For one hundred thousand years, he lay still.
Buried in the dirt, smothered in moss, and surrounded by the footsteps of generations, the boulder was nothing more than a forgotten lump along an old, barely-used forest path. Wind brushed against it. Rain washed over it. Animals scampered across it. But none paid it any true mind. To them, it was just stone—silent, unmoving, and eternal.
But deep within, something stirred.
Unbeknownst to the world, the essence of the heavens—time, qi, karma, fate—flowed quietly around the stone. And though it had no thoughts then, no memories or desires, the boulder unknowingly absorbed them all. Century after century. Millennia. Epochs passed. Dynasties rose and fell. And the stone remained.
Until now.
A surge. A tremor. Not of the earth, but of him. A soul, faint and newly formed, sparked within the core of the stone. From nothing came awareness.
What... is this?
The concept of thought was foreign, yet suddenly intuitive. The boulder did not think in words at first—just impressions. Heat. Cold. Stillness. The tickle of grass. The flutter of a bird's wings. Then slowly, painfully, a name drifted through his forming mind. Not given, but chosen.
Yan Wu — Rock Awakens.
The stone pulsed faintly. Qi, long accumulated, flooded through unseen meridians, reshaping what should not be shaped. And then, in a brilliant, silent explosion of spiritual light, the boulder melted, twisted, and transformed.
From stone came flesh.
The energy that had accumulated for one hundred thousand years collapsed inward, condensed, and burst outward in a single, irreversible instant. A man—a young one—lay naked on the cold ground, skin pale as moonlight, silver veins of energy still glowing faintly along his limbs.
But no sooner had he drawn his first mortal breath, he exhaled and collapsed.
His mind, overwhelmed by the birth of self, shut down. Even though he had transformed into human form, it was incomplete. His consciousness—raw and unshaped—needed time to settle, like sediment falling to the bottom of a glass.
He lay there, exposed, helpless, and unconscious.
---
Farther down the path, a young woman carrying a bundle of herbs in her basket paused. She blinked, sensing something unusual. The birds were quiet. The air trembled with the faint remnants of spiritual energy, barely noticeable to someone without cultivation... but she had some.
"…A fluctuation?" she whispered.
Curious, she stepped off the path and pushed through the brush. And there, sprawled across moss and stone fragments, was the body of a man.
Her face flushed red immediately. He was completely naked, his long black hair covering little of his form. But more than that, there was something... unnatural about him. His skin bore no scars or blemishes. He looked like he had never known hardship, nor ever taken a single step. And faint traces of spiritual energy still clung to his body like mist.
"Did… did he fall from the sky?" she muttered, stunned.
She looked around. No wagon, no camp, no tracks. Nothing but moss and broken stone behind him. As if he had emerged from the very earth.
The woman hesitated. A voice in her heart warned her to leave him. But another, softer voice whispered something else: He's alone. Like me.
She sighed and knelt beside him, gently pulling a cloak from her bag. As she draped it over his body, she noticed how still he was—yet not dead. His chest rose and fell, calm as if in deep slumber.
"Alright, mysterious sky man. Let's get you out of here before some beast finds you."
It took all her strength, but she managed to hoist him onto her back, half-dragging him toward the edge of the forest where her wooden cottage sat nestled against the roots of the mountain. The sun dipped low as she crossed the final slope. Inside, she laid him gently on a pile of hay covered in furs, lit incense, and wiped the dirt from his face.
Still, he did not wake.
She pulled up a stool beside him, placing a damp cloth on his forehead. Then she leaned back, watching the strange, peaceful man slumbering in her home.
"…Who are you?" she whispered.
Outside, the wind rustled the leaves gently, and for the first time in one hundred thousand years, the stone was no longer alone.