What would happen if Tian Han died?

Had someone asked Fu Ran about an event like this a month ago, he might have been overjoyed, but for some reason he didn't feel as… relieved as he thought he would be.

Anxiety formed heavily, but he swallowed it down and walked to the crumpled Tian Han.

“Tian Han?” He kneeled.

With a tentative touch his hand hovered over black robes before lightly pressing into them, the fabric crinkled beneath his fingers. Fu Ran grabbed up a fistful and guided Tian Han onto his side. In the center of his chest, was a deep wound soaked in glistening crimson. It was the perfect shape and thickness of Shi Wei Ji, and Fu Ran lurched at the idea of being able to see right through. He took in a sharp breath, and poured any remnants of spiritual energy he had into his companion.

“Please wake up—!” Fu Ran rasped. His words came out strange, because for some reason looking at the Tyrant Emperor's pale complexion was something unimaginable. The way his eyes closed and how his lips rested in a peaceful position, contradicted the pained furrow of his brow. Otherwise he could have looked like he was sleeping.

He wanted to give everything.

Be it for Wan Yu, or for himself, or for his disciples he hadn’t the strength to protect right now—he didn’t know, but Tian Han suddenly felt necessary.

No matter how much he touched soft cheeks, the golden eyes were hidden beneath thin lids and delicately long eyelashes. When he raised his palm away from the severe injury, it was completely painted red. Why is there so much? Just from one strike—there's so much.

The conversation behind him continued, and the new man’s voice spoke. “Is he dead?”

“No,” the impostor responded.

This caught Fu Ran’s attention and his neck snapped backwards. Standing about a dozen paces away, a new uninvited participant had joined the fray—the man with the golden mask, from the auction house.

The elder man's build, his shape, his hair, and his voice, were all something that caused irritation on sight alone.

A strained, bitter laugh escaped Fu Ran’s throat. “Oh, now you decide to show up? Looks like all the problems in the Faceless City are gathering here for a reunion.”

“All of them, indeed.” The man’s voice carried a weight that sent a chill crawling up Fu Ran’s spine. His footsteps landed heavily on the shrine roof, each one sending a jolt of unease through Fu Ran. “Including that Tyrant Emperor."

A tremor ran through Fu Ran’s chest. That nickname, which had once been nothing more than a casual insult in his own mind, now felt like an open wound. Hearing someone else say it… it hurt in a way he hadn’t expected. He instinctively pulled Tian Han’s unconscious body closer to him, his protective instincts overwhelming his confusion.

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“Fu Ran,” the man said, his voice low, “what do you gain from pretending you’re above your responsibilities?”

His name was rarely said so blatantly, without the attachment of various honorifics or titles of endearment. But it was certainly a method to hold his attention. Fu Ran’s eyes never left the man for a second, as he was sure of his intentions.

Without a doubt, both of the cultivators before him sought to kill Tian Han.

When the golden masked man held out his hand, it was empty, and he wasn't bearing the rusted sword that he'd carried with him before. The palm stayed empty for no more than a second, before Shi Wei Ji was placed into it. Yet again, Fu Ran found himself confused and shocked.

In a strange tone of monotony, the fake “Fu Ran” said, “You should step away, and just let the Tyrant Emperor die.”

Hypocrisy was the only thing holding him back from tearing into the imposter. Fu Ran had done it too so how could he show his frustrations from hearing Tian Han be given that description.

Instead he settled with a threat: “I won't let you.”

The impostor looked upset. “Do you want to say that again?” His words were laced, like poison.

Fu Ran’s legs shuddered, but he forced them straight as he stood. Tian Han was not light, and in fact it could be said… that he was quite heavy. Enough, so that Fu Ran had to struggle to keep his unconscious companion and his back upright.

Fu Ran wished he could have been gentler, because Tian Han’s miserable whine made him feel guilt. Especially when time couldn’t be spared to comfort him.

The golden masked man asked, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t afford to. The only thing Fu Ran spared time to do, was look at the situation down below. His cute little disciple was nowhere to be seen—normally a distressing thing, but right now a blessing. Wan Yu must have taken quite a number of those corrupted spirits with him, as now they were sparse.

After verifying the safety right below the edge of the shrine he let his leg hang off and dropped. Gravity aided in his escape but the crushing weight of two cultivators on his legs did ache.

Fu Ran thought his movements were fast so he dived into the broken opening of the shrine wall, however when he raised his hand to conjure up a barrier he saw gold dropping right behind him. He wasn't as fast as his martial brother, as Shesui Lang could have had a protection array put up in a second, so he was chased in without a moment to breathe. In the midst of chaos, Fu Ran heard a small whimper, but this time it wasn't Tian Han.

There was no time to think about it further. The golden masked man raised his sword, its cold tip aimed right at Fu Ran’s chest. The strike felt inevitable, like the air itself was holding its breath.

To die at the hands of a fraud… I would have preferred the other one. Fu Ran’s thoughts were sharp and bitter. Either end would be worthless, but maybe—just maybe—if he saved Tian Han, his disciples could be saved, too. That small hope was the only comfort in this mess.

With an unsteady hold, Fu Ran dropped Tian Han to the ground, and stood in front of him. He took up a fighting stance.

The golden masked man’s grip tightened on his sword, his eyes blazing with icy determination. But he didn’t strike.

“What? You wanted to kill me, too. Right?” Fu Ran’s voice rasped out, strained and mocking despite the exhaustion weighing him down.

“No. That was never my plan.”

Fu Ran blinked.

The golden masked man continued, “But I will if I have to.”

Instead of acting as anticipated, he only kept looking to the tossed aside Tian Han, so Fu Ran felt he had to do something quickly to reign the attention back on him. “Why hesitate now?” Fu Ran barked, the challenge in his voice sharp. He wasn't one to intimidate, or pressure to act but he felt he had to.

The question seemed to strike a nerve. A cold light flickered behind the mask’s cutouts. The man’s grip on his blade tightened, and without another word, he lunged, causing Fu Ran to tear his sleeves up in a panic and cover his face.

“Stop!”

Fu Ran’s eyes flew open at a young girl's shrill cry.