The sun rose like a pale flame over the Spirit Continent. For most, it was just another day—another struggle for food, cultivation, or survival. But for two souls, born in the same year in distant villages, it marked the beginning of parallel fates.
Tang San… destined to walk as a genius, his twin martial spirits shining bright. His path had already begun to entwine with Nuoding Academy, Shrek, and the future glory he would carve by his own hands.
Bai Chen… the forgotten boy, the useless "thread spirit." Yet beneath his calm silence, the loom of myths had already begun to hum, threads weaving slowly, patiently. He would not stand in Tang San's light. His calling was deeper, more elusive.
In Bai Chen's village, life returned quickly to normal. Lin Hai's strange mutation was explained away as a rare coincidence. Spirit Hall moved on, leaving only a lingering note in their report. The ruins remained ignored except by curious children.
Yet none of them knew that both child and stones now carried fragments of myth that would grow with every small whisper, every idle belief.
Bai Chen himself had grown calmer. Each night he meditated, drawing thin flows of soul power into his body. His martial spirit, outwardly still mocked as "thread," remained unseen by others. What they didn't know—what he alone felt—was how that thread resonated with the myths he planted. When faith rose, his thread grew warmer, stronger.
Sometimes, as he closed his eyes, he almost saw a tapestry being slowly woven in the sky above the world. Faint patterns forming, scattered, incomplete. It sent shivers through him, for he knew each pattern represented a story he had seeded.
One night, with the Shadow Wolf curled faithfully at his feet, Bai Chen thought of the limitations he still faced.
"Myth Energy: 0.16." The system whispered the status clearly.
It was still pathetic. Enough to weave small fragments, perhaps minor relics or inspirations, but nothing truly world-shaking. If he wanted to grow, he had to touch more hearts. He had to plant myths that could spread from mouth to mouth, not remain isolated in one quiet fishing village.
The question was—how?
He got his answer days later.
Merchants arrived from nearby towns, their carriages creaking under bolts of cloth, jars of salt, and baskets of rare spices. The village buzzed with rare excitement; everyone gathered to trade grain and fish for luxuries they seldom saw.
For Bai Chen, it was an opportunity. Travelers carried stories. Stories carried belief. And belief… fed the loom.
That night, while the village slept in contentment after the trade fair, Bai Chen walked quietly to the ruins again. He had already planted one seed of "sage school" myth here, but now he wished to expand.
He extended his thread and whispered a fragment of memory: visions of an ancient sea empire—Atlantean halls beneath oceans, towers glowing blue, tridents humming with authority.
"I cannot create the empire whole yet," he murmured. "But I can leave a relic. Let a whisper of Atlantis rest beneath these ruins, a lure for dreamers."
His thread sank deep into the stones. A faint pulse echoed.
[Myth Fragment Created: Atlantean Trident Shard (faint resonance)]
[Current Effect: Buried deep, beyond easy reach. May one day surface when fate guides the chosen.]
Bai Chen withdrew, exhausted but satisfied. He had not simply planted a myth for now, but for later. Someone, someday, would find this shard and believe in the lost empire. That belief would strengthen the seed until eventually… Atlantis itself could become part of Soul Land's history.
As he left the ruins, he thought quietly of Tang San again—the boy who would gather allies, face tournaments, and become a god. When he walks forward, may he find artifacts and paths I thread before him, never knowing whose hand wove them.
The Shadow Wolf padded beside him, silent but understanding.
In the morning, merchants left the village carrying small stories—perhaps of ruins that "winked strangely" at night, perhaps of a golden fish boy rumored to have been blessed, perhaps of strange winds blowing through the forest.
These tales would scatter like sparks into other towns. None would link back to Bai Chen. But the loom knew.
Threads had begun spreading.
Life in the village slipped back into routine after the traders left. For everyone else, it had been just another visit of merchants, gone as quickly as they came. But for Bai Chen, their arrival meant opportunity.
He knew that stories spread like seeds in the wind, carried further by those who traveled. Merchants, traders, priests—even vagrants and thieves. All were vessels in their own way. He had to weave threads into their lives that might sprout later in faraway places.
That night, he slipped quietly while the rest of his village slept. The Shadow Wolf padded silently behind, its eyes like embers in the dark.
One of the merchants had left a scrap behind near the camp they'd used—the remnant of a beast pelt, torn and too damaged to sell. It had likely once belonged to a mid-aged spirit beast, a simple wolf or deer, now just ragged leather. They had tossed it away without care.
Bai Chen bent down, fingers tracing the rough texture. "Another forgotten thing," he murmured. "Another chance."
He summoned the silver thread. It floated, waiting. His mind searched for a suitable story, not too grand, not too small. Something believable. Something that could inspire if ever it was found again.
Slowly, he recalled the tales of wandering martial wanderers from his previous life: ancient Murim sects, the jagged scars they bore, the manuscripts they left behind. Techniques not fueled by divine intervention but human persistence, sharpened day and night until they became immortal on their own terms.
Yes. That would fit.
Closing his eyes, he whispered:
Let this pelt carry the imprint of an intangible discipline. Let it whisper of a sect forgotten by time, masters who honed body and spirit into one. A Murim style hidden beyond seas… waiting to be rediscovered.
The silver thread wove into the pelt. Symbols invisible to normal eyes branded themselves faintly across the fabric—half runes, half scratches, like meaningless marks. But if one stared too long, they almost looked like postures, like martial forms frozen mid-step.
[Myth Fragment Created: Scrap of Murim Sect Legacy.]
[Effect: Currently inert. May awaken if found and studied with faith.]
[Notice: System recognizes long-term growth potential.]
Bai Chen carefully tucked the pelt back where he found it. By morning, travelers would take supplies, perhaps gather scraps, perhaps discard them again somewhere else. But all it would take was one curious hand finding those marks, one spirit master desperate enough to kneel and meditate—then the myth would grow again.
He smiled faintly. Each fragment he set loose was like releasing a butterfly into a storm. He would never know where it landed, but sooner or later, one would spark flames large enough to light the sky.
The next day, normal life returned. Bai Chen was just another boy laughing faintly when others mocked his "useless" spirit, walking to the fields with other children carrying baskets. As always, no one paid him much attention.
Yet even as he carried water jars, he could feel his thread quivering faintly beneath his skin, humming with lives unseen.
The ruin's seed continued to grow quietly. Lin Hai's reborn martial spirit had begun training harder, earning small admiration from fellow children. And now, the Murim scrap was set adrift in the world.
Bai Chen's Myth Energy ticked higher each night.
[Current Myth Energy: 0.28]
It was still small. But it no longer felt trivial. If he saved and wove carefully, he could attempt something greater very soon.
That evening, while sunset painted the sky crimson, Bai Chen sat by the riverside. His reflection shone back at him—ordinary boy, thin frame, no trace of aura that would impress anyone. His Shadow Wolf curled near the reeds, watching the river with glowing red eyes.
"Strange, isn't it?" Bai Chen whispered to the wolf. "One day this river will be forgotten, nothing but water flowing endlessly. But if I plant the right story…"
He picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water. Ripples spread outward to the other side of the bank.
"That's how myths work, too."
The wolf gave a deep rumble, as if it understood.
Bai Chen lifted his gaze upward, toward stars just beginning to pierce the sky. Somewhere, far away, he imagined Tang San beginning steps at Nuoding Academy—meeting Xiao Wu, showing his surprising brilliance. That was the story everyone would follow and love, the one sung aloud.
But Bai Chen?
His legend was in the ripples. In coincidences mistaken as fate. In relics discarded but rediscovered. In "blessings" no one could ever trace.
He smiled faintly to himself. "That's enough. I don't need to be seen. I just need my threads to keep unfurling."
The stars flickered. His thread pulsed. Somewhere far away, a myth had just shifted the fate of a child or beast he would never meet.
The world was already changing.
And no one knew.
The forest near Bai Chen's village had always been ordinary. Boars, wolves, foxes, and tiny spirit beasts roamed its thickets. It was not one of the great spirit beast forests of the continent—just a quiet corner where children sometimes hunted rabbits for practice. Nobody expected anything important to ever come from here.
Which made it the perfect place for Bai Chen's next experiment.
One moonless night, he led the Shadow Wolf deeper into the thickets than before. The air grew damp and earthy, and the faint sounds of sleeping beasts echoed. Fireflies drifted faintly above the grass like fallen stars.
His thread pulsed faintly in his palm. Myth Energy: 0.28. Enough to attempt something riskier.
He closed his eyes. People, ruins, relics… I've tested those. But the soul beast ecosystem itself… if steered properly, myths could grow inside it. Forgotten tales could shape their evolution.
His mind turned toward ancient memories: creatures that blended life and story so seamlessly they were worshiped as both beast and god. Not gods themselves, not too grand, just mythical animals that inspired awe—hybrid beings like the Naga, the Garuda, the Phoenix, the Leviathan.
He couldn't summon anything so mighty yet. But perhaps… he could create the first spark of a forgotten species.
His steps stopped at the bank of a small swamp pond. Fireflies lit the stagnant waters. Beneath the murk, frogs croaked monotonously.
Bai Chen let the silver thread stretch toward the pond. He whispered inside:
In this lifeless mud, let a whisper of the Naga slumber… not a god, not a king, just a serpent that remembers story. Let its scales shimmer faintly and its aura hint of myths yet to come. Let belief one day raise its children into legends.
The silver thread sank deep into the water. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the pond rippled.
A faint hissing slid through the grass. A serpent—the length of Bai Chen's arm—slithered out from the water. Its scales shimmered faintly, dark green mottled with a faint golden glow like inscriptions hidden beneath the skin. Its red eyes gleamed strangely intelligent.
The creature rattled its tongue, staring directly at him.
[Myth Fragment Manifested: Proto-Naga Serpent]
[Classification: Low-level spirit beast. Spirit Age: 120 years]
[Potential: Unknown. Capable of spawning unique bloodline in future generations if legend accumulates.]
Bai Chen exhaled deeply. He hadn't created a king or dragon. He hadn't intended to. But he had sown bloodline potential—a myth-based soul beast species that could bloom over centuries.
The serpent lingered a moment before sliding back into the pond, as if guarding a secret. Bai Chen smiled faintly. "Good. Stay hidden. Grow in silence, just as I do. One day… your kind will alter the balance of this land."
The Shadow Wolf growled low, crimson eyes reflecting the pond's glow. It seemed wary of the serpent's aura, but obediently stood guard at Bai Chen's side.
Bai Chen sat on a rock by the pond, catching his breath. His Myth Energy had plummeted, but inside him, the thread pulsed with satisfaction.
[Myth Energy: 0.02]
[Notice: Planting mythic bloodlines may create exponential resonance over time. Future descendants can become anchors of larger myths.]
Bai Chen whispered softly into the night:
"Step by step… village, beast, ruin, child. Small myths merging into greater ones. When Tang San rises, he will tread atop a world woven silently by my hands."
He closed his eyes, exhausted, while the Shadow Wolf guarded him in silence and the pond rippled faintly as if alive with new possibility.
The forest looked unchanged by dawn. Birds sang the same songs, trees swayed the same way, villagers awoke the same as always.
But hidden in shadowed water… the first myth-born serpent slumbered. A single drop of legend in the stream of reality.
Unseen. Forgotten.
But destined to ripple through time.
Thus closed another quiet chapter in Bai Chen's untold myth.