Present—

Lei Gong didn't disguise himself.

He wore the same splendor as when Qian Meng arrived to kill him. Billowing, expensive robes, and an intricate amount of jewelry. All of it was gold save for the silver cuffs around his wrists. Before Lei Gong’s heavenly ensemble was shrouded in darkness, but now. . . Now, Qian Meng was shocked by the level of radiance he had while lounging in a cloud of lavender incense. The gem between his eyes seemed to draw in light around it, pulsing with the glow of the flickering oil lamps. His crimson gaze was narrowed on him. Or, more specifically, the God Binding Cables wrapped too tightly around his body.

No one spoke.

But the God shifted. Slowly setting down the jade cup of tea and straightening his posture. Qian Meng followed the movement, and Lei Gong cracked a small smile.

Song Shun, who’d been too awestruck to react, finally snapped out of it at the sight. Did these two immortals know one another? As if the question alerted the God to his presence, Lei Gong, at last, turned to look at the temple head.

“Hello, grandmaster Song,” he purred.

The man almost fell to his knees. Lei Gong’s voice was both hard as iron and luscious to a fault, truly pleasing to the ear. Song Shun didn’t dare to speak back to the God and immediately kneeled instead, forehead pressing into the floor. A snort rang out in the quiet room, dry and mocking. Still, the man did not move and Lei Gong did not speak further, only stared at Song Shun’s prostrate position with empty eyes. Qian Meng, unafraid of the God even while he acted all high and mighty, waltzed over to the low table to take a seat beside him.

Still kneeling, Song Shun was flabbergasted.

“When did you arrive?” Qian Meng asked.

The God shrugged. “Ten minutes ago. You made me wait for quite some time.”

Qian Meng only sent him a withering look, shifting again at how tight the cables had become. Noticing it, Lei Gong waved his hand, and they fell off completely. Spooling like shimmering spiderwebs on the floor. He didn’t want to reveal his relief, but a soft sigh left the dark cultivator’s lips, regardless. His lack of circulation had worried him.

“Get up, Song Shun,” Qian Meng snapped. “He’s not the type for posturing.”

While it wasn’t untrue, Lei Gong was delighted to have the dark cultivator speak up for him. He leaned into the man’s side, sliding a cup of tea in front of him. Song Shun sat up at the same moment, slowly, as if afraid the dark cultivator’s words were a joke meant to trap him. However, when nothing happened, and the room remained cloaked in silence, he inched closer to the table.

How strange was it he was just speaking about never having met a God! Now, he was here with his one and only sovereign, sitting before him and drinking his tea. Not a lot of things excited the old cultivator anymore, but he could feel the steady thumping of his racing heart beneath his breastbone. The God was just as imposing as he’d expected, just as celestial, and when Song Shun’s eyes dropped to the telltale mallet at his waist, he almost went starry-eyed.

“How can I serve you, my lord?” He asked, voice soft.

Lei Gong barely spared him a glance, all his attention on the brooding man beside him. “Hm. Explain this trial to me. Where is the evidence?”

“He is to be put on trial for the death of your beloved disciple, Zou Delun. Not only that, but he had killed many men in the past, your grace. It is only right that the Zephyr Hall of Justice takes action. Evidence is being compiled now to be presented at the end of the week.”

Qian Meng could see the beads of sweat dripping down Song Shun’s temples. The man was a ball of nerves before the God he’d spent his entire life worshiping. It’d be funny if it didn’t piss him off. And what reason did he have to be angry? These two men had virtually nothing to do with him beyond forcing him to eat their version of ‘justice’. Qian Meng turned his gaze away. He wanted to tell them he was full of malice and couldn’t dare to take another bite of anything else.

“You were set to start a trial today,” Lei Gong replied.

It wasn't a question, but the temple head still scrambled to explain himself. “Yes, that was an oversight, my lord. The adjudicators believed it imperative to begin the trial as soon as possible because of the irrefutable claims of Qian Meng’s violence throughout the years. I set them straight.”

Qian Meng held back his snort. Despite being a starry-eyed disciple right now, Song Shun still knew not to anger the God before him or implicate his fellow cultivators too severely. If Lei Gong deemed someone unjust, they would die. End of story. The God hummed, rubbing two fingers across his chin.

“And now?”

Song Shun gulped, glancing at Qian Meng as if asking him for assistance. The dark cultivator only raised his brows. He had no clue what to tell the God to keep him satiated. Contrary to how familiar Lei Gong acted with him, they were basically strangers. The temple head groaned to himself and dropped his head.

“He will be in my care until the trial can begin.”

Lei Gong twisted his mouth. “That won’t do. Give him to me.”

Song Shun’s eyes widened. “To you?!”

“Yes, to me.”

The look Lei Gong gave him in return could melt glass, his fiery eyes blazing. The temple head, arguably one of the most impressive cultivators of his generation, withered. It gave Qian Meng a perfect sense of satisfaction to watch. However, he didn’t particularly wish to trail along behind this God for a week or more. It’d be far easier to shadow Song Shun, at least he didn’t talk so damn much. Speaking of, the man was panicking.

“Well, uh, you see, that’s—”

Qian Meng cut him off, voice razor-sharp.

“I’d like to remain here.”

Lei Gong startled, turning toward the dark cultivator with furrowed brows. “What?”

Qian Meng shrugged. “I don’t want to go with you.”

“But why?”

“They brought me here for a proper trial, and if word gets out that the God of the Zephyr temple stole me away, what would people say?”

Qian Meng’s argument was a good one, and it seemed to make Lei Gong pause and rear back. The two stared at one another for an incense time in uncomfortable, charged silence. Song Shun watched the two as they volleyed arguments back and forth with vapid interest and now was even more invested in the stoic silence. There was no denying they knew each other well, and he had to admit he craved to know why. Or when it happened. Or how. Because the two cultivators before him were so completely opposite, it was like night and day.

“Are you worried about my reputation? How sweet of you!” Lei Gong said, lips twitching into a smile.

The words seemed to burn the dark cultivator as he reared away, teeth grinding together. “Of course not! Don’t make things up just because you want them to be true.”

“It’s okay, Meng’er! You don’t have to be embarrassed, I understand.”

Qian Meng’s eyes twitched as his face flushed a bright scarlet. “I said I’m not thinking about it! And don’t call me that!”

“Fine. How about Xiao Meng?”

“Absolutely not.”

Song Shun was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The two cultivators had completely forgotten he was there. Their witty banter felt like flirting, but he couldn’t be sure. Plus, even after knowing Qian Meng loosely for decades, Song Shun had never once seen him blush like that. He had to admit it softened the man’s intense aura and revealed his true beauty. Eye-catching, delicate features lined the dark cultivator’s face—ones that a woman would flutter toward and men envied. And when Qian Meng began to visibly shake, fingers curling where they were hovering between the two as if he wanted nothing more than to strangle the God, Song Shun spoke up to save the poor guy from exploding in a fiery mess of embarrassment.

“I have something to add.”

Lei Gong, who’d leaned forward to inspect the dark cultivator’s blush with a grin, cut his sharp gaze to him. “What?”

Song Shun shivered. “How about we take him somewhere secluded to wait until the trial? I know of a place no one will look, and even if they did, they wouldn’t find it. That way you could go with him and no one would know.”

Lei Gong considered this, sitting back and snatching up his cup of tea. “Where is this place?”

Song Shun opened his mouth to reply when a swift foot connected with his shin. He gagged on the words, doing everything in his power not to hunch over and groan. When he looked up, Qian Meng was glaring at him, dark eyes raging with the fire of the damned. And, at that moment, the temple head wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of. The impressive God he'd worshiped all his life, or the depthless void of a man staring back at him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Go on then, spit it out,” Lei Gong urged, pointing his cup at him.

“The orchard, sir,” he garbled, doing his best not to look at the dark cultivator.

He could feel the man’s eyes burning holes into the side of his skull. A delighted smile bloomed on the God’s face as he clapped his hands together, nodding.

“That’s a perfect idea. I’d forgotten it existed.”

Song Shun wasn’t surprised. Lei Gong planted it atop the bones of his ancestors centuries ago and hadn’t been back since. Leaving it for cultivators to take care of and discover when they needed it and were worthy of it. With Lei Gong’s powerful family acting as a catalyst, each apple was infused with an irregular amount of spiritual qi. Whoever ate them would regain lost stamina, heal more quickly, and even grow stronger in certain cases. The fruit was incredibly rare and only touted amongst fellow cultivators. No one in the human realm beyond the five temples knew it existed. And no one with heinous intentions could ever find it.

“The orchard,” Qian Meng whispered, pulling the attention of both men.

He wasn’t looking at them any longer, his anger had cooled enough that his face faded back to its regular shade. The dark cultivator tapped his fingers along the low table as he thought, brows pinched.

Did he remember meeting Song Shun there all those years ago? The man wondered, eyes wide.

Qian Meng could vaguely recall some minuscule detail about the place Song Shun mentioned. Apples, the bright light of the sun filtered against dewy leaves, and a familiar sense of belonging. . . It had happened so very long ago now that his faulty brain dealt with it as it would most things in his past—by forgetting.

“You have a poor memory, don’t you?” Song Shun asked him.

Qian Meng shrugged. “One could say that, yes. But I remember that place, however vaguely.”

Lei Gong was the one to volley his attention back and forth this time. How could Qian Meng know about his family’s sacred burial grounds? Did he also know what lay beneath those pretty apple trees? His palms began to sweat. That was one of the few places he’d ever kept close to his heart. Not even his brother knew it existed. Lei Gong stared and stared at Qian Meng, eyes wide and mouth going dry. The steady need to know the answer clawed at the God’s throat until he was near bursting at the seams.

“Fair enough. My only condition is that I, too, stay there to monitor you,” Song Shun replied.

He was serious about it. Eyes hard as granite as he sat up straight, his sense of duty to his temple and people a shining beacon between the three cultivators. Qian Meng had always respected him for it. Plus, having a buffer between him and the God currently leaning way too close into his personal space would be excellent.

“Fine—”

“No!”

Lei Gong and Qian Meng spoke over each other, only to snap their lips shut and glare. It was such a similar reaction Song Shun had to hold in his laughter. There was no way these two didn’t know one another! He stood from the table in one fluid movement, bowing low to the God.

“Very well. I will begin the preparations since the prisoner agreed. In the meantime, your grace should return to the Heavenly Court until sundown tomorrow. Then we will meet again at the orchard.”

Without waiting for an answer, the temple head left with a flick of his robes, feet silent as the grave. The two remaining watched him go with open mouths, impressed by the man’s level of confidence when bossing some of the most powerful cultivators in the world around. Lei Gong was the first to snap out of it, turning his body to face Qian Meng and tapping his knee. The dark cultivator glanced sideways at him, clearly wary of whatever would come next now that they were alone.

Lei Gong didn’t like that look, at least not when it was directed at him. It was one Qian Meng had been nursing since youth that spoke volumes about his feelings. It meant he didn’t particularly like you but wasn’t allowed to speak out about it for whatever reason. The God almost wished the dark cultivator would let it all out. Air every single grievance he’d ever had against the Celestial Beings just so they could start again. He knew the man had plenty.

He sighed.

“Qian Meng, do you trust that man?”

The dark cultivator glanced at the empty doorway, eyes unreadable. “I don’t trust anyone. But I can attest he’s a man worthy of practicing cultivation under your banner.”

Lei Gong stood up, the folds of his heavy, ornate robes falling toward the floor in a swish of fabric. He didn’t need to straighten them, but Qian Meng watched the man do so regardless, smoothing his lithe fingers down the front. They were covered in rings set with precious jewels. Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds. Not a knuckle was bare. The dark cultivator couldn’t take his eyes from them. If it weren’t for the silver cuffs at his wrists that looked so very similar to the ones Qian Meng hid beneath the sleeves of his dark robes, he’d suspect the man preferred gold.

“You’re going now?” He asked before he could stop himself, eyes flicking up.

“Yes, at the temple head’s request. I will see you in twenty-four hours.”

Qian Meng nodded his assent, but at the same time, couldn’t shake the strange feeling of disappointment that flooded him. Was he upset that the God was leaving? Hmph. He should be overjoyed! In a fit of annoyance at his own thoughts, Qian Meng glared at a fixed spot on the table as if it’d offended him.

“Yes. See you then.”