Chapter One: A Genius Born of Heaven

“Little Mouse, hurry up! Didn’t we agree we’d go to West Seaview Lake to catch fish today?”

It was a quiet afternoon. A boy of about seven or eight, dressed in rags and sporting a bruise on his face, sat beside a quiet, gentle girl. Suddenly, a small head appeared above the wall, glancing furtively behind before leaping down nimbly. Landing steadily, he shot the boy a glare, his face dark with annoyance.

“I told you not to be so loud. If my parents find out I snuck out, I’ll get a beating for sure.”

“I was just worried Boss Qian would get tired of waiting. It took everything I had to get him to come out today!”

The quiet girl chimed in, puffing her cheeks in indignation. “Exactly! We’ve been waiting for you half an hour. Why are you so slow today?”

Mo Hao quickly explained, “My brother tied a long rope from the door to his hand before bed last night. I just got it untied and ran out as fast as I could.” He finished with a helpless look.

“Let’s go. Seaview Lake is so far away—and who knows what story we’ll have to come up with when we get home.” Mo Hao glanced at the girl, who looked ready to argue back, so he quickly changed the subject.

The three children laughed and played as they made their way along the western path, passing through a stretch of woods until they reached a low but oddly shaped hill. From a distance, it looked like a sparrow poised for flight.

“At last, Sparrow Hill! We just have to go around to the sparrow’s claws, and we’ll see Seaview Lake,” one of them cheered.

“Ergou, who told you there are big fish in Seaview Lake? Our parents never let us come this way. They say animals always go missing around here.” Mo Hao eyed Ergou with a hint of suspicion.

“Old Wang at the village gate dragged me over the other day and whispered, ‘Bring me a jug of wine and I’ll tell you a secret.’ He looked so mysterious, I snuck a jug from my dad and gave it to him. See this bruise? That’s from the beating I got when I ran away.”

“I think it’s true. My uncle said ever since so many animals went missing, no one dares come here for wood or herbs. But people have never gotten lost—if we’re careful, we’ll be fine,” the girl added, eyes shining with curiosity.

“Alright, let’s go check it out. If we don’t catch any fish, we’ll be hungry at lunchtime,” Mo Hao concluded.

The trio pressed on. At the base of the “sparrow’s claws,” they saw the lake shimmer in the sun, its surface glittering. Now and then, big fish leapt out of the water, leaving the three children wide-eyed with amazement. They raced to the shore.

“Ergou, get the net! Yiwen, you take that side, I’ll take this one. We’ll throw stones to herd the fish to Ergou so he can cast the net,” Mo Hao directed.

“Got it!” the other two answered in unison.

After much commotion, Mo Hao grumbled, “Are these fish enchanted? No matter how we herd them, they just swim away. This is odd. I’ll go over to the other side.”

Before the others could protest, he dashed off. The two children called after him in alarm:

“Mo Hao, don’t go! It’s not safe over there. Come back, let’s try again from here!”

“Don’t worry, you know how quick I am—I’ll be fine,” he called back.

Mo Hao reached the opposite shore and cautiously climbed down the steep bank, tossing stones as before. Sure enough, the fish swam toward Ergou’s side, just as he’d hoped, and he bounced with excitement.

“You see, I told you this would work! Now for our lunch—” he began, but his words were cut short by a sharp crack beneath his feet, like stone breaking. His heart skipped a beat and he tried to leap away, but before he could wonder why there was stone under the sand, the ground gave way and he fell.

With a splash, he was engulfed in water, gulping down a mouthful as he desperately searched for the surface. But no matter how hard he swam, he couldn’t find it. Soon, darkness claimed him.

Meanwhile, Ergou and the girl were busy netting fish. Ergou, thrilled, caught a fat carp and turned to brag to Mo Hao, but the words froze on his lips—Mo Hao was gone. They looked around, but he hadn’t returned. Thinking he was up to his old tricks, they paid little mind.

Ergou happily skewered the fish and started a fire to roast them. But as the fish almost burned, Mo Hao still hadn’t appeared. The two exchanged worried glances and began to search, calling out his name as they circled the shore. At the spot where Mo Hao had last stood, they found only his footprints leading to the water’s edge—nothing else. They poked around, peered into the clear lake, but saw no trace of him. Panic set in.

“We told him not to go over there! Where is he? Could he really still be hiding from us?”

“Maybe we should go home. If he hears us say we’re leaving, he’ll show up. If not, we’ll tell Uncle Feng.”

Returning to Sparrow Hill, they still didn’t find Mo Hao. The girl’s voice quivered with tears. “What do we do? Mo Hao’s gone—how will we explain this to Uncle Feng?”

Breathless, the two children burst into the Mo family’s house, urgently relaying the news of Mo Hao’s disappearance. Mo Feng, seeing their tear-streaked faces, felt a chill of dread and pressed for details.

“Mo Heng, Mo Xin, take these two home. I’ll gather the villagers,” he ordered.

Mo Hao awoke lying on the ground, soaked to the bone. Gradually, he opened his eyes to utter darkness. It felt like a cave. He hurriedly checked himself for injuries—thankfully, he was only dizzy. Exploring the walls, he realized it was like a great bowl turned upside down—not high or wide.

Even for a boy more mature than his peers, fear crept in. Just then, a sudden voice startled him so much he banged his head on the stone ceiling.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” he cried, clutching his head in pain.

“Come here, child. After all these years, finally someone with a spiritual vein appears. Not bad, not bad,” the voice said.

Summoning his courage, Mo Hao drew a small dagger from his belt and crept toward the sound. Suddenly, a glowing object lit up above his head. Instinctively, Mo Hao slashed at it, but his blade passed through with no resistance. Looking closer, he saw it was a sphere like white jade, radiating a gentle light.

“No need to stare, lad. It’s just a Mixed Flame Pearl. If you like it, you can have it. Now, come here and let me examine your spiritual vein,” the voice beckoned.

Mo Hao saw an emaciated old man sitting cross-legged on a green stone slab. Cautiously, he approached. As soon as he reached the old man, the elder gripped his wrist tightly, causing sharp pain. Mo Hao instinctively tried to pull away, but the old man, eyes closed, ignored his cries, pressing his withered hand to the boy’s pulse as if taking his measure.

A cup of tea’s time passed, and Mo Hao quieted. Suddenly, the old man’s eyes lit up, as if discovering something extraordinary, but then his expression turned odd, tinged with disappointment.

“Alas, I have languished here, gravely wounded, for so long—perhaps I will never leave this place. I had to exhaust the last vestige of my energy just to probe the spiritual vein within you. Who would have thought it would be such an extraordinary gift? Truly ‘a prodigy of heaven.’ Perhaps it’s fate. Maybe this child is the last to inherit my teachings... I hope...” the old man muttered.

Mo Hao, baffled by the old man’s strange expression and muttering, asked, “Grandpa, what’s a spiritual vein? Why do you say I’m a prodigy, but also seem disappointed?”

The old man collected himself and explained, “A spiritual vein is the foundation of all cultivators. It draws in the world’s vital energy for your own use. As far as I know, there are nine types: Solid Gold, Cold Water, Fiery Flame, Breathing Wood, Living Earth, Rending Wind, Mysterious Thunder, Primordial Destruction, and Genesis. Nine is the ultimate number—the last four derive from the first five. Now, why do I call you a prodigy?”

He sighed, then continued, “Most cultivators have few, if any, single veins. Spiritual veins must balance each other. Having only one makes for rapid progress at first, but the body becomes overwhelmed, leading to obstacles that can never be surpassed.”

The mention of cultivation reminded Mo Hao of stories he’d overheard—the immortals who could soar through the sky and perform miracles. He felt a surge of longing, but the old man’s words sobered him.

“Grandpa, does that mean I have a single spiritual vein? Does that mean I can’t become a cultivator?” Mo Hao asked anxiously.

The old man smiled at his concern. “Don’t worry, let me finish. As for you, you’re not a single vein. Let me teach you a method to sense the world’s spiritual energy.”

With that, he produced a dusty old book. Mo Hao, curious, wiped it clean with his sleeve. The three characters on the cover were unfamiliar—at nine, he’d never attended school. Ignoring the words, he opened the book and found only illustrations.

“I know you can’t read yet. Try to understand the pictures,” the old man said.

Mo Hao imitated the figures in the book, sitting cross-legged, raising his hands above his head, left hand on top, right below, breathing deeply as shown. The old man pressed a finger to Mo Hao’s brow, and at that moment, Mo Hao felt something enter his body—energy flowing from his hands, feet, and crown, gathering in his lower abdomen. Suddenly, he felt a surge of warmth, then biting cold, and wave after wave of sensation until it finally ceased, sweat beading on his brow.

“Uncomfortable, isn’t it? That’s the world’s essence energy, drawn into your dantian for cultivation. You, my boy, possess all five attributes—gold, wood, water, fire, earth. Complementary, yet opposing. That’s why it’s so hard. In the future, your progress will be slow, as the veins counterbalance each other. But only the purest essence will remain. That’s what makes you a prodigy.”

The old man, tired, took a swig from his flask and went on, “But in all my years, I’ve never seen anyone succeed with this path. It’s a hard road, as you can imagine. Now, here is your test: after you return, continue practicing this method. When you feel you’ve made some progress, come back here. Remember, you must start studying—future ancient texts won’t be just pictures. Tell no one of this. If I find out, I’ll take back what I’ve given you myself. Now go.”

With a wave of his sleeve, the old man sent Mo Hao back to where he’d fallen.

“Hmph, didn’t he say he couldn’t get out? Always so dramatic. But is cultivation really possible?” Mo Hao muttered as he walked, mulling over what had happened. He guessed the missing animals must have something to do with the old man—no wonder there were so many tales.

As he walked, he realized night had fallen. At the base of Sparrow Hill, he saw the woods ahead ablaze with lanterns. Only then did he realize he’d been gone a whole day. He hurried forward.

Mo Feng saw his son running from Sparrow Hill—first relief, then anger flashed across his face. He threatened a spanking for wandering off and demanded to know where he’d been.

Remembering the old man’s warning, Mo Hao lied and said he’d chased a butterfly and gotten lost.

His mother, tears in her eyes, stroked his head. “You scared me to death. Don’t ever run off again. You must be hungry—come home, I’ll make you something to eat.”

Mo Hao’s stomach rumbled in agreement. “I know, Mother.”