Morning came softly.
Sunlight slipped through the silk curtains like liquid gold, painting the floor in warm patterns.
Lian Xue opened her eyes slowly.
For the first time in weeks, she slept without fear.
Because somewhere in the garden below… he was sitting.
The Sage.
The man who once killed gods, now drinking tea beside lotus flowers.
She wrapped her robe around her and walked toward the quiet garden.
There he was—just as still as the mountain she'd found him on.
His long black hair draped down his back. His robe, simple white. No embroidery, no symbol. He didn't need any.
Even silence seemed to follow his breathing.
"Good morning," she said softly.
He didn't respond.
But she didn't mind.
His presence… was enough.
She placed a small tray beside him.
Steamed buns. Tea. Fresh-cut fruit.
He glanced at the tray, then back at the lotus pond.
"Why so much effort?" he asked, voice like a calm wind.
She sat beside him on the edge of the stone bench.
"Because… I wanted to thank you."
"You already did," he said.
"But I don't think it's enough."
He looked at her.
Not harshly. Not kindly. Just… looked.
"You don't need to repay me," he said. "I didn't come for your thanks."
"Then why did you come?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Not yet.
Far away in the city, in the most luxurious chamber of House Jin, seven merchants sat in a circle.
Gold ornaments. Rare wines. Burning incense.
Each of them a pillar of power. Men who controlled trade, land, and information.
"Are the rumors true?" one asked, voice trembling.
"Yes," another whispered. "The Hermit Sage is here. He came down from the mountain."
"Why?"
"For the girl," someone said. "The daughter of Lian Zhen."
"That old fox..." one of them spat. "He bought himself a god."
A pause.
Then laughter.
But it wasn't joy. It was nervous. Bitter. Hollow.
"We've already paid the assassins. One group targets the northern caravan today. Another poisons the eastern spice shipment."
"If he finds out—"
"He won't," the oldest among them said coldly. "He doesn't care about merchant wars."
"He only acts when it pleases him."
"And even gods fear a man with no leash."
Back in the garden, the Sage stood.
The sunlight bathed him like a halo, but he didn't shine.
He absorbed light.
His presence was too still, too ancient, too silent.
Lian Xue followed behind him.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To the market."
She blinked.
"...Market?"
"I need tea leaves."
She stifled a smile. Somehow… it fit.
This was the man who crushed heaven.
And now, he wanted better tea.
When they stepped into the city, heads turned.
Cultivators on flying swords paused mid-air.
Merchants bowed low before even knowing why.
Children stopped playing.
Elders shut their windows.
And every strong practitioner?
Felt a pressure in the air—like thunder wrapped in silk.
He didn't speak.
He simply walked.
But his steps echoed in the hearts of everyone.
At a small stall with dried leaves and dusty jars, the Sage picked up a tin and opened it.
He sniffed once.
"Too bitter."
The old vendor blinked, then trembled.
"S-sir, I have sweeter blends. Lotus, perhaps?"
He chose one. Nodded. Placed a single silver coin.
"Keep the change," Lian Xue said sweetly.
They walked on.
But the vendor stood there, still holding the coin, as if he'd been blessed… or cursed.
Halfway down the street, it happened.
A scream.
Then another.
Two carts collided near the spice lane—bags ripped open; flames crackled from a sudden fire.
Dozens of guards rushed forward.
But so did something else.
A blade.
It came from the shadows—silent, sharp, and aimed directly at Lian Xue's back.
But it never touched her.
Because in that instant—
The world froze.
A pressure so suffocating that even time seemed to hesitate.
The blade stopped mid-air.
Not because someone blocked it…
But because the air around it shattered.
Like glass.
The assassin blinked.
He looked down.
His fingers were gone.
He hadn't seen it. He hadn't felt it.
But his hands had been erased.
Not cut. Not burned.
Erased.
Then—
He was gone too.
No scream. No blood. No remains.
One moment he existed.
The next, he didn't.
Lian Xue turned slowly.
The Sage hadn't moved.
Hadn't spoken.
But his eyes…
They were cold again.
Not angry. Not furious.
Just cold.
Like the day he ended heaven.
The crowd backed away.
Silence fell.
Then whispers.
"Did you see that?"
"He moved…?"
"No. He didn't even blink."
"That was a Heaven Step assassin. And he just… vanished."
Lian Xue looked up at him.
He was already walking again.
She ran to catch up.
"You knew someone would try to kill me," she said.
He said nothing.
"You came anyway."
Still no answer.
But she didn't need one.
She knew.
That night, seven merchant houses burned.
No trace of attackers.
No signs of battle.
Only ashes and silence.
And a single message carved into stone at each ruined gate:
"Do not touch what I look upon."
The merchant world shivered.
The Sage hadn't declared war.
He hadn't sent armies.
He hadn't made speeches.
He simply looked… and things died.
The next morning, in the garden, Lian Zhen bowed.
"Senior Sage… forgive my daughter. Forgive our world. We are… not worthy of your presence."
The Sage stirred his tea.
"Then change it," he said.
"Wh-what?"
"You said your world is unworthy. Make it worthy."
Lian Zhen blinked, confused.
"But how?"
The Sage stood.
"For now, stay alive."
Then turned to Lian Xue.
"You'll bring me paper. Ink. And… time."
"For what?"
"I will write… for the first time."