At daggers drawn

Ever since that sparring session in the morning mist, the Technique Training Ground had become a place Zhiyan visited every day.

At first light, before the overnight dew on the stone slabs had dried, his small figure was already standing in the center of the grounds, his back straight as a young bamboo stalk that refused to bend in the cold wind.

He no longer needed to wait deliberately. Toji always wandered in at the same hour with his unhurried gait, his clothes as loose and his expression as lazy as ever. Yet the gaze he rested on Zhiyan gradually lost its initial mockery and indifference.

For an entire month, there were no cursed spirits, no cursed techniques, and no shikigami-only the most primitive, most brutal clashes of flesh and bone.

Toji never held back.

The dull thud of a fist striking his shoulder, the gust of a kick sweeping past his waist, the blunt pain of hitting a stone pillar after being thrown... these became Zhiyan's daily routine.

He was still taking a beating, still losing ground before an absolute disparity in strength. Unlike before, however, he fell more slowly, rose more quickly, dodged at increasingly unpredictable angles, and blocked with an ever steadier stance.

At first, he could barely catch Toji's sudden attacks, only rolling desperately on instinct. Later, he could make out the afterimages of Toji's movements and anticipate a blow just before it reached him, his small body weaving nimbly through deadly assaults like an agile wildcat.

At first, a single punch sent him flying and left him gasping for a long time, his arms so numb he could barely make a fist. Later, even when Toji's strength hurled him several feet away, he could roll on landing to disperse the impact and regain his footing before the dust settled. There was no trace of disarray in his eyes, only an increasingly composed sharpness.

At first, he could only defend passively and dodge in circles. Later, he could seize the tiny openings Toji deliberately left and launch the simplest yet most precise counters. Though his meager strength struck a body endowed with heavenly restriction like a pebble hitting iron, causing neither pain nor discomfort, it was enough to stir growing surprise in Toji's languid eyes.

The morning mist dispersed and rose again; the sun rose and set.

The bluestone slabs of the Technique Training Ground bore countless traces of that small figure's movements, along with the stubborn resolve of a six-year-old child who had endured the tempering of overwhelming strength with flesh and blood.

Zhiyan had not grown much taller, but he had become visibly firmer and stronger.

A thin layer of muscle covered his once-slender arms. His movements no longer had a child's softness, but the crisp efficiency of relentless practice.

His gaze grew ever calmer. Even covered in bruises, even when every breath ached, his eyes remained steady as a deep pool, without the slightest wavering.

He no longer needed Toji's instructions to adjust his stance the instant he was overwhelmed. He no longer needed to think repeatedly to choose the best route of evasion in a critical moment. He could even launch tentative counterattacks with the most basic martial arts moves whenever Toji's assault briefly slowed.

Toji saw it all.

He remained as nonchalant as ever, hands in his pockets and voice casual, his attacks still ruthless and utterly merciless.

But only he knew that the amusement he had initially felt, that sense that this was merely "a little interesting," had quietly changed through their daily sparring.

He had seen far too many jujutsu sorcerers.

Some relied on their talent for cursed energy to act arrogantly. Some depended on their cursed techniques and neglected the fundamentals. Others cried and retreated at the slightest setback, blaming everyone but themselves. Six-year-old children were even more fragile, breaking at a touch and unable to bear so much as a slightly stern reprimand.

But Zhiyan was different.

This brat had never cried out in pain, begged for mercy, shed a single tear, or even complained. Every time he was knocked down or utterly overwhelmed, he simply remembered the pain in silence, then stood again with greater tenacity. The resolve in his eyes shone brighter than that of many adult jujutsu sorcerers.

Toji had never taught anyone anything, much less held expectations for anyone's growth-not even his own.

Yet watching that small figure transform and grow at an astonishing pace under his nearly brutal training, changing from a fragile brat who could only rely on shikigami into a martial arts novice who could block, dodge, endure, and counter at close quarters, he felt something rise within him that even he had never anticipated.

It was a secret pride, one he disdained to voice.

Like a seed he had buried on a whim, expecting it to grow weakly, only for it to force its way into a sturdy sapling through wind and rain.

That afternoon, the sunlight was pleasant, and their sparring continued at the Technique Training Ground.

Toji's figure abruptly vanished, moving faster than before. Zhiyan did not panic in the slightest. His feet shifted, and he slipped sideways as lightly as drifting willow fluff, precisely avoiding the heavy punch coming straight at him.

Before Toji's follow-up could land, he had already lowered his center of gravity, his little hand striking like lightning toward the joint behind Toji's knee.

This time, his speed and judgment far surpassed what they had been a month earlier.

Toji raised an eyebrow slightly. He did not dodge, allowing that little hand to touch his knee. The force was still weak, but the strike was clean and perfectly timed.

He stopped and looked down at the child before him, who was panting yet still standing straight.

Sweat beaded at Zhiyan's temples, his cheeks flushed from exertion. The bruises on his forearms had yet to fade, but his eyes were astonishingly bright.

Toji remained silent for a moment. He did not continue attacking as usual, nor did he offer any mockery.

He merely raised a hand and casually rubbed his chin. A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered through his lazy eyes, so briefly it might have been imagined.

"You're improving fast."

Those lightly spoken words left Toji's mouth in his usual flat tone. They were not deliberate praise, yet they carried more weight than any encouragement.

Zhiyan paused briefly, then nodded gently. His voice remained steady, but held a barely perceptible trace of resolve. "I'll keep working hard."

Toji snorted, turned around, and slipped his hands back into his pockets as he headed out of the Technique Training Ground, his retreating figure casual and untamed.

Only when he reached the entrance did his steps pause briefly. Without turning, he let his low but clear voice drift back on the wind:

"Don't disappoint me, brat." With that, his figure disappeared beyond the entrance.

Zhiyan stood in the middle of the empty Technique Training Ground and raised a hand, slowly clenching his fist.

His bones were strong, his muscles firm. The pain he had once struggled to bear had now become instinct and strength etched into his body.

Sunlight fell over his small frame, stretching his shadow tall and unyielding.

He knew this month of tempering was only the beginning.

And the man who had always treated him brutally, yet had personally dragged him out of his frailty, had unwittingly become a distinctive mark on his path of growth.

The setting sun bathed the Zenin Clan's courtyard in warm gold, while the fresh scent of plants and soap pods lingered in the air.

Fresh from his bath, Zhiyan sat on a cushioned couch beneath the veranda. His black hair was still slightly damp, and he had changed into a clean, plain kimono whose fabric gently concealed the pale bruises remaining on his skin.

An old book on jujutsu lay open on his lap. His fingertips quietly turned the pages, his expression retaining its composure far beyond his years.

Divine Dogs: Black stood quietly beside him, posture straight and eyes alert, like the most loyal shadow guard, never leaving his side.

In the courtyard nearby, Divine Dog: White lay docilely on the grass, allowing young Wana to hug the fluffy neck and tug at the ears with giggling delight.

Divine Dog: White showed no ferocity at all, merely keeping the tail lowered obediently and occasionally nuzzling the little girl's palm, as gentle as a pet puppy.

This was the most peaceful moment of Zhiyan's day.

There was no fighting, no training, none of Toji's nearly brutal pressure-only the tranquility of family and shikigami beside him.

Then light but distinctly measured footsteps came from the courtyard entrance.

The servant responsible for announcing visitors approached the veranda quickly with his head lowered. His voice was hushed, carrying a barely discernible nervousness:

"Young Master Zhiyan, Lord Ogi Zenin is here. He says he has important business with you."

Zhiyan's fingers paused on the page.

Ogi Zenin-his uncle by blood.

A man the main family had once secretly regarded as its successor, who had envied Zhiyan's innate Ten Shadows Technique ever since Zhiyan was named heir.

Outwardly respectful and proper, his eyes concealed nothing but resentment and calculation.

The peace in Zhiyan's eyes abruptly darkened the instant he heard that name.

He gently closed the book. His voice was calm, but carried a cold composure far beyond his age:

"Understood."

With that, he turned his head toward Wana, who was happily playing in the courtyard.

The little girl looked up in confusion. "Big brother?"

The chill on Zhiyan's face softened at once, his tone quiet and steady. "Wana, be good and stay in your room. Don't come out. I'm going out for a moment. I'll be back soon."

"Okay. I'll listen to you, big brother."

Zhiyan nodded gently and reached out to stroke Divine Dog: White's head, signaling for the shikigami to stay and protect his sister and the courtyard.

Then he stood, straightened the hem of his clothing, and gave the waiting servant a quiet instruction:

"Show Ogi Zenin into the main hall. I'll be there shortly."

"Yes."

The servant bowed and withdrew.

The warmth beneath the veranda faded little by little.

Standing in the sunset, Zhiyan slightly tightened the fingers hanging at his side.

Ogi Zenin's visit at this hour was certainly no ordinary social call.

He had come for Zhiyan-for the Ten Shadows Technique, for the position of heir.

His small figure stood straight. There was no fear in his eyes, only cold, clear awareness.

He set off toward the main hall.

To meet the uncle who had always considered him a thorn in his side.

When Zhiyan entered the main hall, Ogi Zenin was already sitting upright in the guest seat beside the seat of honor.

Dressed neatly in Zenin Clan attire, he wore the composed expression of an elder, his fingertips tapping his knee. He appeared relaxed, but the instant Zhiyan entered, his gaze swept discreetly over the boy's entire body.

There was not a trace of familial warmth in that gaze-only scrutiny, probing curiosity, and buried beneath it all, jealousy that threatened to spill over.

Divine Dogs: Black accompanied Zhiyan quietly, ears lowered and presence subdued, yet radiating a chilling ferocity. A single glance abruptly tightened the atmosphere in the hall.

"Uncle."

Zhiyan's voice was calm, but he showed no intention of bowing his head. His small figure stood straight, his spine like a sword.

Ogi Zenin slowly raised his eyes, his smile empty. "Zhiyan, you're looking more and more like an heir."

Zhiyan heard the barb in those words perfectly clearly.

He did not take the bait, merely lifting his gaze indifferently:

"You came all this way, Uncle. If you have something to say, please say it."

Ogi Zenin's fingertips paused. He had not expected this brat to be so direct.

Suppressing his displeasure, he spoke at a leisurely pace:

"I hear you've been running off to the Technique Training Ground every day lately. Instead of practicing the Ten Shadows Technique, you've been wasting your time on hand-to-hand fighting?"

"Martial arts are a jujutsu sorcerer's foundation." Zhiyan's tone was steady, every word clear. "Without a strong body, even the most powerful cursed technique amounts to empty talk."

"Empty talk?" Ogi Zenin sneered, his tone sharp. "The Zenin Clan relies on cursed energy, cursed techniques, and bloodlines! You possess the Ten Shadows Technique and are the designated heir, yet you spend your time with a worthless member of the family who has no cursed energy-have you no shame?"

"Mr. Toji is teaching me to become stronger."

Zhiyan's gaze darkened, and for the first time, his voice took on a cold edge.

"There is never any shame in becoming stronger."

Ogi Zenin snapped his eyes up, his expression darkening:

"Toji Zenin is a useless fool who respects no elders and has accomplished nothing! Associating with him means setting yourself against the entire Zenin main family! I advise you to cut ties with him while you can and know your place-"

"What I train in and who I train with are both for securing my position as heir." Zhiyan cut him off directly, his gaze cool and unyielding. "Rather than worry about these things, Uncle, you should attend to your own duties."

Ogi Zenin abruptly rose. Cursed energy stirred around him as he brought the oppressive force of an elder down hard:

"Zhiyan! Who do you think you're talking to? I am your elder!"

"Then you should act like one."

Zhiyan did not move an inch. Divine Dogs: Black stepped half a pace forward and gave a low, threatening growl, golden eyes fixed coldly on Ogi Zenin.

"I won't give up the chance to become stronger because of someone's status. Nor will I stop moving forward because someone is unhappy."

He raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade. Young as he was, his forcefulness rivaled an adult's:

"I hold the position of heir through my own strength. It wasn't handed to me as charity. If you can't stand it, Uncle... you're welcome to try dragging me down."

Ogi Zenin's face alternated between ashen and pale, his words choked off.

Jealousy and anger filled him, but faced with this terrifyingly calm child and the watchful Divine Dogs: Black beside him, he did not dare resort to violence just then.

He gritted his teeth and stared venomously at Zhiyan:

"Fine. Very fine. Don't think possessing the Ten Shadows Technique and having the clan head's protection lets you do whatever you please. The Zenin Clan's rules are not yours to trample at will."

"Rules are meant to protect those becoming stronger, not stand in their way."

Zhiyan's tone was indifferent, yet carried an unquestionable authority.

"I won't let anyone hold me back. Please leave, Uncle."

His dismissal was blunt and decisive.

Ogi Zenin's chest heaved violently. Finally, he flung his sleeve:

"We'll see about that."

With those words, he turned and left in fury.

The courtyard gate closed, and the main hall fell completely silent.

Divine Dogs: Black gently nuzzled Zhiyan's palm, the ferocity dissipating into docility.

Zhiyan slowly exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly at his side.

There was no fear in his eyes, only cool, unwavering resolve.

He would not retreat, much less be afraid. Whoever tried to block his path, he would crush to dust.

Night spread over the Zenin Clan's courtyard, and lamps glowed quietly beneath the veranda.

Wana was already fast asleep. Divine Dog: White guarded her bedroom door like a gentle, fluffy shadow.

Zhiyan sat at the low table in the outer room, reading.

Divine Dogs: Black lay quietly at his feet, most of the wariness subdued, leaving only a steady, protective presence.

Steady, gentle footsteps sounded outside the door, unhurried and reassuring.

Zhiyan looked up.

Naobito Zenin pushed the door open and entered, still carrying the slight chill of the night dew.

He put on none of the airs of a clan head or elder, simply sitting naturally across from Zhiyan. His warm gaze first swept over his son, then settled on Divine Dogs: Black beside him before he finally spoke softly.

"Ogi Zenin came by today?"

Zhiyan nodded, his tone calm and even. He neither embellished anything nor sounded the least bit aggrieved:

"Yes, he did. He said a few unimportant things and mentioned Mr. Toji."

Naobito Zenin's eyes darkened slightly, but he did not grow angry, merely listening quietly. "Did he give you trouble?"

"I wouldn't call it trouble."

Zhiyan briefly lowered his eyes. When he raised them again, his gaze was clear and firm.

"He simply dislikes my practicing martial arts, dislikes my becoming stronger under Mr. Toji, and dislikes my holding the position of heir even more."

He concealed nothing and showed no timidity, laying everything out clearly, word by word:

"I told him I wouldn't stop becoming stronger because of anyone's opinion. An heir should make himself strong enough to protect the Zenin Clan and his family, not cling to other people's rules and let them control him. Nor does he need others telling him what to do."

Naobito Zenin looked at the child before him, only six years old.

Calm and clearheaded, with principles and an edge, neither servile nor arrogant, neither panicking nor fleeing.

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly chuckled softly.

It was a smile of relief, of finally putting his worries to rest, and even the corners of his eyes softened.

"...Well said."

He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, yet spoke with absolute certainty:

"Remember this: that little bit of jealousy in Ogi Zenin's heart won't stir up any trouble."

"He's fighting for a position. You're fighting for strength. He relies on schemes. You rely on yourself. They're not the same thing at all."

Naobito Zenin raised his hand and gently patted Zhiyan's shoulder. His touch was light, but his words carried absolute confidence. "You did nothing wrong, and you don't need to fear him. With me here, he won't get out of hand."

Seeing the trust and support in his father's eyes, Zhiyan nodded lightly. His voice remained steady, but held a barely perceptible warmth:

"I understand, Father."

"Get some rest." Naobito Zenin stood, his gaze passing over Divine Dogs: Black as the shikigami guarded his master, a little more approval entering his eyes. "Keep training just as you have been. Don't worry about what anyone else says."

With that, he gently closed the door behind him and disappeared into the night.

The room fell quiet again.

Divine Dogs: Black raised his head and gently nuzzled Zhiyan's palm.

Zhiyan lowered his head and stroked the shikigami's fur.

Clear moonlight streamed through the window, falling over his small figure.

He felt no unease at all.

Because he knew perfectly well-someone stood behind him, and he himself was growing, step by step, into someone who could stand on his own.