Daoist Oriole’s song was soon silenced, and pondered upon by the other Elder. Who, in time, passed her own music.

The first Elder, daoist Shrike, was keen to hear what insight her distant cousin could glean.

But upon the shore sat the third, and he was an aged man with his guzheng, prone to much interruption.

Not a day was passed where missguided juniors did not flock to hear each pluck of the string he so reverently held. Save for now, in depths of [Winter], where [Tyranny] granted respite to hone his talent.

“He yet struggles on the [Dao],” noted Elder Shrike.

Elder Oriole preened at this, prideful in her own understanding. “The Elder there has talent with words, beyond his instrument.”

“Many words,” agreed Elder Shrike. “And names for all things.”

Below came the snap of a string, and curses, varied enough to fill a hall of scrolls without repetition.

“Perhaps-”

“Agreed,” finished Elder Shrike. “It is why understanding eludes him still.”

- “Parables of the Dao,” - by an Unnumbered Storyteller.

Diligence?

Fu wavered on the meaning, wondering if this was the best way to prove such a thing.

A single [Spirit Ape], or perhaps, the single [Spirit Ape] for its approach carried such importance that he drowned out all other views, continued its rampage towards him. Mere paces away.

Pounding across a ceiling of yellow grasses.

At the emergence of its hands, Fu sprung from his own, and deftly bypassed the coming blow with a breadth of hair between them. Once more, landing upon his hands.

The disorientation of such a bout, and in this case, over the span of an hour, had his head well-spinning amidst the burn of unfamiliar muscles. An almost red-hot strain beneath his armpits, and a tightening sensation not a finger behind the base of his spine.

His foe rushed again, yet the beast struck as though a hammer was held in its grip, overhead, and with little manoeuvrable space for Fu to dodge. Against another cultivator, he might block with a foot or a shin, but the [Might] arrayed here would not allow such a thing.

So he grunted, and lashed out in a kick to snap the creature’s knee inwards. Having it topple into the waiting jian of Long and impale itself on the length.

“Had you afforded me another leap,” Fu began, aching to his feet. Though his protest was half-hearted at best.

Long dashed the [Spirit Ape’s] blood from his blade, having drawn it free. He said nothing on the subject, for in matters of training Fu had found the man did not often repeat himself. Instead watched on as Hushi wound his arms within the ape to pry free the core.

“You’ll have a sense of it now?”

Through his grimace, Fu nodded. “The word- Underdeveloped. I see it, or I feel the burn where I lack in these muscles.”

The pair walked on, leaving the dozen beast corpses behind. Similar steps to those previously taken that continued their banal trudge across unvaried plains. The same yellow, discoloured by Blight’s canopy above.

“They’ll come in time,” said Long, some minutes later. “However, it’s crucial that you do not fall into the trap many do in the [Formation Realm]. Don’t rejuvenate your body with Qi while in recovery, not while your muscles are raw.”

“Surely then I might train again, no? Would it not gain twice the results for half the effort?”

The tut that soon came was reminiscent of Grandmother Hua, though her own was rarely prefaced by a smile. “Therein lies the trap. Pain isn't always a detriment. You have a routine of sorts, the practice of that peerless [Stifling Stream Revolutions]. Add endurance and strength to it. Flexibility, more so.”

“Gratitude,” half-bowed Fu.

Their travels were much like this. A lesson imparted, a discussion, and an example. Secrets borne of the Azure Shoal Sect that Long spouted with no shame or reservation.

Natural knowledge, that any in a Sect might know.

It had Fu regard his companion in a curious light, all the while confirming what he had suspected of the man. That he was Unorthodox, if cultivators were to be split by behaviour and not Bond.

Much to his enjoyment.

“Let’s see. We’ve covered [Prowess], [Qi Types], both composite and singular…” Long craned his neck, searching the Heavens for his memory. “And training regimens. What more can I drain from that sea within you, Brother?” He had the question hang in the air, where it followed their passage for another span of minutes.

A kindness, for Fu’s head was a whirl of newfound knowledge. Not all of which he was certain he might recall. “Were these breeds of fish,” he mused.

“Hah. Treading the path will beat it into memory, worry not. [Lunar Qi’s] a cold mistress, and you’d not soon forget her bite when it’s wrapped around the blade in your gut.”

“My mind is stuffed. Biting more than it can chew, for now.”

Long gave an understanding smile. Another point that grew Fu’s opinion of him, and he shrugged sidelong towards the nearing [Reliquary]. “The Blight will fall again before night, and our noble sisters and brothers have, rudely, yet to unlock the door. Digest, brother, a swollen stomach will do us no favors come tomorrow.”

🀧

At darkness’ first descent the ground birthed a great rumble, and the lonesome trees about the pair cast much of their leaves in protest.

It came within seconds of Hushi’s warning. An impression granted to coat much of Fu’s back in cold sweat. “Hushi,” he asked, cut short as teal arms wrenched his head to the distant horizon. The edge of yellow plains, and the storming dust that rose there.

“Ah, it seems Cheng Rao’s claim on the [Coiling Star Defensive Array] has pushed the Heavens into a foul temper.”

Sharing much in common with a dog shedding water from his coat, Fu’s head spun from side to side. “The [Beast Tide]?”

“The [Beast Tide].”

A queer occurrence, as the Blight was not yet close enough to obscure their forms. Not as it had appeared when assailing ridges and Bastions alike.

Still high above.

Fu steadied himself, and the pair of cultivators fell into a flight in the direction of the [Reliquary], their east to the tide’s south. He spared what glances he could towards the dust, and to where he knew myriad feet birthed it. Trunks obscured it for half-seconds at a time. Flashes of pale tan, and the yellow brace of leaves that now shed in earnest.

And each time they passed his vision, he swore they lost a li to these pursuers.

His strides soon turned harried against the riot of tremors underfoot, having him bound in place of step. “We will not outpace them,” he called. “And the Heavens are not so kind as to have them pass by!”

Of all things, Long winked.

“Long.”

“Height,” he returned, pushing all attention on where his [Spirit Carp] flew straight. Towards a mundane tree, a shade-caster of coiled branches like any other of the few here. Truly, not the source of salvation that his confidence impressed.

But the rice was cooked, and Fu could bring no change to their current position through hindsight.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It was Long who leapt first. Deftly, chasing motes of golden Qi as if a path was now laid in his Bond’s wake. A foot atop the trunk’s crook, and further from branch to branch. Scaling ever upwards with Fu at his heels.

This wound the pair higher to such an extent that Fu was left wondering how he had not appreciated the scale beforehand. For they promptly left the ground behind. Or indeed, any notion that such a thing might exist beyond mottled bark and the screen-like leaves.

Once he reached open air he was greeted with a silencing finger. One pressed against Long’s lips, and the low susurrus that followed.

Does he think so low of me? Or does he tease to lift my mood?

In a matter of minutes the rumbling increased. So violent now that the trunk upon which Fu clung rattled painfully against his bones. Every facet of his being shook and jittered. Manageable, he knew, when compared to the trouble below.

Pitched roars and grinding earth. Such a sound was unable to be blocked by either hand, for it might have him lose his grip.

A true stampede of thousands streamed below their position, and passed by in the direction of the final Bastion. Where they moved the surrounding trees fell, torn from roots or shattered in entirety. Surged through with little afterthought, while Fu watched as the furthest wave grew distant enough for him to spy above his safety of leaves.

All [Spirit Apes]. Half a li. One. Three. Further, and yet still their great passage threatened to topple the tree with no less of their number than had previously come.

Naturally, Fu’s heart thumped into his throat. A rational fear that, at any moment, their tree would crumble. Or the tide would burst through their canopy, consuming him beneath this flood of raging bodies.

Why have they not come for the [Spirit Cores]? Our smell? In such a grouping there must be one with [Senses] high enough.

The hands with which he clung for dear life grew clammy. Slick, and tenderised from how he burrowed skin deeper against the bark. It had him thankful for the increase to his [Might]. Sure now, that it was all that held him from slipping under.

He caught Long at his front, on an adjacent trunk. His jian driven deep into the wood to act as a lever for such a struggle. But he smiled at the attention, though his face was well shaken throughout.

Minutes passed to leave a single rumbling. Percussive thuds that reverberated through Fu, a return of his heartbeat through the trunk where he was so tightly pressed.

Have they passed?

He was uncertain, thus he peeled himself back a hair at a time.

Eyelids shut tight. Fu inhaled deep, and in concert with Hushi expanded their [Senses]. A hint of the area came to him, pockets of sound and smell. Blocked as they were by the bulwark of leaves between he and the ground.

Yet he could touch the [Air Qi], in part. Nothing so deft as to manipulate it, or see its passage. But he had a sense of its placement, and flow, as one might know if a person was breathing down their neck.

And it was unrestricted by anything large enough to be a [Spirit Beast].

“It was unlikely that we should have survived that,” he said, and drew back to feel the impressions that bark had pushed into his skin.

When he looked, Long seemed to be contemplating the words. “Perhaps. Though I’d suspect the [Mystic Realm] has their focus set on our dear senior Rao. The Sect has beat the grass, and now welcome the flocking snakes. Fortunate, no?”

Fu stood tall, realizing too late that he was upon a single, thin branch. Unswaying, and in that brief moment, forgetful of how far he had come. “Earlier than you had thought, no? Tomorrow was your guess.”

“Tomorrow will see the Bastion’s [Array] activate and wash out the Blight. What we’ve to wait for is both that, and the [Reliquary’s] opening. I’d said nothing on the [Spirit Apes] arrival,” said Long, feigning hurt. “Brother, really! It’s as if you don’t trust me!”

Hushi returned to the douli, his arms tightening.

They dismounted the tree into a land stripped bare. A muddied expanse in place of grasses, and no addendum to the sparse landscape stood but the trunk behind them. All else was submerged in muck, and trodden underfoot.

A sickly sight, beneath the oppressive tinge of ever-descending green fog.

🀧

The crack of myriad ribbons was muted, despite the billowing wind. Another frustration for Fu to linger on as they searched the recesses of the [Reliquary’s] base.

Aged roots, and dwarfing. For moving beneath this titanic arbor of vines and fabrics was a labor in and of itself. It turned both cultivators into scurrying termites, eager to burrow through this wood for a scant modicum of safety.

They launched themselves from bulging root to bulging root, navigating and scanning in each Blight-shadowed gap and join for a hollow to weather the incoming storm. As they had since the pestilent [Dao Field] above had fallen to an impending height.

It was far from Fu’s way to state the obvious, but desperation had him call out regardless. “We have minutes at best, Long!”

This ripped a curse into the wind.

“Long!” he called again, another minute later.

Golden Qi had started to accumulate as Fu ground his jaw, making to call for a third time in just as many minutes. Yet he was thankful for Long’s slighted gaze, which stopped his mouth from opening.

As a tendril of Blight, a feeler, had found its way to his cheek.

Fu dropped immediately, conjuring his [Half Cloud Step] to brace against the drop of twenty or so feet that returned him to the ground. He dared not open his mouth, nor allow his nose to draw any further breath. Instead, the fisherman crouched, pausing to find his companion.

The gold had gone, and Long had vanished.

Foolish! I viewed the sky from the bottom of a well, thinking it right!

“Fu!” rang a voice, and he rounded to distant roots. The scene ahead mired in fog, swallowing the loam between both points. “Follow!”

With narrowed eyes he moved on, spying some base hint of gold. A scene reminiscent of fireflies upon a misty shore. Yet they faded despite his surging feet, and the speed afforded by his suffusion of [Air Qi].

He was forced to slow, passing beneath an arch of gnarled root. And then stop, as an imperfect sphere was shown to be all that remained of untouched ground. Hushi buried himself deeper in the douli, lifting the brim only to gesture where he thought Long might now stand.

For he was as lost as Fu.

Malicious green was all about him, edging by the second. Removing clean ground, and-

In one swift moment, Fu’s mouth was cast ajar. A hinge sprung open by unbelievable pain. As a growth now knit itself across the skin on his leg, a creeping, flowering vine that sewed through hanfu and flesh alike.

Tentacles descended to wire his mouth shut, and Fu clamped down to bite clean into the teal limbs by his teeth. The panic too great to enforce any other emotion through their link.

“Swiftly, you fool!”

And Fu bellowed a well-stuffed roar in challenge, tightening his body. Gold had flashed once more, near, and leftward. Mere strides away.

Unreachable.

The vine spread at such a rate that his knee was soon claimed. Wormed into by a second branch of the same assailant. So acute in how it flowered within his blood. Petals, violet in hue, fanning to scrape muscle with the strength of multiple blades.

Not yet. Not until they are free.

Fu muffled another challenge, spurring his [Dantian] to rise. To agitate his Qi, and [Dao] to deliver him from this plight. To which his [Intent] responded.

A wave of energy beat back the Blight in a dome around him, like the recession of a wave upon the shore. One half-moment of respite where ground became clear and air became clean. But it lapped back, rushing and-

The [Dao of Suffocation] stole breath from his immaterial foe, surging as he hopped his first step towards the gold. Another, then three, warring against the oppressive fog. He felt the immeasurable strain upon his [Spirit] as he did. A fragmenting of the edges, as he was no peerless warrior.

But he moved, even as the Blight forced back his aura of [Suffocation]. Compressing it so it was no more than a hand wide at all sides. Having it thrum like the beat of a dying heart.

Another step halved the hand.

Another two had it as thin as parchment. Wherein this strain pushed Fu to cough up blood, and his balance taunted the promise of failure.

So he cast out his line under a Heaven-defying grin, and it sunk into the shallows of swimming, golden light. “You’ll pay for thinking me a fish,” yelled Long, yanking him into the confines of a cramped hollow.

The aura of [Suffocation] around Fu shattered upon entry, and he collapsed against a sodden wall of bark. No wider than he was tall. Long’s arm braced his descent, laying him down in awkward form at a distance of an arm. Hunched, and broken, he-

“The plan,” Fu growled, gasping.

“To not succumb to Blight.”

“You-” The fisherman released a dribble of blood, drooling a thick cord from his lip. Thus he spat, incensed to anger. “Golden boats do not sail, Long. Not without oars and effort.”

A spark of illumination passed from the [Spirit Carp], which circled the dank hole where they sat. Highlighting, and shading Long’s face in equal measure. “Even an aged sailor cannot foresee the shifting tides.”

“Shit flies from your mouth,” cursed Fu, and the crudeness had his companion scowl.

A scowl that turned soft, as far as bleary eyes could tell. To say their space was cramped would be generous, yet Long pressed back all the same. Clasping his hands in what meagre bow he could provide.

“Apologies, brother Fu.”

This diminished the edge of Fu’s anger. So unexpected, as it was. “A beast I might fight. A beast I may fall to. But there is fate, and there is the will of the Heavens. Do not pit me against the unbeatable, Long. Do not quote fortune and share smiles in place of preparation.”

The moment of apology faded in further moments of silence, and Long set his attention on the vine within Fu’s leg.

“[Life Qi], pills, or a regenerative [Dao] is needed for this,” he grimaced.

As his breath was still recovering, Fu stalled. His fingers flirted with the growth within him, with even a feather of pressure enough to birth white-hot pain. “Cultivation will not mend this?”

“You’ll need your Qi for the [Reliquary], and the trial within. A recovery such as this will take time, and most of your reserves.” Long rifled inside his hanfu, producing a small knife of mundane quality. “Unless you wish for me to remove it. The cost- It’s sure to take less without these worms within your flesh.”

Fu winced. “A trial would require all of me, no?” This made him consider, and once more bring agony with a light touch.

No less than this is required.

There came a small tearing sound as he ripped a scrap of cloth from his blood-soaked hanfu. A feat that took more effort than he had, but one completed. “A wise time to tell me what lies in store, Long, if you know as much as you seem to.”

“Why is that?” said Long, hovering above the vine. Knife, primed to cut.

“For now I might not argue against this foolishness when I hear it.” Fu granted a grim smile, and bunched the cloth between his teeth.