Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Corpse with Hands Clasped in Prayer

Housui Rintarou—former head of the Investigation Bureau and now a leading criminal defense attorney—had to ascertain why the new spirit had departed on the very day the summoned one vanished.
The reason was this: On the morning of July 16th, Prosecutor Shikura had phoned to report that Mr. Kōsu Taeryuu—chief priest of Kyōraku Temple on Mt. Fugen, though more renowned as a Kenzan-school painter who had abandoned his brush—had met with a bizarre unnatural death.
However, Kyōraku Temple was not at all an unknown place to him.
The house of Shizukuishi Takemura—Housui’s friend and, alongside Taeryuu, one of the twin pillars hailed as representing the Tokusa school—stood separated from Kyōraku Temple by just a single fence, its second floor offering a view of two large ponds below.
In it, precisely because there was no landscaping artifice, one found instead a rustic elegance.

Descending the slope of Koishikawa Shimizudani, to the left lushly and densely thrived large oak and hazel trees—that plateau was Kyōraku Temple.
The surroundings were enclosed by a cherry blossom embankment and a Kenninji-style fence over ten feet tall, and behind the main hall lay Yakushi Hall, which gave this temple its renown.

The discovery of Taeryuu’s corpse occurred within a dilapidated hall, surrounded by a cedar grove that formed the backdrop of Yakushi Hall.

A massive three-shaku-square stone slab began at the side of the main hall, curved around Yakushi Hall in a swastika shape, and extended all the way to the scene.
The hall was about four tsubo in area, with a seal-script plaque reading “Genpaku Hall” hung above—a hall in name only, lacking even floorboards inside or the customary fox lattice at its entrance.
The remaining three sides were tightly covered with thick six-bu boards, surrounded in a horseshoe shape by a pond channel connecting two large ponds.
To further describe the hall’s surroundings: the pond channel began at the dam of the pond to the right, and from where it passed behind the hall to meet the left edge of the horseshoe shape, both banks became earthen embankments of artificial mountain rocks.
There were no trees around the hall, but large cedar branches interlocking ahead blocked the sunlight—only a brief moment of morning sun could pierce through—leaving the surroundings steeped in moss and humidity with an earthy scent reminiscent of deep mountains.

Inside the hall paved with fine gravel, spider webs and soot hung like stalactites, while in the depths of the darkness stood a life-sized statue of a Heavenly Maiden with peeling colored clay—only its white face emerging with an eerie vividness.
Moreover, the spot where a large stone—the kind found in stone walls—lay tumbled near the Heavenly Maiden statue seemed like some stage direction for a north-south play, exuding an unutterably sinister aura.
When Housui came into view, Prosecutor Shikura greeted him with a familiar nod, but from behind emerged Investigation Bureau Chief Kumashiro Takuyoshi—his grease-slicked compact frame lumbering forth as he bellowed out in that signature feral voice.

“Listen here, Housui-kun. This is precisely how we found the scene.”
“Once you understand this, you’ll grasp why I specifically invited you.”

Housui struggled to maintain his composed facade but couldn’t fully suppress his inner turmoil.
He began handling the corpse with neurotically precise movements.
Though fully cooled and rigid from rigor mortis, the corpse resembled some grotesque surrealist painting.
Propped against a boulder with prayer beads entwined through clasped hands, it sat formally facing the Heavenly Maiden statue at the rear—features contorted in profound anguish.
The fifty-five or fifty-six-year-old figure had a blinded left eye while its right glared fiercely.
His wick-thin frame barely reached five shaku tall, yet his white tabi socks and purple-linen kesa robe maintained undeniable dignity.
A circular chisel wound pierced the parietal-frontal suture—its protrusion positioning it near the skull’s approximate center.
Measuring half a centimeter wide with its base penetrating the cranial cavity, it showed no depressed fractures or bone fragments.
Crimson fissures spiderwebbed from the wound across sutures reaching both sphenoid bones.
Volcanic coagulation of blood swelled around the injury like cherry-topped sherbet—yet no other wounds or bloodstains marred the body.
Not a single stain disturbed his garments’ immaculate folds and drapery.
Mud clung only to ground-contact points with perfect naturalness; no fingerprints nor traces of struggle polluted the hall’s emptiness.

“Well now, don’t you think this corpse makes for a splendid sculpture?” Kumashiro declared in a tone that bordered on provocation.

“From start to finish, it’s nothing but enigmas—right up your alley.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be surprised.”
“The so-called new schools of painting tend to be like this.”
Housui retorted as he straightened up, “But that’s strange.”
“Only the right eye of this statue is blind.”
“And why is it that only the statue isn’t covered in dust?” he murmured.

“That’s because Taeryuu was the only one who frequented this hall.”
“The cause must lie precisely there.”
“The autopsy at eight this morning determined a post-mortem interval of ten to twelve hours.”
“But with two winged ants trapped in the wound, death likely occurred between eight and nine.”
“Last night around that time saw a fierce swarm of winged ants.”

“Then, the murder weapon?”

“It still hasn’t been found.”
“And these fair-weather clogs—it’s said the victim was wearing them.”

From the stone slab at the right end of the hall, there were tracks of setta sandals going back and forth between it and the large rock, and further to its right, a figure of a ‘二’ extended all the way to the side of the large rock—but the fair-weather clogs had been discarded there.
(Refer to the diagram on the previous page.) During that time, Prosecutor Shikura had been measuring the grooves on the teeth of the fair-weather clogs, but—

“Somehow, these grooves seem deeper than his weight would warrant.”

“That’s because he was walking in the dark.”
“Unlike in bright places, he tended to put more weight on his feet in the dark,” Housui answered the prosecutor’s doubts, then—as if struck by a thought—placed the tape measure vertically near the footprints, whereupon it rolled away to the left.
He silently watched it for a moment before asking Kumashiro, “Where do you think the murder actually took place?”

“Isn’t it glaringly obvious?”
Kumashiro blinked rapidly at Housui’s bizarre question following the strange gesture, but replied, “Anyway, it’s exactly as you saw.”
“The victim removed his fair-weather clogs, climbed onto the large rock, and then gently descended to the ground.”
“And the perpetrator wearing setta sandals committed the crime from behind.”
“However, when you look at the corpse’s form, I think there’s undoubtedly an outlandish mechanism hidden within it.”

“Mechanism⁉” Prosecutor Shikura smiled at Kumashiro’s uncharacteristic terminology but nodded. “Hmm, there certainly is one. Part of it lies in the corpse’s prayer gesture. Looking at that, we must conclude that between death and rigor mortis, the perpetrator performed an exceedingly complex series of actions.”
“But here’s the thing—there’s no trace of that anywhere to be found.”

Housui offered no particular opinion on that matter but instead looked down at the corpse once more and applied the tape measure to its skull.

“Kumashiro-kun—it’s a large head at nearly eight sun in hat size.”
“It measures sixty-five centimeters.”
“Though it may not be immediately useful, after all, numbers—those things called numbers—can sometimes rescue us when reasoning hits a dead end.”

“That may be the case,” Kumashiro replied with an uncharacteristically solemn nod.

“To think that someone would drill a hole in the crown of his head of all places, and yet he shows no signs of resistance or agony—”
“In a case so utterly baffling as this, it’s possible the solution lies in some absurdly trivial detail.”
“By the way, have you discovered any distinctive features in the modus operandi?”

“That’s all there is—it appears to be a sharp chisel-like object as the weapon. But it wasn’t struck forcefully; someone merely drilled it into a relatively fragile suture in a corkscrew manner.”
“As you can see from the location, it has produced an effect equivalent to instant death.”

At this unexpected assertion, the two cried out involuntarily, but Housui added an explanation with a smile.

“As evidence, if a sharp weapon were struck forcefully, small bone fragments would occur around the wound, and the wound would appear with rather irregular lines.”
“However, this corpse lacks those.”
“Moreover, from observing that thread-like fissure lines extend as far as the sphenoid bone and that the wound forms a nearly perfect circle, one can discern that this stab wound did not result from an instantaneous blow but rather required considerable time to press inward—”
“Moreover, the fact that someone targeted the cranial suture line—and accomplished an exceedingly difficult task at that—is something worth noting, I should think.”

“Then all the more reason there should have been signs of agony.”
The prosecutor held his breath awaiting Housui’s reply—when Kumashiro interrupted with a voice unrecognizably altered.

“By the way, I should give you my final report,” he said, revealing the astonishing fact that there were two Taeryuus.
“Whether you believe it or not remains your judgment….”
“The truth is, his wife Yanagie claims she saw Taeryuu from behind as he prayed in Yakushi Hall around ten last night…”

“So was that the corpse, the killer in disguise, or had some miracle manifested where the victim still lived at that hour…?” Housui glared at the sunlit maple branches awhile, but as if giving little credence to these possibilities, he abruptly posed a different question to Kumashiro.

“Now then—allow me to recount last night’s circumstances.”

“The incident began when the victim ascended to Yakushi Hall around eight in the evening to perform the ritual fire, but he did not return to the main hall thereafter. Then, this morning at six-thirty, the temple worker Namigai Kyuuhachi discovered the corpse within this hall.”

“Furthermore, the temple precincts remain closed except during the fourth-day Yakushi Ennichi festival; there are no footprints suggesting anyone crossed the Kenninji-style fence; and according to neighborhood investigations, no suspicious noises or cries were heard whatsoever.”

“Moreover, Taeryuu had few connections beyond poetry and religious circles—not only does no external grudge seem conceivable, but he reportedly hadn’t left the temple or met anyone for approximately three months.”

“What most strongly corroborates the temple insider hypothesis is that these setta sandals belong to the victim.”

After this statement, Kumashiro cleared his throat theatrically. “So Housui-kun, if we limit ourselves to surface-level thinking, we appear completely outmatched by this circus-like murder technique.”

“Yet in essence, it amounts to nothing more than a simple arithmetic problem—subtracting four from five.”

Housui was listening with a serious demeanor, but—

“Of course, the criminal is within the temple.”
“By the way, you just said that Taeryuu hadn’t met anyone for about three months, didn’t you?” he ground his teeth with feigned conviction, his gaze drifting into space as if lost in a dream.
“So, it’s that after all?”
“No—it can absolutely be nothing other than that.”

“By that, do you mean you’ve thought of something?”

“It’s nothing particularly significant.”
“I’m no geologist, but I’ve discovered a bone fragment.”
“So with that alone, you can at least envision the entire skeletal structure.”

“Hmm, so then—”

“That being said, it’s not something that can pinpoint the criminal’s characteristics directly, like fingerprints.”
“As I’ve just stated, it’s the terrifying undercurrent running through the enigma of the corpse—in other words, the pure theory of murder technique. But I want you to remember that this variant will never bloom outside its designated trajectory.”

“Don’t be absurd.”
The prosecutor’s eyes widened.
“Our discoveries should have reached their limit by now.”
“And even the form of the blood flow alone makes it difficult to estimate the murder weapon.”
“But more than that—if the cause of the wound aligns with your theory, then this corpse ought to show expressions of shock, terror, pain, or the like.”

Housui stared back fixedly at the prosecutor and pointed at the corpse’s face.

“The answer lies here—in other words, a single vascular line.”
Even if they sensed that the enigma of the corpse wasn’t fragmented among them individually, until now they had possessed only vague conceptions of it.
Yet there existed something one might call a symbol of such inexplicable phenomena.
“Observe how its physical manifestation appears on the face.”
“Wouldn’t you agree this expression resembles those peculiar to martyrs in sacred artworks?”
“You—the one who sent me a Sistine Chapel postcard during your overseas trip last year—should first recall Michelangelo’s mural *The Last Judgment*, ought you not?”
“Well? Despair and religious ecstasy?”
“This could indeed be described as a tragic state of rapture.”
“And that, precisely, marks the genesis of my hypothesis.”

“Ah, I see.”
The prosecutor involuntarily slapped his knee,

“Then, hypnosis, perhaps?” Kumashiro exclaimed involuntarily, as if drawn in.

“No—it’s not hypnosis.”
“You can tell just from the fact that Taeryuu hadn’t met anyone for three months!”
“There’s likely no practitioner within the temple capable of administering such techniques without the subject’s awareness.”
“Of course, one might posit that post-hypnotic phenomena were triggered by suggestions implanted months prior—but that would require Taeryuu to have an extensive history of hypnosis,” Housui began explaining his theory only after meticulously dispelling Kumashiro’s doubts.

“Now then, my hypothesis begins from an extremely simple observation.”
“Generally speaking, all of you must have felt something striking when you first saw this corpse.”
“To manifest this inexplicable state of unresisting, painless demise, one must first annihilate Taeryuu’s mental faculties before killing his physical body—didn’t any of you consider that?”
“However, creating such a superconscious state is ultimately impossible through a single method.”
“First of all, even within retorts or mechanics… of course, there can absolutely be no method that causes visible changes to the brain.”
“Then, the final conceivable possibility is the process of inducing a psychogenic mental disorder.”
“Now, I beg of you—don’t dismiss this as mere fantasy.”
“It’s something that becomes clear if you think it through properly.”
“Now, regarding that method of mental neutering… The reason such an extremely complex apparatus is required is because the final product of gradually warping Taeryuu’s mental faculties had to perfectly align with the murder weapon’s structure.”
“In other words, that process constitutes the mechanism you described, and its culmination is the tragic ecstasy I spoke of.”
“And so, after expending a long journey and many days, the culprit’s outlandish intention finally succeeded.”
“No doubt during that time, there must have been strangely shaped gears meshing and top-like pistons moving… But not only did the superconsciousness created through such means engage with the final gear to set the terror apparatus in motion—it also ensured that even as the murder weapon descended, the state immediately preceding the atrocity remained uninterrupted.”
“So, Kumashiro, do you understand this theory?”
“In other words, the key to unraveling this case lies in the gear structure connecting the two devices—”
“Moreover, within that lies concealed a mysterious murder weapon beyond even our imagination—that’s the reasoning here.”
Having said that, Housui suddenly let out a lifeless sigh,

"But the problem here is whether rigor mortis truly set in at the exact moment of death."
"Shikura suggests the perpetrator may have intervened before rigor mortis set in, but for me, unless rigor occurred simultaneously [with death], there's absolutely no way to explain the corpse's prayer gesture."

Kumashiro was struck into silence as if by an obscure, mist-like weight, but the prosecutor fixed his skeptical gaze and,

“So, I’m concerned about that.”
“Look—there are three knotholes: one about five *sun* above and to the right of the statue’s head, and two on the left and right plank walls—and if you connect them with straight lines, they converge around the corpse’s neck.”
“Though not originally created for such a purpose, from those very points—using an extremely simple mechanism yet achieving remarkable effects—mightn’t the culprit have devised something akin to a relaxation-molding apparatus?”
“Of course, this is nothing but conjecture at present, but if rigor mortis hadn’t set in immediately, I believe such a device would have been absolutely indispensable.”

“Yes, I’ve been aware of that for some time now. Moreover, the spider webs before every hole are torn.”
Housui said with a faintly perplexed expression but turned his face sharply toward Kumashiro and,

“Did you gain anything from interrogating those involved?”

“However, it turns out there isn’t a single person with anything resembling a motive—but in exchange, each and every one makes a striking impression at first glance. It’s exactly like a masquerade ball.”
“However, if those people aren’t a procession of neurotics but are truly performing a masquerade, I doubt even you could fully unravel such complexity.”
“Just go ahead and interrogate them.”
“Just moments ago, a sculpting chisel that perfectly matches this wound was discovered in the room of a fellow resident—a Western art student named Kurikawa Sakurou.”

The group headed toward the main hall, but along the way, beyond a large asphalt-colored pond, the inverted reflection of the Shizukuishi residence’s second floor shimmered on the water’s surface. Opening the latticed door at the main hall’s left end revealed a progression of spaces: from an earthen-floored area spanning four *tsubo*, it transitioned to a glossy black wooden floor, passed through a somber tea room, then connected via an encircling veranda to a covered corridor—this being Kurikawa Sakurou’s quarters.

However, the room contained nothing but an incongruously large pillar clock, canvases, Western painting tools, a collection of books, and a portable phonograph with a broken hinge on its lid—Sakurou had been moved to Yanagie’s study while his room was being searched.
Yanagie’s study was a dead-end room located not by exiting to the enclosed veranda from the tearoom, but by turning left and proceeding a short way down the corridor. Beyond its wall lay the kitchen of temple worker Namigai Kyuuhachi, while across a small garden, it ran parallel to Sakurou’s room.
Moreover, this corridor—starting from the corner where it became an enclosed veranda—passed through several rooms before terminating at the priest’s entrance of the main hall.
In other words, one could reach any room directly via the corridor, but with temperatures plummeting from yesterday into today, the shoji screens were sealed tight as if in midwinter.

Flanked by two plainclothes officers, the young man in a painter’s smock silently smoked tobacco.—That was Kurikawa Sakurou.
A youth of twenty-four or twenty-five, sporting the hairstyle typical of an art student and possessing refined, aristocratic features—yet from the shoulders down, he exhibited bulging musculature that might be mistaken for that of a coal miner.

When he saw Housui, he smiled faintly and,

“Ah, I’m finally saved.”
“To tell the truth, I’ve been waiting with bated breath for your involvement, Mr. Housui.”
“I simply can’t stand Mr. Kumashiro’s reckless deductions.”
“Just because a single chisel was discovered and there’s a back gate outside my room leading directly to Yakushi Hall—they’re trying to pin me as the culprit.”
“Moreover, when I searched for the chisels as instructed, another one that had been there went missing at some point—but no matter how much I explained that, they wouldn’t trust me in the slightest.”
“Then, shall I recount my movements last night?” he declared—returning from school at four, reading Gauguin’s biography in his room afterward, being called to dinner at seven, heading out around nine to the konnyaku Enma festival, and returning home past ten—laying out the details with brisk efficiency.
The grandeur of his argumentation and the disarming forthrightness unthinkable in a suspect struck everyone present with awe.

During that time, Housui faced outward, gazing at the room's bizarre decorations. On the lintel above the newly entered plank door hung a large battledore depicting Umehachi dressed as Tsuchigumo. From the raised right hand of the appliqué, about ten silver spider threads spread diagonally in a fan shape, their ends tied to the base of a lattice window beneath a round pillar clock to the side.

"Hah, this takes me back to the aesthetic of the iron-wheeled rickshaw era," Housui addressed Sakurou for the first time.

“Yes—the wife is what one might call the very model of a young mistress from an old-fashioned grand establishment.”
“Moreover, this here—I was commissioned last year to make it—the spider threads are actual stage props, you see.”

“So you handle background painting?”
As Housui spoke these words and plucked one from the edge, it proved to be a pliant cord—a paper core wrapped in silver foil.

At that moment, a dull thud resonated from outside the window, announcing half past midnight with its somber tone.
It was an extravagantly large clock ill-suited to Sakurou’s room—a memento left behind by Professor Jübe of the art school, who had returned to his homeland the previous year.
However, the precise time was twelve thirty-two on the clock above the lattice window, and that clock lacked a half-hour chime mechanism.

Then, Sakurou’s loquaciousness turned to the estrangement between the Taeryuu couple; after mercilessly vilifying Mrs. Yanagie, he finally presented a rather intriguing fact.

“In that manner, since the beginning of this year, the chief priest’s life had become so pitifully lonely it was painful to witness. Around March, he would sometimes appear to faint and drop whatever he was holding, or remain in a daze for stretches of time. He claimed to be having nothing but strange dreams then—once telling me something like this: ‘A dwarf-like version of myself slips out from within my body and goes to meticulously crush each of Mr. Jishou’s pimples one by one. After finishing them all, it peels off his facial skin and carefully tucks it into its pocket.’ However, from that period onward, an almost portentous atmosphere began thickening within this temple. Therefore, I believe this incident too is a natural outcome of that self-destructive effect. Mr. Housui—that very atmosphere will gradually reveal itself to you now.”

II. Dual Roles—Taeryuu or...

After dismissing Sakurou, they proceeded to interrogate Yanagie; Kuuhatsu and Jishou, the temple’s treasurer monks; and Kyuuhachi, the temple worker—in that order—in the same room.
From the tokonoma alcove where a Honma koto covered in faded oilcloth stood propped, wafted the smell of decaying wood that seemed likely to breed slugs.
That evoked a strange association with Kurikawa Sakurou’s words.

“The man called Kurikawa Sakurou possesses talent both as a criminal and as an exceptional actor.”
“However, those who have no guilt are precisely the ones who feel compelled to put on a performance out of sheer mischief.”
“And then…”

“No—that man knows more than he’s letting on.”
The prosecutor interrupted Housui’s words with that remark, but Housui merely gave a casual nod and,

“Hey, Kumashiro-kun,” he said, indicating the chisel. “This might be part of the murder weapon, but it’s clearly not the whole thing. That said, I haven’t the faintest idea what kind of weapon it actually was.”

Then, he opened the window’s shoji and peered at the Tsuchigumo appliqué from various angles before suddenly stretching up to peel off the membrane from its right eye.

“Well now—this is frightfully extravagant.”
“Mica has been used here.”
“Yet this was absent from the left eye.”
“Well? It isn’t glowing, is it?”

As Housui said this, the quiet sound of a plank door opening was heard—it was Taeryuu’s wife, Yanagie.

Yanagie was a poetess of renown in her past, and after the death of her first husband, Sanskrit scholar Mr. Kuwabe Raikichi, she had remarried Taeryuu.
Her well-proportioned, needlefish-like limbs—from within the all-black attire enveloping them, her pale face and light-blue half-collar stood out crisply, evoking both the passion of a woman in her forties and, conversely, a cold intellect.
Her conversation was neutral in tone, devoid of the attitude that compels sympathy typical of a victim’s family members.
Rather, she was composed to an almost detestable degree.
After courteously expressing his condolences, Housui first inquired about her actions the previous night.

“Haa, I was in the tearoom all afternoon—it must have been around seven-thirty. My husband went out wearing his setta sandals, but he returned shortly after and said he would pray at Yakushi Hall, then left again with Jishou.”

“Then those setta sandals⁉ So after returning once, he ended up wearing Kuuhatsu’s weather sandals?” Kumashiro exclaimed in shock.
If they had unquestioningly assumed the setta sandal traces to be the culprit’s footprints without deeper investigation—only to now learn they belonged to the chief priest—by what method had the culprit erased their tracks?
Or perhaps there existed a murder weapon capable of achieving its purpose without close proximity?
However, Housui showed no further signs of perturbation.

“Hahaha, Kumashiro-kun—this contradiction should resolve itself shortly.”
“Now then—Mrs., did you notice anything unusual in your husband’s condition at that time?”

“Haa—there was nothing particularly different about him recently—though for some reason he had worn Mr. Kuuhatsu’s Hiyori sandals.”
“Then about fifteen minutes later, I heard what seemed to be Jishou’s returning cough—though at that time Mr. Kuuhatsu appeared to be consulting with parishioners about funeral arrangements in the room adjacent to the main hall.”
“My husband had been suffering from a sore throat these past two or three days—it seemed he was praying silently since no sutra chanting could be heard—and he did not return for dinner.”
“Therefore—as per my nightly custom around ten o’clock—when I glimpsed him inside Yakushi Hall during my walk toward the pond—that became his final appearance.”

“However, by that time, your husband should have already been a corpse in Genpaku Hall.”

“It’s impossible for me to answer that.”
Yanagie showed no reaction whatsoever.
“It is absolutely neither a falsehood nor a hallucination.”

“Then that would mean the door had been left open.”
Kumashiro muttered as if to himself.
“But Jishou said he closed it tightly when leaving.”

“Surely, it was because the ritual fire’s smoke had covered it.”
Housui continued his questioning without paying it much heed.
“By the way, did you notice anything unusual at that time?”

“Just that I thought the ritual fire’s smoke was rather thin—but my husband was sitting properly, and beyond that, there was nowhere in particular…”

“Then, what about when you returned?”

“On my way back… I passed behind Yakushi Hall.”
“Then, around eleven-thirty, there was a sound as if someone were walking about in my husband’s room.”
“I believed he had returned at that time, but…”

“Footsteps⁉” Housui’s expression suggested he felt a strong palpitation, but continued, “Yet the bedroom was separate?”

“To explain that, I must speak of my husband’s condition since February,” Yanagie responded, her voice finally taking on a feminine cadence as it trembled.
“From around that time, it seemed he had suffered some extraordinary psychological shock—during the day, he would lose himself in brooding thoughts, and at night, he began uttering ceaseless, delirious speech.”
“And then visible physical decline began to manifest.”
“However, once last month arrived, he began performing frenzied devotions in Yakushi Hall nearly every night.”
“Therefore, it was only natural for him to gradually withdraw from me.”

“I see...”
“Now, this may seem an exceedingly peculiar question—regarding the left eye of the appliqué on the nageshi wall molding... has that gone missing?”

“No,” Yanagie answered casually.
“The morning of the day before yesterday, it certainly seemed to be there...”
“Moreover, yesterday not a single person entered that room.”

“Thank you, I understand clearly now.”
“By the way,” Housui said sharply for the first time.
“You mentioned going out for a walk around ten last night, but from that time onward, it was cloudy and the temperature dropped significantly.”
“I believe that wasn’t merely a walk, was it?”

In that instant, the blood drained from her face, and Yanagie made a pained expression as if suppressing an impulse.
However, for some reason, Housui—after merely glancing at her state—also heaved a deep sigh and terminated his interrogation of Yanagie.

When Yanagie left, Kumashiro wore a strange half-smile,

“Even without hearing it, you must already know.”

“Well…” Housui evaded with an ambiguous word, “However, if they resemble each other, they do resemble each other. Of course, it’s probably a coincidental resemblance—but don’t you think this face bears an uncanny likeness to the Heavenly Maiden?”

“More importantly, Housui-kun.”
The prosecutor discarded his cigarette and sat up straight again.
“Why are you concerned about the appliqué’s left eye?”

Upon hearing this, Housui suddenly urged Kumashiro to the threshold, slightly opened the sliding door, and said.

“Now, let’s conduct an experiment.”
“Last night, someone stealthily intruded into this room, and at that time, how the eye’s membrane fell…”

And then, he himself first stepped onto the threshold and applied pressure, pushing the sliding door with one hand, but the door creaked with a loud noise.
However, when he had Kumashiro step onto it next, this time the door slid smoothly.
At the same time, the prosecutor, who had been observing the appliqué, groaned deeply.

“Well? The nageshi wall molding’s appliqué must have lurched from the threshold’s recoil. At that moment, the membrane that had been peeling off fell away. Kumashiro-kun likely weighs over eighteen kan, but with our level of weight, the threshold doesn’t lower enough for the door to open without creaking. In other words, one who could enter this room without creaking the door must have had weight equivalent to Kumashiro-kun’s or greater—that is, Sakurou or a mass equal to two people or more.”

Two people’s worth—that meant the criminal and the corpse. Was it one person or two? And what had been done in this room? Or could it be that the detachment of the eye membrane was caused through a route entirely different from Housui’s speculation? Various questions came pressing down with a force that threatened to suffocate. But that atmosphere was soon broken by Kuuhatsu. This elderly preacher appeared, carrying mysterious fireworks.

In the monk Kuuhatsu—a fiftyish monk—his build nearly identical to the victim’s drew attention. With a monk’s peculiarly unctuous yet audaciously supple manner—employing skillful rhetoric—yet possessing an arhat-like grotesque visage and carrot-colored skin, the contrast was unnervingly uncanny. In response to questioning, he stated that between seven-thirty and around eight in the evening after dinner, he had met with an envoy from the Katsuragi family parishioner, then visited their household to perform the pillow sutra ritual, returning home past ten. Upon finishing his account, he abruptly straightened his collar and adopted an almost threatening tone, declaring that the key to this case lay in the mysteries of Buddhist law—invisible to the uninitiated. And what he began to recount—with closed eyes and fingers working over his rosary beads—was an eerie will-o’-the-wisp that had flared up haloed by the dim mist beyond.

It was around eight o’clock on the night of March 31st, shortly after the moon had risen.
Suddenly, Jishou and Sakurou came rushing in, claiming that an eerie miracle had manifested in Genpaku Hall.
Given that a pure halo resembling a lunar halo had appeared above the Heavenly Maiden statue’s head, they decided to investigate regardless, and the two—Taeryuu and Kuuhatsu—proceeded to Genpaku Hall.
However, not only was there no abnormality whatsoever inside or outside the hall, but even when they experimentally shone light through a knothole above, all that gleamed was the lacquer on the statue’s hair.
And so, ultimately, the mysterious phenomenon remained unexplained; however, from the very next day, it is said that Taeryuu’s demeanor drastically changed, and he became plunged into doubt and longing.

“However, Sakurou didn’t say anything at all.”
When he finished listening, Housui posed a slightly sardonic question.

“That’s right.”
“That Great Master heretic insists it was someone’s meticulously crafted trick.”
“The notion never once entered his mind.”
“But how could such things ever be unraveled through science or what passes for it?”
“No—it follows reason itself that this defies solution.”

“So, was the statue’s halo only present at that time?”

“No—it occurred once more after that, on May tenth. The one who saw it then was a housemaid named Fuku, who had just recently taken her leave.”

“About what time was this recent one?”

“Indeed, I believe it was around nine-ten. As I happened to be winding the clock’s spring at that very moment, I can attest to the precise time.”

Jishou next concluded his utterly unremarkable testimony with nothing more than a claim that he had spent the entire day in his room without venturing out—but his skull exhibited a peculiar shape, the kind that would have made Lombroso leap with excitement.
After concluding Jishou’s interrogation, Housui went to Taeryuu’s room and searched for something, but upon returning again, he ordered that the temple worker Namigai Kyuuhachi be summoned next.
However, when Kumashiro saw the old man entering timidly, he whispered something into Housui’s ear.
The reason was… During the previous interrogation, Kyuuhachi had suddenly suffered an epileptic seizure, so they had only managed to ascertain that he had been working in the temple’s kitchen from around six in the evening until eight-thirty—and the reason why he, a wealthy pawnshop owner, was living as a temple worker.
Kyuuhachi had purportedly been cured of his long-standing neuralgia through devotion to Yakushi Nyorai, and since then had harbored an abnormal fanaticism, living in a suburban lunatic asylum until his discharge this very month.
However, this old man serving Yakushi Nyorai proceeded to point out each and every one of the criminal’s footprints.

“It must have been around ten-thirty—who had undone the chain?—when the watchdog started barking toward the pond.”
“So when I went to catch it and passed Yakushi Hall, the chief priest seemed to be inside praying, sitting with his back turned.”

“What—you too?”
For an instant, their gazes met involuntarily, but Kyuuhachi continued indifferently.

“However, at that time I saw something strange. There were red cylindrical lanterns, the kind only used on festival nights, hanging on both sides, and both of them were lit.”

“What?! Red cylindrical lanterns?!” Housui impulsively muttered, then looked up from beneath and urged him to continue.

“Then I went to the pond’s edge, but it was so dark I couldn’t search for the dog.”
“So I had no choice but to crouch there whistling for nearly thirty minutes when I noticed someone near the back of Shizukuishi’s place on the opposite bank toss a cigarette butt into the pond.”
“Yet in this temple, I’m the only one who smokes tobacco.”

“So, were the lanterns lit on your way back as well?”
“No—not only were there no lanterns, but the door was shut and it was pitch black.”

And so, the interrogations of those involved came to an end.

When Kyuuhachi left, Housui slumped and muttered.

“Indeed, there’s nothing that can be called a motive. Moreover, in a house as sprawling and sparsely populated as this, it’s inherently unreasonable to demand an alibi.”

“But haven’t we grasped part of the mechanism you mentioned?” said the prosecutor. Housui responded with a smile tinged with slightly eerie sharpness.

“However, I’ve now grasped the entire negative image.”
“How Taeryuu’s psychology was eroded and transformed…”

“Hmm, you mean…”

“Here’s how it is.”
“Actually, when I searched Taeryuu’s room earlier, I discovered something resembling a journal.”
“Of course, there are no other noteworthy entries, but since he wrote down his dreams, it was a tremendous help.”

—May 21st: Lately, night after night, I have been having dreams of sitting on a wooden lock. What could this mean?
Then on June nineteenth—he writes of gouging out his sole remaining right eye and placing it into the missing left eye socket of the Heavenly Maiden statue.
Now, I’m no Freud, but I resolved to analyze these dreams immediately.
They precisely chart the warping progression of Taeryuu’s psyche.
First, let me explain those fainting spells Taeryuu suffered around March—paralytic fatigue stemming from suppressed sexual function.
The evidence lies in his acne-related dreams—those burst pustule scars symbolizing female genitalia, representing unfulfilled desires.
This tells us Yanagie had been distancing herself from Taeryuu.
As for the wooden lock—that too signifies female genitalia.
But might “wood” ultimately denote a wooden statue⁉ If so, then when confronted with the statue’s uncanny halo, how did middle-aged forbidden desires transmute into symptoms—the progression becomes clear.
This constitutes statue obsession.
Thus Taeryuu’s spiritual decline continued, inevitably accompanied by sexual atrophy.
His awareness of these symptoms became the turning point—the subsequent events forming his final dream.
That act of offering his eye to the statue stemmed from craving Buddha’s judgment—self-punishment for sacrilege unbefitting a monk’s station.
As Janet observed—you’ve read his work?—
The archetypal masochist derives pleasure not from physical pain, but mental self-flagellation.
However grotesquely manifested, what we might call a yearning for miracles became Taeryuu’s ultimate psychological terminus.
Doesn’t this elucidate every psychological shift since New Year’s?
Moreover, following what I term the castration method’s trajectory—external manipulation must have intervened at each critical juncture.”
He concluded: “A bit more insight should reveal the murder weapon.”

Having finished speaking, Housui stood up calmly, disregarding the two stunned men.

“Now then, let’s have Kuuhatsu guide us and investigate Yakushi Hall.”

When they ascended the steps of Yakushi Hall, there stood at the center a ritual fire altar with incense ashes piled like a mountain, its rear concealed by a curtain shaped like a miniature shrine. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness through the fully drawn-open curtain, the Yakushi Triad within gradually revealed itself—the statues displaying rich, almost tropical saintly countenances. At the center sat Yakushi Nyorai in meditation posture, flanked by standing attendant statues: Nikkō to his left and Gakkō to his right. Behind this triad stretched a wooden floor spanning about six shaku, beyond which rose a platform bearing a statue of Holy Kannon flanked by two figures each of the Four Heavenly Kings positioned left and right. Of the fingerprints collected within the hall, naturally none proved conducive to advancing deductive reasoning.

“No matter where I look, there’s no dust,” Housui remarked quizzically to Kuuhatsu.

“The day before the festival is cleaning day, and only about three days have passed since then, so there isn’t enough dust to leave footprints.”
“At that time, we also clean the inside of these cylindrical lanterns.”

Having said that, what Kuuhatsu brought in both hands were two crimson cylindrical lanterns—their full extended length reaching human height, with iron-plated apertures measuring seven sun in diameter.
Both candles had burned down until their iron cores were nearly exposed, appearing to have been extinguished at that point.
Housui ultimately found nothing of value from these lanterns.
At the sutra desk before the ritual fire altar, copies of the Heart Sutra were stacked at the right end, while a manuscript of Himitsu Zanmai Sokubutsu Nenju—apparently chanted by Taeryuu—lay spread open at the center.
The page kept open with a vajra-bell as a weight bore the passage titled “Five Hindrances, One Hundred and Sixty Minds, and the Threefold Crimson Obsession-Fire.”

“If you were to chant this volume from the beginning, about how many minutes would it take to reach this point?”

“Indeed, twenty to thirty minutes, I suppose,” answered Kuuhatsu.

“So if he began at eight... around eight-thirty⁉”
When the prosecutor showed a look of comprehension,

“Hmm—perhaps they killed him here and transported the corpse to Genpaku Hall.”
“With another cylindrical lantern added, it’s finally balanced the scales,” said Kumashiro with evident perplexity. But before his nose, Housui thrust out a small paper package.

“Please forward this to the forensics department and have them conduct a microscopic examination. It’s a black soot-like substance, but it was only attached to the halo of Gakkō among the Yakushi Triad,” he said.

“Red with red, fire with fire!” Kumashiro muttered dreamily under his breath.

After concluding their investigation of Yakushi Hall and emerging by the pondside, it appeared Housui had dispatched a messenger to Takemura at some point, for a detective returned holding a sealed letter. Inside bore the following hastily scrawled text.

—That Mr. Taeryuu was murdered comes as a true shock.
But what startled me even more was finding myself unwittingly counted among those involved in this case.
You claim Yanagie confessed her wish to leave Mr. Taeryuu's side to marry me.
This is indeed factual.
The truth is I do love Yanagie.
Though our relationship has persisted since last year's end, I must emphasize it has not progressed one step beyond simple affection.
Last night as well—around ten o'clock, I believe—I descended from the drying area and met her by the pond for some ten minutes.
Yet however detached I may be from worldly matters, who in their right mind would smoke tobacco in what amounts to a secret rendezvous?!
With this, I conclude my responses to your inquiries.
I know full well a solitary painter lacks ironclad alibis—but acting in good faith remains the soundest course...or so I choose to believe.

Upon finishing reading, Housui gave a regretful, bitter smile.

“Betraying friendship, laying traps…and all I’ve uncovered is what Yanagie couldn’t bring herself to say. Look at yourself, Housui!”

Then he went alone to the opposite bank of the pond, inspected the sluice gate, and walked with head bowed as if searching for something—eventually returning with a single lotus flower in hand.

“I’ve found something strange,” he said, plucking off the petals to reveal five or six leeches squirming inside.

“It was near the weir—how about it, doesn’t it have a pleasant fragrance?”
“It’s a tropical species called the Tabayosu Mokusei Lotus.”
“This flower blooms at night and wilts by day, you see.”
“And if there were leeches inside the closed petals, we should be able to deduce what the culprit did on the opposite bank of the pond, don’t you think?”

“...”

The prosecutor and Kumashiro allowed their cigarette ash to grow ever longer, yet ultimately could not respond.

“If you can’t figure it out, I’ll tell you myself. Suppose the culprit washed their bloodstained hands in the pond water—what if there had been one waterlogged Tabayosu Mokusei Lotus nearby at that time? Of course, it goes without saying that leeches would swarm to the scent of blood, but shortly thereafter, the culprit opened the sluice gate to release water and wash away floating debris. As the water level dropped, the Tabayosu Mokusei Lotus would protrude into the air. Therefore, when morning came and the flower closed, the remaining leeches became trapped within its petals. But that was essentially nothing more than a coincidental phenomenon. The true purpose of opening the sluice gate was to erase the footprints within Genpaku Hall.”

Ah, what had Housui discerned from that water flow?

"You must understand this thoroughly," he pressed. "Even someone innocent would exploit two ponds at different levels." He leaned forward, fingers tracing an invisible diagram. "They lowered this pond's surface slightly, then breached the weir to Genpaku Hall's right—the one separating pond from channel."

The water surged violently into the lower channel, crashing against the hall's left flank where rocks gave way to earth before cascading across the ground.

"That torrent shifted fine gravel," Housui continued, eyes sharpening, "erasing footprints from the hall's left side all along Taeryuu's back." His tape measure clattered against stone as he gestured downward. "But as my measurements show—this hall slopes right to left. The flood couldn't reach where Setta sandal marks and weathering patterns remain."

He paused, letting sunlight filter through dusty windows. "Morning light alone touches that area. By discovery time..." A dry smile formed. "...every wet trace had vanished."

“Then we’d lose track of where Taeryuu was actually killed—”
Kumashiro fixed his gaze and bit his lip, while the prosecutor radiated profound skepticism.

“But why would the culprit smoke a cigarette?”
“For a murderer to smoke when someone might be watching… I simply can’t grasp the psychology behind it.”
“Or perhaps Takemura tried to turn the investigators’ assumptions against them—but with only something resembling a motive, I can’t bring myself to restrain Takemura.”

The prosecutor continued speaking further.

“Then there remains another mystery.”
“That would be the lanterns’ peculiar appearances and disappearances.”
“What Yanagie hadn’t seen at ten o’clock were lanterns lit and lowered by ten-thirty.”
“Then by eleven o’clock, they had completely vanished.”
“What manner of criminal intent could be embedded within these three-stage manifestations?”

“Hmm, that’s enough to drive one mad.”
Kumashiro murmured darkly.
“Until now, I’d been absolutely convinced it was the culprit’s disguise—but encountering this has shattered that theory at its foundation.”
“The ritual fire’s light alone might have sufficed—but.”
“Hanging lanterns on both sides like that risks exposing one’s identity as clearly as a cigarette’s glow.”
“Yet claiming it’s the corpse would stretch credibility even further.”
“Housui-kun—what’s your overall view?”

Yet Housui was somehow brimming with vitality.

“But you see, unlike you all, I observed those lanterns without moving them. I was fixedly staring only at the candle flames inside them. Then I began to vaguely sense that I might be grasping the culprit’s peculiar murder method. Before long, we’ll inevitably reach a time when we’ll know exactly what strange mechanism had been rotating between the halo of the Heavenly Maiden statue and the light of those cylindrical lanterns—mark my words. In any case, let’s end it here for today and allow me to think this through properly.”

And so ended the first day of the case—a mountain of unsolved mysteries—but true to form Kumashiro had taken into custody three individuals: Yanagie; Takemura; Sakurou.

III. Two Halos

That night, information from three sources reached Housui.
The first was from the forensic medicine department—regarding the wound’s causation, Housui’s conjectures had been fully corroborated, and the time of death remained unchanged as being between seven-thirty and nine o’clock.
Next came Kumashiro—the other chisel that Sakurou had reportedly lost was discovered in the pond five meters straight ahead of where Kyuuhachi had been crouching.
Finally, the black soot-like substance Housui had collected from the moonlit halo was revealed by the forensics department to be iron powder and pine soot forming an approximately circular shape.

However, the next morning, Kumashiro visited Housui with a drained expression.

“I’ve just released Sakurou.”
“An alibi’s turned up for him.”
“The other side of the fence from Sakurou’s room would be Kyuuhachi’s house kitchen.”
“Around eight-thirty, Kyuuhachi’s granddaughter—who was working there at the time—claims she heard Sakurou repairing a clock.”
“He had it strike eight first, then sound the half-hour chime. When she looked at her own house’s clock, it was exactly eight thirty-two.”
“So when we questioned Sakurou, he ended up leaping up and saying he’d been careless.”
“Of course, everything matches perfectly down to the minutest details.”
“Housui-kun, you remember that yesterday the clock in Sakurou’s room was two minutes slow, don’t you?”
“And given there isn’t a single clock in the temple that makes such a heavy, dull sound.”

However, seeing Housui's dull, bloodshot eyes, one could imagine just how fiercely intense his all-night contemplation had been—but upon hearing Kumashiro's account, those eyes suddenly took on a brilliant gleam.

“Well now.”
“This means I can finally compose the closing chapter of the Kyōraku Temple incident.”
“To tell the truth, I had been waiting for Sakurou’s alibi to surface.”
“Ah—hearing that has suddenly made me drowsy.”

“Forgive me, Kumashiro, but please return home for today.”

It was the next day.

Housui appeared backstage at the Ebijūrō-za, its opening performance scheduled in a few days.
In the morning, the pit beneath the stage lay sparsely populated, and Kurikawa Sakurou, clad in a white studio coat, was wielding his paintbrush with single-minded focus.
Housui gave a light tap on his shoulder,

“Well, congratulations.”
“By the way, Kurikawa, did you repair the pillar clock yesterday?”

“What do you mean?
“I can’t make heads or tails of it, you know.”
Sakurou said with a puzzled expression.

“But since that day, your clock’s striking mechanism should have only struck once at any hour.”
“But when I went during your absence today, it had somehow returned to its normal state.”
“However, since you’ll likely keep silent, I’ll speak on your behalf,” Housui began in an utterly composed tone, but as he did so, the spasms appearing on Sakurou’s lips gradually intensified.

“For that matter,*you* needed initial preparatory actions.”
“You must have propped something like cotton against the clock in your room to stop it from chiming.”
“And then, before seven o’clock, you left your room and went to Yakushi Hall through the back gate—but prior to that, you had prepared substitutes for both the clock in your vacant room and your own hands in Yanagie’s study.”
“Now, let’s dismantle your forged alibi.”
“First, you attached safety razor blades to fixed positions on the long and short hands of the pillar clock in Yanagie’s study.”
“Then, you tied a thread to the nail on the clock’s right side, ran it diagonally over the center of the numbered dial through the point where the blades would meet after eight thirty, and fastened the end to the rotating spindle of the portable phonograph you had brought from your room.”
“The phonograph had been positioned in advance beneath the fan-shaped spider threads at an appropriate location, but there was a trick to that as well.”
“You must have certainly set the speed to its slowest and wound the spring just enough for it to stop after exactly two rotations.”
“Then, you removed the sound tube and tied it upside down to the central rotating spindle.”
“Then, as the sounder faced downward—taking exactly the shape of one arm of a swastika—once that was done, you moved the stopper to start the rotation.”
“Of course, that alone wouldn’t allow the thread to permit the disk’s rotation. However, once a little past eight thirty, the razor blades attached to both hands would meet, causing the thread to snap cleanly.”
“And then, when the rotation began, the phonograph’s needle holder struck the spider thread above, producing that dull sound resembling the clock.”
“In other words, the first rotation produced eight strikes, and the second one—that corresponds to the half-hour chime—but after those two rotations, the spring’s lifespan had been completely exhausted.”

“You’re out of your mind?!”
Sakurou suddenly laughed in a convulsed voice.
“How could such a sound come from a mere silk cord?”

“Indeed, the two strands at each end among the ten are simple silk cords.”
“However, the eight in the middle are genuine stage props.”
“For the past twenty years, the Tsuchigumo threads have used fusible wire for electrical purposes as their core.”
“Moreover, you used a particularly thick one as the core in one of them.”
“So initially it struck eight times, but seven of the thin fusible wires snapped on the spot, leaving only the thicker one to go ‘clang’ and ring once during the second round—that’s how it worked.”

“Well, that’s certainly an outlandish contrivance.”
“However, is that truly your own original idea?”

Sakurou was dripping greasy sweat, barely managing to keep himself from collapsing by gripping the back of the chair, yet he forced a mocking expression.

“No—it came from your own crafty trickery.”
“Generally speaking, a phonograph in use having all its springs completely unwound is absolutely impossible.”
“You not only restored everything to its original state after the criminal act but also deliberately avoided mentioning it yourself, letting others speak instead to make your alibi appear utterly natural.”
“But you forgot just one thing—to wind the spring.”
“When I saw that spider thread, I realized this could create an alibi.”
“Therefore, if that alibi held up, I was certain you were the culprit.”

“So… is that all?”
Sakurou instinctively recoiled in despair, yet still showed signs of desperate resolve.

“There’s more.
“This time it’s the statue’s halo.
“However, that was a truly skillful use of moonlight indeed.
“On moonlit nights, light falls on the statue’s occiput from the knothole overhead for approximately five minutes.
“Having learned that, when I investigated the times the halo appeared on the statue, both instances coincided with the periods when moonlight leaked through the knothole.
“So, that’s how I grasped the full picture of the halo.
“In other words, on the first night, you created luminescent paint from radium bromide and zinc sulfide, preemptively scattering it in circular patterns on a black cloth cap. You then placed this cap on the statue’s occiput, attached a long cord to the cap, and fastened the cord’s end to a nail placed on the paving stones.
“And then, having timed it precisely, you lured Jishou out. However, while the moonlight was falling from overhead, it was obscured by that light. But once the moon’s position shifted and the hall plunged into darkness, the luminescent paint formed a phosphorescent ring of light, emitting a ghastly pseudo-halo.
“Of course, Jishou must have been startled and fled, but you—stepping on the nail with your geta, dragging it while running—must have removed it midway to stash in your pocket.
“What do you say, Kurikawa? Then, on the night of the crime, you made the halo emit light right before Taeryuu’s eyes—but this time, you reversed the sequence from the previous two instances. The moment the pseudo-halo touched Taeryuu’s eyes, you extinguished it with moonlight—am I correct?!”

The ugly expression characteristic of an exposed criminal had completely vanished, and Sakurou’s face now resembled a white wax mask.

"But where exactly was Taeryuu killed, and with what kind of weapon?"
"And what about the corpse’s condition and that utterly inexplicable expression?"
"And beyond that—this case contains numerous other mysteries…?" Kumashiro gave Housui no chance to catch his breath.

"Hmm."
Moistening his lips leisurely, Housui’s tongue began to move again.

"Very well, I shall now recount Kurikawa’s plan from the beginning, so pay close attention to what emerges within it. Now, this case began with the strange phenomenon at the Heavenly Maiden statue on March 31st, but prior to that, he had psychoanalyzed Taeryuu’s recounted dreams and waited for the first opportunity to ripen."
"And just as anticipated, once the dice he cast came up favorable, Taeryuu gradually began to follow the path outlined in my dream analysis from two days prior, descending down the road to decline and ruin."
"In short, Kurikawa constructed a truly unprecedented criminal system—one that assaults the cerebrum."
"Moreover, the cause that robbed Taeryuu of his consciousness and rendered him completely unresisting is precisely rooted there."

“...”
Sakurou nodded like a mechanical doll.

"And over those remaining three months, you continued making him recount his dreams and, through psychoanalysis, coldly observed the structures growing within Taeryuu’s cerebrum."
"That sketch brought us up to that point—then on that day, you finally took up brush and palette."
"As your first stroke, you made the halo appear three times upon the Heavenly Maiden statue."
"Taeryuu came to believe it was a revelation from beyond nature. As judgment loomed near, he felt nothing but awe and religious ecstasy."
"That marks what we call sanity’s precipice—the mind’s balance trembling as one weight teeters to fall."
"In short, the system you crafted had gnawed away until but one healthy cell remained. Though outwardly unchanged, within Taeryuu’s breast raged such tempests as if he’d desperately snatched Kuuhatsu’s fair-weather geta in his frenzy."
"Then Taeryuu climbed to Yakushi Hall, lit the ritual fire, and with desperate prayers sought judgment from Yakushi Nyorai."
"But at that very moment—you worked another miracle upon the Yakushi Buddha."
"Suddenly, radiance blazed about the Tathagata’s halo."

“What?!” Kumashiro inadvertently dropped his tobacco as he—
“Ah, you are truly a terrifying person!” Sakurou sighed as if groaning.
However, for Housui, even that truth was nothing more than a routine task to be methodically organized.

“However, it was a sparkler.”
Mr. Kurikawa had hung a mirror at a slight downward angle on the neck of the Holy Kannon statue atop the dais behind Yakushi Buddha, then lit a sparkler behind the Moonlight statue among the Yakushi Triad.
The pine-needle fire naturally reflected in the mirror, but from Taeryuu’s seated position—magnified by goma smoke—it appeared precisely as if a halo had flashed above Yakushi Buddha’s head. Simultaneously, such intense mental concentration aligned seamlessly with psychological principles.
Leaving only a razor-thin membrane of doubt—*that soon kalpa fire would descend from Tusita Heaven to deliver Yakushi Nyorai’s judgment*—the dying biological tissues governing Taeryuu’s psyche ceased all function at once.
This state—accompanied by faint, faltering sutra chants—likely persisted for several dozen seconds.
During that interval, Kurikawa slipped behind an object’s shadow, counting each barely audible sutra phrase through his eardrums as he awaited a specific passage—the one that would optimize the murder weapon’s efficacy.
Needless to say, Taeryuu had been chanting the *Secret Samadhi and Buddha Invocation*—a text Mr. Kurikawa had mastered through daily exposure.
Though sutras abound with fire-related imagery, Kurikawa’s familiarity with this particular text likely reached memorization-level fluency.
Thus he calculated the ideal moment to ignite the sparklers—anchored to that passage—to prevent temporal miscalculations.
When it finally arrived, Taeryuu’s tragic ecstasy crested violently, severing all ties to reality.
The murder weapon fell simultaneously.
This passage—the line *“Five Hindrances, One Hundred Sixty Minds, and Threefold Crimson Delusion Fire”* lying open on the sutra desk—culminated in crimson delusion fire plunging onto Taeryuu’s head the instant its chant concluded.
For Mr. Kurikawa had positioned that red cylindrical lantern over Taeryuu’s crown from behind, methodically contracting it.
In Taeryuu’s condition, discernment proved impossible.
As the lantern narrowed, delusion’s flames thickened relentlessly.
Taeryuu likely intuited fiery execution in that moment—but before he could process it, his fragile cerebral matter disintegrated under terror’s convergence.
Whether this constituted super self-hypnosis or the catatonic haze preceding an enchanting psychotic episode remained unclear—regardless… Through these means, Mr. Kurikawa’s invasive system delivered its final stroke, successfully stripping away consciousness and sensation entire.
“In short, this grotesque corpse’s creation marked the conclusion of Mr. Kurikawa theoretically warping and deforming Taeryuu’s cerebrum.”

And then what did the cylindrical lantern do?—Housui’s explanation proceeded to reach its final guillotine.

“So Mr. Kurikawa entwined the hanging beads of the rosary around both hands clasped in prayer, positioned the pre-sharpened iron core of the lantern against the crown of the head, and drove it in with all his might.”
“However, Taeryuu only felt the blazing karmic flames of hell and the Bodhisattva’s boundless divine power for a fleeting instant before passing away without a twitch, painlessly and unaware.”
“So Kumashiro, you must now understand that this method of cerebral invasion was what you called the ‘system’.”
“And what I called the peculiar gear connecting that system and the murder weapon was none other than that cylindrical lantern.”

“But how did you figure that out?”
Kumashiro exhaled the breath he’d been holding with a whoosh and wiped his sweat.

“One reason is that Mr. Kurikawa forgot to place any partition between the sparklers and the Moonlight statue.”
“Sparklers consist of saltpeter, iron powder, and pine soot.”
“When the iron powder ignites into pine-needle flames and disperses into the air, it oxidizes and its edges round off.”
“Then there’s another factor—a numerical correspondence.”
“The measurements of the lantern’s rim matched Taeryuu’s skull, with both the stab wound and iron core aligning at their circular centers.”
“Naturally, one could roughly estimate cranial suture positions on a monk’s clean-shaven head.”
“It was there that Mr. Kurikawa found this coincidental alignment.”
“While this leads to the same conclusion—Takemura-kun and Kuuhatsu’s physiques resembling the victim’s, and Yanagie’s likeness to the Heavenly Maiden of Artistry—those resemblances were surely nature’s cruel jests.”
“Of course, even the three holes in Genpaku Hall’s plank wall merely formed part of those elaborate preparations.”

“I see.” Kumashiro nodded, urging him to continue with his eyes.

“Once we reach this understanding, it becomes certain that the corpse remained in the state of rigor mortis it had entered before death. In fact, by untying the binding of the prayer beads and determining the center of gravity, they were able to maintain the corpse’s posture exactly as it had been during prayer. Moreover, because the wax catcher plate was tightly fitted over it, the blood flow coagulated into roughly a volcanic shape—that’s the reason for it. Then, after opening the doors of Yakushi Hall, lighting the lanterns, and creating a witness—needless to say—when he confirmed that Kyuuhachi had passed by, this time he put on Taeryuu’s fair-weather geta and carried the seated corpse into Genpaku Hall.”

“In other words, when Mr. Shikura remarked that the grooves were slightly deeper, he was referring to the footprints from that occasion; he then returned barefoot, leaped from the stones toward the left wall, and immediately erased those footprints by opening the canal sluice. And thus, Mr. Kurikawa had completed the entire crime, you see.”

“I see, so that explains why you lit the lanterns.”

“Hmm, with that one—it nearly deceived even me.”
“An entirely natural method of concealment, you must admit.”
Housui gave a self-deprecating wry smile.

“After all, the bloodstained area would only extend from the iron core to the inner rim of the wax catchment plate.”
“So even if someone washed that section, by later lighting a candle flush against the iron core, the unnatural portion below the sharpened spear tip would be wholly concealed beneath cascading wax.”
“Yet displaying it hung for all to see? That was nothing but a cunning stratagem of misdirection.”

“So it was Kurikawa who opened the sluice gate.”

“That’s right. When Kyuuhachi passed in front of the hall, he immediately extinguished the light and went out to the pond’s edge. That’s because he knew Takemura-kun and Yanagie met every night—he used that to try directing our attention toward Takemura-kun.” Housui’s explanation grew more animated. “Now then, Mr. Kurikawa first released Kyuuhachi’s dog by the pondside and used its barking to lure Kyuuhachi out. Then he employed sparklers again on the opposite shore.”

He held up a finger. “He’d prepared one in advance by mixing in blood powder and lit it, but as the blood powder melted, the pine-needle sparks failed to ignite properly—it fell into the pond as a single mass of flame.”

“In other words,” Housui concluded sharply, “that explains the eyewitness account of someone supposedly discarding a finished cigarette.” His gaze turned piercing. “However, Mr. Kurikawa had anticipated this outcome—he’d submerged a Tapayos Mokusei Lotus in water during daytime and dropped the device inside.”

A mirthless smile played on his lips. “The blood’s scent attracted leeches naturally. Then when he opened the sluice gate to lower the water level overnight...” He paused dramatically. “By morning, the remaining leeches became trapped within the lotus petals.”

“Beyond erasing footprints in Genpaku Hall,” Housui added with a flourish, “this was Mr. Kurikawa’s insidious secondary scheme.” Suddenly he wheeled toward Sakurou, voice hardening. “Though you likely designed this trap for me, even I couldn’t fully escape Takemura-kun’s shadow.” His eyes narrowed. “But why frame Takemura-kun? And your motive for killing Taeryuu—what was it?” The words hung like blades. “Not even I can plumb the depths of your heart unaided.”

Sakurou turned clear eyes that made him seem anything but a captive criminal and spoke in calm words.

“I took revenge for my father.”
“My father and Taeryuu were fellow students at Nengajuku. But when they competed for selection at an official exhibition, Taeryuu resorted to underhanded scheming—causing my father to lose while securing his own selection.”
“My father worried himself sick over it, went mad, and spent the rest of his life in a lunatic asylum.”
“Therefore, as a son, I absolutely had to repay an eye for an eye.”
“And regarding Takemura—there was no reason.”
“He had merely been continuing actions that could be perceived as motives, so I simply took advantage of them.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than Sakurou suddenly spun around and dashed toward the distribution box behind him.
As the glass shattered with a crash, Housui instinctively closed his eyes.
A flash pierced through his eyelids, and he heard a scream that seemed to rend the air—but an instant later, the room held only the stench of singed hair, as silent as the depths of water.
Struck by high-voltage current at the temporal region, this young avenger never revived again.