Logan was completely unaware of his situation. Wearing an absurdly cocky expression, he struck up a conversation with the woman. He knew it would make him seem imposing and manly.
By European and American standards, he was short, but in Japan of this era, one meter sixty was more than enough!
He used to have to crane his neck to look up at people. Now, he could look down at some of them. That was where his confidence came from.
Japanese women were more reserved than European and American women. Whenever a stranger spoke to them, they would turn their heads away to avoid eye contact, revealing a stretch of snow-white neck above the collar of their kimono.
This woman's neck was beautiful, like lustrous white jade. Logan stared at the woman before him and was briefly lost in thought.
Under his gaze, her neck quickly flushed red. The woman felt both embarrassed and annoyed at the man blocking her path, but when she spoke, her voice was as faint as a mosquito's.
"Sir? You're blocking my way."
"Oh, um, I wanted to ask your name."
Logan came back to his senses and spoke bluntly, as European and American as ever.
Yet the scene was filled with Japanese delicacy and beauty.
It was dusk after a heavy snowfall. A herd of deer watched them from not far away, while the man and woman met beneath the eaves of a shrine. The crimson corridor pillars were as red as their faces.
The sunlight reflected off the snow was exceptionally soft, and the setting sun rimmed them both in gold. Logan looked at the little flowers on her kimono, and every blossom seemed bright and tender enough to drip with dew.
Japanese women of this era were reserved and shy, but they