To make matters worse, Flandre had embedded a secondary clause that triggered a agonizing, splitting headache if the victim refused to sing.
Fortunately, Patchouli's mastery over Arts was far beyond standard limits, allowing her to unravel and neutralize the complex spell before it rooted itself permanently. Otherwise, if Remilia were to pay a visit in the near future, Patchouli would have been forced into total social suicide.
That was precisely why Patchouli had maintained a stony, terrifying silence throughout the entire process, choosing to express her utter mortification through a relentless barrage of spanks.
Although neither Beatrice nor Hong Meiling had the faintest idea what had driven Patchouli into such an absolute fury, both kept their eyes glued firmly to the floor, wisely choosing not to ask a single question.
Flandre, who had retreated to her bedroom to hide, knew full well that she had crossed a line and didn't dare show her face for the rest of the evening.
When morning came, Flandre instinctively tried to duck behind the furniture the second she spotted Patchouli in the living room, only to be yanked back by the collar of her shirt.
"Waaaah! I was wrong, Sister Patchy! Don't spank me!" Flandre pleaded with a pitiful, tear-filled expression, clutching her hands behind her back to protect her bruised rear.
Patchouli pointed a sharp finger at Flandre's lips. "Silence. Stand still and listen to me!"
Flandre immediately snapped into a stiff, upright posture, looking for all the world like a frontline Guard Department recruit awaiting inspection.
Rubbing her aching temples, Patchouli exhaled a long breath. "Setting aside your absurd choice of trigger conditions... the fundamental structure of your Arts is actually quite impressive. The execution is remarkably subtle, the activation speed is fast, and it is almost impossible for an opponent to dodge or block."
She took a step closer, analyzing the spell layer by layer. "Of course, it suffers from several major flaws. The direct offensive power is virtually non-existent, and if the target manages to satisfy the condition, the effect vanishes entirely. On top of that, the Arts must be cast at extremely close range. Am I correct?"
Flandre nodded repeatedly. The absolute maximum effective casting range for the spell was barely ten meters—a distance that, in high-level Arts combat, was practically point-blank range.
As for the spell's internal mechanics, any practitioner capable of perceiving high-density magical fluctuations would immediately decipher the hidden condition encoded within the magic. Even if an opponent lacked the sensitivity to read the spell's flow, the resulting headache was merely uncomfortable, not fatal.
Yet, none of these limitations meant the technique was poorly designed. On the contrary, Patchouli recognized immense potential within its core structure, as well as a rare glimpse of Flandre's emerging ambition toward Arts theory.
That realization made Patchouli quite satisfied.
"Have you given this Arts a name yet?" Patchouli asked.
Flandre scratched her head in deep thought before her red eyes suddenly lit up with a flash of inspiration. "Cannot Refuse... what do you think of that name, Sister Patchy?"
Patchouli stroked her chin, considering the title. "It fits the core mechanism well enough, though the name sounds far more imposing than the actual spell in its current state... How about this: over the coming year, I want you to conduct dedicated, in-depth research to refine and evolve this Arts. We will conduct a full evaluation in one year's time. If you can demonstrate significant progress, I will consider it a success."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as her gaze drifted downward toward Flandre's rear. "Of course, if the results fall short of my expectations..."
Flandre gasped, instantly squeaking in terror and scrambling to hide behind Meiling's taller frame.
Patchouli offered no hints or guidance regarding the direction Flandre should take. She knew that with the little girl's clever mind, Flandre would naturally find her own path forward without needing to be led by the hand. After all, the current iteration of the spell left vast room for growth in both destructive potential and effective range.
"What are you all gathering around chatting about?"
Beatrice stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. Seeing the three of them clustered together, she offered a warm morning greeting.
"Oh, the spell Flandre put together yesterday was surprisingly well-constructed," Patchouli replied smoothly. "I'm assigning her a long-term research project to refine it."
Hearing Patchouli's words, Beatrice looked over at the skulking, nervous little girl. Remembering how terrified Flandre had looked the previous evening, Beatrice couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Then you'd better work extra hard on your studies, Flandre, unless you want another spanking next year."
Just then, a house maid approached to announce that breakfast was served. The four of them walked into the dining room together, taking their seats to enjoy a peaceful morning meal.
After finishing breakfast, Flandre took Meiling along to retrace their steps back to the commercial district from the previous day.
Looking around the vibrant market, they found the streets packed with the exact same energetic crowds and familiar vendors. It was as though yesterday's chaos had been completely wiped clean.
As the two wove through the bustling crowd, intending to venture deeper into the market, an elderly voice called out from behind.
"Young ladies! Don't leave yet, young ladies!"
Flandre and Meiling paused, turning to see the old artisan who made clay figurines standing outside his shop. He pointed excitedly to two meticulously crafted clay dolls hanging from a display rack near his counter. "Look! The clay figurines you two ordered yesterday!"
Staring at the two delicate figurines—which bore a striking, seven-to-eight-part resemblance to their own features—Flandre and Meiling finally remembered that yesterday's frantic pursuit of the fleeing stepmother had caused them to completely forget their purchase. They hadn't expected the old craftsman to remember them and carefully finish the work.
After receiving the clay dolls and expressing their sincere gratitude, the two continued their stroll down the avenue.
"Look, there's a huge park over there! Let's go check it out first!" Flandre pointed toward a lush, emerald-green forest canopy rising beyond the commercial buildings.
Stepping through the park gates, they found a vast layout filled with local citizens, the vast majority of whom were middle-aged or elderly. Some were practicing rhythmic group dancing, others were gracefully executing sword routines, while groups sat at stone tables playing cards and fast-paced games of chess. The entire grounds felt simultaneously lively and deeply serene.
The tranquil atmosphere inside the park provided a stark, soothing contrast to the loud, chaotic roar of the commercial market just outside its walls.
Flandre looked around in wonder, asking why the air here felt so vastly different.
Meiling closed her eyes, taking a few slow, deep breaths before opening them again. "This is Qi."
"Qi?" Flandre tilted her head, red eyes blinking in confusion.
"That's right... this is the natural flow of Qi," Meiling explained gently. "The people outside are bustling back and forth, striving to earn a living and working long hours; because their minds are constantly moving, the Qi they generate is naturally sharp and active. But the elderly citizens in this park no longer need to worry about survival or race against tomorrow. They can pause, rest, and appreciate the quiet beauty of life—so the Qi they radiate becomes peaceful, balanced, and serene."
As she spoke, Meiling guided Flandre into a spacious wooden pavilion nestled near a quiet pond. After stepping inside, the two found an empty stone bench and sat down.
Directly across from them, two elderly men were sitting face-to-face, each holding a traditional two-stringed erhu, engaged in a fierce musical duel. One would play a dazzling, intricate melody before lifting his chin to glare competitively at his opponent; the second musician would immediately replicate the complex phrase, then escalate the duel with an even faster, flashier riff. Not to be outdone, the first master would launch into an even more astonishing display of speed and technique.
"How does it sound?" Meiling asked, leaning down beside Flandre.
"It's so amazing!" Flandre's eyes were wide with genuine awe as she watched the two old musicians' fingers fly across the strings. "I can literally hear the thundering stampede of a hundred wild horses charging through the melody!"
Perhaps overhearing Flandre's loud compliment, both old men abruptly stopped playing and turned their heads toward the pavilion bench.
"Little girl, you've got a fantastic ear for music!" one of the musicians called out, a broad grin spreading across his weathered face. "Come, come, come! You be our judge and settle this—tell us which one of us plays better!"
"Yes, exactly!" the other old man chimed in unceremoniously, waving his bow. "This stubborn old geezer always insists his erhu technique is superior to mine. You give us an honest verdict and show him who the real master is!"
"Uh..." Flandre fidgeted slightly, wanting to explain that her personal taste in music was far from conventional. After all, back at the Scarlet Devil Mansion, her personal theme pieces were intense compositions like Rah-rah-roo and Scarlet Moon, Madness Bloom—hardly what normal people would consider standard acoustic music.
"Please, go right ahead, gentlemen. We will listen very carefully," Meiling interjected smoothly with a warm smile.
"Alright! You old fool, today I'm going to prove once and for all who holds the title of Lungmen's Number One Erhu King!"
"Hmph! The undisputed Number One Erhu Master of Lungmen can only be me!"
Bickering back and forth, the two old men raised their bows in unison and launched into a brand-new, breathtaking round of musical combat.
Flandre sat up perfectly straight on the bench, staring intently at the performers like an exceptionally well-behaved student in a classroom. Watching her from the side, Meiling had to fight back a chuckle—Flandre looked almost identical to how she behaved when sitting through formal magic theory lessons with Patchouli back home in the Scarlet Devil Mansion.