Present—

Qian Meng wanted the orchard to feel alien, but it didn’t. The moment he stepped through the clearing, scenting hundreds of trees sagging with ivory blossoms, a sense of deep belonging shimmered through his chest. The shack on the far side of the grove was still standing proud against time, some of the fresh planks he’d used to fix it up now withered with age. Perhaps he could replace them while he was here.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He didn’t turn toward Lei Gong, only tucked one arm behind his back as his feet ate up the grass with long strides toward the first row of trees. He felt the God follow along behind him in silence, waiting for an answer. Qian Meng’s first reaction was to ignore him, or snap at him, but, to his utter surprise, he did neither.

“Yes, it is.”

He stopped before a tree positively bursting with flora. There were more petals than leaves, indicating a bountiful harvest to come. Qian Meng lifted one finger to run it along several soft blooms, spiritual energy zapping between him and the tree. It was writhing with it, in fact, the entire orchard felt charged in a way it had not the last time he was here. But back then, the apples were well formed and ready to pick. Perhaps they needed immense amounts of qi to grow to perfection and thus had been spelled by cultivators. He turned his head to ask and almost ran his nose face first into the man’s chest.

“Ah,” he exclaimed softly, flinching back.

Lei Gong was smiling down at him, a little toothy, but very much annoying. “Sorry, am I too close?”

Qian Meng’s anger flared as if on cue, and when he forced himself to take a deep breath in order to control it, his chest brushed up against the God’s. That’s how close they were, and yet, his body refused to take a step back.

“Why ask if you already know the answer?”

“Why become angry when you don’t step away?” Lei Gong retorted.

Qian Meng forcibly lifted one foot and stumbled backward, and as undignified as it was, he was pleased with himself for managing it. The longer he was around this man, the harder it was to explain just how familiar he felt. For what felt like the fiftieth time, his mind reeled back to their first interaction, to what the God had said.

It’s been so many years, and yet, you still pretend not to know me.

The dark cultivator shook his head with a scowl. There was no universe in which he’d met such a vexatious character and forgot about it. Lei Gong was a wily one, and now Qian Meng was trapped in the same place as the manic God while he waited for judgment day. It felt like divine punishment, but he knew better than to believe the Celestial Beings gave a damn about him or any other human, for that matter. At the thought, the dark cultivator glanced back up at Lei Gong, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing here, really?” He asked.

The God shrugged, tucking both arms behind his back and striding forward to lean his face into the blooms. They brushed along his cheeks as if in greeting, and Lei Gong smiled. It pissed Qian Meng off that someone could be so ethereal, so very Godlike that it killed him both to watch and to look away. He forced himself to snap his head up, staring into the bright sun overhead. The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably until Song Shun caught up to them. Neither immortal turned to look as the man re-sheathed his blade, Claíomh Solais.

“I have arrived and will place the provisions in the primary home,” he murmured, bowing low before Lei Gong.

The God glanced down at him, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

Without another word the temple head strode away, back straight and steps clipped as if he had a sword shoved up his ass. Qian Meng shook his head, moving to follow him so he could get a good look at how the shack was faring when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. The dark cultivator stiffened, eyes trailing past those ring-clad fingers, up the silver vambrace on Lei Gong’s wrist, to stare at him with a stony expression. The God didn’t balk, he never had no matter what Qian Meng said or did. And it was more than a little bothersome that his usual tactics for telling people to fuck off weren’t effective in this case.

“Why are you touching me?” He asked, raising a brow.

Lei Gong’s crimson gaze fell to where he’d reached out to grasp him as if he didn’t quite know the answer, either. “Well, I. . .”

He trailed off, blinking slowly. The God hadn’t thought it through, not really. All he saw was Qian Meng walking away, again, and then his arm darted out without his permission. Lei Gong swallowed hard and let his hand slip away to drop back down by his side. The two stood there, too close, and he almost couldn’t take the burning fire of those dark eyes. He was a Celestial Being, one of the most powerful men in this world and perhaps the next one too, but when standing before his zhiyin, the great Lei Gong was reduced to the same ill-advised youth he’d been when they met. As if the past thirteen hundred years hadn’t changed a thing.

Lei Gong knew that was a dangerous lie.

Too many things had happened, and they’d both matured. Qian Meng was not the tortured but hopeful prince of his youth any longer, and honestly, Lei Gong didn’t blame him. Even so, there was this grating longing in his chest. Well, no, it had always been there, but now that he was sure the keeper of his heart had survived. . . It felt impossible to ignore.

“Can we talk?” He asked, clenching his hands together behind his back to keep them from shaking.

The dark cultivator surveyed him, expression unreadable and colder than ice. And he had the brief, fleeting thought that if he were anyone else, even his powerful brother, he would shake in his boots seeing such a look turned on him.

Qian Meng pursed his lips. “Yes, let us discuss the situation.”

He whirled, gliding toward the shack where Song Shun was puttering around, tidying up. The dark cultivator almost laughed at the sight of a grand temple head sweeping the dirt floor with the precision of a sword master. The man looked up as they approached, straightening his spine and widening his jade eyes.

“Shall I make a pot of tea, your grace?” He asked, looking past Qian Meng at his sovereign.

“If you’d like to.”

It was a nonanswer, but it spurred Song Shun into motion regardless as he disappeared inside the home. Qian Meng watched him go as he sat on a log around the firepit, stretching out his long legs with a sigh. The journey had been long and tiring. As a caveat, the Zephyr Temple had sealed Yu Chang for the foreseeable future. Thus, no sword flight. It left Song Shun and him with no other choice than to hop between ward portals until they could trek the rest of the way here. It took them nearly three days to span the mountains and endless forest. Now, he felt in need of a good soak despite there being no hot bath in sight.

“Argh,” he muttered, massaging the spot just above his kneecap that always grew sore from too much use.

He’d broken it a long time ago, and it’d never healed right. Lei Gong’s eyes were on the motion of his fingers as he slowly lowered himself to the log across from the dark cultivator. That was the first red flag, for Qian Meng had almost expected the God to crowd his space, choosing to sit beside him despite ten other options. So what was with this sudden distance? He opened his mouth to probe him about it, but Lei Gong beat him to it.

“Bum knee?” Lei Gong asked, nodding to it.

Qian Meng winced when his fingers brushed a particularly inflamed spot, hating to show weakness yet not caring if it was Lei Gong who witnessed it. The distinction wasn’t lost on him, but he ignored it all the same.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“What could have injured the great Immortal of Death so badly?”

Qian Meng pursed his lips. While the words coming out of Lei Gong’s wicked mouth were in character for him, the man’s expression still didn’t match. The golden skin of his face was pale, and his eyes. . . They were distant, coated in a haze of dark memories that dulled their ruby color to that of dried blood. His chest twisted looking at it. The dark cultivator glanced down at his leg as if he could see through his trousers to study the scars there.

“It’s an old injury that never healed right. Nothing to worry over,” he replied.

Lei Gong nodded, fingers twitching in his lap. “I know of a place near here that can help with the pain and swelling.”

The atmosphere between them was tense, wavering, and Qian Meng couldn’t place why. Lei Gong was still staring at the fingers resting on his knee. Mouth opening and closing as if he wished to say more but could not bring himself to speak. The dark cultivator took pity on him as he once again rose with a groan, pushing his aching body upright.

“Fine, then. Let’s go see.”

⚔

Lei Gong had to admit he’d been taken by surprise. That he felt it swirling low in his gut as he pushed past the ferns at the edge of the clearing, holding them back for Qian Meng to step through without difficulty. Earlier, seeing his zhiyin rub slow circles into the knee Qian Zihao had shattered. . . It’d frozen his bones.

Over the long years they were separated, Lei Gong had daydreamed of impossible situations like these thousands of times. His favorite being that, one day, he’d find Qian Meng’s soul again, and they’d have the chance to start over. And in those fantasies, it was easy. There was nothing and no one who stood in the way of their happiness. The reality was so much different. Tinted by a soiled past neither of them could escape no matter how much they tried. It lurked around corners, hid between swaths of shadow, even lined innocent words. . .

It’s an old injury that never healed right.

Such a simple thing teleported his mind right back to that night. To the blood—to the magic, pain, and suffering they’d all endured in the name of cosmic justice. And he knew the dark cultivator noticed his shift in mood, which prompted him to agree to Lei Gong’s wild claim of knowing a place that could help him. Now here they were, standing awkwardly before a small hot spring a Li away from the orchard.

“So this is it?” Qian Meng asked.

Lei Gong snapped to attention, nodding with vigor. “Yes. Great pool, super relaxing.”

The dark cultivator raised a brow, glancing around. He took in his surroundings with rigid shoulders, scanning until it was clear no magic or demonic energy tinted the air. It seemed safe here, and so he let himself relax. The spring in the center was small, barely big enough for two people, and surrounded by soft, swaying reeds. He stepped up to the side, sniffing the mineral tint to the air. It bubbled in the center, steaming water pouring from deep within the Earth. A tiny smile came to his lips as he prepared to get in. Stripping his outer robe, pack, and saber first.

“Woah!” The God exclaimed, whirling away.

“What? Is seeing another man naked a heavenly sin?” Qian Meng snorted, shuffling out of his trousers.

“No, of course not,” Lei Gong snapped.

He eyed the other man, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction at the stiff set to his shoulders. They rose toward his ears slowly, drawing Qian Meng’s attention to them. And if he didn’t know better, he’d say he could spot a blush burning along the tips. Stark red against smooth, ebony hair. He climbed into the pool, turning his face away to hide the amused smirk dancing on his lips.

“Ahhhh,” he moaned loudly into the silence, splashing toward his pack at the edge. “This feels great.”

As he wanted him to, the god peeked a bit, chancing a glance over one shoulder. The dark cultivator made sure to look busy as he pulled out the herbs, shaking them into the water. He didn’t want to spook him. Well, maybe he did, but another time. Now, they needed to discuss just who this Zou Delun was and who really killed him. He was about to spark the conversation when the God stepped forward, eyes on the stitched pouch in his palm.

“What are those?”

The dark cultivator quickly shoved it back into his pack and settled in, closing his eyes. “Medicinal herbs that promote muscle relief and circulation. I . . Have a lot of lasting injuries from before I became an immortal. They stuck around despite my body turning, well, you know.”

The God furrowed his brows. Becoming an immortal guaranteed an impressive lifespan as long as one’s head remained attached to their body, and all ailments such as sickness or injury healed rapidly. It was incredibly hard to kill anyone who’d cultivated to that point, and harder still to take down a Celestial Being. Qian Meng had done so more than anyone else alive, and the idea of him holding the power of the Gods within a broken body was both impressive and harrowing. Lei Gong wracked his brain for any sort of explanation, his body moving on its own to settle at the edge of the spring in a lotus pose.

He glanced at the dark cultivator, unable to puzzle it out himself. “That’s highly irregular. Do you have any theories as to why?”

Qian Meng went still, eyes cracking open to slits as he swirled the water, watching lavender buds float by. Without his robes, every scar he had was on display down to the ones crisscrossing his knuckles. Lei Gong could almost imagine an enraged Qian Wei whipping his son’s hands for a mistake that was easily rectified. The God’s stomach swooped at the thought, and he ducked his head to stare at his twisting fingers.

“My early life was filled with pain. I remember very little of it,” Qian Meng began, scrunching his brows. “My bones were broken so many times they might as well have been reformed, my skin was torn to the point of death. Yet every scar I bear reminds me of who I became, what I had lost, and what others could still lose because of things outside of their control. They are not a burden to me, nor is the pain, for it reminds me every day of what I value.”

Lei Gong listened to him speak, breath held and heart stuttering. “Which is?”

The dark cultivator turned toward him, eyes burning. “The same thing that you value. Justice for the sake of it, and the safeguard of those who need it. Our methods may differ, but our hearts are the same.”

Lei Gong gasped and glanced away, pressing a hand into his sternum. He couldn’t take it when Qian Meng spoke like that, let alone while staring into his eyes! A blush burned across his cheeks, and he kept his whole body tilted away, feeling exposed despite not having been the one to pour his heart out.

“Perhaps,” he quivered out.

Qian Meng huffed softly, and it might’ve been a laugh, but Lei Gong was too slow on the upswing to catch it. “Anyway, that’s not what we came here to discuss. Just who is this Zou Delun and how did he die? Do you know who really killed him?”

Lei Gong straightened, grasping onto the change of topic with an iron fist. “Yes! Let’s discuss it. At length.”

The dark cultivator eyed him, eyes dancing. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between them, Qian Meng looking at Lei Gong expectantly while the God gazed back, heart beating wildly. He didn’t know why it was, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his zhiyin’s body being naked and his long hair lying undone from the usual topknot holding half of it in place. Or the honeyed words Lei Gong didn’t have any idea the dark cultivator could string together, let alone say out loud despite missing his memories. He was almost embarrassed by how much he was thinking about both things. Especially the man’s wet, dripping skin. The sun was hitting it just right. . .

“So?” Qian Meng urged, raising a brow.

Lei Gong startled, dry mouth snapping shut. “What?”

“I don’t have the answers to those questions, you do.”

Mortification flooded him as he closed his eyes and barely refrained from slapping his palm against his forehead. “Yes, of course. My apologies. Zou Delun was a disciple of mine, a long-standing one. He was one of the most powerful lower court Celestial Beings as the martial God of the East. He was a Zephyr Temple disciple in his human life, I knew him well.”

Qian Meng shook his head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Lei Gong gulped. “Thank you.”

“How did he die?”

Flashes of Zou Delun’s mutilated body flared through his mind, making him wince. That was no ordinary death. Only someone with immense amounts of spiritual power would be capable of tearing apart someone’s body and soul so completely there was nothing left. He looked away, dragging two fingers through the warm water before him.

“It was brutal, cruel. Lacerated skin with thick enough cuts to show muscle, a shattered soul, and. . . His face was torn off.”

Qian Meng rubbed one hand across his mouth. “So, no soul summoning spells, then.”

Lei Gong shook his head. “And no chance at reincarnation.”

Qian Meng toyed with the facts of Zou Delun’s death for a moment, trying to connect them to the knowledge he already possessed. But the only thing he could be certain of right now was what kind of cultivator had killed him.

“Spirit magic?” He guessed.

Lei Gong turned his head to look at him. “Yes. How’d you know?”

He averted his gaze, shame filling his chest. “I’ve done something similar with my magic.”

Lei Gong was floored. “Oh, uh, to who? When?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” the dark cultivator replied dryly. “Plus, I don’t know of another spiritual cultivator powerful enough to kill a Celestial Being. It’s no wonder I was accused.”

The God didn’t push for more information, but his veins burned with the need to know who’d enraged Qian Meng so entirely the dark cultivator destroyed their soul. Surely he wasn’t speaking about Qian Zihao or any of the other bodies the Lei family discovered that day? He shook his head, forcing himself to stay on track.

“That’s true. However, since you didn’t commit the murder, there must be someone we don’t know of lurking in the shadows.” Qian Meng eyed him, brows raised toward his hairline. “What?”

The dark cultivator tilted his head. “How are you so sure I’m not a dirty liar? You barely know me.”

Lei Gong leaned in, aching to spit out all of their memories just so he wouldn’t be so damn lonely sitting right next to his heart when a soft, pulsing glow came from within his sleeve. He sat back, pulling out the smooth jade slip buzzing with a new message. The God clenched his fist around it and sent a pulse of qi through the communication device. His brother’s somber voice followed.

Hua-di, there has been another murder, and no one knows where Qian Meng has gone. Please return to the Heavenly Court soon.

He blinked open his eyes, frowning. Qian Meng was watching him from the pool, having dunked his head under the water to slick his hair back from his damp face, amber eyes fathomless and elegant.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I know because there’s been another murder, and you’re sitting right in front of me.”