Please Stop Spreading Rumors About Me — They Keep Coming True

Xue Ningzhi went after Yun Shu the next morning, and it was the cleverest and cruelest thing she’d done yet, because she didn’t threaten her, or bribe her, or fight her.

She simply reminded Yun Shu who she was.

I wasn’t there for it — Yun Shu told me afterward, in pieces, late, when she finally let me see how much it had cost her. Xue Ningzhi had found her alone, and had been, by all accounts, perfectly pleasant. Two professionals. Two women who’d given their lives to the truth of legends — one to building them, one to tearing the false ones down. And Xue Ningzhi had laid it out for her with the gentle, devastating logic of someone who has already won.

”You’re a Heavenly Records investigator,” she’d said. ”The finest debunker of your generation. You’ve spent eleven years pulling apart false legends — exposing the frauds, deleting the lies, protecting people from believing in things that aren’t real. It’s not a job to you. It’s a calling. I’ve read your record. You believe, down to your bones, that a false legend is a kind of poison, and that the truth is worth any cost.” A pause, a blade in velvet. ”And you are currently standing guard over the largest false legend in the history of the Records. A man with no skill, propped up by something invisible that even you can’t see — a ghost in the ledger, feeding him belief he never earned. The single biggest lie in the sky. And you, the woman who has spent her whole life serving the truth—” softer, the kill ”—are protecting it. Why?”

Yun Shu had had no answer. That was the cruelty of it. Because Xue Ningzhi was right, by every rule Yun Shu had ever lived by.

”File the report,” Xue Ningzhi had said, rising to go, pleasant as ever. ”You know the truth. You found it before any of us. Your duty is clear, and it always has been, and you’ve been avoiding it for weeks, which isn’t like you at all. Tell the Records what he is. Tell them about the ghost. Be the woman you’ve spent your whole life being.” Then the last, gentle twist: ”Unless, of course, you’ve stopped serving the truth — and started serving him. In which case you should ask yourself, very honestly, what that makes you. And whether you can live with it.”

And she’d left Yun Shu standing there with her own life turned into a weapon against her.

She came to find me that night. She didn’t say any of this at first. She just sat down across from me at the little table in my quarters, her black ledger in front of her — the one she’d carried since the day she came to debunk me — and she put her hand flat on it, and she didn’t open it.

”I’m supposed to report you,” she said finally, not looking up. ”I’ve been supposed to since the second week. It’s my duty. It’s the whole of my duty. There’s an invisible thing feeding you belief, Lin Bo, and I’m an Accuracy investigator, and the entire point of me — the thing I’ve built my whole life on — is that the truth matters more than how much I like the liar.” Her jaw was tight. ”Xue Ningzhi reminded me of that this morning. She didn’t have to threaten me. She just had to tell me the truth about myself, and let it do the work.”

I didn’t say anything. I’d learned, with Yun Shu, that she needed the silence to find her way through.

”Do you know why I do this work?” she said, and now she looked up, and there was something raw in it I’d never seen. ”When I was young, my whole town believed in a savior. A great cultivator, a legend, beloved — they poured everything into him, their faith, their grain, their sons. And he was a fraud. Not a kind one. A hollow, manufactured legend, built by people who knew exactly what they were doing, and when the test came, when the town actually needed the hero they’d believed in — there was nothing there. Just a man who’d let them believe. People died, Lin Bo. People I loved, believing to the end in something that was never real.” Her voice was very steady, which was how I knew how much it hurt. ”So I gave my life to the truth. To making sure no one would ever again be destroyed by believing in a lie. That’s not a job. She was right about that. It’s the realest thing about me.”

”Then you should report me,” I said quietly. I meant it. ”Yun Shu. If that’s what you believe — if that’s who you are — then I’m exactly the thing you’ve spent your life fighting. A false legend. A man letting people believe. You should file it. I won’t hold it against you. I don’t want you to break the realest thing about yourself for me. That’s too much to ask of anyone, and I’d never ask it.”

Yun Shu looked at me for a long, long moment — the tired clerk who kept trying to give his glory away, who knelt down by the people he beat to tell them the truth, who’d just told a grieving swordswoman that remembering was worth more than fame — and something in her face broke open and resolved, both at once.

”That’s the problem,” she said. Quietly. Almost angry, almost laughing, almost crying. ”The legend is false. Everything Xue Ningzhi said is true. You can’t fight, the deeds are accidents, the ghost is real, the belief is unearned — by every rule I have, you’re the biggest lie in the sky.” She leaned forward. ”But the man, Lin Bo. The man isn’t a lie. I’ve watched you for weeks. The hero is fake. But the kindness is real. The honesty is real. You spend your fake fame trying to tell everyone the truth. The town’s savior let people believe so he could take from them. You let people believe and then you give them everything you have, and you feel guilty about the love, and you’d hand the whole thing to Bai Qing tomorrow if you could.” Her hand pressed flat on the unopened ledger. ”The legend that got my town killed was a true story about a false man. You’re a false story about a true man. And I have spent eleven years not understanding that those aren’t the same thing. They’re opposites.”

She slid the ledger to the side. She didn’t open it. She never filed the report.

”I’m not protecting the demon-slayer,” she said, her voice low and certain and a little unsteady. ”I don’t care about the demon-slayer. I’m protecting you. The clerk. The real one. And I’ve decided I can live with that — that for the first time in eleven years, the kindest true thing and the most accurate true thing aren’t the same, and I’m choosing the man over the file.” A breath. ”It’s the first time I’ve ever bent the truth in my life, Lin Bo. I want you to know that. I’m bending it for you. Don’t—” her composure flickered ”—don’t make me regret it. And don’t you dare tell me the man isn’t worth it, because I’ve already decided, and I’m better at deciding the truth than anyone alive.”

I didn’t have words. I’m not sure there were any.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I got up, and I went to the little stove, and I made her noodles — the real ones, from Granny Fen’s pot, the one good thing these hands can actually do — and I set the bowl in front of the woman who’d just set her whole self on fire to keep me from being erased, and I said the truest thing I had.

”Thank you for seeing me,” I said. ”The actual me. I didn’t think anyone ever would.”

Yun Shu looked at the bowl, and then at me, and the cold precise mask she’d worn since the day we met was just... gone, and underneath it was someone tired and brave and, I realized with a small lurch, looking at me in a way that had nothing to do with ledgers at all.

”Someone had to,” she said quietly, and picked up the chopsticks, and we sat there together in the lamplight, not saying the rest of it, both of us knowing it was there.

High above, in the dark, the First Author had her answer about Yun Shu now too. We’d made another enemy a little angrier, given the Empire another lever, another person to aim at.

But for that one night, over a bowl of noodles, I wasn’t a legend, and Yun Shu wasn’t a debunker, and the truth and the kindness were, just for a little while, the same warm thing.

I would have set fire to a great deal more than the truth, by then, to keep that table whole.

I was about to get the chance.