Pangu called upon a connection he had nurtured for 8.7 billion years.
The man was named "Jinqiao"—the one who had sold him the soul materials back when Pangu first created the world.
"I need to commission a soul," Pangu said.
The artisan was drinking tea. He looked up. "For whom?"
"For my son and daughter-in-law. Wanquan and Qianhui."
The artisan set down his teacup. He was silent for a long time.
Then he said, "Give me their memories."
Pangu reached out and drew two orbs of light from the void—Wanquan's order and loneliness; Qianhui's gentleness and waiting.
The artisan took them. He studied them for a long while.
"One too cold, one too warm. Not easy to fuse."
Pangu said nothing.
The artisan sighed. "But I'll try."
He rose and walked toward the World Tree.
"When it's done, I'll stay here. No charge this time."
Pangu paused. "Stay?"
The artisan glanced back at him:
"The materials I sold back then have grown into people like these. I want to see what their child will become."
Pangu didn't speak.
But he smiled.