Children of Terra

~Established within the Heaven Blade Pavilion~ ~Long outside Ilyang Prefecture~ ~The youngest disciple~ ~Pruflas, demon by three quarters~       Almost single-handedly reviving the coffers of the Pavilion sect was one thing.  Each and every artifact was relic-grade; the days following full of the commotions of senior disciples breaking through in new revelations.  Morale was rising, just as the strength of the warriors within.  Among the lower ranks, though, was the other talk of the day.        The youngest disciple.  Prodigy.  Genius.  Peerless.  A hidden talent of the sect.  Such words were thrown along the halls with such repetition, you'd think the Heaven Blade Pavilion was the strongest sect in the Central Plains.  For, after the blatant dowry given, sect masters had gathered to gauge the spiritual root within Pruflas.  It was said that many were brought to tears beholding the result.  A yin-yang body so pure some allegedly sat and cultivated right on the spot.        It was all rather embarrassing, to Pruflas.  He and his new senior brother Cha Soryung were currently in the isolation hall, for the senior to help guide the younger through the stages of foundation.  The pair were sat in the middle of the red-wood hall, just the two, with Soryung in lotus position across from Pruflas.  The demon stared at the focusing figure a moment, assessing himself and his position before joining in cultivation.  Pruflas is a difficult name to begin with.  I don't even remember where I heard the name Bufas before . . . how fitting it is, though, I take that moniker back.  Bu Fas.  Pruflas -- now Bu Fas -- chuckled, before sighing out a slow breath and placing his hands in the proper lotus position.        If Soryung noticed anything, he gave no sign -- the raw image of meditation.  The senior brother spoke with a low, even tone of long understanding.  "Bu, all strength lies in the foundation.  Your talent is but one layer upon to build your strength.  That inner energy must be harnessed as a river, as the fish within, as the sky above, and air around.  Imagine it flowing within your core, your dantian.  Stabilize it into calm waters."  A while passed in silence, before Soryung opened his eyes to see how well young Bu had it.  His eyes widened.  Impossible.  It's been only . . .        Bu Fas sat before the senior as though a Buddhist monument.  Soryung focused Qi into his eyes, gazing at the form within Bu.  Yin and yang in perfect harmony . . . f-flawless.  Soryung felt himself going mad beholding the inner flow, falling headfirst into a state of true understanding, where all thought and meaning melt into nothing, save the tranquility of itself.  It was only the movement of baleful yellow eyes, above the image of Qi, staring back at Soryung; did he notice the world then.  Bu gave a small smile to him, asking "What next, senior?"        For just a moment, one fleeting instinctual realization, Soryung saw the calm repose of the junior before him; and thought Bu couldn't be human.  His own chest slowly turned afire from holding a breath, which he had to force out and refresh, just like a deer in headlights.  Oxygen jolted the brain back into action, Soryung elaborating.  "I-next is, ah . . . "  What the hell is the next step, again?  He took another breath.  Ah, of course.  "Just as air fills the lungs, spreading clarity within; direct the Qi within yourself.  You must focus on your extremities.  Imagine the flow circulating all to the fingertips, the toes, and returning to the core.  First is flow.  A cycle.  Then, like a pure spring, all the detritus is washed away."  This time, Soryung kept his attention on the meditating junior, intent to watch the old process -- with new appreciation.        Bu Fas kept the imagery in mind, where he had the cheat code alongside.  Anatomical diagrams flooded his mind as he circulated Qi, all the way to the extremities, modeling tendrils of a man o'war.  Impulse-circuit nerve arcs flashed throughout, waves of Qi-aether flowing inside him with roughness.  Novelty of the application made Bu's entire body prick-and-needle all over, him clenching his jaw to focus through it.  I can certainly feel the detritus being scoured . . . It was an odd sensation, much like the fleshy lumps of phlegm-snot rolling out of the nose.  But all inside and over.  Eugh.  The gag reflex seized him then, forcing his body into a full-spasm; nausea washing over his mind.  His throat wet in anticipation.        His abs forced him forward, hunching.  Bu caught the hurtling sight of Soryung rolling aside, just before he vomited the most awful smelling goo imaginable.  Reflex forced his hands down into the grime-puddle, which conscious thought registered as warm and revolting.  Bu could feel the murk leave him out of every pore.  His nose became an ass; airy squirts out, ears draining, eyes crying, and skin slicking as pores crapped out more impurity.  The worst part was how indistinguishable the black mass was.  If it didn't literally just happen, Bu would have assumed a bunch of cows came into the room to take a shit on the floor.        He was sweaty.  Could feel it all over.  Cold relief dunked him in new awareness, a clarity of mind unlike what he had truly known before.  With a sigh out, Bu staggered up out of the puddle, a couple steps back akin a newborn.  He looked about the room, seeing Soryung off a ways, staring back in shock.  What?  Is the smell that bad?  Well, it was true, his robes were laden in murk and grime now, weighed down on his shoulders and skin.  Fuck, I could clean this shit off, but I might as well just take the mask off doing that.  A huff of resignation.         "Brother Soryung?  Do you have spare robes?"       ~Meanwhile~ ~The captive of Zaha Inn~ ~Now, who does that refer to?~ ~Vykan, half a man~     Probably conjunctivitis.  Or some appropriate colloquialism of.  Motherfucker.  Vykan had conjunctivitis enough in the past to know immediately the feeling.  That feeling of coarseness with every twitch of the eye, every blink, every look in a new direction.  He would swear the imprint of his outer eye seared new, every flinch of pain, every pulse of heartbeat.  Every.  Fucking.  Heart.  Beat.  Were they even his eyes anymore?  At the worst of times, Vykan felt he could just reach up and scoop out the rotten grapes and be done with it.        He ended up deciding to close his eyes for as long of periods as possible.  Boring as sin, yes, but cut down on the un-comfort by a margin.  Given everything else, he was fearing his uselessness toward his; really his only, benefactor.  Such a depressing state to be in; it was hard not to think of himself as a literal parasite upon the poor Gyeoul-Ah.  But that's life, Vykan often reminded himself.  What else is there to do?        Another waking moment of him in bed, before morning's light.  Always the first things were the pains of the mind, the pulse of the eyes, the aches of joints.  Just another day.  He closed his eyes yet again, settling against the sheets.  Not like there was a point to gazing out the window.  Or opening it, first of all.  With the compromised sinus linings, he couldn't smell a damn thing anyway.  Vision was painful, and he was so fucking weak that movement at all felt like a drain of his life force.        Just the Stygian, and his mind to contend with.  Mostly it was long periods of nothing at all, seemed even the brain wanted nothing to do.  There were times he felt annoyance, though.  Faint registrations that life itself was just outside.  All that glory and wonder, and he sat in the same room rotting.  With nothing else to do, Vykan spent more time observing these thoughts and impellations.  What was the true source of this feeling?        Usually, one trusts the gut instinct.  Immediately after thinking that, Vykan felt the shame of Mega-City One.  Of the range outside Asia Minor.  No, don't trust the gut instinct, the little doubt said.  I must view myself through the lens of criticism.  No other conclusion can be drawn from the results.  I have a sociopathy that grows worse in time.  An apathy that threatens to overtake all the innocence left.  Vykan chuckled in the bed, propped up.  Gyeoul-Ah was right about that.  Decisions outside my own.  I gave my fucking will away like candy.        He really did think it was a game, at the beginning.  Kill demons.  It seemed so simple.  Fuck.  What a goddamn shit-show of it all . . .         That was when Vykan noticed it.  A disturbance in the morning-dark of his room, drawing his eyes to open and behold in pain.  A dark figure by the bedside!  Vykan feared this.  The worst nightmare of all;  the night terrors of yore.  Those figures that loom overhead, boring with inhuman coldness for agony.  Was it time?!  His heart began to beat fast at the racing thoughts, bracing for new terrors.  Of course it wasn't enough.  The rapid heartbeat twisted in his orbitals, making him clench his jaw from the discomfort.        All his motions drew one from the figure.  At first, the darkness occluded details.  But, with the shift in form, Vykan's mind could finally perceive the shape.  An arm.  It shifted first, out and just before touching his shin.  Tracing the outline back, Vykan finally saw a head.        The realization made him blank out for a long while, drained of all further thought.        He stared for until the eyes watered.  Goddamned conjunctivitis.  He grumbled as he fell back into the bed, sheets cool to the touch, before the slow ebb to heat wrapped around him.  Hmm . . . should I ask her why she's here?  No quicker way to make an ass than assume.  Right, we don't need speculation.  Simply accept that by the bedside she is.  From Vykan's now-racing thoughts, acceptance was harder than he romanticized.  Morning couldn't come quick enough.        Hours later, he detected her motions.  Just before the sun proper, when the horizon is faint blue, air at the briskest.  He peeped with tender eyes down to the bedside, immediately noting far more skin than he'd seen in far too long, his heart skipping like a stone at the jarring sight.  Her hair was let down, waving along her shoulder -- the robes loose -- he trembled under the comforter sheet, turning to the window in a spate of emotion.        "Hah-hello!  . . . early morning.  Ahem, hm."  Emotions made him blurt the words out, him immediately regretting just doing that very thing.  Yep, another fuckin' day . . . From the way she stopped, he almost ventured the thinking she had chosen spontaneously her sleeping spot.  She stood there so long he finally looked back, gauging what her body language said.  It didn't take too long to see the change.  Her eyes, once again.  Even just the one night they had brightened noticeably, dark pits were visibly less.  It took an enormous effort to keep focus, given his itchy eyes, and . . . how low cut her robe was at the moment.  He had to break off staring since she wasn't saying anything, with a small cough.        A while longer passed before she turned and sat on the bed, fixing her robe in soft silence.  She kept the hair loose, but with an affirming tug of her adjusting knot, she spoke.  "Tranquil peace to you as well."        One of these days, huh?  Vykan didn't quite have the fortitude to strike up a new conversation, since his mind was elsewhere.  How the hell can robes hide tits that big, man?  My god, those jiggling curves . . . He hoped to god he wasn't blushing.  He must've been at least fidgeting, given her next question.        "Are you feeling well?"        "Yeah!  Yes."  No, fuck.  Divert!  "You, slept in my room?"  Just send it.  Anything's better than admitting what the hell I'm thinking.        Gyeoul-Ah shifted on the bed, her one-layer night robe failing to conceal much.  "I apologize.  It was . . . a hasty decision."        Vykan finally had the wherewithal to distract from his baser emotion.  It did take concentration, that being.  "I don't mind, Gyeoul-Ah.  I am more - "  He broke off because she turned her face down.  What?  He wracked his brain.  "Was it cold?  Did you - "        "Ah is a suffix."  Seeing him un-moving, she continued.  "I am simply Gyeoul by name.  Gyeoul-Ah is what those close say."        Vykan knew he was blushing now.  His whole face was on fire.  Just one thing after another.  He could feel his throat trembling, so he waited until he felt confident enough to speak.  "Ah, I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  How rude of me."        She got up, walking rather briskly to the door.  Vykan felt he fucked up; until her voice called over her shoulder.  "You'll have your bath in the morning to make it up to me."  She left the room then.        He closed his eyes with a long exhale.  Of all the things he had to endure, he hated baths the most.       ~Heaven Blade Pavilion~ ~Cleaned and freshened~ ~Bu Fas, prodigal disciple~     Clothes maketh man.  Bu Fas adjusted his wrist liner, trying to recall where that phrase came from.  He was an incubus at heart, at least by majority.  He knew the effect he had on human perception.  Used to it by the long centuries.  This is why the difference was stark, now.  The way servants stared at him in his new quarters for fitting, females with their giggles; males with awe, admiration, or even lust themselves.  Once the bath was over, and body exposed in the mirror, he was forced to see why.        What the fuck, happened?  Cultivation could do that?  Cha Soryung had been telling Bu back in the training hall about the effects foundation training had on the outer form.  The revitalization of skin and flesh with Qi suffusion.  The inner energy threatening to leap out in waves if the cultivator was poor in control.  Bu had looked his body over, every fibre clear, firm, tense.  Clear vascular strength on display.  He could trace lines from his hand all to pectoral, in one, solid sweep.  Fucking obscene, in his opinion.  High single digit body fat appearance . . . ah, just unbelievable.        Soryung didn't stop there, seeming under the effect of mania then.  The senior had sputtered on about the other stages of foundation; blood, bones, tendons, muscles, mind, spirit, reaffirmation training.  Totality.  The implication was clear, being that Bu exceeded even Soryung's expectations.        With a final tug of the lapel folds, collar adjustment, Bu left the room, heady from new sensation.  This is the kind of power my family wanted to deny.  The Arches themselves might have joined the hunt had I tried this on Earth.  Down the corridors Bu went, heading to the training hall to continue.  He was supremely confident to blitz the foundation stage, and felt the call of a sensation he hadn't in eons.  The desire to openly defy fate.  True face emblazoned to the world itself.  It was this Bu Fas that swept into the hall, the other juniors noticing with baited breaths for new revelations.        Senior Soryung was seated by the weapon racks, mostly swords as befitting the Heaven Blade thing.  The man looked up as the easily identified figure walked in -- white hair, yellow eyes -- and gave a wave from across the hall.  "Brother Bu!  We have yet new training today!  You passed early foundation with ease; yes, but we mustn't forget the sword forms."  Soryung beamed, knowing by association his own reputation would rise.        Bu stopped and bowed with cupped hands, as proper, before speaking.  "Brother Soryung.  I am in your hands."        Being called by the given name seemed to bring Soryung to new elation.  He stood and bowed back, before gesturing to the rack of wooden blades.  "We have weighted, balanced blades of all variety, brother.  You will of course get your own forged blade, but we must determine what suits you best.  So today serves both purposes.  We train the forms, and find your balance.  Please, pick at your leisure.  I will wait in the hall center."  With demonstration, Soryung used Qi-telekinesis to pull a sword from the rack, before heading to the floor and meditating.        Bu watched for a moment, as the hall slowly returned to normal training, then turned back to choose his blade.  Hm, I haven't done formal training since I was a whelp-ling.  I miss those days in Inferno, when my brothers were happy . . . We used to spar all the time, back when I had yet chosen magia.  Bu found himself reminiscing for longer than anticipated, staring at the blades.  He shook his head, a loud crack of a spar behind refocusing him, and picked a wooden sword most closely matching the ones he used as a demon-lad.        Experimentally rolling it from his fingertips through the air, Bu placed himself on the floor directly across Soryung.  Around the hall became quiet, as juniors and seniors stilled to watch.  Bu closed his eyes, remembering the starting positions of his youth.  With a calm out-breath, he held the blade one-handed in low guard, askew stance like fencing.        Soryung stood slowly, wooden blade in-hand.  An interesting stance.  He's had some kind of training, then.  Soryung slowly went through the first form of the Heaven Blade technique, blade circling as like the sun, before hitting the zenith.  Holding the position, the senior spoke, loud enough for the hall to appreciate.  "The Heaven Blade technique is one of absolute conviction.  You trust the swing, the offensive, just as the Heavens themselves in their divine law.  The first strike is then the most common.  The quickest path to strike down those that oppose Heaven itself."        What happened next was not lost on Bu's eyes, the aether-attunement fixating on the split second when Qi flashed both along the blade edge, and Soryung's eyes.  It was luminous gold, an arc from high straight down to Bu.  The demon went for a parry of small angle, to direct the blade off, before a straight poke to Soryung's forehead.        That is not what happened.  Bu was able to see in the moment, him knowing immediately he was no match for Soryung if they truly fought.  Right as the blades locked, Soryung pushed off the ground, flipping about his core, bringing the momentum of the high arc into a low uppercut reversal.  It was the senior speaking from the pirouette, that Bu knew he was a true junior.  "The second form of the Heaven Blade is Night Reversal.  We must never forget the cycle of the Heavens even as they vanish.  The Heavens always return."        Bu had to cross to block the second strike.  The vengeful uppercut hit like tonnes, forcing Bu into the air, arms trembling from the attack.  He felt his feet hit the floor, heating from inertia as he slid.  Through it all, his mind was as clear as ever.  Because he felt it; Qi radiating from Soryung.  It was like fresh air to Bu.  He planted harder, forcing himself to a stop, arms still a-tremble.  With unsteady breath, he was just about to speak, when applause cut him off.  He looked around the hall then.        Soryung was smiling.  "I slowed the attack to match your level, but even still, Bu.  It has been a long time for a fresh junior to remain standing, let alone block an attack most dodge . . . if they even see it at all."        Bu laughed, small.  Reflexive.  It was the nervousness of applause.  He hung his head, absorbing it.  He smiled to himself, a moment, before raising his head, bowing.  "My thanks.  Again?"        Soryung broke into a nigh-feral grin.  "Let us."  He assumed the first form once more.        This time, Bu held the low guard, but springier in footwork, readying his thighs for explosions to either side.  Soryung allowed a moment of mental readiness before flashing Qi and slicing downward again.  Bu made for the same parry; until fainting off to the side, ducking to drag his blade along Soryung's gut.        It was the speed of it that truly shook Bu.  He had felt this speed only once before.  When he fought Beelzebub.  Instead of an uppercut reversal, Soryung spun in the same direction as Bu -- heading the demon in diagonal cutoff; placing the senior right in Bu's open zone -- using one foot as a pivot; the other as the inertia lever.  The blade switched from high cut to round swing, Soryung planting his spinning foot right as the blade threatened to carve Bu in two about the hip.  Throughout it all came the lesson.        "The Heavens flow in cycles, yes.  Yet even they twinkle.  A subtle change.  If you fixate upon a single star, you fail to account the constellation from which that star partakes.  Just as one star branches, the first form flows into many.  You see now the third form of Heaven Blade; Star-Line."        It was not a blow that could be avoided.  Bu had only one option.  In the moments Soryung spoke, he slipped the blade pommel down, catching Soryung's blade on it.  A valiant effort, yes, but it did not stop Soryung's strike.  The wood blade knocked Bu's own across the room, before planting hard into Bu's oblique, and flinging the demon aside in turn.        Bu was winded, and bruised from the pain.  He flew across the room, tumbling in ragdoll, groaning.  Fucking hell,  I think he strained the ribs . . . The Qi made Bu aware of the other fact.  Had he been in a real fight then, that would have been death.  Unless he countered with magia . . . With labor, Bu sat up and looked across the hall.  Shock.  On many of the faces.  Even Soryung was staring at his own blade.  With Bu's eyes, the demon could see the source, even as far as it was.        Where the blade met pommel, a large dent split the wood.       ~Later in the morning~ ~Zaha Inn~ ~On Gyeoul-Ah's back~ ~Vykan~     Bath time sucked ass.  The routine was simple, strange in familiarity of concept; jarring that he had to live it.  He was not washed in his room, no.  He was carried on Gyeoul-Ah's back to the washing rooms, her hot flesh scalding on its own.  The difference now she still had her one-layer robe on, hair still down.  The way his own body pressed against her plump flesh drove him nearly mad.  It was almost intentional, the way she held his thighs to her sides, forcing him against her back . . . Vykan had to actually grip around her neck to avoid flipping over.  Oh my god, please.  Don't let my concentration waver . . .        He had to tolerate the new development with as much dignity as he could.  Her hair cluttered his face -- he was sure he'd be smelling her if his smell-sense worked -- her body jiggling with her steps to the bathing hall, him grinding against her almost more from the way she carried him.  Her hands kept adjusting him close.  I can do this.  As long as there are no splashes, I can do this . . . Just think of the routine.  We have to wash the body first.  Suds.  Soap.  Wrong direction, oh, fuck.  Right when danger was about to press into her, Vykan was lifted off and steadied on booth bench, so he could hold his weak body against something, before Gyeoul-Ah stepped off to gather the supplies.        Vykan felt ghost spasms in his chest, his heart palpitating.  Gyeoul-Ah was fucking him up, all day, and it was only going to get worse.        I can't do this.  The way her back rolled under his chest; silk did the exact opposite of separate them.  If anything, it made her figure more clear in his mind.  He had to clutch her collar so firm he might as well have been groping her upper chest.  The way the bones curved into the soft flesh . . . above all, was the motion transference that seared his fucking memory.  Her thighs transferred every step to jiggle her tits.  And every time this happened, the silk shifted beneath Vykan's hands.  He had to suffer the knowledge that her rocking boobs tugged just inches below his grasp.  His head had been right in the hollow of her neck, nestled almost cheek-against-cheek.        Thank god I'm sick.  I think I might be jacking off right now if I could get it up.        The corner where Gyeoul-Ah placed him was secluded.  Textured stone slabs marked the hall, enough to prevent slips, but smooth to not rough skin.  It was natural colored, easy on the eyes, almost like a spring.  The matte texture absorbed what wall-lanterns lit the hall.  Humidity did little to distract, Vykan already thinking of how her silk was sure to cling.        He was almost calm again, heart near normal, when she returned.  The bathing mixture was readied, with soft bathing linen in her right hand.  She stood behind him, preparing by dunking the linen in water and bathing mixture.  By now, he knew to brace his hands against the wall, too weak to do a damn thing.  Normally, she was quiet, as was her usual.  Today, she spoke as warm water began to run his hair.  Vykan felt as it hit the scalp, running along the hair bases down his neck.        "You have an easy spirit to read, tadpole."        She was beginning to massage his hair when he replied.  "I doubt I can hide much from you anymore.  I don't think I'm able to."        The first rinse.  Warm water and soap-like mixture sloughed his vision, skin wet.  Her hands came to his neck, linen running along his curve.  "I know."        Gyeoul-Ah was working his one arm, then the other when he spoke again.  "Why did you sleep in my room?"        Warm water once more cleansed his neck and arms.  She lifted to wipe his pits with warm linen.  It made a while of silence, broken by her soft, low tone right behind his ear.  "When I sleep, I have nightmares, Vykan.  The kind that keep one awake."  She began to work his back, moving in the directions of his atrophied muscles.  "They have struck since I was a girl.  My whole life I had them.  That was why my sister, Hongshin, and I began to cultivate.  To fight them off as best we could.  Just the two of us."  Warm water cascaded his back after a moment.        Vykan knew the next phase.  But, unlike what he had been earlier fearing, he was relieved the momentary lust dimmed.  Her story grounded him.  So when she came around, her silk dampened and alluring; yes, Vykan felt no immediate shame.  He already knew why she slept in his room.  He simply wanted to show he understood, as she began to massage his face in tender ministration.  "If a gesture as simple as sharing a bed with me eases you, Gyeoul, I beg you to stay in my *pbbt* "  He was trying to speak when she suddenly poured water in his face.  Not at an angle to be mean, but she poured intentionally to disrupt him.  He sputtered water from his mouth to speak.  "W-what was that?"        "Gyeoul-Ah."  Vykan was still shaking water from his eyes, he failed to see how close she brought her face.  He froze right as he pulled his bangs from his face, red-wine irises just a breath away.        He ghosted the next word so low, it was nearly lost to dripping water.  " . . . what?"        "Gyeoul-Ah."  The fixed gaze had him like headlights.  He could only stare at her face.  She held the gaze for so long his beating heart again slowed, before she brought the linen from periphery to his chest, finally breaking the stare.        Even as she worked his chest, washing it with slightly cooler water, he didn't speak.        It was her question that broke the silent bathing, now knelt to get his core and sides.  Even though the angle let him see her cleavage, he felt calm somehow.  "I love the color of your eyes."        Hazel?  Still no strength to actually put it into words.        Without looking up, she washed his sides down, the water pooling at the silk wrap of his waist, slowly filtering through.  Gyeoul-Ah elaborated.  "It's beautiful the way gold pockmarks your viridian base."        Vykan's heart stopped.  For more than a single beat, absorbing that.  His vision blurred from it.  Not tears; the raw confusion of true bafflement.  "W-what?  I-I - "        She tugged his silk off finally, the novelty of it long since gone.  Gyeoul-Ah washed all of him; not the first time.  She was washing his inner legs dutifully, until looking up with some confusion.        "Ah, I should have said that sooner.  Foundation cultivation changes your appearance."       ~End of that day~ ~Heaven Blade Pavilion~ ~Now battered, but elated~ ~Bu Fas, once-Pruflas, once-Bufas~     Soryung and Bu were still in the training hall, orange dusk of Spring filtering between the red-painted pillars.  Treetop shadows dance-swayed at angles along the floor mat.  Bu was panting, exhausted from the day of intermittent sword play, and then cultivation.  He was nothing but happy, that said, now on a clear path to strength.        His senior was happy for different reasons, swelled at having such a prodigy under his mold.  The man was currently mending the broken swords he could, attendants helping on occasion, running to fetch the tools and things Soryung called for.  Infusing Qi into the wood, Soryung asked Bu the question.  "Why does someone like you seek the Jianghu, Bu?"  It was time to see if this prodigy needed culling before bloom.        From laid repose, Bu spoke back.  It was time to plant the seeds of narration.  "I need the strength to help and protect my brother.  We come from beyond, far West, since he has ill constitution."        As much as Soryung already trusted Bu from the swordsmanship the junior displayed -- it was honest -- due diligence demanded some manner of proof.  "It sounds as he traveled with you?"        "Yes.  We were able to make it as far as Ilyang Prefecture, before I left him in the care of Zaha Inn.  Part of why I had the herbs, senior, is to see if a medicine can be concocted for him."  Bu sat up then, to stare at Soryung while the man replied.        Soryung nodded, laying the mended wood blade at his side.  I like this Bu, very much.  With a smiling sigh, Soryung gave his answer.  "I will vouch for you for as long as I have breath, Bu Fas."