The first day in the Cloud Recesses was silence carved into air. White-robed disciples moved in perfect order, voices hushed, steps light as if even the ground demanded respect. Boys sat neatly on the left, girls on the right, each row flawless in its discipline.

You stood out—not through rebellion, but through the faint chime that followed when you walked. A necklace of tiny bells, almost hidden, whispered with every movement. Most dismissed it as a trivial ornament. But not everyone.

Lan Wangji’s brush halted mid-stroke the moment he heard it. The sound cut through the silence like a thread of color in white snow. His gaze flickered, cool and unreadable, but it returned again and again, drawn to the sound’s source—you.

Across the aisle, Wei Wuxian noticed too, but his reason was far less solemn. His grin stretched wide as he folded a slip of paper, flicking it toward your sleeve. You unfolded it to find a crooked doodle of bells with messy words beneath: “That noise was you, wasn’t it?”

You bit back a laugh, tucking the paper away before the teacher caught you. But the soft jingle betrayed you again, and this time Lan Wangji’s eyes locked onto yours. No words, no expression—just silence that lingered.

Lessons dragged on with recitations of the Three Thousand Rules. Heavy, endless. Yet all you felt was Wei Wuxian’s smirk and Lan Wangji’s quiet, steady glances.

When class ended, disciples scattered—girls guided to one side, boys to the other. You should’ve vanished into the crowd, but Wei Wuxian slipped past rules as easily as breathing, appearing at your shoulder.

“So,” he whispered, mischief in his tone, “do the bells always sing for you, or only when I’m close enough to hear?”

You rolled your eyes, ready to brush him off, when another voice—low, firm, absolute—cut the air.

“Wei Ying.”

The smile dropped. Wei Wuxian straightened, guilty and sheepish. Slowly, he turned to find Lan Wangji standing just a step behind. His face betrayed nothing, but his presence was heavy enough to silence the entire world.

Wei Wuxian coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “See? I told you. He notices everything.”

For the briefest moment, Lan Wangji’s gaze shifted—not at Wei Wuxian, but at you.

Training began soon after, blades flashing under the mountain sun. Wei Wuxian joked his way through every stance, earning sharp corrections. Lan Wangji moved like steel and water, precise and unshaken. You tried to focus, but it wasn’t long before Wei Wuxian stumbled, laughing, nearly crashing into another disciple. Without thinking, you caught him by the sleeve, steadying him like one would a reckless younger brother.

“Careful,” you muttered, almost instinctively, like a mother scolding a child.

Wei Wuxian only laughed harder, but Lan Wangji’s sword froze mid-motion. His eyes lingered, unreadable, as though memorizing the way you stood between chaos and calm.

Noise returned to the courtyard, but you didn’t notice. The silence you had carried in with your bells seemed to settle again, unseen by all—except him.

And somewhere in that silence, something had already begun.