Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Tora Kōri

Characters

Head Monk of Dōjōji Temple: Myonen

Monk Disciple: Myoshin

Monk Disciple: Myogen

Monk Disciple: Myokai

A young monk who entered the mountain seeking to correct his errors

Female Bell-Caster: Yoshiko

A female demon split into three manifestations: Kiyohime

Long ago, in the Hidaka District of Kii Province, there was said to be a mountain temple named Dōjōji—though how many years have passed since then remains unknown—and the scene unfolds in its unknown environs.

The appearance of the monks—save for the young monk who entered the mountain seeking to correct his errors—was marked by disheveled hair, bare feet, and robes soiled black; yet they remained far from presenting a visage of repulsive filth.

Throughout the entire piece, Dōhaku rejects all exaggeration.

Scene

The profound darkness of the forest that had crawled up from the valley depths in the distance—having endured immeasurable years—stretched toward the lower stage with treetops bowing downward, while the azure sky mimicking a moonlit midnight glimmered faintly, its scattered light visible here and there.
Occupying roughly the upper quarter [of the stage], the bell tower towered above the front stone steps, while the road passing its corner ascended further into the depths.
The area formed by the lower stage faced a forest sloping down into the valley, and in the depths, a single path leading downward could be seen.
At the lower edge of the path, moonlight pooled in a swirling vortex; in shadowed areas, scattered patches of pale blue light filtered through the trees and quivered downward.
The sound of the wind rose intermittently like a strange tide, sweeping across the trembling treetops.

Act I

There were a young monk who had entered the mountain seeking to correct his errors and the monk disciple Myoshin.
While the young monk peered toward the depths from the corner of the upper bell tower, Myoshin halted in the middle area with a timid demeanor, awaiting the young monk’s words.
An anxious moment passed.

Young Monk (A youth possessing feminine beauty, barely past twenty years of age. His painfully fresh tonsure contrasted with unworn monastic robes. Prayer beads hung at his waist; straw sandals covered his feet.)
(gazing toward the depths) “It is indeed the Venerable Monk.”
“The moonlight’s flow now spilled over the main hall’s front—he emerged facing backward into the center of the blue radiance, clinging to each step as though some dreadful spider were crawling upward—”

Myoshin (A man nearing sixty with a white beard, holding prayer beads in his hands.
While the young monk spoke, [Myoshin] gradually advanced until standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.) "I thought he was groaning by the main gate just now, but somehow he’d already climbed up here."
That mad face—floating within the moonlight like a waterlogged skull, restlessly glancing about its surroundings—resembled nothing so much as an evil being spawned from this world.

Young Monk: “Ah—”

Myoshin: “After leaping in like that and crawling again into a corner of the main hall—as if unaware of his own depravity—the beast of lust will soon begin howling.”

Young Monk: “I can already hear something like a moaning voice.”

Myoshin: (not directly addressing his listener) “Though I speak of this and that—tonight of all nights, his disturbed mind must be like a snake’s nest torn open, with countless gruesome fears writhing within. Who could fathom what torments he endures?”

Young Monk (facing Myoshin): “Is it truly that the vengeful spirit of the Evil Serpent will ascend here within this night?”

Myoshin (as if unaware of the young monk’s questioning, gazing up at the bell tower’s bell with loathing): “It’s all because this bell was newly cast. All because that heretical groan resonated through it—now the entire mountain must endure this terror—”

Young Monk (stepping back, quietly yet forcefully): “Will that Evil Serpent surely ascend here within this night?”

Myoshin (turning to look for the first time): “It truly will ascend here. I already feel the thick curse-mist coiling through these mountains—even the tree shadows quiver eerily now. Though Washu is pitiable—having wandered unknowing into these peaks—he’s now caught in an inescapable snare of the curse.”

“Ah—don’t fix me with such fearful eyes—I’ve not spoken of this before now: this bell bears the Evil Serpent’s ancient grudge by design. Until tonight, every bell we cast shattered like pottery at first memorial strike—but now each groaning toll reverberates down to serpent nests and spiderwebs in the valley depths. While we keep this futile watch, scale-sounds will surely creep up from somewhere—there’s no telling what retribution comes.”

A tense pause.

Myoshin (with an uneasy demeanor, glancing around while sitting on the bell tower’s stone steps): “Come now—on such a dreadful night—staying silent is ill-advised! Strange voices emerge from every patch of darkness—and that wind’s howl! Let us sit here and talk! When separated like this—the chill creeps into one’s bones!”

Young Monk (standing rigidly): “Elder Monk! You spoke of an inescapable snare—yet regardless what obstacles await—I would descend alone! To gain wisdom of Three Virtues did I abandon my home—but before glimpsing even fleeting shadows of mortal dreams—here where ill-omened mists shiver on young oak leaves—I refuse to let lust’s sinister flames engulf me! I must yet traverse lands where sunlight falters—seek sacred peaks where secrets glow on sapling buds! (pleading) Elder Monk—show me the path downward! Last night’s climb through darkness left no memory of ascent! I must descend now—while resolve holds!” (Looking back sharply)

“Admirable devotion for one so young—but no matter where you might wish to go, once someone has climbed this mountain, they can never descend again.”
“Many among our temple monks have tried slipping away before, yet not a single soul has ever reached the foothills.”
“Though it’s a path so familiar one could descend blindfolded, every last man loses his way and perishes—only to be found weeks later as gruesome remains by the roadside.”
“There were once multitudes of us temple monks, but we dwindled one by one, then two by two—until now only three remain besides the head monk.”

Young Monk (in a tone tinged with despairing sorrow): “Then are you saying that once someone has climbed this mountain, there is no way for them to descend—no matter what they do? Must I too now wait helplessly alongside these trees and stones damp with fearful sweat as they exhale ominous breaths—doing nothing but dread the evil spirit’s creeping approach? Elder Monk, I ascended seeking imperishable wisdom. Last night from Hidaka River onward I encountered no one—ignorant of this mountain’s accursed nature—yet felt no fear climbing this crumbling black path through specter-like rocks where torrents roared. Though unaccustomed to such journeys, I abandoned my distant seaside home thinking only to hear the Diamond Way in these depths where not even a corpse’s breath stirs—climbing upward ablaze with wisdom’s joy. Yet now am I wrapped in a curse’s web whose workings I cannot grasp—rendered incapable of escape through any means?” Young Monk (standing with resolve): “Elder Monk.”

Myoshin: “A pitiful thing indeed—once you enter this mountain where even plants and trees are cursed, no wish of yours shall ever be granted.”
“Though we speak of details now, it all stems from carnal desires—twenty years past, on a stifling May night much like this.”
“From resentment at her earnest devotion being betrayed came Kiyohime—a girl barely fourteen summers old—who transformed into a living demon-serpent and pursued her man to this mountain. This very bell where the head monk hid him through cunning—no sooner had sulfurous flames encircled it than both bell and man melted like molten lead.”
“The head monk was young then, a steadfast ascetic who splendidly repelled that demonic force. Yet through his stratagem lingered a grudge, and what we call obsession began burrowing into his mind like termites through wood.”
“No terror matches that of a woman’s heart scorned in love.”
“He who was once such an exemplary spiritual guide has had his soul’s marrow gnawed day upon day—until now he wears madness’s very visage.”
“To compound it all—Yoshiko, that dubious bell-casting woman, now swollen with child and further steeped in carnal corruption, has become what can only be called an accursed thing birthed from this world.”
“Though tonight this bell first gained voice, it remains an impure thing forged by a monstrous woman of unknowable origin together with her fetus. Wherever its groans echo—be it moonlit cedar crowns blazing on peaks or moss-flowers blooming in valley crevices—a mist of lust must inevitably descend.”

Young Monk: “Is that woman called Yoshiko present in these mountains?”

Myoshin: “She has built a bell-casting hut at the foot of this mountain and lives there with female artisans. It may be due to a curse from a man’s grudge—but only women can freely ascend and descend this mountain. Last night too, we had women clad in jet-black robes haul this bell up by cart. Yet since that dreadful night when the bell was completed, a prohibition against women was established. That’s why none show themselves here tonight.”

A tense pause.

Myoshin (facing the Young Monk): “Well now—won’t you sit still here?”
“When I see you standing silent like this—why, even your form begins to look suspicious.”

The Young Monk had been gazing downward without acknowledging Myoshin’s words since earlier. Now he staggered forward with a soul-shaken bearing.

Myoshin (rising as if roused by unease): “What’s wrong? Where do you think you’re going?”

Young Monk (stopping in his tracks, maintaining the same posture): “I cannot discern what manner of voice it is.”
“Ah—that voice repeating my name over and over—it comes from the valley below—”

A tense pause.
An uneasy standstill.

Young Monk: "I can no longer hear anything at all."

Myoshin: "Can't you calm your mind? It's a trick of the ears."

Young Monk: "No—though faint, it was unmistakable. Just like timid smoke rising while hiding among the tree leaves, it came in fragments from that darkness."

Part Two

When the Young Monk, still awkward in speech, began to walk away, he encountered the monks Myokai and Myogen rushing toward him in haste.
The four stood still.

Myogen (not holding prayer beads, middle-aged with an entirely rough appearance, staring at the Young Monk with open hostility before turning to Myoshin): "The newcomer from last night."

Myoshin (still with an uneasy demeanor): “Aren’t you all supposed to be guarding the temple gate? Did some apparition show itself?”

Myokai (middle-aged like the others but with ordinary features, prayer beads hanging from his hand): “It’s merely that nothing has yet appeared before our eyes.”
“Even the mountain dew’s hue grows murky beneath this ominous haze.”

Myoshin: “If that’s how things stand, there’s no need to ask you all. I thought something was chasing me again—trembled clear down to my fingertips over such a useless matter. On nights like this, it doesn’t usually startle people so terribly.”

Myokai: “I tell you this path—with its darkness and moonlight—trees and stones changing shape like trembling fingers reaching from front and back—truly makes me feel a demon’s breath chasing at my collar like some tiny serpent.”

“But even if we say there’s no visible form of the evil spirit, why did you come rushing up here with such panting breath?”

Myogen: "Do you really think just two people can keep watch in a place like that?"

Myokai: "Staying here makes it impossible to even think. Two days ago during the landslide, the cedar tree out front fell into the valley—so when we sit beneath the gate now, this cold moonlight like serpent scales clings to us from head to toe. And when we look at each other's faces... dear gods, they're so eerie it feels like droplets might start dripping from them."

"When we try to speak, all we hear is the loud clattering of our teeth. Our own trembling voices sound so unlike their usual selves—terrified that something might possess us—that before we can say what we want, we involuntarily fall silent."

"Then again—the sound of our breathing begins to resemble something sinister licking at the ground. If you approach that thicket's shadow, terrified of the light itself, doesn't the gray darkness—hiding who knows what—rustle with countless trembling fingers descending from above?"

"On top of that, the sound of the wind occasionally blowing against—"

Myogen (having been glancing around since earlier, abruptly): "Cut the talk—it's useless."

A tense pause.

Myokai (continuing in the same tone): “Without even discussing it—thinking the Young Monk would be here if we came—both of us rushed up in silence. But staying in this place brings terror beyond imagining.”

Myoshin: “Is it only the area near the temple gate that’s terrifying? Isn’t it this bell that’s cursed by an evil spirit above all else? While we watch this form with its gaping black mouth that utters nothing, a lewd moan many times more terrifying than the voices that resounded until moments ago comes swirling like smoke from that cave.”

A tense pause.

Myokai: “I’ve never known a night as terrifying as this.”
“If only it had shattered into dust with one strike as usual—yet now that vile groan has begun to resound.”

Myoshin: “I’ve been telling this one the same since earlier.”
“But with the moon so far turned—dawn draws near. If they mean to ascend, we mustn’t let this moment pass.”

Myogen: “While we tremble like this...”
“During this useless watch, they might’ve already climbed up and be hiding in some crevice split by lightning.”

Myoshin (slightly losing composure): “No—if she had ascended here, we would’ve first seen some change in this bell.”
“Whether remaining in serpent form or transforming into a demoness—she would come for this bell before all else.”

Myogen: “Even so—what exactly should we do if her form appears before us now? Does anyone here truly hold the spiritual power to repel her?”
“The head monk’s in no state himself.”

A tense pause.
The four monks unconsciously drew together like rare statues sinking through water.
Silence pooled like pond sediment.

Myogen (to no one in particular): “Where has the head monk gone?”

Myoshin: “I truly wonder where the head monk has gone. When we came here earlier, he had just begun shouting in the Main Hall as usual—yet before we knew it, his voice seemed to cease.”
“But tonight, even if he raced from peak to valley countless times like a clawed wildcat, he’d find no moment’s peace.”

Myokai (as if struck by sudden unease): “Speaking of the head monk—we were ordered to keep watch by the temple gate. Should he discover us here like this, even without the evil spirit’s curse... might we not meet the same fate as Myoryo?”

Myogen: “If the head monk’s shadow appears, we should hide in that forest over there. Even if those bloodshot eyes of his—like mosquito larvae—keep darting about, he can’t count our numbers from afar.” His voice dropped lower. “Still... that time was horrifying. When Myoryo—the fool—let slip about Yoshiko’s belly without noticing the head monk approaching... Those bony fingers sank into his throat like fangs. Before we knew it, blood was gushing from his eyes and nose—”

Myokai: "Let us not speak of that."
"Myoryo’s screams—as if intestines coiled around bones were being drawn out strand by strand—still swirl in crimson vortices within my ears. Merely thinking of it makes me shudder."

Myogen: "...and those eyes of his when he crawled through the blood-drenched corner of the Main Hall like some abyssal creature—clutching a severed lizard’s tongue—howling 'What use is obsession? What spiritual power could ever subdue this lecherous fiend?'—"

Myoshin (trembling): "Did I not bid you cease? Must you recount such horrors on this dread-filled night?"

Young Monk (suddenly turning to Myoshin): “I still wish to descend.”
“Even were I to lose my way and meet some terrible fate, standing here where this abominable curse mist—like a marsh that drowns men—seeps into my very bones would be far worse than walking the path alone.”

Myokai (almost without emotion): “Nothing you say will change matters.”
“You may not yet know it full, but having once climbed this mountain, there’s no descending—not by any means.”

At this moment, the Young Monk jerked his body with extreme abruptness and assumed a posture as though he had discerned something from below.

Myoshin (with a suddenly anxious tone): “What’s wrong with you?”

Young Monk (maintaining the same posture): “I hear a suspicious sound—like women’s hair streaming across bamboo grass.”

The other three (in slightly varying pitches, almost simultaneously): “Huh—”

The monks, in a strange manner akin to floating jellyfish, were searching for the source of the sound.

A tense pause.

Young Monk: Around the base of that cedar— Ah, over there—

A long, anxious interval.

The Young Monk stepped forward and peered into the forest creeping down to the bottom of Shimota Valley.
A tense pause.

Myogen: "Do you see something?"

Myoshin (trembling in terror): "Quiet, won't you?"

A tense pause.

Young Monk: "The darkness only billows up like smoke—I can see nothing at all."
(While glancing at the monks) "Yet the sound came thrice near these roots."

Myogen (irritably): "You heard nothing at all, did you?"
"You invent phantoms to frighten us!"

Myokai: "I heard it plainly."
"Like cold scales sliding through bamboo leaves—"

Young Monk (cutting in): “That wasn’t that sort of sound at all. It was clearly the sound of a woman’s long hair dragging heavily across the leaves.” (Looking into the forest again) “From the base of that zelkova tree over there down to this lower area—it was heard three times.”

"Myogen: 'Everyone's trembling with fear down to their very ears—that’s why the sound of their own blood coursing through them is heard as all sorts of noises.'"

ACT III

At this moment, Head Monk Myonen appeared from the corner of the upper bell tower.
The monks stood aligned from the middle down to the lower area, their backs forming a straight line yet remaining unaware.
Though appearing not yet fifty years of age, the hue of his eyes bore no resemblance to those of ordinary men—his countenance haggard and pallid—while he held prayer beads in his hand and maintained a dignity distinct unto himself despite his aged monk’s robes.
Now, seeing the monks uniformly gazing into the forest, he abruptly halted his steps as though seized by terror.
As soon as the Young Monk—noticing something behind him—let out an eerie cry, the monks converged as though gripped by an unseen force.
An anxious standoff.

Myonen: "Have you not seen the vengeful spirit's form?"

Myoshin: "It has yet to appear before our eyes."

Myonen: "The hour has come when she must ascend regardless."
"You fools don't understand—before any shape becomes visible, a creeping sound like smoke slithers forth."
"While I kept watch like a dog by that Main Hall, observing even earthworms writhing as they licked the soil, were you not here sleeping with slackened lips in wretched disarray?"

Myoshin: “We were not sleeping in the slightest. With trepidation like a skittish lizard, we attended even to the sound of blood coursing through our ears and the fleeting in-and-out of our breaths. Even now, from this delusion of hearing suspicious sounds—”

Young Monk (vehemently interrupting): “It is no delusion! I heard it clearly—the sound of women’s hair dragging heavily across bamboo grass, three times from that zelkova’s roots down to this slope.”

Myonen (suddenly vehemently): “Who is there?”

A tense pause.
The Young Monk was silently staring at Myonen.

Myoshin (as if fearing something): "It is the young monk who arrived last night."

Myonen: What did you come to this mountain for?

A tense pause.

Myoshin (to the Young Monk): If you remain silent, will you not answer?

Myonen: “What did you come to this mountain for?”

A tense pause.

Myonen: “What did you come to this mountain for?”

A very long interval.
The Young Monk’s eyes took on a piercing ferocious hue, while Myonen, appearing as though spewing strange flames, lurched closer step by step.
The scene’s tension swelled like unbearably prolonged anticipation reaching its breaking point.

Myonen (in a voice of rending fury): “The Evil Serpent’s transformation!”
“Do you think taking male form and climbing here could blind these eyes—eyes burned down to their lashes?”
“Even as these resounding Buddhist chants shake the mountains, resonating so powerfully that even insects nesting among roots are devoured by holy vows—still you dare cling to your cursed obsession?”
“Shatter two or three bells like pottery—such trifles would never diminish my spiritual power.”
“Through Yoshiko’s single-minded focus as a bell-caster—even if they etch spell-like cracks into that bell forged with a thousand women’s souls—”
“The sacred chants must have shaken everything from the moon’s walls in the vaulted sky down to riverbed pebbles—until the scaly skin covering its body quaked and scattered scale by scale.”
“—For twenty years, this curse’s whispers gnawed at my ears—centipede-leg voices writhing through my skull, staining every sight with blood-tinted veils. But tonight—this very night—the bell’s toll shall resolve our sacred vows and crush it utterly.”

As soon as he flapped and roared, lunging like a beast leaping upon its prey, the Young Monk let out an eerie cry and retreated into the forest descending into the valley, with Myonen in pursuit—both figures vanished from sight.

The Young Monk's scream.
The scream—like that of dogs being beaten to death, their voices akin to wavering, drifting smoke—or like a human screaming as their intestines were torn out.
The scream of spurting blood and the voice of twisted agony were heard intermittently, brokenly.

The three monks remaining on the scene had all lost their color and were trembling, utterly clueless about what to do.
Before the screams had even subsided, as though they had begun to hear an even more dreadful sound in their place—the flow of terror swelled and pulsed through the interval.

Myonen appeared.
Entangling his blood-soaked fingers—seemingly alive—in the weeds along the edge where he had previously fallen, he crawled out.
His robe was nearly drenched in blood.
The monks, like a litter of puppies birthed from the same womb, retreated as if of one accord and halted at the fork where the upper path diverged.

Myonen (standing in a corner of the lower area where moonlight eddied—vivid blood coloring his grotesque smile—in an ecstatic tone): “I’ve crushed it down!”
“The Evil Serpent bastard can’t even writhe anymore—its face with crushed eyes and nose hangs limp between the stones.”
“My fingers—like small snakes thrashing—coiled around that pale neck and bit into the throat bone until it cracked. Then a voice welled up from the gut’s depths, and there it was: that slimy blood ooze.”
“Scalding heat like molten lead flooded my face, and as the Evil Serpent groaned—(choked laughter)—I found a slender stone nearby, slammed it into that flapping tongue, shattering clenched teeth. The moans grew broken, like vanishing smoke.”
(Laughing again) “I’ve finally crushed it down.”
On the stone.
“Bones scattered clear as seashells—but in this cave-like dark, no matter how I stirred through gore, eyes and tongues stayed indistinguishable.”
“My eyes clouded over with thick blood vapor until I couldn’t hear droplets falling from moss—only stone clashing stone remained. So rest assured: even the most obsessive soul won’t revive, whatever winds blow.”
“For twenty years, the curse-fog around this mountain peeled away like serpent scales! While this grand Buddhist sound tolls, even valley-bottom toads will pry gummy lids open to devour holy vows!”
“This pompous ‘Eternal Curse’—tonight, not twenty years full—my claws tore it apart through blessed power.”
(With placid smile) “Aren’t you all rejoicing?”
“The Evil Serpent bastard’s stopped oozing—its neck just crushed skin now, dangling between stones.”
(As if suddenly seeing the monks’ true form—face twisting wrathfully, voice turning fierce) “What are you? Why stand silent like this?”
“I’m telling how I crushed the evil spirit—why tremble like smoke from a gravestone?”

A tense pause.

The monks attempted to respond, but their tongues stiffened and they were unable to do so, as if paralyzed.
The mute mouths moving futilely resembled the appearance of dying fish.

Myonen (growing increasingly agitated): "Why are you silent?"
"Are you saying you can't hear me speaking?"

The same tension of anticipation surged back once more.
While the monks offered no resistance and merely trembled, Myonen—who had previously stood in shadowed ground—now shone bathed in moonlight, his position having changed.
(Along with the hue of blood) Moreover, the atmosphere overflowing the scene evoked a sensation of being compelled to witness that same terrifying phantom once more—as though forced to relive the earlier vision.
The repetition of identical terror.

Myonen (in the exact same furious tone): “You all are also the Evil Serpent’s manifestation after all.”
“So you’ve divided into multiple forms and crawled up this mountain.”

Myoshin (with voice completely altered, as if manipulated by strings to speak): “We are not such terrifying beings.”
“It is we, Venerable Monk.”
“We are your esteemed self’s fellow monks of this mountain.”

Myonen: “Then why aren’t you speaking?”
“What is this—you lining up your heads like decayed skulls and doing nothing but tremble?”

(A tense pause.) Having possessed the monks’ forms, it was undoubtedly trying to attach itself to this bell.
“Try proclaiming your own names—all together!”

Myoshin—

The Three Monks (in unison): “Myokai—”

“Myogen—”

The three shared nearly identical initial syllables—no variation in pitch or discord—while their diverse trailing syllables trembled and collapsed into disarray.
The monks, as though confronting face-to-face the terror they themselves harbored, exchanged doubtful and fearful glances with one another.
A tense pause.

Act Four

The wind's howl grew ever fiercer, ceaselessly rustling the treetops.
Myogen, who had been standing on the left among the monks, now stepped back as if without his own awareness and looked behind at the slope path—as though he had spotted something.

Myogen— Ah! A woman’s figure was coming up—

As soon as the other monks glanced back, they let out eerie cries and instinctively clutched at one another.
A current of terror wound around the mad monk’s withered frame—teeth gnashing, bodies pivoting toward some unseen threat—a moment thick with suspended dread.

Myonen stood motionless, his pallid face a death mask devoid of vitality. Then, as though jerked by invisible strings, he suddenly bolted to a bend in the upper slope. Peering through the thick tension at the monstrous shape ascending toward him, his expression contorted into undisguised horror.

Myonen: “What—isn’t that Yoshiko running up there? What’s wrong?”

Yoshiko began to run.
The monks exchanged glances like base dogs.

Yoshiko—approaching thirty, a pale beauty.
Her attire was of a cool green hue—not vibrant, but akin to grass leaves grown in shaded places.
Clutching Myonen, fixing her eyes on the bell tower while panting: “Master Myonen—the bell—the bell—how is it?”
Seeing no abnormality and seeming to calm slightly—then noticing the blood on Myonen for the first time, she recoiled: “Ah! Blood—”

Myonen: “The bell has not a single crack—not even one caused by incantations—as you can see.”
(With another monstrously arrogant smile) “What’s more, the Evil Serpent has ceased bleeding—its neck now mere crushed flesh hangs limp between those stones yonder.”

Yoshiko’s expression froze in shock.

Myonen (relentlessly continuing): “The curse of defilement that should have lasted eternities has tonight—after barely twenty years—been scattered by our exalted prayers’ spiritual power, vanishing like powdered dust.”
“That Evil Serpent wretch came in a pallid male form draped in monk’s robes to curse us—but through your devotion in casting this bell, every last fingernail of mine overflowed with sacred Buddha-body power, shredding even one scale of its tenacious hide like autumn leaves.”

Yoshiko (gazing painfully at Myonen as he speaks while anxiously surveying the surroundings): “You say such things—but that isn’t the Evil Serpent after all. No fresh crimson blood could flow from that silver-cold serpent’s body—and above all, I saw with my own eyes its form ascending toward us—”

Myonen (growing impatient): “Isn’t the Evil Serpent what I crushed?—” (Glancing toward the lower forest again) “And when did you supposedly see this ascending thing? Where did you see it?”

Yoshiko: “By the river—the Hidaka River.”
“While chasing after the three demon women who split apart and vanished into the mountain, I came running up here—so by now they must have reached this area no matter what.”
(Clinging to Myonen again) “Master Myonen.”
“Please calm yourself—the final hour has come at last.”

Myonen stood as though etched with anxiety, scanning the surroundings—but when his eyes fell upon the monks, he became wildly—

Myonen: “You’re meant to keep watch by the main gate—if you nod off again, every inch of your skin will be seared away until you’re naught but living skeletons!”
“Move! What’s this lingering about?”

The monks withdrew like silent shadows down the rear slope path.

Yoshiko’s countenance wasn’t wholly steeped in dread.

Yoshiko: “Even if those people go to keep watch, it won’t do any good anymore.”

Myonen: “But how did you come to see that figure? Why did you go to the river’s edge?”

Yoshiko: “Truly, I saw a terrifying figure when I least expected it. The first time this bell rang was when the moon still held a crimson hue, and the damp breath of evening-drenched grasses scattered their moist fragrance across the fields. Until then, countless fears and unease pierced through my veins like flowing needles, reverberating even into my breasts with every tiny blink—but as I listened to that sound ringing out so grandly, each toll slipping free from the layered nets of leaves upon the mountain, startling even the moon’s hue into pallor, I gradually forgot all about the terrible curse and stumbled out of my house like one of those people possessed by blood-sucking women. The bell’s tolling—one after another—resounded like ocean tides crashing against my chest, rocking my body this way and that. Unaware of the deepening night, I wandered aimlessly through the village until, before I knew it, I had reached the river.”

Myonen (quietly but forcefully): “Did the serpent form rise from within the river?”

Yoshiko: “No—above the water, a silver-drenched lunar haze hung stagnant and still, while far below, glittering river waves breathed with the slumbering breath of deepest night. I was still in a dazed state, continuing to walk from the bridge toward here, when suddenly I heard a strange sound like bare feet treading on dewy ground, and the surroundings grew pale and hazy. Before I knew it, I turned to look—and there, already approaching, was the Evil Serpent split into three demon women.”

Myonen: “What kind of face did it have? What did you do next?”

“They ran past me without so much as a glance and disappeared toward the mountain like fish sinking into water.”
“They all shared the same face.”
“All three had small eyes without eyebrows—complexions pale as a river fish’s underbelly—with only their mouths glowing red like freshly spilled blood, black hair spilling past their left shoulders to pool on the ground.”
“I am no longer even frightened.”
“Suddenly, my heart became as clear as white silk. Knowing full well about the fetus and the prohibition—yet driven by concern for your safety and the bell—I resolved to meet my end and rushed here.”

Myonen (staggering forward with eyes fixed ahead, speaking in a bizarrely slow tone as if to himself): “Are you saying three demon women are ascending—split apart? Then what I crushed with these hands was not the Evil Serpent after all.”
“Have I…after all…been ensnared by an inescapable curse?”

Yoshiko clung to him as if soothing a child: “Please calm yourself, Master Myonen.”
She took his bleeding hand. “Such terrible blood you’ve shed—oh, even your veins writhe like earthworms.”
“What torturous thoughts must pierce through this tormented mind—” Her words broke as she glanced about wildly. “Ah—what’s happening?”
“Birds swarm thickly—flying toward that direction.”
“Making such uncanny cries—wave after wave of them.”
What could stir this commotion so deep in night’s belly?

Myonen (still staring vacantly): “Does this mean I can no longer strip away the cursed fog from this mountain? That even should I borrow the noblest spiritual powers—even should I resonate the grandest Buddhist chants—my prayers cannot match a heretic’s obsession?”

Yoshiko (glancing at Myonen before gazing at the lower sky): “A violent wind blows yonder, making them all spread their wings as if being swept away—truly countless thousands of mountain birds are taking flight.”
(With a new auditory sensation) “And then, amidst those birds’ cries—a strange sound reached my ears—”

From this moment, Myonen stood motionless as though attempting to peer into some realization within his heart—his inner gaze sharpened like a blade.
The movements of both parties became distinct from each other.

Yoshiko (gradually sensing her body’s instability, her tone shifting): But I—Master Myonen—this coldness—as if my skin were wrapped in icy serpent scales—can you not feel it seeping into your very bones? (Shuddering) Something like water flows through my entire body—(clutching her chest in anguish) My breasts—throbbing like abscesses filled with pus—they have grown so heavy—(suddenly realizing) Ah! The Evil Serpent has come after all! That blue mist—it has drifted in from nowhere—Master Myonen—lend me your hand—my vision swirls—I can no longer see you—even breathing—snakes thinner than hairs coil around my neck—choking me—

Myonen (suddenly turning to Yoshiko, voice fracturing yet trembling with sorrow): “Yoshiko—you breathed this licentious breath into my very chest.”

Yoshiko (body writhing): “Master Myonen—”

“At this very moment—something vivid has appeared before my eyes! What I had believed until now to be noble spiritual power was in fact the repulsive fetus writhing in your womb! You—you have torn my heart to shreds with claws of impurity—”

**Fifth Act**

At this moment, the demoness Kiyohime—manifested in three divided forms—appeared at the bell tower as though having ascended from nowhere.

The extreme pallor of their faces—bearing only crimson lips and diminutive eyes—appeared nearly smooth as polished stone, their flattened forms resembling crushed serpent heads.
The three demon women took their positions with utterly identical visages; from their left shoulders flowed excessively long black hair that spread across the stone steps.
Though these demon women watched Yoshiko speak, Myonen remained unaware—his back turned to them all.

“Master Myonen, that is not the case—now at the end, I too wish to speak the truth—I—I—”

Before she could finish speaking, she let out a strange cry and finally collapsed.

As the demon women drew back while crouching, their black hair writhed upward to engulf them together.
Myonen, from the moment the demon women manifested, had once again become grief-stricken and spiritually numb—standing there with eyes glazed over as if hollowed out, Yoshiko’s final scream failing to reach his ears—positioned toward the audience’s indeterminate front.

The sound of the wind grew increasingly violent, and around this time, a faint crimson hue began to seep into the moonlit sky.

After a short while, the three monks who had been first to flee—now running up the slope from stage right like panicked beasts—were further shocked upon seeing Yoshiko collapsed, and stood near Myonen in terror—

Myoshin: “Venerable Monk, this is urgent. Strange clusters of fire have come to surround the sacred mountain.”

Myokai: “The wind’s fury will drive the flames upward any moment! At the main gate—we’d barely glimpsed flickering firelight down the slope when the sky before us turned crimson!”

Myoshin: “Even should it prove futile in the end, there remains no path but to hide within the waterfall pool of the back mountain, Venerable Monk. This cannot wait.”

Myokai (with escalating agitation): “The ferocious wind’s force churns up whirling waves of flames from both mountaintop and valley below!”
“We cannot afford another moment’s delay!”
“Ah—sparks already come flying in such numbers!”

Myoshin: “Venerable Monk, what has happened to you? Before long, even the path down to the waterfall pool will be blocked. Venerable Monk.”

Myogen: “Ah! That sound—” (runs toward stage right and peers out) “The fire has already burned down that large cedar over there. Smoke scattering embers like spattering blood whirls into vortices and surges upward with a groan. The terrifying fire’s hue hides among pitch-black trees one moment, then bursts forth as if tearing through them to chase after something. From here, the mountain trees seem to wail, flee in disarray, and collapse into the blood mist.” (glancing sharply at the monks) “But what do you all intend to do? Are you just dawdling here waiting to turn to ashes while still breathing?”

Myoshin: “Venerable Monk, what has truly happened to you? For you to remain in such a place—”

Myogen—Myoshin—

Myoshin and Myokai, though glancing back at Myonen—who had remained standing motionless in the same posture as before—followed after Myogen and turned left at the bell tower to leave.
Gradually, the crimson smoke grew thicker and more intense, swelling to fill the space.
And upon Myonen’s face—which had remained pallid without being tinged with blood—and upon the fallen woman’s corpse alike, the crimson hue began seeping in as though voraciously devouring them.

Myonen (with a grotesque smile, his tone unnaturally gentle): “It grows redder by the moment.”
“Yoshiko—won’t you open your eyes once more?”
“A mist like scattered blood-dust creeps up from the valley’s depths—it seems an uncanny dawn has come.”
“The sky’s breast lies raw and crimson, like skin stripped of its membrane—the very dawn gasps in agony beneath the morning wind.”
“Yoshiko.”
(peering at the woman’s body for the first time) “Won’t you open your eyes? The red seeps into your face now—your small ears grow translucent as water-soaked shells.”
“Yoshiko.”
(collapsing to crawl beside the corpse) “Why won’t you open those eyes? You lie silent as death. Never have we witnessed such a dawn.”
(crouching as he surveys the surroundings) “Truly red—”(as the curtain begins descending) “redder still as I watch—”

As the curtain descended to cover the bell tower's railing—as though the three demon women had reappeared, their faces now unseen—black hair sprawled down over the stone steps.

The curtain—(if possible, use an unadorned one)—after Myonen had finished speaking, slowly closed completely.

――Demise――