Sushu, a small farming town ten miles west of the bustling city of Cāng Kun, sat on the outskirts of the Obethian Empire—the nation of which Lei Gong governed from the Heavens. But not really governed, Qian Meng mused, it was more of a metaphor as no Gods ever intruded on human affairs. They bestowed cultivators with magical abilities to ward off the demon race and other nefarious creatures, that was all. Such thoughts were validated by how easily people walked right past Lei Gong as if he were just another stunning cultivator sent by the great Zephyr Temple to ward off evil.

Qian Meng eyed him from the side. The god had long since changed out of his soiled, bloodied robes while morphing into someone a little less conspicuous. Emphasis on little, for while the golden gem and telltale hammer were concealed, his new ensemble was white as fresh jade. It drew the eye, yet looked so expensive the humble farmers of this town felt they shouldn't even look in his direction. Again, the man irritated him for no good reason at all beyond his flamboyance. A trait all Gods tended to covet.

"I'm hungry," Lei Gong complained loudly, rubbing his shoulder into Qian Meng's.

The cultivator scowled at him, lips pulling back from his teeth. "Just where do you get the gal to touch me? What part of my nasty expression invites it?"

Lei Gong leaned even closer, studying him as if trying to give him an honest answer. "I wouldn't call your expression nasty. Perhaps irritated, but not nasty."

In response, Qian Meng shoved the man roughly out of his personal space. He didn't want to assure the madman there would be food where they were headed because that meant playing into whatever fantasy was cooking up in that thick skull of his, so Qian Meng remained stoically silent. But there was an inn—The Amber Hare—known for their red whiskey and pickled pasta. Well, at least that's what Qian Meng knew them for. He'd only visited once before to scout his target location and the various safety measures he'd be required to bypass. . . Only to find Lei Gong had none of the sort.

And the rest was history.

Even so, he had no clue how he ended up with the God clinging to him like they were old friends. And when the man wasn't clinging, he was talking. Ceaselessly. As if it was a horrible terror to revel in silence, something Qian Meng did quite a lot. He spoke of everything and nothing, none of the topics necessary. By the time they walked into the pub Qian Meng was ready to smash the God's head through the nearest wall just to get some peace and quiet.

The only saving grace was Lei Gong's one-track mind. At the first sniff of food, he had forgotten all about the nonsense spewing from his mouth, rushing forward to take a seat at the nearest table. Many eyes followed him, wondering just why the two night and day cultivators had come to their little town. Qian Meng moseyed over to sit across from Lei Gong, eyes roving across the patrons as if giving them a warning not to try anything.

"What do I get?" He asked, leaning across the table in his excitement and waving his menu back and forth.

Qian Meng looked at him with indifference, reclining on his hands. "Get whatever you want. I will pay."

The God's brows shot up. "That's not what I mean, but thank you! I meant to ask what you like."

"The pickled pasta is alright."

"Oh! I've never had such a delicacy!"

He snorted, opening his mouth to tell the God it was nothing of the sort when the waitress arrived; all smiles as she asked what they'd like to drink. Lei Gong looked over the menu helplessly for a minute, then two, before Qian Meng couldn't take it anymore.

"Two red whiskeys and two bowls of pickled pasta," he snapped, shaking his head.

The woman jumped, nodding as she wrote it down. Lei Gong thanked her profusely as she left, her feet tripping over themselves as if she couldn't run away fast enough. Only when the woman disappeared into the kitchen did the God turn back to the assassin, a wary smile on his lips. Qian Meng ignored the reaction in favor of slipping a worn, pocket-sized book from his inner robe, flipping it open.

"You really have to work on your temper," Lei Gong murmured.

He ignored him.

"Or perhaps it's your patience that's lacking."

Qian Meng's brows twitched, but he stubbornly stared at the page even while being unable to focus on a single word.

"Or maybe—"

He cut him off in a rage. "What are you doing here again? And will you be leaving after lunch?"

Lei Gong was saved from having to respond to yet another rude comment by the waitress' well-timed return. She placed down the alcohol first, then the pasta. It was vibrant and full of fresh vegetables. There wasn't a single piece of meat to be found. The sight surprised the God who was accustomed to the luxury of fresh meat, but he said nothing of it when he noticed Qian Meng digging in. Only when he was done eating, setting his chopsticks and bowl aside, did the cultivator pick up his drink. The name portrayed it perfectly. If the God didn't know any better, he'd say it was a cup of thin blood. It even stained the already feral-looking Qian Meng's lips a visceral crimson, heightening his frightening allure.

"I will not be leaving," Lei Gong announced, slapping his chopsticks on the table.

It drew the attention of nearby patrons, all of them raising their brows at the two cultivators. Were they begrudging friends? Enemies traveling together for some extraneous circumstance? No one could figure it out. All they could gather was how obviously opposite the two were. They watched Qian Meng raise his brows in exasperation. Eyes pinging back and forth.

"Why not? Our business is concluded."

Lei Gong's lips twisted to the side, his first show of discontentment. "It is not."

"It is."

"It is not," the God snapped, eyes flashing.

The establishment's very foundation seemed to rumble with the force of his words, the muttering mob of people around them falling silent in the wake of them. Qian Meng and Lei Gong were locked in a standstill, neither one of them willing to yield. He wasn't sure what to say next. While he didn't want this man to follow him around, he didn't know how to shake him off. So, instead, he tipped back the rest of his whiskey and placed the glass gently on the table along with payment before rising to leave. Lei Gong did the same, although the alcohol went down harder for him, features pinching as he swallowed.

Qian Meng planned on leaving this little town before news of his location got out. Where there were humans, there was gossip, and such things traveled faster than a spirit portal. However, when they got outside, it was clear he'd thought of such things a beat too late. A circle of stunning cultivators surrounded them. Their swords were drawn and pointed steadily at his chest, a menacing aura of killing intent hazy in the air. He stopped walking to clasp his hands in front of him, trying his best to appear non-threatening even while knowing it was virtually impossible. His reputation spoke for itself, and no matter how pleasant he was, self-righteous people never gave him an inch. Such things rarely bothered him.

"What's going on here?" He mused.

"We have come on behalf of the Spirit Temple of Achak!"

That much was clear. The thirty or so young men wore matching ivory robes he'd recognized instantly. No human on Rasheia was bold enough to wear white—traditionally a color of mourning—other than the pious sect of spiritual cultivators. Lei Gong was an exception, for he was a crazed God who could do as he pleased. Qian Meng pressed his lips together, a bright flash of unease flooding him. Why would disciples of the Achak Temple ruled by The Divine Emperor be here in Zephyr territory? And where did they attain the audacity to hold their swords to the throats of two of the most powerful beings in the world?

He moved closer to the group, Lei Gong pressing in close to his back. With every movement, the cultivators surrounding them seemed to twitch, obviously filled to the brim with fear. No one intimately familiar with the cultivation world hadn't heard of Qian Meng. He was one of the only immortals in history to rival the Gods without becoming one himself. He was a wild card, one most people avoided at all costs.

"If you've tracked me here in the Obethian Empire on behalf of a non-governing temple, it must be serious indeed."

The man who spoke before stepped closer, foot slamming into the ground as if it could better solidify his next point. Qian Meng was unimpressed, dark eyes skeptical.

"Qian Meng! You are hereby accused of the unlawful murder of a God," the man said, raising his voice and puffing out his chest.

He tried not to laugh as he responded, tongue in his cheek. "Which one?"

At the joke, a few of the cultivators shifted forward, swords winking, clearly unamused. The barely restrained violence in the air heightened, becoming charged like lightning. Lei Gong inhaled sharply, sliding between them and blocking the way with his body. His power rushed forth, a mighty gust of wind sweeping everyone's robes and hair into a whirlwind. It was meant as a warning. The group of Achak disciples looked between one another, clearly confused as to who this man could be. Qian Meng wasn't known to travel with others, let alone someone with such obviously high spiritual power. He sighed, feeling a headache coming on, so he tried a different approach.

"And who's accusing me?"

Qian Meng leaned around Lei Gong's outstretched arm, looking the group up and down as he waited for an answer. With just a glance, he knew no one here had the level of cultivation it'd take to restrain him, let alone kill him. So, did they expect him to come willingly?

"The God of Thunder and Justice, Lei Gong."

Qian Meng's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. If he had been drinking, he would have spewed it across the cobblestones beneath their feet. The God in question glanced back at him, brows raised and a small smirk playing on his lips as if he suddenly found this situation very entertaining. Qian Meng narrowed his eyes at him, pushing him out of the way as he approached the leading cultivator. The man tensed, eyes flitting between Qian Meng's stoic expression and Yu Chang. Everyone knew it took no movement on the dark cultivator's part to wield it like a master of death.

"Really? And who did he claim I killed?" He asked, leaning into the man's personal space so far their faces ended up centimeters apart.

The cultivator couldn't help but stutter. "Y-you killed a minor God in his care, the martial God of the East, Zou Delun."

Qian Meng had never heard of such a person. He wasn't one to keep up on all the various minor Gods and Goddesses of their world. Hell, if he was truly honest, he'd admit he didn't care for any Gods unless they deserved a proper death by his hand. Not only that, but in the past, he'd killed many with the backing of the people and powerful leaders. Never once had the Heavenly Court come to accuse him of murder. So what was the deal now? And for a man he'd never met, let alone killed?

"Never heard of him," he replied. "And, if the person accusing me really is Lei Gong, then why are Achak disciples here and not Zephyr?"

The man bristled, face going red. He opened his mouth, surely to scream at him, when Qian Meng felt a diminutive change of the wind. Without a word, he whirled away from the cultivator at the same moment a bright sword cut through the space he'd been standing in with a whistle. He felt the air shiver much too close, his ebony hair barely coming away unscathed. Qian Meng squinted his eyes. The glare of the sword was impossibly bright, showcasing just how much spiritual power the wielder possessed. He held the sneaking suspicion that he'd met this blade in combat before. It didn't come at him again, though, only hovered in the air as the crowd of disciples parted for someone new to make their way through. And, sure enough, it was a golden-robed man he recognized.

"Song Shun," he drawled, by way of greeting.

The man said nothing, stopping beside his sword with one hand tucked behind his back and the other stroking the goatee on his chin—gaze cool as frozen jade. Every disciple present was looking upon him with a sense of unrestrained awe. He was an immortal as well and the current head of the Zephyr Temple. A rigid man who upheld their morals of divine truth and justice to a fault and had been alive only a few hundred years short of Qian Meng's age. They'd fought on many occasions in the past, usually due to insults he'd thrown at the righteous man just to see what'd he'd do, only to come to a standstill. Neither of them truly wanted to kill the other. For if they shared any ideal, it was that killing for the sake of it was unacceptable.

"The Zephyr Temple is now here," Song Shun said, voice a deep baritone. "Do you accept these charges, or deny them?"

Qian Meng felt Lei Gong stiffen, about to move forward, but he signaled to the man to stop with a single flick of his finger. There was no reason for him to get involved. The two had only met a day ago, after all. And Qian Meng was quite capable on his own. If he wasn't he wouldn't have lived for so damn long.

"I do not accept them," he said, pausing to look at every cultivator in attendance. "But does it really matter if I do?"

The man cracked the barest of smiles. And it was only on his face for a split second before disappearing again. "No, of course not."

Qian Meng crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. "You know me, Song Shun. If I killed a man I would take responsibility. There is no reason for me to lie."

Before Song Shun could even deign to reply, the man who'd originally stormed up to him, raged. "No reason to lie?! You're a cold-blooded killer with no morals! What reason do you have to tell the truth?"

The slander rolled down his back without a problem. He'd heard many accusations similar to this one throughout his life. None of it was original, and it almost always brought about the urge to laugh. Qian Meng turned his burning, lifeless eyes on the cultivator, and the man flinched, rearing away.

"How old are you, disciple?" He asked, voice midnight soft.

Everyone reacted to his sinister, pressing in with their swords mere inches from Qian Meng's throat. A moment before they did, he lifted one palm to shove Lei Gong aside, moving the guiltless man out of the line of fire. The God sputtered silently, yet didn't move in fear that someone would be spooked enough to spill blood. There were thirty swords mere inches from his flesh, but Qian Meng was unruffled. He stood there without a drop of fear in his heart, arms crossed and a smile on his lips as if he'd been in such dire situations before and lived many times over. No one dared speak, and the youth refused to answer the question, lips sealed shut and eyes bloodshot with rage as if he held a personal grudge against the man accused.

Song Shun sighed and called back his blade, resheathing it at his waist. "Back up, all of you. Should he wish to, he would kill you with one sweep of his eyes without spilling a single drop of his own blood."

The disciples who were both deeply afraid of this character and filled with an immense amount of respect for the man who spoke backed down at once. The sound of many swords being put away could be heard through the silence, and it was then that Song Shun's eyes slid to Qian Meng's companion. The dark cultivator caught himself stiffening at that switch of attention, and before he could stop himself, he stepped in front of Lei Gong to hide him from view just as the man had done for him earlier.

Song Shun furrowed his brows. "And who is this man you're protecting? You were never one for companionship, Qian Meng."

He wasn't sure whether the words were an insult or not, he could never tell with Song Shun. His voice was always monotonous even when he was angry, and his expressions were just as blank. Even so, Qian Meng only backed up a step, fingers twitching toward Yu Chang.

"He has nothing to do with this quarrel. Do not involve him or I will become violent, and we'd all like to avoid that, now, wouldn't we?"

The other immortal nodded, lifting a hand to stop the men around him from moving. "Fair enough. Come with me quietly for trial and he will be left alone. My word is law, you can trust that."

Qian Meng twisted his lips, hesitating. On one hand, he could flee with Lei Gong in tow quite easily. While, one other, it would be best to remove the God from the situation altogether. It was the quickest and easiest way to get the lunatic man out of his hair, and then he could simply break out of the trial hall later on by himself. With that thought in mind, he agreed, glancing back toward Lei Gong for but a moment.

But a moment was all that was needed for thousands of bright strings lying in wait to fly toward him, catching the light of the sun. It was brief, and Qian Meng noticed it, but too late to stop them from wrapping around his body. Lei Gong's gaze widened and he reached out almost involuntarily toward him, lips parting.

He felt his body grow weak, lips pulling back from his teeth as he whirled toward Song Shun, trying and failing to break the thin clear cables around his body. They were God Binding Cables, a special spiritual device only available to those in the Heavenly Court. They sealed one's spiritual power away no matter how much they possessed and were impossible to remove by anyone but the captor. Never had anyone managed to catch him in such a trap! Lei Gong must truly be a bad omen for him.

"Song Shun!" He raged through clenched teeth.

The shout was feral, gritty, and even with the knowledge that Qian Meng was now without the power that made him so superior, many of the cultivators staggered back a step. Eyes wide and faces blanched. The other immortal did not smile, but his eyes seemed to fill with a wicked sense of pleasure.

"What are you raging for, Qian Meng? Of course, we must use some means of restraining you. You're a murder suspect, after all. Now, come along without screaming if you would like to see your companion walk out of here without harm."

His eye twitched, and rage spiraled through his chest as he stood there for an incense time in pure silence. No one moved, no one breathed as if they expected some impressive show of power. As if the fabled Immortal of Death, Qian Meng, could overcome the power of the God Binding Cables as no one else had even done before. But, eventually, the man only dropped his head and trudged forward, following the golden-robed man down the street and leaving Lei Gong behind.