The cliff overlooked a valley braided with silver rivers, twisting like questions with no answers. Li Shen crouched on jagged stone, notebook in hand, eyes tracing every motion below. The novices of the Fate Weavers Sect stumbled and faltered, flailing as if strength alone could tame randomness. He knew better.
He opened his notebook and read softly, almost to himself:
The river divides, yet finds the sea,
Paths may wander, yet all converge for me.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. Convergence, he murmured. Every uncertainty has its resolution.
Below, a boy froze mid-step, misjudging the angle of his opponent's sword. Li Shen's gaze locked on the micro-flaw. This was not arrogance — it was calculation.
They stumble not for lack of skill,
But for lack of foresight they refuse to see.
The boy faltered. The duel shifted subtly, almost imperceptibly, in Li Shen's favor. He leaned back, closing his notebook with deliberate calm. Observation first. Influence second. Knowledge was sharper than steel.
Footsteps crunched against stone. A senior disciple approached, frowning.
"Li Shen," he said, irritation in his voice, "why waste your time watching? Scribbling words gains you nothing."
Li Shen's gaze remained on the valley. Cold. Patient. "I gain what cannot be taken," he replied. "Understanding. Seeing patterns where others see only chaos."
He flipped a page and read another verse aloud:
Wind knows no master, yet bends to none,
So must I, if I am to see what will come.
The senior grunted but said nothing. Li Shen returned his attention to the novices. Small missteps, unnoticed glances, fleeting gestures — each told a story. Each hinted at hidden outcomes.
The butterfly flaps, the branch may crack,
Every motion tells the story of what will last.
He crouched lower, tapping a finger against the page. Logic, foresight, probability — these were his domain. Strength meant little. Most would fail before understanding the rules.
The sun climbed, gilding the valley gold. Li Shen scribbled one final line for the morning:
All roads split, yet one awaits,
I will walk it, no matter how long the wait.
A crow passed overhead, black against the dawn. Li Shen followed it with unblinking eyes, silent, calculating. Chaos surrounded him, but he had already begun untangling it.
Chaos dances, yet I step in time,
For certainty is mine to climb.
He closed the notebook. A faint chill crept along his spine. Each answer he found, each pattern he untangled, took him one step further from himself. Yet he did not care.
Settling into the cliff's edge, unmoving, Li Shen watched the valley. The world spun in unpredictable patterns — and he would see them all, one path at a time.