Were this penniless seeker no child of the [Dao], great shame would well have accompanied his actions.

In pleading with the masses closest to the borders of the Clear Sky hegemony, nine times came the rejection. Reverence would not part their gates of bone, not lavished affections through treasures, resources and bodies.

A treaty witnessed by the [Dao] conjured derisive yowls, spurning shoulders and maddening silence.

Voyages then, from an end- their range- territory or domain- to elsewhere proved my approach as discordant.

It was in the shadow of the Divine Azure Condor, shrouded in what perpetual [Summer] but one sliver of a pinion cast - that this penniless seeker obtained entry, proving all measures beholden to propriety, prestige, and spirituality as farcical.

Yet a martial approach, lauded and storied for its Heavenly truth among all peoples- presents concern in this lowliest of seekers. As it is a dubious matter whether this was key.

“This penniless seeker will test his might,” rang the words that day.

And a roar accepted, bringing the gates- now a mockery of azure feather, to a full yawn - and unbarring the way into their lands.

- “Tribes at War, an Introduction” - Collated tales by Daoist [Laughing Yellow Plain]

It was no more than an hour beyond Mohini’s death that the Clouded Court Squads arrived in number. Ding, first, with a scholarly sort at his heel. Led, but only in so much as a direction was required, and under no term of status.

Their Senior, Fu knew.

Known, as for all of Ding’s [Prowess] and experience in expression, he was pallid now. A toll taken on his skin where vitality gave way to worry, having his march awkward and his stop upon one knee a shaky affair.

“Squad Leader,” he confirmed, and thrust his head to the stone in supplication. One stride from the stretch of corpses lain flat for inspection, and three more from the expectant pair by their side.

Fu remained stock still as the Squad Leader approached. Not daring to raise his head, nor speak words that would swiftly be cut short and reprimanded.

The nigh-miasmic [Intent] that drew ahead reinforced this. A shift of snow white smoke in his Senior’s wake, and one that propagated with each step- skirting the warehouse floor to mask all that was underfoot.

He felt the disdain that carried forth.

“Junior Gao. The offender that revealed their squad’s presence in the Lesser Tiger Palace, squandered Sect coin on paltry, meaningless bribes, and now-, now, has exacerbated a situation with targets whose interaction was intended to be mere interrogation.”

Wisps of the [Intent] cloyed at Fu’s robes, trailing to steal his breath.

“And junior Zhu,” the intonation continued. “A [Dao Oath] was sworn, was-it-not? Lingering familial ties can be no excuse, are, no thing to be traded, if that is what gives rise to such incompetence. For a squad member to fall. For one of my longest tenured Juniors to pass such as this- it is shameful, and with obvious cause.”

Zhu’s tongue cut straight, without hesitation. “Silkworm Hall hid a Mid-grade [Core Formation] expert in their ranks. Skilled in the jian. My summation is ill-preparedness for this eventuality, and unclear leadership.”

In some twist of Fu’s expectation where the seconds stretched between reply, he wondered on this senior.

For he hummed sharply, pensive as he stalked the rows of arrayed corpses and the litany of items prepared aside each. “State what you imply, Disciple Zhu- and this I allow as no fool would challenge their senior as you do. Yet Ding is favoured, and his words are serpents where your own are worms. I trust this is understood?”

“It is, Squad Leader,” Zhu replied.

“Then rise, and speak.”

Fu angled his head higher, catching the glint of Ding’s eye. A look that spoke of battles won, and how what followed would soon follow suit. Although Fu’s narrative would take steps to change that.

“Senior Mohini’s tactics were lacking in the face of this outcome,” began Fu.

“Disciple Zhu does not need a mouthpiece,” warned the Squad Leader, now to the pair’s rear. “But I am nothing if not charitable, clearly, so you may speak when asked.”

With a prim nod, Fu allowed Zhu to continue. “As disciple Gao Fu says, Squad Leader. Our ensnarement of the Silkworm Hall cultivator fell to whimsy, for there was no expectation that a retaliatory force would come in such great number. Five disciples gave chase, and only Senior Quan Ding allowed us to clutch victory.”

Ding’s expertise had him remain composed, though Fu doubted he would expect such a change in narrative.

“His efforts rang like iron bells, swift and decisive,” continued Zhu. “Senior Mohini would have had him stay, and fight as we did, yet his flight from the Silkworm expert was enough to disrupt their forces’ attention.”

Completing a circuit of the corpses, their Squad Leader moved into Fu’s view. A man of the Clear Sky Empire, truly, for he held no discerning features but that of middling age. Crinkles edged his brows, and thin straps of facial hair ringed his upper lip and chin. So unremarkable a look that Fu mused on the man’s devotion to anonymity, and if his appearance was by choice alone.

He splayed a fan as he walked, as mundane as the one who carried it. “Flight, disciple Ding?”

“As they say, Squad Leader. A flight where I split from the fray to alter the clash’s territory and grant space for my struggling juniors,” Ding explained.

“Silkworm Hall disciples are unworthy ghosts indeed, yet- No fools.” The Squad Leader’s [Intent] boiled, and what tendrils twisted around the three Juniors rose to unbearable heat. “I will have the truth of this!”

Despite appearances to the contrary, such outrage was a wind that blew in Fu’s favour.

“Squad Leader!” plead Fu. “This hopeless junior knows his own shortcomings, and his station. Yet Senior Ding saved Mohini’s plan from ruin! Had he not provided his distraction, she could not have delivered the killing blow!”

The fan thrust downwards, intensifying the heat about Fu.

But he bore it.

“Disciple Ding, I tire of this charade. Was this not your command? You disgrace my position as leader. To think I had you placed as my speaker. Trusted.” A flash delivered him to Ding’s rear, where the fan was shown level at his junior’s neck. “Yet an empty squad cripples a nail of the hands that are our Clouded Court! Were our duties not critical you would be cleansed by our [Mind] cultivators, scoured that the waters may recede and show the rocks beneath.”

“This junior will do as the Squad Leader commands!” cried Ding.

“Yes. The junior will, and when it comes to light why these Disciples before me yet draw breath to testify to your supposed valour- I foresee but one command…”

Fu took the words to mean that Ding had proclaimed them dead, and inwardly cursed the coward ahead.

Why then, did our Squad Leader shunt blame to me? ‘Obvious cause.’ His statement condemns me even with Ding’s lies made known.

“...sickens me,” the Senior said, having continued through Fu’s thoughts. “Report, that I may not have to look upon you so soon again.”

What few words had been traded left Ding as pale as moonlight. “A-as you say. Our interrogation of the Silkworm Hall disciple confirmed their involvement in the theft, and distribution of our [Heritage] cores. Their members infiltrated myriad shipments from core peddlers and [Spirit Beast] trappers, planting Sect serpents among their wares without the proprietor’s knowledge before they were further distributed. The routes have little meaning we could discover, and appear to be aimed for widespread movement more than delivery to specific targets.”

“The instigator, disciple. What use have I for the fruitless conjecture of a dead junior?”

Hearing the purpose of their last several missions had Fu comforted, at least in this single regard.

Ding’s voice returned to confidence. “None were named, save for the disciple’s whispers on where the payment was to be collected. The Silver Loom merchant house on the night of this [Season’s] auction.”

The Squad Leader removed his [Intent]. A kindness, in how it reduced the temperature to a mere boil. “Three day’s time,” he said. “Then disciple Ding has four until his [Mind] is set straight. You will attend this auction without incident, and discover what benefactor seeks to shorten his life by such interference with our Sect.”

“As you say, Squad Leader,” came a chorus of two.

Followed then, by Ding, who added his voice to the pairs’ with obvious disharmony.

This content has been unlawfully taken from NovelBin; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

🀨

The weight of Mohini’s salvageable belongings had Fu absently rub his spatial ring for every few steps he took. Knives, spirit stones, herbs- of crushed, vialled, or whole variety, a number of pills, a flask, and several mundane trinkets… these too filled his storage, and were a welcome addition to all he had taken from his former comrade.

Was it distasteful? Shameful?

An absence of morality told him otherwise, for the looting of the fallen had him feeling nothing but a slight relief that neither DIng nor the Squad Leader had queried the bare spoils around what corpses had been gathered.

A push broke his reverie, and drew him back to the Four Corners Prefecture. Zhu’s hand gasped at his collar, and suspended him from falling the distance between his head and the marble street underfoot. “Disciple Zhu?”

Not five strides away, a [Spirit Oxen] barged. A cobalt furred, furious beast, strapped with a cart of impossible weight and height. Half the base of a prefabricated pagoda, or the framework of such, that lilted with each hoofstep to deliver an imminent threat of collapse.

Zhu thrust Fu from the street well before it struck. “A debt squared with timely fashion.”

Fu’s head swivelled from ox to cultivator, much to Hushi’s impressed disdain for the act. “Is-” He found a chuckle rising in his chest. “Was being in my debt so distasteful? I was barely aware that you owed me so much.”

“Yet now our lives are our own. [Karma] weaves in peculiar ways, Fu,” Zhu replied. “Now, we’ve three days until our duties commence. You are hungry, and Tanshuai continues to dog me about fresh clothing. We can’t stalk the streets as blood-soaked vagrants, nor would I wish to. Come, we’re eating.”

Walking, opposed to stalking, was novel for Fu. Here he stepped in time with Zhu, and took in the sights of all he passed. Of note was the spread, and the charm of districts that were not arranged by function as Divine Clouded Mountain was.

Thus Fu saw the sagging breaths of a tailor, having spun their last silken thread before closing, and the final cut of jiblets beside a meat vendor’s knife, not one building apart. A mundane variety that spoke of personal touches, and diligent business persons far from the Sect’s organisation.

After further walking they came upon a raised deck, and lanterns were soon foisted into their vision. Cords, supporting an unwieldy amount between tall posts, the orange tinge of which cast doubt on where the central stove ended and the dining area began.

Zhu mounted it, and unceremoniously found the pair a bench. “Flavour or nourishment?” he asked as Fu joined him.

“Nourishment. Is this not our purpose?”

“It’s my treat,” Zhu grimaced. “But Mohini’s pockets were light- making mine own lighter. We’ll settle for spirit wine as nourishment.”

Fu could only nod.

Of the benches there, few were occupied by more than solitary figures. Perhaps explaining the server’s delight as he came upon the pair. “Honoured guests,” she said. “Flavour, or nourishment?”

“Flavour, though we’ll have two jugs of nourishment. Spirit wine, with-” Zhu stole a look at Fu. “A sweetness.” He waved her away, disregarding her bow. “That’s pleasing to you? I’d not take you for a dry.”

Now, Fu knew of restaurants. He knew of dining. The process of ordering, delivery, and such- if only from distant observation. Osmosis, at the bow of his ship.

Yet still he jerked upright as the server returned some moments later. “Gratitude,” he said, near vaulting the bench to relieve her of two jugs.

Zhu only stared as they were set before him. “Nourishment or favour is spoken in establishments that do not exclusively cater to cultivators. Shame and image be damned, it’s known that mortals put effort into their meals.”

To sidestep his ignorance, Fu poured Zhu a cup. A quaint, clay thing, but charmingly stylised with petals.

Yuqi would like such a cup.

“That look is more of you than this silence,” said Zhu.

Fu caught himself. “I have never been a great lover of spirit wine.”

“Distaste wouldn’t have you look wistful,” Zhu sighed. “I enjoy the simplicity of directness, friend Fu. What haunts you that we might not share a meal?”

The question lingered while imagination conjured a jian, stuck clean through his own punctured gut. Hushi fielded a strange response to it. Where a reassuring tug might come before, he now dropped from the douli. Tentatively placing it aside their jugs.

His gold-speckled eyes met Fu’s.

Bluntness may well be his mask, brother. We cannot.

Tanshuai set herself on the hat’s brim, and in a breath, Hushi joined her. An understanding impressed, if resigned.

“Apologies, Zhu. My life holds a duty, and I cannot allow myself to be dissuaded from it.”

The man weighed this, sipping. “Idle conversation isn’t a distraction when we sit in the same place, sharing the same meal. Duty, yes, I’d say it explains you in part- and association is a forced start to friendship, is it not?”

“Our association is as fellow disciples,” said Fu. “Without insult, I would say that most of this number would not hold my duty as their chief concern.”

“You’ve either a silver tongue or are a man of insufferable propriety Fu. Our fellows are talentless, black-bellied dogs,” cut the reply. “Truly, Mohini would have cut you down next to preserve her own hide, and that bloated oaf Ding had us tossed to the dragons with his cowardice. No, they’ve no love for your duty.”

The contents of the conversation had their server reticent upon delivery, though she flashed a series of bamboo containers before them with the [Prowess] of an expert.

Zhu pulled the lids off several, but made only for the dumplings. “Tanshuai, take your fill while the sesame oil is still hot,” he called, though the butterfly was already upon the lip.

Fragrant heat spilled up Fu’s nostrils, bringing his mouth to water. It called into question, again, when last he had eaten. The sustenance of Qi… this showed it to be lacking, and so he tore into the closest.

By the Heavens.

Whatever the disparity between flavour and nourishment, he cared little. For each mouthful was succulent, and fit both terms in full. He found himself shivering as the first entered his stomach, and the second as it added its warmth. The third, the fifth, the tenth.

A rare joy.

Hushi broke him from his gluttony with an arm upon his chest. Something sudden enough to have Tanshuai flock to Zhu’s shoulder.

Of all times, in all [Seasons]. Why now?

The warmth of dumplings was not misplaced, nor misattributed, yet it was not the sole source of this sensation. As the [Three Eyed Spying Array] now set its own invasive heat through him.

“Mortal heat cannot trouble you,” said Zhu.

“Ten dumplings eaten in half as many breaths, however,” Fu replied. “My initiation, it was before this… the last I have eaten, perhaps.”

“You’d deny the pleasure of food so early in your cultivation?” As one of the first expressions that Zhu’s face had ever shown, Fu found his incredulity to be near comical. “But- your duty then. A burden, or so it sounds.”

“It is no burden.”

“And so it thickens.”

“My goals are no broth, Zhu.”

At this, the man nodded. “My sister would say otherwise, and state that the [Dao of Cooking] is an apt parallel for life.”

With the express feeling that Zhu was trying to provoke a rise, Fu tried his best to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Is this wisdom from the Third Heavenly Records?”

“A poor attempt at dissuasion,” sighed Zhu, which he punctuated by slamming his cup against the table. “No. It’s another sister, though her talents are often sought by such establishments. Her [Dao] is an unusual one.”

“Two sisters, then?”

A second look of incredulity rose, washing aside Zhu’s canvas of perpetual boredom. “Tanshuai, we’ve found a man that doesn’t know us.” Maintaining his expression, he flared his hands to where the markings of plum darkened each eye. “Say what it is you see.”

A better route for conversation. Well away from my own affairs.

“The [Ink] of one on [Mind’s] path,” guessed Fu, for the similarities to others pinned this as his most likely option.

“An admittedly fine guess, if incorrect. No, these are stains of my [Bloodline].”

Fu’s reading had yet to broach this topic, though he had heard it often enough. “Yours is a [Bloodline] that hides [Ink] then?”

“Its signature is in the skin, Fu,” he sighed. Zhu swept his jug aside, the contents far from emptied. “Know that [Karma] forces me to bear your insufferable closeness, and I’d not persist were we not bound.” Another sighed prolonged his pause. “I’m Zhu, of the Plum Axe. A man on the path of [Mind] and [Light]. One brother amongst a thousand others, one child among a thousand more, and one bastard among the rest. I’ve no love for my house, no love for mystery, and no love for those that hold either in high regard.”

Unsure in the face of this outburst, Fu’s tongue wagged. “Three thousand sisters, then?”

“Three… If anything, my words were less than dramatic. Stranger yet that you’d not throw words, bow, or offer to pay for our food. No thoughts on a venerable ‘pillar’?”

Fu drew back to the Clear Sky Empire, a previous tome. “[Plum Axe Zhu]. I have not had the pleasure of meeting a pillar, and cannot say if I might hold them in respect.”

“We stand in the cracks of a pillar.”

“In the shadow of those cracks, perhaps,” mused Fu. His curiosity weighed against caution, and the false camaraderie he was certain Zhu displayed. And yet the man had shared much, in his way.

Hushi caught his eye.

Might I balance my secrets? We are accomplices against Ding, at least.

“Would you walk with me?” continued Fu, painfully placing several spirit stones upon the table.

Zhu put his own down, only three, and returned Fu’s. “Worthy of friendship now that my connections are revealed? I hadn’t placed you as so shallow.”

🀨

Flight across the Four Corners Prefecture’s rooftops gave little chance for speech, which had Fu praise the Heavens.

A gap cleared conjured a second guess, only for the next to correct his thoughts. A leap, a concern, and so on. But the distance was severed swiftly for disciples of their [Might], and soon enough the training hall was entered.

“You’d break our meal for sparring?” queried Zhu, yet he did not press further.

The hour had grown late during their travels, though contrary to what he supposed of other branches of the Cloudy Serpent Sect, the training hall was near full for it.

Experts clashed on the sandy floor ahead in silent dance. True members of the Clouded Court Squads, and no initiates on the first step of their path. Each meeting of metal was a blur under the cloak of their shared art, prohibiting Fu’s [Senses] from discovering if Qi played any part in the skill they showed.

He put his attention to the [Spirit Beasts] next, the myriad Bonds that… that he knew served more as his distraction from the potential ahead than anything of use.

With a breath, Fu pushed to the furthest wall. To the screen before Yunhan’s pit, where he gestured Zhu inside.

But the man’s face darkened to a scowl. “Better walls exist, Fu.”

“I-” Fu likewise scowled. Rather than address the comment, he pulled the screen back and entered the hall. Hearing the snort that followed shortly after him.

“Recall what I shared on mystery,” Zhu warned, joining by his side. “A training annex, and one that you hold access to as a freshly inaugurated. I’ll add, Gao Fu, that I’m well weary of assassination attempts should this prove to be one.”

That drew a laugh. “I hope that you hold higher stock in my assassination attempts than this,” said Fu. “Apologies, Zhu, there is something I would have you do.”

The pair arrived at the hall’s end, placed before the wooden dummy on which he had found Mohini’s name. Her chit had long since faded, ashed as it was. Fu had not questioned her execution save for theories that would do no good to be voiced, more so, as there were none with whom he could voice them.

Perhaps, that might change.

“Strike this,” he directed.

Zhu eyed him as though he were moon-touched, but obliged. A lacklustre series followed, styleless if Fu could tell such a thing. “To glean my intentions through martial study is a skill you lack, Gao Fu. Don’t forget that I have witnessed your [Prowess].”

“A thing may happen.”

“How asininely vague,” sighed Zhu, mid-strike.

Then I will walk this path alone.

Fu cast his eyes to the Heavens, realising now that a part of him had truly yearned for a companion. “I wish it were not so,” he said, and added his sigh to the chorus.

The drumbeat of fists upon wood ceased shortly after.

“Apologies, Zhu. I will see you in our quarters, the day has taken a toll on me, it seems,” Fu brushed his thumb against his forefinger, finding the rawness of skin. “We should retire, and speak come morning.”