A Martial God once walked in the form of the True Golden Demon.
A Goddess of External Arts once walked in the form of the Empress Above All.
These were not given by the [Dao], but the people. Monikers from legend.
To be nad as such by the [Boundless Dao] requires but one thing, and it shall ever escape those that seek it.
“Registered Nas of the Clear Sky,” an excerpt.
Material properties and their nature as ascribed by Qi density could be reduced to mortal terms. This was not to say Fu could not understand the series of tos that had passed his hand, but as with the [Dao] it was a boon that he might condense such vast knowledge into singular concepts.
“The venerable carpenter states here a useful passage,” he explained, channeling external [Air Qi] to hold the pages from tearing. “...in antithesis, Gu. Where this is absence, all experts conclude that Qi is substance. To follow from this one must consider how unplucked resources might ascend when saturated in higher densities. A branch grows no more when severed from the trunk, where the latter continues. Fundantals as covered in previous tos.”
A long-haired [Spirit Hound] had collapsed on the Path, having Fu step around she and her cultivator both.
The wind tried hard to blow his to over the edge.
“Disparate properties. Yes, this is the passage.”
Shuidi impressed patience. A beast knew these things intrinsically, if not the terms that scribes used to catalogue them.
“...if it is substantial relies on personal context, for no tric exists outwith [Law of Origin] grading for the density or applicable grade of realms. [Mortal], [Foundation], and the varying stages of [Core Formation]. But, the promising carpenter might consider first their own position upon the scale. This humble artisan often uses the forest’s bane for example,” Fu continued. “A fla is a fla, but not to all. [Light Qi], [Heat Qi], [Fire Qi] are its natural substantive composites and yet with lacking saturation - and laterally - purity, it will not brighten, warm nor burn all hands.”
A flick of will had the to vanish as Fu considered his reading.
“Fundamantal indeed.”
Small manifested wisps of the Old One spoke beside him. “Doubtless, Ban Bingbai knows this. Viewpoints. To shift perspective and consideration. These are the lessons between inked word.”
To consider the disparity between materials when exposed to differing Qi densities? Or to consider the possibility?
Fu put his indulgence to the side, endeavouring not to blind himself of the task at hand. For the prior dozen li he had rely taken advantage of the calm.
Ahead lay a different beast.
The [Loneso Wind God] trial was, reportedly, that of ascension. A commonality well overused across the Jianghu given the symbolism between rising in power and moving physically upward.
Shuidi glared derisively at seven more collapsed cultivators before they reached a wider plateau, if only an outcropping where more than one hundred bodies might sit before continuing the perilous path higher.
“Another pilgrim,” carried a feminine voice on the wind.
Many ditative cultivators sat with their fronts to the expansive ocean below, save for the twin figures ahead that looked ready to progress.
While he had learned much from the beggar he was no assassin today.
“Fellow pilgrims,” Fu greeted, clasping his hands.
“Pilgrim,” the two said in turn.
They bore loose, white robes emblazoned with blue petals, the quality of which could not belong to any major faction.
“A good [Autumn] brings change, I hope you both find what you seek,” he offered, breathing deep of the breeze. “Do you seek the top?”
Of near juvenile appearance, the excitent of these two disciples was palpable. “It is our Sect’s rite of inauguration. We must pass the second rest to reach the outer sect. The fourth if we wish to prove our talent.”
Fu smiled, greeting their [Spirit Falcons] as they ca to roost. “Four of eight is admirable, young disciples. Again, I wish you fortune.”
A single step beyond them drew a gasp.
“This master cultivator travels with such ease!” exclaid the second.
The winds had increased from breath to blow.
“Is this why you pause?” Fu asked, gesturing airily.
Both disciples hung their heads. “The second rest is distant. Roaming Petal Hall requires resilience of its disciples, and we would not discredit its lessons with failure.”
Gentle impressions surfaced from Hushi, prompting the douli to lift.
“My partner would ask a thing, fellow pilgrims. To this, there is no wrong answer,” Fu said. Under subtlety, Hushi expanded his [Senses] over the pair. Disciples so fresh in their Path could scarce mask their intentions with unrefined [Spirit].
Shock wiped excitent from their expressions. “These humble initiates will answer as best they can.”
Their [Spirit] held no malice, nor pride.
“[When wind ets mountain, does it break]?” intoned Shuidi’s [Profundity]-laced words. Said purposefully, said slowly, that these youths might conclude the answer without plumting over the cliffside in [Epiphany].
It was never word or arrangent that delivered insight, but aning. The essence of understanding transmitted in boundless gold.
Indeed, Zhu had once told certain Wayward Wind’s disciples “An axe is sharp,” to receive peace from their inquiries.
Fu pressed both gently to the main rockface, and they instinctually folded into the lotus position. “May your Paths be interesting, fellow pilgrims. Further opportunity will await you at the fourth rest. See that you make it there.”
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Breath to blow.
Blow to budge.
Budge to bludgeon.
Gale.
Tempest.
A cultivator of [Air Qi] should hold more words for wind, and yet a lack of description did not cease the seventh rest’s adversity.
Words were stolen before Fu could speak them. Two dawns had passed since his last.
This trial was of Heaven’s fury.
Of gales to part vast oceans, scour continents and whisk free a mountain’s roots. In another [Season] might dilute the rage with [Pull], drawing the maelstrom of pure [Air Qi] into his [Core].
[Autumn] denied that with its tyranny.
Fu’s chain thrust forth.
Slash. Parry. Twist.
Step.
“Insight should not be traded for [Prowess],” impressed Shuidi.
The mory of these winds will not easily fade. Few heaven sent opportunities could be as rewarding for our martial Path. To spar with the storm itself.
Perhaps he could call his [Dao] to arrive at the peak, but that would temper little. So his chain flew and so his step advanced.
Margins, blown back two for every five he stole as the rotation of his [Wind Phantom Strides] proved insufficient to dampen the wind wholly, His efforts were no more than string cast into a storm.
His [Senses] spoke of a thousand, thousand violent ribbons that intersected cut and battle against the other. Against it, the chain swept sidelong or vertical, rearwards and curled. It harkened back to his previous insight.
No [Dao of Four Horizons] nor fledgling [Dao of Reach], but that of [Wayward Breezes].
The wind raged with each subsequent step. Fu gripped tight his chain, returning it to rest. He did not know how far he had co, nor the distance yet to be crossed.
To overco this adversity we must return to our foundation. Let us follow the path of our progress until once more we can embrace this storm.
Amidst the unforgiving gale, Fu and Hushi stalled.
Shuidi’s net of [Senses] expanded around them, impressing her instinct the myriad lashing ribbons.
The first form was a simplicity of throws.
Thus he threw.
Thus Hushi leapt in support, weaving between his wind-blown misses.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Instinct chased the air’s current that this strike might be bolstered with its given haste: such was the initiate’s understanding of the [Wind Phantom Strides]. To progress higher was to learn their coercion.
Ten, twenty, forty, eighty tis his martial form went wayward. And these infantile numbers only grew across his ascent.
The wind tore against his [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud].
One hundred and eighty six.
Damaging.
Four hundred and nineteen.
Reaping.
[Inner Qi] cycled.
One thousand and three.
As ever, his chain scread sidelong.
But both cultivator and [Spirit Octopus] had reached their rhythm, entering martial equilibrium against the harrowing grindstone of these incessant winds.
Fu’s vision gleaned this maddened lattice of intersecting ribbons, and through it, he lashed.
His chain sailed forth, cracking like a wind-buffetted sail. Again to his rear. Once more to his fore - his side, inverted, looped, snaked, circuited - hitherto wayward strikes channeled the tempest’s current about it.
Not against.
Then to his chest the chain’s head held firm, cycling in his grip as neater strikes began. Plunges, slashes, counters and thrusts. For each step taken Fu would skirt the thrashing ribbons, and perhaps [Might], [Control] or [Constitution] spirited him away upon the storm itself.
A spectral dance from near to far and near once more, blurring across cliffside and sky with such speed he was certain he saw spectres of himself in his wake.
The Fatherly [Asura] did not grin in triumph for these steps were yet wayward.
A vestige of his prior path and experience.
We are no longer the loose tether. All we have weathered pushes at our back. The destination is that of our making.
Thunderous gusts defied this notion at its very thought, tearing a fist of spectral flesh from his [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud].
Another panged an imnsity of pain from Hushi.
Upon the screaming zephyr there ca a challenge. The resonance of a dare carried throughout the thousand, thousand cutting ribbons, as though the Heavens themselves were gleeful at this fool’s attempt to wrest the storm.
When Fu’s blade danced next he found himself a li from the cliffside.
Adrift in gales.
A second li ca at the next, multiplying faster than his heart might pound.
“This Gao Shuidi thinks it is the Heavens that dare! To deliver such a dangerous wind is no folly but theirs.”
Fu tightened his grip, intent on the path that only grew more distant, and slashed.
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The serenity set his skin ablaze in warning.
“Amituofo, pilgrim. This wind-swept seeker welcos you to the peak.”
Fu’s mask was not donned, thus the monastic Vajra woman suffered no blade to her neck. She received a low bow in its place. “Sister pilgrim,” he t. “This humble cultivator welcos your hospitality.”
Here jutted the cliff’s final edge, though to what lay below even his [Pale Mists Hegemony] could not peirce. Only the vague accumulation of myriad clouds severed the seventh and eighth rests with their presence, resting as seal between undeniable tempest and the breathy touch of the pinnacle’s grounds.
Hushi crawled to the cusp, ruminating on the vastness about them.
His cultivator entered the lotus beside him.
[Wind Phantom Strides]
[Earthly Ascension] [Early] attained.
Control 80, Push 60, Might 60
More followed.
[Clouded Ghost Arts]
[Earthly Ascension] [Middle] attained.
Control 100, Capacity 60, Push 100
The gifts were nurous.
[Dao of Four Horizons]
[Third Pool] [Middle] attained.
Insight 90, Control 90, Senses 60, Push 40
Fu had reached an accord with the wind. Through martial technique he had expressed his will to the Heavens.
Eleven days later and the peak had been reached.
Eleven days.
They looked upon the eleventh sunrise, Shuidi cresting his shoulder that she might partake of all its warmth.
It was a rarity that they would shiver. Not solely from a cultivator’s refine physique or [Constitution], but another vestige of the hardened fisherman he had once been. But so strange instinct had the trio search for what heat they might muster.
Here stands the shrine of a god, and what greater testant could there be than the perplexity of Heaven’s skies before us?
Their thoughts stilled in concert.
A mont to observe the wind-shorn tatters he once called hanfu. That, and the anemic flow of his [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud].
The inherent [Profound Wind Qi Resistance] of his cultivation had proved no greater than a leper’s shawl against this… challenge. Yet it only affird that which he was determined to tread - the realms of immortality.
[Autumn] cruelly forbid a replenishnt of his [Inner Reserves], and to his [Senses] the peak seed barren from [Tyranny] though he knew it to be false.
He drew from stored poison instead, fleshing out his wisps.
“Perhaps this God is slothful,” scoffed Shuidi. “No shrine stands where we might make respects. This Gao Shuidi would not touch the sea and claim it hers, so why does this long-passed cultivator do the sa?”
Laughter sounded from the Vajra behind.
“Apologies, fellow pilgrim,” called Fu.
“The wind has many truths,” she laughed, tying back her moonlight-hued braids. A vast, curling serpent was coloured the sa upon her forehead [Ink], though of no breed that Fu could recognize.
“Even still, not all ears wish to hear them.”
Shuidi bristled at the chastisent. “This Gao Shuidi does not insult the Vajra. Do not make words for , Gao Fu.”
Again the woman laughed. Her teeth were curiously pointed.
“You are right, Shuidi. I am not your mouthpiece,” he smiled. “Fellow pilgrim, though no mistake has been made, might I ask to join you? The road was long and company is ever a soothing balm.”
Her hand suggested to the open space, and Fu joined her respectfully.
“I am Gao Fu,” he said. “My partners are Gao Hushi and Gao Shuidi.” With a small flick he manifested high-quality water, stoppered in a clay jug.
[Air Qi] stirred it within the container.
“This wind-swept seeker is just so. Amituofo, for civility she might be nad as such.”
Fu poured her a saucer, but did not enforce its consumption. Instead he viewed her with mortal [Senses], expanding only his assassin’s observation. Perhaps it was prideful, but those that might reach the peak of this trial were not of common stock.
Her [Spirit Beast] is not present, neither can I detect her realm. Pilgrim or guardian? If she is a part of this great trial I cannot say, only that she is no re monk.
A pilgrim might ask on the shrine’s location, for the beggar he had questioned knew only the briefest of histories.
No tale of [Inheritances].
At the woman’s side however, he felt it would be improper.
Three hours passed in ditative breath and in amiable silence. He could not guess her intent, though if she shared his own then they would soon be in competition.
Shuidi mused that the Vajra did not move for this reason.
Hushi disputed that there was much insight to glean even without an obvious path towards the [Loneso Wind God’s] true location.
Fu rely enjoyed the respite.
“Wind-swept seeker,” he asked, drawing his pipe. “Do you mind?”
Her smile gave assent.
Puffs of [Mist Qi] drifted from his spout. Wide clouds at first, directed by his will so they would not spill onto the Vajra’s skin. He refined them in several breaths, weaving a story of patterns to erge.
“Amituofo, a pleasant sight, fellow pilgrim,” she said, fetching a cloud-made ship within a breeze at her palm. “A denser sort, this one. Shrouded as if the [Boundless Dao] hold it in regard.”
Fu birthed more. “I cannot speak for the [Boundless Dao], but in prior lives I knew much of boats and sailing.”
The woman released it.
Light breezes stole the boat far over the cliffside so that it might chase all his other creations into open sky.
“Is this how Gao Fu knows the wind?”
If this Vajra held any part in the trial, would she not ask such a question?
“It would be easy, perhaps, to agree with your words. That the wind holds many truths, such as all things do,” he said.
Her hand reached the saucer, and she drank deeply.
Shuidi was now free to sip her own, as was proper.
Wisps from his pipe revealed more succinctly what Fu could not with words, and so he puffed before the monk’s rapt attention. At first ca an unconcerted fugue of white and teal, drifting as no more than a blanketing mass.
But this sharpened.
From this fugue he conjured a hundred baying ribbons, allowing them to dance unfettered by any constraints. The scene continued in waywards drifts. One ribbon snapping taught at a ti, if never in sequence.
He gathered more from four misty horizons.
He hid one lesser ribbon amongst the natural mass, never to be distinguished.
He ensnared other strands with this sa.
His ribbons waxed.
Then did Fu’s finger twitch, and the scene was imdiately that of ten thousand more, masking his ribbon beneath them all. This strand propagated and consud, however, it did not deplete the wind.
No, he showed the larger scene expand once more. Ten thousand, thousand- myriad uncountable streams that depleted and re-shaped, ceaselessly changing and graduating into a network that spanned all beneath Heaven.
At tis his ribbon submitted and at tis it was revealed.
Though he did not linger on these monts, Fu, Hushi and Shuidi ensured that the remnants of it continued ever onward.
“Amituofo. A joy to know another’s insight. This wind-swept seeker extends her gratitude to those of the Gao.” She returned the saucer. “Secondary blessings. Few that reach this peak offer nourishnt. Many offer treasures, many more offer the blade.”
Fu’s lips grew thin. “Many? Have you occupied this peak long?”
“This wind-swept seeker cos and goes. A breeze does not stay in one place too long, no?” she chuckled. “Secluded views are hard to co across in these turbulent tis, and there are… mories here I would not forget.”
The wind spared a subtle, mournful howl, as if to grieve the woman. Possessing the radiant, unblemished form of a peak cultivator oft hid the weariness of myriad years. Only now did Fu see the great age of her, hidden behind pristine flesh.
“These words are sad, fellow pilgrim, yet my ears are willing to hear more.”
Her chuckle barked out. “Amituofo, that is kind, Gao Fu. The Heavens are cruel indeed, because this wind-swept seeker has cause to believe you. None climb this peak for enjoynt. A cultivator’s greed is absolute, for you seek the [Loneso Wind God’s] true [Inheritance], no? What words can be believed when such a motive drives them?”
A mont passed.
Hushi poured another saucer.
She pushed it aside. “No, Gao Hushi. Amituofo. This seeker’s heart is too broken to trust. Neither will you find what you seek in what words might co. The [Inheritance] is not here, nor with whom you speak.”
Fu smiled, pushing it back. “What [Inheritance] of wind might be found upon a cliffside of stone? My ti is short, fellow pilgrim, so I will not force the issue. Your woes are your own and my ear is neither balm nor cure. rely, where I co from we say that no house can stand on one pillar. Please, drink, and then we will be on our way.”
The woman took another sip, standing thereafter. “The [Loneso Wind God], Ji Hakdo. You are unlike him, Gao Fu. That will not aid you in his [Trial]. Amituofo. May the [Autumn] wind carry you far.”
Sothing crashed against the cliffside by Fu’s crossed legs.
Shuidi’s saucer likewise shattered.
Of the three, only Hushi was unphased. The most stalwart even before such a scene.
For at the cliff’s edge grew a flowing tail of enormous feathers, elongating like that of a vast serpent. Scales followed, of a resplendent oscillating rainbow hue the likes of which transcended what colours Fu thought he had known.
A true serpent of the Clouded Courts sat agape, knowing that what took flight before him was no kin of his.
The once-Vajra descended, resting on a bed of the very currents that previously sought to tear him asunder as she looked back without concern. Arcs of lightning lanced between her many horns, whiskers, feathers and scales as she uttered a final phrase. “Journey West, clan of the Gao. To where the wind once bent its knee for one alone. There will you find what you seek.”
Fu scratched his whisker. “Beneath Heaven, there is such a thing. A…”
“A dragon.”
“A dragon,” gasped Shuidi.
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