Chapter 3

In his infancy, he reached the enlightened state of a Zen monk in less than three months. Since waking up, as he repeatedly endured shameful play that seemed to shatter his glass heart, he apparently acquired an unshakable mind at the tender age of zero (one by the traditional Japanese counting system).

"Sou-kun's making a funny face, so he probably wet himself."

The baby who didn't cry.

However, his furrowed brow revealed a heart full of bitter suffering, like a wrinkled plum. If he were an adult, people might say he had a difficult expression, but when a baby does it, it somehow elicits laughter. Each time he defecated, his soul soared over a large hill, spreading the wings of resignation and easily surpassing the K-point. Laid on the floor, the swaddling cloth was unwrapped. While his ankles were held and his bottom was wiped, the baby maintained a solemn expression, like a practitioner of ascetic training, in silence. In fact, he was reciting the Heart Sutra in his head. This was his self-defense effort, despite his baby body, but with an old man's heart. Incidentally, in his previous life, he and his family had little to do with religion.

"Haru, Tsuru-san has come."

From outside the house, the grandfather's voice.

Just as the sound was heard at the entrance, a round figure peeked into the house. It was Tsuru-san, the neighbor, with a sturdy and plump build.

"I thought it was about time for a feeding. My baby just drank and there's plenty of milk..."

"I'm changing the diaper now! Please wait a moment."

"Hehe, Sou-kun is making a serious face again. For such a little one, he looks like a samurai in a grand procession."

The diaper change, a daily routine, was performed without a hitch. The mother flipped him over, and the diaper was quickly replaced. Tsuru-san, who had entered without permission as usual, picked him up to her chest, refreshed and enjoying a sense of invigoration.

"Go ahead and suck."

"Sou-kun, drink your fill."

The soiled diaper was rolled up, and the mother quickly went outside. Apparently, if left too long, the stains wouldn't come out, so she always washed it on the spot. As he sent a grateful thought to her retreating figure, he focused his attention on the massive object presented before him. Tsuru-san's breasts, which had nurtured seven children, overwhelmed him with their shape and volume.

"Here, drink nicely."

He wasn't particularly hungry.

But this miniature body, with a small fuel tank and poor fuel efficiency, needed to take in nutrients whenever possible. Overwhelmed by Tsuru-san's massive breasts, he froze. Refusing to eat was not an option. Tsuru-san, an expert at handling children, placed his mouth on the breast without hesitation. Once this happened, he could only breathe through his nose. And the mystery of life kicked in. His body, without any instruction, began to suckle.

"Again with that serious face. Hahaha, what a funny face."

Unnecessary words were automatically canceled by his ears. He closed his eyes solemnly and began reciting the Heart Sutra in his mind. To survive, he had to overcome this ascetic practice.

Kousuke's family consists of his mother and her parents, a total of four people. There is no father. It seems he was conceived when a local samurai (half-samurai, half-farmer) snuck into his mother's room at night. Because it could be spoken of with a normal face, he found out at the age of one that he was a bastard. The baby was indignant that his mother was left alone after giving birth, but it seems the father's family provided some assistance, and the mothers were satisfied with that.

"Since he has the blood of Katsumasa-sama, this child is a legitimate descendant of the Hayashi clan. We must raise him carefully."

"Even the Hayashi-sama of Fugen-gei gives us ten mon every month. When he grows up, he might even become the heir..."

Both our grandfather and grandmother, being country folk who don't know the difference between sincerity and pretense, speak their minds. Thanks to this, he learned about his background and surroundings even before he could say "hai hai." Our family, though poor, is a true farmer (land-owning farmer) with three tan of rice fields. A "tan" is a long, narrow rice field of about 300 tsubo (about 990 square meters), which can produce one koku (the amount of rice one adult can eat in a year). So, it means a farm that produces three koku of rice. For three adults, it seems like a comfortable life, but in reality, like all farmers, it is extremely poor. This is because a tax called nengu is always levied on the subjects. The exact tax rate is unknown, but it is probably around 50% as is generally said. Using the half-baked knowledge from a high school research project, 50% of the three tan of rice is taken by the lord. What remains is 50% of three tan, or 1.5 tan of rice. From the previous life, he had a rough idea of the actual yield per tan from neighboring farmers. Accurately, one tan does not equal one koku, but the yield has increased over time, and in the Heisei era, it was about eight koku (60 kg × 8 = 480 kg) on average. Assuming the yield in the Edo period was about half as strict, 4 koku × 1.5 equals a total of 6 koku. Since one koku is 60 kg, about 360 kg of rice remains. 360 kg! That's super rich! ... There was a time when he had a contented face. The idea that 360 kg is enough is probably due to modern sensibilities. There are no other staple foods besides rice, so the daily consumption is substantial, and vegetables, seasonings, clothing, and other consumer goods must be purchased with the money from selling the rice. While food is one thing, cloth in this era is an incredibly expensive luxury item. Salt and miso are also expensive, and the cheap sake that the grandfather occasionally sends him to buy hits the household budget hard. The poverty that he, still nourished by milk, could not fully grasp, filled the house.

Our lord is called Hayashi-sama.

Since he hasn't yet pinpointed the location, he doesn't know if "Hayashi-sama" is a daimyo or a hatamoto, but it is certain that the area is a remote rural region. While being carried by his mother outside the house, he always looked around with great interest. At the moment, what he was concerned about was the familiar ridge of a small hill to the south of the house. The shape of the hill, which looked like a fat man lying down, seemed to be trying to tell him something.

(Could that be... Takayashiro Mountain...?)

*Note: [Takayashiro Mountain] (Takayashiro-yama) is 416.6 meters high and forms the southern boundary of the Tajimi Basin.