Present—

The Pondlightian Empire was a different beast than all the others. One could feel a diminutive change from the moment they first stepped out of the ward portal like a blanket of wet air descending against one’s skin, heavy and uncomfortable. It was not unfounded, either, for that was the staring eyes of ghouls and ghosts trailing along after you. Some of them carried nefarious intent, others were harmless. Qian Meng paid no mind to either category. None dared approach someone with as much spiritual power as him. He could cleanse them with a simple wave of his hand, no talisman needed.

Lei Gong shivered, tucking his arms around his middle. “Your home country has always given me the creeps.”

“It’s not my home, it’s where I was born, that’s it.”

The God raised a brow. “Oh? But it suits you so well!”

“You just said it gives you the creeps.”

Lei Gong laughed. “Yes, I did.”

Giving no further explanation, the God led the way toward Smotia. With a roll of his eyes, Qian Meng followed him down the winding path. The ward portal they’d come through was only three Li away and downhill rather than up, so they should arrive within a Shi. The only bad thing about it was that Pondlightian was vast fields of spirit grass or marshland, there was no in-between. Their boots squelched through thick mud with every step, and the smell of it made both men wrinkle their noses.

Lei Gong waltzed ahead of him with his hands behind his head and a tune slipping past his lips, totally at ease. All the while, the memory of pulling him into an embrace to comfort him played on a loop in the dark cultivator’s mind, taunting him. The warmth it brought was surprising, and it lingered. He could feel it still—rushing through his veins and swirling around his traitorous heart. Qian Meng did his best to explain it away.

I was caught off guard!

Yes, it was a knee-jerk reaction to witnessing such agony flashing across the man’s face.

Anyone would have!

He nodded to himself, lips pursed. Keeping things casual between them was for the best. The God of Justice was tasked by the Divine Emperor to stop the God Killer, and as soon as that was complete, the man would leave. His inspiring character and soft-hearted attitude were not exclusively for Qian Meng no matter how intimate it felt. He rubbed a hand across his forehead with a wince, trying to push such thoughts out of his head. There were more important things to worry about.

While their primary goal was to find out where the God Killer could have gotten sacred texts on shape-shifting, there was also another, darker reason. He could feel it writhing through his dantian, snarling to be released after days of waiting. The next name in his notebook was a man who lived in Smotia, a terrible swindling merchant who killed indiscriminately to further his bottom line. Not a king or a God this time, but someone who, if they died, would leave the world a better place. He glanced at Lei Gong again, a stab of guilt twisting his heart before he steeled himself, smacking a hand against his chest.

So what if he didn’t tell him?

While he was here, the dark cultivator could kill two birds with one stone, Lei Gong being none the wiser. If he were lucky, perhaps the ancient text master would have something to say about the leather book Qian Meng had been shackled to for as long as he could remember. Not that he expected anyone to rid him of this curse without also taking his life, but it was always worth the ask.

With a frown marring his lips, he stopped beside Lei Gong at the bottom of the hill. The God’s eyes were wide as he surveyed the wrought-iron gates of the Smotia cloaked in blood talisman. There were hundreds of them, all thrumming with a sickly crimson light upon yellowed paper. Because it bordered the coast, a ting of salt soaked the air, as did the call of gulls.

“What? Never been here either?” He asked.

Lei Gong snapped out of his revere, glancing at him. “Yes, and no. I came here a long time ago when I was a youth. It’s changed a lot and not at all.”

The dark cultivator chuckled and walked forward with his arms tucked behind his back. “Yes, that’s Pondlightian for you.”

The God scrambled to follow, shuddering when they glided through the magical barrier warding off evil. Lesser beings wouldn’t feel it, but immortals like them were sensitive to any magical aura, weak or powerful. Lei Gong, once again, couldn’t take his eyes off of their surroundings. While the streets were busy with patrons and cultivators alike, it was not boisterous like Qimen. No one spoke louder than necessary and no stall owners shouted their wares. As a result, all he could hear were the fast steps of people and a low murmuring of many talking together. It was eerie, almost off-putting. Another shiver ran down his spine that he did his best to repress.

“Do you come here often?”

Qian Meng hummed, dark eyes flicking from place to place. “Not particularly. However, this is where I come to purchase medicinal draughts and herbs. No one can refute how skilled the alchemists of this town are.”

At the mention of them, Lei Gong couldn’t help but glance at the back of Qian Meng’s neck. It was now covered with silky dark hair, but the God could picture the scars creeping up over his Zhiyin’s collar so vividly he need not see them ever again. Stop staring, he berated himself, tearing his gaze away.

“Yes, they are quite skilled.”

Qian Meng gave him a weird look before making a beeline for a stall at the end of the street with a sweep of his robes. The scent of ginseng and wild ginger was heavy in the air as they stepped up to it. The elderly woman behind the table seemed to recognize the dark cultivator, her wrinkled face lighting up.

“Nan Shen!” She hollered, smiling at him.

Her call was loud and obnoxious, two things Qian Meng didn’t like, but when Lei Gong glanced at him expecting to see a scowl he was met with something surprising instead. His Zhiyin grinned back at the woman, eyes twinkling as he leaned in across the wood to let her plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Lao Su,” Qian Meng replied. “No teasing today. I have a guest.”

The woman moved away with a chortle, face split into a wide grin. “Oh? I’ve never met one of your friends, Xiao Meng.”

Again, Lei Gong looked to the dark cultivator to witness his reaction, but there wasn’t one. He almost wanted to shout at the injustice of it! So this woman, whoever she was, could call him by that nickname while he could not? Before he knew it, Lei Gong’s irrational jealousy got the better of him and he stepped forward, pressing his shoulder into Qian Meng’s as he bowed to the woman.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Su.”

“How formal,” Lao Su quipped. “My given name is Su Li, but you may also call me Lao Su if you’d like. Any friend of Xiao Meng is a friend of mine.”

Lei Gong straightened, eyes widening at how welcoming she was. It was rare for anyone in the Pondlightian Empire to take kindly to strangers even if he was the companion of someone she knew well. Bitterness welled up within him, but he forced himself to curb it. This woman was kind, and his response was wildly inappropriate. Jealousy truly was a green-eyed monster… Thankfully, Lao Su thought nothing of it as she bustled around her stall, carefully portioning out a sachet of herbs.

“What is your name?” She asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

The God was startled at the realization that he hadn’t mentioned it, and Qian Meng hit his shoulder into Lei Gong’s to get him talking. He didn’t miss the warning look in the dark cultivator’s gaze, either. Did that mean he didn’t want Lei Gong to tell her his celestial name? He was disguised again, after all, this time wearing all black to match his dreary companion. Fumbling with himself, Lei Gong spat out the first thing that came to mind.

“I am Lei Hua, but you may call me whatever you like.”

At the mention of his birth name, Qian Meng visibly shuddered, eyes closing for a moment. The God watched with rapt attention, trying to guess whether it had triggered a memory. It was impossible to tell, though, as it usually was with the Immortal of Death.

“Ah. It’s lovely to meet you,” the woman replied as she finished her sorting, handing the bag to Qian Meng.

Lao Su protested, but he gave her a gold piece in return. It was three times the amount that such products would cost, but he wouldn’t have any form of protest. She blushed through the exchange, and it was so charming despite her age that Lei Gong couldn’t help but smile softly.

Qian Meng tucked the sachet into the pack hanging off his waist before turning to her once more. “We have an errand to run, but we will be back by nightfall.”

“Of course. I will have dinner and tea waiting for you.”

The dark cultivator raised a brow. “How about something stronger?”

“Bad habits! Bad habits!”

The elder hit him across the arm until he shied away with a laugh, spinning out of her reach. Qian Meng had always appreciated their straightforward relationship. He’d known Lao Su all her life—well, he actually knew her entire family. Her mother and the mother before her and so on. This was the only shop he’d purchase herbs from for the entirety of his immortal life because, at one time, someone else used to come here to do it for him… At the thought, Qian Meng’s mood deflated as did his smile.

“We’ll be off then,” he murmured.

“Don’t keep me waiting long.”

With a serious nod, he set off, Lei Gong trailing along after him. The dark cultivator rubbed a hand across his chest, wincing at the ache throbbing there that had nothing to do with physical pain. Not only had Miss Mao flitted across his memory, but that flash of pain and confusion when Lei Gong gave his name… It struck him like lightning, and he couldn’t stop himself from whipping his head to see the man’s face. There had been a false smile on his lips that didn’t meet his eyes, but he knew Lao Su didn’t notice. No one ever did but him, which was something Qian Meng had done a fantastic job of pretending wasn’t so.

“That name,” the dark cultivator blurted.

As if he’d been waiting for Qian Meng to speak first, the man bounded up to walk beside him, brows raised. “Hm? What about it?”

“Is that really your birth name?”

As if shy, the God looked away. “Yes. I rarely use it anymore.”

Qian Meng wanted to leave it at that but found he couldn't curb his curiosity. “And what is the meaning?”

“Flourishing flower.”

The two paused at the end of the street. It overlooked the vast bay below, sparkling against the light of the lanterns and throwing out shadows for children on the docks to chase. For a moment, the dark cultivator was struck dumb. He stared off into the distance, mouthing the words over and over. They tickled something in his brain, and he automatically gripped his left vambrace, straightening it. For some reason, his chest felt tight, and he had to stop himself from glancing back at the God and muttering the phrase one more time.

Lei Gong eyed him, expression wary. “It’s a bit… Feminine for someone like me, I know.”

The dark cultivator turned toward him, face earnest. “I think it suits you well.”

His stomach dropped out the moment the words left his throat, and his eyes widened. Lei Gong stared at the soft expression, smiling. The way it made Qian Meng’s dark gaze glow amber was alluring and captivating.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The air between them grew charged and awkward. Neither cultivator knew what to do to ease it, and Qian Meng cursed to himself, shifting from foot to foot. They locked eyes, blushed, and then both quickly looked away. Feeling panicked, the dark cultivator tried to wrestle their conversation into submission.

“The text master’s shop is near the edge of town bordering the Uicho Forest,” he supplied weakly.

Thankfully, Lei Gong grasped onto it like a lifeline, straightening his spine. “Let’s get going then! No time like the present!”

***

The shop belonging to the text master was less of a proper establishment and more like a… Well, a shack. It did not differ from the worn-down home of Lei Gong’s sacred apple orchard. Qian Meng didn’t blink at the shabby exterior, not that the God expected him to, only glided up the stairs and through the door. A bell chimed softly overhead, and they were hit with the scent of dust and old parchment. Lei Gong coughed, sniffing with his nose tilted up.

The dark cultivator gave him a withering look before stalking toward the counter. One had to go a certain way to weave through the sheer number of scrolls and books inside the building. It was like a maze of information, and a lot of it looked untouched as if the text master had set it down and never addressed it again. There were shelves, but you couldn’t browse past the mounds of scrolls to look closer, and the only things lining them were outdated spiritual tools that had seen better days. The more he studied his surroundings, the less impressed he was. Could a hoarder really be of any help to them?

“Hello?” Qian Meng called, thumping his fist down on the counter.

A stack of medallions jumped on impact, clinking softly followed by the sound of someone rustling around. Behind the counter was a doorway shrouded by a burgundy curtain. Light streamed beneath it, and when the owner flicked it aside, it almost blinded the two cultivators who’d become accustomed to the darkness of the shop.

“Interesting, very interesting,” a hoarse voice whispered.

When Qian Meng’s eyes adjusted, before him stood a willowy man with icy skin. The robes he wore were ancient, worn out at the elbows, and put on with an ease that spoke of tired laziness. His eyes were like Qian Meng’s—ebony so striking it seemed he had no pupils. The aura coming off him was unsettling. It probed the two immortals as if looking for a way inside, slithering over their skin. Lei Gong shuddered, and the dark cultivator took a step in front of him in reflex.

“Text master,” he greeted with a dip of his chin. “We have come seeking your guidance.”

The man tittered, pushing his ebony hair away from his face with two clawed fingers. “My guidance, you say? No one has sought that in a long while, Immortal of Death.”

Neither of the men were surprised that the text master knew who Qian Meng was. He had one of the most famous reputations out of anyone in Rasheia no matter what he was known for. The dark cultivator crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

“Will you help us or not? I don’t appreciate creatures that speak in riddles.”

Lei Gong didn’t miss the fact that Qian Meng hadn’t referred to the man across the counter as human. He agreed with the sentiment. The text master’s spiritual aura was off, both aggressive and scattered like wisps of smoke.

“Tell me your request, and I will let you know whether I can grant it. For a price, of course.”

Qian Meng snorted. “I’d expect nothing less.”

When the man gave him an affronted look, Lei Gong cut in, smoothing the situation. “We are here in search of counterfeit texts regarding shape-shifting. Do you sell them or have ever sold them?”

The text master tilted his head, eyes closed as if in deep thought. “Hm. Yes, I have. Nearly a millennium ago, I transcribed a signal text from the inner library of Achak Temple. I was once friends with the temple head, but no longer.”

Lei Gong was surprised by this. It loosened his tongue. “You, a demon, were friends with the most righteous of temple heads?”

The text master grinned, revealing a set of razor-sharp teeth. Darkness crawled out from his irises, coating the whites of his eyes. It was a sinister sight, and the spiritual signature in the air changed. Going from a sense of wrongness to the full force of a demonic being. The creature had fully revealed itself. If Lei Gong were a lesser being, it would have been cause for worry.

“So you’re not just another set of foolish humans?” The demon snarled.

Qian Meng was unimpressed, taking another step between Lei Gong and the creature. No matter how old it was, he knew the demon was no match for him as long as his sword was unsealed. The God behind him would grant the request if necessary.

“Do you still have that text?”

The demon looked back at him, upper lip twisting. “There are no more copies, I’m afraid, and the original will remain in my personal library.”

The dark cultivator pressed his hands against the counter, leaning forward. His sole focus was on the creature, and for a moment, he let out his true aura. It slithered through the room, chasing light away and clinging to the shadows. The force of it was ten times more sinister than the demon could ever hope to be. Immediately the creature stiffened, taking a wavering step back. It was surprised by the familiar darkness lingering in the immortal’s gaze.

“Who did you sell the last copy to?” Qian Meng growled.

The demon glanced between the Immortal of Death and his companion, skin prickling and brows shooting up. It didn’t understand how an ethereal man would willingly stay beside a devil. There was resistance between them even though the demon could scent the zapping connection the two harbored—could taste it on the back of its tongue like a fine wine. This could be fun… The creature mused, a serpentine smile spreading across its face.

“That information is going to cost you.”

Qian Meng’s clenched fist raised, ready to slam down onto the counter again, perhaps this time breaking it, when Lei Gong stopped him. All it took was one soft touch to the arm and the dark cultivator paused, all magic flushing away. It drained from his eyes first, once again revealing their whites and making him seem human when the demon knew he was not. The creature didn’t know what it was more curious about—the night and day cultivators who were traveling together as if they were partners or the origin of the Immortal of Death’s power.

“How much?” Lei Gong asked, taking out a money pouch.

The demon shook its head. “I do not accept the currency of humanity. What it will cost you is a deal.”

Qian Meng’s shoulders bunched up and his eyes flashed. “If it’s unbalanced, I will destroy you. First your body, then your spirit, and then your soul so it can never be reborn.”

No one in that room refuted his claim. The dark cultivator never lied, especially about things like this. The demon nodded slowly, losing its smile. Whether it wanted to know more about the Immortal of Death or not, with each passing second it became more clear the man was an iron vault. Nothing of importance or secrecy would leave his lips. That left the creature with only one option for entertainment.

“Here are the terms. I will tell you all who have purchased a shape-shifting manual for a kiss.”

Both immortals reared away, aghast expressions on their faces.

“WHAT?!” They shouted in unison.

The demon cackled. “Not with me, ignorant fools. The cost is a kiss between you two to be done here and now. Either that or no deal.”