Runaway Travel

Chapter 1

March in 1868, Edo, Hotel Kwai.

Although adjacent to the suburbs, it does not appear to be deserted and desolate. Recently, after new government’s establishment, many soldiers with guns have entered Edo one after another, and there is one of their ideal places to travel. When night falls, lights in the store are lit one by one, rhythms for celebration rise up through the air, which are mixed with the sound of instruments, the guests' indulgent laughter and the intertwined banquet. Ten thousands may be there.

Meanwhile, a pair of ice-cold eyes has quietly stared at one of the rooms, without leaving an inch.

The swordsman hides in the dark, so it’s hard to identify his black haori. He holds the handle of katana with one hand, lower his body slightly, and flies out lightly in an instant. The maid who is passing by the promenade suddenly feels a slight wind blowing behind her, then being disappeared immediately.

His goal, a man in one zashiki, has been waiting for a long time. He listens attentively to the footsteps outside the door again and again. Realizing all of them would drift away, joy on his face turns to worry. His meeting with this important figure is crucial, but should not last too long. Negotiating in such a crowded place is really his last resort.

Weirdly, far from the guy’s imagination, his guest hasn’t appear on time. His mind is so restless that mellow drinks cannot soothe it anymore. Suddenly, he has a terrifying illusion for no reason: the deafening noise outside the room seems to be gradually moving away from him, which brings him an increasingly unreal hazy.

Before he gets up and goes out to have a check, the paper door in front of him is quietly opened. As soon as he raises eyes, meets a pair of scarlet eyes suddenly showing a strong killing intent. The poor guy is startled. Unexpectedly a sharp blade is already near his throat.

"Damn it! What--"

He is about to ask more, but swordsman interrupts him slowly:

"Don't worry, the person you're waiting for won't be here tonight. So, hand over the things in your pockets wisely."

Incredible! Absolutely impossible! Ridiculous!

His face is turning bad after hearing this, with fury and fear.

The disappeared guest, a count, has a high position and is quite favored, and the surrounding defense can be described as impregnable. Under his wrist and orders, not even a bird or a fly could easily fly into his heavily guarded mansion.

It has taken him a lot of hard work to cling to this big fish, but the geek told him his VIP was quietly killed?

"You bastard -- you robber! Demon!"

The man is shouting out in fear, with his voice being distorted, and clutching the front of clothes tightly. He has tried his best to maintain a domineering attitude, but the slight tremble of the face shows his true state of mind.

"You've exhausted all the patience I have left."

"After all, you are right. I am indeed an evil ghost who crawled out of hell, and I will never be merciful towards you humans."

Swordsman's tone is low and gentle, but his katana fell without hesitation. After a scream, the man’s right hand and wrist were cut off, and a small glass bottle filled with red liquid rolls out.

Guests outside are still in joy and fun accompanying the endless music of banquet, no one stops at all because of the sudden episode here.

But the atmosphere in the house has become more and more cold.

Facing the cut-down bloody severed hand and the ominous potion bottle on the side, the evil ghost just glances at it lightly, and then sneered coldly.

"To engage in such a dirty deal when the reliance between Satsuma and Choshu is worse, dreaming of making profits in the war? No wonder the work of the minions raised by the Nagumo clan. "

In this unhurried voice, the medicine bottle slams into a pile of fragments and shatters in the corner.

"Be honored and grateful, shameless human beings, you will be executed by me."

Waving off the remaining blood on his weapon, swordsman wants to step forward, but he is keenly aware of a series of slight but unusual clucking sounds coming from the opponent's throat.

At the same time as his complexion suddenly changed, the man's hair has faded to frosty white in an instant. Smelling the sweet blood, he raises his face and rushes towards the target with a pair of demonic red pupils and fangs.

Swordsman turns sideways to avoid the staggering attack of the monster, with no fear on his face, and then whispered to himself:

"It seems that I still underestimate you. Are you so daring to apply a desperado who has done drugs..."

Without giving it much respite, he raises his sword without hesitation.

On the other side of House Kwai, Yukimura, who carries the medicine box on her back, is gently closing the door of the ward. Before turns to leave, she faintly feels a change from somewhere in the corridor.

Her physique is unusual since she was a child, which is a secret she has buried for more than ten years. Not only does the wound heal faster than ordinary people, but even the hearing seems to be more sensitive. In the midst of the overwhelming sound, she clearly hears the crisp sound of the glass bottle shattering, followed by a chaotic noise, as if some people are fighting fiercely.

So abnormal.

Such a big movement do not attract the attention of others, as if it is deliberately attracting her.

Despite suspicions, she still rushes in the direction of the sound. The doctor's instinct reminds her that she should not hesitate to avoid unnecessary casualties at all costs, so she finally decides to confirm the situation over there at first.

The girl runs in a hurry, and accidentally bumps into a passing guest on the way. She has no time to confirm the counterpart's expression, hurriedly apologizes and continues to run.

After going up one floor and turning another corridor, she finally reaches the end. Her overstretched body suddenly slackens, then kneels on the corridor floor as her legs softened. At this time, the fight in the room comes to an end with the sound of swords splitting flesh and blood, and the plain white paper door is instantly splattered with thick blood.

All of these certainly give her a great shock, but more of it is actually a sense of fear that makes her feel very familiar. When she was still unknown as a nurse in the Shinsengumi, she had personally experienced the similar situation.

All the troubles stems from the small tube of water that is seemed to be a kind of panacea which can heal the dying person. This miraculous effect takes away the at the cost of the test subject's sanity and decades of lifespan, and turns a living person into an inhuman and non-ghost monster with white hair and red eyes.

Yukimura wants to scream, but in the end she restrains her instinctive urge. She realized that if the monster in the room were exposed, it would only lead to more trouble. She has no choice but to slump on the spot until she sees the man opening the paper door.

She had seen his eyes formerly that are as red as blood.

The spring breeze ruffled the books and papers on the table, and whoever stood proudly holding the sword inadvertently disturbed her heart.

At this moment, her hand are suddenly held by him, and then is totally pulled into the inner room by this force. Before he could exclaim, he was heavily pressed against the wall. The moment the paper door closed again, she completely saw the scene in this room.

All she could see is the blood red of plaques, and the familiar thick blood smell aggravates her dizziness just now. She turned aside her head silently, but her jaw was diverted by him forcibly, making her to face his cold eyes.

Misfortunes don't come singly.

Her wry smile is clearly captured by him. He raises his eyebrows slightly in surprise, and asks her in a half-joking, half-serious tone:

"Aren’t you afraid?"

Compared to the long-lasting trauma, the shock now pales in comparison.

She sighs softly and meets his gaze without dodging.

"Why be afraid? You won't kill me."

"Sure?"

He smiles disapprovingly.

As if trying to defeat her self-assured disguise, he uses bloodstained fingertips to fondle her smooth skin when stares at her, branding the blossoming red plums on the snow field shrouded in the night.

His hand is still sliding down her delicate chin line, and finally stops at the side of her slender neck. For a strange woman meets formally at the first time, his behavior is obviously too frivolous, but she still believes that once she said the wrong thing, he would twist her neck immediately without pity.

She doesn't answer right away for a while.

The force constraining her neck is increasing.

She tries her best to maintain even breathing, her eyes as clear as the moonlight flowing like mercury outside the window.

"It would be easier to kill an unarmed weak woman like me than to eliminate the RASETSU just now."

Noticing her deliberately accentuated voice on the word, he hums coldly.

"Not too dumb. But you forgot one thing..."

He smiles and leans closer to her, but the voice of the next sentence suddenly drops to freezing point:

"There's absolutely no reason to talk to a madman who's on a dead end."

Before finishing speaking, his restraint suddenly tightened, and her peaceful expression shatters in an instant. She pushes with all her strength to struggled, but fails to shake him.

He lowers head and stares at her from the beginning of resistance to the futile appearance of exhaustion at the end, and the smile on his face has faded away.

-- How about I help you completely free yourself like this?

He whispers softly in her ear, like a devil's coaxing.

From now on, as long as I make more efforts, no one will monitor your words and deeds all the time, no one will act maliciously at you, no one will point fingers at you, and no one will plot against your life.

Your time will forever stop at the flowery twenty, and your pure soul will soar. Your body will be completely corrupted into a handful of loess under the wheel of history, and your image will become a microcosm of the times for future generations to constantly look back and reflect.

How about that? I'm just an intermediary to help you achieve your goals, don't charge any interest. This deal is not a loss for you.

His words are sincere, euphemistic and touching, but the delicate body under him is still trembling. He feels the tiny slightly wet, through the moonlight seeing the tears on her cheeks.

Her eyes have been distracted, a faint cyanosis appears on her flushed face, and a broken wheeze overflows instinctively from her throat:

"No... No..."

It's almost all over. Why refuse it?

He frowns unconsciously. Just as he wants to say something to ridicule her for being obsessed, he hears the call out intermittently in a voice full of sorrow:

"Please... No... Kazama san!"

He is stunned for a moment because of his name she blurts out so naturally. When he turns face around, he sees the tearful eyes of this woman. He knows that she has been no longer wise at this time, through her crystal-like eyes, he has the illusion that his soul is likely to be deeply attracted by her for no reason.

How frustrated he is. Even an ignorant little girl like her can hit his unknown weakness without a single pawn. Now, with just an unconscious look and a sob, she almost prompts his icy cold blood to boil again.

He can't help squinting his eyes, and draws the distance between them again with a look on his face that seems to be both happy and sad.

What day does it start...

"Do you know me?"

She opens her mouth, but cannot utter a word.

Just when her consciousness is about to fall into the abyss, his shackles are suddenly released. Her unsupported body slides down softly along the wall, and is paralyzed on the ground for a long time, unable to move.

Looking down at her gasping for breath at his feet, Kazama doesn’t say anymore, and his expression hidden in the shadows is indistinguishable. Until her face and breathing gradually improved, he says lightly:

"You’ve thrown a wet blanket on me. Come with me and I'll take you back."

Not paying attention to Yukimura's stunned mouth, he walks towards the door and turns to look at her before opening the door:

"By the way, your clinic is no longer safe. You’d better stay at home calmly in the night."

He adds.

Chapter 2

Several days later, a silent spring midnight.

When Shiranui Kyo opening the door, what he’s seen is Kazama leaning against the bar and drinking alone. Hearing the footsteps not far away, this oni childe doesn't lift his head, not even a word of greeting.

Shiranui tends to grin rather than argue with him, for he has long been accustomed to this arrogant attitude:

"It’s so late, why are you still in a hang-dog look and fond of the bottle?"

Only then does Kazama look away from the moonlight soaking in the wine cup, and turns to him.

"If I remember correctly, those assassination missions you gave me should have been completed long ago." He casually says, "Always coming there, why? You have nothing to do on the battlefield?"

"I just wanna be merciful to confirm your poor mental state. Currently even without our assistance, Satsuma and Choshu’s hooray aka Northeastern vassals’ surrender is only a matter of time. You are no less clever than me on this point. "

Shiranui changes the topic naturally with laughing:

"What about you? You seem to be terribly concerned about tracks of that female oni. I hear that you sent her home in person that night, do you have a thing for her?"

Kazama does not answer his words, but replies calmly:

"It’s not me who proposed to monitor Yukimura Chizuru before."

"Does it matter? Get a load of that doll over there, I totally understand you falling in love with such a lovely lady at first sight."

A lovely doll.

Kazama would have ignored this sloppy talk, but Shiranui’s talk inevitably takes root in his heart. He remembers much of that oni girl, including her gentle smile when she received patients, her cute and hurried appearance when she was carrying a medicine box to go out to the clinic, and her wet eyes like a fawn when he first saw her. But what impressed him more are these two: 1)when she was strangled by throat, her clear eyes cast from time to time, 2)her thin and lonely back after turning around.

He directs eyes to the sleepless lights in Yukimura’s small clinic, as if he is able to catch a glimpse of her graceful silhouette wandering alone, and hear her seeming sigh of sadness.

Tonight, you are as sleepless as I am.

He shows a wry smile in a self-depreciation manner, thinking back to the disturbing night when they met, realizing how she was at that time. Weak, helpless, but also real and pitiful, that’s what the girl tells him panting in pain under him.

It should have been. When you cry, you must cry heartily. When you laugh, you must laugh freely. When you hate, you must hate magnanimously. When you love, you must love vigorously. The more she pretends to be wise and assertive, the more he has to be her opposite, smashing her proud restraint with his own hands.

Seniors often say that a reverent Tibet Buddhist should circle round mountains and rivers as well as pagodas, it’s wise to let it be. No matter unmovable hills or flowing streams, both of them are natural law that cannot be inverted. But he Kazama Chikage, an ungodly disobedient, vows to let the mount shake for him, the sea churn for him. He has succeeded in destroying her vulnerable calm disguise, and broken into her world with a proud and tough attitude, then he couldn't help but be trapped and confined in her eyes.

Although reluctantly, he admits his growing chaotic or uncontrollable mood is a bit abnormal. Something goes wrong even the bumpkin Shiranui has noticed. Now he is caught tripping on Yukimura’s case.

"Since you’ve observed her for so long, is there anything to gain?"

"So you could pump me for information?"

Sensing that his tone was not good, Shiranui laughed and said:

"Don't get me wrong. Your clan don't give me any substantial remuneration, and I'm not bound by your rules. The reason why I keep in touch with you is just to take into account our former acquaintance."

"To be frank, if I want to harm you, there is no need to wait until today. As oni clan leader, don’t forget three serious crimes are still available on you: fight beyond threshold, neglect personal duties, and interfere with human affairs. If I gonna stir up trouble, the final verdict against you may not be as simple as resignation and exile."

Listening to his words silently, Kazama just sighed softly:

"You've talked too much, Shiranui."

"Glad to hear that."

Shiranui laughs brightly, puts away his well-maintained gun and stands up neatly to say goodbye. Before going out, he turns back to Kazama, leaving his last words:

"Don't get too close to Yukimura’s, it will bring you unnecessary trouble. As a half-insider, I can only say these."

After the wooden door being close, Kazama once again looks at the wine cup on the table. Unconsciously, the bright moon shadow in the cup has been obscured by stratus clouds, and the branches of the street tree outside the window are rustling in the night wind.

He lowers his eyes, keeping silent for a moment, finally raises the cup to drink off all the tasteless wine.

"Who doesn't know."

It's overcast.

Not long ago, Yukimura woke up suddenly from a nightmare, and there was still an unfading wetness on the edge of her eye sockets. She gently stroked her hand to the trembling atrium, only to feel a dull pain coming from there.

In her dream, she met many people, including her amiable father, childhood sweethearts and Shinsengumi teammates who had been with her for many years. Years passed by in a hurry, otou sama had lost contact with her, and the comrades who once fought side by side had all embarked on a journey with little hope.

In the end, the war completely ruined her homeland. Swarming with victims, Edo Castle was shrouded in the flames of war, and the raging flames spread like flowers in full bloom, mercilessly devouring the lives of the city and its inhabitants.

In the crowd fleeing in a hurry, she recognized Kazama's figure at a glance. He went against the flow of people and rushed towards the rasetsu legion. His hair and long coat danced wildly in the wind, still with the straight-backed, arrogant and unruly appearance.

He walked through the group of monsters with fangs and claws in blood and expressionless, and he raised his sword, severing and splitting their necks, chests, abdomens and hearts one after another. At that moment, when she met his unintentionally raised gaze, she was startled to realize that there was only a coldness in those red pupils.

What made her even more frightened was that she saw from a distance that the Shinsengumi team members dressed in light scallion haori were all tied with their hands behind their backs. At the back, there was a sign with the word "Thief Army" written in large characters on his neck.
Faced with this situation, they were powerless to change, and had to be slaughtered. Kazama walked out of a sea of blood just smiled coldly, and the next moment his blood-stained blade slashed at the unarmed soldiers again.

The thick bloody smell made her want to vomit, and the muffled sound of the sword piercing through her body let her heart extremely hurt. She instinctively wanted to escape this purgatory-like scene, and she wanted to stop him, but found that her limbs were stiff and stiff. Can't move, makes hoarse voices and can't hear.

She had no choice but to watch Kazama finally come to Hijikata and cut off his head with the katana that had been deformed in the slaughter, then reached into his chest with his bare hands, and pulled out the bloody, still beating heart.

The heroic and unyielding heart that symbolizes the honor of Fukucho of Shinsengumi.

-- Not everything goes in the direction you expect.

The dream came to an abrupt end in this scene, and the warning from Kazama that night was still in her ears. Before she said something, he had already turned around and left, leaving only a short "take care of yourself".

Why?

She wanted to ask him loudly as he left, but the sharp eyes he cast were so unfamiliar that she was terrified.

That night, he almost killed her.

Although she couldn't figure out why he was showing mercy in the end, she still has lingering fears whenever her thoughts touched the night of terror when her life was hanging by a thread. More than that, she wants to know what Kazama experienced to make his temperament change.

During her thrilling girlhood which was short as the dew, she hid in the dark corner of Nishihonganji, staring at his tall figure bathed in sunlight from a distance. Faced with the entourage of the soldiers, he just smiled frivolously. His clothes were light, and with just one hand he held a sword to block a severe blow from a person stabbing him at his vital point.

But when the cadres later arrived and questioned his intentions, his whole body suddenly burst out with astonishing murderous aura, his expression solemn and proud.

"Don't question my self-esteem as oni." He said, "It is our pride not to make excuses, to keep faith and promise."

In her impression, Kazama was superior in strength and self-confidence. After the conflict in Ikedaya, he often came to their dwelling place to provoke Shinsengumi. Though had a condescending attitude outside, he always stuck to the bottom line. He was honorable leader of a clan, the one who is not afraid of threats, can easily convert between advance or retreat.

She couldn’t convince herself that Kazama had not recognize her oni identity, even if her bloodline cannot compare to him. But at that moment, he who may know her most still did something rude to herself as compatriot.

It is a lie to say that she is not sad at all to be treated so rudely by the person who has been hiding in her heart for many years. But she feels the most sad is his almost self-giving up, lost his spirits, and finally left only a cruel and indifferent expression.

She closes her eyes and calmly adjusts her breath for a moment, only then does she feel the discomfort a little lessened. The wind picks up at night, and the shadows of whirling trees are dimly reflected on the lattice door. From afar, the sound of the bellman knocking on the beater wood and hitting the street, singing "Be careful of the door, be careful of the candle".

She smiles bitterly, silently suppressing the sadness and loneliness that have arisen in her heart.

Suddenly, she hears small footsteps from outside the house, followed by the sound of the door being gently opened, and a gentle female voice asks:

"Is Chizuru san living here?"

Chapter 3

Yukimura hastily gathered herself and stepped out of the room. Upon clearly seeing the woman’s face, she couldn’t help but gasp in surprise.

“You’re… Kaoru-san?”

Kaoru was an ordinary woman who had once been rescued by Okita and Toudou on the streets of Kyoto. She and Yukimura had met a few times before. Yukimura had never expected to see her here in Edo.

Before she could ask anything further, Kaoru spoke first with a gentle smile.

“I’m delighted to see you again. As you can see, I’ve fled from Kyoto to Edo. Along the way, I encountered an unexpected delight—one that concerns you. I thought, no matter what, I had to tell you about it in person. That’s why, the moment I found out where you were staying, I came straight here. I hope my sudden visit doesn’t seem too forward.”

Her face was delicately made up, her appearance polished and elegant, with impeccable manners. In the moonlight, her eyes shimmered with an odd, alluring gleam.

“You would never guess—I've met your father, Yukimura Koudou.”

Yukimura was stunned.

Her father, who had once served the shogunate but had vanished without a trace for four years, now reappeared—just as the new government was rising to power—and by sheer chance encountered Kaoru, who was herself on the run.

What mattered most was that she knew Koudou had been the original cause behind the entire ochimizu chaos. For years, she had longed to meet her father again and hear from his own mouth the hidden truths surrounding ochimizu. But she had waited in vain.

Now, if Kaoru truly knew him, could it mean she might also know something about those secrets?

Seeing her remain silent, Kaoru continued in a gentle, coaxing tone.

“Koudou-ojisan told me that, due to his research into ochimizu, he was imprisoned in the western provinces for four years. Recently, with the domains in the west joining the anti-shogunate war, he found a chance to escape and made his way east to Kyoto. Originally, he had planned to look for you through the Shinsengumi, but learned that you had already been separated from them due to the chaos. So, he decided to come to Edo with me. Right now, Koudou-ojisan is waiting quietly at my place. Don’t you think this is the perfect moment for a reunion between father and daughter—a time for your family to come together again?”

Imprisoned?

Yukimura’s brows furrowed ever so slightly.

The issue was, even the shogunate—then in power—had no clue about her father’s whereabouts. Secret arrest warrants had been issued one after another, yet all had ended in failure. If what Miss Kaoru said was true, then who could have possibly captured her father? With his power to create rasetsu, there shouldn’t be any force capable of harming or coercing him.

“If that’s the case,” she asked, “why didn’t my father come with you? Where is he now?”

“I hope you’ll understand the heartfelt concerns of an aging father,” Kaoru replied smoothly, unfazed. “Over the years, he has endured far too many hardships. To see you again, he’s traveled an exhausting journey. It’s taken everything he has just to reach Edo. To be honest, his health isn’t in the best condition right now. I hadn’t intended to bring this up, but if he were to hear what you just said, I fear it would cause him quiet sorrow.”

Yukimura felt a pang in her heart at Kaoru’s words. She was soft-hearted by nature—no matter how much her father had done wrong, the memory of the man who had raised her all those years lingered. Thinking of his old age and declining health, she couldn’t bear to criticize him further.

And yet, she still found herself unable to fully believe Kaoru. A father who claimed to miss her so deeply, yet hadn’t sent her a letter directly, instead relying on a stranger to relay his message—and asking her to follow this stranger. The more she thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but it’s quite late tonight. May we speak again another day? Knowing that my father is under your care puts me somewhat at ease. If you wouldn’t mind, please leave your address—I’ll be sure to visit in person with a proper gift. Would that be agreeable?”

A faint crack appeared in Kaoru’s otherwise flawless smile.

“I can’t imagine what concerns might still be holding you back. My residence is quite close—only about fifteen minutes on foot. You needn’t worry about any trouble from the new government’s men. I assure you, your safety is in good hands.”

She spoke as she reached out her right hand toward Yukimura.

“Koudou has so much he wants to say to you. So, come with me.”

Yukimura stared at the hand extended toward her. She closed her eyes, thinking for a moment, then made up her mind.

“Before that, allow me to confirm one thing,” she said. “Miss Kaoru, could you tell me your full name?”

“But of course.” Kaoru laughed lightly, her expression brimming with charm. “My maiden name is Yukimura.”

She parted her crimson lips and, as Yukimura looked on in astonishment, stepped forward and gently took her hand.

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you—you and Uncle Koudou are both my long-lost family, my dear little sister.”

A faint, delicate scent wafted from Kaoru’s body. Yukimura caught a whiff of it—but before she could even identify what it was, her slender hand was already tightly gripped in Kaoru’s.

In that instant, all capacity for rational thought vanished. She stood motionless, dazed, letting Kaoru lead her toward the door without resistance.

“That’s right. Just be a good girl, my sweet little sister.”

Kaoru turned slightly, her voice still coaxing, gentle as ever—
but a fleeting glint of menace flashed through her eyes.

“What’s so special about that Kazama, anyway? Why would you stick so close to someone like him? He’s arrogant, self-absorbed, and utterly dismissive of everyone else. And on top of that, he’s trying so hard to stop our family from reuniting, isn’t he? If you keep following him, you’ll never find happiness. You don’t need to think about anything. I’m sure this reunion won’t disappoint you…”

Yukimura’s face remained blank. She gave no reaction to the words being spoken to her.

Kaoru smiled, satisfied. Hand in hand, she continued to lead Yukimura forward. But the moment her eyes caught sight of a figure standing nearby—arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall—her smile wavered.

It was Kazama who had arrived.

He had heard the noise and now turned toward them, unhurried, his movements smooth and deliberate.

“So late at night—where exactly are you planning to take her?”

His expression bore a faint, mocking smile, but the red gleam in his eyes held no warmth.

“Why, I’m taking my dear sister to reunite with our father, of course,” Kaoru replied with a charming smile. “As for where exactly—we’re Yukimura family, aren’t we? I fail to see how it’s any of your concern.”

“A reunion with Yukimura Koudou? How laughable.” Kazama let out a derisive chuckle. “If you think you can pull that off right under my nose—go ahead and try.”

“My, Lord Kazama, such a bold claim,” Kaoru replied, still smiling with infuriating calm. “I do hope you’ll keep that same confidence when you’re standing before one of our new-model rasetsu.”

She shot a glance toward the still-dazed Yukimura, her expression soft as silk. “And of course, I’m including our little porcelain doll over there. Isn’t her face just precious right now? I imagine she must be dreaming something ever so sweet. Consider it my very first gift to my darling little sister—from her big brother.”

Lifting his delicate, boneless-looking fingers, Kaoru traced the contours of Yukimura’s face through the air—as though, in doing so, he were truly touching her skin.

“See? Beneath this lovely exterior flows the blood of the Yukimura line. Perhaps it’s that shared blood that’s made her so obedient tonight.”

His fingers continued their invisible dance, sliding down toward her chin, then her throat.

Suddenly—without warning—his fingertips tightened ever so slightly. Yukimura’s expression twisted in pain.

“How unfortunate that the other half of her blood comes from filthy humans. But to fully erase that tainted part of her…I wouldn’t mind letting her sweet little dream end right here.”

“How amusing,” Kazama said coldly. “Then why don’t we find out—which is faster: your hand, or my blade?”

His tone dropped a degree. In a fluid motion, his fingers slid to his sword, nudging it slightly from its sheath to reveal a gleam of cold, silver steel.

“If your Nagumo clan wants to pick a fight with me here and now—I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“A stray ghost like you—do you really think you have the right to say such things?” Kaoru sneered. “You should know this: it is the family that gives you power, and the family that strips you of your glory. Do you really believe that with your strength alone, you can protect anything, change anything? If the Kazama elders were the ones standing here instead of me, I wonder if you’d still dare to speak with such arrogance.”

Faced with the threat, Kazama merely gave a cold smile.

“So that’s your point—‘a tiger fallen to the plains gets bullied by dogs’? Unfortunately, that doesn’t apply to me. Since the family has cast me out, I no longer owe them obedience. Those old fools have always hated me—and I’m in no mood to flatter them now.”

With each word, his gaze grew darker.

“Anyone who stands in my way—human or oni—I’ll cut them down, no exceptions. That’s a promise. And wouldn’t you know it, I just had a new blade forged. If you’re looking to provoke me…I’d be happy to let you be my first test cut.”

“Madman.”

Kaoru’s smile vanished instantly. His expression twisted, a trace of malice surfacing in his tone—and his voice dropped back into its original, masculine register.

“Very well. Let’s see if my dear little sister appreciates your kindness.”

Before the words had even faded, Kaoru’s figure disappeared.

Unbalanced, Yukimura stumbled forward—straight into Kazama’s arms. But the moment they touched, she flinched instinctively, whimpering as she struggled with all her might to break free from his hold.

He gripped her tightly with one arm to restrain her frantic thrashing. With the other, he firmly but carefully tilted her chin upward.

What he saw stunned him—her gaze was vacant, lips trembling, and her pale, bloodless face was streaked with uneven tear tracks.

Her tear-stained face was certainly pitiful. But unlike the night they first met, now, in those jet-black eyes, there wasn’t a trace of light left.

And it was no wonder. With such a fragile body, how could she possibly withstand wave after wave of relentless cruelty?

She had fought stubbornly against a web already spun tight around her. She’d been wounded, her wings broken—and in the end, it fell to him—a fellow castaway, to pick up what remained of her.

Kazama let out a small sigh. He loosened his grip slightly and helped her sit against the wall.

In her trembling palm, he caught the faint trace of a lingering scent.

He frowned, ignoring her resistance, and directly grabbed her hand to sniff it, his suspicions growing stronger. In the end, he gently put down that warm and soft little hand, gazing into her sorrowful eyes so close to his, letting out a deep sigh.

How can you just die so silently like this?

I would rather have you die in my hands like that night than see you toyed with and defiled by those scoundrels until life is worse than death.

He muttered softly to himself while wiping the endless tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. But she kept dodging, kept crying, and kept pushing him away with increasingly feeble strength.

He pursed his lips and stared at her for a moment, then suddenly let out a mocking laugh.

Are you afraid of me?

Why are you afraid of me?

Where did your original sharpness go? You’re willing to believe only one side of Nagumo Kaoru’s story and follow a rogue like him, yet you stubbornly reject my sincere help?

Thinking of this, he retaliated by pressing harder with his hand, eliciting an even more aggrieved sob from her due to the pain. It was as if a switch in a Pandora’s box had been flipped; his actions became increasingly unrestrained, first kneading her soft cheeks, then caressing her tender lips, forcing her to open her small mouth and suck on his fingers, using her warm, moist mouth and tongue to flatter and charm him.

They both hid in the corner, in this boundless night that covered the earth like a roof, where no one would notice the existence of this pair of lovers stealing moments of pleasure. So he persistently chased and teased her, coloring her face and neck with a blush that invited daydreams, making her emit soft, coquettish moans under his control.

— How is it? Learned your lesson yet?

He leaned slightly closer to those unfocused pupils, satisfied to see her pitifully red-rimmed eyes, her body trembling slightly, tears falling endlessly like broken strings. Only when her eyelids drooped weakly did he begin to briefly consider whether he had gone a bit too far just now.

He thought to himself that he was probably no better than those villains who plotted to abduct her. After all, not long ago, he was doing the very things those scoundrels could do to her.

After she finally quieted down completely, he at last fulfilled his wish by cleaning away the sweat, tears, and saliva smeared all over her face. Looking at the girl’s face as she fell into a deep sleep, he silently gave a nearly self-mocking smile.

Meeting people like us is your disaster, your fate, your misfortune. Who told you to be born so unlucky?

She probably heard his inner voice in her sleep; she moved uncomfortably in his arms, furrowing her brows and pouting her soft lips, almost as if she were seriously arguing with him.

He lazily glanced at her without replying, directly pressing her restless head back into place. As he got up, he scooped her up effortlessly with one hand from behind her knee, then lifted her whole body with ease.

Forget it, why bother arguing with such a fool.

Only a fool would live so naively and sadly.

The road to the clinic was bathed in silvery-gray moonlight, countless houses and pavilions standing silently like ghosts in the darkness. He couldn't help but lower his head to look at her again, suddenly noticing something shimmering on her curved eyelashes. For a moment, he couldn't tell whether it was moonlight or tears, only feeling that fragile and sorrowful glow prick his heart with a dull ache.

He took her back to the room and tucked her into the bedding. By the dim light, he silently gazed at her face, which could hardly hide its weariness, yet inexplicably leaned closer and closer until finally, he gently placed a kiss on her moist eyelids.

At that moment, he murmured unintentionally:

Before I met you, I never thought a woman could shed so many tears.

Chapter 4

Since that night, the sun has not been seen for three consecutive days.

Kazama had no choice but to stay by her side almost sleepless through the night, doing everything he could to soothe her back to sleep. Only after that could he seize the chance to rest briefly or temporarily leave the room to attend to his own matters.

During this period, Yukimura's physical condition remained unstable. Sometimes she would suddenly develop a high fever without warning, while at other times she would curl up tightly as if feeling cold. More often, she would suddenly wake up from a brief light sleep, sobbing and tossing restlessly due to pain, unable to find peace.

This feeling, more agonizing than raising a child, was something he truly did not want to experience a second time.

At first, he could still prolong her unconsciousness by knocking her out, but unexpectedly, this little girl, despite being deaf and blind, still insisted on outsmarting him. She gradually figured out his pattern of attack. In the end, just as his hand reached halfway, she instinctively hugged the quilt and crawled far away, only to roll back into his arms shortly after due to unbearable pain.

He should have felt annoyed. But every time he looked into those misty eyes and saw her face flushed red with discomfort, he could no longer say anything harsh.

Healers do not heal themselves; the old saying is indeed true.

Look at you, how much you've worn yourself down...

He brushed aside the strands of her hair, damp and sticky with sweat, and wiped the bite marks on her lips with a soft cloth moistened with water. In a tone half mocking, half resigned, he spoke to her. Although he tried to be as gentle and light as possible, she stubbornly turned her head away, trying to avoid his touch, yet her instinctively shrinking body and trembling eyelashes betrayed her true feelings.

She was so busy fleeing in panic that she forgot her body was still under his control. Before she could react, she was heavily pressed into the confined space of the bed, her chin was lifted, meeting his increasingly deep and intense eyes.

“Still dare to hide from me? You should know, with your current abilities, you simply can't do without me.”

He snorted lightly, tightening his grip a little more. If he just lowered his head slightly, he could see the back of his hand and remember the faint row of teeth marks that had bled not long ago. Now the scars had long since healed and disappeared, but the warmth and pain she had unintentionally brought him at that time lingered persistently.

Little troublemaker.

He muttered irritably, and before putting the blood-stained handkerchief into the water to wash, he casually pinched her soft, plump cheek.

I'm rarely this attentive when serving someone, so just lie still and be grateful.

He loosened her close-fitting single garment, freeing that warm, heated body from the fabric's restraint, then calmly wiped her down to cool her off. After days of being together day and night and skin to skin, he had become increasingly familiar and natural with these matters.

Even he wasn't quite sure why he went to such lengths for this already unfamiliar mixed-race girl. Perhaps it was because her symptoms relapsed so frequently that he had to devote more energy to dealing with her, neglecting to think deeply about the issue.

Soon, her extraordinary reaction interrupted his thoughts once again. As their bodies drew closer, the faint scent of submerged water grew stronger in the air, and her soft, heated breaths came in rapid succession, as if trying to envelop him and pull him into that warm and fragrant secret world. As she unconsciously climbed onto his neck, offering herself to him completely and bare, he straightened up slightly, creating some distance between them.

If you knew what you were doing, it would probably be very painful, right?

Ignoring her mosquito-like protests, he grabbed her restless hands and feet, placing them back in their proper positions one by one. After finishing the task at hand, he thoughtfully helped her close her collar.

If you really have that kind of free time, you should take care of your own life first.

As expected, he received no response. Looking into her blank eyes staring at him, he just smiled and continued the conversation on his own.

Recently, I've heard a lot about you.

Just think of it as a bedtime story to pass the time.

Even though he knew she couldn't understand any of it, under her pure and unguarded gaze, he patiently recounted everything from the beginning, completely unaware that he was babbling like a nagging old woman.

He spoke from her childhood days to her years in the Shinsengumi, from the early dawn when the morning stars were few to the break of day when the candle flickered and the timepiece ran out. Throughout this time, she lay quietly, neither falling ill nor crying out.

The sky was lightening, slanting rays entering the room, and she gradually grew drowsy and heavy-eyed under his soft and steady narration. He took in this change in her at a glance and stopped speaking at the right moment.

He took a sip of the tea that had long since cooled beside him, and after a long silence, he turned his gaze to the swaying lush shadows of the trees outside the window, murmuring to himself with some emotion:

“These old stories, I’m afraid even you might not remember them. If it had been in the past, I wouldn’t have known that our meeting was already destined in the unseen.”

As he spoke, his tone suddenly shifted, and his gaze gradually grew cold:

“It's a pity that you ran into a petty man like me.”

“Logically, I could have just left you here to fend for yourself. However, since you are so passionately begging me—”

He squinted at her and smiled meaningfully.

Then it depends on whether you’re truly worth my help.

Since he had already severed ties completely with his own family, the internal conflicts of the latter naturally had nothing to do with him. Risking everything as an outsider, he stepped in to save her, and then cared for her tirelessly for days and nights, which was already going above and beyond.

Thinking this, a slightly ironic curve lifted the corner of his lips.

—Wake up!

Besides me, who else can you rely on now?

The family and friends you trust, where are they one by one when you are at your most lonely and helpless?

Only you know nothing. What you want was different from theirs from the very beginning, so in the end, you couldn't keep a single one. From the first day you interacted, you were destined to part ways and go separate paths.

From birth to death, walking alone through the world is the norm of our lives. I used to not understand: why must you seek comfort from groups of people? Why must you blend in exactly like them to find the meaning of your existence?

But I later realized that it’s the same everywhere. Humans are like this, and so are the ghost clan. To survive, you have to compromise, or else you risk being collectively suppressed. In this regard, there isn’t much difference between you and me.

You see, in the end, it’s still me—someone who shares your plight—who has to personally clean up the mess for you.

I’m actually very curious to see what kind of expression you’ll have when you wake up and face me again.

Kazama's thoughts returned to reality at this moment. He once again checked Yukimura's condition, seeing that her eyes were still tightly closed and unresponsive, the slight curve of her neck delicate and fragile.

He really was worrying over nothing.

What reason was there to argue with a patient whose mind was like that of a three-year-old child?

He had no intention of explaining further and prepared to get up and leave.

Suddenly, his hand was grabbed tightly.

He was startled and almost instinctively reached for his sword. Following the hand that held his, he saw that her eyes were fully open, her dark pupils staring at him unblinkingly.

What nonsense are you up to again?

He frowned and tried to pull her away, but she remained indifferent, as if determined to hold her ground. With strength from somewhere, her fingers dug tighter between his, and for a moment, he couldn't break free.

Before he could say anything, she slowly pressed her cheek against their intertwined fingers, slightly moving her lips, and tears silently fell drop by drop.

The lively chirping of the birds on the branches suddenly blurred, as if distant beyond the clouds, ethereal and unreal. Everything in this morning seemed to surge within this bedroom, ready at any moment to stir a silent yet turbulent whirlpool.

Could it be that she was just too tired?

He closed his eyes, and in a flash of thought, went over all the memories he had gathered and known about this illness.

No. This is not a symptom of illness.

No emotional fluctuations, no abnormal body temperature, no adverse physical reactions, yet tears fall for no reason just as she is about to leave.

If none of these reasons can explain it, then there is only one conclusion—

She is about to wake up.

He was somewhat surprised and couldn't help but bend down to hold her body that she was trying to support, reaching out to touch her disheveled long hair:

Do you not want me to leave?

She blinked upon hearing this, then obediently moved even closer to him, burying half her face in the hollow of his shoulder and gently rubbing against him, as if she understood his words.

Truly interesting.

He naturally welcomed her to take the initiative to throw herself into his arms, idly using his fingers to comb through her hair, then looked at their intertwined hands, and leaned close to her ear with a light laugh:

Let me repeat it again. Do you want me to help you?

This obviously went beyond the little girl's understanding. She just tilted her head slightly, her expression innocent and pure.

Seeing this situation, he could only sigh helplessly:

It depends on your own awareness.

You, who are so familiar with the Shinsengumi and the others, how will you live from now on?

I will watch with great interest.

After she was completely asleep, he stepped out of the room and indulged himself in the winding streets filled with curling smoke, freely and joyfully breathing in the fresh, salty, and gentle sea breeze.

Today, the weather should be good.

Chapter 5

Between a vast and desolate sky and earth, pure and flawless snowflakes fluttered down.

Yukimura walked with uneven steps across the vast snowy plain, the biting north wind mixed with snowflakes turning her cheeks bright red. Although she slowed her pace due to exhaustion, she did not stop moving forward. She knew what it meant to do so in such an isolated and helpless unfamiliar environment—her strength was too weak to even determine the exact location, direction, or time; the only thing she could do was to strive to maintain her body temperature and consciousness through her actions.

However, one thing was certain: none of this was real. She clearly understood that she was in a long, untimely dream. From the moment the snow began to fall, she quickly realized that these tiny flakes were not real snow but a substance that caused a cold, dull pain upon contact with the skin. Obviously, this was not something tangible, but more like a signal meant to remind her, who was trapped inside it. Since it was a dreamlike illusion, there had to be a way to break it. Even if she died here, it did not mean that the self outside the illusion would suffer the same fate. Rather than staying put to call for help or waiting to die, it was better to take a chance and try.

But before the opportunity appeared, she could only take it one step at a time.

She exhaled a warm breath softly, unable to help but think of her father once again. In her memories, her father always loved to sit alone in the courtyard warming wine during the quiet snowy days, while she was left to curiously browse through various books and notes in the study. Those were some of her favorite peaceful moments. Her father was gentle and kind to others, often taking the young her to various places for consultations. This teaching by example and constant exposure nurtured her enthusiastic and diligent character, as well as her persistent pursuit of medical knowledge. What impressed her most was that her father never excluded her from professional work environments simply because she was a girl. Instead, he taught her hand-in-hand from the most basic knowledge, involved her in medical work, and even discussed medical principles and Western grammar in literature with her. Although her father never hoped for her to become a doctor, merely saying, "It's always good to have an extra skill," she remained grateful for this and held deep admiration for her father's superb skills and noble character.

Father, while you were away, I have been diligently managing the family clinic... For four years, I have been searching all over Kyoto for your whereabouts, while striving to improve my medical skills with the ambition of "making my father proud of me." Now... I hope I have not brought shame to your reputation.

She gazed blankly up at the gray, overcast sky above, tears gradually welling up in her eyes.

What puzzled her was why her father, such a highly skilled doctor deeply respected by the people, had mysteriously disappeared for four years. She had considered the possibility that he might have been killed by enemies or was hiding to avoid trouble, but quickly dismissed these thoughts—no, she had never heard of her father having any unresolved grudges, and he had no reason to do something he would even hide from his own daughter. Her father had always been devoted to medicine; aside from his interactions with patients and their families, he was somewhat awkward in social matters and never cared to associate with the upper class or engage in corrupt dealings. If he had truly become the target of a powerful figure’s vendetta, it would have caused a huge scandal by now, not vanished without a trace.

She heard from the Shinsengumi officers that ochimizu was an evil drug her father had been involved in researching under the government's orders. But she was also half-doubtful of this claim. The fact was too much of a shock to her impression of her father; even after four years, she still couldn't fully accept it. She believed her father was wrongfully accused—this was also one of the reasons she worked so hard and managed the clinic affairs diligently after returning from Kyoto. What made her feel some dissatisfaction and resentment was that those noble officials above always commanded the people below at will, making them do all kinds of thankless and exhausting dirty work, then shifting the risk of failure onto them, while they perfectly hid behind the scenes, maintaining their sacred authority. They unilaterally signed treaties with foreign powers to open trade ports, allowing other countries' warships to dock there openly, and the chaotic smuggling of gold and silver caused the rapid devaluation of the domestic currency. Did they ever ask the common people if they were willing to accept all this? Such a government deserved to collapse overnight. As an ordinary person with no understanding of politics or history, she didn't care which family would rule the country after the Tokugawa clan—no matter who was in power, it couldn't change the fate of the common people being exploited, crushed, and abandoned. She just wanted to see her father one more time.

Whenever she thought of her father, an uncontrollable hidden pain in her heart made it difficult for her to maintain the calm and focus that doctors pride themselves on. She didn’t notice that the snow ahead suddenly became very deep; one step down, and she suddenly stepped into thin air. There was no sound of landing, only continuous sinking... as if falling into some forgotten realm. Yukimura, who had expected to hit the ground hard, struggled to adjust to the dizziness caused by the sudden change in environment. It wasn’t until the surrounding airflow gradually stabilized that she cautiously opened her eyes.

It was also a wasteland, but unlike the snowy field just now, this seemed to be the remnants of a forest destroyed by slash-and-burn farming. The so-called "wasteland" was merely a euphemism for a desolate scene covered with strange rocks and wild grass. The howling wind of the snowy plain was already blocked beyond the mountains, leaving only a divine-like clear and pure airflow lingering nearby. A hawk circled above the field, then suddenly let out a long cry and flapped its wings to fly far away, stirring up distant and empty echoes among the mountains. At that moment, she noticed an ancient torii standing at the end of her line of sight ahead. Like the surrounding environment, the torii's structure was also charred and severely damaged. Rather than human land reclamation, it was more like the result of deliberate arson.

Who exactly dares to burn such a sacred object... She had no choice but to move forward along the only path ahead. As her perspective shifted, the space around her suddenly opened up. She carefully scanned the surrounding terrain, judging that this might be a deep valley in the mid-mountain area, and that the misstep she took in the snow might have been the trigger that transported her to this world. But was this series of events too coincidental? She suddenly felt a strong sense of discomfort, as if her fate was being manipulated by someone in the shadows.

Of course, she was not naive enough to idolize medicine as a panacea that could solve all problems; all she wished for was simply to alleviate the suffering of those around her—such a plain and unpretentious desire! Yet, upon seeing the objects scattered among the grass, clearly charred black and resembling bones, she trembled slightly from shock and indignation. Edo experienced many fires, and she had once helped her father rescue the injured and witnessed the tragic scenes of victims who died in the flames. How much pain must those residents, trapped and burned alive here, have endured! What kind of hatred could twist the perpetrator into such a cold-blooded and merciless executioner?

At this thought, a pair of slender, cold, deep red eyes suddenly flashed like lightning in her mind, causing her heart to tremble heavily. Although many days had passed, she still hadn't forgotten how Kazama had casually touched her skin back then, and how he had fiercely grabbed her throat. Every move he made exuded a strong sense of "you can't escape," along with an indescribable madness. But for some reason, she believed she had a way to deal with him.

Her father once said: under a doctor’s scalpel, every life is equal. When faced with extremely abnormal or even unsolvable difficulties, people always turn to either witchcraft or medicine—the doctor’s mission is to stand up resolutely when the times demand it. She believed this was her father’s supreme way of dealing with people and the foundation for the excellence of the Yukimura’s medical skills. She desperately needed to tame this man to prove her own strength—in this era where women were naturally considered inferior, she needed a successful psychiatric case to establish the reputation of the Yukimura clinic. Only then could she continue her father’s unfinished work and prove that Western medicine had far greater efficacy than people imagined. “Cure Kazama Chikage”—this was the ultimate plan Yukimura had painstakingly devised over the past few days. She firmly believed that advanced medical treatment could restore him to the noble and dignified state he had when they first met, sparing him from the torment of madness and pain.

This reminded her of the Shinsengumi. Undoubtedly, these people were engaged in the deadly, bloodthirsty work of serving the shogunate with their swords. Yet ironically, she had stayed at the feared "killing group's" headquarters for four years, simply because it was more convenient for gathering and inquiring about information regarding her father. In return, she promised to provide medical and meal services to the members free of charge. She was fully aware that Kyoto had long been shrouded in a continuous wave of killings and a terrifying atmosphere, so violence had become the only legitimate means of maintaining order. Therefore, the most dangerous place was also the safest place. Regardless of personal intentions or willingness, from the day they swore loyalty to the shogunate as samurai, their tragic fate had become inevitable. Her father... could it be that he was also forcibly tied to this out-of-control war chariot concerning life and death?

She neither dared nor wished to do what he wanted anymore. The urgent matter was not to worry about her father, but to preserve her own life. Even if her father was truly in grave danger, she would calmly accept the judgment of fate. Rather than futilely lamenting the lost life here, it was better to do something that could prevent senseless killing and hatred while she still had the strength. She was a healer skilled in the art of saving lives, and her abilities could only be put to use in the practical field of treating and saving patients.

However, no matter how skilled a doctor was, they were nothing more than a pawn in the power struggle... just like how she was involuntarily drawn into this endless chain of dreams, unable to break free. She looked silently with resentment at the lush grass swaying gently in the mountain wind, and recalled the meaningful words Kazama left before parting: "If the existence of medical skills is only to stitch up the wounds left by others, and human desires are endless, so that the cycle of crime, revenge, and plunder cannot be stopped, then what is the meaning of this knowledge that, in a sense, serves the wars between people and even encourages the reproduction of war and trauma?"

As she pondered these words, she found herself standing beneath that huge and broken torii gate. The pitch-black entrance was like a silent, still pupil, watching this stranger who was both unfamiliar and familiar.

Chapter 6

After passing through the torii gate, she stepped onto a narrow path covered with fallen leaves and vines. Sparse sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy above, illuminating the road ahead. This place might once have been a dense forest, but due to a great fire many years ago, only charred tree trunks remained, scattered unevenly in twisted shapes of varying heights. The air still carried an unpleasant, dry, and cold scent of ash. Even the wildflowers sporadically sprouting between the cracks in the stones appeared pale and withered. Without the protection of vegetation, the howling mountain wind swept through unimpeded, and faint echoes from deep within the valley woods sounded like the wails and sobs of lost souls.

As a half-blood with supernatural abilities, Yukimura was not completely unfamiliar with the strange tales about the Oni clan, especially the tragic event fifteen years ago when her own main family was slaughtered after refusing to cooperate with humans. But her father said that by that time, they had already left the main family, come to Edo, and established a clinic, preparing to carve out their own place. Looking back now, this place is probably the ruins of the Yukimura family who met their unfortunate fate back then. Judging by the current situation, the Yukimura ancestral home in the divine realm has already lost its spiritual energy and is no longer suitable for any form of life. A once powerful family dominating northeastern Japan was reduced to scorched earth overnight, disappearing into the river of history.

While secretly relieved to have escaped disaster herself, she felt even more sorrow and desolation. It was from her father’s recounting of this past that she began to ponder new questions. For example, she started to understand why her father worked tirelessly day and night—not only because male oni had stronger physiques, but more importantly because he wanted broader recognition, not just from the human patients he treated but also from his oni peers of nobler bloodlines. His departure from the family might not have been due to disdain for the clan’s internal conflicts, but because he was eager to achieve success in a new field and desperate to prove himself. For this reason, she cherished the clinic her father left behind and worked so hard to continue his legacy—this small clinic embodied her father’s dedication and sweat. She could not let him down.

Continuing forward, the slope gradually leveled out, revealing the ruins of several houses. A gentle breeze swept from deep within the mountain hollow, passing over broken wooden stakes and sunken earth layers. It could not stir the dry grass but carried a subtle humming, as if someone were softly humming a discordant tune. The ground was uneven; some areas looked as if they had been dug up and hastily covered, while others were sunken into trench-like shapes. The edges of the soil and stones had been loosened by rain but had not yet completely collapsed. She crouched down to examine a cracked patch of earth closely. The moment her fingertips touched a half-buried black bone fragment, something sounded in her ears—not a sound, but a memory from another’s body—like a brief clang of sword on blade, a broken, lingering wail, followed by a surge of phantom pain filled with bloodlust. She held her breath, trying to discern the source of the sound, but increasingly felt it was not coming from underground, but radiating outward from behind her own shoulder blade, as if some forgotten part was coming back to life.

No, it was not the first time she had felt this way. The smoke from the guns had not yet cleared, and the haze of ash after the raging fire mixed with a heavy stench of blood, like a thick fog laced with the scent of rot. It was a sticky, deeply unsettling muscle memory lodged in the depths of her nostrils. Many people had died—either struck by stray bullets, trampled to death in the crush, buried alive in burning flames and rubble, or ground to pulp by indiscriminate bombs and tanks. This world had become an orderly slaughterhouse—the officers and soldiers methodically searched for the lucky survivors, strictly and precisely carrying out the processes of locating, dissecting, dismembering, and destroying. Only the fertile soil made from blackened, charred bones mixed with pale white fat could bloom this unique flower of the world, vividly recreating the endless cycle of reincarnation and the hellish suffering of all beings, surpassing the original in brilliance.

Therefore, she ran away. She became a deserter on the battlefield and, under Hijikata's orders, left the Shinsengumi to return to Edo, gradually readjusting to an ordinary life. Unexpectedly, the reappearance of Kazama and Ochimizu completely shattered her illusion of hiding her identity and returning to normalcy. Even amidst the mysterious world of gods and demons and the bizarre, surreal visions, the nightmares of fleeing, killing, and torture relentlessly haunted her every moment. As she cut open wounds to remove shattered bullet fragments, sliced through abscesses to drain the foul pus, and repeated these practiced, almost instinctive actions, her hand holding the knife began to tremble. Under her scalpel lay bodies, each suffering from different ailments but equally submissive in their pain. Yet, the wounds no longer revealed the distinct, functional organs described in Western medical books, but rather chaotic, moaning, twisted, flowing blood-colored mist. Amid the cries of mothers and children, she felt her body and soul slowly melting away. She felt dizzy.

The essence of this world is a vast trap. She wearily closed her eyes. She once believed that everything had clear boundaries, but now she could no longer distinguish which was approaching and which was devouring. Affection and indifference are merely two temperatures on the same hand, just as the difference between cutting and dismembering is but a thin line. What exactly is she determined to protect? Is it Western medicine, which even she increasingly doubts? Is it the family business left by her missing father? Is it the "honor" of being a samurai and an oni clan member, as Shinsengumi or Kazama once said? She did not understand. Young and impoverished, she could not afford expensive painkillers. She remembered a wounded soldier whose legs had been blown off, who tearfully grabbed her collar and screamed in despair, "Let me die." The nameless corpse with half a head blown off in the trench, women and children sold and transferred at will, abandoned infants lying alone in cold ditches, desolate mountains and villages strewn with starving corpses... Her memory stopped at the moment her father turned around before leaving, showing a gentle smile. She fell to the ground, crying out in pain, her eyes burning as if on fire.

Tears blurred her vision, blurring the boundaries of time. In a daze, she seemed to hear something—not the sound of the wind in this wasteland, but a voice coming from a more distant place.

It was a faint, almost imperceptible female voice—

“Black hair still neat, heart already troubled,
A single thought of deep affection, the most harmful to the body.”

"Since love stirs, hair becomes disheveled,
One night in a dream, unable to find peace."

At a teahouse on the edge of Yoshiwara, the night was as deep and dark as ink. Paper lanterns swayed gently in the night breeze, casting flickering shadows. The geisha bowed her head, plucking the strings; the shamisen’s tone sounded especially mournful in the silence. It was a piece called "Black Hair," its melody so slow it seemed almost frozen, each note carrying an indescribable weight.

Kazama propped his chin, staring motionless at the woman in heavy makeup and ornate clothing, his knuckles slightly bent. His gaze pierced through the rouge and powder, as if trying to unearth some buried truth from the intermittent melody.

"Only thinking of the wife by one's side,
Unaware of the deep resentments in a woman's heart—"

"Upon waking from the dream, warmth still lingers by the couch;
Old dreams by the pillow now become a lonely enemy to sleep beside."

The geisha's voice was very soft, as light as a whisper drifting from another world. She was called "Kaguya," yet her face bore the look of someone who had seen too many farewells.

"This tune isn't common among the people in Kanto," Kazama's voice sounded abrupt in the silence, carrying a sharpness of scrutiny. "What is your background?

Kaguya quietly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, her lips still holding the gentle, formal smile of a courtesan, detached from emotion. However, her eyes held a hollow emptiness unbefitting her age, as if all feelings had been worn away by time.

"I was originally from Tango. When I was seventeen, a lord bought my freedom from the teahouse and took me to Edo." She lowered her eyes, lightly stroking the strings of the shamisen, her tone calm as if flipping through old accounts. "Later, he was promoted and took a lawful wife. It was inappropriate for me to interfere, so I returned here on my own.

She paused for a moment, a bitter smile curling at the corner of her lips: "People say Yoshiwara is a place you can never truly return from, but I feel it's steadier here than anywhere else. At least... there's nothing left to wait for."

"I seem to remember seeing your face over in Shimabara," Shiranui said thoughtfully, setting down his teacup to interject, "The name was something like... Kimikiku, or something similar."

The woman listened to these words, her expression unmoved, as if indifferently hearing someone else's story. After a moment, she smiled sweetly:

"Oh my, dear guest, you really know how to joke." She gracefully raised her hand and served tea to Kazama and Shiranui in turn. "This face of mine has changed a good three parts over the years. Getting older, I can't compare to the young and beautiful girls, so I have to use rouge and powder to cover the fine lines. How could anyone remember the real me at first glance?"

Kazama closed his eyes and fell silent for a moment, then suddenly a nearly cold smile curved at the corner of his lips.

"All desires and emotions eventually turn to emptiness, white snow falls on the shoulders and the temples wither first." He sighed, "Even with the stunning, unparalleled beauty of Princess Kaguya, can one not escape the fate of being abandoned after the initial passion?"

Shiranui sensed there was more to Kazama's words and looked at him with a complex expression.

"Those who know how to tease also know how to discard. Only fools believe these love dramas are genuine feelings."

The plectrum in the woman's hand lightly tapped the shamisen, the string's sound trembling like a sigh, or perhaps a sneer. She slowly tuned the instrument, speaking neither hurriedly nor slowly.

She looked at him with a bright smile, but her voice carried a bone-chilling coldness: "It's just making a living, no need to take it too seriously. Don't you agree, Kazama...dono?"

The night wind passed through the paper window, stirring the flickering lights. In the wavering shadows, everyone's face appeared blurred, as if they could dissolve into the darkness at any moment.