Consider first the composition of one’s [Meridians].

[Body] and its linear path. Water to fill buckets, nothing more.

For each of these opened, and bolstered by [Inner Qi], there comes a widening of [Channels] and tangible benefits as reflected on [Ink].

Cultivation manuals adapt this process by forming non-standard constructs or methods to inflict greater changes within each.

[Fire Qi] cultivated standardly is no match for the [Flame Cycling Mantra] of Phoenix Hall.

There, purity of Qi is considered. The technique itself accepts only an ambient energy that is both dense and purged of lesser, composite Qi types. In doing so the benefits of opening rise in regards to attributes gained or in the adaptation of [Boons] granted.

Yet the limits to this stem from innumerable factors.

External influence in tandem with these efforts is the only reliable source of true, guided acquisition.

Tempering liquids. Natural treasures. Tribulations. High-rank pills.

Transformative processes with quantified, and documented effects, the likes of which I have published as an addendum to these volumes.

* “Constitution, Volumes One through Three,” by Master Ban Bingbai

Fu would never place himself with wise men. No. Yet even mortals knew of weather, and that when rain came, it poured.

Be that [Winter] showers, [Spring], [Summer] or [Autumn].

Thunder did not rumble lightly.

A gentle breeze was but the end of an unparalleled gale elsewhere.

As such, he distrusted his fortune.

[Contribution

Points]

[Total]

[-2,000]

[Debt]

[Lifelong]

[34,020]

His debt was well ingrained, a formative memory.

“Previously, it was thirty six, and one twenty,” he explained.

After a moment of silent scrutiny Zhu manifested motes of [Light Qi], which assembled into characters. “Thirty six thousand and twenty.”

Before another, Fu knew his shame might be exploited.

“Our [Contribution Points] rise to four thousand per [Season],” Zhu continued. “As you’ve cleared one life, the [Seasonal] portion has fallen.”

At the end of Shuidi’s bow, her cultivator spoke. “Gratitude, brother.”

In his quarter’s corner, Hushi and Tanshuai impressed warmth. Minorly distracted from the items set upon their table.

“I would not risk insult, friend,” began Fu. “But are we deserving of all this?”

The [Mimamsa Sage] pills rested there, set upon folded hanfu. Articles of [Spirit Silkworm] weaving in the standard Clouded Courts black. Clouds were emblazoned upon the trim, and Fu’s pile held a matching douli.

Delivered with express instructions to wear only within the Sect’s interior. Cloud Gathering division uniforms, and the lesser of three treasures.

Open aside both piles sat hinged boxes, opened to show a stack of intricate talismans. Ominous, Fu had thought, for the [Old One’s Whisker] remained silent upon their inspection.

New things, or unlearned. With all of [An Array in One Hand’s] knowledge, these stand unique and unknown.

“No,” Zhu answered simply. “It pains me to say so, as I’m quite talented.”

“Other Sects would not receive this at our level. Until the debt is cleaned I am but a Mock Disciple. It is hard to put the thoughts aside each other.”

“We’ve the same gifts, and I’m an outer disciple. That doesn’t factor. No.” Zhu took on an expression of curiosity. “I’ve no desire to dwell on this, nor repeat a conversation we’ve had many times. In truth, I prefer confident, cautious Gao Fu to this Gao Fu that fumbles in confusion.”

Fu nodded in agreement. “The debt stirs my feelings. That is all.”

“I know,” said Zhu, swallowing the items into his ring. He then left, having the screen remain open to hurry his friend.

Both Shuidi and Hushi returned to Fu, after which he claimed his treasures and entered the main hall.

The Cloud Gathering division was arrayed there in its entirety upon bent knee, awaiting the command of their silent senior. Ban Bingbai’s attire was unchanged, where all others fielded clothing of their sun-facing counterparts. Their [Clouded Ghost Arts] ever in effect.

At the head, their Master did not rise. “The [Spring Equinox] rises come morning, and with it, our Cloudy Serpent Sect’s glory. A source of pity, perhaps, for my division will take no part in this outward display. Indeed, I’ve enjoyed many such spectacles and have pangs that could take me to step foot in the stands among you. Yet this is not our goal.”

Fu found these words oddly formal. Much unlike the Bingbai he so admired, if only through curiosity.

“The duties you must uphold here are observational. To be led by Gao Fu, and in fitting with his leadership, disciple Zhu as adjutant. Yet to aid this,” he continued, gesturing but once. “Yin Linhua, rise.”

Only one hair of ten trembled upon the rising woman. All else was poised.

Sure.

Flashless, a reed-like [Constellation Seed] arrived in Bingbai’s outstretched hand. “I’ve no ceremony, disciple. Nor should a ghost expect it. Take the fruit of your merit, and strive further.”

The cobalt-bearded sage dismissed his disciples for parchment, shedding all attention. So too did the division part, bowing before moving from the hall.

Zhu, loudest in action, called his sister disciple’s name. “A show of worth,” followed his words, before he moved to the passages. Then in turn, Udvah with an impressive grin and Zhao Po, his jealousy thinly veiled, both granted a nod.

At the cleft of his crimson-hued hanfu, Shuidi bid Fu look forward. His attention drew to Niwai, who bore no hint of ill will as she set a supportive hand upon Linhua’s shoulder.

Stability. Perhaps the resentment I feared would rise… No. Only a fool would deal in certainty, no matter my gladness.

“Sister Linhua,” he tested, wary of the reaction. “Congratulations are due.”

Niwai was as impartial as rock.

“Sister Niwai. I do not speak for Master Ban, but I would hope to say the same to you soon. In my eyes, this is earned.”

“Gratitude,” was the sole reply.

🀦

[Karma] had aligned Gao Fu and his cover, but he had yet to recover from the surrounding sights.

A fresh city had spawned above the Four Corners Prefecture, suspended in open air in the great glow of its namesake spear. Awe akin to the Divine Clouded Mountain shone here, for the same resplendent peaks rose; the same shrouding of ever-present cloud; the same pagodas and immaculate architecture.

Yet where cantons might stretch with residences or storefronts, there hovered vast arenas in their place. Circular stages bordered by ornate serpents, within the circumference of each stood innumerable smaller platforms.

Cries from the surrounding spectators: those unfavourable that dwelled both below in the city proper and those seated for spectation within the tournament grounds- these were an itinerary and reconnaissance in their own right.

“The Lotus Blade Sect fields a strong generation of disciples, we mustn’t miss it husband!” called one. “Five islands over, when the sun begins to set!”

“No, brother,” chortled a full-bellied man, gesturing to the equally full-bellied [Spirit Stork] circling above. “Big Ming will spy our seats. The spear trials are not to be missed.”

“Free combat will ignite my blood!” cried another.

And so on, for Fu gleaned the full spectrum.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“[Dao] trials,” from the monks, an aroma of spirit wine in their wake.

The thirteen young children around an ill-prepared [Life Qi] cultivator were ordered to quiet unsuccessfully as he was corralled towards the [Qi Manipulation] trials.

“It is the king of all weapons, you fool!” clashed drunkards, small emblems of rivalling Sects upon their hanfu.

“Our Four Tiger Pill Society is not to be taken so lightly!” retorted the other. Drawing a long-forgotten name into Fu’s thoughts.

Hidden Haster Luo. I owe him much.

Resolute as he was, Fu maintained his cover. At his rear spread the stage for [Three Pointed] cultivators, guarded by… cousin disciples of his Sect. Sun-facing experts whose unflapping hanfu bolstered the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s display of indomitability. Even as guards, as these outer disciples were reduced to.

Or honoured with.

“Junior,” dismissed the one he was tasked with escorting. Zheng Yifei, a fateful acquaintance from within the [Hollow Hegemon’s Splinter].

“Senior,” he returned, bowing swiftly to maintain his cover as her attending guard.

“Bah, you have the honor of looking upon this tournament’s opening, but you do not even know it! Truly, the junior before me knows not the opportunity given! Was there time to rectify the shame you might bring!”

Ingrained reflexes had him prostrate for forgiveness.

“The ceremony is to begin, but beyond this you will remain out of my sight! Another would bask in such honor,” she berated, her tone violent.

In suit with propriety this arena platform was raised. Half-blocked from the mundane, base citizenry that spectated from lower heights. To merely be counted in this number was privilege enough. As such, their viewing was done from vast [Arrays] set above.

Edgeless parchment that broadcast the events of each stage as they happened. A simple, if vast set of inscriptions that allowed one to view clearly no matter their position.

Even without the [Old One’s Whisker] Fu would have discovered this, for his dismissal had set him into the avenues between stages.

Her gratitude continues. One might wonder how great her cultivation has grown since we have parted. An inner disciple with a [Hollow Ivory Splinter]... she will be monstrous.

He would share his appreciation later, perhaps. But for now, wound about freely as per her command. Hidden by the tide of crimson hanfu about each stage and the eyes that dared not meet one so openly shamed.

It came then.

Solemnity.

The ambient Qi drew its breath. The wind ceased. The Heavens ceased their movement of clouds, of noise.

Fu’s heart dared not sound, yet this was… joyous. It was earnest, and unprovoked. No thing there felt forced or compelled, no cessation was driven as this.

The recesses of his spirit only knew.

Though what words might be used- this was a wisdom for Hau to share.

I- There are Heavens beyond Heavens. And now, Heavens beyond.

Where these twin sources departed; entered; arrived or descended was of no consequence, only that his mind’s eye saw in clarity.

Radiant Qi welcomed [Gleeful Viper’s] every step. A veil upon her, and ornate, living serpents comprised the threads of her regal, crimson hanfu.

Opposed and equal, as tranquil as untouched waters, there walked her mirror.

[Thrice Clouded Boa].

Yet she was unveiled. Immaculate. Jade-like and eldritch. Her beauty unparalleled, so much so that Fu’s heart might tremble were it not a-brim with that which he held dear.

Queer then, that amidst this his vacant palm felt a brush. Some small warmth that had a fonder image rise.

Even she pales against you, my Mei.

For this he smiled, and saw the faction heads come to rest upon thrones of ornate cloud. Twinned, as these immortals of Orthodox and Unorthodox were.

Brother, sister. There stands the reason for our meeting.

Hushi’s response was a comfort. A gentle compression of arms beneath the douli. Whereas Shuidi puffed out a misty droplet, for this was all she might manage.

A third, lesser figure appeared in view. Scholarly and ever-painted with disdain, as if his face had been amended in ink at birth. The vice-leader of the Orthodox, and a blind, righteous fool if Hua’s words were to be believed.

Gon Ma of the Cloudy Serpent Sect built no enthusiasm. No, his was a presence that drew breath tighter than it was already held.

“Four Corners Prefecture,” he began, and the Heavens peered closer, for there was misfortune to be had.

Cold terror delivered by [Array].

Fu’s chest turned glacially cold as Gon Ma addressed the surrounding millions, and then beneath it. Uttering a single, venomous exchange.

“Young Mistress. The thief stands below.”

A [Winter] ice clawed through the [Three Eyed Spying Array], amplifying this message that none but he had reacted to.

That no division member had failed their [Clouded Ghost Arts] for.

His prostration dug deeper, and poured him across the ground like filth-soaked, melted snow. Withering beneath a gaze that settled upon him, and the second exchange that rattled the chest-inlaid [Array] that delivered it.

“East is promised, and here I arrive at Northwest. Of the Eight, could Four come, and further to the Two I seek?”

🀦

Heaven’s radiance bathed the tournament grounds beneath, washing a stain of undiluted sunlight on the cheering crowds.

It was to this Fu awoke.

“Hushi… Shuidi… are you… well?” he coughed.

An arm ensnared his shoulder, wrenching him to his feet.

Fu’s sleeve smeared his sweat-soaked forehead, removing the irritation from his eyes. A blink, two, ten, suffused with an absence of strength he could not ascribe.

Only clouds fogged his thoughts.

A voice, and one I cannot recall.

Plum wings surfaced beneath his douli. Returning his wherewithal.

In place of speaking, he nodded, and swiftly moved to take some semblance of propriety. One step to turn his stance uniform with these sun-facing cousins.

Most.

For his episode was not unique.

At a glance, one third of the Sect held prostrate. Their heads, and that of each [Spirit Serpent] therein, buried in supplication towards their twin suns. Such reverence held that the blaze behind showed as unimportant and base.

For even the [Spring Equinox] was trite aside them.

Drumbeats thundered beneath Fu’s feet, imbuing further lucidity with their force. Thus he steeled himself, and searched the viewing [Array] above.

Silhouettes marched at the fore of a swollen sun. Banners trailed in myriad shades. Hosts of [Spirit Beasts] glistened, their cultivation fully exposed.

Lightning-cloaked tigers, each the scale of a building. Glacial phoenixes leaving a depth of snow in their wingbeat. Shrouds of darkness that crept over a tide of [Spirit Insects], their skitter a portent of swallowed stars.

Venerable Sects of the Clear Sky Empire, that dwarfed this colossal sun further.

Monsters, one and all.

A rotation had begun outwith his notice. In turn these Sects would be hosted upon a distant stage, offering gratitude to the twin scions above. Sect Leaders, Matriarchs, living ancestors, all cultivators whose [Dao Names] rang like thunder when spoken.

Then more as the inner disciples were called, presenting their immortality-gained [Dao Names] with a bow to rush a deeper susurrus through the spectating crowd.

“Southern Trigram Hall,” spoke the hushed tones.

“Violet Lion Sect.”

“Crimson Shoal Sect.”

“The Eighteenth.”

“Cherry Peak.”

A thousandfold Sects were uttered.

A thousandfold names were whispered.

This one neared the Seven Phoenixes and Five Dragons. That one reached [Core Formation] before his tenth birthday. An unrivalled master. A genius beneath the Heavens. True tigers. True dragons.

Fu’s head spun with whispers of names he held no inkling of.

All the while these Sects presented.

Thundering roars from the Violet Lion Sect drew a maned eclipse in the skies above, with spectral fangs and a wash of coloured Qi. So these repeated in fashion, for each Sect proudly displayed their heritage to the masses before falling quiet upon the vast and central stage.

The spectacle cleansed what remained of Fu’s misgivings, and his stalk began.

He sent a resonance through his brooch, finding Zhu to be distant when another was returned. One by one, the Cloud Gathering division marked their positions about the stages, their net well spread.

Foreign outer disciples now filtered upon the stages, relegated to supporting roles. Slender chests were carried, or ornate tables, tea-sets and convenient detritus. All set in preparation for the bouts that would begin at the ceremony’s finale.

Fu pulsed his [Divine Sense] in their midst, and found no trace in the immediate vicinity.

An hour passed.

Three.

A [Season] long tournament- such things would not be rushed. Every facet of decorum had to be observed. To hurry the arriving Sects would lose them much face before a crowd of this scale, or indeed, the other Sects.

The fifth hour showed a resonance.

Clad in sleeveless, tangerine training attire, a woman stood ahead. She scrambled nervously as she polished the wooden surface of a weapon stand, two intricate posts of moon-aligned iconography.

Thus Fu called for a response through his brooch, and spied Niwai as closest. In quiet step, he came to stand aside her. His guise - a craned neck with which to watch the [Array].

“Tangerine, moon,” he shared, muttered beneath a stroke of his [Old One’s Whisker].

He parted first, returning to his patrol.

What peculiarities arose surrounding a [Constellation Seed’s] mystery… their divine rarity: it was reinforced here.

Outer disciples were no great sample, for inherently it was the strong that would possess such treasures. But a confirmation that no Sect hid talents greater than their venerable Cloudy Serpents.

He would wait however, as no inner disciple had yet arrived.

The final close to this approached as Fu once more settled by Niwai. His soul, a mite tender from frequent pulses of [Divine Sense].

“The Lotus Blade Sect,” was called, and the susurrus began in earnest.

In their verdant-hued hanfu and with jian upon their hips, a battalion of disciples marched in step with their leader. A youthful man, tranquil-seeming, with a gestalt that granted assurances of peace the longer one looked.

[The Lotus that Sleeps].

Intelligence from Ban Bingbai’s rescue surfaced as the Lotus Blade Sect’s Patriarch took centre stage.

Their display was of great interest to Fu, for he wondered what effect the devastation of their [Twilight Lotus Expanse] might have held. Outwardly these cultivators looked resolute, the blades and fangs of their [Spirit Beasts], ever sharp.

Fu knew that no Patriarch need bow to another lest the disparity between powers was so vast it was required. Here, beneath the Cloudy Serpent Sect, [The Lotus that Sleeps] bent his waist. He rounded thereafter, orchestrating his juniors.

Bladework followed, ascending through the ranks. The [Twilight Lotus Steps] in its first form, second, and so on. Their forms were riddled with faults and missteps to those who possessed an [Old One’s Whisker], but those who did not spied lotus petals within the air.

A gentle storm that rushed in curtains at each bladestroke. The spectacle that transitioned each row of disciples in turn.

Lower to higher. Outer, to mid-rank, to inner. And then came the sight that turned whispers to cries.

Ten Lotus Blade Sect disciples danced forth to punctuate their scene, deepening the awe-filled gasps of all who looked upon them.

Yet, they stalled.

Ten arms drew ten jian, a set of which Fu was intimately familiar, and as they were thrust skyward to commence their dance - twisted.

Writhed, to shed their intricacies as if unfolding blossoms, and revealed mundane training blades in their place.

Transformed.

“See how bold the Lotus Blade Sect are!” exploded a chorus of similar variations.

“They seek to conquer this tournament with wooden weapons! What skill! What confidence! Venerable indeed!”

“Such skill! A peerless display!”

Immortals each, or close, the disciples could still not react, and looked only to their tranquil Patriarch.

As all did.

To admit a mistake was to admit imperfection. In so public a space, and against the dagger-hiding-smiles of their surrounding foes…

[The Lotus that Sleeps] projected mirth with his smile. “Our current generation is unmatched beneath the Heavens,” he shared, and led his Sect to their position upon the stage.

At Fu’s side, Niwai shared in his singular, stifled chuckle.

Our Elder is devious, is she not?