Religion? Once, but no longer.

What room has it where brazen souls wage war against the Heavens?

Ah, the path against the Heavens.

Rage the path against the Heavens.

Tread it. Find it. Seek it. Variations on the same truth that deliver us to the Dao. Ancestors be damned.

As mentioned in previous pages, the first of the One Hundred and Eight. Not the venerable First, of which there was, and only shall ever be two. But the predecessors of millennium passed, beyond the annals of recorded word where Qi-touched ink has long since faded, whence stood the ideals of a Daoist.

In a near-familiar tongue.

Wuwei.

Action through inaction.

A step towards the Dao- leading to the second tenet. Unity. The third, Perfection. Sound in philosophy, if perplexing for the uninitiated.

But this brought with it their culture.

The simple way.

Abandonment of the self so they might better know the Dao.

Cleanliness of the living soul.

Mendicancy. Wisdom. Charity. Selflessness. Ponderance. Perfection.

To look upon the passing, ancient Vajra, would these raging cultivators not see in them the way? Would they not enquire on that long forgotten messiah- the name of which is no longer spoken, and butchered even by ‘this learned Master’, the Bu Da, - and try twist such methods for their own progress?

With the prolificity of the One Hundred and Eight, in skill, in population, in spread and in effect, it is no Heavenly mystery to why it took hold as it has.

Now, dear reader, let me tell you how far it has spoiled.

- “Propagating Profundity,” by [Foulest Trigram Sage]

Needles jabbed by, fixed just beneath Niharika’s knuckles. Or so it seemed. To Fu they mirrored tiger’s claws, and he mused that this be some form of her trained technique. He curled from the blows, one pace to have him topple from the horizontal beam.

Of his own volition.

For this flash of footwork brought the bridge of his foot to the corner, where he bounded, and rebounded from the next step of beams some few paces away. An adaptation of the next set of his [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

Named sets, and motions, since Grandmother Hua’s intervention. A boon that would allow his [Prowess] to increase, now he had a wealth of content to commit to memory.

Here he enacted Canvassing Their Empty Sky, with the aforementioned adaptation including the environment around him. Fu’s bound tore him around Niharika’s rear only to have his foot thrust upwards in snap.

His comrade’s needles were unable to counter in the crossguard that rose, and Fu rushed into the created space beneath her block.

[Air Qi] was rising in a shallow stream upon his limbs, cladding-

Yunhan’s [Intent] flared in a singular pulse.

The Initiates stalled in motion, as if no longer flesh but poised clay statues. A state that was precarious granted the arena’s floor held no more breadth than two soles a-breast.

Some combination of [Control] and experience allowed Fu’s foot to return flat as the secondary force washed out. This, a more cruel wave of [Dao] and familiar rushing willow.

He saw the punitive [Array] flare across their beam, a quiver of wood where tendrils formed, and ran in their direction. So he held his pause, and his [Clouded Ghost Arts] despite half-pants of effort and the subsiding Qi above his clothing.

Niharika showed to be in a similar state, but rubbed her aching wrists where his foot had only just connected.

The quiver bypassed them, as did dozens across the surrounding beams. But they stilled after several moments with but a tentative wriggle at the dissipating streams near Fu.

Ahead, his comrade put a question to him. A slight gesture of brow before she dropped to a lower beam. Their reward for thwarting the [Array], and one step closer to ground, which he promptly followed.

Both eager to put the previous two dozen above them.

By the time their morning’s training had concluded Fu was in dire need of water. The cumulative efforts of such exertion and the cultivation aspect of his technique doing well to parch his mouth and have his veins replaced by sand.

“Hushi,” he said, pushing a bamboo scoop towards his Bond. The octopus unceremoniously took it, dousing much of the contents down Fu’s face. He had no need of water, nor a means to drink, but time spent in Yunhan’s infernal pit had his teal less vibrant for dryness.

As the water gushed down his front, Fu pushed out a refreshed breath. Moving to kneel before his Senior, as Niharika had.

“Gao Fu’s actions held weakness there,” he said. “Expand on it.” Eagerly, the fisherman looked to his Sister. A statement such as this might wound a prideful man, but Fu was far from such things.

Neither was Yunhan’s instruction guided by any malice.

“The progress Gao Fu has made in his technique is yet to be controlled. Those on the path of [Body] cultivation have no means of affecting any generated external Qi. As such the [Clouded Ghost Arts] cannot suppress the signature.”

Yunhan nodded. “Your footwork [Art] has a similar disadvantage. But this is known to you, as we have discussed.”

“Yes, senior.”

“The chain technique you learn has similar limitations,” he continued. “State your observations of Niharika.”

Fu looked softly at his companion. Silence was an effective roadblock, and as such he had not fully gauged her personality. But beneath Yunhan’s gaze he almost felt secure enough to speak as he pleased.

These are dangerous thoughts, and I will not forget myself. I will not forget that these are the holdings of my captors.

“Sister Niharika has yet to show any of her own [Arts],” commented Fu, in kinder words than many might use.

Yunhan showed mild disappointment. “Niharika,” he turned. “Gao Fu thinks criticism to be callous, it seems. Where you lack is opposite to Gao Fu, though the solution is the same. He suffers from uncomplimentary foundations for a member of the Clouded Court Squads. You suffer from no foundation at all.”

A fable then surfaced.

Cascading sands drew attention to the pit’s center, some paces ahead. A bulge of Yunhan’s onyx [Spirit Serpent] in swollen form, the leviathan of glinting scales.

With no exchange of words given, Fu mused that his senior was impressing a command, or a plea on the creature. Unless their bond was so great that mere intent could be sensed, and then acted upon.

The [Ink] beneath Yunhan’s many wrappings spilled forth a blackened miasma, enough to encapsulate his entire arm. And across, the same shroud took hold on the serpent. Its form reduced. A tightening and pulsating weave soon condensing, leaving a woman in its place.

Yunhan was at her side in a move that had escaped Fu’s notice, where a second sight now showed, less awesome than the first. He drew several cloaks free from a [Spatial] ring upon his index, much the same as Luo had so long ago. Yet it was simply inconsequential.

“Sen-” Fu stuttered, forcibly narrowing his widened eyes. The spectacle gained a queer impression from Hushi, half-envious, half-pitying, which he could not parse, nor would until his own questions were answered.

More exists beneath Heaven than I might dream. What a wonder.

“My partner. To be addressed as Mistress, and no other. Where you might find my patience as long as [Summer] nights, it becomes [Winter] in this matter. Understand this, Initiates.”

Fu bowed in tandem with Niharika.

The [Spirit Serpent]- the woman- Yunhan’s partner, was symbolic of perfection. A beauty of impossibly slender form, where severe features rested against the backdrop of a silken, onyx mane. Something that could only highlight the glowing crimson of her slitted eyes. Intelligence, held behind those jewels.

But in place of explanation both cultivator and Bond set themselves a stride apart. A fondness was there, a gentle brush as the rear of their palms met.

Fu had known a touch like this, once.

Yunhan set himself into a stance, mirrored by the Mistress. “There are no tenets within the Clouded Serpent Sect that force a disciple to comply with the [Heritage] techniques that are so named for our organisation. Just as the Fist of Nine Sect does not strictly enforce the learning of their [Fist of Nine Strokes] and so on. Our branch of the Clouded Court Squads differs in that the [Clouded Ghost Arts] are a necessary component of the duties we undertake. Answer this- why then, do a great deal of outer disciples practise the [White Asp Arts], or the [Step of Clouded Scales]?”

“I was once told that these techniques are perfected,” said Fu, recalling the Green Blight Bastion’s library’s aide. “Honed over generations, and passed from the strong so that fresh cultivators need not struggle as they did.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Niharika?”

“Pride in heritage.”

Yunhan nodded. “Valid points, both. The path to becoming an inner disciple often fields requirements in these techniques, not limited to the two I have mentioned. When significant comprehension of, say, the [Twenty Four Winding Cloud Sword] technique is met, it is proof of a disciple’s diligence. In linear Sects this need is impressed more. The weapon-oriented. Lotus Blade, Plum Axe Pavillion, being among these. Why then, does the Clouded Serpent Sect, and more so, our Clouded Court Squads not impress a similar need?”

Niharika spoke first. “Flexibility of the sort that is required by our duties.”

“Gao Fu?”

“An expectation that Initiates would possess fitting techniques already,” he said. “...or with the available resources provided by the Sect, be able to find one?”

“Pleasing answers. Yes.” Yunhan’s palm dropped, perhaps realising that his lesson would require more words than he had been ready to deliver. “In truth, it is all of these. Pride to inspire uniformity, further cemented by a minimum standard set by comprehension of [Heritage] techniques, though not enforced enough through curriculum to bury any advantage that variety might bring.”

For a fisherman, Fu found that he could actually follow his instructor's words.

“That said,” he continued. “The expectation of common sense does not always prevail. It is rare, but among the Clouded Court Squads there are some that fulfil their duties with a warhammer just as readily as a knife, twisted in the dark. For our purpose, Gao Fu, the hooked chain is a suitable weapon, as is the needle-point blade that you, Niharika, wield.”

Fu noted that his comrade’s weapon was indeed suitable, far more than his often-time, unruly chain. It was concealable, and subtle, where his own necessitated a cumbersome wind around his shoulder or wrist.

So he spoke. “But senior, there are others more fitting?”

Yunhan raised his palm once more. “Birds are intended to fly, and fish to swim. So you need not ask this question. But what I would have you learn now will put such matters to rest. For with it, no weapons are needed.”

🀧

Could he set himself back another day? Perched upon the boundary rail, Fu was truly uncertain.

Positioning was a queer thing to fill his mind, but the motions Yunhan had shown had continued to flash with certain clarity. Which proved unfortunate, as the continuation of his [Stifling Stream Revolutions] was a thing he had already committed to memory.

Now, they vied for space. A transformative kick from the latter would land, and his foot would stutter in movement, the vision muddied by trailing scarves and opposing stances.

Fu turned his hand over, unsure whether to have it bunch or straighten. Tonight, perhaps, he would neglect his Senior’s instructions lest some form of martial [Heart Demon] rise. If such a thing could.

“Greetings, brother Stooge.”

I have delayed too long.

The voice came to his left, and from the same, shorn-headed youth that had queried Senior Baizhou the previous day. In this dim-lit darkness, Fu allowed himself a sigh.

“Greetings, brother,” he returned, noting a scramble of figures as they approached. Fellow Initiates, preserving little dignity as they feigned neutrality. Four, at the speaker’s back.

“This penniless seeker, One Hundred and Second Darshan, extends his right of challenge.”

Unlike his sigh, Fu’s curse went inward. His exchange with Baizhou… he had blundered- his thoughts were too occupied with training to extend the message he had promised with Yunhan.

What a fool.

Hushi shared a similar sentiment.

Fu drew in a lungful of air before dismounting. “Brother Darshan, I am ignorant of this challenge. If you wish to test your skill, my weakness will not help you advance.”

Despite his monastic forbearance, Darshan’s face twisted into a sneer. “Senior Baizhou has repealed the right of three-refusals. Or do aged ears work worse than can be imagined?”

Arrogance. Of the kind he knew well.

“That may be so, brother. If you might take pity on this older disciple and explain what it is that you wish.” As Fu took a step he had his shoulders sag, and amended his spine so that he stood with a crook more aligned with a mortal of his age.

It would do no harm to fulfil this youth’s expectations of him.

He was ushered forward, with Darshan and the others leading him the short walk towards the open-sky courtyard. “This humble one offers a duel between Initiates. A practice you will no doubt become intimate with before this night is done. Trading pointers, with a small wager of contribution points.”

“These bones are weary from practice,” sighed Fu. “Might this be put off until I rest? I would be most grateful to brother Darshan.”

“Three refusals are standard. You possess none.”

Darshan put himself at the end of the courtyard’s sanded pit, and further surprised Fu by drawing a wooden gun from a spatial ring. The second he had seen that day.

The boy comes from wealth. One Hundred and Second? He is of the numbered Vajra. I wonder what this affords him. Solely treasures, or a wealth in technique? Icannot afford to lose any contribution points.

Though while some may curse the Heavens for such misfortune, Fu supposed that worse fates may yet befall him. As they always could. And so he settled into his stance, unspooling his chain.

“Then, please treat me kindly,” he said, bowing to a chorus of sneers.

Hushi spilled out onto the sand, several strides to his side. He drew on the Qi within Fu’s [Dantian], and swelled, if neater than his full splay. Hound-sized, and imposing, of an equal scale to Darshan’s [Spirit Serpent].

The Vajra moved first, stamping the butt of his gun into the sand. [Intent], awash, blew out from the youth in a visible, greying gale.

Fu met it with his own, and was set to nausea immediately. For a stench had risen, one of rotted things, and bolstered by the lapping wind. He felt it clad his own, compressing it with the force of Darshan’s will.

Greater than my own. To no surprise.

[Half Cloud Step] launched Fu to the side at speed. [Intent] was a tangible force, and he flew from its path to relieve the growing discomfort in his stomach. On the opposing side, Hushi jetted. A parallel movement that put Darshan’s mind to guessing.

But in place of redirection the hostile [Intent] flattened. No longer a conical gale, but a screen that spread from edge to edge.

The chain tore out to be deflected by his foe, thrice, nine times, and further until the total strikes had doubled. Darshan made superb use of his staff, flicking with no wasted effort, yet grounded to the one spot.

Why does he not advance? To lure me, or is he uncertain?

Fu closed the distance with his next bound, his chain whirring all the while. Three motions from the [Wind Phantom Strides] cracked the chain mid-flight, putting him inverted and to his foe’s rear.

[Might], unmatched.

Darshan rounded as best he was able, suffusing his staff with an unknown [Dao]. It entered the air as it had the sand, yet- now the air itself rippled. The tip disappeared beneath it, inside it, as though it were liquid.

And Fu lurched from his next leap.

To his vision the courtyard had skewed. The world, shifting in diagonal fashion to blur his eyes and unsettle his mind. He ceased his movements, baring a knee to the sand. Darshan’s [Intent] felt like worms in his gut, churning, and with this [Dao]...

Bile seeped from a corner of his mouth, and yet he rose, marking his foe. A foe that now stood upon the walls. The ceiling. All sand, perpetually in motion. For now he was faced with a vortex, in part.

A step into softened sand would shift Darshan to a different surface. A second, the same.

Fu could not leap, or the nausea would spill more of his burgeoning, rising stomach. So he paced, pathetically. A fitting charade, if that was his intention.

Though it was not.

At three steps the distant pain began, impressed from whatever wounds Hushi now suffered. Visceral tears. Punctures born of fangs.

Clarity granting.

His affliction had him in a stagger, but towards what? Fu knew he would not end Darshan with a strike like this. Thus he came to his knees, pushing out his [Dao].

These greying, nauseous winds were paltry when compared with the Blight. And had he not quashed that for a time?

Fu’s [Dao of Suffocation] infused his [Intent], moulded like a cloak. At first a thinning layer, and then, a finger deep. There, he rose, feeling his mental energy drain both in maintenance of this form and its toll as it rebuffed Darshan’s [Dao].

But it was enough to steady his vision, at least to two planes. Because his next step inverted the Vajra, and another returned him, now rapid as he charged. Fu took to the air, worsening the effect, and rotated to lash his chain in a wide arc.

Darshan blocked it with-

The [Dao of Reach] blossomed down the length, instilling a glow of characters as it suddenly burst out in extension. His chain was indeed blocked, but where Darshan meant to strike the head, he met only the passing links. One touch, and Fu ripped it sideways, basing the direction on memory.

It wound tight, looping twice around the cultivator. His hands, already at work to dislodge the length.

However, Fu banished his [Dao], and leapt towards where the head was anchored. Its position granted him certainty, and a platform conjured from his [Half Cloud Step] had him crash a knee into the Vajra’s nose.

Darshan stumbled back, outraged. But he did not lack in training, nor composure, retaliating with swift wheels of his gun. “You dare!” he growled, intensifying his [Intent] to the point where Fu felt his bloodlust rise.

A far greater force than his own.

The fisherman drove a kick into Darshan’s center mass, yanking back on the chain. These opposing forces hauled the staff from his foe’s hands, opening him up for further blows. A flurry of kicks from the [Wind Phantom Strides], and Fu’s favoured snap from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

There came a horrid crack when Darshan’s head snapped backwards under the downpour. Launching him to the sand.

Fu relented, drawing back. “Hushi. The spar has ended,” he called. The [Dao] inverting his vision, thankfully ended. An dissatisfied impression was sent back, though Fu held his gaze on the downed foe.

“Ended? By whom?”

Darshan… it did not seem to Fu that he was in a position to smile.

“Brother Stooge,” warned one of the Initiates by the pit’s edge. “I, disciple Bu Liang, extend my right of challenge.”

And he stepped forth, ignoring both Darshan, and the other Initiates that bristled with eagerness behind.

🀧

The Initiates were keen to share their profound technique, for Fu was simultaneously wracked with pain from numerous sources, and able to move. A [Heritage] displayed and honed on the torment of juniors, he supposed.

Cowled in the slope of a distant rooftop, he used the available light to see what darkened shade of skin best represented his aches .

Finding none.

He was unblemished, yet agonised. A cunning move, as no Clouded Court Squad senior would allow a contest the coming day were he unable to lift even a finger. To dwell on it would be of little benefit, however.

And so Fu fell readily into his lotus position, palming the tender flesh of his teal companion. Hushi responded with his approximation of a wince. Arms flapping amidst a flinch.

“A poor course, this,” he said. “Is it not?”

The octopus grasped his wrist.

“We might trick ourselves, no? In our knowing of foolishness.”

Hushi grasped tighter, and Fu grasped back. Once more putting his eyes to the phantom characters of his [Ink].

The first of two.

Yunhan would have wisdom on this. No compliment, but an observation. To progress from [Early] understanding of a [Dao Principle] to [Late]- Fu was no Daoist, and as such had no basis for comparison.

No. No Daoist, and less of those storied geniuses beneath the Heavens. The change upon his [Ink] was too irregular for that, and his lack of consolidation.

Fu could not measure. [Insight], [Push], both- “My thoughts wag like wind-blown sails,” he almost laughed. “I will put myself in your care, brother. Do not let me forget when is best to plant a tree.”

With that he took a final look at his [Ink], or rather, his [Contribution Array]. Grimacing as the skyline of the Four Corners Prefecture ahead was cleared of teal-tinged fugue. A sight that gave way to the ruby-hued lanterns of his next destination.

For he knew now, he could ill afford to wait another day.