Present—

To say Qian Meng was worried about meeting with his former master would be an understatement. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and if it weren’t for the pressing issue of being executed by the Zephyr Temple for murdering someone he didn’t know existed a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t be here. From the beauty of the ginkgo leaves to the glittering ocean, it was all too familiar. Reminding him of a time in his life that wasn’t so bad. He was thankful the pier beneath him was sturdy, grounding him even as his fingers shook. He curled them around the damp wood to hide it, but nothing slipped past the illustrious God.

“What’s troubling you?”

Lei Gong leaned forward, his curtain of dark hair flying in the soft wind coming off the water, crimson eyes wide and searching. Qian Meng couldn’t believe he had this man sitting beside him—knew he wasn’t worthy of it. Not to mention the fact that the dark cultivator had already corrupted Lei Gong by forcing him to drink liquor when the God clearly didn’t hold it well. He sighed and turned his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, I just haven’t been back here in a long while.”

“Hm,” Lei Gong rumbled. “Bittersweet, I take it?”

He stiffened. “How’d you know?”

The God shrugged and leaned back on his hands, face tilted toward the sun. “Life as an immortal is full of such complex emotions. People die, forget you, and perhaps they’re better off for it.”

Qian Meng opened his mouth to reply when someone beat him to it. “Well said, God of Thunder.”

The deep rumble was familiar to him. He would never forget the sound of his master’s voice. Qian Meng turned to look, eyes traveling up the royal blue robe stitched with the motif of a rising tide to look Xue Ping in the eye. The man was just as stoic as always, face void of emotion and calm as a still lake. He embodied the virtues of his temple so well Qian Meng wasn’t sure why the man had never ascended. Perhaps being immortal was enough for him just as it was for Qian Meng.

“Master,” he murmured with a dip of his chin.

He would not bow, he never had, and it didn’t bother Xue Ping in the least. “Disciple Fa, how kind of you to grace me with your presence after all these years.”

Lei Gong was startled at the use of that long-forgotten title while Qian Meng flinched. If there was anything he wanted to keep from the God, it was the grand farce of that courtesy name. He could still remember the day Xue Ping bestowed it and how hopeful he was then. For new beginnings. Yeah, right. Qian Meng now knew there was no such thing. You live one path, one destiny, and no one, and nothing could change that.

“That is not my name, Master. Nor am I a disciple any longer. Please, address me as Qian Meng.”

With that, he stood up, and Lei Gong followed suit—looking between the two cultivators with sudden interest. Qian Meng tried to ignore the probing stare of his companion all while weathering the awkward air his master had created.

He was getting a headache already.

Xue Ping sighed. “Regardless, you are here for a reason, yes? Come along.”

He turned, gliding toward the stairs that would take them back up into the city. Qian Meng had no other choice but to follow him, shoulders tense. Lei Gong stuck to his side like glue, their robes brushing with every step they took. His irritation ratcheted up each passing second until the dark cultivator exploded and shoved the man away, cutting him a glare.

“You’re crowding me.”

The God pressed a hand to his chest, brows arched. “That’s because you won’t look at me, Meng’er.”

Qian Meng narrowed his dark eyes. “For the last time, do not call me that. I’m not looking at you because I know what you want to ask.”

Despite having been shoved away, Lei Gong came right back, pressing his shoulder into Qian Meng’s. Their eyes remained locked on one another even as they strode down the street. The dark cultivator’s gaze was black as night, hooded, and Lei Gong felt a shiver rush down his spine. It thrilled him to be looked at like that—to have his zhiyin’s sole attention. Everyone gave them a wide berth, allowing the pair to walk unperturbed and completely absorbed in one another. Humans stared blatantly, feeling the shock of tension in the air palpable enough to set someone aflame. Even Xue Ping wouldn’t be able to distract his disciple from the God.

“How rude,” Lei Gong breathed. “I was going to confess why I don’t carry a sword if you admitted how you received such a delightful courtesy name. An eye for an eye, if you will.”

A muscle twitched along Qian Meng’s locked jaw, betraying just what that teasing tone did to him. His next words were bit out between clenched teeth. “You’re insufferable.”

Lei Gong flashed a toothy grin. “As are you. It’s really a damn shame the only people who can stand it are the both of us, hm?”

If they weren’t on such a crowded street, Qian Meng might slam the God into the nearest stone wall and… Well, teach him a lesson. Yes… Surely, that’s what he would do. The dark cultivator clenched his fists at his sides and dug his nails into his palms.

“You will not give this up, will you?”

“Not on my life.”

He opened his mouth with a snarl when Xue Ping saved him from himself by interrupting. “Are you two done? We’ve arrived.”

Again, Qian Meng shoved the God aside, leaving him behind to stride up the stairs after his master. This was an establishment that had been around for generations. It was his master's favored tea shop. The outside of the building was painted a brought red edged in gold, lanterns fluttering in the breeze, and the scent of lavender incense teasing one’s nose. Xue Ping led the way inside, hands tucked behind his back and shoulders square. High, carved wooden beams dripping with banners in the colors of their nation filled the space. Accompanied by the low tables all across the floor full of soft-spoken patrons, the atmosphere was calming.

“Welcome, lord Dragon Master,” the owner quivered, bowing ninety degrees. “We’ve prepared your room. Please, right this way.”

The man rose, showing them up the stairs in the shop's rear to one of the private dining rooms. Inside was the same chipped, decrepit-looking oak table Qian Meng himself remembered sitting at on multiple occasions. That Xue Ping made them keep it just for him was unsurprising. He didn’t like change. A tea set and hot water were already laid out, as was a delicate plate of pastries. The man bowed low before leaving them alone, sliding the door shut on his way out. Xue Pin sat down first in a delicate flare of silk, kneeling to pour a cup of tea for himself. Lei Gong and Qian Meng exchanged a look before sitting across from the temple head.

The awkward atmosphere was back now that the three large men were trapped in a small room together. Qian Meng didn’t know how to broach the subject of shape-shifting without making it look like he came here for information and nothing else—just because it was true didn’t mean he needed to be crude about it. As if reading his mind, the temple head spoke up first.

“You need not save face,” Xue Ping said, setting his empty cup aside. “Please, tell me what it is you need to know.”

Qian Meng gave him a dubious look. “That’s it?”

“As you said, you are no longer my disciple and pleasantries have never been an interest for either of us. Let us finish business and go on our way.”

A pang of hurt flared through his chest. To be honest, Qian Meng had been asking for a cutting remark like that by showing up here… He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Looking away, the dark cultivator clenched his fists together in his lap. Lei Gong shifted closer until their knees were touching. The point of contact flooded Qian Meng with warmth, calming his frazzled nerves as he took a deep breath. With it, he grasped the courage to outline the tale from start to finish, giving Xue Ping the broad strokes of the information they were aware of. Lei Gong helped by handing over the official information given to him by the Heavens.

Xue Ping looked it over with furrowed brows, running his fingers across the parchment. “And you want insight on what, exactly?”

Lei Gong answered, leaning forward. “My companion tells me you might shed light on learning shape-shifting. How long did it take? What methods did you use? Where might someone find the information?”

“As I was born within the Noelani Temple as an heir, I was given express permission to access the sacred texts of Achak for training. Therefore, my knowledge came from the source. Even then, it took me almost one hundred years to truly master my dragon form.”

Lei Gong ran a hand across his mouth. “Hm. So, whoever this is has been training for quite some time?”

“You said the marks were imprecise at the murder site?” Xue Ping asked, directing the question to Qian Meng.

The dark cultivator nodded. “Yes.”

“Then there’s no way to know the extent of their training. He may shift only his hands and legs. As of right now, I’d highly doubt this individual could manage a full transformation. It takes an incredible amount of discipline, centered qi, and focus. These murders are rushed and sloppy, directly contrasting those requirements. As for where this rogue cultivator could have gotten the information, I know of one vile place.”

Both men across the table leaned in, eager to hear.

Xue Ping turned his gaze toward the open window, eyes distant. “As someone familiar with the Pondlightian Empire, I’m sure you know of the Grand Duchy of Smotia.”

The dark cultivator’s stomach curdled at the mention of his home, but he remained focused. “Yes, I know enough.”

“The seaside town is eerie enough on its own, what with the hundreds of blood talismans and air of hushed magic cloaking it. It’s a highly spiritual place few people will brave. It is the closest human domain to the veil of death, and with such ties, come ghouls and ghosts. People only traverse that side of Pondlightian if they have the power to do so or nothing else to lose. Sometimes both.”

Qian Meng sighed in exasperation. This information was nothing new. People avoided traveling to Pondlightian as a whole due to it being the most populated area for all forms of spiritual creatures and souls, including demons. It had always been so, and he didn’t need the history lesson about his own country.

“And?” He asked, impatiently.

Xue Ping gave him a look, the same one he’d seen many times in his youth when the man was annoyed. “There is a man there that’s been rumored to sell copies of expensive, rare texts. He’s a talisman master of old.”

“How old?”

“Well, let me put it to you this way, he was the one to invent the blood talismans that ward off evil from the Grand Duchy.”

“Fuck,” Qian Meng cursed.

If it were true, the man had to be well over three thousand years old. People who lived that long were incredibly powerful or… They were demons. He drummed his fingers along the table, letting out his agitation.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Is it possible he’s a demon that’s been hiding in plain sight all this time?”

Xue Ping shrugged. “I do not know. I’ve never met the man myself, nor do I know if he’s still alive or even real.”

The dark cultivator remained silent for a beat, trying to understand all the details his master was omitting. Xue Ping wasn’t a man who entertained gossip or half-truths. Because of that, him having such information was highly irregular.

“And where did you get this information from?”

“The source is reputable, I assure you.”

“That’s not an answer,” Qian Meng fired back.

At that, Xue Ping glared. “I’m under no obligation to tell you. Now, run along. I no longer wish to entertain you.”

The dark cultivator shook imperceptibly, a telltale sign of fury. The temple head was unbothered by it as he slid the scroll across the table. Lei Gong snatched it up, once again storing it in his sleeve. He glanced between his zhiyin and the dragon master, lips pursed. Whatever the two of them had gone through together, it had left them with plenty of sour feelings. The sooner they got out of here, the better. He urged Qian Meng to stand, and he followed suit, pushing the dark cultivator toward the door.

“Thank you for the information. It will be most helpful during our investigation,” Lei Gong said.

Xue Ping turned his heavy gaze on the God, scrutinizing him in a way no other being had dared beyond Qian Meng in a long time. He wanted to feel put off by it, but he didn’t. Lei Gong was impressed as he stared back, unblinking.

“You are welcome, God of Thunder,” the man murmured, eyes sliding between him and where Qian Meng had disappeared out the door without a single word of farewell. “But, may I ask you a question?”

The God startled, crimson gaze widening. What in the world could a man like this have to ask him? They were nearly the same age, and there couldn’t be a lesson or point of knowledge he knew more about than an immortal who’d spent his entire existence in the mortal realm.

“Yes, you may.”

The temple head’s cobalt gaze darkened, narrowing. “Where were you for all these years?”

Lei Gong’s blood turned to ice. Out of all the things for him to ask, that was the last topic Lei Gong could have imagined, and the God knew exactly what Xue Ping was alluding to. Where have you been frolicking while your zhiyin destroyed himself? The implication of it dug into his soul, and tore at his heart. Along with it came an intimately familiar tidal wave of guilt—something that usually struck under the watchful eye of darkness. His fingers trembled where they hung limply by his sides, and he had to clench his jaw to keep his lips from doing the same.

“It’s a long, complicated story,” he whispered, voice broken and undignified.

“Hm,” the man replied as if the answer was unsatisfactory.

Lei Gong was aware of that.

It had been unsatisfactory to him for a long while.

The two stared at one another, cool condescension to blazing panic. Lei Gong's stomach roiled, and he felt a cool sweat slick his forehead. His greatest failure had been thrust into the light of day to be scrutinized by an immortal he didn’t even know. There was no way to explain to him, to tell this man that, for the longest time, he thought his fated one to be dead. That he’d spent every waking day over the last thirteen hundred years drowning in a sea of misery he created. All while looking for some inkling of Qian Meng’s survival, but finding nothing but rumors of an Immortal of Death he was so sure could not be his zhiyin.

Only recently had he learned differently, much to his great dismay. His fault. It was his fault Meng’er was killed… His! The words echoed and echoed, filling his buzzing mind with the screaming of that night that he would never forget no matter how much alcohol he consumed.

“AHHHHHHH!”

“Hua!”

“Hua! Please… Please… Please!”

They were agonizing, those sounds, and just when he thought he saw his vision grow fuzzy on the edges, there was a warm hand on his elbow and a soft voice trickling into his ear.

“What are you doing? We have to get a move on if we’re traveling all the way to Pondlightian.”

Lei Gong turned, grasping onto the vambraces Qian Meng still wore despite forgetting everything they represented—thinking of every promise they’d made that had been shattered beyond comprehension. He held on for dear life, sweaty fingers slipping. The dark cultivator took one look at him and his distress before pulling him forward and slamming the door to cut off Xue Ping’s view of them. Then Qian Meng’s arms were engulfing him, pulling him into a deep embrace that had Lei Gong’s face pressing into the front of his chest. The soft scent of cedarwood, the incense from this morning, tickled his nose, and he felt at home.

Safe.

He returned the embrace, burrowing closer. Qian Meng murmured low words he couldn’t make out, but they soothed him all the same. His zhiyin’s warmth was enough to chase away all chills and quiet the voices screeching between his ears. Soon, he stopped shaking, but he did not pull away.

In the far distance, one could hear the mournful roar of a dragon splitting through the open sky.