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In This Truth We See: Chapter 3

by squishybookworm

Their stares were like a prickling along the back of her neck. Xiao Yan resisted the urge to roll her shoulders to rid herself of the itch between her shoulders. Really. Didn’t these people have something better to do than to stare at her like that?

Or did they suspect she was not really a he? Xiao Yan almost stopped abruptly in the middle of the traffic of people to slap her forehead again. First Ayu and then almost the whole of Kyoto?

She shook her head absently. No. Maybe it was just her clothes. After all, no one had spared her and her brother much of a glance last night when they’d gotten off the train. So many foreigners about the platform that two or three bodies wearing Chinese clothing were not commented upon. And the wide and darkened street, where the Daidoujiya was found, had been almost deserted except for a few drunks staggering out of brightly lit dining establishments and late workers closing shop. They’d all been too drunk or too busy to pay notice to the Chinese youth and his little brother and their decidedly foreign garb.

Yes. Maybe she should look into purchasing clothing more appropriate to the region? Distasteful as it seemed.

But the kimono just showed such an indecent amount of skin at the throat, especially the men’s. Really. Did these people have no sense of propriety? Of course she could just wear her mandarin shirt underneath like that shen-shen man. The thought of him brought another irritated frown to her face. Really. What an annoyingly inscrutable man.

“Tofu! Get yer Tofu, here!”

Xiao Yan neatly sidestepped the hawker and his crates balanced on a long pole and paused next to a stall where an assortment of foreign fruits were spread out like a lady’s colorful jewelry box. Her stomach rumbled lowly and it was then, she realized that she had left the inn without any breakfast.

“Young man? Young man?” A woman shouted over the din of the human traffic, waving at her to get her attention.

“Can I interest you in some raspberries?” The young woman waved some yellow, oblong objects gathered into a bunch at Xiao Yan. “Or maybe some bananas?” she continued, “They say Americans eat this everyday to become bigger and stronger! But I’ll bet you’re already plenty big enough.”

She winked and smiled at Xiao Yan in a way that had her backing up nervously, almost bumping into an American couple. They glowered, but moved on quickly.

Xiao Yan eyed the bright fruit. She was also going to ask this Okina for some very important information and it wouldn’t hurt to bring him some kind of gift. She cleared her throat and pointed to the bananas. “Those, please.”

She immediately regretted her decision when the woman’s smile turned predatory and she caressed the fruit suggestively.

“Of course,” the vendor purred, twirling a finger around the thin ebony plait that snaked over her shoulder. “Should I wrap them up with my own hands?”

“Um.” Xiao Yan brushed away the curls from her face and discreetly wiped the sweat that had also suddenly gathered there. Really. The day was not that hot, was it? And why did this woman make her muscles tense in readiness for a fight . . . . Or flight.

“I . . . I think I’ll just take them as they are, thank you.”

The young woman pouted and held the fruit out to her. “That’ll be five hundred yen.”

Xiao Yan gaped. “That’s robbery!”

“No. That’s business.” Then the woman got a calculating look. “Of course . . . I can change it for you, but I’ll expect payment in a different form. . . .”

“No!” Xiao Yan was sure she was as red as the raspberries the woman had pointed to earlier. “I mean! Five hundred yen sounds more than fair!”

The woman vendor shrugged. “Your loss.” She shook the bunch in her hands. “Well? Come and get it.”

Xiao Yan skittered closer and tentatively reached for the bananas. As her fingers closed around fruit, the woman suddenly let go. In the ensuing confusion, she tried to tangle her hands with Xiao Yan’s, but almost twenty years of martial arts allowed the Chinese woman to nimbly snatch the fruit and back away quickly.

The vendor pouted again, but the lascivious gleam remained in her blue eyes. It was uncomfortably close to what Xiao Yan saw in the many Flower girls of the brothels she passed occasionally. Xiao Yan almost threw her money at the woman and turned around, dodging through the crowd as quickly as possible.

She was not running away. Merely putting as much distance as possible between herself and the frightening woman.

Behind her the woman called out one last time, “If you ever want any more bananas, young man, just ask for Hoshino Fumiko!”

Xiao Yan ducked behind a tall man, hoping to cut off the disturbing woman’s line of sight.

“Oof!”

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” A dark-haired girl with a long, thin plait shoved her back. Unfortunately, Xiao Yan had reflexively clenched her fists, grabbing onto what she could find to save her balance. And by the time she’d realized the soft material underneath her hands was the girl’s dark blue and koi patterned kimono, they were both falling.

Really. Where did these Japanese people come from? It seemed every time she turned around she was running into someone. She swore they were doing this on purpose.

“Eeeek!”

And why did they have to have such high screechy voices?

“Oof!” And wear such a bulky sash? It felt like her mother had just punched her in the stomach.

Involuntarily, a groan of pain escaped Xiao Yan’s lips. The girl was only slightly shorter than she was and Xiao Yan had taken her full weight.

“Please,” Xiao Yan gasped, “You’re too heavy. Get off me!”

“Heavy?! Heavy?!”

The body lifted off suddenly and Xiao Yan took in blessed gulps of air as she quickly rolled to her feet.

“I’ll give you heavy, you little brat!”

The distinct flare of chi was Xiao Yan’s only warning before she rolled away from a well-aimed punch. However, in the crowded street, this move only served to crash her headlong into a knot of people’s legs.

“Eek!”

“Hey!’

“What the-“

“A pervert! It’s a pervert!”

“What’s going on he-“

“. . . you think you’re doing?!”

With more colorful curses and shrieks, the swiftly movings bodies slowly ground to a halt. People swiftly backed away from the entangled legs, arms, and outraged voices.

Xiao Yan grunted lowly and freed herself from the pile of human bodies. “Hey!" she shouted, "What was that for? It’s not my fault you’re a klutz! Why don’t you apologize?!”

“Apologize? What for? You were the one who ran into me!” The girl’s blue eyes flashed as she shook her sleeve at Xiao Yan. “And look! You got dirt all over my new kimono! Now what am I supposed to do, huh? How can I let Aoshi-sama see me like this, now? It’s all your fault if he never speaks to me again and geez, I itch! That’s your fault, too!”

“I got dirt . . . ? My fault . . . ?” Xiao Yan’s gape turned into an irritated frown as she growled lowly. “What about me?! You landed on me! My back must be a mess now!”

The girl matched her glare for glare. “You’re a boy; what are you getting all snippety about? Boys are supposed to like dirt, aren’t they?”

“And little girls are supposed to have manners, aren’t they?”

“A girl?! Who’re you calling a little girl, you little punk?!”

Xiao Yan blinked. Was this girl really a boy? In the Japanese's bulky kimono, she had a hard time finding the girl's - boy's? - figure. "Are you really a boy?"

"What?! A boy?! A boy?!" Misao bit her lip and growled, biting more of her more choice words. She was a woman -- a woman -- now and must be feminine and not lose her temper. Right. Breathe. Breathe. Don't think about knocking that little punk right onto his -- just breathe. Right.

Grr.

"Now, Misao, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that." Another woman, with her brown hair up in a tidy twist, shifted the cloth-wrapped parcel in her arms and placed one placating hand on the Misao's trembling shoulder.

"Omasu! He just called me a boy! And before that he called me a girl! And then he tried to cop a feel on me, too! You want me to just leave a pervert like that? Huh? I'm going to kick his ass!" Ignoring Omasu's exasperated cry, Misao launched herself at the Chinese boy, her specially tailored kimono readjusting readily to accommodate her movements. Her arm swept forward, sending a single kunai toward the boy. She smirked. She wasn't going to hurt him. Just scare him a little.

The small knife flew towards the boy and he saw it. Misao knew he saw it. His eyes tracked the approaching projectile and he didn't move. It flew harmlessly past his head, causing a few of the red-black strands curling around his ears to flutter back like laces in the wind. It thunked solidly into a wooden pole behind him.

He saw it.

He knew she was aiming to miss. She'd made sure there was no one behind him and threw it fast enough that he wouldn't have had time to react, but he'd been aware of it. He'd seen it coming and hadn't even blinked.

His face slowly relaxed, becoming expressionless. He stared at Misao silently.

Misao scowled, feeling a chill finger down her spine. But she couldn’t stop her charge now. And besides, the perverted brat deserved a good whack!

She swung a well-aimed punch at the boy’s head. A head, which was suddenly not there.

“Ack!”

Misao felt her world turn upside down. Then upright again. Then she found herself on her knees, with her arms twisted behind her back in way that if she moved, she would be in agony.

“Ooooo! Let go of me! Let go of me, I said! If you don’t I’ll keicho kick your ass back to China! I mean, once I get out . . . but you’re gonna get an ass-whoopin’ either way, you little punk! Let go, I said! I meant it!”

“Oh, reeeally?”

Ooo! The nerve of that little brat! Kami! He was so going to regret it! Once she got through with him, he’d never forget the name of Makimachi Misao ever again!

“Just how do you propose to get out of my little hold here? Really. You Japanese rely too much on your swords. Even my younger brother can get out of this hold easily.”

“Aaargh! I am so going to make you eat those words! Now leggo and fight fair! Ow! Ow! Ouch! Stop being so rough! What kind of man are you; treating a lady like this?!”

“Just stop squirming!”

“I swear! Ouch! Look at my kimono. This is definitely your fault, you know. Ow! Hey, WATCH IT! Ow!”

“You were the one who attacked me! And stop squirming!”

“No WAY! You’re probably gonna get all perverted on me.”

He snorted. “I’d rather be bitten repeatedly by a poisonous snake.”

“WHAT?! What was that?! Ha! I’ll bet you’re a wimp! You’re such a girly-girly boy, you can’t do it!”

He rolled his eyes. “That was just so stupid; I’m not even going to comment on it.”

Misao squawked incomprehensively. Why couldn't she keep her humongous mouth shut?

“Omasu!" she shouted. "Why aren't you doing anything? This pervert’s getting fresh on me!” Misao jerked once again. “Ooowwww!”

“Who’s getting fresh on who? You started it by throwing the kunai!”

“You groped me first!”

“You got in my way!”

“You ran into me!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Misao!” The sharp reprimand in Omasu’s voice stopped the ebony-haired ninja before she could continue the witty exchange. “Sir, I’m very sorry for my friend’s behavior and if you’ll release her, I’m sure she’ll apologize, too.

“WHAT?! No way! He started it!”

“Misao,” Omasu said the warning clear in her voice as the boy suddenly relinquished his hold on the growling ninja.

“Fine, fine,” Misao grumbled. She crossed her arms and concentrated on an interesting stone a few feet away. “Sorry.” She stalked away, grumbling. “Come on, Omasu. I have to go back to the Aoiya to get changed before I bring Aoishi his tea.”

“The Aoiya?”

Misao turned to glare at the Chinese brat. “Yes,” she snapped, “the Aoiya. What’s it to you?”

The boy suddenly looked abashed, but the look quickly disappeared. “I am searching for a Kashiwazaki Nenji-san, who runs a restaurant called the Aoiya.

“Okina?” Omasu asked.

At the same time, Misao demanded, “So who the hell are you?”

“Misao,” Omasu gasped. “Don’t be rude.” The brunette approached the boy and bowed. “I am Tendo Omasu and this is Makimachi Misao. I do apologize again for her rude behavior.”

"Oh, come on, Omasu! I wasn't being rude. I was just defending myself. I could do that, couldn't I? Huh? I mean, what if he calls me a froggy or something like that? I can’t just ignore that, can I? Huh? Huh?"

Ignoring Misao, the boy returned Omasu's polite bow, “Li Xiao Yan.”

Misao glowered at the young Chinese again. “Why do you want to see Okina?”

Ignoring the braided ninja again, Li turned to Omasu. “Ayu-san from the Daidoujiya told me I should see him for a . . . very important task of mine.”

“Well, anything you need to discuss with him, you could discuss with me. I am the okashira, after all.” Misao frowned. What business did a foreigner have with Okina?

“You?” Li’s brows lifted in disbelief and his lips pulled back into a sneer. “Really. You’re just a little girl! You shouldn’t butt into an adult’s conversation.”

Color slowly suffused the okashira of the oniwabanshu’s face. She trembled. L-little girl?!

She flew at the arrogant boy.

“KEICHO KICK!”

“Misao, no! He’s a guest! A guest!”

Really. Were Japanese people just crazy?

They either wanted to pry into her business, grope her body, or kill her, period. How did these people live in such a state of passion? It could not be good for their equilibrium. Already, she could feel her own self-control falling apart like so much dried mud!

That girl. What a brat! Someone needed to take a paddle to her behind! Oo! Really. The women here were nothing like the well-mannered girls at home. Even the prostitutes were not as aggressive.

And as annoyingly vacuous as they were, she wished to see them again. She wished she was back in China. Back in the townhouse, surrounded by the paperwork and martial arts practice that comprised her daily routine. But she was here. Kneeling on a soft pad on the floor of a second-storey room in the Aoiya with a cup of hot tea steaming by her knee. It had been brought in by another lady, with long hair, who’d left, reassuring her that Okina would there soon.

Xiao Yan picked up the green liquid, swirling it thoughtfully. Really. How much information would this man be willing to give? Money would be no problem, but if he didn’t want that . . . She set her mouth. Really. He’d just have to take the money, there would be no exceptions.

And if he refused, well, really. She was of the Celestial kingdom, after all. She would probably do just as well to search alone. If only Mother was here. She knew more than Xiao Yan, herself and she also had connections her daughter had never been aware of until they’d boarded the ship in Shanghai.

They’d left suddenly. She’d only had time to charge Chang Liu Tseng, their top accountant, with managing their spice and tea business, before packing a few belongings and rushing onto the ship with her mother and half-brother. Once on the ship, a white man, his face as hairy as a goat’s and stinking of some strong perfume, had approached them. Her mother had greeted the man familiarly. They’d exchanged words in tones so low, Xiao Yan had had to strain to hear. The man’s English had come with the clipped tones she’d accustomed herself to hearing in dealing with the British, and now she was grateful she’d forced herself to learn the horrid language.

{. . . in Kyoto.}

{Are you sure?}

{If the winds are favorable, you’ll have one day before he leaves for Tokyo.}

{That’s not enough time!}

{More than enough if you don’t plan on returning.}

{. . . Where will he be exactly?}

{They say . . . }

At that point, her mother had noticed her presence and sent her a cool look. Not questioning the look, Xiao Yan had scampered away quickly.

When she’d asked her mother about the man later, her mother had given her another cold glare and said, “You are only to concern yourself with perfecting the art I have taught you. When I have use of you, I will tell you.”

But she’d disappeared once the ship had reached Nagasaki. She’d left no instructions or any clue as to what she wanted of Xiao Yan and Haji. When they’d all left the ship, she’d simply been gone. Even her belongings. Xiao Yan didn’t want to dwell too much on that particular fact.

She brought the cup of tea to her nose and breathed deeply. It calmed her greatly. Settling the sudden flight of her heart. The steam wisped around her face like a warm caress, carrying with it a rich aroma. She took a sip, letting the hot and bitter brew flow over her tongue freely. She tilted her head, considering.

“Well? How is it?”

She opened her eyes to find an elderly man at the door. The folds of skin around his eyes crinkled in a welcome smile, much like Liu Tseng’s when she’d tallied the day’s expenses correctly. A small pink bow gathered his trim gray beard and would have looked strange on any other man, but he’d managed to make it seem . . . dignified. His brows rose up into his high forehead, as he awaited an answer.

“Strong impact, initially. But no solid base, so nothing lingers to be explored. There is no subtlety because the inherent flavors have not been fully developed. I’d say steep the tea a bit longer or let the water cool before adding the tea.”

“What kind of guest are you anyway?!” Misao peeked around the elderly man, holding a tray piled with two additional cups and a teapot. “My tea is perfectly fine!”

“You made this?” Xiao Yan raised one brow. “Of course. It makes sense, then.”

“And what does that mean?!”

“Just what it means.”

“Why you-“

The old man’s sharp glance silenced the young ninja. She fumed, but said no more. Both kneeled comfortably on two cushions before her and Misao poured their teas. Once everyone had settled, the old man began.

“I am Kashiwazaki Nenji and Misao has informed me that you would like an audience with me?”

Xiao Yan nodded. “I am Li Xiao Yan. I was under the impression that you, Kashiwazaki-san, would be the most pertinent person to approach for a matter of mine. Ayu-san from the Daidoujiya suggested I come to you.”

“I see,” Okina said, “Ayu-san sent you, did she? And what business do you seek with us, Li-san?”

She flicked her gaze to Misao briefly, but Okina caught the hesitation and spoke before she could open her mouth. “I’m sorry, Li-san. Please excuse my poor manners. In my old age I am getting forgetful.”

Xiao Yan sincerely doubted the man forgot much, if anything at all.

“I have not yet introduced the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu, Makimachi Misao.”

Xiao Yan managed to bring her tea up to her face before the two could see her expression of disbelief. Really. Japanese men were very weak if they could defer so easily to a girl, and she felt slightly insulted that he expected her to do the same.

After a careful sip of her tea, Xiao Yan nodded her head to the kunoichi. She would accept the Okina's words because he was so old and thus, commanded her respect. And because she, herself, was 'not a boy' and 'not a girl' so could not be insulted. She also needed their cooperation and slighting their leader, even if she was a girl, was not a good idea.

Xiao Yan saw Misao’s small, white hands relax. They were dainty despite the calluses along the palm. By comparison, her own sun-bronzed fingers seemed large and clumsy and she surreptitiously moved her hands under her cup, balancing it in the bowl of her hardened palms.

“I need information. I am searching for a particular man. A Japanese man.” She twisted her cup slowly. Rays of the late noon sun danced across the ripples, reflecting back a rounded face with large brown eyes. “His name is Shigeta."

"Is that so?" Misao asked. "But why are you looking for this man exactly?"

Xiao Yan hesitated and Misao bristled, misinterpreting the Chinese woman's pause.

However, Xiao Yan did not notice as she replied. ". . . He is my younger brother's father."

There was a long silence. Misao looked at Okina from the corner of her eyes, wondering if he expected her to lead this discussion. Information was really his specialty. But Okina remained still. Impassive face suddenly tensing slightly. So slight, she did not notice until the light streaming through the open windows lit upon his hardened eyes.

The young Chinese man shifted then set his tea down. He rested his hands against his laps and stared at them as he spoke, "Of course, I am willing to pay for your services. . . ."

. . . . and your discretion. . . . were his unspoken words.

Misao frowned. She queried her memory.

“. . . He is my younger brother’s father.”

He had not been staring at her when he’d hesitated. His eyes had been steady yet unfocused. Was he hiding something?

“Are you hiding something?” Misao asked.

Li’s hands twitched. He eyed her warily. “I am not hiding anything. I am only looking for a man."

“But you never answered my question,” Misao shot back.

"And you need manners."

"A-HA! You dodged the question again! You are hiding something."

His lips thinned. He shifted his attention to the silent older man. "Surely we can resolve this matter ourselves, sir. No need to disturb the . . . Okashira."

Misao bit her tongue, preventing another outburst. She could not quite hold back the glare, however. She wondered how much would the pleasure of coshing the punk be worth, compared to the possibility of breaking one of Omasu’s favorite teapots. She’d just decided Omasu could always replace the teapot when Okina spoke up.

"Despite her age," Okina said, "Misao would be the most effective in finding your person. And despite her lack of tact and when she can stop her mouth from running away, she is also very astute, and often, her intuition is very correct. Something, I know you will need in your search. A man with no surname? That is not much to go on, Li-san."

Tugging the wide sleeve of the clean kimono she'd pulled on after the tussle in the street, Misao basked in the warm afterglow of Okina's compliment, ignoring the rest. Ha! Let the brat brush her off again! She was ready and waiting.

And waiting. And fidgeting as the waiting stretched. Then straightened quickly. Then shifted from one knee to another trying to get rid of the thousands of cursed millipedes currently digging their wretched little pincer feet into her legs.

When Li finally spoke, she almost sagged in relief.

"Will you search for him?"

'Depends on what you tell us,' Misao thought snidely.

Okina finally moved. He surprised Misao by turning to her. "Misao?"

She blinked. Oh, yeah. She was the Okashira, after all.

What was his reason for searching for this man? Would he tell them? Would they regret it once they'd accepted?

Li's hands had fisted and his eyes remained downcast as if awaiting a horrible judgment. His rudeness aside, he seemed really quite harmless. His delicately rounded cheeks and large brown eyes made him seem so young, but she could see that his body was really that of an adult. She'd also felt it in their brief combat. His baggy clothes had hid deceptively strong arms and legs.

And very strong martial skills. The movements he'd used had been fluid and confusing and turned her own attacks against her numerous times. She would have said it was a form of judo except that he clearly used a different stance that incorporated a deceiving air of relaxation. Even without a weapon, Misao knew he could have found some way to kill her. What was the purpose of such ferocious skills? No good that was what.

But looking at his narrow shoulders now, she could hardly make herself believe he was more than a very young boy. Then she noticed the curls of flame-touched dark hair that had fallen into his face, obscuring his eyes. They vibrated imperceptibly. He was . . . shaking. . . .

Yes. A very young boy. Far from home. . . .

However, safety of her small band of ninjas came first. Let the boy prove himself.

"Li-san," Misao finally said. "I need to know more."

Okina made no movement, yet she could feel his approval as he relaxed subtly.

After a long moment, Li slowly unclenched his fists and raised his head. His large eyes were impossibly dark with all the light streaming through the window. He opened his mouth as if to speak. Then snapped it shut and stared at the cup of tea. In one swift motion, he downed the rest of the tea as if to drown whatever words he may have said into the bitter brew.

Setting down the cup, Li bent forward, touching the floor before him with the tips of his fingers. "Thank-you for the tea."

And that was that, Misao supposed as she and Okina went through the motions of seeing their guest out. He could not give them an incentive, what right did he possess to demand their unconditional aid?

But when she came back, Okina had a pensive look on his face. He tugged thoughtfully on his beard, readjusting the small pink bow.

“Okina?” Misao said.

“Li Xiao Yan,” Okina said in return. “I have heard that name before. And he is very familiar with teas, is he not?”

“You’ve heard the name before? How would you know of a Chinese man, Okina?”

“I wonder . . .” Okina stroked his chin. “What do you think, Misao?”

“I think he’s a brat.” Misao paused. “But he’s a very young brat, who’s scared and far away from home. And doesn’t know what he’s doing, but will plow ahead like witless mule anyway. The fool.”

Okina’s mouth twitched but he did not allow the smile to fully bloom. “Yes. I think you’ve summed it up nicely.” He added dryly, “Name-calling aside.

But why would Ayu-san send her to us? Why not to the proper authorities?”

“What is Li-san’s purpose, you mean?” Misao asked.

“Yes.”

“Something wicked, I suppose.”

“Possibly.”

“Hm. I wonder if Kuro and Okon are up to testing their investigative skills?”

“Be careful.”

“Heh. ‘Careful’ is my other name!”

So she said. Right before crashing into a wall.

“Who put that there?!”