Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

night.

Yuto Huzhang lay in the old house left by his grandfather, a thin quilt covering the tatami mat. The window was half-open, and the cool autumn night breeze seeped in through the gaps in the screen window, causing the leaves of the nearly withered evergreen plant on the windowsill to sway gently. Moonlight shone into the room, spreading a patch of silvery-white light on the floor, the edge of which cut right to his pillow.

He turned over, and his breathing gradually became steady and long.

The dream unfolds from a vast expanse of white mist.

Yuto Itsuki finds himself standing in a dilapidated old house. The wooden walls are dark brown, with fine vertical cracks eroded by wind and rain. Several gray tiles on the roof are missing, revealing the blackened rafters underneath.

"Yuuto."

The sound came from the old house, aged and deep, with a warm texture that had been smoothed away by the passage of time. Yuujin Itsuki's steps moved forward involuntarily, and the sliding door slid open automatically in front of him.

The room was furnished exactly as it had been before his grandfather's death. Several faded cushions were laid on the wooden floor, and a hanging scroll with the words "No Knife, No Heart" hung on the wall. Below the scroll was a low table with an iron kettle and two rough pottery teacups on it. An old man sat cross-legged on the cushions.

Yuuto Itsuji paused for a moment.

"grandfather?"

The old man stood very straight, with a wooden knife lying across his knees. His face was covered with wrinkles, each one deep and clear, as if carved into the wood with a knife.

"You've grown up," the old man said slowly, as if savoring a freshly brewed cup of tea. "You've grown quite a bit taller since the last time I saw you."

Yuto Itadori opened his mouth as if to say something, but his throat seemed to be blocked by something. He stood at the door of the room, and the moonlight shone in from the sliding door behind him, turning his sportswear and sweatpants into a blurry silver color.

"Come in and sit down." The old man gestured with his chin toward the cushion opposite him.

Yuto Itsuji walked over and sat cross-legged on the cushion opposite the old man. The fabric of the cushion was already worn and frayed. Sitting on it, he could feel the hardness of the tatami mat seeping through the thin cotton pad to his legs.

The old man looked at him, remained silent for a few moments, then picked up the wooden knife that was lying across his knees and placed it on the floor between the two of them.

"Yuto, have you ever heard of the name Ryoumen Sukuna?"

Yuto Itadori paused for a moment. "No."

"A thousand years ago, there was a demon named Ryomen Sukuna. He was suppressed by the practitioners at the time, and his soul was scattered among his twenty fingers. Our Itadori family has had a connection with that demon for generations."

He paused, then looked up, his cloudy eyes fixed on Itadori Yuuto.

"I'm not going to tell you about any kind of fate, you wouldn't understand anyway. You just need to know one thing—that demon's fingers have started appearing in this world. Some people are collecting them, some are using them, and some are being used by them."

Yuto Itadori recalled the posts he had recently seen on social media: the series of deaths in Adachi Ward, the military helicopters appearing on the streets of Arakawa Ward, and the "gas explosion" at the gray-white tiled building in Minato Ward.

He initially thought those were just urban legends, no different from the stories the members of the paranormal society used to scare each other, but now that he thinks about it…

"Each of that demon's fingers contains evil. Anyone who touches a finger will be corrupted by it and turned into a monster. The monster that swallows a finger will be strengthened by it and become even more dangerous."

"If someone collects all twenty fingers and puts them into a suitable container, Ryomen Sukuna will be resurrected and wreak havoc on the world."

Yuuto Huzhang straightened his back slightly.

"So, I'm passing this on to you."

The old man brought his index and middle fingers together, the tips of which were positioned directly above the center of Hu Zhang Youren's forehead.

"The Broken Edge Sword Manual"

The four words "No Knife, No Heart" stuck in Yuuto's mind, and the hanging scroll on the dojo wall moved automatically without any wind.

"This is... the swordsmanship passed down through generations of the Itadori family. The swordsmanship is divided into two levels: with a sword and without a sword. With a sword, one wields the sword and strikes; the sword is simply a sword. Without a sword, one uses magical power to condense an invisible blade; if there is a sword in one's heart, then there is a sword in one's hand."

"Calm your mind." The old man's voice came from very close by. "I will help you guide the first wisp of true qi into your body."

in reality.

In Yuuto Itadori's room, moonlight streamed in through the window, falling on his sleeping face. His breathing was steady, his expression as peaceful as a sleeping child's, with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, a smile that was hard to decipher as whether it was confusion or anticipation.

Akira Nagayama stood in the corner of the room, the glow of concealment magic flowing around him.

In his left hand he held a small porcelain bottle labeled with the word "gold".

The wax seal on the bottle opening was removed, releasing a sharp, crisp scent, like the chill left by a blade cutting through the morning air.

【Jade Dragon Peak Qi】.

Jin De Zhen Qi, Rank 5. Yu Long is another name for a sword. Feng refers to the tip of a blade. Lou Jin is the gold of the imperial gardens, representing sacrifices and the raising of troops and gathering of people.

In ancient times, the positions of the [Sword Path] were divided between metal and wood. All metal virtues could become sword cultivators, but [Loujin] was the most suitable.

He obtained the "Broken Edge Sword Manual" from a sword cultivator in his previous life. Before his death, the sword cultivator cursed him as a "cowardly rat who takes advantage of others' misfortunes." Yongshan Ming didn't care about this at all. The manual belonged to whoever had it. The sword cultivator couldn't protect it, so who could he blame?

Nagayama Akira withdrew his fingers, resealed the porcelain bottle, and put it in his pocket. His gaze lingered on Itadori Yuuto for a moment, and then, thinking of the swordsman's strength, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

However, while sword cultivators possess formidable combat power, they also have a flaw—they rely too heavily on external aids.

Whether it's a flying sword or a magic sword, a sword cultivator without a good sword will have their combat power reduced by at least half.

In his previous life, that sword cultivator had a natal flying sword in his dantian, and seven or eight spare swords hidden in his storage bag. The materials for each sword were enough to bankrupt a Qi Refining level immortal cultivation family.

Thinking of this, Nagayama Akira couldn't help but sigh softly.

Spiritual objects are scarce in this world. Not to mention the rare and precious materials for forging flying swords, even the coral left behind by Yoshida Shodo after his death and the Oni-faced Mushroom condensed inside the earth spider were taken away by the Americans as treasures. To this day, he can only use spark iron to forge an Oni-slaying sword for Yoshida Nobuko, and use his fingers as inner cores for the catfish and spider to make do.

It's extremely difficult to even train yourself to make a flying sword magic weapon.

Not to mention getting a flying sword for Itadori Yuto.

He put aside his thoughts and turned to blend into the night outside the window.

In the dream, the golden light in the dojo slowly receded.

Yuuto Itadori opened his eyes, and a very faint golden spot appeared deep in his pupils, like a line of cold light on the tip of a sword, almost imperceptible if you didn't look closely.

The old man withdrew his hand, and the golden light on his fingers completely dissipated. He looked down at the remaining golden afterglow on his fingertips, and the smile on his lips deepened. Then he looked up at Yuto Itadori.

"Alright," he said, his tone as relaxed as if he had just taught his grandson how to tie his shoelaces. "The first wisp of true qi has entered your body. From now on, if you circulate it daily according to the 'Broken Edge Sword Manual,' your magical power will naturally become sharper and sharper."

His figure began to fade. Starting from the edges, the old man's outline gradually turned into a wisp of extremely faint grayish-white smoke, like willow catkins scattered by the spring breeze, or dew evaporated by the morning light.

"Yuuto."

The old man's voice came from a great distance, growing softer and softer, the intervals between each word becoming longer and longer.

"Once you become stronger, you should help others, within the scope of your ability."

"Save everyone you can, it doesn't matter if you feel lost, and it doesn't matter if you're not thanked. Just help others as much as you can."

"You should die surrounded by a crowd, not like me."