Famine 155: Sukiyaki

After resting a while and calming her emotions, Kazuko rolled up her sleeves and headed to the farm’s kitchen.

The farm had developed to the point of housing more than a dozen restaurants, large and small. The largest, however, remained the lakeside restaurant in the center square of the Dream Town.

The lakeside restaurant’s kitchen had been renovated and rebranded as [Farm First Kitchen], a massive, modern, integrated kitchen equipped for everything from Chinese and Western cuisine to snacks and desserts, with a redesigned layout, several adjoining rooms, and open windows serving the public. After multiple expansions, it now hung over the water, with shimmering lake and moonlight at every window.

Nidhogg was uninterested and had gone to bed early.
Late into the night, as silence draped the world, only Si Zhiyan, Kazuko, and Zhong Yanqing remained in the vast kitchen.

Through the window, moonlight touched the water. A breeze rustled through the forest outside.

Kazuko knew exactly what she wanted to do. After asking Si Zhiyan where everything was stored, she started by boiling a large pot of water. She took a thick sheet of Dream seaweed, washed it carefully, placed it in cold water, and slowly brought it to a boil. When bubbles rose, she pulled out the seaweed, then loaded handfuls of dancing katsuobushi into a strainer and steeped it in the simmering pot.

As the feathery katsuobushi soaked and tumbled in the rolling water, a pot of clear, savory dashi was soon ready.

Kazuko did all this with utmost care, though her face was softer now, the traces of tears wiped away. She focused intently on the ingredients, not a single shred of katsuobushi slipping from the strainer; fragrance filled the kitchen, sweetness rising from the stock.

“Have you decided what to make?” Si Zhiyan asked.

Kazuko nodded, offering an answer that surprised him. “Sukiyaki.”

Zhong Yanqing was drowsy, perched on a stool with her chin in her hands, nodding off. The words jerked her awake; she looked up, slightly more alert. “I thought Miss Kazuko would make a divine dish for ritual—I’ve seen some old records mentioning new rice, mackerel, or… abalone and such.”

She craned her neck curiously. “Did you ever use sukiyaki for ceremonies?”

Kazuko poured her prepared scallion, sweet soy, and mirin into the boiling stock, filling the kitchen with the heady scent of shoyu. She burst out laughing.

“Ah Qing, you’re so funny.”

“Sukiyaki’s origins are impure; it was forbidden food for the gods.”

Kazuko had long since stopped growing; a bit short now, she couldn’t reach the stove from the floor and had to float above. She gently stirred the simmering sukiyaki broth, sending bubbles and perfume drifting through the air. As she skimmed off the foam with care, she went on:

“Several hundred years ago, Tenman Fukuchi suffered a spiritual crisis. The [Command of the Oxen] faltered—details don’t matter. To ensure Tenmai’s fate, the shrine’s head maiden declared a ban: no one was allowed to cook beef or butcher draught oxen, in any household or restaurant, with strict enforcement.”

The stock was done. Kazuko let it simmer while she took a large flat pan, set it over the flame, scooped in animal fat, and waited until it melted. She then dropped slabs of tofu in, browning them on both sides.

She smiled, her sockets curving crescent-shaped.

“But beef is far too delicious. Who could really resist?”

“So, after an old ox died in the fields, the farmers would, under cover of night, butcher and cure the meat. It was tough, so they picked the fattiest cuts and sliced them paper-thin. Then they would kindle a fire, place a clean iron spade over the coals, and grill meat on top.”

“Once the spade glowed red, they’d wipe it down with beef fat. When it was hot, the slices would sizzle instantly, curling and browning. As soon as the meat was half-done, they’d pour in sweet soy sauce. A single hiss and the shoyu would vaporize, binding itself to every morsel—”

Szzzt!—

Paper-thin strips of beef curled and browned in the flat pan. Beside them, the browned tofu, and a variety of ingredients set aside and washed earlier—crab mushrooms, shiitake, enoki, napa cabbage, daikon—were all carefully arranged and added.

There was no live cattle on the farm, so no beef fat either; other animal fats and hotpot beef sufficed for substitutions.

Yet even in the apocalypse, these changes did nothing to diminish the sukiyaki’s deliciousness.

As the aroma rose, Zhong Yanqing was nearly hypnotized.

Kazuko inhaled deeply.

“Ah, to eat this by night—there’s nothing better.”

Zhong Yanqing inhaled too, nodding vigorously.

Though she had resolved to see things through, and had grown into a competent adult, there were moments when Kazuko looked anything but the Tenmai Maiden.
Despite all she had experienced, the little girl at her core had never vanished.

“The miko never told me stories like this, nor did the gods let us eat food like this.”

Beneath the moon, she smiled softly.

“When I was young and shirked my duties, I became obsessed with braiding. Bamboo, grass, reeds—I learned it all, and fast.”

“Uncle used to laugh at me, teasing and pestering, wanting me to make him a new straw hat.”

“I said sure—but not for free. He had to make me something from the mountain that I’d never tasted before.”

“So, on an autumn day, Uncle Yamada pinched scallions, mirin, and sweet soy from the kitchen—and took me up the hill to cook sukiyaki.”

“Ordinary protection and errands might have been duty, but this was all his own idea. I remember that bright day, he’d gone down for beef and vegetables, and we even found a wild pheasant to roast. It tasted amazing. I ate till I couldn’t stand. I wove the hat for him and, feeling generous, tied on my own jade pendant with a red tassel.”

“…But we lost track of time, forgot the evening sauce was supposed to be returned before dinner, and got caught red-handed.”

Kazuko chuckled at the memory.

“I have never seen the chief priestess so angry—her voice shook half the mountain. Uncle Yamada bowed and scuffed his feet all the way through her lecture, then got three months of solitary meditation and a half-year of scolding from the cook.”

“Later, I secretly left half a pot of sukiyaki in a lunch box, and at midnight I snuck it over the wall for Aiko. She was startled, tried to refuse for ages, but caved on her first mouthful. She finished it all—elegant as ever, but devouring every last scrap. Then, at my pleading, she found a suitable pretext—something about a ceremonial festival—and canceled all Uncle Yamada’s punishments.”

“That girl didn’t know how to lie; she stammered and blushed through the meeting with the chief priestess. I was a mess, worried sick.”

It was a story full of warmth; Kazuko’s face was gentle as she remembered. She tasted the broth—“Hm, maybe a little sweet. I’ll add some salt.”

“In the end, since this is a meal for Uncle Yamada—for the warriors—maybe dishes woven with our shared memories are better than ritual food.”

“But really, that’s just one reason.”

Zhong Yanqing, always interested in the histories of other worlds, jotted notes and listened with shining eyes, completely enchanted. At Kazuko’s words, she perked up. “Then what’s the main reason?”

Kazuko said seriously, “Ritual food is terrible—fishy, bland, and always meatless, even Aiko wouldn’t eat it.”

“After every festival, Aiko would distribute the food to the people. Everyone lauded her for her benevolence, but when I nudged her she’d always go red.”

Zhong Yanqing: “…”

Si Zhiyan had quietly listened the entire way; at last, he couldn’t help it, covered his mouth and chuckled.
“What a waste. Food ought to taste good.” He smiled, “Food exists for people to enjoy; deliciousness is the first priority.”

Kazuko and Zhong Yanqing both nodded in total agreement.

As they chatted, the sukiyaki was soon done.

Zhong Yanqing eyed it, “It’s so full. How will we carry it? It’s heavy—should I call someone to help?”

Kazuko beckoned, and a host of red threads rose and cradled the pot, lifting it smoothly and without so much as a drop spilled.

Meanwhile, Si Zhiyan’s glance summoned swirling clouds, and a Japanese-style side table and stand floated from the corner, suspended in midair.

Whereas Zhong Yanqing and Kazuko chatted, Si Zhiyan silently retrieved a table, various incense burners, candles, bowls and chopsticks, fruit, and sake. He now gathered them behind the trio, hovering in the air.

Zhong Yanqing: “…I’m definitely outdone with you immortals.”

…

The night’s attacks had now passed, the blood-mist waning.

Deep in the nighttime Blackthorn Forest, the ancient trees stretched skyward and vanished into the shadows.

They walked the broad road among the trees.

Kazuko glanced back at Si Zhiyan.
After all this time, the little miko was still as ghostly as ever—pale as always, haunted and unreadable, her hollow eyes fixed on others with eerie insistence.

Si Zhiyan was unbothered, lowering his gaze kindly. “What is it?”

Kazuko was silent a moment, then murmured, “Please—lend me your courage.”

……

She stared at Si Zhiyan so intently she seemed to want to brand him into her very marrow.

“To this day, I remember—when you and I unveiled the truth and forged our pledge of alliance.”
“You told me: to shatter the fate-chart, and to piece together a road from the wreckage and ruin.”

“I remember. I always have.”

She whispered, “But now, I must seek out the Tenmai. My connection to it is deepening, and I don’t know if what I’m about to do is right, nor if I’ll succeed, or return as I am now.”

Si Zhiyan raised a hand and rested it softly atop her cold, silky hair, gently ruffling it.

In the chill of night, the warmth in his palm was achingly clear.

Kazuko slowly closed her empty sockets.

“Go on,” Si Zhiyan said. “I believe in you.”

After a pause, he added,

“It’s all right even if things go wrong. I’m right behind you. I’ll think of something.”

Kazuko nodded.

After a while, she let out a gentle laugh.

“I… I was born third or fourth in my family; at just three years old I was taken far from home, with little memory of my parents or siblings. I don’t remember their ages or faces anymore.”

“But…” She raised her head, rubbing her temple against Si Zhiyan’s hand. “If I ever had a true elder brother, I wish… he’d be like you.”

Si Zhiyan patted her black hair and smiled: “Then leave me a bowl of sukiyaki.”

Come back safe. We’re family too.

Kazuko’s face broke into a smile, and she nodded.

…

At last, they reached the blackthorn tree with the ribbon tied about its boughs.

Kazuko took one last look at Si Zhiyan, then turned and walked forward without hesitation.
She laid out the table, cleansed her hands, lit incense and poured the sake.

As she set the food in place, she didn’t affect an air of deep suffering; instead, recalling the warriors’ old stories, she often chuckled.
When she finally settled herself, the bearing of a Tenmai Maiden descended on her, but not as a mask—it was a natural fusion.

The wild girl who chased deer and birds in the hills was still inside her; so too was the Tenmai Maiden in her ceremonial robes.

Clink!

At a turn of the wrist, her kagura bells chimed, and all the winds nearby fell still.

Clink!

Kazuko clasped her hands, bell between them at her brow, shadows of a thousand trees carpeting her in silent embrace.

An ethereal voice echoed through the forest.

【Ah, in reverence I offer this—
【With trembling awe, I humbly present this meal, by grace of Inari and the bounty of sacred wheat…】

Clink!

Wind thundered through. Crimson threads billowed into place, the silver and red robes of the Tenmai Maiden whipping wildly.

As she lifted her head, all the heavens seemed to look down.

【Here dwell eight hundred thousand attendant gods, guarding the warriors, blades unsheathed at dusk and dawn, braving wind and snow, standing watch for centuries, denied rest.】

The woods swayed like ocean waves, branches dancing, the blood-mist snatched away by the wind.

Zhong Yanqing was forced a step back, invoking her own chosen sigils just to remain standing.

【Now, by Tenmai’s celestial mandate, by iron oath I bind us eternally, and pray that the great fate may bear witness—】

Kazuko drew a deep breath, raising her face; in the depth of her hollow eyes burned the determination of one who had resolved to die.

The wind raged, the earth shook. Before her, the trees seemed to sense what was coming, and began to lurch violently.

No longer feigning death, innumerable branches surged forth, trying to wrap around her and halt the ritual.

【My kin, my brothers and sisters, the blood debts of a thousand years—all now are borne by me, the vessel of Tenmai’s fate.】

Boom!

Tenmai’s thunder fell—rain erupted from the sky in a blinding cascade.

Tenman Fukuchi was now wholly in the hands of fate; wind, snow, rain, all as ordained.

Tenmai had heard the maiden’s prayer.

The branches writhed in a frenzy, but Kazuko’s back was straight, kneeling in the tempest, unmoved. With a mere glance down, every branch halted where it was.

It was the gaze of a [Tenmai Maiden].
No warrior could ever defy her—no more than they could ever have defied Aiko.

Her voice continued.

【I offer this body and soul, that all their sins pass now to me;
【Blood and vengeance repaid, each soul undispersed—may all come…】

Kazuko lifted her head.

【…To this place.】

Si Zhiyan, though he had never met Aiko, sensed in this moment that Kazuko might truly be the mirror image of Aiko when she issued the [Sacrificial Command].

They had been twins, one body, one soul.

This was Tenman Fukuchi, a land governed by fate, consequences ever cycling. The warriors, once raised up and honored, ended as butchers, blades turned on their own believers, blood staining the land.

Had a thousand years of immortal anguish and guilt been Tenmai’s method of atonement?

None could say.

But no matter what, Kazuko accepted the burden now.
Before Tenmai, uttering the most formal prayers, she took upon herself the karmic debt and blood price of Aiko and all these warriors.

She had consulted no one, and her heart was uncannily calm.

In this moment, she had at last stopped running from her past.

—I missed too much. My sister walked alone, my followers were broken.

At last, roused from my long sleep, let me do something.

I need to do something!

Boom!

Tenmai sent down a miracle.

And in the next instant, from Kazuko’s empty eyes burst rivers upon rivers of blood, stilled corpses, and bleached bones—all pouring forth.

A thousand eyes whirled through that blood, not flowing down but filling her sockets.

Tens of thousands of eyes swirled in her pupils, a thousand bones forming the irises, rivers of blood filling the whites.

【——】

Kazuko’s shoulders shook violently; she was clearly enduring overwhelming agony, but not a sound escaped her lips.

With this rain and the wrath of all life, she was gifted a pair of crimson, eye-filled eyes—thousands of eyes upon eyes.

Far overhead, shrouded in clouds, the bloodshot pupil of the [Eye] glared down in roiling hatred.

Kazuko raised her face at last.

Suddenly, Zhong Yanqing’s ears exploded in pain; blood gushed from her ear canals. Si Zhiyan pulled her in front of him, clapping a hand over her eyes.

“Don’t look.”

Such things could not be beheld by mortals.

Zhong Yanqing panted, clutching his sleeve and nodding.

Si Zhiyan thought:

…But I’m all right.

Why am I all right?

Soaked through, he felt no chill; instead, by reflex, he reached up to clutch the vine at his neck.

The vine had always been with him.

He gazed into Kazuko’s newly crimson, abyssal eyes, as if seeing endless horrors and unjustly slain souls.

No words could truly describe what she now held in her eyes.

They were the souls of the millions slain by the [Sacrificial Command]—blood-bound, suffering, yet still human and longing.

Whether those souls would prove boon or bane, Si Zhiyan could not guess. But without doubt, Kazuko had undergone a transformation.

The Blackthorn Forest howled in the wind and rain.
All the warriors could do was reach their branches overhead, sheltering their miko from the stinging rain.

Once Kazuko recovered herself—

Her first act was to straighten, and turn back to look at Si Zhiyan.

He met her gaze as if she were a dear younger sister. Protecting Zhong Yanqing, he smiled and nodded at Kazuko—

It’s all right. I’m here.

Then he pointed at her eyes and gently shook his head.

Kazuko nodded with a smile, and shut her eyes once more.
She would never again open them lightly, but now could see even more.

She looked up at the warriors shielding her from the rain.

Her hair was plastered to her face, soaked by the storm.

She suddenly laughed.

【From this day forth, may your paths be pure and bright, steadfast as pine and wall.】

【Hearts of iron, unmoved through wind and storm—never more beset by the debts of sin.】

Kazuko clapped her hands together, saluting, voice as light as those carefree days before a meal, identical to her childhood prayer.

【…Itadakimasu!】

The trees quivered even more violently.

Above, the wind and rain receded at last.
The ritual ended, the power faded, clouds dispersed, leaving nothing but a wisp of blood-mist.

For the first time since the bloody sacrifice that cursed this land, a formal, sacred rite, led by a Tenmai Maiden, had returned to Tenman Fukuchi.

But the offering at Kazuko’s table was not a bland fish for the gods, but a boiling, fragrant pot of sukiyaki—a bubbling rhapsody of meat, fish, tofu, cabbage, mushrooms, daikon, all saturated in savory sauce.

The aroma curled in rich clouds—a feast for mortals, not spirits.

Kazuko picked up bowl and chopsticks, beat a raw egg to golden froth, and filled the bowl with delicacies.

She did not hold back, smiling softly.

“…I’m not doing this for Tenmai, but for all of you.”

Then, holding the bowl before her, she intoned, clear and slow:

“So, Uncle Yamada,

With the authority of the Tenmai Maiden,

Come forth. Eat with me. Pledge to serve me.”

——

The clear, ethereal invocation rang through the Blackthorn Forest.

…

The wind gradually fell still.

The swaying shadows dispersed.

Before her, a tall, half-transparent figure slowly took shape—a burly warrior, beard unkempt, somewhat ragged.

After all these years, he still wore his old straw hat, never parting from it. The red tassel Kazuko had bound there was faded and torn, the hat frayed and broken, the brim ruined.

The left eye wrinkled deeply with age, and half his face was scarred, battered by time.

Uncle Yamada had lived a long, long time, Kazuko thought. That was good.

They had changed in the intervening years.

Now Yamada was one-armed, only the empty sleeve of his left hanging. Slowly, he stretched his remaining right hand, took the bowl and chopsticks.

His hand trembled fiercely; he made several attempts before settling the bowl upon the table, and picking up a morsel of beef.

Fatty and fragrant, beef fibered and juicy; the sukiyaki broth glistened over it in dark gold. Slightly overcooked, just the way he liked in his youth. The meat glistened with egg, and fragrant tofu and mushrooms soaked in golden yolk.

He had always savored this bite—his little priestess had never once forgotten.

And it seemed he had never once forgotten her.

Nearly a thousand years.

Tears slid down his jaw into the soup. Yamada’s great frame hunched low, his voice rough, barely choking out a sound.

【Tenman Shrine… Chief Divine Attendant Warrior Yamada Kei… with 135,000 warriors of the sacred land…】

【…Accept the command!】

Rustle—

The wind rose. Moonlight spilled. The blood-mist had not yet returned.

Si Zhiyan gazed out—line after line, row upon row of blackthorn trees, standing at attention beneath the stars, rank upon rank as far as the eye could see.

There were so many.

In her final days, Aiko, to ensure the Sacrificial Command’s success, had conscripted uncounted warriors. He did not know what method revived the dead to serve again as undead warriors for Tenman Shrine.

And among them, the finest warriors in history were Aiko’s invincible generals.

This was not a mere guard—it was the first, and only, organized [army] Tenman Fukuchi had ever known.

In battle, casualties were inevitable; new warriors joined the ranks. But every living and fallen warrior was reborn in Blackthorn Forest.

Si Zhiyan did not know how much power was left within this force, but there was no doubt—

This was a host that had outlasted death, an army tempered in countless wars.

He looked up at the [Eye], meeting the gaze full of malice and chaos, staring into the blood within, and smiled faintly.

“It’s close now.”

He whispered,

“I won’t keep you waiting much longer.”