The Introvert

The young man was clearly taken aback. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if hesitating. Then, lowering his head, he reached into his robes, pulled something out, and pressed it onto his face.

It was a mask. Thin as a cicada's wing, its flesh-colored edges adhered to his skin, transforming the moment it made contact. His brow bones flattened, his jawline narrowed, and his complexion lightened by a few shades.

His originally rigid features seemed to be kneaded and reshaped by an unseen hand, transforming into a completely different face—one that Lu Yan recognized. It was the very face he had seen in the hot spring. Gentle, fair-skinned, with a slight, scholarly smile.

Even his voice changed, shifting from his previous muffled grunts to clear, fluent sentences. His tone was steady, his words as poised and well-chosen as if they had been rehearsed, delivered at a perfectly measured pace: “You should recognize me now.”

Lu Yan stared at the man before him. The contrast between the young man who had just been hanging his head and clutching the hem of his robes, and this masked, relaxed, and composed “Fu Changfeng,” was like night and day.

He fell silent for a couple of breaths, his lips twitching slightly. Then he spoke, “...When you went to the hot spring with this face, were you in this state too?” Fu Feng tilted his head, seemingly giving the question some serious thought. “More or less. It is easier to speak when I am in this state.”

Lu Yan was somewhat speechless. Both of them had already told him that he was the Young Sect Master of the Artifact Sect, they had handed over the token, and they hadn't even hidden their address. What was the point of putting on this act now?

The air fell silent for a brief moment. Fu Xingjian's hand, which had been stroking his beard, froze in mid-air. He looked at Lu Yan's expression, then at the fake face on his son's head, and fell silent for two seconds—before it finally clicked.

He slapped his own smooth forehead with a loud smack. “Sigh—what a family misfortune!” The slap was so loud it sounded as if he were trying to wake himself up. He took a deep breath, let it out, and stared at Fu Feng's fake face with an incredibly complex gaze. He wanted to scold him, but he didn't even know where to begin.

The more Fu Xingjian thought about it, the angrier he became. Where on earth did his wretched child learn this habit of not stepping foot outside for an entire year? Just look at the Great Elder's son. He had taken another concubine this year, looked after his five grandchildren every day, and was so busy his feet barely touched the ground. Whenever he met anyone, it was always a cheerful “Hello, Uncle!” or “Greetings, Elder!” His sweet talk could make anyone happy. But what about his own son? Fu Xingjian was stuck staring blankly at this miserable brat who couldn't squeeze out a single word to save his life, spending all day locked inside hammering away at metal.

Once this fellow went outside and disguised himself, he could communicate normally. But at home, this useless brat would stay as silent as possible. It took three calls just to get him to come for dinner. The first call would get an “Mmh,” the second a “Got it,” and only on the third would he finally put down his hammer and slowly walk over. If you didn't call him a third time, he would keep hammering until dark. Fu Xingjian sometimes wondered if his son didn't speak simply because talking would get in the way of his smithing.

If he hadn't threatened him this time by saying, “If you don't go, I'll cut off your smithing budget,” trying to get him to budge his precious rear end would probably have taken until next spring.

At this thought, the veins on Fu Xingjian's forehead throbbed twice more. He glanced at Lu Yan, then at Fu Feng's fake face, and took a deep breath to swallow down the curses rising in his throat. Since Lu Yan was present, it was hard to lose his temper, so he could only steel himself and say, “Fu Feng is... indeed a bit... shy around strangers.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he couldn't even convince himself. A grown man who stood a full head taller than him, shy? Saying those words made him want to slap his own face.

But for the life of him, he couldn't find a better word to describe it. The more Fu Xingjian thought about it, the more he felt the situation was unsalvageable. He stood up and glared at Fu Feng. “Take Nephew Lu to get familiar with the sect. And—” His voice suddenly dropped a couple of octaves, “get rid of that pile of masks of yours!”

He practically gritted his teeth by the final words. Fu Feng's fake face showed no reaction, but the eyes beneath the mask darted to the side, as if trying to avoid his gaze.

Without waiting for a response, Fu Xingjian turned and headed toward the back of the hall. He paced around in circles a few times, clearly dazed with anger, before finally storming off into the backyard.

Only Lu Yan and Fu Feng were left in the hall, staring blankly at each other. Neither of them knew what to say first.

Looking at the fake face before him, Lu Yan's mind was screaming with silent complaints: This guy has social anxiety, doesn't he? He definitely has social anxiety! He even gave a fake name and swapped his face. So “Fu Changfeng” is basically just a skin, huh?

Honestly, this mask was a godsend for introverts—put it on and you can speak normally; take it off and you become a mute. For a split second, he even wondered if he should ask him later if he had any spares to sell.

He watched Fu Feng, who stood at over 1.8 meters tall and was slightly taller than himself. Having been ordered to take off his mask, the tall guy stood there looking completely lost, not even knowing where to put his hands.

A couple of muffled grunts escaped Fu Feng's mouth as if he were trying to organize his thoughts, but nothing came out. His eyes darget all over the place, from the ceiling to the floor, from the floor to the corner of the wall, refusing to land on Lu Yan's face. Lu Yan almost felt that if he kept darting his eyes like that, his eyeballs would roll right out of their sockets.

A row of black lines descended over Lu Yan's head. He couldn't help but speak up first: “If you want to wear it... just put it back on.”

As if pulled out of deep water by those words, Fu Feng let out a visible sigh of relief. He swiftly pressed the mask back onto his face. The flesh-colored edges adhered to his skin once more, and his features reshaped into the contours of “Fu Changfeng.” He blinked, as if being reactivated from standby mode. Giving Lu Yan a look of immense gratitude, as if he had finally recovered a functional vocal organ, he spoke with a much lighter tone: “Let's go. I will take you to the sect.”

Lu Yan clicked his tongue inwardly. This is like a second personality taking over. But he didn't voice his thoughts, merely nodding and following him outside.

The two of them chatted as they walked. In his “Fu Changfeng” state, Fu Feng spoke much more fluently, as if someone were dubbing him from behind the scenes. “The Duantian Artifact Sect currently has about four strongholds, with the main one right here in Everspring City. One of them is a defensive line retracted behind the Great Wall of Formations left behind by the Formation Sect. But as you can see—” He shrugged, his tone carrying an unvarnished weariness, “the results are poor. Most of the formations have already failed, and the ones that still work are heavily patched up and won't last much longer. On top of that, the Ice Spirit Cult has somehow mastered a method to transport Ice Spirits on a large scale. They frequently launch blitzkrieg attacks between the two defensive lines, completely throwing the front lines into chaos. As soon as one spot is secured, another leaks. No sooner do we patch one hole than a new wave arrives.”

Lu Yan listened without interrupting.

Fu Feng continued, “The sect is currently divided into two factions. One is still guarding the old sect grounds, while the other—the group close to the Central Continent—has relocated there.” He finished these two sentences quickly, his tone carrying the restraint of someone unwilling to wash dirty linen in public, as if speaking more of it would make him uncomfortable. Lu Yan didn't press him. He knew that every sect had such conflicts and divisions; it was only natural. He simply nodded and waited for Fu Feng to continue.

Fu Feng paused, as if organizing his words. “But here, in Everspring City, is absolutely our most vital base for talent and innovation. Most of our active forces are gathered here, along with the sect's most promising seeds.”

He turned back to look at Lu Yan, his expression on the fake face dead serious. “So, our invitation to you this time is to have you help these seeds grow into sturdy, towering trees.”

Lu Yan fell silent for a moment. He looked into Fu Feng's eyes—the eyes beneath the mask were real. As Fu Feng said this, his fake face remained unchanged and his voice stayed steady, but his gaze carried more weight than before. Lu Yan nodded.

Without saying more, Fu Feng withdrew his gaze and pointed toward a heavy stone door ahead. “Well, we are here.”