In the cultivation world, time flows like a fleeting horse’s shadow.
White Maomao had grown from a little gosling into a full-grown goose.
The small courtyard atop the mountain remained the same as before.
The herbs in the yard thrived with vitality.
White Maomao squatted in the medicinal field with a pair of slender bamboo chopsticks, catching bugs.
This batch of herbs had been planted personally by White Maomao, so he tended to them with extra care.
The story begins a few years ago.
Ever since Su Yao took White Maomao and Lang Junxian down the mountain for a trip, she had become very concerned about the education of the two little ones.
But when it came to truly hardening her heart to send them off to fend for themselves, she just couldn’t do it.
After much thought, she decided it would be better to let them focus on cultivation early.
That way, they could rely on their own strength.
Even if she were gone one day, the two disciples wouldn’t be bullied.
Thus began the bitter cultivation days of White Maomao and Lang Junxian.
When both of them were just a step away from forming their Foundation (Zhuji), Su Yao let them go to the Scripture Pavilion to choose a suitable cultivation method.
The Scripture Pavilion housed a vast collection of texts, with a special room dedicated to cultivation techniques.
However, these techniques weren’t just for anyone to take.
Most were inherited from ancient mighty cultivators and still carried remnants of their consciousness.
Only those who were compatible with the method—and recognized by the ancient will—could receive the inheritance.
Su Yao brought them to the door.
“Go in,” she said.
White Maomao nodded and entered with Lang Junxian.
The door shut behind them with a soft click.
Inside the room, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out, filled with all kinds of bamboo scrolls.
White Maomao blinked, joy in his eyes, though his face remained calm.
He turned to Lang Junxian and said,
“It looks like there’s something over there. I’ll go take a look.”
With that, he walked off quickly, almost eagerly.
Guided by an inexplicable, warm and familiar sensation, he moved forward — as though something was calling to him.
The feeling grew stronger, making his steps quicker.
At the very end of the room stood a row of even taller bookshelves, neatly packed with bamboo scrolls.
But just as suddenly as it had appeared, that calling sensation vanished.
White Maomao pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes with cunning.
He ran his pale fingers over the scrolls, row by row.
“Where are you?”
When his fingers passed a certain spot, they stopped.
White Maomao tilted his head and muttered,
“Are you playing hide-and-seek with me?”
The room was silent.
White Maomao chuckled softly, took a few steps back, then struck like lightning—grabbing a seemingly ordinary bamboo scroll.
“Gotcha.”
The scroll wriggled slightly in protest, clearly unwilling to be caught.
But that familiar, warm sensation returned once more.
White Maomao scowled, trying to intimidate it.
“Don’t move.”
Sure enough, the scroll stopped struggling and let him hold it obediently.
He gently opened it and saw four large characters written on the right: Gui Yuan Xin Jing
(“Heart Sutra of Returning to Origin”).
White Maomao clicked his tongue.
“That name doesn’t sound cool at all.”
He was just about to put it back.
The scroll panicked and clung tightly to his hand, a voice urgently speaking: “I’m really powerful!”
“Huh?”
White Maomao blinked in surprise, shaking the scroll.
“Was that you talking?”
“Of course,” the scroll replied proudly.
White Maomao curled his lip in doubt.
“Powerful people never say they’re powerful. And your name just screams useless.”
Scroll: …That makes sense, and I can’t even argue.
After a suspiciously long silence, the scroll weakly added,
“I can talk.”
“What’s so impressive about a talking bamboo scroll?”
White Maomao scoffed.
The scroll fumed, its metaphorical heart aching.
“I carry the legacy of an ancient mighty cultivator! A top-tier cultivation technique! Others would kill to have me!”
“Oh,”
White Maomao replied flatly.
Still, in his heart, he did think: Top-tier technique?
Hmm…sounds somewhat useful.
The bamboo scroll saw that White Maomao still wasn’t tempted, so it started frantically praising itself again, trying hard to sell its worth.
White Maomao remained completely unmoved.
“Why are you looking for me?” he asked.
The bamboo scroll, mid-flattery, suddenly choked and changed its tone to fawning flattery.
“Because you have extraordinary bones and will definitely accomplish great things in the future!”
“Heh.”
White Maomao turned and prepared to leave.
The bamboo scroll desperately tried to stop him.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell the truth! I just want to leave this place. I’m so bored stuck here all the time. Can you please take me out? I’ll trade something with you!”
White Maomao turned back, curling his lip.
“See? You should’ve just said that from the beginning. What are you going to trade?”
The bamboo scroll hesitated for a long time before separating a copy of itself and handing it to White Maomao.
“Here.”
White Maomao opened it and saw the exact same four large characters: Heart Sutra of Returning to Origin.
“Are you kidding me?”
White Maomao’s expression was blank.
The bamboo scroll replied indignantly,
“You don’t recognize quality! This is the real Myriad Wood Heart Sutra!”
“Oh.”
White Maomao’s tone was flat, showing no excitement at all.
“And?”
The bamboo scroll: “…”
After bickering back and forth for a while, White Maomao only half-believed the scroll’s words.
But in the end, he still chose the Heart Sutra of Returning to Origin.
Why?
Because that scroll always gave him a warm, familiar feeling — a sense of closeness.
He had thought that sensation came from the scroll itself, but when he saw the actual technique, he finally realized the source of the feeling.
Satisfied, he walked out with the scroll in hand.
Outside, Lang Junxian was quietly waiting at the door.
White Maomao smiled.
“Xiao Hei, have you picked yours?”
Lang Junxian nodded and showed him the scroll in his hand.
He had chosen the Thunderburst Technique, a lightning-element offensive method — very fitting for him.
White Maomao pursed his lips and shook his scroll.
“I found mine too.”
With their suitable techniques selected, the two began their cultivation training.
White Maomao found a mountainside cave with a good orientation and dove in to begin studying the Heart Sutra of Returning to Origin.
This technique was created by a powerful beast cultivator.
The cultivator had once been an ordinary wild beast in the mountains.
Due to exceptional intelligence and multiple fortuitous encounters, they eventually took human form.
Through years of diligent practice, they developed this Heart Sutra.
Later, during a war between humans and beasts, this mighty cultivator was mortally wounded while protecting their kind.
In their final moments, they wrote the Heart Sutra of Returning to Origin, leaving it to a destined person.
And clearly, White Maomao was that chosen one.
Silently memorizing the technique, White Maomao closed his eyes and entered meditation.
He had already been only one step away from forming his Foundation .
Now, with a suitable technique in hand, he could take that step.
Closing his eyes, he focused inward on his dantian.
Spiritual energy churned rapidly, forming a vortex.
External sounds faded as he recited the incantation: “One becomes two, two becomes three, three gives birth to all things…”
The spiritual energy gathered in his dantian surged through his body again and again, clearing blockages, expanding his meridians, cleansing internal filth, and creating smoother, faster energy circulation.
After 49 days and nights, thunder exploded in the sky.
Dark clouds rapidly gathered, and lightning as thick as a child’s arm struck down with booming roars.
The cave White Maomao had taken shelter in was split by the thunderclap, rocks shattered — but none landed on him.
Large raindrops began to fall sparsely, then faster, until they formed a curtain of heavy rain.
Bolt after bolt of lightning fell, each striking the very spot where White Maomao was seated.
The tremendous commotion startled Su Yao and Lang Junxian at the mountaintop.
They quickly rushed to the source of the thunder.
What they saw was White Maomao bathed in lightning.
Amid the blinding white light, a layer of red glow stood out strikingly.
Su Yao was initially panicked, but after focusing, she saw that the massive thunder-dragons were only circling the red aura — none had actually harmed White Maomao.
After three full hours and 36 thunderbolts, the clouds finally dispersed and the rain stopped.
The sun reappeared through the clearing skies, and a rainbow stretched across the mountainside like a heavenly bridge.
Misty clouds rolled below, making the scene look like a fairyland.
White Maomao slowly emerged from meditation.
The filth on his body had been completely washed away by the rain.
He felt unbelievably light and refreshed.
He stretched lazily — and saw Su Yao and Lang Junxian waiting nearby.
“Ah Mu, Xiao Hei, why are you guys here?”
White Maomao tilted his head, confused.
Su Yao rushed up and hugged him, then gave him two hard smacks on the back.
“You’ve got guts now, huh? Forming your Foundation all alone in a cave?”
“Hehe.”
White Maomao stuck out his tongue.
He hadn’t expected things to progress so quickly.
He had only intended to test things out — who knew he’d actually succeed?