Chapter Two Hundred and Forty Seven - Old Tricks

[MERIDIAN CLEANSED]

[Might] +340

[Control] +280

[Capacity] +290

[Pull] +210

[Push] +210

[Spirit] +20

This message came four times as [Divine Qi] scoured clean but a clutch of his long-cultivated [Meridians] of [Body], and again, these were but a part of a greater total.

Not all.

Merely, as instinct foretold, the minimum for warping one’s [Constitution].

“[Thunder Remains Dry Amidst the Clouds],” he uttered.

Thirteen impossible gazes fell upon their position within Qirin, and did not, as Fu, Hushi and Shuidi moved from the suspension of these combined [Primordial Laws].

That of Order, Plausibility, and Transcendence.

Indeed, their power could penetrate his form no more than a mundane arrow could. The accumulation was cloying- domineering, invading all aspects of all things within the great dominion of their Xiangpi board.

Yet they felt no heavier than a passing breeze.

Sister, brother.

“This peerless mistress has read the same,” affirmed Shuidi. “[Primordial Laws] we have yet to conquer.”

“Yet,” repeated Hushi.

“Younglings. Still these hearts! How outlandish are the [Primordial Lords of Tribulation]. To think of overcoming more [Primordial Laws] before the dust has settled on their latest [Trial].”

Fu allowed a smile. “It is the nature of a father to seek pastimes, no? To collect [Primordial Laws] is a worthy pursuit, no?”

“Seventeen moons passed within that space.”

“Seventeen moons of hardship,” mused Fu, rubbing the space where [Cherry River Sword’s] jian had been embedded. “Shameful that we could not overcome it quicker.”

The Old One approximated a blink, and returned to silence.

Much had changed across the board, and the discrepancy in time’s flow between [Tribulation] and this reality had thankfully not aligned.

The topography of myriad roles had shifted to a scene he did not recognise.

[Clouded Sovereign’s Departure].

It mattered little.

Fu stepped into the air high above, and with it he felt the [Senses] of three Calamities strain to observe his position.Most attention was upon the shift now occurring, that of uncountable suspended temples and Warships as the parent force to all those that were torn across the space toward conflict.

How trite it seemed as the true bearers of each role clashed.

[Cherry River Fist] sat upon a fugue of cloud, still within his lotus. His role, a Chariot. “Brother. I ask that you do not disappoint.”

In opposition was the Dragon of [Cherry River Monk]. Cuojue and his lackadaisical [Spirit Sloth] blinked awake from some realm of slumber, seeming outwardly to only notice the impending maneuver. “The hand of Deqiang forces no necessity. No invention. Amituofo. Brother, you cannot agree with this?”

The increase to their [Meridians], Shuidi noted, allowed these words to register. Conversations at a speed beyond comprehension, for indeed the flow of the surrounding world was a thing of turtles and molasses.

Drowned in glacial movement.

Another plane of being, and now we glimpse it. True swiftness. How many details were we not privy to before? To think they converse at such speed.

Scant movement between the formerly nigh-instant armadas of role occurred by each sentence’s end.

“Conviction. It can be fostered in all times. The mediocrity of Brother Spear’s world could inspire more. Hmph. No. We cannot convince ourselves, even if benefits are plain.”

Cuojue blinked rapidly. “Amituofo. A contradiction. How unlike Brother Fist to do a thing by necessity. The Path of Belief wanes, then?”

Good humour was not a thing the man seemed to possess.

To all, now, Cuojue and his [Spirit Sloth] proclaimed. “[The bridge between fantasy and reality spans beyond all philosophy. What is dreamt exists farther than reason might stretch. Amituofo. Thus, a glimpse]. [Primordial Law of Dreams: Imagination’s Reverie].”

Chariot interposed itself upon Cherry’s Dragon, and found it… absent.

Changed.

The aforementioned mass arrived at its hapless mark to find that all it sought to destroy had become a flotilla of iridescent bubbles. Lazy, supple spheres that curved about the puncturing blades and annihilation of Warship formations that poured Heaven’s wrath upon them.

No pop came.

No burst.

All that transpired was a simple shift of position in which Chariot had mired itself in childish orbs.

The [Ink] could not comprehend this, and minor strain swept like a passing wind across each Cherry River Loyalist.

To upset this game upsets Order. Needless, even for these Calamities it is a hardship to control the myriad factions as they do. How opportune.

“I begin with Truth. A feat, mundane and obvious,” answered [Cherry RIver Fist]. “[No thing beneath the Heavens is unbreakable.]”

He did not call aloud his [Law].

Twinned coronas were birthed like moonlit landscape behind the warring pair. Off-hued, oscillating discs of cherry likeness, ever growing as [Dreams] warred against [Belief].

Bursting came, heralding a change of bubbles to feathers.

Playful raindrops.

Birdsong.

A tally of characters upon Heaven-high [Ink].

Mocking laughter.

The concept of planted seeds.

Cherry-hued spectral winds.

For every transformation the Fist produced a counter, never-yet calling upon his [Primordial Law].

This is his [Intent], no more. The manifestation of his insight evokes this effect. Belief. Can you feel it? The declaration is not unlike our own. He need not call [Primordial Law] as all blows that he inflicts are still within reach of his own attributes.

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Shuidi hummed, impressed with the Fist’s outlook. “If he survives, let us test the weight of our ideals against him.”

“Just so,” nodded Fu. “But for now, let us inflict our own insight upon the board.”

🀧

[Once Beggared Ghost] flickered.

Their gestures were infinitesimal. The movement of leaves touched by a distant, stagnant breath. One twitch of a leg, if myriad and thousandfold in volume, one tick of a feeler, a slant of teeth or spasm beneath chitin.

The [Primordial Law of Gluttony] could not be restrained, feasting as [Tribulations] had on this hardship.

Unguessable domains writhed in dislocated concert.

[Venerable Reed Sage], of note. [Eighth Under Heaven]. [Red Eyes, Black Dragon]. [Dances Upon an Ivory Sea]. [Buried in Papyrus]. [Miserable Fairy King]. [Looming Amaranth Tyrant]. [War Tattered Bannerman]. [Deerheaded Zhan]. [Sun’s Daughter].

[Primordial Lords] one and all.

Fu ignored each, landing swiftly before Grandmother Hua. “Grandmother.”

“Swifter than even I had thought, son-in-law,” chirped Ershiba, mundane in her [Spirit Cuckoo] form. “A glimpse returned to us of your [Trial]. Such suffering goes beyond our ken.”

Shuidi hummed in flattery. “Venerable Ershiba, this young mistress would do so again, should you ask.”

“Bah. Shuidi’er, what use would that hold?”

Hua met their gaze. “We have spoken of futures, blood of my blood. Here, among a sea of prying ears, we will speak no more.”

The very world split behind them.

A diagonal rip that had Fu round violently, seeing there a score of perfect swordwork manifested through [Cherry River Fist’s] chest.

Both halves of his severed torso were warped things, ill-aligned upon the axis created by this stroke, and through these gaping wounds did flow a tide of petals.

Cherry hued, and dyed crimson.

Fu’s [Spirit] was struck with a pang of melancholy so profound it evoked an ocean’s depths. It ached of loss. Of… poorness, and dullness. As though the Jianghu grew dimmer and more hopeless for this masterful blow.

Wisps flowed.

“Grandmother,” he began.

“We will speak no more!” the dewy-cheeked Sage demanded. “No more,” came her echo, descending into whisper. “Eternally… in [Mind] and [Spirit], he ever believed himself Jiancai’s lesser. What cruelty this day delivers.”

“Jueshi Jiancai. [Cherry River Sword]. It is he the Fist could not see past.”

It spawned no retribution as Fu had expected, for in this madness he had lost sight of the simplicity. With the blindness he had sworn to operate in, none but Jinghui Hua knew the true allegiance of any.

Of Thirteen… no, of Twelve Calamities, each might covet the Throne themselves.

[Thrice Clouded Boa] audibly inhaled, as if a pleasant scent danced upon the breeze.

The [Plum Axe] dipped his head in reverence.

[Fourth Under Heaven] remained statuesque. Ponderous.

Gao Fu blurred, removing his attention from Calamitous affairs to land before his greatest quarry yet. “We may know of each other, venerable swarm. [Once Beggared Ghost],” he shared, allowing none but the twitching mass to overhear. “Fortune delivers an opportunity now. To speak before any further madness spreads.”

The blessing granted by [Looming Amaranth Tyrant] was all that held the swarm in their attention… no, their reality. What internalized [Dao], [Constellation Seeds] and [Suppressive Arts] clad them were truly without equal beneath these Heavens.

“Divinity speaks. Our nature is not to give. Even these sounds. Wasteful,” delivered the collective buzz.

“Then we will be brief,” offered Shuidi, [Primordial Law] ablaze in one pincer. “Your plight can be ended.”

Those of the swarm that could move increased across these words.

A lesser soul might feel their skin crawl.

“Plight. [Tribulation]. Both will be consumed to reach our end. All you will serve as is nourishment for the swarm.”

Fu stroked his whisker. “[Dances Upon an Ivory Sea] spoke of your remaining reason. There is an amicable soul within you. To him, we would speak.”

Agitation vibrated through the swarm.

“Not for a morsel.”

[Immortal Arbiter’s Soul] gleaned but scattered [Ink] from the swarm ahead. As said, their talents were peerless. A mark of possible frustration indeed, as none among the Fatherly [Asura] could spy exactly what [Tribulation] they might offer.

Even so, they instilled meaning into the sparks atop their palm. “It is said that a pool’s depth should not be judged in one glance. Relent, venerable ghost. We ask no more than this.”

Shuidi ever voiced her emotions. Her thoughts were as a shell-mounted banner. The same was not said for all [Spirit Insects].

Yet, the hunger before them flared plainly.

A single [Spirit Locust] entered the space closest to their [Primordial Law]. An empty vessel that nibbled not like a [Demon’s] force of Gu by simple proximity.

They hold the upper hand, for if we strike then we lose all chance to negotiate.

Seventeen freed themselves from Order.

One hundred and sixty two.

In mere breaths several thousand were circling as if an animate blizzard, following no reasonable or persuadable path of flight. To their rear the mass contorted and bound tight, shifting until much of the endless scourge had taken the form of an unnatural human, clad in wraps of dirtied fabric.

Its intonation was coarse and droning.

“Only one exists that might give what we cannot take,” it droned. “You, meal, are not they.”

The swarm surged.

With chain already flying, Fu blurred into the density of Black’s [Dragon], dreaming to sow chaos with [Once Beggared Ghost’s] perception amidst the rise of other, defiant bearers of [Primordial Law].

Three existed.

His dance rushed like an ancient tempest and these bodies, unmoving mountains. Betwixt a valley of furs, of fangs, of blades, and myriad emblems upon myriad hanfu he went, and when his [Senses] expanded-

[Spirit Roaches] burst as though a vile fountain, immersing him in the [Primordial Law of Gluttony].

He blurred again.

[Spirit Locusts] followed.

To Black’s [Advisor], they pursued.

To Cherry’s [Chariot], the same.

Black’s [Dragon], Cherry’s [Qirin], Cherry’s [Dragon], Black’s [General].

For each appearance there came a prediction, an instinct, of his next thousand steps. He would appear, round, strike, blur, and for every faster-than-thought act [Once Beggared Ghost] was upon him, devouring all they might.

Great tracts of absence had devastated each role Fu had leapt through.

Bodies consumed.

[Bloodlines] ended.

Cultivators and [Spirit Beasts] in their thousands of thousands, swallowed as [Once Beggared Ghost] pursued.

A black deed both for the performer and the one that led him.

But such were the hearts of ghosts.

“Cease. The route is plain,” buzzed mouths all about him.

Fu almost smiled. “Is that so?” he shared, and breathed deep of his pipe.

[Wind Phantom’s Breath: Impending Mortality Dew].

Fumes poured forth like a tide, soaking the unwitting, defenceless souls about him in captive horror as he wove and wove between golden Warship, golden banner, golden [Spirit Lion] and gold-clad cultivators alike.

[Ninth Under Heaven] occupied seven-tenths of Black’s [Artillery], presided over by [Cherry River Doctor] high above.

“The [Lord of Accumulation] would not be pleased,” offered Fu, landing atop the greatest of all Warships, some fable of a resplendent lion’s head, golden and a-roar, hosting only a single throne at the highest peak of mane.

[Impending Mortality Dew] crawled across its majesty like a putrescent beast, withering the flesh and [Inner Qi] of those it touched, turning [Spirit Lions] into emaciated, mortal things and making bone-tight figures of those whose golden hanfu now drowned them.

A hostile buzz delivered [Once Beggared Ghost] there.

“Once more, let us speak,” offered Fu, restraining his poisons so that they roamed no farther. “Else we fall into further disagreement.”

The filth-wrapped swarm grew louder. “Vexing.”

“Poor is the one that cannot weather small misfortunes.”

From atop the lion’s mane, something no-longer suspended, roared. Both ghosts slowed their reality by a mite to receive those that had leapt from above. The radiant gestalt of [Ninth Under Heaven] and his impossibility of a [Spirit Lion] landed to Fu’s rear, exposing him in the center of these perilous beings.

“Amituofo. Misfortune. The company of [True Golden Demon] would know such a concept as if kin,” voiced the Vajra Lord.

Little but a cloak shawled this golden form, and what armor held upon him was a singular plate of golden metal that flowed into rigid greaves and open toes. A strange composition, for the gleaming prayer beads and plain, abundant wealth shining from this existence seemed in direct conflict with one another.

For his beast, it seemed shackled by this same extremity of wealth. A divine light was its inner layer, trapped and supported by the flowing magma of myriad glints that comprised its fur.

“Lord Ninth,” dipped Fu. “Our last encounter was brief, and meaningful. That might be repeated, we hope.”

[Intent] flared from the Vajra Lord, and about him built a lengthy wall of screens. Patterned doorways for a count of nine, detailed with no more than simple characters denoting their number in the sequence.

Shuidi rushed their own [Intent] out so it might claim no further territory.

“Answer this ninth-rate daoist a question first, blood of the Sage’s blood,” offered the Lord. “By what metric is worth measured? Amituofo. A question of many possibilities.”

His [Tribulation] to acquire the [Sublime Primordial Spectre’s Shroud] had proved a thing of questions, thus Fu did not pause. “The worth of a thing is measured by its impact.”

“Just so,” mused Lord Ninth. “To a pauper, one satchel of rice is as the Heavens, yet to an Emperor, it is below consideration. This ninth-rate daoist asks then, by what foolishness do you believe your worth exists? To stand here. To engage. To treat with souls of Heaven’s near-equal. Amituofo, worth is held different in the eyes of many, such is the truth of this world. Yet this ninth-rate daoist sees no inherent value in this meeting.”

Fu smiled. “The wise man buys seeds in [Winter], while the fool invests only in [Summer’s] lumber.”

“Amituofo. The wise man ought already to have both,” the Lord shook. “These attempts are meaningless, [Lords of Tribulation]. No divine spark will fall, changing this ancient heart. The plans of millenia cannot be overcome by the unripened fruit of this current generation.”

[Clouded Sovereign’s Departure]. [Dao of Conquest’s Exhalation]. [Sovereign Clouded Existences Art].

Vast quantities of [Primordial Qi] suffused their threefold techniques, bypassing the previous ceilings of each. For this the Warships dragged, the cultivators crawled, and the characters upon Heaven’s [Ink] were mid-appearance as Shuidi drew something from their [Shrine of Final Skies].

Hushi flooded [Primordial Qi] into the [Hollow Realm Key], and in the same breath jettisoned it into the [Ninth Under Heaven’s] lion-headed vessel.

Locusts rained upon their location with swiftness unmatched, chasing only the remnants of a whisper upon the wind.

“The current generation?” it blew. “Better to rely on proven methods first, no?”