Soul Land: Origin of Humanity

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The years had always slipped by quickly for Ye Caiqian, but the final ten years on Douluo Dalu moved with a strange duality—both swift and infinitely precious. Every sunrise reminded him: time was running out, and soon, he would have to ascend to a world unknown, leaving behind the civilization he had nurtured from its birth.

But if he had learned anything as humanity's first god, it was this: the greatest power lay not in the fleeting strength of a single being, but in the legacies they left behind.

So he set himself to work—crafting, planning, and pouring his divine understanding into the fabric of the world.

Caiqian's workshop, nestled deep within the heart of the City of Everglow, became a place of legend. Scholars, artisans, priests, and even curious children watched as their God labored day and night, sleeves rolled, hands calloused from work despite the immortal energy coursing through him.

His first creations were simple—but their simplicity was deceptive.

He crafted tools meant to transform daily life. Pots that purified water with a touch of soul power, lanterns that illuminated not with oil or flame but with the user's will, farming implements that could draw on the faintest trickle of elemental energy to bless crops, brushes for scholars that never dulled or dried, mortars and pestles for healers that enhanced the potency of their herbs. Even seemingly mundane objects—needles, rope, looms, cooking pans—became imbued with a subtle blessing.

These artifacts spread rapidly through every home, village, and trade caravan. And wherever they went, they carried a message: the future was not the domain of gods alone.

Afterward, Ye Caiqian turned to a greater challenge. He crafted elemental armaments—swords of crackling lightning, shields bound with the essence of water, spears that thrummed with the heartbeat of the earth, amulets that could deflect fire or purify poison.

No two were alike; each weapon or artifact was shaped by a combination of elemental energy and the will of the person who would one day wield it. Some were delicate and beautiful, designed for healers and scholars. Others were fierce and imposing, destined for warriors and guardians.

He knew well the dangers of unchecked power. So he devised the Divine Trials—a series of tests in spirit, wisdom, and virtue, not just martial skill. Only those who passed would receive these sacred tools. Thus, each artifact became a symbol of both achievement and responsibility, ensuring the rise of true heroes instead of tyrants.

The work consumed him. Five years vanished in a blur of creation, refinement, and teaching, as he passed on fragments of his technique to blacksmiths, crafters, and aspiring soul masters. Each artifact, each lesson, was a seed for the civilization that would continue after he was gone.

Yet as the years wore on, Ye Caiqian's mind returned again and again to a single, towering question:

How could he safeguard all knowledge, for all people, for all time?

The answer came in a dream—an pseudo divine artifact not of war, but of mind.

He called it The Book of Wisdom.

It began as an idea. What if there was a vessel capable of storing every piece of knowledge humanity had ever acquired? A single object that could preserve languages, treatises, cultivation manuals, histories, recipes, stories, scientific theories, and practical skills—all in perfect clarity, safe from fire, flood, and the slow forgetting of the ages?

He spent months forging the Book's vessel—a tome whose pages shimmered between reality and soul, whose binding was etched with runes of memory and inspiration. But the Book was more than a mere storehouse. With his godly insight, he built into it the power to process what it contained. When opened by a scholar, it could suggest cross-references between disparate fields, highlight new methods for solving problems, even pose questions its readers had not thought to ask.

It was, in essence, the first artificial intelligence—a silent, patient sage awaiting every future generation.

Once the Book was finished, Caiqian did not hoard it. Instead, he took it to the Library of Wisdom—a gleaming edifice that was already the heart of human knowledge.

The unveiling was an event. Elders, researchers, city leaders, and even children gathered in the library's great hall. Caiqian, wearing simple robes that belied his divinity, placed the Book upon a marble pedestal at the chamber's heart.

"From this day," he declared, "the wisdom of our people will never be lost. Every voice, every thought, every breakthrough—preserved, cross-referenced, waiting for you and those who follow to discover anew."

There was thunderous applause, awe, and not a few tears. The scholars understood the power of the Book's perfect memory. Yet most missed the deeper meaning of its analytic abilities. Only a handful of visionaries—future inventors and philosophers—would someday unlock this potential.

Ye Caiqian watched their reactions with a bittersweet smile. He did not fault them. Some seeds must wait for the right soil and season. Quietly, he linked the Book to his own divine consciousness, allowing it to draw on the temple's faith energy for power.

With his work nearly complete, the final years slipped by in a cascade of small joys and poignant farewells. Ye Caiqian visited every city, every school, every temple. He watched children practicing with pseudo divine tools, saw scholars debate by the Book of Wisdom's glow, listened as singers raised hymns in every tongue.

He gathered his disciples, gave last lessons, and passed on personal gifts—tokens of protection, guidance, and remembrance. To the City of Everglow and the Academy of Beginning, he left scrolls of prophecy and warning, advice for centuries to come.

When the final year dawned, the whole country celebrated—some with joy, some with solemn gratitude, some with silent tears. Even those who did not know him personally felt the gravity of the moment. A god, their god, was about to leave them.

Ye Caiqian's last evening was spent with family and closest friends. They shared stories, laughter, and silent embraces. He looked upon their faces—so familiar, so beloved—and pressed memories deep into his heart.

At dawn, he donned his robes, not as a ruler or sage, but as a traveler embarking on a new road.

In the plaza of the City of Everglow, before the temple's grand altar and the silent gaze of thousands, he opened his soul to the heavens.

A pillar of golden light burst from the clouds, connecting sky and earth. Flowers bloomed and wilted in the span of seconds, spirit energy surged, and the city fell silent in awe.

He stepped forward, every footfall light, as if he was already half-gone. The world spun with memory—his childhood in a bronze-age village, the birth of civilization, the first dragon he met, the founding of schools, the laughter of his mother, the tears of his father, the prayers of a thousand generations.

He turned, looked one last time at his world, and raised a hand in farewell.

"May wisdom flourish, may courage endure, may hope never die. Humanity—walk forward. The next chapter is yours."

The pillar of light embraced him, and slowly, gently, Ye Caiqian rose upward.

The people watched, their breath held, until he vanished into the radiance—leaving only a whisper, a legend, a promise that the God of Humanity would watch over them always.

As the world stilled and the dawn brightened, a single thought rang out in Ye Caiqian's mind as he soared into the unknown:

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