In the myths of the West, immortality belongs to gods who defy death. Prometheus stole fire to raise mankind toward eternity. Tithonus begged for everlasting life and was cursed to wither without end. Even the gods of Olympus guard their ambrosia with jealousy, knowing that endless days can turn even glory into burden.
In the East, it belongs to a woman who tends it. Her name is Xi Wangmu, the Queen Mother of the West—the keeper of eternity, the ruler of endings and beginnings alike.
Her palace stands on Mount Kunlun, where the mortal world fades into the divine. There, the air tastes of snow and starlight, and time moves like the slow drift of clouds. Peach trees bloom once every three thousand years, bearing fruit that grants eternal life. The wind carries the scent of their blossoms down into the mortal realm, a fragrance that lingers in dreams.
Long ago, she was not a queen but a wild goddess of decay—her hair unbound, her voice the howl of storms. She ruled over the creatures of dusk and shadow, and her laughter could unmake mountains. Yet as the ages passed, the chaos of the world grew weary, and she, too, began to long for silence. She climbed Kunlun and built her palace at the edge of heaven, where she learned to turn her wildness into wisdom.
Now she rules the garden of peaches, and even the immortals bow before her gate. Emperors seek her favor, poets praise her name, and heroes dream of tasting her fruit. But those who reach Kunlun rarely find what they expect. The Queen's eyes are calm and distant; she does not promise joy, only endurance.
When one brave wanderer once asked her, "Do your peaches truly grant eternal life?" she smiled. "They do," she said, "but eternity is not what you think it is."
For those who eat her fruit never die, but they also never change. Their hearts harden like crystal, their dreams fade like mist. They live forever—but they no longer become.
At sunset, when the clouds burn gold above Kunlun, the Queen Mother stands alone among her trees, the air heavy with sweetness. She watches petals fall and vanish before they touch the ground, and she whispers to the empty sky:
"Even immortality, if it cannot end, must someday long for its own death."