A [Trial Realm] bestowing [Karmic] treasures is often antithetical.

To succeed one must be peerless, and squash all others.

To lose incurs more.

The ties of slaughtered cultivators. The [Spirit Beasts] whose territory now lies ravaged by one’s passing.

What use then, is a treasure that nullifies [Karma]?

A blade that severs it still once held a master.

A [Dao Treasure], a pill of [Karma], a cultivation manual.

The same.

All things are bound, and thus the effort expended takes the largest toll on what one might have just gained.

What use is eradicating what one sows, when reaping does the same?

- ‘Treasures, Inheritances, and the Cultivator’ - by Daoist [Gold Fingered Monk]

The [Spirit Serpent], one that barely constituted a creature of [Spirituality], dropped. A snap indicated the breaking of its fangs, thrust aside as Fu’s flesh underwent a metamorphosis.

Upon the floor of his bedchamber, he snapped upright, seeing how the pointed implements had broken with the bolstering of his skin. Each bone within him had exuded a pulse, as though these final three had been the key to unlocking more of his now-pristine vessel.

For his organs thrummed, his blood thickened, and his muscles bulged in exaltation.

If he had his blade he might run it across the joins of his flesh, just to disprove the nature of what he felt.

Foolishly indestructible.

Fu sprung to his feet, instinctively falling into a kick from the [Sifling Stream Revolutions], and one that felt… more.

Swifter, yes, but with a sturdiness behind it that resembled iron. As such, Fu retracted the foot, clamping down to judge its resilience.

“Hushi,” he grinned. “Are you well?”

The octopus, boneless, impressed his health. Hearty and hale.

“The path… we have climbed far. [Core Formation] is but a single step away. Soon we will greet another brother or sister, that we might climb even higher. But this,” he said. “This is a taste. Humblin-”

“Gao Fu!” chided the voice behind his screen. “[Bone Refinement] is no more a tribulation than dirt in the eye. These old bones will not wait longer.”

Fu bowed the moment he arrived to pull back the screen. “Apologies, Grandmother.”

The beauty that met him had little evocation of old bones, young as she was, but even in this rejuvenated form could he catch the withering stare of an elder. Indeed, Fu might mistake her for his Mei in her prime, if not for such.

“An insincere showing,” she hummed. “[Impurities] cling to your skin like old filth. Fetch a rag, and do so swiftly, I will not sit beside a lingering stench during Young Feng’s tournament. It is bad enough that we are subjected to the informality of a crowd as it is.”

As she had arrived late the previous evening, few words had passed between them. Still, there was a… pleasant… familiarity in her disapproval. Her cold words and perpetual hum. So he did as instructed, and found a rag with which to cleanse his moisture-soaked limbs.

A foulness of ooze fell to the city below as he wrung it out the window, and turned to find Hua by the door. Her usual cane was replaced with a parasol, one of patterned cherry trees to match the layered hanfu that wrapped her, yet of note was how she regarded him.

“Grandmother?” he asked, seeing her eyes on the [Ink] upon his arm.

But she only hummed to hasten him, showing naught but her displeasure.

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Daoists of the One Hundred and Eight Seeking Vajra comprised the middling crowd’s majority, standing at the shoulders of their kin with no less enthusiasm than the monks interspersed throughout. Who, in turn, affixed themselves to the profundity in the rocks about them. For these were aglow with a sense of power that Fu’s [Dantian] bristled at.

Latent [Dao Principles] or some natural formation that exuded potential insights, set in golden veins beneath and about the legs of these Heaven-made arches where all were gathered.

Yet onlookers were plentiful, aside from the Daoists of burned orange robes or the ascetics of plain descript, with beaded garlands gripped in hand and their mantras quietly whispered upon them. There stood cultivators of esteem relegated to the patches of stone, rockpools, Fu mused, bereft of water. And these were their seating for the spectacle at the centre; the plateau of similar greening rock where Master Bhaswar presided.

“Amituofo. This daoist begs your silence, seekers of truth,” he whispered, never raising above this volume. He was a young Vajra, though his balding head and the scroll of white beard that fell waist-side had his true age as indeterminate.

As was common with cultivators.

“Amituofo. The sanctity of the [Dao] is such that spectacle demeans it,” he continued, and even as Fu stood twenty strides from the front he caught the tear that rolled down Bhaswar’s cheek. “But to prevent the [Dao] from others, to hold it at bay- this too is an affront. Thus this humble daoist has hopefuls gather so their truth might be shown.”

In a fashion fitting for this hallowed sanctity, the aspiring youths filtered in from the crowd to sit at his rear. Feng was among eleven others, set with prim determination across his features. A regality of raised chin and focused gaze.

A shuffle whispered in the surrounding rocks as familial members, clan affiliates and companions discussed those that their aspirants might face.

Hua stood beneath her parasol to Fu’s left, with Yuling stock straight at her side. Silent, both, with the former humming down at each youth she saw. Given her [Dao], with its branching possibilities and potential foresight, Fu wondered on the outcome.

Lest he wished to spill the throats of Feng’s competitors, Fu would be of no help. This, first of his kin’s spectacles, was an odd sensation. His excitement was growing, he knew. A glimpse of Feng’s potential soon to show. That he could only watch and offer no aid, it was a far cry from the children that once tended his stall.

My thoughts are jumbled with this. To see all he might be, how far he has tread since I hampered him with the inability of a fisherman. Ah.

Hushi impressed comfort from a pace away, doing what he could from the peak of Yuqi’s cradle.

Bhaswar drew a gun from thin air, mundane and patternless, and planted the length in the stone at his feet. “Amituofo, and so it continues.” At the staff’s top, a bespeckled lizard sat. Diminutive, with bands of flaring golden Qi about it, and it was the fulcrum that thrust further gold upon the world.

Peace descended in a wheel above its head, four spoked and radiant. Below, the [Spirit Lizard] urged it to turn, and with each revolution did a tranquillity come to ease pains that Fu knew not were there.

He felt lifted, and enraptured in equal parts. His fingers sought to reach for it, yet as he did the wheel hazed into another style. The four spokes reduced, and their length was shared upon its great frame to become eight of a lesser… impression. Less profound. Less reaching.

Hua hummed by his side. “Hmm. These corrupted daoists are quite pompous. He knows little of the [Two that do not Seek]. Of samsara’s wisdom. How muddied it has become. Why, Gao Fu, even an oaf as you are could relate more. To conjure a wheel, bah. Young Feng may be wasted here, but the opportunity will richen him.”

“Grandmother, I would not detract from Feng’s moment,” he said.

And lost the hold on his [Clouded Ghost Arts] through imperilled fear.

Fool! The [Dao], does it loosen my tongue?

With full expectation of some verbal retaliation, Fu clenched his [Bone Refined] fist as though this ember of hope might save him against the impending hurricane. Yet… none came.

Unlawfully taken from NovelBin, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The [Cherry River Sage] weighed him beneath her parasol, and granted a slight nod. “If you are to be shameful, oaf, then it is best for this cause.” What hum came then was discordant with all he had ever heard, for it was a cousin to approval.

If distant.

Two young cultivators met at either side of the gun, setting themselves into the position of the lotus at a distant pace. Bhaswar ordered no commencement, standing clear in place of it to likewise sit as the others did.

Golden characters rose above each of the cultivators, reinforced by a sheen of the [Spirit Beasts] with whom they shared a space. A grape-hued [Spirit Ram] beneath the arm of the east, and at west roosted a predatory bird of neat, rose feathers and circular face.

Until their forms grew to tower above.

Fu tipped back the brim of his douli, exposing the monstrous, spectral projections of these two [Spirit Beasts]. Their bodies golden and illusory, and their scale of such a size that the stage would hold precious space were they physical.

[Intent], with a suffusion of [Dao Principles]. It differs from my [Dao of Suffocation]. Bhaswar may have a hand in this with his own [Principle], yet I see no surprise on the faces around me.

The eight-spoked wheel dialled east by one notch, as if in indication.

It was then that the [Spirit Ram]’s conjuration struck the wheel, imparting a [Dao] that had the golden [Spirit Bird] writhe as if it were attacked. The spectre’s form… shifted, twisted and stretched under the assault of a hostile [Dao].

“Bhaswar has chosen the [Dao of Crushing],” said Yuqi, whispering from a step closer than she was before.

It is the master that affects this. How… interesting a tournament this is. Were I in need of insight, this would be valuable.

It escaped Fu what moment the skies had darkened, or when the ground had given way to show a golden savannah. Though he stood in one now, and squinted as the golden conjurations struggled atop a canvas- the wheel ever at center stage.

The [Spirit Bird] responded with… dust. A great shower of powder that coalesced into a single berry, and this in turn fled down the avian’s beak to explode out a wash of power. Qi, in spectral form, and with a force that rocked the [Spirit Ram] to the ground.

“From crushing, he chose refinement. Particles. Purity,” said Yuqi. Though her voice was an echo, and distant despite her proximity.

Fu understood the trial then. “A challenge of versatility? Of adaptation. Association? How one [Dao] might be interpreted, and how it might be refined further.”

Are these youths so casually transcending the understanding of [First Pool] [Dao]? It cannot be so simple.

“Bah. Gao Fu, I worry on your vocation if such shallow sights bring you to wonder,” said Hua. Her usual hum returned. “Guesswork enabled by the charlatan daoist’s own shallow understanding. No record of the [Dao] will be inscribed on their [Ink[ for this.”

Silently, the four-spoked wheel turned west in retaliation to the [Spirit Ram’s] plight. Some unassailable might was upon it, as though [Intent] held it flattened and impotent. Its foe’s illustrious power lapped upon it further, waxing brighter and brighter so that the sky’s blackness was corrupted in gold, and cherry toned shades.

The latter was not of these youth’s making, which Fu was swift to realise. Something was amiss.

He marvelled at the surrounding crowd, feeling the tranquillity of Bhaswar’s [Dao] fade from him. Only him, if appearances were true. For he saw rapt interest on those about him, from beneath the ascetic composure of monks to the convincing veil of several distant cultivators. All save for him, and as she made herself known, Hua.

“Were sweet Feng not insistent on this path I would not suffer so. Alas, Gao Fu, oaf, sovereign among fools, the trifling acts of these youths grant a moment in which I might address your short-sightedness.”

First came Fu’s concern for Yuqi and Yuling. “The children-”

“You draw legs on a snake. Quiet. The Cloudy Serpent Sect has reduced your manners, has it not? To speak out of turn, and unnecessarily. Bah.” Hua’s silhouette sharpened, diminishing the details of the surrounding crowd until it was as if the pair now stood alone. “If your tongue would move dryly out of concern, know that I have turned this meagre [Dao of Balanced Scales] to my own use. Now, speak on that stain upon your [Ink].”

A fool again, and twice in such short succession. I cannot forget how easily she might overturn Heaven and Earth.

“The [Constellation Seed].”

Hua’s hum was shrill. “A name not discovered by chance, as it did not pass my own lips. No. Who then? The Elder of these Clouded Court Squads? It is she who has instilled a token, and thus given a title to something that should not be spoken idly.”

“Elder [Of Perennial Shade],” agreed Fu. “If Grandmother would hear it, I will share the tale,” and upon seeing her affirmation. Did so. He recounted the only story of relevance, knowing that his time in the Clouded Courts was of no interest to her. From the Silver Loom to the Sepulchral Saber Sect, and on to the [Mystic Realm] and its treasures.

“Commonality,” mused Hua. “The entanglement with your young [Gleeful Viper] bears quite the rotten fruit. If of mild consequence. This treasure of the hollow-named realm is an inheritance best left buried, as was intended. Yet a pillar… yes, the serpents have put it in their care. This is adequate. Even if those who would have it seek to fish in troubled waters.”

As Hua underwent a monologue, Fu witnessed the changing of aspirants. A similar pair if not diverse in their Bonds, for it was a [Spirit Yak] that plodded forth on the stage’s western side, and a [Spirit Mantis] on the east.

The wheel turned once more.

“Tell me of this Sepulchral Sabre cultivator,” she soon said.

“A woman bearing a black douli, as her Senior was. Both held affinities or [Arts] that produced a Qi-borne mist, and their bonds were [Spirit Tigers] not dissimilar to Yiji. If sabre-fanged.”

“If named as Sect then these are no unattached pair,” Hua stated. “The ire of an organisation that, while pales against the Clouded Court Squads in scale, is no meek tribulation. Let me remind you, Gao Fu, my life fled from your foolish lips that day. Tied, I am, to debt and bound as is unbefitting one of my station. Your head will be sought by these sabers. Bah. Your death is forbidden until all is wiped clean.”

Uncertainly, Fu dipped his head. “As you say, Grandmother.”

“Yet nonetheless you are placed at the mouth of the tiger’s den. Above the concerns spoken, your cultivation takes precedent. The [Constellation Seed]. Name it.”

“[Hollow Ivory Splinter]. It imparts a term unfamiliar to me. [Qi Ravening], as I have read within my [Ink]. Aligned to [Pull].”

Just then, a twitch crested the [Cherry River Sage]. Though Fu knew well that nothing could startle her.

“Then your foundation may yet be salvageable, if both seeds bolster [Pull]. A lesser cultivator could attribute this to fate, but the Heavens do not look favourably upon you. No, this is another byproduct of your interference.” Hua hummed deeply then, pensive. “Listen well, for your confusion is as clear as limpid water. Cultivation is no matter of addition. [Body] has ill prepared you for the intricacies. Where now you fill [Meridians] as a stooge might a bucket, the true spirituality of defying the Heavens is not reflected in this act.”

The crowd around Fu, with silhouettes dulled and features blurry, continued to spectate the tournament ahead. Not an ear pricked, nor was a glance spared, although this did not assuage his unease of so sensitive an open conversation.

“A concept must be formed to solidify your journey. Harmony between paths that encompasses one’s [Dao]. [Core]. Martial style. [Constellation Seeds]. Talents. [Bloodlines]. One’s all. True cultivators become an embodiment, and it is this that progresses each stage of their immortality, that apotheosizes a soul into a venerated force of nature.”

Again Fu glanced at the crowd. Still captivated. “As… the wind is, Grandmother? A force of nature.”

“A fisherman’s answer, Gao Fu. But you are this salt-splashed oaf no longer. The [Empress Above All] embodied the everlasting cycle as delivered through [Seasons]. Transcending base insights on how [Spring] nourishes, how [Winter] detracts. That girl internalised the profound essence of her insights, and manifested as such,” lectured Hua. “In millenia past, there walked a cultivator of claim whose path embodied the true essence of purity through perpetual rejuvenation, conflagrating herself until naught but ash remained. From this she rose, her heat waxing with each rotation, and began anew. [Plum Axe Zhu] walks the path of [Karmic] severance, deepens his embodiment by clipping the ties of all he holds dear, eternally.”

“Zhu.”

“You spite the hand that feeds you, boy,” warned Hua.

“Apologies, Grandmother, a thousandfold. But I know of a Zhu.”

The [Cherry River Sage] scoffed. “A relation of the Plum Axe might be found beneath each grain of sand in the Clear Sky Empire. This is no special thing. What remains is the disharmony your [Constellation Seed] has wrought. To add treasures to your [Primordial Constellation Gate] with no foresight! What concept might rally desperately disparate pieces? Really, I find myself with less expectation for you than what little I held!”

“A simple scroll would hold all I know on cultivation,” Fu stated. Shamelessly, as this is how he felt. “Already am I on the path to rectify this. How far I have walked is akin to a drop drained from the ocean, Yet now this is known I will amend it.”

Hua seemed mollified by this. “Bold words. Nonetheless, agreeable. Hmm. Fate favours this moment in that your cultivation is that of an infant. Able to be pruned and shaped. Ironclad these contradictions are not, neither are they wholly limiting. Know that perfection in the accumulation of your talents only enables the heights you may reach. For there are Heavens beyond Heavens, and experts beyond experts. The [Heritage] I had charted for you must simply be amended.”

Fu blinked, expecting further chastisement. “A [Heritage] is already chosen? Then my concept is set?”

“The [Heritage] is an oar to your vessel, and boundless are the [Dao]. Would I be so disingenuous as to discover what cultivation will reveal to you in time? To do so would be as shallow as this Bhaswar’s supposed insight,” Hua set a curious attention on him then, and he saw there a mirror of something recent. Even in this realm of principles, conjurations and spectres may well play tricks.

Not pride, as his was for Feng. For Yuqi and Yuling. But a force in similar veins. The delight of potential, perhaps.

“Then as ever, I extend my gratitude for your guidance,” he bowed.

“The shape of it will test you, Gao Fu. For the first trial commences not two days hence.” With that the captivation ended, heralded by an uproar in the surrounding Qi.

He tried to capture his thoughts as Feng took centre stage, which stirred certain concerns of timing and precision. But in truth, the conversation did not press him. The day was set for Feng’s celebration, and not for his plaguing concerns.

Thus he set himself in a wide grin, and stifled the urge to cry out in support for his son. The young man ahead that stood with a deservedly swollen chest, his Paxing a titan in ephemeral gold, dominating the [Dao]-rich skies.

Again, the eight-spoked wheel lurched to manifest its principle. Unknown until Feng received it.

Indomitable waves crashed from the [Spirit Serpent] ahead, possessed by the youth of the previous night. A vast and fearsome tide the likes of which Fu’s skin grew cold from the intimate memory of, and Feng…

Feng’s own [Heritage] shone with no facet of cultivation. A fisherman’s son, truly, for the great form of Paxing but swayed lightly when immersed. One with the flow of the current, he only stood and dismissed what came.

“Arrogance!” snapped a cultivator from across the crowd. A woman whose resemblance to the youth cast no doubt on their connection. But whatever station she held, Bhaswar did not cringe from it, and suppressed further outbursts with a serene and tearful look.

Fu missed Feng’s counter, assuring its swiftness. The wave had reared once more from the [Spirit Serpent’s] side, yet the imagery was thinner. Less tangible than before.

Again, Paxing bore it without harm, and again the mother from across the crowd cried out in defiance.

“This escapes me,” Fu whispered to Yuqi.

“The son has inherited his father’s newfound boldness,” hummed Hua, interjecting. “He holds a higher understanding in the [Dao of Impending Weight], and unmakes his opponent’s the moment it strikes. Gao Fu, take pride, the boastful boy is talented.”

He needed no admission to know such things, but nodded. “As are all of the Gao Clan, no?” he said, resting a hand on Yuqi’s shoulder.

“Oh?” hummed Hua, though she went no further.

Yuqi put her hand on his.

Yuling firmed herself, and masked the hints of pride on her face.

Fu spied all of this, and felt a long-missed contentment fill him.

Despite the inferno that was the [Three Eyed Spying Array], threatening to set his shoulder ablaze.