Before the ruins of a village ravaged by mounted bandits, where only dying embers remained, the air was thick with the smell of charcoal and the pungent reek of blood.
An old Taoist with snowy hair and a youthful face looked at the carnage before him and shook his head helplessly. This was what they called an age of turmoil.
Believing that the dead should be laid to rest, the old Taoist buried the villagers where they lay. Suddenly, a faint infant's cry sounded nearby, stirring a ripple across his otherwise placid face. Clearly, he had not expected anyone to survive the massacre. Amid the shattered walls, he found an infant protected by its swaddling clothes, letting out feeble cries.
"Since Heaven let you survive and led you to me, your fate must not end here. The Great Tao has no form, yet gives birth to Heaven and Earth; the Great Tao has no sentiment, yet guides the sun and moon; the Great Tao has no name, yet nurtures all things... From now on, your name will be Wuming." The white-haired, white-browed elder in plain Taoist robes cradled the swaddled infant, gently stroking his head with a rough palm as he spoke.
Jingshi Mountain took its name from the idea of gathering the beauty of the eight-hundred-li Funiu Mountains into a single chamber. It was the main peak of Funiu Mountain, an eight-hundred-li offshoot of the Qinling Mountains, and the place where Laozi, the founding patriarch of the Taoist School, had cultivated and taught. Majestic slopes rose in layers of verdant ridges, their towering peaks often wreathed in clouds. Clear, melodious birdsong and the chirping of insects echoed through the valleys. Untouched by worldly constraints, it was like an immortal paradise on earth.
At that moment, a seven-