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The basking thrum of lyres swelled, filling the breeze with songs of endless spring and quiet seas. The morning sun, a sacred ruler of the thin, swam overhead, painting pearl mosaics in salt rose and golden yellow. Quiet and peaceful, the shaded gardens of the palace stood again that day - a haven hidden from the prying eyes.

Yet, unknown to the residents of the manor speaking hush under the spreading pear trees, there was an unexpected visitor to the beautiful gardens of the king. A slithering shadow crawled in the branches, black scales of the regal coat glistening in the warm sunshine. The visitor was not a thief, yet his form was silent, sneaking under the brush of fluttering leaves. His flattened head rose, sensing the sweet aroma of the wine, and a forked tongue kissed the wind, barely a glimpse of red on muted charcoal. He looked down.

Gathered under the branches of the tree, a ring of leisure was taking place. Resting by the tiled azure pool, catching fallen flowers in the water, young daughters of the rich frolicked, oblivious to the outside world. Surrounded by embroidered silks, they partook in picked fruits and heady drinks. Their conversations, full of laughter, wove through the hustle of the leaves above like songs of traveling birds.

The visitor twisted around the branch, nestling his agile body in the secret of the pear tree. His head rose, senseless eyes following the gentle curves of exposed shoulders and sparkle of rare gems in combed hair - uninterested and waiting, simply observing.

Suddenly, the careless plucking of the strings returned with purpose, quieting the whispers of the guests. They settled, charmed and breathless, as their eyes followed the hand of the musician in the hide of the cool shadow. The visitor, woken from his daze, turned his eyes to the sound, but the curtain of the leaves shielded the singer from his gaze, keeping him hidden.

The song started slow, barely a hum over the chords. A male voice, soft and enchanting like the murmur of the waves, grazed the air. It told of tragic plea: a wish for a second chance to save the long-gone love, tethered to her yet unable to help, bound to be forever drowning in regret.

Spellbound and touched, daughters sighed in awe.

Seduced by the melody of the humming voice, the visitor stirred from his lazy sprawl. A curious light shone in his black eyes. Like a beast lured by the call, he bowed down from the branch in a relaxed arc. He wanted to know the identity of the alluring siren.

However, the fates betrayed him: in inattention he moved too far and slipped, falling onto the pillows right in the middle of the gathering. The harshly plucked string let out an ear-piercing tang. Girls screamed in horror, jumping up and away from his slithering form.

“Snake!”

“Somebody, get it away!”

The wine splattered out of the overturned vials, staining the pearl mosaics in burgundy.

The serpent coiled and raised his head to look at frightened maidens. His black scales glimmered in red as he slipped from the pillow onto the silver dish. Tense and caught in the act, he crowned the pile of golden apples in a vision of distress and sensed the air again.

One of the youths gasped in fright, looking behind the snake: “Your Highness Crown Prince, careful!”

The lyre groaned, lowered to the tiled bench. The singer’s steps were fleeting in the hush of worried gasps.

“Quickly come here!”

The serpent raised his head at the fall of the shadow, ready to strike in turn, only to freeze in place.

“Your Highness?!” yelped a girl as the hand stretched over and scooped under the toiling body of the snake, lifting the poor visitor up. The serpent, surprised by the unexpected gentleness of the touch, didn’t struggle.

The man as beautiful as oceanids of the legends tilted his head in a curious gesture, letting the golden branch in his hair light on fire under the licks of the sun. His white robes were pristine, hanging from his broad shoulders in drapes and held up by the golden belt. His palms were big and smooth, oblivious to the harsh labor, yet he held the rippling muscle with ease of the experienced warrior. The serpent watched as the prince’s black gaze went over his tense form and hanging tail only to return back and look into his eyes.

Ignoring the gasps of utmost horror, the man coiled the snake around his arm and straightened up. The serpent caught himself enchanted with his smile.

“Calm down, this snake is not poisonous,” he said, stepping over the overturned dishes and scattered pillows, “and doesn’t wish us harm. Find some pity in your heart: it simply wandered in the gardens to enjoy apples.”

“But, handling it like that…” wondered one of the daughters. Her hands clasped tighter around her elder sister’s as she watched the man holding the beast like a stray kitten. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

The prince smiled once more, not denying her thoughts. Waving his hand to the servants, he spoke: “Since our small feast was unfortunately interrupted, I would ask dear guests not to worry and continue their leisure inside. You will be escorted to the atrium while I dispose of the snake.”

With that young girls flocked together and moved to the palace, discussing the frightening event with vigor. The prince watched them leave and then turned, walking further into the gardens. Over the mosaics and the pool, under the crane of beautiful oak, lifting low branches to carefully duck under, they walked to the furthermost part of the palace, where the walls abutted the mountain.

The serpent around his arm was still, observing his savior with caution. The man didn’t smile anymore, corners of his lips lowered in something like fatigue, yet it didn’t make him seem unrefined. On the contrary, his calm demeanor gave an impression a lofty demigod, unbothered by mere mortal nuisances. Yet, the hand, put under snake’s neck, was warm and solid, betraying the human nature of the prince. The visitor, knowledgeable of his own godly strength, didn’t feel threatened - only enchanted even more. It was the first time this form didn’t inspire fear and persecution.

How big one’s heart should be, to hold a monstrous snake in the bosom without a second thought?

Before long, the crown prince stopped before the tree. It was so high that its branches overhang well above the wall and to the outside grounds. The serpent raised his flat head to look up, where the white stone edge bordered the saturated blue.

“This will do,” he murmured and, uncoiling the snake from his arm, lifted hands up to set him on in lowest fork of the trunk. Seeing that the serpent didn’t move to escape, the man spoke in a joking tone, as if he was lecturing his unexpected guest: “Don’t wander into the gardens again, alright? Not everyone is as cold-headed as me, and it would be a shame for a pretty thing like you to be speared. There are plenty of apples outside of the palace too.”

The serpent didn’t answer, staring at the prince scrunching his eyebrows in his small performance. It was supposed to be a joke, yet to him those words were akin to an arrow, striking his heart with no mercy. He didn’t want to leave the gardens, to lose the sweet presence of the blessed prince, to break the moment. Alas, the man turned around and walked away, not sparing him another glance. To him, he was only an unfortunate creature, that wandered into his domain by mistake.

Losing the sight of the off-white robe, the serpent coiled around the tree and climbed higher. Its eyes were looking into the garden, asking for another chance, another glimpse, yet it was futile.

Then, he shook himself off. What was he thinking?

Up and over the palace wall, the black serpent slipped down. In the moment of the fall, toned scaled body turned, and in a blink a youth landed on the ground. His black robes were plain, held up by a red woven belt and a gilded shortsword - a fashion unfamiliar to these lands.

Swiping the hair out of his face, he glanced up. Branches peeked over the stone, swaying in the ocean breeze.

Turning away, the black-clad man started walking back to the town below. And if he kept the spot in mind to climb over the wall - well, it was his little secret.

Luo Binghe experienced many unexplainable things in his childhood.

Miracles, witnesses would say; blessings, his foster mother would assure. Being fished out of the mountain brook, bundled only in a flimsy blanket, made him a parentless wandering stray with a sign of divine protection - a bloody birthmark in the middle of his forehead. Since then, no matter how many winters he lived on the street, no matter how long he stayed in the forests, fighting lions and wild boars, he always prevailed and came out stronger than before. Looking back at it now, Luo Binghe understood that even if his mysterious parents abandoned him in unfavor, he still received some good from them in the form of crucial luck.

So he lived day by day, oblivious to his strangeness. If he was stronger than other kids, he didn’t mind, and if animals didn’t run from him, he regarded it as a nifty trick.

Until one day, as he was walking by the rocky beach at low tide, overturning rocks in search for tasty crabs for dinner, he was swiftly kidnapped by pirates. The whole experience was bizarrely askew compared to his daily life, so fast and violent, and before he could do anything he was already tied up, ready to be sold as a slave.

There weren’t any other prisoners but him. Watched without a pause, he could only struggle in futile attempts and scream for help, hoping that someone on the land could hear him. And then, when one of the men stuck a gag in his mouth, something in him snapped.

Five minutes later he was alone on the ship. Brown spotted snakes - remnants of the rope that bound him - writhed under his feet, slowly spreading to the edges of the deck. Short swords and blades, bows and empty flasks, sandals and bandanas - belongings of pirates were scattered all over, left in a hurry as they threw themselves into the sea.

He looked overboard. Strange smooth creatures looked at him from below in place of drowning criminals, their pig eyes full of hatred and shock. Their shrill inhumane screams made him reel back and crouch under the sails, hiding his face in hands.

After Luo Binghe described what happened to his mother, she told him that they should visit an oracle to see if some god, maybe, took a liking to him.

The oracle was cryptic but brought good news nonetheless. Towering on the high tripod seat, crowned in laurel and simple white, pythia gazed into the bowl in her hands and muttered:

“I catch the horn in my hand and count the apples in vain; I see the night of sea, ships and a broken spring. Father of the dark has his eyes on you. Show the Unseen something to assess, and shall receive...”

Luo Binghe couldn’t believe his ears. He left the temple a new man.

Someone was watching over him! Of course, "father of the dark" was an unfamiliar deity to him, but he was watching! Thinking of the oracle’s words, Luo Binghe guessed that this “father” - whatever he was - was waiting for him to mature, become stronger, “show something”. But, he asked himself, how could he prove his worth?

Mother, seeing his confliction, suggested for him to head to the capital city and see if his divine protector would give him another sign. Luo Binghe was reluctant to leave his poor mother alone but in the end agreed. Somewhere, there was a kind soul, possibly a clue to his origins, waiting for him - blood and bones - and, if they abandoned him in vain, he still deserved to know the story. With a kiss on the forehead and a prayer, he set out on his journey.

Many dangers he met on his path to the city: the land was plagued with ancient beasts and monsters, and where chthonic creatures ceased, bandits flourished. At first Luo Binghe, strong and experienced in tricks and arts of the fight, helped out of the kindness in his heart, unable to stay indifferent to others suffering. Where many men laid their heads, he stood victorious, and soon the rumors of the young hero in black ran before his step.

That was when he noticed the greed in people’s eyes. They wanted him to solve their problems, bribed him with delicacies and gold, yet none gave him a helping hand in the fight, eager to drop their weapons and flee. When he denied the request out of inconvenience or lack of time, they slandered him, calling him a “fake hero” and a “cursed wretch”.

Luo Binghe never considered himself a heroic figure, but the poisonous words still stung.

Before long, he learned to disguise himself. Circling villages and ignoring strangers, he walked to the city alone. If he heard of the beast, he slew it. If he saw the bandits, he defeated them. Yet, people still talked in his trail, spreading words of false misconduct and slander.

Sick of the unfairness and heartbroken over the poisonous rumors, Luo Binghe wished to travel in complete secret. Surprisingly, his protector heard his call, and the next morning he woke up as a snake.

Quickly Luo Binghe learned that his new ability was shapeshifting in nature: his form changed, complying to his simple will, and all of his belongings stayed with him until the next transformation. His new body was slick and powerful, perfect even for a long journey. Thanking his mentor for the blessing, Luo Binghe the black serpent continued his journey unbothered.

The city was a bustling ever-changing mess of merchants, sailors, beggars, thinkers, and warriors. First time seeing this amount of people baffled Luo Binghe, as he wandered the streets looking left and right. A cloak on his shoulders, which became a habit, shielded him from unwanted attention, and soon he blended with the crowd on the main plaza. Looking around, he noticed citizens gathering and discussing something in hushed dreadful whispers.

Before he could wonder what the reason could be, he saw the man climb on the podium above the crowd, unroll the message scroll and read out the will of the king: to gather seven courageous youths and seven beautiful maidens and send them as the tribute to the victor of the old war, the kingdom across the sea. Listening to the whispers around him, he learned that the sacrifice was annual and, as some of the sailors said, all prisoners were to be fed to a horrendous monster, pampered by cruel and heartless royalty.

Luo Binghe remembered the first part of the prophecy. The oracle spoke of ships and night in the seas, and it took a whole night of sailing to get to the demanding kingdom. It seemed more than just a coincidence! And, if he could resolve the situation and kill the monster, he would prove himself to the “father”, saving the city from the unfair sacrifices.

With that, he volunteered.

Other victims were picked in a draw. Luo Binghe told his new “companions” that he came from far away and inquired about the rumors in detail.

In truth, nobody knew why the country demanded people instead of gold and riches, but it was a general knowledge that not one who had left returned alive. They assured him that it was the cruel king’s fault: he and his son were wretched and heartless and sought pleasure in raising the horror under the palace. One of the maidens, wiping her tears of despair, said that her father once ventured close to the island of the victorious kingdom and saw the ground violently tremble as the terrifying roar shook the sky.

Experienced with beasts Luo Binghe didn’t disregard their words but decided to inquire more by himself.

After a sorrowful night on the ship, filled with dreadful weeping and gloom, the next morning welcomed him on the new land. As he and his “companions” watched the ship of their home country disappear behind the horizon, Luo Binghe expected to be thrown in jail or straight into the maw of the beast. He already readied his hidden sword in case he needed to fight back.

However, they were received with welcome and polite words: servants led them to their guarded rooms, gave them food and drinks and told to rest. They were prohibited to leave the house, locked up and guarded by soldiers, but it was much better than Luo Binghe could've imagined. Compared to the vision of the kingdom and their ruler from rumors, the attitude was alarmingly too pleasant.

Bothered by the difference, Luo Binghe decided to investigate.

The window in his room was barred off, but it was hardly an obstacle to his lesser form. With the ease of a snake, he slipped out and without a second to spare headed to the most luxurious building in the area - a snow-white palace overlooking the town.

He thought sure of finding bloody feasts and tortures orchestrated by the mad aristocracy.

Instead, he found the caring, intelligent, beautiful, divine crown prince that didn't hesitate to hold a snake in his bare arms.

Laying on his new bed later that night, Luo Binghe didn't know what to think.

The echo of the touch still lingered in his stomach. He turned over, glancing at the cloudy reflection in his sword.

“Pretty thing.”

There was nothing beautiful in snakes. They were slippery, dangerous, and felt no sympathy for their victims. To call a serpent “pretty”... Luo Binghe pressed a palm against his heated cheek.

There was no time for distractions. He had a quest on his hands and a monster to slay, so he had to find out more. But where was it kept? How much time did they have until the sacrifice ritual? What was it, in the end? The only other chance to investigate was to visit the palace once more, this time more carefully. If he, maybe, attached himself to the prince, he could discover some details on the internal state of affairs. With a plan on his mind, Luo Binghe closed his eyes.

He dreamed of golden leaves shining quietly in the smooth dark hair.

“I have to say,” complained for the tenth time Shang Qinghua, “that snake really, really freaks me out.”

Shen Qingqiu cast the sculptor a deadly glare and allowed himself to slump in his chair. This modeling session was a nightmare.

The crown prince appreciated his father’s concern but was absolutely sure the assortment of palace decorations was vast enough even without another commissioned bust. Especially if it meant that he had to suffer through a sitting with a paranoia-infused “artist of the century”, who was, consequently, his old acquaintance. He was already regretting his recommendation. It would’ve been much faster if he just asked a normal sculptor.

At least he could be his usual self and act more relaxed. Or more rude - that worked too.

“May I suggest you close your mouth for a second and do your damn job?” he hissed at another sob. The legendary sculptor (who gained his title through the creation of an absurd amount of erotic scenes) had been swearing that he saw a snake on the tree behind their lounging and was constantly distracted.

“I’m doing it!” retorted Shang Qinghua, slapping more clay on the model. His face, however, was still pointed up, pale as ivory. “But, man, it’s staring at me… Really intently...”

Shen Qingqiu heaved an annoyed sigh and stood up. The olive branch in his hands whistled in the air like a whip: “Where is it?”

“What are you doing?” squawked the sculptor, nearly dropping his tool.

“Getting it down.”

“What!”

Shen Qingqiu propped the branch on his former seat and looked up, ignoring the shuffling behind him. He looked closely at the crown of the tree. It was late afternoon, the laziest hour of the day; shadows were saturated with cold contrast, turning skies to blinding pale blue in the openings in leaves, so it took him some time to spot a black thick rope coiled around the lowest limb.

Indeed, the snake was there. Shen Qingqiu didn’t sympathize with the horror of Shang Qinghua, but at least he could seek reassurance that his old friend had yet to turn senile.

He walked closer, and the snake, as if moving towards him, slipped lower and turned to look at him, forked tongue sensing the air. Surprisingly, the crown prince found it familiar.

There weren’t many snakes on the island, and many of the species Shen Qingqiu knew in the face. Spotted and striped, brown and yellow, horned and flatheaded… But there were no purely black snakes, so he could confidently say that it was the same one from two days ago, when it fell from the tree right to the middle of the party. He wondered if someone brought it from the mainland.

What’s more, then and now, the serpent was completely passive. Friendly, even.

The crown prince raised his hands to scoop under its body but, before he even touched it, the snake willingly climbed on his arm. Shocked, he watched it coil around, wiggle and tuck its head into his palm.

Shen Qingqiu frowned in cynical doubt. What was it, a dog?

Carefully turning around - the serpent weighed quite a lot - he met a pair of horrified eyes. Shang Qinghua crouched behind his stool and stared at him with mouth wide open as if Shen Qingqiu killed a man with a club. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s a normal snake.” It really was, even if a little too friendly. His words, however, only made the sculptor more horrified.

“No it’s not!” he shouted, curling tighter around himself. “It’s huge! And black! You know what they say about black snakes, right?!”

“What?” the crown prince parried. The snake in his arms shifted, nearly slipping off, so he caught its tail with his free hand.

“Like…” stuttered Shang Qinghua, biting his lip in desperate thought. Finally, he blurted: “You know!”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t care. He ignored the flailing of the sculptor and crouched by the bush, intending to let the snake escape. Yet, just like the last time, it didn’t move a muscle, completely content with lounging in prince’s hold. Shen Qingqiu tried to pry the scaled body off only for it to stick closer. He tried again, and the serpent headbutted his fingers, flicking red tongue through the phalanges.

“Come on,” Shen Qingqiu nudged. "Go home. Wherever that is."

Somehow, he managed to set the snake down. However, just as he started walking back to his seat, he heard Shang Qinghua shrieking like a maiden: "Gods, behind you!"

Whirling around on his heels, Shen Qingqiu met eyes of the black serpent. It crawled out from the shaded spot where he set it and loyally followed his steps like a small duckling. As the crown prince stopped in his tracks, it froze too, lifting its head to look at him with small beady shiny eyes that were just asking for a chance.

… Before the sun could leave the zenith, the picturesque calm of the scene was restored. Pale Shang Qinghua was actively modeling, tears brimming in his eyes, while Shen Qingqiu posed with his classic serene expression, an olive branch and a new addition - the snake over his shoulders.

He was absolutely innocent - it crawled up there by itself.

"Shen Qingqiu, are you alright?" Shang Qinghua muttered in exasperation. The crown prince raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm seriously asking."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he calmly responded. The sculptor's face became sour.

"Man, I knew your head was not entirely there," he sighed, "but not this much…"

"I am maybe crazy, but not as bad as a certain sculptor, who likes to get drunk and make out with a slab of marble,” Shen Qingqiu jabbed with sarcasm. The snake, as if startled, lifted its head from the edge of his shoulder.

Scandalized Shang Qinghua gasped, pressing a hand to his wounded heart: "How dare you! Mo Beijun is not a slab!"

Shen Qingqiu puffed a breath and tilted his head to complain to his new friend: "This fella made a statue of an ideal man from his lucid dreams and now cherishes it as his own husband. And I'm the one being called not entirely in my mind."

"Hey!"

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? What an idiot."

"I'm right here!" exclaimed Shang Qinghua, turning red by the sound of Shen Qingqiu’s chuckles. Furrowing his brow, he grumbled: “Still, Your Highness, it isn’t a kitten. Snakes have no hearts and no compassion. Someday, it’s going to bite you.”

Shen Qingqiu laughter turned to silence. He blinked in thought and glanced at the serpent hanging calmly over his shoulder, hypnotizing black eyes staring at him.

“You are right,” he hummed. Turning his eyes to the sculptor, he put a wrist under his chin in a leisurely gesture, tiny smiling sparkle playing in his dark eyes. “But a snake is a symbol of healing and wisdom not for nothing. Snakes attack a bigger pray only in their defense, not in spite. That’s why, in this land,” he said, lifting his hand to lightly graze under the flat head of the enchanted serpent, “we regard them as creatures of power, not ruthless vengeance. Right, handsome?”

Watching the snake affectionately snuggle into the touch, Shang Qinghua cringed and shuddered, feeling shivers running up his spine. Despite all of the rumors, the crown prince wasn’t either a bloodthirsty fury or a divine god of justice; he was a prime example of a spoiled weirdo without any basic instincts!

It had been almost a week since Luo Binghe arrived to the island and taken under the “house arrest” with other victims when he finally got an idea what kind of monstrosity was lurking under the palace.

The kingdom had many stories and rumors going around, but the most talked about was the story of two kings, who dearly paid for the prosperity of the land.

A long time ago, two men were ruling the land, one soft-hearted and strong, other weak and incredibly intelligent. Faced with disastrous drought and sickness slaughtering their subordinates, not leaving out children and elderly, they prayed to the gods for help. Finally, one god offered them a deal - to bring eternal spring to the island, where no sickness, drought or hunger could take place. The kind king was ecstatic and almost agreed, but the wise one stopped him.

“At what price?” he asked the god. Angered with the response but feeling playful, the god said that both of them had to pass his test, which was to be revealed in their dreams.

Later that night, as was promised, the god came to each. To the wise king he said: "You are as smart as mortals speak of you. Then, build me a maze that no one, alive or dead, can find a way out of, right under your palace."

However, to the kind king he said: "Your heart is soft. I want you to prove to me that you can be a good king of this land. If you can be a good ruler without your companion for three days, I will bestow my blessing."

But the kind king knew that the other man had a bad temper, not willing to let the power out of his grasp even for a second. Hearing his concern, the god gave him a sleeping potion and told him to put his friend to sleep and hide him in the dungeon that he would build under the palace. After all, he said, the second king would build it himself, so he would be at rest in his own creation.

Both of them woke up and started on their assignments. The maze was built and, as was told, the kind king used the potion and hid the wise king in the dungeon.

What they didn't know was that the god played a cruel joke on them. The potion didn't put the man to sleep; it made him forget. Woken up in the maze, he was bound to endlessly wander his own prison, cursed to become a powerful beast hungry for flesh, while the land fell into the eternal prosperity. His friend, who realized his grave mistake, was so torn with grief that one day he ran into the maze alone, never to be found.

With this legend, every person on the island knew why the ground shook with horrific roars and why the kingdom took people as the trophy of the past war.

Luo Binghe was surprised to know that, contrary to the rumors from the mainland and despite the obvious blood sacrifices, the citizens loved the king and his son dearly, regarding them as mortal deities. It seemed like before the current reign victims came from local families, wiping out whole generations, but now youths could live in peace, knowing that there was no sword of inevitable fate hanging above their heads.

Especially people loved the crown prince.

Acting as a judge and as a wise monarch in the absence of his old father, he was spoken of as a hero who knew no defeat, proficient in music, poetry, and debate. Beautiful as a spring flower, regal as a lion, he was an unanimous idol.

Luo Binghe could understand the devotion. His heart was full of it too, if not overflowing.

But the prince he got to know was so, so much more than the untouchable vision. Because each afternoon, as the sun stood overhead, the prince would seek quiet in the dim corner of the gardens, greet the black form of Luo Binghe and… Talk. About anything and everything. How he was sick of holding gatherings, how temple duties got on his nerves, how lazy he actually felt.

Sometimes, Luo Binghe felt guilt. The crown prince thought of him as a mindless creature and only because of that was opening up to him, thinking his secrets were safe.

But then the man would tilt his head, pulling his lips in a tired intimate grin at his own small joke, eyes bottomless whirlpools, and Luo Binghe, in awe and in love, would lose to his heart.

And a week after his arrival, hanging off a branch sheer moments from prince’s face, he heard him speak about the beast.

“I can’t keep them any longer,” the prince murmured after a long silence. His face was dark with unsaid emotion, cold as stone. “It has been a week already, and still… I did not find another solution. They will have to go down there.”

Luo Binghe opened his eyes wide, watching the deep thought change to bitter sorrow as the man pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Father says that there is no other way. His father and his grandfather fed him… It, for generations,” he said, gulping down the heavy words. For a moment, he looked at Luo Binghe blankly and turned his shoulders, golden laurel flashing in the sun. “Do you know why the kind king ran into the labyrinth one day?”

Luo Binghe blinked in response. It was enough of an answer.

“The king loved his companion,” the prince started closing his eyes with a sigh. “But also, he was soft-hearted and selfish. After realizing that he turned his closest person into a bloodthirsty beast, he still couldn’t find it in his heart to kill him. To lose him forever. So, he searched for the means to save him. After many years, while the beast was becoming more and more vicious, the only thing he found was a blade that could wound any monster.”

The prince paused, momentarily lost in his thoughts.

“I read all of the ancient scripts. He wrote that he would kill “his Xiao Jiu” and follow, repaying him in kind.”

Luo Binghe could guess as much. Devoured by grief and despair, it was truly a heroic and tragic act for the king who held on for so long. If he was in the same situation, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to raise his hand against his loved one. It seemed that, in the end, the king had the same opinion, if the beast was still alive and thriving.

“Father is against my proposition,” the prince continued, crossing his arms. “He still thinks that the “wise king” is in his mind, simply possessed. It talks, of course, I wouldn’t deny it. But if you tell me that the rumored harsh man, who wrote secret poems about his love for the first king, full of sappy and sweet words, could in his right mind tear his lover to shreds…” He paused and smirked in humorless irony. “There is nothing human about it. It’s an animal. And that’s why we have to kill it.”

Hearing these words, Luo Binghe was startled. He didn’t expect such dark thought to plague the prince who complained about the annoying social gatherings of all things. It was like an underwater current, lurking under the surface of a divine and pure facade.

Luo Binghe’s heart still thrashed in desperation, now pierced twice.

“But…” the man hummed. His hand lifted, grazing the smooth line of the serpent’s body. Luo Binghe followed the sign as if hypnotized and slipped from the branch, twisting around the bare shoulder. The crown prince smiled but his eyes were not laughing. “I am a coward. I tell myself that it can’t be me because I’m the only heir to the throne, the eldest son, but in truth, I am afraid.” His tone was low and even, brimming with hidden shivers: “I heard it cry for help. How it curses the gods, how it wails in regret… And I can’t do it. That’s why I changed it to “courageous youths”. Someone has to have a fighting chance. This is my twelfth try.”

Oh, how Luo Binghe wished he was human at that moment. Anything to warm up those cold fingers, to calm those tides in black eyes, to make that frown disappear.

After the prince lowered him on the branch of the tree, he watched the man take a deep breath and school himself back to the same collected appearance. Before he walked away, he looked to the center of the palace, from where a horrendous wail ripped through the calm of the afternoon.

“... If none succeed,” the prince said, casting a glance to the clear skies, “would I find it in myself to keep going? I wonder...”

Luo Binghe returned to his room already knowing what he had to do.

Shen Qingqiu felt like the cast of to-be-dinner youths was somewhat strange this year.

Standing before the line of prisoners in full parade and glory, he carefully studied their faces. Despair and dread, slightly washed out by a week of good treatment, with added bitterness of hate and justifiable rage - an aftertaste of awkwardness on his tongue was expected. He swallowed it like nothing.

One of the youths, however, was different. Black robes, tan skin, the face of godly features, red birthmark and a gaze full of attention. There was no fury, no sadness. Something in that calm, collected attitude hooked Shen Qingqiu, made him want to cast another glance.

He couldn’t have seen him before. Then why he was staring at him like that?

Shaking himself off of unrelated thoughts, he nodded to the loyal soldiers and straightened out. Chest tight, hands clasped behind his back, a light curve of the lip. Taught as a string to prevent the voice from wavering, he started his annual secret speech.

“Maidens and youths, behind these doors,” he gestured at the sculpted gates behind his back, “starts the infamous maze of our kingdom. Inside you will meet many dangers and, I’m afraid, may find you eternal end.”

A girl in the far back burst into tears. The boy gave her a hand, helping her stand. Shen Qingqiu averted his eyes, not willing to let it into his own heart, and met the same strange stare. The intensity made his stomach jump, forcing him to look away; the boy in black was watching him like a hawk as if he was spewing pure gold! Be at least afraid for your own life, man!

Clearing his throat, Shen Qingqiu continued: “There is a bloodthirsty beast roaming in the labyrinth. It is a vicious enemy. However, it is not invincible.”

“What do you mean?!” exclaimed one of the youths. The soldier behind him jerked his shackles, pulling him back.

“I do not have time to explain everything but believe my word - the beast can be slain,” he responded. “And to the person who defeats it I, crown prince Shen Qingqiu, vow to give an unrestrained favor.”

“Can the victor,” sounded from the start of the line, “ask for anything he wants?”

Shen Qingqiu, already suspecting the source of the voice, turned his head to look at the handsome young man in black. His previous calm was brighter, diluted with delighted surprise.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know if he should laugh or feel bad. It was his twelfth time repeating the same words. The boy was unusual, but there were at least twelve men of the same quality before him. There was no chance he would see him again.

“Yes. The victor will receive anything he wants, however much I can provide.”

He didn’t see them off, only giving in once to glance at the black robes disappearing in the dim cavern of the underground labyrinth. There was indeed something familiar in that figure, but he quickly shucked it out of his mind. The deed was done, and, until the next year, the kingdom was safe.

Shen Qingqiu woke up the next morning to the most unusual day of his life.

The youth in black - Luo Binghe, as he called himself - proved to be so, so much more than Shen Qingqiu gave him. As the crown prince was rushing to get dressed, he got to know from his overly ecstatic servant that, as soon as the sun breached the horizon, he and thirteen other victims came out of the labyrinth unscathed. Luo Binghe was the one to carry the head of the monster. Immediately, he was announced as the hero and savior.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t believe it. The only way to kill the beast was to strike it with a cursed sword that was doused with the waters of the river Styx, wielded only by the messenger of death before. What were the odds that some boy found it in the span of one night in the gigantic underground labyrinth?

Seeing the youth in question surrounded by newly acquired fans, his suspicions rose.

There was no way that one could grow half a head in one night! The boy literally aged! More so, that red birthmark on his forehead bloomed, a shape of a sideways flower and a rising sun. It was not quite the same young hero that went into the labyrinth the day before.

Luo Binghe noticed him from afar and smiled. His eyes were glowing red.

The day passed in a lavish celebration. Everyone was drinking, dancing and laughing, happy to be freed from the despotism of the ancient horror. The wine flowed in rivers, guided by cheerful sounds of flutes, as the party descended upon the city below. Shen Qingqiu, hiding in conversations with people, observed the strange young man from a safe distance, pretending to be looking elsewhere the moment their eyes met. So far, he only saw a perfect man: polite, smiling, a handsome face to know its value.

The trouble came with the evening. As all of the drunk guests fell asleep in their places and Shen Qingqiu headed back to his chambers, his way was crossed.

“Your Highness,” bowed Luo Binghe with a smile that was a tad too wide, “my greatest gratitude to you.”

“I am the one that should be thankful,” responded Shen Qingqiu in kind. With a chill running up his spine, he realized that they were completely alone. “You should rest. The feat must’ve taken a lot from you.”

“Your Highness shouldn’t worry. This humble warrior is alright.”

“Then,” murmured tense Shen Qingqiu, noticing the obvious sly tension in other’s tone, “what does the young hero want from me in such an hour?”

The fire in the braziers trembled. Blood-red eyes shone in the dim dark of twilight as Luo Binghe’s smile changed, giving into a frighteningly gentle curve.

“Your Highness promised that the victor will receive whatever he wants. Will Your Highness be willing to hear my humble request?”

Shen Qingqiu blinked, momentarily taken aback. Was this all there was to it? Acting like a creep to get promised riches? But if the talk couldn’t wait for tomorrow, he was alright with it. If this would've made the guy at rest… Crossing his arms, he nodded: “Of course. What do you wish for?”

“Thanks to this feat, this warrior could realize his true origins,” Luo Binghe spoke, hand caressing the hilt of the crass savage sword on his hip. “I do not need gold or women. My heart is set on only one thing.”

Shen Qingqiu took a step back, startled by the heavy dark gaze settling on him. Luo Binghe, in turn, came closer, the same unchanging possessed smile blooming on his face.

“I want you, Your Highness.”

The prince blanked out for a moment. “Excuse me?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes curved in crescents as he bowed his head in a shy manner. Shen Qingqiu felt the breath stop in his throat. The man was crazy!

“What do you mean?” he asked again.

“Since the first time I was touched by His Highness, I was deeply enamored by him,” the man said in a passionate whisper. The fire trembled once more, abiding the rhythm of his quiet hunting steps. “My heart is at your will as it only has you in it. You are much more precious than any gem, any flower found on earth, and I would not want anything else than to have you beside me.”

Shen Qingqiu would be lying if he said that he felt nothing at such passionate confession. However, despite the softness of the man’s tone, despite his sweet promises, he could see the danger in the other’s gaze. It took all of him not to turn around and run. Somehow, he knew that he would be caught nonetheless.

“I would take good care of Your Highness. Whatever he desires will be his. Whatever he hates I will destroy. Your Highness only has to be mine.”

They were barely three steps apart. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t endure it anymore.

“No,” he blurted out. Luo Binghe froze in place, smile disappearing. In a blink of an eye, he became a lost child whose expectations were smashed, a freezing calm before the storm.

“No?” he murmured. Shen Qingqiu bit his lip and took another step back.

“I will not give myself to you,” he said. “Did you expect me, the sole crown prince of the kingdom, abandon my duties and run into some stranger’s arms? Is that how I seem to you?”

Luo Binghe didn’t move. He stared and stared, hand gripping the cursed blade. His eyes were glowing, and Shen Qingqiu could not decide if he saw bottomless sorrow or a burning rage in the indescribable gaze. Regardless, he furrowed his brows and spoke in the firmest manner he could muster: “I’m not coming with you. Ask for something else.”

The moment his last words fell, the fires in the braziers went out. The prince shrunk back, staring wide-eyed at two blazing red dots across, a silhouette of something so sinister that even the moonlight wouldn’t dare touch it.

“... You,” Luo Binghe’s voice wavered, full of disbelief, “reject me?”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t answer. His hands were shaking. A deity in disguise - whatever Luo Binghe was in reality - looked to the side for a moment, baffled, and then at him again.

The braziers set aflame again, basking the passage in an eerie green glow. With silent horror, Shen Qingqiu realized that they were surrounded by snakes. Their shadows slithered, black on the toned stone, curling around their master’s feet. The shatter, as if the earth itself cracked, deafened him, and the floor split, opening up to reveal the endless abyss - a way to the Underworld.

There were tears on Luo Binghe’s face, yet he looked like a disaster incarnate. He opened his mouth and bitterly uttered: “It hurts.”

The next moment, the earth swallowed him.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart fell in fear but, before he could move, the scene returned to normal. The fire burnt in reds and yellows. The floor was intact. There were no snakes.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he crouched right where he stood, humorless hysterical chuckle rippling in his chest.

… Did he just reject a marriage proposal from a chthonic god?

Not many tales were told of the Underworld, which very name inspired fear and penitence, reminding of the inevitable fate which we all share. Hidden from the mortal plane deep underground, where the sun was never present, laid the vast lair of Lord of Death - Tianlang-jun, an ancient deity unknown to most.

Red waters of the hateful Styx ran through the domain, carving out caves and pathways, swarmed by wretched shades, changing its flow by the unpredictable will of its own. Composed of such innumerable ever-shifting interlocking chambers, the Underworld of Lord Tianlang-jun all but guaranteed the dead should there remain until the end of time.

In one of such caverns, located in the deepest corner of Tartarus, the bloody waters pooled, coming to a stop. One single ray of dim sunlight, streaming from far above, illuminated the rocky walls in the melancholic spirit, as full of dread as death could be. In the smell of burnt offerings and petrichor, which came with the very nature of residents in the land of the dead, the silence was heavy and viscous. Such a place of calm and respite, perhaps unimaginable in the Underworld, was occasionally to be found.

The waters shifted. First, a head of black wavy locks broke the surface, blood flowing down the pale neck in droplets. Wide shoulders, black robe over one side, frightening sword in hand, a belt of rubies and red ambers; the man walked slowly, ascending from the freezing cursed water in a daze. As his second foot left the pool, leaving him standing on a small rocky island, his robes turned dry as if never soiled.

Raising his head, the man looked up, where the tiniest stream of sunlight broke the dusted air of the dreadful land. The white puff of frozen breath rose to the ceiling. Touched by the painful memory of the echoing past, he closed his eyes. The blooming mark on his forehead was dark.

Expressionless and silent, he looked down to the waters of Styx. In the spiteful reflection, distorted by the echoing ripples, his figure seemed to him the most pathetic and weak that he ever felt. His sword laughed.

The ember of mindless rage, which only smoldered in his chest before, sparked with a violent will. Obeying the moving hand, the blade struck the surface and broke the illusion.

Lifting his heavy head, drowned in the desire to rip and tear, Luo Binghe walked out to start his slaughter anew.

Nobody escaped death from his hand. Every chamber in his steed was bathed in blood, floors scrubbed with guts and bones. Screams of agony collapsed in hellish symphonies. Shades, weaponized to prevent the escape of the intruder, flocked in his way to be ultimately wiped out.

Setting the land of death ablaze, sowing chaos wherever he stepped, Luo Binghe barely felt satisfied. It was all to kill time. From the depths of Tartarus to the surface, reborn to the same pool of cold stygian waters after each defeat, he tried again and again, carving out paths of violence.

Every member of the Lord’s staff knew that newfound Prince of the Underworld had somewhat of a bad temper, if “killing on sight” could be called that.

Setting foot in the carefully constructed chamber, full of green ghostly fires and purple marble, Luo Binghe was greeted with a crack of a whip. His mark of godhood stirred as he gave out a cold smile to the esteemed guard of the utmost edge of Tartarus.

Eyes of steel, a wide span of the sharp wing, the sight of which brought even the most wretched of criminals to their knees in a plea of mercy - the figure in the center of the grimly lavish hall clicked her tongue.

The ever-present Fury Sisters dealt horrid torture to all those whose lives unspeakably befouled the innocent kind. They each seemed to relish in their sadistic work, but none so much as Sha Hualing, the first among them. None of the shades succeeded in passing her, inevitably ripped apart and thrown back to the eternal prison. However, recently she seemed to be unexpectedly annoyed by a certain wandering catastrophe, who walked on her several times a day.

“What are you doing, Luo Binghe,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “The Underworld is not a playground for your amusement, not mentioning my chamber. Haven’t you played in death enough yet,” she jabbed with sarcasm, readying her whip, “Serpent of Rebirth?”

Luo Binghe’s expression was calm as he turned his sword on her. “This place needs a spring-cleaning from time to time, and I seem to have some time until sunset. In the meantime, I thought I’d get some practice in, you know?”

The air around Sha Hualing cracked with thunder as she couched in preparation for the lunge. Luo Binghe’s broken heart shivered in sick excitement at the sight of her enraged face as she uttered: “I’m not you practice partner, fool.”

Letting the fire run in his veins, he struck forward.

Luo Binghe, the newborn God of Rebirth, awoken and driven mad by his inherited sword, was known to stop his reverie only with the arrival of dusk, and after that not even his esteemed father Lord Tianlang-jun knew where he went off to. Only in his absence the land of the dead could sigh in relief, falling in the usual order.

Spiting gods was infamously a very bad idea, as they often were overly sensitive to the offense.

A talented weaver was turned into a spider for making a tapestry that ridiculed their “love adventures”. A man who laughed at the mourning goddess was turned into a lizard. People suffered from their action even if it wasn’t their fault, like a woman, who was raped by one god and immediately turned into a monster by the other. Shen Qingqiu’s own predecessors paid dearly for one brave word.

So it was fully justifiable for Shen Qingqiu to be scared for his life when a week later from the incident he woke up in the middle of the night to see the chthonic deity sitting by his bedside.

Luo Binghe leaned on the windowsill, back turned to the full moon. The eerie glow of his red eyes was low and steady, two midnight stars in the silent shadow. Shen Qingqiu didn’t move a muscle, watching the still figure through the curve of his lashes.

With the first rays of sunlight, the visitor was gone. Nothing was left in his place; he simply vanished like a dream only to reappear the next night, same pose, same expression.

Before long, Shen Qingqiu felt conflicted.

He didn’t regret rejecting Luo Binghe on the spot. Even if it was the Thunderer himself proposing he still wouldn’t agree to run away with them. What could fleeting favor like that do for him? Nothing. Their kingdom was small and generally prosperous but his duties as the prince and the head judge could not be ignored. Not long ago he had to deal with a horrible monstrosity which fed on people, but the break was truly non-existent in his position. His presence was needed here, in the realm of mortals, at least until he assigned an heir in his place. And what would his father say? Who would support his little niece?

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t some kind of unfilial maiden to be swooned and stolen away! He was a man with responsibilities!

On the other hand, all of his responsibilities could be considered irrelevant if he got turned into a plant or an animal by a careless curse. However, the more he thought about this outcome, the less he believed in his worst fears. Luo Binghe didn’t lash out at him at the offense, neither did he try to take him against his will. The god didn’t speak to him nor did he seek a second chance: if Shen Qingqiu didn’t wake up that time, he would’ve never known.

The seed of doubt in his heart grew with each day. Setting his treacherous feelings aside, he tried to understand the reason behind such unexplainable fascination with himself.

Luo Binghe said that he fell in love with him at the first touch, but the prince was absolutely sure that not even once he came close to the man, not mentioning the contact. The phrasing was so straightforward and striking that Shen Qingqiu was sure - the god met him somewhere else. But where?

Shen Qingqiu thought about it day and night, while he ate and while he judged, but to no avail. He just couldn’t understand.

Until one day, as he paused to admire blooming lilies in the gardens, a realization struck him, freezing him in place. The human Luo Binghe came to the island a week prior to sacrifice, and in the same time Shen Qingqiu met a curious unusual creature in the palace gardens.

Luo Binghe’s godhood had some connection to snakes. It would be expected if he could turn in one too.

Pressing the back of his hand to his lips, Shen Qingqiu watched tall lilies sway in the wind. Now he understood why that serpent was so affectionate with him and how the god seemed to know him through and out. Killing the beast in one night with a weapon only the prince knew about… Didn’t he tell him about it?

The hand traveled to his forehead. Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed.

The heavy coil of the scaled toned body around his shoulder, the careful snuggle against his fingers. The petty and spoiled complains he told in secret, not knowing that someone listened. The handsome smile of a hero elated by victory. The pair of brilliant red eyes shining in the light of lit braziers. The face of pure loss and the fall.

The secret nightly visits and the fact that Shen Qingqiu still stood there, watching flowers bloom, unbothered.

Maybe, the prince thought, Luo Binghe’s favor wasn’t a fling. Maybe his intentions were pure. But to confirm that he needed to talk to him - talk with a mysterious, powerful, elusive deity of who-knows-what, who disappeared with the first rays of sunlight.

Shen Qingqiu never in his life thought that one day he would construct a plan to catch a god.

“Cerberus, look who it is!” a cheerful voice boomed through the wide hall drowned in gold and rubies. The court musician jumped in his seat, wrenching out a terrible tang out of his lyre. “He’s back!”

Luo Binghe, flicking the bone-chilling stygian waters from his wrists, marched past the ridiculous scene. Almighty Lord Tianlang-jun, unclenching his iron clasp around one of the hound’s multiple necks, gave the hellish pet a playful scratch and glanced at his gloomy progeny from the height of his throne. Internally, he sighed. His darling would be disappointed to see her beauty inherited but utterly soiled by such bland look of sorrow.

Sadly, she hasn’t visited the Underworld for a while now, since she agreed to bring eternal spring on that one island and proceeded to party elsewhere. He almost felt like she didn’t love him anymore.

Nonetheless, Tianlang-jun absolutely enjoyed that funny scheme, even if it cost him his love life. Those two kings didn’t let down his expectation: devoured by grief and misunderstandings, they perished, birthing forth a legendary story. He only aided them with a potion and a sword - everything else fell in place by their own accord.

However, the time passed and the joke stopped being funny. His wife was who-knows-where, enjoying the vacation away from him, while he was stuck in the realm of dead looking after the Cerberus. So, he decided to get at least the cursed sword back.

Tianlang-jun took black lilies his darling grew and turned them into a human child, a creation him and his wife in kind. With a blessing of godly perseverance, he threw his son to the mortal world. After the boy matured and dabbled into the savage nature of godhood, he only needed to pull a few strings and - voila - the blade and the newborn god returned to his domain, complete with each other. Lord of the dead could not be more satisfied.

What he didn’t expect was that his progeny, like all naive youths, would somehow find time to fall in love and get heartbroken, dragging down already stifling atmosphere with his brooding.

Tianlang-jun wasn’t bothered by his bounds of unrestrained killing: dead souls took no care in their wellbeing here, and it wasn’t like he had no other children who took pleasure in bloodlust. However, all of this “stress eating” didn’t raise his spirits either. It looked too much like him in the shameful past: crying, killing, writing poems in secret and stalking his future wife to catch a good moment for kidnapping (for which he definitely got beaten).

Throwing a skull to the Cerberus, Tianlang-jun propped a chin on his hand and sighed, seeing God of Rebirth stab some unfortunate soul on his way out.

A figure in sapphire black passed in the corner of his eye. He smiled: “Mo Bei! I’m in awe. It’s so lively here today.”

Messenger of Death bowed his head, lowering steel wings in respect. He seemed to be in a great mood - a rare occurrence, considering his emotionless cruel nature. Tianlang-jun wondered if he found himself a mistress or something.

“Good work,” he said. Something strange caught his eye and he asked: “Where are your immortal binding shackles?”

Mo Bei sat on his stool, metal feathers clattering to the ground. As he opened his mouth, only one word was spoken: “Borrowed.”

Luo Binghe hid his blade and swiftly landed on the familiar windowsill, steps as soft as the moonlight. One hand on the wall, he ducked to look inside - click!

Caught by the wrist, he fell in. The shackle dragged him in the dark, he tried to slip away - alas, his powers vanished. He grabbed and pulled; the evil shimmer of the sword sent sparks throughout the room.

Luo Binghe felt his breath stolen at the sight of black narrow eyes so close. Stars and calm water, charcoal and scrutiny… How he longed to see them look at him again.

The second shackle closed on his free hand as he whispered feverishly, dazed in disbelief: “Your Highness...”

The robe fell half-open, revealing the dip of the clavicle, ivory in the cold night. The crown prince tugged at the black chain in his hand. “Luo Binghe,” his voice was low and cautious, probing through the dark. “Or what should I call you, deity?”

Luo Binghe swallowed. The wind tasted like pear blossoms and salt, a gulp of air compared to that dark land. The dropped sword whined in displeasure at his adoration. “Whatever Your Highness wishes to call me I shall be.”

“Then, Luo Binghe,” sighed the man - the loose curtain of smooth hair slipped down from his shoulder, “tell me this: is my sleeping face really that pleasant to watch every night?”

The god, who died in every painful way there was, felt his heart cracking apart. Sobered, pinned by a piercing gaze, bound by shackles, he felt familiar freezing cold building up in his throat. Another mistake, another wishful thinking. Startled, he stepped back: “Apologies. This warrior would not bother His Highness anymore-”

“I wasn’t telling you to scram,” hastily interrupted the prince. Luo Binghe blinked tears from his eyes, looked down, and - for sure - his hand was held. “Were you the black serpent that wandered in the gardens?”

The crown prince was rumored to be as wise as the goddess of knowledge. “Your Highness already knows my answer.”

The man bit his lip, voice dipping lower, laced with starlight: “I… I cannot fathom your actions. I complained to you. I was the one who sent you to death. I rejected you. Then, why do you return each night?”

The body of the serpent enjoyed the warmth of gentle touch but nothing could compare to this: a fire-hot hand on his, as light as a feather yet firm and inquiring. Luo Binghe’s smile was bittersweet as he gingerly pulled at the other’s fingers. The sudden gasp of surprise set his veins aflame.

“Your Highness,” he spoke honestly, “how can I forget you? If you leave my heart, what’s there to stay?” As fingers in his hold twitched, he looked up in the startled whirlpools of night. “I have nothing more.”

“What if I told you to forget?” murmured the prince, turning to the side. The moonlight caught the edge of his ear, and the god leaned closer, fascinated with the growing blush. Words came out without resistance:

“I would forget.”

“And if I told you to wait?”

“I would wait.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes.”

The prince turned away and lowered his head. Thin elegant fingers fell limb and Luo Binghe, guided by blackened desires, intertwined them with his.

The rustling of the leaves outside filled the thoughtful quiet. A nightly songbird chirped her midnight song, honoring the mighty ocean breeze. Two stood unmoved, one hiding, other relishing in what was given.

“I am the crown prince,” the man finally spoke. Luo Binghe nodded. “My kingdom cannot rule itself, so even if I leave I can’t stay with you. However…”

Shackles rustled. “However?”

The prince turned back. Noticing the shy intention, he shifted, letting the god caress his cheek and tuck the loose lock behind his ear, eyes downcast.

“Half a year. Half a year here, half a year wherever you go.”

Luo Binghe's heart jumped. Stepping in, he leaned to get a closer look. Indeed, the wonderful prince was serious, determined, slightly embarrassed, but firm nonetheless. Stunned, he pulled their connected hands closer.

Not hearing the answer, the man frowned. "Is that alright with you?"

“Yes," he said, word turning into a sob. He couldn't stop himself and collapsed, bound arms pressed to the pale waist. "Yes, Your Highness, yes, yes!"

The prince staggered, holding out his arms with a surprised gasp. His bare shoulders were tense but, as the god pushed on him from above, they gradually relaxed, palms resting on the broad back.

For the first time in many months of deepest longing, the God of Rebirth didn’t return to the Underworld with the first rays of sunlight, fallen asleep on someone’s shoulder.

The basking thrum of lyres swelled, filling the breeze with songs of endless spring and quiet seas. The morning sun, a sacred ruler of the thin, swam overhead, painting pearl mosaics in salt rose and golden yellow.

Shen Qingqiu was distraught.

When he was utterly won over by sweet compliments and proposed a solution, he thought that he would see Luo Binghe only for half of the year. He definitely didn’t expect that immortal chthonic deity, who commanded snakes and was able to return from the death in a blink of an eye, would become a perfect picture of a soft fluffy black sheep, staying with him in the palace!

Were all the gods of the Underworld like that? Nightmares on the job, softies in private?

“My heart,” called Luo Binghe, shaking him out of his mindless staring, “is there something wrong?”

Shen Qingqiu, already slightly used to overly sweet and embarrassingly effective flirting, glanced at the crown of plum blooms atop the soft black hair, down at the tanned forehead, arriving to the ruby eyes full of undivided attention.

“I was just thinking,” he murmured into his cup, “that you strike me more as a God of Wine rather than Rebirth.”

“Hm,” Luo Binghe narrowed his eyes, scuttling closer. “Why does my darling think like that?”

“You seem much brighter in nature as I imagined you,” Shen Qingqiu said with a sigh, tilting head closer, warm breath on his lips. “Happier.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes glistened. “I am like that because I am with you.”

(Their lazy kiss is sweeter than ambrosia.)