Beyond the whispering emerald forest, where azure mountains kissed the heavens, a well-worn royal road snaked its way through the land. Upon it, a gilded carriage, drawn by steeds as black as midnight, surged forward with haste. The craftsmanship of the conveyance was exquisite, wrought from fragrant woods and adorned with jewels that hinted at the immense wealth within.

The rhythmic cadence of hooves and wheels filled the air, yet abruptly, the leading carriage lurched to a halt. From within, a maiden, no older than eight summers, descended. Clad in silk of shimmering jade, her cheeks flushed with rosy life, she resembled a porcelain doll brought to life. In her arms, she cradled a precious burden. With considerable effort, she alighted and hurried to a verdant thicket beside the road.

Kneeling, she gently placed her charge upon the earth. It was a small creature, its leg bound with a strip of pristine linen. “Little Shadow, go home now…” she whispered, her voice laced with innocent sorrow. Her emerald eyes, pools of untainted affection, gazed upon the beast as she stroked its head. The creature, in turn, lifted its snout, its eyes, luminous and knowing, met hers in a silent understanding.

Just then, the curtains of the carriage parted, revealing a man and a woman, both nearing their middle years, their gaze upon the girl overflowing with tender adoration.

A gentle breeze stirred the air, causing the curtains to flutter, and as it did, a wave of bewilderment washed over the occupants of the carriage. Not only they, but all the mortals within the entourage, fell prey to a sudden, inexplicable confusion.

Even the little girl, still kneeling beside the small creature, felt a strange fog cloud her mind. Only the beast remained unaffected, its body tensed, a low growl rumbling from its throat. It bared its tiny fangs, as if forgetting its injured leg, and leapt protectively behind the girl, directing its fierce protest towards the heavens.

Fear burned in its eyes, yet an unseen force steeled its resolve, preventing it from retreating. Unbeknownst to the creature, a crimson stain bloomed upon the linen bandage around its wounded leg.

“The heavens are boundless, the path infinite. An act of kindness has sown a seed this day… and in time, the wheel shall turn, resolving a cause…” A voice, ancient and weathered, echoed across the land, carrying with it a fleeting glimpse of profound understanding.

The small creature trembled, its growls unwavering, its bright eyes fixed upon the sky. It could sense, permeating the air, an oppressive presence that threatened to suffocate it. Yet, it refused to yield!

A sigh, heavy with ages, drifted down, fading into the ether. A veil of confusion descended upon the creature’s eyes. With its nascent understanding, it could not comprehend the meaning of the words it had heard. But in the moment those syllables reached its ears, a vision flashed before its eyes.

An old woman, withered with age, lay within a chamber of opulent grandeur. The wrinkles etched upon her face could not diminish the inherent kindness in her features. Though on the threshold of death, her eyes remained clear, closing with a gentle smile. Suddenly, a monstrous beast of immense size descended from the sky. It gazed upon the old woman with profound understanding, then exhaled a breath of pure white energy that enveloped her entirely, before vanishing.

“Little Shadow…” The old woman murmured, her eyes fluttering open one last time.

The vision dissolved, leaving the small creature more bewildered than before. A soft breeze swept through the scene, erasing all traces of the otherworldly encounter. The mortals in the carriage blinked, returning to their senses, oblivious to the events that had transpired. Even the little girl, unaware of any change, turned to the creature with a radiant smile. “Little Shadow… go home now.”

In the mortal realm, within a humble village, a middle-aged woman stood scolding a weeping child who had inadvertently shattered a porcelain bowl. Her words, sharp and relentless, painted the child as a source of endless frustration. The boy, filled with sorrow and guilt, dared not utter a word in his defense.

Nearby, a man, presumably the boy’s father, squatted on the ground, cradling a pipe. He took a deep drag, then looked up, his lips parting as if to speak, but ultimately, he merely sighed and remained silent.

At that moment, a gentle breeze swept through the village, and the scolding woman froze, her eyes clouding with confusion. Not only she, but the man beside her, his hand poised to knock the ashes from his pipe, paused in mid-motion.

Only the child, still lost in his sorrow, seemed untouched. He sobbed softly, “Mother, the bowl already had a crack…” “Like this bowl, imperfect, marred by a flaw, destined to shatter…” A mournful sigh echoed through the air, carried away on the whispering wind.

The woman’s eyes cleared, as if she had never been touched by the strange bewilderment. Her gaze settled on the shattered bowl, and she resumed her tirade against the child. The man, too, returned to his task, knocking his pipe upon the earth before taking another long, contemplative draw.

Only the boy remained aware. His eyes widened, and he stared towards the distant sky, convinced he had seen a figure of a kindly old man, stepping through the air before vanishing without a trace. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but the sky was empty.

Amidst a landscape of hills and streams, a middle-aged man dressed in a blue tunic ran with frantic haste, his eyes wide with terror, as if pursued by some unspeakable horror.

Hot on his heels, a woman clad in black pursued him relentlessly, her face a mask of cold fury and unwavering vengeance. With each gain, she lunged forward, her long sword flashing in the sunlight, leaving bloody furrows upon the man’s flesh. After each blow, she would utter a chilling laugh.

“You dog of an official! You destroyed my family and left me with nothing! Today, you are in my grasp, and only your death will satisfy the heavens!”

Then a wind arose, and a wave of confusion washed over both the man and woman. The horror in the man’s eyes faded to a blank stare. The woman paused in her attack, her sword suspended in midair.

“Another knot of destiny…” the ancient voice sighed, filled with weary resignation, as it faded into the distance.

The wind subsided, and the woman regained her senses. With a chilling laugh, she brought her sword down, severing the man’s head from his shoulders. Still clutching her bloodied blade, she knelt, facing north, and sobbed, “Father, Mother, your daughter has avenged you!”

In a bustling city, a gentle rain fell, painting the cobblestone streets with shimmering reflections. A myriad of umbrellas bobbed amidst the hurried throng of townsfolk, each step splashing through the puddles, creating a rippling pattern.

Each ripple seemed to embody a deed, a consequence, a fate, forever intertwined, becoming an integral part of the very fabric of existence.
A wind, laced with the chill of the rain, swept through the city, threatening to disperse the ripples in the puddles. Yet, even as they faded, it was but a fleeting illusion, for moments later, the tread of passing feet resurrected them, an endless cycle mirroring the unending rain. In the distance, a procession of figures, draped in somber white, moved with mournful slowness to the lamenting strains of a dirge. Behind them, a coffin was borne upon the shoulders of pallbearers, a silent passenger on this rain-soaked journey, heading towards the city gates. Wails and sobs echoed through the air, causing those they passed to hastily step aside, warding off the specter of death.

As the procession advanced, handfuls of joss paper were cast into the wind, each fluttering sheet a symbolic offering, guiding the deceased through the labyrinthine pathways of the underworld, ensuring their safe passage to the spirit realm. The cries of mourning were a tapestry woven with threads of genuine grief, feigned sorrow, lamentation, and even, perhaps, a macabre satisfaction. A sigh, ancient and weary, rode upon the breeze, whispering through the city, “Death… the end of consequence? Do all deeds, all karmic ties, dissolve with the final breath?”

The ambiguous chorus of the bereaved, their sincerity masked by theatrics, served as an unspoken answer, and the weary sigh gradually faded, retreating into the ether. Meanwhile, within the heart of the Imperial City, a legion of warriors marched towards the royal palace. Upon the high dais of the throne room stood a man, clad in the resplendent yellow robes of an Emperor, his face contorted with fury, yet shadowed by a profound grief.

From the ranks of the approaching army stepped a warrior, clad in gleaming armor, his countenance stern and commanding. A closer look revealed a striking resemblance to the Emperor. “Father,” he declared, his voice ringing with defiance, “Your years weigh heavily upon you. Relinquish your claim to the throne!”

The Emperor’s eyes, already brimming with sorrow, deepened with an immeasurable pain. As he stood there, caught in the swell of betrayal, a sudden gust of wind swept through the Imperial City, momentarily clouding the minds of all the assembled soldiers. “What manner of karma is this?” he murmured, his voice barely audible. The whisper, carried upon the wind, escaped the confines of the Imperial City, drifting across the land, touching upon countless lives and the ever-shifting tapestry of fate.

Wang Lin, ever seeking the truth of his Dao, continued his journey, beset by doubts, uncertainty, and confusion. The path to enlightenment was vast and without end, a treacherous and arduous undertaking.

As the wind played about him, Wang Lin was plunged into a dream. In this dream, he became the very essence of Qing Ling Star, privy to the lives of its inhabitants, both mortal and beast. He witnessed their words, their actions, their very thoughts, and in doing so, his understanding deepened.

He saw the miracle of birth and the inevitability of death. He witnessed the boundless devotion of parents, the yearning of lovers, the pain of separation, and the joy of reunion. He saw the noblest acts of kindness and the depths of depravity.

“What… is the Dao?” Wang Lin pondered, his heart filled with a profound bewilderment. He had seen so much, yet the answer remained elusive. He continued his pursuit, relentlessly searching, tirelessly validating, yet growing increasingly… lost.

The spiritual energy of Qing Ling Star grew ever more potent, an energy tinged with a subtle allure. Those who inhaled it were immediately drawn into a state of heightened awareness, as if, with each breath, they were becoming one with Qing Ling Star itself. Their thoughts, their desires, were subtly manipulated by a strange force, compelling them to seek an unseen conclusion. Wang Lin’s pursuit continued, time losing all meaning, his essence permeating Qing Ling Star, a part of its very fabric.

As dusk settled upon the land, in a humble village, within a small schoolhouse, the children had all departed save for a single youth, diligently sweeping the floor. A sudden gust of wind caused him to pause, his eyes widening with a sudden clarity. He set aside his broom and approached the quarters of his teacher. “Master,” he declared, “I am plagued by a question!”

“What troubles you, child?” A wise old man, his eyes twinkling with ancient knowledge, emerged from the doorway, his voice calm and soothing.

“Master,” the youth asked, his voice filled with earnestness, “What is the Dao?”

“The Dao?” The old man paused, considering the question. “I teach only of morals and human nature. The Dao is beyond my understanding.”

The youth bowed his head, a look of quiet contemplation on his face. He turned and departed, the wind whispering around him. Suddenly, he shuddered, his thoughts returning to normal, a sense of bewilderment clouding his mind.

Within a small town, a revered elder, respected by all, lit a lamp in his study late into the night. As he reached for a scroll, a sudden draft snaked through the room, causing the lamplight to flicker. The old man looked up, startled. A voice, ancient and weathered, echoed in the room. “You are respected in this town. Tell me, what is the Dao?”

The elder’s face paled, the scroll tumbling from his grasp. His eyes widened with terror. “Who… who are you? Spirit or man?”

“What is the Dao?” the voice repeated.

The old man took a deep breath, striving to regain his composure. “I… I do not know what the Dao is…” he stammered.

With a sigh, the voice faded, and the room returned to normal. But the old man was forever changed, his desire to read gone, replaced by a haunting uncertainty. In the capital city, within the halls of the academy, countless students chanted from ancient scrolls, their voices echoing with the wisdom of ages. A white-robed scholar stood before them, stroking his beard, a gentle smile upon his face.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the room, and one of the students abruptly placed his scroll aside, rising to his feet. “Teacher,” he declared, his voice calm and clear, “What is the Dao?”

His words silenced the room. The scholar’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of displeasure. “The heavens themselves,” he declared, his voice laced with authority, “That is the Dao!”

The youth shook his head and sat down, a slight shiver passing through him as he returned to normal. Only the wind, unnoticed by all, slipped out of the academy.

As the wind scattered throughout Qing Ling Star, nearly all of its most learned individuals were presented with the same enigmatic question, each in their own unique circumstance. Their answers, however, were varied, and none could offer a satisfactory explanation. Lost in his dream, Wang Lin continued his endless quest, searching for the true meaning of the Dao, his essence diffused and multiplied, seeking the truth in every corner of the land.

On this day, the elder named Xie, once questioned by Wang Lin, tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find peace. Each time he attempted to calm his mind, the ancient voice would return, echoing in his ears.

With a sigh, he grasped his oil-paper umbrella and ventured out into the rain, wandering aimlessly through the streets of the small town. His eyes held a mixture of confusion and frustration. “What… is the Dao?” he muttered to himself. “I have always considered myself knowledgeable, capable of understanding the world around me, yet I was utterly stumped by the words of some ghost… What is the Dao?”
Lost in a fog of thought, the aged wanderer, Xie by name, found himself drawn to the northern riverbank. There, upon the waterway’s edge, sat another elder, cloaked in a rain-worn grass cape and shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. With practiced ease, he cast his net, seeking bounty from the river’s depths. Xie, his gaze unfocused, muttered to the wind, “What is the Dao?”

At that very moment, the cloaked figure let out a joyous cry. With a heave, he hauled his net ashore. Within its woven embrace, silvered scales flashed – several great fish, thrashing wildly. Their mouths gaped, seeking the water they were denied, their eyes reflecting a desperate plea. Their violent struggles sent tremors of recognition through Xie’s very being. He stood transfixed, staring at the ensnared fish and the fisherman who held their fate in his hands.

“Could it be… could this be the Dao?!” he whispered, his voice hoarse with revelation. “I am the fish. The Dao is the net, the river is the heavens, and the fisherman who casts the net… he is the architect of destiny!” A shudder ran through him, yet even as understanding bloomed, a tempest arose, clawing at the world with furious gusts.

A power from beyond the mortal realm churned within the wind. The fisherman, seized by sudden fear, released his grasp on the net, collapsing to the ground, his face etched with bewilderment. Xie himself stumbled back, fighting to maintain his composure. Then, the wind coalesced, taking the form of a man – Wang Lin!

He glanced down at the fish, now darting freely in the waters once more, and his eyes shone with insight. Raising his hand, he touched Xie’s brow. “You have gifted Wang Lin with clarity. I, in turn, offer you a blessing,” Wang Lin intoned, a whisper that resonated with ancient power. “The true essence… is in the struggle.”

*(OOC: I’ve omitted the last line as it feels like an instruction to the reader about the update schedule of the original novel. In the fantasy context, it doesn’t add anything.)*