An Immortal Love

Midway

They land gently on the lush green grass beside a dusty road leading toward a village in the distance. The wooden walls of the village, tall and weathered, stood like sentinels on the open plain. From afar, Yijun can see roads fanning out from its sides, with tiny figures-people and beasts of burden-moving along like ants, making their way to and from the village.

Adjusting the weight of his pack on his shoulder, Yijun surveys his unfamiliar surroundings. The landscape looks foreign, the fields stretching into the horizon, leaving him to wonder just how far they have traveled from his home village. He joins the slow-moving procession of travelers on the nearby road, the din of footsteps and the clinking of tools filling the air. The sun, high and unforgiving, casts a warm glow over the plain, and Yijun spots a man wearing a fur hat-an odd choice for such a sweltering day. The man's face seems kind enough, so Yijun approaches him for information.

"Excuse me," Yijun begins, politely dipping his head.

The man looks up, his eyes shaded under the brim of his hat. "Aye, what do you need?"

"Could you tell me about this village we're heading toward?"

The man tells him that they are in the Western Marches, south of the Blue River and the village on the horizon is called Midway. It's named for its location-right at the junction of three gods' territories. Up north is the territory of the Great Tortoise, who occupies part of the Blue River. Westward is the Great Eagle's, and to the east, near the Blue Mountains, is the dominion of the Great Brown Bear. Each of their territories has its own king, their cities set at the heart of the lands.

Yijun nods thoughtfully as the man explains. He glances around at the other travelers, noticing the distinct patterns in their clothing. The man's words ring true-those from the east wore garments made of fur and animal hide, adorned with ornaments of bone and leather. Some had fur draped over their arms or legs, while others wore belts with dangling talismans made from claws or teeth. There is a rough, primal beauty to their attire, in stark contrast to the simple cotton Yijun wore, and the fine silk robes of the dragon.

Yijun thanks the man, who nods in acknowledgment while casting a curious, skeptical glance at them both. Yijun can't blame him-they must have looked out of place. The dragon, with his regal air and silk clothing, stands out like a sore thumb among these rugged villagers. Even Yijun's simpler cotton robes are unusual here. He wears nothing of his god's totems and he thought its travel-worn and dusty appearance may excuse him from people's notice. He hoped in vain.

The line of people ahead slows to a crawl, and soon, they are only able to take a step every few minutes. The heat is unbearable, the sun hammering down from above, and the crowd behind them grow increasingly restless. Murmurs of impatience, mixed with the braying of animals, fills the thick, dust-laden air. Yijun wipes the sweat from his brow and, out of habit, sneaks a glance at the dragon beside him. As always, the dragon's face is as serene as a pond at dawn-his skin cool, untouched by the sun, his expression calm and indifferent.

Yijun sighs in relief. If nothing else, the heat and the fuss of the procession hasn't provoked the dragon into a murderous rage. Still, he can feel his own clothes sticking uncomfortably to his back and the dust from the road clung thick to the hems of his robes. After what feels like an eternity, they finally reach the gate.

The gate itself is a grand structure, made of heavy, ornate wood. Totems of the Great Beasts flanks the doorways-timeworn carvings of their fierce faces, worn smooth by countless hands and the passage of time. Before it, a guard stands lazily at his post, his helmet of worn leather sitting askew atop his head. His armor, though functional, looks like it had seen better days, covering the cotton robes underneath. He stifles a yawn as he eyes Yijun and the dragon.