Vivian

The projection orb glowed faintly where it floated above the table. Vivian leaned forward, fingers grazing the rim of her teacup as Ethan’s image came into focus.

Ethan was seated on a lecture stage at the Imperial Academy—alone against a half-ring of lecturers, faculty heads, and spellcraft specialists. An amphitheater full of prestige poposity and posers.

Vivian blinked. Ethan. Ethan was on the screen. What was he doing there?

At the front of the room sat Jin Rong (a blowhard from the 2nd-tier Rong Family who thought they were the gods’ gift to academia), ever-polite, ever-shining, leading the discussion with oiled charm.

Vivian barely noticed him or the half dozen intellectuals who sat opposite her husband. She was watching Ethan.

It was strange to see him, even from a projection. He looked...good—relaxed, but not particularly engaged, like he was tired.

She wondered if he was eating well. There was color in his cheeks. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping well? His eyes looked a bit tired. Also, did he look a little bigger? More defined? Was he actively training? That would be good for him.

It was strange how he could be so disengaged and somehow have the whole damn crowd lean forward when he spoke.

She wondered how she would feel once she saw him and what she felt was... annoyed.

Weeks without a message. No notes. No coded updates through the house channels.

It was like his wife didn’t even exist to him.

She thought about messaging him, but he was the man. Her husband. He should be checking in on her not the other way around.

The whole damn thing pissed her off.

She’d told herself it didn’t matter. That he was studying, experimenting, building whatever strange project he needed to feel useful.

But in the depths of the night, when she let her thoughts wander, she found herself irritated that her husband had not contacted her once since she left.

What kind of husband does that?

Ethan said something and the projection orb panned to the audience, who were laughing and whispering to each other behind fans.

What the hell? Why were there so many women there? Who was that girl in the front? The blonde with the big eyes... was she waving at him? She was cute too.

Damn it.

People quieted when he spoke. It was measured, confident, impossibly calm—it wasn’t just clarity in speech but the command of dictation. He wasn’t challenging their ideas. He was replacing them.

And they were listening.

Vivian’s thumb traced a slow circle against the teacup’s rim. Her expression remained unreadable. Composed. But something in her chest tightened.

He’d changed or maybe, she thought bitterly, he’d always been like this—and she had simply never looked closely enough.

The room on the projection rippled with energy. The panelists pressed in with questions. Jin Rong tried to reassert control, question him, embarassment.

He tried to embarass her husband?

The nerve of this man.

Ethan didn’t flinch. He spoke, and the room held its breath.

Vivian set the teacup down with more force than necessary. The sharp clink of porcelain on lacquered wood cut through the silence.

Meishan and Anmei looked up but said nothing.

Vivian reached for her message crystal. The pulse of mana flared softly as she activated the link.

Vivian: Mei. There was a symposium at the Imperial Academy. Looks recent—within the last few days. I want the full recording.

There was a brief pause before Mei’s voice returned, filtered through the crystal.

Mei: Understood, my lady… May I ask why?

Vivian: My husband was there.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. Her voice, when it came, was quiet.

Vivian: I want every word said in that room. Cross-reference the transcript—names, affiliations, reactions. Watch who moves. Watch who doesn’t. Get it to my quarters within the hour.

Mei: At once, my Lady.

Vivian ended the link and set the crystal down gently—far more gently than the teacup. Her expression gave nothing away.

But the room felt colder than it had a moment before.

Vivian refocused on the projection along with Meishan and Anmei. He had been quiet. Not contacting her. The few updates she got from her mother didn’t even mention Ethan. She’d thought that no news meant nothing was happening.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then whispered to herself—barely audible: “What have you been up to?”

“The consensus,” Jin Rong was saying in his endlessly polite, endlessly smug voice, “is that Magenet can be stabilized with high-standard casters and refined calibration techniques.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Vivian narrowed her eyes. That argument again.

Then the projection shifted. There was additional speaking that Vivian didn’t hear.

Ethan didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise his voice. But it didn't matter because when he spoke, the room leaned forward anyway.

“Let’s break that down,” he said calmly. “Domain-level spellcraft is brilliant in the hands of one master. But it doesn’t scale across an Empire. It’s fine for combat, for personal execution, for momentary control. It’s useless when you try to make it universal. And using a master doesn’t solve the underlying issue—it could make it worse.”

The camera angle cut to the crowd, a dozen panelists shifting in their seats.

“A master’s intent is stronger, not weaker. That’s how they execute high-level spells and techniques. In theory, yes, their control should be better. But their mana is more powerful—and their intent, more concentrated. If even a fraction of that leaks into the shared stream...”

On the screen, Ethan shrugged.

“The whole thing goes tits-up.”

A moment of silence followed. Vivian could practically feel the ripple through the projection.

There was more jawjackiing. Unimportant people saying unimportant things.

Ethan’s tone didn’t change and started listening again when her husband spoke.

“If you want to fix the real problem, you need a complete redesign of the apparatus housing the Magenet. Build it like a machine, not a conduit. Use it to develop an instruction-based language. Then create a task-execution system—something that can interpret and repeat commands with consistency. Once you have that, reproducible results become trivial. Iteration becomes inevitable.”

The projection caught Jin Rong leaning forward, his smile tightening.

“A complete overhaul,” he said. “Housing. Language. Instruction. One that separates intent from structure and execution.”

“It’s an inelegant theory, Lord Zhou. But surely you realize: all spellcasting relies on intent. Even children know that. Without intent to bridge mana and outcome, there is no effect. You’re trying to strip the soul from a system built on instinct.”

Ethan met his gaze.

“I’m trying to stop that instinct from burning everything down—and build something better. A foundation that gives more control, more consistency, and more function than you’ve ever dared to imagine.”

Vivian leaned forward slightly. That line.

Then came the moment.

Ethan turned to the projection crystal above them—where a failed relay sigil still flickered—and said:

“You want a Magenet that works. That’s reliable. That can accomplish the tasks you envision. Then you need a foundation built on protocols. Instructions that are easier to maintain. Easier to debug. A base that can be layered, adapted, and trusted to do exactly what it’s told.”

“This,” he said, his voice steady as the room held its breath, “is how you stop treating spellcraft like ritual—and start treating it like a system language. One anyone can learn.”

Anmei let out a slow whistle beside her. “Your husband just told the Academy their sacred invention was pig shit wrapped in arrogance and polished with their own faces.”

Vivian didn’t answer.

Meishan leaned forward, voice hushed. “He wants to rebuild the entire magical backbone of the Empire. Not patch it—replace it. Bold. Have to love a bold man.”

The image froze on Ethan’s final expression—calm, head tilted, like he wasn’t sure why everyone looked so surprised.

Vivian stared at the projection, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of her cup.

Ethan had never talked like this before. Bold. Direct. Unapologetic.

He continued to surprise her.

Ethan Zhou had always been known for being quiet. Observant. Brilliant, yes—but inward-facing. Reserved.

Not someone who challenged consensus—let alone rewrote it.

This was something else.

Architecture.

He wasn’t dismantling the system for shock value. He was diagramming a new one mid-conversation—and daring the room to imagine it could work.

Anmei tilted her head. “Good lord, he is sexy.”

Vivian and Meishan looked at her.

Anmei shrugged. “What is he like in bed? If you don’t want him, Lady Ice, can I have him?”

Vivian stood abruptly. “I’m heading back to my room.”

Mei brought her a recording of the projection. Vivian watched the discussion three more times.

She didn’t understand what her husband was talking about. She didn’t like that she didn’t understand it.

Her crystal charm sat stationary against her wrist. She looked down.

No message. Of course not. Why would he write? It had been weeks.

Thats it. Enough is enough.

Vivian tapped her charm but not to her husband who was too busy to write her.

She wrote to someone else.

Vivian: “Nathan. Its your sister.”

There was a suspicious delay. Then:

Nathan: “…Oh no. My scary older sister. What did I do?”

Vivian blinked. The boy was too casual for someone raised in a martial household.

Vivian: “Nothing. I have a question.”

Nathan: “Okay, but do I need to sit down for it? Because I have never gotten a message from you before. I thought this device was defective for brother-to-sister communication. I should write an apology letter to the makers of my crystal.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Vivian: “How is your brother-in-law adjusting?”

Nathan: “Oh. Ohhhh… big brother Ethan?”

Vivian: “Yes.”

Nathan: “He’s kinda scary. Not even kidding. It’s so freaking awesome.”

Vivian paused.

Vivian: “Explain.”

Nathan: “He’s been training like mad in the Li sword style. Father allowed a full tutorial. He has me Master Shen helping him. He’s… pretty much crushing it. Your husband is kind of a badass.”

Vivian stared at the glowing text. That made no sense.

Vivian: “Wait… they gave him full access? Not just the first movements like the branch families?”

Nathan: “Yeah. One guy protested. Tried to say he wasn’t worthy—can you believe that? My brother-in-law not worthy?? The bastard. I wanted to stab him, but brother-in-law wouldn’t let me. They honor dueled—mind you, this was only a week after brother-in-law started training. It’s like the guy has a cheat code or something. Anyway, brother-in-law dropped him in two moves. With basic footwork. With some mana this time. His control is coming along great. And he is picking up the technique so fast that it makes me jealous.”

Vivian: “That isn’t possible.”

Nathan: “It’s true. Through brother-in-law complains about not understanding or something. I don't know, he is hard to follow most of the time. Anyway, I have to ask my darling sister: what the hell did you do to this man? Because he is training and learning like a guy possessed. Did you promise the guy a child if he mastered the sword or something? That sounds like something you'd do”

Vivian’s fingers tightened slightly around her wrist; she could feel the veins popping in her temple. She made a mental note to beat her brother to death when she saw him next.

As for Ethan… she didn’t know.

The Ethan she remembered had raw power so pure it bordered on divine. But he had zero control over his mana.

But this?

He was practicing Li swordsmanship. Her family’s style. The most precise and mana-intensive sword school in the Empire.

It was also the most difficult. And the most dangerous.

And he was learning. and thriving while doing it?

Vivian sat in her room—softly lit, quiet. No attendants. Just shelves of binding scrolls and a single lacquered desk.

She pulled a fresh strip of silk-threaded parchment and smoothed it flat.

Her calligraphy pen hovered for a second.

Then she began to write.

The Ten Movements.

The Ten Techniques.

Her interpretation of the foundational Li swordwork. Passed only to blood heirs and martial-paired spouses.

It wasn’t romantic—not overtly. But in a world like theirs, offering someone this knowledge was damn near making out in the cloak closet.

She reviewed each character. Edited a bit.

At the bottom, she stamped it—not with the House Li seal, but her personal crest.

Then she tapped the message crystal and opened a private thread.

Vivian: “I hear you’ve begun training. These may help.

Ten Movements. Ten Techniques.

Use them. Or don’t.

—Lady Li”

She hit send. Then turned the charm face-down. And didn’t move.

Just… waiting. Quietly. Without reason.

The jerk better write her back.