-in other tomes of this series.

The [Trial] component is not as mystifying as idle gossip would have one believe. Only born of a nature of rarity, and circumstance.

Abundant resources, differing [Law of Origin], the availability of [Season], Qi density. But a few of the factors that contribute to the necessity of [Mystic Realm] maintenance.

Naturally, the control of a [Paifang[ is occluded by many of its own factors. Geographical location, political connection, [Heavenly Restriction]. As with all things below the Heavens, an extensive list prevails.

It is in the new that we discover that the practice of completion is still undertaken.

The oftentime uncommon sight where new [Paifang] will sprout, availing fresh lands for the citizens of the Empire to explore, and to be placed under great contest for ownership.

A wonder, yes, though one to be tempered with the realisation that another gateway in distant reaches, and darkened corners is now sealed.

Completed, with its gifts dispensed.

By the grace of our benefactor, the venerable [Cherry River Spear], we have compiled myriad speculations on the motivations behind such in the addendums.

Yet it is best trawled at the reader’s discretion, and must be noted that no offence to the righteous Sects that hold possession of the myriad [Paifang] is intended.

- “Beyond the Paifang, a collective work,” by the Quill House of [Cherry River Spear]

Myriad robes swayed in the rushing crowd ahead. Cultivators and their Bonds, a-glow, or simply richened by the exotic hues of fabric that clad them. In no way lessened by the [Paifang’s] sheen.

A screen of warbling Qi set amidst antiquated pillars, all in tones of pale blue.

The same tint evident in Fu’s mark ahead.

No voice bellowed across this well trafficked plaza of the Four Corners Prefecture to calm the potential stampede. Propriety held all in check, an expectation set that gave the slacking Warrior’s Association cultivators room to breath- and through this, room to feign some semblance of control.

Fu held his eyes on the man ahead, a Hong of little description. With a crowd of seventy at his shoulders, fore and rear, he thought himself well obscured. Yet diligence was key, and the Clouded Court Squads gave few names that would be surprised to find themselves under scrutiny.

As such, he slowed, and passed himself two bodies sidewards. Entering the [Paifang].

Hushi bristled beneath the douli once Fu’s feet met solid earth, prying himself free lest his midden turn stove.

Notes of pungent stench filled their next breath. Almost suffocating in fashion, as it was carried by a severity of heat not unlike a desert. Strange, then, that this [Mystic Realm] presented as a hilltop of flowering, scarlet blossoms and no parched land like his senses evoked.

The Qi, too, was like this. [Spring’s] flavour, a thing Fu had to adjust to, given how the world beyond was but one day from [Autumn].

Ahead the crowd parted, spreading from the [Paifang] to wander beneath the canopies in no measured direction. A wide net, for none would willingly share their spoils with another.

Fu found solace in this, in the predictable greed.

Of the myriad lesser

[Mystic Realms] within the city, the aged portals that were vaunted less as spectacle and more as adornments to rare street corner, he knew little of this one.

He took note of an errant few ahead, a more dishevelled sort, who leapt to lower branches to pluck bunched sprigs and stow them readily. Hong not among these, and marched forth, and up, towards a rising incline.

Hushi.

Impressing a notion to his Bond, Fu fell into imitation. He leapt into the lower branches, some ten foot high, and fingered the petals. The brace of them blocked sight of Hushi’s arms as they wove their patterns of [Air Qi], pulling a clarity of scent forth.

A drop of spirit citrus amidst the clotted thickness of burning.

Fu nodded in affirmation, and put his focus to the petals. Warm to the touch, on par with recently quashed kindling. He carelessly snapped a fledgling shoot, and several more, putting them in the pouch upon his belt before dismounting.

In a span of minutes he had pruned half a dozen pockets from half a dozen trees, and made his way further up the incline.

Here, a dishevelled cultivator stood. A nervous, dirtied man, with a leaf-green [Spirit Hare] at his feet. “An irregular [Season], this,” he muttered, half-addressing Fu. “It almost lends credence to the closures of the Cloudy Serpent Sect, does it not?”

“You are troubled?” asked Fu, noting how this man discarded his gains, flicking them to the ground.

“For the talentless that cling so close to the [Paifang’s] safety, yes.” A flinch came. “Such as I,” he quickly corrected, rambling as though it might save him from some perceived slight. “The uncertainty drives many to harvest as quickly as they might, not limited solely to those who depend on the tael such gathering provides.”

“[Spirit Cores] hold a greater bounty,” suggested Fu.

The man frowned. “Leaves do not have teeth with which to bite.” He turned over his palm, showing dim welts where the petals marked his skin. “[Wood Qi] is no lover of this place.”

At this, Fu smiled. “Your family is blessed, to have such a diligent father.”

“You are kind, stranger,” returned the man, his face muddled with confusion. “But, I am unsure if we have met? How would you know of my family?”

“Why else would your hands be as they are?” he said, signalling his farewell.

The exchange spent moments where Fu did not have to stand idle, nor feign further gathering. It put an acceptable distance between he and Hong, who had broken into a light run to fly across the grasses.

An unbeaten trail upwards, where the distance between trunks only grew.

Fu put himself to the canopies once more, leaping in two bounds to have him balanced on the tallest point. Leaping again. The passage of time- the eight contracts spread over a span of near two weeks - this was not wasted.

With a burst from [Half Cloud Step], he arrived atop the next peak, his foot placed down on a space no wider than the sole itself. A sway sounded, a bowing as petals and branch alike adjusted to his weight. Yet his [Teal Supple Physique] was as air, and had his arrival no louder than a light gust of passing wind.

Three blossoms were passed. Nine soon after, where his [Half Cloud Step] worked in longer bursts, and near on to the thirtieth. Upon which he stood.

Ever under the cowl of his [Clouded Ghost Arts], he still grew wary. Hong’s passage likewise stalled.

A low, warning rumble surfaced from the stretch of grasses ahead. The slope, now thinned of much of its canopy, and covered instead by waist-high grains. No sight to command a pause alone, but for the contents.

Both men saw an approach of flame-licked fur, a curled sort that framed a distended, fanged head. A guardian lion, or three, enveloped in cobalt tongues and barking their protests to an invasion of their territory.

Hong primed the axe at his hip, adopting a stance that had it levered flat aside his head. “Let us see if you are worthy of such threats!” he yelled.

This man enjoys the sound of his own voice.

A [Dao Principle] burst across Hong’s axe, a set of golden characters that had the edge emit a low hum. “Approach, beasts,” he cried once more, and the [Spirit Lions] surged.

With [Might] and his [Senses] in concert, Fu could barely track the swiftness of their motion. Instead, he caught the wake of their blaze. Their envelopment of flames that raged for feet around their entire forms.

He measured Hong’s reaction, for it would form his next steps.

The grass remained whole in their passage, immune to the [Fire Qi], but bent as they streamed in formation. One leapt to engage, which Hong met with a slamming axehead, a dissuasion to send it reeling. In this space, however, the other two crossed paths.

Looping, and flanking to oppress his either side.

Hong rounded, unearthing his [Dao]. An unexpected conjuration of streaks that tore the forepaws of the lunging pair. As though the flesh was pushed between the strings of a keen-edged guzheng.

They roared, stumbled without the aid of limbs, and were met by a horizontal chop that sheared clean through both.

But in this motion Hong fell prey to the third. With awareness of the axehead’s danger, the remaining [Spirit Lion] sealed its jaws tight around his forearm.

And wrenched.

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So too did Hong, to his detriment. A stump came free, well tattered where wrist and hand should be. He proved himself an expert then, blowing back with no cry or stutter, separating by a sudden backhand.

Fu dropped the equivalent of a flight, his sound cushioned by an incensed snarl from the fray below.

Hong conjured his [Dao] as the beast rampaged forth. But it dodged, deftly, negotiating around the appearing energy to-

The [Stifling Stream Revolutions] crunched a foot sidelong into its jaw.

The beast careened, and ignited further. No longer inches above, but an immersion that lashed hungrily for metres on end.

[Half Cloud Step].

Under the suffusion of [Air Qi], Fu blurred, narrowly taking Hong to the ground as flames lapped forth. The man came to his feet within a heartbeat, and tread back in time with Fu as the [Spirit Lion] paced warily beyond.

A stench of burnt hair was present, born of Hong’s charred robes and one side where he had not escaped unmarred. Ashen trails through the thickened blood of his stump. His features showed conflict, warring between surprise and consternation. “It is shameful, but this beast has me caught unawares-”

Good will could be fostered here.

“Forgive me, friend,” interrupted Fu. “I lost my footing in the branches above.”

Hong inclined his head, a half-gaze put upon the snarling [Spirit Beast] twenty strides distant. In place of speech, an ivory [Spirit Lizard] surfaced on his neck. An [Art] already underway.

Before Fu’s eyes the tatters of flesh were invigorated by [Life Qi], and he watched a visceral tapestry reform the cultivator’s arm to whole.

The toll of Qi will not be small for this. That bodes well.

“As atonement for interrupting your hunt, I would lend what aid I can,” said Fu. [Half Cloud Step] then removed any concern of a reply, as he blurred to the beast’s flank. His chain struck out moments later, carving a dozen shallow grooves as he moved.

His [Wind Phantom Strides] lashed in their first and second formations, blowing Hushi along their length. An exterior force of [Air Qi] clad his arms, and he landed to wind about the [Spirit Lion], impressing his [Dao of Suffocation].

The flames dampened, putting their foe in a greater rage. It thrashed, and rolled, unable to extend its neck towards any part of Hushi.

“Put yourself clear,” yelled Hong, who now leapt skyward with his recently recovered axe. It glowed with the same [Dao Principle] as before, the edge awash with a golden sheen.

Fu impressed his intent to Hushi, who swiftly retracted his arms.

Hong descended with meteoric speed, slicing his axe down to produce triplicates of the cut. Three phantom lines at the fore his weapon to shear where Hushi had left but a heartbeat before, leaving naught but gory sections of their flaming foe.

There came a jubilant noise for their victory. Hong’s chuckle. “A peak [Foundation Realm] beast was not in my expectations,” he called.

Here, Fu caught him flinch. Confused, or curious as to why the fisherman was not where he had stood moments before. In fact, he spun, his axe primed in defence.

When the chain’s hook entered his jaw, and all the tenderness above, his concern quickly disappeared. Hong slumped, thumping the ground as his [Spirit Lizard] faded. A slow burn, this time, where the specks of its ivory Qi seemed to linger.

Fu released a breath, stowing the chain in his storage ring. Another notice from the Contribution Hall, complete. Whatever he ought to feel, it did not come. Nor did words, either for eulogy or remorse.

Instead he moved to the [Spirit Lion], and put his [Might] into collecting several teeth. All save for one, stowed in his storage. Hushi moved in the periphery with similar intent, desecrating the corpses for [Spirit Cores] with winding, internal arms.

No less than this is required.

Fu plunged a fang into Hong. Once where his hook had sunk, disguising any entry it may have made, and again across the body. The chest, scored, the arms, torn, the robes - put to further tatters.

For he was nothing if not diligent.

🀧

The Contribution Exchange was common to Fu now. The attitude of the crotchety senior that staffed it, was otherwise.

A repressed smile.

“Junior Gao Fu,” he mused. Holding the name in strange regard. “Third place in initiation has left you hungry, it seems.”

“I do what the Sect requires.”

What makings of a smile held in the man’s features, faded.

Fu splayed his day’s offerings across the counter, emptying a cascade of claw-tips, fur, and teeth alongside Hong’s axe and the three [Spirit Cores].

The completion of the contract required no slip to be exchanged, no proof of notice nor any tangible trail that Fu was the bearer. Objectives and their pertaining information remained with the confines of the Contribution Exchange, lest tragedy have wayward papers escape into the wider city.

The Senior here was not reliant on such things either.

“Peak [Foundation Realm] materials. In slivers. You offer grains of rice and name it a feast? Bah.” The senior had his fingers steepled, and with a bare flex of his fingertip had the materials vanish. Whisked away by [Spatial Qi}. “How will you redeem the points?”

Fu dipped his head. “This junior has a request.”

A disinterested hum followed.

“My [Tyranny] is to begin come tomorrow, and if able I would ask that my Contribution Points be awarded then.”

“You think yourself worthy of my memory, Gao Fu? No,” grunted the senior.

“Apologies. This junior will no longer ask such questions.” A warmth entered Fu’s arm, his [Array], as he crossed the room, putting himself before the Contribution Board once more.

Hundreds of pinned parchments lined the wall, myriad tasks upon them. With the progression of his reading, he held some skill in deciphering each. Though he knew it was a shameful span of moments he took, where others might know in a glance.

The leftmost edge of the wall held his attention. The spectrum’s start as the notices only ascended in difficulty and complexity the further one went right.

He put his finger to one, a [Foundation Realm] task of which there were few. Single names inscribed in characters for most, and the folly of other assignments. The balance of worthless morality; scouting, the gathering of intelligence, base theft.

Time intensive. A waste where debt was concerned.

Fu stroked along three parchments, arriving on… Footsteps approached, where the presence of this sound alone spoke volumes.

A set of two, if his [Senses] were trained enough to tell.

[Half Cloud Step].

The cowl of his [Clouded Ghost Arts] was not proficient enough to escape the senior’s notice, but as Fu cleared the vertical distance to the Contribution Hall’s roof, nothing was said. Only a shake of the head.

Hushi unfurled, spooling down Fu’s arm to where his finger’s held a lip of the wall’s facade. A trim beneath semi-ornate stone, naturally, sporting a design of serpents. Around which, the real serpents nested.

The pests scattered at Hushi’s approach, and Fu trailed sideways until he was poised above the hall’s solitary entrance.

The Sunset Venom has claimed some of their number.

Darshan entered at the fore of another cultivator. His march, irreverent. Loud. He voiced a scoff, striding to the middle of the displayed parchments. “Liang, you would do well to find us a suitable mission.”

When Fu touched down to their rear, it was a silent affair. A light drop that had his feet arch, lending well to the following strides that carried him out.

🀧

The title of stooge, as named by Senior Baizhou,

had a brief reprieve. His elevation from Initiate affording a mere two days where he could not be challenged by any below his station.

Fu had put little attention to the original number of Initiates, knowing only that the inter-disciple contests had lessened of late. Those he could not reasonably avoid.

He put the matter from his mind, and conjured his [Contribution Array].

The second summon followed the first. As ever.

Inlaid scales upon his arm, coiled in falsehood. The [Three Eyed Spying Array]. “The future grows dimly brighter, does it not, Hushi?”

His octopus tightened fondly.

Fu crossed the Clouded Court Squad’s rooftop, settling in a familiar nook. Squired well away from the few [Air Qi], or composite [Affinity] disciples that shared in his actions.

The hour was late, darkening, and a burgeoning [Autumnal] presence had the air feel cool, despite [Summer’s] lingering hold. Marking the count of hours until his connection to the Qi was severed.

Warily, he retrieved two items from his spatial storage. A flex of will having them arrive in the palm of his hand. A cloth-bound cut of bamboo, the first, and a long-held treasure, his second. A [Qi Condensation Pill].

“It begins again,” he warned Hushi. But the octopus knew well, and held himself slack as Fu adopted the lotus position. Swallowing the pill, and clamping his jaw tight around the bamboo.

The first threshold is almost reached. Beyond gathering Qi, I must pass it before my session is over.

Fu’s [Dantian] churned not moments after the pill entered his stomach. With his eyes held as firmly shut as his teeth, he put his look inwards.

The ingress for his Qi was no determinable, physical place. He felt most attuned to a link with Hushi, for he was the filter. But this was a general thing, unspecified by location. This was the sensation he was used to.

A draw, where his [Ink[ grew hot and [Air Qi] flooded his [Dantian] and [Channels].

However the [Qi Condensation Pill] forced an expansion somewhere that he could not place. Another general thing, having Fu feel immediately queasy.

The gaseous Qi was winding into him as usual, yet at a rate that beggared disbelief. For every morsel he might normally draw, it seemed a twofold, or threefold force now took its place. A tide where droplets were before.

Within several heartbeats his capacity was reached, and the breeze within his [Dantian] suddenly tightened. As though thrust into a smaller container inside the greater. It cleared space, beginning the process once more.

A further draw.

A further condensation.

Eight times.

Rivulets of sweat and severe discomfort distracted Fu’s external body, but he held his focus despite scarcely believing the effect of this low-grade alchemy.

Hushi. It is now.

His [Air Qi] was a squall within him, and so he took hold. Fu drove the stockpile throughout each of his [Channels], reaching the [Meridian] he cleansed some days after his inauguration. The lungs. A controlling center beside his many other organs, and most prevalent. As now he surged the [Air Qi] through each, further suffusing his flesh until the energy bypassed muscle and blood, taking hold around his bones.

Being of no mathematical bearing, he loosely gauged his progress as a mere fifth.

Aided by the pill, Fu knit a fine weave around a segment of his spine. One link in a chain of bones that he could still not fathom the total of. This weave coalesced as a dense spiral, well practised by way of his [Stifling Stream Revolutions]. Here, it became a noose.

Fu’s mantra rose.

No less than this is required.

And he clamped tight with enough force to shatter the bone.

Hushi’s mental presence touched upon his own, and the fisherman ceded full control of the [Air Qi]. An admirable feat, for the pain was indescribable. Fragments strayed within the Qi’s embrace with sharpened edges, pushed by the force of breakage to embed in internal places where no object should be lodged.

His Bond shared such trauma, magnifying the pain on the periphery of his own consciousness. Yet he continued. Uniquely suited for this practice, for no mirroring of [Bone Refinement] could be done upon him.

With few faculties remaining, Fu put his mind to the drool slobbing down his jaw. The taste of soggy, clotted cloth between his teeth. The lolling of his tongue. Or his back. The tiles of the roof that embraced him.

Yuling. Yuqi. Feng.

How they would tread this path once their journeys through [Harmony] were complete.

The bone within him suddenly wrenched, Hushi’s control of the [Air Qi] having formed a lattice of spirals. They crossed, and wound tighter, radiating the energy into each fragment as they were collected and drawn closer together. Knit, and joined.

Mended.

Refined.

Sensation returned to Fu’s spine as the bones were made whole once more, and with it came the fresh pain of all that was dulled. White-hot and raw. He searched for Hushi, absently putting a hand to the supple form by his side.

An impression of concern only growing.

“The day is fading, brother,” he winced. “And we have much to do. Continue.”