Pathway to Japanese Literature

A small bar named "Gorō," where a single light glowed within a coconut shell carved lantern-style, had acquired a new specialty.
Though called a specialty, it was merely ordinary river crabs, and moreover often sold out.
They were caught in Chiba Prefecture's rivers, though in limited quantities.
If one filled a barrel's bottom with shallow water, scattered rice grains, and kept them there, they would stay lively indefinitely.
These were then boiled and eaten.
Even when these river crabs ran out, the shop never stocked sea crabs—popular elsewhere—in their place. There was a reason for this.

When Qin Keigen came to Japan and was to stay for some time after being stationed at the embassy, I struggled to devise a way to express my genuine welcome until I finally hit upon the idea of river crabs.
Since he had spent a long time in Japan before and was called “Hata-kun” rather than “Shin-san” among close acquaintances, something ordinary would hardly amuse him.
If we were to drink shochu and pick at river crabs at our “Gorō” with truly open hearts…
From late autumn to early winter, in that region along the lower reaches of the Yangtze River, river crabs called Dazha—giant stone crabs—would proliferate in great numbers.
A few years ago when I was in Shanghai, I had eaten those river crabs with him almost daily.
Japanese river crabs were exactly the same species, differing only in being slightly smaller in shape, somewhat firmer in flesh, and slightly lacking in richness.
The absence of Shaoxing wine was regrettable, but if we compensated with high-quality kasutori shochu, he would surely be delighted.
Having thought this through, I consulted Ota Gorō, the owner.
Ota tilted his head doubtfully, but Tomura Naoharu—who worked at the shop—had an acquaintance in Chiba Prefecture who agreed to handle the river crabs.
So when I invited Qin Keigen to eat Japanese Dazha at our bar, he indeed appeared on the appointed day carrying two bottles of Shaoxing wine—thus establishing the origin of river crabs at “Gorō.”
Moreover, these crabs being scarce in quantity and nearly impossible to catch as winter approached, we stopped serving them to regular customers and made them exclusive to our group.

Moreover, when it came to crabs, old man Ino Kakusaburō’s story about Benkei crabs was also recalled.
Catch a Benkei crab, make it angry, have it grip a matchstick in its claw, and then light it.
The fire gradually burned on.
The crab, having clamped onto the matchstick in its fury, refused to let go even as the flames crept toward its claw. Unaware that it should release it despite the growing heat, it merely shook its claw until the moment of burning arrived—then tore off the match-gripping limb clean from its base and scuttled away…

When I conveyed that story to Qin Keigen, he said earnestly,

“That crab is quintessentially Japanese.”
“It’s quintessentially Japanese.”

To that assertion, we frankly concurred.

By the way, there was one thing that caught my attention.

I had wanted to bring Qin Keigen and Hatano Yōsuke into each other’s company.
To that end, I told Qin all sorts of things about Hatano, and to Hatano I had told all sorts of things about Qin.
Of course, they were only harmless matters, but Qin listened in silence, and Hatano likewise listened in silence.
Then at "Gorō," I introduced the two of them.

Beside the palm bamboo potted plant on the earthen floor, they stood motionless and stared intently at each other. In terms of time, it was likely only a few seconds, but for what felt like an unnaturally long while, they stared intently at each other. Moreover, it was not a matter of observing facial features or reading expressions, but rather staring intently into each other’s eyes as if peering into their hearts through the pupils. Instantly, I felt: These two had known each other all along. But if that was the case, then why had both of them remained silent and let my stories about the other pass without comment? Was there a secret between them that they did not want others to know? A doubt sprouted within my heart.

After staring intently at each other, they extended their hands almost expressionlessly and shook hands firmly.

As I later learned, they had once met at a cultural gathering.
Though neither was particularly talkative, whenever they voiced opinions, these aligned with uncanny precision until they apparently began conversing like participants in a private dialogue.
Yet they had parted without being introduced by anyone or learning each other’s names.
What topics they discussed or opinions they exchanged remain unclear, nor is there need to investigate here.
Of their other interactions, I know nothing.
And my petty doubts dissolved within their subsequent cordial demeanor and scattered among the shochu, Shaoxing wine, and river crabs.

"Gorō" had a fair number of customers from dusk till nightfall, so whether to avoid that crowd or for some other reason, Qin and Hatano would often arrive while sunlight still lingered and cheerfully picked at river crabs. They sometimes called each other on the phone. Just saying "There are crabs today" conveyed everything needed.

As he grew drunk, Qin would sometimes take out a handful of ginkgo leaves from his coat pocket.
The ginkgo leaves had already turned yellow—too early to be scattered by the wind, yet it was the time when they had just begun to fall here and there.
From among the fallen leaves, he selected the most perfectly shaped and beautiful ones and stuffed them into his pocket.
He arranged them one by one on the dining table and enjoyed them.
The tabletop would sometimes turn completely yellow.—When Hatano imagined him gathering that many ginkgo leaves—whether on the streets or in some square—he laughed heartily in amusement.
But that amusement was completely lost on Qin.
With a puzzled expression, he took out the yellow leaves one by one and arranged them on the table.

Ginkgo is also written as duck-foot tree.
In some regions, children liken ginkgo leaves to ducks and float them on rivers to play.
They do not float for long on flowing water.
Each person would release their duck into the river, and whoever’s swam the longest would win.—Qin drank his sake while recounting such things with apparent delight, as if sharing fond memories.

“About that ginkgo, I discovered something interesting.”

In a tone as if discussing some foreign land, Hatano spoke.

“Near my house stands a shrine with a great ginkgo tree in its precincts.”
“Beside this tree resides Inari-sama.”
“At Inari shrines, as you know, there’s always a main hall and slightly removed from it—a place called the Oyoro-sho where people light candles and rapeseed oil lamps for prayers.”
“Typically around this Oyoro-sho cluster rows of red torii gates.”
“The Inari near me was no exception.”
“Come autumn, yellow ginkgo leaves would rain down upon these crimson gates standing shoulder-to-shoulder.”
“Women passing through that scarlet tunnel beneath golden flurries to worship at the Oyoro-sho made for quite an elegant sight.”

“By the way, when I returned from China this time, the shrine had burned down in the air raids.”
“The main hall of Inari-sama remained, but the countless torii gates that had stood before the Oyoro-sho were completely gone.”
“They hadn’t burned—likely used as fuel instead.”
“Whether locals had removed them through consultation or they’d been stolen mattered little either way.”
“In any case, the red torii procession had vanished.”

“Even so, people never stop coming to pray at the Oyoro-sho.”
“The disappearance of the torii gates has no effect whatsoever on their devotions.”
“The Oyoro-sho resembles a sort of cavern—completely enclosed by fox-barring latticework tied with red-and-white cloth strips, women’s long hairs, and unidentifiable paper scraps—all shadowy and dim inside.”
There I thought:
What if they removed even that fox-barring latticework?
Would those believers still come to pray?
They would surely come.
But then—what remains there?
A mirror? Wood carving? Stone statue? Pottery? All likely worthless—ultimately just a lump of stone.
They would still concentrate their prayers upon that stone lump.
Thus human supplications would connect directly to a rock.
What does this signify?
To call it mere regression to primitive times offers only provisional interpretation—no salvation.

“There’s no need for salvation,” I said while savoring the shochu.

“A row of red torii gates with yellow ginkgo leaves scattered upon them, and beneath them a young woman passing through gracefully—isn’t that a lovely sight?”

As if utterly indifferent to such poetic sentiments, Qin continued arranging ginkgo leaves across the tabletop.

“But ginkgo leaves are beautiful even when scattered on flat ground.”
“To achieve salvation, you must remove that lump of stone.”

“That’s right.”
“I’ve been thinking about that too,” responded Hatano.
“However, even if you remove the stone, level the ground, and flatten it completely—there, like a mist settling—a kind of haze may rise again.”
“Even after destroying the idols, what could be called the spiritual realm still remains, you see.”

“It will remain.”

“What will you do about that?”

“I counter with ruthless detachment.”

“I understand that ruthless detachment is a belief and an ideal, but that’s something only between us—it hardly applies to the general public.”
“Even I myself have times when I can’t fully commit to ruthless detachment, you see.”

“That exists within me as well.”

And yet strangely enough—without appearing sorrowful—they looked rather carefree as they exchanged glances and smiled.
However, as far as I could understand, this did not mean they were being frivolous; rather, it seemed born from a profound mutual trust between them.

Hatano stopped smiling and spoke.

“So… is it alright?”

“That matter? There’s no need to worry.”
“I do have some experience.”
“But I’ll stop drinking now.”
“It would be inconvenient if I were drunk.”

And they climbed the dim narrow stairs, settled into the second-floor room, finished a simple evening meal there, and began playing Go.

Now, this second floor—comprising two adjoining rooms of six-tatami and long four-tatami—was of an entirely different nature from the bar downstairs and served as what might be called the private quarters of Hatano Yōsuke, who owned the entire building.
Still furnished with only the most basic appointments, it barely maintained a semblance that could pass for either a study or a parlor.
But in truth, various activities occurred there.
As one example pertinent to this story: in a jar atop a corner stand swam several leeches.
On the building’s opposite side—that is, the front—lived the family of a kurinuki-zaikumono wholesaler, from whom they had procured some leeches that the portly housewife there employed in her old-fashioned leech therapy to treat congealed stagnant blood in her shoulders.

These lowly bloodsuckers possessed remarkably tenacious vitality; even if left in a starved state until their volume shrank to about one-tenth its original size, they would still remain alive.
For this reason, they were used in various experiments.—When this topic came up, Qin Keigen proposed something even stranger.—If you dry leeches in sunlight, he said, they’ll become completely desiccated, just like pencil leads.
Just like pencil leads, they become able to snap cleanly.
If you place that in water, it will naturally return to its original state and once again flutter and swim in the water.
The broken ones are no good, but as long as they aren’t broken, they revive.

It was somewhat hard to believe.
Moss on bonsai stones could be completely dried, wrapped in cloth, stored in a box for several years, then revived into lush green overnight when watered—but leeches reduced to pencil leads...
However, Qin insisted it was true.
So they decided to conduct an experiment.

They picked out the leeches onto a plate, wiped off the moisture, and exposed them to autumn sunlight streaming through glass doors.
During daytime hours, Ota Gorō—being idle—took charge of this task.
Yet the leeches retained moisture indefinitely, never becoming brittle enough to snap cleanly.
The intense summer heat had long since passed, and they couldn’t very well roast them over fire... Thus the leeches were ultimately discarded.

In the leech room, before Qin and Hatano had even finished a single game of Go, Uozumi Chieko arrived.
She ascended the stairs with childlike stealthy footsteps, carrying her black satin coat folded over her handbag with sleeves tucked in, then knelt in the corridor to offer a greeting.
The pale pink half-collar stood out distinctly against her modest ensemble—an Oshima-patterned kimono layered with an embroidered haori.

Hatano, appearing somewhat flustered, rose halfway from the Go board but then sat close to the brazier and invited Chieko there.
She advanced to her seat with shuffling steps.
Her unnaturally thin-skinned cheeks were tense, not even hinting at a smile, and her eyes remained fixed on the brazier.
And suddenly she said:

“Have I come too late?”

“Well, not yet—since they haven’t said anything…”

Then Hatano introduced her to Qin as tonight’s fellow participant.

Qin gave an awkward bow.

"I am... utterly unaccustomed, so I ask for your kind consideration."

“It is I who should ask for your kind consideration.”

She only briefly raised her eyes, but Qin watched her with an intensity that bordered on rudeness.
Then, after casting a glance at the unfinished Go board and surveying the room, he stood up and went to pick up the jar of leeches on the corner table, hesitating slightly.

“What’ll you do?” Hatano asked.

“Such a thing… somewhere….”

Hiding the jar, he continued searching for a place to conceal it.

“That has no use anymore. Shall I throw it away?”
“What is it?”

Chieko took the jar that Hatano had received and gazed at the leeches inside.

"What has happened to this?"

"I obtained these from the lady over there who used them to draw out the stagnant blood in shoulders."

Chieko said nothing and, without showing any particular disgust, gazed fixedly at the leeches in the jar.
She simply gazed at them with a look of wonder.

Hatano took the jar as if snatching it away, went downstairs, and immediately returned.
What became of those leeches remains unclear, but it is likely that Ota Gorō discarded them still in the jar into a ditch or some such place.

After a prolonged silence, Chieko began to speak quite naturally.

“Regarding the one they call Ms. Miharuyo over there—it’s said she takes on the form of a leech—but is that truly the case?”

Hatano and Qin exchanged glances, then gazed at Chieko.

“Mr. Ota said it must be true and laughed, but…”

If she had heard it from Ota, then she must have known the details.

Ms. Miharuyo was the younger sister of the housewife at the kurukuri woodwork wholesaler, a petite woman over forty years old.
She had once been married but separated; with no children and no intention to remarry, she took refuge with her sister and let the years slip by.—It seemed this Ms. Miharuyo had begun suffering from hallucinations around summer.
In the dead of night when she would stir awake—sometimes to find a shoji screen slightly open, sometimes a fusuma door left ajar—there would be someone peering intently inside.
Startled, she would sit up on the futon—only to find the screens and doors already shut tight with no one there.
These occurrences grew frequent until finally that peering face drew close to her mosquito net.
The net would bulge toward her as the eerie face pressed inward.
Unable even to rise now, she would pull the futon over herself and hold her breath—until eventually the face vanished.
Though its features remained indistinct, it was unmistakably human.
She customarily slept in pitch darkness without a nightlight, yet in that black void she could see that face vividly—and after it disappeared, the darkness became all the more dreadful.
Soon this happened nightly, robbing her of restful sleep and gradually eroding her mental state.

Nishimura Tatsukichi and his wife also began to worry about Miharuyo.
Among Tatsukichi’s acquaintances was someone who worshipped Teruaki-sama, and this person suggested they try having a prayer performed once.
Teruaki-sama was a newly emerged entity; the esoteric principles behind its prayers seemed rooted in Buddhism, and its essence appeared to be that of a deity—though the precise nature of these matters remained shrouded in mystery.
After the war, its believers had greatly increased in number, and its miraculous efficacy was widely acknowledged.
Tatsukichi ultimately came to entrust the matter to Teruaki-sama.
When they had the prayer performed for her, Miharuyo reportedly manifested her true leech form, and after this was exorcised, her nightly troubles seemed to diminish.

The Nishimura couple became believers of Teruaki-sama.
And since Miharuyo had not yet fully recovered, one more prayer had been conducted, with yet another scheduled to take place.

Because Nishimura’s wife occasionally had leeches suck out stagnant blood, Ota Gorō simply interpreted that it was no wonder Miharuyo had manifested her true leech form.
However, there was something that could not be settled by that alone.
As is always the case with matters of this kind, the truth could not be grasped through words alone.

Only a very few among us were aware of this Miharuyo incident.
It was either too absurd or too grotesque to make into a mere topic.
Qin Keigen held the deepest interest and, through Hatano, obtained permission to attend the next prayer session.
However, on the day before, it was discovered that Uozumi Chieko had obtained the same permission.
For the Nishimura couple, there were no barriers in faith, and they seemed to view their own wishes as commendable.
However, given that even they themselves had refrained from attending the prayer site out of deference, the condition was that it would depend solely on Teruaki-sama’s divine will…

Hatano was oddly concerned about Uozumi Chieko’s arrival.
It was not the fact that the matter had been communicated to the Nishimura couple through Ota, but rather that connecting Teruaki-sama and her seemed to evoke some sort of apprehension in him.

“This isn’t a place for a woman to be…” he whispered to me.

And that night—around seven o’clock, perhaps—when a message came from Nishimura stating that permission had been granted by Teruaki-sama, Hatano deeply furrowed his brow, but then adopted an extremely cold demeanor.

“I’ll be drinking here, so you all go ahead at your leisure.”

He called for Ota and ordered crab and shochu.

To reach the Nishimura family’s residence from there—since the corridor passage was blocked by a wooden door—they had to descend to the lower floor and pass through the narrow emergency exit behind the kitchen.

Uozumi Chieko led the way, Qin Keigen followed behind, and guided by Ota, they were promptly ushered into the inner chamber on the second floor.

The preparations for the prayer were complete.

The preparations were surprisingly simple.
On the large rosewood desk, a small unpainted wooden table had been placed; it was covered with a white cloth, over which a brocade was spread, and a black-lacquered zushi was enshrined.
The zushi’s double doors remained shut, and moreover, five sturdy brass bands encircled the entire set of doors.
It was more like a sturdy box, and one couldn’t tell how it could be opened.
Before the black-lacquered zushi, two candles were lit, and incense was burned.

The shrine maiden of Teruaki-sama was a woman whose age could have been forty or fifty, with an oval face and pallid complexion—her eyes not so much half-open as narrowed into slits—her countenance as expressionless as a waxen effigy. Her hair was arranged with a sharply defined hairline at the forehead and voluminous side locks swept upward, clad in a deep violet kimono with a hakama of matching hue. A young girl wearing similar attire with her hair in braids waited in the lower corner of the room.—There was also a burly man who had accompanied them; he remained in the automobile with the driver, never entering the tatami room proper.

Ms. Miharuyo sat at the center of the room.
She was a thin, petite woman whose hair lacked the luster one would expect of someone ill, though her eyes shone brightly and her mouth appeared oddly pointed.
Further along sat a white-haired old man who seemed physically impaired.
He looked to be from the neighborhood.

Qin and Chieko waited near the fusuma.

The Shrine Maiden burned incense.

After a period of silence, she turned and said.

“You must not believe in what is seen with the eyes.”
“Believe in what is seen with the heart.”

It was a clear, resonant, beautiful voice.
After taking a breath, she repeated once more.

“You must not believe in what is seen with the eyes.”
“Believe in what is seen with the heart.”

She burned incense again.
She recited something in a voice that barely escaped her lips.
When it felt like an exceedingly long time had passed, she took the nyoi scepter placed on the desk, turned around, and came before Chieko.

"You appear to be a first-time participant. Might I entrust you with the nyoi scepter?"

“Yes,” Chieko answered without hesitation.

And she received the nyoi scepter, paid reverence to it, and returned it to the Shrine Maiden.
The Shrine Maiden nodded.
According to what I later heard, Chieko had not known about this act of receiving the nyoi scepter, but she had apparently performed it naturally on the spot.

The Shrine Maiden came before Qin.
Qin imitated Chieko's gesture and did exactly as she had done.
However, at the moment of receiving it, he scrutinized the item sharply.

The Shrine Maiden returned to her seat and began chanting sutras. Her voice was no longer clear and beautiful but had become a powerful, deep tone that gradually shifted from a woman’s to a man’s. The sutra chanting was a true recitation from memory, without any scripture. The text was not from any of the commonly used Threefold Sutras but rather a portion of the Kegon Sutra.

The young girl placed her hands on her knees and closed her eyes, while Miharuyo and the old man pressed their palms together at their chests and closed their eyes.

Qin had his hands clasped over his abdomen, his eyes narrowed to slits. Yet nothing caught his eye—only the nyoi scepter from earlier lingered in his vision. It was crafted from bamboo, with a cluster of small carved jeweled orbs at its tip instead of a cloud-shaped design. Perhaps it was meant to represent the nyoi jewel? The handle was short, about a foot in length, with characters carved into it. The two phrases—"Act as master wherever you stand; wherever you stand is truth"—formed the true essence of *The Record of Linji*, and they lodged themselves strangely in Qin's mind. He focused his thoughts there and began to close his eyes.

It was around that time that a disturbance began to occur. Miharuyo was on the verge of crawling on her stomach. Raising her clasped hands high, she bent her upper body forward until it nearly touched the tatami mat, and from her fingertips to her waist began a gentle writhing motion. The Shrine Maiden had been chanting sutras with her hands pressed together in prayer but briefly glanced toward Miharuyo. Immediately, Miharuyo returned to a normal posture. But before long, she bent her upper body again and began to writhe. The Shrine Maiden glanced back briefly. Miharuyo returned to her original posture. Then she began writhing again—this was repeated several times. As if the Shrine Maiden could see even what lay behind her and was admonishing Miharuyo’s posture, Miharuyo appeared both to fear the Shrine Maiden’s gaze yet be compelled into writhing.

Finally, Miharuyo released her prayer gesture, prostrated herself on the tatami mat, and writhed from her hands to her knees. Her appearance was exactly like a leech. In that instant, the Shrine Maiden took the nyoi scepter from the desk, turned around, and thrust it toward Miharuyo. Pinned down firmly by its authority, Miharuyo could no longer move.

The Shrine Maiden still had narrow eyes, but she lifted their corners, her face now pale and drained of color. Rising to her knees, she shuffled slightly closer and pressed down firmly on Miharuyo. And she spoke in a low, intimidating voice.

“You’ve come again.”
“Even after being ordered to leave, you’ve come again.”
“Stay unmoving there. If you harbor any desire at all—speak it now.”

Miharuyo lay prostrated in silence.

“Impudent.”
“Do not come again.”
“Begone!”

Miharuyo lay limp, remaining prostrated on the tatami mat.

The Shrine Maiden withdrew the nyoi scepter, resumed her former demeanor, and continued chanting sutras.
Miharuyo quietly raised herself up and returned to the prayer gesture.
The sutra chanting grew louder for a time.

Time passed as it was, and then the sutra chanting abruptly ceased.
The Shrine Maiden prayed silently for a time, then slowly turned around and gave a slight bow.
Miharuyo and the old man lowered their heads to the tatami.
Qin and Chieko also bowed.

The Shrine Maiden’s face had returned to its expressionless state. As if nothing had occurred, she wordlessly lit incense, shifted her posture slightly, then wiped her brow with a handkerchief. She appeared to be perspiring.

The young girl stood up and left, and along with her, the Nishipura couple entered modestly.
Then the group drew their seats closer together.
Miharuyo’s eyes remained mostly closed as if she lacked the strength to open them, and her breath seemed almost suspended.
And as if they had been waiting, tea and sweets were served.
Amidst the commotion of the gathering, Qin excused himself and departed.

Qin, who had returned to the upstairs of "Gorō," was deep in thought.
Hatano and I were already quite drunk, but he picked up his whiskey glass as if eager to join that company soon.

He did not answer our questions and asked Hatano something strange.

“You delivered a bundle of money—did you write any names on it? Did you write mine?”

Hatano widened his eyes.

“Are you referring to Lord Teruaki? Of course I didn’t write it—I didn’t write yours either.”

“That’s good.”

Then Qin drank alcohol in rapid succession and said.

“That ultimately isn’t spiritual—it’s neural.”
“Purely neural.”
“That’s why it troubled me somewhat.”

There was indeed an air of him forcing those words out.
He sank into thought once more before finally speaking.
“What I described earlier combines what I heard then and afterward.”

However, his story was interrupted.
Uozumi Chieko had returned.

Chieko’s face was slightly pale.
And she was perfectly composed.

“I was amazed,” Qin said to her.
“You remained truly composed.”
“You remained completely composed.”

“Oh, was that so?”
And she wore a faint smile.

“You seemed to be thinking about something different from that.”
“What were you thinking about?”

“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
“Just that there was something slightly troubling me.”

Everyone waited for what would come next.
She spoke with earnestness.

"That shrine maiden seemed to have a slight limp."
"I couldn’t tell which leg was troubling her, but she did seem to limp a little, and I found myself dwelling on it."

It was a completely unexpected remark.
Everyone fell silent.
Yet in that silence, Hatano stared intently at her face.
Under that gaze, she suddenly flushed, and when the color receded, she became so tense that her thin skin seemed translucent.
Hatano blinked his eyes oddly, then poured whiskey and water into a glass and placed it before her.

“Go on, drink.”

“Oh, I…”

“It’s fine—go ahead and drink. And how about a cigarette?”

She glanced at Hatano’s face but once again flushed and lowered her eyes.
In front of her eyes was Hatano’s cigarette case.
She touched it briefly with her beautiful fingertips but then pushed it back, picked up the glass, and brought it to her lips.
Seashell-like nails glinted.

After waiting for her to put down the glass, Hatano extended his hand and shook hers.
She obediently returned the handshake.
Hatano said to Qin.

“Qin, let me properly introduce this person.”
“Her name is Uozumi Chieko—she’s a distant relative on my mother’s side.”
“She has been living in my house for a long time.”
“I feel as though it’s thanks to you that I’ve discovered this person for the first time.”
“From now on, I’ll be pulling this person into our group as well, so consider yourself informed.”

Qin nodded with an expression that suggested something didn’t quite sit right with him.

Hatano drank several glasses.
Chieko also drank from her glass as if responding to that.

Hatano stood up.

“Tonight I’ll be taking my leave here. You all take your time and stay—I’ll let Ota know.”

After that, he turned his attention to Chieko.

“Well then, let’s be on our way.”

The two hurriedly left.
Outside was a moonlit night.—They then apparently walked the approximately three-kilometer road to their home.

When they left, Qin suddenly said.

“She resembles.”
“Somehow… she does resemble.”

“What’s similar about her?”

Qin muttered in a tone as if pondering something distant.

“Liu Danyong.”

Putting aside whether Uozumi Chieko resembled Liu Danyong or not, Liu Danyong floated into my mind as if in a dream.—She had once been Qin Keigen’s lover in Shanghai. Almost unconsciously, in her daily life, she resonated with the spiritual realm and possessed the ability to foresee extraordinary events. And in a manner as though her spirit had burned out entirely, she suddenly and quietly passed away. I have written about her elsewhere, so I will omit that here.

By the way, in my view, Uozumi Chieko and Liu Danyong did not resemble each other. Even setting aside matters related to the spiritual realm, their personalities and appearances were not similar either. Only the way the thin skin of their cheeks tensed was exactly the same. Why was it that only this single aspect now appeared so magnified in Qin Keigen's mind—was it due to the influence of the Lord Teruaki incident? Was it because he was on a journey in a foreign land?—That night, with deep sincerity, I encouraged him to eat crab and drink sake.

Even so, the fact that Qin had brought up Liu Danyong left me somewhat unsettled. The next day, when I learned that Hatano Yōsuke had taken Uozumi Chieko off to a mountain hot spring—as if abducting her, with no regard for his mother or family’s speculations—I felt an inexplicable chill. Ota Gorō also seemed to feel a sense of unease. Qin Keigen also seemed to harbor a sinister-tinged emotion. It was difficult to clearly state why this was the case. Even if they had loved each other, there should have been no danger in that. Even passion itself between them seemed tinged with ruthlessness. But in reality, that may have been precisely why they felt uneasy. While we eagerly awaited Hatano’s return, we did not speak much of him.

After five days with no word, to our relief, Hatano and Chieko returned.
Hatano was dressed as carelessly as ever, but Chieko, unusually, wore Western-style clothing—a velvet dress with a light brown coat.
And then, the two of them came together to eat crabs at "Gorō".
Hatano was constantly smiling, and Chieko laughed frequently as if she were a different person.

After that, the second floor of "Gorō" became something like our club, something like a research laboratory. Qin Keigen also contributed a considerable fund. However, this matter belongs to another story and, for now, to future matters.