Tensions part 2

Following the soft lull of sleep, the inn room was gone, replaced by a different kind of extravagance. Though it was just as garish, it was familiar amidst a dream like haze.

Fu Ran must have fallen asleep. And of course, the only logical thing was to throw a nightmare on top of today's horrors. Like clockwork, an overly detailed bedroom turned into gilded hallways, and then into a throne room.

Gold. Everything was gold.

He didn't have the energy to feel fear. His heart still thumped when people yelled or threatened him, but he was too drained. Why not make the day worse? Isn't that right, Shi Wei Ji?

Fu Ran's mind snagged on that thought. Shi Wei Ji? The name repeated itself in the back of his mind, over and over.

His sword was gone.

Without his foresight ability and the weapon that channeled it, why was he still dreaming? Fu Ran barely registered the differences in the dream—he would have said there were none. Even now, being strangled felt exactly the same as it always had before.

But that didn't mean his feelings hadn't changed since the last time this particular dream gripped him.

It was Tian Han.

Before, he hadn't known that name. But somehow, over the past month, Tian Han's personality had taken on certain traits… Ones that belonged exclusively to him, and not the Tyrant Emperor.

Even now, as he stared down at the forearm and fingers locked around his throat, as his gaze met unrelenting gold; even now as he gasped for breath until tears welled up in the corners of his eyes—he couldn't deny that there was a difference.

"Tian Han!" He didn't know what overcame him, only that he had to yell. It would likely accomplish nothing, nor change the outcome.

But today, his mind didn't just see the Tyrant Emperor.

Weakly, his fingers rested upon Tian Han's hands. He had so little strength that he couldn't pry them away, but the simple touch seemed to shake him. "Tian Han, please," he begged, words coming out hoarse and pitiful.

For once, Tian Han's face wasn't full of rage or threat. The whites of his eyes were visible, and the skin between his brows wrinkled.

As if by gut reaction, his fist tightened. A strangled yelp escaped from Fu Ran's lips. It was far more painful than any other instance of strangling, to the point that it was jarring. 

Fu Ran crashed to the ground, hard and messy. He was unable to catch himself and struggled to breathe.

He didn't know how long Tian Han loomed above him or how intense the glare was, until their eyes met. The expression was more disturbed than ever before. The Tyrant Emperor did not get disturbed.

Tian Han was caught in a wave of tremors. "Shizun?"

Even he seemed startled by the question. He could not believe his own words?

Shock turned to anger in an instant. He quickly turned on his heel, spitting out a single, biting phrase:

"You are dismissed."

Fu Ran tried not to panic. He really put all of his effort into it, but this was different. With a single touch against his neck, he winced. It… It really fucking hurts.

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and fell in slow, uneven drops before splattering onto the white-gilded tiles.

The Tyrant released him quickly, sure, but his neck had nearly snapped in the process.

His hands scrabbled at the tiles beneath him, trying to push himself up. But there was nothing to grip. Smooth, polished, and utterly indifferent to his struggle. His arms trembled under his weight, and in the end, his body collapsed back onto the cold floor.

All of this from simply saying a name? Be it a good decision or a bad one, it was unclear, but he didn't wish to make it again. 

The ceiling swam into view, and somehow, that steadied him. Not a single part of the building showed signs of age. The rafters were perfectly polished and every detail of curling flora and wisteria patterns was painstakingly carved. Occasionally, a rogue branch stretched outward, adorned with full blossoms.

It was the only way he could grasp comfort. The familiarity settled his nerves.

Fu Ran stayed there longer than he meant to. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he pushed himself to his knees.

The voice of a young man rang into Fu Ran's ears, right when he tried to stand. "I'll guide Seer Fu back to his room." 

In his struggle, the door must have opened and he didn't notice. But now by his side knelt a messily dressed guard with tousled black hair. Fu Ran could hardly make out the dark eyes under a mop of bangs. 

The visible skin of his neck was coated in sweat, but the guard still forced a smile and extended a hand.

This was pretty common; when Fu Ran's dreams weren't interrupted, they often progressed like this. However, the guard's nervousness went past the usual reaction. He even looked a touch offended.

Fu Ran took a deep breath, before forcing a smile. "Thank you," Fu Ran kept it short and sweet. 

***

The trip back to his room was a journey. Fu Ran clutched at his neck the entire walk—applying some pressure somehow lessened the pain. That and using the guard to support half his weight, make moving easier. 

"That bastard." The guard grumbled, voice deep and accusatory.

"Well, he is th—" The pain seared as he responded, and he choked on his words.

The guard reassured him with a gentle pat on the back, "Ah—Hey, don't talk. It's alright." 

Fu Ran didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He couldn't even walk and breathe at the same time, and because of this, the trip to his room was made at least double in length.

The guard had dropped a lot of his formalities by now, and crossed his arms at Fu Ran's bedroom door. "Do ya need anything at all? Medicine? Or some ice? Have you eaten?" The guard's gaze fell upon a bruised and pale neck. His inspection lasted only a minute before he corrected his previous statement. "Actually, food's no good… It's worse than usual." 

"It'll heal." Fu Ran regretted speaking immediately. After just finding out how badly it hurt, why would he do it again? He winced, and stressed out his next sentence, "Dont worry too much. I'm just a fortune teller." 

"But—!"

"No buts," Fu Ran ruffled the guards black locks.

The guard's expression lowered into a frown, as if "no buts" really was the end of the conversation. His brows furrowed and he messily ran a hand through his hair and grumbled, "Alright, Shizun."

Fu Ran kept a polite smile on his face up until the door had shut, and the guard was long gone. 

The weight of having to keep up airs finally melted away and, with his bed in view, he lifted his foot to take a step. One step, and then he collapsed to the ground.

His body couldn't afford a single step. "Hah…hah…" Fu Ran chuckled darkly.

I can't even make it to the bed. 

Sleep wasn't what he wanted, nor was it something he felt he needed in a dream, but the coolness of the stone tile felt terribly relaxing against his flushed skin.

***

As always, the dream continued.

The bedroom lights were low when Fu Ran opened his eyes. Only a faint candlelight illuminated half the darkness.

No longer did he sleep on the cold, hard floor. Instead, he felt the comfortable heat of blankets, warmed by his own body temperature. For a moment, he believed he had already woken up, but that scent, burnt honey, still lingered.

He was still within a dream.

Fu Ran's welling tension tightened around his chest. This wasn't what usually happened. Had fainting been enough to change the dream's course? Usually, he was met with a furious Tyrant Emperor banging at his door. Fu Ran would suffer the hands of an irritable, uncontrollable, villainous—

A quiet click shattered the thought.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Fu Ran tensed against his pillow and screwed his eyes shut. The door to his bedroom had opened and shut again. 

Dammit… He tried to hide it, the way he bunched up the silky sheet between his fingers. I spoke too soon.

A heavy silence lingered too long, the only break in the monotonous droning was the sound of boots and the squeak of a chair being pulled closer to the bedside. After a pause, Tian Han's voice asked, "Shizun…?" as if testing his consciousness. 

The deathful quiet was filled with a sigh, and yet he still wasn't leaving.

Why wasn't he leaving?

The Tyrant Emperor sat right in front of him and Fu Ran could feel it. He wasn't breathing, and he didn't move an inch, but the weight of that glare was too heavy.

"Shizun, I know you're awake."

Fu Ran trembled and his eyes flicked open. An unreadable golden gaze blurred into dark shadows. With a slow cross of his arms, the expression was clear: judgement.

"Why did you say that name?" Tian Han asked.

Like Fu Ran had committed a grave sin, Tian Han's patience appeared brittle, close to snapping. A black blade sat at his hip—the thing that forced Fu Ran to feel the real intensity of the interaction.

No longer was it pristine white. Now sullied black. Shi Wei Ji.

If the Tyrant Emperor reached for that sword, then the dream would undoubtedly soon come to an end. Fu Ran swallowed.

"Tian Han—" he tried to speak, but Tian Han's face twisted.

"Why do you insist on that name?"

"Why…" Fu Ran paused to settle his rapidly beating chest. "Why wouldn't I call you by your name?"

Too quickly, Tian Han stood to his feet. It was as if something new had shifted his features. Dark in intensity, and the strange prick of betrayal in his words, he snapped, "Then, do you want me to become Tian Han?" 

Fu Ran flinched.

But Tian Han still had more to say, "At the moment, you are treated like something precious—" His voice shook the room. "Do you not remember how 'Tian Han' really treated you?"

Fu Ran lurched up in bed, onto his hands and knees. "He—" 

Fu Ran did not like what he was about to say. How had Tian Han treated him? In these dreams, his behavior was terrible—bloodthirsty, defiant, cruel, and fitting of a tyrant. 

However… in real life he was different.

Tian Han made sweets, even when Fu Ran acted like he didn't want them. The gesture began so suddenly, that there was barely time to consider it strange. And they were all his favorites, too.

Tian Han would prepare tea, give thoughtful gifts, and offer random acts of kindness. Even during the current mission, he did most of the heavy lifting without complaint. And when Fu Ran treated him badly, he didn't question it at all. 

How distressing.

Nothing about the Tyrant Emperor was safe, and yet, the guilt was too heavy. Fu Ran hated him, and everything he did. Tian Han was too confusing, too unabashed in his familiarity, even his actions at the auction house were—!

He was too much, and yet Fu Ran made excuses for him. 

Simple thoughts like, "He isn't usually like that," or, "He's actually quite nice."