Soul Land: Origin of Humanity

The city buzzed with summer energy. In the early light, the banners of the City of Beginning rippled above stone towers, and the calls of blacksmiths, merchants, and children rang like the heartbeat of a civilization that had outgrown its origins. I—Ye Caiqian—walked the avenues in silence, breathing in the weight and promise of everything we had built.

I knew it was time.

I had long since crossed a threshold, not just in cultivation but in purpose. For years, I had stood at the city's center—teacher, leader, shield, and judge. Now, the world was calling me beyond these walls. My spirit ached for the untamed wilds and the mysteries no human had yet glimpsed. Yet before I could go, I had a final duty: to ensure that what we had made would not collapse without me. The city—and all humanity—had to learn to thrive without its founder standing guard.

In my private chambers at the Library of Wisdom, I meditated on this next step. Why leave, when so much depended on me? Was it selfish, or destiny? I had seen what happened to civilizations that depended on a single hand. True strength lay in the ability to endure change. It was time for my people to become more than my followers—they needed to become leaders themselves.

I summoned the council: the heads of all associations—blacksmiths, healers, farmers, builders—along with trusted elders, my family, and those I had taught since the first days. We met in the round hall beneath the Library, morning light streaming over ancient tablets and the banners of every profession.

I announced my decision without hesitation:

"Soon, I will leave the city to explore the world. My absence may be long. I do not leave because I doubt your strength, but because it is time for you to stand as equals, not as apprentices."

A stir ran through the hall, but no outrage. These were the people who had grown from villagers and refugees into city-builders and visionaries. I saw pride—and yes, fear—in their eyes, but also a deep resolve.

I set forth a plan I had crafted over months of contemplation:

The city would be governed by a High Council, composed of leaders from each association and several at-large citizens chosen for their wisdom and impartiality.

Each councilor would have a specific portfolio—defense, cultivation, trade, law, public health, research, and so on.

Power would rotate annually, so no one person or faction could dominate unchecked.

In my absence, the High Council would be supreme authority, but major decisions would require at least a two-thirds consensus.

We worked out details for days, crafting charters, amending rules, and establishing checks and balances. I insisted on open forums: ordinary citizens could petition the council, and a process was established for removing a corrupt or incompetent leader.

I saw Lin Yue quietly take notes, Xu Wen's eyes sharpening with every clause. My brothers debated with the blacksmith guildmaster over the best system for disaster response. The city was already in good hands—it simply needed a chance to realize it.

I presented the Library with new manuals:

Cultivation and Tier Records: Every insight about the soul core, upper dantian, the formation of tiers, and the experiences of those who broke through.

Elemental and Spiritual Training: My latest meditation and visualization methods for spirit/mind power, along with new techniques for controlling elements.

Governance and Crisis Management: Guides based on my own experience and my memories of other worlds—methods for organizing councils, preventing corruption, handling emergencies, and promoting innovation.

To my closest students and confidants, I revealed deeper truths—warnings about threats beyond our lands, possible dangers in wild cultivation, and even hints about forces I did not yet understand. I taught them how to sense shifts in fate and nature, how to detect when "something is wrong" in the fabric of the world.

These manuals would not only guide the City of Beginning, but were designed to be copied and shared with other settlements—seeds for future wisdom, wherever humanity might flourish.

Next, I personally oversaw the setup of new communication systems. The city already had runners and messenger hawks, but I enhanced these with spirit arrays—circles inscribed with the power of resonance, capable of transmitting messages across leagues with a fragment of soul power.

I trained a dozen messengers in the art of using these arrays, and left behind detailed instructions for their upkeep and repair.

We created emergency protocols:

Runners would report to council headquarters every dawn and dusk.

If a major disaster or beast wave struck, the city would mobilize by coded signals from the towers.

Each association was given a clear set of actions to take in case of war, famine, or epidemic.

Records were stored in the Library of Wisdom, and backup copies were hidden in secure vaults. If the council failed, a "succession box" would open, containing my last-resort advice.

Beyond daily affairs, I sowed the seeds for the future. In a series of lectures at the academy, I explained the structures of early city-states and, further still, the concept of a nation-state—a federation or alliance of cities, with laws and ideals binding people beyond blood and village walls.

I drew from memories of my previous life:

"A city is more than walls and markets. In time, you will found new cities, and these must learn to work together, not just compete. The city-state is the first step; the nation is the next."

I drew diagrams and mapped models, showing how councils could interact, how common defense and law would benefit all. I described voting, representation, codes of conduct, and the importance of peaceful negotiation.

Scholars took notes furiously. Elders asked sharp questions. Young leaders saw visions of future alliances and peaceful trade.Most importantly, I emphasized that this model was not just for us—any city could adopt it, now or centuries hence. I urged the Library to copy these teachings and circulate them whenever new settlements formed.

I met with blacksmiths and inventors, encouraging the development of new materials and spirit tools. The R&D guild received a charter and a reward system for breakthroughs in technology, medicine, or agriculture.

I discussed with healers the possibility of founding distant clinics, and with builders about how to create modular houses and walls for rapid expansion. We mapped out new towns on the city's borders, and set up procedures for sending trained administrators to oversee their growth.

Nothing was left to chance—if a thousand people arrived tomorrow, the city would adapt. If ten new cities rose in a decade, they would have a foundation to work from.

In the evenings, I walked alone, visiting the city's great places. I stood in the Library of Wisdom as lamplight flickered over ancient scrolls. I watched academy students train beneath the moon, saw the blacksmiths at their forges, and listened to market vendors bartering until the stars faded.

At the city's highest wall, I gazed out over the fields—where once there had been mud and forest, now there were farms and roads, towers and life.I wrote a letter, sealed with my name and the mark of my soul, to be opened only in the direst crisis.

This city—my city—was ready.

On the final day, I called the new High Council together in the main square, in view of the entire populace. They recited the oaths of service, accepting the burden and the honor of leadership. Lin Yue, Xu Wen, and a score of others stood at the head, their faces proud and anxious.

I stepped back, watching as the council issued their first proclamations without my prompting. Citizens gathered to hear the news—life continued, markets opened, the smiths stoked their fires. The city no longer waited for my word; it moved by its own will.

As twilight fell, I returned to my chambers and packed the few possessions I would take into the unknown.

Tomorrow, I would say my goodbyes.

But tonight, for the first time in many years, I slept not as a leader—but as an ordinary person, with the city I loved held safe by the hands of those I had taught.

The next dawn would belong to destiny.