Chapter 44
Linghe's eyes flickered toward them, noticing everything without asking.
Weiyang answered simply, "It's going… alright. Just a bit exhausting." He let out a small breath, then continued, "We are learning from two teachers each day. After training with Lin Yi shifu, we get free time—mostly for reflecting on our practice, training, or study. I usually train." He scratched his cheek lightly, almost sheepish. "Elder Gu has divided the time. He teaches at night… and from late morning to evening, Lin Yi shifu teaches. The rest hours are ours."
Silence followed.
Not empty—weighted.
Katsuro did not smile.
Linghe did not interrupt.
Even Xie Zheng's playful gaze sharpened slightly.
It was the kind of silence that felt like something had just fallen into the room—something heavy.
Katsuro spoke again, slower this time. "Two teachers a day… Then when do you four study… and sleep?"
Weiyang blinked, as if the question itself hadn't occurred to him. "Our schedule is… pretty busy. Aside from me and Wuming, Wei Zhi mostly focuses on him, so she manages her time differently. And Yinghua—"
"I study too," Yinghua cut in quickly, sitting straighter. "In the free time."
Linghe let out a low whistle, leaning back slightly. "What a torture."
Yinghua turned to him, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. "I know. Weiyang keeps singing about this torture all day." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Unlike Wuming… who never says a single word if it's not necessary."
Linghe's eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. "Is that so?"
She nodded.
Xie Zheng tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "Why are you all getting two teachers?"
Linghe answered before anyone else could, waving his hand lazily as if dismissing the complexity of it. "Because they wish to die a pig's death. Nothing else."
For a moment—there was silence.
And then—
Yinghua laughed.
A clear, unrestrained sound that broke through the heavy atmosphere like sunlight cutting through fog.
Weiyang puffed his cheeks in protest, glaring slightly as the physician continued treating his hands. "Hey—!"
But even that protest lacked real anger.
Because beneath the exhaustion, beneath the bruises, beneath the relentless training—
There was something else forming.
Not discipline.
Not strength.
Something quieter.
Something far more dangerous.
A bond that did not need to be spoken—Only endured.
The physician worked in quiet precision, wrapping the last layer of cloth around Weiyang's bruised hands with a firmness that carried both skill and restraint, as if he understood pain not as something to be erased, but something to be managed. The faint scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, blending with the warmth of burning coals, and when he finally stepped back, Weiyang flexed his fingers slightly, testing the tightness of the bandages before letting out a small breath of relief.
Yinghua was then guided forward, her own hands far worse—thin cuts crossing her palms, skin reddened and torn from strain and impact—yet she did not flinch as the physician began his work, only watching in silence while Linghe and Katsuro observed the two with a quiet interest that felt less like curiosity and more like evaluation. Linghe leaned back, one arm resting lazily while his sharp gaze lingered on Yinghua, and he asked in a tone almost too casual, "So… how is that boy's training? Wuming, was it? Does he endure well… or merely survive?"
Yinghua blinked once, then answered honestly, her voice soft but steady, "He doesn't complain… not even once. Even when he should."
Katsuro's eyes narrowed slightly at that, not in suspicion, but in thought, as if measuring something invisible. Meanwhile, Weiyang, now done, lifted his hands up and looked at them with childlike curiosity before smiling brightly at the physician. "Thank you, mister physician, you're really good at your work."
Yinghua nodded quickly in agreement, adding a gentle, "Thank you," her voice carrying genuine gratitude, and the physician only bowed slightly, saying nothing, as those who truly knew their craft rarely needed acknowledgment to affirm it.
After a moment, both Yinghua and Weiyang stood up together, their exhaustion still evident in the slight heaviness of their movements, and they bowed respectfully toward Katsuro and Linghe. "We enjoyed spending time with you, uncles… and Xie Zheng," Yinghua said, her tone polite yet warm, "and thank you for the treatment. We should take our leave now."
Katsuro's expression softened into a faint smile, the kind that did not fully show but still carried weight, while Linghe chuckled under his breath. "Don't mention it," Katsuro said calmly, then added, "You both have very good manners. Your parents must be proud of you."
Yinghua's face brightened instantly, her response almost instinctive. "That's true. My mother loves to boast about my grades and knowledge." There was pride in her voice, not arrogance, but something nurtured, something given.
Beside her, Weiyang fell silent. The smile on his face remained, but it shifted—just slightly, like light dimming behind a cloud. Katsuro noticed. Of course he did. His gaze moved to the boy, steady and direct. "And what about you, little Weiyang?"
Weiyang scratched the back of his head with his bandaged hand, letting out a small, awkward laugh before closing his eyes in that same bright, easy smile. "I… don't know if they'd be proud of me or not."
Xie Zheng tilted his head, confusion plain on his face. "Huh? Why?"
Weiyang shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing, as if it did not matter. "Well… I haven't met them. I don't have a mother or father. Just Elder Gu." He paused for a moment, then added with the same unwavering cheer, "But if I ever meet them, I'll make sure to ask whether they're proud of me or not."
There was no bitterness. No resentment. Just a statement, simple and complete.
Xie Zheng frowned slightly, still trying to understand. "Did your parents… leave you?"
Weiyang blinked, then shook his head lightly. "Leave? I don't know. Everyone says they died… the day I was born."
Silence followed, but this one was different—it carried weight not from tension, but from something softer, something human. Linghe reached out instinctively, pulling Xie Zheng closer and covering his mouth gently before the boy could say anything else careless, then looked at Weiyang with a rare gentleness. "It's alright. I believe they're proud of you… looking down from the heavens."
Weiyang's smile widened, brighter than before. "You bet."
Linghe chuckled softly. "I bet."
Yinghua, standing beside him, glanced at Weiyang quietly, something shifting in her gaze—something like understanding, or perhaps the beginning of it.
Katsuro spoke again, "Why don't you both stay the night here? Or shall I send a guard with you?"
Yinghua shook her head politely. "Thank you, Uncle Katsuro, but my family must be worried."
Weiyang added quickly, "And I still need to practice before sleeping."
Katsuro gave a small nod and gestured subtly, signaling a guard to accompany them regardless. The two children bowed once more before turning to leave, their footsteps fading into the corridor, their laughter returning faintly as they walked away together.
Inside the hall, Linghe still had his hand pressed firmly over Xie Zheng's mouth, the boy struggling beneath him, muffled protests escaping in broken sounds as his brows furrowed in clear irritation. His small hands pushed against Linghe's arm, trying to free himself, but Linghe held him effortlessly, as if restraining a restless cub who did not yet understand the weight of silence.
"Who's the kid?" Linghe asked at last, his tone no longer playful, his gaze shifting toward Katsuro.
Katsuro did not answer immediately. He lifted his cup, taking a slow, measured sip of tea, as if the question itself did not demand urgency. Then, without looking at them, he said calmly, "Leave him."
Linghe raised a brow slightly before removing his hand.
The moment he did, Xie Zheng inhaled sharply, straightening up with an offended expression, his pride clearly bruised more than his body. "Father?" he said, looking up at Linghe, confusion mixed with irritation.
Linghe glanced down at him, utterly unfazed. "Go and memorize the history of Meyveth."
The words fell like a verdict.
Xie Zheng's eyes narrowed instantly, his lips pressing into a thin line of protest. His expression screamed refusal, yet he said nothing for a moment, instead turning his gaze slowly toward Katsuro. "Uncle?" he called, seeking silent support.
Katsuro, however, simply looked away, sipping his tea as if he had suddenly found great interest in its flavor.
Betrayed.
That was the only word that lingered in the boy's eyes.
Xie Zheng clicked his tongue softly, standing up with restrained annoyance. "I'll remember this betrayal, uncle," he said before turning and walking out, his steps sharp, each one carrying the weight of a grudge that would surely not be forgotten anytime soon.
The hall grew quieter after his departure.
Linghe leaned back again, exhaling lightly, his hand now resting against his chin. "So?" he said, glancing at Katsuro. "Why did you make me send him away… and who's the kid?"
Katsuro placed his cup down gently, the faint sound of porcelain meeting wood echoing softly in the room. His gaze remained forward, calm yet heavy with something unspoken. "That was Xiao Weiyang… of the Yaksha."
Linghe's expression shifted instantly.
"The Yaksha?" he repeated, his tone lower now, more focused.
Katsuro nodded once.
Linghe frowned slightly. "Wasn't he dead?"
"I thought so too," Katsuro replied, his voice steady, "until I saw him practicing at dawn… with Wuming."
Linghe leaned forward, interest sharpening, the air around him tightening just slightly. "So the power is still there?"
Katsuro's eyes darkened faintly. "Sealed. Completely. No one has been able to open it. Not even those at the seventh or eighth level of Zhen."
Linghe nearly choked on his tea, coughing as he wiped his mouth, his composure slipping for just a moment. "What did you say? That seal… is that powerful?"
Katsuro did not react to his surprise. "Many tried when he was a child. They feared the seal was unstable… too weak. Some even attempted to kill him."
Linghe stilled. "And?"
Katsuro's voice did not change. "Nothing happened."
The fire crackled softly, but even that sound seemed distant now.
"There is an armor," Katsuro continued, his tone turning quieter, almost contemplative, "something that manifests on his body. Not forged. Not summoned. It reacts on its own… as if it is alive."
Linghe's eyes narrowed.
"Every attempt to harm him… is stopped before it can even begin," Katsuro finished.
A pause settled between them.
Heavy.
Understanding, yet incomplete.
Linghe leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. "A living defense…"
Katsuro's gaze shifted toward the open doorway, where the echoes of children's laughter had long faded.
"No one knows what he truly is."
Linghe said, "Is he a threat? To the empire?"
Katsuro looked at Linghe, his gaze steady, almost unreadable, before replying, "A threat, you say? He's a threat? Do you see the smile he has on his face?"
He paused, letting the words settle before continuing, his tone quieter now.
"People of this empire haven't accepted him. Everyone in the Empire of the Twin Dragon knows who the Yaksha is. They may not know his name… but Weiyang is feared by nations, known only as the Yaksha."
Linghe frowned slightly. "Does he not know what he is?"
Katsuro shook his head. "No. He doesn't know. He doesn't even know what his parents looked like."
Linghe's brows drew together. "But just now, you asked him about his parents… when no one ever touches that subject around Weiyang."
Katsuro exhaled softly, his fingers tapping lightly against the cup. "I just wanted to know whether Elder Gu told him something… or not."
Linghe blinked once, then let out a small breath. "Oh… so our old man is still alive."
Katsuro laughed faintly, a low, knowing sound. "Yes. The Demon Venerable of the Xuan clan is still alive."
Linghe leaned back slightly, his eyes drifting for a moment. "The empire doesn't accept the child… but the brightness on his face says something else."
End of 44