When Zhi Lao entered the shrine, both Fu Ran and Su Biyu were stunned at how well his appearance fit in with the traditional crimsons. It wasn’t exceedingly rare to see the battle worn Peak Master in such a state, but Zhi Lao looked the part of a bloodied war god, and red stained the floor with every step he took. His eyes were drawn immediately to Fu Ran, who sat on the floor.

“You okay?” Zhi Lao asked. It was strange that his tone was as nonchalant as ever. Whether he baked cute and delicious treats, or killed enemies, his tone never shifted from indifference.

Fu Ran was taken aback. “Me? I should ask the same. Look at yourself!”

“They didn’t touch me.”

He says while covered in blood from head to toe. But still Fu Ran stayed anchored to the darkwood boards, as he wasn’t in the mood to hear more demands. At the moment there were more important matters, and even Zhi Lao had caught on to them. He shared a glance between Tian Han and Shesui Lang.

Running his fingers through his bangs, Shesui Lang made motions to unstick sweaty strands from his forehead. “We’re almost done here, too. I think I’ve done about as much as I can.”

“Wait! He still looks bad,” Fu Ran reiterated, clutching onto the front of his white robes.

“I would prefer another method, but we need to get him back to the sect.” He was quick to try and ease Fu Ran’s worries, but Shesui Lang wasn’t the ever persuasive man he tried to be.

Even with his experience on the battlefield, Shesui Lang had only managed to staunch Tian Han’s wound. His condition was still too horrid to be moved. This was evident by how hastily his chest heaved, and how his lungs only pushed out a wheeze when he took a breath.

Shesui Lang lifted Tian Han onto his shoulders and back, and with a heavy groan of unexpected weight, he breathlessly chortled. “At least he’s getting an easy trip back home. Lucky bastard.” He struggled to the hole in the wall, and scanned his surroundings before disappearing against the outside scenery.

Despite the desire to follow after, Fu Ran’s legs didn’t want to move.

At this point, he had been kneeled into a mess of blood for too long, and his body ached from previous assaults. Now just contemplating the effort it would take to stand, made his body freeze up. While Su Biyu got up and passed Zhi Lao, following after Shesui Lang, Zhi Lao stood with crossed arms.

Within seconds, Fu Ran was being pulled to his feet.

“You can’t stay here.”

Fu Ran groaned in response. Just standing, after about an hour of rest, sent a searing pain down his right leg. Half of his body still felt remnants of that shock through his qi meridians. He fought to keep his eyes open and voice down, but one side of his face twisted, and he bared his teeth in agony.

“Are you injured?” Zhi Lao asked, his tone indifferent.

Fu Ran hissed, “No.” Nothing good would come from this elder martial brother knowing his wretched woes, so he cut the conversation short. Zhi Lao had no talent for healing, only an uncanny ability to irritate him.

Yet Zhi Lao still insisted on a thorough inspection. His fingers pressed against Fu Ran’s right side, sending a sharp pulse of pain through him. Once, twice, then again—each touch an offense.

Fu Ran’s composure frayed with every jab, and a dangerous heat burned in his chest. If he touches me one more time... He could feel his last shred of sanity slipping.

“Would you stop that! Zhi Shixiong, it fucking hurts!” Fu Ran couldn’t keep his voice down and he threw a weakened punch at his martial brother. Of course the damage done was minimal to none, but it carried the weight of his words well enough that Zhi Lao dropped his brotherly behavior. Finally, they left.

Now that Fu Ran had joined the crowd outside, he saw just how many people were packed into Bei Zangli for the nightly festivals. It wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as a single street in the Faceless City, but it was far too many for the small shrine clearing to hold.

Fu Ran was certain that the villagers would never forgive An Xian Yun Peak for its interference. But what choice was there? Without intervention, they would be left to ruin, their nightly festivals slowly leading them toward destruction. It was all a matter of when. When would the dead lose their will and turn bloodthirsty, when would they bring Bei Zangli to its destruction, and when would they make it to the Faceless City to do the same?

“Ah—” Fu Ran suddenly made a noise of shock. “The city!”

Zhi Lao smiled faintly, unsurprised by the sudden outburst, and explained, “Jinan is where we stopped first.”

“Then, how are my disciples? Did you see them? Are they injured?”

“No more than some cuts and bruises.”

Fu Ran exhaled a long sigh of relief. “That… that’s good.” Though now missing three of his disciples, he trusted in the promise he made to Meng Xiao and Lin An. Still, the instinct to rush home tugged at him, but he had vowed to believe in them. For now, that had to be enough.

So instead, he would worry about the immediate problem at hand. With great effort and haste, he chased after Shesui Lang and Su Biyu.

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Shesui Lang chuckled and turned his gaze to meet Fu Ran when he rushed over. “Zhi Shidi is right, you know. Your disciples handled themselves well enough.”

“Does that mean that I cannot worry about them?” Fu Ran rested his thumb on his lip and cut his eyes away from the path.

“Not at all,” Shesui Lang said.

If the evil spirits had grouped together rather than scattering among the redwoods, the situation might have been far worse, Fu Ran thought. They could have overwhelmed the gates of Jinan, where his disciples were stationed, vulnerable. The idea gnawed at him, and his eyes briefly shifted to Su Biyu. She still avoided his gaze, her emotions from earlier likely still raw.

Worry for his disciples lingered, tugging at his focus, but now another concern loomed larger. His attention was fixed on Shesui Lang’s back, a gnawing unease growing in his chest.

Tian Han will recover, Shesui Lang had assured him. But could he be certain? A direct hit from a spiritual blade was no small matter, especially if it struck anything vital. What if there were lasting effects? How long before Tian Han woke up?

This “Tyrant Emperor” was one problem, sure, but somehow he was tied up in an even bigger mess.

Shi Wei Ji never told him of this. Fu Ran spent so long fearing death by the hands of Tian Han, that he hadn’t even considered that his regular life could be filled with equal levels of harrowing troubles, too.

From the Bloody Entrance Exam, to the arrival of his nightmares, to his disciples’ very first mission, and the appearance of the Fake Fu Ran: He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all one mess jumbled together.

However the threads were too loose, and too weak to tie together.

The grass was wet against Fu Ran’s legs, and required great effort to press them out of the way as he stepped. Shesui Lang and Zhi Lao had gone quiet, so Fu Ran mirrored this with a tenseness. Their expressions were so unreadable that he never knew what was on their minds. Shesui Lang only grinned, and Zhi Lao only scowled.

With a heavy heart, Fu Ran wondered what they were thinking of this failure.

“Gege?!” Wan Yu cried.

Fu Ran was shocked to see, halfway into the woods—not at all by the roadside like he promised—was Wan Yu. He clung to a tree and his eyes were wide. For once, his voice sounded quite terrified. He must have never expected to see his father in a state like this.

Without a shred of success, Shesui Lang tried to quickly comfort the small child: “Don’t worry, don’t worry. Your dad is mostly alive and well!”

Seriously unhelpful.

Wan Yu's eyes were still shadowed with worry, his gaze flickering between his father and the others. As Fu Ran came to a halt, something soft pressed into his back—Su Biyu, shrinking behind him, desperate to avoid Wan Yu’s eyes. Her trembling form made it clear she wished she could vanish on the spot.

Fu Ran gently placed a hand on her head, guiding her forward. “Wan Yu,” he said quietly, “Su Biyu has something she’d like to say.”

The figure behind him stiffened.

Wan Yu’s attention shifted, his eyes sharp and a little defensive as they focused on Su Biyu. The silence stretched, heavy and uneasy, until she finally took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Wan Yu, I’m sorry,” she said, bowing deeply. “Though… it might take more than that to make it up to you.”

For a moment, Wan Yu remained still, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight lowering of his shoulders, his gaze fell to the ground. “…” As to his usual reactions, he regained that distant look.

Su Biyu must have obtained some bravery, because she approached him, her face a mix of guilt and determination. She whispered something too soft for Fu Ran to catch. Wan Yu, after a pause, responded in the same hushed tones.

Fu Ran could no longer hear quiet speaking, and instead lowered his head and sighed. “Will everything be okay?”

Shesui Lang stepped closer, so that only the adults could hear his words. “It will be fine! Are you worried about tiny squabbles? Look back at the fights we used to have!”

“You aren’t considering our old fights “tiny squabbles,” are you?” Fu Ran whispered, his tone harsh.

“We did fight often,” Zhi Lao added.

When a small silence fell, it fell heavy. Like it was hard to find more lines of topic, greater than simple idle chatter. The eyes of Fu Ran’s Shixiong bore into him, and he felt the sudden urge to curl in on himself. It didn’t always used to be like this.

After too long of standing in a small circle, while the littlest and the newest disciple shared quiet words, Shesui Lang furrowed his brow. “Well, you can be back home tonight if I hurry up and call a carriage.”

“Just please get Tian Han some proper treatment,” Fu Ran mumbled.

“Will do, will do.” Readjusting the man on his back, Shesui Lang beamed. “If nothing else, this deserves a job well done, right?”

Dejected, Fu Ran shook his head. “We merely fixed the aftermath; we didn’t stop the cause. In fact, we still can’t provide An Xian Yun Peak with solid proof of anything.” Clearly Fu Ran’s words were ignored, because that big smile didn’t shift in the slightest.

“So…” There was a pause in the middle of Shesui Lang’s sentence this time. “This deserves a job well done, right?” He repeated.

Fu Ran’s face soured. “You are impossible,” he groaned. “Fine. I want to go home. So go on and get flying.”

“Why not just fly with us on Shi Wei Ji?” With a questioning gaze, Zhi Lao inspected both of his brothers. “Between the three of us, we could easily get four children home.

Fu Ran shared a knowing look with Shesui Lang, who was already frantically shaking his head. His ponytail whipped back and forth and his first response was only small noises of uncertainty. “Zhi-xiong! Can you not tell the look of a dear princess who needs some peace? You bother him too, too much!”

“Don’t call me that. Besides, why would he need peace away from me, when I do everything around Xingti Pavilion—?”

Giving a hard slap to Zhi Lao’s back, Shesui Lang pried a groan from the other man. “Let’s go, Zhi-xiong! Let’s go!”

He had already begun to shove Zhi Lao along, before turning his head back over the shoulder. For a moment Shesui Lang looked a touch too serious for his usual demeanor, and mouthed the words: Don’t tell him yet. Each word was clear and separate. Fu Ran knew what he meant.

If it were up to Fu Ran, he didn’t want to tell Zhi Lao about Shi Wei Ji either. It was quite possible that he would go berserk looking for the stolen blade—breaking trees, houses, or whatever possible held any information. It was rare, but for once, Fu Ran agreed with Shesui Lang.

Besides, if the topic of conversation shifted to thievery, it would inevitably lead to: who took it? And how on earth was Fu Ran supposed to explain that he took it? Or another version of himself?

Once both of his brothers were gone, Wan Yu and Su Biyu followed quietly and orderly as they made their way through the woods. When they arrived back at the main road… it was filled with gruesome remnants.

The way was littered with corpses, and the air reeked of death. Using his long sleeves, Fu Ran covered his nose and mouth before surveying the path. “Yi Shibo is going to be forced to send out a large cleanup group,” Fu Ran rambled.

It would have been impossible for the Faceless City to not notice the line of rotting corpses, and this news would even reach Bei Zangli before the evening. The thoughts of the villager’s tears and unrestrained sobs preemptively shook him.

His voice was muffled by gray fabrics and he gave a simple directive. “Let’s go back to the city for now.”