Gon Ma set down his brush, and the Heavens laughed. His [Origin Qi] had not run dry in millenia.

But did they not walk in interesting times?

With tender affection, he stroked the parchment. Its likeness of ink seeping into his pores, staining each.

As easy as one might draw breath, he appeared before his altar. This five-thousand pillared expanse, where flowing, paper tapestries hung. Enlightened eyes need not look upon an object to see it. Less so in one’s own domain.

Yet his Mistress applauded such acts of mortality.

So here, Gon Man pondered, and sought to absorb each detail of the brush-stroked woman set upon this scene. His calligraphy was fine indeed, though all things could be improved.

His Mistress deserved better.

A vast river dominated the parchment, sevenfold forks flowing from its center. Seas of cherry blossom casting shade upon its gentle waters.

The parchment was stroked and Gon Ma entered.

All became as tan and black. Wet edges, and well defined lines. A world of brushstrokes from his horse hair implement.

He approached the woman, her ankles deep in the Cherry River. The basket upon her back, brimming with petals. And she spoke in silence, drawing a script of characters to enter the space above.

A hum, at first. “Bah. If you have energy to spare on this nonsense then you should make yourself useful. Talk does not cook rice.”

Upon the riverside stood a Vajra. Gon Ma had gleaned no more importance then, than the Adamant View, well opened upon his brow.

“This tenth-rate daoist has prepared a poem,” read his words. “It is his hope that it will open the beauty’s heart!

“The fool has ears, but refuses to listen,” the woman sighed.

Ink-black [Seasons] passed through Gon Ma’s will. An absence of blossoms within the trees. A growth of trunks. A downpour that swelled the banks. This he saw a thousand times, reflected in the brushstrokes he had detailed long ago.

A [Spirit Cuckoo] now sat upon the woman’s lap. Little change had taken hold on her, and the transformations of the world had laid no claim on the Cherry River.

Indeed, it yet flowed, hazing the reflection of stars above.

“You would want for nothing,” read a second man. His [Spirit Serpent] filling Gon Ma with shame and anger in equal parts. “Truly, I honour you with my hand. Women across the Empire would kill nine generations to receive even a glance of my attention.”

The woman hummed with disapproval. “Better the cottage where one is merry than the palace where one weeps.”

Some facet of Gon Ma was grateful for the abruptness, and again wound forward the painting. Hers was a simple sequence, until it was not.

One thousand Vajra from among the highest Numbered visited. Twice as many cultivators from the land’s myriad Sects. Patriarchs. Matriarchs. Hidden Masters thought long gone.

Serpents - those Gon Ma himself could name as wizened and aged. Elders from his youth, long lost to seclusion or mistake.

Yet his interest waxed to see this outline. For now, wound forward, a patchwork boat flowed down the Cherry River. The sevenfold flow had it sway and lilt, and here it gently spiralled within the grasp of each direction.

Laughter was scrawled in the air above. Met by a disdainful hum.

“Bah. Move on, stranger,” she called. “None here are thankful for your disturbance.”

A [Spirit Rooster] emerged from the boat to stand one-legged upon its bow. Its cultivator, thereafter.

Absent of detail. Nigh formless save for the script that inked at his words. “That I would, young miss, but the water’s a mind of its own. Truthfully, I’ve little notion of where we are.”

“You trespass on the Cherry River.”

The laughter was drawn louder. “Trespass on a river? What fool claims ownership of water?”

“Few would entertain an insult on the Cherry River Inheritors. None would suffer it twice, as you have inflicted. Move on.”

Gon Ma braced himself, for he knew the depths of this stranger’s insight. The infuriation that had vexed him for a thousand years, moving to deepen.

A peach pit rose from the boat, held aloft by vacant space. “Is this the water those fools claim to own?” he asked.

“Bah. The same, yes,” her hum emboldened in ink.

The peach pit dropped into the river, and flowed ever distant. “They might be grateful to know that their water’s running away.”

Lines converged on the woman’s brow, furrowed. “Run… running away?”

“All things flow onwards, do they not? Granting a thing a name and claiming it for yourself will not change that.”

Once more Gon Ma returned to his altar, spurning the [Epiphany] that dared rear its head. In place of it, he harnessed the sensation and reaffirmed his [Dao].

Golden light bid four paintings to appear and be draped in each cardinal direction. Four scenes of utmost detail and clarity. Recent things.

Predications, etched and informed by his Path.

Four vacant spaces upon them.

The first, a [Paifang]. Detailed by words that brooked no misunderstanding. “It is soon to open,” they read.

A feat of twenty seven moons, the second birthed an emptied ocean. Fine strokes to show each granule of barren earth. The parched skies, and Qi-starved air. [Demons], in supplication towards the vacant air.

The next splayed a wingspan to rival the Heavens. A return of the [Divine Serenities Phoenix] in court above its peak. What gift it offered, obscured, as was the cultivator in receipt.

Only the bare edge of a feline [Spirit Beast] at their side.

Gon Ma put the fourth to his rear. This indulgence was a frivolous waste of time, for its advent would come upon the turning of the [Season].

When the [Spring Equinox] presided, and the Four Shaded Spear would no longer stand.

🀩

“It is a seven-way split, based on contribution! Was it not I, One Hundred and First Chinmaya, that led you to the [Three Raptures Sea Serpent]?”

“Do not act so shameless!” roared another of the paper tigers. “If we did not all lend our Qi to the [Sovereign Spirit Array] then none here would stand!”

In the midst of their warring cultivators, the cries of the ship’s captain were well drowned. His kowtow, futile and his protests unheard.

Yongwu Long smiled. The youth of today were indeed rowdy.

“Young Master,” exclaimed the rotund boy ahead. “I could have these vagrants stop, if it is disturbing your meditation?”

Thinking on this, he pulled forth his [Ink].

He was yet a shadow.

The [Golden Tyrant Body] refinement was unparalleled in cultivating his [Body], as was the [True Golden Spirit Sublimations] in refining his [Spirit].

A genius of his ilk held no difficulty in ascending his [Dao Principles], and thus he had walked the path of [Spirit] in record time. Swifter than these Seven Phoenixes and Six Dragons whose name was of great reference wherever he travelled.

That attaining immortality was treated as a difficulty- these modern cultivators knew not the immensity of Heaven and Earth.

Indeed…

“With such lacking talent they appear to treat even mortality as if it’s a challenge,” he laughed, having his companion flinch.

“Young Master?”

“Oh, ease yourself, Pig. Allow the dogs to bark,” Long said. “I’ve little interest in their [Three Raptures Sea Serpent]. Such beasts are as common as sand.”

The affectionately named Pig scratched at his fleshy neck. “A [Three Raptures Sea Serpent] appears only in small numbers but once every ten moons. The Young Master must be blessed indeed to know them as common!”

“The Southern Sea Region is host to innumerable powerful sea [Spirit Beasts]. Don’t spout such nonsense to your senior,” said Long, flicking the boy’s stubby nose. “Every fishwive in Southern Sea City has a necklace with their scales.”

“Did Master Long speak with my grandmother before we departed? She has similar words.”

Long chuckled. “You’ve made your Master feel old and nostalgic. Now you’ve burdened me with finding a suitable punishment, no? Shameful.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

With a flick, Long drew forth a golden needle. Grasped tenderly, it was thrust seventeen times into Pig’s skin.

Pustulent bubbles frothed across the boy’s skin. Near-liquid, his body then gushed with an aura of lime-green [Poison Qi].

“We’ll have to refine your [Earthly Blight Constitution] further,” admonished Long. “With your [Meridians] agitated, break through while I pester the captain on our passage.”

[Inner Qi] suffused his lungs, forming a vortex between this poisonous wellspring and his own lips. The middling amount reaped was of a grade lower than his [Hundred Immunities Fruit] was accustomed to, and as such Long had to stave off his revulsion.

If this youth was to serve as his personal pill, he would have to improve the taste.

Unconcerned by the barking, hanfu-clad dogs about him, Long stooped to address the captain. “If I recall, my spirit stones were for transit. Not sight-seeing. Though you’re kind to introduce a different perspective on the scenery.”

The captain looked as if he had leapt from the pan into the fire. “M-master cultivator,” he protested.

“Who are you to stand within ten paces of me?” squawked Chinmaya.

“Perhaps I am your grandfather,” he retorted, returning his attention to the captain. “The [Spring Equinox] approaches, and I’d reach my destination before that. If you would?”

An [Intent] washed as waves might, spilling over the deck. It had the captain wheeze under its pressure, and the surrounding cultivators grow rigid.

Long slapped the Vajra’s face with such [Might] that his ancestors would bruise.

With a squeal, Chinmaya tumbled over the ship’s side.

“Be wary, comrades,” warned a taller man, snarling aside his [Spirit Hound]. “He must have powerful backing to disregard Master Chinmaya’s clan.”

Another of the cultivators hummed in agreement. A diminutive, balding man. His partner, concealed. “A wandering expert, to ask on local prices. Tell us, stranger, do you not fear the One Hundred and First?”

[Fortune] was impressed from Long’s [Spirit Carp].

“The monkeys that throw their filth at the Heavens and call it profound?” replied Long. “Why yes, I’ll shatter my [Core] now that boy’s allegiance is revealed.”

“Then know that those three are his retainers,” the balding man said, and swept a hand over those that did not share Chinmaya’s sigil. “Whereas we are humble cultivators from Copper Merchant Hall.”

“Black bellied cur,” attempted the taller man. “You would sell out your betters? The Copper Merchant Hall will burn for this!”

[Golden Demon Treads the Waves].

Three steps occurred, and three late [Core Formation] experts were crippled in the flash of a jian. A dissipation of [Spirituality] in their wake, specks uplifted by the breeze.

“A fateful encounter,” said the balding man. “You are welcome to two fifths, stranger.”

However Yongwu Long fashioned a curious look, dismissing the speaker. The treasures were of small import, as was the man’s scheme. To have another act was to return home with clean hands.

A trick as old as the Jianghu itself.

What wrested his attention was his [Spirit Carp]. The signal impressed for a potential [Fortune] to reap.

To exploit.

It came not from the man ahead. But far, far to the west.

Hundreds of thousands of li distant.

And so Yongwu Long stepped over the ailing cripples, disregarding their choked pleas. His smile ever widening.

There was little doubt that Gao Fu would surpass the minor [Tribulation] that was Cheng Rao. Rewarding them both in time for the next that Long would send his way.

He had only to wait.

🀩

The ogre’s features were no redeeming quality, and the name - Shaokang. Surely he was born beneath an ugly star to have a name so coarse upon the tongue. This was not to mention his [Spirit Beast].

Were a mortal to squint the two were indistinguishable.

“Dearest fruit are pear and apples,” applauded Yuqi. “You have come far!”

Hua did not let her own contentment show. That her grandchildren yet strove at this late hour was a sign of Gao Fu’s merit.

But the oaf did not know all things.

From her table aside the small pond, she beckoned him forth. This simple hum snapped Shaokang from the intensity of his study, and he rose from his chair with such fervor that it toppled and smashed upon the ground.

“Mistress Jinghui,” he said, now before her. The deference shown was a clasping of hands, composed with lowered eyes and rigid stature. A redeeming feature, if any could be found.

“Your study of the Thousand Characters has progressed adequately under Yuqi’s tutelage. Her personal time is precious. I trust you are aware of this?”

Shaokang affirmed this with a grunt.

“But neither is your time limitless,” she continued. “A task comes that must be met, and you will follow.”

At this, Hua rose.

Immaculately cut timber ran along the river’s bank, fashioned and stacked in orderly beams. Two piles, at east and west, for those that had not passed her scrutiny were to be returned. It was this way with each of the gathered materials.

Bound parcels of clay tiles that held unharmonious Qi. Yang-soaked marble that spoke ill of the prior residents. Moth-eaten fabrics. Entire sacks of earth that she had directed Shaokang to remove.

That the [Cherry River Sage] might be duped by some pace-deep sprinkling of topsoil… Hua had a mind to visit the evidently slothful official that had presented the deed so she might enlighten him on proper etiquette.

As she approached the deconstructed bay, a separate issue had her scowl. “Shaokang,” she snapped. “An will not wither should you leave her side. Yet the same cannot be said for those that have me wait.”

The hulking Shaokang bid his [Spirit Crocodile] to remain, and so it did. An imposing mass turned tender, for the beast curled about his sister’s chair.

“Do not keep Mistress Jinghui waiting, brother,” warned the frail petal beside Yuqi. “Her hospitality-”

Purple bile thrust itself from An’s mouth. Her body turned fitful, spasming even as Shaokang rushed to restrain her.

Across the gentle river that bisected this courtyard, Yuling and Feng rushed. Swift steps that brought them to the girl’s side in short order.

Paxing and Nuwang in tow.

Hua was again content.

Her own intervention landed a palm atop An’s head, thrusting all gathered back by instinct. The girl’s debilitation ran rampant. [Spatial Qi] wracked her mortal veins, pulsating as if fleshy rivers wished to burst from her skin.

It was too deep-seated to remove. Too ingrained to tear from her body without leaving her but a husk.

A solitary speck of Hua’s Qi entered through An’s crown, and the [Cherry River Sage] bid it move.

In the face of it, the hostile force eroded. Some inner sea of purple that receded against an unfathomable purity of energy.

An collapsed into Hua’s breast, cradled there as a soft hum escaped. The immortal lowered, dirtying her hanfu in the ill-tended soil as she waited. Her hands gently stroking the girl’s hair.

“Grandmother, we will see An to our quarters. She will have my bed tonight,” said Yuling.

Hua allowed her grandchildren to ferry the girl, whose shallow breaths splayed concern over Feng’s gentle face.

“Yuling’er,” she said. “Be vigilant. Another bout arrives come midday.”

“As you say, Grandmother,” bowed the eldest, and all made off.

Both Shaokang and his [Spirit Crocodile] thrust themselves to the ground. “Forgive the trouble I have brought.”

All manner of mistakes carried in that address, but Hua would allow it.

“Oh? It does not do to name one’s kin as trouble, boy. Yet, if her predicament is so vexing you may leave when you wish.”

“No,” grunted Shaokang. “Mistress Jinghui has the means to save her from pain.”

“You would continue to impose upon the Gao Clan’s generosity?”

“Yes,” he grunted again, showing his second redeeming quality.

“Then listen, for I will speak,” Hua hummed, and took to rest upon her previous chair. “The time since your arrival reveals you as a simple man, but no fool. What irregularity surrounds your [Dao Oath] could be seen by the blind.”

Shaokang grunted.

“Ripe fruit falls, but never in one’s mouth. Though this rings false where Gao Fu is concerned. The path I have set bears more resemblance to a tide than that which may be walked. This chance encounter exemplifies that, for your fate and that of your sister’s has greatly changed.”

Constellations erupted across the courtyard in myriad patterns. The darkness between eclipsing the bright [Winter] sun above. True millions, that thinned as Hua impressed her will upon them.

Shaokang was bathed in a fork of onyx light. One matching the [Ink] upon him, and hue of his great beast. A thousand stars streamed from this singular point, and vast lines drew amongst consecutive stars beyond it.

Hua’s [Origin Qi] further bent the scene. Simplifying much.

The onyx trail soon met a star of subtle teal, and tinged itself with this hue. Upon contact it swelled, and put itself in near orbit going forward.

“That a madness of insight does not grab you speaks well,” said Hua, and she ceased her conjuration of [Dao]. In place, she put her attention to the surroundings. “The corner there, it is reserved for your quarters. Ample room to house not only you and your sister, but for three generations when such a time arrives.”

The [Spirit Crocodile] heaved a breath, whereas Shaokang remained still. “Though I walk through flowers, their nectar does not turn me. Generations are no consequence of mine.”

“Do not spurn the hand that feeds, you impetuous boy,” Hua tutted. “Lest I lose my tolerance. Did my lips form words that name these generations as yours? Bah.”

[Intent] leaked from Shaokang in no harmful manner. Rather, he succumbed to his emotions. “An.”

“Indeed. Now, interrupt no longer,” scolded Hua. “Repayment for this turn of fate must begin promptly. I would have you weather much, as is only fitting for the boons you are to receive. Three [Mystic Realms], to begin. The first of which ensures your quarters will be brimming in the moons to come.”

Shaokang’s reply was disturbed by a loud greeting. Craftsmen, their labourers, and the [Spirit Beasts] that toted their next delivery.

“I will tend to them, Matriarch Jinghui,” he then said. “So I might begin my duties.”

Five individual carts entered the courtyard to Hua’s contented hum. The screens atop them, one for each of the external quarters yet to be built.

Each pattern, unique.

Hua found that she could not fault the intricacies of any, and knew well that the artisans of the Divine Clouded Mountain would have long discovered who it was that commissioned these pieces.

“Do not dwell on it long,” she said, scrutinising a pattern of plum-hued blossoms. “Gao Fu will not return here for some time. Both you, and he, have more pressing matters. No?”