With golden light gleaming in his eyes as he peered through the sand, the dragon-beast wore an unmistakably human expression of confusion.
"How can this be? Wait a little longer. For yaksha, wearing their mask is instinct—like breathing is to living things."
Even Morax, well-traveled as he was, had never seen anything like this. But the woman didn't listen.
She pinched her thumb and forefinger together. The wind and sand gradually settled. Under the gaze of those enormous dragon eyes, she spoke with helpless exasperation.
"If you push him further, he'll go mad. You want a warrior with reason—not a frenzied monster. Right?"
The dragon's head dipped slightly. He accepted her point.
After all, she was the same kind of being: a god. An ally—not a subordinate. And this was her territory. He couldn't simply overrule her.
"That aside… why make yourself look like this? What are you seeking?" Morax couldn't understand his ally's choice.
"Heehee. Isn't it pretty?"
She spread her arms and turned slowly in the air, sleeves flowing, smile bright—like an immortal maiden out of a legend.
"I don't understand human taste," Morax said bluntly, "but judging by most reactions, the form you've taken can't be called 'pretty.'"
"And yet you go to great lengths to adorn a face so ordinary. If you wanted beauty, your shaping arts would make it effortless."
If you didn't care for beauty, why bother?
If you did, why choose a plain face on purpose?
"Ah—so that's why I call you a block of wood." The woman sighed, then explained.
"Compared to other races, humans are born weak." She pointed to her own face.
"I appear before them with ordinary looks, then refine myself through clothing, accessories, and cultivated bearing—so they understand this: even if you're born plain, you must never stop pursuing what you love."
"Even a woman as average as me can become someone who makes others look twice—if she works for it."
"I want this weak yet stubborn race to never lose their longing for beauty in this age of chaos." Morax snorted.
"So that's why you teach them embroidery and music? Forgive me, but if you have time for meaningless pursuits, you'd be better off finding more help to protect them."
The woman sighed at the clash of their philosophies. "Meaningless? Then tell me—why do gods love humans?" "Gods are born loving humans," Morax replied without hesitation. "Then why do some gods delight in slaughtering them?"
"Perhaps their way of loving humans is listening to their screams." A cold, murderous glint flashed in Morax's eyes.
The woman wagged a finger.
"At least I'm not born loving humans."
"That's only what you believe," Morax retorted. She didn't care, continuing as if he hadn't spoken.
"Humans are fragile. And because of that fragility, they possess feelings so rich we cannot comprehend—emotions that even gods can be moved by. In this chaos, those emotions are the most beautiful flowers to bloom."
"That's why I came to like humans… and why I want to protect them."
"Morax, I don't believe someone as powerful as you is truly shackled by the word 'born.' The reason you want to protect humans must be—"
At that moment, the sand fully cleared.
Elemental power roaring through his body, the young yaksha charged at the pair with a feral cry.
Morax's eyes sharpened. The woman's silver tongue had left him with no answer, and he finally turned serious.
"Ah—"
A miserable sound tore from the yaksha's throat.
Five stone pillars dropped from above, pinning his limbs and torso. He sprawled on the ground, unable to rise.
"Heehee."
The woman drifted beside him. Rather than being annoyed at the interruption, she laughed softly at his exhausted, pitiful state.
"Little one, there are three paths in front of you." She raised three fingers.
"One: that big fellow kills you right now. Want that?" The yaksha rolled his eyes at her.
"So that's a no. Then two: you follow him, work for him."
The yaksha struggled, and for the first time, spoke to them both. "Ghk… kill me."
Follow the one who'd humiliated him for three days and nights? That was worse than death.
"Don't rush, don't rush. There's still a third." Mischief flickered in the woman's smile. "Three: you come with me."
The yaksha didn't hesitate. He moved his finger toward the woman—the one who, like him, wore a human form.
"What do you mean by this?" Morax frowned.
"Wasn't it you who suggested I gather more help?" she replied sweetly. "I found this little one first—"
"And he'd rather die than follow you," Morax said flatly. "Your method works on yaksha whose minds are already formed. But for one freshly born—nothing but battle in his head—you'll only strengthen his defiance."
She poked the yaksha's cheek—still soft with infant fat—and offered Morax a proposal.
"Give him to me. I'll teach him how to be a person. Once he no longer resents you so much, you can make use of him then. How about it?"
Morax fell silent for a while. Then he spoke.
"Fine. But when I need to borrow him, you will not refuse." "Of course."
She nodded.
"Remember. This is a contract."
Morax glanced at the yaksha, left those words behind, and turned away.
As the pressure in the stone pillars vanished, the little yaksha broke free, stood, and rolled his shoulders. He looked at the woman—human-shaped, but not human.
"This surprises me," she said, covering her mouth with her sleeve as she laughed. "I thought you'd run the instant you could stand."
"I'm not stupid," the yaksha replied, blunt and unashamed. "I know whether I can escape." She looked genuinely startled.
"Then why did you provoke that block of wood?" Morax had already told her how they'd met.
The yaksha hooked his arms behind his head, shameless as could be.
"I saw a big guy. Thought he could fight. So I invited him to a match. Who knew he was that ridiculous?"
He paused, then glanced at her. "You're the same."
"Heehee. If not for that, we wouldn't have met." She smiled. "When you think of it that way, doesn't being chased feel like a good thing?"
"…Not even a little."
After a brief hesitation, the yaksha asked, quietly:
"Why did you save me?"
If she hadn't intervened, his clash with the dragon would've ended one way. With his death.
"Why?" she echoed. "Do you remember the human whose leg was broken—someone you saved a few days ago?"
The yaksha frowned, searching his memory. With "broken leg" as a clue, a face surfaced.
"I only helped because my hands were itching for a fight," he said. "He survived because of himself. It wasn't my intention."
"And yet you saved his life." Her smile softened. "He thought you were one of Morax's yaksha. He's been nagging nonstop about thanking you. How about meeting him?"
"I want to say no," the yaksha muttered, shooting her a look, "but that won't matter, will it?" If he said "no," she wouldn't look this gentle anymore.
She didn't mind his attitude.
"My name is Guizhong. I am a god. And you?" "Yaksha."
"And your name?" "I don't have one."
"That won't do. What if you meet other yaksha? You'll be mixed up." Guizhong circled him once, thoughtful. "A yaksha who wields Cryo is rare. I'll call you Xue Kui."
"Snow's first… and also the meaning of first snowfall. How about it?" "…Whatever."
The yaksha's face stayed blank, emotion unreadable.
But the steps that followed behind the god were no longer quite so unsteady.