"You…"
Samui's eyes widened the instant she saw so many Uchihas stepping into the gym. Her expression stiffened, and a chill ran down her spine as she instinctively thought—had something happened to the curator?
The man she recognized at the front was Uchiha Inahuo, the same figure who had visited previously.
"Hello."
Inahuo gave Samui a polite nod before Daoming, standing beside him, explained, "That's right. At the clan assembly last night, Patriarch Fuyue mentioned this gym. Everyone became curious and wanted to see for themselves. We aren't intruding, are we?"
It was an impeccable reason.
After all, Fuyue himself had spoken of the gym openly, praising his brother-in-law before the entire clan.
"Oh?"
Samui blinked in surprise, before quickly regaining her composure. "Of course not. The curator is practicing right now. I'll let him know you've come."
Oddly enough, she sensed a difference this time. Inahuo, who had seemed brash and domineering on his previous visit, now spoke with unexpected restraint and respect.
But as she prepared to leave, Inahuo raised his hand hastily. "No, wait—we can stay here. We don't want to disturb him."
The mere mention of Duan's cultivation made the group tense; none of them dared risk interrupting it.
Samui, however, understood that a gathering of more than thirty Uchihas was no small matter. Whether they wished it or not, the curator needed to know.
She turned gracefully. "Please follow me."
Leading them down the quiet corridor, she stopped at the door of the retreat chamber. The sliding door stood slightly ajar.
Knock, knock.
Samui tapped lightly, her voice clear: "Curator, there are guests."
Then she turned to Inahuo's group. "Please enter. The curator usually receives people inside this room."
"Thank you."
Inahuo first removed his sandals, then inhaled deeply, before stepping in with a grave expression. The others followed suit, their footsteps light and deliberate.
The once spacious retreat room quickly filled with thirty figures kneeling silently, their presence dense yet strangely reverent.
The first thing their eyes landed on was the large calligraphy scroll hung on the far wall—two bold characters: 坐忘 ("Sit and Forget").
Beneath that scroll lay Duan.
He reclined slightly on his side, elbow propped against the floor, hand resting against his temple. His left hand lay across his leg, his feet pressed together, expression serene.
His pose resembled a statue of a meditating Buddha—tranquil, solemn, untouched by worldly concerns.
"…He's asleep?"
The Uchihas exchanged bewildered glances. None dared raise their voice.
Inahuo immediately gestured for silence, then set the example—kneeling properly, back straight, palms on his knees.
The others followed in four neat rows, their postures exact, as if they were disciples before a great teacher.
Duan's breathing resounded faintly.
Hooo—
Each inhalation drew in the air like a deep tide, a whale swallowing the sea. The atmosphere itself seemed to flow into his lungs.
Phew—
Each exhalation carried forth a condensed stream of mist, white as steel, sharp as a blade, refusing to dissipate.
Even in slumber, his body manifested visions.
Inahuo and the others were stunned. Before them, Duan no longer seemed like an ordinary man, but a slumbering tailed beast whose natural aura alone commanded awe.
In truth, Duan was restoring himself.
The night before, in his clash with Shisui, he had forced Susanoo with raw physical might, straining muscles, meridians, and organs. Normally such a toll required weeks of recovery.
But his unique dream-breathing method allowed every fiber of his body to enter profound rest, accelerating repair. Within hours, he could return to his peak.
Time flowed unnoticed.
Two hours passed.
But Duan did not stir. His breath grew even deeper, until it felt as though he had transcended mortality, entering Nirvana itself.
The Uchihas endured. Their knees ached, backs burned, yet not one dared to falter.
From outside, Samui peeked through the gap, her curiosity mounting.
On the chamber floor stretched a vast yin-yang taijitu design. Duan lay serenely upon the yang half, asleep in "Sit and Forget," while the Uchihas knelt aligned on the yin side—like vassals before a daimyo.
Samui trembled at the realization. What happened at the clan meeting last night?
She did not know. But one truth became clear—
The curator, once a marginalized figure among the Uchiha, had overnight become the clan's center.
Creaaak.
She slid the door open quietly, carrying a tray of tea. Bowing slightly, she placed cups one by one before each guest.
But the visitors dared not even sip, lest the sound disturb Duan's rest.
Another hour slipped by.
Legs numb, bodies sore, still they endured.
At last—
Shuaa.
Duan opened his eyes.
Like a dragon roused from its lair, his gaze burst forth like twin lightning bolts, flooding the chamber.
The Uchihas instinctively lowered their eyes, unable to withstand the sheer pressure.
"What are you all doing here?"
Duan's voice was calm yet commanding.
Inahuo immediately lowered his head, his forehead striking the floor with a resounding thud.
"Duan, we beg you—please guide us on how to become stronger!"
"Please, Duan!"
The others followed, bowing in unison, voices echoing as they pressed their brows to the ground.
A sight both desperate and magnificent.
But Duan's face remained still.
"Why should I teach you?"
His tone was plain, indifferent.
The words struck like cold steel.
The Uchihas froze. Inahuo's body trembled. Slowly lifting his head, he glanced at his kin. Bitterness filled every face.
Of course. Why would a man share his hard-earned path? Just because they shared blood?
Before last night, few had even acknowledged Duan's existence. Why should he give now what they never gave him?
"…Forgive us. We were rude."
Inahuo bowed again, voice heavy with resignation. "We will leave at once."
He rose, signaling the others to follow.
But just as they began to withdraw—
Duan spoke again.
"It's fine. After all, my gym is a place of business."
He rose slowly, then walked to the courtyard, calmly watering the flowers as though the world had not shifted at all.
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