In the wilderness of the Primordial World lies a valley called Sacred Source.
The earth veins lie beneath the yellow soil like strong sinews, breathing life with the turning seasons. The star veins resemble a scattered Milky Way, suspended in the blue heavens, regulating warmth and chill as day gives way to night. The two veins intertwine like warp and weft, nurturing the Twin-Vein Life-Protecting Seedling in the heart of the valley. Its leaves drink from the earth veins, while its husks gather the radiance of the star veins. Every plump seed is a quiet exchange between heaven and earth and the people of the Five Realms.
Beyond the valley lie the Five Realms. The wheat farmers along the Wei River wield stalks as blades, weaving a sturdy defense around the seedlings. The fishermen of the Eastern Realm use strands of vine as thread, crafting fine nets against danger. The shamans of the Southern Realm draw on spirit flowers to form talismanic power that bolsters the veins. The scouts of the Northern Plains send warnings swiftly, their horses' hooves carrying the message. Sacred Source Valley is the heart of the Five Realms. Ever since the first Vein Guardian carved the first record of the vein patterns, “Protect the twin veins together, and safeguard the seedling's soul as one” has remained the Five Realms' unchanging pact.
The story begins with a batch of new recruits just entering the Vein Guardians' ranks.
Xiao He clutches a vein-temperature gauge polished smooth with use, crouching before a crack in the earth veins to read the patterns. Her fingertips still tremble with nerves. Xiao Mai grips the peachwood fertilizer scoop passed down by her mother, always afraid of burning the roots with one scoop too many or weakening the seedlings with one too few. Xiao Tai holds a bag of talisman powder personally given to her by a Southern Realm shaman-healer. She often mixes up the proportions when preparing the talisman solution, throwing its power off. Xiao Zhi uses the net-mending needle taught to her by an Eastern Realm fisherman, but her stitches are always crooked... Back then, they had no idea how much they would grow, tempered by the muddy waters of the spring floods, the midsummer heat, and the autumn chill.
