Kyoraku Clan Zhai
inner courtyard
Shunsui Kyōraku Sitting under the cherry tree in the backyard, it is already evening.
Wine bottles were placed crookedly on the floor, porcelain, pottery, blue and white, and black glaze, large and small, as if they had been thrown carelessly on the floor. Some bottles were knocked together when they fell, and small pieces of porcelain were knocked off the bottle mouth. The fragments were scattered among the grass blades, illuminated by the last few rays of the setting sun, they were as bright as broken stars. The air was filled with the mellow aroma of strong liquor and the bitter summer smell of cherry blossom trees. The two smells were mixed together, and were stirred up by the evening breeze. Sweet and astringent.
He was still holding the last bottle in his hand, with the mouth of the bottle facing the ground. The last drop of wine had been poured out, but his hand did not let go.
He was leaning there, his head tilted back against the tree trunk, his eyes open.
He didn't know how much he drank, and he didn't want to know.
The old servant came once and took a look at the corridor from a distance. He saw empty bottles on the ground and the young master leaning against the tree. He didn't dare to say anything and quietly retreated.
Later, the eldest brother Haruyama also came here. He stood at the entrance of the courtyard and glanced at the wine bottles scattered all over the place. He knew those bottles. Jiunaicang's wine. Every bottle was ridiculously expensive, so his brother drank it all over the floor like water.
Haruyama stood at the door for a moment and said, "You know how to choose."
Then he turned around and left without a second sentence.
Kyōraku thinks this is good. He doesn't want to hear reprimands or comfort. He just wants to be alone and let alcohol do for him what he can't do on his own.
He closed his eyes for a while, then opened them again. The leaves of the cherry tree were densely spread over his head, and the evening breeze leaked through the gaps, bringing with it a bit of coolness.
The chirping of cicadas came from afar, one after another, as if it would never stop. Usually, he thought the cicadas were too noisy, but today he didn't feel it. He was probably too tired, and he was too tired to even bother with the cicadas chirping.
He thought of the sky of the Light Empire
He thought of Watanabe, and the wine bottle that Watanabe handed him the night before departure.
"Hey Kyōraku, if you don't drink while on a mission, you will die of worry." Watanabe's smile was particularly bright under the moonlight, with an unprepared luster that only living people can have.
Thinking of Watanabe lying on the gravel ground, his chest penetrated by Holy Arrow, with his eyes still open, looking at a slow-moving cloud in the sky, and thinking of the wine bottle that fell in his hand
He thought of Ono, Ono himself fell next to the half blade, with his body covered with arrow holes.
He thought of Yamada. His Shunpo was the best in the team, but he stayed behind to cover the retreat of others.
These images floated up in my mind, then were suppressed by the wine. They floated up and down. Each time they floated up and down, they were a little slower and blurry than the last time. They were like a stone sinking into deep water, swinging away in circles, then getting darker and farther away.
He raised the empty bottle in his hand and looked at the light. There was still a thin layer of wine at the bottom of the bottle.
"Bankai yo" he said softly.
"I learned"
He smiled. It was very short, and the corners of his mouth just went up and then fell back down.
"... What's the use..."
He threw the empty bottle aside. The bottle rolled twice on the ground and hit another bottle with a crisp sound. Then he leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
The chirping of cicadas came from afar, one after another, as if it would never stop.
He just sat like that, waiting for it to get dark, waiting for those faces to emerge from his mind and be suppressed again. Waiting for alcohol to do for him what he couldn't do.
Even if it is only temporarily, for a moment, pretend that those people are still alive, pretend that Watanabe is still shaking the flask at him under the moonlight, pretend that Ono is still there when he gets stuck, naturally add the next sentence, pretend that Yamada He still pursed his lips and smiled when he was telling jokes, pretending that he didn't lead them into the gravel-strewn low-lying land, pretending that he didn't shout out when the enemy attacked but didn't shout back, pretending that the shadow of Katen Kyōkotsu could hide everyone's life and not just his own.
But alcohol can't do that. Alcohol can only make those pictures a little blurry and distant, like watching a dream that has nothing to do with him. But as long as he wakes up, even if it's just for a brief moment from being tipsy, Watanabe's eyes are still looking at him, Ono's arrow holes are still bleeding out, and Yamada's lips still have a smile that only he can understand.
Early the next morning
Early the next morning, the sunlight slanted in through the window lattice and fell on the tatami, slowly dissipating the coolness of the night.
Shunsui didn't know how he walked back to his room from the yard last night. Maybe he was supported by an old servant, maybe his eldest brother asked his family members to carry him, or maybe he walked by himself. He couldn't remember clearly.
He was sitting in the main hall, with a bowl of porridge in front of him. It was white porridge without anything added. The heat was rising upwards. He was hungover and his head still ached. His temples felt like someone was pressing them in with two fingers at the same time. The pressure made it difficult for him to even raise his eyelids.
Haruyama sat opposite him.
Kyoraku Clan's eldest young master is sitting upright, holding a folding fan in his hand. The fan is not opened, just holding it, and his eyes fall on his younger brother.
"Do you know how much you drank last night?" Haruyama said, his voice was steady, but there was a thin layer of ice in it.
Chun Shunsui lowered his head and fiddled with the porridge in the bowl with chopsticks. Without looking up at him, he responded vaguely from his throat, "Yes."
"Do you know what kind of wine that is?"
Shunsui shook his head
"Do you know how much it's worth?"
Shunsui's chopsticks paused for a moment
He picked up the wines casually from the wine cellar without looking at the year, labels, or which cabinet, row or floor they were in.
He just wanted to drink. He felt that one bottle was not enough, so he took another bottle, then the third bottle, and the fourth bottle. He never thought about how much those bottles were worth, nor did he think that anyone in the world would care about this. Now he knows, Big Brother cares.
He opened his mouth to say something, but in the end he swallowed it all
Haruyama looked at him silently and patted his palms with a folding fan.
"Do you know how much those drinks you just picked up cost?"
"I..." Shunsui wants to say I'm sorry, wants to say I won't do it next time, wants to say I will compensate
But he knows that the elder brother doesn't want to hear this
What the eldest brother wants to hear is not an apology, but a guarantee, a guarantee that he will not carry it alone again, a guarantee that he will not make himself like this again, a guarantee that he will not let the eldest brother stand at the gate of the hospital for a long time and then turn around and walk away. But he cannot give these guarantees because even he himself does not know if there will be a next time. He cannot guarantee it, so he is silent.
Haruyama looked at him, his lips pursed into a line
Haruyama looked at his appearance, still hungover, with his hair messed up into a bird's nest, and sighed.
"Forget it, just drink it."
Shunsui lowered his head. "Brother, I will pay attention to it in the future."
Haruyama glanced at him, nodded, and didn't answer any more.