The morning sun broke through the mist-covered mountains surrounding the Yao estate, casting golden rays over the small courtyard where children ran and played. Among them was a boy with jet-black hair and sharp, inquisitive eyes—Yao Chen. He was no different in appearance from other children, though a faint shimmer of light flickered from the mark on his forehead whenever he laughed or cried, unnoticed by all but the sharpest observer.
"Yao Chen, come help with the herbs," called Yao Yai, his mother, from the courtyard garden. Her voice was warm but carried the weight of expectation. She had seen the subtle stirrings of his power, the sparks of energy that made the flowers grow faster, the fish swim differently, and the birds linger near him. She knew he was special, even if the villagers could not see it.
Yao Chen ran to her side, his small hands clumsily holding a basket of medicinal herbs. Though he appeared normal, his mind was extraordinary, cataloging each plant, its growth pattern, and even the faint energy it carried. By the age of five, he could identify herbs that even experienced healers sometimes overlooked.
"Careful with the ginseng," Yao Lao said, his voice calm but authoritative. His eyes, dark and infinite like a starry sky, scanned the boy. "It's rare and delicate. Treat it with respect, and it will serve you well one day."
Yao Chen nodded solemnly. The ginseng's leaves trembled under his fingers, reacting subtly to his presence. A faint warmth spread through his hands, though he did not yet understand why.
The villagers often marveled at the boy's uncanny abilities but dismissed them as coincidence. When a storm came unexpectedly and soaked the fields, Yao Chen's laughter echoed as the clouds parted, allowing sunlight to bathe the crops. The elders whispered among themselves, wondering if the child carried a blessing—or a curse.
At school, Yao Chen struggled with ordinary tasks. While other children ran and jumped, he often stumbled or fell, his body frail compared to his peers. Yet, his mind worked like a precision instrument. Numbers, patterns, even the flow of energy within plants and creatures fascinated him. He would sit quietly by the stream for hours, observing, learning, and understanding more than anyone else in the village could imagine.
One afternoon, as he sat by the pond sketching the shapes of the koi, a sudden ripple disturbed the water. The fish leaped unnaturally, as if propelled by an invisible force. Yao Chen's eyes widened. He had not touched the water. The air around him vibrated faintly, as if acknowledging his presence.
At that moment, a figure appeared on the edge of the pond, cloaked in shadow. The boy's instincts tensed, but he felt no fear. The figure's presence was strange, neither threatening nor entirely human.
"You are… different," the figure said in a low, melodic voice. "Few mortals carry even a fraction of what you do."
Yao Chen blinked. "Who… are you?"
The figure smiled faintly. "A guide. One who watches the threads of destiny. Your path… is not like theirs. You will rise through realms mortals cannot imagine. But for now, you must learn patience."
Before Yao Chen could ask more, the figure vanished, leaving only a faint ripple in the air and a lingering scent of jasmine and sandalwood. Though he did not fully understand, the boy felt a thrill, a pull toward something vast and unknown.
Days turned into months, and Yao Chen's growth, both physical and spiritual, became more evident. Minor illnesses that would have struck any other child left him untouched. His aura, invisible to ordinary eyes, drew the attention of wandering spirits, curious beasts, and even the faintest echoes of immortals.
Yao Lao, noticing these signs, began training him in the basic arts of cultivation. Simple exercises: sensing the flow of energy, balancing one's own internal life force, learning herbs, and understanding the spiritual resonance of creatures. These lessons were subtle at first, blending with everyday life so Yao Chen would not be frightened.
"You must understand," Yao Lao said one evening as the two sat beneath the stars, "the world has layers. Humans live on one, immortals on another, and beyond that… gods. Most never see past the first layer. You… you will see them all."
Yao Chen's small hands tightened around the wooden practice sword. "But I'm just a boy, Father. How can I reach the layers above?"
Yao Lao's eyes sparkled. "Even the greatest rivers begin as tiny streams. Every step you take now, every lesson you learn, will shape the being you are meant to become. You are not just a boy. You carry the Yao Clan Mark—a symbol older than our family, a resonance tied to creation itself."
As he spoke, the faint glow on Yao Chen's forehead shimmered brighter, pulsing with a rhythm like a heartbeat echoing across realms.
One night, a storm unlike any the village had seen swept across the mountains. Lightning tore the sky, and rain pelted the earth. Yao Chen, alone in the courtyard, watched the fury of the heavens. A bolt struck near the pond where he had played before, and the water boiled as if touched by celestial fire.
In that moment, without conscious effort, Yao Chen extended his hands. A golden light surged from him, repelling the storm just enough to protect the estate. When the rain calmed, he stood there, drenched, trembling—but alive. And for the first time, he understood a fragment of his power.
From afar, a shadow observed: the junior brother of Radha, his Pangu-like form half-hidden in the storm clouds, nodded with approval. "The mortal phase… has begun. Soon, he will awaken, and his path to immortality will start in earnest. The worlds will tremble."
The villagers awoke the next morning to a sky unusually calm and a rainbow brighter than any they had ever seen. Yao Chen ran among them, a boy no longer merely mortal in spirit. Though the world still saw him as a child, those attuned to energy—spirits, wandering cultivators, and distant observers—recognized the stirrings of a being destined for the heavens.