Am I not the embodiment of the Sepulchral Saber Sect?

I, as smoke, descend.

[Smoke Qi], the pinnacle of these forms. The mist, the cloud, the smog, the miasma and shadow. All lesser.

My Path is that of the Matriarch.

But this is a fucking lie.

Her path, the cur, the misleading dog! My talent is wasted here- I am unparalleled, and would approach the Seven Phoenixes!

For a man.

For the patron that does not want us- had no hand in our conception.

[Sullen Saber].

A truth unveiled to me upon reaching inner disciple.

My cultivation amounts to a trist, for our Sect is no more than an unloved bastard child.

And I…

I must reflect on this.

- scrawlings from Wu Min’s diary

A [Winter Rejuvenation Pill] disappeared down Fu’s gullet as he landed on the deck of a lesser warship. This, a humble temple where the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s was a fortress. Open, where walls had secured the former.

The Qi-birthed ice toppled at his landing: crunching, and shifting to cascade through the blowing skies below.

Fu forced on as his [Inner Qi] restored, if just below the maximum he might hold. Dusted snow marked his quarry’s trail. Fresh layers that wound through a tended garden.

In half, his [Old One’s Whisker] flashed.

Daoists. Or ascetic Vajra. The herbs here are for incense.

It mattered little as Vibha’s form staggered to the warship’s opposing side.

“Brother, sister, I will have to rely on you. [Dao] usage has severed my use here,” he said, and tried to right his vision. A distance such as he had just travelled through the [Dao of Wayward Breezes]...

It was surprising he yet stood.

At the ascent to the temple, plain robed cultivators emerged. Bo staff laden, with an assortment of shorn scalps and unwieldy prayer beads wrung about their necks.

Ever-light from both his [Teal Supple Physique] and his vocation, Fu’s steps still thundered pain to his brow. His mental energy well drained, and his injuries, severe.

He drew a breath, and rushed across the deck.

“Stranger!” was called in variation from the daoists yonder. “Amituofo. This humble vessel is no place for trespass.”

Fu affected a bow, but said nothing as he vaulted the herb-filled planters. [Air Qi] suffused his limbs further, bypassing the ache contained within. Numbing what his [Core Formation] body had not pushed to the rear of his mind.

Several blurs from [Half Cloud Step] delivered him to where Vibha had just tread.

But she had leapt again.

Heedless of the height, Fu pursued. Once more did open air scream through his hanfu. The deck of another warship only forty paces below.

Propriety was held even here, it seemed. For the scale of each vessel grew in height the closer one soared to the Heavens. Entire cities loomed above, domains and fortresses, while Fu’s feet touched down on one no larger than the grandest ship from his humble Thousand Shore City.

[Half Cloud Step].

The [Wind Phantom Strides] drew his blade on instinct. It birthed a shrill cry in deflection as an icicle scraped by his face.

Vibha stood on the precipice of this freshest deck.

“Do not dishonour yourself further,” he said.

This merchant’s vessel fielded vagrant cultivators, their [Spirit Beasts] of no shared heritage or function. An apprehensive distance held, kept at bay by the cherry-red robes that clad both of their trespassers.

However Vibha stole his focus. Her spear plunged into the wood below, and swept forth a sheet of white that settled shy of Fu.

“Amituofo, brother,” she addressed. “This eighty-third rate daoist would not have so many ears upon us.”

Her [Constellation Seed] manifested between them. A great and twisted trunk writhed from the deck, where the Vajra’s ice gave chase. It thrummed with unparalleled [Ice Qi], and set Fu’s breath to mist before him. Then from each branch blossomed myriad heart-shaped leaves, spanning a canopy from tip to base.

A corridor beneath, where ice flourished and Vibha stood as the only soul in sight.

She has combined her treasure and her [Qi Manifestation]. What [Control], even depleted as Niwai has made her.

Fu dusted free the frost at his feet. “I would not choose a path of cruelty,” he said. “Cease this.”

“Amituofo. The brother knows what he asks. It cannot be done. This eighty-third rate daoist sought to steal away in silence, and here this assassin stands. What result comes now that face is lost and shame stands inflicted?”

Vibha’s [Spirit Serpent] engrossed, turning crystalline and white.

“The Sect dispenses judgement,” said Fu, his [Senses] upon the glistening ice.

Something twisted across the Vajra’s expression. “The brother has eyes but fails to see. Words will be lost on him.”

Hushi and Fu rushed on opposing sides of the great tree, holding no desire for conversation. In response, Vibha’s spear stamped the ice. Though her hand is where Qi flared, each finger cradling some unseen force.

An orchestration of thorns surfaced upon the sheet. Snaring, ice-tipped constructs that shredded the soles of Fu’s feet and scraped Hushi arms whence contact was made. Even in the light touches that powered their bounds.

Fu went cyclic, scoring his blade in wide arcs across the ground. Shrapnel flew to obscure the air, but only broadened his hazards as the thorns grew back with malicious pace.

Her [Constellation Seed] is unknown save for the domain it inflicts. These thorns- I cannot guess their benefit.

His glance went to Hushi, and the rivulets of blood he left in his wake. One similar to that behind Fu.

Vibha’s hand dropped, and instinct had both her foes snap rearward despite the icicles pooling at her back. A quiver of javelins, shaped and elongated by Qi.

Fu knew not which danger to face. Compounded thorns that sought him in the form of a spear, or the incoming barrage.

Clouds pooled beneath his feet, and he rebounded from a [Half Cloud Step] to crash into the exterior leaves. Well-torn, his palm connected with the foliage for but the briefest moment before he dashed. Myriad thorns blossoming, spears, further seeking and Vibha’s conjurations of Qi shredding the space behind.

Hushi’s prowess mitigated his own risk, and he danced through the air with the barest difficulty.

The pressure is indeed effective.

This assault of myriad directions recalled the spider’s trial within the [Twilight Lotus Expanse]. Of countless beasts and in greater volume.

He had been lesser then.

Thus Fu drew upon his Qi, impressing Hushi to do the same. The last facet of his expanded foundation that he now gripped tight.

Shuidi.

Three rotations cut him through the air. A bound. [Half Cloud Step] blurred his chain with all the [Might] he might inflict.

[Mist Qi] blanketed the head of his blade, billowing from the [Spirit Crab’s] mounted atop it. A gush that Vibha countered as she had before, expelling such an abundance of [Ice Qi] that the air itself turned glacial.

A jagged, solid berg towards which Fu blurred. With a final breath he demanded his [Core] to shift. The threads of his dormant [Soul Qi] snapped taught, entering a confluence with the suffusion of [Half Cloud Step].

From hair, to skin, bone and flesh. The [Spectral Qi] manifested.

Where his [Dao of Wayward Breezes] had Fu drift- this suffusion was direct. The blockage of ice met him, and took no hold. The physical, the Qi, the thrust of Vibha’s spear that phased through the wraith he was.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

What toll this took on his [Inner Qi] was exorbitant. His chain, of physical substance and external to his flesh, did not pass.

But Fu materialised within the [Spirit Serpent’s] widened maw, his [Stifling Stream Revolutions] levering a kick skyward. The upper section flew free with a resounding, visceral tear. Though its landing was muted amidst Vibha’s agonised cry.

She fell limp as her [Spirit Beast] succumbed. Finished. Flitting into a sea of fading specks as yet another cultivator lay crippled at his hand.

In swift motion he bundled the unconscious woman into his arms. Her [Constellation Seed] and the canopy dissipating as her [Spirit Beast] had. Truly, this act was a struggle, so depleted and raw was his body.

Set upon his shoulder, his partners returned. Hushi exchanged their chain, drawn with Shuidi atop it, and it was vanished into storage.

He then addressed the eyes. “What connection have you to this [Demonic] imposter?” he called. “Why did she seek your vessel?”

A plump merchant strode into the middle distance, his expression one that had not expected such an accusation. “Master cultivator, I, Fuzheng Chen, of the humble Sublime Tiger Association swear to you- none here have ever laid eyes upon this [Demonic] cultivator!” Imperilled, his pupils darted across Fu’s cherry-red hanfu.

Few would dare pose as a Cloudy Serpent Sect disciple, nor would many wrong them.

Fu menaced the merchant with a step forward, despite feeling the profound cultivation of the vagrant souls around him. “Fuzheng Chen,” he said, tasting the name. “Is this a truth? Open these wares. There is much to be gleaned from the goods you transport.”

“Master cultivator?” he protested.

“A guilty conscience does not fear midnight knocking. Let us see the depths of your honesty, Fuzheng Cheng.”

A swish of Fuzheng Chen’s hand had his guards open one of the many crates ordered upon the deck, wherein rows of spatial rings were ordered.

“Ah,” bluffed Fu. “I am mistaken. The signature of [Gu] I detect is a residual effect from this [Demonic] fool. Apologies, master Fuzheng. Admittedly, the preparations for our [Spring Equinox] tournament have troubled me, and I fear you have run afoul of my shortcomings.”

Fuzheng’s demeanour shifted. “It is no trouble, master cultivator. We of the Sublime Tiger Association are happy to aid the venerable Cloudy Serpent Sect in any way they wish.”

“Then master Fuzheng is a righteous man,” smiled Fu. “My seniors would not soon forget this offer of generosity. Perhaps, if delivered to the nearest [Spatial Array], I might hasten their thanks.”

The surrounding cultivators murmured greedily.

“As you wish. I, Fuzheng Cheng,” he repeated. “Would be honoured to grant what little aid I might.”

🀩

The warship’s ascent provided sparse moments in which to reflect. Inscriptions upon the vessel flared like great veins throughout the wood. Intersecting [Arrays], the quality of which far paled in contrast to that which the Cloudy Serpent Sect afforded.

To be aboard brought notes of nostalgia. Hints that surfaced of a parallel, for he stood beneath a great, spectral sail. Triangular, and propulsed in no manner that any mere fishing ship might hope to mirror.

[Qi Transfiguration Arrays]. [Qi Gathering Arrays]. [QI Condensation Arrays]. Minor inscriptions aside this granted power to smaller processes, having him reflect on how stuffed his belly might have been to have held such a craft in the before.

But his chief reflection was the publicity of his actions.

These are no actions of a ghost. My tools, should I expand these? What route might we have taken differently?

He would find an answer to assuage Ban Bingbai.

The vessel had descended many li of vertical distance, prompting Fu to approach the edge in anticipation of mooring. A second Sublime Tiger Association warship loitered below, its [Spatial Array] clear upon one end of the deck.

“I, Fuzheng Cheng, expect that our honoured guest will reach the [Array] in a span of minutes,” reminded the merchant, keen to share his name once more.

Fu gave a nod, and retrieved Vibha from where she roiled. “This hospitality will not be forgotten.”

With simplicity, the warships were tethered, and he was ushered to stand atop an intricate mandala inlaid with further veins of [Spatial Qi]. An [Array] master stood before it, young and spritely, and dispensed a bow before querying his desired location.

It posed a problem, for any arrival within the main Sect’s domain would bring unwanted questions. As would a journey across the prefecture with a captive upon his shoulder.

The Clouded Courts Squads hold a presence within the main halls of the Sect. Should they note my favour… I will apologise to Zhu for this abandonment.

“The Cloudy Serpent Sect,” he said.

Similar to his suffusion of [Spectral Qi], his body felt ephemeral as the [Array] activated. He was thrust through space under a blare of tangerine light, staining his vision akin to one that held the sun in their gaze too long.

He arrived in a pillared expanse, some great hall with sprawling, cherry-red banners draped across every recess. Serpents wound at his feet the moment he dismounted the [Array] and arrived at the base of a short staircase.

[Spirit Beasts] of benign, if cumbersome nature.

They parted after taking his measure, and this scaled carpet receded into the myriad furrows set about the hall, or simply put their attentions elsewhere, allowing his passage.

Fu expanded his [Senses], and took a single step to find a blade at his throat. Nothing to warn of its arrival.

“Senior,” he greeted.

“Name yourself,” whispered his shadow.

“If the Senior would cut her junior’s sleeve, all will be made clear,” he replied, and tilted minutely to his concealed [Ink]. Tatters fell in the same breath, slashed to reveal the complexity beneath.

“No [Mantra of Heavenly Plums] stains you. I had expected more of our rising talent, disciple Gao Fu. Is the Elder’s favour so easily granted?”

The blade dropped, and from the shadows emerged a woman in black hanfu. A [Bloodline] evident in her nebula-filled eyes, tarnished only by disappointment.

Aside from the revelation that he was known, Fu maintained composure. “This lacking disciple will await his Master’s judgement.”

“As is best,” she agreed. “Why have you come?”

“This disciple sought the safety of the Sect to shed suspicion until he might move again. Safety provided by his fellow disciples. Lacking, as he is, he would inquire on the main branch’s Clouded Archives. This would be of use.”

The woman relieved him of Vibha, who was set upon her own shoulder to be swallowed under a manifestation of [Dark Qi]. “Maintain your [Qi Suppression], Gao Fu, and follow.”

Is it not already?

“Gratitude, senior sister.”

Though brittle, he took to the ceiling in several bounds. A scaling of pillars that placed in him the welcoming black of the upper recesses.

And he followed in awe.

Truly, this was a palace. In scale, the hall containing the [Spatial Array] might have fit his branch of the Clouded Courts wholly. Needlessly, perhaps, for such space was wasteful to the humble fisherman, yet impressive nonetheless.

The escorting ghost no doubt held her talent back, yet Fu could scarcely follow her. A shame, for he could glean no insight from a thing he could not see.

From these eaves they broached a junction, a stretch of corridors, and a council chamber in turn, finally setting them above a grand approach. A pillared motif once more, if comprised of golden, coiling serpents in place of marble bases.

Vast again, and interspersed with kowtowing disciples.

His leader cautioned Fu to hold, and- poised on a singular carved serpent’s tongue- she affected a bow.

Though he spied not the reason for this, he matched it. His mounting was a wider beam, granting him leave to drop as low as he might. So, upon hand and knee in this precarious spot, he watched a scene unfold.

Across the disparate placement of disciples below, for he noted how the cherry-red mounds appeared to have simply dropped wherever they had walked, approached a pair of cultivators.

The first stood no rarer in Fu’s eyes than any Orthodox disciple. Her hanfu no finer, nor her four [Spirit Serpents] no larger than many of the snakes he had witnessed. Mundane, save that all were patterned in scales of rich bronze.

However her presence had the ambient Qi cower.

Without an expansion of [Senses], he felt stifled. Choked, as if the Heavenly energy thinned and fled for fear of the woman. As did his own eyes feel they might not linger further, for any more and he might wither himself.

Their words carried plainly.

“...against the decree of the Pavillion Heads,” she said. “As you are, diminished. It is pitiful. This is not the disciple I recall.”

A cough sounded. An odd chord, for such sounds were reserved for the frailty of mortals.

“This pitiful disciple knows well,” the second agreed.

The [Clouded Ghost Arts] warbled to such an extent that Fu had to avert his gaze to regain composure. Yet still, azure blotches flocked to his mind. Memories made present.

At the second’s back strode a beaten [Spirit Bird]. No lustre to its crown of feathers, not the plumes at its rear. Had Fu not inscribed its likeness into his soul, he might not have recognized the once noble [Spirit Peacock].

Nor Cheng Rao at its fore.

His appearance more that of an aged grandfather than the wizened sage of yore. The fabrics upon him were tattered at the hem, and well-worn with the look of travel. Though with a deeper gaze, Fu saw beyond.

To the ashed sleeves and charred welts upon his skin. The grip upon his staff, and how it held him from toppling.

The solitary [Spirit Serpent] that quivered upon it.

What [Tribulation] did he face to have him so broken? Crippled. His last missive was to pursue Long. Truly, his fortune is poor to have encountered another before him.

Fu settled.

A prior suspicion was confirmed. One founded in the aftermath of the [Twilight Lotus Expanse]. Cheng Rao’s warship had indeed lingered in the skies above, though no more evidence was needed when the cultivator was plainly before him.

Their connection was almost tangible. He felt it within his chest.

The exchange had continued, returning to Cheng Rao. “...and it has led this wonting disciple to the Four Corners Prefecture.”

“Reflect on what shame this brings the Cloudy Serpent Sect,” envenomed the woman. “As one who walked the threshold of immortality. You were a talent once, Cheng Rao. But to be crippled by this mock disciple, and to tether your [Karma] so fruitlessly to another. These halls offer you no further hospitality, for your presence disgraces them.”

Mock disciple was a term long gone unheard. Yet, it was still his station.

The staff’s clatter was a world-shaking echo upon the marble floor. Cheng Rao followed after, his charred scalp set against it. “This fool beseeches you, Elder. Not for his own sake, but to restore what honour he might for our great Sect!”

“That you still claim belonging has me wish this Yongwu Long had finished his task.”

While the sight of Cheng Rao’s eyes were marred by distance, Fu knew tears might well have dropped. His [Intent] spoke of such. A depressive force of despair. “Mock disciple Gao Fu. This meagre traitor, and vile cur. The blight of his passage leads here. A moment within the Clouded Archives will reveal his location. Humbly, that is all that is asked.”

Shuidi impressed a desire to leave, swiftly. Hushi… held much curiosity for the situation.

We ascend one hill to find a mountain behind it.

Had this disciple of the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s Wandering House- if Fu recalled correctly, not displayed such a feeble attempt at bargaining, true terror might well have gripped him. But here only caution surfaced.

We grow each day. We must only ensure that a stretch of many more stand before our next meeting.

No confidence flowed, for this was a fool’s currency, and he merely set his attention on the cultivators below.

“Begone, Cheng Rao,” she said. “To beg resources from your betters further speaks to your diminishment. It will not be entertained.”

The [Spirit Peacock] choked out a chirp.

“As you say, Senior,” Cheng Rao said, and struggled to his feet. “This lacking disciple will bring no greater shame.” His gait quickened then, the clack of his staff in disharmony.

Fu remained in his bow, matching the disciple at his side.

As they did until Cheng Rao’s absence was assured, now disappeared through a distant entrance. The same direction that the four-serpented Senior watched, her expression graceful, and unable to be read.

“Know this, disciples,” she addressed. “The Cloudy Serpent Sect does not house cultivators such as this. A fool, grown dull over centuries. The once-fierce Cheng Rao, unmade for he believed that there were no Heavens beyond Heavens. Do not succumb to the same fate.”

Is Long so great a threat?

A hand was waved in dismissal, allowing the disciples to resume their duties. Some rushing, cherry-red flock that quickly dispersed as if a fire was lit beneath them.

And then the Senior put her attention upon the eaves. Her gaze, an oceanic weight, as it surged upon Fu’s buried head. “This shall be the last time my halls are used for transit,” she said. “Begone, mock disciple. The indebted dishonour us.”

Fu released a breath, and flashed away.