“-and so I had thought.”

I remember then, fixing this ogre of a man with a strange look. Having him appear less as the murderous brute that had slain my caravan, and somewhat wiser than I had first believed.

“[Might]”, he had continued. “No, it differs between my brethren and me. The values are- Why do you not write this down?”

It was a common question, this, as the Seven Waters Brethren were not learned in the arts of writing. Often entranced at my meticulous note-keeping, and the capacity I held for memory. Skills learned under the tutelage of the great Sect Historian Jinglian.

My answer was always the same. “It is stored within.” To which my captors would respond with the uniform - “See that it is.”

Why they wished to unravel the mysteries of attributes and cultivation, well, reader, that you will discover should I live long enough to pass such a tale on. But bear in mind to forgive my shaking penmanship, and I hope that, upon discovery, my prose is not judged with too weighted a glance.

I have never known a Scribe to flourish under the duress of a sharpened blade.

- Introduction to “The Enlightened Bandit, a Memoir,” by Sixth River Chieftain, Gu Feiyang.

Third Officer Zhiyuan needed no companion on the walls, for she was a force of nature unto herself. Her [Intent] titanic, and her techniques, flawless.

Only the rope upon her waist tethered her into the same realm as Fu, upon this vertical face against the incoming horde of [Spirit Beasts]. The name of such forms she unleashed, or her [Arts] were unknown, but he could not but help and gawk.

[Poison Qi] erupted over her, spilled from the mouths of their aggressors, both at range and but a breath away, saturating her skin. Pouring across bare flesh. Robes, and gun alike.

To be lapped up, imbibed by her [Spirit Pangolin], and layered in plates of pustulent green that blocked more in turn. Waylaid by nothing, and of no detriment to the measured blows the staff in her hands unleashed.

It distanced Fu from her, more so than the [Formation Realm] experts that covered his own flank.

Showing just how far he had to go.

Now, he became a helix. Chain a-whirl, lashing in the solitary step he could recall from the [Wind Phantom Strides]. A leap in two complete turns, having him land disoriented.

Hushi fared better, more adaptive to the flow of air. Shoring up the lack of perpetuating motion with what he could grasp, drafting through the jerk, or clearance of [Air Qi] that the path of his chain provided.

Again.

Fu could taste the proximity to achieving this first move, and enacted it to arrive before the dwindling number of [Spirit Insects]. Shield-shaped creatures, short in face and long of leg, prone to dousing the cultivators in a secretion of frothy bile.

A numbing agent that Fu felt well.

Upon landing he struck out with a kick, one segment of the [Stifling Stream Revolutions], preserving his balance without a slip. From wall to flesh it rose, battering the beast’s vulnerable stomach to blast it from the wall.

To round and face ten more.

Twenty, or thirty behind that.

“Hushi. Core,” he called, whirling into a low-whip with his chain to snaring many a leg before his extension could be rebuffed.

All he could do against these [Formation Realm] beasts. The octopus, however, grappled, and invaded the gap between an insectoid’s shell and back.

As he had for these past two days, fire-lit in his belly, Fu bolted towards opportunity. A split-second change in course where he joined Hushi in subduing his target.

A pounce planted his feet.

A leap.

A rotation.

And then a backspring.

He plunging both hands down in coordination with Hushi, who pried a greater, fleshy tear on their foe. Momentum enhanced Fu’s [Might] to rip the shell free, and availed space so his Bond might snatch the [Spirit Core] within.

Killing the beast instantly.

In seconds the swarm reached him, capitalising on the created space. An upsurge of the froth immediately deaded his limbs, both arms simply gone from his senses. Hanging useless and limp by his side.

Yet not localised to this.

Friction, movement, air, all contributed to a swell of froth that sapped his neck and stomach of sensation. Even his heart. Numbed to the point that he could no longer feel its frantic beat.

Still, it did not stop his leaps.

Arcing kicks to free him from a burial of teeth. He felt abrupt pain where the needling bristles of these beast’s jaws scraped, white-hot, and enough to puncture.

In half-touches, he felt the rope become twisted. Snagging around him like Hushi had their foes, bogging down his steps. A curse sounded, timed as he drove a kick at the closest foe.

Fu shouted it louder as he was suddenly stalled.

The Qi-infused rope was pinned, unbeknownst to Fu until now. Wrapped around his both arms, his waist and ankle, knotted, turned and shortened. At its limit, and so, when his foot struck out he found it could go no further.

Three of the [Spirit Insects] skittered his way. East, west, and south.

Calling on his Qi, Fu summoned [Half-Cloud Step], suffusing his body with [Air Qi].

Bizarre, to be so empowered and yet so numb, feeling only his legs, he snapped his kick back. The foes dogged his motion, filling in each step and gushing more of their [Poison Qi] projectiles. Splattering and foaming at the base of each jump.

The rope needed more length, and he needed to unravel, so he continued to spring. Upwards, and outwards, allowing his lifeline to form and reform around him until a single length remained between he and the wall.

Mid-air, however, and with less convolution. Deigning to hammer him back down to the wall from the angle he found himself at.

Straight toward the beasts that waited there.

Fu cursed, seeing three insectoid jaws chitter at his approach.

Ravenous and ready.

Mere seconds away.

He kicked and struggled, unable to adjust his trajectory. Treading empty air. Fearful. Regretful. That this was to be his end.

Hushi is far below. The Nineteenth, unwatching.

The [Spirit Insects] reared up, expectant of their delivered meal.

My own power must see me through.

A defiant snarl rumbled from his lips. [Dantian] agitated. Blood, [Channels], and legs… he could not say. They felt as a sail might, catching a shift of wind.

Mirrored by the placement of his wall-bound foot. The closest bounced from a construct of [Air Qi], an inch-wide platform of cloud. Fading not a heartbeat after it shunted him to the side. To the safety of a further few paces.

Albeit heaped at the feet of a comrade.

One that grunted before erupting a force of lightning to cleanse their foe’s remnants. Muttering a complaint about Hopefuls as they turned their back.

🀦

What parcels of [Air Qi] he and Hushi could draw in tended to a great majority of his wounds, however disparate a method of healing it was. Coarse skin patched over his gouges, scarred in the places where the damage was too severe. Layering his chest in pox-marks of dull white, already faded as though the passage of time itself had tended to their recovery.

An increasingly common tapestry as the days passed towards [Summer].

Fu traced the patterns, a grime of sweat and residual froth beneath his fingertips.

My body is much changed. Different feeling. Any further and I might crush the children at our next embrace.

A wince was drawn as he absently fingered a yet-to-mend incision. One formed by teeth, and fresh enough in memory that he suppressed a shudder.

Dusk drew across the horizon, or the final embers of it. A mere peek of orange fleeing from the darkness cast.

Separate from the Nineteenth [Winter] Brigade, he was atop the wall. Necessity had him pour this granted time between clashes into recuperation, despite how his stomach yearned. For he had learned quickly that to begin a fight injured was to doom oneself further.

“Consider it a blessing,” joined a husky voice.

Startled by this interruption, Fu had to grasp at the crenelations for fear of falling. The intensity of his cultivation had blocked the exterior world from him. Masking the duties of a single figure nearby, ten paces into the nearest courtyard.

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

“Senior Officer,” he said, dropping into a bow.

“Enough of that, Gao Fu. We’ve fought side by side for longer than I’d have expected you to last. Drop the formality.”

Regarding his Sect Brother, Fu straightened. “As you wish, Brother Chao.”

A cringe flashed over the man’s face, drawing deeper shadows across the laugh lines that patterned it.

“Ao.” At his words there padded forth a frost-coated wolf, plush, and at the height of a knee. The pair had clearly exchanged an impression, for his Bond stalked further afield, pacing the perimeter where Fu spied both a stooped figure, and a [Spirit Insect] corpse.

“Mi-”

“Your [Resilience] is yet to be bolstered by pills and treasure. Hah, to be so brittle,” he continued, wracking out a resounding laugh. “Easy to break, easy to mend. Leaves me wishing that my own skin would behave like that.”

Informal, and casual. Formats that Fu could not relax into himself. The axe-head, the sheer edge of propriety, hung over him. Fostered over a lifetime of tales and experience. Second and first-hand accounts where lofty cultivators would cut down any who in their path just for a wayward glance.

Assumed insults.

Inferred shame.

So here, Fu held back. Unsure as to how to respond. “It- It will no doubt take me decades to reach the [Resilience] of betters such as you… brother Chao.”

“Flattery has its place. For Zhiyuan, always. Second, First, all above. Here, it bores me. Don’t insulate yourself with compliments and shuddering bows like that Zang fellow. The Sect meets our needs, and we’ll have no need of a servant come [Summer]. Let’s speak freely, yes? And I’ll promise not to maim nine generations of your family if you belch into the wind.” Chao cracked another wide smile.

“As you wish, brother Chao.”

“No, not as I wish Gao Fu,” he grunted. “As you wish.”

Hushi firmed at the morsel of [Intent] passed along, but Fu calmed him with a thought. “I have trawled familiar shores for many moons. To now find myself in an ocean- Please, take a final apology, and have it as my last.”

“Hah. Very well,” chuckled Chao. “Those are fine words, for one claiming to be a fisherman. Your city, Thousand Shore, was it? With more of you Hopefuls appearing, has me curious on a few things.”

“There are more Hopefuls?”

“Arriving in drips. [Foundation Realm] recruits like yourself. Adds to the mystery. Zhiyuan should know more, but I’d not disturb her now.” Chao turned an ear over his shoulder, gesturing behind. “Placement is coming up. [Seasonal] obligation, not that you’ve been around long enough to know that. Different now.”

Curiosity had Fu spy in the Third Officer’s direction. Gloom masked her precise movements, though the silhouette seemed to be inspecting the [Spirit Insect’s] innards. “Let us hope that they find themselves surrounded by comrades as able as I have.”

“Tsk tsk, brother Fu. Is that a sly compliment? You disarm me!” His tone was warning, belied by the enormous grin.

The cultivator was trying, and for that, Fu was warily grateful. “You are not the fish-wives whose husbands buy my fish. The undeserving recipients of my true charm,” he smiled. “This is… an observation.”

“Again!” Chao feigned a wound over his heart. “Gao Fu, you are lecherous indeed! But no, this will not do. The Nineteenth has this position filled!” The laughter petered out, though did not fully extinguish from the man’s eyes. “Hold that taste of arrogance. It’ll lend well to this- what did you call it? Ocean?”

Arrogance. That is the picture of cultivators I know.

Fu held Chao’s gaze.

Not this-

“One can’t tread a path of defiance against the Heavens if they are meek, no? Supplicants can’t know glory.” continued Chao.

The [Air Qi] within Fu danced, shocked, perhaps, by how this man had guessed at his next thoughts.

“You say arrogance is required?”

“Vital. You’ll come to see that soon. It’s why we’re all here, we outer disciples. Resources. Training. Opportunity.” Clearly Fu’s blank look spoke volumes. “Places in the [Mystic Realm] are not given freely, we all strove and battled through competition to be granted leave to be here. Imagine it, Gao Fu, if you can. Hundreds of thousands of cultivators, ravenous for resources. Treasures, pills, and the like. To you, at the [Foundation Realm], a single [Spirit Nut] might advance you to your next [Meridian]. But at the [Core Formation Realm]? Hundreds. And they’re not awarded to the losers.”

There came a throaty rumble from the wall behind. Its origin travelled further than where the [Spirit Wolf] prowled.

Chao winced. “A grand time to return to the barracks, Gao Fu.”

[Killing Intent] suffused the air to prevent this instruction being followed. A long burst, tinging the space green. Fu’s lung felt emptied in a moment, pained even, and he floundered for the wall to brace himself.

Clumsily, however, the angle driving into his ribs.

It passed as quickly as it had come, but the strength of it had him pant. Sweat licked the palm that grasped the stone. This simple lick soon turned dewy upon meeting Third Officer Zhiyuan. Her anger, perpetual, blazing in emerald green.

Pained, Fu drove into a bow to escape her attention while beside, Chao mirrored this in greater height.

He held his breath, even as she stormed by. Engaged only by Chao, who inflected no humour in his address. “Senior Zhiyuan’s insight must be far beyond such base [Spirit Insects]. This disciple is in awe of her diligence.”

A pause came wherein the pounding of her footsteps slowed.

And, emboldened by brother Chao’s words, against his better judgement, Fu filled it. “Raindrops, in time, reduce even peaks to pebbles.”

Zhiyuan became as a star then. A nova of Qi, encapsulating her body to turn her radiant. It struck out in a sphere, knocking both of her subordinates to the stone, prefaced only by an unexpected gasp.

Fu had only intended to celebrate her efforts, guessing that Chao’s words were a commiseration of sorts. Spurred on by recent conversation. Now he was crumpled for such an attempt, a great shame rising within his fear.

Internally, he chastised this foolishness. Quivering against the force of Qi that poured out to press him down.

He was no part of this world. Held no right to speak as he had or to dare to think that he could.

An ape, throwing its droppings at the Heavens, thinking itself profound.

But seconds passed. And a further minute.

Third Officer Zhiyuan’s fury had not yet rid his shoulders of the empty, burdensome head atop it. No. There was a tug, gentle at that.

It lifted Fu to his feet, and granted aid to bring him to the safety of several paces distance.

Chao, his pupils darting, braced him at arm’s length. “You’re all like this? The Hopefuls of Thousand Shore City? I see the merit now, if that’s the case.”

“I do… I do not understand, Brother Chao.”

Recognition of this truth blossomed in the cultivator’s eyes, glancing only once at Zhiyuan, who held in the lotus position.

Consternate.

Synchronised with the [Spirit Pangolin] within her lap.

“I see that. Yes.” Chao withdrew a jot of parchment from within his roqun, inlaying a series of characters with his Qi. He handed both this, and a red token, to Fu. “Brother Gao Fu. Deliver this letter to the War Minister, or her aides. Swiftly. Can I trust you to do this?”

Still stricken, Fu mouthed his affirmation. “Brother Chao-”

"Here you have granted an occasion. One profound, and to be celebrated. There’s a time for this. A time for explanation. But not now. This gift leaves us bereft of an Officer, and the [Spirit Beasts] are not known to postpone hunger for ceremony.” A soft smile and a glint within Chao’s eyes conveyed the urgency of this task.

One, Fu thought, was surely better suited for another.

Pride puffed his chest, however, despite the unknown. This mark of… responsibility he had been tasked with prompting a nod before he could ask anything further.

🀦

Was running proper?

Fu could not say.

Flights were taken, three, or fours steps at a time. No protest from Hushi, who splayed to lap up the passing [Air Qi] as a finger might be dipped in rich honey. But the douli bounced, stopping only when he felt cultivators around the Bastion’s corners, where he dispensed a curt bow before rushing on.

Rushing, he realised, to a destination unknown.

Many steps took him to the courtyard, and to the library’s stairwell, then on, towards the mountainous mass at the fortification’s true center. Here, the path became gilded. Golden filagree upon the inset pillars, and a further ascent of stairs to the grand doorway beyond.

True cultivators of the Cloudy Serpent Sect were posted, forming an avenue of imposing, Orthodox warriors a pace astride from base to top, never turning to face the disturbance that was Fu’s sudden appearance.

He thumbed the mark Chao had granted him, pinching it as he stepped forth.

Deference… this will see me through.

Fu bowed, barking out his instructions before taking any further steps. “I have a message for the War Minister!”

Ice pricked down his spine as a jian was marginally moved from his neck. The wielder, behind, and standing where only his shadow had before.

A gulp would see his throat cleaved against the edge. So, he waited.

The letter was taken from him, and the mark, scrutinised by shadow-wreathed hands. “Proceed,” hissed a voice.

Neither close nor distant, and Fu was left.

Reflex brought him into a second bow. His heart continued to thump on his route up the stairway, and through the grand doorway. Opened by no means that he could see nor process for his state of panic.

Each goose pimple upon his bare arms urged him to flee, appearing as though they intended to drag him backwards.

He came upon an expansive room, and several paces took him to an ornate railing, running a span of many more. Square, and the perimeter to the chasm that ran dead centre in this structure, both above and below. A space containing desks and tables, stacks of parchment upon each with enough volume to rival the great Scroll Hall below.

And then he spied the madness of aides, strewn in prostrated bows, foreheads pressed to the stone in every available inch. Seeming like a collection of boulders, so unmoving they were.

What little anxiety had settled in Fu suddenly rose again, more yet, when footsteps sounded from across the chasm. There was a peep to his left amidst this.

An aide, that had somehow escaped his notice until now. Her finger tapped thrice, beckoning Fu to join her.

His salvation, as the voices rose higher. Outraged.

“I will tell you again, it cannot be done!” came the first, closer now. “Inner disciple or not, your jurisdiction here is limited! [Green Blight Valley] is integral for the supply of [Poison Affinity] resources, and balance must be preserved!”

Silence.

Expectant, as though it waited to be filled.

There was a second voice, aged and unsteady. “Master cultivator, you must forgive our trepidation, but we have received no advance warning of this from our regular missives. Our yields are fruitful. Our outer disciples advance well. If we might impose on you to wait for clarification?”

More expectant silence. Somehow closer.

“The frame of time for this- a single [Season]. Were all the disciples here at peak [Formation] it would still be impossible. To say nothing of these Hopefuls.” Again, the first protested loudest of all.

This time, drawing a grunt. Animalistic, and done with distaste. “Hopeful.”

It seemed that the second saw reason, and stammered before the squeak of his aged voice could utter another word.

Which Fu praised, almost reverently.

For the air here was thick with venom. Doubling, and tripling as several sets of feet arrived around the closest corner.

Paces from him.

Dangling like a headsman’s axe.

“The missives from the offices of Elder [Gleeful Viper] are explicit in their inclusion here. To her authority will I bow, and to her instructions will we give priority. Your standing in the Sect is impressive, brother, but here, your clout must be proved with backing.”

And suddenly there was a great wetness upon the floor. A spray not unlike rain, crimson and tidal. Punctuated by a thump.

The aged voice rasped, drumming back a step.

“This lowly daoist tolerates the shame brought on himself by fools. But this lowly daoist will not tolerate shame to his Elders,” hissed the third. “How quickly you all forget. [Gleeful Viper] is but one Elder, and you are beholden to all.”

“Master cultivator!”

“What say you? Will you shoulder the responsibility of denying this missive? Must this lowly daoist purge the Green Blight Bastion of filth to find a pious man?” he said. “Elder [Thrice Clouded Boa] is benevolent, and grants a week to mobilise. See to it that she is not disappointed.” With that, the speaker’s pace grew progressively distant, marking his exit.

The air never lost the venom of his presence, even minutes later when Fu was finally able to take his first breath.

Trembling in the crimson pool that massed at his knees.

Awakened, and reminded, of how feeble a grasp he had on this new world of his.