Whispers turned into stares.
"He fixed the war god's statue."
"He kicked the Phoenix brothers into a wall."
"His garden sings at night."
Outer sect disciples kept their distance. Inner sect members bowed in passing.
Senior Brother Lin, unconvinced, tried to "accidentally" drop a blade on Han Li's head during morning rounds.
The blade dissolved midair, turning to ash before it touched him.
Han Li returned the hilt, smiling. "You dropped something."
Lin didn't sleep for three days.
In the library, ancient scrolls were secretly compared. Sketches of the Sweeper of the Sky Realm matched Han Li's silhouette.
Each time someone tried to speak his name, their voice failed.
A librarian muttered, "What kind of monster…"
But no one dared finish the sentence.
Han Li just kept sweeping.