It was not until this daoist had found his truth that he did return to the lands of the Clear Sky Empire.

Unsurprising, that it flourished in his absence. How could it not, with peace in the hearts of its subjects? Knowing, or not.

The [Empress Above All] fostered one mind in the people, her mind. Judgement that passed like thunder and as swift as the wind. Upon the lawless, and disengendered. Black bellied fools who thought raindrops a flood and sunshine a drought.

When one thinks themself at the pinnacle, they are blinded to the clouds. They learn it as such, and opine it with such conviction that it cannot be faulted.

As such, these false rulers, these Sect Elders, these Truth-blind Vajra - was it not natural for their hearts to know avarice?

Warmakers, blind to prosperity.

But prideful, that they could ever think themselves her undoing.

No. In a way, that honour, she reserved for herself.

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

The allotted four days held different meaning for those above him, it seemed.

In the span of days where he had been lavished amongst his family, spoiled with their attentions, the [Season] had drifted ever closer to [Summer]. This had the cloud thin, and the cloying moisture of [Spring’s] clouds unable to mask what dewy cheeks his children held.

Fu had Yuqi at arm’s length, and his smile was solemn against her grim forbearance. “To have such a face on our parting,” he said. “I would rather hold your smile in memory, is this not better?”

“Apologies, Father,” she returned, almost succeeding in an effort to steel herself. So Fu drew her close again, where her head was buried in his shoulder for a time.

“Disciple Gao Fu,” warned the envoy at their rear, repeating his earlier instruction. A feathered [Spirit Serpent] at his rear, teal in both scales and plumage. “It is ill advised that we are delayed further.” The pagoda before the Gao clan’s home was bustling, but such an order was heard clearly.

It was time to depart.

Yuqi separated from her father to rejoin Feng and Yuling, their hands clasped in respect. Their Bonds held similar expressions amongst them, even the prideful Nuwang.

“We will await your return, Father,” they said in concert.

Fu gave back a warm smile. “Study well, and train well, my children. Your Father will be back upon his first leave.” And he made to turn, finding that it brought an ache to his chest. That his feet were as heavy as limestone.

The debt remains.

With a heavy heart, Fu quashed his own feelings. The act of leaving was always a sorrowful thing. A pang that struck each time he would board his fishing boat. As such he deadened himself in memory of it, and forcefully aligned both past and current acts.

It… is just the same.

He extended a cordial bow to the envoy, and joined him atop the back of his [Spirit Serpent]. A cold thing, unlike the warmth of an embrace. Too irregular to sit comfortably, or to stow the sack that Grandmother Hua had given him.

“Master Cultivator,” he addressed. “Are we to return to the Pavillion Heads?”

The man bore no evidence of fatherhood then, or kinship. For the [Spirit Serpent] was aloft with no space for parting waves or given looks. A force of Qi propelled them into the sky, into a steady flight through hanging clouds. “To the [Spatial Array] at this canton’s heart.”

With a foolish nod, Fu showed his acknowledgement. To the man at his fore, with no sight of what sat behind. So after a moment, he merely shouted, “Gratitude,” and settled in.

Over a course of several minutes he had taken to searching his belt for The Clear Sky Empire, disappointed that the Divine Clouded Mountain’s cover was so thick that he could not see more of the canton itself.

Finding a peculiarity interred there.

At first his fingers clasped at the edges of his two tomes, as was usual. However, his Parables of the Dao was gone. Replaced by an old treasure, if not itself changed from the last time he had looked upon it.

The Stifling Stream Revolutions

was in hand. Bound as it had been, yet with a content of pages that bulged. Given the brutal, lashing winds about him, he was not as inclined to open it as he was his other tomes, but made note to do so later.

When they arrived at the [Spatial Array] he was unceremoniously bumped from the [Spirit Serpent], rid of it by an arching of tail. So much so that he could scarcely offer his gratitude before it burst off once more.

“Hushi,” he asked. “Will [Harmony] allow us to fly such as this?”

As ever, the octopus returned nothing, and they made their way forward. The building that housed the [Spatial Array] was a stately, imposing facade of singular path. A set of stairs, fifty spaces wide, that spread from the lip of their arrival point towards a central set of doors.

Halfway to the door, his [Senses] pricked. A disturbance of [Air Qi] that arrived in no timely fashion to warn him of what now occurred.

A trial faced before.

“Who are you to approach the [Spatial Array]?” hissed the voice in his ear. A whisper that felt unimportant when paired with the blade at the nape of his neck.

“Mock disciple Gao Fu. Here to meet my appointment.”

“Present the token that would grant you such authority.”

At a glacial pace, Fu placed his hands within his pouch. Displaying a single chit to the unseen figure. “There are three more, if you would see them, senior.” Upon saying this the doors ahead pushed open, in tandem with a relief of pressure. Marking the voice’s disappearance.

And the fisherman exhaled.

In the [Mystic Realm] I could not sense their arrival. To feel the [Air Qi] disturbed shows progress, if nothing else. If a [Spirit Beast] could do the same I would be undone.

After a second’s recovery, Fu arrived at the [Spatial Array]. A set of characters written on the floor pulsed with light, and he recognized the intersecting trigrams here to bear some resemblance to his first [Array] upon the warship.

The Golden Merchant canton’s however, was staffed by a sour-faced, elderly man, and not some irritated young woman as it had been before. “Disciple Gao Fu. This daoist was told to expect a token of choice. You favoured one above others when showing proof of authority to the juniors outside. Is this your choice?”

“Awe of their skill had paralyzed me, senior,” bowed Fu, and he withdrew the key to his chosen appointment. “This is the path I choose.”

The Array Master hummed sagely, offering his hand for receipt. “The others are to be returned as well.”

A small part of Fu had hoped otherwise, given the value that such intricate jade might fetch were he to trade them. But he could not refuse, and parted with what was asked.

“Step through, disciple,” he was instructed. “And this daoist hopes your path will take you to interesting places”.

🀦

The nausea of the [Spatial Array] had no doubt muddied his eyes. For upon Fu’s arrival he was entered into the sublime shadow of the Heavens themselves. He could but blink, and gape, shrinking into insignificance the longer he craned his neck.

Quickly, he knew his knees to be upon the ground, and his heart to be fluttering.

“Ah, the proper respect is observed.”

Try as he might to compose himself, Fu was still dumbfounded by the sight ahead. Unable to rise from the patterns of this fresh [Spatial Array].

Thousands of li distant, a spear penetrated the earth. An intricate head of thirds, wicked and curved in some depiction of flame. Its shaft was broken, and the jagged metal that comprised it- Such details were unimportant beside its scale.

For it truly pierced the Heavens.

“A [Winter] disciple, I should think,” the same voice came again, less distorted after each settling heartbeat. “[Foundation Realm]. [Air Qi]. A [Spirit Octopus]. Unorthodox then. He is to be Senior Savir’s.”

“This… junior greets his…” With a considerable force of will, Fu broke his gaze from the divine weapon. To find himself at the feet of a Sect-robed man. “This junior greets his senior!” he yelled.

A rough clamp was taken on the collar of his ruqun, either so fast he might not react or merely faster than his disorientation could counter. Hushi impressed a protestation of coming danger as Qi enveloped the pair, conjuring shadows to swallow him whole.

Inertia came, again. Vertigo, and the displacement of all. A suddenness to it that wrenched his stomach and threatened to pry it loose.

Lunacy! What- where-

A cacophony shattered his current thoughts, and a further madness was revealed from every available space about him. The spear had vanished to instead show a dim pit. A floor of fine sand, which he knew by his immersion in it, and how it cascaded as he struggled to his feet.

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And the cultivators that were beating each other bloody around a ceiling-high monolith at his fore.

Before he could react a fist had crunched into his jaw, battering him down into the sand. A victorious cry as its punctuation, however muted by his head’s ensconcement it was. “[External Qi] is not permitted,” growled the assailant.

Fu burst to his feet, incensed by the sudden blow. In a fluid motion he cast out hi-

No chain was at his hip. No pouch, nor belt.

The youth, for he now saw clearly, lunged to deliver a series of swift punches. Worse yet, a [Spirit Serpent] drove for his legs. Some blackened thing, of light-defying scales.

“Hushi!” he yelled, as if the Bond needed instruction. Fu activated [Half Cloud Step], and his Qi flooded him with strength. He released a kick from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions], only to have it countered by a sweeping palm.

His foe’s hands had a hook to them, slack-seeming. But Fu knew it to be a technique, and mused it to be of serpentine, Orthodox form. For that is how these blows came upon him. With lashing, lunging ferocity, reminiscent of a striking snake.

A sure talent! But his blows lack [Might].

The pair danced over ten paces, exchanging strikes that were delivered, and countered, in equal measure. Fu would kick for it to be swept aside, punch, for his blow to be redirected, and dodge to be met with a blocking limb.

Yet the youth lacked a heart for violence.

Fu feigned into a forceful, horizontal kick, telegraphing his foe into a backstep. Somewhat obvious, until he conjured a platform at its end. [Might] allowed his weight to shift upon it, where he contorted into a seamless backspring, smashing his free foot into the back of the youth’s head.

Grounding him for good.

A groan came in useless protest, muffled by sand. Followed immediately by the [Spirit Serpent’s] body landing in a heap upon his cultivator.

“Hushi, what is this?” he asked, having the octopus mount his shoulder.

Three score of cultivators, perhaps, continued the brawl. From sandy edge to sandy edge, they clashed, all striving in some fashion to make it towards the monolith before their peers. A mere guess, as Fu saw defensive lines, and pairs disengage from their bouts in prevention of any who neared it.

Though he saw no killing blows between them.

“A contest?” he mused, surging ahead.

Several took note of his appearance, and of those free of conflict, two charged forth. Blocking the two hundred or so strides it would take to reach the monolith’s base. To achieve whatever it was these souls fought for.

“An elder walks among us,” laughed one. A youthful- Five paces from Fu, a [Spirit Beast] of ridiculous girth stampeded across her. Leaving the adolescent girl quite infirm, and buried shallow.

The creature possessed a glowing, metallic horn at its nose, with a bearing of an armored sow. If one might be thrice his length. Fu vowed to stay well clear of it, even as it cast a wave of sand in its pivot towards him.

From left to right, he saw no gap that was not filled with foes. Yet this was of benefit, and so he launched towards the closest pairing. Deft blows of the same serpentine style flew out between those he landed aside, and managed to block the sweeping kick he directed at the rearmost.

Both these cultivators turned as Fu went low, hand-springing into the [Wind Phantom Strides] to deliver him away. A fruitless endeavour, some might think, though enough to distract the horned [Spirit Swine] into adjusting its charge.

And…

A half-smile came.

A bitter enjoyment.

Fu set his gaze on the [Spirit Swine’s] cultivator, a-glow in metallic hues. An appearance of Qi-birthed gauntlets overlaid in the light that danced at her wrists. He went inverted as the distance closed, landing at her flank to deliver a strike to the back of her head.

But [Metal Qi] met him, and an [Art]. The woman, of middling years, he noted, surged into her own charge. A twin-fisted style of dramatic speed.

If not singular direction.

Fu reeled as his fist was met with two, and he felt a dent in his bone. A fracture at his wrist that was no small pain. A prohibitive one, as instinct told him that it had lost all use in bearing weight.

Her Bond grants much physical strength through [Might]. Can it then grant speed?

[Half Cloud Step] conjured a platform beneath his foot, and he danced sidewards. She followed, poorly, attempting the same [Art] again. Haste had her surge by him at a disadvantage, an overcompensation that delivered Fu’s kick to the base of her spine.

Another pain, and revelatory of an iron-thick [Resilience].

So Fu rolled back, bursting across the sand towards the monolith’s base. In his reasoning, to engage would gain nothing.

Unimpeded, he and Hushi were allowed to close the distance to the monolith. A slender thing of stone that evoked the memory of that recent, heavenly spear. And in moments his working hand had a grip on it, some few strides off the ground.

A climb now, if I am let be.

He could almost sigh at the half-second it took for the cultivators to reach him. The Blight Valley [Mystic Realm] afforded him a taste of manoeuvrability, of navigating through air and space.

Those now above him had his experience pale.

No less than five souls were scaling the monolith. A trifle. A base task, it seemed. As Fu regarded how they ran.

He knew he could not do the same, and to try now would spell ruin for whatever effort he had just expended. Thus he flew in his own way, taking measure of the Qi within his [Dantian] before he did.

One leap brought him over empty air, with [Might] clearing a more than adequate distance since last he had checked. A platform was conjured at the apex, a swift summoning where he leapt again. Back to the monolith.

To rebound, and re-conjure his [Art].

A sure taxation on his body. But on the third he surpassed his competition, to their audible surprise.

In a heartbeat he came upon their height, and shamelessly delivered his foot atop the shoulders of the closest. Leaping again. He did two things then. The expected, and an oddity.

Fu’s kick promptly freed the cultivator from his climb, shunting him from the monolith’s side to plummet towards the sand. However the unmistakable piercing of fangs tore deep into his ankle, a dragging puncture to flap his skin and-

[Poison Qi]. A vicious sort that entered his veins.

He was caught in twin minds, fighting the impulse to look down when the monolith’s peak was now in his reach. So amidst a white-hot infusion that surged through his veins, Hushi jetted outwards.

Ensnaring the [Spirit Serpent], and prying it free in no harmless manner.

His ailing leg was first to crest the top, bringing him to stumble towards a mundane, crimson flag. Then, atop it. A history of [Poison Qi] had hardened him against the effects enough to keep his wherewithal, yet-

“Hand over the flag, old man,” spat a voice. Imminently ignorable.

“You dare use the Xiaobo heir as a stepping stone? He is no rung to be-”

“Amituofo, brother. This One Hundredth Rate daoist would have the flag delivered to his feet. Before

he must ask again.”

Fu’s [Dantian], no, his [Channels] were awash with a frigid breeze. The transmutation effect of the [Hundred Immunities Fruit], now underway. And he understood, if he could not bear this initial sensation of frigidity within his body.

The [Poison Qi] had become a mist. A Blight of [Air Qi] that had replenished a parcel of his inner reserves from a single bite. More than that, however, his injuries were tended. Imperfectly, perhaps, yet no longer an ailment.

So it was that he rose, callously. A flag in his restored hand, and raised it high.

🀦

Winning.

Never before had he won.

In the life of a fisherman there was a fateful catch, a trove of slumbering, sun-beaten trout that did not suspect a net to disturb their rest. Could this be considered a contest? Fu supposed that it might, though it hardly equated to the sense he held within.

A short spell that had brought two victories. Though he would ponder upon the implications of his [Hundred Immunities Fruit] later.

For now, he would see what was to come with contentment.

Once the dust of the contest had settled, a voice bid the cultivators to array themselves at the monolith’s base.

A fall into routine, wherein Fu had settled among the rows with the flag taught to his chest.

Taught, for he did not need a cultivator’s [Senses] to feel the glowering envy of those around him.

The address came in short order. But not before there was an emergence of sorts.

From the pit’s edge, an exodus of cultivators spilled. Uniformed as was fitting their station, though in a style closer to a scholar’s coat, fastened high at the neck. This fashion was… ambiguous, where belonging was concerned, and Fu mused that were he to pass one dressed as such on the street, he might not guess their occupation.

These cultivators held variety in their Bonds, and it was not solely [Spirit Serpents] that formed this noose around those Fu gathered with. However a majority they might be.

Once settled into their stance, the speaker arrived. “The victorious disciple will step forth,” he commanded, though it was softened by the silken timbre of his voice. “This daoist would hear their name.”

Fu tread through the first row, and came to a knee upon the sand. “This disciple is Gao Fu, and he is honoured to present this.” Under the cover of the proffered flag, he spied the speaker in full.

An effeminate, slender man. Beholden more to Yin, and a Vajra of richer skin than Adhrit. Truly, a striking contrast against the golden tint of his close-shorn scalp. “Divine,” he stated. “Disciple Gao has progressed in his initiation. He alone has claimed the right to serve, though this daoist has gleaned some who may hold potential yet.”

A movement occurred, shown by the stirring of sand at many feet.

“It was not circumstance that brought you all hence. If there is a soul among you that knows not what is expected, then this daoist offers his condolences,” he continued. “But to enter unprepared is graceless.”

These words drew a palpable breath from Fu’s rear.

Ah.

Still at the fore, Fu felt guilt surface. Victory in the contest had secured his own appointment, perhaps, sealing the fate of those behind him. The cultivators he had faced were of ample challenge, and skilled experts. No doubt collated from powerful families. Clan scions, or such. He hoped that this would not build animosity towards him.

The Sect alone was adversary enough.

“A scale has been placed before each of you. Beneath, is your judgement, either in darkest black or deepest red. Unmistakable. You will lift it now, and act as is desired. Such is the opportunity granted.”

Fu had no part in this, and could only wait.

Wait for-

Wetness.

A gush, and then many. A deluge of sharpened fangs, bursting [Intent], and indescribably bloody [Arts]. As behind, the cultivators had turned the sands into a swift massacre. One, unified force of delineated death.

What were once mildly weathered robes were adorned with splatters of… deepest red. Crimson, or ruby, fonting across the sands, pooling at the feet or knuckles or claws of cultivators and Bonds alike.

“Aged bastard!” flocked the sound betwixt frothing lips. One pace away.

Fu’s eyes could go no wider as he was met with a brutal weight of [Killing Intent], one that stained the air in violent hues of muddied brown. A darkness of Qi came then, riding the wind towards him in the outline of spectral serpents. And in his confusion, they struck, gnashing into his flesh to secure themselves for their cultivator’s arrival.

Or their true vestige, the hidden [Spirit Serpent] that had conjured them.

Like twinned daggers did the fangs sink into his neck, denied further progress by Hushi’s intervention. His impression of true threat.

All confusion vanished as Fu’s [Intent] poured out, suffused with the [Dao of Suffocation] to bring immediate effect. The cultivator, the enraged, blood-lusted youth, roared breathlessly, clambering to tear wider the wound his Bond had created.

And fell short as the [Stifling Stream Revolutions] inspired a jaw-breaking kick. Thunder filled Fu’s heart as the maddened cultivator unleashed an aura of [Dark Qi]. Tendrils of black elongating one arm, allowing him to drag himself-

The hooked head of Fu’s chain arrived in his hand, cast from above. A subtle clink sounding as it did, and… further wetness as it was plunged into the youth’s skull.

This path- this appointment-

Heartbeats passed as Fu studied the mess at his feet. That gap he had created. So unlike the gap in a [Spirit Beast]. So unprompted. So unnecessary. So silent.

Silent?

Fu dropped to a knee, feeling Hushi at his side. “Hushi,” he started, but sealed his tongue before it might betray him.

“Divine,” sang the voice above. “This daoist is well pleased. Such intuition and grace will serve the Clouded Court Squads well.”