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 surveyes 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.

 “What’s your business?” the guard drawls, his tone as uninterested as his gaze.

 "I’m from a nearby village, coming to trade," Yijun replies, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

 The guard give another yawn and motions for Yijun to open his pack. Yijun complies, and the guard’s eyes widen slightly at his harvest before waving them through. They step past the gate, joining the throng of travelers entering the village.

 Midway opens up before them, a bustling town divided into distinct areas, each modeled after one of the Great Gods whose territories converged here. They entered through the Gate of the Great Bear, and everything around them reflected that influence. The buildings are sturdy, made of solid wood with thick thatched roofs, their pillars carved with the image of bears in various postures—some fierce, others serene. The windows are covered with sliding wooden panels, and above the doorways, wind chimes made of bones and claws tinkled in the breeze, adding a haunting melody to the market’s noise. Yellow lanterns, shaped like beehives, hung from the eaves, swaying gently as a soft wind passes through the street.

 On the ground floor, rows of makeshift tents lines the streets, each one a small marketplace of its own. Merchants calls out to passersby, displaying their goods—fruits, vegetables, and handmade trinkets. Some travelers peel away from the line to examine the wares, their voices mixing with the chatter of the townsfolk haggling with the sellers.

 Yijun leads the dragon deeper into the village, moving into the Tortoise district where the atmosphere shifts subtly. The roofs here are no longer thatched but covered with smooth, dark tiles, and the pillars lining the streets are carved with intricate tortoiseshell patterns. Windows are woven from long, thin leaves in a natural yet artistic appearance. The entire district seems to embrace a weaving theme, with many decorations and patterns featuring interlacing designs. The people in this part of the village are dressed predominantly in black, dark blue, and green. Some women wear robes made of shimmering lotus silk, their hair adorned with combs and pins carved from tortoiseshell.

 Yijun approaches a spice stall where mounds of colorful spices are piled high, their rich aromas mingling in the air. Garlic and onions hang in bunches from the ceiling, swaying gently with the breeze. The stall owner, noticing Yijun, greets him with a smile, though his gaze quickly scans Yijun’s worn, travel-stained clothes. The smile falters slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing the merchant’s face.

 "Spices, mister? You won’t find better quality anywhere else," the seller says, though the enthusiasm in his voice dims as he takes in Yijun's shabby appearance.

 Yijun inspects the selection. The herbs here seem inferior to what he could gather from the dragon’s forest, but he needs the dried spices. He points to a pile of allspice. "How much for that?"

 The seller’s expression hardens, becoming businesslike. "What are you willing to trade?"

 Yijun rummages in his pack and pulls out a ginseng root, its golden body gleaming with quality. The merchant’s eyes widen, his earlier doubt vanishing as greed flashes in his gaze. His smile returns, broader and more genuine this time.

 "You can take your pick of anything I’ve got," the seller says eagerly, practically rubbing his hands together.

 "I’ll take allspice, cumin, ginger, a string of garlic and onions, chilies, salt, and cardamom," Yijun replies. "And make sure the spices come from the freshest sacks."

 "Of course, of course," the merchant says, his tone fawning now. He snaps his fingers, and his assistants bustle around, assembling the order. They pack the spices into a paper bag as Yijun and the merchant haggle over the price. Eventually, Yijun hands over three plump ginseng roots, and the merchant carefully wraps them in paper, treating them like treasures before handing them off to an assistant with strict instructions to handle them delicately.

 "By the way," Yijun asks as he tucks the paper bag into his sack, "where’s the cloth shop around here?"

 The merchant points down a street that branches to the left. "Follow that road, and you’ll find the clothes district."

 Yijun nods his thanks and turns, leading the dragon toward the street. As they walk, Yijun glances at the dragon, noticing how out of place he seems amid the villagers with his unnatural presence and ethereal color. Yet, strangely, no one around them seems to be paying him any attention.

 Sensing Yijun’s gaze, the dragon turns his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Yijun, anxious, breaks the silence. "I hope you’re not offended by the way these people act," he says. "You stand out so much, yet no one seems to notice."

 The dragon looks away, back toward the street ahead. "As I told you before, we have no concept of being offended. And these humans cannot see me unless they are enlightened," he answers, his tone calm, almost indifferent, as if such matters are beneath his concern.

 As the dragon strides through the bustling crowd, Yijun trails behind, mesmerized by the sight of his flowing silver hair, which whips in the breeze, and his robes billowing elegantly with each step. The people around them seem to shift course, unconsciously veering away from the dragon's path, yet their faces remain devoid of any confusion or recognition. It is as if the dragon is invisible to their mortal eyes, an unseen presence among them.

 How many times have dragons walked among humans, unnoticed and unseen?

 The dragon suddenly halts, glancing back at Yijun with a frown. Startled from his thoughts, Yijun hurries to catch up, his steps quickening. They soon arrive at the cloth district, where colorful fabrics flutter in the breeze, hanging from stalls and shops. While the dragon stands idly by, his expression bored as he watches the crowd, Yijun enters a shop to buy himself some new clothes. The shopkeeper is initially surprised when Yijun requests ready-made garments instead of bolts of fabric, but upon seeing the high-quality ginseng Yijun offers, he quickly agrees to the trade.

 After changing into fresh clothes, they move on to the ironworks district. The rhythmic clang of hammer against metal fills the air as Yijun selects a sturdy pot, a pan, and a set of utensils—spoons and chopsticks—before they continue their journey. The sun is now past the hour of lunch, its waning warm rays ushering in the afternoon. Hungry and eager to begin the task he had proposed, Yijun leads them to a nearby teahouse.

 The teahouse stands at a busy intersection, its weathered wooden exterior adorned with delicate carvings of the three gods, a symbol of its strength and prosperity. The curved roof, covered in dark, glazed tiles, juts out to provide shade to a small veranda. A red door is propped open, and an attendant in plain cotton robes stands by a signboard, bowing politely as patrons enter.

 "Table for two, please," Yijun says, catching the subtle scent of freshly brewed tea wafting from within, mingling with the faint, calming aroma of incense. The attendant, eyes discreetly sizing up Yijun’s appearance, leads them upstairs to a table on the second floor. From their elevated position, they have a clear view of the hall below.

 The first floor is immaculate, its polished wooden planks gleaming under the soft glow of lanterns. Low, lacquered tables are arranged with precision, yet the space feels warm and welcoming. Guests sit at communal tables or in private alcoves, speaking in low voices over cups of tea. The air is rich with the fragrant scent of jasmine and oolong, intertwined with sandalwood incense burning in brass holders. Across the hall, a storyteller stands on a small stage, framed by a beautiful ink painting.

Settled at their table, Yijun breathes deeply, the soothing atmosphere easing his tension. A server arrives with a pot of tea, pouring it into delicate cups before bowing and retreating. The dragon sips his tea in silence, his gaze distant, while Yijun turns his attention to the quiet murmurs below.

The conversations are filled with news and gossip. A famine, brought on by drought, is spreading from the western regions of the continent, forcing refugees to flee eastward in search of safety. Along with the displaced humans, territorial disputes erupt among the deities. Rains have become scarce, irregular, and the voices below murmur about the dragons’ silence, lamenting their unresponsiveness to the prayers of their worshippers.

The storyteller on the stage stands, placing his teacup down with both hands and scanning the room with a solemn gaze. His voice cuts through the quiet murmurs, drawing the attention of the audience. “For today’s story,” he begins, his tone resonant and grave, “I shall tell the tale of the Jie Kingdom.”