Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Flash!

A sword gleam!

A scream—"Wah!"

After a brief pause came the metallic clang of a sword guard.
A full moon in the sky; frost on the ground.

The one who cut him down was a lone samurai—wearing a black family-crested kimono in informal dress, his face wrapped in a black hood. Dressed in custom-made street-slashing attire, concealing a blade as he turned defensively—as if to say "I wouldn’t kill anyone..."—he calmly produced the clattering rhythm of his geta teeth: Clang-clatter! He walked away upright into the distance.

The one cut down was a clerk-like man—still twitching and squirming. In his hand, he clutched a package.

A mansion stood adjacent. It was an imposing mansion—the only one in sight. Black-planked fences, spiked defenses, dense plantings thriving in the rear. Vacant land surrounded it; distant from the town's lights.

Along the wall—clang-clatter—the samurai walked calmly away.

He turned left along the wall.

He remained calm; still came that clattering rhythm of his geta teeth—Clang-clatter!
Clang-clatter!

The moment he turned along the wall,

“Halt in the name of the law!”

Police officers!

Up came the jutte!

The samurai showed not the slightest surprise.
When he halted, the police officers struck his chest with a thud.
“Hm—”
The police officers prostrated themselves.

“Stay there for over an hour and a half.”

With a dismissive utterance came another clang-clatter! The elegant rhythm of geta teeth pierced the frost-laden night as he departed toward town, the full moon resting upon his shoulders like an otherworldly burden.

The clerk-like man who had been cut down still twitched faintly.

Then from the right came footsteps—the clatter of snow sandals. An artisan-like man appeared, tripping over the near-corpse.

"Oof!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees.
"Got it!" he exclaimed as he leapt up.
Instantly, his right hand shot into the air.

Then—what was this?—he shouted "Damn it!" in a panic and turned back.
He vanished without a trace.

“Ah! It’s been taken—the precious Red Tray!”

The voice of the clerk-like man who had been cut down!
And thus, just like that, he succumbed.

Several days later, on a certain day,

“Pardon me,” called a voice.

From the entrance of the mansion on the side where the murder had occurred came the voice.
Though his attire remained imposingly composed, there stood a man whose face was marred by countless pockmarks—quite unsightly.

“Yes,” answered a maid as she appeared. “How may I be of service?”

“Pardon my sudden and discourteous inquiry,” he said, “but might a Red Tray have fallen into some corner of your estate’s garden?”

“One moment please,” she replied before withdrawing inside.

The figure who materialized at the sliding door was a young lady of such stately beauty that she might have been fashioned expressly to embody that very adjective.

“This would be the article you seek.”

What was presented was a single Red Tray.

“Yes, precisely that.”

The ugly man gazed intently at the Red tray.

What a subtle crimson hue!
Gold strips were inlaid.
And characters were written there.

Written there were the five characters “koi sutefu.”
These were from one of the Hyakunin Isshu poems—specifically, the upper five-character phrase.

The man cast a glance at the young lady.
Then, within his eyes flickered the fire of mad passion.

“Pardon me,” he said and took his leave.

However, several days later, a similar incident occurred.

In the same location, a clerk-like man was cleanly cut down with a single stroke.
The one who had cut him down was the same samurai, who once again departed composedly.
The one who came rushing over was an artisan-like man,

“Got it!” he exclaimed as he leapt up.
Instantly, his right hand shot upward.
And then he fled just like that.

“Ah! It’s been taken—the precious Red Tray…!”

That too was exactly the same.

There were some differences as well.

Naturally, that night was not a full moon.
A light snow was fluttering down.
And the road had turned to mud.

There was, of course, no clatter-clatter of geta teeth echoing there.

There was an even more significant difference.

1) The police officers did not appear that night.

(2) The fact that the artisan did not shout "Damn it!"

But several days later, when the aforementioned ugly man appeared at the entrance of the aforementioned mansion to check for the Red Tray’s presence, both the act of checking and the reception were exactly the same as before.

Only the next item was different, but――.

(1) The characters inscribed on the gold strips read: "My name has already—".

2

This had indeed continued four times.

And what was the result?
Four clerk-like men were killed, and four red trays made their way into the stately young lady’s hands. When she gathered the characters on the strips,

“Love they call it, my name has already risen up, unknown to others—”

Thus it had come to be.

The young lady’s name was Lady O-nui; since then, Lady O-nui had grown melancholy.

Having arranged the four red trays before her, she began uttering soliloquies like this:

“Ah… If only I had one more.”
“Then it would all be complete...”
“Love they call it, my name has already risen up, unknown to others... It’s incomplete... isn’t it?”
“I want a tray inscribed with ‘I resolved to love’ and another phrase.”
“Still—why would someone throw four such magnificent trays into my mansion? For what purpose? And who is that man? He comes to check whether the trays remain, yet leaves without taking them.”
“He gazes at me with those peculiar eyes.”

The obsession toward another tray deepened.

Therefore, she finally summoned the lacquer artist.

“I have never seen such a red tray before. This vermilion hue is without equal. What kind of pigment he must have used. Both the coating and sprinkled work employ the same technique. This too is magnificent. Someone like myself could never replicate this. But the maker can be identified. Though Japan has many lacquer artists, none but Somekichi could create something of this caliber... Ah... So it’s Somekichi you mean? He resides deep in Yanaka. He’s quite the eccentric—he begrudges letting his creations pass into others’ hands. Thus they’re exceedingly difficult to obtain. No matter what fortune one offers, he won’t make them unless inclined—which makes them prized treasures. But even among Somekichi’s works, this stands exceptionally superior—a once-in-a-generation masterpiece... Well... He’s still young—a twenty-eight-year-old bachelor—and being an ugly man, he’s known to shun women. However masterful his work may be, an eccentric ugly man finds no favor with ladies, you see. Why, as for his face—it’s a complete ruin of smallpox scars.”

This was the lacquer artist’s greeting.

“Ah… So it’s that man.”
Lady O-nui immediately realized.
“That man who came to check for the presence of the Red Tray is Somekichi.”
It was then that Lady O-nui spoke.
“I will fulfill any request you may have.
“Please ask Master Somekichi—that master craftsman—to create a vermilion tray matching this one, inscribed with the six-character phrase ‘I resolved to love.’ I implore you to make this request on my behalf.”

The next day, the lacquer artist came, but his response was unexpected.

“This is what Somekichi said: ‘Even without Your request, Young Lady, I’ve been striving these days to create and present such a tray to you of my own accord—but I fear this wish may never be fulfilled.’ ‘Just look.’ ‘This body!’ ‘I’ve wasted away completely—nothing but skin and bones.’ ‘The truth is, I had intended to offer my heart together with that tray.’ ‘Ah yes—to you, Young Lady… “I resolved to love”!’ ‘“I resolved to love!”… Young Lady, it seems Somekichi is likely to die.’”

Sure enough, master craftsman Somekichi died not long after that, and Lady O-nui also passed away shortly thereafter.
Until her final moments, Lady O-nui yearned for the last tray.
And it is said she would say, like a mantra,

"I resolved to love... I resolved to love..."

"Hey Boss—speaking of stories, that’s roughly how it goes."

Having finished his tale, detective Hankyūrō laughed with an oddly sarcastic edge.

“I see,” said Okahachi.

“It’s not even that interesting a story.”

“Why? It’s plenty interesting, ain’t it?”

“Just an old, run-of-the-mill karmic tale.”

“You can’t just dismiss it like that—the ruins are still there, you know.”

“Ah… Lady O-nui’s mansion ruins?”

“It’s been preserved exactly as it was, you know.”

"Didn't you say there were no inhabitants?"

“A haunted mansion overgrown with weeds, you know.”

“Didn’t you say it was near Negishi?”

“That’s right,” Hankyūrō nodded.
Then, with another oddly sarcastic, sneering smile,

“How about it, Boss? Can you solve the mystery?”

He did not respond to that, but

“So it’s a story from ten years ago?”

“A story from the second year of Ansei.”

III

Okahachi was a nickname.

“If you try to expose an incident, don’t go jumping into the vortex."
“I always watch from the sidelines, you know.”
“Because if you get dragged into the vortex yourself, you can’t see the currents proper.”
“That’s why they say a spectator sees eight moves ahead!”

This was this man’s catchphrase.

His real name was Tsunakichi, and he was an exceptionally skilled okappiki (detective).

To illustrate his methods through example.

A woman came forward to report.

"My husband has run away from home and hasn't returned."

Several days later, the woman’s neighbor reported that there was a dead body in the well.

The woman also ran over.
She peered into the well and cried out.
“That is my husband!”

At that, Okahachi barked.

“You’re the murderer!
“Hmph—tie her up!”

Indeed, it turned out that the woman and her lover had conspired to kill her husband.

“Seein’ it from the outside makes everythin’ clear as day. That old well was pitch black inside—you could barely make out the corpse’s shape through the gloom. How’d she know it was her husband with just one peek down there? Ain’t no way she could’ve.”
“They killed him and dumped him in there.”

A hairpin had been stolen from a residence.
There were no signs of forced entry from outside.
The two maidservants fell under suspicion.
Thereupon Okahachi presented two stalks of green barley to the maidservants.

“The honest person’s barley remains as is, but the dishonest person’s barley grows longer.”
“You must check them at the one-inch mark by tomorrow morning.”

When examined the next day, one stalk of barley remained unchanged; the barley held by one maidservant had been pinched off at the one-inch mark.

“So she was the thief after all. Maidservants are such ignorant folk—they’ll even bite at a cheap trick like that.”
“She truly believed it’d grow longer, so she pinched it right at the one-inch mark.”

Now, as for this Okahachi, he recently encountered a particularly difficult case.

Promising young men were suddenly abducted and sent back after ten-odd days.
By then they were utterly emaciated.
Even when asked what had happened, they wouldn't reveal the truth.
And then, on top of that, they would say.

“Ah, I want to go back there again.”

And then they would die shortly thereafter.

The year was Keiō 1—a time when Japan was in extreme turmoil from loyalist expulsionism and shogunal concessions; Edo City seethed with unrest where street slashings forced thefts under threat became commonplace alongside arson robberies and every imaginable crime—yet amidst this chaos even such lawlessness paled beside Okahachi’s uniquely perplexing case.

“The fact that they won’t say where they were abducted is what makes this whole damn thing so bizarre and impossible to get a handle on.”

He had no idea at all.

And so, he had been growing increasingly frustrated these days.

Unaware of this mood, that rascal Hankyūrō was prattling on about some decade-old incident—the tale of Lady O-nui’s mansion—with no real enthusiasm, telling him to solve the mystery.

“So, what is it?” said Okahachi.
“Are you saying that ancient karmic tale’s started making the rounds again?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Hankyūrō.
“Whether you go to public baths or barber shops, it’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“So what’s your point?” Okahachi pressed again. “You think it’s bizarre that a samurai who cut down four men just vanished without a trace?”

“And then folks say it’s strange how Somekichi wasted away and died—like a lampwick’s flame snuffing out.”

“Lovesickness, huh? That’s what did him in.”

“If everything could be wrapped up that neat, even those street slashings would’ve been solved—just some random killings where the killer disappeared. …But that ain’t cutting it for our line of work, now is it?”

“That’s an incident from ten years ago, ain’t it?”

“But you’re wrong—our colleagues are racing each other to solve that mystery now.”

“Well, that’s one eccentric bunch.”
Okahachi narrowed his eyes slightly.
“That’s the first I’ve heard of such a story.”

“You keep to yourself all high and mighty, ’cause you don’t mix much with the likes of us.”

“Still, what a bunch of idle folks they are, in this hectic world of ours.”

“So that’s what they’re sayin’.”
“Boss Okahachi could crack it.”
“And if they can’t solve this one neither, nobody gets to call themselves ‘Okahachi’ no more.”

“Seems I’ve been terribly hated by everyone.”
Okahachi grinned slyly but then slapped his knee contemplatively.
Then he lightly jerked his chin.
“Alright then—I’ll solve this damn thing and show you!”

“What? Really?!
“Now that’s bold!”

“And mark my words—it’ll definitely happen before today’s out or tomorrow comes.”

Four

When Hankyūrō left, Okahachi the detective strolled out of the house in Kagawa-chō.

“Well now, I’ve heard an interesting tale—not just about Lady O-nui’s mansion, but something that might prove useful for this current case. They say fortune falls from the shelf, but these days you won’t find any manna no matter what cupboard you peek into. Yet today I’ve managed to get a bite of it. Though mind you, if my thinking’s off track here, that’s another story altogether.”

It was deep mid-December noon. The walking figures appeared as nothing but legs. They walked so hurriedly. Then again, they appeared as nothing but eyes. They darted about so restlessly in their haste. The weather was fine but the wind fierce—shop curtains flapped wildly.

He arrived at a bustling town thoroughfare.

“Alright, I’ll start searching around here.”

The one who entered with a “Pardon me” was an impressive antique dealer attached to the shop.
“Welcome!” came the apprentice’s greeting, but without so much as acknowledging it, he strode purposefully toward the back.

The sarcastic-looking old man—likely the proprietor—clung to a lion-mouthed brazier.

“Welcome,” he greeted with an upward glance.
Whether they were browsers or serious buyers, he seemed to judge them with that single look.

“Do you have any of Somekichi’s red trays?”

“Huh? Somekichi?” came the startled echo before continuing, “I’m afraid we don’t carry those.”

“I’m dead set on acquiring one—could you track it down for me?”

Okahachi sat down at the shopfront and calmly held his hands over the brazier.

“Those rarely come into anyone’s hands.”

"Of course I know that—that's precisely why I want it all the more."

"Even if we did have one, it'd cost a fortune—"

"I won't haggle. You've got my word."

"Well now, that's just like you, sir."

While saying this, he was laughing. He maintained the posture of not taking him seriously. That was perhaps only natural.

At that moment, Okahachi arrived in his everyday clothes.
It was a striped cotton hanten coat.
And his tone was blunt.
But had the proprietor noticed that his pocket contained an arresting rope and a red-lacquered jutte, he would have spoken with far greater courtesy.
And had he realized it was Okahachi, he would have at least served tea without fail.

At thirty-five years old, small-framed and rather slender, Okahachi was by no means an imposing figure.

“So how much does this thing actually cost?”
Okahachi casually tried to pique interest.

“It’s more like a price in name than in reality.”

“You don’t mean a hundred ryō, do you?”
He went for a big bluff.

“It’s not quite so straightforward.”
The proprietor remained characteristically cold.
“Rumor has it that in Lord Unshū’s domain, they sought them for as much as one hundred fifty gold coins.”

“Hmm,” he said, momentarily thrown off balance.
*I see—no wonder this old coot won’t give me the time of day.*
“But still—that’s some price! We’re talking about Somekichi here—just some craftsman who kicked off ten years back.”
“They were rare from the very beginning.”

“How many of these could possibly exist in all of Edo?”
“There likely aren’t even thirty in all of Japan.”

"Hmm," he muttered, once again overwhelmed.
"There aren't that many?"
"Because he died so terribly young, you see."
"I hear even how he died was strange."
"You're well-informed—they say it was a death from decline."

“What an inauspicious way to die.”

“That’s precisely why their value soared.”

“What on earth is the reason for that?”

“All connoisseurs prefer things that come with prestige, you see.”
He maintained an instructive demeanor.

“It depends on the prestige—this ain’t exactly auspicious prestige.”

“Even death portrait prints are all the rage these days.”

“Hmm, makes sense,” he muttered, once again stumped.

“Looks like this one’s been a lost cause from the start.”
Okahachi had no choice but to become dejected.
“There were no botamochi on the shelf.”

Just as he had resigned himself and was about to leave—
A woman entered.

Her lavish fine-patterned crepe robes and okoso hood obscured her face, but she was unmistakably a great beauty.
The eyes were extraordinarily beautiful... No, not just extraordinary—utterly captivating... Or rather, they seemed almost fearsome.
Allure!
It was precisely that very essence incarnate.

“Welcome,” said the proprietor—what a mercenary fellow—even rubbing his hands together as he bowed.
“We’re always indebted to your patronage.”
But this seemed like empty flattery.

“Do you have any of Somekichi’s red trays?”

That was what the woman said.

Okahachi was naturally startled.

“Well now, this just got interesting.”

So he deliberately stood up and pretended to examine the store's wares while keeping watch on the woman's behavior.

Five

The conversation between the antique shop proprietor and the female customer proceeded roughly as follows.

“Ah, would that be Somekichi? Well, it’s not that we don’t have any...”

“Do you have them in stock at present?”

“No, we don’t have any in stock… but I do have leads… If you wish, I could arrange to procure them.”

“By all means, please proceed.”
“How many do you think you could acquire?”

“Indeed, if we’re talking about three pieces…”

“The cost is no concern—I want as many as possible.”

“Well, but three or more would—”

“Then three it shall be. And... the price? Per piece?”

“That would be around twenty-five gold per piece, perhaps?”

“Then as a deposit—half upfront.”

“Forty gold?”
“So...”
“This is rather... Yes, yes, we’ve duly received it.”
“Now then… your residence?”

“I shall come to collect them.”

“Yes, indeed…”
“This is the receipt.”

“When would be a suitable time for me to come?”

“Indeed… A two- or three-day grace period…”

“Then I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“Understood.”

And then, the woman left the shop.

The one who got angry was Okahachi.

“What the hell are you playing at?!”
“The absolute gall!”
He seethed inwardly.
"Look like trash, get treated like trash."
"The bastard quotes a hundred fifty ryō deposit, then balks at twenty-five?"
"Claims he's got none, then says he can source three—goddamn liar. Oughta thrash the truth out of him."
"...Not like I could scrape together twenty-five ryō anyway... What's that woman's game? Obsessing over Somekichi's red trays like her life depends on 'em..."

Okahachi sauntered out into the thoroughfare.
Right before his eyes, the woman passed by.
He hadn’t intended to tail her, but he ended up following her nonetheless.
The place they emerged into was Jinbocho, where there stood a splendid antique shop with attached storefronts.

Wasn't that the woman going inside?

"Hmm?" thought detective Okahachi as he followed her into the shop.

The interaction between the proprietor and the female customer was exactly the same as before.

“Do you have any of Somekichi’s red trays?”

They weren’t currently available, but he would arrange to procure them.

Thereupon, the woman paid a deposit, took the receipt, and departed.

"This is suspicious," thought detective Okahachi, now resolved to tail her properly. It was like she was deliberately getting in my way. Must be circling ahead trying to swipe Somekichi's red trays. There's gotta be an angle here.

From Jinbocho to Hitotsubashi, from Kandabashi to Kamakura-gashi, then diagonally emerging into Honmoku-cho and onto Nihonbashi-dori toward Ginza—the woman marched steadily onward.
Therefore, naturally, Okahachi had to keep walking as well.

Okahachi and the woman were not merely walking.
Whenever they spotted a promising antique shop, they would enter each one to inquire.

“Do you have any of Somekichi’s red trays?”

If there were any, she would pay a deposit and arrange to purchase them.

In reality, Somekichi’s red trays appeared to be extremely scarce; by evening, after starting around noon, the number she had secured through such arrangements barely reached five.
It was when they reached Owari-chō that the woman suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“I wonder... Another antique shop?”

Okahachi looked around, but there were no antique shops—only the Edo-renowned ukiyo-e wholesaler called Ueshin.

Ukiyo-e prints were displayed at the shopfront.
Numerous warrior prints, landscape paintings, actor portraits, beauty portraits… The woman was examining them all.

“Have the red trays turned into ukiyo-e prints?”

Finding this strange, Okahachi the detective tried to peer into the shopfront himself as inconspicuously as possible to avoid alerting the woman.

There was a single splendid death portrait print.

Wondering what to make of it, Okahachi grunted "Hmm!" when he saw it.
He looked at the woman's profile.
What an enigmatic smile.
A thin smile—ironic, cruel, mocking, yet somehow satisfied—wasn't that very expression now playing across her face?
Her eyes remained fixed on the death portrait.

“At last things are looking up,” Okahachi muttered. “My hunch wasn’t wrong after all.” He gritted his teeth. “Right—if that’s how it is... This woman’s hideout.” His voice hardened like lacquer drying in winter air. “Gotta track it down no matter what it takes.”

At that moment, the woman started walking.

Judging by how briskly she was walking, it seemed she was finally heading home.

By the time they reached the foot of Ueno Hill, evening had already deepened.
Appearing confident in her walking ability, the woman didn’t even attempt to hire a palanquin.

Six

"She must be carrying a fortune, yet here she walks alone through night streets under this oppressive year-end sky without a shred of fear—that’s one hell of a nerve."
"No ordinary troublemaker, this one."

His suspicion had grown increasingly strong.

She walked toward Kurumazaka.
And Okahachi followed.

The road split off from beside Yōzenji.
To the left lay Uguisudani; to the right, Sakamoto.

To think she was heading toward the dreaded Uguisudani even in broad daylight—

“This one’s damn bold.”
“Now I’ve really gotta think this through.”

Even Okahachi, who had stopped in his tracks, must have felt a creeping unease.

The woman marched steadily onward.
She vanished straight into the thicket's shadow.

“Damn—gotta follow her. No matter what it takes—she’s just a woman. Can’t be anything serious…”

And he immediately gave chase.

The thicket enveloped both sides.
Large trees blocked out the sky.
It was a dim place even in daytime.
Now it was true darkness, not even a star was visible.
The woman’s footsteps sounded in the distance.

It was when he reached the bottom of the thicket.
Okahachi tripped on something.
As he faltered, a human hand forcefully clamped down on his nape.

He started but—being an okappiki—slipped free and leaped forward.

“Who’s there?!” he barked.

No one was visible.
Yet through a detective’s instinct, he knew—five or six men lurked.
Taking steady aim at him.

“This’s gone too damn far now.”
He plunged a hand into his robe, whipped out the jutte and brandished it overhead—“Come at me! I’ll knock you clean!”
Thus he steeled himself.

“Hey kid.” After some time had passed, a guttural voice came from the darkness.
“Stop squirming! Come along!”
“We ain’t takin’ you nowhere bad.”
“We’re takin’ you to one helluva good place.”
“To a fuckin’ dazzlin’ good place!”

It was a guttural, unpleasant voice.

Okahachi did not respond.
He intently monitored their breathing and waited for them to lunge.

The instant he thought Don't come, one attacker indeed lunged.
Wham! One strike!
No hesitation!
With a masterful jutte, he struck the forehead.

A stifled "Ugh..." of pain!
A thud!
After that, there was only dead silence.

Okahachi stealthily shifted his position.

“A bit tough,” muttered a voice from the darkness.
It was that same guttural, unpleasant voice.

Then another one rushed in.

Exactly the same technique—wham! One strike!
Okahachi struck the opponent's forehead.

A stifled "Ugh..." of pain!
This was the same—the heavy thud of a body collapsing!
This was the same.
"Seems I've dealt with two mutts."
Okahachi muttered inwardly.
"Come however many mutts you've got—I'll exterminate every last one."

There, he stealthily changed position.

For a while, there was silence.

Hushed whispers arose.

"They’re discussing something... Just how many muts are there?"

He peered intently into the darkness.
There still seemed to be three or four remaining.

Sure enough—by instinct, this told him—those three or four seemed ready to strike from both sides at once.
Behind him lay a dense thicket—there was no retreat.
Even Okahachi, alone against three or four, appeared to stand little chance here.

“This is trouble. No choice then. What a damn shame, but I’ll announce my name.”

Thereupon, he barked.

“Hey, you lot! Outrageous fools! Who the hell do you think I am?! I’m Okahachi from Minagawa-cho!”

Sure enough, this had an effect.

First came a startled “Huh?” followed immediately by a panicked “Damn it!”

“Retreat!” came a woman’s voice immediately following.

With a clattering of footsteps, after that came a hushed silence—utter stillness.

“Alright,” said Okahachi the detective, flattening himself against the ground with precision.
“They ran off toward Negishi.
“Heh,” he said, and nimbly stood up.
“Finally, I had a solid lead.”

His skin was clammy with sweat.
His head burned fiercely.
His heart pounded violently.

"I was startled 'cause it was a damn ambush."
"...It's always been us detectives doing the ambushing since way back, but tonight that got turned upside down."
"Alright then, what's the play? Situation's gone sideways—maybe backtrack?"
"Check those death prints instead?"
"But hell, this ain't giving me an exit."
"Who gives a shit?"
"Let's ride this out to the end."

He headed toward Negishi, but immediately found himself caught in major trouble.

Seven

The area corresponding to present-day 118-ban in Kaminezumi was, at that time, an empty lot with no houses.

However, a single mansion loomed.

A black-planked wall, anti-climb spikes—a mansion that must have been an impressive estate in its day, yet grand in scale.
Uninhabited and lacking maintenance, it appeared, with considerable damage here and there; the plantings were overgrown.
Around the mansion grew weeds that had withered to a tawny hue in the winter.
Careless steps would entangle one’s legs.
They stretched three shaku in length—the tallest of them all.

This was the renowned Lady O-nui’s mansion.

A man arrived there.
None other than Okahachi the detective.

Under the starry sky, he stood still, looking up and down.

Then he began moving stealthily around the premises.

The detectives' investigative methods differed little between past and present.
He pressed his cheek against the wall to observe the interior.
He meticulously examined the ground—no doubt checking whether someone had walked there or not.
He circled the mansion three times.
He must have identified a point of entry to infiltrate.

He turned his back to the mansion and nimbly crouched.
Hmm?
What are they planning to do?
A single red dot came into view.
A dot? Nothing special—just a cigarette ember.

“The people around here are all fools,”
“What do you mean this place is uninhabited? There’s twenty damn people living here!”
Okahachi muttered.
“The state of the world’s truly lamentable.”
“That such terrible villains have gathered in one place like this committing outrageous acts, yet they remain blind to it all!”
He began smoking his second pipe of tobacco.
“Even so, I can’t exactly claim to be no blockhead myself.”
“After all, I hadn’t noticed until today.”

“Well now—what should I do next?” Having finished smoking his pipe, Okahachi fell into deep thought. “If they were securely on guard, I could slip right in—but those bastards are completely careless. They’ve got the whole damn world licked. That’s exactly what makes ’em so damn intense.”

With a clink, he pulled out his pipe once more and began smoking again.

“Can’t take on twelve people alone.” Okahachi pondered again, “Should I go back and bring the kid along?” He became so absorbed in thought that he didn’t even notice his pipe falling to the ground. “That said, without even checking what’s inside first, I can’t just charge in recklessly... Gotta steel myself and sneak in... But I already announced myself earlier... Hmm... They might’ve got their guard up... If I keep overthinking like this, I’ll never get anything done... Still gives me the creeps! These ain’t your average crooks... Keep yappin’ like this and dawn’ll break... Screw it—I’m sneakin’ in!”

He pressed his body tightly against the wall, swiftly hooked his grappling rope over the anti-climb spikes, and scaled up with swift fluid movements—shu-shu-shu-shu—hand over hand.
With that, he vanished from sight.
Okahachi had infiltrated the mansion.

The following day.

“Boss home?” The one who arrived saying this was none other than detective Hankyūrō.
“He left yesterday and hasn’t returned.”

The one who said this was Okahachi’s wife—a woman with a faintly vengeful air.

“That’s unusual for the Boss.”

“I’ve been worried sick myself.”

“So you’ve got business after all?”

“I’ll show that Hankyūrō what’s what,” he said as he left.

Then Hankyūrō burst out laughing.

“AHAHAHA! This is hilarious! The Boss has gone a bit senile in his youth, ain’t he?”

“Why’s that?” retorted Okiyo—Okahachi’s wife—angrily.

“What do you mean? It’s about our conversation here. …Ah well then, ma’am—I’ll be back another time.”

He rushed out into the thoroughfare but burst into laughter.

“To think he went sniffing around trying to solve that old tale’s mystery—what nonsense!”
“Boss Okahachi’s gone soft in the head.”
“And him not even past his prime!”

It was the following day. Once again, Hankyūrō came calling.

“Ma’am—is the Boss home?”

“Well, Hankyū… I wonder what’s happened—he still hasn’t come back.”

Okiyo’s face clouded with worry.

"Huh," Hankyūrō said, though he too furrowed his brow.

“How strange... What in the world is going on?”
“This sort of thing hardly ever happens…”

Okiyo grew increasingly worried.

"That's right—aside from official business requiring long trips, never staying out overnight was Boss Okahachi's reliable trait... Hmm, this is fishy..."
He folded his arms.

Eight

Now began Hankyūrō’s investigation.

He walked along the road, becoming lost in thought.

"I was the one who told that story.
That’s why the Boss rushed out.
And now he hasn’t returned for two whole nights.
That said, there’s no way that serious Boss of ours would get tangled up in some red-light district.
If he’d gone on some long trip, he should’ve told Okiyo beforehand.
Hmm, hmm... I just don’t get it."

He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

"Somehow I’ve got this awful feeling.
Could there be some trouble?
It’s the Boss we’re talking about—he should be fine, but even a master’s hands can spring a leak.
After all, the one who heard our talk and rushed out is that master’s leak.
Hmm, hmm... I just don’t get it."

He still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Let me try to lay out the logic.
Anyway assuming he really did go out to solve our story's mystery—where would he head first?
……Well then where would he head first?

Something obvious occurred to him.

"Of course—he’d go to Lady O-nui’s mansion."

He burst out laughing.

"Even if he went, what could possibly be there?
There’s nothing but a large empty house there."

So he decided to abandon it.

"Now, where else would he go?"

It was like trying to grasp clouds—he couldn’t make sense of it.

“This is bad. Really bad… But…”

At this, he sank into deep thought.

"But I'll stubbornly follow through with the logical path.
Let's go check Lady O-nui's mansion.
Might find some clue there."

Hankyūrō strode off briskly.

Circling Ueno and reaching Kaminezumi, he arrived before Lady O-nui’s mansion.

The winter sunlight fell upon the black wall.
That dilapidated mansion stood there.
Crows perched on the roof ridge.
When it came to living creatures, those were all there were.
The area was crisply exposed to the wind from all directions.
Not a single house stood nearby.

“Just an empty house after all.
What could possibly be here?”

He muttered this, but Hankyūrō—just to be thorough—began circling around the mansion.

"Oh!"

He stopped abruptly when he spotted a familiar object in the weeds - Okahachi's thick silver-mouthed pipe lying there. He picked it up and stared intently.

“Nothing particularly unusual here.
“The only thing this tells me is that the Boss came to investigate Lady O-nui’s mansion after all.
“Wait a minute!”

He jolted in surprise.

“Oh damn, this can’t be right!” he shouted aloud. “That level-headed Boss Okahachi—no matter how panicked he got, he’d never drop his pipe and leave it… Yet here it lies… Which means we’ve gotta assume something major went down.”
……Right—there was a trace here.
……Right—dry grass lay flattened.
……So he stopped to rest and have a smoke?
……Now then… what next? What next?

Hankyūrō looked around the area.

What caught his eye were footprints on the wall!
No—they were the marks of setta.
When he quickly looked up, two or three of the anti-climbing spikes were bent outward.

“Ah hah! Boss, you sneaked in, didn’t you?”

He closed his eyes and thought.

He had come to Lady O-nui’s mansion.
Since he’d come, he would naturally check inside as a precaution—at least briefly.
Well now, that much was normal.
But his pipe lay there.
There were clear signs someone had rested.
Which meant he’d been thinking so hard while resting that he hadn’t noticed dropping it.
If he’d then gone so far as to sneak inside, that meant he’d investigated thoroughly before infiltrating.
"...This ain’t no ordinary abandoned house!"

Hankyūrō shuddered with cold.

“Hold on, hold on—can’t panic now.”
“He got in, but might not have gotten out.”

So he circled the mansion once more.
It wasn’t clear whether he had exited or not, but at least there was no evidence that he had.

He tried pushing the front gates, back gates, and small side doors, but whether they were barred from within or not, they didn’t budge an inch.

“Now what should I do?”

He even considered trying to enter.

"No way!"

He immediately stopped himself.

“Even Boss Okahachi was swallowed up—isn’t that mansion a terrifying place? Even if it’s daytime，charging in with just us would take more guts than we’ve got.”

“I’ll go back and bring more men.”

Hankyūrō hurried back and, waiting for nightfall, sneaked into Lady O-nui’s mansion with a dozen or so underlings in tow.

What did they see?

Nine

When Okahachi the okappiki detective—whose life someone had saved—returned home and regained consciousness,

“I’ve gotta go back there and check it out again,”

were the very first words he uttered.

Then he slipped back into a sluggish sleep.

When he’d fully regained his strength, he went charging straight back in.

“They say it’s in Shina’s ancient legends, but that’s Japan’s Kōketsu Castle.”

And then he began to speak.

“Hankyū, I don’t know what to say to you—half gratitude, half resentment. …When we heard your story, something clicked hard in here.” He thumped his chest.
“Somekichi’s crimson trays and his ‘death from decline’!”
“...Heard a Westerner tale ’bout some painter who used his own blood for colors. Ah hah! Maybe that Somekichi bastard did same with his trays!”
“Now ’bout my case—young lads vanish then come back wasted to death. How’s that fit?”
“Some gang out there suckin’ folks’ fresh blood?”
“So I went sniffin’.”
“Gotta get them trays—have some Dutch doc check for blood traces.”
“Hit up antique shops but couldn’t grab none.”
“Rare ’n pricey.”
“Then this stunner starts buyin’ ’em all up—like she’s cockblockin’ our investigation! We tailed her ass relentless.”
“Bitch shows up at Ueshin’s joint!”
“You know—the wholesaler.”
“Famous for them brocade prints.”
“But there was one death portrait.”
“Craftsmanship? Top-notch.”
“But that purple—fuckin’ unreal.”
“Slapped my knee when it hit me!”
“That purple was blood-painted!”
“Blood—starts red.”

“Then it turns brown and green.”
“And finally, it turns purple.”
“That ain’t no ordinary purple.”
“That’s a purple unlike any other!”
“Now then, those death portrait prints—Westerners are snapping them up left and right at exorbitant prices these days.”
“Ah hah! So now it’s clear—there’s gotta be some rotten bastards holed up somewhere, squeezing fresh blood outta folks to make those death portrait prints!”
“So then, this woman’s probably one of those bastards’ associates? I ain’t lettin’ this one slip away, I tell ya.”
“And we followed her all the way, I tell ya.”
“We got ambushed at Uguisudani!”
“Yeah, five or six bastards!”
When I identified myself as Okahachi, they fled—but seemed to head toward Negishi.
And then it suddenly hit me—Ah hah! So the villains are holed up in Lady O-nui’s mansion after all!
“And then I realized—Ah hah! That woman’s a decoy!”
“With that unbelievably beautiful face of hers, if she entices some young man, any bastard’d follow—then they nab him at Uguisudani!”
“Then they take ’em to the mansion—to their den, Lady O-nui’s mansion, I tell ya.”
“So we went to check it out.”
“Even though it was eerily quiet and deserted, we’d thought—”
“There must be twenty of them, I tell ya!”
“Here’s why—we estimated about six men showed up earlier, but they wouldn’t come out all at once. Assuming half their force emerged, that makes twelve in total.”
“And currently, there are eight young men whose whereabouts are unknown.”

“That makes twenty, don’t it?”
“But even so, there ain’t a soul around.”
“Nah—makes sense if you count those run-of-the-mill underground rooms in the tally... After rackin’ my brains, I snuck in—biggest mistake of my life.”
“They must’ve been on guard after I gave my name as Okahachi at Uguisudani.”
“Didn’t stand a chance—got nabbed right away.”
“Once caught, I saw clear as day—our whole investigation was blown!”
“Underground workshop! Twenty workers! Brocade prints! Plus plump beauties stuffin’ themselves on greasy grub! Countless glass suction cups!”
“...Felt damn good though.”
“Blood keeps gettin’ drained nonstop.”
“Naked women dancin’!”
“Makes you drowsy natural-like!”
“...Single fella gets done twenty times over!”
“When they were ’bout to finish me off twice—Hankyū, you lot showed up!”
“Idiots! Why’d you come?!”
“Wasn’t hell—pure paradise!”
“...You put up one helluva fight against ’em though.”
“Still let ’em escape through the tunnels!”
“Wait—you caught the boss?”
“Waste of effort!”
“...We wanna go back there again.”

But Hankyūrō said mockingly.

"But hey Boss—that karmic tale we talked about... y'know, the one 'bout Lady O-nui's mansion..."

"You're gonna say it's some made-up story, right?"

"Oh? You knew about that, did ya?"

"'Cause it all lines up too damn perfect, I tell ya."

10

Then, sneering at Okahachi, he began to speak with a sly grin.

“A staged incident—no matter how tangled up—always has some seam that lines up.”
“Same goes for made-up stories, right?”
“But that tale was interesting.”
“Let me show you how to stitch those seams real neat-like.”
“First off—that street-slashing samurai? Let’s pin him as some young lord from the shogun’s own kin.”
“We’ll say he was testing a new blade there.”
“That stretch near Lady O-nui’s mansion—no houses around, proper lonesome spot for such business.”
“When the cops surrounded him, he thumped his chest—let’s make that count.”
“We’ll say he flashed the Aoi Crest there.”
“Full moon night—couldn’t see clear anyway.”
“So the flatfoots can’t lay a finger on him, just grovel going ‘Heeey!’... Wraps it up neat, don’t it?”
“Now that clerk got sliced up—let’s say he was hauling Somekichi’s red tray.”
“Meaning his master ordered him to fetch it from Somekichi’s place. Artisan chasing after him? Naturally Somekichi himself.”
“Somekichi being that touchy artist type—hated parting with his work—so we’ll say he came to snatch it back. Clerk’s lying there dead but still clutching the tray—have him shout ‘Gotcha!’”
“Jumps up all happy retrieving it—tray slips right from his hands into Lady O-nui’s mansion.”
“Then have him yell ‘Dammit!’”
“Only then he notices—that clerk bastard’s been offed.”
“Say he lit outta there fast.”
“Couldn’t shake that tray obsession—goes back to the mansion to get it... But Lady O-nui’s so damn pretty he decides to leave it there for her.”
“Make ’em repeat this four times over.”

“The samurai’s street slashing proceeds just as before—the tray retrieval too, just as before—but from the second time onward, we’ll posit that Somekichi deliberately had them thrown into the mansion.”
“Ah exactly—the red trays.”
“And we'll posit he didn't cry out 'Damn it!'”
“Why did he throw it in?”
“Needless to say—to convey his heart’s passion.”
“As for that poem ‘Koisu chō’—we’ll interpret that it was inlaid by coincidence.”
“Using the Hyakunin Isshu for maki-e—there’s nothing strange about that being commonplace.”
“But we should construe that Somekichi skillfully exploited that coincidence.”
“However, when it came to the final piece—the fact that he completely gave out… this one alone can be interpreted two ways.”
“We could interpret it as him dying from decline due to lovesickness, rendering him unable to produce more—or if there happens to be human blood mixed in Somekichi’s red trays, we might posit it was his own blood he used. Squeezing out too much fresh blood would’ve weakened him to death… Either way, that Somekichi fellow really did die young from some mysterious wasting disease—so they say.”
“The old man from the antique shop said it too... How about it, Arakata? This should do, right?”
“Everything lines up perfectly now, doesn’t it?”

Hankyūrō proceeded to laugh again.

“What about Lady O-nui’s death?”
Hankyūrō retorted undaunted.

“The daughter of a wealthy merchant—afflicted with consumption and living in a dormitory—being of marriageable age yearned for love. Thus she absolutely wanted someone to woo her with ‘Omoi some shi ga.’ As she kept longing for that tray, her illness progressed until she passed away.”
“It’s the dormitory where the consumptive girl lived—a place with no tenants, remaining vacant even to this day.”
“…Let’s just go with that.”
“See here—it all adds up perfectly!”

“That story can stand as it is—but about that woman you ran into, the one they say was a stunning beauty... Why on earth would she go collecting nothing but Somekichi’s red trays like that?”

“Ah, that one? The woman said, ‘Listen here, Mr. Okahachi—it’s not like I collected Somekichi’s red trays to get in your way or anything. I’ve been scouring all over Edo gathering his trays as reference material—trying to figure out how to get that splendid crimson color into death portraits.’
“And you falling for that was just a bit foolish, eh?”
“Well I’ll be... This really has me beat!”

“But hey,” Okahachi said again.
“Your story about Lady O-nui’s mansion—it’s not like every last bit of it has to be a lie.”

"Yeah," Hankyūrō said with a wry smile. "Since street slashings are all the rage now, we threw in a samurai doing that. Then when Somekichi’s red trays started fetching high prices, we snatched that up quick and added just a touch of Lady O-nui’s mansion lore to cook up the whole thing."

“What’s the truth about Lady O-nui’s mansion?”

“There was a beauty called Lady O-nui.”
“She loved someone and died.”
“Her obsession remains even now.”
“That’s all there is—what more could you want?”

"But hey, your story did me a favor—let me wrap up that tough case."

"I thought to flatter you, Boss, but ended up being used in reverse."

"There are hints in every story, I tell you."
"But I ended up being a burden on you too."
"I’m grateful—let’s have a drink."