Chapter Ninety-One: The Innate Eight Trigrams

Fuxi was no longer that reckless young man; from innocence to maturity, much had transpired between those stages. Although he had now become the emperor of the human race, the position was far from easy. After attaining the throne, Fuxi remained upon the sacred mountain of the humans, overseeing and guiding the affairs of his people.

Not far from the sacred mountain flowed a river, its waters rushing ceaselessly, churning over the surface as they surged forward. Whenever Fuxi was troubled, he would come here to sit quietly, watching the swift current, his heart unable to find peace.

What Fuxi did not know was that whenever he came to the riverbank, bare-footed, immersed in the waters and gazing at the flow, a pair of eyes would always watch him silently from behind a great tree in the nearby forest. Those eyes belonged to his sister, Nuwa.

Just recently, Fuxi had encountered a most vexing dilemma. He was already twenty-two, and according to the customs of his people, most married at thirteen or fourteen. By such measure, Fuxi should already have children; yet he remained unmarried, much to the anxiety of the Thunder God and others.

Though they knew Fuxi as their former companion and guest of the Palace of Violet Clouds, now he was their son, and how could they not worry about him?

Not only the Thunder God but also Lady Huaxu fretted, wondering why no one had taken a liking to her son, now the ruler of the humans.

Whenever Fuxi returned home, he faced his parents’ endless nagging. Nuwa wished to help, but the Thunder God and Lady Huaxu only turned their attention to her, asking, “You’re not young anymore either—why haven’t you found someone you like?”

At such times, Nuwa would cast a deep glance at Fuxi before retreating to her chamber, refusing even to join meals. Fuxi understood her feelings, but he said nothing.

Now Lady Huaxu had gathered many girls for Fuxi to choose from, but he rejected them all, turning away to the place that brought him peace.

He sat on the ground, shoes removed, when footsteps sounded behind him. Turning, he saw his sister Nuwa. What was she doing here?

“I know who it is you love,” Nuwa said, crouching beside him.

“Who is it?” Fuxi replied, half in jest.

“It’s me,” Nuwa answered calmly, then stood and walked away, leaving Fuxi stunned. How did she know?

Both Fuxi and Nuwa were the firstborn spirits of the primordial world, brother and sister who had lived together for countless millennia. Their relationship had long evolved from mere siblings to lovers, though neither had acted upon it. Both knew of each other's feelings, and thus neither had married or borne children.

Among humans, however, strict moral codes existed: close relatives within nine generations were forbidden to wed, or else they faced punishment—a decree originally set by Xuandaozi to ensure the healthy development of the human race.

As for Fuxi and Nuwa’s union, Xuandaozi had chosen not to interfere. In his past life, Tongtian had heard that Fuxi and Nuwa were siblings who ultimately wed, so Xuandaozi did not meddle further.

Fuxi’s mind kept replaying Nuwa’s words, his heart unable to settle. He looked at the surging river and suddenly, all his sorrow seemed to vanish; he sprang to his feet, as if witnessing something wondrous.

At that moment, a magnificent horse appeared faintly upon the river’s surface. Its coat was pure white, flawless. “Hmm?” Fuxi exclaimed in surprise, for mysterious images shimmered upon the horse’s body.

Sensing Fuxi’s presence, the white horse swam toward him. Knowing it meant no harm, Fuxi reached out and stroked its belly, where a marvelous pattern emerged, filling him with delight.

It was as if some magical force had seized him; Fuxi stared intently at the pattern, his mind racing. Soon, words spilled from his lips: “Qian, Dui, Xun, Zhen, Kan, Li, Kun, Gen.”

His hands traced signs in the air. Then, Fuxi sat cross-legged and let his spirit roam the void. Such is the power of the gifted; before long, he opened his eyes, clarity shining in their depths, and exclaimed, “I understand! I understand!”

For ages, Fuxi had pondered the laws of nature, not for himself—for as a cultivator, he could glimpse his own fate in the river of time—but for ordinary people.

Combining his knowledge of the temporal river, the patterns of nature, and the mysterious markings on the horse, everything became clear. Henceforth, people could avert disasters and misfortune.

What Fuxi discovered was the Eight Trigrams—symbols representing eight fundamental elements: Qian for heaven, Kun for earth, Zhen for thunder, Xun for wind, Gen for mountain, Dui for marsh, Kan for water, Li for fire, known collectively as the primary trigrams. Combining any two of these creates sixty-four hexagrams. This is the primal Eight Trigrams.

To test whether his creation was effective, Fuxi observed the weather, the people’s daily lives, and compared the outcomes to the hexagrams. He also drew information from the river of time, finding it matched perfectly. Fuxi was thrilled; it had been long since he had created something of true benefit to humanity.

He summoned the assembly to the council hall and shared his discovery, stirring great excitement. The trigrams could reveal cause and effect, foretell events, and serve as objects of divination. Not only humans, but all the strange and wondrous beings of the primordial world benefited, and their gratitude further strengthened the humans’ fortune.

To showcase his achievement, Fuxi demonstrated it at the annual Heaven Sacrifice. Yet when he cast a handful of coins, his face turned pale with shock; he sat cross-legged, and upon opening his eyes, disbelief filled his countenance.

Xuandaozi, standing nearby, sighed softly. “I never expected humanity’s final calamity would arrive after all.”

Upon hearing Xuandaozi’s words, everyone was stunned, unsure what to do.

“No matter what disaster comes, as long as I live, I will protect humanity from harm!” Fuxi looked upon the dispirited crowd, his heart roaring with determination, and declared aloud.

“Fuxi! Fuxi! Fuxi!” The people cheered his vow, their voices echoing endlessly. Sometimes, conviction is its own kind of power.