His eyes widened and he twisted his neck towards Tian Han in a panic.
Tian Han responded near silently. “No sudden movements,” he said, holding his hand up in front of Fu Ran’s waist to keep him seated.
Like with all the other children, the auctioneer infuriatingly showed off the disciple’s body. His hand touched and pinched at unmoving cheeks. “And this is the most important thing that you all must see,” the auctioneer explained.
Applying just enough pressure to lift one of the boy's eyelids, he revealed a golden eye glazed over like honey. There was a terrible amount of delightful yelling in the audience. Men looked in awe and in wonder, and women made cooing noises as if they were looking at a precious gemstone. “Golden eyes!” the auctioneer cried out in joy.
Fu Ran was fighting the urge to knock Tian Han’s hand away and rush the stage. The sheer idea of anyone touching his disciple was… so many things: improper, indecent, villain-like, horrid behavior!
The roars of bidding had begun moments after.
“500 silver!” One guest finally held up his hand first, and yelled out a bid. Fu Ran wanted to slice him in two!
“That isn't nearly enough! 700 silver!” A woman desperately cried out holding onto the man at her side. She tacked on a small, “right? Dear?” The man beside her held up his hand and nodded. He threw out an even larger bid now.
The auction house filled with a large chorus of numbers.
720. 750. 800. 875. 900. The numbers kept rising. The richer guests were willing to throw out obscene amounts of money, disgusting amounts of money, for something unique like an amber-eyed boy.
“300 gold.”
There was a quiet silence over the room.
They had all turned to look near Fu Ran, and even his own attention had been drawn to the man beside him. Tian Han’s lips had taken on the appearance of a very calm and unbothered smile.
Fu Ran panicked. Now, where will he get that kind of money? I don’t even think I can gather up 500 silver, yet he throws out 300 gold like it is pocket coin? No one would believe that! He must already think he is the Tyrant Emperor.
The man on stage looked shocked, rightfully so, and asked for clarity, “300 gold?” Despite not being able to see past his mask, it was easy to tell he was astonished just like the rest of the individuals here. The highest Fu Ran had heard thrown around the auditorium was five or six gold pieces. That alone was much more than what most would deem, “worth it,” for a single disciple. Even if the disciple was from the world’s most well renowned sect, it was audacious.
When Tian Han walked to the stage, Fu Ran chased after. The tyrant once again pulled out that black piece of paper. The card read: guest class 0. The number stood out, written in white, but he couldn’t discern the meaning. His only assumption was that Tian Han must have spent a lot of money at the auction house.
Holding this card up to the auctioneer certainly seemed to put the masked man on edge. He immediately began to stumble over himself, this action supporting Fu Ran’s previous mental accusations.
In sheer shock, the auctioneer handed over the sleeping child to Fu Ran.
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With great haste, he checked over his injuries. He wanted to cry in relief, as he verified that Wan Yu was breathing. Instead, he called Wan Yu’s name a few times. As expected, he did not respond.
“Wan Yu… Wan Yu…” he muttered.
While Fu Ran gently rocked the disciple in his arms, a shrill creak filled the room, and the doors at the back of the auditorium entrance made a jostled noise. And soon they were fully open.
In the quiet, almost silent, room this creak was akin to a roar, forcing attention of all attendees.
His grip on Wan Yu tightened. Why would someone arrive late, when the last child was already sold? he thought.
No sooner than when the words had formed in his mind, did he come to a realization. It felt obvious now that things were working out a bit too smoothly. Was there a shred of possibility that someone knew Tian Han would come to the auction house looking for Wan Yu?
It didn’t feel like mental gymnastics to make that connection.
“Have we been… set up?” he asked.
Fu Ran shuddered at the sight of two men standing in the doorway. One didn’t seem all that strange, as it was clearly an older man fitting every rich aesthetic of Jinan. But the other…
The other left him with a terrible, gut wrenching feeling.
It was as though he was looking into a mirror. The man held features that were a perfect recreation of his own, if anything they only looked a touch more tired and aged. The only difference was that his hair fell in loose, messy strands, and he wore nothing but his white robes. Fu Ran really did think that fellow sect members, the ones who hadn’t seen him in a while, would definitely mistake the two.
“That one isn't for sale,” the older man said, first.
That voice sounded terribly familiar, but Fu Ran couldn’t place it. Backing up, child in hand, he hissed, "Who are you to make that decision? This is my disciple!" Fu Ran felt as though his head was going to produce steam.
"As the owner of this establishment, I have the right to use my own property as I wish. This includes making them into bait, and drawing in troublesome pests." Once he said his peace, he reached to his side to draw a rusted sword. It lacked all glimmer and clearly had been ill maintained for at least an entire decade. It was too dull to even slice apples!
With the first weapon shown, the crowd lit up in various states of surprise and fear. Some screamed, and some immediately took stand to back away.
With one arm supporting Wan Yu, Fu Ran pulled Shi Wei Ji from his sheathe and clutched it tightly. “You dare draw a pathetic blade against a Peak Master of An Xian Yun Peak?” he said, forcing away all wobble from his voice. He swallowed immediately after his declaration as it sounded far too wrong coming from him. That sentence was best left to people like Zhi Lao, or Jie Baihu, those with more martial training than him.
“Tian Han. Take Wan Yu,” Fu Ran demanded.
Tian Han was stunted, and just as shocked as Fu Ran, but when Wan Yu was shoved into his arms, he held onto him tightly.
Even Fu Ran could tell he was distracted by the sight of a reflection.
Fu Ran shot a glance at Shi Wei Ji in his hands. Does this constitute as dangerous enough, Shi Wei Ji? Will you show me something different since this threat is so immediate?
When Fu Ran closed his eyes and began to chant Shi Wei Ji’s spell, he heard movement: the deafening rustling of robes. “Shi Wei Ji, show me—” Fu Ran didn’t finish because a hand had firmly pressed down onto the white sword, forcing his eyes to shoot open in shock.
Disbelief had washed over him at the effortless speed his mirror put into stopping his movements. A deep fear had crept into Fu Ran’s chest. His heart drummed faster, and his sweaty palms struggled to lift Shi Wei Ji like there was a weight on his wrists.
Two finger’s was all it took to completely immobilize a Peak Master.
With a swallow, Fu Ran tried again, “Shi Wei Ji, show me! Now.”
The man in mourning robes spoke just one simple word: No.
The words weren't just a figment of his mind, so Fu Ran was aware that he hadn’t yet entered into a dream state. A simple demand of, “No,” had stopped Fu Ran’s blade from working.
Fu Ran mentally called for his sword to respond several times, but the blade only trembled in his grasp.
Pushing Shi Wei Ji into a submissive lower position, his reflection exerted more strength than he could muster in return.
Their expressions weren’t matching at all. Fu Ran wore fear, while this other image of himself snarled almost playfully. The color could be felt fleeing from his skin, as he met with pale, ghastly lavender eyes.