Chapter 8: Her

Ranmaru followed Tousui through the Yamanote streets, until they arrived at a large house, the property walls of which sectioned off an entire block. As an extra bit of wealth display, the gate to the home was made of iron, with a guard standing to one side.

Tousui’s hand shot out, stopping Ranmaru while they were still a few metres from the entrance.

“I just remembered something that might be important,” Tousui said, his voice a hushed whisper as he made sure no one was in hearing range. “Muraji... well, he has his temple papers, and insists his investigations into Christianity were only ever about gaining trust from western traders, along with a general love of the exotic, but... well, he did pick up that European disdain for love between men. So there must be no hints to our actual relations.”

Ranmaru nodded. “Sure. I can handle that.”

It wasn’t exactly a challenge, his emotional attachment to Tousui was far less than the other man’s for him.

Tousui lit up with a smile at the reply, and headed off to the gate once again. Ranmaru followed quietly, wearing a polite expression for the guard. They were both let in with little hassle and led to the main house. Waiting at the entrance, the guard announced their arrival, and their host appeared a moment later.

“Ah, young master Akado,” the man said, a smile on his face. He looked firmly past 30 to Ranmaru’s eyes, but had the sort of face that looks better for a little age. Not unattractive, in theory, but something about him put Ranmaru on edge. “I did not realise you were bringing a friend?”

“Mei Ranmaru, a dabbling artist, and I apologise for intruding,” Ranmaru said, bowing enough to be polite. “I assist Tousui with his poetry interests, and had heard you might have some foreign curiosities to see. I was deeply intrigued and asked him to bring me.”

“Ah, a fellow lover of the exotic?” Muraji asked, his face lighting up. “I’m always happy to have visitors who can appreciate my collections. Please, do come in!”

“Thank you,” Ranmaru replied, slipping off his geta and heading in.

The man led the duo into a large room, a table with some zabuton cushions arranged around it in the middle. That wasn’t what held Ranmaru’s eye, however. The walls had paintings hanging on them, some Chinese, some Indian, but most were European. Small display stands were also set up, showing off a variety of instruments from distant lands. There was even a bookshelf full of writings in foreign scripts.

“An impressive collection,” Ranmaru said, staring at one of the European paintings. The depth of colour in European paintings had always impressed him, the few times he’d seen them before.

“You’ve got a good eye. The Dutchman who sold me that one wanted a small fortune for it,” Muraji replied. “I’ll be happy to discuss things in greater depth when negotiations are finished.”

Ranmaru nodded and took a seat at the table beside Tousui. The young samurai was looking quite pale, and seemed to be working on taking control of his breathing. Muraji took a seat across from them, before a smile grew on his face.

“You know, I think we can have one more treat before we start. Something a bit more fun than tea,” the man said, giving a clap that summoned a guard. “Tell Asa to bring us some wine.”

The guard nodded and hurried off, while the two guests were left confused.

“Wine? Isn’t that alcoholic?” Tousui asked. “S-surely that should be saved for after?”

“It’s far weaker than saké, don’t worry, young Master Akado.”

Tousui muttered a barely audible apology while trying to shrink into his own lanky frame. 

Ranmaru had his own suspicions about just how much alcohol might be in the foreign drink, and their host’s motivations, but all that exited his mind when, a moment later, she entered the room. 

The young woman, surely the ‘Asa’ Muraji had mentioned, had her hair up in a Chinese style, though with two braided strands of hair running down either side of her face. Beads and jewels of some exotic sort decorated her hairstyle, enough to catch the eye, but not enough to distract from her face. Her skin was a deep tan that Ranmaru associated with those of southern Japan, but her rosy cheeks reminded him more of those who lived in the cold mountains back home. 

Her eyes stole the show, though. Dark as midnight, they were also filled with a loneliness that broke Ranmaru’s heart. What could have happened to her, to lead to eyes with so much sorrow?

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“You really do have a refined taste for the exotic, Mr. Mei,” Muraji said, shaking Ranmaru from his trance. “Asa is the greatest prize in all my collection.”

“I did not mean to stare,” Ranmaru replied as quickly as he could, scrambling from the table to give a respectful bow. 

“If I wanted to hide her I’d have never called her out to serve our wine,” Muraji replied. “I paid that Portuguese trader enough for her... it would be a waste to never show her off.”

Ranmaru nodded, feeling his heart quicken a bit as Asa leaned closer to pour his and Tousui’s wine. 

“Th-thank you,” Ranmaru said, getting only a slight bow from her as she left the wine bottle and retreated back from the room.

Tousui, for his part, had downed the wine glass in one gulp, no doubt to steal his nerves. “She seems shy.”

“She’s still a little nervous about men,” Muraji replied. “I... how familiar are you two with Chinese folklore?”

“Passingly?” Tousui said, blushing a bit, while eyeing the bottle of wine.

“I know a bit more than average,” Ranmaru offered.

“Have you heard of the ‘Women’s Kingdom?” Muraji asked.

Ranmaru nodded. “It was mentioned in the Journey to the West, but I thought it to be a myth, or at least lost to history?”

“The Chinese assured themselves of the same,” Muraji replied, laughing a bit. “Then some young captain, fresh off reading that story, decided to send out some patrols to make sure the Nuguo had truly vanished. Only to discover a smattering of villages up in the mountains. Needless to say, a culture without men is an affront to civilised peoples, especially the Confucianists in China, so they decided to clean up the issue. I didn’t dig into the specifics of the campaign, but they were apparently quite successful, imprisoning most of them and scattering the rest.

“Asa and her companions had ended up near Macau, and a local Portuguese trader decided to buy the lot of them immediately. Had some strange conviction they’d all be warriors of exceptional strength for whatever reason... he tried selling the weaker ones back, but the Chinese had little interest in them. I found him in another port, where he was trying desperately to sell off the more delicate women, and she caught my eye,” Muraji continued, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Of course, as the beauty of the group she was running for a bit higher of a price, but my silver won out in the end. Now I get the pleasure of taming her to the norms of civilised men. After all, the best beauty is that which takes a little effort. Most Japanese women are a little too passive, so I’m glad I found a challenge.”

Ranmaru forced his eyes down, to study the wine glass in front of him. Fine, and almost certainly a western import. A show of wealth that couldn’t hold the anger rising in his stomach. He didn’t know what angered him the most out of all the things he’d heard, but he felt it all directing itself towards Muraji. How a man could tell such a harrowing tale in so light a tone, Ranmaru couldn’t begin to guess.

What the calmer part of his mind could guess, though, was how low his odds of survival were if he tried to strike the man before him. Whatever his gut was saying, all expressing his anger would manage would, likely, be his own death and no change in the world. 

The only option available was to provide the strongest support he could to Tousui’s negotiation efforts, an order of business Muraji moved on to with barely a moment’s hesitation. Muraji was looking for a wide range of supplies from Tousui’s father for the next expedition of his red seal ships. Tousui, for his part, seemed convinced alcohol would help his nerves, only to become weaker willed with each glass he drank. Ranmaru found himself effectively replacing the young samurai’s spine, doubling down on the positions Tousui’s father had instructed, and gaining glares from Muraji for it.

As much as the trader’s collection of foreign art drew Ranmaru’s eye, a man with so little compassion in his heart was one Ranmaru had no interest in spending time near. Thus, Ranmaru worried little about the possibility he might be burning a bridge with the man.

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Finally, the negotiations were finished. Ranmaru helped a rather drunk Tousui to his feet, and the pair headed to the exit, a guard showing them the way. As they paused to pull their shoes on, Asa poked her face out from one of the nearby rooms in the house. Ranmaru found himself locking eyes with her, and tried to express whatever compassion he could with only a look. What could he say to a woman who had truly lost everything?

To his surprise, the slightest smile appeared on her face, before she vanished back into the room. Despite it having lasted only a moment, almost short enough to make Ranmaru wonder if he’d imagined it, the image would not leave his mind as he walked Tousui through the bustling streets of Edo.

Ranmaru had seen many beautiful women, living in Yoshiwara as he did. He could guiltily admit that a few had caught his eye before, but this was something more. He could feel his heart beating in his chest again as he made sure a rambling Tousui made it home. 

Having taken Tousui’s payment for his time, Ranmaru headed home, and tried to shake the image out of his head. Love was a dangerous, sometimes deadly, thing for an oiran. He couldn’t dare risk it.

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