The early sun filtered through thin curtains, warm and quiet.
Wei Ran sat cross-legged on the wooden porch outside their home, fingers resting lightly on his knees. A single leaf floated down from the tree overhead, landing beside him without a sound. He didn't move. Just watched.
Two years. That's how long it had been since he opened his eyes again.
At first, the world had felt foreign. The sounds, the smells, the people calling him by a name that felt too light for the weight in his chest. But the warmth had come quickly. Soft hands. Familiar smiles. A sister who clung to him like the stars would fall if she let go.
Now, the strangeness had dulled. He didn't need to pretend.
This life—whatever it was—felt real enough.
"Gege!"
The screen door slid open with a thud.
A blur of movement and dark braids launched toward him. Wei Ran barely had time to brace himself before arms wrapped around his shoulders.
"You didn't eat breakfast again!"
He smiled gently. "I wasn't hungry."
"You say that every day." Wei Yilin puffed her cheeks, clearly unconvinced. She was dressed in a simple gray tunic tucked into soft training pants, her braids tied with tiny green strings. Her eyes sparkled like spring water. "If you skip meals, how are you going to grow strong and protect me when I'm old and frail?"
"You're not even seventeen."
"That's practically ancient." She poked his forehead. "Come on. Mother made sweet rice this morning!"
His eyebrows rose slightly. "I love sweet rice."
"…Huh?" Her face scrunched in suspicion. "You never liked it before. You always said it was too sticky. Did you hit your head again?"
"Maybe I did," he said, flicking her forehead gently.
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "You like different things. You act different. You even smell different!"
Wei Ran raised an eyebrow. "I smell?"
"Not bad!" She beamed. "Just… like wind and trees and tea leaves. It's nice."
He laughed softly. "Maybe I just grew up a little."
"You're too calm for someone who used to glare at butterflies."
"That bad?"
"You wouldn't even talk to me unless I tripped in front of you. Now you braid my hair."
Wei Ran picked up the leaf by his side and held it out to her.
"Maybe I was just asleep before."
Yilin grinned and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I like the awake you better. Don't go back to sleep, okay?"
He didn't answer. Just reached out and ruffled her hair gently.
Their home sat near the quiet edge of Floor 5—one of the Rootless Floors, a peaceful village nestled among long hills and scattered farms. It was far from the floors of cultivation. Here, people lived quiet lives. No clans. No Daos. Just harvest seasons and shared bread.
Most people here were born to serve.
To plow land, deliver goods, mend robes for cultivators they'd never meet.
But even in the stillness, things were shifting.
Wei Ran could feel it in his breath.
Qi.
A subtle hum beneath his skin, like water pressing against glass. It didn't listen to him, but it didn't ignore him either. Like a shadow that waited. Or a promise not yet spoken.
He hadn't told anyone.
Not even Yilin.
Later that morning, he helped their father mend the roof of a grain shed. Wei Shen worked in silence, handing tools without asking. He didn't speak much, but the glances he gave Wei Ran—careful, almost reverent—spoke enough.
Their mother, Wei Yue, was all warm voice and soft strength. She spent her mornings drying herbs and counting medicinal roots. Yilin followed her like a kitten, asking a hundred questions, earning a hundred smiles.
And Wei Ran… watched.
Memorizing it all.
The Tower sent word last week.
It was time for another round of aptitude testing.
Every seventeen-year-old had to be screened—for cultivation or for usefulness. Most would fail. Some would be taken.
Taken to clean, to serve, to be molded into something useful for the higher floors.
Wei Ran had been tested once—or so his parents claimed.
They said he had a broken Dantian. A shadow of what could've been.
But something had changed.
Now, the silence inside him pulsed with something new.
That night, Yilin knelt beside the old courtyard lantern, placing flat stones in a spiral. She did it every night—an old superstition passed down from villagers who believed the stones brought safety and luck.
"For balance," she whispered.
"Superstition," Wei Ran replied.
"You still sit with me."
"Doesn't mean I believe it."
She stuck her tongue out at him, then returned to her stones. "Mother says balance keeps the Qi flowing smooth. Even if it's just an old tale."
He didn't answer. Just watched the spiral grow.
Later, after dinner and chores, the quiet of their shared room settled in like soft mist.
Wei Ran sat on the bed, cross-legged, a small wooden comb in hand. Yilin sat on the floor before him, hugging a pillow, her hair loose down her back.
He parted her hair gently, combing through the strands with careful fingers.
"Be honest," she said. "You really don't remember anything before the coma?"
He paused, comb still in place. Then slowly shook his head.
"Just… feelings, maybe. Sounds. But not enough to make sense of anything."
Yilin fell quiet for a moment before whispering, "That's kind of sad.
He continued combing. "Not really. Maybe it means I get to start fresh."
She smiled faintly. "You're definitely less scary now."
Wei Ran rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in the motion.
"I mean it," she said. "You used to keep everything inside. Like you were made of stone."
He gathered one of her braids and started tying it with a thin green ribbon.
"I think," he murmured, "maybe I was just really tired back then."
Yilin leaned her head back just enough to look up at him.
"But I'm glad you're my Gege."
Wei Ran smiled and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
The lantern outside flickered once in the wind.
Yilin hugged her knees. "Do you think… if the Tower chooses me… will I be able to come back someday?"
Wei Ran looked at her.
The sister who waited for two long years, sitting by his bedside.
The one who never asked for anything in return, not even once.
"…If they take you," he said quietly, "I'll bring you back."
Yilin blinked.
Then smiled.