NOTES: Sanada x Yanagi. AU. Ancient Japan, around the Edo period. Emotionally superior and physically inferior Yanagi. Over-protective Sanada. Light comic relief(?) Yukimura.
Dedicated to all tea lovers~
WARNINGS: Somewhat of a bland beginning. EXTENSIVE references to the Japanese tea ceremony. Heavy use of allusions and symbols.
Originally posted on LJ. DISCONTINUED PIECE.
Kunshi: Harmony
~和~
The cicadas' first aubade of the day awoke him at the break of dawn.
He sat up slowly on his futon. He remained in a cross-legged position, almost like he posed for meditation.
The cicadas' song that awakened his body before now shuffled through his foggy mind, searching for important reminders.
Today is Yanagi Renji's seventeenth birthday.
Morning would be an especially busy time.
"Yanagi-sama." A servant's call interrupted his meditation.
He rose to answer the door.
Sliding open the shoji door (1) that led to his room from the veranda, he received the package wrapped in sturdy brown paper from his servant's hands. It was a package from his sister, whose marriage carried her off to a distant land.
After dismissing his servant, he chose to seat himself at the edge of the veranda. He placed the package, slightly smaller than a sitting cushion, in his lap as his fingers went to undo the hemp ties holding it together.
There were two items he unwrapped. One, a neatly folded letter of rice paper and two, a brand new kimono made of dark, forest green silk. When he removed the letter, the embroidery at the bottom hem in the front of the kimono revealed itself to him. A single white lotus flower about the size of his palm blossomed in amid the green. His fingertips stroke at his sister's delicate needlework, at the travail threaded in each stitch.
Setting the package aside, he unfolded the letter. Like the embroidery that delivered his sister's consideration, every word clearly conveyed his sister's care for him. She wished him a happy birthday. She inquired about his health, about the tea practice he inherited from their father. Finally, she ended the letter with a mere two lines insufficiently disclosing her situation to him.
"Summer here in the south is especially merciless. Though, I quite enjoy the scent of cacao the wind has carried to us from a nearby tea plantation." (2)
He smiled. This was the woman who cared for him in their mother's absence. This was the woman who comforted him after their father followed their mother to the afterworld. Her presence which possessed the letter so heavily was like his first cup of tea in the morning. It energized him, warmed his insides. He thought it almost healed the sequela that resulted from his congenital heart defect. Almost.
Nevertheless, it strengthened his resolve to welcome the new day.
…
He begins his day with a cleansing ritual in the furoba (3). The washcloth's rough texture scrubs yesterday's residues off his skin. He carefully avoided the healing scab below his left collarbone, his mind also steering clear of the memory associated with this wound.
Afterwards, dressed in his new kimono, he strolled along the narrow verandato arrive at his tea room.
His servants already completed the preparations for the early morning tea ceremony. The tea setup laid out on the tatami floor became a map he looked down upon. The fresh water from the mountain springs the servants retrieved only yesterday heated and kept warm in the chanoyugama (4) sitting on top of the portable brazier.
Confirming that the tea utensils stationed themselves in the proper positions in the proper alignment, Renji diverted his attention to a certain corner of the room.
Arriving before the tokonoma (5), he first picked up the scroll he set there yesterday. Unrolling it, he revealed the two kanji characters the calligraphy brush painted on the white paper in black ink.
"Kunshi (6)." It read. "Gentleman."
Someone deemed him to be so. He could still remember the day that certain youth had presented him with this as the product of his strenuous calligraphy practice. He also remembered the other's look of wobbling determination as embarrassment colored his cheeks when he made his confession to him.
With hands trembling slightly with anticipation and nostalgia, he hung the calligraphy scroll on the wall.
Kneeling down, he examined the vase with a narrow mouth. Its color represented the shiny morning dew that reflected and lightened the green of the lily pad on which it rested. Someone else handcrafted this; an inexperienced potter. Areas of unevenness and imperfection scattered throughout the pottery. Yet, the glaze of dedication and effort emitted a light that outshined experienced craftsmanship. In his eyes, it was as perfect as the calligraphy scroll.
He carefully inserted a single stem of a blossomed white chrysanthemum he recovered from his garden earlier into the mouth of the vase.
There, he finalized the preparations of his morning tea ceremony.
He rooted himself near the guest entrance to the tea room to meditate, waiting patiently for the arrival of his guests.
Not long after, the rustling of grass in the garden announced the arrival of his guests. The trickling of water at the tsukubai (7)sounded the purification process preparing their entrance.
Eventually, they leave their footwear and enter the tight space crawling through the nijiriguchi (8). The act humbles them, disregarding their status, and prepares their presence as an equal to all who sit inside.
He greeted his first guest. "Good morning, Seiichi."
The bluenet who entered beamed at him. "Good morning, indeed. Happy birthday, Renji."
"Thank you." A modest smile demonstrated his gratitude to his friend.
Then, Seiichi crept up to the tokonoma and contributed to the vase, a single stem of flower he picked from the pond of his own garden—a blossomed white lotus.
He allowed himself to admire the other's work before greeting his next guest.
"Good morning, Genichirou."
"Aa. Happy birthday, Renji." Unlike Seiichi, Genichirou hardly fit a smile into the grim line between his lips. It was the image he established as a warlord of solid character, his expression invariably serious and stern.
Yet, as they looked at each other now, he noticed the subtle tenderness the other dedicated to him in his gaze. The youth from his memory had contributed the same gaze to him in his confession.
"Thank you."
The young warlord moved to the tokonoma to make his contribution as well. The stick of young bamboo he lowered into the mouth of the vase completed the display (9). Beside him, Seiichi nudged at Genichirou's arm with his elbow and pointed at the calligraphy hanging on the wall.
Seiichi winked. Genichirou glared, fighting the turbulence of blood rushing to his face.
Finally, when Renji positioned himself sitting on his knees before the tea setup, the two joined him too. Seiichi and Genichirou seated themselves beside one another, their eyes clearly capturing their host's serene side profile as he initiated the morning tea ceremony.
After cleansing the black ceramic tea bowl and the bamboo tea whisk, he proceeded to uncover the natsume (10) . Taking the bamboo tea scoop, he delivered two scoops of the vibrant green powder into the warm tea bowl. He added the water heated to specific warmth and whisked the mixture.
Seiichi picked up the final concoction he set on the floor and paused to sniff the product's aroma. He drank, sipping thrice. He then placed the bowl down before Genichirou.
His friend accepted the bowl, turning it once on the flat of his palm and sipped the tea ceremoniously.
The bowl of matcha finally returned to its maker, who drank the remains of the green concoction down to the final drop. At the cycle's end, Renji cleansed the bowl and whisk once more.
His two guests chose to speak at that time.
"It sure had a lovely smell." Seiichi commented. "It tasted wonderful too. The mellow flavor of chrysanthemum harmonized with the flavor of the tea quite well."
Genichirou nodded solemnly in agreement. "Also, you used Shizuoka matcha instead of the usual matcha from Uji, correct? "
Truly, he had taken into consideration Uji matcha's intense flavor and and scent when he synthesized the new tea powder. It would overpower the mildness of the chrysanthemum blossoms. Thus, he added the milder Shizuoka matcha powder instead.
Renji smiled. "You are as sharp as ever. As expected of my lord."
"Though he is only sharp and observant when it comes to certain things…involving a certain someone." Seiichi added impishly.
The bluenet stood, skillfully dodging the glare projected in his direction as the counterattack for his innocuous tease. He traded places with the Tea Master.
Kneeling down before the tea utensils, Seiichi produced the bundle he carried in with him. Long, delicate fingers untied the knot of the dark cloth to reveal its contents-a can of matcha and a tea bowl.
Seiichi held up the tea bowl, showing off the precious item. "Look, Renji. I made this for you~"
Both Renji and Genichirou leaned forward from their seats to have a better look.
The pottery piece provoked familiarity. Renji immediately recognized it to be a descendant of the vase he used for his flower arrangements today-an additional tribute to the morning dew in green hue.
Setting down the tea vessel, Seiichi carefully uncapped the matcha can. At that instant, the Tea Master's sensitive nostrils caught the ethereal scent produced from the blossom that became the tea's unique companion in this session.
"Seiichi…"
The other only winked and smiled knowingly. "Don't get too excited, Renji…"
Then, proceeding in the same steps he had before him, Seiichi prepared his own special blend of matcha, mixing his style of grace into his agile movements.
He presented the final mixture to his confidants.
Renji took the chance to examine the tea bowl more closely now, fingertips tracing every small flaw dotingly as someone passionately pledging himself to the perfection of imperfections. Only when satisfied did he sip from the bowl and pass it along.
Genichirou drank. Afterwards, he returned the bowl.
"Well?" The bluenet urged.
"You have raised your flowers well." Genichirou commented.
"Of course. It's what I do, you know." The mischief and pride in his voice blended together as agreeably as his matcha concoction.
"One could almost isolate the individual pink specks floating upon the tea green like the blossoms suspended on the pond surface." The Tea Master praised sincerely. "Yours is truly a masterpiece." (11)
"Okay. I'll resign from my position as Medicine Master and become a Tea Master instead." The other folded his arms at his chest, pretending to mull over the idea.
"Or you can resign from your position as Medicine Master and become a Pottery Master instead. You do seem to possess some talent in that area." Renji said with a straight face. And he might as well be a Jest Master, for there were times neither of his confidants could tell his banters from his serious statements.
The tea ceremony progressed further as both Seiichi and Genichirou stood to change places.
When the young warlord placed himself solemnly before the tea setup, he reached inside the collar of his dark kimono for the matcha of his own creation.
The whisk his friend had taught him to use in the past became now a sword. He curled his fist around its hilt. He constructed his tea ceremony to be his battlefield, a place where he openly displayed his relentless might and sharp stealth.
With the gentleness contrasting greatly against his previous furious conduct, he placed the bowl containing his finished work before them. The black chawan he chose darkened the contents inside and the froth stuck together to form a scenery of a nighttime bamboo forest.
His two companions shared the drink.
"It's very Genichirou, ne?" Seiichi chuckled. "It's strong, like aged wine. So this is the character you've been hiding beneath your rigidity all this time."
"It seems you outdid yourself this time, my lord." Rare mischief goaded lightly at the corner of his lips.
"Aa. Perhaps." The subject of their tease crossed his arms, accepting the comments in a nonchalant manner. The few years of fitting into the role of warlord made him somewhat into a well-composed person. Yet, they all knew his childish awkwardness still lurked in the shadow of his character.
Genichirou pivoted himself around in his seat to face them. He bowed his gratitude.
They returned the gesture, formally ending the morning tea ceremony.
"And, as for my present to you…" His eyes darted to the nijiriguchi. "Akaya."
The compact door opened to his call. A figure crawled in.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Brushing himself off, the newcomer, a youth with messy, seaweed-like hair, presented himself proudly.
The warlord seemed unsatisfied with his reckless display. He frowned, brows knitting. "Mind your manners, Akaya."
Akaya looked to his master in defeat.
"Okay, okay. Hai, my name is Kirihara Akaya. I am honored to be at your service." He bowed half-heartedly in Renji's direction.
Slight displeasure wrinkled the space between his brows. "Genichirou…"
"He will be your bodyguard from now on." The warlord announced his decision the same way he resolved conferences with his retainers. His words were law. And laws were meant to be obeyed.
"I have no need for such." Only, he dared to challenge him.
His other friend cut in before Genichirou rebuked. "Of course you do, Renji. There is no way we're letting anything else happen to you."
He clutched down at the clothing material at his thighs to prevent his hand from wandering to the wound at his chest. Seiichi's words became a fingernail scraping at his scab. The prickling pain reminded him of that certain day's events.
…
On the night of the young warlord's birthday, Sanada Genichirou had invited his two confidants to enjoy performances at the theater. Genichirou also held special reservations for front row seats.
He lost himself in the dreamy court music, in the festive costumes, in the mesmerizing dances.
That was why, he did not expect the following calamity.
The spinning red figures on stage hypnotized him a bit. Perhaps his dizziness became apparent.
A performer on stage glided in his direction, pulling a blade from the umbrella handle she held. She hurled herself at him, plunging the blade into his chest.
Everything had been sudden, unannounced. Everyone froze the moment the performer stroke. No one knew such a thing would happen.
Genichirou had been the first to recover, his warrior instincts possessing him. He drew his katana from the straps of his hakama, delivering two lightning-like consecutive slashes: one, carving a deep gash diagonally across the woman's torso, and another, vertically, breaking her mask into two perfect halves.
The assassin's scream of agony awoke the audience from their daze. Everyone else awoke from their trance, and scattered about in a muddle.
Seiichi sprang from his seat then too. He laid him down quickly, covering his wound with pressure directly from his hand. The Medicine Master yelled for their guards in disguise, his voice never before so desperate to his ears.
He could no longer tell the color of his own essence of life from the bright, crimson costumes of the performers as they rushed off stage to crowd around them like the rest of the audience. As he stared up to the dark, wooden columns supporting the ceiling, he wondered how he was able to remain so calm when all he wanted to do was to scream, to bawl, at the pain, the intense, torturous pain that did not even allow him to take a single breath.
He gasped unsuccessfully for air.
The shadows of the columns he saw morphed into his deceased parents' figures. He thought he saw his gentle father take pity on him and cover his eyes with his hands, encouraging him to rest, to forget about the day's misfortune.
He obeyed.
Though the performer's high, shrill laughter disrupted him at first.
"You murdered my beloved! I will make you feel the same pain!"
Unconsciousness drowned out her mad laughter and his companions' calls.
…
It was not until he awoke again bandaged up and laying on his futon that he found the reason for the assassination attempt at the theater.
At first, the Medicine Master waved him off half-heartedly, insisting he rest instead of placing importance in the trivial matter. Renji noticed dim detest turn the other's eyes into gelid pools of blue; the assassin must be suffering Seiichi's wrath in the domain of his mind. Yet, that still did not stop him from seeking the answer he desired.
Finally giving in, Seiichi sighed and began his explanation.
He told him of the story Genichirou obtained after inquiring the other performers, one who had been a confidant of the female assassin. Everything started a year ago, when the young warlord had conquered a small neighboring province. The warlord there committed seppuku after he failed to defend his own land. The performer who attacked him was one of the warlord's concubines who got picked up by the crew when they were traveling. She ended up living in shame all this time just so she could one day avenge her husband.
"Well, I guess that's why they say, 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned (12).'" Seiichi shrugged. "But, as much as I hate to admit, that woman was pretty smart. She learned well from her loss. She understood physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain. That was why she did not target Genichirou."
Seiichi looked down at him in regret.
"That was why she chose you to be her victim."
Regret sank and mischief rose in his expression as he continued.
"But then, it's really not your fault either. Genichirou should really be blamed for being such a love-sick fool. He just couldn't be any more obvious, stealing looks at you the whole time during the performance."
Before he could reply, the fusuma door (13) opened with a frantic shove.
The subject of their conversation stormed to his bedside, sinking down on the tatami floor across from Seiichi.
"Renji, how do you feel?" His speech matched his entrance's urgency.
His eyebrows lifted in amusement to the other's extraneous edginess. "I'm fine, Genichirou."
Yet, his comforting words had little effect. The other's hands closed to tight fists pushing against his thighs. He hung his head like a child realizing his transgression and apologized for not being able to foresee the assassination.
From the futon, Renji could see conflicting emotions twist his face. Regret. Shame. Anger. Pain.
As he peered at the other's face, he wondered if any of the emotions he displayed was due to the fact that he had caused such a separation between wife and husband.
The answer presented itself soon enough.
He saw the other's eyes harden, almost becoming the ambers he compared them to timelessly. "There won't be a next time. I swear with my life."
In the other's eyes, he sees his figure to be the only reflection. It reminded him of an amber specimen he saw once at an antique shop where a single flower was preserved in the million-year-old hardened tree sap like a piece of memory. He wondered if he, like the flower, would become the memory that the other preserves in the depths of his amber-like eyes.
Only time will be able to answer such a question.
…
Renji accepted Genichirou's present.
At the end of the little morning birthday celebration, they each returned to tend to their individual duties and responsibilities,
Night.
The cicadas' symphony ended, allowing the crickets to sing life to sleep with their serene serenade.
He sat at the edge of the veranda like he did in the morning, gazing out to the night garden. Renji was not alone this time, however. Genichirou came back; he provided him with company.
They watched the fireflies in the garden descend down on the leaves and flowers like fluorescent snowflakes.
He felt himself to be in the perfect moment for a poem recitation:
A cluster of summer trees,
A bit of the sea,
A pale evening moon. (14)
Renji trailed off after the last word, seemingly unsatisfied with such a poem. He muttered, "But where did the fireflies belong?"
His companion glanced at him, then turned back to the scenery before them. He answered his rhetorical question quietly. "They belong right here, right now."
Silence. They both understood the meaning of those words.
A moment later, Renji chose to speak again. "It has been two years."
"Aa."
It's been two years since both of their fathers passed on to the after world. A coincidence? Perhaps. Genichirou's father always commented on how the tea Renji's father made served as their connection. It was not only the tea he consumed; it was friendship, it was the essence of life, down to the very last drop. So, when his father passed, Genichirou's father became deprived of friendship, deprived of the essence of life. The deprivation the man experienced could only be resolved, only be cured, if he followed the connection he established in his life. That connection, in death.
Ever since then, on their birthdays, they would sit here to reminisce the past, their past, their childhood.
He could still see the shadows of their past selves chase one another in the garden.
Their initial meeting was like the first harvest of tea. The friendship they established became the shincha (15) processed in the tea harvest. Through the years, their friendship evolved into something else, like shincha left alone in storage in time loses its initial simple, one-dimensional flavor of youth.
As the tea developed to a richer, more complex flavor, their friendship also progressed. The time they spent in each other's company reading, tasting tea, playing go, playing shogi, practicing calligraphy, taking long walks, touring the city wrapped their friendship in a tight cocoon of possibilities.
The result: a rainbow butterfly that every person chased in the garden of his life, but only few manage to capture. They captured it and hid it. No one should know about its existence. It would draw Envy's attention, and it hunted hungrily for rainbow butterflies.
Now, when Genichirou requested to see the progress of his wound, he sees not only the innocent concern from a friend. There was something more. He also witnessed the lust carefully hidden under embarrassment when he pulled back his yukata and revealed his skin to him.
The other grimaced as if the wound was inflicted upon him instead. "Does it hurt?"
His calloused fingertips dabbed at the scab sedulously.
He shook his head. "It is fine. If you do not have faith in the speed of my recovery, at least have faith in Seiichi's skills in healing."
Genichirou nodded firmly. "Aa."
Under the moonlight, the shadows of their childhood dissipated, becoming their shadows now, merging together in solid union.
END NOTES:
First, congratulations for making it this far~ I admire your determination.
Then, to the explanations...
(1) A sliding outer or inner door made of a latticed screen covered with white [rice] paper (source: Oxford Online dictionary).
(2) The place that Yanagi's sister is writing from is Kagoshima, a place where tea agriculture is important. It is the second largest producer of unprocessed tea after Shizuoka Prefecture. The cacao smell she described refers to the scent of the Kagoshima Oolong tea.
(3) - The traditional Japanese bathroom, with a wash area and one or more soaking tubs. Does not include the commode. (source: TV Tropes)
(4) - Iron pot or kettle. It is used to heat up the water used for the ceremony. (source: Japanese-tea-ceremony dot net)
(5) - An alcove or built-in recessed space for the artistic display of calligraphy and flower arrangements.
(6) - "Kunshi" translates to "a wise person", "a gentleman" or "a person of virtue." In Chinese, it refers to someone who is enthusiastic about learning and becoming knowledgeable. It is significant because it is said that the relationships that a kunshi establishes in his lifetime is as mellow and mild as water. That is not necessarily a bad thing. Just like how water is the best thirst quencher, the friends that a kunshi makes in his lifetime will be his best supporters during his times of need.
(7) A water basin which is found near the tea house. Guests use the tsukubai and an oversized ladle to rinse their hands and mouths in a ritualistic manner, more for a sense of purification instead of actual physical cleanliness. The water is warmed in winter, cool in summer. (source: )
(8) The guests' door into the tea house. It is purposefully placed above ground, and is less than three feet tall. After taking off their shoes, all the guests have to crawl into the room, regardless of social standing, in a manner reminiscent of the fetal position. This accentuates the distinction between the tearoom and the outside world. (source: )
(9) - In China, the bamboo, lotus and chrysanthemum are the "kunshi" of plants.
(10) - Container usually made of lacquered or untreated wood; it contains the matcha that will be used in the tea ceremony. (source: Japanese-tea-ceremony dot net)
(11) - The way the troika act in the tea room is how people who occupy the tea room should act. They comment and praise the small perfections of the tea ceremony. They place heavy importance in small talk. Those are what create the peace of such environment.
(12) - Originally from William Congreve's play, The Mourning Bride. The complete quote is: "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
(13) Opaque doors usually painted with scenery of nature such as mountains, forests or animals. (source: Wikipedia)
(14) Enshiu said the idea of the garden path was to be found in the following verses. (source: Kakuzo Okakura's "Book of Tea")
(15) - Literally, "new tea." It is the very first harvest of the year which is packaged and put up for immediate sale. (source: o-cha)
Lesson of the day: Perfection is an obsession. Writing and editing this chapter taught me this...the hard way.