Within the spaces of the grand palace walls, all was silent, except the sound of a choking voice.

For those who walked these halls, this was normal. In the center of an expansive auditorium, two men were connected by a tightened fist. Long, thin fingers wrapped tightly around a pale neck, squeezing as if it were trying to pull out every word of unspoken secrets. A vacant gaze of gold weighed heavy, attempting to pass on some sort of judgment. Those eyes were glazed over like delicate honey, yet they offered not a drop of sweetness.

This event was one of thousands; over and over again, this dream began. The future persisted and made itself known with a single fact: This scene would eventually become reality. It lingered with a threat, and heavy thoughts of demise came packed with a promise of ruin.

Fu Ran’s fingers grasped at his own throat.

Fu Ran had been reassured many times that his ailments should improve as he aged, but no matter what changes occurred, he had been tormented with recurring nightmares since he was young. While some dreams came and then disappeared, as most would, this particular dream had never vanished.

Foresight was a curse. Fu Ran’s fingers clutched onto his neck, unsurprised that it had grown clammy. The lasting anxiety had forcefully tightened his nails, leaving marks of frustration into the pale skin. Having visions visit him when he channeled for them was one thing, but those that came in the dead of night were…. Unwanted.

"Gold. It isn’t pretty at all," Fu Ran said, his words hoarse, and his breathing still heavy. His face and back were uncomfortably hot, and his thin white robes were soaked deep with sweat. To die at the hands of the same person, nearly every night… Is far too much!

Remnants of gold occupied his mind. Even while full of rage, those eyes shimmered, and would have looked so lovely under an atmospheric light. During any other time, Fu Ran would have admitted that they were the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. But not when they visited him at night.

Fu Ran balled up a fistful of silky white bed sheets, and brought it up to his forehead. He desperately wiped at the beads of sweat coating his skin. His lungs heaved. They were forced to work erratically, as his heart drummed out of rhythm.

It took longer than usual in regaining it's normal pace. There was no need to return to sleep at this point, as the bright morning had painted colors through the window behind his bed. This would not stop him from mindlessly lying in bed and allowing his thoughts to wage mental warfare, however.

“I'm awake, Im awake,” Fu Ran murmured. His eyes distantly locked onto ceiling planks, and his voice, soft and weary, covered the entire tea house building. Spoken words served as proof that he was alive, and very unlike the state of his dream-self. 

Knocking noises came from the door, shifting into a barrage of bangs before he could even respond. Before now, Fu Ran forgot that he had other obligations today, that he had more important matters... but he didn't want to attend to them at all.

Shoulders stiffening, Fu Ran nervously looked towards the entrance.

After banging more than a dozen times, the sound of assault was joined with a deep voice. "Fu Shidi, you can't miss our meeting by sleeping in again. Not this one, it is one of the few important ones in the year." The tone, ever familiar, was full of anger, and caused Fu Ran’s brows to furrow.

Because of his extended silence, the man growled and then let out and audible sigh.

Fu Ran didn’t want to see Zhi Lao, right now, so he turned his shoulder to lay back onto the comfortable mattress, wishing he could ignore the words.

“If you aren't getting up on your own, I’m coming inside,” Zhi Lao said, alongside the immediate sound of his sliding door.

Fu Ran’s eyes widened, and he nearly shot right up into a full sitting position. "Zhi Shixiong, no! Please, don't come in!" he cried.

Zhi Lao had made great haste in entering into the sparsely decorated bedroom.

Fu Ran grit his teeth and his fists shook in frustration. Zhi Shixiong, when you barge in without permission, you make me want to see you even less! Why must this be a daily occurrence as of late? He wanted so badly to say those words, but it was so hard to speak more than a single sentence when every time his martial brother barged in, he looked so full of rage.

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Zhi Lao made heavy steps to Fu Ran’s bedside, and crossed his arms. His tired and masculine features were a fright to see in the dead of night, and who knew they continued to be terrible to see in even in the morning pinks, as it did little to hide his threat. With the way he always wore that scowl on his face, it was no wonder that he needed to do things so violently.

It might have also been hard to tell that he was usually so kind.

Zhi Lao stood, towering over Fu Ran with a deep, sunken in frown, and his eyebrows were knitted in exasperation. His stance was more cold than usual, more annoyed at the sleepy and tired behavior of his younger martial brother. Light blue robes swayed with the readjustment of his legs and he began to repeatedly tap his foot on the ground like an angry wife. "Get up," Zhi Lao growled.

Fu Ran looked appalled at the blunt demand and turned his nose up. In his defense, he argued, "I am up!" He knew he was merely being contrary at this point so he wasn’t terribly shocked when a fist harshly patted down on the edge of his mattress. It did not harm and it only shook him with a light bounce.

"Fu Shidi, you know what I mean. Get out of bed. You will go greet the disciples." Zhi Lao sharpened his gaze to clarify that he intended to give no room for debate.

It wasn’t good to raise your tone at an ‘angry wife,’ so Fu Ran just rolled his eyes, finally getting up with no more coaxing. He donned his favorite purple and gray robes and picked up the white sword that lay next to him on bed, before following his Shixiong to the courtyard.

It was spring and the flowers and trees atop the mountain sect were in full bloom. Usually, only his own private garden was covered in year-round pink and purple petal rain. However, today, flowers covered every inch of the near sterile white stone. Most of them had already been swept up into piles, but the flow of new colorful buds was constant.

The meeting that Fu Ran was about to be late for, was that sect-wide entrance ceremony for the newest upcoming disciples. He had been hearing about it for a solid two weeks now, so he truly did have no reason to try and avoid it now. Every year the beginning of spring marked the wave of any new entries into the sect. With new children, it meant new disciples for the Peak Masters of An Xian Yun Peak. Some Masters took on many, and some turned away all.

Despite being the singular major cultivation sect left in the nation, An Xian Yun Peak only housed about two dozen Masters. Many of them were busy, and had been forced to take on many disciples to ease their burden and workload of the rest of the cultivation world. But Fu Ran had been lazing about for three whole years now, and not taking a single one. This did cause a bit of an imbalance in the amount of jobs being completed.

Just his presence alone seemed to give the gathering of Peak Master’s a more stiff air. They, no doubt, held their own reservations against Fu Ran’s ill fitting behavior. Some even scoffed when he walked near.

How can I take on disciples, when I rely on Zhi Shixiong for such simple tasks?

Fu Ran spared only a single reluctant glance towards Zhi Lao. He felt guilty, like he had been taking advantage of his martial brother’s kindness and reliability. Lamenting was put on hold when he heard distant gossip closing in as a few of the lady Peak Master’s walked by. "Did you hear that a unique little disciple is looking for a Shizun this year?"

Fu Ran mentally chastised the women as they passed. To gossip so boldly just before a large ceremony? 

The lady in dark blues chuckled and didn't try to hide her excitement. "Is it about the new emperor's son?"

Just moments before he had been wanting to badmouth the girls for their idle chatter, but he was immediately drawn in. "New!?" He couldn't keep from shouting. And just as easily as he had complained about it, he found himself joining in on the gossip, instead. Startled, Fu Ran asked, "Since when was there a new emperor?"

He looked to his martial brother in horror, and changed his accusations to a new target. “Zhi Lao, why didn’t you tell me! This is such simple news, and to not even be aware of this is far too shameful!” Fu Ran really wanted to nag him, but Zhi Lao paid him no mind, as he had already begun reprimanding the gossiping women.

Fu Ran opened his mouth to demand answers again, but before he could question his Shixiong, he heard a bell. That bell signified that the bottom gates of the mountain sect had opened. It was such minimal mental overload, but it already caused his head to ache. This only solidified what he already knew: This year too, he didn’t want any disciples.

He wanted to go gather dust.

As if reading his mind, Zhi Lao said, "You can't go another year without taking a disciple, you know. I've already taken on raising most of yours from previous years." Zhi Lao was both the kindest, and the worst person on this mountain peak.

Fu Ran pursed his lips quickly, not daring to utter denial of his martial brother’s words. He silently lost himself in self reflection. What a terrible Shizun he was. His own dreams, thoughts and predictions had bedridden him to the point of affecting the lives of others.

Thinking of his previous disciples made him feel pity. After all, Zhi Lao was not the easiest to mentor under.

Before his sulking could hit full swing, the second bell of An Xian Yun Peak rang, and the upper gates of the sect had opened up. The large doors moved and remained open for a long while. A distant army of footsteps could be heard against stone stairs. When the first group of bright-eyed children were seen, Fu Ran could immediately tell they had all come from so many backgrounds.

Some of the children present appeared delicate and refined, as if their only hobbies were singing, picking flowers, and playing. Others had a rougher look about them, as if they had grown up in tougher cities where cunning was a way of life. But all in all, the children attending the ceremony were between the ages of 10 to 16, their little faces all trying their best to put on brave and confident expressions.

Fu Ran knew this scene well, as he had once stood in their very spot as a young disciple of the sect. As he watched the children's eyes dart around, sizing up the different masters, a small smile appeared on his face despite his earlier panic