Zhang Han Lu's warning lingered like the final toll of a funeral bell, vibrating softly through the air long after his voice fell silent. He regarded Orion with that inscrutable gaze—ancient, distant—then tilted his head as if reconsidering the boy's value.
"One more illustration," he said quietly. "Lest you believe power here is only destruction and spectacle."
—SNAP.
The sound was lighter this time. Almost playful.
The library dissolved into a spiral of mist and candle-smoke. Orion's stomach lurched as reality folded in on itself, but the transition was gentle—no violent tearing, no battlefield roar. When the world steadied, he found himself seated.
At a café.
A small wrought-iron table rested beneath him, its legs etched with delicate filigree. A porcelain cup steamed before him, releasing the soothing scent of jasmine and honey. Beyond a low stone balustrade lay—
Nothing.
A vast ocean of stars stretched in all directions. Galaxies wheeled lazily above and below, nebulae blooming in silent color like cosmic flowers. There was no ground, no horizon—only endless night, serene and infinite. A soft breeze carried the distant tinkle of wind chimes. Vines heavy with faintly glowing blossoms draped a pergola overhead, luminous petals drifting down like slow-falling snow.
Somewhere, soft string music played—classical, wistful, as though remembering a life long gone.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
The perfect inverse of the battlefield's carnage.
Orion exhaled shakily, fingers tightening around the arms of his chair.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Yeah. This is… way nicer."
Zhang Han Lu sat across from him, posture loose, one leg crossed over the other. A matching cup rested untouched at his fingertips.
"Contrast teaches best," Zhang said mildly. "War and serenity—both born of the same will."
Orion glanced around, half-expecting soldiers to charge out of the void. "So what's the lesson this time? How to summon a decent latte?"
Zhang's smile sharpened.
"The body."
Before Orion could process that, Zhang leaned back and spread his hands.
The change was subtle at first—a soft shift beneath the silk of his robes. Then unmistakable. His chest reshaped, swelling smoothly, fabric stretching as graceful, feminine curves formed beneath the midnight cloth. The transformation was seamless—no distortion, no grotesquery—only flawless, deliberate sculpting, as natural as breath.
Zhang arched a brow, expression calmly amused.
Orion's brain short-circuited.
"H—what—why—dude!" He snapped his gaze upward to the stars, heat flooding his face. "No warning?!"
Zhang's chuckle rolled low and rich across the table.
"The body is clay," he said. "Gender, form, feature—no more fixed than light or stone. With sufficient focus, one may sculpt oneself as easily as a statue."
He gestured casually.
The curves receded. His form flowed back into its original masculine lines, robes settling as though nothing had happened. Zhang lifted his cup at last and took a leisurely sip.
Orion stared very intently at the balustrade, face burning. The demonstration had been clinical—but the impact was anything but.
"You could've… picked something less extreme," Orion muttered.
"Where is the lesson in comfort?" Zhang replied evenly.
Then his gaze sharpened. "Now you."
Orion froze. "Me? No—absolutely not. I can't—"
"A minor change," Zhang coaxed, tone almost playful. "Lengthen your hair. Alter its color. Feel intent flow through flesh."
Orion hesitated. The stars spun slowly, uncaring. He ran a hand through his already shaggy hair.
Fine. Simple.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
Longer. Down to the shoulders. Slightly lighter—chestnut instead of near-black. He imagined it strand by strand, growth and pigment shifting with deliberate clarity.
Warmth spread across his scalp, a pleasant tingling like sunlight through skin.
When he opened his eyes and reached up, his fingers brushed hair grazing his jawline. Longer. Softer. Subtle highlights caught the starlight. Not perfect—the ends were uneven, the weight unfamiliar—but undeniably real.
Orion tugged a strand forward, staring.
"I… did it again."
Fatigue nipped at him, lighter than before, but his pulse raced with wonder.
Zhang inclined his head. "Adequate. Refinement comes with repetition. In time, you may heal wounds, enhance strength, or abandon human form entirely—beast, bird, beauty, or nightmare."
Orion let the strand fall, a breathless laugh escaping him despite himself. "You're insane."
Zhang smiled faintly.
"Indeed."
—SNAP.
The café unraveled.
Vines withered into mist. Stars folded inward. The fragrance of tea vanished like a memory half-forgotten. Chandeliers flared back into existence overhead, mist curling patiently at the edges of the endless table.
Orion slumped into his chair, longer hair brushing his collar, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
The serenity of the void café lingered like a dream—but beneath it lay the same unsettling truth.
Reality here had no boundaries left to respect.
And Zhang Han Lu was only warming up.