…ancestors remain?

[Karma].

The natural tribulation for those with so venerable a realm, and one dispensed by the Heavens to provide a fitting balance.

Just as a wave crashes upon one shore, so does it lift from another.

A sudden heat conjured leaves a coolness elsewhere.

The Heavenly tenet - Equilibrium.

It is observed by the Qi, for it is life, and must contain it. Why the Immortals of vast import, those of [Cherry River], of the [Second] Vajra or well lifted positions, or any of the innumerable geniuses beneath the skies. It is why they do not interfere.

Entwine.

For these women, men and beasts are calamities in and of themselves.

Disasters of natural scope, where one flash of a sleeve is akin to ten thousand squalls, and ten thousand quakes beneath the foot.

And with each of these, the world seeks to balance them.

- “Ancestors, and their absence,” an excerpt.

Strange, how Fu breathed deep of these mists. For all the time that he had spent in the Divine Clouded Mountain, countable in days, it held a familiarity. The wetness of air, the moisture that clung to his clothes - fresh robes fetched from a supply in his subterranean quarters now an unguessable distance away.

He had navigated through the Clouded Court Squads tunnels with little fanfare, finding each step to be a mirror of that in the Four Corners Prefecture. A useful design, he considered, and by the grace of this did he emerge to the street.

Or close to.

It was ten strides from a mundane door that the first ghost assailed him, her weapon pressed tight to the nape of his neck. Ceremonially, as this had become.

“Disciple Gao Fu,” he said, his voice without tremble or fright.

“Not of this branch,” she had replied.

“Of the Four Corners Prefecture, on leave,” and Fu boldly freed a shoulder from the tie of his robes, leaving one half to fall by his waist. The [Ink] would speak of his allegiance, if not the Elder’s favour.

With any hope.

The sharpness at his neck retracted. “A disciple of merit. Welcome, Gao Fu. Our branch is open to you, as well you should know.” She faded then, undetectable until he turned to witness naught but empty space.

I detected a handful of my fellow disciples in the Four Corners, barely. Here, she leaves no trace. As expected of the Cloudy Serpent Sect’s seat. All here are of a higher quality.

In relation to himself, he mused that most were. Though he afforded himself this thought as it seemed correct.

“Sister,” he called once more. “Might this junior trouble you?”

An expected silence followed, as queries were both below her station and in opposition to her role. As such, Fu made his way outside, hefting the door open to spill a great tide of cloud across the threshold which he summarily crossed.

An eerie glow of lanterns spoke of the day’s lateness, a sharpness of blue that did not so much penetrate the fog as tint it. [Autumn] often had such a fog ride upon the waters of Thousand Shore City, discoloured, yet a nuisance the same. Though the perils differed, and as he strode with [Senses] extended he crashed not into sandy shorelines or protruding rocks but instead negotiated about external stalls- empty for the hour.

The blue held him for a great many steps, to junctions and signs, whose headings fortunately contained what landmarks and services he sought and no litany of storefronts numbering in the thousands. Fu hastened in the direction of the nearest approximation of transport he might glean, a sign titled as Heavenly Wings, which if nothing else would put in the path of a face to ask on his location.

Travel was less plagued by the worries of his first arrival, and memories of [Green Blight] seemed a distant thing despite the cloud that clung to him so. But neither did [Demons] appear in the mouths of shaded alleys, nor [Spirit Beasts], sadist Seniors or douli-clad spectres in iron-grey smoke.

No.

Fu’s heart was too filled to succumb to these, pulling a quizzical expression from the silvering man that he now approached.

He stood among great nests of stone, visible underneath the repellent glow of [Dao] infused lanterns that ringed the stable. Named as such for the slumbering beasts tucked between, each a [Spirit Bird] of dramatic scale and in wondrous hue. To each bird there was a cultivator, and to most there stood another soul. Either a citizen in the heat of negotiation, or one of their fellows, whiling away the night with tales and conversation.

“Honoured customer,” falsely dipped the man before Fu.

“Greetings,” he replied. “These are the Heavenly Wings? Would I be able to charter transport to the Golden Merchant canton?”

The man stroked the thin whiskers upon his lip. “The Golden Merchant canton? That’s not a cheap trip. With the clouds, thick as they are this night, I’d have to make all manner of preparation.”

“I appreciate your time,” said Fu, wizened to the ways of merchants. “If master merchant is unable to navigate through such dreadful conditions, I would ask another. Good night.”

“Ah. Hold a moment, if you would,” scrambled the man. “It’s not a matter of inability-”

Fu took three steps before turning over his shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself. There are many of your associates that stand idle.” At this moment he impressed Hushi to descend, if only an arm. The length of teal emerged beneath the brim with a likeness of serpents, dancing as a cobra raised from slumber might. Then snapped back.

“Master cultivator,” said the man, widening his eyes. Rubbing the night’s weariness from them as though what he had seen may well be a trick. “For a man of the Sect…” His words trailed at Fu’s command.

“A man,” he warned. “No more on this night, master merchant.”

Behind, the [Spirit Bird] stirred in its great nest. An impression passed to instruct it to move with some semblance of dignity., no doubt, and it bowed its head low to show a trail of carnelian ribbons streaming from its tip.

“The Golden Merchant canton. Ah yes,” the merchant mused, his face alight with a sudden remembrance. “I’ve dealings there soon.” He then gestured to his Bond, whose back sported a length of fabric that remained rigid despite its motion.

Fu nodded his gratitude, and arrived gracefully on the [Spirit Bird’s] platform.

And so they rose. Tremendous drums, this beast’s wings proved. A stroke of each was thunderous, and lifted them swiftly to the air where it fell into steady rhythm.

For his part, Fu sat, for the sights of the Divine Clouded Mountain would not go beyond cloud and darkness for some time. He might have spent the journey wiser. A brief foray into completing his [Bone Refinement], perhaps, or an inspection of what treasures were within his spatial ring. But he did nothing more than sift through the remainder of Yunhan’s tomes, and revel in the peace this flight provided.

Until a hint of sunrise beckoned, some few hours later.

“The Golden Merchant canton,” puffed the merchant. The intensity of their speed proving a labour not only to him, but to the [Spirit Bird] on whom they rode. “Where would master cultivator wish for me to set down?”

A moment passed wherein their mount slowed, splaying its wings to descend with a more even keel.

Stolen from NovelBin, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Master cultivator, forgive me. But we are almost upon it, and my Bond is well spent.”

Fu set down as many spirit stones as he had remaining in his ring, wedging the trite sum where platform met strap.

[Dao of Wayward Breezes].

🀨

For the third time, his hand traced the gnarls upon their doorframe. A breath was drawn, the first of several. A shrug. A stretch.

All to loosen the tension held within his chest.

Another breath passed.

Then, a length of time in which an incense stick might burn.

He looked at the milk-white snake that slithered unhurriedly down the hall.

Another breath.

Fu took the douli from his head, meeting Hushi’s comforting stare. The most notable of pauses began here. His focus ever on the black, knowing warmth of his companion’s eyes. Further moments passed.

Anything less than a smile is undeserving of them.

There was an exchange, then, and Fu retrieved a familiar article from his ring. Which put one douli in either hand. Mei’s, and his… own. In a final breath he stowed the latter, and pushed open the entrance to the Gao clan apartment.

A hum met his first step, growing louder as he advanced down the hall. Something sorrowful, pleasant, and something unknown to him. Yet cathartic in its familiarity, for an unbidden smile touched his lips with each forward pace until he had a shoulder braced against the wall.

Yuling was set above the stove, sweeping diced vegetables into a pan from the board to her right. Her sway was in time to the tune she gifted, and Fu saw the dance to her movement, one she held when free from affecting her usual propriety.

In the room’s corner, Nuwang purred softly. The [Spirit Lion]’s eyes were closed, her head nestled upon crossed paws. Sleepily enamoured with the carrying tune.

Fu only watched.

His heart filled, and that same sensation returned. The presence of pride, of mirth, of assurance and undiluted love. Always did it reach his cheeks first, as though these emotions were so uncontainable they might bring him to joyful tears.

Nuwang leapt high, startled as if she were some mortal feline.

“Peace, Nuwang, peace,” laughed Fu, and in that moment the spoon in Yuling’s hand clattered to the floor.

“Father!” she half-shrieked, her head a-swivel.

He pushed past her bow, knowing well it would redden her cheeks to do so, and clutched his daughter in an embrace. “My Yuling,” he grinned. “My Yuling. I did not wish to disturb your song.”

The expectation of her to pull away rang false, for her head buried deep into his shoulder and a dampness pressed tighter yet. “The vegetables have a sting,” she muffled, only drawing back to rub at bleary eyes.

“So they do, daughter,” smiled Fu. He put her at an arm’s length, and she bowed lower than the respect he was due warranted. A droplet landing on the floor beneath. “Almost two [Seasons] have passed, and here you stand-”

An impact took him a step off-balance as Yuqi thrust herself upon him. “Father! You have returned!”

Fu’s mouth expanded to such a width that it might break were any more joy to power it. “My daughter,” he laughed, and drew Yuling into the fold. “My daughters!”

“You look well, father! Are you hungry?” burst Yuqi. “I could prepare a meal…” She then simmered under Yuling’s glare.

“I shall prepare a meal for father,” his eldest, by mere minutes, warned. Yuling swept to the stove once more, “Father, do you want flavour or nourishment?”

Ah.

“Nourishment, Yuling. I have not said it yet, but I am of [Winter]. This [Season] has been a hungry one.” He was led to the table, and Yuqi stooped to free his feet of sandals. However, stopped, seeing the softened slippers of his uniform. “There is no need Yuqi. My soles no longer ache as they once did.”

The young woman seemed almost hurt that her tradition was broken, but stood and nodded. They chatted on small matters to start, and he asked after their studies, what lessons Grandma Hua had them learn, and how their time was spent. With each turn taken between Yuling and Yuqi, he only listened with rapt attention.

He granted small nods between mouthfuls of his congee, finding it a flavoursome dish. Traces of [Air Qi] swam throughout, stirring his [Dantian] with each small cut of pork swallowed.

From the corner of the room, Yiji looked on. The [Spirit Tiger’s] tongue aflutter as though he were tasting each bite. Evidently jealous of the octopus at Fu’s side, pecking at his own bowl.

“You both have far surpassed your father, I am impressed beyond words!” Fu laughed. “Why I have here two archives in place of daughters, brimming with the words of a thousand tomes.”

“Gratitude, father,” they said, though Yuling hid her smile poorly.

“But where is Feng? Is he not to join us? Or has he simply yet to rise?” Fu craned his neck to the screen behind, expecting to see his son burst through at any moment.

Yuqi giggled. “Feng has preparations from the upcoming tournament, father.”

Does this warrant such a laugh?

Fu’s curiosity was piqued. “A tournament? Feng has enlisted to fight for competition? He was wavering on the martial path, last we spoke. Uncertain.”

“The challenge is a battle of [Dao], Father,” said Yuling, a corner of her lip tugging upwards. “His martial path is merely a method of exercise now, as he is prone to telling us.” The statement held an undercurrent that Fu could not place.

“This time apart is not something I would wish for,” admitted Fu. “It leaves me far from the goings on of your lives. Speak, daughters, you are hiding something from me.”

“Feng…”

The door opened wide, and the son entered as if on cue. “Father!” he roared, completing the set. But Feng did not rush as the others had done, bowing only after he set down a glossy, turquoise pipa.

My son.

Fu moved with a [Might] that had each of his children’s [Spirit Beasts] start with interest. A rotation of heads that snapped all attention to his crossing of the room. “My son!” he grinned. “Look at you, the Heavens have blessed you, truly!” He cupped a palm to the young man’s hardened jaw, and to the prickly shadow of hair upon it.

Yet-

My son…

A lump pushed upwards in Fu’s throat, having him draw from the undeniably handsome youth before him and to the instrument.

My son is a… musician.

“Join your father, Feng, so we might all sit together,” he said, and met his children at the table. “Your sisters tell me of a tournament? Is my son now so skilled he might stand shoulder to shoulder with the youths of the Divine Clouded Mountain?”

Feng glanced at the pipa. “I- My studies have-,” he took a moment to gather himself. “Father, I have taken up the path of [Arrays] and inscribing. The tournament is a part of my cultivation.”

Feeling his brows rise, Fu put forth a grin to spare his son’s feelings. “An [Array] master? What news! A man of the Gao clan with learned standing! Feng, this is wondrous.”

“Truly?” asked Feng.

“Truly, son, truly,” he said, for was this not what he strove for?

Before cultivators and Qi, Hushi and Cloudy Serpents, was not this not why his hands were near bloodied from moulded knots? The reason for his old, aching back, his deprivation from sleep. So on, and so… many unimportant details.

This was no time for such thoughts.

“Tell me all, I am eager to hear it!” Fu continued, gesturing to the instrument in the corner. A mote of relief, hopefully hidden. “The pipa is part of this, yes? A tool for insight?”

“If insight is named Eighty Seventh Ruoxuan,” cut Yuqi, half-masked by the bowl of congee she had brought to her face.

“Sister,” warned Yuling.

Quiet until now, Paxing hooted from the doorframe, the [Spirit Ape’s] great lips now an oval instrument of his own.

“Your master, then? Or the head of this Sect?” said Fu, yet he noted that Hushi was giving him a peculiar look. “I would know more on your teachings? Is it a school? A part of the Cloudy Serpent curriculum?”

Yuling approached from his side, retrieving all of the empty bowls in turn, and granting Feng the time to align his words. Ever conflicted, as he was. “A local daoist, father. Not, Ruoxuan, she- though a daoist she is. It is an opportunity to gain mentorship. Whomever succeeds in the competition will win favour, and tutelage. Master Bhaswar is his name.”

“I would say have not heard of him, but the world is vast and your father has been focused of late,” Fu stated. “He is a reputable master? Moreover, does your Grandmother approve of such a choice?”

I wonder where she might be? Sleeping is doubtful.

“Grandmother has blessed my path,” said Feng. “As I hope you will, Father.”

Fu grinned wide. “You have my blessing, son. A thousand times over. It would be a joy to see you in this battle of [Dao], it sounds intriguing! Ah, I have only a handful of days here. When does it take place?”

“The day after tomorrow, Father.”

“Good. I shall not miss it then.”

The glow of sunlight within the mists had grown over their conversation, now a radiance that peaked through the cracks of the adjacent window. With it, he saw the stirring of his children. The small parcels of guilt that held them still.

Yuqi’s suppression of movement lacked any subtlety most of all, and Fu caught her attention to the door behind.

Of course. My children are diligent.

“Your Father is well weary from his travels,” Fu lied, massaging the skin beneath his eyes. “I am sure you have duties, your training. Feng, I would not keep you from preparation for this tournament even if I was granted a good night’s rest. Children, do not let me keep you. I am sure Grandmother has words for me at any rate.”

His triplets stood at once, pushing gracefully from the table. “Gratitude, Father,” came their reply in concert.

“Will we see you at evening meal?” asked Yuqi.

“I would not go to the trouble of cooking fish stew without eating it myself,” Fu smiled, though he had yet to check the cupboards. “Yes, Yuqi. I will be here if any of you finish your training early.”

Yuling and Feng bowed once before leaving, their [Spirit Beasts] in wake. Yet Yuqi did not, and strode over with Yiji at her side. The tiger dipped his brutish head as she did so, clumsily marking his respect.

She looped her arms around him, and he placed a gentle palm on his bindings. “Yuqi?”

“Thank you, father,” she said, squeezing him tight. “I do not know if the others have said it yet. But thank you. My training today is vital, though if I put in twice the effort now I will have time tomorrow to spend as I wish. Which is with you.” The pair left after this, and all that Fu heard was the door closing behind them.

He looked to Hushi. “Children no more, it seems.”

The octopus however, only impressed his curiosity of fish stew. Going so far as to share a mental image, and an emotion akin to salivation.

“Ah. A troubling promise for one with no spirit stones. But, we have our ways, no?”