"Qingyun, what happened to me? Ow, it hurts!"
Just as Qingyun was fretting, Miroku suddenly woke up. Seeing that they were both naked, she found nothing strange about it. As far as she remembered, she and Qingyun had always slept holding each other like this.
But something was wrong today. A sharp pain flared between her legs, and she could not help crying out.
"I'm sorry!"
Miroku's voice snapped Qingyun out of his thoughts. Seeing her pained expression, he apologized, his face full of guilt.
"Qingyun, what's wrong with you today?"
Hearing his apology, Miroku could not help asking.
Qingyun said nothing. He shook his head, got dressed, and walked out of the Wooden House.
Miroku watched his retreating figure, a trace of confusion in her beautiful eyes.
Time slowly passed. Ten months went by, and by then, the ground was covered with the Chinese character 正, used to tally the days.
Throughout that year, Qingyun kept trying to resume his training. But nothing worked—not his internal arts, martial arts, Ninjutsu, or chakra extraction techniques. Those once-familiar methods and skills seemed like nothing but fabrications.
Miroku's belly had grown steadily since that day. Suddenly, she cried out in pain. Qingyun knew she was going into labor and clumsily helped her deliver the baby.
After a long while, a chubby baby with wrinkled skin was born. From then on, Qingyun gave up completely and settled into a peaceful life with Miroku in that mysterious space.
In the blink of an eye, fifty years passed. The Wooden House remained the same, but its occupants were no longer young. Thirty years earlier, Qingyun and Miroku's daughter had reached adulthood. On her birthday, a fierce gust suddenly swept her away.
Neither Qingyun nor Miroku could do anything. Qingyun once again began frantically practicing