Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Mysterious Monk's Overnight Stay

“Well... In that case, do you know the significance of this character monme?”

Honjo Junpachi, with a somewhat triumphant air, posed this question anew to his old friend Tsutsui Matsutaro.
The two men, out of idle boredom, had stretched out on the thin-mat-covered veranda and were engrossed in analyzing characters since earlier.

“Do you inquire after the significance of this ‘monme’ character?”
"Oh no, this humble one knows nothing of such matters."

Matsutaro tapped his forehead with a finger and said thus with a bitter smile.

“Then allow me to instruct you—this character called ‘monme’ signifies ‘the measure of how many mon’.”
“In other words, it should be written as ‘Bunshime’ but has been abbreviated and written like this.”

“Ah, so it’s an abbreviation of Bunshime.”
“Well then, this interpretation makes perfect sense.”

“How could you not be a master of ancient meanings?”

“You’re truly a master of ancient meanings—a veritable master!”

The two companions, so perfectly in harmony, laughed together and exchanged praises utterly devoid of malice.

The Begging Monk who had been standing at the gate since earlier, ringing his bell—his hair white and shining like silver, his skin pale and gleaming like tanned leather, an aged monk of imposing dignity—now strode purposefully through the gate, though his intentions remained unclear,

“If I may say so, your scrutiny of ‘monme’ seems somewhat ambiguous.”

Having said this, he sat down on the veranda.

“Well, well, traveling monk—do you take issue with this ‘monme’ character?”

Junpachi nimbly sat up and stared intently at the old monk’s face.

“No no—this is by no means an objection. I merely seek to correct an error for you.”

The monk smiled gently,

“The character ‘monme’ is not an abbreviation of ‘Bunshime,’ but rather a simplified form of the character ‘sen.’”
“This is also recorded in the Pianhai, you see.”
“Furthermore, the Shuowen Changjian records that this form derives from the cursive script of the character for ‘sen’ [spring].”
“And sen [spring] connects to sen [coin]—that is to say, monme is equivalent to sen.”

To this erudite explanation replete with scholarly references, neither Junpachi nor Matsutaro uttered a word, being thoroughly impressed from the depths of their hearts.

Then Junpachi invited [the monk] into the parlor, prepared tea, offered vegetarian fare, and treated him with utmost courtesy—

“Now then, Venerable Monk—what I wish to inquire about is the distinction between the characters for ‘year’ and ‘talent.’ Until recently, I had firmly believed the character for ‘talent’ to be what one might call a variant form of ‘year.’ But the other day, when examining the calligraphy of an esteemed master where the context demanded ‘year,’ I found instead the character for ‘talent’ written there.”

“That too is not a variant character. That is to say: sai (才) constitutes the ancient form of kana (哉), which connects etymologically to tai (戴). Furthermore, tai shares identical meaning with toshi (歳). Naturally, sai thereby connects to toshi—these two characters are entirely one and the same.”

At this, Junpachi pressed further with his inquiry.

“I am a country samurai of this land—until my grandfather’s time, our house prospered as wealthy landowners in this region. But by my father’s generation, our fortunes declined. After my parents departed this world, I was left in utter destitution, as you plainly see. Though I have reached marriageable age, my circumstances prevent me from taking a wife. Yet I have not abandoned the twin paths of scholarship and martial arts. While pursuing my studies, I gather children to teach them the words and deeds of ancient sages. For ease of memorization and instruction, I have them read *Dōjikyō*—a primer used since antiquity—yet its contents dwell excessively on monastic matters and include dubious doctrines. It hardly seems worthy of being called a sage’s masterpiece. What is your esteemed view on this matter?”

“Indeed, it is no masterpiece.”
“It is nothing but a vulgar book not worth considering.”

The monk stated unequivocally,

“That said, this text appears renowned enough to have crossed early to Tang China—seeing as Volume Three of the *Classic of Governance* already states ‘In Japanese studies, it is *Dōjikyō* and *Teikin Ōrai* that excel most…,’ one must conclude it circulated widely as a commonplace text for ages.”

Junpachi and Matsutaro grew ever more astonished in their hearts and came to revere the monk all the more. Junpachi in particular—perhaps owing to his scholarly disposition—even began to feel an unexpected familiarity toward him.

After Matsutaro had left, he continued to detain the monk, engaging in various further discussions. But as the long June day waned and lamps were lit, the monk abruptly rose to his feet, offered his thanks, and attempted to depart.
Then—whether the rigors of his ascetic travels had worn down his advanced age—he suddenly collapsed onto the veranda and vomited copious filth from his mouth.

“Oh, this appears to be an illness. Please first enter the parlor and rest for a while.”

Junpachi had the old servant assist him in hurriedly preparing bedding, then carried the old monk inside—this very act marked the dreadful beginning that would plunge Honjo Junpachi into his ill-fated destiny.

A Mountain of Treasure

Junpachi had his old servant Hachizo run to Dr. Sensai’s residence.

Dr. Sensai, who had arrived before long, quietly counted the old monk’s pulse and remained still in thought for some time—

“A word in your ear.”

Having whispered this, he led Junpachi to the adjacent room.

“Now then, Mr. Honjo—is that venerable monk by any chance someone connected to you?” he first whispered in a hushed voice.

“No—he is neither kin nor acquaintance.”
“Moreover, he is but a stranger I chanced upon only today…” Junpachi’s brow furrowed faintly. “Do you find some cause for suspicion regarding the venerable monk’s ailment?”

“Indeed, certain doubts linger,” came the grave reply, “but those I shall examine in due course. For now, you must without delay have that monk expelled from your premises.”

“And what compels such urgency?”

“No whys nor wherefores—cast him out this instant.”

"That would be called inhumanity. Without an explanation of your reasons, I cannot perform such an unkind act."

Junpachi shook his head.
Then Sensai looked at him with pity,

“Is it acceptable if a terrible disaster befalls you?”

“Performing acts of goodwill toward others—what possible disaster could that bring about!”

“That goodwill too shall end here.” Sensai spoke with utmost bitterness. “What kindness can one expect from vile insects, fox demons, and evil spirits?
Peril lurks at the threshold—danger abounds! This old man shall take his leave here.
You too should take care.”

Leaving behind disquieting words, Dr. Sensai took his leave.

"What kindness can one expect from vile insects, fox demons, and evil spirits?"
"Now then—what could this mean?" Junpachi muttered under his breath. Though it weighed somewhat on his mind, he turned back to the sickroom—and upon seeing the noble face of the venerable monk now sleeping peacefully, his heart cleared completely. Before long, he had forgotten those words altogether.

The following day, the monk rose from his sickbed, expressed gratitude for the care he had received since the previous night, and stepped out to the veranda to don his straw sandals.

It was Junpachi who was startled; flustered, he grabbed the sleeve of his robe,

"What are you doing? Surely you do not mean to depart?"

"No no—this humble monk must take his leave here."
The monk smiled an enigmatic smile and said, "I must take my leave without fail."
"The reason being there are enemies of this humble monk in these parts."
"No no—those called long-sleeved ones are strangely twisted in their dispositions."
"You would do well to take care."
"That physician called Sensai is no decent sort, and yet... this humble monk shall never forget your kindness."
"I believe good fortune shall soon come to you."
"I bid you farewell."
"Farewell."

Having said this, he stood up smoothly and briskly headed toward the main street, but once more vomited filth from his mouth.
However, the old monk did not so much as glance back and exited through the gate.
And already his figure was no longer visible.

“How pitiable—the venerable monk still appears unwell.” While uttering these words, Junpachi watched the gate for some time, but soon called his servant Hachizo and had him clean up the filth.

Hachizo was grumbling something under his breath but obeyed his master’s command and scraped the soil in that area with a hoe. Something struck the blade of the hoe with a clink. When he looked, there was a silver ring of convenient size. When he pulled hard on the silver ring, the mouth of a leather bag appeared.

“This is strange,” Junpachi said as he stepped down from the veranda and helped Hachizo pull on the silver ring together.
Even with their combined strength, the leather bag refused to budge.
In other words, it was that heavy.
“What could be inside?”

Driven by curiosity, Junpachi stopped pulling, drew his dagger, and slashed open the bag’s mouth—but in that instant, a sharp scream—“Gaah!”—erupted from the cut.
But the strangeness did not end there—look! The enormous bag was filled to bursting with nothing but gold!

“Ah! So yesterday’s venerable monk was indeed an incarnation of Buddha and Bodhisattva! He must have taken pity on my poverty and bestowed upon me this immense fortune! Namu Amida Butsu!” Unconsciously, Junpachi recited a Buddhist prayer—but was that countless treasure truly a gift from Buddha and Bodhisattva, just as he had thought?

“No!”

Yet Dr. Sensai alone refused to acknowledge this as good fortune.

“That is precisely an apparition’s temptation.”
“When calamity approaches, more often than not comes first some semblance of good fortune.”
“Pitiable Mr. Junpachi.”
“You are readily possessed by demons—yet even so, what manner of transformation might that aged monk truly be?”

The Apparition of Toad Pond

The events in question occurred in June of Genroku 15 (1702), in the castle town of Takashima under Suwa Inaba-no-kami, a domain yielding thirty thousand koku.

And thus was a great fortune bestowed.
Honjo Junpachi discarded his previous life of poverty and made it his foremost priority to spend his days in honor and splendor.

In the original text of this story, *Strange Tales of the Mountain Depths Cherry Blossoms*, the events of that time are written in beautiful prose as follows.

"...His joy knew no bounds—like a dragon meeting its moment to dance skyward, he purchased the household furnishings he had yearned for over many years, redeemed the vacant lot beside his house, gathered numerous craftsmen, and built a mansion showcasing exquisite taste. Its screens and partitions vied in splendor, strange trees and fantastical rocks stood prominent in the rear garden, with no rival to its fine prospects and excellent features."
"When maidservants and menservants filled his house, and he entertained with a multitude in attendance, even those clansmen and relatives who had once shunned his poverty and avoided contact later came to pay their flattering respects."
..." (omitted)

In short, he attained a life of royalty in a single morning.
As is typical of the nouveau riche, he accumulated several concubines, but favored none but Sasachiyo, a twenty-year-old beauty.

And thus his good fortune spread ever wider, showing no sign of easily crumbling.
However, only the elderly physician Sensai had not remained idle since that time; whenever rumors of Junpachi arose,

"Nay—this is no true splendor."
"It is the sorcery of evil spirits!"

He said resentfully and worried about his fate. His childhood friend Tsutsui Matsutaro visited him constantly with undiminished friendship, yet even he would occasionally tilt his head quizzically and mutter uneasily, "Hmm, I wonder just how long this splendid good fortune will last?"

Thus a year passed, but then a great joy came to visit Junpachi once more.
This was because Sasachiyo had given birth to a boy, whom he promptly named Yoshimaru and cherished like a treasure.
A beautiful woman, ample food and clothing, and even a child—with these, he could now immerse himself in the full splendor his heart desired.

In the garden of his mansion, there was an old, wide pond.
From the time when it was still a vacant lot, the pond had been there, and since those days, people had called it "Toad Pond."
This was because countless giant toads had made their dwelling there, and indeed when early summer arrived, he could see—among the water plants and floating algae—earth-colored toads covered in warts, others exposing their pale bellies to the sun, and innumerable multitudes of toads residing there.

“Toads may seem eerie at first glance, but upon closer inspection, they possess considerable elegance.”
“The toads in the pond must never be killed.”

Junpachi instructed his household members in this manner and instead protected the toads.

However, the troubling matter here was that countless snakes began gathering in the garden—perhaps attempting to catch the pond’s toads—startling women and children and coiling around verandas and pillars. Though Junpachi, greatly perplexed, ordered them killed whenever found, the snakes only multiplied all the more.

However, Junpachi would absolutely not permit the killing of the toads.

And thus came the third summer.

At that time, an incident occurred.

It was a refreshing afternoon after a passing shower had cleared, but Yoshimaru, who had turned three years old, was walking along the edge of the pond, led by his mother Sasachiyo.
Then, from the grass, a snake slithered out like a cord and—before one could gasp—coiled around Yoshimaru’s leg.

“Agh!”

Startled, Sasachiyo—who herself loathed serpents—called for help while leaping back a ken’s distance, but at the sudden splash, she jolted around to look and found Yoshimaru’s figure nowhere in sight.

She ran back to the pond's edge and stared fixedly at the water's surface—there upon its bluish expanse, a single small ripple had formed, gradually expanded, then faintly vanished—yet precisely where those ripples had centered, poor little Yoshimaru's corpse must surely have sunk.

Startled by her cry, Junpachi and the maids and menservants rushed in panic to the scene—but could do nothing immediately.

This was indeed the first misfortune.

The Malevolent Monk Reappears

However, this first misfortune was miraculously reversed through rescue by an unexpected being.

It was that very night that Junpachi, exhausted from grief, unwittingly fell asleep and beheld a certain dream.

The master of the dream was a toad.
The toad stood as large as a man, cradling Yoshimaru—who should have drowned—in its two front legs as though he were a precious object. After bowing repeatedly, it spoke thus:

“Though I am but master of the many toads dwelling in Toad Pond, your lordship has shown us extraordinary protection these past years—a kindness we have deeply cherished. When today the young master chanced to drown in those waters, I deemed this moment ripe to repay our debt and thus rendered aid.”
“I entreat you now to receive him… Moreover, should calamity hereafter befall your noble mansion, rest assured that within my power’s compass, I shall unfailingly lend assistance.”

As soon as it finished speaking, the toad vanished like an illusion, leaving only Yoshimaru peacefully asleep atop the futon.

The second disaster occurred about ten days later when fire broke out from the kitchen side and threatened to reduce the mansion to ashes.
At that wondrous moment, the pond water suddenly erupted in countless streams that cascaded down toward the flames, so even that conflagration lost its ferocity in an instant and left the mansion unharmed.
And so the uneasy summer passed; when early autumn arrived at last, a terrible downfall descended upon Junpachi.

It was on a day so autumnal that lavender thoroughworts bore sky-blue blossoms at their branch tips in the rear garden, while golden patrinias adorned the foot of the artificial hill, their petals damp with dew, when Junpachi strolled leisurely alone around the pond.

Then, with a creak, the back gate opened, and from there suddenly appeared the white-haired, fair-skinned Begging Monk who had first met him three years prior and bestowed fortune upon him.

“Oh! The Venerable Monk.”
“Welcome—you honor us with your presence.”

As though meeting a deceased parent reborn, Junpachi spread his arms wide and ran toward the monk with theatrical delight.

Yet the aged monk offered no greeting, standing as immovable as stone.
His appearance remained unchanged from days of old, save for a single slender sword scar now gracing his neck—an unwonted detail absent before.

“How goes it?”

the monk said after a moment.

“Are your present circumstances pleasant?”

“Yes,” replied Junpachi courteously,
“nothing could be more splendid.”

“I see.”

The monk laughed while asking,
“Do you think you wish to remain seated in your present circumstances forever?”

“I would like to remain here forever.”

“I see.”

The monk laughed again.
“However, to me it does not seem so—you appear rather satiated.”

“No no, that is not the case.”

“Then why dost thou not accumulate good deeds?”

“Hm? Do you mean good deeds?”

“’Tis to refrain from taking life.”

“I would never commit such acts as killing.”

“You kill snakes, do you not?”

“Because they are harmful pests…”

“Hmph,” sneered the monk. “That is a grave mistake. Snakes are by no means harmful pests. …Moreover, for your circumstances, they are supremely beneficial creatures!”

The monk pondered for a moment,

“Your good fortune has run out!”

the Begging Monk suddenly rebuked sharply.

“Now behold how violently and terribly the Vicissitudes of Fortune shift and change!”

The monk clapped his hands sharply.

And in that very instant, a raging conflagration erupted from all sides of the lofty tower, and in a flash, the mansion vanished into nothingness.

*Itaden Miyama Zakura* recounts the events of that time as follows, with profound poignancy.

“When the demonic flames subsided and he looked around, there remained only desolation—not a single thing left standing. Houses and gardens had all crumbled away; white bones lay heaped upon heaps amidst straggling weeds, with neither human voices nor birdsong to be heard.”
And the white bones were his household members—that is, concubines, maidservants, and young children.

He stood dumbfounded, his mind blank; when he turned to look back, the figure of the old monk had already vanished without a trace.

In other words, he had lost even Sasachiyo, whom he longed for, and even Yoshimaru, who had shown him boundless affection.
How astonished he was, how grief-stricken he became—surely there was no need to belabor the point with further explanation.
And thus, he lost all his splendor—everything he had possessed.

Beauty and Child

A royal existence attained in a single dawn; a beggar’s lot reclaimed in another turn.
Yesterday’s prosperity was today’s ruin—Honjo Junpachi wandered for a time along the border between dream and reality. Yet this drastic reversal became for him a bitter tonic; his spirit transformed abruptly, and instead of seeking worldly pleasures, he came to yearn for the mystic path of nihilistic adaptability through the Way of Immortals.

He lived in a ruined house inherited from ancestors that remained untouched from former times; again gathered neighborhood children; traversed the fields and mountainsides where he expounded renowned sages’ teachings; and strove to temper his mind and spirit.

The one who was delighted was Dr. Sensai.

“This is what true living looks like.”

Having said this, he began to frequently visit again as before.

Naturally, Tsutsui Matsutaro—as an innocent and close friend—began visiting almost daily.
Although he had once strayed into the path of evil, people instead revered him as a sage who had truly reformed.

And so, when a year had passed, he too unwittingly forgot the past and came to rejoice in his rustic circumstances.

Thus another year passed, and spring arrived with plum blossoms in bloom. For miles around, warblers sang as verdant leaves and crimson flowers vied in radiance; water villages and mountain castles basked in breezes carrying tavern banners—it had become precisely the season suited for strolls through the outskirts.

And so, one day, he took up a gourd and wandered along the shore of the lake toward Kosaka Kannon.

He arrived at his destination—the temple grounds—as dusk approached. An ancient plum tree that appeared centuries old stood there, its branches laden with thousands upon thousands of blossoms. Bathed in the setting sun’s rays, they gleamed brilliantly in a spectacle of unparalleled beauty. Yet not a soul remained—neither pilgrims come to worship nor admirers drawn to view the flowers—leaving no trace of human presence.

For Junpachi, the absence of people proved rather convenient and welcome; strolling about the area without tiring, he quietly composed verses.

And so, when over two hours had passed in this manner, having fully satisfied his interest, he prepared to set off for home.

Then, abruptly and from nowhere,

Someone called out, "Lord Junpachi, Lord Junpachi."

“Who goes there?”

With suspicion, Junpachi surveyed the surroundings.
There was no sign of anyone present.
And so he began walking again.
And once more came the same voice,

“Lord Junpachi, Lord Junpachi.”
The voice seemed to emanate from within the hollow of an ancient plum tree.

Puzzled by this strangeness, he approached the hollow.
Standing before it,

“Who goes there?” he wondered aloud.
“Was it you who called?”

Having spoken thus, he tried calling out.
Just then, from within the hollow suddenly appeared half the body of that familiar old monk,

“It is this humble monk.”
“Have you forgotten?”

“Ah! You’re the Venerable Monk from that time?!”

“How fares your esteemed self, I wonder?”
The monk grinned slyly while saying, “You appear unchanged, I see?”

“Since then, I have remained peaceful and undisturbed.”

“That is most splendid.”
“What say you—how about paying a visit to my humble abode?”

“Where might your hermitage be located?”

“It lies at the base of this hollow,”
“What say you to coming straightaway?”

“Is there some unusual matter at hand, I wonder?”

“I shall have you meet your wife and children.”

“Huh?” Junpachi inadvertently cried out, taking a step closer to the monk. “What? Are you saying that Sasachiyo and Yoshimaru still live?”

“They have been waiting impatiently for you.”

“Please guide me! To my wife and children!”

After saying this, Junpachi sprang forward and plunged into the cave.

“This way! This way!”

With that, the old monk—still standing before Junpachi—quickened his pace and broke into a run.

The subsequent events are recorded in *Itan Miyama-zakura* with the following passage.

"...As they ran along a faintly glowing white path following the monk, after traversing over ten blocks, they emerged into an entirely new realm.
The sky stretched boundlessly clear and bright; the spring day pleasantly mild with warm breezes. Along riverbanks, mountain foothills, and fields, exotic blossoms and fragrant herbs bloomed in lush profusion—the scenery splendid as a painted scroll.
Continuing onward, they saw a grand tower.
A towering gatehouse; a corridor like a rainbow; jade ponds with fountains, rare birds and beasts; singing voices rose from the heavens, choruses swelled from the earth—then suddenly, there appeared a beautiful woman and a child who, gazing upon them from afar, bowed once.
Namely, Sasachiyo and Yoshimaru alone.
…and so on (the rest is omitted).”

“Ah!”

When Junpachi saw that, he raised a voice of joy and started running toward where the two were. When Sasachiyo and Yoshimaru saw that, they too came running over joyfully, but suddenly stopped in their tracks and pointed. And then they shouted in loud voices like this:

“Run!”
“Run!”
“Run! Run!”

Junpachi noticed with a start and turned to look behind him.

Behold!

Behind him, instead of the monk, there was a giant serpent gleaming brilliantly—part of its massive body stretching several ken in length, absurdly clad in inky-black priestly robes—charging straight toward Junpachi like an arrow!

A toothless mouth.

“Now that’s an apparition!”

Junpachi placed his hand on the sword at his waist and drew it with a glint. The moment he swung his blade in a swift diagonal slash at the lunging serpent’s torso, the sword shattered into three pieces with a crash.

“By the Three Treasures!”

Just as he leapt back,

“Run!”

A voice shouting "Run!" could be heard from behind.

"There was nothing left but to flee," he thought.

Junpachi dashed off at full speed. He ran back the way he had come. As he ran while glancing back—whoosh, whoosh—the python came chasing after him from behind. "If it catches up, disaster!" he thought, now running for his life without looking back. Ahead stood an old plum tree, its roots cradling a single cave. He jumped into the cave. And in that instant, Kosaka Kannon’s precincts—where moonlight faintly illuminated the ground—appeared before his eyes.

“Oh thank heavens! I’ve escaped the demon realm!”

“How terrifying! Honjo Junpachi!”—a hoarse voice called from behind.

“What?!”

He turned around.
From the hollow of an ancient plum tree, the monk emerged halfway, his toothless mouth gaping wide as he laughed soundlessly.

“You fiendish monk!” he cried, drawing his dagger and slashing downward with a shout: “Remember this!”

No sooner had a tremendous stench erupted from the cave like smoke than the fiendish monk's form vanished completely, leaving only his shouting voice to be heard―

“...My connection with you is severed here!
Be at ease! Be at ease!”
The monk let out a hoarse laugh but cried, “Beware women’s cut hair! Beware!”

After that, all was solemn and desolate, with no sound to be heard.
Only the plum blossoms remained―white and scented under the moonlight―and nothing more.

“That must have been dreadful.”

When Dr. Sensai heard this entire tale from Junpachi’s own lips, every hair on his body stood on end in astonishment.
And after thinking for a while,

“Take utmost care henceforth that you are not again possessed by those fiends,” said Dr. Sensai, his voice grave as autumn frost. “Should this possession recur now, it would spell calamity—your singular life might well be forfeit.”

“I shall exercise every caution,” Junpachi replied, bowing low enough that his forehead nearly touched the tatami.

The physician leaned forward, his breathing apparatus clinking softly. “You must abstain from all outings for the foreseeable future.”

“As you command,” came the immediate response, Junpachi’s shoulders tensing beneath his hemp robe, “I shall confine myself to these chambers for one month—nay, two.”

Around that time, Matsutaro also came to visit, and upon hearing the story, he said this:

“That old plum tree at Kosaka Kannon—isn’t it rather suspicious?”

“Indeed, it is likely within that very cave that the evil spirits are concealed,” Dr. Sensai the old physician nodded and said.

“Why don’t we investigate?”
“Inside that plum tree’s cave.”
Matsutaro said to Sensai.
Sensai waved a hand and changed his expression, but—
“Do not suggest such preposterous things!”
“If you were to act so recklessly, you would surely incur the wrath of evil gods—who knows what calamities might befall!”
“Please desist!”
“Please desist!”
Then Tsutsui Matsutaro let out a dry laugh,
“It’s just a monster, isn’t it?
“What calamity could possibly befall me?”

“No, no—that is mere empty boasting.”
“Is it not evident that Lord Junpachi here has already suffered misfortune?”

“You call my words empty boasting?”
Matsutaro made a bitter face, his words growing harsh as he retorted, “Whether it’s empty boasting can only be known after testing it!"
“Though it may be presumptuous—this Matsutaro has not even a moment’s opening! There’s no reason for spirits to possess me!”

Then this time, Junpachi made a sullen face—

“These are your words, Mr. Tsutsui—so are you saying that I had some gap in my martial discipline that allowed possession?”

“Indeed.”

And so, with retort for retort, Matsutaro finally declared—

“Indeed—it’s precisely because you had such openings that you were possessed!”

“Such increasingly strange words—even from a close friend like you, I cannot let them pass unheeded! First, hear me out, Mr. Tsutsui—if this were a matter of being defeated by another human in sword combat or debate, then one might indeed say it reveals gaps in martial discipline. But our renowned opponent was a monster. Moreover, a dreadful fiend who freely wields mysterious and divine techniques! Being possessed was an irresistible force! Is that not precisely the case?”

However, Matsutaro scoffed and clung even more stubbornly to his argument.

“No, no—whether your opponent be human or even demon makes no difference!”
“To call it irresistible force is a coward’s excuse…”

“Silence!”

With that sudden bark, Junpachi jerked upright and seized the bundle of swords.

Mid-Autumn Full Moon

“Oh ho! A duel, is it?!”
“Consider it done!”

Due to the urgency of the moment, Matsutaro also had no choice but to take up his sword.

“To call this a cowardly excuse is the height of insolence! Come—let us step into the garden! I shall strike you down!”

“You who spout such brazen words—no! It is I who shall strike you down!”

The two men were on the verge of leaping from the tatami-floored room to the garden in a single bound.

“Now, now—wait a moment, please!”

The one who was startled was Sensai; he firmly grasped the hems of both men’s robes and refused to let go.

“Outrageous conduct!”
“What do you think will come of wielding blades?!”
“You aren’t mere acquaintances of yesterday or today—are you not childhood companions?!”
“There’s no shame in being called cowardly! And what cause for anger exists in being told to strike someone down?!”
“Come now—laugh it off and let the waters carry it away!”
“Now then, give us a proper grin!”

Indeed, when it was put this way—for it was undeniably true—the two men wordlessly set down their swords.
And before long, Matsutaro took his leave, and the matter was settled peacefully—but from that time onward, a coiled serpent of resentment took form between the two men.

Thus spring departed and summer arrived, and when that summer too had passed, it became the season of autumn with its cool breezes.

It was a night when the Mid-Autumn Full Moon cast its crystalline light upon the earth, and beneath the blossoms of silvergrass, insects chirped in a cascading chorus—a singularly splendid evening that comes but once a year. Yet Junpachi, thoroughly gloomed by his long seclusion and seeking to dispel his pent-up spirits, strolled out alone from his house and walked toward the foothills.

After crossing a small mountain pass, he ventured into a cedar forest.

And there stood a wayside shrine.

He sat on the edge of the wayside shrine, gazing absently at the moon while humming a folk tune in a low voice.
Because there were no people around, the surroundings were quiet, and even the faintest sound of falling leaves could be clearly heard.

And then, at that moment, a figure approached through the standing trees with brisk steps. There stood a beautiful maiden—her hair abundant, neck and limbs pale as moonlight, figure gracefully slender with an air of dignified maturity—but most arresting were her large, limpid eyes brimming with infinite sorrow, enough to captivate any beholder’s heart. She appeared to be around nineteen years old, and her expensive garments suggested she was the daughter of a respectable family.

Unaware of Junpachi's presence, she walked up to the wayside shrine, crouched down with hands clasped in prayer, and fervently began praying for something—though her voice seemed to be weeping.

Before long, she stood up.
But she immediately sat back down on the ground, sobbed there awhile longer, then finally drew a dagger from her breast—and was about to plunge it into her throat.

Junpachi, who had watched the entire scene, now instinctively lunged forward and seized the hand gripping the dagger—

“Release this blade at once! That a young maiden should come to such a place only to seek death—this I cannot comprehend. If your anguish warrants such an end, at least share your tale with me first.” Forcibly prying the dagger from her grasp yet maintaining gentle composure, he continued: “Though my aid may prove insufficient, I shall lend what strength I possess and hear your counsel.”

Perhaps moved by his earnestness, the maiden soon composed her disheveled appearance and began recounting her plight through streaming tears—a story of unrelenting strife between stepmother and stepchild in another household.

“Though I have indeed left my home, I have nowhere to turn for help—yet returning is equally unbearable. For if I were to force myself back, Stepmother-sama would surely chastise me to death.”
“Rather than that, I resolved all the more to die by my own hand and go dwell in the underworld where my true mother resides—so I steeled my resolve...”
“I see—your wish to die is by no means unreasonable. However, death would leave neither fruit nor blossom.”
“Rather than that, you should live on for however long it takes, rise to a splendid station, and devise a plan to snap Stepmother-dono’s hateful nose.... Should you lack relatives to rely upon, then by all means come to my humble abode.”
“What do you say?”
“Have you no desire to come?”

“I gratefully acknowledge your kindness,” she said. “Then will you finally come?” he asked. “Yes, if it would not trouble you…” “To aid another in distress is a man’s duty—how could it trouble me?”
“Then please come along.”

With the beautiful maiden—who seemed to have emerged from moonlight itself—in tow, Junpachi returned home through the forest with inexplicable joy in his heart. Yet this very act would become the thread that bound him to renewed possession by a supernatural entity, unraveling toward the loss of his very life.

A Bizarre Spectacle

When a young man and young woman dwelled under the same roof and shared meals daily, the outcome lay plain to foresee. The maiden named Miyama and Honjo Junpachi had within less than a moon's turning become bound by threads of fate no blade could sever.

Thus Junpachi regained his mantle as a man of happiness, his life brimming anew with purpose—yet once more, only old physician Sensai took no joy in this fortune, eyeing the woman called Miyama with deepening suspicion. Then came a day when he spoke thus:

“All living beings—humans included—possess a pulse inherent to their nature.”
“The reason I previously discerned that strange Begging Monk wasn’t human was because that creature had a pulse unlike any mortal being.”
“Indeed, he proved to be no man but a fearsome white serpent.—Now every living creature possesses breathing techniques particular to its kind.”
“As for this Miyama woman—she demonstrates an alarmingly precise breathing method time and again.”
“It appears you have once again fallen under possession by a supernatural creature, Mr. Honjo—most regrettably.”

And from that time onward, Sensai’s footsteps ceased entirely.

In contrast, his childhood friend Tsutsui Matsutaro began visiting more frequently than before—yet there were moments that aroused suspicion, as if he harbored some nefarious scheme in his heart and was drawing near to see it through.
That said, what exactly it was—of course, no one could discern.
However, it was an undeniable fact that Matsutaro had harbored resentment toward Junpachi ever since that debate.

Thus half a year passed.
Just as feared, a horrific tragedy surged forth.
And that had been planned by Matsutaro.
And so, the author intends to once again cite *Miyama Sakura* and relay that dreadful final tragedy to the readers.

“His old friend Tsutsui Matsutaro, seeking to settle a grudge from their debate, had been secretly awaiting an opportunity; but upon seeing the harmonious relationship between Miyama and Junpachi, he resolved to sunder their bond. At times he attempted to persuade Miyama with words, at others sent her amorous letters—all to disturb her heart. However, through happenstance, Junpachi soon uncovered Matsutaro’s treacherous scheme, and erupting in fury, declared: *‘To steal away one’s lover after years of fraternal camaraderie—is this not unrighteousness? Is this not the act of an unprincipled rogue?’* Refusing to let the matter rest, he one day awaited Matsutaro’s arrival. They drew blades against each other, and with none to intervene, fought in full measure until Junpachi finally cut Matsutaro down. Wiping blood from his sword, he fled with Miyama, knowing he could no longer remain in that place.

Now, this Tsutsui Matsuzo was Matsutaro’s true younger brother. Resolved to avenge his brother, he requested leave from his lord, the Lord of Inaba, and departed alone. Wandering for over three years, he eventually reached the vicinity of the Moon-Viewing Hall on Obasute Mountain in Sarashina District. At this juncture, there stood a dilapidated thatched hut that seemed unfit for human habitation. Hearing groans from within, he found it suspicious and peered inside only to find a man and woman huddled together.

The man was unexpectedly Junpachi; his complexion had turned deathly pale, his hair and beard grew wild and unkempt, his emaciated body resembled a withered tree, and yet he lay in a deep, comatose slumber.
The woman was Miyama; she clung tightly to Junpachi, extruded a long tongue from her mouth, and flicked it over the man’s head.

Though stunned by the bizarre spectacle, Matsuzo—having found his target at last—kicked down the door and forced his way inside. In a thunderous voice, he roared: ‘Now fate offers no escape! Rise and face me!’ As the woman, startled by his shout, tried to flee, he declared ‘You too are my enemy’s partner!’ and swung his blade in a swift arc. The woman let out a piercing shriek, scurried up the wall like a rat, and vanished into the ceiling’s shadows.

Honjo Junpachi, awakened by the noise, could only stare vacantly at Matsuzo’s face.
Detached from worldly concerns and unable to comprehend human affairs—much less utter words—Junpachi could only stare vacantly. Deeming this the end, Tsutsui Matsuzo struck off Junpachi’s head, then seized a fallen log to finish the woman. Thrusting it upward at the ceiling, the wood split along its grain—and through the gap, a jet-black mass over five feet long thudded down. Peering closer, Matsuzo saw four limbs akin to a human’s: a giant gecko. Even he could not help but gasp at this sight, yet soon repositioned his blade and plunged it through the creature’s spine. Stomping on its weakened form, he swiftly severed its head.
And so it went.
(The rest is omitted.)”