Fatherly Asura

The Ravenous Onyx Sow was said to be most agreeable of all those beneath the Divine Spirit Beasts, and allowed her kin to play fondly with the children of Humanity.

With youthful flesh as her guise, oft would she steal through the crowds, and so too, was she said to enjoy this.

Great indulgence was to be had in this human ingenuity, with how they melded spice and meat, or herb and grain.

But in her eyes, and by her account, they knew little of true combination.

Flavour in meal was no means to survival, nor was their guesswork at the Qi. And so, she elected to teach them, in part.

Through gifts imparted to the young, through fable and tale, scribble or jest, she imparted wisdom of the Qi. Of Water meeting Wind and its scent of Ice, or Wood and Earth and its melding to form Life.

Leaving this wisdom, in the hope that the land might flourish with an abundance of flavour, and that her children’s children might one day benefit in these gifts of variety, and that one day, it might be shared among all.

- Excerpt from “The Twelve Great Gifts,” by an Unknown Daoist

Uninjured, the [Air Qi] delivered by the [Spirit Core] Hushi absorbed had cleansed more of his [Channels] than Fu could ever recall. With [Dantian] and his various [Meridians] filled, the gaseous energy continued well after the latest opening.

It was a distant warmth that highlighted his [Ink], yet this Qi proved abundant, driving further cultivation.

With inner sight, he now wormed his way through a strange occurrence. A knot of [Impurities], where before was only sand to be shorn free. Great strain suffused his internal system, and a rawness of pain akin to scraping flesh countered his attempts to pass through.

But still, he persisted, intent on following Hushi’s guidance.

A blockage that is unlike a Meridian, with every day I am exposed to a vastness I know nothing of.

Directing his Qi, he fell back from the helical shape of movement, finding that this required a more delicate touch than the technique he had formed with help from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

No, here required finesse.

Fu steadied his breathing, knowing that this knot could not be scraped, only unwound like the many ropes aboard his boat.

Fingers could not form from his Qi, yet he found that with enough concentration the layers of this blockage could be straightened. And so he progressed, with thundering heart and tides of sweat upon his skin.

An intensity of blistering heat spread from his [Ink] in the passing minutes, or hours, occupying an area greater than before. In contention with myriad pains, as he was, Fu did not allow himself to be distracted.

There was a sudden firmity upon his legs, and though a reassurance came from the lap-mounted octopus, Hushi’s arms were as taught as bound cord.

Squeezing and suffocating.

This, however, faded at the final unspooling. At the edge of available Qi, Hushi’s presence invaded the cultivation, bestowing a final flush of his own energy. Myriad sensations pushed aside then, and beckoned a moment of singular clarity in which Fu could trace the path of their twin progress.

It showed as a set of internal colours.

Teal smoke that mingled with his own, of a greyer sort.

Tendrils thickened at their touch, stripping back the knot to surge Qi down his [Channels], and subsequently blow Fu from his concentration.

A froth blew from his mouth, turgid and foul, casting [Impurities] out in a font. Stink accompanied it, driving no available complaint from the fisherman, who writhed and seized upon the loamy sanctuary between willowy strands.

Continually, perpetually, even, he convulsed from internal pain, spasming to distant pleas from a familiar voice.

Hands pushed at his lower back, and they were a furnace to him. Unwelcome, searing brands that then reached his mouth, roughly forcing something within. With throat upended, bile bubbled, trapped within as a dryness of herb went deeper and deeper.

A strike to his stomach ended this, and another to his temple brought a painful blackness to his world.

🀨

“Senior is bold to attempt to open so many [Meridians],” applauded Mei. Yet her voice was unwelcome, drawing near violent thoughts in his groggy awakening.

Muted sunlight proved to be a second irritant, joining the procession of ailments that soon availed themselves to him. Fu drew an infernally blistered breath, wracked with coughs, and felt his Junior guide him to a solid seat against the trunk.

“Would senior-”

A grunt was all he could manage to stall her, granting time to readjust to the world around him.

“Hushi,” he managed. “Are you well?”

In a matching show of fatigue, the octopus flapped a dismissive tentacle.

Then, with the presence of mind to clutch at his pounding head, Fu pressed tight at his temples to try and alleviate the pain. “My [Channels]. They are raw, and my mind whirls as though…” Speaking summoned nausea, which had to abate before he continued. “Spirit wine. I suffer as though I have drained all of Thousand Shore City of its wine.”

Numerous other ailments decorated his insides, yet this speech was enough for now.

Parcels of a grainy mulch could be felt with his tongue, which he unceremoniously removed to wipe upon his hanfu.

“A [Life] affinity [Spirit Herb],” explained Mei, kind in her limited words.

Fu waited many minutes out before his body settled into a more manageable discomfort, where he rose to take fresher air than was granted by their close surroundings. The [Season] still imposed its [Tyranny], as was natural given the mere span of hours, and not weeks as his cultivation might have suggested.

Loss of time had become more prevalent with each of his cultivation sessions, with such intense internal concentration allowing hours to pass beneath his notice.

Still, he rubbed at his buttocks, stiff despite his status as cultivator.

“[Ink]”.