Chapter 45
Katsuro's expression shifted—just barely, but enough.
"Weiyang… is a tragedy, a prophecy… and an atrocity."
He spoke each word slowly, as if weighing them.
"I don't mind, and I don't care, if the kid is a threat to the empire or not. And when I say he's a tragic child… he truly is the definition of it."
His gaze lowered slightly, voice growing colder.
"People say there is a prophecy—that he will bring calamity to the empire. And the atrocity… is that people have already snatched everything from him. His childhood… his teenage years… his adulthood."
A pause.
"They won't let him live in peace."
Linghe looked at him carefully. "You pity the child?"
Katsuro did not answer immediately.
Then, quietly—"Maybe I do."
He lifted his gaze again.
"Because he's not what others think. Not a demon who thrives on human flesh or blood. Not a child who killed millions of people the day he was born."
Linghe's voice dropped. "But… they died on the day he was born."
Katsuro nodded once. "Yes. But he didn't kill them. People just blame him for it… because he was there."
Silence filled the room.
"No one knows why the previous Martial Wu'an protected this child… and sacrificed himself for the empire."
His voice grew heavier.
"The demon inside the child killed millions of people… not the child, Linghe."
Linghe didn't respond immediately.
His gaze lowered slightly, thoughts deepening.
What a true tragedy.
Linghe exhaled slowly, the weight of Katsuro's words still settling somewhere deep within him, before he spoke again, his tone quieter but edged with something sharper, more deliberate. "And you agreed… to let him study with your heir?"
Katsuro did not answer immediately. He lifted his cup, took a slow sip of tea, and only then spoke, his voice steady, unhurried, yet carrying a depth that did not seek to justify itself. "If I had the right… I would have adopted Weiyang, Linghe."
There was no hesitation in that confession. No disguise.
"That is how much I pity… and admire the kid." His gaze lowered slightly, as if recalling something unseen. "Believe it or not… even after having no one—nothing but loneliness and bitter years, having no one to care for or remember him, having no one waiting for him at home…" His fingers tightened faintly around the cup. "He still bears a smile."
A small pause.
"I truly don't care whether he's a Yaksha feared by nations or not. In my eyes… he's just a lonely child who's misunderstood."
Linghe watched him in silence for a moment, then spoke, half-serious, half-testing. "If you're so certain about the child… I can adopt him for you. If you can't."
Katsuro's gaze lifted instantly, firm this time. "We can't, Linghe. We are the Xuan."
The words fell like a boundary drawn in stone.
"Everyone will protest. People will say—we want him for the power inside him. We want to raise a living weapon." His voice hardened slightly, not in anger, but in refusal. "I cannot burden Weiyang with my selfish desires."
The fire crackled softly between them, as if echoing the unspoken truth of power and consequence.
"As for Wuming…" Katsuro continued, calmer now, "they're getting along just fine. I am proud of the way both the kids are growing up."
Then, quieter—almost to himself—
"But their power… troubles me the most."
Linghe leaned back, folding one arm over the other, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to lighten what had become too heavy. "Well… once upon a time, you wanted to marry the royal princess. Now look at you."
Katsuro's expression did not change, but his voice did—lower, firmer. "If you think Wuming is a burden… or is turning into one, you're wrong."
There was no room for argument in that tone.
"I love my child."
Simple. Absolute.
"And I am working very hard to protect what I love." His gaze darkened slightly. "I just don't want him to catch the attention of the emperor. I don't want him to get dragged into politics."
Linghe's expression softened a fraction at that, the teasing gone now, replaced by something more understanding. "You can't do anything… as long as sister-in-law is alive."
He paused, then added quietly—
"She won't let anything happen to Wuming, big brother."
Katsuro's expression eased at last, the heaviness in his gaze dissolving into something far more human, far more familiar, and a faint smile curved upon his lips. "Yes… indeed. How can I forget my beautiful wife?"
Linghe scoffed lightly, straightening where he sat, pride slipping into his tone without restraint. "My wife is more beautiful."
Katsuro turned his head slowly, giving him a look that carried both disbelief and amusement. "Yeah… in your dreams."
Linghe did not falter, not even slightly. Instead, he leaned back with a quiet confidence, as if the world itself would agree with him if asked properly. "In my dreams… she is ethereal."
Katsuro waved his hand dismissively, though the ghost of a smile still lingered. "Whatever. I don't care."
Linghe laughed, the sound light, unburdened, breaking the lingering tension that had wrapped itself around the room moments ago. Then, as if remembering something, he tilted his head slightly. "By the way… your son doesn't look like you at all. He's the perfect resemblance of sister-in-law."
Katsuro let out a quiet laugh, softer this time, almost fond. "Yes… that's true. After all, she carried him for nine months." He paused, then added dryly, "If even after that much pain and suffering he turned out like me… she would have either killed me… or been terribly disappointed."
Linghe snorted. "I bet."
He lifted his cup, taking a slow sip of tea, though the amusement in his eyes gradually faded into something more thoughtful, more calculating. "Do you think… the emperor will make his move?"
Katsuro's fingers stilled slightly against the porcelain cup. "On Weiyang?"
Linghe nodded faintly.
Katsuro's gaze turned distant again, not uncertain—but measured, as if he were looking at a future already forming beyond their reach. "Yes… he will."
A pause.
"But not yet in full." His voice lowered slightly. "He will move in the future… but even now, small moves will begin. Soon."
The fire crackled again, the only sound that dared interrupt the quiet between them.
"Before that…" Katsuro continued, a faint smirk touching his lips now, "don't you know? The exams are coming."
Linghe's eyes flickered with understanding.
"After the exams," Katsuro said calmly, "I will send both of them away… to the martial world."
There was no hesitation in his decision.
"To grow… into fine men."
Linghe nodded slowly, considering it, then spoke, "I see…" His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful now. "Xie Zheng is also around Wuming's age. I am thinking of making him participate too."
Katsuro glanced at him, then gave a small, approving nod. "Do it."
His voice carried quiet certainty.
"They will grow stronger. And more importantly…" he paused, eyes narrowing just slightly, "…they will learn where they are lacking."
Outside, the night had begun to settle, unnoticed—like a truth that does not announce itself, but arrives all the same.
The hall had only just settled back into silence when the sound of footsteps returned—soft, measured, yet carrying an unmistakable presence.
Two figures entered.
One was Yin Fu.
The other—
Even at a glance, she was impossible to ignore.
Her long, dark brown hair fell like a cascade of silk, reaching past her waist, adorned with delicate golden ornaments and faint crimson accents that caught the firelight with every step. The strands moved as if alive, framing a face that carried both elegance and authority. She wore a deep black robe layered with red, the fabric flowing yet structured—like something meant for both court and battlefield.
She was beautiful.
But not in a fragile way.
She looked like a general.
Someone who could command armies… and end them.
Yin Fu held onto her arm casually, as if the two had been talking for a long time, completely at ease with each other.
Linghe noticed first.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," he said, leaning back slightly, amusement clear in his tone, "it seems even sister-in-law has fallen for my wife."
The two women walked in without hesitation, their conversation continuing as if no one else in the room existed.
"—no, no, you cut it from here—"
"And drain it properly first, or the meat won't settle—"
"Exactly! And if it struggles, just—"
Linghe blinked.
Katsuro paused mid-sip.
The maids froze for a second.
They were… discussing pigs.
In detail.
Very detailed detail.
The women reached them, and without ceremony, Linghe was pushed aside as naturally as breathing. He moved, almost instinctively, and ended up sitting beside Katsuro instead, while the two women took their place comfortably.
Still talking.
Still discussing.
"…and then you hang it like this—"
"Yes, yes, and if you don't cut deep enough—"
Katsuro glanced at the maids, then at Linghe, his expression unreadable.
"…your wife is going to teach my wife how to butcher things."
A pause.
Then, in a quieter voice—
"And then she'll probably teach her how to butcher people too."
Linghe leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice, whispering just enough—
"I thought she already knew how to butcher people?"
Katsuro did not reply.
He simply looked down at his tea, poured it calmly into a cup, and passed it toward his wife without a word.
Linghe, however, was not done.
His gaze softened instantly as he looked at the woman beside him, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips.
"Ah… my beautiful Xie Mao Mao."
Katsuro didn't even look at him this time.
"You're completely delusional."
Linghe only smiled wider.
The air in the hall shifted the moment they entered.
Yin Fu… and the woman beside her.
They did not walk in like guests.
They entered like they belonged.
Like the space adjusted for them.
Her long, dark brown hair flowed behind her in layered waves, adorned with fine gold and crimson ornaments that caught the firelight in fleeting glimmers. Her robe—black with deep red accents—moved with controlled grace, but beneath it was something unmistakable.
Power.
Not loud.
Not displayed.
But present.
Yin Fu held onto her arm as they walked, their steps perfectly in sync, their conversation already flowing—uninterrupted, unbothered.
"…I'm telling you, you have to cut from the joint—"
"And drain it properly first, otherwise it ruins everything—"
They reached the center.
Linghe moved instinctively—but not fast enough.
He was pushed aside without a word.
Without even being looked at.
He blinked once… then slowly shifted, ending up beside Katsuro.
Both women sat.
Comfortably.
As if the seats had always been theirs.
Linghe quietly reached for the teapot.
Poured tea into the cup that had been meant for him—
And passed it to his wife.
She took it.
Drank.
Didn't even spare him a glance.
Katsuro did the same, pouring tea and handing it to Yin Fu. She accepted it just as naturally.
Both of them sipped.
And continued.
"You know," Yin Fu said, her tone thoughtful, almost displeased, "it's so hard getting pork these days."
The other woman nodded faintly. "And they don't even take care of them properly anymore."
A pause.
Then—
"When I was young, my father taught me how to cut them."
Her voice didn't rise.
Didn't change.
"Thanks to my brute force, I could knock down pigs with one slap…"
Silence pressed into the room.
"…and then cut them clean. Sell them at a very good price."
Linghe stared.
Slowly turned his head.
"…dear?"
She looked at him.
Sharp.
Direct.
"I am talking to my friend."
A beat.
"Stay quiet."
Linghe didn't dare speak again.
Beside him, Katsuro tried.
"Yin Fu?"
Nothing.
Not even a glance.
The two women continued as if no one else existed.
The brothers exchanged a look.
A silent one.
End of 45