In Sū ěr eyes, time still progressed at a human tempo—the drive to push oneself to the limit during one's most precious and cherished years, making a brief life as valuable as possible.
For humans whose lifespans rarely exceed a hundred, and in a war-torn, backward world often fall short of fifty, this code of conduct is natural. They must fully utilize every second to let their light shine with maximum brilliance and meaning.
Wasted time never returns. Humans who hold to this principle are like the most beautiful fireworks. But Sū ěr had transcended this limitation; he was no longer frantic or rushed by the urgency of a short life.
Unable to calculate exactly how long he could live—longevity being a non-issue—he simply hadn't adapted to this shift. It was a peculiar kind of aimlessness.
True, he could dig a hole ten thousand meters underground and sleep for tens of thousands of years. But the moment such a thought arose, Sū ěr instinctively resisted it—wouldn't sleeping away the ages be tantamount to abandoning his life? Wouldn't that mean he hadn't grown at all?
Despite his various complaints about this primitive era, Sū ěr had to admit it held novelties he might never encounter again. Moreover, if he chose to sleep for millennia, how much would he miss?
As he had just told Think, he lacked the experience of facing the world as a man of thirty, fifty, or eighty. He did not possess the wisdom that settles only through the passage of years.
If he chose to sleep until tens of thousands of years later, the Sū ěr of the future would be exactly the same as the Sū ěr of now—not a bit of growth. Or rather... would he have truly become strong?
Furthermore, there was Think. Would this curiosity-driven Dhampir [Elf] agree to sleep away the ages with him? She, who held an insatiable desire to research and explore the unknown.
Sū ěr questioned his heart: if Think truly agreed to suppress her own desires to sleep alongside him, could he truly sit by and watch her sacrifice herself? Could he disregard her thoughts?
He was no longer alone; Sū ěr realized this more clearly than anyone.
Therefore, he needed to find a long-term rhythm—one that matched his current life and matched Think. It would likely be a very long exploration.
"Made up your mind?" Think caught the shift when the scattered thoughts in Sū ěr mind finally converged into a single line. She asked softly.
"Yeah, I've decided," Sū ěr replied with a nod.
"The Nine-Tailed Fox? Or Izumo?" Think finger traced a circle on Sū ěr chest, then another. She was asking which side he had chosen to help or participate with after his deliberations. Unfortunately, she was entirely wrong.
"Neither... If I'm going to decide on something, I should at least understand it deeply first, shouldn't I?" Carrying Think, Sū ěr stood up from the bamboo porch and laughed brightly. "Let's go take a look together—at Izumo, and at that beautiful fox."
Right now.
"Eh? They're gone?"
Standing at the door of the quiet and elegant bamboo house, one only had to lean slightly to the side to see a small plot of land behind the house, where fruits and vegetables grew in defiance of the season. Even being covered by falling snow did not hinder their growth; if anything, it added a touch of vitality. Their presence allowed their master to satisfy a few culinary desires in this sparse world... though not by much.
Yukari Yakumo could arrogantly claim she had explored the surroundings of this bamboo house more thoroughly than the person who built it. But compared to the delicious fruit in the back, what concerned her more was the small figure standing on the bamboo porch.
Though its silhouette was clearer than when she first saw it, the little steward named Zashiki-warashi was still a stick-figure-like entity that emitted a faint green glow in the dark. Currently, it had its thin arms crossed in a gesture of firm refusal.
"Can you tell me where they went? Roughly when they'll be back?" Yukari squatted down, looking the spirit in its "eyes"—or rather, where the eyes should be—and asked patiently.
"Nyau~, nyaunyan nyan~, nyau~"
It was clear this little green figure was trying desperately to tell her something. Unfortunately, whether it was its flailing hand gestures or the sounds it made, no substantive information was conveyed. After a round of "chicken speaking to duck" communication, Yukari realized she had perfectly wasted ten minutes of her youkai life.
"Out... and at a time like this..." She stood up again, trying to peer through the window to see any movement inside, but she found the man had set up a barrier. Her sight could not penetrate the glass.
But it truly didn't look like anyone was home. At the very least, even as paranoid as she was, she couldn't find a reason for Sū ěr to refuse to see her.
Truly strange.
The sun was just rising. The reason this youkai, who was so busy with her ideals, had specifically made time to visit was simple: after a night of frantic work, Yukari had finally arranged the youkai mixed within the Izumo army. In the brief lulls of her labor, she had been thinking constantly and finally decided to come and persuade Sū ěr.
The vision of that world-altering power was still preserved in her mind. When that dragon of soil and rock, swirling with the power of the earth, soared into the sky, even a youkai as irreverent as she couldn't help but murmur two words in her heart: A God.
A true god.
There was an instinct in Yukari mind that even youkai fear, and this instinct trembled within her, warning her to stay away from such a dangerous individual. The terrifying image of Yuuka Kazami—who even she found incredibly troublesome—having her heart crushed and being thrown into a field as fertilizer also lingered in her memory.
This was a natural disaster beyond the reach of her schemes and power—a true strength that could manipulate the world at will.
She should stay away—that was what Yukari told herself.
And yet, she couldn't help but draw closer. Perhaps this was the essence of the youkai race—beings who defied common sense, who were themselves synonyms for danger, yet were drawn to even greater perils.