Pathway to Japanese Literature

Vengeful Woman and Boy Samurai

“What a cute little master you are.”

“Such insolence!”

“What lovely bangs you have.”

“Silence!”

“How old are you?”

“That matters not.”

“Fourteen? Or fifteen perhaps?”

“I said be silent!”

“A temple page? Or maybe a kabuki youth?”

“I’ll cut you down!”

“Ho ho ho! ‘Cut you down,’ ‘silence,’ ‘insolence’—how fearsome! If anything, it makes you more adorable...... Well now, hearing such stern words leaves no doubt—you truly are a samurai.”

The woman appeared to be about twenty-five or twenty-six—a creature of bewitching allure. Her chin floated above the light blue half-collar like plump flesh molded into a double layer, exuding a sultry magnetism that clung like syrup. Perched on a stone slab, she toyed with a silver-inlaid pipe resting in her lap—now drawing smoke into her mouth, now exhaling hydrangea-hued plumes toward the pale daytime moon suspended in the early summer sky—all while taunting the boy samurai.

The samurai youth possessed a delicate beauty that made such teasing seem inevitable—features so finely wrought one might indeed mistake him for a temple pageboy rather than a warrior. Even when his lips parted in protest, their slight puffiness only enhanced their childish charm, corners drawn tight above dimpled cheeks that deepened with every outburst of “Insolence!” or “I’ll cut you down!”—threats rendered toothless by those very indentations. The twin swords at his waist resembled toys more than weapons; though his hands occasionally gripped their hilts in showy bravado, they inspired no fear. Dust clung to his gaiters and hakama hems like powdered testimony to long travels through mountain passes.

“Young Master,” said the woman.

“Do you know what that storehouse over there is?”

In the valley below lay a hamlet, thirty or forty houses clustered together. The houses of that hamlet—whose inhabitants seemed to make their living through agriculture and logging—were either small or low, all equally wretched.

Perhaps because they were viewed from above, every house appeared to cling to the horizon. This was Kōrijimachi in Shinano Province’s Ina District. A place where descending southwest led to Tenryū Gorge, while heading northeast brought one to the great ravine between Kanamori Mountain and Uzuki Mountain—here, the Hōzenji River flowed from between those two peaks and raced south of the settlement before emptying into the Tenryū River. In the direction opposite the river—closer to the Uzuki Mountain range—there stood a conspicuously large estate. Upon a high piled stone embankment, it occupied a sprawling expanse where several buildings stood enveloped by hedgerows and cultivated greenery. The storehouse the woman had mentioned stood among these structures, isolated at the compound’s northern edge like a forgotten sentinel. Though built in white-plastered construction, bathed in the setting sun’s glare, it shone with such piercing gold intensity that it pained the eyes.

The boy samurai cast his eyes toward the storehouse, but

“What mean you by asking if I know aught of it? A storehouse remains but a storehouse.”
“The Parrot Storehouse.”

“Parrot Storehouse?
“Hmm, what is this Parrot Storehouse?”

“Go to the front of the storehouse and call out ‘So-and-so-saaan’.
“Then the storehouse will answer you back with ‘So-and-so-saaan’.”

“The storehouse answers?”

“Yes, that’s why it’s called the Parrot Storehouse...”

“You speak foolishness!”

“Even so, you must call out ‘Foolishness!’ like that.
“Then the storehouse will answer back with ‘Foolishness!’... After all, it’s Lord Naya’s Parrot Storehouse.”

“Lord Naya?” The boy samurai said in surprise.

“So, that is Lord Naya’s estate?”

“That’s correct.” The boy samurai’s dimples deepened slightly as his tone sharpened. “But what compels you to utter ‘Lord Naya’ with such familiarity?”

“I am one who comes to Lord Naya’s estate.”

“Well now, Young Master... Then... Young Master is?”

“I am a relative of the Naya family.”

“Oh my!”

“My elder sister has married into the Naya family.”

“Oh my! Then you’re Madam’s younger brother?”

“Indeed.”

“And your full name?”

“I am Kakei Kikuya!”

"My, my, is that so?" With that, the woman stood up.

The sister washing heads

Then she looked down at Kikuya sitting on the grass with both legs sprawled out in a manner that spoke of utter exhaustion,

“Then Lord Kikuya, I shall have the pleasure of meeting your lordship again… And perhaps once more, that charming…”

“I’ll cut you down!”

A white light glinted and shot through the sunset brimming with the vigor of new sake.
Kikuya had drawn her blade about three inches.
The moment she did, the woman ran—as if to shield the two of them—into the dense birch grove behind them.
But when she looked back from there,

“What Tsugorō of Samegai says he’ll do, he’ll surely do—remember that, Lord Kikuya.”

Guided by the maidservant, Kikuya walked from dim room to room, hallway to hallway.

“The Madam is in this room,” declared the maidservant before departing, leaving Kikuya standing before an aged sliding door.

Kikuya was seized by an odd hesitation and could not immediately open the sliding door. Though referred to as her sister, this was Oshino—a sister from whom she had been separated in infancy and never once met since. Apprehension—wondering what manner of person she might be—took precedence, and no wistful sentiment arose. There was no use standing there forever. With this resolve, Kikuya opened the sliding door.

After surveying the room for a while, Kikuya let out a startled "Ah!" and sat down with her back pressed flat against the sliding door.

This room, located deep within the grand main house of the Naya Family and surrounded on all sides by other chambers, stood dark as twilight despite being midday—perhaps because its sliding doors remained tightly shut.
Near the center of the room stood a vermilion-lacquered lamp, its light—the color of ripe almonds—illuminating an area roughly three tatami mats wide.

Within that ring of light loomed a black-lacquered horse-washing basin filled with water. On its far side sat a woman with loose, straight hair and a white cloth tasuki sash tied across her robes. From sleeves rolled up to her armpits, glistening white arms emerged as she washed a severed head in the horse-washing basin. The severed head was not alone—around ten more were lined up on either side of the woman. All were male heads with closed eyes and sealed mouths, ranging from those in their seventies or eighties down to fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds. The heads stood closely together in a single row within the ring of lamplight, as though reminiscing about their days among the living. Whether tricked by the light’s angle or not, the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old warrior’s head bore thick shadow streaks running from beside its nose to the corner of its mouth, creating an illusion of tears.

The woman continued facing the horse-washing basin even after Kikuya entered with a startled cry and sat rigidly against the sliding door, her hair brushing back across her forehead as she kept her gaze lowered—left hand gripping the severed head’s topknot, right hand scrubbing it with a turmeric-dyed cloth.

Kikuya’s entire body trembled violently; though she tried desperately not to look, her eyes kept being drawn to the severed heads—especially the one the woman was washing—and she sat there unable to utter a word.

Eventually, the woman raised her face and scrutinized Kikuya,

“Kikuya?” she said.

“Y-yes, I am Kikuya. ……A-and you... your ladyship?”

"I'm your sister."

"O-Oshino... Elder Sister?"

"Aye."

"E-Elder Sister!"
"And that?"
"That head?"

"They're Substitute Heads."

“S-Substitute Heads?”
“W-What are Substitute Heads?”

“When an allied general had his head taken by the enemy, leaving only the torso, it was the custom in this land during the Warring States period to attach a head to the torso for burial... They called such heads Substitute Heads—prepared beforehand for this purpose, so it’s said.”

“Ah, then does that mean those heads are not real?”

“They’re not real heads at all.”
“They’re wooden head-shaped forms coated in white lead paste, painted with ink and vermilion, and implanted with real hair.”

“But Elder Sister—why are there so many... so many Substitute Heads in our house?”

The Tale of the Unfortunate Husband

"The Naya Family has continued since ancient times as military commanders of this land—an esteemed lineage, you see."
"That’s why there are so many Substitute Heads."

"Then what of those Substitute Heads?"

"Yes, they were all military commanders of the Naya Family."
"But these people here—fortunately their heads were never taken in battle, having passed from illness—so only Substitute Heads remained."

"But why do you wash them?"

"It is a custom of the Naya Family."
"Once a year we take them from the storehouse—the Parrot Storehouse—and cleanse them properly... Both to pray for those who left their heads behind to find peace beyond, and to show due respect to these preserved heads."

“But why you, Elder Sister?”

“No—until now it was not I who did so, but rather the head of the Naya Family... my husband... yes, your brother-in-law... Lord Yūshin who performed the washing.”

“Oh! And this Lord Brother-in-law of yours—is he in good health?”

“No… you see…” Oshino lowered her face.
“He has departed on a distant journey.”
“A journey?
“What? Brother-in-law did?”
“Ah! A journey from which none know when he might return!”

Oshino lowered her face again.
Her hands washing the Substitute Heads stopped mid-motion.
The tresses hanging over her shoulders trembled.
Was she crying?

“Elder Sister! Elder Sister!” Kikuya too was suddenly overcome with sadness,

“Why would Brother-in-law go on such a journey?!”

“Because he was afflicted with a terrible illness.”

“A terrible illness?”

“Ah, because of the blood.”

“Because of the blood?”
“Because of the blood?”

“Because of the tainted blood.”

“…………”

“The Naya Family is, as I’ve said before, an old, old distinguished family, you see.”
“That’s why for generations, they took husbands and wives only from among relatives, so they say.”
“To maintain matching status and wealth, and to avoid multiplying relatives, you see... The result was blood growing thick and tainted, until finally bringing terrible illness upon Lord Yūshin.”
“……And so, for his recuperation, he recently departed on a distant journey, you see.”
“……Lord Yūshin, who had been so kind!”
“How dearly he cherished me!”
“You wouldn’t know this—from before you were even born—but when I was seventeen, Lord Yūshin came to Edo and took a liking to me when I visited Sensō-ji Temple… Don’t you laugh—this is the truth, I tell you.”
“...He earnestly entreated me—a rōnin’s daughter mismatched in wealth and status—to become his bride, and so I entered into this marriage.”
“How dearly Lord Yūshin cherished me!”
“Even after being afflicted with that terrible illness, how dearly Lord Yūshin cherished me!”
“But his way of showing affection after falling ill became rough, you see... Like this—I’d shake them by the hair like this—”

As she spoke on, Oshino clamped the Substitute Head’s topknot between her teeth and shook it side to side. Her face—blackened teeth gripping the wooden head—showed a triangular forehead framed by disheveled hair, sunken cheeks carving deep grooves, eyes gaping wide and black as charcoal, brows grown wild and nose sharpened to a point, resembling both specter and madwoman alike. The man’s head swaying beneath her face seemed no mere Substitute Head now, but rather some true severed thing ripped raw by monstrous jaws.

“Elder Sister! Terrifying! Terrifying!”

“No,” she said—by which time the head had already been placed in the basin, and Oshino was looking down as she used the turmeric-dyed cloth.

A man stood in the sliding door space.

“Kikuya,” Oshino said after a moment.

“So I hear your dear mother has finally passed away as well.”

“Yes,” Kikuya blinked.

“She passed away two months ago.”

“I couldn’t even attend the funeral.”
“…All of this… all because of my husband’s family circumstances.”
“…Because of my lord husband’s illness.”
“…And so that’s why you came here to me, Kikuya.”

“Yes, Elder Sister, that is so.”
“……Mother deigned to say on her deathbed.”
“‘Father passed away three years ago, and though we have managed to live decently since then through Oshino’s contributions—if I were to depart this world—you—being still young and without relatives to rely upon—would find it difficult to reside in Edo.”
“‘…so go to Elder Sister’s care…’ and…”

“You’ve come at last.”
“Ever since that letter came from you, how I have waited for your arrival!”
“Rest assured—rest assured and stay here forever.”
“This elder sister will take care of you.”
“I, who have no children, shall adopt you—let us have you inherit the Naya succession.”

“Elder Sister, thank you.”
“I humbly ask for your kind consideration in all matters.”

Kikuya let out his first sigh of relief.

He had entered this room only to be terrified upon seeing his specter-like elder sister washing Substitute Heads—whether they be substitute heads or severed heads—then felt faintly lonesome and sorrowful when faced with her manner of speaking solely about the Naya Family's ancient tales and the present master's misfortunes while never once inquiring about his own circumstances; yet at last, having encountered sisterly gentle words and kind attitudes, he felt relieved.

A cry—neither canine nor identifiable as any known beast’s cry—pierced sharply through from outside.
It was the cry of a flying squirrel—said to call even in daylight hereabouts.

The room was quiet to the point of coldness.
Flicked by Oshino’s hands washing the head, water in the basin made a faint sound.
That sound alone existed.

“You’ve had such a pitiable life too,” Oshino said in a heartfelt voice.

“Through Father and Mother’s letters, I learned you were raised like some disabled creature.”
“...But now you’re here, you’ll be fine.”
“You needn’t maintain that stifling guise any longer.”

“Yes, Elder Sister—I thank you.”

“Oh my,” Oshino suddenly looked around to both sides.

“It’s gone! My head!”

“Elder Sister!” Kikuya exclaimed in shock,

“No—the head… Elder Sister’s head… it’s properly on your shoulders…”

“The head—it’s gone! My head—it’s gone! Among all these male heads—the only female Substitute Head! Because it resembled me, my lord husband said, ‘Oshino—this is your head!’—and so they always treated it with even greater care! That Substitute Head is gone!”

She looked around left and right once more, but—

"I don't recall leaving it in the Parrot Storehouse... What could have happened?"

She stared intently.

A husky, resonant voice called out from behind Kikuya at that moment: “Madam.”

Kikuya turned to look.
In the gap of the sliding door he had opened upon entering this room and then forgotten to close stood a tall, broad-shouldered man nearing fifty—his thick eyebrows, full lips, and energetic face directed toward Oshino.

“Have you not finished your duties yet?”

With a “Tch,” Oshino clicked her tongue.

“I’m not done yet. …Go over there.”
“…This is no place for the likes of you!”

“Yes’m.”
“Just a word...”

“Again! Disgusting talk again! …How persistent!”

“Not at all… I’m grateful for your kind attention…”

“Silence!”

Rice-Eating Jizo

The next day, Kikuya went out to the garden and was basking in the sun.

The refreshing sunlight of mid-May in the fourth year of Kanbun (1664) was bathing the entire garden of this old mountain estate.

With the grand main house—possessing a wide veranda—at his back, the wisteria trellis now bearing only seedpods to his right, and himself perched upon a blue garden stone, he sat in a daze while feeling happiness, lending ear to the ceaseless calls of aged warblers and cuckoos resounding from all directions.
From the direction of the storehouse came the coarse voices of numerous laborers, and from the direction of the stables came the neighing of several horses.
Occasionally maidservants and menservants would pass before him, but whenever they caught sight of him, each would offer a courteous bow.
Knowing him to be the mistress of this household’s younger brother, they treated him with deference.

_How nice..._, he thought.

(From now on, I'll grow up here for good.
And then I'll inherit the family headship here.
Until now, as a fatherless brat of some poor ronin, I've felt out of place wherever I went—but from now on, that won't be the case anymore.)

He thought such things.

At that moment approached Kajūrō—the man who had stood in the sliding door gap yesterday while his sister washed Substitute Heads in the main house's inner room—walking solemnly from the kitchen direction with a black-lacquered meal tray laden with dishes in one hand and a rice container in the other.

“Kajūrō, where are you taking those things, eh?” Kikuya called out when Kajūrō came before her.

It was partly out of a boy’s curiosity, but even more so because Kajūrō—who was no mere servant but the chief steward—carrying such items through the garden in broad daylight with such ceremony made the whole affair unbearably strange.

Kajūrō stopped in his tracks, but—

“Why, this is for Young Master Kikuya.”
“…Is this? This is the midday offering for Rice-Eating Jizo-sama.”

“Rice-Eating Jizo?”
“What’s a Rice-Eating Jizo?”

“Young Master, having only just arrived from Edo, you wouldn’t know—but what we call the Rice-Eating Jizo is a statue that’s been enshrined by the Naya family since ancient times, behind the storehouse…”

“The storehouse—you mean the Parrot Storehouse?”

“You know of it, Young Master.”
“Well, well!”
“Indeed yes—precisely so. It is enshrined within the bamboo thicket behind that Parrot Storehouse, you see, and we must make offerings three times daily: morning, noon, and evening.”
“It is a long-standing custom passed down through the Naya family.”

“Does the Rice-Eating Jizo eat the offerings?”

“Indeed it does.”

“Don’t lie!”

“Ah hah hah hah! …In the end, stray dogs, foxes, raccoon dogs, or beggars may be the ones eating them—but regardless, the offerings disappear cleanly every day.”

“Rice-Eating Jizo.”
“…I’d like to see that.”

“Please refrain from that.”
“It would be best if you did not go in that direction.”

“Elder Sister said something like that yesterday too.”
“‘It’s better not to go near the Parrot Storehouse,’ she said.”

“Indeed it is—demons will take hold of you there.”

As she watched Kajūrō’s retreating figure pass by，Kikuya recalled the woman named Otsuna who had first told her about the origins of the Parrot Storehouse.
That woman had reached the pass from which she could see Kawaji Village—the destination he was heading toward—spread below，and feeling relieved，was resting her tired legs when suddenly she emerged from a birch grove and teased him.

_Who could that woman be?_

_I simply must see the Parrot Storehouse._

Parrot Storehouse

It happened that night.

Kikuya stood before the Parrot Storehouse.

Because it was a moonlit night, the Parrot Storehouse—wide in girth and towering in height, seemingly twice the size of an ordinary storehouse—stood there in the hazy moonlight, its roof tiles gleaming and white-plastered walls aglow like some spectral storehouse apparition. Though built with white plastered walls, only its base curved in a sea cucumber shape, so that when viewed from afar, it seemed to wear a skirt with patterned hemming. At the front lay a two-tiered stone staircase leading to a door. This door consisted of a single sturdy hinoki plank reinforced with iron nails, from which hung a pouch-sized padlock. Given the storehouse's extraordinary significance to the Naya family, its maintenance defied expectations for such an ancient structure—not a single crack marred its plastered surfaces, nor did any broken tiles blemish its roof.

Kikuya stood before the door for a while, then thought: (Should I call out?) But recalling that he had come here secretly, evading his sister’s watchful eyes and those of the household members, he stopped. Because he thought it would be terrible if he were discovered.

(I could at least clap my hands.)

There, he clapped his hands. The adorable clapping sounds made by the boy traveled two or three times through the quiet night air. And immediately, the exact same sound came back from the Parrot Storehouse’s surface.

(Ah! The storehouse really did answer back.)
(Truly a Parrot Storehouse.)

In the ceiling of Nikko’s Yakushido Hall, there was a dragon painted by a certain Kano artist; when one stood beneath it and clapped their hands, the dragon would let out a cry like the ringing of a bell.
It is famously known as Nakiryu (the Crying Dragon).

But ultimately this resulted from the ceiling's structure—merely reflecting faint sounds through wooden resonance—and thus this Parrot Storehouse operated on the same principle, yet to the ignorant mountain folk, it appeared as a supernatural entity.

Having obtained proof that the Parrot Storehouse truly was the Parrot Storehouse, Kikuya felt thoroughly satisfied, but immediately—through a boy's curiosity—recalled Kajūrō's daytime story about the Rice-Eating Jizo.

(What kind of Jizo could it be? I’d love to see it.) Did it really eat the offerings Kajūrō took?

So Kikuya went around the storehouse and walked toward its rear. The back of the storehouse was a wasteland lushly overgrown with weeds, and far in the distance stood a grove of moso bamboo. The bamboo forest—resembling countless giant brooms stood arranged—had only their uppermost branches faintly tinted by moonlight as they swayed in the gentle breeze. And from deep within the dark grove, a reddish-yellow lantern light appeared, looking as though struck with vermilion.

(The Rice-Eating Jizo’s shrine must be there.)

So Kikuya turned steps in that direction.
Just then, footsteps could be heard from the right side of the storehouse.

“Damn it,” Kikuya thought.

(Someone heard the clapping and came to investigate.)

Thinking that being caught would be disastrous, Kikuya tried to flee leftward.
Then from that direction too came the sound of footsteps.

(What do I do?)

What met Kikuya’s darting gaze was a sumac-like thicket densely overgrown along the storehouse wall.

(I’ll hide there for now…)

There, Kikuya dashed into the thicket’s shadow and pressed herself flush against the wall’s surface.

“Ah!”

Kikuya’s body was sucked into the storehouse.

A section of the wall had been hollowed out, and when Kikuya pressed her body against it, the cut-out portion collapsed inward—with that, Kikuya’s body tumbled into the storehouse.

“Ah!”

The reason she cried out again was because a hand had extended from the darkness within the storehouse and grabbed Kikuya by the collar.

As she tried to shout "What bastard!", another hand slammed over her mouth.

The owner of the heavy body straddling Kikuya brought his face—illuminated by faint outside light seeping through the wall's breach—close to hers.

Though no sound escaped, Kikuya screamed within her clamped mouth.
For that face was Otsuna's.
For it was the face of "Otsuna of Samegai"—the one who had seized and taunted her yesterday at the mountain pass.

“Hmph!” Otsuna sneered through thin, oversized lips, baring his front teeth. With powerful arms, he dragged Kikuya deeper into the storehouse. Still straddling her in darkness beyond any glimmer of light, he hissed:

“Kikuya! Hah! Your real name’s gotta be O-Kiku or Kikujo!”
“’Cause you’re a woman!”
“No matter how you play dress-up as a man—in this Tsugorō’s eyes—that’s what makes me a true man!”
“‘Otsuna of Samegai’?!”
“Idiot! That’s this storehouse cracker’s alias!... In Tsugorō’s eyes—clear as day—you ain’t nothin’ but a little girl!”

Was he human or specter?

“By the way, didn’t I promise we’d meet again?!”
“Well, here we meet!”
“Now see what I’ll do!”
“Disguised as a woman—havin’ busted storehouses from Nakasendō to Ōshū Kaidō all the way to Tōkaidō—this Tsugorō they said outdid even old Kumagai Nagamori! Heard ’bout some backwater called Naya deep in Kawaji’s overgrown hills with this freakish Parrot Storehouse—jackpot!”
“That’s why I knew this storehouse’s guts held treasure worth crackin’! Been lurkin’ round ten-odd days—tonight I finally pried ’er open proper! And holy hell—what a haul!”
“Lookin’ at current koban—these were Kōshū ōban worth ten times over! Never reminted once—stacked right here!”
“Just as I was grinnin’ like a fool over my loot—this time the little girl comes tumblin’ through the hole!”
“Gold and a girl—two feasts at once!”
“This summer’s payin’ off!”

Tsugorō pinned her down with a forceful grunt.

"(How humiliating!)" Kikuya writhed beneath his weight, thrashing and struggling to throw him off—

(I—a martyr’s comrade of Besseki Sōzaemon, the daughter of Kajiuchi Kurando—to be treated like this by a thief!)

No voice came from her restrained mouth!
She kicked at the floor with her feet, pushed with her hands, thrashing and struggling to throw him off.

Yes, Kikuya was a girl.
Her father was Kajiuchi Kurando, who in the ninth month of Jōō 1 (1652), had been a comrade of Besseki Sōzaemon—a martyr who attempted to overthrow the Tokugawa regime.
When the plot came to light and all members of the conspiracy were captured, Kura no Jō alone managed to escape, changed his name to Kakei Kyūma, and lived in quiet seclusion in Edo.
However, taking precautions, he raised his infant daughter O-Kiku as a boy.
This was because the shogunate knew that Kajiuchi Kurando had two daughters.
Even Kikuya had managed to deceive the eyes of officials and society, but she could not fool those of Tsugorō the storehouse burglar…

The resistance was gradually weakening.

(Someone... come!)
(Heeelp!)

Not even such a voice escaped from the mouth.

And then, at that moment, the Parrot Storehouse's interior began to be illuminated by a faint light.
The light gradually grew stronger.
In the depths of the storehouse, there was a staircase leading to the second floor, and from those stairs, light descended.
Each step grew brighter from above.
And then, a foot wrapped in white cloth appeared on one of the steps.
Then, another foot stepped down to the next step.
This too was wrapped in white cloth.

It was not long after that the man descended the stairs completely—clad in a black silk crepe kimono, limbs wrapped in white cloth, Oshino’s severed head clamped between his teeth, a hand candle gripped in one fist—his lion-like face turned forward with eyes glowing like embers, lips swollen grotesquely, a lump bulging from his forehead, and festering flesh rotting at his chin.
Clutched by the hair, Oshino’s head swaying near the man’s chest caught the light of the hand candle, the edges of her closed eyes glistening as though moistened with tears.
On either side of that face, the man’s loosened topknot cascaded in long strands, making it appear he cradled the woman’s head.

By the time a frightened "Gah!" echoed through the air, Tsugorō had already leapt up. In an instant, the dagger flashed. Tsugorō drew his sword and lunged. By the time another scream rang out, the bloodied dagger was in the hand of the man clutching the severed head, and Tsugorō lay collapsed at his feet. Soaked in blood gushing from that throat and scattered across the floor were ten Substitute Heads—the very ones Oshino had been washing yesterday in the inner chamber of the main house—and countless Kōshū ōban gold coins that seemed to have spilled out after their neck-seam lids came undone.

Terror upon terror!
Though narrowly saved from the terror of being assaulted by the thief, Kikuya—now plunged into the abyss of dread by the murderous demon’s appearance—remained seated on the floor, pressing her palms together in prayer toward the fiendish figure.
Whether he acknowledged Kikuya or not, the man with the mask-like lion’s face—swaying the woman’s severed head upon his chest—staggered unsteadily toward the breached wall and walked away.
And then, having dropped it, on the fallen floor where the still-burning hand candle’s light illuminated the hollow of the bowl, he exited through the hole in the wall.

The hand candle was still burning.
They had utilized the Substitute Heads, hiding within them ancestral Kōshū ōban—gold coins numbering tens of thousands of ryō—and under the pretext of washing severed heads, scrubbed these coins once yearly to remove tarnish until they gleamed like newly minted pieces!
They shone brilliantly in the hand candle's light.

The Unanswering Parrot Storehouse

The tragedy was not confined to within the storehouse. Within the great bamboo grove, before the Rice-Eating Jizo’s shrine—it too existed.

The steward Kajūrō—who had long awaited an opportunity to first obtain Oshino, now effectively a widow, and second make the Naya family’s vast fortune his own—had lured Oshino there. The footsteps Kikuya had earlier heard behind the storehouse were those of these two individuals, and now they persisted.

“How dare you treat the master’s concubine with such indignity!”
“Outrageous!”
“……You… you!”

The great bamboo grove, as if striving to conceal this improper spectacle from others, thickened its leaves, drew its trunks together, and enveloped them thickly.

“By claiming offerings to the Rice-Eating Jizo, I’ve blinded society’s eyes while secretly feeding that monster of a master who wastes his days purposeless in the storehouse! Can’t you see how much more human I am compared to him?”
“Stop resisting—just obey me.”
“Persist in this stubbornness, and I’ll tell the world how Lord Yūshin of House Naya never traveled anywhere—how he truly hides in that storehouse rotting from karmic disease!”
“What then? Your centuries-old lineage would be branded cursed in an instant—society would flick you away like grime beneath its nails!”

The only witnesses to this scene were the life-sized stone Jizo statue—wearing a red bib and clutching a staff, enshrined within a three-sided wooden enclosure under a modest roof—known as the Rice-Eating Jizo, and the only illumination came from the ritual oil lamps dedicated before this very statue.

“Agh! Damn you!”
“You bit my finger!” Kajūrō suddenly roared.

“Alright then! If it’s come to this… I’ll just knock you out!” A large hand clamped onto Oshino’s throat.

“Gah!”

In that instant, Kajūrō released Oshino and thrust both hands into the air.
A dagger stood embedded in his throat.

“Ugh… ugh… ugh… ugh!”

He staggered forward and clung to the Jizo statue.
The Rice-Eating Jizo fell, its neck broken at the base, but with its torso still pinning Kajūrō to the ground.

Oshino dropped heavily onto the dirt.

(I'm saved!
I'm saved!)

At that moment, from behind the shrine emerged a man with a mask-like lion’s face—no longer clamping Oshino’s Substitute Heads between his teeth but cradling them tenderly in both sleeves—appearing like a specter before standing beside her.

“Lord Yūshiiin!”

Realizing this, Oshino tried to cling to him.

However, Naya Yūshin—perhaps to avoid transferring his dreaded disease to his beloved wife—gently pulled away and gazed down at Oshino.
Tears flowing from eyes growing blind!
They were tears of blood!

“My Lord Husband—Aah!”

Still, Oshino tried to cling to Yūshin’s leg.

But by then—having resolved to truly embark this time on a journey from which he would never return, feeling responsibility even for hiding within the storehouse, for the sake of his family’s honor and his beloved wife’s happiness—Yūshin, carrying only the Substitute Head that bore the likeness of the wife he loved and loved and loved beyond measure, had already begun walking through the bamboo grove.

“Let me go with you! Lord Yūshiiin!” Oshino cried as she gave chase.
She stumbled over bamboo roots and fell.
She got up and chased after him.
She stumbled again and fell.
She got up and chased after him.
Eventually she emerged from the bamboo grove.
Vast and hazy, the blue moonlight flooded every corner of her vision. Directly before her eyes stood the Parrot Storehouse, clad in patterns of white and black at its hem—but Yūshin’s figure was nowhere to be seen.
Oshino collapsed to the ground from despair and sorrow.
There, she once more called out the name of her loved, pitied, and respected husband with all her voice.

“Lord Yūshiiin!”

The voice reached the Parrot Storehouse.

Did the Parrot Storehouse echo back her “Lord Yūshiiin!”?
No—the Parrot Storehouse remained silent.

Yet from somewhere unseen—a mournful yet tender voice—
the sound of someone calling back “Oshinooo!” could be heard.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Oshino gasped.

“My Lord Husband who lost even his voice to illness… called my name… my name… ‘Oshinooo’…”

Joy!
Longing!
Oshino called out again with all her voice.

“Lord Yūshiiin!”

“Oshinooo!”

In the dark storehouse where even the hand candle’s light had gone out, Kikuya—paralyzed with terror—couldn’t stand and crawled about the floor.
Then, from outside the door, she heard her sister’s familiar voice calling to someone.
Kikuya, overcome with joy, cried out at the top of her voice,

“Oshino! Elder Sister—Aah!”

The storehouse—its walls carved open and stripped of its Parrot Storehouse function—did not answer Oshino’s calls, but through the breached hole carried Kikuya’s voice outside.
Yet Kikuya was both physically and mentally exhausted, so the ending of her cry—“Elder Sister—Aah!”—was cut short, and to the outside—to Oshino’s ears—

Only "Oshinooo!" reached her ears.

However, to Oshino, that voice did not sound like Kikuya calling from within the storehouse.
She thought it was her husband's voice calling back.
Time and again she called out, straining her ears each time to catch her husband's answering voice.

“Lord Yūshiiin!”

“Oshinooo!”

In the bamboo grove, the stone Jizo statue—its neck broken, having turned against its name as the Rice-Eating Jizo—still pinned down Kajūrō’s corpse with its torso.

After that, the Naya family continued to lead a bright life. First, Kikuya would be raised as a girl; the Parrot Storehouse and Rice-Eating Jizo—having turned against their names—were both demolished; the Substitute Heads too, now that their true secret and purpose had become known to others—even though Tsugorō who learned it had been killed—were deemed unnecessary to preserve and thus discarded; and the Kōshū Ōban gold coins came to be stored in ordinary chests. Thus, from the ancient Naya family with its old traditions, three pernicious traditional relics had been removed.

Yūshin apparently never returned to the Naya family.
However, according to what has been passed down, his illness had not been Divine Punishment Disease but rather a moderately severe case of gangrene; moreover, it is said he was indeed an associate of Bessaki Sōzaemon's faction, and that he married Oshino precisely because he knew she was the daughter of Kajiuchi Kurando from the Bessaki faction.
Being such a martyr through and through, he likely undertook that manly act of vanishing without a trace—sacrificing his own life for his house and wife.
Oshino naturally spent her remaining years as a widow.

And so until her dying day, Oshino stubbornly maintained: "No! At that time, it was not Kikuya in the storehouse but my husband—Lord Yūshin—who called my name, 'Oshinooo!' I tell you!"