Chinese Cultivation BL/MM Romance Anyone?

I've been super busy working on Claimed, Book 2 of Marked by Alphas, and A Heart Unveiled, Book 2 of the Darius and Robin fantasy romance duet. Both are coming along nicely! Hope you're loving their covers as much as I do. Both are available for pre-order on amazon. Click on the image to check out the book.

Recently, I got that creative itch for something new, so I finally started working on a Chinese Cultivation BL that's been living rent-free in my head forever! I'm absolutely obsessed with Chinese fantasy dramas. Growing up, I devoured all those wuxia and xianxia shows from the 90s and 2000s. Return of the Condor Heroes? Watched pretty much every version they made. Heavenly Sword and Dragon Saber? Wong Wu-ji had my heart! And don't even get me started on The Untamed, Heaven's Blessing, and Scumbag System - I binged them all!

The last three are technically BL/MM Romance, though they keep the romance super subtle (Chinese drama and all that). But honestly? Scumbag System ended up being my absolute favorite of the BL bunch. It's just too funny - you guys need to watch it!

So anyway, here I am, deep in plotting and writing mode. Right now, I'm planning it as a duet following one couple, but who knows? If you all love these characters as much as I do, there might be more stories to tell!

Quick note for those new to cultivation novels: they're this amazing genre of Eastern fantasy with roots in Taoist culture. Think cultivators - these awesome characters who develop both spiritually and physically, mastering martial arts, meditation, and alchemy on their quest for immortality or incredible power. Trust me, it's going to be epic!

So, would you want to read this?

Of Clouds and Mists

An Of Love and Cultivation Novel

A Steamy Chinese Cultivation BL/MM Fantasy Romance Series

"Stay invisible," Grandpa always warned. But how do you hide when the most powerful cultivator in the realm won't stop looking?

I'm Bai Chen, a simple herb gatherer who has spent years perfecting the art of going unnoticed. My life was perfectly arranged: gather herbs, cook my meals, and stay far from the attention Grandpa warned me about. Then First Brother Jiang of the powerful Lingshan Sect found me at my secret hot spring, and my carefully constructed world shattered.

Now, I'm swept away to the majestic Five Immortal Peaks as his personal attendant—a position others both covet and fear due to Jiang's overwhelming spiritual pressure. While others see an unapproachable force of nature, I feel the heat of every accidental touch, hear the warmth in his voice when he says my name. My carefully built defenses crumble like poorly formed talismans. As I navigate life among the legendary Six Brothers of Lingshan, I'm learning that concealing my heart might be harder than hiding my appearance—especially when Jiang seems determined to uncover every secret I possess.

Of Clouds and Mists is a tale of hidden beauty and forbidden knowledge where attraction simmers beneath layers of deception in the mist-shrouded peaks of the cultivation world.

Teaser

Long after the sect had fallen into uneasy slumber, I slipped from my shed like a shadow. The night air carried a refreshing chill, perfect for what I had planned. With practiced stealth, I navigated between buildings, my footsteps soundless against the packed earth.

The eastern wall—the one most claimed by moss and vines—offered the perfect escape route. A particularly sturdy vine had served as my private exit for months now, allowing me to come and go without disturbing the night watchman who dozed at the main gate.

Once beyond the wall, I moved with greater freedom, no longer needing to maintain my deliberately clumsy gait. The bamboo forest welcomed me with its familiar whispers, stalks swaying gently in the night breeze. Unlike most disciples who found the dense growth disorienting, I read the forest like an old friend's face—each bend and clearing as familiar as my own hands.

"Hello, old friends," I murmured to the bamboo as I passed, my fingers brushing their smooth surfaces. "Still growing strong, I see."

The path I followed existed only in my mind—a twisting route that changed with the seasons and the forest's growth. Tonight, it led me deeper than usual, past the places where other disciples might venture on dares or for training.

After nearly an hour of walking, the bamboo thinned suddenly, revealing my destination: a hidden spring nestled in a natural hollow. Steam rose from its surface in delicate wisps, evidence of the hot mineral waters that bubbled up from deep within the mountain. The pool itself was roughly circular, perhaps twenty paces across, its edges lined with smooth stones that gleamed silver in the moonlight.

"Perfect," I sighed, already untying my belt.

My clothes—deliberately dirtied for public appearance—fell away easily, and I folded them with unexpected neatness on a flat rock near the water's edge. The wooden bead bracelet remained on my wrist; it never left my person, not even for bathing.

The first touch of the hot spring against my toes sent a pleasant shiver up my spine. I eased in slowly, savoring the heat as it enveloped my body inch by inch. When I finally submerged to my shoulders, a contented sigh escaped me—the sound of pure, uncomplicated pleasure.

"This is what cultivation should be," I murmured to the night air, tilting my head back to gaze at the stars visible through the bamboo canopy. "Warm, comfortable, and requiring minimal effort."

The spring's mineral-rich waters worked their magic, dissolving tension I hadn't realized I was carrying. My thoughts drifted lazily, unconcerned with tomorrow's visitors or the sect's uncertain fate. Such matters seemed distant and unimportant compared to the perfect temperature of the water and the gentle caress of steam against my face.

After soaking for several minutes, I set about my true purpose. From a small pouch I'd brought along, I extracted a chunk of herb-infused soap—another of Grandpa's recipes, this one designed to cleanse both body and meridians. I worked it into a rich lather between my palms before applying it to my skin and hair with methodical care.

As I rinsed the soap away, I caught my reflection in the now-still surface of the spring. The moonlight provided perfect illumination, revealing a face I rarely allowed others to see clearly. Without the strategic smudges and deliberately unkempt appearance, my features held a delicate harmony that even I found somewhat surprising.

"No wonder Grandpa was so insistent," I mused, studying the reflection with detached curiosity.

My eyes—an unusual hazel gray that Grandpa claimed came from my mother's side—stood out against my pale skin. My hair, now clean and floating on the water's surface around me like black silk, had none of the coarseness I pretended in public. My features were neither particularly masculine nor feminine, but balanced in a way that Grandpa had called "troublesome."

"Keep your face dirty and your head down," he'd instructed countless times after the incident with the traveling merchants who'd tried to buy me from him when I was eight. "Beauty attracts unwanted attention, and unwanted attention attracts trouble."

I'd followed his advice faithfully, though I never quite understood the fuss. What practical advantage did pleasing features offer? They couldn't help find herbs or improve cooking. If anything, based on Grandpa's warnings, they seemed more hindrance than help.

A sudden rustling from the bamboo broke my reverie. I froze, instantly alert. No animal moved that deliberately, which meant only one thing: a person approached.

In a heartbeat, I slid deeper into the water until only my eyes and nose remained above the surface. My hand moved instinctively toward my clothes and the small knife hidden within them, but they were frustratingly out of reach.

The bamboo parted, and a figure stepped into the clearing.

Even in the moonlight, I could tell this was no disciple from Qinggu Sect. The stranger stood tall—taller than anyone in our small sect—with broad shoulders and a confident stance that spoke of significant cultivation. He wore simple traveling clothes rather than sect robes, but the quality of the fabric betrayed wealth beyond a common wanderer. His hair hung loose around his shoulders instead of being bound in the traditional cultivator's topknot, giving him a wild, untamed appearance.

Most striking, however, was his face—or rather, what I could see of it. The upper half was obscured by a simple half-mask of dark material, revealing only a strong jaw and lips that seemed permanently set in a serious expression.

We stared at each other in momentary shock before the stranger spoke, his voice deep and unexpectedly direct.

"I didn't realize this spring was occupied."

Despite his words, he made no move to leave. Instead, he surveyed the clearing with the casual assessment of someone used to claiming whatever space he entered.

I rose slightly from the water, keeping my shoulders submerged. "Well, now you know. There must be other springs nearby."

"None with water this clear," he replied, his gaze returning to me with unsettling intensity. "I've been traveling for days."

"That sounds like a personal problem," I retorted, surprised by my own boldness. Something about this masked stranger irritated me—perhaps the way he stood there as if waiting for me to accommodate him.

To my astonishment, his serious mouth twitched slightly at one corner. "Indeed it is. A problem that could be solved by sharing this generously sized spring."

I blinked, momentarily speechless. Was he suggesting...?

"The spring is large enough for two," he continued, already untying the outer layer of his traveling clothes. "I'll stay on the opposite side, little bamboo spirit."

"Little—what did you call me?" I sputtered, caught between indignation and confusion at the sudden nickname.

"Bamboo spirit," he replied, gesturing to our surroundings. "Found in a secret bamboo grove, with skin like jade and eyes that catch the moonlight. What else would I call you?"

"My name, if I chose to give it," I retorted. "Which I don't. And you can't just—"

"I can and I will," he interrupted, shrugging off his outer robe to reveal an inner layer of finer material. "Unless you're planning to physically remove me from this clearing?"

He paused, his hands at the tie of his inner robe, one eyebrow visibly raised above his mask in challenge.

I assessed him quickly—the breadth of his shoulders, the evident strength in his arms, the casual confidence that spoke of significant combat training. Even if I weren't naked in a hot spring, this wasn't a fight I could win.

"Fine," I conceded with poor grace. "The opposite side. And turn around while you... disrobe."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "As you wish, bamboo spirit.”

He turned his back, continuing to undress with efficient movements. Despite my annoyance, I couldn't help noticing the defined muscles of his back as he removed his inner robe. Whoever this stranger was, he trained rigorously.

I averted my eyes as he stepped into the spring, focusing instead on a particularly interesting bamboo stalk until the sound of water settling indicated he had submerged himself.

"See? Plenty of room," he said, now seated on the opposite side as promised, the water reaching his chest.

I glared at him across the steaming surface. "Do you make a habit of intruding on private baths?"

"Do you make a habit of claiming public hot springs as private?" he countered smoothly.

"It's not public if no one knows it exists," I argued.

"I knew it existed," he pointed out reasonably.

"Only because you were trespassing through these mountains," I retorted.

He leaned back against the smooth stones, looking infuriatingly comfortable. "All mountains belong to heaven and earth, not to men."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Save the philosophical platitudes for someone impressed by them."

To my surprise, he laughed—a rich, genuine sound that seemed at odds with his serious demeanor. "You're refreshingly direct. Most people wouldn't speak so boldly to a stranger."

"Most people aren't interrupted during their bath by masked intruders," I pointed out.

"Fair enough." He studied me openly now, his eyes difficult to read behind the mask. "You're not from the nearby sect, are you?"

The question caught me off guard. "What makes you say that?"

He gestured vaguely. "Your speech patterns. Your mannerisms. You don't carry yourself like someone trained in their style."

I tensed slightly. Had I been too natural in my movements? Too graceful? I deliberately slouched lower in the water.

"I'm just a disciple gathering herbs," I said, intentionally making my voice rougher. "Nothing special."

"Hmm." The sound was noncommittal but skeptical.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the occasional bubble rising from the spring's depths. I became acutely aware of how exposed I was—not just physically, but in other ways. Away from the sect, without my carefully constructed facade of clumsiness and dirt, I felt strangely vulnerable.

"Why the mask?" I asked suddenly, more to break the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

He touched it reflexively, as if confirming it was still in place. "Why the pretense of being ordinary?"

I stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." His voice remained casual, but his eyes never left mine. "Your speech shifts between educated and common. Your movements are too precise for 'just a disciple gathering herbs.' You're hiding something."

"Says the man in a mask," I deflected.

Another smile touched his lips. "Touché."

The steam rose between us, carrying the herbal scent of my soap. I noticed his nostrils flare slightly as he caught the fragrance.

"That's an unusual soap," he remarked. "Mountain sage, spirit mint, and... something I don't recognize."

I raised an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "You have a good nose."

"I have good everything," he replied without a hint of modesty.

A startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I felt my cheeks grow warm as his eyes seemed to brighten at the sound.

"And humble too," I added, fighting to suppress a smile.

"Humility is overrated," he said with a dismissive wave. "Accuracy in self-assessment is more valuable."

"Is that why you're traveling alone through dangerous mountains at night?" I asked.

"Accurate self-assessment of your invincibility?"

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, that I'd turned the conversation back to him. "I prefer solitude for thinking. My... companions are sometimes distracting."

"Companions," I repeated. "You mean servants? Guards?"

"Brothers," he corrected. "Of a sort."

The way he said it reminded me of the rumors about the Lingshan brothers, but that was absurd. What would one of those fearsome cultivators be doing bathing in a hidden spring the night before their official arrival?

"And what brings you to these particular mountains?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

He studied me for a moment before answering. "Personal matters. I find these mountains... restorative."

"Personal matters," I repeated skeptically. "In the middle of nowhere?"

"The middle of nowhere is precisely where personal matters are best handled," he replied with a slight smile. "Away from prying eyes and expectations."

"I suppose that explains the mask," I ventured. "Is it for medical reasons or vanity?"

He blinked, clearly surprised by the bluntness. "Neither. It's... a habit."

"A habit of hiding your face?"

"A habit of maintaining privacy," he corrected. "Not everyone needs to see everything."

"Says the man who invited himself into my bath," I pointed out.

That earned another laugh, deeper this time. "You're not what I expected to find in these mountains."

"And what did you expect?"

"Simple disciples. Humble cultivators." His eyes traveled over what he could see of me above the water—my face, my shoulders, the curve of my neck. "Not... you."

The way he said it sent an unexpected shiver down my spine despite the hot water.

There was something in his gaze that felt like more than casual observation—a focus and intensity that seemed to see through surface appearances.

"I am a simple disciple," I insisted, fighting the urge to sink deeper into the water under his scrutiny.

"No," he said with quiet certainty. "You're not."

Before I could formulate a response, he moved suddenly, water rippling around him as he shifted to a more upright position. "It's getting late. I should return before I'm missed."

Relief and inexplicable disappointment mingled as I watched him rise partially from the water, his broad shoulders and chest emerging like a sculpture taking form. I quickly averted my eyes, focusing intently on a nearby rock as he exited the spring.

"You can look now," he said after a moment, amusement evident in his voice.

I turned to find him fully dressed in his traveling clothes, water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. The mask remained firmly in place.

"Thank you for sharing your spring," he said with formal politeness that somehow sounded like teasing.

"I didn't have much choice," I reminded him.

"Everyone has choices." He gathered his few belongings. "You chose to stay rather than leave."

I hadn't considered that option, which was annoying in itself. "The spring was mine first."

"Possession is a temporary state," he replied, sounding frustratingly philosophical again. "But I'll remember that this one is yours, bamboo spirit."

He turned to leave, then paused at the edge of the clearing. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

"I doubt it," I said, though something in his confident posture suggested he knew otherwise.

With a slight nod that might have been acknowledgment or farewell, he stepped back into the bamboo forest. Within moments, he had vanished as completely as if he'd never been there at all, leaving only ripples across the spring's surface as evidence of his presence.

I remained in the water, oddly unsettled by the encounter. Something about the stranger nagged at me—not just his unexpected appearance or his mask, but the way he'd looked at me. As if he'd seen something worth noting.

"Ridiculous," I muttered to myself, finally rising from the spring. "Just some wandering cultivator with boundary issues."

As I dressed and prepared to return to the sect, I couldn't shake the feeling that the encounter had shifted something—like a pebble that starts an avalanche. But that was nonsense. Tomorrow, important visitors would arrive at our sect, and one strange encounter with a masked traveler would be the least of my concerns.

Still, as I made my way back through the bamboo forest, I found myself touching my face, wondering exactly what he had seen that I had failed to hide.

***

What do you think? Of Clouds and Mists, coming soon. Stay tuned for updates.