Flowing Light and the Moon (Tomioka Giyu)
For a long time, Tomioka Giyu's world was filled with the color of water—a cold, deep blue that seemed to swallow everything.
The death of his sister, Tsutomu, was the first drop of indissoluble ink in this blue. He watched helplessly, powerless to do anything. The deep feeling of powerlessness and regret, like weeds tangled at the bottom of the water, dragged him into the abyss of silence.
The appearance of Xuantu was like a ray of sunlight trying to penetrate the water. That young man, wearing a fox mask, with a brilliant smile and a reassuring strength, forcibly pulled him from his shell, offering him friendship, teaching him swordsmanship, and pointing him in the right direction. However, in the final selection battle, that sunlight went out. Xuantu died of exhaustion saving him. His blood dyed the ground of Tengxi Mountain red, and it also stained his heart.
He survived. He survived, by some lucky, ignominious means, with the double life of his sister and his best friend.
The title "Water Pillar" was not an honor for him, but a yoke, a constant reminder that he was unworthy. He grew increasingly silent and withdrawn. He refused to engage closely with the other Pillars, feeling unworthy of standing shoulder to shoulder with them. He distanced himself from others, fearing another loss, or even more so, the thought that his presence would bring misfortune to others.
His breathing technique, the Water Breathing, also reflects his inner self. No longer the ever-flowing, life-giving water of the Satsuki, it has become still, cold, even a touch of death. The strongest form, Nagi, is less a sword technique than a manifestation of his inner world—a stagnant, stagnant body of water that rejects all external influences.
Until that snowy day, in front of Xuantu's tomb, he met the silver-haired girl who stole the tribute.
She was thin, thinly dressed, and shivering in the snow, but her dark eyes held a wariness unbecoming of her age and a stubbornness... akin to that of a wounded young animal. Yiyong's first reaction was confusion, followed by his habitual distance. He gave her food and asked about her family. When he learned they were "dead, murdered by a ghost," a familiar resonance, rooted in his own experience, stirred the still waters of his heart, a tiny ripple.
Take her away, a voice said in my heart. At least give her a place where she won't freeze to death.
He didn't think too much about it at the time, but just followed the kindness deep in his heart that had not completely disappeared from his sister and Xuantu. He told himself that this was only temporary, and when she found a place to go, he would let her go.
However, this girl named Shiro Inji quietly penetrated the high wall he built with indifference in a way he had never expected.
She learned swordplay quickly, astonishingly so. That talent occasionally made him lose focus, reminding him of Xuantu. But she was completely different. Xuantu was the sun, warm and dazzling; she, on the other hand, was more like... moonlight. Cold and quiet, yet possessing a strange resilience, she always carried out his every instruction with precision. Even when he occasionally lost focus due to recollection, causing his instructions to deviate slightly, she could intuitively correct herself.
She rarely spoke, always quietly following behind him like a silent shadow. But she would silently memorize his habits, preparing tea at just the right temperature before he returned from training, and mending his torn haori and team uniform until they were invisible when he wasn't paying attention (even though her stitches were clumsy and would prick her own hands).
He found himself accustomed to her presence. Accustomed to the sight of someone diligently practicing swordplay in the courtyard, accustomed to the sight of an extra set of bowls and chopsticks on the dining table, accustomed to waking up late at night to hear the shallow and steady breathing of someone in the next room.
The stagnant pool of water began to ripple.
When she returned from the final selection at Fujiki Mountain, bearing the jade steel medal that signified her passing, looked at him with sparkling eyes, and addressed him as "Giyu-senpai," a hardened part of his heart quietly shattered. He saw the dependence and trust in her eyes, an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time, an emotion he had almost forgotten how to respond to.
Later, the revelation of her identity, the confrontation outside the Butterfly House, her tearful confession... the shock he felt was far less than the heartache of hearing her sob. A ghost? So what? In his eyes, she was first and foremost Shiro Inji, the girl who would walk home with him in the snow, who would clumsily mend his clothes, who would be filled with joy for long periods of time at his simple words of approval.
"You are Shiro Ujiji," he had said. He was speaking not only to the other pillars, but also to himself. No matter who she was, she was the one who had already occupied a place in his heart. He gripped his sword, more resolute than ever. If the world was against her, then he would be against the world.
The revelation of her vampire magic, her moon breathing, did not make him feel deceived, but instead made him feel even more distressed. Just how heavy was the burden of her past? He wanted to know, to share the burden.
When did love blossom? Yiyong himself couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was during the countless training sessions, the daily grind they spent together, perhaps it was when she repeatedly stood in front of him without hesitation, perhaps it was when she clutched his hand in a moment of dependence during a nightmare, or perhaps... even earlier, when he turned around and saw her silently following him, leaving a trail of tiny footprints in the snow.
It was a slow and steady penetration, like water dripping through stone. By the time he realized it, the deep sea in his heart called "Tomioka Giyu" had already reflected her moonlight.
So, when she took the initiative to kiss him in the moonlight, the stagnant water in his heart finally boiled over. His response was clumsy but extremely sincere, because that was the most direct and precious thing he could give in his barren emotional world.
Proposing to her took all his courage. He was afraid of being rejected, and even more afraid of not being able to make her happy. But when she said "yes," he felt like the whole world was illuminated by the moonlight.
The news of her pregnancy was like the most turbulent wave, completely drowning him. After the initial ecstasy, there was a wave of overwhelming fear. He had lost so many important people, and he could no longer bear the pain of losing her and their child. He became cautious, almost paranoid, in protecting her, as if this could keep all danger away.
In the final battle, his "Nagi" no longer served to isolate himself, but to protect. He contracted his domain, converging it around her, becoming her strongest shield. When Kokushibo appeared and Muzan wreaked havoc, he had only one thought in mind: to protect her, to safeguard their future. This will to protect even temporarily overwhelmed his doubts about his own strength and the guilt he felt for the past.
Seeing her use dangerous blood magic again and again to protect everyone, he felt extremely distressed, but he could only choose to believe in her and become her most stable support when she was exhausted.
When everything was settled and the sun was shining, he looked at her and their newborn child sleeping peacefully in his arms, and looked at Jiguo Yansheng who looked a little lost in the sunlight not far away, but had already been accepted as a family member by Bai...
The corners of Tomioka Giyu's mouth, which were always tightly pursed, lifted up slightly but very realistically when no one was paying attention.
He lowered his head and gently kissed Bai's forehead, then lightly touched the child's tender cheek with his fingertips.
The deep blue ocean finally embraced the moonlight that had softened his entire life. From then on, the seas were calm and the rest of his life was warm.
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