The Placement rotated through each Brigade in turn, each attributed [Season] leading to the next, until Zhiyuan’s Nineteenth [Winter] Brigade were called forth. And upon the utterance of Vice Officer Gan’s cry, Fu had released his own valorous shout.

Drowned just enough that the surrounding crowd might not hear the uncertainty in his voice.

After all, here stood the acceptance that he had decided to seek, and here stood a path towards greater strength.

The latter of which he was likewise uncertain about chasing.

A higher ranking brought higher challenge, and rewards in turn. Whether that manifested as more pills or resources, Contribution Points or training, Fu could not say. It was the nebulous opportunity, that he strove for, whether that was returned simply as a harsher grindstone on which to sharpen his skill.

Ahead, his comrades clashed against the Eighteenth of [Winter], turning what abilities they had honed against the [Mystic Realm’s] abundance of beasts onto human targets. Bouts of deft martial prowess, [Arts], [Dao], and all manner of techniques flared across the tiled arena to widen Fu’s eyes further.

Until his own.

It came as a gentle palm upon the small of his back, and through a fright, he missed which of his comrades had urged him into display.

So Fu emerged, settling atop the very same spot that Dun had just stood upon, and bowed. “This Hopeful expresses gratitude for the opportunity,” he said, knowing that it had come out half mumbled.

A single mutter came in chorus, leaving him to wonder what sort of spectacle he had already made of himself. Prompting the sweat of his palms to slicken further.

Hushi. Let us do our best.

He rose to the sound of an approaching stride, seeing his opponent tremble forth.

Young, gaunt, and with a resemblance Fu could not place. “I am Hopeful Biming,” he said.

Fu extended another bow, higher than the first.

His chain unspooled as Hushi cast back his douli, and cascaded to the tiles. There was a drumming in those seconds as each opponent measured the other. Something percussive that had Fu’s skin prickle.

His heart, he realised, upon making the first step.

Given their status, and their [Realm], neither exploded forward with the skill or grace of experts, circling instead.

Biming held his gun straight, a third before him, with the rest tucked behind his back. A [Spirit Rodent] at the tip, a cerulean hue to its fur. Both were agitated, and shifted their hold upon the weapon to have it better suit them.

Before he rushed, the gun jousted forward allowing the beast to leap.

“Hushi,” ordered Fu, watching his own Bond enlarge, the familiar [Air Qi] enveloping his many arms. Both cultivators and their partners met within a moment, entrusting the other to their separate tasks.

The chain flew from short range, direct to Biming’s chest with a view of catching him off guard, though the gun met it straight. It was swatted aside, and Fu bounded back to begin a series of lashing strikes from both directions, only to be rebuffed in turn.

Strike followed strike, having Biming edge forward to steal a pace at a time. His attacks were swift, if sloppy, highlighting what Fu mused might be a lack of [Control]. His own weapon was serpentine, despite its dissuasion from the swatting blows, able to be snapped back a mere heartbeat after the trajectory was altered.

He tried to embody the previous bouts: how his comrades had tested their opponents before moving forward with certainty.

Thus these blows flew wide, proving that Biming held the [Might] to contest his own, if not the finer reactions.

[Body] like my own Path. Though I cannot sense the [Affinity]. I should strike from stranger angles.

Fu pounced back, startled as he heard a cry from the Brigade he landed not two paces from, showing how close he was to the boundary. None pushed him forwards, nor hassled him, but the distraction brought Biming into range.

Who battered the fisherman’s ribs to drive him into a stumble.

Hot pain swelled below Fu’s armpit. A grimace forming in meek protest to the flurry of blows that swept at him. A strike to his shin connected, and it flung up with the intent of cracking his chin from below in the same motion.

But the air rushed by as Fu dodged, toppling into a rear handspring that separated the pair once more.

Foolish.

That was a finishing blow, and narrowly avoided.

Biming’s Qi emerged to aid his pursuit. The sleekness of water appeared to surface from his pores, granting a half-drenched visage. His gun planted into the tiles, and a stream emerged from below to geyser him forwards.

In that moment Fu called upon his [Half Cloud Step], infusing his body with [Air Qi] in enough time to sidestep the rushing cultivator.

A gush followed in Biming’s wake, spraying the ground as he suddenly struck down. Anchoring the gun to spin himself into a two-footed kick.

Fu was thrown bodily from his stance, tumbling half a dozen times across the tiles amidst his pained cry. But his [Art] had him spring up, already striking out with his chain. Three times, six times, and twelve, sealing the air around his foe each time he made to stride.

He had abandoned his plan of range, moving closer, using the infusion of Qi to drive the head of his chain out at repeatedly faster rates. The man was harried by this, backpedalling, yet able to defend with frantic blows from his gun.

Until Fu slalomed his weapon, causing the latest attack to crack upwards.

Biming’s gun moved too slow this time, and what was intended to block then reared back to snap his own weapon into the centre of his head.

An audible crack sounded as blood sprayed from the cultivator’s broken nose.

The sensation to pause overcame Fu, and he retracted his chain. Bemused. To strike now would be…

Wrong?

Without knowing why, he called out, impressing a need through his link. “Hushi.”

His Bond arrived at his side, curious, and his own thoughts searching. Though not so dissimilar to Fu’s own.

I- We…

The past [Seasons] had confirmed Fu’s thoughts on violence. He loathed it. Utterly. To face [Spirit Beasts] was a different breed of this. His killings within the Thousand Shore [Mystic Realm]. A necessary crime.

One he was certain to repeat should his children be returned to jeopardy.

But this contest- The matching of different forms, of [Arts] and Bonds. It was exhilarating.

Guiltily so, as if he were indulging as Jing had done with wine.

Indeed, his heart pounded to continue. Fu had yet to use his [Wind Phantom Strides], nor the [Stifling Stream Revolutions].

What might come if I am to use the [Dao of Reach]?

He knew to lash out now while Biming recovered would end this poorly, and so he waited, patiently, for the man to recover.

With a now-bloodied sleeve, his foe retook his gun, and… and then he nodded. Dispensing his gratitude before he surged forward again, his water-spouting [Art] propelling him forward at a greater speed than before.

Yet Fu was already above him, inverted, the head of his chain battering Biming’s shoulder from above. It had his foe crash and grunt, the gun dragging across the tiles to slow his momentum, sloppily.

So much so that when he stopped, Biming could barely clutch it to rise.

A shame, Fu thought, as he continued into his second set of motions. Eager to share the fullresults of his training now that his body had finally warmed.

🀦

An ache persisted in Fu’s joints as he stood among the members of the Eighteenth [Winter] Brigade. His chest had long settled from the bout many rounds ago, and his limbs were well worn out from overuse.

Pleasant, and an oddity, for it was reminiscent of a hard day’s labour, despite having passed in a span of less than half an hour.

Now he and Hushi stood with their peers, both new and familiar, beneath the rising sun of the second day. A necessary time allotted for each of the Brigades to perform in their Placement. Yet one that Fu was unaccustomed to.

[Resilience], through his cultivation, had dampened his need for sleep. Or his need to sit after posing bolt upright for such a length of time. It was peculiar, to say the least, but he mused that a ceremony of this length meant very little to cultivators whose lives extended beyond mere centuries.

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However, weariness held no place when spectating the calibre of bouts that progressed ahead.

The Second [Autumn] Brigade had run through all but one of its members, and ahead is where she now clashed. Ferocious and mystifying.

Clashing blades rung out, one of axe and one of sword, though both were of monstrous size, easily twice as large as Fu was tall.

Where they met shockwaves pushed back the air, and Qi manifested in a series of glittering, metallic hues, carving great lines within the tiles.

An hour had passed since the fight’s inception, and only now had they broken from the stalemate of untraceable blows. They separated, stealing twenty paces from the other.

“Your [Prowess] has increased since last we fought, Siya,” addressed the First Brigade’s warrior.

To which Siya nodded, humbly. “Amituofo. This wanting junior is gladdened by your words, senior Yi Nuo. Though this wanting junior has more to share.”

Siya strode back, and called her waiting Bond, a [Spirit Bird] that scaled as it swept down from its gentle watch above. It splayed its wings in challenge upon landing at her side, and Fu found his foot edge back a mite.

A shift had come across the beast. Once a formidable, majestic variant of eagle, it now transcended to become a myth.

Yet Fu could not hold his eyes on just one beast, for Yi Nuo’s Bond mirrored the change. A [Spirit Vulture] of darkened grey that swelled to a looming malevolence to match its opponent. Each toting a wingspan that may well have reached past the length of Fu’s old boat.

Evoking fables in his mind.

The way their feathers glint, and the… [Intent]? I feel raw power flow from them as though I stand at the foot of a waterfall. Phoenixes, both, but cast in metal over flame.

All attempts at study were blown aside as they tore at the other, taking flight to scratch and tear at the other. A blur of bladed wings.

It was then too, that the cultivators summoned their own Qi, and Fu found himself further mesmerised. Pinions grew from Siya’s left shoulder, and a resemblance of feathers grew forth to clad her in a metallic cloak, draped across one side of her. A more measurable effect when shown against the glint that quickly settled upon Yi Nuo’s skin.

Fu found himself driven back a step when they moved off next, his [Dantian] tightening under the weight of [Intent] and Qi. A danger, to be so close to these [Formation Realm] experts.

Steel grey. Iron. Rocky hues.

One and all, these colours flocked to fill the full view, for little else could be spied between their flurry. At first this extended for a minute, and then five, and Fu wondered how long it might have stayed if not for the gout of crimson that suddenly added its vibrancy.

He saw Yi Nuo fall back, a great gouge upon her arm and shoulder, wearing a gathered grimace despite it.

Blood trailed, having her hanfu sob the colour red.

The match looked to be reaching its end, and Siya advanced to press the advantage this wound had caused. Her mighty blade came parallel to the ground, yet raised in a single hand, followed by a series of steps that Fu surmised to some form of technique. A dance, wherein she looked to be building momentum.

To oppose this, the First Brigade’s cultivator enacted her own. Hers, a methodical tracing of the ground, bandying her legs so that she near crouched. The axehead did something curious then, and was scooped beneath the modest pool of Yi Nuo’s blood where it engorged.

Realising the shape of a vulture’s head.

Some form of stagnant Qi, muddied in colour, suffused the sheen across Yi Nuo then, and when she met with Suyi the resultant clash was deafening. A spiderweb of cracks tore through the tiles below upon the touching of their weapons, and only through admirable effort did those in the front rows remain standing.

Yi Nuo advanced unperturbed by her injury, and her movements embodied the predatory sleekness of the [Spirit Vulture] above. A blow from overhead would come, descending with the fleetness of one that hungered for their meal, and so too would it rise, and chop, arc and swing, a sudden burst of speed at the apex of each.

It was a matter of minutes before Siyu’s movements were wholly subjugated, and the cloak that her [Art] conjured could no longer defend against her foe’s attack. Scant, and bare now, the feathers had wilted, having her bat back blows with only her sword.

And in turn, Yi Nuo sealed her victory.

The clanging rung no longer, now replaced by a shrill whine as the axehead scored against its foe in a clinch. Levered, forcing Siyu to a knee, scraping until the last reserves of strength failed, where it bit deep into her shoulder.

However dull, Fu’s [Senses] reacted to a mote of Qi, spying it draw from this fresh wound to further empower Yi Nuo’s axe, having the vulture’s effigy flare for but a moment.

“The victory is mine, Siyu,” she said, and the weapon was withdrawn.

Such injury brooked no arguments from the losing party, though she struggled to a stand unaided. Within a moment, the Bonds had returned, descending from on high to loom above their cultivators.

One bloodier than the other.

“Amituofo, senior. This wonting daoist is humbled by your skill.” Siyu bowed low, a courtesy mirrored by the [Spirit Eagle] at her back. Now scaled back to a more mundane size, showing its reverence to the swollen vulture ahead.

The exchange continued for a length of time that seemed, to Fu, unsuitable for one so beaten as Siyu. Her actions however, did not inspire the thought that a single hair might be out of place. No attention was placed her upon her wound, and only once Yi Nuo voiced an acknowledgement of her words did she move to merge back within the crowd.

Rivulets of blood marked her passage past the unflinching faces around her.

🀦

Vice Officer Gan’s role was statuesque, reduced to an observer, his quill dashing away at a length of parchment. He had taken no further action since announcing the victor, and now it was the Sect Officer that went about his unknown duty.

Led, at the fore, by Cheng Rao.

They perused the ranks of each Brigade, and Fu felt a great shiver roll down his spine, for the last time he had been arranged as he was now, in rows of bodies, his fate had altered dramatically. As such he tensed when his two seniors passed by, despite many bodies serving as the intervening distance between them.

The [Spirit Serpents] previously upon Cheng Rao’s shoulder were now hidden with the folds of his robe, leaving the [Spirit Peacock] to strut upon the empty tiles that had served as Fu’s arena. A nobility to its walk, purposeful, as it largely ignored the crowd.

It remained in this state even as the Sect Officer returned, standing to make his address to those assembled.

A natural silence was ushered, deeper yet than that which they already made. An easy feat for one as formidable as their senior, as the very air around him seemed to bow to his authority.

“Brigades of the Green Blight Garrison,” he spoke, each word steeped in command. “The [Season’s] Placement has concluded, and I extend my congratulations to those who have progressed. To those who have not, use this moment for reflection-”

A pattern of shifting azure caught the periphery of Fu’s vision, having him turn, if ever so slightly. This scant effort enough to see his head turn light. He blinked away the sensation, or tried to, refocusing on the Sect Officer’s words.

“-cannot continue in perpetuity-”

Finding that many had passed him by.

Again he saw the pattern, replicating on either side of his eyes. And then, a pressure, as though a hand was upon his scalp.

Spirits? Phantoms to plague me?

Fu dared not draw attention to himself, masking his panic, thinking it perhaps a trick played by his weary mind. No others reacted as he felt they should. Comrades, from near to far, shown only to hang on the address.

“-thus the shape of us will change. Forged anew. No longer the indomitable shield, but the tempered gun, thrusting-”

Above, Hushi grasped at Fu’s chin. Many arms tightened to twist his head in an intended direction, however… distant it now felt. For the fisherman was transfixed on the near empty tiles, and at a sight beyond the Sect Officer.

Mesmerised by an ink of azure hue, no less opaque than stone, weaving through the air. One reminiscent of the blur one might see within their eyelids after gazing too long at an open flame.

Fu’s gaze went lower, and sidewards. Up, again, and in repetition, unable to quash a sense that he must touch this formation of colour. Thus, he stole a step, completing it to find that a meagre few stood with him, arrayed in thinner number than the myriad before.

This snapped his attention back to some semblance of reality, and he stilled his treacherous feet. Others, when he dared to glance, caught themselves in similar fashion. All dazed at the still-shifting sight, even as it came to settle.

Alone upon the tiles, the [Spirit Peacock’s] plumage was spread wide, conveyed into the air in spectral patterns that far exceeded its physical reach. Projections of Qi, or the [Dao], that soon composed into a single splay.

Welcoming Cheng Rao to the stage, where he appeared to be the sole cultivator.

What devilment is this? The Sect Officer-

Fu had himself calm, assured by Hushi’s clinging presence.

This is normalcy for a cultivator, and I must adjust to the unexpected.

“This daoist expects these words will be listened to, though this daoist is but a mouthpiece for those who are truly venerable.” Cheng Rao held his hands clasped, and when he spoke, he did so to the open air. Never deigning to lower his gaze. “Heed this missive as I speak it, and know the beneficence of its architect, for they allow you the honour of insight where none is needed.”

The array of colours shone deep at his words, as if intended to draw more attention to him as he spoke.

“The time for consolidation has been judged to be nigh, and all within our revered Cloudy Serpent Sect must answer the call. From the break of dawn tomorrow, the true [Trial] is set to begin, as directed by Elder [Thrice Clouded Boa]. This mere [Core Formation Grade] place is a farce, deemed to hold no more value than to mire down our forces.”

Recalling the words that had hovered upon entering the [Mystic Realm], and the [Law of Origin] that was displayed before his eyes, Fu found himself curious.

The [Trial. What manner of trial could encompass an entire realm?

“At first break of dawn, the Cloudy Serpent Sect marches upon the next Bastions, and it will claim each in turn until the [Reliquary] at the center of this [Realm] reveals itself,” Cheng Rao said, his face soon falling to distaste. “That you are here, listening to these words, marks you as included. This daoist has no merit in noting talent, for all are talentless beneath the Elder, yet know that this honour is fathomless. An opportunity granted to those loyal and seasoned, and those expendable, all the same.”

With that, the patterns of Qi collapsed inward, dissipating to show that Cheng Rao was no longer among the gathered.

The tiles ahead, empty.

We are to travel beyond the walls?

He searched for Cheng Rao, or indeed, any of his seniors, with the hopes that further clarification might come.

Which it did not.

So Fu found his head shaking, now dispossessed of the queer sensation that had filled it through the [Spirit Peacock’s] intervention. A clarity returned to send images of his arrival through the [Paifang].

The sight of innumerable beasts, and how they had swept across the Hopefuls in easy slaughter, or the sight of the myriad waves he had faced atop the wall.

A cultivator… neither would they fear this. Another natural occurrence. An… opportunity.

Never did Fu steel himself, drawing deep from a wellspring of courage. Rather, he allowed the unpleasantries to pass, having them cascade into the waters that were his tumultuous life. Absorbed by a long breath.

Leaving him able to spy the faces of his fellows.

A gathering of hundreds, where before were thousands, and no longer plush with the intrinsic strength of experienced cultivators.

Displays of trepidation broke through what he assumed were Hopefuls, such as he, most aghast at the notion of leaving the walls. Their station was betrayed by a lack of rigidity in stance, or a trembling of fingers.

Stark fear in the eyes he caught in passing as he made his way to exit the pagoda, and descend the first set of stairs.

He paused before the descent, finding Yongwu Long at a lean against the rail. “Brother Fu,” he nodded, eyes a-glitter with mirth. “Have you turned ascetic?”

“I- ah,” replied Fu, recalling the recent change to his scalp and touching it instinctively. “Greetings, brother Long.”

“Suits you, adds a certain menace. Might be all that’s needed to chase off the tide of [Spirit Beasts] we are to face come the morning.”

Fu took the comment as good natured, and did the same for those that followed on their path towards the Bastion proper.

He indulged himself in Long’s conversation, finding that it served as a better anchor for his attention than the massing Blight at the corner of his eyes.

And the thoughts of what they were soon to face within.