With three superpowers at his fingertips, he could dominate the 1970s.

Meanwhile, at the Hokushin Yin-Yang Bureau.

Haruko Kurokawa sat in the inner room for a long time.

The tears had dried, the shards of porcelain had been swept away, and the room was restored to its deathly cleanliness.

She stared blankly at the mountain scenery outside the window for a long time, her mind revolving around only one thought—

On what grounds?

Why should she raise the child alone with such hardship, while he can sit comfortably in the basement for thirty years without even glancing at her?

She tried everything, both soft and hard tactics. She hurt herself, cried, and begged him with her child, but he didn't even flinch.

It seemed that all her pain and obsessions were nothing more than fallen leaves in the wind in his eyes, not worth paying any attention to.

He'd rather rot in the dungeon than look at her again.

Haruko Kurokawa took a deep breath, suppressing her surging emotions deep within her chest.

I've cried enough.

The things that need to be done still need to be done.

She stood up, straightened her clothes, wiped the remaining traces from the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, and went out the door.

-

Koichi Kurokawa's courtyard is located on the east side of the Yin-Yang Bureau, not far from the main hall; it is a quiet little courtyard.

He was sitting on the veranda, holding a cup of tea, his gaze fixed on a extinguished stone lantern in the corner of the courtyard, lost in thought. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw his mother approaching, and paused slightly in surprise.

"Mother? It's so late, why are you here? You should be resting."

Haruko Kurokawa sat down opposite him, her gaze fixed on his face.

Hengyi is twenty-nine this year. He has high brow bones and a sharp jawline; his profile is practically a carbon copy of that person's. Especially when he lowers his eyes—that cold, aloof feeling is just like that man in the dungeon who hasn't spoken for thirty years.

Her eyes welled up again, but she held them back.

"Heng'er," she asked softly, "do you resent your mother? Resent that I gave you this identity?"

Kurokawa Koichi paused for a moment as he held up his teacup.

"Why would you think that?" He put down his teacup, his voice steady.

"I'm already very grateful to have been given my life. I'm also grateful to the Onmyoji Bureau for nurturing me. My life was given to me by my mother and the Onmyoji Bureau."

Haruko Kurokawa's lips twitched slightly, as if she wanted to laugh but couldn't, and in the end she just nodded.

"Where's Shota?"

"Inside the house. Mother, please come in."

-

Haruko Kurokawa entered the inner room and saw Shota squatting on the tatami mat, playing with a set of wooden building blocks, stacking and pushing them repeatedly, thoroughly enjoying himself. The three-year-old had round cheeks, bright black eyes, and remarkably nimble movements.

She stood at the door for a long time.

Shota was different from the other children in the clan from a young age. What others had to learn three times to barely remember, he could learn in one go. His perception of aura was also much more sensitive than that of his peers. Several times when the clan elders performed rituals, he sensed the abnormality from afar, even faster than those veterans who had studied for decades.

pity.

Without a proper lineage of magical arts, even the greatest talent will remain scattered and cannot be gathered together.

If that person were willing to teach... even just a little bit, the Onmyoji's magic system could fill that crucial gap. In the entire world of Onmyoji, they would be unique.

Unfortunately, that person was too stubborn.

Thirty years, as hard as a rock.

Her gaze shifted from Shota's face, then returned to his eyes and brows—the shape of his eyes didn't resemble Kouichi's, but rather that of a young man.

She stared at Shota's face for a very long time.

-

Koichi Kurokawa stood at the door, watching his mother's back.

Every time his mother came over, she would either stare at his face for a long time or stare at Shota's face for a long time.

He knew what she was looking at.

That thorn had been stuck in him since he was very young, and it had never been removed in the past thirty years.

He knew that the person locked in the basement was his biological father.

His mother had taken him down there countless times—when he was little, he was carried there, and later he walked there by himself. Every time, that person kept his head down, not even lifting his eyelids.

His mother had abused herself in front of him. In front of that man, she slashed her hands and arms with a knife, blood flowing all over the floor, but that man didn't even glance at her.

every time.

He was watching from the side.

When he was very young, he didn't understand, but later he did—his mother wanted to use him to test that person, to see if that cold-blooded prisoner had a heart.

The answer is no.

That person won't do anything for him.

Until Shota was born.

When his mother first carried the infant Shota into the dungeon, he followed her in.

That was the first time he saw the person's face clearly—every time he went down before, the person always kept his head very low, and he could only see the gray hair on the top of his head and his hunched shoulders.

But that day, the man raised his head.

When the man saw Shota in the swaddling clothes, he was only slightly taken aback for a moment. He didn't know if the surprise was because "there is another generation" or because "this mistake is still continuing."

Then he saw the man's eyes.

Even after being imprisoned for so many years, even though he was emaciated, there was still something in his eyes that could not be ignored—not hatred, not anger, but a detached indifference that bordered on coldness.

He finally understood where his mother's obsession came from.

Even when mired in the mire, that person still stands out from the crowd. That kind of inherent quality cannot be contained or erased.

But that kind of thing won't be moved by him.

After Shota was born, his mother seemed to see hope and would take him downstairs every few days. After that one time, he never went with her again.

He didn't want to go anymore.

"So what if I look?" The man glanced at Shota, his lips trembled a few times, but he didn't say a word. His mother, however, was overjoyed, thinking that "where there's fluctuation, there's hope."

There is no hope.

He had known all along. Even knowing that he was that person's bloodline, even after thirty years, when that person finally looked up at him—his eyes held only indifference and unfamiliarity, without a trace of the connection that blood ties should have.

It took him a long time to break free from that nightmare.

I grew up listening to other people's gossip in the Yin-Yang Bureau.

"That Chinese descendant"

"The Young Lady's Obsession"

"The Flaw of the Onmyodo"

No one said it outright to him, but everyone knew it in their hearts.

He wished he had an ordinary father, someone of lesser status, rather than be an outcast in the Yin-Yang Bureau.

As a result, the child he fathered was an anomaly.

He didn't know whether bringing Shota into this world was the right or wrong thing to do.

-

Haruko Kurokawa snapped out of her daze and found Koichi staring at her.

"You came so late just to see Shota?" Kouichi asked.

"No." She bent down and picked up Shota. "I'm taking Shota out for a walk."

This excuse is all too familiar. "Going around" means going to see that person.

Shota is three years old this year. Kouichi wants to stop this abnormal relationship, but his mother is always the one who has the final say, and he can't argue with her.

Shota's wife, a quiet young woman, came out from the inner room. Seeing her mother-in-law about to take the child away, she moved her lips, as if she wanted to say something. But seeing her husband shake his head slightly, she swallowed her words.

She certainly wanted to stop it.

forget it.

Haruko Kurokawa carried Shota to the door, and paused for a moment as she passed Kouichi.

She turned her head and glanced at him.

"Should we go together? Two people might be more convincing. This is a big deal."

Hengyi remained silent for a few seconds.

That's true. At this critical juncture, it makes little difference whether we see each other or not.

"good."

He stood up and followed behind his mother.

The three of them walked together towards the basement.

A night breeze swept down from the mountains, causing the paper lanterns under the eaves to sway gently. Shota was babbling something in his grandmother's arms.

He was about to see that person again, and his feelings were complicated.

He didn't know who to hate or who to blame.