In the old days, when men like me ruled the alleys and markets, our sins wore no disguise. We dealt in blood and debt, yes, but it was our blood, our debt. A man borrowed from us, he knew the weight of the coin. He knew the price. And when ...
Once, a man’s name was everything. His meishi was more than paper, it was a contract, a promise, a reflection of his standing. When I hand you my card in Japan, I am not giving you a way to call me. I am offering you my respect. You take it ...
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