The second day began before sunrise.
Yuhao was already up, sitting cross-legged at the corner of the one-room dwelling. A tiny charcoal basin radiated beside him, emitting constant heat. He sat holding a dried leaf between two fingers, not igniting it, but studying the texture and veins in the dim orange light.
It wasn't an herb any longer—it was a potential solution.
He listed it in his mind.
> [Herb Annotated: Gray Iron Leaf]
[Medicinal Characteristics: Encourages healing in bone marrow | Thermally reactive | Bitter compound disables weak toxins]
[Use Rating: 4/10 – Needs additional stabilizer]
He ground the leaf into dust and kept it in paper sachet. One of several in tidy wooden dish he had whittled himself.
Alongside the tray was his journal—clear lines, no rambling, no wasted ink. Every entry recorded effects, quantities, timings. He was constructing his own theory of medicine, not by imitation, but by intermixing systematic examination with trial.
All of it for her.
---
Yun'er stirred an hour later.
She slowly sat up, still wrapped in the heavy gray shawl he'd purchased three days before. Her hair had become longer and smoother, due to the gentle nutrient-rich oil he secretly added to her tea. Her skin, which had been so pale it was almost translucent, now held a faint rosy color.
Her soul power, however, had not changed.
Yuhao understood it would be a while. Her foundation was broken—badly. Exceeding her limits on using her martial soul to guard him as an infant had caused damage even most spirit medicines couldn't repair.
He wasn't attempting to grant her fresh power. He was evening her life force, so someday she could construct again.
She wouldn't need the whole story. He spoke to her only as much as was required.
"Your pulse is improved today," he said, softly pressing her wrist. "Still irregular on the third beat, but it's holding steady."
"Because of your soup?"
"And the herbs."
She nodded and didn't inquire further. She trusted him absolutely now—not as a son who cared for her, but as a person who really knew the risk of weakness in this world.
---
Later that morning, Yuhao boiled water and reduced a dried root to paste. He passed it through linen cloth, allowing the bitter extract to seep into a ceramic vial.
He added a single drop of mountain garlic extract. The mixture bubbled faintly, a sign that the mild toxin had been eliminated.
> [Compound Created: Bone Mending Tonic – Grade D+]
[Effect: Improves marrow nutrient flow, reduces internal inflammation]
[Stability: 92%
[Side Effects: Slight nausea | Danger of faint weakness]
Good enough.
He put the tonic aside to cool, then noted the date, recipe, and effect range in his journal.
He didn't try everything out on Yun'er. Some of the herbs, he tried himself first. Some, he used on stray dogs or birds. Only when he saw an effect did he think about using them on her.
This was not out of fear, but accuracy.
---
Afternoons were spent shopping for basic equipment: a little mortar, a linen wrapping for drying herbs, and a thread-tiny glass funnel. They were all ordinary, inexpensive, and handy. He never purchased more than three at a time, never from the same location two consecutive days.
It was a game of going unnoticed—of appearing small, poor, and insignificant.
He secreted the coin pouch within his waist sash, the one with the concealed stitch he himself reinforced.
He was a frugal man when it came to silver.
The rest was copper.
---
That night, Yun'er stood at the doorway, observing the light dwindle.
Yuhao handed her a clay bowl filled with warm soup, this one blended with marrow powder and a trace of dried date peel. Her fingers were steady now when she lifted the spoon. Her breathing, while still soft, no longer shook.
"You've changed," she said suddenly, voice calm.
"How?"
"You're colder," she said. "Not to me, but to everything else."
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he sat down next to her, eyes fixed on the sinking sun.
"I don't want to be remembered," he said. "Being warm makes one remembered."
"Do you despise it?"
"No. I'm accustomed to it."
There was no sadness in his tone. No emotion whatsoever.
She didn't ask again. She didn't have to.
---
Prior to sleep, Yuhao sat in meditation once more, directing the purple color he had collected at dawn. His Sharingan failed to react, but his perception reached out weakly, touching the heartbeat of the tiny field behind their home.
He heard the worms beneath the earth. The distant flutter of a bat overhead above the roof. The wafting of mist from the mountain forest.
His cultivation was slow—but consistent.
His mind, razor-sharp.
And every evening, he could feel himself drawing near. Drawing near to being prepared—not to survive, but to something far riskier.
He would soon advance to the next level.
But not yet.