Chapter 28.1 Mistress of the Morning Gate

The Quarter of a Thousand Spirits. One of the most magical corners of Japan, it was a place where many intelligent beings, not only from the Land of the Rising Sun, hung out around the clock.

The place is significant at least because, according to legends, in ancient times, in ancient times, the gods burned a lot, great heroes and demons clashed in battles, and many, many other things happened in these lands.

Over time, the lands of modern Kyoto and its suburbs were strongly imbued with magic, and the divine forces that began to attract various creatures and magicians formed several natural sources of magic. The strongest source was in the mountains, where the neighborhood was founded.

Here you can buy and order the most unusual things and substances, you can buy many miracles and wonderful creatures. You can meet the most unexpected humans and non-humans.

The land itself is steeped in magic, and miracles literally hang in the air. But at all times in the Quarter, one rule has always been the same: the Quarter is a neutral territory, and there is no room for enmity here.

Until recently. I'd gotten a quick briefing from my mother, and I'd expected to see an eastern bazaar. But not this. You know, when I was a kid, I used to watch westerns on TV, you know, wooden saloons with broad facades, dirt roads, and emptiness when the fighting started. Here we saw pretty much the same thing: wooden buildings crowded together, lots of shops and stalls, but almost all of them closed and the street deserted.

The only thing missing was the unmistakable music of a Western and the tumbleweeds carried by the wind. But the whisper of the wind, the creak of paper lanterns, the clatter of signs — that was it. Rare passersby, with concentrated faces, sharp eyes examining each other, hurrying about their business.

 This was not at all how I had imagined a magical shopping district. I saw the same confusion and tension on my mother's face. We walked silently down the street, looking into the alleys and behind us. It was obvious that the neighborhood had not been in this state for too long; it was not desolate, but more like a temporary winding down of business.

Although, as they say, the temporary is the most permanent. I noticed that some of the closed shops attracted more attention from my okada-sama, some made her want to stop and look for old memories. We didn't go into the working shops, why — I don't know, I didn't ask, especially if we were going somewhere. Well, we can wait.

At the crossroads, a trio of creatures dressed in traditional clothing appeared before us. The head of the trio bowed low and held out a beautifully decorated scroll to his mother.

The woman nodded demurely, a little surprised, and accepted the scroll. But the messenger and his guards did not leave, and he waited silently for some kind of response. Glancing over at me and shrugging her shoulders in surprise, my mother unrolled the scroll. I didn't look over my shoulder — it wasn't cultured, whoever sent this messenger, and it wasn't a good move to spoil my impression of myself.

After reading it, and without saying a word, the woman bowed respectfully and dragged me along with the trio. Or rather, just the envoy himself, since the guards were at the sides.

And so, ten minutes later, we were sitting on very comfortable couches in a hall that looked very much like a reception room, waiting. And guess what? That's right — the reception! Definitely a reception!

Fifteen minutes later we were led into a traditional room, not very large, with a low table in the middle and cushions to sit on. It is pointless to describe the interior: if you have ever seen a traditional Japanese home, you will understand. In short, everything is extremely ascetic and impersonal, boring.

The only thing that attracted attention was a graceful cabinet with a beautiful, finely crafted vase containing a fresh sprig of plum blossom. From where at the end of winter — a question with an obvious answer: magic!

Wide sliding doors to the inner garden, very elaborate and beautiful. It's a pity that my education bypassed the symbolism of Ikebana, but even worse, the art of creating the national Japanese stone garden.

I only know that in the garden of stones the matter is not limited to them, the course is grass, flowers, bushes and trees, water, fish. And in everything, in every blade of grass and stone, there is a hidden meaning. It's very interesting, very complex. I'd really like to know what this particular garden is saying.

When the doors opened and the clothes of the woman who had entered rustled, I was still looking at the garden, and it was only an elbow in my side that caught my attention. When I turned my eyes to the girl who had entered, now sitting in the master's seat, I was surprised. I hadn't thought that I would be invited to a rich young woman's house with such aplomb.

Though... yes... the hostess smelled strongly of sun and fire, much weaker — of rain. By the feel of it, there's so much dope in her that I won't be able to do anything at all... without training. It was a monstrously powerful being that sent shivers down my spine. Even the beauty of this creature was otherworldly, unapproachable, perfect.