The simplicity of their tactics cloyed. Did he overthink it? Were his thoughts too aligned with mortality, his skills and proficiency, underestimated?

That much was feasible.

Stealing along the interior beyond the [Reliquary’s] door, Fu could but peer through the Qi-rich, [Dao] laced fog. A Blight, if of iron-grey coloration. His [Senses] were expanded as far as he might manage, though every puff contained misleading, dancing signatures that had him question the validity of such an act.

Within, a clash sounded.

Reverberating strikes of bian and blade. Above, where the second darted by him. Scales, and the malefic sabres that rung against them. Here, there, a stride away, then ten, two, twenty, all with the trail of displaced air, angered hisses and roars the like of which would herald an impending storm.

Yet Fu still clung to his wall.

To the best of his ability, in peeling fog or in the following wake of the [Spirit Beasts’] movements, he gleaned the layout.

A wide, circular podium behind which a deep recess spanned. He felt Yifei’s blows crack the air, her quaking step, never far inside this entrance. What he could not feel, however, troubled him greatly.

The iron-grey cultivator, nameless, and without known allegiance, her movements were on par with the experts of the Clouded Court Squads. A Yunhan, perhaps, or similar. Traceless, and spectral in her domain of obfuscation.

Fu’s heart nigh leapt from his well-beaten chest then, for her Bond blurred not a finger’s length away. Its coat of iron, the protruding tusks, fangs- sabres each, sopping wet where the tips had punctured scale and underbelly.

It lilted.

One flex of its nostrils, a searching incline of its head as Fu remained stock still.

A frigidity seized him, saved him when the [Spirit Tiger]- so named by Zhu, lurched where he might have stepped from its path. All the malice in its gaze, the [Senses] and instinct it held, beading.

But despite Fu’s demands, his treacherous heart would not silence, not for fear of the evocation that could see his head impaled by just one of those portentous fangs.

Yifei’s serpent lashed. Its tail of equal ill-portent, no whip, but a crushing trunk of resolute oak. Steel, he mused, showered then by the bronze filings that its impact birthed upon him.

Both Bonds voiced their bloodlust as the fray continued. About him, above, as though he were caught in a rockpool, his escape cut short by opposing tides.

So began his count, and his distant impression to Hushi that all would end soon. Yet the strikes overwhelmed even what sound his own thoughts made. This perilous crash that only fate willed from where he had slunk to the floor.

However, the serpent swiftly took the fray elsewhere in a clattering of tail. A thrash that saw the [Spirit Tiger] bound back some indeterminable distance to be swallowed by the fog.

Even still, Fu held.

[Half Cloud Step].

He flew first across the ground in bursts. Routine motions that stole ten strides, or twenty at a time. This [Reliquary], for all its bronze simplicity, was no small structure. Be it by swiftness or the ambient Qi, his skin prickled, growing colder with the proximity.

Yifei dispensed some manner of taunt amidst her cracks, muffled as it reached him. Expediting his heart once more, which raged until he crested the edge of the inner recess, and splayed himself to the floor for fear of discovery.

Half-won. But still there is Zhu.

No call had come from their would-be foes. No alarm of detection, which Fu had held to be the truest end to their deeds. Already, was he beyond expectation.

Tanshuai’s infinitesimal legs tickled out from the folds of his collar. Down she went, from breast to arm, to the fingers spread before his face. Unseen, much as he was, noted only by the gentle touch of each hair upon his skin.

A ponderous thing, that light, of all things, could bend. Clad, and rid oneself from sight much as a force of dark might do the same in shadow. It spoke to Zhu’s mastery of the [Clouded Ghost Arts] and his path of [Mind] that he could affect this [Art] across such a distance without suspicion- let alone on another.

Fu waited, and edged. A fractional crawl rearward for every ten breaths. Not for the sake of surpassing Zhu, who was soon to follow, but to ward from the surging peripheral Qi. An immensity of several origins, no doubt reaching the crescendo of their fray.

In moments, the presence of Hushi neared.

Without exchange of their [Spirit Beasts], the ghosts made deeper into the recess. Unharried, yet cautious, for great reverberations continued to ring. The [Might possessed in this expanse a thing that belted currents through the fog in a violent ebb and flow.

A fool might speak as they reached ten strides more, or when they entered the odd repository in another length of the same distance. When both men, known only by the impression of the other’s Bond, stood astride at a series of plinths.

Three ascending to the central construct, where three fell once more on their opposing side. All laden with singular objects, of which the largest- the most profound in feel, scale and radiance, dominated.

Bones, in variety.

In discussion, Fu had shared his thoughts on this plan. On the anchoring treasure, in similarity to the [Green Blight Valley], on the [Mystic Realm’s] disintegration. He could recall the process, the terms shared by the Brigades. His Nineteenth, the branch of Cloudy Shadow Sect disciples, and the musings of Cheng Rao.

The warning that Zhu had countered. “The appearance of the [Mystic Realm] was instant, and so won’t the untethering be as such?”

No scholar, Fu had merely nodded. Which brought him to now, and the sweat-slick palm of his that hovered above the leftmost bone. Standing at the peak of [Bone Refinement] afforded little insight on it, and he knew that were he to guess its place within a body he would fall far short. An arm bone might well be a leg, a joint, or ankle.

It is of no fish, that much is certain.

A distortion covered the miniscule, intervening distance. Some draw that had his palm cool with uncomfortable speed. More so when he mirrored Zhu, stowing the item within his spatial ring.

Relief.

In short order the others were claimed, plucked by the unseen phantoms. Delivering them before the final, and largest.

If this is a treasure to fill one’s [Primordial Constellation Gate], then what qualities does it possess? Must it not be a fitting reward for this ordeal? What then, of the others?

He was hesitant with this, as he was with the others. So he stared, absorbing each groove, each facet and line.

A raptor’s claw, blunted. But of a scale with my head. Would such a thing even fit within my ring?

Then came a flicker. A mirage that rose before his eyes, swaying with illusory gold, tugging at his self with absent draw- at first. Suggestions of insight, and promises whispered that held no distinct form. But he felt it build, swelling towards a path that might bestow an [Epiphany] if only he would clutch it.

Break it.

Snap it upon the bronze so that it might scatter, and invite a… a thing, a profundity of understanding.

Strange.

Fu denied the bone its lure, and refocused into a silence that should not be. At a moment’s notice he pressed a hand to Zhu’s shoulder. Easily found with both now visible. What was more, he saw the vacancy in his companion’s features and knew that the treasure had claimed his rapt attention.

So he shook, and set his own gaze behind.

No longer did the clash reach his ears. Only voices, multiple, cutting sharp through the clouds beyond.

A crash, a cry, and a sea of [Intent] removed his gaze from the treasure.

“Zhu,” he whispered, and the very moment he did the distant volume turned turbulent. Erupting in a burst.

Perhaps in collaboration with each facet of their circumstance, lucidity returned to the man. Who blinked, and flexed his brow as if shaking free of a hostile dream. “The treasure- it is unfathomable.”

Fu snapped back, and lunged a step to the side as he heard Zhu’s arm move with no small haste. Though the tong fa remained stored, and out of sight. Instead, the treasure was drawn from its plinth. Vanishing.

“Against it, Ding’s… misfortune is but a single drop of rain, no?” said Zhu, and beckoned Tanshuai to his side with an open palm.

No doubt in response to the Heaven-splitting quake that now overcame the [Reliquary’s] all.

🀨

Fu floundered upon his arrival in the [All Sky Peak], dismissing the [Ink] that welcomed the process. His fingers spasmed into the magenta grass, raking ground and tearing free the strands between them.

He was drained.

Hollowed and reduced to such a scale that for a moment he felt almost mortal. His Qi, his [Dantian], his muscles and more - all felt sallow and spent.

“The changes,” grunted Zhu. “All we’ve gained from the [Mystic Realm] is lost. A pain. I’d grown fond of my bloated [Might].”

What time there was for conversation totaled little, for in the space of his words a great deluge of bodies sprung into being. No flood of hundreds as before, but all that had survived the [Hollow Hegemon’s Splinter].

One by one the grassland was populated, and their response spoke to the level of their skill. If not their rage.

For- not quite central- in the mass, a plume of iron-grey had begun to waft. A signalling flare that had a jian arrive, a [Dao of Spears] conjured in infinite to lance forth, gouts of true, elemental fury delivered with such haste that the cultivator was buried beneath it.

Vengeance, wrought.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

At the fore, pushed by deference alone, Yifei strode. Her [Spirit Serpent] encircled what few remained, urging their distance from the now-corpse with a similar show of respect. “This has ended,” she said, pushing disdain down the bridge of her nose.

It was so immediate. Both dispersal, and situation. Fu felt as such.

Our actions should not have worked. To bypass all threats, it defies belief.

Before he might look to the Heavens and give what thanks were necessary, Zhu came close, exchanging Hushi for his Tanshuai. The need for their communication methods, gone. But more than this, he pressed tight as the octopus crossed cultivators, teal arms bulging with suddenly materialised contents.

One of the treasures, Fu saw, now dropped in his palm.

And so, they waited. A span of minutes passing as disciples and warriors alike left in disgruntled, empty-handed grumbles. Some were muted, others, less than this, but the [Mystic Realm] no longer seemed to hold opportunity.

Fatigue played no small part in how the [Paifang] welcomed near every soul around.

Under the guise of experts, the ghosts approached Yifiei. Both expressionless, composed and with a tonality that implied disinterest.

“The task is concluded,” said Zhu. “Gratitude, senior.” In a step, he drew the woman’s corpse to his shoulder. Still swarmed by the dissipating specks of her [Spirit Tiger].

Yifei scowled. “The [Trial] was concluded. Under circumstances that were not of my own making. Speak on this, and unveil what mechanism was behind it. Intervention of this nature is a slight.”

“Our appointment allows only for efficiency,” said Fu, unfurling the treasure. An uncaring gesture, revealing the length of ivory he could not guess to be a rib. “Apologies-,” he further feigned. “-if our actions conjure aspersions of doubt about your [Prowess].”

A long breath passed without Fu expanding, souring Yifei further. She had lost face with this, and as such spread her palm for the treasure. But only so much as it would force Fu to move for the delivery.

“Know that if not for that branding, we would hold different conference. In my experience, those with your disgusting occupation should not be so brazen,” she said. “Open admittance of your allegiance begs a question. What is the circumstance behind this corpse, and what correlation exists between her actions and this reward?”

Fu put the bone in her palm, and said nothing.

Yifei put it level with her eyes. “Her cultivation was high, but she died a dog’s death in the end, forgetting the immensity of Heaven and earth. That there are experts beyond experts. Fitting, for any who would face a Cloudy Serpent. Yet, is it commensurate? Is…”

Is?

A flash delivered the [Spirit Serpent’s] snout forward, where a forked tongue extended towards the bone. Four eyes, tethered through their link, now enraptured by the treasure. Mesmerised, and so it stood for an uncomfortable length of time until finally Yifei coughed.

Her eyes, then, narrowed.

“We will be tied, with this,” she said. “[Karma] does not afford such treasures freely.”

Fu sucked in a breath akin to cold air. Her reaction was unexpected. Truly telling of the treasure’s value.

Of which he held three.

Zhu may well have held similar thoughts, though held his gaze with professional distance, ever feigning the need to traverse the [Paifang]. “A deed for a deed, nothing more.”

Further impressing the severity, or perhaps, grandeur, of the item, Yifei did not hold her tongue. Her words almost harried as they flew. “I cannot speak to personal import, only that a cosmic scale does not tip for such. The Heavens are not appeased by idle chatter or platitudes. This sum is unequal.”

From Hua, to Luo and then on. My understanding has ever been that I am not privy to the throes of [Karma]. In minor ways, perhaps- yet lately it is of more frequent mention. I must read on it.

For his thoughts, however, Fu spoke first. Wishing rid of his Senior. “Does a rising tide not lift all boats?”

As with numerous times before, and for no reason he could ascribe- his mild wisdom stalled those about him. An inscrutable brow rose on Zhu, and a silent gape for Yifei.

But soon, a nod. “An insight so pure,” she remarked. “It might beg forgiveness,Cousins. Brothers, now, with an association so distantly familiar. I had thought you freshly on the path of [Core Formation].”

If this was said in place of an apology, Fu both cared little and wished she might end it. “We will remain as cousins,” he said. “Our vocation allows for no more. Farewell, Senior. May you tread interesting paths.”

The three disbanded, and Zhu wrapped a shawl of his [Light Qi] around the corpse slung across his shoulder, vanishing it from sight. He cut a strange pose with this, his walk askew and one side dipped beneath no visible weight.

So saying, the [Paifang] showed no concern for this, and it was only what lay on the far side that put trouble in their path.

A mass of cultivators, of familiar hanfu, Bond and attitude. Yet here, on the pair’s emergence there was an accompaniment of more. The disgruntled throng were attended to- bothered, and swayed into questions by a great number of the Warrior’s Association.

They had erected partitions around the square’s sides, blocking access with wooden constructs of pike and post. These filtered the fresh arrivals through, and though they held no right to order or stall any of differing allegiance, their role as peacekeepers demanded some shallow offering of respect.

“We’re back to anonymity,” noted Zhu. “These cultivators might well know our allegiance, and for that we’d suffer. No more attention can be drawn until we return home.”

Home.

Fu pulled down the brim of his douli, blotting out the jarring midday sun. “The trouble of a few days prior, we cannot forget this either. We have leapt from the broth into the kettle it seems.”

This section of the city was unknown to him, vast as the Four Corners Prefecture was. A richer district than where the Clouded Court Squads were based, and doubtless a-prowl with Silver Loom cultivators.

“The [Tyranny] is upon us again,” said Zhu. “My Qi manipulation will not last across the city either. Daylight… We can’t move under these conditions. There are myriad inns and boarding houses within short step, we’ll secure a room and wait for nightfall. A waste of time, perhaps, but I’m sure we have matters to occupy us.”

While the gathering was less a procession than a jumble, it was moving. Inching between the barriers and the flow of Warrior’s Association cultivators. It created a gap where the pair did not step, and their hesitation invited the eyes of one such questioner.

A youth of flaxen hair spied them, his face coloured with interest as he took a stride in their direction.

Fu watched his approach. How he stopped, dutifully, to allow one of the [Mystic Realm’s] arrivals by. His half bow, his dipped head, and the disbelief - as seen from above - when he could no longer locate his targets.

🀨

Fu unfastened the screen of the Spring’s Third Moon, allowing Zhu to step from balcony to room in a matter of heartbeats. The latter crossed the space, moving to a central tub of recently drawn, steaming water.

“Thoughtful,” said Zhu. “I’d wager this is why you took so long?” His head swept the room, all ten strides in each direction from plump bed to writing desk. He then grunted. “A middling establishment, but I’d have thought a trunk to be a standard furnishing.”

“Beneath the bed.”

Zhu fetched the article, opened the lid, and grunted a second time when the corpse proved too large to fit inside. After another moment, he simply draped the sheets atop her, half-stuffed in the trunk, and pushed it to the farthest corner of the room.

But he did not rest there, and unceremoniously rid himself of clothes to sink into the bath a moment later. “By the Heavens,” he sighed, languidly. “Are there oils? Cultivation does not keep blood and grease from a man’s hair perpetually. You’d have thought we’d swam through a lake of it.”

“Did we not?” suggested Fu. With his own clothes stained, torn, soaked and otherwise destroyed, he might well have. “It was a point of contention with the attendant downstairs.”

“Your look? Yes. Though we’re both no better than beaten dogs at this point.” Zhu submerged his head, and a sopping curtain hung when he rose. “Our appointment doesn’t come with appearance in mind, see here, the knots.”

Is this truly important?

“Tanshaui is ever impressing on it, and I’ve found I do not hate it. Vanity. No. Pride in appearance.”

Ah. In his place I would cook fish. Hold Yuqi tight, and share the same stories that she pretends to show interest in.

There was a mortality to Zhu, then. A… Fu could not place it. A vulnerability, perhaps, in how he sought conversation. Or was it a guise? He held three treasures in his ring, after all.

Regardless, his hook was but a thought away.

“...the young man,” Zhu had continued. “That cultivator crying ‘points’, as though he were moon-touched. His hair had definition, yet he was at the early stage of [Core Formation]. A master must have instructed him thus.”

Fu removed his douli, allowing Hushi to spill forth. The octopus was of matching weariness, and slopped lazily to the seam where screen met floor. Cooling himself in the draft.

“We are well into our [Season’s] free time,” he said absently, lifting a laugh from Zhu.

“We are. Let’s hope that our acquisitions might extend it. It should be said that I’ve a troubled heart to part with it, even if its nature is undetermined. [Trials] ought to hold matching value, as Yifei inferred. For her to fall to our duplicity with the lesser of these treasures, the true reward must be fate changing.”

When Fu opened his spatial ring to pour all three treasures to the floor, Zhu leapt from the bath. He did the same, albeit his own action splashed pools upon the wood.

“Tanshaui,” Zhu called, summoning the butterfly to his side. She fluttered between the row of bones, oblong, and more curious now threat did not pull either gaze. The largest treasure remained in storage, leaving five.

“Two and a half each, if we are to do this fairly.”

“You know the purpose of these?” asked Zhu. “A material for refinement?” With a rough hand, he banged one length of bone against the wood. “It is dense.”

In a thought, Hushi had left his drafty seam. “I do, yet Hushi knows better the realms of treasure and Qi. My sense for such things are poor.” Fu recalled the octopus’ insight, so long ago, when Mei had sought to first Bond with her [Spirit Lizard]. How Hushi had intuited what manner of path it followed.

Zhu looked to Tanshuai, conspiring silently until she landed on the second of the row.

“Is it what we think, Hushi?” asked Fu, receiving his affirmation. “Then I would ask you find what we need, if you have any clue to its nature.”

The octopus, however, was ahead of him in this. His arm had coiled around a plate, of sorts, or a disc, and eagerly scaled his cultivator. But this was altogether too fast. Too much against Fu’s current wishes.

His absorption of the [Hundred Immunities Fruit] had turned him spasmodic, and what might befall him when a wealth-

Hushi. Not now. It leaves us-

Only impatience, no, frustration returned. Reaching its peak as the bone was thrust into Fu’s shoulder blade.

“Fu?”

An intensity of molten liquid then burrowed through his flesh. What shape, what speed, what effect thereafter could not surface in his mind. Simply, pain. Heat. Fire. Coals within his bone, and of such a strength that a segment of his shoulder melted.

And then something entered, overwriting the semblance of caution he wished to feel. The concern that he was vulnerable, that Zhu was poised with his tong fa ready to impale a tip through his eye socket like so many [Demons] before.

But hands came instead, and then a great flood as water drenched him.

Fu spluttered and flailed, feeling… feeling humour from his Bond. A mirth that pushed him upright in a mended state and towards the bucket-laden cultivator.

This… an assault of differing form.

“You’re revealing yourself to be a dramatic sort, Fu,” said his partner, and for good measure, dumped another scoop. “Well? It’s poor to keep me in such suspense.”

With a slightly furrowed brow, Fu’s [Ink] was conjured. Novel, for it seemed that during his regular dismissals during the [Trial] he had missed a simple change.

My [Wind Phantom Strides]? Perhaps unceasing combat has improved me.

With one wary eye, he looked beyond his conjuration of teal. Zhu only stood, still unclothed, with impatience written across his features.

“A [Hollow Ivory Splinter],” said Fu.

Zhu’s reply was uncharacteristically giddy, and he drew his own treasure high. “I’d not have my own bath water thrown over me,” he warned. “If it can be helped.”

But Fu shook at this, more so for the… peace. The lack of temptation, threat, or malice in the man’s eyes.

Enough times now has he stayed his blade, let alone outright saved me. Those- those are the eyes of a comrade, no?

Hushi’s impression came strange, as though he alone had held back a bursting stream, and was now able to stand free.

“Refrain from throwing the bath water?” smiled Fu. “I think, Zhu… I think this task may prove too great for a mere fisherman. No?”