The first thing Heaven took was the sound of the bells.
The second was the sky itself.
By morning, Cloudrest Peak sat under a lid of silver mist. The clouds didn't move. The air didn't stir. Even the birds had gone quiet, as if they'd been warned not to speak.
Heaven called this kind of silence stability.
Everyone else called it unnerving.
I carried tea through the still courtyard, my footsteps sounding too loud on the damp stone.
The entire mountain felt smaller now. Without the bells, the world had lost its rhythm.
Disciples moved quickly, eyes lowered. Heaven's inspectors patrolled the halls like shadows that had learned to walk upright.
And above them all, Envoy Yue glided from room to room with calm precision, as if every inch of the mountain already belonged to her.
She had barely spoken to me since the night she found me near the meditation chamber.
And that, frankly, was terrifying in its own quiet way.
I delivered the tea to the Sect Master's office and set the tray down with careful hands. The steam curled up, a small, soft rebellion against the cold air.
"Thank you," Shen Qianhe said without looking up.
His tone was as calm as always, but the faint circles under his eyes said he hadn't slept either.
"The Envoy requested another round of energy tests," I said.
"So I've been informed," he replied. "Heaven never stops measuring what it can't understand."
"Perhaps they're just very curious," I said.
He looked up. "Curiosity is only kind when it has limits."
He returned to reading, and for a moment the room was silent except for the faint sound of ink drying.
Outside, the clouds pressed closer against the windows, making the world feel wrapped and watching.
When I left his office, the courtyard was full of Heaven's aides setting up another mirror—smaller than the one before, but brighter. They said this one was for reflections of intent.
Which sounded poetic until you remembered they were checking if anyone was secretly evil.
I skirted the edge of the courtyard, pretending to read from my ledger. If I looked busy enough, I'd be invisible.
That was the theory, anyway.
"Assistant Lin," a voice called.
So much for theory.
Envoy Yue stood near the mirror, hands folded neatly. Her silver hairpin caught the faint light like a sword's edge.
"Envoy," I said, bowing. "You wanted me?"
"Inspector Rui tells me you manage internal communication," she said. "You'll assist me today."
"Of course," I said quickly. "What do you require?"
"Transparency."
That was not the answer I was hoping for.
The inspection began.
I stood beside her as disciples approached the mirror one by one. The glass shimmered with faint colors—blue for honesty, green for hesitation, gray for fear. It was like watching a painting of emotions.
Yue's expression never changed. Her eyes moved once, twice, then she made notes on a slim silver tablet.
When the third disciple stepped up, the mirror flashed a weak red. The crowd gasped.
The poor boy paled. "I—I'm not hiding anything!"
Yue didn't blink. "Red doesn't mean guilt. It means attachment. Who do you care for, disciple?"
The boy looked like he wanted to dissolve into vapor. "Um—everyone?"
"That's a lie," Yue said mildly. "You may go."
He stumbled away, face burning.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Between each test, Yue handed me her notes to transcribe. Her handwriting was elegant but precise—like calligraphy trying not to have feelings.
At one point she said quietly, "The Sect Master's people are well-trained."
"They try," I said.
"And you?"
"I alphabetize them," I said.
Her lips twitched, though not quite into a smile. "Clever. You hide unease with humor."
I blinked. "Only professionally."
"Does your profession require much fear?"
"Only during inspections."
Her eyes met mine. "Then you're in the right place."
That was somehow both comforting and horrifying.
By afternoon, the tests ended. Heaven's mirror shimmered once more and dimmed. Disciples scattered to whisper about what their colors meant. Yue turned to me.
"You've been helpful," she said.
"Thank you."
"I'll need a list of everyone who's accessed the upper halls in the last ten days."
"Of course," I said. "I'll have it ready by sunset."
She tilted her head. "You seem nervous."
"I'm always nervous," I said truthfully. "It keeps me efficient."
Her gray eyes softened, just for a breath. "Good. Efficiency is useful."
Then she walked away, robes whispering against the stone like quiet thunder.
I exhaled only after she vanished down the hall.
Then I slumped against the nearest column.
"Congratulations," I muttered to myself. "Still not smited. That's progress."
"Talking to yourself again?" a calm voice said.
I jumped. Shen Qianhe was standing a few steps away, watching with mild curiosity.
"I find it's the most honest company," I said quickly.
His gaze flicked toward the empty courtyard. "She kept you close."
"She said she wanted transparency."
"And gave you none," he said.
"That sounds about right."
He looked at me for a long moment, the faintest crease forming between his brows. "Be careful, Lin Xue. Heaven doesn't choose its proximity by accident."
I smiled faintly. "Neither do mountains."
For the first time, he looked almost caught off guard—just a flicker, there and gone.
Then he said, "Come to my office after sunset. Bring the list the Envoy requested."
"Yes, Sect Master."
"And Lin Xue."
"Yes?"
"Be sure to make two copies."
That evening, I worked by lamplight, copying names with careful strokes. My room was quiet except for the soft scratch of the brush and the occasional creak of the floorboards.
Outside, the clouds pressed low enough to touch the window.
When the ink dried, I sealed both lists in wax—one with Heaven's mark, one without—and carried them through the silent halls.
In the Sect Master's office, Shen Qianhe stood by the window, watching the sky.
Lightning flickered faintly inside the clouds, but no thunder followed. It was light trapped without sound.
"Your list," I said, placing both scrolls on the desk.
He opened the one without the Heavenly mark first. His eyes scanned the names, stopping halfway down.
"Three disciples accessed the upper hall after hours," he said.
"Yes, Sect Master."
"Two of them were on guard duty. The third?"
"Yin Fei," I said softly. "The boy who turned red."
He nodded slowly. "Interesting."
When he looked up again, his expression was unreadable. "Keep the official version safe. The other—deliver to the Envoy."
"Of course."
I hesitated at the door. "Sect Master?"
"Yes?"
"If Heaven asks what we're hiding…"
He looked out at the motionless sky. "Tell them the truth."
"What truth?"
"That even mountains have hearts," he said.
I walked out into the mist, clutching the official scroll.
Somewhere deep inside the mountain, the relic pulsed once, as if answering.
And for the first time since the bells fell silent, I realized how quiet my own heart had become trying to match Heaven's rhythm.
Maybe it was time to let it beat again.