Slumbertaur

  [Clouded Ghost Arts]

  [False Imitation, Early] ATTAINED

  [Control] +25

  [Push] + 20

  At the [Paifang’s] edge, Fu saw with serpents. Small mortal adders that y in its shadow, ciming shade and refuge from the oppressive heat of this [Summer] sun.

  It beat down with vengeance, as if such a desert-fitting bze of light was recompense for the millenia it had been suppressed. Troubling indeed, for they were still within the [Season’s] infancy, and did not yet creep towards [Autumn].

  Stranger yet as-

  [Contribution

  Points]

  [Total]

  [0]

  [Debt]

  [Lifelong]

  [32,020]

  Shuidi imparted a sharp gre to the gathering serpents, feeling such proximity was cking in face. She loosed a small parcel of [Intent] to scatter them about Fu’s person, driving them back from whence they had come.

  Sister, they are cousins, no?

  The [Spirit Crab] proved indignant, and spurned the suggestion as a cultivator befitting her station.

  Fu repressed a smile, rising. There were disciples to greet.

  First to descend from his smaller vessel was Udvah, who paced down the small ramp at leisurely pace. This Warship was of his choosing, his ownership, as Fu had found no better way to repay the Vajra’s tutege until the contents of the Three Intricacies vault were archived.

  As such it held violet where Fu’s held teal. In hull, in sail and iconography. If a vessel of mundane and diminutive size compared the Wayward Wind’s home ship.

  Pin, for the ascetic’s matching nature.

  Two more disciples followed, granting matching bows.

  Fen, and Kavya.

  “Senior, this One Hundred and First Kavya greets you,” came twice respectively, though it was the first that continued. “We stand eager to show Yellow Moon Hall what lurks in shadow.”

  Oh? Perhaps my intentions were unclear.

  “I am sure you will both lend your diligence to this task, in time,” nodded Fu. “However, Yellow Moon Hall, and the lesser tributaries of Five Silences City, are to be touched by only eyes and ears. Such is the intent of our March of Serpents.”

  This birthed evident confusion.

  “Ah, of course senior. As you say.”

  A slight twitch creased Udvah’s lips. “A busy [Season], no? These disciples can be forgiven,” he said, feigning severity towards the two.

  “Senior?” chimed the two in tandem.

  “Amituofo. Rare is the time when ghosts stand in light. Five Silences City would cast fewer shadows without others to block the sun. An unfavorable course.”

  Fu nodded. “Brother Udvah ever holds the correct words. No, disciples, we might blunt the cns yet. But what better whetstone to hone a sharpened edge? If you would not walk blind, then know we roam further into the Marches.”

  Violet rose within the broken [Paifang], shining as Udvah set his hand upon it. His [Splinter of the First Gate] drew a clear toll, it seemed, for sustaining the entrance that blossomed had wiped any trace of smile.

  It spoke to the disciples’ composure that they only bowed.

  Their senior crossed first.

  [Empire of Abundant Spring, Realm 9,115]

  [Spring]

  [Core Formation Grade] [Trial Realm] [Mind Affinity] [Dao Scarcity]

  Bde in-hand, Fu emerged into this fresh Imperial Realm. [Mist Q bnketed the area in the space of heartbeats, low and encircling. The nding was no flooded pza, but previous mistakes could not be repeated.

  Shuidi’s [Senses] beat through her mist, and returned an empty scene.

  Azure grassnd stretched before them as the fumes pealed back, cut with the gentle roar of a cutting river. The lights of Yellow appeared further. Downstream, vast, and not solely alone.

  “Green,” hummed Udvah, colpsing his violet screen.

  Fu set the pace then on. A silent rush across sun-soaked grasses that held his juniors in tow, their sound barely passing as more than a light breeze amidst the stalks. Onwards pyed them by the river’s edge and near to grazing [Spirit Deer], coloured the same as the surrounding ndscape.

  Few heads turned.

  Then, in time, the city’s boundary was reached and the grimness of Udvah’s previous scouting could be seen.

  As stated, the Cloudy Serpent Sect was here. Bound, nailed and draped upon freshly crafted stone pilrs. Some were crucified. Most were mauled and bloodied. None drew breath.

  When Fu’s hand lifted the head of the first, he found it light. Brushing back the woman’s filth-strewn hair revealed more. Her eye sockets were mangled, free of what they should hold, and gratuitous stains of blood pasted all beneath it.

  But her mouth drew further attention. At first a slit to part her tongue in two forks, and… her gums moreso, for they were barren. Absent of all natural teeth save for two sharpened fangs that had been burrowed within the upper flesh.

  The ghost’s [Dao Oath] demanded he burn with fury. Fu but dropped her head. “An effective warning.”

  “Amituofo. Blinded serpents. A cruel soul imagined this,” said Udvah.

  Sidelong and spanning, the sight was replicated for many dozen li. A perimeter of such that ringed the city’s outskirts until Fu vision could see no more. Worse was the casual distance to the emerging structures- the gradient of shacks that built until towering pagodas and imperious pavilions grew the skyline.

  He drew down the brim of his yellow douli. That of matching colour with his disciples’ Imperial robes.

  “On,” he said. “This is not all of who we seek.”

  ?

  Recollection of the Marches pyed in his mind. The order that matched caste, and the inherent differences between each. Here stood a Yellow. His fragment of the [True Orchid Path] confirmed it. The popution confirmed it; variety in establishments; robes; [Spirit Beasts]; and Qi density.

  Surface notes to be reted to Pinxui.

  But Fu sought more, and had uttered a single command. “Listen,” which had parted his Wayward Winds that they might discover all.

  A yellow path soon led him through the avenues, unharried by droves of the menial castes that walked beneath his hue. The burden beasts and those who proudly managed them from paths of Orange.

  It afforded peace.

  Alone, Fu combed the city for a yman’s thoughts. Whispers to find the pulse of this city, and any rumours that his Cloudy Serpent Sect might yet survive.

  “Gratitude, young dy,” he had bowed at the elderly Vajra, allowing her return to Reds that boured to sand down her storefront’s facade.

  “May [Spring] grant its bounty, Master Yellow,” was his reply to the carpenter, fielding no apprentices of less than his own caste.

  Ever did the minutiae of colour grow, and moreso, ever did his [Intermediary Wisdom] glean volumes through which to parse. Absorption of the Three Intricacies cn’s foundational tomes were a revetion, enabling the Old One to decipher the Empire’s foreign [Arrays].

  Though only Shuidi understood the details.

  Fu’s was a broad stroke, in two parts. Simply that their crafts were created differently from the Clear Sky Empire’s [Twenty Eight Standard Formations], and the second, that proved true of every recovered technique.

  All techniques were cultivation techniques. [Body]. [Mind]. [Spirit]. [Harmony].

  The Empire of Abundant [Spring] allowed no tome that would not increase one’s cultivation alongside [Prowess]. Indeed they were manufactured as such, for reasons both insidious and known.

  A note of important revision for the trial he now faced.

  At a low table, Hushi gred at the congee. Its meat of yellow tone, its sauce and vegetables. Coloured once more, and in sickly, unappealing hue.

  “Master Yellow. Is it not to your liking?” asked the server, her bow deep at the waist.

  Painfully attentive.

  Fu’s [Senses] expanded about the quaint establishment to find that none of the surrounding thirty Imperials viewed him with notice. “I am simply overcome with its scent,” he smiled in half-truth. “Gratitude.”

  The server lingered.

  The [Hundred Immunities Fruit] proved hungrier than his gut.

  At a bite, poison drew into his [Core]. Comments on fvour, or tenderness of… pheasant were unimportant. He studied the composition as it entered.

  An eroding force. Weak enough that it can scarcely be detected. If consumed in staggering qualities, it would warp one’s [Channels] to such a degree that cultivation would be impossible.

  Mirth pyed on the surrounding Imperials’ features. So untroubled that second bowls were ordered. Third bowls were ordered. Spirit wine was imbibed to hasten the congee’s passage down. The rice, dumplings, soup.

  Blind.

  But the ghost entertained this by doing the same. A fourth bowl. A second bottle of bitter spirit wine. Spirit stones tipped to the server for her diligent work, and then, “Sister Yellow, this congee is fit for the Emperor himself,” came his severe reply. A weight of tone that suggested his compliment was one worth listening to. “I would share my gratitude with the cook. No. I would share my gratitude with all, if fortune could have our paths cross.”

  “Sister? Master Yellow is too kind,” she returned. “Forgiveness. Our humble cook is-”

  In trial, Fu had a lower grade spirit stone fsh between his fingers. Drawn from the quite ridiculous wealth he had accrued.

  If nothing else, this will show the worth of money.

  The server’s eyes widened at fifty. Her [Spirit Ape] partner’s bulged at two hundred.

  Food is ever cheap then.

  Few chances had risen for him to spend a middle-grade spirit stone, in either Empire. Let alone the hundreds of high-grade that weighed down his spatial ring.

  “Our humble cook is improper to greet such an esteemed guest,” she swiftly corrected. “If it does not trouble you, this humble server would take a moment for our staff to gather.”

  Shuidi.

  A family gathered before Fu in the coming minutes, oil-stained and fussed over by a weathered Matriarch that rushed to have them bow at his table. Two daughters to serve, a father to cook and the mother to host.

  Akin to mortals, for wealth blinded them to the [Spirit Crab’s] efforts. How the Loosened Tongue Draught polluted the bubbling stock some many paces distant and saturated the hefty sacks of uncooked rice.

  Fu pushed a resonance through his brooch as he entertained the grateful four, whiling away minutes about preparations and freshness of ingredients. Then summarily left, brushing through a Yellow curtain to rejoin the street outside.

  Steps.

  Udvah moved the opposing way, dipping his head as Fu, the lesser, cleared space for his passing. “Master Yellow, the cook eleven buildings down is of unparalleled skill,” the tter said. “Perhaps I might treat you to tea for blundering into your path?”

  “Noodles are preferred,” Udvah frowned. “There is a suitable shop eastward.”

  The pair parted with no further exchange.

  My juniors, in a noodle shop? Were they raised in a well?

  For an omen of this magnitude, Fu moved swiftly. [Half Cloud Step] brought him from an alley, up, treading balconies to arrive amidst a sea of arched rooftops. Daylight might bring a burden of potential eyes and the attention of this Green element, but he held some confidence that his [Might] would shield him from such.

  The presence of the Cloudy Serpent Sect has not given them cause to post guards?

  His expectation was countered to find no wandering cultivators above the streets, merely the feral flocks of [Spirit Pigeons] that might roam any settlement. A fledgling ghost’s undoing, or so tales within the Four Corners Prefecture had told.

  No fledgling, he entered the shop with grace. Grander than the previous restaurant, the tables here sat many hundred. A near count, for Fu sensed that just as many heads turned as he passed the threshold.

  That all was still reassured him of his juniors’ progress.

  A time to appear small.

  Fu set a slight crook to his spine as he negotiated his way through the horde of Imperials, dispensing weary, if fervently grateful nods for the myriad [Spirit Beasts] that half-crowded the rows. To walk this way drew small attention, if only in disgust or averted gazes from his missing arm.

  He sat, he ordered. A dizi whistled from distant alcoves, calming any thoughts of his arrival with a soothing melody.

  “Cousin,” sounded a voice. “A busy mealtime with so few seats. This humble daoist would join you.”

  Aromatic smoke blew from the stranger’s pipe as he sat without awaiting an answer. A thing of long stem that wisped in Fu’s face.

  The ghost beat his own chest, feigning a cough. “It is an honor to host guests, Master Yellow,” he greeted. “But [Spring] has not blessed me with a wealth of stories to trade. Truly, better company is sought elsewhere.”

  “That is for the Heavens to judge, no? “This daoist is known as Bo,” ughed the stranger, a Vajra of aged skin. Crinkled whiskers poked from his yellow sleeve, showing the [Spirit Rat] hidden with its folds. “This wizened partner is daoist Whitefur. A shy friend, but most profound.”

  Fu dipped his douli. “A second honor.”

  Thus began a conversation on food and [Spring]. Pleasant nothings to while away minutes, and a distraction that allowed Fu to pry small habits from the opposing daoist. Disguise was a dance between confidence and intrinsic knowledge, meaning that such conversation was not unwelcome.

  Smoke wisped all the while, and neither was this unpleasant.

  The [Poison Q within was quite nourishing.

  To have his recent tactic returned on him was an oddly humorous notion to Fu, for whomever this man was he was quite adept at masking his Qi.

  [Karma] winds queer paths for us, no?

  Hushi agreed, readying his limbs in case this hostile daoist might act. Shuidi’s approach differed, scrutinizing the poison for any affiliation.

  “And the dishonour of this false empire,” hummed stranger Bo, diverting the conversation from admiration of the dizi’s melody with no gentle departure. “Ah, ah, this daoist brings troubles to tea. A poor thing, forgiveness, cousin, forgiveness.”

  First a stranger poisons me, and then asks on the Clear Sky Empire. Either my charade is unmade or indeed, [Karma] presents an opportunity.

  Instinct born of his [Hundred Immunities Fruit] revealed the poison’s properties. An uncle to his Loosened Tongue draught for its complexity and subtlety in delivery.

  An impression told that Shuidi had already stored the blueprints.

  Fu had his face turn grim. “Unpleasant conversion, to speak of the unenlightened,” he agreed. “Though weeds do not vanish if ignored.”

  “Indeed, cousin, indeed,” he said, sharing the same grimness. “That they come in such a variety of names- these Sects and disciples, does it not show how they have abandoned the [Dao]? All should revere the one that stands closest to Heaven, not these myriad masters.”

  “The colours are a vexation,” agreed Fu. “It further shows that they do not know their pce. Monkeys thinking themselves profound.”

  The long-stemmed pipe in Bo’s hand spun, arcing his fragrant smoke in patterns. While suppressed, the [Poison Q intensified its fight against Fu.

  “This humble daoist would help were he worthy. Hidden fights pgue this city, quiet things reserved for those of truest Yellow. The City Magistrate’s office holds talent in abundance. If only these aged arms might lend aid so our betters might not stain their hands.” Bo’s coming sigh was dramatic, and richly clouded.

  Fu stroked his empty sleeve. “Again I am honoured. But such a wish is for others. Great daoists such as you and the diligent Whitefur, I should think.”

  Their exchange trailed after that. More talk of weather, and a swift departure.

  Bo’s.

  The daoist excused himself with a bow, only to mill about the feasting cultivators until another free seat was found and further conversation could be struck.

  For his part, Fu observed in his periphery. A combination of intelligence gathering and poisonous means might well speak of a simir vocation to his own, but the world was vast and no answer was certain.

  He paid, rose, and fell into instinct. Angles were marked upon exit, potential eyes and most navigable routes, prompting a fleet blur to the obscurity of rooftops once more. The daoist Bo held interest, not least in his poisoning.

  Whether vilin, oddity or simply a man ignorant to his cultivation, that remained to be seen.

  Once thinking that the chaos of his circumstance had slowed, Fu’s notion was again corrected. The Empire of Abundant [Spring] had him leap from pan to fire to realise his goals, and this moment proved no different.

  Some mere thirteen minutes passed before Bo emerged.

  His was a gentle step.

  Those of the five cultivators that followed him, were not.

  The Heavens do not allow for a single breath.

  Bo’s pipe plumed behind him, polluting the air with a thickened screen for these pursuers to curse through. From above the view was clear, and showed how this smoke veered left where its cultivator stepped right. A simple, mundane trick, and enough to slow the Yellows’ considerably.

  If not the [Spirit Hounds].

  With three resonances pushed through his brooch, Fu stalked the rooftops. Ever quieter for the increase to his [Clouded Ghost Arts], as the Path of [Mind] acted more than the mere suppression of bodily functions.

  Air welcomed his embrace. The aura of exuded breath melded him with the element. A cushion softened his feet. His skin cooled to match that of the passing breeze. What minute whispers might come from his hanfu were swallowed.

  He could not say if these incremental boons aided him more than the skill he already possessed, but knew well what to do with a gifted horse.

  Avenue followed avenue. Alley followed alley. Frustration gave rise to loudened voices from below.

  “...false…”

  “Peace, lest you have him flee.”

  “...more than this? Have you looked upon the [Spring] sun too long?”

  Mortal dead-ends were not so named for cultivators. But Bo held in one, drawing deep of his pipe as the five Imperials and five [Spirit Hounds] sealed off his escape. “That phrase, daoist. A flight from our demands answers much, but that phrase has sealed your fate.”

  “Trading words is beneath you, cousin,” chimed one among their number, setting a hand on friendly shoulders. “Let this be done.”

  Bo looked from the rear wallfront ahead to the cultivators. “Amitabha. Yes, I’d say it’s distinct from our amituofo. Gratitude. Today was a day for discovery, and you true Imperials have kindly granted an education.”

  Feathered qiang were levied, manifesting as the [Yellow Imperial Spear Arts].

  Again Bo drew deep from his pipe, chuffing smoke from his cheeks. “[Karma] would have this repaid, and though I’m no generous soul… I’ll share how to trade pointers.”

  To Fu’s morbid fascination there came a sudden change. Pustules of a sickly yellow blossomed upon the Vajra, marked as a resonance of [Dao] ended. He thought it some [Principle] of concealment, but spared more fascination for the scene below.

  Bo’s smoke had altered, and a tide of spectral rats crashed forth to bury his pursuers at once, manifested from within. Where they gnawed there showed a sharing of pustules, of a pestilence that birthed all manner of vomit, blood and unmentionable, felling them in rapid moments.

  Vanishing just as swiftly.

  His [Dao] is unsuppressed, yet he possesses training. Middle [Core Formation Realm], or simply a fw of his Path. [Poison Q. No, beyond. [Pgue Q, as I have read. Brother, sister, he is faster than us. Far faster.

  Experience warned against contact.

  Foolish hope warned against losing sight of him.

  A cultivator of vile appearance and grim talent. The paupers of assassins.

  Hushi recalled their st meeting, forewarning Shuidi that her sensibilities would be well tested should any course be taken to engage Bo.

  Or his Sect.

  That of Beggars, and the Clear Sky Empire.