Present—

The Heavenly Court was glowing with the light of dusk. Great swaths of gentle shadow spread across the marble streets and reflected off the Xiurong river that acted as a barrier between upper and lower court dwellings. Lei Gong was standing at the center of the red iron bridge connecting both halves of the whole. His thoughts were racing, striving to keep up with his pounding heart. He pressed a hand to his chest to calm himself as he stared straight at the setting sun, but it was futile. Nothing could halt the anxious joy that had stolen his heart the moment he saw Qian Meng stomp back into his life.

His plan had worked. The man he sent to persuade Qian Meng to kill him had successfully lured the dark cultivator to his mortal dwelling, leaving bread crumbs for Qian Meng's informant to find when he came looking. And even while Qian Meng's mind seemed to have forgotten all about Lei Gong, his body had not. Muscle memory stopping the dark cultivator before any harm could come to the God he'd once spent so many days training beside.

However, there was already a problem.

Just when things were getting good, when Qian Meng was begrudgingly warming up to him and his probing jokes, the Achak Temple had reared its over-enthusiastic head. It was a surprise to see them come calling. Usually, Achak disciples and masters alike preferred not to leave the mountain they lived upon for anything other than Pondlightian business. To think they were sent to track down Qian Meng for the death of his most promising disciple, Zou Delun. . . It made little sense. He had heard no news about the God's death.

If it were true, he'd be the first to know, right?

So instead of running after Qian Meng like a hopeless idiot and brutally ending whoever touched him for more than a moment without his permission, Lei Gong had rushed back to the Heavenly Court. Only to find that Zou Delun was, in fact, dead with a body that'd been mutilated brutally beyond repair. The only reason they could identify him was because of his personal sword in its sheath along his spine.

Lei Gong closed his eyes, trying his best to get the sight of that man's horrifying end out of his mind. While the God was no stranger to killing, this was something else entirely. His disciple was covered in lacerations that wrapped around his arms and legs, splitting the skin wide open for muscle to show. Not only that but his soul was shattered. There would be no hope for resurrection nor reincarnation. That way, not even a soul summoning spell could bring him back for questioning. Whoever killed him was ruthless, indeed. Either that or the perpetrator was hell-bent on keeping their identity a secret. Whatever way he looked at it, such a deed wasn't Qian Meng's style.

And if that were true, it meant the actual killer was still at large, perhaps readying to strike against another lower court being. Lei Gong tightened his hands around the iron bridge until they left indentations in the metal. Why did something like this come up now, of all times? He'd gotten closer to his goal in the last twenty-four hours than he'd been in millennia. Fuck, he cursed to himself, dropping his head.

"You're a sorry sight today, aren't you?"

Lei Gong's tense shoulders fell at the sound of that familiar voice. If there was anyone with answers, it was him. Lei Gong turned, smiling weakly.

"Am I?" He asked.

The man smiled back, brilliant and blinding. With it, the sun seemed to flare a little brighter, the water beneath their feet rushed faster, and the wind smelled sweeter. He wore the same robes he always donned—a white hanfu etched with iridescent lotus flowers, a grand billowing ivory cape, and a matching wide ribbon across his forehead. It made him ethereal, or maybe he was simply that way all on his own. Lei Gong had never been sure, and he'd known him all his life.

"I was sorry to hear about your disciple, brother," the man said with sincerity.

Lei Gong took a step forward to grasp his brother's shoulder, squeezing. "Thank you. I am also at a loss for how this could have happened. I was away for less than two days. The person responsible must have known my schedule. That, and they targeted someone from the lower court. Is it because they weren't strong enough to kill me or some other reason? I can't figure it out."

His brother knitted his brows and opened his mouth to respond when a feminine voice shouted, "Divine Emperor! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The brothers turned to look, matching serene smiles on their faces. If anyone were to look at them standing side by side, they would know instantly they were related. The woman striding toward them was another one of the ten upper court Celestial Beings of their world—Bai Xiaoqing. She was the only upper court savant Goddess known as the record keeper of the heavens. In her long life, she'd been the sole evolutionary link between humanity and the Gods. Planting the seeds of knowledge and progress in every grand inventor's head. From the wheel to the water portals, she had a hand in all of it. It's why she was so revered in both the Heavenly Court and Rasheia.

"Xiaoqing! I apologize for making you rush around in search of me. What can I do for you?"

The woman stopped before them with a huff, crisp cobalt eyes darting between them, lips pursed. "Good afternoon, Lei Gong."

He nodded. "Good afternoon."

His brother raised a brow. "Good afternoon? No, it is not. We've lost a valuable member of our lower court! Who will replace the martial God of the East?"

Bai Xiaoqing sighed and snapped out a folding fan painted with the motif of a rising tide, fluttering her ebony hair away from her face. She looked more stressed than usual, which was saying something.

"That is a problem, however, it's not the biggest one as of late," she said.

"What could be worse than the death of my brother's beloved disciple?" The Divine Emperor asked.

She shook her head. "I do not mean any disrespect, but there's been an uproar at the Chamber of Divinity. It's too long-winded for me to explain twice, your grace. All I can say is that your presence is needed."

The Divine Emperor sighed and turned back to his brother, an apologetic look blooming on his face that Lei Gong waved away.

"Do not worry. We can discuss this together another time."

Those familiar words tumbled out without a thought, Lei Gong having become accustomed to them. Most times, when the two stopped to speak to one another in a public setting, they were interrupted. It was the nature of his elder brother's position and had been for a while now. The only regretful part of it was they usually never got back around to it. It was a wicked cycle.

His brother bowed his head, and Bai Xiaoqing's brows twitched at the sight. The Divine Emperor was not required to bow to anyone, and it would forever be a shock to witness him pay that homage to his beloved younger brother. Lei Gong accepted it gracefully, tilting his entire body nearly ninety degrees in respect. His brother spoke as he did.

"This time, we will speak about it. I promise to find you later, and if not later, tomorrow morning at the latest. I have many things to say about that heinous man, Qian Meng."

With that, the Divine Emperor left with a swish of his robes. Striding back toward his estate that sat beside the Chamber of Divinity—a place where all imperative heavenly discussions were held at the foot of their grandmaster's throne. Bai Xiaoqing followed two steps behind him; fan flapping furiously, betraying her haste. Lei Gong watched them go with a curious look on his face.

How did my brother know about Qian Meng being accused?

⚔

It took no time at all to summon the head of the temple. And Song Shun, especially when it came to Qian Meng, was rather vigilant. At first, he thought something had gone horribly wrong, but when he arrived at the Hall of Justice, everything was quiet. The seven people in the room stared daggers at one another. Well, mostly glaring at Qian Meng while poor Prince Qiao looked a little lost. Just what in the world was happening, and where was everyone else? Has the trial not started yet?

"What is the situation?" Song Shun asked, sweeping further into the room with a flick of his robes.

Elder Han stood from the bench, smoothing down his golden robes. "Grandmaster Song, I apologize for calling you here. It was unnecessary."

The temple head raised his brows. If it was so unnecessary, then why call him at all? The elders knew he was a busy man with barely enough time on his hands for the things that mattered, let alone frivolous requests.

"Explain," he replied.

Elder Han flinched, and everyone in the room went still as if trying their best not to be called upon to speak. Qian Meng watched it all unfold in silence, as he had promised. Although, thankfully, it seemed Elder Han needed no help in irritating Song Shun. He wanted to snort but held it in.

"Prince Qiao was concerned about the trial, my lord," Elder Han began. "He wished to confirm it with you."

Lou Qiao's navy eyes widened in disbelief as he whirled toward the bench. He'd never expected elder Han to throw him to the wolves, or rather, the big bad wolf! Qian Meng was delighted by this turn of events. It only further proved how sly the old fox was, telling him everything he needed to know about this supposed Hall of Justice. The surprise of it being corrupt was actually no surprise at all.

"Confirm it?" Song Shun asked. "What is there to confirm? I've met Qian Meng before. I know what he looks like and how he acts. This is most definitely him, and he has most definitely committed enough evil deeds to warrant prosecution of the highest order."

Qian Meng pulled in a deep breath before blowing it out his nose slowly. It was loud enough in the echoing room that many of Elder Han's bench mates shot him scathing glares, threatening him to keep quiet. The dark cultivator ignored them, only having eyes for the temple head. He stared resolutely at the spot between the man's shoulder blades, knowing he could feel it. Such was one of Qian Meng's special skills; the power of a heavy gaze. The atmosphere grew dense, yet Song Shun still refused to turn. He kept his eyes riveted to the prince's pallid expression.

Lou Qiao, to his credit, didn't wither under the grand master's scrutiny. He bowed low, hands clasped.

"I apologize for the interruption and agree with your words. My only question was to know the meaning behind a closed case."

At the mention of it, Qian Meng couldn't help but direct his ebony gaze toward the seething elder Han, lips quirked up. It felt good to see the man's master plan fall apart just because of a single younger cultivator's probing. Did he believe someone like Lou Qiao, first son of the great ruler of this nation, would look the other way? Even the thought made Qian Meng want to laugh.

The Obethian Empire stood pillared on two principles; truth and justice. They followed these practices with a rigidity that no other sect or people possessed. It bled into their world so intricately the largest cities in the nation didn't accept payment beyond verbal contracts of even exchange. Spirit stones or physical money held no value to these cultivators. Your word was a promise written in blood should you lie. The God of Thunder was not just an omniscient being here. He was law and those who disobeyed, well. . .

They sat in Qian Meng's position.

"Closed case?" Song Shun uttered, stroking his goatee. "What is the meaning of this?"

Elder Han was sweating bullets now. There was no one else to throw the blame to unless he wanted to invite the dark cultivator to speak up, but that was a terrible idea. Qian Meng had a knack for talking with a flourish most people couldn't help but lean toward. While his words were so often harsh, they were also captivating to a fault. That was one of the many things people had heard through whispered rumors about the Immortal of Death. With that thought in mind, elder Han cursed to himself as he tried his best to explain.

"As this man is one of the most dangerous beings we've ever encountered, I wished to reduce the risk and decided on a closed trial. No unnecessary personnel in or out of the courtroom. That way, there would be no danger or intentional prolongation of the proceedings."

The argument was a solid one. Qian Meng had to give the old sack of meat that. Song Shun, however, was taken aback. The Zephyr Hall of Justice was a place born in impartiality with unyielding etiquette. One such rule was to have a fair trial for both the defendant and the prosecution. That included opening the doors to the public and allowing for first-person accounts. Not once had an elder dared to change any aspect of these customs until now. Song Shun slowly turned to the bench with both hands tucked behind his back and, despite standing two feet below the men seated there, seemed to stare down his nose at them, gaze sharp.

"Such things are not in your control, elder Han."

Silence enveloped the room, and not a soul even dared move. The words were a polite way of telling the man to know his place. No one here held more autonomy than the temple head. He was just as powerful as a king. And while it looked like the elders were wiser than the youthful Song Shun, it couldn't be further from the truth. He was an immortal who did not age and spent centuries honing his mind and power. Few people in this world held a candle to his greatness, and surely these men who hadn't even possessed the strength to grasp immortality couldn't argue against it. They were only mediators used as an extended gavel, carrying out the temple head's will. Should their allegiances have changed. . . Well, perhaps it was time for Song shun to appoint new members to his court.

This was the outcome Qian Meng had been hoping for when instigating the situation.

Elder Han bowed his head. "I understand, my lord."

Song Shun: "Do you?"

The rest of the accusation need not be said; because, if you did, you would not have made such a decision.

"This trial is dismissed for the time being," the temple head went on, whirling toward the dark cultivator on the ground. "For now, Qian Meng will be kept at my side."

Lou Qiao wasn't surprised by this order. If anyone could control the great Immortal of Death, it was his master. He'd learned everything he knew from both his father and the man standing proudly before him. And, for that, he would follow him anywhere.

"Grandmaster, please forgive me for my words of distrust and allow me to assist in keeping Qian Meng prisoner as punishment."

He kneeled, coming dangerously close to Qian Meng's boots so he could kowtow to his master. The dark cultivator pinged his eyes between the two as if he couldn't get enough of the drama. Song Shun tsked as he crossed his arms over his chest, having always hated how subservient the young cultivator was.

"Get up, Prince Qiao. We've talked about this many times before. You cannot stay here. Your duties to the empire come before your duties as a cultivator."

The prince scrambled to his feet, cheeks tinged pink. "Of course, grandmaster. My apologies."

Qian Meng's chest grew tight. He'd heard something similar in the past and knew just how torn the young cultivator must be. Song Shun shifted back toward Qian Meng, lips pursed and gaze deadly. In a flash, his sword cut through the ropes binding him to the jade pillar so he could stand. And when he did, the elders behind the bench shifted uncomfortably, as if he'd lunge to rip out their hearts at a moment's notice. Such apprehension didn't bother the dark cultivator. In fact, he thrived on the fact that it kept ordinary people away from him.

"I will take him now. Please gather the evidence and present the trial papers to my office by the end of this week. No later," Song Shun commanded.

The elders stood to bow their heads, but Song Shun was already turning away with a swish of his opulent robes to leave the room. The dark cultivator couldn't resist shooting the elders behind the bench a serpentine smile before moving to follow him. All five of them tensed, gritting their teeth as they were forced to hold their tongue. The word of their grandmaster was law, and no matter how obvious it was to them that Qian Meng had orchestrated this entire change of events, they couldn't say it. For it would expose more than just the dark cultivator's plans.

Qian Meng sighed after successfully escaping the drafty courtroom.

Night had fallen to blanket the mountain. However, under the cover of darkness, the Zephyr Temple was truly a sight to behold. Everywhere they went, spelled lanterns followed to light the path ahead. The sandstone and onyx walls reflected their golden light, flickering and sending long shadows across the ground. Song Shun strode in front of him, leading the way with his head held high and both arms tucked rigidly against his spine. The man screamed perfectionism, and Qian Meng wondered if the guy had ever experienced a lick of fun in all his life. He snorted to himself at the thought, shaking his head.

Song Shun turned a corner that took the pair along the edges of a gilded courtyard filled with hundreds of closed anemos flowers. They were just as golden as everything else in this place, all of them straining toward an almost transparent jade statue in the center. Again, this depiction of Lei Gong didn't do the man any justice at all. Here he was towering, highbrowed, and sported a stern expression that spelled trouble should anyone step a single toe out of line. Even the wrinkles of displeasure carved around his eyes were detailed and striking. It was compelling to the point where Qian Meng didn't want to look away.

Song Shun had slowed down to walk at his side, watching Qian Meng closely. The direct attention didn't stop the dark cultivator from staring after the jade statue, expression eerily flat. The silence between them wasn't unpleasant, per se, but it still left the temple head with the compulsion to fill it as he thought back on every interaction they'd had with one another. From their first official meeting in that sacred orchard to now, Song Shun still did not know who the man beside him was. Was it wrong that he wanted to pick his brain?

"Once we get to my chambers, I can loosen the God Binding Cables, but no sooner," Song Shun said.

Such was the temple head's way of telling Qian Meng he could trust him, if only a little. The dark cultivator grunted to show he'd heard, yet his eyes were still on the statue as if entranced by the sight. Song Shun wondered if that unwavering focus was because of memories or curiosity. Perhaps this was the way to get the man to speak.

"Have you met many Gods?"

Qian Meng almost sighed at the question, forcibly peeling his gaze away from the statue as the two moved into the next section of the temple. This one was darker than any other place they'd walked, and he only realized why when he glanced back the way they'd come. Every spelled lantern had halted at the entrance; floating there like whining dogs watching their master leave them behind. Magical things like this always delighted Qian Meng as if the small child in his chest hadn't died centuries ago. He turned back to the path ahead, eyeing the temple head who seemed to hang on his every word.

"Yes, I have."

"And?"

Song Shun waited an incense time for the dark cultivator to tell him something, anything, about his interactions with the Gods. Because, despite his long immortal lifespan, Song Shun had never been in the presence of one himself. He'd only heard the usual stories about their devastating power and flippant attitude toward humans. The only thing he could think of right now was that if any of them were like Qian Meng, they surely fit the description. How the monster trudging along beside him hadn't ascended yet was beyond imagination.

"And, what?" Qian Meng eventually asked, feigning ignorance.

Song Shun almost scoffed, one hand gripping the hilt of Claíomh Solais while the other clenched into a fist behind his back. And while he'd surely noticed it, the dark cultivator didn't change his gait at all. Only stared straight ahead as if whatever stood before them was ten times more threatening than the temple head. He wanted to be angry about it, but Song Shun knew that was always Qian Meng's desired outcome—to get a rise out of people. So instead, he rephrased the question.

"What were they like? The Gods?"

Qian Meng wasn't sure what to say in response. Most people, even immortals, desired to be enthralled by the Celestial Beings. Because, if one was in awe of them from the moment they met, then all the worshiping they'd done, all the posturing, had been worthwhile. Little did the people roaming Rasheia know; Celestial Beings were no different from any other cultivator. They simply held better control over their qi after being granted entry into the Heavenly Court for their outstanding merit. Ascension really had nothing to do with being a good person and everything to do with being a powerful one.

"Just as one would expect."

Song Shun stroked his goatee, lost in thought. "I have the sneaking suspicion your expectations are drastically different from mine."

Qian Meng snorted while trying to shift his stiff shoulders into a more comfortable position. The God Binding Cables only dug deeper into his skin, however, for the more you moved, the less forgiving they became. Still, he did not try to express his discomfort.

"They were once human, just like you and I," he told the man. "Ascension really isn't so special."

Song Shun reared away with a scowl. He knew he shouldn't have entertained a serious discussion with such a heinous man for more than a second. However, he found himself spouting a rebuttal before he could halt it.

"You realize saying things like that undermines all of cultivation?"

Qian Meng grinned. "Does it? I, for one, didn't become an immortal for the chance at ascension."

"Oh? And what did you become one for?"

Their quips rang back and forth, echoing down the ominous, empty hall and back to them. Qian Meng lost his smile, gaze turning distant once again. What to say? The true reason was to prove to himself that he could. That he was powerful in a world where he'd once felt so very powerless. And then it morphed into a sick sense of justice, the darker side of it that a God like Lei Gong wouldn't dare entertain.

A life for a life.

Such a simple idea was often touted as barbaric in the current age. Why kill when humans were intelligent enough to resolve conflict through diplomacy? Qian Meng had pushed aside such notions long ago; for the people who spouted them did not know humanity's vile nature. Had not experienced enough of this awful world to know that no one and nothing was ever diplomatic for any other reason but advancing their own life. People who were wholly good couldn't exist, while things like greed, selfishness, and cruelty also existed. The dark nature of his opinion wouldn't be well received, however. Who was he to say anything about the whole of cultivation or ascension? In the end, Qian Meng twisted his lips into a sardonic, self-deprecating smile.

"I wished to prove my worth to myself and no one else," he told the man.

Song Shun couldn't refute such a claim. It was personal and admirable. He could admit that. The only thing the temple head had a problem with was Qian Meng's methods that were so very similar to their worshiped God, Lei Gong. If being strong was a personal concept to the dark cultivator, why spend his life traveling around Rasheia slaying what he calls "evil" men? There was more to it than what Qian Meng let on.

"Mn," was all he said.

Thankfully, they'd arrived at his network of rooms just after that. The doors stood open, the temple head having left them that way in his haste to arrive at the Hall of Justice. Qian Meng allowed Song Shun to step inside first, only to hear a startled gasp rear from the man's throat. The dark cultivator's brutal body reacted; whirling inside and lowering into a ready position, despite having no way to use his arms. Yu Chang, the sword that was supposed to be void of magic because of the God Binding Cables, shivered in its sheath as if aching to burst forth.

Qian Meng's critical gaze took in his surroundings. From the various entrances to the number of windows, he cataloged it all. It was a knee-jerk reaction he'd harbored for as long as he'd been an assassin—the shimmering need to know exactly what he was in for. Any other outcome was unacceptable to him. He even went as far as eyeing a folding frame painted with petals falling from a swaying cherry tree in the event someone lay in wait behind it. But there was no killing intent to the air, no obvious signs of danger. Only after confirming it did he turn his gaze back to where Song Shun was frozen in the center of the space.

Qian Meng's eyes twitched and his shoulders slackened.

There, lounging in the center of the room as if he owned it with a cup of steaming rose tea in his palm, was Lei Gong.