[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-224":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705033,2177,"Chapter 217: Road of Gold and Dust","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-224",224,"\u003Cp>Chapter 217: Road of Gold and Dust\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The King’s Road above Delvida was a ribbon of white dust, winding through olive groves and sun-bleached villas. I was strutting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I mean really strutting. Hips, sway, click of heels against packed dirt—like every step was a statement. Because, well. These sandals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sky-blue. Golden-thread straps that coiled around my calves like vines with expensive taste. Tiny pearls on the buckles. Pointless. Impractical. Glorious. Absolutely perfect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"These were worth it,\" I said, admiring the way the sunlight kissed the gold. “All we had to do was fake-seduce a pig priest, stage a flaming apparition, and you only had to roast… what, two hay bales?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Three,” the Dragon muttered from above, plodding beside me with the dignity of a burnt chaise lounge. “And you promised they’d be empty.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They were. Mostly.” I kicked a little dust his way. “Anyway. Serious question. Do people actually have real jobs? Like—wake up, do the same thing, every single day? Forever?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He blinked his lazy lizard eyes. “Humans seem to think that’s the respectable way. Stability. Routine. Predictability. You know—soul death.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Like cobblers.” I snorted. “Sitting in a shop, poking at shoes. All day. For decades. Until they drop dead into a pile of soles.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You just described the career of the man who made those ridiculous sandals.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I ignored him. “Or weavers. Gods, the noise. Clack clack. Spit thread. Clack again. I'd stab someone. Probably myself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gave me a sidelong glance. “You're asking the wrong creature, you know. I’m a free spirit. Wild soul. Unbound.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“More like unemployed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Eternally unmoored,” he said dramatically, tail swishing. “Artistic temperament.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sighed, twirling in my sandals like a drunk debutante. “Where I grew up, no one had real jobs. Just… multi-purpose scum. Sell fish one week, smuggle knockoff wine the next, stab someone in the alley if coin’s tight.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A charming entrepreneurial spirit.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And the kids?” I said, squinting at the dusty horizon. “We ran errands, carried messages, maybe lifted a purse or two. You grow up flexible. Fast.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He made a noncommittal hum. A hawk shrieked somewhere overhead. My sandals sparkled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I looked down at my toes—dusty already—and wiggled them. “Still worth it. I feel like a barefoot courtesan who finally won a duel against footwear.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He huffed smoke. “You’re still barefoot. They barely count as shoes.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fashion is pain.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Fashion is bankruptcy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh hush. I look fabulous.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And I did. Even if my last real bath had involved a puddle and a stolen citrus rind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I kicked a pebble. It skittered off the road and probably offended some ant. “So how do you even get a profession?” I asked. “Like, are you just… born with it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon tilted his head. “In some places, yes. Tradition. Inheritance. Destiny. The gods weep golden tears and declare: this one shall tally turnips forevermore.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, seriously.” I squinted up at him. “I get apprentices, right? I was technically one. In that temple. Trained in sacred arts and positions thirteen through forty-two. But even then they said I was born to be a whore. Which, okay, rude. But what does that even mean? Like, is someone out there born to be a… I don’t know… desk clerk?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He nodded solemnly. “Undoubtedly. Some poor bastard slid out the womb with the perfect spine curvature for scribing grain taxes. Fate branded him ‘Administrator of Shelf Binders.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I cackled. “Do you think it’s like star signs? ‘You were born under the Ledger Moon, son. Your soul is bound to ink and chair splinters.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Or the noble Order of the Municipal Filing System,” he added. “Blessed be the alphabetized.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sounds cursed.” I stretched my arms above my head, sandals flashing again. “Anyway. If you’re born to do something, then what happens if you suck at it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You die miserable. Or get promoted.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I laughed so hard I nearly tripped. “Okay, but seriously. What if I was born for something else? Something grand. Like—diplomacy. Or interpretive dance. Or politics.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You seduced a baron by convincing him you were a mute opera singer with a vow of silence.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Exactly! That’s practically politics.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gave me that look. The one that meant: I can’t decide if I’m proud or terrified.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m just saying,” I muttered, “maybe I was misfiled. Like a sacred scroll stuffed in the brothel laundry bin. Could’ve been someone. Minister Saya. Arch-Countess of Drama and Seduction.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Madam Tax Evasion,” he corrected.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stuck my tongue out and kept walking. “Still sounds more glamorous than dying behind a cobbler’s bench.” I paused. “But also, I bet cobblers don’t get whipped for spilling soup on a client’s lap.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They might. If the soup’s hot enough.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hmm. You’re right. No one’s safe. Life’s a scam, might as well enjoy the perks.” I twirled again. “Starting with these sandals.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You do realize they cost more than a small vineyard.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“And yet my grapes are exquisite.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He groaned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gods, I loved annoying him.\u003C\u002Fp>",822,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","43a040562022be837d94ec0360875483a60bf3a70c145f81a57682e72c1d0d77","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-225","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-223",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]