Time had passed on the mountain sect of An Xian Yun Peak. Spring blossoms had grown, flowered, and then faded from the trees that blanketed the heights. Once petals of pinks and purples, had now turned to leaves of deep greens.

Cultivators on the other hand, worked tirelessly every hour of every day, and through every season of the year. With the monotony of sect life returning to normal, Peak Masters continued to embark on missions, and return home like they always had before. Some were overwhelmed with their workload, and some were looking to secure any chance at finding rest and relaxation. There was never a day when every single resident could be found in collective downtime. Even the disciples dedicated entire days, weeks, or months, to train their minds and bodies—working towards the illustrious and lofty goal of becoming a Peak Master themselves.

Despite the bustling noises of cultivators within the white stone walls, there was one place that was always quiet. A peaceful serenity always lingered over a beautiful wooden building that smelled of sweets, tea, and wisteria. This was Xingti Pavilion, the pavilion covered in petals and flowers.

In truth, nothing had changed drastically in the first place, but to Fu Ran it was as if there was a shift in his very existence. His very first mission in years resulted in the mutilation of his qi meridians and the thievery of his precious spiritual weapon. While his stresses were not gone, fear did not bog him down like it did when he was assaulted by nightly terrors. Those left him when Shi Wei Ji was taken.

And when left alone, Fu Ran slipped right back into old habits.

“Fu Shidi! Get up!” The banging on his door shook the entire tea house, the little ceramic cups on the counter clanging noisily. After the first five sets of knocking and calling, Fu Ran worried the hinges would give out soon.

His face paled as he pulled the covers tighter over his head, hoping the thin sheets would provide shelter from Zhi Lao’s rage. Between the battle of Zhi Lao’s voice and his protective layer of sheets, Zhi Lao was winning.

Go away Zhi Lao! Fu Ran internally hissed. He wanted to yell the words, but last time he raised his voice needlessly, he was given more than just a simple lecture. He wouldn't dare say a single thought out loud. Besides, he had already done his job and sent the children on their daily training. They were doing just fine without him there to watch.

With his current bodily state—little ability to conjure spiritual techniques—Fu Ran currently felt less than a disciple. He curled his knees up to his stomach and sunk deeper into his mattress.

It had already been three weeks since returning from Jinan.

The Peak Elder, Yi Yang visited him and checked over his injuries. To his dismay, Fu Ran was told that it could possibly be months until he could feel his qi flow through the right side of his body again. He was a sad excuse for a teacher. With only half of his available spiritual energy, he could barely teach his disciples to conjure a flame. And Shi Wei Ji was still missing too.

It isn't fair… he thought, Shi Wei Ji is my longest lasting friend, and has been with me for 14 years. Fu Ran brought his hands up to cover his ears from the onslaught of banging. Why did Shi Wei Ji choose to leave? Lips quivering, it became painfully obvious that his emotions were stuck.

He knew his mental state was in a wreck, and now he didn’t even have Tian Han to blame, as his appearance was minimal in recent days.

“Fu Shidi, if you have no intention of teaching your children then I am going to send a message to Master Tian to come to Xingti Pavilion.” Banging was replaced by something even more terrifying: The threat of bothering someone he couldn’t stand to see inconvenienced. Fu Ran’s hands reflexively grabbed up fistfuls of silk sheets.

Thoughts were trying to force themselves into coherent strings of words. Instead he only yelled one. “No!” The words slipped so quickly that he felt a scratch of pain in his throat.

The covers held Fu Ran in vice. Many attempts were made to fight the fabric off thin legs, and still he couldn’t in a timely manner. “Zhi Shixiong, please.” Misery coated his words. He begged. Tangled in the sheets, Fu Ran collapsed to the ground with a harsh thud. “Don’t bother Tian Han because of me! Please!”

Even Zhi Lao stopped banging when the shaking of Xingti Pavilion was no longer his cause. “Fu Shidi?” He called, worry masking his previous frustration. The door began to creak open and Zhi Lao was met with the sight of his younger Martial Brother trapped in white silk.

Fu Ran was near ready to cry, and his weepy expression was met with one of pity. Zhi Lao’s body was slumped in on itself, like there was presence of some heavy guilt. With heavy steps he kneeled beside Fu Ran and his fingers got to work on the sheets.

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Zhi Lao let a thin trail of breath slide between his lips. “How did you manage this?” While his brows were knitted tightly, his lips curled into a small smile.

Somehow a knot had formed around Fu Ran’s right leg, and it couldn’t move more than a few inches away from the other. He didn’t know how he managed this either.

“I don’t know…” Fu Ran murmured.

Zhi Lao chuckled quietly. “There we go. All free now.”

Making sure there were no brand new injuries to hinder his life, Fu Ran stretched out his knees and gave his ankles a light twist. There was no pain.

Zhi Lao held a hand up to Fu Ran’s face, offering aid. He took it.

Zhi Lao’s hands were feeling exceptionally calloused today. Perhaps he spent a good deal of this last week sparring and training. “Who would have thought though… Master Tian really is a way to get you out of bed.”

Fu Ran stood and brushed the dust off his robes and nagged, “Shixiong, that’s not fair. He has only been a Peak Master for a week, and they are already running him ragged. How could you threaten to add to that?”

“That is just how it is.”

Fu Ran brows were drawn tight, and Zhi Lao noticed this. He put his index and middle finger together and gave a light jab to Fu Ran’s forehead. Pain did not set in, rather just shock from the sudden bullying action. Fu Ran rubbed it.

“Zhi Shixiong,” Fu Ran muttered. The silence crept over the two of them for a few moments. Zhi Lao didn’t seem plagued by it, but silence was far too heavy. Fu Ran felt he had to ask a question to fill the gap, so why not speak of a relevant incident? “Has any progress been made? On locating Shi Wei Ji?”

“How could it be? You will not explain to us who took it.” Zhi Lao’s voice went right back to his neutral tone: troubled and bothered.

Guilt rose up in Fu Ran’s chest. His eyes fell away from his martial brother, falling back towards his bed. Anything to escape the begrudging stare. Building a wall with his arms in front of his body could not protect him from the intrusive thoughts. “Um…” He couldn’t come up with an excuse.

This stammering from Fu Ran only furthered the crease on Zhi Lao’s forehead. “And you always do that, too. What are your martial brothers supposed to think, when you look like you did some egregious act when Shi Wei Ji is brought up?” Only Zhi Lao’s legs were visible between stolen glances, so the shifting of weight from one to another was evident of untold emotion.

Fu Ran shook his head in denial. “It’s nothing. Forget I asked.”

If he was annoyed before, he was pissed now. Zhi Lao only got those deep wrinkles under his eyes when his scowls were intense. He sighed before taking a step away from the door.

Turning away, Zhi Lao had already made moves to leave the room. “Zhi Shixiong,” Fu Ran called. He was thankful to see Zhi Lao come to a full stop to look back. He linked his arms together, crossing one over the other, and his foot tapped in impatience.

Fu Ran sat on the edge of the bed, trying to sort out what he wished to say. The sound of children playing, training, or arguing outside his room made his mind settle into darker thoughts. He could hear Lin An and Meng Xiao fighting, no doubt it was over something silly. Or Meng Xiao was playfully bullying Wan Yu while their Shizun was out of sight.

Fu Ran loved his disciples, but they also brought so much insecurities to the surface. And with insecurities, inadequacies became too hard to ignore. He took in a breath and asked, “My last mission proved to me that I don’t know how to be a good teacher. What should I do?” Fu Ran wore a look of agony and his shoulder slumped further.

The more he reflected, the worse he felt. He was barely dressed for the day, and had thrown his gray outer robes onto the floor where it currently lay. It was kicked uselessly away from the bed while he was fighting with the sheets just moments before.

How could he train his disciples like this? Being both mentally and physically unavailable was unfair to them.

“What is wrong with how you trained them before?” Zhi Lao said and he squinted his eyes. Fu Ran’s shoulders stiffened straight at the response. “You have fine disciples. They are strong and dedicated to learning, but most importantly they are dedicated to you. They will listen to any word you give them.” Fu Ran blinked stupidly. Like he hadn't expected some honest words from his Shixiong.

He stammered, “I feel they deserve more than me. That is all.” Fu Ran grabbed up the fabric over his knees. His knuckles shook from the idea of really speaking his feelings, but the fear was redundant, as the words had already been said now.

He couldn’t stand the idea of them being taken away just because he was a bad teacher. Fu Ran felt such crushing longing for his old disciples as well, but the current group was different. They went on a harrowing mission together. Lin An, Meng Xiao, and Su Biyu had all bonded quite strongly with one another and himself. Fu Ran believed that each disciple would do great no matter where they went, but he wanted to be there. And watch them grow.

And Wan Yu… Fu Ran didn’t think the boy would leave his tutelage even if someone demanded it, but somehow the idea of becoming a disappointment to Wan Yu hurt even more.

To save Fu Ran from his cycling despair a rough tap of something hard was pressed into his shoulder. He winced. It was clearly the white handle of Zhi Lao’s long sword, Qinglian. “Then why not pay a visit to the library?”

“The library?” Fu Ran asked, rubbing his shoulder ruefully.

“Both teacher and disciple should occasionally refresh their knowledge. If you feel inadequate, then work on yourself. You are better at traditional teaching than I am, so use that skill.” He answered so blatantly that it left Fu Ran with his mouth hung open.

Going to the library wouldn't be too terrible, and it was true, he did need to go over some of the basics again. Wan Yu and Meng Xiao might have been very good with their spiritual skills and sword skills, but the girls needed a little more work. It was mostly simple things like form or focus, but those would be found in beginner books, surely.

“I understand, Zhi Shixiong.”

Zhi Lao left with a, “That’s good, then.”

Once Zhi Lao had left, Fu Ran found himself looking down at his white inner robes, and his lips sunk into a frown. If I have to go back into Xing Xing Pavilion, then I should be properly dressed.