Yoriichi stared at the needle of Dou Qi vibrating against the wooden frame. It was a crude display of power—weak, undisciplined, meant to show off rather than to kill. With a calm, steady hand, he plucked the needle from the wood. The Dou Qi dissipated instantly, leaving behind a small, folded piece of parchment.
He unfolded it. The handwriting was jagged, aggressive, the ink pressed hard into the paper as if the writer were angry while writing it.
"Dear Brother Xiao Ning,
We heard the news. It boils our blood to see a genius of the clan humiliated by that trash, Xiao Yan. The Elders might be blind, and your sister might be too soft, but we know the truth. You were cheated. That cripple used a dirty trick.
If you have any fire left in your belly, if you want to wash away this shame and cripple him back, we have a plan. There are ways to deal with him that the clan rules cannot touch. Meet us in three days. Come to the edge of the Magic Beast Mountain Range, near the Southern Pass, or behind the training block near the old koi pond if you can't walk that far yet.
We can discuss this amiably. We have the medicine you need and the revenge you deserve. Don't let the trash win.
— A Friend who hates injustice."
Yoriichi read the letter twice. His expression remained as still as a frozen lake, but internally, a ripple of disappointment crossed his mind.
"A friend," he mused, tracing the jagged calligraphy. "Or a fisherman casting a line?"
In his previous life, Yoriichi had seen the depths of human malice. He had seen demons who lied to lure their prey, but he had also seen humans who sold out their own kind for safety or power. This letter reeked of the latter.
"Who seeks to pour water on fire?" Yoriichi thought, crushing the paper in his hand.
If this were the old Xiao Ning—the boy ruled by vanity and temper—he would have seen this letter as a lifeline. He would have limped to the meeting spot, fueled by rage, and played right into the hands of these manipulators. They would have used his anger as a weapon, likely against the Xiao Clan itself, or perhaps to extort him.
"Three days," Yoriichi calculated. "They assume I am bedridden. They assume I am desperate."
He looked down at his bandaged legs. The pain was a constant thrumming background noise, sharp and hot, but to a man who had fought Muzan Kibutsuji with a failing heart, this pain was negligible. It was merely information.
"I can move," he decided. "The bone in the shin is cracked, not shattered. The ribs are binding. If I apply the breathing technique to accelerate the blood flow..."
He pushed the blanket aside.
The darkness of the room was heavy, looming over him like a physical weight. The shadows seemed to whisper of the dangers of this new world—a world where strength was the only law.
"I cannot wait," Yoriichi told himself. "The sun rises whether we are ready or not. I must be ready."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold wooden floor. A bolt of lightning-hot pain shot up his left leg, threatening to buckle his knee.
Yoriichi didn't flinch. He didn't even gasp. He simply accepted the pain, breathed into it, and stood up.
He swayed for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead, but he held his ground. He took one step. Then another. It was agonizing, but it was necessary. In his old world, he trained until his hands bled, until his lungs burned. He viewed his body not as a temple, but as a tool for his responsibility. If the tool was damaged, he would simply use it harder until it broke or healed.
"I will start tomorrow at dawn," he resolved, easing himself back onto the bed to avoid reopening the wounds prematurely. "Basic forms. Breathing integration. I will turn this broken vessel into a blade."
Just as he settled back against the headboard, the heavy oak door creaked open.
Light flooded into the room, banishing the gloomy shadows.
"Ning'er! Look what I stole from the kitchens!"
Xiao Yu breezed into the room, her earlier anger completely forgotten. She was balancing a large, lacquered tray with the skill of a circus performer. The smell hit Yoriichi before she even reached the bedside table—a rich, heavy, overpowering aroma of roasted fat and spices.
"Grandfather told the cooks to make you gruel," Xiao Yu scoffed, setting the tray down on the support table with a clatter. "But how can a warrior recover on rice water? I bullied the head chef into giving me the good stuff!"
She whipped the lids off the dishes with a flourish.
"Ta-da!"
The tray was a carnivore's dream. There was a whole roasted chicken, glistening with oil and glazed with honey. There was a plate of stir-fried beef, cut into thick, juicy chunks and swimming in a dark, spicy sauce. There was a bowl of rich, fatty pork soup. And finally, tucked in the corner, a small grilled river fish and a bowl of white rice.
"Eat up!" Xiao Yu commanded, handing him a pair of ivory chopsticks. "You need the protein. Look at you, you're all pale."
Yoriichi took the chopsticks. He looked at the feast.
"Thank you, Big Sister," he said, his voice genuine. "You are too kind to me."
"Less talking, more eating," she teased, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him expectantly.
Yoriichi picked up a piece of the beef. It was perfectly cooked, tender and aromatic. To Xiao Ning's memories, this was a delicacy. His mouth should have been watering.
But Yoriichi Tsugikuni felt... wrong.
He brought the meat closer to his lips. The smell of the animal fat, the heavy grease, the sensation of dead flesh that had been slaughtered—it assaulted his senses.
In his past life, Yoriichi lived as a near-ascetic. He ate simply—rice, pickles, miso soup, and occasionally fish. He felt a deep, spiritual connection to the natural world. To him, life was sacred. While he wasn't strictly forbidden from eating meat, he had avoided it for decades. His body was attuned to purity, to the sun, to lightness.
This beef... it felt heavy. It felt like violence.
His stomach turned. A wave of nausea rolled through him, starting from his gut and rising to his throat. It wasn't a physical allergy; it was a spiritual rejection.
He lowered his hand.
"I... I cannot," he realized with a start.
He tried to force himself. He knew he needed the energy. He brought the beef to his mouth again. But his throat closed up. His body, now housing the soul of the Sun Breather, physically recoiled from the heavy, greasy land meat.
He placed the beef back into the bowl.
"What's wrong?" Xiao Yu asked, frowning. "Is it too spicy? I told Chef Wang to go easy on the peppers."
"No," Yoriichi lied smoothly, masking his discomfort. "It looks delicious."
He bypassed the chicken and the beef entirely. He reached for the small grilled fish.
He took a bite of the fish. It was light, clean, and familiar. The nausea subsided. He took a mouthful of rice and sipped the broth of the soup (avoiding the pork chunks).
Xiao Yu watched him, her brow furrowing deeper.
"Why are you only eating the fish and rice?" she asked, pointing her chopstick at the untouched chicken. "That's your favorite. Honey-glazed chicken? You usually fight me for the last piece."
Yoriichi paused, chewing the rice slowly. He needed an excuse that wouldn't make him sound insane.
"My stomach," Yoriichi said, placing a hand over his abdomen. "The internal injuries... I feel a bit nauseous. The heavy meat might be too much for me right now. The physician said to keep it light."
Xiao Yu's face softened instantly. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't think of that. I'm such an idiot."
She reached out to take the beef away. "I'll get you some porridge—"
"No," Yoriichi stopped her gently. "Please, leave it. I might get hungry later in the night when the nausea passes. I will eat it then."
Xiao Yu hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But don't force yourself. If you throw up, I'm the one who has to clean it."
Yoriichi smiled. "I will be careful."
He continued to eat the rice and fish, his mind racing.
"Is this going to be a problem?" he wondered.
In the Dou Qi Continent, experts ate high-energy foods—meat of magical beasts, elixirs, dense proteins—to fuel their explosive power. If Yoriichi couldn't stomach meat, would he fall behind? Was he compromising his survival for the sake of his old values?
He looked at the glistening beef sitting on the side of the tray. It represented the "strong eat the weak" philosophy of this world. To reject it felt like rejecting the very nature of the Dou Qi Continent.
"Do I need to change who I am to survive here?" he asked himself. "Must I become a wolf to fight wolves?"
He took another bite of the clean, simple fish.
"No," he decided. "The sun does not need to eat the darkness to shine. It simply burns. I will find another way. I will find herbs, pills, or beasts of the water. I will not compromise my soul for power. Not again."
"You're doing that thing again," Xiao Yu said, interrupting his thoughts.
"What thing?"
"That 'staring into the distance like a wise old sage' thing," she giggled, picking up a piece of the chicken he had rejected and popping it into her own mouth. "You're way too serious for a grounded kid."
"I am just thinking about the future," Yoriichi replied, watching her eat with a strange mix of affection and alienation.
"The future can wait until you finish that rice," she mumbled with her mouth full. "Oh, by the way, Grandfather mentioned that the Jia Lie clan is making moves on our market stalls again. It's getting annoying. If you were healthy, you'd probably be trying to sneak out to beat up their juniors."
"The Jia Lie clan..." Yoriichi tested the name on his tongue. The memory surfaced—a rival clan, ruthless and ambitious. Likely the source of the letter.
"Let them move," Yoriichi said quietly. "When the time is right, we will move them back."
Xiao Yu stopped chewing. She looked at him, surprised by the cold confidence in his tone.
"You really have changed, Ning'er," she whispered. "I can't tell if it's scary or... cool."
"Ideally, both," Yoriichi said, offering a small smile.
He finished his rice and placed the chopsticks down neatly across the bowl. The beef and chicken remained untouched, a silent testament to the man he was, and the man he refused to stop being.
"I am full," he lied. "Thank you, Big Sister."
"Leave the tray," Xiao Yu said, standing up and stretching. "I'll come get it in the morning. Try to eat the meat later, okay? You need the strength."
"I will," Yoriichi promised, knowing full well the meat would be going out the window to the stray dogs of the compound as soon as the moon was high.
Xiao Yu ruffled his hair one last time, blew out the main lantern, and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Yoriichi was alone in the dark again.
He looked at the window where the letter had been. He looked at the tray of meat he couldn't eat. He looked at his broken body.
"Three days," he whispered to the darkness. "In three days, I will walk. And I will see what kind of trap this world has set for me."
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to breathe.
The second life of the Sun Breather continued, fueled by rice, fish, and an unbreakable will.