Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The soul of a samurai.

With only the large and small swords tucked at his waist, without holding anything in his hands, hastily thrusting his feet into sandals, Isogai Ryūjirō stepped out into the backyard.

"No matter what may occur, today I shall resolutely set out."

Even as part of his warrior training pilgrimage, he had left Edo bearing a particular aspiration. He was to have achieved his purpose long since and returned to Edo by now—to behold his mentor’s joyful countenance and receive without delay the family’s secret techniques—yet when an unforeseen impediment arose, he passed over three months in a condition little removed from captivity.

In Hitachi Province, Kawachi District, near the Osugi Grand Shrine in Awa Village, there had dwelled a fearsome demon. Moreover, Ryūjirō had been captured by it—like a waterfowl entangled in a mist net—rendered utterly incapable of action. He had unwillingly spent a full summer in that demon’s abode, and now this morning had turned to autumn. Osugi Grand Shrine is said to enshrine Hitachibō Kaison. Colloquially known as the Tengu Arakami-sama. In its vicinity there dwelled a notorious demon. That notorious demon was none other than the female bandit leader known as Nawabari no O-Tetsu.

Being rural, it was of course unsophisticated, but in any case, across her territory spanning from Hitachi to Shimousa with the Tone River at its core, she had gathered nearly a thousand underlings without a doubt. O-Tetsu’s husband, Hidari Jin’emon, had been an official arrestor entrusted by the authorities with a red-tasseled jutte and arresting ropes—this man who wore two hats. He had been sworn brothers with Ioka Sukegorō. Even after Hidari Jin'emon's death from illness, people continued to dread Nawabari no O-Tetsu as though she still wielded the red-tasseled jutte—for this widow surpassed men in vigor and acted as a female constable in all but name.

“Nawabari no O-Tetsu is peerless in apprehending men; once caught by her, you’re done for. Whether there’s guilt or innocence doesn’t enter into it. With tortures so bizarre they defy belief—five or six people were already killed. The traveling actor Arashi Hinamaru who came to Takashi in Awa was killed. A young Echigo crepe seller was killed too. Then a Kyoto painter and an Odawara carpenter met their end. Even the second son of Ujishima’s Makomo Magnate fell victim—none lasted three months. Is that what they call a wicked woman’s devotion? She’s surely no Christian missionary—but they say if those eyes so much as glance your way, your body goes numb and you can’t do a thing.”

Such rumors were rife everywhere.

Unaware of this, Isogai Ryūjirō—when he had embarked on his warrior training pilgrimage and boarded the Tone night boat—had been together with O-Tetsu returning from Edo. She was nearing forty—a matron long past her blooming. Her body carried such obesity that its weight likely exceeded twenty kan—well over seventy-five kilograms. Her complexion held a dusky hue, her hair showing conspicuous wave-like textures with thinning strands at the temples that she habitually tied into a careless comb bun. Though her nose sat low, her mouth stretched wide, and her chin appeared double-layered, about her eyes brimmed an undeniable charm. In both word and deed she proved flawless—every action executed with brisk astuteness. In youth, such mannerisms might rather have stirred men’s hearts.

“If you’re making pilgrimage to Osugi-sama, you must stop by my humble abode.” When Ryūjirō suddenly developed stomach pain in the reed fields along the path to Awa Village after disembarking from the night boat at Oshisuna Riverbank, O-Tetsu had treated him as one might handle a child—effortlessly carrying him on her back, bearing him less than half a ri (about two kilometers) to her home, and providing care surpassing even familial devotion. All this would have been commendable, were it not for the supreme nuisance of her thereafter never permitting him to set foot outside again.

Ryūjirō's stomach pain had quickly subsided，but no sooner had he regained his former health than within two or three days he began to decline again—with no particular ailment to speak of，he passed his days in listless languor，like a man drained of spirit． The hair on his shaven pate grew out． His complexion turned pale． The sunken state of his own eyes startled even himself． He had truly become a captive of the demon．

Today at last, summoning great courage and taking advantage of O-Tetsu’s absence, he had resolved to descend the cliff from the backyard and make his way through the rice fields toward Fukuda Village.

II

The pangs of conscience grew stronger with each step. For an older woman of low status and no particular beauty—Isogai Ryūjirō, born into a hatamoto household of five hundred koku as a second son; a direct shogunate retainer with rare swordsmanship skill; whose reputation as heaven-sent talent had resounded through the Military Training Institute—had been coiled within her palm and treated like a plaything for three months. At the Kōbusho he had mainly studied under Imahori Settsu-no-kami, but beyond this had been cherished by Akioka Jinpūsai—a masterless samurai dwelling in Azabu Furukawabata who founded his own school branching from Tenjin Dokumyō-ryū—receiving exclusive master-disciple training until advancing to inherit the secrets of Eight Directions Coiling Clouds swordsmanship.

“Before that transmission can occur, you must first embark on a warrior training pilgrimage and journey around the country once.” “That said, I am not telling you to go around challenging ordinary dojos.” “First pay homage to the three shrines of Katori Kashima and Isosugi, then Suwa Shrine in Nagareyama, Osugi Grand Shrine in Awa Village of Hitachi Province, and Kōryū Shrine in Tatsuki Village. Purify both body and mind at these sacred sites, perform the spiritual sword techniques in full, and return only when you have rid yourself entirely of impure thoughts.” “As for other shrine pilgrimages, they can be handled gradually without hardship.”

For the purpose of receiving the Eight Directions Coiling Clouds sword technique from Akioka Jinpūsai as his sole master and disciple, Ryūjirō's journey around the country had begun. Yet it had come to a halt at Osugi Grand Shrine. No matter how he considered it, this could only be called strange. Before disembarking at Oshisuna Riverbank, he had bought a boxed lunch sold early in the morning at Kinoshita Riverbank. He couldn't believe his stomach pain stemmed solely from the dried shredded cuttlefish within. Earlier still, when parched by the boat's stifling heat, O-Tetsu had given him what she called cooled boiled water—yet it carried a strange odor. If he speculated maliciously, he might have been made to swallow poison.

From the moment he had been taken into O-Tetsu’s house, his blood grew turbid, his muscles slackened, and his vitality waned—he became utterly incapable of any meaningful action. He became naught but a mere shell of a man, lost in dementia. O-Tetsu’s family had been hereditary informants for generations. Her grandfather had been particularly renowned. Hidari Jin'emon was an adopted son. Thus when it came to knowledge of arrest techniques, O-Tetsu in fact held greater expertise. “When it comes to methods of applying arrest ropes, there is likely none in Hitachi, Shimousa, or Kazusa who can surpass me.”

O-Tetsu’s boasts were backed by more than sufficient skill. Though a woman, she was thoroughly proficient in binding ropes, throwing ropes, pulling ropes, hooking ropes, and escape ropes—all of them. As for methods of applying arrest ropes, she had mastered all manner of techniques: crisscross bindings, tortoiseshell ties, pine-needle constrictions, windlass coils, overhand knots, underhand knots, single-arm lifts, reverse hitches—every conceivable method. Double-looped knots, cross bindings, diamond binds, crab ties, scale coils—each with three variations in the formal, semi-formal, and cursive styles. The detailed explanations of each school’s methods had been transcribed into manuscripts and passed down through the house.

Ryūjirō had taken an interest in those arresting ropes as well; to stave off boredom, he read every last manuscript, then growing ever more inquisitive, proceeded to learn their practical application under O-Tetsu’s tutelage.

“This may be a hereditary tradition,” she said, “but for your sake, I shall impart it to you. However, as it is strictly forbidden to impart this knowledge during daylight hours no matter the circumstances, I shall teach you in the dead of night.” To teach him, O-Tetsu manipulated the arrest rope and bound Ryūjirō. O-Tetsu was also bound by Ryūjirō. “The method of escaping ropes isn’t solely for thieves. Even samurai would do well to remember this. When you become a prisoner of the enemy, it will prove useful, you see.”

The main rope's tight binding that bit into O-Tetsu's plump flesh would—as she writhed with her shoulders slicing through air and ripples across her lower abdomen—slip away completely, leaving her free. Ryūjirō could not help being utterly astonished. All through this time, Ryūjirō felt bound by an invisible rope—so tightly tethered that he could not take a single step outside. Moreover, O-Tetsu kept near-constant watch and forbade even pilgrimages to nearby Osugi Grand Shrine. When O-Tetsu left without cause, she would have Kenkan stand guard.

Without a single itch going unscratched, she provided every manner of preferential treatment.

“The Nawabari family’s bodyguard, Master Isogai, surpasses even the Hirate Sake Brewery from Sasakawa Shigezō’s tales that still linger in people’s mouths.” However lavishly he might be elevated, it amounted to imprisonment in truth. “To continue like this would bring shame upon Master Akioka.”

Ryūjirō’s entire soul had not yet completely rotted away. Unable to endure the pangs of conscience any longer，he seized upon a gap he had finally discovered and descended from O-Tetsu’s backyard—clinging to weeds along the cliff face—down to the footpath between rice fields in the valley lowlands. Before he could even think Ah，joy!，a trap suddenly fell from above. No sooner had it caught him from under his left armpit to his right shoulder than it tightened with a sharp jerk—and in an instant，he was hoisted up in one swift motion. His body was left dangling in midair. “Master，why on earth would you do such a thing? No matter what happens，I won’t let you escape!”

Above, O-Tetsu’s voice, raised high in anger, boomed thunderously.

Three By the narrowest margin, O-Tetsu had returned and promptly used a thrown rope to halt Ryūjirō’s escape. She bound him hand and foot, rolled him into the rear second-floor storage room, and there beside him—gulping down cup after cup of sake in bitter frustration—O-Tetsu bitterly began to speak. “Why on earth did you attempt to escape, Master?” “In the brief moment I let my guard down... And it’s not as if I went out for some other purpose!” “I went to Sugasutsu Reservoir to get a sesame eel for you, simmered it whole to build up your stamina even a little—all out of my devotion—and went to select it myself without involving anyone else.” “And yet you make such a fuss over that?”

O-Tetsu was even holding back tears. Ryūjirō's spinelessness in being left bound and exposed like this. He was growing disgusted with himself and his very being. This was all punishment for betraying my mentor. It was due to my own corruption. While tormenting himself with such regrets,

“Elder sister, I beg you to forgive me. By all means, I must go to Edo once and return.”

“Have you grown weary of this remote countryside?” “No—is it that you’ve grown tired of someone like me and are fleeing?”

“By no means is that the case, Elder sister.” “Once I go verify his condition and find reassurance, I shall return immediately.” “The truth is—these nightly visions... I’m tormented by worry, such unbearable worry.”

“Dreams?” “They say dreams come from visceral fatigue. Though that might suffice as an explanation, I cannot endure how this same dream repeats endlessly. My mentor Master Akioka Jinpūsai lies gravely ill—near death. He has no family whatsoever. None to tend him in his sickness. His honorable solitary existence—that stubborn disposition of his—means he keeps no disciples save this Ryūjirō before you. That special training between sole master and disciple... The secret technique of Happō Makikumo he meant to impart—this humble one believes he mentioned it to you before, Elder sister.”

“I have indeed heard that.” “If Master should pass away before I might reach him, these long-cherished secret techniques would vanish—regrettably leaving no trace in this world.” "That is unbearably bitter to contemplate." "But setting that aside—in these days when duty and compassion grow ever thinner—were I to abandon my mentor to die alone like some stray cur, Isogai Ryūjirō’s honor could never hold." "At this very hour when I find myself wholly discontent with how our master-disciple bond has become akin to mercantile barter, I must beg you to permit me to attend upon Master..."

“Is Master truly ill?” “That I do not know.” “Yet night after night, the same vision haunts my dreams.” “It weighs on me unbearably.” “Elder sister, I beg you—grant me leave to go to Edo.” “Not to return permanently.” “Simply let me go.” “Should Master be well, I shall come straight back.” “If the dream proves true and he lies ill, I will tend him and return without delay.” “This I swear upon cold steel.”

Sincerity welled up as tears in Ryūjirō’s eyes. At this, even O-Tetsu of Nawabari could not help but be moved. The full expression of human sincerity did not necessarily require many words. “If that’s how things stood, you needn’t have kept silent with me and sneaked out through the back.” “I’m not some ordinary woman, you know.” “If there’s proper reason to it, I’d gladly see you off,” she declared with unexpectedly swift understanding. Then she hurriedly untied Ryūjirō’s bonds and stroked the rope’s bite marks as if restoring lifeblood to them.

“I offer my deepest apologies, but this morning I grew particularly concerned about my mentor—it felt as though every moment counted… I feared I might miss Master’s final moments by a single step. That is why I rushed out without awaiting your return, Elder sister.” “Please don’t think ill of me…” And Ryūjirō cautiously stretched his limbs. “Oh, as for me, once I understand the situation, I’m completely fine.” “I won’t think anything of it, but Master—you must truly come back now.”

“I will definitely return.”

“Just the other night.” “As I earnestly told you before—from what I learned during Master Fujita of Mito’s lifetime—the world will soon undergo a great upheaval that will change things beyond recognition.” “Therefore samurai—especially hatamoto retainers—must consider this deeply: most would do better to abandon swordsmanship or spearmanship and study gunnery instead.” “On that matter—there was talk that visiting foreign lands once would be wise… In truth, I’ve been thinking I’d like you to travel to America or Holland.” “Forgive my bluntness—the funds have been accumulating since my grandfather’s time.” “Two or three thousand ryō could be gathered whenever needed.”

“Regarding overseas travel—there exists a national prohibition and Yoshida Shōin’s failed attempt—but it may gradually become permissible. I must cross over to foreign lands without fail to expand my knowledge and study gunnery as well. Since I absolutely must rely on your assistance, Elder sister, I will certainly return here.”

“And there’s one more thing I must emphasize.” “Even if you return to Edo after so long, I won’t permit you to get along with any woman—not a single one.”

It was Nawabari no O-Tetsu who stored violent jealousy throughout her obese frame.

IV O-Tetsu attended to every last detail of his traveling attire and saw him off kindly in good spirits.

He wore a solid black traveling half-coat, a blue woolen patterned pouch, light yellow Kai silk arm guards and leggings, and a first-layer kimono with hailstone-patterned komon in shortened hem; without hakama trousers, holding only an iron fan in hand. In this attire, Ryūjirō’s masculine bearing shone all the more conspicuously. “Please ensure you don’t end up traveling with any women along the way. Do you understand? My informants are everywhere, you know. I’m watching closely, I tell you.” “It’s alright. At present, my thoughts are solely with Master’s well-being... and next comes your affairs.”

Ryūjirō, having thus pleased her, finally set out in haste toward his destination. Crossing Fukuda’s plateau and reaching Ichizaki took but a single breath. Though he had become a free man, he still could not shake the sensation of some powerful force tugging at his nape. It became clear just how much he had been oppressed until now due to O-Tetsu’s extraordinary influence.

The sensation of being a hooked fish slipping from its creel to swim again in the great river grew steadily stronger. Now he found himself pulled toward Edo.

"To Master’s side—as quickly as possible."

Master Jinpūsai was truly a warrior-scholar who faced adversity and misfortune. The more he thought about it, the more pitiable it became. Compared to kendo instructors such as Saitō Yakurō, Chiba Shūsaku, and Momoi Haruzō, his skill was by no means inferior. Yet while others took thousands of disciples and received patronage from the shogunate or feudal lords, Akioka Jinpūsai continued his poverty-stricken life in a rōnin’s dwelling—indeed, when it came to disciples, there was truly only this humble one. That, however, was his admirable quality. He may have intentionally hidden himself away in such a destiny—but regardless repayment of his kindness was imperative.

The guilt of having been detained by O-Tetsu along the way and halting his training in divine sword techniques—for that, he would apologize endlessly. And then he would consult about going abroad for gunnery training. However, since he could not allow his mentor to remain in critical condition as seen in the dream, he hastened his journey with every step. Ryūjirō had planned to go from Nunokawa to Fusa, then from Nakadō Pass to Abiko; thus he hurried from Ichizaki through Shitsutsuka-shita, taking backroads between fields and rice paddies. By the time the Tategi Woods of Bunmendai came into view nearby, he became aware that a young woman had been following close behind him.

She did not appear to be an ordinary farm girl in the slightest. Her hair had been freshly arranged in a towering takashimada chignon, not a single strand out of place. From white face powder to rouge, her makeup lay thick and immaculate. Even without such adornments, her beauty held a shuddering intensity. She would have been considered a rare vision even in Edo. And yet— Her yukata bore a faded butterfly pattern stained beyond repair. Though early autumn still, the garment's predominantly white ground appeared chillingly threadbare. The obi hung thin and creased about her waist—a wretchedness beyond compare. This meticulous coiffure and painted face stood in utter discord with her shabby attire. To any observer, the contradiction would have seemed utterly perplexing.

What was even more suspicious was that she carried a blue snake-eye patterned umbrella in this fine weather. Yet despite this, she wore straw sandals on bare feet, treading the path with a slapping sound.

Was it a fox from Onnabakegahara transformed into a maiden and deceptively following him? That it could transform even in daylight suggested it must be a fox of considerable official rank—though he wanted to dismiss this as mere whimsy. When he hurried, she hurried; when he rested, she rested. She followed just like a shadow. Whenever he turned around, she would grin back at him from across the way. Ryūjirō began to feel unsettled.

“Master samurai, are you bound for Edo?”

Amidst the rice field ridges near a flowing kanjō irrigation channel, she finally called out to him from behind. "Indeed," was all Ryūjirō replied, offering nothing further.

“I too am going to Edo,” the girl said unprompted.

“Is that so?” Ryūjirō replied curtly as before.

“Will you be staying in Fusa tonight?” “Or will you proceed as far as Abiko?” If he were to say he’d stay, she seemed likely to request shared lodging. Ryūjirō couldn’t help being cautious. Even if there had been no promise with O-Tetsu, he held no desire to grow close to this girl. A woman of dubious origins, no matter how beautiful. He thought there was no telling what trouble might arise.

“No, I will travel through the night. It’s to visit a gravely ill person. Perhaps I should take a fast palanquin? In any case, I will travel through the night to Edo,” he answered. He thought this would leave her speechless.

“Oh, is that so?” “I too have someone gravely ill, so I had been thinking of traveling through the night.” “So as a woman, you’re resolved to travel through the night?” “Yes, as there’s no other way… Knowing that you, Master, will be traveling through the night gives me the greatest reassurance.” “I’ll follow behind so as not to be a bother.” “That is your choice.” Since she insisted on following from behind, there was truly no way to stop her. Even if he considered it a nuisance, there was nothing to be done. Moreover, the stated purpose of visiting a gravely ill person did not fail to strike a chord within some part of Ryūjirō’s heart.

“Who’s sick?” he couldn’t help asking from his side. “I kept having nothing but dreams of my grand master falling gravely ill... I could no longer bear it, so I alone struck out on my own like this.” “Huh... Dreams of your grand master being ill...” Ryūjirō couldn’t help being startled.

Five

In an age when transportation was inconvenient, concern for the well-being of those separated by distance weighed more profoundly than it does today. In a world without telegraphs, telephones, or postal services, people naturally let their imaginations run wild more often. They could not help but heighten their superstitions. The words of diviners. Dreams. Crow omens. Even the snapping of a geta's thong would be regarded with concern as an ill omen. Therefore, setting out from afar to visit someone based on the ominous nature of one’s dreams—as though they were fact—was neither rash nor careless in those days.

Since Ryūjirō himself was journeying to Edo due to those dreams, he harbored no doubts about the girl’s circumstances. And so, finding themselves in similar situations, he abruptly felt sympathy well up within him. “And this grand master of yours…” Ryūjirō inquired as they pressed urgently onward. “I belong to the Takewari Troupe of traveling acrobats,” the girl revealed for the first time. “My name is Kotora. The master I tour with is Takewari Toramatsu, whose own master was Takewari Kotadayū—the grand master of our art.”

“Ah, I had heard of the Takewari Troupe.” “Kotadayū lies bedridden with apoplexy in Honjo Ishihara’s Hinokimachi Yokochō, but I am a foundling picked up by this grand master and know nothing of my true parents. To me, the grand master and his wife are as true parents. O-Kami-san passed away several years back, so now there’s only the grand master left. Though Toramatsu-sensei is his actual son, he’s terribly miserly and doesn’t look after the grand master in the slightest, which makes me feel all the more sorry for him. As the bad dreams persisted continuously, even were I to return to Edo to visit him, Master Toramatsu would never release me over such a matter, so I slipped away in secret. From our performance location in Edosaki, coming this way may be a detour, but it’s quite convenient for obscuring our whereabouts.”

Through Kotora’s account, all doubts had been resolved. The incongruity between her hairstyle and costume was acknowledged as plausible for a performer’s escape. “Well, this humble one too is worried about my swordsmanship master’s well-being. “In any case, let us both make haste.”

Autumn days are said to plummet like a well bucket. “Though nightfall remains distant, we must press onward and cross the Hon-Tone ferry from Nunokawa to Fusa while daylight yet persists.” “This area is all wetlands—marshes, rivers, canals—waterlogged terrain wherever one turns. Before reaching the Hon-Tone crossing, there still lies the Shin-Tone ferry as well.” “Ah, the Shin-Tone ferry draws near already.”

During the Kanbun era, the Shin-Tone River—a newly excavated canal fifty ken wide stretching from Kaiko River to Hiramusunuma—lay stretched out beneath the tree-lined embankment.

Before long, the two arrived at that ferry landing. This area was truly a desolate place. Beneath the embankment, poor-looking farmhouses stood scattered here and there, but along the banks of the Shin-Tone River there was not a single dwelling—only reeds and willows growing thickly, and even these had yet to wither, creating an oppressively gloomy and dismal atmosphere. The ferry here did not have a dedicated ferryman; it was merely equipped with a boat, making up what was known as a hand-pulled ferry. On both banks, three timbers had been combined and erected high, with wisteria vines twisted together and stretched across them; small needle-iron rings were fastened to these, ropes tied to those rings, and connected to the prow of the farm boat. At both the bow and stern of the farm boat, separate hemp ropes were fastened—each long enough to reach both banks. In other words, if whoever boarded the farm boat pulled the bow rope themselves, they would reach the opposite shore. When someone coming afterward wanted to summon that empty boat back to this side, they would haul the stern rope from the shore, and even without anyone aboard, the boat would come drifting over—such was the remarkably primitive method employed.

“Whether one crosses this ferry or not is said to make a tremendous difference in the journey’s advantage,” Ryūjirō said. “Unfortunately, the boat lies moored at the opposite shore, but if we but pull the rope, it should return to this side,” said Kotora, who understood this crossing well. “These hemp ropes were donated from the house of Awa no Jin’emon—old arrest cords passed down through generations, so they say.” “His household uses high-grade hemp from Hōzōji Temple in Mikawa—boiled in vinegar and twisted thrice over. Truly, these differ from ordinary ones in their durability.”

While saying this, Ryūjirō began pulling. Though meant for binding criminals, that these arrest ropes—designed to strip men of freedom—now served as ferry cables aiding travelers struck him as waste repurposed with peculiar significance. “Oh, let me handle the pulling.” Kotora moved to take over. “No, making a woman exert herself would be unkind—and wetting your sleeves serves no good.” Ryūjirō curtly refused and resumed hauling himself. Kotora lent her hands nonetheless. The boat slipped from the far shore, gliding empty across seven or eight ken through wisteria vine rings.

Six

At that moment, suddenly, from among the reeds of the opposite shore, the figure of a giant monk appeared. He wore a mouse-colored workman's robe with a narrow white obi tied at the front in the tucked-up style. Even the twisted headband wrapped around his shaven head surpassed mere eccentricity in its vulgarity. He carried a dripping wooden bucket in one hand while using an eel-catching pole as a staff in the other. A depraved monk who had mercilessly broken his vows. Yet his eyebrows were thick and bushy, his gaze sharp, and his forehead even bore a crescent-shaped sword scar. It seemed even Lu Zhishen, the Flowery Monk of *Water Margin*, would appear thus.

“Damn you! A young man and young woman, tangled up in your filthy play—don’t you dare try calling that boat!” “Who’d let vermin pass? Not a damn chance!” Though separated by fifty ken across the opposite shore, his muttered words carried with crystalline clarity. No sooner had they echoed than he set down the bucket and, with a single hand, wrenched fiercely on the prow rope from the far bank.

The combined strength of two was instantly overcome by a single hand, and the boat that had begun moving away swung back in retreat.

“Ah! Reverend Monk, I beg you,” “We are in urgent haste to visit an ailing patient.” “Whether we arrive in time for his final moments or not is a matter of grave importance to us both. I implore you—send the boat to this side!” Ryūjirō pleaded loudly. “Not a chance, you bastards!” With one hand yet wielding full strength, the depraved monk yanked forcefully. The two also pulled with all their might. For a brief moment it became a contest of strength—a tug-of-war. The empty boat had drifted midway when suddenly, as the monk strained mightily, the stern rope snapped cleanly and the pair were defeated. The boat was dragged entirely to the opposite shore by the monk’s hand. It had now become impossible to retrieve the empty vessel to this side.

“Get an eyeful of this disgrace! Now take the damn long way round! Ain’t no ferries ’round here. That’s settled my grudge proper. Feelin’ right satisfied now. ’Ey now—gotta scoop up some eels or I ain’t gettin’ no drinkin’ money.”

The depraved monk picked up the wooden bucket again and vanished abruptly among the reeds. What a merciless monk he was. For one whose monastic vows required saving lives to break the precept against killing by catching eels was sheer madness—yet this same man had seized control of the salvation ferry meant to carry souls across to enlightenment. He had commandeered it completely. What temple did this monk belong to? What was his name? Ryūjirō ground his teeth bitterly, consumed by loathing. Yet separated as they were by the Shin-Tone River's canal, there remained nothing they could do.

“From this point onward, there’s no choice but to detour to another ferry crossing. Tch, that damned monk!” he spat in fury. “Master, please don’t worry yourself. I’ll go fetch the boat.” Kotora replied with effortless composure. “Crossing to the opposite shore poses no difficulty.” “What? You mean to go retrieve it from the far bank?” “I am an acrobat by trade. Fortunately, with these wisteria vines spanning from shore to shore, crossing them will be nothing at all.”

“Ah, I see.”

For an ordinary person this would have been an impossible feat, but for Kotora the female acrobat, it was no trouble at all. When escaping the troupe, concerned about the fickle autumn weather, they had grabbed whatever umbrellas came to hand—these now proved unexpectedly useful here. There was no ceremonial fanfare of musical accompaniment during her tayū-style preparations—she merely tucked up the hem of her yukata. The crimson-faded Chinese crepe obi, reflected in the murky water of the new canal and the mud-colored hues beneath the small embankment, appeared surprisingly beautiful and striking.

She swiftly climbed up onto the main post of the hand-pulled boat.

“Be careful—it’s dangerous,” Ryūjirō called up from below. “I am perfectly all right,” Kotora replied as she snapped open her indigo serpent-eye-patterned umbrella. At that instant, what seemed like blood spraying from her Chinese crepe obi in all directions proved instead to be a red dragonfly—startled into flight from its perch on the wisteria vine.

Though named Shin-Tone River, it was but a fifty-ken canal. She crossed the ferry-pulling wisteria vines with tightrope-walking steps. It was truly a splendid feat, no different from an ordinary person walking down a main road.

The setting sun bathed half of Kotora’s figure in crimson from a diagonal angle. This too was mirrored on the sluggish water’s surface. Above was Kotora, below was Kotora—a single form split into twin reflections. Even her grime-stained yukata costume now seemed to emit an unearthly radiance when viewed thus. How much more striking then her stage-perfect bunkin takashimada coiffure and made-up visage—Ryūjirō found himself utterly captivated. The fear of her falling midway had dissipated, but what if she completed this crossing alone and rushed ahead without him? This possibility alone weighed on his mind.

Eventually, she advanced halfway across the tightrope. No matter how high they had stretched the wisteria vines from both banks, their center point naturally developed slack that hung near the water's surface. With the added weight of a human body, they now dipped perilously close to submerging. Even this sagging section Kotora skillfully crossed. Just when she thought she had passed the hazardous stretch and might pause to breathe—

“Ah!”

Almost simultaneous with Kotora’s sharp scream, the wisteria vine rope twisted around the rocky strata snapped cleanly. Kotora plunged into the Shin-Tone River’s canal with a thunderous splash. Ryūjirō’s astonishment reached its peak.

Seven

“What kinda stupid stunt ya pullin’! I went an’ blocked the ferry, yet here ya come tightrope-walkin’ for the boat? Damn vermin – go on, make spectacles o’yerselves!”

Amidst the willows on the opposite shore, the depraved monk reappeared before anyone realized, now holding an eel-gutting knife in his hand. The fearsomeness of his eyes glaring in this direction defied description. This bastard was precisely the one who had cut the wisteria vine.

“I can swim a little. I am perfectly all right.” While saying this, Kotora discarded the umbrella and began swimming breaststroke. Seeing her proficiency in swimming even a stroke or two, Ryūjirō felt relieved and gestured, “Anyway, over here...”

Seeing that the woman could swim, the evil monk on the opposite shore flared into such rage that steam seemed to rise from his head,

“Hey, woman! Don’t you know about the man-eating algae in Shinhoribori?” “If you fall here, that’s the end of you.” “The algae and water chestnuts will entangle your limbs, and no matter what you do, you won’t be able to move a muscle.” “Heh heh. Even carp, even crucian carp—when they grow large enough to get entangled in algae—meet their end in this cursed spot.” “Had you been crossing alone, I wouldn’t have played such tricks, but that you’re with some young man sticks in my craw.” “So then, wench—die there... or are you begging me to save you?” “If you beg, I’ll send out a boat...” he sneered with indescribable malice.

"What’s this, you mangy rat-monk? You think I’d ever accept help from the likes of you even if I were dying? See? I can swim just fine! What’s some man-eating algae supposed to do?" Kotora executed showy strokes all the way up to the full crawl. However, that lasted only a brief moment. What the monk had said proved true—in an instant, the tips of slender algae entangled around her legs. It clung with an ominously slimy texture, as though demonic hands had taken hold—so disturbingly alive that one might suspect blood coursed through these water plants and veins pulsed within them. By that point, there was simply nothing she could do. Before she knew it, the algae had entangled both her hands. It was a terrifyingly vicious-natured algae that had swarmed thickly around her waist, her arms, and from her underarms up diagonally to her shoulders.

Seeing this, Ryūjirō could not possibly abandon her to die. However, he could not help but think of how the mummy hunter becomes a mummy. Even if he were to jump in from here, this body heading to where Kotora was drowning would inevitably become entangled in the man-eating algae as well.

More than anything else, he found the evil monk utterly detestable. There’s a limit to cruelty. Even for a mountain bandit, his malice was too calculated. Madness? Folly? Whichever it may be, if I were to jump in again now, there’s no telling what interference he might attempt.

Ryūjirō resolved himself in that instant. With a sharp cry, he executed a swift technique. He threw the shuriken with all his strength. That was the small utility blade from his sword that he had drawn. The throw that sent it flying fifty ken was splendid. The blade struck true, embedding itself in the evil monk’s forehead like a white curl carved between his brows.

With a choked cry, he toppled backward until his form vanished from sight. The satisfaction was beyond words.

Ryūjirō briskly removed his clothing. He didn’t manage to remove down to his arm guards and gaiters. He tucked the dagger into the back of his waistband and leapt into the canal of the Shin-Tone River. Five or six ken posed no problem, but as he advanced ten, then fourteen or fifteen ken, the proliferation of algae proved greater than he had anticipated. Entangling his hands, entangling his feet—he was astonished by the dreadful magical power it possessed. There were spirits dwelling in both the algae and water chestnuts—entities so relentlessly vindictive that one could perceive them as nothing else. Even naked as he was, it was like this—he thought with concern how Kotora, still wearing her clothes, must be struggling terribly to swim.

Thrashing and flailing as the characters suggested, he managed to advance another one or two ken, but now he could no longer move forward no matter what he did. It felt as though he had been caught in the crisscross bindings of an arrest rope. "Oh, that's it!"

Ryūjirō steeled his resolve. The methods of rope-escaping and rope-cutting that he had learned from Nawabari no O-Tetsu—he would apply them here without delay. He considered that to be the best course of action. He drew the dagger underwater. While swimming, he cut away the algae with one-handed slashes. In an instant, an opening had been carved out. After much struggle fighting the man-eating algae, he finally reached Kotora's side. “Oh, Master!”

By this time, Kotora was completely exhausted. However, unlike someone unversed in water discipline, she avoided the peril of suddenly clinging to her rescuer in desperation.

VIII

The various types of algae entangling Kotora’s entire body. Ryūjirō's painstaking efforts to cut through them and rescue her from the aquatic demon's clutches. That was indeed no simple task. He too had to swim using only one hand. The dagger he held in one hand, being underwater, could not be wielded as intended. If he showed even the slightest lapse in attention, he might wound Kotora’s body. Even if he were to cut off a single finger, that would have been a grave matter.

“You must not panic.” “You just need to endure a little longer.” Ryūjirō, who had performed a feat more perilous than pearl divers retrieving jewels from a slumbering dragon’s snout, finally cleared away the water plants and liberated Kotora. “My savior.” “I shall never forget this debt of gratitude,” Kotora expressed with heartfelt sincerity. “Never mind that.” “Not a moment to lose in landing,” Ryūjirō declared, taking the lead as he cut through the obstructive water plants once more while swimming back to the original shore. Since he had already cut through a considerable amount beforehand, this time it proved remarkably easier.

The two still returned to the original shore. This was because Ryūjirō had left behind his clothing and the items at his waist. As for Kotora, not only had the man-eating algae not been cleared ahead, but she also felt it would be wrong to go on alone when her benefactor remained behind.

Upon reaching shore, the two let out sighs of relief.

Ryūjirō suddenly looked toward Kotora and was shocked. From several places on the woman's limbs, black blood gushed forth thickly. Ah—had the dagger's tip struck and caused these wounds? he thought. However, upon realizing it was merely leeches sucking on her, he was relieved.

“Come now, let’s not attempt to cross a place fraught with such complications. Even if it means taking a detour, we’ll find another route.” “Even if we must take a detour, we’ll find another way,” said Ryūjirō. "That would be most agreeable," said Kotora as she wrung out her soaked garments. “Oh!”

Ryūjirō could not help but let out a cry. For that reason, everything from the discarded half-coat to the lined kimono, under-kimono, and even the obi had disappeared. Not only the great sword he had left behind, but everything from his personal effects down to his hand towel and tissue paper had gone missing.

“Who took them away?!” Isogai Ryūjirō had been stripped completely naked. Even though the dagger remained, even the long sword—the very soul of a samurai—had been stolen by someone. “Oh, to think I’ve caused you such hardship, Master, all for saving me—I’ve no words to apologize,” Kotora herself turned pale.

“Having been so absorbed in cutting the algae, I failed to notice this side—when did it happen? Who could have—” Yet even as Ryūjirō seethed with rage, there remained nothing to be done.

Even the distant temple bell began to toll. With each passing moment, the surroundings grew darker. The cold wind pressed against the two's skin.

“In any case, let us circle toward where there are houses—we’ll dry your soaked garments and try to search for this humble one’s lost items with others’ help. There may be someone who saw the thief,” said Ryūjirō as he took the lead, advancing through the reed field toward the direction below the standing trees. Kotora followed after him from behind. Ryūjirō, naked save for his hand guards and leg gaiters with a dagger thrust into his loincloth—his appearance presented a disgrace beyond compare. Though one might call it a freak accident, what a wretched state this was. All of this was the corrosion that had seeped from a body forced into degradation—having defied his swordsmanship mentor’s orders and been detained by the female bandit leader against his will. That things had come to this was his own doing, and feelings of remorse pressed in relentlessly.

They first attempted to enter a farmhouse below the platform upon arriving, but the stubborn locals of this land insisted they did not deal with travelers after nightfall, denying them entry beyond the threshold. Even when they pleaded their case, no one listened.

At the next house, the occupants hurriedly shut their door; though they called and knocked, there came no response. They visited three or four other houses but were turned away at every one. At their wits' end, Ryūjirō and Kotora returned once more to the original ferry crossing. Night had fully fallen, and the evening moon hung in the sky.

“All of this stems from my own carelessness. “At this rate, even were I to return to Edo—even should my master still live in health—I could never face him for shame. “This demands reconsideration of plans. What say you, Kotora? “You must go on ahead without minding this humble one.” “How could I possibly do such a thing?”

Kotora's voice was earnest. “If I may be so bold, I have some savings within my belly band.” "If we go as far as Nunokawa Town, there should be a secondhand clothing store." “Let’s take advantage of the night and make a final push.”

Pulling Ryūjirō's hand, she tried to proceed along the canal bank.

“Now, wait just a moment!”

A woman's voice came from among the reeds. That was Nawabari no O-Tetsu.

Nine “It was I who took your garments. “From the things at your waist to everything else—I hid them all away.”

O-Tetsu roughly pulled Ryūjirō and Kotora apart, positioned herself between them, and let out a furious roar.

Kotora started trembling in shock. Ryūjirō, having realized it was O-Tetsu, found himself unable to speak. He might as well have been a mosquito singled out by a toad. "I knew this'd happen! While you were fixin' yourself up, I sent Kenkan runners ahead to every path and had my crew set traps." "Then I tailed you in disguise—slippin' in and outta sight—while you two lovebirds went waltzin' down them rice field paths, clingin' together like knotted threads!" "Didn't I even get jealous watchin' a damn scarecrow?!"

According to O-Tetsu’s account, the one who had been keeping watch over this ferry crossing was Ahatara Gonji of the old Kenkan. The gambler was a fake monk by profession. They realized that the farmers below Tategi-dana being uniformly heartless to them had all been because O-Tetsu had given the order. "Well now, this here’s the measure of my sway," "Yet you’d go traipsing ’bout with this weepy chit?" "Soakin’ brat and bare-assed—ain’t what I’d call dapper, y’know." To a heart ablaze with blind, sickly jealousy, neither sense nor sentiment could find purchase.

“No, I assure you—whether our relationship be good or ill, it is not such a relationship as that,” Ryūjirō began to explain.

“Madam, I beg you not to think ill of this,” Kotora also began to plead. “What? What’re you yappin’ about, you useless twit? How could I—a mere woman and chief—stoop to speaking directly? Shut your mouth and get the hell out!” O-Tetsu suddenly shoved Kotora. Kotora fell, struck her flank against an old post, and collapsed. With vindictive persistence, O-Tetsu kicked her and even spat phlegm upon her. Ryūjirō had thoroughly become unable to endure this ignorant oppression from O-Tetsu. If he remained with this woman, he thought, he would never achieve success in his lifetime. But now, there was nothing he could do.

“Ah—I’ll abandon this journey to Edo,” he declared. “From here I shall return to Awa. There I will prove my innocence once and for all! But first—the clothing.”

O-Tetsu’s delight knew no bounds. “Here they are,” she said. “I’ve kept them safe and sound. You’ll catch your death like this—hurry now and get dressed.” She began clothing him with maternal care, as if dressing a child after bathing. Ryūjirō had naturally removed the dagger from his loincloth and placed it roadside. Kotora—still collapsed—secretly seized it. The blade flashed free and plunged into O-Tetsu’s side. The bandit leader’s scream pierced the air once. “A woman’s resolve,” Kotora declared. “I am Takewari Kotora. Come, Master—let us make for Edo together.”

She wiped the bloodied blade on O-Tetsu's sleeve, sheathed it, and returned it. What should never have been resolved through ordinary means once or twice had been deftly handled by Kotora. Ryūjirō could only marvel at fate's strangeness.

＊　　　　　　＊　　　　　　＊

The man known as ○○○○○—renowned until mid-Meiji as the foremost veteran detective of the Metropolitan Police Department—was none other than this Isogai Ryūjirō reborn. His former wife was indeed Kotora, but it is said she died of illness in the early years of the Meiji era.

Whether Ryūjirō had received the secret techniques of Eight Directions Coiling Clouds from Jinpūsai. On that matter, regrettably, no account has been transmitted.