The impostor took the sword strike directly across his back, the blade slicing a sharp line of red into his skin. Shi Wei Ji sank as deep as possible and blood dribbled down the white metal. As per the intentions, he seemed taken completely off guard. The impostor staggered beneath the unexpected attack, and drew in a strained breath, before throwing a fierce glance over his shoulder. He usually looked fairly put together, but now his hair clung in deep red clumps due to the injury.

For a moment, it seemed like Tian Han was about to catch the impostor. But then, something dark flickered in his expression, and he ceased his action.

Meeting Fu Ran’s gaze, the fake hissed, "You," he struggled for air. "What the hell are you doing? If you think one strike will turn the tide, you're sorely mistaken."

With those words, he launched himself forward, his elbow crashing toward Fu Ran. There was barely time to react, so he raised Shi Wei Ji to block the blow. The force of it rattled his bones. But just as quickly, Tian Han deflected the strike with a palm, effortlessly redirecting the impostor’s momentum away.

The fake “Fu Ran” stumbled.

For a split second, Fu Ran’s gaze met Tian Han’s. It was strange and disorienting, to fight beside the very man who had once been his nightmare. Yet now, here they were, working together as if they had done so for years. Fu Ran slashed left, and Tian Han was already there, countering and pressing forward with brutal precision.

It was beautiful. And wrong.

The tiles beneath their feet cracked under the weight of their relentless steps. The impostor, who had moments ago been attacking, now found himself pushed into a purely defensive stance. He swung wildly, desperate to regain control, but every strike was blocked, every movement countered with effortless grace.

Fu Ran couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. There was a strange joy to be found in battle, and he felt connected to his spiritual weapon once more. Shi Wei Ji hummed with power in his grip, as if it, too, relished the fight.

With the two cultivators of An Xian Yun Peak working together, Fu Ran could use his powers as intended. He funneled just enough spiritual energy into the weapon, and sought some insight.

“Tian Han, he’s coming from your left! And then a low strike.” Fu Ran shouted naturally, and the words surprised him as much as they did the other two. The impostor, startled by the call-out, hesitated, but his body was already in motion. One strike left and then a low jab, each blocked. The impostor must have known that his intentions were read, but he couldn’t change his attacks on a whim, so it was unsurprising when Tian Han’s arm shot out to grab him.

Restrained by the Tyrant Emperor is a dangerous position to be in, Fu Ran mused.

The impostor grunted in pain and his body jerked to the side. He struggled fiercely, but Tian Han’s grip was like iron, holding him firm. Fu Ran panted and, with a flick of his wrist, he guided Shi Wei Ji to hover at his side.

“Tian Han, if he can’t move, then I…” Fu Ran hesitated, his brow furrowing. Then, I what? There was a tension in his chest he couldn’t shake. The impostor wasn’t a demon, nor did he carry the dark aura of a demonic cultivator.

Maybe it was his own face that caused such internal struggle.

Almost as if sensing his hesitation, the impostor spoke. “Are you really gonna kill me?” His glance cut in between Fu Ran and Tian Han, but it seemed like it had the heaviest effect on the latter.

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Fu Ran didn’t like the pale expression on Tian Han’s face. But they seemed fitting to the impostor’s harsh words. There was something in his tone—an exhaustion, a bitterness that must run deep.

But after a long silence, when his eyes fell back to Fu Ran, he chuckled. “You’re so naïve.” His lips dropped into a frown and his eyes filled with an old, quiet shame.

"What do you want?" Fu Ran muttered, his voice tight, like it was hard to get the words out.

The impostor tried to laugh, but it was followed by a sharp groan as pain contorted his face. The wound from Shi Wei Ji must have flared up. Blood trickled from his back, staining the once-white robes, falling in droplets onto the red tiles.

“I have been quite clear, and I haven’t lied to you.” The impostor’s voice was strained but steady, betraying the look of ache on his expression. “I’m trying to fix something I feel a vague sense of responsibility for. Is that so terrible?”

Fu Ran said, “For what? Trying to destroy Bei Zangli and Jinan? Kidnapping my disciples? Raising the dead?”

“You can blame me for everything if you want,” the fake rasped, “But I’m not the only one at fault.” He struggled to move, his hand shaking as it pointed at Fu Ran. “If I should bear the blame, then so should you.”

“Me, too?” Fu Ran asked.

“I know you aren't that daft. Answer me this: I can wield Shi Wei Ji, I can stop your abilities, and I know all of your current capabilities as you are, so what would that mean?”

As if hearing the next words would somehow materialize them into concrete fact, Fu Ran’s eyes widened and his thoughts scrambled. Stop it. Don’t say it. The words were crawling under his skin. He interrupted, “Then, as a Peak Master of An Xian Yun Peak, I’ll take responsibility and end this.”

His hand waved near his weapon, before a command echoed in his mind. Strike.

Shi Wei Ji responded to his call and cut through the air with lethal speed. The blade’s light shimmered, trailing white energy behind it. And then this will all be done.

“Pierce.”

The single word rang out—sharp and cold, in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. The impostor hadn’t moved, so it wasn’t him either. It was similar to his intended command, but those words didn't come from his own lips.

Like there was a sudden explosion in his chest, Fu Ran’s heart froze mid-beat. More foreign words hijacked control over his sword.

His vision blurred for a second, just long enough for everything to go wrong.

The next sound was one that made Fu Ran’s blood curdle—a sickening, wet squelch. It was the unmistakable noise of steel piercing flesh, followed by the heavy gush of blood hitting the ground. Time stuttered. The red poured faster, too fast. And too much.

Fu Ran blinked, his throat dry, trying to comprehend what had just happened. His gaze snapped to the figure standing before him, and every part of him froze.

It wasn’t the impostor that had been struck.

It was the Tyrant Emperor. The blade had gone all the way through him. Shi Wei Ji jut out grotesquely from his back, and crimson streaked down the silver edge like a waterfall.

Tian Han’s lips moved, but the words were barely audible. “Shi...zun?”

No, no, no, no. The word echoed endlessly in his head.

Fu Ran felt sick. His knees nearly buckled beneath him as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. That voice! That word: Pierce—he hadn’t commanded it. He hadn’t… He stared in horror at his own sword, still lodged into the one person he hadn’t meant to strike.

Stunned and mortified, even when Fu Ran heard another tap to the rooftop shingles. He couldn't take his eyes off of the site, because how was the Tyrant Emperor growing even paler than he usually was? Right now he almost looked more ghastly than Fu Ran himself. Yet, somehow, he didn't look angry.

Fu Ran felt he had to say it again, this time vocally rather than mentally, “Tian Han, I didn't—!”

Deep and slimy red blood coated around the edges of the puncture; it soaked those sweet colored robes. Tian Han’s face twisted into one of agony, and he made a strangled choking noise. A string of velvet connected him with the shingles, and he dropped to his knees.

With the force removed, the imposter grabbed up the white sword and ripped. It flew from Tian Han’s chest with ease, and his hands stepped away from Tian Han with a reluctant ease. He scoffed and groaned, “It took you long enough.”

Another voice said, “Sorry, I had some other matters to attend to. But you said you could handle this.”

“Well, we're both a little bit crippled without that blade aren't we?”

There was a conversation going on around Fu Ran, but it couldn't take his eyes away from the sight of the Tyrant Emperor crumpled in a heap. He could have deflected it, right? If he could have, then why didn't he? Tian Han, why didn't you?

A terrified gaze lingered.