Fu Ran stepped into his rented room, the warmth of it wrapping around him like a familiar embrace. The soft glow of the lanterns made the reds and golds of the decorations shimmer subtly, casting a gentle light over the dark wooden walls. He ran a hand along the smooth surface of the table by the door, leaving his mask there with a clink.

This quiet was much nicer than the city.

It really hadn’t changed a bit. The air was one of luxury, and gradious, yet still offered hints of relaxation.

As soon as Fu Ran sat on his bed, he was joined by another: Tian Han had plopped down right beside him. “What is it?” Fu Ran asked with a lingering judgemental glance.

“Is something troubling you?”

“More than that Yi Yingzhi?” The way that name rolled off his tongue, made Fu Ran sound exasperated.

“Yes, more than that…”

“I’m thinking about work—something you could stand to do every once in a while.”

Tian Han chuckled, “Does Shizun not believe that I do my job?”

Fu Ran’s words had gone quiet, and before he knew it, he slumped forward with his hands on his knees. A dissatisfied breath escaped his lips.

“Shizun,” Tian Han tentatively pressed his palm to Fu Ran’s back. And just like that his voice had reacted to the Peak Master’s poor state, as if trying to comfort. “I know… You’re worried because the month is almost up.”

“...You already knew that?” Fu Ran asked softly.

“Even though you did not tell that to the children… I am aware of what happens when a month passes for a wandering spirit,” Tian Han replied.

“We are wasting time. And I don’t even know where to begin searching!”

Tian Han tried to look at Fu Ran’s lowered gaze, and cocked his head to the side, “Do you think we can not manage a few rogue spirits? They aren’t exactly as dangerous as Fall Corpses.”

A few rogue spirits? Is that what he thought this was? Fu Ran was taken aback, and quite frankly, annoyed by the sheer lack of situational understanding. “Tian Han! I’ve never even seen you hold a sword. If you have mastered it with such confidence, can you take on hundreds of evil spirits?”

Tian Han laughed. “No… No. It would be troublesome even for me. This one understands Shizun’s worries. However, if we prepare, even a large number won't be a threat.” The lack of worry in his tone made it no different than talks of a courtyard game.

“It is not a joke, Tian Han.” Fu Ran knitted his brows together and sighed. When he moved to stand, his wrist was hastily grabbed before he could get very far. “Release me—” Fu Ran demanded, his tone more snippy than anticipated.

The words barely left his lips, before Tian Han interrupted, “If this one makes good on his promises, would that improve Shizun’s mood?”

Fu Ran watched with obvious irritation, but couldn’t pull his wrist away. He was stuck at an arms-length. Hah. The minute he sees a chance, he shows me exemplary tyrant behavior. Fu Ran nearly rolled his eyes at the thought. He stepped closer to Tian Han, far into the realms of “personal space” and looked down the line of his nose.

“Fine, if you are going to act the child—what is it?” Fu Ran’s tone was harsh, like his lecturing teacher's voice. This seemed to strike a chord with the tyrant, because his expression took on a new, more fitting hue—bewildered embarrassment.

“This one… um,” Tian Han was stumbling over his words, an action that almost stole a line of laughter from Fu Ran. “This one promised to answer Shizun’s questions. If this one is knowledgeable on the subject, then the answer will be given.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

That was undeniably a good offer. Fu Ran remembered the earlier conversation in question, but he truly thought he may have more time to think it over. Who would have thought the time would come so soon?

It didn’t seem like the answers had to be repaid, so it seemed like an opportunity to gain intel for free. Such a rare chance, that he may never get again—But when he began to wrack his brain for ideas… nothing came.

There were a few more obvious lines of questioning, but they felt unsatisfying when he mentally thought about them.

Tian Han must have personally known more about Fu Ran, because everything he did was far too perfect. From the gifts that would make his heart flutter, to the food he liked for breakfast—nothing escaped an all knowing golden gaze.

However, simply asking “Why are you so perfect?” sounded absurd.

A secondary option would have been: How do you know the fake Fu Ran? But… Ever since his most recent dream of the tyrant emperor, Fu Ran didn’t want to cause more direct insult. When Tian Han met with the impostor the first time, his expression was frightened more than a kitten in the rain, and Fu Ran didn’t want to retrigger the memory.

So what was he supposed to do?

The more Fu Ran thought about it, the less he wanted to ask anything at all.

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Breaking the silence Tian Han, likely confused by the extended unresponsiveness, questioned, “Shizun?”

“I don’t know.”

Tian Han met with calm silence, and smiled. “That’s okay, Shizun has all the time in the world. Learning a little about me isn’t worth great stress.” He said such things with ease, and without a hint of hurt or injury, yet his eyes did lower to the floorboards.

Great, perhaps that wasn’t a good answer either, Fu Ran mentally whined.

He jolted at a sudden knock at his door. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he quickly pulled away from Tian Han.

“Shizun, are you home?” Wan Yu called from the other side.

Oh thank goodness. It’s just Wan Yu.

The boy entered after a word of acknowledgement.

“Good morning, Wan Yu. What is it?”

"I just have some questions..."

“Then, come in, and ask them.” Fu Ran motioned for Wan Yu to sit on the bed, as he shut the door; closing off the space from any prying ears. Irresponsibly, Tian Han didn’t even lift his head at the words of his son.

Wan Yu didn’t sit, but he instead stood awkwardly next to the bed. His eyes glanced around the room, between the balcony and his teacher. “How do you know if you’ve seen a spirit vessel?”

Fu Ran’s eyes widened. “Do you think you might have?”

“I don’t know.”

Fu Ran raised his eyebrows in thought. “Well, the most important visual indicator is that there should be a little mark somewhere on the item. This is without exception.”

“A mark?” Wan Yu lifted his head, now with a look of concern on his face.

Fu Ran nodded. “Indeed. It usually looks like a bone. It could be a crossbone or even a skull. Various bones are sacrificed when making curses for a spirit vessel, and the marks of which bone was used are often left behind.” He explained it to his young disciple with a hint of pride, but his curiosity was piqued. Did Wan Yu see something that prompted these questions? Normally, it would be proper for any student to show such interest, but with Wan Yu, it felt off. The boy rarely let his emotions slip, and now his whole demeanor seemed wrong.

I know the look of a disciple who is hiding something, Fu Ran thought.

“That will be all. Goodnight, Shizun,” Wan Yu said abruptly.

Fu Ran blinked, shaking his head in disbelief. Huh? You come to me at dawn with odd questions, and expect to leave without giving a proper reason? This little disciple got to ask his questions, now it's this Shizun’s turn!

“Please, sleep well.” Wan Yu bowed. He turned around, clearly intending to leave.

“Nuh-uh,” Fu Ran said, grabbing Wan Yu by the back of his robes and tugging. The boy’s little feet wobbled, his body jerking forward against his will. He might have fallen if not for Fu Ran serving as a human blockade, so instead Wan Yu stumbled right into his Shizun. The sudden movement caught Tian Han’s attention; his contemplative expression softened as he poked his head back into the room with curiosity.

“Is everything alright?” Tian Han chuckled, eyeing the pair.

Fu Ran was not laughing. While he had never pried into the nature of their relationship, whether Tian Han was an older brother or a father figure, one thing was clear—Tian Han was far too lax as a guardian! “No, everything is not alright. Clearly this child is hiding something, and you don’t seem bothered by it at all. Aren’t you his father?”

“Shizun, I’m not—!” Wan Yu cried, still trapped in Fu Ran’s firm grip.

Fu Ran’s frustration flared, and his fierce, disapproving gaze landed squarely on the boy. Wan Yu’s protest died in his throat, his lips quivering as panic widened his eyes. The boy rarely let his emotions slip, but this was different.

“Are you lying to this Shizun now, too?” Fu Ran demanded.

Wan Yu clamped his trembling lips shut, eyes filling with the weight of unshed tears. Perhaps Fu Ran had been a bit harsh, but this was no time for secrets. In the midst of a mission, withholding information was dangerous, and he would not stand for it.

Did you lie to this Shizun about taking an extra sweet pudding? Fine! Acceptable behavior for a child. Did you lie to this Shizun about plucking flowers from his prized tree? Fine! This Shizun would forgive that, too. But to keep silent about something that could be dangerous...

Fu Ran’s inner ranting was cut short when he noticed the way Wan Yu’s eyes welled with tears, big crystalline drops trembling at the edges. His breaths came in shaky, hiccuping bursts, and Fu Ran felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He regretted his harshness almost instantly, but this was still a lesson the boy needed to learn. His voice softened, and he gently patted Wan Yu’s back, hoping to soothe him. “If you’ve found something scary, this Shizun can’t protect you if he isn’t told.”

Fu Ran’s touch was gentle, his fingers smoothing over the fabric of Wan Yu’s robes in comforting motions. Wan Yu was still so small, and though Fu Ran had never seen the boy cry before, it was fitting for someone his age. He was, after all, just a child.

Wan Yu clung to Fu Ran’s robes, tiny fists bunching up the white fabric and wrinkling it with his grip. His cheek pressed against Fu Ran’s sleeve, leaving little tear-stained marks on the cloth as his body shook with emotion. Fu Ran frowned, his heart heavy as he looked up at Tian Han. The other man’s face no longer carried that air of amusement; his expression had turned serious, almost remorseful.

“I’m disappointed, Shizun,” Wan Yu cried, his voice breaking with each word.

“It will be alright,” Fu Ran murmured, repeating his assurances like a mantra. “This Shizun isn’t angry. This Shizun isn’t disappointed.” He continued to offer gentle words of affirmation until the boy’s sobs finally quieted, though the lingering exhaustion was clear in Wan Yu’s red-rimmed eyes. His gaze was dimmer, his pudgy cheeks still stained with the evidence of his tears.

As Fu Ran focused all his attention on comforting Wan Yu, he couldn’t help but notice Tian Han’s lack of movement on the other side of the room. Despite being the boy’s supposed guardian, Tian Han made no effort to console him. The displeasure on Fu Ran’s face was clear, but he pushed it aside for now, deciding to concentrate on the boy in his arms.

Fu Ran gently lifted Wan Yu and placed him beside him on the bed. “Wan Yu? Do you think you can talk now?”

Wan Yu didn’t respond immediately, but he gave a small nod of his head. Slowly, as if trying to gather his thoughts, he moved his long ponytail to the side, revealing the back of his neck.

“Lin An wanted to play with my hair, and because I feel responsible for hers getting cut, I let her braid mine. She noticed this mark and thought it was a tattoo, but I’ve never had something like that—except for the one on my forehead.” Wan Yu lowered his head, and beneath the ashen strands of hair, a patch of skin peeked out. “I know it wasn’t there before I came back to Jinan.”

Fu Ran’s eyes widened as he focused on the boy’s neck. There, nestled against the pale skin, was a strange mark—a deep purple bruise, the size of a thumbnail. Upon closer inspection, the bruise resembled a human skull. Every detail sent a chill through Fu Ran’s veins.

“This is a curse.” The words left Fu Ran’s lips almost without thought, his voice as pale as his face. “You were right to be concerned… This is… the mark of a spirit vessel.” Tian Han, too, reacted with a startled cough, and Fu Ran lifted his sleeve to his mouth, hiding the lower half of his face in a vain attempt to keep his composure.

Wan Yu, who had just given a thorough explanation of spirit vessels earlier that day, was no fool. He stared blankly into the fabric of the blanket, his mind clearly elsewhere.

What can be done about this? I’ve never seen one on a living body, Fu Ran thought, his mind racing. A spirit vessel was meant to hold energy, often negative, and the easiest way to purify such a vessel was to break it. But how could one break a curse that had been placed on a child?