In a mortal village, far from any sect or grand ruin, a boy fell asleep during a storm.
He dreamed of a man walking where there was no road. A face that could not be drawn. A step that made no sound.
When he awoke, there was a Gu in his hand.
It was simple. Round. Grey. Unmoving.
But when he spoke the name he had heard in the dream—a name without thread—the Gu lit.
Elsewhere, in a far-off court of immortals, an information-seeking Gu trembled and spat up false prophecy.
"The myth has seeded itself."
Back in Fang Yuan's aperture, he looked down at the Gu formation he had designed to suppress memory legends.
It had begun to fail.
The Threadless Path was no longer walking in shadow. It was being summoned.