Pathway to Japanese Literature

Pilgrimage to Kiyomizu

I

“Ah, what a splendid moon! “It’s as though a silver mirror has been polished to perfection.” As though he had exhausted every possible word of admiration in this age-old phrase, the young man raised his radiant brows and gazed up at the vivid mid-September moon that would herald tomorrow’s Thirteenth Night. The young man appeared about three years older than his actual age that night, yet remained a boy not yet counted among full-grown men. He was of course not wearing an eboshi hat. His black hair was tied back and hanging down as he wore a pale yellow hemp kosode patterned with large and small swirling tomoe motifs, paired with earthenware-brown short hakama trousers. Though the colors of his garments remained indistinct in the dim light, both sleeves and hakama appeared faded from repeated washings, the trouser hems wrinkled and rolled up at the ankles.

In stark contrast to his shabby attire, the boy possessed a face so noble and manly that it could withstand even tonight’s revealing moonlight without shame. Were someone to dress him in an eggshell-white kosode robe and clothe him in pale plum-blossom child's suikan attire, then fasten a Chinese-bamboo practice sword at his waist, he would have made such a beautifully valiant temple page - one whom wicked monks might desperately revere - that people would surely call him "Poor Naniwakamaru." However, around his lonely waist now hung no Chinese-bamboo practice sword. He also bore no small sword. He was barefoot, wearing thin, dirty straw sandals.

“Truly a splendid moon!” The one who answered him in unison was a girl who appeared either his age or perhaps a year younger; given the need to advance this tale, there was no time now to provide a detailed description of her features. Here we shall simply record that she possessed a noble countenance shining more beautifully than her companion boy’s, wore a pale spring-green kimono with white patterns resembling the traditional Shinobu-zuri dyeing of Mutsu Province, and similarly went barefoot in straw sandals.

The boy and the girl stood upon Kiyomizu slope, gazing up at tonight's moon.

Kyoto’s night dew had settled damply, and the two fair-skinned figures began to walk, rubbing their small shoulders together against the cold. The capital of over seven hundred and sixty years past, though deemed the imperial seat, was likely more desolate than modern folk could fathom. Particularly in this Mucchin year of Kyūan 4 [1148 CE], a conflagration had ravaged the imperial palace. The wooden statue of Lord Kamatari at Tanzan had splintered and crumbled of its own accord. Through summer's span, a fearsome pestilence had swept the land. As winter's approach tightened its grip, bandits multiplied like vermin. Even the glorious Heian epoch now stood at history's final decline, an undefined dread of societal dissolution taking root in every heart. These accumulating calamities loomed as harbingers of some dire omen, striking terror through the capital's inhabitants.

Among these, the proliferation of bandits proved most direly terrifying, so that even the capital's main avenues now lay deserted from early evening. As for this secluded area around Kiyomizu Hall—let alone daytime—when autumn’s pale sun hurriedly faded and Kyoto’s townscapes became sparsely dotted with faint yellow lights visible below, even the shadows of sedge hats and sounds of straw sandals vanished as if blown away; not even the most devout believers would venture this far on night pilgrimages.

Along that desolate night slope path, the two made their way forlornly. The moonlight filtered through high treetops, their small figures intermittently vanishing into dim shadows. The tall thickets on both sides rustled suddenly as if to startle them, while somewhere in the distance echoed the cry of a fox.

“Hey, Moe” “Oh, Chieda-ma!”

The boy and the girl exchanged each other’s names. Moe was the girl’s name, and Chiedamatsu was the boy’s. They hadn’t called out for any purpose; overwhelmed by loneliness, they had simply uttered each other’s names without reason. The two resumed their silent walk.

“I wonder if Kannon-sama’s divine mercy will ever come…” Moe sighed uncertainly.

“There must be mercy. There has to be mercy,” Chiedamatsu answered immediately. “Aunt says day and night that we mustn’t doubt the Buddha’s mercy. It’s precisely because I believe in Kannon-sama that I come out with you every night like this.” “Even so, Father slipped on moss at Sannenzaka slope this spring when coming for Kiyomizu pilgrimage, and since then has been confined to bed. I’ve heard that those who fall on Sannenzaka slope won’t live three years,” Moe’s voice trembled with tears.

Having emerged from where dense branches obstructed their path, the moon once again cast its bright light upon them. On Moe’s jade-like cheeks, threadlike tears glistened white. Chiedamatsu immediately denied it again. "That’s a lie about Sannenzaka slope." "That’s Sannei-zaka slope." "So what if you fall? So what if you trip? Hah! Nothing would happen!" Having been bluntly rebutted, Moe pressed her lips together once more. The two hurried along the night country path toward Yamashina. Although he had spoken with manly strength, a faint unease about Sannenzaka slope still dwelled deep in the boy’s heart.

“Your father’s illness has lasted so long. How many days has it been by now?” he asked while walking. “It has been nearly half a year now. I wonder what will become of us—it’s so unsettling, truly.” “What did the doctor say?” “The sorrow of those living in poverty—even doctors these days do not deign to visit us properly,” Moe said, covering her eyes with her sleeve. “But that’s not all. Because of Father’s prolonged illness, we’ve already sold everything of value left in our household. Autumn is already at its end. When the Kitayama showers begin to fall, will we parent and child freeze to death? Will we starve to death? When I think of that, it’s truly heartbreaking. Yesterday again, the potter’s wife from next door came and suggested I might as well become a courtesan in Eguchi or such—saying kindly that you could allow your ailing father alone to live in peace...”

“Did that potter’s hag suggest such a thing?” Chiedamatsu’s voice trembled with shock and indignation. “And what did you say?” “I didn’t say anything. I just kept silent and listened.” “If that hag says such a thing again, tell me straightaway—I’ll hurl stones into her shopfront and smash three or four of her new jars to splinters!”

The vehemence of his scolding left Moe strangely unmoored. She addressed the man in a mollifying tone. “She only suggested it kindly—that old woman who took pity on our hardship.”

“What ‘kindness’?” Chiedamatsu sneered. “That plague hag! “She preys on people’s hardships and schemes all sorts of wickedness. “What they say holds true. “She’s truly more terrifying than any plague. “You mustn’t heed a single word from that wretch—whether her words seem good or bad, don’t engage with any of it!”

When he admonished her with a brotherly tone beyond his years, Moe listened obediently. Chiedamatsu, his chest still tight with lingering anger, kept spewing every scornful word and curse he could muster, berating that detestable Potter’s plague hag over and over until they reached their home.

Though the autumn evening had just passed the Hour of the Dog (8 PM), Yamashina village lay sleeping under a bright moon. No light escaped from any of the houses. Under the large persimmon tree, Moe stopped.

"I'll come to fetch you tomorrow night too," Chiedamatsu said gently. "Please do come to invite me." "Oh, I swear it!"

After taking a couple of steps away, Chiedamatsu turned back again. “As I told you along the way,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “No matter what that plague hag says, don’t you dare listen to her. Understand? Understand?”

After he emphasized his warnings several times in a forceful whisper, Moe nodded silently and disappeared from beneath the persimmon tree into the narrow garden entrance as if melting away. After confirming she had entered her home, Chiedamatsu stood at the neighboring potter’s gate, stepping stealthily. The elderly couple seemed to have fallen asleep early, and no sound could be heard from within. He put on a fake voice and bellowed: “It’s a messenger from Atago’s tengu! Open the door!”

Pounding the front door two or three times as if to break it down, Chiedamatsu fled at full speed.

II

“Oh, those wretched crows have come again.”

The following morning dawned beautifully clear, beneath a sky as vast and blue as the ocean, where persimmon branches jutted sharply upward. Moe stepped out onto the bamboo veranda to chase away the flock of crows eyeing those crimson fruits.

“Hah, so those wretched crows have come again. “They’re detestable creatures. “But you’ll never chase them all away. Leave them be,” said Father Yukitsuna as he slightly pushed aside the wrinkled paper quilt and sat up on the thin reed-floss bedding. “If you see Chieda-ma, please ask him to make a scarecrow.” “That would be good,” Father smiled, squinting up at the morning sunlight filling their narrow garden. “At night it’s already cold enough to want a brazier, but daytime remains warm. “Knowing my dutiful you would persist in your nightly pilgrimages to Kiyomizu even if forbidden, I’ve let you follow your heart—but the nights ahead will grow colder. “The dew grows heavier. “Take care not to catch cold. “The turn of seasons from summer to autumn, autumn to winter weighs heavy on a patient’s body. “If winter would just fully set in, I might become able to rise. “Don’t fret so much. “Once my limbs regain their strength—whether I wrap tachi hilts or fletch arrows for sparrow bows—the two of us won’t want for sustenance. “Hah, just a little more patience now.”

“Yes.”

In the persimmon branches, large crows gleamed their cunning eyes, brandishing pointed beaks as they flitted from bough to bough, but Moe no longer raised her hands to chase them. She sat with her hands placed before her father, meekly bowing her head.

Beneath the crumbling bamboo veranda, crickets chirped even in daylight.

Though her father Yukitsuna was now reduced to such emaciation, seven years prior he had been known as Sakabe no Shōji Kuranushi Yukitsuna, a samurai who served in the Northern Guard of the Cloistered Emperor. One evening at dusk, when a fox appeared beneath the steps of the Seiryōden Palace, the Regent took notice and commanded, “Shoot that creature down.” Yukitsuna, who happened to be present, immediately seized his bow and gave chase, but his first arrow tragically missed its mark. When Yukitsuna hurriedly tried to loose the second arrow, the bowstring snapped with a sudden twang. The fox, of course, escaped. Not only did he miss his intended prey, but when the critical moment arrived, his bowstring snapped—a failure that implied habitual negligence—and he was condemned to imperial censure. He was not the kind of man to forget his loyal service. He was not a man who neglected the customary practices of a samurai. That it had come to this was due to his lifelong misfortune; Yukitsuna took his wife and daughter and went into hiding on the outskirts of Yamashina Village—then considered the countryside of the capital—where he now led a wretched rōnin’s existence.

The wife who should have consoled his misfortune ended up abandoning her husband and daughter to depart for the afterlife a little over half a year later. Still in his prime, Yukitsuna did not take another wife, instead raising his young daughter Moe single-handedly as an impaired widower. Moe, who had been born with a beautiful face, possessed a heart that was equally beautiful. Having lost all hope for his own advancement, the father had no choice but to cling to his successor; thus Yukitsuna waited earnestly for his daughter’s growth while envisioning pleasant dreams of his old age.

Moe turned fourteen this year.

In the spring of that year, Yukitsuna had taken his daughter on a pilgrimage to Kiyomizu’s Kannon. It was due to stumbling on Sannen-zaka slope during that time that he had been confined to a sickbed since the end of March. Even as summer passed and autumn came, he remained confined to his pillow and medicine, so the dutiful Moe’s hardships never ceased. To save her father, tormented by poverty and illness, she resolved to make twenty-one nightly pilgrimages to Kannon-sama—whom she had long worshipped—and from late August onward braved the night dew to visit Kiyomizu every evening. Kyoto had grown lawless, and in these autumn nights thick with bandits when a maiden walking alone seemed perilous; her father had initially tried vehemently to dissuade her—yet Moe would not be swayed. She continued making the perilous journey along distant night roads, single-mindedly determined to cure her father’s illness.

However, seventeen days later, Moe had gained a reliable companion. That companion was none other than Chiedamatsu; he was the child of an eboshi hat maker. He too was an unfortunate orphan who had lost both parents early, taken in by an uncle and aunt who likewise made their living through eboshi hat making, and had turned fifteen this year. Uncle Dairoku did not keep a shop. He would make his daily rounds from Kyoto-Fushimi to Ōtsu, crafting eboshi hats in whatever households summoned him. Therefore, as days when his uncle was home were few, Chiedamatsu kept lonely watch each day with his aunt. Though their villages differed, as they lived within the same Yamashina district, he gradually grew close to Moe—just a year younger—and ignoring the other children, the pair always played together in perfect harmony.

“Moe and Chieda-ma are husband and wife!” When the other children teased them out of jealousy, Chiedamatsu would always flush crimson with anger. "Hmm, let those who wish to speak say their piece." "Once Father’s illness is cured, I want to go learn how to make eboshi hats from your aunt," said Moe. “Oh, even if it’s my aunt, I’ll teach you myself.” “Whether it’s horizontal folds or wind-bent styles—I know them all.” "When next year comes, I'll go peddling with Uncle too," declared Chiedamatsu proudly.

Chiedamatsu was to become an eboshi hat-folding artisan. Moe too wanted to learn how to fold those eboshi hats. Though he couldn't fully grasp what meaning lay there, something faintly stirred within Chiedamatsu's youthful breast. He grew increasingly close to Moe. Because Moe's father had been ill for so long, he came daily to check on him as though concerned for his own father. And then, upon learning for the first time seventeen days later that Moe was making night pilgrimages to Kiyomizu, he resented and raged as never before.

“Why did you hide it from me? What if some mishap befell a young girl walking alone on night roads? I’ll go with you starting tonight.” He obtained his aunt’s permission, and from then on went out together with Moe every night. Even with his strong-looking face, Chiedamatsu was still a fifteen-year-old boy. Bandits and demons aside—whether he could truly fulfill his role as protector even if they encountered wild dogs seemed profoundly uncertain to outside observers—but for Moe, he was an incomparably reliable, steadfast companion. She waited eagerly each evening for Chiedamatsu to come invite her. Chiedamatsu too invariably arrived at the appointed hour without fail, and the two made their way to Kiyomizu while reciting the memorized Universal Gateway Chapter.

The potter’s wife who had incited Moe, urging her to become an Eguchi courtesan, was undoubtedly a detestable enemy in Chiedamatsu’s eyes—whether motivated by goodwill or malice. It was only natural that he cursed her with such vehemence. Merely banging on the door and threatening did little to soothe his anger. Even after fleeing back to his own home that night, he remained irritated and could not sleep well. Though he thought it unlikely, still unable to feel at ease, the next morning after seeing his uncle off on his peddling rounds, he immediately went to visit Moe’s house in the neighboring village.

When he arrived, he first peered into the neighboring potter’s shop. Before the shop’s small kiln, an old potter who seemed kind-hearted wore a sagging eboshi hat, slightly hunchbacked as he bent over, intently kneading something like a pot on a small straw mat. Outside the bamboo blind half-lowered for shade, a single wild chrysanthemum that seemed to have grown naturally stretched spindly and tall, while a white autumn butterfly floated listlessly about its surroundings. The old woman was spinning hemp in the dimly lit back.

“Grandfather. It’s fine weather, isn’t it?”

When Chiedamatsu deliberately called out, the old man paused his work and turned around. Then, furrowing his long white brows, he beamed. “Oh, Chieda-ma from the next village over. Truly a splendid autumn day, isn’t it? When autumn draws to its end, there’s usually rain aplenty—but this year’s steady fair weather’s been a blessing. Our trade can’t handle rain either.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Chiedamatsu as he gazed at the pot in the old man’s hands. He loathed the hag, but against this old man, he couldn’t very well pick a fight. Even so, he lowered his voice threateningly and asked.

“They say tengu have been appearing around here lately.” “Really?”

“What of it?” laughed the old man again. “Everyone living around here’s good folk through and through. Not a bad soul among us. No call for Lord Tengu’s wrath to fall on us. Hahahaha! What folks call demon tengu’s mostly just human mischief anyhow. Why, last night some rascal came pounding on our door trying to scare us playing tengu.”

“What a wicked rascal that fellow is,” called the old woman from the back. “Next time you pull such mischief, I’ll chase you down and slash your shins with that sickle—mark my words.” “Do you think tengu get caught?” Chiedamatsu laughed mockingly. “Well now, if it’s not a tengu but a human you claim…” "Warō, if you find that troublemaker, you better tell me," said the old woman, glaring with pale eyes.

Chiedamatsu felt a creeping unease and wondered whether his prank had been discovered. Yet refusing to show weakness, he laughed mockingly again.

“Whether tengu or human, as long as we do no wrong ourselves, they’ll bring neither curses nor pranks upon us.” “What wrong have we done?” retorted the old woman, adjusting her knees.

"Oh, I did something bad. 'You tried to sell the neighbor’s daughter into a courtesan—' Chiedamatsu started to retort defiantly, but even he hesitated. 'If you don’t do bad things, that’s fine—but if you do, the tengu will come grab you tonight!'"

Having said this abruptly, he briskly exited the shopfront—just then, a red dragonfly brushed past the tip of his nose. He grimaced in disgust as he stood at the neighboring house’s gate, his eyes first catching on the persimmon treetop. “Shoo! Shoo!” He picked up a clod of earth at his feet and chased off the crow. Hearing that voice, Moe came out to the veranda edge. “Chieda-ma?”

The two of them faced each other with nostalgic warmth. The white butterfly from earlier seemed to have entangled itself in Chiedamatsu’s hem, then fluttered between the two of them.

Three

After visiting Yukitsuna in his illness, Chiedamatsu and Moe stood hand in hand at the edge of a nearby stream. Tonight was the Thirteenth Night, and they had gone out to cut pampas grass to offer to the moon. The river was narrow, its width less than eighteen feet, yet upon its silently flowing chill waters mirrored the sky's azure hue, while white shadows of autumn clouds occasionally rippled and drifted by. The low embankment had collapsed in last year's flood, and with no subsequent maintenance, the boundary between water and land had become indistinct; yet there autumn brought pampas grass and reeds growing tall, so water and people now passed separately through this dividing thicket. Nevertheless, children gathering crabs and people catching small crucian carp had pressed down the pampas grass and reeds to create passageways between water and land, trampling narrow paths here and there; so the two of them also felt their way along these trails until they reached the water’s edge. The two knew that there lay a great willow tree uprooted and fallen there.

“The water’s beautifully clear.” The two sat down on the willow trunk and gazed intently at the autumn water flowing near their fingertips. The surface of a large stone half-submerged in water glittered in the autumn shadows, while at its base, crimson smartweed flowers trailed wetly into the stream. Across the river stretched vast millet fields, and between those fields and the bank, Otsu oxen plodded slowly along the broad thoroughfare, pulling brushwood carts. From time to time, shrikes took flight crying as they passed by.

“It frustrates me that I can’t compose poetry.”

When Chiedamatsu suddenly spoke up, Moe’s beautiful eyes widened in surprise. “What would you do if you could compose poetry?”

“Even when I behold such glorious scenery, I cannot compose a single verse. Moe, you do write poetry though?” “Father taught me, but I’m clumsy by nature and can’t compose properly. Not that it matters much. Writing poems and living refined lives—that’s for highborn ladies and court nobles.” “True enough,” Chiedamatsu laughed. “When I went home last night, Uncle told me news from the capital. At His Excellency the Regent’s recent poetry gathering, they set this impossible theme—‘Parting from Solitary Sleep.’ How can there be farewells in sleeping alone? They say it’s an unprecedented challenge—even those fancy court nobles racked their brains till smoke came out their ears! But not one soul produced a decent poem. Now they’re saying anyone in the capital—merchant, craftsman, farmer—can try their hand. The Major Counselor from the Poetry Bureau announced huge rewards for worthy submissions.” Chuckling ruefully, he added: “Uncle kept muttering—‘All these years shaping eboshi hats yet I can’t even cobble together doggerel! If only someone made a proper poem for this occasion—why, they’d live comfortable till their dying day!’”

“Oh, I’ve never heard that before,” Moe said, furrowing her brows. “Indeed, ‘Parting from Solitary Sleep’—this is absurd. No matter how skilled a poet, one cannot compose verses about things that have no precedent in this world. It’s precisely like speaking of the moon at month’s end.” “It’s just like lighting a fire underwater.” “It’s just like climbing a tree to catch fish.” The two exchanged glances and burst into laughter at once, childishly. As if to drown out their laughter, a temple bell from somewhere resounded through the autumn sky and began to hum deeply.

“Oh, it’s already noon!”

Moe startled and was the first to rise. Chiedamatsu immediately followed suit by standing up. The two hurriedly snapped off pampas grass nearby and returned home, each clutching a bunch in hand. When parting at the gate, Chiedamatsu asked Moe again.

“Didn’t the neighbor’s hag show up this morning?” Moe said no one had come. Still uneasy, when Chiedamatsu peered into the potter’s shop again on his way home, he found the old man crouched in the same spot as before, shaping a jar with the same posture and single-minded focus. There was no sign of the old woman.

The windless autumn day ended quietly, and no sooner had the pale evening mist begun drifting low over Yamashina's villages than it gradually cleared again, revealing the crystalline moon Chiedamatsu had praised last night—tonight too casting its cold white radiance high above. The persimmon leaves on Moe’s gate shone white as if frosted.

“Moe,” “It’s gotten a bit late tonight.” “Forgive me.”

Chiedamatsu came running up gasping for breath and called out from outside the fence, but there was no response from within. When he hurriedly called out two or three more times, Yukitsuna’s faint reply finally reached his ears—Moe had left home a little while earlier. “Oh, I’m too late!” Chiedamatsu immediately started running again. The road between Yamashina and Kiyomizu at that time passed through many fields and paddies; under the bright moonlight one could see five or eight chō at a glance—yet there was no sign of Moe there, not even the shadow of a single stray dog wandering about. Chiedamatsu grew increasingly frantic and dashed headlong. He ran and ran—finally reaching Kiyomizu in one breath—but before the hall stood no small girl praying with her back turned. Just to be thorough, he stretched up to peer inside—in the dim depths of the hall, a yellow lamp flickered faintly as the elderly hall keeper dozed. Chiedamatsu roused the monk and asked whether a girl of fourteen or fifteen had come to worship there just now.

The monk seemed hard of hearing. After making him repeat it several times, he said with a laugh, “Who’d come worship after dark? The world’s been right noisy these days.”

Without listening halfway, Chiedamatsu turned around and dashed off again. Indescribable anxiety welled up in his chest, and he frantically ran down the slope. Since going and returning followed the same single path, there should have been no chance of missing each other along the way. As he thought this, his anxiety swelled all the more. He could no longer endure it and ran while calling the woman’s name in a loud voice. “Moe! Moe!” Perhaps startled by his footsteps, two or three roosting birds flapped noisily up from the treetops by the roadside. No human voices echoed from anywhere.

Having run frantically onward until reaching the middle of the long farm road, even his legs had grown exhausted and stiffened to the point of near collapse, so he slumped down before the roadside Jizo statue and sat there exhaling great breaths for some time. When he looked up almost unconsciously, the moon's light shone brilliantly in the clear night sky, enveloping everything within view—the vast fields, the dusky forests, and the scattered low roofs of houses between them—in a silvery mist that might be called the glow of frost. Around his collar where sweat still clung damply, the night's cold seeped in like water.

The cry of a fox was heard in the distance.

“Had she been tricked by a fox?” Chiedamatsu wondered. Otherwise, she had been taken by bandits. For a beautiful maiden like Moe to walk alone after dusk was akin to willingly stepping into a bandit’s snare. Chiedamatsu shuddered.

Whether it was a fox or bandits—as Chiedamatsu wavered between these possibilities—the image of that potter suddenly rose in his chest. The thought struck him—had that old hag finally incited Moe and lured her off to Eguchi or some such place?—and he suddenly leapt up and broke into a run once more. By the time he saw the persimmon tree at Moe’s gate, he was already too exhausted to walk. “Moe! Have you come back?”

When he called out from outside the fence this time, Yukitsuna’s reply came immediately. “Since my daughter’s return is late tonight, I too am anxious,” he said. “Didn’t you meet her along the way?” Chiedamatsu tersely replied that he hadn’t met her either and immediately pounded roughly on the neighboring potter’s door. “Seems another Tengu trickster’s come prowling.” From inside came the old man’s laughing voice. Chiedamatsu shouted urgently.

“I’m not a Tengu! It’s Chieda-ma!” “What’s Chieda-ma doing here this late?” the old woman snapped. “I need to see the hag! Open up!” “You’re making a ruckus after nightfall. If you’ve business, come back tomorrow!”

Chiedamatsu grew increasingly frantic. Instead of replying, he continued pounding on the front door with all his strength. “Oh, what a racket you’re making, Warō!” Muttering complaints, the hag got up and came out, thrusting her sleepy face into the bright moonlight—whereupon Chiedamatsu, who had been lying in wait, lunged at her like a locust and seized her by the collar.

“Speak! Where have you taken Moe next door?”

“What nonsense. How ridiculous.” “If you’re looking for Moe, go next door.” “Coming here’s the wrong door.” “No, you should know.” “Hey, hag!” “You must have incited Moe and sold her to the prostitutes of Eguchi...” “Speak plainly!” Chiedamatsu strengthened his grip on her collar and shoved her hard. “Oh, you’re making outrageous accusations!” “Last night’s mischief was likely your doing too.” “Old man! Come quick and subdue this wretch!” the hag roared, staggering.

The Old Potter too crawled out from his bed. Separating the two who stood roaring with heated breaths, as he gradually heard their story through, he too furrowed his long brows with meticulous care.

“This is strange,” said the Old Potter. “Moe’s been dutiful to her father all along—she’d never abandon him and vanish. This reeks of bandits or fox magic. If it were bandits, I can’t picture them loitering about...but if it’s foxes, we know well enough where such beasts dig their dens. Come with me, Chieda-ma.”

“Off with you then,” said the hag with her usual scornful glare. “Even if you think she’s a child, Moe’s already fourteen. Who knows what sort of fox has taken her? Honestly searching around there—isn’t that just wasted effort?”

Chiedamatsu bristled again. However, wisely reconsidering that arguing here was futile, he roughly dragged the old man outside. “Old man. Where’s the fox’s den?” “Now, don’t rush. There are many places around here where stray foxes have their dens. Let’s start by searching the nearest forest.” The old man returned inside and brought out a small sickle and hatchet. Thinking they needed some proper weapon to scare off those damn beasts, he handed the hatchet to Chiedamatsu and tucked the sickle into his own waistband. Then he pointed to the small forest beyond the rice fields.

“You must know,” said the Old Potter. “Fox-fire sometimes dances over that forest.” “That’s right,” replied Chiedamatsu. The two hurried off toward the forest beyond. Trampling through fallen leaves and withered grass, they searched every corner of the area, but Moe’s figure was nowhere to be found. They abandoned that place and hurried on to the next hill. Chiedamatsu walked on, calling Moe’s name until his throat grew hoarse, but his voice only echoed through the distant forest, with no human reply coming from anywhere. They combed through one place after another for what felt like hours, but found nothing to lift their spirits. When they noticed and looked back, unaware of how they had wandered, the two found themselves lost in a place called Ono within Yamashina Village. This place was said to be the historic site of Ono no Komachi, where a spring called Komachi’s Water gushed forth. The two scooped up the cold spring water and drank it down without pause.

“Chieda-ma. It’s late. “We should turn back.” “We won’t find her tonight anyway,” said the old man, shrugging as if chilled. “But I want to search a bit more.” “Old man! Any fox dens around here?” “Hmm, you’re quite persistent, Warō.” “Aye, that’s so.”

After a moment's thought, the old man nodded while wiping around his mouth. “Oh, there is, there is! Aye, they say west of Komachi’s Water lies a forest thick with great cedars—and foxes dwell there too. But one shouldn’t venture there carelessly. Well, why you ask? Deep in that forest lies an ancient burial mound from hundreds or thousands of years ago—no one knows who was buried there or where they came from. They say the mound’s spirit brings calamity—that’s why none dare approach it.”

“It’s not the mound’s spirit causing calamity—it’s foxes bringing misfortune,” said Chiedamatsu.

“Either way, hearing there’s a curse makes it truly dreadful,” Old Potter admonished. “No—even if it’s dreadful, I don’t care. I’ll search the depths of that forest to settle my mind.”

Chiedamatsu re-gripped the hatchet and dashed off.

Parting from Lonely Slumber

I

Seeing that stopping him would prove futile, the Old Potter followed after the boy with faltering steps.

The two stood before the cedar forest shrouded in eerie legends. The old cedar trees intertwined their branches, looming darkly enough to blot out even the midday sun, yet the forest's depths did not seem particularly deep—behind them stretched a low hill. Chiedamatsu was about to push through the trees without delay, hatchet in hand, when the old man stopped him again.

“Now, I don’t speak lightly,” warned the old man. “To force your way into a place long feared as accursed so late at night is reckless boldness. Stop! Stop!” “No, I won’t stop,” Chiedamatsu retorted. “If you’re frightened, Old man, I’ll go alone.”

Shaking off the arm that had seized him, he dashed madly into the forest, calling Moe’s name. The old man made a troubled face and hesitated briefly, but seemingly unable to abandon the boy to his fate, he mustered all his courage, drew the gleaming sickle from his waist, and followed after Chiedamatsu. The forest interior wasn’t as dark as one might have imagined from outside. The moonlight of the Thirteenth Night filtered thinly through the cedar leaves, so even while groping their way, they managed to keep some sense of direction. Since no human had set foot there for many years, rotten leaves had piled high in mounds, and as their feet sank eerily into the sodden earth with each squelching step, the two walked clinging to standing trees as if crossing a marsh.

“Chieda-ma—what’s that?” When the old man whispered softly, Chiedamatsu also involuntarily froze. This was likely what they called the ancient burial mound. At the base of an exceptionally large cedar lay an earthen mound resembling a steamed bun, about five or six feet in height, and around this burial mound flickered a faint, cold blue light akin to will-o’-the-wisps.

“What could it be?” Chiedamatsu whispered back. Driven not only by indescribable fear but also by a peculiar curiosity, he stealthily crawled along the tree roots like a dog, guided by that eerie light. The next instant, he cried out.

“Oh! Moe! You’re here!” “There she is,” the Old Potter cried out involuntarily, stumbling over tree roots as he groped closer. Moe lay beneath the ancient burial mound as though asleep. What glowed blue like foxfire was the skull pillowing her head. She had hidden deep in the forest where no human had ventured since antiquity, sleeping beneath the old mound with that skull as her rest. At this uncanny sight they both shuddered, but Chiedamatsu’s heart swelled more with joy than fear—heedless of danger, he crawled to the girl’s side. He seized Moe’s hand and shouted.

“Moe! It’s me—Chieda-ma.” “Moe!” The Old Potter also joined his voice in calling out. Called, Moe rose unsteadily to her feet, but still entranced like one who walks in dreams, she leaned limply against Chiedamatsu’s arm as the two supported her and led her out of the forest. Standing under the bright moon, Moe let out a long sigh of relief as though life had returned to her.

“How do you feel? Has anything changed?” “What possessed you to wander into such a place?” Chiedamatsu and the old man took turns questioning her, but Moe answered as one still dreaming, claiming no knowledge of anything.

Tonight being later than usual for Chieda-ma to come invite her, she had left home alone and made her way toward Kiyomizu. She clearly remembered up to that point, she said, but beyond that—where she had walked how, why she had strayed into this forest's depths, why she had been lying there—she herself hadn't the faintest notion. "It was that damn wild fox's mischief after all," the Old Potter nodded. "But well—this calls for celebration since you're unharmed. Your father must be sorely worried. Now hurry back!"

The night had grown late. The three walked in silence, treading upon their own shadows. The Old Potter parted with the two in front of his house.

Chiedamatsu escorted Moe to her neighboring gate and whispered again.

“Let this be a lesson—you won’t go walking alone at night anymore. Tomorrow night too, you must wait until I come for you. Understand?”

As he tried to take his leave after one last admonishment, Chiedamatsu suddenly noticed something the woman was cradling in her left hand. It was the old skull she had used as a pillow, glowing palely before the moon. Chiedamatsu started and spoke reproachfully. “What’s that thing...” “Doesn’t it creep you out?” “Throw it away.” “Get rid of it.”

Moe didn’t reply, clutching the skull as if it were precious as she slipped inside. Chiedamatsu stood dumbfounded, watching her retreating figure. And then, he began to suspect that the fox still hadn’t left her.

That night, Chiedamatsu had a mysterious dream.

The first dream world was a land so hot it could melt iron. There grew grasses and trees of such deep green they might dye human garments tall and thick, while across a flower garden vast beyond measure bloomed poppies redder than human blood and lilies larger than an oni’s face, heaping tower-like in riotous profusion. The flowers were not merely crimson—purple, white, black, and yellow blooms too melted under scorching sunlight, their hues so venomous they seemed to ooze poison. At their roots writhed a swarm of dreadful venomous snakes flickering crimson tongues.

Where could this be?

As Chiedamatsu stared wide-eyed in wonder while gazing vacantly about, an uncanny music began resonating from somewhere. When a certain wealthy man of the capital once hosted a Buddhist service at a Yamashina temple, numerous venerable monks had gathered in the main hall to chant sutras. There had been a time when Chiedamatsu slipped into that temple garden and became spellbound by the music, overwhelmed by an ineffable solemnity; yet this present melody bore some resemblance while possessing an eerily enchanting quality that seemed to dissolve one's very soul. In a drunken haze, he peered toward the music's source and saw four gaunt men each holding aloft objects resembling Japanese long-handled parasols, their edges trailing lengthy tassels of cool blue and white. The men stood barefoot in thin mouse-gray robes that exposed their chests. Following them came eight women clad in pale azure garments bearing what looked like Chinese fans. Then swayed forth a mountainous beast of colossal size. Having seen such creatures in temple paintings, Chiedamatsu instantly recognized it as an elephant—a beast from India. The elephant gleamed white as snow.

On the elephant’s back was mounted something like a palanquin with railings. On the palanquin were seated a man and a woman. From behind the elephant, a large crowd of men and women followed. Though all the men and women around them exposed dark skin, the woman riding in the palanquin alone was whiter than the elephant. Chiedamatsu found his gaze drawn to her, whereupon she proudly bared her white chest and arms, clad in a gauzy robe so sheer her skin showed through. Chiedamatsu peered at her face and suddenly started to cry out—then caught his breath. The woman atop the elephant was indeed Moe.

When he peered closer, the woman appeared to be six or seven years older than Moe. She was not an innocent-seeming girl like Moe. Yet her facial features were not the slightest bit different from Moe’s. No matter how he scrutinized her, she was still unmistakably Moe.

He felt compelled to call out, Moe! If there hadn't been so many eyes watching around him, he might have leapt onto the great elephant's back and clung to the woman's pale arms. However, the woman resembling Moe didn't so much as glance his way; laughing about something as she whispered to the man beside her, he tilted his crown-like object woven from grass leaves and let out a loud laugh. The sky burned like fire. Under that crimson blaze, as the music's resonance heightened its tempo, countless venomous snakes emerged linked together from floral shadows and raised their sickle-shaped heads in unison with the notes. They gradually formed a large circle, twisting and tangling madly as though beginning to dance. As Chiedamatsu watched with bated breath, another group of men and women were driven forward. All were naked, brutally bound together with thick iron chains.

These prisoners numbered about ten. Following behind came twenty to thirty men baring one shoulder, brandishing long iron whips as they drove the prisoners forward. The prisoners trembling in terror all knelt before the elephant in unison, and the woman looked down from above and laughed coldly. Her cool eyes carried a murderous glint, rendering them truly terrifying. As Chiedamatsu too stiffened and watched intently, the woman issued low-voiced commands. The men wielding iron whips immediately lunged forward, kicking down every last one of those prisoners until both men and women went sprawling and tumbling into the ring of countless venomous snakes—

No longer having the courage to witness what came next, Chiedamatsu involuntarily covered his eyes and fled. Behind him, only the resplendent laughter of the woman resembling Moe rang out loudly. Chiedamatsu ran as if in a dream when someone tapped his shoulder.

When he opened his eyes with a start, an old monk stood beneath tall palm leaves.

“Do you know that white woman riding atop the elephant?”

Because it was too terrifying, Chiedamatsu answered that he didn't know.

The old monk said quietly. “If you come to recognize that, know that your life will be forfeit.” “This is the land of Tenjiku, and the man riding the elephant with the woman is called Prince Madarashi.” “The woman’s name is Lady Kayō. Remember it well.” “That woman appears peerlessly beautiful in this world, but she is no human.” “She is a fearsome apparitional being that manifests once every hundred thousand years.” “She is a demonic spirit who seeks to destroy the Buddhist Law of Tenjiku and plunge the great chiliocosm into the darkness of the demon realm.” “As her first step, she has beguiled Prince Madarashi and now freely commits atrocities scarcely heard of since the creation of heaven and earth.” “What you have been shown now does not even amount to one hundredth of that.” “Just yesterday she beheaded a thousand people in a single day and erected a great mound of heads.” “But even if she commands supernatural powers, evil cannot prevail against good.” “Moreover, Tenjiku is Buddha’s land.” “The time will soon come when demons are vanquished through the power of Buddhist Law.” “There is no need to fear.” “However, it will not benefit you to remain here forever.” “Go quickly.” “Return quickly.”

The monk took Chiedamatsu’s hand and pushed him outside the gate, whereupon the large iron door closed without a sound. Chiedamatsu stood transfixed, as though his very soul had been drained away. Yet however much he reconsidered, that beautiful woman called Lady Kayō could only be Moe - his dear Moe with whom he shared such closeness. An apparitional being would suffice. A demonic spirit mattered not. He longed to slip back into that flower garden and glimpse once more the pale woman’s face atop the white elephant.

He pounded on the iron door with all his strength. The bones of his fist throbbed as though shattered, and he jolted awake. However, his mind was too exhausted to dwell on the memory of this terrifying dream. He pressed his face into the pillow and fell soundly asleep again.

Two

The second dream world appeared to lie much further north than the previous Tenjiku, as a cold continental wind whipped up swirling sands that cast the dim sky in an even deeper yellow hue. A grand palace towered amidst the swirling sands.

The palace appeared to face south, with a high staircase at its entrance. Both above and below these stairs lay white stone pavements laid out tightly, while above them hung a grand brocade curtain. Here and there stood thick, round pillars painted vermilion, upon which creatures like phoenixes, dragons, and tigers were carved with vivid realism, richly colored in gold, silver, vermilion, azure, purple, and various other deep hues. The long, winding railings shone with a pearl-like luster. Chiedamatsu stood timidly at the base of the high staircase, stepping stealthily. At the base of the stairs, besides him, a great crowd of Tang people were stationed.

“Shh.” A solemn voice that seemed to reprimand someone echoed from nowhere as the brocade curtain parted left and right before being smoothly drawn up. At the elevated front sat a man wearing a brocade crown and yellow robe upon a jewel-studded couch, his face flushed as if intoxicated. Chiedamatsu surmised this must be the Tang king. By his side reclined a beautiful woman trailing a long crimson brocade robe - one who might have been mistaken for a Dragon Palace princess - leaning against an identical jewel-studded couch with queenly arrogance. Chiedamatsu stretched upward and gasped anew. That beautiful woman remained unmistakably Moe herself.

“Why is the sake late?” “Why haven’t you brought the meat?” the king bellowed in a reproving voice. The woman resembling Moe turned her bewitching eyes toward the king’s crimson face and burst into piercing laughter. No wonder she laughed—before the king stood rows of massive wine jars, each brimming with green liquor that nearly overflowed. Upon a great platter of pearl and tortoiseshell lay mountainous heaps of fish fins and beast haunches. Through eyes clouded by endless nocturnal revelry, the king could no longer distinguish wine pools from meat forests. The retainers and serving women kept silent with lowered heads.

Before long, the woman who resembled Moe whispered something, and the king laughed guilelessly before nodding. The Tang retainers were promptly summoned before the king and issued some command. No sooner had the retainers withdrawn with deference than they returned shouldering a large oil jar that seemed ponderously heavy. Chiedamatsu—who until now had remained unaware—now noticed for the first time a thick copper pillar standing at one side below the staircase. When a host of retainers clustered around to begin slathering the pillar with viscous oil, others brought armfuls of firewood to heap mountain-high at the base of the great pit beneath it. Two or three retainers carried what resembled torches over and cast them inside. Some poured in more oil.

"They must be making a bonfire because it's cold," Chiedamatsu thought. However, his assumption was immediately proven wrong. The firewood soon seemed to burst into flames. As if spewing crimson lotus flames from hell's depths, a scarlet mass of fire filled the pit and blazed upward fiercely. The terrifying light reflected off the copper pillar, dyeing the brows and temples of those nearby demon-red. Even Chiedamatsu's cheeks, watching from afar, grew searingly hot. After confirming the flames had fully risen, the woman who resembled Moe raised her Chinese fan high, whereupon an ear-shattering gong resounded. Chiedamatsu, startled once more, turned around to see a long-bearded man and a pale-skinned woman being led out to the base of the staircase. They too, like the prisoners of Tenjiku, had their bare hands bound with iron chains.

Chiedamatsu shuddered. The gong resounded fiercely once more, and the two victims were pushed toward the copper pillar. Chiedamatsu realized for the first time. The two people who had leaned against the greased pillar would slip and tumble down into hell's fire pit in an instant. He could no longer bear it and was about to close his eyes when a hurried clatter of shoes echoed from below the stairs.

The man who came rushing in was a ruddy-faced giant standing some seven feet tall, clad in yellow ox-hide armor with a jet-black iron helmet, gripping a massive axe in his hand. Like a wild stallion he leapt toward the pillar, spreading his great hands to seize the two victims. The two or three retainers who tried to block him were instantly kicked into the fire pit by his force. He raised wrathful eyes that seemed ready to split apart and roared like a crashing thunderbolt.

“Raishin is here! Perish, demons!” As he readied his axe to climb the stairs, the woman rebuked him in a voice as clear and piercing as shaken golden bells. A crowd of retainers drew their swords and surrounded Raishin. The pit’s flames blazed ever more fiercely, staining the vast palace crimson as if to scorch it. Against that raging inferno’s backdrop, countless sword glints swayed wildly like autumn pampas grass. Raishin’s axe flickered like a great moon, now visible, now hidden amidst the thicket of blades.

The woman who resembled Moe whispered to the king and quietly rose from her seat. Chiedamatsu quietly followed after them as they took each other's hands and climbed up to a high platform. It was not only Chiedamatsu who had followed them; a great crowd of armored Tang soldiers bearing bows and spears had also gathered and now encircled the platform in multiple layers. Among them stood an old man who appeared to be their general, his white beard and sideburns hanging long like crane feathers. Chiedamatsu approached the old man and fearfully asked.

“What place is this, sir?” “And who might you be, sir?”

"This is Tang China," he declared, "and I am Taigong Wang, military strategist to King Wu of Zhou." He then proceeded to explain: "The current ruler of this land, King Zhou of Yin who holds governance's reins, has been beguiled by an enchantress called Daji and wallows in debauchery night and day. Not only that—following Daji's counsel, he devised a torture called Paoluo that strikes terror across the realm. Had you been present since earlier, you'd have witnessed that Paoluo torment firsthand. No, even beyond this, Daji's cruelties defy description. They seize living men to boil in cauldrons. They rip open pregnant women's bellies. She commits atrocities beyond comparison to any demoness or devil, taking daily pleasure in these crimes. Left unchecked, the people will wail in wilderness and the world sink into darkness's abyss. Our King Wu, unable to endure this sight, has gathered feudal lords from over four hundred provinces to destroy King Zhou, slaughter Daji, restore the world to its former radiance, and thereby deliver all people from suffering. However monstrous King Zhou may be called, he remains but a mortal man. Destroying him poses no great difficulty—our true dread lies with that enchantress Daji, whose true form is a golden-haired, white-faced fox enduring ten million kalpas' cycles. Should this demon escape by error, she'll surely bring fresh calamity upon the world."

Before those words had fully ended, yellow smoke swirled and erupted from the high platform. The old man looked up at the smoke and clicked his tongue.

“So they’ve set fire to destroy themselves.” “The tyrant’s downfall is the natural course of fate, but do not grow complacent and let that demon escape.” “Is Raishin not here?” “Charge into the smoke and swiftly slay the demon!” Swinging his great axe, Raishin appeared from somewhere. He pushed through the clamoring Tang soldiers and, braving the rain of fiery sparks falling upon his helmet, charged straight up to the platform. The old man looked up at the platform with apparent concern. As Chiedamatsu, clenching his sweaty hands, likewise looked up at the high sky, several streams of yellow smoke writhed out from atop the platform like a great dragon. From within that smoke, the face of a woman resembling Moe appeared, glistening white.

“Shoot!” commanded the old man, raising his whip. Countless war arrows flew toward the smoke. The woman looked down upon the world below as though sneering and soared ever higher through the air. Chiedamatsu was terrified. At that same moment, an indescribable sadness constricted his chest, and he involuntarily cried out through his tears.

The strange dream ended here.

Even when the next morning came, Chiedamatsu could not leave his bed. Perhaps due to being assailed by a strange dream the previous night, he suffered chills and a throbbing headache. His uncle and aunt said he must have caught a chill from the night dew. His aunt brewed some medicine for him. Chiedamatsu had just sipped the medicinal broth, and even the porridge wouldn’t go down his throat.

What about Moe?

He was deeply worried about her, yet pinned down by this malicious illness, he couldn't rise no matter how he struggled. The aunt also forbade him from getting up. For about five days after that, he remained confined to his sickbed, knowing nothing of what events might be occurring either in Moe's life or in the world at large.

Three

The azure sky stood quietly clear and high, but from those lofty heights a sharp winter wind suddenly swept down, making the willow shadows appear abruptly gaunt compared to yesterday. Outside the earthen wall of Grand Counselor Michimichi’s mansion as well, those willow leaves lay scattered white.

A beautiful maiden stood before the mansion’s four-pillared gate and requested an audience. “I am Moe—a lowborn woman living wretchedly in Yamashina Village. I have come to humbly request an audience with your lordship.”

The blue-robed retainer glared scornfully at this impoverished maiden with eyes that pierced her appearance. Yet those piercing eyes gradually softened as he caught his breath and stared at the maiden's beautiful face as though trying to bore through it. Moe repeated her plea.

“I have heard that His Excellency the Regent has decreed a call for poems titled ‘Farewell to Solitary Sleep.’ Though unskilled, I have composed a crude verse and humbly thought to present it for your esteemed viewing...”

She blushed slightly, her face coloring. The blue-robed retainer nodded as if coming to himself.

“Oh, that’s right. By decree of His Excellency the Regent, Grand Counselor Michimichi of this mansion has been commanded to widely solicit poems titled ‘Farewell to Solitary Sleep’ from society. You too wish to present that poem? This is a remarkable deed. Wait here.”

He peered once more at the beautiful maiden’s face and withdrew into the mansion’s interior. Willow leaves scattered down upon the maiden again like falling snowflakes. After keeping her waiting awhile, the blue-robed retainer reappeared and addressed her gently.

“His Lordship commands your audience. No objections—enter at once.” Guided within, Moe was led to a study-like chamber in the inner quarters. A soft fragrance drifted from somewhere, compelling the country-bred girl to instinctively straighten her posture. The master of the house, Grand Counselor Lord Michimichi, sat facing her in close proximity. True to the gentle courtier spirit that recognizes no social distinctions in the Way of Shikishima, the Grand Counselor inclined his head graciously even toward this baseborn woman.

“I hear you have come to present a poem titled 'Farewell to Solitary Sleep',” said Grand Counselor Michimichi. “We make no distinction between court nobles and low-ranking officials here. Simply present a good poem. They say your name is Moe—who might your parents be and from where?” “Father...” Moe began, then hesitated. When even after waiting the next phrase did not come readily, Michimichi prompted her: “Though I said we make no distinction of status, you might think this unnecessary inquiry—but these poems will be presented before His Excellency the Regent. If I do not first investigate and record the poet’s status, my duty remains unfulfilled. Whether your father be anyone or your mother be of any station, there is no need for shame. No need to hesitate. All you need do is come forth and state your name honestly.”

"My mother is no longer in this world." "Unless I openly declare my father's name, might the poem's presentation go ungranted?" Moe asked in return. "I do not mean to say it cannot be done, but first you must declare your station before formally entreating its presentation—such is the proper course." "Might you not state your father's name?"

“Yes, my lord.” “Why can you not say it? How curious,” Michimichi smiled. “Ah, I see. You fear that declaring your father’s name first would bring shame upon your house should that poem prove utterly inept? For a maiden not yet come of age, it's an understandable hesitation. Very well, very well. Then I shall not investigate further now. I shall evaluate this so-called poem while dealing with this girl Moe whose parentage remains unknown. Have you prepared it on decorated paper or a poem card?”

"No, I have brought neither decorated paper nor poem cards," Moe answered shyly. Michimichi immediately had an inkstone, decorated paper, and such brought in. Since this poem had been widely solicited from society, dozens of decorated papers and poem cards piled up daily at the Grand Counselor’s side. Though one might marvel at how the capital concealed so many poets, not a single verse was found that truly satisfied the heart. One cannot judge poetry's quality by appearance alone, yet when considering this maiden’s peerless beauty and her astute manner of speech, a peculiar interest welled up in Michimichi’s breast. A hidden talent might suddenly appear here to astonish him—such a thought occurred. He fixed his gaze intently upon the maiden’s brush gliding smoothly across the paper.

“It is most embarrassing.”

Moe presented the decorated paper and prostrated herself before the Grand Counselor. Michimichi read it as though he had been waiting impatiently. "The night deepens; unnoticed, the chamber’s lamp extinguishes—even from my shadow must I part."

“Ah,” he let slip an admiring sigh, comparing in equal measure the decorated paper’s surface and the maiden’s countenance. Imagination had become reality—the hidden talented woman had indeed come to astonish him. “Oh, splendid indeed!” “Magnificent.” “One who could compose such a masterful rendition of the challenging theme ‘Farewell to Solitary Sleep’ would be found not merely in the capital—none exist throughout all Japan.” “You have performed admirably indeed.” “Most extraordinary.” “His Excellency the Regent will surely find it most satisfying.” “Even as the world becomes an age of decline, to think that the Way of Shikishima shows no sign of waning fills even us with joy.”

Michimichi read the poem several times over. The traces of the characters were vivid. He was overcome with emotion and remained tearful for some time. Moreover, he wanted to know more about this talented woman’s circumstances. “As you can now attest,” “There will never be another poem of this caliber.” “I must humbly present this to His Excellency the Regent without delay; but when that time comes and they ask who this poet is, what answer shall I give?” “There is no need to conceal it any further.” “Now tell me honestly—whose child are you, and from where?”

“Must I truly declare everything?” Moe said anxiously. “If inquiring into my status proves too burdensome, then please designate it as ‘poet unknown.’” “That may be so, but why can you not state your parent’s name?” “I cannot state it. “I shall take my leave now.”

Having declared this, Moe rose gracefully from her seat. As if struck by her dignified authority, the Grand Counselor found himself unable to forcibly detain her. He had been watching this beautiful, mysterious maiden's retreating figure as if in a dream, but suddenly coming to his senses, he called for a blue-robed retainer.

“Follow that girl and ascertain where she’s from and who she is.” Having dispatched the blue-robed retainer, Michimichi once again took up the decorated paper and gazed at it. Whether in appearance or penmanship, a maiden of such quality could not possibly be of lowborn lineage. Could it be that some nobleman’s daughter was indulging in such mischief for amusement? But was she a demon? A fox? A raccoon dog? As he remained perplexed by this judgment, the blue-robed retainer returned at dusk with a weary expression.

“My lord. We have ascertained where the maiden resides.” “Ah, you’ve confirmed it?”

“She hails from Yamashina Village east of the capital. When I inquired with the locals, they informed me her father was once a Northern Guard samurai known as Sakabe no Shōji.”

“A Northern Guard samurai named Sakabe no something…” The Grand Counselor closed his eyes in thought, then suddenly slapped his knee as if remembering.

“Ah, that’s it! Sakabe no Shōji Kuranushi Yukitsuna… That’s certainly it.” He had fallen under imperial censure for failing to shoot a fox beneath the Ōtoko Stairs. After that, none had heard where he might have gone into hiding—but here he was concealed in Yamashina, and Moe was his daughter? To have sired a child blessed with such gifts from her parents—he was indeed a most fortunate man. The circumstances behind Moe’s concealment of her father’s name now became clear. It had been out of deference to his status as one under imperial censure. Whether the father had instructed her thus or the daughter had conceived it herself, the Grand Counselor found this modest discretion both admirable and pitiable. That very night, he attended Regent Tadamichi’s residence to report the emergence of this rare talented woman in society, whereupon the Regent read through her poem and exclaimed in admiration.

Needless to elaborate further, it was this Lord Tadamichi who strove to restore the Way of Waka to its former glory after its gradual decline following the passing of Minamoto no Toshiaki. The Kyūan Hyakushu was a product of this era—among its male poets were Shunzei, Kiyosuke, and Takasue; among its women were Horikawa, Aki, and Kodaishin. Waka poetry had now entered a golden age of revival. Given that even the era's celebrated poets had all wrestled with the daunting theme of "The Parting of Solitary Sleep," yet an unknown girl of lowly birth composed it with such effortless grace—no wonder the Regent and Grand Counselor clicked their tongues in astonishment.

“Though her father bears imperial censure, that should pose no complications for the daughter.” “We wish to meet her.” “Summon her immediately,” said Tadamichi.

The Regent's samurai Oribe Kiyoharu set out for Yamashina Village the very next day and visited Sakabe Yukitsuna's modest dwelling. Having received an utterly unexpected envoy, Yukitsuna was astonished. He had been completely unaware that his daughter had visited the Grand Counselor’s residence. As part of the accomplishments expected of women of that era, Yukitsuna had taught his daughter waka poetry. However, he had never even dreamed she would become an honored poet capable of astonishing contemporary court nobles. He was both astonished and overjoyed. Rather than scold his daughter’s audacity in visiting the Grand Counselor’s residence without her father’s permission, he was filled with a parent’s pride at having sired such a talented girl.

“This gracious summons exceeds my station and fills me with gratitude, but…” He began speaking but hesitated slightly. Cursed by poverty and illness, he lacked the means to present his child before His Highness the Regent. Even if she were an unpolished gem, presenting her beneath this wintry sky clad only in a thin-lined pale green small-sleeved kimono would not only shame himself—there was also the fear of showing discourtesy before nobility. The envoy had perceived this. Kiyoharu declared it was a bestowed item from His Lordship and laid before Yukitsuna a beautiful single-layered large-sleeved kimono of dyed silk.

“I cannot begin to express my gratitude for this profound favor.” Yukitsuna pressed the bestowed item to his forehead and rejoiced.

Urged by the envoy, Moe quickly prepared herself. Beneath the gate’s persimmon tree stood two of Kiyoharu’s attendants. Even the mischievous crows seemed to sense something unusual today, gazing at the red persimmons from afar without daring to approach. “Your lordship, I humbly beg your kind consideration,” said Yukitsuna as he crawled to the edge of the veranda. “Understood.” “Now come along.”

As Kiyoharu and his attendants flanked Moe's front and rear while exiting the gate, Chiedamatsu arrived. His face remained pallid from recent illness as he made his way forward, using a withered branch for a cane while dragging his straw sandals. He gasped upon seeing Moe, but with a grim-faced samurai standing guard beside her, he couldn't rashly call out. Standing rigid before the neighboring potter's shop, he stared in dumbfounded amazement at Moe's transformed beauty, while through gaps in the reed blinds, the old potter and his wife peered wide-eyed.

Moe walked straight ahead without so much as a glance at them, her posture perfectly straightened. Chiedamatsu could no longer contain himself and called out.

"Moe." "Where are you going?" She did not even turn around. A surge of anxiety and dissatisfaction welled up in his chest, and Chiedamatsu rushed thoughtlessly to the woman’s side.

“Hey, Moe. Where are you going?” he asked again. “Enough, don’t get in the way. Back! Away!”

Kiyoharu warded him off with his fan. Though he surely hadn't meant to strike hard, the fan in his hand snapped against Chiedamatsu's cheek with a sharp slap. He flushed crimson and instinctively tightened his grip on the staff, but under Kiyoharu's fearsome glare, froze where he stood. Maintaining an air of detachment, Moe walked calmly past.

The Curse of the Burial Mound

I

“Oh, Reverend. You have indeed come.” Regent Tadamichi showed his usual gentle smile and welcomed the small-statured, lean monk who had just entered—a man with an air of eccentricity. The monk was Junior Counselor Michinori Nyūdō Shinzei. Toward this old monk revered throughout court and country as a peerless scholar of unmatched breadth and depth, even the Regent had to show considerable deference. Tadamichi, who particularly cherished learning, had long revered Shinzei as a master.

“Today marks the arrival of a most extraordinary maiden called Moe. You’ve come at an auspicious hour, Reverend. I should like you to meet her and provide your appraisal,” Tadamichi added with a laugh. “This maiden named Moe...” Shinzei softened his severe brows into a smile. “What manner of person might she be?” “Observe this. She is the composer of this verse.” The regent’s audience chamber maintained relative austerity, with only writing paper, an inkstone, and sparse furnishings arranged at Tadamichi’s side. When the regent produced a sheet of paper and laid it before the monk, Shinzei reread the poem and exhaled deeply.

"What exquisite work she has composed." “To compose so masterfully on the challenging theme of parting after solitary nights—there are likely not two such talents in all this world.” "And what manner of maiden is she?" “My body like floating grass with roots severed drifts wherever waters take me—Moe being a name both pitiful and tender,” he said lifting the paper once more as if entranced by its contents. When told she was daughter of Yukitsuna Sakabe no Shôji who had incurred imperial censure—a minor official he couldn’t recall—Shinzei furrowed his brows anew. He retained no memory of this Yukitsuna. That such mediocrity could sire such brilliance seemed scarcely credible. Yet here lay proof—this poem transcending its maker’s station. Now he too desired seeing this phantom weed called Moe.

“Then, have you summoned the maiden today?” “According to the Major Counselor’s account, she is said to be a maiden of such beauty that one might consider her peerless in this world. I wished to meet her once, and so today I had her summoned. She should arrive shortly.” Though some criticized him as indecisive, Tadamichi remained among the court nobles of highest dignity and purest heart—a Chancellor of the Realm who brought no shame to his station. He took no interest in carnal pleasures. Nearing forty now, even when speaking of a “beautiful maiden,” those hearing him well understood his words carried no improper implications. Both guests and host awaited the maiden’s appearance with an elegant anticipation akin to waiting for the sixteenth-night moon—a poetic longing edged with restlessness.

“Moe has arrived and awaits your audience.” “Will you summon her immediately?” Oribe Kiyoharu, mindful of the guests present, softly inquired while studying his master’s expression. Tadamichi said to send her in at once. Guided by Kiyoharu, Moe entered the garden forecourt.

This was the eastern garden of the Kitano Tainoya. The bright afternoon sun cast large building shadows diagonally across the ground, while at the unshadowed base of the artificial hill, several pale crimson maple trees grew thick and low, painting the fading autumn like a spring landscape. Moe crouched small before that backdrop and reverently pressed her palms to the earth.

“No need for such formality. Bring her up here and give her a straw mat,” Tadamichi commanded with a chin gesture.

Kiyoharu understood and had Moe ascend onto the veranda. He then tried to have a straw mat laid out for her, but Moe declined and settled primly on the wooden veranda edge.

“We are Tadamichi.” “You are the daughter of former Kurōdo Sakabe no Shōji called Moe?” Tadamichi inquired, turning to face her. “As Your Grace has graciously stated—Moe, daughter of Yukitsuna Sakabe, makes her humble first audience.” When she answered with reverence, Shinzei gave a slight nod. “I am Junior Counselor Shinzei.”

“There’s no need for reserve.” “Lift your face and show it.” When called out to again by the Regent, Moe quietly raised her head. Her face glowed like a white jewel. Her eyebrows appeared thinner and more delicate than young willow leaves. Her eyes appeared softer and clearer than those of the merciful Kannon. That noble face, that gentle form—could these truly belong to human lineage? Even Tadamichi, who cared nothing for sensual pleasures, found himself gasping in astonishment as he gazed upon this exquisite maiden’s features, peering as though trying to discern their very essence. Shinzei Nyūdō, nearing sixty, unconsciously adjusted his plain silk collar.

“How old are you?” Tadamichi asked again. “I have reached fourteen years.”

“Ah, fourteen?” “With such gifted lineage, you appear older than your years.” “At what age did you begin studying poetry, and under whom?”

To this question, Moe answered clearly. She had only learned character pronunciations and kana usage from her father and had never studied under a proper teacher. She said it was self-taught and rather embarrassing, so to speak.

Her guileless, unassuming demeanor captivated Tadamichi all the more. He spoke even more familiarly. “Regarding the vexing poetic challenge of ‘parting after solitary nights’ that all have struggled to compose—Tadamichi had indeed pledged suitable rewards for those who accomplished it well. What shall I bestow upon you? Choose gold or silk, furnishings of that sort—ask for anything you desire.” Moe’s tears streamed down onto her dyed silk sleeves.

“Your gracious words are most kind. Your graciousness deigns to praise this clumsy verse so lavishly, and now bids me ask any boon—clinging to that mercy, might I presume to voice my life’s entreaty without reserve?” “Ah, very well, very well. Speak plainly,” Tadamichi nodded with evident interest. “I humbly beg for my father Yukitsuna’s pardon…”

Having started to speak, she timidly prostrated herself on the veranda. Tadamichi and Shinzei exchanged glances. Tadamichi's voice grew slightly somber. "You speak kindly indeed. Are you asking for your father’s pardon as your reward?"

This plea moved Tadamichi’s heart in two distinct ways. First came admiration for the maiden’s filial devotion; second arose faint regrets about his own past. "I ordered Yukitsuna of the Northern Guard to shoot that fox," he reflected. "When he failed his shot," came another self-reproachful thought. "Though imperial censure demanded action—had I shown him mercy then." The regent’s mind churned. "Yukitsuna might have kept his post." True. "The man erred," Tadamichi conceded. "But did I truly need such harshness?" Even then. A flicker of remorse. Forgotten over years. Now Moe’s poem rekindled memories. Before him. A vision. The girl wept. Pleading. For her father. Tears pricked at imperial eyes.

“Your father remains under imperial censure.” “This matter cannot be decided by Tadamichi’s sole judgment, but I shall note your filial plea with admiration.” “Wait for the proper time.” In this era, when such words were directly bestowed by His Highness the Regent, it was understood that her wish would inevitably be granted sooner or later; thus Moe dried her tears and expressed her grateful thanks. Having confirmed the favorable outcome before His Highness, Kiyoharu urged Moe to withdraw. “I may summon you again.” “Come again when that time arrives.”

Tadamichi personally bestowed splendid poetry cards and layered maple-leaf patterned gauze as ceremonial gifts. He then instructed her to devote herself henceforth to the path of poetry with diligence. Moe humbly received those items and, accompanied by Kiyoharu, quietly withdrew through the garden entrance. “What a clever maiden! What a kind maiden! Even in offering the poem of solitary nights, she sought no personal acclaim. Was it all to beg for her father’s pardon? How pitifully poignant,” murmured Tadamichi, watching her retreating figure until she vanished before letting out another sigh of admiration.

Shinzei remained silent. Tadamichi had fully expected some response from the other man, but finding him tight-lipped instead, he felt somewhat deflated. He spoke again, as if pressing for Shinzei's reply.

“It would be truly pitiful to let such a maiden decay in a grass-thatched house." "Her features and disposition both appear unparalleled in this world…" “Well now，Nyūdō.” "I intend to welcome her into my residence to educate and nurture her, with plans for eventual court service in due course. What say you?"

Shinzei closed his eyes and remained silent. His stern eyebrows contracted as if recoiling, drawing close and tensing, while his broad forehead creased with a single deep wrinkle. Tadamichi knew full well that whenever confronted with grave matters beyond his counsel, Shinzei would assume this fearsome countenance. Precisely because he knew this, it struck him as both uncanny and unsettling.

“Nyūdō. “Have you considered it?”

Summoned yet again, Shinzei finally opened his eyes only to narrow them once more as if dreading some unseen presence, fixing his gaze upon the empty sky for a long while. And then, as if groaning, he uttered just a single word. “How strange indeed.”

It was around the time Moe was sent out through the yagura’s four-legged gate.

II

Chiedamatsu returned home once then set out again as the sun began to tilt. He saw Moe wearing robes of such beauty she seemed transformed, being led by an unfamiliar samurai; shocked and suspicious, he tried to demand an explanation, but Moe passed by without sparing him a glance. The samurai struck him with a fan. Humiliation and sorrow fused into one, bringing tears to his eyes. He watched until Moe's retreating figure and her attendants had vanished into the distance, then went straight to Moe's house. Though relieved to learn from her father Yukitsuna that she'd been summoned to the Regent's residence, an unease about what might follow that summoning lingered in his heart—leaving him restless even after returning home.

“You’ve just recovered from illness. It’s nearly sunset—where do you think you’re going?” Ignoring his aunt’s scolding behind him, Chiedamatsu quietly slipped out of the house.

The Hour of the Monkey must have already passed. Cotton-like autumn clouds still dyed their skirts crimson in the setting sun, yet evening hues already seeped from beneath the trees while a chill wind shook white pampas plumes by the roadside. Chiedamatsu came trudging along with his morning-dead-branch cane to find the Old Potter standing at the gate gazing skyward. "Chieda-ma. Back again?" The old man laughed. "Moe won't return yet."

“Still not back?” Chiedamatsu stared at the Old Potter’s face with disappointment. “She’s been summoned to His Highness the Regent’s residence—what could she possibly be doing there until this hour?” “It’s a girl traveling from here to the Upper Capital and back. That alone would take considerable time. If you’re so set on seeing Moe, why don’t you come inside and wait? When evening comes, it’ll get colder bit by bit.” The Old Potter clasped his hands behind his back, sneezed once, and ducked inside through the reed screen. Chiedamatsu followed along in silence, and the old woman was adding firewood to the hearth.

“You go out morning and evening when you’ve barely recovered—doesn’t your aunt scold you at all?” said the old woman with eyes narrowed as if against smoke. “You’re quite fixated on Moe yourself—but have you made some promise to become husband and wife in the end?” Chiedamatsu's face was now illuminated by the blazing firewood flames and turned crimson. He lowered his eyes as if to avoid the smoke and remained silent. “That’s everyone’s own affair, so it’s none of our concern—but do you even realize?” “Lately, Moe has been acting differently than usual.” “Just the other night she made you and the old man go to all that trouble, and then didn’t even give a proper greeting when you met her the next morning.” “It’s like she’s become a completely different person from the quiet, obedient girl she used to be.” “Hey, old man.”

The good-natured old man seemed to have already grown tired of hearing the slander against the neighboring girl. He just smirked silently. As Chiedamatsu continued listening in silence while comparing that innocent smile with the spiteful-looking wrinkles of the old woman’s face, she curled her lips further to bare her mottled teeth. “But that’s not all—I saw something strange,” she said. “The evening before last when I went to buy sake in the neighboring village—there stood Moe alone among thick susuki grass and reeds by the riverbank! If she were merely standing there it’d mean nothing—but she held a skull in one hand like she was raising it above her head! I got so creeped out I tiptoed right past her!”

Chiedamatsu immediately realized the skull must have been the one brought from that ancient burial mound, but why Moe kept holding onto it so preciously, why she would perform such eerie rituals—even he couldn't comprehend. "I haven't seen Moe since then either—could she be doing this every night?" Chiedamatsu asked the old woman with anxious uncertainty. "I don't know either. What I saw was just the once. Why she'd do such a thing—you ask her yourself when you meet."

“Haha, what need for such fuss?” The Old Potter burst out laughing. “In the twilight gloom, the old hag must’ve seen wrong. Or else she waited till none were watching to toss it in the river. What’s skull-holding to do with crowns? Hahahaha!”

Having been so casually dismissed, the old woman grew agitated. She mixed gestures into her detailed explanation of what had happened. All the while, he kept choking on the firewood smoke. “Nonsense! How could these eyes of mine mistake what they saw? Moe was holding that skull aloft on her head, I tell you!” “Well now,” Chiedamatsu interjected skeptically from the side, “maybe it’s just a case of mistaken seeing like the old man says.” Facing opposition from both sides, the old woman’s voice grew sharper.

“What are you all saying without even seeing it yourselves?” “I happened upon that very spot and saw it clear with these two eyes of mine!” “Even if you claim to have seen it, they’re just an old crone’s eyes.” “With those fish-like white peepers of yours,” Chiedamatsu jeered. “What? Fish eyes?” The old woman jerked upright. “These eyes see true enough! You think I’d side with sighted blind fools like you?” “What ‘sighted blind fools’?” Chiedamatsu snapped back.

“Then why did you call me ‘fish eyes’?” “I said it because that’s how you looked!”

As the two squared off ready to spit foam from their mouths in argument, the Old Potter settled them with a laugh that seemed to say, "Here we go again."

“Now, enough, enough. “Whether the neighboring girl holds the skull aloft or embraces it, it’s no concern of ours. “There’s no need to make such a fuss over it. “Chieda-ma’s always quarreling with the old hag. “Having you two face each other just leads to unbearable racket. “Chieda-ma, go home already and come back tomorrow when you’ve cooled your head.” “Aye. “It’s your fault for inviting this fool in,” the old woman glared across the fire. “This is our house. “We can’t have you staying here. “Get out of here already!”

“Oh, so you’re ordering me out?” “You’re the one who called me a fool!” “You’re nothing but a foolish plague hag!”

Shouting angrily, Chiedamatsu slipped out of there to find darkness had already fallen outside. In that dimness floated a woman's face glowing faintly white. The woman called his name in a whisper. "Chieda-ma"

It was Moe.

Chiedamatsu scrambled toward her like a tumbling stone.

“Oh, Moe. You came back?”

“You—were you quarreling again at the neighbors’ house?” “You mustn’t use such spiteful words—‘fool’ this and ‘plague’ that.” “Even so, that hag—she’s forever finding ways to slander you.” “A truly hateful creature she is.” “Now she’s spreading tales about you balancing skulls on your head as if she witnessed it herself—trying to make me out a fool!” Chiedamatsu spat over his shoulder.

Moe said in an unexpectedly calm voice. "That old woman isn’t the villain you make her out to be." "She must have truly seen me with the skull." "The reason stands thus." "That white skull I used as a pillow nights past—though I know not whose relic it was nor whence it came—some karmic thread bound it to my flesh." "Meaning to perform memorial rites, I brought it home and enshrined it quietly upon our altar. But when Father discovered this later, he declared such defilement must not taint our house." "He commanded me return it to its origin, yet that forest fills me with such dread I cannot venture there again." "Though I thought to ask your aid, you were nowhere found." "With no recourse, I bore it to the riverside, chanted the Fumonbon chapter, and consigned it to the waters." "The old neighbor woman must have chanced upon me there as I held the skull aloft." "Those ignorant of the circumstances would naturally find it strange." "She meant no mockery of you." "Only truth did she speak."

“Is that so…”

Chiedamatsu nodded for the first time. The circumstances of Moe standing on the dim riverside holding the skull aloft now became clear. Evidence also emerged that the Potter’s Wife hadn’t been spreading baseless rumors. He had begun to feel some remorse for having picked a fight in a momentary fit of anger and causing distress to the kind-hearted old man. “And today you were summoned to the Regent’s mansion—how did it go?” “Everything went splendidly,” Moe declared proudly. “He bestowed various gifts upon me—ornamental paper, poem cards, and such. On my return, the samurai attendants escorted me back—but according to their talk, they said I might even be summoned for court service at the mansion…”

“What? You’re being summoned for court service…?” “And what do you plan to do then?” Chiedamatsu asked hurriedly. “What do you mean, ‘what will I do’...? “I shall gratefully accept it, that is all. “If that comes to pass, it would be an unexpected rise in status for someone like me—Father would surely be delighted.” Autumn’s evening gloom enveloped the two, and the woman’s pale face had already vanished from sight. In that darkness, trying to read her expression, Chiedamatsu opened his eyes as wide as an owl’s.

“I’ll accept… “Are you going to the Regent’s mansion? “Court service means lifelong service, I’ve heard. “Even if not that extreme, they won’t grant you leave in three or five years—when do you intend to return here?” “That I do not know. “Three years or five, eight or ten, or a lifetime,” Moe answered calmly. Wanting to protest that this violated their agreement, Chiedamatsu forcibly swallowed the words and remained silent for a time. Of course, there had been no formal agreement between them. Moe had never explicitly broached the matter of what would become of them. Yukitsuna had never once said he would give his daughter to him. In the end, it was merely that Chiedamatsu had decided this for himself in unspoken silence. In this situation, he had no right to confront Moe directly and accuse her of breaching their agreement. Yet he was sad. It was galling. He was infuriated. No matter how he thought about it, he didn’t want to send Moe into court service.

“Even if we speak of your advancement, rising in status alone cannot be the sum of human blessings,” he said bluntly. “Quit this court service.” Moe said nothing at all.

“You refuse? So you’re determined to go to the Regent’s mansion?” Chiedamatsu pressed urgently. “Was your talk of wanting to come to my aunt’s place and learn eboshi folding a lie? Did you lie to me?” He seized upon this issue, attempting to use it as grounds to accuse her of breaching their agreement, but it was effortlessly rebuffed. “That was from a time when I hadn’t even considered court service.” “You can’t just forget those old times.”

In the darkness where he couldn't discern her expression, Chiedamatsu grabbed Moe's hand in frustration. As he pulled her toward the neighboring potter's gate, the hearth fire filtered through sparse blinds in a pale crimson glow, her face emerging pale once more. Chiedamatsu peered into her face and said: "Even after all I've said, you won't listen? Won't you heed my plea? Listen, Moe. Next year I'll come of age and take up eboshi hat-making. If I work my hardest, I'll provide for you and your father. What good comes from court service? Living humbly brings true peace. If you enter service, what becomes of your ailing father? Who'll care for him? Seeking advancement while abandoning family—that's unfilial!"

Having failed in his initial protest, he now desperately tried to rein in the woman’s heart using the twin reins of filial duty—but those too were swiftly severed.

“If I enter court service, Father’s censure will be pardoned.” “I could also request a skilled physician by appealing to the Regent.” “How could that possibly be unfilial?”

Chiedamatsu could no longer continue his rebuttal.

Moe laughed triumphantly.

“You and I have been long acquainted, but this may well become our farewell.” “Just as you said—next year become a man and show filial devotion to your uncle and aunt.” She vanished like a ghost into the waiting darkness.

III

Chiedamatsu spent that night awake, thinking.

“The potter’s wife had spoken true. Moe was no longer the Moe of old—as if she were a completely different person.” Tomorrow he would visit her again—what words could he possibly use this time to persuade her? With his exhausted nerves growing ever more frayed, he tossed through the long autumn night in restless torment. From the moment dawn’s rooster crowed, his fever flared anew.

“Look at this!” “This is what comes of wandering about at night before you’ve fully recovered!” he was scolded again by his aunt. His uncle too berated him as a heedless fool.

And so, he was strictly forbidden from going out for about four days. No matter how he rushed, Chiedamatsu couldn't move. On the fourth morning, as he felt slightly better, he seized the opportunity when his aunt had gone shopping and crawled out of the house, clinging to a bamboo cane. In those three or four days, this year's autumn had abruptly aged, and with all the sorghum in the fields harvested, the open country stretched endlessly into the distance. Chiedamatsu felt as though the world had abruptly expanded. And then, rather than feeling cheerful, he was moved to tears by a sad, uncertain sort of emotion. He dragged his heavy straw sandals as he trudged along.

Around the time when the persimmon branches at Moe’s gate dimly entered his vision, he encountered the Old Potter. The Old Potter walked with a lonely air, often looking down as he held a branch of wild chrysanthemums in his hand. The two of them faced each other in the middle of the rice field path.

“Old man. Where are you going?” Since they couldn’t pass by without exchanging greetings, Chiedamatsu spoke first. The Old Potter straightened his crooked eboshi hat and smiled as usual, but his chin appeared slightly thinner. “Here. Visiting my wife’s grave,” he said, showing the red flowers he held in his hand. “The old woman died?” Even Chiedamatsu couldn’t help but be shocked. “When did she die? Was it sudden?”

“Oh, it was exactly the night you came, had that quarrel, and left.”

Late that night, someone had quietly knocked on their door. Contrary to her usual habit of sleeping in, the old woman immediately got up and opened it. They never learned who stood outside, but she slipped out just like that and didn’t return until daybreak. The Old Potter, finding this strange as well, made inquiries around the neighborhood—but given the late hour, no one had seen anything. After exhausting all avenues of search, he suddenly recalled the cedar forest from days past. When he ventured into its depths just to be thorough, his wife lay collapsed beneath that ancient burial mound—exactly as Moe had been. However, her throat had been torn out by some unknown being, leaving no means to summon back her soul. The funeral had been conducted without delay by the neighbors’ hands on the following evening, the Old Potter recounted with a clouded expression.

As Chiedamatsu furrowed his brows and listened intently to this bizarre tale, the Old Potter spoke again.

“In my view, all of that is the curse of the ancient burial mound.” “When we recklessly ventured into the depths of that forest, the curse didn’t fall upon me—it came down upon my wife instead.” “That hag must have been lured by the tomb’s master, ending up with her corpse exposed deep in that forest.” “Chieda-ma, you’re not entirely free from involvement either.” “That hag’s buried at the foot of that hill.” “If you ever have time, go pay your respects at her grave once.” “Even if they were enemies in life, once dead, they become Buddhas.” “Please perform the memorial rites for her.”

As he spoke, the old man gradually regained his customary smile. However, Chiedamatsu could not bring himself to laugh. Suddenly terrified by the curse of vengeful spirits, he shuddered as the already bitter morning wind whipped against him, his flesh breaking into goosebumps.

“That’s truly tragic. I’ll definitely go pay my respects.”

As he took two or three steps after parting with the old man, he was called back from behind.

“Chieda-ma. There’s something I still need to say.” “Moe’s no longer at home, I tell you.”

Chiedamatsu's complexion changed. The Old Potter returned and said sympathetically, "Moe came to help with the hag's funeral rites, but the very next day, they say another messenger came from the capital—it was decided she'd enter court service immediately, so she hurried off yesterday around noon."

A flock of migratory birds passed high above their heads, so the Old Potter involuntarily looked up at the sky.

Chiedamatsu looked down and bit his lip. “For details, go ask the Magistrate.” “With the hag gone, I can’t bear the loneliness.” “And do keep coming to visit my house as you always have.”

Chiedamatsu nodded and parted ways. Even the plague hag, whom he had hated like an enemy—when he heard of her death, he couldn't help but feel sorrow. The grotesque manner of her death was even more terrifying. But now, for Chiedamatsu, neither the old woman's death nor the tomb's curse mattered anymore. Half in a daze, he hurried to Moe's house—and there was Yukitsuna, sitting up on his futon. "Oh, I am deeply grateful you always come to visit me," Yukitsuna said with uncharacteristically bright eyes. "Moe, who was close to you, has been summoned to the Regent's residence." "Though I'm still in no state to rise or lie down at will, I did find it somewhat trying to let go of the daughter who nursed me. But foremost, as it would lead to her advancement—and ultimately to my own happiness as well—I resolved to send her off." "Though her future remains uncertain, once summoned into imperial service, she likely won't return for five or ten years." "You've known Moe for many years now." "Go on and celebrate my daughter's success."

Chiedamatsu could no longer muster a reply. Having heard all there was to hear, he immediately stepped outside. Atop the persimmon tree by the gate hung a large fruit left half-eaten by crows, now rotting into vivid crimson ripeness, its decayed leaves occasionally fluttering down. As he raised his clouded eyes to gaze up at the treetop, hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

Moe cast aside her former self and entered court service. Five or ten years—or perhaps she might never return at all. When he thought of that, he became unbearably sad. The very joy of becoming a full-fledged man next year and embarking on eboshi hat craft had only existed because there was Moe—now that this Moe had flown away like a bird, irrevocably determined never to return to his cage, what purpose could drive him to work hereafter? What purpose drives me to keep living? Chiedamatsu felt the world plunge into sudden darkness even as the fever from his not yet fully healed illness surged once more. His entire body burned as if scorched by fire. His throat grew parched to the point of breathlessness, so he tried to stumble into the neighboring potter’s house for a drink of water, but knowing the old man was away, he ultimately held back. He staggered to the nearby riverside, using his staff for support.

This was a place he had often come to play with Moe. This was also where they came to pick pampas grass on the Thirteenth Night just the other day. The large willow where the two had once sat side by side in harmony still lay as it always had, while autumn water flowed soundlessly white. Chiedamatsu crawled to the water’s edge, scooped up cold water in both hands and drank deeply, but his entire body burned as if aflame, his head throbbing dully until his vision began to darken. Having lost the ability to stand and walk, he discarded his staff there. Crawling like a crab through thickets of withered reeds and pampas grass, he managed to emerge onto the thoroughfare - but found himself thinking once more.

"I might as well be dead." To forget the sorrow of losing Moe and the torment of his illness, he resolved in an instant to sink to the bottom of these waters. He crawled back to the water’s edge again, and at the very moment his pallid face was reflected in the water, someone grabbed him from behind around the waist and yanked him back without warning. “Hey, stop!” That was a small man who appeared to be a servant. On the collapsed embankment stood a man who appeared to be his master. Chiedamatsu, who no longer had strength to resist, was dragged helplessly to the embankment’s edge like a stray pup seized by a child.

“What are you doing there?” the man who appeared to be his master calmly asked him. The man was probably thirty-seven or thirty-eight. He wore a pristine water-blue hunting robe with white servant’s hakama trousers, crowned by a tall eboshi hat—his very bearing radiated nobility. He had a thin mustache beneath his nose. Struck by the light in his eyes—gentle yet imbued with an unassailable dignity—Chiedamatsu put his hands on the ground. “Your complexion looks poor,” the man added. “You bear the visage of one who will lose their life to a supernatural entity. A perilous state indeed.”

“It is my lord’s inquiry,” the Servant said reproachfully. “Speak plainly. You intended to drown yourself...” “I am Yasuchika, Governor of Harima,” the man stated. “I know not whose child you are, but I wish to save your life. Recount in full detail the circumstances leading to your death.” Upon hearing Yasuchika’s name, Chiedamatsu involuntarily raised his head and gazed up in fearful reverence at the man standing before him. Harima Governor Yasuchika was the sixth-generation descendant of Onmyōji Master Abe no Seimei, scion of an undisputed noble house renowned throughout Japan for mastery of celestial observation, tortoise-shell divination, and calculation arts. When this man pronounced through his own lips that a supernatural entity had taken possession of him, Chiedamatsu’s terror grew ever more profound.

He spoke truthfully before Yasuchika about everything. Yasuchika closed his eyes and deliberated for a while, then slowly spoke again. "Where does this girl called Moe reside?" "Guide me." Yasuchika produced some medicine. When he drank it, Chiedamatsu suddenly felt his spirit refreshed. Supported by the servant, he made his way to Yukitsuna's house, whereupon Yasuchika halted and surveyed the surroundings. Then he frowned even more deeply and looked up high at the house.

“This is a cursed residence.”

On the persimmon tree's branch, the same large crow as always was cawing.

Flower Banquet

I

And then four years had passed, and the spring of Ninpei 2 arrived.

For these three or four years, even the god of plague had been sealed away somewhere, its violent hands no longer falling upon humanity. Even Enryaku-ji Temple's mountain monks—those once prone to riotously shaking portable shrines—now seemed content to meekly sip their fasting miso soup while chanting sutras. Neither the gleam of long swords nor the clatter of high clogs disturbed the capital-dwellers' dreams. The Kebiishi's rigorous investigations had eradicated all rumors of bandits. Fires grew scarce. Storms ceased entirely. Hearts that had trembled through the Heian court's waning days—as if worldly chaos pressed near—gradually slackened. When they regained their former carefree spirit, as though loosening already slackened soul-threads further still, this spring unfolded in unbroken radiance. As revelers adorned fields and mountains with cherry blossoms, intoxicated butterflies busied themselves pursuing the fragrance of trailing sleeves.

At Regent Tadamichi’s Katsura-no-Sato villa too, a flower banquet was held in mid-March. It was proclaimed that missing Regent Tadamichi’s banquet—he being clan head—would be a lifelong disgrace, so every courtier of note competed to gather here. The invitation had poetically suggested sheltering beneath blossoming boughs even if showers came, but as if the god of spring itself sought to adorn this splendid banquet's mats, beautiful sunlight filled heaven and earth from dawn onward. Though he had devoted his soul to the way of refined elegance and never much cared for ostentatious displays, ever since being appointed clan head for the first time two years prior, even Tadamichi had naturally grown prideful in spirit. He had grown accustomed to the peace of the realm as well. Amidst courtiers of that era—maple trees flaunting brocade-like hues—he had been perceived as a solitary unadorned pine, until seasonal rains gradually tinged him too, transforming his tastes toward opulence. Moreover, blended with political strategy to demonstrate the great authority of being Fujiwara clan head, today’s banquet reached unprecedented extravagance for him. Even those guests who had long imagined such grandeur found their soft resolve crushed by hospitality so splendid it defied all expectations. The host was proud. The guests were of course satisfied.

Some gathered in clusters, each absorbed in brushing ink onto shikishi poetry cards and tanzaku strips. Others performed gagaku music on wind and string instruments. Since a gathering with only male guests would prove too austere and dull, certain ladies-in-waiting and princesses had all adorned themselves in resplendent attire and now sat arrayed upon the banquet mats. The vibrant hues of silk robes, lingering sleeve perfumes, and strains of courtly melodies all coalesced—melting and swirling beneath spring sunlight's baking warmth until blossoms lost their pigment, butterflies their luster, and bush warblers stilled their songs.

This too must have been one who emerged from that beautiful picture scroll. A young courtier in a new pale blue noshizu robe—appearing to sober from spring breeze intoxication—stood upon a white stone at the water's edge gazing down at flower shadows floating on the surface, when someone called out softly from behind. The man turned around and adjusted the forehead of his tate-eboshi high court cap. “Tamamo-no-Mae.” “You have shown us such varied courtesies today through your considerable efforts.”

The young courtier was Left Minor Controller Kanesuke. He was a fair-complexioned man with a sparse beard and elegant bearing, proficient in poetry and prose, and skilled in song. He also dabbled a bit in painting. He also played the flute skillfully. Among the courtiers of his time, he was celebrated as a man of refined taste; envied by others for the playful nicknames he frequently earned—like "Lord of Such-and-Such Chamber" or "Paramour of Such-and-Such Lady"—he himself took pride in such repute. The woman who stood before this man of refined taste and spoke familiarly without any bashful air must have been one of two things: either an elderly lady-in-waiting who had long forgotten human desires and love, or a refined maiden who possessed confidence that her beauty and grace were no less than his. The maiden facing him indeed fully embodied the latter qualification.

“What need for such courtesies? Hospitality is our duty - we apologize for any shortcomings. The spring day’s waning light still lingers. Might you honor that pavilion yonder while savoring another cup? I shall humbly escort you.” “Nay, though kind your offer, I must decline further drink. Since earlier I’ve drunk myself quite ragged - fled to this shade lest others glimpse my disgraceful state,” Kanesuke smiled, fan pressed to his brow.

“What you declare is false—it seems you arranged to meet someone here.” “If that be so, I shall linger here eternally and obstruct you all,” the woman replied, lightly pressing a fan to her mouth as she laughed. “This troubles us greatly. “We harbor no such designs. “I merely wander here aimlessly, doing naught but contemplate these voiceless floral shadows. “Cease this teasing!” The woman kept gazing intently at the man’s face as he protested with feigned seriousness, her laughter unwavering. From a distant pavilion hall drifted the languid notes of a flute, while cherry petals—tumbling through capricious spring breezes—settled like white powder upon the woman’s hairline.

The woman was Tamamo-no-Mae. Moe, daughter of Sakabe no Shōji Kuranushi Yukitsuna, had been summoned to Regent Tadamichi's residence and added to his maidservants in the autumn of her fourteenth year. Tadamichi's wife—hailed as the era's wisest woman—had suddenly died not long afterward. With Tadamichi remaining unmarried thereafter, Moe—whose beauty burned brighter than any other—gathered his lordship's undivided favor, welcoming her eighteenth spring this year. Though Tadamichi kept calling her Moe even after her court appointment, her jade-pure countenance swiftly drew young nobles' gazes until—with no clear origin—the character for 'jade' came to crown her name. This gradually hardened into custom until even her master called her Tamamo. That he harbored this matchlessly gifted beauty within his halls became a peculiar source of pride for him—whenever guests came calling, Tadamichi summoned Tamamo to serve. Even on impromptu pilgrimages or pleasure excursions he invariably brought Tamamo along. This newfound extravagance staining Tadamichi's ways had only emerged after drawing Tamamo near.

When Tamamo returned from outside, her long sleeves were always heavy. Into those sleeves had been secretly cast numerous letters and poems, each imbued with the souls of yearning men—yet Tamamo never once replied. Nevertheless, as there were many who persistently pursued her, her sleeves today too seemed to have grown considerably heavy. Having noticed this, Kanesuke now spoke teasingly from his side. “Now, Lady Tamamo-no-Mae. Today your sleeves must surely be heavy. They say those who drown themselves gather pebbles in their sleeves before entering the water, but one with sleeves as heavy as yours would struggle to resurface should they carelessly fall into this current. You’d best take care!”

Intending it as his most playful banter, he initiated a laugh himself, whereupon Tamamo—as though unable to contain herself—spoke while hiding her face behind a fan. “Why, that must surely be your own doing.” “Why would someone as lowly as I ever do such a thing…” “The current evidence points to you yourself—have you not been lurking here with an expectant air since earlier?”

This time, without even attempting excuses, Kanesuke merely smirked slyly. To confess the truth, he was not without such designs. A man of his stature, having left the throng to wander alone like this, must surely have some woman yearning for him—so he reasoned as he cast his net without specific aim, when an unanticipatedly beautiful siren drew near. He privately contemplated how best to ensnare this prey.

“Suspicions may rest with others, but Kanesuke is not a man possessed of such a frivolous soul. For what purpose has such a one as yourself come here? Why, it is we who would be in the way here… Indeed it would be. Is that the mystery behind you being told earlier to go to that pavilion? To have lingered here so carelessly without perceiving that would be our gracelessness. Please forgive me.” He intended to probe the other’s mind. As he attempted to slip away under cover of laughter, his sleeve was suddenly seized by a white hand.

"You are most base, my lord!" Kanesuke, unable to gauge her intentions, fell silent and halted. "Among the palace courtiers, none bears such renown for refined taste as yourself." "Though you may consider the tormenting of women commonplace—should there be some guileless maiden here, driven to despair while unaware she's being trifled with—how would you answer for this, my lord?" "We are honest souls who recall no such trifling," Kanesuke proclaimed with eyes crinkled in mirth, his voice light as spring air.

“No, I will not permit you to deny it.” “My lord, are you not acquainted with this?”

Tamamo retrieved a neatly folded poem slip from her bosom and thrust it before the man’s eyes. Joy and inevitable embarrassment merged into one, tinting Kanesuke’s complexion slightly. “You called me cowardly—is that not unreasonable?” “I came here stealthily to offer a reply to this poem, yet you cruelly push me away and attempt to flee—is that not unreasonable?” Struck by the radiance of her enchanting eyes, Kanesuke felt as though his flesh and bones were melting all at once. As Tamamo laughed and tucked the poem slip back into her bosom, the young nobleman’s soul was drawn into the woman’s embrace along with it.

Two

“Your esteemed uncle is said to be Abbot Ryūshū of Hosshō-ji Temple.” “A sage of profound learning revered throughout the land—I too wish to behold him just once and receive his sacred teachings.” “Would you deign to introduce me?” Tamamo said with affected solemnity. This followed her having whispered the reply to his love poem into Kanesuke’s ear. “What? You’ve not yet met my uncle at Hosshō-ji Temple?” Kanesuke assumed an expression of mild bewilderment.

Hosshō-ji Temple, as everyone knows, was established by the Regent’s family. That Lord Tadamichi’s reverence was no mere formality was something Kanesuke had long known. That Tamamo had never once met the venerable abbot of that temple somehow seemed unreasonable. “The Abbot seems to strongly dislike women,” Tamamo explained with a lonely smile. Unlike his nephew Kanesuke, his uncle Abbot Ryūshū was a high monk strict in his observance of precepts. He seemed to despise women as demons resistant to ordination, and regardless of how noble the lady or princess, he disdained sitting knee-to-knee to converse with them. Tadamichi, being well aware of this, never took any women with him specifically when visiting Hosshō-ji Temple. Even as Tamamo’s cherished request, she was never once permitted to accompany him to Hosshō-ji Temple. Kanesuke also noticed this and gave a wry smile.

“Haha, my uncle’s obstinacy is no recent development. Even we get scolded for merely showing our faces and are made to listen to his arduous sermons for a good half-hour. If I were to thoughtlessly introduce some beautiful woman to him, who knows what reproaches I’d receive… However, it’s none other than your request. A little scolding won’t pain me. I’ll guide you whenever you wish and have you meet my uncle the Ajari,” he agreed matter-of-factly.

“The eight-year-old dragon girl’s instant attainment of Buddhahood is indeed expounded in the Devadatta Chapter,” Tamamo said, her voice tinged with shadow. “Though I am but a woman steeped in sinful karma, should I receive the venerable Ajari’s guidance, this present life may remain as it is—yet at least my next rebirth might know peace. This alone do I hold in my heart.” To Kanesuke’s eyes, Tamamo’s figure—pitifully wilted—seemed only to gain further elegance. The line he so loved from Bai Juyi’s “Song of Everlasting Sorrow”—“A pear branch in spring bears rain”—appeared to capture precisely this essence. He spoke again with deliberate consolation.

“Now there is no falsehood in my promise. “Whether tomorrow or the day after，I will surely go there with you. “If you but send word，I shall come to escort you at any hour. “No matter what stubborn things my uncle may say，I shall surely bring you forth and arrange a meeting before him.”

Hearing this promising vow, Tamamo nodded with apparent delight. The two pressed close together, about to whisper something more, when footsteps approached through the trees. Kanesuke turned in slight panic to see a slender man barely past thirty—pale-complexioned yet with eyes brimming uncommonly sharp vigor for a modern courtier. He wore white court robes resembling purification garments to the splendid banquet mat, paired with white hakama trousers—likely feigning sulkiness through this austere attire.

He was the younger brother of today's host Tadamichi—Yorichika, the Uji Minister of the Left. He was a man of such erudition that even his teacher Shinzei Nyūdō stood astonished—one who so ceaselessly derided his poetry-fond brother Tadamichi for scholarly frailty that he brimmed with irrepressible ambition and martial vigor. When this man cast him a razor-edged glance, Kanesuke felt an inexplicable dread creep upon him. Given the peculiar circumstances, he grew ever more discomposed, cold sweat seeping across his back.

“Ah, the Left Minor Controller was here,” said Yorichika in a soft voice ill-suited to those fearsome eyes. Even so, he still couldn’t remain calm. When he answered with an excuse about having come down to this riverside to sober up from drink, Yorichika listened in silence with a derisive look in his eyes. Feeling distinctly uneasy, Kanesuke exchanged a glance with Tamamo and hastily fled the scene. Yorichika paid no heed to Tamamo, who still stood there, and instead quietly gazed up at the spring evening sky veiled in pale purple haze as dusk approached. It seemed a storm had begun to blow slightly, as a blizzard of petals enveloped his white standing figure and fell.

“Lord Minister of the Left,” Tamamo addressed gracefully. “What is it?” Yorichika quietly turned back. “The storm has come to call.”

“The flowers too have but two or three days left to live, I suppose.” “What were you discussing here with Kanesuke?” Yorichika asked with a laugh. “I was merely engaging in tales of poetry and such.” “Lectures on love poems?” he sneered again, his eyes derisive. “Yes. “I was considering asking someone to mediate a love affair…”

Even Yorichika, who disdained such tepid love stories, found himself unable to give too callous a reply to this beautiful and talented woman, and so offered a perfunctory response. “Can even someone of your standing not find love without relying on others? Love is quite a difficult thing indeed.” “Since it is a wish beyond my station…” Tamamo let out a low sigh as if at her wit’s end and stealthily peered at Yorichika’s face. Captivated by the compassionate woman’s luminous gaze—one that seemed incapable of ceasing its bewitchment of others—Yorichika’s soul inadvertently wavered.

“Hmm, ‘a wish beyond your station,’ you say. This seems to grow ever more challenging! Should Kanesuke’s strength alone prove inadequate, I too shall assist in fulfilling your heart’s desire. Who is the object? Will you not disclose it?” “I cannot speak of it before you,” Tamamo replied, cradling her anguished chest with the sleeve of her wisteria-purple kosode as she bowed her head. The storm swept through, shaking the cherry blossom branches. “Am I unworthy to hear it? Have you judged me less reliable than Kanesuke? How utterly preposterous!” Yorichika laughed boisterously, his amusement deepening.

From the shadow of her wisteria-purple sleeves, her white face appeared once more. She whispered softly in a coquettish manner. “Whether one is deemed reliable or unreliable rests solely upon your heart’s judgment.” “Now, you shouldn’t speak in such riddles. How must Yorichika act to become a man deemed reliable in this world? Speak plainly! State it outright!” “Shall I tell you?” Tamamo showed a slightly hesitant air, then spoke as if steeling herself. “The esteemed personage within the Regent’s household—a man of peerless learning in this world… One whose allure rivals cherry blossoms yet appears as pure and white as pear flowers… I can say no more. Pray discern the rest.”

Yorichika gazed fixedly as if waking from a dream and slightly furrowed his splendid brows, but in an instant threw back his shoulders and sneered. “Ah, I see. And did you truly ask Kanesuke to mediate this affair?” “Before I could confess and make the request…” “Did my arrival interfere? In the end, that proves fortuitous. Let alone Kanesuke—even through the Regent’s mediation, Shinzei Nyūdō’s intervention, or any person’s assistance—know this love shall never come to pass.”

“Can it not be?”

“Impossible, impossible. For discussing love, weaklings like Kanesuke make better partners for you,” Yorichika sneered dismissively as he turned to leave. Tamamo blocked his path, pressing herself against his chest with such force she seemed ready to collide with him. “Did I not say it was a wish beyond my station?” she accused, her voice trembling like a sob. “Even something beyond one’s station has its limits,” Yorichika scoffed. “A love greater than aspiring to rule the realm—it’s clear it will never come to pass.”

Yorichika brusquely pushed away the woman’s long black hair coiling snake-like about his chest and hastened toward your pavilion.

Tamamo leaned against the cherry tree trunk and wept loudly enough to be heard, but when she realized the man's figure had grown distant, she suddenly looked up at the sky and let out a dreadful smile. Brushing away the petals that fluttered down onto her face with an annoyed flick of her fan, she too began to withdraw quietly toward the banquet hall. The spring day had already ended, and the faint crimson shadows of lanterns carried by ladies-in-waiting and young samurai along the long covered corridor swayed through the gaps between the trees as they passed.

“Oh, Lady Tamamo. Here you were.”

Oribe Kiyoharu had been searching for Tamamo's whereabouts since earlier on his master's orders. Though both served in the same mansion, Tamamo basked in His Lordship's ardent favor—and as Tadamichi, bereft of daughters, cherished her as if she were his own child—so Kiyoharu had no choice but to show her exceptional deference. Tamamo hung her head as if fearing her face might be seen and came to a halt.

“His Lordship has been inquiring after you since earlier.” “Pray come there quickly,” Kiyoharu urged again, as if prompting.

“I refuse. Grant me pardon,” Tamamo pleaded, her face still buried in both sleeves as she remained rooted to the spot.

Finding her behavior suspicious, Kiyoharu approached to inquire in detail, and the reply came delivered in a tearful voice. Tamamo felt unwell and would not return to the banquet hall. She said she wished to go rest awhile at your pavilion far removed from the crowd. Kiyoharu grew increasingly worried and suggested summoning a physician immediately, but Tamamo refused that too, saying she wanted simply to go somewhere beyond others' sight and ease her aching chest. Unable to leave matters unresolved, Kiyoharu returned to his master and whispered of the situation—whereupon Tadamichi too furrowed his brows.

“This is unprecedented.” “What is to be done?”

He rose from his seat and went with Kiyoharu to search for Tamamo's hiding place, where they discovered her lying prostrate in the dim recesses of a secluded pavilion. "I heard you were feeling unwell. How fare you now?" Tadamichi approached her and tried to peek over her shoulder from behind, then started in surprise. Tamamo had thrown herself down with her face pressed against the floor, letting out choked sobs. Kiyoharu too was shocked. The master and retainer exchanged glances and remained silent for a time.

“Haha, it seems someone’s been teasing you,” Tadamichi smiled. At the banquet that had been ongoing since noon, everyone—others and ourselves alike—was drunk. Among the young courtiers intoxicated by both blossoms and wine, there were surely those who, taking advantage of the twilight gloom, tugged at her sleeves and others who toyed with her black hair. Even if this mischief was improper, being reminded of the ancient tale where the King of Chu severed his cap strings, Regent Tadamichi found himself reluctant to harshly reprimand it on this occasion. Once Kiyoharu noticed this, all his prior anxiety vanished at once, and he too began to smirk.

“Nothing unusual at all. If one were to investigate such matters, there’s no telling how many offenders would be found around here tonight,” the Heian-era retainer muttered inwardly.

Emulating the elegant revelries of Tōri Garden in Tang China under their longstanding plan to continue festivities through the night with candles, every hall blazed with daylight-like illumination. Having squandered a spring day in merrymaking yet still ravenous for pleasure, people intended to carouse until night became day - collapsing either from drunken stupor or sheer exhaustion. The turbid voices of rōei recitations and saibara songs drifted through the air. Young women’s resplendent laughter reverberated sharply. Amidst this clamorous spring night’s tepid warmth, only cherry blossoms fell in wordless silence.

“Come along now. “The hall grows desolate without your presence. “All agree Tamamo-no-Mae is this gathering’s crowning blossom.” “When night’s lanterns illuminate you, that fair countenance shall shine doubly radiant.” “Come now, come. “To where merriment awaits…” Practically led by the hand, Tamamo rose while stifling her tear-streaked face. Tadamichi and Kiyoharu flanked her front and back as they moved silently along the dim covered corridor. The misty moon hung particularly hazy tonight, its faint glow barely revealing the pale blossoms crowning eaveside branches.

Three

As the lights were brought in as a signal, Yorichika rose from his seat and departed. With the departure of the person requiring deference, the younger crowd grew increasingly boisterous. Left Minor Controller Kanesuke in particular breathed a sigh of relief. This man with hidden faults—who had felt Yorichika's piercing gaze upon him and striven to keep his distance—now found no one left to restrain him. Determined to seek out Tamamo once more and resume the countless stories he'd left half-told earlier, he leveraged his drunkenness as pretext to stagger upright from his seat.

“Oh, careful there!”

With the wind intensifying his drunkenness, as young court ladies pressed in from both sides, he pushed them away with uncharacteristic brusqueness and strayed into the moon-hazed garden—yet beneath no tree’s shadow could he glimpse any trace of her form. Like a fox hunting prey, he slipped through groves and prowled about peering into other pavilions, but beneath none of the lanterns did Tamamo’s radiant face appear. When he returned dispirited to the original hall, the court ladies surrounded him once more as though they had waited breathlessly.

This was the largest hall, where most of today's distinguished guests had taken their seats. Kanesuke too was pulled down onto a straw mattress and made to drink more wine. Though priding himself on his strong tolerance, even he found his head growing heavy from wine filling his belly since noon. Without ceremony, he used a young court lady's lap beside him as a pillow and began chanting Chinese poetry in a low voice. Nor was Kanesuke alone—the entire gathering had descended into utter disarray, with increasing numbers of young men who could no longer keep their seats appearing throughout. Those who had gone out to the veranda's edge to idly gaze at the moon were now only elderly ladies-in-waiting past spring's bloom, their hairlines grown sparse with age, while young women with fragrantly painted brows busied themselves attending to men each in their own way. At times, great peals of laughter would erupt—so forceful they seemed to make the vast hall itself tremble.

“I hear Shinzei Nyūdō isn’t attending today,” a young courtier remarked as if suddenly remembering. “That old monk despises joining such revelries, so he’s claiming some ailment to stay away, I tell you.” “It seems Lord Uji Minister of the Left has already returned,” said a young court lady seductively lounging by his pillow, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “That gentleman does not often attend such gatherings, but today he endured until dusk out of obligation to his brother.” “Lord Sadaijin and Shinzei Nyūdō are both difficult for us.” “When you’re stared down by those sharp eyes, it gives you such an eerie feeling that your body shrinks back.” “Hahaha!”

As another man burst into loud laughter, Kanesuke half-rose with listless eyes. “Indeed it is. Just now too…”

He began to speak, then abruptly bit back his words. Amidst so many jealous men and women present, he judged it unwise to carelessly reveal his earlier secret. Though his heart swelled with fierce pride at having splendidly gathered the pond's unsettled duckweed with his own hands—a prize not yet anchored—he forcibly clamped down on any announcement between his molars, deeming the timing still premature. "What happened earlier? Were you scolded or glared at by someone too?" asked the woman offering her lap as his pillow while wiping lipstick with thin hemp paper.

“No, nothing in particular happened. But having unexpectedly crossed paths with someone in the garden, I made a hasty retreat,” Kanesuke cloaked with a laugh. Even as he said this, his concern lingered; he straightened up to peer into every corner of the hall, but nowhere could he discern any shadow of a woman resembling Tamamo. He began to feel a peculiar unease. He suspected that someone had lured her into a secluded spot and was pressing her for a response to a love poem, just as he himself had done. He wanted to go out into the garden once more, so as he was about to rise from his seat, unfortunately a large man carrying a sake bottle and earthenware in both hands appeared right before his nose.

“Left Minor Controller, where are you off to?” “Saneyoshi’s cup.” “Take it!” He plopped down right there. He was Major Captain Saneyoshi—a man of ill repute when drunk. Kanesuke shook his head with evident annoyance.

“I can’t take any more. Spare me.” “That’s cowardice!” Saneyoshi thrust the earthenware cup forcefully. “If you refuse this wine, your punishment shall be composing a hundred poems while I drain this bottle.” “No—no songs or poems, not even fragments,” said Kanesuke, adopting an exaggerated comic pose with hands splayed frog-like on the floorboards. “This drunken state merits only mercy.” “Oh? You grovel before Saneyoshi?” The major captain leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “That alone won’t suffice. You—confess here!”

Kanesuke felt a chill. Staring fixedly at his flustered face, Saneyoshi leaned back, thrust out his chest, and sneered. “Well? Won’t you confess?” “You there—with whom and about what were you conversing earlier by that riverside?” “Won’t you state it plainly?”

Kanesuke grew increasingly flustered. He felt a giddy elation that made him want to laugh aloud, yet simultaneously experienced an unsettling torment. Torn between confessing outright or remaining silent, he feigned composure to keep his interrogator on edge.

“That must be a case of mistaken identity. We have not moved an inch from this seat since daytime.” “No, that’s a lie!”

The court ladies surrounded him from three directions and chirped in unison like swallows. “Not only during the day, but even after dusk you’ve been loitering about the garden—” “As we speak, you were attempting to slip away from here.”

“There, you see?” Saneyoshi rubbed the thin mustache beneath his nose and glared again. “Even so, do you claim there’s nothing shadowy in your past?”

“No matter how you press me, what I don’t know, I don’t know,” said Kanesuke with a laugh as he tried to rise from his seat, when the court ladies’ pale hands tangled in his sleeves and robes from both sides. “No, we won’t let you escape—this time we’ll conduct the interrogation ourselves.” “Come now, with whom were you conversing?” “We will hear that.” “Confess it!” Half out of jealousy and half for amusement, the women sent increasingly shrill and clamorous voices gushing forth from their ohaguro-blackened mouths. They grabbed Kanesuke's sleeves and cuffs without restraint, jostling him about until his splendid ceremonial robes became thoroughly crumpled, tormenting him with demands of “Confess now!” The scent of incense steeped in women’s sleeves, the odor of hair, the smell of oil—all mingled chaotically and wafted about. Even Kanesuke, accustomed to women’s fragrances, now felt himself choking.

As he contorted his face in distress, Saneyoshi glared at him with mounting jealousy before abruptly turning his gaze toward the garden.

“Ho! A terrible storm has arisen.” “A terrible storm has arisen.” It was truly a ferocious storm. The hazy moon hid its light as if blown out, and the roaring sound of the storm that shook the darkness could be heard. While storms are no strangers to flowers, this one raged with such gale-like ferocity that it seemed determined to strip every last cherry blossom from the mountainside at once. It seemed as though the Kurama-Tengu-driven storm had blown this far, for the laughter throughout the hall abruptly ceased. The women covered their faces and prostrated themselves. The storm violently blew into the hall and, as though snatching away every last lamp, extinguished them one after another.

In the pitch darkness, the men held their breath. The women involuntarily let out cries. The storm outside still raged on, a mass of black clouds swirling low over the roof. It was feared that the tengu, envious of humanity’s boundless revelry, might seize both people and dwellings alike to hurl them into the valley below. Among them, the astute old man called out. “At any rate, hurry with the lamps. Light the lamps!” The voice was drowned out by the storm and could not be heard in the distance. Both the retainers of the Regent’s household attending to service and the women could not move from their seats due to sheer terror. Both a certain general and a certain major general found themselves prostrate in terror before this fearsome enemy, with nothing left to say. Saneyoshi was, of course, one of them.

“What a fearsome storm this is.”

Tadamichi peered through the outer darkness and muttered. He had just arrived here now, bringing Tamamo with him. Kiyoharu also said uneasily while holding down his eboshi hat with his sleeve. “Truly a terrifying storm this is.” “Every corner has been plunged into true darkness.” “It’s too dark—we can’t manage like this.” “Hurry with the lamps!”

“Understood.”

As Kiyoharu acknowledged and tried to turn back, another fierce gust swept in as if to trip his feet, and he collapsed with both knees bent like pampas grass flattened by a gale. Tadamichi also nearly toppled over, covering his face with a fan as he grew irritated. “The lamps… The lamps….” “Hurry up!”

At that very moment, the hall became as bright as a moonlit night. When they saw what appeared to be untimely lightning, its radiance did not fade for a long time. The painting on the sliding door against which Tadamichi leaned, the numerous cups and plates scattered about, the colors of the robes worn by the people gazing in astonishment—all were vividly illuminated. This mysterious light illuminating the darkness burst forth from Tamamo’s very body. She stood there, illuminating her surroundings with a blazing radiance like a Buddha backlit by a halo.

Hosshō-ji Temple

I

“Hmm.” “Yorichika, that bastard…” “Did he indeed utter such things so plainly?”

Regent Tadamichi sat with his fan planted upright on his knee, his pallid forehead—still bearing the marks of yesterday's indulgence—ridged with thick blue veins as he silently heard out the entreaties of the alluring woman prostrated weeping before him. The day after the Flower Banquet found the vast villa steeped in silence profound enough to carry the master's faintest cough across to distant pavilions, its drunken guests having staggered away by late morning. White petals blanketed every visible inch of the garden like fresh snow—lingering evidence of last night's furious storm.

“By gods and buddhas as my witness, I swear every word is true,” said Tamamo, raising her beautiful tear-filled eyes to steal a glance at her master’s expression. “That talent-vain wretch Yorichika,” Tadamichi replied with deliberate calmness whose final syllables trembled with uncontained fury. “Would never scruple at such utterances.”

Tadamichi said in a deliberately calm voice. Moreover, the ends of his words trembled with barely restrained fury—a fact Tamamo seemed to grasp all too well. Their conversation ceased for a while.

Tadamichi too had collapsed drunk in this villa the previous night, and around the time when most guests had withdrawn, he laboriously raised his heavy head. Still unsober, he sipped a little gruel attended by Tamamo, had high-grade incense burning in the censer, and was about to drift back into dreamlike drowsiness while pleasantly inhaling the fragrance when Tamamo shook him from that reverie and made him hear an utterly unexpected plea. This incident occurred yesterday evening during the height of the Flower Banquet. As Tamamo stood by the riverside gazing at drifting blossoms, her master’s younger brother—Minister of the Left Yorichika—approached. He did not appear drunk, yet he seized Tamamo and uttered a few jests. The man was his master’s younger brother—Yorichika, without equal among the court nobility of the time. Being unable to coldly rebuff him and flee, Tamamo handled him with due measure, but Yorichika grew increasingly emboldened, escalating to indecent acts that nearly bordered on assault.

“If it were merely my own suffering, I could endure any disgrace…” Tamamo appealed, choking back bitter tears as if swallowing them whole. Not only had he behaved improperly toward her, but Yorichika had also proudly uttered such words. His elder brother Tadamichi lacked the substance to serve as chancellor of the realm. He was merely a feeble poet. Though he now boasts of being clan elder, it remains certain he will soon be overthrown by this Yorichika and stripped of all authority under heaven. The Hosshō-ji Temple he erected would become his final refuge. What purpose could there be in serving such a shadow of an elder brother? “There exists a proverb—‘When sheltering, cling to a great tree’s shade.’ Why then do you refuse my will?” “Abandon your brother and yield to me,” Yorichika had proclaimed, hurling intolerable scorn and curses upon his elder sibling while attempting to wrench Tamamo into his grasp.

Even between brothers on good terms, hearing such an accusation would never leave one in good spirits. Given their differing personalities, Tadamichi and Yorichika were never truly amicable at heart, whatever their outward appearances might suggest. That Yorichika disparaged his elder brother as an effete scholar had faintly reached Tadamichi’s ears. Regarding his own ascension as clan elder, Tadamichi had even harbored a dark suspicion that Yorichika—so proud of his talents—might perhaps be nursing jealousy. At yesterday’s banquet as well, he had displayed a sulking demeanor and left midway without properly partaking in the festivities—this too had been disagreeable to Tadamichi. At the very moment when all these circumstances were converging, he heard this appeal from his beloved Tamamo. Tadamichi no longer had any room left to doubt it.

“Detestable wretch.” He cursed his younger brother in his heart. His still-drunk head swayed dizzily, having grown so heavy that wearing the eboshi became unbearable. Attempting to overthrow the current elder brother and install himself in that position—that constituted his first unforgivable sin. Attempting to seize the elder brother’s beloved woman and make her his own—that constituted his second unforgivable sin. Even someone naturally mild-mannered would have found it exceedingly difficult to suppress such fury—how much more so for him, whose ambitions had lately swelled with pride, his irritability mounting to conspicuously visible levels in these very days. Tadamichi’s chest was seared by fury. However, knowing full well that in his current position as Regent, he could not possibly use a mere serving woman’s accusation as a shield to openly crush Yorichika, he had no choice but to suppress his overflowing resentment and bide his time for a while.

Eventually, he spoke to Tamamo in a soothing tone.

“Though my loathing for Yorichika weighs heavy, what truly rankles is how our fraternal strife—we who should stand as clan elders—tarnishes his standing.” “Deem his molestation of you but drunken revelry at the feast and bear it.” “We too shall bide our time to discern his true designs.”

To calm Tamamo was to calm himself. Tadamichi forced a lonely smile and gazed at the bowed woman’s black hair. "I shall endure in whatever manner required. However, should Lord Minister of the Left dare harbor even a scheme surpassing his station…" "Nay, such concerns are needless. They say he belittles me as a bookish weakling, but Tadamichi is the Fujiwara clan elder. Tadamichi is the Regent. No matter how frantically they may rush, they cannot hope to topple We. What could they possibly…"

Tadamichi's voice rose in a discordant, nervous tone. Then, as though wanting to claw at his sideburns, he pressed both hands against the rim of his eboshi hat and shook his head violently two or three times. Tamamo watched his mounting agitation with pained eyes, but before long, pale tears began trickling from those very eyes.

“Now why do you weep? Can you still not endure it?” Tadamichi said in a scolding tone, his gaze fixed upon her tears. “As I have just stated, I shall humbly endure in whatever manner required, but…”

“Enough of that.” “We have Our own considerations regarding Our affairs.” “You need not trouble yourself with such concerns.”

His complexion grew increasingly pale, and a light of determination flashed in the depths of Tadamichi’s eyes. “But do not disclose this matter to others.” “Yes.”

The two met each other's eyes once more. In contrast to last night, today was a day without even a rustle of wind. Lingering blossoms occasionally fell quietly, and somewhere the song of a bush warbler could be heard.

That afternoon, Tadamichi returned to his residence from Katsuragi Village. Pleading exhaustion from yesterday's entertainments, he cleared the room of attendants and shut himself away, yet come lamp-lighting hour summoned Minor Counselor Shinzei. Assuming this would bring their customary exchange of poetic tales, Monk Shinzei made leisurely preparations to attend—only to find Tadamichi impatiently beckoning him inside the moment he arrived. Without acknowledging the monk's apologies for yesterday's absence, Tadamichi abruptly began speaking.

“Let us come straight to it, Monk. Does Yorichika still frequent your esteemed presence these days?” “He does visit on occasion.” “Are his studies progressing ever further?” “His progress astonishes so thoroughly that nowadays one scarce discerns master from disciple—Shinzei finds himself quite stripped of dignity.” Shinzei relaxed his slightly twisted lips into a smile, but the listener did not return it. “Chōtatsu memorized the Eighty Thousand Storehouses yet still fell into the abyss, they say. However exceptional one’s scholarship may be, it proves futile when the fundamental intent becomes twisted toward heresy. There are even cases where scholarship becomes a curse upon oneself. In Our estimation, Our brother Yorichika too falls into that category. When he comes to you, dissuade him from further scholarship.”

Whether the matter was good or evil, it was Shinzei’s custom never to reply hastily. Since he remained silent in thought for some time tonight, Tadamichi grew somewhat impatient. “If we say ‘No disciple surpasses the master,’ you must be well acquainted with his character.” “He has a tendency to grow arrogant over his intellect.” “If we permit further scholarship, he will grow ever more arrogant of his intellect, until ultimately he may become enthralled by demons and commit unspeakable acts.” “Tell him to abandon his studies.” “Consider this my explicit command.”

To tell the truth, Shinzei himself had not been without such concerns regarding Yorichika. He too had felt faint unease about Yorichika's future—that man of extraordinary scholarship yet brimming with fierce ambition. In this sense, he too had been in agreement with Tadamichi's opinion. Yet Tadamichi's tone tonight had not seemed to overflow with the warm, personal affection of one genuinely concerned for his brother's future. The aged monk Shinzei had already discerned that this fraternal discord—and that Tadamichi's resentment likely stemming from this rift—had been the starting point.

"I have humbly received every word of Your Excellency’s sagacious counsel," "Though I would counsel him more strenuously than any other, to demand he abandon the studies he so passionately pursues..." "Are you unable to relay this?" The other man kept his eyes half-closed, still offering no clear answer—so Tadamichi grew increasingly agitated and attempted to present before him conclusive evidence of demonic enthrallment. "You remain unaware, Monk. Yorichika has been secretly scheming to overthrow this elder brother."

“Surely such a matter would not…” Shinzei immediately denied. “No, there is a witness.” “He certainly spoke those words from his own mouth.” As though he had forgotten his own injunction to keep others silent, Tadamichi himself exposed the secret. “That witness…” To Tadamichi, the other man’s composure seemed hatefully smug. “The witness is Tamamo. “He indecently trifled with Tamamo yesterday and, moreover, blurted out such things without restraint, I tell you.”

“Oh… Tamamo?” Shinzei's pupils shone as sharply as Tadamichi's.

II

Two days later, an envoy from Left Minor Controller Kanesuke came to Tamamo. He had come to fulfill their prior arrangement by inviting her to make a pilgrimage to Hosshō-ji Temple the following day. Tamamo wrote a letter of acceptance. The following day, she received her master's permission and made a pilgrimage to Hosshō-ji Temple together with Kanesuke.

The day was thinly overcast, and beneath a drowsy sky, the roof of the great temple loomed high. Upon passing through the gate, white flowers lay scattered here and there along the long stone steps, where a few pigeons pecked at the petals as though scavenging.

Due to their close uncle-nephew relationship, Kanesuke was promptly ushered into the inner study where he sat facing Abbot Ryūshū. Abbot Ryūshū was an elderly monk nearing sixty, his modest appearance seeming unbefitting the master of a temple founded by the Regent's household, yet he possessed an air of dignity worthy of a saint revered for his lofty virtue—so that even in their familiar rapport, Kanesuke's head naturally lowered. “Lord Left Minor Controller, though it has been long since last we met, to find you unchanged is most splendid indeed. Are you alone today?”

“No,” Kanesuke began, then faltered slightly. “Do you have someone with you?” Abbot Ryūshū asked, as if suddenly noticing, and fixed his gaze upon his nephew’s face. “Is your companion a woman?”

Pressed on the point, Kanesuke grew increasingly uneasy, but having steeled himself for his uncle’s displeasure from the start, he answered without concealment. "It is none other than a lady named Tamamo in service to His Excellency the Regent’s household." Using His Excellency’s authority as a shield, he tried to pressure his obstinate uncle, but it was effortlessly rebuffed. “Even were she a personage from His Excellency’s household, I have resolved not to meet women.” “Tell them there will be no audience.” “This is something His Excellency should well know.”

Under normal circumstances he might have relented, but today’s Kanesuke could not simply withdraw meekly like that. He expounded the Devadatta Chapter that Tamamo had taught him. Citing the example of the eight-year-old dragon girl who attained Buddhahood instantly, he repeatedly entreated, arguing that even a woman burdened with grave sins deserved an audience and personal spiritual guidance from you in admiration of her profound faith. However, his uncle remained as firm as stone. “No matter how cleverly you argue,” came the reply, “know that it will not be allowed. Tell that woman there will be no meeting.”

“Because you do not know that woman, Uncle, you lump her together with common women and detest her as if she were a snake—but Tamamo is…” “No need to hear it—I already know well enough.” “They call her a prodigy rare in any age.” “Prodigy or sage, from our eyes she remains no different than any woman.” “Meeting her would bring no benefit.” “Not meeting is the kinder path.” No matter how he pleaded, his uncle remained stubbornly unmoved, leaving Kanesuke overwhelmed. Now that matters had reached this point, he regretted his rash promise and felt ashamed to face Tamamo. Yet persuading this obstinate uncle was no easy task. As he stood sighing helplessly, Tamamo—who should have been waiting at the distant entrance—somehow slipped inside unnoticed, gliding along the veranda’s edge with her long robes trailing behind as she emerged.

Kanesuke was slightly startled. As Abbot Ryūshū fixed his gaze and stared intently at the alluring woman who had now appeared before him, Tamamo reverently prostrated herself there.

“It is my first time having the honor of meeting you.” The old monk did not so much as acknowledge her greeting. He kept quietly moving his prayer beads through his fingers. “As Lord Left Minor Controller has already conveyed the details in his request, this woman’s body is burdened with such profound sins that the future becomes too dreadful to bear. If the Buddha’s teaching of equality between self and others holds true without deceit, I beseech you to save me,” Tamamo pleaded as though begging for mercy. She had adorned herself with particular purity for today’s pilgrimage. Her rouge and white powder had been applied with deliberate lightness. Yet this restraint only enhanced her allure, making her jade-like face appear all the more radiant. As though gathering unbearable human sorrow in her gentle eyes, she moistened them to furtively observe the Abbot’s expression—and in that moment, the threads binding the old monk’s soul trembled unbidden. He could no longer bring himself to harshly scold and send away this woman who resembled a living celestial maiden.

“You,” the Abbot said, softening his voice, “desire so ardently to receive spiritual guidance?” Tamamo wordlessly clasped her hands in prayer. Her own white wrist glimmered with crystal prayer beads. “And have you ever recited sutras before?” asked Abbot Ryūshū. “Of course I lack proper understanding,” Tamamo answered without hesitation, “but I have peered at passages of sutras.” When Abbot Ryūshū tentatively posed two or three questions, she answered without faltering. As he pressed deeper inquiries, her responses grew increasingly precise. However devoted she might be, she remained ultimately a woman—and young in appearance at that. How could she have so effortlessly mastered doctrinal principles that we had only recently grasped after decades of rigorous training stretching into our fifties and sixties? Abbot Ryūshū grew so astonished he wondered if she might be a bodhisattva reborn. Such women did exist in this world. On this very day, the Abbot came to fully realize his narrow-mindedness in stubbornly despising and shunning women all this time, and he let out an involuntary long sigh.

“Be that as it may—under whom did you train to attain such mastery?” “Since childhood,” Tamamo replied, “I read sutras under my father’s instruction.” “Later I studied briefly with a monk at Kiyomizu Temple.” “Beyond that,” she added with downcast eyes, “I shamefully admit having pursued no formal training.” Her hands tightened around her beads. “Could one as superficially trained as I still receive teachings from a holy sage?”

“Yes, yes,” Abbot Ryūshū nodded several times. “Even being a woman—for one such as yourself—we would seek to have the Dharma expounded.” “Visit during your spare hours from court service.”

Contrary to expectations, his uncle’s mood had improved, so Kanesuke, who had been listening nearby, felt relieved. He felt pride in having introduced such an accomplished woman to his uncle. At the same time, he felt a certain satisfaction, as though he had twisted the nose of his habitually stubborn uncle. He stroked the thin mustache on his upper lip and smirked privately.

“Uncle, from now on even this temple’s ban on women will be lifted, won’t it?” “That depends on the person,” Abbot Ryūshū said with a smile. “Could there be another woman such as this?” He began to speak, but when his eyes met Tamamo’s, the blood-drained old monk’s fingertips trembled involuntarily, his prayer beads shaking with a dry rustling sound. Kanesuke, who had been solely focused on Tamamo’s complexion, seemed not to notice this. “Then I shall take my leave once more. Please be sure to meet with me.”

Having arranged to meet another day, Tamamo withdrew from Abbot Ryūshū's presence. Kanesuke also stood up together. Abbot Ryūshū came out to the veranda and kept seeing them off endlessly, but he—like a withered tree—suddenly felt rejuvenated, as though all the blood in his body surged. He raised his blazing eyes to gaze at the clouded sky with a dreamlike mind when a lukewarm spring breeze rustled softly through his priestly robes. Unaware of why, he sighed several times and walked with unsteady steps toward the main hall. In the depths of the altar—dim even at noon—candle flames flickered faintly, and incense smoke drifted aimlessly. In the midst of that mystical atmosphere, Abbot Ryūshū sat in silence.

He tried to begin chanting the Kannon Sutra as usual, but his throat felt unnaturally constricted, and the well-practiced sutra verses refused to leave his lips. His chest began throbbing ominously. When he abruptly looked up, the venerated countenance of Amida Nyorai before him had somehow transformed into Tamamo's alluring smile. Abbot Ryūshū started trembling violently like one possessed. Unable to endure any longer, he summoned the disciple monks with a voice that verged on madness.

“There is a pressing matter,” he declared. “All of you—raise your voices together and chant the Kannon Sutra with full force!”

A great number of monks lined up in orderly rows. The high-pitched voices of sutra chanting rose up in unison. The prayer beads rustled and resonated. Compelled by this, Abbot Ryūshū tried to raise his voice along with them, but his tongue remained tangled and refused to move freely. His chest heaved violently with uncanny force.

“Increase the candles! Burn incense!” He strained his voice painfully and shouted again. The number of candles was increased, making the altar radiantly bright. The revered statue of Amida Nyorai became enveloped in smoldering incense smoke. Within those swirling fumes emerged a countenance of perfect serenity—yet it remained Tamamo’s smiling face. Abbot Ryūshū flung down his prayer beads, irritation mounting until he nearly leapt up. Streams of greasy sweat poured from his brow.

“Strike the gong! Sound the cymbals!”

He strained through every means to quell the swelling delusions, yet all proved futile. The more he struggled, the fiercer the karmic fire blazed within his chest—a conflagration dissolving his monastic resolve—while Tamamo's visage clung unrelentingly before Abbot Ryūshū's eyes. When he understood how the very obsession he'd scorned in Shiga Temple's high priest now ensnared him, tears spilled forth at his wretchedness and shame. Overhead in the garden, rain began pattering down like liquid echoes of the abbot's weeping.

He wiped his tears on the sleeve of his priestly robes and looked up fearfully once more—the face of the Tathagata remained that of beautiful Tamamo. Thus did the precious soul of a renowned monk of his generation wretchedly dissolve away.

III

“I am deeply indebted to you for your strenuous efforts today.”

When they exited Hosshō-ji Temple’s gate, Tamamo spoke to Kanesuke. Kanesuke too felt pleased with how matters had gone that day. “Even my obstinate uncle couldn’t hold firm upon meeting you.” “All the more so for soft-souled souls like us from the very start.” “You may divine the rest.”

He pressed his shoulder against Tamamo and leaned in as if to catch the scent of her hair, whispering. Tamamo flushed faintly and smiled.

“Must you toy with me by saying such things again? Entrusting yourself to each day’s wind—today east, tomorrow west—bending like a willow on the main avenue. That pliant soul of yours leaves one uneasy. With Lady Such-and-such and Princess So-and-so—flitting about here and there, scattering your playboy reputation—what ever shall become of me, entangled in this precarious romance with you?” “No, no,” the man said in a hushed yet vehement voice. “The past is the past; the present is now. I’ve resolved that you alone shall be my lover. Even were the Kamo River to flow backward, you and I shall remain entwined until time’s end.”

“If that were certain, how happy I would be. Yet even in this joy, another concern arises—that my unworthy self might bring unwarranted misfortune upon you...”

“Unwarranted misfortune… What do you mean by that?” As Tamamo remained silent with downcast eyes, Kanesuke inquired again with a hint of smugness. “If I were to love you and incur others’ envy… That is something I have already steeled myself for.” “They say love isn’t worth pursuing unless it provokes enough envy in others.” “To be envied would be Kanesuke’s honor.” “To incur misfortune for that very reason would be my heart’s desire… So deeply do I think thus.” “Would I not cast aside even my life for love?”

“That is exactly as you say,” Tamamo sighed softly. “Yet how could I stand idly by when this serpentine shadow of calamity clings to you so?” “That’s precisely why I’m asking. What is this shadow of calamity? Where and who is the source of this calamity?” “Major Captain Saneyoshi.” “Saneyoshi?” Kanesuke’s eyes widened. Tamamo stated that Major Captain Saneyoshi had long been in love with her. Though love poems and passionate letters numbered in the thousands, Tamamo absolutely refused to respond, so Saneyoshi ultimately resorted to terrifying threats to intimidate her. “It’s fine that his own love remains unrequited. In return, should he discover you loving another man, he will not let that man live. Saneyoshi declared he’d rather die stabbing you than let you live.” Even though he was a court noble, he came from generations of warriors. Given his particularly single-minded temperament, he would not hesitate to go that far. Tamamo whispered that what she feared for Kanesuke was precisely that calamity.

Having that said to him, he couldn't claim that nothing came to mind. Indeed, on the evening of the Regent's flower banquet, Saneyoshi seemed to have eavesdropped on my conversation with Tamamo and pressed me to confess it, forcing me to swear upon pottery. At that moment he had smiled casually, yet beneath that smile there might have lurked a blade. Depending on my response, he might have resolved to cross blades with me then and there. When this thought struck him, Kanesuke suddenly shuddered. Timid as he was, he already felt as though Saneyoshi had seized him by the collar and pressed an ice-cold blade against his throat.

For a while, the two walked in silence along Kujō Riverbed heading north, and as they did, Tadasu no Mori—its form making the dim sky appear even darker—lay spread out distantly before their eyes. Shōgoin Forest was already shrouded in the dark shadows of summer's verdant leaves. With hearts attuned as if awaiting a cuckoo's call, the two looked up at the sky—whereupon fine raindrops began falling soundlessly upon their brows. “Ah, it’s raining.”

Kanesuke regretted not having come by ox-drawn carriage. He had thought that for a pilgrimage undertaken with his beloved, the absence of attendants might actually allow for greater ease, which was why he had deliberately come on foot today—but encountering this sudden rain now left him somewhat perplexed. Putting himself aside, he didn’t want Tamamo to get wet, so he looked around while holding up his fan. “Please wait here for a while,” he said. “I’ll go find a hat before the rain gets heavier.”

Leaving Tamamo standing in the shade beneath the riverside willow, he hurried off at a trot toward where houses stood. The threads of rain grew increasingly dense, and the color of the white stones he trod upon began to darken. Tamamo stood deeply hooded beneath her thin veil, letting the wet willow leaves caress her slender shoulders, when someone else—also likely driven by the sudden rain—appeared. A person passed hurriedly by here, holding up the sleeves of his nōshi robe to shield the forehead beneath his tall eboshi hat. When he glanced sideways at the woman standing in the willow’s shadow, he halted abruptly, as though yanked back.

Tamamo exchanged glances with that person. He was Chiedamatsu. In the time since they had last met, he had grown into a fine man, his already masculine face having become even more manly. That he was no longer the eboshi hat maker of old could be recognized immediately from his neat attire. However, Chiedamatsu stood in silence. Tamamo too stood in silence, their eyes locked in a gaze. “Moe, is that you?” After a moment, the man called out as he approached. Moe and Chiedamatsu had reunited after four years apart. Of course, the man knew everything about the woman’s circumstances. That she had been summoned by the Regent to gather exclusive favor upon herself and was celebrated by the people of the world as Tamamo-no-Mae had reached both his ears and eyes. Moreover, this marked the fourth year since they had last faced each other and exchanged familiar words. Resentment and nostalgia tangled together into one, and he found himself unable to easily form words.

Even when called by her old name Moe, Tamamo did not respond. Chiedamatsu took another step closer and said, "I hear you are now called Tamamo-no-Mae. Surely you haven't forgotten your childhood friend Chiedamatsu..."

“It has been too long,” Tamamo answered with forced composure. “I’ve heard of your rise in status from the shadows.” “An auspicious fortune indeed.” The other party smiled lightly as though unaware his congratulatory words seemed to conceal resentment. “Hoho, my fortune is hardly one to envy.” “You’ve recalled our old discussions.” “Noble court service proves truly arduous—I beg you understand this.” “And do you still dwell with your uncle?”

“No, I quit being an eboshi hat craftsman and became a disciple of an esteemed person without equal in all Japan,” Chiedamatsu answered proudly. “What is the name of that Master of yours?” “Lord Yasuchika, the Onmyōji and Governor of Harima.” “Oh, Lord Abe no Yasuchika?” Tamamo’s complexion changed abruptly, but instantly returned to her usual soft smile. “How fortunate for you. You have a steadfast nature—with such a master acquired, your future success would be assured. And you’ve become a man—are you still called by your former name?”

“My Master deemed ‘Chiedamatsu’ too childish a name and graciously changed it to ‘Chiedatarō’,” Chiedamatsu answered proudly. “Moreover, I’ve been granted a character from Lord Yasuchika’s name and called Yasukiyo since my coming-of-age ceremony.” “Chiedatarō Yasukiyo… Truly a splendid name,” Tamamo remarked with unmistakable nostalgia, gazing at her former friend’s now-matured figure. “With a changed name comes a changed character—one can hardly recognize you as the Chieda-ma of old.” Unable to bear the sorrow of being abandoned by Moe and the torment of illness, Chiedamatsu had tried to sink his young life into the water’s depths—but his strong fortune saw him rescued by Yasuchika, who happened to pass by. Yasuchika took pity on him. Seeing his apparent intelligence, Yasuchika explained the circumstances to his uncle and aunt and expressed his desire to take him on as his disciple. To be counted among the disciples of a master whose renown extended not just through the capital but all of Japan—Chiedamatsu wept tears of joy, deeming it a personal honor. His uncles raised no objections.

The eboshi hat-making boy, whose misfortune had instead become a blessing, then entered Yasuchika’s tutelage and studied astronomy. He studied divination. True to Yasuchika’s discernment, his progress was truly remarkable for his age, and by the time he turned nineteen, he had surpassed even the long-standing disciples, eventually reaching the point of inheriting the secret demon-subduing prayers said to date back to Abe no Seimei. He was one of Yasuchika's cherished disciples.

Even without knowing the full details of these circumstances, the fact that the former Chieda-ma now went by the name Chiedatarō Yasukiyo seemed an unexpected revelation to Tamamo. She showed a crestfallen demeanor toward this old friend, as though repenting past sins. "Say, Lord Chiedatarō. You must surely think the Moe of old was a hateful creature." "I too had lost my childish innocence back then—single-mindedly enamored with court service, I abandoned you for the capital. But as they so tiresomely say, court duties are harsh and bitter. Now I find myself recalling those carefree days in Yamashina's countryside with piercing nostalgia." "You must feel the same." "I hear Lord Yasuchika is exacting—disciplining his disciples severely." "Your morning and evening service must bring countless hardships." "Even when envied for success and fortune—what comfort does that bring?" "Ours is a mutually cruel world."

As her earnest reminiscences washed over him, Chiedatarō found himself steeped in inexplicable loneliness. The years-long resentment he had harbored toward the woman gradually faded until he had unwittingly come to pity her. He could no longer bring himself to blame her with such persistence. “I heard your father passed away the following year,” he said in a lowered voice. “Oh, it was late spring the year after I entered court service. Though the Director of the Bureau of Medicine exhausted every medicinal formula under the Regent’s orders, showing every solicitude... yet a human lifespan cannot be altered by such means.” Tamamo’s eyes moistened as though feeling this anew.

“Master stood at the gate of the Yamashina house and declared, ‘This is a cursed dwelling—its residents’ lives will not last.’ And indeed, that divination proved true.” “Did Master say it thus?” Tamamo’s pupils shifted once more, but soon she released a sigh of admiration. “Divination does not lie. Master is a god-like being.”

“That is an undeniable truth known throughout the world. For these four years I’ve served at Master’s side and know all his ways—when Master reads the skies and declares rain shall fall, fall it surely does. When Master declares wind shall blow, blow it surely does. Through thick sliding doors, others’ doings from first to last he discerns. When Master cut white paper, formed a seal, and threw it into the garden, a large toad was crushed beneath that paper and died.” Tamamo shrank back fearfully.

The drooping willow leaves swayed sharply in the river wind, showering down raindrops that Chiedatarō brushed away with his sleeve as he spoke again. "Take today itself. Master told me to prepare rain gear, but I carelessly thought the path was short and came out unprepared—and immediately this happened. Truly, when you think on it, it's terrifying." "Will you too become such a terrifying person?" Tamamo gazed fixedly at the man's face with apprehensive intensity.

“It’s not terrifying.” “It is truly noble.” “I will strive in my training and resolve to at least become Master’s foremost disciple.” “That is well enough.” “But...” Tamamo was about to say something when she suddenly looked across the riverbank and saw Kanesuke, holding two bamboo hats, come running through the sideways-blown rain.

“Oh, my companion has returned with borrowed hats. Lord Chiedatarō, we shall meet again!”

As she spoke, Kanesuke had already drawn near. Before the beauty standing drenched in willow rain, the young noble and the young onmyōji exchanged jealous glances.

Court Attendant

One

Chiedatarō Yasukiyo returned drenched by the willow rain.

The residence of Harima Governor Yasuchika was located at Tsuchimikado, where his ancestors had dwelled for many years since the time of Abe no Seimei.

“I have just returned.” “Well now, you’ve come back thoroughly drenched. Came without a hat,” said Yasuchika, smiling down at the young disciple’s black-lacquered court hat as he bowed before him.

“I disregarded your words and set out without preparing a hat,” said Chiedatarō, bowing his head again in contrition. “Nay, being chastened is itself part of training.” Yasuchika laughed airily once more, but the gentle cast of his eyes swiftly darkened. He planted his fan upright against his knee and fixed his disciple with a piercing stare. “Whom did you meet upon the road?”

Chiedatarō was startled. Moreover, before his god-like Master who possessed eyes that saw through all things, he found himself utterly incapable of deceit. When he honestly confessed to having encountered Tamamo's Moe at the riverbank, Yasuchika let out a low sigh.

“I saw it too.” “You have been possessed by spectral horror again.” “Take heed!”

Seized by unspeakable terror, Chiedatarō held his breath and stiffened his body; Yasuchika then spoke in a tone both pitying and admonishing. “You were once possessed by a spectral entity and nearly lost your life—surely you have not forgotten this even now. After that, you devoted yourself wholeheartedly to your training—young in years though you are, I had high hopes you would become Yasuchika’s foremost disciple in time—yet today your countenance has abruptly transformed before my eyes. Do not think I speak idly to frighten you. Do you not realize that the mark of death is clearly etched upon your face? It is precisely because I hold you dear that I now secretly impart what Yasuchika has long known—but swear to keep this strictly confidential.”

Having thoroughly emphasized his warning, Yasuchika divulged a certain secret he had long harbored within his breast. That concerned Tamamo’s true nature. Yasuchika had earlier divined Tamamo’s dwelling in Yamashina as a cursed house, and as he gradually observed her thereafter, this enchantress called Tamamo—though her form was that of a beautiful woman—harbored within her soul a terrifying spectral horror. A demon dwells hidden within her body. Unaware of this, the Regent had summoned her into his intimate circle and was lavishing extraordinary favor upon her. If this calamity were confined solely to the Regent himself and his household, it would still be manageable—but the demon’s ambitions reached far beyond that. Scattering seeds of calamity from one place to another, they plotted to plunge this Japan into the netherworld’s darkness.” Having reached this point in his explanation, Yasuchika made his voice even more solemn.

“This is what I mean when I tell you to take heed.” “In the vast capital, those who recognize that woman as no ordinary person—apart from this Yasuchika—still number one more.” “That would be Lord Shinzei Nyūdō, the Lesser Counselor.” “Being well-versed in astrology and physiognomy, he too harbors suspicions about her—indeed, when we met the other day, he secretly whispered such concerns to me.” “If His Highness the Regent has already had his soul stolen by her, it would be unthinkable for him to heed even one or two admonitions—our sole hope lies with his brother, the Minister of the Left.” “We must have Lord Shinzei Nyūdō persuade His Lordship to first remove Tamamo from His Highness the Regent’s residence, then perform the secret rites of demon subjugation, and eternally seal the seeds of calamity within the eight million hells.” “If you were to carelessly approach that demon again during this critical time and have some secret discovered, all our efforts would be for naught.” “Demons are wiser than humans.” “If they realize that, there’s no telling what schemes they might devise.” “Though today’s encounter was a natural meeting and indeed unavoidable, you must not even dream of using this as an opportunity to grow close with her again.” “If you defy this teaching, your life will surely be forfeit.” “You must never forget this!”

“I shall engrave your precious teachings in my very soul and never forget them,” Chiedatarō solemnly vowed before his venerable master. “Do you understand?” said Yasuchika, his eyes still filled with apprehension. “I understand.” Half in a dreamlike state, Chiedatarō withdrew from his master’s presence. Returning to his room, he sat down at his desk, but having been suddenly confronted with a tale so far beyond his imagination, his mind became a tumult of terror and astonishment. That adorable Moe, that beautiful Tamamo—the notion that a terrifying demon’s soul dwelt within her was an unbelievable mystery no matter how he considered it. For even in his godlike Master’s eyes, might there not hang some shadow of imperfection?—such was the doubt that once crossed his mind.

However, as he kept thinking more and more deeply, various memories began to resurface in his heart. Moe had once disappeared and slept beneath an ancient burial mound long said to be cursed. According to the potter’s wife’s account, Moe had also stood at a dark riverbank pressing a white skull to her forehead. Moreover, the old woman who had told of this had met a mysterious end by that ancient burial mound. But that was not all. There had even been recent rumors that at the Regent’s flower banquet, Tamamo’s body emitted a mysterious light illuminating the dark night. When considering all these things together, the judgment that Tamamo was no ordinary human could hardly be dismissed as baseless fantasy.

To have doubted my Master, even momentarily, was my delusion. Tamamo is a demon. The witches of India and Cathay I once saw in a dream must undoubtedly have been incarnations of Tamamo as well.

When he realized this, Chiedatarō suddenly became so terrified that his hair stood on end. He borrowed a mirror from a maid serving at the mansion and carefully examined his reflection. He stared hard at it several times, scrutinizing every detail, but could find no trace of death upon his youthful face. He threw down the mirror with a sigh. "An Onmyōji who cannot foresee his own fate—this is what I am." Yet even so, he felt renewed awe—Master Yasuchika was truly an extraordinary and venerable man who surpassed all others. Shinzei Nyūdō too seemed remarkable. As shame over his own academic inadequacy washed over him, his reverence for both master and monk deepened further still. Having been saved by such an august teacher and now receiving his intimate guidance—he pondered with profound emotion how fortunate he truly was.

"All I need do is follow Master’s instructions in everything"—now he could do nothing but honestly think this way.

To tell the truth, when parting with Tamamo at the riverbank earlier, she had said nothing aloud out of consideration for the young courtier who chanced upon them there—but her beautiful eyes had spoken plainly. That it was her heart’s intent to meet again soon—this Chiedatarō had already realized. He too had responded with his gaze in kind and parted. Yet now that matters stood thus, even contemplating such things filled him with terror. From that very instant, I found myself possessed anew by the uncanny. I resolved that from this day forth, I must observe seventeen days of ritual purification to cleanse myself of this demonic miasma.

"I have Master by my side"—when he thought this, he suddenly felt heartened. With my own immature power, I could never hope to overcome that specter, but by borrowing Master’s strength, I will surely prevail. Since Master too labors over this, even with my limited abilities, I must add my strength to his and together devote ourselves wholeheartedly to subduing the demon. If the demon were destroyed, it would not be some trivial matter of saving my own life alone—we could also rescue this land of Japan from the darkness of the netherworld. He mustered all the courage of his lifetime at once and resolved with a strong, strong, gallant and valiant determination that he must confront and fight the demon. He sat upright at his desk until the night deepened, reading with single-minded focus the scrolls of esoteric texts passed down since Abe no Seimei.

About ten days later, when Yasuchika returned from outside, he quietly called Chiedatarō to the inner chambers. "Abbot Ryūshū of Hosshō-ji Temple seems to have gone mad too." The phrase "the Abbot too" seemed to carry profound implications, so when Chiedatarō shuddered and looked up at his master’s face, Yasuchika proceeded to explain further.

“Even thinking about it is terrifying.” “You encountered Tamamo at the riverbank when she was returning from her pilgrimage to Hosshō-ji Temple.” “Under Left Minor Controller Kanesuke’s guidance, Abbot Ryūshū had an audience with Tamamo.” “Afterward, his condition changed—to others’ eyes, he seemed either possessed or driven mad.” “Those ignorant of the details marvel at it as some strange wonder, but to Yasuchika’s discernment, this too is that demon’s handiwork.” “To destroy Japanese Buddhism first, it must have burrowed into the souls of learned and virtuous monks to disrupt their spiritual resolve.” “Unaware of this, Lord Left Minor Controller heedlessly guided him—what fate now awaits him?”

The other day, at the riverbank, Chiedatarō learned for the first time that the young courtier he had encountered was Left Minor Controller Kanesuke. At that time, he had looked upon that man with a kind of envious eye, but now he found himself compelled to regard him with eyes of pity.

“However, there is no need to fear. I was born in a fortunate time. If I can subdue the demon with my power and rescue the world from darkness, it will bring honor to my house for generations to come.”

Yasuchika declared in a powerful voice.

Two

“The Abbot seems to have gone mad as well.” At exactly the same time, those identical words slipped from Tamamo’s lips within the Regent’s mansion. She appeared to have learned of it through Kanesuke’s letter and was poring over the missive repeatedly. The letter conveyed news of Abbot Ryūshū’s illness—that he intended to visit Hosshō-ji Temple that very night to pay his respects—and contained an invitation for her to accompany him.

Abbot Ryūshū and Kanesuke were uncle and nephew who shared a close relationship. If one heard that he was suffering from a grave illness, he should have rushed to visit him without delay—yet he went out of his way to invite a woman along. Moreover, he chose the night to go. Though Kanesuke’s true purpose—not being his uncle’s illness—was patently obvious, Tamamo wrote her consenting reply without hesitation. However, since the young man frequently came to invite her—considering her master’s presence, others’ speculations, and her own discomfort—she told him to meet her at Shijō Riverbank.

Waiting for dusk to fall, Tamamo slipped out of the mansion. The calendar had already entered the Fourth Month, and from daytime onward, it was a dark evening heavy with impending rain. Like the demon woman said to have appeared at Ichijō Modoribashi in days of old, she wore a sheer silk veil pulled low over her brow. Before she had even walked half a block from the mansion’s four-legged gate, a large man burst forth from the dark shadows of the trees and seized her arm with the force of Watanabe no Tsuna.

“What?”

Even as she struggled to break free, the man showed no sign of loosening his grip. He said in a low, forceful voice: “Don’t make a sound, Tamamo-no-Mae. Even in the dark, you should recognize my voice. I’m Saneyoshi.” “Oh. Major Captain-dono?” Tamamo seemed relieved. “I thought you might be a demon or a thief…” “You might find me more terrifying than any demon, you know,” Saneyoshi sneered in the darkness. “Where are you going this evening?”

Tamamo stood frozen and silent.

“Are you visiting Hosshō-ji Temple… with Kanesuke…? Hah—what are you startled about? Everything you people do leaks straight through to these ears of Saneyoshi’s. We meant to visit Great Counselor Moromichi’s mansion tonight to hear song tales. When we neared Shijō Riverside, there stood that Kanesuke looking like someone waiting. Asked what he was doing—said he’d visit his uncle at Hosshō-ji Temple. His flustered manner seemed suspicious somehow. Walked past five or six ken and glanced back—he still stood there unmoving. ‘Ah—waiting here for your companion?’ Then it struck me—it’s you, Tamamo-no-Mae! After hurrying to this gate—didn’t you know I’ve been watching comings and goings since earlier? Now speak plain—confess!” Saneyoshi demanded, heaving breath restrained as he shook her slender arm.

“Since you already know, hiding it would be pointless.” “Indeed tonight I arranged with Left Minor Controller Kanesuke and slipped out on a pilgrimage to Hosshō-ji Temple—there can be no mistake.” “Hmm. So there’s no mistake?” Saneyoshi growled, his large frame trembling. “You went to Hosshō-ji Temple last month as well with that Kanesuke—is that certain?” “That is also not false,” Tamamo answered. “However,” she continued, “I said that was because I wished to receive Abbot Ryūshū’s teachings and thus asked Kanesuke to guide me—there was no other particular reason.” But Saneyoshi refused to accept this explanation. In truth, he had seen them meeting secretly from afar even at the recent flower banquet. He sneered again at such a flimsy fabrication—at this late hour, he wouldn’t be deceived by this pretense.

“Therefore, Major Captain Saneyoshi has something he wishes to ask you again.” “Since you refuse Saneyoshi’s love, you must not give your heart to another man.” “If you break that promise... I won’t let that man live.”

“I remember that well.”

Clinging to Saneyoshi’s hand, Tamamo began to sob bitterly. “Now that matters have come to this,” she confessed through tears,“I will reveal everything—the truth is Kanesuke pressured me into accepting his advances.” “Of course,” she continued,“I desperately refused then by invoking my promise with you as protection—but Kanesuke absolutely wouldn’t relent,saying there was no need to fear anything a fool like you might say.” “If he kept stubbornly pestering,” she added,“I resolved I’d take responsibility myself and ensure he’d never speak again.” “He raged at you,calling you a ‘gluttonous pauper noble who could achieve nothing,’ then forced himself upon me.” Her voice wavered.“When I reflect,women are fragile beings—back then,I felt such shame and sorrow I wished myself dead.Yet now...now there was no choice but follow when he lured me out tonight.” “You must loathe me,” she pleaded,“but I beg your mercy.”

“Is that certain? No deception?” Saneyoshi pressed impatiently. “Why would I deceive you? By the gods themselves...” “Good.” “My decision stands.”

Pushing Tamamo away, Saneyoshi charged down the dark avenue like a wild horse. Shaking his large frame with each great stride he took, by the time he reached Shijō Riverbank, he was so winded he could barely speak. Yet when he glimpsed the figure standing beneath the willow tree, he let out a roar loud enough to tear his throat. “Kanesuke! Still here?”

Kanesuke clicked his tongue inwardly, thinking, "He came back after all?" Then, as he tried to slip silently through the darkness, Saneyoshi—having already spotted him by the water’s glimmer—ran up without a word and yanked the sleeve of his court robe with all his might. Even if he were a Heian-period courtier, Saneyoshi was after all a warrior Major Captain—moreover, a large man who prided himself on his strength. Pulled forcefully by the large man, the frail Left Minor Controller was planted there spinelessly and limply.

“Oi, Kanesuke! On the night of the Regent’s flower banquet, I meant to crush you to pulp—but that damned storm got in the way. Yet you showed no gratitude for being spared, and instead spouted reckless boasts to the woman! Oi! What’s this about a gluttonous pauper courtier—who do you take yourself for? Say it clearly again in front of me!” “That’s an outrageous accusation! We would never even dream of such a thing…!” Kanesuke frantically attempted to deny, but Saneyoshi—already roaring with rage—paid no heed and pressed forward to shout again.

“Oh? What’s outrageous—you—? You, with your smooth tongue, let loose all manner of slander from your mouth—I know full well how you’ve spoken of this Saneyoshi as though I were dirt and dust! Oh? Trying to cowardly talk your way out now—I have a reliable witness!” “Who would utter such slanderous lies?”

“Oh, Tamamo said,” Saneyoshi growled. “You’ve dragged Tamamo out here by force again tonight, meaning to go to Hosshō-ji Temple. You wretched worm!” Saneyoshi’s fist hammered Kanesuke’s cheek twice, thrice in succession. Staggering under the brute force, Kanesuke let out a piteous wail and scrabbled about like a kitten caught by a child, trying to wriggle beneath his assailant’s knees—but Saneyoshi hoisted his leg and sent him sprawling like a kicked ball. Faced with this savage mauling, even Kanesuke burned with bitter indignation. Mingled with this was dread—the terror that remaining in this madman’s clutches might end in some gruesome torture-murder—so he groped blindly for riverbed pebbles at his feet and flung three or four toward where he guessed Saneyoshi’s face loomed. Seizing this moment of confusion, he tried to spring up and flee—but Saneyoshi gave chase at once, seizing him again by the collar.

Blinded by jealousy and rage, Saneyoshi took painful pebbles to the eyes that completely darkened his vision. No sooner had he kicked down his romantic rival again and grabbed the Guards’ longsword at his hip than its gleaming tip flashed through the darkness—striking off Kanesuke’s court hat with a clatter and grazing his temple. “Agh! You murderer!” Before that cry could fade, the second sword stroke swept sideways across Kanesuke’s neck, and he collapsed without a breath. Saneyoshi prodded the body twice with his foot, but Kanesuke lay motionless as stone, showing no sign of revival.

“Hah, you brittle fool.” “In that disgraceful state of yours—did you dare speak ill of Saneyoshi?” He felt the satisfaction of victory even as anxiety and regret surged through him simultaneously. Though dead men tell no tales and any excuse might serve, having ambushed a man of such standing as the Left Minor Controller at the riverbank meant troublesome inquiries would inevitably follow. Detestable though the man was, he now regretted having carried matters as far as murder.

The riverbank tonight was darkness. If he could slip away swiftly under cover of this darkness—leaving the opponent slain in vain with no investigation to follow—or so Saneyoshi thought—when suddenly the consequences became clear to him, he frantically wiped the bloodied blade on Kanesuke’s sleeve and tried to quietly sheathe it, someone lightly tapped his shoulder from behind. Startled, he whirled around—and there stood Tamamo beside him. Her terrifyingly white smile appeared vividly even in the darkness.

“Splendidly executed.” Tamamo’s unnervingly calm demeanor unsettled Saneyoshi into frozen silence—until she spoke again. “To have slain your enemy is a man’s honor—it appears most splendid and admirable—but what do you intend to do henceforth? Having slain your foe, you wouldn’t cowardly flee.” When she gestured toward the stars, Saneyoshi startled anew. He stood blankly, as if he didn’t know how to sheathe his longsword.

“You are a man, Major Captain.” “Pillow your head upon your enemy’s corpse and commit suicide splendidly,” Tamamo commanded.

Upon receiving this terrifying pronouncement, Saneyoshi regained his senses. However, he could not bring himself to obey that command. If this woman he could never claim as his own was to be lost anyway, he resolved in that instant that it would be more advantageous to kill Tamamo here and now—thereby silencing any future accounts. He feigned an intent to speak while sliding closer to Tamamo, and in the same motion brandished the longsword in his hand—the blade sliced through empty air as Tamamo’s figure vanished instantly. Startled, he looked around to find Tamamo standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him on his left, laughing.

Saneyoshi swung sideways again. That blade too sliced through empty air, and Tamamo now stood to his right. He frantically swung to the right. He swung to the left. He swung behind. He slashed at the front. He spun around like a top, slashing wildly at everything within reach, but never once did his blade meet resistance. Frenzied and maddened, leaping up, he dashed east and west across the dark riverbank until, exhausted from his madness, he collapsed there with a thud. In the momentum of his collapse, he deeply impaled his own chest with his blade.

The Kamo River flowed as if choking. Kneeling on the dark riverbank, there was someone who sucked his still-warm fresh blood.

III

The fact that Left Minor Controller Kanesuke and Major Captain Saneyoshi met suspicious deaths at Shijō Riverbank swiftly became a major rumor throughout the capital. Of course, no one had actually witnessed the facts, but judging from the wounds on the two corpses, it appeared that Saneyoshi had first cut down Kanesuke before moving some distance downstream from the scene to take his own life. With the perpetrator himself having perished, there was no means to conduct an investigation; however, Saneyoshi was a military man cherished by Uji Minister of the Left Yorichika. Kanesuke, rather, had been a close associate of Regent Tadamichi. From this relationship, various baseless rumors arose, and there emerged those who clamored that the violent incident between Saneyoshi and Kanesuke was not merely a personal grudge between the two men themselves, but had been instigated by the feud between the brothers Tadamichi and Yorichika. Yorichika paid it no particular mind, but his brother Tadamichi—who had grown remarkably nervous of late—could not dismiss it out of hand. He rigorously had Saneyoshi’s details of the violence investigated, but no concrete evidence was ultimately found.

Since no evidence was found, the matter naturally died out, but Regent Tadamichi’s heart found no peace. The fact that Saneyoshi had apparently initiated the attack and killed Kanesuke remained all the more unpleasant. In other words, Yorichika’s ally had defeated his own ally. Tadamichi found this somehow did not sit well with him. He felt as though his brother had declared war on him.

In the end, as some solace and also to demonstrate his authority, Regent Tadamichi decided to hold Kanesuke’s twenty-one-day memorial service grandly at Hosshō-ji Temple. In accordance with the customs of this era, Hosshō-ji Temple did not have a cemetery within its grounds, but the memorial service was conducted within the temple. Moreover, this temple had been founded by the Regent himself, and Abbot Ryūshū—who oversaw it—was Kanesuke’s uncle by blood relation. Thus, it appeared only fitting to all that Tadamichi should conduct his memorial service here. However, there was one concern: rumors that Abbot Ryūshū himself, who was to serve as the chief officiant that day, had been acting bizarrely and erratically as if possessed by some entity in recent times.

“How fares the Abbot’s condition?” “Go and see.” Acting on his master’s orders, Oribe Kiyoharu went to Hosshō-ji Temple and found the Abbot sitting atop his bedding with grotesquely disheveled long hair, reminiscent of the legendary Raigō of Miidera Temple—said to have transformed his grudge into rats. After listening to Kiyoharu’s report, he solemnly nodded. “That His Excellency the Regent would deign to sponsor and conduct a grand memorial service for the peace in the afterlife of my unworthy nephew—such gracious benevolence is as vast as the seas and mountains, leaving this humble monk with no means to adequately express his gratitude.” “Even if this humble monk were afflicted with the gravest of illnesses, I shall assuredly fulfill my duties as chief officiant on that day.” “Please convey this intent most kindly to His Highness…”

Though he appeared piteously haggard at a glance, since his manner of response showed no sign of alteration whatsoever, Kiyoharu felt somewhat reassured. He immediately returned to the mansion and reported this exactly as it was, and Tadamichi’s brow relaxed.

“Since you state it so definitively, there must be no complications.” “Ensure every detail of that day’s preparations is attended to without fail.”

Eventually, that day arrived. As it was a grand memorial service sponsored by Regent Tadamichi himself, all—those close to the late Kanesuke and strangers alike—gathered in unison at Hosshō-ji Temple's hall. The gate became so congested with people and carriages that they jostled against one another. To glimpse even from afar that resplendent and solemn Buddhist ceremony, capital residents young and old, men and women who had flocked from all directions now packed themselves shoulder-to-shoulder before the gate until they seemed to fill it completely. The late April midday sun beat down upon this indescribable throng, beading sweat on men's foreheads and women's brows.

“What a huge crowd,” muttered a young man, holding up a half-opened fan to shade himself. As if noticing the voice, an old man twisted his shoulder around. “Oh, if it isn’t Chieda-ma! It’s been ages.”

That was the old potter from Yamashina Village.

Called out to, Chiedatarō drew near with apparent nostalgia.

“Old man.” “It truly has been ages.” As if he had found a kindred spirit, the old man drew near and whispered. “Have you seen Moe?” “Moe…… Has she come here today as well?” “Oh, about half an hour ago, she arrived in a splendid ox-drawn carriage. I caught a glimpse of her getting out from afar—they say her name’s changed to Tamamo now… When names change, so do people. Her face and form shine like celestial radiance—I thought she might be a heavenly nymph or the Dragon Princess herself. What a grand ascent! Even old acquaintances like us can’t approach her anymore now.” With a “Ha ha ha ha ha,” the old man showed a smile as kindly as ever, unchanged from days of old.

Moe—to Chiedatarō, that name was unbearably nostalgic, yet also terrifying enough to make him shudder. Was she truly a demonic being? Chiedatarō wanted to confirm her true nature once more under the bright light of day.

“I wonder what time today’s memorial service will conclude,” he muttered as if to himself.

“I’ve heard it’s around three o’clock,” the old man said. “It will likely take a little over an hour before everyone disperses.” As they spoke, the crowd that had been pressing forward suddenly scattered as if driven by some unseen force. Caught in the crushing surge of people and jostled apart, the old man and Chiedatarō found themselves separated. The memorial service had abruptly ended midway, and because all the attendees began leaving at once, the attendants charged with clearing the way began driving off the crowd gathered before the gate.

Why did the memorial service end midway? Chiedatarō asked everyone he encountered, but no one knew anything for certain. However, the factual account appeared to be this: in the midst of gathering monks and reciting sutras, the chief officiant Abbot Ryūshū saw something—suddenly changed complexion, beads of sweat streaming down his forehead, snapped his prayer beads’ cord and flung them away, then tumbled down from the platform. “It’s the work of a demon!” Chiedatarō turned pale and fled back in haste. What had Abbot Ryūshū seen that caused him to panic so abruptly? Perhaps he caught sight of Tamamo’s bewitching form among the attendees, his ascetic resolve beginning to unravel ominously. While he mourned the wretched karma that was dragging Abbot Ryūshū alive into the demonic path, Chiedatarō grew ever more awestruck by his master’s noble and exalted discernment.

However, only Chiedatarō and his master-disciple pair had perceived this; to others' eyes, this secret remained unseen. It was feared in terror that the virtuous monk's descent into madness might have been caused by tengu demonic interference. And as if heralding Buddhism's decline in the Land of the Rising Sun, malicious-mouthed Kyoto street urchins spread rumors until Tadamichi grew increasingly unsettled. He felt vexed that his ill-advised scheme had instead wounded his own authority. Surrounded by unseen enemies, tormented as if gradually compressed from all sides, his nerves grew ever more acute. Around this time, he cast aside his beloved waka as if forgetting them entirely. He increasingly neglected administrative duties until finally withdrawing into seclusion under pretext of illness.

This summer, the song of the lesser cuckoo was absent from the capital’s skies, yet the early summer rains fell more heavily than in any ordinary year. From the start of May, it rained damply every day without respite, and the green of young leaves rotted and decayed as if to melt away. Tadamichi’s clouded head felt as heavy as if crowned with black metal. His nerves grew excessively frayed, and he became irritable without reason. He could no longer sleep peacefully at night. If days continued thus, he began to fear he might follow in the footsteps of Abbot Ryūshū of Hosshō-ji Temple.

Both retainers and maidservants were on edge because their master was in a foul mood. Even his favorite, Oribe Kiyoharu, was being scolded daily. Moreover, he—having failed to properly ascertain the abbot’s condition when sent as messenger to Hosshō-ji Temple—had caused the crucial memorial service to end disastrously, thereby further incurring his master’s displeasure. Among them all, only Tamamo showed not the slightest decline in favor; the more difficult their master’s temper grew, the more indispensable she became at his side, until Tadamichi’s morning and evening care and service came to be entirely entrusted to her alone.

“How it pours…”

Tadamichi gazed at the evening rain in the garden and let out a despondent sigh.

“Truly, it continues to pour without respite,” said Tamamo, knitting her beautiful brows with vexation. “I hear the riverbanks have been entirely submerged.” “Another flood? What a nuisance. After floods inevitably comes pestilence. Floods, pestilence, then bandits—has the world reverted to its former state? ’Tis fleeting indeed, this springtime of peace.”

As Chancellor of the Realm, this hardship was not unwarranted. When the two fell silent again, the garden’s young leaves gradually became enveloped in dark shadows, while frogs began clamoring raucously by the pond’s edge—its waters swollen nearly to overflowing.

“Ah, the world grows ever more turbulent,” Tadamichi sighed again. “I should request leave and take monastic vows—withdraw from worldly affairs altogether.” “Your becoming a monk…” Tamamo said with reproachful emphasis. “If My Lord were to take holy orders, who could possibly assume your place?” “Yorichika, perhaps?” “Should that come to pass, it would play directly into Lord Minister of the Left’s designs. In truth, since My Lord’s withdrawal to seclusion, that person has managed all affairs single-handedly, striding through the court as though it were his personal domain. Even now this holds true—were My Lord to retire permanently, your future standing would become a matter of direst concern.”

“It’s about him.” “That’s likely how it would be,” Tadamichi said with a bitter smile. Beneath that laughter lurked an irrepressible dissatisfaction. That Yorichika—who’d always sought to surpass his brother—now took advantage of my seclusion to swagger through the court chambers with his cap tilted back, acting as if he owned the place. That arrogant attitude seemed to materialize before his eyes, and Tadamichi suddenly felt a surge of bitter resentment. To carelessly renounce the world and have his long-held power greedily snatched away by him seemed utterly regrettable and unbearable.

“Yet for all that, I remain precisely as afflicted.” “It’s not as though there’d be any issue with Yorichika taking over some affairs in place of his brother.” “My courtiers merely hang on his every breath, and not a single soul in the court chambers could stand against him,” Tadamichi declared resentfully. He keenly felt that following the powerful was the way of the world.

Gazing intently at that uncertain face, Tamamo softly began to speak. "In that case, I have a humble request to make..." "What is this request you bring before me now?" "Through My Lord’s esteemed recommendation, I humbly ask to be appointed as a court lady..." "Oh? You wish to serve at court, you say?"

Tadamichi considered for a moment. With Tamamo possessing such talent and beauty, it was only natural she should wish to serve as a court lady. Even Ono no Komachi of old likely could not rival her. In truth, Tadamichi himself had long harbored such designs; yet his reluctance to part with her presence had naturally caused him to delay until this very day. At this juncture, he considered granting Tamamo her wish—appointing her as a court lady in the imperial chambers—and using her power to humble that upstart Yorichika. Tadamichi understood well the hidden power women could wield.

“If it is your wish, I would not refuse to recommend you, but…” “That Yorichika may well try to interfere, you know,” Tadamichi laughed bitterly. “No, I shall splendidly contend with that Lord Minister of the Left.” “Contend with Yorichika?” “Once I am summoned to the court chambers, even Lord Minister of the Left would…” She trailed off and let out a soft, light laugh.

This was not mere self-praise. If Tamamo—being such an accomplished woman—could utilize her concealed power to perhaps oust that upstart Yorichika from the court chambers, Tadamichi thought with reassurance.

Rain Prayer

I

The next morning, Dainagon Moromichi was summoned to the Regent’s mansion. Moromichi came braving the rain.

“It has been raining since yesterday and today as well—how utterly dreary this is. How fares Your Lordship’s health?” Moromichi inquired cordially about the Regent’s condition.

“This ailment shows no sign of abating,” said Tadamichi, pressing a hand heavily against his eboshi cap’s forehead. “The reason I summoned you today concerns a singular purpose. You and I share bonds forged through years of acquaintance.” He leaned forward slightly. “I wish to speak plainly regarding a certain matter... Approach closer.” This confidential matter involved recommending Tamamo for court lady appointment. Naturally, Moromichi raised no objections. “A most fitting proposal—I recognize its full propriety,” Moromichi responded. “Given Your Highness’s present authority in recommending her as court lady, none would dare voice opposition.”

“Ah, but that’s precisely the issue,” Tadamichi said, tilting his head in a troubled manner. “As you say, there should be no obstacles to recommending her through Tadamichi’s authority, but just as tall trees are battered by the wind, these days Tadamichi has many unseen enemies. No, it’s not paranoia—Tadamichi truly perceives it as such. Regarding this matter of Tamamo, there may well be those who will find various ways to obstruct and interfere. First and foremost is that bastard Yorichika. Next is Shinzei Nyūdō—that outrageous old monk has been clinging to that bastard brother’s coattails these days, constantly trying to oppose me. And there would likely be countless others beyond those if we were to list them all. They put on a facade of nonchalance, yet those scheming in their hearts to overthrow Tadamichi fill the court chambers. Do you still not know of this?”

Moromichi was not entirely unaware of the discord between the brothers Tadamichi and Yorichika, but the notion that Tadamichi’s enemies filled the court chambers was something he had never imagined; he thought it was likely Tadamichi’s paranoia. The Regent’s very demeanor had changed quite a bit from former times. A once modest man had gradually grown prone to extravagance. He had transformed from a gentle soul into a willful man marked by a quick temper. Especially these days, confined by illness, his irritability had intensified further, likely driving him to distraction over trifles. Considering it unwise to oppose this, Moromichi obediently complied with his words.

“Therefore, even if I were to propose Tamamo’s appointment myself, there would surely be those who interfere.” “Therefore, Dainagon, could you not present it favorably from your side?” “You are the esteemed one who first discovered Tamamo.” “If it comes from your recommendation, none would dare openly interfere.” “What do you say?” “Can you not see it through as requested?” Tadamichi pressed again.

It was none other than Regent Fujiwara no Tadamichi himself who humbly made this request. Moromichi could find no grounds to object to this. Moreover，I had received his favor for years. It was also I who had recommended Tamamo to him. Due to these circumstances，Moromichi found himself compelled to accept this request，and thus he obediently consented. “Your gracious intention and earnest request—I have understood them in full detail.” “I shall attend the court as early as tomorrow and see to it that all matters are properly presented…”

“Oh, you’ll handle it for me?” Tadamichi rejoiced, shaking his body like a child.

After various discussions were conducted, Moromichi soon withdrew from the Regent’s presence, and in his place, Tamamo was summoned. Tadamichi told her with a smile. “Everything has been taken care of by the Dainagon.” “Rest assured.” “Thank you most kindly,” Tamamo replied with bright eyes, bowing politely. The rain ceased in the evening of that day, and the sky brightened as if layers of ashen clouds were peeling away one by one. Above that vast bright sky, three or four red stars gleamed. In accordance with the customs of this era, by around the Hour of the Boar (10 PM), everyone within the vast mansion fell silent in sleep, and in the garden thicket, the occasional sound of young leaves shedding droplets could be heard. Tonight, even the frogs did not croak.

A young girl named Koyuki woke up and got out of bed to go to the lavatory. As she lit a paper candle and proceeded along the long corridor, the flame suddenly went out despite there being no wind. At the same moment, a bright light emerged in the dark path ahead and began moving quietly some seven or eight ken away; seeing this, young Koyuki started and froze. The owner of the light was a woman. The woman trailed the hem of her long hakama as she walked quietly down the corridor. As she thought how much the figure’s back resembled Tamamo’s, a single shutter at the corridor’s edge slid open without a sound, and the woman’s form slipped out into the garden as though vanishing. Urged by a kind of curiosity, Koyuki muffled her footsteps and quietly stepped into the garden from behind, and the figure resembling Tamamo slipped through the bushes and stood tall at the edge of the large pond in the inner garden.

The pond, aged over years with waters turned murky bluish-black, had swelled from recent rains, its turbid dark hue lapping up to the very shore. The irises and sweet flags lay submerged beneath the turbid waves, with only the pale blooms of algae floating faintly, dimly visible under the starlight. The woman first bowed in worship toward a large star in the north. Amidst the red of other stars, that single star shone exceptionally large and golden. That must be what they call the Big Dipper, Koyuki thought.

The woman continued worshipping the star for some time, then changed direction and knelt at the pond's edge. While holding down her long sleeve with her left hand, she extended her pale right hand into the dimness, appearing to scoop up pond algae. As the girl's curiosity peaked and she stared breathlessly, the woman lifted the blue-green algae in her hands and pressed it dripping onto her head without shaking off the water. Knowing the folktale that foxes carry algae on their heads, Koyuki was suddenly gripped by terror. When she tried to retreat while dragging her stiffened legs, the woman's light vanished as if extinguished by a breath.

“Koyuki?” came a woman’s cool voice from the darkness. It was indeed Tamamo’s voice. The girl was already terrified and could not utter a sound. As she remained frozen in place, crouching there stiffly, Tamamo glided closer and seized her slender wrist. “Did you see?” The girl still remained silent and cowered. “Speak without hiding it. What did you see?” “I… I saw nothing.” She answered while trembling, but it was already too late. The young girl’s small body became rigid, limbs splayed out like a frog about to be swallowed by a snake. Knocking down the helpless girl onto the ground, Tamamo first sniffed the scent of her black hair. She sucked the plump flesh of her cheek.

At that moment, a small torchlight resembling will-o'-the-wisp flickered from between the bushes and gradually drew nearer. It was Oribe Kiyoharu, whose duty was to patrol the entire mansion garden thrice nightly—at evening, midnight, and dawn. In the darkness, having heard an odd lapping sound like a dog drinking water, he stole closer with stealthy footsteps. When he raised his torch to identify the figure, the flame died out as though doused with water. Yet in that fleeting instant, he had already discerned that the person crouching there was likely Tamamo.

“Lady Tamamo?” Kiyoharu called out, and suddenly the surroundings brightened. The light looked identical to what had shone from Tamamo’s form during that evening’s flower banquet.

What startled Kiyoharu even more than that was the gruesome scene illuminated by the light. The young girl Koyuki lay fallen there like a dead grasshopper, her hands and legs torn apart. Tamamo's mouth was stained with fresh blood. At this point, Tamamo before him was unmistakably a demoness. Kiyoharu immediately reached for his sword, but his hand went numb and refused to move. Tamamo let a dreadful smile escape her coldly beautiful face. The mysterious light vanished once more, and in the darkness, a man’s guttural groan could be heard.

“Just as I thought the time to fulfill my desire had drawn near, I’ve fortunately obtained both a male and female sacrifice.” The man’s groans and Tamamo’s voice were heard no more thereafter.

After daybreak, the wretched corpses of Kiyoharu and the young girl were found floating in the waters of the old pond. Moreover, how the two had met such a gruesome end remained beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Following Kanesuke’s death, when yet another bizarre incident occurred in this manner, Tadamichi’s nerves were increasingly frayed. Moreover, this time it had occurred within his own mansion, so he was seized by indescribable terror and unease. He had even come to find his three daily meals unable to pass pleasantly down his throat.

Four days later, Major Counselor Moromichi arrived. His report became the seed that further drove Tadamichi’s mind to madness. As for the proposal to recommend Tamamo for appointment as a court lady, a strenuous protest indeed emerged from Minister of the Left Yorichika. Shinzei Nyūdō also opposed. Their opposition was something Moromichi had privately anticipated, so he too attempted by all means to suppress this enemy, but no matter what he said, his principal adversary remained Yorichika. Moreover, with the learned and brilliant Shinzei Nyūdō lending his support, Moromichi found himself utterly incapable of opposing them. In the end, after being thoroughly berated, he lost face and withdrew.

“Why do they refuse? Are they saying her lineage is base?” Tadamichi asked through gritted teeth. “No, it is not solely that. It is said there are certain...objectionable aspects regarding the woman called Tamamo that make consent difficult...” Moromichi answered somewhat evasively. “Shinzei Nyūdō stated that elevating such a woman would bring chaos to the realm.” “What nonsense—chaos in the realm… It is you who scheme to overthrow this Tadamichi and plunge the realm into chaos!”

Tadamichi clenched his fist and writhed in frustration as if about to leap up.

Two

Shortly after Moromichi departed, Tadamichi promptly summoned Tamamo. He exhaled fiery breath as he recounted the details of what he had just heard.

“I can endure no more! I’ll gather the Imperial Guard warriors and send them to Uji!” “To Uji…?” Tamamo furrowed her brows. “To subjugate Yorichika! Those who oppose me—Tadamichi, granted as Head of the Fujiwara Clan and serving as Regent—are traitors no different from rebels! Not even my own brother shall be spared! We’ll mobilize troops at once and crush them! That hateful Shinzei Nyūdō too—though I revered him as my mentor, he grew arrogant and joined the traitors’ faction! Now he dares raise a blade against me! I’ll destroy them both together! Once those two are gone, their faction will be a headless snake—incapable of anything! Summon the warriors! Now!” Tadamichi roared, his eyes bulging.

“I fully comprehend Your Excellency’s righteous fury, but first I implore you to compose yourself.” Tamamo interposed herself to halt his momentum. Even were he to summon the Imperial Guards now, there remained uncertainty whether they would obediently mobilize against the Minister of the Left. Though Yorichika’s ambitions had long been evident, lacking irrefutable proof meant any rash action risked transforming legitimate authority into unjust aggression. Should sympathizers within the Guards swiftly inform that formidable Yorichika and cunning Shinzei of these plans, their combined forces might orchestrate unforeseen schemes—or worse, launch a preemptive assault. As vulgar wisdom teaches: haste breeds blunders. However inevitable their eventual subjugation might be, she sagely counseled that enduring this provocation and awaiting the opportune moment promised greater safety.

There was some logic to it. Especially since this was Tamamo’s counsel, Tadamichi grudgingly relented, and she rose from the spot with an expression of relief.

That afternoon, Tamamo slipped out of the mansion with her veil pulled low over her face. Since the night Kiyoharu and the girl had died, the rainy season skies had cleared completely, leaving Kyoto bathed in sudden summer sunlight where pale dust now swirled through the streets. Beneath a willow's shade, people rested beside their tethered oxen. Tamamo made her way to Shinzei Nyūdō's residence on Anegakōji.

When she entered the gate, cicadas were singing in the high branches of a large pagoda tree. Beside the carriage stop stood a young man who appeared to be listening to the cicadas' song. The man was Chiedatarō. “Lord Chiedatarō.”

Called by Tamamo, Chiedatarō turned around. “Oh… Tamamo…” He twitched his brows slightly but gave a casual nod. “Once it cleared up, it turned scorching sudden-like. You’ve only met me at the riverbank till now—has naught changed?” “Have you not changed either?” Tamamo said with nostalgic warmth. “After that time, no good chance came for us to meet.” “And now… what brings you here…” “Are you attending Master?”

Chiedatarō nodded.

He faced Tamamo under the bright summer sun, resolved that today he would finally witness her true form. The shadow Tamamo cast darkly upon the ground remained that of an ordinary woman. When Chiedatarō stared even more intently at her face, she tilted her head as if shyly and peered obliquely into his eyes. “What brings Master here?” “I don’t know,” Chiedatarō said helplessly.

The cicadas in the treetops continued their shrill song. The two remained silent for a time. "There are matters I wish to discuss earnestly with you if we could meet once—is there no opportune time?" Tamamo inquired, gliding a step closer.

As he stared into her eyes—nostalgic, lovesick, brimming with profound tenderness—Chiedatarō's chest grew hot with undefined warmth. Was she truly a demonic being? The young Chiedatarō found himself beginning to doubt his master's teachings. Yet he maintained cautious vigilance. "Master is strict—we're scarcely permitted outside except for official duties." "It's not just me." "The other disciples all face the same restrictions—there's no alternative."

“I suppose that’s true,” Tamamo let out a low sigh. “Even so, there must be some way you could slip out unnoticed—couldn’t you meet me just once? “It’s the Moe of old—you’ve no reason to hate me.” “Or have you perhaps grown close with some other woman?” “Do you no longer care for the Moe of old?” “As I said the other day, the path of a person’s life cannot be known.” “We grew up together in Yamashina village—you becoming an eboshi craftsman.” “I too learned to fold eboshi…” “When I think on it, that too was but a shared dream of our childhood days.”

Before Chiedatarō’s eyes unfurled the beautiful picture scroll of their childhood dreams. The forests and rivers of Yamashina village formed its backdrop, where phantom-like images of the two playing together materialized. He gazed entranced at Tamamo’s face as if beholding it anew. Just as he prepared to speak, a samurai emerged from the inner quarters. The samurai scrutinized Tamamo with evident suspicion. She bowed courteously and requested an audience with his master monk. After glaring at her face once more, the samurai promptly turned back inside.

“That is Uemon-no-jō Narukage,” Chiedatarō informed her, watching his retreating figure. “He looks quite robust at a glance… As expected of one who serves in Lord Shinzei’s household,” Tamamo nodded, then began speaking again. “Say, Lord Chiedatarō. I may sound persistent, but do you truly dislike meeting me no matter what? It doesn’t have to be tonight—tomorrow or the day after… If you would come to the Regent’s mansion and say you wish to meet Tamamo, I will surely manage to come out. This—do you truly dislike it no matter what? Can’t you say yes no matter what?”

She pressed her crimson lips against the man’s ear and whispered. The sweet scent permeating the woman’s thin silk enveloped Chiedatarō’s body like a dream, and the young onmyōji’s blood surged abruptly. As he gazed up at the fierce summer sun, his eyes grew dizzy and blurred. When he instinctively leaned against the woman’s arm—unable to remain upright—Tamamo smiled and gently supported him. Then once more she whispered with coquettish affectation.

“You’re truly a heartless man,” Tamamo whispered crimson-lipped against his ear. “Have you forgotten Moe of old?” At this inopportune moment, Uemon-no-jō Narukage reappeared. The samurai addressed Tamamo with ceremonial gravity. “My master Lord Shinzei cannot grant audience due to untimely guests.” His hand rested on sword hilt. “We beg your pardon—take your leave at once.” “What a pity,” Tamamo replied with undimmed radiance, making no remark on his discourtesy. “Might the guest be Lord Harima Governor? Some crucial state affair?”

“As for my master’s private meeting, we know nothing of what manner of discussion it might be,” Narukage said curtly. Even so, Tamamo did not obediently take her leave. She pressed on, insisting that she absolutely must meet with Lord Abbot to privately convey an urgent matter, and requested a brief audience in a separate room so as not to disturb the guest. Narukage seemed determined to prevent his master from meeting her at all costs, devising various pretexts to drive her away. Yet Tamamo showed no sign of moving, so he finally relented—no sooner had he retreated inside than he immediately emerged again and ushered her into the residence.

Chiedatarō was left alone once more, standing beneath the blue shadow of the enju tree. He was half in a dreamlike state, devoid of any capacity for thought. A south wind rustling the blue leaves gently billowed his sleeves, and the cicadas' bell-like cries pleasantly reached even his dulled ears. After some time, Tamamo came out escorted by Narukage. A warm smile had formed at the corners of her mouth. Before Narukage’s watchful gaze, with no time left to say anything more, she simply exchanged a glance with Chiedatarō and parted. Watching that retreating figure disappear beyond the gate, Chiedatarō was overcome by a lonely feeling of incompleteness, and as if pulled by an invisible thread, he staggered unsteadily away from beneath the tree. And then, as if chasing after her, he too exited through the gate, where Tamamo—who had not yet gone more than five or six ken—let out a shrill scream.

“Oh! Someone’s come…” “Help me, please!” Startled by the voice, when he looked intently, an emaciated old monk holding a bamboo staff in one hand firmly grasped Tamamo’s sleeve with the other. The monk seemed to be out of his mind. The rat-colored robe was torn and soiled; on one foot he wore straw sandals, while the other was barefoot. Chiedatarō immediately rushed over and forced his way between the two. “Oh, Lord Chiedatarō! You’ve truly come to my aid.” “This venerable monk seems to have gone mad.” “He suddenly seized me and tried to take me somewhere.” “Please help me,” Tamamo said, hiding her troubled face in her sleeve.

“Venerable monk! However mad you may be—what outrage is this? Seizing a woman…” Chiedatarō rebuked. “Calm yourself! Release her here!”

The monk said nothing. His patchy white beard hung unevenly over gaunt cheekbones that jutted sharply from his face, sunken eyes burning with an unsettling intensity as they remained fixed on Tamamo's pale collar. Chiedatarō grew more urgent as the monk's persistence mounted. "Step back—I told you to step back!" "Let go!" "Won't you release her?" He seized the monk's bony arm and strained to pry it loose, but those skeletal fingers clung with deathbed tenacity. The impetuous youth twisted the hand until tendons threatened to snap, finally wrenching it free with a desperate heave that sent the spent old man crashing down like felled timber. Tamamo hurried away without sparing a backward glance.

As the monk crawled up and tried to give chase once more, Chiedatarō grabbed and restrained him again. Just as the monk was panting hot breaths and writhing, four or five young monks came chasing after him, drenched in sweat.

“Oh, here he is! Though we know not who you are, we are deeply grateful.” They expressed their gratitude to Chiedatarō and carried away the still-raging old monk as if hoisting him through the air. The mad old monk was the Ajari of Hosshō-ji Temple.

III

When Chiedatarō heard that Abbot Ryūshū of Hosshō-ji Temple had drowned himself in the temple pond that night, he shuddered once more. The eminent monk, bewitched by Tamamo’s sorcery, must have met his wretched end in a death of madness. The sweet words whispered to him by her yesterday at Shinzei Nyūdō’s residence now seemed like a demon’s whispers, and Chiedatarō feared his precarious fate that might at any moment draw him into the demonic path.

“Did you meet that Tamamo yesterday?” Harima Governor Yasuchika asked his young disciple.

When Chiedatarō honestly confessed to having met her, Yasuchika’s brows furrowed once more.

“Though I may say so myself,” he warned gravely, “take heed.” “Your path ahead looks truly uncertain.” “They say Tamamo visited Lord Shinzei Nyūdō’s residence yesterday and secretly reported dreadful matters about our world in private conference.” “His Excellency has abruptly mustered forces—they say he plans simultaneous subjugation of both Lord Yorichika and Lord Shinzei.” “A man of Lord Shinzei’s wisdom would never credit such slander from one he’s long distrusted—they say he dismissed her with polite indifference.” “But mark this—a creature who spins such lies here will surely weave fresh deceits elsewhere.” “Utterly terrifying.” “That woman exhausts every stratagem—changing forms and tactics—to sow calamity among men until she plunges all realms into chaos.” “Nor does she stop there.” “He”—here Yasuchika’s voice twisted—“has now inflamed His Excellency’s mind with ambitions of courtly appointment.” “Though Lord Yorichika intercepted this madness once before—should such demonkind ever ascend among palace ranks—our Land of Sun becomes eternal night.”

"Since there was absolutely no more room for delay, after consulting with Shinzei Nyūdō, I have resolved to purify myself and commence a seventy-day prayer ritual starting today. Minister of the Left Yorichika has naturally agreed as well. Traditionally, the esoteric method’s ultimate principle dictates that such demonic beings must be prayed down before one’s very eyes to immediately reveal their true forms. Yet summoning His Excellency the Regent’s cherished woman to attempt a demon-subjugation prayer in her presence was unthinkable. Thus I resolved to construct a demon-subjugating altar in my private chamber and pray her down from the shadows over seventy days. In addition to myself, there are four disciples. Since you too shall be counted among them," he instructed Chiedatarō in meticulous detail, "surpass all others in single-minded devotion and serve without negligence."

“Understood,” said Chiedatarō, immediately acknowledging while feeling the weight of his responsibility.

“For Yasuchika, this is the most significant prayer of his life.” “I will devote my very life to this task.” “You too must pray ceaselessly, sparing no life, with all your strength and to the very limits.” “If even one among us five allows their resolve to slacken, know that the ritual will never succeed.” “Carve this into your hearts and forget it not.” Harima Governor Yasuchika was determined to undertake this grave matter with a resolve unto death. In addition to Chiedatarō, three outstanding disciples were also summoned in turns and were similarly instructed in their master’s grave resolve. The disciples all lowered their heads before their godlike, revered master with feelings that brought tears to their eyes. A grimly resolute atmosphere filled the house of Abe no Seimei’s descendants.

The early summer rains of this year, which had once threatened to overflow the Kamo River, cleared completely from late May onward, with not a single drop falling through June or July. Fiery clouds raced across the sky as the scorching sun beat down from dawn till dusk. Baked by this onslaught, the capital's earth turned bone-white and split open like ground after a great quake. The Kamo River shrank until its bed lay exposed, dead fish gleaming silver on the gravel banks with upturned bellies. Willows along the avenues hung their leaves limp as rags, while across Kyoto's breadth not one swallow cut through the heavy air. Nor was the capital alone - every village and province nearby lay crushed beneath this drought's heel, every green shoot in field and paddy withered to brittle husks.

Prayers for rain were conducted at every shrine and temple. If this drought continued unabated, people feared not only plants and trees but even humans might eventually be baked to death. Even in August, not a shadow of rain clouds stirred. “It’s unbearably hot. My whole body feels boiled alive.” Gazing up at the thin blue expanse of sky, Regent Tadamichi released a groan-like sigh. Already worn down by illness, now tormented daily by this relentless heat, his bones and flesh seemed half-melted—he no longer felt truly alive. Faced with such slow torture, he almost wished for a swift death. Moreover, his heart brimmed with countless seeds of discontent and irritation. Yet abandoning his worldly position now—watching helplessly as Yorichika seized his status and authority—that too seemed intolerable.

He now sipped a little of the melon dew Tamamo had peeled for him and lay writhing on the rush mat like a dying snake. What comforted him was Tamamo's usual gentle voice. “Truly, what dreadful heat this is. As for India I cannot say, but to think Japan would have such a summer... It has not rained for over sixty days now.” “Prayers for rain here and there amount to nothing but rumors, with no miraculous power to be seen. The world has truly come to an end,” Tadamichi sighed weakly once more.

“Are you saying the gods and buddhas have no miraculous power?” “Actions speak louder than words.” “No matter how they pray, not even a single drop falls.” “It is not that the gods and buddhas lack miraculous power.” “I humbly think it may be because people’s sincerity is insufficient.”

“That may also be the case,” Tadamichi nodded. “When younger brothers scheme to overthrow their elders, and allies become enemies—this is the world we inhabit.” He sighed weakly once more. “Is it any wonder sincerity grows thin among men?” Tamamo paused the hand fanning Tadamichi with her Chinese-style uchiwa, appearing lost in contemplation before bowing deeply before her lord. “As Your Excellency has observed,” she began, “the utter failure of rain prayers at every shrine and temple makes it seem the world approaches its end, and I must humbly submit that the divine majesty of gods and buddhas wanes.” Her voice carried calculated reverence. “Such waste cannot be borne. Therefore, though unworthy, might this Tamamo humbly beg permission to conduct the rain-summoning ritual?”

Ono no Komachi prayed for rain at Shinsen-en. "If I possess a sincere heart," she said, "then surely even the gods and buddhas must accept it." "Indeed," Tadamichi thought, "such reasoning might hold merit." This Tamamo would prove no less than Komachi of old. Should her sincere heart reach heaven and truly summon rain, it would bless the world and relieve all suffering. Moreover, by letting her demonstrate such divine favor here, her appointment as court lady would resolve effortlessly - neither Yorichika nor Shinzei could raise objections. Tamamo would be summoned directly to the imperial court and could then cast down Yorichika's faction as planned. As these thoughts took hold, Tadamichi's enfeebled spirit revived like watered saplings, and he abruptly sat upright.

“Oh, that is a noble wish.” “Tadamichi permits it.” “Begin that prayer at once.” “Then, after purifying myself for seventeen days and having a platform erected at Kamo Riverbank, I shall attempt the rain prayer ritual.” Tamamo’s rain prayer was proclaimed by the regent’s house. The ceremony was to be conducted with utmost solemnity, and it was ordered that all those of high and low rank attend. To prevent disturbances among the common folk, not only the Imperial Guard but all Minamoto and Taira warriors were ordered to guard the riverbank. The day was set for August eighth.

“Well now, this is truly curious.” “It coincides exactly with the final day of the seventy-day prayer period,” Yasuchika nodded.

He immediately dispatched a messenger to Shinzei Nyūdō, saying that they too wished to go to the riverbank to pray on that day. To subjugate the demonic being before his very eyes through prayer, he thought, this was an opportunity beyond what could be wished for.

Shinzei also agreed. He consulted with Yorichika and decided that they too would ostensibly proclaim prayers for rain and stage a prayer competition at the same riverbank. They divided the day into two halves: designating from dawn's Hour of the Hare (6:00 AM) to noon's Hour of the Horse (12:00 PM) for Yasuchika's prayers, and from noon to dusk's Hour of the Cock (6:00 PM) for Tamamo's prayers, to test which side would demonstrate miraculous efficacy.

“Are they defying me again?” Tadamichi snapped impatiently. However, Tamamo showed no particular concern. A prayer contest would prove advantageous. “Let us test before all which side holds miraculous power,” she declared.

“Then, should I happen to prevail, what would become of Harima Governor?” “Exile without question,” Tadamichi spat. “Those born to an Onmyōji house who bungle such prayers deserve the Abe clan’s utter ruin.” “How regrettable—yet unavoidable.” She spoke with unshakable conviction in her victory.

Tadamichi also wanted her to win. As for Yasuchika on the opposing side—regardless of him—this victory or defeat seemed destined to settle the struggle between himself and the Yorichika faction. He waited for that day with mounting impatience.

August 8th remained clear and cloudless from morning onward. Even the red clouds must have burned away entirely by now, leaving the vast sky a uniform pale blue like gazing upon some distant sea.

The riverbank prayer was first begun by Yasuchika.

A pack of dogs

I The prayer platform was a divine sight.

The platform was newly covered with coarse straw mats; bamboo poles had been erected at each corner, their tips connected by a sacred shimenawa rope encircling them. Furthermore, at each of those four corners, three-legged ritual stands of plain wood had been placed, and upon those stands were arranged various sacred sakaki branches. Five individuals ascended the platform, each wearing ritual robes patterned after the five colors: white, black, blue, yellow, and red. Chiedatarō Yasuchika wore a blue ritual robe, held hemp streamers of the same color aloft, and sat facing south. The other three wore black, red, and yellow ritual robes, each taking streamers matching their robe’s color, and sat facing north, east, and west.

Abe no Yasuchika, Governor of Harima, wearing white ritual robes and holding white streamers aloft, was seated at the center of the platform. He was facing north. Under the relentless sun that had parched everything dry, his figure appeared even more strikingly white amidst the riverbed's stones and soil all gleaming pure white. The rain prayer ritual showed no efficacy even after passing the Hour of the Snake at ten in the morning. Around the platform, northern-facing samurai stood solemnly holding bows and arrows. Beginning with Uji Minister of the Left Yorichika, all court nobles stood properly attired in formal court robes and caps, arrayed in rows. Both banks' main roads and side streets were filled with crowds of spectators. All these thousands of people sweated on their brows as they gazed anxiously at the white-scorched sky, but it remained with infuriating calmness—not even a single bird's shadow could be seen.

“It’s been nearly four hours now, and not a single cloud seems to be moving!” “The prayer is said to last until noon. But waiting till then won’t show whether there’s any miracle at all!” Such whispers escaped the lips of the spectators. Amidst the sweat-beaded brows of the numerous court nobles, wrinkles of anxiety gradually deepened. However, Yorichika did not stir. The true purpose of Yasuchika’s prayer today was not to beg for rain. It was a prayer for demon subjugation against Tamamo-no-Mae. From the perspective of Yorichika and Shinzei’s faction, whether rain fell or not was not the issue. They, who knew full well that Yasuchika had never prayed for rain in the first place, regarded the absence of rainfall as almost natural.

Yasuchika and his four disciples continued their prayers, as motionless as the day’s sky. They did not so much as blink. On the windless platform, the five-colored ritual streamers remained utterly still. While sunlight bathed the entire riverbank, court nobles and samurai alike waited with bated breath. At last, the Hour of the Horse arrived. From the banks came collective sighs of disappointment that began to resound like an evening downpour. “It’s hopeless—the hour has come.”

“No matter how we entreat the gods, rain that won’t fall simply won’t fall—isn’t that how it’s decided?”

“No, one mustn’t lose heart yet. After noon comes Lady Tamamo-no-Mae’s prayer, they say!” “Even Lord Harima couldn’t manage it—what could a woman’s power possibly achieve?” “Her Ladyship is exceptional in both wisdom and beauty, and there are rumors she may soon be appointed as a court lady.” “That’s her prayer.” “The gods are unlikely to respond either.”

The rumored one made her appearance at the riverbank with the arrival of noon, revealing her elegant and alluring form. Tamamo too was dressed resplendently today. She let her lacquer-black hair hang long down her back and modestly adorned it with a golden hairpin that glittered in the sun. Her five-layered robe’s outermost layer was adorned with the Seigaiha wave pattern beautifully colored with vibrant birds, and over this she wore a karaginu robe of pale yellow-green ground embroidered with jade-green seaweed. She further wore crimson-lacquered hakama trousers and trailed a grand mo robe whose white ground was dyed with faint yellow and blue to create phantom-like shadows of orchids and chrysanthemums. A splendid court lady’s attire it was. Yorichika took one look at that and, rather than censuring her presumption, felt a full measure of indignation toward his brother Tadamichi’s lack of judgment in having her appear in such an ostentatious guise.

However, now was not the time for such debate. As Yorichika and Shinzei remained silent while observing the proceedings, Tamamo—escorted by the Regent’s samurai—had no sooner quietly approached the platform than her complexion abruptly changed. Without uttering a word, she attempted to retreat as she was.

“Lady Tamamo, please wait!” Yasuchika called down from the platform. Tamamo appeared intent on retreating regardless, paying no heed to his words, until Yorichika—unable to endure it any longer—called to halt her.

“Tamamo, why do you retreat? Does your prayer not commence at the Hour of the Horse?”

Tamamo quietly looked back. In those beautiful eyes, there seemed to be a slight hint of wrath.

“Today’s ritual is not a rain prayer. I recognized it as a subjugation prayer. ‘Curses and all manner of poisons rebound upon their originator’—so too has the Buddha taught. The thought of approaching such a terrifying place never once crossed my mind.”

As she tried to leave, hiding her white face behind a hinoki fan, Yasuchika called her back once more.

“Ah, so you perceived this Yasuchika’s prayer as a subjugation.” “And whom did you perceive as the very target of that prayer?”

“That goes without saying. If this were a rain prayer, one should have relied upon the Eight Great Dragon Kings. Yet you erected ritual streamers across the platform’s four directions—enshrining the Great Bodhisattva Hachiman of Otokoyama to the south, Kamo Great Deity and Tenman Tenjin to the north, Inari, Gion, Matsuo, and Ōharano deities to the west and east—all to summon gods for national pacification. This can only be recognized as a prayer for demon subjugation. And the very target of that prayer would be none other than this Tamamo.”

Her voice resounded resolutely across the riverbank. Yasuchika retorted at once. "If you know this truth, Lord Yasuchika—why then do you turn your back on this platform?" "Is your prayer truly so fearsome?" Tamamo laughed lightly behind her hinoki fan. "When I spoke of fear, I meant the hearts of those who skillfully devise curses and subjugations are what terrify." "Why would Tamamo—whose form harbors not a shadow—fear your prayers?"

She was likely attempting to demonstrate this proof of her fearlessness before their very eyes. She smoothly trailed her long robe and advanced to the front of the platform. Yasuchika re-adjusted the white ritual streamers and spoke again. “First, there is something I must ask you.” “I have heard that on the night of the Regent’s flower-viewing banquet, someone emitted an eerie light from within their body, illuminating the storm’s darkness.” “If it were a divine Buddha, that would be one thing—but for a mortal body to emit light? I, Yasuchika, know of no such precedent. What does Lady Tamamo make of this?”

Tamamo curled a faint smile at her lips as though mocking such ignorance. “Does a person of your standing as Lord Harima not know even that much?” “Do you regard Empress Kōmyō and Princess Sotoori of antiquity—these noble figures—as not being human?” “Or would you instead refer to them as demonic beings?” Yasuchika declared that these individuals had not manifested actual miracles. The former was called Kōmyō because people admired the radiance of her virtue. The latter was called Sotoori for her skin’s clarity. No noble human, however exalted, could possibly have precedent for emitting light from within their body to turn night into day. “If such a human exists in this world,” he declared sharply, “they must either be an incarnation of the Buddha or—failing that—a demonic manifestation.”

“Then, do you regard this Tamamo as a demonic manifestation? Is that not so?” Tamamo said without so much as a twitch of her brow. “Well now, what an amusing notion to entertain. Further debate on this matter is futile. You must first withdraw from that platform.” “Do you mean to ascend here?” “Ah, I shall ascend. You claim to fearlessly ascend even onto this subjugation platform, but this stands as foremost proof that Tamamo’s form holds not a single shadow. Once the Hour of the Horse has passed, you should have no further use here. I shall pray in your stead. Withdraw! Withdraw now.”

She solemnly declared in a commanding tone. Then, adjusting her grip on the hinoki fan, she deliberately ascended to the ritual platform. Pressed by reason, Yasuchika too could no longer refuse to yield his seat. He had no choice but to descend from the platform, and following that white figure, the blues and reds and yellows and blacks gradually withdrew, until a beautiful woman clad in five-layered robes and a Chinese jacket became the new master of the platform. She beckoned with her chin, and the attendant samurai reverently presented a sakaki branch adorned with hemp streamers upon a plain wood offering tray. Tamamo quietly grasped the branch, closed her eyes, and began to pray.

Yasuchika knelt on scorched pebbles, holding his breath as he stared at her praying. Yorichika too clenched his sweating hands as he watched intently. The very fact that Tamamo had ascended to the subjugation platform without a trace of distress already signified Yasuchika’s defeat. Should she now manifest the miraculous power of her prayer and even a single drop of rain were to fall, Yasuchika would have no choice but to kneel before her and beg forgiveness for his transgressions. Yorichika and Shinzei could not remain calm.

A little past the Hour of the Ram (2 PM), a small black cloud about the size of a kemari kickball emerged atop Mount Hiei. Before one could even process the thought, it spread out like a great curtain, growing ever larger until the white expanse of sky turned murky ashen gray. The dazzling sunlight was snuffed out as if blown away, and darkness fell. “Ah! A tengu!” On the embankment, the crowd suddenly erupted into uproar. Whether this stemmed from a tengu or some other force remained unclear, but now a mass of black clouds—like a shape-shifting bird spreading its wings—surged forth from Otokoyama and swept past before the sun as though flying away. As the cloud passed through, the world below grew dimly bright again, but the ashen gray of the sky did not fade.

“Send forth rain. Eight Great Dragon Kings.” “Eight Great Dragon Kings.” Tamamo raised the sakaki branch to her forehead and shook it three times left and right; the white hemp streamers scattered like pampas grass, and the golden hairpin came fluttering down. “Ah, rain!” On the embankment, they all cried out as one. A cold, damp wind bent the bamboo grass at the platform’s four corners, and fat raindrops began pelting down from the darkened sky like hailstones. “Eight Great Dragon Kings, deign to respond!” Tamamo stood upright and shouted once more. The hairpin at her forehead tilted askew, her long black hair whipping wild about her shoulders. As if to illuminate that pallid face, a great bolt of lightning split the platform’s air and raced across it.

“Rain! It’s raining!”

Even the security samurai looked up at the sky and cried out. Torrential rain like a waterfall came crashing down as though the Milky Way itself had been torn open.

II

The nectar-like rain continued to fall until deep into the night, and voices rejoicing in heaven’s blessing overflowed throughout the capital and its outskirts. They gave thanks for heaven’s blessing while praising Tamamo’s immeasurable virtue. It was not just them. Tadamichi danced a little jig in delight.

“Look there! Those wretches.” “Even after being shown such a miracle, do they still persist in treating Tamamo as their enemy?” “Do they dare scorn this Tadamichi?” “Haha! How gratifying!” In truth, even Tamamo’s enemies could not remain silent in the face of this. Yorichika and Shinzei could no longer utter a single word. The one who had particularly lost face was Yasuchika. He did not wait for official judgment and voluntarily closed his gate to seclude himself. Yasuchika had never prayed for rain in the first place. Therefore—though it was not that he had been bested by Tamamo in prayer contest—since demon subjugation was an esoteric rite while publicly framed as rain prayer; given Yasuchika’s half-day supplication yielded no results whereas Tamamo summoned torrential rain almost immediately upon replacing him—his defeat became undeniable before all eyes. Abe no Seimei’s sixth-generation descendant had shamed his ancestors. He could only humbly await punishment. The disciples too naturally entered seclusion alongside their master. Yasuchika remained shut away in his private chamber and spoke to no one.

The following day was clear, but the great sky washed by yesterday’s rain had suddenly risen a full ri higher, and from those heights an autumnal wind came rustling down. As Yasuchika stared fixedly at one or two Chinese parasol leaves near the veranda falling soundlessly in their solitude, Chiedatarō approached with stealthy footsteps, quietly bearing a lamp. Today too had already begun fading toward dusk unnoticed.

“Chiedatarō, has no one come since this morning?” “No one has come.” “Has there been no messenger from the Regent Lord either?” “Yes.”

Chiedatarō lowered his gaze and stole a glance at his master’s complexion; Yasuchika’s face, illuminated by the lamp’s light, was as pale as water. “It is Yasuchika who bungled the crucial prayer. “If severe, exile; even if light, the family’s position will be stripped. “The official judgment should have come even today, yet there’s still no messenger…” Yasuchika tilted his head. “People may say what they will; the outcome of the rain prayer is not even worth debating. “What truly galls me is how my secret rite was so effortlessly shattered. “The seventy days of prayer had come to naught, and with the demon ascending the subjugation altar to raise its victory cry, Yasuchika’s methods had ultimately fallen into disuse. “I have no excuse to those above, no excuse to my ancestors. “I have no excuse for Lord Minister of the Left or Lord Shinzei either. “All that remains is to await my punishment with humility—yet no matter how I reflect upon it, I cannot bear to idly fold my hands and witness the demon’s rampage. For the sake of the nation, the world, and its people—this is utterly intolerable. “Do not think Yasuchika cowardly. “Do not think this reluctance. “Yasuchika’s life has long been cast aside. “Yet having endured seventy days unharmed, I wish to attempt the ritual once more while life remains. “Therefore, Chiedatarō, I have an earnest request to make of you. “Will you grant me this request?”

A fierce light of resolve flickered in the depths of the master’s eyes. Chiedatarō bowed his head as though struck by that light. “Whatever task it may be, I shall undertake it without fail.” “That’s too generous for now. Fortunately, dusk has fallen. Once a little more time passes, slip out of the residence and quietly run to Lord Shinzei’s manor.”

Chiedatarō nodded with a knowing look, and Yasuchika said in an even lower voice. The purpose was none other than to cling to Shinzei Nyūdō’s sleeve and beg for another seventy days’ reprieve. Should our house’s position be stripped away or should we face distant exile, we would have no means left to attempt the demon-subjugation prayer again. “Before any judgment comes from the Regent Lord, I must somehow appease my crime and be granted time to attempt this prayer once more. If even after those seventy days there remains no effect, I would not shun exile—nay, not even execution at the prison gate. Of course, this cannot be settled by Shinzei Nyūdō’s sole discretion—through him, you must appeal further to Minister of the Left Yorichika and have him spare no effort in granting this request. As I am under confinement and cannot venture beyond these gates without permission, I ask you to fulfill this errand stealthily tonight.”

Chiedatarō immediately agreed. "I have understood everything in detail." "I shall carry it out exactly as you command." He formally accepted the charge and withdrew from his master’s presence. Even after one failed prayer attempt, his master’s resolute determination to perform a second ritual deeply moved Chiedatarō. Moreover, being entrusted with this vital mission among all his fellow disciples felt to him like a matter of lifelong honor. No matter what Shinzei Nyūdō might say, he resolved to cling to this duty and fulfill it—with his heart stretched taut, he waited for nightfall.

Awaiting impatiently for the temple bells of the capital to announce the hour of the dog (8 PM), Chiedatarō slipped out stealthily from the Tsuchimikado residence, and the moon of August 9th cast a frost-like white light upon his sleeves.

“Lord Chiedatarō. “Chieda-ma.”

A woman's voice called from beneath the willow's shadow just as he reached the front of Shinzei Nyūdō's manor. Recognizing that voice instantly, he froze like a nail driven into earth. But when he tried to stride forward pretending deafness, pale fingers had already closed around the sleeve of his court robes. "Lord Chiedatarō," came the voice, now laced with childhood familiarity, "Chieda-ma. Why flee? How cruel you've become." "No," he protested, "I've urgent business."

Even when he tried to shake her off, Tamamo would not release her grip. "I know not what business you have," she said, "but you all remain under restraint. Do you not find it burdensome to wander about at night without leave?"

Chiedatarō was at an impasse. Of course, no official order for house arrest or confinement had been issued yet, but under these circumstances, house arrest was only to be expected. In his position, he wandered about at night without permission. If he were discovered by anyone, there would be no excuse. He also stood silently for a while. “There, behold,” Tamamo smiled. “What business brings you to this mansion tonight?” “Is it your Master’s errand?”

Chiedatarō remained silent as well. “Hoho, I can guess well enough without your telling.” “That being so, I’ve waited here for you since earlier.” “Though I begged you so desperately the other day to meet me just once, you’ve feigned ignorance until today.” “Do you loathe me so?” “Like Master, do you stubbornly suspect me as some demonic creature?” “Regardless of Master—you who grew up with me since childhood in Yamashina village—why must you doubt me?” “The proof lies in yesterday’s ritual.” “You all united with Master to perform that demon-subjugation prayer—did any wondrous effects manifest?” “What signs could appear from praying or cursing a hundred days for one who was never a demon to begin with? Even a fool could see this.” “The Regent Lord flew into such rage that he ordered Yasuchika and every altar-climbing soul exiled to distant Kikaigashima—it was only my entreaties that stayed his hand, for your sake alone.” “Master may be my foe, but you his disciple are dear to me.” “That fearsome Kikaigashima spewing sulfur fumes day and night—would I send you to such a place?” “Ah, Chieda-ma.” “Does this devotion move you not to pity? Bring you no joy?” “Truly—you cruel, cold-hearted wretch—I’m so aggrieved I cannot even weep.” “Understand me!”

She pressed her face against Chiedatarō’s chest and writhed helplessly as she wept. The man stood silently under the bright moon, still holding the woman. That there had been no word from the Regent Lord until now was because Tamamo had intercepted it from within—Chiedatarō realized this for the first time. Exile to Kikaigashima—a place whose very name inspired dread—even this young man could not help but shudder. Considering he owed his salvation from that fate to Tamamo’s mercy, Chiedatarō found himself unable to coldly thrust her away.

Was Tamamo truly a demonic woman? This doubt sprouted anew in his heart. He had always trusted his master. Yet if Tamamo spoke truth—if she were indeed a demonic being—how could his master—Japan’s greatest Onmyōji—have failed to expose her true nature after seventy days of desperate prayer into which he’d poured his very soul? She had climbed onto the altar of subjugation without a flicker of fear. Should that be seen as the demon’s triumph? Or was it our own error—persisting in futile prayers against someone who wasn’t a demon at all? As these thoughts swirled, darkness abruptly clouded his heart. He no longer knew how to handle the woman he held.

“Are you still doubting me? No—not just you—Master must surely doubt me too. I hear Lord Harima Governor is mercilessly stubborn. Undoubtedly he’ll remain undaunted and attempt a second ritual—such is his fancy. Though I care not for twice or thrice—this piling of sins upon sins—what fate awaits them? The mere imagining wrings my heart. If Master’s dear to you, why not counsel him yourself to abandon this course? Or do you mean to side with Master eternally and curse me as a demon?”

Tamamo placed her hand on the man's arm and gazed up at him resentfully. In her eyes, white dew sparkled and glittered.

III

No matter how much Tamamo tried to persuade him, Chiedatarō had no choice but to fulfill his master’s mission. Though continuing futile prayers time and again and piling sin upon sin was utterly lamentable, he well understood that his Master was not one to heed such admonitions at this late hour. Not only would he refuse to heed admonitions, but he might even disown me as a weak-hearted person. Chiedatarō was also terrified of that.

The foremost problem lay in whether Tamamo was truly a demonic being or not—unless one could definitively ascertain that, one could neither advance nor retreat. Yet Chiedatarō now unfortunately lacked the keen insight required to discern it. He believed in his master yet tried to doubt him. He doubted Tamamo yet tried to believe in her. Tormented by these sorrowful contradictions, he could no longer discern his own position.

The other party seemed to perceive his anguish; covering her eyes, she said slowly.

“I fully perceive your anguished predicament.” “Whether they perform the prayer twice or not ultimately rests on Master’s will alone.” “Even if they fail again and plunge into whatever terrible sins, it will be Master’s own doing in the end.” “I may bear resentment toward your Master, but I owe him no gratitude, no obligation, no connection.” “I care not what becomes of that man—my sole concern lies with you.” “Tell me truly—do you hold Master dearer, or me?” “I must know your essential nature.” “Speak it honestly, I beg you.”

For Chiedatarō, giving that honest answer was the most difficult task of his life. He himself did not clearly know it either. Tamamo waited for his response for a while, but as the man merely kept his head bowed, gazing at their two black shadows cast upon the ground, she eventually let out a low sigh and spoke.

“I see you’ll side with Master no matter what.” “I’ll say nothing more beyond this.” “Join forces with Master and do as you please—pray against me or curse me.” “But—Chieda-ma.” “To the very end, I will always hold you dear.” “No matter what calamity befalls Master, I will strive to save you above all.” “At least remember that much, I beg of you.”

Having declared this, she looked up at the bright moon. Unlike her anguished face illuminated by yesterday's lightning, her pure and divine countenance bathed in tonight's moonlight seemed to harbor a spirit of the moon itself. In Chiedatarō, doubt toward his master welled up once more. Moreover finding himself unable to muster resolve to detain the departing woman, he watched her retreating figure with lingering regret—but when he finally steeled himself to pass through Shinzei's gate, both sleeves were thoroughly dampened by night dew.

Shinzei Nyūdō met with him immediately. When Chiedatarō relayed his master’s message, Shinzei surprisingly agreed quite readily. “Ah, indeed—that is only natural.” “Even should one fail initially, to resolve upon a second prayer at the cost of life itself—this is precisely what one would expect of Yasuchika.” Shinzei too had wished to be thus. Lord Sadaijin likely shared the same sentiment. “Tomorrow I shall go straight to Uji and ensure the Governor of Harima’s earnest request is properly conveyed.” “Still, regarding this recent failure, placing blame solely on the Governor of Harima is most distasteful to us. We had been devising ways to settle the matter discreetly when this occurred.” “If he seeks to perform the prayer a second time, then all the more must we find a way to save him.” “And has there been any word from Lord Regent thus far?”

“There has been no word from Lord Regent.” “That is most excellent. Though His Lordship the Regent is fundamentally a wise man—one who would never issue unreasonable decrees—the truth remains he is presently bewitched by a demon. I too had privately feared what manner of edicts might emerge, but with no word thus far, matters may yet settle more peaceably than anticipated. In any case, Shinzei has taken responsibility. Go and tell Governor Harima to rest assured.”

Chiedatarō knew the absence of any word from the Lord Regent stemmed from Tamamo's intercession, yet he hesitated to state this plainly even before this man. He bowed respectfully and left Shinzei's residence. The moon had grown brighter still, illuminating the willow leaves swaying roadside so vividly each could be counted. When he departed Anejikoji and neared Takakura no Tsuji, barking dogs echoed ahead. Walking onward without heed, their cries now resounded everywhere around him. This was no ordinary growling.

“Bandits?” Chiedatarō wondered as he walked.

However, he was a robust young man. With the vigor of one determined to subdue at least a single bandit, he deliberately advanced into the very center of the crossroads with long strides, and the barking of dogs grew gradually closer. Not just one—they swarmed in from all directions, appearing to surround something.

Before him stood a woman, frozen in place. Though her face remained hidden beneath a deeply drawn hood with her back turned toward him, Chiedatarō immediately realized this was likely Tamamo. She seemed to have still been wandering the area, as numerous dogs bared their fangs while encircling her at a distance. Among the dogs were some as large as bears. There were others roaring like tigers. Yet they appeared to lack even the courage to attack a single unarmed woman, merely raising ferocious growls and barking uselessly at her shadow cast upon the ground.

A frail woman was surrounded by swarming dogs. Even had it been a complete stranger, he could not have turned a blind eye—but all the more so when the one in peril appeared to be Tamamo. Chiedatarō’s heart leapt. He first picked up pebbles from the roadside and haphazardly hurled them at the two or three leading dogs, then boldly rushed over to encircle the woman. Even so, the dogs showed little sign of retreating, remaining one or two ken back as they continued barking with relentless tenacity, so Chiedatarō grew increasingly frustrated. However, since he too carried nothing but a fan, he resorted to picking up whatever small stones and clumps of dirt lay scattered about and hurling them. He drove away the enemies leaping close to attack with his fan.

The dogs’ barking was so fierce that even the capital’s early sleepers seemed startled from their slumber. Small merchant shops along the roadside cracked their doors open a sliver. When they realized it wasn’t bandits but just dogs causing trouble, two or three men emerged from nearby houses carrying sticks. They came to Chiedatarō’s aid and drove off the swarming dogs. As their numbers gradually grew, the hounds were finally scattered.

“You have my deepest gratitude.”

When Chiedatarō expressed his gratitude to the townsmen who had come to his aid and turned to look at the woman he was shielding, she had already slipped away from behind him and withdrawn into the dark shadow beneath a house’s eaves. Chiedatarō called out to her.

“You must have been so frightened,” he said. “I have driven off all those dogs. You may rest easy now.”

The woman silently glided out from under the eaves. While peering at her still deeply veiled figure in the moonlight, Chiedatarō asked. “Tamamo?” He started to speak—then froze. The face glimpsed beneath the veil bore an indescribably ghastly aspect. Her eyes burned with an unnatural upward slant like flames. Her mouth tapered sharply like a beast’s maw. When Chiedatarō steadied his gaze and looked properly, it proved but a fleeting illusion—the moonlit countenance was unquestionably that of the beautiful Tamamo.

“Being surrounded by dogs is terrifying.” “Even men can struggle with such things.” “You weren’t hurt anywhere, were you?” he asked again, edging closer.

Tamamo still remained silent. Seized by unnatural terror, she still seemed unable to draw breath. Chiedatarō requested the townsmen who had come to his aid to bring water from a house. After drinking the water, Tamamo seemed to finally regain her composure, yet she merely offered a silent bow of thanks without a single word passing her lips. After taking his leave of the people, Chiedatarō escorted Tamamo.

“I am indebted to you in many ways,” Tamamo spoke up for the first time along the way. “Last time when that deranged monk seized me and I was in dire straits, you saved me... and now tonight again...” “Above all, tonight’s terror—I felt as though I weren’t truly alive at all.” “Does the Regent’s mansion not keep dogs?” “I utterly detest dogs, so I entreated His Lordship to drive away every last one without exception.”

“Dogs can be quite endearing when tame, but strays that swarm and try to bite people—such creatures are truly detestable,” Chiedatarō said. “Please do not tell anyone that I was walking about at night and troubled by dogs,” Tamamo implored.

“Oh, I won’t tell a soul. “If people were to find out about such a thing, I’d be scolded too.”

“By your master?”

Chiedatarō silently looked up at the moon.

“When I think on’t, ’tis passing strange,” Tamamo sighed. “Though we’ve grown thus close, your Master curses me as his sworn foe—and you being his disciple makes us enemies too. What shall become of us twain, I wonder?” Chiedatarō found himself drawn into that same lonely current. Tamamo spoke once more. “Repetitious though I may sound, your Master’s ruin comes swift or slow. Though the Uji Minister of the Left shower him with favor, he cannot make falsehood wear reason’s cloak. Guard yourself well against being caught in his downfall.”

At the gate of the Regent’s mansion, the two parted ways.

By the time Chiedatarō returned to his master’s residence, the night had grown quite late. Since Yasuchika was still awake and waiting, Chiedatarō immediately went before his master, reported the results of tonight’s errand, and Yasuchika nodded with a smile. “Lord Shinzei’s gracious intentions were as vast as the sea and mountains. “I too feel reborn. “You have accomplished an important task for me, and it was quite an ordeal.” As he spoke these words, Yasuchika’s brows gradually darkened—a change the young disciple failed to notice entirely. Taking pride in having been praised by his master, he quietly withdrew to his room. There were many things he wanted to consider about Tamamo, but being utterly exhausted tonight, he fell peacefully asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

However, when that peaceful dream ended, he was startled by a sudden clap of thunder. When dawn broke, he was summoned before his master and suddenly informed of his expulsion. "I thought you were a promising young man with a future—I myself have devoted every effort to nurturing you until now—but you are possessed by some tenacious supernatural entity." "The deathly pallor that has appeared on your face will not fade by any means." "To say this pains me deeply, as if I were foisting my own sins upon another," he continued, "but there are aspects that make me suspect my failure in this recent prayer ritual may stem from having included you among the five individuals patterned after the five colors." "If you all remain here indefinitely, it will not bode well for me either." "For you especially, it bodes ill." "For now, return to your uncle and try becoming an eboshi maker again as you once were." "Spend a year or two there without incident, and if that calamity appears to have passed, we may resume our former roles as master and disciple." "This is not disownment born of hatred." "In the end, it is because I care for you." "Do not resent me as a cruel master!"

Having admonished him as if making him chew and digest every word, Yasuchika wrapped some money and gave it to him. Chiedatarō felt as though he were in a dream and did not know how to respond. He was moved to tears unbidden.

Eboshi Maker

I

“Regarding the matter from two days prior, even I find recent developments most unexpected,” said Yorichika, his voice blending irrepressible anger with sighs of disappointment as he glared at Shinzei Nyūdō’s composed face across from him. “I had full confidence Yasuchika’s once-in-a-lifetime prayer would not fail, yet it ended in such disgrace... No, an utter disaster.” Shinzei, who had received Yasuchika’s message the previous evening, had visited Uji Minister of the Left Yorichika at dawn that morning. Though he had anticipated the minister’s fury over Yasuchika’s failure from two days prior, witnessing rage that surpassed even his imaginings gave even Shinzei pause. Unable to leave matters unresolved, he adjusted the sleeves of his decayed-leaf brown noble robe and slowly began to speak.

“Regarding that matter,” Shinzei said, “Yasuchika has expressed profound regret and states he must accept whatever punishment you deem fitting.” “Of course he must,” Yorichika retorted. “I intend to strip that wretch of his office and exile him to a distant province. Yasuchika must have prepared himself for this outcome. Even were I inclined to overlook it, my brother the Regent would never grant clemency—not with that Tamamo whispering in his ear. This is an inescapable fate.” His voice dripped with scorn.

“Last night, in fact, one of Yasuchika’s disciples came secretly to this humble one’s residence as his messenger.” “A petition for clemency?” “No—one more demon-subjugating prayer…”

“Hmm,” Yorichika tilted his eboshi. “And what does the Nyūdō make of this?” “If this humble one may venture his foolish opinion, I beseech you to grant Yasuchika’s plea and permit him to repeat the seventy-day secret prayer once more—” Yasuchika’s failure was indeed grave, but even now, throughout this capital—nay, all of Japan—there remained none but him who could fulfill this duty. Since he too—ashamed by this recent failure—must surely devote himself wholeheartedly to devising secret techniques, we should deign to grant his request once more. Having accepted that what could not be achieved could not be achieved, there would surely be further methods to devise. “At any rate, one more time—” Shinzei patiently repeated his argument.

While blinking busily, Yorichika listened intently to the lengthy explanation, then nodded as if he had comprehended. “Very well. I shall hear Yasuchika’s petition and grant it. However, should he fail in this endeavor, he will face grave punishment. Have all those matters thoroughly impressed upon him by the Nyūdō as well.”

“For your swift granting of approval, this humble one and my associates offer our deepest gratitude,” said Shinzei, his brows relaxing as he bowed respectfully.

With this matter now temporarily settled, Yorichika and Shinzei eased into their usual academic discussions. After a while, Yorichika lowered his voice slightly and spoke as follows. “Nyūdō, though brothers may contend within their household walls, they unite to repel external insults.” “Now in this dire hour when an unparalleled demon ravages Japan, seeking to plunge the world into darkness’s abyss, the elder brother persists in envying the younger, ever quick to display hostility.” “How despicable!”

“I humbly suspect this too stems from the demon having burrowed into His Excellency the Regent’s very soul.” “Though we broach this matter with trepidation, Your Highness’s recent conduct…”

“That’s precisely it!” said Yorichika impatiently, leaning forward with one knee. “Even without me stating it anew, you already know all of this. Unlike in the past, he now indulges in arrogance and allows his own authority to swell—can such conduct befit the Regent of the realm? As long as my elder brother does not change his current ways, even if we destroy Tamamo alone, a second Tamamo will surely emerge before long. When a nation teeters on the brink of ruin, evil omens invariably arise—this is precisely that truth. When the regent governing the realm lacks such capability, it is precisely because the nation stands on the brink of ruin that all manner of supernatural calamities emerge. Ultimately, it is not that demons appear and topple the nation—it is precisely because the nation is already on the verge of collapse that demons manifest,” criticized Yorichika. “What say you to this, Nyūdō?”

Shinzei silently gazed at Yorichika's face. This was not a reply he could easily make, he thought. There was indeed a certain logic to Yorichika's argument—it might even be considered valid criticism. Yet considering how his response might irrevocably bind him to Yorichika's faction, he hesitated to voice his opinion carelessly. Yorichika sought to destroy Tamamo while simultaneously attempting to overthrow his elder brother Tadamichi. This intent was unmistakable in his tone. According to Yorichika's reasoning, the demons themselves were mere symptoms—the true root sinner who had summoned them lay elsewhere. That sinner was none other than the Regent himself, his own brother. Even if Tamamo were eliminated, he argued, a second Tamamo would inevitably emerge as long as the brother remained in power. No matter how Shinzei considered it, he found himself cornered by this dilemma.

He had naturally been close to Yorichika from the start. He marveled at his erudition too. Yet he could not let that closeness breed hostility toward Yorichika's brother. He maintained equal familiarity with both siblings - with Yorichika himself and with that elder brother. In broad terms, this served society's interests. More personally, he believed it served his own. His current apparent leaning toward Yorichika stemmed solely from needing to defeat the demon. To destroy Tamamo. Not to nurture discord between Yorichika and Tadamichi. Since their positions diverged on this crucial point, he could not rashly endorse Yorichika's argument. To agree would mean openly allying with Yorichika against Tadamichi - an inevitability he dreaded. As an aged monk long versed in such matters, he deemed such partisanship sheer folly.

Unlike those young court nobles whose sole ability lay in writing poems on small sheets of paper, or those low-ranking officials whose only skill was carrying quivers adorned with tassels, Shinzei Nyūdō, the Lesser Counselor, was recognized throughout society for his vast erudition and great talent. There was no need for him to deliberately form factions, flatter others, or cling to his position. He himself believed that whether Tadamichi emerged victorious, Yorichika emerged victorious, or the brothers destroyed each other, his position would remain secure.

Through eyes fortified by such steadfast confidence, taking sides with either faction seemed nothing but wasted effort. He judged the wisest and safest course to be either mending relations between Yorichika and Tadamichi through studied neutrality, or—should reconciliation prove impossible—quietly withdrawing to observe their strife from afar. Yet recognizing silence would not suffice here, the cunning veteran artfully extricated himself.

“However, since this calamity has already manifested itself, measures to subdue it must take precedence.” “Should the people witness this affliction and sincerely repent, the realm will naturally find peace—there shall be no cause for a second calamity to emerge.”

“That may be so,” said Yorichika, reluctantly nodding. He too did not seem to possess reasoning sufficient to refute that at present.

The two men fell silent for a time.

The kichō screen painted with autumn grasses swayed gently in the midday breeze, and in the beautiful maki-e insect cage placed at the veranda’s edge, a cricket let out a single chirp.

“My Lord. I have just returned.” A shrewd-looking samurai in his early thirties—bearing piercing eyes like his master’s—knelt formally at the veranda’s edge. “Ah, Hyōe. Come closer.” Summoned by Yorichika’s chin gesture, Fujinai Hyōe Tōmitsu lifted the front of his eboshi. He gazed up at Shinzei Nyūdō and performed an even deeper ceremonial bow. “Well? Have there been any notable occurrences within or beyond the capital?” Yorichika asked quietly.

Tōmitsu was Yorichika's trusted retainer, ceaselessly traveling between Uji and the capital to report everything he saw or heard—regardless of significance—to his master as an intelligence officer. Through his reports, Yorichika remained fully informed of the world's affairs without ever needing to leave his residence.

“Her Ladyship Tamamo has deigned to make a pilgrimage to Mii-dera tomorrow.” “Tamamo is making a pilgrimage to Mii-dera?”

Yorichika and Shinzei exchanged glances.

“The Sammon and Mii-dera have been locked in a feud for years.” “By visiting that Mii-dera and inciting the monks, does she intend to stir up chaos in the world?” Yorichika sneered as if seeing through everything. “However, this is a grave matter.” “The Sammon warrior monks won’t just stand idly by and watch.” “Yet another conflict between Sammon and Mii-dera—the more one thinks on it, the more it reveals itself as the height of wretchedness.”

The discord between Mount Hiei and Mii-dera had been a longstanding issue—so much so that during the conflict over establishing an ordination platform, Mii-dera's Abbot Ryōgō had died of indignation, and it was even said his malevolent spirit had transformed into rats. What seeds of calamity did Tamamo the witch intend to sow by making pilgrimage to that Mii-dera? Ultimately, it must be a scheme to incite Mii-dera's monks into opposing Mount Hiei, have them clash with relentless persistence, and thereby bring chaos to both Buddhist doctrine and royal law. As this thought took hold, Shinzei's fierce brows furrowed so deeply they seemed to bite into his face.

"Her evil deeds continue to multiply ever more; we must not let our guard down." "Indeed. We cannot know what further schemes she may yet devise," said Yorichika, gripping the knee of his servant’s hakama tightly. "Now, Nyūdō. We can no longer afford to wait idly for another seventy-day prayer ritual. Have Yasuchika instructed of our intent as well—it is imperative we swiftly devise means to prayerfully subdue that woman."

On this point, Shinzei, of course, was in agreement. “Your words are most wise. This humble one shall also exert every effort to devise means to swiftly destroy the demon.”

II

August 11th was clear. Nevertheless, since the recent heavy rains, even the bright sunlight abruptly took on an autumnal cast, and the midday wind sweeping across the indigo-tinted lake now carried a chill at its edges.

When a blue-threaded ox carriage came to a quiet stop before Mii-dera’s gate, a purple-threaded ox carriage had already been tethered there ahead of it. Behind the later-arriving blue-threaded carriage, attendants placed a black-lacquered stool with heron-leg feet. As the rear curtain rustled softly while being rolled up, Tamamo’s pale face emerged from within. The autumn breeze sweeping through at that moment gently stirred the scarlet silk of her hakama while she alighted from the vehicle with fluid grace—whereupon a samurai who had been standing vigil at the gate strode purposefully toward her. The samurai was Fujinai Hyōe Tōmitsu.

“Are you here to make pilgrimage to Mii-dera?” Tōmitsu inquired with a courteous nod. Among Tamamo’s retinue of samurai were those who recognized Tōmitsu. When they replied that Tamamo came as the Regent’s proxy pilgrim, Tōmitsu’s expression soured as he spoke.

“At present, His Lordship the Uji Minister of the Left is visiting.” “Whoever you may be, kindly refrain from entering the temple grounds for the time being.” Having their path blocked, Tamamo’s attendants grew indignant. As if demanding whether they couldn’t see this blue-threaded ox carriage, they turned back to look at it and retorted. “As we have just stated, this is His Excellency the Regent’s proxy pilgrimage.” “We will not be obstructed.” As if to say, “Must you flaunt only your blue threads? Can you not see these purple ones here?” Tōmitsu gestured toward his own ox-drawn carriage with a jerk of his chin.

“Even if you claim it’s His Excellency the Regent’s ox-drawn carriage, that’s merely a proxy—and a woman at that.” “I trust you can endure a brief delay without undue hardship.” While his words were calm, Tōmitsu stood blocking the ox-drawn carriage with a posture so assertive it seemed he might grab the shafts and push it back. Beside the purple-threaded ox-drawn carriage, in addition to Tōmitsu, seven or eight burly samurai stood at attention. Their chins—so tightly bound by eboshi cords it seemed the strings might bite into flesh—were thrust upward as they glared fixedly in this direction. Among them were those who had already placed their hands upon the hilts of their swords. Their demeanor had been confrontational from the very start. Even though their numbers were equal, Tamamo’s attendants were not as battle-hardened as their opponents. Suddenly confronted with this provocation, they faltered slightly.

At this, both friend and foe alike fixed their eyes on Tamamo herself, awaiting what she might say—whereupon Tamamo at length calmly spoke. "My, my, this is most unexpected news I receive." "If this is a proxy pilgrimage, then the Regent's household holds equal standing. We have no cause to accept restraining directives from your brother, the Uji Minister of the Left." She glanced back at her attendant samurai and beckoned them forward with a flick of her fan. When they moved to follow her, Tōmitsu resolutely barred their way.

“It shall not be permitted. As long as we hold this position, not a single step beyond the gate—” “Do you presume to refuse?” “Enough of this tedium. It shall not be permitted.”

“Is there truly no alternative?” Tamamo’s demeanor grew edged with irritation.

Tōmitsu no longer offered any reply, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon her eyes—when Tamamo, sensing something, abruptly hid her face behind her fan and laughed shrilly. Tamamo raised her eyebrows while casting a mocking glance back toward the temple gate, then once more stepped gracefully into the ox-drawn carriage. When she issued a low-voiced command to turn back, the ox eventually plodded into motion, its shafts heading in the direction of the capital. No sooner had they thought this than a white-feathered arrow came flying, grazing the blue-threaded carriage canopy. Startled by the sound, the attendants whirled around with a gasp—when the second arrow came flying in succession, its black feathers striking down the blue tassels of the rear compartment as it passed through.

“Ah! A long-range arrow!” “This is lawless conduct...!” Tamamo restrained the clamoring samurai from behind the carriage curtain as its large wheels creaked slowly toward the capital. Watching the azure shadow gradually recede into the distance, Yorichika emerged from the temple gate’s shadow. Two bow-wielding samurai followed behind him, both biting their lips in frustration. Having learned of Tamamo’s pilgrimage that day, Yorichika had outmaneuvered her party and lain in ambush since dawn. Acting on his lord’s secret orders, Tōmitsu had deliberately obstructed Tamamo’s path to instigate a confrontation—his plan being to drive off the Regent’s retinue before cutting her down where she stood. At Yorichika’s side waited Fujinai Taro and Fujinai Jiro—elite archers with arrows nocked, prepared to loose their shafts should negotiations fail. Though Yorichika and his bowmen had concealed themselves within the gate’s shadow, Tamamo appeared to have detected them regardless. She offered a mocking smile that seemed to pierce their stratagem before departing with measured grace. Seizing this fleeting chance, the two archers loosed arrows at Yorichika’s command—yet both shots mysteriously veered astray. When they frantically tried to nock second arrows, their bowstrings snapped clean through. The ox-drawn carriage rolled past them with wheels shrieking like derisive laughter.

Having witnessed this terrifying display of supernatural power before their very eyes, both archers and Tōmitsu stood frozen, breath caught in their throats. Yorichika alone seethed with frustration, but it seemed no amount of scolding or encouragement would rouse his retainers from their shock and fear—their spirits had been thoroughly broken. "We kept the demon from setting foot within these sacred gates," he declared through gritted teeth. "That much at least we accomplished."

Having resigned himself to this outcome, Yorichika too returned to Uji. Both the previous rain prayer and today’s ambush—he who had failed not once but twice could no longer keep his composure. He, wary of the demon’s retaliation, had secretly increased the number of night watch guards starting that evening—yet no direct calamity befell them. However, Tamamo had no intention of letting the matter rest peacefully. She returned to the capital and lodged a detailed complaint with Tadamichi regarding the Miidera Temple incident.

“To refuse passage through the temple gate to you who act as Our proxy—nay, to loose arrows at Our retreating back! This defies all words—sheer barbarity!” “That Yorichika has clearly lost his wits.” “Not another moment shall this stand!” “Damn him! Damn him! I’ll grind my brother beneath my heel and reduce Uji’s mansion to wild grassland!” Tadamichi roared, his own voice spiraling into frenzy. “This may be so, yet I implore Your Grace’s momentary forbearance…”

“Will you hold back yet again? Will you shield my enemy...?” “It is not that I shield him.” “Even should those people contrive endless schemes to destroy us, evil cannot triumph over good—those who walk in righteousness shall always receive divine protection.” “Did you not witness with your own eyes the recent rain-summoning prayer?” “If my heart holds true sincerity, even the gods and buddhas will reveal their marvels.” “Then My final thread of forbearance has snapped!” “Even patience and mercy know their bounds.” “Yorichika and I must have been sworn enemies since time immemorial.” “Either I strike down this younger brother, or the elder brother falls—in the end, fate decrees we cannot walk this path together.”

“Then—does this mean you intend to subjugate the Minister of the Left?” Tamamo inquired with feigned unease. “Of course.” “And your allies—” This problem always brought Tadamichi to an impasse. Since withdrawing into seclusion that summer, he had clearly seen his supporters drifting away—evident in the daily dwindling of well-wishers visiting his chambers. Those who turned traitor must all be gathering beneath Yorichika’s banner. The mere thought made Tadamichi’s chest seethe.

“Yesterday’s allies become today’s enemies—such is this trustless world.” “Even were I to proclaim Yorichika’s subjugation, few would rally to my banner,” he declared, heaving a dreadful sigh that seemed to curse creation itself. “Yet precisely because this world turns yesterday’s allies into today’s foes, opportunities abound,” Tamamo countered with honeyed reassurance. “With such fickle souls crowding the court, once our star ascends, yesterday’s enemies will become today’s sworn allies ere dusk falls.” “Truth be told, scarce few among these courtiers possess true mettle.” “Even Shinzei Nyūdō proves himself an opportunistic sluggard.” “Should we but humble Yorichika’s pride through some stratagem, the rest will flip allegiance like palms turned skyward—this much lies plain as day.” “No need for grandiose talk of subjugations or massacres,” she concluded with dismissive elegance.

“What are your thoughts on appointing that court lady?”

“If that is the matter, do not worry—this time it shall surely come to fruition,” declared Tadamichi, allowing a triumphant smile to escape. Last time they had encountered objections from Yorichika and Shinzei, and the matter was ultimately buried in ambiguity—but this time would be different. The miracle of Tamamo’s rain prayer must have resounded even to the heavens above. What possible obstacle could there be to recommending Tamamo? Even if they persisted in their stubbornness to the bitter end, their reasoning no longer held sway. We too possessed splendid reasoning sufficient to scatter their arguments. Tadamichi too came to reconsider: rather than desperately scrambling to gather unreliable allies and madly rushing to destroy Yorichika’s faction, it seemed safer and more effective to recommend Tamamo alone as a court lady and use her power to crush their enemies.

“We have taken responsibility. Relying on Major Counselors and such will get us nowhere. In the coming days, We shall push through Our illness and attend court. If there are any who raise objections, We shall personally refute them. Hah—this time… This time it shall be!” Tadamichi emitted an eerie sound and threw his head back in a high-pitched laugh. Tamamo’s pupils shone with an uncanny gleam.

Three

“Well, Chieda-ma. When did you get back?” The old potter laughed and turned to look. While shifting aside some handmade pots, he ushered Chiedatarō through the narrow workshop entrance. “I’d heard you’d come home lately—why not visit sooner? The old hag died. The house next door where Moe lived got vacated—strangers moved in. In four, five years round here, folks come and go till all the familiar faces vanish. So why’d you leave your Master’s estate? Capital service too rough for you?”

Chiedataro remained silent, gazing at the autumn sunlight streaming through gaps in the bamboo blinds that cast a whitish glow upon the damp earthen floor of the workshop. After a time, he spoke in a subdued voice. “I was disowned by Master.” “Disowned...” The old man’s white eyebrows rippled like waves. “Did you commit some mistake?” “Staying by Master’s side isn’t good for me.” “‘Return home,’ he commanded.” “Why’s that, I wonder?” The old man tilted his head again. “But if Master says so, there’s no helpin’ it.” “So what’ll you do now?” “Your uncle’s been gettin’ on in years too—lately he’d been sayin’ he couldn’t work his trade proper.” “Your comin’ back might be just what’s needed.” “Young folks oughta work hard and show filial duty to your uncle and aunt.” “Y’know.”

“Oh, I’ve been going out to work with that very intention lately.” “Look at that.” He pointed to the front, where a bundle of eboshi-making supplies had been unloaded at the entrance. The old man nodded.

“Oh, good, good.” “You’re not like the Chieda-ma of old—you’ve become a proper young man now.” “What’s more, you’ve got a trade learned since childhood.” “If you work steady without slacking off, you’ll want for nothing.”

Unburdened by worldly cares, the old potter showed a smile that seemed genuinely open as he talked nostalgically about the Chieda-ma of old. Chiedataro too looked around the house with nostalgic eyes, and as he did so—the small kiln now facing him, the large furnace cut into the back, the shelves tilting as if about to collapse—all remained exactly as they had been in the old days, not one bit changed. Even the old potter’s weathered forehead, bathed in the autumn sun, did not seem to have gained any new wrinkles. In the quiet potter’s house of Yamashina Village, it seemed as though the passage of time did not exist. In stark contrast, from the fourth year of Kyūan to the second year of Ninhō—over this span of five years—how had his own circumstances changed? Chiedataro looked back and thought.

He, who was supposed to become an eboshi maker by apprenticing under his uncle, became a disciple of Japan’s foremost Onmyōji master after being cast aside by Moe. Thereafter, he was doted upon by his Master. His future success seemed almost within sight. This fortune did not last long—after chancing upon Tamamo in March, the nearly extinguished flames of emotion blazed anew in his heart. Though admonished by his Master and restraining himself, he tried to keep distance from the woman suspected of demonic nature, yet their karmic ties became strangely entangled, creating multiple seemingly coincidental opportunities to encounter her. Each time he desperately tried to control his strangely agitated heart yet found himself step by step drawn toward her—a progression his godlike Master discerned with piercing clarity—until at last he was expelled with merciful severity. Knowing his Master would no longer accept apologies, he withdrew crestfallen and returned to his old Yamashina home.

When he returned, his uncle and aunt's aged frailty struck him anew. Chiedataro felt a pang of sadness. Rather than scolding their nephew who had come back disowned by his Master, his uncle and aunt welcomed him with such nostalgic warmth that he was moved to tears all the more. Though he had spent five years acquiring learning from his Master's teachings, his current disowned status barred him from practicing that profession publicly. Yet being an able-bodied young man who couldn't idly burden his aging relatives, he resolved to return temporarily to his former trade as an eboshi maker and assist his uncle however modestly. His uncle readily consented. From then on, Chiedataro sometimes accompanied his uncle on business outings. Other times he went alone. As a month passed in this manner, he gradually grew accustomed to the work—leaving at dawn and returning at dusk with coins jingling in his purse—until his elderly uncle and aunt came to rejoice at having their capable breadwinner home again.

This might be my fate. He had lately resigned himself to working diligently while he remained here, resolving to show filial piety to his uncle and aunt. He strove to forget how matters of his Master and Tamamo filled his heart to bursting. As he absently dwelled on those thoughts today, the old man seemed to find the sunlight gradually streaming in too bright. He rose heavily and lowered the rush blind over the entrance.

“Chieda-ma. What’re you pondering?” “Your uncle and aunt must be happy that you’ve returned.” “Having an old acquaintance return makes I’m happy too.” “Drop by like you used to from now on.” "You hear?" “Look at that.” “The persimmon fruits on the gate next door grow larger each year, and this autumn too they’ll surely ripen splendidly.”

“That’s likely so.”

When he stood at this gate, Chiedataro too immediately looked up at the neighboring treetop. Since the fruits were still green, no shadow of the large crow could be seen there, yet he could not help recalling that autumn when he and Moe had chased the hateful bird from those branches together. Prompted anew by the old potter's words, he peered through the rush blind and let out a low sigh. "Time sure does fly by, don't it." "It truly does," Chiedataro replied. The old man continued with a wistful expression, "Four years already since that old hag died."

The death of the old hag who'd been at odds with him—since it seemed to have some karmic connection to Moe—was why Chiedataro casually asked the old man. "Has it been four years since that old hag died?" "That old hag died such a suspicious death—and even now, do we still not know the full circumstances of it?"

In response to the question asking whether there had been any strange occurrences since then, the old man answered thus. “Well, as for anything particularly strange…” "No—there was just once." “Ah, indeed last autumn… I recall ’twas exactly around this time as well.” "You must know of this as well." “In this village, there was a man named Yaigorō…” “When that man passed near Komachi’s Water on a dark night, a beautiful court lady—rare in these parts—was making her way alone through the darkness.” “No—here’s the strange part—a faint light seemed to emanate from her body, so that even from afar her figure appeared dimly floating, or so it’s said.” “Yaigorō, too, overwhelmed by curiosity, stealthily followed her—and the woman’s figure vanished as if disappearing into the depths of that ancient mound’s forest.”

Chiedataro was listening with bated breath.

“Yaigorō shuddered and fled back home.” “The next day when he told the story to the folks nearby—they all just said ’twas strange—and none could fathom the details.” “Then came that very night.” “Yaigorō suddenly died.” “Exactly like my old hag—his throat torn out…”

“What did that court lady look like?” Chiedataro asked hurriedly.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see it myself—just heard the tale from others,” answered the old man calmly. “But mark my words—that must’ve been the ancient mound’s spirit. Yaigorō’s misfortune was stumbling upon it careless-like. Since that scare, not a living soul dares pass near those woods after dark anymore.” “Strange business, don’t it.” “Strange? Terrifying’s more like. You mind yourself don’t catch that curse. The old hag and Yaigorō make fine warnings, don’t they.”

The suspicion that this court lady might be Tamamo suddenly welled up in Chiedataro's chest. If that were indeed the case, then Moe had been cursed by the spirit of the mound, her soul already replaced. Even if her form remained that of the Moe of old, a demon now dwelled within Tamamo's soul. To resolve this doubt, he resolved to haunt that forest nightly from then on, determined to witness the mysterious court lady's form. By making this his achievement, he thought to earn forgiveness for his master's disownment.

Ending his conversation with the old man there, Chiedatarō quickly departed from the place. As he was leaving, when he looked up again at the neighboring persimmon tree's branches, those high boughs spread out widely as if propping up the blue sky, with pale crimson-glossed fruits already hanging here and there like large bells. The face of young Moe and the visage of sophisticated Tamamo fused into one, flashing before his eyes like lightning.

“Business is running late.”

Chiedataro set off toward the capital. Meeting former fellow apprentices and acquaintances had proven too painful, so until now he had not ventured into the capital for business; but having been taught by his uncle that commerce thrived nowhere but in the capital city, and having come to believe this himself, today he resolved to hurry toward the bustling town quarters. His calculations had gone unexpectedly awry, and since the unfamiliar young craftsmen wouldn’t summon him anywhere, he grew terribly disappointed. Even after walking about calling out all day with perseverance, he couldn’t earn a single coin in the capital city.

The early September autumn day drew to a close as abruptly as a blown-out candle, and as the chill western mountain breeze seeped whisperingly through his hemp summer robe, Chiedataro felt his heart grow ever lonelier. While regretting that had he known it would come to this, he wouldn’t have paraded his shameful face through the capital’s streets, he was dragging his tired feet and plodding back when he was called out to at the foot of Rokujō Bridge. “An eboshi maker?” “I have a request.”

When he turned around, there stood a refined samurai nearing sixty years of age wearing a tall black-lacquered eboshi, a hitatare robe dyed pale green on one side and brown on the other, and carrying a long tachi sword at his side. He spoke in a Kantō dialect from beneath his white mustache.

“This humble one has only recently ascended to the capital and remains unversed in its ways—but by appearances, you are an eboshi maker. Will you accept this commission?” “Understood.” There, promptly unloading his burden, the samurai turned to a retainer and commanded him to retrieve the eboshi once shaped, then continued onward without pause.

“I wonder if your hands aren’t too dark there,” said the retainer who had been left behind, peering at Chiedataro’s work.

“No, there should be light enough to shape an eboshi,” answered Chiedataro, his hands steadily working. “So then—are you all from Bandou?” “Oh, we’re men of Sagami,” declared the retainer proudly, still standing barring the way. “My master is Lord Miura no Suke.” “Lord Miura no Suke…” “Then that would be Lord Miura no Suke of Kinusaga.” “I am well aware. “’Tis indeed Lord Miura no Suke who has just come.”

The retainer explained that the commissioner of the eboshi was Miura Governor Minamoto no Yoshimitsu, lord of Kinusaga Castle in Sagami Province. Governor of Miura had recently been summoned from Bandō together with Taira no Hirotsune, Governor of Kazusa, to serve as protectors of Kyoto.

“To shape headwear for such a commander is an honor to my craft,” Chiedatarō said without flattery. “If that’s your view, put your back into it,” said the retainer, wiping his nose with his hitatare sleeve. The Bandō warriors had clearly arrayed themselves in finery for their first capital visit—the indigo scent still hung fresh on their hitatare robes.

Miura's Daughter

I

At that time, Miura’s retainer also recounted such things with evident pride. “My master, Lord Miura no Suke, has a granddaughter named Kinusaga,” he said. “Given he even lets her bear the name of the castle our family has dwelled in for generations, his favor needs no explaining. At sixteen this year, she’s a beauty without peer in all Sagami. Out of grandfather Yoshimitsu’s fatherly love—wanting to show his cherished granddaughter the capital’s ways at least once during this journey—he brought her along on the long trek. And truth be told, even in this flowered capital, few match her loveliness.” He wiped his nose with a hitatare sleeve before continuing. “I’ve been attending my master daily, sightseeing within and beyond the capital walls, yet scarcely have I met a woman as comely as Lady Kinusaga. What sort of creature this much-whispered Lady Tamamo-no-Mae might be, I cannot say—but they claim she’d not shame herself beside our lady.”

Country samurai boasting of their masters was nothing unusual. Yet even hearing only half that tale, Chiedataro could well imagine that Miura’s granddaughter must be an exceptional beauty. The young eboshi maker found his heart fluttering with excitement at the thought of glimpsing that beautiful Sagami woman even once. “Does Lord Miura maintain many retainers?” he inquired. “Twenty retainers total—both high and low—plus Lady Kinusaga and two maidservants in attendance.” “With twenty retainers, there must be need for eboshi.” “And your lodgings are...”

“It’s Shichijō.” “Drop by now and then to check.” “I humbly ask for your favor when that time comes.” Chiedamatsu parted with him after making a promise. When he returned home and told of today’s events, his uncle Da roku, seasoned in trade, said: “That’s the same for everyone—when you’re not well-acquainted with people, business stays thin.” “If they cannot endure this without growing weary, neither craftsmen nor merchants can get by in the world.” “Moreover, that you’ve become acquainted with Lord Miura’s retainers is a stroke of good fortune.” “The Bandō men are generous.” “You must make thorough rounds to their lodgings without fail and turn them into proper clients.”

While still concerned about the ancient mound, having walked all around Kyoto throughout the day, even Chiedataro grew weary and simply went to sleep.

The next day, he rose early and set out for the capital. When he went to Shichijō and was searching for Miura’s lodgings, he happened to encounter yesterday’s retainer. The retainer was wearing a hitatare robe different from yesterday’s. Chiedatarō struck up a familiar conversation and even learned that his name was Kogenji. “If I may say so, your eboshi-making style seems rather rustic for your attire.” “I shall fashion it for you in the capital style.”

He crafted a new eboshi for him. Then he did not accept payment. In return when he proposed that Kogenji guide him to his own lodgings and put in a good word with others about commissioning work，Kogenji readily agreed. “Then come along. The residence is right there.”

It seemed they had appropriated someone’s vacant mansion as temporary lodgings, and though the structure was grand in scale, the interior lay in severe disrepair; in the dim garden, autumn grasses swayed wildly in tangled profusion. In what appeared to be the reception area, seven or eight retainers sat in the warrior’s cross-legged posture. Kogenji introduced Chiedatarō to them and then went back out to the front.

The master was away, and the retainers with nothing to do seemed bored; they listened to Chiedamatsu tell tales of the capital’s famous sites and customs. Among them were also those who ordered eboshi. As Chiedamatsu worked diligently to please them while crafting eboshi, the honest Bandō men came to place immense trust in this unfamiliar eboshi maker, confessing everything to him. Before long, talk of Kinusaga also came up. "I have heard that young lady is renowned for her beauty—is she at your residence today?" inquired Chiedamatsu.

“Oh, she’s in the inner quarters,” said one retainer. “How about it? Would you not care to go to the inner quarters and have an audience?” “As a lady of her station, she cannot go out every day.” “However, as this is her first visit to the capital, she has no particularly close friends here.” “Having only maidservants for company and passing each day in apparent boredom—’tis a pitiful sight to behold.” “If you were to come and regale her with tales of the capital’s novelties, it would surely bring her some comfort...” This was exactly what Chiedatarō had been hoping for. When he earnestly requested an audience, one retainer went into the inner quarters. Before long, he returned with a woman who appeared to be a maid and instructed him to proceed to the garden entrance under her guidance. Led by this guide, Chiedatarō advanced along a garden path overgrown with grass toward the inner quarters. Within a dimly lit room even at midday sat a young woman of divine beauty. Beside her waited a single maidservant.

“I have brought the eboshi maker,” said the maidservant who had guided Chiedamatsu. She left Chiedamatsu at the edge of the garden and, alone, stepped up onto the veranda to sit properly beside her mistress. “It is my first time having the honor of an audience with you.” Chiedamatsu, kneeling on the grass and looking up cautiously, saw a young woman sitting directly before him—undoubtedly Kinusaga, granddaughter of Miura—whose face, though she appeared slightly younger, was the very image of Tamamo. He gasped back his exclamation, leaned forward slightly to peer unceremoniously at her face—and found it so uncannily similar to Tamamo’s that an uneasy chill crept over him. A shape-shifting creature was dwelling hidden deep within this vacant mansion, and he began to suspect that it might be deceiving him.

The midday autumn sun cast a pallid light over the tangled wild grasses, where a few red dragonflies darted about. Silent and looking down while stealing glances at them from the corner of his eye, he listened as the maidservants took turns inquiring about the capital’s famous sites.

It had not been the young mistress’s own consideration that summoned him, but rather the maidservants coaxing her into it—they themselves wanting to relieve their boredom by conversing with a man from the capital. The young lady maintained reserved silence throughout. This left Chiedataro wanting. He burned to draw some utterance from the girl who so resembled Tamamo, yet with only the garrulous maids holding forth, her sealed lips remained obstinately closed. Still, when he recounted how Watanabe no Tsuna had severed the arm of Modoribashi’s vengeful spirit, a faint furrow appeared between her lovely brows.

“Did such strange wonders truly exist?” This was no fragile voice trembling with maidenly fear. A crystalline tone—gentle yet armored with quiet valor. Chiedataro looked up sharply at her face once more; though this Kinusaga’s features mirrored Tamamo’s with uncanny precision, their essential radiance differed fundamentally. Tamamo shimmered with supernatural allure. Kinusaga glowed with mortal refinement. Chiedataro weighed this divergence in his mind—and found his youthful spirit, which until now had acknowledged no woman save Tamamo, pulled toward Kinusaga as if reeled by unseen filaments.

“We found listening to all those stories quite entertaining.” “Come back tomorrow too,” said the maidservants.

“Tomorrow, I shall again come to pay my respects.” After a short while, Chiedatarō took his leave and departed. Then he wandered about the capital city, but today too the people of the capital did not let him conduct any business at all. Still satisfied with having done some work at Miura’s residence, he returned to Yamashina with a light heart.

The next day, Chiedataro rose early again and went to the capital. When he went straight to Miura’s residence, he was told an unexpected story by Kogenji—Kinusaga had been attacked by a supernatural entity the previous night. “I wasn’t there myself, but the maidservants’ account goes like this,” whispered Kogenji, adjusting the cord of his eboshi. “Yesterday at dusk, when Lady Kinusaga stepped near the edge, enraptured by the insects’ song, a shadowy figure emerged like smoke from the thicket of autumn grasses in the garden. In the blink of an eye, it transformed into a beautiful court lady who said in a cool voice while hiding her face behind a hinoki cypress fan: ‘If you linger long in the capital, calamity will surely befall you. Return quickly to your homeland...’” “Yet Lady Kinusaga, born resolute, kept watching without blinking when the court lady spoke again.” Kogenji leaned closer. “No sooner had she declared ‘Heed not my words and your life is forfeit—let there be no regrets when that hour comes’ than from behind that fan emerged a dreadful...visage—whether human, ghost, demon, or beast none could discern—a spectral transformation of such wretchedness as to chill the very world...” “The maidservants covered their faces and prostrated themselves in terror, but Lady Kinusaga gripped her dagger, glaring defiantly. The mysterious court lady laughed—a derisive ‘Hoho!’—before vanishing into the grasses.” He shook his head. “When His Lordship heard this, he declared the mansion a den of shape-shifters and ordered it purged. We scoured every corner with torches—not even a weasel’s shadow remained.” “Strange indeed,” Kogenji concluded. “Since even Lady Kinusaga’s own eyes witnessed it, none can dismiss this as mere coward’s fancy.”

As Chiedataro listened to this tale in a dreamlike state, Kogenji spoke again.

“By His Lordship’s order, I went to Tsuchimikado early this morning and called upon Lord Abe no Yasuchika’s residence.” “Oh, you went to Tsuchimikado? And what did Lord Harima divine?” asked Chiedataro. “As Lord Harima is currently observing a period of seclusion, a direct audience was not possible, but through a disciple’s mediation, he imparted this much: The young lady is afflicted by a supernatural presence. For twenty-one days, she must not go out nor meet with anyone—so it was declared. Given these circumstances, His Lordship has also decreed that those without proper recognition are not to enter within the gates for the time being.” Kogenji tightened his eboshi cord. “’Tis a pity, but you too must refrain from coming and going for now.”

Chiedataro was disappointed. Yet there was nothing he could contest, so after parting dejectedly and leaving the premises, a blue-silk-trimmed ox-drawn carriage creaked quietly past the mansion’s gate. As he passed by it, the carriage’s bamboo blind was slightly lifted, and a woman’s pale face flashed into view. Thinking that face might be Tamamo’s, Chiedataro was about to step back for a better look when, without a sound, the bamboo blind was lowered.

Only the terrifying gleam in the eyes of a woman who seemed to burn with fierce jealousy remained in Chiedataro’s memory.

II

As he walked, Chiedamatsu pondered the strange tale he had heard from Kogenji. There remained the disappointment of having been unable to meet Kinusaga. There lingered too the doubt of who that mysterious court lady might have been. Suspicion first settled upon Tamamo. The owner of the ox carriage encountered before Miura's gate seemed likely to have been Tamamo. Even were it Tamamo, meeting someone along the thoroughfares would hardly be unusual. Yet Chiedamatsu suspected this had been no chance encounter. As he gradually expanded this suspicion, he arrived at the conclusion that the mysterious court lady who had threatened Kinusaga the previous night might indeed have been Tamamo.

Even so, why would Tamamo try to threaten Miura’s daughter? Moreover, judging from Kogenji’s account, her behavior seemed by no means that of an ordinary human. He recalled Tamamo’s dreadful countenance from that night when dogs had surrounded her—the way her features had twisted unnaturally in the torchlight. Yesterday morning came back to him too: the old potter’s description of a mysterious woman visiting the ancient mound, her form shimmering like heat haze over grave soil. Putting these fragments together—the mound-wanderer, the spectral court lady—he became convinced they all pointed to Tamamo. To settle the matter, he resolved to stake out Komachi’s Water that very night and catch sight of whatever luminous figure haunted those grounds.

Today as well, having found no worthwhile business, he returned home earlier than usual. And then, waiting for the night to deepen, he sneaked off to the vicinity of the large cedar forest enveloping that ancient mound. It was a dark night heavy with impending rain, and somewhere in the distance, the cry of a night heron pierced through the low-hanging darkness. He stood lost there for what felt like two hours, waiting for something that would obscure his vision to appear, but returned empty-handed that night.

The next day, he went out to the capital again and stood before the gate of Miura’s residence. Because Kinusaga wanted to know about her subsequent condition, he lingered persistently before the gate when one of the retainers who knew his face came out. When he called out to stop them and quietly inquired, there had been no further supernatural occurrences since then. Kinusaga was also safe. It was said that the Governor of Miura was performing the Toad-Eye Ritual to quell the supernatural disturbances. Hearing this, Chiedataro felt somewhat relieved, but returning without being able to meet Kinusaga still left his heart desolate. He lingered at the gate for a time, gripped by a sensation as if held fast by some unseen force.

Having resolutely left that place, he then set his course toward Tsuchimikado. From Kogenji’s account the previous day, having confirmed his master Yasuchika’s safety, he was suddenly overcome with longing for his master and resolved that even if a direct audience was forbidden, he would at least go to glimpse the residence from afar. He approached the mansion and peered stealthily inside, where the sacred rope stretched across the eaves swayed desolately in the autumn wind. The large paulownia leaves he remembered now lay withered and dried as if gnawed away, rustling dryly with each gust. As he gazed up at them, an indescribable sadness and nostalgia filled his chest until his eyes welled up involuntarily. He involuntarily knelt on the ground and was apologizing from afar to his master for his neglect when, above his head, someone suddenly called his name. When he looked up in surprise, it was his senior fellow disciple Yasutada.

“I had heard from afar that you’d returned to being an eboshi maker,” said Yasutada. “How goes it? Has anything changed?” Hearing his senior brother’s gentle voice after so long, Chiedataro felt his sorrow deepen. He wiped his brimming tears with both sleeves as he replied. “’Tis a blessing you remain unchanged. As one cast out by our master, I’ve no choice but to resume my old trade—though meeting former comrades brings naught but shame.” His voice caught before adding, “And how fares Master?”

“After that as well, he has been devoting himself to subduing the demon,” Yasutada said with a clouded voice. “Scarcely sleeping at night.” “What vexes me most of all,” he continued, “is how that demon grows ever more rampant.” “Do you not yet know? They say Tamamo will finally be appointed as an Uneme.” Recently Regent Tadamichi had formally recommended Tamamo for appointment as a court lady. To this Lord Yorichika remained vehemently opposed—yet Tadamichi stubbornly refused to yield. After all, unlike before, Tamamo had demonstrated her miraculous rain-prayer to all society; her name now resounded even among celestial clouds. Their opponents held this strategic advantage compounded by Shinzei Nyūdō—Yorichika’s sole trusted ally—adopting an uncharacteristically vague stance this time; neither clinging to trees nor grass did he commit himself. Thus their faction’s presence grew ever more tenuous. Even Yorichika—who daily reviled his brother’s scholarly weakness in private—could not openly refute him when facing him in court chambers. Furthermore Lord Tadamichi knew of their attempt to ambush Tamamo during her Miidera pilgrimage with long-range arrows. Given these tangled circumstances he seethed inwardly yet found himself unable to fight freely in open debate. “The momentum among those permitted within palace halls tilts toward their victory,” Yasutada reported regretfully. “It seems certain Tamamo will become an Uneme.”

“It now rests solely on Master’s power,” Lord Minister of the Left also remarked. “Master too—in his day-and-night prayers—it’s feared his very essence might soon be spent.” “You oughta understand we share this burden,” said Yasutada, lips twisting pale. “That’s no simple matter,” Chiedataro sighed like wringing guts dry. “But on that count—I’ve had notions myself. “Here’s how it stands.”

He brought his mouth close to his senior brother’s ear and whispered about that ancient mound and Miura’s residence, whereupon Yasutada listened with wide eyes.

“Hmm, you’ve brought valuable information,” said Yasutada, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Master and we are aware of matters concerning Miura, but we’ve heard nothing of anomalies at the ancient mound.” His eyes sharpened with renewed purpose. “Good—this changes everything. I’ll report this directly to Master.” A rare smile touched his lips. “With this merit, your disownment may yet be pardoned.” He gripped Chiedataro’s shoulder firmly. “Work diligently from here onward. I’m counting on you.” Sharply encouraged by his senior brother’s words, Chiedataro’s wilted spirit suddenly quickened with resolve. He swore to Yasutada that he would uncover the supernatural phenomenon’s truth, then took his leave. No longer could he idle about the capital’s streets—he hurried back through gathering dusk to his Yamashina home.

“Another day of wasted effort?” said his aunt with a laugh, knowing nothing. “But in time, you’ll naturally learn the ways of your trade.” “Just be sure not to grow weary of it!”

Because his good-natured aunt did not even attempt to reproach his idleness, Chiedatarō felt somewhat relieved. Resolving that tonight he must fulfill his duty, he waited for night to deepen with a heart stretched taut—yet finding himself unable to remain still, he left home earlier than the previous evening and sought out the old potter.

“Old Potter.” “I have a small request.” “Will you guide me to Komachi’s Water Forest?” “Show me where exactly the woman who radiated light from her body passed through.” As if deeming this absurd, the Old Potter stared silently at the man’s face for a time before finally waving his hand dismissively, as though recalling something. “That won’t do.” “As I’ve told you time and again—do you not grasp how dreadful the mound’s curse is?”

“No, if I see this through, I’ll rise in station. I’ll have you receive a vast reward as well, Old Potter. How about it? Even so, won’t you grant my request?” “Hmph. Rising in station and rewards mean naught without life. Moreover, I’ve only heard about it secondhand and know naught of the details—no matter how much you ask, how could I possibly guide you there? I don’t know what kind of rising in station that’d be, but you should quit it. You must not go to a place like that.”

No matter how much he pleaded, there was no sign of movement, so Chiedataro gave up and left the place. Tonight, a pale moon illuminated the path ahead, while a cold wind—one might even call it a wintry gale—occasionally swept through, scattering leaves as it passed. Chiedataro hurried toward the forest against that wind. Pressing himself against the shadow of a large cedar, he waited out about two hours just as he had the previous evening, but there was only the occasional sound of fallen leaves tumbling away, and not even a single dog crossed the ground.

"Another wasted night?" He was about to turn back in disappointment when a distant creaking echoed from the capital’s direction—the groan of an oxcart. Peering from tree shadows, he saw a driverless carriage drawn by an ox lumbering toward him through uncertain moonlight. The pale glow barely lit the high canopy, leaving the crawling ox’s shadow and moon-facing carriage side indistinct—so much so that it seemed a wheeled specter might sway forth unaided. Chiedataro tensed, ears sharpened against the cart’s ominous rhythm.

As the cart gradually drew near until even the faint glimmer of its roof’s metal fittings became visible, Chiedataro—unable to wait any longer—burst forth from behind the tree. Just as he tried to discern the cart’s true nature under the uncertain moonlight, mysteriously, its shafts shifted direction. Though no ox driver pursued him, the ox obediently turned around and began plodding back toward the capital from whence it had come. Chiedataro was startled. Startled, his suspicions only grew stronger, and without a second thought, he chased after the cart. He quickly caught up to the slow-moving ox’s rear and, while grabbing the right shaft, boldly flipped up the front curtain—whereupon pale moonlight streamed into the carriage like a dream, faintly illuminating the face of a woman sitting on its floor.

Upon catching a glimpse of that face, Chiedataro froze in his tracks. The occupant of the carriage was Miura’s granddaughter, Kinusaga. How had Kinusaga come to such a place all alone at this hour? Chiedataro gazed in dismay for a while as if doubting his own eyes when the bamboo curtain slid back into place of its own accord, and the carriage began to move once more.

“To harbor love for me is a futile endeavor.” “Resolve yourself.” “If you don’t resolve yourself, you’ll lose your life!”

From behind the bamboo blind came a clear voice.

Three

What prayer? What curse? Particularly since Kinusaga had been forbidden from going out—where could she possibly have intended to venture alone at this late hour without even a single attendant? Chiedatarō could not begin to fathom it. Even more mystifying was how the carriage had abruptly changed course upon catching sight of him. Yet what truly unnerved him was the woman’s voice resonating from behind those bamboo blinds— “To love me is futile.” The words struck Chiedatarō’s chest with visceral force—whether this was love or some other compulsion mattered little now. From that first whisper of her name... from that initial glimpse of her face... his heart had felt itself mysteriously pulled toward Kinusaga’s orbit all along— Unknowingly abandoning its fascination with Tamamo’s bewitching allure for Kinusaga’s refined grace instead— This secret—this unacknowledged truth even he hadn’t fully grasped—seemed laid bare before her who rode within that carriage now— Shame fused with dread into one suffocating weight until all courage deserted him—leaving only stone-still paralysis as he watched darkness swallow that receding silhouette whole—

Could the carriage's owner truly be Kinusaga? Or was she actually Tamamo after all, through some misperception of his? Kinusaga's face and Tamamo's face, Kinusaga's voice and Tamamo's voice—they became entangled as one, until Chiedataro's confused mind could no longer distinguish between them. No matter how he thought about it, there was no way Kinusaga would come here at this hour. As it increasingly seemed this was indeed Tamamo, he grew determined to ascertain her true form once more, but when he boldly attempted to pursue her again, his stepping foot was abruptly pulled back. His sleeve had been firmly seized by someone.

“Wait, Chiedataro!” Even in this situation, he immediately recognized it as his master’s voice. When he frantically twisted around, the one gripping his sleeve was his senior disciple Yasutada. Beside him stood Harima Governor Yasuchika.

“Chiedataro.” “You’ve performed admirably,” said Harima Governor Yasuchika, looking down at his disciple kneeling at his feet. “There’s no need to pursue further.” “I have confirmed its true nature.” “Having heard your petition through Yasutada, I personally went to investigate.” “You instructed me well.” “I am profoundly grateful.” “With this, all true forms stand revealed.”

The master's tone seemed deeply satisfied, but his disciple couldn't quite grasp it. Chiedataro timidly asked, "And who might the occupant of that carriage be?" "What did your eyes perceive?" "That is unmistakably Tamamo." "Is it Tamamo?" "If not her, who did you take it for?" Yasuchika said with a meaningful smile. "To think it's Miura's daughter would be a grave delusion."

Chiedataro was threatened anew. It seemed his master could see right through to the depths of his heart, so he hunched there small with his head hung low, as though pressed down by a heavy stone.

“The night has deepened,” said Harima Governor Yasuchika, gazing up at the shadowed moon’s eclipse. “I shall return to the estate at once. “Chiedataro, attend me.”

Even without any formal pronouncement, his expulsion had been lifted through this. Chiedataro rejoiced as if resurrected and accompanied his master back to Kyoto alongside Yasutada. Immediately upon returning, Yasuchika summoned two additional outstanding disciples into the inner chambers besides these two. They were all men who had presented ritual wands at the riverside prayer.

The master instructed his four disciples. “Through Chiedataro’s appeal, all has become clear. The mysterious woman who nightly visits that ancient mound has been conclusively identified as Tamamo. My judgment tells me the spirit haunting that mound has taken residence within the maiden called Moe, unleashing calamity upon this world. Therefore, as I intend, at dawn’s break we shall petition Lord Uji Minister of the Left and erect a subjugation altar around that ancient mound to renew our demon-quelling prayers. Remember—to drive out birds, one must first burn their nests. This time, our prayer shall be of paramount importance! Let there be not a moment’s negligence!”

Illuminated by the lingering light of dawn, Harima Governor Yasuchika's face appeared awe-inspiringly divine. Even his visage, emaciated from days of ceaseless prayer that recognized neither day nor night, now blazed with radiance. The four disciples withdrew from their master's presence in profound reverence—yet within Yasuchika's chambers, a bright lamp burned undiminished until daybreak. The disciples had scarcely returned to their rooms and begun to doze when their master's voice rang out. "The night has already broken!" "Yasutada—make ready at once for Uji." "Go swiftly!"

“Understood.” Yasutada immediately sprang up and left the mansion. Normally, this errand would have been assigned to him, so Chiedamatsu saw Yasutada off at the gate with something akin to envy. The east had only just begun to pale when Yasutada tramped forward powerfully through the deep shadows of mist that filled the land—a sight that seemed truly brave and reliable, stirring in Chiedamatsu a kind of tense feeling. Since people of this era traveled on foot to and from Kyoto and Uji, and it was perfectly clear that the return would be late, Chiedamatsu thought he wanted to return once to Yamashina until he came back.

"Since I left last night without returning, my uncle and aunt must surely be worried. I wish to return by day and explain this situation to them, but…" he requested before his Master.

“That is only natural. Be sure to properly inform your uncle and aunt.”

Having received his master’s permission, Chiedamatsu left the Tsuchimikado mansion. Along the way, he was once again assailed by an unfounded doubt. I had doubted it myself, and my Master did declare it with certainty—but was the carriage’s occupant truly Tamamo? The woman’s face he saw did seem to resemble Kinusaga’s, and yet no radiance whatsoever emanated from her body. Of course, while thinking that in this situation he must trust his master’s discerning eyes over his own, he nevertheless turned his steps toward Shichijō to dispel the lingering doubts that refused to vanish.

When he went to the Miura residence and met with the retainer to inquire, just as yesterday, he received the same reply—that nothing had changed since then.

“Did the young lady perhaps go out secretly somewhere last night?” Chiedataro tentatively probed. “Not at all—this is a time for restraint. Besides, where would she go in the dark of night?” the retainer replied, dismissing the matter from the start.

Hearing this, Chiedataro felt relieved. He no longer needed to doubt. That he had mistaken the carriage’s occupant for Kinusaga was his own delusion—she must have been Tamamo after all. Yet her words—“There’s no need for you to love me”—eluded his understanding. Hadn’t Tamamo herself been pressing closer all along, demanding they meet successfully? Whether this constituted true love mattered little—her declaration that she would take his life unless he abandoned his feelings chilled him utterly. Chiedataro turned the problem over from every angle.

The mysterious court lady who appeared at the Miura residence had told Kinusaga to return swiftly to her homeland. The enigmatic woman from last night had commanded me to abandon my affections. When weaving these threads together, Tamamo must have grown jealous of my heart's pull toward Kinusaga, devising myriad stratagems to intimidate her while simultaneously attempting to daunt me. Last night too, she had likely shown me Kinusaga's form and mimicked her voice to unsettle me.

As I gradually pieced it all together, Tamamo was undeniably a creature of dark magic. There was not the slightest room for doubt left. Chiedataro mustered all the courage he could summon and resolved that he must destroy the terrifying demon together with his master. He raised his manly brows, gazing up at the high, clear sky as he walked, trampling the earth with the same powerful strides Yasutada had shown that morning. His uncle was out on business and not home. After meeting his aunt and briefly explaining the reason for his disownment being pardoned, Chiedatarō immediately returned to the capital. When he returned to the Tsuchimikado mansion, Yasutada had already arrived back before him. Yasutada had encountered Yorichika on his way to Uji and been given a ride in an ox-drawn carriage.

“We have finally resolved to perform the final prayer toward that ancient mound tomorrow. His Lordship the Minister of Left commands its excavation. That suffices. In any event, tomorrow holds grave import. Do not falter,” Yasuchika solemnly proclaimed. “Chiedatarō—by your service in this endeavor, I shall enroll you among the prayer officiants.” Chiedatarō choked back tears as he thanked his master’s benevolence. That very night, he dreamed an ominous dream.

He found himself walking through an unknown expanse of grassland with the granddaughter of the Governor of Miura. Wild chrysanthemums and bellflowers bloomed riotously around them as autumn butterflies fluttered about their path. Hand in hand they walked through this tranquility until - as if some hidden pit lay concealed in the grasses - Kinusaga's form suddenly sank away like vanishing mist. In her place, Tamamo's figure materialized with vivid clarity. "Even should you try to turn your heart toward Miura's daughter, it shall never take root," she declared. "You and Moe share a bond forged in lives past. However fiercely you might oppose me, this chain that binds us cannot be broken. Though we part now, our paths will cross again in time." Her finger pointed toward a sinister-shaped stone deep in the grasses as she concluded, "Remember this well."

She pointed at a large, sinister-shaped stone deep in the grass and vanished. Chiedataro's dream ended.

When dawn broke, he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest, and neither broth nor rice seemed able to pass down his throat. However, as today was a crucial day, he forced himself to rise early and joined the other disciples in preparing for the day's prayer ritual. Since Yasuchika, being under confinement, found it ill-advised to walk through the capital's streets in broad daylight, he rode in an ox-drawn carriage dispatched by Yorichika, its blinds lowered on all sides, and departed the residence stealthily. The other disciples pulled their hats low and followed after.

Under Yorichika’s command, the Genji samurai had formed a strict cordon around that forest. Among them stood Miura Governor Yoshimitsu, clad in a magnolia-patterned hitatare with navy silk underbelly wrap, gripping a nakagurofuji bow at the ready. This being the Miura faction’s first duty since their capital arrival, both he and his retainers brimmed with martial resolve. Kogenji tightened the new eboshi cord Chiedataro had folded and leveled his great nagamaki blade.

Through the imposing security cordon, Yasuchika's group entered the dim depths of the forest even at midday. The obstructive standing trees had been cut down by the samurai, and there a prayer platform stood erected. The overcast autumn sky hung low, and in the forest, not a single bird's cry could be heard. The four who ascended the platform matched those from the Kawahara prayer. They wore ritual robes patterned after the five colors once more. Yasuchika’s form stood white among them. Before the circular ancient mound buried under fallen leaves, the prayer ritual began at the Hour of the Horse—yet as it continued unceasing into night, bonfires were lit around them. The night wind stealing through trees made flames sway and flare; just when you thought it had plunged the five-colored shadows into darkness, they would blaze forth again with terrifying intensity. Guards and grasses and trees alike held their breath awaiting this ferocious prayer’s outcome—until when a treetop-shaking night wind violently swept through around the Hour of the Boar, the long-silent ancient mound began trembling like an earthquake.

It was at this moment. Yasuchika, who had been seated at the center of the platform, suddenly rose up. Raising high the white ritual streamer he had held to his forehead, he hurled it toward the mound with a resounding impact. The great mound shook violently once before splitting cleanly in two, like a pomegranate cleaved by a blade.

Killing Stone

I

That very night.

A great number of ladies-in-waiting had gathered at the Regent’s mansion, where a poetry mat gathering was being held with Tamamo-no-Mae at its center. The moon tonight—which was said to herald tomorrow’s Thirteenth Night—shone like a pure white gem, so vast that even this spacious mansion seemed to shrink and sink into insignificance beneath it, while the autumn night’s great sky stretched clear and high to the farthest reaches of a thousand leagues. Tonight’s theme was one called “The Moon Does Not Lodge.” Even Horikawa, Aki, and the literary ladies of Kōdaishin—renowned as the foremost poets of their time—showed their bowed white necks as they bent over in contemplation of this challenging theme. The gathering was devoid of even a single cough; only the faint sound of weakly chirping crickets, choked with sorrow at the base of the true hedge, could be heard. The silence was broken by Tamamo’s sigh.

“The more I ponder it, the more this proves a difficult challenge.”

“That is indeed so,” responded Horikawa to her voice, raising a face etched with worry. “Lord Regent is a cruel man indeed. To think he would torment us with such an impossible challenge...” “Yet if it comes to this,” declared Tamamo, “a woman’s resolve demands it.” “We must find a way to compose one somehow, mustn’t we?” said Aki, furrowing her brow.

From the veranda’s edge came sudden laughter. “Haha! Do you name me cruel?” “If poets worthy of the Kyūan Hundred Poems falter at such trifles, what whispers will reach posterity?” The women turned as one toward the newcomer, their starlike eyes gathering upon him—their master Tadamichi. He had set this impossible theme before them earlier before retreating to his chambers. Now returning at what he deemed the perfect moment, he threw back his head in irrepressible mirth when he saw neither poetry cards nor slips bore a single brushstroke’s mark.

“How about you, Tamamo?” “I too find myself unequal to the task,” Tamamo replied with an abashed expression. “If even Her Ladyship Tamamo cannot compose such verse, how could we lowly ones hope to succeed?” Horikawa declared in utter resignation. “Now now—though Tamamo falters, that grants no license for you all to surrender! This smacks of cowardice!” Tadamichi laughed again.

Yet deep within Tadamichi’s heart festered an irrepressible satisfaction and pride he could scarcely contain. These women had all preceded Tamamo in court service, their literary talents celebrated since years past. Thus from jealousy toward Tamamo had none truly opened their hearts to her until now. But since her rain prayer—and now with her imperial appointment finally decreed—all clamored to bask in her shadow. Though Tadamichi knew well this worldly habit of clinging to rising stars, he found himself unable to scorn them for it. He willed himself to see goodwill in their actions—to believe these accomplished women had at last set aside their pride to pay homage at Tamamo’s hem. This conviction had moved him to host tonight’s poetry gathering with Tamamo as mistress; seeing every lady-in-waiting arrive promptly and bow before her youthful brilliance filled him with a novel delight he’d not felt in recent memory. The melancholy that had gripped him since summer lifted like morning mist, leaving his spirit as vast and luminous as the autumn night sky arching above.

“Tamamo, how about it? “Everyone insists so vehemently. If you would but take up the brush first on that short strip...” “We shall recite it.” “Hurry and write.” Tamamo still leaned forward contemplatively, but soon began murmuring the opening lines in a low voice. The pond meant to lodge it lies buried under fallen leaves—

After uttering just this much, she suddenly caught her breath. She raised the corners of her eyes as if being hoisted upside down, sprang to her feet, and slipped out to the veranda's edge. The bright moon—unnoticed until now—suddenly darkened its glow, while the heavy sky loomed dark and low as though intent on crushing this world beneath its weight. Those who had taken pride in posing the difficult challenge and those vexed by its demands alike now strained their eyes as if belatedly awakening to gaze upon the darkened sky and vast shadowed garden. The insects hushed their voices, making no sound.

Tamamo stared fixedly at the dark sky that seemed to increasingly press down, and Tadamichi too came near the edge, observing the same ominous signs of the night. “Ah, it seems a night storm will soon blow in,” he said. “On the evening of the spring flower banquet as well, I saw this same ominous color in the sky.” His prophecy did not go unfulfilled. No sooner had a weak bolt of lightning streaked through—tingeing the sleeves of his court robes with a pale blue—than a tremendous storm came roaring in, shaking every blade of grass and tree in the garden all at once. The large mansion shook violently like an earthquake, so Tadamichi nearly lost his balance and grasped Tamamo’s hand.

“This may well be the work of a specter. Do not stand so near the edge and court disaster.” Pulled back, Tamamo staggered to her original seat. As if terrified by some unseen force, she buried her pallid face in both sleeves and pressed herself against the floor. The night storm appeared to subside momentarily, yet the oppressive sky continued its descent, dark and heavy as though some monstrous presence might crash down upon the mansion’s roof at any instant. “Guards! Inside at once!” Tadamichi shouted in a booming voice. “Hurry within!”

The night watch guards came running and gathering in scattered groups along the garden path. Among them stood out Kumetake—a warrior of formidable strength recently summoned from Tsukushi—as he crouched in the front garden with a large axe gripped tight.

“It’s a dreadful night—do not slacken your vigilance,” said Tadamichi. The women stiffened their bodies and huddled together in one place; not a single person made a sound. Then lightning that threatened them flashed again, snatching the lamplight from the room only to make the surroundings brighter. No sooner had this happened than an indescribable eerie odor—like that of a woman’s black hair burning—welled up from nowhere, seeping into the nostrils of the silent crowd.

“Ah, Lady Tamamo is…!” Kumetake shouted, rearing up from beneath the floor. Tamamo was trembling as though she had drunk poison. Her long hair stood on end like thousands of enraged vipers, tossing wildly about. Tadamichi also called out in alarm. “Tamamo. “Do not be so afraid. “We are also here. “The stalwart warriors are also stationed nearby!”

She did not answer at all. Or perhaps she was unable to answer at all. She writhed in apparent agony as though her very bones and flesh were burning away, making no attempt to lift her face again. “Tamamo! Tamamo!” Tadamichi shouted again. The night storm roared down once more, extinguishing both the lamps in the room and the warriors’ torches in an instant—and then, from Tamamo’s agonized, writhing form, a strange light burst forth and blazed. It was no different from the mysterious phenomenon displayed on the evening of the Flower Banquet. In that light, Tamamo straightened up abruptly. From within her wildly disheveled hair emerged the ghastly anguish of her face—Tadamichi involuntarily shuddered and averted his eyes. Then she, making a great wave ripple across her supple shoulders while exhaling faint white breath like flame, glared fiercely about her surroundings before staggering unsteadily out toward the veranda edge. Kumetake, raised in Tsukushi, indeed recognized her as a demonic being; without hesitation, he readjusted his axe and planted one foot on the veranda’s step—and in that very instant. A blindingly intense bolt of lightning suddenly flashed forth, and his figure was hoisted high into the air like a nestling seized by an eagle.

The world turned pitch black as if reverting to primeval darkness, and the earth cracked and groaned like it had been struck by lightning. Tadamichi's vision dimmed as he pressed himself to the ground. The women gasped and collapsed unconscious. While the warriors too lay prone with covered faces, Kumetake's corpse came plummeting down from black clouds into the garden's edge. His body had been ripped apart between the thighs.

The people who had been terrified by this eerie phenomenon finally began to breathe again as if returning to life, though only after a brief moment had passed. When the torches flared back to life and Kumetake's ghastly corpse was laid bare before all, some of the fainter-hearted women collapsed into unconsciousness anew. Tadamichi too found himself wordless for a span.

Tamamo’s figure vanished without a trace.

“A messenger from Lord Uji Minister of the Left!”

It was Fujinai Hyōe Tōmitsu, a retainer of Yorichika, who arrived on a swift horse at the mansion’s gate. He had rushed from Yamashina to the capital immediately to ascertain Tamamo’s condition. Summoned before Tadamichi, he reported the results of that day’s prayer ritual. Startled by the succession of supernatural phenomena, Tadamichi let out a deep sigh. “Ah, so the ancient mound split in two,” he said. “And what was buried at its base?” “Human bones, mirrors, swords, magatama beads—none of these were found,” Tōmitsu explained. “Only one unglazed jar appeared.”

“An unglazed jar…” “When we smashed it open and examined it, inside was concealed a bundle of long black hair.” “A woman’s?” “It goes without saying." "Yasuchika burned that black hair in fire and then attempted a secret prayer.” “Ah, so that’s it,” Tadamichi nodded as if something had occurred to him. “Along with that black hair being burned away, Tamamo’s form must have vanished as well.”

By then, the clouds had gradually thinned, and in the overcast sky, two or three autumn stars began to twinkle.

II

There was naturally no way to ascertain Tamamo’s whereabouts. She had likely grabbed Kumetake and flown far off into the distant sky. In any case, since the sorceress had vanished from sight, Yorichika’s faction raised a victory cry and celebrated. Abe no Yasuchika was promoted to Junior Third Rank for his unparalleled achievement in dispelling the demonic entities. “Yasuchika has now fulfilled his duty as well.”

For the first time, he faced a mirror and was startled to find his sideburns and beard had suddenly turned white. Moreover, this was the honor of his lifetime and renown for future generations.

The mansion gates that had remained closed until now were thrown wide open from the following morning, and celebratory crowds came flocking before the entrance.

Amidst the bustling mansion, there was a young man sitting alone in deep dejection. That was Chieda Tarō Yasukiyo. He had been struggling with sudden chest constriction since that morning, yet forced himself to participate in the prayer service. When the prayer service ended, he collapsed in exhaustion as if his soul had departed. The next day too, his chest still felt tightly constricted, and even broth would not pass down his throat. "It's because your strained nerves have relaxed." "Calm yourself and get some rest," said Yasutada, his senior disciple, as he kindly tended to him.

The tension had eased—yet he felt this wasn't the whole truth gnawing at him. That the demon had vanished—this should have brought unalloyed joy—yet Chiedatarō mourned how Moe's beautiful form had utterly disappeared from the world alongside it. Now matters stood thus: even knowing she'd harbored a demonic essence, he wished he could have preserved that semblance of womanhood called Moe a while longer. Abrupt longing for her pierced him. Though meant to quell worldly calamities, he now regretted having rashly divulged the ancient mound's secret to his senior disciple. Foolishness acknowledged yet unheeded—still he yearned for Moe. He yearned for Tamamo who'd borrowed that guise.

To soothe this endless mental anguish, he resolved to visit Miura’s daughter. On the afternoon of the third day after the prayer service, when Chieda Tarō sneaked off to Shichijo and stood before the gate of Miura’s lodging, he received an unexpected report from Kogenji.

"You still don’t know? Lady Kinusaga passed away the night before last." “Lady Kinusaga has passed away—”

Chieda Tarō was so shocked he couldn’t utter a sound. According to Kogenji’s account, around the Hour of the Boar on the night of the prayer service—at nearly the same time Yasuchika burned that black hair in fire—she had suddenly passed from this world. Since all the men of the mansion had accompanied their master to Yamashina Village and were away, the exact details remained unclear, but the maidservants whispered that at that time, the mysterious court lady had once again appeared in the garden.

“Therefore, we suspect Tamamo took advantage of our lord’s absence to curse Lady Kinusaga.” “When that witch reveals her true form and flees, she claims those she despises.” “This seems plausible enough—but why bear such hatred toward Lady Kinusaga? That remains unclear.” “The lord’s grief defies measure—even strangers find it pitiful to behold.” “Had they known this fate, they’d never have brought their precious granddaughter to the capital—such condolences can’t be called unreasonable,” said Kogenji, his voice thickening.

Chieda Tarō was seized by fresh grief. Why Tamamo had taken Kinusaga's life was something no one could possibly comprehend—yet he could not claim complete ignorance. Tamamo's terrifying jealousy—he found himself unable to dismiss the notion that this had been the root of the calamity. In a sense distinct from regretting Governor Miura's decision to bring his granddaughter, he deeply rued having frequented Miura's lodgings. He recalled the mysterious dream from the prayer ritual's eve with renewed vividness.

“When I think of it, it truly is a heartrending matter,” Chieda Tarō said, blinking his moistened eyelids. “I can well imagine the feelings of those involved. We humbly offer our condolences—please kindly convey them to Lord Miura as well.”

After parting with Kogenji, he returned to the Tsuchimikado mansion with a heavy heart. Nevertheless, as days passed, his vigor gradually recovered. As he watched his master and the other disciples' radiant faces, his knotted chest began naturally loosening.

About ten days later, having obtained his master’s permission, he went to Yamashina where both his uncle and aunt rejoiced at his success. At the same time, he was told here something entirely unexpected. "Your old acquaintance—the potter—has died suddenly," his uncle whispered with a look of pity. "Oh—that old man has died?" Chieda Tarō was startled anew. "It happened precisely on the morning after that prayer service. "When neighbors grew suspicious that this early-rising elder still hadn't opened his door even as the sun rose high, they peeked through a crack in the wall. There he lay—half-emerged from his paper quilt, hands still grasping at empty air..." "Ah—he was a good man, wasn’t he?"

“He truly was a good man,” echoed Tarou with a heavy sigh. Yagoro—who had reportedly seen a woman making nocturnal visits to the ancient mound—had his throat torn out by some creature and died. The old potter who had told Tarou about this also perished on the same night as Miura’s granddaughter. Connecting these events filled him with an overwhelming dread. Centered around Tamamo—that woman—griefs and horrors once more pressed like a stone against Tarou’s chest. He left wildflowers at the old man’s grave before returning.

It was the beginning of the following month.

An urgent report arrived in the capital by express horse from Nasu Hachirō Muneshige, a resident of Nasu in Yashū. From mid-September onward, a white-faced golden-haired nine-tailed fox had appeared in Shinohara of Nasu, preying on passing travelers as a matter of course while terrorizing nearby households—slaughtering every human and animal it encountered on sight. Muneshige promptly gathered his men and conducted several fox hunts, but this supernatural beast with divine powers kept appearing here and there in hiding, proving completely beyond their control. In the end, they resolved to report the matter directly to the imperial court. Yorichika immediately summoned Yasuchika to divine, and it became clear that this golden-haired nine-tailed demon beast was indeed Tamamo in form. Tamamo had flown off to the Eastern Provinces and made Nasu Moor her hiding place.

“I fear Muneshige alone cannot prevail.” “While this humble one remains in the capital to attempt another subjugation ritual, may Your Lordship dispatch suitable warriors from both the Genji and Heike clans to the Eastern Provinces. Let them join forces with Muneshige to exterminate the demon beast,” Yasuchika proposed with due deference.

Since Tamamo’s true form had been revealed, Regent Tadamichi had lost all face in society. Dainagon Moromichi also resigned from his official post, citing illness. Particularly in Tadamichi’s case—having been beguiled by a demonic being and recommending her for the position of court lady—the responsibility became all the more grave. He too resigned from his position as Regent and withdrew into seclusion at his mountain villa in Katsura Village. Therefore, the court at that time was under Yorichika’s control. Yorichika, having accepted Yasuchika’s counsel, was in the process of selecting suitable warriors from the Minamoto and Taira clans when Miura Governor Yoshimitsu—upon hearing of this—became the first to offer his services.

Miura was born in the Eastern Provinces. Though advanced in years, he excelled in the art of bow and arrow. Moreover, he had lost his most beloved granddaughter to the demon’s clutches. Considering these circumstances, the court’s deliberations unanimously agreed to select him. Yorichika had intended to command him alone, but given that the Minamoto and Taira clans stood side by side, an argument prevailed that to maintain balance of power, a suitable warrior from the Taira must also be selected to counterbalance Minamoto’s Miura—thus leading to the selection of Hirotsune from the Taira. Hirotsune was still twenty-nine years old and had also been born in the Eastern Provinces.

Governors Miura and Kazusa promptly made their preparations and hurried down to the Eastern Provinces. Yasuchika once again prepared a subjugation altar within his mansion. Yasutada and the other disciples also ascended the platform. Chiedamatsu was naturally counted among them as well, but strangely, his spirit had slackened, and he found himself utterly unable to maintain the same tense mood as before. He had grown weary of the daily solemn prayers. It was a day in late October, when the month was nearing its end.

In the capital, winter had descended as if rushing in all at once, with days of sunless, penetrating cold lingering endlessly. Just when this morning had shown a rare stretch of clear blue sky, shower clouds appeared from nowhere, and large hailstones began scattering down. Chiedatarō wondered whether this same hail was striking the gauntlets of Miura and Kazusa as they hunted day after day in Shino Plain of Nasu. He pondered too the fate awaiting Tamamo - how she would soon be pierced by their arrowheads. While his mind wandered through these thoughts, his prayers naturally grew lax. This carelessness immediately caught his master's notice.

“Chiedatarō.” “Today is an important day.” “You are unworthy.” “Leave.” Yasuchika severely scolded him and drove him off from the prayer platform. And then he had another disciple named Yasufuji take his place.

It was the Hour of the Sheep (2 PM) that day. Yasuchika collected blue, yellow, red, and black streamers from his four disciples, bundled them together with his own white streamer, descended from the platform, and stepped out to the veranda's edge. Amid the hail that now rattled down, he gazed up at the sky over the Eastern Provinces and cast all five-colored streamers aloft at once. Four danced through the air before falling back into the garden, but the single white streamer soared endlessly across the high heavens like a white bird in flight.

Yasuchika leapt up and watched its course. “Where that streamer fell, the demon was surely sealed.” It was precisely this day at this very hour. Miura and Kazusa hunted through the hail in Shino Plain of Nasu and shot down the golden-haired fox. Miura's black arrow pierced the fox's neck. Kazusa’s white arrow pierced its flank. The report was conveyed to the capital by express horse a mere five days later. Harima Governor Yasuchika once again regained his honor. However, due to repeated mental strain, he was bedridden with illness for about ten days afterward. During one evening of that period, Chiedatarō slipped away from the sickbed where he had been nursing and disappeared without a trace. After recovering from his illness, Yasuchika learned of it and instructed his disciples with a sigh.

“He has likely wandered off to Nasu Moor.” “The sign of the supernatural never fades from his countenance.” “Even should we try to save him, salvation remains beyond reach.” “This too is an inescapable karmic destiny.”

The disciples no longer attempted to search for his whereabouts.

III

“That fox had a face white as snow, its torso and legs’ fur shining like gold, and its tail split nine ways—so they say.”

The traveler, around forty years old, furrowed his brow and spoke fearfully. The young traveler listening in silence was Chiedatarō. The traveler telling this tale was a gold merchant who had returned from Mutsu Province.

The waters of the great Tone River had thinned with winter's approach, endless riverbed stones glistening white beneath the azure sky. Two travelers sat perched on those stones, leaning against the warm daytime shadows at their backs. "If such a fox truly existed... it wouldn't be easily hunted down," Chiedatarō murmured as if to himself. "For over seven days they couldn't find its hiding place," the gold merchant continued his tale, "until that afternoon when dark clouds kept rolling in from morning onward, pelting large hailstones." "Out of nowhere came a white ritual streamer flying through the air - plunged deep into a thicket of pampas grass. Then a wind fierce enough to flatten men and horses burst forth, and from that grass emerged the fox." "Governors Miura and Kazusa gave chase like hounds after game, shooting it down - but the malice clinging to it was terrifying." "They say no sooner had their arrows struck it down than the fox's form turned to stone right there."

“Turned to stone,” Chiedatarō’s eyes widened.

“Oh, it became a stone of strange form,” nodded the traveling merchant. “No—that’s not all. Those who draw near to that stone’s edge are instantly blinded and collapse. Beasts perish just as swiftly. Even birds flying through the sky—should they pass above it—die and plummet.” “Is this certain? Is it truth?”

“Why would I lie? I passed through that land myself and heard every detail from the locals. They call it the Killing Stone—so feared that none dare approach. Human corpses, animal bones, and bird wings lie piled high around it, they say it looks just like a dreadful graveyard. If you’re journeying to Mutsu, take care when crossing Nasu Moor. Even if you forget all else, never go near that Killing Stone!”

“I’ve never heard such a terrifying story before,” said Chiedatarō, sinking into deep contemplation. “So does a soul remain within that stone?” “A dreadful grudge dwells within it,” replied the merchant. “Everyone says so. Even a seasoned traveler like me felt my hairs stand on end when hearing that tale—I dashed through without even a sideways glance. You youngsters might let curiosity drive you to approach that Killing Stone’s vicinity, but only those with two lives to spare would do such a thing. Do not forget my advice!”

As though deaf to that well-meaning counsel, Chiedatarō gazed across the river with wide, shining eyes fixed on the distant sky. Just as his master Yasuchika had foreseen, he had slipped out of the capital's mansion and wandered all the way down to these eastern provinces. For what purpose had he come all this way? He knew full well that Tamamo was a witch. He no longer had any room to doubt it. The golden-haired nine-tailed beast that had flown over from a foreign land, borrowing the body of a maiden named Moe in an attempt to bring calamity upon the world, had been subdued through prayers by his master Yasuchika and shot down by Miura and Kazusa. While being fully aware of all that, he still longed for the Moe of old. He yearned for Tamamo as she was now. A witch would do. A beast would do. Unable to endure these feelings any longer, he had finally strayed from his master's household. After accumulating days of lonely solitary travel, passing through Musashi's villages thick with silvergrass, he reached the Tone Riverbed - where he encountered the gold merchant returning from Mutsu and heard that strange tale of Nasu Moor.

Even a witch would do. Even a fiend would do. At the very least, he wanted to visit her final resting place once——Unable to endure these thoughts any longer, he finally strayed from his master's house. The days of his solitary journey had piled up. After traveling through Musashi's villages where plume grass thrived and reaching the banks of the Tone River at last, he encountered a gold merchant returning from Mutsu Province and heard the eerie tale of Nasuno. Yet rather than being daunted by its strangeness, his heart felt fortified by resolve. Even should Tamamo perish in vain, her soul would remain dwelling in the stone as though alive. Since this held true, he need no longer wander Nasu Moor's endless expanse searching blindly for her unknown death site. The location of her soul had indeed been confirmed there. Chiedatarō felt joyous satisfaction that his deliberate journey had proven worthwhile.

“I am most humbly grateful for your many kindnesses.”

He parted here with the merchant returning to the capital. And then he hurried northward once more. Several days later, when he trod upon Yashu's soil and asked the local people, the rumors of the Killing Stone proved no lie. He deliberately chose midnight's depth to steal into Nasuno Moor's heart.

Mid-November’s night had deepened, and across the endless Nasu bamboo grass plain, frost as deep as snow lay fallen. The winter moon, terrifyingly high and piercingly clear, made the frost-buried withered pampas grass glitter like countless broken swords, while no sound of birdsong could be heard there. No shadows of wandering beasts could be seen. The vast plain stretching from Yashu to Mutsu lay quietly asleep in the depths of the great night, like a graveyard.

In fact, that place was a terrifying graveyard. Just as the gold merchant had described, in the depths of the plain lay a large, strange stone, with countless bones and feathers heaped around it. Chiedamatsu pushed through withered pampas grass so high they hid his hat's brim, clambered over towering mounds of bones piled there, and finally stood facing the stone. It was a windless night, and neither the pampas grass nor plume grass surrounding him so much as stirred. The stone did not move either.

Chiedamatsu gazed for a while at the stone housing Tamamo's soul in the moonlight. He had not even thought to pray for Tamamo's afterlife. He had not even thought to urge a beast to awaken a mind of enlightenment. He simply longed for the witch who had united Moe and Tamamo into one. From his eyes, fixed intently on the stone, tears streamed forth uncontrollably, and unable to bear it any longer, he called out to the stone.

“Moe! Tamamo! It’s Chiedatarō!” Whether it was his imagination or not, the stone began to sway gently as if responding. He continued calling. “Moe! “Tamamo…” “Chiedatarō has come seeking you!”

The stone swayed again. And then, the elegant figure of a high-ranking court lady emerged like a phantom. Clad in willow-patterned five-layered robes and crimson hakama trousers, her figure layered with a Chinese jacket was none other than the familiar Tamamo. “Lord Chiedatarō, you have come to visit me. In joy at your devotion, I shall show my former form once more.” Bathed in the cold moonlight, she shone as brilliantly as she had in days of old. As Chiedatarō, in a dreamlike state, tried to run closer, she blocked him as if to fend him off with her hinoki fan.

“If you truly bore such devotion, why did you repay my kindness with enmity until now and side with your Master?” “Moreover, even for a moment, you turned your heart toward Miura’s daughter.” “That I find hateful—bitter beyond measure.” “However dearly you may think of me now, a great barrier stands erected between you and me.” “Approach though you might, you shall not draw near.” “That was my failing,” Chiedatarō cried, casting himself upon the frost-laden withered grass as he wept. “To have doubted you until now was my failing.” “To have feared you was a graver error still.” “Be you witch or demoness or beast—one who finds another dear should neither doubt nor fear.” “That I doubted, that I feared—not only did I waste days in enmity, but by siding with Master to curse you as my foe—this stands as Chiedatarō’s lifelong transgression.” “Thus do I make apology.” “Pray grant me forgiveness!”

He now deeply regretted not having allied himself with the demon sooner. That his true desire had been to love the demon, become her ally, and perish together with her - this thought made him claw at the withered grass beneath his knees as he choked on tears of futile remorse. Tamamo gazed intently at the glowing beads of his hot tears, but eventually said in a gentle voice.

“Are you so much in love with me? Would you abandon your humanity to live with me?” “Oh, if there is a place where we can dwell together, I will surely go—be it the demon path or hell,” he said, his eyes shining with unbearable passion. Tamamo smiled beautifully. She quietly raised her fan and beckoned to the man kneeling before her.

Several days later, someone discovered a young traveler lying collapsed with the Killing Stone as his pillow. The traveler appeared to have fallen into an eternal rest with a faint smile on his face. However, as no one dared enter the terrifying graveyard to retrieve his remains, he was left abandoned there indefinitely. Before long, a bitter winter swept down from northern Oshu, burying Nasuno Moor beneath a shroud of snow.

When spring of the following year came, the Killing Stone gradually revealed its strange form again from beneath the snow, but the figure of the traveler was no longer seen. He might have disappeared along with the melting snow.

Within less than ten years, two great calamities befell the capital, and it was burned. Many people were cut down as if scything grass. These were the Hōgen and Heiji Rebellions. Moreover, historians of old seem to have overlooked how the sorceress's curse clung to the dark shadows of these two great conflicts. Yorichika, who had destroyed Tamamo, became the instigator of the Hōgen Rebellion and was struck by a stray arrow of unknown origin. Shinzei Nyūdō maintained an unrelentingly cunning stance and escaped unharmed from the earlier rebellion, but in the subsequent Heiji Rebellion he was marked as the chief enemy. Having perceived his inescapable fate, he had himself buried alive in the earth, only to be exhumed by his enemies and have his aged monk's head displayed at the prison gate.

Thus, all of Tamamo's enemies were gruesomely destroyed.

Tadamichi took refuge at Hōshō-ji Temple and took monastic vows. Yasuchika alone safely prospered his descendants.

It is said that the Killing Stone of Nasuno was shattered by Monk Gennō’s thunderous shout a hundred years thereafter.