Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One

To Eiheiji Temple in the sacred mountains of Echizen as well, a refreshing early summer had arrived.

The snow that had tormented the monastic disciples with daily snow labor throughout the winter had now vanished without a trace, even from the deepest valleys.

Surrounding the dozen or so great temple buildings and mingling with the ancient cedars that towered to scrape the heavens, horse chestnuts and zelkova trees had begun to sprout pale green, dewy buds.

The mountain cherry blossoms had completely scattered, but wild wisteria now entwined around the lower branches of trees, their pale purple flower clusters abundantly hanging.

For Inen as well, monastic life had finally grown familiar.
The hardships of zazen meditation and monastic labor from his early days of entry now faded faintly like a dream.
During dawn zazen meditation, he would doze off drowsily and receive the patrolling monk's warning stick far less frequently.
Even rising from bed by kicking off the covers at the Hour of the Ox to the ringing bell had become no longer very painful.
The morning and afternoon labor, daytime sutra chanting, sutra recitation, and night meditation had all become part of daily life.

It had been last Eleventh Month when he was relieved of his probationary duties, so the monastic retreat had only lasted half a year thus far; yet from Inen’s mind, all manner of delusions were washing away as if cleansed.
Though his inner matters remained fundamentally unresolved, during those clear-minded dawn meditations in the sharp morning air, Buddha-seeds had imperceptibly grown within him - faint though they were, flashes resembling enlightenment would come and go through his heart-mind.

The life he had once lived - desperately scouring all sixty-odd provinces in search of his parent's enemy - now rose in his memory like some fevered dream.
The fury when his father had been struck down, the solemn resolve when he had sworn revenge—these still rose vividly in his memory, yet carried no real sensation now.
For four or five years, he had dashed between Kanto and Kansai like a shuttle.
But eventually he came to think that no matter how frantically he rushed about, he could not strike until the proper time arrived.
He settled in Edo and spent about two years leisurely searching through the city.
But he couldn't even catch wind of his enemy.
He began to grow impatient again.
It was in the autumn of Genroku 3 when he departed Edo and took the Tōkaidō road for the first time in years—the eighth year since leaving his hometown of Matsue—that he reached thirty years of age.
In the three years that followed, as he searched through the Kinai region, Chūgoku, and Kyushu, he still did not encounter his enemy.
The large sum of nearly a hundred ryo he had prepared when leaving Edo had dwindled to just a few countable nishu silver pieces by the time he took to bed with cold symptoms at an Akamagaseki inn.

He had traveled up through the Chūgoku region while performing mendicant work, taking half a year before reaching Naniwa. At a storehouse mansion in Naniwa, he received word from his mother in their home province. She wrote that she had reported her approaching death from old age and prayed morning and night for him to take revenge and return home swiftly. His heart ached when holding her letter. For eleven years, his mother's anguished heart—waiting vainly—had grieved him. With renewed fervor, he departed Yamato for Ise, then traveled down the Tōsandō highway to Edo. Yet he saw no shadow resembling his enemy. Having exhausted all leads, he reluctantly ventured down the Ōshū Road to Sendai—another fruitless journey. After returning to Edo, he crossed Usui Pass through Shinano onto the Hokuriku Road, pausing at Kanazawa's million-koku castle town—still futile hardship. His journey from Ōmi to Kyoto came at winter's onset in Genroku 9. Fourteen empty years had passed since leaving home. He yearned unbearably for his hometown's skies. Having departed at twenty-two, he now neared middle age. He missed Mother. He longed for tranquil family life. The flavorless monotony of revenge travel had wearied him utterly. Yet one who vowed vengeance couldn't return empty-handed without slaying his foe. When sleeping in wayside shrines after exhausting day's travels or enduring days confined in squalid inns, he grew thoroughly disgusted with this vendetta.

He even thought of becoming a townsman in Kyoto or Naniwa, bringing his mother from their home province to live out a tranquil half-life.
But the samurai education he had received in his youth would not permit it.
He came to keenly feel the poverty of his own martial fortune.
At the same time, he resented his father’s enemy who had so cursed his own lifetime.
While rousing his hatred toward the enemy by his own will, he spent nearly two more years searching through the provinces of Kinai.

It was in his thirty-eighth year, the sixteenth since leaving his hometown, that he received word at a Naniwa storehouse mansion that his mother in his home province had passed away.

A terrifying emptiness closed around his heart.
Everything seemed as vain as smoke.
The sixteen-year journey spent through countless hardships had been utterly absurd.
Hatred toward the enemy, samurai pride, filial piety toward his deceased father—all had vanished like a hollow dream.

He soon entered a Sōtō branch temple near Naniwa and underwent ordination.
After spending about a year there, he set out on a monastic journey aiming for Eiheiji Temple.

In Inen’s heart, where resentment had been washed away, only thoughts of the austere path of pursuit remained.
The interminable life of his revenge journey had even begun to feel like another person’s existence.

That day, the Venerable Ino had issued a notice regarding firewood-gathering labor.
The bright early summer sun filtered through ancient cedars, casting radiant beams of light even upon the damp moss-covered path.

To the assembly exceeding one hundred members, the duty monks also joined.
Each donning their own work robes, they ventured into the back mountain.
There were those wearing tattered linen robes.
There were also those wearing sleeveless cotton robes.
Just as the faces of the monastic disciples varied, so too did each of their work robes.
For Inen, his first firewood-gathering labor felt somehow pleasant.
Since entering monastic life, he had been tormented by an excess of strength surging through both arms.

The green wood that lumberjacks had cut, he bundled into an armful too large to hold with both hands.
He effortlessly lifted a large bundle weighing nearly twenty kan.
He descended the rather steep slope as if running.
After dashing down about twenty ken with vigor, he could not overtake the monastic disciple ahead and thus slowed his pace.
The bundle that man was carrying was less than a third the size of his own.
However, beneath that bundle, the man was walking unsteadily.

Until they reached the wide path, he could not overtake him.
He walked along behind the man.
He was an old man nearing sixty.
He was not one of the fellow practitioners; it was immediately clear he was a duty monk.
As he followed from about fifty meters behind, he noticed the work robe the old monk was wearing.
The old monk’s work robe appeared to be a black crested haori he had worn during his lay days.
The seemingly habutae silk fabric had faded over years of monastic labor, now turned a bright red.
Only the area of the crest appeared to have been erased with ink, unnaturally darkened.
Inen found it so amusing that he couldn’t help but let slip a smile.
But suddenly, in that instant, he thought that this person too had once been a samurai.
He was absentmindedly staring at the crest darkened with ink.
It was a rare crest—nearly faded—of two sickles arranged within a circle.

Inen’s entire body surged with blood.
The crest of two sickles arranged side by side—that was the enemy’s crest he had never forgotten, not even in dreams throughout his sixteen-year journey of revenge.
His father’s enemy had been newly recruited; being still a dependent son in the family quarters, he had only encountered him once or twice.
That faint memory had faded over the years, leaving only the physical description heard from others as his sole clue.
Among these, the enemy’s distinctive crest and the scar of bitter regret his father must have inflicted on the enemy’s right jaw had never left his mind as conspicuous evidence.
He must have glared countless times with bloodshot eyes at family crests—of samurai walking ahead, those passing by, those sharing lodgings—all such people.

Inen felt like throwing down the bundle of firewood he was carrying, grabbing the old monk by the neck, and turning his face around. He wanted to see the right jaw. During the mornings and evenings of his sixteen-year arduous journey, the curses and hatred he had harbored toward his enemy came surging back. However, immediately a sense of remorse stirred within him. One who has once abandoned a heart of resentment and devoted themselves to the path of Buddhist practice should not allow their mind to be disturbed merely upon seeing the enemy’s family crest. That would mean being trapped by the worldly desires one was supposed to have abandoned. Moreover, such a crest was not necessarily unique across all of Japan. In his hometown of Matsue, it might have been a rare family crest, but if one went to other provinces, there could be numerous such crests. Indeed, when residing in Edo, he had once seen a young passerby bearing the same family crest and—thinking Ah! A relative of my enemy!—followed him, only to confirm the man was merely the third son of a direct shogunal retainer with no connection whatsoever to his foe. This old monk was likely in the same situation as that young man. For sixteen years, even as he struggled and suffered, he had been unable to encounter his enemy; yet after ordination, to have heaven’s will cruelly arrange a chance meeting that would hinder his path to enlightenment—surely divine justice could not be so merciless. If that were indeed the true enemy, what would I do? In this monk’s form, I cannot kill anyone. After temporarily returning to secular life, do you intend to slay your enemy who remains in monk’s robes and make a triumphant return? For one who shamefully entered monastic life after failing to defeat their enemy, to return to secular life simply because the enemy has been found is itself an act of cowardice. Having once taken monastic vows cannot serve as justification when returning to secular life.

He firmly suppressed his mind, which threatened to spiral into chaos. Because the old monk was carrying the bundle of firewood on his right shoulder, it was indeed fortunate that his right jaw remained concealed. He resolved not to look at that right jaw. At exactly that moment, he emerged onto the wide path. Without even turning toward the old monk, he dashed off at full speed.

But Heaven’s will acted with cruel irony. It was when the midday meal had ended and the firewood-gathering labor had begun again. He was making bundles of firewood while restraining the flames of delusional thoughts that threatened to blaze up. He tried to gather the insufficient firewood and looked around his surroundings. About four or five ken ahead, beyond a kaya tree growing there, he noticed its cut branches piled high. It was when he ducked under the kaya tree and emerged on the other side. In the shade of the tree he had not noticed until now, the old monk from earlier that day was bundling firewood with his face down. The instant this thought occurred to him, the old monk—hearing his footsteps—raised half his body. He could not help but look at that jaw. Although its color had faded with age, the mark from a sword’s edge remained vivid across his right jaw from the corner of his mouth.

“You!”

Such words nearly reached his lips.
But his religious devotion prevailed.
He stared at the old monk for an instant, then pivoted on his heel and returned to his bundle of firewood.

But his mind would not easily settle.
As he looked at the thick stick within the bundle of firewood, he wanted to swing it straight down and strike the enemy’s shaven head.
His religious devotion—not yet having lasted even a year through the summer retreat—teetered on the brink of collapse.
He wavered, staring blankly at the bundle of firewood at his feet.
After wavering, he barely overcame his delusional attachment.

But his mind was unbearably anxious.
Even if he had once cast them aside, under what circumstances might he again be seized by delusional thoughts?
He might kill the other man in some reckless impulse.
He wanted to swear his religious devotion’s victory to something.
To ensure he would never again be ensnared by lingering delusional attachments, he wanted to swear an oath to something.

He concluded there was no better course than confessing everything to the old monk who was his enemy.
Let me speak of them as delusional attachments from my lay days.
And I will tell him how I have now overcome them.
Then I will take the enemy’s hand and laugh heartily.
Now that I have revealed this to him, no matter how strong delusional thoughts may be, I will not break my pledged words.
When he thought this, he hoisted the completed bundle of firewood onto his thin shoulders and called out to stop the old monk attempting to walk away.

“What business do you have?”

He heard his enemy’s words for the first time. He suppressed his mind once more as it threatened to become disordered.

“Venerable monk, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it?”

The old monk had regained his composure.

“This does not concern me. Venerable monk—were you not formerly known as Torikai Hachidayū in the Matsue domain of Unshū?”

The monk’s complexion changed. Yet his words remained composed.

“As you say.”

“Then allow me to inquire further. Venerable monk, when you resided in Matsue, do you recall striking Yamamura Bubyōe of the same household?”

Even the venerable monk’s complexion changed.
Yet his words remained solemn.

“Quite.”
“And you—who are you?”

The venerable monk became considerably flustered.

Inen said, even forcing a smile.

“This humble monk is Take-tarō, son of Yamamura Bubyōe whom I just mentioned. I pursued you as my enemy and wandered throughout Japan for over a decade, but resigned myself to inevitable failure when poor martial fortune prevented our meeting—thus I assumed this form.”

The venerable monk blinked his aged eyes.

“I have been conducting myself devoutly of late. This unworthy monk is indeed as you say. You struck down your own father and fled Matsue domain, then wandered the provinces making a living—but retribution for killing a man is immediate. Having nowhere to settle in this world, I had no choice but to take monastic vows. That we should meet here is heaven’s decree. Though I wear these robes, there is no impediment. Strike me down freely.”

The venerable monk's speech was composed.

Inen formed a wistful smile.

“To strike or be struck belonged to our lay days.”
“Now that we’ve both taken monastic vows, what grudge could possibly remain between us?”
“I disclosed this solely that you might harbor no reservations.”
“I have not the faintest intention of seeking vengeance.”

The venerable monk retorted.

“No, no—that is not so!
“Here is where you must fully resolve yourself.
“We became monks out of unavoidable necessity, having no place in this world.
“You are different.
“If you slay us and return to your lord’s service, your ancestral lands will undoubtedly be restored.
“Moreover, even were you to forgive us and continue living peacefully, keeping your parent’s enemy before your eyes would ultimately hinder enlightenment.
“It is the root of obsession.
“The settling of such inner matters lies beyond contemplation.
“Had we remained laymen, we would not be easily struck down—but in these robes, we cannot resist.
“Quickly, strike me down!”

The venerable monk’s words were perfectly reasonable.
Inen felt a momentary intense temptation to strike down the venerable monk but ultimately managed to overcome it.

“Hahahaha, what are you saying?
At this point, concern for martial matters is entirely unnecessary.
This humble monk has now fully attained discernment.
I have severed all delusional thoughts of regarding you as an enemy.
If you, Venerable Monk, have any such inclination, pray offer devotions for my late father’s posthumous enlightenment!”

When he declared this resolutely, he effortlessly hoisted a bundle of firewood too large for both hands to hold and dashed down toward the temple storehouse.

Due to the firewood-gathering labor, that night there was a notice regarding "Night Meditation Sessions."
That meant the suspension of the night’s zazen.
However, for Inen, that night was a crucial one, so he alone sat in zazen.

He paid no heed to the neighboring monks gathering and exchanging boasts, immersing himself completely in zazen.
Though he had indeed renounced worldly ties, having forgiven his father’s enemy before his very eyes became an obstinate regret that haunted his heart—yet when this faded imperceptibly away, he felt as though a sacred twilight faintly illuminated his innermost being.
With the night watch drum announcing the first watch’s arrival, he silently recited the *Fukan Zazengi* that he would normally chant aloud with the assembly.
At this sacred site founded by the patriarch himself, the profound gratitude of reciting the *Zazengi*—the patriarch’s life work forged through blood and spirit—seeped into every fiber of his body and soul.

At the signal of the wooden bedtime board being struck, until he unfolded his legs from zazen, his mind remained as clear as an early summer night’s sky—not a single trace of delusional thought lingered.

Due to exhaustion from the intense firewood-gathering labor, the monastic disciples in the neighboring quarters must have taken out their bedding from the storage chests, wrapped themselves within, and soon all fallen asleep together.
From both there and here in the fourteen-ken-by-four-ken spacious monk’s hall, the peaceful sound of snoring rose loudly.
Yet for Inen, despite the daytime fatigue, sleep would not readily come.
The mind purified through zazen persisted endlessly.
But as the hour of the Rat drew near, drowsiness at last crept in.

He suddenly awoke in the middle of the night for no particular reason. It was likely because he had been lying on his right shoulder since evening. The right half of his body ached with numb pain. He attempted to turn over. But strangely, his body wouldn’t move. He opened his eyes. He dimly saw a person’s face above his own. In the dimly lit hall illuminated only by the lamp before the sacred altar, it was not easy to discern who it was. However, when the figure realized he had awakened, they were clearly flustered.

He realized through that flustered state that the figure was the venerable monk from daytime. At the same time, he saw a honed razor glimmering faintly white in the venerable monk’s right hand. But he had no intention of preventing it. Even as his opponent had come harboring malicious intent, not even a thought arose within him to strike the man down. Only pity stirred within him for the man who, despite his complete forgiveness, had doubted it and sought to harm him. But that too vanished immediately. He felt only the numbness in his right side.

"This humble monk has lain on his right shoulder since evening and grown weary."
"Let this humble monk turn over!"

Muttering under his breath, he turned over completely within the narrow five-cloth futon.
After a moment suspended between dream and waking, he fell back into deep sleep.

The following day, one of the monastic disciples fled Eiheiji Temple.

Part Two

The brothers Suzuki Chūjirō and Suzuki Chūsaburō—retainers of Lord Hōki-no-kami Mizoguchi, castellan of Shibata in Kambara District, Echigo Province—had at last, eight years after setting out on their journey of revenge, discovered their father’s enemy Naonosuke Wada living incognito as Jun’an Wada in Kyoto’s Muromachi Shijō-agaru district, where he displayed a sign identifying himself as a pediatrician.

It was the younger brother, Chūsaburō, who first learned of this.
The second time they journeyed to Kamigata, the brothers took separate lodgings in Kyoto and Osaka.
This separation was to facilitate their individual searches for the enemy.

When the younger brother, Chūsaburō, was walking nonchalantly along Sanjō Avenue, he saw what appeared to be a physician’s palanquin halted beneath the eaves of a townhouse. As he watched a man wearing his hair in a topknot emerge while lifting the palanquin’s curtain from within, he nearly leapt for joy. It was unmistakably Naonosuke Wada. He thought to immediately announce himself and cut the man down—but then his brother rose vividly in his mind. Imagining his brother’s bitter frustration after eight years of fruitless pursuit at all critical junctures, it never once occurred to him to act alone. Suppressing his surging impulse, he waited for Naonosuke to reenter the palanquin.

When he located the enemy’s whereabouts, he hopped with joy, immediately left Kyoto, and headed down to Osaka via Fushimi on a thirty-koku boat. But when he visited the inn at Kōraibashi’s edge where his brother was staying late that night, he learned to his dismay that his brother had left three days prior, having declared he was making his way from Yamato to Kishū. His dismay was profound. He waited in vain for seven days for his brother’s return with an irritation akin to being simmered in oil. Nevertheless, his elder brother Chūjirō returned nonchalantly on the eighth day.

When the elder brother heard the news of the enemy’s discovery from his younger brother, he shed tears of joy.
The brothers departed Osaka that very night and entered Kyoto the following dawn.

But the following morning, when the younger brother passed by the enemy’s house to investigate its state, he unexpectedly saw a mourning notice affixed to the half-closed gate door.
The younger brother was aghast.
In a fluster, he approached the neighboring house and asked who the deceased was.
The deceased was undoubtedly Naonosuke Wada.

The younger brother could not easily believe it at first.
Suspecting their discovery had been noticed by the enemy, he wondered if it wasn’t a scheme to deceive them.
However, both in the faces of the condolence visitors and in the behavior of the neighboring people, hearts mourning the deceased were clearly evident.
There remained no room whatsoever to doubt Naonosuke’s death.

That night at the Sanjō Kobashi inn, the brothers embraced each other and wailed bitterly.
The short-tempered, selfish elder brother reproached his younger brother for why he had not struck down the enemy immediately when found.
Yet even as he reproached him, the elder brother himself knew full well how unreasonable his accusations were.
The elder brother, shouting "I'll commit seppuku! I'll do it!", grasped his dagger in an inverted grip time and again.
Each time, the good-natured younger brother restrained him.
In the end, the brothers took each other's hands and wailed bitterly.
Their wailing continued until dawn.

Eight years of hardships had all come to naught.
The pent-up tension drained away all at once.
The brothers spent several days in a daze, like fools.

The younger brother finally comforted his elder brother and returned to their hometown of Shibata.
The younger brother, before departing Kyoto, secretly petitioned the magistrate’s office and obtained a document certifying that their enemy Naonosuke had died an unnatural death.

The brothers’ family was of standing, receiving an 800-koku stipend and serving as Chamberlains.
The domain, after all, did not abandon these unfortunate brothers.
The domain granted Chūjirō an additional half-koku stipend and promoted him to mounted guard.

However, Chūjirō remained resentful and took no pleasure in it.
Moreover, rumors about the brothers occasionally reached their ears.
Those rumors were by no means favorable.
The rumor that they had found their enemy but hesitated and failed to exact revenge before he had died was still among the more favorable ones.
The more malicious rumors cut into the brothers quite deeply.
Just because a doctor named Jun’an Wada had died of illness did not necessarily mean he was Naonosuke.
Especially considering that Chūsaburō had been but a youth when their father was slain, there was no way he could have accurately remembered the enemy’s features.
That Chūsaburō would conclude from a single glance that Jun’an was Naonosuke was rash.
This was a rather stinging rebuke for the brothers.
But there were even more vicious rumors.
The brothers had grown weary of revenge.
They had abandoned their resolve for revenge after a mere eight years of hardships.
They had fabricated that Naonosuke had died of illness by claiming the death of an obscure doctor called Jun’an Wada, using it as their excuse to return.
Every time the elder brother heard such rumors, he flushed crimson and flew into a rage.
He wanted to die in a mutual stabbing with those spreading such rumors.
But these rumors, with no clear source, enveloped and swirled around the brothers like the wind.

For the brothers, the most sorrowful thing was that the opportunity to clear society’s suspicions would never come.

When the new year arrived, it was the fourth year of Ansei.
The malicious rumors surrounding the brothers had still carried over into the new year.
But when autumn of Ansei 4 came and winter arrived, even those who would bring up the brothers’ affairs had vanished.
Chūjirō, who was short-tempered, found the days when he flew into a rage had grown fewer.

But the trials the brothers were destined to endure had not yet come to an end.

It was on December 10th, as Ansei 4 drew to a close, that fellow clansmen the Kume Kōtarō brothers slew their father’s killer, Takizawa Kyūemon, and marked their glorious return to their hometown with brocade splendor.

What an extraordinarily patient act of revenge this was.
It was in the twelfth month of Bunka 14, when the eldest son Kōtarō was seven years old and the second son Morijirō five, that their father Yagobei was struck down by Takizawa Kyūemon at fellow clansman Rokurōzaemon’s residence over a dispute arising from a Go strategy suggestion.
It was in autumn of Bunsei 11, when elder brother Kōtarō was seventeen and younger brother Morijirō fifteen, that the brothers became retainers under their uncle Itakura Tomejirō, and the uncle and nephews trio requested permanent leave to embark on their revenge journey.
Uncle Tomejirō was forty-two years old.

The three searched all over Japan for thirty years, from Bunsei through Tenpō, Kōka, and Kaei into Ansei.
It was on October 6th of Ansei 4 that Kōtarō discovered Kyūemon—who had shaved his head, taken the monastic name Mokushō—hiding in a small hermitage at Orihama in Oshika District of Mutsu Province.

Unfortunately, his younger brother Morijirō and uncle Tomejirō had parted ways with Kōtarō and were searching the Kantō region.
Kōtarō thought.
The thirty-odd years of hardships endured by my younger brother and uncle were solely for striking down this enemy with a single sword; were I to slay him alone, they would surely feel their true purpose had been thwarted.
But Kōtarō reconsidered.
Where were they now? He had sent a letter earlier but received no reply.
Kyūemon, the enemy, was a man over seventy, advanced in years.
While awaiting word from them, the foe might succumb to illness at any moment.
For their sake, even if it meant acting unjustly, there was no better course than achieving their long-cherished ambition as swiftly as possible.

Kōtarō, having resolved thus, lured Mokushō close on the following seventh day and achieved his long-cherished ambition.

In the forty-first year since their father Yagobei had been slain, and the thirty-first year since the brothers had embarked on their revenge journey, the elder brother Kōtarō was forty-seven years old, the younger brother Morijirō forty-five, and their uncle Tomejirō an advanced seventy-two years of age.

By the time the brothers triumphantly returned, the Shibata Domain had come under the reign of heir and Master of the Household Naofusa Chikamoto. However, the lord and vassals all praised the Kōtarō brothers for their thirty years of hardships. Kōtarō had an additional 100 koku added to his late father’s original stipend of 150 koku, while Morijirō was granted a new stipend of 15 koku and five fuchi and promoted to the ranks of close retainers.

The entire domain buzzed like a boiling cauldron with praise for the brothers, but amidst this, only the Suzuki brothers swallowed tears of frustration.

People surely denigrated the Suzuki brothers as a means of praising the Kōtarō brothers.

“They say Suzuki Chūsaburō idly passed his days waiting for his brother’s return, but his judgment was as different from Lord Kōtarō’s as heaven and earth.”
“While they sought out their enemy, they let him shamelessly die of illness—what utter fools!”

But such criticism was still the better kind.

“What’s eight years of hardship compared to thirty years of endurance?”

“After eight years of searching, those samurai with exhausted resolve should drink a decoction of the Kōtarō brothers’ fingernail grime.”

Public opinion would not rest until it had lifted the successful to heavenly heights while simultaneously casting failures into the depths of the abyss.

It was about ten days after the Kōtarō brothers had returned.
A celebratory banquet was hosted by relatives to honor the brothers' return.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Suzuki Chūjirō was distantly related to the Kume family. He considered feigning illness to avoid attending the banquet, but could already envision the malicious whispers—"Look there! Suzuki Chūjirō fled Lord Kōtarō's celebration out of shame"—and feel the accusatory fingers pointing behind his back.

His stubborn disposition drove him to attend the banquet with desperate resolve. From beginning to end, he sat silent without uttering a word. Every praise showered upon the Kōtarō brothers by those present pierced his chest like needles. Yet leaving early was something his unyielding nature would never allow.

As the night deepened, the number of guests at the gathering dwindled.
Kōtarō must have already known of the Suzuki brothers’ misfortune.
Gauging the dwindling number of guests, he came before Chūjirō while holding a sake cup just as he seemed about to rise from his seat.
Even reduced to half his stipend, Chūjirō’s family status remained far superior.

“I would like to receive a cup from your lordship as well.”

Kōtarō heartily drank down the cup that Chūjirō had offered with a pale face,

“I have already heard of your misfortune.”
“I can well imagine the depth of your frustration.”

Kōtarō’s words were filled with sincere sympathy.
It contained a sympathy that only those who had themselves targeted an enemy could possess.

When Chūjirō heard this, he unwittingly voiced a complaint.
Tears of frustration streamed down his cheeks.

“How enviable.”
“How enviable.”
“What tremendous good fortune you have! Compared to that, what wretched misfortune we brothers must suffer!”
“Not only did we let our enemy die without resistance, but we’ve also become the target of such unbecoming slander.”

Chūjirō did not let out a sound, but wept with the deep sobs of a man.

Kōtarō said as if to restrain him. He spoke forcefully.

“What are you saying? Is there any man who has ever held an enemy and found happiness? You are still better off. You know nothing of the sorrow borne by those who have spent their mortal lives—from seven years old when first aware of the world, to forty-seven today—consumed solely by revenge.”

No sooner had he spoken than large teardrops began to trickle down one after another over Kōtarō’s bronze-tanned, weathered cheeks—cheeks hardened by three decades of enduring life’s tempests.

Chūjirō’s wounded chest was momentarily soothed, as if a warm hand had gently brushed over it.

The two men continued gazing into each other’s eyes, shedding tears together for some time.

Part Three

It was the night of the fifth day of the first month in the third year of Hōreki [1753].

At the Edo Ushigome Nijūkimachi residence of the hatamoto Torii Magodaiyu, celebratory sake was bestowed upon all servants as part of the New Year's auspicious custom.

Moreover, in the twelfth month of the previous year, their master Magodaiyu had been newly appointed as captain of the page corps.
It was discovered that Lady Osachi, the wife who had just turned twenty-one, had become pregnant for the first time around this period.

Because joys had accumulated, the household became all the more imbued with spring-like cheer.
Year-end gifts more splendid than usual delighted the servants.
When evening fell on the fifth day and the stream of New Year's visitors had ceased, all servants were finally permitted their celebratory sake.

It was likely out of consideration for not disturbing his servants' drinking festivities that Master Magodaiyu had departed.When the sun set, he went out to visit relatives in Kudanzaka Fujimichō under the pretext of making New Year’s calls.The chief retainers and stewards were relaxing in the front reception room.

The middle-ranking servants, lower servants, maids, and others were enjoying their once-a-year sanctioned freedom in the kitchen annex.

Even after the second watch had passed, the banquet’s vigor showed no signs of diminishing.
The young sandal-bearers and grooms, as if seizing their chance, had the maids pour them drinks and gulped them down eagerly.

Some began singing traditional ballads like *Matsuba Kuzushi* and *Umikawa Bushi*.
Some began demonstrating the recently fashionable Azuma-ken martial art.
Some stood up and broke into dance.

Even Kaheiji, the cook who had been working in the kitchen, could no longer resist and abandoned his post to appear at the banquet.

“Kahei?”
“Thanks for your hard work!”
“We’ve got plenty of food already.”
“Come on!”
“You there, sit down and have a drink!”

When Sahē, the intermediate servant, saw this, he immediately offered a cup.

Kaheiji was over sixty.
Yet, though he was a newcomer, there was not a soul in the household who didn’t know of his fondness for drink.
He had already stolen cup after cup of sake with a bowl while transferring it from the barrel to flasks during his sake-warming duty, leaving his eyes glazed and unfocused; but when he spilled the water from the cup washer before him, he thrust it forward with vigorous energy.

“Chief, I ain’t got patience for such fiddly stuff!
I wanna gulp it straight from this!”

“Wow, how extravagant!”

While basking in the gathering’s praise, he filled three cups using the cup washer.
Even he balked at drinking the final one.
The drink’s effects bloomed vividly across his aged face—still healthily tanned despite his years.

“Mr. Kaheiji!
Your knife work’s truly special! We’re always stuck with the master’s leftovers—today’s the first real taste we’ve had! No wonder you boast about it!”

The sandal-bearer intermediate servant lavished praise directly on his face.

“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh!”
The ever-jovial Kaheiji, growing merrier by the moment, repeatedly wiped away with his left hand at the dribble threatening to drip from his slack mouth.

“I’ve heard you honed your skills in Kansai! When it comes to cooking, nothing beats Kansai fare!”

Even Sahē, the head intermediate servant, put on an air of studied admiration.

“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh, eh-heh-heh-heh-heh.” Kaheiji, thoroughly flattered, could not stop the servile grin from spilling endlessly from his lips.

“So they say you served as a daimyo’s meal attendant in your youth—is that true?!”

The garden attendant intermediate servant deliberately began flattering Kaheiji.

“Indeed! Indeed, indeed!”

The entire gathering exclaimed in admiration as though hearing it for the first time.
The intention to flatter the good-natured Kaheiji was gradually welling up in everyone’s hearts.

“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh! For you to know about that—how embarrassing for me!”

Kaheiji scratched his head, looking embarrassed.
But his feigned embarrassment was only superficial.
The fact that he had served as a daimyo’s meal attendant was a lie he delighted in telling.
He would tell this lie as a rule when drinking.
Even after coming to this household, he had already repeated this lie two or three times.

In truth, it was his former master Suzuki Gentayu who had served as meal attendant in the Marugame domain of Sanuki under the Kyōgoku clan. He had merely learned how to handle a kitchen knife through observation and imitation after serving as a middle-ranking servant in Gentayu’s household for many years.

“A meal attendant is a proper samurai!”

The garden attendant intermediate servant pressed in with flattery. Kaheiji had been waiting for them to say just that. But he scratched his head once more.

“A meal attendant’s just some low-ranking samurai—their stipend’s a mere twenty koku and five buchi, no more than rice paste stuck to the sole of your foot.”

He stated “twenty koku and five buchi” in a tone dripping with contempt, but even his former master Suzuki Gentayu’s actual stipend had been a mere ten koku and three buchi.

“Twenty koku and five buchi!”
“We’d give anything to get just one taste of that in our lifetime!”

The garden attendant intermediate servant piled on the flattery.

“Such an esteemed upper samurai rank!”
Even Sahē, the head intermediate servant, chimed in.

Kaheiji broke into a grin and chuckled obsequiously.
In reality, it was not his former master Suzuki Gentayu who had served as the meal attendant—he had even come to feel as though it had been himself.

“No wonder the flavor of your cooking is exceptional!”

“This three-cup vinegar’s flavor is just like daimyo cuisine!”

Kaheiji was ecstatic.
He had been thinking about launching into tales of his supposed hardships as a daimyo’s meal attendant.
But the conversation swerved where he least expected.

“And you—why’d you go throwing away being a twenty-koku samurai?!”

Sahē asked, heaving his collapsed knees upright.
Kaheiji faltered slightly.
All he’d wanted was for them to believe he’d once served as meal attendant.
He hadn’t prepared any lies beyond that.

“Well, you see…! Well, you see…!”
He hesitated for a moment but immediately remembered why his former master Gentayu had thrown away his ten-koku samurai status.
That was the ready-made lie he had prepared.

“Well, you see…!
“Due to a drunken mistake, I ended up quarreling with a comrade out of samurai pride...”

Kaheiji had unknowingly adopted a samurai-like tone of voice.

"A common occurrence!"
"So you splendidly defeated your opponent!"

"Absolutely…"

Kaheiji answered with dignified composure befitting a warrior.

"Indeed!"

"I see."

"Indeed!"

The entire group held their breath.
This was no longer half-hearted flattery.
This wasn't admiration for some menial skill like cooking—whether judged as human or samurai.
It was admiration for samurai essence itself.
Kaheiji experienced a hallucination that he truly was both samurai and brave warrior.

The entire group had expressions of eager curiosity, clearly wanting to know every detail.
He wanted to satisfy them while savoring the pleasure of being seen as an even greater hero.
He was searching through his decades-old memories of nearly twenty years ago for details about his former master Suzuki Gentayu’s slaying of his comrade Kōda.
But there was nothing remotely samurai-like about his former master Gentayu’s sword attack.
He had developed an illicit desire for his comrade Kōda’s wife, and out of resentment at being rejected, visited Kōda’s house—seizing the moment when his opponent lowered his guard during their conversation to strike him down.
Moreover, he remembered being chased by Kōda’s wife as he tried to flee and getting struck with a single slash.
Telling it exactly as it happened would incur the group’s displeasure and resentment.
He began recounting the story with adjustments.

“The quarrel began like this,”
“That man prided himself on his spearmanship.”
“That day too, when our conversation turned to spearmanship, it escalated into debate.”
“He let slip, ‘For a mere cook like you, martial arts discussions are pointless!’—and that sealed both our fates.”
“As a samurai, I couldn’t let those words stand. ‘Test whether a cook’s blade cuts!’ I cried, and struck him down.”

“Indeed!”

“Indeed!”

“Indeed!”

The group of intermediate servants were utterly captivated by Kaheiji’s storytelling.

He felt a pride as though what he was saying were not lies but the truth.
“Ever since I was a kid, I’ve prided myself on my Takeuchi-ryū iaijutsu!”
He said that and kept them all in suspense.

“Right!”

“Exactly!”

The intermediate servants murmured in unison.

“It was a sudden-strike duel.”
“Hahahahaha!”
Kaheiji laughed grandly.

The entire group fell completely silent.

“By the time I thought I had gripped the hilt, blood spurting from my opponent’s shoulder had already scattered swiftly across the blue tatami mats that had only recently been replaced.”

In truth, even within Kaheiji’s mind, such a scene had vividly risen.

“Oh ho!”

“Indeed!”

The intermediate servants’ admiration reached its peak.

“The household members must have also been present, I presume?”

Even Sahē, the head intermediate servant’s manner of speech had completely transformed.
The intermediate servants had been envisioning a heroic scene where Kaheiji would cut down attacking underlings to his left and right.
However, Kaheiji wanted to elevate his samurai status through a different approach.

“But not a single underling dared come at me, cowering at the sight of my blade."
"But as expected, the wife who accompanied him—"
“—seeing me as nothing but her husband’s enemy, came at me with a dagger in a reverse grip.”

Because the story had suddenly taken a dramatic turn, the entire group gasped and murmured in astonishment.
Kaheiji calmly surveyed the group, as if confirming the effect of his story.

“Though pitiful, did you finish her with a single stroke?”
A garden attendant intermediate servant asked impatiently.
The tone held not a trace of the earlier half-flattery and half-mockery.

“I did think that, but it was too pitiful. Moreover, she was a young wife who hadn’t even been married for a year yet. Since this wasn’t an enemy I’d slain out of deep-seated vengeance, I thought taking the wife’s life as well seemed pointless—so I slipped beneath the dagger as she swung it and seized her skilled wrist. Hahaha! At that moment, thinking she was just a woman made me drop my guard—that’s how I got this shallow wound here on my forearm.”

He rolled up his sleeve and showed them the wound on his forearm. That was the wound he had received when, after leaving Marugame and working as a chef at a teahouse in Kyoto’s Shijō district, he got into a fight with a hot-blooded colleague and was slashed with his own kitchen knife. He had added an irrefutable truthfulness to his story by using that as evidence for the occasion. He was impressed by his own quick-wittedness.

“Come on! Come on!” The members of the group came over between the cups and dishes and gazed intently at his wound. By now, not a single person doubted his story anymore.

“And then, what became of that wife!”

They all wanted to hear the story’s conclusion.

“I made her drop the dagger she was holding, pushed her down right there, and walked out calmly—but unsurprisingly, no one came chasing after me.” “I took my leave right then and there, but that’s already nearly twenty years ago now.” “Looking back now, I suppose it was rash, but it was a matter of samurai pride.” “As a samurai, I could not let this stand!”

“That makes sense.”
“But there isn’t a single dishonorable aspect to your lordship’s conduct.”
“By proclaiming that, you could even secure a splendid lord’s position.”

“Keeping someone like me as a mere cook is an absolute waste!”
“With just a recommendation—thirty or even fifty koku would be mine in no time with this skill!”

Kaheiji laughed magnanimously.

“When one grows this old, there remains not the slightest hope for official service.
“Sharing these old tales with you all has become my greatest pleasure.”

“Let us partake of Mr. Kaheiji’s cup.”

Everyone received Kaheiji’s cup one after another.

In his over sixty years of life, there had never been a time as triumphant as tonight.
He outdid his usual heavy drinking and was downing nearly two shō of sake.

That night, when a heavily intoxicated Kaheiji staggered out of the kitchen entrance while attempting to return to his tenement.

With an anguished cry of “My parent’s enemy!”, a dagger flashed in the darkness—and he was stabbed through his left flank, collapsing backward over the kitchen entrance’s threshold.

When the household members, each bearing flushed drunken faces, came rushing over, the maidservant named Otoyo—who had only recently entered service—was drenched in blood on half her body,

“I have avenged my parent’s enemy.
“I have avenged my parent’s enemy! I have avenged my parent’s enemy!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

Kōda Toyojyo’s act of vengeance resounded throughout Edo during the Hōreki era as the Marugame Domain’s filial daughter’s revenge.
The citizens of Edo united in praising the tragic deed of the frail girl who was not yet twenty.
Toyojyo’s revenge tale came to be sung even by Yomiuri ballad sellers.
According to these accounts, when her father Kōda Gensuke had been slain, Toyojyo had been in her mother’s womb for merely three months.
The mother, knowing herself to be the cause of her husband’s wrongful death, maintained chaste devotion to her deceased spouse.
When Toyojyo turned sixteen, her mother met with misfortune and passed away.
On her deathbed, she summoned Toyojyo and for the first time relayed the particulars of her father’s untimely death, making her swear an oath of vengeance.
Commendation for this chaste and tragic mother and daughter spread to every corner of Edo.

No one doubted that Kaheiji was the enemy Suzuki Gendayu.
When the town magistrates' officials sent someone to the Marugame domain's residence during the autopsy as a precaution—since the domain lord happened to be in his home province—there was not a single person among the resident retainers who recognized Suzuki Gendayu.

However, only for Toyojyo herself did it slightly bother her that the enemy's wound wasn't on his forehead as her mother's dying words had described but was on his forearm.
But she quickly reconsidered that her mother must have mistaken the blood that had splattered onto the enemy's forehead during her husband's attack—when she had been distraught—for an actual wound.

It was in the ninth month of Hōreki 5 that Toyojyo’s filial devotion reached the feudal lord’s ears, resulting in her being summoned back; thereafter, the domain’s chief retainer’s second son was adopted as her husband to establish the Kōda succession, and she was granted double her former stipend of 100 koku.