The pool was a shade of dirty crimson, and… teal.

The hanfu at Fu’s front however, the hanfu beyond, the sleeve that slapped moistly against his cheek.

Black.

Or were those his eyelids?

Fu was frozen but for the sun at his navel, so close to his [Dantian].

But was that a secondary thought? There was a searching force upon his body, and he recalled having felt it before. His [Senses] bristled, and he made to lift his-

Fu could not lift his head.

“This daoist would ask a question to his junior.”

A number of curses wished to show their presence to this voice. To carry their sentiment in no uncertain terms.

His vital force was spent, and Hushi was corded around his stomach. Each arm compressed the octopus tighter, sealing the tide of blood that gushed from him. A bandage of spongy flesh, now doing little more than prolonging his torture.

And to add to this, Cheng Rao placed a palm on his forehead.

Here was another loss, as though the [Trial] had extended by his senior’s hand. Fu’s [Ink] grew as hot as burning coal, and he might well have cried out if all attention was not on keeping his blood within him.

“It is long since this daoist has looked upon a [Foundation Realm] disciple,” mused Cheng Rao. “The [Hundred Immunities Fruit] is not within you, Gao Fu. The [Hundred Immunities Fruit] is not on your person. It is not yet plucked from its tree. This brings ponderance.”

At the lifting of his Senior’s palm, Fu’s [Ink] returned to normality. Only specks there of a lingering heat, where once it had flared. “Glory,” he drooled. “To the Sect.”

Peripheral movement stirred the waters around the pair. Which stilled, bearing a reflection at the edge of his vision of kneeling cultivators. A force of ten, perhaps, in two rows around he and Cheng Rao.

“Ah. This junior dispels the clouds so that all might see the sun,” he whispered, and those words contained a reverence that Fu had previously only known his own voice to carry. For such a tone was reserved for family. For pride in their accomplishments. “Disciple Gao Fu. Yes. This daoist is touched by such loyalty. As all should be.”

Perhaps, Fu returned, “Gratitude.” As all he knew in those following moments was a blanket of Qi, forming around him. One that pressed him into sleep.

🀧

It showed how dire his state had become that Fu could not measure how just he had come to wake in a solid building. Glimpses had appeared, or been imagined. Fragmented memories where he was toted upon shoulders, and a litany of faces had pressed close to his own.

Yellow grasses. Verdant woods. [Spirit Beasts], and the cacophony of noise that accompanied their presence. Though if these dreams were of benign creatures or violent, he could not say.

They were things for the past, at any rate. For now cotton sheets were drifting to the side of his bed, freed by the kick he had woken to inflict.

“Long,” he roared, ill-recognising his own voice.

The room was bare save his bed, and a severe draft passed through the open windows at all sides of him. No sign of traitorous fiends. He rose despite this, tearing the bandages that circled his stomach.

I-

Fu forced himself to still, though his heart was a defiant beast. Several breaths… these riled him further. Enough so to rouse Hushi from a slumber, and cause each of his arms to snap out as his own legs had done.

“Hushi.” The octopus heaved himself onto Fu’s lap, much spent and lacking in his usual vivacity of colour. A muted teal, and a return of yellow eyes where gold would normally dwell. “You are unwell. It has taken a toll on the both of us, no?”

Placing a hand on his Bond, he brought him tighter. Myriad thoughts were swirling… hammering his mind. Anxiety at the scrutiny Cheng Rao had placed him under, and the fear of discovery.

A volatile rage at Long. Unbridled. Of a sort that would consume him should it rise but a part further.

The pain where his jian had cut Fu down.

Yet all of this paled as his children’s faces surfaced. “He spoke true, did he not Hushi?” Beneath the embrace, his Bond jostled. Impressing that he understood. “We walked the path blind, and paid our price.”

Fu suppressed the pain of his wound as he pushed his legs to solid stone. Careful on his way to one of many open windows, where he placed Hushi on the edge. [Air Qi] reinvigorated him, and abundance lent him strength.

As was natural to find so high above the ground, with this view of the [Mystic Realm] spread out until the horizon.

At other times this view would have inspired awe. To see cultivators in pavilions below, on stairs and bridges, as small as insects. To note how dusk now neared, and no trace of Blight rose at the walls or grounds beyond.

“Junior Gao Fu. This recovery is slow.” Behind, as he rounded to discover, stood a scholarly woman. A futou sealing her hair, and a prim expression worn.

Fu recognised her as a doctor, for he had seen many upon his first entry to the Green Blight Bastion. “Senior,” he bowed. “This junior is regretful that he can mend no faster.”

“Rise, else you undo all that was spent to fix your wounds.” At this command, two [Spirit Serpents] dropped as though they might decorate her ears. “The bed, junior.”

With a nod, Fu left Hushi by the open window to sit.

Having only a thin gown upon his shoulders, he felt exposed as the doctor plied his arms in various directions. She had him raise both at certain angles, and her hands poured over him in clinical manner.

“Stand,” she ordered, and he did. As he stood however, a gentle stirring of Qi rose around him. The first of two [Spirit Serpents] then descended, where a set of fangs detached into the doctor’s waiting hand. “Circulate your Qi.”

And again, he did, pushing his [Inner Energy] throughout his [Channels]. Even as the fangs were foisted into his tender muscle. Further sets came, until Fu felt his body was reminiscent of a pufferfish.

Though this experience had him curious, as her Qi was bolstering his own. “[Life Qi]?” he asked, promptly receiving a glare for his movement.

The doctor held a finger before him, one well used to wagging. “Of a kind. Now, still, or such speech will rupture your [Meridians].”

Fu doubted that a doctor of the Cloudy Serpent Sect would make a mistake such as this, though he was unwilling to chance the alternative for a passing query. Thus, he remained silent until the process had finished.

When he was once more free of needles.

But the doctor passed no remark upon the examination’s end, and instead took to kneel at the room’s entrance. “Senior, it is done,” she intoned. “The [Hundred Immunities Fruit] would course yet through Gao Fu’s [Channels] had he consumed it. Here, he has only his innate Qi, and the sting of poison.”

She murmured in a conversation with persons unknown, a rhythmic sway to her head. Turning still as the world around shifted to an azure hue.

Which brought Fu no small inclination to leap through one of these windows as Cheng Rao materialised at the end of his bed. As was proper, he launched himself to the floor in supplication. A tear opening in his poorly-healed wound.

But held back the gasp. “This junior welcomes his senior!”

The man’s hands were bound in the deep sleeves of his hanfu, wherein bulges rolled from the passage of his [Spirit Serpents] beneath. “Yongwu Long spoke truth,” he said. “These were the junior’s words, spilled in rage. In reflection.”

He is named, and thus, is known. I am a greater fool than a second before.

Fu searched back, his resolve reduced under Cheng Rao’s weighty gaze. “This junior would not presume to know truth,” he quickly spat. “He would seek forgiveness for words thrown in anger.”

“Few truths are absolute, Gao Fu, the Boundless [Dao] tell us this. What is truth for one, is not for another. It is one stream, the depths obscured by stones cast from many shores.”

There came no second request, as even the blind might see Fu was to answer. Yet this would doom the fisherman. To reveal what his curses flew for, and what had brought him to their source. As such he thought quick.

Stealing words from Grandmother Hua to move his tongue quicker.

“There is no greater calamity than lavish desires,” he lied.

Cheng Rao absorbed this. His silence spanning millennia upon the second. His eyes, as resolute as mountains. Unflinching. Unfoolable. To dare look within them would be Fu’s foil. A force that had his unmaking be willed to the cusp of his tongue.

“This daoist might think a [Mystic Realm’s] treasure beyond lavish, and though humbled beneath his betters, he might think a meeker soul to be covetous.”

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“Senior must forgive my presumption in asking, but what might this lowly junior do with such a treasure? This junior knows his failure in misunderstanding the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s wishes. That he allowed another to take what is rightfully theirs.”

“Must forgive?”

The blood within Fu froze.

But he was not wreathed in torment, nor sent to join his Mei then. No. In truth, Cheng Rao softened his stance. One sleeve sent to flick across the bed’s end. “Junior Gao Fu possesses a simplicity unseen before this blight of lacking Hopefuls. A oneness desired,” he said. “This daoist sees in him, clay. To be shaped, and artificed. But first, commended.”

“Gratitude, senior,” blurted Fu, joyous that words might escape above the pounding of his heart. It was then that he stole his glance, and found shock in Cheng Rao’s position by a distant window.

“You are named as distinguished, Gao Fu, in failure still. [Karma] has her hand here, and must be balanced. Such is the way of the Heavens. Our betters ascribe reward to what actions have passed, yet this daoist would grant another,” he said, his voice to the wind. “One treasure was returned in loyal hands, and bids a fitting exchange.”

Hushi moved as the words came to an end, observing no propriety. Yet, rousing no reaction in the venerable senior. He rose upon the bed, and drew attention to what lay there.

A pressed, sleeveless ruqun. A chain. A belt of pouches and tomes. And an absence.

“Apologies, senior. This junior lacks in understanding.”

“Name a thing, Gao Fu. Of lavishness to rival the [Hundred Immunities Fruit], and this daoist will measure you against it.”

🀧

Somehow the echo of Cheng Rao’s chuffing carried with Fu into the night, and chased him as he navigated to the Contribution Exchange.

He would see his family again, as “Gao Fu’s business in the [Mystic Realm] will conclude upon the breaking of day.” Which had the man unsure whether to laugh or cry, for it seemed that he was now in his senior’s notice.

And that duties were soon to follow.

Fu clutched at a chit in his hand, a small tablet of silver filagree. The marker of his due sum for exploits in the [Reliquary], and the reason for this first of two visits. In short order he had wound his way through the familiarity of Green Blight Bastion’s passages, and had arrived to stand in the short line before the counter.

Such were his thoughts, however, that he was called from a reverie by the man behind the counter. “Put in your eyes, disciple!”

“Apologies, senior,” he bowed, and was caught between handing the bulge of [Spirit Cores] within his pouch and the chit. “I have much to exchange.”

The elderly man behind the counter palmed him forward, sorting through his cores upon their placement. “A wealth,” he hummed, which was quite joyful as he took the Sect’s tithe. Practice and well-oiled movements had the process finish swiftly, at which point a splutter sounded.

Still in his doldrum of thought, Fu looked up.

Now a shade of cherry red, the Senior’s face look fit for bursting. “A Mock Disciple?”

“It is so, senior.”

“How did you come abo-” The man looked from Fu to the chit, shaking himself into some semblance of calm. “Ah, forgiveness. This tablet is a rarity, and this old man should know better than to ask.” With a small gesture of permission, he then tapped upon it.

Characters rose in message, with their back to the fisherman.

Fu could only watch in confusion as the man disappeared from sight, and some unearthly ruckus sounded in the corners of the building. He knew there was worth to what Cheng Rao had bestowed, but with his goal in mind he could scarcely gain enjoyment from it.

“Three gifts. You are most treasured, disciple,” said the man upon return. In his hands sat an ornate chest, and from within he retrieved a rounded badge. When presented, the vacant look of confusion on Fu spurred him to speak further. “A token of Sect authority, that when shown to the Scroll Hall will allow you to claim whatever you seek within.”

“There is such a good thing?” Fu exclaimed.

As was natural, he was not alone in the Contribution Exchange’s line. As such, his [Senses] prickled when a unified lilt creaked those behind, closer.

The older man proved a dragon however, and in a moment [Intent] bathed the area with a warning heat. “The first floor, only, yet gift enough,” he spoke this loud, quieting thereafter. “Of these gifts, the second is my own pleasure. I am to offer you a selection from the Exchange without charge, again, within the scope of what is reasonable.”

Almost at risk of repeating himself, Fu near choked. “A- Senior, I was not aware. Might this junior ask for aid?”

“Pah,” dismissed the man. “No junior needs aid in spending.”

Now this had Fu’s cheeks warm.

As the ever-levelled blade against him, thoughts of his debt were never absent. Indeed, this tithe owed held the same cutting force as any [Spirit Beast’s] claws. More than the recent laugh by Cheng Rao, the Senior’s other words had him troubled.

Conclude. With no wage, and no means of earning [Spirit Cores] what will become of my debt? The Heavens are not so kind to have them arrive in my lap.

These thoughts let his shameful words come to pass. “Senior, I would ask a question.”

“Ask.”

“Of what is available to me without cost, what is worth the most in Contribution Points?”

The man stroked his chin. “A [Nine Cycles Consolidation Pill]. This would cost a diligent disciple four thousand Contribution Points.”

Fu thrust his head low, showing great face to the Senior. “Then this junior would take these points in its place.”

So great was the reaction from behind that he was certain his comrades coughed blood upon him. “Brother, reconsider!” cried one.

“Do not cut short your [Foundation]!” said the other. “A [Nine Cycles Consolidation Pill] would shatter the bottleneck to the [Core Formation Realm] with no sweat upon your brow!” Of course, Fu expected such an effect. For among the myriad pills, tomes and cores within the Sect’s position, all were beneficial.

All would rise him above the wretch he was now.

Useless, to be strong in a future with no family to share it.

[Intent] washed forth again, and the older man spoke. “Gao Fu. This is a name to be remembered,” he said, once more at his chin. “Unorthodox, yes, but it shall be granted. As shall the third gift be granted, against better judgement.”

Fu bowed twice more. “Gratitude, senior,” he finished, rushing off before the old man could begin his own laugh.

🀧

This marked the third time that Fu had checked his [Contribution Array] since descending the staircase to the Scroll Hall. Twinned emotions presiding upon each display. For the values were, auspiciously, lower than expected.

Higher than the Heavens. Yet low enough to inspire a half-smile.

Last I checked this total… Placement. How then, have the [Spirit Cores] exchanged, and the rejected gift earned me this much? I must be more diligent in checking.

The final step nudged Hushi to drift from his mount on Fu’s shoulder. He slopped wearily, drifting further down the arm.

“Rest, Hushi,” came his cultivator’s whisper. Poorly timed, as it happened, for the Head Librarian’s wroth descended in earnest.

Without warning, the [Dao of Silence] stirred around him. As before, it was an all-encompassing thing, and sudden. Yet this time Fu strode with a certain defiance, perhaps bolstered by the gifts he had received. As he neared the lectern, he displayed the seal of authority between his fingers.

Receiving a scowl in response.

The [Dao] faded, marginally, having the next words reach him at a whisper. One that belied the rage held ahead. “I recall you, oaf. The oxen that would charge through these halls.” There was a snapping of fingers, and a summons. “I know not where you have received this, but such a thing cannot be fabricated.”

Fu waited, wondering if the Head Librarian might be able to dismiss the favor received from Cheng Rao. Such politics were unknown to him, though in ranking he believed his Senior oustripped the one before him.

It was almost… enjoyable. To hold such confidence. To know such defiance. Much unlike him, he mused.

“With the [Mystic Realm’s] collapse nearing there is much distress to my collection. Do not waylay my aides, nor my scribes. Understand this, oaf, and befoul my stacks no longer than you must!”

The entrance behind the lecturn wound open, and Fu gave only a curt bow before moving through.

The [Mystic Realm] is collapsing. Such a thing must occur when they are conquered, perhaps. If they are a [Trial Realm].

Truly, it was a staggering thought. That all he saw before him, and all that lay beneath, squired away from his sight and blocked from him, would be removed. Vanished.

As Fu walked to his destination, indeed, a great many scribes did rush to pack away the myriad tomes. Crates were filled, parchment was rolled, and it was evident by sweat of brow and haggard step that this process had not just begun.

He wondered if he might see his friendly scribe once more, if only to thank him. But such a thing seemed unlikely in the organised chaos about him.

As such Fu made his way to the location of the [Wind Phantom Strides], passing deep into the Unorthodox section. It occurred to him then, that the properties of his reward were unknown. Was he able to take both sections? For he recalled they were two, and his [Prowess] was not so high that he could neglect the first.

Though neither was he willing to forfeit the second.

So, upon reaching the stacks where his techniques were interred, he paused. “Oafishness has caused us disfavour with the Head Librarian,” he whispered to Hushi. “Let us hope that Cheng Rao’s name might quash it.”

The two scrolls were in the same position as before, and in repetition, Fu found a quiet corner in which to read them. HIs reasoning had him study the first, despite the clarity Zhiyuan’s [Conception Root] still afforded.

If the decision to choose was forced upon him, he had decided to take the second.

At least then he might have an inkling of progression.

This time he studied the intricacies of the inlaid forms. How his shoulder might tuck here, or the angle of his feet might land there. The minutiae that would lead to greater understanding. But the silence here evoked phantoms to claim space in his mind.

That treacherous bastard. He would take a single look and know it. I am sure.

Fu ground his teeth, and anger jostled Hushi into waking. His grip strained the parchment within, though he scarcely noticed. “Long thought himself a genius beneath the Heavens. Or acted as such. Was it greed, Hushi? Had he cast his net on us from the moment I saved his life? Black-bellied scum, that he smiled with a dagger to my back.”

His Bond shared a similar sensation, able to stir from injury to express it. His arms wound so tight then, that they rubbed deep upon the false [Three Eyed Spying Array]. A tentacle within each subtle, serpentine groove.

And strangely, it settled him. “He knew more of this,” he said, tapping the array. “Of all we came across. Foresight to an unnatural degree. The Southwestern Canyon Bastion, and- it all. He did not fear it.”

Slowly, Fu stilled himself. Rage was as an oil to ever-burning fire, and he would not see it consume him. Nor did he wish to embody it.

A gong sounded, marking the passing of a half-hour. Likewise, marking a turn in his thoughts.

“I do much thinking in this spot, no?” he sighed, pushing aside the first scroll of the [Wind Phantom Strides] in favour of the next. “The Sect’s vigilance cannot be escaped, so let us forget the trouble of Yongwu Long. Of what he has done, and what he might do. We must tread our own path, and to tread we must first find i-”

Fu’s nostrils prickled at the wisps of green fog in his lap. His skin ran cold at the item that had rolled from seal to lap. And naturally, his heart became as thunder.

For atop his crossed legs sat a [Hundred Immunities Fruit]. Thus the cultivator cursed.

Sighed.

Stared.

All in equal measure.

Before recalling the truth spoken by his traitorous companion, by Grandmother Hua, and what his heart had confirmed as such.

Taking the first bite.