The Faceless City was in disarray, and he was met with immediate hostility upon arriving at the main gates. The guards were tense, still covered in sweat, grime, and blood. At simple movements approaching the entrance of the city, they jumped into battle readiness.

“This cultivator has returned,” Fu Ran said. “The problem has been dealt with swiftly.” He barely got the whole sentence out before the men were already relaxing their weapons.

Meng Xiao, on the other hand, jumped up with an urgency at his teacher’s arrival. “Shizun,” he called. Only a single questioning glance was given to his fellow disciples before he pulled back.

He had a particular look in his eye, one of excitement and pride, and the way he held his bloodied weapon was seeking some form of response. Fu Ran was glad to see the positive expression, rather than one of injury. Since he did not have the heart to deny him of simple praise, when he passed by, he rested his hand atop his black locks. They were sticky, and messily caught together, but he brushed them to the side with ease.

“You did great.”

He figured Meng Xiao wouldn’t tolerate questions like “Are you alright?” or “Are you injured?” so Fu Ran moved straight to compliments. The new gleam in his eyes, a new invigorated energy, was almost humorous.

“How is Lin An?”

Meng Xiao scoffed. “She’s treatin’ people right now. Lots of dumb people getting injured and stuff.”

“Show me.”

***

Fu Ran half expected to find the city in disarray, with people scattered and injuries everywhere, but most had been moved to the Twin Summits. The lobby was packed, the air thick with panic.

The receptionist’s hands shook as she tried to direct the crowd, and her voice wavered with the commotion. Amid the chaos, Lin An moved like she’d done this before—quick, precise, without hesitation. She carried barrels of water and strips of torn cloth for bandages, her movements swift, her eyes darting around the room, prioritizing with practiced ease.

Fu Ran hadn't given much thought to his new disciples’ pasts, but now it was clear: Lin An was no stranger to this kind of work. He watched her, noticing how her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line as she worked tirelessly. She seemed to see everything at once, her gaze sharp and attentive.

Her eyes stopped at the door. “Shizun?! Your back—and Wan Yu!” Lin An dropped her bucket and towels as she threw herself into a hug. Her arms clasped around the littlest disciple and her cheek pressed to his. “Oh, I am so happy!”

Fu Ran’s brow furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips. Lin An’s embrace was relentless, and Wan Yu struggled in her arms, though she wouldn’t let him go just yet. Her tears spilled freely, but her hands didn’t loosen until she’d inspected him. Her fingers brushed over his face, arms, and any visible skin, checking for injuries.

“And Su Biyu, too?” Lin An’s voice trembled, but there was a steadying relief beneath it.

“I…” Su Biyu hesitated. Whatever she had said to Wan Yu earlier lingered between them, unresolved. Her eyes shifted as if searching for the right words. “I want… to properly explain myself.”

Lin An shook her head softly, offering a small smile. “We’ll figure that out later, okay? I’m just glad you’re safe.” Despite her earlier serious demeanor, there was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice.

Still, Fu Ran agreed. It would be best to handle serious things when back at An Xian Yun Peak, right? He tried his best to act unbothered in the presence of his hard-working disciples, but truthfully, more flooded his mind now than ever before.

However, the more he tried to piece everything together, the more stressed he became.

A new reason for the Faceless City to fall?

Since no one else on An Xian Yun Peak had mentioned Fu Ran committing strange acts outside of the sect, he assumed the fake had remained unseen until now. But now that he was willing to show himself, perhaps that meant more trouble.

I think I just need to ask Tian Han personally… It might be the only way to get answers, right now.

Ugh. He mentally groaned, I want to go collect dust.

And while he sat to the side in a lone chair, for hours the children provided aid to the injured citizens.

“Shizun? Shizun?” Wan Yu said.

He had to repeat it twice before Fu Ran realized the deep reds outside the lobby shined in. Golden eyes looked more orange in this lighting. He blinked.

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“A-Wan, what is it?” Fu Ran’s arms were crossed, but when he let them fall to his side, they were sore like he had been locked in that position for far too long. Even uncrossing his knee, his hip cried and his face twisted.

Meng Xiao chuckled. “Shizun was out of it, man. Seriously, we already packed, and you didn’t even notice?”

“Be quiet, Meng Xiao!” Lin An chastised in a hushed whisper.

The disciples were all cleaned and put back together. Even Meng Xiao smelled of a freshly drawn bath. Huh? He blinked again. What time of day is it?

“I packed all of Shizun and Gege’s belongings.” Wan Yu sat down a large purple-decorated bag with ease, and a smaller white one beside it. Then, he lugged over another larger set of bags, familiarly blacks and reds.

“You didn’t have to—”

Wan Yu cut him off. “Shizun needed rest.”

Fu Ran wasn’t about to fight that statement, as it was wholly true, and the slight hint of demands in Wan Yu’s voice wasn’t something he wished to argue against either. Most of the lobby had emptied now, aside some a few recovering civilians. When he stood, no one paid him even a second glance.

“Ah, if it’s already this late, then we should get going. Can’t miss our ride home…”

Under the weight of exhaustion, Fu Ran barely noticed the city’s hum as they descended down the main path. The scattered conversations of his disciples faded into the background.

Somehow, in the few hours he had been resting, the city had regained its liveliness. The glow of candles and lantern light burned bright, and gossiping continued as if all recent events were merely fabricated lines of a story.

How fast they moved on, Fu Ran thought discontent.

Because of this, the relief of going home didn’t calm his mind like he had hoped. The chaos at the inn, and in the city, the strange presence lurking just beneath the surface of his thoughts—it all swirled, unresolved.

As they passed a row of small shops, something gold in the window snagged his attention. Fu Ran stopped abruptly, his gaze locking onto a delicate hairpin on display. Thin and ornate, with six tiny red jewels hanging from the end, it glittered under the dim lantern light.

As Fu Ran came to a full stop, his chest constricted. During the battle in the auction house, he had lost it—the one given to him by Tian Han. And this hairpin looked familiar. It wasn’t the same one he borrowed, as it was missing the detailed red flower ornament, but he had an idea that this was to Tian Han’s taste.

It was just a vague feeling, but an urge held him still.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the hairpin, even as a wave of frustration crept in. There were bigger things to worry about—mysteries about the impostor, and Tian Han himself. The last thing he needed was to be thinking of gifts. And yet, here he was, standing frozen like a fool because of a golden trinket.

Fu Ran frowned.

"Shizun?" Wan Yu’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The boy had turned back, and cocked his head to the side. "Is something wrong?"

Fu Ran blinked. "No, it’s nothing." He hesitated and then, despite himself, he asked, “Wan Yu... what does your father like?”

Confused, Wan Yu asked, “What?” He took a small step closer, staring at Fu Ran like he’d misheard.

Fu Ran swallowed his embarrassment and asked again, “What kind of things does your father like? If I wanted to buy him something…”

“Gege? Um…” Wan Yu stammered and his eyes fell to the ground. “I mean, I don’t really—What does Shizun mean?”

Fu Ran grimaced and instantly regretted asking. “A gift,” he clarified flatly, keeping his gaze on the window. “If I wanted to get him something, what would he like?”

Wan Yu stared at Fu Ran for what felt like an eternity, his eyes darting between him and the hairpin. Finally, he mumbled, “I think... sweets?”

“Sweets?” Fu Ran repeated, incredulous. That can’t be right. The idea of Tian Han liking sweets seemed absurd. Tian Han—the cold, unyielding figure who always loomed over his nightmares—eating sweets? Fu Ran almost scoffed at the thought, but something else currently gnawed at his mind.

I don’t know him at all, do I? His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. Maybe I’m worse at this than I thought.

Fu Ran let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t get to leave the sect often. Or maybe it was the guilt, always creeping back, reminding him of what he should’ve done. Either way, the idea of buying something, a hairpin or even something as small as sweets, suddenly felt more significant than it should.

His eyes drifted back to the hairpin. “Well,” Fu Ran finally muttered, forcing a small, bitter smile, “I suppose I’ll buy some sweets, then.” He glanced at the hairpin one last time.

Just as he was promised, Fu Ran found himself heading back home in the evening. He had decided to forego the horses, and send someone to get them later. He wasn’t one for stifling formalities anyways, so his disciples could simply ride with him.

It was deep into the night by the time they traveled through Bei Zangli. Beneath the stars, there was a certain emptiness in these run down fields. Only the occasional elder had stepped outside while his cart rode by.

They were watching.

If they held resentment, it was normal, and if they harbored great hatred, then that, too, was normal. By now they must have seen the mess of bodies, and knew who put an end to the Passing Rite Festivals, possibly forever.

Because of the intervention of An Xian Yun Peak, no longer did Bei Zangli retain its wistful beauty, and whatever charm it once held had been swallowed by the brilliance of Jinan. The bustling glow of that grand city outshone it effortlessly, leaving Bei Zangli like a flickering ember lost in a storm.

Fu Ran rested his arm against the window frame, watching the dim lights of the city fade as the carriage rattled. Across from him, Lin An, Meng Xiao, and Su Biyu were crammed together in the narrow seat, their limbs tangled from sheer exhaustion. Wan Yu sat beside him. Tonight the boy was unusually quiet. Though perhaps if even the most talkative couldn't fight the weariness, then neither could the quietest.

Had the children any energy left, they would’ve bickered all the way back home. Yet for now, silence was received as a rare gift.

After fighting over who got the best spot and whose purchases were superior, the disciples had finally succumbed to sleep, slumping over one another. Each jolt of the road sent their heads bobbing, but none stirred.

Above them, the overhead rack groaned under the weight of their spoils—old treasures they couldn’t bear to leave behind and new ones bought in excitement. The bags and boxes were packed so tightly that nothing had room to slip, no matter how much the cart jolted. It was an uneasy kind of security.

Fu Ran’s hands rested on the weight of his own spoils: a small package of candied oranges, sweet and sticky, were wrapped in bright red and gold paper. Nestled beneath it sat an elegantly crafted box. He balanced the gifts carefully on his lap and craned his neck back to watch the blanket of stars rush by.