Pathway to Japanese Literature

One “The cherry blossoms have bloomed splendidly.” A young samurai who appeared to be in his mid-twenties stood on the stone steps of Sannō Shrine in Kōjimachi and gazed up at the cloud of blossoms that seemed about to come cascading down upon his head. He wore a deep woven bamboo hat, laid his Shirahata long and short swords at his side, tied a stylish haori coat fashionable at the time around his waist, and wore his hakama trousers with audaciously high thigh slits. Behind him swaggered two fearsome retainers with sickle-shaped beards, following along as if measuring themselves against Sannō’s great torii gate.

Following their master’s words, one of the lackeys bellowed.

"They look just like artificial decorations. If you tore up red Tanabata streamers and scattered them all about at once, I imagine they'd look exactly like this." "Well now, aren't you the fancy talker!" roared the other retainer, his mouth gaping wide with laughter. "Instead of that flowery nonsense, just say they look like festival decorations! Hahahaha!"

While exchanging idle jokes, the three of them descended the tall stone steps and settled themselves at a sencha tea stall under a large cherry tree that catered to customers. At the tea stall sat two patrons who had arrived earlier. Both wore long swords thrust through their belts, with one ostentatiously baring his bulldog-faced visage to the radiant sunlight. The other sported a hood shaped like an inverted pot. They scowled at the three newcomers who had just entered, then exchanged knowing nods with each other.

As if paying no attention to this, the samurai and his retainers were leisurely drinking their tea. In mid-March of Meireki's first year, the spring sun—already past the hour of the Dog (2 PM)—slid over the tea stall's shallow eaves, casting black cherry blossom shadows at their feet. “Hey, Miss! Bring another cup over here too!” called out the bulldog-faced man. It was a request for tea. The tea shop girl promptly drew some tea and brought it over, whereupon he pressed the bowl to his lips and exaggeratedly wrinkled his nose.

“Damn, this is scalding! Did you get dragged off to Tengu’s path or something? This tea’s turned to fire! This is fuckin’ unbearable!”

He bellowed as if thoroughly exasperated and slammed his teacup down, splashing its contents with a wet smack at the samurai’s feet. The blatantly staged nature of this act made Harima’s retainers—rather than their master—leap up in unison. “You insolent cur! What gives you the right to dump tea before us?” “Don’t look like weaklings, do you? Aiming to start something with us?”

They too seemed to have been fully intent on that very course. Even when berated by the demon-like brutes, the two of them didn’t flinch in the slightest. They sneered and bluffed nonchalantly. “Whether we’re pickin’ a fight or not is our damn business,” “If you ain’t lookin’ to buy, then don’t.” “This ain’t no place for penny-pinching lackeys to meddle.” “Back off.” “We ain’t here to deal with you lot.”

“So you’re saying you’ll take on the likes of us?”

The samurai removed his woven bamboo hat with a flourish. He was a samurai of refined bearing—fair-skinned, large-eyed, with the faint bluish shadow of a beard—a truly manly and splendid figure. “Picking fights without reason—it’s precisely when vagrants like you infest all eight hundred and eight districts that His Majesty’s capital grows restless,” he turned and glared at his opponent’s face. The fact that the bulldog-faced gang had harbored ulterior motives to provoke a quarrel with this samurai from the very beginning was further proven by subsequent events. In addition to the bulldog-faced man and the pot-hooded one, three more comrades had followed the samurai group and had been observing the situation from the shade of the cherry blossoms since earlier. From among them, a man who appeared to be their leader—around thirty years old—now strode boldly between the two parties.

“There ain’t no mad dogs in Edo that bite without cause,” he said, glancing sideways at the samurai. “So you’re Lord Aoyama Harima—the one who tags along with Mizuno Jūrōzaemon’s crew, strutting around calling yourselves the ‘Shirahata Group’ and scaring honest townsfolk? That’s you, ain’t it?”

As his assessment concluded, this young samurai was Aoyama Harima—a 700-koku hatamoto who possessed a mansion in Banchō. That he belonged to the Shirahata Group under Mizuno Jūrōzaemon could be recognized from the white hilts of his long and short swords. Given the need to advance the narrative, there was no time here to expound upon the Shirahata Group’s origins. Nor did such details require elaboration. Let it suffice to state that factions like the Shirahata and Jingi Groups—formed from hatamoto samurai—had long maintained hostile standoffs with gangs of so-called Town Chivalrous Commoners. This mutual enmity intensified after Mizuno’s Shirahata Group clashed with Banzuiin Chōbei’s Town Chivalrous affiliates over a trivial dispute that New Year at Yamamura-za theater’s entrance in Kobikichō—an incident that became the root of their deepening grudge.

At that very moment, Aoyama Harima took along two retainers named Gonji and Gonroku, visited a relative of the Aoyama family from that morning onward, received hospitality in the form of lunch there, and on his way back came to view cherry blossoms while paying respects at Sannō Shrine. At that precise juncture, Chōbei’s underlings happened to arrive for worship as well, and among them, Hanaregoma Shirōbei—recognized as their leader—stepped forward with the intent to provoke a quarrel here with the young Shirahata Group samurai and his retainers. Harima was not the sort to meekly avoid a fight someone else had started. Especially since they were challenging him knowing full well he was Aoyama Harima of the Shirahata Group, he naturally showed no reluctance to face them.

“Since you knew I was one of the Shirahata Group and still picked a fight—then you lot must be underlings of Banzuiin Chōbei from Hanakawado.”

When asked, Shirōbei stated his name. In keeping with the custom of Town Chivalrous Commoners of this era, the others also proudly announced their names one by one: Namiki Chōkichi, Hashiba Ninsuke, Shōten Manzō, and Tamachi Yasa. Now that matters had reached this point, neither foe nor ally could part unharmed—the situation had passed the point of no return. Harima confronted the white hilts of his long and short swords, his retainers squared off against sickle-shaped beards, while their opponent Shirōbei faced golden square guards and single leather-wrapped fingers—not one among them would yield an inch. What’s more, these men had come seeking a fight from the very start. Harima, who loathed being forced on the defensive, glared fiercely and gripped his sword hilt—whereupon his retainers, emulating their master, threw back their bull-like necks and bellowed.

“Hey, hey, you lot! For mere commoner trash to dare defy the esteemed hatamoto—you’re like scrawny dragonflies who’ve forgotten their place! If you’re so desperate to sell a fight, we’ll buy it at a fair price—no need to beg our lord!” “Lucky for you, today ain’t your master’s parents’ death anniversary—makes it perfect for slaughter. Think of it as us Yamanote lads grabbing those downtown eels that slithered up here and burying every last one in Tameike’s mud!”

Shirōbei did not back down either. “If you were so scared of threats you’d tuck your tails and run, we wouldn’t have climbed all the way up to Yamanote where your Shirahata Group nests just to pick a fight. Before we bury you lot in Tameike’s mud, better ready yourselves not to end up trussed like Sannō’s monkeys—souvenirs for the shrine brats.” Mocked by his opponent, Harima grew increasingly agitated. “We meant to punish Banzuiin Chōbei someday for his insults against Lord Mizuno, our leader—but now you underlings dare provoke us? No mercy remains. As you wish—Aoyama Harima himself will face you.”

“Fine resolve. Don’t you dare deign to run away,” sneered Shirōbei again.

“What nonsense!”

Harima became a blazing fury. He leaped up as if kicking over the camp stool and flicked open his sword's collar. Gonji and Gonroku also drew their swords without hesitation. The opponents promptly crossed blades in response. Though such violent clashes were not uncommon in this era, shopkeepers found it a nuisance to have blades recklessly brandished before their storefronts.

Yet the teahouse woman, who knew no way to quell it, could only pace restlessly while watching the unfolding chaos—when a woman’s palanquin, its studded metal fittings glittering in the spring sunlight, was hurriedly carried to the foot of the stone steps. The palanquin bearers unloaded it into the very center of the fray without even pausing to wipe the sweat from their brows, then two young retainers who had tucked up their hakama hems took positions flanking it on either side. “Hold on! Hold on!” shouted the young retainers. Even in the midst of their desperate battle, Gonji and Gonroku immediately recognized those young retainers’ faces.

“Ah! Lady Shibukawa’s palanquin!”

When the Town Chivalrous Commoners’ group hesitated slightly at having an obstruction thrown into their fight’s midst, the palanquin’s door slid smoothly open to reveal an elderly woman past fifty years of age clad in an uchikake robe. Quietly donning the sandals adjusted by rikisha men, she first fixed a piercing gaze upon one side of the combatants—Harima being its recipient. He hastily bowed in acknowledgment. “Oh! Aunt of Koishikawa! What brings you here—” “I chanced upon this fine scene while returning from Buddhist prayers at our family temple in Akasaka.” “For a hatamoto who should embody the realm’s dignity to brawl daily with common townsfolk over trifles... Such dedication to squabbling is truly commendable.” “Though this aunt’s advice—repeated till it must sound like sutra chanting to your wild ears—goes unheeded. When masters set such examples, retainers follow suit! Gonji! Gonroku! You two persist in this obstinacy beyond measure!”

Overwhelmed by the dignified authority of the old woman—a figure of formidable, almost masculine bearing—even the demonic bearded retainers crouched clutching their heads. Harima, too, listened in silence, his expression troubled.

The elderly woman was Harima’s aunt—Mayumi, mother of Shibukawa Iorinosuke, who resided in a 1,200-koku estate in Koishikawa. Upon his coming-of-age, Harima lost his father and soon after parted with his mother as well, leaving this elderly woman—his mother’s elder sister—as his sole remaining blood relative. The Shibukawa were a distinguished house whose ancestor had met a glorious death in battle during the Retreat at Mikatagahara; their current head, Iorinosuke, was a youth nearly the same age as his cousin Harima, but it was his mother Mayumi—a woman of indomitable temperament honed by the illustrious Shibukawa family traditions—who oversaw his guardianship. Moreover, as she was his deceased mother’s elder sister and a senior relative of higher standing, even the stubborn Harima could not unleash his wild horse temperament before this aunt. He simply endured her scolding meekly.

However, this dynamic existed solely between Harima and his aunt—it held no bearing on the opposing side.

Shirōbei said impatiently. “From what I observe, you appear to be an esteemed noble widow—yet here you grace us with your presence amidst our quarrel. Do you intend to mediate this dispute?” “Or if you are merely observing this honorable spectacle, might I suggest withdrawing further?” “Though I do not presume to know what grievances sparked this,” Mayumi said quietly, “would you not entrust its resolution to me?” “Harima shall receive stern discipline afterward.” “Now show restraint and withdraw, if you would.”

“Well…” Shirōbei pondered for a moment. “If you are unwilling, I shall not insist.” “However, having intervened thus, if you refuse to comply, I must treat you as my opponent—this too is the samurai way, and there is no alternative.” Having been told this in no uncertain terms, Shirōbei found himself at an increasing loss. Even if she were a samurai woman, Hanaregoma Shirōbei—a man of his standing among the Town Chivalrous Commoners—could not engage in a brawl using brute strength against a woman. Even if we won, there’d be no glory in it. Fights with the Shirahata Group were by nature spur-of-the-moment brawls—this wasn’t something limited solely to today. Thinking that it might be wiser in the end to honor this old woman’s dignity and withdraw obediently here, he readily agreed.

“Then, in deference to your handling of this matter, today we shall withdraw as we are.” “You’ve shown such understanding—graciously so,” Mayumi said with evident pleasure. “Then will you obediently withdraw?”

“I sincerely apologize for the rudeness.”

The samurai-class elderly woman and the leader of the Town Chivalrous Commoners exchanged polite bows and parted ways. Following Shirōbei’s lead, all his subordinates departed as well. After the storm of humans had passed through, an abrupt hush fell, and the sight of cherry blossom petals fluttering quietly downward caught the eye.

“Now, Harima,” Mayumi said, turning to face her nephew. “This is a public thoroughfare. “I shall explain the details when you come to the mansion, but for a samurai to imitate Town Chivalrous Commoners and such—the Shirahata Group’s Shingi Group and the like—even hearing their names is galling. “It’s not about some unyielding pride in martial arts or duty—in the end, you fight because you find quarrels entertaining. “Is that how a samurai should conduct himself? “You must abandon this brawling trade of ruffians by today—mark my words! “If you refuse, I will disown you. “Do you understand?”

No matter what was said, Harima was ill at ease with his aunt. Seeming to have resigned himself to the futility of resistance, he submitted meekly before her—and soon Mayumi’s uchikake-clad figure vanished once more into the palanquin. Leaving behind retainers who stood stupefied as if their livers had been ripped out fresh, the vehicle was carried quietly toward Kōjimachi.

Seeing off that retreating figure, the master and servant—who had been crouching until now—exchanged looks as if relieved. Then, all at once, they burst into loud laughter.

II

“I am the mother of Okiku, your lady’s maid.” “Please allow me to see my daughter.” When a woman who appeared to be thirty-seven or thirty-eight but looked older than her years stood at the kitchen entrance of Aoyama Harima’s mansion in Banchō and modestly requested to be shown in, the servant Osen emerged from within.

“Oh! Okiku’s mother! You’ve come.” “You’ve come all this way.”

While Osen went to call Okiku, Okiku’s mother sat down on the kitchen threshold and waited.

A seven-hundred-koku estate would typically be an illustrious mansion, but its master Harima was young—and still unmarried. The sole person managing the household was chief retainer Shibata Jūtayū; though he was a hereditary vassal of proven loyalty, he too was an elderly bachelor inherently indifferent to domestic affairs. Beyond these were two young retainers named Tetsunojō and Yagorō; two servants called Gonji and Gonroku; and gatekeeper Yojibē—altogether seven men comprising the household. These devilish retainers and servants would gather to cook their three daily meals and even handle dusting. They took pride in this stark austerity as the Mikawa way, but Aunt Shibukawa admonished them. However much frugality might be proclaimed as our family tradition since Mikawa days, every mansion must maintain a dignity befitting its station. Particularly in these peaceful times, a lifestyle perpetually resembling military encampments hardly becomes us. With only rough-hewn men about, not only did mansion cleaning go neglected, but it proved inconvenient when receiving guests. Given we possessed such an estate, she insisted we must employ at least two or three proper female servants.

“In a mansion like Aoyama’s that prioritizes martial matters, keeping soft women around would be nothing but trouble,” Harima said. Moreover, given both his formidable aunt’s opinion—which he found difficult to oppose—and Chief Retainer Jūtayū’s admonishment that it would be unwise to defy her, Harima reluctantly acquiesced, settling for hiring two female servants as a mere formality. The woman called Osen, who worked in the kitchen, had been summoned from the domain’s territory, but for attending to the master’s personal needs, they decided to employ someone from Edo—a girl named Okiku, born in Yotsuya not far from Banchō—and brought her into the mansion in the autumn of the year before last. That was the only daughter of the mother who had now come to visit.

Osen of kitchen duties was an honest person; Okiku of lady’s maid service worked earnestly. Having secured two diligent servants who worked in harmony, Aunt Shibukawa would come during her periodic inspections and commend their hiring. Indeed, compared to when Okiku first came for her formal interview, the mansion’s interior had become markedly cleaner. In particular, the kitchen had transformed into unrecognizable orderliness. When Okiku’s formal interview concluded and her mother came to deliver her belongings, even she had been inwardly taken aback. As for women in such a grand mansion, there was only Osen of the kitchen—the rest were all rough men who looked as though they’d devour dog meat without hesitation. The lord was a refined and imposing figure, yet his sharp eyes gleamed with an air of volatile temper. Sending her young only daughter to live in this ramshackle mansion, akin to Demon Island, had filled her with unease; yet with the formal interview settled and both parties in agreement, there was nothing more the mother could do—so she signed the master-servant contract before the chief retainer and departed.

And so a span of three years now passed. Both the lord and his retainers were fond of quarrels. Members of the Shirahata Group’s hatamoto retainers also frequently came and went. Yet each of them, unbefitting their rough exteriors, held gentle tears deep within. If one were to hear that their trade was picking fights and parading them about, it might indeed seem fearsome, but they claimed this too was done to rouse the eyes of a society grown complacent in weakness. If one kept their reasoning in mind and fully grasped the disposition of those men, there would be nothing difficult about serving them. Okiku had told her mother that working in a mansion like this was far more comfortable in the end than serving in households full of ill-natured folks who put on a meek front.

Even so, as a mother, some unease still lingered within her. The Shirahata Group’s violent clashes seemed to grow more intense by the day, and each time Okiku’s mother heard rumors of them wherever she went, her heart ached. The kind of ruffian who swaggered through Edo city with Shirahata’s long and short swords ostentatiously at his waist—he was her daughter’s master. Of course, even if the master were to commit some misdeed, she did not think it would involve the female servants in any way—yet still, entrusting her beloved daughter to such a violent master felt somehow unsettling.

Even now, as she sat repeating such thoughts while waiting to see her beloved daughter’s face, Okiku soon came briskly out from the inner rooms. “Mother.” “Oh, come this way.” As she tried to take her hand and lead her to her room, her mother hurriedly refused.

“No, no—it’s better here where I feel less constrained.” “I can’t impose for long anyway.” “Let’s talk here before I go.”

Saying this, the mother gazed fixedly at her daughter’s face. She had not come for any particular reason. The mother would be satisfied simply by seeing her daughter’s safe face once before returning home. The face of Okiku reflected in her mother’s eyes was that of a beautiful woman—slender features slightly tinged with melancholy yet flawless in their fairness, with gentle brows that no one could call lowly. She had come here at sixteen in autumn, and by this spring had reached eighteen—the very bloom of maidenhood. Though mother and daughter had met after the New Year’s holiday and little time had passed since, each time she looked, the mother gazed entranced at her daughter’s young face—growing ever more radiant—with eyes that melted in adoration.

“You haven’t had any particular troubles, have you?”

Okiku asked her mother.

“I’m happy and in good health, as you see.” “I’ve safely avoided this spring’s epidemic as well,” her mother laughed cheerfully. “And how fares the lord?” “The lord too is prospering splendidly.” “Today as well, he paid a visit to Aoyama’s honorable relatives and has just now returned.” “I was assisting him in changing his attire when you arrived, which is why I was delayed in coming to meet you.” “Did he not engage in any quarrels today?”

“According to Gonji’s account, there was some sort of scuffle with the Town Chivalrous Commoners at Sannō-shita again today, and Lord Harima’s haori sleeve had been slightly torn.” “How dangerous…” Her mother’s brows furrowed. “And... he didn’t sustain any injuries?” “Quarrels are an everyday matter. It’s not as if he’d sustain injuries easily.” Having gradually grown accustomed to service in the Shirahata Group’s mansion, even this once demure girl now seemed to regard bloody quarrels as no more significant than dogfights. That composed expression of hers only deepened her mother’s unease.

“But you see…” “If these violent clashes continue too long, even as strong as Lord Harima is, in the heat of the moment, there’s no guarantee he won’t suffer some injury or mishap.” “Moreover, if such matters reach the authorities’ ears, I wonder what will become of Lord Harima’s standing.” Gazing at her mother’s forehead—thick wrinkles etched into it as she tilted her head with feigned concern—Okiku smiled faintly, almost mockingly. “Nonsense—you’re just worrying over nothing. “Lord Harima is counted among the top swordsmen in the Shirahata Group and is also highly skilled in Hōzōin-ryū spear techniques—Lord Mizuno himself regularly praises his prowess.” “Hoho—even if he were to face five or ten ordinary men at once, what possible misstep could there be?” “Though speaking of quarrels may sound alarming, they are but one method to hone martial prowess in times of peace—entirely distinct from murderous robbery—so even the authorities would find no cause for stern reprimand.”

Whether the household’s customs had seeped into her naturally or she was merely mimicking her master’s manner of speech, Okiku spoke fluently without faltering, trying to dispel her mother’s worries. Not to the degree her mother had imagined, the daughter remained surprisingly composed, leaving her at a loss for words. The mother’s main purpose in visiting today had been simply to see her daughter’s face, but depending on how their conversation unfolded, she had privately considered broaching the idea of requesting Okiku’s release from this precarious household. Yet here was her daughter, not only unperturbed but actively praising her quarrelsome master. This left the mother both reassured and uneasy, so after remaining silent awhile, she found Okiku speaking again.

“I know not what the world may say, but Lord Harima is a man of upright heart, deeply compassionate—one who shows consideration even when employing his retainers and servants.” “Such an admirable lord as this you will find nowhere else.” “I wish to continue serving in this mansion for many years to come, so even if it means hardship, please endure it alone for now.” “I’m accustomed to hardship, so that doesn’t trouble me at all—but I can’t help worrying about your well-being more than my own.” “In a mansion where quarrel-loving crowds frequently come and go, one can never be certain when some disturbance might arise within.” “If they keep lurking about like that, they’ll end up getting caught in the crossfire…”

“Now, now—you don’t seem like yourself. Here we are—you and I aren’t some townsfolk born and bred from birth to be so timid…” Okiku laughed. Even laughed at by her daughter, she offered no retort. This mother and child were not of townsfolk lineage. Okiku’s father had been a rōnin from the western provinces named Torigoe Nanigashi, and her mother—who accompanied him—was herself the daughter of a samurai. Having lost her husband early, the mother had raised her daughter single-handedly through widowhood; however, constrained by poverty, she had ended up sending her only daughter into service. Yet precisely because of this lineage, both mother and daughter disdained becoming servants in townsfolk households, instead seeking connections for service in samurai mansions. That this same mother now spoke anxiously of service in a samurai household struck one as slightly inconsistent in logic.

Of course, as a mother, she had her own considerable rationale. For samurai households varied in character, and she reasoned that serving a master who treated quarrels as his trade for too long would be precarious. However, she had no desire to quarrel with her dear daughter to the point of their faces flushing red, so even when laughed at by her daughter, she remained meekly silent. Just then, Osen arrived with tea. Afterwards, Chief Retainer Jūtayū also emerged.

“Oh, Okiku’s mother.” “Well, well—you’ve come.” “Here, have some tea,” Jūtayū said with a beaming smile.

“In a mansion teeming with nothing but men—it’s utter chaos.” “Though the women must surely be busy, Okiku too works diligently.” “Especially since Lord Harima favors her—with Okiku handling all his personal affairs—we retainers find it most convenient.” “Lord Harima is quite hot-tempered, but everything Okiku does puts him in a good mood.” “Hahahaha!” Okiku’s earlobes turned red as she looked down. Without so much as glancing at her, Jūtayū took out gold wrapped in white paper from his pocket.

“When I informed Lord Harima that your mother had come, he said, ‘Take this as a small gift,’ and bestowed two koban coins.” “Receive it gratefully.”

Two koban coins—in this era, a large sum of money. Was it wise to accept this so rashly? As her mother hesitated, unable to reach out, Jūtayū thrust the money pouch before her knees.

“Listen well.” “Okiku, take a good look at this and later express your gratitude to Lord Harima.”

“Thank you.”

The mother and daughter bowed in unison. Hearing this, Jūtayū stood up. “Well, take your time and talk leisurely.”

He casually went off into the inner rooms.

Osen tied her sash and went out to draw water from the well at the rear. The spring evening sun illuminated the long well rope, and jewel-like water spilled from the bucket. “Ah, good water…” murmured Okiku’s mother, approaching the well as she prepared to leave.

“It’s so deep, it’s a problem,” said Osen. “The depth of Yamanote’s wells is renowned,” her mother said, peering into the depths of the well. “Truly deep—this must make drawing water morning and evening quite troublesome.” “Though she complains about it,” Osen explained, “it’s not so troublesome after all—the servants help draw water when they aren’t busy.” She said there was another well in the mansion’s garden—shallower than this one, with even clearer water—but since they couldn’t go all the way to the garden each time, they endured drawing from this deep well.

Amidst that conversation, Okiku appeared. When she lined up with her mother and peered into the well’s depths, the smiling faces of mother and child rippled faintly on the distant water.

Three

It was the morning of the second day after that. Okiku came out to the kitchen as usual and was helping Osen when the servant Gonji shrugged his shoulders and entered from outside.

“A guest’s here! A guest’s here!”

“A guest…” Okiku paused in her tidying. “Who is it?”

“Nay, ’tis a troublesome guest.” “’Tis a headache for Lord Harima and off-limits for us—our best bet’s to stay hidden so we ain’t found.” In the midst of this, Gonroku also came sneaking in. The person whom even those burly men so dreaded was something the women could easily surmise. Osen asked with a laugh: “Is that… the Aunt from Koishikawa?” “That’s right, that’s right.” “That Aunt is more terrifying than the demon aunt who came to Watanabe’s mansion to reclaim her severed arm.” “If we show our faces, we’ll surely be scolded.” “Especially today—just two days since then!” “There are plenty of grounds for reprimands.” “After all, there’s no need to show our faces until she departs.”

Though it was a common occurrence and nothing out of the ordinary, the sight of those sickle-bearded brutes cowering before the fearsome aunt like innocent children struck Osen as unbearably comical, and she burst into raucous laughter. However, Okiku did not so much as smile. The moment she heard the name of the Aunt from Koishikawa, her pale face turned ashen. She tightly pressed her lips together and proceeded to the inner rooms.

Since serving guests was her duty, Okiku immediately began preparing the tea. When she had prepared the tea and carried it out to the parlor, the guest Mayumi and her master Harima were sitting face-to-face, conversing amicably about something. It seemed that today there would not be too many of the scoldings the servants feared, so Okiku felt somewhat relieved; yet within her still lurked a greater unease. “Hoho, Okiku. Still as beautiful as ever,” Mayumi said with a smile, turning to look at the young maid serving them. “If the master remains unmarried, tending to women must be troublesome. Endure but a little longer. I’m counting on you.”

“Yes,” Okiku replied demurely, placing her hands on the floor. “Endure but a little longer”—those words rang ominously in her ears and sent waves crashing through her young heart. “If I require anything, I will call.” “You may withdraw,” Mayumi said quietly. Okiku bowed once more and rose. When she rose and glanced at her master’s face, Harima was staring at the tatami seams with a troubled expression. It was his usual habit to sit silently with a lonely, hostage-like expression when facing his formidable aunt, but today that particularly troubled look caught Okiku’s attention. She withdrew to the veranda once but then stealthily retraced her steps and peered through the sliding door from the neighboring room one space away.

When they had finished their tea, Mayumi’s voice rang out. Though spoken softly, its dignified clarity resonated clearly even to Okiku’s distant ears. “Now, Harima. I shan’t dwell on each of your recent misdeeds one by one. You will mend your ways without fail—will you not?”

“Yes.”

Harima’s reply was only that.

“That’s an unreliable reply.” “Will you swear to it properly, or make a promise?” Mayumi pressed further. “When society grows complacent in peacetime, even the study of martial arts falls into neglect.” “Flattering, frivolous weaklings are numerous among both samurai and townspeople.” “I too find it shameful.” “Yet for samurai to mimic Town Chivalrous Commoners and rampage through the entire city does nothing but needlessly disturb the shogun’s very seat—it serves no purpose at all.” “What would become of you if you were to waste the life you should cast away before His Lordship the Shogun’s banner in times of crisis on petty quarrels and disputes?” “Surely you are not so foolish as to fail to grasp such principles.” “If, under the pretense of sworn pledges between samurai, you cannot withdraw from affiliations like the Shirahata Group even now, then I shall meet with Lord Mizuno and see to it that I refuse them.”

Okiku secretly imagined that if it were this aunt, she would surely turn even Mizuno Jūrōzaemon—the revered leader of the Shirahata Group—into an adversary and force through her own arguments, twisting reason into wrong if need be. However, were such things recklessly done, her master would likely be troubled. As she strained her ears to hear how he might respond, Harima indeed hurriedly cut it off. “No, there is no need for such measures.” “Should Aunt personally intervene in such matters, it would trouble both Lord Mizuno and myself alike. I must humbly request you refrain from that course of action...”

“That is not something I particularly favor either,” Mayumi said. “If that is so, will you then surely join their ranks? Will you swear henceforth to behave properly?” “Yes.”

Just as it seemed the conversation had lulled for a moment, the aunt’s voice rang out again. It was different from before—a voice imbued with genuine familiarity, gentle and soft. “Now then, there is another matter to discuss.” “Since you remain unsettled within the mansion grounds, you strut about arrogantly through those quarters.” “That too, I believe, stems ultimately from our household lacking a restraining rein.” “You are already twenty-five—an age when some have become parents to two or three children. How long do you intend to remain unmarried?” “You must take a suitable wife in due time and make plans for the prosperity of your descendants.” The aunt never advised anything improper. “The second daughter of Lord Ōkubo in Iidamachi, whom I mentioned briefly the other day…”

Okiku pressed herself against the sliding door with enough force to topple it, straining her ears to catch every single word.

“Her name is Fujie.” “She is eighteen years old, has a fine appearance, and excellent manners.” “As one would expect from Lord Ōkubo’s upbringing, her disposition appears admirably spirited.” “If my son were unmarried, we would wish to bring her into our household as well, but Iorisuke is expected to become a father this autumn, so there is no helping it.” “It would be a shame to send a girl of her caliber to another household—I wish to make her our relative by any means necessary.” “Therefore, Harima—though I may sound repetitive—this aunt does not advise anything improper.” “If you were to take that girl…”

Okiku’s vision swam as her ears began ringing violently. Even to those ears, Harima’s reply was clearly heard. “Though you have gone to great trouble, Lord Ōkubo of Iidamachi is a person of high standing—after all, to our household…”

“No—there’s no need for such reserve.” “Lord Ōkubo is a man of such character—he has no reason to concern himself with disparities in family status.” “Especially as he is well acquainted with your circumstances.” “If this aunt says she requests it in a single word, he will surely consent. That, I will guarantee.” “What do you say?” This reply would determine the course of his entire life. As Okiku listened without breathing, Harima did not immediately reply. Urged by his aunt, he quietly began to say this.

“I fully comprehend your words, but as this pertains to my own circumstances, it is a once-in-a-lifetime matter.” “In quarrels I do not pick and choose opponents, but regarding a marriage proposal, even I must exercise proper judgment.”

“That too is reasonable.” “I won’t demand an immediate answer.” “After careful consideration, give me your answer anew.” “Do you understand?” “Yes.” Okiku let out a breath of relief and slumped down unsteadily onto her knees there. The sliding door she had been leaning against groaned and shook from the impact, so she crawled away stealthily from the spot and hurriedly scrambled into her room—only then did she first notice the clammy sweat welling up from her neck to her armpits.

It was regrettable that she hadn't listened to the parlor conversation until the end, but from Harima's reply, the outcome could largely be inferred. The marriage proposal brought forth by the Aunt today also seemed to have been left unresolved in ambiguity. However, Okiku could not remain composed. The Aunt from Koishikawa urging her master to take a wife was not something that began today. Okiku had vaguely known that this matter had also been brought up once last month. It had been growing increasingly urgent, and the Aunt had apparently gone out early that morning specifically for that discussion. Given how formidable the other party was, could her master ever decisively refuse this? If the Aunt's demands—already impossible to refuse under normal circumstances—were to pile up again and again, what would become of that? When she thought of that, Okiku couldn't remain composed.

She took out a folded paper from her kimono and wiped the sweat from her collar. As the sweat at last subsided, both eyelids grew moist in its stead. She grew sorrowful, as though the fleeting vision of her own future had been laid bare before her very eyes.

The year after Okiku came to serve at this mansion, at the end of her seventeenth spring—exactly about a year ago on a hazy moonlit night—three or four friends from the Shirahata Group paid a visit, and as usual, a small drinking party began. At that time, Mizuno Jūrōzaemon also came. Mizuno seemed to take a great liking to Okiku, who had served the drinks, and praised her in front of his master. The others also praised her in unison. Since they took pride in never uttering insincere flattery or sycophancy, the fact that they had all praised her in unison made it clear this was no mere lip service to their master.

After the guests had left and the parlor was tidied up, Harima requested tea from Okiku. It was already past the fourth hour (10 p.m.), and the cherry blossoms halfway in bloom under the hazy moon cast faint white shadows from the eaves. The lukewarm night breeze that gently stirred those shadows flowed past, scattering white petals like moonlit dewdrops onto the sleeves of Harima, who sat on the veranda with a face sobered from drink. Okiku recalled anew the dream of that night carved deep within her heart. The love between the young master and the young lady’s maid sank ever deeper into profound depths from then on, until Harima swore to Okiku, "I will surely make you my household wife." Okiku did not forget that promise either. The mansion of the quarrelsome Shirahata Group, which her mother anxiously feared, was a paradise for the daughter. The master had been presented with a marriage proposal some days prior, so the young lady’s maid’s small heart could find no peace. Moreover, today Aunt was engaged in a knee-to-knee confrontation. Even if things were settled for now, with the outcome still uncertain, she broke down in tears as though utterly lost.

Since the voices of Osen and the servants could still be heard in the kitchen, Okiku suddenly stood up and took out her hand mirror. After fixing her tear-streaked face reflected in the mirror, she too headed to the kitchen, where Gonji and Gonroku sat lined up on the entrance threshold—their large frames occupying the space—leisurely grooming their sickle-shaped beards with silver tweezers that glinted in the spring sunlight. When they saw Okiku’s face, they asked:

“Has the Aunt not yet returned?”

“The discussion does not seem likely to conclude anytime soon,” said Okiku. “However, it does not appear to be the usual reprimand.”

“That’s unusual,” said Gonji with a laugh. “The rainy season might arrive a month early this year—but I wonder what that Aunt could have to discuss besides her usual scolding.”

“Could it be about the marriage proposal?” interjected Osen. “Hmm, I’ve heard such rumors too,” said Gonroku in a disinterested tone. “That Aunt really is an inveterate meddler—what a petty fuss she’s making over every little thing. A lord who can’t stand women’s makeup ain’t about to take on a troublesome wife or the like.” “Bwahahaha!” “Might the master not take a wife?” Okiku asked probingly. “That’s sure to be refused,” said Gonji.

“Are you aware of Lord Ōkubo’s daughter from Iidamachi?” Okiku asked again. Those men who gave no thought to half-hearted women said they didn’t know any daughters from other mansions. However, since the Ōkubo house had no male children, the one to be sent as a bride would likely be the second daughter. They said the younger sister was reputed to surpass her elder sister in both beauty and grace, but they had never once laid eyes on her. “Is she truly that beautiful?” Okiku pressed in a trembling voice.

“Just rumors, I tell you.”

Those guys didn’t even deign to engage with her seriously.

IV

After seeing off his aunt as she departed, Harima too promptly went out somewhere. Gonji and Gonroku also accompanied him and went out.

The long days of late did not easily come to an end. Though she knew it was his usual habit that once he left, there was no telling when he might return, today alone, Okiku found herself unbearably anxious for her master’s return. She wanted to know her master’s true intentions regarding this marriage proposal.

From society’s perspective, her master Harima might be seen as an uncontrollable troublemaker. From his aunt’s perspective, he might be seen as a troublesome brawler fond of quarrels. Moreover, through Okiku’s eyes, he appeared—in a manner befitting a true man—straight as split bamboo, without an ounce of deceit or pretense, so splendid and noble that one might call him a samurai among samurai. Whether the man was a lord of seven hundred koku or not was a separate matter—she had never intended to erase this love that had once seeped into her soul throughout her life. She wholeheartedly believed in her master’s sincere promise. She firmly believed that the lord was not someone who would deceive her. Okiku still believes this.

Okiku still believed this. Moreover, what cast a dark shadow over the depths of her heart was the tragically cruel human code of rigid social hierarchy. In every era, this code manifested in various forms, but it was particularly severe during the Edo period when she was born. A master could torment his retainers to death without consequence. For a retainer to kill their master was unthinkable; even inflicting a mere scratch would result in the death penalty, and depending on the circumstances, they could face public display of their severed head or crucifixion. To be born into an era of such rigid class hierarchy—and for a retainer to fall in love with their master— Whether that love would be fulfilled or not depended entirely on the master’s discretion, and the retainer themselves could voice no resentment. Swear to the mountains, swear to the sea, swear to the gods and buddhas—it was no different from the hollow pledges of courtesans, and for a master to cast them aside was a trivial matter. Of course, even if the lovers were of equal status, once the man’s heart had changed, any promise would naturally be cast aside—but in a love across differing stations, no matter how cruelly and pitifully one was pushed away, the abandoned received little sympathy, and the abandoner faced no suspicion. In love too there existed hierarchy, and Okiku had long known of unfortunate women who, heavy with their master’s child, were nonetheless expelled from the mansion.

This cruel code did not exist solely between master and retainers. Even among relatives and kin, this code lay like an immovable stone.

When a father was absent, one must regard an uncle as a father—so the code decreed. When a mother was absent, one must regard an aunt as a mother—so the code decreed. Therefore, for an independent man like Aoyama Harima—who had no father, no uncle, and no mother—the aunt was the most powerful figure. When she wielded her parental authority head-on to press down upon him, repelling it was no ordinary feat. Particularly as the Shirahata Group’s code stipulated foremost emphasis on duty, Aoyama Harima—being their ally—found himself trapped in agonizing circumstances where he had to exhaustively defer to his aunt’s authority. That aunt was now demanding he take the daughter of a certain Ōkubo as his bride. Precisely because his self-assertion was strong—and considering his character, which was equally strong in duty on another front—whether he possessed the courage to defy his aunt to the very end or not, Okiku found this uncertainty gnawing at her.

Pressing this to its logical conclusion, the aunt forced her nephew into a marriage against his will. The master forced his retainers to abandon their love. No one could guarantee that such a day of tragic fate would not come looming. Okiku’s premature worries took ever deeper root.

"The lord was no such liar." She reconsidered and mocked her own narrow heart. Human laws and worldly obligations—in the end, they all hinged on a single man’s heart. If only the resolve of the man she relied on remained steadfast—then no storm need be feared. With just how he steered life’s rudder—no matter what squalls they weathered—they could surely reach that far shore. Neither master nor retainer needed dwell on it now. Aoyama Harima was a man without deceit. All she needed was to cling to his hand within her heart. She wouldn’t think of anything anymore. Acknowledging that agonizing over every doubt was her own hastiness—Okiku strove to cast aside her suspicions.

Osen had been working on altering her summer kimono, but the long daylight hours of needlework seemed to have wearied her—her eyes grown too dull to see the needle’s tip, she now sat entranced, hands idle. The seven bells (4 p.m.) of Ichigaya sounded sleepily heavy. Okiku eventually left Osen’s side and quietly rose.

Although fully aware her master was away, she found herself drawn to wander towards his sitting room. When she peeked into the room where the chief retainer was stationed, Jūtayū too was leaning against a small desk, his white-haired head tilted as if half-asleep. Okiku stepped softly past there and stood at the edge of her master’s sitting room, where even the grand cherry tree’s pale form had suddenly grown gaunt compared to yesterday. As she gazed up at it forlornly, the sunlight—now shifting westward—gradually weakened, and petals trembling in the chilly breeze that heralded dusk fell without a sound. As the cold scent of flowers seeped into Okiku’s very being, tears welled up unbidden once more.

Wiping her eyes softly, she fixed her gaze on the fluttering petals’ path—then a small flurry drifted uncertainly, swaying lightly before gathering upon the garden well curb. Beside the well curb stood a single slender willow peering into the water. Okiku slipped on her garden geta and approached the well curb. Brushing away willow threads that sought to toy with the tousled sideburns of her Shimada hairstyle using her furisode sleeves, she peered into the depths below—yet reflected in the water lay only her own shadowed face, with no trace of her mother’s cherished visage. She remembered the day before yesterday.

The lord had given two koban to her mother. Her mother had been surprised, but she too had been surprised. When I accompanied her to the gate upon her departure, Mother—seemingly harboring unease over the unexpected gift—repeatedly asked me as if pressing for confirmation whether she could truly accept it. Of course, this was an extraordinary gift for the parent of an ordinary servant. It was only natural for Mother to be suspicious. To reassure her mother, she considered whispering the not-unexpected reason, but ultimately lacking the courage to reveal the secret between her master and herself, she made a hasty excuse in her mother’s presence and parted ways. She was glad she hadn’t revealed it to her mother. She thought that carelessly revealing it might usher in a time when even Mother would be plunged into the abyss of disappointment. When she thought of that, an inescapable sadness welled up within her. However, on the other hand, the fact that he had given two koban to her mother could also be seen as evidence that Lord Harima loved her. There was no way a lord of such caliber would cruelly push me away. She gazed at her tear-dried smile reflected in the distant watery mirror.

Whether she should weep or laugh—Okiku could no longer tell. Even so, teardrops fell from her eyes for no reason at all. While clinging to the willow’s blue branch, she wanted to weep to her heart’s content upon the well curb.

“Kiku. What are you doing?” “Did you drop something from your hair?”

Startled by the sudden voice calling out to her, she turned around to find her master Harima standing on the veranda, laughing. “You have returned, my lord? I had no idea you had returned…” Okiku wiped her eyes with her sleeve while hastily bowing.

Harima beckoned without a word. Summoned, Okiku returned to the veranda, but as if fearing her tear-streaked face would be noticed, she revealed her white collar and gazed down at the petals scattered at her feet.

“Kiku.” “You were crying.” “Why do you cry?” “Did you quarrel with your peers?” “Did Jūtayū rebuke you?”

Okiku remained silent as if embarrassed.

“Don’t hide it. Explain yourself. Or perhaps you’re planning to throw yourself into the well?” Harima laughed again.

Where had he been drinking? The young samurai’s lustrous white cheeks were faintly flushed.

“I have not been crying,” Okiku answered softly.

“Then show me your face. Haha, you refuse to show me,” Harima mocked again. “If you don’t speak honestly, I’ll have you dismissed!” Startled, Okiku raised her face. “I’ll have you dismissed”—she could no longer dismiss those words as a jest. Resentment and jealousy she could no longer suppress swirled like a whirlwind within her breast and surged forth. Harima gazed suspiciously at her unusually intense gaze, but soon burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Haha, ‘I’ll have you dismissed’… That was mere jest.” “Don’t be angry.” “Or is there another reason?” “If you refuse to explain yourself, then I too may be compelled to toy with you.” “If you’re angered to this extent, then state your grievance plainly.”

When Okiku thought of what unsightly appearance she had shown the man, her shame turned into sudden sorrow. She buried her face in her furisode sleeves and wept prostrate on the veranda.

“Well now, you crybaby.” “Can such a coward become the wife of a Shirahata Group samurai?”

Seizing the moment, Okiku asked through her tears. “A samurai’s wife… Can this Kiku become a samurai’s wife?”

“It goes without saying. Aoyama Harima is a samurai of some standing, is he not? If I were to take a wife…”

“But… the Aunt in Koishikawa…” “Oh.” “Do you know?” Harima said nonchalantly. “Even my detested aunt cannot forcibly impose this matter.” “So that’s why you were crying?” “Haha, how foolish.”

Harima laughed loudly in an unclouded voice. Having been dismissed so lightly, Okiku too seemed to lose some of her resolve. Fluttering her tear-swollen eyes, she glanced up furtively at him, and the face of the man—his drunkenness gradually fading—appeared to shine with a radiant light. “Do not doubt Harima.” The master took his lady’s maid’s hand.

Five

About ten more days passed, and Harima was summoned to the Shibukawa mansion. That must be pressing him for an answer about the marriage proposal, Okiku thought. She anxiously tried to read her master’s expression when he returned from Koishikawa, but with eyes clouded by youth and further dimmed by love, she could not possibly discern any secrets from her man’s face. Yet the thought of being seen as a jealous, lowborn woman pained her too deeply to confront him bluntly with persistent questions.

"Do not doubt Harima"—clinging to these words as her staff, Okiku spent her days in torment until storms had ravaged the garden’s cherry blossoms and departing spring vanished behind fresh green leaves. When May arrived with cuckoos’ cries and lighter garments graced the skin, Okiku’s heart remained heavy as stone.

After the month changed, Harima was summoned again to the Shibukawa mansion. "What could be the purpose of these frequent summonses to the Koishikawa mansion?" When Okiku casually inquired with Jūtayū, even the indifferent chief retainer tilted his head in thought.

“I don’t know,” “The usual reprimand from Her Ladyship, or perhaps a consultation about taking a wife?” “It must be something like that.” “Shall I summon Her Ladyship?” “Lord Harima is already twenty-five—one cannot say such matters won’t arise.” “Did Lord Harima himself speak those words directly?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything.”

Whether chief retainers, young retainers, or servants—none in this mansion had ever considered matters concerning women an issue from the very beginning. Whether the lady came or not, they remained composed, acting as though it didn’t matter, so Okiku could not probe into how this matter would unfold no matter whom she approached. She was alone, fretting. That the household was filled with people so indifferent to matters of romance had been convenient for concealing the secret between her master and herself. Yet precisely because she had succeeded in keeping that secret hidden until now, Okiku found herself unable to secure any allies in this situation. Even Osen, another woman, proved no confidant.

On the seventh-night celebration of the Buddha’s birth—tomorrow—eight or nine prominent members of the Shirahata Group were to gather at the Aoyama mansion. There was nothing unusual about it. Just as last year, members of the same group gathered to hold an intimate drinking party. Mizuno Jūrōzaemon, their leader, had naturally said he would attend as well. “The gathering is scheduled to begin at the Hour of the Rooster. Do not neglect the preparations. And have the Goryeo plates set out as well.”

Having given orders to his retainers, Harima went out somewhere around noon.

Today was a busy day for the women. Jūtayū and the young retainers all pitched in as well, with the men tucking up the hems of their hakama trousers and setting about preparing the sake and dishes. “Well, that settles the main preparations,” said Jūtayū, wiping sweat from his balding forehead.

“Though it’s still early, let’s retrieve that important item now.” “Okiku and Osen, come along as well.”

The two women followed the chief retainer and went to the inner storehouse. The old storehouse was much like a storage shed, holding scarcely anything of value, yet within it lay the single most precious item belonging to the Aoyama household. It was a rare set of Goryeo ware plates, ten in total. Why a samurai household cherished such vessels was not clearly understood, but as their rarity made them increasingly prized, a terrifying legend had emerged over generations: should all these plates be shattered, the house would perish. Therefore, in the Aoyama household, these plates were regarded as treasures. The servants were strictly instructed that should they ever shatter even a single one by mistake, they would lose their lives—a warning that had become the family’s ancestral rule.

Since carelessly retrieving such a troublesome treasure was dangerous, it had rarely been used since Harima’s time; yet somehow Mizuno had learned of it and spoke to his lord Harima about tonight’s gathering. “I hear your esteemed house possesses a set of rare Goryeo plates.” “I would very much like to see them tomorrow night.” “Understood.”

Harima readily agreed and ordered Jūtayū to add his ten Goryeo plates to the vessels for serving that night’s dishes. Both Okiku and Osen had handled those plates when taken from their boxes during airing, but tonight was the first time they were to be served on a dining tray. They had long known about the dreadful legend surrounding those plates and the strict rules associated with them. “Needless to say, these are indeed precious items. And above all, do not be careless in the slightest.”

Even now, having been reminded once again by Jūtayū, the two women were frightened anew. They, layering caution upon caution, reverently carried out the boxed plates from the depths of the storehouse. Then Jūtayū opened the box’s lid and meticulously inspected the ten white plates.

“Good, good. Though I may sound repetitive, handle them with utmost care. Not only would breaking even a single one be disastrous—even scratching it would lead to grave consequences!”

This was truly critical. It was a matter of life and death. When they thought of that, both Okiku and Osen were terrified to the point of their hair standing on end. The two of them received the plates with trembling hands and decided to carefully store them back in their original box until it was time to finally carry them out to the hall.

“It’s already past seven.” “Lord Harima will likely return soon.” “Eager guests may start arriving before long.” “Okiku, go to the back and make sure the rooms are properly tidied—do a thorough check just to be certain.”

Instructed by Jūtayū, Okiku immediately went to the inner hall. Under a thinly overcast sky, the young leaves in the neglected garden had lately thickened into verdant shadows, darkening the veranda of the study where two ten-mat rooms stood open. In the dim alcove of that space hung the kerria she had arranged that morning, its yellow blossoms spilling over in heavy clusters. She made slight adjustments to the branches’ posture and studied anew the hanging scroll of Three Shrines’ Oracles displayed at the center. Having confirmed no visible dust lingered in any corner of the hall, she stepped onto the veranda and neatly aligned three pairs of garden geta upon the stepping stones.

Everything was in order. The standing lantern’s light should be lit after dusk.

Muttering to herself, she stood entranced on the veranda. The muffled sound of a koto from the neighboring mansion drifted softly through the young leaves, and she half-listened. Okiku knew the owner of the koto. She was the eldest daughter of the neighboring mansion, taken in marriage four or five years prior to a family of such high status that their social standing stood incomparably mismatched—all due to her beauty. At first, their marital harmony had been so enviably close it drew admiration, but as time passed, the husband’s affection gradually cooled, and true to the proverb that “unequal matches breed unhappiness,” the bride was sent back to her family home. And so she consoled the sorrows of her lonely existence as a cast-off wife through the melodies of her koto. Whether real or imagined, those plucked notes trembled so mournfully they seemed to wring tears from one’s eyes. Each time Okiku heard those muffled tones, she was moved to tears by the sorrow of a woman cruelly cast aside by a man—and now those tears welled up once more. This was what it meant to have one’s heart wrenched by another’s sorrow. To Okiku now, especially, the koto player’s plight seemed painfully vivid. That melancholy koto ballad seemed not only to sing of the player’s sorrow but also to awaken the listener’s own hidden grief.

Okiku leaned against the veranda pillar, utterly absorbed in the song and its melody as if drawn into them, while the overcast early summer sky gradually dimmed into dusk, and the shadows of the willow by the well grew darker. She suddenly thought of something. Though she deemed it unthinkable, now seemed the opportune moment to truly discern the character of the man who must not be doubted. That was the Goryeo ware plate. They were the ten plates that were the treasure of the Aoyama household. Okiku conceived the idea of shattering one of them to gauge the depth of Harima’s affection. When she prostrated herself before her master and said she had damaged the precious plate through careless haste—what would Harima say? What would he do to her? If he truly loved her, then even if she damaged the family treasure, he should not punish her severely.

Feigning carelessness, she would smash one of those plates and test whether Lord Harima truly valued Okiku or the treasure.

Having conceived this idea, even she hesitated once more. She feared the ominous legend that when all those plates were shattered, the Aoyama house would fall. Yet if merely one plate were damaged, there would surely be no curse or calamity upon the household. The matter could be settled by having whoever damaged it receive the master’s punishment. In this situation, she could not afford to fear death from the outset. If he were a master who would mercilessly execute her for marring a single plate, then it was clear beyond doubt he held no deep affection for her. Should his heart lean thus, this marriage proposal would indeed come to pass, and she would inevitably be cast aside. Could she continue living if discarded by Harima? Okiku turned her gaze toward the well curb where dark willows swayed.

If he held no love for her, she could not continue living regardless of what path she took. If the man truly loved her, then even having damaged the treasure would surely allow her survival. Okiku resolved to gamble her life on discerning the man’s true nature. Though she thought it wasteful to destroy even a single precious heirloom so recklessly, she could no longer afford such fears.

The sound of the koto from next door still continued. Okiku, like one possessed by a demon, suddenly grew bold-hearted and returned to the kitchen, but neither Jūtayū nor the young retainers were there anymore. Osen was drawing water from the back well.

Six

“What?!” When Jūtayū, having heard Okiku’s frantic scream, arrived at the kitchen, one of the Goryeo plates lay shattered. Even Jūtayū, who was never one to fuss over things, turned pale and panicked. Okiku said she had dropped the precious plate out of carelessness.

“Even after I warned you so sternly earlier—to commit such carelessness! This won’t end with you alone. Even I might face unimaginable punishment.” “Withdraw to your room at once and remain there quietly.” Okiku was confined to her quarters. Having steeled herself from the beginning, she waited without a shred of remorse—and before the sixth evening bell could toll, Harima returned home. “My lord—an unthinkable calamity has occurred.”

When he saw his lord’s face, Jūtayū immediately pleaded.

“An unforeseen calamity…” “This panic ill becomes you, Jūtayū. What has you so flustered?” Harima laughed.

“No—I cannot maintain composure.” “My lord.” “One of our precious plates has been damaged.”

Harima’s complexion turned grim. “What? The precious plate was damaged…” “That maid Okiku—through her blunder—smashed it clean in two.”

“Call Okiku.” Summoned, Okiku went to the inner quarters. She held the broken plate wrapped in a wrapping cloth. Her face, illuminated by the lanterns the young retainers had brought out, was indeed pale.

Harima asked quietly. "Okiku." "It was you who broke the Goryeo plate, was it not?"

Okiku composedly declared it had indeed been her own carelessness. She stated that since damaging the family treasure resulted from her grave incompetence, she would harbor no resentment whatsoever against whatever punishment might be meted out.

“First comes penitent resolve,” Harima nodded. “Though this plate is indeed a treasured heirloom passed down through generations of the Aoyama family, if it was mere carelessness, I cannot impose harsh punishment.” “You must exercise utmost caution henceforth.” That she must show caution hereafter went without saying. The reproach for damaging the precious treasure ended with only this. Okiku’s tension dissolved all at once, and she collapsed forward onto the veranda edge, bracing her hands against it. As even Jūtayū stood dumbstruck by his lord’s excessively lenient judgment, Harima spoke quietly once more.

“Tonight’s guests number seven besides Lord Mizuno as guest of honor—with myself included as host, that makes nine people exactly. “Even missing one plate poses no inconvenience.” “Regardless of our guests’ arrangements,” Jūtayū said, pressing his forehead to the tatami’s edge, “for Okiku’s crime of breaking one plate from our hard-won set of ten treasured heirlooms—I too must humbly beg your forgiveness.” Harima’s stern expression gradually thawed. He kept staring at Okiku’s faintly trembling form—still prostrated on the veranda—fixated on the undulating black hair at her temples cast in lamplight shadows; then at length turned back to Jūtayū with a thin smile.

“No, no—do not trouble yourself.” “Even if they are called family heirlooms, they’re not like arms or horse gear—in the end, they’re just plates and bowls.” “I do not find them so regrettable.” “However, if the old-fashioned relatives were to hear of it, it would be troublesome.” “Ensure that publicly, it remains known that all ten plates are accounted for.” “Do I make myself clear?” “Profoundly grateful for your gracious will; I have taken thorough note of every particular.” “Okiku, offer your thanks properly once more.” Okiku silently bowed her head. Her chest was filled to the brim, and she could no longer say anything. Tears of emotion overflowed without restraint. Rather than taking pride in her scheme’s splendid success, she was profoundly moved by the man’s sincere heart. The sin of having resolved to test the man’s heart—so beautiful—now struck her as terrifyingly hollow.

“The esteemed guests will arrive shortly. Jūtayū, make preparations to receive them at the entrance,” Harima said, sending the chief retainer off to the front.

The broken plate and the young woman who shattered it remained behind. “I have shown terrible carelessness and can offer no excuse whatsoever,” said Okiku, speaking for the first time. The low trembling of her voice Harima interpreted entirely as remorse for her carelessness, so he comforted her with pitying words. “Enough—no need to prattle on. “Once you’ve apologized, that suffices. “To speak truthfully—by our house’s code, any retainer who carelessly shatters a family heirloom would face execution by sword. But do you think I would have you executed? “Sink the shattered plate to the bottom of that well where none may lay eyes upon it.”

“Yes.” While wiping tears that kept welling up, Okiku took the chipped plate and descended to the garden. Her long sleeves brushed against willow branches as one of the family’s treasures sank to the water’s depths. “To tell truth—when I encountered Lord Mizuno earlier—he inquired if Okiku the lady’s maid still served without incident.”

“Is that so, my lord?” “Lord Mizuno holds you in particular favor. “Attend carefully to your duties again tonight,” Harima said with an amiable smile. Seeing his cheerful countenance—as beautiful as ever, unshadowed by care—Okiku felt such piercing joy it verged on sorrow. That he should offer gentle words rather than harsh rebuke toward her who had damaged the family treasure through mere carelessness... The man’s heart lay too plainly revealed, and Okiku almost thought it a sacrilege. Her sin of destroying the heirloom through groundless doubts grew ever more bitter. With relief and remorse tangled as one, she quietly wiped her eyes again.

The sound of hurried footsteps along the veranda could be heard, and Jūtayū appeared here once more. That was not news of arriving guests. He glared and appealed vehemently to his master once more.

“My lord, Okiku here is an utterly outrageous wretch.”

The secret was instantly exposed. Okiku’s damaging of the plate was no accident. She struck it against a kitchen pillar and deliberately shattered it herself. It was that the kitchen maid Osen had indeed witnessed it from a distance near the well. “If it had been mere carelessness, that would have been one thing—but to deliberately shatter a treasured heirloom is unconscionable. Even should my lord grant forgiveness, I cannot consent.” “That Okiku wench must be interrogated without fail!” Jūtayū raised his voice sharply and insisted vehemently.

Harima found this unexpected as well. He couldn't believe that anyone in the mansion—let alone Okiku—would commit such an act of violence. Doubting his own ears, he nevertheless questioned Okiku to be certain. “Well, Okiku,” he said. “Jūtayū makes such claims, but surely it can’t be as he says. Give me a clear explanation.” To deceive him further was something Okiku couldn’t bear. The only witness was Osen alone. Even if that maid accused her, it would remain a pointless quarrel as long as she kept insisting it had been an accident. Moreover, since Lord Harima was on her side, she knew victory was certain if she stubbornly held her ground. Yet she lacked the courage to repeat that lie again. While fully recognizing his sincerity, she felt repaying it with deceit would be too grave a sin. She confessed honestly.

“In truth，just as Lord Chief Retainer said，it was due to my own misunderstanding that I deliberately shattered the plate.” Harima was shocked as if he had been made to grasp a branding iron. That an unprincipled person who would deliberately damage the ancestral treasure of his house had been lurking within his own mansion—he had never even dreamed of such a thing．Yet here one had been discovered right within his own household． Rather than getting angry，he was simply astonished and suspicious． “Okiku! You show no signs of madness． “There must be some reason behind this．” “I will conduct the interrogation myself．” “You will withdraw for now．”

Jūtayū was dismissed once more. The broken plate had already sunk to the bottom of the well. This time, it was a confrontation between the woman who had broken the plate and her master. Even so, Harima conducted the inquiry gently. “Now, Okiku. What did you think you were doing, deliberately breaking the treasured plate? By house law, breaking that plate warrants execution by sword. Knowing that full well, there must be a reason you deliberately shattered it with your own hands. Speak plainly.” “What more could I possibly conceal now? From my baseless doubts…”

“Doubt… What doubt?” “I doubted your heart…”

Having begun to speak, Okiku trembled as if struck anew by the gravity of her words. Harima fixed his gaze and listened. “As I mentioned before—through your aunt’s mediation in Koishikawa—it seems a lady from the Iidamachi mansion will soon enter your household by palanquin.” “Day and night, that thought alone lodged in my chest...” “With all due respect... I sought to test your true feelings, my lord...” “I see.” “So you thought this Harima saw you as nothing but a fleeting flower?” “But do you think my heart is one that would abandon you forever?” “To uncover that true heart, you deliberately shattered the family treasure—to see whether the treasure mattered more or I did—to confirm Harima’s true nature... Is that it?” “Okiku—is that precisely how it was?”

“Yes.” “Is that indeed so?” Harima pressed. “Yes.” Before her second reply could finish, Okiku was already pinned down on the wooden veranda, Harima’s hand gripping her nape hair with crushing force. “You! To test my heart through such extremes—if anything makes you detestable, it’s this!” The man’s spirit seemed seared by rage; he cursed, voice and body quaking. Aoyama Harima—hatamoto of the realm—had sworn in his heart that love knew no divide between lord and servant, that across all Japan’s blossoms, only this single chrysanthemum in his household mattered. I am a Mikawa samurai—unyielding in principle. Once resolved, I never once tread to Yoshiwara—not even when dealing with Shirahata matters. Never accepted a woman’s cup at bathhouses. Do you think such ironclad duty could be forged through lies? Yet despite all this being plain—what lack drove her to doubt this Harima?—he howled with near-maddened fury, dragging the frail woman about as he mercilessly tormented her. Her pale cheek ground against the veranda’s edge.

Because guests were expected that evening, Okiku wore a new ceremonial robe—a long-sleeved kimono dyed with chrysanthemum blossoms inspired by her namesake, their white and yellow petals blooming across pale purple silk. But under the man’s crushing grip, sleeves and cuffs crumpled like paper, delicate flowers shredding beneath his violence. Her body twisted with the fabric’s ruin, freshly coiled hair unraveling from its roots until strands matted against tear-streaked cheeks. Through labored breaths between sobs, she whispered apologies to him.

“That doubt has now been dispelled.” “I beg you to forgive me.”

Even though the woman’s doubts had been dispelled, the man who had been doubted found no relief from his bitter resentment. No matter what his aunt in Koishikawa might say—how could she have heard that oath where he had sworn so vehemently never to take another wife? “What deficiency made you test this Harima? What evidence led you to doubt this Harima?” he accused her, tears of frustration gushing forth. No matter how he considered it, the bitterness remained. That his unclouded heart had been doubted by her—merely thinking of it made him writhe with such resentment that his body convulsed.

Okiku too apologized while choking on tears. That my lord’s heart held no shadow was something I had always known. Even knowing this full well, that my fragile heart had still doubted him was an inexcusable error. In a voice choked with anguish, she pleaded with the man, "Please forgive me!" Even so, Harima could not bring himself to forgive. He had been doubted by the woman, tested even through the shattering of the heirloom treasure—to uphold his honor as a man, he absolutely could not endure without killing her. With tear-filled eyes glaring, he delivered his final verdict to the woman.

“No matter how you apologize now, the sin of having once doubted an innocent person will never vanish in this lifetime.” “Now, steel yourself and face your fate!”

Pushing Okiku aside there, Harima went to retrieve the sword from its rack.

The sound of the koto next door could no longer be heard.

7

It was an undeniable fact that Okiku had intentionally broken the plate. Osen had not lied. Because of her loose lips, she had let it slip to Jūtayū; but later, even Osen came to regret this. If, because I had carelessly blurted out those reckless words, something like Okiku facing execution by sword were to happen, it would be disastrous. Okiku’s grudge was terrifying. She could no longer remain composed and slipped away to stealthily check on the inner chambers. There, Okiku was being brutally beaten by her master, weeping pitifully—and seeing this, Osen could endure it no longer.

She went to Jūtayū to plead for Okiku’s mercy, but as Jūtayū seemed to hold little sympathy for Okiku regarding the matter, Osen grew increasingly frantic and turned next to those retainers—Gonji and Gonroku.

Okiku’s crime was grave. No matter what punishment she faced, it couldn’t be helped. However, in those men’s eyes, she was merely a woman. Preparing boneless jellyfish or soft tofu wouldn’t give any sense of resistance. If by chance it indeed came to execution by sword, they—having promised to somehow offer apologies on her behalf—circled around to the garden entrance and peered in stealthily, whereupon the master finally emerged bearing his sword. Seeing there was no more time to delay, the two men rushed out and prostrated themselves before the stepping stones. They pleaded in unison for Okiku’s life, but Harima paid no heed.

Amidst their pleas, Gonji let slip words to the effect that even if it were a priceless heirloom, attempting to exchange a human life for a single plate constituted inhumane reasoning. “The bitterness Harima feels today lies beyond your comprehension.” “However precious the treasure may be, I would never barter a human life for one plate.” “If you imagine I’m executing Kiku out of plate-regret, you gravely misapprehend my intent.” “Summon Jūtayū.”

Harima called Jūtayū and had him bring four or five more plates. Then he struck those plates against his sword’s guard and smashed them all to dust. To his retainers, who stared in disbelief, the master explained: “That Harima does not value the plates—by this, you lot should now understand.” “There are other reasons for executing Kiku—things you lot know nothing about.” “But Kiku must have been prepared.” “Come out to the garden without hesitation.”

“Yes.” Okiku descended into the garden without hesitation. She was fully aware of her grave sin of having doubted the sincerity of the blameless man. She thought it only natural he would not forgive that. At the same time, having experienced a once-in-a-lifetime love as a woman and having confirmed beyond doubt there had been no deceit in that man, she believed even death would bring contentment. She tidied her disheveled appearance and knelt quietly upon the earth. A cold wind passing through young leaves rustled her loosened tresses and made the lamplight in the room flicker. Okiku showed her white nape in the lamplight, bowed her head, and pressed her hands together.

Harima took his sword and descended into the dimly lit garden. Jūtayū and the retainers could do nothing but watch in silence. Even they, accustomed to the scent of blood, could not bear to witness the young woman’s lamentable death and had slightly averted their eyes when at last the sword’s strike suddenly resounded. Next came the master’s voice.

“Dispose of the woman’s corpse.”

When the three raised their eyes, Okiku had been cut diagonally from her right shoulder down to her back and lay sprawled on the cold earth. Harima ordered them to sink her corpse to the bottom of the well shaft. Gonji and Gonroku lifted Okiku’s corpse and quietly lowered it into the well, where the sound of water engulfing the woman echoed as if trapped in the dark depths. Harima ordered them to light the standing lantern. Before long, the lantern grew bright and cast a pale light over the willow-shaded edge of the well, whereupon Harima quietly approached and peered into the depths of the well shaft. He ordered Jūtayū to have all the several plates he had smashed thrown into the well. Both the Aoyama family’s generations-old treasures and Harima’s lifelong love were buried together in the deep depths of this well.

The six o’clock evening bell tolled.

“Why is the esteemed guest late?”

Harima returned to the drawing room and furrowed his brows. Jūtayū, also feeling uneasy, went out to check up to the gate, where the gatekeeper Yojibē whispered to him. Though he hadn't witnessed it himself, there were rumors circulating of clashes between the Shirahata Group and the Town Chivalrous in the area. It was said that perhaps this might be Lord Mizuno's group. Unable to dismiss the matter, Jūtayū immediately turned back to the inner quarters to report to his master, whereupon Harima stood up halfway through listening.

“Good.” “Harima will rush over right away and chase off that detestable scum!”

He hitched his hakama high at the thighs. When he took down the spear hanging on the horizontal beam, its black scabbard was instantly flung away, and the ice-like long blade gleamed coldly in the lamplight. Tucking it into his obi, Harima rushed out through the front entrance with large strides, and the two retainers rolled up their sleeves and followed their master.

Harima, who had been resolved to rampage unrestrainedly and skewer five or three people on his spear before he could be satisfied, was abruptly disappointed. He exited the mansion gate and, before he had run even one chō, encountered Mizuno’s group approaching from ahead.

“What about the clash…?” Harima hurriedly asked.

“No, nothing at all,” answered Mizuno, who led the group, laughing. “There hasn’t been a single clash today. “Not even hell’s starving demons could scrounge up a scrap outside permitted hours.” “Ha ha ha ha.” As he pressed further, it became clear this involved not their group but some samurai who had detained a townsman over a minor slight—a rumor blown out of proportion—leaving Harima all the more disappointed. Now making a servant shoulder the cumbersome long spear while escorting Mizuno back to the mansion, an unfathomable loneliness swarmed and pressed against his chest.

Besides Mizuno, seven guests were shown to the drawing room. A lively banquet was held. Noticing Okiku’s absence at the banquet, Mizuno asked the master. “My favored lady’s maid is nowhere to be seen.”

“The lady’s maid… that Kiku—I have executed her by sword,” Harima said in a slightly somber voice.

“Execution by sword….” “A cruel punishment,” Mizuno said, his straight eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What wrong did she commit?” Upon being informed of how the Kōrai plate had been shattered, Mizuno’s expression grew even darker. “Because I said I wanted to see that plate, you killed a woman?” “Killing her is of no consequence. “Those who have sinned are killed—that is humanity’s law.” Harima suddenly let out a loud laugh. He had someone bring out the remaining three or four plates he had smashed and showed them to Mizuno.

Mizuno also praised. The others also praised. No matter how much he was praised, Harima felt nothing. He simply drank sake recklessly and occasionally laughed loudly.

“I met your aunt at a certain place the other day,” said Mizuno. “She seemed troubled by your brawling habits and made a pointed show of asking me to counsel you.” “Ha ha ha ha.” “That aunt of yours is quite the schemer.” “When I saw I couldn’t best her in verbal sparring, I withdrew from the field in silence.” “Ha ha, what of my aunt…” Harima sneered with a ghastly grin. “Even if she serves up disownment as her second course, that old trick won’t sway me now.” “What path remains for a lone man like me to tread?” “Rampaging through the eight hundred and eight neighborhoods, turning quarrels into my daily trade….” “Harima knows no other work than this.”

“You’re a tough one,” Mizuno laughed.

Eight After the guests had left, Harima smashed all the remaining Kōrai plates and threw them into the depths of the same well. When these plates were all damaged, the household would perish—he had never given such a thing any thought.

From then on, his temperament grew increasingly violent. Having lost both love and treasure, he now had no path left but to survive through the trade of violence. Already prone to quarrels, he now roamed Edo like a tiger that had tasted blood, rampaging through the city. Even within the Shirahata Group—a gathering of brawlers—his actions stood out conspicuously. At times, he made even Mizuno, their leader, click his tongue in amazement. He had of course spurned the marriage proposal from Iidamachi. Of course, he had also been disowned by his Shibukawa aunt. With two demonic retainers as his wings, he went about provoking fights wherever he traveled.

In this manner, over the course of five full years, his house fell into ruin like an abandoned mansion.

There was a reason for that. The rumor that he had executed the lady’s maid by sword and sunk her into the well’s depths spread from person to person, until his mansion came to be proclaimed a place harboring supernatural phenomena. On rainy dark nights, it was said that blue ghostly flames burned atop the well’s stone curb. It was also said that a young lady’s maid wearing a long-sleeved kimono patterned with chrysanthemums would count plates in a sorrowful voice.

The kitchen maid Osen hastily took her leave and fled back to her hometown.

Banchō’s Dish Mansion—the eerie name of this estate terrified the women’s very souls, and not a soul came to serve at this mansion. The young retainer Tetsunojō claimed he had seen the ghostly figure, so even a stalwart young man like him was chilled to the bone with terror, fell ill, and ultimately fled the mansion. The other Yahachirō died in a fight. Yojibē, the gatekeeper, also took his leave out of fear of the ghost. Thus, as the male and female retainers gradually dwindled in number, the dark mansion grew ever more desolate. With no one left to properly clean, both the rooms and garden were left to decay, abandoned to their wild state, until the mansion took on the appearance of a ruin truly worthy of being called a haunted mansion. The seven-hundred-koku samurai mansion appeared sunken beneath a wilderness of overgrown grass.

Master Harima paid no heed to rumors of monsters or such things. When Tetsunojō claimed to have seen a phantom shadow, he rebuked that cowardice outright. While he could not say he did not feel regret over Yahachirō’s death, what dealt him an even stronger blow was losing that Gonroku. Gonroku also died in a fight. In September of Kanbun 3, when he encountered an ambush by Karainu Gonbei and others at Nihon-zutsumi, he fought fiercely as the rear guard, was cut to pieces like shredded vegetables, and died.

This fight marked the beginning of the Shirahata Group’s decline. It originated when Mizuno Jūrōzaemon had lured Banzuiin Chōbei to the Koishikawa Hakusan mansion and ambushed him in the bathhouse. Chōbei’s subordinates, with Karainu Gonbei and Hanaregoma Shirōbei at their head, had been secretly awaiting an opportunity for revenge. And so, lying in wait at Nihon-zutsumi as Mizuno’s group returned from sightseeing in Yoshiwara, they suddenly surrounded them. At that time, only Mizuno was riding a horse. Harima was also there. There were also twelve or thirteen samurai. Five or six servants were accompanying them. However, the enemy Town Chivalrous Commoners numbered fifty or sixty, and since the Shirahata Group had been ambushed unexpectedly, even they found themselves in a fierce struggle. Moreover, since they were drunk on brothel wine, some were unable to fight freely. Of course, the Town Chivalrous Commoners had sustained no small number of wounded, but among the Shirahata Group as well, nearly half their number were found wounded. Mizuno ordered them to withdraw quickly so that the wounded would not be captured alive by the enemy—a disgrace to samurai.

The samurai who remained behind numbered no more than seven or eight, yet they fought desperately. Mizuno ground his teeth in fury at the thought that showing their backs to townspeople would bring lifelong disgrace, yet try as he might, he could not reverse their crumbling momentum. He feared being captured alive, spurred his horse, and fled. Harima, who had held out until the end, finally fled. It was at this time that Gonroku met his end in battle. Gonji fortunately survived, but due to a severe wound in his left leg, he ultimately became lame.

The two wings he had relied on—one was dead. One was crippled. Harima felt as though his own shadow had suddenly grown thin. Already a mansion devoid of people saw its numbers dwindle further until only three remained—the master, the chief retainer, and a servant—left in desolate solitude. Jūtayū had gradually aged and weakened. Gonji could no longer walk properly. The dilapidated house decayed and tilted, and the vast garden transformed into a den for foxes and raccoon dogs.

At last, the time came for the Shirahata Group to meet its end. The rumor that hatamoto had been attacked by the Town Chivalrous at Nihon-zutsumi and mercilessly routed spread throughout Edo, so even the shogunate could no longer turn a blind eye. The Shirahata Group’s recent acts of violence had become too much for the higher officials’ eyes to overlook, and just as various discussions were underway about how to deal with them, this very incident occurred. The higher-ups too now showed no mercy. In March of the following year, Kanbun 4 (1664), Mizuno Jūrōzaemon was ordered to commit ritual suicide on grounds of improper conduct. He met his death in an ordinary manner at his own mansion.

“The Shirahata Group is finished.”

This was a sigh of lamentation expelled all at once from his allies’ mouths. Harima felt that sorrow most acutely. The Shirahata Group, having lost its head, could no longer prosper as before. Moreover, it was clear that pressure from above would grow so intense they could no longer act freely. Mizuno’s destruction had been a warning directed at them. Chastened by this severe punishment, the Shirahata Group had no choice but to vanish naturally. Even if it did not come to ritual suicide, they too might soon face some penalty. He had to at least prepare for house arrest. House arrest itself was temporary and not unduly fearsome—yet through these tangible and intangible pressures, the Shirahata Group would meet its end. That fate felt bitterly sorrowful to Harima.

It was not, of course, he alone who grieved over the Shirahata Group’s downfall. However, while the others could leave the Shirahata Group and still live honorably, for Harima, abandoning the group and giving up his trade of violence meant there was no path left for him to survive. He who had healed the heartache of lost love through nightly brawls—how would he now calm that pain? The thought filled him with desolation. He was sad. He even considered that it might have been kinder had he faced the same punishment as Mizuno. He bitterly resented being kept alive half-heartedly.

The funeral of Mizuno, who had committed ritual suicide on the 27th, was held in the evening of the 29th at Mitadera Temple. Though conducted modestly to avoid offending the authorities, there were still many who discreetly came to pay their respects. Harima also pulled his hat low over his face and accompanied [the procession] to the temple. By the time he returned to the Banchō mansion, a fine rain had begun to patter softly on the brim of his hat.

“Lady Shibukawa has been waiting most anxiously,” said Shibata Jūtayū, coming out to the entrance to address his master.

Wondering why his aunt who had long been out of contact had suddenly come visiting tonight, Harima handed his wet sedge hat to Jūtayū and proceeded inward, where his aunt Mayumi was seated under dim lamplight. Perhaps owing to living with an indomitable spirit, Mayumi appeared as hale as she had in days of old.

“It has been quite some time since we last met.” “How swiftly time passes—it has been nearly five years now,” said Mayumi, gazing at her nephew’s face with apparent fondness. “You must have endured great hardships—your face has grown so haggard I scarcely recognize it.” “Or could it simply be exhaustion?”

For Harima in his current state, being addressed with such half-hearted kindness was unbearable. He placed his hands on the torn tatami and apologized for his long silence.

“Though I have long wished to inquire after your well-being, Aunt, as well as that of Iorisuke and his wife, given my disowned status, the threshold to approach naturally grew too high…” “Of course,” “It is not permissible for one who has been disowned to draw near the mansion.” “We need not speak of mutual neglect.” “The reason this aunt came uninvited tonight is none other than—” Mayumi began, then glanced around. “The mansion’s interior has become terribly dilapidated.” “Indeed—this truly is a haunted mansion. The rumors hold true.” “Even reduced as you are—to let a seven-hundred-koku estate fall into such disrepair…” “No—the mansion’s decay can be rebuilt.” “But a heart grown desolate cannot be so easily mended.” “Well then—you might think this aunt has come to scold you again—but tonight I shall say nothing more.” “Out of the bond between aunt and nephew, there is but one thing I wish to say—” “Now, Harima.” “What do you make of Lord Mizuno’s recent ritual suicide?” “Even a man of such fierce temperament must have valued his life dearly.”

At the derisive tone, Harima grew slightly agitated.

“What? To say he clung to life…” “Is it not precisely because he valued his life that he fled from Nihon Embankment?” “No—if he had merely fled that place, an excuse might still hold water.” “If he had been cut down there on the spot, even the thought of his helmeted head being trampled by townspeople would have been unbearable…” “Well, you fled together with him for the same reason, I suppose.” “But now, as for what came after—” “I cannot fathom Lord Mizuno’s heart—chased by townspeople, his comrades wounded, his retainers slain, suffering utter disgrace yet shamelessly clinging to life.” “He should have committed ritual suicide immediately upon returning to the mansion…” “Is that not what a true samurai would do?” “He clung to life until now, only to be ordered from above to commit ritual suicide in the end, forced against his will to have his life taken.” “That’s truly a wretched end.”

When told this, Harima, too, was cornered. Mizuno was no coward who clung to life. I am no different. Moreover, my aunt’s reasoning was, in a way, valid. Resolved that he too must bear the name of cowardice in silence, he kept his head bowed when his aunt began admonishing him earnestly once more. “Lord Mizuno is an exception, but what weighs on this aunt’s heart is the situation of her nephew, my lord.” “Even if I have disowned you, my nephew remains dear.” “Regardless of what has happened until now, discernment to avoid piling further shame upon yourself is crucial—that is why I have come to lend my wisdom.” “Now that Lord Mizuno, whom we relied upon as the leader of the Shirahata Group, has perished, you cannot hope to remain undisturbed.” “Before any official censure befalls you, commit seppuku splendidly.”

Harima remained silent and listened. The rain still had not let up.

After his aunt had left, Harima began preparing for his ritual suicide. The hour had likely already passed five (8 PM). The late-blooming cherry blossoms in the garden, battered by the rain and scattering restlessly, appeared faintly white in the lamplight spilling from the sitting room. Harima set down his brush and gazed at them. He was writing a suicide note addressed to his superior. Lest he be seen as a madman for silently destroying himself, he wrote in detail the particulars of why he must die.

Having finished writing, he looked at the dark garden. The wet willow, like a woman with long hanging hair, draped low over the well’s edge, its pale shadow trembling. As Harima stared fixedly at it, a pallid flame flared up from the well and vanished at once. The rain grew heavier, and as the willow’s shadow seemed to sway wildly, the pale flame flared again. He kept his gaze locked there.

As a blue flame that looked chillingly cold flickered faintly, the figure of a young woman appeared like a phantom. A woman with stray hairs from her disheveled Shimada updo cascading over her pale face, wearing a chrysanthemum-patterned long-sleeved kimono—Harima immediately knew this was Okiku. Tonight, for the first time, he beheld the ghost of Dish Mansion as told throughout the world.

“Kiku,” he called out as he stepped onto the veranda. The will-o’-the-wisp vanished once more, yet Okiku’s standing figure still lingered there. Harima called again. “Kiku.” “Show your face.” The ghost quietly raised her face. It was Okiku’s beautiful face, unchanged from when she had been alive. It was a beautiful, pure face that seemed to know neither resentment, jealousy, nor curses. Harima involuntarily smiled.

“Kiku.” “Harima will join you now.” A faint smile seemed to form on the woman’s face, but as a sudden gust of wind swept through, the phantom figure vanished into the tangled shade of the willow’s swaying branches. The rain began to fall in a fine drizzle.

Okiku’s soul did not resent me. At this thought, Harima suddenly felt a surge of strength. He called Shibata Jūtayū and Gonji in a resolute voice. And then, he declared his resolve to commit ritual suicide.

“Harima will commit ritual suicide tonight.” “Jūtayū, perform your duty as kaishaku without fail, then deliver this letter to the magistrate’s residence.” “The demise of the House of Aoyama goes without saying.” “Once you have dealt with the aftermath, each of you take a suitable master as you see fit.”

The master gave some money as a memento, but Gonji refused it. I am already a cripple without purpose in life. This body that has until now been celebrated alongside Aoyama as a man of the world cannot now become another household’s lapdog. He declared resolutely that he would cut open his belly in following suicide and accompany him to the underworld. After completing all his duties, Jūtayū expressed his desire to shave his white-haired head.

Seeing both requests as reasonable, Harima granted them. The three of them exchanged a perfunctory ceremonial water cup. Having resolved themselves, not a single eye among them held tears.

The sound of rain seeing off spring resounded all the more intensely over the willow above the well curb.

Jūtayū placed the Bizen Norimune tanto on a ceremonial tray and respectfully presented it before his master.