The snow quickly began to settle upon his frozen form.

As the ground consumed him, Jack heard the faint voice of his friend Yori in his head … Seven times down, eight times up!

The mantra, which had been his saving two years before in the Taryu-Jiai interschool martial arts contest, repeated itself, growing louder and louder.

Seven times down, eight times UP! Seven times down, EIGHT TIMES UP! SEVEN TIMES DOWN, EIGHT TIMES UP!

The lesson of never giving up was burnt so deep into his soul that Jack overruled his body’s failure. Summoning up the last of his energy, he dragged himself to his feet, snow tumbling from his shoulders. In his determination to rise, he thought he saw the flickering orange flame of an oil lamp in the distance. Staggering towards the light, more lanterns came into view until an entire town materialized out of the storm.

Although Jack avoided civilization whenever he could, desperation now drove him forward. In a final burst, he fell into the shelter of the nearest building, huddling from the bitter wind in the corner of its veranda.

Once he’d recovered slightly, Jack took in his new surroundings.

Lights spilt on to the main street in welcoming arcs and the warm glow of fires beckoned the weary traveller inside the numerous inns and eating establishments lining the road. The noise of laughter and drunken singing greeted Jack’s ears as small groups of samurai, geisha, merchants and townsfolk hurried between the wooden slatted premises in search of entertainment and refuge from the storm.

Slumped where he was, Jack realized he was in full view of these people and would soon draw attention to himself. Gathering his wits, he pulled his straw hat further over his face and entered the town, acting like any other samurai.

The smell of cooked rice, soy sauce and steamed fish assaulted his senses. To his right, a shoji door was partially open. Three samurai warriors sat round a roaring hearth fire, knocking back saké and scooping generous portions of steamed rice into their mouths. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal. For the past week, he’d been forced to forage. But winter was a meagre time. Early on he’d managed to kill a squirrel with his shuriken; otherwise in the mountains he’d found nothing, the snow having driven all animals to ground.

As one of the samurai closed the shoji, blocking his view, Jack knew food had to be his priority. But with no money to his name, he’d have to beg, barter or steal in order to survive.

All of a sudden he collided with something solid, the impact almost bowling him over.

‘Watch it!’ snarled a burly samurai, accompanied by a white-faced geisha girl who began to giggle incessantly.

‘Sumimasen,’ said Jack, apologizing in Japanese and bowing respectfully. The last thing he wanted was trouble.