Chapter: The Spark Problem (Also Known as "Why Fire Hates Me")
Seraphina woke the next morning feeling ambitious.
This was, historically speaking, a dangerous state of mind.
She stretched lazily beneath the trees, arms raised high above her head, back arching as her body loosened from sleep. Muscles lengthened, spine cracked softly, and her posture shifted in a way that made her exaggerated curves impossible to ignore. Her G‑cup bust lifted heavily with the motion, straining against fabric that had long since accepted defeat, while her hips rolled slightly as she twisted, accentuating a perfectly sculpted, unapologetically powerful figure.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and smirked.
"Honestly," she muttered, glancing down at herself, "the man who ends up with me is either going to be very happy… or very dead. Possibly both. In that order."
She rolled her shoulders and exhaled.
Enough appreciating the danger. Time to be the danger.
Yesterday had been about concepts. Today would be about elements.
She stepped into the clearing, bare feet grounding against the earth, and clapped her hands once.
"Alright, fire," she said. "No pressure. Just don't embarrass me."
She closed her eyes and centered her Qi.
Fire, she knew, wasn't just heat. It was energy in transition—chemical bonds breaking, electrons excited, matter surrendering to entropy. In cultivation terms, it was Yang made violent, motion accelerated until resistance failed.
In novels, fire users imagined flames and—boom—conflagration.
Seraphina, having learned her lesson, imagined process.
She visualized Qi vibrating faster. Particles colliding. Energy compressing into a point until friction became ignition.
She lifted her hand.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
She frowned.
"…Okay," she said. "Maybe I need encouragement."
She tried again, this time forcing Qi into her palm more aggressively.
A tiny spark flickered.
Her eyes widened.
"Yes! I—"
The spark vanished instantly.
She stared at her empty palm.
"…Wow. That lasted shorter than some people's confidence."
She tried again.
Spark.
Gone.
Again.
Spark.
Gone.
"Are you allergic to success?" she demanded.
On the seventh attempt, the spark flared slightly brighter—and jumped.
Straight onto her fingers.
"OW—!"
She yelped, jerking her hand back, shaking it furiously as the heat bit into her skin.
"Okay! Message received! Fire is rude!"
She sucked on her finger, glaring at the air.
"First rule of fire manipulation," she muttered. "Fire does not care about your feelings."
She sat down, breathing slowly, letting her skin regenerate under controlled Qi. Minor burns faded quickly, but the lesson stuck.
Fire wasn't stable energy.
It consumed.
She needed a feedback loop—Qi feeding flame, flame not feeding back into her flesh.
She stood again, jaw set.
"Round two," she said. "No touching."
She extended her palm and visualized a barrier—a thin layer of Qi acting as insulation, separating her flesh from the reaction zone.
Physics met cultivation.
Qi vibrated. Heat formed.
A flame flickered to life.
A small one.
A real one.
It burned bright orange for exactly one second.
Then it died.
She blinked.
"…Progress?"
She laughed, half hysterical, half thrilled.
"Alright! That's officially longer than before!"
She tried again.
The flame appeared—and burned her palm.
"OW—!"
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the tenth burn, she was pacing the clearing, shaking her hands and swearing.
"I swear," she said through clenched teeth, "if this leaves scars, I'm switching to ice out of spite."
Finally, something clicked.
Fire required fuel.
Her Qi wasn't just igniting—it needed continuity. A steady stream, not a burst. Like breathing, not punching.
She slowed her breath.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
Qi flowed.
A flame blossomed above her palm, hovering, fed by a controlled stream of energy.
It burned.
Two seconds.
Three.
Five.
She grinned.
"Yes—YES—don't you dare—"
The flame sputtered.
She compensated.
It flared.
Too much.
The fireball collapsed inward and exploded outward—
Right into her chest.
"HOT—HOT—HOT—!"
She yelped, slapping at herself as fabric smoked lightly.
"WHY DO I KEEP AIMING AT MY BOOBS?!"
She danced around, half laughing, half panicking, until the flames died.
Breathing hard, she stared down at her singed clothes.
"…Okay," she said. "Good news: regeneration works. Bad news: I just assaulted myself with fire."
She took a long drink from her water skin and wiped sweat from her brow.
Then she laughed.
Hard.
"Top-tier cultivator," she said. "Dies because she forgot fire goes up."
She stretched again, hands on her lower back, arching slightly as she loosened tense muscles. Her chest lifted prominently, hips shifting, body radiating raw vitality and dangerous beauty.
She caught her reflection in a puddle and snorted.
"I look like a demon lord and train like an intern."
But she wasn't done.
She planted her feet and tried again—carefully.
This time, the flame stabilized.
Small.
Dense.
Controlled.
A fireball the size of an apple hovered above her palm, rotating slowly, heat rippling the air.
Her eyes lit up.
"Ohhh," she breathed. "You're beautiful."
She flicked her wrist.
The fireball shot forward and struck a tree stump, exploding into harmless embers.
She stared.
Then she whooped.
"I DID IT!"
ďing!
[System Notification]
New Technique Acquired
Fireball Technique (Basic)
Description: Condenses Yang-aligned Qi into a stabilized combustion sphere.
Damage scales with Qi control and output.
Current Rank: Basic
She threw her arms up.
"Yes! Put that on my résumé!"
She collapsed onto the grass, laughing, hands spread wide.
"Okay," she panted. "Fire mastered. Mostly. With only minor self-immolation."
Her laughter faded into thoughtful silence.
Fire was done.
Next… space.
She stared at the sky.
Teleportation. Portals. Storage space.
She shuddered.
"Yeah, no," she said. "That's how people fold themselves into furniture."
She summoned the system.
"Do you… already have storage space?" she asked cautiously.
ďing!
[System Capability Detected]
Spatial Containment (Locked)
Unlock Condition: Higher cultivation stability required.
She exhaled in relief.
"Oh thank everything," she said. "Future me can deal with existential folding."
She lay back, smiling up at the canopy.
Fire burned.
Space waited.
And she was just getting started.