Noted here is the end of the diligent lord’s response. Accounts follow from officers within his legions.

  “The [Rakshasa] you say? Sultry, perhaps. Or demure.”

  “Amituofo, this one hundred and second rate daoist saw in them a mother with crying infants clutched. Starved.”

  “Beauties the likes of which put shame to the fwless perfection of immortal women.”

  The quill stopped then, for my talents were cking: unable to steer conversation away from talk of charms and wile. “Appearance? This is their lethality?”

  “If blood runs through your veins, schor,” warned another, absent from ughter. “It is no [Dao], nor technique of [Gu]. Falsehood is their sphere. Mistake it not for lust, no, for their talent is the twisting of minds through heart.”

  “Illusions then, countered by a righteous spirit.”

  “A righteous spirit,” seethed a third, fourth and fifth of these officers.

  A daoist among them stood, Numbered. “Peace,” he said. “Peace. Curse not the blessed. Those that do not suffer a jian’s swift puncture from their mother, nor an eye gouged from childhood loves.”

  “A mother’s jian? Such cruelty is surely unmatched,” I recall gasping.

  “Blessed indeed, for your imagination does not extend to our brothers that survive all the [Rakshasa] wield firstmost. To those that spark their interest.”

  “Diversity of [Demonic] Attributes,” conversations with [Dour Faced Strategist]

  Three days, five hours.

  “It’s no [Karmic] cultivator that does this.”

  One gnce across a thousand temples revealed nothing of this to Fu, for all he saw were the scores of warring cultivators.

  Factions embroiled on waterways and skies.

  If they moved with grace or victory, the matters of this [Spirit Whale] of sand and bde stole much attention from it.

  So in gnces, Fu observed their stalemate and little else. “A detection of your [Senses] then?”

  Zhu’s gaze burrowed west, as if he might catch sight of their aggressor through the maelstrom of Qi. “A treasure. One unparalleled. I’d welcome it into our possession were that not a fool’s errand.”

  “Then perhaps they sense only our ties, and not our identity. Transitions between the [Imperial Realms] have held us from capture thus far, but the Wayward Winds are not subtle, even nameless as we are.”

  The swiftness of forming [Sand Q upon this less-distant skyline saw another construct rise. A great plume, if granules in pce of the acrid smoke it so resembled.

  “They are motivated,” Fu said, drawing his mask higher.

  Though mere from this vantage, the figure central to these sands was pin. The behemoth upon which he rode, even the blind might see. A cultivator of twinned bdes, hoisted high as his [Spirit Whale] burst forth in their direction.

  Waves broke the air as they moved, so great was the force of their first step.

  [Heartplume’s Mockery].

  Fu’s simucrum split as his command, having Zhu strain for all the spare seconds they could afford. “As vexing to focus upon as you, brother,” he noted.

  Roam.

  The [Mockery] vanished into a passing breeze.

  “This was not an admirable start to our infiltration,” Fu said.

  Zhu suddenly wrenched, and two reddened strings manifested about his fingertips. Taught cords that seemed tethered to their pursuing foe, spanning across the realm.

  At this, Fu felt his [Spirit] slightly pulled. If to no detriment.

  “It needn’t be so dramatic,” Zhu said.

  Motes of plum light coalesced in his off hand, conjuring an axe to fall on these strings.

  His brow furrowed.

  “Brother?”

  “Unnatural. These ties are forged, not found,” he continued, well conscious of all he held in his grip. Then, a breath, before [Profundity] became thunder in his voice. “Through eight gates does wind rush, and through another eight does the ke lie. What says the monk? The prince? To stand opposite, the same is not seen. Enlighten, [Dao of Confirmation].”

  Plum surfaced in his [Bloodline]-stained skin. A fre in pce of gold. Unsuppressed, as of yet.

  The axe’s head was held a hair from these strings. “This edge is keen,” whispered Zhu, and the threads were severed in a trice.

  Fu felt the [Karmic Tie] untether, no more than thread in the wind now. “The Imperial comes.”

  “Then let’s discover his talent in hunting ghosts without tools to aid him.”

  ??

  Two days, twenty hours.

  The [Cherry River Pilgrim’s] tapestries were held aloft. Standards that suffered not from lightning, errant metal, nor the devastation of myriad [Offensive Arrays]. Hers was of their hue, that of blossoms.

  Of all the [Cherry River Inheritors].

  Tripartite allegiance had not changed this.

  “Make banced these scales; show light; enrich all souls that know not of the [Boundless Dao],” persisted the chant about him.

  Beyond a momentary breath, the mantra repeated. “Make banced these scales; show light; enrich all souls that know not of the [Boundless Dao].” Ethereal bones yet shook within Fu, and his [Constitution of Grey Spectres] flickered to steal between so plentiful a collection of daoists.

  He tread the deck of a daughter Warship: said, for of the hundred that incinerated these skies he was still within the shadow of greater vessels yet. Safety was found in such close confines, and a mask to cloud him from all unwanted eyes.

  Thus he walked.

  Blossom-toned prayer beads rose uniform as the mantra maintained. It seemed as ivy, and each arm the branch of a peerlessly vast forest.

  Hushi impressed his discomfort.

  Yes. It is eerie, no? Vacant stares that do not impact our [Dao of Wind’s Present Whispers]. Such focus.

  An entrancement that recalled memories of the Lotus Bde Sect.

  Fu looked skyward, taking a step that brought him to this vessel’s peak. Where his Warship was of singur structure, with hull and sail, these presented as their own brand of ranging temple with pavilion and ornate approach.

  The [Spirit Whale] cultivator could not be seen.

  Deep within Clear Sky territory, Fu’s safety was more assured. Still, a ghost should not remain idle.

  His [Dao of Wayward Breezes] lifted him to the grandest vessel yet, the jewel in this blockade of myriad ships. The external view gave an unmarred view of Imperial nds- of the arrayed forces and occupied temples, and this only interested Fu slightly. For as he passed through marble and [Array] to reach the inner folds he gleaned better opportunities.

  Firstmost, an inner disciple of the [Cherry River Pilgrim] sat there. Sat, her legs crossed and fingers steepled upon a westernly observation window. Eyelids firmly shut.

  “...you reconsider,” was the plea to her rear, sent through a warrior’s kowtow.

  This Cherry River child excimed, and four [Spirit Toads] croaked across the chamber. “Oh, disciple, what was that?”

  “The southern Imperial fortresses prove a difficulty, great senior. Our venerable allies within the Four Corners Coalition are upon their knees.”

  A petunt look overcame the child, akin to Feng when first he had tasted ginger. “Their knees, disciple? In begging for aid or to ready them for execution at Imperial hands?”

  “Ah… ah, forgiveness,” stuttered the warrior. “In aid, great senior.”

  “Poorly pyed. The cultivators of this age ck conviction in their ideals. Was a farce not set before us? Bowing and titles at our first meeting? Assurances given? A fool speaks of certainty, or at the very least the untalented do.”

  More stammering arose from the attending warrior. “I-”

  The doors to this observation chamber spread open, queer in their softness, for the stature of this fresh arrival was that of a [Spirit Boar]. As indeed his accompanying partner was.

  “Older sister, you’re too harsh on these cultivators,” he spoke, clutching his gut as if all the meat would slip from him like slow-roasted pork might a bone. “Junior disciple. Please, don’t trouble yourself. She’ll take more convincing, and I ask you entrust this to me.”

  Two gnces were spared, then two bows that had the attending warrior close the doors behind him.

  With a sigh, the child dragged herself to the southern window. To where the fray’s brightest bze held.

  “A burden shared is a burden halved,” smiled the portly cultivator. “Please, I am ever willing to lend my ear.”

  “The futility of war. It is so unoriginal,” she said. “Our Master bid us to walk a mile in all shoes. To wander. To see. A fresh Heaven to roam and all I see is a reflection within shallow water.”

  A ponderous grunt sounded from the rger man. “That’s quite a quandary.”

  Metal wailed beyond the confines of this chamber, one note from a deep, basso profundo chorus. In shadow and corner Fu was unable to see its origin, nor did his intent lift from these disciples of the [Cherry River Pilgrim].

  Contemptions on the Path, in a pce of this violence. How untroubled the skein of immortality seems.

  “You do not see it as such?” the child asked.

  Another ponderous grunt came, a tilting of head, and then the [Spirit Boar] spoke. Aged and feminine. “Those who seek pearls in puddles are oft disappointed.”

  “Ugh. That is no wisdom.”

  The [Spirit Boar], of gentle lic and silken coat, swayed. “Then dispute it. For you put palm to fme and compin of heat.”

  “A rise?” the child ughed. “Yes, Perhaps. Though you speak of puddles, where I have witnessed a thousand to your ten. A trudge of filth no matter [Spring’s] influence or that of Clear Skies: the vicissitudes of all nds return ever the same. Thus my insight forms, and it is mud-tracked and stained eternal.”

  “Then all hearts are impure, and will remain so?” queried the rger man.

  A response that stoked anger.

  “No answer to appease our Master. Her tales were not delivered with disdain, but with tears. Heartfelt moments. She spoke of righteous souls. The selfless. Acts of charity. Parables that wove such [Karma] that a smile might cure sickness for all the Heavens owed these samaritans,” she snapped. “Where might I encounter this? One good soul to enrich my Path?”

  All before the Warship’s southern window was consumed by acrid green. Some wealth of [Poison Q to y the realm’s percussive chorus to rest.

  For this, Fu’s [Core] sparked. Hungering despite the screams that pierced even walls of this great height.

  “Older sister’s insight is vast, and our master’s trust, well pced,” mused the rger man. “I’m saddened these realms so ck.”

  The doors reopened in mere moments, returning the previous warrior.

  “Ah, I believe I recall this one,” the rger man said, drumming his belly. “Junior, be at peace. My plea is not yet spoken, you act too rashly.”

  “True Imperials have sin the Four Corners Coalition in a single stroke,” burst the breathless warrior. Boils festered upon his back, and a fugue of acrid green poured from his lungs before colpse. “Our southern front…”

  Wisps pushed from his cherry-hued hanfu, marking an end to whatever partner had been concealed in his hanfu.

  “You had a plea?” asked the child.

  The rger man looked to his [Spirit Boar]. “Of lesser consequence now,” he mused. “My concern rises more from your ruminations, older sister. That a pce such as this taints your insight is unfitting. A change of realm, perhaps? A rest, or a drink? We might wander, and find a good soul through serendipity?”

  Eyes were ever telling to an assassin. On a mark, where rage or attachment y. On a foe, where their bde might fall or fang might strike.

  Here he saw vacancy in pce of unfeeling ice.

  Those of the [Cherry River]. Of Grandmother Hua’s kin. I imagined a peak, Hushi, Shuidi. Yet this is no height, but a depth that I do not wish expined.

  Fu moved on, swiftly.

  ??

  Two days, three hours.

  Embers remained of the Four Corners Coalition, for these cultivators dragged themselves from smouldering ruins. Skin afme, or smoking, a disintegration of Warship and temple had not impacted the living as it should have.

  Like beasts, their roar was valiant.

  Or perhaps, as jiangshi, for they hopped from molten stone and crumbled beam to join the engagement heedless of their own health.

  But Fu knew well their reason for advancing. Another hour passed and he bore further witness.

  Another.

  Four.

  Upon a tended stretch of green, where flowering peach trees soared and myriad roses bloomed between ornate walls, his jaw finally firmed.

  He saw it within the pristine armor of teal-marked Imperials. Transcendents of Green, pridefully cd in signs of their station. In the ribbons upon their qiang and the decorative wraps upon all fashions of [Spirit Beast].

  How little this differed from the burnt orange of Clear Sky hanfu. A sleeveless roqun, embzoned with two circuiting [Spirit Carp]. The bare-chested [Spirit Apes] and modicum of serpents that were uniform in their difference.

  The Pilgrim’s disciples have stirred my thoughts. We must return to crity lest our efforts fail before they even begin.

  The tended garden saw blood in heartbeats. A letting between north and south, where vessels of each stripe delivered more of these countless tides to meet in the center.

  Hushi’s attention was hard to draw from the sughtered disciples, for his own ponderings held him fixed.

  Brother?

  Images impressed upon Fu’s mind. Peculiar, for all that came was a view of what waged below. Scenes of armor and spear against heraldic hanfu: a wash of teal against the myriad hues of Sect fibers.

  Then their coloration faded, losing luster until naught but grey draped either force. All but the figure obscured within a northern peach tree, whose bckened cloth was as a beacon against such a backdrop.

  Were it no fool’s errand, Fu might have hummed in agreement.

  A truth we have known, no? Ever more stark now that our Path weaves us in closer proximity to immortals.

  Shuidi’s nature resonated well with the shared image.

  We cannot fall to disuse. It is a certainty that these souls possess more talent than we, and so we must strive further. To become expendable is to welcome an early death.

  They cast another gnce at the fray, and a second, longer stare at the distant sun. Ban Bingbai’s sphere, shedding light across the realm’s entirety.

  Soon.

  ??

  Seventeen hours.

  Zhu’s brow burrowed deeply, and his hand waivered. “Unnatural, as I’ve said,” he grunted, drawing fresh [Karmic] threads into his grip.

  Cords now, as thick as habits.

  A baleful moan struck the surrounding air, heralding that their time had run dry. Great torrents of sand snaked from several li away, painting the skies a deep and ruddy brown.

  “He comes,” said Fu.

  The plum-eyed cultivator let the strings fly, still tethered. “To rebind our ties. The intricacies are beyond you, brother, but it’s more than a treasure that aids this Imperial.”

  Fu’s own fingers felt at the wind. It blew gently atop this drifting Warship. A gentle caress for the fallen disciples strewn upon deck and balustrade. “[Sand Q. His [Affinity] is my bane. What use I hold here is minimal. Flight is a better option.”

  “I’ve observed him. Mridul, or Sun [Demon]. His focus is singur,” shrugged Zhu. “We’ve the means to dissuade him.”

  There stood truth in that statement.

  Isoted from his fellows. But nothing is certain. This wind is not favourable.

  This Mridul cascaded gently, reforming from sand as Fu could mist. Then akin to a cloak, his [Spirit Whale] rounded. Tail to fin, glistening in honey-rich tones as her titanic form began to circuit the air above.

  The scale was… astounding.

  Both ghosts faced the stern, [Senses] heightened and ever wary at this approach. Though if the Sun [Demon] sought to disarm them with a bow, it did not.

  “[Spring’s] greetings upon you, cultivators of the Clear Sky,” Mridul spoke, an arm bound to his stomach as he rose. “I am-”

  “Mridul, the Sun [Demon]. Peak [Core Formation Realm] cultivator. A True Imperial among the false Emperor’s chosen. Orchid as your robes suggest,” said Zhu. “Waste no time. You’ve some purpose with us.”

  Mridul’s step was slow. Authoritative. That of a Sect Elder or nded immortal. “Please, cultivators. Civility is free.”

  With palm raised, Fu spread a subtle mist. “Hold, if you would, honoured Mridul. To speak of civility and to advance in the same breath undermines much. I bid you use words if your intention is just, and we shall match it.”

  “Just,” the Imperial tested. “I had the sun, rising, to be a truth,” his hand suggested skyward. “To me, just is protection of the weak. Ensuring [Spring] nourishes the many. Restoring an order that has waned over the span of several [Springs]. To you, it will greatly differ.”

  Cool words, unburdened by rage.

  Were they coloured?

  Fu wrapped the full intensity of his observation upon this man, fervently, for every morsel radiated perfection.

  “The Clear Sky did not strike first,” said Zhu, bluntly.

  “No. Though I have grown intimate with your Empire, and in no insult, the madness of it confirms much. Were it ordered, by your seniors, your elders and patriarchs, our positions might easily reverse. More than the eternal [Sixth Under Heaven] could sentence, such is the basis of power in Empires of Clear Sky. A nd, unaligned, bound by a tapestry of disparate threads.”

  Mridul advanced a step.

  “The Path is conquest,” said Fu. “Souls cannot quietly rage against Heaven.”

  “It need not be this way.”

  Zhu shook. “And here we stand to disprove that. Before the inevitable descends, name by which power we’re bound. Neither [Karma] nor [Consteltion Seeds] are in your employ.”

  A rarity within the [Imperial Realms], but his stillness marks that he is aware of their existence. His talent is truly natural then.

  “Our [True Orchid Path] is corrupted. Vanished by your hand, and thus my task is to seek those that put their selfish designs upon it.”

  “We could deny this, stranger,” said Fu.

  Mridul sighed. “[Sixth Under Heaven] plots this course. If you seek honor before your deaths, know that none might be higher.”

  Then, sand.

  An obliteration of sands exploded about the Warship’s deck, removing all in their path.

  Fu’s vision.

  The deck below, unmarred from previous bouts, now absent.

  Bubbles.

  “A trinket of my Empire. Apologies, cultivators, but you only prolong the inevitable,” came Mridul’s voice, piercing a haze of floating spheres.

  The talisman upon Fu’s hanfu ashed, its power spent. But well used, he noted, for the sands it had warded against - those encased in a [Profundity] or spring of [Water Q - had left the wood about he and Zhu untouched.

  Sand.

  This talisman conjured a great pufferfish before them, ethereal and vast. An equal to the Imperial’s [Spirit Whale], and a vacuum into which all hostile Qi dispersed.

  Sand.

  Both ghosts were ensconced in fming wings, plunging them into the airspace of the treasure’s own volition. The [Might] of it: the fleetness, surpassed what Fu himself might react with.

  [Half Cloud Step].

  The conjured cloud beneath Fu’s feet blurred him from an incoming jian. Twin bdes that tore a bloody swathe despite his movement.

  Blood flew from his navel, and his [Core] shrivelled to be in contact with the [Sand Q atop Mridul’s strikes. He saw crimson fly from his mouth, escaping in a choked cough as the sprouted wings vanished.

  The Sun [Demon] advanced, meeting a suddenly materialized gong.

  Mere heartbeats passed before grooves tore the treasure asunder, fragmenting before the inscriptions might activate.

  “Sixteen,” said Zhu.

  Fu’s [Pull] withdrew fresh nourishment from a tincture within his ring, and for it his navel-wide gash mended swiftly. Too swiftly, for the grade of this treasure was meant for immortals. For Blues or greater.

  Well hidden among the three hundred realms he had reaped thus far. Much the same as the source of Mridul’s growing frustration.

  Sand.