Zhou Yan chooses Fuxi's inheritance, dissolving into light as he enters the trial space.
[Prompt: "You've joined the Fengzu tribe…"]
And that's it—no guide, no goal.
"How do I pass this?" he mutters. No lord panel, no skills, no gear—just animal hide barely covering him. His body's taller, stronger, but primitive. "I'm a caveman?"
The wilderness hums with thick aura. He wanders to a cliff, spotting a man—human head, snake's body—musing alone.
"Fuxi?" Zhou Yan ventures, stepping closer. "That you?"
The man turns, handsome, eyes brimming with wisdom. "Which tribe are you from? What's your question?"
"It's really him," Zhou Yan marvels, heart racing. Meeting humanity's ancestor thrills him. Legends paint Fuxi as a sage, open to queries. Instead of asking, Zhou Yan sits. "You look deep in thought. Care to share? I might help."
Fuxi blinks—first time he's heard that. "Your name?"
"Zhou Yan, Fengzu tribe," he replies. "What's on your mind about this world?"
"World?" Fuxi tilts his head. "What's it to you?"
"It's many things," Zhou Yan says. "This ground, that sky—but not just what we see. Every person, beast, tree, flower's a world. One flower, one realm; one blade, one truth."
Fuxi's eyes widen. A gate to new ideas swings open. He shuts them, silent, processing.
Zhou Yan waits, nervous. "Did I mess up?"
He's no sage—just a modern man atop history's shoulders. Yet without Fuxi's kind, no future blooms.
Golden light erupts from Fuxi, blasting Zhou Yan back dozens of meters. He lands hard, head stuck in a burrow.
"Shot while lying down," he groans, spitting dirt.
A force yanks him free. "Sorry," Fuxi says, sheepish. "Lost control."
"No harm," Zhou Yan coughs. "Glad I helped."
"You know much," Fuxi praises.
Zhou Yan smirks inwardly—if Fuxi lived now, he'd outshine him.
"Brother!" a voice calls. A woman—human head, snake body—glides up, stunning, rivaling Diao Chan's grace.
"My wife, Nuwa," Fuxi says.
"Sister Nuwa," Zhou Yan greets, awed. Clay-shaper? Maybe.
Nuwa smiles. "Tribe's low on food—patriarch's calling a hunt."
"I'm in," Zhou Yan volunteers.
They reach the tribe—thatch huts, barely windproof. Everyone accepts him as Fengzu, no questions. Fuxi and Nuwa aren't alone; many share their serpent forms, sparking his curiosity.
The tribe's simple—strong limbs, basic minds. Fuxi's wisdom stands out, shared by a few, like the aging patriarch. Hunting's their only food source. The patriarch entrusts Fuxi with the hunt, gathering sturdy men with stone-tipped spears.
Bidding Nuwa farewell, Fuxi hands Zhou Yan a weapon. "Stick close."
"Got it," Zhou Yan nods.
The trial's path feels clear: shadow Fuxi, witness his rise. Forests teem with beasts. Led by veterans, they plunge in. Zhou Yan, once proud of his strength, feels puny here—weakest link, barefoot, clutching crude tools.
He itches to modernize—sandals, better spears—but senses the trial's not about rewriting history. Following Fuxi, staying true, will unlock the legacy fastest.