Fatherly Asura

The tournament was set for the cusp of the [Hollow Throne’s] opening, though Yongwu Long had proved sparse with the exact date.

“Around then,” he repeated. “It’s of no concern.”

To see one surrounded by regal dragons, clad in gold-filagree robes upon exotic, night-black fabrics whilst lounged atop a balustrade, slicing a peach within his immeasurably lethal jian…

“You stir my emotions not unlike Feng or Yuqi. If only the negative ones,” shared Fu, shaking his head.

Long grinned a maniac’s grin. “We’re brothers of destiny, no? [Karma’s] blood is thicker than any water. Hmm, but you’re not the sort to come here simply to insult someone. Even if the Heavens will it.”

“The turbulent waters have settled for a time. This tournament, a flimsy harbour, but a harbour nonetheless. This Gao Shuidi would know what Yongwu Long plans to fill this time.”

The douli dipped, and Fu smiled at his sister’s ever-blunt nature. “We have questions beyond this,” he added.

Three dragons impressed their appreciation at this attitude, and descended towards Hushi and her in order to converse. Perhaps their form granted some gestalt of wisdom, or fresh confidence, for their lips had proved tight until now and this was the first his own partners had shown interest in their words.

An arm phased through the [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] as Long leapt from the wall, attempting to pat his back. “Oh? Haven’t we done naught but talk for weeks now? I crave some form of action, brother. Hmm, I’d suggest doing something useful but the tournament preparations are well under way, and I’ve no desire to measure beams nor the [Profundity] of [Arrays].”

“Then what do you suggest? I still require answers,” said Fu.

[Ruins of Sagely Damnation]

[Summer]

[True Lord Realm] [Trial Realm] [Dao Profundity] [Martial Profundity] [Demon Scar]

Yongwu Long’s mastery was a sinister thing indeed, for the direction and [Mystic Realm] he chose with a toss of grass gave Fu no sense of randomness or chance.

Upon entry the pair, or Fu perhaps, was assaulted by a great diminishing of [Inner Qi]. As though the whimsical storm at his center had never surged there at all. A flick of the wrist proved that as fact, for no [Mist Qi], [Air] nor [Soul Qi] could be brought to bear.

Fractured pagodas drifted silently overhead, narrowly missing the islands about them that were tethered in sequence by a great chain of inordinate scale. It evoked thoughts of Divine Clouded Mountain, if lesser in scale and suitably damned as the [Mystic Realm’s] name suggested.

Fu tried to conjure his chain, finding the [Shrine of Final Skies] unresponsive. “Two of us are unnecessary for this task,” he offered. “Truthfully, allowing more [Paifang] to sprout is not against our interests.”

“Is that a vestige of your former loyalty, I hear?” laughed Long.

No [Dao Oaths] encircled Fu’s [Core], but it felt… discomfort at the question.

“City Lord Mingqin has not emerged yet, but neither has Lianse shared her thoughts on the matter. For the [Immortal Sunshine Judgement Array] to activate would eliminate many of our foes all at once.”

The chain at the end of their ruined island groaned, retracting so that another might begin to draw close.

“Must we always speak on current affairs? Really, Fu, it’s so… banal. So exhausting. Can two cultivators not chase the Heavens in peace?”

Fu held his gaze on the progressing island, half-naked without Shuidi’s superior [Senses]. “To advance against these immortal threats, it is akin to sitting on a carpet of needles.”

“The great Gao Fu, [Fatherly Asura] or Fatherly [Asura], falls to mortal sentiment once more. We are not JInghui Hua. We’ve no need to know all things. Even the blind can hit water when falling from a boat, the situation isn’t so complicated as you believe."

“How so?”

Long unceremoniously waggled the finger he was using to clean his ear. “Ah ah, don’t try and wrangle answers. I’ll reveal more once we’re past this little game.”

The marriage of islands was a loud thing.

Riotous.

An imperfect bridge existed between the two chained ends, though to name it such did the mess of crumpled earth too much justice. What stood beyond was much of the same- ruins and fragments of ancient things albeit with a less dusty figure at its center.

The Demon, a Pischacha, rag-draped and within their variation of the lotus. It, she, looked up slowly, and her hood only lifted enough to reveal the ridged and muscled frame of her dull-green face. “Is challenge offered to this seat?” she almost sang. “The Matriarch of Absence accepts no beings such as you. Yang-filled. Sun-rich. Lust-driven.”

“We do not require her acceptance,” replied Long, and shunted Fu forward.

He bowed, questioning if Long had known about his lack of [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] upon entry, or merely guessed. “Wise Pischacha, I, Gao Fu, offer greetings.”

“Pleasantries are not needed.”

“Yet they are offered,” smiled Fu.

His foe took a belaboured rise, as if the weight of her own bones threatened violence. Stranger then was how she rounded for her two palms met with a resounding slap, birthing a madness of [Profundity] between them.

Gold elongated there, growing solid and ornate until the butt of this tall gun slammed down by her foot.

A weapon, forged of her [Dao]. Is this the method by which we must fight?

In truth he could not recall if he had attempted such a feat. Fu acted in imitation, wondering if the somatic gesture was truly needed. “My Path requires lacking [Dao], for a time. You must forgive me,” he offered.

[Dao of Four Horizons].

Ribbons of unseen [Profundity] thread between his fingers, thickening until they became the links of a translucent chain. One masked entirely by the [Dao of Conquest’s Exhalation]. He twirled it thrice.

This strange realm welcomed strange clashes.

Without use of his Qi, Fu’s [Dao]-chain flew only as swiftly as [Might] could carry. The [Tempestual Phantom Tribulations] relied on his [Inner Qi] immensely, waxing, promoting and imbuing to orchestrate much of his motions, yet this battle-

How the gun met his chain.

Wrapped, deflected, pinned.

How the Pischacha’s undeniable speed countered his own.

Anticipation, dexterity, positioning.

How a storm from disparate, shifting horizons loosed flame-carrying winds, sudden downpours, rivers of shredded sand-thick gales-

Fu’s [Dao]-weapon entombed the Pischacha in myriad revolutions, ending both her [Dao] and plight.

Had he mortal flesh, sweat would have indeed pooled.

“A novel technique,” nodded Fu. “Cumbersome to call into being, yet it is useful to know it might be done if other sources run dry. The application of this-”

A loud groan nigh shook the [Mystic Realm]. “By the Heavens Fu. Not all things are lessons. I’ve come to regret this immediately. Can’t we simply enjoy this place? I see no need to turn all things into serious matters.”

Fu suppressed a frown. “This… do you not enjoy this? Battle? Challenge?”

“You’ve the eternal soul of a peasant. Inherently mortal, no matter your station as [Primordial Lord] or assassin,” sighed Long. “Come.”

The islands converged once more, and trials followed.

A jian of realistic properties manifested from the [True Golden Demon], sparingly and fairly applied to thin the foes in an order of turns as they progressed.

From the Rakshaka whose challenge thrilled Fu, and his strange words concerning some Matriarch of Absence to the crippled Asura that engaged solely with [Dao] enshrouding his three remaining palms - these Demons held difficulty only in the profound sense.

What reason is there for our visit? Long’s actions are random only upon the surface. To look deeper would reveal much, if only we knew the shape of his intentions.

Some sixty battles raged.

Seventy.

On.

It was a point of shame that his [Dao] did not progress despite the newfound application of their shape.

The final ruin was met beyond the point of counting. Long stepped first onto the last island, scarcely waiting for the chains to bring each together. A slower process indeed, given the mass and once-grandeur of the structures crumbled upon it.

Octagonal in its former shape, less than half of the pagoda’s walls remained. Where there was an expectation of arid bones, tattered remnants of prayer robes or rusted beads Fu saw instead well-used altars to venerate the [Dao].

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Recent histories of worship or ceremony, adhered to even by the Demons that occupied this realm.

One such daoist was in attendance.

“Yakshi,” voiced Fu.

The human form turned, no different in appearance from any ascetic of shorn scalp and withered skin. However, most of wrinkled brow held vitality in their skin. Glow, life, zest or simple colour.

What tended to the nut-fragranced incense before it, dashing the flame from a wick, held none. “Challengers,” arrived a voice of no small gravel. “Those that walk the Matriarch’s Path are never so… well endowed. Her sphere is of absence, Yin, cold. Sweet Gu.”

References abound of this Matriarch. We have heard this name before, when last we conjured a [Hollow Realm]. Perhaps… perhaps this is his intention. To reveal a future that only he and Hua might know of.

Fu felt humbled by his blindness.

“Yakshi. Skin-dweller. I am Yongwu Long, reincarnation of the [True Golden Demon], walker of the ninety-nine depths, beloved of the Heavens. We come to hear the ancient histories,” announced Long.

Fu felt further humbled as Long proffered a bow.

“True Golden Demon. Hya-ka-ka,” laughed the Yaskhi, if only from its host’s mouth. No smile spread about it until the lips moved once more. “What use are old things such as us? The retelling of forgotten words serves no purpose.”

“Only by mending a thing can it be truly undone. Aid this soul in restoring his story so it might be forgotten for good.”

The Yakshi considered this. “Hya-ka-ka! A feast offered freely. Such delight,” it said. “Amituofo. The [Boundless Dao] acknowledge this trade. Recount what you wish and this shell shall mend what it might.”

“Speak on the Two That Do Not Seek. The One. Speak on a day of twenty-seven moons, where the sky is parched and the children of Gu bow for the final time. Your Matriarch of Absence, her blood. Share through words what each depth of the ninety-nine contains, for I have long forgotten the taint of the Demon Realm.”

Another stick of incense sparked, and the Yakshi beckoned them closer. “Many tales. A great deal more than this shell might say. True Golden Demon wants for things that occur in places without names, he asks for sacred knowings and orchestrations that have yet to be dreamed of. On your Two I will speak little,” he said, settling to the ground. “Only on the memory of their Qi- rich enough to feed a thousand generations. So it was said. For the One… hya-ka-ka, even a Pischacha knows when their hands are full, yes?”

“Just so,” said Long.

“Then this shell will share a pride of history and fable. So it begins as all things have, in absence. As we speak it - ‘The Beasts knew greed, of a kind. Those twelve. Defilers of self-paradise. And in their actions, reaping in breath by right of their blood, birthed absence. A rich sow ate first of the Primordial energies, growing then in its shadow the Matriarch and her realm of Primordial Void. Living eternity, fleshless, blood- and yet did her children rise. Manifestations of balance. Order. The judgement-”

Gold flames ashed the Yakshi before Fu’s eyes might widen.

“So, what have we learned?” asked Long, stifling a yawn.

Fu had no words for many moments. “Of Matriarchs, Primordial Voids and Gu? Nothing, you fool. Of course, nothing,” he finally sighed. “You are an artist in vexation, Long. Demons are ever my bane, and here I stood to learn much of them. I have grown… frustrated from this.”

“Good,” came the returning laugh. “Good. Try and apply meaning to it. This loss. Ponder, by the Heavens, ruminate. Take yourself away and meditate at length. Truly, I mean it. Question what the Fatherly [Asura] will do, knowing now how much he doesn’t know.”

“I-”

A bell may well have chimed then.

“I will not enter this tournament blind.”

Long shrugged. “Nor need you. Just apply that dry, mortal wisdom. In Thousand Shore City did they not wax at length about mysteries and grains of sand? Or was it grains of rice? Stars in the skies? Prepare as you might, Fu, but there are forests and there are trees, do not stare at them so hard you forget the rivers and mountains far beyond both.”

Silence passed as Fu mouthed a mistless pipe. “That was almost wise.”

“Hmm? Yes, most likely. Y- ah, you intend to ask questions regardless. Who is the artist in vexation now?”

A smile was shared.

“Only one.”

“Ask,” said Long.

“What does it mean that you were, and are, the [True Golden Demon]?”

It was a rarity to see the man so struck. Shuidi would have savoured it like fine wine.

The reincarnated terror scratched his brow. “To you? Only that I am Yongwu Long, no less and no more than you have ever known. To others, I am a reminder of old destruction and failed promises. The bearer of all immortal’s inadequacies.”

Fu’s smile was soft. “How so?”

“If it doesn’t have you spiral into history and obsession… bah, I’ll share. There are similarities between you, I, and the Empress. For her too, was I a brother of [Karma], fate and the Heaven’s will. Naturally you’re talentless, young and mortal-minded where she.,. she was peerless,” he said, feigning a smile. “The [Summer] of Sorrow began at her ascension, and more recall its beginning than would admit. A day no more auspicious than the next and upon it, we clashed.”

“A feud between family,” noted Fu. “As you claimed to be.”

Long merely nodded. “Don’t ask further, Fu, only know that fresh eternity exists beyond [True Saint Realm]. One only need choose it. No. Hah. One must choose it. Ascension. That was our quarrel. We, [Primordial Lords] of Change. Her of [Seasons], my own of [Impermanence]. Through it we saw what shape the world would follow.”

“Dust-coated bastards, fearful ancients, sedentary fools, and the like?” said Fu. “These were your words. Those lacking in vital spirit, content to remain as they are. I glimpse now a part of your rage, brother.”

Something blazed behind the immortal’s eyes, yet it contained no hint of vengeance. “Hah, you’ve a queer way of listening, no? Yes. Dust-coated bastards. We saw the first buds of their poison take hold. A blight of stone. She held hope where I did not. Solutions were offered and we quarreled until only one remained. So there we stood, pitting both the Jianghu’s future and our own as though our [Dao] were the edge of a great blade, and as they have since time immemorial, the [Seasons] triumphed. The rest you might read in any scroll.”

With the same mortal simplicity he was insulted by, Fu looked Heavenward. “She ascended.”

Laughter came.

“The next realm is not above,” chuckled Long. “Not as you know it. Though, yes. The victor of our bout was to ascend while the other-” he gestured airily to himself. “-you have the honor of knowing.”

“Honor, indeed. I believe I have no further questions.”

“Truly?” Long laughed. “The Heavens do allow miracles.” He turned with a parting wave, his attention on the distant [Paifang]. “Hmm. Wisdom dictates that I leave before you change your mind. Take the [Constellation Seed], my forces are well-fed in that regard.”

Fu dipped the douli. “Thank you. For more than just this. Brother.”

A pause overcame Long’s step. “Hah, that-” the juvenile tone slipped from his voice. “You’re welcome. Brother.”

🀦

Shuidi puffed a grand fleet of misty ships upon a sea of her construction, and the glee that followed might well have brightened her shell. For all her pride and potential darkness - the grey duality of her cloud - this gentle side was no less pure than [Winter’s] first snow.

“Sister!” they called.

“The birds next!” came another.

Fu and Aunty Quan doled out some hundred bowls of his fish broth, and then three more as Hushi crept forth to consume his fill. When the call came… well, there was much similarity between children and ravening [Spirit Beasts].

Always had he set the mists as thin over her orphanage, never wishing any child to be deprived of sun. With the rate it had grown however there were adjustments to be made, the third extension had finished some days ago.

The fourth was already underway.

What chill the [Spring’s] morning sun did not dampen was one of character building bite, and no thing the active mood of children could not shrug off. A point the matron and her [Spirit Hare] made abundantly clear.

Her warning chased them like an echo as both walked down the central avenue of all that had become of a simple road.

A hamlet had grown about it.

“Matron Quan,” clasped the fish vendor some twenty strides down.

“Patriarch Fu. We are unworthy of walking the same road,” kowtowed a pair of [Spirit Oxen]-partnered labourers.

To that, Fu gave his usual answer, and moved further in. “Sister Quan, I will not be as absent in these coming [Seasons]. In that time I hope to rectify the attitude of these settlers. Your aid might be required.”

“How so?” she asked, ever scanning the shadows for mischievous youths. “Jin-hoo! Meilin! Don’t think Gao Fu’s presence allows you freedom from chores! This is no holiday!” came her roar. “How so?”

Immortal [Senses] were not required to hear her voice even some li away.

“The tournament requires much preparation, if that is what you ask on. For your aid, it is only a little more than what you have already done. City Lord Mingqin bestowed these lands upon me, and while I will neither claim title or its associated benefits, I would not see its citizens troubled,” he said. “It may be clearer in a moment.”

Small things were discussed, and more so, small things were shouted at as this simple journey progressed. A gentle walk that took them to where the mists rose no higher than one’s shin, thinning thereafter.

No more than a stone lantern stood there, marking the boundary of Fu’s domain.

“I sense your cultivation has grown, sister Quan. Perhaps though, not to the extent that you might see beyond these trees. The bamboo is indeed thick here.”

Quan peered with clear effort. “No. To me there’s nothing. Come, Gao Fu, speak. Don’t think me a cultivator with long words and flowery meanings. I’m an honest woman, no more.”

“Beyond the bamboo stands a hall belonging to the Green Ponderance Sect,” he began, rotating both his gaze and Quan’s attention when appropriate. “North, to the unpathed lands, another by the name of the One Hundred and Third. Soon a minor city will rest there. North-north east, the monks of Monarch Valley. True North-East…”

There came a Heaven-scaring crossing of arms.

“Hah, yes, in simplicity then. It is funny, Quan. All I used to speak of was fish,” he laughed. “I have no wish to govern these lands. You have your hands full. But the small community that has grown here, I wish it to be free of the influence beyond this lantern.”

“Once more, I’ll say how so?”

“My disciples should not be allowed to forget their mortality. Already do they tend to the orphanage or roam the lands about Cloud Dragon Hall, they cook in turns, aid with small troubles and many more tasks I am certain I do not know of. I would have you keep it this way. Not as lord or elder, unless you wish the title, but as the Matron you are.”

Quan sighed. “The walk was pleasant, Gao Fu. Though I’d be angered if you took me here only to request I continue doing my job.”

“No,” he shook. “It is that the Jade Songbird Province will soon become unrecognisable. To come across a truly righteous soul such as your own, Quan, it is no thing I will allow to be extinguished.”

“Extinguished?”

“I need not explain the cruelty of cultivators.”

“You do not. Yet, you’ve worded this like it’s a certainty. Will harm come to the children? Is- are we not safe here, Gao Fu?”

Fu smiled. “There are safer places. That is my offer. Wealth is its own power, Quan. A power I will likely never be short of. Should you wish it, we might relocate the orphanage to a place that is far less turbulent.”

Her realm was barely above [Foundation]. A child of any insignificant could wipe her from existence with the lift of a finger, and yet, Quan flicked Fu across the nose with the strength of one far greater.

The [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] allowed it.

“Put in your eyes, Fu,” she admonished. “Foolish man. There’s wonder here and you fail to see it. The influence beyond- no. I’ve no want to speak this way. Absent or not, you’ve built safety here. A home for the lost. Gentle and soft. The settlers here don’t dive headlong into mulberry bushes when disciples of Cloud Dragon Hall near. My children don’t cower. They don’t tremble for fear of [Spirit Beasts]... or human beasts for that matter. There’s a home here, and you’d pull us from that- for what? Fear of a few neighbours?”

She misunderstands, and yet…

Rarely did recent wisdom strike so swiftly.

But Long’s words chimed.

‘...there are forests and there are trees, do not stare at them so hard you forget the rivers and mountains far beyond both.’

Perhaps there was preparation, and then there was pessimism. Which was this? Long’s view held merit enough, and-

No.

“I care for you, Quan. A sister with a righteous heart. Of all injustices, those against children and good souls are unforgivable. I merely wish to prevent-”

“Then prevent it, foolish man,” she sighed. “We’d not trade this place for another, and I don’t believe you’re as useless as these words suggest. Turbulent times, eh? That only means you’d better send for more carpenters, does it not? The orphanage will be needed more than ever.”

Fu smiled. “You will be a terrifying immortal one day, sister.”

“If our wards don’t run me ragged first. Though it’s unlike you to fret, Fu. I don’t know how cultivators do it, but I’d suggest a tea break now and then. Heavens know you’ll be busy with this grand contest coming up.”

The [Shrine of Final Skies] opened, and Fu drew forth a strip of iron-hued bark. “Just so. Quite busy. To remedy that I would offer a small gift. Use it when the children are sleeping. It might be of some use.”

Quan eyed the [Constellation Seed] as though it were an insect. “Must I? Seems a more fitting gift for you disciples.”

“My disciples are hours away from possessing these trinkets in abundance, Quan. Worry not on their behalf, for I am certain in these coming [Seasons] they will be quite sick of the sight,” he smiled, exchanging the treasure. “Quite sick indeed.”

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