Cold Cry immediately understood—just as he expected, the old man had already told her everything.
It would have been better left unsaid. Now that it had been brought up, a faint irritation stirred within him. Still, he knew this wasn't Shinobu Kocho's fault. In the end, he had simply overthought things.
"Turn around. I need to change."
He bent down, picking up the coarse linen clothes from the bluestone slab. When he glanced up at Shinobu, the coldness in his tone had noticeably softened.
A faint wisteria fragrance lingered around her—light, calming, yet strangely captivating.
"Here, I brought this for you."
Shinobu produced a small bundle from behind her back and handed it to him. Inside were his original clothes—the white haori he had worn when he first ascended the mountain, now freshly washed and neatly folded.
Cold Cry paused, momentarily stunned. His gaze shifted between the rough linen in his hand and the clean clothes in hers, but he made no move to take them.
"You went up the mountain? How did you get these?"
He lowered his head again, continuing to change.
Shinobu tilted her head slightly, watching him with mild curiosity.
"Why are you still wearing those?"
"I still have training tonight. That outfit isn't practical." He tied the rope around his waist. "And you didn't come all this way just to deliver clothes, did you?"
Dressed in the plain linen garments, he looked no different from a farmer trekking through the mountains.
Shinobu covered her mouth, unable to suppress a soft laugh.
"I must say—you look quite convincing. You really are becoming more like your master." Her smile deepened. "The Final Selection at Fujikasane Mountain is the day after tomorrow. I've already spoken with your teacher—I'll be taking you back to the Butterfly Mansion tonight. You'll need tomorrow to rest and prepare. Oh, and I'll remove your stitches as well."
So that was it.
Cold Cry lifted his gaze toward the distant mountain peak.
During his time there, the old man had taken care of him—especially during those first two weeks when he had been too weak to even stand properly. Food, medicine, daily needs… everything had been handled without complaint.
Now that it was time to leave, a trace of reluctance surfaced in his chest.
Even if he had to go, he should at least say goodbye.
"You go ahead," he said after a pause. "I'll head back later."
He turned and began walking up the mountain.
"Wait."
Shinobu's voice stopped him.
"If you're going up to say goodbye, there's no need. Your master asked me to pass along a message."
Cold Cry halted. "…What message?"
Shinobu cleared her throat, then suddenly straightened her posture. Mimicking Yanrobei's gruff demeanor, she pointed forward with exaggerated arrogance.
"Little Kocho, go tell that impolite brat—the mountain is out of rice. If he passes, he'd better bring a bag with him. If he fails, then don't bother coming back to waste food."
She barely finished before bursting into laughter.
"Oh my… honestly, you men are so strange," she said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Even your concern has to be hidden in such a roundabout way."
Cold Cry's face flushed instantly.
That old man… what nonsense!
"Stop talking like that! Who said I was going to say goodbye? I was just—I was…"
He faltered, unable to finish.
Shinobu circled him playfully, clearly enjoying his embarrassment.
"Just what? I didn't expect you to be the type—cold on the outside, warm on the inside."
"I am not!" he snapped, turning away. "I can't deal with you."
He quickened his pace down the mountain, trying to escape her teasing.
Shinobu followed leisurely behind, her laughter echoing through the forest.
---
At the mountain's peak, Yanrobei stood alone, hands clasped behind his back as the night slowly swallowed the sky.
Darkness descended, but even in darkness, a guiding light was necessary.
For Cold Cry, that light had been him.
A cultivator… was the torchbearer for those who came after.
---
By the time they returned to the Butterfly Mansion, it was already midnight.
The estate was silent—everyone else had long since gone to sleep, which suited Cold Cry just fine. He had no interest in dealing with the chatter of the girls there.
They didn't like him.
He didn't like them either.
…Except for Kanao Tsuyuri.
He found himself wondering how she had been during his absence. Has she found anything new to interest her?
To avoid unnecessary interaction, Shinobu led him to the backyard—her personal workspace where she conducted medical treatments and experiments. It was quiet, secluded, and far more suitable for him.
His room was next to hers.
It had clearly been prepared in advance—simple furniture, clean bedding, and neatly arranged toiletries.
Shinobu set his clothes by the bedside.
"Get some rest," she said gently before leaving.
Left alone, Cold Cry looked around the room. A strange warmth settled in his chest.
Was she always like this with everyone… or just him?
Without the howling mountain winds or the old man's thunderous snoring, the silence felt unfamiliar.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a while before steadying his breathing.
He entered the state of
Total Concentration Breathing: Constant—a technique essential for Demon Slayers—and gradually drifted into sleep.
---
At dawn, his routine resumed.
He woke at five, changed into his linen clothes, and went out for a run.
Without his usual training weights, he improvised—lifting a large stone from the courtyard and carrying it on his back.
Even at that early hour, passersby couldn't help but stare, whispering as if a lunatic had wandered in from the mountains.
By six-thirty, he returned to the Butterfly Mansion.
As he pushed open the gate, he encountered one of the attendants—Aoi Kanzaki—who had been sweeping the yard.
At first, she mistook him for a worker collecting refuse. Only when she noticed his distinctive silver hair did realization dawn.
When she got a closer look—his sweat-soaked face and the massive stone strapped to his back—she froze in disbelief.
So this was the new resident Shinobu had mentioned?
Under her stunned gaze, Cold Cry calmly set the stone back where he found it, dusted off his hands, and walked toward the backyard as if nothing had happened.
Aoi remained where she stood, leaning on her broom, completely speechless.
Soon, the other attendants gathered around her.
"Why are you spacing out?" one asked. "Thinking about boys again?"
"What boys? He's back."
"…Who?"
"The one who called us jerks."
"What?!"
"I just saw him carrying a giant stone into the courtyard!"
"…Is something wrong with his head?"
"Forget that—the problem is he's back!"
The three of them abandoned their chores entirely, breaking into animated gossip.