CHAPTER 6: THE VILLA IN ARASHIYAMA

THE SAKURA BETWEEN US

CHAPTER 6: THE VILLA IN ARASHIYAMA

The Sato family villa in Arashiyama was not a house.

It was a small mountain.

Xiuying decided this as Tanaka’s car climbed a private road through walls of bamboo so tall they swallowed the morning sun.

She sat in the back seat with her sketchbook pressed against her stomach.

Twenty days.

Twenty paintings.

And somehow she had agreed to spend day twenty watching her former fiancé get engaged.

She was beginning to question her intelligence.

“You don’t have to go inside,” Tanaka said from the front.

Xiuying looked up.

“Ren said there’s a tea house near the edge of the property. If you change your mind, you can stay there. No one will disturb you.”

Xiuying looked through the window.

Bamboo.

More bamboo.

Endless bamboo.

She had spent most of the previous night painting exactly that.

Painting number twenty was still drying in Gion: a bamboo forest so dark that almost no light reached the ground.

Her darkest painting yet.

“Did Ren tell you to say that?”

Tanaka hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

“But I also agree with him.”

Xiuying smiled faintly.

“Thank you.”

She looked down at herself.

The pale blue dress she wore had been bought months ago for the Tokyo exhibition that never happened.

She had imagined wearing it while standing beside her paintings.

Instead, Jian had taken Tokyo.

And now she was wearing the dress to his engagement.

Life had a terrible sense of humor.

Her blank sketchbook rested inside her bag.

Not completely blank anymore.

A few pages held quick sketches: Gion rooftops, Ren’s coffee cup, Tanaka carrying too many grocery bags, the maple tree.

But most of the pages remained white.

Xiuying liked that now.

Blank didn’t frighten her the way it used to.

Blank meant there was still somewhere to go.

The bamboo opened.

And the villa appeared.

Xiuying forgot to breathe.

Dark timber.

Glass.

Stone.

The estate seemed to grow directly out of the mountain rather than sit on it.

A garden stretched across the property in carefully controlled perfection: moss without a single brown patch, stone paths without a leaf out of place, a koi pond so clear Xiuying could see flashes of orange and white beneath the surface.

Guests moved through the garden in formal kimono and dark suits.

Staff carried trays of drinks.

White flowers surrounded a raised ceremonial area.

Everything was beautiful.

Everything was controlled.

Everything made Xiuying uncomfortable.

Tanaka opened her door.

“Still want to go inside?”

“No.”

He nodded.

“Good. I was worried you had lost your mind.”

Xiuying looked at him.

“Tanaka.”

“Yes?”

“You’re supposed to encourage me.”

“I am encouraging you to make sensible decisions.”

She laughed despite herself.

Then she stepped out of the car.

⸻

She saw Jian almost immediately.

He stood near the ceremonial area in a dark formal suit.

Mika stood beside him.

Her white kimono was decorated with red cranes, her hair arranged carefully behind her head.

They looked perfect together.

A postcard.

Xiuying stopped.

For one terrible second, Chengdu returned.

Five years.

A cheap silver ring.

Jian asleep beside her.

Plans whispered at two in the morning.

The studio door.

Li Mei.

Her stolen paintings.

Then Xiuying remembered painting eleven.

One black hair across a perfect meal.

She breathed.

“Tanaka.”

“Yes?”

“I think I want the tea house.”

“Then we go.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t tell her to be brave.

Didn’t tell her she’d regret leaving.

He simply turned with her.

“Sakura-san!”

Xiuying closed her eyes.

Too late.

Mika was already hurrying toward them.

“Sakura-san! You came!”

Xiuying turned.

Mika looked genuinely happy.

That somehow made everything worse.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Mika said. “Ren-uncle said you might stay in Gion because you were painting.”

“I considered it.”

“You must sit with us.”

“Oh, that’s really not—”

Mika had already taken her hand.

Apparently wealthy Japanese families did not understand escape plans.

Xiuying glanced helplessly at Tanaka.

He bowed.

Traitor.

Mika led her across the garden.

Toward the Sato family.

⸻

Xiuying recognized Kenji immediately.

He looked like Ren if someone had taken everything warm from his face.

Older.

Sharper.

Perfectly controlled.

Sato Kenji.

Ren’s older brother.

Mika’s father.

Head of the Sato Group.

Beside him sat Mika’s mother, whose influential Tanaka family name Mika used.

And behind them stood Ren.

Xiuying almost didn’t recognize him.

Formal black montsuki.

The Sato family crest.

Perfect posture.

No paint-stained studio.

No coffee.

No teasing.

No man defeated by a stationary floor.

Here, he looked like what the newspapers said he was.

A Sato.

Powerful.

Distant.

Untouchable.

Then his eyes found hers.

The mask shifted.

Barely.

A small nod.

You came.

Xiuying nodded back.

Apparently.

Mika brought her forward.

“Father, this is Sakura-san.”

Kenji studied Xiuying.

Ren spoke before his brother could.

“Lin Xiuying.”

Xiuying looked at him.

Ren continued calmly.

“She’s the Sato Foundation’s current artist in residence.”

Not Sakura.

Lin Xiuying.

Something warm moved through her chest.

Kenji smiled.

It was a technically perfect smile.

Xiuying immediately disliked it.

“Of course. The painter from Chengdu.”

“Yes.”

“Ren has spoken very highly of your work.”

Xiuying glanced at Ren.

“Has he?”

“Repeatedly.”

Ren looked mildly annoyed.

Good.

Kenji continued.

“He tells us you’re preparing a collection of one hundred paintings.”

“I am.”

“Ambitious.”

“So I’ve discovered.”

“And you’re only twenty days into the project?”

“Twenty paintings.”

Kenji raised an eyebrow.

“One every day?”

“Some days I want to burn them.”

For the first time, Mika’s mother almost smiled.

Kenji didn’t.

“Ren seems very enthusiastic about your work.”

There was something beneath the sentence.

Xiuying heard it.

So did Ren.

“Her work deserves enthusiasm,” Ren said.

Kenji’s eyes flicked toward his brother.

Then back to Xiuying.

“Of course.”

His gaze traveled briefly over her pale blue dress.

“Chengdu has produced two interesting artists for us, apparently.”

Xiuying’s stomach tightened.

Kenji gestured toward Jian.

“Mr. Jian’s recent Tokyo exhibition was extremely successful.”

Jian smiled.

“Thank you.”

Kenji continued.

“We’re pleased to welcome him into the family.”

Xiuying looked at Jian.

Jian looked back.

And smirked.

Twenty days ago, that smirk might have destroyed her.

Today it irritated her.

That was progress.

⸻

Her assigned seat was far from Ren.

Xiuying was grateful.

She didn’t need rescuing.

She needed space.

The ceremony began.

Speeches.

Tea.

Family blessings.

Photographs.

Applause.

Xiuying watched Jian and Mika stand beneath white flowers.

She waited for pain.

It came.

But differently.

Not I want him back.

Never that.

It was grief for the version of herself who once believed this would be her future.

Five years deserved mourning, even if the man didn’t.

So she let herself feel it.

Then she let it pass.

Until Kenji stood.

“There is one final tradition.”

Xiuying immediately became suspicious.

Kenji addressed the guests.

“Before the ceremony concludes, members of the family and honored guests may offer a wish for the couple. A poem. A few words. Something meaningful.”

Then he looked directly at Xiuying.

There it was.

“Ms. Lin.”

Every muscle in Ren’s body seemed to tighten.

Kenji smiled.

“As an artist, perhaps you would like to offer something.”

Xiuying stared at him.

“To the happy couple.”

Silence.

Jian looked uncomfortable.

Mika looked curious.

Ren looked ready to intervene.

Xiuying met his eyes.

Then gave the smallest shake of her head.

Don’t.

Ren stopped.

Good.

He was learning.

Xiuying stood.

Her legs shook.

She let them.

Courage didn’t require steady legs.

She walked forward.

“I didn’t bring a gift.”

Kenji smiled.

“Anything will do.”

Xiuying opened her bag.

Her sketchbook.

The same one she’d carried from Chengdu.

She opened to a clean page.

Twenty days ago, white paper had terrified her.

Now she looked at it and felt something else.

Possibility.

“I have this.”

Kenji looked confused.

Xiuying turned toward one of the attendants.

“Could I have ink?”

The woman glanced toward Kenji.

He nodded.

Ink and a brush were brought.

Xiuying knelt.

Blue dress against the floor.

Sketchbook before her.

Fifty guests watching.

Jian watching.

Mika watching.

Kenji watching.

Ren—

No.

She stopped herself.

This wasn’t for Ren.

That mattered.

Xiuying closed her eyes.

She remembered Chengdu.

Rain against apartment windows.

Her grandfather grinding ink.

Her grandmother’s stories.

The blank paper on her apartment floor.

Then Kyoto.

The maple tree.

The stone basin.

Silent rain.

Two cities.

Two kinds of rain.

One artist.

She opened her eyes.

And painted.

The first stroke was heavy.

Chengdu rain.

Loud.

Messy.

Unapologetic.

Then bamboo.

Kyoto.

Thin lines disappearing into mist.

The two landscapes collided on the page.

Ink bled where she hadn’t planned.

She let it.

A drop landed in the wrong place.

She left it.

Five minutes.

Maybe six.

Nobody spoke.

When Xiuying finally lifted the brush, the clean white page had become a storm.

Not Chinese.

Not Japanese.

Both.

Hers.

She looked at it.

Then smiled.

Painting number twenty-one.

Unplanned.

She hadn’t expected it until tomorrow.

Apparently art didn’t care about schedules.

Xiuying stood.

Mika looked at the painting.

“It’s beautiful.”

Xiuying shook her head.

“No.”

Mika blinked.

“It’s honest.”

Xiuying held it toward her.

“My wish for you is that you learn something before it’s too late.”

Jian’s expression hardened.

Xiuying continued.

“Love isn’t a perfect garden.”

She looked around them.

Perfect moss.

Perfect flowers.

Perfect family.

“It’s who you trust when the garden stops being perfect.”

Her eyes moved to Jian.

“I don’t trust him.”

A murmur moved through the guests.

Jian stepped forward.

“Xiuying—”

“But you’re not me.”

She turned to Mika.

“You have the right to decide for yourself.”

Mika stared at her.

Xiuying placed the painting into her hands.

“That’s my wish.”

For several seconds, no one moved.

Then Jian laughed awkwardly.

“She’s always been dramatic.”

Xiuying looked at him.

“No.”

She smiled.

“I’ve become dramatic.”

Someone near the back coughed to hide a laugh.

Xiuying turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Ren.

She stopped.

He walked forward.

Slowly.

Not toward the painting.

Toward her.

Kenji’s expression darkened.

“Ren.”

Ren ignored him.

He stopped in front of Xiuying.

For once, he didn’t touch her.

Didn’t take her hand.

Didn’t make the decision for her.

“Last night,” he said, “you told me anything I wanted to say should be said when I was sober.”

Xiuying’s heart stopped behaving normally.

Ren glanced around the garden.

“I am extremely sober.”

A few guests laughed nervously.

Xiuying didn’t.

“Ren…”

“I won’t speak for you.”

His voice was quieter now.

“But I need to speak for myself.”

Kenji stood.

“This is Mika’s engagement.”

“I know.”

“Then whatever performance you’re planning can wait.”

Ren turned toward his brother.

“For thirty-two years, everything in this family has waited until it was convenient for the family.”

Kenji’s face hardened.

“Not this.”

Ren looked back at Xiuying.

“Twenty days ago, Lin Xiuying arrived in Kyoto with a blank sketchbook and told everyone she couldn’t paint.”

Xiuying’s throat tightened.

“She was wrong.”

He smiled slightly.

“She can paint.”

A few people laughed softly.

“She paints terrible temples.”

Xiuying stared at him.

“Ren.”

“She does.”

More laughter.

“She argues with me. She makes the Gion house look like an ink factory exploded inside it. She has insulted my taste in coffee.”

“Your coffee is terrible.”

“I know.”

His smile disappeared.

What replaced it was more frightening.

Truth.

“I care about her.”

The garden went silent.

Ren continued.

“More than I intended.”

Xiuying forgot the fifty guests.

Forgot Jian.

Forgot Kenji.

“I don’t know what this becomes,” Ren said. “And I won’t decide that for her.”

He paused.

“But I know I don’t want to pretend she means nothing to me simply because that would make my family more comfortable.”

Kenji stood completely still.

Xiuying’s eyes burned.

Ren didn’t say my Sakura.

Didn’t say she belonged to him.

Didn’t ask her to choose him in front of everyone.

He simply told the truth.

Then he stepped back.

And gave the choice back to her.

Xiuying looked at him.

“You picked a terrible place to do this.”

A tiny smile.

“I have been told I make bad decisions.”

“Recently?”

“Very recently.”

She laughed.

Then she walked toward him.

Not because he called her.

Because she chose to.

She stopped in front of him.

“You’re sober?”

“Painfully.”

“Good.”

She took his hand.

The reaction was immediate.

Whispers.

Mika gasped.

Kenji’s expression became stone.

And somewhere behind them—

Glass shattered.

Jian had dropped his champagne.

Xiuying almost smiled.

Ren looked down at their hands.

Hers still had ink on it.

His didn’t.

Not for long.

Black transferred onto his fingers.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

“Painting twenty-one?”

Xiuying nodded toward the storm in Mika’s hands.

“Painting twenty-one.”

“What will you call it?”

She thought for a moment.

Then looked at the perfect garden.

The perfect family.

The imperfect man holding her ink-stained hand.

“Two Rains.”

Ren smiled.

Behind him, Kenji said:

“Ren. We need to talk.”

Ren’s smile disappeared.

Xiuying squeezed his hand once.

Then released it.

“Go.”

He looked at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Your brother looks like he’s about to explode.”

“He often looks like that.”

“Ren.”

He sighed.

Then followed Kenji toward the villa.

Xiuying remained beside the koi pond.

Mika approached quietly, still carrying the painting.

“Sakura-san?”

Xiuying turned.

Mika looked down at Two Rains.

Then toward Jian.

For the first time all day, she didn’t look like a bride.

She looked uncertain.

“Was everything you said about him true?”

Xiuying could have destroyed Jian in that moment.

Part of her wanted to.

Instead she said:

“Ask him.”

Mika frowned.

“And if he lies?”

Xiuying looked at the painting.

“Then ask yourself why you’re afraid he will.”

Mika went silent.

Across the garden, Jian watched them.

And for the first time, Xiuying saw something in his face she hadn’t seen since Kyoto began.

Fear.

Not fear of Ren.

Not fear of the Sato family.

Fear of losing control of the story.

Xiuying understood that feeling.

For twenty days, everyone had been telling stories about her.

Jian said she was too sensitive.

Ren once thought she needed saving.

Kenji saw a painter from Chengdu who didn’t belong.

Even Sakura was a name someone else had offered her.

But beneath all of them was the same person who had sat before blank paper in Chengdu.

Lin Xiuying.

She looked toward the villa where Ren had disappeared with his brother.

Whatever happened next, she didn’t need to become someone else to survive it.

She only needed to keep painting.

Twenty-one paintings finished.

Seventy-nine to go.

And somewhere inside the Sato villa, a family that had controlled its own story for generations was beginning to crack.

END OF CHAPTER 6