Chapter Text
Nestled along the coast and tucked into the mountains is a small village. It carves itself with gentle, quiet hands into the mountainside, surrounded by rocky terrain and lush green forest. The sea borders the town, crashing along a rocky shore, salt water air tainting its banks and wafting through the streets. Beyond the village is the mountains. The cemetery rests in the earthy hills, peacefully overlooking the village. It is guarded by a hand built stone wall and a lone camellia tree. At night, the moon sits just behind the tree in the view from the village, and together they watch over the townspeople.
The village is small, but it is alive. There is something walking the streets, a thrum through the heart of the town. More than just the salt air and the watchful eyes of the camellia blossoms. Something lingers.
The village is hundreds of years old. Each kominka is weathered with time, the shoji screens fragile and eaves missing from the rooftops. It is not terribly far from nearby towns to import food and goods into the small shops it houses, and fishermen and farmers have thrived for years harvesting what they can and selling to villagers.
Years ago, more hands came to dig into the mountainside, less gentle and far less quiet. More modern minka were built and a few more shops emerged, like restaurants and tea houses.
The newcomers learned quickly of the quiet life lived amongst them. They respected the old land, but did not understand it. The whispers of the moon and the sea and the camellia tree came to them only as wind rippling past their ears. The warnings etched into the eaves and stone streets were not heard.
Oh Sion arrives on a quiet afternoon in late fall. A crisp chill has already been set in the air, heightened by the sea breeze along the coast. He is greeted at the village entrance by an elderly woman with grey hair tied up and a boy with a kind, innocent face.
“You must be Sion,” the woman greets, tugging her sweater around her body as the wind whips coldly around them. Her smile is warm, reaching her eyes with kindness and age wrinkled into her skin. “My name is Mayumi. This is my grandson, Ryo.”
Sion bows his head to them. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The young man remains quiet but bows his head in return. Mayumi steps forward to place a hand on Sion’s shoulder, guiding him forward past the stone wall bordering the village perimeter. “How was the trip here?”
Sion had traveled by taxi from the airport. The drive spanned highways and bumpy roads, through hills and valleys and along the ocean. “It was good. It’s very beautiful here.”
Even being from somewhere rather rural, Sion has never been so surrounded by nature, so remote from any sign of city life.
They walk through the stone paved roads into the center of the village. “It is beautiful. This land will treat you well if you respect it well.”
“I plan to,” Sion says. He came to complete his thesis for his agricultural business degree. He respects the land, as well as the work its inhabitants do. Such a small place has such success in commerce. It’s a retreat for him too, a break somewhere separate from his bleak city life city back in Seoul.
The hilltop housing the cemetery emerges just slightly in between the rows of kominka, as the village was built around the mountains and not in place of them. From where they stand in the street, Sion can see the camellia tree atop the hill.
“Does it bloom early?” He asks, standing frozen in place facing the camellia tree. The bright red blossoms contrast the green of the bush’s leaves and the grassy landscape surrounding it.
Mayumi smiles knowingly, like Sion isn’t nearly the first person to become entranced by such a flourishing flower. “Our camellia tree stays in bloom nearly all year.”
The camellia plants Sion has seen are usually still bare at this time, blooming in the dead of winter until late spring when the blossoms drop off.
“You came here at the perfect time,” Mayumi tells him. “It’s her birthday in just a few days. Her blossoms will fall then, and she’ll rebloom in the days following.”
Sion looks inquisitively at Mayumi—he hasn’t heard of a camellia tree having a known birthday either, but he can already feel just how much this unknown place has to teach him. It feels like an entirely different world than he is used to.
“It’s as old as the village itself,” Ryo speaks for the first time. His voice perfectly matches his face, youthful and interested. “Grandma has been telling me stories since I was born.”
The village, to Sion’s eyes, looks quite old, aged down by weather and well worn by its villagers. “How old?”
Mayumi continues them on their walk home, breaking Sion out of the trance the tree had put him in. He stumbles over an uneven stone in the road. “240 years,” she says fondly, like she’s speaking of an old friend. ”You will get to be here for the celebration.”
A camellia tree who never stops blossoming, and a town who celebrates its birthday. It’s strange, Sion thinks, but Mayumi had directly told him to treat this place with great care.
They arrive at Mayumi's home shortly, and Sion slides his shoes off in the genkan and replaces them with the slippers Mayumi sets in front of his feet.
“It’s not much,” she says, already setting off toward the kitchen. “But we are happy to have you, Sion. Ryo will show you around.”
Ryo looks up at Sion from his side, a curious expression worn across his face. Almost like he’s trying to get a read on Sion and what he could possibly be doing in his sacred space in their precious village. “Follow me.”
The genkan is bare save a few sparse decorations. It houses a small storage shelf for the few pairs of shoes there and a few potted plants. Ryo slides the shoji shut behind them as they enter the living room. There’s a low couch and a small TV across from it centered along the wall. A bookcase is tucked into the corner alongside a cozy chair. The shoji is all opened up in here, letting in the natural sunlight through the verandas.
“The kitchen and dining room are that way,” Ryo points through a doorway, toward the sounds of Mayumi working over the stove. “This way are the bedrooms. We have to share. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s okay with me.” Ryo must be a teenager, at least a few years younger than Sion. It’s more of a burden on him to share his room with a stranger, and Sion is grateful to have an accommodation at all. “I hope it’s alright with you.”
Ryo only shrugs. “I used to share a room with my sister. She’s around your age.”
Sion follows Ryo through the hall and into his room. There are two small futons across the room from each other, plushies cluttering one and posters taped up along the walls. “Is she in university?”
Ryo nods, kicking off his slippers and flopping onto the plushie-covered futon. “In the city a few hours away.”
Sion mirrors the young boy across from him, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bare bed rather than sprawling across it. The room is neatly kept despite the obvious personal design decorating it. His luggage sits in the doorway, but the cushiony bedding beneath him feels so good after being cramped up in the taxi.
“How long are you staying for?” Ryo asks, blunt but not unkind.
“Three months?” Comes Sion’s unsure reply. He hasn’t fully planned it. There is no telling how long he’ll need, how long it will take him to grasp the area’s commerce or what he’ll even do with the information after. He has hit a wall with his thesis, and he is here to slowly tear that wall down. “If you’ll have me that long.”
Ryo’s face splits into a wide smile. “Are you kidding? It’s been just me and Grandma here for years. It’s nice to have someone who won’t ask me to play gomoku everyday.”
“How do you know I won’t?”
Ryo groans, swiping a hand down his face. “Please don’t. Ask Grandma to teach you. You can play with her so I don’t have to.”
Sion laughs at Ryo’s disdain, and shifts to lay flat on the futon. Ryo taps away at some game on his phone, and Sion can still hear Mayumi in the kitchen, and the gentle sounds filling the home slowly lull him to sleep.
Sion dreams of a moonlit camellia tree and a boy with dark hair standing on the cliff’s edge, outlined by the sea standing behind him.
He can tell it’s a dream, because there’s a haze in the air surrounding him and he is watching his own body walk toward the boy on the horizon, but he can taste the salt in the air and feel the cold wind stinging his cheeks. The world is tinted blue from the moon, the sea, and the dream state, and Sion watches himself reach his hand out toward the stranger ahead of him. He turns him by the shoulder, expecting to see a familiar face, only to be met with a blank one. There are no eyes, no nose, no mouth, just a smooth slate of skin down the front of the face. Sion removes his hand like he’s been shocked, and steps aside. His foot lands on a loose stone and he falls down the edge of the cliff, plummeting into the cold ocean.
“Sion-kun,” Ryo’s voice filters in as Sion hits the water. There is a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking him, and Sion is on the futon now rather than in the dark sea. He blinks his eyes open to see Ryo staring down at him. “Dinner’s ready.”
Sion nods, sitting up too quickly. The room spins around him and his head feels light.
“You okay?” Ryo asks. Sion wonders if he was so wary of him at first that he wouldn’t speak, and that seeing Sion in his home somehow feels safer.
“I had a dream,” Sion murmurs, rubbing his eyes and trying to steady himself before standing up. “Just a weird dream.”
“You’ve had a long day,” Ryo notes. He tilts his head toward the direction of the living room. “Come on. Grandma’s cooking always helps.”
Sion follows Ryo and the savory smell wafting through the house. Mayumi waits at the low dining table, three places set across it. Sion sits down on the cushion on the tatami, Ryo beside him. They bow their heads and thank Mayumi for the meal.
It looks just as good as it smells—Sion hasn’t had a fully home cooked meal in ages. It’s grilled salted mackerel, rice, miso soup, and sautéed spinach spread out in front of him and Sion’s mouth is watering. He just barely waits for Mayumi to begin eating before he’s digging in.
“Oh my,” Mayumi laughs. “You eat even more than Ryo.”
“Your cooking is delicious,” Sion says, mouth still full of rice and fish.
“My body isn’t what it used to be, so I can’t promise a meal everyday.” Mayumi smiles solemnly at her plate. “But I wanted a proper welcome dinner.”
Sion claps Ryo on the back, who chokes on a grain of rice. “Ryo and I will learn to cook for you.”
Mayumi stares blankly at them both before howling out a laugh. “If you can teach Ryo to cook during your time here, I’d be impressed. I’ve tried for years, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.”
Ryo’s ears turn red as he grumbles around a spoonful. “I can cook!”
Mayumi and Ryo are nothing if not extremely warm and welcoming. They feel comfortable to Sion the same way his own family does. Sion and Ryo stay behind to clean up after dinner as Mayumi heads to wash up first before bed.
“I have school tomorrow,” Ryo tells Sion as he dries off a sauté pan. Sion takes it as disappointment that he can't spend the day with him. ”And then my part time job. I won’t be around until after that.”
“There’s a school here?” Sion asks. It feels like a silly question, but it’s such a small village and Sion can’t even imagine enough kids living here to populate a school. And then he adds, “What’s your part time job?”
Ryo is patient and kind with all of Sion’s inquiries. “It’s just a high school. Kids are homeschooled until then. And I work at the bookstore in town.”
Sion hums and nods. It makes sense for the school to only house older students, or else half the village’s population would be the ones heading the school. “Maybe I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
Ryo can’t hide his smile upon hearing that. He really must be lonely here.
They each wish Mayumi a good night before taking turns washing up. Sion just barely unpacks, enough to find his pajamas and face wash, before he tucks himself under the sheets and promptly passes out.
The sound of Ryo’s phone alarm at 6:05 in the morning startles Sion awake. He rolls onto his side, rubbing his eyes as the morning twilight streams in through the window.
“Sorry,” Ryo sheepishly whispers when he notices Sion is awake.
Sion waves his hand to brush it off and pulls the blanket back over himself. He almost falls asleep again, but the sound of Ryo’s door closing and the bathroom door opening startles him again.
Sion is typically a deep sleeper, but his nap combined with turning in early last night have him surprisingly awake this morning. He shuffles into the kitchen, bed hair and pajamas still on, and makes a quick breakfast. He leaves enough behind for both Ryo and Mayumi before heading back to his room to get dressed.
The house still has a sleepy feeling, although he’s made breakfast already and Ryo is showering in the bathroom and Sion can hear Mayumi sliding the shoji to open up the veranda in the living room.
Dawn seeps into the room and the floorboards and bedsheets and deep into Sion’s bones. It’s a quiet world here, cozy and far away from the bustle of the city. The village stretches its arms awake as the sun rises. Ryo comes back into the room with a quiet click of the door.
“Sorry I woke you,” he repeats. He grabs his backpack from where it sits next to the desk and slings it over his shoulders.
“It’s not a problem,” says Sion, shaking his head. He is the guest here. Ryo just has an abundance of manners, unlike most of the other kids his age that Sion has met. Probably a result of being raised by a gentle, traditional grandmother. “I made breakfast. Are you heading out now?”
Ryo nods his head and Sion follows him toward the kitchen. They pass Mayumi sitting in the engawa, who nods and quietly says good morning to them as she watches the sun rise over the hills. Ryo scarfs down a helping of rice and eggs.
“I’ll walk with you to school,” Sion offers. “I want to see it.”
Ryo agrees with a laugh. It must be a mundane place to him, but Sion would like to see the entirety of the village during his stay, beginning with the mundane. They put their shoes on side by side and head out. They pass Mayumi once again and Ryo calls out his farewell for the day.
The walkway up to the house is paved by dirt and stone, much like most of the streets are. Their home is set further back, surrounded by lush green fields more than neighboring houses, but the closest neighbor is still not far. Ryo explains that his grandfather used to farm the land there.
“What did he grow?” Asks Sion. He takes his phone out to note everything Ryo tells him—each morsel of simple information is like a treasure trove to Sion.
“A lot of cabbage,” Ryo replies. They pass by the residential area, each minka much like the last. There are clotheslines and washboards outside some, families sending their teenagers off to school. Each one is so comfortably lived in, so warm within the tight knit feeling of community. “Spinach, bok choy, lettuce. Potatoes. A lot of greens and a lot of roots.”
“Did he sell what he harvested? Or was it a small garden just for the family?”
“He provided most of the entire village’s produce at one point. Once he started getting too sick to work, a few other farmers expanded their plots to make up for the loss,” Ryo explains. “Grandma still keeps asking around for someone to farm our plot. She says it’s a waste not to use it, and I’ll have to start soon if no one else will.”
The further into the town’s center they get, the streets transition into neatly laid brick roads. The small businesses start to come to life as they pass by, doors open and signs set out to welcome customers.
All of the teenagers they walked beside now accumulate at the front of the school building, waiting until the very last minute to head inside. The school itself looks quite small, and the crowd of students outside of it is very few. They all wear a casual, rough estimation of a uniform and sneakers.
“Are you going to the dock today?” Ryo asks.
“Tomorrow,” Sion shakes his head. “Today I think I’ll take a look around town.”
“There’s a shortcut,” Ryo tells him. “If you go over the hill, past the cemetery. It’s way quicker than going all the way around town.”
Sion files the information away for later and tells Ryo to have a good day at school. And then he’s on his own, in the heart of a remote town he’s barely spent a full day in. Ryo had told him the bookstore is a bit further toward the coast, but Sion is waiting until Ryo will be there to check it out. Instead, he wanders down the street in search of whatever else he can familiarize himself with.
Nearby is a bakery that Sion can smell from here, but he doesn’t want to overeat so early. There’s a small ramen shop he’s thinking about stopping by for lunch. A spa down the road he might visit in the evening. For now, he settles on stepping inside a little tea house.
The exterior is as traditional as the rest of the town’s original architecture, but the interior surprises Sion in its modernity. There are small, low booths tucked away in coves around the room, and there’s a host counter with a handwritten menu above it, and a lady preoccupied with her phone standing behind it. She glances up at Sion as he steps forward toward the counter.
“Yushi,” she calls over her shoulder, announcing Sion’s arrival. “A guest.”
There are a few other occupants sitting in their booths. An older couple comforted by each other’s silence, a few aunties talking hushedly over their teacups, and a group of people around Sion’s age who look starkly out of place. Not only because of their age, though it is a factor, but their clothing and their tablets and the tone of their voices. Mayumi had very briefly spoken about newcomers to the village, and Sion can’t help but assume these are who she spoke of.
“Welcome,” comes a soft voice from behind the counter. Sion turns toward the sound to see another young man about his age, one who looks much more natural in the space. “Do you need a booth?”
Sion nods and follows the boy to an open table, right next to the aunties. He places a paper menu down on the table, sliding it toward Sion. Sion glances at, assuming it’s a list of their offered tea blends.
“Let me know what I can bring you.”
“Actually,” Sion says as the boy begins to walk away. “Can you help me? I can’t read very well.”
The boy—Yushi, Sion assumes—freezes in his tracks before turning back around. He looks at Sion curiously, judgmental but not unkind. If anything, it’s uncertainty narrowing Yushi’s eyes and giving Sion a once over.
“I’m visiting from South Korea,” Sion explains.
He must sound innocent enough that Yushi’s face smooths out a bit. “Okay,” he says indifferently, like it doesn’t matter. Like he wasn’t looking suspiciously at Sion just before. “Do you like green or black tea better?”
“Do you have any local specialties?” Sion asks.
Yushi only stares at him silently for a moment before pointing to something on the page. “Camellia tea,” he quietly responds. “From our camellia tree. It is a very subtle flavor, but it’s the only one cultivated here in town.”
Sion smiles and nods. “I’ll have that one.”
Yushi gives him another sideways glance before collecting the menu and walking back behind the counter. They must not get many out of town visitors, so Sion doesn’t think much of Yushi’s hesitance and blunt curiosity of him.
Sion breathes in deeply and takes another look around. There are a few paintings hung up around the shop, illuminated by the warm, dim lighting. There are a few camellia trees painted, in which Sion notices a likeness to the one on the hill. It must be something of a relic, Sion wonders, a symbol of their village and its resilience to have it nearly worshipped by the villagers. In a few other paintings that Sion can see, he finds a woman, dressed in either a red and pink kimono every time she appears. In some, she stands in front of the camellia tree. In others, she wears a flower in her hair.
Soft music filters through the shop, not loud enough to cover the faint, urgent voices of the aunties behind Sion. “One of the new contractors,” he hears one of them whisper. He doesn’t mean to listen in, but her voice is charged in a way that he can’t help but perk up at. “They say he hasn’t come back to his room at the hostel in days.”
”Do you think he left?” Another voice asks.
“Maybe he’s lost at sea,” a third auntie speaks up. “Maybe he found a siren to be taken away by.”
Sion has heard legends of sirens, and this village seems like it would indulge in quiet mystery, a faint thrum of magic rippling through the air and sea. He’ll have to ask Mayumi about it later tonight. It is a port town, after all, and some of the villagers are old enough that they might have been present when the old legends actually took place.
“No,” the first auntie says, soft and gravely serious. “I think she took him.”
There is not enough time to wonder who she is or to continue listening in on their seemingly private conversation before Yushi is returning with a wooden tray held in two careful hands.
The teapot is small, a delicate design painted onto the porcelain, with a matching teacup beside it. There is a small dish of tea, mostly dried leaves and very few dried petals, but they are distinctly red, unmistakably once belonging to the camellia tree upon the hill.
Yushi sets down the tray in front of Sion and his practiced hands begin brewing the tea. “Can you sit down with me?” Sion sheepishly asks. “If you have a moment. I have a lot of questions.”
Yushi looks toward the counter, where the woman behind it is still invested in her phone, before taking a reluctant seat across from Sion.
“Are the flowers harvested directly off the tree?”
“They are only harvested once they fall. The leaves are sometimes harvested right off the plant.” Yushi’s voice is soft as he focuses on the procedure ahead of him, closing the teapot lid after pouring the tea leaves inside. “It is important to respect the tree. We take what she gives us.”
It shocks Sion to hear even another young man refer to the tree as something sentient. As a person, rather than a plant. “I didn’t know you could make tea out of camellias.”
”All tea comes from camellia plants,” says Yushi. It feels sterile, scripted like he’s told a thousand other customers the same thing. “The Camellia sinensis. Our tree is a Camellia japonica. It’s much less common to make tea with it. Like I said, it’s not very flavorful. I only sell it a few times a year.”
There is still a certain wariness present in Yushi’s tone, and Sion has an incessant need to always be trusted. “I want to fully immerse myself during my time here.”
”Why are you here?” Yushi bluntly asks. He glances around them, eyes lingering on the table of young businessmen in casual suits holding tablets. “Are you buying property? The mountains don’t treat investors kindly.”
“I’m not,” Sion says, hoping his sincerity bleeds through his words. “I’m here to understand the commerce here. It’s such a small place, but it’s thriving.”
Yushi nods, satisfied with Sion’s answer. Sion remembers what Mayumi had told him yesterday—this land will treat you well if you respect it well. Sion intends to, but there must be others who do not.
“Thank you for answering all of my questions,” Sion nods his head to Yushi, who stands up. Although standoffish, Yushi has still been kind. Even the rudest of people in a small, pleasant village must be worlds kinder than city folk.
“I hope you enjoy,” Yushi tells Sion, pouring him a cup of tea. As he turns to go, he adds, “I’ll be around. Feel free to ask me any more questions you have.”
Sion sits in the silence of the booth for a moment, watching the steam curl up from his teacup in intricate swirls, weaving a pattern in the still air like it’s alive. The tea itself is a pale yellow, and Sion leans in to smell it. Yushi had told him it was a bland taste, but the aroma is sweet, clinging to Sion’s nostrils. He lifts the cup up, slowly tipping it back to take a tentative sip. The taste is as sweet as the smell, coating Sion’s tastebuds with a lovely floral flavor. Sweet and earthy, with a lingering caramel taste on Sion’s palate.
Perhaps Yushi prepared the wrong tea, or was mistaken about its flavor. The taste is somewhat subtle, but Sion would imagine Yushi would at the very least mention its sweetness. Whatever the case, Sion enjoys his cup of tea even more thoroughly than he expected to.
Once he is finished, he meets Yushi at the counter to pay. “How was your tea?” Yushi asks out of courtesy. He takes Sion’s money and tucks it into the register.
“It was wonderful,” replies Sion, a small smile fixed onto his face. “Thank you again.”
”Here,” Yushi says, passing over a paper bag that Sion takes with gentle fingers wrapped around the handles. “A free sample of it. It’s not everyday someone wants to try it, especially a visitor.”
They bow their heads to each other in farewell and Sion leaves, promising to come back soon. He continues his walk through the business district, swinging his bag and peering into the few shops that he passes. Sion thinks deeply about how much more there is to learn about this little village. There is so much that he doesn’t know—he is even experiencing life in Japan for the first time, let alone life in the smallest village he’s ever been in.
Everything here comes to Sion as a riddle. From the tree’s birthday, to the shortcut to the docks, to the mountains treating newcomers unkindly. Sion intends to sort the riddle out, to solve it piece by piece.
For today, it is enough to bask in the new environment. Sion soaks it all in, the clean, coastal air, the late autumn sun warming his back through his sweater, the friendly smiles from the townspeople he passes. He visits an eager Ryo, as promised, and checks out with a book recommended to him to improve his reading.
Sion is in bed shortly after the sun sets, exhausted by his all day adventure, and he falls asleep thinking of the sweet-tasting tea he had. Wonders if he’d ever even smelled a camellia that saccharine in his entire life.