And in one night did the golden reign end. Brought to such ruination that- This daoist has not the words.

For it is unhealable absence.

If the scholars and Masters of the immortal Clear Sky Empire would touch this tome, know to count the Empress among this following number is no disservice. Nor is the inclusion of the four.

The pillars numbered five.

One, and principal. [Empress Above All]. Who has a contribution beyond Heavenly measure.

Second. Sole pride of the One Hundred and Eight Seeking Vajra: [Fourth Under Heaven].

With hegemony to the last number, and who, in service, transcended her [Dao Name] by this tribulation.

Third.

[Clouded Serpent Queen]. Known as precursor, as mother to serpents, and as righteous where her Empress deemed it so.

Fourth.

[Plum Axe Zhu]. Never to need his introduction.

But omission comes for each grain of sand within her shores, for the Heavens could not name all loyal to the venerable Empress.

Leaving fifth, with no insult, by total of profound contribution. Not to tarnish the souls nor good names of those otherwise outwith this daoist’s tome.

The first third of the [Cherry River] inheritors, those nine who struck tripartite in allegiance, and those three who maintain her Empire even now.

In her absence.

- “The Clear Sky Empire,” by Lord Seventy Fifth.

The uncomfortable sensation had returned. An irritant, filled with sand. Stone. Dust. Or,-

Fu managed to rub the grime free from his thumbnail.

Oh. It is still dried blood.

A mild sensation, when coupled with all he had faced in the last few hours.

Seven prisoners had met him in the gloom of the trial’s passages, each a formidable combatant. Each haunting their own section of tunnel, or junction, yet still immersed in the same darkness. Not yet reaching the light of the cavern’s true walls.

Where the strong were.

Fu stole on, in continued imitation of the [Clouded Ghost Arts]. Yet to feel the distinct burn of [Ink] upon his arm, marking his struggle as complete.

Not, however, a fruitless endeavour.

For now his gait was of a more even peal. His stride, a softer touch upon the stone, a quiet thing. If not a far cry from the silence he mused the Clouded Court wished of them. It was this that arrived him at the first radiance of torches without further incident, either that, or providence.

The scene he came upon had plagued his ears for long minutes now. Cries, and exaltation, ringing out in his expanded [Senses] to mask what might lie in the silence.

Filthy cultivators lounged at the joining of three passages, the light of a solitary lantern at their back. A ragged, paper thing that shed more illumination than its construction originally intended. But for these prisoners’ purpose, they shied from it.

Hushi wriggled uncomfortably the closer Fu got to the gathering cultivators. The pack, for their appearances were something feral and deranged.

One of the prisoners was being urged to the meeting of walls. An array of Bonds, twelve, to number their cultivators, lunging at their heels to push them higher.

“Up you bastard,” one cried, punctuated with a cruel chuckle. “You’ve not got a kill in two [Seasons]!”

Agreement came from the crowd in shared exaggeration, and even the Bonds seemed gleeful at this prospect. Fu spied a problematic few among them, those whose mortal counterparts may well have detected him. Meaning some of these [Spiritual] number may possess [Arts] to undo him.

But the Heavens showed their smiles. Their favour.

As malice won their attentions, drawing all thoughts to the unfortunate- to the miscreant toted to the cavern’s perilous surface. This man, accompanied by Bond unknown, skulked forth. Low slung and lower bellied, advancing for what Fu counted as a minute.

The [Spirit Bats] did not descend, proving this a worthwhile watch. With [Senses] searching, Fu cursed that it could not reach the moving prisoner. Darkness prevented an examination.

The ignorant cultivator did not last so long. Is it silence? Are bats drawn to noise? Do they reject a meal that reeks of filth?

Fu could not say, only that curiosity drove him closer. A light drumming in his chest, unable to be quieted. But no louder than the collective prisoners’ hollering.

“Louder you fool!”

“Mayhaps they don’t like the reek of piss and cowards!”

Hushi pushed a warning to Fu, and he went bolt still. His [Senses] told of a closer presence.

Too late.

A set of teeth clamped down around his shoulder. Impossibly fast. No heartbeats between discovery and attack.

Fu snarled out in surprise, and he rolled back to try and dislodge his aggressor. A sleek [Spirit- The beast had needles for teeth, sharp enough to scrape his collar bone. Tumbling, he met the stone. But which side he could not say.

His side? His back?

The pain was disorienting, and Qi travelled with it. Mystifying clumps of [Mind Qi] to… to… Vertigo pulled him under a current of shadows and gloom, stone at all sides, with cacophonous voices screaming into his ears.

[Half Cloud Step]

Qi roared through Fu’s insides, Air now, instilling in him a breeze. One violent enough to wrench him into action. After five breaths of trying the [Spirit Beast] would not be pried free with his hands, and his concentration could not muster the [Dao]. So he battered himself into the closest hard edge, angling his foe against it.

Something broke in it, and the teeth, in him. But Fu was freed in time to see silhouettes flare in a downpour of Qi. A threatening rainbow loomed in wisps and flashes, hard to place with his senses so inverted.

He turned tail and blitzed down the closest passage, his feet thundering. The black was streaming by- blurring with openings to his left and right. Yet he was hounded by [Spirit Beasts] keeping pace.

Five presences, shapeless and loping.

Fu would veer, and they would close in, matching him [Might] for [Might].

“Hushi, they are herding us.”

One beast he might handle. Five, then the eventual twenty four souls…

The octopus impressed a notion, pushing out his [Dao of Suffocation] to wobble the beasts in pursuit. A cursory pulse to trip them, quashing the breath in their lungs.

Sweat made damp his robes at their responding snarls, and the palpable [Killing Intent] was a swift and brutal counter. This time Fu tripped, able to save himself by scrambling upon all fours. But they did not near, severing his escape ahead in the gained seconds of his struggle.

So Fu cursed, and leapt to bound off the nearest wall. Bringing him in a clean sail over the passages. Into the domain of the [Spirit Bats].

Such speed made the dampness of his robes frigid, more so as he kicked out with a platform conjured by his [Half Cloud Step]. Fu sped horizontally, parallel to the cavern’s surface, feeling a secondary rush as myriad forms dove past.

The bats are-

His poor vision of the debacle suddenly vanished as he tumbled into another passage, adjacent or some ways adjacent to the first. With his landing so sharp it took a moment to orient himself, bringing his [Senses] back under control.

Cries chased him, muted through stone. And closer steps, excited by the clamour his arrival had caused.

Fu immediately dropped low, burrowing himself into the crook where wall met floor to wait for who might come next. The pain in his shoulder was freshly irritated by the dust there, but ignorable until he could find a safe place to cultivate.

His breathing steadied enough to hear over the span of several minutes, allowing him to perceive the poorly disguised steps of one ahead. A dragging noise, which was perhaps the passage of the prisoner’s [Spirit Beast].

“Oh, I know you’re here,” echoed a woman’s voice. Yet the sound came from both above and below him.

An impossibility, given how tight to the ground he was.

“A [Foundation Realm] cultivator? A young boy perhaps, taking his first steps.”

The voice induced no small shiver up his spine. A grinding thing, like scraping knives. And so close.

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But it was such that Fu could not track its origin, and fell to Hushi for aid. The octopus moved slowly, cycling his arms to circulate a small current of air. Manipulating several smells into Fu’s reach.

A violent jerk allowed Fu to deflect the head of a broken spear with his chain, catching it between the links. He had rolled, and now faced the weight of this woman’s attack while flat against the ground.

“Not a young one,” she mused. “No, no. Is this why the [Demon] leaves you alone? Or are you a fresh thing, blessed by little time in this hell? I suppose it matters little. Your corpse is fitting bait for the [Spirit Bats].”

The strain she bore down with did not affect her speech. She mounted Fu, sitting on his chest with the same ease as any might a chair, absently driving the spearhead lower.

Fu kicked and kicked, vainly, powerless to move. He heard a scuffle to the side, and Hushi warned of his engagement with this woman’s [Spirit Beast] though he could not see what it was.

Where it was. Only guess.

“Yes. I’ll have to be quick, won’t I?” she said.

The spearhead was lowering, and her [Might] pushed it closer to his neck.

If Fu were to relent for even a moment it would plunge down and end him. The bladed edge might carve him, or the tip might pierce him.

Soon.

He made a decision then, and did two things. Fu slackened his pull on one side of the chain, having the link-caught head swing to one side without compensation to hold it steady. And then he called upon the [Dao of Reach], suffusing his foe’s weapon with energy.

The broken spear burst through his already wounded shoulder with such a speed that it erupted through the other side, embedding itself in the stone. A grunt of surprise followed, dissatisfied, but it was too late.

His foe had gutted herself when the weight shifted, dragging his hook in a line down her chest.

Cancelling the [Dao], Fu rolled free, toppling her to one side.

But she rose as he did, spitting in the darkness. “Petty trickery!”

That the woman still spoke with his chain half-buried in her sternum- Fu descended into the [Stifling Stream Revolutions], yanking as he went.

His foe stumbled forward, if only by a pace, and washed her [Killing Intent] through their shared tether. The weapon sang with cold heat, searing the flesh on his palms. [Dark Qi], he mused, in how it cast no light.

Fu entered under her guard, down to one hand only. The injured side foisted within his chain as a useless, meaty anchor. He traded blows. As did she. Back and forth. Hers, a [Resilience] based form, primed against his supple strikes.

As such she could not hit him, doubly so as he went inverted to loop the chain around her neck. But this time he did not choke her, no. Fu conjured a [Half Cloud Step] to hammer him down from another leap, smash his knee into the rear of her skull and have her collapse atop the embedded chain.

Where it broke through the other side.

Well spent, he could but drop to a knee at her side. Panting. “Hushi,” he struggled. “Hushi, are you well?”

The octopus dimly impressed back his state of being. Which was poor. And he slopped himself to Fu’s side under no small duress. Much flesh was missing from the surface of each arm, as though contact with the [Spirit Beast] had flayed it.

Despite his exhaustion, and after a cursory show of care for Hushi, Fu poured over the corpse. He searched through the warm, blood-drenched clothes, to retrieve a small, burlap pouch of seeds. Weighty enough before a summary inspection to almost have him smile.

“A treasure, Hushi. But one we will tend to after our wounds are healed,” he said, passing his gaze to the trial’s entrance, high above.

If only there was a place safe enough to do so.

🀦

Fu was thankful that the darkness had shrouded his many attempts at returning to the trial’s entrance, as it was no neat thing. As he sat in quiet cultivation, gathering the surprisingly plentiful [Air Qi] in this cavern, he pondered on this.

More so on his movement through the trial than his failed attempts at climbing.

The [Spirit Bats] chased my [Art’s] cloud first. Is it the Qi that they are attracted to then? Does this hold meaning for the trial?

He mused that the Clouded Court Squads, nor any office of the Cloudy Serpent Sect, did things by mistake.

If the goal was to realise the [Clouded Ghost Arts] in this place, then here was a whetstone against which to grind the formation of the technique. But it brought into question, then, the prisoners.

There came a sharpness of heat as Fu’s shoulder finally mended, drawing his focus away. And birthing a whimper. He spread his fingers to the wound. Touch returning to him that it was improper, and hasty.

Sufficient, when his Qi should be saved for potential troubles.

Fu rose into a series of stretches, wringing the effort of the last few hours free. As he did, he offered silent thanks to the Heavens that none had interrupted him during his recovery. For that was his chief concern, and a reason why his focus had not been wholly on mending.

Regardless, he scaled up the side of the monolith, emerging soon into the room where the walls had rushed inward. The method for returning them was not known to him.

“Hushi,” he whispered. “There should be a place for these seeds.”

The octopus dismounted from the basket of his midden, slack at Fu’s back, drawing himself across the monolith. As sure of arm as a spider might be. Yet after a full rotation he returned with no findings.

Upon repeating the process himself, neither did Fu.

Must I eat the seeds? No, that would be foolish.

With one hand affixed to the wall, he withdrew the pouch. The stone did not react, though he had not expected it to. Instead, he took a single seed before stowing the rest on his belt. Sconces burned nearby, and he wondered…

In two movements he was aside one, tentatively holding the seed above the flame.

This is no less wasteful than eating it.

Fu dropped the seed within, and to his surprise he heard a grinding as he had before. Above his head, and all around, the walls were retracting. A mere inch, yet enough that Fu poured the remainder of his claimed seeds in to join the first.

“Let us move swiftly, Hushi,” he said, leaping over the side-

Another initiate rushed by him, arriving in the trial room the moment he touched down. And a second, as Fu made ready his weapon.

“Brother,” he said. “Sister.”

Under illumination of the sconces, he saw their paired frowns. A show of disregard as they moved to study the mural once more.

To see this, Fu stowed his weapon.

My seeds are spent, so they have no reason to harm me if this is their tactic. To descend like carrion birds once another does the work. In truth, it is resourceful.

Without an indication of remaining time, he first wondered if he should gauge the passing seconds. Twelve seeds were gone from his pouch, and to know the value in time of one would be a useful thing. But he relented, putting his eyes back to the mural.

The same figures in stooped forms, ascending in height as the depictions completed a full circle. The same message. “The silence of one’s Qi is not the silence of another, yet does it not share a truth? That it need not be tended?”

He repeated it twice, comparing it against the trial below.

To either side the joined cultivators were set in their creeping strides. Prowling with an aim to perfect their technique. This crouch was the clear beginning, but Fu had to wonder what relation it held to the Qi.

The [Stifling Stream Revolutions] pushed Qi in desired shapes around his body due to the movements undertaken. With his knowledge of [Qi Deviation], it stood to reason that the way to attain this technique could not be universal. A [Fire Qi] cultivation could not silence his Qi in the same way an [Air Qi] cultivator might - the behaviour of their energies was too different.

Fu set into his own subtlety of motion. “Hushi,” he whispered. “How can you make your Qi silent?” A question asked because he thought this was the key to their task.

Beneath the douli, Hushi tapped. Bidding him to stop. The octopus then cascaded down, forcing Fu to take him upon his lap. Once more in the lotus position, they engaged in a stare of long moments.

And gradually, Fu’s senses expanded over Hushi so that he might feel the ebb and flow of his [Air Qi].

A dimness came across it, as though it were thinning out. Which Fu set to copying. Internally, he had his Qi try and stretch itself through his [Dantian], and it obeyed. He felt it settle-

There is no way to test this. Hushi will always feel my Qi through our Bond… It must create an effect, that is how I will know it is successful.

Fu continued to spread his Qi thin, setting to a slow creep as he did so. Albeit rather unsuccessfully. Rather than stop, however, he maintained this position. Stealing forwards while pushing his Qi into various flattened forms.

A pasting around his [Dantian]. Then further, as a lining on his [Channels]. The tenuous grasp he had on an intangible material such as his gaseous [Air Qi] proved these tasks difficult, but not insurmountable, and he matched Hushi’s efforts in dimming his own Qi.

Yet dim was not silent.

With a breath he released his hold on the Qi, realising that this circulation process had tired him greatly. Another clue, he thought, for untended meant effortless in his mind.

Should he then do it on instinct? Without thought?

Eventually, perhaps. I cannot do a thing without first knowing it.

This time he stole a glance at the other cultivators, pushing his [Senses] out to mark any change in their Qi. Two [Dantians] were at the edge of his discoverable range, and in shallow force much as his own was.

The woman’s more so than the man.

Fu plainly knew that he made poor progress, and he walked to rid himself of his frustration. A lap of the monolith, and then several more, flattening his Qi as he went. Condensing it, twisting it, pushing it to far edges.

And sighing to herald a strange effect.

On the intake of his next breath, the parcels of [Air Qi] in his lungs tickled a reaction.

A small invigoration to his [Inner Qi] that was timed as such that Fu felt as though it were pausing in expectation. Both the contents of his [Channels] and his [Dantian].

To his right now, the male cultivator snapped around. Wordlessly. Setting an ireful glare on the fisherman.

What was that?

As he had a hold on his [Inner Qi], he was well aware of its behaviour. And it had reacted. So he tried again, breathing in a lungful and trying to recall the shape his Qi had made. Five shapes, five attempts.

Six, and then to seven, before he realised that his Qi would only react if he allowed it to move freely. But with a hold on it.

A confusing concept, but in a way…

It is how I taught the children to swim. With a hand below them so they could not sink, yet not so heavy as to steer them.

Fu tried again, focusing on the fresh infusion of [Air Qi] his breath drew. The influx was pacifying his [Inner Qi]. Settling it. Though how this might transition into quiet of foot he… he felt the rumble of walls only moments before they began to push back.

“Our study is over,” he whispered to Hushi, and made towards the chasm, arriving to the safety of the monolith’s base with time to spare. It was but a moment later his fellow initiates arrived, landing at a distance less comfortable than he would have liked.

“Brother,” broke the woman. “Would you share your insight into the [Clouded Ghost Arts]? It is clear you fare better than I.”

Fu shook his head. “Apologies sister. It is like sharing ones notions of the [Dao]. To speak might only muddy your view of it. Surely, I could not do this to a fellow initiate.” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his [Senses] attuned to something foreboding.

But not this pair.

As they too, felt a reaction in turn. The man’s jaw clicked open, though half-rounding on Fu, he turned suddenly outward. A similar sight to his right, where the woman now extended herself over the stone’s lip.

Straining to cut through the gloom.

“I bid you farewell,” she said, slipping from the monolith. Jettisoned off to be swallowed by the cavern’s blackness.

Into the murk where a force was emanating.

An [Intent] that pushed cold up Fu’s spine with each passing heartbeat. Ever approaching their position from the tunnels below. One, whose owner he could barely make out against the curtains of black.

For it was a creature of this hue.

“The [Demon] comes.”

Fu turned to the man, bemused. “The [Demon]?” he asked.

Straight from the stories that I credit my children’s good behaviour to.

“I have no technique to share, brother,” Fu continued. “A lie will not loosen my tongue to things I cannot know.”

But the man could only ask such a thing if he remained. And already had he freed himself from the monolith’s base, chasing safety in the dark by casting himself into it.

[Demons]?

The fisherman shook his head in disbelief.

“A tale to scare us,” he explained to Hushi. Though he grew unsettled beneath the increasing weight of this [Intent]. “Yes. I am sure.”