Chapter 7: Great. Now Everyone’s Looking at Me Like I’m a Mythical Beast.

There are few things more dangerous in a cultivation clan than rumors.

Especially when they concern:

1. The Patriarch suddenly waking up after a decade-long coma,
   
   
2. Said Patriarch allegedly being the reincarnation of a mountain god (??),
   
   
3. And possibly blessed with the ability to sneeze people into enlightenment.
   
   

None of those were true.

But by the time I stepped out of my residence for a simple morning walk, the rumors had already evolved into fan fiction.

The moment I walked out onto the main path, two disciples sprinted by me.

One dropped a scroll.

I picked it up.

“The Sacred Awakening of Patriarch Shen Liang: Chapter 1 – The Eyes That Saw Destiny”

I blinked.

“…Am I being serialized in real-time?”

The clan’s main compound was carved into the cliffs like an ancient fortress — stone buildings, mist-covered rooftops, a few overgrown courtyards that looked like they hadn’t seen a broom since I fell asleep.

There were disciples training in some corners.

Others… stared at me like I was a tiger learning to tap dance.

Some bowed. Some fled. One kid dropped a sword on his own foot.

Clearly, my reappearance was having a morale impact.

Whether that was good or traumatic was still undetermined.

I spotted two disciples awkwardly whispering behind a pillar.

I gave them a polite nod.

They screamed.

Literally.

One of them pointed and said, “He acknowledged our existence!”

They both ran.

I turned to Aunt Mei, who had insisted on escorting me “just in case someone tried to donate a finger in reverence.”

“Is this normal?” I asked.

“For you?” she said sweetly. “It’s mild.”

“…What were they expecting me to do?”

“Float,” she replied.

We passed by the Inner Court Pavilion. A few older disciples stood outside, practicing some form that looked half-martial, half-interpretive dance.

One of the instructors paused when he saw me and gave a deep, floor-scraping bow.

“Patriarch Shen,” he said, voice reverent, “we’ve maintained the forms as instructed in the ancient scrolls.”

“What scrolls?” I asked.

He hesitated.

“The… ones we think you left behind in your childhood.”

“…I was seven.”

“We assumed they were encrypted.”

Oh my god. They’ve been cultivating based on a child’s doodles, haven’t they?

I nodded slowly. “Excellent. Continue the… uh, sacred practice.”

The man looked like he might cry.

We continued through the West Courtyard, where a few herbalists had set up a tiny greenhouse.

One elderly cultivator bowed and offered me a cabbage.

“For blessings,” she said.

“…It’s a cabbage.”

“It’s sacred.”

I accepted it solemnly.

I now had a holy cabbage.

Eventually, we reached the outer ring of the compound. A wide plaza overlooking the mountain range, surrounded by worn stone benches and a prayer bell that probably hadn’t rung since spiritual dinosaurs walked the earth.

A few junior disciples stood guard here.

One of them noticed me, turned pale, and shouted:

“The Patriarch walks the grounds! Inform the elders! Prepare the ceremonial incense! Get the mirror of reflection!”

Three others sprinted off in different directions.

One tripped on the holy cabbage I accidentally dropped.

“…You know,” I said to Aunt Mei, “this would be less stressful if I was secretly a demonic beast wearing this boy’s skin.”

She smiled.

“They’d still call you Patriarch.”

That evening, back in my room, I finally sat down to collect my thoughts.

• The entire clan now knows I’m awake.
  
  
• They are terrified, reverent, or both.
  
  
• They’ve turned my childhood drawings into a martial arts style.
  
  
• Someone wrote a serialized novel about my return.
  
  
• I am now the reluctant owner of one (1) sacred cabbage.
  
  

There was a knock.

A servant entered and bowed.

“Patriarch. There are thirty-seven gift baskets outside your residence from disciples wishing to pay respects. One contains… a taxidermied spirit chicken. The note says it ‘screamed in dreams and must be silenced.’”

I stared.

“…Burn it.”

“Yes, Patriarch.”

I lay back on my bed, staring at the wooden ceiling.

So this is power.

People bow. They bring you vegetables. They write scripture about your childhood scribbles. And no one tells you how to make any of it stop.

Great.

Just great.

[End of Chapter 7]