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While Wen Zhihao was sleeping or otherwise relaxing, Lin Yijun was far from being able to rest.

He was de facto-in-charge of the tournament preparations. Not out of want, but out of necessity: if not, the discussions would be endless.

To recognise the fact that the tournament was replacing the war, the tournament was to be held at the original flower plain—the ravine itself was to be incorporated into the competition stages.

The location was suitable because it was away from major mortal towns and there was a lot of space—this was in part why it was originally chosen as the confrontational area.

Lin Yijun ‘only’ had to manage the tournament preparations: it was other cultivators doing the building. But with multiple different sects involved, he had meetings day and night, liaising with hundreds of cultivators. A big temporary tent had been set up on the plain for these meetings.

There were the competitor sign up lists, there was the planning of multiple combat stages, the seating areas, the infirmary, the boards to show who was fighting who, the schedule…

Given how long cultivators lived, they could have argued for months on the details. However, since many of them wanted to fight each other as soon as possible, it took only three days for the architectural schema for the tournament stadium to be grudgingly approved by the representatives of every contributing sect.

At that point, night had fallen. After Lin Yijun handed the architectural plans to the relevant cultivators who wanted to take charge of the construction, he ended the meeting.

Some cultivators left, while others remained in the tent to chat. Lin Yijun was one of those who left.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the chilly air.

Walking swiftly away from the tent, Lin Yijun relaxed as he took another deep breath. He didn’t need the calming stone: the peacefulness of the open night sky was more than enough.

A heavy hand suddenly pressed down on his shoulder from behind.

“Zhou Sheng,” Lin Yijun said drily.

Zhou Sheng lifted his hand from Lin Yijun’s shoulder. Lin Yijun turned to him.

The glow from the lights around the distant meeting tent outlined Zhou Sheng’s features, but left most of it in shadow. With the surrounding darkness, the atmosphere became ambiguous.

Zhou Sheng reached out for Lin Yijun’s sleeve, but then his hand dropped again. “The other day, before I kissed you…what were you going to say?”

Lin Yijun cleared his throat. “What are you implying?”

“You said that you liked…something. Instead of waiting for you to finish, I kissed you.”

“Oh.” Lin Yijun looked down. “I was planning to say that I liked you.”

With those words, Zhou Sheng’s heart tightened. He had known that Lin Yijun wasn’t the kind of person who went around kissing other cultivators, but then the complete lack of intimate interaction afterwards—admittedly due to their busyness—had led to the growth of doubts.

But now those doubts were dissipating. Zhou Sheng let out a breath. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Lin Yijun countered.

“As the older one, shouldn’t Lin Yijun be the one to speak first?”

Lin Yijun huffed. “Haven’t I spoken already?” He reached out and grabbed Zhou Sheng by the waist. The feeling of Zhou Sheng was mostly unfamiliar.

Lin Yijun wanted to get to know it well.

His heart thumped rapidly in his chest as he dared to press his forehead against Zhou Sheng’s. “Zhou Sheng… I like you,” he whispered. “I’m thankful to have met you.”

Zhou Sheng’s eyelids lowered as his gaze dipped down. He twisted the front of Lin Yijun’s robes in his hands. “I like you too, Lin-shixiong...though I hated you for a bit before.”

Lin Yijun huffed. He tilted his head and pressed a kiss onto Zhou Sheng’s lips. Lips buzzed with sensation: it was just as exhilarating as the first time. But in this kiss, Lin Yijun was gentle—

Until Zhou Sheng’s lips parted, and his tongue swept across Lin Yijun’s lips. Lin Yijun’s own mouth parted. Their tongues slid against each other, rough, yet slick.

Heat grew between them. Breaths came in pants as hardness grew below.

“Uugghh, Lin-shixiong,” Zhou Sheng moaned, trying to pull Lin Yijun closer to him.

“Wait, wait,” Lin Yijun mumbled. “Let me get out…” Reluctantly pulling away from Zhou Sheng, Lin Yijun pulled out a special abode from this spatial ring. The house grew from miniature size to full size in a second. The door opened on Lin Yijun’s command.

Not sure who dragged the other into the house. The door closed and locked itself. Clothes dropped on the floor. Black hair pooled on the bed.

Sleep wasn’t on their agenda.

 

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The next morning, two impeccably dressed cultivators walked out of Lin Yijun’s portable house. Their qi twisted together harmoniously, and after the night, Zhou Sheng’s cultivation had risen closer to Lin Yijun’s.

After Lin Yijun returned the house back into his spatial storage, he couldn’t help but reach over to neaten Zhou Sheng’s hair.

“I’m a demonic cultivator, stop it,” Zhou Sheng grumbled, batting Lin Yijun’s hands away.

“Now that diplomatic relationships have improved, you must allow me to tour your sect one day.”

Zhou Sheng snorted. “They still might try to kill you,” he said plainly. “They’ll definitely still try to kill me.” It couldn’t be helped: Zhou Sheng had (purposefully) stepped on a lot of toes, and killing each other was part of the experience of demonic sects.

Lin Yijun gave him a side-long look. “I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Zhou Sheng scoffed.

“As your shixiong, isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

“You—you—” Zhou Sheng turned his head away. “I have something to do. See you later.” Zhou Sheng hurried away.

Lin Yijun’s heart swelled with warmth as he watched Zhou Sheng’s receding back.

Once Zhou Sheng disappeared from view, Lin Yijun’s expression became cold again. He walked swiftly to the meeting tent, already so noisy in the morning.

Cultivators of Nascent Soul and above noticed the changes in Lin Yijun’s aura.

“So you really became Dao Companions with that Zhou Sheng,” another senior cultivator from the Golden Sun Sect said, a little acerbic.

“So fast,” a senior Blood Sect cultivator said with a sneer.

Lin Yijun’s cold expression did not change. “Does that not make me suitable for coordinating the tournament? If you dare touch my Dao Companion, do not expect me to be vegetarian.”

Lin Yijun might not be the strongest cultivator in the meeting tent, but his sword was deadly. The air grew tense.

“You two argue another time!” a dark-blue robed cultivator interrupted. “My sect has collected an initial list of names to compete, and we can all be ready next week—”

Lin Yijun gave the cultivator an unimpressed look. “We are not starting the tournament next week, unless you honourable cultivators have all learned the methods of construction overnight…”

 

 

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How did you like that? 😏