Once, in this daoist’s adolescence, barely a boy of two centuries, did he accept his calling.

As all Vajra do.

Embodying the [Two that do not Seek], in half, in search of the truth that Heaven could impart.

The martial experts would wax the same from Prefecture to Prefecture. From canton, to city, to tribal camp. And this daoist oft pondered on its dilution.

“Spread wide your foundation, and begin from there,” or, “To master a thing, one must know all of it.”

Derivative statements of the truth, applied to bloodshed and war.

“Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.”

Vexation.

But this daoist turned pilgrim to ponder further. A venture from lands of bloated scholars to those distant. Away from those who speak, from the heart of the Clear Sky Empire. Deeper.

Lower.

To places where the [Dao of Sight] could pierce a map and have the endless boundary of her Empress’ domain show no border.

South of the Outer Clear Sky Prefecture, to a land ruled by a vassal. A [Dao Named] king.

South, to the [Dao Named] Emperor who was his vassal in turn.

To the [Origin Realm] Sect. The Queen. The City Lord. The next Emperor, whose backwater city held but a half a billion peasants.

And so on, this daoist travelled, until there came a logging town of verdant bamboo. Scarcely three hundred thousand strong. Where it was asked, “Who is the [Empress Above All],” and it was answered thus.

“Who?”

A look, and a return to toppling trunks.

Leaving this daoist both aghast, and enthralled. As he had found here a man that did not know, and in this, knew much indeed.

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

An hour after breakfast, Fu felt such an ache in his stomach that he could not describe it. A pleasant thing, in truth, for only Qi had sustained him for days, or weeks on end.

The previous evening’s buns were reheated, going unfinished due to the number available, and he cradled one in his palm.

Unwilling to force another bite.

“Hushi,” he whispered. “Are you well?”

In a word, his Bond had melted into the window ledge, impressing violent intent should Fu attempt to move him.

Fu chuckled to himself, placing the bun at Hushi’s side. “A deserved rest.”

Faced with a fresh morning, the fisherman left his octopus alone. Unfettered by duty save for what they wished, he welcomed his Bond’s choice, entering the main living quarters of his family’s accommodation.

A home, perhaps.

Of his children, only Yuling had risen at this early hour. Nuwang by her feet, tongue to paw, tending to fur much as his daughter brushed her own hair. They sat in a nook by another window, a fugue of cloud kept at bay by the heat of a small, stone stove beneath it.

“Ah-” she smiled. “Good morning, Father.” In a half motion she placed down her brush on the small table there, only to have Fu take it in his own hand.

In an idle descent into routine, he took her hair and fell into a rhythm of brushing. “How is my daughter this morning?” he asked. “I can cook some rice if you give me a moment.”

Yuling leaned back, smiling. “Last night’s food still has me full, Father. I could not dream of breakfast.”

“If you are sure.”

The pair fell into a cosy silence for the next few minutes, and stirring sounds played behind the few doors that led off from the main room. Strange, Fu thought, that his family were so separate under one roof.

That it took devastation to give my children what they deserve. The Heavens make queer plans indeed.

As Fu wound Yuling’s hair into the makings of a braid, her fingers came to rest upon his own. “Father, might I show you how I wear it now?” she asked, and he stopped.

He felt his face sink a mite, for his handiwork in styling was on par with skill in fishing. A well practised thing. Where he had put two braids together, meeting in thick, raven loops to put shame to the finest of horse’s tails, Yuling unmade it.

A small change was observed as her fingers made fast work, having the braid rise defiantly to trail from her crown. Where before it was at the base of her neck.

Fu admitted that it flaunted his daughter’s shapely face, framed now with a mess at her shoulders.

“My daughter,” he frowned. “Your poor Father must contend with much already. Must Uncle Hushi and I now beat back every suitor from here to Thousand Shore City?”

There came a sliding of doors, and Yuqi emerged with an identical fashion.

“That is it, I forbid all of the Gao women from leaving these walls before they are old and withered.”

After a laugh that could best be described as partially uncertain, Fu’s daughters exchanged a few pleasantries. Minutes passed with small nothings between the three. Passing comments. Poorly delivered jokes to summon groans from the pair, and a warmth that the fisherman had long missed.

“Father, we are to study again today. By Grandmother Hua’s instruction,” said Yuqi. “But we will return before the evening meal.”

Saddened, Fu nodded. “My daughters are diligent, and I am proud. Even if I wish to spend each moment by their sides.” Ill-wanting to deepen the forming frowns on their faces, he waved them away. “Your Father already has duties to attend to this day, do not worry over it.”

With a half-bow, he was soon left alone in the palatial living space. And he made to sigh, cut short only by the tremendous clatter at Feng’s door.

Red-faced, his son burst into the space. A sheen of sweat across his entire body. “Father!” he cried, scraping on his modest clothes. “Good morning!”

But Feng did not stop for conversation, only to bow at the room’s exit. “Son?”

“I pressed for another set of exercises,” he explained. “Have my sisters already made for the library? Grandmother Hua will-”

“Go, son,” Fu dismissed, and in short order found himself alone once more. This time, completing his sigh.

The shoe is on the other foot now. My children rush to work while their Father lounges at home with idle hands.

Though he had spoken truth to his daughters, and was not void of purpose. Sleep had not come easily to him the previous night, for myriad reasons, he supposed. His stage of cultivation, the unfamiliarity… the muted calls of street folk that had him shiver and leap awake at each utterance.

As such Fu had risen early - earlier than his previous life had sharpened him to - and completed several sets of the [Stifling Stream Revolutions]. A fateful occurrence, or well orchestrated, for it was then that the messenger had come.

A plain one, wrapped in robes of the Cloudy Serpent Sect, and delivering four chits of finest jade.

Yet Fu kept his fingers still, and far from the pouch where they were now stored. Such things might stand in the way of today’s cultivation.

Perhaps even tomorrow’s as well.

🀦

Moisture clung to Fu’s skin to impart a certain confusion where clothes and flesh began. For all things beneath the cloud were damp and sodden. Though this was a thought that had surfaced only recently, when the sulphuric heat of opening his, alleged, penultimate [Meridian] had subsided. By Long’s guess, at least.

With his eyes closed, and his gaze inwards, Fu pondered the sight.

He was no fool to have expected a clear path, and his suspicions were confirmed upon seeing that none at all existed.

Where previous [Meridians] were hollow expanses, reservoirs of Qi that radiated the divine energy into his body this -

His brow furrowed.

- this, was no different.

The others, however, strung [Channels] between each. A network where his Qi might flow and further suffuse, strengthen, and sustain extraneous areas of muscle and organ.

Here he found naught but the edges, cleaned of [Impurities].

Fu circulated his Qi, and in this movement he could find nothing. Atop his lap, Hushi impressed a similar thought. Always was there an accompaniment of fatigue when cleansing his [Meridians], and he wondered if the current rawness of pathways prohibited clear insight into his next direction.

“Mei once warned of forcing our way through, did she not?” Fu asked, tapping his octopus upon the crown.

His Bond wriggled, and in tandem they opened their eyes.

[Spring’s] low clouds had them blanketed. Trimming the area that he might readily see. Quite dangerously so, with this perch he had taken high atop the roof of his family’s building.

Here [Air Qi] flowed in plenty, though it was contaminated with the coolness of [Water] or [Mist]. Those being chief among the myriad lesser taints of the Divine Clouded Mountain’s Golden Merchant canton.

With his opinion skewed towards patience, he summoned his [Ink].

It was agreeable, if less enticing than reading the display of treasures or new [Dao].

[Might] increases again by a value of two. Hushi grants me more speed than [Resilience]. How will this change when I enter the [Formation Realm]?

“We have not spoken on this, have we?” he said. As their cultivation, and inward pursuits had them well embroiled in each other’s thoughts, Hushi passed back his understanding of the question. “It is common enough to know that cultivators have a good route discovered for their future. Planned well by tutors and Masters, or their tomes. This much even mortals know. We should follow their example.”

Hushi reached an arm to Fu’s navel, or some few finger width’s above. He impressed a flash of an image, then. His imagining of a star, splitting.

“[Two Point],” agreed Fu. “If you would have it. Or is there another path you wish to travel down? [Harmony] or such?”

The octopus remained quiet for long moments, and searched further across Fu’s body with moistened arms. One slap upon the shoulder-painted [Ink], and an affirmation, then to each of the points where other paths might be shown.

Forehead, navel, and heart. [Mind], [Harmony], and [Spirit] respectively. Only showing an indication of favor upon the second.

“Then [Harmony] will be next, however it is done.”

As Hushi didn’t show any emotion towards the others, Fu took it to mean that he held insight into what the deepening of their bond might mean. A helpful revelation, and together with Long- with that traitorous bastard’s education on the matter, he had a notion of the first steps in his planned path of cultivation.

A notion.

Fu let out a sigh. “I felt a passing confidence there,” he admitted, rising to his feet. “As such, we should see it corrected. Come, Hushi. Let us see how swiftly our dragon of a Grandmother will amend our path.”

🀦

Naturally the venerable Grandmother moved as she pleased, and was not beholden to any demand, let alone Fu’s. In fact, the contrary was now in effect, and in these past few seconds she had him submit to further hardships.

Torture, with all that he had endured thus far.

“Do not make one of my age wait,” she said, and the tension boiled as though it were a kettle on the stove. “Or has this last [Mystic Realm] washed all sense aside?”

What she asks is beyond reason.

Across the table, the eyes of his children could not meet his own. Occupied, forcefully, upon their own plates. Nor did Hushi brave the ire of this senior, or Paxing, Nuwang, and Yiji become so bold as to defy these domestic Heavens.

And so, the fisherman set down the final dumpling. “It is yours, Grandmother,” he said. [Senses] indicating a release of shared breath from those seated about him.

After suffering this most shameful of defeats the meal continued as many do, coming to end with stuffed bellies and contented smiles. Though a new tradition was shown to Fu once all plates had been cleared, and the table was rid of stray rice.

A recital of sorts, instigated by Grandmother Hua. “Sweet Feng,” she had started. “Speak on your studies. The final passage of daoist [Ash-heaped Mountain’s] memoir should suffice.”

What was peculiar then, was the alacrity of his son’s delivery. “Therein this daoist had seen the error of such a construct. [Ash Qi] was not to be treated as a particulate when allowed to settle, akin more, to its insulting neighbour, [Water], and those with properties that might overcome it. Were vigilance employed in place of pride these last decades might not be wasted, and thus is a warning to be heeded.”

Fu’s attentive disbelief was keenly noted by Grandmother Hua, who hummed pleasantly under a passing glance. “Do you comprehend these words, and all those before it?” she asked.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“Then you may cultivate.”

With permission granted, Feng bowed to both of his familial seniors, and left with Paxing in lumbering tow.

“Yuqi,” called Grandmother Hua.

The initial shock of his children’s words was promptly replaced with admiration over the next several exchanges.

Fu had always known that their mother’s talent lay within them, a heritage of intelligence and crystal memory. But to see it now, to hear tome and parchment-scribed words repeated verbatim swelled his pride.

It seemed that Grandmother Hua had instilled a proper itinerary for their studies, as best Fu might tell.

A regimen crafted so they might thrive, which proved to be the case.

As Yuling’s door slid tight behind her, Fu felt the corner of his mouth tug in a smile. Though this appeared to be the wrong choice of emotion.

“Talent is all that reduces the time you have squandered. See now, Gao Fu, a glimpse of what they might have attained.” Grandmother Hua took a sip of her tea, the [Blue Frost Ginseng] colouring the steam with its namesake hue. “But dedication is a force they do not lack. A saving grace, guided in some way by you.”

“My ears reveal more of their studies than I could have guessed. Of their success,” he said. “If this could be steered by any, it would be you, Grandmother. Gratitude.”

There came a hum of halved emotions then, and an absence of words followed.

Fu was under no illusion that tea alone held her captive in his company. So spoke, with a view to gain her wisdom. But a dryness of mouth caught him short. Something sudden, and delivered in tandem with a descent of feathers.

Not a pace across the table, a [Spirit Cuckoo] had landed. “I would not have this moistening of lips continue, Gao Fu. If a question is to be asked, then it should be. Those gums are as a loosened hinge, and an irritation.”

The comment had Fu conscious of his mouth, and of how many times he must have forestalled speech. “My cultivation nears the [Formation Realm].”

“Did I not warn you once to untwist your words? Speak plain, oaf, and speak in question, for that is what you wish. Lest this conversation return my hair to grey, and my bones to dust before any meaning is imparted!”

Conjured solely in his mind, a flash of [Spirit Apes] surfaced. One mental recollection wherein he wondered which force showed him more contention. “Apologies, Grandmother. If it is offered, I would ask for guidance.” Before Hua might supply her hum, or protest that she needed no pause to digest his words, Fu continued. “Hushi urges me to take the path of [Harmony] when we arrive at that time. Yet I would not do such things in haste. The Sect cultivators, and lifelong whispers speak always on foundation and how it must be solid. I am no craftsman, but to fashion a rudder for a boat without knowing its size. It is unwise.”

Hua was impassive, showing no deep consideration for the question. “To know the road ahead, ask those who are coming back. A wisdom you have never lacked, Gao Fu, this is well spoken. But an open ramble.”

A question too broad. She would not endanger me, but anger would have prying her wisdom free harder than opening a clam.

“Should I tread the path of [Two Points]? Three?”

“Counsel from your [Spirit Beast] you already have. This is repetition.” In the moment after these words, the [Spirit Cuckoo] hummed out in perfect mimicry of its cultivator. “The Heavens are not always so simple as to offer one answer. To dispel the clouds so that all would see the sun. When delivered, is it not best to take it?”

“I am resolute in Hushi’s path of [Harmony], but in what order? To invite another soul into my fold-”

“My tea is growing cold,” interrupted Hua.

[Intent] flowed from Hua to such an extent that Fu’s breath chafed. A mechanism to stall and silence, as opposed to inflicting violence. How he knew this titanic weight to be gentle, he could not say. Only that it evoked a primal terror in him.

As though a star itself clutched his middling [Dantian].

A suddenness of Qi painted the room. Something to further alert him. For myriad teardrops had spawned in the air around him, a hue of cherry to match Hua’s [Spirit Cuckoo]. These… [Dao Principles].

Swollen, growing more and more vibrant until the room was awash with naught but her colour.

“Omission of that recent gain saves you only from the Cloudy Serpent Sect,” chastised Hua. But upon the release of her [Intent], Fu spied no anger to match such a tone. “I have silenced the [Three Eyed Spying Array] for a time. The mind of that degenerate Gon Ma should fester over this, I expect. No less is deserved.”

If any change had come over his [Array] Fu could not feel it, though there was pleasure in the knowing, at least. “This will sound foolish, Grandmother but-”

“Then do not ask it.”

“The [Primordial Constellation Gate] has such an effect on my future?” he asked.

Hua hummed again. “One is enough to sway a path. That you will come to know upon advancing to [Core Formation]. What recommendation I might have imparted is now tilted. Skewed. This foundation of yours is broad, and unaligned. If novel. For fisherman Gao Fu to have stumbled upon such treasure, it bears consideration.”

For the first time, Hua sported a look of ponderance.

“Beyond the mire of serpents that ensnares you thus, I foresee another fork. Yes. Few under Heaven ascend by originality, or by forging steps anew. The children require no guide for I stand as the window to their heritage, these musings of memoirs, these recitals of past failures. Cautionary tales, and understanding, only. But you… yes. I might grant you the choice between this. A heritage of your own.”

What words had just come were a reminder of senility. A poor match for Hua’s now youthful appearance, yet an association of how age might embrittle a mind. For Fu could not follow.

“Grandmother?”

The ambience of cherry softened. “Knowing of the [Primordial Constellation Gate], the hardships to gain it. Would you seek to fill it further?”

“Crying loud the name of a warship does not mean I might sail it,” he replied. “The benefits are clear, and also not. Both in [Qi Transfiguration] and [Poison Resistance]. To be the prize of an entire [Mystic Realm] shows the [Hundred Immunities Fruit’s] worth, this is all I know as true.”

Hua’s [Spirit Cuckoo] found its way to her shoulder, beating him down with an imperious gaze. “To wax fake wisdom. Do not forget yourself, Gao Fu,” and there came a snap in place of her hum. “Decide.”

A challenge, to add more of these treasures to myself. Though the reward is yet to be seen… it is worth it. The world is vast, and I surely cannot be alone in achieving this, but it is an advantage. A step forward.

“I would, Grandmother.”

“Hmph. An acceptable answer,” agreed Hua. “I have read the litigious nest of by-laws these serpents claim to rule by. Completion of a [Trial] realm grants rewards of esteem, and choice of an appointment to follow. The fulcrum for your foundation’s path.”

Fu listened well, and arranged what he had been about to say in a manner he thought Hua might find pleasing. “What effect will this have on my cultivation?”

“Liberty,” she scoffed. Derisive, as if an ape would know such a thing. “But so too is it the mold. Present them.”

He laid the four chits upon the table, inverting them for Hua’s benefit. Her expression had this rectified, and Fu set to reading. “Lower Dream Pavillion, Trial Guard. Five Hundred Contribution Points,” said the first, inlaid with no more characters to expand.

Hua’s silence bid him continue.

“Seventy Third Northeast Outer Disciple Scroll Hall, Trial Archivist Escort. Five Hundred Contribution Points,” he read, leading on to a stranger sort. “Clouded Court Squads.”

There is no appointment listed here. Only who I might belong to.

The fourth followed suit with the previous, and showed no improvement to its obscurity. “Wandering House.”

“A stick in three hands, and a carrot in the other, pah!” said Hua. “How meddlesome are these youths.”

“Wandering House?”

“The Cloudy Serpent Sect’s answer to subjugation. In the Clear Sky Empire, they are named the Everlasting Rain Division. The Immortal Sword Sect has their Immortal Honed Edges. Four Tiger Pill Society, their Reagent Seekers.” Hua tutted, seeming to admonish the world itself. “Those tasked to remain stagnant in order to access the [Mystic Realms]. Myriad souls denied progress at the behest of others. Fools.”

Fragments of a puzzle clicked into place.

Such as Cheng Rao. Was he held at [Core Formation]? And the Pavillion Heads, they argued over his advancement.

Fu thought it curious that he might be offered such a thing. “A [Mystic Realm] traveller,” he stated. “Liberty, in this?”

“Perhaps. At the expense of a collar,” mused Hua. “[Foundation Realm] experts are common as the clouds above. Yes. They would allow you to reach [Formation], and in times of leave you might refine your [Primordial Constellation Gate]. An allowance of resources would likewise follow. An abundance of treasures that would have you stand at the peak.”

“And openness of cultivation? Cheng Rao held four Bonds.”

Hua’s [Spirit Cuckoo] chirped. “Hold, my sweet. The oaf is blinded by respect, to think me all knowing.”

“Apologies, Grandmother. A senior that crossed my path. He was of this Wandering House, I am sure.”

“Oh, Gao Fu is sure. Then it must be so!” Another hum. “Openness is correct. The Trial Archivist Escort would require a defensive foundation, else your appointment would not suffer you long. The Trial Guard would be of this same vein. A molding to lack versatility. Another Sect would have you laden with a [Spirit Oxen] to carry scrolls, or a [Spirit Hawk] for keenness of watch. But here are serpents, rife with unoriginality.”

“These are sticks, as Grandmother has said,” Fu replied. Having struck both from his list of appointments already. Therein lay a promise of safety, or the expectation of such. Mundane labors that traded repetition for lacking Contribution Points.

No route to securing his family’s freedom, lest he turn to stealing before the [Season’s] end.

“It is so. To succeed there would require the cunning of a fox, not a fish, as you possess. I would forbid their consideration myself if I could not see the decision made behind your eyes,” she said. “Thus I will grace you with advice. Forgo a second bonding with your [Spirit Beast] until such a time as your third path opens. [Harmony] is best begun with, and then third. Never second, nor last. For [Harmony] is equilibrium, and a scale is rarely balanced when all the weights are cast at random. Do you understand, Gao Fu?”

“I understand that I must trust in the choice you make, Grandmother.”

Hua brought the tea to her lips, and scowled. “Only one choice will I enforce, oaf. And that is whether you refresh this pot before, or after it is poured atop your head.”