“It is of no consequence to the likes of you.”

“But they are the [Dao], and to be shared freely.”

The tribesman, of calloused, pink flesh, proved to be of little conversation. ‘A feature’, I wondered, ‘of this grouping in particular? Or a fitting generalisation’?

“Once-”

“If it rids me of you,” he growled. “Of your corrupted [Dao], and this heathen path. Shaped with constructs of iron, and polluted with the bounty of nature’s spoils. Shared, yes. But you know not the meaning of this.”

Aghast, I set forth my attendant. “The [Dao of Dawns],” I ordered, and the man unveiled his own insight. Of common acquisition, I should have no need to explain.

A great drum surfaced, of intricate inlay and bronze sheen. Beating to wash his [Principle] across the snow-touched plain.

But the tribesman stirred in anger, and conversed with his own [Dao of Dawns] - as I expected he might.

A light, and a dawn in vaunted simplicity.

The sun as it is seen, and touched by no personal insight or feelings. And this washed in turn, heralding the same effect of replenishment and vital power. If not to a greater degree.

“Polluted,” the tribesman growled once more, felling the attendant where he stood. No thought for their shared understanding of this mere [First Pool’s] stage of [Peak], nor their equal cultivation in [Core Formation],

“Polluted,” I repeated, marvelling.

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

The spectacle above furthered the crowds’ resounding chorus. Cries, exultant and rapturous, sounding not only from those with access to the source, but all in the Four Corners Prefecture that could but look up.

By appointment, Fu was among the former. If unable to share in the revelry.

For what wrapped the skies this night was a spectral horror. One reminiscent of times he would no dwell on.

A sheen held across its every scale, and a great forks of lightning cowled the dragon’s length. This apparition that danced above the Silver Loom’s auction, pulsating an [Intent] so vast that none within a thousand li could escape it. But it was mirth that washed upon the crowd, a perverse wave that plastered smiles on citizenry and cultivator alike.

All a preface to the auction’s start.

Fu knew it to be a blade, however. A show of arms to remind all who attended just where it was they walked, and at whose mercy they would be at should propriety not be observed. Such power could not be easily forgotten.

“A brother of mine inscribes such [Arrays] for entertainment,” noted Zhu, ever the exception to the rule. “I’ve seen bigger.”

This sourced a laugh from a nearby cultivator, an individual in the procession that flocked towards the Silver Loom’s garden. Yet a further source of laughter was silenced as Ding took a pace back, slapping Zhu across the cheek.

“You shame this household, servant!” he cried, flaunting his facade as some young master, The golden robe he bore swayed at the strike, and his attention immediately went to the jade rings on his hand. “Further more, the filth of your skin fouls these rings. Bah! You dare!”

No soul of the thousands about the three questioned such a sight, for this was not the only show of this theme. A sea of arrogance passed by, with derisive snorts and mocking eyes sparing no more than a glance at the would-be competition.

Ding turned to Fu. “You there, filth. Gao Fu. instruct this boy on his duties.” He cowled a hand over his eyes in dramatic fashion. “Father had best provide more fitting servants for the next auction, I swear it.”

They pushed through the procession under this guise, and fell in step behind a grouping of near twenty, all belonging to the same clan. Sable hanfu clad even the servants, who ringed about a cultivator at their center. An heir, or Sect scion, whose gaze never fell lower than the bridge of her upturned nose.

But Ding made no efforts to interrupt, despite their proximity. Instead they swept further, speaking only when another, lavishly dressed cultivator was reached. “Cousin,” he snorted.

“Men, look here, a toad walks among us!” called the second, brooking a series of laughs from his servants. Convincingly enough, for fellow ghosts. “Here to lust after swan meat, cousin? The family needn’t have bothered sending you as representative, my presence alone is enough.”

What few heads turned their way soon lolled, seeing nothing more than common happenstance.

The pair, the Seniors, moved onwards under a conversation of this theme. Some rehearsed script that had the minutes drag as if Fu were tasked with watching a slow-burning stick of incense.

However the procession soon halted, and gathered in their split ranks about the garden’s centrepiece.

Fu saw it only as a rock, despite its scale approaching ten stories in height. But it dominated the surrounding gardens, and shed an equal light with its blazing, silver characters as the dragon did above.

Silver Loom. Do any need a reminder of where we stand?

The silver light grew in volume then, and flashed to have a figure appear there. A young, and charming woman, with a voice as clear as moonlight. “Welcome, venerable patrons!” she sang. “The Silver Loom merchant house greets you!” One arm unslung from her immodest robes, a dressing of pearlescent wraps that flaunted all that one in her position might need, and she directed her hand to the Heavens above.

The dragon’s [Intent] grew an order of magnitude greater. A once passive, albeit strong force, it escalated in a dance. The lightning upon it now a storm of Qi and light, pulsating until it tore down to the earth.

What came next had Fu shield his eyes, for the apparition had exploded, birthing a sea of myriad, smaller dragons upon contact. Hushi bristled as they neared, flocking to each of those present in turn.

Fu paced back on instinct, and reflexively blocked as his own… dissipated against his [Dantian]. Birthing a puff of silver Qi.

“You dare!” chimed the thousands in each and every variation.

“You dare!” they chorused.

But Zhu laughed amidst it, catching Fu’s eye. He stepped close, and used the outrage about them to whisper. “My brother would name this a [Ten Changes Equilibrium Array]. Used to suppress the cultivation realm of any who willingly enter it.”

Forgetting himself, Fu grinned. “There is such a good thing?”

Ding’s palm struck clean, taking Fu from his feet. “You go too far, servant! Dogs must know their place,” he cried.

He goes too far himself, and more, he enjoys this.

The protests were quashed swiftly as the woman above spoke again. A [Spirit Bird], a graceful swan, emerging at her back to shawl her in silver wings. Each, ten strides a-piece. “We of the Sliver Loom hope our esteemed patrons understand the precautions we would have you entertain. It is in the shared interest of all, and, truly, we believe that it will only add to the excitement of this night’s showings.” With that, a crease split in the looming rock.

An entrance formed there, one that showed the vast descent of stairs those gathered were soon to undertake.

Zhu caught the periphery of Fu’s notice, edging close. “The scions are reduced to a peak [Formation Realm] existence,” he explained, having Fu question just what expression he himself held that was so easy to read. “Or rather they’re limited in the potential of Qi they’d once be able to bring to bear.”

These words came swiftly and he moved lest he risk the ire of Ding, breaking him from his throes of feigned outrage amidst the countless others.

But they pressed forward once more, finding that the entrance had now become a secondary trial to follow the first. Armed with the stoked passions of their reduced power, the cultivators ahead had formed a bottleneck. Warring with the order of who might be most deserving to claim the first step inside.

As such, Fu inwardly sighed.

This night will be long indeed.

🀨

To the best of Fu’s knowledge his squad was to remain in this private box until such a time as the other ghosts had conducted some preliminary effort.

He spied traces of them now, lavish ghosts poised in silk-clad recesses, waited on by the innumerable attendants of the Silver Loom auction. In their booths, boxes, and balconies - myriad, and all set into the walls surrounding the octagonal platform below.

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Truly, the attendance of this event had pulled a tide of cultivators from all ends of the Four Corners Prefecture, for the collated hue of the Sect robes, clan stylings, and diaspora of [Spirit Beasts] proved a wondrous, if frightening sight.

What impact might a single ghost have here, among these… powerhouses and monsters as I’ve heard them named?

A click came, and Fu strode towards their box’s balustrade, an open affair unlike the many fronts that were clad in [Dao] inscribed veils- both in physical presence, and spiritual - where he extended the jug he carried to Ding’s cup.

“Do try not to spill it, servant,” he laughed.

Fu suppressed his irritation, his mind on preserving their illusion. This front of servant and young master, despite the distance to the next occupied booth.

Tanshuai flittered between Zhu’s shoulder, mirroring the protest her cultivator was preparing to unleash. “Quan Ding steps too-”

“Don’t shatter our appearance,” warned Ding, wearing but a pleasant smile for any that might look upon them. “Else you invite a sea of fire.”

No fool, Zhu retracted a step. In time for the woman below to present another item to the masses.

It appeared in the house’s signature of silver, but at a volume of light that was no doubt magnified in some way. A cushion first, and the contents above. Some rarified ore, crystalline and ablaze with the colours of sunset. “Our next item,” she began, pushing delight into her every word. “A [True Flame Agate]!”

A suitable pause in her words was filled with murmurs.

“A powerful component for any who cultivate the elements of fire or sun,” she continued. “Long rumoured to hold properties pertaining to awakening the dormant [Bloodlines] of any with a connection to such paths. It is a-”

With a muted interest in treasures far beyond his means, Fu focused only on what effects he could discover. Were stealth not his aim, he knew he’d have stood breathless before long, as this only broadened his sense of things.

“...the [Affinity] of your Bond, altering its connection to [Gold Qi]...”

“...great insight into the [Dao] of [Karma], from but a single lock of her hair…”

“...forge a final [Node] regardless of one’s progress…” And so on, she spoke.

There came terms of [Constitutions], which he equated with his own [Teal Supple Physique], yet man-forged as opposed to Bond-given. Further [Dao] insights. Seeds that might begin a process to start an [Inner Realm]. Items whose properties granted specifics to the [Mind] or [Spirit] that went so far beyond Fu’s understanding he could no longer listen without confusion, or omission of all that he had learned before.

Of note were two things, not treasures as listed.

Fu severed his ever-blinking bemusement to spy the crowd, from booth to booth, and heard no fervour as he would attribute to such items. Divine artefacts and priceless relics, all - yet the crowd’s intent passed as though they were passing vendors, in that they would call, and raise hands to signify their interest. Going no further than this.

The world is vast if these are baubles to those around me. To see this little interest… what Heavens are hidden for the night’s end?

A thought that brought him to the second point of note, and to the listings etched on a parchment by Ding’s left. He strained his [Senses], and read all he could from several strides away.

Finding no treasures that might join a [Primordial Constellation Gate].

Hua’s reaction to revealing my own… With all that I have read. Is it truly such a guarded secret that these treasures exist?

He pondered on it.

Only by design. If the Sects did not curtail the masses, and claim possession of each [Mystic Realm] then this would not be so. Thus, they are as rare as phoenix feathers. I do not doubt that their existence is known, yet they are so few that none would willingly speak on it..

“Make ready,” warned Zhu, and before Fu might act upon it he was battered from his thoughts by another slap.

“You’ve brought further shame!” exploded Ding, looming over him. “One task! But one! How one might mislay such a quantity of spirit stones- You dog, you cur!” The farcical young master stepped above Fu, and rained down blows with barely a punch pulled.

Half a minute of this, and Fu could only endure until Ding flung his arms high in rage. He painted his face with a wrothful tint, and flew through the exit to the rear of their booth.

“Well,” he raged. “I’m merciful am I not? You may yet walk, so, do so, before my house is further ridiculed for the ineptitude of servants!”

A hand came from Zhu, levering Fu to his feet. But he said nothing, and both followed Ding from the room a moment later. Fu clutched at his stomach as they did, pained from the blows. It drew a wince each time he stepped, although he sensed it would be no lasting thing.

“Venerable patron,” bowed an attendant, set at the threshold of their booth. A man, with a [Spirit Fox] of faintest silver. “Might this humble one be of aid?”

Ding sneered. “You might aid me in finding suitable servants!” Once more he turned to strike, and took delight in how Zhu flinched in response. “No. You’ll take me to the entrance, boy, If these simple-minded curs cannot be trusted to bring my wealth, then I shall have to fetch it myself!”

In the gap between Ding’s dropped gaze, the attendant flashed pity. “As you wish, venerable patron.” He led them in procession, following a spiral path that hugged the rock’s interior. Passing paths to the various tiers that branches to booths beyond.

But Ding had no intention to leave, and Fu caught a flash as his hand loosed something small. A dark needle, that punctured the attendant’s neck with no more depth than an insect's bite.

“Boy,” he suddenly surged, grasping the attendant by the scruff to hoist him back. “My cousin stands ahead. No, we cannot go this way.”

The attendant looked wary, but remained composed as Ding’s hold was dropped. “Venerable patron-”

“Would the Silver Loom have me lose face for the ineptitude of my servants?” Ding snapped.

“Truly, the master is beyond such things! I am sure!”

Ding shook his head, now painted with incredulity. “Another entrance, now. That black-hearted cousin of mine will spell ruin, and to pass him now would further the baseless rumours he would spread of my misfortune.”

Change came over the attendant. An eye, flickering, and a lid that fell drowsy. “As… as you say, master… cultivator,” he said.

A poison to cloud the mind. I smell it through the [Hundred Immunities Fruit], if faintly.

The procession swiftly changed direction, under the now-leaden step of the attendant who moved as if coerced by several jugs of spirit wine. Down, beyond the tenfold passages, and further into the bowels of the great rock.

A place where silver banners made way to dimmer lanterns, and each branching path was partially obscured behind clefts in the rock. Some design of construction to have the servant’s workplaces hidden from any who might find their way below.

“Your duty is fulfilled, boy,” said Ding, annunciating his next words. “You have delivered us to the entrance.”

The attendant could only nod, and returned to lavishing his [Spirit Fox] with strange affection. They then meandered up the hall with the Bond cradled like a small child in his arms. Ding then shared a wicked smile, and without another word the three slipped into the passage to their rear.

An empty chamber greeted them there, and a closed wooden door with a clear impression of the [Dao] upon it. But Ding produced a token, and set it wordlessly against the center to have the power dissipate.

Zhu met Fu’s eyes briefly, showing that their thoughts were aligned.

His level of communication leaves us defenceless. Not a whisper, nor a sign of our true goal even with Zhu’s protests.

As they crossed the threshold, each man leapt to the shadows. An easy task with such abundant gloom, for the new space was littered with free-standing shelves, crates and coffins, and organised in such a way that left only enough room for two paths through.

[Senses] told of the attendants here. The grunts of the labours - box carrying, cleaning, and co-ordination between their peers albeit distant to where they stalked. Such sounds carried along a low echo, and further spoke of the area’s scale.

Tanshuai interrupted Fu’s skulking, landing on his knuckle to push his attention to her cultivator’s location. He crouched one row over, and held a hand to Ding’s hanfu.

His whisper, low. “...leave us blind.”

Fu met them upon the top shelf, and lent his presence to Zhu’s obvious complaint.

“Why, my comrades have turned disagreeable,” whispered Ding. “Quiet yourselves, or we will be revealed.”

“The objective,” warned Fu, dropping any pretence of civility. The man was not long for this world, and these actions would invite no more trouble than his.

Ding smiled, perfectly, though Fu was wise to the pretence of it. “To build on the efforts of our betters,” he said. “We are to follow the Silkworm Hall disciples once their meeting is concluded. Now, I would urge quiet.”

Silkworm Hall cultivators? And they are to meet here.

Fu’s thumb rubbed at the raw skin of his finger, but he held his words at bay. Ding had them cornered, and blinded. Forced to prowl without condemnation or further information gleaned at the risk of alerting those within the Silver Loom.

Thus, they continued, silently vaulting between shelves until the attendants’ voices were no longer so distant.

Forty or so, harried individuals rushed at a nexus ahead. A true center where all wings of this stockroom met. It was a wider expanse, with wooden boards underfoot and a higher ceiling, if still hewn into the same rock Fu crept beneath.

“The Foxfire Diadem is to be listed next!”

At the call of some unseen woman, the attendants streamed. Six hefted a cushioned platform between them, raising it from the floor to then rush towards an entrance beyond Fu’s vision. But the space did not return to idleness, and a second platform was brought forth to fill the gap it had created. An equally priceless treasure atop it, in turn.

These are the items to be auctioned at this minute. Pulled as they are called for?

An interesting sight, but well lit, staffed, and plagued with a freeness from shelves, perches and navigable terrain.

The plan is unmade. There are no shadows in which to hide. No lips, nor eaves from which to leap. How might I-

However, to look ahead Fu spied his squad moving with not a heartbeat of hesitation.

He put it as fifty strides from his own shelf to the far side, where a passage stood in mirror of his own. Multiple branches, in fact, for a total of eight. Then, his comrades vanished.

Ding stepped, and fell to the darkened side of his perch. A flash, and silver hanfu replaced the lavish claddings of his young master persona before he fell to the ground. Emerging to begin his crossing of the floor.

So Fu waited, and rid his mind of Zhu- the more mystic of disappearances, as his was but an absence.

He traced Ding’s movement towards the eastmost, and stole a breath.

Am I too, not a ghost?

[Half Cloud Step].

As Qi flushed his body with strength, Fu became a blur. A touch put him to the adjacent shelf, and a second flashed him to the cave’s wall. A fell wind, with no aid of the [Dao].

And here the wind brushed lightly, his sole against the vertical face of stone.

One touch.

An immersion of light below.

The faces and bodies, unaware of what flew above- a stone-like gait where they moved in their tasks.

Fu touched again on the vertical face, and his [Senses] held pace to show another platform raised below. Another treasure hoisted, immersed in the force of forty that cried no exclamations nor detected his passing.

Almost mortal-like, when faced with this ghost.

Hushi tightened with some form of pride, only rising as they arrived on the once-distant shelves of the store. Fu looked back only when he stole into surer shadows, and marvelled at the feat he had performed.

To where his instinct had led, and allowed him to conquer. For he had almost walked upon the air- Ding scuffed his foot below. An innocuous sound that settled Fu’s pride, and one from the path between crates.

A warning, he thought, if the man’s posture was any indication of his mind. As he had disrobed once more, adopting the black of their Clouded Court Squads with frightful speed. It had him blend well with the recess that he retreated inside, a gap between crates.

Hidden from the pitch black mass that roamed ever closer, and the Silkworm Hall disciple that no doubt hid beneath it.