LUO FAN
— ✦ —
With a sigh, I followed the path Lan Feng had taken earlier. The grass was still bent where his footsteps had passed, leading toward the riverbank at the far edge of the property. It didn't take long to find him. He was seated by the water, one knee drawn up to his chest, quietly tossing pebbles into the river. Each one landed with a soft plop, sending ripples across the surface, distorting his reflection in fluid waves.
He didn't look up when I approached.
I sat down beside him, not too close—just enough to show I was there, without encroaching on his solitude. For a long while, we both said nothing, letting the murmuring of the river fill the silence between us.
"Lan Feng," I said finally, keeping my tone gentle, "there's something I haven't told you."
He threw another pebble. Its ripple crossed the last, overlapping in spreading circles. Still, he didn't respond with words, but his silence was invitation enough.
I drew a breath, steadying myself. "I knew you even before I met Feng'er. Your real name… is Ruan Yanjun."
His hand stilled in the act of tossing another stone. The pebble slipped from his fingers and fell soundlessly into the grass. Slowly, his other hand rose to press against his forehead. A low groan escaped him, as though the name had triggered a sharp, sudden pain.
"Ruan Yanjun…" he echoed, voice hoarse, taut with strain. "Why does that name… sound so heavy?"
"Does it feel familiar?" I asked, searching his face.
He shook his head, eyes narrowed with discomfort. "No… But why would I have changed my name?"
I hesitated. How could I phrase it in a way he could accept?
"I don't know the full reason," I admitted. "When I first met you four years ago, you introduced yourself as Lord Lan. That was the only name I knew. But later… I found out you were Ruan Yanjun. That name is known across the entire continent. You're famous—"
I paused, then corrected myself. "Famous… and infamous."
He turned toward me slowly, his brows drawn in confusion. "Famous for what?"
I exhaled, the weight of the truth pressing heavily on my chest. "A lot of things. You're wealthy, highly respected—or feared, depending on who you ask—and incredibly powerful. So powerful that… you control the emperors of both the Xianru and Wun Empires. You're the leader of the Eternal Damnation Sect—the most feared and influential sect in existence."
He stared at me, clearly struggling to process what I'd said. His frown deepened until it nearly trembled. "Are you sure… that's me?"
"I know it doesn't match the man you are now," I said softly. "But over the years you don't remember, something changed. You became the Ruan Yanjun that others fear."
He turned away, his gaze returning to the river. The ripples had faded now, and the water was still again. "What have I done to earn that fear?" he asked in a whisper. "What crimes have I committed? Have I… abused my power? Killed people? Ordered executions?"
The questions struck like knives. I could hear the tremor in his voice, the quiet horror of someone trying to grasp the shape of a self he couldn't remember.
I hesitated. "I don't know the full extent of your past. I won't lie—I'm sure there are things you've done that you wouldn't be proud of now. But those aren't the reasons why people are hunting you."
He turned back to me, his expression wary and confused. "Then why?" he asked, voice low. "What's the reason?"
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended above us. There was no easy way to answer him—no gentle way to unravel the truth that might shatter the fragile peace he'd built within himself. But I also knew that staying silent could hurt him just as much. Maybe more.
"Many in the martial arts world despise you," I began cautiously, trying to keep my voice calm despite the weight of what I was about to share. "They believe the world would be better off without you. It's not about justice. It's envy, fear, and power struggles."
Lan Feng frowned, clearly baffled. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm not even a good martial artist. The last thing I remember is struggling to breach level three. But now…" He looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers in quiet frustration. "I don't even feel like I'm at level two. How could I possibly be considered a threat to anyone?"
I drew in a slow breath, bracing myself. "Lan Feng," I said gently, meeting his eyes, "you're not a second-level cultivator. You're a level nine immortal."
His face paled. He stared at me, his lips slightly parted. "Level nine?" he echoed, the words coming out in a near-whisper, fragile as if saying them aloud might shatter something.
I offered him a small, wry smile. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. That's why you're feared and envied. Many grandmasters—those who should be the pillars of honor in the martial arts world—conspired against you. They ambushed you at your weakest point, intending to eliminate you. You managed to escape, but your core took severe damage. It shut down completely. That's when I found you."
Lan Feng's expression twisted in disbelief and growing confusion. "If I'm so powerful… why do I feel this weak? Why can't I remember any of this?"
"It's because of your injuries," I explained. "It took nearly three weeks for your demonic core to awaken after I found you. Even now, it's still too weak. I'm not sure if it'll ever fully recover."
At the mention of his core, his expression shifted. A shadow crossed his face, and he lowered his gaze. "So… you know about the demonic core inside me?"
I nodded slowly. "Everyone does."
He looked away, shoulders tensing. "I thought… it was a secret. I never told anyone. Only a handful of people ever knew."
"A core of that magnitude can't stay hidden," I said. "Once it's active, any grandmaster cultivator can sense it."
His fists curled tightly in the grass at his sides. "So everything I became," he murmured, "was because of that cursed thing."
"Who knows?" I replied carefully. "Only Ruan Yanjun can answer that question."
He stared at his hands, silent and unreadable. "Maybe it's better this way," he said finally, his voice quiet. "If the core never recovers… I can live a simpler life."
I turned to look at him, studying his profile. "But what about your enemies? What happens if they come for you again? Without your power, how will you protect yourself?"
A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. "Didn't you say I'm wealthy?" he replied with dry humor. "I could just hire you as my bodyguard."
The remark caught me off guard. I blinked, then gave a soft laugh, flattered despite the situation. "My goal is to escort you back to your residence. Once we arrive, your disciples can protect you. After that… we'll have to part ways."
His smile faded. His lips pressed into a thin line, and something unreadable passed through his eyes. He turned his face away, as though the words had pierced deeper than he wanted me to see.
I reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it meant to be comforting. "Don't worry," I said gently. "The journey's a long one. We'll have time. By the time we get there, you might be so tired of me that you'll be glad to be rid of me."
He didn't respond right away. His shoulders remained stiff, his head bowed low. But then, after a beat, I heard his voice—soft, barely above the whisper of the breeze.
"I doubt that," he said.
The words hung between us, quiet but lingering like the warmth of a fading sunbeam. I felt my heart tighten, uncertain what to say.
"We'll leave in two days," I said, breaking the silence that had lingered between us like morning fog refusing to lift. "Since we can't risk going near any cities, we'll travel through the mountains to the east. Lao Mao mentioned there are herbs growing there. They might help with your recovery."
He frowned, his tone laced with resistance. "I'm fine now. I've recovered enough. I don't need any more medicines."
I gave him a patient look, one I hoped conveyed both concern and quiet insistence. Reaching up, I touched the back of his head, letting my fingers gently brush against the place where his skull had once been fractured. "I'm talking about your internal injuries. And this…" I tapped the spot lightly. "This still hasn't healed fully. I believe the damage here is what caused your memory loss."
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. "I'm not sure anymore if I even want to remember," he admitted softly.
I sighed, my voice equally gentle. "If you ask me, I'd much rather have you as Lan Feng than Ruan Yanjun. But we can't stop the healing process. It's inevitable. It's only a matter of time."
He turned to look at me then, and for a moment, all the strength and dignity he carried seemed to fade, leaving only vulnerability. "Is there no way to keep my memories away?" he asked. "I just want to stay like this. I just want to be Lan Feng. I don't want to remember anything about Ruan Yanjun."
Without hesitation, I placed my hand over his. I gave it a reassuring squeeze, letting the warmth of my grip speak for what my words couldn't fully express. "I don't like Ruan Yanjun either," I said honestly. "If I could, I wouldn't want anything to do with him. But there's a reason why, despite that… I chose to save him."
"What reason is that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitated, gathering my thoughts. "It's because of him—because of his power and control—that Xianru and Wun Empires have been at peace for so many years. Thanks to that peace, people don't have to live in constant fear of war. The rebels and rival empires are too afraid of him to attack. But if Ruan Yanjun dies, that fear will vanish. The enemies of Xianru and Wun are waiting for that moment. Without him, they'll invade. They'll burn and pillage. And it won't just be the powerful who fall. It's the common folk—the farmers, the children, the elderly—who'll suffer the most."
Lan Feng's gaze dropped, his brows furrowing in thought. "And if I can't recover my power?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head, my tone firm. "That's not an option. You must recover. Two empires are counting on you. I'll do everything I can to help."
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. "If Ruan Yanjun comes back," he asked hesitantly, "will you still not like him?"
The question landed with more weight than I expected. It caught me off guard, not because I hadn't considered it, but because I had no clear answer.
The truth was too tangled. My feelings toward Ruan Yanjun weren't so easily categorized. I didn't hate him. But I couldn't say I liked him either.
When I was blind and ill, he had devoted his precious time finding a cure for me. Although I had later found out that his real goal for keeping me alive was so I could someday take my rightful place as the emperor of the Kan Empire and help him expand his sect in the region, it still wouldn't diminish the fact that he had saved my life more than I could count, that he had been there with me in my weakest moments.
But at the same time, he had betrayed me twice, also in my most vulnerable moments. First, when I thought we had forged a bond and I had started trusting him. The second time was when I had decided to give him another chance.
So naturally, I couldn't trust him anymore. I had learned that much. Being around him meant constantly watching my back, never letting my guard down.
But to tell Lan Feng that now—when he was struggling with his identity, questioning everything he knew about himself—felt cruel. If I pushed too hard, he might start believing that healing meant losing the version of himself he was just beginning to accept.
I sighed. "You know, I think you were actually talking about yourself earlier when you mentioned the overgrown broccolis."
His eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"
"You're just like those broccolis," I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "You've grown so strong and so exceptional that others can't even come close to your level. Instead of celebrating your greatness, they see you as a threat—something unnatural that needs to be discarded. Just like the broccoli that's deemed too big for a standard imposed by men, you've been labeled as a reject."
Lan Feng was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, in a whisper, he said, "I was actually talking about you."
His words took me by surprise. They lingered in the air between us, stirring memories I had long buried—memories of my time at the peak of my cultivation, when I was the Divine Mage of Frost Mountain. I had thought my achievements would bring pride to my sect, but instead, they had cast me out. My strength, instead of being celebrated, had made me an outcast.
"Then perhaps," I said softly, "we're both rejects."
The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. For the first time in a long while, I felt understood.
To comfort him, I draped my arm around his shoulders. I didn't expect him to lean into me, resting his head against my shoulder in a gesture so familiar it made my heart ache. It was just like how Feng'er had always sought comfort from me.
I stiffened at first, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. But after a moment, I relaxed, allowing him to stay. Feng'er was still a part of him, after all, and perhaps he simply needed reassurance.
"Let's go finish repairing Lao Mao's house before we leave," I suggested after a long silence, my voice breaking the stillness. "You're the reason that beast attacked in the first place."
He frowned. "I am?"
"The creator of that beast is one of Ruan Yanjun's powerful enemies," I explained. "Which makes him your enemy."
He fell silent, clearly taken aback.
I smiled, a little amused by his reaction. "Come on."
With a sigh, he rose slowly, as if reluctant to leave the comfort of the moment. Then, to my surprise, he reached out and took my hand, helping me to my feet. His grip was warm, steady, and when he looked at me, his eyes were filled with a quiet tenderness.
I wouldn't admit it, but something tugged at my heart.
Something I quickly pushed aside.