The Twelve Zodiac Guardian Gods​

Shuiyue let out a long breath.

She had never meant to harm Qi Yue. But the circumstances had been too unusual—too intimate and abrupt. Her instincts had kicked in, and she’d nearly struck him with the full force of her Duanyang Palm, a technique meant for emergencies, not entanglements like this.

Now, seeing that Qi Yue’s body was showing no serious signs of injury, Shuiyue felt a knot of guilt twist inside her. The moment replayed in her mind—the way his hand had accidentally grabbed her in that unexpected fall. Even now, the spot on her chest where he had touched still tingled with residual warmth. Her fair face flushed a deep red at the memory.

She carefully put her silver needle set away and sighed. Rising from the bedside, a bitter smile played on her lips. This strange encounter—so awkward, so unintentional—had nonetheless left a lasting impression.

Whether or not she and Qi Yue ever grew closer in the future, Shuiyue knew one thing: the image of him, that moment of unguarded chaos, had carved itself into her heart. Even if it had been an accident, even if he hadn’t meant anything by it… she’d been touched. And not just physically.

Still embarrassed, she turned her gaze to the unconscious Qi Yue. Had she been treating him in a normal medical setting, Shuiyue could easily have estimated when he might awaken. But in this unusual situation—given the mysterious beast pattern and the spontaneous absorption of yang energy—she was no longer certain. Everything about his body was reacting in ways she couldn’t explain.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, a faint murmur escaped Qi Yue’s lips. His body twitched slightly.

The movement startled her.

Qi Yue was still shirtless, his skin flushed and damp with sweat. Flustered, Shuiyue quickly leaned in to help him get dressed again. His body might be heavy for most girls, but to someone with her cultivation training, it was manageable. Still, the effort left her with a light sheen of sweat on her brow—especially when she struggled to pull the sweat-soaked blue shirt over his head without waking him.

As she worked, Qi Yue stirred once more.

To him, the experience had been strange from the very beginning.

When Shuiyue’s palm struck him, there had been no pain—only an intense burst of heat that surged from his shoulder straight into his mind. Then everything went dark, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

In that haze, the dream returned.

But this time, he wasn’t flying through a golden sky, nor surrounded by celestial palaces.

Instead, he stood inside a vast crucible—a melting pot as large as a mountain.

All around him was searing red light. Blazing flames licked at his skin, engulfing him in unbearable heat. From every direction, the inferno pressed in, threatening to consume him.

The pain was not merely physical—it was spiritual, soul-deep. Qi Yue tried to cry out, but no sound came. His limbs refused to move. He was trapped, helpless in the furnace.

Just as he reached the brink of collapse, something changed.

A cool ripple, like the gentle waves of spring water, rose from deep within his chest. It spread outward—slowly, deliberately—soothing every corner of his scorched body.

As the cool energy moved, the burning agony began to recede. No—it didn’t just vanish; it merged with the coolness, balancing it. The opposing forces—searing heat and tranquil chill—blended into one another, not cancelling out but harmonizing.

The fusion of these sensations created a strange euphoria. The pain didn’t merely fade; it transformed into something deeper, almost… pleasurable. Wherever the cool energy passed, it left behind a sense of blissful release, as if his entire being had been purified.

Had Qi Yue been conscious in that moment, he might have cried out in ecstasy, or burst into tears from the sheer relief.

When the last trace of pain dissolved and only warmth and peace remained, the illusion faded.

The great crucible vanished.

His awareness returned.

He could once again feel the world around him.

Slowly, Qi Yue opened his eyes.

The sunlight spilling in through the train window didn’t sting his eyes—it felt soft, gentle, and strangely intimate. The warmth wrapped around him like an old friend.

His entire body radiated calm.

There was a sense of comfort he couldn’t explain.

Even the world outside seemed different now—gentler, more vivid, more alive.

Qi Yue looked at Shuiyue (水月) standing at the bedside, a puzzled expression on his face. “What happened to me? Why did I suddenly pass out?”

Shuiyue’s cheeks flushed pink. She looked away slightly and murmured, “I’m not sure… Maybe your body hasn’t fully adjusted to the altitude. You might be experiencing early symptoms of altitude sickness.”

Qi Yue scratched his head, unconvinced. “Is that really it? I remember you pushing me, and then… nothing. How could my body have gotten this weak? Maybe it’s time I started working out.”

As he spoke, he sat up slowly on the bed and rotated his shoulders. A strange realization dawned on him—his body felt different. Lighter. Every movement, from lifting his arms to shifting his spine, felt smooth and effortless, as though some invisible restraint had been lifted. This sense of harmony, of natural ease, was entirely unfamiliar to Qi Yue.

Shuiyue noticed it too. Something about him had changed, albeit subtly. He still had a lazy, unshaven look, and his features hadn’t magically become handsome—but somehow his presence felt more composed, more centered. His eyes, in particular, shone with a clarity they lacked before. And though his expression was still relaxed, there was a quiet energy beneath it.

She couldn’t help but recall the mysterious beast-shaped tattoo that had briefly surfaced on his body—then vanished without a trace. Looking at Qi Yue now, she felt that he carried a touch of the unknown.

“Well, since you’re awake and seem to be fine, I should get going,” Shuiyue said calmly. She nodded politely, steadying her emotions, and turned to leave. Naturally, she didn’t ask about the tattoo. She had no intention of letting him know she’d seen him undressed.

But just as she reached the door, Qi Yue called out, “Wait! I’ll go back with you. I feel fine now.”

He stood up as he spoke, stretching lazily. As his hand brushed behind his back, he paused, fingers brushing against where his hand had landed earlier—during that accidental tumble. A lingering softness still seemed to echo at his fingertips.

A sly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Seems I’ve still got a knack for hitting the jackpot… and by accident, no less. No need to wash this hand for a while.

Suppressing his amusement, he followed Shuiyue out.

When they returned to their sleeper car, Qi Yue was stunned—not by anything inside the train, but by what he saw outside the window.

Mountains—endless, majestic, snow-capped peaks—pierced through the clouds like the spears of heaven. The sky above was a shade of blue he had never seen before, deep and flawless, like the heart of a sapphire untouched by pollution. He had always imagined Tibet would be beautiful, but this… this exceeded anything he had ever dared to expect.

He’d seen many kinds of clouds in his life, but none compared to these—high, pristine, and impossibly ethereal.

Below the peaks stretched a vast, open grassland where a few yaks grazed calmly. The whole landscape—snow mountains, sapphire skies, perfect white clouds, and the vibrant prairie—felt like a painting come to life. Even as he stared directly at it, it was hard to believe it wasn’t a dream.

Qi Yue was completely awestruck. If he had a camera—even the cheapest kind—he was certain he could capture a postcard-worthy photo from this very window.

Shuiyue stood beside him, her expression just as moved. “My father once told me that these Tibetan yaks are incredible. They can survive in these high-altitude, low-oxygen regions. But once you push them past 5,000 meters, even a whip won’t drive them any higher.”

Her voice carried a quiet reverence. This snowy world, wrapped in its tranquil majesty, felt sacred.

Qi Yue nodded slowly, eyes still locked on the horizon. “It’s hard to believe it’s real. If I weren’t seeing it myself, I’d never believe such beauty existed. Look at that sky… it’s as pure as a virgin. Untouched, eternal.”

His poetic musing earned him a fierce side-eye from Shuiyue—and even a few bewildered glances from other passengers in the sleeper cabin.

Qi Yue chuckled sheepishly. “Hey, don’t judge. I’m in body art, remember? It’s only natural I get expressive when I evaluate forms and colors.”

Shuiyue gave him a helpless glance before turning her gaze back to the view outside. Despite his shameless remarks, she couldn’t deny it—the scenery was breathtaking.

Even if you spent a lifetime just looking at it, you wouldn’t grow tired.