The [Dao] are all, and eternal, but you have not opened this tome to read a thing as blatant as this.

But none were loved by it or known to be measured in this way until the One Hundred and Eight emerged- treasures in the palms of the [Two that do not Seek].

Others might prattle, or wax lyrical on aeons passed.

Let me say now, none still stand from that time. And for those that worry of my health since publication, I will say that any that might, the hitherto Hidden Masters or such nonsense, well, I would reply that several millenium of life would grant better judgement than to take insult at these words.

So we are left with vaguity, and topics for other tomes. I will state that once, there were none, and now, there are.

Yes, the [Two that do not Seek] walked the lands, preaching in silent word and demonstration how best the [Dao] might grant its love.

Ascetic living, the martial way, contemplation.

Their wisdoms are still traded today, and valued despite how time has ravaged their parables, warped their tradition, and filled the likes of prostitutes and fisherman with such self importance that they think themselves profound.

If I cared enough to ink histories on it, I would. But I do not.

Thus we have the Vajra, as they are colloquially known, arrived, with foreign skin and foreign ways, until they were not.

Until what lessons they preached had become…

Morphed.

Adapted.

Or perhaps, gentrified.

And that is where my commentary will begin.

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

The hairs prickled on the rear of Fu’s neck. Cold, as if a breath had touched it. Though he put this down to nerves.

Or fatigue.

In his favour, however, the riot of lights did not allow eyelids to dull. He was curled in the crook of an adjacent rooftop, tight to the slope. Almost breathless, for he would not chance any of the myriad patrons below catching sight of him.

A full three stories of fabric and warming glow, ringed in balconies that seemed built more for spectacle than function. Boxes, he supposed, with these silken sails falling on either side. Granting the perimeter street, and the eyes on all four sides, a taste.

As Yunhan had instructed, Fu fastened the sights to his memory.

The avenues of entry to the Winter Blossom Teahouse. Those who frequented it, their supposed allegiance, the number of young, fairy-like attendants that were poised on its front facade to lure in the passing purses. He noted it all, as he had done for the last hour, and an hour the previous night.

Trading what time he had set for sleep in order to make his progress. Already, he had lost several days to his training.

Given the moonlit hour he could only observe the teahouse’s closing. It would begin shortly, he knew, as a tide now exited the building. Merchants, by their dress, of meagre and mortal standing. And most, with an entourage of peers.

Fu was not interested in these.

He had noted that those with a higher standing were granted leave to remain longer, most assuredly as a tithe of respect. Minutes, for some, though the previous night had shown the appearance of freelance cultivators. [Spirit Beasts] at their tail.

Hushi impressed an image as the ornate doors were closed once more. His focus was on glimpsing the interior, and what stood within. As such, his Bond had settled one story below.

It was not revelatory.

Still I see no sign of warriors, nor cultivators that might offer security. I am unused to tearooms, but the patrols of guardsmen, these Warrior’s Association cultivators, are infrequent. They are either foolish, or subtle, if the proprietor has raised the ire of the Clouded Court Squads to be scheduled for death.

After another span of minutes the lingering crowd had cleared, and Fu saw the balconies empty. Fabric-draped attendants moved from their vantage on the balconies, disappearing through screens to leave the street bereft of any colour but the ruby-tinged lanterns nearby.

Fu focused on his [Clouded Ghost Arts], peripheral trepidation rising. There was little value remaining so far from his target. So he leapt, flying from his perch to have the street below streak by.

His landing was soft, and he descended the teahouse rooftop until he was positioned but a drop away from the nearest balcony. Then thought better of it, stealing to the opposing side. To enter above the main doorway would be unwise.

A soft [Summer] waft swayed the trailing fabrics in his favour, half-wrapping around this balcony’s side. Fu touched down under cover of this, slinking back as his heart quickened.

At Initiation, I might have fled should trouble rise, but-

He clung to the wall. The time to be lost in musings was later, if at all.

Gently, Fu expanded his [Senses]. [Initiate] was a true reflection of his skill in the [Clouded Ghost Arts] in that it took no small effort to do so correctly. Thus when he suffused himself with Qi, suppressing the signature with his newfound technique… it was not a quick thing.

But in long moments his hearing turned acute, and he pressed tight against the outer seam of the balcony’s screen.

A grinding, as seats were pushed back. Their occupants, standing.

The rough padding of claws, tapping half upon wood and half upon rug.

Pleasant farewells exchanged.

A small span of minutes later, a door closing and a stifled sigh. Relieved.

All this was hard to place amidst the susurrus of the Four Corners Prefecture’s streets. Though these sounds were discarded, unimportant as they were.

“Li Chengxi,” none said, and so Fu pressed closer.

The bolstering of his [Senses] did not discriminate, drawing forth the scent of fragrant tea leaves. Enough to tickle his nostrils. And further, kindling a familiarity with how his home would smell once Grandmother Hua had set to boiling her own.

“-generous.”

A snort responded, unexpected from the women he had spied. Graceful and prim, manicured as though sculpted for the sole purpose of allure. “Cultivators can’t be bothered to break change. It’s no generosity. Tael is simply less convenient to carry than a single Spirit Stone.”

“Take care not to turn green, Yu’er,” laughed a third voice. “Just because you’ve not received a single favour tonight.”

“Oh, I am green? Please, older sister, do cut free that grime of powder on your face so we might see your own skin. Then we shall know who is green.”

“Sisters,” chimed another. Authoritative.

A sweeping broom punctuated this. The clink of porcelain. Footsteps, distancing, quick to fade over the passing seconds. Save for the creak not one pace through the screen.

Fu could not make out the silhouette, though he saw the shade cast at his feet. The sure mark of gloom that crept through where his ear was pressed.

“Mistress Li.”

“The Warrior’s Association cultivator. A new patron. What is his standing?” queried another voice. A shadeless sort, either by distance or under power of something else.

“A novice, Mistress, freshly entered to the [Formation Realm].”

Something sounded, akin to fingernails tapping upon wood. “If he is to return, see what you might glean from him. A private room, and finer stock. We have yet to gain an ear in their organisation, and the inexperience of youth will work against him.”

“He is stalwart, Mistress.”

Next, the crack of a palm against skin. A blow that had the struck woman fall against the screen.

Beneath the douli, Hushi tightened his arms.

“Then he will seek to discover the source of this bruise. Conceal it tomorrow, poorly. Twist his duty, pull him close, and put those lips to better use than offering excuses.”

“A-as you say, Mistress.”

The screen shook as the woman lifted, but Fu waited. Only one set of footsteps had sounded in her passing. But there came a shift. Almost imperceptible. A rubbing, perhaps. Movement upon fabric, the hairs of a rug chafing against a sole.

Closer now.

Yet still, no shadow showed beneath the frame.

A second chafing.

Fu tensed. If his face was exposed he would be undone. He could strike- No. A name mentioned in passing was no confirmation. He could- No.

No.

[Half Cloud Step].

At the moment of the screen’s opening there came a break to the silence. No crash or screech, or shriek of discovery. But a gentle rolling that beckoned the teahouse’s light to spill across the balcony.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

And the whipping fabrics that still danced in winds born from the fisherman’s hasty escape.

🀧

“Again,” said Yunhan.

Fu called upon his [Half Cloud Step], and the senior brother at his front called upon his finest look of disappointment.

“Gao Fu. You spill Qi like rice from a mouse-tended sack.” What could be seen above the man’s scarves returned to neutrality. “I fear that your first mission will be harder if this is what you displayed.”

“I am certain that my [Clouded Ghost Arts] helped it escape notice,” returned Fu.

“Yet you cannot replicate it now,” shook Yunhan. “I might be assured that is false were it many others Initiates, though my trainees this year are not subject to the usual pride that accompanies the freshly inducted. At times, the Heavens do align, and at times, instinct prevails over practice.”

As he recalled the events of mere hours ago, Fu saw Li Chengxi’s form in the doorway. He had nestled himself in a roof’s slope under cover of dark, barely granting a view of the frame. Though even with this, his target had not possessed the bearing of one alarmed.

Unless it was an act. But I cannot say that with certainty.

Yunhan let loose a whistle of sharp and heightened pitch, attracting Niharika to their side in a handful of moments. Her chest inflated with the familiar pattern of exertion, but otherwise she awaited the address.

“Niharika,” he started, exposing his mouth. “Gao Fu presents a lesson. Did you see our exchange?” The Vajra shook, and Yunhan instructed Fu to recount the night’s events.

Which he did, with perhaps too much annunciation. An over-leveraging of lips that had her return well-weary eyes in reply.

“Offer a path forward, with reasoning. Gao Fu, you will do the same.”

Niharika blinked but once. “If the teahouse’s mistress is aware of your presence she may now act coy. Either she is cunning and means to lead Gao Fu into a trap or she lacked the ability to give chase. Their watch will be doubled.”

The lack of pause as she speaks, is this from her affliction? I would ask on it, if only to reduce her hardship- Though truly, she does not seem troubled by it.

As Fu’s turn came, he searched for another answer. “Perhaps I might return for observation under the same circumstance- to measure their reaction. The Mistress moved unnaturally, and I suspect her to tread the path of cultivation.” He paused. “A fool might rely on his memory alone, but I felt no presence of Qi when my [Senses] were expanded. Nor were [Spirit Beasts] at the hip of any I might see. Again, a fool might assume that the attendants are mortal, undone by mortal means.”

“Mortality does not imply weakness or stupidity, Gao Fu, as well you stated, and both my trainees have spoken true, in essence. Caution must be taken when moving forward. But beyond this there is no one path,” said Yunhan. “A teahouse, an establishment- apothecary, medicine house, drinking house, I need not list them all- there are innumerable approaches. Yet these are dependent on many factors. Time, location, criteria, and additional parameters as outlined when missions or tasks are assigned.”

Obvious truths, perhaps, though Yunhan’s instruction was thorough.

“A small medicine house in backwater corners of the Clear Sky Empire might have their supplies severed, driving the target to fluster. The infiltration of a mid-sized Sect within a [Mystic Realm] would not fall to this. Yet affiliates slain in the same realm might scare your target into a state of isolation. Or have their defences shored. Gao Fu,” he turned, granting a smirk. “You might turn a wisdom on leading horses to water. The knowledge is here, but your methods are your own to pick and temper.”

“Creativity,” broke Niharika. A rare thing for her to speak without first being questioned.

“Honed by experience, yes. Initiate missions are no place to act boldly. A river need not be overturned for this.” Yunhan fingered the edge of his scarves. “I trust this is enough that you might reflect privately.”

In concert, the Initiates bowed.

It indeed gave Fu thoughts.

Of routes, avenues, tactics. Of pressure.

Though the latter was no newfound thing, and subsided as he approached the nearest training target. Fu fell into the first stance of the [Stifling Stream Revolutions], bracing the rear of his palm against one of the many radial arms.

At the corner of his eye some steps away, Niharika signalled for his attention. A pair of raised fingers in no more than a flick. But it drew his gaze there, and to the hem of her sleeve. Wherein he spied the first glimpse- a glimpse of her [Spirit Beast].

A [Spirit Worm] of familiar purple hue, nestled at the bridge of her wrist. Otherwise completely obscured.

He nodded back, grateful for the reminder.

🀧

While he had not developed a [Heat Qi Resistance] boon over the days since Yunhan’s instruction had begun, the cracking upon Fu’s skin felt less severe on this afternoon.

Wind, being the most noticeable source of [Air Qi], was now among the first things to draw his attention when entering the outdoors. Which had him know that the lack thereof was no contributing factor to his comfort. No, today held a stagnant heat without such reprieve.

Even drawing Hushi to sit above his midden in search of cold.

Fu traded quiet whispers to his Bond as they walked, pacing the exterior of the Clouded Court Squad’s building on their return to their lodgings. Impressions were sent back at each musing, small affirmations or notes of displeasure and warning. The octopus himself, citing unfamiliarity to the strategies suggested, if not in as many words. Or any.

Though his erstwhile rambling paused as he came into the open courtyard where he had first encountered Master Jinjie, his poisoner. Well learned from his previous mistake, Fu refrained from entering, seeing there the instruction that was already underway.

He held to the periphery of pillars, yet found his gait slow in a showing of rare curiosity.

Now to compare the Azure Shoal Sect of his former home and the Clouded Serpent Sect, truly, it was the difference between Earth and Heaven. But before he walked the path of cultivation, Fu had found certain truths of these organisations.

Processes gleaned in seventh hands of third-hand accounts, rumours and gossip, all in preparation for when he might earn his children a space in the [Thousand Shore Mystic Realm].

The trial disciples, those servile initiates that had similar conditions in progression to his own. A debt, or proof of merit being their sole means of ascending the ranks. Second came the outer disciples, who had achieved this state, and were granted benefits to represent this, and the highest, the inner disciples.

What held his curiosity, now, was the outer. The rumours of assigned tutelage in grouped classes beneath a senior or master, whereas those of inner privilege held private instruction beneath a specific Elder.

The Clouded Court Squads were a training hall, which called him to wonder what

training was undertaken. By others, at least, and to what degree.

Ahead he saw a senior unknown to him, though unremarkably uniform in scowl and [Spirit Serpent]. She stalked a line of six Initiates beneath the open sky, though a third of this number could barely stand from exhaustion.

Fu slowed further, having half-crossed the space between walls.

“By recommendation, you will contract yourself to a [Body] path upon reaching [Formation Realm],” the senior spoke. “The Open Eye tincture and Sunset Venom are not inherently debilitating, initially, as such your reactions should not be this severe.”

A lesson on poisons? Should they not first learn to sneak as we do? Perhaps the senior finds more value in this lesson than others.

A motion started at the fourth Initiate. An inch beyond their bent knee sat a clay bottle, no larger than a thumb. And it was swallowed promptly.

The Initiate that did held still for a handful of seconds, his face, almost sealed in forced concentration. Until it burned a shade of scarlet, only deepening in time. Veins surfaced at his temples, soon bulging in great roots that wound up his neck. He choked out a gasp in a count of five, and fell spasmodic at seven.

“Brother,” called the woman.

Fu’s heart skipped.

“Brother,” she called again, beckoning. And his feet responded before reason might take hold. “These… Hmm.”

“Apologies, senior. This one is but a humble Initiate.”

“Astounding that one so old and clearly talentless might pass muster. Hah, indeed, it is quite amusing.” Despite her words, no laugh sounded. “I would pass the time. Hold.”

The sense of bland uniformity had diminished as Fu approached. She was a crow of a woman, as the nose upon her was no dainty thing. Ill-representing, he supposed, as a high cultivation had the rest of her show as stately and youthful.

She continued. “Humble may indeed be the correct term, if you prowl these halls so freely when instruction is to be had. Are the [Clouded Ghost Arts] shown to be mastered upon your [Ink]? Is your inaugural mission long complete?”

Fu had come to bow almost in line with the still conscious. The corner of a lupine grin held on most, tucked below their shows of reverence.

I have a sense that I should not reveal my [Prowess] unless pressed.

“The schedule I am set continues through the night, senior. Apologies, that my presence draws such suspicion.”

As half of his words passed, the woman sneered towards her next Initiate. What choking sounds came next were no more pleasant mere paces away.

“Yes, that you are seen does not speak well of your training. It is true that none might match the rate of my success, but I had expected more.” The sixth Initiate succumbed to their fit not three heartbeats after the vial touched their lips. “Brother Vijarendra is your instructor, I presume. Tell me- no, none of your fellows are beyond Initiate.”

Fu was unsure how to answer, for the woman seemed to converse solely with herself.

“Sister [Stalks the Bluemoon] is peerless when it comes to the [Clouded Ghost Arts]. But again, you are evidently talentless. Ah, we once allowed stooges to enter so that our prospective talents might not worry over contribution points. Is this now reinstated?”

The fisherman was not one to wish others ill, but there was some solace in how the ninth Initiate’s grin now frothed with bile. Here was simple belittlement, and…

Those placed first in the line were rising, albeit slowly. Overcoming what ailed them with a recession of their reddened complexions. This came out of order, with the second as first, and fourth as second, but their triumph was clear nonetheless.

It did not escape Fu’s notice that the passive presence of their Qi waned.

Yunhan’s [Spirit Serpent] tested me with [Intent], does she do the same with poison? To test a reaction of sickness on an Initiate’s [Clouded Ghost Arts]?

“A lacking intake, to combat a base aphrodisiac so poorly.” Fu was passed by, instinctively pacing back so the woman might not be impeded. “Thirty seven compounds, each. Were you not [Foundation Realm] juveniles this would steadily empty the Clouded Court Squad’s reserves. Come the [Season’s] end, this should be replenished.”

The rousing few shouted in a well perfected chorus. “We are grateful, senior Baozhai!”

“See that you are. Yes.” Her sneer fell on Fu, high enough her nostrils might fill with rainwater were the weather so inclined. “But small successes should be rewarded. Here stands an opportunity to pay back what resources your collective inability has squandered.”

Hushi’s impression was noted. If obsolete.

One bold, youthful cultivator dared raise his head in question. A shorn-scalped Vajra on the path of [Spirit]. “This penniless seeker has not the wisdom to know his senior’s words.”

“There stands among us a weathered stooge, and I grant those that succeed in my lessons over the coming days a boon. The right of three refusals need not apply to contest this man.”

The cooling, [Summer] wind arrived before Fu’s expectation. Yet this bit his cracked and heat-dried skin more than it granted relief.

Three refusals. Contest.

“As first to rise, this junior is eager to compensate the Sect for his own failures,” continued the youth. “To win, he hopes, might bring some small honour to his senior.”

Baozhai swept out a dismissive wave. “Honour? To see a disciple pluck fruit from low-hanging trees? A shameful suggestion. No. You will not be first to challenge the old one,” then, she addressed Fu. “Name your instructor, that I might congratulate her selflessness.”

“Senior Yunhan,” he spoke quickly.

It was not the wind that changed then, but the air. A flavouring of [Intent] that may well have reflected in Baozhai’s features were Fu brash enough to look upon her.

“You dare lie to your senior?” Baozhai’s voice came as a dulled blade. “That dragon takes no Initiates. His name, you chanced upon it, did you not?”

Fu bowed lower. “Senior Yunhan is my instructor,” he said simply. Yet, he spied his opportunity. “I know not the nature of my appointment. Though if senior Baozhai names me as stooge, I might report to him. If only to avail myself to senior Baozhai as she sees fit.”

Here snaked a matter of face. Put to words how Fu knew it best, from memory, and a wealth of experience.

Baozhai could not repeal her instructions, her boon, before her Initiates. For such a thing showed her to be lesser than Yunhan, no matter what history they might hold that had her act in the manner she did now.

Yet this same history had her dulled, and wary.

“Yes,” she sneered. Bereft of venom as it was. “See to it that you report to brother Yunhan, remarking on his kindness. Though, come the next afternoon I will know of his answer. As here you will stand.”

“This junior will do as you say,” Fu said, forcing composure as he quickly put the courtyard to his rear. A pace he continued until he reached the safety of his lodgings, where he sighed towards a descending Hushi. “Further troubles.”

The octopus stared at him, unblinkingly, before retrieving the thickened, as-of-yet to be opened [Stifling Stream Revolutions] from his belongings.

But Fu eschewed it in favor of a small thought.

Not of training, which he would most assuredly dive into within moments. The word contest, granting no misallusions.

Did I just toy with a senior? To twist her words, or believe I had some effect… True or not, when did I grow so bold?