-not a thing that stood to any ceremony, for here this Daoist faced a disparity of cultivators beneath the spectrum of realms.

A girl of eight moons rode tall on her [Spirit Horse], and lowered her qiang in obvious challenge. An [Ice Affinity] pit against one servant, whose death by my order did not brighten the mood of any tribal soul.

Fourteen of my household were gifted in this manner, proving only what waste their paths merited and how wonting they were against the enigmas beneath these canvas tents.

Children, Elders, and all those between, no eyelids raised with judgement save for those overcome with their lust.

I would paint the scene.

The corpses of my household, noted now by me to be of composite parts- intended for the young girl’s use. [Water Qi], and [Air Qi], and shapings of the [Dao] that pushed it from [Mist] or a facet of [Rain] to take the form of [Ice].

Amidst the tents, she descended, and showed why these cousins live in their self-styled Sacred Lands.

Her hand came down, and plucked, returning not their souls to the Wheel, but to the torment of the void. For her actions had them cinder, and ash, and in place of silent mounds they became a pearl of tumultuous white.

A pill of demonic inspiration, that she swallowed thereafter.

- “Tribes at War, an Introduction” - Collated tales by Daoist [Laughing Yellow Plain]

It was the following morning that Fu faced the scrutiny of the miserly Contribution Hall senior, and his ill-entertained gaze.

“-with the tithe,” explained Fu.

“The gains from missions are to be doled out by your Squad Leader, disciple. In presentation, and by your words, am I to take it that these were gained outside their permissions?”

The Heavens are indeed cruel this [Season].

With a neutral expression, Fu made to return his looted spoils from the counter where they were splayed. Though a hand rose to stop him. “It is possible to judge these with an unbiased view, and award contribution as such. But know, disciple, that you may come off less favourably than if your Squad Leader had awarded you personally. The Sect will take their tithe based on value, and once the ratio is met whatever is left is your own. Yes?”

“My Squad Leader’s duties have him well occupied, and this junior would appreciate any assistance the senior may provide.”

The topography of wrinkles atop the man’s brow shifted, arching one brow. “What a diligent disciple, one whose sole intentions are to spare their betters from trouble. I am sure.”

Fu’s intentions were truly as clear as limpid water, it seemed.

However the man before him swept a hand across the herbs, pills and trinkets all the same, and had many vanish into nothing. “A {Qi Condensation Pill]” he remarked. “This will be returned, for why would a disciple rid himself of a Sect-created gift? They do not go spare, yes?”

The fool swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “As you say, senior. This junior had surely mistaken his own belongings for what he intends to exchange.”

“Yes, for there are few reasons why a disciple would have these in such abundance that they might be sold,” warned the senior, to Fu’s wary nod. “The conversion for this remaining sum nears two thousand contribution points, will you accept it?”

A second nod came, and he materialised his [Contribution Array] after confirmation.

“Hold, disciple,” the senior interrupted. “You are Gao Fu, of Yunhan’s tutelage.”

“I am, senior.”

This brought a darkened scowl, and another flash of his hand. Beneath which, a single clay chit appeared. “I recall you now, the fiend that decluttered my wall of postings,” he said, though made no effort to expand on the point.

Fu gave his gratitude, and stowed the chit in his spatial ring under the facade of placing it within his clothes. He had an inkling of its meaning, and it would not do to unveil it here. With a longing glance at the contracts upon the wall, he left, weighing such a feeling against the information a fresh warmth provided.

🀨

Frustration was a rare thing to surface in Fu, in an emotion that now rose with increasing frequency since he had first stepped upon the path against the Heavens. The prevailing gaps in his knowledge were limiting, both in martial study and in a broader sense.

Without Yunhan to aid in his questions or guide his training, his standard, daily, method of practice felt like infinitesimal progression. Whether that be the poses instructed to him by Long, the processes of the [Stifling Stream Revolutions] and the [Wind Phantom Strides], or practice of his [Dao Principles].

“To know the path ahead…” he muttered, this having become his most intrinsically understood wisdom of late.

Hushi was on the adjacent training dummy to Fu’s own, a buffer of [Air Qi] taught around each limb as he subjected the wood to various forms of crushing. Intelligent as he was, the octopus’ own martial understanding was as stifled as his own.

“If the remaining time until this auction is our own- as it appeared this morning- what then will we focus on? We might incorporate our [Dao of Wayward Breezes] further? Yet it is moot without the ability to cowl its presence beneath the [Clouded Ghost Arts]. Yunhan had us train at a disadvantage, could we inspire the same heat without him?”

Unbound to the man, Fu reasoned that he might find tutelage beneath another of his senior disciples. If only for a moment. As allowing that discredited his actions with Zhu, and invited the same problems into his home.

The same circuit of thoughts surfaced for the next hour, and the hour beyond. His strikes and form were laced with hesitant thoughts, which proved a testament to their strength in how most exercises had his mind clear with focus.

“Consolidation of our foundation,” he finally said, sagging to the sand. “Yunhan punished us for progressing our cultivation without first understanding the [Clouded Ghost Arts]. If meaning is to be drawn from such a lesson, then we shall follow it.”

But Hushi could not reply, even wordless as he was.

Heartbeats after his words had ended, Fu felt the [Air Qi] shift. It was no marker of his senior ghosts, and came instead from the subtle draft of an opening screen.

By instinct he entered the eaves, and poised himself behind the cover of a vertical pillar. He thought there was little need to draw his weapon, however, and watched as a figure entered below. It unbunched his shoulders to see Niharika’s entrance.

Though here, her temples were clutches. A hand, draped across her eyes.

Troubled, it seems.

To linger as he did evoked memories of his inaugural mission, even without the expectation of… passionate jade beauties. But he waited despite it, seeing her draw her [Spirit Worm].

Impressions were drawn between cultivator and Bond, as judged by the shaking of her head and what appeared as the mouthing of words. It had Fu wonder on the worm’s ability to read lips, as she did, though his attention was drawn almost immediately elsewhere.

The flow of crimson characters, birthed from a familiar chit.

Taken from NovelBin, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Fu spiralled to the ground with a step, having twisted to bare his face towards her own. Yet it did not prevent her reaction, as she drove back in a low stance, unleashing a needle in his direction.

[Might] had this slow, however. A glaring difference between the path of [Body] and [Mind], for Fu was put to no trouble as he caught it between his thumb and forefinger. “Sister,” he exclaimed, mouthing it with dramatic fashion.

Niharika scowled, having him recall her reaction to such… performances. “Brother,” she returned, slackening from her stance.

He wondered on what next to say, struggling against composure. Heaven held no favour for him, and nothing stated that her chit was a mirror to his own. “In your hand there, I would ask how you came about such a thing.”

“Your eyes have surely adapted to the darkness by now. My hand holds nothing.” True to her word, all that remained was ash. “You ask on grains of sand.”

Fu picked his finger, uncertain. Would his own lips be loosed were another to press him as he now did? The appearance of chits- these warrants for the death of fellow disciples- they were no thing to be shared.

But, even then. “Your squad, it has lost a member recently?”

The narrowing of the Vajra’s eyes told him all. “A misfortune befell one of my seniors. He proved overzealous in our latest mission. Why would Fu ask this?”

“My own squad has suffered in this way. Another misfortune,” he said, measuring Niharika’s every response. The light of her eyes, the motion of her hands, searching for any betrayal that might indicate they shared a path. “The Clouded Courts Squads is full of peril.”

“Brother Fu predicts further misfortune?”

“Does Sister Niharikia?” he replied.

The words had reached a stalemate, which brought Fu to musing. For Niharika knew of him, and his origin, his ignorance. Was there a fellow closer to him than she? He weighed Elder [Of Perennial Shade’s] words, and how she had included Niharika’s name.

Fu produced the chit from storage, and held it gripped as if that might stall the characters from spilling forth.

“Quan Ding,” read Niharika, when his efforts clearly failed.

“A man deserving of misfortune.”

The words hung in the air until Niharika released a breath. “I have noticed a number that are deserving of misfortune. Though the boundary of my knowledge is limited to my own squad.”

Fu released his own breath, unaware he had held it. “Then are we to be assassins of assassins?” he asked. “I cannot help but think the task is a trouble that should fall to others.”

“Others? Who best to cleanse filth than those that are not coated in it?”

“You think this is what we do?”

Niharika pursed her lips, and slackened considerably. “What else?” she said. “Yet I think it rings beyond the simple machinations of seniors. Execution is no rare punishment for failure.”

“An Elder would have no qualms cleansing by their own hand,” he agreed. “How my… first, fell, it was fateful. By nature of our training, most would be, will be, I would think. But for how we came to have these tasks- there is an expectation of secrecy.”

“It is unlike Brother Fu to seek to know.” This comment had Fu show his puzzlement, but a hand was raised to quash it. “His head often looks elsewhere from Sect affairs. There is never talk of ‘for the Sect’. ‘The righteous Cloudy Serpent Sect’. ‘Our’ Clouded Court Squads. Yunhan’s instruction is heeded and his techniques are imparted. But-”

It surprised him to find how much she had noticed. “Sister Niharika sees much, but I am a ghost as she is.”

“Brother Fu wears the clothes of a ghost. I mention this as trading theories absolves you of ignorance. Such a thing may go against the wishes of our taskmaster. Our [Dao Oath] has us as instruments or do you not recall?”

“You speak as if you know our purpose,” he said, ignoring the slight. “If I am to fit these clothes- I would have it shared. Is this not best?”

After a moment of thought, Niharika frowned. “Ask on why such secrecy is employed. Who might one in the Clouded Court Squads hide their actions from? No external force. The Cloudy Serpent Sect is a pillar. No branch as we are would fall short of the excellence of its shade.”

“Internal, then?”

“As ever.” Niharika led him to the sand with a gesture, and bid him sit where the Mistress was once cowled. To his further surprise, she drew a tome from her person. A detectable burst of Qi alerting Fu to a spatial ring of no subtle signature, which was addressed as she continued. “A relic from a previous life.”

Fu did not press for details, and set his eyes on the tome. Plain, and mottled wood served as its two covers. “A registry?” he read as it opened.

No response came, and he cursed his foolishness.

“A registry,” he repeated, putting his face in view of her.

Her path forward is fraught. That she has progressed so far is remarkable.

Truly, Fu’s admiration for the Vajra rose each time he pondered on her inability to hear as he could. As most could.

Niharika nodded. “It is my guess that brother Fu cannot name the Sect Matriarch.”

“[Gleeful Viper],” he guessed.

In place of affirmation, a finger was put to the scrawl upon the pages. “A Mistress and an Elder. No Matriarch.” This was the first question, and the last, as her finger highlighted what it was he should look at. Webs, to Fu’s look, stemming downwards from a singular point where [Clouded Serpent Queen] was read.

A fork twisted beneath the inscription of matriarch, and Fu read both names beneath. “[Gleeful Viper], and [Thrice Clouded Boa].” Elder was set beneath these, with the moniker of Mistress as Niharika had stated. The list went on, and he mused that registry was not as apt a description as hierarchy, for that is what he looked at. “Elder, elder, elder,” he continued, trying to mask the feeble rate at which he counted.

“Names do not tell much. But there is contention if one knows where to look.” Her forefinger and index split, trailing from the two mentioned to each of the myriad Sect Elders below. So numerous that three pages were crossed before any demarcation between appointments were shown. “An easier split between allegiance but no less troublesome.”

Fu had a thought. “Two factions? Are these the Orthodox and Unorthodox?”

Niharika grimaced. “Of the innumerable Sects on the boundless path there are few with such clear factions. Sub-factions will exist. Branches. Yes. But it is as Fu says.”

“[Gleeful Viper]. I could not forget her [Spirit Beasts], those Heaven-defying serpents. She leads the Orthodox, then? And [Thrice Clouded Boa], the Unorthodox? Motives are beyond me, but I see no merit in warring beneath the same Sect.”

“The motives in this case are clear. Each sister wars for their mother’s position as Matriarch.”

Sisters at- no, a family at war?

“Openly?” asked Fu.

“As open as propriety allows. No different from any other cultivators competing for resources on the path against the Heavens. They have their will. Another has their own. It is no thing to be vilified.”

All that Fu knew of the [Clouded Serpent Queen] was tome-led, and he was thankful for an expansion to his knowledge. Even if it detracted from the concerns of his personal involvement. “And the Matriarch?”

“Her mandate is this succession. A contest to reach heights and conditions unknown to me. But if you ask after her I can neither speak her mind nor am I in a position to guess it. Save for the knowledge that her millenia long seclusion is no secret.” Niharika retrieved the tome just as Fu’s finger landed atop [Of Perennial Shade].

Which was noted.

“I would choose the middle, if the option was presented,” Fu half-smiled. “But the rice is cooked, and we are set on a course by our betters.”

Niharika moved to the wooden training dummies. “It cannot be said to which we belong.”

“Those that have… suffered misfortune- life is not so clean to have deserving villains in one faction, and righteous in the next. Are you certain these are the swaying forces?” he asked.

“It cannot be guessed.”

Her first strike ended further comments. An open palm, clean into the section of wood where a [Dantian] might rest on flesh. Methodical blows followed, still of this open-palm style. A shunt to the right, where an arm of wood protruded by her shoulder, a slap and intuitive counter.

The formless style of Yunhan’s teaching.

To see it spurred no thoughts of his progression, other than that such techniques were a vital accompaniment. Yet previously his co-ordination was lacking, and the sum of his experience intervened where memory was concerned. A staggered flow where such strikes had his [Stifling Stream Revolutions] mistimed to dangerous effect.

It is no time to branch my training. Foundation is where my focus must stay.

Fu fell in beside her, extending a slow kick to the side of his own target’s wooden head, and then a weave. The rhythm of struck wood only rising.

An hour passed like this, and Fu found that his mind was rid of troubles. He would complete two sets, and in trusted company, reveal the manuals from which he took his martial arts. A repetition of acting, pausing, studying and adapting, which was the usual process when Yunhan had instructed their training.

It was Niharika that broke first, looking all the worse for her efforts. Her path of [Spirit] a lesser one where stamina was concerned. Though he mused this would be well countered by the myriad [Dao] this afforded, and what attributes would come with their understanding.

His own motions quieted soon after, and once more he had joined her on the sand. “It is strange,” he said. “But I miss the heat.”

She sipped water from a wooden bowl, covered in a sheen of perspiration. Quite intent on finishing before her reply. “Brother Fu is talkative now.”

“Ah,” he cringed. “Does this trouble you?” Outside training, he supposed that they had interacted little.

Niharika put her [Spirit Worm] to the bowl’s edge, where it dunked its head. “No,” she said. “It is that most do not bother when they learn of my affliction.”

“Affliction?” asked Fu. “Sister Niharika does not seem diseased.”

Bemused, she took another sip. “Then you must put in your eyes. Disease. A good term for the befallen fate,” the bowl lifted to obscure her mouth. “I know much of Gao Fu the fisherman. Yet I wonder how much you know of me? Would you still be cordial?”

Fu passed a look then that he had given Yuqi many times. One soft enough to suppress foolish worries, and have her continue without his prompting.

“My clan is the One Hundred and Ninth.”

“Of the One Hundred and Eight?” he said, hoping that some intricate law of mathematics had not escaped his notice.

“Formerly.”

“And this has you diseased?”

“As falling from grace often does,” she said. The [Spirit Worm] pulled close to her, brushing against her neck. Almost comforting, if bugs could provide such a thing. “Our position was usurped and the [Dao]... The [Dao] proclaimed us to have lost our truth.”

Fu was unsure what to say, and endeavoured to dip his head. “Apologies, Sister. I have spoken out of turn.”

“I spoke first. You merely listened,” she smiled. Though it was shallow. “There is curiosity behind your eyes. Ask what you would. A ghost should not be troubled by their life before.”

To see her expression… his curiosity lost, and he elected to speak with care. “Loss is a thing I know well. It is said that a fall into a ditch makes you wiser. But it is a greater ditch than any other, no? For even climbing free does not rid you of it, as though the ground is shorter than it once was.”

“Not a question on-” Niharika severed her words with a laugh. “One with insight to the One Hundred and Eight sits before you like open parchment. Yet Gao Fu would offer consolation? He is all that a father should be. No?”

Her smile was warming, but Fu knew she spoke true. “A better father would be no man of the Clouded Court Squads,” he admitted. “But if you are willing I would ask much. If not now, then in the coming weeks. My next mission comes soon, and practice weighs on me.”

Niharika rose to her feet, setting into her stance. “Then we will replace Yunhan’s flames with words. Hoping that this discomfort is suitable enough to test our [Prowess]. Yes?”