LUO FAN
— ✦ —
The morning sun had barely risen above the horizon when it was time for us to leave. We had packed our supplies the day before, ensuring we were prepared for the journey ahead. Chief Li's wife had kindly gifted us a pair of handwoven blankets to keep us warm during the long travels, a gesture I appreciated deeply.
When we arrived at the shore, I was taken aback to see the entire village gathered there, waiting to bid us farewell. The sight was overwhelming. Men, women, and children were lined up, each holding something to give us—a small token, food, or simple mementos for the road. Their kindness tugged at my heart, making it even harder to leave.
A small boat awaited us by the water's edge, freshly painted and sturdy. The men who had helped Lan Feng build it stood proudly beside it.
"We couldn't let you leave in an ordinary boat," Chief Li said with a wide grin. "This is a gift from all of us."
"Thank you," I said, bowing deeply. My words felt inadequate to express the gratitude I felt. "We will always remember your kindness."
Lan Feng reached for the bags and guided me toward the boat. He helped me in first, ever gentle, ever steady. The way his hand wrapped around my forearm was protective without being possessive. I moved to pick up the paddles, intending to take the first shift.
"I'll row," I said.
"Just sit down, Gege," he said, taking the paddles before I could lift them. "I'll handle this boat."
I relented, letting him take his place at the bow. With practiced movements, he pushed off from the shore. The boat glided forward smoothly, the first ripple breaking across the still surface.
The villagers began waving, their voices carrying over the water. Farewell songs rose gently in the air. Children called out our names, while the elders raised their hands in blessings. Among them, I spotted Hong'er standing with his mother, his small face soaked in tears. He waved with both arms, trying to be brave, but his sobs echoed across the tide.
Lan Feng turned, his gaze locked onto the boy. His jaw tensed, but his voice was soft. "Gege, Hong'er looks so sad."
"He'll be fine," I replied gently, though I felt the ache in my chest too. "He has a loving family. He'll miss you, but he'll find joy again."
Lan Feng nodded slowly, but I could tell his thoughts remained with the child. He didn't look away from the shore until the shapes of the villagers blurred into shadows behind the misty sea air.
Only then did he face forward, focusing on the journey ahead. I watched him as he rowed. His strokes were steady and strong, his shoulders flexing with each movement, the defined muscles beneath his robe straining slightly with the pull.
Even through the coarse cloth of his shirt, I could see the frame of his back—the broad taper of his torso, the curve of his spine as he leaned into the oar. His strength hadn't diminished despite the loss of memory. That same strength I once feared… now moved quietly in service, not dominance.
In the world of cultivators, such a frame was rare. Most elite martial artists were lean, agile—built for speed, for grace. I was one of them. But Ruan Yanjun had always been the exception. Strength and elegance had coexisted within him like storm and shadow. It made him formidable in every aspect, an unstoppable force on the battlefield.
I thought back to how Ruan Yanjun had once been regarded. He wasn't part of any league or ranking because he surpassed them all. His unparalleled strength, coupled with the unique power of his demonic core, had made him untouchable. No one dared to speak of him in the same breath as the so-called greatest martial artists. He existed on a plane of his own.
But now… now he was just Lan Feng, an ordinary man with rudimentary fighting skills. His demonic core, though awakened, remained dormant, its power barely a shadow of its former self.
Although I preferred this version of him, the thought of him as a defenseless mortal walking into a world full of dangers unnerved me. He was vulnerable, and I was his only shield.
The rhythm of the paddles slicing through the water had lulled us into a calm silence, but my mind was far from peaceful. Until now, I had avoided thinking too deeply about the consequences of Ruan Yanjun's current state. But the reality was impossible to ignore anymore.
I hadn't fully understood before, but now it was clear. Ruan Yanjun's existence, terrifying as it was, maintained a delicate balance in the world. Though he was branded as the most evil creature to ever walk the earth, his death would unleash devastation, especially on the people of the Xianru and the Wun Empire. His iron grip and fearsome reputation had kept the dark sects in check, preventing total chaos.
If the news of his death had already spread, then the sects—light and dark alike—were undoubtedly stirring. For the dark sects, it would be an opportunity to rise, forming coalitions to seize control of the Xianru and the Wun Empires. The royal families, mere puppets under his influence, would likely be slaughtered.
The light sects, emboldened by his absence, would move quickly to fill the vacuum. Power struggles, border skirmishes, territorial claims—all of it would follow in rapid succession. No longer unified by a common fear, the sects would turn on each other, dragging countless innocents into their warpaths.
It wouldn't be long before the entire continent descended into chaos.
And in his current state—amnesiac, weakened, harmless—Ruan Yanjun wouldn't survive long enough to change anything. Even if he resurfaced, no one would take him seriously. They'd laugh at his fall from grace. They'd try to kill him before he could remember who he was.
No. At all costs, I had to find a way to restore him. Even if it meant risking that he might turn against me later. Even if it meant he'd revert to the man I once feared. His power was necessary for the fragile stability of this world.
But still… a part of me held onto hope. A fragile, foolish hope.
This time, he wasn't surrounded by blood and betrayal. He had experienced kindness from strangers, lived in peace, shared laughter, helped build boats with his bare hands, and played with children who adored him.
Perhaps it had planted a seed. And when his memories returned… when his power reawakened… maybe he would carry this sliver of innocence with him. Maybe it would temper the hatred in his heart. Soften his judgment of the world. Remind him that not all of humanity was worth despising.
"Gege, what are you thinking?" his voice broke through the fog of my thoughts.
I looked up, startled by the sudden gentleness in his tone. His back was still to me, but he had stopped rowing and turned his head slightly, his cheek catching a beam of sunlight. His eyes were soft, curious.
I offered a faint, wry smile. "I'm thinking about you."
He blinked, then grinned. "But I'm right here, Gege. You don't need to think about me."
I laughed, my heart easing a little. "That's true."
This boy—this sweet, earnest version of Ruan Yanjun—had a way of lifting my spirits like nothing else. He had softened me in ways I hadn't thought possible. I had always been stoic, reserved. Ruan Yanjun, in his older form, used to mock me for it. "Your smiles are rarer than phoenix feathers," he'd said, lips curled in that arrogant smirk.
But recently, I'd been smiling more than I had in years.
Life in the village had given me a reprieve from the constant weight of worry. And Lan Feng… he was a joy to be around, his endearing innocence and obedience making every moment with him lighter. Though he occasionally made me uncomfortable with his unintentional flirtations, it was nothing compared to the warmth and laughter he brought into my life.
"There's a place we need to go before I take you back home," I said after a moment.
He tilted his head curiously. "Where?"
"I need to find a certain kind of herb," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "It might help you regain your memory."
And your power.
His eyes softened as he nodded. "As long as I'm with gege, I don't mind where we go. Home can wait."
I smiled, touched by his unwavering trust.
The journey ahead would not be easy, but this time, I wouldn't fail him. I'd deliver him to his residence in Xianru alive.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The stillness of the ocean was unnerving.
Not a single wave rippled through the endless expanse of water, and even the breeze had fallen eerily silent. The usual scent of salt and brine hung in the air, untouched by wind, suspended in a world that felt... paused. As though time itself was holding its breath.
Lan Feng had been rowing with a steady, practiced rhythm, his gaze locked on the horizon. But the silence between us wasn't peaceful. It wasn't the quiet of comfort or fatigue. It was dense, heavy—like he was wrestling with something inside, a thought that weighed too much to put into words.
When he finally broke the silence, his voice carried a seriousness that startled me. "Gege," he said quietly, not looking at me. "I think I've done some really bad things in life."
I turned my head to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "What makes you think that?"
He didn't hesitate. "Why else would people want to kill me?" His voice was low but composed, as if the question had been brewing in him for a while.
"Guo tried to kill you too," I reminded him gently, hoping to ease his thoughts. "And you didn't do anything wrong to him."
He gave a slow shake of his head, lips pressed into a thin line. "It's different this time," he murmured. "Guo acted out of jealousy. But this... this feels bigger. I can't explain it, but I can feel it, Gege. It's like there's something heavy in my chest—a guilt that doesn't come from memory, but from somewhere deeper."
I said nothing at first, letting the words settle between us. His awareness was shifting. The boy who once clung to me like a child now sat with the solemnity of someone beginning to piece himself together. He was evolving—maturing—and with that came the first threads of clarity. The innocence of the village was beginning to slip away, like seafoam fading from the shore.
"Gege," he said again, this time even quieter. "If I was a bad guy… would you still like me?"
The question froze me. My breath caught.
Was he asking if I'd still like him… as Ruan Yanjun?
The answer formed instinctively in my chest. No—I couldn't. Not that version of him. The memories of betrayal, the scars left behind, were still too raw. Too deep.
But I couldn't say that. Not to Lan Feng.
Because he wasn't that man. Not yet.
He didn't turn to look at me. He kept his eyes ahead, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the quiet bracing of someone steeling themselves for rejection.
I exhaled slowly and said, with as much honesty as I could give him, "As you are now… I like you."
He let out a soft breath, and I saw the tension drain from his back. He didn't smile, not right away, but I felt the relief ripple off him like a quiet wave.
"What about—"
"Stop overthinking," I interrupted gently, not unkindly. "You're not even sure who you are yet, Feng'er. You don't need to carry burdens that might not belong to you. Worrying over possibilities will only make you suffer twice."
He nodded, slowly, as if accepting my words. His tone brightened slightly, more in line with the Lan Feng I had grown used to. "You're right, Gege. I shouldn't think about things I don't understand yet."
Then, just like that, his voice turned playful. Warm. Familiar. "Instead of worrying, I should just enjoy being with Gege."
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. He was flirting again. He did it so often now that I barely even reacted—but I still felt the heat climb faintly into my ears.
"That's right," I said with a light sigh. "Let's just focus on the present… and make the most of our time together."
He turned his head slightly and smiled at me—open and unguarded. "Gege, are you happy being with me?"
This time, I didn't pause. "Of course."
His smile deepened, and he turned his gaze back to the water, his voice dropping into a softer, more vulnerable register. "That's good. Because… I'm also happy being with Gege. I hope we'll never separate."
That simple confession hit harder than I expected. It was so genuine, so quietly earnest, that my chest tightened involuntarily. There was something in the way he said it—something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.
I cleared my throat, gently steering the conversation elsewhere before it could drift into deeper waters. "We should focus on rowing if we want to reach land before sunset," I said, gesturing vaguely at the horizon ahead.
He chuckled, his tone light again. "As Gege commands."
With renewed ease, he resumed paddling. The muscles in his arms flexed with each steady stroke, and the boat glided smoothly across the glassy sea.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting golden reflections on the water, a quiet thought lingered in my heart.
The boy was changing. And with every step forward we took, so too came the march of memory—the slow return of the man who had once brought the world to its knees.
I could only pray that when that man awoke again, he would remember this moment.