[Demon Slayer] My Ex Is a Yandere (Gyutaro Fanfiction)

Return home That faint tugging feeling didn't go away. It is like a seed buried deep in the soil of consciousness, quietly taking root and growing slowly in the days of deliberate neglect. At first it was just an occasional heart palpitation, a fleeting sense of direction in the dead of night. Gradually, it became clear, like an invisible but tough thread, distantly connected to her heart, the other end submerged into the unspeakable void, pointing stubbornly to the east. Whenever she tried to concentrate on "feeling", she could detect strange fluctuations coming from the other end, a mixture of cold deathly silence and fiery obsession. It was so familiar that it made her heart tremble, but it was so unfamiliar that it made her uneasy. The anchors of the real world - studies, family, friends - gradually become light and lack reality under such continuous and supernatural pull. She still goes to the library, but the writing on the books often transforms into ukiyo-e paintings in the streets of Yoshiwara; she still has dinner with her family, but is always inadvertently looking for the dark-spotted face in her memory; her desserts are becoming more and more exquisite, and she even tried to open a small online store, named "Firefly", and the sales are good, but with every copy sold, the hole in her heart does not seem to be filled, but becomes deeper - because the person who shares these tastes is not here. A month later, on a thunderstorm night, lightning tore through the sky and thunder roared, making the windows buzz. Hina was sitting in front of the window, watching the rainwater flowing horizontally on the glass. Suddenly, the pulling feeling that had always existed suddenly strengthened and twitched violently, as if the other end was experiencing some huge emotional fluctuations or changes. At the same time, there was a burning sensation in the palm of her left hand without any warning! She opened her palms in astonishment, and through the blue-white light of lightning outside the window, she could clearly see an extremely tiny, complex, pale golden mark like an ancient spell appearing in the middle of her palm! The mark only existed for a few seconds, then quickly dimmed and disappeared as the thunder receded, as if it had never appeared. But the residual burning sensation and the strange lines that caught his eye instantly were extremely real. It's not an illusion. Everything is nothing. The world was calling her. In other words, there is something (or someone) whose obsession is so strong that it transcends the barriers of time and space, leaving a mark and establishing a weak connection. She touched her palm, which had returned to normal, and her heart was beating fast. Fear? Some. Fear of the unknown, especially the possibility of facing death and despair again. But what is even stronger is an almost fatalistic certainty, and... Surging, uncontrollable thoughts and impulses. She wants to go back. Not as a "Haruko" who is forced to get involved, but as a "Haruko" who knows everything, with modern memories and choices. She wanted to confirm their ending, wanted to see the sea, and... Wanted to see him again. Even if he is no longer human, even if what awaits her is a deeper tragedy. Once this idea becomes clear, it is like a wildfire that can never be extinguished. A few days later, she made a series of preparations. She quit her job at an online store (with the excuse of focusing on preparing for exams), put together a small amount of savings, bought modern clothes that were convenient for moving around (mixed with some fabrics that were in line with the times), and even secretly obtained some basic self-defense supplies and medicines (although she knew they might be insignificant in the face of inhuman beings). She left a long letter to her parents, vaguely stating that she would go on a long journey to find her "self" alone. The return date was uncertain, so don't worry. Then, on an equally dark night, she locked the door and took one last look at the room that had held her twenty years of life. The pulling feeling was as clear as a lighthouse at this moment. She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on the "thread", imagining herself being pulled and attracted, falling towards the source of coldness and obsession... Weightlessness, dizziness, and the sense of peeling away from the distortion of time and space. When he opened his eyes again, the smell of the old era was so strong that it was suffocating. It's still night. But the night sky here is cut by layers of eaves, and the air is filled with the complex smell of powder, alcohol, food, sewage, and stale wood. In my ears are the noisy silk and bamboo drum music, men and women teasing, and vendors hawking, all forming a never-ending wave of sound. The lights were bright in front of me, with countless red lanterns connected to form a meandering river of light, illuminating the intricately decorated facade of the yūdōya house and the women in gorgeous kimonos with charming smiles. Yoshihara. Still the same Yoshihara. Prosperity, luxury, and intoxication, it seems that two hundred years have not left many marks here. Only the architectural style, clothing details and the words on some signboards reveal the subtle differences of the passage of time. She looked down at herself. Wearing long clothes and trousers that are simply modified from modern cotton, similar to a simple kimono, and covered with an inconspicuous dark feather fabric. Her hair was originally dark brown and tied back with a plain hairband. There was no makeup on her face, and she had a fair face of her own at the age of twenty, which was completely different from the childish round face and conspicuous white hair of "Haruko" in her memory. She took a deep breath, suppressed the turmoil in her heart, and tried to look like an ordinary young woman, perhaps from out of town (although appearing alone on the streets of Yoshiwara at night was not ordinary in itself). She didn't go to Kyogokuya. Two hundred years later, it is unknown whether that store still exists. She needed to understand the situation first and gain a foothold. Relying on her vague memory of Yoshiwara's layout and modern observation, she quickly found a medium-sized hotel that looked relatively "serious" (it actually also ran a business for some low-level tourist girls). She paid for the room with small gold jewelry that she had prepared in advance and could be circulated in this era. She claimed to be "Hina" who came to Edo from Kansai to visit her relatives and was temporarily stranded. (The new name the heroine gave herself) The hotel proprietress saw that she behaved politely and her clothes were simple but neat. She didn't look like she was here to have fun, so she didn't ask any questions. She just thought she was another country girl who was attracted or helplessly trapped by the prosperity of the big city. In the first few days, Hina carefully blended into this era. She learned the current language habits, observed people's clothing and behavior, and quietly exchanged some money with small modern objects she carried with her (such as well-made bronze mirrors and small glass bottles). She began to inquire purposefully. She didn't dare ask "Kyogokuya" or "Haruko" directly, it would be too conspicuous. She used her interest in "Yoshiwara history" and "the stories of famous prostitutes in the past" as an excuse to gossip in teahouses, food stalls, and even while working for some washerwomen. "Do you know... About two hundred years ago, did anything particularly sensational happen in Yoshiwara? For example, a famous oiran or something?" "Two hundred years ago? That's a long time. My mother-in-law and I haven't even lived that long." An old woman washing clothes by the river smiled and shook her head. "But I heard that there were a few great oirans a long time ago, but then it seems... Well, beauties are not destined to die." "Then... Have you ever heard of a cook named 'Kinshi'? Or a guest named Zuoda?" Hina changed her perspective. "Jin Shi? Never heard of it. Zuotian... This surname is quite common. Girl, why are you asking about these old things?" The old woman looked at her strangely. Yang Nai dealt with it vaguely, feeling a little disappointed, but not discouraged. After all, it has been too long, and the memories of ordinary people have long been wiped out. A turning point came when she happened to pass by a used bookstore. The bookstore has a narrow facade and is filled with yellowing and fragile scrolls. She walked in unexpectedly and browsed aimlessly. The shopkeeper, a thin old man wearing glasses, seemed surprised that a young woman was interested in ancient books. Just when she was about to give up, at the bottom of the most damaged pile of debris in the corner, she caught a glimpse of a familiar scroll tied with a special technique - it was the old cloth pattern that Granny Jinshi used to wrap the exotic knife that she regarded as a treasure! Her heart skipped a beat. Carefully pull out the scroll and brush away the thick dust. The scroll has no title, and the paper is old and fragile, but the ink marks are well preserved due to the special ink. She unfolded it gently, and after reading only a few lines, her breathing stopped. That's Jin Shi's handwriting! Neat and restrained, but with her unique character. Not a diary, more like a... Notebook and memoir. "... Arriving from Nagasaki to Edo, I stayed at Yoshiwara Kyogoku House and took a breather. I met a young prostitute named Haruko, with hair as white as snow, clear eyes, and a different mind than ordinary people. It seemed like I was seeing a young me..." "... Haruko met a young man on the banks of the Rashomon River. His name is unknown. He is paranoid and gloomy, but he treats Haruko differently. The young man's sister, Mei, has an astonishing appearance and has also entered Kyogokuya..." "... What happened to Chana is pitiful. The so-called 'ghost' rumors may not be groundless. The undercurrent is turbulent, and it is not suitable to stay here for a long time..." "... Kuseda Sauda is a person who is deeply affectionate and paranoid. The weight of Kanai's coffin is different, so I'm afraid there is something hidden inside. However, the matter has nothing to do with me, and I can't protect myself, so it's not appropriate to delve into it..." "... I will give you the key to Haruko's old house in Nagasaki, hoping that she will be able to get out of trouble someday. This woman has a strong will and a strong will to survive, and she may be able to find a different path..." "... I've been feeling restless recently, and it seems like something big is about to happen. I'm packing my bags and will leave Yoshihara in the near future and continue my journey to the west. I tell Haruko to be careful in everything I do before leaving. I cherish her like a firefly in the dark night and hope that she will shine forever..." The note ends abruptly with no ending. Haruna (Haruko) held this heavy volume of notes, her fingertips were cold and her eyes were hot. Mother-in-law Kinse had long noticed the anomaly, and might even have suspected that Chana was not dead, but she chose to remain silent and leave, leaving her last hope and blessing to herself. But she failed to escape the "big event" in the end and died that winter. She spent some money to buy it from a shop owner who had no idea about the scroll's origins, as if she had received a heavy trust from a hundred years ago. The few words in her notes about "Kuyo Zuoda" and "the weight of the coffin" aroused huge waves in her heart. Maybe Chanel is not dead? What happened next? Zuoda Kuze's abnormal expression and the abnormal weight of the coffin... Could it be that there was someone else in the coffin at that time, or was Kana in a state of suspended animation and was taken away and hidden by him? If Chana survived, did she try to contact him later? How would that once proud and fragile woman feel when she learned that "Haruko" was dead? These questions linger in my mind, but there is no way to answer them. Two hundred years is enough time to bury too many secrets. She decided to visit the banks of the Rashomon River. That is the starting point of the story, and it is also the place where "home" is in her memory, and perhaps the last traces remain. The banks of the Rashomon River today were more dilapidated and desolate than she remembered. Most of the once scattered low wooden houses have collapsed into ruins, and the rivers are silted and dirty, exuding a stronger putrid odor. There is almost no human habitation in sight, only wild dogs and rats roaming among the garbage piles. With her vague memory, she found the corner in the shadow of the barren slope. Time had washed away most of the traces, but she still found a slightly raised earth bag under waist-deep grass and vines, the shape of which was vaguely discernible. In front of the earth bag, the dead branch had long since turned into soil, but next to it, she found a rough stone half-buried in the soil that had been eroded by wind and rain to the point where the writing could barely be read. She knelt down and brushed off the dirt and moss on the rocks with her hands. There was no inscription on the stone, but there was a shallow, hand-hewn depression at the top, shaped... Like a key. It is in the shape of the key to the old house in Nagasaki. Prostitute Taro... He's here. He found this place and perhaps stayed for a long time. Is this wordless stone with the imprint of a key the mark he left behind? A silent memorial and a silent reminder of the "promise"? She stroked the cold depression, as if she could feel the state of mind when the ghost of the young man (perhaps no longer a young man) a hundred years ago was sitting here, carving bit by bit with his inhuman fingers. Loneliness, regret, and the waiting that refuses to be extinguished. A sour warmth and sharp pain rushed into my heart. She sat in the grass, facing the nameless tomb and the mark of silence for a long time. The setting sun dyes the desolate river bank a layer of sad orange-red. As night falls, the noise in the direction of Yoshiwara becomes clearer and clearer, making the place become increasingly quiet. Hina stood up and prepared to leave. She knew that it was not advisable to stay here for a long time. The banks of the Rashomon River at night were more dangerous than they were two hundred years ago. Just as she turned around and walked back along the vaguely discernible path, an extremely sudden feeling of being watched, like cold spider silk, instantly wrapped around her back. That is not the human sight. Cold, sticky, with a kind of scrutiny like evaluating prey, and a... More complex doubt, as if some long-lasting memory has been touched. The sight came from the thickest shadow on her side and behind, which even the moonlight could not penetrate. The hair on Hina's body stood on end, and her heart almost jumped out of her throat. But she forced herself to be calm and did not run in panic (that would only expose herself faster). She just stopped slowly and quietly held the bright flashlight brought by modernity hidden in her sleeve (it might be useless, but it was better than nothing). "Who is there?" She tried her best to sound calm, even with a hint of just the right amount of vigilance and uneasiness, like an ordinary woman who accidentally got lost here. There was silence in the shadows. Then, a hoarse, low, and inhuman voice sounded like a rusty iron piece rubbing against each other slowly: "A... Person who shouldn't be here." Following the words, a thin and tall figure slowly walked out of the shadows. The moonlight miserably outlined his outline. He has dark green curly hair, pale skin covered with strange black markings, a lean but explosive body, and two strange-looking scythes hanging casually around his waist. Most of his face was hidden in the shadows, and only his eyes shone with two faint, cold green lights in the darkness, like will-o'-the-wisps in a deep pool, locking on her momentarily. Taro the prostitute. In other words, it is the prostitute Taro, the prostitute who has become a ghost and has experienced a long time. Hina's heart almost stopped beating the moment she saw him clearly. Not fear, but a huge, mixed with pity, suddenness and almost absurd excitement. He really became a ghost, really here, really... Waiting for two hundred years. His appearance has changed greatly, and his temperament has become more gloomy, cold, and inhuman. But there was something deep in those eyes that made her feel so familiar that she wanted to cry. He didn't attack immediately, but looked at her with a scrutinizing look with a trace of imperceptible confusion. Obviously, she did not trigger his killing instinct as a ghost, or there were some other factors that interfered with his judgment. Hina took a deep breath to suppress her turbulent emotions. She knew that her appearance had changed and that he would not be able to recognize her immediately. A bold, even mischievous and sad idea quietly arose. Instead of retreating, she took a small step forward, tilted her head, and faced those cold green ghost eyes, with a shallow, curious and provocative smile on her face. "Oh? Is your name written here? Or is this gentleman here just waiting for lost women like me?" Her tone was brisk, even a little teasing, and she used an accent that she had adjusted after observation and was closer to the tone of the wandering girls on the edge of Yoshihara today. It was completely different from the original tone of "Haruko". The prostitute Taro was obviously stunned for a moment. He didn't seem to expect this kind of reaction from this woman who suddenly appeared with a strange smell. When ordinary humans saw him, they would either scream in terror and run away, or they would be paralyzed by his aura. The woman in front of me, although there was a trace of nervousness in her eyes, her overall attitude was too... Calm, even frivolous? That familiar, indescribable feeling came to my heart again. Especially the way she tilted her head, and the tone that seemed casual but actually had a certain rhythm... "You..." He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through her, "Who is it? What are you doing here?" His tone was still cold, but the murderous intention seemed to be weakened and replaced by inquiry. "My name is Hina." She said her new name calmly and blinked her light brown eyes. "I heard that the moonlight on the banks of the Rashomon River has a special flavor, so I came here to see it. I didn't expect to meet..." She glanced at him and paused deliberately, "... Such a 'special' night watchman like you. Why, aren't you allowed to see this place?" Her eyes even boldly stayed on the scythe on his waist for a moment. There was no fear in her tone, only curiosity: "Your 'decoration' is so unique. Is this popular now?" The prostitute Taro was a little confused by her almost "teasing" attitude, and the doubts in his heart became even stronger. This woman's reaction was so strange. She wasn't afraid of him, she even... Seemed to be deliberately provoking him? Moreover, there was an extremely weak aura about her that made him inexplicably restless deep in his soul... "Leave immediately if you don't want to die." He suppressed the strange feeling in his heart, resumed his cold threatening tone, and took a step forward, deliberately releasing a hint of the terrifying pressure belonging to the Shangxian Ghost. Ordinary humans would have been paralyzed under this pressure. Hina did feel the suffocating pressure, and her body instinctively wanted to shudder. But she squeezed her palms tightly and forced herself to stand firm. She even faced his approaching footsteps. Instead of retreating, she moved closer. She could almost smell his unique scent mixed with light blood and cold dust. "So fierce?" She chuckled, her voice low and a bit joking, "But, I don't think you want to kill me. Otherwise, you could have done it in the shadows just now, right?" She looked directly into his green eyes, as if she wanted to see into the cold depths, "Are you guarding something here? That... Grave without words?" The prostitute Taro's pupils suddenly shrank! Did she see it? Have you guessed yet? The raging murderous intent rose instantly! Anyone who pries into the secrets of his obsession must die! However, at the moment when the murderous intent was about to erupt, the woman's light brown, smiling eyes suddenly overlapped strangely for a moment with another pair of bright, apricot-like eyes deep in his memory that were always looking at him. And the corners of her lips were slightly raised at this moment, with a little pride and a little cunning arc... The murderous intention froze. He stared at her intently, trying to find the flaw and the source of this familiar feeling. It's not appearance, it's not hair color or eye color, it's something deeper, almost soul-like... Hina looked at the murderous intent, confusion, and struggle in his eyes. Her heart felt even more sour, and her thoughts of mischief became stronger. She suddenly stretched out her hand, and with lightning speed (of course, it might not be too fast at the speed of a ghost), she gently brushed the deepest black mark on the edge of his cheek with her fingers. A cold, rough touch. "This," she paused on her fingertips for a moment, her tone became softer, almost sighing, "is it something you are born with? It looks... Very hard." The prostitute Taro took a big step back as if struck by lightning, as if he had been burned. His green eyes widened in disbelief, and a faint, strange blush appeared on his pale face. She... How dare she? ! Still, still using that tone... Familiar images hit his mind again - a long time ago, there was a person who looked at his face with the same pity (?) And curiosity, and said the same words that made him upset and irresistible... "You... What are you..." His voice lost its previous coldness and stability, and was filled with a trace of imperceptible panic. Looking at his rare bewilderment, Yang Nai felt the evil taste in her heart was satisfied, but what was more overwhelming was the overwhelming tenderness and sadness. She retracted her hand, took two steps back, and opened a safe distance. "My name is Hina." She repeated, and the smile on her face faded and became serious, "A traveler who happened to pass by and was a little curious about the past. Thank you for your 'vigil' tonight. The moonlight is indeed good, but..." She glanced in the direction of Yoshihara, "I should go back." She turned around and was about to leave, but stopped, turned her head, and said softly in a voice just enough for him to hear: "The sea in Nagasaki... Isn't it very windy?" After saying that, he no longer stopped and walked steadily towards the direction of Yoshiwara's lights, leaving behind him the prostitute Taro who was completely frozen in place, as if he had fallen into an ice cave and seemed to be burned by flames. Sea ​​breeze? Nagasaki? How does she know? ! That was an agreement that only he and... Knew about! His green ghost eyes stared intently at the slender figure that gradually merged into the night. Shock, ecstasy, doubt, fear... Countless emotions erupted like a volcano in his chest that had been cold for centuries. Impossible... She was dead... Cold in his arms... Buried here... But... That familiar soul fluctuation... Those incredible words... That bold touch... "Yang... Cai?" He said the unfamiliar name hoarsely, with an unprecedented violent storm in his eyes. (Suppose Haruko died on the night of the samurai's revenge, and the prostitute Taro later chose to turn into a ghost, but the reason was to wait for Haruko in the future) The name "Hina" was not something I personally brought in, but a name related to "the sun" that I searched online. I think the heroine may change her name and identity when she comes back again.

Reunion The prostitute Taro stood stiffly on the spot, as if he was wedged into the ground by invisible nails. The night wind on the Rashomon River whimpered through the ruins, stirring up dust and dead leaves, but he was unaware of it. Those green eyes were locked on the direction Hina was leaving, even though her figure had already been swallowed up by the chaotic shacks and the flickering light of cheap lanterns on the edge of Yoshiwara. "The sea in Nagasaki... Isn't it very windy?" That sentence is like an ancient mantra, and like a key that has been rusted for hundreds of years and suddenly inserted into the lock of the heart. Not the original words. What Haruko said before she died was "Go and see the sea in Nagasaki for me...". But the core of this question, which was full of wind and emotion as if it were personal experience, pointed to the same place, the same agreement that only the two of them (and maybe Mei) knew. Coincide? Ridiculous, heart-stopping coincidence? No. After he became a ghost, his senses and intuition had already surpassed the scope of humans. The woman who called herself "Hina" just now had an extremely subtle sense of disobedience. She was not afraid of him, and even had a deliberate, almost provocative approach to him. Deep in her eyes, there was a complex emotion that he couldn't decipher. It wasn't fear or disgust, but something like... A mixture of sadness, nostalgia and some kind of firm determination. And when she touched his cheek, the warmth from her fingertips, and the words "It's very hard" - vaguely overlapped with a vague but warm fragment deep in the memory. Most importantly, she mentioned "Nagasaki." In the two hundred years of long waiting, this place name has already been sublimated from a geographical coordinate to a temple of his obsession and a beacon of despair. He had imagined what that sea looked like countless times, but he had never mentioned it to any living (or dead) being. Except for Haruko, except for Mei (who may know, but not necessarily understand the full meaning). How do you know about a strange young woman who suddenly appears on the banks of the desolate Rashomon River? Countless possibilities collided and exploded in his cold brain, and were forcibly suppressed by him. The most absurd and unbelievable conjecture, but the one that made his soul tremble the most, was like a toadstool emerging from the darkness, growing crazily. Could it be that... Could it be that her words before her death, "We will meet again in the distant future...", Were not just words of comfort? Could it be that the so-called "from the future" is not a complete joke? No, that's crazy. The dead come back to life, crossing time... This goes against all the laws he knows as a ghost, and also goes against common sense. The immortality of ghosts is based on the robbery and curse of flesh and blood, not this... Miraculous return. But... If... There really is a god, then Haruko is not the god-like light of salvation in his ruined darkness. What if that faint soul resonance was real? What if she really returned to this time and space in another way, with another appearance? This thought brought not pure ecstasy, but more surging fear and confusion. If it was really her, what had she been through? Why have the appearance, age, and even hair color and eye color changed? Why didn't she recognize each other directly? Were her actions and words just now a test? Still teasing? Does she know that he has turned into a ghost? Is she... Still willing to accept him like this? Two hundred years of waiting have already made that emotion extremely complicated. It is no longer pure longing and love, but a mixture of deep-seated regret, self-loathing, paranoid watching, and an almost masochistic twisted belief in using "waiting" to punish oneself and maintain existence. He was used to chewing memories in the dark, used to numb the passage of time with hunger and fighting, used to seeing himself as an inhuman container that existed only for "waiting". Now, suddenly, the vessel is thrown into a fire that could ignite everything or blow it up completely. What should he do? Catch up with her? Catch her? Force the truth? With the power of his winding land, he can easily control her and torture out every detail. But what if... What if she really is? What if his roughness scares her away, hurts her, makes her... Disappear again? No, he couldn't bear to lose again. Even if it's just a little bit possible. His green eyes flickered on and off in the darkness, eventually settling into a bottomless, more paranoid darkness. The murderous intent and rage were forcibly suppressed, replaced by a hunter-like patience and an almost pathological desire for observation. He needed confirmation. Quietly, far away, without letting her notice. If she was, he would know sooner or later. If it weren't for... An impostor who dared to tease him and touch his deepest obsession, his end would be thousands of times worse than falling into the hands of other ghosts. He took one last look at the stone with no word tombstone and key imprint, and his figure quietly disappeared in place like an ink droplet blending into the night. In the days that followed, Hina could clearly feel that cold and persistent gaze, like an invisible spider web, began to cover her vaguely. Opposite the small hotel she rented, the shadows at the alley always seemed thicker than elsewhere. When she went to the tea house to inquire about news, she would occasionally catch a glimpse of the familiar dark green hair tips passing by on the street corner. Even when she closed the window at night, she could feel something lingering on the eaves outside the window, silently. He didn't show up immediately, didn't take any action, he just stared silently and stubbornly. This actually made Hina relax, and even made her want to laugh. This is very "whore Taro". Awkward and suspicious, he will never reveal his true intentions and emotions easily before confirming them. Two hundred years of being a ghost seems to have failed to completely erase these undertones in his character. She is not afraid. On the contrary, this feeling of being secretly watched made her feel strangely reassured - he was here, he was watching, and he had doubts. The plan was going in the direction she expected (or, what she subconsciously hoped for). She moved on with her life. During the day, she would go to the more peripheral and less chaotic areas of Yoshiwara to observe the current trends in snacks, try to use limited materials and tools to reproduce some modern and improved wagashi, and occasionally sell them on consignment at a stall to earn some living expenses. She deliberately lets her craftsmanship reveal some "Haruko"-style ingenuity, but it is not too prominent and mixed in with common styles. She no longer took the initiative to inquire about old events two hundred years ago, as if it was just a boring act on her whim. Most of the time, she is like an outsider who is curious about the prosperity of Yoshihara but keeps a distance, quietly observing this era. But she knew that those eyes in the dark would notice everything. The occasional fillings in her snacks that do not match the current common combinations (such as trying to season with citrus peels); the insights and casual comments she inadvertently reveals about certain things that are beyond the ordinary women of this era; even some habitual little movements when she walks... She was waiting for him to lose control. The opportunity came a little later than she expected. It was a gloomy afternoon, with leaden clouds accumulating in the sky, as if a heavy rain was brewing. Hina had just come out of a small food kiosk, where she successfully sold a small batch of her own "warabi cake" with lightly salted bean paste and received a good reward. In a good mood, she decided to go to the nearby market to buy some fresh ingredients and try to cook something more complicated in the evening. Just as she turned into a relatively quiet alley with the back walls of warehouses on both sides, the light at the intersection ahead suddenly dimmed. A thin and tall figure, with his back to the faint skylight at the entrance of the alley, was blocked there. Dark green curly hair, pale skin, black markings, and double scythes at the waist. It was Taro the prostitute. This time he did not hide in the shadows, but appeared directly in front of her. The distance was not too far but not too close, just enough for her to see clearly the cold expression on his face, and his pair of green eyes that looked particularly deep and dark under the gray light of the cloudy sky. Hina stopped, her heart beating faster involuntarily, but her face showed just the right amount of surprise and a hint of vigilance, and she frowned slightly: "Is it you? Mr. Night Watchman on the bank of the Rashomon River? What a coincidence, we meet again." The prostitute Taro did not respond to her greetings. He slowly took two steps forward, his steps silent but with an invisible sense of oppression. His gaze was like substance, slowly sweeping over her face and body, as if he was evaluating an item, or looking for some clues. "Hina." He spoke, his voice hoarse and deeper than last time, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time, "What exactly do you want to do when you come to Yoshiwara?" "What to do?" Hina tilted her head, showing a slightly confused and innocent expression, "Didn't I say? Come to see the world and find some livelihood. Yoshihara is so big, can you always accommodate me, a foreign girl, to make a living?" "Making a living?" The prostitute Taro's mouth twitched, as if he was smiling, but without warmth, "By making those... Strange snacks?" "Is it weird?" Yang Nai blinked and took a step closer, as if unaware of the dangerous distance between them. "I think it tastes pretty good, and the guests like it too. Have you ever tasted it?" There was a bit of provocation and curiosity in her tone. The prostitute Taro was silent for a moment. He did "taste" it - through some special means, he got the snacks she consigned. That smell... Was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It's not exactly the same, as the materials and techniques are different, but the core "ingenuity" and a certain subtle seasoning tendency vaguely echo the vague but stubborn flavor deep in his memory. "Who did you learn your craft from?" He avoided her question and asked instead. "I taught myself." Yang Cai answered easily, "I like to think about food, watch others make it, and then try it myself. Is there any problem with this?" She looked at him and suddenly smiled, "You seem to be particularly interested in my dim sum? If I had known it, I should have given you one to try last time. But it's not too late now. I have made a new bean paste with some special spices. Do you want to try it?" As she spoke, she actually took out a small snack wrapped in a clean leaf from the small cloth bag she carried with her and handed it over. His movements are natural and his eyes are clear, as if he is just sharing it with an unexpected and a bit strange "acquaintance". The prostitute Taro looked at the snacks handed to him, and then looked at her calm face. A trace of extremely complicated emotions flashed deep in his green eyes. There was confusion, vigilance, a hint of annoyance aroused by this bold move, and a hint of... A deeper throbbing that even he didn't want to admit. He didn't answer. "Are you from Kansai?" He changed the question, still staring into her eyes. "Yeah, near Osaka." Haruna lied without hesitation. This was the origin she had made up from the beginning. "The flavor of Kansai's dim sum seems to be different from that of Edo." Taro the prostitute said slowly, as if he was making a statement, but also as if he was testing, "What you make is not like Kansai style, nor is it entirely Edo style." "Oh, did you notice?" Yang Cai not only didn't panic, but instead seemed to have been told something proud, her eyes curled up, "I just like to mix it up, I just add whatever I think is delicious. There are too many rules, and the things I make will be the same? How boring." She took back the snack, broke off a small piece and put it in her mouth, tasted it carefully, and nodded, "Well, the salt taste seems to be a bit stronger this time... Add less next time." The way she was enjoying herself and completely ignoring the terrifying ghost in front of her made the prostitute Taro feel an unprecedented sense of powerlessness and... Irritability. Why does this woman act so completely out of line with common sense? Is she ignorant and fearless, or does she have other motives? He took another step forward, and the distance between the two was so close that he could feel the completely different scents of each other - she had the scent of clean soap and a faint sweet scent of snacks, while he had a cold scent mixed with a touch of rust and old wood decay. "You're not afraid of me." This is not a question. Hina raised her head and faced his close, oppressive gaze. His pale and strange face was clearly reflected in her light brown eyes. She didn't back away, and even raised her chin slightly. "Afraid?" She repeated, with a strange seriousness in her tone, "Why are you afraid? You look like..." Her gaze lingered on his face, passing over the markings, and finally returned to his green eyes, "... You don't want to hurt me. At least not now." She paused, and her voice became softer, but her words were clear, like feathers scratching his cold heartstrings: "There is no murderous intent in your eyes. There are just many, many... Questions, and a little... Sadness." The prostitute Taro's breathing completely stopped at that moment. It was as if the sharpest ice pick had suddenly pierced the outermost layer of ice that had been wrapped in the heart for hundreds of years. Sad? She actually said... He looked sad? For two hundred years, no one has dared to interpret him this way, and no one can see this. Even he himself has already buried those weak emotions belonging to "Prostitute Taro" deeply under the ghost's cold mask. This woman... He took a step back suddenly, as if he had been burned by something. His green eyes shrank and expanded violently, and a storm surged inside them. On the pale face, the black markings seemed to be slightly distorted by the violent fluctuations of emotions. Seeing him shaken violently, Hina felt sour in her heart. She almost couldn't help but step forward, hold his face as she did before, and tell him, "It's okay, I'm back." But she can't. Not yet. The timing and method of breaking through this layer of window paper must be decided by him, and it must be after she is confident enough to deal with all his possible reactions - whether it is ecstasy, doubt, or anger and paranoia distorted by long waiting and ghostly nature. She just stood there, looking at him quietly, her eyes clear and tolerant, as if she could accept all his chaos and unhappiness. The rain finally started to fall. Thin raindrops floated silently, wetting the mottled ground in the alley and also wetting the clothes on their shoulders. The prostitute Taro stared at her in the rain, as if he wanted to see through her soul. After a long time, his hoarse voice sounded again, with a tightness and difficulty that even he himself had not noticed: "... Who are you?" Hina smiled slightly. That smile looked a little hazy in the gradually falling rain, but it was extremely clear. "I told you," her voice came softly through the rain, "my name is Hina." She paused and added, her voice softer, but it seemed to hit his heart with a huge weight: "Someone... Who might be able to understand all your questions." After saying that, she no longer looked at the shocked expression on his face, nodded slightly, turned around, opened the oil-paper umbrella she had held in her hand at some point, and walked calmly into the increasingly dense rain, leaving the prostitute Taro standing alone in the empty alley, letting the cold rain wash away his stiff body and boiling thoughts. Understand... All the questions? The rain was getting heavier and heavier, hitting the eaves and the ground, making a gurgling sound. But in the prostitute Taro's ears, those last words echoed repeatedly, as well as the vague but extremely clear faint smile when she looked back in the rain. She knew it. She must know something! This knowledge was like a wildfire that started a prairie fire, swallowing up all his reason and hesitation in an instant. Whether she was a miracle, a conspiracy, a phantom, or something else... He had to figure it out! The green ghost eyes shone horribly in the rain. There was no longer pure scrutiny and confusion, but a mixture of eagerness, desire, fear and an almost paranoid determination. His figure flickered and merged into the shadows again, like the most loyal ghost, closely following the oil-paper umbrella that was getting further away in the rain. This time, it's no longer just observation.

Boss [crying] Infinite City is here, where are you?

Don't want! ! ! Madam, didn't you say you won't be cheated? Ah, can you still see the follow-up in your lifetime? [Crying] No, why?

Boss, come back soon😭I miss you so much in Pujiang😭😭

Teacher, you really worked hard😭😭This article is so good, I feel like I haven't even finished 1/2 yet. It's such a pity that the story fell apart before it was fully developed 555

Goddess, please write another chapter, I can do whatever I want [crying] [crying] I feel bad all over now [crying] [crying]

When will the teacher update again? I'm going back and forth between the two pts [please][please][please]

I'm so desperate, I really want to ask the teacher for an update.

Teacher... The soul is back...