I spend the morning learning what the brush can do.
The Canvas of the Abyss responds to my thoughts like an extension of my own body, growing and shrinking at will. When I focus, it extends from a simple calligraphy brush to a staff taller than I am. When I relax, it returns to its original size, light as a feather in my hand.
But size manipulation is just the beginning.
The real power lies in what it can create. When I touch the bristles to any surface, the wall, the table, even the air itself, they leave trails of liquid darkness that solidify into whatever I envision. The characters aren't just ink; they're bindings that can alter reality itself.
I start small, drawing a simple flame symbol on my palm. Heat blooms from the mark, warming my skin without burning it. When I trace a water character in the air, moisture condenses from nothing, forming droplets that fall to the floor like rain.
For the first time in my life, I can do magic. Real, tangible magic that responds to my will instead of mocking my limitations. The irony isn't lost on me, I've gained the power I always wanted just when I no longer need anyone's approval to use it.
The System provides guidance through floating text that appears whenever I need it, explaining techniques and limitations in clinical detail. According to the interface, I'm currently at the most basic level of power. The brush has nine seals, and only the first has been released. Even so, the abilities available to me are staggering.
*AVAILABLE TECHNIQUES:*
*- Soul Glimpse: Sense the emotions and surface feelings of any person you focus on*
*- Basic Illusions: Create convincing visual and auditory deceptions*
*- Soul Seal: Bind up to 5 individuals, making them unable to disobey your direct commands*
*- Minor Reality Inscription: Alter physical laws within small areas*
*WARNING: Soul Seal subjects retain their memories and personalities but cannot resist direct orders. Use with caution. Extensive use without proper preparation may cause soul strain. Begin with simple applications and build gradually.*
Soul strain. The phrase makes me pause. Everything has a price, even power freely given. But after eighteen years of having nothing, the idea of limitations feels almost quaint.
I decide to test the most intriguing ability first. Soul Glimpse sounds like exactly what I need to navigate the social maze of the Academy with my new advantages. If I can sense people's emotions and feelings, I'll finally understand what drives them beneath their carefully constructed masks.
But I need a test subject, someone whose emotions I can safely examine without causing suspicion. The answer comes to me immediately: Li Wei, the only student who's ever bothered to treat me like a human being. If anyone deserves to have their good nature confirmed, it's him.
I arrive at the Academy early, positioning myself near the main entrance where I can intercept Li Wei before classes begin. The Abyssal Brush rests in my backpack, disguised as an ordinary calligraphy set for art class. To anyone else, I look like the same powerless student I've always been.
The irony of that deception brings a smile to my lips.
Li Wei arrives ten minutes before the first bell, walking with the slightly hurried pace of someone who meant to leave home earlier but got distracted. His uniform is rumpled as always, his homework bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. When he spots me, his face brightens with genuine pleasure.
"Feng! I was wondering if you were okay. You missed Theory yesterday, and Professor Lin was asking about you."
His concern seems real, untainted by pity or condescension. But I've learned not to trust appearances. People are skilled at hiding their true natures, especially from someone they consider beneath their notice.
"I'm fine," I tell him, falling into step beside him as we enter the building. "Just dealing with some family issues."
"Everything alright at home?"
The question gives me the opening I need. I focus my attention on him while maintaining casual conversation, activating Soul Glimpse.
A rush of emotions flows into my perception like a gentle tide. I can feel Li Wei's dominant feelings, loneliness, insecurity, genuine concern for my wellbeing. There's a warmth there, an authentic desire to help that has nothing to do with pity or social obligation. He's worried about me, genuinely afraid that something bad has happened to my family.
But beneath the concern, I sense deeper currents: fear of rejection, anxiety about his own magical abilities, the constant worry that he doesn't belong among his more talented classmates. His kindness toward me comes from recognizing a fellow outcast, someone who understands what it feels like to be different.
The emotional reading fades, leaving me with a clear understanding of his character. Li Wei is exactly what he appears to be, a decent person trying to survive in an indecent world. The knowledge should comfort me, but instead it creates an unexpected complication.
If I proceed with my plans, Li Wei will inevitably be caught in the crossfire. Can I justify destroying the innocent along with the guilty? More importantly, do I care enough about his welfare to let it influence my decisions?
The answer comes to me with startling clarity: no.
My grandmother was innocent too, and it didn't save her. The world doesn't protect good people simply because they're good. If Li Wei gets hurt because he chose the wrong friends, that's a consequence of his choices, not my responsibility.
The realization should disturb me, but it doesn't. Instead, I feel a cold satisfaction at my own clarity of purpose. Sentiment is a luxury I can no longer afford.
"Feng? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I blink, returning my attention to Li Wei's concerned face. We've stopped walking, and other students flow around us in the hallway, their conversations creating a background hum of casual cruelty and casual kindness in equal measure.
"Just tired," I tell him. "Haven't been sleeping well."
"Yeah, I get that. Hey, you want to sit together at lunch? I heard they're serving actual meat today instead of that processed stuff."
The invitation is offered with the same genuine warmth I saw in his soul. Part of me wants to accept, to pretend for a few more hours that friendship and normalcy are still possible. But I have more important work to do.
"Maybe tomorrow," I say. "I have some things to take care of first."
He nods, understanding but disappointed. "Sure, no problem. Just... take care of yourself, okay? You seem different lately."
Different. If only he knew.
We part ways at the intersection of two corridors, Li Wei heading toward his Advanced Transmutation class while I make my way to Theoretical Foundations. But I don't go to my classroom immediately. Instead, I take a detour through the Academy's social areas, looking for a very specific person.
I find Yu Chen in the third-floor lounge, holding court as usual. She's describing something with animated gestures while her followers hang on every word. The sight of her, healthy, happy, completely untouched by the consequences of her actions, makes the darkness in my chest surge with anticipation.
Today marks the beginning of her education in cause and effect.
I approach the group slowly, keeping my expression neutral and unthreatening. As I draw closer, I can make out the topic of conversation: a new restaurant that opened in the Arcanocrat district, one that charges more for a single meal than most Lower Wuhan families see in a month.
"and the way they present the dessert is just divine," Yu Chen is saying. "They create these little butterflies made of spun sugar that actually fly around your table before dissolving on your tongue."
Her friend Chen Lihua sighs dramatically. "That sounds amazing. My parents are so boring, they only ever go to the same three places."
"You should come with us next time," Yu Chen offers generously. "Father doesn't mind paying for my friends, and it's always more fun with a larger group."
The casual display of wealth, the thoughtless generosity that comes from never knowing want, it's exactly the kind of scene that would have filled me with bitter envy just a week ago. Now it simply feels like reconnaissance.
I pause at the edge of their social circle, close enough to be noticed but far enough away to avoid seeming presumptuous. Several of Yu Chen's friends glance at me with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to open disdain. But Yu Chen herself doesn't acknowledge my presence at all.
Perfect. Her dismissiveness will make what comes next even more satisfying.
I wait until there's a natural pause in the conversation, then clear my throat softly.
"Excuse me," I say, directing my words to Yu Chen with carefully manufactured hesitance. "I wanted to thank you."
The group falls silent, all eyes turning to me with surprise and barely concealed amusement. Yu Chen's eyebrows rise in mock interest.
"Thank me? For what?"
"For the lesson you taught me yesterday," I say, letting sincerity ring in my voice. "About natural hierarchies and knowing one's place. You were right, fighting against the way things are only brings suffering."
Her smile sharpens with predatory pleasure. She's enjoying this moment of public validation, this confirmation of her worldview from someone she's successfully broken.
"Oh, that," she says dismissively. "I was just trying to help you understand reality. Some people need things explained more... directly."
Her friends titter at the casual cruelty, but I maintain my grateful expression.
"Well, it worked. I wanted to apologize for being so argumentative before. And to give you this."
I reach into my backpack and withdraw a small wrapped package, presenting it to her with the deference expected of someone accepting their place in the natural order.
Yu Chen takes the package with obvious curiosity, her friends leaning forward to get a better look. She tears away the simple paper wrapping to reveal what appears to be a small sketch pad, bound in black leather with her initials embossed in gold on the cover.
"It's beautiful," she says, and for once her surprise seems genuine. "You made this?"
"I thought you might like somewhere to record your thoughts," I explain. "Someone as insightful as you should preserve their wisdom for others to learn from."
The flattery hits its mark perfectly. Yu Chen's smile becomes almost warm as she flips through the blank pages, admiring the quality of the paper and binding.
What she can't see are the nearly invisible characters I inscribed on every page using the Abyssal Brush. Characters that will activate the moment she writes her first entry, creating a subtle influence over her thoughts and emotions. Not control, not yet, but a way to gently guide her decisions in directions that will eventually lead to her downfall.
She thinks she's receiving a gift from a broken admirer. In reality, she's accepting the first step toward her own destruction.
"This is very thoughtful," she says, tucking the journal into her expensive bag. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all, Feng."
"Thank you," I say, bowing slightly. "I should let you get back to your conversation. I just wanted you to know how much your guidance meant to me."
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.
"Oh, Feng? One more thing."
I look back expectantly.
"My grandmother mentioned that your family experienced a loss recently. Please accept my condolences."
The words hit like a physical blow. Not because they're cruel, quite the opposite. They're delivered with what sounds like genuine sympathy, as if she actually cares about my grief. The cognitive dissonance is staggering: this is the same person who destroyed my grandmother's reputation for entertainment, now offering comfort for her death.
It's the most inhuman thing she could have said, and she doesn't even realize it.
"Thank you," I manage, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. "That means a great deal."
I walk away before I do something that would ruin everything. Behind me, I can hear Yu Chen's friends praising her compassion, talking about how gracious it was of her to acknowledge the death of a servant.
The journal in her bag has already begun its work. I can feel a faint connection forming, a thin thread of influence that will strengthen each time she writes in it. Soon I'll be able to subtly shape her emotions and decisions, guiding her toward choices that will reveal her true nature to the world.
But more than that, when the time is right, I'll have the perfect opportunity to use Soul Seal on her. The journal will make her trust me, lower her defenses, until she's vulnerable enough for me to bind her will permanently.
I make my way to my first class with a lightness in my step that has nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with anticipation. The Canvas of the Abyss pulses gently in my backpack, responding to my satisfaction with warmth that seeps through the fabric.
Power tastes different than I expected. Not bitter or overwhelming, but clean and sharp like winter air. It's addictive in the way that breathing is addictive, something I now can't imagine living without.
As I settle into my seat in Theoretical Foundations, I catch sight of my reflection in the classroom window. The same unremarkable face looks back at me, but something fundamental has changed in the way I carry myself.
I no longer look like a victim.
Professor Lin begins his lecture on the mathematical principles underlying magical transformation, but I barely listen. I already understand the theory better than he does. What matters now is the practical application of power, and I have so many lessons to teach.
The first seal of the Abyssal Brush has given me abilities beyond my wildest dreams. But according to the System, eight more seals remain, each one promising exponentially greater power.
I think about Yu Chen's journal, already beginning to worm its way into her subconscious. I think about Li Wei's innocent soul and whether it will survive what's coming. I think about a world built on the suffering of the powerless, and how satisfying it will be to teach it a better way.
The old Feng would have been horrified by these thoughts.
The new Feng can hardly wait to put them into action.