I'm not a genius.
Everyone reminds me of that.
Loudly, Publicly, Physically, Mentally, be it.
Tonight, I sit cross-legged on the cold, cracked floor of my dorm room, and guide Qi through my body. Slow, deliberate, precise.
Bone.
Muscle.
Blood.
Organs.
Pain is familiar. Pain is comfortable. Pain is proof.
Then I push upward.
The brain.
Everyone avoids it. Too risky. Too unstable. Too stupid.
I don't have a choice. I have no talent to protect.
Unlike those Geniuses.
So I refine it anyway.
Qi burns like molten iron in my skull. Vision flickers. My heartbeat drums against my ribs.
I don't scream. I do not flinch. I refine.
Minutes—or hours—pass. Time feels like liquid.
Then it clicks.
Circulation smooth. Flow perfect. No turbulence. No resistance.
Peak Body Refining.
I exhale. Silence swallows the room. No glow. No elder. No fanfare.
Just rain. Light tapping against the window. Thin, cold, indifferent.
I stand. Limbs stiff, skin slick with sweat.
I Run off and break my door, this is my chance, to change my circumstances.
The breakthrough awards hall waits. I walk. Every step measured. Calm. Excited, but steady.
The hall smells of incense and polished wood.
The elder looks up from the table, eyes scanning me like he's misreading the air.
"…You?"
"Yes."
He probes my aura again. Twice. Disbelief written all over his face.
"…Peak Body Refining?"
I bow slightly. "I was Fortunate."
(I definitely wasn't, this was the result of my hard work of years.)
He fumbles, almost embarrassed, and hands me a small pouch of spirit stones. I nod, hiding the small thrill in my chest.
I step outside. The courtyard stretches in front of me: gray stone, puddles collecting in uneven cracks, trees bowed by the wind.
And then I see them.
Four figures, smirking, waiting like sharks.
"Well, if it isn't Li Shen. Broke through today?"
"How touching."
"Hand over the spirit stones."
I sigh.
Sure.
In your dreams.
I turn to run.
Peak Body Refining makes me fast. Faster than I've ever been. My steps are precise, my balance perfect.
I cut across puddles, water spraying, ignoring the sting in my ribs from earlier sessions.
But they are stronger. Higher realm. Talent matters more than effort.
The first punch drives the air from my lungs.
The second splits my lip.
A kick lands squarely against my side. Pain flares.
Rain-soaked hair sticks to my face. My sleeve clings to my arm.
My breath comes in jagged gasps.
I endure.
Each blow teaches me rhythm. Each strike shows me intention.
When they leave, the pouch is gone. Most stones, too.
I cough. Blood trickles from my lip and mouth.
Five small, low-grade spirit stones clink onto the wet stone in front of me.
I stare. A grin tugs at my lips. "…Not completely stupid."
I had hidden them earlier in my mouth.
Yes, In my Mouth.
Experience teaches habits.
I reach for my small spirit bag.
Empty.
Of course.
Rain falls harder. Cold. Heavy. Indifferent.
I press a hand to the stone courtyard. Water seeps through my gloves. Cold bites.
And I laugh, low, bitter.
"Heaven rewards the diligent?"
Bullshit! My ass!
Talent rules everything. All my years of grinding, of refining, of enduring, counted for nothing.
I slam a fist against a stone. Pain shoots up my arm. Blood mixes with water.
Those with Talent roam the world, Show off, pretend to be mysterious, act arrogant, nonchalant.
Why not me?
"Just once…" I whisper, almost to myself. "…I just want to show off too."
Thunder rolls overhead. Cloud-dark sky. Rain slicing down in sheets.
I look up. Black. Vast. Indifferent.
Trembling, I raise my hand to the storm. My pulse is fast. My chest aches. My ribs scream.
"…Honestly."
Vision blurs. Fingers tighten. I point my hand towards the heavens.
"Fuck you too."
Lightning strikes. White. Blinding. Instant.
For a fraction of a second, I feel it—not fear. Not awe. Something else. Possibility.
Then nothing.
The world disappears.
And my last thought before darkness swallows me is simple.
What the fuck?