Please Stop Spreading Rumors About Me — They Keep Coming True Chapter 7: Renowned by Tuesday

By Tuesday I was Renowned.

I need you to feel how insane that is, so let put it in plain terms.

Renowned is the third rank. Province-wide fa. Tens of thousands of people who know your na and believe your story. It makes you genuinely strong — strong enough to lift a loaded cart, split a boulder, fight off a hundred n without breaking a sweat.

People spend their whole lives trying to reach Renowned. Real cultivators train for decades. They do great deeds — actual ones — and year by year, slowly, the honest way, their fa grows and their strength grows with it.

I did it in four days.

By tripping in front of a mugger, sneezing twice, eating a bowl of noodles, and denying everything as loudly as a human being can.

"This is not normal, by the way," Scroll ntioned, sowhere around day three, while I was lying face-down on my mat trying to disappear into it. "I want to be clear that I am very good at my job, but even for , this speed is—" it searched for the word "—spicy. Most legends take months to cook. Yours is doing a year’s worth of belief a day. You’re a phenonon, talent. You’re a event."

"I don’t want to be a event."

"Nobody ever does. That’s what makes it so beautiful when it happens to them."

Here is how it spread, as best I can reconstruct it, because I certainly wasn’t trying to make it happen.

Tao Tao told the Whispering Pine Sect. The Whispering Pine Sect, being small and bored and thrilled to finally have sothing to talk about, told everyone they knew. The bards picked it up — and bards don’t repeat a story, they improve it, which ans by Monday the demon king had beco a demon emperor, and by Tuesday he had three heads, and the single breath that felled him had "parted the clouds and rearranged the stars," none of which happened, all of which people now believed.

And every ti I tried to deny it — every single ti I stood up and said "no, please, it was a small man with a bad knife" — the rumor swallowed my denial whole and got fatter on it.

By the second day, people recognized on the street.

By the third, I couldn’t get to work, because a crowd had gathered outside the Bureau of Minor Corrections to catch a glimpse of "the demon-slayer who toils humbly as a common clerk." Overseer Pao, I later learned, had started charging people two coppers to look at my empty desk.

By the fourth day, I gave up on the city entirely and did the one thing I should have known better than to do.

I went to get noodles.

Granny Fen’s stall sits at the quiet end of Cinder Lane, and her broth is the closest thing in this world to the dream I keep in my chest. For three years it had been my one good place. Granny Fen never asked my na. She just slid a bowl across the counter and let sit in the steam and be nobody for ten minutes.

I went there because I was tired, and scared, and I wanted, just once, to feel normal.

I should have known. There’s no normal anymore. There’s only what people believe.

I sat down. Granny Fen, bless her, slid the bowl across like always — she’s old, she’s slow, the news hadn’t reached her yet. And I picked up my chopsticks, and I lifted a mouthful of noodles, and across the lane sobody gasped, and I heard the words pass mouth to mouth like fire down a fuse:

"That’s him. That’s the demon-slayer. He’s— he’s eating noodles."

"Why is he eating noodles?"

"There must be a reason."

And the bell rang in my skull, and the gold letters blood over Granny Fen’s little stall:

✦ DING. ✦ New legend forming: "Even the demon-slayer’s humble noodles are said to hold the Way of Heaven."

Belief: 22%... 40%... 61%...

A warm golden glow spilled out of my bowl. I am not exaggerating. My noodles started glowing. And everyone within twenty feet went suddenly, softly quiet, their faces smoothing out the way people look when they hear music that ans sothing to them — because the belief had reshaped reality again, and now to be near while I ate was, apparently, a small religious experience.

Soone started crying. Out of joy. Over my lunch.

By the ti I put my chopsticks down there were forty people at Granny Fen’s stall, and a line forming, and a man on his knees in the street, and poor Granny Fen looking around in total bewildernt at the crowd that had descended on the quiet little business she’d run in peace for fifty years.

That was the mont it really landed for . Not the power, not the fa, not the glowing letters. That. They’d taken the noodles. They’d taken the one quiet thing. The dream I’d built my whole small life around — six tables, a pot of broth, nobody asking my na — and the world had reached right into it and turned it into a shrine.

✦ CONGRATULATIONS! ✦ You have advanced: RENOWNED.

Your legend is now strong enough to shape the world around you.

[Breath of the Modest Demon-Slayer] has grown.

New: [Blessing of the Reluctant Cook] (passive)

I stood up. The whole crowd held its breath, waiting for to say sothing wise.

"It’s just noodles," I told them, very quietly.

And forty people wept at my humility, and the number climbed, and Granny Fen’s stall was never quiet again.

"You’re welco," whispered Scroll, who had no idea what it had taken from . "These numbers are historic."

I walked ho not feeling powerful. I walked ho feeling robbed.

And sowhere far above the city, in the great glowing ledger in the sky, a na that had gone from nothing to Renowned in four impossible days lit up bright enough that, for the first ti, the people whose job it is to watch the Records noticed.