Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“Might you perhaps be seeking lodging? If you are indeed seeking lodging, I would gladly arrange suitable accommodations.”

The one who called out was an old man around sixty years old, with a face marked by sharp eyes, thin lips, and sunken cheeks.
And yet, he possessed an inexplicable dignity.

“Indeed, I am seeking lodging.
If there is a suitable inn, I would be grateful for your assistance.”

The one who stopped and said this was a young samurai of thirty-two or thirty-three, clad in traveling attire. He wore hakama trousers tied at the calves and warrior-style straw sandals, with a bundle slung diagonally from his right shoulder to his left side. In his hand he carried an iron fan. His face remained hidden beneath the deep-brimmed sedge hat, yet his bearing held both refinement and authority. A wandering samurai journeying through various provinces to learn from masters and perfect his skills in martial arts or military strategy—such was his appearance.

“Very well. Then I shall arrange accommodations.”
“Here in Muromachi, Kyoto—if you follow this southward, you’ll reach Imadegawa Street.”
“From there, turn eastward.”
“Then you will come to Kita-no-kōji Street.”
“When you leave that thoroughfare, you’ll find Kanryōgahara field—within it stands a mansion.”
“Go to that mansion and lodge there.”
“If you tell them you come by old man Wada’s word, they’ll gladly take you in.”
“Now hurry along—off you go and stay there.”

With those abrupt words, the old man straightened his posture and walked off, swinging the winter bamboo cane he had been leaning on—its whip-like form slicing through the dusk.

The young samurai seemed dumbfounded.

The year was the 5th Year of Bunmei, seven years since the outbreak of the Ōnin War. Kyoto’s towns had been ravaged by military fires—most reduced to ashes—while surviving houses lay shattered and fallen into ruin. Proper inns no longer existed; those that remained were wretched hovels.
The young samurai had entered Kyoto mere moments earlier, with dusk already deepening, and had in truth been discreetly searching for decent lodging since arriving.
That the old man had stopped him and arranged accommodations in this manner was undoubtedly a kindness, yet the abruptness of the gesture left him stunned nonetheless.
Though bewildered, the young samurai appeared to lack any base inclination to spurn the old man’s goodwill or doubt his words—for he followed the instructed path and soon stood before the mansion as directed.

Now, there before him stood the mansion’s entrance.
By now, it was early night, and the late-rising moon had yet to appear.

He could scarcely discern the mansion's finer details, but the cypress-bark-thatched gate listed precariously, while the foliage of trees planted within its grounds grew as thick as a forest. The surrounding earthen walls had crumbled enough that even dogs might pass freely through gaps. Nothing about its construction suggested an inn.

Though he thought This is strange, the peculiarity instead seemed to pique the young samurai’s curiosity, prompting him to knock on the gate rather than leave.

As his knocking hand withdrew, the gate swung open slightly of its own accord.

(This is poor security,) he thought as the young samurai passed through the gate.
Beyond the densely overgrown garden trees stood an imposing shoin-style mansion.
With a length of twenty ken and a width of fifteen ken, the grand structure—built in kirizuma style with persimmon shingles—stood as a perfectly proportioned edifice, clearly recognizable to any observer as a nobleman’s residence.
Yet it lay terribly neglected, with weeds having grown up to the staircase.

Serenely silent, with no sign of people. Naturally, no light emanated from within. Somehow, it even evoked a ghostly aura. However, as the Ōnin War had turned Kyoto’s streets into an urban battlefield—a war fought block by block—mansions of this ruined sort abounded everywhere and were no rarity. Thus, the young samurai did not hesitate.

“Pardon me. I request an audience.”

In this manner he called out loudly.
But no reply came.
At that point the young samurai called again.
He tried calling three or four times.
But still there came no reply.

"Well well," muttered the young samurai.

"It appears this is indeed an uninhabited mansion—if so, why would that old man have arranged such a place?"

He considered what to do next.
His legs were fatigued and his spirit equally wearied.
If this was truly an uninhabited mansion, there was no one to show restraint toward.
In any case he would rest here awhile before proceeding.
Having thought this he stepped up into the entrance.
He passed through the second and first chambers until reaching the inner room where he stood still.
The lampless interior lay utterly dark with nothing visible.

Thereupon, the young samurai sat with knees neatly aligned.
For healing fatigued legs, sitting in formal posture was best.

2

Thus, some time passed.

Just then, from the direction of the rear garden, there came the sound of singing—a clear, young woman’s voice chanting a song reminiscent of imayō ballads.

(What’s this?) the young samurai pricked up his ears.

〽In the ruined capital’s ancient mansion, gazing upon scenes of bygone days—through mugwort fields thick with dew, the plaintive cry—quail’s lament?

It was such a song.
The young samurai naturally found this unexpected.

(In such a desolate mansion garden—could there truly be a woman singing?)
(So it wasn’t uninhabited after all?)

Thereupon, the young samurai stood up, exited the room, and took position on the veranda.
Beneath the starlight lay a rear garden as desolate as the ruined mansion itself—weeds stretching to shoulder height, garden trees growing thickly in disarray, assuming their natural forms. What once must have been cultivated elegance—artificial hills, garden ponds, stone bridges, pavilions—stood solemnly in their original placements, embodying the profound artistry of garden design. Yet all lay crumbling now, presenting a pitiful spectacle of ruin.

And then, a tall woman in white robes was walking along the shore of the dried-up garden pond toward the artificial hill.

*That must be her*, the young samurai thought reflexively. Though he felt it somewhat undignified, with no footwear there, he descended into the garden barefoot. Fearing she might flee if startled—this vague notion crossing his mind—he crept from one shadow to another, drawing closer to the woman.
However, by the time the young samurai reached the edge of the garden pond’s shore, the woman’s figure was nowhere to be seen.

(Perhaps she went beyond the artificial hill?) thought the young samurai as he pressed onward.

Suddenly, the old man’s voice could be heard from the direction of the artificial hill.

“Have at you!” he declared.

The moment he did, a sharp twang of a bowstring resounded.

“Hn!”

A battle cry!
With a battle cry, the young samurai swung the iron fan he held through the air with a swish.
Something fell at his feet.
It was a flat-headed arrow.

“Magnificent!” came a woman’s voice.
It came from the direction of the artificial hill.

And then, the old man’s voice sounded again.

“Another arrow comes your way! Try blocking this!”

A fierce bowstring twang resounded once more.

The same sharp grunt—“Hn!”—burst forth as the young samurai swung his iron fan again with a battle cry. The arrow clattered down at his feet.

“Magnificent,” came the woman’s voice anew, followed immediately by her inquiry:

“Do you know the origins of archery?”

“The origin of archery lies in the Age of Gods.”

The young samurai answered without hesitation.

“Intending to depart for the Land of Roots, Susanoo-no-Mikoto first proceeded to Takamagahara to bid farewell to Amaterasu-Ōmikami.”
“Amaterasu-Ōmikami, suspecting Susanoo-no-Mikoto, made him bear a thousand-layered quiver upon his back, attach a five-hundred-layered quiver, don Itsu-no-take arm guards on his arms, grip the belly of his bow, and brandish it again and again as he departed—this is reverently recorded in the Kojiki.”
“This is the origin of archery.”

“Next I humbly inquire: what of the layered rattan bow?”

“It is surely an implement for generals to wield.”

“Hmm. Then what of the lacquered bow?”

“That would be for common soldiers to use.”

“What of the maki-e bow?”

“For ceremonial use.”

“What of the plainwood bow with silk backing?”

“For deployment in battle formations.”

“Splendid!” came the woman’s clear voice once more from the direction of the artificial hill.

“Despite your youth—uncommon though it may be—you demonstrate mastery not only of technique but also scholarship! Pray grant us your name.”

“Heki Masatsugu of Iga Province—one who travels through various lands seeking to master archery’s deepest secrets... Pray grant this humble one your esteemed name.”

Then came the old man’s voice cutting through, as though intercepting.

“Ah—unnecessary! ’Tis still too early.”
“...Your defensive arts are indeed proven.”
“But what of true archery?”
“...When both aspects stand confirmed—defense and offense alike—then shall all particulars be disclosed.”

Suddenly there arose handclaps bearing dengaku rhythms.

“Phantom Star of Tennōji!
“Phantom Star of Tennōji!”

“Did you see it? Did you see it? The Phantom Star!”

The woman sang in response.
She too clapped her hands in rhythm.

“Has Chihaya fallen? Alas, how sorrowful!”

“Alas, it has fallen! How pitiful!”

“Phantom Star of Tennōji!”

“Phantom Star! Phantom Star!”

The sound of rhythmic foot-stomping could be heard.

Yet it gradually faded into the distance.
It seemed the two had withdrawn together toward the heart of the artificial hill, dancing as they went.

3

Heki Masatsugu, having returned to the study, was startled enough to let out a gasp.
For there stood a maki-e candle stand with its lamp lit, bowls and dishes arranged upon the dining table heaped with various delicacies, a long-necked bottle filled with sake accompanied by a large ceremonial cup, and before all these lay an embroidered cushion spread out in layers.

“Hoh,” Masatsugu let slip.

“What in the world is all this?”

However, he quickly realized.

(The woman and the old man must be the people living in this mansion, and they went to such lengths for my sake.)

“I am deeply honored. I gratefully accept.”

Though no human figure was visible anywhere, since it seemed reasonable to assume that someone was surely observing his every move from some hidden vantage point, he offered a humble bow, then lifted the sake bottle to pour a drink and took up the ceremonial cup.
And then, he leisurely drank the sake and began to eat the various dishes.
All the while, the mansion remained utterly silent, devoid of any human presence; isolated from inhabited areas as it was, no other sounds could be heard.
Having fully nourished his stomach, Masatsugu now brimmed with vitality, and his heart began to expand freely.
And then, he leisurely looked around the room.

“Hoh,” Masatsugu once again inadvertently let out a sound.

Upon looking, he saw that in the alcove behind him hung a large landscape scroll by Baijitsu occupying the entire space, while on the shelf of the side alcove lay several volumes of books encased in protective covers—all arranged with formal propriety, leaving nothing surprising. Yet what startled Masatsugu’s eyes was solely this: within that same alcove stood a decorative rack holding two great bows—one yin, one yang—and twenty-four arrows.
Moreover, the family crest was Chrysanthemum Water.

With an involuntary groan, Masatsugu shuffled closer to the decorative rack.

It was that very same night.

A large group of oddly dressed warriors were trotting through the streets of Kyoto. Their number reached thirty-five men, yet all were uniformly naked with disheveled hair bound by thick ropes tied as forehead headbands; coarse hemp cords wrapped around their waists bearing red-hilted swords; black leggings covering their legs; and feet remaining completely bare. Yet among them were those who wore only shin guards on their legs; others who bore arm guards of iron and chainmail solely on their arms; and still others clad merely in waist armor about their hips. As for what they held in their hands—axes, hatchets, long-handled weapons, bows, rakes, spears, clubs, and the like. Several men leading the way held torches, while two small men in the center were playing shamisen with plectrums.

The man who appeared to be their leader—around forty-five or forty-six years old—indeed wore black leather armor, donned a helmet adorned with deer antlers, and tucked a spear under his arm.

What manner of band was this?
They were, so to speak, a group comprising ronin, masterless samurai, and loyalists of the Southern Court.
Since the outbreak of the Ōnin War, not only in the Kinai region but among daimyos and shōmyō across the provinces, rises and falls had unfolded endlessly—those who lost their domains and those who had their castles seized emerged in numbers too vast to count.
As a result, those who had lost their stipends appeared in great numbers.
In other words, ronin and masterless samurai had filled every corner of Japan.
Even before that time, throughout various regions there had been many warriors of the Southern Court faction who traditionally resisted the Ashikaga shogunate and, given any opportunity, covertly schemed to give them a rude awakening.
Namely, they were the remnant forces of the Nitta, the Kitabatake, and the Kusunoki clan themselves.
Thus, as the times grew increasingly constricted and hardship spread, these warriors found that individual acts of extortion and robbery no longer proved effective—coupled with the rise of what is called *gekokujō*, where even when lower-class people, namely the impoverished masses, encroached upon their superiors, such actions were no longer condemned as they once had been but instead came to be seen as legitimate. In this climate, large numbers banded together under names like “such-and-such faction” or “such-and-such gang,” making it their livelihood to raid the mansions of aristocrats and wealthy households for plunder and coercion.

The band heading there was one such group—the “Abara Gang”—whose leader claimed to be Onji Kijirō, a loyalist of the Southern Court and descendant of Onji Sakon from the Kusunoki clan. Though this lineage claim alone was dubious, there was no doubt he was a fierce warrior.

This group ran brazenly through Kyoto’s streets at a brisk trot, stirring clamor though night had not yet deepened.

4

Heki Masatsugu, who had been gazing at the bows and arrows hung on the decorative rack and tilting his head slightly in contemplation, soon heard numerous voices reach his ears from the direction of the backyard.

(What’s this?) Heki Masatsugu strained his ears.
A large group of people had pushed open the rear gate and seemed to have entered the garden.

A voice suddenly called out.

“The appointed day and hour have now arrived.”
“Onji Kijirō has come to receive you.”
“Now, Princess, come forth!”
“If you find this disagreeable, then surrender Lord Hōgan’s handwritten *Yang Youji*!”

It was a guttural, ferocious voice.

Then from the next room of the study—that is, the first chamber—the old man’s voice answered mockingly.

“Ah! Lord Kijirō! How diligent you’ve been coming to fetch us!”
“However, the Princess has been informed—she will neither accept your summons nor relinquish *Yang Youji*.”
“...Lord Kijirō, kindly take your leave.”

“Shut up!” Kijirō’s angry voice roared.

“Then this would constitute breaking the pledge.”

“Originally, it was an outrageous demand you extorted from Her Highness.”
“What dishonor lies in defying it?”

“Very well! Refuse if you dare! But mark this—once Kijirō resolves himself, I’ll seize both the Princess and *Yang Youji*!”
“For such ambition—be certain you’re prepared!”

Then the old man’s voice called toward the study—toward Masatsugu.

“Ah! Honored guest—Lord Heki Masatsugu! We beg this desperate favor—demonstrate your archery might!”
“Those swarming here are faithless vermin—the so-called Abara Gang! Cut them down without remorse!”

“Ou,” said Heki Masatsugu as he took the yang bow—seven shaku and five sun in length, its grip wrapped in layered rattan—from the decorative rack. Firmly grasping its midpoint and seizing a white-polished bamboo whistling arrow, he slid open the fusuma and stepped onto the veranda.

“To those who have come forth: I am but a traveling warrior who sought lodging in this mansion tonight. Therefore, I bear neither enmity nor obligation toward you. Nor do I share any particular bond with those who dwell here. Yet observe—you arrive in multitudes bearing arms to intrude violently, while this mansion shelters only a woman and an old man. Moreover, these two have entreated me. They have asked for my aid. As a samurai so entreated, I cannot retreat in shame. [...] Therefore, I shall loose one arrow. Withdraw now, and all will be well. Refuse, and I shall loose arrows upon you without cease.”

When he had finished speaking, he fitted the arrow nock to the string and drew it back with a groan.
The target was the front crest of the helmet worn by the man standing at the group’s forefront—Onji Kijirō, who appeared to be their leader—with a spear planted firmly, legs spread wide, his helmet adorned with deer antlers.
There are two methods for drawing the bowstring: press the thumb using the ring and middle fingers, and align the fingertips perpendicular to the string!
This is called the Chinese archery method!
Masatsugu’s technique followed this principle.
Held at full draw for a breath—then came the arrow’s shrill cry: “Hyyi!”
Like silk tearing asunder!
Simultaneously rang out a whistling scream akin to an eagle’s shriek—no less terrible than when Minamoto no Yorimasa, Third Rank, shot the Nue monster, his arrow’s roar said to have shaken the Shishinden Hall! The shaft sliced through air with a clamor echoing across entire neighborhoods!
Behold—there under the late-rising moon’s glow, Onji Kijirō’s antlered helmet crest split clean through its center, the arrow’s force unabated as it pierced an earthen wall encircling distant grounds.

With a thunderous *thud, thud, thud, thud—* of footsteps, the thirty-five members of the Abara Gang—their courage chilled by this display of archery prowess—all retreated backward at once.
However, Kijirō alone—being the gang’s leader—neither fled nor budged, letting out a thunderous roar.

“Ah! You meddlesome wretch! With no quarrel between us, you should’ve kept meekly hidden! Yet you dare oppose the Abara Gang with drawn bow—such reckless folly! Enough talk! The nail that protrudes shall be hammered; the weed that obstructs shall be cut down!”
“Now fall back, all of you!”
“True, your bow’s might strikes fear—but that aim of yours? Unskilled! Nothing to dread!”
“A technique that splits helmet crests yet spares the brow’s center—mere trickery!”

Then Masatsugu said mockingly:

“Kijirō—you ignorant fool! In the ancient Hōgen Rebellion, Lord Tametomo of Chinzei drew his bow against his elder brother Yoshitomo, yet spared his vitals out of fraternal duty, striking only the rivet of his helmet instead. It seems you are unaware of this anecdote.

“As I stated earlier, there exists neither enmity nor obligation between you and me. Therefore, I deliberately avoided your forehead and shot off the deer antler crest of your helmet’s front ornament.

“Or perhaps you failed to perceive my earlier words as exaggeration? To call this aim unskilled is laughable. Very well—if you so desire, I shall take your life with the second arrow.

“...Have at you!” he declared, turning around and reaching toward the arrow placed on the decorative rack in the alcove to draw it forth.

5

The instant he did so, an arrow was presented directly before his eye.

“Now then, with this, you may proceed.”

“Hm,” he involuntarily exclaimed as he took the arrow and fixed his gaze upon it.
Before Masatsugu’s eyes—that is, diagonally behind him—sat a sophisticated beauty of twenty-one or twenty-two years, her hair in long straight tresses, clad in scarlet rinzu silk dyed with white chrysanthemum water crests and draped in an overrobe, positioned with perfect composure.

“And you are?” Masatsugu asked in surprise.
Even as he inquired, he remained vigilant, snugly fitting the arrow nock to the string and gradually drawing it back in a yokogamae stance.

“I am the mistress of this house...”

“Then… you were the one who sang the imayō ballad earlier?”

As he spoke, he drew the bowstring about eight-tenths of the way,

“May I ask your name?”
“...And may I ask your standing?”

“Direct descendant of the Kusunoki clan, sister of Mitsutora—I am called Shino, a humble woman.”

“Oh! The Kusunoki clan?
“…Then you are of that noble house… the illustrious Princess Shino of such lineage…”

Whish! At that moment, several arrows were loosed from the enemy’s side toward here.
And in that instant—before Masatsugu’s eyes, several feet in the air where moonlight was sliced—there was something swirling and gleaming in midair.

“Oh!”—he drew the bowstring taut until it creaked into the shape of a full moon—and with another “Oh!”, Masatsugu uttered as he saw the source of the gleaming light.
An old man swirled a small naginata through the air to knock down arrows and now stood in the hassō stance, a defensive posture with blade raised.

“And you are…?”

“My conduct this afternoon was discourteous.”

“Hmm—so it is Elder Wada.”

“That is to say—one belonging to the Kusunoki clan’s lineage—the legitimate descendant of Wada Shinbutsu—I am called Wada Hyōgo…”

“Moreover—from the direction of the artificial hill earlier—you loosed an arrow aimed at me…”

“Nevertheless—though it was discourteous—I sought to test your capabilities.”

“……”

There was no twang of the bowstring!
All the more intense!
Masatsugu's loosed arrow!
A scream!
A hit!
The one who tumbled through the air and fell—legs kicking skyward—was the valiant warrior who had stood before Kijirō, an enemy yet valiant.

With a roar, the enemy collapsed into chaotic retreat!
Moreover, even as they retreated far into the distance, they loosed another flurry of arrows.
Swirling his naginata, Wada Hyōgo sat at the edge of the shoin-style veranda before Masatsugu, one knee planted firmly.

“Now, the third arrow!”
“Proceed.”

Heki Masatsugu swiftly accepted the third arrow offered by the Princess, nocked its base to the string once more, and drew it back with a deep groan, holding at full draw.

“Why does the Kusunoki clan’s princess reside in such an ancient mansion?”

“Lord Tōin Saemon-no-suke Toshitaka took pity on my circumstances and sheltered and raised me within this mansion for many years.”
“Yet when the great turmoil began, most of the capital vanished into nothingness. The court nobles and high-ranking officials all found themselves struggling to sustain their daily lives; relying on connections, they went to dwell in the domains of daimyō and powerful clans across Kyushu. As for my Lord Tōin Toshitaka—in years past—he departed for the Ōuchi clan of Suō Province.”
“At that time he earnestly urged me to accompany him as well, but…”

“……”

There was no twang of the bowstring—Masatsugu’s arrow, fully aimed and loosed—!
Hit—a scream! Once more, enemies tumbled through the air and fell!
With a roaring clamor, the enemies fell back—yet undeterred, they loosed another haphazard volley of arrows.

Due to Hyōgo’s swirling naginata, the arrows fell in several lines onto the veranda.

“Now, proceed with the fourth arrow!”

With a grunt, he accepted it and nocked it straightaway.

“Why did you not deign to go down to Kyushu?”

“The secret manual *Yang Youji*—transmitted from my ancestor Masashige—if I were to go to Kyushu or such lands, there would be no suitable person to pass it on. Here in the capital, I must entrust it to a warrior of renown… and once that duty is fulfilled, then to Kyushu I shall…”

“Yang Youji? Hmm—a treatise I’ve only heard of by name, yet never laid eyes upon! Ah! So you possess that?”

As he spoke, Masatsugu deliberately drew the bowstring taut with a creak, creak, creak.

If this single volume of *Yang Youji* were to come into my possession, I could accomplish my long-cherished ambition—the restoration of Japanese archery.
I want it so badly!
How I want it...
...Now, which one of you bastards next?!

He drew to a full moon and glared intently.

6

With two of his own subordinates shot down before his very eyes, Kijirō lost all reason in his fury.
He did not attempt to ready his sword against the arrows but drew his spear close and charged out at the head of his men.

“You! How dare you target our comrades with your arrows and shoot down two men!”
“I’ll show no mercy! Taste my spear—bid farewell to this world and meet your end!”

Shouting while in a reckless charge, he rushed toward Masatsugu.

(Now for this wretch!) Heki Masatsugu aimed the willow-leaf arrowhead at the breastplate with his thirteen-sun three-bu shaft drawn taut, and though sensing the distance verged dangerously close, loosed it with a controlled exhale.

The arrow struck true—piercing clean through the breastplate until its fletching disappeared within.

Kijirō let out a final, guttural scream before dropping his spear and collapsing backward with a heavy thud, dead.
With their leader slain, what remained of the Abara Gang abandoned all resolve—discarding even Kijirō’s corpse as they stampeded through the rear gate in panicked retreat.

About half an hour later, Heki Masatsugu, Princess Shino, and Wada Hyōgo conversed modestly in the shoin-style hall.
Before Masatsugu lay a single volume of *Yang Youji*, resting upon a three-legged stand.
It had been transferred from the Princess to Masatsugu.
“We had invited countless warriors to this mansion—men deemed worthy to inherit *Yang Youji*—and tested their archery. Yet until today, we had met no suitable individual, compounding our disappointment through repeated failures. Now, at last, we have encountered you.”
“To one worthy of receiving *Yang Youji*—to you, a noble lord most fitting and splendid.”
It was words to this effect that Wada Hyōgo spoke.

“The man called Onji Kijirō was never of my clan, but a disgraced ronin of the Akamatsu house who had long harbored improper designs toward me and schemed to seize both myself and *Yang Youji*—a villain of utmost insolence. That you struck him down is a blessing for which I am profoundly grateful.”
“That we could delay his demands until today—until this crisis reached its breaking point—and that you, my lord, felled him must surely have been due to bonds ordained by fate.”

Princess Shino also spoke words to this effect and rejoiced at having been saved.

“What are your future plans?”

In this manner, Masatsugu inquired with concern.

“In truth, it has been arranged that an escort from the Ōuchi clan will arrive tomorrow,” Princess Shino said with a smile. “Accompanied by that escort, I shall depart for Kyushu. It was for this reason we delayed Kijirō’s demands until today—by postponing matters one more day, we meant to avoid calamity when tomorrow came and depart.”

“It was a perilously close matter,” she continued. “Had I also failed to meet Lord Wada Hyōgo during the day, I would have missed this unparalleled fortune—the chance to receive *Yang Youji*—a stroke of luck unlikely ever to recur.”

“It was due to the bonds of fate.”

When the rooster had crowed, the morning star faded, and a refreshing dawn arrived, a great number of splendidly attired warriors arrived at the mansion, bearing two magnificent palanquins.
It was the escort from the Ōuchi clan.

“Farewell.” “Safe travels.” Such parting exchanges!

After exchanging farewells with evident reluctance, Princess Shino and Wada Hyōgo parted ways with Heki Masatsugu.
Princess Shino, legitimate heir of the Kusunoki clan, thus departed for the Ōuchi clan of Suō—a land of peace where emerald splendor ripples boundless.

The *Huainanzi* states: “Yang Youji shot willow leaves—a hundred releases, a hundred strikes. When King Gong of Chu hunted and spied a white ape, it wove through trees to dodge arrows. The king commanded Yang to shoot it. Yang first tuned his bow and straightened his shaft—whereupon the ape clutched a tree and wailed.”

The single volume *Yang Youji*—which completely recorded the secret techniques of that peerless master of Chinese archery—had been transcribed by none other than Great Lord Kusunoki.
Since receiving *Yang Youji*, Heki Danjo Masatsugu returned to his homeland, devoted himself to relentless study and training, and founded the Heki-ryū school.
This man became revered by all as the central progenitor of Japanese archery—from Heki-ryū emerged Yoshida-ryū, Chikurin-ha, Setsuka-ha, Izumo-ha; later came Sakon’emon-ha, Ōkura-ha, and Inzai-ha—all said to have stemmed from Heki-ryū.