The Twelve Zodiac Guardian Gods​

“Hey, what’s with all those flags hanging outside the Tibetan houses?” Qi Yue asked, pointing to a few scattered homes across the windswept grassland. He was trying to break the silence and ease the lingering awkwardness between them.

Shuiyue (水月) glanced at where he was pointing and replied, “Those are prayer flags—very common in Tibet. You’ll see them everywhere: rooftops, holy springs, near sacred mountains, even on statues of the Buddha. The colorful strips of cloth are inscribed with scripture and blessings. There are five colors: blue, white, red, green, and yellow. They aren’t just decorative—each color represents a different element. Blue symbolizes the sky, white for clouds and snow-capped mountains, red for the sun or sometimes flame, green for trees, and yellow for the earth itself.”

She continued, her voice steady and knowledgeable. “The idea is that when the wind blows through the flags, it’s as if the prayers written on them are being recited aloud, carried across the land. Every flutter is a wish for peace and good fortune.”

Qi Yue gave a half-smile. “You don’t sound like this is your first time here. You seem pretty familiar with everything.”

Shuiyue shook her head. “Not exactly. I’ve never been to Tibet before. But my father has visited many times. He used to tell me stories about this place and show me photos. He always said, ‘If you never come to Tibet, you’ll never understand the true beauty of the Yanhuang Republic.’”

“Really? Then what’s the Potala Palace like?” Qi Yue asked, feigning ignorance, though the name triggered something deep within him. He suddenly remembered the golden palace from his dream—built into the mountainside, sacred and towering. He hadn’t seen it clearly, but the divine presence had lingered in his heart ever since.

Shuiyue’s tone grew reverent. “The Potala Palace sits atop Marpo Ri—the Red Hill—on the northwest side of Lhasa. It’s a palace complex and a symbol of ancient Tibetan architecture. It was originally built in the 7th century by the Tibetan King Songtsen Gampo, during the Tang Dynasty, as a palace for his bride, Princess Wencheng. The current structure spans over 410,000 square meters, with a building area of 130,000 square meters. Its main building rises thirteen stories high—115 meters in total. Every part of it is made from stone and wood. The five rooftops are plated with gold and copper tiles, gleaming under the sunlight. It’s grand, majestic, and sacred to the Tibetan people. Truly the heart of the plateau.”

As she spoke, something stirred inside Qi Yue. The word “gold” especially struck a chord. That dream—was it really just a dream? Somehow, it had left a more profound imprint on him than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t planned to stay in Tibet long. After all, he was running from something. But now, he found himself quietly making a new vow: no matter what, he would go to the Potala Palace and see it with his own eyes.

Shuiyue noticed the change in his expression and smiled softly. “It’s a shame you were asleep for so long. You missed the Kunlun Mountains. They’re incredible too.”

She turned back toward the window, her tone filled with nostalgia. “The highest peak in the eastern section of the Kunlun range is Mount Yuzhu—it’s the very one our train passed. That one reaches over 6,000 meters above sea level. We’ve already crossed into the Nyenchen Tanglha range. It surrounds Lhasa like a protective ring.”

She pointed toward the towering ridges outside the train window. “See those peaks? They don’t look that high now because we’re already on the plateau—our altitude’s so high the mountains seem less imposing. But that main peak? That’s 7,117 meters tall. The name Nyenchen Tanglha means ‘Divine Protector of the Plateau’ in Tibetan. This whole region is sacred to the locals. Around that peak, there are over thirty snow-covered summits, all closely connected. They rise and fall like waves of ice, stretching endlessly.”

A light sigh escaped her lips, and her voice softened. “Once we cross this range… we’ll be in Lhasa.”

As she gazed out at the endless snowfields and glistening white peaks, Shuiyue seemed to merge with the wintry world outside—serene, distant, and quietly radiant.

Qi Yue remained silent, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of snowcapped mountains beyond the train window. He couldn’t explain it, but for once, he felt no urge to tease Shuiyue (水月). There was something about these mountains—their towering majesty, their timeless stillness—that reached beyond the physical. They didn’t just overwhelm the eyes; they shook something deep within his heart.

It was as if the weight he had carried since fleeing the capital had melted away in the thin, sacred air of the plateau. For the first time in days, he felt light. Open.

By the time the train finally pulled into Lhasa Station, it was already nine o’clock at night. Qi Yue and Shuiyue stepped off onto the platform, where the cool mountain wind greeted them with a quiet stillness.

Far ahead, a man stood holding a large sign that read “水月” in bold brushstrokes.

Shuiyue came to a stop and turned to Qi Yue with a calm, steady gaze.

“I suppose this is where we part ways,” she said. “My father has a friend in Lhasa—he’s a doctor. He’s picking me up, and I’ll be starting my internship at their hospital right away. My school arranged for me to begin early, so I’ll be here until the end of August. After that, I return to Beijing.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “I’ve always wanted to do something for the Tibetan people. Even if it’s just a little. If fate allows… maybe we’ll meet again in Beijing.”

There was a gentle glow in her expression—warm, sincere, and utterly free of pretense. It wasn’t affection in the romantic sense, Qi Yue realized. It was kindness. And that somehow made it even harder to let go.

Strangely, there was no desire in his chest—only a quiet admiration. Looking at Shuiyue now, so radiant in her purpose, he couldn’t help but respect her.

“…Can I get your number?” he asked, trying not to sound too hesitant.

Shuiyue’s smile deepened. “If fate wills it, we’ll meet again.” With that, she grasped her suitcase, turned, and walked toward the man holding her name sign—never once looking back.

Qi Yue stood in place, watching as Shuiyue disappeared into the crowd along with the wooden placard bearing her name.

He didn’t move until she was completely gone.

“Dammit… what’s wrong with me?” he muttered. “Do I actually like her? No, no… I just like how she looks when she’s all serious and glowing like that… right?”

With a snort, he fished a battered cigarette case from his pocket, pulled out a bent stick, and placed it between his lips. But when he reached for his lighter, it refused to spark. Only then did he remember—here on the plateau, oxygen was scarce. Cheap lighters often failed to ignite.

Shaking his head, he took out the burner phone given to him by Vole (老鼠) and dialed.

The voice on the other end answered almost immediately. “Boss? That you?! Where are you?”

“I’m in Tibet,” Qi Yue replied, glancing around and stepping into the shadow of a pillar for privacy. “What’s your situation? Did Yan Xiaoyi die?”

Vole let out a frustrated laugh. “That bastard’s life is tough. My old man had someone check—turns out it was just a moderate concussion. He’s still in the hospital, but already running his mouth, swearing he’ll never let you off the hook. You’d better stay hidden a while longer. Let things cool off before you even think about coming back.”

Qi Yue exhaled slowly. “Alright. At least he didn’t die. That would’ve made things messy.”

“We’re brothers. Don’t get all sentimental,” Vole said. “As for my old man, he’s just trying to smooth things over. Yan Xiaoyi’s family has some clout, so he’s being cautious. Don’t worry about me.”

Of course, Vole didn’t tell Qi Yue the full story—that he’d been slapped silly and promptly transferred to a strict elite boarding school. His freedom was basically over.

Qi Yue grunted. “Alright, enough talking. Just take care of yourself.”

He hung up and tucked the phone away. He and Vole hadn’t known each other for all that long, but their bond ran deep. No need for excessive words. Still, Qi Yue made a silent promise—whatever debt he owed Vole, he would repay.

No matter what.

Where… is this?

After asking a few quick questions, Qi Yue soon got his answer.

This was the Potala Palace—Tibet’s most revered sanctuary, shrouded in mystery and perched higher than any other sacred ground on the plateau.

At night, under a velvet-black sky, the Potala Palace glowed with radiant brilliance. Its solemn, timeworn walls bathed in layers of colorful light gave off a sense of both majesty and mysticism. Bathed in that glow, it looked more like a celestial palace than something built by mortal hands.

Qi Yue stood still, gazing up at the vast palace. Something stirred deep within him—a strange, irresistible pull. It was as though a voice, faint and distant, was calling his name from the heart of the mountains.

His vision blurred for a moment, not from exhaustion, but from the echo of something ancient reaching through him. It was as if his body no longer belonged to him—his steps moved without thought, driven by instinct more than intention.

Before he realized what he was doing, Qi Yue had left the busy streets of Lhasa behind and hailed a taxi, ignoring the rumble of hunger in his stomach. He said only one word to the driver:

“Potala.”

The cab sped through the still, highland night.

Soon, he stood at the base of the mountain.

The stairs leading to the palace were laid out in sweeping terraces, flowing upward in a rhythmic curve like a dragon ascending to the heavens. Even from the base, the Potala Palace loomed with an imposing grandeur that dwarfed everything around it. This was the highest-altitude palace complex in the world—and it radiated that status with effortless pride.

As Qi Yue stared up at it, the mysterious voice in his heart—the one that had been calling to him since he arrived—suddenly fell silent.

The golden halls of the palace shimmered under the lights, eerily identical to the vision from his dreams. Except now, the dream had become reality.

He stood frozen, unsure whether he had stepped into another dream, or if the dream had always been a memory waiting to be remembered.

Just then, a gentle voice drifted toward him from nearby.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The speaker’s tone was calm, kind, and unmistakably familiar—not because Qi Yue recognized the person, but because the words were spoken in a smooth Beijing dialect, not the Tibetan language that filled most of Lhasa’s streets.

The voice wasn’t otherworldly or intimidating. It was warm. Grounded.

And it made Qi Yue turn around, heart beating faster than he expected.