Atop a Tree That Reaches the Clouds (10)

"Oh, big brother, it surprisingly loo... loo... No, it really doesn't suit you after all."

After hesitating a little, Old Man Gon ultimately came right out and said it.

So, what I was wearing now wasn't my usual clothes, but the sort of house clothes commonly worn in Fusang.

To me, they looked a lot like a jinbei.

The sleeves and trouser legs were both a breezy three-quarter length, and with the linen's feel against my skin, they made for an exceptionally cool outfit.

It had already been five days since I began staying at Old Man Gon's house, or perhaps I should say his dojo.

Mizuyo, one of the merfolk, had a story far too long to finish hearing in a day or two, and I had intended to visit her every day,

"Don't make a fuss. Stay here for a while. The guest room's empty anyway. In exchange, don't just listen to Mizuyo's stories—have a drink with me too."

Saying that, Old Man Gon had gladly let me stay.

But to Gon, a native of this country, my usual clothes must have looked terribly hot and stifling.

The other day, he told me that, at least while I was staying at the dojo, I ought to wear clothes from Fusang, and handed me this cool outfit.

I had worn this sort of clothing at Kaeha's dojo before, so I had no trouble putting it on.

Unfortunately, it seemed they didn't suit me very well.

Still, as long as I stayed inside the dojo, I didn't mind standing out a little. More importantly, it was easy to move in, so I liked it.

If I went outside, I'd have to find some way to adjust it.

"By the way, big brother, is Mizuyo's story interesting?"

Old Man Gon, who had been swinging a stick as though it were a spear in the garden, suddenly asked me that.

Of course, Mizuyo's story was fascinating.

She was knowledgeable, told her stories carefully, and, above all, had a beautiful, resonant voice.

Since speaking continuously tired her out, she told me a little at a time during the cool hours of the night, but over the course of this week, I had begun to grasp, if only vaguely, how Fusang came into being.

During the day, I did light training with Old Man Gon like this and looked around other dojos for clues about Yosogi Style, but I still found myself looking forward to the nights.

"I see. That's good to hear. Then, as your host, I'll tell you an interesting story too."

Grinning like a mischievous child, Old Man Gon leaned the stick against the wall and sat down on the veranda.

Wondering what story he meant, I sat beside him on the veranda.

"This dojo's the sort of place where anyone who wants to become a disciple is welcome, right? Well, the dojos in the Central Capital you've been visiting were probably all like that too."

That was true.

None of the dojos I had visited while searching for clues about Yosogi Style had an exclusionary atmosphere.

But that was probably because they were responding to this country's desire to train as many strong warriors capable of fighting the oni as possible.

"But this country's martial arts schools haven't always been like that. Before the war with the oni began, humans sometimes fought the winged folk. More than anything, though, humans fought one another, divided into several countries and waging wars among themselves."

That must have been long, long before Old Man Gon was born.

He spoke as though he were pondering a past he had never witnessed.

I listened to his account in silence.

"Still, Fusang isn't as big as the continent, you see. So even when countries fought each other, the conflicts were small. A few dozen or a few hundred people would clash, and they'd call it a war."

I see.

I was beginning to see what Old Man Gon was getting at.

He was probably trying to tell me about Yosogi Style.

"That was why martial arts were sometimes important enough to determine the outcome of a war. Before the oni appeared and the country was unified, it was only natural for each country to keep its martial arts secret, so that not even a single technique would become known to another country."

When the scale of a conflict was small, an individual's martial prowess could more easily determine the outcome.

In that case, keeping martial arts secret was only natural.

If so, then that must really have been the case.

"In other words, the schools that died out before Fusang took its present form disappeared without ever revealing their secrets. I know every school that exists in present-day Fusang, whether it uses swords, spears, or bare hands. But among them, there isn't a school called Yosogi Style, nor one whose techniques have anything in common with your movements."

Old Man Gon said it with finality.

There was no trace anywhere in the country of the source from which Yosogi Style had sprung.

I had anticipated that possibility; as I toured the dojos, I'd even wondered if it might be true.

But hearing it stated so plainly made me feel lonely, and left me a little disheartened.

Yet Old Man Gon looked at me with a grin as mischievous as a child's.

"But I don't know of a school called Yosogi Style. I do, however, have another lead on the name Yosogi. I don't know whether it's related to what you're looking for."

I couldn't help giving Old Man Gon a slight glare for that nasty little tease.

Though I knew that reacting like that would only delight the mischief-loving old man.

"Ha ha ha, sorry, sorry. So, shall I tell you what I have in mind? It's the story of Yosogi Yuzuriha, who resisted the oni invasion before this country took its present form. Actually, that's the interesting story I wanted to tell you, big brother."

Old Man Gon placed a hand against his chest and began the story in a voice stronger than before.

It was the tale of a swordswoman whom few people still remembered.