The [Empress Above All] allowed it.

And for reasons beyond the ken of we, the massed ignorant.

None yet live from that time that could not recall the [Summer] of Sorrow. It has become a measure, in some circles.

A stripe of merit.

A seal of vintage.

Ask any of the [Origin Realm] infants. For that is what they were. Children. Suckling at the Qi, the teat of [Foundation] or [Formation] like newborn babes.

Ask, “When the adversary strolled through her dominion, where were you?”

Yet, more apt - “When the Heavenly Qi wept, how did you still stand?”

How would they reply?

This daoist will recount his own tale, as the fates conspired to deliver him within ten thousand li of her palace.

A scene played. A tale of four [Seasons] within one moment, countered by the adversary that none but the Empress had known to be her equal.

Skies split. Oceans roiled. The land itself, in flux and in contested allegiance, skewed neither to each side. And this daoist wept with the Qi, overcome in sorrow, ecstasy, grief, and joy.

As all who were asked might respond, if they hold truth to be righteous.

The last and only march of the [True Golden Demon]. Heaven’s equal, and by this account, the [Empress Above All’s].

Yes, this daoist recalls it well. How, at his distance, the Qi spoke first. Its hum in his ears, clear enough in wordless message that transcription could do it no justice.

Thus, reader, know only that the Heavens shed their own tears.

At the jian in the Empress’ heart, and the qiang in the Demon’s gut. Its favoured children, slain through fratricide.

And so moved were they, so brought to despair, that they declared-

No.

Forbade any remnant to be found.

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

“Mock disciple, eh? You’d be best to rid yourself of that status, else it impede your new duties,” advised the old crone. “Yes. Really, disciple Gao Fu, it is shameful that one so young has accrued this debt. The Clouded Court Squads abhor the type of debauchery that’s no doubt led you to this.”

Fu thought better of correcting the old woman’s view of him, and held back his tongue. If he were to ask questions at all, his first thoughts would go to the titanic spear that loomed overhead.

Still, no such opportunity availed itself to him. His ears were filled instead with notes of routine, etiquette, and expectation.

“Modest accommodation, but deserving of your station. Initiate, or disciple, these are interchangeable,” she continued, stopping at a non-descript door at the end of their current corridor. “Stow your belongings, and make yourself presentable. As antithetical as it is, you will not disgrace these halls with the bearings of a vagrant. No.”

There came a pause wherein Fu could only bow, too overcome with thought to notice his que to leave.

“Promptly, Gao Fu,” she chided.

Well forged in the fires of matriarchal disappointment, Fu made into the room with haste for fear of a verbal barrage. And after a series of heartbeats, allowed a deep exhalation.

Antithetical? A word I have yet to learn.

When compared with his family’s lodgings back in the Divine Clouded Mountain one might say that the room was indeed modest. Yet Fu saw only the space between the base furnishings, and the amenities provided.

On the bed he found a new set of robes, adjacent to a wooden comb, knife, and basin. A single coin was aside these items, a faint emittance of [Fire Qi] heating his fingertips as he placed it within his palm.

Fu looked from basin to coin. “Hushi, what do you suppose this is for?” The octopus unfurled, taking the item for inspection. But returned it after gesturing to the robes. “That woman requested I be presentable,” he continued, brushing the faint shadow of hairs upon his jaw and cheek. “An aid to shaving? Am I to singe myself into cleanliness?”

He shrugged, and undressed, unsure what to do with his soiled robes. Given the approach of [Summer] he was not chilled to do so, and as he set to shearing the growth on his face Fu found the water more refreshing than bracing.

After stowing his belongings within a trunk at the foot of his bed, he left the room. Clean, for the first time in recent memory.

“Timely,” greeted the woman. “And my, it’s a handsome figure you cut in the Clouded Court’s uniform. What wonders a wash will do, yes? It’s as if you’ve ascended a [Realm].”

Fu pulled his douli on, ill-prepared for such a compliment. “You are kind to say so, senior.”

“Well mannered, too. That will serve you well. Now, let’s see if that will save you from the torment of interrupting your Master’s instruction.”

🀦

Fu chose once more to focus on the spear. A safer bet than meeting the eyes of what might now be counted as his comrades among the Clouded Court Squads.

Youths, he noticed at a glance, and no higher than [Foundation Realm]. A suspicion confirmed through observation.

And tirade.

“...you?” finished the instructor. But it was a cold delivery, bereft of raised voice or throbbing veins. “Well, disciple. Do you possess such self importance that you believe this disruption to be of greater value than the time of each initiate here?”

Before Fu might answer, the man swept around, pacing a length of the courtyard where all were assembled. An open-air sky well, enclosed by ornate, stone screens in place of walls.

Then he faced the crowd, twenty at a side for a total of four. Varied forms, kneeling amidst their [Spirit Beasts]. “See here, Initiates, what will not be tolerated. Such dysfunction is akin to rotted scales. A malignance to be severed from the body of our great serpent. But,” he snapped, feigning softness for what followed. “Is this not why you are here? For all I see is rot.”

Fu’s lecturer strode close to put him in shadow. His gaze, imperious. It was in those first seconds that the fisherman became aware of the [Spirit Serpent] at his cheek. Or the tongue of such, rasping to have his skin crawl.

As was only natural, Hushi tightened in his midden. A fear impressed.

“The [Dao Oath] saves none of you,” continued the man, resolute in his stance. “Comprehension of Qi suppression saves none of you. Only merit, and tenure. Which must be assured.”

A disturbance of Qi grew to fill the space, and the cultivator drew back by a single step. In full revelation of the scene unfolding there.

[Spirit Serpents], identical in onyx scale, surfaced from the air itself. A plague, numbering such that not one initiate was left untended. Each was a sleek creature, rising with an expansion of their hoods. Poised at the fore of Fu’s comrades.

Where they struck with no impunity.

Fu barked out in alarm as he felt a pair of fangs puncture his neck. A blur of motion, attributed to the serpent by sight alone. The pain came in a flash, and [Poison Qi] streamed into his veins. A different beast than what he had faced before.

His [Hundred Immunities Fruit] took the brunt of this… black venom, so coloured as an intrinsic understanding surfaced in their combat.

A weakening poison. Gradual, with a growth that will soon flourish.

What was worse than this knowing however, was his impotence against it. The senior here had no detectable Qi, yet his strength far transcended the [Formation Realm].

“As has been stated, Initiates, the Clouded Court is open to you. Our [Foundation] training, our techniques, our routine. Outwith the mandatory, the time is yours. Know that uniformity is enforced elsewhere, which only a base number of you will come to know,” continued the senior. “I say this now, as to join our ranks in full requires but a single task. One dependent on what comes hence.-”

Stolen from NovelBin, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Within him, the venom overcame much of Fu’s [Poison Resistance]. He felt it breaking as though it were a modest cloak against a snowstorm. A scant covering.

“-Upon the dawn of [Summer] this final process shall begin. All here are now gifted with the opportunity of motivation, for the Sunset Venom has now been imparted. In just shy of a [Season], it will claim your lives, cleansing the rot from our scales.” The senior drew a rounded, dandelion pill from his breast. Holding it aloft. “The Clouded Court will task you each with a single mission, whence completed, shall reward you with the antidote and instatement both.”

Propriety bade the initiates’ silence continue. But Fu saw then a pallid wave creep forth, not over all

, though enough for skin to impress the thoughts of those gathered.

Fu’s [Unaligned Qi Suppression Art] spluttered out in turn, and- “Senior!” roared some fool to the left.

The source was a younger woman, an adolescent with striking resemblance to his Yuqi and Yuling. And she threw herself into prostration to deliver her words. “This lowly junior is of [Autumn], and the [Tyranny of Seasons]-”

In matching speed with the [Spirit Serpent’s] blow, their senior answered her call.

A death as swift as thunder. One to leave no aspersions whether she hovered between life and death. As she was enveloped in a roiling, onyx haze. Her skin sallowed, and thinned, appearing to drape over her bones in ill-fitting form beneath their senior’s heel.

“An example makes itself known, how cordial. Gratitude, disciple,” said the senior, never so much as inclining his head. “Seclusion is reserved for full members of the Clouded Court. To preach such inadequacies as the [Tyranny of Seasons] when you are untested, and to ply excuses- this will not do. It is an affront to hospitality, and will be treated as such. To know one’s station is paramount. Which is to say, none here but I possess one. Now. Why do you all kneel before me still? Is further motivation required?”

Suffice it to say the courtyard was soon emptied.

However, as Fu watched the last of the initiates flee to the safety of distant walkways, he was caught in a surfacing worry.

The debt of Contribution Points had, by some benign force, adapted to his current [Season]. The terrestrial [Season]. Seeming to stay in synchronicity with where he stood, and not based on his travels between [Mystic Realms]. As such, he allowed himself a reprieve.

That I am not threatened with a fresh debt for [Spring], and granted only a handful of days to reduce it… This [Array] is a miracle.

Fu knew his [Seasonal] debt would be refreshed upon the breaking of [Summer], and though this birthed doubt at how he might complete it while under the parameters of the Clouded Court’s freshest hell, he was merely thankful for the thoroughness of the array.

“Hushi,” he whispered, summoning his Bond. “That we are here has proved we know how to swim. And the Clouded Court… it is a shore. A cove in this storm. If only we are able to solidify our position here.”

No matter how he felt about its duties. The death-stalking and subterfuge he gleaned they would have him employ.

The octopus passed along reassurance, but signalled his desire for haste. A nod of arms spurring Fu to take them to where they might act upon these thoughts.

So they moved from the courtyard in no chosen direction, following the previous procession of initiates in the hopes of gaining some insight. Walkways framed the edge of the structure they were in, a building of staggering height that was among the highest of the city’s skyline. Still in the shadow of this mystifying, heaven-piercing spear.

But he followed on for long minutes with no further gazing until the farthest edge, completing his circuit thereafter. Accommodation was all that lay behind the closed doors, and a mirror to his own dorm. Evidenced by the few that lay ajar, or when other members of the Clouded Courts emerged or entered.

These souls paid him no heed, leaving without word as he shifted to allow their passage. And among them, he saw no faces that he could recall from the initiation. Though his gaze had been held elsewhere.

It was strange, then, that he almost longed for the direction of the Green Blight Bastion. Of his Nineteenth Winter Brigade, and the simplicity of orders. More so as his paces returned him to the entrance to his room, where his fingers crested the handle.

Uncertain.

“The polite one,” chirped a voice from behind. The crone, a broom in her clutches.

“Ah, senior.”

“Master Jinjie didn’t see fit to put you to example? Pity isn’t in that child’s nature, is he perhaps ill?”

“I could not speak on the health of a Master,” returned Fu. He removed his hand from the door, now of a mind to ask for directions.

Though the crone spoke first. Fingers clasped atop the broom, which begged questions of her station. Given how earlier that day she had both fetched, and instructed him on the various facilities they had passed upon leaving the monolith-centric pit.

“You’ve the bearing of one lost, disciple Gao Fu. The Clouded Court expects more of their initiates than an early bedtime. Why, the others have already swarmed upon the training hall, eager to instil their hierarchy. Would you not join them?”

The informality of her speech was questionable, but he pressed her regardless. “Hierarchy? Is there such a thing here?”

“Dogs hold hierarchy, disciple. Why would it be different here?” She tsked in a way reminiscent of Grandmother Hua. “I’ll ask again, would you not join them?”

Fu answered quickly, for it was honest. “No, senior,” and at this answer the crone had her join him in a walk. “Glory is the game of the youthful and untethered. My thoughts are- apologies senior, my tongue wags.”

“A poor quality for an aspirant of our order,” she laughed. “But do I cringe from it? No. My interest is piqued, and did I not ask? Continue.”

“I fear further words would beggar pity from the senior.” They approached a descending stairwell, and Fu took perch at the bannister so the crone might pass first. As was right. A crooked smile was exchanged for such efforts, and he soon followed. “Perhaps it is that I hold value in things beyond the unofficial station of my peers.”

“Explain this. What might hold more value?”

Further steps delivered the pair inside, to a great expanse of sand. A hall of several tiers, and oddity in construction.

In far corners Fu spied multi-armed stumps of metal and wood, set upon by members of the Clouded Court Squads in a medley of blows. Yet this was seen through horizontal trunks and beams, ringing the building’s whole interior. Exercises in balance underway as bodies slunk and leapt in various forms of combat above.

And this comprised only the highest tier, aside which they now walked. Towards the crowd of massed initiates that had taken residence on the sand.

“The disciple isn’t deaf,” came a second chirp from the crone.

“Family, senior. My debt must be cleansed so they might walk freely. To enter a hierarchy serves no benefit, unless it awards more Contribution Points.”

The crone chuckled to herself. “A truthful answer. How delightfully foolish. You’re not aware that the Clouded Serpent Sect, in line with all Sects, allow competition between their disciples for these points? Hah. You’ve revealed a glimmer of your tale, Gao Fu.”

“Truly?”

The look upon the crone’s face was almost pitying. What drew his attention then, however, were the gathered initiates. Ringed upon the closest sand in observation of a duelling pair in direct opposition of the propriety they had held before the previous Master.

“Truly, Gao Fu. An age-old tradition,” she sighed. “Interesting, isn’t it? That contention is fostered, and held in equal favour with the solidarity so desired.”

“The Sect Elders would not allow it were it not wise, I should think.” It was then that Fu came within several strides of the others.

“The aged initiate comes,” came a laugh, one that cascaded through the crowd. Beckoning many a mutter. “Senility has dulled your sense of direction. Ha! Do you come to try your hand?”

Fu stuttered with where to put his feet, as the crone had not stopped. As such his reply was prompt, dispensed between a curt nod. “I would not interrupt,” he said to his addressor. A youthful Vajra with a [Spirit Serpent] coiled at his leg.

But his refusal fanned more than a few gazes.

“You would ignore the Master’s instructions?” called a woman, her voice of vague familiarity.

The crone was growing in distance. “Instructions, sister?”

“Ah, of course you’d not know,” she smiled. “Due to your tardiness. Let us help you, brother. We are to conduct a placement, as was said before your arrival.”

A series of smiles rose in the cultivators around her.

Yet Fu was no fool. These were feigned things. Charlatans’ grins of the same breed he had seen in the Thousand Shore City markets, where immoral merchants might trade poor produce.

If only he knew why they sought to goad him.

“Gratitude, for your concern,” he returned. “My goals lead me elsewhere, but I appreciate your consideration. If placement is to be had, I would do so under the Master’s eyes. Lest I make a mistake.”

“Come now brother!” exclaimed another. “We are merely trading pointers.”

At this the woman’s false joy fled. Likely irritated by this latest insert, she set her attention to the continuing fray. A cold turn to mark the conversation’s end.

The ‘Fairy Sister’ that stirred the initiate’s death below to the [Spirit Bats]. A looter of a burning house. I make her voice to be the same.

Fu increased his pace until he caught up with the crone, almost leaping in her path to open the door that she had reached. Nary a comment spent for his absence. Though in compensation, he bowed deep as the screen was pulled back.

A sanded pit of a different sort was exposed beyond the threshold. Noted such for the intensity of heat that clamped tight his chest.

In matching fare, Hushi threw back the douli.

Just where has she brought me? If indeed she has brought me anywhere. Perhaps I have merely followed the floorsweep on a pointless walk.

This space was a domed chamber, holding precious else but a stone ring to contain the sands within. That, and the lonely lantern that hung from the crown. A sway to it.

“Yunhan, the first,” said the crone.

As one does when another shows signs of lunacy, Fu took a measured step to the side. “Senior?”

“Gao Fu is his name, and- Oh rise, you slothful cur!” With a flick of her sleeve, the crone’s devastatingly thick Qi washed out to dispense any trace of heat. An [Intent] was this blade’s second edge, and ill-portent in equal measure.

Dread surfaced in the sands ahead, amplified to an order of magnitude greater than Fu had ever known. He toppled to his front, and welcomed it, for a tomb of sand was more preferable to the oceanic doom that had him ensnared.

Hushi melded into the grains a pace ahead, unable to parse any thoughts but what his cultivator now felt.

And there, a serpent was revealed to be the floor itself.

A dune gushed in its rising, tidal in its push. Ever pouring to show the indomitable scales and impossible size of this monstrosity.

“The first,” warned a distant voice. “Not the last. Behave yourself.”

Fu’s blood froze at the returning hiss.

“As it is willed.” With nothing but a breath to mark action, the forces oppressing Fu then vanished, and the sand’s disturbance ended in turn. Lending clarity to the same voice, less serpentine than the previous moment. “Disciple Gao Fu.”

“Gao Fu, you might rise. Don’t shed your manners now, it’s half of your merit,” laughed the crone.

So he did, at a knee. Before him was the same serpent, and a man interred in sand-soiled uniform. Thick, woollen scarves tight about his face to cradle the [Spirit Beast]. Unseasonable at the very least. He held himself in strange posture, clutching his own arms as if to stave off a chill, and when he spoke it was a mumbled affair.

“The first.”

“The first,” returned the crone, signalling to Fu. “He is in your care, disciple Yunhan. See to it that he learns well.”

“As it is willed,” mumbled the man. “Elder.”