The woman, Ama – mother – as he now instinctively knew, chuckled softly, a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. "Vikram Samvat 1965. Why such a strange question for one just waking from fever, Bhairu? Did the spirits whisper dates to you in your delirium?"Spirits. Superstition. How quaint. And yet, within this very world, lay the hidden truth of Gu, a power far more potent than any phantom. Bhairav forced a weak smile, a pale imitation of childlike innocence. "Just… confused, Ama. The fever dreams were vivid."Ama patted his forehead with a calloused hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Rest now. You are safe at home. Your Baje (grandfather) has gone to fetch the village Vaidya (traditional healer). He will bring herbs to strengthen you."Baje. Vaidya. Home. Foreign words, yet they resonated with a strange, hollow echo within him. He was in a family now. A rural family, seemingly poor, but alive. He observed his Ama more closely as she moved about the small hut, tending to the meager fire in the hearth. Her clothes were patched, her hands worn, but her movements were efficient, imbued with a quiet strength. This was a life of toil, of simple survival. A stark contrast to the opulent decadence he had known, the world of silk robes and jade ornaments, of servants bowing to his every whim.Yet, even here, in this humble dwelling, Bhairav's senses, honed by centuries of Gu Sadhana, began to pick up subtle threads of the hidden world. He could sense it in the dried herbs hanging from the rafters – not just culinary, some held faint traces of prana, a raw, untamed energy. He noticed it in the earth floor beneath the Sukul, a subtle vibration, almost imperceptible, hinting at earthworms, insects… and perhaps, something more.He closed his eyes, focusing inward, pushing past the lingering weakness of his child's body. The Basanta Patjhad Kira pulsed softly within him, a tiny, nascent sun in his core. It was indeed weakened, its reserves depleted by the temporal journey, but the core essence, the seed of rebirth, was vibrant. He could feel the faint stirrings of other energies around him, like whispers in the wind. Crude, unrefined, but undeniably present. Gu. Even in this backwater village, the threads of Gu Sadhana were woven into the fabric of existence.Later, Baje returned, a wiry old man with eyes that had seen too many seasons, trailing the village Vaidya – a man with a pouch overflowing with dried plants and an air of practiced wisdom. The Vaidya examined Bhairav with a practiced hand, muttering about imbalances and humors. He prescribed a concoction of bitter herbs, assuring Ama that the boy would recover with rest and proper care.As they spoke, Bhairav observed Baje. The old man moved with a stiffness that hinted at past injuries, his hands gnarled but strong. And Bhairav sensed it again – a faint, almost imperceptible aura around Baje, a subtle strengthening of his physical form that was beyond mere vitality. Could it be…?After the Vaidya left, Bhairav, feigning weakness, spoke in a small voice, "Baje… you are very strong."Baje chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Strong for an old ox, maybe. Years of tilling the land, boy. That builds muscle." He flexed a surprisingly firm bicep."It is more than that," Bhairav persisted, his child's eyes wide with feigned innocence, but holding an unnerving intensity. "It feels… different. Like the strength of the Lakhe dancers during Indra Jatra."Baje's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his weathered face. He stopped flexing his arm. "Lakhe dancers are blessed by Indra Dev. Spirits move through them." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense for children's ears. Rest now, Bhairu."But Bhairav had seen it. The subtle tightening around Baje's eyes, the momentary stillness before he deflected the comment. Baje knew. Or at least, he suspected. Perhaps he was a Sadhaka himself, or had brushed against the hidden world in his youth.That night, as the village settled into the quiet rhythm of darkness, Bhairav lay awake on his Sukul. The hut was silent except for Ama's soft snores and the chirping of crickets outside. He focused on the Spring Autumn Cicada Gu within him, gently probing its nascent energy. He was too weak to actively cultivate it yet, but he could sense its connection to time, to cycles, to rebirth.An idea began to form in his mind, cold and calculating, even in this frail, childish body. He was in a village, surrounded by simple people, living a simple life. But even here, the threads of Gu Sadhana existed. And if Baje…He needed to observe. To learn. To subtly probe the depths of this new environment. He needed to understand the Gu potential of this era, this place. And then… he would begin to weave his web.The next morning, Bhairav feigned a slow recovery, moving about the hut with deliberate weakness, observing everything, everyone. He watched Ama as she prepared Tsampa (roasted barley flour) for breakfast, noting the way she handled the ingredients, the precise movements, the almost ritualistic nature of her actions. He saw Baje tend to their small plot of land, his movements economical and strong, even for his age.He paid particular attention to the animals. Their single cow, a few chickens scratching in the dirt, even the village dogs – he sensed a faint… resonance with them, a subtle connection to the unseen energies. Animals were often closer to the natural world, more attuned to the prana that flowed through it. Could they be… hosts? Sources of nascent Gu?Days turned into weeks. Bhairav played the role of the recovering child, weak and inquisitive. He asked Ama about village life, about traditions, about the surrounding forests and hills. He listened intently to Baje's stories of the old days, subtly guiding the conversation towards anything that hinted at the unusual, the unexplained.One afternoon, while "resting" near the edge of their small field, Bhairav saw it. A small, iridescent beetle, crawling on a Sisnu (nettle) plant. Its carapace shimmered with an unnatural light, catching the sunlight in a way that seemed… deliberate. It moved with an unnerving purpose, its antennae twitching as if sensing something beyond the mundane.Instinct, honed by lifetimes of Gu Sadhana, flared within Bhairav. This was no ordinary beetle. It pulsed with a faint, but distinct, prana. A nascent Gu. Crude, weak, barely formed, but… real.He reached out a trembling hand, feigning curiosity. The beetle paused, its antennae swiveling towards him, as if… aware. Bhairav's heart quickened, a cold thrill coursing through him. It was working. The threads were there. The power was waiting to be claimed.But he was still weak. He needed to recover his strength, to refine his own Gu, the Spring Autumn Cicada. And he needed to understand this new era, this new world of Gu Sadhana.He retracted his hand slowly, letting the beetle crawl deeper into the nettle leaves, disappearing from sight. He watched the spot where it had vanished, a cold, calculating glint in his young eyes.Patience. He had centuries of experience. He could afford to be patient. For now, he would observe, learn, and prepare. The Serpent Child would lie coiled, gathering strength, until the opportune moment to strike arrived. The village, this family, this world – they were all pieces on his board now. And the game had only just begun.