Kyoto, the grand aristocratic mansion was warm and cozy.
"Dad, the fish has bones!"
Five-year-old Sakuya held up a small silver spoon, a few grains of white rice stuck to her rosy cheeks, her voice soft and sweet, almost cloyingly so.
She wore a pale yellow kimono with delicate cherry blossom petals adorning the hem. Her hair was styled in two round buns tied with red ribbons, which jiggled with every head movement, making her look incredibly cute.
A gentle smile appeared in Tsukihiko's eyes. Her fingers were slender and nimble, almost acrobatic, as she picked up a fishbone as thin as a hair with excessively gentle movements.
"Come on, open your mouth."
He coaxed her softly, his tone overflowing with doting affection.
Sakuya obediently opened her mouth and swallowed the fish, her eyes curving into two crescent moons. She patted her cheeks happily and said:
"The fish Dad picked was the best! It was even more delicious than the taiyaki from the Kiyomizu-dera Temple!"
Seeing this, Chiyo, sitting opposite, raised her hand to cover her lips and smiled softly, her eyes full of tenderness.
She was twenty-five years old this year, with her hair styled in a high bun popular in Kyoto, a small pearl flower tucked behind her ear, and a few strands of hair clinging to her smooth cheeks, making her eyebrows and eyes appear particularly gentle.
She picked up the teapot and poured a cup of hot tea for Tsukihiko with fluid movements, the tea splashing into the cup.
"Husband, don't spoil her like this. What if she becomes more and more spoiled?"
She placed the teacup on the table very softly, and then asked gently:
"How did your official business at the Imperial Palace go today?"
"It's nothing, just some ordinary paperwork, nothing to mention."
Tsukihiko took the teacup, her fingers tracing the warm rim. Her crimson pupils glowed with a warm amber light in the candlelight, revealing nothing amiss.
"But you, taking Sakuya to Kiyomizu-dera, the mountain path was so difficult, you must be exhausted."
"I'm not tired at all! Mom even bought me Rabbit-shaped konpeito!"
Sakuya spoke Chiyo could, deftly pulling a rabbit-shaped konpeito from her kimono sleeve. The candy was crystal clear, and she held it up to Tsukihiko like a treasure, her little body very close.
"Dad loves me the most, I'll share half with Dad!"
Tsukihiko bent down, opened her mouth slightly in a cooperative manner, and pretended to take a small, careful bite.
The cloyingly sweet taste melted on his tongue. For him, human taste buds had become numb hundreds of years ago, and he couldn't taste anything special about this kind of sweetness. Yet, he still wore that satisfied expression of having tasted something delicious.
"It's so sweet, it's delicious."
He raised his hand and stroked his daughter's soft hair; the touch was warm to the touch, and the smile in his eyes was genuine.
Chiyo shook her head helplessly, then placed another piece of grilled eel into his bowl, adding a few more words of advice:
"The nights in Kyoto have been rather unsettling lately. I've heard that travelers are going missing one after another, and the authorities can't find any clues. If you're busy with official duties late into the night, make sure to send a servant to meet you outside the manor. Please don't walk alone at night."
"I know what I'm doing, I'll be careful."
Tsukihiko smiled and nodded, then picked up a piece of grilled eel and ate it.
This heartwarming dinner took almost an hour to eat.
Sakuya chattered on about the painted screen she saw at Kiyomizu-dera, saying that the fairies on the screen could "fly"; Chiyo talked about the new tea sent by her family, saying that the tea was very mellow and she would brew it and try it tomorrow; Tsukihiko responded at just the right time, occasionally talking about trivial matters related to "official business", his tone was very natural and his expression was very sincere.
But no one knew that all this warmth in the room was a lie from beginning to end.
His acting was so natural and real that even he sometimes felt a sense of disbelief, as if his life really was like that—an ordinary Kyoto nobleman with a gentle wife and a lovely daughter, living a peaceful life.
"Sakuya, it's time to take a bath."
Chiyo stood up, extended her hand to her daughter, and spoke softly.
I have to go to my guzheng lesson tomorrow, so I can't sleep in and be late.
Upon hearing this, Sakuya pouted, clearly unwilling, but still obediently climbed off the cushion, toddled over to Tsukihiko, tugged at his sleeve, gently shook it, and said in a spoiled tone:
"Dad stays with me to sleep at night and tells me stories!!"
"Good."
Tsukihiko crouched down to look at her daughter at eye level, her crimson eyes filled with doting affection.
"How about we tell the story of Kaguya-hime?"
"No, I don't want Kaguya-hime, I want Momotaro! Momotaro is the best at fighting monsters!" Sakuya wrinkled her little nose, her attitude very firm.
"Okay, let's talk about Momotaro then."
Tsukihiko reluctantly agreed, watching his wife and daughter walk out of the Japanese-style room hand in hand. The paper door was gently pulled closed with a creak, and the soft, sweet voice of Sakuya humming a nursery rhyme drifted down the corridor, growing fainter and fainter.
Once the footsteps were completely gone, the gentle smile on Tsukihiko's face faded away completely, leaving only a cold indifference.
He stood up, turned and walked towards the study. As he passed a bronze mirror in the corridor, the young man reflected in the mirror still had that gentle and refined appearance, only his plum-red eyes, in the dim light, were as deep as strong liquor, hiding an unyielding gloom.
The study was much colder than the dining room; the moment I opened the door, a blast of cold air, carrying the scent of ink, hit me.
Tsukihiko, no, now he should be called Muzan... the oldest and strongest Demon King on this land.
He pushed open the carved wooden door, then closed it behind him. The latch clicked shut, a sound that was particularly clear in the deathly quiet study, isolating him from all warmth and life outside.
The flame on the candlestick suddenly trembled, the flame stretched and twisted, casting a menacing black shadow on the wall, flickering wildly like a ghost.
"Kokushibo."
Three words, plain and uneventful, yet they instantly froze the air in the study, chilling it to the bone.
Ripples spread across the surface of the half-dry ink in the inkstone, the spines of the books on the bookshelf trembled on their own, and even the candlelight dimmed.
I really didn't expect this.
Muzan turned around, and his crimson pupils Muzan shone with a scarlet light in the darkness. Those were no longer human eyes; they were the cold, hungry eyes of a top predator eyeing its prey.
"With you in charge, how could things still be messed up?"
The moment the words were spoken, the shadow moved.
From the dark corners of the bookshelves, the gaps behind the screens, and the cracks in the ceiling beams, an impenetrable darkness coalesced into a human shape, its aura both frighteningly strong and tightly contained.
Six golden vertical pupils opened one by one in the dim light. Kokushibo knelt down on one knee, his movements respectful but without a trace of humility. His aura was as cold as a knife, showing no fear of Muzan presence.
He wore a deep purple samurai outfit, covered by a pure black haori embroidered with dark patterns. His six eyes calmly stared at the floor in front of him, as if Muzan's terrifying pressure, which could scare Lower Rank demons to death, Muzan more than a breeze to him, not worth mentioning at all.
"My lord, please calm down."
His voice was as flat as a straight line; he offered no explanation or defense, just a calm statement, his breathing incredibly steady.
Muzan let out a low laugh, a laugh filled with coldness.
The next second, his clothes on his back suddenly ripped open, and seven pale white bone whips shot out with a "whoosh." The bone whips were covered with sharp barbs, gleaming coldly, and hovered precisely less than an inch above Kokushibo's head. A little lower and they would have pierced his skull.
The air buzzed as the bone whip pressed down, and the old, valuable Tang Dynasty landscape scroll on the wall split in two, the crack straight, dividing the painting in two.
The hem of Kokushibo's haori fluttered in the wind, but he remained kneeling there motionless, his breathing unchanged.
After a long while, Muzan's Muzan aura slowly subsided. One by one, the seven bone whips retracted into his body, and the torn clothes on his back were automatically repaired without him even noticing, as if he hadn't been the one who had just been angry.
But the bloodshot look in his eyes was still frighteningly red.
He walked to the rosewood desk, his fingers tracing the cold, smooth surface, the sound chillingly clear:
"Tell me, Kokushibo, what exactly happened on that island?"
"You can directly access my memories, sir. That would be more convenient and provide more complete information." Kokushibo raised his eyes, his six eyes calmly looking at Muzan, and actually offered a suggestion.
Muzan's body stiffened abruptly, his hand that had been slicing across the table stopped, and his aura instantly became violent again.
Explore memories!
Yes, he has that ability. He can look directly into his subordinates' minds. With just a touch of his finger, he can see everything that happens on Hachijōjima, which is much clearer than hearing him explain it.
But he stood frozen in place, refusing to move!
Because he knew very well that deep within Kokushibo tumor that could drive him mad. The shadow of a man, a man wearing a fire-patterned haori, Sun-wheel earrings, and eyes that seemed to burn like the sun— Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
That was Kokushibo's younger brother when he was Muzan, and also Muzan's eternal nightmare.
Muzan still clearly remembers that night four hundred years ago, and that one strike. That strike severed not only his physical body, but also all his dignity as the "Demon King," almost destroying his pursuit of immortality.
Yoriichi's shadow must still live in Kokushibo's memory, in every time he swung his sword, in the depths of his six eyes, and in his endless obsession.
He didn't want to see it, he absolutely didn't want to see those calm yet all-seeing eyes again, and he didn't want to experience that bone-chilling fear again.
"Stop talking nonsense!"
Muzan finally gritted his teeth and growled, the blood in his pupils churning violently, and a chill emanating from his entire body.
"Just say it, stop fucking talking nonsense!"
Kokushibo withdrew his gaze, lowered his head again, and spoke slowly, his voice unchanged, as if reading a report unrelated to him:
"When I arrived at Hachijōjima, the Water Hashira and Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps had already settled in Iguro Residence on the island."
Muzan, casually flipping open an ancient book beside him. His tone was utterly contemptuous and disdainful. "Just two pillars, things that are barely more than ants. Are they worth your trouble?"
"Water Hashira is about thirteen or fourteen years old, and Flame Hashira is in his twenties."
Kokushibo added calmly, neither humble nor arrogant.
"So what?"
Muzan didn't even look up, his fingers tracing the pages of the book as he said impatiently:
"How long will it take you to kill them? Thirty seconds? Or fifty seconds?"
The study fell silent for a moment, save for the crackling of the burning candle.
After a while, Kokushibo's voice rang out again:
"The Water Hashira blocked my first attack."
Muzan's fingers, which were turning the pages, suddenly stopped, the pages slightly wrinkled from his grip.
Kokushibo continued, a hint of seriousness finally creeping into his voice. "He used his invented Breathing Style, 'Nagi,' to precisely neutralize my first to third forms of Moon Breathing. Then, he quickly adapted to the rhythm in the ensuing fight, and after seventy rounds, he even used the Transparent World to predict my moves and slashed my left shoulder with a single sword strike."
"Click!"
With a Muzan's finger was torn open, leaving an unsightly gash.
He raised his head, his crimson pupils suddenly contracting, his eyes filled with a furious disbelief, his voice chillingly cold:
You said... he hurt you?
"The wound is two inches deep, but it will regenerate in three seconds."
Kokushibo's tone remained calm, as if he himself hadn't been the one who was injured.
"However, it's worth noting that the boy kept evolving during the battle, his moves becoming increasingly powerful. By the 120th round, he was even able to mimic some of my sword techniques."
Muzan stood up Muzan a "boom," his aura instantly dropping to freezing point. The rosewood desk creaked under his hand, and a five-finger handprint appeared on the hard surface.
"Go on!!"
Kokushibo's six eyes finally showed a slight fluctuation, but it disappeared immediately.
"I used the full power of Moon Breathing to sever his left arm, and then cut him in half at the waist with another sword strike."
Muzan exhaled a long breath, his aura icy and carrying a hint of blood. His tense body relaxed slightly, and his tone became sinister again:
"That's more like it. And then? Is that kid really dead yet?..."