Pathway to Japanese Literature

As for Heichū—a notorious womanizer—court ladies were naturally his quarry, and he would even secretly gaze upon other women.

There was no end to it.

Tales from Uji

To such an extent was he tormented by thoughts of why he could not resolve to simply refrain from meeting her—Heichū fell ill.

And so, tormented beyond measure, he died.

Tales of Times Now Past

To indulge in passion is to behave thus.

*Ten Maxims*

I. Portrait

Beneath an eboshi hat—elegant and glittering in a manner befitting an age of peace—a round face gazed this way.
The vivid redness suffusing those plump, rounded cheeks was not due to any artfully blended rouge.
The man’s complexion—unusually smooth and pale for his gender—naturally allowed the blood’s color to show through.
The mustache lingered scarcely beneath his refined nose—or rather, flanking his thin lips—as if brushed with diluted ink.
Yet upon those glossy sideburns, even the hue of a mistless sky faintly reflected a bluish tint.
The ears were visible only as earlobes slightly raised at the edge of those sideburns.
That they bore a warm color, like a clam’s shell, was likely due to the faint light.
Within eyes narrower than most, a smile perpetually lingered.
In their depths hovered a radiant smile—so vivid one might imagine a branch of cherry blossoms perpetually in bloom floating there.
Yet had one paid closer heed, one might have realized happiness did not dwell there alone.
This was a smile imbued with vague longing for something distant.
Simultaneously, it was a smile harboring contempt for all that lay near.
Compared to his face, his neck might rather be deemed too delicate.
At his neck, the white collar of his undergarment formed a slender line against the pale yellow collar of his suikan robe, faintly scented with incense.
What glimmered behind his face—could it be a kichō partition woven with cranes?
Or perhaps a shōji painted with slender pines at the foothills of a tranquil mountain?
In any case, a pale whitish light—like tarnished silver—spread out…

This—the “Don Juan of the realm”—floated up before me from old tales.
This is the portrait of Hei no Sadafumi.
Hei no Kōfū had three children; since he was born precisely as the second son, he was nicknamed Heichū—this is my Don Juan’s portrait.

II. Cherry Blossoms

Heichū leaned against a pillar, gazing absently at the cherry blossoms.
The cherry blossoms pressing close to the eaves seemed already past their peak.
Upon those slightly faded reddish blossoms, the long afternoon sunlight cast intricate shadows across the variously angled branches that crisscrossed one another.
Though his eyes were upon the cherry blossoms, Heichū’s heart was not.
He had been absently thinking of the Lady-in-waiting for some time now.

"The first time I caught sight of the Lady-in-waiting was—"

Heichū continued to think this.

"The first time I caught sight of the Lady-in-waiting—when was that, I wonder?"
Ah yes! Since she mentioned going on an Inari pilgrimage, it must have been Hatsuuma morning.
That woman was about to board her carriage when I happened to pass by—that indeed marked the beginning.
Her face had only been glimpsed behind her fan's shadow, but over layers of red plum and yellow-green robes she wore a purple *uchigi*—her appearance defied description.
Moreover, as she entered the carriage—one hand gripping her *hakama* while slightly bending her waist—that posture too proved utterly irresistible.
At the Hon'in Minister's residence there are many ladies-in-waiting, but none of her caliber.
"If that's so, even if I fell in love—"

Heichū’s expression turned serious for a moment.

"But am I truly in love?
If I say I’m in love, it seems I am; if I say I’m not—the more I dwell on this, the less clear it becomes—but I suppose I’m in love after all.
Of course, given who I am, no matter how smitten I claim to be with the Lady-in-waiting, I’d never let myself be blinded to that extent.
Some time ago, when I was gossiping with that fellow Norizane about the Lady-in-waiting, he remarked in a knowing way that the only regret was her hair being too thin—but I had already noticed that flaw the very first moment I laid eyes on her.
As for a man like Norizane—he may have some skill with the hichiriki flute, but when it comes to matters of passion—well, let him be.
What I truly wish to consider is the Lady-in-waiting alone—though if I may voice one more desire, her face is rather too forlorn.
If her face were merely too forlorn, it ought to possess a certain elegance reminiscent of antique scrolls—yet this loneliness carries a cold-heartedness beneath its strangely composed demeanor, which I find altogether unreassuring.
Even among women, one with such a face has an unexpectedly mocking quality.
Her complexion wasn’t pale—though not quite dusky, there was a certain amber quality to it.
Yet whenever I looked at that woman, she somehow appeared strikingly vivid—with an air that seemed about to tremble.
That is certainly a feat no other woman could imitate…"

Heichū raised his knees beneath his hakama and gazed absently up at the sky beyond the eaves.
The sky softened into a pale blue hue amidst clustered flowers.

"Even so, ever since that time—no matter how many letters I've had delivered—she hasn't sent a single reply. Isn't this obstinacy beyond all reason?"
"The women I've sent letters to mostly yield by the third time."
"Even when there were stubborn ones, I never sent more than five letters."
"That daughter of the Buddhist sculptor Keigan fell to just a single poem."
"And that wasn't even a poem I composed myself."
"Someone—ah yes—it was Yoshisuke who composed that poem."
"They say Yoshisuke wrote that poem for her too but was utterly ignored by that lady-in-waiting—though since she didn't reply even when I wrote it myself, I suppose I can't boast much about that."
"But in any case, my letters always draw responses from women; once a response comes, a meeting inevitably follows."
"When I meet them, they make great commotions."
"When they make commotions—soon enough it becomes tiresome."
"That was simply how things went."
"Yet with the Lady-in-waiting—I've written some twenty letters over a month without any word whatsoever."
"As for my love letters' style—it's not that they're inexhaustible—I'm gradually running out of ways to continue."
"But in today's letter I wrote: 'At least grant me the two characters "I saw"...' so surely there must be a reply this time."
"Is there one?"
"If there's none again today—ah, ah—until recently I wasn't such a spineless man to waste my spirit on such matters."
"They say the old fox of Burakuin transforms into a woman—but surely I must have been bewitched by that fox."
"The foxes of Narazaka—though also foxes—transform into cedar trees said to require three arm spans to encircle."

The foxes of Saga transformed into ox-drawn carriages.
The foxes of Takayanagawa transformed into young girls.
The foxes of Momozono transformed into a large pond—but who cares about foxes' affairs?
"Hmm, what was I thinking about again?"

Heichū kept his gaze fixed on the sky and quietly stifled a yawn.
From the eaves buried in flowers, something white would occasionally flutter down into the slanting sunlight.
Somewhere, a dove also seemed to be cooing.

“In any case, I’m being worn down by that woman.”
Even if she won’t meet me—if she’d just talk to me once—I’d surely make her mine.
If I were to spend even a single night with her—why, even Settsu or Chūnagon used to maintain a man-hating stance before they knew me.
Once they fall into my hands, don’t they become infatuated just like that?
The Lady-in-waiting’s no golden Buddha—so why wouldn’t I be ecstatic?
However, that woman wouldn’t feel ashamed like Chūnagon even if matters came to a head. But then again, nor is she the type to feign innocence in that peculiar way like Settsu.
She would surely bring her sleeve to her mouth, smiling only with her eyes—

“Lord.”

Since it was nighttime after all, a standing lamp or something must have been lit.
The lamplight must have been falling on that woman’s hair—

“Lord.”

Heichū turned his eboshi-capped head backward with slight fluster.
Behind him had appeared a maidservant—eyes downcast—proffering a letter.
This one seemed to have been suppressing laughter with all her might.

"A letter?"

"Yes, from the Lady-in-waiting—"

Having finished saying this, the maidservant hurriedly departed from before the master.

"From the Lady-in-waiting?"
"Could it really be?"

Heichū almost trembled with apprehension as he opened the letter on thin blue paper.

"Could this be Norizane and Yoshisuke’s prank?
Those fellows are all idle men who love nothing more than such mischief—Oh! This is her letter."
"This *is* her letter—but what sort of letter *is* this?"

He threw down the letter.
There remained only two characters—"mitsu"—cut out from his own plea of "At least grant me these two characters 'I saw'" and pasted onto thin paper like mocking fragments of his desperation.

Ah, ah—even I, hailed as the Don Juan of the realm, could not endure being made such a fool of. That Lady-in-waiting—wasn’t she a detestable smug-faced woman? Just wait—she’ll get what’s coming to her.…

Heichū, still clutching his knees, gazed vacantly up at the cherry blossom branches.
On the fluttering pale blue leaves above, wind-scattered petals already lay strewn—countless fragments dotting their surface…

III. Rainy Night

After about two months had passed since then.

On a night during a prolonged rain, Heichū sneaked off alone to the chambers of the lady-in-waiting of Hon’in.
The rain fell with a tremendous roar, as though the night sky itself were melting away.
The road was less a muddy path than a raging flood.
If one were to go out on such a night, even the aloof Lady-in-waiting would naturally take pity—so thought Heichū as he stole up to the entrance of her chambers, rattling his silver-mounted fan and clearing his throat as if requesting admittance.

Then, a fifteen or sixteen-year-old maidservant immediately showed herself there—a clever-faced girl powdered white who looked thoroughly sleepy. Heichū brought his face closer and whispered a request to have his message relayed to the Lady-in-waiting.

The maidservant, having withdrawn once, returned to the entrance of the chambers and replied in an equally hushed voice.

“Please wait here quietly. Once everyone has retired, you will be able to meet her, I hear.”

Heichū smiled involuntarily.
Following the maidservant’s guidance, he sat down beside the sliding door in what appeared to be the room adjacent to the Lady-in-waiting’s parlor.

"After all, I'm a genius."

After the maidservant had withdrawn somewhere, Heichū sat alone, smirking to himself.

Even the Lady-in-waiting seems to have finally had her spirit broken this time of all times.
Women, after all, are easily moved by the poignancy of things.
If one shows even a hint of kindness there, they immediately fall head over heels.
Because they don’t know such key points, no matter what Yoshisuke and Norizane say—Wait.
But this business of meeting tonight—it seems too good to be true.—

Heichū gradually grew uneasy.

"But if one doesn't meet, there seems to be no reason to meet in the first place."
"Then is this my paranoia?"
"After all, even though I'd had someone deliver roughly sixty letters one after another, I hadn't received a single reply—so it was only natural for paranoia to arise."
"But if it wasn't paranoia—and upon careful consideration, I couldn't entirely dismiss the possibility that it wasn't—"
"No matter how kindly she may be bound, the Lady-in-waiting who until now had not so much as glanced my way—though I must say, her opponent is me."
"If she has been on my mind to this degree, her heart might suddenly soften."

Heichū adjusted his robes while peering around timidly.
But where he sat, there was nothing but darkness to be seen.
Within that darkness, only the sound of rain resounded through the hinoki-bark-thatched roof.

If I thought it was paranoia, it seemed like paranoia; if it wasn't-no-if I kept thinking it was paranoia, then even paranoia ceased to be anything at all; and if I thought it wasn't paranoia, I got the feeling that unexpectedly, it might just end up being paranoia after all.
Fate-or whatever you call it-is crafted with irony after all.
In that case-I had to resolutely convince myself none of this was paranoia.
In that case she would come any moment now-Oh! It seemed everyone had already gone to bed.

Heichū strained his ears.
Indeed, when he suddenly noticed, along with the ceaseless sound of rain, there came the stir of the ladies-in-waiting—who had been attending at court—seemingly returning to their chambers.

"This was the moment for patience."
"If just half an hour passed, I'd have my long-cherished desires fulfilled without complication."
"But deep within my gut still lingered this unshakeable unease."
"Ah yes—this was indeed the proper approach."
"When convinced you'll never meet—miraculously you find a way."
"Yet that ironical fate might see straight through such calculations of mine."
"Then should I believe we'll meet?"
"Even so—being all calculation—things still refuse to go as planned—Ah! My chest began throbbing."
"Come now—I must think of matters wholly unrelated to her."
"All the chambers had grown quite hushed."
"Nothing reached my ears but rain's sound."
"Well then—I'll shut my eyes and contemplate rain."
"Spring rains...early summer rains...evening showers...autumn rains...does 'autumn rain' even exist?"
"Autumn rain...winter rain...rainy seasons...leaky roofs...umbrellas...rain prayers...rain serpents...tree frogs...rainproof leather...taking shelter from downpours..."

While he was lost in such thoughts, an unexpected sound struck Heichū’s ears.
No—it wasn’t merely startling him. The expression on Heichū’s face upon hearing this sound overflowed with even greater rapture than that of a devout monk suddenly granted a vision of Amida Buddha’s welcoming descent.
For the reason was this: On the other side of the sliding door, the distinct sound of someone undoing the latch had clearly reached his ears.

Heichū pulled the sliding door.
The door slid smoothly over the threshold, just as he had thought.
Beyond lay an expanse of darkness, strangely permeated by the acrid smell of something burning hollowly.
Heichū quietly closed the door, then slowly crawled on his knees, groping his way forward into the depths.
But within this lustrous darkness, aside from the sound of rain upon the ceiling, there was no sign of any presence.
When he thought his hand had brushed against something by chance, it was only clothes racks and mirrors.
Heichū gradually began to feel his heartbeat quickening.

“Isn’t she here?”
“If she were here, she’d likely say something.”

As he thought this, Heichū’s hand accidentally brushed against a woman’s soft hand.
Then, as he continued groping around, his hand brushed against what felt like the sleeve of a silk robe.
His hand brushed against breasts beneath the robe.
His hand brushed against round cheeks and a jaw.
His hand brushed against hair colder than ice—Heichū had finally located his beloved Lady-in-waiting lying still alone in the pitch darkness.

This was neither a dream nor an illusion.

The Lady-in-waiting lay before his very nose, still clad in a single silk robe, her form disheveled.
He crouched there and, without realizing it, began trembling uncontrollably.
But the Lady-in-waiting still showed no sign of moving.
This very situation must have been written about in some tale—or so it felt.
Or perhaps that was in some picture scroll I had seen years ago by the light of a great hall lamp.

“I am unworthy.
“I am unworthy.”
“Until now I thought you cold, but henceforth I shall dedicate my life to you above even the Buddha.”

Heichū was pulling the Lady-in-waiting closer while attempting to whisper into her ear.
But no matter how frantically his mind raced, his tongue remained glued to his palate, and no semblance of a voice escaped his mouth.
Before long, the scent of the Lady-in-waiting’s hair and her strangely warm skin unceremoniously enveloped him.
Just as he thought this, a faint breath from the Lady-in-waiting touched his face.

An instant—once that instant had passed—they would surely have been swept up in passion’s storm, forgetting even the rain’s sound, the acrid burning smell, the Minister of this cloister, and the maidservant.
However, at this perilous moment, the Lady-in-waiting half-rose and, bringing her face close to Heichū’s, uttered a bashful-sounding voice.

“Please wait, my lord—the latch on that shoji over there isn’t yet fastened—I shall go secure it.”

Heichū merely nodded.
The Lady-in-waiting left behind a pleasant-smelling warmth on the two futons as she quietly rose and departed.

“Spring rain… Lady-in-waiting… Amida Buddha… sheltering from downpours… raindrops… Lady-in-waiting… Lady-in-waiting…”

Heichū lay with eyes wide open, thinking thoughts unclear even to himself.
Then from the darkness ahead came the metallic clink of a latch being fastened.

“Rain serpents, incense burners, the rainy night’s judgment—the reality of this jet-black darkness surpasses no dream’s clarity, not even in dreams… What’s happening? I thought the latch had already been fastened, but—”

Heichū raised his head and looked.
But all around lingered only the acrid smell of something burning hollowly and an oppressive darkness, just as before.
Where had the Lady-in-waiting gone? Not even the rustle of robes reached his ears.

“Surely not—no—depending on how things are—”

Heichū crawled out of the futon and, groping his way as before, reached the far shoji.
Then, on the shoji, a latch had been securely fastened from outside the room.
Moreover, even when he strained his ears, there wasn’t a single footstep to be heard.
All the rooms lay hushed in slumber amid the heavy rain.

“Heichū, Heichū—you’re no longer Don Juan of the realm or anything else.—”

Heichū remained leaning against the *shōji* and muttered as though in a faint.

“Your looks have declined.
Your talent isn’t what it once was.
You’re a more despicable coward than Norizane or Yoshisuke...”

IV. Debate on Lust

This was a fragment of idle talk exchanged between Heichū's two friends—Yoshisuke and Norizane.

Yoshisuke: "I hear even the great Heichū can't prevail against that Lady-in-waiting."

Norizane: “That’s the rumor, isn’t it?”

Yoshisuke: “Serves that guy right.
“That guy’s the kind of man who’ll make advances at any woman if they’re not Nyōgo or Kōi.
“It’s better to teach him a bit of a lesson.”

Norizane: “Well, well—are you also one of Confucius’s disciples?”

Yoshisuke: “I don’t know about Confucius’s teachings or such, but…
“I know exactly how many women have been made to weep for Heichū’s sake.
“To add one more thing—how many husbands have suffered? How many parents have raged? How many retainers have nursed grudges? I’m not entirely unaware of that either.
“A man who causes such trouble should naturally be drummed out and condemned.
“Don’t you think so?”

Norizane: “It’s not quite so straightforward.”
“True, society may suffer for Heichū alone.”
“But must Heichū alone bear that sin?”

Yoshisuke: “Then who else should bear it?”

Norizane: “That’s to have women bear it.”

Yoshisuke: “Making women bear it seems pitiable.”
Norizane: “Doesn’t making Heichū bear it seem pitiable?”
Yoshisuke: “But since it was Heichū who made the advances.”

Norizane: “Men cross swords on the battlefield, but women only slit throats in their sleep.”
“Does the crime of murder vary?”

Yoshisuke: “Don’t oddly take Heichū’s side.”
“But this much is certain, right?
“We do not trouble society, but Heichū is troubling society.”

Norizane: “That’s not so certain either.”
“I don’t know what karma binds us, but we humans cannot live for a moment without wounding one another.”
“However, Heichū is causing more trouble to society than we are.”
“In this regard, such geniuses are bound by an unavoidable fate.”

Yoshisuke: “Don’t be absurd!”
“If Heichū’s a genius, then the loaches in this pond might as well become dragons.”

“Heichū is indeed a genius. Observe that man’s face. Listen to that man’s voice. Read that man’s letters. If you were a woman, try spending a night with that man. That man, just like Kōbō Daishi or Ono no Michikaze, has been endowed with exceptional abilities since the moment he left his mother’s womb. If you say he is not a genius, then there exists not a single genius under heaven. In that regard, people like the two of us are no match for Heichū at all.”

Yoshisuke: “But geniuses aren’t merely creating sins as you claim, are they? When one views Michikaze’s calligraphy, they’re moved by its subtle brushwork; when one hears Kōbō Daishi’s sutra chanting—”

Norizane: “I never said geniuses only create sin. I said they create sin as well.”

Yoshisuke: “But isn’t that different from Heichū?
“That guy creates nothing but sin, I tell you.”

Norizane: “That’s something we shouldn’t be able to understand.”
“For someone who can’t even write kana properly, wouldn’t Michikaze’s calligraphy be dull?”
“For those without a shred of piety, puppet songs might prove more entertaining than Kōbō Daishi’s sutra chanting.”
“To recognize a genius’s virtue requires qualifications on our part too.”

Yoshisuke: “That’s as you say—but as for the ‘virtues’ of Saint Heichū…”

“Isn’t it the same with Heichū’s case? The virtues of such a licentious genius should be known only by women. You earlier spoke of how many women were made to weep for Heichū’s sake, but I would counter thus: How many women have tasted supreme joy for Heichū’s sake? How many women have felt profound purpose in life for Heichū’s sake? How many women have been taught the nobility of sacrifice for Heichū’s sake? How many women have, for Heichū’s sake—”

“Enough! That’s more than sufficient already. If you twist logic like this, even a scarecrow could become an armored warrior.”

“If you’re this envious, even an armored warrior would seem a mere scarecrow to you!”

“Jealous? Me?”
“Well, well—this is unexpected.”

“Don’t you condemn wanton women as much as you condemn Heichū?”
“Even if you denounce him with your lips, you don’t denounce him in your heart.”
“That’s because we’re both men—jealousy inevitably takes root.”
“All of us, to some degree, harbor a secret ambition: if we could become Heichū, we would wish to try being him.”
“That is why Heichū is detested by us more than traitors.”
“When you consider it, it seems rather pitiable.”

Yoshisuke: “Then do you also want to become Heichū?”

“I?
“I don’t particularly want to become that.”
“Therefore, my view of Heichū is fairer than yours.”
“When Heichū succeeds with a woman, he immediately grows tired of her.”
“And then he becomes absurdly infatuated with some other woman.”
“That is because within Heichū’s heart, the figure of a beauty beyond mortal realms—like the Goddess of Mount Wu—is always faintly floating.”
“Heichū is always trying to see such beauty in the women of the world.”
“When he is actually in love, he believes he could see it.”
“But of course, if he meets her two or three times, such a mirage is shattered.”
“That’s why he goes from woman to woman, restlessly wearing himself out.”
“Moreover, in this Age of Dharma Decline, such a beauty cannot exist—so Heichū’s life inevitably ends in misfortune.”
“In that regard, you and I are far happier, I say.”
“However, Heichū’s misfortune lies precisely in his being a genius, so to speak.”
“That isn’t limited to Heichū alone.”
“Kōbō Daishi and Ono no Michikaze must surely resemble him.”
“In any case, to find happiness, ordinary people like us are the best…”

V. The Man Who Lamented Marimo's Beauty

Heichū stood forlornly alone in the deserted corridor near the Lady-in-waiting’s chambers in Hon’in.
Even the oily sheen of sunlight striking the corridor’s railing hinted that the day’s heat would only grow more intense.
Yet beyond the eaves, clusters of pines thrusting up green needles quietly preserved the coolness in the air.

“The Lady-in-waiting won’t acknowledge me. I’ve given up on her as well—”

Heichū, his face pale, was lost in such thoughts.

“Yet no matter how I resolved to forget her, her phantom-like figure would inevitably float before my eyes. Since that rainy night, I’ve lost count of how fervently I prayed to every god and buddha just to forget her. But when I visited Kamo Shrine, there in the sacred mirror her face appeared vivid as life. When I entered Kiyomizu Temple’s inner sanctum, even Kannon Bodhisattva’s form transformed into hers. If this vision never leaves my heart, I’ll surely burn to death—I’ll die without fail.—”

Heichū let out a long breath.

"But to forget that figure—there was only one means.
It was to find that woman’s shameful flaw.
The Lady-in-waiting could not be some celestial being; she must harbor impurities within.
If I could just discover one such blemish—like a fox disguised as a bride whose tail is discovered—the phantom of the Lady-in-waiting would crumble away.
In that instant, my life would finally become my own.
But where lay her shame? Where did she conceal impurity? None would tell me.
'Ah, Great Merciful Kannon Bodhisattva—please reveal it! Proof that the Lady-in-waiting differs not one whit from a riverside beggar-woman...'"

Heichū, while thinking this, suddenly raised his languid gaze.

“Oh—isn’t that the Lady-in-waiting’s maidservant coming over there?”

That clever-looking maidservant, wearing layered carnation-patterned thin undergarments and dark-colored hakama trousers, was walking toward him while hiding a basket beneath a crimson-papered painted fan—surely on her way to dispose of the Lady-in-waiting’s excrement. The moment he saw her figure, a bold resolution flashed through Heichū’s heart like lightning.

Heichū stood blocking the maidservant’s path with blazing eyes. No sooner had he snatched the basket than he dashed into an empty room visible at the corridor’s far end. The startled maidservant naturally let out a cry as she clattered after him. But upon leaping into the room, Heichū immediately shut the sliding door and lowered its latch.

“That’s it. If I look inside this, there can be no mistake. A century-long love vanishes in an instant, more fleeting than smoke…”

Heichū lifted the thin clove-scented cloth draped over the basket with trembling hands and looked. The basket proved unexpectedly to be an exquisitely crafted makie lacquerware, still brand-new.

“Inside this lies the Lady-in-waiting’s excrement. And within it lies my life as well…”

Heichū stood motionless, gazing fixedly at the beautiful basket. Outside the chambers, the maidservant’s weeping continued stealthily. But before long, it was swallowed by oppressive silence. No sooner had he registered this than the sliding doors and shōji screens began dissolving like mist. No—even whether it was now day or night had become unclear to Heichū. Before his eyes alone floated a single basket adorned with a cuckoo design, suspended clearly in midair.…

“Whether my life is saved or I part ways forever with the Lady-in-waiting—all hangs upon this basket.” If I just remove this basket’s lid—no, that’s something to consider. Is it better to forget the Lady-in-waiting, or better to prolong this worthless life? I cannot answer either way. “Even if I were to burn to death with longing, should I leave the lid of this basket unopened?…”

Heichū, tear stains glistening on emaciated cheeks, now belatedly found himself at a loss.
Yet after a brief hesitation, he suddenly brightened his eyes and this time raised a desperate cry within his heart.

"Heichū!
Heichū!
What manner of coward are you?
Have you forgotten that rainy night?
The Lady-in-waiting might still be mocking your love even now!
Live!
Prove you can live splendidly!
If you just see the Lady-in-waiting's excrement, you will surely triumph…"

Heichū, nearly like a madman, finally removed the basket’s lid.
In the basket, water of a pale fragrant hue filled it about halfway, within which two or three objects of a deep fragrant hue lay settled at the bottom.
No sooner had he thought this than—as if in a dream—the scent of cloves struck his nose.
Could this be the Lady-in-waiting’s excrement?
No—even the Goddess Kichijōten herself would never produce such excrement.
Heichū, furrowing his brows, picked up the object floating on top—about two sun in size.
He brought it close enough to touch his mustache and sniffed it again and again.
The scent was unmistakably that of the finest aloeswood.

“How about this!”
“This water seems to have a scent too—but—”

Heichū tilted the basket and cautiously sipped its contents.
The water was unmistakably clear liquid drawn from cloves boiled again and again.

“So this thing’s incense wood too?”

Heichū bit into the object he had just picked up—about two sun in size—to test it.
There was a sweetness mingled with bitterness so intense it seemed to pierce through his teeth.
Moreover, within his mouth bloomed a subtle fragrance—cooler than tachibana blossoms—filling every crevice.
The Lady-in-waiting, having deduced from some unknown source, had crafted this incense-sculpted excrement to thwart Heichū’s scheme.

“Lady-in-waiting! You’ve killed Heichū!”

Heichū groaned thus and dropped the makie basket with a thud.
And then he collapsed onto the floor there like a toppled Buddha.
In his half-dead eyes floated the figure of the Lady-in-waiting—encircled by a halo of shimmering gold, serenely smiling at him all the while.
……

(Taishō 10, September)