On the third day of imprisonment, Fu deflected a fledgling adder from Yuqi’s freshly washed robes. This was not of note, given how plentiful, and how regular an occurrence serpents had become to the Gao family.

It was the timing of such a minor act that gave it momentum.

As his fingers swept, so did cold sweep across the waters surrounding Thousand Shore City in slowed fashion, parsed out like the breath of a primordial giant to cross the waves with a surface of ice.

Fu was under no illusion that his palms were mighty enough to cause such an effect, though it did give him pause.

[Winter] had finally come.

How snow now fell from the emergence of moodier clouds, and how the light dusting of snow the once [Autumnal] blanket provided was now thickening, this was but one change. The most marked, and that which drove Fu to a gasp was that of his Qi.

Where [Autumn]’s was suffocating, and hampering to both Hushi and his cultivator, the emergence of his own [Season] was quite the opposite.

For the land, it was no nourishing thing, and for many, it was a time of nature’s quiet longevity, for reflection, and for preservation of the [Inner Qi] they had stockpiled to see them through this time of barren reaping.

Yet now it was abundant.

In a show of hunger, his Bond slid free of the douli, landing atop the railing to this current balcony.

“You feel it too, Hushi?” whispered Fu, drawing the attention of his children.

Yuling and Feng toddled to join the octopus, waylaid by the blankets that held them wrapped.

“Father, what does Qi feel like?” asked Yuqi, bunched close to her father’s side atop the bench, sated to stay.

Fu smiled down, warmly. “Do you recall the stall, Yuqi?”

His daughter’s features wrinkled, as though there might be some deeper meaning behind such an obvious question. “Barely a Season has passed since its destruction! Are you confusing my memory with Feng’s? He might forget where we sold your catch each day Father, but I certainly would not!”

“Peace, Yuqi,” he laughed. “I do not mean to tease you. What I mean to say is that you should recall it during festival times. Where the crowds are plenty and you cannot hear yourself for the shouts of those nearby. Qi is like this. It is the surrounding excitement, and the life it carries.”

Yuqi nuzzled her head in closer, seemingly content, receiving a kiss atop her head.

For a time they sat like this. A sense of feigned normalcy, and Fu so wished that it might continue.

With little prompting he moved with Yuqi to join his other children by the railing, taking them each under his arms. “Soon, we will put Thousand Shore City behind us,” he said. “And you will all take your first steps towards something greater.”

The younger members of the Gao clan pulled tighter, heeding their father’s words.

“For what comes next you must all trust your Grandmother. The shores we are to travel are known better to her than I might ever say.”

Feng was the first to notice the tone of his voice. “Father, are you to leave us again?”

Fu clapped his son on the shoulder. Time such as they had spent over the past few days was a treasure. But brought with it revelation. “Children… it feels strange to my tongue to call you such now. Labour has blinded me to the wonders that you have all become. Resilient, insightful young people, that would ask after their father’s wellbeing than of the uncertainty that the future might hold.”

His words lingered in the air, and he drew back from them ever so slightly.

A colder chill wormed through the gaps between body and blanket.

“The night I arrived from the [Mystic Realm] your Grandmother came to me, enlightening me to the tasks I must fulfil so we might be free once more. Such as you are, I will be in her care. This… this will have us distant, for a time, and many times beyond that.”

The children retained their silence, only grasping at his warmth.

Until Yuling could not contain her tears any longer. “This is because you traded our lives? I will pay my own if you stay, Father!”

“As will I!” chimed Feng.

The waters beyond the balcony saw movement then, thrusting a great vibration through the structure. Almighty cracks sounded, and the ice [Winter] had birthed shattered all around.

“You will do no such thing, my children. Nor will you mention it again.”

“But Father-” continued Feng.

Of the various cracks, one came louder than the others. A cane against wood that heralded Grandmother Hua’s arrival. “You were raised better than to disrespect your father, Feng. Really. Will I have to wring such rudeness from you?”

Even Fu shuddered at her appearance, and without knowing why, he bowed as she joined them. This struck a strange chord in Hushi, who was previously occupied with the rich Qi passing on the breeze.

The Bond crept to Fu’s shoulder, wariness in their link.

She grows… cold. Colder with each passing day. I cannot recall a time where her presence felt as it does now.

Though he was uncertain, Grandmother Hua appeared to stand taller.

Faint shows of vitality had returned to her skin, where wrinkles were much reduced. It urged thoughts in Fu, causing him to wonder if all that he had known of her was a deception, or if some process now took place to change her.

“The vessel is preparing to move, and once it does, we will assemble.” None of the children seemed to follow her words. “Observe it, if you wish. I will allow such an indulgence to delay us.”

What vibrations came had steadily increased over the span of these few minutes, and had become quite violent. Qi released in each shake, though Fu’s [Senses] were not attuned enough to even guess at what might happen.

As the entire vessel was suddenly thrust into the air, he supposed he might not need to.

The entirety of the Gao clan flocked to the railing, seeing the younger members arrive to peer over the rapidly ascending edge. A preliminary jerk had cast them several hundred paces high, yet they continued to rise, and rise, at a speed that bordered the impossible.

Strange enough to behold, no air, nor cold brushed by them from the moment of its flight, warded off by a layer of Qi some ways from what Fu was now certain to be a ship. Furthering his astonishment.

“By the Heavens,” he said, correcting himself from a curse while his children were present.

Feng, in the key of most adolescent boys, roared his approval. “Father! Thousand Shore City is a speck!”

Unable to hide his smile, Fu nodded, despite the departure of his home.

Where we go… that is home. I should not feel sorrow for it.

To distract himself, he looked to the horizon, turning Feng’s head but a heartbeat later. “Look there, if you find this a marvel.”

The children followed this cast of his finger, through the onset of clouds to the border where snow met puff, blurring the landscape below. But the white, muddied sight did not detract from the sheer vastness of the lands surrounding Thousand Shore City, which was shown to be a single puddle amidst a network of waters.

A spread that encompassed many hundreds of thousands of li.

Fu had Hua’s words confirmed then, as if there had been any doubt.

Shadows of the Sect’s actions dotted the landscape, some, with still smouldering trails of smoke, recent conquests in the form of snow-capped ruins, freshly created.

And above, thousands of vessels in myriad directions, mirrored their own. Laden, he suspected, with souls sharing the same fate as his own.

“Father, you are holding me too tight,” broke Yuqi’s voice, and immediately, Fu became aware of how tight he clutched his daughter.

Grandmother Hua stamped her cane, calling an end to the view. “That is adequate. Now, do not fall behind. We are to be addressed.”

🀩

The Cloudy Serpent Sect’s cultivators lined an open deck of many hundreds, immovable save for the Bonds that slithered across their feet. Uniformity in [Spirit Beast], and in their garb of cherry red, with no discrepancy between the genders.

Fu did not know why the sight of their clothes, their hanfu in the ruqun style, had him fixated, as many of the Azure Shoal Sect had sported similar styles. Though he mused that the writhing patterns of Qi atop both skirt and sleeveless, collared shirt spoke of a quality he was unused to. Namely in the images of serpents they formed as they moved.

He and his family were front and centre in this crowd, with a respectable distance cast between Grandmother Hua and the surrounding refugees.

“Father,” broke Yuling, clasping his hand.

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“Hold quiet, Yuling. It begins,” he warned, pained that he could not offer more comfort.

Hushi, however, saw fit to mount her shoulder, providing reassurance in his stead.

Gratitud-

The deck’s head crackled with a force of lightning, revealing a single figure to emerge from a storm of peach forks. At the moment of arrival, the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s forces bowed low, a motion copied by their [Spirit Serpents].

This left those in the center to stand, many still reeling from such a sudden force of Qi.

“Bow,” warned Fu, pushing the two closest of his children to the ground.

The figure was male, dressed in the same scholarly fashion as Gon Ma had been, and proved a good match in looks, save for the ebony tone of his skin. His voice broke out, laced with an [Intent] that brought the reeling refugees to their knees.

“Here you stand, lowly filth, presented with an opportunity that is coveted throughout the Clear Sky Empire,” he began, slow and purposeful, as though each sound belonged to an ancient mountain. “Rejoice in the beneficence of our Mistress, that she affords you such. But to speak on her wonder is to do her disservice, and an act that not even I as humble Secretary will broach.”

A squeak escaped Feng ahead, and he was forced deeper to the deck under the force of this man’s [Intent].

That Fu could feel his own bones creak spoke to its power, and drew a grimace as he realised the suffering his children now endured.

Though he could do naught to change it.

“You are backwater rats. One and all. No matter your triviality in the [Mystic Realm]. No better than blemishes upon our scales,” continued the Secretary.

Lightning crackled across the deck as he took further steps forward, arriving ten paces before the first row, and as he did, more figures emerged from the path he took. More, veiled and scholarly, set about behind him with scrolls in hand.

“This is not to be condoned,” he continued. “Already, I see the fledgling Bonds about you all, marking most as Unorthodox, and distasteful. That few here possess the foresight to aspire for the [Spirit Beast] we hold highest shows further your collective inability.”

Eight of the scholars behind thrummed in unison, a glow of rust-red Qi around them.

Fragments of their in-hand scrolls reacted, drawn to the air above the Secretary’s head in a tattered storm before settling. A form showed that Fu was certain to be far larger than the sum of their parts.

The speaker thrust out a hand from beneath his robes, and Qi moved to have a series of characters appear upon it. “Behold, with worthless eyes, the generosity of your betters.”

Screams erupted from scattered pockets of the crowd, and this sound grew by the second until none did not.

Fu was among the first to experience the source. An intensity of burning had entered his flesh, noticed through a suppressed roar of pain. The same characters on the scroll now branded the skin upon his wrist, yet here they wound in a spiral from palm to elbow.

“A [Three Eyed Spying Array] is now bonded to your flesh, unable to be removed. Take this as the boon it is, and rejoice at the means by which you will be uplifted. Here, is a measure of your contribution to the Sect, to be weighed against the debt this blessing incurs.”

Fu blinked away the pain after moments, watching as the brand settled below his skin. Imbedded like [Ink] yet without a lick of colour. To his relief, he found the other members of the Gao clan to be unmarred by this.

Naturally this uttered name, the [Three Eyed Spying Array], drew no small confusion. But now was not the time to ponder upon it.

“Entry to the Cloudy Serpent Sect is an untold honour, and the path to becoming a trial disciple is blocked until this debt is cleared. Acceptance will be a long labour, and I suspect that all but a handful of the fortunate thousands among our many vessels will gain such, owing to your inherent laziness and ineptitude.” The Secretary waved his voluminous sleeve again, casting a further set of characters atop the parchment. “Thus it falls to us to provide motivation.”

Mei’s teachings lent themselves well here, and Fu digested the information displayed. In part, at least.

“Father, what is a Marrow Cleansing Pill?” whispered Feng, having arrived at the subject far quicker than Fu might have due to a lifetime of Hua’s teachings.

“Quiet,” came his father’s warning, accompanied by a squeeze of the shoulder.

The parchment still held his attention, broken as it was to his eyes.

Marrow Cleansing Pill, three… thousand Contribution points. Formation Grade Spiritual Herbs, five… six hundred.

“Treasures, to be gained by those worthy enough to strive for them,” continued the Secretary, coldly. “Yet with the history of squalor you backwater tribals present, it was judged to be insufficient alone.”Red characters then flared in the center of the parchment, replacing the prior list. “A standard tithe of five hundred Contribution Points will be deducted from an individual each [Season] for the Sect’s generosity in provision of shelter and food, as is only right. What remains will wipe free your debt, should enough be spare to even broach it.”

A quickening beat soon took hold of Fu’s heart.

Five hundred. Each [Season]. Yet…

With nary a mark upon Grandmother Hua nor the children, sweat rose upon his brow.

I shall have to provide over two thousand. How will… This is madness.

Before he might reflect upon the terms of the debt’s failure, the Secretary spoke. This time, with his first showing of anything but cold disdain. “The debt of each life here is a paltry ten thousand contribution points. Insignificant, for those who are diligent in their work, for one cannot catch tiger cubs without first entering a lair.”

The showing of parchment spread to tatters now, yet it did not return to the scholars. No, they flocked to the gathered refugees.

Fu made to grab the first that splayed before him, catching a sight of dread in scripture before it was waylaid, and leapt to Grandmother Hua. Hers was a quick scan, and though the Secretary continued his speech, she let out an approving hum.

“Harvest labor, forty points, daily. [Spirit Core] exchange, [Foundation], sixty. This will not do,” she tutted aloud.

In madness, the crowd turned to her.

All dispersed in a scramble to rid themselves of any proximity to this crazed old woman, yet unable to keep away their disbelieving gazes. [Intent] crushed the crowd, pouring forth from the similarly emoted Secretary.

Such disrespect. She will have us slaughtered where we stand!

“Grandmot-” he hissed.

“You spoil them!” snapped Grandmother Hua. Then, like the addled beast she was, Fu found himself thrust forward, freed of the [Intent] by a force of unknown [Dao].

Immediately, he smashed his head against the deck. “This lowly-”

“Hush, oaf,” called Hua, giving rise to a rage within his chest. “To fail upon repayment is to be delivered to the [Green Blight Valley] Mystic Realm. As labour, and fodder?”

The parchment in her hand, or a parchment, then danced to where Fu’s head was pressed, granting him sight of it. There, in the usual calligraphy of red characters that denoted warning, was the very words she had spoken.

And the wages due in contribution points, totaling two thousand per [Season].

However this was but a moment of study, for the Secretary’s [Intent] broke the very deck they stood on, turning boards into shallow craters of wood and splinters.

“You dare!” roared a nearby cultivator, surging forwards to appear by Hua with his staff, a ceremonial gun levered at her throat.

Grandmother Hua’s glare might well have melted the staff then, and audibly, the crowd displayed their shock. “Petulant child. One who plays the donkey should not be surprised to be struck in the rear.”

The cultivator, in imposing stance and with no less than three [Spirit Serpents] coiled around his body, flinched.

“Outer disciple, you bring shame to this Sect! Lower your weapon,” demanded the Secretary, his [Intent] petering out to nothing. “[Cherry River Sage], you have a recommendation?”

Oddity had Fu’s head throb, yet he kept it pressed tight to the deck.

Only now do I begin to see her. Did all that came before have me blinded? This elder who shared my home and cared for my children. Who is she? Why do they bow to her whims?

“Mock disciple Gao Fu will enter this [Mystic Realm] as a hopeful, the first among the motivated you seek.” When this was delivered it came laced with demand. Or perhaps it was expectation, for her tone did not waver.

A cunning smile touched the Secretary’s lips, a slyness shared with foxes. “Hopeful, yes,” he said, then addressing the full crowd. “No less than this dedication is deserving of the Cloudy Serpent Sect. The [Cherry River Sage] spurs much inspiration. Who else will show their zeal, joining Hopeful Gao Fu?”

Venomous eyes burrowed into Fu, with only half from the [Spirit Serpents]. They punctuated the great silence where the weighty question lingered until a mere handful of voices rang out.

He could not see those who spoke, feeling only relief when they did.

“As expected,” hummed Grandmother Hua. “Spoiled.”

🀩

The Sect, as Fu was certain he would discover further, did not wait.

So now he stood on the deck, awaiting his departure, not a single hour later. The truth that he was to leave so soon after his arrival made the ascent to the vessel’s furthest point a blur, and what focus he could muster was wholly reserved for the grip upon his children’s hands.

Yuling was silent, sharing this with Feng in their procession. While Yuqi clung to Hushi, exchanging small murmurs of conversation.

It continued like this until a set of qiang wielding cultivators blocked any further passage to an open pagoda, crossing the weapons. Their dispassionate looks spoke volumes, even without the blockage.

Thus Fu turned to take a knee, where his children fell upon him in embrace. “Recall what I have said, my children. Grandmother Hua will be your guide.” A thousand other words might have been said then.

Better words, he mused. But tears would only worry them, and the duty of a father was not to trouble his children.

For their part, they had said nothing. Burying themselves in his folds. A stamp had come to urge their parting, a loud rap of the qiang’s butts. Though he found himself quite unable to let go.

Air clogged in his throat, stifling his breathing.

“Father, when will you return?” asked Feng. “A Season, like the last time?”

The cultivators stamped again.

“Soon, Feng. Soon.” With that he broke from them, feeling hollow as he did. “Do not worry for your father, this will be no different than the trips I take at [Spring]. No different than fishing.”

Hushi clambered up his arm as an entrance to the douli, and he made to leave.

“Manners, oaf.”

Fu withheld a scowl, giving Grandmother Hua a low bow. “Gratitude, Grandmother.” And then he passed into the pagoda with a single glance back.

Only to show a tome in her hand, amongst a collection of [Spirit Cores] and herbs. His collection, and his [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

Now gone.

Unretrievable beyond the cultivators that had since blocked the entrance once more.

I must steady myself. Even with the myriad questions in my head.

“... [Spatial Array],” finished a conversation ahead, stopped by his arrival. A script of characters was inset within the floor, circular and surrounded by overlapping wheels of a trigram, and this is where the speaker stood.

For the second time in what he felt was as many seconds, Fu bowed low, greeting the sparse collection of refugees, and a young woman in the Sect’s robes.

Obscured by an ostentatious, jade fan, only her eyes showed acknowledgement. “Hopeful Gao Fu. You are late.”

“A thousand apologies, senior,” he pleaded. “This lowly junior-”

“You are no junior of any here, fool. You are the barest dregs of an affiliate. Waste my time no further,” she snapped.

Fu rose from his bow, perplexed, searching for her intentions. A man ahead coughed, helpfully tapping the characters where he stood with his foot.

“Gratitude,” whispered Fu, joining him.

An enormous signature of Qi then pushed cyan light from both the characters upon the floor and the intersecting lines. Birthing a great sense of vertigo to come over Fu, and shunting him to the side with a loss of balance.

“Think nothing of it, Brother,” smiled the same, foot-tapping fellow, catching him by the shoulder. “A pittance, for the one who granted this blessed opportunity.”

And then all sight of the pagoda faded, as did the malicious grip upon Fu’s body, removed, to be whisked away to whatever infernal delights this newest [Mystic Realm] had to offer.