This is the golden book called The Jade Key, which opens the highly secret box of beryl, describing the origins of creatures on the wheel of destiny, in the sky and on the earth.

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...the people of the stars shone brightly upon the canopy of Heaven.  Mounted on pyramids amid the total nothingness, they descended to the unknown mountains.  At that time, our world was pitch black.  Light radiated from the pyramids and lit up the darkness.  In the light, it could be seen that there was no water flowing, no grass growing - there was absolutely nothing.  The shining people went searching in all directions.  They searched, but they found nothing, and returned by the light of their pyramids, standing on the wooded mountains.  But for no reason, they went looking again.  They wandered around and there was a path through the world...

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There fell from the sky into the narrow sandy gorge of a mountain pass a single huge blue stone.  But to look at it, we would see not a stone, but only a camel lying down.  As the sky traced out its path overhead, the skin on his two erect humps sagged down, weak and emaciated.  He stood with his legs apart and slapped at the swarms of black flies with his tail, but even the grasses irritated him.  Tears flowed from his eyes, like pearls of spring water and, in his watery eyes, the sky stretched a deep blue to its furthest edges and there rose a pale blue mountain, which seemed to him to be in the way.  Behind this mountain ran a great red-colored pass, where soil tumbled down and where the water was sucked dry.  In the skirts of the fine sand, he practiced walking ten paces at a time and, with the sun’s help, he crept forward, meter after meter.  And the further he moved, the more the place lost its sting and grew attractive to him.

I initially imagined my Golden Hill as a silver bridle-stud upon the ground of Heaven.  That was winter. Later, I stood in the face of the wind upon the great turquoise steppe and drew the mountains as though they were horses whose manes and tails were like fringed offering scarves.  That was spring  I drew the hill with deep blue wings, like a crane swooping down into an indistinct white mirage.  That was summer.  I ended up drawing the yellowish jewel of the hill as though it were a model carriage with a braided canopy.  That was autumn.  Thus, I committed an image of Golden Hill to paper in each of the four seasons, in winter, spring, summer and autumn.

An exceptionally clear night hung over Delüün Boldog, on the river Onon.   Not even the most fleeting of clouds appeared in the sky and the first full moon of summer rose like a silver lantern, rinsing the earth in its silverwhite rays.
   
Negüün Taiji looked out over the surrounding land and gave thought to the skies.  “So, tonight Queen Öülen will give birth,” he said to himself.  Skillfully assisted by the seven sons of Khabul Khaan, he had taken land from the hero Bartan and from Bartan’s four sons, and then the hero Yesükhei had brought the state to heel.

A poor orphaned foal trotted dispondently over the hills.  He had been bright and full of energy when his mother was around but, now that she was gone, oh, how he suffered!  In front of him, swallows were diving through the air.  The poor creature had no idea where he was going, led as he was in all directions by mysterious and invisble omens.  Deprived of his mother, the strong sun made him feel weak.  A fine dust built up on his scraggy backbone, flies and midges covered his face and eyes, and suffering piled upon suffering.  Overcome by the dust, he came to where a herd of horses had gathered around a lake of pungent water.  He trotted towards a pale colored horse and, although he was afraid and hung back, the other horse wouldn't let him approach, laying back his ears and balking him.  He was finally encircled and subdued by a rough black stallion.

Version 2
Oh, a poor light chestnut orphan colt tramped through the rolling hills and without an enthusiasm started jogging down. After its mother’s death he was in great bereavement. In front of him a swallow traced a circle in the air. This lovely animal, very gullible, was unaware of his direction but a kind of instinct was leading him to somewhere. He lost his mother. The parching sun scorched his body. The invisible dust garnered in the coat on his wiry back. The flies swarmed on his eyes and face. They were a nuisance.
This lovely colt fell into a dust arose by him. He was thirsty for water and came near the harem of mares and horses which bunched together in sweltering hot day in the pond. At the start he cringed back in fear and clung to each light chestnut pony. Each pony did not treat him in a friendly manner by laying down their ears. The colt was in fear and stood aloof. But a black cryptochid colt of three years drove him away by menacing to bite.

When the cool wind of autumn came, the birds began to leave. For many years, smoke from dungfires had swirled upwards where the red willows stood beside a pond, rooted like sacred water in a cup.  The old couple looked on as one swan from their flock grew its feathers but - for some unexplained reason - was unable to fly.  One autumn evening, as the sleet blew all around, the flock turned in formation upon the surface of the lake.  Struggling along at the rear, the cygnet grew sad that he couldn’t rise from the water and fly away. What would happen to him, poor thing?  And so, his flock flew off, leaving him to go round and round in circles, without success.