The Ravenous Onyx Sow was said to be most agreeable of all those beneath the Divine Spirit Beasts, and allowed her kin to play fondly with the children of Humanity.

With youthful flesh as her guise, oft would she steal through the crowds, and so too, was she said to enjoy this.

Great indulgence was to be had in this human ingenuity, with how they melded spice and meat, or herb and grain.

But in her eyes, and by her account, they knew little of true combination.

Flavour in meal was no means to survival, nor was their guesswork at the Qi. And so, she elected to teach them, in part.

Through gifts imparted to the young, through fable and tale, scribble or jest, she imparted wisdom of the Qi. Of Water meeting Wind and its scent of Ice, or Wood and Earth and its melding to form Life.

Leaving this wisdom, in the hope that the land might flourish with an abundance of flavour, and that her children’s children might one day benefit in these gifts of variety, and that one day, it might be shared among all.

- Excerpt from “The Twelve Great Gifts,” by an Unknown Daoist

Uninjured, the [Air Qi] delivered by the [Spirit Core] Hushi absorbed had cleansed more of his [Channels] than Fu could ever recall. With [Dantian] and his various [Meridians] filled, the gaseous energy continued well after the latest opening.

It was a distant warmth that highlighted his [Ink], yet this Qi proved abundant, driving further cultivation.

With inner sight, he now wormed his way through a strange occurrence. A knot of [Impurities], where before was only sand to be shorn free. Great strain suffused his internal system, and a rawness of pain akin to scraping flesh countered his attempts to pass through.

But still, he persisted, intent on following Hushi’s guidance.

A blockage that is unlike a Meridian, with every day I am exposed to a vastness I know nothing of.

Directing his Qi, he fell back from the helical shape of movement, finding that this required a more delicate touch than the technique he had formed with help from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

No, here required finesse.

Fu steadied his breathing, knowing that this knot could not be scraped, only unwound like the many ropes aboard his boat.

Fingers could not form from his Qi, yet he found that with enough concentration the layers of this blockage could be straightened. And so he progressed, with thundering heart and tides of sweat upon his skin.

An intensity of blistering heat spread from his [Ink] in the passing minutes, or hours, occupying an area greater than before. In contention with myriad pains, as he was, Fu did not allow himself to be distracted.

There was a sudden firmity upon his legs, and though a reassurance came from the lap-mounted octopus, Hushi’s arms were as taught as bound cord.

Squeezing and suffocating.

This, however, faded at the final unspooling. At the edge of available Qi, Hushi’s presence invaded the cultivation, bestowing a final flush of his own energy. Myriad sensations pushed aside then, and beckoned a moment of singular clarity in which Fu could trace the path of their twin progress.

It showed as a set of internal colours.

Teal smoke that mingled with his own, of a greyer sort.

Tendrils thickened at their touch, stripping back the knot to surge Qi down his [Channels], and subsequently blow Fu from his concentration.

A froth blew from his mouth, turgid and foul, casting [Impurities] out in a font. Stink accompanied it, driving no available complaint from the fisherman, who writhed and seized upon the loamy sanctuary between willowy strands.

Continually, perpetually, even, he convulsed from internal pain, spasming to distant pleas from a familiar voice.

Hands pushed at his lower back, and they were a furnace to him. Unwelcome, searing brands that then reached his mouth, roughly forcing something within. With throat upended, bile bubbled, trapped within as a dryness of herb went deeper and deeper.

A strike to his stomach ended this, and another to his temple brought a painful blackness to his world.

🀨

“Senior is bold to attempt to open so many [Meridians],” applauded Mei. Yet her voice was unwelcome, drawing near violent thoughts in his groggy awakening.

Muted sunlight proved to be a second irritant, joining the procession of ailments that soon availed themselves to him. Fu drew an infernally blistered breath, wracked with coughs, and felt his Junior guide him to a solid seat against the trunk.

“Would senior-”

A grunt was all he could manage to stall her, granting time to readjust to the world around him.

“Hushi,” he managed. “Are you well?”

In a matching show of fatigue, the octopus flapped a dismissive tentacle.

Then, with the presence of mind to clutch at his pounding head, Fu pressed tight at his temples to try and alleviate the pain. “My [Channels]. They are raw, and my mind whirls as though…” Speaking summoned nausea, which had to abate before he continued. “Spirit wine. I suffer as though I have drained all of Thousand Shore City of its wine.”

Numerous other ailments decorated his insides, yet this speech was enough for now.

Parcels of a grainy mulch could be felt with his tongue, which he unceremoniously removed to wipe upon his hanfu.

“A [Life] affinity [Spirit Herb],” explained Mei, kind in her limited words.

Fu waited many minutes out before his body settled into a more manageable discomfort, where he rose to take fresher air than was granted by their close surroundings. The [Season] still imposed its [Tyranny], as was natural given the mere span of hours, and not weeks as his cultivation might have suggested.

Loss of time had become more prevalent with each of his cultivation sessions, with such intense internal concentration allowing hours to pass beneath his notice.

Still, he rubbed at his buttocks, stiff despite his status as cultivator.

“[Ink]”.

The first message in gold and teal went some way towards mending the trauma of his body, if only as an affirmation that the process had indeed, proved worthwhile.

Given his state Fu could not measure the extent of such changes, as to do so would no doubt have him confuse pain and ability, but he flexed with the promise of expectant strength.

Only for the second message to rise through the fading first.

Fu found himself speaking aloud. “Attained?” Announcing his presence to the [Mystic Realm] was unwise, and so his next thoughts remained within.

[Pull] and [Push]. The remaining titles that are missing from Harmony? It must be.

Uninterested in the values, he willed forth the new [Art], ponderous.

Gentle brushing announced that Mei had joined him, and a buzz of warmth fell upon his shoulder by way of her lizard. “This junior would not wish to presume-”

“Mei, tell me of [Nodes], and of [Arts], please. The characters my [Ink] show remind me… I feel as a salmon might, floundering on the shore.” Fu extended a deep bow, however pained.

It was a glad thing that Mei abandoned her deference to aid him to stand, and politely, he separated himself to walk.

“But first, let us stretch our legs.”

🀨

An [Art] was a formation of Qi, arrayed in a set pattern to create the same effect with minimal input from the cultivator that performed it. Disparate from the [Dao] or his [Prowess], in both fundamental nature and origin.

More words such as these were added.

A predetermined, a deficiency, or resolution, but Fu found that it was easier to liken Mei’s explanation to fishing.

[Prowess] was the measure of skill one held with a net, whereas an [Art] would cast one regardless of prior experience, aiding the movement of one’s arms with [Inner Qi]. His analogy, of course, lacked a certain depth, and proved to be unrelated to the [Dao].

Neither did it explain anything but hypothetical nets, but for Fu alone, it helped sort these unfamiliar terms.

“[Nodes],” mused Mei once more, bathing her face in one of the [Mystic Realm’s] familiar, fresh waters.

A stream that held unpleasant history for Fu.

“From Senior’s observations, and the increase to his [Harmony], this junior might speculate that it is a deepening of Bond and cultivator. A stage in their cultivation that allows the transference of inherent abilities, such as Hushi’s limited command of [Air Qi].”

Opening a fresh [Meridian] has her grow bold, to say limited.

“The Azure Shoal Sect did not speak openly on this?” To see her reaction, Fu dipped his head in thanks.

An hour or so of walking had him more recovered, and the effort was not accompanied by further distress to his already foggy thoughts.

A bamboo forest darkened the riverside as they walked further, its fallen leafage providing a crunch underfoot. These mounted on withered grasses, seared by a bout many weeks prior.

Where a far weaker fisherman was savaged by a tide of apes.

To walk now returned the rushing of their adjacent river, and this recurring crunch of feet upon [Autumn’s] castings. A peaceful melody for some, yet an agitant that had Fu bear a worried frown. His chain was half-unspooled, poised to be cast at the first sign of rouge.

“[Fire Qi] is gathering, senior,” warned Mei.

Fu spied her face in a blink of motion. Caught to be basking, minutely, in the oppressive thickness of her affinity, pleasurable to her and her alone. “Let us step lightly from this moment on, preparing ourselves to run.”

Phantom pain recalled what slashes the [Spirit Apes] had inflicted, tensing his muscles.

A crack across the waters. They near.

The weight of many gazes had his spine chill, and only the increase to his [Senses] disambiguated hide from leaf, given their similar colouring.

But he saw motion in limbs and heads, a territorial stalk that brought his adversaries closer to the bamboo’s foreground.

Dozens, as there were before.

Rouge shadows upon the ground and in the canopy above, pursuing from a distance until they did not. It was queer, Fu found.

The satisfaction in this, for his nerves could no longer bear the wait.

A hollering of simian whoops sounded as three [Spirit Apes] landed to beat the river’s opposing bank. Some near mirror of his previous encounter, save for Fu’s location, being far closer to the meadows than before.

Without so much as a warning, Fu lashed out with his chain, activating his [Dao of Reach] to smash the weapon’s head sidelong into the first unsuspecting ape. Its withdrawal left a mangled splatter in the beast’s skull, and felled it in a single blow.

[Insight] had some bearing on his [Dao], and given its recent increase, however small, Fu managed another lash before the buzz of mental fatigue bade him drop the effect.

More [Spirit Apes] impacted the shore, two score, at least, and their [Fire Qi] warbled out in a distorted haze of heat. Moisture fled Fu’s throat at this, his skin battling against a growing, inhospitable dryness.

Already, the apes stormed the river, reaching him in short order while the others pelted steaming rocks and detritus in their direction.

Hushi unfurled, summoning his coating of [Air Qi] to lash around the necks of the closest, and create space for Fu to rush.

They are too numerous for the chain, and they would catch it before I could kill any more.

In his steps he rewound the chain, its head gripped between white knuckles, tight as it shattered the jaws of his foes.

Mei’s defence came with a matching flame, and she conjured a great curtain of [Sun Qi] to rip across the river’s surface, reaching several paces higher than Fu.

Yet this drove the [Spirit Apes] into a frenzy, displaying a sickened twist of joy in their dance through the fires. The orange glow licked to leave them unharmed, bringing a curse to both of the cultivators’ lips.

“We will flee,” rasped Fu.

His junior bolted the moment he uttered this, abandoning the wild slashes of her sabre to rush past him and towards the meadows.

Five, or perhaps six, of the apes had fallen to Fu’s strikes. And still they pressed. Limited combat with brigands had him fooled into thinking they might attack with similarity, with turns, spacing, and other less important thoughts.

Gashes and punctures littered his free arm, barely able to move against the huddle of thrashing beasts. They were bunched, and rapid. A wall of clawed limbs and teeth that, as of now, had him trapped in a hemisphere of rouge.

He edged and kicked, wove and punched, and his small victories saw only an increase to their number.

For each he bested another would clamber over the corpse of its kin, at times launching from the fallen to attack him from above. These were the most troublesome, proved when a pair worked in tandem to smash him off balance and straight to the ground.

Naturally, [Resilience] was his shield against this. But even a cultivator’s attributes had limits.

White-hot pain flashed as his closest aggressors snapped his free arm at the joint, breaking the bone instantly.

Fu bellowed out, deafly, against the salivating jaws above, and tried to break free.

Finding he could not.

A mound of bodies rained down atop him, circular, and all with slashing arms. Scrapes turned to slits, and slits to gashes, spilling his blood across his body to stain his hanfu crimson. All he could do was kick, even then, presenting as a futile squirm.

To be undone by apes…

He knew another minute of this insanity would sever his ties from this world. [Resilience] proving his downfall as an extension of torture.

The strength of his kicks had faded, weakening with every moment of blood loss, as did his starving [Dantian] roil from both his emotions and Hushi’s shared despair.

Not apes. Nor Sects. They shall not keep me from my family.

Fu spluttered out a bloody growl, scraping together the-

An explosion on the scale of a [Season’s] change swept through both he and the [Spirit Apes]. Air, compressed in waves, followed by something gargantuan in feel.

Either Qi, or [Intent], he could not say.

Nor did he care.

The beasts screeched in chorus, forgetting their prey entirely, and fled.

Cold returned with their departure, and despite his grievous wounds Fu drew in a breath free of dryness and flame, springing to his feet.

He managed a few steps, clutching his broken arm with a chain so heated it scorched his flesh to touch. Thus he stumbled towards the river, crashing into the water up to his waist.

Fresh… and soothing…

Fu remained here, rasping further breaths until Mei plucked him from the waters and supported him forwards, taking his weight as her own.

“Hushi…” came his croak.

“Hushi is by your side, senior. Please, be at ease.”

Shuttered vision was his only means of sight, and the blackness of his closing lids extended longer with each step taken.

“Mei… what… what can I feel? What ca-”

Mei had stopped to support him against a low boulder as she tore at the base of her hanfu to free strips of fabric.

“Was it your… doing?”

He winced as she fastened strips over his gushing arms and neck, and each rag grew saturated with his blood. Still, she continued, hastily, before explaining. “There is combat at the [Paifang], senior. A force of Qi unlike any I have laid my eyes upon. As though the Heavens themselves have descended.”

The meadow was several li away, and Fu held difficulty even in focusing upon Mei’s face at the end of his nose. As such, his pained squint in the [Paifang’s] direction proved fruitless.

“Senior must save his strength,” she urged. “Please, place your trust in me. We will find a haven where you might recover. [Spirit Cores] can be used to heal these wounds, and I will gladly retrieve them once senior is safe.”

It spurted fresh blood into his wraps to shake his head, but Fu did so, feeling slick upon his neck. “The days run… short.”

Fastening the last of his bandages, Mei’s surprise had the knot fasten hard. “Forgive me senior, but even with his might-”

“Mei.”

“Senior is too injured!”

“Spilt water cannot be gathered,” he strained. “To heal… is too…”

No longer could he muster the strength to speak, nor support the full weight of his own head. Rendering him incapable of hearing her reply.

Time passed, and the scene that played for an unknown distance became only that of his feet. Dragging, and catching on the untread path towards the meadows.

Though, violet flowers later grew in his periphery, and these he stole long glances at between Mei’s aid in helping him chew.

A concoction of spirit herbs scraped down his gullet between a palmful of water, sustaining him in their travels.

Never healing.

Sparse remnants of his [Inner Qi] stole the largest of his attention, however, which he wound towards stemming the flow of blood in lacking fashion. With [Autumn] suppressing him, and the danger a [Spirit Core] would grant, Fu could but patch the greatest of gouges.

It served as a focus, at least, broken by two spectacles born from the one. Both risen from the brigand’s camp not so distantly ahead.

The first, a golden, sparking glow of lightning, suffused in the very air before the [Paifang]. And the second, a chant, of which resonated from myriad, unexpected voices far closer than Fu could have imagined.

“Yongwu Long!” they cried. “Yongwu Long!”

A name to pull disbelieving gasps from the junior beneath his shoulder, and flares of Qi from her [Spirit Lizard] in equal surprise.

“Yongwu…” started Fu, clutching at his gut. “Long?”