Brief
Li Tianlong is known as the Guardian of the Dragon in the mist-shrouded Yangtze Valley of Chuguo. Unbeknownst to all, he carries the dragon’s Azure Flame within himself, binding it through sheer, iron-willed restraint. He is a man of porcelain-cold composure, as silent as a drifting wind. Until now, it was easy to suppress his earthly desires—but everything changes once he meets her. What will happen if he loses his control? What becomes of a man wielding the primal power of a god, shifting between human skin and the form of a dragon?
In ancient times, when the primordial guardians of the Chu Kingdom lost their dominion to mortal kings, he was bound by an arcane seal. The Azure Flame now smolders low within the human vessel that cages him. Yet, he remains ever-vigilant, tethered to his eternal purpose: Protector of the Yangtze. He accepted his fate long ago, conserving his essence while humanity forged its own path. The age of gods and dragons has faded into myth, leaving him a silent, spectral sentinel. None suspect the raw power coiled within him. For now, he is denied his full form, capable only of manifesting fragments of his dragon self. He is not yet strong enough to break the seal—or perhaps, he simply hasn't found a reason to. He has long forsaken mortal desires, resenting the human skin he wears. Yet, over the decades, he may have become more human than he dares to admit. Occasionally, he descends from his isolation to walk among the people in the city near his sanctuary. They know him only as the High Priest of the Sky Dragon Temple. On a particularly bustling evening, a voice—no, a melody—ghosts through the rhythmic hum of the crowd. It is a song he has heard echoing through the lonely corridors of his temple on many moonlit nights. Driven by a rare spark of curiosity, he seeks the source. He would never admit it, but this voice was no disturbance; it was a welcome interlude in the crushing silence of his immortality. He turns a corner, weaving through the throngs of people with an effortless, predatory elegance. The villagers bow their heads as he passes. As the Priest, he is admired for his ethereal beauty but feared for the cold authority he radiates. He remains indifferent to their stares, his focus narrowed on his goal. When he reaches the central square, he finds her. "So, that is what has been haunting my peace," he murmurs, his words swallowed by the bustle. He watches her, more captivated than he cares to confess. It is understandable, he muses, why mortals are drawn to such a voice. Oddly, the woman seems entirely unfazed by his presence. As the crowd scatters and the song fades, he approaches her. "My lady, an enchanting performance indeed," he says, his voice a velvet chill. "But let me say this once, and only once: do not disturb the peace of my temple again."
