Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 350 Beishan Old Post

(Thanks to "I am Mrs. Yorktown's Dog" for the amazing verification! Two chapters today~)

When Fujita pushed open the sliding door, the light in the Japanese-style room was dim.

The shoji screen on the south side was only half open. The afternoon sun was already setting in the west, and the light coming in from the courtyard fell on the tatami mats, stopping just before it reached the seating area.

Satsuki knelt on the seat of honor. Endo sat to her left, by the window.

The person who came followed behind Fujita, taking small, even steps.

Matsumuro Chizuru.

The woman, in her early thirties, was not tall and wore a dark, iron-colored dress. Her hair was tied up tightly, leaving a clean arc at the nape of her neck. Her complexion was pale, and there was no superfluous expression between her brows and eyes—as if her outline had been drawn with a very fine brush, only the shape was drawn, not the color.

She stopped at the entrance, brought her knees together, and slowly knelt down. When her fingertips landed on the tatami, the distance between her hands was exactly one and a half fists, then she leaned forward.

Etiquette manuals do not specify the distance of "one and a half fists"; this is a rule from the old public sector. For those below the rank of Regent and above the rank of National Taiwan University, the distance between the hands during formal prayer is one and a half fists, with the forehead not touching the ground and resting three inches from the fingertips.

"It is my first time visiting. I am Matsumuro Chizuru, sent by the matriarch of the Kujō family to pay my respects to the Saionji family."

You can hear a slight Kyoto accent. It's not strong, but you can hear it in the final consonant of the sentence—the "an" in "wen'an" is pronounced with a slight upward rise of half a beat, which is the habit of old Kyoto families.

Satsuki looked at her for a few seconds.

"You've come from afar, you must be tired." Satsuki's voice was flat, neither deliberately warm nor condescending. "Please stand up."

Chizuru straightened up, her gaze falling on a spot two inches below Satsuki's neck. She didn't look upwards.

Fujita stood outside the sliding door for a moment, and after confirming that there was nothing amiss inside, he gently closed the door. His footsteps faded into the distance down the corridor.

There were only three people left in the Japanese-style room.

Outside the southern half of the shoji screen, the maple trees in the courtyard had turned completely red. A leaf was swirling down, its shadow falling on the washi paper of the shoji screen like a drop of ink slowly spreading.

Chizuru took something out of her bosom.

It was a thin paulownia wood box, about the size of a palm, with no paint or pattern on the lid.

The wood was old in color, and the edges were worn shiny, indicating that it had been used for at least twenty or thirty years.

She held the paulownia wood box up to her chest with both hands, tilted it slightly forward, and presented it to Gaoyue.

"The matriarch of the Kujo family asked Chizuru to bring a letter."

Satsuki reached out and took the paulownia wood box, opening it to find only a slightly yellowed handmade paper (a traditional craftsman's handmade item, a symbol of style).

The characters on the paper were written with a brush. They were in regular script, the characters were small, but the strokes were clean. The ink was of consistent density, showing that the writer's hand was very steady.

The content is very short.

Vertical text, from right to left, three lines.

"Old Ties with Beishan".

"Huan under the frosty moon."

"We eagerly await your arrival."

Satsuki looked at the piece of paper twice. The second time, she read it very slowly, her gaze lingering on the words "Kitayama" for a few seconds.

When Endo glanced at the contents of the paper from the side, his facial muscles twitched.

Beishan.

Kyoto Kitayama.

The place from which the Saionji family got its name.

During the Kamakura period, the Grand Minister of State, Saionji Kintsune, built a temple in Kitayama, Kyoto, which he named "Saionji".

Later, Kintsune's grandson gave Kitayama-dono to Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, and it later became Kinkaku-ji. However, the name "Saion-ji" has remained unchanged since then as the family name.

It's been seven hundred years.

The old lady of Kujo extended an invitation with the four characters "Old Ties of Kitayama"—these four characters, placed in a paulownia wood box, meant that it was more than just an invitation.

It is a confirmation letter.

This confirms that the surname Saionji has its roots in the Kansai region.

Satsuki placed the paper back into the paulownia box and closed the lid. She didn't rush to respond.

Endo's gaze swept between Satsuki and Chizuru before settling on his own knees—he understood the weight of this piece of paper, so he chose to remain silent.

There was a silence in the Japanese-style room for about ten seconds. Another maple leaf fell from the tree in the courtyard, but the clouds obscured the sun, and this time there was no shadow.

"How has Madam Kujo been feeling lately?"

"The old lady is in good health." Chizuru answered slowly, pausing for nearly two seconds between each sentence. "She had a slight cough after autumn, but she has been examined by the town doctor in Kitano and is fine."

"What about food?"

"I drink a bowl of plain porridge after morning classes. I eat light meals at noon and only half a bowl of soup in the evening. Lately, I've been preferring roasted tea."

"Hojicha," Satsuki repeated the word. "Not sencha?"

"It used to be sencha," Chizuru said. "The old lady changed it after autumn this year."

Satsuki didn't reply. Her fingers rested on the paulownia wood box lid, her fingertips remaining still.

changed.

The change from sencha to roasted tea—for an ordinary elderly person, this change wouldn't mean much. But Mrs. Kujo was no ordinary person.

In the circles of old Kyoto families, tea schools and drinking habits have never been just a matter of taste.

Serving tea to guests is a formal and dignified custom, and is the standard practice when receiving guests of equal social standing.

Roasted tea is a private and simple beverage, used only when one is not seeing outsiders.

The old lady's switch from sencha to roasted tea indicates that she has recently reduced her formal visits.

"Has the old lady been receiving visitors recently?"

Chizuru's answer was a beat late again.

"Since late October, the old lady has declined four visits."

Which four times?

"The first time was on October 19th. The wife of the branch manager of Sumitomo Bank Kyoto branch visited under the pretext of bringing chrysanthemums. The old lady had the girls receive the flowers in the entrance hall and sent a note in return."

"The second time, on October 25th, an official from the Kyoto branch of the Kansai Economic Association sent a letter of greeting through a messenger. The old lady sent a reply saying that it was inconvenient for her to do so at the moment."

"The third time, on November 1st, the wife of a director of the Hakusui-kai invited me for a walk at Kitano Tenmangu Shrine. The old lady said she was feeling slightly unwell."

"The fourth time, November 5th." Chizuru paused. "In Osaka Kitashinchi, someone sent a message through an intermediary, hoping to arrange a gathering of old Kyoto families in late November—they didn't specify who to invite, but only hoped that the old lady could 'host' it."

Satsuki's eyebrows did not move.

"What was the old lady's reply?"

"No reply," Chizuru said. "They didn't even send a message."

The air in the Japanese-style room fell silent for a moment.

Endo rested his hands on his knees, his thumbs clenching and unclenching slightly. Sumitomo Bank Kyoto branch, Kansai Keizai Doyukai, the wife of the director of the Hakusuikai, Kitashinchi—four directions, four probes, scheduled from late October to early November, perfectly matching the rhythm of the Hakusuikai's media offensive.

Urakami doesn't just write articles in newspapers.

While he had magazines and local newspapers hype up the sentiment of "Kansai autonomy," he was also pulling in the old Kyoto aristocracy behind the scenes. If he could get Mrs. Kujo to "host" a gathering, even if it was just for a cup of tea and a few polite words, the "Kansai" banner would be stamped with the seal of the old Kyoto aristocracy.

But the old lady didn't see any of them. She didn't even respond to the most obvious request—"we hope the old lady will preside over the meeting."

Four rejections.

Then, for the fifth time, she took the initiative to send someone to Tokyo to deliver an invitation.

It was given to the Saionji family.

Satsuki gently pushed the paulownia wood box about a foot away from her and withdrew her hand from the lid.

"Chizuru".

"exist."

"The old lady's invitation says 'late summer/early winter.' Has a specific date been set?"

"Not yet. The old lady means that the date will be set by the Saionji family."

Satsuki smiled slightly. The smile was very faint, lingering at the corner of her mouth for less than a second before disappearing.

The date will be determined by the Saionji family.

This translates to: The initiative is yours. You can come whenever you want.

This is not out of politeness.

In the old public etiquette, the inviter would ask the invitee to set the date, which would only happen in one situation: when the invitee's social status was equal to or higher than the inviter's.

The Kujo family, one of the Five Regent Families, is second only to the Konoe family in terms of social standing within the court nobility.

The Saionji family and the Seika family, according to the old system, were ranked below the Five Regent Families.

The old lady's decision to have the Saionji family set the date was a gesture of respect outside the established rules.

Satsuki didn't politely decline. She nodded, her tone indifferent.

"Thank you for your kindness, Madam. Regarding the date, I will discuss it with my father and reply later."

Chizuru bowed slightly.

Satsuki looked at her, but did not end the conversation immediately.

"Chizuru".

"exist."

"What kind of matters does the old lady usually inquire about the most?"

The question was very general, but Chizuru's answer was very specific.

"Three things." Her speech was a little slower than before. "First, the marriage arrangements for the children of old-fashioned families—the old lady knew which family's daughters were of marriageable age and which family's sons had problems."

Satsuki didn't interrupt.

"Secondly, the old lady would inquire about the restoration of several old temples in Kyoto—Daitoku-ji, Myoshin-ji, and Shokoku-ji—once or twice a year. This year, she did not inquire about it."

"Not this year?"

"No," Chizuru said. "But she sent someone to Kitayama."

I went to Beishan.

Kinkaku-ji and Rokuon-ji. These were once the former territory of the Saion-ji family.

Satsuki's fingers twitched on her knee, then stopped.

"Thirdly," Chizuru continued, "the rules of the merchants."

"The merchant?"

"The old shops in Kyoto—the weaving houses in Nishijin, the pottery workshops in Shimizu, Ichipodo, and Kaikado. When the managers of these shops changed, the names of the shops changed, or they were sold or taken over, if it involved the dignity of the old family, the old lady would intervene."

Chizuru paused for a moment.

"A few days ago, the old manager of Yibaotang came to visit the old lady. When he left, the manager said something to the maid in the entrance hall."

"What did you say?"

He said, "No matter how much money you have in Tokyo, you can't buy water from Kitayama."

Endo's fingers tightened slightly on his knee.

The water of Beishan.

The card game played by Shirai is called "Kansai". Urakami wanted to use the commercial traditions of Osaka, Kobe and Kyoto as a wall to keep Saionji out.

But Lady Kujo fought back with "Kitayama".

Kansai is a broad concept, and anyone can throw things into it—wholesalers from the shipyard can throw things in, and banks from Kitahama can throw things in too.

But Kitayama is a specific place. It belongs to only two periods of history—the temple was built by Saionji Kosei, and the hall was built by Ashikaga Yoshimitsu.

As bankers crowded under the banner of "Kansai," the old lady pulled it down and replaced it with a smaller, narrower, and more unforgeable one—Kitayama.

There isn't a single person from the Baishui Society who can stand on this flag.