…three [Meridians] beyond opening the [Dantian].

(Note) Physically, if compared to mortal bone structure - I would place each along a route between navel and central-clavicle.

With disparate positions under the standardised metrics for [Meridian] placement as outlined in the [Cherry River Sword’s] shamefully titled “Meridians for the Common Man.”

Widely regarded as the preeminent tome on such matters.

Sub-chapters of my own tome will delve into each [Meridian] with greater detail, and I have taken - at the cost of my own time and interest - the liberty of adding appendixes of adequate tomes compiled by others in this field should the reader have an academic interest in lesser works.

Beyond this lies the [First Gate Meridian]- and what is coarsely referred to as the ‘first’ minor bottleneck on the Path of [Mind].

- “The Glory of Mind,” by [Three Indignancies Mentor]

When six had entered the [Four Directions Tribulation Array] no further organisation was needed. Niwai exchanged but a wordless gesture to her sister disciple, an offering and affirmation in one, that allowed Linhua to choose her position.

It bode well, for Fu’s squad had found harmony before any others might join.

With gentle objection, Linhua entered seventh. Niwai eighth. Zhu’s face held resolve as he entered ninth, though he had the look of one suppressing words.

A comment on competition, and who would fund their next meal. Or so Fu guessed.

Let us see what awaits.

His first step beckoned a shift. Pangs waved through his [Core], a painful wrench as the toll of this opportunity struck. It was a swift depletion, draining his Qi with such rapidity his vision blurred and what new surroundings the [Array] delivered washed him with intense imbalance.

“[Conception Vessel],” he agreed with Shuidi. The [Mind]-treading [Spirit Crab] a native to this phenomenon.

A minor stage, as his [Clouded Ghost Arts] had revealed when analysed aside other tomes. Lofty words had detailed those pages. Metaphysical, symbolic visualisation, open realisation. Terms that perhaps, only fisherman of the Divine Clouded Mountain might use.

Fu had encountered peculiarities of this ilk before. The acquisition of [Soul Qi] had set him upon a shore as he had ascended to [Core Formation]. Visitations to the pool-capped peaks that held his [Dao].

This place was neither here, nor there, but a within in-between.

Night painted a canvas of stars from horizon to horizon, where no moon hung. Merely a wash of cool cobalt to guide his path across this ever-expanding bridge.

Illuminating the manifestation there.

He approached with caution, drawing no sound from the planks underfoot.

A douli crowned this [Tribulation], its hanfu a blaze of writhing, pastel teal. Silent, its chain fell short of the ground.

“Greetings,” called Fu.

[Half Cloud Step] delivered the spectre’s kick square against Fu’s jaw. Twenty strides of wood embraced him as he catapulted back, tumbling. But he caught himself swiftly, lashing his [Stifling Stream Revolutions] against the figure to-

A void stole his foot, for it passed clean through.

That is [Spectral Qi].

Fu called upon his [Half Cloud Step], and it did not come.

“The [Tribulation] of [Body],” he guessed, as fools might, and his words vanished under a pursuit of blows.

Hundreds of chimes desecrated the still scene as their blade’s met. A storm of dancing lashes and leaps. Bounds that had metal peck and slash- dance like the pairing of two great serpents.

His [Wind Phantom Strides] projected Hushi forward. His [Might] allowing a blur along the created currents.

Hushi’s mirror rose in opposition. A true nightmare of spectral limbs that tangled and faded with the same intangibility of Fu’s foe.

This is no place for mundane sparring. What meaning does this hold? To winnow myself, as Ban Bingbai says.

An impression came, prompting Fu to land distant from the fray. “Hold,” he demanded, unsure what this would yield. Yet, the figure did. Shuidi’s quiet plea was clear. Envy. An instruction to allow her to join this trial.

Thus he set her down upon the bridge’s patterned rail, and their foe responded in kind.

[Might] alone blurred Fu in close, blade readied. But the manifestation was a true rival. They clashed further each marginally defiant of the other, for their techniques were well known. Countered in slight dodges, adjustments and blocks.

No set from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions] prevailed, nor the [Wind Phantom Strides]. Slashes were met square, and what few connections he struggled out vanished into a haze of shifting [Spectral Qi].

In an hour he had accumulated only scrapes. The second, third and fourth, drew more.

[Core Formation] insulated him from the blood loss, staunched by merit of [Resilience]. However, the illusory realm offered danger beyond it, sapping vitality to have a profound fatigue mount with each blow received.

When Shuidi’s torment grew too much, Fu blurred. One step broke between the warring [Spirit Crabs], entering her into his palm.

“Peace sister, this Path is not your own,” he comforted.

The diminutive hermit impressed some twinge of sadness. A regret that tainted her next mental image. Not of [Spectral Qi], but [Mist], her wounds differed. Moisture propagated where pincers had scored, spreading a pollutant that matched Shudid’s own Qi.

Akin to a star, she shared a flash of her [Meridians]. The gradual absorption of this hostile Qi that overcame her own.

Ingraining itself as she directed.

The opportunity.

The next incoming blade, Fu accepted. Skin shorn as it met his shoulder. An agonising welt in its place. Yet, now under scrutiny he found the [Spectral Qi] to linger. Ripe for the taking, if only he might muster the talent to cultivate it under duress.

A [Paifang’s] silhouette blossomed. Some twenty strides behind his spectral rival. As if summoned in response to his insight.

Temptation, to which he would not succumb.

His first [Body Meridian] felt aflame as he accepted but one part of a hundred of this foreign Qi. Enough to contest his will, for he knew three trials yet remained.

No.

Hushi affirmed the same.

No less than this is required.

🀩

Folded in the lotus position ahead, Zhu’s brow was furrowed. Seen only through the great peels of sweat that molested Fu’s vision.

Grime gathered, and acidic.

It was under no guise of observation that he spied the others. Never possessing of shame, Fu would not deny that he was hollowed from his first trial.

Well winnowed from this single step.

Thus he stayed upon palm and knee, near prostrate to the [Mimamsa Sage] that bore a curious transformation. The spiritual herb had taken root and now offered a bounty in ten directions, its leaves stooped respectively towards each cultivator.

What link connected the disparate leaves for each he could not guess. The base of his own was thick. Fuller than most around, save for a close total with Zhu and his own recruit.

A third of my [Meridians] are bolstered with this new Qi. Yet now I feel no sign. Was it merely a representation of progress?

Could he equate his meagre success with the total leaves?

Fu wavered on the boundary to the [Array’s] second step, demarcated with a golden line. Much curiosity impressed through the [Old One’s Whisker].

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Morbid fascination rose to look upon He Ting’s crumpled form. Broken by the Path of [Body]. The Qi massed beneath her, detected through the intermediary wisdom his [Constellation Seed] granted - ever draining more.

She spasmed. Drooled. Bled from ears and nostrils. An opposite to the [Spirit Spider] at her breast, whose legs curled towards the cloud-thick skies.

Unflinching where her cultivator was not.

As threads, the Qi meshed at each of nine sections. Enriching the [Array’s] power as it was distributed between those who remained. He spied Zhu, and as the Qi’s shift was a recent thing - beheld the intensity as it rose. Difficulty deepening his companion’s frown.

Nine remain. Or five, perhaps.

“Hushi, Shuidi,” he whispered, resonating with the toll both partners held.

The octopus deferred to his sister’s display. An approximation of readiness, borne of small, misty puffs.

Fu bowed in response.

🀩

The [Paifang] stood clear upon entry, maddeningly close, for this second illusory realm pushed it further as he moved.

Here, no bridge expanded. The skies above were queer in their purity. A whiteness of some calligrapher’s sheet, primed to receive what might come. Odd that he viewed it this way, Fu mused if the dull [Profundity] about him had caused this.

A pregnant insight lingered here.

An expectation.

“Better we do not voice our thoughts,” he whispered. “Else I might be mistaken for a cultivator, wielding poetry I could not write if tasked.”

His steps continued, ever distancing his destination until there sprouted a slim construct of screens. Three in total that bisected the intervening space to fill his vision.

Gold inlaid throughout.

A trial of [Spirit].

Waiting would not bring progress, and so he set his hand upon the first. Pressure had his fingertips turn leaden. His arm next, as he drew it open.

What unleashed from it was a familiar cousin. A gale that soon screamed with such fury Fu was forced back by some few strides. Unsure of the ramifications around its loss, he stowed his douli, and weathered the storm with an arm braced across his eyes.

The [Dao of Wayward Breezes] drawing tears with its bite.

I am to cross then?

He put a foot forward to have it wrenched sidelong. A second and this repeated. Foolish, for this was a trial of his [Dao].

But when he became his breeze something ill tore at his mind. The toll, vast, as these winds were no gentle thing. Fu found himself blocked. Barred any form of motion while his temples pounded with immediate drain.

Dismissing his wayward form, he pursed his lips. “If the others do not possess any [Dao Principles], what do they see? A means of insight?” he pondered, querying Hushi whose arms were tasting the gale. “Is our trial then, a means of refinement?”

Shuidi bowed in her usual fashion.

Fu however, shook, and took the [Spirit Crab] in his palm. “You share but a part of this [Dao], sister, and our path is no thing to be commanded. Come.”

These winds forged a crucible in crossing gales. No clear shape, but a barrier all the same. Stronger the further one went.

With Shuidi upon his hand, Fu plunged it forward. “Our insight came a few [Seasons] past. When we knew what our [Reach] would become, and how we would affect it. A breeze,” he said, orchestrating his second hand into the gale. “Do you think this changed, Hushi?”

The octopus crested his shoulder, mirroring the gesture. An intensity of gold within his gaze, his impressions free.

“Yes. The Cloud Gathering Division changes this little. It too is a breeze. A lethal gust that we but ride on. What promises of security it grants are as ephemeral as these winds. Able to lull at the whim of another.” His hand twisted, and gold streamed through the gaps between his fingers.

[Dao Principles], the presence or sense that inflicted his on the world- he conveyed this to the lashing wind. The gold became thread-like, and he tugged gently to see it illuminate through the depths of these gales.

“Yet we have our path, and see further.”

All three companions folded into this golden breeze, and arrived before the [Paifang] with the winds at their rear.

Fu felt content with this increase.

A [Middle] proficiency in my [Dao]. What might this bring?

He conjured the sensation with curiosity, though remained where he was. Greater [Senses] expanded. An awareness akin to rising hairs upon his nape that spoke of the winds. Where they raged and lilted, crossing and meeting.

Shuidi impressed her delight, for insight had come to her on this [Dao]. No longer an associative benefit, but a thing to be summoned aside her bonded partners.

“Two screens remain,” he gestured, seeing the winds dissipate into silence. “One must stand for our [Dao of Suffocation]. Long unused, brother, is it not?”

The pain his temples had not subsided and would soon wrest control of his faculties. Yet already he knew well to temper this opportunity.

“It cannot be denied. As clouds, however, I require more insight. What might connect the two? Neither would I internalise this [Dao].” Fu found himself stroking the [Old One’s Whisker] as if he were some pensive sage. “Then Shuidi, might we use this [Profundity] to share in your insights?”

Her confusion was clear for mist pooled upon her lips like a dream-touched child’s might drool.

Fu peeled back the middle screen, and saw no [Dao of Suffocation] represented. Will, he mused, might have a hand in such things. No, what unveiled beyond the screen was an amorphous corona of gold.

Unshaped clay, if formed of light wherein the [Profundity] of this realm was massed. A means to [Epiphany], for it thrummed with the same feeling as his first [Dao Treasure]. The painting he had witnessed with young Mei, some many [Seasons] prior.

Odd.

As it took no hold.

The three edged closer, raining greater pressure upon them in turn. Still, no great vision unfolded within the space.

Such treasures, or insights granted, were known to draw one away within a blink. Yet here they only gazed restlessly.

Am I to be the agent of this?

When touched, his fingers did not erode. A lap revealed less, serving but to pour sweat upon his back and further the discomfort in his skull.

Hushi shared a thought of their Elder’s chambers. Of the black and white realm so profound that Zhu’s eyes were blindfolded lest he succumb to a madness of insight. How Fu had walked unmolested.

Pain would not allow them to be so contemplative. Those were mysteries for a time of peace.

Thus Fu readied himself in the lotus position. With hope the [Profundity] could be seized, and so he returned Shuidi to his palm. “Sister, I do not intend to deceive you. But this,” he said, his hand winding airily. “Is as Master Ban says. No linear thing. I can no more claim the power there than I can explain it. So I ask only that you lead our thoughts towards your [Dao].”

The [Spirit Crab] looked to Hushi for assurance, bowing low as she received it. Her next impression concerned clouds.

Fu shook, fondly. “When my Mei began courtship… she did not deliver me a [Spirit Beast] with which to partner, nor preach cultivation. I did not enforce that she turn her hand to mending nets. But she would ask my thoughts as she bound their ropes, and I would tell her tales when she was troubled. A union should be as such. A destination found together, and not imposed by one. Think freely, sister, and do not temper your feelings with a Path barely begun.”

A gasp filled Fu’s chest.

The blank canvas surrounding him, morphed.

An abyss of starlight that mirrored the [Twilight Lotus Expanse] stretched for infinite li in all corners. Save that here, around a free-standing peak there orbited a stream of minerals. Ores and crystals, metals and gems, drifting through starlight skies to fade into the abyss.

And the claw that rose to clamp them.

Pincers, of a vastness to match the Heavens themselves.

Fu saw powder cascade between the [Spirit Beast’s] seam, and danced to the crab’s second arm where it was compounded by another crush. Returned to trail upon the peak and have it rise by a margin.

The scene drew closer, scaling the great [Spirit Crab’s] pincers to such a size that their lime-green glow overtook the skies and Fu could see naught but this immaculate carapace. This, and the dust that contained oceans.

Forests, peaks, rivers, snow, and all else that might comprise Fu’s knowledge. Queer then, that he saw this contained within a perfect sphere. Some marble of unfathomable content that further drowned his forehead in pain.

Yet the [Profundity] did not end, for Ban Bingbai’s [Array] was no base thing. It contained a force to far excel a minor [Epiphany] of some mere [First Pool Dao], as it was shared between ten disciples.

Intended to, at least, had He Ting not succumbed to its might.

A wetness soaked Fu’s upper lip as blood gushed from his nostrils. Metallic in taste, and a flood in volume. But he steeled himself, weakened arms catching him from a stumble as the second vision assailed him.

The peak fell away, and all the stars therein. Those blood-chilling pincers melted to become a tide of thickened mist.

Shuidi’s link felt as bloodied as his lip. Tenuous impressions continued between them, more of pain than this shared insight. It ebbed and flowed as shapes bulged in the density of mist.

Memory. No vision.

Fu’s thoughts struggled to form.

Potential regret that he had followed temptation. Fear that this might overcome him. Small pangs of hunger to glean what came next. He put faith in the shape of his [Dao], and unable to break this vision’s hold - allowed himself to view it.

No outer shape described the location. Merely mist.

Yet within he felt the passing of presences, tied to the surrounding, bulging forms. Great conical masses that drifted more than moved. [Spirit Crabs], hermetic as his Shuidi was, flocking through the clouds.

Darkened azure lightning forked, preceded by a violent crash.

Sorrow rose in his [Core], contesting the pain.

A second flash. A third. A tenth. And so on it went, setting swathes of the mist awash in this azure light. Some terrifying, pulsating glow that lingered each time the cause struck again.

Shuidi emerged in this nightmare. Her diminutive form toppling from the peak of a larger [Spirit Crab]. And this beast scuttled to pour its attention on her, twin stalks needling in to deliver a feeling of intolerable shame.

The lightning closed in, shedding the mist’s neutral light in all places but where this pair stood. Here the vision of Shuidi looked to her comrades. Hundreds, that spurned her with a single glint of gold. One by one the [Dao] embraced them, and their shells became as this mist. No longer solid rock or gem, but the intangible, and the [Spirit Crabs] faded within it.

However Shuidi could not.

She was but a few [Seasons] old. A juvenile that knew so little of withdrawal and the way of things.

Thus she settled where she stood. Legs retracting to be stowed within her pebble. Two, then four, then six, drawn in by the two that latched her home, only to leave her stalks exposed so she might watch the devastation.

The azure glow then thickened. This impending storm she knew would be her last, and it split the mist asunder. One, singular fork that engulfed each bead of moisture within to crack a web throughout.

A silhouette of wings, all that remained.

Fu crashed to the [Paifang’s] base, and heaved in a rasp. The pressure’s escalation, the toll… Rivulets of spent blood had gushed a trial behind him. Seen only as he half-collapsed upon his back, fighting to draw breath.

His [Ink] blazed with reward, engraving fresh stains upon his skin. If only he had the will to view what twofold rewards awaited.