After all, he had never mentioned that scene to outsiders. Only his descendants knew that secret.
Mister Demon Slayer, was that really you?
Two streams of tears slid down his weathered cheeks as Youbisheng seemed to want to get down from his chair.
But he was no longer the man he had once been. His arms gave out, and his body tilted toward the ground.
With a slight push from his feet, Scribe appeared at his side.
He reached out, caught Youbisheng before he hit the ground, and helped him back into his chair.
Youbisheng was just about to say something when a furious roar rang out.
Let go of my father!
Looking toward the voice, Scribe saw Youbiando charging over with a Katana in hand, brimming with hostility.
Behind him followed a group of samurai hired by the Youbi family.
Youbiando had not expected his father, who was supposed to be recuperating, to actually be sitting outside in the sun.
On top of that, he had just seen the young man before him grabbing his father, seemingly doing something bad.
The thought enraged him, and his urge to protect his father overwhelmed all reason.
Just as Youbiando was prepared to pay any price to save his father, Youbisheng suddenly roared.
All of you, stop!
Although Youbisheng had little time left, his roar at that moment was incredibly loud, nothing like the voice of a man on the verge of death.
Gritting his teeth, Youbiando waved his hand, signaling his men to stop.
As he wondered whether his father had been threatened, Youbisheng continued.
The rest of you, get out. Du'er, come here.
Without time to think further, Youbiando dismissed the samurai and stepped forward alone with his sword.
Pointing at his son, Youbisheng raised his voice even higher.
Why haven't you put down that sword? Do you intend to lay hands on our family's benefactor?
Glancing at Scribe, Youbiando tossed away his sword and crouched beside his father.
If the other man tried to harm his father, he would not hesitate to shield him with his own body.
Seeing that Youbiando had settled down, Youbisheng slumped back into his chair as if he had exhausted all his strength.
Cough, cough.
Covering his mouth, Youbisheng coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Youbiando, beside him, was about to speak, but his father silenced him with a glare.
I'm sorry you had to see this, Mister Demon Slayer.
With an apologetic expression, Youbisheng's voice had become incomparably hoarse.
Shaking his head, Scribe said,
That is understandable. After all, looking like this, I'm hardly convincing.
Honestly, if a young man suddenly appeared and claimed to be a child from sixty years ago, most people probably would not be able to accept it.
Du'er is a good child. He is just a little impulsive.
Please give me some time to explain things to him.
Scribe nodded and stepped aside, leaving the father and son some space.
He could easily have heard their conversation, but out of courtesy, Scribe did not deliberately listen.
After a while, Youbisheng seemed to have finished explaining.
At that moment, Youbiando's attitude had undergone a complete transformation from his earlier fury.
He suddenly rushed up to Scribe, then dropped to his knees with a thud.
Then, in front of his father, he bowed his head to the ground several times before Scribe.
Youbiando was blind before and did those foolish things, nearly committing a grave mistake.
I do not dare ask for your forgiveness, Benefactor. I only hope Mister Demon Slayer will not hurt my father. All responsibility lies with me.
After saying that, Youbiando seemed ready to bow again.
Scribe reached out and stopped him.
You were only thinking of your father. What did you do wrong?
Youbiando abruptly looked up at Scribe's smiling face, and tears spilled from his eyes against his will.
Thank you, Mister Demon Slayer.
Demon Slayer was a name I came up with on a whim back then. My real name is Scribe.
Helping Youbiando to his feet, Scribe said,
Now, can I speak with your father?
Youbiando took a few steps back, bowed, and said respectfully,
I understand, Mister Scribe. I will wait nearby. If you need anything, you can call for me at any time.
With that, he tactfully left, completely giving the time and space to Scribe and Youbisheng.
Pulling over a chair and sitting beside Youbisheng, Scribe spoke.
You must have had a hard time searching for me all these years.
Being able to see you again, Mister Demon Slayer, made it all worthwhile.
Shaking his head, Youbisheng's words held not the slightest complaint.
I'm curious about how you have lived these years. Can you tell me about it?
It would be my honor.
Over the following hours, Youbisheng told Scribe about everything he had seen and heard over the past sixty years.
From amusing stories he had overheard by the roadside to the plague he had once seen engulf an entire town.
Youbisheng grew more excited and happier as he spoke, while Scribe simply sat there as a proper listener.
When they spoke of happy things, the two laughed together.
When they spoke of sad things, they both felt downcast.
Like old friends who had not seen each other in years, they shared each other's joys and sorrows.
Time passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, night had fallen.
After sharing the last story in his mind with Scribe, a rare flush appeared on Youbisheng's aged face.
Though only a single day had passed, he and Scribe had reminisced over sixty full years.
Mister Scribe, are you still hunting those evil demons?
As one of the survivors from back then, Youbisheng naturally knew demons existed.
Yes. I promised someone that I would complete the task he had failed to finish.
Is that so?
Youbiando nodded and raised his head to look at the vast night sky.
To him, neither the crescent moon nor the stars surrounding it could describe Scribe.
Only the sun hanging high in the sky during the day was the best comparison for him.
He was clearly just an ordinary man, yet he had been fortunate enough to meet someone like a blazing sun.
To encounter Scribe again at the end of his life, he felt that his life had become complete.
Mister Scribe, may you forever be as magnificent as the sun.
After that simple sentence, the smile on Youbisheng's lips froze in place.
His eyes stared unblinkingly at the night sky, as if he were waiting for the light behind that dark curtain to arrive.
With no regrets left in life, Youbisheng peacefully passed away.
Shadows Stirred, Blades Sharpened Against the Demon Slayer Corps
Scribe reached out and slowly closed his eyelids.
To Scribe, Youbisheng might have merely been a passing figure in his life.
But to Youbisheng, Scribe had been a turning point in his life—the sun that had pulled him back from the shadow of death.
Mister Scribe, thank you.
Youbiando appeared behind Scribe, his eyes red as he gave him a solemn bow.
He knew very well that his father's lifespan had long since reached its end.
The only reason he had endured until now was because he hoped for that faint chance to see Mister Demon Slayer once more.
Now that his wish had been fulfilled, he naturally passed on without regrets.
Patting Youbiando on the shoulder, Scribe said,
He was a good father, a good town chief, and a man worthy of being called human.
At Scribe's words, Youbiando could no longer suppress his tears.
I'm leaving. I don't know when I'll return here again.
No matter what, the Youbi family will always wait for you and offer whatever strength we can.
After hearing Youbiando's words, Scribe suddenly clapped his hands.
Now that you mention it, I really do need your help with something.
Scratching his head, Youbiando felt that Scribe's smile was somewhat strange.
After leaving the Youbi family, Scribe had a huge bag on his back.
He had only wanted some money to buy clothes, but Youbiando had directly given him several hundred kan.
Scribe rushed into a shop and, with the last bit of time remaining, bought the clothes.
Holding the newly bought clothes in his hands, he walked back toward the inn.
As he passed through the market, he also bought some rouge and other small cosmetic items.
Upon returning to the inn, Scribe handed the clothes and trinkets he had bought to Tamayo.
Did you run into some trouble on the way? You came back so late.
No. I merely went to see off a friend.
Though she did not quite understand what Scribe meant, Tamayo did not ask further.
She was very smart. She knew that it was not that Scribe was unwilling to tell her certain things, but that he simply did not think it necessary.
Taking the things Scribe had bought, Tamayo went aside to change her clothes.
Not long after, a beautiful woman emerged.
A large hair bun was piled high behind her head, held in place by a patterned hairpin.
Her lips were touched with rouge, and a faint dusting of powder adorned the corners of her eyes.
She wore a light pink kimono decorated with several cherry blossoms, with a pale blue wide sash tied around her waist.
You look quite beautiful.
Scribe praised her sincerely, his face full of smiles.
Her face reddened, and Tamayo nodded shyly.
Just as Scribe was about to say something else, Tamayo's face suddenly turned pale.
One hand clutched her chest while the other gripped her head, as though she were enduring tremendous pressure.
Before you continue