Present—

"Oh, fuck," Lei Gong cursed.

Sunlight hit his face, forcing him out of deep sleep and into the land of the waking. The God rolled over with a groan, blurry eyes trying to focus on the room around him. He had a splitting headache, and while he knew it would go away within the hour because of his rapid qi circulation, it was still unpleasant to wake up to. Not to mention the fact that Qian Meng was nowhere to be found. Had the assassin grasped the chance to flee while he was incapacitated?

That would really piss him off.

Lei Gong swung his legs out of bed and pressed them into the wood floor, discovering that either he or Qian Meng had taken off his boots last night and tucked them beneath the bed. His outer robe hung off a folding screen a few paces away, and a glass of fresh water sat on the nightstand. He drank it down in greedy gulps, gasping.

It was all very suspicious… He’d never been so kind to himself while drunk. Mostly because every time he drank, it was to forget the awful memories that plagued him. Not for fun or enjoyment, for alcohol usually brought about neither in his experience. Lei Gong rolled the empty cup between his palms, worrying his bottom lip. When he tried to remember what happened after the second drink last night, nothing appeared. All he could recall was Qian Meng’s stern expression as he drank straight from the bottle, liquor dribbling down his chin in tantalizing streams…

No, he told himself, slapping his cheek. Focus! What could have happened after he got drunk to land him here?

The only explanation was that Qian Meng took care of him. Had guided him up the stairs one stumbling step at a time and wrestled him out of his boots, then his robe. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to be touched so intimately by his zhiyin, and he hated he had no memory of it. Lei Gong’s throat closed, fingers tightening around the glass as his brain assaulted him with fake images of Qian Meng taking the time to tuck him into bed, perhaps chastising him for not knowing his limits. And he tried to ignore the warmth the daydream brought him, he really did, but it didn’t quite work.

With a sigh, he moved to stand at the same time the door to the room slid open and Qian Meng glided in. Lei Gong froze in place, but the dark cultivator wasn’t looking at him, probably hadn’t expected him to be awake. He was grateful the man hadn’t noticed because he got to see what his zhiyin looked like when carrying two sets of chopsticks between his teeth, a jug of something dangling from one hand, and an overflowing food tray propped up in the other.

The picture was so mundane he couldn’t help but wish for more mornings like this—to wake up after a long night to find his companion taking care of him, doting on him. Lei Gong knew it was a stretch, and that the dark cultivator was probably only hungry and grew tired of waiting for him to wake, but he pretended all was as it seemed for just that shimmering moment.

“You brought food?” He asked.

Qian Meng startled, almost dropping the chopsticks before clamping his teeth around them more tightly. The flush that overtook the dark cultivator’s face was odd but charming. With a curt nod, he strode to the center of the space, crouching to lay his wares across the tabletop. Lei Gong, leaving his outer robe on the folding frame, sat down across from him, mouth-watering.

The dark cultivator was more cautious, slowly taking a seat as he held out a set of chopsticks. Everything about him this morning was tight and controlled. The set of his shoulders, his rigid expression, and even the light of his eyes differed. Darker, and full of wariness.

Lei Gong didn’t know why, nor how to ease the strange mood that’d descended over them like a wet blanket, so he only took the utensils. Not shy at all, he opened the various lids and inhaled the spicy sweet aroma of stewed noodles with braised pork and green onions. He dug into that first even while eyeing the soy eggs and pickled vegetables at the edge of the tray. The silence stretched with Qian Meng refusing to eat or move or do anything other than sit and stare like the oppressive immortal of death that he was. It went on for so long Lei Gong felt a cool sweat pool at the base of his spine.

Just what happened last night?

“What?” He asked between mouthfuls, brow raised.

The dark cultivator shrugged. Lei Gong wasn’t willing to let him off the hook, though. Not when the man had blushed like a schoolgirl upon first seeing him and subsequently refused to look him in the eye right after. Was whatever happened last night weighing on the man’s mind? And, if it was, was that a good or a bad sign? He had to know. Lei Gong scooted around the table until their folded knees brushed, offering a bite of braised pork from his own chopsticks. Qian Meng slid his gaze to it, lips a thin line.

“No, thank you.”

Lei Gong pouted, waggling it. “Come on! Do you know how many people would die for the chance to be fed by me?”

It seemed the jest was the wrong thing to say, for the dark cultivator shifted further away. “Then go find one of those sorry saps. I am not just anyone.”

Qian Meng hit the nail on the head, forcing Lei Gong to be honest and agree. “That’s right, you’re not. Because I would feed no one but you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Qian Meng murmured, cutting him a glare.

The blush was back on the dark cultivator’s cheeks, a beautiful ruby that highlighted the scars across his nose and freckles from long hours spent in the sun. Lei Gong wanted to touch them but didn’t dare as he abandoned his chopsticks in favor of mirthful teasing. The God propped his head on one hand and leaned in with a grin dancing across his lips.

“I will tell you if you inform me what happened last night.”

The dark cultivator sat up straight, clearing his throat. “Nothing. You drank yourself into a stupor and I brought you up to sleep it off.”

Lei Gong cut his gaze to the singular bed in the room, making it obvious. “And where did you sleep?”

Qian Meng clenched his fists in his lap. “On the roof,” he spat.

The god chuckled. “Of course you did.”

Qian Meng was not amused by this line of questioning. In fact, he wanted to avoid it like the plague. There was no chance in hell he’d tell the man about the drunken flirting. It would only cause humiliation for all involved and make their work together over the next however many weeks that much more difficult. Plus, this traitorous body of his had liked it a little too much. Aching for it again every time he so much as glanced at the God. It was almost as infuriating as Lei Gong’s teasing tone of voice.

“What do you mean by; of course I did?”

“Nothing in particular. Only that it fits your persona to sleep beneath the moon and stars, clay tiles digging into your back and a chilled breeze ruffling your hair.”

Qian Meng wrinkled his nose. Why did that sound suspiciously like another compliment? The man must truly enjoy teasing him, for he hadn’t gotten a moment's rest from it. He sighed, waving toward the food.

“Just eat.”

“If you say so,” Lei Gong replied, picking up the chopsticks and pointing them at Qian Meng. “But this conversation isn’t over. I will pull the truth from you.”

The dark cultivator wasn’t at all cowed by the promise as he sat back, taking nothing but a steamed bun. He watched the man descend on the dishes with a strange sense of satisfaction. Qian Meng picked out a plethora of things he liked to eat; some spicy, some mild, and others on the sweet side. It was hard to know what a God preferred even though Lei Gong had proven himself not to be picky. Just the other day they ate only dried apples and rolls Song Shun bought that were two days old and the God hadn’t complained once. Yet Lei Gong was eating way too fast, and when he moved on from his empty noodle bowl to cram two soy eggs between his teeth, Qian Meng couldn’t help but tease the man.

“Slow down,” he admonished. “You’ll be sick at this rate.”

Lei Gong finished chewing and swallowed hard, eyes wide. “Sorry. Do you want some?”

The man held out the bowl of pickled vegetables, expression dismal. Qian Meng had to work really hard to hide the smile that wanted to surface. With his eyes wide and doleful, Lei Gong looked like a pitiful puppy who’d just been kicked.

“No, I’m fine with a bun. Just chew slowly, are you a child who never learned how to eat properly?”

Lei Gong scowled, jabbing his chopsticks into a wanton and raising it, dripping with sauce, to hover before his lips. “I don’t eat a lot of delicious food anymore. Celestial Beings rarely need fuel, and when we do, the food is just as bland as it was when we belonged to temples. Waste and frivolity are discouraged when cultivating to immortality, you know.”

Qian Meng smiled, but it looked more like he was baring his teeth. “So I’ve heard.”

The God popped the bite in and chewed, speaking with his mouth full. “You’re different though.”

The dark cultivator didn’t reply, only scowled and leaned away from the man. What God talked with their mouth full like that? Lei Gong barely noticed in his quest to eat everything in sight. He did, too, slurping up the final dredges of a bone broth before slamming the bowl onto the table with a loud, contented sigh.

“Man, that was good.”

Qian Meng snorted. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, can we get a move on?”

Lei Gong licked his fingers, barely paying any attention. “Where to?”

“I know of someone who could give us further insight into the art of shapeshifting,” Qian Meng replied.

The dark cultivator reached into his billowing sleeve and produced a small notebook, flipping it open. It looked worn by time and use; the leather cracked and the pages yellowed. Whatever sheet it landed on was full of inked cursive, neat and orderly. This caught Lei Gong’s attention enough that he sat up, eyes snagging on it.

“Oh? Who is this person?”

“He rarely leaves the confines of the Neolani Temple, but I know he descends the mountain each year to celebrate the dragon festival.”

Lei Gong's brows rose. “Are you speaking of Grandmaster Xue Ping?”

Qian Meng glanced up. “Yes. Do you know of him?”

Of course, Lei Gong knew of him. As one of the five great temple heads of Rasheia, every major Celestial Being made it a point to learn his name. People who rose to greatness were well-suited for ascension, thus the Heavens kept a closer eye on them than most. He’d heard rumors of Xue Ping possessing the ability to shift into a dragon, roaring through the Neolani mountains each morning and night, marking curfew. Not once had he thought they were anything other than folktales spun by the conventionals.

“I know the bare minimum, but I’ve never met him myself.”

“Hm,” Qian Meng replied. “I know him well.”

An unnecessary amount of ire built up in the God’s chest upon hearing that answer. He knew him well? In what way? Lei Gong glanced away, trying to stop himself from blurting question after question. He knew his zhiyin held no interest in romance with others, and it would only annoy the dark cultivator should he bring it up, but the most burning of his questions slipped out, regardless.

“How are you close to the temple head?”

Qian Meng dropped his eyes to the book in his left hand, gaze far away. He didn’t want to tell Lei Gong about his past, not any more than he already had. Plus, it was a long-winded tale full of misery and pain unsuited for the sunny morning air. It would be more appropriate for it to be whispered across a campfire while shadows loomed around him, masking his expressions. Even so, Qian Meng had to say something. His fingers tightened around the notebook to where the blood left the tips, turning them white.

“He helped me a long time ago when I had no one else.”

The words hung in the air, and he refused to meet Lei Gong’s searching gaze. There was nothing else to say, or rather, he didn’t feel the need to say it. Just because they were working together and held a sense of informality with one another didn’t mean they were close. His past was not to be explored, by himself, or anyone else.

The God shifted in his seat, pressing his lips together. As he possessed the uncanny ability of reading the stoic man when no one else could, he’d caught onto Qian Meng’s discomfort. Whatever happened between his zhiyin and Grandmaster Xue was not a fond memory. And despite the unending stream of questions and guilt that came along with Qian Meng’s evasive answer, he steered the conversation back to the point.

“Alright. So, I’m assuming the rumors of him shapeshifting are true?”

Qian Meng’s shoulders fell from his ears, and he let out a tense breath. “Yes. His dragon form is quite beautiful, actually. If we leave now, we can make it to Honarvar before the end of the festival to see it. He descends during the final celebration, weaving through the streets amidst confetti and flower petals.”

Lei Gong clambered up from the ground to pull on his robe and boots with a snort. “He sounds like the kind of man who enjoys flamboyance.”

Qian Meng gave him a look. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

The God placed a hand against his chest, affronted. “I don’t know what you think I do in my free time, but it has nothing to do with flamboyance.”

Qian Meng didn’t deign to reply, leaving his half-eaten bun on the table as he left the room. Lei Gong trailed along after him, suspiciously quiet as they glided down the stairs into the main hall. There weren’t many patrons up so early, and those who were refused to meet his gaze. Especially the owner who directed them to their room last night; the man’s cheeks blushed a rosy pink as he dipped his chin in farewell. Lei Gong waved to everyone, unaware of the stupidity of it. Qian Meng would’ve laughed if half the embarrassment of the situation wasn’t placed on his shoulders.

“Come on,” he muttered, gripping the God around the wrist and tugging him into the street beyond.

The morning sun filtered through wispy clouds, bathing the stalls in golden light. Many keepers were setting up for the day, moving slowly, bodies still heavy with the dredges of sleep. Qian Meng felt the same bone weary tiredness within himself. He didn’t grab a wink of rest last night. Nothing he told himself could force the fire in his stomach to ebb after Lei Gong spent the better part of an hour rubbing against him, and now he was paying for it. The dark cultivator could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“The closest ward portal leading to the north is ten Li away. It’ll take us two hours to walk there,” he explained, glancing at the God.

Lei Gong wasn’t looking at him. He had his face tilted up toward the sky, bathing it in the soft warmth of the day. The smile on his lips was effortless, kind. Many humans took in the sight, awe in their expressions. Because even without the telltale gem and mallet, there was no hiding this man’s divinity. Qian Meng tore his gaze from him with difficulty, palming Yu Chang. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine, signaling the humid day ahead if they didn’t get the hell out of this godforsaken place.

“Are we going?” He urged.

Lei Gong blinked himself out of his stupor, turning and waving with a flourish of his wrist. “Lead the way.”

⚔

The awkward air cocooning the two cultivators did not fade on their journey to Honarvar. Silence held them in a tense embrace, the noose tightening with each passing minute. Qian Meng fiddled with the clasps on his right vambrace, trying to distract himself. Lei Gong was moving along behind him like a wraith. He could feel the man staring at his shoulder blades, gaze unwavering. The God was working himself up to speaking again, probably to press for a description of his drunken actions. Qian Meng didn’t know what he’d say in response. Ignoring it could only take them so far. Lei Gong was not the type of man who let things go.

It would be better to air their grievances before arriving to speak with Xue Ping. That way, they could approach him as a unified front. Wait, the dark cultivator thought to himself. Why did they need to be a unified front in the first place? They weren’t together! With a grimace, Qian Meng waved the thoughts away, stopping before the humming portal and turning toward the man. Lei Gong paused as well, eyeing him warily.

“Say it,” the dark cultivator griped.

“What?”

“Ask whatever question you need answered so we can move on.”

Lei Gong hemmed and hawed; tucking his hands behind his back and kicking a rock out from beneath his boot. If Qian Meng didn’t know better, he’d think the man was a child, not a thirteen hundred-year-old Celestial Being.

“I don’t want to.”

The dark cultivator placed his hands on his hips, brows furrowing. “Why not?”

He glanced up from beneath thick lashes. “Because you’ll be angry with me.”

“No, I will not,” Qian Meng replied.

It took a lot to stop himself from sighing aloud, but he managed it if only to smooth things over. His go-to response to anything was sarcasm and deflection, but if the two of them were destined to find this murderer together, he’d have to curb that compulsion. Lei Gong was sensitive to the things he said. It was a marvel the man was considered a fearsome God of Justice. As if hearing the dark cultivator’s thoughts, he looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Did I do anything embarrassing last night?” He asked.

Qian Meng hesitated, trying to figure out what to say. Did Lei Gong want the truth, or not? He looked the nervous man up and down, almost scoffing. Why did he care whether the man wanted the truth? Such questions had never been a part of his narrative in the past. To prove that to himself, the dark cultivator surged onward, spitting out the bitter truth.

“Yes. You were a drunken mess who clung to me like a spoiled maiden.”

The God’s cheeks colored a deep ruby, matching his widening eyes. “What?!”

Qian Meng stifled a grin, nodding gravely. “You wrapped yourself around me all the way to the room, then offered to share your bed with me. And while it was a generous offer, I had to respectfully decline.”

The more Qian Meng spoke, the more inflamed Lei Gong’s visage became. A bright flush rose from his collarbone all the way to his ears, charming to a fault. If it were possible, there would be steam coming out of his ears as he stood there and sputtered, utterly at a loss for words. The dark cultivator couldn’t take it anymore at the sight, he let out a loud snort, shoulders shaking. With it, the floodgates had opened. He laughed genuinely for the first time in years. It left his lips broken and scratchy, tinged with disuse, but he didn’t care as he leaned over, slapping his knee. It popped the tension between them like a bubble.

Lei Gong remained frozen to the spot, mouth open, watching the dark cultivator roar with abandon. To him, it was beautiful. The sound was both dark and radiant—raspy and alluring. He smiled, rubbing one hand across the back of his flaming neck. If this level of embarrassment was what it took to get the man to laugh, Lei Gong was willing to go through it again and again. He’d throw his dignity away for that laugh, pay for it with humility and broken reputations.

“Alright, alright…” He muttered. “Stop laughing now, I get it. I acted like an imbecile.”

Qian Meng glanced up, wiping a tear from the corner of his dark gaze. “Ah, as long as you know. Come, let us continue our journey. It’s time to get some answers.”

He whirled, stepping through the ward portal without looking back. It transported Qian Meng into a climate drastically different from the one they’d come from. Going from sultry heat to a chilled breeze gracing his cheeks. He sighed, tilting his face into the cool air, eyes darting across the striking landscape.

This portal was only a Li away from the capital city of Honarvar, Qimen. It sat at the bottom of the Noelani mountains, overlooking the soft slope leading into the city. Tall mangrove trees arched over a river rushing past on his right, and a family of rose finch took flight upon his arrival, red wings striking in the afternoon sun. The kingdom of Honarvar had always been one of his favorites. Not only because it held much of his early memories after fleeing his abusive home, but it also fits his temperament perfectly.

It stood on the very northern edge of Rasheia and was known for its colder climate. Even in the height of summer, the rivers and lakes they were known for hover at low temperatures. Lesser men wouldn’t be willing to step into the icy water, but the people who lived here were no strangers to the cold. He himself was not, either. He enjoyed it, and appreciated how it ebbed the swollen ache of his joints.

Lei Gong stepped out of the portal behind him, having composed himself enough that the blush was only across his cheeks again rather than overtaking his person. Qian Meng didn’t comment on it, only grasped the hilt of Yu Chang as he took a leisurely path down the slope. The God walked beside him, taking in the kingdom's beauty with eager eyes.

“Wow, it’s just as beautiful here as everyone claims,” Lei Gong said.

The dark cultivator cut his eyes to him. “You’ve never been to Qimen?”

“No, I rarely leave the Obethian Empire. And if I do, it’s visiting the neighboring Gods to the south in Pondlightian and Wingulf.”

Qian Meng leaped over a fallen log and waved his hand toward the city below. “Well, you’re truly missing out. I will show you everything worthy of a God’s time.”

Lei Gong smiled and huffed a laugh. “If you insist.”

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, Qian Meng’s laughing fit having swept away the final dredges of awkwardness between them. He used it to drink in the bustle of Qimen, noting the differences of the last century he’d been here. The structures were the same; golden tiled roofs swaying with colorful lanterns painted with dragons and flowers. A large building in the center stood pillared against the rest; a multi-level, gilded palace in which their emperor lived. Obsidian tiles winked in the sun’s light, and the stonework was carved with the visage of a roaring dragon. One could only see the full, magnificent artwork from high above, and Qian Meng was glad to have witnessed it.

Recent additions had been built on the far sides of the city, their increasing population demanding it. Deep cobalt banners waved from the eaves of every home, stamped with the crest of Honarvar. It was the same roaring dragon carved along the palace walls, but this time wrapped around the trunk of a ginkgo tree, yellowed leaves fluttering in the wind. He smiled as they stepped onto the first cobbled street, the crowd parting for them.

Even the rambunctious children rushing from booth to booth side stepped them in their haste, keeping a wide berth. On the breeze, he caught the scent of fried food and sweet chili sauce. Sticky rice balls filled with salmon and steamed dumplings with fresh vegetables tucked inside. His mouth watered just thinking about it, and he quickened his pace. Qian Meng stepped up to the nearest one intending to indulge in the free food the kingdom offered during the festivities. A haggard man stood behind the counter, stirring a pot and eyeing him with apprehension as he threw a towel over one shoulder.

“What can I do for ya?” He bit out, voice gruff.

Qian Meng looked over the many treats available, smacking his lips. There were dumplings, shrimp tempura, braised pork belly, noodles covered in savory garlic sauce, and even various soups in large, bubbling pots he wanted to take a long sip of. Excitement buzzed in his veins, and he rubbed his hands together.

“I’ll have two of everything, and a container of your miso soup,” he paused, glancing back at Lei Gong who was loitering in the center of the street, looking awkward amongst mortals. “Well, make that two. And some utensils, please.”

The man obliged, putting everything into takeaway containers and then into a large paper bag for easy transport. Even though it was free, Qian Meng flipped him a piece of silver in thanks, nodding to him as he made his way back to the God. Lei Gong met him halfway, hovering around him as usual and eyeing the food as if he wanted to snatch it and eat it here right in the middle of the street. When he tried to grab at it, Qian Meng kept it out of reach, scowling.

“Wait a minute,” the dark cultivator admonished. “We can eat when we sit down at the pier I’m taking you to. It’s worth the wait, I promise.”

This time, they walked side by side down seemingly endless streets, each one just as lively as the last. Musicians sat on the porches of homes and shops alike, stringing together upbeat tunes barefoot citizens danced to with their eyes crinkled shut and heads tipped back through laughter. He smiled at everyone they passed, trying to imbue it with friendliness even while knowing it was next to impossible for someone who looked like, well, the Immortal of Death. For that reason, he didn’t allow the looks of wary apprehension on their faces to carry any weight.

“Just through here,” he told Lei Gong, leading him down a narrow alleyway.

It opened into a large harbor lined with sprawling docks and dozens of boats large enough to carry several hundred people at once. Men shouted to one another as they loaded and unloaded their wares, muscles bulging and sweat slicking their tanned skin. Women lined the edge of the break wall, watching and blushing behind their hands. Children ran out from behind their mother’s legs to chase the black-tailed gulls away from the fresh fish stalls a few Zhang away. Lei Gong turned in a slow circle, stopping to squint past the bright sun glittering across the water. The harbor opened up to the sea beyond, vast and endless on the horizon. One could taste the salt in the air with every inhale.

Lei Gong marveled at it all as Qian Meng ushered him toward a set of stairs leading down to the docks, taking them two at a time. They moved away from the busy freight zone to a series of empty slips, and the bustle of the crowd quieted to a mere whisper. The wood beneath their feet swayed with every shift of the crystal water, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Why had he never come here before? It was just as much of a marvel as his zhiyin said it was.

“This is incredible,” he breathed.

“I told you it was, didn’t I?”

Qian Meng glanced back at him, ebony hair blowing across his face and a wide smile gracing his lips. His eyes were sparkling, actually sparkling. How such a dark gaze could do so was beyond him.

“You did,” he replied, dumbfounded.

The dark cultivator settled at the end of one of the open slips, dangling his feet over the water. Lei Gong sat beside him and helped pull out the food, mouth watering at the smell. He wasn’t lying earlier when he said he rarely ate mortal food, and when he did, it was bland beyond belief. In the past, he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything, but Qian Meng proved him wrong. Again.

They ate slowly, enjoying every morsel as they took in the cheery atmosphere. On the left of the harbor, in the far distance, was the Neolani Temple high on the mountain. While it was shrouded in mist and clouds and could not be seen, Lei Gong could sense the vast spiritual qi writhing beyond the veil. The cultivators who lived up there were no doubt incredibly powerful. On the right was the rest of the city, including the palace of Qimen. He looked between the two repeatedly as he finished his soup.

“When does the grandmaster plan to descend from the mountain?”

Qian Meng glanced at him as he licked his fingers clean, and Lei Gong tried really hard not to blatantly watch. “Any moment now. We have a good vantage point here, don’t worry.”

He opened his mouth to ask him how he knew when a roar shook the entire capital. Lei Gong glanced up dazedly, his ears ringing as the mist surrounding the Neolani mountains was swept away, parting for a massive creature to fly through it. Cheers erupted as soon as the roar finished echoing, drowning it in a sea of excitement and glee. The God’s eyes widened as he took in the dragon spiriting toward them, its long, massive body covered in iridescent scales swaying from side to side. They caught the light of the sun, throwing out arcs of rainbow light that glittered against the water, reflecting on the buildings and windows.

Its head was large and fearsome, lips pulled back wide on a toothy smile line with razor-sharp teeth. With every swish of its tapered tail, the four clawed feet it sported cut through the air, propelling the creature forward. Ivory fur sprouted from the top of the beast’s head to flow down its neck like a mane, and two small horns the color of garnet peeked through it. Lei Gong couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The closer it came, the further it dived until it was upon the city, larger than life. The beast’s body had to be over forty feet long and as thick as a centuries-old tree trunk. Confetti exploded and flower petals were thrown off the topmost balconies to shower the dragon in beautiful shades of blush pink and violet. Great gusts of wind swept it all high into the air as the creature passed, leaving it to rain down on the still dancing citizens. They twirled around and around, arms raised and eyes wide as they took in their most trusted protector, worshiping him as if he were a God in his own right.

It took Lei Gong’s breath away.

Quickly, he looked at Qian Meng to take in his reaction. The small smile on his lips was fond, familiar as if the dragon were an old friend forgotten by time. Again, the God wondered just how the great dragon could have helped Qian Meng, and when it had happened. The dark cultivator turned, catching him watching, and then that fond smile was his to enjoy. To bask in. It washed over him like warm sunshine, filling his chest with a sense of belonging, of being seen.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Qian Meng asked, turning his face back toward where the dragon was now circling the palace.

Lei Gong didn’t look at the dragon again, he couldn’t when that smile was on his zhiyin’s face.

“He is,” he whispered.