Joining the Fray

Wisps of blue smoke curled up from an incense burner. No source of light could be seen anywhere in the room, yet light from nowhere illuminated every inch of it. Large sheets of fine rice paper lay neatly stacked on the desk. The study's owner preferred soft brushes, so there was also an inkstone on the desk. Ink filled the stone, evenly thick, like oil and yet like water. A brush lay across it.

The ink seemed to be waiting, waiting for the moment it would become a world-shaking work.

But in truth, the ink only looked freshly ground because of the spell built into the inkstone. That brush had not moved in a very long time.

The owner of the ink and brush had been frozen there for a long while as well.

Mathematician Xiboche—anything he wrote would be revered outside as precious calligraphy. His handwriting truly was excellent. But it was his status that was truly exalted.

Yet even such a God had days when his brows remained tightly furrowed.

"Alas... there's still been no progress." He shook his head. Beneath his tranquil, far-reaching gaze lay an anxiety he could not conceal.

These past days, he had poured everything he had into this. It was not that there had been no results, but they were scarcely worth mentioning. Compared to his own lofty ambitions, they were simply too insignificant.

"Teacher..." One of Xiboche's disciples watched him worriedly from behind. "You seem to have been worrying far too much lately..."

"Yes." The Mathematician sighed deeply. "The Mathematical Sovereign... when it comes solely to the mathematical path, there is no one who can stand against the Mathematical Sovereign. With someone like that charging in, if I weren't afraid, then that would not be me."

The Mathematician was not a genius.