Chapter Two Hundred and Forty One - A Plum a Day, Keeps No Doctor at Bay

More dignity was required for where he tread next.

As dawn broke, and no moment later, Fu’s Warship moored upon a skyward dock where myriad realms met. The domains of each immortal yet dominated the Heavens above Jade Songbird City in their thirteen-fold fracture, painting the disparate skies through which they had sailed, and with Hua’s blessing he had navigated about the impending catastrophe of ships, temples and beasts that populated them.

An ant among dragons.

The mooring was a thing of queer perception. While eight of the Cherry River Inheritor’s domains were lit by varying stages of the sun, this realm was presided over by night, and when he had passed the boundary only a slivering portal of the previous province could be seen amongst it.

“See that you do not become lost,” was Hua’s sole warning as she glided from the rather mundane gangplank of his vessel and onto a two-tiered pagoda. “Hers is a spirited Path.”

To visit one of the Cherry River, they expected no less.

Hushi lifted the douli’s brim to glean all the path ahead held in store, for impressions alone could not do it justice.

They-

No.

It-

“Grandmother-”

“Trust your eyes, for it is not false. With all you have seen, I had expected more composure,” she hummed, and yet it was mirthful.

Well-humoured.

Fu looked to an east and west that no longer applied, then craned his neck, turned, and sought some semblance of medium before observing the rest. Inverted below them, as if the pagoda’s cap was a resplendent signpost, was land.

No. It is… it is-

“Earth. And we, the Heavens,” unfurled the Old One, and did so in such a manner that he blocked Hua’s entry. “[Cherry River Sage]. Jinghui Hua.”

She stalled.

“This wizened master would know.”

Hushi mimed pressing arms against his would-be ears. Shuidi rubbed her pincers together, for this answer could be leveraged against Kang Jae and Zhu for all eternity.

“Such haste, wise one,” she almost teased, levelling her gaze upon the great disc above. A flattened, ceaseless thing separated from them by a boundary of black void. “Are you certain? Many count it among the highest mysteries offered.”

The wisping form of the Old One considered this, rumbling his consternation.

Mischief glinted in the Sage’s eye. “Some say it is carried upon four elephant’s trunks, and it is they that stand upon the [Divine CInnabar Turtle’s] back, balancing all we walk upon. Others state it is a sphere so vast we cannot see its edge or curvature, even here between Earth and the Heavens.”

“Some. Some are not you, great Sage.”

Hua hummed. “As we are here, I will concede. Know this, wise one, once heard, it becomes obvious. The nature of the Earth-”

Wind blew, and Fu’s hand mingled with the odd dust that blew amongst it. Some composite of [Celestial Qi] had taken material form, phasing through the [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] as he collected this Heaven-high breeze.

Dust, from a star. A precious thing to sneeze from.

Shuidi and the Old One had no lids with which to blink upon hearing the answer. They merely remained stunned as Hua hummed her way into the pagoda.

Fu conjured a breath of air to retrieve the dust, and swept much inside a stoppered jar from his [Shrine of Final Skies]. “Yuqi will enjoy it,” he smiled, before following after the Sage.

The entrance held not the decorum expected of an Inheritor’s station, instead, a clutter of displays and trophies brushed shoulder and head as they walked through. Dried herbs were the least of the decorations here, as were the interspersed roots of some dozen exotic plants that ebbed with serpentine bends throughout. A strange qiang of paper-look hung at their left, and draped upon it were myriad fabrics that oscillated between the translucent and for a moment- a colour Fu had not seen prior.

A hair’s breadth to the side hung an armoured bracer, and atop that balanced a saucer of bitter smelling milk. The feathers of a [Dark Affinity] phoenix were scattered haphazardly in its open seam, while the fingers held a half-talisman, half-characature on its white papyrus.

Chairs. Eggs. Axes. Carpets. Model boats. Rocks of unusual hue.

All this was contained in the first cluttered step of the pagoda, and Hushi remarked that it was another of those puzzling structures than held more inside than out, encompassing several palaces of room.

“Touch nothing,” warned Hua, negotiating around a head-high stack of tomes defiled by the red-inked characters for ‘forbidden’.

Common sense already dictated such a thing, yet even with an ephemeral [Constitution] the three took extra care.

The second level, at least, contained seats. What further problems might arise were solely from those that sat upon them.

[Cherry River Pilgrim] was upon a plush chair too high for her diminutive legs, given that her external appearance was that of a ten-moon old girl. All about her bearing suggested this to be the case, for indeed her legs swung beneath them with childlike glee and her gleeful focused seemed scattered about this hall of treasures.

Only the [Cherry River Monk’s] partner, a cumbersome red [Spirit Sloth] sat on their own chair. The monk himself was perusing the pagoda’s ceiling without fear of proper angles or the Earth’s pull.

“Sister Hua!” chirped the pilgrim.

“Sister?” intoned the monk, padding down from above with a spritely step. “This cherry-hued daoist should have expected you would arrive in timely fashion. Amituofo. We extend our greetings.”

Hua brushed a modest stool free of its Heaven-grade detritus, hummed, and sat delicately upon it. “Sister Faxian. Brothers Cuojue and Kongbu,” she greeted, pilgrim, monk and sloth respectively. “This Sage would introduce this blood of her blood, yet all here know of their exploits.”

Faxian, [Cherry River Pilgrim], leapt from her stool. “Nephews, niece. I’d guess Hua’s told you little of this meeting. Come, sit. Would you like some peaches? Or berries? They’re quite good, from a little realm some ways left from the sun.”

There was much to unpack there, and so Fu only clasped. “Venerables, I am grateful for the familiar address. If it does not offend, I will reply in kind. Aunty. Uncles.”

“Amituofo. As polite as is whispered,” said Cuojue, [Cherry River Monk]. A force then needled upon Fu’s [Spirit], at which the monk’s lips thinned. “The force that clads you. [Primordial Law]. It is of interest.”

Hushi looked to Hua for confirmation, for revelation was much against their nature. The [Spirit Octopus] received a shrug in reply.

“Forgiveness,” offered Fu. “Besides nephews and niece, the gathered venerables may address us as [Primordial Lords of Tribulation].”

“[Tribulation] Ha, this nephew is quite mad!” giggled Faxian. “We’ll get on very well, I’d like to think. Do not mind brother Cuojue, he was merely curious about your reality. Such is his domain, and you three, ha- you seem not to stand in it.”

Reality. Used so commonly, as if discussing tea or weather.

“We stand in this reality, if that aids you in any way, uncles. However, we do not believe this meeting involves us so heavily,” he returned. “Apologies, Grandmother, that our presence detracts from what must be discussed.”

Heaviness crept across the pagoda.

Seen in dimming eyes and shifting posture.

Hua gave a permissive hum. “Bah. A sign of the times, no more. For all the merits of the Gao, none have outlived their mortality.”

“Amituofo, that sister Hua would offer words of defense is worth a weight in jade.”

Both Pilgrim and Monk met gazes, growing stiffer yet.

More… more venerable, Fu thought, for as swift as the snuffing of a wick he saw their age manifest.

While a litany of bags did not form beneath Faxian’s eyelids, nor a weave of wrinkles appear on her juvenile skin, a great recess formed in her irises. The [Heritage] of the Cherry River had them seem aflutter in petals, yet where Hua’s showed an incessant flurry there was a glacial pace to both Inheritors.

“This Gao Shuidi ponders what these uncles and aunt might have seen to darken their eyes, when Grandmothers have witnessed all things yet remain bright. Much about this moment rings queer, does it not?”

The same air hung about this place as with [Plum Axe Zhu] and [Cherry River Doctor]. Here was a moment in which they were to be measured, he realized, though for what reason other than interest none could guess.

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Upon his seat, the [Spirit Sloth] grew disinterested. His gait was a slow upwards lumber that vanished him into the clutter above.

Cuojue took saw it as omen. “Truly?”

“This Gao Shuidi does not share her brother’s outlook. She would know. Speak, uncles and aunts. Why do we gather here under such scrutiny?”

Gone was Faxian’s impish motion. Now she bore only severity. “History explains it, little niece. A tale of split allegiances.”

“Then this is a matter of the Cherry River alone?” asked Fu.

“No. Not alone,” she shook. “All matters are matters of the Cherry River. To equate us to the Jianghu’s myriad Sects is not unfair- the Pillars, guiding stars and trellises that support its great weight. Ours, however, is the nourishing hand. Gardeners.”

Ahead, Cuojue entered the lotus. “An explanation of lacking mysticism,” he said, brushing his palm sidelong. Nine cherry candles filled the space where it had moved, wisping gentle smoke. “Amituofo. Consider. From whom did we nine inherit?”

Hua hummed her displeasure.

Before any of his soul might answer, Fu called them into rumination. In moments, Hushi had peeled back the hanfu to reveal his [Ink]. “Rarely do the Heavens speak with clarity. Outwith these stains.”

“Amituofo. An answer, of sorts,” the monk mused. “To see Hua’s reticence, let us only say that the Cherry River seeded its own inheritance. Nine scattered souls, bound across the vastness of Heaven’s reach. Amituofo. Done with singular purpose. The nourishment of Virtues.”

Long was Fu’s stroke across his whisker.

Pensive.

“To speak on allegiances then, it might be guessed that the venerables of the Cherry River did not agree on how best to proceed. Ever is it said that three support, three revile and three stand impartial on matters of the Clear Sky.”

A wan smile spread upon the monk. It reached all but his eyes.

“See your answers, Gao Fu, in abundance,” spoke Faxian. “Gardeners, that moniker was crude. For gardeners interfere. A pruning to allow fresh growth, a shifting of slight canopies to allow sun, a watering in [Summer’s] cruelty. The impartial ought not to do so, and yet, this eve comes. We gather.”

Surprise came then as the [Spirit Sloth], Kongbu, extended a claw from above them. His grasp had him inverted on a tapestry above, and a mundane clay bowl was offered by his lower limbs. The disbelief came from its swiftness, for even Shuidi had been caught unaware.

The talents of a ghost. It is doubtless that the Inheritors might take any form they wish. How enviable.

Fu sought Hua’s permission and-

Brother. Sister. I feel as though we were to ask a thing, but now… now I cannot recall it.

Their head turned, and surprise came then as the [Spirit Sloth], Kongbu, extended a claw from above them. His grasp had him inverted on a tapestry above, and a mundane clay bowl was offered by his lower limbs. The disbelief came from its swiftness, for even Shuidi had been caught unaware.

Fu smiled as his [Immortal Arbiter’s Soul] sparked. A whisper to speak of some oncoming trial, despite the dubious origin. “Gratitude, uncle Kongbu,” he said, grasping the bowl. “Need I ask what it contains?”

Quick were the Inheritors to face Hua. Not in mortal fashion, or surprise, but in the flocking of stern gazes. “Adaptable. A simple test, but he passes. Swifter than imagined for one without immortality.”

What occurred next proved vexing indeed. Across an untold span Kongbu proffered an array of items, many with three, four or six between his extended limbs.

A shattered jian, a spool of red thread, worn chopsticks, a burlap sack of sesame, two crowns of leaves almost indistinguishable from the next, and on.

Once, a choice between poems.

Choices between cardinal directions.

Things of elements.

Things of meaning.

Things, of which Hushi was certain, were no more than offers of practical jokes. Objects of whimsy that surely no soul could take great insight from, nor could they take the mark of a soul by.

For each choice there was a ruminant stare, hum, shake or shifting of lips, although the words ceased until Faxian spoke a simple “Sufficient.”

While his mind did not spin, Fu felt unsettled. “What is sufficient, venerable aunty?” he asked, concerned as to why he could not recall the mundane wooden bowl in his hand.

Kongbu lifted it from his hands and retracted from sight.

“Ever do you choose the Path of greatest resistance. To seek hardship with almost reckless abandon,” shared Faxian. “A test, nothing more. It is irrelevant, Gao Fu, but to slake my curiosity I would ask what you recall.”

Old master?

“Something has vanished from memory. Vexing. The trouble lies in that I cannot recall what it is I might have forgotten. Cherry River trickery. We are no less than when we entered, only this is certain.”

It was Shuidi that hummed next. “Our insight into [Primordial Law] has progressed. Some trial has occurred.”

“Amituofo. Just so. Apologies are offered,” said Cuojue. “Jinghui Hua has done you no great service, and from this, our decision is made.”

Indeed, the Cherry River’s riddles held riddles, for none of the Fatherly [Asura] held a notion of what they were speaking about. A humbling thing, they supposed, if maddening in its apparent complexity.

“Bah. Listen well, Gao Fu, for it will not be repeated. Your [Spirit] was measured against the extent of my influence. To measure impartiality. We weigh much on your choice, and my siblings have concluded that you are no agent of mine.”

“My choice, Grandmother?” he wondered. “It seems a queer test, for what soul is not influenced by the will of their family?”

Cuojue’s brow arched. “The Cherry River are blood and tripartite. Amituofo. Even so, yes, the statement rings true. Gao Fu’s choice is that of support. One raised, even unwittingly, beneath the boughs of the Cherry River. You chase not [Crossroads] or futures. In all instances you chase [Tribulation]. A path chosen by none.”

“And this validates our support?” Shuidi hummed. “Even this peerless mistress cannot follow how your words twist and bend.”

“Ah.”

“Ah,” repeated Faxian. “Sister Hua’s presence, her way, had you assume that we acted as one. That three support, three revile and three stand impartial- together. It is not so. No. All we have done is a judgement to decide our involvement.”

“[Tribulation]. Amituofo. Change, by another name. This was your claim, and it is proven, untainted by Jinghui Hua’s influence. That one of your qualities grants support to [True Golden Demon] lends more weight than you might know.”

Hushi dipped, first to understand. “Then, the impartial will act?”

“In balance, nephew,” said Faxian. “That the scales tip no further, and no more.”

There came a hum.

It was anything but satisfied.

🀧

Act as you would.

Such maddening commands, for indeed they granted no foresight into the machinations of Hua, Lianse or Long. Fu had never yearned to be the protagonist of any tale, and yet, neither was his presence insignificant.

Former ghosts, these three were well at peace with operational security.

But surely the future could not be swayed so drastically with their involvement? To know how [Cherry River Sage], [True Golden Demon] and [Dour Faced Strategist] were to defeat every ambitious monsters across the Jianghu- would this truly invite ruin?

An absent mist plumed from his pipe, and Gao Zhu breathed it aside. “An eventful night then?”

Many ways perhaps existed on how one might broach the subject. Fu knew what his brother would respect most. “We met the [Plum Axe] in a bathhouse, accompanied by [Cherry River Doctor].”

A moment passed, and his features remained unguessable.

“In a bathhouse?” asked Zhu.

“An outside pool of no renown. Both seemed inclined to take my measure. Hua then had us visit the remaining Inheritors of the Cherry River. So indeed, eventful. We have far to go if we seek to match their insightful nonsense, brother.”

“That’s without doubt,” he mused. “In comparison, my own was uneventful. Shameful, even.”

“Shameful?”

Zhu directed his early-morning bottle to the highest stage. “Shameful. If not shameful for me personally.”

The great reverberation of Mingqin’s address faded as the final participants settled, standing atop the stage in far fewer numbers than had arrived. Ten disciples from each great faction had entered, and now less than half remained in differing consistencies.

Crimson hanfu numbered most, embroidered and patterned by near simulacrums of the very serpents that accompanied them.

Secondmost wore plum and axes, not to be mistaken.

Yongwu Long was currently reading a tome, sharing the contents with a demure Vajra woman as she tittered behind her fan. Fiftieth Chitrini, of Fu’s recollection. The characters were purposefully hidden from above, but the reaction his loud-seeming narration goaded had turned many of the faces about him stormy.

Two women of the Fourth Vajra remained serene.

A clutch, for this was all that remained of the [Cherry River Spear’s] contestants, were nigh incensed into striking.

Mingqin’s announcer returned in declaration. “...let the first bout commence!”

The match had been called, dispersing all but one cultivator from the Cloudy Serpent Sect and the [Cherry River Spear’s] houses. A formidable pair indeed, both bearing qiang as if murky reflections of the other.

Blossoms patterned both the daxuishuan of the Cherry River disciple and her twinned [Spirit Beasts]. Cumbersome [Spirit Porcupines] of grand scale and deft step. They seemed as great guardian lions and not the ground-scurrying mortal renditions of their breed, standing proud and fearless against the terror across.

Another qiang, this of onyx hue and nine ornate hooks below the head. His hair was of slickened dandelion, well-oiled and held in place by myriad lesser clasps of serpentine design. One might struggle to separate them from the four [Spirit Serpents], Boas, that unfolded from his hanfu.

Face demanded some show.

Neither bowed.

In place, they clasped their spears in a bare affectation of respect and-

Fu chuckled.

The crowd erupted in equal parts disbelief and outrage, for when their qiang dropped into their respective stances there came a bright explosion of plum. Some turgid, sticky mess of dye that spared no fleck of skin or iota of fabric from its grasp.

“Shameful,” noted Fu. “One wonders what their seniors think of such disrespect. Grandmother might suggest swift beginnings make swift ends.”

Zhu shrugged. “The future’s not so mysterious, brother. Tanshuai deduced the reason for our… unimportance. She’ll find this much acceptable.”

“Oh?”

Only Shuidi wished to pry, but the spectacle held her occupied.

At the moment of the bursting plum dye the afflicteds’ fellow disciples brimmed with outrage, and at this first step the eruptions continued. Plum overcame each member of the Cloudy Serpent Sect and [Cherry River Spear] prompting a swift turn against those who ruled this colour.

Long absent from Phoenix Melody Coalition, the Plum Phoenix, Mei, sneered. Her title among the Seven Phoenixes and Six Dragons afforded her a wealth in swift silences. “Wisdom would dictate you look elsewhere,” she warned. “Though this-,” her eyes measured. “-suggests none here make even basic use of their eyes. Such foolishness is unworthy of sharing the stage with true cultivators.”

“Plum Phoenix,” came a serpentine hiss. “You dare?”

“Dare?” Mei said, spurning all at the shoulder. “Does one dare when they state the sun is bright? Remedy this, that I need not look upon it.”

An insignificant qiang pierced the skies as a plum-soaked disciple of the [Cherry River Spear] proclaimed to the Heavens. “Revered Master, [Cherry River Spear], this humble disciple can weather much. An insult on our training is no reflection on you, great one, and yet our blood stirs! We beg for permission to right this injustice!”

The zeal of youth overcame his arm, as it had for many of these warriors of beneath thirty moons.

Indeed his hand reached, grasped, and took hold of Mei’s turned shoulder.

Tugged roughly.

Stalled.

Mei bore then the sentiment of one small percentile within the crowd, ignoring such pointless things for the greater. This Fu might confirm, for he himself shared it alongside the sole standing, bracing, turning and transfixed cultivator in each hundred thousand.

A warning that had them rise.

A glare of sunset so soon after dawn, yet upon all horizons. Heaven-swallowing rays, incendiary and vast. They curled as far as the eye might see, and no further than the very boundary of the Heavenly Roaming Prefecture.

Thunder quickened Fu’s heart.

The [Immortal Judgement Sunshine Array] had begun.