Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Locked Room of the Peacock Wisdom King "Though I knew it unlawful, I resolved to withhold reporting to the precinct until your honored presence graced us." "I say this because it verily constitutes a Dharani miracle—neither seen nor seeable in our mortal realm."

Leaving behind clear traces of a Vajra Bodhisattva’s dharmakāya, a renowned ascetic monk had been brutally torn apart, while beside him lay one of our nuns, likewise murdered through some miraculous method—so it was. “Not only that—at the scene drifts an otherworldly fragrance, there is heard the celestial music of Brahma, and golden scattered offerings lie strewn across every inch of the floor.” “Ah, Lord Housui—needless to say, in the final reckoning, this truth beyond truths shall undoubtedly transform into a great blazing light and send tremors through all ten directions… But first, before that consummation, I must entreat you to employ your peerless deductive methods in eradicating every last fallacious theory that would dare deny these miracles—”

Dear readers, you will undoubtedly scoff at this account by Bantoku Shaba as the delusion of a fanatic—a fantasy of the utmost absurdity. Yet in truth, it contained not a shred of falsehood. Thirty minutes later, Housui Rintaro and Prosecutor Hashikura had arrived at Jakkoan Temple in Kitayama Gunbai-gawara—where they now stood confronted by two corpses whose condition undeniably bore the criminal traces of a bodhisattva. It was precisely three o'clock in the afternoon on August 13th—a sweltering blaze of sun as if trapped within a furnace—marking two hours since the discovery of the incident.

Now then, I shall provide a concise explanation regarding Jakkoan Temple. This nunnery was established by Minako Kudo—a woman bearing the academic title of Doctor of Literature who styled herself Bantoku Shaba—and gathered only nuns of exceptional erudition to form an esoteric dharma hall of the Yoga Mahavairocana Tantra's Secret Vehicle, from which base it aggressively challenged other Buddhist sects through doctrinal debates. However, recently, an enigmatic figure had emerged within this bizarre esoteric order—the appearance of a miracle worker who called himself Suima-koji. Not only did this figure—bizarrely enough—brazenly trample upon the nunnery's ironclad rules, but Suima-koji came to elevate his reputation as a miracle worker by proclaiming himself the reincarnation of Nagarjuna and performing both oracles of various bodhisattvas and unfathomable ritual magic. Moreover, he conducted all these practices deep behind a single-layered curtain, never revealing his true form; yet this very act served to heighten the sense of mystery, causing his fervent devotees to multiply day by day.

At that very moment—as if timed to coincide—an unfathomable murder case, one that seemed utterly inconceivable in this mortal world, occurred within the temple's Hall of Visions. And unwittingly, this became the catalyst that led to Suima-koji's true form being exposed.

Jakkoan Temple was a Tenpyo-era architectural structure reminiscent of Shinyakushiji Temple. Within those desolate precincts, after passing an azure pond where water chestnuts floated thick across its surface, as the lattice bridge came into view, the outline of the eaves formed a great undulation reminiscent of the open sea that loomed overhead. The main hall stood at the center of the seven-hall temple complex, layered like a five-peak eight-pillar tower, while at the entrance to the abbot’s quarters hung a large bronze gong shaped like a divine beast mirror. And with that sound serving as the opening signal, Housui now began to unravel the grotesque blood mandala woven by phantasmal hands beneath the midsummer sun.

Housui, upon seeing Abbess Bantoku’s short-cropped hair, realized this religious order consisted of non-tonsured nuns. Abbess Bantoku remained greasy yet lustrous despite being over fifty, every aspect of her exuding oppression. Yet as one stared, her entire face seemed to swell with unnatural intensity—and yet within that visage writhed a dark shadow, witch-like and scheming, as though her cruel nature couldn’t fully contain some secret machination. Before long, Housui was guided into the room at the main hall’s side entrance.

The space had corridors to both sides, and from the lattice windows beyond a single study along the outer edge drifted a dim murky light. Upon entering, Abbess Bantoku pointed to the door ahead and, “Here it is,” she said in a husky voice. “This is the Hall of Visions. It was previously used as a training ground for temple music and silent ascetic practices, but in recent times Suima-koji has come to conduct prayers and spiritual communications here…”

There stood black-lacquered six-paneled zushi doors, and upon the bronze crossbar engraved with twin lions hung a large padlock. When Abbess Bantoku removed the padlock and opened the door, directly ahead stood a partially open thick-lattice screen door. Beyond its black crossbars, lattice-paper shutters stretched taut with western-style inner lining were fitted between the framework. However, as that heavy lattice screen door opened with a clamorous clang of metal fittings, and just as the metallic odor receded from his nostrils, he felt nearby a stench—suffocating and nauseating—from the sealed-in heat. The front area formed a roughly twenty-tatami-mat empty chamber, and at the center of the ceiling—where the lower floor’s wooden planks met the second story’s flooring—there was carved an intricate lattice hatch characteristic of Kanto-style storehouse construction. And the surrounding walls dully reflected in a coppery hue the residual glow of sunlight entering through both lattice doors—then, as those faint rays struck the front wall, an eerie vitality surged across the entire surface of the exposed Eleven-Faced Thousand-Armed Kannon painting that lay bare there. However, as Housui—while staring at that image—stepped over the threshold, he noticed something bizarre standing abruptly at the staircase entrance to his right. In that faintly hazy gloom, a man in priestly attire—his traveling robe stained with map-like blood patterns—stood rigidly upright. And the man remained kneeling with both hands properly placed on his hips, his gaze emitting a piercing intensity straight ahead. However, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he beheld something even more astonishing: both of the man’s legs had been severed approximately three sun below the kneecaps, with two pestle-like wooden prosthetics propped rigidly against the wall to support his entire body. “This is Suima-koji,” Abbess Bantoku said in a trance-like voice ill-suited to this ghastly scene.

Ah, how bitterly ironic—that the very person who had been killed was none other than the miracle worker himself. “However, from when he entered the Hall of Visions around noon until his discovery at 1:15, there was absolutely no sound whatsoever—not even a single hoarse cry was heard…” Though Suima-koji’s age roughly matched Abbess Bantoku’s, the impression conveyed by his visage suggested nothing short of a being who breathed nothing but calculation and self-interest—one utterly removed from ordinary humanity. The sharply prismatic cheekbones and ashen-gray beard—even when enumerated as mere features—one aspect seemed the very embodiment of his personality’s angularity, while from another one could only sense superficial pagan pretensions and a bellowing imperiousness. In totality, not a trace could be found of that mystic ascetic who should have been intoxicated by the sacred syllable *Om* and engrossed in triangular fire offerings and crescent-shaped food oblations. However, contrary to that countenance, as one observed Suima-koji’s facial expression and posture, they were entirely devoid of the terror or astonishment characteristic of murder victims. Not only that—it was enveloped in something vaguely otherworldly and dreamlike. When one observed those eyes shining with crystalline ecstasy and the gentle twist of his lips, an uncanny mood welled up and overflowed from them, momentarily erasing the bloody scene from one’s mind. It seemed almost akin to rapture or longing—no, it could only be described as a devoutly primitive, almost childlike religious sentiment. Probably, some extraordinary scene—utterly inconceivable in this world—must have appeared before Suima-koji’s eyes. And did this not tell how his visual world had remained fixated upon that very something until reaching its final agony? Yet the blood-drenched body—clad in a traveling robe that reached only to his elbows and secured with a flat braided belt—was rock-hard with rigor mortis, all body heat having long since fled. Housui shifted his gaze from the corpse’s thigh, wiped his bloodstained right palm, and appeared to search for something there before finally beginning his examination beneath the four large bloodstains visible on the traveling robe. Then, from there, with a shock as if his heart had been gripped tight, the criminal’s aberrant sigil manifested itself.

Now, to describe the four wounds: two were located on the outer sides of both upper arms—specifically about two sun below the shoulder joints—while the remaining two were positioned at the protrusions of both iliac bones, namely the triangular regions of the gluteus maximus. All were situated at the highest protruding points along the lateral aspects of the human body, their positions exhibiting perfect bilateral symmetry—notably, each upper-lower pair occupied opposite ends of vertical axes. But what truly shocked was both the distinct character-like wound patterns and their inhuman precision: they exhibited matching contours as if hollowed by an exquisite lathe, with both left-right pairs aligning perfectly down to microscopic details. To elaborate further: The wounds on the upper arms appeared to have been struck by upward-pointing sharp hook-like objects, with their bases reaching approximately three centimeters in depth—carved upward while gradually shallowing, resulting in a total length of about six centimeters that terminated in the shape of the Sanskrit character "ha" (訶; see fig45230_01.png). Next, those around the waist area formed the shape of the Sanskrit character "ra" (口+羅; see fig45230_02.png), their total length slightly exceeding that of the former while their depth could be considered roughly equivalent—yet the questions did not end there. In all cases, the wound ends formed irregular star-shaped polygons rather than V-shapes, bearing marks as if scraped upward by rod-like objects. That is to say—when lining up these four wounds behind closed eyelids to consider their causation—one could only imagine a diabolical weapon that seemed to defy all logical sequence in its application; something appearing and vanishing at will like a cat’s claw. Housui turned to face Abbess Bantoku and posed his question in a manner uncharacteristically tense for him.

“Somehow I can’t help but think these resemble Sanskrit characters.”

“That is clearly the case. This comprises two ‘ra’ characters, both containing the meaning of divine retribution through supernatural powers.”

Abbess Bantoku responded with a strangely ironic-seeming smile. "I see." Housui nodded with a somewhat pale face but began turning his gaze back toward the corpse. Around the corpse, only scant droplets from the four wounds formed sporadic stains here and there, while the entire body exhibited the ghastly emaciation characteristic of massive hemorrhage—its sagging skin undulating in waves that appeared unnervingly translucent with a phosphorescent sheen. The backs of both hands—missing the middle finger’s second joint on the left and the ring finger’s on the right—had completely sunken between the bones, their fingertips not only tapered to sharp points with an abnormal luminosity but also; below the kneecaps, the pestle-like prosthetics had withered to near-conical thinness. From this deduction, somewhere in the Hall of Visions must have retained a substantial quantity of blood, and Suima-koji must have been transported from there. However, considering how the four wounds had each avoided major blood vessels and internal organs, how could such massive hemorrhage have occurred in a body that showed no signs of hemophilia? This point struck him as profoundly puzzling. That said, aside from those four wounds, there wasn’t so much as a pinprick-sized injury elsewhere, and Housui swiftly completed his examination of the entire body.

Seeing this, Abbess Bantoku said.

"You must have fully comprehended it now." "Why would this humble abbey's ironclad rule be permitted solely to Suima-koji..." "As you plainly see, this individual is neither man nor woman." "That is to say, he became thus after losing both legs and certain organs to an exploding shell during the Japan-Germany War." "Yet mysteriously, manifestations of Bodhisattva Nagarjuna began appearing in this person thereafter."

“Abbess, it’s right here in this thigh—plain as day.” Housui retorted with feigned innocence. "You can see it's twisted inward. "If the lower limbs were intact, you would see a shape exactly like a horse’s leg." "We call that an inverted equine foot, and indeed, it's the most frequently observed phenomenon in cases of traumatic hysteria." "Then, first and foremost, this accounts for the abnormal rigor mortis. More importantly, you must realize that the perpetrator not only exploited this unconscious state but actually inverted what you call the ‘devil’s claw’—those religious hysteria phenomena seen in so-called medieval witches—which had hitherto served as the basis for their mysterious ritual magic." “However, these Sanskrit-character wounds alone must be a feat utterly beyond human hands.”

“Devil’s claw?! Is that your conclusion?” Abbess Bantoku trembled with anger yet laced her voice with derision: “Then what becomes of that? Have you not realized?” “From the top of these stairs to here—not a single drop of blood.” “Well now, Mr. Housui—by what means do you suppose this blood-drenched Suima-koji was transported hither?” “Moreover—think rationally—would any principal culprit be so witless as to stain their own garments through such suicidal acts?”

In fact, it was exactly as Abbess Bantoku had said. The reason both of them had failed to notice this until now was that, due to the play of light, the area from the fifth or sixth step upward had appeared like a pool of blood. After this, Housui began investigating the lower floor—yet all he accomplished was breaking the rusted lock on the floor’s trapdoor and retrieving a few fragments of golden pigment from beneath the floorboards.

And so the investigation shifted away from the dimly lit lower floor—like a seabed formed entirely of reddish rocks—to the stairs above.

However, when he reached the middle of the stairs, even he found himself involuntarily standing stock-still. The golden glare that struck his eyes not only obliterated all sense of this being a murder scene but made the very delusion he had mocked moments earlier when reading Abbess Bantoku’s letter now congeal before him like hardening agar. The nun’s corpse lying there—along with the jade banners and sutra desk—were all buried under golden-pigmented petals, while hundreds of scattered fragments radiated the luminous glow of purple-gold seven treasures. Ah—could this truly be the Pure Land of Amida Buddha as extolled in the Contemplation Sutra and Ratnakuta Sutra?!

The upper floor was an undecorated room, identical to the lower floor. On the right wall at the top of the stairs was a single small window fitted with iron grating, while the remaining three sides were enclosed by walls of Tokusai-nuri black lacquer. Moreover, at the end of the descending passage, another staircase was constructed—this one leading up to the attic third floor—with only that section cut out, while on the right side protruded a floor built flush against the wall. This was because the third-floor flooring employed what is called a "divine horse stable" construction. Therefore, near that floor, a rectangular section measuring approximately one-quarter of the area had been cut away. Looking up into the upper darkness, one could see a massive beam resembling a dragon's body faintly glowing. Housui picked up and examined each scattered fragment of golden pigment one by one. Some bore bloodstains while others did not—these two types lay chaotically intermingled, making it impossible to reconstruct the bloodstains' original form. Yet when observing the toppled four-tiered jade banners, they retained mere scattered flecks of golden pigment here and there, nearly stripped bare to expose the mandala's dried stems beneath. From this alone, it became clear these countless fragments had once clothed the jade banners—yet no footprints marked the golden pigment, nor did a single scratch mar the mandala's surface. By what method had the golden pigment been stripped away? How had these sacred offerings been scattered?!

Housui gathered the golden pigment into one place and began his investigation. The floor retained only faint bloodstains, but to describe the upper room’s layout—at its center lay a lattice-shaped trapdoor exactly as viewed from below, behind which stood two of Suima-koji’s prosthetic legs aligned beneath where kneecaps would rest, their construction fitted precisely to the lower patellar region. Ahead stood two ritual platforms woven in bamboo-book-cover patterns, with a single Flame Drum at their left end and a shō lying at its base. Between the two ritual platforms stood a sutra desk bearing a vajra bell and sacred texts, while at the right platform’s edge sat what appeared to be an antique oil clock. It was a timekeeping mechanism consisting of a graduated bell-shaped glass cylinder filled with oil, where the central portion would flow to a wick at the end of a long handle, its quantity decreasing as the ignited oil burned away. However, by that time, the flame had already been extinguished, and strangely enough, the gauge indicated two o'clock. Documenting the single hanging scroll of the Five Secrets Mandala displayed at the far end of the ritual platforms would complete the full description of the layout.

The corpse of Sister Jouzen lay supine, eyes wide open, with her head toward the stairs and ankles resting on the ritual platform, limbs slightly splayed outward. She was around thirty and not particularly beautiful, but her peaceful deathly visage seemed to bear what one might call meditative contemplation—a solemn dignity. Moreover, though rigor mortis had not yet set in and faint body warmth remained, above all else there were two astonishing marks imprinted upon her. The first consisted of ligature marks found at peculiar locations on the limbs—each remaining at the midpoint of the upper arms and approximately two sun above the kneecaps on the thighs. Next came even more bizarre marks—four slender finger-like indentations deeply embedded from throat to beneath both ears, appearing as if someone had throttled her with each pair aligned in parallel lines. Furthermore, that these four had been inflicted simultaneously became evident from how each extremity lay upon a single bloodstain without the slightest disturbance. Moreover, beyond these there existed not a single abrasion.

“This is horrific!” Housui forced out in a strained voice, “Not only is the cartilage completely destroyed—there’s even a dislocation in the cervical vertebrae.” “How could this be anything but a terrifying force beyond our imagination? But this is definitely not a mark left by a hard, heavy object.” “These are unmistakably marks left by human fingers,” he said before turning to the prosecutor. “Now then, Prosecutor Hashikura—I don’t think we can possibly establish an exact cause of death for this corpse.” “True, there’s subcutaneous hemorrhaging and swelling—clear signs of strangulation.” “Yet strangely enough, there are none of the convulsion marks that should always accompany death by asphyxiation.” “And no signs of resistance—she died with this peaceful expression.” “Moreover, comparing the gourd-shaped bloodstain on Suima-koji’s ascetic robe with those scattered on Jouzen’s collar—one shows yellowish plasma oozing to form that shape.” “But in this corpse’s case, that’s completely absent.” “From this fact alone, we can prove the time between Suima-koji and Jouzen wasn’t immediate by any means.” “But then a new paradox arises—what exactly was Jouzen doing during that interval?”

“Then poison—” The Prosecutor attempted to present his theory, but Housui cut him off,

“But Prosecutor Hashikura, here lies an inconceivable paradox.” “To state it plainly—though it appears utterly implausible—this woman must have retained consciousness until her final moment.” “Therefore, should the autopsy fail to detect any toxin causing acute glandular constriction, we must conclude Jouzen endured humanity’s ultimate terror throughout that interval. Isn’t that profoundly unnerving?” “With her paralyzed form, only those eyes remained open—through them she would have gazed unblinking at that grisly spectacle until hands closed about her own neck,” he concluded, grinding his thumb against the corpse’s desiccated eyeball.

“Look here—not a trace of moisture remains.” “And doesn’t this resemble wood being polished?” “Generally speaking, a corpse’s mucous membranes typically dry postmortem.” “But becoming this desiccated within two hours? That must be extraordinary.” “Moreover, the blood droplets on the eyeballs show no dispersion.” “From this you can observe extreme contraction of the tear ducts.” “All of it stems from abnormal psychological terror—violent constriction of vascular and glandular terminals.” “Yet even so—the absence of convulsive marks makes it evident Jouzen never lost consciousness during that interval.”

However, when Housui stood up, he shuddered convulsively with a full-body tremor—his complexion clearly telling of the formidable problem he now faced.

“But Prosecutor Hashikura—more importantly—where did all that blood disappear to?” “Hmm, measuring the external blood volume does seem necessary.” “Sucking might work,” the Prosecutor muttered with apparent reason, “but even a human vampire would trigger immediate dreadful physiology.” Housui met this with a derisive stare.

“However, this case doesn’t require Professor Teamke who worked in Porna.” “Even if we gathered all the gold leaf scattered here, it likely wouldn’t amount to two hundred grams.” After holding the tobacco in his mouth while deep in thought, Housui eventually picked up one of the jade banners. The four jade banners shared identical dimensions—approximately two shaku in width and seven shaku in height. Their upper thirds featured embroidered Buddhas depicting a Burmese-style Nyoirin Kannon seated in half-lotus position. Only the right index finger pointing toward the face protruded from the embroidery, reinforced by a thin diamond-shaped copper plate to prevent snapping. Below this, five lattice-woven votive banners—each pierced by a hinomaru-shaped circular aperture—hung in sequence at the center. Their extreme lightness became apparent at six to seven hundred momme per banner. Given their unusual thickness compared to standard mandalas, they clearly consisted not of lotus fibers but some other plant’s desiccated stems. Furthermore, Abbess Bantoku had stated they were single seamless constructs from end to end without knots. Yet even when attempting to fasten one to the cord stretching from the third floor’s protruding platform to the ritual dais’s front, it left over five sun of clearance from the floorboards. Housui then lifted a banner’s thick hem pleats and pressed them against Jouzen’s strangulation marks. Though their contours showed striking similarity, both thickness and total length proved incomparably smaller. His disappointment now visible even to others, Housui began ambling about the chamber until discovering a hole in the wall behind the Flame Drum—prompting his inquiry to Abbess Bantoku.

“This is the voice tube,” stated Abbess Bantoku. “Jouzen’s position was to the right of the ritual platform, while Suima-koji sat near the Flame Drum on the left. That is to say, one would hear Nagarjuna’s sacred words manifested through Suima-koji from the tube’s end in the study.” “Today was Sister Fukou’s turn.” Having said this, the Abbess began recounting the circumstances at the time of the incident as follows: When signs manifested in Suima-koji, Abbess Bantoku and Jouzen brought him into the Hall of Visions. The Abbess filled the oil clock up to the zero-hour mark, lit it, and departed the hall at 12:05. As they exited through the door, the shō began playing—though no sound came from the Flame Drum—and continued for merely two or three minutes. Afterward, until Sister Chibon discovered the incident at 1:15, not a single noise occurred—so it was testified. Regarding the nuns’ whereabouts: Abbess Bantoku had been in her quarters, Sister Fukou in the study, Sister Jakuren in the distant sutra repository, and Sister Chibon redecorating the main hall—that was all that could be ascertained. Furthermore, within the Hall of Visions post-incident, only two changes were noted—the small window had been opened, and the oil clock had stopped at 1:30.

Having concluded the above inquiries, Housui began moving once more. “Now then, Prosecutor Hashikura—let’s search for traces of Suima-koji’s skin on the floor.” However, the investigation ended in vain—under the sweltering midsummer sun, not a single thing that should have adhered to the mirror panel was discovered. But at the final moment, the Prosecutor’s eyes froze upon a single point on the floor. When Housui peered obliquely at the spot being silently indicated, he felt as though hearing his own heartbeat. Extending from the ritual platform where Suima-koji had sat on the left side toward the third-floor staircase direction lay faint dermal marks—a four-star pattern with three arrowhead-shaped points ahead and one behind, clustered around a central mass. Their configuration undeniably showed the tracks of a giant bird. Moreover, they had approached from the front before halting at the ritual platform’s edge. Retracing them backward led up the third-floor staircase until stopping before bamboo matting laid along the wall from the protruding floor. The Prosecutor looked up at the wall ahead and involuntarily stifled his voice. The many mysteries that had lain fragmented until now coalesced there into a singular form. The Sanskrit-shaped wounds, the vanished bloodflow, the inexplicable strangulation marks on Jouzen’s throat… Could all these elements—every last one—be narrated within the shadowy grandeur of that large painting depicting the Peacock Wisdom King astride a peacock with four arms? Within the hanging scroll measuring four shaku high and three shaku wide sat cross-legged upon a lotus throne—borne by an Indian peacock spreading wings to fill the canvas—a grotesque female-bodied Buddha. Four arms extended left and right, each hand elevating sacred jewels while forming preaching mudras. It exuded a dark beauty—pathological, hysterical, steeped in esoteric Buddhism. Moreover, litharge vermilion colored the central tail feather shafts in nucleus-like forms, only those vivid elliptical dots emerging from darkness resembling blood-diluted murk. Yet that bark-like ghostly aura unique to secret Buddhism wasn’t confined to mere atmosphere here. Within it materialized—each corresponding precisely—the crime’s various bizarre characteristics, their numbers growing as one counted.

“Indeed, this is a splendid work by the culprit.” “In this case,” Housui murmured in a dreamlike tone, “there can be no explanation other than that a peacock emerged from the painting, descended the stairs, not only clawing Suima-koji with its sharp talons but also—a bodhisattva upon its back extending four arms—strangling Jouzen’s neck.” Yet immediately after, he turned and smiled coldly at Abbess Bantoku. “However, Abbess, this fairy-tale drama’s conclusion would ultimately lead us to assume it was a bodhisattva’s murder.” “Yet the more I consider it, the more I find myself drawn toward that paradoxical interpretation.”

“Let me take this on—exactly what are you trying to say?”

Abbess Bantoku resolutely raised her head. “In short, it’s a case of theopathic delusion.” “This is a factual account found in Bowman’s treatise Psychic Contagion in Religious Crimes: in the early sixteenth century, a so-called miracle manifested at the Roman Catholic Church in Zurich.” “One August evening, the church’s holy statue suddenly vanished, and in its place lay a flesh-and-blood Jesus—an exact replica down to every wound—as a divine corpse beneath the cross.” “Moreover, these wounds weren’t injuries made externally on the skin, but rather markings that had risen from within in a mottled pattern.” “Naturally, the city fell into great turmoil—but what proved even more mysterious was that by morning, that flesh-and-blood Jesus’s corpse had vanished without trace, leaving only the familiar wooden Jesus hanging upon the cross.” “However, this mystery that persisted as a miracle for three centuries was finally solved by Justeau at the nineteenth century’s end.” “You’re likely familiar with the psychological term ‘stigmata.’ That professor at the French Collège discovered a country girl and identified through her icon fixation an aberrant psychological phenomenon arising from such obsession.”

As Housui began to say, "And so..."—his face blazed with what could only be called murderous intensity. "And so, considering Switzerland at that time—invaded by the Anabaptist Protestant sect while Catholicism's stronghold teetered on collapse." "And so I've gradually come to suspect this so-called miracle was actually the bishop's scheme." "And thus, in this case too, I envision a malicious theopathic delusion."

Throughout this exchange, Abbess Bantoku simply appeared dumbfounded, staring fixedly at her interlocutor’s face—then curled into a sharp, sardonic smile and declared.

“In that case, Mr. Housui—if I have been equated with that bishop, from where could I have entered and exited? To tell you the truth, I have deliberately kept the entrance lattice door half-open even now. The sound of that lattice door carries all the way to the riverbed, and the zushi door remained locked at that time as well. Moreover, when Sister Chibon entered, there was someone playing the shō on the second floor. Now, Mr. Housui, this Hall of Visions was a locked room. In a sealed room, who could have been present besides the Peacock Wisdom King and his attendant birds?”

A locked room—and within it, a massive quantity of blood had vanished—. Even Housui came to an abrupt standstill, his face vividly betraying hues of shame and agitation.

II. The Secret of the Flame Drum

After Abbess Bantoku had left, he continued investigating a section of the third floor but found nothing there. Then, when he descended to the second floor again, Housui pointed at the oil clock and said.

“All I’ve figured out is just this much. Why does the oil clock—which had stopped at 1:15 when discovered—now point to 2 o’clock? That’s what...” “From this maddening rate of progress, we can determine when the culprit opened the small window.” “So then, perhaps it disappeared when the gold leaf scattered, don’t you think?” “Hmm, I suppose that’s the most likely scenario first…” Housui nodded absently. “But the real issue lies inside this oil container… As you can see right now, there’s one fragile leg of a long-legged mosquito caught about five bu above the oil’s surface.” “The leg hook was positioned above, tilted diagonally to the right.” “However, the torso was not in that direction but rather on the opposite side—about an inch left from the leg—and this was floating on the oil’s surface.” “Considering that, doesn’t it become clear that the torso circled around the container several times?” “In other words, this is evidence that reflux occurred.” “Generally speaking, the oil clock itself is extremely sensitive to temperature—it’s a device that can’t be used except at night when combined with lamplight. Therefore, naturally, we must consider the scenario where sunlight falls upon it.” “In other words, to put it simply—as the oil diminished and the mosquito carcass descended to the point where its leg hook caught—that was when the culprit opened the small window.” “So then, as sunlight falls on the lower part of the container and heated oil rises toward the upper layer, a reflux must naturally occur along the surface’s edge.” “Moreover, as the oil outflow gradually intensified, the clock’s progression ended up advancing at an outrageous rate.” “Therefore, Prosecutor Hashikura, we can conclude that the culprit opened the small window around 12:40.”

“I see.” “However, I don’t believe the culprit’s intention in opening the window was limited to that alone.” “Or perhaps to dispose of the murder weapon…”

Housui interrupted this with a weak laugh.

“Then search all you like—you’ll find nothing there. The very fact that the Sanskrit characters’ forms matched perfectly left and right meant I had already determined this case’s murder weapon wasn’t something wielded by human hands— But more importantly, Prosecutor Hashikura—how were the peacock’s footprints made? Shouldn’t that be the real question? Even if we made Suima-koji walk, all you’d get is a mere triangular imprint from his patella.”

“So, do you have something?” “Well, this is an extremely outlandish notion, but for now I want to have Suima-koji perform a handstand.” “And not even placing his full palm down—he’d support his entire body on the bases of his fingers.” “Don’t be absurd.” Prosecutor Hashikura’s face contorted with disbelief as he cried out. “However, Prosecutor Hashikura,” Housui began solemnly, his expression taut as he descended the stairs one deliberate step at a time. “Fundamentally speaking, there exists no other part of Suima-koji’s anatomy that could theoretically manifest such an effect besides that specific location.” “This stems from the so-called ‘luminescent fingers’ appearing on his right middle finger and left ring finger—both severed below the second joint.” “Since shrapnel damaged the nerve trunk at their roots—as you personally observed earlier—the fingertips have grown slender and tapered, emitting that bluish-white glow.” “However, unlike major nerve trunks, battlefield hospitals show no inclination to perform sheath surgeries or similar procedures. Yet once wounds heal, patients somehow regain enough function for daily motions.” “In essence, this is where the phenomenon Rechen termed ‘nerve compensatory function’ emerges.” “The surrounding nerves—their fibers barely making contact—transmit nutrients and vibrations, thereby compensating for that moribund state.” “Yet as seen in traumatic hysteria case studies... when surrounding nerves become paralyzed, only those severed nerves may intermittently receive vibrations from other muscles, executing truly bewildering movements.” “That’s precisely the point, Prosecutor Hashikura—if one could engineer such an improbable mechanism there, we might envision Suima-koji abruptly performing handstands and ambulating while leaving those peacock claw marks behind.”

After leaving the Hall of Visions, he proceeded directly to Sister Fukou’s room. Sister Fukou had long since regained consciousness, but due to severe fatigue, she was unable to sit up. Approaching forty, with a face marked by thought and intellect, she buried her chin in the quilt’s collar yet answered in precise tones. “I never imagined that a realm of slaughter such as this could exist within Buddha’s palm.” “I heard Suima-koji’s voice crying out sorrowfully.”

“What? You heard a voice?”

“Yes. I heard the lattice door open when the Abbess left the Hall of Visions—it happened shortly after that. When the sho began playing, there came a heavy thud like someone stamping on the floorboards. Then at the exact moment I heard it a second time, an unearthly drone reverberated through the air, and with that, the sho fell silent. About twenty minutes later, I heard Suima-koji shout ‘Four hands!’ from the second floor—just once—and then it echoed up again through the voice tube from downstairs.”

"So there are two voice tubes then?" "Yes, the downstairs one lies precisely midway along the staircase—sandwiched between a horizontal plank and the wall—in rather obscure concealment." "Then Suima-koji spoke in a low voice." Sister Fukou's voice quivered faintly, an uncanny gleam floating in her eyes. "He proclaimed, 'Though the sacred jewel has vanished, the peacock still soars through heaven.' Soon after, a faint scattering noise arose from the second floor. When it ceased, the sho resumed its drone—though naturally after what one might call an interval for breath." "Yet that sound ceased abruptly when the lattice door opened." "There remains nothing more I can impart."

“Thank you. By the way—have you seen Suima-koji’s corpse?” Housui suddenly posed an unusual question. “Ah, earlier I was with Sister Jakuren…” “And so, I became completely exhausted, but...” “So then—what did you see on the sleeve of Suima-koji’s robe?” “Well, I… I have absolutely no knowledge of such matters.” Sister Fukou brusquely declared, then suddenly turned her head and buried her face in the quilt’s collar.

“Two voice tubes…”

Upon exiting into the corridor, Housui remarked meaningfully, but when his eyes fell on an adjacent room, he turned to the prosecutor and said, “What do you say, Prosecutor Hashikura? Why don’t we sit on these Tenpyo chairs here and conduct the remaining interrogations?”

The first to be summoned, Sister Jakuren, was indeed a woman of sturdy build. Though likely only twenty-six or twenty-seven, there was something about her—an ethereal, almost translucent quality—that made her seem wrapped in a sublime, otherworldly presence, as if she were not quite human. However, this angelic woman serving as the temple librarian, upon finishing her statement about being in the sutra repository during the incident, proceeded to present an astonishing theory concerning Suima-koji’s cause of death.

“I believe Venerable Suima may have created a beautiful yet peculiar tomb himself and entered a state of suspended animation within it.” “Soon, without fail, that person shall undoubtedly revive.” “Furthermore, regarding Sister Jouzen’s cause of death, Sister Chibon possesses a solid theory, but…”

“What do you mean, suspended animation?” “You did say ‘suspended animation’ just now, didn’t you?” Prosecutor Hashikura widened his eyes and pressed the question.

“That is correct.” “As concrete evidence, his internal organs show no damage, and despite there being virtually no actual blood loss, a state of collapse that would suggest massive hemorrhage has manifested,” Sister Jakuren declared flatly before continuing, “In that case, you have not read Harnisch’s Apocalypse, I take it?” “What about yogic breathing techniques?” “What about Beelzebub’s sorcery?” “What about the writings of D’Arvil and Taylor?”

“Regrettably, I haven’t read any of them,” Housui answered tersely, his tone blunt. But then his demeanor abruptly shifted to one of confrontation. “However, Sister Jakuren, Suima-koji’s internal organs must be torn apart within less than six hours.” “What? An autopsy?!” Sister Jakuren appeared so shocked she nearly recoiled, a disturbance akin to vertigo coursing through her entire body. “Why must you drive blades into living flesh? Just as the Abbess believes in the blood-sucking legend from the Dai Kichigi Shinju Sutra, you’re about to commit a grievous error. That would make you lawful murderers.”

“If that is what determines the veracity of the evidence… I couldn’t care less.” Housui coldly declared. “If I recall correctly, it was Voltaire who said— ‘If you mix in strychnine, even an incantation can kill a person.’ Wasn’t that him?”

Sister Jakuren's face contorted into a mask of tragic fury as she glared at Housui with undisguised loathing, then violently slammed the sliding door shut and stormed out of the room.

“Hey Prosecutor Hashikura, that woman clearly has an interest in Suima-koji’s shamanistic practices.” “Wouldn’t you agree this temple has divided into two factions?” “Therein lies our motive…”

As Housui spoke those words, Sister Chibon entered. The woman with a thin mustache and masculine build sat down, demanded tobacco, and began puffing away briskly while—

“Don’t you find this absurd? If Suima-koji were truly Nagarjuna’s incarnation, why didn’t he shatter the locked room by casting seven mustard seeds—as he did when destroying South India’s iron stupa?” “An intriguing theory indeed. Now—you seem to know something about Jouzen’s cause of death.”

“Actually, I didn’t tell anyone, but I saw the culprit’s figure.”

“What did you say⁉”

Prosecutor Hashikura inadvertently dropped his tobacco, but Sister Chibon began speaking calmly. "When the completion signal sounded from the shō, I took the zushi door key from the key box and opened the lattice door. On the ceiling grille appeared a shadow making what seemed like hurried, intricate movements." "The shō that had been resonating abruptly fell silent." "But at that moment, noticing Suima-koji nearby, I stood frozen in place for some time." "However, upon regaining my composure and climbing to the top of the stairs, I found Sister Jouzen lying supine in disarray, her face veiled by both sleeves." "Ah yes—there was nobody downstairs at that time…"

“If that’s the case, then Sister Jouzen’s current corpse must be in a different state,” said Prosecutor Hashikura as he looked at Housui, whose face had now taken on a horrified expression. “Whether Sister Jouzen was still alive at that time or whether the corpse moved—that’s the question,” Sister Chibon asserted. “But before rigor mortis sets in, there’s no way it would budge even slightly.” “That’s correct,” Prosecutor Hashikura confirmed. “The living Sister Jouzen was subsequently killed.” Sister Chibon declared in a voice that cut like a chisel: “After all, there’s no way they’d stand frozen beside Suima-koji while witnessing his magical murder firsthand. What’s more, when I rushed out to report this to the Abbess immediately afterward, she entered the Hall of Visions and didn’t emerge for some time. Sister Jakuren and I went to check later, but all we found was Sister Jouzen’s altered posture—no definitive abnormalities beyond that.” She leaned forward, her words driving home like nails. “In other words—Sister Jouzen killed Suima-koji, then the Abbess killed that Jouzen. This logic holds without interruption.” A sardonic edge crept into her tone. “Probably scheming to brew opium so she could enjoy sweet dreams from it.”

And then, Sister Chibon left, guffawing uproariously.

Housui also stood up simultaneously.

“I’ll go check Toritachi Kyōzō.” “You should kindly obtain a detailed account from Abbess Bantoku regarding the key points of Sister Jouzen’s corpse.”

About an hour later, no sooner had the second lattice door clanged shut than Housui reappeared. Then, addressing the prosecutor and the old nun—who were glaring at each other with bestial expressions—he spoke in a courteous tone.

“Please rest assured. Sister Chibon’s prejudice has now been entirely dispelled.” “Prosecutor Hashikura, as I suspected, Jouzen had already been dead when discovered,” Housui declared, placing a book on the table. “Among the volumes you collected, I found one that proved most illuminating.” “This is Lobsang Rampa’s *The Hunting Grounds of Webi Region*.” “So what?” “Within it lies this account: ‘During my hunt by the lakeside, one native went antelope hunting at dawn to procure our breakfast.’” “‘Yet when they placed an antelope—felled by a curare-tipped arrow—beside a captured hyena’s cage, the eyes of that motionless creature they thought dead suddenly shifted pupils in terror—.’” “Listen, Prosecutor—Jouzen was first immobilized by a needle coated with trace curare.” “Just like that antelope, her motor nerves were paralyzed into complete stillness while her eyes remained fixedly witnessing that horrific murder unfold before them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” The prosecutor seized this moment to strike back. “Where on earth is this injury you’re talking about?” “It’s concealed within the short hairs at the nape,” Housui said as he opened his palm, revealing an ingeniously crafted needle made from about four sun of hair tip. “As for how I discovered it—it originates from those peculiar sounds Sister Fukou reported hearing during the shō’s resonance.” “She described two heavy thuds resembling footsteps on wooden flooring, followed immediately by a droning buzz after the second impact.” “Let us hypothesize that someone struck a drum whose skins had been tightly drawn inward from both sides to suppress all vibration.” “If that constriction were released upon a second strike, wouldn’t the restoring vibration from the dent precisely generate such a buzzing resonance?” “Guided by this conjecture, I examined the flame drum and indeed found three needle-sized perforations.” “Two bore traces of threads that had drawn both drumheads taut, while the third housed a simple wire crossbow mechanism—inserted to harness the recoil when the second strike severed the threads, restoring both sides to their original state.”

With the temporal contradictions surrounding Jouzen’s cause of death now eliminated, Housui once again addressed Abbess Bantoku.

"In any case, even from that discovery alone, suspicion against you has diminished." "In other words, what Sister Chibon saw must have been the shadow of the culprit playing the shō. But now—even if we accept that whoever moved Jouzen’s corpse hid on the third floor at that moment—" "How on earth did they escape from that place afterward? The problem once again hits a dead end with the locked room." "Would that not be the miraculous work of the Peacock Wisdom King?" Abbess Bantoku pressed insistently, arching her eyebrows as she maintained her claim of divine intervention.

Housui retorted with a sneer.

“However, I must ask that you not misunderstand this particular point. Even if you’ve been freed from Sister Chibon’s conjecture—having escaped one fallacy—that doesn’t dispel the shadow cast upon the correct deduction. After all, regarding the other three, we still lack definitive proof of their precise movements at the time. When I eventually dissect this locked room, I shall project all four faces onto the pus anew.”

After Abbess Bantoku left, Housui took out a single sheet of paper from his robe pocket. Upon it were observed the following characters.

Within yellow spots, a reddish-black bat—Abbess Bantoku All dark brown gourds—Sister Jakuren

A pitch-black map of the vicinity of the English Channel—Sister Chibon

Sister Fukou did not answer.

“Hmm, a psychological test...” When the prosecutor muttered as if not asking a question, it became clear that Housui had fixated obsessively upon this single sheet. “Hmm, there was a gourd-shaped bloodstain on the right sleeve of Suima-koji’s ascetic robe, right?” “That’s the impression I sought.” “By examining this, you can determine both where each person received their strongest impression and the approximate time.” “Abbess Bantoku’s was observed when she descended the stairs under frontal lighting.” “Jakuren and Chibon were viewed from the side—the sunlight’s angle altered how colors appeared in their eyes.” “Now what conclusion will emerge from this? I still have absolutely no idea.” “But gathering this required tremendous sacrifices.” “I promised Sister Jakuren I wouldn’t dissect Suima-koji’s corpse.”

III. The True Form of the Bloodsucking Bodhisattva

Three days later, Housui Rintaro and Prosecutor Hashikura again went to Jakkoan Temple. But the only information he had obtained by then was this: Sister Jakuren—who believed in yogic suspended animation—had begun her ghastly vigil over Suima-koji’s corpse laid out in the cellar. From the sight of her neither eating nor sleeping, one would sense a ghastly aura that could make one shudder just from hearing about it.

When the two arrived at Jakkoan Temple, the world was a stagnant, windless zone—the very precursor to a thunderstorm. But upon entering, they immediately summoned Sister Fukou. However, only Housui left the room the moment the guiding nun departed and returned a considerable time after Sister Fukou had arrived.

“I wish for you alone to listen and recall the sounds you caught through the voice tube at that time.” “Now—before that—let me first explain how the culprit escaped from the locked room.”

Ah, Housui had solved the mystery of the locked room without anyone noticing. What manner of sorcery had he begun to unveil regarding the culprit’s methods? “The reason I was able to construct this theory stems from the sensation of what are called multi-faced, multi-armed Buddha statues—those possessing numerous hands and heads.” “Now, as you are aware, within the Hall of Visions hangs on the lower floor’s front wall an almost life-sized image of the Eleven-Faced Thousand-Armed Kannon.” “And I came to notice that sensation precisely around 4:30 on the day of the incident.” “At that moment, the lattice window’s pattern was reflected upon the black lacquer surface of the miniature shrine door.” “However, when I then opened the lattice door, I witnessed a strange movement occurring in the Thousand-Armed Kannon directly ahead.” “This occurred because I first stared at the lattice pattern reflected on the shrine door, then observed the vertical bars of the lattice door itself.” “In other words—with the afterimage of the lattice caught between the vertical bars—opening the door at that moment caused a collision between real image and afterimage. There, what’s called a zoetrope phenomenon had to occur—that cinematographic effect where rotating a cylinder lined with vertical slits makes internal objects appear to move.” “You might expect this phenomenon to cease when the lattice door left my field of vision, but in fact, it persisted.” “Most likely, the rotation continued affecting my visual axis, maintaining the illusion of movement.” “So what phenomenon do you think manifested in the Eleven-Faced Thousand-Armed Kannon before our eyes?” “The seven arms raised at the shoulders and four lowered near the hips... each coalesced into singular hands, creating an optical illusion as if waving left and right.” “This occurred because the vertical lines matching the afterimage rows appeared to shift—and simultaneously, every line and fold across its form began pulsating ominously.” “Therefore, when I realized this, I suspected it might be the key to unlocking the locked room.” “However, during my initial discovery, conditions were reversed—the sunlight had already withdrawn from the lattice window.” “Thus I needed to find a new filter there.” “Yet this inexplicable mechanism—which animated the image and concealed a white-clad figure within those blinding afterimages—resided in Sister Jouzen’s corpse upstairs.”

“What on earth are you saying?” The prosecutor involuntarily lost his composure and shouted. “That’s right, Prosecutor Hashikura. That corpse—no, that immobile living body—rotated on its own. You must remember those ligature marks left on peculiar parts of the limbs, right? Why did the culprit bind those particular areas? Because if you tightly bind part of the limbs during a state of mental agitation to restrict blood flow, it induces severe rigor mortis in those regions. A similar example can be found in prison doctors’ reports—when they bind the wrists of prisoners who have nearly lost all sensation prior to execution, every finger supposedly stiffens and snaps rigid with rigor mortis. In this case as well, before committing that bizarre suffocation, the culprit had tied cords around Jouzen’s limbs.” “To explain it in detail: first, they raised both knees and elbows, then tightly bound the arms below the upper arms and the legs slightly above the kneecaps using what’s commonly called a ‘specter knot.’ Then they bound the right knee to the left arm and the right arm to the left knee with those restraints, twisted the two ropes together at the center and pulled them forcefully tight. As a result, Jouzen ended up in a position highly conducive to rotation—resembling a trussed-up monkey.” “Once arranged this way, as rigor mortis sets in, the direction in which the joints extend naturally differs. The two ropes twisted in opposite directions, and Jouzen’s body began to rotate. And by the time the rigor mortis had reached its peak and snapped taut with a ping, acceleration had also been added to it, resulting in a spinning motion just like a top.” “Once this became clear, within the sole beam of light falling from the lattice door, there was something spinning like a projector’s filter—it would immediately be understood that this was none other than Jouzen.” “Of course, it had caused a motion illusion in the Thousand-Armed Kannon, thereby depriving the witnesses of detailed discernment.” “In fact, the culprit had been standing before the image in an extremely simple disguise, aligning with the lines of the statue’s robes.” “And prior to that, they first rotated the corpse and untied the ropes when it reached its apex—naturally, one must assume that due to acceleration, the rotation did not cease immediately.” Then, as the culprit approached the time when the sho would sound, they went downstairs, judging the timing right. However, when Sister Chibon entered, she immediately noticed the Thousand-Armed Kannon image pulsating ominously. Yet having encountered this phenomenon frequently, it had long become a blind spot in her mind; thus she naturally paid it no heed, while simultaneously falling into the mistaken belief that the downstairs was an empty room devoid of anyone. And then, an instant later, she discovered a moving shadow upstairs—but gazing up at the lattice from below, she only glimpsed something shadow-like and unusual flickering there, so she did not attempt to verify it immediately.

"This was because she had discovered the grotesque form of Suima-koji lying to the side. From this deduction, it follows that their purpose in placing Suima-koji at the stair landing was almost entirely to immediately capture the witness's attention and prevent exposure of the filter's true nature. Thus, having used this precise contraption to induce an optical illusion, they slipped out through the opened lattice door during Sister Chibon's ascent upstairs—but... Now, the remaining mystery concerns this single matter: why was the sho sounded? 'The culprit hiding downstairs couldn't possibly have played the sho upstairs. Alternatively, if there had indeed been someone on the second floor, that would mean another locked room had been constructed within the original one.'"

“Well, the only reason Sister Jouzen’s posture changed is that the unnaturally induced rigor mortis relaxed after death.” “I can accept that much, but...” As the prosecutor struck his gavel in agreement, a bluish-white light flashed like a tempered blade, and thunder began to roar. Housui, who disliked thunder, slightly changed his complexion—perhaps because of that, he grew even paler—and directed an intense focus toward Sister Fukou.

“Now then, I wish to deliver my final verdict—but before that, let me share the results of a psychological test I secretly conducted the other day.” “This stems from how each person perceived the gourd-shaped bloodstain on Suima-koji’s ceremonial robe differently.” “Yet you alone claimed ignorance of it—didn’t you?” “When you said you’d never seen such a peculiar shape, I detected an odd dissonance in those words and immediately began analyzing them.” “What I realized was that your objectives and mine were fundamentally opposed.” “To put it another way—you’ve walked right into my trap.” “To be frank, the true purpose of that psychological test wasn’t about the bloodstain at all—it concerned the groove between it and the lower stain that Sister Chibon likened to a map of the English Channel area.” “What you denied knowledge of was that U-shaped groove.” “You see, Sister Fukou, what we call association is an exact mental chemistry.” “Because connecting those two voice tubes would create a U-shaped pipe.” “Now imagine various phenomena possible in such a pipe—let’s start by assuming a harpoon-like structure at one tube’s end.” “If we then place a device nearby to violently compress air into it, what sound would emerge from the second-floor aperture as vibrations travel through the air column? You already know full well.” “No need for me to tediously explain your sorcery in creating that sho mirage here.” “After all, you confessed it yourself without being asked.”

Caught in Housui's relentless logic and ingenious trap, Sister Fukou seemed certain to collapse then and there without a moment's resistance.

Yet contrary to expectations, her attitude visibly hardened, and soon she stood up with a solemn face.

“No, I couldn’t care less whatever may come.” “Even if I were to be deemed the culprit, as long as you could present counterevidence against these traces of evil unbecoming of a bodhisattva...” “However, as long as the bloodsucking crime scene left by the Peacock Wisdom King remains an unsolved mystery, don’t you think the sacrifices demanded for your sense of honor are far too costly?” “Rather than that, the resurrection of Suima-koji that I anticipate seems to be drawing closer to the truth.” “Amidst this intense heat, there have been no signs of decay whatsoever.”

And so, just as Housui’s efforts had finally ended in futility and the locked room downstairs had been solved, a new mystery had been constructed on the floor above. However, Housui showed not the slightest sign of concern. That day, without meeting anyone else, he conducted only a reinvestigation of the sutra repository before withdrawing through the raging thunderstorm.

However, on the fifth night thereafter, when Prosecutor Hashikura—having been suddenly summoned—visited Housui’s private residence, he wore a triumphant smile on his utterly haggard cheeks and said:

“As expected, Prosecutor Hashikura, I truly am a thinking machine.” “When I sequester myself in the study, I find my faculties undergo peculiar intensifications.” “I’ve finally severed the four arms of the Peacock Wisdom King.” “Yet this wasn’t some fortuitous epiphany—that uncanny rotation Sister Jouzen performed proved the vital catalyst.”

Then, Housui’s unfolding deductions swiftly dismantled the grand temple edifice the culprit had constructed. And thus, the Hall of Visions murder case was finally laid bare in its entirety under the light of day.

“Now, whether it’s you or anyone else, you’d still end up hitting a dead end. Once it becomes clear that Sister Jouzen performed that magical rotation, you would naturally consider centrifugal force as the cause for the scattered gold leaf. And then, those four jade banners have been troubling me—but even if someone were to rotate such lightweight objects, it’s evident they wouldn’t generate sufficient centrifugal force. That most straightforward method ends up being reluctantly rejected. But what would happen if weight and expansion were added to those jade banners?”

“What?! Weight and expansion?!” The prosecutor made a bewildered face and shouted.

“Right, Prosecutor Hashikura—it was precisely within those assumptions that the culprit’s terrifying intellect lay concealed.” “Let us proceed to methodically dissect the crime in proper order.” “Now then, that the culprit had been lurking within the Hall of Visions since immediately before the incident is evident from everyone’s failure to establish concrete alibis regarding their movements at the time.” “But paradoxically, that very fact becomes our logical foundation in this case.” “As for their hiding place—given how the Hall of Visions then existed as a mystical realm illuminated by a single oil lamp—that requires no further inquiry.” Now then, upon confirming the precise timing of Sister Jouzen’s collapse and Suima-koji’s seizure, the culprit combined four jade banners into a square formation—orienting them with the raised patterns on the embroidered Buddha’s fingers facing inward—and suspended this apparatus beneath the third floor’s protruding platform. “Thus, after drawing forth the Peacock Wisdom King from its painted confines to confront Suima-koji... Prosecutor Hashikura, that miraculously agile attendant bird instantly descended the staircase and pounced upon Suima-koji in his trance.”

After saying this, Housui stood up, casting a sidelong glance at the dumbfounded prosecutor, and pulled out a report-like binder from the bookshelf. And then, placing it on the desk, he continued.

“Of course there’s no logical basis for a peacock to emerge from the painting,” Housui explained, “but we can call this a manifestation of the Peacock Wisdom King for another reason.” He leaned forward intently. “This stems from Suima-koji’s bizarre walking pattern beginning.” “You’re familiar with how applying stimuli to hysterical paralysis patients’ limbs induces strange movements?” The detective raised a didactic finger. “But first—the so-called weight-bearing stump. To clarify: which part of an amputated limb requiring prosthetics functions like a sole? This point is crucial.” Examining an imaginary diagram in the air, he continued: “In Suima-koji’s case—as his actual prosthetic shows—it wasn’t at the pestle-shaped end where his fibula had been severed midshaft, but rather at the fibula’s uppermost portion beneath the kneecap.” “The pestle below simply dangled uselessly inside the prosthetic.” “Meaning,” Housui’s voice sharpened, “the location serving as his sole became critical—and naturally, our culprit stimulated precisely that area.” “Any sane person,” he gestured downward with both palms, “would walk kneecap-first.” “But trance walking followed ingrained habit—the fibula’s weight-bearing top touched floorboards, creating illusory sole-awareness during upright motion.” A dry chuckle escaped him. “Must’ve looked absurdly off-balance.” “Yet for Suima-koji sans prosthetics,” he shrugged, “this felt perfectly natural.” Spreading his hands like scales balancing evidence, Housui concluded: “Given his malnourished legs’ severe atrophy—that diamond-shaped area combining triangular bone ends and kneecap bases would inevitably resemble...” His fingers clawed theatrically. “Peacock footprints! Thus matching tracks from ceremonial platform to ‘approaching’ prints—completing this grotesque pantomime.”

“Ah,” The prosecutor wiped away his sweat impatiently. “But why did Suima-koji go up to the third floor?”

Housui flipped through a book on the desk and thrust the page he had pressed his finger against toward the prosecutor. “Prosecutor Hashikura, do you know which of the five senses remains longest in hysteria patients—that it’s vision? Moreover, among these senses, only red retains a faint presence even during seizures. Of course, witchcraft practitioners employ cunning disguises to transform this into terrifying demonic visages—but I now possess ideal documentation to prove it.” He cleared his throat. “Let us examine this passage: —(Report by Hans Stammerer, staff physician to the Düsseldorf Hussar Regiment at Metz Reserve Hospital, October 1916) My experiment commenced upon observing premonitory tremors in said patient. “First,” Housui read aloud, “I produced a cylindrical color wheel and initiated slow rotation from purple onward. When reaching terminal red hues, the subject abruptly rose and commenced circumambulating the wheel while fixating upon that crimson shade.” His finger traced down the page. “Here I conceived a novel trial—displaying scarlet cloth before him while guiding him into a corridor lined wall-to-wall with firearms.” The detective’s voice grew clinical. “Notably, when I repeatedly drew this crimson fabric toward side walls, he pressed himself flush against stonework as though seeking interment—yet upon contacting weapons, instantly recoiled into motionless stasis.” He tapped the final paragraph. “This phenomenon proved replicable across multiple trials—conclusively demonstrating mottled dermal sensitivity preventing torsional reactions when contacting metallic surfaces—”

When he finished reading, Housui pushed his chair forward, slowly lit his tobacco, and continued speaking. “Now then, Prosecutor Hashikura—the means by which Suima-koji was lured there and the element that left Sanskrit-shaped wounds were two separate components.” “Of course, it goes without saying that the culprit used a red light to guide Suima-koji.” “And then, the culprit dropped him from the protruding platform at the third-floor stairway entrance into the jade banners below that had square holes opened in them.” “Moreover, prior to that, the culprit had embedded a hook-shaped weapon—one that could appear and disappear at will—into the fingertips of the embroidered Buddha. Yet that weapon vanished without a trace immediately after its use there.” “Now then, first—how the Sanskrit-shaped wounds came to be formed—I will explain that.” “To put it simply: first, two opposing hooks pierced Suima-koji's waist. Once they had completely torn through the muscles, a second fall commenced—whereupon the remaining two hooks, which until then had not tasted blood, now impaled both his arms.” “In other words, there must have been an utterly inconceivable rotation at play there.” “However, that rotation was of course not caused by external force. The reason for its autonomous spin lies in the mottled sensory perception that manifested across Suima-koji’s body.” “As for what happened to the two hooks initially embedded in his waist—as the added weight tore through the muscles upward, one of them—either left or right—came into contact with an area of mottled sensory perception.” “Thus, each time those areas were touched, his body would naturally twist away from the contact. Through this repeated motion, the Sanskrit-shaped wound traces being formed accidentally ended up matching between left and right with perfect bilateral symmetry.” “In short, Suima-koji’s self-rotation served as a potter’s wheel, but when the muscles were finally torn through and the support detached—it was then that the remaining torque from the twist caused a right-angled rotation and subsequent fall.” “And what snapped up his shoulders were the remaining two jade banners.”

“Then, what about the differing ends of the wounds?”

“Now then, Prosecutor Hashikura, how many substances can you name that have high hardness yet dissolve in weak alkalis like blood? For instance, were one to fashion it primarily from an organic calcareous material like a cuttlefish shell, such a hook would dissolve within the bloodstream—only to transform into the embroidered Buddha’s rigid fingertips upon emerging. Yet concealed within that metamorphosis lay a most astonishing blood-sucking apparatus.”

And as Housui’s deduction finally touched upon its most critical point, the prosecutor who heard this truth found himself standing agape, unable to close his mouth. Why hadn’t I tried cutting even a single strand of that mandala at the time?

“In other words, what seems most complex is actually the simplest. The original plant used to create that mandala was the dried stem of Kyūkakuzu. In Sidhi sorcery, that stem and the wire-like roots of the tegusu plant are employed with such exquisite skill that even the foolish Malayans gawk in astonishment at it. The sponge-like fibrous tissue inside that stem—whether it be blood or anything else—if it is liquid, spares none. In other words, that mandala was a seamless construct embedded with thousands of stems—so even down to the last inch, it could suck Suima-koji’s blood from the embroidered Buddha’s fingertips. Of course, it was precisely because of this blood-sucking phenomenon that less blood flowed downward. But Prosecutor Hashikura, naturally, once that occurs, the notions of weight and expansion would come into play. In truth, the four hands that strangled Sister Jouzen were also squirming within it. Now, that the dried mandala stems which had sucked all the blood would swell ominously—once one understands how this works, it goes without saying. However, as for their total length, they must have extended by more than one-fifth—this becomes clear when observing that no bloodstains were left on the stairs and that Suima-koji was lowered to the stair entrance. In other words, Sister Jouzen had the weighted hem of the jade banners pressed against her throat, and what’s more, was subjected to such violent rotation that it ultimately caused even her cervical vertebrae to dislocate. So, what did the culprit do? They took one end of the cord suspending the jade banners to the upper wall of the staircase and proceeded to move the banners—now swollen to snugly envelop Suima-koji—into position. Then, they pulled out the braided cord that bound the four banners together and gradually lowered the cords that had been pre-positioned on both sides. Then, after returning the suspension cords to their original positions and aligning their hems into two rows, they pressed the hems of the four banners against Jouzen’s throat. However, around that time, although the blood within the dried stems gradually disappeared, this was because the culprit had opened a small window beforehand to prevent leaving bloodstains on their own clothing. Of course, from there, scorching sunlight came streaming in. Hey Prosecutor Hashikura, over ninety percent of blood is water. Once that evaporates, its weight naturally becomes nearly indistinguishable from before. However, this weight loss and contraction had already completed within the over two hours before our arrival—so when they discovered it, the nuns failed to notice the jade banners’ expansion. And then, as the final act, the culprit performed that glittering golden grand Scattered Offerings.”

The reason lay in Jouzen’s rotation, of course. At that moment, the jade banners embedded in the nun’s throat had undergone successive rapid expansions and contractions. This caused the surface gold leaf to lift and begin peeling—precisely when that violent centrifugal force flung it all away in one swift motion. However, this rotation of the jade banners also affected Suima-koji downstairs, imprinting something upon his dying vision. “Prosecutor Hashikura, do you recall Suima-koji’s words—‘The sacred jewel has vanished, yet the peacock still soars in the sky’?” “Though it sounds steeped in mysticism, its essence was merely a type of visual anomaly.” “In other words, the elliptical form of the Flame Drum reflected in the lattice door’s grid squares—appearing at times like a peacock’s tail feathers as the jade banners’ circular holes materialized and vanished, at others leaving only two or three when the holes disappeared—must have ultimately induced that optical illusion in Suima-koji.”

The prosecutor seemed thoroughly fatigued just from listening, and he uttered a voice as if from a dream.

“So what about the locked room?” “And was there another one within what you uncovered?”

“Rather than a locked room, it’s more about why the sho sounded on its own.” Housui made a meticulous correction. “Then the culprit rigged the sho—after cutting down the jade banners and descending downstairs— Now then Prosecutor Hashikura—do you know how alcohol thermometers work? The principle where alcohol in thin tubes expands with heat? In other words—they packed alcohol into the sho’s mouthpiece and exposed its vertically positioned base to sunlight. Naturally—the expanded alcohol pushed out air from angular chambers—making valves hum. But part of it blew out through tubes—absorbed by bamboo fibers—so expansion paused and alcohol sank back down. This cycle repeated endlessly—creating the illusion of someone breathing into the instrument. Eventually—the alcohol vanished without trace.”

"But Prosecutor Hashikura, when we fully comprehend the entire crime like this, it becomes clear that not only did the culprit exploit without restraint the bizarre physiology of a hysteric patient—the nerves of a thousand people had become concentrated upon that single small window." The prosecutor, holding his breath, uttered his final question.

“So then the culprit—just who is the culprit?” “That would be Sister Jakuren,” Housui answered in a subdued voice, moving toward the window as if to cool his heated cheeks.

“If I recall correctly, on that day Sister Jakuren spoke of a supposed ‘legend of a blood-sucking peacock’ in the Dai-kichijinjukyō Sutra.” “Yet when I examined it, no such passage existed anywhere in that sutra’s text.” “However, I discovered an uncanny correlation within the sutra repository’s index cards.” “The catalog numbers for Uebi Chiho no Yaryo (‘Wild Hunts of the Uebi Region’) and the Dai-kichijinjukyō Sutra had been transposed—through this unexpected error, I uncovered the missing description in an anecdote from St. John’s writings.” “It concerns a Keratt tribal legend.” “When a peacock ages, they say a fang-like keratin spur develops on its tongue. But if one pierces another creature’s skin with it and leaves it immersed in blood, that spur will abruptly detach—so the tale goes.”

“So then, Prosecutor Hashikura—the murder method applied to Suima-koji must have been inspired by that very legend.” "In other words, Sister Jakuren’s demonstrative fabrication contained an association with the swapped catalog numbers—something only she herself could have known." "However, the motive can be summed up in a single word." "It's a yearning for miracles." Judas (whose betrayal allegedly sought to witness Christ’s resurrection), Gusevva (the Russian woman who tried stabbing Rasputin hoping to see miracles), and Jakuren. "Yet I find it inconceivable that a woman of her intellect could ignore how desiccated corpses mummify." "That she could make even herself forget this—maintaining that transfixed gaze—reveals the terror of mystical thought... how it drags even the most learned minds into madness-tinged primordial delusions." “Prosecutor Hashikura—since matters won’t prolong further—we should let that woman wait with ○○○○○.” “For that alone remains this grim affair’s solitary hope.”