The next two hours were about as tiring as Fu Ran had expected. If he tried to walk too far from the Tyrant Emperor, he found himself unable to move an inch—the infuriating grip on his wrist wouldn't allow him to stray or even adjust his pace.
And yet, Tian Han only ever responded with a quiet, "Shizun, I'm sorry," when it happened.
Perhaps Fu Ran's attitude was making this harder than it had to be. It was embarrassing enough to walk the streets of Jinan arm-in-arm with a man, but also without masks? As if they didn't already stand out, their uncovered faces drew far too much attention.
The one benefit of walking this close together was that no one dared to bother them. Some passersby covered their faces to whisper or giggle, but gossip was nothing new.
And for the entire two hours, they just walked.
They covered most of the main street, occasionally stopping at market stalls or glancing at food vendors. Some stores were indoors, filled with the rich scent of perfume and lined with expensive souvenirs, but nothing seemed out of place.
The most infuriating part? The light tracking orb hadn't shifted at all. It was as if The Imposter wasn't even in the city.
Eventually, they stopped at a street food stall, and Tian Han finally let go of him—just long enough to buy a midnight snack. With careful ease, he held a meat skewer in front of Fu Ran's face.
"Thank you," Fu Ran mumbled absentmindedly, too lost in thought to fully register the gesture. Still, he took a bite.
"If he's not in the city," Fu Ran spoke through a mouthful of meat, his words slightly garbled, "then where would he be?" What exactly did an imposter-thief get up to in the middle of the night?
"Well, we did see him once back in Bei Zangli," Tian Han mused, cocking his head as if deep in thought. He happily bit into the skewer.
When they first arrived in Jinan, the very first stop was a small cafe. There had only been one other guest at the time. Fu Ran was nearly certain that man was the imposter: if not for his clothes, then for his bare feet. The man carried a long iron rod, with a lantern tied to the end. This also corroborated the story told by his disciples.
Something about this thought stuck in the forefront of his mind.
"Wait… Is that it?" In shock, Fu Ran quickly swallowed his food, coughing a little to clear his throat.
"Ah—Shizun, are you okay?" Tian Han offered a few quick pats but Fu Ran waved him off.
"That lantern." Fu Ran's fingers curled into Tian Han's black robes. "That lantern… could be the spirit vessel we were looking for. Maybe he's walking by the temple every night?"
Tian Han let out a small 'oh' in surprise. "Like that old folk tale?"
Fu Ran cocked his head. "What?"
"There's an old story in Jinan about a shepherd who guides ghosts to the afterlife," Tian Han explained.
"It was the original inspiration for the Passing Rite Festival. The walkway stretching between Bei Zangli and Jinan is where it's said to take place. During the festivals, the 'shepherd' begins his journey here…" Tian Han lifted his hand towards the red gates at the entrance of the city.
"...and using a light as a lure, he picks up the dead by the temple. By the end of the night, they should be celebrating alongside the living in Bei Zangli."
Fu Ran's head snapped toward the city entrance following Tian Han's motions. It was a long walk now—the gate was barely visible past the swarming crowds.
"Then if that's true…" Fu Ran mumbled. He walks the same path every night. Before Fu Ran could stop himself, a smile slipped through. "We can find him."
Almost as if to dash all of his newfound hopes, a small flash of light shone near Tian Han. It was the tracking spell. Fu Ran's mind came alive—The Impostor?
Even Tian Han stiffened in place.
The first idea came to his mind and Fu Ran quickly extended his uninjured hand. Come, Shi Wei Ji! A simple mental command was all he needed in the past to urge his spiritual blade to move, so Fu Ran pleaded for the white blade to return to its proper owner.
The prick of frustration stung the corners of his eyes when he heard nothing. So he tried again: "Shi Wei Ji—"
A shimmer of white caught the edge of his vision.
Fu Ran barely took a single step, before Tian Han latched him in place with a firm grip. "No, Shizun. Wait."
In the midst of the crowd, a man stood unmoving, forcing the Faceless City's civilians to walk past. This was not the fake who had borrowed Fu Ran's face, but instead his companion. The man with the golden mask—and his strikingly familiar form.
And in his hands was the most beautiful blade of An Xian Yun Peak. At least, to Fu Ran, nothing else came close. Shi Wei Ji.
"It hears you," the man said just barely audible over the passing crowd. "You don't know how happy that makes me."
Fu Ran's brain stuttered to a halt.
"But Fu Ran, you should go back home to An Xian Yun Peak."
Home? He was nearly petrified by how soft and sweet the word sounded from the golden-masked man's lips. Said so perfectly like the forgotten advice of parental care.
It would have been easier for Fu Ran to collect himself if the man had just struck him instead.
When the masked man was met with silence, he forced Shi Wei Ji back into its sheath. This simple action urged Fu Ran to act—to snap out of his stupor long enough to get answers.
"What are you doing?!"
If not for Tian Han holding him back, he didn't know what he would have done. Fu Ran wanted to tear that sword right out of his hands. Shi Wei Ji was his afterall, and he needed to get it back. "Tian Han…" Fu Ran rasped, "...release me."
"That man feels otherworldly. You shouldn't." Even Tian Han bristled, his words laced with apprehension.
Otherworldly? Fu Ran exchanged glances again. The man really made so little sudden movements that it felt like he could fade away in an instant.
For a moment the masked man was silent and watching.
Only now were people starting to pay attention, because now the scene appeared like some high-stress drama for the gossip loving streets of people. The golden-masked man's eyes shifted, moving towards the tall well-lit towers of the Twin Summits building.
"You might think it's cruel for me to take it back after all these years."
Fu Ran's breath hitched. "...Take it back?"
"Please, just return home," the masked man paused. "And then rest—Live your life. The remainder of our plan will have nothing to do with you. I promise."
Somehow, those words felt like a thin piece of wire constricting around his chest. An emotion—something in between childish indignation, and mourning. "No," Fu Ran denied blankly at first, and then his words turned into a yell, "I won't leave without Shi Wei Ji!"
The man stilled, then let out a short, dry scoff. "Troublesome." It was nearly fondness, before the tone darkened. "You don't want to be around when this city falls."
Tian Han's finger's twitched against Fu Ran's stomach, and he sucked in a sharp breath. But Fu Ran was just as shocked as he was. "The city…?" he muttered.
The masked man turned, as if to join back in with the passing citizens.
The city—falls? Fu Ran's thoughts spun wildly until his head ached. Was that a threat? A warning? A promise? "You… You can't just leave after saying that!"
But he was gone.
The golden-masked man had effortlessly left—not even escaped, he just left. And it was so deep into the night now that even if his companion had paid a visit to Bei Zangli, there would be no reason for him to be there anymore.
Dammit. Dammit! Fu Ran gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers into fists.
"...Shizun?" Tian Han's words sounded like they snagged in his throat, and his grip offered a tightening comfort.
He had been near silent this entire time, aside from small whispers of warning. But Fu Ran couldn't even look at him. Whatever expression he was making…it would have just pissed him off right now.
Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night for sure. There was quite a lot hanging on his loose idea of a plan, but… We can block The Impostor at the temple and stop him before this goes on a single night longer.And then—I'll find a way to take back Shi Wei Ji.
He barely registered Tian Han's pestering insistence. But his words startled Fu Ran back to the present. "Shizun, let's go looking for him tomorrow."
The exact thoughts that had crossed his own mind.
Tian Han's face pressed close enough that only Fu Ran could hear his words. "Will that make you feel better, Shizun? Let's try to get Shi Wei Ji back."
So gentle… His voice was so soft that it was enraging. The Tyrant Emperor was supposed to have zero understanding of emotional insight. He was supposed to be well-equipped with the ability to look straight through you and not understand a damn thing going on in your mind.
Fu Ran had so many things to say, yet a lump in his throat was trying to stop him from speaking. Regret. Would he regret speaking it into reality? Straight to the enemy himself?
Another breath caught deeper this time. "Why," he started. His own voice sounded pathetic and thin. How did it all shift so quickly?
"Why are you nice to me?"
The words escaped before Fu Ran could stop them; they carried more weight than he wanted to admit. He wasn't even sure what answer he wished for. Maybe none at all. But then—Tian Han… Why did he have to answer like that?
"It's such a small thing to want to be happy," Tian Han whispered. His grip tightened as if Fu Ran could crumble to ash in his arms.