13. The Sacred Garden of Eternal Spring
—Chirin.
The wind chime hanging under the eaves sang a cool, tinkling
sound.
Contrasting sharply with the sweltering heat that continued
to grip the outside world, the verandah at Kusunoki Residence was alive with a
gentle, constant breeze, wrapped in the warmth of spring.
Seated before a low table, Minato diligently scribbled notes
into his notebook, seemingly unaffected by the heat. He appeared quite
comfortable, lost in his work.
The garden of Kusunoki Residence was utterly free of
bothersome insects—an enviable, peaceful scene. It was once plagued by bugs,
but that was only in the beginning.
Such a thing shouldn’t be possible being so close to the
mountain’s foothills, a place where coexistence with insects is inevitable.
It was, of course, thanks to the divine power of the
mountain god.
On the flip side, inside the house, it was like a steamy
bathhouse sticky and humid.
Minato was grateful for this, often relaxing outside in the
garden. Plus, it saved on electricity bills, so he often fell asleep on the
verandah at night.
Today, as always, the mountain god occupied the center of
the verandah.
He let out a wide yawn, his jaws stretching as he looked at
Minato, absorbed in his writing at the low table.
“Quite diligent, aren’t you?” the mountain god rumbled.
“Depends on the day,” Minato replied calmly.
At first, when he tried to focus while writing, he’d quickly
feel drowsy or sluggish after just a few sheets.
But now, he’d gotten the hang of it able to write more than
twice as much.
“Practicing adjusting the strength of the wind… I also
learned how to channel my purification power,” Minato explained. “It’s quite
fun.”
“Anything you learn isn’t wasted,” the mountain god said
sagely.
“True. Though, I admit, controlling the wind’s power is
still pretty tricky.”
Minato’s pen moved smoothly, and the flow of purification
energy was steady just like a fine, resilient jade thread.
Sitting upright on a cushion, with his back straight and
mind at ease, he kept writing in an almost monastic manner. There was a certain
sacredness about him.
His focus remained on writing sweet names from traditional
confections, tangled in worldly desires yet, the reverence he felt for the
craft was undeniable.
Minato’s rapid mastery of his purification ability was
largely because he constantly sensed the divine breath within him.
The divine creature’s golden eyes narrowed slightly,
pleased.
Earlier, the amount of spiritual power woven into his
characters fluctuated sometimes abundant, sometimes lacking, revealing the
unevenness of his skill.
He could see faint traces of lingering malevolent spirits,
but he couldn’t directly perceive or feel his own abilities.
Humans rely heavily about 80% on visual perception.
Deprived of this primary sense, controlling such
extraordinary power is no easy feat.
That’s why controlling wind, which is easier to perceive
visually, became a good starting point.
Had he borrowed the thunder god’s strength, he wouldn’t be
able to handle it so playfully such power could be deadly.
Wind’s power, if trained properly, could become terrifyingly
formidable. But for now, it was only enough to dry his hair, or so he’d started
experimenting with draining vegetables of water.
Such peace how fortunate.
He wondered what the wind god, so often considered
impossible to understand, knew, or what he might have foreseen.
A sudden breath escaped Minato’s lips, and the mountain god,
resting his forepaws, lowered his eyelids and leaned his chin on them.
—Chirin.
The wind chime, hung just to evoke a sense of summer,
tinkled melodiously, depicting bright red goldfish swimming in a round glass
bowl, spinning lively.
By the serene pond where a spiritual turtle swam
gracefully ripples spread outward in fan-shaped circles, reflecting a gentle,
slow passage of time.
“Alright, that’s it for today,” Minato decided, closing his
notebook with a soft thud. As he looked at his resting hand, he muttered, “A
talisman and a notebook… what do you think?”
The mountain god, lying on his side, gazed up at Minato with
a lopsided grin.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Isn’t it a bit thin?” Minato inquired.
“The thickness of the paper doesn’t matter. It’s the type of
brush that counts,” the mountain god replied.
After trying many pens, Minato found that pencils and
mechanical pencils didn’t put enough force into the paper so they didn’t
channel much spiritual power.
If they had, the characters he’d written during school might
have vanished.
Honestly, he was relieved that the force wasn’t too
strong no accidental destruction.
He’d told himself many times: “What matters most is your
sincerity.”
But still, he worried: “Wouldn’t it be better if I used
something more durable, like a business card?”
He explained to the mountain god, “You see, I think a lot
about how exorcists cast out evil spirits probably by throwing talismans or
sticking them directly onto spirits.”
If he could just toss a talisman, it would be easier.
He gestured at the notebook, which the mountain god was
waving at him.
“Can this flimsy paper really do the job?” the mountain god
asked seriously.
“Throwing it… would be difficult,” Minato admitted.
“Yeah,” Minato said. “The other day, I just let it fall from
above when I used it. I think Harima-san appreciates just having some paper I
wrote on, so he’d probably be annoyed if I expressed any dissatisfaction
directly…”
“That’s unlikely. That man’s quite headstrong,” the mountain
god said.
“Maybe… He’s refined and seems well-bred, always wearing
expensive suits, carrying a designer wallet, and carefully protecting cheap
notes though he probably doesn’t say much about it.”
Minato paused, then suddenly remembered something.
“Hey! Business cards! I should write on those!”
“Hmm, that might be good,” the mountain god nodded.
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah! Tossing a business card would look pretty cool. An
exorcist throwing a card sounds awesome. I’ll buy blank ones tomorrow.”
Just as Minato was grinning and about to stand up, the
mountain god, still lying on his belly, glanced at the fence.
“It’s probably too late now,” he said quietly.
The doorbell chimed softly.
Visitors to this house were rare most likely, a generous
exorcist, come to perform a ritual.
Minato sighed, thinking, It’s been less than a week since
the last visit….
He slipped into his sandals beneath the verandah, looking
somewhat suspicious.
A beautifully wrapped gift box, sealed with a golden ribbon,
was placed on the table. The mountain god’s gaze fixed on it almost as if he
was about to scorch it with his eyes.
His pupils narrowed, and he sniffed deeply, taking in the
faint scent of adzuki beans an aroma he recognized immediately.
Even if it was sealed tightly, a divine beast’s keen nose
could detect the scent of good-quality beans no mistake.
There was also a subtle hint of matcha.
Most likely, inside was water yokan a sweet bean jelly. No
doubt.
He nodded deeply, confirming his suspicion.
Meanwhile, Minato’s fist trembling in his lap betrayed his
composure.
A divine voice echoed, weighty and solemn:
“Very well. Proceed as planned.”
Minato’s arm, which was about to pass a talisman on a note
paper to Harima, wavered. Clenching his teeth, he fought back a bubbling
laugh he could feel his cheeks and neck tense up.
He believed that the mountain god was unaware of his inner
amusement, maintaining a calm facade.
The mountain god looked at Harima.
With a serious expression, he received the note paper with
both paws, then relaxed his shoulders his previously tense aura easing.
Harima understood.
Even if he couldn’t see it directly, he was aware of the
divine presence nearby closer than anyone else.
He wondered if the offering had pleased the gods, or if he’d
managed to avoid their displeasure.
Always alert, every nerve strained Harima tried desperately
not to miss a single nuance of divine mood.
Sensing the mountain god’s satisfaction, his tension finally
eased. The god wagged his tail happily.
“I wouldn’t bite or snap at you,” the mountain god said
cheerfully. “I am the mountain god.”
“Y-yeah, it’s surprisingly cool today,” Harima said
nervously.
“…Yes,” the mountain god replied.
Outside, the intense summer heat possibly the hottest day of
the year was relentless.
His body’s moisture was evaporating rapidly, yet Harima,
walking along the rice paddy’s edge, was unaware of the oppressive heat so
immersed in his thoughts.
He discreetly wiped the sweat from his forehead with a
handkerchief.
He was aware probably the divine realm was cut off from the
mundane world.
Yet, he deliberately kept coming back, despite the
danger what a brave man he was.
As the mountain god’s true power gradually returned, the
garden slowly detached from the earthly realm.
It was once synchronized with the weather outside, but now
it had become entirely different.
Minato was always glad to hang laundry outside, enjoying the
peaceful atmosphere.
But since it hadn’t rained, he had to water the garden
plants daily, drawing divine water from the pond with a watering can.
—Chirin.
The gentle breeze moving through the spring garden made the
wind chime sing once more.
“Anyway, I’ll be leaving now,” Minato said.
“Oh, Harima-san,” he called.
Harima, about to stand, paused and looked back.
Minato offered him his palm with a smile.
“Please, give me your hand.”
“…Is something wrong?” Harima asked cautiously.
“Isn’t it a bit thin?” Minato teased.
“The thickness of the paper doesn’t matter. It’s the type of
brush that counts,” Harima replied.
After trying various pens, Minato found that pencils and
mechanical pencils didn’t apply enough pressure so they didn’t channel much
spiritual power.
If they had, the characters he’d written during school might
have vanished.
Honestly, he was relieved it wasn’t too strong no accidental
destruction.
He’d often told himself: “Your sincerity is what matters
most.”
But he also worried what if it wasn’t enough? What if the
paper wasn’t durable enough for a talisman?
He explained, “You know, I think exorcists probably throw
talismans or stick them directly onto spirits.”
He gestured at the notebook, which Harima was waving.
“Can this flimsy paper really do the job?”
“Throw it… that’s probably difficult,” Harima admitted.
“Yeah,” Minato nodded. “The other day, I just let it fall
from above when I used it. Harima-san appreciates having just some paper I
wrote on, so he probably wouldn’t complain if I didn’t do it perfectly…”
“That’s unlikely,” Harima said with a wry smile. “That guy’s
pretty stubborn.”
“Maybe… He’s got refined manners, looks well-bred always
wearing fancy suits, carrying a designer wallet, and carefully protecting cheap
notes. Though he probably doesn’t say much about it.”
Minato paused, then suddenly remembered something.
“Oh! Business cards! I should write on those!”
“Hmm, that’s a good idea,” Harima nodded. “Definitely better
than just paper.”
“Yeah! Tossing a business card would look cool an exorcist
throwing a card. I’ll buy blank ones tomorrow.”
Grinning and about to stand, Minato noticed the mountain
god, still lying on his belly, glancing at the fence.
“It’s probably too late now,” he said quietly.
The house’s front gate closed quietly, and the divine
presence vanished.
Suddenly, the chorus of cicadas burst overhead loud and
relentless.
The oppressive heat and humidity wrapped around him, causing
sweat to pour down.
Yet, strangely, he found the stifling sensation somewhat
pleasant.
Harima approached the gate, bowing deeply.
He then took out a leather glove from his coat and put it on
as the green glow from the wind-talisman flickered and faded. The heat was
unavoidable.
He took a deep breath, turned on his heels, and walked away,
the gravel and his soles crunching softly beneath him.
He pulled out his phone, pressed it to his ear, and spoke
tersely: “Thank you. I’ll head over there right now.”
He ended the call sharply. The casual way he returned his
hand to his coat pocket wasn’t just from the relentless sweat it also reflected
his weariness.
Walking along the rice paddy’s edge, he moved heavily,
shoulders hunched more than usual.
His usual straight posture seemed oddly bent burdened by
unseen weight.
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