The city's guards had already fallen at the gate, and Fu Ran was left with little choice but to act. He tore his brand-new blade from its sheath.
"Tian Han," he called for support.
Past the evil spirit in the streets, at least two dozen more were stumbling up the stairs to the Faceless City. Their movements were sluggish and unsteady, as if their bodies could not withstand the weight of poisonous demonic qi.
It was like they were animals acting only on instinct.
"Tian Han, thin the numbers at the gate."
He did not need to say more. With a simple sound of agreement, Tian Han leaped toward the incoming horde. He moved with such ease, as if he were painting the sky with bright red strokes. One strike at a time, his sword tore through the enemies with grace.
Fu Ran followed up with his own practiced footwork, driving his blade deep into the man who had just committed murder in front of hundreds of watchful eyes.
Still, no one ran.
Instead, a hand suddenly latched onto his sleeve. A shopkeeper, judging by the apron stained with flour, clutched at him with a frantic grip.
"My shop! You have to defend my shop first! If those things get inside, I'll lose everything!"
Fu Ran barely resisted the urge to cut the man's hand off outright. "I don't have time for that," he hissed, shaking him off.
"No time? You cultivators are useless," the man spat, but he made no move to flee. None of them did.
Fu Ran's face twisted in bewilderment. "Why is no one running? Begone! Does the Faceless City only know how to wait and die?"
He expected the crowd to rouse into retreat, or at the very least, gain enough self-preservation to back out of the immediate attack range. Instead, they hurled insults.
"Do something about it!" a man yelled.
"You wear the symbol of An Xian Yun Peak! Isn't this your job?" a woman added.
"Well, get on with it, cultivator! Or are you just going to let innocent civilians die?"
A frustrated 'tsk' escaped Fu Ran's lips. He would have been less offended by physical blows than by their entitled words.
Foolish, Fu Ran thought bitterly. Damn foolish people! He turned on his heel and ran to catch up with Tian Han at the top of the stairs.
Tian Han had just cut down a spirit when Fu Ran stopped by his side. "Is Shizun bothered by what they said? This attitude is normal in Jinan."
"What's the point if they all want to die? Why the hell does this city even exist?" Fu Ran complained.
Tian Han chuckled darkly, cutting down another with an effortless swing. "You know, I asked myself that same thing once." He flicked the blood from his blade. "I couldn't come up with a good answer either."
With the two of them working together, the number of enemies littering the steps dwindled, but more kept coming from between the cracks and trees. Luckily, Tian Han was watching the shadows, making sure none got too close. This allowed Fu Ran to push forward with less hesitation.
Even after about fifty had fallen, their numbers did not drop. They still pressed forward.
The abandoned temple path would be coming up soon. Once the cobblestone steps shifted into a dirt road, Fu Ran knew they were not too far. The destination awaited them at the very center between Bei Zangli and Jinan.
However, with every step, the air grew thicker. It felt as if the scenery itself was changing, darkening. Leaves fell like dying embers against the haze of demonic qi, and the scent of damp earth mixed with something foul.
Rot.
A cold sweat dotted the back of his neck as a wave of pressure rolled over him. The air had become thick and oppressive, awakening a recent memory.
"It feels like the demon realm," Fu Ran muttered.
He took another step forward, but something pushed back. Not physically, but the sheer weight of the qi pressing against his senses was like wading through harsh tides. He should not have been affected by it to this degree. After all, it was his disciples who had suffered, not him.
The Bloody Entrance Exam. That was what this felt like.
Fu Ran had forced himself not to think about it. Not to dwell on the dead Peak Masters or the children slaughtered before they could really live. But now it clawed its way into his mind. Their faces flickered behind his eyes, their blood soaking into the ground beneath his feet—
His throat tightened, but a warm hand pressed against his back.
"We need to hurry," Tian Han said. "There are still more flooding out, and we're probably missing some in the trees. Let's deal with this quickly and clean up afterward, okay?"
Fu Ran nearly spiraled, turning too fast. He stole a glance at Tian Han. How are you always so unbothered?
He did not ask the question aloud. Instead, he simply nodded and followed Tian Han's guidance.
The path through the crimson forest was thick with undergrowth, and cutting through the low branches slowed their progression. But finally, the trees thinned, giving way to an open clearing.
The temple stood before them, swallowed in darkness. The air felt the same as the plume seen rising from Jinan's upper view.
A low, almost melodic chuckle filled the air along with the whipping breeze. In the middle of the clearing was a sight that forced both Tian Han and Fu Ran to stop.
Set atop the elegantly decorated, though decrepit, temple sat a masked man dressed in white. His legs hung off the edge of the ridged tiles, and in his hand, he dangled a lantern.
With every pulse of spiritual energy, the iron-reinforced edges of that old lantern clanged softly against the rod.
Even though the man's face was obscured, Fu Ran already knew him well.
After all, they shared a face.