Forty moons since last he walked here, and she yet reveres him.

Our feeble Matriarch.

I’ve known men. Known their thoughts. Their joys and fears. I’ve reddened their faces, as they have mine.

My heart was never turned by this. Wasted on affection.

Diligence. Community. Sorority. These tenets I do not fall short of, for this is how a Sect should be.

These are the truths of our Sepulchral Sabre Sect. That we are the final, winding cloud. Potent in harmony.

But isn’t it disharmonious to lead your juniors through falsehood?

In the coming days, I’ll reveal the truth. Whatever course that may bring- I hold no family to be slain, nor friends to be quartered.

They will know the truth of this [Sullen Saber].

- scrawlings from Wu Min’s diary

Fu’s head hung low before Ban Bingbai, sweat still upon his brow as he delivered Eighty Third Vibha’s body. Her breath, shallow, and her skin dreadfully pale.

“Fuzheng Cheng,” tested the Master. “Would you have the merchant silenced?”

“This disciple would ask his Master’s opinion on the matter,” he replied. “If that is how this mistake is to be rectified, then it shall be done.”

“To be considered are the Sect’s disciples. The fray within their warship wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, and whispers will soon spread of this traitor’s defeat. Equally, the merchant’s forces will whisper of [Demonic] cultivation, bringing further shame upon us.”

A step to the side of Vibha, Fu buried his head further.

“The use of a [Constellation Seed] is quite transcendent to view. Rumours of [Demonic] nature might well be reinforced by this.” Master Ban stroked his beard contemplatively. “Scribe this report, and I’ll have it seen to by one of the other masters. Jinjie, perhaps, he’s quite deft at manipulating these situations. Leverage on a Numbered clan is always a boon. Fabricated or otherwise.”

Hushi impressed relief to match his cultivator’s. “This disciple would offer apologies at his shortcomings once more,” he said.

“No, no. Immortality has cursed you, disciple Gao Fu. I’d apologise, did I not think it would have you spiral into a series of meaningless kowtows.”

Words such as this gave rise to paranoia, for no cultivator would apologise to their junior. Nor would Fu have Master Ban do so for failings he knew to be his own.

“Pace. This is what it comes to,” Bingbai continued. “None ascend the Heavens in a single bound, and I’ve taken liberties with this. You see, Gao Fu, I will share a truth here you may find plain. Immortality is only of benefit when all are immortal. We are still slaves to time and tide. Hindered by the same constraints as mortals.”

A mite of tension shed Fu’s shoulders. But still he queried the words. “This disciple does not understand.”

“Ah. Tell me, Gao Fu. describe in perfect clarity the room in which you were born.”

“I could not, Master Ban,” he said.

“Tell me then, what hour of day you took your first steps.”

“Apologies once more, master. I cannot recall.”

Ban Bingbai smiled. “Of course not. By merit of time- a mere forty or so moons passed, or because you were an infant. What then, do I mean by this comparison?”

“Perhaps,” mused Fu. “That we of fledgling cultivation are infants to immortals. Yet this disciple knows that Master Ban’s memory is unparalleled, and would not dare be certain of his own words.”

“You’re correct, disciple. But disassociation is my point, enhanced by Qi. Though to explain that would only add legs to a snake where none are needed. When one lives through vicissitudes- when one knows a man by his resemblance to his great-grandfather, when vast kingdoms are ashed and towering forests of bamboo stand in their place before one might blink- what relatability a cultivator might even care to foster, does not easily stand.”

“This disciple would offer that his failure is his own.”

A smile pushed this comment aside. “Then the disciple honours me, and is disabused of his blame. Though my point yet remains. Our division’s pace, in preparation and all matters, is set by one that can barely recall the extent of your limitations. Now come, sit, I would have disciple Zhu arrive for what comes next.”

And so Fu sat as Ban Bingbai took place opposite him.

Queer, small conversation ensued over leafs of parchment, and black-tipped, inconspicuous scrolls. The contents of which drew queries from his senior, the likes of which Fu found similar to exercises fielded by Yunhan.

“Would [Autumn] not limit half of our forces, master?” came one. “Linhua’s [Arts] would serve well there, if only she were to master the [Clouded Ghost Arts] further,” was another.

Bingbai loosed a chuckle for this comment. “Is that so?”

“A man must look around his house three times before improving another,” admitted Fu. “This disciple knows well his own inability in [Qi Manipulation], and speaks only that Master Ban receives the truth of the matter.”

“Just so,” was the reply.

Many such exchanges passed before the squad returned. Notes, and comments that followed a vein of what their members lacked.

Peculiar, to speak so freely. I hope I have not tarnished their standing with Master Ban.

Zhu entered first, no look of dishevelment upon him. “I greet the Master,” he said, clasping his hands.

The same was repeated by Linhua and Niwai, though they affected low bows. Only a sidewards glance spared towards the crumpled Vibha upon the floor.

“Disciple Gao Fu has shared his report. I’d hear the other half,” gestured Bingbai, drawing the squad to sit.

“This- this Yin Linhua will recount events,” stammered the disciple, boldly. “Upon reaching the main halls, the squad split to address different matters. One, of disciples Zhu and Niwai to gauge our target’s location, and the remainder to observe her quarters. Upon seeing her skill, disciple Zhu judged that it would be of benefit to reduce her capabilities, and clashed under the guise of trading pointers.”

Niwai was not the one to instigate the fight? Perhaps my judgement fell too swiftly.

Ban Bingbai stroked his beard. “The rest is known. Tell me of your escape, what suspicion must we mitigate?”

“The [Spatial Array] was reached without incident, for the clash with Eighty Third Vibha drew all attention,” she finished.

“Disciple Linhua has the bearing of one well-versed in scribing. Have this collated and delivered to Master Jiahao.”

“As you wish, Master,” she said, and moved to her quarters to begin.

Attention fell then to Niwai. The next words, curiously, already guessed. “This disciple understands that she is unready for what comes next,” she said, surprising Fu with her insight. “She will endeavour to grow in the hopes she may one day be considered.”

Her screen closed shortly after.

Guang raised his head in the room’s corner, sounding a small grumble. Slowly, he approached Vibha’s form and rolled her upon his shell.

“Thirty seven moons has Guang impatient,” said Ban Bingbai, rising. “Follow.”

The star-patterned screen opened at his command, and at glacial pace, the three ghosts entered.

Fu’s expectation of quarters was ill-met, as beyond the threshold lay a damp and threatening gloom. The bowels of earth, as their location would naturally hold. Slickened walls that held a scent of must, and the accumulation of grey-hued water in pockets about them.

They tread a downwards slope, with Guang at the head until the passage gave way to water. Some lake or sea, for Fu could see no opposing side.

Each cobalt pattern upon him flared as his cultivation manifested. A dramatic shift in scale that made him an island- one where nebulas danced across his shell.

Vibha, the only patch of dark.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Ban Bingbai walked the water’s surface, pushing no ripple across. Neither Fu nor Zhu held such talent, and leapt in place of this feat.

Shuidi’s nerves heightened to have Fu feel wary. In similar fashion he spied Tanshuai, who tucked close to her cultivator’s neck.

Their sensitivity to Qi plays no small part in this. What comes, I wonder?

“[Ninety Four Rhythms of the Golden Needle],” proclaimed Ban Bingbai, his quiver of gold exploding to fill the air.

Twelve were needed for our inspection. Yet for this, ninety four. One hundred… I could not imagine what effects that might yield.

The needles wove about them as though birds in flight, yet gold lingered in their wake. Thread, almost, that spanned a net upon the ailing Vibha. As it wound, she lifted, and hung suspended before them.

“Origin, [Four Mandu Plains]. Title, [Sanguine Thorn]. It is of half-[Demonic] nature, and compliments [Blood Qi] with the manifestation and control of thorns. At [Core Formation], the [Boon] ascends to enable an exchange of vitality when one is embedded.”

Fu’s attention was rapt.

Truly, a [Constellation Seed] holds myriad abilities. Were this some aspect of my Path I would readily take it.

“Disciples,” spoke Ban Bingbai. “Beneath the Heavens there stand but four techniques to retrieve this treasure. In time, you’ll come to know it. For now, observe.”

At his fingertip, each golden thread gathered. Spooled until his palm was held no gap where skin could be gleaned.

Dissociation.

These prior words surfaced.

For what mortal soul felt so little for such acts done before them?

Ban Bingbai’s threads reaped the very essence of Vibha. Flesh, marrow, vital energy, Qi. It was drawn across these sinuous stings that now thrummed in crimson tones. A number frosted, as did others turn vaporous, hissing a gas of foul composition.

A cradle formed as the Master’s hands wove patterns, and energy and flesh converged upon its bow.

The [Sanguine Thorn] sprouting from the confluence that was Vibha.

How their Master severed the process was jarring, for in a moment all light receded. Only Guang’s glow apparent as the gold disappeared.

Vibha’s remains were unquantifiable. Akin to watery soot, clumped and granular.

[Celestial Qi] blazed to erase it.

The excruciation of being unmade. That… is of no concern.

“Master Ban’s technique is peerless,” said Zhu.

“As disciple Zhu says,” agreed Fu.

Ban Bingbai smiled, kindly, though the thorn grasped his focus. “Though far, I’d wonder if these thoughts will hold true when it comes your turn to learn it. It is the rare cultivator that welcomes a [Demonic Scripture] to their Path.”

🀩

Variations of routine filled the day after the [Constellation Seed’s] retrieval, and the day after that. The standard practice of martial styles, cultivation and sparring a welcome reprieve from what chaos the warship had wrought.

Diligence had pushed Fu to attempt another [Meridian], though this was hampered by the injuries sustained during the mission.

Finally, he had reached the threshold that others had warned of. Where the [Resilience] of his flesh extolled such Qi to mend that no progress had been made within his [Channels]. The hardiness akin to that of tempered metal, or an alloy that required rarer materials to repair.

A growing cost.

If I were not lacking, the damage would be avoided. [Soul Qi] may well be the answer to this.

He put his thoughts aside, and said, “Nourishment,” to the vendor ahead.

It was met with a lunging, apologetic bow by the stocky woman. “Apologies master cultivator. All that remains are mortal foods.”

“Oh?” I find myself disappointed,” he said, glaring at another vendor across the square. “The fat one with the [Spirit Swine] spoke of the same.”

“Is it the [Spring Equinox] tournament?” asked Fu. “The Lunar festival of my home often dried up stockpiles of food, and had the city thinner after the festivities had concluded.”

The woman appeared surprised that this pair had not called down lightning to raze her meagre stall. “The cultivator has great insight-”

“My friend desires a straight answer,” cut Zhu. “Flattery is not needed.”

After a hesitant moment, she slouched. “It’s all manner of things. The Sect and its [Mystic Realm] closures, the tournament, the foreign cultivators and their demands! How’s a simple woman meant to feed the spare millions that flock to the Four Corners Prefecture!”

“The closures trouble all,” nodded Fu.

Espying the [Spirit Ram] vigilant by her cart, he smiled. ‘Simple’ was a relative term.

“I’ve a cousin in Still Waters City that claims even the Cherry River inheritors are plagued by it. A herald of some curse, I’m sure. In time we’ll run dry of rice, and then…” Only now noticing that she brandished her ladle as pointedly as Fu might level his blade, she stalled. “Apologies, master cultivators. Given leave to speak I’ve shamed myself. I’d gift you a skewer, at my expense.”

Zhu puffed out a breath. “Would more people speak like you do. It’s refreshing.”

“Gratitude, young woman,” shook Fu, who smiled at the vendor of middling years and proferred a small denomination of spirit stones. “Four of these skewers. Mortal or no, the scent brings my mouth to water.”

With a blush, the goods were exchanged. “I appreciate your custom,” she said, and dipped her head in farewell.

Festivities had gradually filled the streets, turning the atmosphere rowdy. A far cry from the usual, if subdued buzz of these thoroughfares. Indeed, such was the mood that even the stern ascetics they passed held some semblance of mirth.

Though few expressions could be measured when the pair finally took pause, leaping atop the airy slope of an overlooking building. A small flock of [Spirit Birds] were disturbed by their appearance, and swooped over the crowd as if this was their que to scavenge.

Hushi slopped atop Fu’s lap, and tended to his skewer. One arm reserved to hold another that Shuidi and Tanshuai might share.

“The fabrics on those disciples there,” Zhu pointed. “No better than common citizenry. Whatever Patriarch set their uniforms values tradition too highly. I’m thankful that our own are of quality, if drab.”

“A mortal appearance. To think they will be a part of the tournament… And their hair, they fashion themselves as penniless daoists.”

An absent nod showed Zhu’s lack of attention. He had taken a clutch of his hair, and quickly reassembled it into a loose knot. “The majority bind their hair as if they mean to suppress their Yang. See how it loops back. What use is such a mane if you’re to obscure it?”

“My Yuling had a curious style with multiple braids on my last visit. In fashion with the youths of the Divine Clouded Mountain,” noted Fu.

Zhu sighed. “What mystery are you about to involve me in? You’d not entertain my critique of others otherwise.”

“These closures have spanned for several [Seasons] now,” mused Fu.

“They have.”

On the slats beside them, Shuidi had swiftly devoured her meat. Now she waited at the stick’s mid-point, projecting hope towards the butterfly ahead.

“We know what is to be gained from it.”

A silent exchange permitted Shuidi to Tanshuai’s half, and the [Spirit Butterfly] moved to nestle atop Hushi.

“I have no knowledge of Still Water City, but if the same occurs there-”

“Words from a vendor,” interrupted Zhu, however he softened upon seeing Fu’s arched brow. “Meaning, it’s well known. Yet that’s only within the Four Corners Prefecture. Were we worldly and travelled, further rumours might spill. Your [Green Blight Valley] was no near place, recall?”

Fu could only nod.

The crowds below stirred for a demonstration. Dancers clad in soft-green hanfu now gathered in the square. Manifestations of [Wood Qi] giving sprout to gentle, lapping petals about them.

“The use of the treasures gained is unrivalled. If some power orchestrates to collect them our division will surely become involved. This instance with Vibha will become more frequent.”

“I’ve no love for that technique. Love for our Master- appreciation- that I hold. Not blindly, but enough that I’ll trust our aims. [Demonic] or not. But if there’s solace to be found, it’s that the Sect control these closures. No other power could sow seeds so wild, and force their hand.”

“There are Five Pillars to the Empire. Could we not be placed in contest with them?”

Zhu’s lips drew a thin line in thought, and Tanshuai fluttered to his shoulder. Clearly pensive, they observed the scene below.

Such was the task, after all. To develop their [Divine Sense], amidst the crowds of foreign cultivators.

The [Old One’s Whisker] made Fu’s use prohibitive. A drain on mental energy that wrested control of his three [Constellation Seeds], and exposed the signature of his [Primordial Constellation Gate].

So saying, he grasped inward. An expansion of his [Senses] that he could filter through the treasures within. A pulse, that he was certain held no subtlety.

“Still lacking. It’s loud on my [Senses],” said Zhu and stood so they might move on.

Undue attention would be summoned if the cultivators they sought got wind of this attempted detection.

Though Zhu bid him wait, presenting a hand to stop Fu’s movement. “I’d not considered the other Pillars.”

“[Plum Axe Zhu] weighs on you?” he asked, and saw Tanshuai cringe.

“Another weight. Our Master can’t be the solitary expert on these matters. Vaunted as these secrets are. Bah. I’ve fallen to guesswork and mystery,” Zhu sighed. “Yet all beneath the Heavens are vast. Others will share our vocation, and their allegiance may not be our own.”

Fu considered this, though his answer was one used before. “Yes. Although I am certain it is our vocation that will protect against this. Sun-facing, we would be troubled indeed. Cultivators of note. Few can find ghosts.”

“We search for a breed of ghosts now. There are means, and those who’ll have a hundred more moons experience than our own. With three treasures, you’re a beacon. However, this doesn’t address our next trouble.”

“My cup already overflows with trouble. Lest you forget I have a [Core Formation] expert after my head,” said Fu, grimly.

They descended to the street, and ingratiated themselves in the flow of traffic. The density of cultivators enough to clad them from any prying eyes, had Fu’s failure of [Divine Sense] been detected.

After some time, Zhu presented his finger. “Our rings are burdened. The contents, unused. That’s of more priority than the dejected disciple on your heels. They hold more value than the mundane treasures by merit of where we recovered them.”

The remaining [Hollow Ivory Splinters].

A poor imitation at [Qi Suppression] stalked through the crowd behind. Some thief that had no doubt overheard their nebulous conversation about wealth, for his spluttering Qi could be felt moving towards them.

“The Elder knows of them, yet has not acted. In the rear of my mind I had reserved one each for my children. Though we have yet to split them evenly.”

The pair tread into a thinner street, reducing the flow of passersby from thousands to mere hundreds. Still, the thief persisted.

“I’m of a mind to be greedy,” said Zhu.

Fu gave another grim smile, and drew a vial of paralysis poison into his hand. His [Hundred Poisons Synthesis] absorbing the effect. “In truth, I would keep them. But my thoughts spiral the more I reflect on it. That the Elder has not claimed them- only a fool would guess, yet might she use us as storage? Such tools do no good unused.”

“If we admit them to Master Ban… I see exchange as our alternative. Though to raise notice of them is a declaration in itself,” but contrary to his tone, he loosed a chuckle. “You’d have some wisdom for this, no?”

“Wisdom? Only that a needle is not sharp at both ends,” said Fu.

The thief closed, and [Half Cloud Step] thrust Fu’s poison-drenched hand upon his throat. A miserly Vajra that wore surprise as he was caught.

Ten paces distant, the ghosts ignored the sound as his body clattered to the street.