The how became swiftly unimportant as energy tore through Fu’s [Dantian]. The force, some hostile, foreign thing, was a flood. So too was it unsubtle.

His first thought beyond surviving the ordeal of rampant energy within him was to move, and thus he pushed from his seat with Hushi upon him. He staggered to the nearest stack, clutching at the bandages beneath his ruqun and clamping tight his lips.

A stack of scrolls fell about him as what seemed like the Blight itself gushed from his every orifice. Immersing his corner of the Scroll Hall in fog for several paces at each side.

Cheng Rao will… find me for…

Fu could not finish his thoughts before he was cast to the ground in pain. Heedless of the sound his clatter might have made.

The [Hundred Immunities Fruit] had been fully swallowed, and now its power reverberated through his body. He could do naught but feel it, turning to his internal eye to see the havoc he had wrought.

Where [Air Qi] was gentle in its behaviour, a slumbersome force. This saw it much changed. The center of his [Dantian] was writhing, and… expanding. Edges that he had not yet fathomed or gleaned were eroding, and the chamber that normally held his slowly circulating energy was saturated in weight and moisture.

Fu muffled out a cry as he was stretched internally. As something new came into being around his [Dantian]. A moulded gouging, as though his organs were but clay to be formed into the energy’s desired shape.

Both he and his Qi changed then. The moisture, or effect on his insides suddenly shifting to create more fog. Not quite his soft, pliable [Air], no. Instead, a clotted thing, and a tear he felt wrench free the lining of his lower organs.

Yet this was bearable, in all regards. Or treading towards that.

Why, Fu could not say, but each breath returned control to him. Each frantic heave spread the fruit’s power through the affected area.

And it settled to leave a full view.

In a showing of clarity, Fu managed to rise. A taxing movement, if simple, and a further drain as he restored the mess of scrolls to their proper shelves. Haste was a young man’s game, he knew, and what revelations the [Ink] might share could wait until he was clear of suspicion.

His fall had been no small sound, and eyes were soon to follow it. Those who would find him, and raise a condemnation of suspicion.

So it was that the beating of his heart had barely slowed when the first aide appeared in the stacks. An aged woman, with an ill-fitting [Spirit Ram] at her feet.

“Senior,” she addressed, bowing.

Fu returned the bow, stooping lower as to detract her eyes from the scene behind. A foolish move that had his stomach wound tear and send him to the ground in a gasp of pain. “Forgive me, senior scribe. I leap before the doctor says I should walk.”

The woman gasped, either at the face shown or the wound, but refrained from moving. No doubt weighing whether to insult her senior by helping. Insinuating that he would need help from one such as her.

“A crutch?” he asked.

Shamelessly.

Only once did her gaze flit to the fallen scrolls before she sent her Bond to his side. Its horns, of yellow lustre, an appropriate prop for his arm. Despite the injury, it was Fu that led the pair, which soon saw him sitting at a modest table.

“Does senior wish for the doctor?” she asked.

Fu waved her away kindly. “You are kind, but I would not raise the ire of our Head Librarian. Already we do not see eye to eye. Allow me rest, and I will tend to the mess my foolishness has caused.”

He feigned a rise, measuring the concern in her eyes. “These matters are my duty, senior,” she bowed. “I would be honoured to organise the shelves once more. Please, do not trouble yourself.”

“The Head Librarian,” he plead most false.

“This junior need not speak of such small matters.”

“I am in your debt.” Fu was pleased to see her smile as she walked off. Even if he had just lied to her face.

Slowly, he pushed back the strip of bandage he had torn. No longer needing pain to reinforce his charade.

The woman holds no love for her Head Librarian, let us hope she believes I caused such mess with injury.

When she was well out of sight, Fu allowed himself to exhale. This brought Hushi to clamber atop the table, no longer sharing in the act of deception. He held a tinge of green beneath his skin, slowly fading.

An ominous sign.

The doctor had stated that the [Hundred Immunities Fruit] would course through his veins if he were to consume it, a clear indication of his betrayal. If there were other signs of this, Cheng Rao would gut both him, and nine generations of his family for the insult.

To say nothing of what the [Three Eyed Spying Array] had gleaned of this lie, and black-bellied betrayal.

But Fu knew he had not eaten the fruit by mistake.

In his prior convalescence he had found certain truths. For, based on recent events, Cheng Rao held no access to the [Array], and while he might draw forth [Ink], it was the doctor’s [Art], or otherwise, that had searched him for traces of power.

Thus he held his head high, without fearing the rise of a [Heart Demon] to plague regret upon him. Summoning his [Ink] once more.

Having previously dismissed his [Ink], he could not reclaim the information that he might have seen. This left a great deal of guesswork as he looked for the other changes. One slight, and one profound, though both enough to have him thank his fate.

An increase of fifteen to the value of his [Pull], being the minor of the two.

He mused he must have looked touched by lunacy then, for a grin came upon him that had scarce been seen in many [Seasons]. All this due to the message on his [Ink], as now he read what he had lacked previously.

Seeing in it, hope.

Here, was power. The starting embers of such. And while Fu held no desire to stand above the Heavens, to defy them and reach the pinnacle, in that moment he saw what he might reach.

That unseen strata where none might endanger his family.

Where no force might dissuade them from life and love, or bar them wherever they wish to tread.

If only he continued as he had done.

As the treacherous Yongwu Long had done.

🀧

The [Primordial Constellation Gate’s] energy had finally settled around his [Dantian] well into the night. A mystery beneath the Heavens, to be sure, for-

Fu cradled his temples.

It is naive to say I have not heard of such a thing, as I have not heard of a great many things regarding cultivation.

A treasure bestowed upon completion of a [Trial Mystic Realm] however, this could not be commonplace. As such he was unsurprised to find nothing on the subject within the first floor of the Scroll Hall.

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Which was a slight vexation, given the nature of its acquisition and how asking on such a thing would see his head swiftly removed.

Troubling, but harmless to his immediate progress.

As such he had entered cultivation for the last several hours, making sure progress on what Long had claimed to be among his final [Meridians]. He noted the behaviour of the [Primordial Constellation Gate] however, and its impotence, or quiet during the process. Confusing him further, for his [Pull] of the ambient Qi was no greater than before.

But he mused that the use of his [Hundred Immunities Fruit] would reveal itself in due course, and let such matters fall to the wayside.

Morning was several hours away, and with it, his departure. Leaving him with a few thoughts on what to fill his time with.

The torch-lit scene around the Bastion was a mirror of the Scroll Hall, and many of his comrades were enlisted into the transport and categorization of materials. Shifting furniture, chests, and troves of materials across the stairs and byways. All in preparation for the [Mystic Realm’s] closure.

Would a guilty man join them? Or would he stay clear of comrades?

With suspicion on the forefront of his mind, Fu could not say.

He had questions, and no means to answer them.

A [Primordial Constellation Gate], yet no way to explore it. The fruit’s delivery, yet no sign of Long. No signs of how he might know where to place it, or even the why. An [Ink] filled with evidence of his own treacherous acts. All this, and an uncertain future.

But the latter was nothing new, and so Fu leapt from the wall. Hoping that busy hands might set right his head.

Anxiety pushed him to arrive not minutes into his self-assigned duties. This, he thought, was a better way to show his gratitude.

As was proper, those instructed to deliver themselves had taken up their own watch. Some in recent times, and others, like Fu, having spent a span of hours amidst the verdant ruins where their exit stood.

Cheng Rao was not one for an auspicious ceremony. His love for such things was clear in how he stood void of any emotion before the [Paifang]. With clasped hands interred in his robes, he stared down the shimmering veil beneath the arch.

Waiting.

Soon the [Summer] sun rose in early morning, as it was oft to do. The signal by which they were to leave, and why all there held their breath. For as the Bastion’s distant shadow was washed by ephemeral hues of violet and orange, Cheng Rao shared his attention.

Their senior had but to look to one side, and three aides rushed forth. “This daoist is a lacking judge beneath his betters. Humbled. But where he is bare, the Cloudy Serpent Sect shall provide.”

A weighted pause followed, and in it, Cheng Rao sent his aides ahead. Scholarly sorts, with [Spirit Serpents] and silken clothes upon their persons. Each treading a path to the center of the corridor between disciples.

Suddenly, the furthest yelled out in announcement. “Disciple Jingwei!” Which had a cultivator break from the formation to kneel at the aide’s fore. He was granted a roll of fastened parchment, finger-sized, and bid to return.

The second aide cried out another name, bestowing the same roll when its bearer was summoned, and in turn the third followed suit. However, five names were called from the crowd that brooked further interest for the secondary gifts they received.

Fu could not catch from where these gifts were stored, as the aides drew them with no Qi, nor [Dao] that he might sense. All his eyes viewed were empty hands in one moment, and a fuller sort the next.

But the names came, and gifts were granted in variety. “Disciple Mu, Disciple Xiao, Disciple Adhrit, Disciple Cao,” were spoken. One, of more surprise to Fu than the others given their acquaintance.

To use his own circumstance of perceived loyalty as their reason for gathering, he then wondered what feat might the Vajra have performed to have him here. Nonetheless, he showed his pride well, whether Adhrit may have seen him or not.

“Disciple Gao,” was the last to be announced.

Fu approached the second aide, bowing deep at his reception. At his rise he was given his roll, and presented with an oblong sack of fine embroidery, which went unopened even as he returned to the row.

Ahead, Cheng Rao nodded. “This humble daoist would urge his juniors to read carefully of their appointments,” he said. “And would have them move swiftly upon doing so, for fledgling serpents are never to still.”

Unpinching the binding on his parchment, Fu could only blink.

A bare page stared back at him, replete in nothingness. A true worry, if his surroundings were the basis of judgement. As looking beyond, already did the cultivators make for the [Paifang]. The entire drove moved in orderly procession, their faces held in quiet reserve to give nothing away.

If we are to travel together then would Cheng Rao not simply announce it? These appointments he spoke of… are they for the individual? What might a blank order mean for my future?

The natural conclusion to this pooled sweat on his brow. At first a sheen, and in coming seconds a moisture of droplets. Seconds that became moments. Empty, at that, and near silent in the wake of his comrades’ departures.

He was filled with nausea as he buried himself before Cheng Rao, hands a-clasp at the peak of his bow. To ask a thing would be to question this order, and risked a sleight upon his Senior’s ability to grant judgement.

So Fu remained still, and supplicating.

“The disciple will follow,” said Cheng Rao.

Fu’s mouth opened to dispense gratitude, only to find the cultivator had already vanished through the [Paifang].

Which afforded a small respite in which to gasp.

One so profound that Hushi tightened his arms in comfort. Impressing a calm that carried with him as he followed in his senior’s footsteps.

🀧

Recalling the [Spatial Array] that had arrived him on the other side of the [Paifang] prior to the [Green Blight Valley] proved to be a haze.

Fu was certain that a fortification of sorts had rested on either side of it, and not the throng of clouds he now walked amidst. To add to his confusion, a thrum of power entered through his feet. A vibration, of sorts, that coupled with all else made Cheng Rao’s form hard to place.

Thus he trusted his [Senses] to navigate through this fog that obscured all but the end of his nose, and urged Hushi to guide him forth.

The octopus proved glad to do so, opening himself up like a flower to the sun. Nourished by the abundance of [Air Qi]... so high as they were.

Another of these flying vessels. The Sect… I could not feel this before entering the [Mystic Realm]. There was no such sky as there is now.

An impressive implication, or so he thought. Knowing what might lie in fate with a wayward step, Fu progressed in his best approximation of forward. Walking forth as a blind man might, with palms tentatively outwards.

What brought him to his senior however, was a soft croon.

Fu found Cheng Rao to be ahead, and for each step closer he stole there was a dispersal of surrounding cloud. Not called forth by his own power, but helpful all the same.

It revealed to him a stretch of deck with two staircases at either side. Internal, descending sets, where his comrades would have travelled to grant the solitude that his senior now enjoyed.

Ten paces to his rear, Fu bent the knee. Both hands clasped in deference.

“Come, disciple. Here stands a gift that this humble daoist would not steal from any,” he said, never turning from what he viewed in the impenetrable clouds.

Moisture had already seeped into Fu’s new robes, and as such he could not say if a nervous sweat clung to him. But he joined his senior by an ornate railing, quite unsure how he should stand in the face of such endless cloud.

“This disciple is lacking, and apologies that he cannot fathom the senior’s wisdom.”

Cheng Rao made a noise akin to disappointment. “Fresh serpents should not be blinded to true light. An injustice of the Heavens.” A soft rustle heralded the emergence of his four [Spirit Beasts], three serpents and the peacock.

Had Fu not previously witnessed their power, even in moderation, he would have known their strength by proximity. For their movement had his [Dantian] quiver. Their passing glance squashed his resolve, and made clear his insignificance. All in the moment between entering his sight and their newfound perch atop the railing.

Where one such [Spirit Serpent] reared up, emitting a glow of [Dao energy].

A great channel of force pushed aside the clouded screen, so grand in scope that Fu could see for many li before him. At first, an endless forest of bamboo, embroiled in the same obfuscating blanket. And then islands emerged, adrift in the very skies themselves.

The warship crawled through these floating monuments, never breached by the crags and lethal points, and never nearing.

Fu found the railing for support, for awe had overcome him. Truly, such a sight went beyond all that he knew. Yet more than this, the scope was unprecedented. What was revealed in the hundreds grew to thousands, and perhaps more.

His [Senses] brought sharpened eyes to the horizon. Lights blinking upon it.

“The Cloudy Serpent Sect,” announced Cheng Rao. A tremble in his voice. “Divine Clouded Mountain.”

Fu sensed the tearfulness there, a raw force of adoration. One almost shared by way of such majesty. As now he could see the constructs of stone between islands, the arch as though each were a mite of flesh of a greater beast.

Bridges dominated the skyways between stone, leading to structures and-

A single island is larger than all of Thousand Shore City. What madness is this that I had judged the world so small?

“This junior is speechless.”

Cheng Rao chuffed in pleasure. “A greater sight does not lie beneath all the Heavens. See here true divinity. See each scale, and let it be ingrained. Here stands the monument to better souls, of which none may fathom. A carcass long perished. Lusterless flesh. But see it, know how it draws the eye.”

To hear these flowery words Fu fell deeper into confusion. Musing that his senior might well strive to impart meaning upon him.

“The disciple is not blind,” warned Cheng Rao. Passionate [Intent] spilled from him then, forcing Fu to his knees. “He must put in his eyes.”

The deck welcomed Fu swiftly, cold and slick. Weight of an unimaginable scale had pinned him flat, as though a mountain had been delivered to his spine. He felt his bones creak beneath it, and his blood boil in impressions of fervor.

It stoked a change in him as his arms were freed so that he might support himself, yet no more than a bow. From his prostration, Fu gleaned the Sect once more. A sight delivered through ornate bars.

Of a form now recognised.

“A… serpent?” he gasped.

“The Serpent.”

The pressure abated at this, though Fu did not rise.

“The disciple recognizes it now. Yes. He must feel the privilege granted. What is to be engraved on his soul. For this daoist is lacking in many ways, and master to none. Yet he might impart a lesson despite this,” said Cheng Rao. Then his own [Spirit Serpents] swarmed, coiling around the mark left by the false [Three Eyed Spying Array].

A gentle constriction despite what volcanic rage now coursed through fresh [Intent].

“Ponder, disciple,” he snapped. “Ponder on the immortality of those who might fell such a beast. Their legacy. Reflect upon their [Heritage]. Of those who are blessed by the Heavens to tread the same path, and do so by right of birth. Think on their magnanimity.”

It was all that Fu could do to croak, “Gratitude.”

“Gratitude. The disciple knows not the meaning of the word. He is the unwanted venom, in wonting rivulets. As all Hopefuls are,” he spat. “Such an audacious existence. A festering malady clinging to the underside of a true serpent’s scales.”

My deceit has unmade me.

“Just as there are Heavens beyond Heavens, there are depths beyond depths. The disciple’s actions in the [Mystic Realm] have placed him but a step above the lowest. But this does not cleanse him of affiliation. Of the architect’s intent.” Cheng Rao’s [Spirit Serpents] slackened, and with it came a simmering of tone. “Know this lesson, Gao Fu. There is but one true Cloudy Serpent Sect, and this daoist will have you learn it.”

With that, Fu was released from bondage. Able to quake out small words. “This junior heeds the senior’s wisdom.”

“Platitudes, spoken to preserve a borrowed life,” said Cheng Rao. “Yet time will reveal the truth of this. Gaze further on the Sect’s lands, disciple. As this daoist has stated, engrave it. Only then, by the grace of the Heavens, might you hope to recognize those who are worthy of it. Those who match it. For the blankness of granted parchment is by design, and when its appointment comes, the disciple will know where to stand.”

Wet footsteps began, reducing in noise as Cheng Rao departed. The deck, well moistened by the oppression of clouds.

With such a confliction of emotions and thoughts Fu found his rise to stand a hard thing to manage. As such he braced on the rail, sigh-

“Disciple,” cut Cheng Rao, and Fu returned to the bow. A breeze of Qi slid something part-way across the deck. An unopened bundle arriving at his clasped hands. “This daoist might scowl to see a lavish gift go wasted.”

But he proved reasonable then, and disappeared down the left-most staircase.

Fu felt at the edges, withdrawing the item within. Choosing to focus on his mended douli, seeming reinforced and sturdier than before, and have that as his solitary thought.

For at least that was tangible, and not more of this madness where he could not even begin to know what he could not know.