Fatherly Asura

Tael was for the dealings of mortals, often ringed and stacked upon rods. Gold, iron and precious jade followed in more practical ways.

Spirit stones in all their graduations and denominations.

Lesser treasures.

Millenia-old [Spiritual Herbs].

[True Lord Grade] weapons were of small interest outwith those that bolstered moonlit practices.

Those few [Dao Treasures] that did not carry the [Heritage’s] will, perverting all those that fell into [Epiphany] before them.

Techniques of true monsters.

[Constellation Seeds] were the trinkets of Emperors.

Foundational steps.

One and all.

False wealth.

To say one thing of Ban Bingbai, his appraisal was unrivalled. And rightly so, for here rested cobalt eyes that pierced the glitter of base things and childish wonder.

Yes.

Bingbai knew the true currency of this brittle Jianghu was souls. The chits of true orchestrators, of which he, the [Sun-Seeking Sage]held abundant in both quality and quantity as [Primordial Lord of Accumulation].

How art-like his craft had become.

[Primordial Law of Accumulation]

[Ninth Law: Posterity] 10,257,591/70,000,000

[Gleeful Viper] did not impart his lessons, and so this source came not from that venerable once-pupil.

Perhaps [Moon Over Troubled Clouds] had concluded another round of recruitment, or the nine thousand graduates beneath her had succeeded in imparting some portion of his will to their own juniors.

His personal disciples then.

Bingbai combed the final curl from his beard, and looked up. “Soon,” he answered.

“Soon,” confirmed the wizened crone ahead. [Of Perennial Shade’s] fingers drummed upon her staff with quickening rhythm. “Soon is a poor explanation, Bingbai.”

The cobalt-bearded monster dipped his head. “Oh-ho. It is. Woefully so. My Cloud Gathering Division collapse [Mystic Realms] with a view of activating the [Immortal Judgement Sunshine Array] when best suits their Master. One could not ask for greater disciples.”

“High praise. This pair have you more sentimental than any before,” she noted, and wisped a hand before her. [Ink] conspired there, and Bingbai saw his most personal secrets splayed there like a banner. “One might observe that they do much of your work for you.”

“Worse yet, sister, they have done so with truly little tutelage. Once this concludes, I would offer have Gao Fu field his own division. Of note are his disciples of Cloud Dragon Hall. This dealing with [Looming Amaranth Tyrant] has elevated them to heights that might rival any serpent.”

[Of Perennial Shade] washed away Bingbai’s [Ink], saying nothing about his recent addition to [Primordial Law]. “Treasonous words.”

“Mere truth. The same might be said for Zhu and his false tribals. Rowdy youths,” he smiled. “That they might turn mundane fools into once-in-a-generation talents is a thing to admire.”

Within this realm of only black and white - that of flowing ink within which the Clouded Court’s chief Elder presided - two great serpents lounged. Old beasts. Ancient things. Both in true age and in mindset.

Their envenomed hiss was proof of opinion.

“The Jianghu is our clutch, Bingbai, about which myriad scales tighten. This talent is no thing to endorse,” she voiced, but it came with a lilt of boredom. “This perpetual need for drama has grown tiresome. Merely say what it is you must.”

Bingbai frowned unhappily. “Centuries have dulled your patience, bah. Disciple Gao’s [Heartplume of Clouded Schisms] bears fruit. Its essence has been distilled, and its process, perfected. We need only document the final product as it pertains to him. The others I have perfected this upon have lacked his… potency.”

“Hmm. This need for further refinement, Bingbai. Your words before the venerables [Everlasting Scales Upon Canvas], [Python Eats Moon], [Ancient Quibbling Venerable] and others, they are documented,” she waxed. “I would know the truth.”

“Oh-ho? The truth?”

Her gaze flattened his mood.

“The Laws to be rewritten by [Gleeful Viper]. No matter how one looks at it, all things will change. For so ancient a soul to further exert her will across the Heavens- the effects will be prodigious. Will the [Primordial Law of Love] enshroud us all? In some certainty, yes. I know my pupil well, sister. Her Path comes without barter.”

[Of Perennial Shade] ceased the dance upon her staff. “Three words when one will do, Bingbai. Hasten this.”

“Three words. How apt. Amusing, no? It was three words that set the entirety of this course in motion. Do you recall them?”

At this, the Elder sharpened. “I recall them, Ban Bingbai, for I stood at their utterance! Yet you should not. They were, are, and will ever be above you.”

“Indulge me.”

“No.”

Bingbai flourished his hands. “What is wiser?”

The serpents vibrated with fury.

Moments between immortals held no meaning, and so a thick silence extended for some uncountable span. White and wide was Bingbai’s grin as he weathered a look that had razed myriad Empires.

“Our [Clouded Serpent Queen’s] last utterance,” he repeated. “What is wiser? To be beloved by all beneath the Heavens, or to have them know terror at your mention?”

A spark of trite wisdom.

But did not all great things begin with a single thought?

Love and Terror.

Viper and Boa.

Elder and Elder.

“Ban Bingbai. These words…” began one serpent.

“Are not yours to know.”

“He dares.”

“A serpent of false scales.”

A chuckle cut them off. “I prepare for impossibility,” Bingbai explained. “Love, I will readily accept. Not the reign of eternal fear that foolish girl might impose should she defy reason and sit upon the throne.”

This did not forestall the serpents’ advances. Titanic forms had wound about him in contrasting white and black, their fangs poised should these unfathomable beasts have need of such mortal implements.

“Love and terror,” intoned [Of Perennial Shade]. “The [Hollow Throne] is ordained for more than the base souls of the Jianghu believe. An orchestration to answer our Matriarch’s final words. Is this prudence, I wonder? Preparation is ever your strength, Bingbai, yet to act as if the venerable [Gleeful Viper] of our Orthodoxy might be fallable… That is too much.”

“Name the use of blind serpents,” he countered.

What impossibility of scales surrounded him quivered in outrage.

“Blind serpents,” she hissed and teased. “Blind serpents the like of which your Fatherly [Asura] will become? For every hundred moons there comes a fool with the notion to create blinded, faithful slaves. Sad and amusing that you have become one.”

More chuckles followed, though little was truly funny. “And much like those fools, I shall loudly proclaim that my course will succeed. It does not hollow the [Spirit], but sharpens it. Come the moment of their immortality, this sun-facing half shall succumb to the serpent.”

“Such confidence, Bingbai. From where does it stem?” [Of Perennial Shade] mocked.

“The [Cherry River Sage] knows all we have in store, sister. While dust-coated, my own ears heard such words. When shared with my precious disciple, he did not blink. Indeed, he cared not for the fate of any upon Divine Clouded Mountain.”

The serpents hissed in concert, now a-snap. “Reckless fool.”

“Again you act beyond yourself,” she intoned. “How will you rectify this if it proves to be false? If your Fatherly [Asura] spurns these machinations, of which you should not know, and brings about small ruin?”

Bingbai chuckled once more. “Oh-ho, naturally, I will end them myself. Indeed, his [Constellation Seeds] are too precious for his death to be handled by another.”

🀨

Sikou of the Warriors Association walked the formation lines, his partners a-prowl. The newfound oddity of… maintaining his direction had made his usual punctuality a great deal easier than the several hours of prior-departure he had become accustomed to.

Another reason for extending gratitude to Gao Fu, he knew.

This timeliness.

Across these [Seasons] his bladework had soared, no longer relegated to chance practice or in lieu of sleep between calls to duty. As had his cultivation edged ever closer to something of worth, towards the [True Lord Realm], at last.

How many more might he save then?

The formations hummed with pleasant warning, and while he knew little of an [Array Master’s] arts it was not required to appreciate these flawless constructs. With [Might] alone, Sikou reached the end of this platform and leapt skyward, landing on another's rim.

Here his walk continued.

Here the clashing echoed loudest.

“Warrior Sikou, is it not?” uttered a voice that was suddenly aside him. “It has been long.”

City Lord Mingqin’s song could not be mistaken, and for this he thrust himself into a low bow. “City Lord. I am humbled you remember me.”

“An honourable man deserves this much,” she said.

The contest in Sikou’s heart appraised all he stood before, and oft he had thought the blade a better judge of character than spoken word. What disconnect hung between the City Lord of before and the City Lord of now was almost enough to have him grab a hilt.

Immortal strength hummed about her, as if the songbirds of her domain trilled in constant praise, ever following. “Might the Warriors Association be of service?” he asked, finding permission to rise.

“Continue as you are. While they hold unrefined edges, your junior warriors hold the spirit of the law close. Indeed, I would offer my gratitude before asking more tasks of you. Perhaps we might walk, Warrior Sikou, and a greater perspective might reveal itself to me.”

Sikou dipped his brow. “Such praise is too high,” he said, offering her the first step upon this mortally perilous walk.

Immortals had no fear of falling, and her gentle step occurred atop open air. It highlighted the uncouthness of Sikou’s own traversal, for while swift and sleek, it was little more than a refined leap between strata.

But, it progressed, and for each sight there came a query.

“A marvel, is it not? That Jade Songbird City knows such growth and yet, in order to play host to this greatest of tournaments we must build upwards,” she noted.

To which Sikou replied softly. “As you say, City Lord. My fear is that these grand wonders cast grand shadows upon the land. The streets grow cold with such shade.”

Another of the floating platforms was crossed, and another, elevating the pair until they were far above the peak of Mingqin’s palace. Myriad cultivators warred here, as they had on all before, whittling down the entrants and applicants some [Seasons] before the main event had even occurred.

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Such was the scale.

“Is your name upon the contract, Warrior Sikou? One of your talent is surely within the requirements.”

To see the flashing robes of the Cherry River’s youngest, or the branch disciples of many factions possessing the [Mantra of Heavenly Plums], [Iron Tiger Bloodline], or letterage of middle-numbered Vajra clans….

Say one thing for the Warrior, but he was not bold enough to laugh.

“Shamefully, my Path against the Heavens began at sixty moons. I cannot accept your praise, City Lord, as in comparison to these once-in-a-generation talents I am a withered fool. Peak [Core Formation] by the age of twenty-one moons,” he smiled. “No, this way is better. Glory belongs to the young, as it should be.”

Mingqin’s accompanying song turned merry and high.

With each query answered across… admittedly, hours, it grew further yet.

“...the borders,” she would ask, receiving answers of farmland and commute.

“...the [Spirit Beasts],” she would say, finding his concern was held someplace between abundance for hunters, craftsmen and pilgrims and a healthy respect for nature’s forces.

These questions numbered in the hundreds, and Sikou found that each came like an approaching jian. Strange, then, that he did not so much as attempt to parry them. He was merely content in the prevailing song.

That time could be spent… pleasantly. That again was a gratitude owed to Gao Fu.

They reached the apex, about which one, vast segmented circle floated. To name it a mere shape was a disservice, this much Sikou knew, for even the brutish Warriors Association were versed in terms of tournaments, their workings and their lexicon. Matters of needless face and politicking suspended this more than the meaning in these [Arrays].

He gleaned the empty seats- each a throne no grander than the next.

“Ask, if you wish to,” offered City Lord Mingqin.

“It would not be wise,” he dipped, then strangely, relented. “Jade Songbird City held much charm before all this. In my opinion,” Sikou quickly cut. “To see the same bun-maker I did upon arrival reach middle [Core Formation], or the city’s orphans become accustomed to what Mistress Quan teaches… it was as a fire in [Winter]. Now, I think it too much. Filled with faces that point ever-upward, and never to their neighbour.”

Mingqin’s song ceased. “Honesty. It is appreciated.”

“Then I express my relief,” he said. “To me an uneventful day is a good day. In truth, I shall sleep easier when this whole tournament has concluded. If a bolder man, I might say the citizens pray for a return to the normality that will follow.”

Some few [Seasons] had passed since the City Lord’s seclusion had ended. She wore immorality well, and had grown better into her station. But she possessed less ice than [Dour Faced Strategist], [Gao Fu] or any other stoics that had long surpassed the Heavens.

Her eyelid twitched.

“The normality. Indeed,” she parsed, as if the word was of unknown flavor. “Warrior Sikou, do you think it best to sever iron when righteousness is concerned?”

Sikou straightened. “To hear it spoken, a thousand souls know righteousness in a thousand ways. Of the Warriors Association’s own brand, I would, yes.”

“And my garrison, what of its brand?”

“A wash is perhaps the greatest difference,” he offered, extending his first joke in some many [Seasons].

The City Lord’s smile was one of pity. “Then I would offer the finest bathhouses, if it is agreeable to you and your warriors. We will need many righteous souls to secure the normality that might follow.”

🀩

Zhu did not enjoy the thought.

“I don’t enjoy this thought,” he said, knowing it would bounce from Udvah’s ever-wide and gleaming grin.

Mud darkened several patches upon Udvah’s knees, and while unrelated to the topic at hand, Zhu thought it was an improvement on the bland monastic robes. Still, there was a regality and boldness to this transformation of his that he could just about look past.

“Amituofo. A hardship. Do not tell brother Fu, but there are moments where torment is better replaced with kindness,” said Udvah with a conspiratorial wink. “Might wise words be of use to you?”

“No.”

Udvah inclined his rather rounded head.

“But as it is you, brother, I’d hear them anyway,” Zhu continued.

“A pity. Amituofo. I have none.”

The pair shared light smiles and comfortable silence until all was complete. Udvah wiped his palms together, shedding all the dirt of his craft as he stood.

Planted in the soil of Udvah’s [Inner Realm] were some dozen stalks of varying look. Thorn-coated vines, flowering petals, trunks of solid growth and more besides, holding similarity only in that all were saplings and more so, that all were [Constellation Seeds].

Zhu held a wooden pail for his brother, and the monk poured gentle droplets of water from within.

Mundane acts, perhaps, but in this mystery Udvah proved the expert.

The falsely tribal life he had begun in the Heavenly Roaming Prefecture had returned many times its value, and this was mirrored in his brother’s own growth.

Both had reached the peak stage of [Core Formation] some [Seasons] prior. So saying, without further preamble or notion, the [Senses] by which they watched their surroundings were beyond that of their realm.

Preternaturally immortal.

Thus as Udvah’s [Spirit], [Constitution] and [Inner Realm] converged a thousand times a moment, both souls witnessed the flood of myriad [Paifang’s] energies spill forth to nourish the planted seeds.

Berries spurted between Zhu’s teeth, rich and all the more potent here. Still he did not relish the thought.

“Still, I don’t relish the thought.”

Udvah plucked one of the berries from his palm and had it planted with a wayward flick. “This humble daoist cannot fathom why,” he grimaced, only half in jest. “Amituofo. The worry lies in smaller parts. [Cherry River Sage] has seen to the greater.”

“Bingbai once spoke of dissociation. It’s a vexation, for now it’s much of what I think on. Doesn’t it inspire doubt?”

The monk had no moustache to stroke, but hummed much like a Gao. “Amituofo. A true fool questions the [Cherry River Sage]. Yet it brings ponderance. The same dissociation that may plague her, if true, would also plague the other… vexing immortals.”

“Some thousand, thousand souls support them. A thousand, thousand souls support those in turn. We have an, admittedly, well dressed fool to put upon the [Hollow Throne] without such resources,” said Zhu. “The scale of it…”

“Lines one’s blood with lightning.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

Sunlight glittered about the [Inner Realm], catching each tip of the great golden palm upon which it spanned. The remainder rose swiftly, illuminating the sprawling realm with such warmth that a great bliss seeped into Zhu’s [Core].

Shadows slithered from many fronds and canopies.

Undulating upon blackened bellies only to be dispersed by the rising sun.

It caught upon Udvah’s grin. “A final display of drama is fitting, no? Amituofo. Pleasant, however, if it goes unneeded.”

Zhu felt Tanshuai land atop his shoulder. “Drama. Yes. He’d enjoy that, no matter the outcome. Hah. It’s something of a comedy, isn’t it?”

A croak sounded.

“Love,” he continued. “It took brothers in the guise of fathers to have me climb over my inadequacies, and a Master that granted all I didn’t know I missed. Comedy, yes. That we may yet have to slay that which made us more.”

🀦

The eve of [Summer].

The eve of this tournament’s commencement.

The eve of-

“Be still!” warned Aunty Quan. Heat blustered to her cheeks, and turned a shade akin to this far-too flamboyant daxuishuan. An impractical thing of flowing sleeves that barely held her spirit stones, caused her less-than-martial form to pinch when moving and was a nuisance under the burgeoning heat of this final, [Spring] moon.

Why she had entertained this invitation…

More high-nosed souls gathered in this pavilion than she had ever seen. Jade-like things of immaculate beauty, slender physique and far more fitting to wear such a [Demonic] construct as this tightly-bound fabric was on her.

Ahead loomed further pavilions, leading onward and upward with oddities of [Array]-work to elevate all that queued here to their designated seats.

For, in hours, the tournament would begin.

“Aunty Quan,” came a tug upon her sleeve. “Fu said it was over there. Between the big birds.”

“Phoenixes,” corrected the juvenile to her left.

“I’m hungry.”

“I am hungry,” chided another.

“Can we have something to-”

Peiyu, her [Spirit Hare], stalled. Her look was bestial, and correct, silencing the throng of some many hundred of their wards as they trailed behind. She resumed her walk, bounding once to prowl beside Quan.

Some snide laughter carried upon the gentle winds.

“Rainwater noses,” pointed a youthful finger about forty children behind.

Aunty Quan cycled Qi to steady her emotions. Already was she out of place here… Oh, how she would lecture that fool Fu for inflicting this on her. The thought of his burning ears somewhat aided in her calm.

Cultivators had their mantises, did they not? Words spoken over and over as if noise was the key to mastery.

Perhaps she could try.

Step.

Step.

Do not look at them.

Step.

Step.

Crash.

Heat raged from her brow, mitigating the sudden chill that sought to claim her spine.

“You little fool! You dare?” cried a shrill adolescent.

He was not of her procession.

Woman and [Spirit Hare] rounded, seeing behind the spilled chalice, still a-ring as it spun upon the floor.

The wine spilled was as red as blood.

Guards, warriors or cultivators of Jade Songbird City’s colours moved forward to intervene, though Quan heard little over the thumping heartbeat in her ears as she rushed forward to shield little Sumhiya from the inevitable wroth of this spurned adolescent.

He rose above them, and she saw in him an age or temperance that was no greater than her youngest wards.

Childlike violence.

His palm rose to strike.

“Put in your eyes, fool,” someone spoke, yet still her heartbeat thundered. “Those are the wards of Cloud Dragon Hall.”

There came a sneer.

There came several.

“Cloud Dragon Hall.”

“Hear that, father, the guard leverages this backwater’s Sects as if they hold meaning,” laughed another- distantly.

Myriad variations of this whispered through the crowd.

“I am Twenty-Seventh Privyat, and I will not tarnish my skin on such filth. You there, strike this… peasant-looking thing. These mongrels need to know their place,” ordered the adolescent, voicing loud his desire.

One warrior stood in his retinue, and moved before Quan could even mark his footsteps. And stalled.

Quan clutched Sumhiya to her breast.

She should not have come. Who were they to stand here? Pretending. To dare mingle in the same space as these cruel immortals…

“Forgive this child, cultivator. I beg you, if some flesh is to be traded, it should be mine,” she offered. Her voice was not stern. It had cracked.

And yet-

The pounding lessened over these coming moments. Moments over which she grew aware of a bizarre pause in proceedings, thus she took in the faces of this sea, finding an upwards stare held between them.

Her wards held half-delight, half-trepidation.

Jade Songbird City’s cultivators gripped tight their qiang. Their blades unsheathed, wavered, and were drawn amidst several steps back.

The man before her and his adolescent master had shifted their attentions elsewhere.

Quan dared to look high herself, matching the rapt attention of dignitaries and immortals alike, though she did not allow Sumhiya to escape her arms. Knowing nothing of this world, her first thought was a display of wealth.

A show.

A wasteful spectacle of introduction.

She bore witness to un-Heavenly serpents roaring in the sky above, wreathed in orange lightning and of a scale that was honestly, just unnecessary. Fu had shared words on Clotted Serpent Sects and Plum Asses, and it gave cause to wonder if this truly warranted the reaction shared by all around her.

Were cultivators not cultivators?

Or were these types crueller than most?

These serpents hissed, and in her fold Sumhiya buried deeper. “Aunty Quan, I don’t like it. Can we go?”

Two strokes of her hair settled her into quiet, and Quan inclined her head. “Quiet child, all is well,” she reassured, and Peiyu bounded down the aisle of her wards to share such reassurance. “That is the Clotted Serpent Sect, surely. This is merely a show.”

“Clotted Serpent Sect,” came a susurrus.

“Such disrespect.”

“Foolish waif.”

The violent underling of that twenty-something cultivator turned grim, never dropping his gaze from above. “Hazelworms. They blink,” he spoke absently. “The Cloudy Serpent Sect will arrive last, as is their right. That is not-”

A figure emerged between the four titanic hazelworms, alight by the backdrop of their raging orange arcs. Quan knew not how, nor cared, why this figure - this woman of fabric mask’s - demeanour, words and expression were so clear from such a distance.

Only that it might be useful for corralling her wayward youths.

“[Ashen Grounds Empress] returns,” intoned an aged voice within every ear, mind and heart. “She lives in me, her daughter-disciple. Heir to eternity and [Dao Name]. All of this pathetic Clear Sky shall rue what was done to our [Bloodline].”

Quan’s wards quaked in terror.

Sumhiya was joined by many others beneath the folds of the daxuishuan.

“Children, go, now. Move orderly but swiftly,” she ordered, directing those beneath her into the arms of those older.

Some further gasps arose, but they were fruitless things in repetition of the lightning cultivator’s title.

Histories. Exclamations. Outbursts.

And cold stillness for those with sense.

“[Dao of Vengeance’s Scour].”

Then the very stars above turned orange. An inferno within each, brightening as though a coal in deepest heat. Quan felt her poorly-sculpted hair begin to rise, prickling alongside the modest patches upon her arms and… apparently out-of-current-fashion legs, as if drawn skyward.

A madness of lightning burst between the stars to consume all Heavens. Screams sounded as this Empress demanded them downwards.

Not even a shadow stood in which her wards might hide.

Quan threw herself upon the closest children, sweeping them under herself as she dove towards the pavilion floor.

Then-

Obliteration…

Death…

Did not come?

Quan grew immediately weary of the surrounding gasps as she rose, still white-knuckled upon the arms and shoulders of her children. “Peiyu?” she whispered, feeling an intensity of pressure from both she and her long-eared partner.

[Content], as Fu had said in passing.

Yes, content flowed from their [Spirit] and wormed across some small sample of their wards- and yet this strange extension of their soul had blocked naught.

Her partner bounded forward, urging an upwards glance.

Another figure stood before the four [Spirit Hazelworms] and their Empress, puffing a tide of teal mist from his pipe. His words were unclear, unannounced and, surely, undue. And at them, unknown, Quan took the leave to pat herself down.

The malady of lightning returned.

Still, Quan righted herself.

“Children, stand straight. We are poor guests otherwise,” she demanded, brushing by the nigh-fetal twenty-somethingth fool and his slack-jawed brute.

“Put in your eyes, woman,” warned the latter. “Was this not my warning? No matter our imminent fate, you have still dishonoured-”

Quan slapped the fool across the face. “Is that any way to talk? Really. By the Heavens, it seems there’s only one decent soul here,” she said, turning. “Children, if Gao Fu does this much, then we will not embarrass him further. Come now.”

“I’m hungry,” began the chorus.

“Aunty Quan, I…”

The complaints were unceasing.

Once more the Heavens erupted in orange light. Greater than before. More violent. Indeed it seemed that some infinite amount of constellations had appeared to grant this Empress’ ineffectual light show more unnecessary drama.

Far, far above, Gao Fu did something, no doubt.

With that man it was painfully hard to tell if he himself lifted a finger or if the very clouds just seemed to respond to his will- either way, the hazelworms vanished.

Further gasping.

Further incredulity.

Quan led her procession on, feeling, if only slightly, quite at peace among the well-to-do and noble cultivators set to attend this tournament.

“Woman!” called the brute, speaking in-lieu of his wet-robed master no doubt. “Who is that man? To defeat the inheritor to the [Ashen Grounds Empress]... one of [True-”

“Gao Fu. Of Cloud Dragon Hall,” she glared. “If you do not recognise him, perhaps it would be best to put in your eyes.”

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