Present—

Usually, there was no spectacle when Lei Gong arrived at the Chamber of Divinity, but this time people swarmed him. Every other major Celestial Being was in attendance, eyes full of questions as they pressed into his personal space. The only one who remained unphased was his brother who sat high on his throne, crimson eyes heavy-lidded as if he'd been sitting there all day.

"Xiongdi!"

The Divine Emperor perked up at the call, turning his head toward the door, a smile blooming on his lips. "Didi."

His firm voice rang through the hall, silencing all other Gods, no command was needed. They slipped away from Lei Gong, taking a seat on their designated thrones a level lower than his brother's. Lei Gong swept his limpid gaze across the room, facial features stoic in a way he only achieved when in attendance of the upper court.

"Who was it?" He asked.

Not one God or Goddess met his gaze until he spun back toward the Divine Emperor. Lei Changming smiled at him, eyes knowing. "It took you long enough, didn't it? Where were you?"

Lei Gong gave him a withering look. "Does that matter when another one of our disciples has been killed?"

"No, I suppose not," his brother sighed. "The victim of this murder was Xiong Liqiu, a lower court Goddess who hailed from the Sena Temple. She was only three hundred years old."

Lei Gong blew out a breath as he turned to Lu Ban, the young woman's Grandmaster, and bowed low. "I am sorry for your loss."

The man hummed. "As am I."

"Same method, I'm assuming?"

Lu Ban nodded. "She was found on the outskirts of Guijing."

Lei Gong paced while running one hand across his mouth in thought. Guijing was the capital city in the Kingdom of Morkud, home of Sena Temple and earth magic. Being on the opposite side of the continent, the Zephyr Temple rarely crossed paths with those from Sena. He wasn't even certain Zou Delun and Xiong Liqui had met before. And if the victims were not related by association, the plot was much grander than he'd originally assumed.

He bit his lip, cursing inside. It was one thing for another immortal to threaten his life. Lei Gong wasn't afraid for himself in the least and planned to rid the world of the evil-doer one way or another after he'd finished wheedling his way back into Qian Meng's life, but now it was different. . . He wouldn't dare put innocents in harm's way for his petty desires. With a sigh, he stopped pacing, head dropping to his chest in defeat.

"Any evidence left behind?"

His brother stood up with a soft flutter of white robes, balanced to where the elaborate silver headdress in his hair barely swayed. The God watched him approach warily, trying to gauge what his brother would say. Changming was well aware of his history with Qian Meng, had been a big part of it, actually. But while Lei Gong's love overshadowed every terrible deed, the dark cultivator had ever committed, he knew Changming would always err on the side of caution. Justice. Safety of the many in the sacrifice of the few. As the Divine Emperor should. He gulped when Changming clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

"That is why I called you forth, brother. There's something strange afoot. I'd like you to look at the scene."

Lei Gong glanced between Lu Ban and his brother, brows furrowing. "Why? It is not my jurisdiction."

Bai Xiaoqing stood from her seat, hands clasped in front of her. "You are one of the longest-living Celestial Beings in the world. Have seen more death and crime than most, and solved them. Your opinion would be most appreciated."

Everyone in the room was staring at him intently now. Eyes wide and hopeful. Frustration mounted in his chest for how complicated this had become in such a brief span of time. He had no evidence now that Qian Meng hadn't killed their disciples save for the fact they'd been together at the time another body was found, but that was flimsy at best. Plus, no one knew he spirited the dark cultivator away to a place most Gods didn't even know existed. He couldn't bring it up now of all times.

"As long as Grandmaster Ban approves of it."

The man stood, bowing so low Lei Gong wanted to rush forward and pull him out of it. "Of course. Thank you so much for your assistance."

Xiaoqing sent him a smile and met the brothers in the center of the space, holding out a scroll. He took it as she explained, "This is all the information we have on each victim, as well as each murder scene. Let us know if you need anything else."

He stared at the roll of paper for a moment. "Are there any officials there?"

She looked between the Divine Emperor and his brother, but Changming only shrugged. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"I'd like to examine the body alone, without distraction or temperament. Send all men away and hold a two hundred zhang perimeter. No one may see it until I deem it so."

His voice came out harsh, like that of a general, and almost everyone in the room snapped to attention. A few nodded despite having nothing to do with the orders, and then immediately blushed, looking away. They couldn't help it, though, for it was a natural desire to obey when in Lei Gong's presence—to bow before the God of Justice and ask whether or not you were worthy.

"Very well, my lord," Xiaoqing replied, bowing and leaving the hall in a sweep of azure robes.

The brothers watched her go for a moment, the room tense. Changming moved first, whirling toward his throne and dragging his gaze across each person remaining.

"You may retire. I must speak with my brother."

The word alone was not lost on any of the remaining Celestial Beings. The final eight scrambled from the hall with a few last looks of curiosity thrown toward Lei Gong. He ignored the prickling stares until the doors slid shut behind them, sealing the two in the room together.

"Are you—"

"I must—"

They spoke at the same time, words blending together and stopping them in their tracks. Changming glanced up at him, brows furrowing, and Lei Gong gave him a sheepish look in return, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd never been able to hide things from his brother. Since their father passed, he was the only person the God had ever given a damn about. The only one he listened to.

"You go first," Lei Gong muttered.

Changming inclined his head. "I must know where you hid him."

He winced. "I didn't hide him, per se, I just. . ." Lei Gong trailed off, catching Changming's gaze and withering beneath it.

"You what?"

He didn't want to tell his brother anything about Qian Meng. His deepest desire was to keep the dark cultivator to himself all while knowing it was impossible. This was bigger than him, and honestly, anything having to do with his zhiyin had always been. He'd learned that valuable lesson the hard way. And it wasn't like Qian Meng had asked Lei Gong to take him to the orchard. Quite the opposite, much to the God's dismay.

"I took him somewhere private to await trial. My disciple Song Shun is keeping guard and Yu Chang, Qian Meng's legendary sword, has been sealed as a precaution. I'm almost positive he was not the one to commit these murders."

His brother pursed his lips, ruby eyes tired. "Fine, but he is not the same man you once knew, Hua-di."

Lei Gong felt the words cut deep, but he refused to flinch. "You're right, he isn't, but neither am I."

"And you're sure that will change the outcome this time around?"

The question echoed and echoed, rattling him until Lei Gong couldn't feel his fingertips, flashes of bloody agony flaring before his eyes. He hated that he didn't know the answer. All he had were hopes and dreams and lost love rekindled. No one ever knew if such things would be enough until they were, or weren't.

"I pray to you, dear Heavenly Emperor, that it will."

⚔

Qian Meng was not in the mood to chat, but as they were the only two people in this godforsaken place, it seemed the temple head was rather interested in a conversation. The man blathered on and on about the Zephyr Temple and their prowess while the dark cultivator looked on, chin in hand and boredom clear on his face.

"There are ten new disciples this year, ten! Isn't that incredible?" Song Shun exclaimed.

Qian Meng sighed through his nose. "Mhm."

The man barely noticed his disinterest. "And even though they're young, they have this limitless potential that excites a senior like me, you know? I swear, the older I grow, the less I want to leave the mountain. Perhaps I'll dedicate myself to teaching."

Song Shun stroked his goatee over and over, eyes narrowed on one of the many distant stars above them. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the subtle age lines around his eyes and the firm set of his lips. Qian Meng wondered whether he had any little details betraying his old age and whether they looked worse on him than Song Shun. The dark cultivator wasn't one to study his own appearance very often. . . Mostly because he knew what he'd find staring back at him. He might've boldly told Lei Gong his scars were a bolstering reminder, but that did not change the fact that they were also evidence of his trauma.

"If that is what you want," Qian Meng replied.

The temple head turned, raising a brow. "You can't even imagine it, can you?"

The dark cultivator eyed him, trying to understand where the man got the gall to assume anything about him, let alone whether he'd prefer a languid life of teaching over the one he led now. Truth was, no one wanted to learn from someone like him anyway, nor would any of the temples allow him entry. Well, besides Zephyr bringing him in to "extract justice". And he didn't care for speaking; he was the type to keep his mouth shut unless he had something worthwhile to say. So long, droning lectures about cultivation and rules? The idea of hosting one was almost laughable to him.

"No, I cannot. If I were to teach, it would be in the field. Learning first hand is all I've ever known, so a lecture hall. . ." He trailed off, glancing away.

Why was he even explaining himself?

Song Shun hummed. "I understand. Some people are better off learning in a hands-on environment. There's nothing wrong with that."

Qian Meng shot the man a subtle, surprised glance. He'd expected a reply filled with pity or scorn but had been given compassion instead. It made his stomach roil with unease, but he shoved that schooled response down into the depths of himself and remained silent. He wouldn't know what to say even if he spoke.

The quiet was comfortable now, and neither of them tried to fill it as they sat beneath the never-ending sky. Crickets chirped between blades of grass, and Qian Meng was delighted to see hundreds of fireflies flitting between the apple trees—lighting up their ivory flowers a bright yellow. Watching it settled his writhing dantian in the pit of his stomach that'd been screeching at him for hours now, magic spitting. The dark cultivator shifted back and forth on his log, pressing two fingers into the skin just above his golden core. He could almost feel it pulsating. Going so long without using it was a terrible mistake, but he didn't have any other choice.

He swallowed hard.

Song Shun patted his knees and stood up, drawing Qian Meng's attention back to him. "Well, I suppose I should retire for the night. His grace has yet to return, so I will assume he'll be coming back tomorrow." The man paused, glancing at him dubiously. "Do I need to bind you or are we past that point?"

The dark cultivator snorted. "I will not move from my place by the fire, you have my word."

Song Shun nodded, turning to walk inside the shack with a dismissive wave. "Alright, alright. You're lucky your word actually means something."

Qian Meng didn't deign to reply as the door swung shut, creating a barrier between the two cultivators and bathing him in blessed solitude. He slid to rest in front of the log so he could prop up his back and stretch out his legs. They weren't aching anymore after that nice soak in the hot spring, for which he was grateful. The dark cultivator grabbed Yu Chang from his waist, running his fingers over the carved scabbard that held her at bay. Even with the binding spell locking her magic, he could feel his sword thrashing against it, matching his dantian.

He was thankful for a sword spirit that was just as bloodthirsty as he was, just as willing to claim justice when others were too wary to do so. Doing what must be done was their specialty, and had been for a long while. If it were any other self-righteous being that lived within his blade perhaps he wouldn't have become the powerful man he was today.

Gripping the dark leather hilt, Qian Meng pulled it free of its sheath, the metal giving a high whine of excitement. There wasn't a spec of dirt on the dusky blade, and he marveled at the way it caught the firelight, highlighting the glyphs etched into the Starmetal. He regretted not being able to run through sword forms each morning over the last few days. Things had been too hectic for it. And now that she was sealed, their connection was muted, nothing more than an echo of their combined power. She hated it, he could tell.

He hated it too.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, tugging a cloth from his pack to wipe her down.

Yu Chang almost hummed beneath his touch, placated by it. The dark cultivator polished his sword until he felt every ounce of the festering rage within seep from her to him, weighing down his already heavy heart. If he wasn't careful about how often Yu Chang was wielded, terrible things occurred, just as it was with his core. With a sigh, he re-sheathed her and set her across his lap, and closed his eyes.

Getting some rest would be good, it would, he told himself. Yet his mind ran and ran, needling into the conversation he'd had with Lei Gong at the hot spring. Why had he admitted, in not so many words, that he'd chosen to keep his multitude of scars when claiming immortality? It was none of the God's business, but the words had flooded the air between them as if he'd had no choice. It was as if the man had cast a spell on him, tying an invisible rope around Qian Meng's wrist and tugging him along at whatever pace the witty Celestial Being had in mind.

He rubbed one hand across his chest with a grimace, trying to push the mosaic of Lei Gong's smiling face out of his thoughts. It didn't work. The visage floated through his mind with just as much mocking amusement as the God possessed. An embarrassed flush rose to the dark cultivator's cheeks, and he was grateful no one was there to see it. Whenever Lei Gong shot him that honest, joyful expression Qian Meng had never once seen directed at anyone else, something in the center of his chest shivered, tightening.

If he didn't know better, he'd assume he still had a heart.

"Spirit stone for your thoughts?"

He popped one eye open as his heart stuttered, fingers curling around the hilt of Yu Chang. "You've used that line before."

Lei Gong raised a brow, tucking his hands behind his back and leaning over, pushing into the dark cultivator's space. His crimson gaze was luminous in the firelight. "So? Am I not allowed to say it again?"

Qian Meng huffed, shifting away and turning his eyes back on the spitting logs. "You can, but I will not answer."

With an elegance only a God could achieve, Lei Gong swished back his robes and sat down, folding his legs beneath him in a lotus pose. "Are you saying I should be more clever next time?"

The tone of his voice was teasing, but Qian Meng refused to play along. Not after he'd just spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about the God's pretty face. Because it was pretty. Even he, the immortal of death, could not claim otherwise.

"I was under the impression you would not return until daybreak," he replied.

Lei Gong shrugged, placing his hand's palm up atop his knees and closing his eyes, spine rigid. Apparently, he was going to meditate. And Qian Meng didn't want to take advantage of that fact, but his eyes had other plans. He was devouring the profile of the man beside him as if it were the air he needed to survive. It should be illegal for someone to be so rigidly handsome. Creamy skin devoid of even a single blemish. Long lashes that sent shadows across his high cheekbones, and a cut jawline that tapered to smooth earlobes lined with silver piercings. The dark cultivator's fingers twitched to touch them, his lips ached to feel them. . .

Stop that train of thought right this instant.

"I was as well," the God murmured, voice distant now. "However, my brother would have continued to interrogate me if I remained in the Heavenly Court, so I fled like a roach in sunlight."

Qian Meng was shocked out of his stupor by that answer, a surprised snort leaving his throat. "So your entire family has ascended? Must be nice."

Lei Gong didn't respond for a long time, so long that Qian Meng assumed the man had adopted his technique of ignoring things he didn't want to address. Which was fine with him, it really was—because that meant he didn't have to avoid any uncomfortable topics, either. And every time the troublesome man remained silent for over five minutes, Qian Meng almost enjoyed his company.

He shifted toward the stack of firewood, tossing another atop the licking flames. Bright sparks showered the dirt at their feet, and the popping of fresh fuel being consumed filled the silence. He inhaled a deep breath of the smoke, letting it settle his frayed nerves before shifting back toward the God, their knees brushing. And it was an accidental touch—Qian Meng swore on his life.

Not that his life meant much.

They sat beside one another, the dark cultivator sprawled across the ground in an undignified pose and the God sitting like a statue. He found it befitting of this relationship, whatever it was they held between them like fragile glass.

"They are not."

Qian Meng blinked. "What?"

Lei Gong's fingers twitched. "Not every member of my family are ascended beings."

He lifted his chin in understanding despite the man not being able to see it. "Oh," he murmured, feeling foolish. But he didn't know what the man wanted him to say.

"How about yours? Are they immortal?"

Qian Meng's blood froze at the mention of his household; at the tone with which Lei Gong had asked. Careful. Controlled. As if the dark cultivator were a wild animal that needed special care. . . And maybe he was.

"I do not have a family," he replied, resolute.

It was true no matter how one spun it. They were all dead, had been for a very long time, and he had never recognized them as anything beyond people who shared his ancestry. It was true that blood ran thicker than water, but he'd drink theirs if it meant he never had to think or see or deal with them ever again. When he tried to recall his father's face, Qian Meng would feel a sharp ache slicing through his skull as if his mind was protecting him from the ominous memories he knew it harbored. Not to mention his twin. . . Pain lanced from his skull all the way down his spine. He winced, bringing a hand up to rub at his temple.

"Do you remember them?"

This question was softer, yet louder, somehow. Qian Meng glanced up to find Lei Gong once again hovering over him, meditative state tossed aside and eyes sharp with something he couldn't place. The dark cultivator wanted to be angry, wanted to lash out at this man who did nothing but push him no matter how much he resisted, but he couldn't.

And that infuriated him.

"I don't want to," he snapped.

The man gravitated another cun closer. "That's not an answer."

Qian Meng inhaled sharply, the scent of the man invading his senses. Lan flowers, just like when they'd first met back in that desolate castle. But was it the first time? His mind whispered, sending another jolt of pain through his entire being. The dark cultivator refused to flinch this time, keeping his ebony eyes narrowed on Lei Gong.

"Why does the illustrious Lei Gong, God of Thunder and Justice, care what my family was like?" He whispered, licking his lips.

Lei Gong followed the movement of his tongue and seeing it sent a wild sort of heat rushing to the pit of Qian Meng's stomach. Why did it thrill him to have this man's eyes on him? Why did he want to shift closer?

"I do not care for your family, I only care for you."

Qian Meng felt every muscle in his body lock up and go liquid all at once in the face of such a tone. It was low and dark and probing. For what, he didn't know. But he wanted to provide it, wanted to cut open his chest and bare every single terrible thing about himself just to get the itch beneath his skin to go away. The dark cultivator flicked his eyes up to meet Lei Gong's, and the fire raging there was dangerous.

Inviting.

"I couldn't imagine why," he breathed back, lips parting.

Lei Gong chuckled darkly as he shifted back again, leaving the dark cultivator cold. "I'm sure you can't. Let's get some rest. Tomorrow we will travel to Guijing. Our investigation into these murders starts there."

His tone had gone back to normal, and the one eighty almost struck Qian Meng dumb as he reared back, a flush on his cheeks as he tilted his head away. "Very well."

The God beside him resumed his meditative state without another word, seemingly not at all bothered by whatever zapping tension arched between them. Qian Meng did his best to act the same, folding his legs beneath him dutifully and clenching both hands around Yu Chang's scabbard for purchase. And when his eyes reluctantly fell closed, he missed the split second Lei Gong had glanced over, eyes wide and fingers shaking where they rested atop his knees.