The housing for this [Array’s] power was dashed in a wrapping of mists, ending with the [Consteltion Seed’s] retrieval. A fsh that stole the jawbone into Fu’s ring whilst the circuitry about it stuttered.

  An improper method of disruption.

  Violent.

  [Dao of Wayward Breezes].

  A tumult of cries reached his ears as Fu appeared upon the third ring’s overlook. A third story of raised wall and watchtower, presiding over the pace’s lower floors.

  Then, blossoms.

  Some vast surge of energy blew from the pace’s peak, fragmenting as if shattered ice or the st leaves of a tree succumbing to fme. For the [Nine Ringed Ashen Array] could not function without a source, and in its absence searched for a suitable power to use.

  Void of this, the [Profundity] simply shattered.

  Pressure chased this, a gust or forceful wave that heralded what these Imperials might come to fear. And the myriad, uniform forces below staggered in fright to feel it.

  Many stumbled. Certainly the experts of archery set about Fu’s current position did, and their [Spirit Birds] of a thousand stripes were forced from perches into open air. Yet, they were of small concern.

  Thus he spared them no more notice than necessary, observing the battle below.

  How Qinshi’s tide of disciples pressed forth against the [Killing Intent] that roared above their cshing strikes, and how the [Dao of the First Attrition] bled whomsoever moved against them.

  An admirable [Dao]. Where it cks in subtlety, the effect is clear. Perhaps our own disciples might glean insight from it.

  Four [Seasons] had passed since he had first witnessed it. A [Dao] to whittle and winnow. To prevent respite and rejuvenation.

  While not immediate, these Imperials would suffer. In time.

  Fu pushed a resonance through his brooch.

  “The [Nine Ringed Ashen Array].”

  “One hundred and three through one hundred and sixty three, seek the intruders within.”

  “Rings four and above, descend with half your number. Bolster the [Arrays] of the lower stories. These Serpents will not advance.”

  With his foe’s thoughts transmitted, he mused, pushing a second resonance.

  Feathers ruffled to his side, and shrewd eyes snapped towards him. Five strides along this overlook, a [Spirit Hawk’s] head cocked.

  Fu inclined his own.

  Its impressions were clear, for her cultivator took notice. Bow half-drawn, she put the space under much scrutiny, and strained.

  Perceptive, are they not?

  Shuidi blew a prideful breeze to further tousle the [Spirit Hawk’s] crown, and the bird’s gaze chased to where it moved.

  “This fire at the gate has us see phantoms, it is merely the wind,” blinked the cultivator, and despite these words she looked once more over her shoulder in departure.

  Fu’s internalized [Dao] drew a mental tithe for so lengthy an interaction, and yet it was no more than a passing frustration. Equivalent to a morning of light bour.

  Ash blew.

  He waited.

  Ash blew.

  Four figures met him upon the overlook.

  Ash blew, and they were gone. The third ring of this concentric pace met shadows, swiftly.

  At a step Fu and Hushi parted, moving east and west. A chase of diligence, perhaps, or further indulgence, as much of this scheduled assault sought assurance alongside the necessity of Qinshi’s victory.

  His [Might]-induced speed exceeded that of his Martial Heads. An attribute prized above all. But if contested, he marked it thus.

  First.

  A vai-tadar that sliced the very air, spilling the necks of beast and cultivator alike. A dozen in half as many heartbeats, toppling to draw the attention of myriad watching archers. And though their turns chased the passing bde, keen as their talents were, Anfang’s [Arts] had it return in the same cruel arc she had cast it in.

  Tethered by string upon her fingers.

  Here it enrged- waxed and waned its girth so it might sever by the merits of its cultivator’s [Qi Manipution].

  Indeed, Anfang slew scores as she passed.

  Fu chased, finding no cause for intervention among one hundred or two.

  But death called to those of great [Senses]. Blood was rich, and the vanishing of a [Core]- crippled or killed, set the walls against her.

  So arrows flew, and sabers drew from the hips of many.

  [Imperial Saber Arts, Yellow]. The Imperial permit failure once more, training a [Prowess] unsuited for their Caste.

  A matched [Killing Intent] rose to rival that of the manifested lion below. No gestalt of a brazen [Spirit Beast], but a soaking of verdant green that morphed the intervening distance.

  What twang sounded was a deafening affair, sent from no less than three hundred strings. Amplified by [Killing Intent], they thundered through the air at speeds untold. A volley to pierce stone and break grooves.

  Their [Spirit Hawks] soared above. A pgue to darken skies, talons suffused.

  Then their concerted screeches were dwarfed by two sharp notes. A grandfatherly chuckle, devoid of humor.

  Second.

  An “Oh, ho” that tore them asunder, for all that had been loosed across the distance vanished into thin air. A veiled screen of [Spatial Q that swallowed all against it, and spat these myriad arrows through the underbelly of each [Spirit Hawk] at once.

  Udvah’s spectral form was a terror in blinks.

  That of a smiling daoist at one’s shoulder, eviscerating a heart. Mangam, to the right of another’s neck with the same.

  A spleen; second heart; neck; skull; spine; third heart and on. North, and west, behind, and close enough to whisper. The monk and his toad were all pces, ending those that crippling had not.

  Stepping through space as Fu did air.

  On Su Sai and his ranking of [Might]. Third, though his methods were for Hushi’s interpretation if any had changed beyond exempry performance of tradition. His was simplicity in the darkness, and brutal in case of revetion.

  Bloody smears and crushed flesh.

  Well restrained, for he held no secrets on how he yearned for the light.

  Astride with Hushi, this ring was well tended to. So Fu stepped higher, intent on stalling the machinations of Qi he felt mounting in response.

  “The third ring is under siege. Begin the retaliation.”

  “It has fallen. Cleanse it. No action is fleet enough to recim what is lost.”

  “As you say. Hear this, the-”

  A moment of silence.

  “Taller bde? A force has interfered with your st transmission. Are we to activate the [Imperial-”

  “Smaller bdes of grass. Imperials, speak. Why-”

  The Wayward Wind’s method of intercepting Imperial transmission was a rey of sorts. A [Consteltion Seed] in possession of one disciple, Baek Jam.

  Fu need not dwell on his history or… proclivities of training, but felt content at his continued diligence. For disciple Jam filtered a thousand thoughts, sharing only the most pertinent.

  Thus these severed Imperial messages ended just shy of twenty, despite how they continued behind it all.

  My disciples have reached their area of command. The lesser officers begin to fall. This much is adequate.

  Ash fell.

  Six rings remained.

  The massed, leonine [Killing Intent] quaked a triumphant roar as its bearers’ broke through the stalemate of warring Serpents far below.

  [Profundity] sparked upon the exterior walls of the great nine-ringed pace, spelling the start of another great [Array].

  Ash fell, and Hushi returned to his side. With Shuidi upon his brim, Fu looked to the structure’s peak.

  Again, to the Imperials crowding this fourth story and the [Dao Principles] that now reigned ten-score of arrows for every one draw, or enrged their flight, carried lightning or a frigid gust alongside.

  “You have shouted west and gone east. Go further.”

  Fu stalled for another heartbeat.

  Seven [Seasons]. For this, might five have sufficed?

  ?

  An hour passed in absence.

  Such was the call of the Wayward Winds. Their gust had blown through all corridors, rings and staircases, dispensing many.

  What number was a matter for Pinxui: irrelevant until the dust would come to settle.

  Now they waited, silent among eaves and shadows, withdrawn into the quiet spaces of this vast pace.

  Fu observed as the assassins of Green combed its breadth in fury. A matching force of silence, if betrayed by the haste of their own orders. Mispced steps or two-second lingerance, a breath where none should be felt.

  How swiftly uncertainty turns to fear.

  A band of thirty streamed by him for their fourth patrol of these corridors and the nterns’ fmes danced minorly in their wake.

  The Imperials below were unaware. This several hundred with qiang braced and [Spirit Lions] rigid against the sight of an [Array]-set doorframe.

  Knocking came. Crashes. Muffled chimes and impacts from the Serpents that now surged through their inner defenses.

  “We are roots, my cousins. [Spring’s] foundation. We are not torn free for the appearance of snakes: of the snow-kissed, sun-scorched and withered things.” The leader among them was at a pace. Hers, a grander lion of leafy mane. “We grow. We sustain. Recall how [Spring] rages in your blood and no worm shall overtake us.”

  Of keen [Senses], the eyes of these cultivators drew toward each muffled sound, tracking just where their enemies cshed behind stone and door.

  Then, the floor exploded upwards.

  Two sun-facing disciples appeared amidst the showering bricks, immacute for such shrapnel. “Honoured brother, we have arrived at the dragon’s den.”

  “Aha brother, but is this not a den of lions?” ughed the other, haughty and derisive. “You would do well to scatter your weapons, Imperials. Our Tearless Strategist stakes her cim here, and those that continue to war after this realm’s seizure will be met with her coolness.”

  “[Spring] does not submit,” roared the Imperial’s leader.

  A fresh csh commenced.

  The Heroes of the Cloudy Serpent Sect met their foe with devastation. One of [Earth Q and a [Spirit Crab] of impossible scale, the other of [Force] and a [Spirit Serpent’s] tremoring strikes.

  Fu viewed with grim appreciation, yet did not interfere. His solitary contribution came as an order, instructing through resonance that a pair of his disciples watch their ascent. An instinct that marked this pair as talents to protect.

  Broken Imperial husks were all that remained in time. Some fate he knew repeated across this pace.

  Pinxui’s message did not describe this, and instead spoke more of goals specific to their Wayward Winds than overt sughter.

  “One [Consteltion Seed]. No [Splinter]. The vaults are acceptable, senior, and our tithe is drawn.”

  Time to commence.

  And so he did.

  His spectral steps led through the stone above. Through floor and wall. The ranks of his sun-facing cousins thinned in passing, and did so upon each nding.

  The third held mere dozens, the fourth, less.

  Fu bypassed the fifth, sixth and seventh to nd upon the eighth and penultimate ring. A more official setting comprised of overlooks and schorly affairs. Those who occupied it matched such an environment, for strategists and scribes strolled here, affecting their counters through transmissions and well-pressed shouts.

  Hushi marked the at-attention warriors that ringed this room. Reserved, and attentions affixed toward each entrance. Cultivators in their hundreds, and no corn-fed Greens such as those that occupied the lower floors.

  This his [Dao] felt surely.

  A pang surfaced in Fu’s temple to suffer so many half-gnces.

  So many perceptive eyes.

  He nodded once, palming the head of his chain.

  Let us not move with uncertainty, brother, sister. Eager as I am to progress from here, let us be prudent.

  No less than twenty [Spirit Beasts] had turned in his direction. Lions once more, and [Spirit-

  Twenty four turned.

  Thirty.

  Leering with a sense akin to tasting smoke before fire.

  [Half Cloud Step].

  The mental burden ceased as Qi flooded his [Channels], and was grace not a facet of his cultivation the stone beneath might well have shattered from his departure.

  At first he was met by nothing: no reaction to his entering bde. But in time, and subsequent leaps, the arms began to rise. Manes turned. Perhaps Qi fred from these experts of Green for their weapons lowered with certainty, if… slowly.

  The swiftness for mortals, or those within the [Foundation Realm].

  To Fu, it evoked a [Winter’s] memory. Though no likeness could match the present. A memory of snow falling across a windless ke. Soft, and so gentle that it took an age to fall from shoulder to deck.

  Such were their countering strokes.

  When next he stopped and Hushi arrived at his opposite, the bodies fell with a simple ctter of steel and wisp-thick screen.

  [Poison Arts: Wind Phantom’s Breath].

  Another fog blew, and his [Hundred Poisons Synthesis] poured within it. And this he allowed the survivors to see, complicating the mixture with a single drop of dye.

  The schors choked amidst fumes of stagnant bck, and the bout was loud between these forty cultivators and beasts.

  “Who…” one choked, asking questions of no merit.

  Fu drew his fingers taught, and the infestation of [Latent Moon Venom] ejected through her ribcage to immediate and final effect. “Schors of Green. I bid you listen, lest these next breaths become your st.”

  “Snow-kissed,” flew as insult, disparaging [Winter]. Fu’s killing of the voice’s owner was not for so small a slight, but for the impression it left.

  “[Latent Moon Venom] courses through your veins. Indeed, many will already feel it within your heart. In one hour, none of you will yet stand.”

  A wiser sort came to a knee, stumbling atop her avian bond. “Master assassin… what… terms?” came her cough.

  “I have antidote enough for half your number. For cultivators of use. I seek those of the [Imperial Transmission Arts, Green].”

  Their heads moved like pendulums, agog and wary.

  “We do… we do not understand.” cried a rearward schor.

  “Show mercy, assassin. For only that will spare the Emperor’s wrath.”

  [Pull] silenced the second speaker. “You do not speak for [Sixth Under Heaven],” Fu said. “And to you, schor, I believe this a simple affair to comprehend.”

  Fresh blood met the floor in moments as the first turncoat dashed a dagger into his companion’s throat. Precursor to a consuming madness. [Qi Manipution] and simple fist continued for those that cked weapon or fang, making brutal work of their former compatriots.

  How brittle these Imperials’ bonds reveal to be. I had thought his influence more profound.

  Still standing were the bloodiest between them, none unscathed.

  “Begin your transmissions,” Fu said, sparing no time. “Demand all Imperials to flock to the Magistrate above, for she is in dire need. Convey that no priority is greater than safeguarding her, and that all who currently csh must retreat to grant her aid.”

  The threat had this much said in moments. Disciple Jam verified it twice over.

  Content, Fu nodded. “Gratitude.”

  The schors’ skins were a pallid contrast against the grime coating brow and cheek. So were breaths boured as the first among them spoke. “It… it is done. What will become of us, master assassin?”

  “Your compliance is marked, cultivator, and talent. Yet I prize these virtues as second only to loyalty,” he said. “A pity you hold none.”

  [Pull].

  Death followed, needing no description.

  ?

  Contribution relied on a peculiar metric.

  Could a half-share be spread between the Wayward Winds and their sun-facing cousins? Two parties might well be split down the middle, distributing wealth and prestige in equal parts.

  Su Sai was an advocate for this method.

  Anfang’s suggestion of solitary compensation met the same reaction.

  Though the byrinth of prepared bdes, [Arrays] and assassinations the retreating Imperials found upon their ascent might warrant such. Mathematics was not among the talents that Fu had fostered over his seven [Season’s] training, but he equated their contribution to a third.

  A third sin. A third of the strategy, lightened by their efforts. A third in time spent, for myriad other matters required their attention.

  But the Fatherly [Asura’s] tongue held.

  For now he merely observed Qinshi’s resplendent serpent, still a crown within the Heavens. A swollen construct now, given power through time. The glow was upon its bearer as their assault drew its final close.

  Words were exchanged.

  The Imperial Magistrate of this ashen realm, harsh and uncompromising, against the unfeeling tone of Qinshi’s offered demands.

  [Rust Q was her Path. Erosion, attrition, whittling and decay. Thus the fate that befell their foe: a rival even to the visceral [Arts] employed by Udvah.

  “The scale of these battles tire me greatly,” commented Zhu, passing a bottle. “It’s an unwanted leap between the before and now.”

  Fu’s hand returned to his whisker after a customary sip. “We have met one Heaven beyond Heaven. More remain.”

  “Batte’s what I disfavor. Such open actions and moving pieces. It cks finesse to strike like this. War is an ugly word.”

  Atop the final ring’s roof, the statement rung as a bell. Butchery y heaped in abundance, from stone to staircase, saturating the scales of each [Spirit Serpent] that slithered atop it. A scene without grace, and bereft of the honor so praised by their cousins.

  “Our part is pyed. We have been untethered to the Sect for too long. Perhaps we forget what it is to consider others,” said Fu.

  Zhu looked to ponder this. “The sun and moon rarely meet. I’d welcome it if that unfttering strategist ceased her ambitions here,” his head shook swiftly. “Your ancient fish holds the answers, before you ask for my thoughts.”

  The Tearless Strategist would not call for them yet.

  Old master.

  “Edict of the Clear Sky. ‘The territories of the Empire of Abundant [Spring] dangle as ripe fruit, and are offered freely. To any of righteous arm and true loyalty, hear this, and y cim. Should any foreign [Mystic Realm] be taken from the control of these false Imperials, know that the Cloudy Serpent Sect shall endorse the ownership of those that have brought them to heel.”

  A mental image rose of parchment. Verbatim with the [True Orchid Path] at the time of its delivery.

  Interconnected stars, or how they had been some three [Seasons] prior, complete with the pathways of each [Paifang], color of Marches and designated name within the Empire.

  And heraldry.

  Those of Serpents. Tigers. Plum axes. Refining cauldrons. A single river, lined with cherry blossoms. Three-headed dragons. Petals in myriad hues. Notable, for all with these shared symbols already held a number of realms in the dozens.

  “Old paper holds old secrets and the neighbouring realms have gone rgely untouched by our disciples. Much will change now,” said Fu.

  “That we’ve come across no recent copy of that Clear Sky Edict bodes ill. It takes little to spsh ink upon parchment.”

  Tanshuai gave an admonishing flutter, nding upon Fu’s douli.

  “This csh proves we’ve transcended our mortal bonds, little sister,” Zhu continued. “Excuses are outwith an immortal’s purview. If the Edict has succeeded, then where are signs of its progress? [Gleeful Viper] and [Thrice Clouded Boa] are not constrained by distraction.”

  The plum-eyed cultivator gave a minor sigh.

  Shuidi dispelled the [Silence Array] about them as they dropped.

  “Ghosts,” greeted Qinshi, dismissing no less than seven attendants.

  “Strategist,” met Fu.

  “Seven thousand,” said Zhu.

  Qinshi’s face remained impartial. “The battle is won. An [Imperial Realm] cimed. Heaven does not criticise means when the cause is just. The families of these cultivators will be remunerated, in time.”

  Neither ghost cared to comment.

  “Those that remain may yet prove inadequate should the [Spring] Imperials return,” she said. “Regardless, a blow was struck and your contribution is valued.”

  Her words drew one among the attendants back at a hurry, granting Qinshi’s [Spirit Baboon] a wide berth before falling prostrate. “Strategist. The requested treasure,” he said, extending a sizable bamboo coffin.

  “I will admit my curiosity,” Qinshi said, sliding free the lid.

  Tanshuai and Shuidi moved in concert, probing the contents with their innate [Senses]. Their impressions marking it as true.

  Cloth was lifted free, or bindings of such. White and fouled, though this was a sign of age and no mark of spilled substance.

  Qinshi turned it over in her hand. “A bone.”

  “A [Demon’s] trinket. Nothing more,” said Fu, half in truth. “We extend our gratitude, sun-facing cousin. May your path be interesting.”

  The strategist withdrew her hand, fractionally, and remarked to find it empty. “A parting ptitude, ghosts. Is your intention not to…”

  Ash fell on a solitary woman, her attendant, and no others. So it was that a moment passed, then the [Spirit Baboon] chuffed in amusement.