Pathway to Japanese Literature

At the end of the Tenpō era, in Koishikawa Otansu-chō, stood the upper residence of Inaba Harima no Kami.

In the shadow of the plastered wall adjoining the service gate used by samurai.
Evening.

At the base of plantings of cedar and fatsia crouched three mid-ranking samurai retainers—Zeze Ikinosuke along with Ikeda and Mori—talking intently.

Ikeda was agitated; Zeze Ikinosuke sat with a pallid face, arms crossed and head bowed.

Ikeda: “The lord is the boat; the vassals are the water.”
“It is the water that buoys the boat.”
“It is also the water that capsizes the boat.”
“Those who govern should bear this in mind.”
“And yet My Lord—”

“Shh!” Mori hissed. “What if someone hears? Think of Zeze’s position!”

Retainers in formal haori jackets and hakama trousers kept streaming through the gate, their boisterous laughter and conversation passing by the three men as they headed toward some event deeper within the compound.

“Nonsense,” Ikeda retorted. “Every samurai with principles among them disapproves of My Lord’s disgraceful actions this time. Let them hear—I care not.”

Mori: “Zeze!
“I understand your anguish.”
When had things ever come to this?

Ikinosuke—a handsome man of twenty-four or twenty-five—spoke in a low, trembling voice: “Please stop talking about that.
“I’ve been trying my hardest to forget—to tear this from my heart—yet here you all are, pressing me like this. Isn’t that cruel?”

Ikeda exchanged a look with Mori. “That’s fair.
“It’s only natural you’d feel that way—but we sympathize with you, and as friends, we’re trying to offer comfort—”

Ikinosuke: "If you truly have such friendship, then I'm begging you—say nothing."

Mori: "But I cannot bear to remain silent—"

Ikinosuke: "You can't bear to stay silent? Then I'll ask Mori. What exactly do you expect me to do?"

Ikeda and Mori fell silent.

Ikinosuke scoffed derisively. “There, you see? You’ve no choice but to keep your mouths shut. There’s a saying—‘If you can’t beat them, join them.’ No—even without resorting to such vulgar words, my foremost duty lies with My Lord. How could I possibly harbor any resentment? Not a shred of such feelings exists within me!” He declared emphatically.

Ikeda pressed on: “Between feudal lord and retainer—does the lord have the right to take anything he desires from his men? Even a wife glowing with newlywed joy—who decided this master-servant system in the first place?”

Zeze and Mori fell into deep thought.

Ikeda: “In short, we lower our heads because we receive stipend rice and are fed.”
“Isn’t that all there is to it?”
“I believe this feudal system will crumble before long.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that some great upheaval is coming.”
“No—it should come.”
“Somehow, I can sense its stench.”

Mori (fearfully): “Our samurai ancestors—were they truly, literally absolutely obedient to their lords?”

Ikeda: “Of course they were. We’ve been indoctrinated with that too—hammered with it. But lately… I’ve started doubting these relationships between people. Is this truly right?”

Mori: “We must absolutely obey whatever the lord desires. Hmm… Absolutely—without reason or fault—”

Ikeda: “Even without any moral justification—if ordered to slit your belly on the spot—could you do it? Mori—what about you?”

Mori: "Hmm... I would cut—or so I've intended until today—but something feels off."

Ikeda: "What if you were told to send your wife to serve him at night?"

Ikinosuke Zeze (frantically clamping both hands over his ears): "You're saying that again."
"You're saying that again."

Mori: “That’s right! This lord-vassal relationship won’t last long!”

Ikeda: “It’s because we’re young that we can sense the world’s shifts sooner. Eventually, something will happen—something will occur, without a doubt—”

Zeze (his face paling): “No—! How could such an absurd thing exist? The bond between lord and vassal is an immovable rock. Moreover, it is our duty to make it an eternal immovable rock. How can you serve our lord properly while harboring such improper doubts! You’re speaking such impertinent nonsense.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“You’re cruel to think that way,” Ikinosuke said, his voice cracking. “What else would you have me believe?”

Ikeda: “Is that so…
“Can’t you hear it at all—the tramp of the great upheaval approaching from afar?”

Ikinosuke Zeze (flushing): “No matter what great upheaval may come, how could the sacred bond between lord and vassal possibly crumble?”

Ikeda: “Even after having your new wife taken from you, do you still think that way?”

Mori: “Tell me your true feelings—your real ones.”

Ikinosuke: “How could there be both true feelings and lies in one’s heart? That and this are separate matters. That—I struggled with it too. Well—I won’t say I’m not troubled even now.”

Mori and Ikeda exchanged brief glances.

“Of course you do.”
“Well, that’s precisely how human feelings ought to be.”

“It’s shameful to admit,” Ikinosuke said, “but at the time... Okase’s image kept flickering before my eyes—”

“Well, she *is* the foremost beauty in the domain—Lady Okase.”
“In truth, we all watched with bated breath to see into whose hands Lady Okase—daughter of Lord Abiko, the storage official—would fall.”
“The self-recommendation campaigns were quite fierce too.”

Ikeda poked Mori lightly. “When Zeze triumphantly shot the deer of the central plains and finally held his wedding ceremony this spring—hey Mori, I’ll confess—I felt a twinge of envy.”

Mori: “Hmm, that night there were quite a few samurai drowning their sorrows all over the place.”
“It’s embarrassing to admit, but Ikeda and I were actually among them—”

Ikeda (peering at Zeze, who’s hanging his head): “You—once the envy of the entire domain—had that beautiful treasured jewel, your beloved wife Lady Okase, taken by His Lordship.”
“Don’t you feel even a little resentment?”

“That’s human nature—there have been times I felt resentment.”

Ikeda (glancing at Mori): “What’s this? Resentment?”

“Hmm... I did feel sadness,”
“I also felt anguish.”
“But all those feelings have gone away.”
“I don’t feel anything at all now.”
“But the other party is My Lord!”
“There’s nothing to be done.”
“Hahaha—no! Or rather than there being nothing to be done... For such an unworthy one to have caught his eye and been summoned to his side—I truly consider it an honor.”
“I am grateful.”
“Okase humbly presented herself to My Lord.”
“Please—don’t worry about it anymore.”

Suddenly Ikeda raised his leg and kicked Ikinosuke down.

“Spineless!”
“You’re the one unfit to stand among samurai!”
“The people’s hearts have already abandoned My Lord!”
“This rotting feudal system teeters on collapse!”
“I see it clearer than anyone.”
“Let just one man ignite rebellion here—the whole realm would rise!”
“A vassal striking back at his lord with vengeance!”
“What heaven-shaking glory that would bring!”
“And here you stand—perfectly positioned—yet you do nothing!”

Ikinosuke Zeze (while rolling on the ground, calmly): "Would I retaliate against My Lord? Why would I ever do such a— Even contemplating it is an affront!"

Ikeda: "You aren’t even human! Damn you! You’d actually go this far?!"

With a contemptuous spit, Ikeda walked away.

Ikinosuke Zeze (lying fallen, not wiping away the spit, in a dreamlike mutter): That day—at the late lord’s memorial service—when My Lord visited Zuifuku Temple... Okase, who’d been chosen to serve tea, was graced with his august notice and taken into service—

Mori (sympathetically, yet provocatively): “Hmm...”
“So that’s how it stands.”
“Though one might understand if she were still unwed—but My Lord knew full well she had a fine husband like you. Or rather, as you’re aware, Ikeda’s quick to anger—a pity—but regardless, His Lordship’s conduct this time was rather rough.”
“The elder retainers all harbor grave concerns.”
“Moreover, we all discern your true feelings and share this resentment toward My Lord.”

“Heavy-handed?”
“No—no, that’s absolutely not the case.”
“Isn’t that precisely what defines the lord-vassal bond?”
“To harbor resentment toward My Lord—such a thing is utterly unthinkable.”

Mori: “However—since this violates humanity’s great moral path—even My Lord cannot—”

Zeze: “No! Outrageous! My Lord’s every word and deed transcend good and evil—they themselves constitute humanity’s great moral path! Enough.”

Ten days had passed since Okase was summoned to his side.
If only she would serve diligently to please him—but—

Mori stared intently at his expression: “From what I hear... Okase does nothing but weep from longing for you.”

Zeze: “What impropriety!”

When I hear that, Okase’s misunderstanding strikes me as so pitiful that tears well up.
Tears flow.
(He weeps.)

Mori: “Come on—can you get up?”

Ikeda’s anger—I couldn’t understand it at all.
He was possessed by some unthinkably evil notion.
“Yeah—I can stand.”

Mori (peering into the depths of the shrubbery): “Oh—the poetry gathering looks about to start.”
“Come—let us go.”

Ikinosuke: “I’ll go after fixing this disheveled collar.”
“You go on ahead without me.”

Mori: “I see.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
(He leaves.)

Ikinosuke Zeze watched his retreating back, muttering to himself: "Ikeda, Mori—every last one of them suspects me."
Ah, how pitiful.
Why did this heart of mine—this heart harboring not a shred of disloyalty toward My Lord—fail to reach them?
Was my sincerity still insufficient?
He sat on the ground and sank into thought, then suddenly slammed both hands down, head drooping.

———————————————————————

The inner great hall.

Outside the sliding door opened to the front was a corridor, and beyond it, a garden could be seen as dusk encroached.

Okase’s father—a fidgety old man named Abiko something-or-other, a storehouse official—was sitting facing both Ikeda and Mori.

A monk entered.

Monk (to the three): “At present, My Lord has temporarily withdrawn from the poetry gathering and will shortly arrive here.”

Ikeda: “Is that so?
“You’ve had quite the errand.”
(To Abiko, resuming their earlier conversation) “No matter how we press him, he absolutely refuses to speak his true mind.”

“He’s a weak-willed man,” said Mori. “No—that business about bearing no resentment? That’s the fool’s own truth.”

Ikeda: “Even if a man were ever so strong-willed—when his opponent is the lord! Ha ha ha.”

Abiko: “No—it weighs heavily on my conscience. Had I known things would come to this—that I’d receive such an unexpected promotion—I wouldn’t have allowed her to marry so hastily. I acted a bit too hastily.”

Ikeda: “What do you expect? That milquetoast Zeze and his ilk, with their outrageous audacity, taking a peerless beauty like Lady Okase as a wife—this is what comes of it. Ah, serves him right.”

“That’s right,” said Mori. “They say mismatched pairs sow misfortune.” He gave a dry chuckle. “This finally quiets the grudge in my gut.”

Ikeda roared with laughter. “When I seized that chance to knock him flat, this weight I’d carried since spring just—poof!—vanished!”

Mori: "However, I must admit your radical arguments took me quite by surprise."

Ikeda: "To deceive the enemy, first mislead your allies—no, above all, deceive yourself. After all, with My Lord's own hand having plucked Lady Okase from Zeze's embrace, what could be more gratifying?"

Abiko: “Oh, I must apologize for causing all of you such trouble with this whole affair.”
“But I feel so sorry for Ikinosuke that I can’t bear to see his face—”

In the front garden, a handmaid went around lighting the lanterns.
Upon realizing the lord’s imminent arrival, the three straightened their postures.
A maid entered carrying folded sitting mats and skillfully prepared the seating area.

Inaba Harima no Kami (voice approaching from the corridor): “Ah, enough with these songs—they don’t matter! I’m sick of them! Sick of them!”

He entered and took his seat.

A forty-five- or forty-six-year-old daimyo with an irritable disposition.
A child attendant carrying a sword, followed by Okase and three or four maids, flowed into their respective seats.

Harima (to the three prostrating men): “Well? Have you figured out Zeze’s mind yet?”
(He does a big yawn.)

Okase looked downward.

"Ikeda: With all due reverence, in accordance with Your Lordship’s prior command, we investigated the man’s heart and have discerned not the slightest disloyalty."

Harima: “Hmm. Is that so?”
“No—it’s only natural.”
“What use is disloyalty?”

Mori: “We humbly report it as an honor beyond our station and rejoice most sincerely.”

Harima: “Hmm.”
“That is as it should be.”
“Hahahaha! No—it’s only to be expected.”

(Turning around) “Okase, did you hear?”
“Now that small breast of yours must feel unburdened.”
“From this moment, accept my favor without reserve—yes?”

Abiko (prostrating): “I implore you to watch over us steadfastly until—”

Monk (approaching the threshold): “I beg to report.”
“The guests grow restless in the adjoining chamber—the poetry gathering can no longer—”

“I’ve had enough of these songs,” declared Harima. “Have only those of consequence come here to confer.”

Ikeda: “Then, we—”
(Exchanging a glance with Mori, he began to withdraw.)

Harima: “No—stay as you are.”
“Stay there.”

From the poetry gathering, Elder Retainer Yazawa and about twenty other senior officials and councilors entered.
Samurai from other domains had also been invited.

Among them was Kubo Keidō from a certain domain, known in those days as a sword physiognomist. Kubo Keidō was around fifty years old—a scholarly man with a tea whisk-style topknot. As the group, still wearing their swords, jostled while deferentially offering seats to one another and attempting to sit down, the pommel of one samurai’s sword struck against another’s with a clink.

One samurai: “Oops!”
“Oh dear, I’ve committed a terrible blunder.”
“I humbly beg your kind forgiveness—”

The other samurai: “No—rather, it is I who must apologize for thrusting out this overly long sword where it didn’t belong and committing such a clumsy blunder.”
“I humbly beg your pardon.”

The two samurai exchanged polite greetings and sat down.

Harima: Ah, that’s what you call a scabbard clash.
“Had there been even a sliver of ill will between them, who knows what chaos might’ve erupted from that scabbard clash? Yet these two men resolved it masterfully—truly remarkable, remarkable these days! Hahahaha!”

Both men: “A scabbard clash, indeed! Hahahaha! To think it would turn into spontaneous entertainment and win My Lord’s approval—”
“By all means, give it another strike.”

They exchanged nods and laughed.

A man in the gathering: “No—it truly was a scabbard clash in the literal sense. For a moment there, I thought things might turn serious—hahaha!”

Second man: “I was quite on tenterhooks.”

“No way! Hahahaha!”

The entire gathering burst into uproarious laughter.

Third speaker: “Ah, now that you mention it—this scabbard in question is truly splendidly crafted.”
“Though impertinent of me to ask—might I beg the honor of examining it?”

The samurai who had clashed swords: “That such a crude blade should catch your discerning eye shames me.”
“It hardly merits presentation before esteemed company, but if you insist, nothing could be simpler.”
“Pray inspect it.”

The sword was then passed hand to hand through the crowd.

Those handling it remarked: “Hohō! The kozuka is by Yūjō.”

A second voice inquired: “This thread-ring peeking bellflower crest—might this be your family’s?”

A third observed: “The carving appears to be by Higo no Hayashi Shigenaga, though...”

A fourth countered: “Nonsense—your discernment does you credit.”

“Fifth: And this tsuba—might I ask which Myōchin master crafted it?”

“It’s said to be by Yoshifusa—ah, how mortifying.”

The samurai who had requested to inspect it (receiving it): “A splendid wax-colored scabbard indeed.”
“If I may say so, it bears the hallmarks of an excellent era.”
“Ah!”
“The tsuba carving—a transforming butterfly in flight!”
“No—exquisite, truly exquisite! A masterwork of detail.”
“Now that we’ve seen this far, I simply must view the blade—I’m trembling with anticipation.”
“And the blade itself?”

“Oh no—it’s but a trifle.”
“From Aizu.”

A man in the gathering asked, “When you say Aizu—Kanesada? Or Miyoshi? Or Wakasanokami—”

The owner replied, “It is Kanesada.”

Harima pressed, “The first generation?”

“Hah,” the owner demurred with a sharp exhale. “No, it is the fifth generation.”

Kubo Keidō the sword physiognomist interjected, “Then this would be the Genroku-era Kanesada who became Ōmi no Daijō.”

The samurai examining the blade chuckled darkly. “If this were truly Kanesada’s work, it must be a masterpiece indeed. Like some wild horse breaking free—no wonder it caused a scabbard-clash!” His laughter rang hollow. “Well then! Since matters stand thus...”

He placed a sheet of kaishi paper between his teeth, straightened his posture, and bowed his head toward Harima no Kami. “By your leave—”

He drew it out one or two sun.

Elder Retainer Yazawa (flustered): “This is His Lordship’s presence!”
“To draw the blade even slightly would be presumptuous.”
“Restraint, I beg of you! Restraint!”

The samurai who had begun to draw it (suddenly realizing): “Driven solely by my desire to see it, I failed to mind my manners.”
“I beg His Lordship to graciously pardon my carelessness.”

With a snap, he returned it to the scabbard and pressed his hands to the floor.

Harima: “What?”
“It matters not.”
“Draw it! Draw it!”
“I too wish to see it.”
“(To Yazawa) You old fool!”
“Meddling unnecessarily—you’re such a killjoy.”
“Even a daimyo is a samurai!”
“Does the drawn blade frighten you?”
“Draw it.”

“Since permission has been granted, you may proceed freely.”

“Forgive my presumption,” said the samurai who had begun to draw the blade. “In my eagerness, I failed to consider Your Lordship’s presence—”
Drawing it smoothly with proper formality, he examined the steel. “Hmm—what extraordinary workmanship!”

“Whoa, this looks like it could slice through anything!”

He peered closely.
The sword passed from hand to hand around the gathering, and murmurs of admiration arose among the people.

Kubo Keidō (receiving and intently examining the blade): "Hmm. Its dignity and elegance—truly a remarkable aura not seen in recent times."

The samurai whose scabbard was touched: "Well then, I'd like to present my own blade—the one that had a scabbard clash with that Kanesada—for the esteemed gathering's inspection. Hahahaha!"

A man in the gathering asked, “Your honored sword?”

The samurai whose scabbard had been touched replied, “Kunituna.”

Kubo Keidō examined it. “Awataguchi school,” he declared. “That belongs to an earlier era.” His tone softened with professional admiration. “What an exceptional gathering of renowned blades tonight. No doubt the other gentlemen present bear equally magnificent weapons.”

Yazawa struck his knee and turned to Harima no Kami. “My Lord, though I believe you’re already aware, this Kubo Keidō excels in discerning sword physiognomy.” He leaned forward earnestly. “The blade’s signs prove most extraordinary—its efficacy remarkable, its reputation throughout the land beyond dispute—”

Kubo Keidō: “Ah, Honorable Elder—should such unfounded matters reach His Lordship’s ears, I would be most troubled.”

“I have indeed heard of the Kubo clan,” said Harima no Kami. He nodded slowly, fingers tracing his beard. “So even swords bear physiognomic signs.”

Kubo Keidō bowed deeply, the lamplight catching his spectacles. “If I may venture—just as with human physiognomy, there exists sword physiognomy and blade physiognomy among—”

“This Master Keidō,” interjected Elder Yazawa, striking his knee for emphasis, “discerns auspicious and inauspicious signs in long swords, tests fortunes in daggers—and never errs in ten thousand judgments!”

“No,” demurred Kubo, raising both hands palms-outward, “that claim exceeds—”

Harima no Kami leaned forward, eyes glinting like the sword hilts around them. “My interest quickens.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial rumble. “That a master of blade divination graces this gathering... most intriguing.”

Yazawa: “In that case, for this evening’s diversion—no, to call it mere diversion would be discourteous to Master Keidō—how about having him appraise everyone’s swords?”

Harima: “Master Keidō, inspect everyone’s swords and declare their auspicious and ominous signs.”

Kubo Keidō: “Then, though unskilled, I shall obey your command—”

Changing seats, he first requested Harima no Kami’s sword from a page and respectfully examined it.

Kubo Keidō: “As expected of Your Lordship’s blade—a sword that brings contentment to your people and secures your house’s prosperity for generations. This humble one discerns an exceedingly auspicious sign: supreme fortune.”
“This is Soshu work, indeed.”
“This is Masamune work, indeed.”
“This is truly your masterpiece.”

Next, he appraised Elder Retainer Yazawa’s sword and similarly praised it.
He then received the samurai’s swords in order of seating and appraised their physiognomy.

Kubo Keidō: “Ah—Mutsu no Kami Yasuyasu. This must bear the grand signature of the Soshu school.”
“Left Mutsu no Kami—an exceedingly auspicious sign.”
“There will be no impediment to its daily use.”
(Receiving the next sword) “Hmm… A Kotetsu blade makes its appearance.”
“This too bears an auspicious sign.”
“No—wait a moment. Hmm… This one shows slightly ominous signs.”
“Take care that it does not often slip from its scabbard.”

He continued appraising the swords in succession.
The group lowered the blades at their waists, stood up one after another to approach Keidō, received his readings, and returned to their seats.

Unnoticed by anyone, Ikinosuke Zeze had come and was sitting behind the group.
Seeing that, Okase cowered in Harima no Kami’s shadow.

“This appears to be Sasaki Ippō’s work,” declared Kubo Keidō. “A balance of fortune and calamity—next.” He took up another blade. “Chikazen Toshitsugu’s craftsmanship. An uncomplicated aura.”
The sword expert tilted his head at the subsequent weapon. “Morimasa? Or perhaps Yasunaga? Neither remarkable nor deficient.”
His voice lowered at the next appraisal. “Second-generation Kintō lineage... yet tainted by ill omen.” The aging connoisseur’s fingers hovered above the steel as if repelled. “You’d best keep this sheathed—for your own preservation.”

With each verdict, men clapped shoulders or scratched scalps through topknots. A wave of chuckles and impressed murmurs swept through the hall, Harima no Kami nodding gravely at their center like some enthroned deity approving mortal tributes.

In the front garden, the moon rose.

A retainer in the back (glancing around and laughing): “With this company remaining, I doubt any more renowned blades will make an appearance.”
“It’s hardly worth troubling Master Keidō individually for each of us.”
“In that case, Master Keidō would have a hard time.”
“How about we bundle the remaining ones together and have them appraised?”

“That’s right,” said the next man over. “That way, if any swords show omens of trouble with women, no one will know whose they are—sparing them the blushes.”
“Brilliant idea, brilliant idea!”

Amidst the group’s uproarious laughter, the samurai who had proposed the idea stood up, gathered the remaining ten or so swords all together, and placed them in an armful before Keidō.
A voice could be heard remarking, “It’s just like a sword shop.”

Kubo Keidō (drawing each blade one by one and swiftly appraising them): “This one is auspicious.”
“This one too is auspicious.”
“This one is semi-auspicious.”
“This one... I must say bears an ominous sign.”
“But of course—”
“Since it bears no significant ominous signs, please do not concern yourself—this one is half-auspicious, half-ominous.”
“This one bears great auspiciousness.”
“If I may say so, though the craftsmanship is not particularly fine, as a sword physiognomy, it bears great fortune.”

He continued dealing with them one after another with such remarks.
Before long, he stared fixedly at one particular unsheathed sword—Oh!
Such was his intensity.
A sudden wave of grave tension swept through the gathering.

Kubo Keidō remained silent, staring fixedly at the sword’s physiognomy for a long while. Then, with an unusual expression, he hurried to a nearby candlestick, held the blade to the flame, and scrutinized it from every angle.

Kubo Keidō (groaning with a look of shock and panic): “Hmm—!”

Yazawa (aghast): “What ails you?”
“Is there something about that sword that gives you pause—?”

Kubo Keidō (suddenly realizing): “Oh, it’s nothing—Ha ha ha ha! It’s nothing at all, ha ha ha ha!”

While forcibly trying to mask it with laughter, he kept tilting his head in puzzlement.

Kubo Keidō, still staring at the sword, involuntarily muttered: "Hmm? Surely not—but no matter how I examine it, the break in this line—" He cut himself off forcefully: "No—! Such a thing cannot exist. My delusion—it must be my delusion—"

Fearfully setting down that sword, he picked up the next one.

In a hollow voice, Kubo Keidō announced: "This one bears an auspicious sign—"

He began to speak—then took up the previous sword again.

Kubo Keidō: “Ugh…!”
That’s it!
Exactly!
No—no—
My vision must be clouded.
This is dreadful.

He placed the sword down as if discarding it and reached for the next one.
His hand trembled.
The entire gathering stared wide-eyed at Kubo Keidō’s bizarre demeanor, their expressions grave.

Yazawa suddenly stepped forward and restrained Keidō’s hand as he reached for the next sword. “Hold! Your earlier remarks were most peculiar—they trouble me deeply. What defect plagues that blade? Speak plainly without reserve.”

Kubo Keidō glanced fleetingly at Harima no Kami in the elevated seat. “No, no—it is nothing of consequence. Nothing at all. This humble one’s errant observation—pray let it not burden your thoughts.” With a pallid face masking his disquiet, he hastily resumed inspecting the swords. “This bears auspicious signs... This as well... This one—”

“Master Kubo, your behavior defies comprehension.”
“Is there something you hesitate to disclose?”

Kubo Keidō: “I myself cannot comprehend it in the slightest.”
“A truly fearsome—nay, dreadful sword physiognomy—no, no, it must be my misperception.”
“Ha ha... ha ha ha ha!”
(He laughed with an ashen pallor)

Harima (having stared fixedly at Keidō): “Master Keidō, you may state what you discern of that sword’s physiognomy.”

Kubo Keidō: “With all due respect—a man of virtue does not discuss uncanny demons and deities.”
“Matters of absurd fantasy are ones I find difficult to speak of before Your Lordship.”
“I earnestly beg your pardon regarding that matter.”

“Ha ha ha ha! How preposterous!”
“How utterly bizarre!”
“You—the peerless Kubo Keidō who claims absolute certainty in sword physiognomy—would dare deem this very blade some absurd fantasy? If your tongue falters now, I still demand your judgment!”

“You are summoned before His Lordship, Master Kubo.”

Kubo Keidō: "However... unlike matters concerning Your Lordship... this particular matter alone—"

Harima (impatiently): "Will you not speak?"
"No matter what compulsion, will you not speak of it?"

“If you fear gossip, then speak to this humble one’s private hearing alone—go on!”

He pressed his ear to Kubo’s mouth.
The assembly fell silent, holding their breath.
Like a cornered animal, Kubo Keidō reluctantly whispered something into Yazawa’s ear.
Yazawa turned deathly pale, frozen in terror-stricken stupor.

Yazawa (attempting to divert attention): “What? Such trifling—” He forced a laugh. “Ha ha ha! My Lord, behold the garden!”
“A beautiful waning moon.”
“Let us continue your daytime poem here.”
“What sublime verse this might inspire—”

Harima (struck the armrest): “Enough!”
“You dare try to deceive me?!”
“State what Keidō just said.”
“I wish to hear of that sword’s physiognomy.”

Seeing no alternative, Yazawa and Keidō exchanged a few whispered consultations.

Yazawa: “In that case, I humbly request that the room be cleared.”

Harima: “What’s with the theatrics! Denied! Speak it here—before all present!”

Yazawa (to Kubo): “Master Kubo, you should deliver the report—”

Kubo Keidō: “No—it would be better coming from you—”
Yazawa: “However, since you performed the physiognomy, it is proper that you deliver the report.”

“Say it quickly!”
“Let us hear it.”

Kubo Keidō (resignedly): “Then—before proceeding—might I inquire of the gentlemen present: To whom does this honored sword belong—?”

As the assembly exchanged glances, Ikinosuke Zeze suddenly burst from behind the crowd and, breath ragged, thrust his hands before Kubo Keidō.

Zeze (timidly): “I-It... It is my sword.”

Kubo Keidō: “I must confirm—this is Tamon Saburō Kagemitsu.”
“There is indeed no mistake that this is your sword.”

Harima: “Ikinosuke’s sword?”
“So what?”

Kubo Keidō: “Hah... With all due respect, this bears an exceptionally ominous sign.”
“I have observed sword physiognomy for over thirty years now, but such a malevolent sign is unprecedented.”

Harima: "Hohoho—how exactly is it bad?"

Kubo Keidō: "I beg that Your Lordship does not take notice—the sign of cursing one’s lord is vividly apparent."
The assembly sat aghast, buzzing with agitation.

Harima: "What? Betraying *me*?
"Ikinosuke... Ufu... Ufufu... I can’t say there’s no reason to think so."

Okase huddled even smaller in the lord's shadow.

Ikinosuke (desperately crawling closer to the lord and prostrating himself): “T-that’s preposterous! This man is a fraud! He is a swindler!” (To Keidō, in a tearful voice) “You...! You spout this irresponsible nonsense about sword physiognomy, claiming my blade curses My Lord—th-this is beyond mere inconvenience! So take it back! Retract it!”

Yazawa: “He is a renowned great master from another domain! Don’t lose your head, Ikinosuke! Mind your words!”

Kubo Keidō (to Ikinosuke): “No—you’re quite right. More than you, I want to deny it. Could it be an error in judgment? How I wish that were the case—but as you can see, I cannot tell how many times I’ve reexamined it. But the more I examine it—indeed! To cloud the mirror-like clarity of physiognomy with personal bias, to call white black—is something this humble one, who lives by sword appraisal, cannot do! This Tamon Saburō Kagemitsu indeed bears the sign of bringing harm upon you. Indeed—I deem this a blade that secretly harbors malice toward My Lord.”

Harima: “What? Malicious intent toward *me*—?”

Ikinosuke (flustered): “This is beyond excessive—utterly beyond!”
“My Lord!”
“I humbly beg you to dismiss this as a mere trifle of your amusement.”
“Master Kubo—what grudge could you possibly hold against me to make such—”

Kubo Keidō: “I bear no personal bias.”
“I have merely stated what has manifested in the sword’s physiognomy.”

Zeze: “No—! Your judgment is mistaken. This sword has been passed down from my grandfather. On his deathbed, my father bequeathed it to me—‘I leave this to you,’ he said—instructing me earnestly to regard Kagemitsu as my father and devote myself in loyal service to My Lord.” (Wept.) (Glared at Keidō through tear-filled eyes.) “Yet to point at this—merely speaking of it terrifies me—to claim it bears a physiognomy that would shorten Your Lordship’s life—!”

Kubo Keidō (coldly): “An ominous sign. An ominous sign. No matter what you say, it bears an ominous sign. There must certainly be something you can recall!”

Yazawa (flustered): “Mr. Kubo! You too—there’s no need to insist on such ominous things—”

Kubo Keidō: “It is not I who speak. The sword is speaking. It is manifest in its physiognomy. I cannot falsify it.”

Ikinosuke: “What?! You’re still on about that?!” (attempts to grab)

Harima: “Hahahaha! There, there, Ikinosuke. Do not make a fuss. Let us speak face-to-face. Now, all of you, stand down.”

Yazawa: However, My Lord.
“Given Master Kubo’s present theory, I most earnestly entreat you to reconsider graciously sitting face-to-face alone with Ikinosuke.”

“What nonsense!”
“Would even ten of the likes of Ikinosuke make me retreat?”

“However—as Ikinosuke’s sword is declared a demonic entity—I most earnestly beseech you to exercise utmost caution.”

“Everyone, withdraw.”
“Okase, you alone remain here.”

Elder Retainer Yazawa, Kubo Keidō, and all present withdrew with uneasy countenances.
The sword-bearing page too was driven away as if being shooed off.
What remained were Harima no Kami and Ikinosuke.
And there in Harima's shadow trembled Okase—leaving only the three of them.

Ikinosuke (presented the problematic Tamon Kagemitsu with a thud before His Lordship): “This blade—I humbly beg you to take it into your possession—”

Harima (laughing): “Closer! Men to men—what? Bring that sword into my hands.”
“Hahahaha! No—there’s no need for that.”

Ikinosuke (startled): “Men to men—?”

Harima: “Hmm—a face-to-face between men.”
“Do not hold back.”
“Draw that cursed sword close to your knee and speak.”

“My Lord! I have never even heard of such a thing as sword physiognomy in the past.”
“Since when did such things come into being? I have never placed any credence in them whatsoever.”
“The shogunate’s foremost treasure sword is, as I have heard, the Honjo Masamune blade. Yet originally, this sword was the sidearm of one Umanosuke of Sakata—a retainer who used it to strike at Lord Honjo of Uesugi.”
“Therefore, it is a sword with an ominous physiognomy that has cursed its owner.”
“How could this cursed sword possibly be the treasured blade passed down through generations of the shogunate?”

Harima smiled understandingly. “I comprehend this fully. These sword physiognomy notions hold no credence with me.”

Ikinosuke’s entire frame shook violently as he countered, “A sword exists to safeguard My Lord and protect its bearer! When its owner’s heart abides in loyalty, the blade serves loyally—but should that heart harbor wicked thoughts and unrighteousness—”

“Silence!” Harima barked. “Cease this prattling! These blade auguries mean nothing! In truth...” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “I invoked this sword matter solely to speak privately regarding Okase—”

At that moment, a wind from the garden blew, and one or two of the candlestick flames went out with a flicker, casting the surroundings into dimness.

Ikinosuke Zeze muttered darkly to himself: "If its owner harbors wicked thoughts and unrighteousness, then the sword too will serve evil purposes—such is my humble consideration."

Harima leaned forward: "Wicked thoughts and unrighteousness?"
"No—!"
"Enough of this!"
"Listen!"
"Ikinosuke—this Okase... this Okase—"

Ikinosuke Zeze chanted like a spell to block out Harima's voice: "No—that woman was, with all due disrespect, presented to Your Lordship—in essence, swords hold neither good nor evil—"

“I keep telling you I understand!”

“No! You do not understand. A sword has no inherent good or evil. Through its wielder’s heart, it may become either an ominous sign or an auspicious one!”

Harima replied cheerfully, “Well said! Indeed it is, indeed it is! Exactly as you say.”

He stood up abruptly and sat down directly before Ikinosuke.

Harima: “Show me the sword.”
“I wish to see this Kagemitsu that bears the omen of slaying its master.”

Ikinosuke Zeze (in terror): “No!”
“Nothing of the sort!”
“Since it has been judged such a cursed blade, I beg your pardon—”

Harima: “No harm done.”
“This—I said show it!”

Harima placed his hand on the sword and tried to pull it closer.
Ikinosuke desperately held down the sword, but as he began to recoil, the blade slid swiftly from his half-risen hand—the weight of the hilt pulling downward causing it to glide free of the scabbard.

Harima (recoiling in shock): "Agh!"
"You drew it!"

Ikinosuke Zeze (in utter panic): "No!"
"I did not draw it!"
"It slid out on its own—this is an inexcusable blunder—"

Harima: "No—you drew it! You drew it!"
"Since you've drawn it anyway."
"I'll have a look."
"Here!"
"Show me!"

"Ikinosuke: No, no—"
(tries to flee)

“Harima: Never mind that! Show it, I said!”

The instant he tried to seize the sword, Ikinosuke—as if possessed by some force—drew Kagemitsu in one fluid motion with his right hand.

Okase: “Ah!”

Not only have I marred our ancestral blade without cause, but now—I, of all people—am made to sound like some scheming traitor through Keidō’s vile insinuations that I harbor malice toward my lord! If I leave him unattended like this, a vassal’s honor cannot stand. This Ikinosuke’s heart cannot be appeased. You bastard! Split Kubo Keidō in two—

As if possessed, he staggered toward the corridor still clutching the drawn sword.

“Wait!” Harima barked.
He lunged forward to restrain him.

“No!” Ikinosuke Zeze struggled against the grip. “I’ll determine whether this Tamon Saburō Kagemitsu bears an ill omen or auspicious sign by testing it on Kubo Keidō’s flesh!”
“My Lord—release me!”

He swung the sword overhead and tried to advance.
Attempting to push aside Harima no Kami who blocked his path—in that instant, his hand moved as if of its own accord, slashing deeply with a sideways strike.

Harima (clutching his flank, staggering back): “Agh!”
“Y-You... cut me—”

Okase (stumbling over and clinging to Ikinosuke): “You!”
“Wait—your sword—!”

Ikinosuke Zeze (dumbfounded and panicking): “Gah!”
“I’ve struck My Lord—! Damn it!”
“Ah, ah—what am I to do?”

When he stared at the sword, he staggered again and delivered a second strike straight at Harima no Kami.
The blade lightly grazed his temple.

Ikinosuke Zeze (stunned by his own actions): “Gah, again!”
“Oh, this sword has a demonic nature!”
“My hand slipped without my intent—twice now—My Lord, please forgive me—”
(Throwing away the sword and lifting the fallen Harima no Kami) “Ah—what in the world have I done?”
“My Lord!”
“Your wound is not serious.”
“P-Please... stay strong, My Lord!”

Harima: “What’s this? A mere scratch!”
“Hmm… So it has come to this.”
“Tamon Kagemitsu—the blade that turns against its master! Hahahaha! Strike me down! Strike me down!”
“But Ikinosuke—this Okase—this Okase I shall restore to you!”

Ikinosuke Zeze (distraught): “Ah—I have rebelled against My Lord.”
“I have inflicted a wound upon My Lord.”
I struck My Lord with my own hand!
How dreadful!
“Hmm, yes—in that case—” (picking up the sword) “Forgive me!”

He sat down with a thud and tried to quickly bare his abdomen for the thrust.

Harima grasped his hand: “Don’t act rashly. We are not lord and vassal.”
“Hear me as one human to another—as one man to another.”
“This Okase remains properly your wife!”
“Since taking her into my service—each time I saw Okase’s pure devotion to you—I…I awoke to my own depravity—”

“What?!”
(Stunned for a moment, he attempted to cut his belly again.)

Harima (restraining Ikinosuke while suffering from his wound): “Through Okase, I saw true human love for the first time—all women who ever came under my hand until now saw me only as their lord. Like corpses, they obeyed my will without condition.”
“But as a man—as a human being—I’ve grown utterly weary of these soulless doll-women—”

Ikinosuke Zeze and Okase, startled by Harima no Kami’s pained state, flusteredly supported him from both sides.

Harima: “Hmm… So—so—though I forcibly took Okase against all reason, she not only refused me at every turn but… In her pure form, weeping with longing for her husband day and night, I—I finally beheld the true woman I had long sought! Only Okase didn’t treat me as some foolish lord.”
“She utterly rejected me as a man deserving nothing but contempt.”
“That brings me joy.”
“Nothing could make me happier!”
“This was what I sought.”
“This was precisely what I desired!”
“How desperately I had searched for this—this barren heart of mine, none could know.”
“Hmm—none knew… Through Okase’s rejection, I first became a man.”
“Okase made me human.”
“I am no longer a pitiful daimyo!”
“I stand equal to Ikinosuke—a man, one single man!”
“That’s why I vied against you both—and lost so spectacularly!”
“Hahahaha! Ah, how exhilarating! How exhilarating!”
“Thanks to Okase, I’ve at last—after all this time—tasted this human, manly feeling of unclouded clarity!”
“How could I defile the body of such a benefactor!”
“Ikinosuke!”
“Okase remains pure!”
“L-live long… and remain united in harmony.”

Ikinosuke Zeze (wildly): My Lord!
“Stay composed—I shall commit seppuku here and offer my humble apology.”

“Enough, you fool!” Harima roared. “Do you not comprehend? Then my will cannot reach you!”

With stomping footsteps thundering through the corridor, Elder Retainer Yazawa, old man Abiko, Ikeda, Mori, and a host of others came surging in.
Stunned by the ghastly scene before them, they wordlessly moved to seize Ikinosuke Zeze.

Harima suddenly stood up and spread his arms wide to shield Ikinosuke and Okase behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he barked. “Having been cut by Ikinosuke, I now feel for the first time in my life this clear, cloudless sensation!” He shook his head violently. “No—it wasn’t Ikinosuke who struck me. Tamon Saburō is the one who cut me!”
He swept his bleeding arm toward the retainers. “You men! Don’t lay a finger on Ikinosuke!” Turning to Yazawa, he roared: “Old man! That Kubo Keidō truly is a master of sword physiognomy!”
Harima’s laughter bubbled up through his pain. “It came true! A perfect strike! Hahahaha!” Staggering slightly, he continued: “Ikinosuke need not cut his belly. There’s no need to confiscate his stipend or order house confinement.” With regal flourish despite his wound, he declared: “I shall later issue an order for a stipend increase.”
His voice hardened. “But the true culprit here is that sword!” Pointing at the bloodied blade, he thundered: “Put Tamon Saburō Kagemitsu to the gokumon! Hahahahaha!”