The Twelve Zodiac Guardian Gods​

“This…” Qi Yue’s mind scrambled for an excuse. He’d just claimed to be a musician, a painter, and now she was pressing him for details. He had clearly exaggerated his background a bit too far.

Suddenly, inspiration struck.

A sly grin spread across Qi Yue’s face. He leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial. “I’m… an artist who specializes in a rather unique field. Since we’re already so close, I’ll let you in on the secret—I work in figurative art. You know… human form. Artistic studies of the body.”

Shuiyue blinked, her cherry-pink lips forming a small “O” of surprise. “You mean like… nude modeling? Ah! No wonder your gaze felt so weird.”

Qi Yue, proud of his quick thinking, puffed out his chest. “Exactly! Body art is a high form of aesthetic pursuit. As a body artist, I firmly believe the human form is the most perfect masterpiece of nature. Especially the female form—it holds both mystery and grace. Only when all constraints are removed can its true beauty shine through. It’s about liberation through form. If we get the chance, we could explore the concept more deeply…”

Even he had to admit—his nonsense sounded impressively poetic. Probably the most eloquent thing he’d ever said.

Shuiyue looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. “You make it sound meaningful… but I still don’t really understand body art.”

Qi Yue straightened up and replied solemnly, “That’s okay! I might not be old, but in this field, I’m more than qualified to be your mentor. If fate allows, we can discuss it further once we reach Tibet.”

As he spoke, his eyes drifted—unintentionally, of course—to the gentle curve of her chest beneath her wide-collar shirt. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the faintest hint of skin. His gaze lingered.

This time, Shuiyue couldn’t pretend not to notice. A flush bloomed across her cheeks, and she quickly tugged her shirt up higher. “N-no! I… I don’t think I should. If my father found out, he’d be furious. I-I really don’t understand body art…”

Qi Yue held up his hands in mock apology, feigning innocence. “I get it, I get it. I really wasn’t staring. Just a reflex, you know? Occupational habit! Comes with being an artist, I guess. Please don’t take it the wrong way. So, uh, what about you? What brings you to Tibet?”

Not wanting to lose her trust, Qi Yue skillfully changed the subject.

Shuiyue hesitated, but his tone seemed genuine. “I’m a freshman at Jingcheng Medical University. My father’s a doctor too—I grew up learning from him. He arranged this trip for me. I’ll be interning at a hospital in Lhasa over the summer. He wants me to build some character before I return to Beijing.”

“Oh wow, so you’re a real white-robed angel!” Qi Yue grinned, quick to flatter her. “That’s amazing!”

But Shuiyue was growing wary of his gaze. She offered a polite smile, then retreated beneath her quilt. She drew the blanket up to her chin like a shield, her voice fading. “It’s getting late… I think I’ll get some rest.”

Qi Yue didn’t press her.

The two passengers occupying the lower bunks entered a few minutes later. Since Shuiyue was already hidden under her quilt, they likely didn’t even realize a girl was in the compartment.

With a low rumble, the train finally began its long journey westward. Through the window, neon lights slipped past like falling stars. Qi Yue leaned against the glass, lost in thought.

Looking at Shuiyue’s refined appearance and the way she carried herself, he could guess her family background was quite good. Girls like that—disciplined, educated, elegant—didn’t come from nothing.

Do I really have a chance with her? he wondered bitterly.

Probably not.

His thoughts drifted to Nana, the woman who had once thrown herself at him without hesitation. Compared to Shuiyue, Nana felt… cheap. Easy. And though his lust still simmered, something in him felt dimmer now—like the heat had gone cold.

A flicker of melancholy settled in Qi Yue’s chest.

the T27 train rumbled to life and slowly pulled out of the station, the carriage speakers crackled on. A calm voice announced the stops between Beijing and Lhasa: Lingcheng, Shihuang, Xi’an, Lanzhou, Xining, Golmud, Nagqu—and finally, the sacred land of Tibet.

The train was spacious and remarkably stable. Perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps it was the soothing rhythm of the tracks, but after about an hour of chatter and movement, the carriage gradually quieted down. Most passengers had begun to drift into sleep.

But Qi Yue remained awake.

He kept stealing glances at the girl in white—Shuiyue—who had long since pulled her quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes. She was unfamiliar, mysterious, and already asleep. He had no chance to speak further with her. With his options limited, Qi Yue turned his attention to the incoming train attendants, hoping for some… visual relief.

To his dismay, not even that was possible. There were no pretty female attendants to flirt with—no “eye tofu” to nibble with his gaze. Every single member of the train crew was male.

When he inquired earlier, he’d learned that this was a unique rule of the Qinghai-Tibet railway. To prevent altitude sickness among staff, all conductors and service personnel were retired soldiers from high-altitude units. Every one of them was a rugged man in peak physical condition.

Qi Yue took one look at their iron-faced glares and his final fantasy was crushed.

With no distractions left, his thoughts began to scatter. Surrounded by the quiet sound of steady breathing, Qi Yue’s eyelids grew heavy. His mind drifted backward, through the nineteen chaotic years of his life, before finally succumbing to sleep.

In his dream, Qi Yue was flying.

The ground stretched endlessly beneath him. Clouds swirled in all directions, and he floated effortlessly through the mist. It felt exhilarating—as though he’d ascended into the heavens themselves.

He looked down and realized something strange: his body was gone.

All that remained was a soft red glow, gently radiating from where his chest should be. The light pulsed with warmth, and the sensation spread throughout him, pleasant and strangely energizing.

“What’s happening to me?” Qi Yue murmured. “Am I… really flying?”

Before he could make sense of it, the clouds ahead parted.

Far in the distance, a golden light broke through the fog, illuminating a majestic structure. Though the details were blurry, the sheer scale of it struck him to the core. It was as if a palace of heaven had appeared in the mortal world.

And then—he heard it.

A serene voice, gentle as spring water, echoed through his heart.

“Come… come to me. Your partners are waiting.”

Just one sentence. But in that moment, Qi Yue’s entire soul stirred.

He wanted to fly toward the golden structure—but a strange fear held him back. The closer he tried to move, the farther it seemed to drift. And yet the voice grew louder, more intimate, as if whispering directly into his spirit.

Then, clouds enveloped him once more.

The palace vanished, swallowed by mist. But the voice lingered, etched into his heart like a seal.

“Who was that?” he wondered. The voice was calm, maybe even comforting—but also… undeniably male.

Wait.

Was he really moved by a man’s voice?

Qi Yue’s consciousness jolted at the idea. “No way. I’m straight! I’ve always been straight!” Even in the middle of a dream, his worldly instincts refused to let go.

But the moment that thought took form, the dream collapsed.

The golden light disappeared. The clouds dissipated. The sensation of flight was gone. Only darkness remained.

“He’s calling me… he’s calling me…”

Qi Yue mumbled as he stirred.

Qi Yue quickly realized something was wrong.

He wasn’t in his original upper bunk anymore. The low rumble of the train still echoed faintly in the background, but the surroundings had changed. The air carried a sharp scent of disinfectant, sterile and unfamiliar. Alarmed, he instinctively asked, “Where… where am I?”

A familiar voice answered with a sigh.

“You finally woke up. I’ve never seen anyone sleep as long as you.” It was Shuiyue.

Qi Yue rubbed the back of his head, his hair a mess. “How long was I out?”

Shuiyue didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “If I hadn’t dragged you to the infirmary, you’d still be unconscious. You’ve been asleep for over thirty hours. Just a few more hours, and we’ll be in Lhasa. If you hadn’t woken up soon, the train attendants would’ve taken you to the hospital at the next stop.”

She gave him a meaningful glance. “Luckily for you, I’m a medical student. Your pulse was steady the whole time, and you didn’t show any symptoms of altitude sickness. So I kept you here and monitored you myself.”

“Thirty hours?” Qi Yue echoed in disbelief. “All that… was just a dream?”

He sat in stunned silence.

The images in his head still shimmered vividly—so real they almost burned. He could remember every detail: the golden palace, the drifting clouds, the voice calling to him. It wasn’t like any dream he’d ever had. Usually, he barely recalled the fragments after waking, but this one… it was engraved in his mind, as clear as daylight.

He looked up at Shuiyue and gave a sheepish grin. “So, you were the one taking care of me this whole time?”

A soft blush rose to Shuiyue’s cheeks. “Don’t get any weird ideas. I’m a medical professional.” Then, more gently, she added, “Are you feeling okay? The train’s currently over three thousand meters above sea level.”

Qi Yue inhaled deeply. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any discomfort at all. No nausea, no dizziness. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Though I really hate the smell in here. I’ve had a fear of hospitals since I was a kid.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come on, let’s go back to the cabin.”

But just as he sat up, he realized that Shuiyue had been sitting right at the edge of the infirmary bed. The moment he rose, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he lost his balance completely—his body lurched straight into her.

It was like a drowning man reaching for driftwood. Instinctively, Qi Yue reached out to catch himself.

His right hand grabbed onto Shuiyue’s chest.

Soft. Warm. Pliant.

For a split second, all thoughts left his mind. As his body steadied and his awareness returned, Qi Yue’s heart sank—because his hand had not simply touched her. It had grasped her, in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.