In the primordial age of the world, long before the boundaries between the heavens and the earth were set in stone, there lived a race of giants known as the Kuafu tribe. They were the descendants of Houtu, the great deity who ruled over the deep soil and the foundational elements of the earth. These giants were magnificent beings, standing as tall as the hills themselves, with limbs like cedar trunks and hearts that beat with the rhythm of the tides. Among them was their leader, a giant simply named Kuafu, who was renowned for his wisdom as much as his strength. He wore two yellow snakes as earrings and held two others in his hands, symbols of his dominion over the terrestrial spirits and his deep connection to the natural world.
The world in those days was a place of extreme cycles. The sun, a radiant golden crow of immense power, would streak across the sky with such speed and intensity that the land below often suffered. During a particularly brutal season of drought, the rivers began to shrink into ribbons of cracked mud, and the forests turned to tinder. The people of the Kuafu tribe, despite their great size, were not immune to the suffering. They watched as the crops withered and the smaller creatures of the earth perished from the relentless heat. Kuafu, seeing the misery of his people and the desolation of the land, felt a growing sense of duty. He looked up at the sun, which seemed to mock the world with its distant, untouchable fire, and he made a vow that shook the very foundations of the mountains: he would catch the sun, tame its fury, and force it to provide a steady, gentle warmth instead of a killing heat.
His tribesmen cautioned him, for the sun was not merely a light in the sky but a celestial deity of the highest order. To chase it was to challenge the heavens themselves. But Kuafu was undeterred. He prepared himself for a journey that no mortal or immortal had ever dared to undertake. He took up his walking staff, a massive branch carved from a prehistoric tree, and stepped out from the shadows of the northern valleys. With his first stride, he cleared a dozen hills; with his second, he crossed a wide valley. The sound of his footsteps was like thunder rolling across the plains of China, alerting the spirits of the earth that a great quest had begun.
As Kuafu ran westward, following the path of the golden crow, the heat grew more intense. The sun, sensing a pursuer, seemed to burn with even greater ferocity. Kuafu’s skin began to blister, and the air he breathed felt like molten lead in his lungs. Yet, he did not slow down. He crossed the vast territories of what is now known as Shanxi, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun dipped toward the edge of the world. The chase lasted for days and nights that blurred into a single, shimmering haze of exertion. Every time he felt his strength flagging, he thought of the thirsty children of his tribe and the parched earth, and his resolve was renewed. He was a giant of the earth trying to grasp the fire of the sky, a bridge between the material and the divine.
By the time he reached the middle reaches of the great rivers, Kuafu was consumed by a thirst so profound it felt as though his very soul was drying up. He reached the banks of the Huang He, the mighty Yellow River. The water was cool and life-giving, and Kuafu knelt, plunging his face into the torrent. In a few massive gulps, the giant drank the river dry, leaving only a bed of damp silt where a Great River had once flowed. However, his thirst was so immense that even the Yellow River was not enough. He turned his attention to the Wei River, the great tributary that fed the heartlands. He moved with the speed of a storm, reaching the Wei and drinking every drop of its water until not a ripple remained.