Fatherly Asura

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Feng’s Master Bhaswar expected greatness from his apprentices, reflected well in the enormity of tasks he had the Gao clan’s youngest undertake.

At perch upon his estate- his rooftop- Fu nursed a cool saucer of spirit wine. “They are worked as they should be,” he nodded. “His Master is exemplary.”

The unwitting son tentatively stole home, ensuring that neither he nor Paxing disturbed the at-rest household at this late hour. A beleaguered mind made poor assassins, and even nepotism would not induct the pair into any semblance of the Clouded Courts.

But he tried, as ever.

“Tomorrow then? Young Yuling is still absent,” noted Zhu.

Under Shuidi’s [Misted Silence Array] their words would not reach below.

“Rest is more valuable than my interruption. An maintained that Feng already fits three days into one. To clear his schedule for an evening would require six then, no? Yuling’s absence is notable however and yet my eldest does not act without cause.”

Zhu passed a saucer to Tanshuai. “An inheritor of her Grandmother’s will.”

“Perhaps. Her absence is not irregular. The [Cherry River Sage] does as she pleases. What affairs she contends with are Heavenly and rare, no doubt.”

“That's not my meaning.”

Fu smiled. “I know, brother.”

🀧

The stove held formations. The baths. There existed a mechanical device inscribed with mundane [Arrays], existing solely for the use of laundering clothes. Basins filled with water on demand.

His gardens held a curated abundance of [Life Qi], [Wood Qi] and [Water Qi], nurturing the surrounding plants and [Spirit Herb] plantations.

Fu’s [Senses] held on a singular point.

A sinister villain that reason and the [Boundless Dao] could not discern, even beneath a fresh day’s [Summer] light.

“It is indeed troubling.”

Kang Jae nodded grimly.

The brutish Shaokang and Cu held the gestalt of cemetery wardens.

One diminutive pincer struck Fu on the cheek. “Fools,” came Shuidi’s voice.

And so these gathered men rose from the marginally discoloured grass of the Gao estate, cycling Qi that their minds might clear and no [Heart Demons] might foster from its presence.

“All these [Arrays] are of grand quality,” mused Fu. “My talents lie elsewhere, but the composition of Qi is harmonious. What might bring about such misfortune?”

With a push of his spectacles, Kang Jae offered his thoughts. “Not all serpents here are above [Foundation Realm]. A byproduct of their waste, perhaps?”

Shaokang glared at the myriad snakes in every crevice. “Serpents.”

“Best not to mind it. Kang Jae, have you plans for the day? Shaokang, if there are no regular duties to attend to, I would appreciate an escort for our guest.”

A grunt accepted this command.

“Normal… ah, my previous routines could not be completed in these circumstances… Gao Fu,” he explained around the point. “Time to spend at the local training halls would be appreciated? The techniques of Divine Clouded Mountain are surely myriad, and lesser tournaments are held often enough.”

Shuidi was skeptical of so loose a tether.

“Tournaments? If you discover any of worthwhile entertainment, please let me know. A novel way to spend the day, no?” smiled Fu.

Kang Jae clasped his hands, shuffling Gochi within his hanfu. “I will enquire. Gratitude, Gao Fu, for the… trust.” His gaze went beyond, finding the screen to Fu’s far rear. “Master Shaokang, I believe we should move swiftly. The space is needed.”

[Half Cloud Step] blurred Fu to his destination.

To the startled son upon whom his hand rested. “Feng, my son.”

Feng’s jaw trembled, and he separated into a bow. “Father! Hushi!”

“Come now my son, come now!” the father wished to say. “Have you become your sister, so full of propriety?”

Yet, this son, this man and cultivator had honor of his own. Face, to be respected.

“My son,” met Fu. “I see our family has flourished, and I am pleased for your part in it. A solid rock stands before me. Let me see you now.”

A beat of disappointment fluttered over Feng’s features, which was curious.

“Handsome, yes. Your cultivation is strong. Well tempered and with strong roots. An has spoken of your talents, and I see it is no exaggeration. What of your studies? The matter of this Eighty Seventh Ruoxuan, if that was her name? This musical… hobby you held, what of it? I would know all, my son!”

A [Constellation Seed’s] mists flocked before an answer could be given, and the ancient catfish materialized hence. “Gao Fu, introductions would be proper.”

Shuidi embodied the namesake of her voice. Curt and direct as all Young Mistresses ought to be. “This Gao Shuidi makes her presence known to Gao Feng and Gao Paxing, and should be addressed before any others!”

“Gao Shuidi! A fresh aunt to compliment our uncle. Greetings, Gao Shuidi, heart of my father’s heart. This son is Gao Feng, and his spirit exists as Gao Paxing, we are humbled to receive you in our home,” he said, extending a bow.

A mental hmph of satisfaction sounded.

“This one is named yeye by favoured daughter Yuqi’er. Old Master will suffice if such familiarity strains you, sons Feng and Paxing,” the catfish offered, puffing around the pair with much interest. “Scents of the [Half-Fierce Aptitudes Grass], ah, a smell to evoke memories! The Path of [Arrays] is noble indeed, young cultivators.”

[Half-Fierce Aptitudes Grass]. Is this not a stimulating powder used for a disciple’s study? Weak, but a vice if mishandled.

Fu masked his opinion as the introductions continued.

“Old Master would give less offence to one of your station,” clasped Feng, nervously addressing his father. “The [Half-Fierce Aptitudes Grass] is a staple within the meals provided by Master Bhaswar’s household, I know well the plight of its dependency, father. Please do not worry. Thousand Shore City and Divine Clouded Mountain are further apart than Heaven and Earth, but your wisdom on vices are a weightless treasure.”

A father can only trust.

“There are others for you to meet and a thousand tales to tell, but today I will be selfish. Are your duties clear, Feng. or am I to accompany you on your lessons?”

Feng smiled. “My day is clear.”

“An tells me that Yuqi has duties until this evening, and Yuling remains absent. The hour has just passed dawn, but might we explore the city? Surely my diligent son knows best where to fetch our morning meal.”

And so it went, touring this Nine String avenue about which his home was situated.

A thought to instil wonder.

His home.

A thought to brighten his mood every five paces, no matter the subject covered. How stringent his lessons had become and the expectations placed on him; strange reticence when Fu’s own tales were questioned; the beneficial Path of cultivation that Grandmother Hua had him follow.

Small things between fathers and sons.

Rearward held conversation between Paxing and the Old Master, pushing no small resonance of joy as the catfish merely spoke. Not of [Array] disruption or herbs that might still a cultivator’s heart, but of inside jokes and the specificity of Paths’ shared.

It grew infectious.

“...before it becomes so serious a matter,” falsely smiled Feng.

“Arts of courtship are not my speciality, and yet the heart is a grand wind to sail upon. Ripe plums fall, Feng, but never in one’s mouth.”

Feng rubbed his neck. “The Heavens conspire against me. Each time I attempt to speak, duty interferes, or her retinue bats me aside, or An’s condition worsens. A thousand curses block my path. Beyond that, her family is of the One Hundred and Eight. Some mere-”

“Gao Feng, you devil!” cut across the avenue.

A whoop of laughter escaped Paxing.

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“Feng, this is not the first cry I have heard.”

“Seventeen from windows unseen,” agreed Shuidi. “Admirable that Gao Feng is so rowdy! Has he left a litter of grandchildren in his wake?”

The son shrunk in stature. “No Aunt! Father, no it is-” Without hint of violence, a swarm of [Spirit Bees] converged to cut off escape.

“Evaded for the last time you cur!” roared a plump and green-haired woman of middle-aged appearance. “My mother, three sisters and brother have scoured the streets for you boy! Such dishonour is a blow to my family name.”

The three sisters are a feat unto themselves, if shameful, but the mother and brother? I knew the musician’s Path was foul. How low has the Gao clan fallen?

A spatial ring erupted, slamming four large sacks upon the street. “Reimbursement, reparations, name them what you will!”

“Young mistress,” pleaded Fu, only to have his words severed once again.

“Don’t pit your charm on me, Gao Feng.”

“Young mistress,” cut Fu.

The woman looked to have seen him for the first time, noting Hushi, Shuidi and the Old Master respectively. “Master cultivator, forgive this humble merchant. My business is with Gao Feng.”

“My son? From your fury I would guess the unspeakable has occurred. Yet, I know well my son. A [Demon’s] Path welcomes him, with strings as hollow as Gu.”

All those gathered looked aghast.

“Father? A [Demon’s] Path?”

“You are the Gao Patriarch? Sire to this kindhearted and generous boy?” she said, bowing. “Then we must offer thanks, for surely this behaviour is learned.”

Many of the bees lessened in volume, flocking to her rumpled robes.

A misunderstanding occurs, perhaps I am fit for the role of [Cherry River Fool].

“Son Feng, perhaps you could explain?” said Fu.

Already Paxing had taken the liberty of inspecting the thrown sacks, leafing through its contents with a probing finger.

“This youth tends to the [Arrays] of those that cannot pay for Master Bhaswar’s services, neglecting to collect the compensation when it is offered! His nature is not insulting, but even no price is a price, yes?”

Feng grasped his son’s shoulder, prideful to the last. “Mistress merchant, this humble father apologizes for his son’s behaviour. Our home before Divine Clouded Mountain was one of community and goodwill, not an exchange where every soul might name a price. Truthfully, the fact that you have provided an outlet for his continued practice is a matter for my thanks and not yours.”

The merchant considered. “Is this so, Gao Feng?”

“A passing wave is worth more than spirit stones, young mistress,” he bowed. “Please, forgive my rudeness.”

All features upon her softened. “Patriarch Gao, your house is troublesome indeed! Bah. If you’ve the opportunity, visit my shop. Effort is worth something, no matter these words.” Her departure was swift, leaving the sacks where they sat.

Fu vanished them into storage. “Household goods?”

“I had mentioned how ill-equipped our home is for An. There is… maintenance involved that cultivation removes the need for. Oversights that I am not talented enough to deduce.”

They managed another five paces.

“Gao Feng! You vexation!” cut across the avenue.

The father smiled.

🀧

Navigation through, indeed, a ward’s worth of reasonably agitated cultivators was a time consuming affair. That his son had made myriad connections in this new home was a wind to puff Fu’s chest well, and throughout each landmark visit, sight or point of interest that Feng brought him to, his smile had not ceased.

The lanterns now marked noon.

“I do not count the days,” Feng admitted.

Cool was the breeze that wound upon this lakeside. This third restaurant that Fu had chosen, finding the first two distasteful.

Artificial.

On a pristine jetty surrounded by growths of tended grape vine the company sat, awaiting all they had ordered from the server.

“A sign of busy hands and quiet mind. I said as much to your Uncle last night: that Master Bhaswar, or as I see now, your own mentality is admirable. This will come as oddity my son,” he began to say, feeling his [Dao] pang in conflict.

The [Dao of Coming Tribulations] applies to all things, and yet I wish him to experience more than just a singular thing. Study is noble, however, all under Heaven is vast.

“Father?” came after the pause.

“We have come far, Feng. To be able to enjoy a meal with my son, untroubled, what fortune is this? Hah, my [Dao] cannot remain silent, wishing me to remind that the toll of work does not become stagnant and dreary. Sails blow poorly in gentle winds, better then to choose that which blows fiercest. All winds, my son.”

Paxing was ever purposeful in gesture. The great [Spirit Ape] touched once his brow, following on to Feng’s heart.

“Again with matters of Ruoxuan?” sighed Feng.

“Across your sixteen moons I have missed much. In less than three [Seasons] I will depart again. A father cannot be blamed for nudging events, no?”

Steam rose from the many dishes that came to their table, fragrantly sweet with oiled sesame upon most.

Shuidi descended with [Demonic] fervor.

Of an informal arrangement, this restaurant held its seating upon the floor. Modest, if of Divine Clouded Mountain’s expected standard, and with a view across the misty lakeside that could draw one’s breath.

Even such a place would shun the [Spirit Crab’s] ravening behaviour before long.

[Life Qi] warmed Fu’s gullet as the first seared fish slid down. Servers ensured his tea was never empty, despite Feng’s protests that he would undertake the duty. The square outside saw the first plucks of a guzheng.

A good day, impressed Hushi, nigh engorged by the platters of fish he consumed.

Two parties entered the restaurant while the father innocently rolled his rice in rich oils, taking care not to tarnish his moustache.

“Nudged, father?” Feng either whimpered or growled. “Artificial, father?”

Internal laughter masked the sound.

Shown first to their table was a small retinue, split across three sets. Those to guard the Eighty Seventh’s household, replete with equally monstrous and noble [Spirit Lions], sat strategically about the restaurant.

Ruoxuan and her father settled central.

It was improper to take note of a youth’s features, but Feng’s affection was not misplaced. Of moss-green hair and cooler skin, she held a fragile grace, although her posture presented that more as a single edged jian.

Her father’s shared heritage was clear, if a miaodao more than plain jian for he had heft as he sat tall upon the cushions.

Fu had read little on the Eighty Seventh, noting only the [Spirit Bats] of inordinate size- and somewhat reserved external cultivation that were at roose on their shoulders. Two for the father, and Ruoxuan’s one.

“The Heavens do not align this way naturally, father,” protested Feng.

However muted, Paxing whooped.

“We live in interesting times. Is that her father? A fool guesses, but the Matriarch leads as [Eighty Seventh Under Heaven], no? A swift introduction may not trouble him. He has a strong bearing, Feng, and sits with patience.”

“Poor in security, however. This Gao Shuidi could not be denied by such foolish-”

Feng blinked with incredulity, unable to mask his laughter. “Aunty! Father!” he turned to Hushi. “Uncle, am I to presume you innocent?”

More fish entered the [Spirit Octopus’] chasm of a mouth.

The son unwrinkled his robes, standing.

With his righteous heart this introduction should go well. Youth are muchly free from the burden of standing and face, for inexperience is a worthwhile excuse. Even an insult might etch Feng into his Ruoxuan’s mind, should the father see it as such.

But [Karma] was no free gift.

No.

The Heavens blessed not with unearned abundance. What mundane souls found when scorned by immortals, or when the lesser folks suffered injustice enough that fate itself rewrote was no boon.

Merely the opportunity.

One pace beyond their table and the third party roused, preceded by the shattering of a fine ceramic cup. “...and why must we suffer through it?”

An adolescent server stooped to collect the fragments, ire upon his face. “The musician is free to roam as he pleases, master cultivator. That he plays the ‘Ten Marches of [Lovestruck Hermit]’ is no concern of this establishment.”

Bold, this man. Admirable and foolish in equal measure.

His [Spirit Fox] was upon a distant counter, watching the scene with one half-opened eye.

“The song is an insult, proprietor. It makes light of the Brilliant Purple Mountain Sect’s efforts against the Warring Tribes. Our Matriarch’s ancestors hail from that Sect, and we do not care for the association. Silence him.”

Not so subtle attention was drawn to the guzheng player outside. A man that held no affiliation or dire proximity to this restaurant.

Feng had crossed half of the distance to Ruoxuan’s table, keeping mindful of this scene.

“Nine String avenue laws hold favor for musicians, master cultivators. This man’s life is not mine to sway. Perhaps you might ask him yourself? Otherwise, flavor or nourishment?” spoke the server.

Nine [Spirit Beasts] crowded the four, seated cultivators. Purple iconography was emblazoned upon their hanfu, printed with slender yellow chains clutched within vulture talons. An evident [Heritage] given what now cawed in disdain about them.

“This is the minimum of service I expect,” spat the assumed lead disciple through clenched teeth. “Treatment of this kind shows little sense. See how few tables are filled? We had thought to grace this struggling business with our earnings, but I know now why it lies ever empty. Rectify this, that our day not be spoiled.”

Surely this proprietor had the heart of a dragon, for his eyes rolled. “Flavor, nourishment or another restaurant. Choose well, master cultivators.”

Hushi broke from his devastation of fish to impress a cringe.

“This proprietor walks by the river! Gao Shuidi admires this [Spirit],” the [Spirit Crab] mused.

“Senior brother, the proprietor’s attitude shows no regard for our Ephemeral Vulture Hall!” chimed another, supported in caws. “Reparations are in order.”

“Farewell cultivators,” clasped the proprietor.

Spittle flew from the furthest disciple, sullying his brow.

To his maddened credit, the proprietor spat back.

My eyes must deceive me, I did not think this place a noodle shop. It holds the same curse though, no?

Links of metal clinked like familiar kin. Three sets upon the lesser disciples of this Ephemeral Vulture Hall while their most senior smashed another saucer before shouting an address. “Little brother, you should not have acted first! Shameful! But proprietor, we cannot accept such an insult. A mere cook dares attack martial experts so?”

The proprietor drew a wok from spatial storage. “Seven restaurants in nine moons! There is entitlement and there is madness! I do not tolerate the whimsy of bloated cultivators. Carp hold no power over frogs, even if their dragon gate lies closer.”

“Five fingers will suffice, junior brother. Make it clean for the trouble you have caused,” ordered the head disciple.

A chain flew.

All but perhaps two customers blinked.

Within segments where link met link, a chopstick now pinned this chain to the far wall. What [Might] had sent it- or more surprisingly, both chopsticks across the room had torn it clean from the violent disciple’s grip.

“You dare?” cried another.

Fu shot another chopstick forth, pinning a second chain as it made for the proprietor.

As did another.

Ruoxuan’s father rubbed his empty hands together.

The senior disciple’s [Senses] were more refined than most Fu had come across, and utterly insufficient to attempt discovery against the [Clouded Ghost Arts]. What the fool found against a Numbered of the Vajra he could not say.

“Son Feng,” called Fu. “It has been long since I had a meal of this quality. My taste is unaccustomed! Have you any complaints? Without insult, could you improve upon it? To have such a feast in our dining hall would be a boon indeed.”

Caught in the attention of all, Feng did not waiver. “I could not father. Before external improvements, one must look about their own home three times, no? There is much to learn.”

“Outstanding!” The fist of Ruoxuan’s father hammered the table. “A grand wisdom, young cultivator. Daughter, we will try the dish that inspired such words.”

Those of Ephemeral Vulture Hall stammered. “Three times?”

“That youth puts blame on us?”

Ruoxuan’s father met Fu’s eye, roaring a mirthful flame in each iris as both turned to the proprietor. “This scent of sesame returns mortal constraints to me. A madness of hunger. What say you, master cultivator? Would you forgive me should I grow senseless in the face of a thunderous stomach?”

“Many acts are forgivable, friend,” nodded Fu, raising his saucer respectfully. “More so if you overlook my own restlessness, for it is growing swiftly.”

Ephemeral Vulture Hall deposited a sizeable stack of middle-grade spirit stones upon the table, bowed low, and took flight into the avenue beyond.

Each father’s laughter merged.

“Our need for apologies has fled with the hounds!” rumbled Ruoxuan’s father, his voice that of low, bassy tones. “A choice encounter. Outstanding, that it did not come to blows: the very reason we frequent this place. The proprietor holds a sensible attitude. I would know you, my partner in brazen words.”

“Gao Feng,” interrupted Ruoxuan. “This Eighty Seventh Ruoxuan has not seen you in many [Seasons], are you well? Ba, Gao Feng is the victor of Master Bhaswar’s apprenticeship. Recently moved. Do you recall?”

The affectionate Ba had Ruoxuan’s father redden. “Daughter, you embarrass me before fresh company! So rarely might I have such an outstanding encounter. Comport yourself.”

Much love showed in her complete disregard for his words. “Gao Feng, would you join us?”

“I have suffered blades less deep than the wounds you inflict, daughter,” sighed the father, massaging his temples. “Cultivator Gao, there is room aplenty here if you wish it. To save face, and these youths from rumours of scandal, I would request it.”

Fu nodded. “One cannot deny the Heavens their whimsy.”

A stride away, Paxing whooped.