The rain started in the middle of the night.
Not a drizzle. Not a storm.
Something in between — the kind of rain that sounds like thoughts you don't want to hear.
I couldn't sleep. The sound of it against the window felt too loud for silence and too quiet for peace.
So I lit a candle, put on my robe, and started reviewing ledgers no one would ever read twice.
Halfway through, someone knocked on my door.
Three soft knocks. Even. Careful.
"Sect Master," I said before I even opened it.
Shen Qianhe stood there, rain still sliding down his shoulders.
His white robe was damp at the edges, hair pulled loose from the usual tie.
He didn't look like the cold, perfect master of Cloudrest — he looked like someone who had walked through a storm and wasn't sure if he'd come back dry.
"May I enter?" he asked.
"Of course," I said quickly, stepping aside.
He didn't move right away. His eyes rested on the candle. "You don't sleep."
"Too many ledgers," I said. "And Heaven doesn't wait for tomorrow."
He gave a quiet sound — almost a laugh, almost a sigh — and came inside.
Raindrops dotted the floor where he stepped.
He stopped near my desk and glanced at the papers. "You copy them all by hand?"
"Efficiency," I said.
"Or trust issues."
"Both."
That earned me a faint, tired smile. The kind that felt unintentional.
For a moment we just listened to the rain.
It hit the roof in soft sheets, steady and endless.
Then he said, "Do you know why Heaven fears Cloudrest?"
I blinked. "Because you never fill your reports late?"
His eyes softened, but he didn't smile. "Because this mountain keeps what Heaven forgets."
He looked toward the window. "Before I was Sect Master, Heaven sent someone here to cleanse the old archives — their way of erasing history. But the records… changed. They began showing things that never happened. Or things that hadn't yet."
"That's not possible," I said.
"Neither is sharing a soul," he said quietly.
My breath caught.
He was watching me now — not accusing, not angry, just searching.
"I saw the relic's glow that night," he said. "The one in the chamber."
I forced a smile. "Many things glow. Fireflies, candles, divine bureaucracy …"
"Don't," he said softly. "Not tonight."
The wind pushed against the window. The flame leaned sideways, trembling.
He stepped closer. "Heaven said the relic was stolen. I think it called to you."
"Called to me?"
He nodded. "Like it recognized you."
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"Is it?" His voice dropped lower. "Do you dream, Lin Xue?"
"Sometimes."
"About what?"
"About falling," I said.
He looked at me for a long, quiet heartbeat. "Then we dream the same."
Thunder rolled far away — not loud, just long. The sound filled the room like a slow exhale.
He turned back toward the candle. The light traced the edge of his face, half in shadow.
"There's something Heaven will never tell you," he said. "About why Cloudrest was built here. About what sleeps beneath it."
I swallowed. "What sleeps beneath it?"
He looked down at the table. "A mirror that reflects souls. The relic you guard is only a fragment."
My pulse skipped. "And you knew this?"
"I built its seal," he said simply.
I stared at him. "You — you helped design the lock on something Heaven forbade?"
"I obeyed once," he said, voice soft. "Until Heaven punished someone I couldn't save."
The room went still. Even the rain seemed to pause to listen.
"Who?" I asked.
He looked up, eyes darker now. "My first assistant."
I didn't breathe for a second.
Outside, the thunder faded again, but the quiet left behind felt heavy.
"What happened to them?" I asked.
"Heaven erased their record. Their name. Their place in memory. I can't recall their face — only that I failed."
His words came evenly, but something underneath them trembled, quiet as the flame.
"I swore it would never happen again," he said. "That's why I watched you."
I blinked. "Watched me?"
He met my eyes. "To make sure history didn't repeat itself."
I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "So I'm a… historical experiment?"
"No." His voice softened. "A reminder."
The candle flickered once, steadying between us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The rain pressed against the window, patient and endless.
Finally, I said, "You shouldn't tell me this."
"I shouldn't do many things," he said quietly. "But Heaven already doubts me. What's one more truth?"
I looked at him — the calm man who carried silence like armor.
And for the first time, I saw the cracks in it.
He wasn't the mountain.
He was the echo inside it.
When he turned to leave, he paused at the door. "Lin Xue."
"Yes?"
"If the relic calls again… don't answer."
"I'll try," I said. "But it's very persistent."
That earned me the smallest smile — the real kind this time.
Then he stepped into the hall and was gone.
I stood for a long while, listening to the rain.
On the desk, the candle leaned, melted, and went out.
And from somewhere deep below the mountain, faint and distant as a memory, something answered.