This was a small village by the sea. It wasn't large; in fact, one could even call it tiny.
The villagers made their living by fishing. On the rare occasions they had a bountiful harvest, they would trade their surplus fish for salt and clothing. Though life was arduous, they managed to get by.
One day, a child found an exquisitely crafted porcelain pot in the wilderness. It was stunning, its body a pale bluish-white, with patterns as delicate as drifting clouds.
The villagers all assumed it was part of some Daimyo's collection. The child, Saburo, was an orphan; his parents had perished in a shipwreck while fishing years ago. It was the village that had raised him. Everyone was kind to him; every piece of clothing he wore was a patchwork of stitches from different neighbors.
Saburo was a sensible boy. He didn't keep the pot for himself; instead, he told everyone about it, saying he wanted to use the money from selling it to help the whole village.
However, the village chief disagreed. He spoke to the assembled crowd:
"Half of the money from selling that pot must be set aside for young Saburo. He has no parents, and his house is falling apart. If he is to marry a wife in the future, he will need a significant sum. Saburo found that pot, so that money must be saved for his future family!"
The old village chief leaned on his cane, his expression firm, and the rest of the villagers readily agreed with his decision.
The older men clapped Saburo on the shoulder, laughing as they asked if he wanted to marry their daughters. The younger children followed him around, begging him to bring them back treats when he went to sell the pot. The women hid their smiles behind their hands, whispering among themselves as they cooked about which girl would be the best match for him.
Surrounded by everyone, Saburo felt a profound sense of happiness and gratitude for being part of such a community.
That night, the bonfire burned bright. Their shadows merged into one beneath the flames, and the sound of laughter mingled with the scent of grilled fish, creating an atmosphere so warm it made one drowsy.
But all that beauty shattered with a single, blood-curdling scream.
From the porcelain pot Saburo had brought back, a demon with an utterly bizarre visage emerged. With a cruel sneer, he used his tail to snap the village chief's neck instantly.
Before the people could even react, the demon had already slaughtered over a dozen men. Blood splattered across the beautiful porcelain, giving the once-exquisite vessel a sinister, haunting luster.
Many died that night. The girl Saburo secretly loved had her heart pierced by the monster. Uncle Kenji, who had taught Saburo how to fish, and Aunt Hanako, who had treated him like her own child... they were all gone.
By the time Saburo finally snapped out of his shock, the only ones left in the village were himself and the sobbing children.
The monster crawling out of the pot grinned at Saburo and chirped playfully:
"Thank you so much If it weren't for you, I never would have found this village. But honestly, killing everyone here makes me feel a bit wasteful. After all, while I was inside the pot, I heard you all—you all thought my pot was beautiful, didn't you? Ahhh killing humans who appreciate my art... it truly is a depressing affair."
The demon continued to babble on, but Saburo could no longer hear him. His vision was clouded by a veil of red; everything he cared for had been ripped away.
Moving like a living corpse, he picked up a fallen hoe nearby and lunged desperately at Gyokko.
In the next moment, Saburo's consciousness began to fade into darkness. His abdomen had been pierced through. Through the bloody hole in his stomach, the last thing he saw was the crimson moon hanging in the sky.
Gyokko paid Saburo no further mind. He walked toward the children and began selecting "suitable" small hands. His favorite ingredients were these half-grown children.
Gyokko knew he had much to do. After eating the children, he needed to use the corpses of the villagers to create some works of art. The night was short, after all, and once the bodies began to rot, they wouldn't be as fun to work with.
As Gyokko worked with manic energy, a familiar figure suddenly flashed past one of the porcelain pots he had stationed in various large cities.
In addition to being exquisitely shaped and providing Muzan with significant financial income, Gyokko's pots also possessed a certain scouting ability. However, this ability was limited; if Gyokko was too far from a pot, he could no longer use its vision.
This time, Gyokko was in luck. He happened to spot the Hashira who had been ordered by Ubuyashiki Ikeda to head to Yoshiwara to support Rengoku Wajuro.
She had a head of silvery-white hair and a cold, piercing gaze. Her features were delicate, but a scar ran across the corner of her mouth, adding a touch of sharpness to her graceful face.
This was the current Roaring Hashira—Minami Nami.
The moment Gyokko's pot caught sight of her, Minami Nami also noticed the uniquely shaped vessel. A faint flash of purple lightning flickered in the corner of her eyes. She didn't stop to investigate, however, and continued her frantic pace.
To her, the scent of a demon was as conspicuous as a torch in the dark of night. Moreover, this scent was more intense than any demon she had encountered thus far! The thick, nauseating stench almost made her gag, but instead of being intimidated, her heart raced with growing excitement.
Meanwhile, the eyes embedded in Gyokko's grotesque flesh stared intently at the fleeting image on the pot's smooth surface. Even though the figure had only flashed by for a second, the sharp aura—one that made his scales stand on end—left Gyokko feeling exhilarated.
A twisted, ecstatic smile spread across his face.
"What a beautiful form! What power! This is top-tier material! If I can turn the lovely head and limbs of the Roaring Hashira into pot ornaments, it will surely be a supreme masterpiece! And if I remember correctly, Akaza is also near Yoshiwara lately, isn't he?
I don't know why he would suddenly head to such a place, but Lord Akaza always receives orders from Lord Muzan that the rest of us don't get. Ah~ how truly envious! But since I don't have Lord Muzan's favoritism, I must work even harder to earn it. Though I have no orders, as a fellow colleague, it should be quite natural for me to go and check on Lord Akaza's safety, shouldn't it?
Hee hee! I truly can't wait!"
Before his voice had even fully faded, Gyokko's body melted like wax, shrinking rapidly back into the blood-stained porcelain pot.
A moment later, the pot vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the carnage, the silence, and Saburo—lying in a pool of blood with a hole in his chest, staring vacantly at the blood moon.
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