Scorching Sun

Lady Murasaki’s voice came from behind him, a soft, possessive sound that barely disturbed the sacred silence. “This is the third gift I am giving you.”

Haruka stared blankly at Yukishiro Tomoe in the coffin, his mind numb. A sudden weight settled on his shoulders. Lady Murasaki had placed her hands there, her lips close to his ear, her breath a warm, living thing against his cold skin. “A mother will always plan everything for her son. Some things, even if you don’t mention them, I will handle for you.”

Hearing her words, Haruka felt a profound, searing sense of shame, as if he had completely, unforgivably forgotten his own mother. The truth was, it had only been a day and a night, and with his own situation so uncertain, so precarious, he hadn’t dared to rashly ask the Fujiwaras about her. He had planned to wait, to wait until he was more settled, and then discreetly ask Momozawa Ai about Tomoe’s remains. He had never imagined that Lady Murasaki, his mother’s rival, would have already taken care of everything for him with such quiet efficiency.

Lady Murasaki’s gentle, understanding words only deepened his guilt. Looking at Tomoe, who seemed to be peacefully sleeping in the polished coffin, a sourness rose in his nose. Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and sharp, but he dared not let them fall.

“Thank you, Mother,” Haruka said, the words feeling thick and strange in his mouth, unsure of what emotion was truly behind them.

“Don’t thank me. It’s only natural for a mother to take care of her son.” Lady Murasaki stroked his head, her fingers cool against his scalp, feeling his body tremble. For the first time, this disobedient, defiant child was completely, utterly lost.

Lady Murasaki’s willow-leaf eyebrows arched high. She looked at the motionless Tomoe and thought with a cold, quiet satisfaction, Your son is mine now. No, I should say, he has returned to his rightful owner.

She understood the principle of not overdoing things. She said no more, instead dismissing the others nearby and even leaving herself, a calculated act of grace, giving Haruka some space alone with his grief.

Haruka gripped the smooth, cold edge of the coffin, his knuckles white, his eyes red. He kept telling himself, Don’t cry, don’t cry. This is what Lady Murasaki wants to see.

He bit his lower lip, the pain a welcome distraction. He wanted to touch Tomoe’s hand, to feel her one last time. He didn’t know if it was because of his grief, but his vision started to blur. Tomoe’s face suddenly swam out of focus and, for a horrifying instant, transformed into the breathtakingly beautiful face of Lady Murasaki.

Startled, he immediately let go of Tomoe’s hand, and her face returned to normal.

Haruka stared at her, deeply unsettled, the memory of his dream in the car returning with a sickening lurch. “Why is it her? Why is it her?” he muttered, his voice a raw whisper.

The heavy guilt was suffocating. He could no longer suppress his sorrow and began to cry like a real child, his shoulders shaking with silent, wracking sobs.

His thoughts ran wild, uncontrollable as his tears. First, the old miko’s prophecy, then Izayoi’s cryptic words about Kiyohime’s parentage, and a half-remembered Chinese story of “the leopard cat exchanged for the prince” flashing through his mind.

The more Haruka tried to suppress it, the more he couldn’t help but think: Why is Lady Murasaki treating me so well? Could it be… that I am her biological son?

The thought made him laugh, a hollow, absurd sound that died in his throat. But his smile slowly froze on his face.

Slap!

Haruka suddenly slapped himself, the sting sharp and grounding, trying to force himself to calm down. After a few deep, shuddering breaths, he wiped away his tears and then slapped his other cheek, just as hard. “She raised me for so long,” he whispered to the still, peaceful face in the coffin. “How could you have such a treacherous thought.”

Now, he was completely calm. The storm had passed, leaving behind a cold, clear purpose.

Haruka looked at Tomoe’s face, hesitated, then called over the nearest bodyguard. You are definitely my mother, he thought. But regardless of biology, I have to find out the truth. I hope your spirit in heaven can forgive my unfilial act.

The bodyguard moved quickly, his steps silent on the soft grass, asking respectfully, “Young Master, what are your orders?”

Haruka’s eyes were still red, but he managed a small, convincing smile. “I have some sand in my eye. Could you bring me a towel and a bottle of water?”

The bodyguard knew without looking that the boy had been crying. He nodded. Just as he was about to leave, Haruka stopped him. “I feel like she’s still alive.”

The bodyguard, not a man of many words, could only stop and say, “Yes, she will always be in your heart.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry to go,” Haruka said. He had the bodyguard stay and asked a few seemingly random questions about the cemetery. The bodyguard assumed he just needed someone to talk to to ease his grief and answered them one by one.

Only then did Haruka get to his real question. “How many years have you been a bodyguard for the Fujiwara family?”

“Seven years, Young Master,” the bodyguard replied.

“Then have you ever seen my father?”

“I saw the Master a few times.”

“I’ve never met my father. People always ask if I look more like him or my mother. Since you’ve seen him, you tell me, who do I resemble?”

The bodyguard looked him over like a tailor measuring cloth. “Well, that’s hard to say.” 

“It’s fine, just say what you think.”

“The Young Master is exceptionally handsome. The Master… he was a good-looking man, but if he were your age, I’m afraid he wouldn’t compare. I really can’t say who you resemble.”

Haruka placed his hand lightly on the coffin and smiled. “Then look now. How much do I resemble my mother?”

The bodyguard stepped closer and also smiled, a gruff but kind expression. “I can’t tell if you resemble her or not, but it is certainly a case of ‘the student surpassing the master’.”

He saw Haruka’s smile widened and thought he must have said the right thing, feeling quite pleased with himself.

“Alright,” Haruka smiled. “Go and get me the towel and water.”

As soon as the bodyguard left, his smile vanished. One person’s opinion meant nothing. He quickly identified his next target—another bodyguard standing to the upper left, his face impassive under the now-scorching sun.

Haruka’s mind was racing, but on the surface, he became calmer. He didn’t impatiently call the other bodyguard over. Instead, he waited for the first one to return with the water and towel, then said he wanted to be alone with his mother and asked him to move further away. Only then did he beckon the second bodyguard.

This bodyguard was more straightforward. “Young Master, what is it?”

Haruka still beat around the bush, asking different questions than before. Finally, in a light, joking tone, he said, “People say I don’t look like my mother. Do you think the First Young Mistress looks like her? Or the Second Young Mistress?”

This bodyguard was completely taken in by Haruka’s friendly, grief-stricken demeanor and spoke without his earlier restraint. “I probably shouldn’t say. But the First Young Mistress definitely doesn’t. The Second Young Mistress, though… to be honest, the corners of her eyes really do look a bit like her.”

Haruka glanced at the corners of Tomoe’s eyes. He smiled and handed the unopened bottle of water to the bodyguard. “The fog was so thick this morning, and now the sun is so strong. You’ve been standing in the sun for so long, you must be tired. I’m not thirsty, and it’s a hassle to carry things. Could you take the towel for me too?”

The bodyguard tried to refuse, but Haruka insisted. In the end, he took the water and the towel. He was an honest man and thought Haruka was just as honest as he was.

Haruka stood before the coffin, the two phrases echoing in his mind: “the student surpassing the master” and “the Second Young Mistress’s eyes… really do look a bit like her.”

A terrifying thought took root in his heart, a seed of pure, world-shattering madness. Could it be that I am Lady Murasaki’s son, and Kiyohime is truly my mother’s daughter?