Saints are not holy.
They're approved.
The sky opened.
Not tore.
Opened—like a curtain pulled aside for someone important.
Light descended.
Clean.
Blinding.
Correct.
Every cultivator in Iron Lake City felt the urge to kneel.
Not fear.
Recognition conditioning.
She stepped down on light.
Bare feet.
White-gold robes.
A halo of symbols rotating slowly behind her.
A Heavenly Saint.
Xueyi went rigid.
"That's… dangerous."
"Yes," I agreed.
"And expensive."
The Saint looked around.
Smiled gently.
"I come without hostility," she said.
Her voice soothed wounds.
Calmed hearts.
Repaired cracked Qi channels just by existing.
People loved her instantly.
That was the weapon.
She turned to me.
"Li Shen," she said kindly,
"Heaven grieves your suffering."
I snorted.
"That's new."
She didn't react.
Saints never do.
"You walk a painful path," she continued.
"But it doesn't have to be lonely."
She raised a hand.
Light flowed.
A compromise.
Recognition without submission.
Freedom with limits.
A gilded cage.
Xueyi stepped forward.
I stopped her.
I studied the Saint.
Carefully.
Not her power.
Her assumptions.
"You don't understand," I said softly.
"I'm not rebelling."
Her smile faltered.
Just a fraction.
"I'm correcting."
The halo behind her wavered.
Symbols misaligned.
For the first time—
She felt resistance.