Crimson Shino was distinguished from red Shino by technique. It used a yellowish base layer that contained less iron than oni ita, and patterns were drawn on top before Shino glaze was applied. Using the Shino glaze sparingly would result in a bright-red body.
“Now then, which type is Kura’s Shino tea bowl?” Aoi asked.
“Hmm, is it painted Shino?”
“Correct.”
“Your lectures are quiz-style, huh?” Yilin remarked with a smile.
Aoi blushed. “It’s definitely because of Kurishiro, the deputy director of Kyoto National Museum.”
“Oh, you interned there, right?”
“Yes. Kurishiro was a lighthearted person who always taught us things in quiz format. At the time, I thought it was just her cheerful personality, but looking back, those quizzes really stuck with me.”
“Perhaps that’s what it means to have fun while learning.”
Aoi’s lectures were both thorough and enjoyable. Whenever Yilin showed signs of fatigue, Aoi would suggest taking a break and make coffee for her. Before Yilin knew it, the sun had already set.
Kura was part of a roofed shopping street, but since it sat near the intersection of Teramachi Street and Sanjo Street, one could see the sky through the gap where the two roofs ended.
That day, only three customers had entered the store. The first had mistaken it for a café and left immediately. The second had simply looked around, and the third group had arrived just now, while Aoi happened to be outside delivering the neighborhood bulletins.
The door chime rang, and a man in a dark-brown kimono stepped inside. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a plain face and hair cut short like a soldier’s.
“Where’s Kiyotaka Yagashira?” he asked, scanning the store.
“He should be here around 6 p.m.,” Yilin replied.
“Oh.” He looked at her. “You must be the one everyone’s been talking about.”
“Huh?” Yilin’s eyes widened. The Jing family was famous. Were rumors spreading about her?
The man scratched his head. “We met backstage a while ago, but you don’t look familiar at all,” he muttered to himself. “I don’t think I would’ve forgotten such a beauty, though... Spending so much time with Kiyotaka must’ve refined you.”
He placed a small box on the counter.
“I don’t have time to wait until six, so pass on a message for me.”
The box contained a wood sculpture of a mouse about the size of a thumb. It had a cute, round form.
“I want Kiyotaka to appraise this for me,” he said.
Yilin nodded in silence. She couldn’t tell what the item was at a glance. As much as she wanted to pull out her phone, take a picture, and perform an image search, doing so in front of a customer would affect the store’s reputation.
She looked down at the mouse sculpture again. It was about five centimeters long, but despite its tiny size, the texture of its fur had been carved out in detail, and its round eyes were simply adorable. It also had a hole in it for threading string through.
“My grandfather passed away the other day,” the man continued, averting his gaze. “He left these to us.”
The sculpture was beautifully made, but as an inheritance, it felt a bit lacking. Yilin glanced up at the man and found a gloomy look on his face. He was probably thinking the same thing—that was why he wanted Kiyotaka to appraise it.
“Grandfather was a man of few words, but there was always meaning behind his actions,” the man said. “This netsuke must represent something he wanted to tell us.”
“Um, who exactly is ‘us’?”
“Me, my brother, and my father.”
“Did you all receive mice?”
“No, my brother got a frog, and my dad got Daikoku.”
“Daikoku?” Yilin didn’t know what that was. She’d have to look it up later.
“Anyway, I’ll come back to pick it up tomorrow evening around 6 p.m.,” he said, turning to leave.
“Thank you for your patronage.” Yilin bowed.
The man stopped in front of the door, nodded in her direction, and left the store. His movements were incredibly graceful. Judging by his kimono, perhaps he was a flower arranger?
“Oh!” Yilin placed a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t ask him for his name or contact information!”
She hurried outside and scanned the area, but the man was nowhere to be seen. She sighed and went back inside.
“What should I do?” she murmured, looking down at the little mouse.
Just then, Aoi returned to the store. “Sorry it took so long. I ended up chatting with Mieko for a while. Oh, Mieko runs a Western clothing store down the street, by the way. She’s in her seventies and has known the owner for a long time.” Noticing the glum look on Yilin’s face, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Um, I’m sorry, Aoi.” Yilin bowed deeply.
“Did you break something?”
“No, I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Aoi blinked.
After giving Aoi a rundown of the man’s visit, Yilin slumped her shoulders and said, “He left this here and disappeared. He spoke as if we’d met before, so it felt too awkward to ask for his name.”
Aoi hummed and leaned in to peer at the small wooden sculpture. “This is a netsuke.”
“What’s that?” Yilin recalled that the man had mentioned that word too, but she didn’t know what it meant.
“Um...” Aoi pulled out a book on antique art from the shelf and laid it open on the counter. “A netsuke is basically a fastener.”
“It’s used to attach something?”
“Right.” Aoi nodded. “It’s for hooking things like pouches and stamp cases to a kimono sash. From the Edo period to the Meiji period, it was a popular way for commoners to express their fashion sense.”
The book had an illustration of a lion carving affixed to a kimono sash, with a case hanging below it.
“So it’s like a strap you attach to your sash?”
“Yeah, it’s basically a character-themed strap. But netsuke artisans don’t think it’s chic to call it a strap.”
“What does ‘chic’ mean?” Yilin was fluent in Japanese, but some words still escaped her knowledge.
“Um, it’s, like, aesthetic, I guess?” Aoi answered weakly. “Netsuke are called ‘art you appreciate in the palm of your hand.’ They’re typically only three to five centimeters long, but they come in all sorts of designs.”
Themes included Japanese folktales, Chinese history, Edo period customs, animals, plants, and fictional creatures. Animals were especially popular.
The mice, monkeys, and dogs are carved realistically, but they’re also charming, like mascots, Yilin observed, looking at the book.
“What’s important is that they always have a string hole for attaching stamp cases and such,” Aoi explained.
“But in the Japanese period dramas I’ve watched, stamp cases were carried by high-ranking people. Did commoners have them too?”
“Yes.” Aoi smiled. “I used to wonder the same thing, actually. But stamp cases were just containers for holding things like medicine. In those period dramas, it’s not the case itself that everyone bows to—it’s the family crest on it.”
Yilin hummed.
Aoi flipped through the pages of the book as she continued her explanation. “This netsuke is carved from wood, but other materials are used too, like ivory, water buffalo horn, deer antler, porcelain, and metal. Sophisticated ornaments like these are highly regarded overseas as a uniquely Japanese art form.”
Netsuke also had different names depending on their shape:
Katabori-netsuke were themed around people, animals, plants, vessels, and scenery.
Men-netsuke featured the traditional masks used in performing arts like Noh, Kyogen, and Gigaku.
Manju-netsuke were round and flat like manju buns.
Kagamibuta-netsuke were similarly round and flat, but they had a hollow bowl in the center that was covered with a lid, often made of metal.
Ryusa-netsuke got their name from Ryusa Ikejimari, a lathe craftsman employed by the Tokugawa shogunate. These netsuke were created using a lathe and shaped like incense containers.
Sashi-netsuke were long and flat so that they could be inserted between the layers of a kimono sash or hakama cord.
Haizara-netsuke, also known as hihataki-netsuke, acted as ashtrays to be used when smoking with a kiseru pipe.
Hako-netsuke consisted of two parts, a box and a lid. The string holes were located on the underside of the lid and the bottom of the box.