Ash and Honey [BL]

Fu Ran could count on one hand the number of Peak Masters available at the campsite. Including himself, it was only five, so there should have been over half a dozen scattered throughout the trees.

With every step, his heart thumped against his ribcage.

A sound that he didn't want to hear, the sounds of cries and battle was frighteningly absent from the scene. He held up the jade mirror once more and tried his best to remember a face. Any face he saw in the sea of children.

Little girls or little boys, gentle smiles or rough, brave exteriors—anyone would have done.

He swiped his hand over the mirror.

Wan Yu.

His breath stuttered. He tried again.

Wan Yu.

His fingers moved faster, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He knew more faces than this. He had seen them just today. So why… why wasn't the mirror showing…

Swipe.

Wan Yu.

Swipe.

Blank jade.

Swipe.

Wan Yu.

The mirror trembled in his hands. His throat had gone dry. His heart pounded so violently it made his ribs ache. He tried to force another child into his mind, another face, anyone, but all he got was nothing.

Just Wan Yu. Again. And again. And again.

Where were the others? Not a single student had been brought back to camp, and only a handful of flares had been set off. The problem was not remembering faces. There should be no fewer than thirty children in total! Yet the mirror showed none?

His steps had become irrational, haphazard, and messy. Fu Ran wasn't watching where he was going. He clung to the mirror close to his chest and pulled his hand up to cup his mouth. "Children! Can anyone hear me? Are there any Peak Masters? Anybody!"

"There's been an emergen—" he yelled, but the tip of his shoe hooked beneath the earth, and his speed sent him plummeting to the ground.

His arms caught him first, the sharp jolt rattling through his bones as his palms scraped against the rough dirt. "Dammit!" he cursed, spitting out a mouthful of dust. A second, quieter, shakier curse followed.

Something was off.

His foot had landed on something… soft. Not the solid crunch of a branch, not the rough unevenness of bark, but something that gave beneath his weight. It felt firm, yet pliant and wrong. Wrong.

A cold, wet squelch spread beneath his shoe.

His breath hitched. His fingers curled into the dirt. His stomach twisted, and a sick, unbearable certainty crept in before he even dared to look down. Trepidation took his chin and guided him in an unwanted glance.

Beneath his foot was not a branch at all. It was a body. A young teenage boy, mangled from a gruesome attack.

Fu Ran froze.

The boy had a bite out of his cheek. His body was littered with matching wounds. Sharp claws, and blunt teeth. Why? The boy wasn't even given the respect of a swift death. He was mauled. Why?

The sensation that brought the most unease was that those teeth appeared human.

A trembling touch hovered over the boy's hair. Fu Ran brushed it from his face, only to feel some remaining traces of heat. 

What a fool of a teacher he was. Despite the condition, he pressed two fingers to the boy's neck and checked several locations. There was no pulse, no sign of life.

Only now did he have a moment to take in the rest of his senses. Warning bells chimed in his head, and a gasping sickness gripped his stomach. He wanted to gag. The sickening, grotesque scent of meat was far too much to come from a single body.

His gaze lifted in reluctance.

Through the scattered foliage were dozens of discarded arms and legs. They clung to the ground like tree branches themselves, in places where no bodies were visible. Strips of colorful clothing hung off of marred bark, and symbols of An Xian Yun Peak had landed on bushes and weeds.

Children and masters alike had been discarded like trash.

The world felt like it was ending.

"Calm down," he tried to tell himself. But then a glazed eye would catch his stare, locking him in place to steal a breath.

"Calm down," he pleaded, until his eyes fell upon a tiny Peak Master wearing pinks and purples. Her hair was done up in buns, like she had always worn before. She wasn't playing cute this time, and something told him she wasn't playing dead either.

"Calm down." His hands tangled in his bangs.

The sight made him dizzy. His world threatened to tilt. The urge to vomit, the want to scream—none of it was more powerful than his wish to disappear. Then, cutting through the stillness, came the voice. 

"Shizun."

Fu Ran flinched so violently his breath caught in his throat.

The voice came from behind him, but his eyes were still locked on the corpse below. Dark eyes stared up at him, glassy, unblinking, judging. No life or warmth, just a boy abandoned in death.

"Shizun," the voice came again, closer this time. Not an echo. Not a dream. Footsteps crunched in the dead leaves, slow, deliberate.

His breath turned shallow. He couldn't turn his head. He couldn't move. The boy's corpse wasn't speaking. He knew that. He knew that. But still, he whispered:

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

A hand finally grabbed his shoulder, and a quiet voice murmured in his ear, "Shizun, that boy won't call to you."

It wasn't the ghost of a disciple. It was Wan Yu.

Fu Ran's eyes burned and his shoulders trembled. 

When he answered, his voice wavered, like he was close to tears. "A-Wan, di… did you not listen to me at all?" Wan Yu was more injured than he was when he was last seen in the jade mirror. His white robes were stained with thick blood, and had been torn in several places.

"Shizun, I just came to meet with you as promised." Unlike Fu Ran, Wan Yu's voice held no indicator of fear. 

Fu Ran, normally so tender and gentle, spoke coldly, "Do you think this is what a Shizun would want from you? Running around like a fool, throwing yourself into danger?!" 

Wan Yu flinched.

Fu Ran's face twisted, his lip quivering. "I'm sorry…" His hands pressed hard into his eyes, as if willing the pressure in his chest to subside. A shudder racked through him, and he exhaled a shallow, breathless sob. "I'm horrid."

With restrained tenderness, Wan Yu gently placed his fingers in Fu Ran's hair. "It's okay if you are upset," he said solemnly.

All these people, the ones who had said such horrible things about him, were still people he called family. And anyone would be torn up, knowing dozens of children had perished to unfair deaths.

But to be comforted by a child? How shameful. What a terrible shizun he was. The quiet between them stretched, heavy with grief and unspoken words. But then, faintly at first, there came a sound.

He just wanted a moment of peace. Fu Ran wanted a singular moment to perhaps lay to rest the remnants of the scattered corpses. Yet he wasn't even given time to pay his respects.

A heavy weight crunched against discarded branches, snapping twigs in its wake. The sound of footsteps—first one pair, then two, then three, then five.

Even as his vision blurred slightly, Fu Ran's neck snapped up to reveal five Fall Corpses. Each was adorned with the symbol of a burning lotus. Some wielded weapons; others walked with heavy hands, extending their claws.

Is this it? Is this how I end up in that horrible state?

Shi Wei Ji hadn't even bothered to tell him he would die today. It wasn't even the Tyrant Emperor who cursed him with torment. No, it was something simple. Something almost pathetic. A pity I never got the chance to pay him back for all those years.

His hand trembled as he unsheathed his sword, the shimmering blade almost too heavy to hold. He tried to lift it higher, but the weight dragged his arm down.

"Shizun, what's wrong?" Wan Yu's voice jolted him. Fu Ran looked over his shoulder to find the boy staring up at him, eyes wide with worry. "Is it the corruption? The barrier's gone—it must be too much for you."

Fu Ran's chest tightened. Demonic corruption ate away at living nature. A cultivator could usually last a few days before it set in, but something had expedited the process. Was it the Fall Corpses? But why were there so many here?

"Then," Fu Ran gritted his teeth as he grabbed the boy's sleeve, yanking him backward. Wan Yu yelped, and for just a moment, his cry sounded like that of any normal child. Fu Ran felt a flicker of relief before he said, "You need to go. Run back to camp. Zhi Lao and Shesui Lang will take care of you."

Wan Yu shook his head fiercely, planting his feet. "No! I won't leave you, Shizun. I'm not a coward!"

"Wan Yu—"

"I can help!"

The Fall Corpses pressed closer, their heavy steps reverberating in the air. Their eyes locked onto Fu Ran, assessing him as the larger prey. Fu Ran's arm gave out when he tried to lift his blade again. His teeth clicked together in frustration as cold sweat broke out over his limbs.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice gentler. "You've already helped enough by staying here. But now…"

"No! Why can't I stay and help you?" Wan Yu's golden eyes shimmered, wet with tears.

A small "tsk" escaped his teeth as cold sweat broke out over his limbs. His vision blurred, and the weight of his blade felt too much. Even so, Fu Ran pushed against the dirt beneath him, his legs trembling as he struggled to rise. He forced his blade upright, glaring at the Fall Corpses.

It was pitiful. The blade shook with his effort, and his knees buckled before he could fully stand.

Fu Ran hesitated. I can't protect him like this. His chest tightened as the enemies pressed closer. If he fell here, then Wan Yu would—

A bitter thought cut through the haze in his mind. Then I'll join the rest of An Xian Yun Peak.

In a flash, dark fabric whipped in front of his vision. It was a similar black hue to the Ling Huo Peak robes, but littered with red and gray crescent moons.

The back of a man with broad shoulders practically towered over Fu Ran and Wan Yu. His hair was a cool, ashen brown, tied partially in a high bun while the rest fell in wild, unkempt strands. He moved like a mere refraction of light, yet in his hand was only a basic training blade—not even a spiritual weapon.

This man didn't feel like a demon, but he didn't look like a cultivator either.

"Gege," Wan Yu whispered. His small fingers curled tighter into Fu Ran's robes. For the first time, the boy truly looked his age: small, worried, vulnerable. Yet at the sight of the figure, Wan Yu's eyes lit with hope.

It happened fast. A single downward swipe with the training blade, and an enemy was split in two.

The remaining four charged at him in unison. Outnumbered and facing an unfair fight, the man deflected claws and weapons alike with a sword that looked like it might snap at any moment.

His blocks turned into counters. One by one, he sliced through the deceased.

It was captivating.

Fu Ran's chest heaved, each breath coming shorter than the last. His vision wavered, the figure before him blurring into a mess of dark cloth and sharp, decisive movements. The training blade flashed again, carving through the final corpse with terrifying ease.

The man turned, his ashen hair falling into his eyes.

"Shizun!" Wan Yu's panicked voice broke through the quiet, his small hands grabbing desperately at Fu Ran's sleeve. It was getting harder to stay awake. "Gege, do something!"

"He's just been here too long, Wan Yu." The man chuckled, his voice low and resonant, like the distant rumble of thunder. It wasn't unpleasant, but Fu Ran immediately bristled, feeling the weight of it settle uncomfortably in the air. "Shizun is very strong. Don't worry."

Fu Ran blinked, his lashes heavier than they were before. That voice… No.

No, no, no, no.

He struggled to lift his head. It wasn't something as useless as a want, or a desire, he was suddenly overcome with the need to see the man's face. 

But his vision was failing him. His heart suddenly startled, and nearly froze over when he was met with an icy gaze—of gold.