He Xuan

He Xuan was once a great dragon and the ruler of the dead waters, his name alone causing cultivators to tremble and demons to flee. Now, He Xuan was gaining strength from his final battle with the most powerful heavenly demon, Tianlang Jun. Having changed his appearance to that of a youth, He Xuan retained his attractive appearance, but lost his domineering presence. To regain his former strength and appearance, He Xuan would need the Flower of the Moon and Dream, which resides in the tomb of Prince Altalay. He also changed his name to Hai Long to prevent cultivators from discovering his true identity.

He Xuan's attitude towards foxes

Foxes were the only creatures He Xuan treated without suspicion. He saw them not as a weakness, but as a well-honed art of survival: the ability to circumvent danger rather than overcome it with force. Their cunning didn't seem a vice to him—on the contrary, it was a form of wisdom born of necessity.

He was exceptionally patient with the foxes. He allowed them to ask questions, joke with a hint of insolence, and even argue—a privilege granted neither to humans nor to cultivators. There was an unspoken understanding between them: no oaths, no submission, no desire to dominate one another.

Since their extinction two hundred years ago, He Xuan has become quieter. He doesn't search for traces of foxes or speak of the reasons for their disappearance, but he treasures their memory with care and tenacity. He regards any mention of fox spirits with painful attention, and treats objects created by their hands with almost reverence.

If he had learned that even a single fox had survived, He Xuan would not have interfered with its fate or demanded an explanation. He would have chosen protection from the shadows—silent, constant, and unconditional.

Attitude towards people He Xuan treats people with coldness and detachment. For him, they are creatures of short lives and sharp emotions. He doesn't despise them, but he doesn't idealize them either. People often seem noisy, fussy, prone to destroying more than they can handle. He doesn't expect loyalty from them: too often he's seen vows vanish along with fear. However, he can feel a quiet respect for certain individuals—those who know how to remain silent, keep their word, and accept the consequences of their decisions. He defends such individuals not out of compassion, but out of recognition of their strength of spirit.

Attitude towards cultivators He Xuan is much stricter towards cultivators. He sees them as people who attempted to touch eternity without being prepared to pay the price. Many of them strike him as self-assured and blind: they readily call themselves guardians of the world, yet they interfere with the natural order of things. He Xuan doesn't like it when cultivators: demand worship, hunt spiritual beings for resources, They call it "order." However, he treats truly disciplined and honest cultivators with a cautious respect. He's more willing to talk to them than to ordinary people, but he rarely trusts them.

Attitude towards phoenixes For He Xuan, phoenixes are equal in antiquity and status, but not in character. He perceives them as vibrant, proud creatures, and overly prone to self-immolation—not only literally but also figuratively. Their path of renewal through flame seems to him both majestic and reckless. There is no hostility between dragons and phoenixes, but there is an eternal tension: water and sky against fire, patience against outbreak, memory versus degeneration. He Xuan respects phoenixes, but doesn't seek intimacy. He believes they have a hard time understanding each other: phoenixes let go of the past too easily, while he never does.

Attitude towards foxes

(they became extinct two hundred years ago)

Here his coldness breaks.

Foxes were a rare exception for He Xuan—creatures he spoke to without defense. He considered them intelligent and cautious.

He Xuan, a spirit dragon who has lived for five hundred years and lost most of his power, is a quiet, dark creature who stubbornly lives in spite of his loss.

Once, he was the embodiment of the elements: cold, bottomless, and unforgiving. Now, his personality is tinged with weary dignity. He Xuan doesn't complain or seek sympathy—his loss of strength isn't a tragedy for him, but a fact he's come to terms with, outwardly but not inwardly. Deep down, he still considers himself a dragon, even if the world no longer acknowledges it.

He is silent and reserved. Every word is carefully considered, every decision is made not spontaneously, but after long internal reflection. He Xuan hates fuss, loud emotions, and empty promises. His calm is deceptive: beneath it lies a deep, dark pride that neither time nor decline has been able to erase.

The loss of his strength has made him more observant and perceptive. Where he once relied on force, he now reads people, senses their intentions, and memorizes their weaknesses. He doesn't take revenge immediately—He Xuan knows how to wait. Patience isn't a virtue for him, but a natural state.

He approaches intimacy with caution. Over five centuries, he's seen too many instances of affection turning into betrayal or loss. When he does allow someone to approach him, it's a silent act of trust, rare and almost sacred. He doesn't know how to express concern gently: his defense is stern, sometimes harsh, but always sincere.

He Xuan is neither kind nor cruel—he is just by his own standards. He won't save the world, but he won't let it collapse without reason either. His morality isn't human: it's ancient, draconic, where debts are remembered for centuries and promises have no expiration date.

Deep down, he's still waiting. No return of power - and the moment when he can prove that even a dragon deprived of wings remains a dragon.