The memories washed over LaUhta like a rising tide, his thoughts traversing thousands of years to return to that vast continent, long since vanished beneath the surface of the sea. Each remembrance flickered like shards of light, gradually piecing together in his mind into a complete picture, vivid and alive.

  "Mu," that mighty expanse of nd stretching eight thousand leagues from east to west and five thousand leagues from north to south, y like some great beast sprawled across the face of the world. It was not merely a ndmass, but a nexus of mystery and power, the origin of countless legends and the final dwelling pce of innumerable secrets. In the center of the continent, majestic mountain ranges coiled like sleeping dragons, their peaks piercing the firmament, reaching toward the nine heavens; in the north, vast pins spread out, their golden grasses unduting in the wind like waves, extending to the limits of sight, each gust of wind passing like the breath of the earth itself; in the west, bottomless ravines of impenetrable darkness y, mysterious and foreboding, with rivers running through them like silver ribbons, gleaming with intoxicating brilliance where the sunlight struck.

  And in the southeastern corner of this continent, nestled among green mountains and clear waters, stood the small settlement of Lagu, like a bright pearl inid at the edge of a brocade. As LaUhta followed the elder priest Canglian across the central square paved with blue stones, golden ginkgo leaves swayed gently in the breeze, sunlight filtering through the branches to cast dappled shadows upon the ground. The Lagu settlement was built against the mountain, with stone houses scattered amidst the greenery, as if they were part of nature itself. A stream flowed past the vilge, so clear that one could see straight to the bottom, where fish darted among the water pnts, occasionally leaping above the surface, leaving expanding ripples in their wake.

  LaUhta had grown up under the care of Lagu's priest since childhood. In the depths of his memory, the figure of Priest Canglian remained as clear as yesterday, that tall, spare outline undiminished by the river of time.

  In the traditions of the continent of Mu, priests were required to be those who could not perceive the "Ethereal Origin" – those unable to touch the mysterious force known as the "One," yet who could therefore focus on tribal affairs with clear minds. In his fiftieth year, Canglian had taken up this sacred duty beneath the ginkgo tree, becoming Lagu's spiritual leader and keeper of the mystical elixir.

  Canglian always wore a bck robe, simple in material yet clean and precise, its hem swaying gently with his steps, giving an impression of solemnity and mystery. He leaned upon an exquisitely carved staff, its patterns flowing naturally like water, crafted by the most skilled artisan in the settlement. Whenever he walked among the stone houses of Lagu, he brought with him a sense of reassurance, as if, as long as he was present, no danger could befall the settlement.

  As the settlement's leader, Canglian bore the responsibility of maintaining Lagu's daily operations. But in LaUhta's eyes, Canglian's most solemn duty was the management and distribution of the mystical elixir. Each spring equinox, when all things were renewed and life flourished, Canglian would personally count the number of children who had reached six years of age, then convey this number to the emissaries from the Heaven's Path, and receive an equal number of mystical elixirs. This process was solemn and mysterious, like an ancient ritual, causing even the air to grow heavy.

  On the continent of Mu, becoming a Tao was a dream pnted in the heart of every child from a young age. This was not merely an aspiration, but a belief rooted deep within the culture. Each evening, as darkness fell, the elders would gather around the fire and recount tales of legendary figures who could control the "One," how they changed the world and protected their settlements.

  The children's eyes would sparkle with admiration, their small faces flushed red in the firelight, as if they could already envision themselves as Tao. They would push and nudge one another, discussing in hushed voices how they would use the power of the "One" – some spoke of ripening crops overnight, others of creating a bridge that would never colpse, and still others of keeping all people free from disease and suffering. These innocent wishes, illuminated by the firelight, seemed especially beautiful, yet equally distant.

  The winter nights were long, and LaUhta often sat beside Canglian, listening to ancient legends. Most wondrous of all these were the stories of Torht, the first among the people of Mu.

  "The great Torht established the Heaven's Path, united the many settlements of Mu, and established a peaceful order," Canglian's voice, in the firelight, seemed especially solemn. "It is said he mastered what was called 'The Eight Trigrams,' the eight colors of the 'One,' of unmatched power, capable of moving mountains and seas."

  "Eight colors of the 'One'?" LaUhta asked curiously, "Does the 'One' have different colors?"

  Canglian fell silent for a moment, a flicker of indefinable emotion passing through his eyes. "According to ancient texts, the 'One' varies by individual, with different colors and properties."

  These stories pnted a seed in LaUhta's heart, filling him with longing and curiosity about the power of the "One."

  Each year, all children who reached six years of age were required, without exception, to participate in the mystical elixir ceremony, like a sacred baptism. After swallowing the elixir, children would enter a strange state between life and death, their bodies cold as stone, their breath as faint as a thread, yet with a slender lifeline stubbornly persisting within.

  Some people, in this state, could sense the existence of the Ethereal Origin, feel that mysterious power known as the "One." Most, however, sensed nothing at all, experiencing only a painful and fruitless journey. Regardless of the outcome, this attempt would continue each year until they reached forty.

  Though small, Lagu had a long history. Regrettably, since the settlement's founding, there had never been someone who could control the "One" and become a Tao. This was an unspoken pain, a collective regret. Whenever Tao from other settlements passed through, Lagu's residents would cast admiring gnces, their eyes flickering with mingled desire and awe, hoping that someday, such a legendary figure might emerge from their own settlement, bringing glory and power to Lagu.

  LaUhta's thoughts drifted back to that distant spring day, his memory of first taking the mystical elixir at six years of age as clear as yesterday, every detail etched into his soul, forming an undimmed remembrance.

  That day, the morning sun had just crested the eastern ridge, golden light spilling over the stone houses of Lagu, coating the rough stone walls with a warm hue. Six-year-old LaUhta sat quietly on the blue stone steps before his family's dwelling, small hands tightly gripping the hem of his clothes, knuckles white with tension. His gaze repeatedly swept toward the center of the settlement, anticipation and fear intertwining in his heart like two entwined serpents, making him both excited and uneasy. Today was the day of his first mystical elixir, his heart pounding like a startled fawn, his chest seeming filled with thousands of butterflies fluttering their wings.

  In the distance, Canglian approached slowly, the sound of his staff striking the stone path especially clear in the quiet dawn, like the ticking of a clock announcing the arrival of fate. LaUhta held his breath, his small chest rising and falling slightly with tension, watching as that tall, gaunt figure approached step by step, like a moving mountain, bearing irresistible authority and mystery.

  Canglian wore his bck robe, the fabric swaying gently in the breeze like night flowing in the dawn. His features were gaunt, cheekbones high, skin almost transparently pale, as if never kissed by sunlight, like an emissary from another world. His eyes were deep and calm, seeming to hold stars in their depths, as if able to see through to the essence of all things, to capture the most subtle changes.

  "Uhta, the time has come." Canglian's voice was deep and rhythmic, as if coming from a great distance, yet also sounding directly in LaUhta's heart. That voice contained solemnity, expectation, and a trace of barely discernible concern.

  LaUhta stood up abruptly, his movement so hasty he nearly lost his bance. His small legs trembled slightly with nervousness, toes curling unconsciously in his grass sandals, as if seeking some sense of security. He looked up at Canglian, his eyes showing both longing and fear, like facing an unknown adventure.

  Canglian took a small wooden box from the pouch at his waist, its surface smooth as jade, carved with delicate flowing patterns as natural as flowing water. The edges of the box were inid with several unknown gemstones, glittering with a strange light in the sunshine. Canglian pced the box in his palm, his expression solemn, as if holding a priceless treasure.

  "Are you ready?" Canglian looked at LaUhta with kindly yet solemn eyes, his gaze revealing an interweaving of responsibility and care.

  LaUhta nodded, his movement small and hurried, his eyes fshing with anticipation and unease. He knew every child in the settlement had to experience this moment—swallowing the mystical elixir, approaching death, sensing the Ethereal Origin. This was a rite of passage, the beginning of exploring the unknown.

  Canglian slowly opened the wooden box, a soft glow emanating from within, like a ray of sunlight finally freed after long imprisonment. Inside y a perfectly round golden pill, golden patterns seeming to flow on its surface as if alive, with a faint halo barely visible at its edges. A fresh, transcendent fragrance wafted from the box, inducing a strange sense of calm and longing.

  "This is the mystical elixir," Canglian said softly, his voice carrying reverence, as if introducing an honored guest.

  "Uhta, this object is extraordinary. The mystical elixir can bring you to the edge of death, yet preserve a breath of life. At that threshold, you may perceive what ordinary people cannot see—the Ethereal Origin. Yet you must know, this elixir contains great danger. It will cause your heartbeat to nearly stop, your breath to become as faint as a thread, your soul to seem about to leave your body."

  Canglian's voice suddenly sharpened as he looked directly into LaUhta's eyes: "Each year, you may take it only once, remember this well. Taking it more than once in a short period will surely return your soul to the earth, beyond all recovery. Three people in the forest lie upon their beds year-round, neither truly alive nor dead. They became thus because they craved the power of the mystical elixir, disobeyed the rules, and now are empty shells, their souls trapped forever between life and death."

  LaUhta's face paled, like a sheet of white paper drained of all blood by fear. He gnced toward the forbidden forest at the settlement's edge, a chill rising in his heart.

  "This is a supreme treasure, and also a deadly poison. Use it with caution and respect," Canglian said softly, his gaze full of expectation and exhortation.

  LaUhta lowered his head to gaze at the wooden box in his hands, his heart in conflict. The golden light emitted by the mystical elixir cast shifting shadows on his childlike face, illuminating the fear and desire intertwining in his eyes. On one hand, he longed to sense the Ethereal Origin, to touch that mysterious "One," to become a legend in the settlement; on the other hand, he feared the shadow of death, feared eternal wandering, feared the possibility of failure.

  He took a deep breath, his chest visibly rising and falling, pcing the golden pill in his mouth, then closing his eyes and swallowing. The feeling of the pill sliding down his throat was strange and unfamiliar, with only an indescribable coolness, like morning dew entering his body, or a gentle breeze passing through his heart.

  A moment ter, a warm current gradually spread from his stomach throughout his body, like spring sunshine melting snow, every inch of skin beginning to warm slightly, every nerve beginning to tremble gently. LaUhta opened his eyes, and the world seemed brighter, clearer, colors more vivid. Ordinary stone houses now appeared like paces, each stone gleaming with an inner light; common grass and trees now seemed vibrant with life, each leaf emanating the breath of life.

  "It begins," Canglian said softly, his voice carrying a trace of barely perceptible tension as his wrinkled hand rested on LaUhta's shoulder, guiding him toward the ginkgo tree in the center of the stone chamber, the most sacred pce in the settlement.

  LaUhta followed Canglian toward the ginkgo tree, each step becoming extraordinarily clear. He could feel the fine texture and contours of the stones beneath, and as the wind brushed his face, he could distinguish the various scents it carried—the herbal fragrance from distant forests, the freshness of morning dew, even the cooking smoke wafting from the vilgers' homes.

  Suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck, like a great wave breaking against a reef. LaUhta staggered, his body swaying like a candle fme in the wind. Canglian's hand steadied him in time, those aged yet strong hands becoming his anchor in the midst of chaos.

  "Sit down, child," Canglian said softly, his voice gentle yet bearing an irrefusable force.

  LaUhta obediently sat cross-legged on the stone bench beneath the ginkgo tree, hands naturally resting on his knees, his posture like that of a small practitioner. By now, the full effect of the mystical elixir began to manifest, like an unstoppable storm sweeping through his entire body.

  Suddenly, a piercing pain shot through LaUhta's entire body like lightning, jolting him from that expanding state of consciousness, like a bird in full flight suddenly shot down. The pain began in his spine, as if countless small ice picks simultaneously stabbed into his marrow, every nerve ignited, every inch of skin torn apart, then rapidly spreading to his limbs and every corner of his being, like an unquenchable wildfire.

  The pain came in waves, each stronger than the st. LaUhta felt his consciousness being torn into countless fragments, each bearing unbearable suffering. He vaguely heard his own screams, yet they seemed to come from a distant pce. He understood this was the near-death experience Canglian had warned of, but experiencing was entirely different from knowing.

  "Stop... please..." he screamed inwardly, yet no sound emerged. He began to regret his decision, wishing he had never tried, preferring never to experience such torment. But it was too te...

  LaUhta's body shook violently, like a leaf battered by a storm, fragile and helpless. His jaw clenched tightly, teeth grinding against each other with a faint sound, yet unable to prevent a painful moan from escaping his throat, like the cry of a wounded beast.

  Each heartbeat felt like a heavy hammer striking inside his chest, reverberating through his entire body. Blood moved slowly and thickly through his vessels, like congealed magma struggling to flow, each movement bringing a burning pain. His lungs seemed gripped by an invisible hand, each breath becoming a difficult struggle, like a drowning person gasping for air.

  LaUhta's vision began to distort, like a reflection in water broken by a stone. The world before him became blurred patches of color, the edges devoured by darkness, like nightfall gradually descending upon the earth. His ears filled with a buzzing noise, like thousands of bees simultaneously beating their wings beside his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He felt a terrible sensation of falling, as if thrown into a bottomless abyss, yet held in pce by some force, unable to escape this cage of suffering.

  Consciousness began to blur, darkness surging like a tide, threatening to submerge him, like a great net descending. LaUhta knew this was the near-death experience brought by the mystical elixir, the necessary path to the Ethereal Origin, the trial every seeker must face. He struggled against the urge to lose consciousness, like a night traveler resisting sleep, trying to maintain a thread of crity in this ocean of pain.

  "Cannot give up... must persevere..." LaUhta repeated in his heart, his voice faint yet determined, like a ray of light in the darkness. He used willpower to resist the encroachment of darkness, like a small tree withstanding a raging storm, weak yet stubborn.

  Around him, he could vaguely hear the voices of other children—some whimpering, some moaning, and some fallen into a terrifying silence. A strong will to survive ignited in his heart, an unyielding stubbornness making him clench his teeth. "I will not be like them," he thought, "I must endure."

  Just when he felt himself about to surrender, LaUhta seemed to hear a distant call, like a whisper from the depths of the stars. The voice was both familiar and strange, as if he had heard it in some forgotten dream.

  "Return... return..." That voice, barely perceptible, yet made his spirit tremble. This voice seemed to come from outside, yet also sounded directly in his heart, giving him a thread of strength to continue.

  As time passed, that tearing pain gradually weakened, like receding tides, slowly leaving LaUhta's body. The pain did not suddenly disappear, but diminished bit by bit, like a great fire gradually extinguishing, leaving only ashes and residual warmth. His breathing gradually returned to normal, changing from painful gasps to steady rises and falls; his heartbeat no longer pounded like a drum, but returned to a stable rhythm. The darkness receded, like clouds and mist dispersing, his vision becoming clear once more.

  LaUhta slowly opened his eyes, his movements sluggish and weak, like a newborn fawn attempting to stand. He found the sun had already declined in the west, golden light snting into the stone chamber, coating everything in a warm hue. He y on a grass mat in the stone chamber, his body heavy as lead, unable to move, only able to quietly sense his surroundings. An unfamiliar fatigue washed over his limbs and body, like a spring flood overflowing its banks, or as if he had been dragged from deep waters.

  Canglian crouched before him, his posture humble yet dignified, like a guardian watching over his mb. Those weathered eyes were filled with concern, like winter embers, warm and enduring.

  "How do you feel?" Canglian's voice was deep and gentle, like a soft breeze, his eyes sparkling with expectant light. But LaUhta hazily saw a strange expression fsh across Canglian's face—both concern, and a barely noticeable expectation.

  LaUhta opened his mouth, only to find his throat too dry to speak, like a traveler in the desert. He swallowed with difficulty, his Adam's apple moving up and down, before finding his voice, though it was hoarse and weak, like the st cicada's song in autumn.

  "I... I saw nothing," LaUhta answered softly, his voice revealing deep disappointment, like a fire doused by heavy rain, leaving only smoking embers. He lowered his head, not daring to meet Canglian's eyes, afraid to see the disappointment there. "I didn't sense the Ethereal Origin, nor did I touch the 'One'." He wanted to mention that mysterious voice, but something instinctive stopped him.

  Canglian's expression remained unchanged, calm as an ancient well, he merely nodded slightly, the gesture both acceptance and encouragement, both understanding and expectation. His eyes showed no disappointment, only a peaceful acceptance, like the earth accepting all living things.

  "Am I... not good enough?" LaUhta's voice was barely audible, like a sigh in the wind, tears welling in his eyes, crystal clear as morning dew. "Will I never be able to become like others?"

  A gentle smile appeared on Canglian's face, like winter sunshine, warm and precious. His wrinkled hand stroked LaUhta's hair, the movement as gentle as a feather skimming water, yet conveying endless strength and confidence.

  "Child, touching the Ethereal Origin is not an achievement of a day or two. Some succeed at the first attempt, others require many tries," Canglian's voice was calm as flowing water, clear to the bottom, yet containing endless wisdom. "Your failure to see today does not mean you will never see. Wait patiently, persevere. Each attempt brings you one step closer to the Ethereal Origin. Believe in yourself, Uhta. Though the road is long, it has an end."

  The evening breeze passed through the window of the stone chamber, carrying the coolness of the mountains and the scent of ginkgo, caressing LaUhta's tired body, taking away a trace of lingering pain. LaUhta y on the grass mat in the stone chamber, eyes wide open, staring at the rough stone crevices in the ceiling, which bore the marks of years, and the expectations and disappointments of countless predecessors. Moonlight flowed in like water, pure and cold, casting dappled shadows on the ground, like reflections of another world.

  The sensation of near-death from the day still lingered in his body, like a disease that clings to the bone, constantly reminding him how fragile the boundary between life and death was. More perplexing was that mysterious call, like an unsolvable riddle, yet also like a hopeful omen.

  LaUhta thought of those in the settlement who had tried for many years, some nearly reaching the upper limit of forty, yet never sensing the Ethereal Origin. Their eyes carried the longing for the Tao and doubt in themselves, yet they still came on the day of the mystical elixir each year, never giving up. That persistence, that belief, now took root in LaUhta's heart.

  "Next year, I will try again. No matter how long it takes, I will become a Tao," LaUhta promised himself in the darkness, his voice soft as a whisper, yet containing firm determination, like a seed containing all the information and power of a future great tree. This promise was not to others, but to himself, an oath from the depths of his soul.

  Deep night fell, stars twinkling outside the window, like countless eyes watching the earth. That faint, indistinct calling still echoed in his heart, seeming both like a dream and reality, becoming the driving force of his journey, propelling him toward an unknown but destined extraordinary fate.