The sun rose and set. Years drifted by, and ten thousand years passed.
In the ancient mountains of the Primordial World, old trees spread their tangled roots and blotted out the sun. Birds called overhead, beasts roared through the woods, and danger and opportunity went hand in hand.
Deep in the forest, a red tiger with black stripes hid its presence behind the undergrowth.
A one-horned deer noticed nothing. Seeing no one around, it lowered its head to drink from a clear pond.
"Roar!"
The crimson tiger became a streak of light and pounced on the deer ten paces away. Before its roar reached the deer, its claws had struck.
It tore into the deer's ankle, leaving it unable to flee, then sank its teeth into its throat. The strike was precise and ruthless. The deer died in an instant.
"A tiger roaring through the mountains—what terrifying power. To capture its true spirit, I really did need to come into the forest."
A young man of the Human Race sat in a tree ten meters from the tiger, a sharp tool in his hand. As he studied the beast's bearing and spirit, he carved strange markings into a stone tablet.
This young man was none other than Qin of the Wind-Roll Tribe!
Ten thousand years had passed, and he had reached the Martial Venerable realm. Among the Human Race today, experts at that level were rare.
"The character for tiger is finished. Time to go back!"
A huge slab of white jade appeared in his hand, its surface densely covered in characters.
With that final character carved, Qin had created exactly three thousand characters—enough for everyday use. At last, he had taken the first step on his path of creating writing.
He let out a long breath. After ten thousand