“Women-loving, [Might]-bloated, pride-seeking giants that believe themselves the second coming of the [True Golden Demon].”

  “Are they?”

  “[Pishacha[? Bah, they are quicksand amongst mud. No more.”

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

  Ban Bingbai’s chuckle drew a grin across Fu’s face that could not be banished, as it did for Zhu at his side. The warmth of his grip granted a final squeeze to their shoulders, grandfatherly where a man of Sects of reaping, [Demonic Arts] and assassination should have possessed only cold, and he bid his disciples turn.

  “Do not,” he smiled, dispying the absence of teeth whose sockets yet bled and the stain of such within his waning, cobalt beard.

  Was it normal for this depth of sadness to rise?

  Fu’s relief had set his emotions rampant and he sought to master himself before next he spoke.

  “The Jianghu endorses revenge,” said Zhu, and his gaze held fury. “I’d involve myself in so fruitless a notion for this. Tenfold.”

  Their Master wheezed, and the hands that came now were for support over the delight of comfort and greeting. “Oh-ho,” the blood trickled, staining more of his lips. “My disciples. I see now that you would raze the Heavens were it asked. Indeed, look, you have done much already. Peace. I unburden you from vengeance. Yes. It is unwished.”

  Motion unfurled Guang from his stained hanfu. A troubled head and shell that emerged smaller yet than Shuidi had ever been.

  Tanshuai fluttered before him, shedding a mencholy light.

  “What might be done?” asked Fu, simply.

  “Here?” steadied Master Ban. “It is a hollow breath beneath this sun. An imitation that grants me little. So thrice. Yes. Thrice will I rely on my juniors. For rescue. For strategy. For a crutch.”

  Fu pushed a resonance through his brooch. “This disciple hopes his preparations are of some benefit,” he said, and the surrounding space stirred.

  “Amituofo. Fondest greetings are offered, senior,” spoke Udvah, at once upon a knee. His [Dao]-primed palm already proffered.

  Many eyes held this gathering. Factions and powers. Aligned or otherwise.

  History assured Fu that the [Hollow Hegemon’s Splinter] would have their words forgettable in a span of hours. If not, there were means to scour them from memory.

  Bingbai’s ck of concern lent credence to this. “My greetings returned, junior. Yet I see not the rash Niwai or uncertain Linhua? The fresh-faced Zhao Po? Have the clouds but three to harvest their rains?”

  “I’d intrude, senior,” said Zhu. “Our brother holds a tool of aid, should you allow it.”

  A wide smile answered, and Bingbai’s mouth seeped before he disappeared into the [Dao of Sanctuary].

  The ghosts loosed a collective breath. Though between the more experienced pair, shoulders tensed. They sensed the approaching [Ink].

  An ethereal parchment that need not be read for the many lips that uttered it.

  “Called in a single face, the three might have dimmed. In four, the [Boundless Dao] smiled upon her.”

  The [Crimson Waters Sage] thrust her clear bemusement upon Su Sa, shared in expression by those of the [Cherry River Pilgrim’s] cloth.

  Zhu grunted as Su Sai basked in the focus of thousands.

  “Only as the [Trial] tempers might we discover the meaning of this [Ink], for no riper berry stands than those out of reach,” he procimed, shifting importance to the tower’s peak. “Contest with this [Demonic] scourge is the only certainty beyond one’s cultivation. Beneath Heaven, is this not so?”

  A valued disciple, Fu did not relish his pce.

  “Zealous. But a child cannot understand the depth of those words,” the Cherry River youth sighed. “Your fire burns strange. Perhaps with lies, or false belief. Doubtless, you are no unparalleled genius. Merely one that has weathered this occurrence. This much I sense no falsehood from.”

  “A liar, yes,” agreed the [Crimson Waters Sage].

  Her [Spirit Sharks] thrashed in circuit, but to Sai’s credit he did not flinch.

  “[All Sky Wood] was its name, venerables. The first occurrence within my Four Corners Prefecture. No more might I say, on threat of [Dao Oaths] and honor. Neither can be forsaken.”

  Worded so, no lie was spoken.

  Swift were the thoughts of immortals.

  These two delegates- the tallest of peaks between Empires, made clear that the time for words had ceased.

  First in the Cherry River youth, who seemed to move with great dispassion towards the entrance. “Auspicious,” her solitary farewell.

  “Tread well,” voiced the [Crimson Waters Sage], addressing no figure but the air.

  So began a procession of solemn gait. What fervor that attached hand to haft or clenched grip around sheathed jian soon faded. A clever ploy, perhaps, or an open challenge set by those that stood so far above.

  For they had not struck, nor prohibited attack.

  Fu remained among the talentless and fearful, watching as hundreds ascended and thousands followed into the [Trial’s] vast entrance to be swallowed by walls of swirling water and stone.

  His head craned higher.

  To a distance that spanned many hundred li. Clutched among the haze of distance he puzzled over the shapes that mirrored his own. An inversion to entrance and base that saw a flood not of hanfu and [Spring’s] vibrant tones but a march of [Demons] in the full spectrum of what forms they might possess.

  Ascending, just as those of Heaven’s Path did.

  ??

  It would be a facet of the hsiang sheng to gain insight here.

  Stagnant wind was his rival. An air with no motion. No transformation. Clouds might hang within it. Decorations more than implements.

  To be a cloud here, he pondered on.

  To what might it rete?

  In each finger he held his [Dao], an exercise in simplicity. A scorn-raising gesture to geniuses and unparalleled daoists, certainly.

  He crossed each off in turn.

  For stagnancy held not an accumution of rain, nor a change that might herald a wayward breeze.

  Queer skies lined this hollow Realm. Embanked clouds clotted the tower’s centre, as these were twinned- shared between two earths.

  Stagnant still.

  Fear could come from this, and so, is it my [Dao of Plundered Breath]? What are your thoughts, my brother, sister?

  Hushi fanned with tethers of wind, though he could conjure so little in this barren pce. And this is where his imagery resided. A cousin to mists, as the others parts of his soul were. No. He was a beast of air and currents, aligned with spectres.

  Valuable against Shuidi’s own insight. Hers, of moisture, fugue and what waters might bring.

  [Air Q and [Spectral Q. [Air Q and [Water Q.

  Fu ruminated, finding a resonance in this stagnation.

  Yes. Fear comes from this. It looms above, unchanging. If wind is the essence of transformation, if it is the w of change, then its opposite must be inaction and solidarity.

  The tower rumbled, sharing tales of all that transpired within. Such occurrences had lessened over the two days across which Fu had contempted.

  An immortal might know this fear. Change. A threat to their troves of power and treasure, standing and renown.

  Ribbons caressed Fu’s hanfu, those of artificial beginning. Flown from Hushi’s outstretched arms.

  His mind was drawn to a crossroads, with paths he wished to chase spread before him. All his [Dao] would grow, as was this not the way of things? Vexation came when compounding his insights along a singur Path.

  All aspects became all aspects.

  The wind was the wind. Such as he knew it.

  And was this not also the [Dao]?

  “I dive, and the waters grow darker. The same waters, and not,” said Zhu, unfurling from his own meditations.

  “The [Third Pool] eludes me.”

  “Holding as many [Dao] upon your [Ink] as you do, that’s troubling. My [Spirit] feels stifled. Near emascuted in comparison,” he said. “But then I recall you’ve the bearing of a crippled grandfather, and my mood lifts considerably.”

  Fu spread a mocking smile. “Your perfection is a curse, brother. How I pity the unenlightened wallflowers of this Empire.”

  “Yes. although I’ve found soce in knowing that my dear brother will never suffer as I have.”

  Small smiles.

  There came a change to raise their heads from it, in time. Hours beyond this test rumination, Mridul’s cry cut clear.

  Oh?

  In [Senses], Zhu would have already known. But to see this, and that, drew the first pang of pity the ghosts might have felt in an age.

  Thorns gagged the Imperial’s words, having him bleed and struggle as he made after a well-angered daughter. Indifferent, she cared not for the empoisoned hollow in his chest as her strut carried her far from the crippling Fu’s stolen [Origin Q had imparted.

  Having her ascent begin.

  “A foolish girl.”

  “No more than te [Foundation Realm],” answered Fu. “This [Trial] of immortals will leave nothing of her.”

  Samudra’s sands spluttered after her, cking the rigidity of mere days prior. A fccid, formless reach that left this daughter untouched.

  And so the Imperial colpsed in a heap, scraping the ground with impotent fingers.

  ??

  The fourth day forced all hands.

  Numbered among the fearful were more than experts.

  Martial servants.

  A cup-bearer, with [Prowess] that might overturn the lesser Sects with ancilry cultivation alone.

  The merchant, whose wares might be ransomed for kingdoms. Her arm well able to defend them.

  Weak and unwilling, these souls sought no combat.

  The key used within [Imperial Realm 777] did not discriminate, it lifted all from its confines. For was this not why Fu had employed it? To make simple Bingbai’s retrieval, without [Arrays] and Imperials to block him.

  And now…

  The realm’s will set forth its challenge.

  Its demand. Its tithe. Its requirement that need be met.

  Outraged torrents of water peeled from the tower’s surface to deliver this message. A cylindrical flow that cast a shrinking perimeter around the unwilling. Grand at first, but unmistakable in the vanishing ground that fell beneath it.

  As its inceptor, the Wayward Winds were unsurprised.

  They flew in response.

  Within the [Dao of Sanctuary], Kavya’s [Shaded Vestiges Knot, and Hoon’s [Four Rebirths Cradle], the collective disciples arrived at the entrance.

  A mere five, outwardly, with Fu and Zhu to bolster the previous [Consteltion Seed] bearing juniors.

  “It is felt,” said Fu, addressing each. “A wind that does not blow is dampened. Diminished. For what might come, rely on all you have learned. Heroes are unneeded.”

  Zhu moved first, and the others followed in procession. Small steps Into an impenetrable gloom, and one that spirited each away in turn.

  With Aarushi’s tending our master will have recovered some facets of his strength. Her medicinal disciples are not without means, nor are their [Consteltion Seeds] cking.

  His step took him into gloom, and [Spatial Q whirled about him to deliver a fresh destination. A domed expanse no more than three li in each direction. At its head grew stairs, hewn from bckened ivory and finished with pale nterns that cast light without brightness.

  The [Ink] returned, wisping before him.

  Called in a single face, the three might have dimmed. In four, the [Boundless Dao] smiled upon her.

  Fu met the staircase’s peak, and set hands on the balustrade there. It seemed a pce for viewing, for it progressed no further. All it granted was an unobstructed view of this dome and the mirrored staircase at its opposing side.

  Shuidi.

  Three li was no vast distance to glean across. He sought only confirmation.

  The [Spirit Crab] bobbed in affirmation.

  Across, the [Demon] stood tall. A soul of cerulean skin and mane-like hair. Proud. Certain. Patient in observation.

  With a hand against his breast, Fu dipped in greeting. “Honored [Demon]. This one is the humble Fu Gao. I wish you well in this sudden [Trial].”

  What flowed was honey, so rich and soothing was the [Demon’s] voice. “A greeting returned, soul of Winter.”

  Such ptitudes ended at the appearance of a wheel.

  High in their chamber’s centre blossomed a shining golden wheel, wherein twenty three spokes glistened. A matter of [Dao], confirming Shuidi’s estimations on the [Trial’s] nature, for Fu had seen such a contest before.

  Far from the mild lethality of Feng’s apprenticeship.

  After small breaths the wheel shifted- if never turned. The rim morphed first, sprouting the icon of a half-risen sun in its pce.

  [Profundity] rose from the surrounding ground as motes. A force that had Hushi grip tight and Fu’s legs tense so they might continue to stand.

  It begins. But how?

  The [Demon] curled his palm, as if to uplift the air about him, and thus came his [Dao].

  Gold birthed a peak beneath the half-open sun. A rising monolith to near pierce the ceiling and span the breadth of their arena. The lines upon it were impossibly clear, solid to denote the insight his foe held on such things.

  Though to what [Dao] it belonged, neither cultivator, beast nor catfish might guess.

  Then a great gasp was inflicted here, for the cerulean [Demon’s] second hand has risen like the first. A second [Dao], ready to be conjured.

  But blood had flown in pce, marking a bloody groove across his chest.

  “Honored [Demon]?” called Fu.

  Do his [Dao Principles] contain [Demonic] aspects, or is this intervention by the [Trial] itself? The Clear Sky has daoists move turn by turn when conducting such contests, is this reinforced by the Realm?

  “A single [Dao],” replied the [Demon], returning to stature.

  Then we are to best a mountain in one blow?

  “Best his [Dao] with strategy and insight. What single blow have you, youngling? Consider. Reflect. The half-sun is no mere light.”

  Fu contempted his [Dao], mirroring the gesture this [Demon] had done. A upwards stroke that conjured-

  No.

  The power to manifest his [Dao] rose. What [Profundity] he possessed warmed as it did at all other times, but it would not come. It could not grow solid as his foe’s had.

  Called in a single face, the three might have dimmed. In four, the [Boundless Dao] smiled upon her.

  “You see it.”

  Perhaps, old master.

  The selection of his [Dao] changed, and in pce of a growing cloud from which to hammer rain upon this [Demonic] peak, he chose the wind.

  Tempered.

  Shuidi lent her insight to this act.

  [Dao of Wayward Breezes].

  Wind blew, painted in golden ribbons. A meek force to begin, though they knew it well. And so it wound, crossing the space to grind pebbles and sand from the mountain’s surface.

  The half-sun radiated above. [Spring’s] icon, in simplicity, for no greater four existed than the order of [Seasons].

  “Propagation. The first breeze of growth, to carry seeds and new life.”

  An aspect of [Spring], as this [Trial] demanded.

  Once uttered his winds spread and grew, splitting from breeze to gust when these ribbons combined.

  Warring, the opposing [Dao] began to drain each opponent. A mental battle to reflect the forces on show.

  A thing of attrition or talent. Let us hope this [Demon] is more ignorant than we, for great [Insight] is not our strength.

  The half-sun pulsed, becoming whole. Becoming [Summer].

  Fu saw the [Demon’s] contemption be followed with surprise. A human-seeming gesture, if magnified for the ck of propriety that such people held. Hearts upon their sleeves, his jaw opened deep.

  “Steadfast,” procimed his honeyed tone. “As enduring as the sun’s persistent heat.”

  So his mountain became.

  Where granules and stones had chipped: no more. The golden face no longer suffered Fu’s cycling winds, and his employed [Dao of Wayward Breezes] took a greater toll for it.

  As a three, they winced.

  Hushi rose two arms, and Fu felt the [Dao of Pooling Rain] fail.

  Their insight felt distant. Blocked.

  A single principle then. To show how best our understanding is through all [Seasons]. If it is not our end, then we are met with a profound opportunity to further our [Dao].

  Again the [Spirit Octopus] moved, imparting his thoughts so Fu might give it voice.

  “Cruelty. How the nd is parched without remorse and how cracks deepen without respite.”

  These cracks came.

  Fractured stone at the mountain’s base came loose to weaken its foundation, for Fu’s winds continued to cycle where it was weakest.

  But to challenge Steadfast was a vicious tithe. It was not unmade as he had witnessed Feng do to his own, juvenile foe, but opposed. For it, Fu coughed a cost in blood. Enough to sully hanfu and spray much of his hand.

  A wayward breeze is not cruel in this manner. It is dispassionate, untargeted, a force that merely is. Such is our understanding of it. That was a fool’s move.

  To confirm his inner thoughts, the [Demon’s] hand flourished beneath a setting, [Autumnal] sun.

  “Dread. The winnowing of mind and spirit against that which is known to soon arrive.”

  In a breath the mountain loomed, cultivating a malefic aura about its peaks. Red glowed amidst the golden frame, and its scale could no longer be contained within this unsuitable arena.

  Fu felt at the base of it.

  Neck craned and knees weak.

  An all-encompassing presence.

  Then, “Decline,” he coughed. “The order of things spent and used, abandoned when pushed against the unbending.”

  Now his [Dao] waned, and the [Demon’s] strength crushed him against stone.

  Blood came. Welts rose.

  His [Spirit] trembled, for this could st no more than moments before the mountain’s dread consumed him.

  The [Winter] sun rose, one mere line to show how no light was cast.

  A honeyed guffaw sounded. “Inaction. For the weak can do naught.”

  Boulders rampaged from the mountain in bloody red. From slope to base, their speed was such that crossed the intervening space to impact Fu’s ailing form.

  The weight of each one seized his limbs, struck his [Core], his [Spirit], and battered a certainty of defeat into each and every thought.

  Hushi’s pain radiated it. Shuidi’s reinforced it.

  A threat within their minds against any act that might rise against this [Demon].

  But in rarity, Fu smiled. “Inevitability. As the wind does not vanish, but mass, dancing in distant corners to return when it might wish.”