THERE WERE many ‘Never’s’ in his life, but Ayden didn’t mind this time. Absolutely. He had a small pavilion to himself, next to another uninhabited one, and as a result, had a royal peace. Lu Xiaofeng—or perhaps Lu Dehui? Yes, probably him—had even brought a bath, and the redhead was currently splashing around in it with great pleasure. He had never experienced such luxury, and if he let himself go, he might get a taste for it quickly. Legs halfway out, ankles crossed, he watched the ceiling of cleverly crossed beams thoughtfully, replaying the discussion he had with Lu Lisong.

      Their society was eminently more complex, made up of many codes that he had not yet grasped in their entirety. Cultivators—those fighters who practised cultivation, learning to use spiritual energy and all the thinking that went with it—sometimes joined to form a clan if blood bound them; sect, if that wasn’t the case. Although minor clans appeared and disappeared here and there, most of the more significant clans had a history of hundreds of years, even millennia.

      Each prominent clan was attached to a region and protected it. Ayden was currently in the Kuming region, whose chief town was the city of Beiming. Kuming formed, with four other areas, the province of Libai. Five large clans dominated the province, and each represented thought and practice of cultivation that was unique to it.

      And Ayden was getting a headache. He sighed and ran a handful of water over his face, rolling his neck to relax. He had never been the type to be interested in politics and court intrigue, and now he had landed in a place even more complicated than His Majesty’s court.

    Some disciples came from good families, and others had more modest origins. Anyone could apply for cultivation and try to join one clan as long as they had the determination and will invest themselves fully in the study and practice of these arts by following the doctrines of the clan. But, as Ayden understood it, it widely held some standard codes: honour, modesty, hard work and respect.

      Ayden breathed deeply with a smile. “They sound like the knights of tales and legends...”

      He had understood the key thing, and that was what mattered.

      “If Themis was there, he would cum from overjoy with all these things...”

     His friend the mage was — oh cliché — an avid reader of legends and other stories. A typical erudite. Everything that could be read, he read; everything that could be learned, he learned. No doubt he would have adored discussing the workings of this society and this world with Lu Lisong.

      The thought of his friend darkened Ayden’s mood, and his mind drifted to the rest of his companions as he finished cleaning himself before going out. His back, torso, and even his legs bore the marks of the many battlefields he had experienced. Each scar rippled across his pale skin from the smallest to the largest, highlighting the powerful muscles.

      Grand Master Zhongyou had left a tray full of bandages and balm for him after Ayden had assured him that, yes, he could treat himself.

      Opening one of the wooden doors to get rid of the hot humidity, he stood at the entrance to his pavilion, shirtless, to begin treatment. The trousers he wore were pristine white, the fabric thick and of excellent quality. Two robes had been left for him to wear, one white and the other equally immaculate, but with the clan’s arabesques on the edges. After some thought, Ayden wore only the white robe, not even bothering to tie it since he was alone. Unaccustomed to the climate of this new world, he soon got too hot.

      The Plains where he came from was rainy, the hot spells milder than in the Southern Lands whose other name was even more telling: the Sun Kingdoms. But, if the weather in Beiming was not so arid, it did not make him want to dress more than that. He started to eat the food left for him, half-dressed.

      Everything was quiet. It had been dark for a few hours already, and the youngest had all gone to bed. The few who were still awake were who-knows-where, and so he found himself... Alone.

      A sudden rustle on his right soon told him he was not. No, he was not alone. Fingers closed on an amalgam of rice, Ayden turned his head. He closed his mouth with a discreet chattering of his teeth as his eyes widened.

      The man staring at him from the other pavilion was gorgeous. Despite the clan robes, Ayden could see that he was well built, a little shorter than he was, with well-shaped shoulders and a narrow waist marked by the belt.

      Against his fair skin, his long, black ink hair stood out all the more and was shiny, almost liquid, worn loose with the top half held back in a high ponytail, all of it flapping around his loins. The jewel in his hair was simple, but against the jet-black mane, the whiteness of the object stood out all the more. A few shorter strands framed his face on either side, flattering his delicate yet masculine features. There was a grace about him that Ayden could not describe, as if ethereal, and for want of knowing what to do, Ayden bowed his head slightly in greeting.

      The stranger snapped out of his contemplation and returned his greetings reverently before turning to enter his pavilion.

      It was here that Ayden noticed the wound. “Hey, wait!”

      The man froze and then took a step back to look at Ayden. If the redhead’s call had surprised him, he showed nothing.