Just as the West whispers of Njord, the sea god who stirs wind and wave, the East tells of Zhu Rong and Gong Gong, fire and water locked in a struggle older than the mountains themselves.
Zhu Long strode across the southern skies, his body wreathed in living flame. Wherever he passed, the air shimmered, and the mountains glowed. Fire was his law, warmth his promise, order his dominion.
Yet beyond the valleys, the waters rose. Gong Gong emerged, dark and vast, bending rivers and seas to his will. His aim was not conquest alone, but the overturning of heaven itself.
When fire met water, the mountains quivered. Flames licked clouds, tides clawed at peaks. The world shivered beneath their fury. Villages cowered, forests bent, and even the stars seemed to retreat in awe.
In the final surge, Gong Gong struck the mountains with all his force, tilting the earth, cracking heaven's pillars. Zhu Rong blazed in defiance, yet even his fire faltered. Neither prevailed. The scars of their struggle remained etched upon the land.
Still, the tale endured. Travelers spoke of flames that could not be quenched and tides that could not be restrained. And in that, a lesson whispered through wind and wave: to act, to resist, to endure—even when victory is impossible—is its own triumph.
The flames still warm the southern skies. The rivers still surge. And the story of fire and tide lives on, a reminder that some forces are eternal, some struggles endless, and some lessons outlast even the gods themselves.