Rich is the man with no debts.

Richer yet, is the man to whom others are indebted.

* ‘Refining one’s Wealth,’ by Sect Leader [Avaricious Stork]

The [Law of Origin] upon his [Ink] bore the very same name as the master of this [Mystic Realm].

Fu found this spoke volumes on the power of the individual, for the method of doing such surely told of a cultivator whose understanding of the [Dao] was unparalleled. But he moved nonetheless, and set himself in step with his competitors.

Lilac flowers swamped the structure ahead, which drew surprise from many given how it was a base thing of three stories. A home, and no palatial masterpiece replete with intricacies of design nor li-deep plazas to preface its entrance.

It stood as they did on the edge of a great precipice, where a marvel of canyons ringed itself into an unnatural dome. The height of each craggy tip four times the height of the structure atop it.

And this is where Fu met [An Array in One Hand].

The silvering man was clad in sensible robes, if harried somewhat by peculiar stains upon them. Ruddy browns upon the lilac silk that might well have been patterned if not for the reminiscent expression upon their bearer.

With a snap, [An Array in One Hand] looked to orient himself. A locality coming to his attention unlike the distant, absent feel to his gaze but a moment before. “Trial comers, and so soon,” he pondered. “Have one hundred moons truly passed already?”

These words were directed to a woman at his side, just one of a half-dozen lilac clad aides that knelt in reserve. “They have, Master. A fresh rotation arrives.”

[An Array in One Hand] stroked the ends of a trailing moustache, pensive. “Strategy,” croaked his announcement. “Extends boons beyond the vagaries of martial prowess. Keen minds are gathered here, delivered unto my grounds that such talent might be refined further. The riddles and theorems I had scattered across the land attest to this. Here I seek to cultivate the cunning of foxes, and the wisdom of ages. Tales of my pupils, you will have no doubt heard. The [Five Tiger General], [Thunder Defence Liang], [Melancholy Spear] - all have placed in the Seven Phoenixes and Six Dragons within the Jianghu.”

Whilst the Zephyrous Cicada Sect had indeed fallen, Fu was certain their [Spirit Beasts] chirped in the following silence. His suspicion was that few cultivators had entered the trial under the context of riddles solved.

Much as he hadn’t.

He names the Jianghu. A man with a lifespan as extended as Hua then? A true monster, if this is the case.

“The crucible below will narrow my search. A winnowing to pry officers from tacticians,” he continued.

With this as their cue, the canyon’s perimeter flared with a conjuration of myriad flags. Lilac, and spectral.

Fu’s [Senses] could not parse the characters upon them, but from his distance each appeared verbatim with its peers, calligraphed with a patterning of Qi that it had him blink at the majesty of the brushwork.

“The [False Dust Life Array] will ward against true death. In all things, competition is vital. Yet the land would be lesser if the next generation of geniuses were to fall in my domain.” With a flick of his sleeve, the basin to his rear blazed like a constellation.

A slow count had Fu total fifty structures, most prominent among those that had appeared. The stage [An Array in One Hand] had set manifested in two quadrants, with the makings of a city in one half, and a sparseness of countryside in the other.

“Might itself is one strategy. Tiring, and banal: yet not without merit. What I seek here is novelty in the deliberate. Reactions, counters, manipulation to a degree nigh unguessable. Thus I say, go forth, lure tigers from their mountains and hide daggers in your smiles. Conquer. And when all fortresses are foiled, shored, and taken, my choice will be known.”

To their credit, the crowd reacted mutely. A palpable rustle moved them as leaves, drawn by an insignificant breeze. Then arrived the blur of [Spatial Qi], wherein each cultivator was clutched. From the trigram inlaid in Fu’s palm, there came a tug. As if his hand was a gateway to lurch him into lands unknown.

This whisking was gentle, in summary. But both Fu and Hushi flew into defence in the light of the scene’s disparity.

For a fortress rose from the grassland of his arrival, squat, and draped in lilac blossoms to have it blend with the surrounding flora. The entrance yawned in invitation with its set of formidable doors pushed wide, showing the courtyard; its empty banner, blockades and spectres within.

“A lack of information on both sides, Hushi,” mused Fu. The octopus affirmed this, and coiled loosely upon his shoulder. “A contest of strategy… and this master.” He silenced himself quickly, and strode towards the open fort.

Investigation will yield answers. If not a better guess at our objective.

There were five spectres ahead, [Vestiges], by all appearances. Yet their difference from the aides within the Clouded Archives was plain. For the former bore hanfu and exposed faces, while these beings were encased in armour of lamellar design, with cloth bindings to hide any of the ephemeral flesh beyond it.

A regimented step levelled their qiang towards him.

The trigram on his palm hummed with dull resonance, drawing Fu’s attention to the empty banner beyond. A framework where fabric might hang.

[Half Cloud Step].

Suffused with [Air Qi], Fu approached in a blur. His perception of these spectral soldiers struck strange, for instinct warned him against their insubstantial image. Yet weapons were never a thing to be ignored.

The qiang thrust in concert, orchestrated to block his passage as he propelled across the threshold with a conjuration of cloud. They gave chase, proving notably cumbersome.

A lesser threat. Unless these spectres are weaker for this location. Their equivalent could well be mid [Formation].

Easily, Fu took hold of the banner’s framework.

Teal flowed down from the empty space at its highest post, caught then by an unknown breeze to flesh itself out. It brushed Fu’s robes, and an embrace of Qi connected him with the simple [Array] he felt there.

But he turned, ready to dispense a revolving kick to the hounding spectres.

Their fists pounded. A dramatic clatter of forearm on chest, and each drove to a knee in supplication.

“Ah,” said Fu, pausing for a possible feint. However, when the spectres remained in this pose he loosened his stance. “I suppose it would be hard to enact a strategy without soldiers, no?”

🀦

The fisherman took command in his stride, reasoning only that the world of cultivation was vast indeed. A recurring thought, for each [Mystic Realm], contract and encounter added a depth of complexity to his experience.

What fruit this would bear, Fu could only be grateful.

He had mounted the vantage at this fortress’ peak, a simple frame with mundane roof. It afforded a view of his landscape: this featureless, lilac wilderness of blossom-rich plains, and the distant formations of opposing fortresses.

The scope of this arena and these fortifications are not equal. More than one hundred stand, for I see five within easy range.

“Hushi,” he said, giving voice to his now-aligned thoughts. “The [Constellation Seed] is our priority, but we cannot be certain that victory in this trial will secure it. It may well be a dragon at distance, but a serpent once handled. [An Array in One Hand] must hold it, as hegemon of this [Mystic Realm]. Thus, we will play for now.”

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How best to use strategy? To know even one would serve as a fine first step.

The facades Fu enlisted in his duties within the Clouded Court Squads, or the positioning and circumstances he forced his various targets into, these may well count as such. How then, he wondered, could this translate to soldiers.

He landed in the inner courtyard, and waved a hand before the spectres. “Rise.”

They rose.

“Kick above your head.”

They did so.

“Two of you, exchange spears.”

Without the preamble that might clutch mortals or cultivators when faced with a directionless order, the spectres switched weapons.

Before long, Fu was leading his small squad to the second fortress in sight. Stray signs of [Spirit Beasts] showed in the breakage of petals, or the gnawing of grasses, but those he could trace were passive and timid. [Spirit Hares], pheasants and others that lent more to stew ingredients than threat.

Still, the scenery was pleasant.

Some few strides before Fu ordered a stop to the compliant spectres, a subdued flare shone from the eastern horizon. Qi, and in a quantity that might well match the [Arts] of a [Foundation Realm] expert.

Beneath this verdant glow, he caught a forest burst around the most distant fortress. A canopy rose to block any other details from sight, but at least told of his proximity to other competitors.

When all fortresses are foiled. These were the Master’s words. It only confirms that he has us play at war.

A similar line of spectres stood across the entry of Fu’s closest fortress, their spears levelling once more at his approach. With his own small retinue in tow, he weighed this as a testing opportunity. But soon relented into accomplishing the task himself.

Another [Half Cloud Step] delivered him to the empty banner at their rear, and with the same lack of ceremony he had unfurled another length of teal.

In total, ten soldiers now stood beneath his command, and fell into order with a single given order.

A trivial process… until it wasn’t.

Some great sense of urgency travelled from the trigram inlaid upon his palm, and in matching moment he saw the solidity of his original soldiers begin to flicker. Fu leapt to the wall above to cast his attention outward.

There, upon the blossoming plains. Strategy.

Led by a cultivator of little descript, ten opposing spectres absconded with his banner of teal. The shade of a grandly scaled [Spirit Eagle] casting a swathe of cover above.

Gao Fu would give chase, and stalk, trailing this mark to his lair to strike when some pretence of safety had fallen upon him. But here… here he was Fu Gao, a man that walked in sunshine with a pride and honor that daren’t be impeached.

With a word he called his soldiers to follow, and the [Dao of Wayward Breezes] severed so much of the distance that he landed not twenty strides from his competitor.

“You have mistaken this for your property, cultivator,” he barked.

The cultivator, again, of mundane and plain bearing, scowled. A fan splayed to mask his face, and at once he began to chortle. “Fufufufu,” it came. “Sound west, and strike east! What do these words mean to you?”

Under this projection of mystery and bemusing words, Fu sensed a ploy. As such he materialised his chain, or rather the box in which it was contained, removing his newly refined weapon.

“Please, a contest of mind does not need to resolve to barbarity,” scoffed the cultivator ahead, barely concealed the uncertainty upon this blade’s reveal.

Fu held a cleaver in one hand, though what divine meat this might strip from bone conjured thoughts of dragons, turtles and unfathomable beasts. The blade was two hands tall, and fashioned so that his grip inserted within to be guarded against opposing strikes.

A wonder.

Hushi’s arm uncovered from the douli, and both noted the resemblance between each as Fu let it fall limp by its chain.

The [Wind Phantom Strides] was unleashed in demonstration. A lash that the thieving cultivator ahead could scarcely parry. So it flew again, and again, and each time Fu’s impression of its weight shifted.

He ignored the exacerbated cries of his foe, and the pained snicker as he demanded his attention fall to the transformative sheen to Fu’s rear. That which resonated with his trigram.

His peripheral [Senses] told of how his second fortress had now reddened, claimed, foiled, by another. Some hidden agent of the man ahead.

At an instant, five of his own spectres vanished.

Fu gave a wan smile, directed solely at his chain. “You dare?” he attempted, and flashed forward to slice his foe’s fan in twain.

“A meeting of minds,” protested the scrambling cultivator. “Strategy. The harm here is superficial, why else would [An Array in One Hand] preserve our lives? The great master wishes to view our struggle, to end me here-”

Curious on the parameters of this preservation, Fu slashed out with such force that the man’s arm sliced free. It fell wetly, and to much uproar.

No [Body] cultivator then.

The [Spirit Eagle] above crashed from its course, feeling resonance with its cultivator’s torment. One wing, jerking with phantom pain. Its impact drove a great furrow in the flowers, which wilted further as [Fire Qi], or [Heat], emanated from its glowing pinions.

Fu’s hook… his chain, his blade, opened the throat of the cultivator ahead. As was wont to happen, blood spluttered, and the process ended. He checked then the surrounding spectres, and what effect would take hold.

A fading, it seemed, as if their forms were leaves to be eaten by intangible flames.

His banner struck the ground, more heard than seen, for Fu’s rapt attention was on the flare of [Spatial Qi] that whisked both [Spirit Eagle] and ‘dead’ foe away.

He grimaced to see the arm still remained, and plucked it from the ground. “This Fu Gao,” he said to Hushi. “A cruel, unfeeling man, no?”

🀦

Of note, Fu could not transport his banner.

When his fingers wrapped upon the ephemeral pole they phased through as if trying to clutch smoke. Thus the task fell to his spectres, of which the five- those flickering since its upheaval - returned to a more solid form when placed.

Further, his reclamation of the second fortress was met only with another line of spectres. It seemed to him to be a tiring process, but one that he had somewhat deduced in a short span of time.

A banner gained spectres, to lose it shifted their alliance and positioning. The nature of the trial was to claim fortresses, and to know these factors would be integral.

With his ten troops returned, his next move was perplexing. Whatever agent claimed his fortress during the recent fray had vanished, and to leave was to invite their return. The grounds around his fortresses were silent, for now. Emptied of spectres or cultivators, and likewise his [Senses] returned nothing.

Yet…

“Carry the flag,” he ordered. “We will defend one fortress.”

And so they marched, crossing the blossoms until the task was done.

The [Array] interred in these banners proved to be profound indeed, for a great shattering sounded as the second item was placed. Their seams blended, and in turn the fabric grew larger by a fraction.

But Fu took to the awning above, and noted how his previous fortress had crumbled.

Another rule.

Strangely, he thought of the contest’s logical end. On how a litany of flags might see hundreds of spectres, all warring around singular fortresses. Although it trapped his currency of soldiers in but one location.

“These spectres are easily navigated. Our next move must consider this,” he mused.

For his part, Hushi unslung. He shot himself into the awning’s rafters, and swiftly pressed into the gap between beams. His impression clear.

To separate from one’s Bond was uncommon. Chiefly for the danger it posed, be that in damage to the [Spirit Beast: leading to the cultivator’s crippling, or in the simple numerical advantage their proximity afforded.

Already, Fu felt naked at the prospect.

Though Hushi was hidden lethality incarnate, and these circumstances lent well to his strengths.

“How many must we claim?” he half-asked. “I will take two spectres, and thus two flags, if the Heavens grant us luck.”

As haste played a pivotal role, Fu did as he said with little fanfare. The link with Hushi grew dimmer the further he travelled, and had his skin prickle with discomfort. But he maintained an outwards calm, pushing his disposition to one of pride and confidence.

A party moved on the horizon, their banner the hue of a rich dawn. Two, indeed, for he saw this standard rise high over a grouping of at least ten spectres. Their cultivator was out of sight, no doubt employing some strategy of ambush.

Given the vast distance between them, he made instead for the nearest unaffiliated fortress.

It fell just short of an hour before he stood at its gates. Pristine, and yawning as the previous sets had.

Hushi, this…

Fu’s thoughts did little to affect the emptiness beneath his douli.

Empty.

His [Senses] extended, and struck upon a depth of silence behind the walls and ahead, the banner’s framework stood ready to claim. But the regularity of spectres were absent.

He considered the empty fortress.

A competitor may well lie in wait. Unless… unless the expectation of an ambush was itself, an ambush.

Entry would confine him between walls, and to stand here in ponderance would advertise his position for any who sought foes.

Yet this may well have been the strategist’s intention.

The two-banner strong party were advancing, and within the time of his travel had added another to their number.

Fu took a half step.

I play into their hands here.

“Cease,” he ordered his troops. Then, a moment later, changed their commands again. He had them wait, move, mount their spears in expectation, all until he settled upon having them hide beneath the blossoms.

An [Art] could place their position, but physically I see no eyes upon me. When this strategist strikes they may well believe me alone.

A [Half Cloud Step] blurred him forward. He made for the gate at an alarming pace, blade drawn, and his grip sure. His heart quivered, for matters of intellect and book learning were those he surely lacked in.

So he leapt, and bound up the fortresses walls to feint against the cunning fox within. Speed would be their undoing, and Fu would simply react before this ingenious strategy could launch.

His chain blurred in a cyclic strike as he crested, and with a lashing fury did his blade slice through each of the enemies within.

Indeed, the air itself was slaughtered. For that was all that this fortress contained.

Fu blinked, and subsequently cursed. Imminently grateful, in part, that Hushi was not around to impress upon his foolishness.