This Shizun's Disappointment part 2

Fu Ran was locked in a blade-to-blade struggle with an imposter, yet even that did not seem to tell the whole story. The man's every movement and word hinted at something far darker lurking beneath the surface. Why had he been kept in the dark? Fu Ran wanted to tear out his hair in frustration with the situation—but also his sword.

"Shi Wei Ji," Fu Ran's panic flickered. Isn't this a threat worth warning me about?

Fu Ran blinked and tried to focus his spiritual energy into the pristine blade. Hurry up, let me see. His anger slipped out.

With no way of knowing how dangerous The Imposter really was, he needed to see it: The future. He relied on his trusted companion to reveal his fate. And if death did not await him, then at least he could fight with confidence.

But for some reason, his sword stuttered. It did not respond to his call. Shi Wei Ji? His very own gifted blade? Ignored him?

The weight of The Imposter's blade pressed down harder than he could withstand. Through gritted teeth, Fu Ran commanded again, "Shi Wei Ji, show me! Now."

The man with a stolen face spoke a single word: 

"No."

The voice was not a figment of Fu Ran's mind; and the dream-like state of his ability didn't happen. One simple word stopped Shi Wei Ji from responding.

He blinked a few times, testing to see if the lavender glare would vanish. He had never realized how haunting his own gaze could look. Another blink, and the sounds of screaming still filled the background. 

Nothing had shifted. Nothing had changed.

With one word..? He poured his will into Shi Wei Ji, begging it to wake but only more silence answered. Why did a stranger have control over his blade? Had even Shi Wei Ji been charmed by a fake?

Fu Ran was puzzled. "You steal my face, and you confuse my spiritual weapon? Why? Who are you?"

"You need to ask such an obvious question, but I simply don't have time for ignorance."

The Impostor's words were chilling. His strength only increased, as if he were testing the minimal force needed to dissuade Fu Ran. With each shift, the pressure grew.

Before long, Fu Ran was nearly pressed to his knees, barely holding a barricade between himself and Tian Han. His incompetence was obvious. The Imposter barely looked at him anymore and instead turned his attention to the stage.

Tian Han was frozen in silence. His grip on Wan Yu trembled, as if he might drop the boy out of sheer shock. The moment this battle began, he should have fled, yet he stood there like an idiot.

"Tian Han!" Fu Ran rasped. "Leave!"

The command only shook him for a moment, but another similar voice latched him in place.

"Don't you dare move an inch. Be a good disciple." The Impostor matched his command with a more… well worded gripe. It was clearly much more effective against the Tyrant Emperor, because he shuddered in place.

There should have been no room for hesitation. 

At this moment, Fu Ran was Tian Han's mission companion, and The Impostor was nothing more than an enemy that looked liked him. So why did The Tyrant Emperor hesitate? Why did his foot shift for only a moment before freezing again? Had the enemy really charmed his way into the entire auction hall's heart?

Fu Ran gritted his teeth.

But Tian Han whispered, "You…"

His words trailed off, but his eyes lingered on the fake's body. His gaze remained fixed, locked onto a thin, bruised neck, then lowered to wrists and ankles marked by deep purple bruises. Tian Han couldn't look away.

"You shouldn't be…" he started again, but the words caught in his throat. It was clear that Tian Han had no intention of running. It was more like he hadn't the ability to run.

"Tian Han!" Fu Ran yelled, each part of the name heavily stressed, almost pleading. "He's just a fake!"

Something flickered in Tian Han's amber eyes, and his head turned with a reluctance. "...A fake?" He echoed the words. With a quick glance at the boy in his arms, he seemed to ground himself.

He turned on his heel and dashed for the stage steps.

But The Impostor snapped. 

"Do you really see your Shizun as a fake?"

Turmoil, distress, and mental chaos—that was the only way to describe Tian Han's expression. He barely glanced over his shoulder, eyes stretched wide until the lights in them were clearly visible. He didn't swallow, didn't flinch. He just looked... tormented.

"No… no, no." Tian Han shook his head. "It's not like that!"

He was caught again, ensnared in a poisonous trap woven from charismatic words. This stranger was beyond dangerous; he knew exactly what to say. 

Please, Fu Ran begged.

But right now, neither the Tyrant Emperor nor Fu Ran's spiritual sword was in the right state of mind. Fu Ran was the only one thinking clearly. This man was an enemy, and only he could see it!

"Tian Han, please!" Fu Ran was desperate, he shook under the weight of the attacking training blade. He couldn't let the Tyrant Emperor sabotage what was supposed to be such a simple rescue mission.

Just leave!

Tian Han hesitated, and his face twisted into a grimace. The war going on inside the Tyrant Emperor's head was one that couldn't be understood and only seen. A push and pull of "Stay," and "Go," made him hesitant. 

Finally he screwed his eyes shut and ran. There was no option but to trust him. Thank heavens—he was finally gone behind the veil of red curtains.

The Impostor sneered and looked down the bridge of his nose. Wow, he even got that look down perfectly, Fu Ran chuckled. 

"You think you've done something?" The Impostor said bluntly, "Like letting him go is a wise decision?"

Fu Ran's winning grin faltered. "My disciple is gone, and away from you."

The Impostor stepped back, releasing his overbearing pressure. "You don't understand the amount of ruin you're causing by letting that man do as he pleases." He kneeled, his face only inches away.

With a near-tentative, almost solemn touch, he pressed his palm against Fu Ran's cheek. He delicately brushed the bangs away.

Fu Ran stiffened at the sudden intimacy. Just like the Tyrant Emperor always had, The Impostor's hand lingered too long near his neck before he finally spoke. "The ruin will be your own."

The words were enough to snap his body back to realization. Ruin. In his many visions of foresight, that was the only thing that awaited him.

The Impostor continued, "Young naiveté is so… annoying." With more force than necessary, he shoved Fu Ran's face aside, and before he could recover, a knee slammed into his jaw.

Shocked and flustered, all Fu Ran could do was take the direct hit. 

A sharp ache rung through his skull. He gasped, struggling to lift Shi Wei Ji, but his wrist was caught effortlessly, like his attempts meant nothing.

This man wasn't even using a blade anymore, and yet his fluidity was like water.

What the hell is wrong with him!?

Fu Ran's vision blanked, shifting between light and dark. He was yanked to his knee with his wrist held high above his head. And the tightness felt like his bones were about to break.

"Drop it," the Impostor said.

What? Fu Ran blinked. Shi Wei Ji? Was he demanding that he drop Shi Wei Ji?

"Like hell I will!"

A sharp pain stung. The Impostor's grip tightened until the bones inside Fu Ran's arm creaked under the weight. His jaw clenched, until a sharp gasp escaped his lips.

"I have no intention of killing you," the Impostor said, "but do you really think I won't cripple you?"

It was an indomitable force. Every time Fu Ran tried to pull away, the grip only tightened further. It truly felt like his wrist was about to shatter. But above all else, he could not lose his spiritual blade. At this point, it was the only thing proving he was still a cultivator at all.

Unlike the others, his martial abilities were slim, and his knowledge of arrays and spells had dimmed over the years. Without his ability of foresight—

He froze when he felt the man's thumb brush against the underside of his wrist.

"Is silence your choice?"

The Impostor sounded like he was smiling. When Fu Ran lifted his gaze, he saw a sadistic grin. It felt like being stabbed with the blade twisting as it plunged deeper. A strange, sickening feeling coiled in his gut.

"What are you…?" He tried to ask.

But Fu Ran could feel it—a sudden swelling of spiritual energy in his lookalike's fingertips. A striking power pressed against his skin and surged through his veins—all the way down his right side.

He could not suppress his scream. 

A blast of spiritual energy tore through his qi meridians, detonating like a string of firecrackers inside his body. The pain was blinding at first, electric and unbearable, but then it turned worse. His entire right arm throbbed with deep, searing heat before going numb, as if all sensation had been burned out of him. It felt hollow, wrong, like his very blood had been scraped out of his veins.

Fu Ran gasped sharply. "Ah—ah…!" His breath hitched, a strangled whine catching in his throat. His fingers slackened.

The white sword slipped from his grasp and clattered against the ground, but he barely registered the sound. However when the Impostor released him, Fu Ran sank to the carpeted floor where Shi Wei Ji shimmered in his vision.

"Hah—" Fu Ran sucked in a shaky breath. "No… don't…" His voice barely came out, a pained murmur. Don't take Shi Wei Ji.

Damn it.

The golden-masked man had remained quiet for so long, but his voice snapped. "Fu Ran." And then he chastised: "You've done too much."

The Impostor was the one to answer. "This is too much?" He bent down and picked up the white blade.

Fu Ran tried to move, tried to reach for it, but he was struggling to even lift his cheek off the ground. His fingers only twitched.

"—Stop!" he gasped.

The Impostor ignored him, testing the weight of the sword in his hand. "I know his limits," he said lightly.

Fu Ran clenched his teeth, trying again to push himself up. His entire right side felt wrong, distant—he could barely feel his own skin, let alone move. Shi Wei Ji—He had to get up. He had to move.

The golden-masked man exhaled, not quite a sigh. "We should go."

The Impostor hummed in agreement. "We still have things to do, don't we? Shi Wei Ji will make it easier for the both of us."

Their conversation blurred in his ears, abstract and distant. Plans, places, something he couldn't focus on past the haze in his head. They were gone before he could register it, and only his labored breathing filled the auditorium.

Damn it! Fu Ran forced his muscles to move, but his body refused him. A weak breath left his lips, barely audible. Damn it!

He could barely feel anything past the thick layer of sweat over his skin.