Work Text:
“O-one, ten, hundred... ten thousand, hundred thousand, million, ten million—fifty million high-grade spirit stones?! That’s enough to buy an entire spirit vein, isn’t it?!” shouted a plainly dressed cultivator.
“Zetian Grass? Never heard of it. It can actually heal damage to the dantian?”
“There’s no record of it in any of the classical texts... But since the bounty was posted by the Yomiuri Sect, I doubt it’s fake.”
The moon had already crossed into the western sky. Along the entire street, only the area around the Many-Tidings Pavilion remained lit. A handful of cultivators clustered around the noticeboard, speaking quietly among themselves.
Across the street, an elderly vendor cocked his head at the distant call of the night watchman, then briskly began packing up his late-night food stall for the evening. Just then, a young man dressed entirely in black, a veiled hat concealing his face, stopped him.
“Excuse me. One order of wontons to go. No cilantro, extra pepper.”
The old man paused. In the dim lamplight, he looked the newcomer up and down before letting out a slow sigh.
“Young hero, you look like you’ve been traveling without rest. Sit down and eat here. Give yourself a moment to recover.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and began preparing the food with practiced hands.
“Here you are.”
The young man’s left hand trembled faintly around his spoon, but he still ate one mouthful after another, finishing the bowl of wontons at astonishing speed.
Behind him, the cultivators were still talking.
“...I heard Fellow Daoist Miyuki still hasn’t woken up.”
The young man’s swallowing slowed for a fraction of a second. He turned his head ever so slightly.
“Seriously?”
“You think I’d make something like that up? Who else do you think those fifty million spirit stones are for...?”
The old man glanced at his customer’s fingers, clenched so tightly that the knuckles had gone pale. He sighed inwardly, but on the surface merely asked in an offhand tone, “Young hero, are you also running yourself ragged in search of Zetian Grass?”
The veiled hat dipped almost imperceptibly.
“You and I seem to have crossed paths for a reason, so I’ll tell you something. Take it for what it’s worth.” The old man cleared his throat and deliberately lowered his voice. “Before this bounty was posted, no one had ever heard of Zetian Grass. But they say the earliest record of it came from the Seidou Sect, a thousand li east of here.”
“Thank you. I should go.”
The young man set down a few bits of silver. His veiled hat dipped once more in farewell, and then he mounted his sword and flew directly east.
Soft moonlight spilled across his shoulders before scattering like smoke and dust.
The old man watched that streak of sword-light disappear into the distance. Only after a long while did he lower his gaze.
If that child hadn’t met with disaster all those years ago...
Would he have grown up to look something like that young man?
————
The moon shone bright among sparse stars. The birds had fallen silent, and the wind was light.
Sawamura Eijun retied the ribbons securing his veiled hat and continued flying east in silence.
If everything went smoothly, he could have the Zetian Grass by tomorrow night.
But if it didn’t...
Sawamura lowered his eyes and formed another hand seal, forcing his flying sword to accelerate once more.
When he had first heard about the bounty for Zetian Grass, Sawamura hadn’t paid it much attention.
Then some of his fellow cultivators mentioned that the bounty had been posted by Kuramochi Yoichi of the Yomiuri Sect.
That was when he started listening.
Later still, a steward from the Many-Tidings Pavilion let slip that the Zetian Grass was intended for none other than Miyuki Kazuya of the Yomiuri Sect.
Sawamura could no longer sit still.
Putting on his most composed expression, he informed his own sect that, through a personal connection, he had obtained an opportunity to spend some time studying at the Seidou Sect. He thumped his chest and swore that he would bring back their newest teaching materials.
Then he dug an old black night-travel outfit—now slightly too small—out from the deepest corner of his luggage.
And on an ordinary night, he set out east.
The farther he had once fled from Seidou’s notice, the longer the road back to Seidou now seemed.
Traveling by night.
Sawamura Eijun hated traveling by night.
He hated the journey there, when every scrap of hope depended on some vanishingly small possibility.
And he hated the journey back, empty-handed.
His previous attempts to search for medicine had only stopped because the person in question had supposedly “recovered.”
Now, looking back, it was obvious that bastard senior brother had simply hidden his injuries yet again, allowing them to become a lingering condition.
Otherwise, with Miyuki’s strength, how could he possibly have damaged his dantian in some minor secret realm and remained unconscious even now?
Sawamura gritted his teeth and once again recited the legend he had long since memorized word for word.
“Two hundred li south of the Seidou Sect lies a lightning-struck tree fallen across a deep ravine. At every midnight hour, strange lights gather there, and a divine bird descends upon the tree bearing Zetian Grass in its beak.”
“Only those whose hearts are true may behold it.”
A true heart, huh.
Miyuki Kazuya raised an eyebrow at the cursive script on the torn page, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
Something like this...
Sawamura was probably the only person who would actually believe it.
Miyuki rubbed the coarse paper between his fingers with a critical expression. It was the cheap sort normally used for copying scriptures. He studied the hurried handwriting, then the rough, ragged edges of the page.
No matter how he looked at it, it didn’t resemble a proper excerpt from any legitimate text.
Understanding amusement surfaced in Miyuki’s eyes.
More importantly, Miyuki Kazuya happened to be one of the people most familiar with the ecology of the cultivation world.
And he had never once heard the name Zetian Grass.
Which raised the obvious question:
Who had slipped this page into the archive?
Well. It didn’t matter.
Better to burn this sort of misleading nonsense before it confused anyone else.
Miyuki shook his head and casually dropped the page into the brazier.
Flames curled around its edges, blackening them with thick strokes of char.
Then, as the burning paper warped and shifted—
Several tiny patches of iridescent light flashed across its surface.
Miyuki instinctively formed a hand seal and extinguished the flames.
Ignoring the heat of the freshly quenched paper, he reached straight into the brazier and snatched it out with his bare hand.
The slightly damp pad of his thumb rubbed over the place where the colored specks had vanished. With his other hand, he summoned a tiny flame.
He tilted the page minutely beneath the firelight.
Once again, brilliant colors shimmered across its surface.
At last, Miyuki remembered where he had first seen colors like these.
It had been during his final winter at the Seidou Sect with Sawamura.
That year, Seidou had finally redeemed its past defeat and taken first place in the Grand Sect Tournament.
But their eldest senior brother, Miyuki, had concealed his injuries throughout the competition. The moment it ended, damage to his dantian sent him straight into unconsciousness.
What followed was a long period of recovery.
He couldn’t practice swordsmanship. He couldn’t spar.
So Miyuki spent his days sitting beneath the covered corridor, “offering guidance” on his junior brothers’ technique—especially Sawamura’s and Furuya’s.
Whenever Kuramochi walked past, he would inevitably leave behind a contemptuous, “Tch. Quit acting like some grand eldest senior brother.”
Miyuki would only laugh.
Because he knew that every day, the moment Sawamura finished sword practice, he disappeared into the archive.
Of course, Sawamura insisted it was nothing like concern.
“I’m not worried about you! I’m merely broadening my knowledge so you can’t hide something like this from me again!”
Or so he claimed.
Then, late one night, Miyuki had been unable to sleep and stepped outside for some air.
From far away, he saw a lantern swaying toward him from the direction of the archive.
Snow reflected the lantern light.
The lantern illuminated Sawamura’s face.
And scattered through the glow were tiny flecks of iridescent color.
Miyuki had stood beneath the corridor without making a sound.
He simply watched from afar.
And then his heart skipped a beat.
Ah.
If we could keep staying together like this...
That might actually be nice.
And then Sawamura disappeared from Seidou’s sight of his own accord.
Without warning.
By the time Miyuki learned the news, he and Kuramochi had only just found their footing in the Yomiuri Sect.
It happened on an entirely ordinary afternoon.
Furuya, who had recently joined the Yomiuri Sect as well, suddenly said, “Eijun damaged his meridians during the Grand Sect Tournament. The healer cultivators said a full recovery would be difficult, so Eijun went to pursue his dream.”
The two people in the middle of comparing sword forms stopped at once.
Kuramochi’s face darkened so sharply that it was almost frightening.
“What kind of idiotic nonsense is that?! If Seidou can’t heal him, he comes to Yomiuri. If Yomiuri can’t heal him, then he goes to another major sect! How the hell can he just leave?!”
“I thought his dream was to join a major sect too.”
Miyuki was slightly calmer. Looking down, he slowly slid his sword back into its sheath.
“With his personality, there’s no way one meridian injury would make him give that up... Did he join somewhere else? Tokyo Academy, maybe? Chris-senpai is there, isn’t he? I remember their healer cultivators are supposed to be excellent.”
“No,” Furuya said after thinking about it. “Eijun said he wanted to go to a small sect and pass on everything he had learned.”
He looked at Miyuki’s faintly furrowed brow and only then seemed to remember something.
“Ah. There was one more thing I forgot to tell you.”
“He said you could all meet again once the great Sawamura had made something of himself.”
“I. AM. GOING. TO. DRAG. THAT. IDIOT. BACK. RIGHT. NOW!!! MIYUKI, ASK THE ELDERS FOR LEAVE FOR ME!”
Furuya tilted his head.
“But if Eijun notices anyone from Seidou, he’ll run away. It’s already happened twice. No one has managed to catch him yet.”
“All right, all right. The important thing right now is figuring out how Sawamura got injured and how to treat him. You can settle the score after he’s healed.”
Miyuki tugged at Kuramochi’s sleeve, spending quite some effort talking him down.
“...Now then, Furuya. Please tell us exactly what happened to Sawamura from beginning to end. Don’t leave out a single detail ❤”
If anyone asked Sawamura Eijun how serious that match had really been, he would probably scratch his head and say:
“It only hurt a little?”
The Grand Sect Tournament directly affected recruitment for the following generation.
So in Sawamura’s mind, enduring the agony caused by overusing his meridians and continuing to fight—for the sake of pushing himself to his limit, for the sake of taking Seidou one step further, and for the sake of defeating their old rival, Inajitsu Palace, once again—had been an excellent trade.
After all, cultivators from weaker sects in other regions had always said things like:
“If I’d been chosen by Seidou and gotten personal instruction from a genius like Fellow Daoist Miyuki, I wouldn’t have lost to Sawamura Eijun either, you know?”
Even now, those words occasionally echoed in Sawamura’s ears.
Especially when he looked at his own sweet-tempered, obedient disciples.
Evening lanterns were beginning to glow throughout the market.
Sawamura still hadn’t removed his veiled hat. He bent over a small magical-artifact stall at the end of an alley, picking through its wares.
This stack of talismans had plenty of variety. They were only half-finished, but he could take them back for Ah-Cai to study.
Luyin wanted a proper musical instrument...
This flute looked pretty good. Definitely better than blowing on willow leaves.
Why weren’t there any swords?
Never mind. He could choose one for Mingyuan on the way back.
Sawamura expertly counted out the exact number of spirit stones written on the price tags. After storing the artifacts in his spatial pouch, he lightly sprang onto the roof and continued toward the Seidou Sect.
It had been so long since he’d come anywhere near Seidou.
And somehow, every time he stopped somewhere, it was always a shop Miyuki Kazuya had once brought him to.
Honestly.
Miyuki Kazuya, what am I supposed to do with you?
And what I feel for you now...
Are those feelings really true?
Sawamura Eijun ran beneath the moonlight.
The market at the foot of the mountain, the gates of the Seidou Sect, the peak where he had once lived—
One by one, they disappeared behind him.
“Two hundred li south of the Seidou Sect lies a lightning-struck tree fallen across a deep ravine. At every midnight hour, strange lights gather there, and a divine bird descends upon the tree bearing Zetian Grass in its beak.”
“Only those whose hearts are true may behold it.”
Following the instructions, he continued south.
It had already been an entire month.
Ever since Miyuki had conspired with Kuramochi to post the bounty, he had hidden himself on the cliffs near the lightning-struck tree every single night without fail.
One more month.
If Sawamura still doesn’t come after another month, we’ll withdraw the bounty.
Miyuki suppressed his aura until his presence was no more conspicuous than the grass and trees around him. His gaze remained fixed on the lightning-struck tree below.
He thought back to the things he had learned while tracing the origin of that torn page.
Once he pieced together just how many nights Sawamura had spent running from place to place back then, even Miyuki himself had been stunned.
Those had been the two coldest months of the year.
Sawamura.
Why would you go that far for me?
Never in his life had Miyuki been so grateful for what he had obtained inside that secret realm.
And never had he wanted so badly for Sawamura to come to him.
Fine.
Another month.
No—two.
If Sawamura still hasn’t come after another two months, then we’ll withdraw the bounty.
The moon climbed into the western sky.
Cold light coated everything within the ravine in a thin layer of silver and drew a faint halo around the tender leaves atop the lightning-struck tree.
Perhaps it was only the wind.
A soft rustling came from the forest.
In the space of a blink, a black-clad figure wearing a veiled hat appeared before the tree.
Miyuki held his breath.
His eyes followed every tiny movement as the stranger slowly removed the hat.
Sawamura Eijun.
After all these years, you hardly look different from how I remember you.
You move well.
It seems the damage to your meridians hasn’t burdened you too badly.
Thank goodness.
The rustling in the distant woods grew louder.
Then came the beating of wings.
Streams of silver-white butterflies emerged from the gaps between the trees, fluttering toward the ravine and circling above the lightning-struck trunk.
Beneath the moonlight, their wings shimmered with iridescent flecks.
Midnight had arrived.
Facing the swarm of butterflies and the lightning-struck tree, Sawamura dropped into an impeccably formal kneeling bow.
But no divine bird descended with Zetian Grass in its beak.
By the moonlight, Miyuki could see his face clearly.
There was no regret on Sawamura’s face.
No anger.
Mostly, there was only the numb, empty expression of someone thinking:
Of course.
Sawamura picked up his veiled hat from the ground and silently placed it back over his head. His fingers moved with practiced ease as he began tying the ribbons.
Then the wind stirred.
A large hand, rough with sword calluses, closed firmly around his wrist and stopped just beneath the falling veil.
“How is your injury?”
Two voices spoke at exactly the same time.
Silence.
“Senior Brother Miyuki lied to me again,” Sawamura said dully. “You’re clearly injured badly enough to be unconscious, and you still forced yourself to come all the way here.”
“...Sawamura. I found a prescription capable of treating damaged meridians. Some of the ingredients are difficult to obtain, but I’ll give you the prescription first. After that, we can go into secret realms together and look for whatever’s missing—”
“Senior Brother Miyuki is a liar.”
“...”
“I don’t trust Senior Brother Miyuki anymore. Let me go.”
“Will you come again tomorrow?”
Sawamura jerked his head up and glared fiercely at him.
“If I don’t come, who else is going to get the Zetian Grass for you?”
Something impossible to name had settled deep within his golden-brown eyes.
Miyuki didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his hand slid slowly upward from Sawamura’s wrist and gently found Sawamura’s own sword-callused hand.
He clasped it securely.
“Sawamura. Zetian Grass doesn’t exist.”
The hand in his palm went rigid for an instant.
“It was made up by one of our junior sisters. She wanted to write a romance novel and came up with it while looking through reference materials. Then she accidentally left her notes behind in the archive.”
“When she realized what had happened, she went back to look for them. But by then... you’d probably already found the page and taken it with you.”
Sawamura lowered his head.
For a long time, he said nothing.
“...Then what about your injury?”
His voice was very quiet.
“If there’s no Zetian Grass, what happens to your dantian?”
“I’m already healed. I really am fine. If you don’t believe me, you can find any healer cultivator you like and have them examine me.”
“But if your old injury had already healed, how did you end up getting hurt badly enough to fall unconscious in a secret realm?”
“...Sawamura, exactly what sort of image do you have of me in your head?”
Miyuki paused.
“...Never mind.”
He sighed and told him the truth.
“That secret realm was said to contain a closely guarded prescription for repairing damaged meridians.”
“So I took a gamble.”
“Which means you can accept your senior brother’s prescription now, can’t you, Sawamura?”
“...I’m not going with you. I have things of my own to do.”
“I know.”
Sawamura’s voice gradually rose.
“Senior Brother Miyuki, even without you, I could have found a prescription by myself.”
“I know.”
Miyuki didn’t hesitate for even a moment.
“...Until I’ve accomplished something with my own hands, I’m not going to see you again.”
“That won’t do.”
Miyuki tightened his hold on Sawamura’s hand.
“I’ve already decided.”
“Even if there’s no place for me in your plans, I’m going to force my way into them.”
“Otherwise, what do you think I went through all this trouble for? Just to hand you a prescription and watch you leave again?”
“Even if my meridians are completely healed, I’m still not going with you to some major sect.”
Sawamura’s voice had gone hoarse.
“I know.”
Sawamura said many things.
By the end, even a patch of ground beneath them had been dampened.
But no matter what Sawamura said, Miyuki answered him with things like I know.
No matter how hard Sawamura tried, he couldn’t drive him away.
“One last question.”
Sawamura’s voice was thick with congestion.
“Senior Brother Miyuki... these feelings between us... are they real?”
Miyuki’s expression slowly softened into a smile.
He looked at Sawamura gently.
“You don’t need to prove anything to some nonexistent Zetian Grass. Or to anyone else. Or to anything else.”
“You only need to ask me.”
“And in the same way, I only need to ask you.”
“Yes. What you feel for me, and what I feel for you—both are real. That’s your answer.” Miyuki said without hesitation.
The horizon slowly began to pale.
Morning mist gathered around the two figures walking side by side, leaving beads of moisture in their hair.
For the first time in Sawamura Eijun’s life, the journey back left him feeling satisfied.
A medicinal prescription was tucked against his chest.
His left hand held his senior brother’s hand.
Just like it used to.
“Senior Brother Miyuki, what role did Zetian Grass actually play in that junior sister’s romance novel?”
“Hmm... It was basically a plot device for proving someone’s heart and moving the story forward. If the divine bird appeared, it meant the male lead’s heart for the female lead were genuine.”
“Oh.”
“Speaking of which, Sawamura, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Why did you kneel at midnight? The original notes never specified any particular posture.”
“I didn’t do anything special at first. But the Zetian Grass kept not appearing, so eventually I got into the habit of kneeling and bowing.”
“...”
“Senior Brother Miyuki, do you know anywhere that sells good swords suitable for someone at the Qi Refining stage?”
“I do. I’ll take you there.”
“...Senior Brother Miyuki, I want wontons.”
“No cilantro, extra pepper?”
“Let’s go after we buy the sword. The old man’s stall should be opening right around then.”
“Mm.”
“Senior Brother Miyuki.”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing.”