Primordial Era: I am a treasure trove, full of magical treasures.

Xuanbao stood atop the Thirty-Three Heavens, a wisp of Daoist energy still lingering at his fingertips, when suddenly his brow twitched again. This tremor did not stem from the surging fortune of the human race, but from a familiar feeling.

"Huh!"

This was the second time Xuanbao had felt a connection to a predestined opportunity.

Xuanbao did not delay. He focused his senses, his gaze piercing through layers of void, landing on a very ordinary, even barren and remote corner of the primordial land. There, south of the East Sea coast, lay a desolate hilly area called "Juru," far from the most prosperous settlements of the human race. Only a few small tribes were scattered across the barren land, struggling to hunt and gather, barely managing to survive.

That pull landed on the edge of a small tribe called "Cangyuan".

With a slight thought, Xuanbao's figure faded from the Lingxiao Palace and appeared silently above the Cangyuan tribe. He concealed all his aura and radiance, appearing like an ordinary bystander, his gaze falling on a bare, gravelly riverbank on the outskirts of the tribe.

On the riverbank, a thin figure, about seven or eight years old, was squatting. He wore a faded, patched linen tunic, his hair was dry and yellow, and he was barefoot. His face was covered in mud and ash, but his eyes were unusually bright, fixed intently on the ground in front of him. In his hand, he tightly gripped a small, half-burnt charcoal stick that he had picked up from somewhere, and with an almost stubborn demeanor, he was intently and repeatedly tracing lines on the relatively flat sandy ground in front of him.

What he drew was not the usual children's scribbles of birds, beasts, insects, and fish, nor was it simple lines. Xuanbao's gaze fell upon it, and his pupils contracted slightly.

The child drew symbols on the ground that were extremely strange and distorted, yet vaguely contained some ineffable rhythm, almost like the "Tao." Some resembled the veins of mountains and rivers, some the footprints of birds and beasts, some the ripples of flowing water, some the arrangement of stars, and even some the traces of hand gestures during human sacrifices... But when combined, they were completely different from any known runes, totems, or even the most primitive pictographic records in the world. They were chaotic, yet seemed to form a system of their own, carrying an almost stubborn impulse to "fix" what the eyes saw, the mind thought, and all things in heaven and earth.

What touched Xuanbao even more was that, as the child's small yet steady fingers moved, as those strange symbols were repeatedly drawn, smeared, and drawn again, the originally ordinary air around them began to ripple with extremely subtle ripples, imperceptible even to ordinary Great Luo Golden Immortals. A faint yet incomparably powerful Daoist aura, along with the movement of the charcoal stick, was quietly sprouting from nothingness, attempting to coalesce.

In Xuanbao's eyes, the three thousand Great Dao runes flowed instantly, reflecting the child's faint yet incredibly resilient "cause and effect" and "luck" that seemed out of place in this desolate riverbank, this barren tribe, and this vast wilderness, yet subtly connected to some grand future trajectory.

"I see." Xuanbao understood, a smile spreading across his eyes. So it was "the ancestor of literature... Cangjie. I never expected that the second opportunity I sensed wouldn't be a spiritual treasure."

This thin, stubborn child was none other than Cangjie, the future human race who would usher in a civilization of writing, use literature to convey the Way, and be revered as the "Ancestor of Literature"! At this moment, however, he was just an ordinary orphan in the Cangyuan tribe, and was even considered "foolish" by his tribe because of his "strange" behavior, his refusal to play with children his own age, and his habit of writing and drawing on the ground.

Xuanbao saw that the child did not have much spiritual power, but his soul was naturally imbued with a strange agility, as if he was born with a subtle connection to the Dao of heaven and earth.

"To meet is fate, especially when it's the Wen clan, with whom I have a connection." Xuanbao had already made up his mind. He took a light step and appeared on the riverbank, landing beside Cangjie.

Cangjie was completely absorbed in carving a new, distorted symbol on the ground, attempting to express "thunder," and was oblivious to Xuanbao's arrival. It wasn't until Xuanbao's shadow fell on the sand in front of him that he was startled, instinctively looking up, and the charcoal stick fell to the ground with a "thud."

What came into his view was a young man dressed in a simple blue robe, with a gentle face and eyes that seemed to encompass the starry sky. The young man did not have an imposing aura, but rather an aura that made him feel inexplicably at ease and even want to get close to him, which was more comfortable than the kindest old priest in the tribe he had ever met.

"Who...who are you?" Cangjie asked timidly, his little hands secretly behind his back, trying to cover the messy scribbles on the ground. He was afraid that this adult who looked unusual would laugh at him for having another episode, just like the others in the tribe.

Xuanbao didn't answer. Instead, he crouched down, his gaze fixed on the strange symbols, examining them closely. After a moment, he pointed to one that resembled a bird's claw mark and asked gently, "This, is it a 'bird' that you want to draw?"

Cangjie's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Xuanbao, nodding vigorously. "You...you can understand it?"

Xuanbao smiled slightly and pointed to another symbol that resembled ripples in water: "This one, is it 'water'?"

"Hmm!" Cangjie's voice rose a little, and his eyes began to light up.

"What about this?" Xuanbao pointed to a more complex symbol that looked like a person raising their hand to the sky.

"It's...it's a 'sacrifice.' I wanted to draw what it looks like when the adults in my clan are worshipping, but I can't draw it well..." Cangjie's voice lowered, sounding somewhat frustrated.

"It's already very similar," Xuanbao affirmed, then his tone shifted, his gaze becoming even more profound. "Child, you want to use these... symbols to record everything you see, hear, and think, right?"

Cangjie suddenly raised his head, his eyes gleaming with an unprecedented light—the excitement of being understood, of having his deepest desires revealed. He nodded vigorously, his voice trembling with urgency: "Yes! I want to write it all down! I want to remember what the mountains look like, what the water looks like, what the birds and beasts look like, the stories told by the elders of my tribe, what prey I hunted today, what happened. I want to draw, but I can't draw it well, and it's too slow… I want to find a way, a… a simpler way, a way that I can remember forever…!"

He spoke incoherently, gesturing wildly with his small hands, his eyes filled with longing and confusion. This problem, which had troubled him for so long and even made him feel out of place in his surroundings, was finally pouring out to someone who "could understand."

Xuanbao listened quietly, and only after he finished speaking did he slowly say, "What you're looking for isn't a simple painting. What you're looking for is something that can represent all things, can carry meaning, and can transmit information across time and space... 'literature'."

"Wen?" Cangjie murmured, repeating the unfamiliar word, yet a flash of lightning seemed to illuminate his obscure consciousness. This word seemed to strike at the deepest, most vague pursuit within him.

"Indeed, literature." Xuanbao's tone became solemn. "Observing the tracks of birds and beasts, discerning the phenomena of heaven and earth, imitating the forms of all things, understanding their meanings, and defining their names, using simple lines and symbols to represent complex meanings—this is the beginning of 'literature.' A single character is a world, a single piece of literature is a universe. Literature can record events, carry the Dao, pass on civilization, communicate with spirits and gods, and unravel the laws of heaven and earth. It is the foundation of civilization, the beginning of wisdom, and the trace of the Great Dao."

Cangjie only vaguely understood what Xuanbao was saying, but the word "wen" and the beautiful vision described in Xuanbao's words—the ability to "fix" and transmit all things in the world, as well as thoughts and experiences—were deeply imprinted in his young mind, igniting a raging fire within him.

"But...but I don't know how to begin...no one can understand what I draw..." The flame in Cangjie's eyes dimmed slightly, and he showed distress again.

"That's because you're still groping in ignorance, not yet seeing its 'principle' or grasping its 'method'." Xuanbao reached out and gently brushed Cangjie's head. A warm, cool light, containing boundless wisdom and Daoist charm, silently entered his sea of ​​consciousness. "Close your eyes, calm your mind, and feel it."

Cangjie instinctively closed his eyes. The next moment, he felt his "vision" change! It was no longer the sand, charcoal, and river he saw with his naked eye, but something much grander and more essential!

He saw the undulating veins of mountains and rivers, the trajectory of the earth's energy flow (earth patterns); he saw the leaping postures of birds and beasts, the regularity of their bone and muscle movements (beast patterns); he saw the rhythm of rushing water, the trajectory of falling raindrops (water patterns); he saw the shape of burning flames, the instant lightning rips through the sky (fire patterns, lightning patterns); he saw the trajectory of the stars, the cycle of the changing seasons (star patterns, time patterns)... He even saw the cooperation of humans during hunting, their piety during sacrifices, their lip movements and gestures during conversations, and the changes in their expressions of sadness and joy (human patterns, emotion patterns)!

All things in heaven and earth seem to have shed their external appearance, revealing to him their most fundamental inner "textures" and "rules" that constitute their existence! And these "textures" seem to contain the "prototypes" that express their meaning!

"Writing is the carrier of civilization and the crystallization of wisdom. Its purpose is to pass on knowledge, to communicate, and to expound the great principles. Therefore, characters need to have 'form' to carry 'meaning,' 'sound' to communicate 'voice,' and 'order' to form 'writing.' Only when form, sound, meaning, and order are all present can a character truly be formed and carry the way of the world for all ages."

Xuanbao's voice was like the imperial edict of the Great Dao, each word containing a profound understanding of the laws of "writing". He did not directly teach Cangjie any specific characters, but pointed out the direction for him, built a framework, and opened the door to the Great Dao of "writing".

Cangjie listened intently, gazing at the symbols in the air illuminated by the profound Daoist principles. He felt as if thunder had exploded in his mind, and countless inspirations erupted like a volcanic eruption! The confusion and blockage of the past few days suddenly cleared up! He saw it! He saw the hidden network of "reason" and "order" interwoven beneath the surface of all things! He saw how to fix these networks with simple yet beautiful symbols, forming characters that could be passed down, combined, and express infinite meaning!

Cangjie was completely absorbed, his mind and spirit immersed in this unprecedented and intuitive "Analysis of the Great Dao's Textures." He felt his thinking was clearer than ever before; the bits and pieces he had observed in the past were now being rapidly strung together like scattered pearls by an invisible thread. The symbols he had painstakingly drawn and haphazardly on the ground now seemed so naive, crude, and incomprehensible under the illumination of the "Analysis of the Great Dao's Textures," but they also instantly made him understand the problem and... the direction for improvement!

After an unknown amount of time, Cangjie slowly opened his eyes. His gaze had changed; though still clear, it now held a profound understanding and serenity. He looked again at the symbols he had drawn on the ground, then at the surrounding rivers, mountains, and sky, and finally, his gaze settled on Xuanbao's smiling, gentle face.

With a thud, Cangjie knelt on the gravel ground and respectfully kowtowed three times to Xuanbao. His voice, though still childish, was filled with unprecedented determination and piety: "Please... teach me! Teach me 'writing'! I want to learn! I want to transform the 'patterns' and 'principles' of all things in heaven and earth into 'writing'! Please accept me as your disciple!"

Xuanbao reached out and helped him up, brushing the dust from his forehead, and said with a smile, "Now that you've joined my sect, you should have a name. What's your surname? Do you still have parents and family?"

The boy shook his head, his expression somewhat somber: "I don't have a surname... My father and mother died in a flash flood a long time ago... The adults in the tribe all call me 'Cangjie,' saying that I am a child blessed by the gods."

"Cangjie...a good name." Xuanbao nodded. "Then you shall be called Cangjie. From this day forward, you shall be my eldest disciple."

"Xuanbao..." Cangjie subconsciously repeated the name, then, as if struck by an even stronger bolt of lightning, he froze completely! His eyes widened abruptly, staring intently at Xuanbao, his voice shrill and distorted with extreme shock:

"Xuan...Xuanbao?! You...you are...Father God?! Human Father God Xuanbao?! His Majesty the Heavenly Emperor of the Heavenly Court?!"

It's no wonder Cangjie was so distraught. The name "Xuanbao" has long transcended the simple act of addressing a human being. He is one of humanity's father gods, a creator and protector on par with the Holy Mother Nuwa and the Three Pure Ones! He transmitted the methods of cultivation, guiding humanity through its initial ignorance; he re-established the Heavenly Court, pacifying the primordial world and enabling humanity to flourish in a relatively stable environment! In countless oral traditions and rituals passed down through generations, "Father God Xuanbao" is a supreme being, an unattainable legend!

And now, this legendary figure is standing right in front of him, wanting to take him as his disciple?! Cangjie felt his head buzzing, as if he were having a bizarre and wonderful dream that he didn't want to wake up from.

"What? Doesn't it look like it?" Xuanbao teased, slightly reducing the aura that blended with heaven and earth around him, adding a touch of gentle warmth like that of ordinary people.

"It's like you! No...it's not just like you! You are!" Cangjie stammered, trembling with emotion, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face. He knelt again, this time a full prostration, his voice choked with emotion yet utterly devout: "Disciple Cangjie pays respects to Father God! Pays respects to Teacher! Disciple...disciple has no virtue or ability whatsoever..."

Xuanbao smiled and helped Cangjie up. "Don't underestimate yourself. You are destined for literature and have extraordinary talent. In the future, follow me in your cultivation, and you will surely achieve great things."