He was born from the sea; he is a god formed from the foam stirred when a part of Uranus fell into the ocean. He was born from a shell; he is a god made of beauty and desire, and his name is Aphrodite.

Yes, “he” — for whatever change occurred when a part of Uranus plunged into the sea, Aphrodite, who should have been born as a goddess, was instead born in a male form.

Even so, Aphrodite, born as a male god, remained beautiful.

Aphrodite’s beauty was astonishing; it was desire and beauty itself. When he opened his eyes, the world acquired the definition of “love.” He was born from the sea and was soon welcomed to Mount Olympus, becoming a member of Zeus’s court.

Aphrodite naturally knew of his beauty. When he smiled, he could always glimpse the sticky “desire” in Zeus’s gaze directed at him, and he was often confessed to by goddesses and nymphs attracted to him. Aphrodite pitied all beautiful beings; he accepted the goddesses and nymphs who wished to serve him, such as the goddesses of glory, the goddesses of grace, and the goddesses of victory and joy.

Even though goddesses were always fascinated by Aphrodite — wherever Aphrodite was present, the eyes of goddesses and nymphs were invariably captivated by him — even so, those arrogant male gods, the powerful Olympian deities, could not speak harshly to or harbor jealousy toward the goddess of beauty, for these so-called mighty gods were also enchanted by Aphrodite’s beauty.

“Your Highness, I love you.”

“Aphrodite, accept my love!”

“Your Highness of Beauty……”

“Aphrodite!”

“Aphrodite!”

Those so-called words of love, heard often enough, allow one to tell whether such words of love come from the heart or are simply captivated by someone's temporary beauty. Yes, the gods all admire a beautiful deity; they adore Aphrodite's lovely complexion and her snow-white skin and perfect figure. As a male god, Aphrodite has snow-white skin and an androgynous face. When he smiles, even an angered Zeus will calm down. If he is by a spring, the Naiads holding flowers will court him.

But those so-called "words of love" were not spoken from the heart. Even as a god—Aphrodite, who governs "love" and "beauty"—he could naturally make a god or nymph fall permanently for him, yet if such "love" did not come from sincerity, Aphrodite would disdain it.

Many gods had told the goddess of beauty they loved her, uttering frivolous words. Take Poseidon: this earth-shaking sovereign, driving his chariot, displayed his power to Aphrodite. Poseidon vaunted his might—the king of the sea believed power could make Aphrodite enamored—but Aphrodite only smiled slightly. In those radiant golden eyes was a knowing clarity that saw through everything: "You need me only to outshine Zeus; you seek my admiration and submission merely to have something to boast about among the gods. But King Poseidon, I am not someone you can obtain at will... yet I can give you a kiss, a kiss from Aphrodite..."

So Aphrodite stepped onto Poseidon's chariot and gave this proud sovereign a kiss.

The kiss, scented and light, was not erotic, yet Poseidon became bewildered. By the time Poseidon reached to grasp Aphrodite's arm, the god of love and beauty had already left the chariot.

The fragrance left by Aphrodite and the kiss on those crimson lips unsettled Poseidon. The sea-ruler looked toward the direction Aphrodite had gone; the fluttering edge of the goddess's robe soon disappeared from sight.

Aphrodite was always like this: no one could go further with him, yet everyone was driven to distraction by him.

Every god who pursued Aphrodite believed they could go further; every nymph had once received Aphrodite's ambiguous smile and passionate gaze. After all, being noticed by the god of love and beauty was itself a signal.

But the thoughts of the gods and the nymphs were not what Aphrodite contemplated.

He never promised anyone anything; he merely looked at them, watching with his radiant golden eyes—amorous, viscous, like eyes that could speak.

Aphrodite never spoke "words of love" to any god or nymph. Even when he kissed a powerful sovereign like Poseidon, he only kissed that mighty god to prevent Poseidon's anger from turning to force. Aphrodite deftly balanced the atmosphere among all who fancied possessing him or being loved by him. All the gods thought Aphrodite was different with "that one," but in reality every god received the same thing.

...But that thing was not Aphrodite's "promise" at all.

Even if she is a delicate, powerless goddess of beauty, even if she does not hold powers like "war" or "the sea" and only wields something like "desire," Aphrodite—born from a part of Uranus's body—naturally has her pride. Though she is weak and cannot oppose those mighty gods, she balances all who pursue her with her gaze. She rejects those she dislikes; even the powerful Zeus can do nothing to her.

After coming to Olympus, Aphrodite was naturally soon noticed by Zeus. Not to mention that mighty ruler's flirtatiousness—Zeus's wife Hera, the jealous queen of the gods, watched jealously, which alone was enough to trouble Aphrodite. Moreover, Aphrodite felt no love for Zeus and would not even give him a kiss. It is unclear what Zeus was thinking, but when the wielder of lightning tried to force himself on Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty struck Zeus with her own power—Zeus, bewildered by passion, simply melted at Aphrodite's smile.

Then Aphrodite dealt Zeus a crushing blow.

Also a male god, though Aphrodite was beautiful and weak, he naturally knew where a male god was most vulnerable.

So Aphrodite struck Zeus fiercely. He fled in haste, his white robe stained with Zeus's blood. The robe draped over Aphrodite was wrinkled; the garment originally woven by the graceful goddesses of glory was now stained with Zeus's blood. The power borne of the sky god's blood made Aphrodite nauseous—the nausea stemming from Zeus's attempted coercion.

As Aphrodite hurriedly fled, he vaguely heard Hera's angry voice, but he could not care. Cloaked in a robe full of blood and wrinkles, his stomach churned; Zeus's prior touches made him feel sick and disgusted. Zeus's fingers had touched his arm, thumb rubbing his skin, leaving him furious and covered in goosebumps. He wanted nothing more than to find a pool and wash away the parts of his body Zeus had touched.

So Aphrodite came down to the earth. He ran across the land, wading through clear, icy streams, and only relaxed when he reached the island of Lemnos.

Aphrodite loosened the robe woven by the graceful goddesses of glory and wore simple clothes. The scent and power of Zeus on the bloodied robe made him frown. He pressed his crimson lips together; at last an expression of displeasure appeared on his face. As the god of love and beauty, Aphrodite usually smiled and tempted, rarely showing anger, sadness, or displeasure. But now his mouth turned down and his crimson lips were pressed in displeasure.

Aphrodite saw his reflection on the water: a face of stunning beauty, combining feminine softness with masculine contours. His beauty defied gender; his allure was obvious. His radiant golden hair fell into the water as he leaned over, wetting the tips of his locks.

Aphrodite loved her beauty; she did not think her beauty was the source of her misfortune, so she stood up, tidied her hair and clothes, and walked away from the stream.

A corner filled with fragrance vanished from the hiding gaze of Naiades.

Aphrodite paid no heed to the nymphs who hid and gazed at him with amorous eyes. He felt as if he had arrived on an unfamiliar island—here were spring nymphs and wood nymphs, and tree nymphs hiding as well. The place was full of moisture, suffused with the power of the sea, yet this moisture belonged to a goddess; it must be the domain of some goddess.

Aphrodite strolled through the woods. He reached out to brush those branches and stepped forward, but in one spot, in a place full of trees, he saw a being that looked somewhat humanoid yet strange.

The first thing Aphrodite noticed was the bright red hair. He saw a humanoid figure carrying stones; it must be a god, for Aphrodite felt the surging divine power on that figure and glimpsed the tall stature of the red‑haired deity. Unfortunately, that god’s right foot was crippled, yet despite that, the red‑haired god still persisted in carrying the stones and walking.

Yet, carrying the stones so bravely, because of his defect he ultimately fell to the ground. Aphrodite stood behind the branches, revealing only his dazzling, amorous golden eyes. He could not help laughing aloud, mocking the deformed god’s current ungainly state.

Aphrodite was such a god, so willful; he was the god of love and beauty, and naturally despised and mocked imperfect beings.

The red‑haired god was named Hephaestus. He struggled to rise from the ground, his voice hard as he looked toward where Aphrodite was hiding: “Who?!”

Hephaestus’s voice was wary and harsh. His deep blue eyes shimmered like gems and stars. Half his face was flawless, the other half scarred. Aphrodite gazed at Hephaestus’s appearance from behind the branches and could not help bursting into hearty laughter: “What an ugly, what a wondrous, what a strange, what a foolish face!”

Aphrodite pushed aside the branches and walked out slowly.

Hephaestus fixed his deep blue eyes on Aphrodite as he slowly approached, bathed in sunlight. Despite his vigilance, the red‑haired god was inwardly stunned by Aphrodite’s beauty, even though the beautiful golden‑haired god in white garments before him was mocking him.

“How ugly! How marvelous! What a foolish face!”

Aphrodite’s voice was light. She came before Hephaestus and tossed the robe she was holding over his face. Her voice was clear and sweet as a lark; though her words were full of mockery and derision, Hephaestus somehow did not hear much disgust or contempt in them.

Hephaestus watched warily as the fragrant white robe enveloped him. The robe was stained with Zeus’s blood, and the goddess of beauty who mocked Hephaestus casually threw her garment at him. Obvious delight shone in her radiant golden eyes: “You might as well cover your face, but even if you cover your face, your feet won’t change, will they?”

The goddess mocked the god before her. Aphrodite’s rich, fragrant scent left Hephaestus somewhat discomfited.

The red‑haired god held Aphrodite’s robe in his hand. He looked at the laughing goddess with a stern face, and only when Aphrodite had laughed her fill did he relent.

The goddess of love and beauty smiled at the impassive Hephaestus. She reached out and hooked her forefinger under his chin: “Unnamed and ugly god, I am Aphrodite. Perhaps you have heard of me, the goddess of love and beauty?”

Hephaestus remained expressionless. The red‑haired, imperfect god looked at Aphrodite coldly and sneered: “The goddess born from the sea foam when a part of our ancestor Uranus fell into the sea—I certainly know of you.”

Hephaestus inhaled subtly. His nostrils were full of Aphrodite’s scent, making him slightly drowsy.

“What brings you to the island of Lemnos?”

Hephaestus felt his heart racing. Aphrodite’s beauty was aggressively imposing. The goddess before him had hooked a finger under his chin and stared directly at the disfigured side of his face, prompting Hephaestus to reflexively want to hide it, to turn away. Yet for some reason—perhaps the spell of Aphrodite’s finger touching his chin—he kept facing her.

...Aphrodite's beauty made Hephaestus feel dizzy, yet this red-haired god could not truly be angry.