Fatherly Asura

Daoists. This daoist. That daoist.

Pomposity, the way I see it. As if addressing oneself in the first person excommunicates oneself from the [Dao].

For the deaf, blind and idiotic. Teet-sucklers, backwater, corn-fed, nose-to-the-sky ignorant- There’s two camps of these.

The pretenders, and the true.

The One Hundred and Eight Vajra. Numbered, or otherwise.

A book is a house of gold. That lesson grows in an order of magnitude.

Yet these days the libraries and Scroll Halls of the land are saturated with flowering nonsense.

Drivel.

Between these covers, I will share the truth of daoists and pretenders alike. And perhaps, by the end, you will share an opinion with ‘this humble Sage’.

- Foreword of “Propagating Profundity,” by [Foulest Trigram Sage]

Yunhan was never one to show his displeasure so openly as he had now. But his ire frothed as such that his scarves were shed, and he bore himself in open, evident fashion. A fragmentation of shattered icicles sleeved down his [Ink], from shoulder to palm. Inlaid in onyx as his [Spirit Serpent] was, and tinged in midnight blue.

Inconsequential beneath uncharacteristic spittle, flying as if venom.

“Technique. Gao Fu. Are you addled? The [Clouded Ghost Arts] is namesake and [Heritage] both. Do you understand the importance of this?”

Fu’s scalp could descend no lower to the floor, lest he enter it. “I do, senior Yunhan.”

“Only fools think to reap without sowing. And this, it is as easy as turning a hand. Why can you still not display even [Initiate] understanding of the arts? How is training to progress if you do not establish the foundation?”

Without a displacement of air, Yunhan was at him. His wrist, a furnace, dragging Fu to his feet.

“Your cultivation has progressed,” he scoffed. “A fisherman, were you not? Is it done to plunge into waters without knowing their depth?”

In half as many seconds as steps, Fu was foisted through the sliding door. Scarce open before his arrival to the Clouded Court Squads once silent training hall. There, a collective swish of necks and robes, primed to meet the disturbance he was.

He was unhanded, but followed in knowing submission as Yunhan took to the edge of the flattened area. A glare set on Initiates that wisely scurried. Though he recalled them, dire in how he addressed the room.

“Initiates, gather.”

Tone such as this brooked no arguments. Disobedience would reward nothing from this man. As a blind man might see in him now the mountain of blades and sea of fire he embodied. The peril that he was.

Seven Initiates’ training was severed as he gathered them at a knee, with only a furied snap of eyes as Fu fell beside them.

Do my actions truly warrant a response such as this? I- I cannot guess at such matters. He speaks true. Last night should have been for the study of the [Clouded Ghost Arts].

Cursing now would bring about little change, and Fu could see Yunhan would be open to words, were he fool enough to offer them. At its base, their relationship was that of a Senior and Junior. Despite the cordially and instruction.

“Gao Fu, rise,” he demanded. “You, Initiate. You will face him.” Yunhan flashed his attention to a young man of no more than seventeen moons. Who met Fu in the center of a sand court, central beneath the rafters where many outer disciples watched.

For what purpose they were directed to fight-

Bated breath held the air still. Expectant silence, disturbed by an approaching motion from the furthest corners. A woman of the Clouded Court Squads, in matching age with the youth across from Fu.

She cut a path to Yunhan, no depression where her feet touched. Nor the sway of her [Spirit Serpents], twinned asps. One, snow white in scale, and its partner a charcoal hue.

“Brother Yunhan. This daoist greets you.”

The man visibly ground his teeth. “Sister Cai.”

“Brother would dispense his wisdom to the Initiates? It would be most insightful to see how far he has reached in seclusion,” she said. A rise to her neck had only Yunhan in her view, blocking all others in suit with her address. “A demonstration of the [Crypt Serpent Blades]? The [Frost Asp Circulations]?”

“The demonstration is a simple lesson between Initiates. My intervention comes as overseer, and instructor,” he returned, with no small haste.

“Then out of courtesy this daoist humbly offers herself as second.”

Yunhan held himself composed. An inch of scarf pulled tighter to his person. “Sister Cai is kind, as ever, to lend her aid. This initiate, Gao Fu, rushes through his cultivation without heed of technique or foundation. As an inner disciple is it not my duty to show him the error of this?”

The latter part of his words took on a- Fu was certain that it was explained for benefits beyond his own. As though Yunhan sought permission.

Sister Cai bore a loose fitting, black hanfu. Almost preposterously so, for her motions had each slender limb lost beneath it. She came to Yunhan’s side in this fashion, granting him face by offering no further words or commencement.

“We do this with traditional martial rules. Initiates, your Bonds, [Dao] and external [Qi Arts] are prohibited. Five point exchange,” said Yunhan. “Begin.”

In a movement Fu put his douli to the side, more a basket given Hushi’s presence within, and faced his opponent. A similar showing across, where a [Spirit Serpent] retreated into the sands.

The youth advanced first. A rushing style that severed the distance in three strides. Two fangs of metal, driven by a mount upon his knuckles arriving next.

Fu swept to the side, and-

His [Teal Supple Physique] put him too wide. New sensations, new feedback yet to be adapted to.

In summation, he felt as though his [Might] had soared. His raw speed and explosivity of muscle, the force generated with every twitch. It waxed despite a singular increase in value upon receiving his latest [Boon].

Not enough to prevent the next two slices. Fu was caught by shallow tips as his foe punched, grazing the edge of his dodge. He felt the blood well in minute lines on his hip, bringing him to retaliate with his own series of blows.

A striking combination from the [Wind Phantom Strides]. Clear, arching strikes with no feint. Their sole purpose to gain space. But a poor choice against this youth. Telegraphing his motions led to less distance. An appearance of daggers inside his guard.

Fu rolled back, setting his stance to the [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

Is he at a disadvantage at range, is this why he presses so close? I sho-

“Two points to the left,” voiced Yunhan.

[Half Cloud Step] would be uncontrollable. My control must return if I am to succeed.

With a toe trenched in sand, Fu showered his approaching foe. A moment’s respite in which to draw his chain, now spinning at a shortened grip.

The pair paced a slow circuit beneath this persistent hum. Fu’s hook in continual revolutions as a ward while he studied what he might.

Beneath the Clouded Court Squads uniform the youth’s [Ink] was well obscured, though at a guess he put him on the path of [Body]. His second guess - a more ingrained sort, an expectation of attributes associated with serpents.

Qi warbled in opponent, focused in juniper tones. And the daggers morphed, growing two a-piece at the youth’s knuckles to curve like an upper jaw. Ablaze with a malefic glow.

An increase to his reach is all I might know for now.

Sand exploded beneath the Initiate’s feet, propelling him towards Fu. But he lashed out his chain in horizontal snaps to counter, cartwheeling to the side. Again, he over compensated on the landing, yet at this distance he could afford a single mistake.

Fu rounded, and his hook was met with a clanging of metal. A block of crossed daggers that had his attack go limp.

The youth’s left blades made a spool of the slackened chain, and an attempt was made to draw him close with a pull. Likely a test, for the [Might] behind it was trite. Though he was left tethered despite it.

Stolen story; please report.

He made a choice to close the distance, but did so shortening the slack. Winding it in several turns around his arm and elbow until he was but four strides away, where he craned his leg up with ridiculous ease.

An overhead snap lost him no balance, and the subsequent jerk that tore the youth’s left pair free as the chain absorbed his force.

His foe rode the movement forward at a sprint.

A flash.

Fu cracked his knee up to meet an opposing kick, and a second. Three, four, descending then into a flurry. Both poised at a leg’s length. A snap, a counter.

A balance shift.

A measured blow.

A snap.

A counter.

A balance shift.

Each, Fu realised.

Where he saw open space, where his body led him by instinct and repetition of form…

The youth was there. Not a speck of entertainment nor strain held in his features. For his eyes barely moved before an anticipatory guard rose. Joints barely flexed. Positions barely switched in stance or distribution of weight.

To him, this was banal and lifeless.

Frustration came as a heat of insects. From spine to nape, and enough to redden his face more than the current exertion.

Not for loss, which would come soon enough. But for the lesson Yunhan tried to impart, and how Fu already knew it in his bones.

He was the frog, thrust from the well.

Clarifying that his intent was on the [Clouded Ghost Arts], and not solely cultivation, splitting, during his limited time-

Excuses.

The youth finished his toying, deciding by the right of all who hold skill the moment of Fu’s downfall. A snap, again. His kneecap, crumpling. A violent encouragement to the ground, followed by two rapid strikes to his back.

Yunhan’s voice overhead. “A single grain of rice does not fill an empty sack. You, Initiate, step up. Let us see it brimming.”

🀧

The extent of change from Fu’s [Teal Supple Physique] made itself clear over the span of those seven fights.

[Resilience], going unchanged.

Values as listed on his [Ink] were a half-solved mystery, given he had nothing to equate them to, or use as an accurate measure. He recalled The Enlightened Bandit, as its lessons seemed to surface in the bloated, red skin of his sorry hide.

Swollen, and set to blacken.

But he recalled them nonetheless, running parallel with Yunhan’s redundant teachings.

Attributes showed the growth of the cultivator. Dependant, and varied as they were based on one’s Bond. And these Initiates - those who had tread the path for far longer than he: both possessed greater insight into their [Arts] and forms, rewarding greater attributes in turn, and held understanding of how best to utilise these values.

Yunhan’s ire stemmed, he guessed, from the easy gain in strength that cultivation offered.

It might stem further if he was discovered now.

Fu traced from notice to notice, each a pinned parchment no wider than a palm. Hundreds, or thousands. Enough to put sections of a Scroll Hall to shame, and raised high as though reverence was expected should one approach.

After gently removing a notice from the wall, he crossed the Contribution Hall. A long, rectangular room where seven stairs took him from notices to floor, and a further seven steps to the counter where the hall’s master presided.

A greying elder, as he had come to expect of administrators. Three [Spirit Serpents] nestled lazily to his side, would about rolls of parchment as though they were branches.

“No.”

Fu had yet to present the notice. “Senior?”

The man did not bother to raise his head from whatever tome it was buried in. “You are not the first youth to try and fool this old man. Hardly cunning, no? To dither, and ply no subtlety. Are you truly of the Clouded Court Squads?” He stopped then, passing a span of ten seconds where he interred his finger into his mouth. Weaponizing the gained moisture to turn his next page. “Initiates may not volunteer for missions until their first is passed.”

A curse formed on Fu’s lips.

“Might this junior ask further?”

“Why would the Sect entrust vital tasks to those unproven? Counter-intuitive to throw the unskilled at problems that require the opposite. Now leave me, you are bleeding on my floor.”