(Reupload)
"Two dates. I went on two dates with Madara's sister."
Qianxing's voice echoed in the empty room, carrying years of accumulated bitterness. He rolled up the scroll detailing clan politics and village diplomacy, setting it aside with barely controlled frustration.
"And for that little crime, they banished me to the Uzumaki clan for twelve years. Twelve." A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Hashirama helped set up the whole damn thing, but somehow I'm the only one rotting in exile. Must be nice being the clan heir instead of just some disposable nephew."
The moonlight spilling through his window felt different tonight. Colder. More distant. Qianxing moved to the sill and leaned against the frame, letting the night breeze cool his face as he stared up at that luminous disk hanging among the stars. The moon never judged him. Never sent him away. It just existed, constant and understanding.
"Day four thousand, four hundred and forty-four." His voice dropped to barely a whisper, throat tight with an ache that never quite faded. "Sister Ban... God, I miss you so much."
The name felt sacred on his tongue. He never spoke it aloud anymore, keeping those memories locked away like precious jewels that might tarnish if exposed to light. But alone in the dark, he could remember. Her sharp, genuine laugh. The way her eyes would narrow when plotting something devious. That rare smile she gave only him when no one else could see.
Lost in those bittersweet memories, he didn't hear the nearly silent footsteps approaching. Didn't sense the familiar presence that had become woven into his daily existence.
Not until soft, impossibly warm hands covered his eyes.
"Hey there, Brother Qianxing." The voice dripped with deliberately exaggerated sultriness. "Guess who?"
Despite the melancholy weighing on his heart, Qianxing felt his eye twitch and his lips betray him with an involuntary smile. Only one person in this entire compound had the audacity to sneak into his room this late.
"Mito." He said it flatly, though warmth colored the edges of his exasperation. "Cut it out."
He reached up and gently tapped the hands covering his eyes. The moment his fingers brushed that silk-soft skin, warm as summer sunshine, he knew his guess was correct. Not that there'd been any real doubt.
The hands pulled away and he turned to find her bathed in moonlight. Uzumaki Mito stood there with her cascade of crimson hair catching the pale light like living fire, eyes bright with unrepentant mischief, smile absolutely radiant.
"Hehe..."
That sound of pure, childlike delight made something in his chest simultaneously ache and warm.
"Don't you dare hehe me, young lady."
Without mercy, he reached out and flicked her forehead. Years of practice made the gesture automatic, affectionate despite its apparent sternness.
"Ow!"
Mito immediately clutched her forehead with both hands, eyes going wide and glossy. Tears appeared with suspicious speed, her lower lip trembling in theatrical perfection. She gazed up at him like he'd just committed murder, every line of her face screaming betrayal.
But Qianxing had spent years building immunity to this exact performance. Those puppy dog eyes no longer worked, though he'd be lying if he said it hadn't taken considerable effort to develop resistance.
"Oh please." He crossed his arms, unmoved. "I barely touched you. Stop being dramatic."
"Hmph!"
Just like that, the tears vanished. Mito straightened up, wiping away the fake moisture and beaming at him with enough brightness to illuminate the entire room. As if the last ten seconds had never happened.
Watching her lightning-fast emotional reversal, Qianxing felt the familiar pressure of an oncoming headache. This was entirely his fault. He'd spoiled her completely over the years, indulged every whim, and now faced the consequences of his own making.
She was nothing like the composed, dignified woman from the stories he'd heard. Poor Hashirama had absolutely no idea what kind of wife awaited him in the future.
After releasing a long, defeated sigh, Qianxing adopted his sternest expression. The one that rarely worked but which he felt obligated to attempt anyway.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Young ladies shouldn't sneak into men's bedrooms in the middle of the night. It's improper."
But Mito only pouted, utterly unimpressed by his attempt at authority.
"You're not just any man." Her voice softened, and something genuine beneath the playfulness made Qianxing's breath catch for just a heartbeat.
Before he could process that shift, she was already reaching for him, trying to wrap her arms around his in that familiar gesture of affection she'd perfected.
"Stop right there!"
Qianxing's hand shot out, pressing against her forehead and holding her at arm's length before she could close the distance. He knew all her tactics by now.
"You obviously came here for a reason." He kept his voice firm despite the wounded innocence blooming across her features. "So just tell me what it is, or I'm going to bed."
"Oh!" Realization sparked in Mito's eyes, her entire demeanor transforming instantly. "Right! My father wants to see you!"
"And you're only mentioning this now?" Qianxing shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't you lead with that information?"
"Because..." Mito looked down, cheeks flushing pink in the moonlight. Her voice dropped to something smaller, more vulnerable. "I forgot everything the moment I saw you."
She peeked up at him through her lashes, clearly checking his reaction, and Qianxing felt his frustration crumbling like sand.
He thought about all those days when she'd followed him around while he studied sealing techniques. Her endless questions. Her laughter at his terrible jokes. The gradual transformation from quiet clan princess into this vibrant, unguarded version of herself. He'd done that. Given her permission to be imperfect, playful, free.
Maybe he should have seen this coming from the beginning.
"Fine." His voice softened. "Let's go."
Mito's entire face transformed, lighting up like festival lanterns against the night sky.
"Yay!" She actually bounced on her toes, hands clasped together in delight.
"Act like a proper lady," Qianxing said without any real heat in the words.
"Okay..." Mito immediately composed herself, hands folded demurely, expression serene and perfect.
The transformation lasted approximately three seconds before her natural energy started bubbling through again. Qianxing just sighed and followed her toward the door.
Even with their clans' long alliance, even after twelve years of living among them, Qianxing never took his freedom of movement for granted.
This was the Warring States period. Peace was temporary, safety an illusion that could shatter without warning. The Uzumaki clan might focus on seals and diplomacy rather than direct combat, but they never stopped watching. Never dropped their guard.
As Mito led him through the moonlit compound, Qianxing's trained senses catalogued at least five hidden sentries. They were good. Very good. But he'd spent enough time here to recognize the signs. That too-perfect stillness of certain shadows. The slight disturbance in the trees. The weight of invisible eyes tracking every movement.
Without Mito beside him, he'd be surrounded and questioned before taking ten steps. But with the Uzumaki princess leading him by the hand, radiating complete confidence, every obstacle simply melted away. Guards nodded respectfully as they passed. Hidden watchers remained hidden. Doors opened without challenge.
Three guard posts. Two long corridors where lanterns cast dancing shadows on polished wood. Finally, they arrived at Uzumaki Yusuke's private study.
"Ah, little Qianxing!" The clan head's voice carried genuine warmth. "There you are."
"Master Yusuke." Qianxing immediately dropped into a respectful bow, proper and formal. Years of familiarity didn't matter. Late-night discussions over tea and strategy meant nothing when it came to protocol. Proper etiquette was everything. Respect kept the fragile peace intact.
"Please, sit." Yusuke gestured to the cushion across from him, weathered face creasing into a smile.
He genuinely liked this young man. Twenty years old now, if his count was correct. Smart as anyone he'd ever met, unfailingly polite, possessed of a strategic mind that sometimes frightened him with its clarity.
Yusuke still remembered the day eight-year-old Qianxing had glanced at battlefield reports meant for the war council. The boy had immediately predicted not just outcomes, but the exact tactical mistakes that would lead to them. Then, unprompted, he'd suggested three alternative approaches that would have saved lives and resources.
Eight years old.
That had been just the beginning. The three-man cell system Qianxing proposed had revolutionized their entire combat structure, transforming them from adequate fighters into a precision force. Yusuke, who usually got pounding headaches from military logistics, had been absolutely stunned.
He'd known then that this boy's potential was limitless.
Which explained why he'd never interfered with Qianxing's relationship with Mito, despite how unconventional it had become. The Senju and Uzumaki clans would intermarry eventually anyway. Generations of understanding made that inevitable. And if Qianxing had corrupted his daughter's manners somewhat, filled her head with strange ideas about love and freedom and choosing one's own path... well, that would be the Senju clan's problem, wouldn't it?
The Uzumaki clan certainly wasn't losing anything from this arrangement.
Though if not for the promise of eventual marriage, Yusuke probably would have broken the boy's legs years ago for turning his house-demolishing daughter into a love-struck romantic.
Still, seeing her so calm, so genuinely happy... it was hard to stay angry.
Yusuke pulled a letter from his sleeve, the paper crisp and formal, sealed with the Senju clan's mark.
"This urgent message arrived from the Senju clan this morning." He slid it across the low table between them. "I thought you should see it immediately."
"New developments in the war?" Qianxing reached for the letter, expression shifting into focused analysis.
He broke the seal carefully and unfolded the paper, eyes scanning the neat calligraphy.
Yusuke watched color drain from Qianxing's face in an instant. Watched his hands tighten on the paper, knuckles going white. Watched something like panic, fury, and heartbreak flash across his features simultaneously.
"What?!" Qianxing's voice cracked like breaking glass. "Hashirama's getting married?"
The words hung in the air like thunder before a storm.
The letter itself was brief. Diplomatic pleasantries, a formal invitation for Uzumaki representatives to attend the wedding celebration, a request for Qianxing to return for the ceremony.
But Qianxing couldn't focus on anything else. His eyes kept jumping back to those impossible words. Senju Hashirama. Marriage. Formally announced.
He looked at Mito sitting right there beside him. Young, vibrant, his Mito. Something inside him shattered. Rage boiled up from somewhere deep in his chest, hot and protective and utterly beyond his control.
His hand slammed down on the table hard enough to make the tea cups rattle.
"How can you marry Mito off to Hashirama already?!" The words tore out of him, raw and furious. "She's not ready! She's..."
He couldn't even finish. The thought of Mito being sent away to marry Hashirama of all people was unbearable. Unthinkable. Wrong in every possible way.
But both Uzumaki Yusuke and Mito stared at him with identical expressions of complete confusion.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and bewildered.
Finally, Yusuke spoke, his voice carefully neutral.
"Who said Hashirama was marrying Mito?"