A Swallow in the North (Greek Mythology) - Chapter 1

Yan Beibei had never considered herself extraordinary—not until three years into her postgraduate studies, when she realized she truly stood apart from the crowd.

What made her different? Her hairline.

“I lost more hair washing it last night!” she grumbled, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she vented to her senior classmate. “One gentle tug and honestly—I could’ve knitted a sweater with what came out. I’m genuinely worried about premature balding.”

Her senior wasn’t faring much better. Clutching a steaming mug of coffee, she yawned while flipping through academic journals. The dark circles under her eyes were so thick that if you scraped them off and added a little water, you’d have enough natural pigment to help the Archaeology department next door restore ancient artifacts.

“Just hang in there for one more year,” her senior sighed. “Heaven help you, why did you ever choose Artemis as the subject for your thesis?”

“Greek mythology is a chaotic mess. Almost every god and named mortal is related by blood, not to mention the tangled web of romantic entanglements. The relationship maps alone are enough to give anyone a receding hairline. Plus, to study it properly, you have to go back to the untainted sources—the Homeric Hymns, Hesiod’s Theogony, the Orphic Hymns. You practically have to learn Ancient Greek just to ensure you’re looking at reliable primary data rather than some botched translation.”

“Speaking of Greek and botched translations, don’t even get me started,” Beibei said, raising a weak hand. “I was looking at the 2006 translation of the Orphic Hymns recently. In the fifty-fifth hymn—the one for Aphrodite there’s a glaring error.”

“It should be ‘dark-eyed,’ not ‘dark-faced.’ How could a Nymph be dark faced? She’s not a Black Mermaid; the ancient Greeks didn’t exactly have a concept of modern political correctness. The translator clearly relied on an English version rather than the Greek original. A mistake was made in the first step of translation, and every Chinese translator who didn’t check the source followed them right off the cliff.”

“I don’t even study Aphrodite and I know you study Athena but an error that basically swaps someone’s species is worth correcting, right?”

Her senior stared at her as if she had grown three heads. “Wait, hold on. You actually learned Ancient Greek?! Between attending conferences, lectures, museum exhibits, writing your thesis, teaching undergraduates, and maintaining a 4.8 GPA. you found time for a dead language? A normal person would’ve turned into a mummy from exhaustion by now!”

“It’s exhausting,” Beibei admitted, “but I wanted to see what the original legends of Artemis actually looked like.”

The senior gave a sarcastic round of applause. “Spoken like a true martyr. If only the ‘intellectually challenged’ celebrities in the entertainment industry had half your drive, our culture would be thriving.”

Academic life wasn’t all harmony, but Beibei felt lucky. In the Chemistry department, postgrads complained about “bosses” who treated them like slave labor and refused to fund new equipment. Over in the Foreign Languages department, students were forced to translate their tutors’ private commissions for no pay.

To make matters worse, a recent policy shift aimed at increasing “masculine presence” in education had led to an influx of underqualified men. Male teachers who failed exams were getting hired; male postgrads with failing grades were getting fast-tracked; and male professors who hadn’t published a single word in a core journal were receiving titles.

In contrast, Beibei’s all-female mythology research group felt like a sanctuary of meritocracy. The irony, however, was bitter: the only reason they achieved true equality was because their field was considered a “clean-water office” an academic dead-end with no money in it. The men who benefited from the new policies stayed far away, pulling strings to get transferred to more lucrative departments.

After Beibei’s fifteenth yawn, her second senior finally took pity on her. “Go back to the dorm and sleep. When the Professor returns, show her the draft. If it’s polished, we’ll submit it. But honestly, don’t get your hopes up. The censors have been strict lately. Even with our Professor’s name on it, a paper on ‘problematic’ themes might get killed in the first round.”

“Our project on Queen Mother of the West and the decline of matriarchy was sent back immediately,” the senior warned. “They told us to watch our step and avoid ‘invisible red lines.'”

Beibei remained calm. “It’s fine. I have a more conservative backup topic. If the journals won’t take it, I’ll post it as a ‘lore deep-dive’ on a gaming forum for Fate Grand Order or Monster Hunter. At least the fans will appreciate the effort.”

“Now that,” her senior laughed, “is true love.”

As Beibei packed her bags, her colleague added a final warning: “Be careful. There’ve been reports of a pervert lurking on the path to the dorms at night. Don’t walk back alone. See if one of the Chemistry boys is heading that way.”

“I’ll be fine,” Beibei said, already out the door. She looked toward the Chemistry building—now filled almost entirely with men due to the new quotas—and decided against it. She’d rather take the long way around the well-lit main road than walk with someone who had cruised into grad school through the back door.

On her way, Beibei stopped at a milk tea shop. She bought a warm sweet milk for herself and two coffees for her seniors still pulling an all-nighter. She had the shop deliver the coffees, a small gesture to say: My body has left the lab, but my soul suffers with you.

However, as she reached the main road, her heart sank. Instead of the familiar glow of streetlamps, there was only a huddle of frustrated students grumbling in the dark.

Every single light along the two-hundred-meter stretch was out.

The campus was built on a mountainside, and this particular stretch of road was a steep descent. You couldn’t tell the lights were broken until you were right on top of it. Because it was the only open path to the female dorms, a crowd had gathered. Many girls were already descending in small groups, using the weak flickers of their phone flashlights.

In the moonless, starless night, those fading white lights and the whistling wind gave Beibei a sudden, bone-deep chill. Seeing no familiar faces, she turned on her own flashlight and stepped cautiously onto the first stair.

In that instant, reality buckled.

A brilliant, soft white light surged from beneath her feet, swallowing her whole. The phenomenon was so silent and swift that no one noticed. One second a girl was there; the next, she was gone without a trace.

Mount Olympus

At that same moment, atop the sacred, towering peaks of Olympus, two goddesses were locked in a long-standing confrontation.

On one side stood Aphrodite, famed for her beauty and her legion of lovers. Opposite her stood the three great Virgin Goddesses: Hestia, Athena, and Artemis.

The grudge between Artemis and the Goddess of Love ran deep. Since the day Artemis began protecting youths who dared to scorn Aphrodite’s charms, a fracture had formed between the Mistress of the Hunt and the Lady of the Diamond Girdle. Faith was a finite resource; if more mortals turned to the path of the hunt and chastity, the altars of Love grew cold.

They were currently debating a question that had remained unsettled for eons: Is love a necessity for human existence?

Athena spoke first, her voice like the ring of bronze. “What in this world can outshine the light of wisdom? When a man loses his wit, he is like a beast without claws, a king without a scepter. Only wisdom brings true happiness—not the fleeting whims of romance.”

Hestia added softly, “And industry. What use is beauty if a woman is idle? Can a pretty face withstand the boredom of a thousand days? Only hard work sustains a life.”

“I despise love,” Artemis concluded.

When the Moon Goddess spoke, all whispers died. Her face was that of a young maiden, yet it possessed a piercing, frost-like coldness. Her eyes were bluer than the Aegean, her hair more radiant than gold, yet she looked upon the world with the indifference of winter gale.

“Love,” Artemis said with the quiet arrogance of one who holds the highest rank among the younger gods, “is the most untrustworthy thing in existence.”

Aphrodite smiled at her lovers, undeterred. “Do not scorn love so easily, Artemis. You may have your father’s favor—you may have your silver bow, your mountains, and your Nymphs—but there is one thing Zeus can never give you.”

“There is nothing under the sun I cannot obtain,” Artemis replied with a cool, breathtaking pride.

“Oh, but there is,” Aphrodite laughed. “A soul has already crossed ten thousand mountains and the rifts of time itself. It has pierced through legend and reality to reach you.”

As Aphrodite declared her war that even the chaste Artemis would be ensnared—the woman at the center of their divine wager, Yan Beibei, finally opened her eyes in the arms of a stranger.

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