The Twelve Zodiac Guardian Gods​

When Qi Yue turned around, he saw a young monk in crimson robes standing about five meters behind him. He hadn’t heard any footsteps. It was as if the monk had simply appeared there, silent as mist.

Qi Yue studied him. The monk looked to be about his age—not strikingly handsome, but there was a quiet harmony in his features, a kind of inner peace that made his presence feel… complete.

The monk walked up and stood beside him, gazing up at the Potala Palace. A serene smile touched his lips.

“The Potala Palace rises from the Red Hill like a vision,” he said. “Its buildings overlap, layer upon layer. It once served as the Winter Palace of the Dalai Lama and was the political and religious heart of old Tibet. Inside, it houses the sacred stupas of the Fifth Dalai Lama and the Seventh through Thirteenth. Altogether, eight mummified spiritual bodies rest within these walls.”

He spoke in a soft but knowledgeable tone. “The palace holds an extraordinary collection of relics—more than a thousand murals, hundreds of stupas, tens of thousands of statues and thangka paintings. The emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties gifted the Lamas with golden seals, jade emblems, porcelain, brocade, jade carvings, and many other treasures. The cultural and spiritual weight of this place is immeasurable. Every hall holds something priceless.”

Qi Yue blinked, then instinctively swallowed. “Wait… you mean there are treasures in there?”

The monk turned to him. His gaze was calm, yet in that instant, the strange flicker of greed that had stirred in Qi Yue’s chest was smothered, as if extinguished by invisible force.

“Some things,” the monk said gently, “should not be spoken of so lightly. I say this with compassion, not judgment.”

Qi Yue scratched his head, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to have a look.”

The monk gave a faint chuckle. “Yet, it’s far past visiting hours. What brings you here now?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Qi Yue replied. “Just after getting off the train, I saw the palace lit up from the street, and… I don’t know, it was like something was calling me. Like a voice.” He hesitated, glancing toward the mountain. “This place really does have a powerful atmosphere. I saw so many locals praying and prostrating along the roads…”

The monk nodded. “The Potala is divided into the White Palace and the Red Palace. The White Palace served as the Winter residence for the Dalai Lama and housed the old Tibetan government offices. It’s seven stories tall. The Red Palace contains the stupas of past Lamas and many sacred shrines. The largest hall—the Hall of Enlightenment—was built to honor the Fifth Dalai Lama. It covers 725 square meters, its walls entirely covered in ancient murals. Above the central throne, the emperor Qianlong’s edict still hangs, bestowed upon the Dalai Lama.”

Qi Yue frowned slightly. “Why are you telling me all this? It’s not like I can just walk in right now. I should probably just go.”

The monk’s smile faded into something more solemn. “Because there are truths in this world that one must come to understand. But you—at this moment—you are not suited to enter the Potala Palace.”

“…Why not?”

“Your heart is not yet pure,” the monk said, voice even. “And more importantly, there is no Buddha in it.”

Qi Yue scoffed. “You can tell that just by looking at me? What, you can read minds now?”

“I can see your heart,” the monk said without hesitation. “You remember the voice that summoned you? The dream you had? You didn’t come here by coincidence. You came to meet me.”

Qi Yue stiffened, a chill running down his spine. “Wait—you… how do you know about my dream? Can you enter my dreams?”

“The Buddha is without form, without name, and without self,” the monk said softly. “Come with me.”

Without waiting for an answer, the young monk turned and began walking down the street.

Qi Yue hesitated—but only for a second.

He didn’t know much about monks or spiritual matters. But he was deeply curious. And this man had just spoken words that no stranger could have known. The image from his dream, the call he’d felt in his chest—was this truly fate?

Without another word, he followed.

The two of them walked in silence through the dimly lit streets until the young monk came to a stop beside a parked vehicle—a hulking SUV. He turned and gestured for Qi Yue to follow, then casually slid into the driver’s seat.

Qi Yue blinked. “Wait a second… that’s a Lincoln Navigator.”

Any lingering hesitation Qi Yue might’ve had evaporated in an instant. His interest was now obvious. There’s a saying: “A man and his car—that’s his second wife.” That couldn’t be more true for Qi Yue. Though broke and aimless most days, he had one clear passion—cars. Famous cars. Luxury cars. All kinds. When he wasn’t eating, he was poring over car magazines like scripture.

Settling into the wide, plush seat of the Lincoln Navigator, Qi Yue felt like he was dreaming. He muttered in disbelief, “One of the top-tier luxury SUVs… Over five meters long, one of the largest in its class. Smooth ride, amazing stability, that oversized hood—it’s like riding a mythical beast. This thing is pure dominance on four wheels. What kind of monk drives a car like this? I heard lamas can marry, but damn, I must’ve lucked out this time.”

The monk smiled as he started the engine. “Sounds like you know your cars.”

“Oh, I do,” Qi Yue said, puffing up a little. “I’m an expert, especially when it comes to off-road vehicles. This Navigator’s nice, but not my favorite. It’s heavy—great for passengers, not so much for driving. If I ever hit the jackpot, I’d go for a Porsche Cayenne. Sure, it’s a bit weaker off-road, but the performance? Top notch.”

They drove for a while, the monk silent behind the wheel. Qi Yue eventually noticed something odd—they were no longer in Lhasa.

“Hey, where are we going?” he asked, frowning slightly. “You’re not one of those fake monks, are you? Planning to take me to some remote valley and bury me for good?”

The monk glanced at him with a flat expression. “I didn’t expect you to still be this suspicious after everything. Seems you really are… special.”

Qi Yue tilted his head. “Special how?”

The monk gave him a long look and replied, “In your case, you could call it… shameless. Or a rogue, plain and simple. Amitabha. Forgive my bluntness.” Then, with a faint smile, he added, “Relax. I’m just taking you to where I live. It’s called Saint Buddha Monastery. You probably haven’t heard of it. It’s about 270 kilometers from Lhasa—roughly a two-hour drive. If you’re tired, get some rest. There’s a goatskin flask in the door pocket. It’s filled with yak milk. That should hold you over.”

Qi Yue didn’t take offense at being called a rogue. In fact, he almost seemed proud of it. With a shrug and a grin, he reached for the skin flask, popped the top, and took a drink.

While the monk had been explaining things, Qi Yue had already worked through his doubts. There was no way this guy had any ulterior motive. Qi Yue wasn’t good-looking, wasn’t rich, and wasn’t important. Who would target someone like him? If this was about the ten thousand yuan stuffed in his bag, that would be even more ridiculous—no one driving a Lincoln would rob a guy like him for pocket change.

With his fears laid to rest, Qi Yue settled in. He had nowhere specific to be anyway. Wherever the monk was taking him, he’d just go with the flow. That was Qi Yue’s way. It’s how he’d made it to nineteen—drifting through life with nothing but his instincts and a talent for not caring too much.

The rich, earthy taste of the goat’s milk filled Qi Yue’s mouth, with just a faint trace of that familiar, musky aroma. But after days without a proper meal, it might as well have been nectar from the heavens. He gulped down the entire skin bag in one breath, the warmth spreading through his body like a wave of comfort.

Letting out a long sigh, Qi Yue leaned back against the wide seat of the Lincoln Navigator. The warmth inside the car, combined with the fullness in his stomach, was a sharp contrast to the biting chill of the Tibetan plateau outside. He wasn’t suffering from altitude sickness, but in this cocoon of luxury, sleep claimed him quickly.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept when a voice—deep and resonant, as if echoing from the depths of his soul—stirred him awake.

Opening his eyes groggily, Qi Yue found the car parked and the young monk already watching him quietly from the front seat.

“We’ve arrived,” the monk said gently. “Please, step out.”

Qi Yue followed him out of the vehicle, immediately hit by the cold wind that made him shrink into his jacket. The warmth of the car vanished in an instant.

Before him stood an enormous temple, vast and imposing.

He wasn’t surprised—the monk had said he was taking him home. And monks, after all, lived in temples. But as Qi Yue followed the robed figure through the grand entrance, something strange caught his eye.

Just inside the temple grounds stood a squad of armed police—uniformed, disciplined, rifles slung over their shoulders. A tight police cordon had been set up just beyond the entrance.

Qi Yue froze. This… was not something he expected.

Why would there be armed police at a temple?

Yet the moment the officers saw the young monk, their expressions shifted. They gave him respectful nods—some even bowed slightly as he passed.

The monk acknowledged them with a serene smile before turning to continue deeper into the temple.

Qi Yue quickened his pace to catch up, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Hey, what’s going on? Why are there armed police guarding your temple? Did someone do something wrong?”

The monk chuckled softly. “Your imagination is quite… original. This isn’t anything unusual. This is a nationally designated Class-A tourist protection site. Armed police are stationed here to ensure its safety. This place is called the Holy Buddha Temple of Yanhuang.”

Qi Yue blinked. “Yanhuang Holy Buddha Temple…?”

As they ascended the inner courtyard stairs, the air around them seemed to shift. Something in the atmosphere grew heavier—but not in a threatening way. Rather, a strange stillness washed over Qi Yue’s heart, as though all the noise and clutter inside him had been gently swept away.

“…It’s weird,” he muttered. “It feels… different here. Peaceful. Almost sacred.”

The monk glanced at him, eyes calm. “This is Tibet. Here, Tibetan culture breathes in the very wind.”

They continued climbing. The temple was built into the mountainside, and the path was steep. After just a few minutes, Qi Yue was panting, sweat beading on his forehead. Meanwhile, the young monk’s breathing remained perfectly steady, his pace unchanging.

Qi Yue looked up at him, half annoyed and half impressed. “Seriously… what are you made of?”

But deep inside, he couldn’t help but feel that something about this place—about this entire journey—was about to change his life.