He startles at the name "Jie Kingdom" and glances quickly at the dragon. Their food has just arrived, and the dragon seems entirely focused on the meal before him. The attendant lifts a bamboo lid, revealing steaming dumplings with delicate, translucent skins, glowing softly under the dim light. Other dishes follow: plates of pork slices with scallions and bamboo shoots, stir-fried vegetables, fish cake stew, wonton noodles topped with beef slices, lean meat porridge with preserved eggs, and a large pot of chicken soup with cabbage and red dates.

Downstairs, the storyteller's voice resonates throughout the teahouse. “By now, you’ve all heard that the Jie Kingdom is no more. The mighty King Jie, a man of power rivaling an Enlightened Beast, and all his court were slain by an unknown flood dragon.”

The storyteller continues with dramatic flair, painting the fall of King Jie in vibrant, tragic strokes, his voice accompanied by mournful zither music. "The flood dragon, after destroying the kingdom, vanished into the mountains, never to be seen again."

Below, the crowd murmurs, exchanging whispered opinions. Some express sympathy for the tragic people. But many voice their belief that King Jie deserved his fate for his arrogance, his refusal to worship a god and incite the wrath of heaven.

Yijun frowns. Sure the king was arrogant, but the rest was minding their own business. They certainly did nothing to  deserve a dragon popping out of the blue and kill them.

He sneaks another glance at the dragon, who appears utterly uninterested, entirely absorbed in his meal. His expression remains serene as he picks up a strand of noodles, slurping it quietly, his lips glistening with broth. He casually wipes them with his tongue before moving on to a dumpling, which he picks up delicately, allowing its skin to stretch before taking a bite.

“But that’s not the end of the tale,” the storyteller continues, his voice rising. “The widows and families of King Jie, waiting back at the city with a feast prepared for their victorious men, were struck down by a thousand bolts of heavenly lightning!”

A collective gasp erupts from the crowd, and one man stands, proclaiming it to be Heaven’s Will, a righteous judgment upon the arrogant. Scattered applause follows. Yijun picks at his food, but his appetite wanes. He takes a dumpling and tears into it, trying to distract himself from the grim story.

 “Out of the ashes, a boy rose up. The prince—King Jie’s son—survived!” The storyteller's voice cuts through the low hum of the audience, sparking a new wave of excitement.

 Yijun freezes mid-bite, his shock evident. The dumpling falls from his chopsticks as he stares at the storyteller in disbelief.

 The storyteller goes on, describing how some of the survivors, having endured Heaven's wrath, emerged from the ruins stronger, their bodies tempered by divine lightning. Yijun casts a quick glance at the dragon again, his nerves on edge. The dragon pauses, noticing the glance, and locks eyes with him.

 “Please don’t go after them,” Yijun pleads softly, anxiety bubbling beneath his calm tone.

 The dragon frowns slightly. “Why would I?”

 Yijun hesitates. “Didn’t you try to kill them all?”

 “My lightning strikes only those unworthy of living,” the dragon replies matter-of-factly. “If they escaped it, they are free to keep their lives.”

 The dragon resumes his meal, unfazed, while Yijun watches in silence, trying to understand him. The dragon has killed so many, yet he shows no malice, no hatred, no emotion at all toward his victims. It’s as if killing were just a duty, a task to be completed, devoid of personal feeling.

 “Is it true?” Yijun asks, still grappling with his thoughts. “Did they really get stronger?”

 The dragon nibbles at a slice of pork, his movements dainty, almost graceful. “Perhaps. Those who survive a heavenly tribulation can reasonably  be expected to come out stronger from the experience.”

 Yijun can only stare, perplexed by the creature in front of him. The dragon, so powerful, so lethal, is now calmly eating pork slices with all the elegance of someone savoring a fine meal. His behavior confounds Yijun. He doesn’t know whether to fear him or admire him.

 The storyteller's voice cuts back in, recounting how Prince Jie gathered the survivors and attempted to rebuild the ruined kingdom. But then a Great Boar, another god, appeared, forcing the prince to lead his people into the mountains after his mother, the queen, urged him to flee. “Our city may lie in ruins,” she said, “but as long as our people live, so too does our kingdom.”

 The crowd responds with sighs of admiration and applause for the bravery of Prince Jie and his people. Yijun sits back in his chair, feeling a strange sense of relief. He glances over at the dragon, who has already finished all the dishes and is now licking his lips. For the first time in a long while, Yijun feels lighter, as though a weight has been lifted from his heart. Watching the dragon now, he is reminded of their first meeting—when the dragon descended from the clouds like falling snow, awe-inspiring and terrifying.

 Yijun signals for an attendant and whispers a request in his ear. The attendant nods and disappears into the hall below. As the storyteller finishes receiving applause from the audience, the attendant approaches him, whispering something at his ear. The storyteller glances up toward Yijun’s table and follows the attendant upstairs.

 At their table, the storyteller cups his hands in a respectful bow. “How may I serve the gentlemen?”

 Yijun pours him a cup of tea and gestures for him to sit. “Tell us what you know about the gods and kings of this region.”

The storyteller begins recounting the history of the gods that rule Midway, his voice droning on with a rhythm that seems more suited for lulling than revealing. As he talks, the dragon frowns at Yijun, his impatience evident. Yijun, however, meets his gaze with a silent plea for patience. Secrets don't simply fall from lips like leaves from trees in autumn. They require time and persistence to shake them loose. When Yijun asks about the gods' relationship with dragons, the storyteller blinks in surprise.

 “Pardon me, but I have no idea how Their Graces feel towards the dragons,” the storyteller responds carefully.

 Yijun nudges a cup of tea toward him, the surface of the brew gleaming like liquid gold under the light. “You’ve spent time around their courts, haven’t you? Surely you have some insight into their feelings?”

 The storyteller glances down at the cup, his brow furrowing. He lifts his gaze back to Yijun. “I don’t presume to understand Their thoughts. I beg your pardon, Patron, but may I ask why you are so curious?”

 Yijun waves at the hall below. “You just told a story about a rebellion against dragons. I’m curious where Their Lordships stand on that.”

 “They don’t worship dragons, though they respect them,” the storyteller explains. “As for the kings, they haven’t received news of the Jie Kingdom’s destruction yet. They have more immediate problems to worry about.”

 “Such as?”

 “Surely you’ve noticed the frequent calamities of late, Patron. The Great Beasts are fighting for territory with little care for the people caught in their struggles.”

 Yijun nods in agreement. “It’s been a rough time, no doubt.”

 The storyteller crosses his hand over his heart, a gesture of hope. “The Great Dragons will preserve us all.”

 “Not likely,” Yijun mutters under his breath, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His heart skips as he glances guiltily at the dragon, but he is completely absorbed in his meal, seemingly uninterested. He relaxes.

 What surprises him is that the storyteller did not look scandalized at all. Instead, he leans in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Are you one of the Dawnbreak?”

 “A what?” Yijun asks, genuinely confused.

 The storyteller’s shoulders slump slightly, as if in disappointment. “We call Dawnbreaks those who have awakened to the fundamental truth of the world.”

 “And what truth is that?” Yijun inquires, playing along.

 “That the rule of the dragons is a great lie,” the storyteller whispers. “They’ve usurped Heaven and hidden divine secrets from the world, keeping us hunmans under their claws for centuries.”

 Yijun glances at the dragon, who now has his piercing eyes fixed on the storyteller. “Preposterous,” the dragon says coolly, but the storyteller doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

 Yijun lowers his head, pretending to contemplate the idea. “That... may be true,” he says softly, playing the part. He hesitates, then adds, “A dragon destroyed my village for no reason.”

 "My condolences," the storyteller replies but his face lights up with a sympathetic smile. “You are one of us, my friend.” Rising from his stool, he leans in conspiratorially. “Go to the tavern at the western edge of town after dark. We’ll talk more there.”

 With that, the storyteller leaves, slipping into the crowd. Yijun remains seated, pretending to sip his tea until the storyteller is out of sight. Only then does he dare to meet the dragon’s eyes, which are narrowed with suspicion.

 “I was just pretending,” Yijun quickly explains. The dragon keeps frowning, his gaze cold and steady. “The Dawnbreak he mentioned could be connected to the rebels you’re looking for. They seem to be against your kind.”

 The dragon relaxes slightly, his usual bored expression returning. “Those kinds of humans are beneath me. They lack the power to challenge the Great Will.”

 Yijun nods, thinking quickly. “Perhaps, but the storyteller might be a pawn. He could lead us to the true leaders.”

 The dragon waves dismissively. “Finish what you must here. I will wait three days.”

 “You’re not interested in finding out what they’re planning?”

“No.”

With that, Yijun pays for their meal using the last of his ginseng roots. They step outside into the busy streets, where people hurry to finish their errands before nightfall. The dragon walks ahead, his white sleeves billowing behind him, parting the crowd effortlessly. As always, the people pass by without acknowledging his presence, oblivious to the god walking among them.

The sight chills Yijun. It’s unsettling how easily a being like the dragon can move among humans without them even realizing it.

Then, without warning, the gate at the end of the street explodes.