Chapter 30 The Story
That day, they talked for a long time. Adonis told Venus that the world was not simply black and white, and that it was best to view things with a calm and open mind. With his guidance, Venus felt much better, and his blackening value instantly cleared.
Adonis was incredibly gentle. Being by his side could calm one’s mood, making it impossible to have any negative thoughts. Although he was merely a mortal, his wisdom surpassed that of many gods.
Venus returned to Mount Olympus and continued living a fulfilling and joyful life.
He often visited Dionysus to listen to his stories while helping himself to a plate of sweet, juicy grapes. At first, he had to peel them himself, but after complaining that peeling grape skins was too troublesome, and the sticky juice would dirty his hands, he arrived the next time to find a plate of perfectly peeled grapes waiting for him. From then on, it was always the same.
Dionysus claimed he had ordered the temple maidens to prepare them. However, one of the maidens secretly told Venus that the God of Wine would personally peel a plate of grapes every day, waiting for Venus’ arrival. If Venus didn’t come that day, His Highness would silently eat the no longer fresh grapes himself.
Venus was touched and a little guilty. After that, he visited the God of Wine’s temple more often, unwilling to let Dionysus’ efforts go to waste.
Yet what he never saw was this—
In the vineyard, the God of Wine sat peeling grapes with long, elegant fingers, his expression relaxed and unhurried. His deep voice carried a casual tone as he said, “Well done. Take this golden goblet as your reward.”
The maiden quickly accepted it with delight, bowing in gratitude.
She was the very one who had “secretly” told Venus that the God of Wine personally peeled grapes for him every day.
Hermes and Ares exhausted every trick in the book to win Venus’ favor, yet none of their efforts were as effective as Dionysus’ one move.
As the God of Trickery, Hermes could conjure all sorts of illusions to amuse Venus. But once the novelty wore off, Venus quickly lost interest. Ares, the God of War, tried to teach him combat and swordplay, but Venus had no love for violence. After learning a few flashy but impractical moves, he would seize the first opportunity to slip away.
When it came to winning favor, Dionysus was undoubtedly the most skilled.
However, in the presence of Hephaestus, all three gods were utterly defeated.
On the divine mountain, Hephaestus was Venus’ closest friend. After learning from Hermes the true reason behind Hephaestus’ disability, Venus couldn’t help but care for him even more. He never expressed sympathy outright, but he visited the forge far more frequently than he did the other three gods. This, of course, earned him Ares’ jealousy.
Hephaestus was flattered. He had always thought of himself as dull, unable to tell stories like Dionysus, perform magic like Hermes, or display extraordinary swordsmanship like Ares. He didn’t understand the intricate and strategic ways of courtship.
All he knew was fire and smithing. Fire could burn Venus’ delicate skin, and smithing was a long, tedious process, filled with deafening noise. Although the weapons and artifacts he crafted were masterpieces, the process of making them was hardly enjoyable.
Whenever Venus came to see him, Hephaestus would put down his work and accompany him outside. In time, they explored every corner of Olympus together. One day, Venus expressed interest in seeing his craftsmanship firsthand. Not wanting to bore him, Hephaestus carefully chose an activity that might be more engaging — teaching Venus the art of carving.
Hephaestus was a natural-born craftsman. His hands were nothing short of miraculous. With just a small blade, he could carve lifelike sculptures out of mere wood. Venus, watching in awe, clapped his hands in delight, utterly fascinated.
When Venus took the blade into his own hands, he finally realized just how difficult such delicate work truly was. Hephaestus had been carving a sculpture, while he was merely shaving wood. Despite following Hephaestus’ every movement to the letter, his final product was a disaster.
Frustrated, Venus tossed the blade aside, his cheeks puffed with irritation.
The scene was eerily similar to when he had tried archery in front of Adonis. However, because Hephaestus was the one beside him this time, he didn’t feel as mortified as before. At least he wasn’t blushing from sheer humiliation.
Still, it was embarrassing.
The heavens were fair, after all. Venus had been born with beauty and charm maxed out, but in every other regard, he was utterly useless.
Fortunately, beauty alone was enough to be his greatest weapon.
Hephaestus, watching Venus glare at the ruined wood as if it had personally offended him, couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll carve one for you. You can have mine when it’s done.”
But Venus was stubborn. “No, I want this one.”
Hephaestus studied the uneven, mangled block in front of Venus and hummed thoughtfully. “It’s not impossible to salvage it.”
Venus: “……”
The comment wasn’t particularly hurtful, but it was downright insulting.
Unwilling to admit defeat, he snatched up the carving knife once more, eyes burning with determination.
“If the heaven deny me, then I shall defy the heaven!”
So what if he hadn’t unlocked this particular skill? If he practiced hard enough, there was no way he wouldn’t succeed!
Hephaestus: “……” Where in the world had Venus picked up that kind of talk?
From Adonis, of course.
Compared to listening to Dionysus’ tales of Olympus, Venus much preferred hearing Adonis speak of the vast world beyond. Adonis had read countless books, and from what he described, it seemed that in the East, there was a particular trend of defying the heaven. One wonders what misdeeds the Eastern Heavenly Dao had committed to inspire such rebellion.
Later, when he went to the East, he realized that what he had heard was not the orthodox Eastern mythology, but Eastern fantasy upgrade novels.
But by then, it was too late. Venus had been thoroughly brainwashed by Eastern fantasy novels, full of rebellious chuuni spirit, trying hard to prove that he was not just a beautiful waste.
Hephaestus, of course, let him do as he pleased.
He watched as Venus ruined one piece of wood after another, his movements going from clumsy to outright impatient, yet showing absolutely no improvement in skill. Hephaestus felt both exasperated and amused.
But then Venus accidentally cut himself. A drop of blood welled up at his fingertip, causing Hephaestus’ smile to vanish in an instant. Without hesitation, he stood up and turned to leave. “I’m going to get medicine from Apollo.”
Apollo, in addition to his many other divine roles, was also the God of Medicine. Speaking of this, Venus felt unbalanced again. Why did he only light up love and beauty, while Apollo had maxed out light, prophecy, music, medicine, and curse removal? Heaven was too unfair. He really should defy the heaven!
Truthfully, Venus was quite delicate. He had been about to cry out in pain, but seeing Hephaestus react even more dramatically than he would, he was so startled that he immediately held back.
“No need, no need,” he said quickly. “By the time you get back, the wound will have healed on its own…… oh, it’s already healed.”
He held up his perfectly healed finger.
Only then did Hephaestus sit back down, still feeling a mix of distress and lingering fear. He promptly confiscated Venus’ small carving knife. “No more of this.”
Venus didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “Hephaestus, I want to watch you forge a weapon. I’ve always wanted to know how those incredible weapons are made.”
Hephaestus hesitated. “It’s very difficult to learn.”
Venus could injure himself doing something as simple as woodcarving. If he tried weapon forging, would he not die on the spot?
“……I don’t want to learn it,” Venus clarified. “I’m just curious.”
“There’s nothing interesting about it. The process is dull, and the noise is unbearable.”
“But I still want to watch.”
“……Fine.”
Hephaestus had no ability to refuse him. With a resigned sigh, he took his seat at the forge and began his work.
He had expected Venus to grow bored before long. Either he would find the process too tedious and leave, or he would doze off from sheer monotony. But to his surprise, Venus pulled up a small stool and sat beside him, illuminated by the glow of the fire. His green eyes focused with unwavering focus, watching him work from morning until night.
“So much effort,” Venus murmured in admiration. “Hephaestus, you’re amazing.”
Hephaestus blushed.
No one had ever watched him work with such patience before. On the divine mountain, all the gods admired the weapons and ornaments Hephaestus created, but they took his efforts for granted. Venus was the first to show interest in the process itself — the first to acknowledge how much effort he put into it.
Hephaestus’ face burned scarlet. More than once, he nearly struck his own fingers with his hammer, an unfamiliar heat spreading through his body.
It must be the fire, he told himself.
But how could the God of Fire possibly be affected by flames?
Venus’ kindness toward Hephaestus wasn’t only out of sympathy, but also a genuine exchange of sincerity.
As the God of Love, he could sense all forms of affection. Love, in its broadest sense, came in many flavors. Romantic admiration, familial bonds, deep friendship, and all emotions that carried love could be perceived by him. This ability would reach its peak in adulthood, but he was equally sensitive now.
Nearly every Olympian held some level of fondness for him. Dionysus’ love was like rich, fragrant wine. Hermes’ was sweet, like rum. Ares’ burned strong and fierce, like vodka. Each had its own distinct taste.
Hephaestus’ love, however, was like plain water, or perhaps a mountain spring.
It wasn’t as extravagant as the others, nor was it mixed with any embellishments.
It was simple, pure, and profoundly sincere.
If Venus could choose only one friend, it would be Hephaestus.
But if he had to choose one lover, it would only ever be Adonis. Adonis brought him the sweet taste of honey, representing the sweet love between lovers.
The gods of Olympus all saw Hephaestus as their greatest rival in love, unable to comprehend how the most unappealing god had won the favor of the most beautiful one. What they didn’t know was that the God of Beauty’s true favorite was a mortal, living safely at the foot of the mountain, hidden from their jealous eyes.
Venus snuck away to see Adonis far more often than he openly visited the forge.
On the mountain, he had friendship. By the sea, he had love.
Adonis, wise and well-read, filled Venus’ ears with tales from distant lands. After hearing so much about the vast world beyond, the stories of Olympus began to pale in comparison. But Dionysus, cunning as ever, managed to keep Venus entertained with one small trick: personally peeling grapes for him.
Even so, none of it compared to Adonis. He didn’t need to do anything. Just existing was enough to make Venus long for him, day and night.
On the shores of Cyprus, their footprints stretched side by side in the sand. At sunset, the rising tide would wash them away, leaving no trace behind, just like their secret, unseen love.
In valleys and forests, they hunted, played, strummed lyres, and sang. Venus had even sought out the Muses to learn music and dance, just so he could perform alongside Adonis as he played. Every romance a mortal boy could have, they had as well.
But above all, Venus loved visiting Adonis’ treehouse. In that quiet forest, he would listen to Adonis speak of the world beyond, his expression filled with longing.
One day, they sat together by the window, which was in full bloom with flowers. Venus shifted uneasily and asked, “Adonis, I’m always talking about myself. Am I bothering you?”
It suddenly occurred to him that he always told Adonis about his experiences on the mountain, about his friends, about his joys and complaints, and Adonis would always listen to him patiently, offering comfort and understanding.
But Adonis had never told him his own story. He had so many friends, but Adonis lived alone in this forest. Every story he told was about the time they spent together.
Venus felt a pang of guilt. He was always surrounded by warmth, by laughter, by blooming flowers. But Adonis was all alone.
Adonis only smiled and said nothing. Instead, he opened a book and asked gently, “Would you like to hear a new story? It’s a fairy tale from a distant land.”
Venus didn’t have the heart to refuse him, so he reluctantly agreed. Soon, he became so engrossed in the tale that he forgot his own concerns.
“I will listen to everything he has to say, his complaints, his boasts, even his silence. I will listen, because……”
Adonis stopped speaking.
The pause was maddening. Venus leaned forward urgently. “Because what?” He was so desperate for an answer that he nearly peered into the book himself, but he remembered they were French words he couldn’t understand.
Adonis set the book down and smiled. “Look at me, and I’ll tell you.”
Venus turned his head.
And Adonis leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips.
It was the gentlest touch yet filled with undeniable possession.
A gust of wind happened to blow outside the window, and a white rose on the windowsill fell, lying in the book page, covering the last line.
“Because he is my rose.”
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