The northern Asian coast in late autumn was filled with a bleak, killing chill. Withered yellow trees lined the shore, and deep forest lay in the distance. The sky was a sullen gray gloom, and the sea a calm gray-white. A Zheyang Ship rarely seen in the north, with three decks, had lowered all five of its sails and was moored beside the river mouth on the coast. This quiet Tang ship faced the noisy Evenk camp not far away in silence, making the scene seem all the colder and lonelier.
"Frost descends on the wilds, the reeds are clear and cold. Far from home, they clutch tight at my sleeve, yet drift toward the farther north..."
The cool, lonely haiku drifted over from the bow of the Zheyang Ship, carrying a few strains of inexplicable melancholy. And yet the one who spoke such a beautiful haiku was a tall, powerfully built monk. He wore a deerskin robe, had a headscarf wrapped around his head, and Buddhist beads circled his neck. But judging from the long naginata on his back and the hideous, conspicuous scar on his face, he was less a monk than a warrior monk.
"Haha! The sea of the northern lands—first time here, first time seeing it. It really is different from the seas of the Ming Dynasty in the south! I truly never imagined that I, a general of the Soni Clan... would finally take refuge in the Buddha... and come to this frigid northern sea..."
The strong warrior monk laughed with feeling, then walked toward the sakayaki-haired warrior at the bow and asked with a smile.
"Murakami-kun, have you already finished negotiating with the leaders of these Ezo People? About the important matter of the Jurchen Horse..."
Hearing this, the Kakizaki Clan's ship magistrate, Murakami