Riku descended from his family’s private plane onto the grounds of Kyoto International Airport. He sighed. It was a long and boring trip from Aomori; his father had confiscated his phone and all of his six backup phones (to be used in case his other phones were taken), leaving him with nothing to do.

Not long after he disembarked, a chauffeur came up to Riku and bowed.

“I will be driving you to Rakuyo. Please follow me,” the chauffeur said.

Riku nodded, and the chauffeur started to guide him out of the airport, Riku following him in silence.

“Hey, can we stop by that phone store?”

As they passed by an airport store advertising prepaid SIM cards, Riku posed a question to the chauffeur. He could see a small display case full of smartphones in a corner of the shop.

Unfortunately he was met with a denial, “No, your father told me to take you directly to Rakuyo. He specifically did not allow me to take any detours.”

Riku sighed but didn’t press the topic. He briefly entertained the thought of running away, but the chauffeur was actually a twenty-six fart cultivator, so how could Riku, with his fourteen fart cultivation, escape from him?

Unable to do anything, he resigned himself to another half-hour of boredom.

The chauffeur soon led Riku to a car and guided him in. Riku rested his head on his hand, watching the surrounding buildings pass by and daydreaming about anime. Before too long, but not exactly short; after a medium length of time that Riku wasn’t exactly happy with yet couldn’t exactly complain about, they had arrived at the gates to Rakuyo.

After the Meiji restoration, the de facto capital of Japan was moved from Edo to Kyoto, and the most spiritually rich area in the new capital was designated to be the headquarters of the new Imperial Sect. It was named Rakuyo, after an ancient scholarly name for the city of Kyoto, becoming a city within another city, like the Vatican in Rome.

Court Onmyoji “persuaded” most of Japan’s practitioners to join, and a unified system of cultivation was created, combining various Onmyo, Bhuddhist, Taoist, and Shinto traditions with influence from Chinese and Korean schools. Such was the birth of modern cultivation.

Rakuyo remained the headquarters of the Imperial Sect until the American occupation of Japan following the end of the Second World War, which forcefully dissolved the Imperial Sect and forbade practitioners of any kind from serving the Japanese government. Even so, Rakuyo remained the home of most powerful cultivators due to its high spiritual energy density.

It was protected by the strongest barrier formation in the world, successfully protecting the city from several nuclear strikes during the height of the last war. Any utilities coming in or out would compromise the barrier; thus, it was the only city in modern Japan without high-speed internet among other utilities that Riku didn't care too much about.

Though, considering the average age in Rakuyo was over a hundred and all of them were powerful cultivators, this was not considered a problem. Water was collected from the morning dew by spirit stone arrays, producing a much more spiritually rich water than simple tap or bottled water. Electricity could be easily created by generators powered by cultivators’ divine sense or from solar cells placed on some of the houses. Human waste was decomposed by spirit stone formations and used as fertilizer for each residence’s expansive gardens. And people over a hundred generally didn't care for high-speed internet, unlike a certain young master of the Shinosaki clan.

That certain young master was dropped off at the gates of the city. Rakuyo was walled, and vehicles were not allowed in; the streets were too small for carriages or cars. Even on foot, the average person could not just enter the city. One needed the special permission of one of the city’s residents to enter. Riku had this permission, but his chauffeur did not.

Under the watchful eyes of the chauffeur, Riku showed the town’s security guard the seal of the Shinosaki clan. The guard nodded and made a motion to the other guard on shift. The two guards then pulled open the heavy steel gates, and he passed through.

His grandmother didn’t live too far away from the entrance, so it wasn’t hard for him to remember his family residence’s location despite not living in the town or visiting too often. He quickly pathed through the straight streets of the planned city, going along the shortest route to reach his destination.

Every building in Rakuyo had at least a century of history; walking through its streets felt like going back in time to early nineteenth-century Japan. Houses were built in Edo-era styles, each walled off by a stone wall forming the foundation to various protective formations. Rakuyo was untouched by the war for a reason, even while the surrounding city bore the brunt of a nuclear bomb.

Riku quickly located the Shinosaki residence, an unassuming building surrounded by the ubiquitous mossy stone wall standard to Rakuyo. A dilapidated stone plaque, with the characters “篠崎,” Shinosaki, carved into it, was placed onto the wall next to the house’s gate. While originally black, the plaque slowly faded to a dull grey over the decades.

Riku pushed open the old metal gates, and they slowly creaked open without much resistance. The Shinosaki clan’s seal served as a key to get through the extensive protective formations of the ancient family home; there was no need for a traditional lock anywhere on the premises.

HIs grandmother was a fifty fart cultivator, essentially the highest cultivation possible in the mortal realm, and probably had noticed him ever since he entered the city. Even so, he still yelled out, “Grandma! I’m here!”

The door to the house slid open (it was a sliding door as was typical of the period the house was built in), and a calm voice with the hint of a smile resonated out, “Come in.”

Strangely, there was nobody behind the door; the door opened by itself. And even though the voice sounded like it came from way in the interior of the residence, it did not sound like she was yelling. It felt as if she was right beside him, speaking in a conversational tone.

Cultivation allowed for some wonderful things.

Riku’s grandmother, Shinosaki Kikue, was often like this; she never opened the door to greet visitors. Instead, she would just open all the doors leading to the room she was present in, usually the living room. She would be reading a book on a reclining chair, unbothered by anything. And she was never the one to initiate the conversation. Perhaps one could wait days standing next to her without a word being spoken.

When asked why she had this habit, she only replied with a smile, “My old bones don’t like me walking too much.” She might be 153, but she was still in good enough shape to 1v9 fighter jets and win; it was an obvious lie.

Riku sometimes thought he inherited his laziness from her. Maybe that was why they got along so well.

He walked into the house before slipping off his shoes and stepping up off the genkan, a lowered area in Japanese houses meant for the express purpose of doing just that. Putting on slippers, he started to walk through the hallways of his ancestral home, trailing his hand along the dustless wooden walls. Unlike the outside walls of the residence, Kikue would use her divine sense to keep the huge mansion absolutely spotless. Not even a single speck of dust could land anywhere in the vast home before being swept away to the nearest trash can.

Riku didn’t even hate this house. His parents didn’t know this, but he actually didn’t mind being sent here every so often. Of course, Riku wouldn’t tell them; he would happily let them believe that he was suffering under their punishment. The house itself was beautiful, and his grandmother… Well, on the first day of the first time he was sent here for punishment for watching too much anime by his parents, his grandmother brought out a phone connected with an unlimited data plan and told him, “You know? I don’t agree with your parents sometimes. Let kids do what they want to do, I think.” Tossing the phone to him, she continued, “You’re a smart kid. I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing. Just make sure you get a good night’s sleep. You look awful.”

That night was the first time in years that Riku slept for more than an hour. And even with the phone in hand, he didn’t spend all his waking hours watching anime like he normally would.

His parents were very busy when he was born, making full use of all their free time to take advantage of the national economic expansion of the new millenia. Riku’s grandmother took care of him for his first few years, and he felt closer to her than to his own parents. Perhaps Kikue alone was the sole existence that surpassed anime in Riku’s heart.

Riku had conversations stretching for hours with his grandmother. She also showed him a few secret intricacies about the house, like the fact that there was a hidden trapdoor under the closest tatami mat to the window of the room nearest to the easternmost stairwell on the third floor. She had excitedly shown Riku what was behind the door: a portal to a local cheap sweets shop, called a dagashi shop in Japanese, that she extensively used as a child. However, when they jumped in, they were met with the loud noise of a construction site. Asking around, the dagashi store had been destroyed by the war, over seventy years ago. Almost nobody remembered it.

At that time, Riku saw a strange look overcome his grandmother’s face. It was hard to describe, and even Riku couldn’t tell exactly what she was feeling. It seemed to contain some sadness, nostalgia, and various other emotions he didn’t quite understand.

Apparently, there used to be a corresponding portal hidden in the alleyway next to the shop, but that was gone too. Kikue silently led Riku back home and didn’t speak another word for the rest of the day.

The next time Riku was sent to Rakuyo, about a year later, his grandmother led him to the same trapdoor and excitedly led him through it again. When he asked why, she only replied with a smile, “It’s a surprise!”

And this time, they apparated in front of a traditional dagashi shop, looking like it came out of the last century. It didn’t sell normal, packaged candies; instead, it sold house-made traditional cheap sweets. The store didn’t look popular; Riku was sure that most people would prefer the flashiness of modern snacks. Plus, stores like these were a dying breed. Not many people frequented even normal dagashi shops in the modern day.

His grandmother gave him a few coins and pushed him through the door. She waited outside while Riku picked out a few snacks in the store and paid for them. After leaving the sweets shop, Kikue led him to an alleyway beside the shop and pressed the Shinosaki seal on a certain spot on the wall of the store building. And they were back in the third floor room closest to the easternmost stairwell. She then dropped a handful of coins into an old bag lying underneath the trapdoor, next to the portal.

“It’s all yours.”

Leaving those three words, Kikue left her grandson to enjoy his dagashi.

Riku smiled as he recalled those fond memories. He planned to make a trip to that trapdoor sometime tomorrow; it was almost dinnertime today, quite late for sweets.

To his surprise, he was being led to the dining room instead of the living room, but upon further thought, the author literally just wrote that “it was almost dinnertime” the sentence before this one, so it really shouldn’t have been all of a surprise to anyone.

The faint smell of strong spices wafted over to Riku, and he couldn’t stop his mouth watering. He heard the sound of something boiling and something else sizzling and started to wonder what was cooking. Riku’s steps subconsciously sped up, and he only stopped once he passed through the open door to the kitchen.

He was surprised for the second time in the hour. The cook was somebody he didn’t expect to meet here: Florez Chiaki. She was a former American citizen before being taken in by the Shinosaki family as a servant after her parents died and became a naturalized Japanese. Despite being half-Hispanic and half-Japanese in ethnicity, she somewhat disliked Mexican and Japanese cuisines. Instead, she had an unhealthy obsession with Chinese food. In her own words, “Everyone at school back in America thought I was Chinese anyways.” She and Riku were of the same age and even had the same birthday. Needless to say, they got along well.

Riku tapped on her shoulder and said, “I thought you were in Okinawa?”

Chiaki jumped in surprise, but when she realized it was Riku, she revealed a smile. “I was. But I decided to come back once I heard you were coming here. I can’t let my position as your personal chef be for nothing, right? Plus, I like Grandma.”

Chiaki saying that she liked Grandma was an understatement. Riku knew that Chiaki practically thought of Kikue as her own grandmother, and Kikue treated Chiaki as if she was her own granddaughter.

Riku nodded before asking, “What about Sena and Xiaoya? Did they come here too?”

Shinosaki Sena was Riku’s adopted sister and Li Xiaoya was an employee of the Shinosaki family. They were on the same trip to Okinawa as Chiaki.

Chiaki shook her head. “No, they’re still there.”

“As they should be. Vacations are good,” Riku said, totally ignoring the fact that he himself hated vacations.

“Ahaha. I get a bit restless when I’m away from the kitchen for too long. I honestly like cooking for you and Grandma much more than the beaches.” Chiaki smiled. A moment later, she seemed to have realized something; her mouth formed the shape of an “O.”

“Ah! You distracted me!” she pouted, looking extremely cute. “I was going to take the noodles out. They’re a bit overdone because of you. Go. Shoo, shoo. Grandma’s reading in the dining room. Don’t bother me until I’m done.”

Riku chuckled and started to walk away. He slid open the door to the dining room, stepping in.

“Hey, Grandma! What’re you reading?”

His grandmother’s back was facing the sliding door, so he couldn’t see what book she was reading. He peered over her shoulder and found that he recognized it.

Kikue was holding a tablet that was playing a popular young children’s anime, “Magical Girl☆Pretty Sparkle.” She seemed to be enjoying it.

Riku stopped in his tracks.

“Oh this?” she said, without taking off her earbuds, “I was curious about the anime you love so much and decided to watch for myself. It’s good. I see why you like it.”

The opening theme started to play, and Riku heard his 153 year old grandmother humming along to it.

“Grandma… I don’t know how I should say this, but that’s an anime meant for girls younger than ten…” Riku’s words trailed off.

Kikue nodded before speaking, “I still have the heart of a child, you know? Look at me. I don’t look a day over seventy, don’t I?”

Riku was speechless.

She continued, “It isn’t like they make anime meant for anyone over fifty, let alone anyone over a hundred and fifty, right? You tell me, what am I supposed to watch? You know, when you get as old as I am, a decade or so doesn’t really make too much of a difference. Anime made for ten year olds is the same as anime made for twenty year olds to me.” She patted his shoulder and went back to humming along to the opening song.

Riku couldn’t think of any words to refute what she said. In fact, when he thought about it a bit more, he realized that she wasn’t exactly wrong. There really wasn’t much of a difference being 153 or 163 or even 173 provided that one’s cultivation was high enough. Riku still felt that something was off, but Riku then realized it really wasn’t any of his business what anime his grandmother liked to watch and decided to drop the topic.

In the end, Riku asked to use one of the earbuds and joined his grandmother in humming along to the anime’s opening theme. Well, actually, he sang the vocals; he knew the entire song’s lyrics by heart.

To be fair, the song was pretty catchy… It wasn’t like he actually liked Magical Girl☆Pretty Sparkle; he was much too old… And he definitely did not donate a few thousand spirit stones to help fund the second season… Now that was just unthinkable.