Fatherly Asura

Thrice did Hushi stop Fu’s gaze from burrowing a hole in the structure’s side.

This pause had helped none, Udvah’ mirthful disposition aside. The monastic Vajra appeared in opposition to the room’s solemnity, seeming to be half-caught in a dream that played within the ornate eaves.

“It was [Karma],” broke Fu. “That is how you spied Master Yunhan.”

Tanshaui answered with a bow atop his knee before Zhu had deigned to open his mouth. “It’s painful to walk the Path of neutrality with a friend such as you. If I didn’t wish to pain you more than the loss of that arm has already, I’d jab at your expense.”

With a raised brow, Fu turned. “Oh?”

“It’s no wonder you’d never gained entry to the Thousand Shore City lottery. The quality of a haul would suffer if your nets were as convoluted as your [Karma].”

Fu could only shrug, knowing little of the subject.

“That was the storied Yunhan, then,” continued Zhu. “No jawline below the Heavens rivals that. A [Dao] would break upon it. Why scarves clad him… in truth I’m grateful. I’ve no desire to be wall flower.”

Udvah broke from his reverie, allowing Mangalam to join the gathering of [Spirit Beasts]. “Amituofo, was this disciple not married to the [Dao]...”

The three men shared forced smiles as another rumble had the building creak.

Conversation ceased after this, returning all to the lotus position. The [Spring Equinox] still exacted its toll, but this [Venerable Reed Sage] had implemented myriad counter measures to battle the depletion of ambient Qi.

Where daylight entered between window-slits, the [Old One’s Whisker] counted thousands of similarly inscribed [Arrays].

[Qi Condensation], [Qi Transformation] and so on, though their names were more stately and regal than the base types that Fu had committed to memory.

Shuidi once more suggested they cultivate, if only so they might field whatever advantages they could when next they were summoned. A similar impression came from Hushi, less forceful.

Fu shook. “Our [Channels] must settle,” he whispered, leaving the subject at that.

Time passed, and ended with a queer sensation.

The central senior had stood, a forefinger at his brow. Whatever process or [Art] maintained there lasted for several heartbeats before gracing the division.

An impression of [Mental Qi] brushed against each consciousness, one they could do naught but accept. Within a breath, the voice began.

“Eastern waves spill with the ferocity of tigers, and the raptors give chase. Do not dare look west, for serpents rise when the shadow of wings have passed.”

Poetry was no skill of Fu’s, yet the meaning was as clear as limpid water. Thus he rose, joining the concert of his fellows that had near emptied the room with a step. He saw hanfu flare in muted browns and civilian tones, the fabric snapping as if a sudden gust had plucked all that drew breath within the room.

And then it was empty.

The [Mental Qi] continued with less poetry once all had left, direct, for it came in Ban Bingbai’s slowed speech. “Ride in their wake disciples, this opportunity is a trove. But I’d have you make haste for the training hall. An initiate awaits there whose treasure cannot be lost. Disciple Gao, Disciple Zhu, you’ll know of what I speak.”

All within the division heard this.

“Spoken as if he is not to take the field,” noted Zhu.

Fu re-dressed himself, settling a tan douli upon his crown in which Hushi nestled tight. Around his comrades, all did the same. Brief changes that shed the Cloudy Serpent Sect uniform. “Our orders are clear,” he said, and crossed the threshold.

Cultivators rallied beyond.

Myriad robes and [Spirit Beasts] delineated upon the not-so-far precipice of [Venerable Reed Sage’s] great defensive [Array]. Sects in their hundreds, all gathered beneath the rousing words of their respective seniors.

A direction had been chosen.

Outward, far from the warring immortals above and what collateral damage might be inflicted when their full power was brought to bear.

The Cloud Gathering division spared glances behind as they departed.

Coronas of Qi flared around near one thousand figures, all rising beneath the Four Shaded Spear. A full spectrum that appeared like ascending meteors, spreading as a ring around the great weapon’s base.

Yunhan may well be there now. That we encountered him on his journey was fateful indeed. Or a product of [Karma] as Zhu says.

Fu held scant knowledge of the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s heroes. Follow current novᴇls on novel·fire·net

[Gleeful Viper] and [Thrice Clouded Boa] warred above, chief in their role against [Sixth Under Heaven’s] cataclysmic bamboo.

Yet who else?

Elders. The Matriarchs and Sect Leaders of each Sect gathered. Perhaps a handful from among the Seven Phoenixes and Five Dragons, or from Vajra clans that numbered close to this foe’s own Heavenly standing.

Whoever stood there, however, had a match. For this near-thousand were countered by an equal number from the Empire of Abundant Spring. Rising stars of orchid hue to combat the rallied forces of each monster present.

Awe filled Fu.

“A fragment of me wishes to remain, if only to view what form the Heavens truly take,” he said. “My [Core] cries out in protest.”

Zhu’s eyes were upon this same distant sight. “The world itself will shatter there. We’ve no place in such a clash.”

Always had the Four Corners Prefecture astounded Fu with its scale- always was Thousand Shore City his point of reference- but to look now at the several thousand li gap between their position and that of the immortals conjured no illusion of safety.

“Amituofo. Those in the sun are righteous. This disciple suspects protections are in place. The [Array] here, and more. If nothing else, a swift death is assured.”

None smiled at Udvah’s levity.

The massing cultivators stilled beneath a great and sudden beat. Bass reverberated through all souls with such a rousing note that Fu felt a warmth suffuse his belly.

It sounded from one source, deep within the scores of hanfu and [Spirit Beast] alike, and galloped as if a thousand horses had begun their march. And this rose as banners lifted- marred things of blackened edge and frayed sigil- relics from a tournament that had not passed.

First one hundred, and then more.

Tigers blazed on fields of azure, and boars flapped in the deadened, sun-beaten wind, all to preface this countering blow.

But those of Cloud Gathering allegiance raised no blade nor tong fa to cheer with newfound comrades and brothers-in-arms. Theirs was a quiet slink beneath this mass orchestration that held no part of their duties. Indeed, so shadowed was their role that Fu half-smiled, having never known of this organised resurgence to begin with.

Thus they burrowed through the wooden husks beyond [Venerable Reed Sage’s] vast [Array], feeling relief that they were no longer beneath the [Spring] within [Spring], buried beneath its equinox, and stole their first steps towards what remained of home.

🀦

Time was painted in flares of Qi, for the sun did not wither across hours. It blazed resolute upon the skyline, saturating all grounds in myriad hues with each traded blow.

What [Dao] clashed, what [Affinity] or profundity of martial talent - only the Heavens knew.

Fu’s bones held a differing perspective, creaking with incessant pressure, as his [Core] and very blood did the same. Each stride bore a strain of insignificance that cautioned him to never turn over his shoulder for fear of being unmade.

Monsters prowled those skies.

His preference were those below.

Dozens of Imperial [Spirit Beasts] had the citizenry at a march, aligned in columns that filtered in but one direction.

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The air was thick with dissipating specks.

From the middling shade of a shattered building, Fu grimaced at the scene. It bore eerie reminiscence with a not-so distant tale in how these souls were slaughtered and compiled into categories only the executioners held control of.

A family approached the mouth of these Imperials, ganged between foliage-rich [Spirit Bears], [Spirit Stags] and moss-soaked [Spirit Fish]. They required no treasure to parse the [Season] of their captives, and struck swift.

The father was of [Winter], and his [Spirit Ox’s] specks garbled the cries of his eldest son.

Then the son himself, of fifteen moons, was turned to the blade.

The mother.

The youngest daughter, an age Fu dared not dwell on.

A second family.

An elderly couple, the wings of their [Spirit Cranes] near entwined.

Then a woman of clear Sect belonging, decorated in silver bands and ivory trails. Of these dozen, she passed on.

Zhao Po trembled.

Then thunder rose in an announcing cry, heralding a tactless arrival.

Near forty cultivators lanced their qiang into the far edge of this collective, and the melee roared in earnest. Sky-toned [Spirit Toads] thumped into the Imperial mass, expanding their chests to birth a sudden downpour of rain.

[Nine Torrential Thrusts]. [Nine Rains Offensive Array].

A martial technique that can be used to create an [Array]?

In matching hue to their [Spirit Toads], the cultivators’ robes blared bright amidst the falling rain. They appeared unhindered as their steps led them ever deeper into the Imperial mass, skewering man and beast alike.

The Imperials had grown sluggish under the water’s weight, and indecision plagued those at the rear.

[Dao of Wayward Breezes].

Fu appeared beyond the rain’s reach, and plunged his blade into the neck of a scholarly Imperial before disappearing once more.

His [Ink] warmed.

Now on the gathering’s opposing side, he faded into the shadows of another ruin.

[Air Qi] manifested from a dozen sources where he had just struck, having the Imperials turn blind eyes to the ghost in favour of this more visible threat. Compressed blasts tore through the [Spirit Toads’] center, slanting the rain as several suffered at the hands of these shredding gales.

The rain-Sect reached halfway, sludging through a mire of bloodied civilians that held no interest to either side.

Hushi.

As the final row of Imperials made ready, Fu struck once more. The [Dao of Wayward Breezes] drew octopus and cultivator alike into a fell, sweeping wind, and their arrival was awarded with two fresh warmths upon their [Ink].

Again, they fled.

This second perch was paced far from his hidden allies, masked between crossed, fallen beams.

Here he witnessed the downpour cease, and a plunging of spears into all that yet writhed upon the ashen street. Gut-blows, or tips thrust into hearts. No gruesome blade to spill one’s throat or the dishonourable blows towards Bonds.

No righteous man would cripple their foe.

Reverence had the citizenry fold in supplication, again in columns, but now applause was on their lips. Cries came for their saviours and praise was lavished upon the sky-blue cultivators in passing, though it was a shallow thing.

Few showed the barest hint of face towards the citizens, and only turned to the senior at their fore. A hard-seeming man whose spear already hung towards the next horizon, urging each disciple on.

Late upon the path of [Core Formation], and peerless against these lower cultivation Imperials.

Fu wondered how long that might ring true.