Archive of Our Own

The sun rose over Cang Qiong Mountain, painting the twelve peaks in layers of gold and spiritual mist. Jade bells chimed in the wind, carrying waves of refined qi that echoed through the deep valleys. It was a prosperous sect — so wealthy that even the newest disciples wore silk robes that would make a common noble weep with envy. The mystical herb plantations of Qian Cao Peak covered acres, the elixirs of Wan Jian Peak sold for exorbitant prices in distant cities and the cultivators trained there were always sought after and respected across all three realms.

Despite all its fame and the various requests that constantly piled up on the sect leader's desk, Cang Qiong Mountain and its disciples always had plenty of time to cultivate the one thing that grew faster than spiritual flowers: gossip.

And, that year, there was no bigger gossip than the rivalry between the two most talented, stubborn and insufferably handsome head disciples of their generation.

On Qing Jing Peak, dawn was synonymous with quietude, poetry and the gentle melody of a qin plucked by trained fingers. Silver waterfalls fell in silent cascades over the bamboo gardens, where disciples meditated and practiced calligraphy in the first hour in perfect harmony.

And at the center of all that harmony stood Phainon.

Phainon was not just the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak. Phainon was the dream of any cultivator — and anyone with functioning eyes. In an unofficial survey conducted by Castorice, a disciple of Xian Shu Peak, Phainon was voted "Most Coveted Disciple" for three consecutive years, with an 89% margin of the votes. The other 11% belonged to stubborn disciples from Bai Zhan Peak or those who "mistrusted people who smiled too much."

But Phainon's reputation went far beyond his appearance — which was, indeed, offensively handsome.

It was the perfection surrounding him. He mastered the Four Arts of Qing Jing Peak with an ease that made the hall masters sigh with pride: calligraphy, painting, strategy and music, all following the strict standards of the famous scholar peak — and its eccentric shizun, Anaxagoras. As if that were not enough, he was a formidable warrior — his sword sang in the wind with a grace that defied logic, displaying the arts of his peak with supreme skill and aiding the hall masters in teaching his shidis and shimeis whenever asked.

The whispers about him were constant:

“He should be on Qiong Ding Peak to be the next sect leader, not here. Look how diplomatically he handles everything. I heard he settled a dispute with disciples from the Huan Hua Sect in three sentences and a smile.”

“And have you heard that Peak Lord Anaxagoras says Phainon is the best disciple he has ever taught? He said he possesses pure qi and learns everything extremely fast! A true prodigy!”

“And did you see him in the last duel? The guy dodged every attack from one of those Bai Zhan brutes and knocked him down with just a single movement of his hand.”

Phainon heard it all. Kept his smile. Adjusted the embroidered blue ribbon binding his perfectly aligned ponytail and tried his best not to laugh at the exaggerations. He worked hard to make his shizun proud and show everyone that he was no longer just a farm boy who dreamed too big. Or at least, that was what everyone needed to believe.

Phainon had a secret.

A secret he guarded with more zeal than the books in the forbidden section of his shizun's library. A secret that had messy blond hair, a permanently irritated expression, and wore the white robes trimmed with gray of Bai Zhan Peak.

Mydei.

The name echoed in Phainon's mind as he rolled the calligraphy brush between his fingertips. The face of his eternal rival surfaced involuntarily in his thoughts — as always: the tense jaw, the furrowed brows, the golden eyes that seemed to burn whenever they faced each other in a duel.

Phainon sighed. A sigh so dramatic that a younger disciple studying beside him dropped his brush in fright.

“Shixiong!” the boy said, pale. “A-are you alright? Your writing…”

Phainon looked at the disciple and then down at the paper arranged on the desk. The character was shaky, almost unrecognizable. His hand trembled for an instant. He had written "love" subconsciously. Again.

“It is merely a practice in emotional expression,” Phainon lied, with the most reassuring "good shixiong" smile he could muster. “Shizun says that art requires true feelings.”

The disciple nodded, completely convinced, his eyes shining as if he had just heard wise words from an immortal. Phainon discreetly crumpled the paper in his palm and incinerated it with a spark of qi. His head was finally clear of any blond distraction.

For now.

“Phainon-shixiong! A letter for you!”

On Bai Zhan Peak, dawn was synonymous with shouts, sweat and snapping bones.

Bai Zhan Peak was not for the weak. It was where warriors were forged in blood, rust, the implacable will to break their own limits and challenge anything that moved. The disciples trained regardless of the weather, striking enchanted wooden dummies, performing sword forms until their arms screamed for mercy and challenging senior disciples to test their strength.

And at the center of all that organized chaos and destruction stood Mydeimos.

Mydei was not just the unofficial head disciple of Bai Zhan Peak. He was regarded by everyone as the strongest young warrior of that generation — and he knew it. His presence was magnetic, his confidence unshakeable, his strength legendary. He carried the aura of a war god who had descended to earth to remind mortals what true power meant. It was not arrogance; it was certainty. Certainty of his worth, his skill and his place in the world. He also knew that, technically, he shouldn't hold the title of "head disciple," since he never cared for bureaucratic formalistic nonsense. His name was never on the official records because he refused to fill out the forms — "it's a waste of time" — and Peak Lord Gnaeus, a man with a booming laugh and a beard so thick it hid his chin, simply gave up on forcing him.

“Leave the boy be,” Gnaeus would say, slapping Mydei's back hard enough to fell an ox. “He fights better than any official disciple this peak has ever seen. A title is just paper.”

Mydei liked Gnaeus. He was a good shizun and one of the few who didn't try to change him.

Mydei's reputation preceded his arrival — and his arrival was usually announced by the sound of a challenge issued by some brave soul attempting to test his strength.

“The Unbeatable Warrior of Bai Zhan!”

“The great golden lion!”

“I heard he defeated three Qiong Ding disciples at the same time in a fair fight, without even using a single talisman!”

“Someone told me he can sense a demon's qi from miles away!”

“...And that he has a temper shorter than a knife's blade. Especially when it comes to Qing Jing's head disciple.”

Mydei heard it all. Ignored it all. He was tired of gossip. Tired of people staring at him like he was a show animal. Tired of having to prove anything.

But there was one thing he could never ignore. One person who made his blood boil and his heart race — and not in the way he wanted to admit.

Phainon.

Mydei delivered a strike so violent to the training dummy that the wooden head flew across the arena, hitting a distracted disciple squarely on the forehead.

“Sorry,” Mydei grunted, with no real intention of apologizing.

The disciple collapsed, knocked out cold. The others scrambled away in silence, terrified of becoming the next victims.

Mydei clenched his fists. He was frustrated. A mission had been announced in the early hours of that morning — he and Phainon in the far north. One week. Alone. Together. The universe was a sadistic comedian.

He imagined Phainon's face upon receiving the news. The perfect smile, the straight posture, those bright blue eyes that definitely meant to say, "Oh, how wonderful, a week with the brute."

Mydei bit his lip so hard it nearly bled.

“He's probably going to spend the whole trip complaining about my posture. Just like he did the last three times. HKS, as if he understands Bai Zhan's fighting style,” Mydei muttered to himself, grabbing another training dummy. “Or correcting me. Or smiling in that... stupid way.”

Why does he have to smile like that? And why does it always affect me so much?

His sword returned to striking the training dummy.

The disciples of Qiong Ding Peak talked in groups after another meeting, sharing planning details and not failing to notice the disciple from Qin Jing Peak waiting in the central courtyard.

He looked flawless. The white robes bore beautiful green details, typical of his peak's disciples, but with extra elegance and craftsmanship fit for a head disciple. His hair was bound in a high ponytail with an embroidered blue ribbon and a handsome silver hairpin, his smile perfectly in place, carrying an air of gentleness and calm that drawn the eyes of everyone passing by. He looked like a living painting.

The surrounding disciples sighed in admiration.

“He is so graceful…”

“Would shizun be angry if I asked to spend some time taking classes at Qin Jing Peak? All for the sake of knowledge, of course.”

“...Is it just me, or does he look like the protagonist of that romance novel circulating around Xian Shu Peak recently?”

Phainon heard it all and gave a polite nod to the passing disciples.

Yes, I am great. I am an example of a righteous cultivator. Nobody knows I almost put the red ribbon in my pocket instead of leaving it under my pillow today. Nobody knows I dreamed about those golden eyes the entire night. Everything is fine.

He was so absorbed in his own facade that he almost didn't notice the arrival of the other.

Almost.

After long years of disputes, shared missions and fights between peaks, Phainon knew very well how to identify when Mydei was approaching. The air always shifted, as if to match the expectation he felt and the sheer unpredictability Mydei's presence provided. Phainon never knew if they would stick to a simple exchange of veiled insults or draw their swords to start another long battle to stroke both their egos.

Mydei arrived with bad temper written all over his face, looking as though he were about to deal with a great misfortune that couldn't be avoided. Yet, despite his expression, his posture radiated absolute confidence. The white robes with gray accents of Bai Zhan fit him perfectly, immaculate and well-cared for, highlighting his blond hair bound by a simple red ribbon, the gold earrings he always wore, and eyes that seemed capable of reading anyone's soul.

Those very eyes seemed to have finally found Phainon.

“You're late,” Phainon said, with his usual smile. “I was starting to think you were going to give up.”

“I don't give up on missions,” Mydei answered, his voice firm and controlled. “And I'm not late. You arrived stupidly early.”

“I always arrive early. It's part of being an exemplary disciple.”

“Or being an insufferable bore who has nothing better to do.”

The surrounding disciples held their breath. Someone in the back of the crowd whispered, "Ten spirit stones on Mydei," and another replied, "Five on Phainon, he's going to give a sharp retort now."

Phainon tilted his head.

“If being punctual is being boring, then I prefer to be the most punctual bore in the sect. At least I respect my commitments and keep my robes immaculate.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, an ironic half-smile curving his lips.

“Respecting commitments is easy when you spend the whole morning doing your hair instead of training. That must be why your combat techniques are so... choreographed.”

Phainon felt heat rise to his face, but maintained his composure.

“Choreographed? I would call it elegant. But you would never understand the difference between elegance and brutality.”

“That brutality actually wins battles,” Mydei countered, golden eyes gleaming. “Elegance wins compliments from old masters who never dirtied their hands. But you don't know anything about real battles; you're just a silk peacock.”

“Peacock?” Phainon's smile faltered slightly — a detail that didn't escape the blond's notice — and he raised an eyebrow. “You're calling me a peacock?”

The bickering continued, faster and sharper than a chess match between grandmasters. Every verbal strike was calculated, precise, balanced — neither gave ground, neither lost composure completely. It was a dance they knew well, a choreography of words and glances rehearsed over years.

Sect Leader Cerydra merely observed from above, shaking her head.

They are getting increasingly creative with their insults, no one can deny that.

She walked down the steps, and silence fell immediately. Even Phainon and Mydei stopped arguing, though they continued to glare at each other with murderous intensity.

“Disciples,” Cerydra said, her voice calm and authoritative. “You are assigned to a mission in the far north, in Wangxian Valley. Reports of nightly attacks and mysterious disappearances. You will investigate, eliminate the threat, and return with a detailed report. I believe the remaining pertinent details of the mission have already been handed to you.”

“Shibo, with all due respect, a whole week?” Mydei said, his voice coming out louder than intended. “With him?”

“With you,” Phainon replied, a sweet smile dripping with venom. “What a privilege.”

“It has been decided,” Cerydra said, without raising her voice. Both fell silent instantly. She continued, “You are the best in your respective fields, the sect trusts you, and I personally chose the two of you for this. Unless you have a good reason, I will not accept you questioning my decision and harming a village over a childish whim.”

She looked at the two, a gaze that pierced souls.

“And do not kill each other. At least not until you return and fill out the paperwork.”

Phainon and Mydei exchanged a quick glance. Phainon saw the fire in the golden eyes. Mydei saw the defiance in the silver smile.

“Yes, shibo,” they said together, the harmony forced.

In a few hours, the two reported to their shizuns, arranged the necessary supplies, met up, and departed.

The path to the gate was a tour de force of willpower. Phainon walked with a straight posture, every step measured and graceful — as always. He was used to leading, setting the pace, being the quiet center of any procession.

But something was different.

Mydei was not behind him, dragging his feet in contained fury. He was not ahead, marching forward without looking back as he usually did when he wanted to make it clear he didn't need company. Instead, the blond kept pace right beside him. Phainon noticed the change immediately. His blue eyes drifted to the right, where Mydei walked with the same confidence as a general on a battlefield. His jaw was relaxed, his golden eyes fixed ahead, his posture straight yet not tense — as if he were exactly where he ought to be.

He's walking beside me, Phainon thought, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. Usually he goes ahead without looking back. What changed?

Mydei, as if reading his thoughts — or, more likely, sensing Phainon's gaze burning into his face — turned his head slightly. His golden eyes met the blue ones for a brief moment.

“I'm not going to stay in front of you the whole time,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “That would imply I'm running away from you. And I don't run from anything.”

Phainon blinked, processing the words. “I never said you were running away,” he replied, his smile returning more naturally.

“Your eyes did.”

Phainon felt his face warm. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“My eyes didn't say anything,” he counter-attacked, but the defense was weak, and both knew it.

Mydei let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a grunt — Phainon was never sure with him.

“Your eyes say everything, peacock. That's why you spend so much time trying to control them.”

Phainon opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn't come. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn't have a ready response.

Mydei kept walking by his side, his step firm, his presence magnetic. Phainon felt the warmth radiating from the blond's body, even at a distance. It was as if a small star were walking beside him.

This is new, Phainon thought, his fingers tingling. This is... dangerous.

He forced the smile back onto his face and kept walking, but couldn't stop his eyes from drifting once more toward Mydei.

The blond, as if feeling the gaze, turned his head again. This time, a subtle, almost imperceptible half-smile curved his lips.

"If you keep staring at me like that," Mydei said, his voice low enough for only Phainon to hear, "I'm going to start thinking you like what you see."

Phainon choked and felt the tightness in his chest intensify.

“You are ridiculous.”

They continued walking side by side, the silence between them now charged with a different kind of tension. It wasn't the tension of rivalry, of competition, of the desire to outdo each other. It was something else. Something quieter. More dangerous.

The disciples who saw them pass stopped what they were doing. Their eyes widened. Whispers began.

“Look... look at them. Together. On their way to another mission.”

“Has the mission started already?”

“Looks like it. A whole week.”

“I bet my jade earrings one of them comes back in a coffin…”

“Or they come back holding hands, depending on who wins the bet.”

“Are you crazy? They hate each other!”

“If you say so…”

By the time they reached the borders of Cang Qiong Mountain's territory, the sun had almost set. The last lights of twilight bathed the portal in shades of gold and purple. The two paused for a moment, looking out at the horizon beyond the mountains.

Phainon felt a tightness in his chest. It was the first time he would be leaving the sect for so long with Mydei. The first time they would be alone for days on end, without curious disciples, without watchful masters.

Just the two of us.

“What is it?” Mydei asked, noticing the hesitation.

“Nothing,” Phainon replied, his smile returning. “Just admiring the scenery.”

“You are always admiring the scenery, peacock.”

“And you are always in a bad mood. To each their own flaws.”

Mydei opened his mouth to reply, but Phainon was already summoning his spiritual sword. The elegant blade with a decorative tassel of white jade appeared before him, floating in the air with a soft glow.

Phainon mounted the sword with an elegance that would make any painter sigh. He adjusted his robes, his hair, his smile.

“Come, shidi. We have no time to lose. The village won't save itself.”

Mydei growled softly, but summoned his own sword — a wider, heavier blade of dark gray that seemed to absorb the light around it. He mounted with the confidence of a warrior who had done it thousands of times.

“If you keep complaining about speed,” Mydei said, balancing on the blade, “I'll fly ahead and leave you behind.”

“Ah, but you wouldn't do that,” Phainon winked. “You like looking at me too much to stay away.”

Mydei nearly lost his balance on the sword. He composed himself, taking a deep breath. “You are insufferable.”

“And you are predictable. Let's go.”

The two took off, their swords cutting through the twilight air. Phainon ahead, Mydei right behind, keeping distance — close enough not to seem like he was running away, far enough not to seem like he wanted to be there.

The cold northern wind began to blow, bringing dark clouds and moisture with it.

Phainon felt the shift in the air before he saw it.

“We'll have to descend,” he said, turning his head. “The storm is brewing fast.”

“I know,” Mydei replied, his voice serious. “Let's land in that clearing ahead.”

Phainon agreed with a nod. Even amidst their rivalry, Mydei's competence was undeniable. He read the environment with the same precision he read an opponent in battle. They spiraled down, their swords glowing under the twilight light. They landed in a clearing sheltered by tall trees, the wind already beginning to howl through the branches.

Phainon dismounted with a light leap, sheathing his sword.

“We'll have to wait for the storm to pass,” he said, looking up at the sky. “Flying in this wind is suicide.”

“Losing a whole day of travel is also suicide,” Mydei replied, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He was looking at the clouds, analyzing the pros and cons of a potential delay. “But you're right. Better to wait than to fall off some cliff.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow.

“Did you just agree with me?”

“It's not agreeing. It's stating a fact.”

“Still. It's the first time in years you haven't argued with one of my decisions.”

Mydei turned, his golden eyes meeting the blue ones. “Maybe I'm tired of wasting time arguing about obvious things.”

Phainon felt his smile widen. “Or maybe you're tired of arguing with me. That's cute and quite mature of you, shidi.”

“Don't get things twisted, peacock.” Mydei started walking toward a larger tree to shelter from the wind. “We'll camp here. And don't start with your jokes.”

“I would never start with jokes, shidi.” Phainon followed him, the smile still on his face. “I am a serious and dedicated disciple.”

“And I am a celestial bird.”

“You really are, with that golden mane…”

Mydei stopped, turned slowly, and the look he gave Phainon was a pure warning.

“Phainon.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Phainon laughed, a genuine, warm laugh that echoed through the clearing.

“Alright, alright. I'll set up camp.”

The following days were a succession of small battles and truces.

By day, they flew on their spiritual swords — Phainon always ahead, Mydei right behind or beside him. The weather conditions didn't always cooperate, so they maintained a pace that balanced sky and land. The bickering was constant, but now it carried a different tone. Less venom, more... familiarity.

“Your hair is messy,” Phainon commented as they flew over a mountain range. “The red ribbon is almost falling off.”

“So what?” Mydei replied. “I'm not stopping mid-flight to fix an accessory.”

“You look like a lion after a fight.”

“Maybe that's the intention.”

Phainon laughed, and Mydei felt the sound vibrate in his chest.

The underlying tension was something that never fully disappeared. Phainon felt the weight of unsaid words, of glances lingering a second too long, of accidental touches when passing each other. Mydei felt it too, and it frustrated him more than any insult.

What is happening to me? Mydei thought as he watched Phainon sleep by the fire during one of their stops. Why does my heart race when he provokes me? Why do I want to hear his laugh again?

He clenched his fists.

This is dangerous. This is...

But he didn't finish the thought.

The final stop before the village was beside a dry riverbed, beneath the gaze of snow-covered mountains. The late afternoon sun was low, painting the sky in shades of orange. Phainon and Mydei sat on opposite sides of the campfire, each mentally reviewing the map.

“We hunt the monster first,” Mydei said, his voice firm. “It's the priority. If the beast attacks again, more people could die.”

“Investigating the disappearances is equally important,” Phainon replied, without looking up from the map. “If we don't find out why people disappear and return with no memory, this could repeat itself, even after we kill the beast. It might even be the work of another monster or some kind of demon.”

“You are prioritizing theory over practical action.”

“And you are prioritizing violence over understanding.” The tension rose. Phainon felt heat rise to his face. “The village needs answers, Mydei. Not just a carcass.”

“People need safety, Phainon. Safety comes from eliminating the threat. The rest is empty talk.”

“Empty talk?” Phainon stood up, blue eyes flashing. “You think discovering the cause of the disappearances and analyzing the situation before acting is empty talk?”

“I think you are more concerned with looking smart than saving lives!”

“And you are more concerned with breaking things than thinking before acting!”

Mydei stood up too, golden eyes blazing.

“You never take me seriously, do you? You always see me as a brainless brute.”

“Because you act like one!”

“And you act like an arrogant, hypocritical peacock hiding behind etiquette and fake smiles!”

Phainon felt the words like a physical blow. His smile vanished.

“I would a thousand times rather be a hypocrite than a brutal monster who only knows how to destroy!”

“Monster?” Mydei took a step forward, his face inches from Phainon's. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“I don't think it. I know it!” Phainon shouted, his voice cracking. “You never cared about anything other than winning, being the strongest, humiliating me!”

“So that's what you think?” Mydei laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “After all these years, that's it? That's what the know-it-all of Qing Jing concluded about me?”

Phainon opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck in his throat.

Mydei continued, his voice low and cutting, “I would rather cut off my own arm than endure your presence for another second. You are the most insufferable man I have ever met!”

“The feeling is mutual!” Phainon shot back. “I curse the day your path crossed mine!”

They glared at each other, breathing heavily, fists clenched. The silence that followed was heavy as lead.

Mydei turned his back first.

“Let's go.” His voice was raspy. “The village won't save itself.”

He mounted his blade and took off without looking back.

Phainon stood motionless for a long moment, eyes fixed on empty space.

"I curse the day..." The words echoed in his mind How could I say that? How could I be so cruel?

Phainon chose to ignore the sharp pain in his chest, mounted his own sword, and followed Mydei in silence.

The rest of the journey was conducted in a grave-like silence.

Neither looked at the other. Neither spoke. They simply pressed onward, each lost in his own thoughts.

Phainon bit his lower lip repeatedly.

He hates me. He said he would rather cut off his arm. This is... the end. There's nothing left between us.

Mydei, up ahead, clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his flesh.

"Curse the day." Of course. Of course he thinks that. Why did I expect anything different? I am just a brute to him. A monster. It was only to be expected that he would hate me.

When they finally arrived at Wangxian Valley, the sun was already rising. The village was small, with wooden houses and thatched roofs, surrounded by fields of wheat and vegetables. But there was something wrong in the air — a heavy silence, as if the villagers themselves were awaiting the next blow.

The village elders received them with relief and despair.

“Immortal Masters!” an old man with a white beard said, bowing repeatedly. “Thank heavens you have come! The monster attacks every night! It takes our crops, frightens the animals... and some people disappear! They return days later with no memory!”

Phainon exchanged a quick glance with Mydei. The blond's face was impassive, but his eyes swept the village with calculated attention.

“We will resolve this,” Phainon said, his professional smile back in place. “But we need information. How many people disappeared? When? Where were they found?”

As the elders spoke, Mydei studied the tracks on the ground — claw marks, footprints, traces of dried blood.

“I am going to hunt the monster,” Mydei said, without looking at Phainon. “You stay here. Do what you do best.”

Phainon felt the venom in his words.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice cold. “I'll do the real work.”

Mydei clenched his fists, but didn't reply. He simply turned his back and followed the tracks out of the village.

Phainon watched him leave, his heart heavy. Then he turned back to the villagers.

“Tell me everything.”

The conversation with the residents was revealing.

“They vanish at night,” a woman said, her eyes brimming with tears. “My husband was gone for two days. When he returned, he was flushed, confused, and refused to talk about what happened.”

“My son as well,” another man added. “Said that after entering the forest he remembered nothing else. Sat there for hours, as if waiting for something.”

Phainon frowned. Mentally, he began to include new suspicions and exclude old theories regarding the possible causes of the disappearances, his mind finally cooperating by setting the blond aside and focusing solely on the agitated villagers before him.

“Where exactly were they found?”

“In the heart of the woods, Immortal Master. Near a clearing with many blue flowers.”

After a few moments of silence, Phainon's eyes turned to the forest with renewed resolve: “I need to go to the woods. To investigate.”

“Master, it's dangerous!” the elder said.

“Don't worry, I know what I am doing.” Phainon was already walking, a reassuring smile on his face. “Stay here. If the other cultivator returns, tell him I went to investigate the disappearances.”

He entered the forest without looking back.

Mydei followed the tracks for nearly two hours.

The claw marks were deep and fresh — ruts in the damp earth, broken branches, tufts of dark green fur caught on thorns. He moved with the precision of a predator, golden eyes taking in every detail, every clue, every shadow.

Star-Snooted Green Tiger-Snake, Mydei thought, crouching to examine a footprint. Large. Mature. Probably female, judging by the size of the claw and the stride distance. Females are more aggressive when protecting territory.

He kept advancing, sword drawn, qi pulsing through his meridians like a war drum. The forest was far too quiet — the birds had fled, the insects went silent. Only the wind whispered through the trees, carrying a metallic, acrid smell.

Poison, Mydei recognized. Snake poison. Mixed with blood.

He quickened his pace.

The cave emerged before him like a dark mouth on the mountain face — a fissure in the rock covered in moss and vines, with claw marks along the edges and bone fragments scattered on the ground. Mydei paused for an instant, evaluating the entrance. Wide enough for two people. Depth unknown. And, coming from within, a low, rhythmic hissing.

She knows I'm here.

He entered.

The cave was deeper than it looked, its walls covered in crystals emitting a dim green light. The hissing grew louder, echoing off the stone walls. Mydei felt the creature's qi pulsing like a heart — dense, poisonous, full of ancestral fury.

And then she emerged.

The Star-Snooted Green Tiger-Snake was not just large — it was colossal. Nearly five meters long, with shimmering scales that seemed to absorb light, a mane of live serpents on its head hissing in unison, and yellow eyes like burning coals. The creature hissed, the sound like metal scraping against stone. Its fangs gleamed with acidic poison, and its tail struck the ground hard enough to crack the rock. Mydei didn't hesitate.

He charged forward, his sword cutting the air in a silver arc. The beast dodged with surprising agility for its size and spat a glob of poison in his direction. Mydei rolled aside, feeling the acid burn the air where he had been a moment before. He channeled qi into his legs and leaped, using the cave walls for leverage. The beast tried to follow him with its eyes, but Mydei was already above it, his sword coming down like a lightning bolt.

The strike hit the mane of serpents, severing three of the heads. The creature roared — an agonizing, furious sound — and spun around, its tail sweeping the ground in a deadly arc. Mydei jumped again, landing behind it. His golden eyes sparked as he identified the weak spot: the base of the skull, where the scales were thinnest. He adjusted his stance and brought the blade down in a clean, precise blow.

The beast's head rolled across the cave floor with a dull thud. The giant body shuddered for a moment, then collapsed, motionless. Mydei stood still for a long moment, breathing controlled, sword still raised. The cave was quiet once again.

Dead, he confirmed. No more threat.

He wiped the blade with a cloth from his belt, examining the steel's shine. Then he sheathed his sword and examined the carcass.

The villagers will want to see proof…

He dragged the monster out of the cave, the green scales glittering under the sunlight filtering through the trees. When Mydei arrived at the village, dragging the carcass behind him, the villagers let out shouts of relief and admiration.

“The Immortal Master killed the beast!”

“Thank heaven!”

“We are saved!”

Mydei dropped the carcass in the center of the square, dust swirling around it. He wiped his hands on his robes and looked around, his golden eyes scanning every face. The smile of satisfaction starting to form on his lips froze. Phainon was not there.

Mydei felt his heart stop for a brief instant. His gaze swept the crowd again, faster, more anxious. No light-green robes. No silver hair. No infamous smile. The absence was like a hole in the center of the village.

“Where is the Qing Jing disciple?” Mydei demanded, his voice coming out louder than intended. The villagers backed away, frightened by his tone. “The silver-haired cultivator. Where is he?”

The chief elder stammered, his eyes wide.

“M-master with silver hair? He... he entered the forest over an hour ago! Said he was going to investigate the disappearances, that he had discovered something important and needed to confirm it!”

Mydei felt his blood run cold. Over an hour. Alone. In the forest.

He remembered their conversation — the ugly argument, the cutting words, the grave silence that followed. He remembered Phainon saying, "I'll do the real work," in that cold tone, with that smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Mydei clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his flesh.

“Damn him,” he cursed. “That arrogant idiot!” He was already turning, his steps fast and determined toward the forest.

“M-Immortal Master!” the elder called out. “It's dangerous! The beast might have companions!”

“If it does, I'll kill them too.” Mydei didn't look back. “Stay here. Don't leave the village until I return.”

“But—!”

“Stay here.” Mydei's voice was low, but carried a weight that silenced any protest. He dashed into the woods, the vegetation closing behind him like a green wall.

Phainon's tracks were easy to follow. He was no hunter — he lacked Bai Zhan's training to conceal his passing. Footprints in the earth, broken twigs, a faint trail of silver qi glowing in the air like stardust.

Mydei followed the trail, golden eyes fixed on the path.

Why didn't you wait? Why didn't you trust me? Am I really that detestable?

He thought of all the missions they had done together. Of all the times they had fought, argued, exchanged insults. Of all the times Phainon had saved his life — and all the times Mydei had saved his.

Finally, he spotted a slender silhouette among the trees. Phainon was standing before a thicket of twisted trees, his head tilted, examining something on the ground. His robes were immaculate — Mydei noticed against his will — and his silver hair gleamed beneath the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

He's fine. He's alive. He's intact.

Mydei felt relief flood his lungs like a breath of oxygen.

And immediately, fury took its place.

“What do you think you're doing out here alone?” Mydei roared, approaching with heavy steps. His voice was louder than intended, sharper. He didn't care. “Have you lost your mind completely?”

Phainon spun on his heels. His blue eyes met the golden ones and Mydei saw a spark of surprise — and irritation — flash through them.

“I am not a defenseless villager, Mydei. I am the head disciple of Qing Jing. I can manage,” Phainon's voice was controlled, but carried a challenging tone.

“You aren't immune to ambushes, you arrogant idiot!” Mydei took another step, pointing a finger at the other's chest. “Do you think that intellectual air and those books of yours will save you if a whole colony of beasts decides to surround you? Or if you fall into a trap like an inexperienced hunter?”

“Unlike you, I use my head before drawing my sword,” Phainon replied, his voice sharp. “I found out what is causing the disappearances. The investigation is nearly complete.”

“I don't care what you found out!” Mydei took another step, their faces now inches apart. “You are putting your life at risk for a theory! And I won't let you die over a stupid idea!”

“You don't command me!”

“I do!” Mydei shouted, his voice echoing through the forest. “Because I am the only one here who cares about you!”

Phainon froze. Mydei did too.

The words hovered in the air, heavy and undeniable. Mydei felt his face burn, his ears on fire. He hadn't meant to say that. Not like that. Phainon stared at him, blue eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“You…” Phainon began, his voice faltering.

“Don't say anything,” Mydei looked away, face red as fire. “Let's go back. The village needs the report.”

“I'm not going back. Not before I understand what's happening here.” Phainon crossed his arms, defiance returning. “I am right about the flowers. If I can prove…”

“You don't need to prove anything! You need to live!” Mydei grabbed Phainon's wrist hard enough to make him stop. “If you die, I…” He stopped. The words caught in his throat.

Phainon stared at him, his blue eyes soft, expectant.

“If I die, you what?” Phainon asked, his voice low.

Mydei opened his mouth. Closed it. He couldn't say it.

Instead, he pulled Phainon closer, hand still on his wrist.

“Let's go back,” he repeated, his voice raspy. “Afterward, you can do your experiments. With me beside you. Not alone.”

Phainon looked at him for a long moment.

“...Alright,” he said finally, his voice softer. “But you are going to listen to me about the flowers.”

“Whatever you want,” Mydei let go of the wrist, but didn't step back. “But not. Anymore. Alone.”

Phainon agreed with a nod.

“No more alone.”

They turned to walk back.

But the ground beneath them collapsed before they could take three steps.

The pit was disguised — dry leaves, twigs, loose soil. A rustic yet effective trap dug by the village hunters to catch the beast in a desperate attempt at survival.

Phainon's body fell backward, air howling in his ears, heart racing. His hands found Mydei's collar, and with all the strength he could gather in a swift movement, he pulled the blond against himself, using his own body as a shield, his back hitting the bottom of the pit with a dull thud that knocked the breath right out of his lungs. Pain shot up his spine, but he held Mydei firmly, arms wrapped around the other's waist, protecting him from the impact.

Mydei fell on top of him, face buried in his chest, fingers clutching his robes.

“Phainon!” Mydei scrambled, trying to sit up. “Phainon, are you okay? What did you do?”

Phainon coughed, air slowly returning. The pain in his back was sharp, but manageable.

“Stay... still,” Phainon replied, his voice raspy. “I'm alright.”

“You're lying! You used your body to protect me!”

“So what?” Phainon smiled. “You are the strongest warrior of Bai Zhan. I can't let you get hurt.”

Mydei stared at him, golden eyes shining with something Phainon couldn't quite identify.

“You are an idiot,” Mydei muttered, his voice raspy. “A complete idiot.” Mydei slowly stood up, extending a hand to help Phainon, who accepted it immediately, feeling the heat of the calloused palm against his own. “Are you alright?” Mydei asked, examining him with critical eyes. “Can you stand?”

“I can,” Phainon confirmed, frowning slightly as he began to circulate his own qi to heal himself. “Don't worry.”

“How can I not worry, you clueless peacock?” Mydei growled, but the concern in his voice was unmistakable.

It was then that both noticed.

The bottom of the pit was covered in a dense colony of bright little blue flowers. Noon-Purple-Forget-Me-Nots. In the air, a cloud of golden pollen floated like tiny stars.

Phainon held his breath, but it was already too late; the pollen was already in his lungs.

“This is not good,” he muttered, feeling his qi begin to churn in his meridians.

Beside him, Mydei inhaled the pollen as well. His golden eyes widened.

“What is this?”

“Noon-Purple-Forget-Me-Nots. They are flowers that grow in remote northern villages. The pollen they release forces out the truth and feeds on it,” Phainon answered, his voice controlled.

Mydei blinked.

“Truth?”

“Yes. Anything you hide. Any secret. Any feeling.” Phainon tried to hold his breath, but the pollen was already in his system. “They will tear everything out of you. It's usually harmless, but troublesome for most cultivators because it also messes with qi and can cause deviations if not handled properly.”

Mydei stayed silent for a moment, and then his eyes sparked, as if he had just put the pieces together.

“... The villagers.”

“Yes. They were moving around this area of the forest, must have inhaled the pollen because of the traps, confessed their secrets, and then preferred to sit in the forest for hours rather than return home to face the consequences, refusing to say a word about what happened.”

Phainon jumped, trying to reach the ledge without using his chaotic spiritual energy. The dirt caved in. He fell back with a grunt of pain.

Mydei tried the same. Same result.

“It's too slippery,” Mydei said, his voice calm. “We'll have to wait.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. An hour? Two? Long enough for the plant to sate itself?”

Phainon felt the pollen burn in his throat. The truth throbbed in his meridians, eager to escape.

No. Not now. I can't. I can't say this.

He sat on the ground, back against the dirt wall, eyes closed.

“Let's wait,” he said, his voice raspy. “And let's not talk.”

Mydei sat down beside him, his shoulder almost touching his.

“... Fine. Let's not talk.”

The silence stretched on.

Minutes passed. Or hours. Phainon could no longer tell.

The pollen was in every breath, in every beat of his heart. He tried to meditate and regulate his qi, but the truth seemed to pulse at his lips, begging to escape.

Mydei, beside him, was equally tense. His golden eyes were fixed on empty space, his jaw clenched tight.

The silence was broken by Mydei's voice:

“Phainon. Are you... are you alright?” Mydei asked, his voice softer than usual. “The fall... your back…”

“I'm fine,” Phainon answered, his voice firm. “Don't worry about me.”

“I can't help it.”

Phainon felt the words echo in his chest. The pollen seemed to burn hotter.

“You are being far too gentle,” Phainon said, his voice faltering. “After everything I did…”

“What did you do?”

“I told you I hated you. I called you a brute, a monster. I hurt you, as always.” Phainon felt the words spill out, beyond his control. “I can't help it. Whenever you are near, I lose control. I want to be near you, but I also want to run away. Because you scare me.”

Mydei turned completely, his body facing Phainon.

“I scare you?"

“Yes.” Phainon laughed, a bitter laugh. “You are the only person who manages to tear down all my defenses. I spend years building a perfect facade, an flawless smile, an image of an exemplary disciple. And then you show up with those golden eyes and that unshakeable confidence, and everything crumbles.”

The words kept coming, an unstoppable torrent.

“I've watched you since the first day. I remember everything. The first time I saw you training at Bai Zhan, you were barefoot, sweaty, your sword gleaming under the sun. I thought, 'This man will be my ruin.' And I was right.” Phainon took a deep breath, feeling the burning ease slightly. “I made up every excuse to see you. The weekly duels, the group missions, the insults... everything was just to have your eyes on me. Even if it was in anger.”

Mydei remained motionless, golden eyes fixed on Phainon.

“You... You feel all that?”

“I do.” Phainon smiled, a sad smile. “I've felt it for years. And it's horrible, because I know you don't feel the same. You told me you would rather cut off your arm than endure me.”

Mydei closed his eyes tightly.

“I lied.”

“What?”

“I lied.” Mydei opened his eyes, and Phainon saw something new in them — something vulnerable, scared. “I wouldn't rather cut off my arm. I would rather cut out my own tongue before admitting that your words hurt me. But they did hurt. Because I feel it too.”

Phainon felt his heart stop.

“You... what?”

“I hate you, Phainon.” Mydei laughed, a bitter laugh. “I hate how you smile. I hate how the light hits your hair. I hate how perfect you are and how it makes me want to be better. I hate how my heart races when you provoke me. I hate how I can't get you out of my head.”

Mydei continued, the words now flowing with the same urgency.

“At first, I felt anger. Anger at the so-called 'perfect disciple' everyone praised. But then... I saw you taking care of the younger disciples, protecting them even when no one was watching. I saw you sacrifice your sleep to study maps and strategies. I saw you put others before yourself. And I realized that all the frenzy was justified. You aren't just handsome, Phainon. You are good. You have a heart of gold.”

Phainon felt his eyes sting.

“Mydei…”

“And when you provoke me, I just want you to keep doing it. Because it's the only way I know to have your attention.” Mydei bit his lower lip. “I thought my feelings were one-sided. That I was just a brute in love with an unattainable god.”

Phainon laughed, but it was a choked laugh.

“'Unattainable god'? I am just a man. A man who kept your red ribbon under his pillow for three years.”

Mydei froze.

“What?”

“The red ribbon you lost in our third duel.” Phainon felt his face burn. “I found it. Kept it. I sleep with it every night.”

Mydei opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“... You are an idiot.”

“We've established that.”

“An idiot who sleeps with a stolen ribbon.”

“I didn't steal it. I found it. That's different.”

Mydei laughed — a genuine, raspy laugh that echoed through the pit.

“You are impossible.”

“And you are adorable when you're irritated.”

Mydei stared at him, and Phainon felt heat rise to his face.

“Is that true as well?”

“All of it.” Phainon turned completely, facing the blond and allowing his eyes to take in every detail of Mydei's face. “Everything I said is true. Every word.”

“The plant…” Mydei began.

“The plant merely broke through my cowardice.” Phainon took Mydei's hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a long, soft kiss against his knuckles. “What I feel is real. As real as the sky is blue, the wind blows, and your blond hair and fighting stance make you look divine.”

Mydei tried not to blush. Failed spectacularly.

Phainon smiled. “And I love you.”

Mydei closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, Phainon saw a decision there.

“You are an idiot peacock with a completely dysfunctional head,” Mydei said. “An idiot who is going to give me a lot of trouble.”

“The best kind of idiot. Only for you.”

“...And I love you too.”

Phainon smiled, brought a hand to the back of Mydei's neck, and kissed him.

The kiss was hot, clumsy, full of years of frustration and repressed desire. Phainon let out a quiet laugh against Mydei's lips and then surrendered completely. His hands moved to the blond's waist, pulling him closer. Mydei, in turn, buried his fingers in Phainon's silver hair, nearly undoing the perfectly aligned tie.

When they finally broke apart, they were breathless. Lips red, breaths ragged, hearts beating out of sync.

“Never call me a brute again,” Mydei whispered against Phainon's lips, his voice raspy and carrying a warning tone that scared no one.

“Only if you don't call me a peacock,” Phainon replied, his stubborn smile back.

Mydei pretended to think for an instant, golden eyes gleaming with a touch of amusement. “I might consider your case.”

Phainon laughed, forehead resting against Mydei's. The warmth of the blond's body was comforting, an anchor in the middle of all that chaos. He could have stayed there forever, listening to Mydei's breathing, feeling the rhythm of the other's heart against his own.

But the pit still surrounded them, and night was approaching.

“Now,” Mydei said, slowly stepping back, eyes scanning the dirt walls, “how do we get out of here?”

Phainon evaluated the situation as well. The pollen was still floating in the air, but in lesser amounts. His meridians, previously turbulent, were beginning to settle — the truth had already been spoken, and the plant, sated, was slowly releasing its hold.

“I believe our meridians will start to stabilize after all this,” Phainon said, stretching his arms and feeling his qi flow smoothly once more. “We can simply jump out without any trouble.”

“Are you sure?” Mydei raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.” Phainon smiled, a genuine smile. “I promise I won't pass out on the way or make us fall into another magical plant trap.”

Mydei stared at him for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of a lie. Finding none, he nodded.

“Let's go then.”

Phainon stood up with an agile movement and extended a hand to Mydei. The blond took it, and Phainon felt the warmth of the calloused palm against his own, fingers intertwining for an instant before both prepared to leap.

After circulating their qi and confirming everything was indeed fine, the two jumped in unison, channeling qi into the soles of their feet. Phainon felt the wind on his face, the ground passing quickly, and soon his feet found the firm earth of the clearing.

Mydei landed beside him, equally steady.

“You made it,” Mydei said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I thought I was going to have to carry you out.”

“I never fall, and I am no princess.” Phainon adjusted his robes, trying to regain his dignity. “I am an exemplary disciple, the best student of my shizun, and one of the prodigies of our generation.”

“An exemplary disciple who stole a ribbon of mine, made us fall into a hole and needed a random magical flower to gather the courage to confess.” Mydei raised an eyebrow. “I don't know if that's very 'exemplary.'”

Phainon felt his face heat up.

“You confessed too.”

“I was forced by a plant.”

“I was forced by a plant too.”

“But you said you don't regret it.”

“And you said you don't regret it either.”

Mydei opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he let out a laugh — short, raspy, genuine.

“You are impossible.”

“And you are adorable.” Phainon tilted his head, his smile radiant. “Especially when you're angry. Your pouting face is by far the most beautiful sight in all of Cang Qiong Mountain. Maybe even in all three realms.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. In a swift movement, his hand closed around Phainon's ponytail — the very one he had just fixed — and pulled firmly enough to make Phainon's head tilt slightly backward.

“HKS”

“Ow, ow! Mercy, my fierce lord!” Phainon made a dramatic pout, his blue eyes gleaming with fake pain. “Have mercy on this humble scholar cultivator!”

Mydei let go of his hair with a defeated sigh, but couldn't hide the smile curving the corner of his lips.

“You are a hopeless idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Phainon replied, straightening his ponytail with quick, elegant gestures.

Mydei turned his back and started walking toward the village, his steps firm.

“Hurry up. We have a lot to talk about, and we need to confirm if everyone in the village is alright.”

Phainon followed him immediately, the smile still on his face.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He drew closer, walking side by side with Mydei. “Can I start sending the courtship gifts now? High-quality silk, pomegranate wine, ornate swords…”

Mydei stopped, turned around, and threw a rock in his direction. Phainon dodged with a laugh, deflecting the projectile with a graceful movement.

“This is serious!” Mydei shouted, his face red. “You can't just kiss me and then talk about marriage like it's a trip to the market!”

“Why not?” Phainon blinked, innocent. “I want to get married soon and see your famous secret library. They say Bai Zhan Peak guards battle strategy tomes that not even Qing Jing possesses.”

Mydei stared at him for a long moment, golden eyes sparking.

“You want to marry me... for my books?”

“Of course not!” Phainon placed a hand over his heart, feigning indignation. “I want to marry you for the books and for your toned abs. It doesn't have to be one or the other.”

The second rock hit Phainon squarely on the shoulder. He laughed so loudly that birds took flight from the nearby trees. Mydei, for his part, turned around and kept walking, his ears on fire. But Phainon managed to see the corner of the blond's lips curve into a smile.

“Keep dreaming,” Mydei grunted, but his voice lacked venom.

Phainon caught up to Mydei and intertwined their fingers.

“I am already dreaming, dear Shidi. And I don't want to wake up.”

Mydei squeezed his hand back.

“... Idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

“... That too.”

They walked back toward the village, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and promises.