Chapter 19: Ancestral Land-Genesis Begins with Creating the Universe(Little Quilted Jacket Sprite)

Within the ancestral valley, several feathered people scratched their heads in perplexity, lost in deep contemplation.

There were eleven feathered folk present, and the fruit had borne eleven pieces—these eleven were the ones who consumed the divine fruit.

“The Feathered God… bestowed upon us…”

“We…”

They etched the image of the Feathered God from their memories onto a massive stone, offering it reverent worship. This stone was not merely a colossal rock; it was the very one upon which the Feathered God had stood when they first beheld him. In a sense, it truly bore the aura of divinity.

Their carving was crude and primitive, with imagination outweighing accuracy. In their depiction, the Feathered God was omnipotent—thunder appeared with a wave of his hand, rain fell when he was angry, the skies cleared when he was pleased, and snow blanketed the earth when he was sorrowful. This explained the strange changes in weather that had always puzzled them.

Beyond that, the Feathered God possessed a pair of gigantic wings shining with seven-colored radiance, and all feathered people were his beloved servants. His power was boundless—seeing his followers trapped in ignorance, he bestowed the divine fruit so that they might receive his favor.

“Simply carving his likeness is not enough. I believe we must choose one among us to serve the Feathered God with absolute devotion!” one feathered person suddenly shouted.

The others were invigorated by his words, sensing the idea’s merit.

The first feathered person to consume the fruit cried out, “Let me do it! I was the first to behold the Feathered God; it is I who should serve him!”

The rest chattered in protest, unwilling yet unable to dispute his claim, and ultimately yielded, bowing down in submission. He was the strongest among them; the other ten could not match his strength, and so they surrendered to his dominance.

Sometimes, power is authority, and the strongest fist makes the rules.

“We are the first to eat the Feathered God’s fruit. We shall be the chief servants, the beak that governs the feathered people on behalf of the Feathered God!”

Soon, after establishing his rule, the first feathered person solemnly pledged to the others. The remaining ten grew excited, envisioning a glorious future.

They resolved to devote themselves to the prosperity and development of their ancestral feathered people.

The entire ancestral land held several thousand feathered folk, yet even this number did not satisfy them—they wished for their kind to multiply.

But a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Everything must start anew.

“Protect the fruit of the Feathered God—this divine gift cannot be destroyed by others. It is our hope. When it blooms, we must select only the strongest feathered people to eat the fruit and gain wisdom.”

Perhaps because the first fruit contained extraordinary spiritual energy, this first feathered person was particularly clever. Though newly awakened to wisdom, he could arrange matters simply and efficiently.

“In addition, we must sincerely worship the Feathered God. He is our everything, the source of our wisdom and life. This stone embodies his will; we must all protect it, passing it down through generations until eternity or death!”

When he finished speaking, something deep within him seemed to stir, as if his soul etched in bone whispered to him. He continued, “I shall be the feathered person responsible for prayer and worship, the one who communicates between heaven, earth, and the god!”

“From now on, you may call me…”

“Shaman!”

Shaman.

Heaven’s intent above, earth’s decree below.

Master of the heavens, mediator among men.

He did not know where this word came from; it arose, unbidden, as if destined for him.

The others glanced at one another, then cried in unison, “Shaman!”

“Shaman!”

“Feathered Shaman!”

…

Meanwhile, the journey of the Black Bird and Quansi continued.

Through Quansi’s explanations, the Black Bird finally understood what a name was.

The Black Bird had no name; indeed, none of the birds had names. In this world, only the Sacred Tree, Bifang, the Merfolk, and the squirrels that the Sacred Tree, out of boredom, had named while they dwelled upon its branches, possessed names.

Having grasped the concept, the Black Bird chose not to name itself.

It felt that names should be chosen together upon returning to the ancestral land. To name itself in secret seemed pointless. Moreover, as there were no other Black Birds nearby, Quansi calling it “Black Bird” would not cause confusion.

The ancestral land of the feathered folk lay in the north of the Northern Continent, while Quansi had landed in the southeast. To reach the ancestral land, they would have to traverse nearly the entire continent.

Such a journey required time.

If Quansi had traveled alone, he might have lost his way or perished for lack of water. Fortunately, the Black Bird accompanied him—birds have excellent senses of direction and can survey the land from the sky, quickly spotting water sources.

Thus, year after year, they roamed the expanse of the Northern Continent. Over time, Quansi began to invent and create.

He discovered that mixing tough leaves and grasses and twisting them together produced a slender cord, which could be woven into foot coverings for protection. Quansi named these “shoes.”

He also found a hollow log, which he used to carry water as a precaution. Whenever he could not find water for extended periods, he drank from the log to survive.

Of course, there were dangers.

Enormous snakes several meters long, insects nearly a meter tall, terrifying packs of wolves…

Ten years.

A full decade.

As the saying goes, ten years of separation brings unfathomable change. These ten years had made Quansi forget his past life as a pampered young noble. The splendors had faded; now he wore a beard, his hands were calloused, his eyes burned with fierce resolve, ready to battle wild beasts at any moment.

After all, he was the eldest son of Quansen. Though he had not inherited the power of the giant shark, his bloodline granted him some innate strength.

With initial hardships behind him, Quansi quickly grew into a competent warrior, able to tear apart tigers and leopards with his bare hands.

The Black Bird, too, had moved beyond its chirping youth, becoming dignified and steady. Bird and merfolk supported and complemented each other, and at last, they neared the ancestral land.

Feathered folk now filled the skies, and seeing these winged beings, so similar save for their wings, Quansi was overjoyed.

Perhaps, he thought, his father’s desire to come ashore had not been to conquer new lands, but to communicate with these kindred spirits who dwelled on land.