Xiangge hurried over the slippery roof, wet moss squelching beneath his boots.
Lightning crawled across the sky, and thunder growled in the distance, rattling against the roof tiles.
The night stretched endless, blurring the edges of Yunshan into shadows. The scent of wet earth drifted from below.
Nineteen years, and he was still running. He'd lost count of how many times he'd run. How many times those hands had dragged him back.
Still, he couldn't stop.
He paused, breath shallow. Rain blurred his vision.
For a bare moment, he glimpsed Lingtian Tower, the former stronghold of Xuan Huang's first twin emperors.
It rose afar, veiled among misty peaks, looming like a corpse lantern in the stormlight.
His lips pressed into a thin line. As he leapt from the roof, his boots hit mud. He stumbled forward, catching himself against a wooden post.
Buildings wavered in the downpour, edges softened like smoke. Covered lanterns glimmered ghostly against the soaked streets.
The outermost gate had to be near. He pushed forward through the rain, forcing his legs faster. Twenty more steps. Ten. The storm might hide him yet.
But now even defiance felt impossible.
A hand seized his wrist.
The world spun. He crashed into a wall, pain ripping through his spine. Cold stone pressed against his back. His wrists went numb.
All he heard was his own heartbeat.
Everyone in Xuan Huang thought he feared nothing. They were wrong. He feared one person, and hated himself for it.
For nineteen years he'd been undefeated. Not once had anyone overpowered him. Not in the training grounds, not in real combat.
Not unless it was him.
Him, who stood above all others. Whom Xiangge could neither defeat, forgive, nor kill.
Xiangge looked up.
Dark brows and pale skin framed a beauty so cold and austere. The mole between his brows was like a seal of fate.
Black dragon robes stirred in the wind, gold threads glinting beneath the lightning. Rain slid down his shoulders, beading along silk like silver threads.
His glare was sharp enough to skin him alive. The chill that bled from him was venomous.
Standing before him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. There was only one person like this.
The Emperor of Xuan Huang. Xie Mingxuan.
A shiver shot down Xiangge's spine. No blade had ever terrified him like this man's presence did.
Xiangge snarled. "Let go."
Stillness settled around Mingxuan like frost.
"Zhen did not give you permission to leave. Xuanji, you dare."
Xiangge laughed. The sound was beautiful, but a sneer edged it with ridicule. He bowed his head rudely.
"The honored Junshang himself came to seize a criminal. Truly, what an honor for this lowly one."
Mingxuan's face darkened. "So you really were escaping after killing her."
"Yes!"
The slap struck like lightning, snapping his face to the side. His cheek flared.
Water dripped from the roof tiles. One drop struck the ground between them with a hollow note.
Mingxuan seized his chin, forcing his face upward. "Then how dare you run? Did you think Zhen is blind?"
Xiangge struggled violently against Mingxuan's grasp.
"Xie Mingxuan! One day, you'll pay for everything you did to me!"
Mingxuan's expression darkened. Xiangge dared to call him by name. Anyone else would already be dead. But this was Xiangge.
"Zhen is the Emperor," he warned, voice low. "Speak again, and you will regret it."
Xiangge slowly shut his eyes. His head throbbed. Every breath felt like drowning.
"Junshang," he whispered. "I forgave you for killing my parents. I forgave you for killing my sister."
He swallowed hard, lashes trembling. "I can also forgive you for what you did to me that night."
"Enough!" Mingxuan's voice turned to ice. A dangerously unreadable shadow passed over his face.
His knuckles cracked as he locked his fingers around Xiangge's wrists. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
Xiangge knew he had touched the Emperor's reverse scale. He only smiled and pressed further.
"Junshang?" he murmured, voice soft with scorn. "You haven't forgotten, have you? That night? When you destroyed me?"
Mingxuan's jaw tightened. The air turned icy. "Return to the palace. Now."
But Xiangge only stared back, chest heaving.
"Kill me! I'll never return!"
Mingxuan raised his hand to slap Xiangge again. But he froze.
His eyes swept over Xiangge's face. The flushed cheeks. Shuddering lashes. Thin lips.
If he slapped him now, Xiangge might not survive it.
His hand lowered slowly, the restraint deepening the fury inside him.
For a long breath he said nothing, only stared at Xiangge.
Fifteen years had passed since he ascended. A million people knelt at his feet.
But not this one.
This one's defiance lodged beneath his ribs like a thorn he could never pull free. Even now, that gaze burned with unveiled ferocity.
Mingxuan's jaw tightened. Gathering the last bit of his patience, he released one wrist and dragged Xiangge forward with the other.
"Come back with Zhen to the palace."
The moment his guard loosened, Xiangge struck.
His palm burst with internal force toward Mingxuan's chest. But the strike never landed.
Mingxuan knew Xiangge's every movement, every instinct, every breath. He had taught him everything, from the first move to the last kill.
So even this lethal strike was easily dodged.
Within three moves, Mingxuan caught his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and kicked him in the side. Though he withheld his martial spiritual energy, the blow was brutal.
Xiangge gasped. His body slammed into the wall with bone-cracking force.
Half the wall shattered.
Pain exploded through his back with a sickening crack. Everything dimmed.
The world shrank to the sound of lashing rain. He gritted his teeth, swallowing blood, and dropped to his knees. A thin line of dark red traced down his nose. "My spine..."
Mingxuan stood tall before him, hands folded behind his back. His face was carved from shadow.
"You dare use what I taught you against me? Xuanji, I'm disappointed."
Xiangge silently wiped his nose with the back of his palm. He did not speak.
Mingxuan's voice dripped like ice. "Consort Shenya was innocent. Why did you kill her? If you have something against me, you should have come for me, not her. What did she do to you?"
The covered lantern above them sputtered, throwing shadows across Xiangge's face. Only the patter of rain broke the silence.
Mingxuan stared down at the kneeling figure.
Xiangge's hair was damp. His breathing came ragged and shallow. Yet he fixed a searing gaze on Mingxuan, rebellion burning in his eyes.
Seeing that glare, something inside Mingxuan snapped.
A memory surfaced.
When Xiangge was an infant, his parents were murdered. Mingxuan had no milk to feed him, so he fed him his blood.
He still remembered the warmth of that small mouth against his wrist, soft and fragile.
Once, when the child was too small to understand, he trailed after Mingxuan and called him gege. Back then those eyes held love and hope.
Now they seethed with hatred.
It broke the last of Mingxuan's restraint. He seized Xiangge by the throat, lifting him with one arm.
"Maybe I was wrong," Mingxuan said through clenched teeth. "I should have known better than to raise a dog who bites the hand that fed it."
As his grip tightened, a faint fragrance rose between them.
It was the scent of magnolia, lingering through the storm, sweet and metallic, mingling with the taste of blood. It emanated from Xiangge, like a memory that refused to die.
Xiangge's vision swam. He closed his eyes.
When he was five, this same hand had guided his grip on a wooden sword. Pulled him close through winter. Steadied the brush in his palm in spring.
And once, beneath the drooping blossoms of a magnolia tree, Mingxuan held both his hands and promised to keep him safe.
That safety had been a shield stronger than any sword, the one place in the world where he felt untouchable.
But that was long ago. The same hand now wrapped around his throat.
The warmth slipped through his fingers, gone like smoke.
A hoarse laugh escaped his lips. His throat burned as he shook his head slowly, tears streaming down trembling lashes.
His hands gripped Mingxuan's wrist, the same wrist that once steadied his grip on a wooden sword.
He did not struggle. He did not fight. He stared into Mingxuan's eyes, even as his vision dimmed.
"Are you satisfied now, Junshang?"
Mingxuan didn't speak.
Xiangge's body went gradually numb, pain giving way to strange weightlessness.
A magnolia petal drifted from the eaves, spun once in the wind, then broke apart as it touched the puddle, its white bleeding into black water. The last lantern above them guttered out.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Xiangge smiled faintly, his Adam's apple trembling. "Let it end here," he whispered. "If you want my life... take it."
Glossary.
Qinggong (轻功): Lightness Gongfu. A martial skill that lets practitioners move swiftly and lightly, almost as if flying.
Xuan Huang (玄煌): The empire under the reign of Twin Thrones, consisting of 42 kingdoms and 300 clans.
Yunshan City (云山城): The imperial capital of the Empire of Xuan Huang.
Zhen (朕): The word Emperors use to refer to themselves, equal to "I" in English but exclusive to the throne.
Junshang (君上): A respectful title meaning "your majesty" or "my lord."
Yulan (玉兰): Chinese Magnolia.
Xuanji (玄玑): The official title conferred by the Emperor to the Fourth Prince, Hua Xiangge.
Gege (哥哥): "Elder brother" in Chinese.