The Noodles of Eternity shimmered in their jade pot, their golden strands swirling like captured sunlight. A sacred dish, reserved for the Celestial Emperor’s private banquets, and tonight, the target of two gods who should have known better.


    Zhen Wei perched on the edge of a floating scripture shelf, his war-god physique draped in shadow-dark silk. His fingers hovered over the steam, testing its divine heat. Across from him, Lián, younger by a century and just as striking, leaned against the kitchen’s moonbeam-lit pillar, arms crossed. His beauty was the kind that inspired ballads, though he’d sooner cut a poet’s tongue out than endure one.


    "You realize this is treason," Lián said, voice low.


    Zhen Wei smirked. "Only if we’re caught."


    Lián exhaled, but his eyes gleamed. He moved with the liquid grace of a duelist, plucking a single noodle from the pot. It glowed between his fingers, casting light over his sharp features.


    The Noodle God, a stern immortal with ink-black hair knotted high and robes embroidered with twisting flourishes of wheat and steam, stirred at his desk. His brush paused mid-character.


    Lián froze.


    Zhen Wei didn’t.


    With a flick of his wrist, Zhen Wei sent a peach pit skittering across the floor. The Noodle God turned just as Lián vanished, his form dissolving into the shadows between lanterns.


    "Distraction?" Lián’s voice whispered from nowhere.


    "Always," Zhen Wei murmured back.


    They moved in tandem. Zhen Wei palmed a handful of noodles, their light dying against his skin as if ashamed. Lián, materializing beside the recipe scroll, traced a finger down its edge, and the ink rearranged itself, altering ten thousand years to ten minutes.


    The Noodle God turned back. Blinked at his scroll. Then roared.


    The chase that followed was neither clumsy nor comical.


    It was art.


    Zhen Wei leapt through moonlit arches, Lián flowing beside him like a second shadow. Behind them, the Noodle God’s fury shook the palace, his voice echoing like thunder.


    "You disrespect the very heavens!"


    The Noodle God''s roar shook the foundations as they sprinted through the courtyard. Zhen Wei tossed Lián half the stolen noodles, their glow pulsing like captured stars in their palms. They ate as they ran, the taste of divinity bursting on their tongues - sweet, then bitter, then gone too soon.


    Lián laughed between breaths, his youthful face flushed with adrenaline. "The look on his face when he saw the altered recipe! Ten minutes instead of ten millennia!"


    Zhen Wei grinned but kept running. The Noodle God''s fury wasn''t something to take lightly. Already they could hear the clatter of armored boots… the Heavenly Guard had been alerted!


    "We should return to the tribunal hall," Zhen Wei said, his voice low. "Before this escalates further."


    Lián''s smile didn''t fade, but his eyes darkened. "And admit our crime? Let them scold us like children again?” He wiped the noodle grease on his pants. “The heavens have enough rules without us adding confessions to them, ge."


    The Noodle God’s roar still echoed through the palace when the Heavenly Guards appeared, six armored sentinels materializing from the mist, their spears gleaming like frozen lightning.


    Zhen Wei grabbed Lián’s wrist. "Run."


    They burst into the Jade Lantern District, where the lower-tier gods and celestial servants lived. Narrow streets wound between closed tea houses and shuttered market stalls, their paper lanterns swaying in the sudden wind of the chase.


    Lián vaulted over the sleeping tortoise spirit, its shell piled high with moon peaches that trembled as the guards'' armored boots shook the street. Zhen Wei flipped backward with theatrical grace, just as a spear tore through his sleeve, leaving the embroidered hem fluttering like a surrender flag he''d never raise.


    "Ge!" Lián caught a rolling peach before it could smash, his voice caught between laughter and panic. "They''re actually trying to kill us over noodles!"


    Zhen Wei landed atop the floating dumpling stall, sending porcelain bowls cascading. He snatched one midair, stuffing his mouth shamelessly. "Not just noodles," he corrected through the bite. "Sacred noodles. The kind that…"


    A spear embedded itself in the stall''s wooden frame, vibrating an inch from his hip.


    "…Apparently warrant attempted murder," Lián finished dryly, kicking the weapon loose. He grabbed Zhen Wei''s wrist. "Move, you reckless…!"


    Zhen Wei twisted free only to sling an arm around Lián''s shoulders, pulling him into a sidelong dash down a spice-scented alley. "Didi, didi," he chided, breathless with adrenaline, "since when do you fear heaven''s wrath?"


    "Since my idiot brother made me accessory to culinary treason!"


    The guards'' shouts multiplied behind them. Zhen Wei''s grin widened.


    Lián groaned. "That look means you''re about to do something stupid."


    "Stupid?" Zhen Wei pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense as they leapt onto a low-hanging cloud bridge. "I prefer inspired." With his free hand, he flicked open his war fan…


    …And the night exploded into silver dust.


    When it cleared, the guards stood bewildered amidst phantom images: A singing sparrow perched on one''s helmet. A dancing fox leading another in circles. And at the center, a shimmering afterimage of Zhen Wei blowing them a kiss before vanishing.


    Somewhere beyond the district''s curved rooftops, two voices rang out, one laughing, one exasperated, both inextricably intertwined:


    "I hate you!"


    "No you don''t!"


    Many (God years) later…


    The stars were just beginning to fade when Lián tossed the empty wine gourd off the edge of the floating balcony. It spun once, twice, and disappeared into the mist below with a satisfying plonk.


    "Littering," Zhen Wei muttered, sprawled against the railing, one leg dangling into nothing. "Very divine of you."


    Lián snorted and held up the last of the wine in a chipped ceramic cup. "I’ll donate a poem to the River Spirits later. Something tasteful. Tragic. Possibly slurred."


    Zhen Wei groaned. "Not another limerick."


    "There once was a god from the sky," Lián began cheerfully.


    "Don’t."


    "Who stole sacred noodles to fry…"


    Zhen Wei flung a grape at him. It missed, bounced off a cloud, and vanished into the void.


    "I regret everything."


    Lián smiled and leaned back against the carved stone railing. His sleeves fluttered in the early morning breeze, loose and wrinkled from the night’s revelries, or possibly battles; it was getting harder to tell the difference lately. The edge of his collar was stained dark, half-cleaned.


    "Do you ever miss it?" Lián asked suddenly, staring into the rippling horizon.


    Zhen Wei blinked. "Miss what?"


    "Being mortal."


    The question hung in the air between them, heavier than the wine they''d drunk.


    Zhen Wei tilted his head. "You were barely mortal long enough to miss it. What, twenty years?"


    "Twenty-three," Lián corrected. He turned the chipped cup in his hands, watching the dawn light catch on its uneven glaze. "Long enough to remember hunger. Long enough to know what it feels like to not heal from a wound."


    Zhen Wei studied him. "You’d trade immortality for that?"


    Lián laughed, but it was quieter than usual. "No. But sometimes I wonder if we lost something when we stopped being breakable."


    "You are breakable."


    "Not like them." Lián gestured vaguely toward the mortal realm below. "They burn brighter because they know they’ll end. We just… persist."


    Zhen Wei was silent for a long moment. Then, softly: "You’re drunk."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Lián grinned. "A little."


    "And philosophical."


    "Blame the wine."


    Zhen Wei reached over and flicked the rim of Lián’s cup. "This the same wine you stole from the mortal realm too?"


    Lián’s smile turned wistful. "No. That ran out centuries ago."


    They fell into comfortable silence. The kind that only two immortals who’d survived a thousand bad ideas together could share without words.


    Eventually, Lián placed the cup gently on the railing between them. "To the mortals we were supposed to be."


    Zhen Wei raised an imaginary glass. "To the gods we became instead."


    "And eternal regrets," Lián added, clinking his empty cup against Zhen Wei’s invisible one.


    The sun crested the edge of the world. Light spilled like wine over the floating rooftops of Tian.


    Zhen Wei turned to speak, but paused. A single lotus petal had drifted loose from Lián’s armor and now lay in the cup, half-submerged in the last of the wine.


    It hadn’t been there before.


    Lián didn’t seem to notice.


    The lotus petal in Lián’s cup trembled, though there was no wind.


    Zhen Wei stared at it, his fingers twitching toward the stem as if to pluck it free, but then Lián stretched, rolling his shoulders with a sigh.


    "Another day, another celestial decree to ignore," he said, pushing off the railing. The movement jostled the cup, and when Zhen Wei looked again, the petal was gone.


    "You’re not still thinking about that nonsense, are you?" Zhen Wei asked, following him inside. The palace halls were empty at this hour, their footsteps echoing off jade tiles.


    Lián shrugged. "Just wondering what it would’ve been like."


    "To die?"


    "To matter the way mortals do."


    Zhen Wei caught his arm, forcing him to stop. "You matter."


    Lián’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "To you, maybe."


    "To the heavens."


    "To the heavens, I’m a nuisance." Lián tugged free, nodding toward the frescoed walls, depictions of glorious battles where their faces were conspicuously absent.


    "When was the last time we were invited to a victory banquet?"


    Zhen Wei opened his mouth, then shut it.


    Lián laughed softly. "Exactly."


    The first light of dawn gilded the rooftops of Tian as Zhen Wei and Lián descended from the floating balcony, their steps carrying them from the serene heights of the palace down into the waking streets below. The air smelled of dew-steeped blossoms and the faint metallic tang of celestial smithies already at work.


    Zhen Wei stretched, his arms open wide above his head. "Where to now? The teahouse? The training grounds?" He smirked. "Another ill-advised adventure?"


    Lián flicked a stray grape stem at him. "At this hour? Even I have limits."


    Zhen Wei laughed. “Oh, since when? You didn’t use to!”


    They passed beneath an arched bridge, its shadow cool against their skin. The streets here were narrow, paved with stones that shimmered faintly underfoot, remnants of some long-forgotten god’s vanity. Market stalls were just beginning to open, their awnings unfurling like flower petals.


    A vendor selling moon-peach pastries blinked sleepily at them, then promptly dropped his tray in recognition.


    His tray hit the cobblestones with a clatter, golden pastries tumbling into the dust in clouds of flaky crust and caramelized peach glaze.


    Zhen Wei winced, “What a waste!” and flashed the man an apologetic grin just as Lián’s elbow jammed into his ribs.


    “Move,” Lián hissed, dragging him toward the nearest alley. The scent of burnt sugar and brown butter clung to their heels, a taunting ghost of the breakfast they’d now never taste.


    They moved on, leaving the stammering vendor behind. The farther they walked, the more the celestial city awoke around them, lesser gods rushing to their duties, messenger spirits darting like minnows through the air, the occasional immortal beast grumbling in its pen.


    It was in this hum of morning activity that the messenger found them.


    "Lord Zhen Wei! Lord Lián!" a clear voice called out.


    The messenger, a minor god of missives no taller than a mortal adolescent, bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the ground. His ink-stained fingers trembled against his thighs, and the bronze clasps of his hastily donned robe were misaligned, as though he’d been roused from sleep. A single scroll case bounced against his hip, its jade seal cracked from use. When he straightened, his eyes darted between them like a sparrow caught in a storm.


    Lián waved a lazy hand. "At ease. We’re off-duty nuisances today."


    "Lord Zhen Wei! Lord Lián!" The young god continued, "The, the Celestial Emperor demands your presence!"


    Lián arched an eyebrow. "Demands?"


    The messenger gulped. "R-requests. Urgently."


    Zhen Wei and Lián exchanged a glance. The Emperor didn’t request their presence. Not unless something was very, very wrong.


    Without another word, they followed the messenger, their earlier banter forgotten, their footsteps quickening toward whatever storm awaited.


    The Celestial Emperor sat upon his jade throne, flanked by generals whose stern expressions seemed carved from the same unyielding stone as the palace pillars. The air hung thick with sandalwood incense and something heavier, the sharp, metallic tension of impending calamity.


    Zhen Wei and Lián Zhiruo approached in perfect unison, their earlier playfulness tempered by protocol. They bowed as one, fists pressed to palms, the formal salute of warriors acknowledging their sovereign.


    "Radiant Majesty," Zhen Wei intoned.


    The Emperor studied them, his gaze weighing centuries of service against their reputation for chaos. "Zhen Wei. Lián Zhiruo." His voice resonated like distant thunder. "You honor us with your promptness."


    Lián Zhiruo''s answering smile was all deference, though a spark of mischief still glimmered beneath his lowered lashes.


    "This unworthy one is at Heaven''s service."


    Zhen Wei noted how his friend''s fingers curled slightly at his sides, the only tell of Lián Zhiruo''s tension.


    The Emperor''s long sleeves whispered against the dais as he leaned forward. "A disturbance has occurred in the mortal realm. These villages, are..." His fingers tightened imperceptibly on the armrests. "Are no more."


    Zhen Wei''s brow furrowed. "An earthquake?"


    The Emperor''s fingers tightened on the armrests of his throne. "See for yourselves."


    The vision unfolded like a poisoned scroll: Three villages gone. Not collapsed, not ruined… simply erased. Where homes once stood yawned a blackness so absolute it hurt to behold. The edges were smooth as glass, as if the village had been plucked from existence by some colossal hand.


    Lián Zhiruo''s breath hitched.


    His fingers found the Bixie pendant at his belt, a comforting weight until this moment. Now the jade burned against his palm, as it began to faintly glow with a strange heat.


    What in the ten hells…?


    Zhen Wei''s hand moved to rest on his sword hilt as he peered into the vision further.


    What could cause this?


    The Emperor''s voice cut through the chamber, sharp as a honed blade. "This is no earthly phenomenon. The void consumes everything it touches. Land, flesh, even memory."


    Lián Zhiruo''s fingers twitched around the pendant.


    "How far has it spread?"


    "We know for certain that these villages are already lost." The Emperor''s gaze swept the assembled generals. "The earth gives no warning. One moment they exist, the next there is only silence. It’s possible that there are more losses that we have yet to discover.”


    Zhen Wei studied the vision, frowning. The void’s edges were unnaturally precise, as if the missing land had been carved away by a blade wielded with godlike intent. No fraying, no debris. Just… absence.


    "With respect, Radiant Majesty." The scarred general stepped forward, his throat scar pulsing as he spoke. "These two are hardly suited for such delicate work. Their... familiarity with the mortal realm borders on obsession."


    A murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks.


    Another general, her armor etched with storm motifs, added, "Just last cycle they were caught bribing the River God for mortal wine. And let us not forget the incident with the…"


    "Enough."


    The Emperor''s command silenced the room. But his eyes lingered on Zhen Wei, then Lián, weighing something unseen. "Who better to walk corrupted lands than those who know them best?"


    Zhen Wei met Lián''s gaze.


    All traces of their usual laughter had vanished.


    The unspoken truth hung between them:


    This was a test.


    The heavy jade gates of the Inner Sanctum sealed behind them with a sound like a tomb closing. The air here was different, thicker with the scent of magnolia blossoms and the distant murmur of palace servants, a world away from the suffocating dread of the Emperor’s chamber.


    Zhen Wei exhaled sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time. "Three villages. Just… gone." His voice was too light, the way it always got when he was forcing calm.


    Lián Zhiruo didn’t answer at first. His hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the lacquered scabbard. When he finally spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "No warning. No resistance. That’s not natural erosion. That’s consumption."


    Zhen shot him a sideways glance. "Since when do you use words like ‘erosion’? Have you been reading those mortal geology scrolls again?"


    A flicker of annoyance, then Lián’s mouth twitched, despite himself.


    "Shut up. The point is, the Emperor didn’t call us in there because we’re experts. He called us in because we’re expendable."


    Zhen’s smirk faded. Ahead of them, a pair of lesser officials hurried past, bowing hastily without meeting their eyes. The silence between them stretched, taut as a bowstring.


    "You felt it too, then," Zhen said at last. "The way the generals looked at us. Like they were already measuring our funeral shrouds."


    Lián’s jaw tightened.


    "Let them. But if the Emperor thinks sending us to the edge of oblivion will make us fall in line, he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with."


    Zhen laughed, but there was no joy in it.


    "Oh, I’m sure he remembers. That’s the problem." He kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the polished courtyard stones. "Still. That void… Did you see the edges? Like it was cut out of the world. Not torn. Not burned. Just… removed."


    Lián stopped walking. "You’re thinking too much."


    "Someone has to," Zhen shot back.


    For a long moment, they stood there, the weight of the unspoken pressing down between them, the mission, the politics, the gnawing sense that neither of them was being told the full truth.


    Then Lián sighed, rolling his shoulders like he could physically shed the tension.


    "We’ll need supplies. Proper ones. Not whatever cursed rations the Quartermaster tries to pawn off on ‘disgraced’ operatives."


    Zhen’s grin returned, sharp and familiar.


    "I’ll handle it. Remember the wine cellar under the Hall of Infinite Wisdom?"


    "Zhen, "


    "Relax. I’ll leave a few coins this time. Probably."


    Lián groaned, but there was something almost fond in it.


    As they turned toward the barracks, the bright midday sunlight caught the gold in their robes, turning them molten, two small bright figures walking forward into their destiny.