Crack. Pop.
The sound of firewood burning in the hearth.
Faint sparks leapt forth, then swiftly vanished.
Udon was one of the most quintessentially Inazuman noodles. Its texture fell somewhere between cut wheat noodles and rice vermicelli — soft on the palate — and paired with a carefully prepared broth, it became a delightful dish.
In winter, it was served in hot soup; in summer, it was eaten cold. Cold udon could be dipped in a thick sauce known as mentsuyu.
The most classic preparation of udon called for beef and a rich stock — the noodles silky and tender, the broth deep and savory. So if you ever visited Inazuma, you simply had to try a bowl of Ritou's beef udon.
Kiyono gently kneaded the dough, pressing his steady forefinger into its center, slowly pushing down.
Behind him, Miss Fox sat with both fox ears perked up, cradling a cup of fragrant tea, kneeling quietly on her cushion, waiting with a faint air of anticipation.
Then came the tofu.
Fried tofu, pan-seared tofu, spicy tofu — Inazuma had no shortage of tofu restaurants. But the most famous, the most exquisitely crafted, was the tofu made by the Grand Pillar's own hands in the Grand Pillar's Residence.
There was even a story behind it.
In his early years, the Grand Pillar had still been a wandering swordsman, destitute and down on his luck. He had opened a small fried tofu shop at the foot of the Grand Narukami Shrine. Everyone who tasted it sang its praises, and it became beloved by all. Pilgrims who came to the shrine to pray and burn incense — before leaving, they simply had to eat a bowl of hot fried tofu for the journey to feel complete.
The clean fragrance of tofu, its refreshing taste, had long since mingled with the drifting smoke of incense from the shrine, becoming an inseparable part of Inazuma's scent of home.
No matter where the people of Inazuma went, one bite of fried tofu, and they could smell their homeland.
The Grand Pillar no longer kept his shop, but his craft had not dulled. For any high official of Inazuma to have the fortune of tasting the Grand Pillar's tofu from the Grand Pillar's Residence — that was an honor spanning lifetimes.
Washing the pot, cutting vegetables, preparing seasonings.
The firewood burned quietly. Kiyono watched the flame flickering in the cold air, and something within his heart swayed gently along with it.
His five hundred years of life had long since become entangled with this land, inseparable...
Honestly.
How could he bear to part with it?
The flame burned in silence.
A sting.
Kiyono stared at his fingertip with a flicker of surprise.
A shallow cut had appeared on the pad of his finger. Blood seeped out, dripping onto the cutting board, staining the clean tofu with a blurred tinge of red.
Ah.
He let out a wry, silent laugh.
He really was getting old. No use refusing to admit it.
He'd wielded a blade for hundreds of years, and today the blade had cut him.
"Be careful, will you. Old man."
Miss Fox's voice came from behind him.
Kiyono turned his head. Yae Miko had tilted her head slightly, leaning it against his shoulder. Her pale purple earrings caught the glow of the hearth, and a few strands of soft hair lay against Kiyono's neck.
It tickled.
"Tch." The Grand Pillar felt his dignity had been challenged. He clicked his tongue and stubbornly insisted: "Cooking is no business of a woman's! Just wait over there."
"You're bleeding." Miss Fox said.
"No I'm not." Kiyono lied through his teeth.
"I still remember the first time I met you." Miss Fox went on, speaking to herself as much as to him. "It was snowing just like today — a heavy snow. You'd fainted from hunger in front of the shrine, so I carried a few dried fish over to you in my mouth."
"A week later, you made a bowl of tofu noodles and left it in the shrine courtyard, just like this. Adding fried tofu to udon — that was actually your invention, you know... After that, people started calling the dish 'Kitsune Udon.'"
She gazed at the firelight, speaking of things long past.
"Old man, I bet you've forgotten all about it. Your memory really is terrible."
The firelight played across her pale, delicate profile. She spoke with a teasing lilt: "Some Grand Pillar, some great general, some big hero — haha~ Old and forgetful now, and couldn't even afford a meal when you were young. What an old man."
How rude.
That stinking fox.
"Mind your own business!"
Kiyono let out a heavy huff.
"Go wait over there. Don't get in the way of my cooking."
"You're bleeding."
Kiyono was getting irritated now. Yes, he knew he was old. Yes, he knew he was useless. Yes, he knew he couldn't even cut vegetables properly anymore. But it wasn't as though he wanted it to be this way. He also—
A cool sensation touched his palm.
"Hey."
Miss Fox's hand was quite cold. She took hold of Kiyono's right hand — the right hand whose wound had not yet healed.
Then came an even cooler, even softer sensation at his fingertip — moist and gentle, very light, and ticklish.
Miss Fox's tongue grazed softly against Kiyono's wound. Her eyes were lowered, meticulous and earnest. More than a fox, she resembled a small cat licking a companion's wound.
She really did look like a little cat — an elegant, pink cat: whether it was the long pink hair, or the deep purple eyes, or the way she stood now, rising faintly onto the tips of her slender feet, her body tilting slightly forward, cradling Kiyono's right hand.
— All of it like a cat licking at a piece of dried fish.
Her tongue traced along the knuckle, arriving at the fingertip where blood still seeped through, tender and slow.
Warm, moist breath dissolved into a thin layer of mist.
It fell upon Kiyono's skin — damp and soft.
The world after the clearing was so very still. Ivy crept wildly outside the window. This moment stretched on and on.
Through the wooden lattice, one could see that the snow had dissipated entirely. Daylight began to rise, and the dawn that had stained half the sky red was gathering its colors back in. Heavy clouds piled upon the snow-capped mountains at the far edge of the horizon.
"Fox saliva can stop bleeding."
Her voice was very soft, brushing against Kiyono's ear — ticklish, too.
"Stop trying to tough it out." Miss Fox said, her voice as light as snow falling to the ground. "You need to live a few more years — a few more decades — or this great Guuji will have saved you for nothing."
...
Kiyono withdrew his right hand. He stared at the cutting board and said: "It'll be ready soon. Just wait a moment."
He cooked this meal with great care.
Warm broth, pale yellow noodles floating within, a few tender leaves of cabbage resting at the bottom of the bowl. The softer, golden pieces of fried tofu were laid atop the noodles, and crowning it all — a scattering of bright green scallion.
Simple. Clean.
In the still, cold air of early winter, the two bowls of noodles gave off a thin, faint, warm steam — the most comforting thing in the world.
When Miss Fox ate her noodles, her narrow eyes curved into crescents, her ears drooped contentedly, one hand holding her chopsticks, the other propping up her cheek. You could tell — she was eating very happily.
A happy diner is the highest praise a cook can receive.
Kiyono watched the scene in silence. Perhaps years from now, when he was no longer himself, he would still remember —
On a certain morning after the first clearing of heavy snow, the memory of this bowl of Kitsune Udon.
——
After finishing the noodles, perhaps having had time to reflect and finding what she had just done rather embarrassing, Miss Fox let out a few cold huffs, mocked Kiyono a few more times, and declared the noodles merely passable — her mouth never conceded defeat — then took her leave in a slightly flustered manner.
She pushed open the door and walked out briskly.
Miss Fox felt her heart beating a little fast.
The shrine maiden Gendou Ringo was waiting quietly in the guest room.
Seeing the Guuji emerge, she patted down her miko garment and rose to her feet. "Guuji-sama, did you give it to him?"
What the maiden was referring to was a fluffy white scarf — warm to the touch, and very comfortable when wrapped around the neck.
Ringo was, in truth, quite astonished. To knit this scarf, the ever-lazy and ever-proud Guuji had actually swallowed her pride and humbly sought instruction from the shrine maidens. No one knew how many times she had failed, how many times she had started over, before finally completing the scarf just before winter arrived.
And yet.
It had already been a full ten days into winter, and she still hadn't given it away!
Hearing the maiden's words, Miss Fox's ears shot straight up. She clicked her tongue softly, waved her hand, and said with irritation:
"This great Guuji simply doesn't want that old thing to freeze to death, that's all!"
Ringo's gaze grew ever more suspicious.
"Next time. Next time... next time for certain."
Without looking back, she fled the residence as though escaping, and delivered her final verdict: "There'll be plenty of chances in the future, anyway!"