Everything about his vision was vastly different from the inn room. Though, in truth, it should have been expected. He fell asleep, so of course there was only one logical expectation for what would happen next: A dream. Like clockwork, the white tiled hallways came into view, the guards, the throne room, and gold. It repeated like it always had before, and when he found himself strung up by his neck, he shouldn’t have been shocked. But when the tightness returned, and he could no longer breathe, his heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears.

Choking and gasping, he fought at the firm arm. He was caught in a familiar dance, and he knew the routine, but this time was different.

It was Tian Han.

When this dream plagued him before, he didn’t know that name. Fu Ran’s eyes filled with burning tears, and when Tian Han looked at him, he tried to hide the pained expression. Tian Han’s eyes no longer appeared complex, like they did in the alleyway. Only blankness filled the golden sheen.

Fu Ran hated this, because it felt so wrong. Pangs of rage built up in his chest, and he yelled, “Tian Han!” Fu Ran had never spoken this name before in his dreams. He didn’t think he was capable. But today, his mind didn’t just see a tyrant emperor.

Weakly, his fingers rested upon Tian Han’s hands. He had little strength, so he couldn’t grip them, or pry them away, but the simple touch seemed to shake the tyrant. “Tian Han, please,” he begged, words coming out hoarse and pitiful.

For once Tian Han’s face wasn’t full of rage, or threat. The whites around his gaze were heavily visible and the skin in between on his brow crinkled. Going against expectation, Fu Ran’s words seemed to have touched him more deeply than first thought, because the choking sensation subsided abruptly.

Fu Ran crashed into the ground, hard and messily, unable to catch himself on powerless arms. It was a battle to catch his breath, since each cough reset his progress.

When he pulled his face up, he didn’t expect Tian Han to still be looming over him, and he especially didn’t expect the look of sheer terror. Tian Han froze in fright, looking over Fu Ran’s current condition. Shakily, he asked, “Shizun?”

Clearly, even he didn’t believe the questions he asked, as his voice warbled with both syllables.

He wasted no time in stating his next action clearly, “I’m leaving.”

There were no angry words of: “You are dismissed.” Instead, he made a quick escape. At least one thing remained the same… Fu Ran was finally left in silence. Once the door shut, there would be little noise for a while.

Fu Ran touched his neck and winced. It’s different this time, he thought. It… really fucking hurts. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and plopped, splattering, onto the white gilded tiles.

The tyrant had released him quicker, sure, but when Fu Ran had called his name, the grip tightened, and his fingers dug into his throat deeply. The change was significant enough to create silent, looming terror. Now that he was left alone with his thoughts, he had no other emotions to display, so his body was wrecked by shivers.

His hands desperately clutched at the gilded tiles beneath his fingers, trying to push to his knees, but found nothing other than smoothness. Because he didn’t have the energy to hold himself upright, he let his body collapse back onto the cold floor.

His lungs puffed for several moments, until he managed to roll onto his back. I am unaware if that was a good decision or a bad one. But I do not wish to make it again.

The ceiling view somehow brought him some comfort. Not a bit of the building appeared aged, and even the rafters were cleaned and polished. He got lost in the fine floral decorations on the carved wood banisters. The decorations all around this palace were that of wisteria petals, or sometimes a rogue branch with full flowers. Seeing a familiar sight, and laying on his back, really helped to alleviate his pains.

Once he felt he could, he pushed to his knees.

The voice of a young man rang into Fu Ran’s ears, right when he tried to stand. “I have been given the order to guide Seer Fu back to his room, now.” He hadn’t noticed the door open up in his struggle, but in the open archway, there stood a messily dressed guard with tousled black hair.

The fortune teller could hardly make out the dark eyes under the mop of bangs. It looked like he had been forcing the ends of his lips to rise, but a thick layer of sweat could be seen at the base of his neck.

It made sense for the sight to shock him, since no one else in their right mind would regularly abuse someone they are keeping in their palace. But still, the guard’s nervousness went past the usual reaction. He even looked a touch offended.

When the guard offered his hand, he waited patiently, taking time to look over Fu Ran’s condition. He seemed content when Fu Ran finally took the offer for aid.

“Thank you,” Fu Ran kept it short and sweet.

The trip back to his room felt like its own epic journey. Fu Ran clutched at his neck the entire walk, as, somehow, the pressure made it easier to breathe. That and using the guard to support half his weight, make moving easier.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” The guard grumbled, voice deep and accusatory.

Stolen novel; please report.

“The tyrant emperor—” Fu Ran sharply inhaled breaths. The pain seared as he spoke, and he choked on his words. A comfortable rub to his back soothed him, if only a little.

The guard reassured him, “Ah hey, don’t talk. It’s alright.”

Fu Ran didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He couldn’t even walk and breathe at the same time, and because of this, the trip to his room was made at least double in length.

After an arduous struggle, finally he recognized the door in front of him.

When the guard opened it, he actually propped along the door frame preventing Fu Ran from entering immediately. “Do ya need anything at all? Medicine? Or some ice? Have you eaten?” The guard’s inspection had landed upon Fu Ran’s neck and saw the wounds. “Actually, food is no good… It looks bad today.”

“It’ll heal.” Fu Ran regretted speaking, immediately. After just finding out how badly it hurt, why would he do it again? He winced, and stressed out his next sentence, “Do not worry about this mere fortune teller.”

“But--!”

“No buts,” Fu Ran ruffled the guards black locks.

The guard’s expression lowered into a frown, as if “no buts” really was the end of the conversation. His brows furrowed and he messily ran a hand through his hair and grumbled, “Alright, Shizun.”

That’s strange, Fu Ran thought. Why, again, do so many people choose to call me Shizun when I am such a poor excuse for one?

He kept a polite smile on his face up until the door had shut, and the guard was long gone. The weight of having to keep up airs finally melted away and, with his bed in view, he lifted his foot and took a heavy step. Only a few feet of distance was made, before his knees gave out, dropping him to hard tile. Now a new pain to add to his growing list of injuries. He laid there chuckling pitifully to himself.

He couldn’t even make it to the bed.

Yet again he touched his neck, the inviting sensation of having a new bruise on the body meant he had to poke it. He gave the tender skin a gentle press and squeeze. With the way his breath came out in a wheeze, he felt as though his windpipe had collapsed. It’s possible, he laughed dryly.

Sleep wasn’t what he wanted, nor was it anything he felt he needed, but the coolness of the stone tile felt terribly relaxing against his flushed skin.

***

When the fortune teller next opened his eyes, it was dark.

It had always been like this. The empty spaces in his mind couldn’t connect the two scenes together, and it felt like he was jumping from one event to another. An icy chill touched his wrists. They were chained above his head firmly.

His back was pressed up against cold stone and, with each breath, he could taste the humidity in the air and get a vague sense of mold. He wrinkled his nose on instinct, as if he hadn’t woken up in this familiar scene many times before. With a simple yank of his wrists, the chains scraped against the wall. Metal dragging along rock made such a terrible screeching noise.

Fu Ran grit his teeth at the self-inflicted pain on his ears.

Just as he was hurling curse words in his mind, he heard a different type of squeaking. He stiffened up. The door to this dingy dungeon opened up, and he immediately quieted his struggling. Despite knowing the script of the next scene, his heart thumped like it was the first time all over again.

Fu Ran waited, counting the steps of boots on stone tile. There would be 13 taps exactly.

At ten he opened his mouth, “Tian Han?” Fu Ran held his rage and tried to keep his words sounding as kind as possible. He had hoped the figure would stop sooner, but it was just in view past the edge of the wall. The Tyrant Emperor’s face was only slightly visible, but clear enough to see the horror shift into his eyes.

The gold of his eyes were completely invisible from this distance, but what could be seen were terrified whites. The dark and dreary lighting obscured most of him, but the black blade in his hand shook. It was unsteady because the knuckles holding onto it also couldn’t keep still.

Wincing, Fu Ran felt an ache of sadness. On that blade, he could see the carvings that he had held so many times. He could practically feel their curves without even touching. The tassel, red now, hung about a foot away from Tian Han’s knuckles. “Shi Wei Ji,” he muttered, words inaudible.

There was only one redeeming feature about this dream, and that was the shifts in the atmosphere. Seeing Tian Han frozen like a frightened prey animal, almost made Fu Ran feel like he had some sense of authority over his dream, for once. With one name, the mood was different.

But, how foolish he was to think he had any amount of control over his trauma.

Shi Wei Ji was raised and swung, and Fu Ran‘s eyes screwed shut. A loud clang was followed by terrifyingly thunderous sounds of metal against stone. The bars had been treated as if they were made of paper, and Shi Wei Ji sliced through them with such ease.

As beads of sweat reappeared on his skin, Fu Ran shook. When he opened his eyes the tyrant emperor loomed, his brows drawn into rage.

“Why do you say that name in front of me…?” Tian Han asked. He kicked the slices of metal bars to the side, and stepped into the cramped dungeon.

Fu Ran swallowed, and he fought out panicked demands, “...back …Stay back…”

Words of panic did nothing to stop the encroaching danger, and Fu Ran wished he could suddenly withdraw into the wall behind him.

“Why…?” Tian Han continued to ask questions. His face was twisted in agony and pain. He was suddenly looking more like himself now; a realistic expression seen on Tian Han’s face. Rather than the anger that didn’t suit him.

“Why wouldn’t I… call you by your name?” Fu Ran asked.

Tian Han appeared stunned. “You want me to become Tian Han?” His face started to slowly mesh into one Fu Ran hated, he was seething. His mouth shaped into a snarl as he continued his speaking, “You don’t know what you are asking for. At the moment, you are treated like something precious. Or have you forgotten how Tian Han treated you?”

Never had this been spoken so blatantly in his dream before. But still, he felt urged to answer, “Tian Han has treated me…”

How had Tian Han treated him?

While in his dreams, the behaviors could be considered terrible, bloodthirsty, defiant, cruel, and many more suitable things to the tyrant emperor. But Tian Han in real life was different.

Tian Han made him sweets even when he acted like he didn’t want them. He didn’t even know when it began, or how Tian Han knew his favorite snacks.

Tian Han would prepare tea, give thoughtful gifts, and offer random acts of sweet kindness. Tian Han even did much of the heavy lifting when he didn’t want to, as seen during his whimsical efforts in digging up an entire graveyard. Tian Han never complained, and never questioned why Fu Ran treated him badly, nor did he blame for improper actions.

What Fu Ran felt was: confusion.

Something in his git made him ill. The thoughts he firmly believed for years and years, suddenly didn’t line up with the words he wanted to say: “He treats me nicely.”

This is not right. Fu Ran believed that he should be feeling afraid, because the most horrid man he knew stood right before him. But somehow, he did not see a monster. Instead, his mind was downplaying the horror, and pushing away his fear. It was telling him that—even with slim chances—could his dreams be wrong…?

Before his thoughts could prove anything to him, he woke up.