-points of contention, naturally. As stated previously.

To be so embraced by the Clear Sky Empire is truly a benefit, with all that our venerable lords provide.

Yet to those heathens outwith her allegiance, one might hypothesise on the difficulty they would face accessing such realms.

Vagrants, and unaffiliated cultivators, beholden still to her rules are not counted within this number, though such terms may still apply.

So the [Trial] component, whatever [Heritage], [Reliquary] or treasures it may bestow upon completion, are beyond reach. For what Clan or Sect would afford such riches to outsiders, or rid themselves of the myriad gains that extend from having such [Mystic Realms] within their sphere?

Their only hope, Heavens forbid, are three.

The unclaimed.

The unfound.

Or the prophesied.

- “Beyond the Paifang, a collective work,” by the Quill House of Cherry River Spear

It came as an inhalation, the force that wakened him. Fu had felt this once before, upon emerging from the Thousand Shore [Mystic Realm].

A dalliance of days before [Winter] had turned.

On the Clouded Court Squad’s rooftop, he rose. Much laboured, and in no quick fashion, for the process of shattering one’s bones was no easily remedied thing.

Hushi welcomed him back from whatever recess he had forced his mind into, and mounted his lap with the rising sun at his back.

With a strained rise of his arm, Fu laid a hand atop him. “I am ever grateful, brother.” His mind was split, caught between what his [Bone Refinement] might have gained, and an urge to escape the horrid absence of [Autumn’s] damp.

Balance was a muted concern, and so he conjured his [Ink] while traversing the rooftop’s slope.

The spectral teal had him nod. “We have grown much. But-” Fu dismissed his [Ink], having a thought to inspect it in full, later. If only to track his progress. “- we have yet to breach the surface.”

He paused at the roof’s edge to wring his hands. To roll his shoulders and shrug free the dullness that [Bone Refinement’s] pain had wrought.

Alongside the increase to his attributes, and perhaps owed more to the current [Tyranny], he felt less than invigorated.

This sensation carried with him as he dropped from the lip. A simple affair that delivered him a story below, where he stepped lightly upon an external rail to arrive inside.

Beyond this, entering Yunhan’s hail was a trifle.

Fu elected to use the doorway, and passed through to a sudden cold. An oddity that set him to crouch.

An extinguished lantern hung central, bereft of its usual flame, which was queerer yet. His paces put him at the edge of the Mistress’ pit, where he found no bulge to represent her form, nor that of his instructor.

“Disciple Gao Fu.”

The man drove himself into prostration, a knee taken and his forehead nigh immersed in grains of sand. “This junior greets his Elder.”

“A diligent junior, as I’ve heard of late. Rise, Gao Fu, I’d not have my words obscured by a buried head.”

Fu snapped upwards, much to Hushi’s sand-coated irritation, and set his attention on the woman before him.

Elder [Of Perennial Shade]. An

Elder, to Fu’s knowledge, for Yunhan’s lips proved tight when queried on her station. A crone in facade, as Grandmother Hua was before casting age from her body, and clad in a modest, black hanfu.

At her first step, she beckoned him to follow. In respectful procession, Fu did so, entering a screen that he was certain had not stood there when he entered. Ornate, for once, with gilded iconography of cloud-wrapped serpents.

Here they ascended a flight of stairs, and settled at a wooden balustrade that overlooked the Clouded Court Squad’s open skywell.

An area that Fu had likewise never noticed.

“One might expect that patience is fostered over ages, Gao Fu. As with many expectations, this falls short of the truth,” the Elder said. “I have no great love of repetition for the sake of it.” She unfurled a hand from her hanfu, gesturing to a scene below.

Seven Initiates, known to Fu by face, arrayed before Master Jinjie. His ring of [Dao] multiplied serpents - a great noose about them.

A guessable fate.

As Fu brought himself forward, the serpents struck. An orchestrated sweep that had six sets of fangs delivered clean to their necks. Attached, however, and no rip nor tear. Sustained for moments where the vitality of each Initiate was sucked dry to leave sallow corpses by the end.

Disgust crossed Jinjie’s features. “Initiate Yaqin,” he snapped, addressing the solitary living member before him.

“Master Jinjie!” the woman affirmed. Unperturbed by the lingering serpents, much to her credit.

“This morning marked the final hours of your trial. Of what is considered ample time to complete the duty presented to you. Why then, was your mission completed not moments before the sun rose?”

“Ma-”

Jinjie spilled his [Intent] forth, and Fu’s skin prickled in memory. “You were not invited to speak, Initiate. When I have deemed it necessary, you will know,” he spat. “The Clouded Court Squads must not be sullied by such impropriety. Either in manner, or in action. You bring shame before your inauguration has even passed! I give you one warning. Do not allow this habit to continue - to act with mere hours to spare. When a missive is granted it takes precedent. Am I clear in this?”

“As you say, Master,” returned Yaqin.

The man looked to grind his teeth, coalescing his [Spirit Serpents] into just one, coiled at his wrist. “Those by your side- a parable on why resources are not dispensed upon speaking the [Dao Oath].” His anger simmered to a mere scowl. “Disciple Yaqin, your trial is complete, and as your senior it is my duty to remind you what is expected.”

With a flash of his sleeve, a base wooden trunk appeared on the ground.

“A mark of your passage, nothing more,” he said, revealing the blackened fabrics inside. “As you possess not a shred of talent, there is no period of time during which you may grow accustomed to our venerable halls. [Summer’s] intake is complete, and fresh, deserving prospects will soon arrive for my attention. As such, you will deliver yourself for assignment immediately.”

“As you say, Master Jinjie,” the woman repeated.

Fu winced.

The [Intent] intensified, steeping the air in a malefic green. “Must this junior be lectured on the meaning of immediately?”

A sharp rap sounded, a fingernail upon the balustrade.

Jinjie’s attention flocked upwards, seeming maddened as Fu was noticed. But present company had it pass swiftly, and his [Intent], recede.

“A meticulous disciple, that boy, if fervent. Wouldn’t you agree, Gao Fu?”

Different words came to Fu’s mind at this question, though only a fool would voice them. “Elder [Of Perennial Shade] has a pristine eye for her instructors. This junior could not begin to speak on it.”

“Yet begun you have,” she sighed. “Speak.”

A trap. Yes.

“This junior recognizes senior Jinjie’s importance in recruitment.”

“Is that so?” laughed the Elder. “I’m eager to hear of it.”

Hushi tightened.

“The Clouded Court Squads demands expertise. If one cannot weather senior Jinjie’s scrutiny then- He is as a mountain of flame and a sea of blades, tempered. His actions are for the good of the Sect.”

The Elder laughed once more. “Indeed, Gao Fu. A necessary filter. For what use do I hold for scions that laud privilege and personal power? For greenhouse flowers that don’t fall in, and follow. Serpents and ghosts are all that ought to dwell in these halls.”

This story has been stolen from NovelBin. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“As Elder says,” said Fu.

“Yes, yes. Didn’t I address the banality of repetition? Bah. I know my words, disciple. What I’d know is your understanding. The efforts taken to wipe clean this debt over you, they’re sufficient. But my halls are not for point-lusting vagrants. A [Season] is passed, and your assignment is due.”

Fu maintained his bow. Uncertain of what was to follow. “This junior was clearly misguided. Are the missives in the Contribution Hall not assignment enough?”

“An assignment of a different name, Gao Fu. Tasks chosen at a disciple’s discretion- a base means of maintaining order were they the sole method we use. No. When matters of import need tended, you will receive clear direction.”

“Then Elder holds a task in mind?” he asked. “This junior hopes he will not fall short of her estimations.”

“For you?” she laughed. “Bold. Though I don’t believe you regard yourself so well as to warrant my personal

attention. Despite our exchanges. If ever I’d ask a thing, Gao Fu, it will be when you might act alone.”

“Alone, Elder?“

“Truly, disciple, do you believe we title ourselves the Clouded Court Squads for no reason but ceremony?”

🀨

It was with a matching delivery of pomp to Jinjie’s recent inauguration that Fu was directed far below the Clouded Court Squad’s building.

A hub unfurled beneath the sun-facing lodgings, training halls and contribution exchange, here, where light was granted by dim candles and the dull glow of unaffiliated [Spirit Serpents].

The latter, given freedom to roam.

Thinking on the nature of squads, Fu wound down a final flight of stairs to a place more recognisable to memory. A pit of sand, and the monolith that rose there. Yet now he stood on the initiated side, above, on an open observation deck. Laden with rushing aides.

Fu stepped from the path of a well-harried scholar, a stack of furled scrolls blocking much of the man in his passing. Just one of many that cut from table to table, to bookcase or trunk, delivering missives and clipped words to the several seniors that stood at one side.

The [Air Qi] at his ear shifted then. A margin of a breath, heralding an arrival he should be well-adapted to. “Gao Fu,” he spoke, addressing the space behind him.

Something coloured the returning words. But he was not fool enough to think it surprise. “Brother Yunhan’s disciple. State your intent.”

“This junior is here for assignment,” he replied, noting that he felt no coldness of metal pressed against his body as was the usual fare.

“Approach the third table.” The [Air Qi] repeated its sway, and Fu did as he was instructed, weaving a path through the sea of aides.

How did they mark me as Yunhan’s? And still, it is as disciple. As the Mistress stated.

The relationship between he and Yunhan was of instructor and initiate, and nothing so sacred as Master and disciple. To Fu’s knowledge at least. It was an affiliation forced by Elder [Of Perennial Shade], for reasons unknown, and clouded benefit.

However well suited it was for his own goals.

And now I must entertain more potential snakes, delaying my repayments and-

Fu did not give thought to his future pursuits, fearing any number of [Mind Qi] cultivators that may be lurking.

“Disciple,” addressed the senior ahead, an effeminate male and the same that had administered his [Dao Oath] some weeks ago. He did not lift his eyes from the splayed parchments upon his table.

“Senior,” bowed Fu. “This junior presents himself for assignment.”

“Gao Fu, this is your name, yes?”

“Yes, senior.”

This gained a half-look. A measuring glance. “The dragon’s fosterling. Curious,” he said, never expanding the point. Though Fu noted how Yunhan’s tutelage had been mentioned twice in as many minutes. “I am interested to see how you progress.” A chit was produced, and slid over beneath the senior’s waning interest.

Fu extended his gratitude, and left with it in hand. Once more weaving around the aides, he traversed to a less occupied corner. A looming entrance to his right, with cavernous tunnels beyond to have minor thoughts surface of just how far from the Heavens he now walked.

The chit burned with a dim, red ember of Qi, highlighting a serpentine scrawl.

“Hushi,” he whispered, drawing the octopus forth for inspection. He descended in part, able to grip the item without fully leaving his midden. It had a screen of teal dangle before his eyes for long seconds, until his Bond impressed a direction.

Unsure, Fu took a step, seeing the chit brighten.

Ah.

They entered the tunnel proper, and began to tread. Having the chit grow brighter yet as he settled into a steady gait.

The same displacement of [Air Qi] rose to a steady rhythm, curiously. Not with the delivery of blades to his nape, or presences in close proximity. For any length of time, at least. No, Fu felt the minute disturbances pass by and fade.

Past the myriad entrances to stores, or bunks, to the numerous training halls and scantly stocked libraries. Of which there were dozens. Open doorways framed in ornate stone, and what he soon felt to be a surface level fog in how his ankles were steeped in growing moisture.

All the while, muted hisses surfaced. Some persistent susurrus as each serpent, mundane or otherwise, conspired to gossip at his passing.

You do not belong. They might hiss. A pretender. A falsehood. A traitor. Full conversations and judgements passing upon forked tongues. But for their imagined slights, not once did they lunge from the cloud.

A kindness for this sham serpent in their midst.

The chit, ashing, put them to silence. Granules formed in Hushi’s grip like soft sand, only preceded by an intensity of red. It had Fu stop not one pace from an open doorway, and enter under the assumption that his destination was reached.

A room of strange composition. As with the passage behind, a white fugue claimed much of the floorspace, obscuring the legs of a lone table at the center, and whisking to the far corner where four plain screens marked the join to spaces beyond.

These features, Fu saw, were all that occupied the room save for the two figures that turned expectantly at his arrival. Them, and the calligraphed characters on a wall-length scroll to his side.

“Four, Seven, Thirteen welcomes its new brother,” said the first, the rightmost of two identical women.

And at this, the left scowled. “Amituofo. This seventy-fifth rate Daoist greets her newest brother.”

Fu clasped his hands to lessen his intended insult. “Gratitude, sisters,” he said, using the lack of discernible reaction as que to continue. “I am disciple Gao Fu.”

“This one is named Seventy Fifth Mohini,” she continued. Some silent exchange then took place, as her eyes lowered to her twin.

A series of cracks sounded, and Fu slid his heel back in reaction. On the rightmost’s face, bulges rose. An oscillation of skin and bone that had her form twist into one that could barely be contained within the blackened uniforms of the Clouded Court Squads.

Vajra, as both had once been, could no longer describe him. Where his imitation had showcased an exact likeness of Mohini, - her muscle-strapped frame, and rigid posture, headed by some strange recession of ascetic features. A once-shorn scalp, where stubble grew at her temples beneath a short, braided tail. All this had bulged,

leaving a grossly rotund man in its place.

“Ding,” he proffered, clasping his hands in muted formality.

Mirroring the gesture, Fu only waited.

Yet Ding filled the quiet soon after, squirming as if it might injure him should it continue for much longer. “You’ve little notion of the process, I take it?” He broke into a belly-clutching chuckle, which Fu found to be disproportionate to his comment. “So, tell us, Fu. What manner of bastard are you?”

Mohini, despite seeming the proper of the two, did not cringe.

Some degree of shock crossed Fu’s face, exacerbating Ding’s laughter. “No offence is intended brother!” he claimed. “We’re comrades! Shouldn’t we know of each other?”

This is not touched by meaning. Not in profundity. Unless he casts a veil to catch me off guard.

Fu chose his persona.

“A bastard?” he thinly smiled. “Should I not know first of what breed you claim to be?”

Ding’s grin held no small disarming presence. “A forgotten one, of course! Aren’t all ghosts and serpents?”

“Then I would aspire to be forgotten too,” chuckled Fu.

“Admirable!” Ding said, going so far as to approach and clap his shoulder. “I’m glad we have cleared such important matters. More pleasant than our last, isn’t he, Sister?”

Mohini passed a kind smile. “He is no brat.”

“No brat, but a bastard,” agreed Ding.

So it is a test. Brats and bastards.

The history between these two was evident. Not the aforementioned insults, but in the pair ahead of him. Fu viewed it as an orchestration, perhaps to test his attitude.

“If it is not too much trouble, sister, brother, I would be in your care,” he said. “I am unfamiliar with my duties beyond the missives of the Contribution Hall.”

“And waylay our conversation? A cruelty! I’d rather know the quality of our newest bastard, if brother Gao Fu is open to it?”

“Four, Seven, Thirteen,” interjected Mohini, thankfully. “Words that turn Heaven and Earth upside down, no?” She continued at Fu’s blink. “A room consignment to ward off identification, and a measure of rank. One of four beneath heads numbering seven, who in turn answer to their heads of thirteen. Is this understood?”

Hushi neglected the maths almost as swiftly as Fu.

“We three answer to our senior, who in turn answers to another?” he guessed, seeing no fourth.

Ding nodded fervently. “Sister Mohini makes mountains where molehills will do. Our brother is a simple man! This is plain. Don’t confuse him.”

“Missions are granted down this chain,” continued Mohini, her words quick enough that Fu might not respond were he inclined. She swept a hand to the room. “Delivered here. The screens there, our quarters.”

“Gratitude. And our missions, might I guess they are of greater importance than teahouse mistresses and vagrant cultivators?”

“Perhaps,” laughed Ding. “Good, that you don’t take umbrage at the quarters. The last protested most loudly. A factor in your recruitment, I’d guess.”

This game. They play it well.

He saw them clearly then.

“Bastards,” he mused. “I have the bearing of them now, and brother Ding, I would indulge you.”

Of the two, only Mohini showed a reaction.

“Before my initiation to the Clouded Court Squads I had the fortune of residing in the [Green Blight Valley], where I placed Nineteenth among their Brigades. But we held a tradition there, for new disciples and fresh transfers. One week, and they were fully fledged. If they might survive it.”

“How callous!” laughed Ding. “But this [Mystic Realm], I’d guess, is not as illustrious as our Clouded Court Squads? We hold no such tradition, do we sister?”

Mohini shook her head, and in the motion of her swaying knot revealed a set of ruby eyes to hang there. A [Spirit Serpent], set with predatory stare. “Naught but those saved for the improvement of the whole.”

“Improvement of the whole,” stated Fu.

“The whole, brother! Each of us, the pinions on a phoenix tail. Isn’t it only right that we bolster each other?” nodded Ding. “A base sum deducted from our wages, nothing more. For the betterment of all.”

Beneath the douli, Hushi bristled with the makings of [Intent]. A force that Fu could do nothing but suppress. For his [Senses] marked these pair as [Core Formation] experts, even aside their [Prowess], tenure and rank.

“Holding money is not among my strengths,” said Fu. “Apologies, brother, sister, but I will remove my name from this whole. Allow me to cater to my own needs.”

“This seventy-fifth rate Daoist commends Brother Fu’s selflessness, but spirit stones are worthless here. What is sought is what arrives this day.”

In a conspiracy of the Heavens, or by the pair’s hand, a warmth rose. As did Ding’s mockery of a grin when his eyes went distant, no doubt reading his own [Contribution Array].

Fu conjured his own, unsure whether to laugh or to cry. Seeing on it his ample wages, a total of three thousand.

And coldly pondering how little that number may now mean.