Yin Shixiong had attached an exceptionally fine needle to the tip of his oil-paper umbrella.
The refined needle was hollow, and contained a deadly poison specially developed by the Imperial Army.
Oda Masao was really getting into the swing of things now. Just as he was at his most excited, he felt something cold brush against his calf; it was barely perceptible, lighter than a mosquito bite. He did not stop to think about it. His short, stumpy figure continued to twirl and dance around the cherry tree.
Yin Shixiong laughed and, following the example of the other dancers, gave a few twirls himself. At the same time, he nosed his way out of the crowd with the umbrella, and made for the main street.
He could see that there were several Secret Service personnel around Oda Masao, surreptitiously watching over him.
