A shower of rain enveloped the earth in a blanket of white. On the path from Hakusan Mountain to Miyako Port, a few gray-white bamboo hats danced.
Everyone was busy rushing to take shelter from the rain, but he was the only one holding his hand on the scabbard and watching every pedestrian he met.
Of course, this vigilance was not noticed by pedestrians.
After all, this is a countryside far away from Kanazawa City of the Kaga Domain. To paraphrase the lyrics of the local Noh drama:
“The people in this city are simple and honest;
The door is not closed at night,
The group of thieves has become extinct. "
Rainwater invades the bamboo hat.
Fujiwara wiped the raindrops from his forehead, his blue eyes filled with the heroic spirit of a young man.
The cross lantern in front of him, symbolizing the identity of a believer, disappeared.
That precious paper lantern came to Kaga with the brother and sister from Osaka without shelter from the wind and rain.
This time, it was obviously not blown away by the wind.
Half an hour ago, the lantern, along with the corpses of three ronin, were thrown into the river in the castle town.
I don’t know where it is drifting now.
"Fujiwara, without the sign of the cross, how are you going to take the Zhuin Ship back to Jakarta?"
Half an hour ago, on the outskirts of Kanazawa City, Fujiwara Kyouji carefully wiped the human blood off the ether sword and did not immediately answer this question.
He walked west along the river until he saw the white mountains emitting white smoke.
Has White Mountain erupted again?
During the Nara period (710-794), people believed that magma was a will-o'-the-wisp from hell. In order to appease the anger of the gods, girls would be thrown into the crater of the volcano regularly as sacrifices.
Sacrifice will always be there. Aren’t they, the Catholics who were shogunate, also a kind of sacrifice?
When he was ten years old, his father left a bag of gold coins and disappeared from Fujiwara's world.
Then, a rouge merchant appeared and came to pester Fujiwara's mother from time to time.
When their mother was away, this fat businessman, who looked like the Maitreya Buddha in the shrine, would tell the Fujiwara siblings about his experiences in various parts of Japan.
Sometimes, while talking, he put his hands on his sister...
The Hakusan volcano between the Kaga and Nagasaki clans erupts every two years.
Baishan villagers depend on this volcano for their livelihood.
"Can you make a living from a volcanic eruption? Do villagers buy and sell magma?"
That was Fujiwara's first murder.
There is nothing that cannot be bought and sold in Osaka Castle.
After all, Osaka Castle is called "the kitchen of the world." This does not mean that all Osaka businessmen are engaged in the food industry, but that it can supply the world's needs.
"Idiot! Magma? Who will buy that thing?"
The rouge merchant stared at the eight-year-old Chiyoko and said with a leer:
"It's dust. The volcanic dust suspended in the air is more valuable than the spices in Java."
"Red Mao Yi bastard, I have volcanic dust here, go back and ask your mother to buy some, and go to Yanliu Lane to pick up guests..."
~~~
Fujiwara looked at the white smoke rising in the distance, and his thoughts returned to the present.
He began to imagine the stooped Iori struggling to collect volcanic ash in the crater.
Iori is her mother's best friend, someone she can trust for her whole life.
Both of them grew up in Baishan Village. When Iori went to Osaka for medical treatment, Akun used half of his savings to hire a doctor for her.
"Is my sister okay in Baishan? I hope she has left before the volcano erupts."
Volcanic ash floats like cotton wool under the gloomy sky, making the overcast weather even more gloomy.
Hearing the thunder, Fujiwara finally felt uneasy and walked toward the white smoke despite the heavy rain.
From time to time he looked back at the vast rain curtain behind him.
Fortunately, no one caught up.
The body of the ronin will be discovered soon.
The samurai and village officials in Kanazawa Castle Town would explore and inquire about them all the way and chase them out of the city.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after tomorrow, the shrewd and capable Shogun Hawk Dog can catch up with him.
The hybrid is very skilled, and the little etheric sword is extremely sharp, but it is no match for fire blunderbuss and bows and arrows.
Thinking of this, Fujiwara endured the pain in his arm and accelerated his pace towards the hillside.
This is a land full of sin.
Earthquakes, volcanoes, murders, and famines cycle through the seasons and come on time.
Here are the most brutal tyrants, the most treacherous businessmen, and the most hypocritical people in the world.
An ordinary person walking in Edo, Osaka or Kanazawa Castle behind him will encounter many samurai who like to wear swords and test their swords on living people.
Fujiwara looked at the sulfur smoke gradually forming in the crater in front of him, imagining it as an evil god coming to the world.
He just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.
I heard that in Jakarta, no one would rob a Catholic on the street.
Listening to his even breathing, he climbed up the mountainside in one breath and saw a faint sight of thatched houses in front of him.
The straw in the valley was covered with volcanic ash, and the forest on the mountainside was cleared.
There is no food or trees, so how do they make a living?
Could it be true that the villagers would sell volcanic dust as the rouge merchant he killed said?
Without time to think about it, Fujiwara closed his pocket tightly. He still had the last three gold coins, which were his last possessions.
Fujiwara has heard stories since he was a child about lone samurai being killed and robbed by peasants. The samurai's money would be robbed by the peasants, their armor would be stripped off and hidden in barns, and even their bodies would be chopped into pieces and fed to dogs.
Although you are not a samurai, when gold coins jingle in your pocket and you have to travel alone, you should be more careful.
Relying on the vague memories of his childhood, the mixed-race child finally knocked on the dilapidated firewood door of old woman Iori's house.
"Cough! Cough! Is it Mrs. Iori?"
Fujiwara covered his mouth and nose with his sleeves, feeling suffocated by the volcanic ash that filled the surrounding area.
There were sounds of activity in the house, followed by the sound of the old man coughing.
Fujiwara wiped his face vigorously with a wet cloth to ensure that the human blood just spattered was thoroughly washed away.
The firewood door creaked and opened from the inside.
The mixed-race man hid the short knife in his sleeve and looked at the old woman standing at the door with a smile.
The sharp blade in his sleeve almost fell out.
"Ms. Iori? Why do you look so young? I, I am Axun's son, passing by here..."
Not a single wrinkle could be seen on the old woman's charming cheeks, and the magic of time seemed to have completely failed on her.
"Ah, he is Chiyoko's brother, right? Come in quickly, the outside is full of cotton wool."
People in Baishan Village call volcanic dust cotton wool. Just like crops in the field, cotton wool will mature and wither every once in a while.
"Yes, the volcanic ash is the crops of Baishan. It's just that the crops were harvested too fast this year. Hahaha, your raincoat is already wet. Come and warm yourself by the fire."
Fujiwara Kyouji was welcomed into the inner room by an old woman who looked like a witch.
The strong aroma of herbs hit the face, and an old man with gray hair and beard sat beside the stove. He looked directly at the fire with his cloudy eyes. He looked deaf and mute.
"Old man! Chiyoko's brother is here! Akun's son! A half-breed from Osaka Castle!"
The old woman was full of energy, not at all like a village woman in her fifties or sixties, and her voice shook the thatched house trembling.
The deaf-mute old man nodded slightly towards the flames.
"Chiyoko? Are you looking for her? It's windy and rainy outside. Let's have some tea and rice before going for a walk. I'll take you with me later. Ah Xun's child is so big, wow. On rainy days, she might go to other places. The villagers’ homes.”
"That's really troublesome for you."
Fujiwara Kyouji kept bowing and apologizing, repeatedly telling Mrs. Iori that it was troublesome, troublesome.
He took off his coir raincoat and carefully placed it next to the fire to bake.
"It's really troublesome for you two. If I had known that your children were going to the temple to practice, I wouldn't have come in to trouble you."
Fujiwara kept bowing and apologizing. When he lowered his head, he accidentally caught a glimpse of two white grains of rice spilling out from under the cabinet next to the shrine opposite.
There were still wet marks on the passage leading to the backyard.
"The old man has been ill for a long time. He cannot be a village official. He has not been able to eat white rice for several years. He stays at home every day and waits for death. It is really embarrassing for you to see him like this..."
Mrs. Iori, who was dressed in plain clothes, chattered. After a while, she took out a cup of hot tea from the kitchen and handed it to Fujiwara Kyouji with a smile.
Fujiwara stood up quickly, raised his hands above his head, lowered his head and respectfully took the stoneware cup.
Iori stared at Fujiwara, waiting for the half-breed to drink the tea.
The deaf-mute old village official who had been sighing by the stove also stopped sighing and looked back at Fujiwara.
Fujiwara returned to his seat and suddenly stretched out his hand to pour the tea. The fire was extinguished by the water, making a gurgling sound.
A cloud of white smoke rose before his eyes.
Fujiwara slowly pulled out the short sword and stared at Iori's feet.
"It would be great if my mother was still alive, and my sister would not be deceived... Weren't you always at home? Why did your embroidered shoes get wet? Who gave you the rice? Tell me! Where is Chiyoko!"
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