It was a pleasant night. A pleasant full moon night, the kind that poets might write sonnets about and painters might ruin by trying too hard. The moon hung fat and luminous in the sky, spilling its light over Mount Hua like a generous drunk with a bottle of the good stuff.
Li sipped his tea, a slow, deliberate gesture that mirrored the steady rhythm of his thoughts. The droplet of tea blood on his tongue, the intricate flavor unfolding like a delicate mana-infused flower. Plum Blossom Tea, Mount Hua's signature blend, brewed from leaves so rare they could bankrupt small nations if auctioned.
He savored it. Not just the tea, but the quiet. A mont to himself.
Which, predictably, did not last.
"Uncle!" Seraphina's voice cut through the serenity like a blade through silk. The door slid open with a sharp snap, and she marched in, arms folded, her silver hair catching the moonlight as it fanned behind her.
"Sera," Li greeted her with a soft smile, entirely unbothered by the intrusion. He placed his cup down with care, as if acknowledging her arrival didn't an abandoning his tea.
"Why are you bullying Arthur?" she demanded, her gaze as sharp as her tone.
Li raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in that maddeningly calm way he always did. "I'm not bullying him."
"You sent him to waterfall training for an entire day," she countered, her arms folding tighter. "If that's not bullying, I don't know what is."
Li chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the room like a rolling wave. "Sera, bullying is when soone does sothing with malicious intent. What I'm doing is ntorship."
"ntorship?" Seraphina echoed, her tone dripping with skepticism. "He's sitting under freezing water for hours. That's not ntorship, that's borderline torture!"
Li delicately set his teacup down, his movents precise and unhurried, as though the conversation required no urgency. He studied her for a mont, his gaze softening.
"You've changed," he said, his voice contemplative.
"What?" Seraphina blinked, the accusation catching her off guard.
"You've changed," he repeated. "You're standing here, arguing with , not because you disagree with my thods but because you're worried about him."
Her expression wavered for a fraction of a second before she steeled herself. "I'm not worried."
Li's smile grew wider, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. "You like him, don't you?"
"I don't," she shot back, the reply so quick it practically tripped over itself.
Li's laugh was a deep rumble, rich with amusent. "Sera, you're a terrible liar. But don't worry. I'm not one to ddle in the affairs of young lovebirds."
"I—" Seraphina sputtered, her cheeks darkening slightly. "That's not the point. And I don't like him!"
"Of course not," Li said smoothly, though his tone said otherwise. He picked up his teacup again, taking another slow sip as Seraphina glared daggers at him.
"But I'm still asking," she pressed, her voice sharp. "Why are you making him go through that? Surely there's a better way."
Li sighed, setting his tea down again with a quiet clink. His gaze grew distant for a mont, as though he were looking past her, past the room, into so distant mory or thought.
"When I t him," Li began, "I realized sothing. His talent... in terms of pure absorption and purification of mana, it's much lower than yours."
Seraphina frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. "That's not possible," she murmured, almost to herself. "He's a high Silver-ranker, and he reached that before I did."
"Exactly," Li nodded, the movent slow and deliberate. "And there's only one way that's possible. He's the kind of genius who becos a diamond under pressure. The type who thrives on desperation, on adversity. For soone like him, a perfect, safe environnt is wasted. He doesn't grow in the sunlight. He grows in the storm."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "And this storm is necessary because...?"
"Because he won't form a Grade 6 art the normal way," Li said simply. "He doesn't need protection. He needs resistance. He needs to fight, to struggle, to be pushed past what he thinks he can endure. That's where his talent shines. If I coddle him, if I make it easy, he'll never reach the heights he's capable of. He'll never realize what he's truly made of."
Seraphina's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression thoughtful. "And you're sure that's the only way?"
Li smiled again, softer this ti. "It's not about what's easiest, Sera. It's about what's right. For him, this is right. Trust on that."
She exhaled sharply, her gaze dropping for a mont before she t his eyes again. "Fine. But if I find out you're pushing him too hard—"
"You'll co storming into my room again, no doubt," Li interrupted, his grin widening. "Don't worry, Sera. I'm not trying to break him. I'm trying to make him unbreakable."
Li watched Seraphina leave, her silver hair catching the moonlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. "Don't hurt him," she'd said, folding her arms like a stern schoolmaster reprimanding a student. Li chuckled softly to himself as he gazed out the open window, the night air cool against his skin. The moon hung heavy and luminous in the sky, casting its silver glow over Mount Hua's peaks.
"I would never hurt a genius, Sera," he murmured to the night. His words, though quiet, carried weight. "But sotis, to forge a blade that sharp, you have to temper it in fire and ice."
__________________________________________________________________________________
The second day of waterfall training began much like the first—with questioning my life choices.
I sat beneath the crushing torrent of water, the sheer force of it pressing down on like the weight of a collapsing building. Each droplet felt like a hamr, and the sound of the waterfall was deafening, an endless roar that drowned out everything else. My body ached in places I didn't even know could ache, and my mind felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse.
According to Master Li, this was where I was supposed to find clarity. Sowhere in the chaos, the noise, the sheer discomfort, was an epiphany waiting to be grasped. Epiphany, conceptualization, application. A neat little process, on paper. In practice? It felt like trying to catch a slippery fish with bare hands while blindfolded.
The problem wasn't the waterfall itself—it was my own mind. Thoughts swirled in my head like the water crashing around . I replayed every battle, every mistake, every fleeting mont of insight. God Flash. The technique I wanted to evolve. The technique that wasn't truly mine yet.
I needed to make it mine. Not Lucifer's, not a relic of soone else's imagination, but sothing that resonated with . Sothing born from my own struggles, my own vision.
But how?
"Reimagine it," I muttered to myself, though the words were swallowed by the roar of the water. Easier said than done. Every ti I tried to picture the technique, it ca back to as it had always been—Lucifer's creation, reworked slightly with light mana but still fundantally his.
My hands clenched into fists, the cold water biting into my skin. I could feel frustration building in my chest, a tight knot that refused to loosen. How was I supposed to reimagine sothing when every fra of it was burned into my mory?
Focus, I told myself. Strip it down. What is God Flash at its core?
Speed. Precision. Devastation.
A movent so fast it transcended sight, so precise it left no room for error, so devastating it ended battles in an instant. That was the essence of it. But what did that an to ? What was my interpretation of speed, precision, devastation?
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the cold, the noise, the ache in my muscles. Images flickered in my mind—monts from the past, from battles, from training. The feeling of light mana coursing through , sharp and radiant. The exhilaration of pushing past my limits. The mont in the fight against Arkell where I stepped into the jaws of death and ca out alive.
That was it. That was the feeling I needed to capture. Not just speed, but the courage to move forward when every instinct scread at you to stop. Not just precision, but the clarity of knowing that one perfect strike could change everything. Not just devastation, but the will to stand against overwhelming odds and carve out a path with your own hands.
I opened my eyes, the water blurring my vision. I was close. I could feel it, just out of reach, like the faint glow of a distant star. But no matter how hard I tried to grasp it, it slipped through my fingers.
I exhaled, the breath shaky and uneven. The cold was starting to seep into my bones now, a dull ache that refused to be ignored. My hands trembled, not from fear or exhaustion, but from the sheer effort of holding on.
And then I heard her voice.
"Arthur."
It cut through the roar of the waterfall like a blade, sharp and clear. My head snapped up, my vision still hazy from the water, and I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes.
"Arthur," Seraphina's voice ca again, closer this ti, laced with a rare note of concern.
I looked at her, and the sight of her made gasp.
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