigned.
Recent events remind all parties that stability requires acknowledgment of proven authority.
No name was written.
None was needed.
Small sects reacted immediately.
A river sect sent notice of dissolution.
A mountain sect announced relocation.
A talisman sect declared allegiance publicly—for the first time in generations.
Lin Chen watched the notices being posted.
Watched them being read.
Watched people nod.
By noon, the legend had become policy.
Lin Chen felt the shift like one felt weather changing—not as pressure, but as inevitability.
Inside him, silence remained.
But now, it carried understanding.
That evening, Lin Chen returned to the granary.
The overseer looked tired.
"You hear the stories?" the man asked casually.
"I hear many stories," Lin Chen replied.
The overseer chuckled. "This one's different. Makes people feel smaller."
Lin Chen adjusted a sack on his shoulder.
"Legends do that," he said.
As the sun set, Lin Chen walked the city one last time that day.
He saw fear.
He saw relief.
He saw ambition reigniting in some and dying in others.
And he saw something else.
Dependence.
Lin Chen realized then that Dao Xuan had crossed a line without meaning to.
By becoming a living legend, he had become useful to the world.
Useful things were consumed.
Used things were constrained.
He wondered—briefly—how long Dao Xuan would remain free.
The thought passed.
It was not Lin Chen's burden.
That night, Lin Chen slept lightly.
Not from unease.
From clarity.
The continent was accelerating.
Holy Lands adjusted.
Kingdoms recalibrated.
Legends crystallized.
And Lin Chen remained exactly where he was.
Walking.
Listening.
Unaligned.