Only when night falls can one truly understand why all the gods and youkai of Ashihara no Nakatsukuni call the Milky Way the "Frozen Celestial River"—because it is truly frozen. It doesn't flicker, it doesn't rotate, and it never changes with the seasons. Every star is filled with a mist that is like smoke yet also like a translucent gel.
And then there is the full moon.
If Amaterasu, representing the sun, has carved her presence into every youkai myth, then Tsukuyomi, who was born with her, seems almost nonexistent. Despite representing the moon—as vital as the sun—there is no desire to display presence. Aside from existing eternally overhead, there is nothing special.
On the way to Izumo, whenever Sū ěr looked at the top of the Milky Way, where Takamagahara should be, he always ended up shifting his attention to the moon—there must be something up there too, right?
The string of magatama that the "pre-demonized" Tamamo-no-Mae had given them—the one that seemingly holds the key to the gates of heaven—was still that pitch-black color. Aside from that, nothing else had happened, as if only the color had changed.
It felt like exploring a forest filled with mist, teeming with treasure and interest. Sū ěr didn't mind this hobby for passing time in this dull era.
He had never felt so clearly how fragile history was, resting in his hands. After all, the people of the future island nation proudly call themselves the descendants of Yamato, the Yamato race—but Yamato was now destroyed, right before Sū ěr eyes.
What will they call themselves in the future? The Izumo race?
Can Izumo last until that era?
While crafting these "Yamato jokes," Sū ěr and Think finally arrived at the borders of Izumo. As expected of a nation older than Yamato, Sū ěr felt the breath of civilization for the first time in this world.
It was a vibrancy far exceeding that of the terminally ill Yamato. This was partly due to its longer history, and partly because its rulers had poured all their effort into sustaining the Susanoo lineage under the pressure of Yamato and Takamagahara. Yamato, meanwhile, had spent centuries being drained of its flesh and soul until its marrow was dry.
Compared to the city before them, Yamato wasn't fit to hold its sandals.
No, "city" was the wrong word. This place had broken the limits of the era, stepping directly into a realm of high fantasy or xianxia.
Islands were flying, and seawater was flying. Waterfalls flowed in reverse, defying gravity to surge from the sea surface to the edges of the islands like giant fountains. When the sunlight passed through, one could see massive rainbows connecting the islands and the land—or were those actually bridges?
When Sū ěr looked closer, he saw people walking on those translucent rainbows.
There were seven islands in total, of varying heights, floating above the reverse waterfalls—three large and four small. Approaching closer, one could see seven massive ropes leading from the islands to the city on land, pinned down by seven gargantuan wooden stakes.
"Now this is more like it!" Sū ěr smacked his fist into his palm, feeling an odd sense of relief. This spectacular sight finally matched his fantasies of an "other-world."
"The 'other-world aura' you mentioned?" Think appeared beside him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "It's not that special. Melvoir, the oldest city of us Elves, had sights far grander than this. You look quite pathetic being so moved by such a derelict little place."
"No, no, no, this is completely different. And back in the last world where we could die at any second, who had the mood to appreciate the scenery?" Sū ěr joked while taking Think hand—alright, now he had the standard "isekai elf companion" too.
There was no need to hide their forms. In this world of bizarre youkai species, even Think translucent body appeared ordinary. Along the path, Sū ěr had seen many youkai with "exhibit-worthy" features. Smoke-like bodies were the most basic "special effect"; he saw youkai with eternal flames burning from head to toe, or ones whose heads were just a single flame, or ones made of liquid...
Sū ěr even saw a youkai that seemed to be a walking corpse. Not only did it emit a lethal stench, but its rotting body provided a unique visual experience. It had only been at the city gates for a few seconds before youkai guards came to drive it away. Had it not run fast, it might have been beaten to death on the spot.
Discussing the youkai "hierarchy of contempt" with Think, Sū ěr covered his nose as he passed the stinking creature—it really was too foul.
This wasn't just a city for humans, but for youkai as well. At the very least, Sū ěr saw mostly humans and youkai; the gods Yukari had mentioned were nowhere to be seen.
Humans were manning stalls, and youkai were too. Compared to the skeletal humans of Yamato, the humans of Izumo—even those in rags—seemed better off. Some youkai in human form seemed to be dressed worse than them. Their supplies were sufficient enough that they could sell the surplus.
Food, snacks, and many rare glowing ores found by humans were for sale. The youkai sold mostly meat, feathers, bones, and the like. Though the noise was constant, the vibrant breath of life was something Sū ěr enjoyed.
In this era, there were no skyscrapers to block the view. One only had to look up to see the seven ropes, which appeared even more massive upon closer inspection. They were hemp-colored, looking like giant hemp ropes, but Sū ěr wasn't sure; they were just too thick.
There were figures walking on the seven ropes too, though they were dressed in much more ragged clothes than those on the rainbow bridges. Many bore loads on their backs, occasionally wiping sweat from their brows.
Their yellow skin had been tanned to a dark bronze by the sun. However, Sū ěr didn't see the whip-wielding overseers he had imagined. In a way, that was a good thing.