Subtle Light and Invisible Islands
The passage of time, amidst the regimented routine of aristocratic life, seemed to slow and viscous. Uchiha Aoi gradually grew accustomed to being woken punctually in the mornings, to the tedious rituals, to the exquisite yet always just-one-bite-satisfying meals, and to the ever-present feeling of being scrutinized by invisible gazes. Like a meticulously nurtured plant, she grew silently and obediently within the framework set by her grandmother and the court ladies.
Yet, that modern soul ultimately refused to be completely content with mere passive acceptance. A desire to do something, to leave a trace of her own, to improve her situation in a small way, quietly sprouted within her, like a small blade of grass stubbornly sprouting from a crack in a rock. She began to cautiously apply subtle, transcendental knowledge, hoping not to change the overall situation, but only to make her life a little easier.
The attempt at change began with personal hygiene. While the aristocracy of this era employed far more elaborate cleansing methods than the commoners, often using bath beans, rice water, or spices, Aoi saw room for improvement. She remembered some simple methods that used natural ingredients to enhance cleansing.
Once, while strolling in the courtyard, she "accidentally" pointed at a common, thick soapberry growing on a soapberry tree and asked her accompanying maid with innocent curiosity, "Sister, that bean looks so interesting. Can it be used to blow bubbles? Or... can it be used to wash things like bath beans? It looks so slippery."
The maid dismissed it as a child's whim and laughed off the conversation. But somehow, the words reached my grandmother. Perhaps because she had nothing better to do, or perhaps because she wanted to see if her granddaughter had any other interests besides learning etiquette, she actually ordered her servants to pick some soapberries and try them out.
Kui "accidentally" watched the servants processing the soapberry and muttered quietly: "If we crush it into small pieces and boil it in water, will it be cleaner? Just like boiling medicine..."
The servants followed their advice and tried it, discovering that the filtered soapberry liquid was indeed more effective than using bath beans directly, especially for removing grease, and it also had a natural, refreshing fragrance. Grandma, upon learning this, didn't take it too seriously, simply remarking to Kui, "That's quite clever." But the family later adopted this method when washing silk fabrics and underwear. Kui watched silently, feeling a small sense of accomplishment.
When it comes to food, she also offered seemingly childish yet actually sensible suggestions. For example, when she saw her grandmother always served cold pickled vegetables and rice for breakfast, she would rub her belly and whisper, "Grandma, my stomach feels cold this morning. Wouldn't it be better if I could have some warm, sweet bean porridge?" She was describing a hot liquid beverage similar to modern soy milk or red bean soup.
Or, seeing dinner always being greasy grilled fish or stewed meat, she would say, "Wouldn't it look better and help alleviate the greasiness if there were a few slices of sweet fruit (fruit) or crispy greens (a prototype of a salad) on the side?"
After these suggestions were adopted, the meals became more balanced and delicious. Grandma didn't overly praise them, but her gaze towards Aoi occasionally shone with a subtle scrutiny and consideration, as if she felt that her granddaughter, besides being well-behaved, might also possess a subtle ingenuity that was unusual for ordinary people. This, she believed, was a valuable quality for a future noblewoman. The chefs in the mansion were even instructed to occasionally ask, "Young lady, is there anything you'd like to eat?"
These insignificant "successes" were like small stones dropped into stagnant water. Although the ripples quickly faded, they ultimately gave Aoi a sense that she was not completely powerless. She carefully controlled the magnitude and frequency of her "innovations," always presenting them as childish discoveries or innocent pursuits. She never touched upon any core principles beyond her time (such as microbiology or nutrition), nor did she touch upon anything related to ninjas, weapons, or strategy.
However, the slight improvement in her material life could not dispel the loneliness deep in her heart. She still lived on an invisible island.
The maids were respectful yet distant, never saying much, like mere pieces of fine, moving furniture. The women-in-waiting during the study period were strict and rigid, concerned only with compliance with the rules. While my grandmother provided generous material conditions, her care was separated by layers of etiquette and a vast gap of status, more like a kind of care based on responsibility and decency.
She had no friends. She might have had other cousins in the palace, but they seemed deliberately isolated from her, a cousin who married into a commoner aunt's bloodline. She still spent most of her time alone in her room, staring blankly at the courtyard or repetitively practicing those boring etiquettes.
She missed her family in the Uchiha clan more and more. She missed the silent journey that provided a real sense of support. She even began to worry about him: What were his father and brothers doing now? Were they still fighting? What if they were injured? Would he... occasionally think of this daughter, this sister, who had been sent away?
This longing, with nowhere to express it, could only be buried deep within her heart. She began experimenting with her clumsy brushstrokes, writing the words "father, brother" over and over on the paper she practiced calligraphy on, then immediately and hastily scrawling them away or burning them. Sometimes she would whisper to the birds perched on the branches in the courtyard, pretending to be conversing with her distant family.
The little appreciation she gained through modern knowledge was like the occasional flicker of light in the darkness, briefly illuminating her lonely world but unable to bring true warmth. She improved her living conditions, but could not alleviate the desolation of the invisible island within her heart. She remained the lonely Uchiha Aoi, trapped in an ornate birdcage, burdened by a heavy secret, and yearning for her loved ones.
This aristocratic mansion in the capital is safe, luxurious and peaceful, but it is also the most remote and coldest island in the world.
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