Chapter 1: Birth in Silence (Part 3/4)
Yuhao began to notice the patterns.
Which servants left the kitchens early. Which doors creaked when opened. When the courtyard dog slept deepest. The hours just before dawn were the quietest. If Yun'er was asleep, no one came by until breakfast rations were passed.
By thirteen months, he'd memorized the entire outer section of the estate.
Not just visually. He knew where the firewood was stacked, where spoiled bread was dumped, and where the kitchen herbs were dried and stored under loose floorboards.
He never took more than a pinch.
Only enough to brew hot water with crushed ginger, or boil bitter roots into a thick paste Yun'er could sip without gagging.
She never asked where it came from.
Some days, she was too tired to wonder. On others, she smiled faintly and kissed his forehead.
"You always seem to know what I need, little one."
He did.
---
By the time he turned two, Yun'er's cough had softened.
Not gone. But she didn't wheeze as badly in her sleep. Her strength improved enough that she could walk outside twice a day instead of once.
She still looked thin.
But her eyes no longer looked hopeless.
Yuhao helped where he could. He couldn't lift firewood yet, but he could pull small buckets of water if he braced his arms just right and leaned his body weight backward.
Sometimes, other servants caught him in the yard.
Most ignored him. A few sneered. One stable boy kicked over a pot he was carrying, muttering something about "brat of a whore."
Yuhao didn't react. He just noted the face. The tone. The walk pattern.
The next day, that stable boy's lunch bread had mold rubbed into it just enough to make him sick.
No one traced it.
Yuhao never smiled. He wasn't interested in revenge. Just balance.
---
In the evenings, he sat on Yun'er's lap and listened.
She hummed while threading worn fabric. Or told simple stories she remembered from childhood.
He never asked questions.
He just watched the rise and fall of her breath. Counted the warmth in her fingers. Made note of every time she winced when stretching.
His Sharingan remained unused since that first night.
He didn't need it yet.
---
One night, a sharp wind blew through the shutters. Yun'er stirred restlessly, and Yuhao rose from his bedding in silence.
He walked over to her bed. Pulled the patched quilt higher over her shoulders. Then climbed in beside her and rested his small hand against her chest.
Her breathing calmed.
She didn't wake.
In the stillness, he whispered—very softly, almost too faint to hear:
"I'll fix this life. I'll take you away from here."
It wasn't a promise to the world.
Just a quiet decision.
A single step toward a future only he could see.
---
(Continued in Part 4...)