Wan Yu wasn’t visible, so Fu Ran could merely hope his order was understood.

With an unexpected swiftness, the imposter clutched up a handful of white robes and as he stood Fu Ran was carried with him.

The sudden movement that Fu Ran wasn't expecting, caused him to choke out the last bit of oxygen in his lungs. It felt like they had contracted like an empty water skin. He clung to the imposter's wrist with a strength he didn't think feasible in his current condition, and he rasped, “Care to elaborate? The hell do you mean the city needs a new reason to fall—and why would that have anything to do with Tian Han?”

“Your brand new friend is nothing but trouble.”

“How would you know?” Fu Ran was reaching for some kind of answer, something more solid that he could latch onto, but he was shocked to see a look of annoyance.

“How would I know?” The imposter's voice sounded strange as he echoed the question. “I know so much more than you can imagine, but really. While intensely frustrating that you don't understand, it’s better that way. Live in your pathetic ignorance, because that is where you live best.”

For some reason that response wasn't something Fu Ran could easily tolerate.

Gritting his teeth in a burst of frustration, he flung his right hand towards the face before him. His palm connected with a great force, attempting to return the earlier feat of sending a wave of spiritual energy hurling into the impostor. However, instead of a powerful strike, only a feeble slap landed on “Fu Ran’s,” face. It was far from enough to wipe the grin off.

Fu Ran’s blood ran cold. Had his qi meridians been damaged so easily? That would certainly explain the lingering ache and tingling sensations. His fingers twitched against ghastly white skin.

“Now, Now. Just sit back and let me put the future back on its track. I have no intention of killing you, but you can effortlessly be crippled if needed.”

The threat was terrifyingly serious, as it was a struggle he'd watched with his own eyes. His own Shizun had to suffer without having access to his qi meridians, and it caused immense unnecessary strain on his body. A Peak Master with no spiritual energy, was already as good as dead.

To add to the playfully mocking tone, the imposter pinched up Fu Ran’s face between his index finger and thumb. He shook the head in his hold back and forth several times, leaving an uncomfortable pressure on his jaw. “And when all is said and done—perhaps you will be able to live in some peace.”

The imposter’s words were unpleasant, but by the time he'd finished speaking there was a soft thud joining them on the rooftop. This was accompanied by heavy labored breathing. Fu Ran had a good angle to see tufts of brown messy hair.

“Tian Han.” The name came out a little weird, with Fu Ran’s cheeks being pressed in. He must have looked pathetic to elicit such an expression from the tyrant. Tian Han's gold eyes were filled with an unfathomable rage.

The most noticeable thing was that right now Tian Han stood among them without his headband. With confusion, Fu Ran couldn’t help but stare. It wasn't like the sight was new—it certainly wasn't—but he had never seen it in person before. Settled on his forehead, dead center and just above his eyebrows, was a dull red mark. It looked more akin to a demonic sigil, and this wasn't the first time Fu Ran thought that. Even first seeing it in his dreams, he thought the same thing: That perhaps he was being haunted by a demon, turned Tyrant Emperor.

He didn’t think that anymore, but it was reason enough to get lost in the view.

“Oh? Tied up my sword, did you? You look upset. Has this Shizun done something… wrong?” The fake quipped.

Looking colder than usual, Tian Han said, “This clearly has nothing to do with him.”

“Since when? You chose to involve him, not me.”

“If you continue to threaten my goals, then I can’t allow…” Tian Han’s eyes sharpened into a dangerously sharp slit, like it could cut. “...even you freedom to do as you wish.”

The imposter's voice settled into a bit of a silence, and when he spoke up again that annoyance came back: “So you can show some worry for someone else?” His words ached with contempt. He huffed. “Don’t move then.”

Near instantly Fu Ran was dropped, and would have crumpled to the ground had the fake not grabbed him up by the waist instead. His helpless limp limbs made him feel horrid.

His right arm was useless, his body felt like liquid, and his physical capabilities were almost… none.

Feeling utterly defeated, his hands dropped to rest upon the arm around his waist.

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“I don’t think I have ever seen you look at me like that? Is this Shizun no different than the trash you kick to the side, now?” The impostor said, his attention still drawn solely to Tian Han.

“It isn't like that—”

Tian Han was quickly cut off by a roar of laughter, “Then, do tell me, how are things any different than the last time we met?” The impostor gave a few moments, allowing the air to feel with a telling silence. “One thing has changed for sure. Right now, it looks like you're willing to fight me. And if that is the case, then you should be prepared.”

Tian Han shared a glance between the two matching cultivators, his expression clearly one of internal strife. Like often seen in Wan Yu, his hand restlessly gripped at the side of his pants, a nervous habit present in both.

Fu Ran wanted this back and forth to end. It made his chest feel tight, and only now had he become aware of the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

The impostor held, in his arms, a Peak Master of An Xian Yun Peak. And being reduced to the importance level of a sack of rice, Fu Ran was growing more and more infuriated by the second.

And to add to it all, he was intruding on a conversation that felt so strangely damning. He didn't even know to whom. Was it damning to Tian Han, or to himself? The two other cultivators shared words and intonation that wouldn’t be spoken between anyone else other than acquaintances.

Even he could bind some of these pieces together: Without a doubt, Tian Han knew this impostor well. Exceedingly well.

Unexpectedly, Fu Ran was dropped, nearly tossed, a few feet to the side. He barely caught himself on the shingles of the black roof, and before he had even a moment to process the events, a battle had begun.

The impostor kicked off of the tiles and flew in the air for only a moment. Was he planning on striking Tian Han with his bare hands? Was he so bold?

However, this rushed plan was working just fine, as golden eyes showed shock more than anything. Tian Han used his palm to deflect the first two or three strikes, before being forced to dash to the side and avoid a powerful spiritual attack.

Tian Han dodged another, tiles cracking under his feet as he landed hard on the roof. The impostor moved like a shadow, his attacks forcing Tian Han to parry and evade in quick succession. Their blows sent gusts of wind rippling through the air, shattering loose shingles with each clash of spiritual energy.

It came to Fu Ran’s attention that he’d never seen Tian Han fight before.

He threw punches like a rabid beast. Perhaps if he was given a sword he might be able to retain a shred of grace, as his footing was light and gentle, but right now, his blows were wild.

Watching from where he'd been thrown, Fu Ran struggled to lift himself from the cold tiles. Every part of his body felt like dead weight and the pain was a constant reminder of how utterly outclassed he was. The impostor's earlier attacks had drained him and, despite subtle attempts to move, his eyes were now locked onto Tian Han.

Hopeless. The thought crept in as he clutched his right side. Every time Tian Han dodged another strike, Fu Ran’s chest tightened.

He struggled again and again, until he finally began to feel some stability in his limbs.

But just as Fu Ran began to regain his footing, the impostor struck with brutal force. Tian Han was thrown across the roof, skidding dangerously close to the edge. Tiles crumbled beneath him as he barely managed to stop himself from falling over.

“Tian Han!” Fu Ran rasped.

The impostor’s sneer was icey. “You’re hesitating,” he taunted, sidestepping another of Tian Han’s blows with ease. His voice dripped with mockery. “What’s wrong? Lost your nerve?”

Tian Han’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, his silence a bitter contrast to the violent storm of the battle.

The impostor’s eyes gleamed with disdain. “Is this what you’ve become?” he snarled, his voice sharp as a blade. “The disciple who never falters—reduced to this?”

For a moment, something shifted in Tian Han’s gaze. His earlier hesitation vanished, replaced by a quiet resolve. “I’m sorry.”

The impostor’s sneer faltered, caught off guard. “Sorry? Now? After everything?”

Tian Han didn’t flinch. His voice, though soft, pierced through the chaos. “I made a decision.”

“A decision?” The impostor’s eyes narrowed, his stance unwavering.

“I know it’s not what I promised you.” Tian Han’s words were slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of inevitability. “But to protect what I worked for, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The weight of those words settled over Fu Ran like a heavy fog. What did Tian Han mean? And why did he sound so resigned, so prepared for something inevitable? Fu Ran couldn’t help but wonder how far his companion was willing to go, and for what.

Fu Ran’s thoughts scattered when he realized a new air had covered the two men. On that ghastly pale face, there was a fleeting moment when the features twisted. The strange behavior spoke loudly—a small shake of a hand and a noticeably displaced foot backwards. It was almost gut wrenching, because it was familiar.

A scared and frail, little fortune teller staring down the uncaring Tyrant Emperor.

Pity gnawed at his gut, but within this horrific mirror of memories, he saw an opening.

Though the spiritual reserves in his right side were completely run down, he could still feel the qi coursing through his left.

Shi Wei Ji... His eyes flickered to a tree below. The white sword was bound there, no doubt by Tian Han’s headband. The fake “Fu Ran” had already claimed his blade once, and forced it into submission, so it was likely that he could do it again.

Without solid understanding of his own partner sword, he may have given up the hope of retrieving it under his own control. When a spiritual weapon is commanded, it only listens to its master, but because of these “strange circumstances” Fu Ran had to think of other methods.

Usually the call of one's bonded blade requires only passive spiritual energy. It was improbable that the impostor could do so while also exchanging blows with Tian Han.

Fu Ran closed his eyes and reached out, his mind brushing against Shi Wei Ji’s thread of energy. He could feel the resistance immediately, the impostor’s hold still subconsciously pulling against his command. It was as if the blade was caught between two forces, neither one fully in control.

No. Fu Ran’s jaw tightened. Shi Wei Ji was given to me!

The blade trembled, its white glow flickering as it struggled against the bonds. It inched forward, fighting to break free from the headband. Fu Ran pushed harder, and with a sudden jolt, his companion had snapped free.

Fu Ran’s feet moved sloppily, meeting Shi Wei Ji halfway. With the bright light of silver soaring through the sky, it was impossible to miss.

His hands grabbed onto the detailed grip with an experienced ease and, with a lithe motion, he swung.