Present—

Qian Meng was pissed off. He wanted to destroy something, but his arms were restrained behind him so tightly he was losing feeling in his fingertips. Not only had they wrapped hundreds of God Binding Cables around his body, but the moment he arrived in the Zephyr Hall of Justice, they'd chained him to a tall pillar of emerald jade in the center of the room. No one else was around, not even a few guards to watch him, but it gave him the time to look over every part of this place.

While Qian Meng had never been up this particular peak, he'd heard many rumors about the Zephyr Temple. Particularly this building where they brought heinous villains of the tallest order to justice.

Apparently, he fit into that category.

It was just like any other courtroom. Many carved wooden benches lined the space with a grand desk at the front of the room. What made it grand were the several stories high floor to ceiling stained glass windows depicting Lei Gong—the God he really should have killed to save himself some trouble—in various states of being. A woman with brilliant golden hair and a rigid frown. Then an ethereal man cloaked in golden light looking down upon his subjects. Always with the hammer, always with his lotus stitched robes. Even the more realistic versions, the ones who looked scarily like the Lei Gong he'd met, didn't feel quite right. And it took him a moment, but he found out why after grasping a better look at each piece. In every one, the artist portrayed the God of Thunder and Justice as a dispassionate immortal.

He snorted, some of his anger cooling.

Qian Meng bet his life that Lei Gong couldn't even pretend to be abstract. He'd never met another man with such a stubborn, yet buoyant, personality. Or rather, he'd actively avoided running into people with such a temperament. They often annoyed him to no end, either that, or caused him immense trouble. It was really too tragic that Lei Gong had already managed to do both upon first meeting him. It even led to him being trapped in God Binding Cables for the first time in his one thousand odd years of existence! And no matter what the cultivators who escorted him here thought, Qian Meng could not break free.

The entire time Song Shun had held him while riding on his sword toward the Zephyr Peak, he'd tried. At first, he'd subtly pushed spiritual power toward the cables, probing them for weaknesses. They had none, each stitch having been hand woven by the Divine Emperor himself. Even with more power, it would be of no use for anything but exhausting himself. Hence why he'd lain in the Court Hall for nearly three hours in complete silence, contemplating his existence.

Such was a train of thought he hadn't entertained in a long while.

In situations like this one, most people would think; how did I get here? However, Qian Meng's thoughts were more along the lines of; There is a reason I am here. If he'd learnt anything from his long life, it was that Heavenly Court affairs were a spider web of threads. One incident touched the next, and the next, and the next. No one was left unsullied, and no one knew how many hands had stirred the pot, or if it was truly one person after all. He'd seen terrible things occur that many of the Gods knew of or taken part in, and yet, they all remained on their gilded thrones in the Heavenly Court.

Not that he was upset about it or anything.

"Qian Meng, the Great Immortal of Death," a voice mused.

He couldn't turn without snapping the bones in his arms, so Qian Meng only waited for the man to round his body. He didn't recognize the voice, nor did the man's qi signature feel at all familiar. But whoever it was, was powerful. He could sense tendrils of magic writhing toward him, probing for a way into his dark mind. Qian Meng, of course, did not allow it, only stared at those fine threads of magic until they retreated in defeat, wrapping around the legs of a person who came to a stop not two steps from Qian Meng's feet. He looked up, lips pressing into a thin line.

The man was impressive. Tall, lithe muscles built by years of training, and an aura that would easily ward off any lesser beings thinking of trying their hand in combat. His robes were a neutral color, not belonging to any of the five sects, a ginger shade that reminded him of steeped tea. They were of high quality, but not overtly extravagant, as if he wanted to keep a low profile. Yet the carved iron saber sheathed at his side was massive, and obviously expensive. It drew the eye, being twice the size of Yu Chang. In the back of his mind, Qian Meng might have recognized him, but not enough to remember a name.

The man crouched, studying Qian Meng's venomous expression while shaking his head. "Gods and Goddesses above, you're scary! I thought the guards outside the hall were bluffing when they said they'd tied up a monster. They were shivering, as if you might rip out of these cables at any moment and kill us all."

Qian Meng wasn't a fan of random chatter, so he didn't deign to reply, only sat back against the pillar as if he owned the place. It was a wonder to the man how the dark cultivator could look so comfortable while lying awkwardly with his hands chained behind his back. He shook his head and stood, flicking his ebony hair away from his face with annoyance while glancing back the way he'd come.

"Who are you?" Qian Meng asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

The man snapped his gaze back to him. "What? You don't know my name?"

He'd said so with an incredulous look on his face. As if the entire world, including the Gods, knew who he was. Qian Meng didn't react to this at all. He barely retained the names and titles of major Gods, let alone whatever poor sap they're trying to frame him for murdering. How was he supposed to know who this random, dime a dozen immortal was? Qian Meng didn't move or speak, not giving the man an inch. It unnerved the younger immortal so much he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, eyes averted.

He cleared his throat. "My name is Luo Qiao, and I am the crown prince of the Obethian Empire."

Qian Meng stared at him for a moment, stared really hard. If this man was truly royal blooded it was no wonder he recognized him ever so slightly. Long ago, he'd known every royal family across the continent, and knew them well. It turned out Lou Qiao bore a striking resemblance to his forefathers, especially the crown prince of ten generations ago.Well, the now king, he supposed. One of the only Obethian rulers to have ascended to immortality. Followed, apparently, by his son. The man shifted from foot to foot, clearly unnerved by Qian Meng's sudden direct attention. The dark cultivator snorted, looking away.

Lou Qiao blew out a breath. "You're a hard man to have a conversation with."

"Am I?" Qian Meng replied.

The words were colder than ice. Lou Qiao groaned internally at his bad luck. Why was he the one sent here to confirm whether or not this was the true Qian Meng of legend? His father was better suited for it, and would undoubtedly get twice the results for half the effort. But when asked, his father only quipped a half-baked response—one the great king of the Obethian Empire often used when he wished to get out of something.

I'm a busy man, son. Just do as you're told, alright?

"Let's get this over with then," he sighed, crossing his arms.

Qian Meng turned his burning onyx gaze back on Lou Qiao and waited.

"What is your full name?"

"Qian Meng, or dark cultivator, or The Immortal of Death. Take your pick."

Lou Qiao snorted. "What element do you serve?"

Qian Meng had never liked that question, it felt too much as if his control over spiritual power was a choice rather than an all out necessity. But he wasn't stubborn and answered without his usual flare for sarcasm.

"My power hails from the Spirit Temple of Achak."

"How old are you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Around one thousand three hundred, give or take a few centuries? I don't celebrate anymore."

The man's response was quick and just as sarcastic. "That's a damn shame, I'm sure plenty would come to your party."

Qian Meng furrowed his brows, not impressed nor amused. Normally other cultivators were stiff and refused to play along with his games, making them all the more fun. It wasn't enjoyable when someone gave back as much as he dished out. He studied the man closely again, noting every similarity he held to his father. The dark as sin hair, his stark cheek bones, and the same baby faced expression that usually had people underestimating him. The only difference was the color of their eyes. While the king of the Obethian Empire had a gaze as light as snow, his son's was darker, almost navy in color. Qian Meng wanted to know who his mother was. If it could be the same woman he'd met many years prior back when things weren't as terrible as they were now, but he didn't dare ask.

"And your family?" Lou Qiao inquired, beginning to pace.

Qian Meng's expression darkened. "I do not discuss my family. With anyone."

The man nodded as if he'd expected such a response. "Alright. And where are you from?"

At this, Qian Meng paused, a well of complex emotion rising through his chest. While he was rigid on keeping his lineage a secret from the world, he had mentioned a few times in passing that he was from Pondlightian. Some people might know, particularly this man's father. He knew Qian Meng so well the dark cultivator would be surprised if he didn't show up at this trial to give his recount of every horrible thing Qian Meng had ever done. People from his past liked to do so as often as the chance arose.

"Pondlightian," he ground out.

Lou Qiao nodded again, pacing back and forth, his echoing steps being the only sound in the large room. Qian Meng wanted to know why the man needed to confirm such things. There was no doubting who he was, and if they truly did, why not let him out of these cables to prove it? Or, if that wasn't an option, attempt to unsheath Yu Chang? No one else in the world had a sword like his, and no one else could carry it. That's how much resentful energy it harbored. If and when he died, it would be a big problem for the people left behind.

"And you came here willingly?"

"If being trapped by one hundred God Binding Cables and forced to come along because you lot threatened to involve an innocent man if I didn't is willingly, then yes."

The words dripped with sarcasm, and it was Lou Qiao's turn to scowl at him. Fine. He supposed it was a bad question to ask, but he couldn't help the unease flowing like a raging river through his chest. No one in their right mind would walk into a room with someone like Qian Meng without their nerves fizzling beneath their skin. His fight or flight response was aching to burst forth and force his legs out of the room at a rapid pace. That was how unpleasant an aura this man had writhing around him. He could only guess this was how it felt to stand in the presence of an unfeeling God.

"What are you really here for? And where's your dear old dad? Lou Tian, right?" Qian Meng said, lifting his brows.

It didn't make the stoic expression on his face any easier to bear.

"You remember my father?" Lou Qiao asked, taking a step toward him.

Qian Meng; "Yes, I do. He didn't speak of me?"

The young immortal shook his head, appearing just as confused as Qian Meng was. From what the dark cultivator could remember—which was very little, mind you—Lou Tian was someone who loved to gossip. Every time they met for yearly conferences he was the young handsome man at the center of it all. And, as he was quite nosy, he'd often make it a point to but into Qian Meng's quiet life. There was nothing the man didn't know, and nothing he wouldn't spread around if given the opportunity. Court politics were his specialty, and that was undoubtedly why he'd been king for so damn long.

"Why didn't he come? Let me guess, he's a busy man, right?"

Lou Qiao felt a shiver go down his spine upon hearing those familiar words slip from Qian Meng's lips. Did he truly know his father so well? It piqued his curiosity, and he stepped closer to the dark cultivator, narrowing his gaze.

"What did you just say?"

Qian Meng sat up, crossing his legs into a lotus pose and tilting his head. "Did I scare you? Sorry, I have a pretty bad memory, but a selective one. I just vaguely recall hearing those words from your father every time he didn't want to do something he was assigned to do."

Lou Qiao wasn't sure what to say to that. It seemed that his father should have been the one to come, after all. Perhaps then the room wouldn't be enveloped in stuffy silence. He opened and closed his mouth several times, and was only saved by the doors behind the tall judgment desk being flung open with a bang! Qian Meng's eyes darted between the young cultivator and the five elders filtering into the room, unconcerned.

"Prince Qiao, what a pleasant surprise," a gravelly voice said, forcing the cultivator to whirl around.

It was the man in the center of the bench that spoke. He was clearly the oldest of the five with bright white hair and matching bushy brows which sat low against his burning gaze. Qian Meng mused that the man must have had a permanent frown on his face all his life to get such deep lines around his mouth.

Lou Qiao bowed low in respect. "Hello, grand master. I've come at my father's request to confirm that it is indeed Qian Meng."

The elder looked down his nose at the dark cultivator, sneering. Qian Meng only bounced his brows, unafraid of the man's posturing.

"Hm. And what is your conclusion?" The elder responded, turning back to Lou Qiao.

The young cultivator glanced briefly at the man chained up behind him, expression unreadable. "It's him. Everything he said was in line with his past. He also mentioned details about my father no one else would know."

Another man, one who looked so close to dirt Qian Meng wasn't sure how he was still breathing, cut in. "What kind of details?"

Lou Qiao shrugged. "His mannerisms, things he says often. Apparently he hasn't changed much over the past one thousand years."

"People rarely do," Qian Meng muttered.

The elder shot him a glare that he pretended not to see.

"Well, thank you for coming all this way, but you are no longer needed here. This is a closed case."

Lou Qiao found this statement strange. No other cases in the history of the Zephyr Hall of Justice were closed to the public. Even cultivators from other temples were free to visit and listen in on the proceedings, sometimes even giving their two cents. Why would that suddenly change for a man like Qian Meng? Was he truly so fearsome?

"A closed case?" He said, lips pursed.

The elders looked between one another, annoyance clear on their faces. The one in the center continued to speak for the group, chin tilted up in a haughty show of arrogance.

"There is no need to concern yourself with this now that you've confirmed everything your father wanted to know."

The brush off was clear. It was time for Lou Qiao to leave, and yet, he continued to hesitate. He wished to know their motive for keeping this trial a secret from the public. It couldn't be only for the fact that the dark cultivator was dangerous. There were plenty of horrible people that had come and gone through this hall.

Qian Meng, on the other hand, knew exactly why it was a closed case; he didn't actually kill the God. And if someone other than the people who wanted to frame him for this murder burst into the doors demanding evidence, it would only make it that much harder to sentence him to death as everyone here wanted. He shook his head grimly at the thought. This situation was looking worse and worse, and he'd hate to die without knowing exactly who wanted him gone. He'd always thought he'd go out gloriously against a grand foe, not by being slayed without a way to stop the blade flying toward his neck.

Lou Qiao had stalled his departure for long enough, shifting from foot to foot. There was nothing he could do against the five elders of the Zephyr Temple. Despite being a prince, the temple was its own kind of kingdom. He held no autonomy here. . . And so what if he didn't? What, did he really wish to save the murderer chained up behind him? That was ridiculous! Just as he turned on his heel to stride out, Qian Meng spoke up.

"Wouldn't you need the temple head's permission to run a closed trial? Where is Song Shun?"

Everyone in the room paused.

The elder in the center stood up, dry lips pulling back from his teeth as he slammed a fist onto the table. "You think Song Shun is unaware of our choices?"

Qian Meng twisted up his features, looking away. "You could just answer the question."

The elder was about to rage again when Lou Qiao stepped in with two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Elder Han, please allow me to call Grand Master Song here. Then there will be no misunderstandings about your proceedings."

Qian Meng could tell this was the opposite of what Elder Han wanted, but now his hands were tied. He sat back down, flicking the sleeves of his robes as he scowled even deeper.

"Fine," the elder grunted.

"Thank you, Elder Han. I will—"

The man cut Lou Qiao off, tone savage. "Only on the condition that Qian Meng does not talk in his presence. Swear it."

The final statement was spit at the dark cultivator, and if words could kill, his neck would have split from ear to ear. Qian Meng kept the soft smile on his lips that he knew drove people in power wild with irritation as he thought about the request. It was clear Song Shun did not know about this trial being a closed case even though it was happening right under his nose. Qian Meng curled his lips, not sure whether such negligence made him unworthy or if these old bags were just that cunning. But, for now, he'd play along with their games. He looked up at the bench, feral grin widening.

"As you wish."