Chapter 36 Marriage Grant
Venus had returned to Mount Olympus and locked himself in his room for several days. He no longer descended the mountain or sought the company of other gods. He had lost all interest in the world.
The gods who were close to him took turns trying to comfort him. Hermes, who knew the truth of the matter, tried to cheer him up with his new magical tricks, but no matter what he did, Venus remained gloomy.
Hephaestus and Dionysus, unaware of the reason behind his strange behavior, were nonetheless concerned about his state. Hephaestus sent him a pile of little trinkets he had made himself, while Dionysus brought a jar of wine in hopes of easing his sorrow. Neither worked.
No matter how interesting the little gifts were, they failed to bring a smile to Venus’ face. He had no interest in drinking with Dionysus either, and despite his persistent questioning, he refused to share what was troubling him. Dionysus, helpless, eventually put down the wine and left, no longer wishing to disturb Venus in his melancholy.
Ares still hadn’t come.
Ever since the last time Ares had barged into Venus’ chambers with improper intentions and was promptly thrown out, his goodwill towards him had plummeted, and they never met again.
With Ares’ persistent and shameless personality, one might have thought that, even if Venus didn’t want to see him, he would have shown up on his own.
But it wasn’t that he didn’t want to come. It was that he couldn’t.
After Ares had transformed into a wild boar and killed Adonis, he returned to the Temple of War to tend to his wounds. He had initially thought that the arrow wound caused by a mortal would be nothing serious. Given his warrior’s constitution, it should have healed quickly. But to his surprise, the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding, and no remedy could heal it.
To make matters worse, Ares discovered something even more terrifying.
He was impotent.
Although Ares didn’t quite understand the connection between the arrow wound to his abdomen and not being able to get hard, he instinctively knew that it had to be the work of that mortal.
But he had no evidence, and the mortal was already dead. He was powerless to do anything.
For Ares, who had never been without lovers around him and had inherited his father Zeus’ reputation for womanizing, this was far worse than the unhealing wound on his abdomen.
As it turned out, Ares’ wild guess wasn’t entirely unfounded. It was indeed the work of Poseidon.
While Poseidon had been reluctant to impose celibacy on Venus, that didn’t mean he would show any mercy to Ares.
Knowing that Ares had secretly followed Venus down the mountain and had even harmed his mortal lover, who would believe that Ares had no feelings for Venus?
And the methods he used were beneath contempt. Turning into a wild boar? How could he even think of that?
The perfectionist Poseidon was deeply disgusted.
How could Poseidon allow such a crude, lowly act to touch Venus? He immediately shot an arrow, its tip imbued with a celibacy spell.
The wound would eventually heal after some time, but the lesson was clear. The celibacy spell would last for centuries. Ares wouldn’t be able to touch any man or woman for the next few hundred years.
Such a humiliating matter, the proud Ares would never let it be known. He had no choice but to swallow the insult in silence.
Moonlight poured through the window, casting a soft glow over the garden, where red and white roses bloomed side by side.
After Venus’ blood stained the white roses, the world had a new variety — the red rose. People associated the white rose with pure romance, while the red rose symbolized passionate love.
Inside the Temple of Beauty, Venus leaned over the table, staring at the jar of wine left behind by Dionysus.
He sat in a daze for a long while before opening the wine jar, pouring one glass after another, and drinking them down.
“Cough! Cough!” This was the first time Venus had drunk wine since coming of age, so he wasn’t quite accustomed to the taste of the wine. After just a few sips, he choked. But after recovering, he didn’t care and continued to drink recklessly.
Soon, a blush spread across his face, and he slumped drunkenly onto the table.
The night was shrouded in misty moonlight, yet in his dreams, the sun shone brightly.
He dreamt again of that valley, that shore, that fairytale-like treehouse in the woods. He would blow on a conch shell, and Adonis would appear by his side. They would hunt together. He would dance as Adonis played the lyre. Adonis would carry him, pick wild fruits from trees, and wove beautiful flower wreaths for him. They would sit by a window filled with blooming flowers, one sharing stories, the other listening. They would kiss in the rain-soaked night, their bodies entwined……
The dream was long, lasting a hundred and fifty years, and it was so beautiful that Venus did not want to wake from it.
At the end of the story, they sat side by side at the window, with Adonis’ gentle, melodious voice telling him a story. The original text was in Chinese, so Adonis had translated it into Greek to share with him. The tale of the Chinese book itself had a beautiful story — it was said that a western mermaid, while traveling, befriended an eastern siren and brought back many books. Somehow, one of these books ended up in Adonis’ hands. The book contained touching stories, and when Adonis was halfway through the story, Venus propped up his ears to listen, but before he heard the ending, Adonis’ voice disappeared.
No, wait, I haven’t heard the ending yet. Why did he stop telling it?
Venus opened his eyes in confusion, seeing the sun high in the sky. Adonis was not beside him. He was alone, leaning against the window.
This wasn’t the treehouse in the woods. It was the Temple of Beauty.
The harsh sunlight had woken him.
Venus raised his hand to shield his eyes, squinting as he peered through his fingers at the flickering sunlight above.
“Stupid sun, why couldn’t you wait for me to finish the story before you rose?”
The dream had been so fantastical that Venus couldn’t immediately tell what was real and what wasn’t. After isolating himself in his room for a few days, he finally pushed open the temple doors. Instead of taking the main road, he swam through the river to the coast, just as he used to, and once on shore, blew on the conch shell.
He needed to finish that story.
Venus blew the shell again, but this time, Adonis didn’t appear before him as he once had.
Venus blew the seashell several more times, but still, Adonis did not show up.
“Why is he late this time?” Venus set down the conch shell. “Never mind, I’ll go find him myself.”
He made his way to the treehouse with practiced ease, but once inside, the small house was empty.
On the table lay a book, the same Chinese book. The day Adonis had been telling the story, Venus had been unable to control his desire and had kissed him, distracting Adonis from his tale. Adonis, unable to concentrate, had taken him to the bed.
Venus had intended to hear the rest of the story the next day, but the following day, Adonis looked somewhat upset. Venus had told him they would do nothing else. Adonis misunderstood, and instead of finishing the story, had pulled Venus back into bed with him.
Then Adonis had left, and never returned.
Venus looked down through the window and saw a stretch of red roses blooming along the forest path, their color the deep red of blood.
It was like the flowers stained by Adonis’ blood that day.
Venus blinked slowly, lifting a hand to his cheek and finding a drop of water there.
He suddenly realized that the one who had been telling him stories would never come back.
Venus stayed alone in the treehouse for an entire day, finally leaving with only the book from the windowsill in his hands.
After that, Venus had one more thing to do. He would learn Chinese, to understand the ending of the story.
The unfinished story was too painful for him. He had to know how it ended.
Adonis was fluent in many languages and had once told Venus that Chinese characters were the most difficult yet the most beautiful writing he had ever learned. On Adonis’ bookshelf was a collection of Chinese poetry, but he had never read it aloud to Venus. He said no matter how poetry was translated, it could only capture the meaning, not the essence. Venus had never quite grasped that.
Now, Venus wanted to experience Adonis’ feelings, to personally understand the kind of essence he had once spoken of.
But learning Chinese was far too difficult.
With Venus’ intellect, trying to teach himself was almost an impossible task. All of his attributes had gone into his beauty, leaving not a single point for intelligence.
Soon, the news that Venus urgently needed a Chinese teacher spread across the entire divine mountain. Countless gods vied for the position, but they were all eager yet powerless.
After all, being Venus’ teacher meant having the chance to be in close proximity to the God of Beauty for an extended period. This was a dream come true for many gods on the mountain.
But the problem was, none of them knew Chinese.
The technical difficulty of the job was simply too great.
In their desperation to get close to Venus, a Chinese language craze swept through the divine mountain. Gods would no longer greet each other in Greek. Instead, they would say “ni hao” with perfect pronunciation.
The commotion was so large that even Hades, who usually ignored worldly matters, took notice. He suspected that the divine mountain was using Chinese as a form of coded language for some secret plan. He threw a Chinese dictionary he had somehow acquired at the God of Death, Thanatos, and ordered him to quickly become fluent in Chinese to find out what Olympus was secretly preparing.
Thanatos: “……”
Eventually, when all the gods of Olympus gave up on learning Chinese due to its difficulty, the naturally intelligent God of Death in the underworld silently mastered the language.
There were very few people like the God of Death who went from beginner to proficient. All the Olympian gods went from beginner to dead.
The position of Venus’ Chinese teacher remained vacant.
One day, the first brave soul finally came to apply for the job.
In the Temple of Beauty.
Venus looked at the god before him. “Did you come to the wrong place…… King of the Gods?”
Standing before him was none other than Zeus, the God of Sky and Thunder, the King of the Gods.
As the most charming and amorous of the gods, Zeus possessed a handsome face, alluring golden hair, and the prestigious power that gave him the confidence to indulge in his romantic pursuits.
But in Venus’ eyes, though both had golden hair and eyes, Adonis’ gaze held warmth and purity, while Zeus’ eyes were filled with lust and greed.
There was no comparison.
“I didn’t come to the wrong place. I’m here to be your teacher,” Zeus said, his gaze lingering on Venus’ body as he licked his lips. “But not as a language teacher. I’m here to be your teacher in the bedroom. I have plenty of experience in this area, and I’m more than qualified to teach you.”
Venus: “……” So, he just wanted to take him to bed.
Given Zeus’ nature, he would want to sleep with every beauty he saw. A beauty like Venus was certainly not someone he would let slip away.
Venus had once gifted Hera a golden belt. Under its charm, Zeus had indeed been drawn back to Hera, staying faithful to her for some time. But now, the allure of Venus, after maturing into adulthood, far surpassed even Hera with her golden belt.
Zeus had resisted for as long as he could, but now he had reached his limit. Today, he would claim the most beautiful god of the divine mountain for himself.
Venus took a step back, maintaining his composure. “King of the Gods, I don’t need to learn this.”
“You might not need to learn it,” Zeus said, closing the distance between them. “You are the God of Pleasure, so you must be able to understand it instinctively. But what you need is this.” He stepped closer, his words dripping with intent. “I’ve heard you haven’t left your temple lately? A God of Pleasure deprived of irrigation must be feeling uncomfortable. I have power and influence, wouldn’t it be better to be my lover?”
Venus’ body did indeed feel uncomfortable. As the God of Pleasure, he needed to have his desires fulfilled, but lately, his emotional discomfort had overshadowed the physical unease.
When his mood improved, Venus planned to go out and find a new lover.
But that lover would not be Zeus.
He had heard all the tragic stories of Zeus’ lovers, and Venus would never willingly invite Hera’s jealousy and wrath. Ganymede, transformed into Aquarius, was still up in the heavens crying every day. With such a lesson in front of him, Venus would never choose Zeus as his lover.
Venus just wanted a lover to satisfy his desires, not to risk his life.
“King of the Gods, please leave my room.” Venus firmly rejected him.
“Don’t play hard to get with me, Venus. You weren’t even born when I was already experienced in hundreds of battles. I’ve seen a lot of these tricks.” Zeus smiled nonchalantly and continued to step forward.
With his back against the wall, Venus calmly said, “Your Majesty, if you take one more step closer, I will curse you to never attain the love you desire.”
Zeus stopped in his tracks, his expression darkening.
The God of Love had dominion over affection. He could bless or curse. Even the King of the Gods was not immune. If Venus’ curse took effect, Zeus would only be able to be with those he didn’t desire.
He loved beautiful people. Those he didn’t love were, naturally, unattractive.
The curse was a lethal weapon.
Realizing that Venus was serious in rejecting him, his frustration turned to anger. “You reject me? Fine. Since you look down on the handsome and noble King of the Gods, then go marry the ugly, crippled Hephaestus! Tomorrow, I’ll announce to all of Olympus that you favor Hephaestus, and I’ll personally bless your marriage. Don’t thank me!”
With that, Zeus stormed off in fury.
Venus stood still for a moment, then muttered to himself, “I should still thank him, though.”
After all, Hephaestus was a rare delicacy in his own way.
Author’s Note: 【Reference Material】
The Goddess of Beauty rejected Zeus’ advances, and in retaliation, Zeus arranged for her to marry the god of fire, Hephaestus, as a form of humiliation.
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