Fu’s eyes opened upon a scene that he would not have placed to be the afterlife. Of the myriad realms of Heaven, no tales had reached his ears of such a mundane pit.

Confusion filled him as his eyes adjusted to the dim glow that shone down only from above, and he sorted through the tales of each realm he could be placed in. To die returned one to the Great Cycle, the rotation of souls throughout the spiritual lands, passed onto once one had been measured by the weight of their living actions.

Where lies my punishment? Or my redemption?

Again, Fu’s confusion deepened.

There was a familiarity to this pit he found himself in, and that of the glow. Sitting up caused quite the revelation. First was the ease at which he did so, moving without so much as an ache.

Second, and ultimate, was the creature upon his chest.

A gelatinous beast resided there, a bulbous head that radiated a series of many legs down the side of Fu’s chest, now detaching to shift it to his lap. Circular suction cups constantly contracted as it felt about the air with its tentacles, and one such reached up to bring an uneasy smile to Fu’s startled expression.

Pushing back the douli, his douli, that covered most of the octopus’ mantle, the creature fixed him with an unblinking look.

To put aside the beast’s glowing nature for now, Fu focused on the blackened slits of its eyes, horizontal blocks within two orbs of gold. Orbs further yet immersed in the sea of teal.

And understanding flowed between them. Wordless, and profound.

“You.. you are min-” Fu began. “You are us. We are e-” He could not place the sentiment of what he felt. Still, the beast fixed its stare unblinkingly. Understanding returned in droves, as though he were waking for the first time, and again he struggled for the words to say.

I have become a cultivator. Yet how has this happened?

Making to stand, his Spirit Beast clambered up to his shoulder, and waited.

The sensation was oddly peaceful, though he knew the notion of tentacles slithering around his neck should not be. Fu stepped forwards, and the act that had performed since his infant years felt foreign and wrong. Quickly, he patted down his body, finding that no injuries had persisted since… since he had become a cultivator.

A thought that threatened to set his mind a-whirl.

He suppressed it, tearing off the rags of his tunic to leave him bare chested. Where they fell, however, he spied a twisted litter of flesh. Not his own, he thought, but torn shreds of teal that he had to bend to examine.

They were tentacles. Numbering in the hundreds, and only what remained. There was a buzz of feeling in his heart, a shared emotion of sorrow resonating from the creature, although it remained as he scooped a more intact corpse into his hands. “These were your children?” he asked, and his Bond projected more sorrow. “I am sorry. I know well the grief that loss can bring.”

This, his beast reacted at, extending a tentacle to tap at his chest. Sorrow flowed again, but as did a feeling of understanding.

“We are similar, then. Or is the reason for our Bonding born of this? Tied together such as this, I had not wished, nor dreamed of it. I am just a fisherman that strives to save his children. I…” Fu placed the torn remnants of the fledgling octopus down gently. “If you would help me, I cannot promise how I might repay you. Those that chased me in here are the most likely culprits for your tragedy, yet even to come across them I would be unable to bring them to justice.”

He took the passed along calm as an assurance that his Bond sought no such thing, and ceased speaking. Bargaining with an octopus brought him no shame, and the reality that, as far as he knew, they would be together till his dying breath was not lost on him.

They have saved me. A lifetime awaits in which I can repay such kindness.

“A good start to this would be escaping this pit,” he said, receiving nothing in return.

Ah, I shall save my breath then. I do not think they are in need of conversation.

Fu moved to the pit’s edge on unsteady feet, craning his neck at the wet, craggy surface of the stone. Much height had to be scaled to reach the top, and the moisture would not make this easy. Putting one hand in front of the other, he fastened his grip on any segment that could grant leverage, and started his ascent.

Finding it far easier than he expected.

The stone, jagged beneath the trailing water, dug into his palms. Uncomfortable, yet no more so than a light pressure. A bolstered strength suffused his grip, a solidity to his fingers, his muscles and all, that made this task a trifling affair.

Fu barely strained as he reached halfway, and only began to gently exhale another half after that.

When both palms found the crest, he pushed up to lift his body, where before he might have flopped over, or crawled. Fu placed his feet beneath him, standing tall. Elation at escaping the pit was one thing, but this, he knew, studying his palms, this strength was a marvel. To fall back would take him down a height at least five times his own, yet he was unworried.

The power of a cultivator flowed through him now.

A mere first step in defiance of the Heavens, though a step that many would never see in their lifetimes. This transcendence of his former mortality dawned many realisations. He possessed a fragment of power that placed him above the masses of Thousand Shore City, and if he strove for it, could place him above the masses of all.

Securing a future for his children where none might interfere.

🀧

The wisest choice Fu could come up with was to nourish his body, and reflect. Tales of cultivators and how they might survive on the vital juices of a single leaf for Seasons on end were common enough, and he supposed, benefits saved for those more powerful.

What realisations had come to him, and any ideals of the power he now wielded were cut abruptly short when the sound of his empty, groaning stomach had filled the small cave.

So now he sat, adopting the same position that he had seen displayed in paintings and tapestries since he was young. He crossed his legs beneath him, pointing his soles outwards while his hands remained idle. Recalling that it was named the lotus position, he then wondered why cultivators would deign to sit as such.

Mei had spoken of many things in their time together, hints at her struggles as a cultivator, such terms as bottlenecks, and meridians, and cleansing or scouring. But Fu was never interested, always asking after her day or how her scathing, overtly outspoken Grandmother had been keeping since last they had met.

He would never have traded their brief time together for anything, not to line his pouches with tael, nor to gain any higher station than that which he was.

Between the shuffling of his rear end, and the discomfort that was rising in his tailbone against the damp, stone floor, he wondered if he should have taken more of an interest.

A force of Qi was massing unlike it had before, a stockpile forming in his gut from each gulp of swallowed moss. He felt it churning somewhere behind his navel, maybe two or three fingers above, and it was unbearable.

Upon his shoulder, the octopus was writhing, each of its eight tentacles gripping tight around his neck and shoulders as it swayed in silent turmoil.

Fu tried his best to calm it, but each time he tried to move it would swat at him, an urgency passed along that drove him back into the full splay of the lotus. “Tell me how to solve this,” he grimaced, jaw clenched.

His troubles were lesser compared to his Bond, milder given the state it seemed to be in.

Draping itself, the beast suddenly pried open his mouth. Two tentacles widened his lips, slithering inside by a small margin. Fu held back the urge to clamp down, a sweat rising on his brow.

“Eat you?” he exclaimed, the same urgency returning somehow in the negative.

The situation felt dire, and the tentacles no longer writhed as fast. Before him, those golden eyes sagged, and it mimed a show around his mouth with lackluster strength. An action of something entering his mouth.

If not to eat it? Then what?

Fu gasped as the churning behind his navel sent a ripple of pain through his body, and at the same moment the octopus thumped upon his chest.

“Breathe…” he finished in favour of doing what he spoke of. Fu gulped in as great a lungful as he could manage, holding it. His bond struck again, and the Qi within him settled by just a mite.

He breathed again, and again, each time the volatile energy dissipating more, replaced with a newer, calming type. Fu drew into a rhythm, his breaths still large and gulping, yet steadier as the moments passed.

A vitality of motion returned to the octopus, and it clambered upwards, this time entrenching itself upon his head. Tentacles affixed on his temples, his neck, his shoulders and spine, Fu felt a wave of utter serenity enter him, and his eyes closed tight.

When he opened his eyes, two sensations caught his attention. What had first churned in his stomach had settled, no longer some heavy, tumbling force that wished to break him. The resident energy within was light, and pleasant, and he felt it gently billow as though his insides were some leaf to be blown.

On an instinctive level, he knew that there was room for more. Yet the second sensation was dissimilar, it was a thrum of Qi that reminded him of a hot kettle. Not some pouring, scalding touch that escaped its spout, yet the radiated warmth of being in proximity to one.

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And it came from a single spread upon his right arm.

Fu tilted his head up, finding that his Bond was beneath the douli, its tentacles absently feeling at the brim. “I shall not eat that moss again, you have my word.”

His Bond, who he supposed would need a name if such things were done, passed along a flash of understanding. Fu took it as a nod, and placed his attention on the warmth coming from his arm.

A calligraphed image of several lines adorned his skin, printed there in teal with a black border around each stroke.

My Ink. Why had I not thought to check it before?

He stroked his fingers across it, deducing it to be a symbol to denote a wind or gust, unable to check any further given that no matter how he tilted the bicep it was on, it would never be the right way up.

The octopus showed interest in this, and one tentacle joined his fingers where it pressed upon the lines.

“[Ink],” explained Fu, shuffling back in fright as the words unleashed a further sensation in his ears. A minute feeling, barely present, and one that brought a single vibration to his lobes as he uttered it aloud.

Streams of spectral, teal light unfurled from his [Ink], which admittedly was the real source of his scramble. A stock of parchment in the same colour hung in his vision, and a collection of characters came to spread in the space between edges.

Staring at the characters, Fu read them over for the third time.

I cannot pretend to understand it. But to think that cultivators have a measure of their strength such as this!

Were he a scholar, he might have delved deeper into the meaning behind each line, or each number displayed. However, he found certain things easy to intuit.

His Bond, the Teal Octopus as it was named, was of both [Air Qi] and [Winter]. Thus, he supposed that is where he drew his own affinity from.

It was attached to his [Body], making him a cultivator of that type. It gave him a greater understanding of the differences behind each type, only having known them as [Spirit] or [Mind] previously, though struggling to recall if he had heard tale of any [Harmony] cultivators.

There were characters representing both [Might] and [Resilience] in his case, both found beneath the heading of [Body], though the others were obscured, leading him to believe that though they had a value beside them, his focus would rely more on this physical path than that of what else was listed.

An idea he felt confident in, given that the numbers aside each were vastly higher than those aside the others.

“To think you are aligned with [Winter],” he said, tilting up for a view of the octopus. “And air. I’d have thought you a Beast of the water.” Flipping his vision between both the parchment, and various places upon his body, he stopped to pat his navel. “And this container I can feel. A [Dantian].” A flicker of surprise came and went just as quickly, hearing that the strange vibration in his ear pricked when announcing such a thing.

The Qi in this place, I think it stirs upon mention. Ever so slightly.

Fu went through several of the terms displayed on his parchment, finding that if he focused hard enough on common terms such as [Winter] or Air, his intent could cause the same disturbance.

How queer. But not a thing I could make use of.

“I can ponder on these as we travel,” he said, making to stand until his Bond jabbed at something behind the parchment. Fu’s eyes focused where the tentacle struck, and another leaf of parchment folded over the first.

“Then, perhaps, it is among your Air aligned cousins that we should start our search for [Spirit Cores]?”

Fu did not rush off madly in order to procure what he sought, for that was not his way. Instead, he had gathered up the bloodied remnants of the bamboo spears that the boar hunters had used on both the beast, and themselves.

At present he used it as a walking pole, however unnecessary it was now that his spine felt like that of a much younger man, and the spring in his step was the envy of any and all [Spirit Rabbits] spread far across the [Mystic Realm].

Despite this, he tread with care, pushing upstream with a burgeoning supply of questions for the octopus beneath his hat. The [Summer] sun treated his Bond unfavourably, and he had quickly nestled himself in the douli as a makeshift midden, only jabbing his tentacles out to point out things of note.

One such item presented itself here, and it took the form of a vibrant, jade orchid that just crested the top of the surrounding grains. A pretty enough flower that Fu would have never given a second look, having no interest in such things save for the induced panic when it neared Grandmother Hua’s Moonday.

A few wisps of Qi floated around it, faintly visible to Fu’s eyes.

They were in the expansive meadows above their cave, following on the periphery of where the taller grasses started as not to be swamped or ambushed by unseen predators. This flower stood on the boundary, and with care, Fu stole forward.

It carried an aroma of spice, flaring Fu’s nostrils and bringing his mouth to water. More so when he clutched it in his hands. Upon touch he felt, or sensed a reaction in his [Dantian].

This affinity is not Air. But close?

He repeated the question out loud, and his octopus grasped the orchid, snapping it to stow beneath the hat.

How alien a mind they must have. Yes and no are simple to grasp for a child, yet my Bond is no child.

They moved on until [Summer’s] warmth started to fade. The days were long here, and light spilled across the [Mystic Realm] for many hours before night finally fell, taking much of the heat with it.

In that time the douli had filled with many strange herbs and flowers, a task that his Bond had been quite fervent in. None had held the Air aligned Qi that Fu deduced they were searching for.

Secondary to their primary goal, of course, yet their reserves had forced the octopus to rest upon Fu’s shoulder, having filled it to the brim. For every flower taken, Fu’s recognition of Qi types had grown little by little, and while he did not know the specific types he was confident in ignoring those that would have a negative effect such as the moss had.

A shift in the wildlife had started in their return to the cave, prompting a slower pace than before. More hostile [Spirit Beasts] were emerging from their burrows or holes, and the birds likewise took flight from their daytime perches. Hooting or screeching their nocturnal awakening, much like those at the mouth of their cave.

Fu held back from the scavenged carcass of the [Spirit Boar], seeing that as the obstacle between potential death and their haven for the night. Above, a flock of carrion birds circled the rotting body, landing only when the true pillager had its attention on its meal.

At first glance it gave the impression of a serpent, and if not for its four legs so squat to the ground Fu had thought it might be.

The glow it sheds is not as bright as my own Bond’s. A freshly turned [Spirit Beast]?

Tracing the wicked, metallic ridges on its back, and the beard beneath its scaly chin banished any thoughts that he could face it despite this.

Using the link between he and his Bond, Fu pressed along uncertainty, hoping that the octopus might grant some insight.

What returned was a speck of simple calm, and he cursed beneath his breath. “We cannot stay here,” said Fu, levering his bamboo spear to face the lizard.

The creature mounted the boar’s corpse, and the sail-like beard beneath its head expanded to make it seem much wider. Moving closer, the reality of the lizard’s size showed clearer. At first, and at distance, obscured by the carcass, Fu had thought it to be nothing greater than a large dog.

Now, as it thrashed its tail behind it, he saw it met his shoulder in height.

A drain started in Fu’s dantian, and the Qi reserves inside dropped to just over half of what he had stored. Just as his Bond swelled.

The glow upon it thickened, and in a moment it had transformed from something that could fit snugly upon his head to a beast whose mantle’s highest point crested his waist. Swirls of air formed a current to support each tentacle, a matching elemental show to the growing glint of metal galvanising half of the lizard’s scales.

Both Bond and cultivator readied as the lizard drove towards them. Rumbling steps boomed from the stampede of its stubby legs, throwing clouds of dust across the bottom of the ravine. Its jaws opened wide, producing a lashing, metallic tongue.

This thundered into the gap between Fu, an extended truncheon that spouted many cracks in the earth. Not fully used to his new body, he stumbled and rolled to the side, albeit with a grace and speed that surprised him, taking him far to the side of the creature.

Dust and detritus blown up in passing entered his mouth, and he was forced to cough it away.

The creature pivoted at the end of its run, poising the bladed spines on its back and tail to lash out at Fu’s Bond. His octopus appeared to take the blow head on, splattered over the lizard’s side.

Shouting out of concern, Fu drove closer, stabbing out with the bamboo spear only for his strike to glance from the [Spirit Beast’s] hardened hide.

These scales were thick before, and now with this…

A show of tentacles, and a passing feel of reassurance allowed his words to continue. “[Metal Qi],” he whispered, confirming both its truth and importance through the minor reaction in his lobes.

The [Metal Qi] drives it to a higher resilience.

Fu narrowly avoided the next sweep of its tail, startled as the leap upwards took him a pace higher from the ground than he had expected. Unfortunately, the beast had rounded again by the time he had landed.

The tail smashed into his lower body, toppling him and slicing two great gouges across his thighs. They immediately gushed with blood, saturating the remaining rags of his trousers.

He winced as it came around again, only able to brace through the pain, both arms crossed in a guard.

When the tail lashed again, it pushed him back by several paces, yet no more. By providence alone the bladed spines had not touched his flesh, and though it hurt he was no means broken by it.

Further resolve cascaded into him at this revelation, and Fu leapt at the beast with his fists drawn.

Knowledge of a Sect’s vaunted secrets and forms were not for him to know. As such a named style of martial origin did not flow in the following strikes. In simplicity, Fu only hammered down blows, making sure to strike the beast where its [Metal Qi} had not reinforced.

These sections, invariably whirling as the lizard thrashed, were softer. Newfound strength drove his knuckles deeper, tenderising its stomach between Fu’s leaps and dodges only to return as air-coated tentacles writhed around the creature’s forefront.

A nasal cry escaped it as its limbs became constricted, and his Bond tightened a noose around its protruding jaw.

Seeing this, Fu rounded the creature, pushing out great spillages of blood from his thighs with each forceful step. The creature’s pupils rescinded into a pinprick of black, and a desperate thrash rose again. Joining the octopus, Fu slammed his hands into the lizard’s nostrils, yanking hard in tandem with his Bond to topple it.

More tentacles snaked around its throat, the cushion of swirling [Air Qi] enough to save evisceration on the edge of its bladed chin-sail.

And then they tightened.

Fu used every ounce of his might to pin the creature’s flailing body to the ravine floor, and his Bond’s tentacles drew inwards. A bulge of scales showed either side of where the cord-like limbs dug in, nasal cries of the lizard growing weaker and more staggered. Until a final whimper told of its passing, heard first before the cracking of bone.

Ever so slowly, the tentacles retracted and his octopus moved to the mouth of the fallen lizard, prying it open.

Fu only puffed, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. A single misplaced step might have cost both their lives, cultivator or no.

The pain in his thighs was agonising, yet no more than all he had endured since Nu Wa had first descended on Thousand Shore City, so he found it grimly bearable. A form of reminder that next time, they should show more caution.

“The sun sets soon,” he said to his octopus. “Let us retire before more deadly [Spirit Beasts] come to claim this corpse.”

There was a crack from within the fresh carcass, and the immediate Qi shuddered. Patiently, yet with his eyes ever wandering to the safety of their cave’s front passage, Fu waited to see the result. Dispensing a half-bow to his companion as they returned to their original size, and clambered to his shoulder with a fresh [Spirit Core] in their clutches.