Fatherly Asura

The Path reveals its Heroes plainly, and further rewards those that follow a Sect’s chosen [Heritage].

Yes, in my youth I had fancied myself a candidate of the Myriad Owl Archives- before my own Path was clear, you see. Now those self-righteous fools bend in supplication for but a kernel of my vast wisdom.

And yet this folly was born of youthful wonder.

My heart is ever of the tortoise, for Hujin.

One hundred moons prior I might have chased a [Spirit Owl] as companion, joining the Orthodoxy of their ranks and to stand within a pace of my would-be seniors’ shadows.

[Yellow Mountain Quill] perhaps, or [Patriarch Never-Trembles].

What loyalty these inspire, and of a form that might be replicated a thousandfold across any category of Sect, Hall or Association.

A faction, led by beacons of [Prowess] and [Heritage] exemplified.

Plain, is your love for me disciple. The reverence. Oh do not attempt to fool me, I see your longing plain as flawless gems.

Your Bond, a [Spirit Tortoise] as mine is.

How could you not wish to mirror the greatness that is I?

“Pariahs of Heritage,” by [Buried in Papyrus]

Fu’s jaw firmed further. “A [True King Realm],” he told the night air, expecting no answer.

From violet canopy to distant horizon, the [Imperial Realm] seemed settled. The [Demonic] insects were lethargic in peace, biding until fresh blood might run and nourish them anew.

For now they were as constellations, aglow upon leaf and fern.

Their feast would come soon.

Deep in the ziggurat’s bowels, the Wayward Winds toiled. As they had for hours already, and as they would until their Senior’s final call arrived.

[True King Realm].

The notion was hard to parse.

What confidence had shown before Yifei was no farce. His [Spring] foes would bleed, of this there was no doubt. All reports from his juniors indicated as such, no matter their number or talents, even the presence of their True Orchid elite.

A hundred Mirduls, poised to enter [Gleeful Viper’s] realm should the order come.

Ten of thousands at their rear.

Again, he spoke aloud his worry. “[True King Realm].”

Space distorted at his side, delivering Udvah to the ziggurat’s peak. His chuckle was welcome, as was Mangalam’s greeting croak. “Amituofo, senior,” he bowed, treading a path around the recent corpse of a vast [Spirit Condor]. “Thoughtless, for this beast to crowd your perch, no?”

“A sadness, perhaps. Too quick to anger are this realm’s inhabitants.”

Udvah spread a somber grin. “Are not most? If this lacking disciple caught only a sidewards glance he might see hanfu in place of feathers. That beak bears much resemblance to Martial Head Su.”

A laugh escaped Fu, despite the moment.

Shuidi found the comment immensely pleasing.

“This lacking disciple will demand a thing,” said Udvah, seeking no permission. An oddity might have followed, if neither of this pair held belonging to Clouded Courts and the division that bolstered it.

[Ink] peeled from the Vajra’s arm, flowing as if his finger were a quill. A force not laced [Profundity] despite its golden nature, and with it, Udvah wove a symbol atop the canvas of night’s gentle air.

Swirls and well defined lines, arcing until their end. Three dots placed thereafter.

Clarity washed Fu of small doubts. More so the longer this symbol hummed, cleansing not his troubles, but aligning each in greater detail.

“Brother,” Fu blinked. “This [Constellation Seed] well suits your Path. But what of this figure- this symbol woven? Distant am I from the One Hundred and Eight, and to sound foolish I would connect it to something transcendent and deep.”

“As you say. Amituofo. Peerless are these treasures, no? To adapt to one’s concept, affording growth along the Path followed. The [Hermetic’s Musing Oil]. Of sultry name, perhaps,” Udvah laughed. “Yet this lacking disciple is blind to his own conjuration. No name has yet revealed itself, only visions. In it, see fragments of enlightenment.”

The douli lifted, and Hushi crept forward to bask in its mild light. Forays of [Dao] and the [Twin Mockeries Heartplume] had tested much of his mental fortitude, and this sight spoke of swift invigoration.

Udvah traced a second outline, wearing mischief upon his face. In short breaths he flicked a phantasmal bottle of spirit wine against Fu’s chest. “A lacking exchange from a lacking friend. This disciple is no Zhu- his physique charms neither Matriarchs or immortals - yet, these ears are open to all words.”

“Of Blue Marches we have walked few. At the peak of [Core Formation Grade] we might clutch the victory we hold merit in. Actions of ghosts. SIlent deaths and subtle acts. For a [True Lord Grade] this grows slighter. My better sense demands we do not enter the realm above it, as the very air might crush us. A raindrop might fall with the strength of ten thousand qiang,” Fu said. “[True King Grade]. My shoulders are too slight and my back crooks too far to brush against true immortals.”

“A mystery then,” smiled Udvah.

“Ah, but our duty demands perseverance. What remains in this uncertainty is the magnitude of what we might accomplish. For all our tribulations, I feel this challenge as a physical force. Here, at the edge of my palm.”

This had Mangalam croak. Clear worn surprise upon his toadish features.

“Challenge?”

Fu’s nod was grim. “None other. Yet, is this not odd? Three hundred [Constellation Seeds] recovered speak of three hundred realms. An untrue count, for our Wayward Winds have traversed countless more. Replace this [Paifang] with any deed and it is a [Reliquary’s] [Trial], a Repository reaped or Imperial slain. A thousand acts that culminate here.”

The next hum was pensive, and Udvah held his eyes firmly shut. “To bleed a realm of [True Kings], in any degree, this paves a Path of confirmation. Stairs of shaded mortar and crimson-soaked validation,” he waxed. “Inevitability. Friend Gao Fu, is this what your [Dao] reveals?”

[Water Qi] formed rivulets upon Fu’s fingertips. Beads that coalesced between the pair, splitting until only two orbs suspended there.

His will clashed together these opposing forces.

“[Karma] pushes us ever onwards. A cultivator’s will. The Heavens. One wave among the greater tide. Struggle will always come. Another wave, another current, another breeze,” he said, and one bead collapsed under the weight of the other, absorbing what did not spill. “One cannot deny themselves the chance to ride upon it. To dare. For only then is worth made clear.”

Udvah caressed his own earlobes, extended beyond before. “Amituofo. The [Dao] that is spoken is not the [Dao], and yet, here Gao Fu does. A gratitude, friend, for inspiring such jealousy. This lacking disciple will reflect on this, finding his own insight poor in comparison. If the tide carries him well, that is.”

🀦

He called a day, and now its end neared.

In depths, the [Paifang] glowed.

Imperials waited.

[Arrays]: Mother and Daughter, Boundary, Defensive, Conversion, Multiplication, Qi Condensation, Regenerative, and four hundred and seven overlapping inscriptions manifested across two apparitions. These circuits conspired into roots.

One system that spanned no less than several hundred li. How insidious they grew- sprawled and pulsed in ethereal orchid, devastating the ziggurat’s framework.

But worse, or equal in the eyes of elderly catfish, lingered months of portentous scale.

Spectral, and unceasing in their watch.

[Half Cloud Step] flung Fu from ingress to ingress. Worming passage to vast chamber, and more. Amidst the crumbled ruins there hid a wealth of entrances, dominated by what instrict named the [Spirit-Killing White Marsh Array].

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Plain in view, Yifei called forth her host.

Her three [Seasons] of toil stepped then, mild and challenging. First was the strut of a mended Lord, tall in maroon plumage and avian shrewdness. So spoke his glint: a flame within the irises he levelled against [Array] and root.

Then second, of lightning-rich antlers a [Spirit Stag] unfurled. Her form shimmered into that of human features, unveiling a pristine woman that clad herself in naught but a storm’s fury.

At the end of a mossy jian leapt a vivid [Spirit Ape]. Some clear Lord for the corroded jewellery that banded wrist, tail and brow, if his mood spoke of lesser beings. His blades numbered three, juggled between palm, palm and tail, prompting no small delight of whoops from their wielder.

Three [Seasons] however.

Not three hours, three sticks of incense burned nor three short and fleeting days.

Rear to those honoured with first arrival split a true court of Heaven. An Oxen of a woman, bearing in width of shoulder what mountains might consider vast. The darkened [Spirit Serpent], needing no human features to affect her lordly presence. Feathered horses arrived, transforming through a [Winter’s] rain to reveal youthful twins along this assembling line.

And so it multiplied.

A creed of Lordly beasts entered this vast expanse before the [Spirit-Killing White Marsh Array] to fidget and snarl, sneer and curse, sigh and stare, projecting their disdain for fools of [Spring] and the claim they dared stake on this realm.

Thirty four Lords.

Their courtiers followed.

Where noble clans, the high-numbered of Vajra, Matriarchs and Magistrates might wait or march, posture and threaten, the denizens of this realm did not. Arrayed they were, but in moving prowl, suspended in air or upon crumbling foundation. But they shared one similarity with the courts of humanity, for among them was a silence, forced through expectation.

Yifei’s advance was a parting of these tides, conjuring averted gaze and slight whimper as her daxiushan flowed along the cavern’s ground.

The [Twin Mockeries Heartplume] gleaned this all: an unseen shroud behind her [Spirit Serpent’s] coils.

It saw her arrive, and belittle the resplendent barrier before her. Indeed these spectral moths lost luster against her, dimming against her status and gestalt.

Manifestations of sparse intelligence, possessing no sense of self or preservation.

And they wavered, crowding instead of the [Array’s] slinking roots. Great cylinders without gnarl or blemish that wide crept about her position.

“Imperials of [Spring] and false Empires, know that Zheng Yifei of the Cloudy Serpent Sect stands at your door! Am I not to be greeted?” she spoke, and her voice brought with it the depths of a mountain.

The [Mockery] beheld motion behind the depths of the [White Marsh Array]. A sight muddied behind the encasement of spectral trunk and moth.

Fu’s true vision was not so impeded, nor that of Udvah’s.

But through the lens of his [Constellation Seed], thirty thousand cultivators turned. Thirty thousand Blue, and thirty thousand beasts.

As for Yifei, there came a parting.

With a swift enlargement of trunk arrived ten cultivators not of this hue, clad in tones of orchid and all the benefit such a station granted. Their variety matched that of the beasts, for one was wide of gut and another, gaunt as the summonings of the Western Bone Cult.

Azure-haired, onyx-skinned, daoist-seeming.

Partnered with embodiments of nature’s wroth, as fonts of magma comprised the hide of one [Spirit Crocodile], or stars orbited the crown of a [Spirit Shrike]. Elements and [Affinity] seemed as one upon them, and even in mild spectation did the [Twin Mockeries Heartplume] struggle to hold them within sight.

“Amithabha, Zheng Yifei of the Cloudy Serpent Sect,” spoke this leader among monsters. A woman of plump health and motherly warmth. “This one is named Preeti, the Morning Dew. Need it be asked why you have come?”

“To rectify slights against those you cannot comprehend, Mistress Morning Dew. When the mountains are void of serpents then the monkeys act like kings, no clearer is that than now. Make amends, [Spring]-blind cultivators. Cripple yourselves that my mercy might come swifter.”

Mistress Morning Dew passed an affectionate smile. “Oh? Child, these words are violent. Amitabha, mewling babes should not cry for more than milk, no?”

A third voice joined, presenting a leery youth of peerless physique. “A fiery little woman, isn’t she? I’ll have this one,” he said, venturing from the safety of the [White Marsh Array] to stand aside Yifei in a blink.

Yifei held still.

“A late [Core Formation] brat, but oh, of hidden depths.” The cultivator stroked his knuckles across Yifei’s exposed shoulder. “Play well, little woman, and I may keep you.”

The [Twin Mockeries Heartplume] saw more. A sigh, a grin, neutrality, and on the fourth orchid-clad cultivator, notice.

Too late.

Fu’s tampering had ended some time ago.

It was a sagely sort that withdrew his talismans, spiralling chit-thin papers to secure upon the [White Marsh Array]. Of thick ivory brow, he furrowed in study, drawing his four [Spirit Crabs] forth to converse.

“Fourth Dipped Quill,” blurred a messenger, kowtowing upon arrival.

This sage scowled. “The [White Marsh Array] suffered a lapse of flow for three beats,” his ire burned, continuing throughout the act performed on Yifei ahead. “My circuitry is not so able to be compromised. In positions nineteen, five thousand and six, seven, and six thousand two hundred and eight the [Thousand Etchings Earth Ginseng] has been depleted by one hundredth. Eastmost the integrity of the seven-hundred year [Demonic Spirit Tiger Core] flows with irregular volume. Clearly your maintenance has marred my creation.”

“Honoured Fourth Dipped Quill!” protested the messenger. “The-”

Fourth Dipped Quill scowled further, and the cavern’s ground liquified. It consumed what explanation might have come, burying the messenger whole. “Learning is a weightless treasure, but these apprentices- Bah.”

“Worthy dedication. Hmm. His guesswork is shy of five compromised circuits. A shame, for his junior was surely aware.”

Yifei remained… those of [Spring] might have assumed rigid. In short hours together, Fu knew her look to be dispassionate. That of her, and her [Spirit Serpent’s] weary stare, focused only the dim glow of their intended [Paifang].

“Oh, her fire fades,” the youth laughed, dramatic to no end as he cupped her chin. “Bite. Scratch. Strike me, little woman, I’d welcome the challenge. Let my blood roil with insolence, that I’d be soon sated by your future submission.”

A brooch resonated, though this man could not know such things.

“I am Zheng Yifei, Inner Disciple of the Cloudy Serpent Sect,” she said. “Know, Fu Gao, that this vexation squares our debt.”

Shuidi shuddered.

“Fu Gao?” snorted the one at her chin. “Madness isn’t an attractive quality. No, you’ll know your master before long. I…”

Thirty thousand cultivators turned. Thirty thousand beasts turned.

The [Paifang’s] arch turned.

Gentle white became deepest violet, matching the [Ink] of the ghost that corrupted it. The hue of the mirthful toad whose [Shaving of the First Gate] corrected its pathways.

Fu’s mathematics had far improved in seven [Seasons] and beyond. Never could he seek employment in accountancy, in book-keeping or the business of auctions. Yet at a guess, thirty thousand and three motions occurred in sequence.

First came Yifei’s fury.

Bands of liquid silver flowed about her vexation, contorting and summarily exploding the arms of the one that dared touch her.

Second came the buzzing calamity, for through Udvah’s tainted [Paifang] arrived such a tide of insects that the realm itself might be consumed in their wake. The [Demonic] foe. These parasites, entrenched in a thousand, thousand beasts that lunged from the gateway.

Perhaps thirty thousand and four, given how the unwitting [Spring] Imperials were bled in seconds. A third, where the swarm plunged into myriad open wounds to overwhelm proper sense with foul [Demonic Urges].

Then fourth, as the True Imperials blurred to save their fellow. A bloodied, lust-filled cripple, screaming with all the dignity of an intolerant child. “You dare? [Summer]-filth. Sun-dappled bitch. Once I’d thought to grant you pleasure, but no, you’ll not enjoy what comes next!”

Yifei’s [Spirit Serpent] struck once. A flick of the tail, smearing half this fool’s body across the intervening distance.

Against the [Array’s] spectral shell, and a trunk that the True Imperials could no longer pass.

🀦

More than some fell shadow, Fu became irritation incarnate.

This Fourth Dipped Quill proved of immeasurable talent, possessing not only talent to rival the Old One and his [Intermediary Wisdom] but an infinite wealth of treasures. Talismans flew forth, if in patchwork methods.

Quilts, not quills, Shuidi mused in teasing, for these were no better than cloth draped across a torn sail.

That his [Spirit Crab] could laugh prickled cold along Fu’s back.

Measured steps, sister. Let us not succumb to confidence’s toxins, we face one near the peak of [Core Formation].

Contrary to the maelstrom below- of opposing sides and clear demarcation, another battle raged. A secret affair: the never-storied battle of [White Marsh], so named for the [Array] that these forces contested.

From spectral ceiling Fu blurred.

Seven-hundred strides east. Three south. His palm met a circuit, entering one droplet of bland Qi into the inscription. Shuidi repeated this well across, in north and west. Then again, at true north, south-west, and flowing variations.

Ad nauseum.

The [Demonic Urges] bloodied all below, surging errant Qi, viscera, weapons and [Dao] to all corners of this perilous cage.

Could the [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] permit sweat, Fu might have drowned.

In three hours his body was taxed. His mental energy, drained. The Qi that comprised his physique had been replenished thrice, spending the valuable deposits of [Origin Qi] he had harvested from [Dances Upon an Ivory Sea].

But what was this but another dangerous wind?

Another hour slogged in passage. Another two.

Yifei stood sentinel beyond the [Spirit-Killing White Marsh Array]. Defiant beyond the reach of root and moth.

Her marshalled hordes were restless behind.

This is but an immortal’s breath. Hours. Strain. Let these be carried on the wind, for they are as light as its touch.

Fu’s lips firmed as Fourth Dipped Quill ceased their combat, ceding control of the [Array] to distant Shuidi. Was it pride, he wondered, to think he might seal victory against an existence as ancient as the Old One?

Or common sense, to eliminate the source of his vexations.

The scholarly Imperial unfurled a tapestry of talismans, all alight in citrine aura. A flock to reach all corners above the fray, touching [Array] and air in an effort to seek whoever was responsible for the cultivator’s disrupted efforts.

To control so many, that is no small talent.

Circuits formed from the marriage of talismans, blazing with greater colour than before. Hundreds, or perhaps thousands, converting their papyrus edge to that of elemental blades.

[Water Qi], [Earth Qi], [Fire Qi], [Wood Qi] and [AIr Qi].

[Affinities] of mortal understanding.

Their appearance gave Fu pause, for only a confident sort would launch such an attack on foes unknown.

“Flee,” urged the Old One, highlighting the great spectral trunk.

[Half Cloud Step].

Wings closed upon his prior position not two heartbeats after this thought. An inversion of the [Array] that pushed moths from exterior to inner space. Not one, but a spare dozen, intent on his position no matter how swift Fu danced.

For his every leap came a swivelling of body, a turn of wing that marked his current location.

“They seek your [Spirit], even suppressed. As last to touch this [Array], the constructs know you, Gao Fu.”

The ghost grimaced, narrowly dancing a seventh, twentieth and forty ninth. Lethalities of blade and construct, hastening as Fourth Dipped Quill finally set his sight upon Fu. Gold then flocked to his hand, [Profundity] massing as he spoke. “Of eternal attempts and boundless paths, when followed, when iron-clad, but one result rises. [Dao of the Seamless Execution].”