Yijun has no recollection of what transpired after the lightning obliterated the Jie kingdom. The past few days has passed in a foggy haze, leaving him adrift in a sea of numbness and emptiness. As he trudges behind the dragon through the dense forest, each step feels heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of his guilt.

 Suddenly, he stop, his legs giving out beneath him as he clutches his head in his hands.

 It was all his fault. Every death, every drop of blood—his fault.

 Perhaps if he had been truthful with the townspeople, some might have been spared. If he had told them the truth—that it was the Apocalypse Dragon itself, not a mere flood dragon—maybe they would have laid down their arms and fled. But he hadn't. He had lied, and now those lies haunted him. The scenes of the battle replays in his mind like a cursed vision: the horrified screams of mages exploding as their spells failed, the ground littered with the shattered bodies of warriors, and King Jie, once so proud in the town square, now nothing more than a splattered stain in the center of a crater.

 Their blood was on his hands.

 As he stand there, consumed by his guilt, a soft, rhythmic sound reaches his ears—wing beats. He looks up weakly, too drained to even contemplate fleeing from whatever new danger approached. If death is coming for him, then he would gladly accept it. He deserves no less.

 But the universe has other plans.

 Descending before him is a magnificent phoenix, far more flamboyant than any creature he has ever seen. The creature’s feathers glow with an ethereal light, a dazzling blend of fiery reds, deep oranges, and shimmering golds, like the final rays of a setting sun. Each feather seem to hold a flickering spark, gently igniting the cool breeze with warmth. As the phoenix spreads its wings, light cascaded onto the forest floor, casting dancing shadows and illuminating the vibrant green foliage in a warm, golden hue.

 The phoenix fixes its golden eye on the dragon. Then, in a burst of flames and smoke, it transforms into a human. His long, slender face is framed by phoenix eyes that tilted up seductively, while his sable hair, bound with a golden coronet, flow gracefully behind him. He wears splendid robes of red and gold, and in his pale, slender hand, he holds a black fan embroidered with gold thread.

 "Ah, look who we have here," the phoenix says, fanning himself with a casual elegance that make his hair billow around him like ribbons of silk.

 The dragon snorts dismissively and continues on his way without a word.

 The phoenix’s lips curls into a smile as he watches the dragon’s retreating back. "Still as warm as ever," he comments dryly, before following after the dragon, his steps light but eager, like a bird hopping after a feeder. "I happened to be in the area and heard a rather loud explosion a few days ago. Up to your old tricks again?" he asks, his tone playful, almost teasing.

 The dragon remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge the phoenix’s presence.

 The phoenix pauses, his frown deepening, before resuming his pursuit. "It’s been a while since we last met, and you're still ignoring me? I've been searching for you for years, and this is how you repay me?"

 Finally, the dragon turns to face him, his eyes cold and distant. "I never asked you to follow me. You chose this path, just like that mortal behind you."

 The phoenix whips his head around, his golden eyes narrowing as they finally land on Yijun. His gaze widens in surprise, and he begins to approach, his head tilted in a curious, almost birdlike manner. Something about his behavior sets Yijun on edge, and he instinctively takes a few steps back, his heart thudding in his chest.

 But the phoenix keeps coming, his steps unhurried yet determined. There’s no point in fleeing, Yijun realizes, so he forces himself to stop, rooted to the spot as the phoenix closes the distance between them. Now standing directly in front of him, the phoenix scrutinizes him from head to toe, his sharp, golden eyes raking over every inch of Yijun as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

 Suddenly, the phoenix’s face scrunches up, and he laughs.

 Mid-laugh, he swivels to the dragon, who has been silently observing. “Do you know who this is?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

 The dragon’s gaze also flicks to Yijun, his expression hardening into a frown. “I don’t.”

 The phoenix’s laughter dies abruptly, the mirth draining from his face. His smile vanishes, replaced by a look of genuine concern as he steps closer to the dragon, studying him with a new intensity.

 "I can’t believe it," the phoenix exclaims after a few tense moments. "You dragons are truly blind now. With all the disasters these days, I thought the rumors were just that—rumors. But it’s true, isn’t it? You really can’t read the Great Will anymore."

 The dragon’s response is a cold, blank stare, offering nothing in return.

 The phoenix shakes his head in disbelief. "No wonder the rest of your kind isn’t out there trying to fix things. But still, it’s shocking. Dragons, unable to read the Great Will? What on earth will happen to us all now?"

 The dragon snorts dismissively, turning away. "If you have nothing else to say, I’ll take my leave," he says curtly. His robes starts to billow behind him like rising clouds in a stormy sky then he vanishes.

 The phoenix watches him disappear, placing a hand on his waist with a frustrated sigh. "He always runs off like that, as if we’ve never been friends," he mutters to himself, his eyes lingering on the empty space where the dragon once stood.

 Yijun’s eyes widens in disbelief. “My lord, did I hear that correctly? You’re his friend?” The shock in his voice is palpable. From their time traveling together, Yijun had seen the dragon exhibit little emotion, showing an aloof indifference toward companionship.

 The phoenix pauses, then turns to fully face him, his gaze sharp and penetrating. “Of course,” he replies, his voice calm yet laden with an undertone of amusement. He looks Yijun up and down, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “And what is your name this time?”

 Yijun quickly cups his hands and bows deeply, feeling the weight of the phoenix’s scrutiny. “This humble one’s name is Yijun,” he introduces himself, trying to maintain his composure. The phoenix, with a graceful bend, picks up a chestnut from the ground. With a flick of his wrist, his hand ignites with a soft flame, causing the chestnut’s spiky hairs to sizzle and catch fire.

 “Yijun, is it? A pleasure to meet you. I am HuO,” the phoenix says, his words hanging in the air just a moment too long. The corners of the phoenix’s lips curls into a faint smile, and his eyes sparkles mischievously in the firelight. As the chestnut pops in his hand, releasing a warm, nutty aroma, he hands it to Yijun with a casual elegance.

 “Is something wrong?” Yijun asks, accepting the chestnut, which is still hot to the touch. He quickly juggles it between his hands, careful not to drop it.

 The phoenix hides a smirk behind his fan, his expression half-hidden but clearly amused. “Oh, nothing at all. I just find it curious that the dragon tolerates humans again, given what he’s been through.”

 Yijun’s brow furrows as he processes the phoenix’s words. “He’s ill and in need of help,” he replies humbly. The dragon hasn’t taken him in out of necessity; it had been Yijun who had insisted on staying. But curiosity gnaws at him. “But what do you mean? Has he had a bad experience with humans?”

 The phoenix chuckles softly. “Oh, indeed. A very bad experience. In fact, it’s the very reason he is ill now.”

 Yijun’s heart sinks. So that was why the dragon remained unmoved by his pleas—because he harbored a deep-seated grudge against humans. “I see… we humans must have committed a grave sin against him,” Yijun murmured, feeling a wave of guilt wash again over him.

 Noticing Yijun’s forlorn expression, the phoenix laughs again. “Oh, it’s not quite what you think. Do you know how immortals lose their status?”

 Yijun frowns, his forehead creasing in confusion. He had never encountered an immortal before, let alone understood the complexities of their existence. “Please forgive my ignorance, my lord,” he replies sheepishly, shaking his head.

 Lord HuO nods thoughtfully. He plucks another chestnut from the ground and examining it with an air of casual contemplation. “You see, immortals are born without worldly attachments. Those born as mortals ascend to immortality by shedding these attachments. Their mind, body, and soul become unified as they merge with the Great Will. But even so, they are not immune to falling from heaven if they begin to feel emotions like…love.”

 Yijun tilts his head, his curiosity piqued but unsure where this conversation is leading.

 “It’s quite tragic, really,” Lord HuO continues, a hint of sadness tinging his voice. “Worldly attachments like love are fatal to immortals—even to dragons.”

 “Love?” Yijun echoes, his shock evident. The idea that his stoic, seemingly emotionless companion, who had shown no hesitation in bringing death upon countless lives, could feel something as tender as love is almost beyond comprehension.

 Lord HuO waves one hand dismissively while igniting the chestnut in his other hand, the small flame dancing between his fingers. “Or any other emotion, for that matter. Immortals and dragons exist independently of the World. Dragons, especially, are not supposed to feel any emotion as a condition of ruling it. If they do, these attachments will pull them down into the world, binding them to it.”

 Yijun nods out of respect, though his mind struggles to wrap itself around this new and profound revelation.

 “I don’t understand,” Yijun finally says, his brow furrowing in thought. “Why are dragons considered the guardians of the world if they aren’t supposed to care in the first place?”

 “Oh, they do care,” Lord HuO replies. “But not for individual parts of the world—only for the whole. They wish to see the world continue, but they cannot manage fates effectively if they care about every single being within it.”

 Yijun nods reluctantly. His mind is still confused whether to see dragons as benefactors or malefic. The concept seemed too vast, too alien for his mortal mind to fully grasp.

 “I suppose I can’t fully comprehend the point of it all,” Lord HuO muses, a wry smile playing on his lips. “That’s why I’m not a dragon. It seems pointless to me to oversee the world without indulging in its beauty, without enjoying the fruits of one’s labor as the dragons do.”

 Yijun seizes the moment to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. “So, His Lordship’s illness… it’s caused by love?” he asks, his voice tinged with both disbelief and concern.

 The phoenix nods, looking wistfully at the spot where the dragon had disappeared. “Yes. He became like this when his marriage to that human ended badly.”