“Daoist [Dances upon an Ivory Sea] is most generous to deliver a clean blow such as this!” roared the underling, an unsatisfactory bow dispensed at the behest of his missing arm.

But [Dances upon an Ivory Sea] knew this to be true.

A mercy on this fucking cretin who viewed themselves as worthy to speak to her. Even through an intermediary, by way of [Sullen Saber].

The only man close to use. Above the usual instruments and playthings.

Three hundred moons had not tempered her moods, nor restrained her whimsy. A boon from the Heavens themselves, given how her blessings would, in time, still, such precious facets of her being.

Thus [Sullen Saber] acted accordingly. Her safeguard, unburdening the messenger of another arm. Cauterised by drippings of ice to have the stump encased in seconds.

[Dances upon an Ivory Sea] lifted from the ice-hewn bench she had formed, the trails of her frost-blue daxiushan a size to mirror the lake upon which she sat. Frozen, and clear, as all things should be.

She remedied this in the messenger then. A flick, entombing him in ice.

“I so fucking loathe this,” she said, approaching the [Paifang]. The lone structure for thousands of li, and, at a distant glance, the epicentre of the violent cold that had clawed its way across these once-verdant steppes.

[Sullen Saber] placed a hand upon the hilt of his [Dao]-namesake, the full splay of his [Ink] glowing from shoulder to knuckle. Impossibly dense in pattern, highlighted in opposition to his [Spirit Beast].

A stark white cat, teeth bladed, and its pelt nigh translucent in the surrounding snow.

He said nothing, bound to silence by his [Oath], but conversed in full with each inflection of his handsome face. A thousand words passed in motion, in step and in action. Culminating with his master’s sudden smile.

“Well, then I entrust you to sever the leering eyes of those senile bastards.”

Passing through the [Paifang] unveiled the same cold as outwith, tidal, and erupting from the daoist’s foot. Her path chased the ridge she emerged upon, a severe straight that led towards a central peak.

Just one radial of a further four, a [Paifang] at the foot of each.

A trite walk, heedless of the fathoms at either side, or the [Law of Origin] that governed this [Mystic Realm]. As now the [Season] shifted, giving rise to a fluctuating maelstrom of Qi. Elemental storms raging, delivering thunder and ice in the span of ten paces.

[Winter] passing to [Spring].

And a further ten paces brought [Spring] to [Summer], igniting the air itself. Primordial forces manifested, waxing and waning. Volcanic, turbulent explosions, not limited to fire, or rock, but apt for each change that occurred.

Though this dared not touch [Dances upon an Ivory Sea]. The [Seasons] bent around her, fearful of the power her status as a [True King Realm] cultivator afforded. So they bowed from her path, and from the advance of her Bonds.

Twinned [Spirit Dugong] that frolicked in the maelstrom as though Heaven’s wroth was but a strong current to play in.

Such solace merged with that which was found at the peak, a collated protection granted by those she was to meet. A set of four, with scant accompaniment, poised at the head of their respective ridges.

The aforementioned senile.

Though for her thoughts, no visage might accurately represent this statement. Those who stood here in resplendent hanfu, with Bonds arrayed with appearance to rival the vaulted, [Divine Spirit Beasts] of days long by - none amongst their number were wrinkled or greying.

Youth shone here like a beacon. The mask of Immortality. Shown to be respected by the primordial [Seasons] and accompanying elements, for it did not touch a hair upon their pristine figures, nor the cleats of those who had gilded scholarwear upon their heads.

[Sullen Saber] maintained the grip upon his weapon moving forth, dispensing a ceremonial bow upon entering this meeting.

Feigned deference, to improve his Master’s mood.

Pressure mounted, shown by a border of clashing light.

The limits of where her own presence of cold touched upon the range of those to her sides. Shadows to her left, retreating to allow a carpet of ice to peel forth, and the same to her right, subduing the boundary of roiling [Dao]. Equidistant, and an effortless claim to the area her approach contested.

“[Dances upon an Ivory Sea],” greeted the man at her opposite, having the fucking nerve to lick his lips.

The greeting was returned, giving rise to three others. All, save for one, as unsavoury as the first.

But for all of this daoist’s desires, she remained cordial.

Machinations of the scale they were to enact, against this, such covetous looks could be tolerated. Suppressed. If only long enough that the [Boundless Yin] that overflowed through both her [Core] and veins might settle.

Hateful, as it was, of the despicable eyes before it.

“The time for our patience draws to a close. A stirring begins to shake the foundation of the Clear Sky Empire,” began [Venerable Reed Sage], his pattern long and poetic. Drawn out as though each syllable were to be pondered and digested. “The [Hollow Throne] is soon to be opened. So say the stars in passing, and heavy are their whispers of late.”

A formation of motion showed [Sullen Saber’s] acknowledgement. Mere gestures of formality, as nothing so momentous could have escaped their notice.

“Thus, this call is placed, and we are gathered.”

“Amituofo. A ninth-rate daoist must ask if [Venerable Reed Sage] has a proposal?” queried the man to her right. The sole Vajra present, and the most tolerable for it. Hair-shorn to the scalp, and clad in no finery but for the silver beads that looped across his body, each to the scale of a fist.

“Consultation has me believe that our efforts are best directed elsewhere. Towards destabilisation. The loyalists to our cause are billions strong. Praising, and singing for a resolution in the quiet corners of the land. Yet subdued by the disfavorable. What has passed should not be allowed to maintain, as it would under the expected course.”

And [Dances upon an Ivory Sea] looked then, her profound [Senses] magnetised towards the speaker’s left. Where stood one with a displeasure to match her own, though evident and plain for all to bear witness.

An ancient enigma, [Looming Amaranth Tyrant].

He had a bearing of adolescence, and was of pinker flesh and foreign look, when judged beside the more muted complexion that most across the lands possessed. Commonplace among his heritage, and many in the Warring Tribes.

As was the monstrosity of his Bond, a [Precursor], whose reptilian look granted a danger more prominent than what was arrayed even here.

“My flock already threshes the outer lands of those loyal to the Clear Sky hegemony,” he rumbled. A quake laced through [Intent] with each meeting of his lips.

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“And [Looming Amaranth Tyrant’s] campaign is to continue.”

“Then what is to change?” he returned.

Swift to appease such visible rage, [Venerable Reed Sage] stuttered. A shameful chink in his demeanour of calm. Emboldening the posture of all here that would see him fail. “D-[Dances on an Ivory Sea]. [Ninth Under Heaven]. Efforts must be made to bring low the five pillars that would stand in our way. Only once our benefactor claims the [Reliquary] from within the [Hollow Throne] shall our goals be realised, and thus all who stand as threat to her entry must be cleansed.”

The instructions were void of method. Prattle, as expected from such senility. Ahead, [Sullen Saber] remarked on this, having his Master suppress another smirk.

“Cleansing infers public action,” she scowled. “To tarnish ourselves in such a way is contrary to how we have acted. The time is coming, yet not nigh. Why does it fall to us? Why does [Venerable Reed Sage] not risk himself in this manner?”

[Looming Amaranth Tyrant]’s Bond pressed but a single step forward, entrenching the mountainside around its foot. Crumbling [True King Grade] stone as though it were sand. “The extent of my scheming is the removal of words spoken. I seek no higher talent in it. Baring two faces to the world. Such is his domain. In overlapping webs and poisoned roots.”

“Why, you bare two faces now,” she replied. “An expert and a poet.”

The reptilian bond then bellowed, causing a reaction in each of the solace-granting domains. Reducing their scope so that his might expand by leaps and bounds. Though its cultivator bore mirthful fangs at this, glinting and carnivorous. “Honesty of emotion. Unexpected, and pleasing.” He then addressed the others, as if remembering they were still present. “All should speak as this youth does. Direct.”

“Amituofo. This ninth-rate daoist will see to the matter, suggesting that all five pillars need not be toppled. A single wall cannot support one temple.”

Shadows parted to [Dances upon an Ivory Sea’s] left, drawing the attention of all, and cast light on the owner of this domain.

A figure bound in strips of gold, touching all but a set of lips that, like their voice, could not be ascribed to any gender. “Already, worms writhe in the foundations of those we must bring low. Their ears are most eager to be bent, and prove hungry. I too will suggest as [Ninth Under Heaven] does. Collapse three, and the others will come to heel.”

An unsettlement was impressed by the dugong behind, and [Dances upon an Ivory Sea] held back from the dissent she thought to sow.

Instinct had the cold around her deepen, a swaddle of ice within which to comfort. For it was a foul sensation that delivered this voice, insectile and buzzing. Albeit neutral.

Even drawing an unmoving shudder from [Sullen Saber].

But she firmed before a single beat of her heart had transpired. Cordiality invited understanding, and could not be allowed. Not between these old monsters, and not if her own designs were to be met.

“Then if it is to fall to we three,” she began. “I shall nourish these worms you have fostered, and grant gratitude. [Once Beggared Ghost].” Further then, was [Venerable Reed Sage] reduced. Neglectful of where he stood, and prideful in the inhalation he thought none might hear.

Betrayed by senility. Of millenia in hidden schemes and orchestrations, attended to by only those who would sing praise to his rusted insight.

Such bated breath made his lustful leering immensely more tolerable.

So [Dances upon an Ivory Sea] turned then, with [Sullen Saber] already ahead. Dissuading the elements on the ridge back to the [Paifang]. “Decide amongst yourselves what actions you shall take further,” she said. “We have an accord. The Cloudy Serpent Sect shall be mine. Turned brittle from my touch, both walls and worms alike.”

[Looming Amaranth Tyrant] resounded out with a single laugh, his Bond, a single reptilian roar, and all others an audible silence.

Save for [Sullen Saber] and his vicious, imperceptible mockery of the quarry now stolen, and its would-be tormenter.

Consigned to watch as she had her way with a prize most coveted.

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Hau looked at the arrayed [Spirit Cores] with disappointment. Hundreds. Both displayed and listed.

All equally banal.

These would not do for her grandchildren.

Perhaps her mannerisms had driven the aides of the Sect Treasurer into some blind panic, but such affairs had precious little to do with her. Four tended to her now, and through her returning [Dao], she saw their limits.

Stunted, and self-styled.

There stood a great parchment upon the wall of this vast chamber, and her finger trailed down to blur what characters were interred upon its length. If nothing else, the Treasurer was fond of organisation, of labels and meticulous categorising.

“Fetch me the [Veridian Ape],” commanded Hau.

A new voice emerged at her side. Soft, with a bearing of education. “Allow me to ask on the region, and the [Realm], Sage Hau.”

“[Foundation] is to be the default for all my further inquiries, I am unwilling to spoil my students like the other corn-fed stock you claim to educate. Those found in [Mystic Realms] with an [Ice Affinity] will suit my purpose.”

The Treasurer waved her hand, scattering the aides, fearful marbles one and all. At the periphery of her [Senses], Hau felt them fade behind screens of [Spatial Qi]. She waited moments, and was presented a platter of bitter tea in the meantime.

To while away the minutes caused by inadequacy, she accepted the proffered cup. “From my personal collection,” it was explained. Nothing more, nothing less.

“You are young,” Hau remarked. “The Minister of the Treasury, at ninety moons.”

Bowing gracefully, the Treasurer took her compliment. “I am humbled by your notice.”

Again the woman offered no further words. Pleasing Hua. It was rare to find one that embodied the virtues that she sought. Respectful. Timely. Proper, without wasting the breath it would take to endlessly prattle about shame or honour.

Her [Dao Oath] had sealed away enough moons, though it had changed little in her perception of how things should be. Granting only the temperance to weather it through the affection held for Mei’s children, instead.

The aides returned, hampered by cases of serpentine inlay, poised at the join as though they might strike any who dared open their contents. They were presented under the weight of Hua’s displeased hum, yet to reveal what was within.

Shortly, patterns of Qi were traced in the air, characters drawn from the Treasurer’s palm. Unclasping the lids revealed [Spirit Cores], dozens, caressed by velvet cloth.

Each was fixed was a further look of displeasure. West to east.

And as such, Hua had no need to touch the [Spirit Cores] there, only to look upon them with a wisdom forged of centuries. The souls within were blemished and tarnished, with no hint of the purity she sought for her kin.

Shining examples, she thought, of how this coddling might poison young Feng, or Yuqi.

“Farmed beasts,” then humming in her usual way. “So despicable are the chains of Sects. That they would cut short the paths of those who might one day flourish.”

Shudders and exclamations came from the aides. Not in body, as they were well trained, and sculpted as the Cloudy Serpent Sect saw fit. But in their [Dantian], which called to Hua as all did, louder than spoken word or action.

A clap saw these chests stowed, their bearers fade once more from view. Replaced by a pair of cultivators, who like their brethren, were unsettled by her.

“My own efforts in thoroughness, Sage Hua,” the Treasurer granted. Her explanation delightfully succinct.

“Rationality indicates otherwise.”

Another clap, sounded to discard the chests before they might be opened. A bold statement by this woman, so thought Hua.

But appreciated.

When this third set arrived they did so in a single chest, their contents shown at the moment the aide came to rest. A mere six cores. Earthen in tone, and muddied to bely the true treasure they presented at first glance.

Two struck Hua’s fancy, and these, she plucked. Pensive. “You, Treasurer, you may stay.”

The first break in this woman’s facade shone through. Utter exaltation had her [Dantian] leap and her [Origin Qi] roil.

Proving herself prudent she conducted her aides, bowing low in a singular, graceful sweep. A change swept over the hall, where stone poured down to enclose sconces and arches, then an accompaniment of Qi granted each corner a dim glow.

This settled soon thereafter, and left the Treasurer folded one pace from Hua’s feet. Her Bonds, a twin set of [Spirit Python], were arrayed in an unbroken circle beyond the lotus position she had formed.

“Come forth,” Hua uttered, and her whisper delivered with deafening volume.

Her mustering was one of subtle growth, however, sufficient for the task at hand. The completion of her [Dao Oath] had not yet returned her to whole, evidenced in many ways, with this effort prime among all.

Hua felt the dulled blade of her true self trickle at first, a memory of a once pristine Qi and identity. Shallow streams.

Releasing, at first, as teardrops that condensed upon the walls and floor. A shade taken that matched cherry blossoms in bloom.

A gentle rise then lifted to cast these droplets so that all were equidistant, glowing and pulsing faintly. Hau lifted the first [Spirit Core], and her [Dao] coalesced around it, having four great rivers emerge in a cross.

The water became stars and dusty images of iridescent hue. This conjuration was copied by the second core, and the [Cherry RIver Sage] bade them float so she might inspect the fruits of her labour.

She passed the Treasurer twice, which was one more time than she found necessary.

Each star delineated the path these [Veridian Apes] might follow, what strengths they might bear, what trials they had faced in the past, the [Arts], the [Boons], the [Dao], Hua saw it all reflected here.

As open to her as the skies beyond this chamber.

And then it faded to leave a light heave within her chest. Some shallow drain of her spiritual energy that, were she restored, would have gone unnoticed.

Though so too was there a warmth amidst those few breaths, and a gentle presence had risen to land upon her shoulder.

It radiated a small tremor in Hua.

Foolishly mortal.

Longing, perhaps, or heartache. The sweetness of intertwined souls now returned after parting.

Her Bond chirped out in melody, its form untethered as Qi began its re-invigoration.

The [Blossoming Cherry Cuckoo] shifted from bird to butterfly, to hound and then once more to its true form, all atop her shoulder.

“You look well, my sweet,” said Hua, caressing its breast with her finger. And with each stroke, her skin grew less weathered.

An accumulation of wrinkles faded, a density of black returned to her hair, and her spine shed much of the crook it still held. But now she turned, plucking the second [Spirit Core] from where it hung.

“Restrain your [Epiphany], Elder. The day is not yet spent.”

Breaking from her lotus position, the Minister of the Treasury rose. A puncture upon her lip. “I will add these to mock disciple Gao Fu’s debt, Sage Hau.”

“See that you do,” hummed the [Cherry River Sage]. “I would not have that oaf squander his potential with the idle hands the Sect provides him.”