Fools deny the footsteps of their betters.
A Patriarch’s experience: who could deny it? What pride courses through these young generations to foster this belief?
In my day a father would crippled such useless sons!
Begin again, yes- And you, fool of a disciple, did I not say to scribe each of my words! Are you to be the judge of what is wisdom and what is not? Know your place boy!
By the Heavens- Pariahs, yes.
Unorthodox cultivators.
All paths lead to serpents, for they are the Pillar both above and below these Clear Skies. Yes, venerable and everlasting… the talented scions there, boy, yes, they have the way of things!
Serpents.
In backwater hovels the will of the [Clouded Serpent Queen] dilutes- dilutes? Strike such insult swiftly, boy, you cloud my senses with ineptitude!
The [Clouded Serpent Queen]’s will treats not with Qi-arid lands. These villages where [Foundation] is the peak of all things and a single [ridian] brings celebration and ten moons of gifts.
There, serpents know no better. Bonded with farrs and peasants, ignorant of what a true snake demands!
“Pariahs of Heritage,” by [Buried in Papyrus]
The [Silence Arrays] infused within Shuidi’s mists failed in motion. Condensed points: that which standard masters would have placed [Array Flags] to focus, channel and control the power behind each, these barely coalesced mid-step.
Thick as they were, the ghosts relied more on the mists’ slowing of sound than more profound asures. So minor respite against the persistent quake of [Intent] that vibrated under foot.
All else they left to the swiftness of [Might].
Corridor, descent, corridor, descent, junction, corridor, descent - the rhythm.
More than blur, more than sound.
Yellow, black, green, black, violet.
The wails persisted. An incessant kindness.
Corridor, descent, corridor, junction.
Few words might describe the [Spirit Serpent’s] motion. He saw in it a singular wave. One scale abreast the next, contracting, woven, enabling a graduation of movent that contorted it in unearthly ways.
A distracted fool might glean Martial insight from this, so chain-like it rushed.
Fu rely rushed.
Corridor, descent, corridor-
His blade bisected a [Spirit Tiger], tearing from open jaw to rear.
Descent.
One [Spirit Spider], afla in insects, fell.
Corridor.
Two. A [Spirit Gorilla] and [Spirit Centipede], more incensed in [Intent] and slash with the other than his spectral form.
They fell.
Descent.
Then three.
But these were heartbeats. Monts between a palm’s flicker and shoulder’s twitch. The inevitability of Heaven gave no respite, ceasing so ordered a procession.
For three beca thirty, no more than a madness of fangs and glowing insects. So it went, in duplication.
Does this [Demonic] influence stifle their Qi? No force manifests but physical might and their [Intent].
Fu breathed.
[Half Cloud Step].
The madness then crawled.
His dance began in earnest. One of ghosts and coiling chain. Still they moved, still their feral eyes chased his form, and yet he leapt.
Upon the singular hand-span of free wall, beneath the bloated gut of a rearing [Spirit Stoat], an inverted spring from crumbled ceiling. On, dancing between monts, the chain to his rear unspooled until it was not.
[Might] eviscerated the flesh between these points, proofing his tal in sodden red.
Insufficient.
Of peasant history, Fu’s might na no more dances than he had fingers. The Lunar Festival had its dragon dance, at [Sumr Solstice], the dance of lions. ager knowledge, and unnecessary for those beyond courts and lordly duty.
Thus he knew no na for this technique- this second step? Third rotation? What an elegant pair might call their transition from beginning to middle or end.
Only that he did, dispatching hundreds of partners before he dispelled his [Half Cloud Step] at the [Spirit Serpent’s] side.
Corridor, descent, corridor.
Death had not slowed the [Beast Tide’s] progress. The [Intent] ca ever undiluted, rampant now that lesser beasts did not impede its progress. Indeed the weight of these beings ranged closer, lapping at Fu’s heels, bellowing, trembling the floor above-
[Wind Phantom’s Breath].
Maladies spewed from the pipe set between his lips. A granite mist of [Pure Yang Lotus Drops].
Dust, fern, brick and flesh t in a resounding pulse.
A [Spirit Beast] had blown through the floor above, arriving in mire so thick its shape could not be discerned.
But it t poison.
The stream of chasing [Spirit Beasts] t poison.
Yang: of waxing, growth, overcoming, masculinity, flas. Aspects to represent the positive, now lethal in Fu’s given dose.
To cease this flight would have seen their [Cores] burdened. Swollen by an extremity of Qi or [Affinity]. Crippled by imbalance yet too feral to restrain these energies.
The ghosts left them as dust in parting, pursuing only the [Spirit Serpent] ahead.
Corridor. Junction.
A descent ca unlike all others, the [Air Qi] forewarned of this. For here he stole a step into absence, plumting into open air both vast and deep.
[Half Cloud Step]set a platform beneath his foot, and the [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] dominated it. The construct ceded control, rging to cease all the drain on Fu’s Qi.
A blink ca, and a second.
His cloud remained.
We? Ah, Hushi, Shuidi… it is good to know that we can… fly.
Thousands of [Spirit Beasts] gushed from the ceiling, shedding Fu’s stupor. The tip of this cascade fell by surprise, claid by the height of this vast space. In three breaths this fate had changed, revealing less madness than at first glance.
These beasts lunged.
Upon the backs of their tide they leapt, they pounced from hides, limbs, and skill with agility unmatched, split in attention between Fu’s stationary form and the [Spirit Serpent] at rest upon this chamber’s ceiling.
Nearing.
Sister. A fitting test of our [Dao], please, will you aid ?
[Profundity] massed upon Fu’s palm, and he sensed there a cradle of growing winds. An expectant call, cried to distant kin.
Shuidi’s conjuration was other, expelling her [Wind Phantom’s Breath] in volus to blind even the Heavens.
The ziggurat’s passages scread.
Neglected in use since the [Hollow Trial], Fu whispered to his [Dao]. “In lands road we have t, distant, yet ever in wind’s eternal mory. Beco that which you once were and will be again. [Dao of Four Horizons].”
A teal glow erged from the ceiling’s hole, carried forth by the violet scream surging through the corridors above.
In a breath, brighter yet.
Fu leapt to higher cloud, evading the jian-length claws of a [Spirit Wolf] intent on rending his flesh.
It toppled.
Cascaded, to join the insect-polluted waterfall of falling bodies.
Teal ca in inferno.
[Sumr’s] flas, volcanic flas, the heated gale of fire-soaked lands. The wind’s mory of what it had once been, and now had beco again, incinerating all that continued to fall.
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Fu’s will barely restrained the shape, for this pillar was well agitated by the energies of [Pure Yang Lotus Drops]. He could feel its greed. A hunger to expand and make cinders of all. And so it did, of most.
The [Dao] ceased. Fu fird his jaw.
Thousands had arrived and thousands were ash. But he was no profound talent or peerless master to slay so many.
Below, the teal flas simred. Extinguished by surging [Intent] or by the burnt breaths of the [Spirit Beasts] ranging there.
In their diminished thousands.
“Not prey. Quiet thing no more. A talent for burning, for heat these darkened hearths,” hissed the [Spirit Serpent], withered by proximity to his flas.
Fu… walked across the air, cloud underfoot. “Your Lord, venerable cousin. Must we slay your [Demonic] kin to reach them?”
“Yes. One route. One path. Cleanse the foul blooded at my side. Have none reach the Lord.”
“Where must we protect?” he asked.
Residual flas made clear what insects could not, granting sight to the gloom-blind ghosts.
“Where walls et their end, and further below. Have not your mind stray,” ca her reply, twisting a tongue towards the horde. “Deaths cos, prey awaits.”
[Half Cloud Step].
The ghosts descended swiftly, resummoning the [Dao of Wind’s Present Whispers] as they landed amidst danger. One thought brought them further, phasing them through stone and through Shuidi’s intuition, to a place where walls t their end.
Assassins held no true business with [Beast Tides], after all. That was a fate for sun-facing fools.
🀦
His [Ink] granted minor warmth, drawn through the [Hollow Ivory Splinter].
[Pull] 73
Your [Core] is yet ravening.
Fu cursed such a gain.
Conflicts of so large a scale were sure to plunder strength from souls of [Spring]. A situation his affords had largely avoided of late, for each mote of Qi imparted to [Pull] added difficulty to his growth through cultivation.
In seven [Seasons] he had unblocked five [ridians]. To say nothing of the purity he demanded of his Qi now.
Seventy three. This adds labors, pushing late [Core Formation] and the path of [Harmony] ever more distant. A small task if we were to cultivate impure Qi, but that is no proper foundation.
Hushi stirred at this sentint, if too fatigued for chastisent.
The [Twin Mockeries Heartplu] felt enriched for his distant efforts, but high was the toll in ntal drain.
With the riot of [Demonic] insects and their hosts above, few had given chase. The inflicted ferality had pit them against each other swiftly and granted space in which Fu and his partners might breathe.
Their walk had begun anew. An assassin’s gait, as subtle as air. Now through a fresh locale: by pace-high flowing waters and the foul glow of insects. Here they seed at peace. Lethargic in their hum, circling stiller deposits of this [Wood Qi] dense river.
The pressure upon the [Dao of Wind’s Present Whispers] was minimal, proving their [Senses] inadequate.
He went unharried for hours, giving rise to rare ponderance the deeper he delved against the ziggurat’s subrged exterior.
Structures of this design are novel to us, are they not? I cannot recall an [Imperial Realm] or Sect that fields such architecture. No slanted roof nor symbols of allegiance. The lands of the Warring Tribes, or palaces of the high-Numbered [One Hundred and Eight], is this of their making?
His chosen path chased the river’s flow. Grass at its eastern bank and the dense, brutish bricks of the ziggurat at its west.
Another Empire? Lost to so immortal’s wrath long before [Sixth Under Heaven’s] reign? An aged design, now improved? If borne of the Realm itself, then why is it in such disrepair?
Fu stroked his whisker.
Mysteries best saved for wiser souls than we.
Four incense sticks might have burned in the ti that waters took to change. No transformation, but a widening of mouth and dispersal of insects. Thin, as Fu approached a crumbled entrance in the stone.
Shuidi bid him stop, probing forth with mist.
It vanished at the threshold, held at bay much as these insects were for none buzzed in the air beyond.
Might it be this Lord?
Cloud wisped beneath Fu’s next step, consud once more by the [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud]. More followed, and a small smile grew as he strolled over the water’s surface.
An [Intent] warded this area, pressing against his [Spirit].
Let us refrain from the [Twin Mockeries Heartplu] for now, this presence is a weighty thing, no?
Physical heat t his passage: the undercurrent of this [Intent]. It was a parching force, and a peripheral once. Fu sensed a great potential there, should its wielder truly turn it against him. No, here he thought we walked upon a boundary.
An approach, and no more.
For there, awash in dandelion flas roared bonfires. Sentinels upon the shore of this vast lake, and their flas bent in supplication to its central structure.
A throne, set upon the waters.
Twin sensations struck as Fu’s [Dao] felt looked upon, impacting his ntal energy. So too did the air herald movent.
Seven scores of [Spirit Jackal] materialized on the water’s surface. Apparitions of iron-grey fur and insubstantial look. [Water Qi] and [Dark Qi] in composite, for these were [Affinities] an assassin knew well.
Yet for their ferocity, he walked on.
Unseen.
“Little rat, little rat, make known your presence. Folly, no? To skulk in courts you cannot fathom,” a jackal teased behind, filled with savage mockery. “Scurry well little rat, we tire of insects.”
Shuidi bristled, first at the insult and second for so wasted a talent.
These beasts held admirable [Qi Suppression], but paled as all did against the rits of the Clouded Courts. Fu bypassed them at each turn, intent on the watery throne. Reason dictated this Lord was as bestial as they.
Such cases of a [Spirit Beast’s] territory, its dominion, were well docunted.
A breath evoked this sa bestiality in Fu.
Pride in stature, power in action, respect demanded by primal ans.
Hushi approximated an arched brow, thinking this facade of little difference from any cultivator they had crossed.
[Half Cloud Step].
At the end of a leap, Fu stalled, gleaning more of this court.
The sa bonfires, alight and reflected against a cascade of pools where these lesser beasts remained prostrate. Assembled in true thousands, free of [Demonic] light. As were the hanfu of those few, paling cultivators in their midst.
A gong resounded by the throne, drawing attention to a cultivator upon one knee.
The precursor to address, for now the Lord trilled. “Of your own truth, and yet, lacking,” ca an elongated song. “Speak no longer. The air is tarnished by this very ignorance.”
Then the Lord’s finger twitched, leaving naught but ash before the throne. Slight in gesture, soon returning to the hand that cradled his weary, feathered chin.
To look, this being was not right.
In grace it was of Patriarchs. Of regal bearing, if spent of interest. Maroon feathers wrapped its cheeks, beard-like upon the warr tones of Vajra skin. A tail plud at his back, mirroring the ostentatious collars of courtly fashion.
But he held no comparison to Yunhan’s partner. A queen of serpents, a Mistress so nad. Her flesh was scaled and pristine. Of symtry and beauty, embodying the aspects of beast and human-form alike.
This Lord cultivated an imperfect path, reflected in disparate, feathered clumps.
Again the gong struck.
“Approach,” he trilled, never deigning to look upon his guest.
“Four Tiger Pill Society. See there, the plain [Bloodline] of their heritage.”
A woman of middling years set herself before the Lord, her [Ink] of golden stripes luminous upon each forearm. Fitting, for a girthy [Spirit Tiger] walked at her side. “Lord,” her only word.
“Herb-waster. [Pill]-crafter. tal-heater,” sighed the Lord. “Speak now of far-flung lands, of promise and mystery that this wizened lord might be stirred to passion.”
This Lord is powerful without dispute, and this court seems to hold so rit in [Dao]. He speaks in the manner of monks and enlightennt, though wearied of it. Will no realm hold simple conversation?
Shuidi highlighted a second figure. Notable among thousands for her maroon plumage and proximity.
Her attention, rapt.
“...not solely of the Four Corners Prefecture,” waxed the cultivator. “In all lands, renowned. I would offer their genius, noble Lord. Riches. Alchemical complints to further your Path. A dewdrop from tis immortal, an ember of [Divine Fla], the Four Tiger Pill Society-”
Ash.
The second cultivator was summoned, and yet this was solely Fu’s perspective. He knew not the true total of souls spent for this Lord’s musings.
“...the rejuvenation of ours winds. As seeds scattered upon them, are not all things within reach. Better to na a desire, venerable Lord, that this humble rchant of the Golden Wind Association might better deliver it.”
His finger lifted. “Are words not the reflection of soul? In material offers, greed’s sickness shows well. How perverse humanity presents,” he sighed. “You, beasts, once-kin, shallow-pools. Empires taint you, for these thoughts are as charred kindling beneath the Path’s fla.”
Ash.
Fu fixed his attention upon the lesser Lord. Juvenile in appearance, but possessing of this tarnished cultivation. For each cultivator presented in ash her features sunk further. Crestfallen and dim.
More ca, and ash left. The count mattered little. Hundreds remained after an hour, and should he spend another, this would still ring true.
Yet, familiarity soon parted the crowd.
[Karma].
Her crimson robes, her fastening of bone-white hair, replete with bands of serpentine design. A woman of Heaven-crafted features. One of shared history, and now, confirmation.
Zheng Yifei. Victor of Fu’s first [Hollow Realm].
An Inner Disciple. See how it radiates from her.
The beasts stamred, cowing as Yifei advanced. A glide of silken fabrics, styled as a daxiushan. In slow procession, her titanic [Spirit Serpent] followed. But not in supplication or importance: both were afforded equal respect. Only space dictated their order.
“Another Lord walks. False-monarch. Hegemon of cattle with such purpose in stride. Are these coming words trimd in jade and leaf of lotus? Pray, do tell,” the Lord sighed.
Yifei swept through the ashen stains, stalling only when her crown was higher than the seated beast. “[Dull],” she said.
No [Dao] manifested, but the Lord ruffled.
Words of sure [Profundity] used as insult? Or does she inspire an [Epiphany] in the one before her? We are ever plagued by half stories.
The surrounding outrage was palpable, stirring the cascade of pools between every insulted [Spirit Beast].
Ash.
This, birthed in a nova of impossible maroon.
Such heat had Fu circulate his Qi, ensuring that his platform would not lt against it. A matter of seconds, after which Shuidi’s pride flourished.
Yifei did not so much as smoulder. “[Dull],” she repeated with enough disinterest to diminish a dragon.
The Lord’s chin lifted, no longer at lounge on his palm. His laugh was a raptor’s screech, flavoring the volcanic [Intent]. “False-monarch. No. Little-monarch. Fresh-hatched. Your sire’s stench persists, young snake. Wash clean before you challenge this wizened Lord.”
Silence washed as a breaker upon the shore.
Then, “[Wallow].”
A singularity burst from the throne, re-painting the world in sepia ink. It drowned all, collapsing a thousand bodies to their knees.
Within his [Spirit], Fu’s [Dao] churned. Dissipation, in contrast to the iron will of Yifei’s resistance. Her gestalt unbroken, as an Inner Disciple’s should be against even peerless beast and his insight into this.
Hushi impressed a gentle nudge, for the half-story had thickened.
Their sun-facing cousin arched a brow. “[Bur-” ca but one syllable, ceasing as her [Spirit Serpent] hissed. For a second disciple now tread by it, dipping his douli in respect once, and then twice as he drew abreast of Yifei.
Fu drew long of his pipe, posturing as any old monster might. “[Stagnation].”
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