The Twelve Zodiac Guardian Gods​

Mount Everest, the central peak of the Himalayas, stands as the highest mountain in the world—8,884.13 meters above sea level. It lies at the heart of the range, straddling the border between Tibet and the Kingdom of Nepal, under the sovereignty of the Yanhuang Republic.

Formed primarily of crystalline rock, Everest hosts an immense glacier system: over 600 glaciers stretch across 1,600 square kilometers, making it a major glacial hub even at such low latitudes. In the middle and upper sections of the mountain’s glacier tongue rises a massive ice tower—a jagged vertical column unique to the Everest region’s valley glaciers. To the north, east, and southwest of the summit lie vast ice basins, or glacial cirques, from which the mountain ascends steeply—forming a striking pyramid that rises 3,000 meters above the base of the ice.

At 7,450 meters on the northern slope lies the ice-snow boundary, the altitude where permanent snow gives way to exposed rock. Below this line, snow and ice pile high; above it, the cliffs are too steep and the winds too fierce to allow any accumulation. The upper slopes remain bare and jagged, lashed constantly by freezing gusts.

Often, a stream of cloud flies like a banner from the summit—whipped eastward by the wind. This rare weather phenomenon is known as qìyún (旗云), or the “flag cloud,” a signature sight of Everest’s towering majesty.

Now, on the northern slope—right at that boundary line—over a dozen figures ascended rapidly.

At this altitude, the air thinned to an unbearable level, and temperatures plunged far below freezing. No ordinary human could survive such conditions unassisted. Yet these cultivators seemed completely unaffected. None wore specialized gear—only robes or training garb—yet their movements were fluid, faces unbothered by cold or breathlessness.

A blast of icy wind scattered fog and snow. Among the group, a stocky man grumbled, puffing as he trudged through the powder.

“Boss, I get that it’s a decisive battle, but why here of all places? It’s freezing, it’s high, and it just feels wrong!”

A handsome man with sharp features laughed, his voice carrying clearly even in the howling wind. “Haven’t you read wuxia novels? Back in the day, Ximen Chuixue and Ye Gucheng fought atop the Purple Gold Tower. Why can’t we have our battle on Everest? I support this, Boss!”

A raspy, deep voice came from the front of the line.

“Enough chatter. Move faster,” said a man cloaked entirely in dark red, his face completely hidden beneath his hood. Only his voice gave away his gender—hoarse, low, yet calm. “I only mentioned this location in passing, and yet here we are. But for you all, even 8,800 meters shouldn’t be a problem.”

They stepped out of the snowfield and onto exposed stone. The footing was still treacherous, but climbing was marginally easier now.

A tall woman in a flowing blue robe scanned the horizon. “They must be approaching from the southern slope. Shouldn’t we be ahead of them? This is our Yanhuang Republic—we can’t let those outsiders claim the summit first.”

The red-haired man beside her nodded. “Alright, we’ll pick up the pace. Consider it a warm-up before the real fight.”

He turned to the core members of the group and issued orders with calm authority.

“Chén Lóng (Long Chen, Dragon), Hǔ Yé (Master Tiger, Tiger), Tù Wáng (Rabbit King, Rabbit), Mǎ Wǔ (War Horse, Horse), Yáng Shēng (Spirit Goat, Goat), Liègǒu (Hyena Fang, Dog)—you’re the fastest. Take the lead. The rest of us will accelerate behind you.”

As he finished speaking, a pale blue glow ignited beneath his boots. Twin wheels of light spun to life and lifted his body into the air. His form blurred, transforming into a streak of red-and-blue energy that shot up toward the summit like a comet.

The rotund man from earlier let out a heavy sigh and turned to the woman beside him—a fair-skinned cultivator in a snug white leather jacket. Though her build was modest, her long, shapely legs were hard to miss.

“The Boss’s mood is off today,” he muttered. “It’s rare for him to address us so formally—by codename, no less.”

The woman exhaled softly, her voice unusually gentle and melodious. “He’s facing his lover after all. Anyone in his place would feel the same. Whether it ends in victory or defeat… for him, there may be no good outcome.” She reached out and clasped the fat man’s hand. Her body barely bent, her toes grazing the ground—and then, like a flash of white lightning, she vanished, soaring dozens of meters ahead in an instant.

Behind her, a man who looked to be in his thirties watched her go, eyes glinting with barely veiled desire. “Tch… that Rabbit’s legs are just getting better and better.”

A cold voice snapped at him from below. “Hooligan Tiger, cut it out. Be careful—the Rat might lash out if you keep it up.”

The speaker was the team’s shortest member, wearing glasses with thick, bottle-bottom lenses. He clung to the man in front of him, using the other’s shoulders to awkwardly drag himself upward.

“Damn it,” he grumbled. “Why is she the beautiful one, and I’m the one stuck as your niece? Heaven really isn’t fair!”

Even as they joked, a radiant glow pulsed faintly across the mountainside. Thirteen figures ascended the final thousand meters—ordinarily the most grueling stretch of Everest’s climb—in under ten minutes. As they reached the summit, gusts of wind kicked up loose snow and fog, swirling like spirits around them.

At the peak, the red-haired man was already standing, alone at the mountain’s highest point. His expression was somber. The others arrived shortly after and stood behind him in two neat rows. None of them spoke. Their eyes were solemn and focused.

Still, the red-haired man didn’t move. He stared downward in silence, lost in thought. But then, his body tensed slightly. His gaze sharpened like a blade, slicing toward the southern slope.

A moment later, a graceful figure rose from below. Her ascent was effortless—she used no visible force or flight technique, yet she drifted upward like a falling feather caught in reverse. The twelve behind the red-haired man immediately spread out in a wide arc, taking defensive positions. The man himself remained still, eyes locked on the newcomer.

She arrived like a wisp of cloud. Dressed in robes as pale as snow, she shimmered with a faint golden light. Her figure was slim and elegant, like she were wrapped in sheer silk and gilded shadow. Her white jade-like skin gleamed beneath the haze, and her delicate face—shaped like a refined melon seed—was almost ethereal. Her bright, watery eyes, small nose, and cherry-pink lips created a flawless harmony. Her waist was so narrow it seemed like one could encircle it with a single hand, and her legs—long and sculpted—moved with breathtaking grace. Her curves, subtly outlined by the translucent light, radiated a sacred, untouchable aura.

But the most striking feature of all was her long, flowing purple hair. It wasn’t dyed—it appeared completely natural, like strands of violet satin trailing behind her in the mountain wind.

Her gaze found the red-haired man, and for a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other. Her violet eyes shimmered with sorrow and helplessness. She bit her lower lip gently, the tiny movement filled with unspoken pain.

From the side, Hǔ Yé (Master Tiger, Tiger), now revealed as a rugged middle-aged man, let out a soft breath of admiration and whispered a verse:

“A pair of nines, the charm of spring thrice reborn.

Purple hair like drifting clouds, crescent brows like new moons.

A jade-like face, lips tinged with cinnabar red.

Not too long, not too short, not too thin, not too round—

She walks in beauty, meant to smile.

Like silk newly cut by swallows, her steps float in shallow waves—

A goddess clad in snow and river mist.”

The woman, unmoved by his words, spoke at last. Her voice was soft but firm, in perfect Yanhuang dialect.

“You beat me here, after all. But… I never wanted this war to happen.”

The red-haired man finally responded. His voice remained low, devoid of any emotion, like a well-worn blade dulled by time.

“But it was bound to happen. We are the twelve Guardians of the Zodiac—protectors of the East. You stand for the West. Our beliefs were never the same.”

Though his voice was calm, there was an unmistakable weight behind it—an age-old sorrow that made it impossible to tell just how many years he had lived.

The purple-haired woman gave a soft nod, her voice barely more than a whisper carried by the wind.

“Yes. For the sake of our mission… we cannot retreat.”

Her right hand rose gently, and with a light flick of her wrist, a long scepter appeared in her palm. It was an unassuming object—simple in shape—but it gleamed faintly with golden luster. As she slowly raised it, the head of the scepter began to glow. A ray of golden light burst forth, sweeping across the peak like the sun piercing through a snowstorm.

Instantly, the dense fog and swirling snow were driven away, and in their place, the air took on a sacred stillness. Everything felt clearer, purer, holier.

But the red-haired man did not move. The golden light reflected in his eyes, but it held no sway over him. Without warning, a fierce red glow erupted around him, bursting outward like a wildfire. He said calmly, his voice flat yet weighty:

“So your subordinates have arrived.”

He stepped forward slightly, his cloak stirring in the wind like the wings of a flame-tailed bird.

“Today marks the clash between the Twelve Zodiacs of the East and the Twelve celestial palaces of the West. And more than that… it’s the battle between you and me. Yǔ Yǔ . There’s no hatred between us. Neither of us is wrong. Would you agree?”

The woman—Yǔ Yǔ (Rain)—lowered her gaze, her purple eyes dimming like twilight before a storm.

“You in the East divide your strength by the Twelve Earthly Branches. But in the West, we do not use that method. Our division is based on the constellations—the stars themselves are our guide.”

She lifted her eyes once more, and her voice grew clearer, steadier.

“You divide the zodiac by time and cycle. We divide by the heavens. The ecliptic is split into twelve equal segments, each thirty degrees wide. We call each one a House—a celestial palace once said to belong to the sun god Apollo. Thus, we call them the Twelve celestial palaces”

Even as she spoke, movement stirred along the southern slope of Mount Everest.

From the drifting clouds below, twelve figures emerged—faint at first, like shadows in mist. But as they drew closer, their presence grew clearer. Each one carried a massive black case strapped to their back, nearly as large as their own bodies. Their forms were bulky and strange, their movements precise but restrained.

The wind howled again. The flag cloud (旗云, qìyún) unfurled above the summit once more, fluttering eastward—an omen in motion, as if the heavens themselves were preparing to witness what was to come.