Muzan: My daughter can't be that weak!

Although Muzan turned and left, he did not completely leave.

Through the connection of blood, he can sense the situation on Nakime's side, a constraint that none of the demons he transforms can avoid.

So he heard it.

Hearing Nakime secretly comparing Yukina's appearance with his own, and even speculating, "Could this be that person's child?"

Muzan frowned.

Like him? How so?

That weak, crybaby little thing who struggles even to bite his own wrist and whose lucid moments are ridiculously short.

How does she resemble him?

But then he heard Nakime add in her mind, "What a beautiful child."

……

Muzan paused in his steps.

pretty?

Hmph, at least you have some taste.

Although the child was weak and stupid, he was considered to be of average appearance among human children.

Her eyes resemble his, that's a fact. Her nose is also high, just like his. Her skin is fair… well, that's probably from him too.

No matter what, they are his bloodline.

Muzan's lips unconsciously curved into an almost imperceptible smile, but he quickly suppressed it.

What is he so proud of?

She just resembled him a bit.

Deep down, she was still like her cowardly mother—weak, foolish, and emotional.

Thinking of this, Muzan's face turned cold again, and he quickened his pace and left.

He has more important things to do.

Find the blue spider lily, perfect the Twelve Ghost Months, and make money...

As for that little burden, let's just leave it to Nakime. Anyway, the Infinity Castle is big enough and safe enough, and Nakime is pretty reliable.

With that thought in mind, Muzan's figure disappeared into the night.

...

Meanwhile, in the other room, Nakime held Yukina, momentarily lost in thought.

Where should she place this child?

The Infinite City was indeed the safest choice; it was a space created by her Blood Demon Art, completely under her control.

But leaving a sleeping child there alone... doesn't seem quite right.

Nakime thought for a moment and decided to take Yukina to where she usually stayed.

It was a small room in the Infinite City, simply furnished but very clean. She would occasionally rest there or practice her pipa.

She plucked the strings of the pipa in her arms.

The crisp music rippled through the air.

The next second, the surrounding space began to distort and recombine.

The dimly lit room disappeared, replaced by a spacious, enormous space composed of countless Japanese-style buildings stacked one on top of another.

Infinite City.

Nakime, carrying Yukina, skillfully navigated the intricate corridors and staircases, arriving at a secluded corner.

There's a small room here. Push open the paper door, and inside there's only a low table, a few cushions, and a cabinet in the corner.

She carefully placed Xue Nai on the prepared cushions and covered her with a thin blanket.

Yukina frowned slightly as she was being moved, but didn't wake up. She simply turned over and continued sleeping.

Nakime sat down at the low table and placed her biwa on her lap. She didn't play anything, but just sat quietly, her empty eyes gazing at the sleeping Yukina.

The room was very quiet.

This quiet reminded Nakime of things from long ago.

Back then, she was still human, an ordinary woman who made a living by playing the pipa. Her husband was a gambler, and the family was dirt poor.

Her biggest hope every day is to get a performance gig, earn a little money to buy rice and vegetables, and barely make ends meet.

She remembers that her most cherished possession was a kimono she wore when playing the pipa.

Although it had been washed until it was faded, it was left to her by her mother and was the only decent piece of clothing she owned.

Then one day, she discovered that the kimono was missing.

The husband lay dead drunk on the tatami mat, clutching a few copper coins in his hand, muttering "I won, I won."

She asked him where the kimono was, and her husband, drunk, replied, "Sold it... It doesn't matter what you wear anyway."

At that moment, Nakime felt something snap in her head.

She grabbed the only hammer, the one she had for fixing things, and went to her husband.

The husband was still muttering something, his eyes still closed.

She raised the hammer and smashed it down.

Once, twice, three times.

When she came to her senses, her husband was already motionless. Blood was splattered everywhere; her hands, face, and clothes were covered in warm, sticky blood.

Nakime looked at her hands, then at the corpse, her mind blank.

Then she remembered that she had a performance tonight.

She stood up, walked to the water tank, drew water to wash her hands and face, and changed out of her blood-stained clothes.

Then she picked up her pipa and went out of the house.

The guests were quite displeased with her simple attire during the performance that day. But when she began to play, the tone was better than ever before.

It was so good that even she was surprised.

Fingers danced on the strings, and the notes seemed to come alive, flowing, swirling, and blossoming in the air.

The guests went from dissatisfaction to surprise, and then to fascination.

After the performance, she received twice as much money as usual.

From then on, Nakime discovered a pattern: whenever she killed someone before playing a piece, her music would become exceptionally beautiful.

So she started doing it consciously.

Find a target, usually a man she deems damned, an abusive husband, a bully who preys on the weak, or a greedy businessman, then strike, and then play the part.

Her reputation gradually spread, and her income increased. But her heart grew colder and emptier.

Until one day, she set her sights on a man.

The man was wearing a dark kimono, had pale skin, and a pair of plum-red eyes.

When faced with her assassination attempt, he remained calm and simply sat in the shadows, quietly watching her.

When she got closer, she realized that she was frozen in mid-air, unable to move.

The man looked at her, a cold smile curving his lips: "Interesting."

The next second, Nakime felt a chill on her neck.

The man's fingers were already gripping her neck, so tightly that she was suffocating.

"I'll give you two choices," the man's voice was close to my ear, cold and devoid of any warmth. "Die here, or become a ghost."

Nakime wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

Her vision began to blur, and her consciousness gradually faded.

Before she completely lost consciousness, she heard the man's last words:

Choose.

She chose to live.

So she became a ghost.

She became Muzan's close attendant, the controller of the Infinity Castle, and now she is the Nakime who sits in a quiet room, holding a sleeping child, lost in thought.

Nakime snapped out of her reverie, her empty eyes refocusing on Setsuna.

Will this child... keep sleeping?

she does not know.

After a long time, she gently plucked the pipa and began to decorate the room: a low table for children, soft cushions, and some simple toys.

She hasn't seen her child in a long time.

After becoming a demon, her world consisted only of the pipa, slaughter, and Muzan's orders.

The sudden appearance of this child was like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, breaking her long-standing numbness.

She reached out to touch the child's hair, but stopped just before she touched it.

This is an adult's child.

She can't be touched casually.

She didn't know how long the child would sleep, nor what would happen when she woke up. All she knew was that this was a task given to her by Lord Muzan.

You must complete this task well.