Ash and Honey [BL]

Wan Yu.

Fu Ran's eyes widened, and he yet again felt the pull to move. 

"Shizun," Tian Han said, voice edged with command. His hold was firmer than it had been before, a single hand holding back a teacher's fury.

Wan Yu was infuriatingly shown off in detail, from any noticeable strength the boy had, to the firmness of his skin. Whether he was given a label of a "hard worker" or a "delicate gem" it was all the same. The words were just to hype the audience. 

The auctioneer spoke with infuriating pride. "...And this is the most important thing that you all must see."

He forced open one of the boy's eyelids, exposing the golden eye beneath. The color was clouded, unfocused, like spilled honey. The audience erupted in a grotesque mix of delight and frenzy. Men looked in awe and in wonder, and women made cooing noises as if they were looking at a precious gemstone. 

"Golden eyes!" the auctioneer cried out in joy.

Fu Ran was fighting the urge to knock Tian Han's hand away and rush the stage. The sheer idea of anyone touching his disciple was… so many things: improper, indecent, villain-like, horrid behavior!

The roars of bidding had begun moments after. 

"500 silver!" One guest finally held up his hand first, and yelled out a bid. Fu Ran's eyes burned red. His fingers twitched against his sword—he wanted to slice the man in two.

"That isn't nearly enough! 700 silver!" A woman desperately cried out holding onto the man at her side. She tacked on a small, "Right, dear?" as she urged. He barely hesitated before nodding and lifting his hand, tossing out an even higher bid.

The air grew feverish. Hands shot up, voices tangled together and numbers were flung like knives. The noises layered one on top of the other.

"720!"

"750!"

"800!"

"875!"

"900!"

The prices climbed, obscene and ceaseless. A cacophony of greed.

"300 gold." 

There was a quiet silence over the room. 

They had all turned to look near Fu Ran, and even his own attention had been drawn to the man beside him. Tian Han's lips curved into an easy, unbothered smile, like he had never expected any other outcome.

Fu Ran nearly choked.

Where in the heavens are you getting that kind of money?! I can't even scrape together 500 silver, and you're tossing out 300 gold like spare change?! Are you insane?! No one's going to believe this—he must already think he's the Tyrant Emperor!

The man on stage reeled, struggling to process. "300 gold?" Despite not being able to see past his mask, it was easy to tell he was astonished just like the rest of the guests. 

The highest bet tonight was at most five or six gold pieces. That alone was much more than what most would deem 'worth it' for a single young child. Even if the child was a disciple from the world's most well renowned sect, it was audacious. 

"Sir, we will… have to confirm that with you," the auctioneer stammered, having to adjust his mask in shock.

"That's fine," Tian Han replied. And finally after the entirety of the show, Fu Ran was released. He could breathe again.

Tian Han stood and only a few strides connected him with the front of the stage. One again, his hand disappeared into his robes and came out bearing that piece of paper: the black card.

It read, "Guest Class: 0" The number stood out against the black and gold because it was written in white, but Fu Ran didn't understand the meaning. His only assumption was that Tian Han must have spent a lot of money at the auction house.

The man on stage stumbled and his words were retracted in an instant. "You… You should have let someone know you were coming in advance, sir! You wouldn't have even had to… had to sit through the show." Suddenly the pride and bravado from the show was missing and he handed over Wan Yu like his life was on the line.

Fu Ran watched, stunned. Just… like that? 

He had barely stood from his seat, but the minute the comfort started to feel real, he was stumbling to Tian Han's side.

"...Wan Yu! Thank the heavens, Wan Yu!" Fu Ran all but tore him from Tian Han's arms, and carefully checked his vitals.

Despite the look on stage, he was breathing. It wasn't even terribly shallow. He was just unconscious, and it was likely that the blood on his body actually came from Lin An's injuries.

"Wan Yu… Wan Yu…" Fu Ran muttered.

"Is he well?" Tian Han lowered his gaze and offered a relaxed smile.

Fu Ran pressed Wan Yu's cheek to his own, holding him as if he might vanish. "Yes," he whispered, voice thick with relief. "He's mostly uninjured."

Simple words of relief weren't enough to encompass what he felt. It had been a long time since he had something to be responsible for, and yet just like that his worries were eased. Perhaps not everything has to be hellish challenges and trials.

Then, in the hush, the front door creaked. It was an intrusion that split the silence like a blade, and all in attendance turned their heads. 

Someone was late? Fu Ran squinted. How could someone miss the whole thing?

His grip on Wan Yu tightened as he let himself think. He was still reveling in relief, but a nagging feeling caused his heart to stutter. 

Before he could say anything, the door had fully opened, and two men stepped inside. Their facial features were mostly hidden—one taller, adorned in extravagant golden accessories, while the other was eerily plain, his mask featureless and stark in contrast.

At first the two men didn't even say a single word.

Fu Ran felt a nag that he should be committing their appearance to memory. Why did they feel important—specifically the taller of the two?

The taller man's most notable feature was a golden mask encrusted in gems. Yet despite the garish style, his clothing was modest, simple, and white. There was something strangely familiar in the broadness of his shoulders, and his silhouette.

The smaller man's appearance too, was strange, in a sense that his figure was mundane. Even though every facial detail was hidden by a plain white mask, the particular sheen of his hair, and the whiteness of his ghastly skin was striking. He stood roughly as tall as Fu Ran.

Fu Ran didn't want to stare so heavily, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. 

"Did you know this would happen?" Fu Ran asked Tian Han without even sharing a glance.

"Not exactly," Tian Han replied, uncertainty lacing his voice.

The golden-masked man raised his hand, the action revealing an undrawn blade at his hip. "That child is no longer for sale."

Fu Ran would have fought back, retorted with something snarky or angry, but the words caused his brain to malfunction. His eyes went wide, and he tried, seriously, to blink away the sight. 

That voice…? 

The man's body already resembled something from Fu Ran's memory, but his voice only strengthened the sense. No. Impossible. 

He forced himself to dismiss the thought, and he conjured will to refute. "This is my disciple. He's leaving with me," Fu Ran hissed.

"…Is that so?" The man in the golden mask turned slightly, as if genuinely thoughtful. His fingers twitched, nearly hesitating, before the man's rusted blade was unsheathed in an instant. "Then we shall deal with that."

The crowd erupted into screams of fright, immediately flocking to the sides of the room. A weapon drawn was a sure sign of a battle to come, and they were just average people. Fu Ran drew Shi Wei Ji in a fluid motion, then thrust Wan Yu into Tian Han's arms.

"Shizun…?" Tian Han asked.

"Shizun?" The smaller man at the door echoed with a laugh. "So, you give that title to anyone?" His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was his tone that unsettled Fu Ran the most.

And judging by the way Tian Han bristled when the man spoke, he had realized something Fu Ran hadn't. Terror did not suit him, but he shuddered all the same. Since when did the Tyrant Emperor quake like a scolded child?

Even though the man in the golden mask had drawn his sword first, it was the other who moved. His bare feet tapped soundlessly against the carpeted floor before he kicked up into a run.

A wave of raw terror rolled through the auction house, surging toward the exits as guests tripped over silk robes and overturned items. Gold and silver scattered across the floor, forgotten in their desperate escape.

Fu Ran barely had time to register the panic before a sword slammed into his, the sharp clang of metal ringing in his ears. 

He staggered back, and threw a quick glance to the side—only to see the crowd clawing at the doors, shoving past one another like drowning men fighting for air.

"What are you—" Fu Ran looked back and tried to speak, but was quickly cut off.

The white-masked man scoffed. "Such foolish shows of disrespect." He wasn't talking to Fu Ran, the hitch of the Tyrant Emperor's breath proved that much. 

Fu Ran went silent. Huh? 

While there were differences, their voices were nearly identical. 

The masked man spoke with more exhaustion, but Fu Ran knew his own voice very well. Steadying Shi Wei Ji against his shoulder, he hooked a finger beneath the white mask, flipping it off. The feeling of regret was immediate.

Fu Ran stiffened and his mouth fell agape. "...You?"

The disciples had warned him. It should've softened the blow, but it didn't. A man with his own face stared back at him, eyes shadowed beneath unruly bangs. Then, after a pause, he grinned.

"...Unsettling, is it not?"

His features were so clear, like looking into a mirror. It was as if he were staring at himself a few years into the future. This imposter had deeper lines on his face, and his eye bags were darker and more permanent. Bruises that Fu Ran had never seen on himself outside of nightmares littered the man's neck and jaw.

Earlier, he had wondered how well a stranger could imitate him. How close could the resemblance really be? Now, he had his answer. It was nearly flawless.

A deep fear crept into his chest. His heart pounded as he struggled to lift Shi Wei Ji.

But there was absolutely no time to hesitate.