The sun had completely set, and the clear blue sky of midday had clouded over as if it were a lie, and a strong rain began to fall. Droplets bounced off the autumn leaves and dripped down, resembling blood.
After sending the patient back home, Sugi-chan approached with a resolute demeanor.
“…Miss,” he said.
He slowly dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground in the earthen-floored space, offering an apology.
“I’m sorry for hitting you. It must have hurt. And yet, you saved that boy… I don’t know how to thank you.”
Kei-Rei almost said that she was just grateful not to have been killed but thought better of it and refrained. Instead, she extended her arm toward him.
“Please, lift your head.”
“Miss, I have a favor to ask. Would you listen to my story?”
“If you wish to tell it, I will listen.”
Why had they killed the Kanto official?
These were farmers who hesitated even to sever the head of a pheasant, who were reluctant to take life. What kind of resentment could drive them to such a catastrophe?
“We’ve been peasants living in this village of Wangqi since long ago. But when the new system was introduced, the Kanto officials came to oversee the land here. That was fine. We don’t understand complicated matters anyway. But those nobles—or whatever they are—those Kanto officials were nothing but scum.”
The tenant farming system had been established after the previous emperor’s collapse. While it was typically run by regional or wealthy aristocrats, there were instances where newly appointed nobles were granted territory and governance rights. However, when the balance of power in a relationship between rulers and the ruled tilts too far, it inevitably collapses.
“They never so much as laid a hand on a hoe, never even glanced at the fields, but they took all the harvest for themselves. We were left to eat nothing but millet porridge while they gorged themselves on good food and grew fatter and fatter…”
His voice trembled with frustration. And that wasn’t all—Sugi spat out angrily.
“If something displeased them, they’d whip us without hesitation. The young men were beaten to exhaustion, and the girls… they were treated like playthings.”
Behind him, Zu, who had been silently listening, shrank back.
“We couldn’t endure it anymore. They treated us like slaves.”
His sunken eyes, buried in wrinkles, gleamed with rage and murderous intent.
Having endured so much bitterness that it scorched their insides, it was clear how long they had borne their suffering from a mere glance into those eyes. Stripped of their humanity and subjected to endless exploitation—they had been plunged into the very depths of despair.
“That’s why we offered them to the Mizuchi-sama.”
That single sentence carried the weight of bronze splitting and a heaviness that reverberated deep in the skull.
There was no need to discuss the corrosive nature of resentment any further. They already knew, having experienced firsthand how poisonous it could be.
“And then, after some time, the earthquake happened… and things turned out like this.”
The despair they must have felt at that moment was indescribable. It must have been a terror that froze them to their cores—enough to convince them it was a curse.
“The spring was already heavily influenced by gold, and its waters contained toxins from underground veins. Crystals don’t typically grow above ground like that.”
It was said that building homes or trespassing on such imbalanced lands often led to physical and mental disturbances, referred to as the effects of “earthly poison.” Though now, these disruptions extended broadly, turning all creation toxic, the original “earthly poison” was far more localized and specific.
“A deadly poison from gold already swirled in the spring, and then shadow poison was added. The pollution of death carries gold’s poison. The crystals absorbed the gold poison and grew abnormally, causing the land to crack. The poisoned water from the spring contaminated the irrigation system, flowed into the fields, and caused this plague of toxins.”
Everything had converged in the worst possible way. Perhaps this too was a calamity born of “heavenly poison.”
“…Miss, the food healer. Will you report all of this? You can if you must, but when you do, could you… say it was all my doing?”
So that’s why Sugi-chan had steeled himself.
Zu, pale, hastily raised her voice.
“Sugi-san! You can’t!”
“If it ends with an old man like me being caught and beheaded, that’s fine… I need to bow my head to the ancestors who cultivated this land of Wangqi.”
The other villagers, who had been standing by, clung to Sugi-chan, pleading, “Sugi-chan-san!” But he had already resolved himself, bowing his head low like ripened rice.
“Please, Miss.”
“I told you, I am a food healer. I came here to treat this toxic plague. When I arrived, the Kanto officials had already been poisoned and had lost their lives. I couldn’t save them. …My condolences.”
Understanding what Kei-Rei was implying, Sugi’s eyes widened.
Poison is a force that harms. Kei-Rei suspected that the true poison had been the Kanto officials themselves—a poison that eroded the hearts and bodies of people. Those afflicted by poison can themselves become poisonous. Such is the logic of the world.
“And… if punishment is due, you have already received it. No, it will continue.”
After struggling through hunger with ingenuity and surviving the winter, they would have to abandon the terraced rice fields inherited from their ancestors and build new farmland.
“I will pass on any wisdom I can offer. Until aid arrives, I will teach you all I can.”
“Thank you. We are in your debt.”
Sugi nodded as if savoring the words and smiled.
“We’ll be all right. We farmers are stubborn folk.”
There was no despair in their eyes.
Despair had already been left far behind, trampled underfoot. All that remained was to move forward.
The rain had already stopped in the blink of an eye.
