To be honest, the moment Aphrodite saw Hephaestus she almost thought this ugly "monster" had come to Mount Olympus for revenge; after all, she had mocked Hephaestus harshly before. For an instant, a look of bewilderment crossed Aphrodite's face.

But that bewilderment lasted only about a second. After hearing Hephaestus's words clearly, Aphrodite regained her composure and felt justified.

The beautiful goddess of love and beauty was gripped tightly by the god of craftsmen and fire. Aphrodite raised her arm; her fair, delicate skin was held by a pair of calloused hands. Hephaestus's fingers lightly encircled then closed with force around her slender wrist—soft flesh and skin captured in one palm.

Watch the slow smile spreading across Aphrodite's face—how infuriating that the goddess who had captured Hephaestus's heart would show such an arrogant, self-satisfied smile.

“You say you are filled with longing for me?” Aphrodite laughed. “That is because you love me, nothing more, nothing else—no curse, no spell, nothing at all.”

Aphrodite, raising her arm, extended her other empty hand and placed it on Hephaestus's heart.

Delicate, snow-white fingertips tinged with a faint pink now pressed against the face of fury and the heart of the god of craftsmen. Hephaestus’s chest was bare; his muscles were well-proportioned and athletic in the usual sense of a fine physique, now brazenly exposed. When those slender, fragrant fingers suddenly touched his skin, Hephaestus trembled all over. The craftsman god, wearing a half mask that revealed the unblemished handsome side of his face, held Aphrodite’s wrist with a slightly trembling palm, and Aphrodite had just withdrawn her arm from Hephaestus’s callused hand.

“You love me, you love me, you love me.” Aphrodite’s finger tapped Hephaestus’s heart. “Simply because you love me, and nothing more.”

"No matter how many times it's told, you are the one who enchants me; you fell in love with me at first sight — that is the reason."

Aphrodite revealed a bright, delicate smile as her finger gently pressed against Hephaestus’s heart.

Although it was merely a light, airy motion, it nonetheless made the tall, sturdy craftsman take a step back.

“You love me, Hephaestus.” The beautiful and alluring goddess's voice was clear, like flowing spring water and like the chime of silver bells.

Hephaestus felt Aphrodite lightly press; he took a step back, his voice trembling slightly: "No, this is a curse. You are naturally amorous — that is your divine power... or perhaps the magic of your girdle!"

The voice of the Craftsman God came from his trembling throat.

Aphrodite withdrew her hand, untied her outer robe, and revealed the chitōn beneath.

A slender waist with only a colorful sash, not the golden girdle of erotic power.

Aphrodite stepped forward and smiled at Hephaestus: "I did not use the girdle's magic; I only wear an ordinary sash around my waist. You should feel that, Hephaestus—why won't you admit it?"

The goddess of beauty and temptation leaned in, tilting her head back. Hephaestus had no choice but to lower his gaze slightly, a smile appearing on that flawlessly beautiful face.

"Why won't you admit it? This is 'love'!"

Aphrodite took a few steps forward, and Hephaestus retreated a few steps.

The tall, sturdy craftsman god was thrown into disarray by Aphrodite's few light words.

"I never expected you'd chase me all the way to Mount Olympus for me." Aphrodite stopped and straightened her back, no longer pressing Hephaestus. "What do you want? My love? My body? A night with me? Do you want to pin me to the bed, as you've always wanted?"

"Shameless to the extreme! No sense of shame!" Hearing Aphrodite's words and her insinuations toward him, Hephaestus suddenly erupted.

Aphrodite not only showed no respect for Hephaestus but also no respect for herself. As she spoke those seemingly seductive words, her smile remained—no shame, only that ambiguous smile still on her face.

“Isn't this exactly what you want? Don't you just want to pin me to the bed?”

Aphrodite sneered.

“All you want is my submission; spend a night with me and you'll have something to gossip about among the gods. After all, I am promiscuous and flirtatious—anyone can bed me, anyone can curse me, anyone can treat me like a flower plucked at will. Once my color fades, you can discard me as you please, like tossing away fruit husks and peels—isn't that how you see me?”

Aphrodite looked at Hephaestus and sneered, "You are no different from those gods who wish to share a moment of passion with me."

Hephaestus felt as if his chest couldn't release a breath; he was tongue-tied and didn't know how to reply to Aphrodite, but Hephaestus could guarantee that he had absolutely no intention whatsoever of bedding this beautiful and seductive goddess of love!

The artisan and the god of flames only wanted to lift the curse Aphrodite had left on his heart, yet now, with just a few words from Aphrodite, he was left speechless.

Hephaestus stiffened his face and, in despair, said, "If that's what you think, then so be it!"

“Hmph.” Aphrodite snorted coldly. This beautiful, slender goddess folded her arms and, watching Hephaestus helplessly utter a sentence, wore a smug expression as if he had won a war against those fighting gods. Aphrodite thought she had seen through Hephaestus’s needs. She cast a cold glance at the exhaling Hephaestus, stretched out her arm pointing toward the garden exit, and said, “Now, leave my temple!”

Hephaestus fell silent: "..."

The newly appointed craftsman was silenced by Aphrodite and, helpless, turned and left; Hephaestus turned away and departed without looking back at Aphrodite.

Standing at the temple gate, Aphrodite looked indifferently at Hephaestus's departing back, expressionless and utterly cold.

"Fundamentally... there's no difference between them and us..."

Aphrodite gritted her teeth and spat out a sentence at the entrance of the deserted temple.

“Anyway, I'm just this kind of god — let them think whatever they want of me; as long as I'm alone, that's fine.”

Aphrodite, talking to herself, turned and entered her own temple.

Clad in a cloak, Aphrodite entered her temple and, flanked by the goddesses of Grace and Glory, returned to her couch. This perfect and beguiling deity—goddess of "Beauty" and "Desire"—wields the power to entice hearts and alter love and hatred. Aphrodite was always smiling; although her recent conversation with Hephaestus had not gone smoothly, she soon composed herself. Lying on her couch and attended by the goddesses of Glory and Grace, Aphrodite was surrounded by a host of perfectly beautiful goddesses and nymphs, and a sincere smile appeared on her face.

“Only you are what I desire.” Although she spoke this to the nymphs and goddesses, when Aphrodite took the grapes offered by the goddess of glory, her thoughts were on the craftsman god Hephaestus, who had just been left speechless by his words. Aphrodite smiled at the goddess of glory, put a grape into her mouth, and narrowed her eyes, somewhat lost in thought.

Crushed grapes burst with juice in Aphrodite’s mouth; the sweet-and-sour flavor made her tongue water. The goddess, eating the grapes one by one, recalled the scene she had just seen at the temple door: the helpless face of Hephaestus, the god of craftsmen, and his expression when he did not contradict the words “pin Aphrodite down on the bed.”

Aphrodite clenched her teeth.

For some reason, Aphrodite felt a bit confused and saddened, though it didn't show on their face. They were actually somewhat angry—no different from Hephaestus and those gods who hoped to take them down and possess them on the bed; otherwise, why would Hephaestus not contradict his words?

Unexplained anger and grievance made Aphrodite resent Hephaestus.

...Isn't the god of beauty and desire, attraction itself, essentially desire?

Even knowing these truths, why—why, upon seeing Hephaestus not refute them, does Aphrodite's heart ache slightly now?

The radiant Aphrodite lay on her couch, golden lashes lowered; she held a grape in her hand, no longer putting it to her mouth, but staring absentmindedly at the grape.

Clear, shimmering tears fell, one drop, two drops, three drops.

On Aphrodite's expressionless, fair, delicate cheeklets, the crystalline tears rolled down.

The Goddess of Splendor anxiously asked her mistress if she had failed in her service; Aphrodite, expressionless, wiped away her tears and shook her head.

"It's not your fault, it's...Hephaestus's fault," Aphrodite muttered to herself. "It's all his—"

The beautiful and radiant goddess ground her teeth.

"If it weren't for him, why would my heart feel this ache?"

The Goddess of Splendor tilted her head in puzzlement; this fair-faced goddess did not understand why her mistress wept. Watching Aphrodite murmur to herself and then wipe her tears, the Goddess of Splendor looked on with concern, only to see the next moment Aphrodite toss the grape back onto the golden plate, turn over, and pull the blanket over her head. The Goddess of Splendor could only see Aphrodite's back—this goddess, so beautiful as to kindle desire, shrouded herself with the blanket and lay motionless.