When Zhi Lao finally arrived atop the temple, 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 tiles with every step he took.
His eyes were drawn immediately to Fu Ran.
"You okay?" Zhi Lao asked. His tone was as nonchalant as ever—it was strange. Whether he baked cute and delicious treats or killed enemies, his voice 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 that while covered in blood! But Fu Ran stayed anchored. At that moment, there were more pressing matters, and even Zhi Lao had caught on. His gaze flickered between Tian Han and Shesui Lang.
Running his fingers through his bangs, Shesui Lang made a motion to unstick the 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 protested.
"I would prefer another method, but we need to get him back to the sect." Shesui Lang was quick to try and ease Fu Ran's worries, but persuasion had never been his strong suit.
Even with his battlefield experience, he had only managed to staunch Tian Han's wound. His condition was still too severe to be moved. It was evident in the way his chest heaved, how his lungs could only push out a wheeze with each breath.
Shesui Lang lifted Tian Han onto his shoulders and back. With a heavy groan at the unexpected weight, he breathlessly chortled, "At least he's getting an easy trip back home. Lucky bastard." He struggled to the edge of the temple, scanned the surroundings, then dropped off.
Despite his desire to follow, Fu Ran's legs wouldn't move.
By now, he had been kneeling in a mess of blood for too long, his body aching from earlier assaults. Just contemplating the effort it would take to stand made him freeze up. While Su Biyu hesitated before following Shesui Lang, Zhi Lao stood with crossed arms.
Within seconds, Fu Ran was being pulled to his feet. He let out a whimper of pain. "Ah! Stop it!"
"You can't stay here."
Fu Ran groaned in response. He could tell he had overworked his damaged qi meridians, because the moment he put weight on his feet, the right side of his body seized from the searing heat. It flared up again, nearly as agonizing as when the injury was fresh.
"Are you injured?" Zhi Lao asked.
Fu Ran hissed, "No."
Nothing good would come from letting his elder martial brother know 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, a dangerous heat burning in his chest.
If he touches me one more time…
He could feel his last shred of sanity slipping with Zhi Lao's tender press.
"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 was minimal—if anything—but the weight of his words was enough for Zhi Lao to drop the act.
Finally, they left.
Now that Fu Ran had rejoined the mounds of corpses below, he realized just how dire the situation was. It wasn't as overwhelming as a single street in the Faceless City, but it was far too many for the small temple clearing to hold.
Fu Ran was certain the villagers would never forgive An Xian Yun Peak for its interference. But what choice was there? Without intervention, they would have been left to ruin, their nightly festivals slowly leading them toward doom.
It was all a matter of when.
When would the dead lose their will and turn bloodthirsty?
When would they bring Bei Zangli to destruction?
When would they make it to the Faceless City to do the same?
A sharp noise escaped Fu Ran's throat. "The city!"
Zhi Lao smiled faintly, unsurprised by the sudden outburst. "Jinan is where we stopped first. Some buildings were damaged, and there were quite a few injuries, but the city is safe."
"Then… my disciples. Did you see them? Are they injured?"
"No more than some cuts and bruises. Seems like they heard the ruckus and tried to deal with some of the corpses on their own. They did a good job, so be sure to praise them properly."
Fu Ran exhaled a long sigh of relief. "That… that's good."
With great effort, he rushed after Shesui Lang and Su Biyu.
Shesui Lang chuckled when he noticed. "Zhi Shidi is right, you know. Your disciples handled themselves well enough."
"Does that mean I shouldn't worry about them?" Fu Ran asked.
"Not at all."
If the evil spirits had grouped together rather than scattering among the redwoods, things could have been much worse. They could have overwhelmed the gates of Jinan with little effort.
The thought gnawed at Fu Ran. His eyes briefly shifted to Su Biyu. The way she still avoided his gaze made him sigh. Worrying for his disciples was one thing, but every passing second drew his eyes back to Shesui Lang's back.
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 something vital. What if there were lasting effects? How long before Tian Han woke up?
Truthfully this one event, a simple mission to Jinan, had completely shattered his world view. Fu Ran no longer knew what to believe.
Shi Wei Ji had never told him of this.
He had spent so long fearing death at the hands of the Tyrant Emperor that… this outcome had never crossed his mind.
Why was I never told that the most threatening thing about my future was myself?
And that man—the one with the golden mask.
From the Bloody Entrance Exam to the arrival of that nightmarish man. From his disciples' very first mission to the appearance of these new players…
Fu Ran couldn't shake the idea that it was all connected.
He wondered if there had been any progress on the investigations back at the sect. But it was easier to ask Yi Yang directly rather than further hound his brothers. If those two had any connection at all, to what happened at An Xian Yun Peak… It had to be found.
The grass was damp against Fu Ran's legs, requiring great effort to kick aside as he walked. Shesui Lang and Zhi Lao had gone quiet now, and Fu Ran mirrored their silence with tense unease. Their expressions were unreadable; distant like always.
Shesui Lang only grinned.
Zhi Lao only scowled.