Seven envelopes. All opened.
On the desk, three on the left—Weber, Emi, and Dojima. Technology and security.
Four on the right—Frank, Kagawa, SIS Mitsubishi, and Itakura. Finance and architecture.
Without realizing it, the light outside the window had shifted from the warm gold of afternoon to the deep orange of dusk.
The shadows of the maple trees on the shoji paper stretched, extending from the left end of the window frame all the way to the right.
The entire afternoon, Shuichi had stayed by her side.
For all seven letters, he was there for each one as it was opened. He asked what needed to be asked and added what needed to be added.
Some things he could help with, some were beyond his reach—but regardless, he was always there.
Once, he got up to refill the tea.
Satsuki's cup of genmaicha had gone cold and been reheated, then cooled again, three times over.
Each time Shuichi refilled it, Satsuki didn't even need to look up. Whenever she remembered to drink, the cup at her side was always warm.
A servant knocked on the door twice to ask if they were ready for dinner.
The first time was at 5:30.
Shuichi waved his hand toward the door, his voice very low. "Later. She isn't finished yet."
The second time was at 6:15.
Shuichi stood, walked to the door, and pulled it open a crack.
He whispered a few instructions to the servant waiting in the corridor.
The servant bowed and retreated. The door closed again.
By the time Shuichi walked back, Satsuki had just finished writing the last line of her notes.
She put the paper knife back in the drawer and placed the pencil on the pen rest.
She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her right wrist, which was slightly sore from holding the pen for so long.
A few documents that needed to be forwarded to Endo were stacked together and clipped with a paperclip.
The rest were placed back into their respective envelopes and laid face down on the desk.
The shadows of the maple trees were no longer visible outside the window.
The deep orange daylight was fading, and the study began to grow dim.
Shuichi walked to the wall and switched on the brass floor lamp.
The lampshade was frosted glass, casting a very soft, warm yellow light.
The soft light cast a warm glow across Satsuki's profile.
She stood up from the chair and stretched, in a very unladylike manner.
"Hungry?"
Satsuki turned her head to look at her father. She nodded frankly.
"Yes. Starving."
Shuichi smiled. "Let's go. Time to eat."
The two walked out of the study side by side.
Wall lamps had already been lit in the corridor, and warm yellow light flowed along the grain of the cedar panels.
The air was filled with the faint, clear fragrance of dashi—the sweetness of miso and bonito flakes.
"I had the kitchen prepare pacific saury this afternoon," Shuichi said, walking beside Satsuki, his tone casual.
"The first catch of the season, sent directly from Nemuro. The fat layer is much thicker than last year's."
"From Nemuro?" Satsuki's interest piqued. "That's definitely good."
"Yes. Salt-grilled. But I told them to go light on the salt."
Satsuki's footsteps faltered slightly. "…You still remember that."
"Of course I remember." Shuichi's tone was too lighthearted for a zaibatsu head busy with a thousand affairs.
"Last time, you complained there was too much salt and grumbled about it for the entire meal. How could I not remember?"
"I didn't grumble for the entire meal…" Satsuki turned her head away and whispered a defense. "I only mentioned it once."
"Once? You said it three times." Shuichi held up three fingers.
"'Too much salt,' 'Who put the salt in,' 'Can you go lighter next time.' Three whole times. Word for word, I remember it all."
"…" Satsuki turned her head away, her earlobes seeming to flush slightly red.
Dinner was set in the Japanese-style room.
A dark blue tablecloth was spread over the low table.
White rice, red miso soup, pickled daikon, simmered dishes, and seasoned spinach were arranged on the table according to formal dining etiquette.
The grilled pacific saury was placed in the center of a long dish, with fine charred marks on its silvery skin, and the rendered oil still bubbling slightly.
There were also two bamboo steamers.
Beside the steamers was a small dish of ginger strips and a small pot of black vinegar.
Water droplets still condensed on the bamboo lids—they had just been taken out of the steamer, and the steam had darkened the bamboo covers.
Seeing the two steamers, Satsuki paused.
She turned to look at Shuichi.
Shuichi sat down opposite her and took the chopsticks from the butler.
"Reheated," he said. But the steamers had been placed closer to Satsuki.
She lifted the lid of the steamer.
The thin skins of the xiaolongbao were puffed up by the steam, and the orange-red crab roe filling was faintly visible beneath the translucent dough.
Satsuki picked one up, dipped it lightly in the dish of ginger and vinegar, put it into her mouth, and took a small bite.
The moment her teeth pierced the thin skin, the piping hot soup surged out—the fresh sweetness of the crab paste wrapped in the richness of the melted pork gelatin.
She quickly pursed her lips to catch it, afraid it would spill.
The slight acidity of the ginger vinegar remained on the tip of her tongue, just enough to cut through that layer of heavy grease.
"Mmm—delicious." Satsuki gave her assessment seriously.
"To think it didn't break even after being resteamed. The kitchen's control of the heat was excellent this time."
Shuichi also picked one up. He carefully dipped it in the vinegar dish—but dipped it too deep, submerging half the xiaolongbao.
Watching his actions, Satsuki's mouth twitched involuntarily.
"Father… just a light dip is fine. Are you giving it a vinegar bath?"
"Huh? Is this not right?" Shuichi looked innocently at the soggy xiaolongbao in the vinegar dish.
"Just a little is fine, otherwise you can't taste the crab roe."
Shuichi put the vinegar-soaked xiaolongbao into his mouth and chewed twice. His eyebrows raised slightly.
"Hmm… it is quite good. I'll dip less next time."
Then he reached out with his chopsticks to pick up a second one—this time, his dipping motion was noticeably more restrained.
The father and daughter shared the steamers in a tacit understanding.
There were eight in the first steamer. Satsuki ate five, and Shuichi ate three.
When the second steamer was opened, the steam was not as abundant as the first, but the flavor of the crab roe remained rich.
The last one. She picked it up, paused for a moment. Then she placed it on the plate in front of Shuichi.
Shuichi looked at the lonely xiaolongbao. "Sixteen total. You ate nine, and I ate six. Giving the last one to me as charity?"
"Yes. The last one is for Father." Satsuki picked up a piece of white meat from the pacific saury, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Just be content. This is a limited edition."
"Yes, yes, yes. Then I shall humbly accept the gift."
Shuichi smiled, dipped the xiaolongbao in a little vinegar, and put it into his mouth.
The salt on the pacific saury was indeed light.
The silvery skin was grilled to a slight crisp, and the fat layer beneath rendered oil under the high heat, spreading a dense, fresh sweetness in her mouth.
Satsuki neatly flaked the fish meat off the spine, paired it with a mouthful of white rice, and ate earnestly.
"How is it?" Shuichi asked. "Is the amount of salt okay this time?"
Satsuki chewed twice. "Yes." She nodded. "It's just right this time."
A satisfied smile spread across Shuichi's face.
That satisfaction did not come from the food itself—for him, what mattered more was that he had "remembered his daughter's taste and gotten it right."
After the dishes were cleared, the butler brought the after-dinner tea.
Satsuki took the teacup.
Black tea. The tea in the cup was a deep amber, with a slight reddish tint.
She leaned in and smelled it. So fragrant…
Is it the tin that Bureau Chief Chen gave her at the airport?
"Oh." Satsuki exclaimed softly in surprise. "Did Father have the kitchen brew this?"
"Yes. I had them prepare it just now." Shuichi picked up his cup of roasted tea.
"Didn't you say he gave you a tin of good tea? It's just the right time to change your palate after the meal."
Satsuki took a sip. The tea slid down her throat, warm, smooth, and full-bodied.
The aftertaste had a hint of honey-like sweetness.
"Delicious." She put down the cup and ran her finger lightly around the rim.
"This Director Chen has good taste in gifts, too."
"Then thank him on my behalf the next time you see him," Shuichi said with a smile.
"He is an interesting person." Satsuki's tone was light, but a flash of seriousness crossed her brow.
She held the teacup and was quiet for a few seconds.
The stone lantern in the courtyard outside had been lit by the servants at some point.
The faint candlelight leaked out from the hexagonal lattice windows, casting a small, warm yellow glow onto the moss-covered stone surface.
The chirping of autumn insects came from somewhere in the corner. One long, three short.
"Father." Shuichi put down his roasted tea cup and looked at her.
"Starting tomorrow, it will be very busy."
Shuichi's expression did not change at all. It was as if he had long anticipated those words.
"Yes." His voice was very flat. "I know."
He didn't ask "busy with what." Nor did he ask "what do you need me to do."
When Satsuki needed him to provide information, he would be forthcoming without reservation.
When Satsuki did not take the initiative to speak, he would never ask more.
He only needed to know one thing—his daughter was moving forward. And he would guard everything behind her.
Satsuki drank the last sip of black tea in her cup.
There was a leaf at the bottom, resting on the porcelain surface of the cup's base.
She placed the empty cup on the table and stood up. "Good night, Father."
She walked toward the sliding door of the Japanese-style room, looked back at Shuichi. "Get some rest early."
"Don't stay up late reading reports anymore. If you don't listen, I'm going to be angry."
Shuichi was amused by the words "don't listen" and "angry."
"Yes, yes, yes, no staying up late. You go to sleep early too."
Satsuki turned back around, hooked her fingers into the groove of the door frame, and pulled the door open.
Then she paused. She didn't look back.
"Crab roe xiaolongbao—I'll take you with me next time I go to China."
Her voice was very soft, the tail end slightly raised.
"There is so much more delicious food there. Pan-fried buns, scallion oil noodles, pork chop rice cakes… I'll take you to try them one by one when the time comes."
The door opened and closed again.
The sound of footsteps faded away along the corridor.
Shuichi sat where he was.
The dishes in front of him had been cleared away, leaving only a cup of roasted tea and that warm yellow light.
He looked at the gap left after the sliding door closed—a sliver of light from the corridor lamp shone through the gap, drawing a very thin line of light on the tatami mats.
Take you to try them one by one.
Shuichi smiled and shook his head. He drank the roasted tea in one gulp.
The tea was a bit cold, and the bitterness spread at the root of his tongue.
But the arc of his mouth could not be suppressed.