A week passed.
In the academy's main hall, the elder's voice carried with calm authority, echoing softly against the walls.
"Humans are the pinnacle of all creatures."
"And Gu... are the essence of heaven and earth."
"In this world, countless species exist, and with them, countless Gu — they inhabit the soil, the bushes, the air… even the bodies of wild beasts."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the students, eyes glinting behind his thin spectacles.
"As humanity grew, so did the understanding of the Gu. Those who have opened the aperture, who use their own primeval essence to nurture, refine, and control these creatures… such people are called Gu Masters."
The students listened intently, eyes wide, hearts quietly thundering with anticipation.
"And seven days ago," the elder continued, voice firm yet imbued with awe, "each of you successfully opened your apertures in the Awakening Ceremony."
"With the coagulation of the Primeval Sea within you, each of you has taken the first step. From this moment onward, you are all Rank one Gu Masters."
Fifty-six pairs of eyes stared back, rapt and trembling with the thrill of their new titles.
At that moment, a young teenager raised his hand. With the elder's nod, he rose to his feet, voice cautious yet eager.
"Elder, I have always wondered… there are Rank one Gu Masters, Rank two, and so on. Could you explain the distinctions in detail?"
The elder gave a faint smile and gestured for him to sit. His voice, calm and measured, carried a weight that seemed to press down on the entire hall.
"Gu Masters are divided into nine ranks, from the lowest to the highest — Rank one, Rank two… all the way to Rank nine."
"Each rank is a vast realm, and within each, four smaller stages exist: initial, middle, upper, and peak."
"You have all just became Gu Masters. So for now, all of you are Rank one, initial stage."
He paused, letting the words settle over the students.
"With diligent cultivation, your cultivation will advance — Rank two, perhaps Rank three."
"The higher your talent, the greater your chance to rise."
"For D-grade talent," the elder said, voice steady, "the primeval sea fills roughly two to three layers of your aperture. Such talent is limited — even with effort, the highest achievable rank is Rank two."
"C-grade talent occupies four to five layers of the aperture. Their progress usually peaks at Rank two or three, though advancement beyond that is rare."
"B-grade talent, with six to seven layers filled, has the potential to reach Rank three or even Rank four, depending on diligence and fortune."
"A-grade talent is extraordinary — filled with eight to nine layers."
"Those born with it are naturally suited for the path of a Gu Master, capable of reaching Rank four or even Rank 5 under favorable conditions."
"Beyond that, Rank six and above are legends, transcending normal comprehension."
"Within the Gu Yue Clan, Rank six has never appeared; Rank four and Rank five exist only as rare, almost mythical examples."
The students leaned forward, eyes wide, hearts pounding with awe and desire.
In the back corner of the classroom, Gu Yue Fang Yuan leaned slightly against the desk, eyes drifting out the window.
The sky stretched wide, an endless expanse of blue, streaked with drifting white clouds.
Verdant mountains rolled into the distance, each peak sharp, each valley lush.
Below, the Qing Mao bamboo grove stood in disciplined order — each bamboo stalk straight and upright, their spear-like tips glinting faintly in the sunlight.
Beyond the grove, the young forest stirred with the first breath of spring.
Tender shoots pushed through the earth in waves of yellow-green, while sparrows flitted from branch to branch, their bright feathers a splash of color against the awakening woods.
A gentle breeze rolled down the mountains, carrying the scent of new growth, and brushing it through the world like a subtle, invisible hand.
Fang Yuan's gaze lingered, but his mind was elsewhere.
Finally, the academy elder's voice cut through the quiet, commanding attention.
"This week, I've taught you how to probe your aperture's primeval sea, how to sense and circulate the primeval essence within your body."
"Now, it is time for you to refine your first vital Gu."
A sharp gesture indicated the next step. "After class, you will go to the academy's Gu room and select your Gu worm."
"Take it home, refine it with all your focus and skill, and when your work is complete, return to the academy to continue your studies."
"This is also your first assessment — the first student to succeed will receive a reward of twenty primeval stones."
Fang Yuan's lips curved ever so slightly — a faint, unreadable smile.
In the spring wind and mountains, in the flitting sparrows and spear-like bamboo, he already saw the path ahead, clear and open.
...
For a Gu Master, strength came from one thing: the Gu.
And the first one you refine is the most important. This is your Vital Gu—the one that's tied to your life. If it dies, so do you. Simple as that.
When class ended, the teenagers quickly gathered and rushed toward the Gu Room, eager to get started.
"Form a line, one at a time," a guard called out, and the students shuffled to obey.
The guards kept order outside. One by one, they went in and came out.
Finally, it was Fang Yuan's turn.
Inside the Gu Room, there was nothing fancy—just a plain, functional space.
The walls were lined with square holes, each holding a different container. Some were large, some small.
The bigger ones were the size of a cooking pot, and the smaller ones barely as big as a fist.
Each hole contained a different kind of Gu—some in stone basins, some in jade dishes, some in grass cages, or earthen stoves.
The Gu inside weren't all quiet. Some chirped, rustled, or clucked. It wasn't anything special, just the usual noise of life.
On the upper layer of the wall, a neat row of silver plates reflected the dim light of the room.
Each plate held a single Gu.
They were shaped like crescents, their bodies clear and faintly blue—like slivers of frozen moonlight.
Resting on the silver plates, they looked quiet, elegant, and fragile.
These were Moonlight Gu, the signature Gu of the Gu Yue Clan. Almost every clansman chose one as their first and vital Gu.
It wasn't a natural breed, but an artificial one—created through the clan's secret methods. Outside this village, you'd never find one. The Moonlight Gu was both a tool and a symbol of the clan's identity.
Since all of them were Rank One, there was barely any difference between one and the next.
Fang Yuan didn't waste time choosing. He reached out and picked one casually.
The Moonlight Gu was surprisingly light—no heavier than a piece of paper.
It rested quietly in his palm, no larger than a jade pendant. Through its translucent body, he could still see the lines on his hand.
Fang Yuan gave it a final glance, confirming it was intact.
Without any hesitation, he slipped it into his pocket and turned to leave.
Outside, the line was still long.
The next student, seeing Fang Yuan exit, hurried into the room, excitement written all over his face.
Fang Yuan didn't spare him a look.
He walked straight toward his home, his steps steady, his expression calm.
In his mind, only one thought lingered— "It's about time."