Chapter 98: Nobue Ito, the Proactive One

Anhe had never imagined that Amamiya Sagiri, who looked so frail, possessed such endurance. Since last night, she had not stopped at all.
It had lasted a full night.

Looking back, the fact that he had made it through was a miracle in itself.
Of course, harming his enemy by a thousand and losing eight hundred himself, he had come close to being emptied out. Yet Amamiya Sagiri was far from recovered, either. If nothing had gone wrong, she would likely still be in bed right now, shivering and writhing.

Remembering how she had begged before, Anhe could not help but let a smug smile rise at the corner of his mouth.
After all, he was the victor.
No—the right phrase was a mutual victory. After all, Amamiya Sagiri seemed to be enjoying it as well. The only obvious loser was probably the pawn, Amamiya Saori.

After provoking Anhe Xingyu, that girl had been coldly sent to another room by Amamiya Sagiri, even with an empty room kept between them to prevent her from eavesdropping through the wall.
That was why Amamiya Saori had spent the whole morning with a sour face.
“Sharing in good fortune, they said,” she must have thought, “and yet my own sister goes and cuts the bridge, not even giving me a sip of soup!”

What exactly Saori was thinking, Anhe could not tell, because at this moment he was walking toward Fuyuan Shrine.
If nothing had gone wrong, the wooden plaque left there yesterday should have reached Ito Shinhui by now, and Anhe intended to keep the appointment.
Before leaving, he had already greeted Amamiya Sagiri and openly acknowledged his connection with Ito Shinhui.
Shinhui had said nothing, and even seemed almost flat in expression, as if she had already known this day would come.

If the principal wife had given quiet consent, everyone should have been pleased, but Anhe could not find any joy in it.
The reason was a line from the inner narration as he was about to step out:

You and your sister were born of the same blood—why race to outdo one another? If Amamiya Sagiri is not letting you go tonight, why show mercy? It’s dark now: seize Amamiya Saori at once, then take Shichiro, and make Amamiya Sagiri feel real pain.

Whether she would feel that pain or not, Anhe did not know. But he did know that if the night continued in the same way, his younger brother might die first.

He crossed the white expanse of snow alone. Since he was the only one there and had brought no extra gear, he reached the shrine in a little over an hour.
Again standing beneath the torii gate, he looked at the shrine glowing under the first light of dawn, and his nerves—tensed from the whole night—unwound a little.

The cold wind brushed his cheeks. Not seeing the girl from yesterday in front of the hall, and with the snow in the yard already cleared, Anhe walked straight in.
Inside the temple grounds, a few shrine staff members were waiting for him. The moment they saw him, surprise flashed across their faces; they still remembered the visitor from yesterday.

He explained himself briefly. When they learned he had not come this time to pray, they did not send him through the usual formalities. After a brief reminder, they left him, some of them headed home together.
It was the weekend, and many part-time priests had chosen to rest today; they were among them.

After saying goodbye, Anhe used the ability known as Memory Replay and, by virtue of having come the day before, quickly found the room where Ito Shinhui was staying.
It was a detached wooden cottage on the side of the shrine, edged by a dense bamboo grove. From outside, the roof was covered in a thick layer of snow. Wisps of pale smoke drifted from the chimney, icicles hung from the eaves—the longest nearly half a meter. The door was shut tight, with only a faint warm glow behind the window glass.

He knocked. From inside came a woman’s voice.
“Just wait.”

Not long after, footsteps grew clearer. With a sharp click, the door opened, and Ito Shinhui appeared before him.
She wore a long white turtleneck sweater that reached almost to her upper thighs, covering her ample hips and backside, and bright orange tights beneath.

She had not expected to see Anhe Xingyu on the doorstep. She stood frozen for several seconds before realization dawned. She tried to hide it, but the faint curl at her lips betrayed her mood.

After a light cough, Shinhui pulled on a cold expression and frowned at him.
“Anhe. What brings you here?”

Anhe glanced at her deliberately stern face and smiled slightly.
“I’m here to see the mother of an unborn child.”

She spat lightly,
“Tut!”
Then she did not stop him. She stepped aside, opened the door wide, and waited until he came in before closing it.

The warmth hit him the moment he entered, a gentle wave of heat.
Sure enough, a fireplace stood in the living room. The air was filled with the dry warmth of burning logs. Even in the depth of winter, it was cozy and comfortingly warm.

With a push of her foot, Shinhui knocked off his outer slippers and drew them to him before saying,
“Sit a while. I’ll make some coffee.”

She turned and, barefoot, walked into the hall and then into another room.
Anhe looked down at the two plush rabbit slippers she had left behind and, without much thought, slipped them on. They were warm; only drawback: they were a little tight.

In the hall, he peeked into the room Shinhui had entered. She was standing at a coffee machine, moving with practiced ease. From the ladles and knives nearby, it was clearly a kitchen.
He leaned in the doorway for a moment, but not understanding how she brewed coffee, he withdrew his gaze.

He turned and looked around the room again.
The cottage’s walls and furniture were all wood, plain yet inviting. Handmade ornaments hung on the walls with a simple wall clock. Near the windows stood potted green plants, and one standout feature was a pot of cabbage among them.

In the center of the room stood a large round wooden table with half-eaten cake and hot tea already set out, clearly what she had been having for breakfast.
Farther in, in front of the fireplace, stood a single sofa. Clothes were scattered across it in a careless heap—enough to include lace panties in his notice.

For an instant, he thought he heard the narrator whisper in his mind:
Collection +1.

After a moment, Ito Shinhui returned from the kitchen holding a cup of steaming coffee.
Anhe took it and sat at the wooden table.

“Do you still know how to make coffee?” he asked, looking at her as she sat opposite him.
“A little.”

She reached for the cake she had not finished, lowered her head as if about to bite, then suddenly froze, as though she had remembered something, and looked up.
“Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”
He shook his head, though his eyes had drifted from the cake to Shinhui’s lush, inviting red lips.

She noticed it, lifted an eyebrow, then let her pink tongue brush lightly at the corner of her mouth. Her voice, soft and alluring, floated out.
“Want to try?”

Before Anhe could answer, another inner narration surged forward in his thoughts:

A lone man and a lone woman in one room, and on top of that, such teasing. Even a clay idol would still have a spark of heat left. Think of it: this place is deep in the mountains, desolate all around, and even if she screamed herself hoarse, no one would hear. Then why not…

Ignoring the latter part, Anhe looked at her and asked plainly, “Are you serious?”
“Your call.”

Shinhui rolled her eyes and, no longer caring about him, lowered her head and resumed eating. Between bites, in a voice that pretended indifference, she asked,
“Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes,” he said, and did not deny it. In truth, from the state he was in, anyone with his eyes open would know it was anything but normal.
Nodding at his answer, Shinhui fell silent. A strange hush settled in the room. After a while she spoke again,
“Was it because of Amamiya Sagiri?”

Anhe did not answer at once. He stood and walked slowly to her side.
She did not know what he intended, but she instinctively lifted her head. Their eyes met. In that instant, Anhe cupped her pretty face in his hands and lowered his head to kiss her.
Her lips were soft against his.

Once her surprise subsided, Shinhui pulled at him, trying to push him away.
He did not relent.

With no real resistance left to rely on, she tried to run—like a startled deer darting through thickets while being chased by a snake—aimless and frantic, trying to dodge him, but with her meager experience she could not escape Anhe’s control.
Soon she gave up resisting and, awkward and flushed, began to answer him in her own shy, clumsy way.

After some time, they broke apart.
Anhe saw her face burned red, eyes glossy and restless, breathing quick and uneven. He licked the corner of his own mouth.

He wanted more.

Perhaps sensing his intention, or perhaps guided by that dangerous sixth sense women sometimes carry, Shinhui suddenly came back to herself.
She stood up sharply, staggered back a few steps, and kept wiping the saliva from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand until it was clean. Only then did she turn on him with a hard stare.

Anhe blinked and gave her a look of innocent mockery.
“It isn’t entirely my fault—you were the one who opened your mouth first.”

She snapped,
“You dare?”

Her sharp eyes narrowed, her pretty face flushed dark with embarrassed anger.
She had opened her mouth, yes—but only before she could realize what was happening.

Sensing she might break into a wild outburst, Anhe wisely said no more.
The two returned to their separate seats.

Outside, the snow kept falling.
Since he had no climbing gear, Anhe had no intention of going out; he simply stayed the night in Shinhui’s cottage.

There was no television, no computer, and even the phone was only good for simple texts.
In his previous life, he might have gone mad in such a life; now, however, he felt deeply at ease.
Perhaps after too long in a great city—trapped in the three-point routine and a frantic daily pace—he had unexpectedly found a rare calm in this little wooden house, in its warm and gentle atmosphere.

Maybe because he had barely slept, his eyelids grew heavier until, at last, they closed fully.
Soft breathing rose from him.

Seeing this, Shinhui turned her face away with reluctance, yet eventually walked to him and guided him to the bedroom.
She laid him on the bed, pulled a blanket over him, then moved to leave. She had taken two steps when her legs suddenly refused to obey, and she collapsed back again.

Looking at the sleeping boy, Shinhui felt a complicated swirl of emotions.
Although Anhe had never said it plainly, she understood: the reason he had slept so badly the night before was mostly Amamiya Sagiri.
As for what they had done, she already had her answer—she had traced the kiss marks on the back of his neck with her fingers.

Thinking of that earlier kiss, she suddenly regretted something: she had, in front of Amamiya Sagiri, kissed Anhe yesterday.

“Goodness,” she sighed, “Ito, you actually fell in love with such a flirtatious little scoundrel.”
She tossed those messy thoughts aside as she prepared to leave, but then remembered something. After a pause, she slowly tugged up her sweater hem bit by bit, until it slipped off, and then crawled carefully into the bed.

Anhe fell into a dream.
In the dream he and Ito Shinhui were getting married on a wide prairie.
She wore a magnificent white wedding gown. The upper half was a fitted bodice edged with delicate lace and sequins that shimmered like small stars.
The lower half was a loose, billowing skirt, layered with lace and chiffon, light and flowing, its train dragging along the ground by several feet and embroidered with more sequins and silk to make the whole thing glow.

Her hair was swept into a high chignon, crowned by a white wreath also beaded with sequins and tiny blossoms. A pair of crystal hoops hung from her ears, catching tiny sparks of light in the sun.
Her makeup was subtle: faint pink lipstick, sharply defined brows, a touch of light eyeshadow that made her eyes appear especially fresh and clear.

A pearl bracelet circled her wrist, and a diamond ring shone on her finger. She looked so elegant and regal, beautiful enough to step out of a fairy tale.

They held their ceremony across the open plain, then kissed beneath the Eiffel Tower, sharing their joy with passersby.

But just when Anhe was about to dream himself into the bridal chamber—
he woke up.

He sat up in bed, and the room beside him was empty, no sign of Ito Shinhui.
A faint fragrance still lingered in the air, and Anhe assumed it was just the room’s own scent and paid it no mind.