Past—

Qian Meng was familiar with the fighting techniques of a soldier, but cultivators? They were on another plane of existence. The two before him lashed out with such overwhelming speed the naked eye couldn't follow it, and their swords were more than an extension of their bodies, more than cold steel. Pulsing in time with the wielder's rapid heartbeat. His chest shimmered with awe at the sight, at the possibilities it opened before him. The prince pressed his lips together, wavering forward.

Lei Hua and his brother were training in the barracks courtyard in the early morning hours. Qian Meng heard them through the cracked door of his shed, crawling out to investigate. Now he stood a respectful distance away, shrouded by the shadows coming off the grand pillars of the pavilion.

Their bodies moved as if never touching the ground, making no noise or stirring the gravel beneath their feet. Even the clashing tone of steel was softer, captivating. He wanted to move closer, to ask questions and learn. The compulsion burned within him to the point of tasting ash on the back of his tongue. But there was a clear line between those with power and those without, and Qian Meng was well aware of which side he stood on. He sighed, dropping his head to the marble pillar, fingers tracing the lines running down the side.

To avoid a deadly strike, Lei Hua hopped up on the roof, body floating as if a phantom wind aided him. There was a teasing grin on his lips, and his russet gaze screamed play with me! But it seemed this happened often, for his elder brother only twirled his sword back to his side with a scoff, unwilling to give chase. Qian Meng almost laughed at how well it showcased their personalities. If Lei Hua was a free spirit, the man standing below him was demure and calculating in his every move and reaction. Coldly handsome rather than a burning flame of beauty.

"Impudent," he murmured.

The word carried across the courtyard, echoing despite it being said on a soft exhale.

"That's it, Xiongdi!" Lei Hua laughed. "I like it when you're angry!"

From one blink to the next, the two were on the other side of the courtyard, dancing along the tiles of the roof. Lei Hua ran from his brother's searching blade, quicker on his feet than he appeared. And when the cultivator looked back, lips spread wide on a smile and ebony hair whirling around his face, the prince almost fell to his knees.

Nothing had ever looked so perfect to him. He could scarcely blink. And it wasn't just the man's elegance, but his power that beckoned him forward. Qian Meng wanted the chance to grasp whatever shimmering magic laid in the palm of that man's hand. Could he become a cultivator? Would that give him the strength he needed to rise above those who dared hurt him? He wrung his hands, then when that wasn't enough, moved up to tug them through his wild hair.

It spilled around his face without a single ornament or ribbon to hold it at bay, entirely improper of him, yet he didn't have a choice. It hadn't taken long for his brother to storm in and tear the robes right off Qian Meng's body last night, snarling and cursing at him the entire time. Such was their usual interaction, as anything that belonged to Zihao was not to be touched by him. It incensed the man to even think about it, let alone watch Qian Meng frolic through the great hall wearing his robes. Not that the prince had ever frolicked in his life or had a choice in what wardrobe he donned. Qian Zihao didn't need logic to be angry, though. In fact, it was usually never a part of it.

"I should go," he muttered.

Qian Meng forced his gaze away from the two cultivators in the center of the yard, speaking in low tones. The show was over, and it was time to let reality set back in. He knew what would happen if they saw his pain, his scars, and it would only create more of them. The prince glided away, pressing his hand into the base of his spine where the pain was gathering. Every time he'd been whipped, it dripped down the vertebrae to fester there; growing until sweat slid down his temples and he was forced to lie on his side in search of relief. Although, before then, he craved a bath.

Qian Meng hobbled toward the same room he'd used to dress the day before as it was his, in a sense. A steaming basin awaited him with a set of dark robes freshly washed lying beside it. His heart squeezed violently in his chest at the sight. Miss Mao really was too good to him. The jewelry box full of medicine sat atop it all, and the clinical scent of herbs rose from the water. Qian Meng was about to step forward, closing the door behind him, when a hand caught the wood above his own.

He shifted his gaze to it, throat closing when he spotted the same silver rings adorning those fingers that he saw on Lei Hua's hand just yesterday. He didn't dare turn toward him, hoping beyond hope that the mess of his hair covered his face enough so as not to be recognized. Because who would put the picture of the prince he was yesterday together with the stained red gauze on his back and the filthy appearance he had now?

"Can I help you?" He asked, pitching his voice low.

"Why are you in the barracks?"

Lei Hua's lilting timber settled along his skin like wafting pollen. But it didn't sting. No, it almost felt warm.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

Qian Meng shut his eyes, trying to stave off the explanation for a few seconds longer while he thought of a way out. Should he lie about his identity? Claim to be a beggar or a whore's son and that's why he was here? His lips wobbled, so he pressed them together, clenching his fists at his sides.

"Hua-di!"

Lei Hua's hand slipped from the frame, the man turning toward his brother's angry shout. "What?"

"Do not bother the servants with your drivel. Father will be ready to depart within the hour, and you know he'll leave without us should we dawdle."

Lei Hua sighed, long-winded and full of sarcasm. And Qian Meng could feel the man's burning gaze still tracing across his soiled back. He hoped the reminder of their duties would be enough to pull the young cultivator away, but, of course, it was a fool's wish.

"Go on ahead, Xiongdi. I will catch up."

The elder son didn't wait for a second longer, leaving with a flick of his robes and an annoyed expression on his face. Qian Meng turned his head minutely to watch him go, cursing him. Could no one control the man behind him? Rather than wait for the cosmos to reveal the answer, Qian Meng left the door open and moved into the room. Shifting the clothing so it shielded the carved box from sight. He didn't know why he wished to hide it, only that his hands had rushed to do so as soon as they were in range.

"Who is this bathing room for?"

The prince paused, straightening. "Soldiers."

"Oh. So you're a soldier?"

"No, I am not."

Qian Meng knew he should lie. Let the man think whatever needed to get him up and out of his hair, but he'd always detested dishonesty. He was an expert at detecting it, and every time a white lie slipped from his tongue, it was like his body rebelled. Cringing away from his own deceit. So lying, in any form or for any reason, didn't sit well with him.

"Then why are you here?" Lei Hua pressed.

Silence stretched between them, and while he didn't hear a thing, Qian Meng felt the man move closer. Using the strength and grace of his station to his advantage. He didn't know why the cultivator was so damn interested in him. No one had ever found Qian Meng compelling in the past. He was only a forgotten, dark prince living in an even darker reality. The mystery and pain shrouding him did not make him a specimen to pick apart. With that thought in mind, the prince squared his shoulders, refusing to feel cowed.

"Why must you know?"

Lei Hau chuckled, coming around to stand on the opposite side of the tub. It brought the man into stark focus. He was too divine for a bleak room like this. Radiant, honey-golden robes adorned with silver cuffs and jewelry that cost more than a year's wage selling in the market. His dark hair was so long the prince thought he may have never cut it since birth, allowing it to take its natural course as all things should. And when he spoke, his ruby lips tilted up into a vexing smile.

"I'm curious, that's all."

Indignation reared its ugly head. "Take your curiosity to someone else. It does me no good."

They stared at one another for a few beats in shocked silence. He could say he didn't mean to lash out, but that would be a lie. It was seemingly all Qian Meng was capable of these days. The harshness of it didn't bother Lei Hua at all, though. He only straightened with his hands behind his back, brows lifted.

"I see. Well, there is always tomorrow."

Qian Meng narrowed his eyes. "Tomorrow?"

The cultivator didn't respond as he glided toward the door, kicking it shut on the way out.

⚔

The hillside behind the castle was Qian Meng's favorite place to visit. No one came looking for him here, not even Miss Mao or her daughter. The stillness of nature had always been a fonder friend than humanity. There was a familiar massive willow tree at the crest of the bluff overlooking the gleaming city below that drew him back every week. That was where he took the medicine box to apply the ointment by himself in painstaking silence. The king had sent Miss Mao and her daughter out of the castle on business for several days now, leaving him to fend for himself.

Shedding his outer robe, Qian Meng sat down beneath the swaying vines. Both hated and loved the feeling of fresh air against his puckered skin. It had gotten marginally better over the last day or so. When he ran his fingers along the wounds he could reach, it felt like scabs had formed.

He tucked his legs beneath him in a lotus pose, and for a moment, rested his hands palm up atop his knees. Closing his eyes. As Qian Meng was young, he rarely grasped the patience it took to meditate with any sort of success. His body was too twitchy, too worried about losing his sense of reality just for those who hated him to take advantage of it. And while his father made certain both his sons were well trained in the art of the sword and the bow, he did not hold any power over the divine. It left them with nothing more than bodily strength. Which, against men like Lei Hua, amounted to nothing at all.

Why are you thinking of the cultivator? He berated himself, lips twisting.

Even upon first meeting him, Qian Meng was certain the man was a storm to be weathered. Wherever he went, he got exactly what he was searching for. Grasped every wish and want without resistance. People no doubt threw themselves at his feet just to be noticed, even if it was simply to step over them. Then there was his brother and father, the two most stoic men Qian Meng had ever had the pleasure of meeting. How Lei Hua was related to them, he had no idea.

The three were the talk of the castle ever since they'd arrived, throwing everyone into a tizzy. Servants gossiped day and night about their immaculate appearances and about the king's subtle dismissal. He had not received them in the main hall since the first night, even while providing luxurious food and accommodation. The cultivators didn't seem to mind, though, going about their business with professionalism and dignified silence.

Sometimes, when Qian Meng was bored and hungry, he would walk past the dining hall to scent the food being served there. He did so just last night only to spot the family of cultivators eating alone, sharing plates, and bickering. Well, the brothers had bickered while their father looked on fondly. It was the kind of bond another version of Qian Meng ached for so fiercely his whole chest hurt.

"Stop thinking about them," he muttered.

Snatching the box from his side, he flipped it open to grasp a vial of salve. It was running dangerously low. Usually, that'd be no problem, but with Miss Mao gone. . . He had no clue where to go to buy more. Despite being cast aside, he wasn't allowed to leave the confines of the castle grounds. Should Qian Meng descend to the city and the news got back to his father, he'd be punished. And he wasn't sure his body could handle another punishment right now.

"Spirit stone for your thoughts."

He jumped, cursing. "Why are you everywhere?"

The exclamation squeaked out before he could stop it as Lei Hua rounded his body, that same amiable smile he always wore gracing his lips. Qian Meng was beginning to think the man had it manually implanted for it to stay that way.

"I am not. I'm simply where you are," he replied, taking a seat.

The prince scrutinized the cultivator and eyed how close their knees were. One wrong move and they'd be touching. Just what was this man's end goal? Qian Meng's humiliation, just as everyone else wanted, perhaps? Lei Hua didn't give the impression of being a backstabbing traitor, but neither had a lot of the people he once trusted. Now, trust was a virtue he could not afford. He shifted away.

"Why?"

Lei Hua rubbed his chin, seemingly in deep thought. "You are immune to my inherent charm."

Qian Meng narrowed his eyes. Was this guy serious? Such a wild statement was unworthy of a response, so he only popped open the salve to begin what he came here for. Lei Hua watched the entire time, hands clasped tightly as if trying to stop himself from reaching out to do it for him. The prince was grateful the man had enough sense to hold the compulsion at bay. This wasn't his first time taking care of himself after an injury, anyway. The only place he could not reach was the very center of his spine.

"You're not exactly a talkative guy, are you?"

Qian Meng cut his eyes to him, dropping the vial back into the box. "What gave it away?"

Lei Hua chuckled. The prince had planned on staying here to meditate and enjoy the sunshine on his skin but didn't want to do so with an audience. He moved to get up, but the cultivator grasped his arm, stopping him. Qian Meng flinched, having always hated being touched, and the man backed off immediately, giving him a sheepish smile.

"Ah, sorry. I just didn't want you to go yet."

Qian Meng felt anger writhing in his chest at the audacity of the person beside him. He was just as bold in his speech as his father but far more cheeky. And as the prince had had no friends he was close to, it was hard for him to deal with it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, lowering his body back to the earth.

"Do you need something? Is that why you're here?" He asked, clutching the box in his lap.

Lei Hua glanced at it. "No. I had some free time and wanted to chat."

"You wanted to chat," Qian Meng said dully.

"Yes. Is that so wrong?"

Ignoring the question, the prince gazed down at the city below them cast in the shadows of a fading day. People walked leisurely down the cobblestone streets and across wrought iron bridges. Leaning over the sides to look at the cool water below, rampant with lotus seed pods and lilies. He wished to see it up close one day if he could.

Lei Hua spoke again as if any sort of silence pained him. "You know, most people would be asking questions by now. Are you really uninterested in cultivation? In magic?"

Qian Meng didn't shift his gaze. "I am, but to be honest, it does not concern me."

The cultivator shifted closer, closing the distance Qian Meng had tried putting between them. "Why not?"

"Because I do not possess magic," he replied, almost bitterly.

Lei Hua threw his hands around while he spoke as if he was swatting at a bee. "That's not true. Sometimes, magic reveals itself only when poked and prodded. Give me your wrist." The cultivator reached out to grasp it, but the prince yanked his arm away. "Aw, come on! I will do nothing inappropriate. I just want to gauge your spiritual qi."

Qian Meng took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He'd always been easily irritated, and the longer he was in the presence of this man, the more prevalent his wild personality became. Lei Hua's air of divine regality was nothing but smoke and mirrors to hide the true unsightly temperament beneath. It was especially bothersome. Yet, the shimmering implication that he could have a powerful enough soul to wield magical power and become someone worthy of respect. . . It was too tempting to pass up. He held out his wrist, face tilted away.

Lei Hua didn't snatch it or hold his hand as Qian Meng feared. He only pressed two fingers to his pulse point. Silence stretched for an incense time, and the prince couldn't help but shoot a glance at the cultivator's face. His brows were pinched, and his eyes were moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Was there something wrong with him? He worried, swallowing hard. Perhaps all the terrible illness and injuries he'd been through had damaged his body for good. Lei Hua let go, blinking as his lips parted, and Qian Meng couldn't take the silence any longer.

"What? Am I dying or something?"

Lei Hua shook his head. "No, your soul is one of the brightest I've ever seen in my life."