The man himself was a shock to see: He wore Fu Ran’s features and body type.

The matching pair of cultivators shared only a single glance, and despite his condition, the one on the ground laughed. He paid absolutely no mind to the group of evil spirits slowly gathering around him in a horrifying crowd.

“Well isn’t this wonderful for you?” the fake chided. His eyes had turned to the opening of the shrine, so clearly his words were not meant for Fu Ran’s ears, though the delivery still upset him.

Fu Ran suppressed a growl. However, when he turned his attention to the new opening in the red shrine wall, he choked on any words he wanted to say.

“Tian Han?” Fu Ran called in haste confusion. Stepping down from the rubble was a man that he'd grown used to seeing on a daily basis. He didn't look all that injured, unlike the version of Fu Ran that lay on the ground. But as soon as Fu Ran called out his name, Tian Han’s body stiffened and his face twisted into fear.

“Shizun…?” Tian Han muttered, forcing his eyes to soften though his brows still furrowed. “Why did you come here?”

Fu Ran lowered his gaze in discontent, as the suspicions arose. Why was Tian Han with this man, yet again? The wild torrent had already stirred. This was an incredibly inopportune time for him to be acting like a betrayed old war time companion, but at the same time: What was he supposed to think?

Fu Ran’s response might have come out harshly: “Well it's a good thing I did, because if I didn't. What would have happened to Wan Yu?”

The fake “Fu Ran” chuckled, likely mocking the current interaction. In a blur of motion, the impostor leapt to his feet in a well-trained speed of unknown origin.

Fu Ran barely had a moment to process Tian Han’s tense expression before a sharp wind sliced through the air. A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted instinctively, forcing Shi Wei Ji to swing. But the man moved easier than any heavenly cultivator he knew.

Before Fu Ran could react, the imposter was already upon him, hands reaching out with startling precision. Fu Ran’s eyes widened as he felt cold, iron-like fingers wrap around his wrist.

"You can’t be allowed to mess things up further, even if that’s all you're good for right now." The fake’s voice was a low malicious sadness, and so close to his ear that it made his skin crawl.

Heart pounding, Fu Ran yanked his arm, desperate to break free. The imposter’s grip tightened like a snake, preventing him from fully swinging Shi Wei Ji. He couldn’t let his sword be taken again!

With a sharp twist of his body, Fu Ran tried to dislodge the grip, but in the same breath, the fake yanked him forward with unnatural strength. The world spun as Fu Ran was hauled off his feet, the air rushing past him. In the chaos of the moment, Shi Wei Ji slipped from his grasp, the blade spiraling away, lost in the surge of movement.

The ground disappeared beneath them as the fake Fu Ran launched them both toward the shrine’s roof.

They crashed onto the tiled surface with a sharp thud, dust and debris kicking up around them. Fu Ran struggled to regain his balance, but the fake’s hold didn’t waver. The imposter stood over him, his face a twisted reflection of Fu Ran’s own, but with eyes that gleamed with wicked discontent.

"Now if you don’t mind me using the blade for more appropriate uses,” he taunted.

Fu Ran’s jaw tightened as he realized Shi Wei Ji was nowhere in sight. He’d lost it in the jump, and now, with the fake’s grip locking him in place: he was vulnerable.

Below, among the rubble, Fu Ran heard a frantic shout.

“Shizun!” Tian Han’s voice was desperate, cutting through the rising storm of malevolent energy. Fu Ran glanced down and saw Tian Han, standing among the broken remains of the shrine, his face pale with fear and determination.

Without hesitation, Tian Han started toward the shrine, but Shi Wei Ji, now spinning in the air like a rogue force, darted toward him with deadly precision. Its sleek, silver blade glinted in the dim light. Moving like an uncontrolled spirit, it snapped at him.

“Tian Han, get back!” Fu Ran shouted, his voice strained. His mind raced… Shi Wei Ji, his most trusted weapon, was now a threat to Tian Han, too. He dodged Shi Wei Ji’s sharp strikes, his body twisting to avoid the blade as it sliced through the air.

Fu Ran’s heart clenched as he watched. Tian Han was skilled, but Shi Wei Ji had a mind of its own, especially in this strange corrupted state. Every time Tian Han moved, the sword responded, darting toward him like a viper ready to strike. Fu Ran could feel its pull, the tug of their bond weakening, and it terrified him.

Suddenly, a movement caught Fu Ran’s eye. He looked back at the imposter and froze. The fake Fu Ran stood calmly, two fingers pressed together—index and middle—directed toward the sky. And there, in perfect synchronization, Shi Wei Ji twitched in midair, the sword seemingly obeying his commands.

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A jolt of disbelief shot through Fu Ran’s chest. How is that possible? Shi Wei Ji was his. No one else should be able to control it.

But the proof was right before him. The imposter, with an almost bored expression, flicked his fingers slightly, and the blade spun violently, darting toward Tian Han once more. Fu Ran's heart sank, the sight like a slap to the face.

The fake Fu Ran smirked, clearly enjoying the shock that rippled through Fu Ran. "Surprised?"

Fu Ran’s mind reeled. His connection to Shi Wei Ji was intimate. There was no logical way this fraud should be able to manipulate it. And yet, there he was, doing just that!

On the ground below, Tian Han’s determination could be seen, as his movements grew more desperate. Dodging the blade’s persistent strikes, he surged forward, refusing to give up despite the chaos around him. “Shizun! Call it off! It’s still your blade!” he shouted. His destination was clear, but in between constantly dodging hungry spirits, and an intensely fast flying sword, Tian Han couldn't catch a break. There was simply no time for him to get to the shrine roof.

A sharp pang of fear struck Fu Ran’s chest as he watched the blade hurtling toward Tian Han.

With a deep breath, he focused on the white spiritual sword. He raised his free hand and yelled, "Shi Wei Ji, return!"

The sword stuttered in midair, its path wavering just before it could strike Tian Han, but its direction only wavered subtly.

A sudden hush fell between them, broken only by the distant wails of the corrupted spirits below. Fu Ran, still lying on the cold tiles of the shrine’s roof, felt the weight of the moment press against his chest like an iron chain.

The fake Fu Ran’s expression shifted, the mocking smirk melting away, and was replaced by something far darker. His brows knit together in visible annoyance, and his lips pressed into a thin line. Clearly, he was no longer amused by the game they had been playing.

The glint of anger in his eyes was impossible to miss—an anger not born from hatred but from frustration.

Fu Ran swallowed hard, his confusion growing by the second. His breath came out shallow, and despite the pain coursing through his body, he managed to force out, "Who are you?"

For a brief moment, the fake Fu Ran’s mocking demeanor faded. He looked at Fu Ran in silence, his expression unreadable. A tired sigh escaped him, as though he were staring at something lost. "No matter how much you struggle, this was always going to happen."

His eyes were sharp and cold, yet the feeling they conveyed was one Fu Ran knew well.

Pity.

Why? Why did he look at him like that?

The exchange lasted only a moment, but the silence between them was unbearable. Fu Ran’s mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Whoever this man really was, he had control over his Shi Wei Ji, and he had the ability to effortlessly drag him onto this roof.

A thought crossed his mind that he didn't like. Could he be…?

Fu Ran’s fingers trembled as they reached for the small pouch at his side. Hidden within the folds of his robes was the call stone—his only hope of contacting his elder martial brother, Shesui Lang. If he could just summon him here, maybe they stood a chance of something. Fu Ran didn’t know how the capabilities of his Shixiong would compare, but he had disciples that needed aid right now too.

But the moment Fu Ran’s hand closed around the stone, the fake’s eyes darkened. "What do you think you’re doing?" the imposter growled. For a moment his expression was genuine curiosity, but then his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

Fu Ran didn’t have time to react. The impostor’s hand darted out, grabbing his wrist with crushing force. Fu Ran gasped.

His breath hitched as the man’s fingers dug into his skin. Pain shot up from beneath the harsh touch. He could feel the pressure of each finger against the veins. His wrist was forcibly lifted, just close enough for him to see the trembling of his own hand, and the shimmer of a reflective blue gem.

"Who did you want to call? I don’t particularly want to see Shesui Lang or Zhi Lao right now." The fake’s voice was filled with disdain.

Fu Ran gulped at the mention of names he knew well. The more words this man said, the worse his feelings spiraled.

One attempt at pulling his arm away resulted in the proof of his own lesser strength, so he did something else, instead. Quickly, Fu Ran pooled as much of his spiritual energy into the small blue gem as he could. With one thought in the back of his mind, he mentally repeated it: Call Sheusi Lang!

With every heartbeat pumping through his veins, the ache of pressure only grew.

A low burn on the top of his skin reminded Fu Ran that he wasn't the only one with the ability to manipulate spiritual energy. A sudden jolt of pain followed.

It was sharp, unendurable, like his entire arm was struck by lightning. His fingers spasmed, and despite his best efforts to hold on, the call stone slipped from his grasp. It tumbled from his hand, bouncing once before clattering to the roof tiles near his ankle.

Fu Ran’s body went rigid, his breath catching in his throat as the pain seared through his side. He could barely think—barely breathe—because of the overwhelming sensation blurring his senses.

Through clenched teeth, Fu Ran let out a muffled cry as the feeling of a spiritual blast shot up his arm and throughout the entirety of the qi meridians on his right side. He blinked a drop of wetness out of the corner of his eyes as his breathing grew heavy and labored.

Those judgmental eyes above him were like ice and, in this very moment, the blankness was more akin to amber ones he knew.

“Sorry but that town needs to be buried today. If you need someone to blame for this, then you can blame the man you call Tian Han. Because of his meddling, The Faceless City needs a new reason to fall,” the impostor said.

A new reason?

He wanted to spare more moments of thought but he shook it off. The words threatened to distract him, but Fu Ran’s gaze remained locked on the gemstone at his feet. He just needed to move his foot the slightest bit. With the roof sloping beneath him, it would fall. His body weighed heavy with pain, but he willed his right foot to shift, just enough to nudge the stone. With a small kick, the gemstone slid off the edge into the chaos of disciples and snarling spirits below.

The growl of annoyance that followed was almost satisfying.

Fu Ran didn’t relish in a victory yet, and he yelled, “Wan Yu! Pick it up!” His words still came out hoarse and weak, but he hoped they could be heard. The boy was in no state to move, but Fu Ran begged the gods that his littlest disciple could find the strength.