Chapter 3 Long-lost Anger
The night sky loomed heavy with clouds, and rainwater had pooled into deep, muddy streams across the courtyard. Yet, the storm showed no sign of ending, as though the heavens themselves were unwilling to grant peace.
Oddly enough, the very instant the Fourth Lady of the Jin Manor gave birth to a baby boy, the sky had shifted—no more jagged lightning tore across the clouds, and the growling thunder abruptly ceased.
But no one in the Jin family paid attention to such omens. Their focus was on the Fourth Lady, who hovered at the edge of death.
In a side chamber, lavishly dressed figures gathered, their fine silks and jewels contrasting harshly with the grim air. All eyes were on the small bed against the far wall.
They watched with a mixture of pity, indifference, and disdain. Among them stood a middle-aged man, handsome yet cold, his brow furrowed as he listened to the trembling voice of the midwife.
"My lord, forgive me, please forgive this lowly servant," the midwife cried, kneeling and pressing her forehead to the floor in terror.
The man's tone was clipped and impatient. "Enough groveling. What is her condition?"
The midwife hesitated, casting him a furtive glance. Seeing no immediate anger, she exhaled nervously.
"My lord, this slave bears no fault. Before Madam gave birth, her pulse was already chaotic, her body dangerously weak. I feared both she and the child would perish. But by some miracle, the young master was born safely. Surely, this is Heaven's blessing."
She dared not speak of the Fourth Lady's dying breath, fearing her master's wrath.
The man's expression darkened. His gaze slid to the frail woman on the bed—plainly dressed and drenched in sweat. Her lips were cracked and pale, her eyelids too heavy to lift. Her mouth moved, whispering something so faint it was barely audible.
A servant leaned close, straining to hear. "…Child…"
The servant's eyes softened. She gently placed the newborn boy beside his mother. The woman's trembling fingers brushed the baby's tiny hand, and for an instant, a faint smile graced her bloodless lips.
The man watched, unfeeling. No sympathy stirred in his eyes. Instead, he sighed inwardly, his thoughts bitter: Why couldn't both mother and child be gone?
He had never loved this woman. Ten months ago, in a drunken haze, he had mistaken this lowly maid for his wife and committed an unforgivable blunder. To save face and protect his reputation, he had reluctantly married her. Even the wedding ceremony had been cold and unremarkable.
Since then, he had never set foot in her wing again. Her chambers were modest by Jin family standards, a reflection of her lowly origins.
To him, she was a stain on his pride. And now, with her life slipping away, he had almost welcomed the thought of erasing this mistake—only for the child to be born alive, thwarting his unspoken wish.
With a cold snort, he turned on his heel and left, his expression as unreadable as stone.
His other wives exchanged glances. One by one, they left as well, their noble bearing unaffected by the stench of blood and medicine, though the sight of it made their brows furrow.
The beautiful wife from earlier paused at the doorway. She glanced back at the dying woman with thinly veiled satisfaction. Her eyes were as cold as steel.
Then, she turned her gaze to the baby boy. Her thoughts grew dark. That brat… He must not be allowed to grow. He could become a threat.
But to her unease, the baby met her gaze. His black eyes were unblinking, unnervingly calm—almost predatory.
What… is that look? A shiver ran down her spine. This newborn didn't cry, didn't wail like normal infants. There was something ancient and terrifying in his stare.
"He's a monster," she thought frantically. "He must not live."
She left quickly, pale and unsettled. Her maid followed, confused but relieved. The Fourth Lady's death would end this mess—so why did Madam look so shaken?
Moments later, the gentle woman's breathing stopped. Her face, though pale as snow, still held a faint smile. Even in death, her hands were positioned as if shielding her son.
The servants wept openly. The Fourth Lady had always treated them with kindness, never lording her status over them. To see such a gentle soul meet such a cruel fate filled them with grief.
The newborn, however, remained silent. Not a single cry escaped him. His face was blank, unreadable.
Then, as his tiny fingers brushed the cooling hand of his dead mother, a red light flickered deep in his black eyes. The air grew heavy. The servants froze, a chill running down their spines.
A voice resounded—not aloud, but from deep within. Cold. Proud. Unyielding.
"This world…"
"… dares to awaken the anger I have not felt in so long."
It was the voice of Uchiha Madara.