Yashiro the Blind

"Um... Grandpa, I don't think the phrase 'living alone in an empty room' should be used to describe you..."

"What? Women can use this word, but I can't?" The old man glared at him.

Yashiro could only manage a wry smile: "It's usable, it's usable..."

"Hahahaha!"

The old man's hearty laughter still echoed in her ears, making her smile whenever she thought of it. Not long after the grandfather and granddaughter returned, Yashiro packed her bags and embarked on her journey once more.

There was no clear destination along the way; I simply followed the wind and my heart and headed north to Mutsu Province. I also took the opportunity to explore Izuha Province. Later, I passed through Echigo Province and by chance met Amemuro Mitsuo of Rinsenji Temple. I stayed at Rinsenji Temple for a while and learned a few ancient pipa pieces that were on the verge of being lost from that high monk.

Because this Zen master was none other than Nagao Kagetora's mentor, Yashiro had been secretly hoping to meet the famous Echigo no Ryu during that time and add another name to his list of famous figures. Unfortunately, famous figures are not so easy to meet. During his stay of several months, apart from the monks at Rinsen-ji Temple, he only met one cheerful, alcoholic older sister. Neither of them had a high alcohol tolerance, so they were evenly matched and always got to drink to their hearts' content.

Although Yashiro had a moment of doubt that the other person was Nagao Kagetora himself, she later dismissed the guess. At least so far, she had encountered historical figures with names and surnames, and men were men and women were women. Even Oda Nobunaga, who was most often gender-bent, did not become Nobuna, so... Nagao Kagetora should also be a man.

Moreover, she remembered that Uesugi Kenshin was a famous heavy drinker who eventually died of a brain hemorrhage in the toilet due to excessive drinking, a stark contrast to the lowly drinking capacity of that alcoholic older sister... Thus, although the older sister later asked her if she wanted to work at her house, presumably she was from a samurai family, Yashiro still declined the invitation and set off again with her biwa on her back.

Echigo, Echizen, Mino, and Hida briefly met with Kokoro in Koga, and also greeted Nagata Tokumoto and Yamamoto Kansuke. Just as they were about to leave, they were chased by Mochizuki Chiyome, who was aggressively seeking revenge for the arrow wound...

Then Yashiro hit him with a stick, making him see stars and burst into tears.

Does this woman seem to be getting younger as she gets older?

Afterwards, he passed through Sagami and experienced the customs and lifestyle of the people under the rule of the Hojo family. He then traveled by boat, bumping and swaying, until he arrived at the territory of the Satomi family. Remembering that Hitachi Province, where Kashima Shrine is located, was nearby, he decided to visit the old man Tsukahara Bokuden and also see the Dragon Prince.

Just by chance.

During the journey, she met this enthusiastic "traveling merchant" on the road, borrowed his horse and traveled for a few days. Now they parted ways here and she returned to her hiking journey. Yashiro looked up and felt the gentle breeze blowing against her face. The wind blew her long hair, brushing against her cheeks and ears, making her feel a little itchy.

Four years have passed...

A wave of emotion washed over her. It felt like only yesterday that she had turned nineteen. In her previous life, she would have been nineteen by the traditional Chinese age reckoning and eighteen by the actual age, the age of a high school sophomore or senior, spending her days frantically studying for the first hurdle in her life. But at this moment, she felt like a drifting, rootless leaf, going wherever fate led her and staying wherever her heart desired.

From dawn till dusk, he lived a leisurely life, playing the pipa in towns and villages, and lending a helping hand to those in need. Money was the best reward, but even a simple meal of cold rice and soup was a welcome treat for the hungry. If he encountered bandits or heard of injustice, he would punish them as appropriate. His sword was often stained with blood, but he never took the thieves' money again, instead distributing it all to the poor people nearby.

She would rather go hungry and sleep in the dew-covered wilderness. No matter how exhausted she was, as long as the clear moonlight shone on her and she heard the chirping of unknown birds and insects, the girl felt only peace and tranquility.

For some reason, the more difficult and tiring things were, the more she felt a real sense that she was truly living in this world.

I am neither more noble nor lower than anyone else. I am just like all living beings, even flowers, trees, humans and non-humans, sentient and insentient beings. I live in the world in my own way, breathing with heaven and earth, and living and dying with the sun and moon.

The white clouds in the sky are constantly changing.

The figures on the ground moved slowly.

Tap, tap...

Even the sound of the cane tapping gradually faded into the distance.

……

Chapter 85 The Snail and the Robber

Suddenly, the sound of a biwa (a type of Chinese lute) drifted from the fields of Shimosa Province.

Unlike most contemporary music that emphasizes elegance and melancholy, this piece is exceptionally cheerful and lively. Each syllable is like a bee in the mountains, flying and dancing on slender fingertips, bringing a series of buzzing sounds, which are mixed but not chaotic.

If it were an adult listening to this, they might frown and dislike it because it was too noisy and jarring. But the people gathered around the pipa player were mostly snotty-nosed teenagers, both boys and girls, barefoot and wearing only loose-fitting clothes, listening while biting their fingers.

The young musician sat sideways on the ground, his bright red plectrum whirling the strings with incredible speed, almost leaving afterimages, showcasing his superb skill. Unfortunately, no one in the audience recognized his talent; the children only knew that the piece sounded new and interesting, so they joined in the cheering and shouting.

The musician remained silent, a faint smile playing on his lips. Suddenly, he stopped plucking the strings, and when he did so again, the pipa's originally high-pitched sound gradually faded.

The children blinked. Although they were ignorant and unaware of the world, they instinctively heard a warm feeling in the music, as if night was falling, smoke was rising from the chimney, and their mother had cooked wheat rice and hot soup, calling them home for dinner. Unbeknownst to them, someone's stomach rumbled.

This seemed to be a signal, and soon the second and third children couldn't help but clutch their stomachs: "So hungry—"

"I want to eat!"

Just as they were bickering, the piece ended, and the musician put down her plectrum. But no one made a fuss about having her play another piece like they had before. Everyone looked like they wanted to go home as soon as possible. Even so, they looked at each other, but no one seemed to want to leave.

"Big sister!" said the tallest boy among them. He seemed to be the leader of the group of children, and his tone had a kind of feigned maturity and authority. "Thank you. You played the pipa very well... much better than that pipa sorcerer who came to the village before!"

"That's it!"

"We're so tired of hearing the Tale of the Heike!" the other children chimed in.

"Thank you, nothing is more pleasing than this praise," the young musician said with a smile, showing no disdain because they were children.

The children became even happier, and the leader asked, "Unfortunately, I don't have any money to give you. Is there anything you want, big sister?"

The pipa-playing monks and other acrobats who had visited the village before would ask the villagers for money or gifts after their performances. After seeing this so often, the children naturally understood that this was a customary rule among adults—since this older sister treated them as adults, they certainly couldn't be impolite.

"Your thanks earlier are enough," the musician replied with a smile.

"No, we've listened to so many beautiful songs for nothing, we must give back in kind," the children insisted. So the musician tilted his head and thought for a moment, "Then... could you please go and collect some snails for me nearby?"

"river snail?"

"Yes, I'd like to have snails for lunch today... Is that okay?"

"of course can!"

The children readily agreed and scattered to dig for snails in the fields.

A moment later, the musician also stood up, rubbed his sore shoulders, picked up his cane, and walked around the neighborhood.

It was just past noon, the heat hadn't subsided, and the soil under her feet was still a bit hot. She took off her straw sandals, walked a few steps barefoot, washed her feet in the nearby stream, and then immersed her feet in the cool water. She took out the small gourd from her waist and took a small sip.

A faint aroma of wine wafted from the gourd.

After a while, the children returned one after another. They piled the snails they had found, still covered in mud, into a small straw bag, handed it to the musician, and helped her carry her pipa: "Big sister, the town is over there."

Someone pointed her in the right direction, but the child was immediately smacked on the head by her companion: "Are you stupid! Big sister can't see, what's the use of pointing!"

"Big sister, let us take you home," someone else suggested.

The young musician shook his head: "Thank you, but no need, I still remember the way. You guys keep playing... but remember to go home early, don't worry your families."

"it is good!"

Strangely enough, if these words were spoken by an elder, parent, or relative they knew, the children would mostly find them nagging and boring. But if a stranger said them, they would miraculously be able to listen to them.

A group of children gathered together, watching the figure carrying a pipa, clutching a straw bag filled with snails, her cane clattering as she walked towards the town. Just as she was about to disappear from sight, one of them called out, "Big sister, are you coming again?!"

"We'll find you some snails to eat!"

"And frog meat!"

It's unclear whether the sounds were carried away by the wind, but a few seconds later, the musician raised his cane and waved it lightly—then he tripped over a protruding stone, staggered a few steps, and almost fell.

"Oh dear...it's all your fault!"

Coming to their senses, the children all stared at the person who had spoken first.

The latter felt very wronged: "You guys were saying things too..."

"It's all your fault!"

……

"Yashiro, you're back."

"came back."

What is that you're holding in your arms?

"Snails. I just picked them up in the field."

"No wonder it smells like mud... So you went out to dig for snails early this morning? You're such a leisurely person."

In the self-catering wooden inn, all sorts of people from different walks of life gather together. According to their professions and circles, they are roughly divided into several groups. Although they are not exactly clearly separated, there is still a subtle barrier between them.

The couple who were greeting the young musicians were the same couple who lived in the same room. They had left their hometown for some unknown reason and traveled the world with their two children, making a living by touring. When business was slow, they would also work for others to earn money.

The two children, the older one being nine years old, were already able to perform some shows with their parents, while the younger one was just born and not yet a year old, and still had to be carried and held by their mother. It is said that this mother's acrobatic skills of doing somersaults and climbing high poles while coaxing her child were quite popular and always won applause, but unfortunately, Yashiro never got to see it.

Wandering entertainers and musicians playing the shamisen and biwa are practically colleagues, at least more approachable than those rough samurai, day laborers, or nihilistic monks wearing bamboo hats. So, as soon as Yashiro settled into the inn, they came over to chat, and thereafter they would always exchange a few words whenever they met, becoming nodding acquaintances.

The woman was holding her youngest son, openly breastfeeding the infant in front of others while jokingly teasing Yashiro. Yashiro didn't refute her, only smiling and saying, "Indeed, because I have neither a wife nor children."

"You actually called her wife... You're clearly a woman, you should be calling her husband."

"Hoohoo."

"Still laughing, what a weirdo... Never mind, just leave the snails here. I'll wash and cook them for you later, and I'll let my husband have some too. He's had a really bad stomach upset lately, so some snails will help him recover."

"Okay, I'm done."

"What's the trouble? I can't let a blind person fumble around to start a fire and cook. It would be such a waste to burn such a beautiful face and hands." The woman muttered, finished feeding the baby, pulled up her clothes, and then hurriedly tried to soothe the baby who had suddenly started crying for some reason.

Yashiro then moved behind the screen in the center of the room, leaned the biwa on her back against the wall, and sat down—a common trick in budget hotels, where a large screen is placed to divide the room in half, making it into two rooms for rent. If there are too many guests, a few more screens or curtains will be added, dividing the room into four or even eight sections. Of course, in such cases, each person basically only has a place to lie down, and they just make do with sleeping there.

Now, with only one side of the room occupied by Yashiro, she lives comfortably by herself. In contrast, the room opposite hers is occupied by a family of four, and even though one of them is a baby who doesn't take up much space, the room still feels cramped in every way.

She originally wanted to give up some space, since she didn't need such a large area, but the couple kept refusing, saying that she should get what she paid for and that she couldn't take advantage of them for nothing, so she had no choice but to give up.

Listening to the baby's cries and the woman's slightly troubled sighs, and following the gentle breeze drifting in from the window, she walked out into the corridor. The corridor creaked and swayed, and the sounds of snoring and talking came from other rooms. People were coming and going in the lobby on the first floor, and someone was cooking in the kitchen with a roaring fire, the aroma of wheat rice wafting through the air...

There seem to be a lot of martial artists around here.

Yashiro thought to herself silently.

The clanging sounds could be heard from both upstairs and downstairs. It was the sound of swords hanging at the waist clashing against their sheaths as people moved around. The sound was like the drumbeats on a battlefield, conveying a sense of tension that made one's heart tighten.

Truly top-tier martial artists often pay extra attention to these details, never allowing their weapons to suffer excessive wear and tear in ordinary times, so as to avoid any flaws at truly crucial moments. It doesn't have to be serious; a little bit of grease that makes the blade less sharp, or a tiny crack or nick, is enough to decide who lives and who dies in a battle.

A sword is a swordsman's second life. Anyone who doesn't take care of their weapon, no matter how strong they are, will die easily at some point.

Tsukahara Bokuden once said, "Only the most cautious and careful people can live a long life, and being cautious and careful means not to overlook any details. Many times, the outcome of a great victory or defeat depends on the smallest clues."

In a world in chaos and war, samurai who lost their lords became ronin or bandits who gathered in the mountains and called themselves "wild samurai." While there were heroes like Hachisuka Koroku Masakatsu, most of them were ruthless villains who burned, killed, looted, and committed all sorts of evil deeds.

On the other hand, there are many self-important martial artists in this world who think they are proficient in martial arts and military strategy and are eager to make a name for themselves. Like moths to a flame, they actively throw themselves into battles of all sizes in various countries, using their lives as a bargaining chip in an attempt to gain unparalleled fame.

These guys are like lurking hyenas or vultures; they'll swarm at the first sign of blood. The fact that so many of them have appeared near Shimosa Province indicates that a major war is imminent... Shimosa Province is now a battleground on all sides. Hojo and Satomi, these two sworn enemies who have a love-hate relationship, have been fighting over this territory for years, neither willing to give in. It wouldn't be surprising if either of them started a new war at some point.

These thoughts silently raced through her mind, but Yashiro pulled her thoughts back to reality, the sound of a baby crying filling her ears once more.

"Oh dear, this child... why does he keep crying!" the woman said, exasperated.

"How about I play a piece for him?"

"Won't this be too much trouble for you? You just got back, Yashiro..."

"It's alright, I enjoy playing the pipa myself." She smiled, picked up the pipa again, and with a single stroke, a calm and soothing melody drifted out on the wind, carrying a flavor different from that of the Kanto region, a lullaby that was popular in the Oshu area.

As soon as the sound rang out, the baby's crying suddenly stopped. The baby opened its eyes wide in its mother's arms, stretched out its little hand through the screen, and called out "Aba Aba".

The woman's eyes widened in surprise: "Yashiro, how did you know... how did you know we were from Oshu?"

"Hoohoo."

Hachisuke smiled but did not answer; only the melodious sound of the zither lingered between his fingers.

Time passed slowly amidst the gentle melody. After finally coaxing the child to sleep, the woman rolled up her sleeves, took the snails downstairs to wash and cook them, then cooked rice and made soy sauce soup. She called Hachiko over to eat, saying, "My husband went to repair someone's roof today and probably won't be back until tonight. You can eat first."

Although it was a coarse grain made from wheat and millet, and it didn't taste as good as white rice in her previous life, Yashiro had gradually gotten used to the taste after eating it for almost twenty years. Besides, she had tasted rice once at Rinsenji Temple in Echigo... to be honest, it wasn't that delicious either.

Perhaps it's because their method is too crude. After hulling, they just roughly grind it once without any fine processing. When you eat it, it has a strong earthy taste. It's not exactly hard to swallow, but it's definitely not the same thing as the white rice you're used to eating in your previous life.

Before I tried it, Yashiro was really craving it, but after I finally tasted it, I felt...

Ugh.

This perfectly illustrates the saying: "Having seen the vast ocean, other waters are insignificant; having beheld the clouds of Wushan, other clouds are not worth seeing."

Perhaps this is life.

While reminiscing about the cheap Longjiang braised pork knuckle rice that he ate so much in his past life that he never wanted to eat it again, but which he could only crave now, Hachiro poured the hot sauce into the rice, stirred it, and slurped it down with snails—no matter what it is, it won't taste too bad as long as it's hot—after eating and drinking his fill, he asked the woman, "Can I make a few more rice balls to take with me on the way?"

"Sure, sure..." the woman hesitated, "But are you leaving already? Why are you in such a hurry?"

“Yes, there’s no time like the present, I suddenly feel like setting off.” Yashiro smiled and took another sip of soup, letting out a comfortable sigh. “By the way, you guys had better leave here quickly too… there might be a war going on, and if you don’t leave soon, you might get caught up in it.”

"A...a war is about to break out?"

The woman stammered and repeated herself. It was unclear whether she had truly taken the words to heart. If she had, that would be good; if not, there was no way to force her. After all, words alone were not enough, and she couldn't very well draw her sword and force someone to leave...

Yashiro leisurely made several rice balls, pressed them tightly, wrapped them in straw, put them in his bundle, picked up his biwa again, said goodbye to the woman, and left the inn without waiting for her husband and eldest son to return.

It seemed that the sky had completely darkened.

But for her, day or night was never a matter of consideration. She listened to the sounds and then walked towards the east...

……

As it turns out, even for a blind person, there are still quite a few differences between going out during the day and at night.