By the time dawn touched the clouds, my lamp had burned itself into a small mountain of wax.
The pile of reports on my desk looked perfectly innocent — neat handwriting, accurate dates, every seal pressed exactly where it should be.
If you didn't know what to look for, they were flawless.
If you did know, you'd see a quiet lie written between every line.
Because last night, I had written two versions of the same truth.
One for Heaven.
And one for Cloudrest.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my stiff fingers. The relic's faint hum reached me even from across the mountain — soft and steady, like a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
It wasn't glowing. It wasn't moving. It was just there, existing under the calm spell I'd set in the meditation chamber.
Safe, for now.
I touched the wax seal on the topmost scroll and whispered, "Let's hope you're convincing."
"Talking to paperwork again?" said a voice behind me.
I nearly dropped the inkbrush.
Shen Qianhe stood at the door, sleeves loose, expression unreadable. The early light from the window outlined him in pale gold. He looked like he belonged in a painting about calm judgment and subtle doom.
I stood quickly. "Sect Master! I was—uh—motivating the reports."
"Motivating," he repeated.
"Yes. It helps with morale."
He stepped inside. "Morale of the paper?"
"They work harder when appreciated."
That earned me one of his faint, unreadable pauses — the kind that might be disbelief, or might be mild amusement wearing a disguise.
"Inspector Rui requested a full copy by second bell," he said. "I'll review them first."
My brain froze.
Of course he would.
He was the Sect Master. Reviewing reports was his entire personality.
"Of course," I said, forcing a calm smile. "Please, take your time."
He walked to the desk, the sound of his steps soft against the stone floor. I stood very still as he picked up the first scroll.
The silence stretched. The only sound was the brush of paper and the quiet beat of my heart trying to break free from my chest.
He read the top sheet, the second, the third.
Then he stopped.
"You summarized the vault inspection efficiently," he said.
"Thank you," I said. "I was aiming for… efficient."
He nodded slightly, still reading. "But this section—'Heaven confirms relic energy dormant'—where did that information come from?"
My mouth went dry. "A field reading. Preliminary."
"By whom?"
I took a slow breath and said, "By me."
That was technically not untrue. I had taken a reading. Just not the kind he'd imagine.
He looked up, eyes steady. "You have training in spirit resonance?"
"Basic certification," I said. "For records accuracy."
That was a lie, and I was starting to feel like I needed another certification — in lying convincingly.
"Very well," he said after a moment. "You saved time."
Relief almost made me collapse, but I held my posture. "Efficiency," I said. "My best trait."
"Not your only one," he said quietly.
My heart skipped. "Pardon?"
"Nothing," he said, setting the scroll down. "Send the final copy to the inspector."
"Yes, Sect Master."
He turned to leave, then hesitated at the door. "You work too late."
"Efficiency," I repeated weakly.
This time, he didn't hide the faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Then he was gone.
I sat back down and buried my face in my hands.
"That," I whispered to the reports, "was far too close."
By the second bell, the sky had cleared. Mist still curled around the peaks, but the air smelled fresh, almost forgiving. I carried the reports through the courtyard to Heaven's tent.
Rui Yan was waiting, as if he had been standing there since the invention of dawn. His expression, as always, was the polite version of terrifying.
"Assistant Lin," he said. "I trust the Sect Master reviewed your work."
"He did," I said, handing him the stack.
He flipped through them, eyes skimming faster than any human's should. His fingers never smudged the ink.
"These are… precise," he said finally.
"Efficiency," I murmured.
He didn't laugh. "The Bureau values accuracy above all."
"Then we agree on something."
His eyes met mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, softly, "You've done this before."
My pulse jumped. "Prepared reports?"
"Balanced the truth."
I smiled politely. "Truth likes to wobble."
"Mm," he said, folding the papers closed. "We'll see how steady it stays."
Back in the main hall, Shen Qianhe stood with Elder Mei, discussing repairs to the south roof.
When he saw me, he gestured me over.
"Delivered?" he asked.
"Yes, Sect Master."
He nodded, but his gaze lingered on my face a moment longer than usual. "The inspector spoke to you?"
"He thanked me for efficiency."
"That's rare."
"I'm gifted," I said.
Elder Mei made a small sound that might've been a laugh. "Heaven's compliments usually come with knives attached."
"Then I'll use the compliment to deflect the knife," I said.
"Good girl," Elder Mei muttered.
Shen Qianhe's eyes glinted faintly. "You find humor in serious things."
"I find survival in humor," I said before I could stop myself.
He didn't reply right away. Instead, he looked toward the mist outside. "Heaven doesn't."
"I know," I said. "That's why I laugh quietly."
That afternoon, Cloudrest finally felt almost normal. Disciples swept the walkways. The rain had stopped, leaving puddles that caught bits of sky. I used the time to reorganize the scrolls the inspector's aides had scattered — a task that looked boring and therefore perfect.
Halfway through, I noticed a shadow cross the window.
When I turned, Shen Qianhe was standing just outside.
I opened the door. "Sect Master?"
He held up a letter sealed with golden wax. "This came from Heaven's courier. For you."
"For… me?"
His tone was unreadable. "Apparently the Bureau has many layers of communication."
He handed it to me. The seal shimmered faintly. It was real — a Heavenly order, direct.
I bowed. "Thank you, Sect Master."
He left without another word.
I shut the door, heart hammering. Then I broke the seal.
Report received.
Satisfactory containment noted.
Continue surveillance of Cloudrest Peak.
Further verification will arrive shortly.
Further verification.
Which was Bureau code for someone's coming to check your work.
I burned the letter instantly. The ash curled into neat spirals and vanished.
That evening, the Sect Master called a brief meeting in the main hall. Heaven's banners hung limp in the damp air. Disciples and elders gathered in neat lines.
"Inspector Rui will be extending his stay," Shen Qianhe announced. His voice was calm, but it echoed through the space like quiet thunder. "He claims to require additional data."
A few disciples murmured uneasily.
Elder Mei folded her arms. "Data," she muttered. "Or leverage."
"Both," I said softly.
Shen Qianhe's gaze flicked to me, but he said nothing. When the meeting ended, most of the disciples hurried out. He stayed behind, looking at the high windows where the rain streaks had dried into faint lines.
I lingered, hesitating. Finally, I said, "Permission to speak, Sect Master?"
"Granted."
"Heaven's extensions are… unusual. They usually send new inspectors."
"Yes," he said. "And yet, this one stays."
"Why?"
He looked at me then, eyes sharp but not unkind. "Perhaps Heaven fears what it doesn't control."
The words hung in the air like the after-sound of a bell.
"Do you?" I asked quietly.
"Fear or control?"
"Either."
He studied me a moment longer. Then, softly: "Both are illusions."
When I returned to my room, the mountain was quiet again. Lanterns floated in the courtyard pools, their reflections trembling with the wind.
I sat at my desk and opened a new page. The ink soaked into the paper like rain into earth.
I wrote,
Heaven's trust is a shadow.
It follows you only when you walk in their light.
Then I blew out the candle and let the darkness hold me.