By midmorning, the sky had cleared. Thin clouds drifted lazily over Heaven Dou's countryside, casting moving shadows over the field behind their home. Yuhao stood by a flat stone near the western tree, sleeves rolled up, a small blade in hand.
In front of him lay several bundles of herbs—freshly plucked, still carrying the scent of dew and dirt.
He picked up a stalk of soft green leaves. The texture was delicate but not brittle. Thin stems meant it had grown wild for only a few weeks—young, but not immature.
"Cloud fern," he muttered. "Mildly calming. Can't be used raw."
He set it aside.
Next was a root, thin and gnarled like a bony finger. He sniffed it. Slightly bitter, earthy. The edges were still moist from the morning pull. A small smile flickered on his lips.
"Red bitter root. Finally."
He cut off the top half and scraped the surface clean with practiced efficiency. This was his third attempt gathering this type. The last two batches had been too dry to use.
He shifted his attention to a folded cloth packet containing several dried flower petals and a sliver of white bark. These were not from the hills nearby. He had purchased them three days earlier—quietly—at the far end of the morning market, from an old apothecary who barely spoke.
Even with the system helping accelerate his learning, real application still took time. Yuhao never rushed his medicine crafting. Every dose Yun'er consumed had to be precise. Not just in effectiveness—but in pacing. Her body was delicate now, weakened from years of undernourishment and exhaustion. If he overloaded her system with too much restorative power, she might collapse under it.
He'd seen it happen in others, during his early memory reviews through the system.
---
He crouched and opened the small iron pot nearby.
The fire inside had burned low, just the way he needed it. Ember heat only. He placed a clay bowl into the pot, then layered the herbs in an order he had refined through testing:
First the bark sliver—base neutralizer.
Then the red bitter root—stimulates internal recovery.
Then two small purple berries—trace energy enhancer.
Last, two petals from the dried flower—mild stabilizer.
He added half a ladle of clean water and sealed the bowl with a thin cloth lid, tightening it with twine.
"Twenty minutes," he whispered.
He sat beside it, leaning against the tree. His Sharingan flickered on—briefly, just for a second. In that glimpse, he examined the heat circulation through the pot, tracking how quickly the components would blend and release their properties. The crimson tomoe spun once, then faded. No need to strain it. He'd trained enough last night.
---
Inside the house, Yun'er stirred gently. He could sense it through the soft floor vibration. She'd likely begin her gentle exercises soon. He'd crafted the morning routine for her himself—just a short walk, some stretches, and two cups of warm flower tea.
She no longer needed to rest all day. Her strength was returning, slowly.
But he wasn't going to take chances.
---
Time passed. The medicine was ready.
Yuhao lifted the bowl, gently removed the cloth lid, and gave it a sniff. Sharp, earthy, with a faint sweetness. Just as expected.
He poured it into a small cup, careful not to spill, and walked inside.
Yun'er sat on the small couch, brushing her hair, her expression soft and light. She looked better today—skin a little warmer, eyes more alert.
"New one?" she asked, accepting the cup.
"Bitter root," Yuhao said plainly. "Will speed up your marrow production. You may feel more hungry afterward."
She sipped. Her expression barely changed. She was used to the taste by now.
Yuhao sat across from her, hands resting on his knees. He didn't speak further. He just watched, quietly noting the faint color returning to her cheeks. She didn't say anything either, but he could tell she appreciated the silence.
---
The rest of the day passed in simplicity.
Yuhao spent the afternoon gathering more herbs from the hillside, careful to alternate his locations. He didn't want the nearby villagers to get suspicious of any patterns. His face was known now, though not by name—just a quiet boy who bought root vegetables and fish once or twice a week.
He made sure never to overbuy.
One silver coin at a time. Never more. Never flashy.
---
By sunset, they ate again—rice with ground nuts, steamed leaves, and a tiny slice of pork fat, carefully cooked with onions to mask the richness. Yun'er didn't ask how he got it. She only smiled faintly as she ate.
Yuhao had timed it. He'd been slowly increasing her meat intake every third day, no more. Her digestive system was adjusting well.
And with enough time, she'd be ready to start basic body training.
---
That night, after Yun'er had gone to bed, Yuhao returned to the flat stone outside.
He drew his short wooden sword from beneath the porch, unwrapped the cloth sheath, and took his stance.
It wasn't for combat. Not yet.
This was for precision. Control. Projection alignment.
With each swing, he adjusted his breathing.
One slash—breathe in.
Return—hold.
Reverse cut—release.
Repeat.
He went on for thirty cycles before pausing.
His Sharingan activated briefly again, catching the movement of his muscles, comparing them to last night's sequences. Slightly tighter on the upper left lat. He made a note to stretch that area before sleep.
---
He looked up at the sky. A few stars flickered.
Another day passed.
And the plan moved forward.
Quietly.
Steadily.