Long before the first dynasty was named, the sages spoke of a mountain where light never reached.

 

It was not hidden by clouds.

It rejected the sun.

 

They called it Hei Shan - The Black Mountain.

 

At its base, villagers lived in balance.They worked by day, rested by night, and prayed for harmony.

 

Yet harmony made them soft.


 

From each generation, one man was chosen to climb the mountain.

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Not to conquer it,

But to enter it.

 

He was warned:

“Those who seek light will never find it here.

Only those who abandon it are seen.”

 

No one had ever returned.

 

One year, a man stepped forward willingly.

 

He did not ask for blessings.

He did not bow to the sun.

 

At the threshold of Hei Shan, he extinguished his torch.

 

The elders gasped.

“Without light, you will be lost.”

 

He replied:

“Only the lost are noticed by the universe.”

 

And he entered.

 

Inside was not darkness - but absence.

No sound.

No direction.

No time.

Days passed. Or years.

 

The man felt his strength decay, his thoughts dissolve, his name lose meaning.

 

He did not resist.

He did not pray.

He endured.

 

When his final fear faded, something shifted.

The darkness bent.

Not away from him, but toward him.

 

A pale glow formed at his chest.

Not borrowed light.

Returned light.

 

When the man emerged, he carried no flame.

Yet shadows fled his steps.

​

The elders asked:

“What did you see in the dark?”

 

He answered:

“Nothing.”

“That is why I was given everything.”

 

From that time, the sages wrote:

“Light given is weak.

Light stolen is cursed.

Light returned belongs to the man who paid for it.”

 

And so the mountain was never climbed again

Because men realised the cost was not the darkness.

It was becoming worthy of what comes after.