The spoon stopped inches from my mouth.
"Kenji, if you don't open your mouth in the next three seconds, I'm going to invent a cultivation technique specifically designed to force you to eat," Liling said with a threatening tone, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
I opened my mouth. The vegetable and chicken soup went down with a comforting flavor and perfect temperature. Liling had developed an uncanny talent for calibrating exactly how hot the food needed to be so I could swallow it without burning my still-sensitive throat.
"You are very stubborn," she commented as she prepared another spoonful. "Doctor Chen said you needed to rest and regain your strength. That includes eating without protesting every five minutes."
"I'm not protesting. I'm processing nutritional information."
"Nobody processes nutritional information with that face of existential suffering."
Touché.
Several days had passed since my collapse. The exact timing was blurry because the first forty-eight hours had been a hazy mix of pain, sleep forced by medicinal herbs, and brief awakenings where Liling or Xiao Yue forced me to drink broths that tasted like damp earth with hints of something vaguely floral.
But now I was considerably better. Still weak, definitely unable to move without my muscles protesting, but conscious and functional. My mind had regained its usual clarity, which was simultaneously a relief and a curse because it meant I could fully process the gravity of my situation.
Permanently blocked meridians. Trapped in a body that will never surpass its current physical limitations.
In my previous life, this would have been the equivalent of discovering you had an incurable terminal illness. Here it was worse, because it meant being permanently stuck in a world where power was everything.
"You're overthinking again," Liling observed while offering me more soup. "I can see the smoke coming out of your ears."
"There is no smoke."
"It's a metaphorical expression. Although with you, one never knows."
I took another spoonful. The soup was genuinely good. Liling had been bringing increasingly elaborate meals since I regained my appetite. I suspected she was bribing the head cooks with something, because the quality exceeded what a servant of my level should receive.
"Liling."
"Mmm?"
"I had a meeting scheduled with Xiu Mei."
Her expression shifted slightly. The amusement remained, but a hint of understanding appeared.
"I know."
I sighed. The sound came out more tired than I intended.
"Xiu Mei is going to think I abandoned her. That I made a partnership offer and then simply vanished without explanation."
Liling set the soup bowl on the table with deliberate care. She looked at me with that expression she used when she was about to say something she considered obvious but that I apparently needed to hear.
"Kenji, do you really think a woman as intelligent as Xiu Mei can't deduce that something went wrong?"
"Deductions don't replace direct communication."
"True. But they also don't require you to rise from your sickbed to drag your half-destroyed body down to the lower district to apologize in person."
She has a point.
"I still need to explain the situation."
"And you will. When you are recovered enough to walk more than ten steps without your legs shaking like jelly."
"My legs don't shake like jelly."
"Yesterday you tried to go to the bathroom alone and almost fainted in the hallway. I had to carry you back."
Damn it. She's right.
"Fine," I conceded. "I'll wait until I'm more stable. But I need to send some kind of message. Something to let her know I haven't forgotten her."
Liling smiled.
"I already took care of that."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Two days ago, when you finally woke up and stopped raving about cultivation techniques, I sent her a message. I explained that you had suffered a serious medical accident and that you would contact her when your health permitted."
Of course she did.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Although I must say, Xiu Mei sent a rather interesting reply."
"Interesting how?"
Liling pulled a small folded paper from her sleeve and handed it to me. The calligraphy was elegant but with decisive strokes that reflected a strong personality.
I'll pick you up. - X.M.
An involuntary smile appeared on my face.
"She's good."
"See? I told you she would understand."
"I still need to meet with her eventually."
"And you will. But first, you need to be able to walk without looking like an old man."
I took another spoonful of soup. My mind, unable to stay still even under forced recovery, began processing possibilities.
Xiu Mei is a talented alchemist. Passionate. If anyone could find a solution for blocked meridians...
"Do you think it's possible?" I asked aloud.
"What?"
"Repairing damaged meridians. Reactivating permanently blocked Qi channels."
Liling fell silent for a moment. Her expression turned pensive.
"About that," she said finally. "There are people capable of splitting mountains with sword strikes. Cultivators who live hundreds of years. Techniques that defy the laws of nature. In theory, almost anything should be possible."
"But in practice..."
"In practice, I have never heard of anyone recovering completely destroyed meridians. There are pills that can strengthen weak meridians. Techniques that can repair minor damage. But a total and permanent blockage," she shook her head, "that's different."
As I expected. Theoretically possible, practically improbable.
"Though," Liling continued in a softer tone, "if anyone could discover something, it would probably be a passionate alchemist with access to rare ingredients and no fear of experimenting."
"Are you suggesting I ask Xiu Mei to investigate?"
"I'm suggesting that when you finally meet with her, you mention your condition. Perhaps simply out of professional curiosity. Alchemists love impossible challenges."
It's a good idea. Xiu Mei responds well to honest approaches. Giving her an interesting technical problem could...
"Kenji."
"Yes?"
"Stop planning business strategies and finish your soup before it gets cold."
I obeyed. The rest of the meal passed with lighter conversation. Liling told me clan gossip, updates on disciple training, and rumors about politics between the main families. Information that I would normally find irrelevant but that I now processed automatically for future reference.
You never know when a small detail will become important.
When I finished the soup, Liling gathered the dishes with practiced efficiency.
"The young Mistress will be busy tonight with personal practice," she commented as she headed toward the door. "So don't wait for her for dinner. I'll bring something light later."
"Understood."
"And Kenji..."
"Yes?"
"Try to actually rest. Just... rest."
"I'll do my best."
"That's as close as I'm going to get to a promise, isn't it?"
"Probably."
She smiled and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
*****
The night arrived with its characteristic darkness. I had tried to follow Liling's advice and rest, but my brain had other ideas. After two hours of lying there staring at the ceiling while processing everything from cultivation techniques to business partnership strategies, I decided that staying still was a losing battle.
I got up carefully. My legs protested but were forced to support me.
Liling exaggerated about the jelly. My legs are perfectly functional.
I took three steps and had to lean against the wall.
Okay. Maybe she only exaggerated a little.
I walked slowly toward the window. Xiao Yue's pavilion was designed with a view of the private garden, an enclosed space with bamboo that whispered in the night wind. The moon was nearly full, casting a silver light over everything.
And there, in the center of the garden, was Xiao Yue.
She was practicing with her sword. Her movements were fluid, each strike executed with a precision that spoke of years of training. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that moved with every turn. She wore simple training clothes: dark pants and a shirt that clung to her skin from sweat.
She isn't using Qi.
I watched for several minutes. There was something hypnotic about the way she moved. Every thrust, every block, every pivot was calculated yet natural. Like watching a professional execute their art with the perfection that only comes from obsessive practice.
Eventually, I decided to approach. I grabbed a small towel from the bathroom and stepped out into the garden with cautious steps.
Xiao Yue didn't stop when she heard me arrive. Her concentration was absolute. She completed her current sequence, a combo of three strikes followed by a defensive spin, before finally lowering her sword and turning toward me.
Her face was covered in sweat. She was breathing with controlled difficulty. Her golden eyes shined in the moonlight.
I offered her the towel without saying a word.
She took it with silent gratitude and wiped her face. For a moment, there was only the sound of her breathing regulating and the whisper of the bamboo.
"You shouldn't be here," she said finally. Her voice was calm but firm. "You should be resting. If Liling catches you out of bed at this hour, she'll hold me responsible."
"Liling is busy in her own quarters. She won't find out."
"Liling has a supernatural sense for detecting when people aren't where they should be. It's like a superpower."
Probably true.
"I'll take the risk."
Xiao Yue looked at me, exasperated by my behavior.
"Why are you practicing so late?" I asked. "I noticed you weren't using Qi."
She turned her sword slowly, examining the edge under the moonlight.
"Cultivators learn impressive techniques as they advance. Skills that defy logic. Eventually, they can cut with things that don't even have a real edge. Project their Qi through objects to extend the reach of their attacks. But all of that is built on physical fundamentals."
"So you're reinforcing the foundation."
"Exactly. If my physical technique is flawless, when I finally add Qi to the equation, the improvement will be exponential rather than incremental."
"Can I stay and watch?"
She hesitated. I could see the conflict in her expression. Part of her wanted to send me back to rest. But another part, the part that had begun to feel comfortable with my presence over the last few weeks, didn't want to reject the company.
"Only if you sit," she said finally. "I'm not going to have you standing the whole time. Your legs are still weak."
"My legs are perfectly fine."
"Kenji."
"Fine. I'll sit."
I found a stone bench near the edge of the garden and settled there. From this position, I had a perfect view of the entire practice space.
Xiao Yue resumed her training. This time, with less intensity. Her movements remained precise but were a bit slower. It was as if she were silently teaching me each technique.
I watched in silence. My mind began to automatically process the patterns. The angle of each cut. The distribution of body weight. The way her lead foot planted before each strike to maximize stability.
"What are you thinking about?" Xiao Yue asked without stopping.
"That your technique is impressive."
"Thank you. Although coming from you, I'm not sure if that's a compliment on my combat skills or if you're judging me."
"It can be both."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Of course it can."
She continued practicing. I continued watching. Time passed strangely, measured only by the movement of the shadows cast by the moon.
I didn't expect watching combat training to be so peaceful.
My eyelids began to feel heavy. The exhaustion of the day, combined with the tranquil atmosphere of the garden and the hypnotic rhythm of Xiao Yue's movements, was taking its toll.
I'll just close my eyes for a moment. Just to rest a bit.
The memories came like waves.
It was as if my subconscious had decided it was time to process things I had buried under layers of work and rationalization.
*****
Tokyo. Twenty-five years ago.
I was thirteen years old and sitting alone in the school cafeteria. My lunch tray was in front of me, organized with geometric precision. Rice in the top left compartment. Fish in the top right. Vegetables in the bottom left. Soup in the bottom right.
The other students avoided me simply because I was... different. I spoke strangely. I asked questions that made the teachers uncomfortable. I obsessed over topics that no one else found interesting.
Autism spectrum disorder was my official diagnosis. In practice, it meant my brain processed the world in a fundamentally different way. Patterns that others didn't see were obvious to me. Social interactions that others found natural were like complex equations I needed to solve manually.
"Can I sit here?"
I looked up. A girl my age was standing next to my table. She had short, shoulder-length hair, bright eyes, and a smile that seemed genuine rather than condescending.
"The seats aren't assigned," I replied. "Technically, anyone can sit anywhere."
"That's a yes in the most complicated way possible, right?"
"I suppose so."
She sat down. She opened her own lunch tray.
"I'm Yuki. Yuki Takahashi."
"Kenji Tanaka."
"I know. We're in the same math class."
We are?
"I hadn't noticed you."
"That's because you sit in the front row and never turn around. I'm three rows back."
Oh.
"That makes sense. My field of vision in class is limited to the chalkboard and the teacher."
She started laughing.
"You're weird, Kenji."
"I've been told that before."
"I'm weird too. I like things the other kids think are childish. Anime. Manga. Music that isn't on the charts."
"Does that make you weird?"
"By the standards of this school, yes."
We ate in silence for a moment. Then she spoke again.
"Can I ask you something about yesterday's math homework?"
"Of course."
That was how it all began.
*****
The memory transformed. It jumped years forward. I was twenty-five. Yuki was twenty-four. We had remained friends through high school, college, and the chaotic first years of my corporate career.
She had become a freelance graphic designer. She worked from a small studio filled with anime figures, posters of bands I had never heard of, and computer equipment that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
I had founded my own consulting firm. It was still small, only five employees, but it was growing. The initial success had been exciting, but it had come at a price. I worked eighteen hours a day. I slept in my office more often than I slept at home.
Yuki would show up every Friday with food. No matter how busy I was, she simply appeared with two bento boxes and forced me to take at least a thirty-minute break.
"You're going to kill yourself at this pace," she'd say while handing me the chopsticks. "Humans need sleep, Kenji."
"I'll sleep when the company is stable."
"The company is never going to be 'stable' by your impossible standards. There's always going to be one more thing to do; you're too much of a perfectionist."
"Exactly. That's why I can't stop now."
She sighed. That sigh that meant she was worried but knew arguing was useless.
During those years, there were many men interested in Yuki. Coworkers, clients, friends of friends. She was beautiful in that way that didn't scream for attention but was impossible to ignore once you noticed her. Kind, talented, with a sense of humor that could completely disarm you. She was also a very successful woman.
"Why don't you go out with any of them?" I asked her once, after she turned down a fairly famous web designer who was clearly interested.
"Because I'm not interested in those things right now," she replied in a casual tone. "I'm focused on my work. And on the people who really matter."
The people who really matter.
I didn't process what that meant. My brain, so good at analyzing business patterns, was completely useless at reading subtle social cues.
*****
The memory shifted again.
I was twenty-nine. Yuki was twenty-eight.
My company had grown significantly. Fifty employees. Contracts with major corporations. I was on my way to becoming the CEO of my own firm.
The price was getting higher. I rarely saw friends. My family considered me a stranger who appeared occasionally at mandatory events. Yuki was the only constant, the only person who kept breaking through my workaholic defenses without apparent effort.
One Tuesday afternoon, I received a message from her.
Kenji, I need to talk to you about something important. Can we meet this Friday? There's something involving both you and me that I need to discuss.
I read the message three times. My analytical brain immediately began processing possibilities.
Something involving both of us. Important. Problems? Does she need professional help? Business advice? Is it possible she needs money?
I replied: Of course. The usual cafe at 7 PM? I'll pick you up.
Friday arrived. That morning, I received a call from my assistant.
"Mr. Tanaka, Mr. Yamamoto confirmed he can meet tonight. It's the only window in his schedule for the next three weeks."
Yamamoto. A major investor. A contact I had been trying to secure for months. If I landed his investment, my company could expand into international markets.
I can't lose this opportunity.
I called Yuki. The phone rang five times before going to voicemail.
"Yuki, it's Kenji. I have a business emergency. An important investor is only available tonight. Can we postpone our meeting until next Friday? I'm so sorry. Call me when you get this."
I hung up. I went to my meeting. Yamamoto was impressed. The conversation was productive. We signed a preliminary agreement.
I got home near midnight, exhausted but satisfied.
There were twelve missed calls. All from numbers I didn't recognize.
Three voicemails.
The first was from a hospital.
"Mr. Tanaka, we need you to contact us urgently regarding the patient Yuki Takahashi. You are listed as her emergency contact."
My brain stopped.
Emergency contact.
I called immediately. The hospital staff explained in that professional voice trained to deliver bad news.
Yuki had been in a car accident. A drunk driver had run a red light. The impact had been fatal. She died on the way to the hospital.
The location of the accident was three blocks from the cafe where we had planned to meet.
She was on her way to our date...
If I had gone for her... If I had gone to her house to pick her up instead of being in that damn meeting...
The following months were a blur. The funeral was small. Her parents were devastated. Her friends cried. I stood in the back, unable to process that this was real.
They found something in her personal belongings. A letter. Unfinished. Addressed to me.
Dear Kenji,
I'm not good with important words, so I'm going to write this down first to practice before our date. There's something I've wanted to tell you for years. Something I finally have the courage to...
The letter ended there.
Something she finally had the courage to tell me.
I never knew what it was. I never would.
But I know what I should have done. I should have been there. I should have prioritized the person who really mattered over a business contract.
I blamed myself for years.
I never had another serious relationship. I never let anyone get close again. Work became my only relationship. My only safe constant.
Because people died. But work was always there.
Until work killed me too.
*****
I woke up slowly.
The first thought was confusion. I wasn't on the stone bench where I had sat down. I was reclining on something soft.
Where...?
I opened my eyes gradually. The garden was still there, bathed in moonlight. But now my perspective was different.
I was lying with my head in Xiao Yue's lap.
She was sitting on the bench, her back leaning against the trunk of a bamboo tree. One of her hands rested gently in my hair, her fingers moving in soft patterns that were almost hypnotic.
Her expression was soft in a way she rarely showed. Her golden eyes looked down at me gently.
"How long...?" my voice came out raspy.
"About an hour," she replied in a whisper. "You fell asleep on the bench. I tried to wake you, but you were having some kind of intense dream. Muttering names. You seemed... sad."
Yuki. I probably said her name.
I tried to sit up, but Xiao Yue's hand moved from my hair to my shoulder, stopping me with gentle pressure.
"Don't move yet," she said. Her voice remained a whisper. "You're comfortable here. And so am I."
"Xiao Yue..."
"I'll keep your secret safe," she interrupted me. Her smile was small but genuine. "That I let you fall asleep in my lap. No one else needs to know."
"Why?" I asked simply.
"Because we all need moments where we can let our guard down," she replied. "Where we don't have to be the strategic, calculated version of ourselves."
Her fingers returned to my hair, resuming those soft patterns.
"Sleep a little more, Kenji. You're still recovering. Your body needs rest."
"But..."
"No buts. Liling won't show up until early tomorrow. We're safe here. And honestly..." her voice softened even more, "I feel relaxed."
I closed my eyes involuntarily. The sensations were strangely comforting. The warmth of her lap. The gentle movement of her fingers in my hair. The sound of the bamboo whispering with the night breeze.
When was the last time someone did something like this for me? That someone simply... took care of me?
The answer came clear and immediate.
Yuki... Yuki was the last person who took care of me like this.
And now Xiao Yue was doing the same. In a different way, under completely different circumstances, but with the same quality of genuine concern.
I can't make the same mistake again. I can't prioritize abstract goals over real people who matter.
******
Author's Note: While it might seem otherwise, I am not using these conditions just to add "lore" to my story. I have been professionally diagnosed with both ADHD and Autism Spectrum Disorder myself. I hope you enjoyed the chapter—have a great day!
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