Zhou Yan blinks awake, puzzled by the blank scroll. Fuxi stands before him, brotherly. "You're up."
"You too," Zhou Yan replies, eyeing a massive tortoise behind him. "Where'd that beast come from?"
Fuxi grins. "Got a spark from that small turtle's shell—crafted a formation. I named it Xuanwu. Good fit?"
"Perfect," Zhou Yan says. "One of the four sacred beasts."
"Four?" Fuxi tilts his head, Taiji fresh in his mind, unlinked to deeper lore.
"Eastern Azure Dragon, guarding Heaven's Gate," Zhou Yan lists. "Western White Tiger, Xuanmen's shield. Southern Vermilion Bird, Yellow Gate's watch. Northern Xuanwu, Earth's bastion. Together, they fend off all foes."
Fuxi ponders. "Your insights run deep."
"Nah, your yin-yang surge helped me," Zhou Yan deflects.
Fuxi chuckles—he's grown from Zhou Yan's words too.
"Brothers!" Nuwa and Nvdi approach, beaming.
Fuxi nudges Zhou Yan. "Nvdi's fond of you. Want me to ask her thoughts?"
"No way," Zhou Yan stammers. "I… won't stay long. Don't raise her hopes."
Fuxi studies him, cryptic. "Real, unreal—dream or truth? How do you know?"
"What's that mean?" Zhou Yan presses, but Fuxi just smiles, silent.
Days blend—Zhou Yan and Fuxi debate cosmos, trading mystic sparks. Clarity teases, yet slips away. Nvdi grows closer, her gaze warm. Zhou Yan sidesteps—she's dear, but he's no man of this age. No promises he can't keep.
Fuxi's Taiji mastery deepens, his genius outpacing Zhou Yan's prompts. He crafts a human cultivation path—strength to defy beasts. Here, tribes fall to single monsters, devoured whole. Fuxi's dream: a robust humanity, no longer prey.
Zhou Yan, no master of arts, offers bodily insights Fuxi lacks. They refine the first human scripture, tireless, lost in craft. Nuwa and Nvdi grumble—they skip sleep, sustained by rich aura.
Half a month yields the scripture's core. Zhou Yan pauses. "Oral tales fade—words preserve them."
"Words?" Fuxi leans in.
"Images to capture ideas," Zhou Yan says. "Teach the tribe to read, pass it down. Even if memory fails, script endures."
"Brilliant!" Fuxi exclaims.
They sketch on dirt, but modern glyphs won't form—Zhou Yan's mind blanks them. The world demands primal signs. He suggests animal shapes. They carve oracle bones on tortoise shells.
As the scripture burns onto shell, gold erupts, forming radiant glyphs. Colorful light bathes them. Zhou Yan's mind voids again, revisiting chaos. His scroll—blank no more—holds their new signs.
"It's for this," he murmurs, sensing more awaits. His colored lord heart, fused with yin-yang, birthed it—yet it's incomplete.
Aura floods him, a sea of power. Fuxi mirrors him, both vortexes of energy. Xuanwu basks nearby, gorging on the tide.
A phoenix shrieks, circling, then joins, sipping aura. A cyan dragon shrinks, coiling beside them. A winged white tiger lands, eyes aglow. The four beasts guard, serene.
Twin Taiji arrays bloom—Fuxi as yin, Zhou Yan as yang. Beasts anchor the quarters. Heaven's light falls; primal earth stirs. A vast force wakes, rippling across the wilds.