Zhen Yue noticed her gaze and softened his tone.
“Masako, you don’t need to call me ‘Omikami’ every day. Since I’m in the human world, I’m a mortal. Right now, I’m your husband, and you are my wife, not my miko. Feel free to be more casual.”
He paused.
“If you want to be my miko, you’ll have plenty of time in Yoru no Shokuhara after you die.”
Masako shook her head and smiled.
“I am your wife now.”
Her voice was soft.
“I know your love for me.”
Zhen Yue didn’t speak. He just looked at her, looked at his wife. This woman had been like this for twenty years. She clearly knew he was a deity, clearly knew she was just a miko, clearly knew this marriage was unequal from the start. But she never complained, never demanded, just stood quietly by his side, being his wife, being You’s mother.
He hugged Masako from behind.
She had a faint scent on her—the smell of laundry detergent. Ordinary, everyday, human.
Masako’s body stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed. She leaned into his arms and closed her eyes.
“What a silly girl.”
‘She clearly knows that.’
‘Deities have no feelings. Gods and humans are fundamentally different things.’
Right now, he was mortal. He was Yuejianye Zhen Yue, a husband who loved her. He was You’s father. He had body heat, a heartbeat, got hungry, got tired, laughed, got angry. He brightened at a single smile from Masako, worried when You was sick.
But when this shell died and he returned to Yoru no Kuni, he would still be Tsukuyomi. The Ruler of Yoru no Shokuhara. One of the Three Noble Children. A deity.
Then Masako would just be a miko. A miko serving him.
No longer a wife. No longer a lover.
Just the relationship between a god and his miko.
She clearly knew that.
Yet for so many years, she still treated him like a deity.
Zhen Yue closed his eyes.
He couldn’t change this. The division between god and man wasn’t something he could cross—it was a rule.
But he could do one thing.
Perhaps—he could give her a good position in Yoru no Kuni. She wasn’t just a miko; she was the mother of the Divine Child. After all, there would only be one Divine Child.
You was unique. He was the Divine Child of Tsukuyomi, the first-generation Living God, the source of the bloodline. In the future, the Tsukuyomi lineage would have more Divine Children, but they would be You’s children, not his. He had only this one child.
‘This is the only mercy a god can show to a human,’ he thought.
But now, as a mortal and a husband, he could hold his beloved a little tighter.
As if sensing what he was thinking, Masako turned and kissed him. She looked at him, her eyes moist, as if fire burned within them.
“Omikami-sama…”
Her voice carried a hint of girlish coquetry.
“No, Zhen Yue. Don’t think about that now. Only think about me. This is your wife’s request—no, demand.”
Zhen Yue laughed.
He returned her kiss. Masako’s lips were soft. Just like twenty years ago. Her eyelashes brushed against his cheek, tickling, but he didn’t pull away. He wrapped one arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head with the other, kissing her almost greedily.
They didn’t part until they were both out of breath.
Zhen Yue looked at her, still breathing a little unevenly.
“Satisfied?”
Masako smiled. That smile was exactly the same as twenty years ago—her eyes curved, her smile sweet, carrying a hint of pride, a bit of playfulness, and a certainty that said, “I know you can’t do anything about me.”
“I’m satisfied.”
The moon outside the window was very bright. Moonlight leaked through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin white line on the floor. The living room was quiet, with only the ticking of the wall clock and the interwoven breaths of the two people.
Zhen Yue remembered twenty years ago.
It was the first time he had walked the mortal world in a human body. Back then, he wasn’t used to this flesh. He found mortal life troublesome, tiring, boring.
Then he met Masako.
It was raining that day. He stood under the eaves of a shrine to avoid the rain, drenched halfway, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Masako came out of the shrine. She was young then, wearing a white shrine maiden robe, holding an umbrella, standing beneath the Torii gate of the shrine. The rain curtain behind her softened her silhouette. When she saw him, she was startled for a moment, then smiled.
She looked at him.
“Are you here to pray?”
“I guess so.”
“Then why don’t you go inside?”
“I’m avoiding the rain.”
Masako tilted her head, looked at him, and then laughed.
“You’re interesting.”
She handed him the umbrella.
“Here. No need to return it.”
Then she turned and ran back into the shrine, her skirt wet from the rain, clinging to her legs. Her figure disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Zhen Yue stood there, holding the umbrella. The handle still carried the warmth of her hand.
It was at that moment of first meeting that the mortal Yuejianye Zhen Yue fell in love with her.
Not Tsukuyomi falling in love with a miko.
But Yuejianye Zhen Yue falling in love with Masako.
Zhen Yue snapped out of his memory. Masako was still leaning in his arms, her breathing light and steady. Zhen Yue held his wife a little tighter. He rested his chin on top of her head and looked at the moon outside.
The moon was very bright. Bright like the entrance to another world.
But he didn’t want to return to that world right now.
Right now, he just wanted to stay here, hold his beloved, listen to her heartbeat, smell the scent in her hair.
“Masako.”
“Mm.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Thank you for being willing to marry me.”
Masako opened her eyes, lifted her head, and looked at his face.
The lamplight fell on his face. His features, except for a little more maturity, were exactly the same as twenty years ago. But his eyes were different. Twenty years ago, his eyes were empty, like two deep wells with no bottom. Now, there was something in his eyes. Something warm. Something soft. Something belonging to a human.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
She smiled, her eyes curving.
“I did it willingly.”
Zhen Yue lowered his head and kissed her again.
The moon outside was full. The light inside was warm.
The two held each other like that for a long time. The TV was still on, the light still lit, the knitting needle still stuck in the ball of yarn. Everything was ordinary, quiet, normal.
“Let’s sleep,” he said.
“Mm.”
Masako leaned in his arms and closed her eyes.
Moonlight leaked through the gap in the curtains, shining on the two of them, casting their shadows on the floor, overlapping, impossible to tell apart.
Masako spoke, her voice tinged with allure:
“Zhen Yue, carry me to the bedroom, okay?”
Zhen Yue nodded, lifted Masako up, and soon the bedroom door closed. From inside came the sound of weeping.