A harsh Winter had clad itself over the surrounding rivers, calling a halt to the extortion and regular brigandry that granted my captors their vocation. Ushering a Season both of economic worry, and of great recording.

“Individual attributes?” I recall Second River Chieftain Jinglui stating.

“Individual attributes,” I recall replying.

Both he and his twin brother then fixed upon each other a look of consternation. A look, the reader should note, that I had become quite accustomed to.

“The [Ivory Spirit Tiger] and the [Ivory Spirit Jaguar] are as close as we,” declared Jinglui. “Down to the colour!”

“In look, perhaps,” I claimed boldly. “Large. Feline. Ivory. Yet distinct.”

Humorously, Jinglui’s brother was a dull fellow, and asked for clarification on the matter. Stating that their smell should have little bearing.

“A Tiger’s [Might] is shown in power, whereas the Jaguar’s [Might] is displayed in terms of speed. To the Heavens, their gifts are no more similar than a [Spirit Bull] and a [Spirit Snake]. While the values may remain the same, what can be manifested is of great variety.”

It is of great shame to this Scholar that I will admit to the addition of insult to my comments, which I have omitted from the passage for clarity.

Much to Jinglui’s ire.

Likewise I have omitted the violent recompense taken to return the brigand’s honor.

- “The Enlightened Bandit, a Memoir,” by Sixth River Chieftain, Gu Feiyang.

The Qi would move no further through Fu’s [Channels], as though it were inert, or defying the progress he might make in such limited time.

Spirals gathered, they wound, and jetted forwards. Fading into dissolution before any of the [Impurities] could be reached. He pulled back from his inwards glance, and not for the first time that hour, nor in these past three days.

The usual sheen of perspiration clung to him, dampening his hanfu, only adding to the layer of accumulated grime upon it. Reeking, and filthy, he supposed, much the same as his skin, or his hair. Though such matters seemed far outwith his troubles.

Fu finished his set of the [Stifling Set Revolutions], more out of habit than resolve, and came to rest his weight upon the wall. The Blight higher now in his periphery.

“Hushi,” he struggled, a layer of flem within his throat. An addition to the recent, feverish chill upon his skin. “Are you well?”

His Bond descended, perhaps, less vibrant in his teal than he had come to know, and slung himself around Fu’s neck. Faintly, Fu pressed upon the wall, shaking his head as the sun set on the [Mystic Realm].

Later now, that [Summer] approached.

The stone below his dirt-crusted fingertips was… solid. Resolute. Granting a small comfort to him, and a point on which to hold. So he exhaled, burrowing his skin against it. There were no imperfections here, and it would stand up to its task.

Knowing this steadied him. Allowed him to stand but a mite straighter, settling some small modicum of the occasional shudders that set his hands to tremble.

“Disciple Gao Fu,” warned a familiar voice, and Fu shook himself from the rising thoughts that were intent on stealing his focus.

Chao marched to a stop some five paces from him, formal in stance. Thus the fisherman bowed, and held it there.

“Another will take up your posting this night,” he continued, and behind, a figure was busy attaching himself to the Qi-infused rope. “You are granted an evening of free time.”

“Officer Chao?”

“Do not waste this opportunity.” Having dispensed this order, Chao moved off.

The night is my own? Why?

Fu rose, and righted himself by grasping the wall once more. Drawn to its solidity.

Surely he had done nothing of note to deserve such a gift? In truth, he could not say. Wondering only if his words before the Third Officer had held some greater impact than he knew.

Regardless, he moved towards the barracks. Passing the others in the Nineteenth [Winter] Brigade. His head low for fear of drawing their ire.

Fu expected jeers or mutterings, and strangely, found none. Instead…

No.

The weariness his sudden fever impressed played tricks with his eyes. Or the striking light of the setting sun had shadows leap to form expressions upon those he passed.

For he spied a nod, or a smile.

A muted clasping of hands before his comra-

Before the Brigade members leapt from the Bastion’s walls.

Fu urged Hushi to pull down the brim of his douli, this time to mask any misunderstandings that might arise as he walked.

To stand out, the mere thought inspired his heart to thunder. Evoking the image of the War Minister, or what had transpired in his presence. Survival would only come to those who escaped notice, and his children would on-

“Disciple Gao Fu,” he heard, called by another for the second time.

A great chill intensified upon his skin, searing against his hanfu. Fu went low before Third Officer Zhiyuan despite it.

“Stand with me,” she ordered.

“I am unworthy to do so.”

“Stand.”

And he did.

“Tell me, Gao Fu. Who were you before the [Green Blight Valley]? I would know this.”

Fu had taken his place to her side, three strides between them. Altogether too close. “Nothing more than a simple fisherman, senior. As I remain.”

The emerald within her eyes blazed, emotive and inscrutable. Already, did Fu regret meeting them. “Yet you have ties to the world above mortals. Speak on this. A mother? Sister, or brother?”

“My… the mother to my children, senior. She was a cultivator.”

“My condolences, Gao Fu. The Heavens do not favour any, despite the ties that might bind husband and wife,” she said. A fine margin of sympathy touching her face.

“We were not married, senior. It is as you say. The Heavens did not bind us as [Dao Partners], and she… passed in childbirth.”

His pain must have proved of great interest, for Third Officer Zhiyuan inched around. Urging Fu’s spirit to will him to bury himself in the wall just to escape her attention.

He shuffled as she spoke, struggling to remain proper. “It is an undertaking not done lightly, bearing children. A more involved process than the… simple mathematics of mortals. That your woman endured this knowingly. Well, I will indulge my curiosity no longer.” She then revealed a small pouch, placing it upon the wall. “There are eyes upon you, Gao Fu, and the gratitude I feel must be tempered by this. You granted me insight into the [Dao] in a mere moment, where I have toiled for years. Understand that this is unheard of.”

“I understand, senior.”

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Zhiyuan arched her brow. “Either fishermen possess a greater understanding of Sect politics and [Dao Principles] than many, or you agree with me simply for the sake of it.”

The needles of cold upon Fu intensified as he was caught short. “Forgive me. It is a short time that-”

“You are unadjusted. Previous peers were lackeys and craftsmen. Yet to gain a grasp on how and when to speak. Yes, this was said before, and by many,” she said, an edge to her voice. “None made it far along their paths. As a member of my Nineteenth, you will rectify this. Promptly. As you have with your [Prowess]. Potential stands behind your excuses, Gao Fu, and a promise of more to follow.”

Fu became drenched in cold. Deaf to her meaning.

“At the [Foundation Realm] you have shown competency enough to not be of hindrance. Have your chest swell. Raise your head. In my eyes, and not spurred on by gratitude, you are worthy of investment. To that end,” she said, gesturing to the pouch. “Receive my thanks.”

When he did not move, she placed it within his hands.

“Gratitude, senior,” he managed. His fever was such that the words trembled out, his head, dizzied.

“The Scroll Hall is open to you now. An extension of time that will last until next you are called for duty. May you come across good fortune, Gao Fu.” Zhiyuan planted her gun then, striding up its side to disappear over the wall.

Out of sight, at last.

🀦

As Fu lacked the energy required to interrupt the Head Librarian’s duties, the [Dao of Silence] was not again imposed. With an aide at his back, proper and distant, he had stolen towards the stacks containing the [Wind Phantom Strides].

The combination of an unfocused vision and the onset of frailty having him merely sit, scrolls upon his lap, with little other purpose.

A gong sounding for the third time.

Hushi was similarly deflated, nestled in the crook where his waist bent. Arms curled around the mouth of Zhiyuan’s pouch.

It had been opened somewhere between the first and second gongs, ajar now, to show the strange stalk within. A [Spirit Herb], rolled and lilac, with a look of cinnamon. Though neither of the pair had dealt further with it than a glance.

Rest was needed to recover from what ailed them, and in truth, Fu would have it replaced with [Winter] fish stew in a heartbeat. His skin begged for a blanket to wrap it tight, and for the warmth of a home-cooked meal.

Longing for the scent it might waft around his boat.

Or the laughter of his children.

It was all so distant. Far enough that he feared it might fade from memory. None of what he longed for were here. But even still, Fu could not muster the energy to move. He felt encased in his own body, sapped of all resolve.

The aide no doubt looked upon him with disgust, somewhere beyond the brim of his douli now shunted uncomfortably down across his face.

Another gong sounded, and Fu still sat, numb upon the floor. Yet his [Dantian] had grown unsettled in this time, now churning within him. An ever tightening knot, fashioned of stone. Growing each minute until it felt as though it might snap.

With an immense force of will, he sat higher, propping his leaden body against the adjacent stack. Noticing then, the faint burning from his [Contribution Array]. Which Fu called forth, if only to lessen his discomfort.

My debt… what has-

Panic had him go rigid.

His debt had soared in value. Almost another half again as much as he had started with. The breath caught in his chest, seizing then, as he tried to gulp in more air.

Fu felt his eyes widen, his skin crawl, his heart shudder into a violent, percussive rhythm. Thrumming so loud it stirred the faculties of his body to return.

“Hushi,” he panted. “I-”

This, it was unsurmountable. The debt. The violence. The threat of death. It was no normality, to be expected to walk amongst these monsters that dealt in death as easily as he might skin a river bass.

It was-

It was-

A single, hearty chuckle filled Fu’s chest, delivering the breath he so needed. “When… when did I allow this?” he said, alarming the aide. “Hushi, what has led me to believe I have the luxury of these feelings?”

Hushi met his gaze. Curious.

Fu shuffled up, ignoring whatever roiled within his [Dantian]. “The world is no different than it was before. Only where we stand. Why then…” he trailed off, rolling closed the parchment within his lap.

An internal force called to him, something tidal and strong. [Air Qi] pulsing out to fill his [Channels], suffusing his skin and organs, unbidden. He felt the same sensation that had plagued him for several days now… lessen.

A blockage, retreating, or a chain now loosened.

[Impurities] cast aside like sand amidst a gale. Hushi rose to his head, casting aside the hat to begin his Qi processing, pushing both into a bout of intense cultivation.

The energy erupting within Fu was so vast that he thought he might not contain it. Entire shorelines were eroding internally, and the approaching storm showed no signs of quieting. Too much, it seemed, for a copper tang emerged in his mouth.

Then came the wailing of a great squall.

Shredding wind that could not touch the external world, nor lift but a page on any tome within the Scroll Hall. No, it screeched only in Fu, rising in pitch and proximity until there was a sudden pop.

His eardrums ruptured.

Fu thrust open his eyes, bleary with an onset of sweat. The chill upon him now volcanic, and his efforts silent as he gripped tight his knees. The [Air Qi] now threatened to destroy his [Channels], a fate most imminent should he just sit and allow it.

Hushi spewed forth the same impression.

The aide will provide help! I shall…

He tightened the grip upon his knees, feeling each nail pierce the skin there. [Resilience] or no. An inconsequential feeling that Fu merely ignored, following instead his instincts, and reaching for the [Spirit Herb] that Zhiyuan had gifted.

🀦

The [First Pool] swirled. Tumultuous, to mirror Fu’s soul.

Standing before it, he knew this. Hushi knew this. Though neither [Spirit Beast] nor cultivator could place how. Only that a respite had been granted. A harbour to weather the raging Qi.

Perhaps.

There was a feel to this mountainside now, much removed from what Fu had felt upon his first realisation of the [Dao]. A profundity of power dwelled upon the scree, in the cloudy air and in the droplets that lapped upon the shore.

This much was absolute.

Unchanging.

It took moments, or aeons, for Fu to realise that it was he who was changed. Beyond this, he felt his [Channels] continue their battle against the surge of [Air Qi] that would see them ruined. But for now, it was manageable, and this thought had him sit by the edge.

Here, the breeze was gentle. Looping streaks of teal caressing all he might see. Harmless, as shown by how they danced through his palm.

Further, they wound up his arm and moved to trace a trail from [Dantian] to his throat. A cycle began, softly, and one that Hushi emerged to follow. His arms shared this softness, stroking upwards to interact with the breeze.

“I feel it, Hushi. My mind is opening. Or my eyes,” he said, though his lids were now closed. All senses following the [Spirit Herb] and the effect it now released. An energy similar to Qi shadowed a path, highlighting a dormant [Meridian] that he could not hope to touch. Yet, even still, the herb expanded this spiritual crevice to produce a muted burning upon his skin.

An aura of awareness blossomed around Fu as he dismissed his [Ink]. Not a glow of Qi or force of [Intent], but something that grew within him.

[Insight] was hard to quantify, as were many things for the fisherman.

Moth-eaten sheets were conjured in his mind’s eye. Those heavy blankets that warded his home from the draft supplied by his gaps and breakage. He would slip them beneath the door, or over the hatches, sealing any chill that might creep in.

Though this image was of the blankets dropping, and of light spilling forth. Mundane sunlight, and no heavenly cascade, just… open.

Revelation, perhaps.

It led him to the space in his [Channels] where all Qi had dissipated before. To the [Dao Oath] and the limits imposed upon him, the [Heart Demon], the conception of which had formed from his own emotions.

And Fu made peace with it.

“No longer can we claim that these are foreign shores, Hushi. I will not claim this. Our trials are beyond reason. But they shall stay this way if I do not accept them.”

The octopus dangled an arm, comforting and silent.

“Grandmother Hua had us swear that we would rid our family of debt. The [Dao Oath]. It is not needed. Not anymore. This fear… that murderous cultivator. The Blight. The Sect. They are but a fog, preying on those who have forgotten how to sail,” he said, casting his gaze into the pool. “We shall show them, Hushi, no… we shall show ourselves. That while our boat may be shattered, we recall how to swim.”

At a breath, the pair had returned to the Scroll Hall. Nestled at the base of a stack, coated in the same grim as before.

Yet, changed. Alongside what had raged within him.

The violet [Air Qi] retook its form as a pleasant waft, a tickle, much like the fading heat of the [Ink] upon his shoulder. Fu exhaled, taking a moment to rid the taint of blood from his lips. “Brother scribe,” he asked, causing the addressee to start. “I would have some water, if you might direct me to where I can find it.”

“Apologies. Water is prohibited in the Scroll Hall,” returned the aide.

At this, Fu nodded. Dry of throat, but accepting of the answer. It could not add to his worries, for he now found that he had few, if any, and placed his attention on the [Wind Phantom Strides]. Splaying it open across his lap.

Ponderous at this increase to his [Insight], and what bearing it had on these images that so readily inscribed themselves upon his memory.