A Brief Peace

Mount Paozu after the Tournament of Power began with a bowl of miso soup.

Chi-Chi had gotten up before dawn. Wearing that slightly faded blue apron, she moved quietly through the kitchen—washing rice, chopping scallions, beating eggs, adjusting the heat. Every movement was as precise as a ritual rehearsed for decades. In the large pot on the stove, the miso soup bubbled away, its savory aroma mingling with the fresh scent of tofu as it slipped through the kitchen door, drifted across the living room and down the hallway, all the way to the huge boulder in the yard, polished bright by Son Goku sitting cross-legged on it year after year.

Son Goku was indeed sitting there cross-legged. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady and deep. The silver aura of Ultra Instinct had receded until only an almost imperceptible glow remained on his skin. His Ultra Instinct had advanced another step after the Tournament of Power, but his habit of sitting on the boulder every morning and staring into space had never changed. Ji Ming sat beside him, his back against the boulder's rough edge, flipping through a notebook with curled pages. Bulma had given it to him—a paper notebook, resistant to electromagnetic pulses and capable of preserving data reliably in any extreme environment. Its pages were densely packed with his analyses of the fighting habits of every notable contestant from all twelve universes during the Tournament of Power, assessments of their limits, and tactical responses. The last few pages were dedicated to Jiren. Every formula was calculated to two decimal places, and every note was marked in red and blue to distinguish verified conclusions from those still awaiting confirmation.

"You're still reading that." Son Goku opened one eye and glanced at the notebook. It did not sound like a question, but a statement.

"There are still a few things about Jiren's power structure that I haven't fully figured out." Ji Ming closed the notebook and looked up at the pale light gradually spreading over the horizon. His voice was soft. "At the exact moment his Destruction energy reaches its peak, his ki drops to its lowest point instead. That isn't logical, unless he'd been storing up reserves all along. If Zeno holds another Tournament of Power and we face him again, this data will come in handy sooner or later."

"Next time?" Son Goku scratched his head and finally opened his other eye. "We'll deal with that next time. Your mom's calling us to eat."

Ji Ming froze for a moment, then smiled. The way Son Goku said, "We'll deal with that next time," was exactly the same as when he had sat amid the ruins years ago after Cell was defeated and said, "Let's go home and eat." Saiyans were probably like that—they could trade blows with emperors of the universe in battle, yet once the fighting ended, leave everything behind on the battlefield and go home empty-handed for a meal.

As the two of them walked into the kitchen one after the other, Chi-Chi was scooping the last tamagoyaki out of the pan. The stove was crowded with pots and bowls—braised pork still simmered with tiny bubbles, steamed sea bass sent up fragrant steam threaded with scallions, and a large basin of pumpkin cakes was stacked neatly, each one patterned with marks Chi-Chi had pressed in using chopsticks. Vegeta was already seated in the chair by the door. The strain from his Deep Blue Form had been second only to Ji Ming's and Son Goku's during the Tournament of Power, and the muscles in his arms still trembled faintly even now, but his movements as he picked up ribs were as steady, precise, and ruthless as ever. Bulma sat beside him with her familiar mug in hand, watching him pile ribs into his bowl with an expression that said, I knew it. She casually reached over and picked up every grain of rice he dropped onto the table, placing them one by one onto her own plate.

Piccolo came from the direction of Kami's Lookout—he had not flown. He had walked. Ji Ming's chopsticks paused when he noticed that detail. Piccolo always flew everywhere. He had never wasted time walking to Mount Paozu for a meal. But today, he walked. His purple cape fluttered lightly in the morning breeze, while Nail followed half a step behind and to his side. One after the other, they passed through Mount Paozu's pine forest, walked down the dirt path strewn with pine needles, and arrived at Chi-Chi's door. Piccolo paused for a beat before raising his hand to push it open. Ji Ming withdrew his gaze without saying anything. He knew that pause was Piccolo using his antennae to confirm everyone's ki inside once more. Not because it was unsafe, but because after the Tournament of Power, he could not break the habit of checking every presence.

By the time Piccolo sat down, Chi-Chi had already placed three large boxes of steamed pumpkin in front of him. He picked up a piece with his chopsticks, examined it for a moment, then put it in his mouth. After chewing for about a minute, he picked up another. Nail sat beside him. For the first time, he did not take out sealing technique scrolls to accompany his meal, but simply ate pumpkin cakes quietly. Krillin and Android 18 arrived from Kame House with their child, and Krillin was still carrying a bag of plum wine that Master Roshi had forced on him when they came through the door. Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu had also come from their martial arts dojo deep in the mountains, with Chiaotzu cradling a basket of freshly picked peaches. When Nappa's large, burly figure appeared at the doorway, he first poked half his head inside. Vegeta snorted and told him to stop blocking the door. Nappa chuckled and squeezed in, pulling out a large bag of whole wheat bread from behind his back, bought from a newly opened bakery in the Saiyan residential district.

When Son Gohan entered with his family, Chi-Chi was just carrying a clay pot out of the kitchen. Through the steam filling the room, she spotted little Pan in Videl's arms. At once, she shoved the clay pot into Bulma's hands, rushed over, gently lifted her granddaughter from Videl's embrace, raised her up for a look, then lowered her head and rubbed her forehead against Pan's. Fine sparks of light shone in her eyes. Son Gohan stood at the door watching the scene, an indescribable emotion passing through his gaze for an instant. Ji Ming leaned over the table and waved at him, telling him to sit down quickly. Only then did Son Gohan snap out of it. Smiling, he stepped inside and sat down with his wife and daughter.

Ji Ming sat in his usual seat, his bowl piled full of food by Chi-Chi. He used his chopsticks to move aside the top layer of stir-fried meat, and sure enough, two tempura shrimp were buried at the bottom. For all these years, Chi-Chi had always buried shrimp in his bowl for the same reason, but every time he uncovered them, he felt something different. When he was four and a half, it meant, "Mom's afraid you won't have enough to eat." After his battle with Frieza, it meant, "Mom saw that you came back." Now, it meant, "Mom knows you still have to leave." He picked up a shrimp and bit into it. The batter was crisp, the shrimp sweet and fresh—the exact same taste as when he had eaten it at four and a half.

Frieza had not been invited to this meal. After the Tournament of Power ended, he had been taken back into custody and locked in a single-person restraint cell in New Vegeta City's underground special prison. Ji Ming had visited him about a few weeks earlier. Ji Ming stood outside the energy barrier, while Frieza sat within it, the energy limiter at his neck flickering again. He had brought him a pudding—strawberry flavored, made from a recipe Chi-Chi had recently learned. Frieza's expression as he looked at the pudding had been exceedingly complicated. He scoffed and said, "Do you think a dessert can buy me off?" But he still ate it. As Ji Ming was leaving, Frieza suddenly asked coldly from behind him whether that erasure authorization would truly remain in place. Ji Ming turned back and looked at his serious face, then calmly said, "Yes. As long as you stay within the rules, you have the right to exist. But once you break them, I'll come carry it out myself."

Frieza was silent for a moment, then picked up the pudding cup and licked clean the last layer of syrup.

The conversation at the table gradually drifted from a detailed review of the Tournament of Power to lighter subjects. Chiaotzu had learned to make desserts and baked a batch of cookies with wild fruit that had recently grown beside the temple on Namek. Their appearance was difficult to describe, but they tasted surprisingly good, and Nappa ate several. Tien Shinhan had opened a Tri-Beam training class in New Vegeta City and taken in several Saiyan students. In the first lesson, they blasted a hole in the training grounds' protective wall, and King Vegeta allocated a special repair fund the next day under "force majeure losses." Android 18 coolly remarked that Tien Shinhan's training hall was currently the only tenant in the Saiyan residential district bold enough to list repair costs as a fixed budget item. Krillin hurriedly stuffed a piece of meat into her mouth. Android 16 and Android 17 had not come. Taking advantage of the rare peace after the battle, they had gone to the wildlife preserve on the outskirts of New Vegeta City. Apparently, Android 17 had calmly narrated a fight between two stags for ten full minutes while Android 16 silently recorded the entire audio clip.

"Speaking of reconstruction, Lord Beerus visited New Vegeta City a few days ago." Bulma set down her coffee mug, her expression caught somewhere between speechless and helpless. "He didn't come to watch the warriors train. He came to see our newly built food street. We planned more than eighty stalls for that reconstructed district, and one of them sold Japanese charcoal-grilled steak. He took a liking to it. He stood in front of that steak stall for a long time, then changed the fire safety inspection standard for the entire street to 'must be able to withstand the pressure of a God of Destruction.'"

"What about the owner?" Krillin asked.

"The owner is an old man who moved from North City. He had no idea who Beerus was, so he just asked, 'Sir, how would you like it cooked?' Beerus said medium-rare. The old man said the meat wasn't good enough to chew at medium-rare and gave him medium instead. Beerus was silent for a long time after eating it, then turned to Whis and said—'No God of Destruction is allowed to blow up this street from now on.'"

Everyone at the table burst out laughing at once. Piccolo did not laugh aloud, but the pumpkin cake held between his chopsticks remained suspended for more than a moment. Ji Ming tucked those words away in his heart, feeling that this was probably the highest level of praise Beerus could offer.

By the time the meal ended, dusk had arrived. Chi-Chi was washing dishes in the kitchen while Bulma helped wipe down the stove, the two chatting quietly across the sink. Son Gohan's family and Krillin's family were the first to leave for West City. Tien Shinhan and Chiaotzu stayed until after dinner before departing with their empty basket, its cookies eaten clean by everyone. Nappa was stopped at the door by Vegeta, and the two spoke in low voices for quite a while about training new recruits. Halfway through, Bulma cut in to ask whether the Gravity Chamber's power supply system should be upgraded another level. Nappa nodded so hard it was like he was pounding garlic. Piccolo stood in the sunset for a while, then flew toward the silhouette of Kami's Lookout on the horizon. His antennae no longer remained as taut as they had during the day as he flew. Nail followed in his wake.

Ji Ming and Son Goku sat side by side atop Mount Paozu's great boulder, their legs dangling over the cliff's edge. The sun was sinking behind the distant mountain ridge, dyeing the entire sea of trees on Mount Paozu orange and red. The wind blew up from the foot of the mountain, carrying the scent of pine resin and soil. A few minutes later, Vegeta came as well. He had changed into a dry training outfit and leaned against a rock on the other side, letting out a muffled breath through his nose. The three Saiyans did not discuss gods, erasure, or ancient threats. They merely watched the final sliver of sunlight slowly disappear behind the ridge, watched night climb across the eastern sky at an unhurried pace. Ji Ming suddenly remembered something—one evening years ago, on this same boulder, with the same three people. He had just returned from Namek covered in injuries. Vegeta had not yet become a Super Saiyan. Son Goku had said, "If Frieza comes back next time, we'll beat him up together." Back then, the three of them combined probably could not have endured a full-force blow from Frieza's final form. Now, if the three joined forces, even a God of Destruction would have to take them seriously. It was not one person's strength. It was the strength of three people. Of very, very many people.

"Before Whis left, he said the Grand Priest is reviewing the archives on the ancient Saiyans." Ji Ming spoke softly. "That 'ancient god of the Saiyans' mentioned by the messenger from Universe 4 isn't baseless. There are still things sealed in the ruins on Planet Sadala's mother world. Unlocking the light core was only the first step."

"Is it far?" Son Goku asked, looking at the distant mountain shadows.

"Very far. Much farther than Namek."

"Then let's eat first." Son Goku stood and patted the dust off his pants. "Your mom said there are still pumpkin cakes left for tonight."

Ji Ming stood, dusted off his pants, and followed Son Goku down from the boulder. Vegeta rose from the edge of the rock, and the twilight hid the nearly imperceptible curve of his lips in shadow.

As the moonlight began to rise, Chi-Chi reheated the leftovers and set them back on the table. Ji Ming sat by the window, looking out at the night and the mountain shadows, and suddenly felt very calm. He had dealt with Zeno. He knew that tiny being who sat on a crystal throne swinging his legs could whimsically decide to hold another Tournament of Power at any moment. He also knew that the life and death of the entire multiverse depended to a great extent on which universe Zeno found "more interesting." But at least tonight, Zeno had not started a new martial arts tournament. Beerus was still eating steak on the food street. Whis was organizing materials on Zeno's Planet. His family and friends were all gathered around a table in this old house on Mount Paozu, sharing a meal. That was enough.

After dinner, Chi-Chi pulled an old notebook from the cabinet. Inside were several yellowed photographs—Son Goku getting kicked in the face when he first held Son Gohan, Krillin getting drenched by a wave when he first learned the Kamehameha, Piccolo taking his first bite of pumpkin only after everyone else had finished eating during his first meal at Mount Paozu, Vegeta holding Trunks for the first time as though he were carrying a bomb while Bulma laughed so hard she crouched on the floor beside him. Ji Ming turned through them page by page and found a line of crooked blue ballpoint writing on the back of one photograph—"Gohan, age four. First time helping Mom pick vegetables." He had no memory of it at all, but the handwriting was Chi-Chi's. He put the photograph back in the notebook and closed it. When he looked up, Chi-Chi was smiling at him from across the table.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. Then he picked up his bowl and ate the last pumpkin cake.

The night wind of Mount Paozu brushed gently over the eaves, while the golden light of Kami's Lookout glimmered quietly high above. Every day on this planet was noisier than on any other world in any other universe, and more than any other universe, it was a place no one should disturb.