Orange Meets Its Kin
Orange had found its kin.
The wild chicken we caught was temporarily kept under an overturned basket while we hastily fashioned a round coop from bamboo. I didn't make it myself—I asked one of the village men to do it. Marguerite and I have been learning to weave baskets lately, but we're still slow at it. Asking for help is simply faster.
When I explained it was a coop for a wild chicken, the man nodded and had one finished in about twenty minutes. He bent some rough wooden branches into a loose frame and tied them here and there with string. Before long, a surprisingly sturdy yet lightweight coop sat before me—one I could easily lift with one hand.
It wasn't much of a coop, really. Just a semicircular basket with plenty of holes, flipped upside down on the ground. There was a small opening at the top.
"What's this hole for?"
When I tilted my head in confusion, the man smiled.
"It's for putting in feed or reaching in to grab the chicken. You might end up with several birds, and if you have to lift the whole coop every time, they'll all escape."
He said we could just cover the hole with whatever was handy when we weren't using it, since leaving it open would let the chickens get out.
"No one's reported seeing wild chickens around here before. Might start catching a few more from now on, though."
The man spoke while gazing toward the edge of the village.
"This place is truly abundant. All thanks to you, Village Chief."
His words still made me feel awkward. When I told him I'd repay the favor with my own hands someday, he waved his hands dismissively.
"Chief, my boy was writing on the ground by himself yesterday. I'm completely illiterate, so I couldn't tell what he wrote, but it looked awfully good."
His eyes softened as he pictured his son.
"I used to think teaching children letters was a waste of time. What good would reading and writing do a farmer? Better to spend that time learning how to set traps or weave baskets. But now..."
The man smiled.
"I can picture a different future for him. Maybe he won't have to stay a farmer forever. I can't tell you how grateful that makes me. So please, don't talk about repaying me with your body. Even if I made you a hundred coops, it wouldn't come close to what my family has received from you."
He bowed deeply.
It wasn't the first time I'd heard something like this. Similar words had reached me from others—sometimes about their children, sometimes about the village itself, and sometimes about food or spirits. Each time, I felt so embarrassed I never knew how to respond.
After exchanging thanks, I picked up the coop and headed home. The ducks stayed in the fields thanks to Marguerite's rain magic, but until the chicken was tamed, we'd keep it near the house. Marguerite was brimming with enthusiasm, declaring she'd lure a rooster using the hen. She claimed she'd raised wild chickens that way as a child. Apparently, caring for them had been young Marguerite's responsibility.
Imagining her as a little girl, busily chasing after chickens with feed, brought an involuntary smile to my face. She must have been adorable. I wanted to see that.
If we have a daughter, will she take after her?
The thought made my lips curve even wider.
Ah, marrying her really was the best decision.
My steps quickened as I neared the house.
"..."
Something felt off. Marguerite was crouched a short distance away, quietly watching the basket holding the chicken. When I approached, she must have heard my footsteps, because she turned her head. She stood up slowly and pressed a finger to her lips.
Once I got closer, she pulled me down to sit beside her and whispered.
"I think Orange is talking to the chicken."
That couldn't be right. Even if they were both birds, they were clearly different species. Still, I crouched as she instructed and looked toward the basket. Orange was chirping at it.
"Huh."
Surprisingly, a clucking sound came from inside the basket, as if in reply. When Orange chirped again, the hen clucked back. It really did sound like a conversation, even though that was impossible. The way Orange poked its beak through the gaps in the basket only reinforced the impression.
...No, that can't be.
After a while, the hen started clucking on its own even when Orange wasn't calling out. It must have been a coincidence after all.
Marguerite tilted her head.
"That's strange. Hens make that sound when they've just laid an egg. They don't usually cluck much otherwise. But we only just caught her—she shouldn't be laying in an unfamiliar place. How odd."
She tried to stand but wobbled. Her legs had gone numb from crouching too long. When I offered my hand, she took it shyly and pulled herself up.
"I need to build more strength in my legs."
That didn't seem related to leg strength at all. Marguerite could be oddly whimsical sometimes.
As we approached the basket together, the clucking stopped. We removed the basket and quickly covered the coop with the new one. Inside lay a single white egg. Just as Marguerite had said, the hen had laid an egg.
Marguerite happily placed the basket we'd just used as a cover inside the coop.
"This will be her nest from now on."
She easily nudged the protesting hen aside, picked up the egg, and set it in the nest. The hen looked displeased but settled down to brood it.
"She must have had a mate. We don't know if he'll come looking, but we should let her hatch this egg and increase their numbers."
As Marguerite spoke, Orange tried to squeeze through the narrow gaps in the coop. Being smaller than a chick, it twisted and pushed its way inside with surprising ease. Once in, Orange stood before the hen and let out a loud cry.
"Ppi! Ppippi! Ppikko!"
"..."
"..."
What did I just hear?
Marguerite blinked in confusion.
"Did it just say ppikko?"
"It sounded like it."
While we stood there dumbfounded, Orange flapped its wings and began calling out noisily.
"Ppikko! Ppikkokko! Ppippikkookkok!"
Orange had apparently learned a new cry.
But how was that possible? They were completely different kinds of birds—could they really make similar sounds?
Marguerite thought for a moment, then nodded as if it made sense.
"Ducks have flat beaks. Maybe Orange never thought of them as the same kind. But chickens have pointed beaks just like Orange, so it probably decided they were the same species."
"No way."
How could something so ridiculous happen? Yet Orange immediately hopped into the basket nest and burrowed under the hen's feathers. The hen didn't reject it and simply accepted the little intruder.
It seemed I was witnessing a hen adopting a chick of an entirely different species.
"Well, this worked out nicely. Orange has been looking lonely lately."
Marguerite nodded at my words.
"You're right. It couldn't join the duck flock, and Popcorn's been busy taking care of the baby spirits. Orange really did seem lonely."
"Maybe it'll even learn to land properly while it's at it."
As if it understood, Orange poked its head out from under the hen and chirped.
"Ppikkokkok!"
That cry really was strange.
"You should just stick with ppippi," I told it.
Orange answered with another cry.
"Ppikkokkokkok!"
It had no intention of changing.
A traveling merchant—one connected to my father through several layers of acquaintances—arrived around the time the sky turned red. He carried a letter from my father, who lived in seclusion in the countryside. The merchant said he wanted to sell meat.
Haah. A sigh escaped me without thinking. My father was the kind of person who wrote recommendation letters for anyone who asked. Because of those letters, trouble sometimes found its way to unexpected places. If someone came directly to him, I could handle it appropriately, but Father also wrote letters on behalf of people he'd never even met. The recipients naturally accepted them not for Father himself, but because of his son—me.
If the introduced person was decent, there was no problem. But that wasn't always the case, and the goods they brought weren't always reliable either. My business was doing well, but Father's connections kept causing headaches everywhere. This time, too, he'd apparently written a letter for some complete stranger connected through a chain of acquaintances.
When someone came bearing Father's name, I couldn't simply delegate the matter to my subordinates. There were always people ready to spread strange rumors about neglecting one's parents. Without even properly reading the letter, I nodded at the merchant.
"Understood. Leave the goods for now and go. I'll send word later."
Usually, people who came hoping to profit through connections and bribes would feel slighted and leave. Most lacked patience. But this merchant simply smiled and held out a small box he'd been carrying separately. It didn't look expensive, but the carved patterns on its surface caught the eye. The craftsmanship was excellent. Goods placed in such a box would look luxurious even if they were cheap.
As if reading my thoughts, the merchant spoke.
"The one who carved this is an unknown artisan, but his skill is remarkable. Shall I bring him sometime?"
"..."
He was subtly trying to secure another meeting. This merchant seemed different from the usual empty-headed types.
Perhaps he was worth hearing out.
"What's in the box?"
"Inside are semi-dried jerky strips. I seasoned the meat I plan to sell and dried it halfway."
"Hmm."
"I understand you have connections to the royal merchants' guild. I'd like to sell my goods there."
"Hah... Well, this is interesting."
He wanted to sell not to me, but to the royal merchants? Ambitious. Even if it was just bluster, it piqued my interest.
When I opened the box the merchant offered, it contained only five finger-length strips of jerky. They were well dried. They looked ordinary. With little expectation, I picked one up and put it in my mouth. The moment it touched my tongue, I shot to my feet.
"What is this?!"
The aroma that filled my mouth the instant it entered, the flavor that seeped from the surface—it jolted me awake. As a merchant dealing in meat and jerky, I'd tasted countless kinds of meat. But I'd never eaten anything that became so fragrant the moment it touched my tongue. When I bit down firmly, the rich meaty aroma filled my entire mouth.
Good heavens. The more I chewed, the better it tasted. I'd never eaten meat like this in my entire life.
This was going to be huge.
The merchant smiled.
"I thought you'd recognize its value."
"Where did you get something like this?"
"I'm afraid I can't say—"
He had no intention of revealing the source. The merchant trailed off with a smile. Well, that was only natural. Of course he wouldn't tell me. I wouldn't have either, if our positions were reversed.
"That was a foolish question. Let me see the rest of the meat you brought."
The contents of this box might be special. It wasn't uncommon for merchants to show a tiny sample of their best goods while the actual stock was mediocre.
At my words, the merchant stood up.
"My younger brother is waiting outside with the goods. May I call him in?"
"I'll go with you."
I practically dragged the merchant out of the room. His brother wasn't in the hallway.
"Where is your companion?"
When I asked the servant who'd been waiting outside, he answered in a fluster.
"He's outside."
"Outside? You mean the reception room at the entrance?"
"No, just... outside."
"What? You left a guest standing outside without even offering hospitality?"
When I raised my voice, the servant quickly bowed his head.
"M-my apologies."
"Guide him in at once. No—first, prepare a room for them to stay in tonight."
"Uh, then which—"
"The guest room."
"Y-yes, sir."
As the servant hurried off, the merchant spoke with a grin.
"Thank you. But you really don't need to go to such trouble. We have a cheap inn we stay at whenever we come to the city."
"Nonsense. We don't treat guests who visit our home that way. Come, let's look at the goods."
If the merchandise was this good, plenty of others would recognize its value. It was fortunate the merchant had come here first.
When we stepped outside, the merchant's brother widened his eyes in surprise.
"Let me see the goods."
At my urging, the younger brother smiled as if realizing something and set down the bundle on his back. There was only one box. Not much meat. Inside were three bundles of meat tied with string. Too little.
Ignoring the younger brother as he took out one bundle to unwrap, I grabbed another.
"I'll choose."
Sometimes merchants prepared special items in advance and pretended to offer them at random. The two merchants simply nodded without protest. When I unwrapped a bundle and popped a piece into my mouth, an indescribable flavor spread across my tongue. It was just as good as the previous one—perhaps even more vivid.
It was the kind of meat two people could eat and one might die without noticing.
The merchant hadn't been bluffing when he asked to be connected to the royal merchants.
"How much can you supply?"
When I asked, the corners of the merchant's lips curled upward.
"About this much, twice a year. Maybe even less."
"That's far too little."
The words slipped out, and both merchants' smiles deepened.
"That's what makes it valuable, isn't it?"
"..."
I fell silent.
He's right...
Even if supplied to the royal family, this quantity wouldn't even cover one person's share. If there were more of this meat, the price would be high, but upper nobles could still afford it. But if it couldn't be obtained at all—if even the king couldn't satisfy his desire for it no matter how much he wanted it—then its value was immeasurable.
"Let's make a contract. Right now."
In my mind, I could almost hear the sound of gold coins pouring down.