When Fujita pushed open the sliding door, the light inside the Japanese-style room was faint.
Only half of the shoji screen on the south side was pushed open.
The afternoon sun had already shifted to the west, and the light filtering in from the courtyard landed on the tatami mats, stopping just before the seating area.
Satsuki was kneeling in the seat of honor.
Endo was to her left, by the window.
The visitor followed behind Fujita, taking small, evenly spaced steps.
Matsumuro Chizuru.
A woman in her early thirties, not tall, wearing a wire-colored iromuji kimono.
Her hair was tied tightly in a bun, leaving a clean curve at the nape of her neck.
Her expression was plain, with no superfluous emotions in her features—as if her outline had been drawn with a fine brush, capturing only the shape without adding color.
She stopped at the entrance, knees together, and sat down slowly in the kneeling position.
When her fingertips touched the tatami, the distance between her hands was exactly one and a half fists, and then she leaned her upper body forward.
Etiquette textbooks do not write about this "one and a half fist" distance; this was the rule of the old court nobility.
For ranks below the Sekke and above the Seiga families, the distance between hands during a formal bow is one and a half fists, with the forehead not touching the ground, stopping three inches from the fingertips.
"It is an honor to meet you. I am Matsumuro Chizuru, sent by the Old Madam of the Kujo family to pay my respects to the Saionji family."
A slight Kyoto accent could be heard.
It was not heavy, but it could be detected in the ending of the sentences—the final sound of the character "An" in "Wen'an" rose slightly by half a beat, which is the customary pronunciation of old families in central Kyoto.
Satsuki looked at her for a few seconds.
"You have come a long way, thank you for your trouble." Satsuki's voice was very flat, neither deliberately warm nor condescending. "Please rise."
Chizuru straightened her upper body, her gaze landing two inches below Satsuki's neck.
She did not look up.
Fujita stood outside the sliding door for a moment, and after confirming there was nothing amiss inside, he gently closed the door.
His footsteps faded away down the corridor.
There were only three people left in the Japanese-style room.
Outside the half-open shoji screen on the south side, the maple tree in the courtyard had turned completely red.
A leaf was spinning as it fell, its shadow cast onto the washi paper of the shoji screen, like a drop of ink slowly spreading.
Chizuru took something out from her bosom.
It was a thin paulownia wood box.
It was the size of a palm, with no lacquer or patterns on the lid.
The color of the wood was very old, and the edges were polished smooth and shiny from handling, looking as if it had been in use for at least twenty or thirty years.
She held the paulownia box level to her chest with both hands, leaned forward slightly, and presented it to Satsuki.
"The Old Madam of the Kujo family has entrusted me to bring this missive."
Satsuki reached out to take the paulownia box and opened it.
Inside was only a slightly yellowed piece of handmade washi paper.
The words on the paper were written with a brush.
It was in regular script, the characters were small, but the strokes were clean.
The ink density was consistent, showing that the writer's hand was very steady.
The content was very short.
Written vertically, from right to left, in three lines.
"Old ties to Kitayama."
"Late November."
"Awaiting your arrival."
Satsuki read the piece of paper twice.
She read it very slowly the second time, her gaze lingering on the two characters "Kitayama" for a few seconds.
When Endo caught a glimpse of the content on the paper from the side, the muscles in his face twitched.
Kitayama.
Kyoto's Kitayama.
The place from which the Saionji family took its name.
In the Kamakura period, the Grand Minister of State Saionji Kintsune built a temple in Kitayama, Kyoto, named "Saionji."
Later, Kintsune's grandson ceded the Kitayama Palace to Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, and it eventually became Kinkaku-ji.
But the three characters "Saionji," as a family name, have not changed since that time.
Seven hundred years.
The Old Madam of Kujo issued an invitation using the four characters "Old ties to Kitayama"—these four characters, placed in a paulownia box, were more than just an invitation card.
It was a confirmation.
A confirmation of the roots of the Saionji surname in this land of Kansai.
Satsuki put the paper back into the paulownia box and closed the lid.
She was in no rush to respond.
Endo's gaze shifted between Satsuki and Chizuru, then landed in front of his own knees—he understood the weight of this paper, so he chose to remain silent.
There was silence in the Japanese-style room for about ten seconds.
Another leaf fell from the maple tree in the courtyard, but clouds covered the sun, so there was no shadow this time.
"How has the Old Madam of Kujo been lately?"
"The Old Madam is in good health." Chizuru's rhythm of answering was very slow, leaving an interval of nearly two seconds between each sentence. "She has had a slight cough since autumn began, but she has already seen a town doctor from Kitano, and there is no major issue."
"And her meals?"
"She drinks a bowl of white porridge after her morning lessons. Her lunch is light, and she only has half a bowl of soup for dinner. Recently, she has preferred roasted tea."
"Roasted tea." Satsuki repeated the term. "Not sencha?"
"It was originally sencha." Chizuru said, "Since autumn began this year, the Old Madam has changed."
Satsuki did not respond.
Her fingers rested on the lid of the paulownia box, her fingertips motionless.
Changed.
Changing from sencha to roasted tea—if it were an ordinary elderly person, this change would not mean much.
But the Old Madam of Kujo was no ordinary person.
In the circles of old Kyoto families, schools of tea and drinking habits were never just a matter of taste.
Serving sencha to guests is formal and dignified, the standard for hosting those of equal status.
Drinking roasted tea alone is relaxed and simple, something used only when "not seeing outsiders."
The Old Madam switching from sencha to roasted tea meant that she had recently reduced her formal meetings.
"Has the Old Madam had any guests recently?"
Chizuru's answer was half a beat slower.
"Since late October, the Old Madam has declined four visits."
"Which four?"
"The first, on October 19th, the wife of the branch manager of the Sumitomo Bank Kyoto branch visited under the pretext of delivering chrysanthemums. The Old Madam had the maid accept the flowers at the entrance and sent back a card."
"The second, on October 25th, an officer of the Kansai Association of Corporate Executives Kyoto chapter had someone deliver a greeting card. The Old Madam had someone send back a message saying it was inconvenient recently."
"The third, on November 1st, a director's wife from the Hakusuikai invited her for a walk at Kitano Tenmangu. The Old Madam claimed to be slightly unwell."
"The fourth, on November 5th." Chizuru paused. "From the Osaka Kitashinchi side, someone sent a message through an intermediary, hoping to arrange a gathering of old Kyoto families in late November—not specifying who to invite, just hoping the Old Madam could come out to 'preside' over it."
Satsuki's eyebrows did not move.
"How did the Old Madam respond?"
"She did not respond." Chizuru said. "She did not even send a message."
The air in the Japanese-style room went still for a moment.
Endo's hands rested on his knees, his thumbs tightening slightly and then loosening.
Sumitomo Bank Kyoto branch, Kansai Association of Corporate Executives, Hakusuikai director's wife, Kitashinchi—four directions, four probes, with the timing ranging from late October to early November, completely matching the rhythm of the Hakusuikai's public opinion offensive.
Uragami was not just making an issue in the newspapers.
While he had magazines and local newspapers stoke the sentiment of "Kansai autonomy," he was behind the scenes pulling old Kyoto families into the game.
If he could get the Old Madam of Kujo to come out and "preside" over a gathering, even if it was just to drink a cup of tea or say a few polite words, it would be equivalent to stamping the "Kansai" banner with the seal of the old Kyoto Kazoku.
But the Old Madam did not see a single one.
Even the most obvious one—the hope that the Old Madam would preside—she did not even respond to.
Four refusals.
Then, the fifth move was her proactively sending someone to deliver a card to Tokyo.
To the Saionji family.
Satsuki gently pushed the paulownia box to a position one foot away, then withdrew her hand from the lid.
"Chizuru."
"Yes."
"The Old Madam's card wrote 'Late November.' Has a specific date been set?"
"Not yet. The Old Madam's intention is that the date should be decided by the Saionji family."
Satsuki smiled.
The smile was very light, lingering at the corners of her mouth for less than a second before fading away.
The date should be decided by the Saionji family.
This means: the initiative is yours. You can come whenever you want to come.
This was not out of politeness.
In the etiquette of the old court nobility, an inviter letting the invitee set the date only happens in one situation—when the invitee's social standing is equal to or higher than the inviter's.
The Kujo family, one of the five Sekke, has a status in the court nobility system second only to the Konoe.
The Saionji family, a Seiga family, is ranked below the five Sekke according to the old system.
The Old Madam letting the Saionji family set the date was a gesture of elevation outside the rules.
Satsuki did not politely decline.
She nodded, her tone flat.
"Many thanks for the Old Madam's great kindness. Regarding the date, allow me to discuss it with my father before sending a reply."
Chizuru bowed slightly.
Satsuki looked at her, but did not end the conversation immediately.
"Chizuru."
"Yes."
"What kind of matters does the Old Madam ask about the most on a daily basis?"
This question was very broad, but Chizuru's answer was very specific.
"Three things." Her speaking speed was a little slower than before. "First, the marriage arrangements of the children of old families—whose daughter has come of age, whose son has run into trouble, the Old Madam knows it all."
Satsuki did not interrupt.
"Second, the renovation affairs of several old temples in Kyoto—Daitoku-ji, Myoshin-ji, Shokoku-ji, the Old Madam would ask about them once or twice a year. She did not ask this year."
"Not this year?"
"No." Chizuru said. "But she did have someone make a trip to Kitayama."
Made a trip to Kitayama.
Kinkaku-ji, Rokuon-ji.
That place was once the old territory of the Saionji family.
Satsuki's fingers moved on her knees, then stopped again.
"Third." Chizuru continued, "The rules of merchants."
"Merchants?"
"Old shops in Kyoto—the weaving houses of Nishijin, the pottery workshops of Kiyomizu, Ippodo, Kaikado. If the change of shopkeepers, changes in firm names, or the transfer of ownership of these shops involves the dignity of old families, the Old Madam will ask about it."
Chizuru paused.
"A few days ago, the old shopkeeper of Ippodo came to visit the Old Madam. When he left, the shopkeeper said something to the maid at the entrance."
"What did he say?"
"He said: 'No matter how much money Tokyo has, it cannot buy the water of Kitayama.'"
Endo's fingers tightened slightly on his knees.
The water of Kitayama.
The card the Hakusuikai was playing was called "Kansai."
Uragami wanted to use the commercial traditions of Osaka, Kobe, and Kyoto to build a wall to block the Saionji family out.
But the Old Madam of Kujo hit back with "Kitayama."
Kansai is a broad concept, and anyone can stuff things into it—wholesalers in Senba can stuff things in, and banks in Kitahama can too.
But Kitayama is a specific place.
It only belongs to two pieces of history—Saionji Kintsune building the temple, and Ashikaga Yoshimitsu building the palace.
When the bankers were crowding under the banner of "Kansai," the Old Madam pulled the banner down and replaced it with one that was smaller, narrower, and impossible to forge—Kitayama.
Not a single person from the Hakusuikai could stand on this banner.