Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

During the Tenpō era, there was Nagamura Shōbee—a master of the Shinkage-ryū school whose martial prowess resounded throughout Edo—and among his disciples stood one Kotsukue Genpachirō. He was feared by people as an unorthodox swordsman.

“Kotsukue Genpachirō’s swordsmanship does not follow the orthodox path.”
“It is heresy.”
“Therefore he has yet to be granted formal licensure; however, through reversing the order—first footwork, second posture, third hand techniques, fourth verbal teachings, fifth perception—his eyes have become peerless under heaven.”
“He mastered the secret techniques of swordsmanship in total darkness without ever being taught.”
“The designation ‘unorthodox swordsman’ belongs to him alone.”

Even Master Shōbee was left in awe.

The morning of May 5th, Tenpō 9.
Young men from the same school—mostly second sons of hatamoto retainers—gathered and surrounded Kotsukue Genpachirō.

“We earnestly request that you set out for revenge.
“It was this very night last year.”
“At that time as well, we made our request.”
“We stated that there was none other than you who could exact revenge upon this enemy.”
“Ah, since you had kindly granted your consent at that time, we have been counting the days on our fingers awaiting this visit of yours.”

“Why was it again... that I agreed to take on something like revenge - such a major incident? I can’t quite recall.”

“If you have forgotten, we are deeply mortified.”
“Regarding the incident where our comrades suffered great disgrace on the night of the Rokusho Myōjin Darkness Festival in Fuchū, Musashi Province.”

“Ah, that matter.”

On the night of May 5th in Tenpō 8, six young hatamoto retainers of the Nagamura school set out for the festival in Fuchū.
This was because during the mikoshi procession—when the entire town extinguished every last light to create true darkness—they had set out to investigate firsthand the rumors that not only local women but also those gathered from nearby villages eagerly sought to receive mysterious blessings during this interval, without verifying the veracity of these claims.

Filled with this decadent mood, the young hatamoto warriors scattered to various locations in Fuchū that night to act freely, having agreed to meet at the soba shop before Jindai-ji Temple the next morning and share tales of their strange nocturnal encounters.

When morning came and the six men gathered at the designated house, they discovered all six had their nose tips cleanly sliced off, not a single face among them bearing anything resembling satisfaction.

“During the Darkness Festival, a monster appears.
"It can hardly be considered an act of the gods, but regardless, it’s regrettable.
We must witness its true form and have you subdue it—we cannot endure this humiliation.”

All six men, being in complete darkness from the start, had been unable to discern the perpetrator’s identity—when someone or something appeared before them, their noses were instantly sliced off.
This alone constituted the sole fact they had ascertained.

"There was also a theory that stated: 'If we call it a tengu’s doing, that settles matters—but could it not be what’s called a kamaitachi’s mischief?'"

"No—it was indeed human."
"There was also a theory suggesting, 'Perhaps someone made a sacred vow to cut six noses during Rokusho Myōjin's festival as ritual fulfillment.'"

"Yet suspicion lingers in all six being cut."
"'Might this be the work of one bearing a grudge against Nagamura's dojo who happened upon six men?' they proposed."
This theory gained significant currency.

"However, another view held: 'There may have been others whose noses were severed.'"
"'If so, then it wouldn't necessarily target only Nagamura's disciples.' In short, they remained utterly baffled regarding both perpetrator and purpose."

Kotsukue Genpachirō himself was not without some interest in this matter,

“Very well.
“In that case, this humble one shall proceed to Fuchū, witness the monster’s true form, and if fortune favors us, exact vengeance upon your enemies.
“However, should things go awry, how about this humble one’s nose?”

Laughing, he went out.

II

From Edo to Fuchū was eight ri.
Before evening, Kotsukue Genpachirō arrived.

Fuchū was, needless to say, the ancient site of the provincial capital, with Rokusho Myōjin serving as Fuchū’s central shrine.
There exists a theory that the correct characters should be "Rokusho," but its main deity is Ōkuninushi-no-Mikoto, accompanied by six auxiliary gods: Susanoo-no-Mikoto, Izanami-no-Mikoto, Ninigi-no-Mikoto, Ōmiyanome-no-Ōkami, and Furu-no-Ōkami (present-day Ōkunitama Shrine).
In Musashi Province, it ranked among the ancient shrines.

Every year on May 3rd, ritual horse races were conducted in darkness at the riding grounds before the shrine.
On the fourth day, sacred dance rituals were performed in the hall of worship.
On the fifth day came the grand ritual—eight mikoshi processions advancing through darkness to the temporary shrine.
The festival concluded on the sixth day with ceremonial rice planting, so with this four-day continuous celebration in full swing, all manner of merchants and itinerant performers poured in, creating a bustle beyond description.

Genpachirō entered the roadside tea house in Banba-shuku and decided to have a drink before his evening meal.
As customers nearly filled every seat, he finally managed to secure a spot on the bench in the garden’s corner.

“Let’s see what dishes you have.”
“I’m not so uncouth as to demand new fish varieties now that I’ve come to the Kōshū Kaidō.”
“Either vegetable dishes or fish rice with young sweetfish would do.”

“But sir, during the festival we’ve secured exceptionally fresh fish.”
“We can prepare simmered flounder or flathead sashimi.”
“Additionally: conger eel kabayaki, salt-grilled black sea bream, and shell-on grilled shrimp.”

“This feels just like Shinagawa.”

“Yes, everything comes through overnight from Shinagawa.”
“To explain—before the festival begins, all the priests go together to Shinagawa to perform seawater purification rituals, then remain in sacred seclusion until the day itself. Through this connection, Shinagawa fishermen bring freshly caught fish as shrine offerings too. But since they’re making the trip anyway, they figured why not bring extra to sell? Before we knew it, they’d gotten quite business-minded! This turns out fortunate for us—pilgrims coming from Tama’s mountain hinterlands rejoice at tasting truly fresh fish for the first time.”

“Hearing that explanation makes it seem commonplace in Edo, but let me have one grilled conger eel—then flathead prepared as sashimi would be good.”
“Well, that should do for now—bring me one sho.”

“One sho, sir?”

"I’ll have you pour more again later.
“Bring it in a shiratori vessel drawn from the large pot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kotsukue Genpachirō was an inner disciple of Nagamura—what you might call a struggling student in modern terms. He had no money. But today, owing to this revenge affair where six hatamoto had their noses sliced off in darkness, his fellow disciples had pooled funds for him. With his purse now comfortably full, he could indulge freely in his beloved sake.

At the neighboring bench sat a man who appeared to be a traveling merchant, nursing his drink alone since earlier—sipping slowly as he picked at salt-grilled black sea bream. Seven or eight empty sake flasks stood ranked before him, yet his face showed no trace of intoxication. His complexion held a bluish cast; thick eyebrows arched over sharp eyes beneath a half-shaved pate—a man who seemed to harbor not one but two peculiar quirks.

“Sir, if I may say so, you seem to handle your sake quite well,” called out the voice.

“Ah, nothing excessive—merely a poor household’s way of drinking with mealtime utensils.”

“Hmm, ‘poor household’s way of drinking with mealtime utensils’… I’ve never heard of that before.”
“What manner of drinking is that?”

“I can’t match a rich man’s tools, but a poor man’s kitchen has its limits.”
“And then I pour sake into each one and drink them down in quick succession.”

“Hmm, well then—say you’ve got tea bowls, plates, small dishes, rice bowls, soup bowls… Even stacked up for a family of three, that’s still a pretty limited set, isn’t it?”
“In that case, even someone like myself could manage that.”

“However, I don’t count bowls and plates among them.”
“Even a poor household should have pots and kettles.”
“I pour a cup into each one and drink them down.”

“Well now, I’m thoroughly impressed.”

It wasn’t that Kotsukue Genpachirō could drink that much—he had simply spiced things up with banter and downed it all.

The conversation grew more entertaining, and the sake began flowing freely.

"Well, this is my first time attending the local festival here, but I hear that last year, during the darkness, some rather strange events occurred—are those mere rumors? Or did they truly happen?"

Genpachirō had attempted to probe precisely because this traveling merchant had attended last year’s festival.

The traveling merchant grew slightly more serious,

“What incident did you hear about, master?” he pressed.

"Therefore, it's said that several samurai from somewhere had their faces wounded by some unknown assailant"—though Genpachirō avoided stating this outright.

"Oh, that's news to me—but what I heard differs somewhat."

"What manner of story? I'd welcome it as drinking companionship."

As he spoke, he substituted a teacup for a sake cup and poured.

Three

The traveling merchant glanced around cautiously and lowered his voice,

“To tell you the truth, master—it’s not limited to last year. Every year during this Darkness Festival, suspicious occurrences take place.”
“However, should word spread openly, the festival would fall into ruin at once—that’s why locals keep it strictly concealed.”
“Last year’s affair proved somewhat more elaborate.”
“Women... had their buttock flesh sliced.”
“Some twelve or thirteen victims suffered this fate.”
“Those resembling millstones likely required considerable slashing work,” he began.

“Hmm, that is outrageous. What purpose could there be in cutting women’s buttocks? It must be the work of a fool or a madman,” said Genpachirō, showing slight surprise at this new revelation.

“There may well be other incidents that occurred, but I believe those simply haven’t reached our ears. I believe something will surely happen again tonight. After all, crowds have poured in from everywhere... Moreover, last year, a certain daimyo’s concubine lady from Shinano Province stayed at the Honjin inn in Honmachi-juku, and apparently something strange occurred there too—though I don’t know the particulars of that matter.”

“Even if a daimyo’s concubine were staying there, they would still have to extinguish all flames when the mikoshi procession begins.”

“No matter how distinguished the guest might be, lighting fires would remain forbidden.”

Genpachirō pondered.
Whether the slicing of six retainers’ noses, the cutting of over a dozen women’s buttocks, and the assault on the daimyo’s beloved concubine all stemmed from the same hand.
This had become a matter worthy of study, he concluded.

Just then, the traveling merchant suddenly seemed to notice something,

“Ah, Sir Samurai—it’s not just myself. No one could possibly lodge at this inn tonight. Every last room is filled to capacity.”
“Therefore, I shall make arrangements to stay in Fuchū instead.”
“You see, I’m returning from procuring silk in Kōshū.”
“I must beg your leave.”

The merchant settled the bill and hurried off ahead.
Genpachirō couldn't help but regard that traveling merchant as suspicious.

He had appeared during their journey as nondescript as sesame ash.
Or perhaps he seemed like someone who had slipped in to pick pockets.
Could it be that he went around causing mischief while on the job?
Such doubts took root in his mind.

Pickpockets held a distinctive blade concealed in their palms. They would cut through purses with it, and he had heard tales of them vengefully disfiguring the faces of those who obstructed their work. If that traveling merchant were indeed a pickpocket, then the perpetrator behind the nose-slicings and buttock-cuttings couldn’t help but seem like that very man.

If he truly went to Kōshū to purchase silk and planned to stay in Fuchū tonight on his return to Edo, he should no longer be showing his face in this area. If he was still treading Fuchū’s soil around the time of darkness, then it was certain. Having resolved to capture him, force a confession, and this time cut off his nose himself, Genpachirō capped his drinking at one shō of sake, settled the bill, and departed the wayside tea house.

Since there was still time before the mikoshi procession's appointed hour, Genpachirō avoided the crowds and circled around to the shrine's rear.

Behind the famous breast-shaped ginkgo tree, cedars and pines grew so thickly that even during daylight it felt dim; thus at nightfall, darkness already reigned before they extinguished the ritual lamps.

Yet to Genpachirō, this held no darkness at all.
When he focused, he could faintly discern and even count each standing tree.
Genpachirō's eyes had astonished even Nagamura Shōbee.

Kotsukue Genpachirō was the son of a country samurai from Kotsukue Village in Tachibana District, Bushū Province. As a child when his eyes became afflicted, itinerant Sixty-Six Circuit monks prayed over him and applied something called Yakushi Water. After making a full recovery from this treatment, he had mysteriously developed the ability to see in darkness. Though it never reached the level of a beast's eyes glowing through blackest night, compared to ordinary people he could faintly perceive his surroundings.

IV

Absentmindedly, Genpachirō peered toward the back mountain.
Then came into view an enormous zelkova tree—already withered—standing like a demon king thrusting upward.
At its base, a single suspicious figure was discerned.

Finding this suspicious, he wove through the dense trees to approach and look—unexpectedly, it was none other than that traveling merchant.

Finally convinced of his suspicions, Genpachirō tried to approach with stealthy steps when—as if already sensing this—the traveling merchant rose to flee.

“Hey, hey—you’re still here.”
“Didn’t you head toward Fuchū?”

Genpachirō called out.

“Oh!”

The traveling merchant was not a little surprised.

“Master actually recognized it was me in this darkness.”

“Yet you noticed even when I crept up stealthily.”

The merchant had been startled, but Genpachirō found himself equally astonished.

“Well, my eyes see better in the dark than daylight, you see.”

“What? You too possess night vision?”
“In truth, I also see clearly through darkness.”

“Oh! So master’s got night eyes too, eh? Heh, that’s how it is.”
“Then you’re here for ‘earning’ too, I reckon?”

“What do you mean by ‘earning’?”

“Heh heh heh...”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘earning’?”

“Well, uh, that’s...”

“Did you mistake me for one of your outlaw comrades?”

“Well, uh, you see...”
“Heh heh heh... Since you mentioned having night vision... I must apologize.”

“So you are indeed a thief.”

“I beg your forgiveness.
“I won’t conceal it.”
“Truly, I am one of the ‘bridegroom comrades’.”

“What’s this ‘bridegroom comrades’?”

“It’s ‘night-vision takers’.
“Heh heh, we spell it ‘bride-takers’ as a play on words.”

“Even thieves in Edo have a flair for wordplay.”
“Interesting.”
“So you come here every year for the Darkness Festival to ply your trade, then.”

“To tell you the truth, master, making a living comes second—it’s half for fun. Well, I’ve been coming every year.”
“I’m not the only one.”
“My comrades all come to test their skills or their night vision.”

“I’ve heard of testing one’s skills, but what’s this ‘testing one’s eyes’?”

“In this thieving trade, the most crucial thing is one’s eyes.”
“If you can’t learn to see things in the dark, you won’t make good earnings.”
“Now, though we call ourselves thieves, there are proper methods to this craft. The elders of our guild taught us all—first observing dietary taboos while ingesting a secret medicine for three years straight, then undertaking two or three years of training to make our eyes gleam in total darkness.”
“If you want to become a proper thief—a real one—the training’s grueling work, no easy task.”
“Of course, this is said to be based on methods passed down from old thief families... So, well, I completed that training regimen quickly and have reached the point where I can read letters even on moonless nights.”
“I go by the alias Gorōsuke Shichisaburō—Shichisaburō being my real name, while Gorōsuke comes from the cry of an owl.”

“So now, your comrades are...”

“As for comrades across Japan—I can’t say exactly how many there are—but in Kanto alone we have roughly five hundred twenty men. Yet those with true night vision are few… barely five in total. As for Nezumi Kozo Jirokichi—captured exactly six years ago this very month and day, then executed on August nineteenth at Kozukappara—he wasn’t counted among those five. That guy was still just a greenhorn.”

“As for those five...”

“Though it’s presumptuous of me to say so, first there’s myself—Gorōsuke Shichisaburō—at the head, followed by Night-Crying Hanji, Reverse-Swipe Kinzō, Smoke Yobei, and Knothole Chōshirō.”
“That’s all there is.”

“Strange names.”
“So they all came to the Darkness Festival?”

“There were times when we all came together, but even pickpocketing the local peasants’ money pouches barely amounted to anything.”
“But, well, pulling pranks is just so entertaining. For instance, we wouldn’t even hesitate to sneak into the shrine precincts where the gods themselves reside. Taking advantage of the darkness, whenever we’d spot men and women having secret trysts or such, we’d sneak up and slice off their topknots without them noticing. We’d give them a good scare like that—to teach them not to engage in such indiscreet behavior again.”

“Did all five of you come last year as well?”

“Well master, that’s where the real story begins.”
“Night-Crying Hanji was apprehended and still remains in prison.”
“Smoke Yobei has gone to Kamigata, and two years ago, Knothole Chōshirō, Reverse-Swipe Kinzō, and I came here together as a trio.”
“At that time, we encountered a terrible ordeal, I tell you.”

Five

To Gorōsuke Shichisaburō's utterly bizarre tale, Kotsukue Genpachirō had become completely enthralled.

“What kind of ordeal did you face?”

Gorōsuke Shichisaburō grew somewhat excited,

“Should we call that thing a tengu? A tengu-like giant with night vision sharper than even ours. The three of us were in this very back mountain, tallying up the stolen goods we’d lifted, when he suddenly appeared and started laying into us with what looked like a vajra staff. We weren’t about to just sit there and take a beating. With the daggers we had hidden in our robes, we fought back with every ounce of our spirit, but we were no match at all. All three of us were beaten half to death. As a result, Reverse-Swipe Kinzō fell ill for about two months and ended up dying. Knothole Chōshirō and I were in such a state that we practically needed to go for hot-spring treatment… So last year, for that revenge business, we made thorough preparations—Chōshirō and I came together to the Darkness Festival, but…”

“What preparations did you make?”

“Blinding powder.”
“We procured blinding powder and planned to hurl it before striking, but even that didn’t work out.”
“Chōshirō ended up having his eyes crushed instead.”

“Did they hurl the blinding powder at you first?”

“No—he thrust his fingers straight into the eyes.”

“That’s brutal.”

“In the end, I’ve been left all alone.”
“This year, out of sheer frustration, I’ve resolved to take revenge all by myself—in fact, I’ve concealed a Tanegashima.”

“Was he dressed as a mountain priest last year too?”

“That is correct.”

“Isn’t that the one? The one who injured the samurai’s faces last year was…”

“Well, that might be the case.”

“The one who cut the buttocks—wasn’t that him?”

“That might very well be the case.”

“Shichisaburō—you mustn’t hide anything from me. Wasn’t it you and Chōshirō who sliced off the tips of six hatamoto’s noses?”

“No, I won’t hide it. If I were going to hide anything, I wouldn’t have said a word from the start. Well, since I’m confessing anyway, I’ll tell you this—it was me who sneaked into the headquarters, cut off the little finger of the daimyo’s Ohebasama, and fled. That woman was my childhood friend, you see.”

“So it truly wasn’t you who cut the hatamoto’s noses and women’s buttocks?”

“In the past, I did cut men and women’s hair, but last year, aside from the Ohebasama, I did absolutely nothing else.”

“I see.”
“In truth, I…”
He recounted the circumstances and explained that he had come to take revenge on the six hatamoto.

Gorōsuke Shichisaburō was delighted.

“Ah! So you’re Master Nagamura’s prized disciple—Master Kotsukue!”
“If that’s the case, I must humbly beg your aid.”
“That nose-slicing of the hatamoto—no doubt it’s that shady mountain priest’s doing!”

At this moment, on the branch of the great zelkova tree,

"Ah-hahahahaha!" boomed a derisive laugh.

Even Kotsukue Genpachirō was startled.
Gorōsuke Shichisaburō jumped up in surprise.

When they peered through, there was a person climbing there.
Though indistinct, it was the form of a mountain ascetic.

“What? You were there all along, listening to our talk in silence?” Genpachirō shouted.

“You may have night vision and know darkness sword techniques, but you lot prattling arrogantly are useless.”
“You couldn’t see me here, could you?” jeered the strange man in the tree, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Quit dawdling and come down here!”

“I could come down...”
“But with you lot standing there, I can’t come down.”

“Too scared to come down?”

“No—that’s not it.
"I’d leap down there in one bound, but you two are blocking the prime foothold."
“You’re in the way.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! There’s open space whether you go before us, behind us—right or left! Jump down wherever you damn well please!”

“That’s exactly why your night vision is worthless! You haven’t even reached true darkness perception! There’s dog shit behind you lot—something your eyes can’t detect! Before you lies a yam-dug hole! A miracle you didn’t fall in! To your right sprawl tree roots! To your left scatter stone shards and tile fragments! All wretched landing spots! Only where you two stand—with its grass growth and soft earth—offers proper footing! That I can discern from this eighty-foot perch in pitch darkness—yet you can’t! Cease prattling about night vision!”

At this, both of them were startled.
He was indeed a tengu.
Though neither voiced it—"Come down with that towering nose and we'll slice it off!"—they stood poised, mutually awaiting action.

VI

“Here I come! If you don’t back off, I’ll leap down and plant one foot on the thief’s head and the other on Sanpin’s head!”

As he spoke these words, the strange mountain ascetic in the tree leapt down from a height of twenty-five or twenty-six feet in one go.

“Hah!”

Kotsukue Genpachirō, who had been lying in wait, sprang forward and attempted to deliver a back strike with his sword against the still-unsteady figure, aiming to shatter his resolve.

“Ha ha ha!” taunted the voice.

From behind came that derisive laugh again.

What had flown forward was a large ceremonial streamer.
Behind them, the mountain ascetic already stood planted.

He was a giant of a man.
Though his face remained indistinct, his stature seemed to pierce the clouds themselves, and in his hand he gripped a vajra staff.

“You impudent mountain ascetic bastard! Now taste the tip of Kotsukue Genpachirō’s sword of darkness!”

“I’ll parry every strike—but can your eyes even find me?” the mountain ascetic mocked.

“What?!”

The single decisive cut stood as Shinkage-ryū’s supreme principle. This technique of pure substance became empty shadow when its target effortlessly sidestepped the blade.

“Damn you!”

The two strikes were feints made real—a two-stage sword technique. Just as he unleashed a frontal assault—a whirling rightward shift into a torso cut—it was deftly intercepted by the vajra staff.

Perhaps the staff contained iron reinforcement—even that staff proved uncuttable—and Genpachirō, daunted by this formidable foe, felt his resolve falter.

Seeing Genpachirō in peril, Gorōsuke Shichisaburō drew his Tanegashima pistol—this much succeeded—but firearms of that era required ignition: striking flint to light the match cord, then using that cord to ignite the touchhole. During these cumbersome steps, the vajra staff struck him with a resounding clang. The flint striker flew from his hand—even Shichisaburō, proud of his night vision, grew flustered and failed to retrieve it. As he groped blindly, his head endured countless blows from the staff until he collapsed unconscious.

While handling Genpachirō's fierce slashes, he defeated Shichisaburō in the openings between strikes—the full extent of his skill remained nearly unfathomable.

“Stop it.”
“You stand no chance against me.”
“If you keep dawdling, you’ll lose your lives!”
“Well now, that would be rather regrettable.”
“Moreover, you lot are mistaken.”
“I neither cut the noses of six hatamoto nor slash the buttocks of over a dozen women.”

“What?!”

“To tell the truth, I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
“Now—let’s cease this contest and talk things through.”

There was no stopping or being stopped.
Kotsukue Genpachirō stood utterly exhausted, barely maintaining his blue-eyed stance, every direction riddled with openings.

“Hmm...”

“No need to groan.”
“Sit on a tree root or something.”
“Ah—there’s a caterpillar crawling on that root over there.”
“You can’t see it, but I can.”

“What? I don’t care if there’s a caterpillar.”

It wasn't that Genpachirō summoned the will not to lose.
It was because he wanted to rest quickly rather than search for another tree root.

VII

“What manner of man are you?” asked Kotsukue Genpachirō after finally regaining his breath.

“I am a true tengu.”
“There are many types of tengu, but mine bears the certified label.”
“However, I’m not like those from old tales—the ones clutching feather fans, sporting long noses and crimson faces.”
“I’m an ordinary human—with proper parents and siblings to boot.”
“I was born at Bushū Mitake-san.”
“We’ve been mountain ascetics for generations.”
“My ancestor was Jōhoku-bō Kaizon.”
“This pure bloodline has been transmitted through eighteen successive generations.”
“Given our proclivity for longevity, two or three ancestors lived beyond a hundred years.”
“For generations, we’ve possessed night vision.”
“I am Dairyūin Taiun.”

So he truly was a tengu.
A great tengu.

“Then why did you nearly kill Shichisaburō’s comrades two years running—the year before last and last year?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Because they were despicable scoundrels committing misdeeds during the divine festival, I punished them for two consecutive years to teach them a lesson. I intend to eradicate them this year.”

“Then, the six hatamoto’s noses…?”

“Well, I truly don’t know about that. I truly know nothing of such matters. I know nothing at all about cutting women’s buttocks either. There must be another. I descend every year to punish those scoundrels who exploit the darkness for their misdeeds, but last year’s case still eludes me.”

“So there is another one after all.”
“Who could it be?”

“Ah, intriguing.”
“What say you, Genpachirō?”
“Even a wretch like you counts as one night-visioned man.”
“That thieving scoundrel at least sees somewhat in the dark.”
“Tonight let us three comb through this blackness—catch whatever vermin plays these tricks—and ensure they never lift a finger again. Agreed?”

"That’s acceptable."
"Let us three search through the darkness."
"Then let’s revive that thief."

Dairyūin Taiun administered a single resuscitation technique to Shichisaburō.

Shichisaburō let out a low groan.

“Pull yourself together!” Genpachirō barked.

“I’ve had enough.”

“Don’t worry—I won’t strike you anymore.”

There, the three made their pact: they would split into three directions, weave through the Darkness Festival’s blackout, and if they captured the nose- and buttock-cutting culprit, bring them first to the base of this great zelkova tree.

“Whoever captures them first—let’s make it a night vision contest.”
“Let’s have the losers buy the drinks,” proposed Genpachirō.

“Not a chance!”
“Our night vision is one thing, but if luck is against us, we might not find them.”
“If I lose—and being a poor mountain ascetic—I can’t cover the drinking expenses.”
“Since the thief here has surely stolen plenty of others’ money, regardless of who finds them—Shichisaburō, you’ll buy a barrel!”
“In exchange—we’ll agree that whoever finds them gets to boast loudest, while the two losers have no choice but to bow politely.”
And with one fist, Taiun knocked him on the head.
“Without this much entertainment, it wouldn’t be any fun,” Taiun declared.
To take a cut from the thief’s ill-gotten gains and drink sake—now that’s one bold fellow.

Thus, Dairyūin Taiun—hereditarily possessing night vision.
Kotsukue Genpachirō—miraculously possessing night vision.
Gorōsuke Shichisaburō—possessing night vision through rigorous training.

The three of them emerged from the grove behind the shrine and scattered in three separate directions.

VIII

The time of the Darkness Festival finally arrived.
As soon as a certain shrine priest named Saruwatari finished offering the grand norito prayer in the main hall, they extinguished all lamps, and the eight mikoshi solemnly began their procession.

Seven of the mikoshi departed westward from before the Second Torii along Kōshū Kaidō's main road, while the remaining one split left before Zuishinmon Gate—all proceeding from Honmachishuku post-town toward Kadofuda Tsuji intersection's Otabisho temporary shrine at Banbashuku post-town.

The three concealed their presence and vanished into directions unknown.

＊ ＊ ＊

With the thunderous drumbeats as their signal following the successful conclusion of the tedious rituals, the world of darkness abruptly transformed into one of light. The tall lanterns of each household and their eaves lanterns went without saying; the four great bonfires scorched the very heavens and startled all birds in the forest in an instant.

“They got hit again!”

“This year, three people had their ears cut off.”

“I hear five or six people had their noses cut off too.”

“I hear women’s buttocks are still being targeted as usual.”

Within the crowd, people here and there were recounting the strange incidents.

＊ ＊ ＊

Behind the shrine at the base of the great zelkova tree on the back mountain, the very first to return was the mysterious mountain ascetic Taiun.
He was in an extremely foul mood, muttering to himself in bursts as he struck standing trees with his vajra staff.

There, the unorthodox swordsman Kotsukue Genpachirō returned with a dazed face.

"Oh—you struck out too?"

“I simply couldn’t find them.”

“However, it seems people still got attacked after all.”

“Since even we couldn’t spot them while patrolling, that thief bastard must be completely out of his depth. He’ll come slinking back any moment now, thoroughly dejected.”

As they were discussing this, Gorōsuke Shichisaburō—the mysterious alley thief—returned.
He came carrying on his back a young woman with disheveled black hair, her form stained with blood.

“Ha ha ha! Since I couldn’t find the culprit, I brought back a beauty as compensation instead."
“You’re probably thinking of having her serve sake, but that won’t do.”
“Let her go.”
“Oh—she’s gone completely limp.”
“Is she unconscious?”

Shichisaburō silently put down the girl there.
Then he rubbed his nose upward with the palm of one hand, scratched his jaw, and arched his back,

“Well? How about that?
“Both of you—get your hands on the ground and bow properly.”
He knocked their heads once with his fist.
“Of course I’ll treat you to drinks,” he declared with foolish bravado.

“Hey now—don’t go losing your heads.”
“What’s the use in bringing the girl who was cut?”
“You’ve got to bring the one who did the cutting,” Genpachirō said with a laugh.

“But this girl did it again tonight—last year’s was likely her work too.”

“What?”

“You lot were only watching men and let them slip by—but I kept eyes on women and sniffed out the culprit.”
“Knocked her out with a pressure point and hauled her here.”
“Look—blood on the kimono.”
“On her hands too.”
“A bloodied razor wrapped in a hand towel’s tucked in her obi.”

“Hmm.”

This time, Dairyūin Taiun growled.

The three of them tended to the unconscious girl, revived her, and interrogated her through threats and coercion.

At first she did nothing but cry and refused to confess under any circumstances, but when they promised to keep this fact absolutely secret, the girl finally admitted to the truth of her bizarre crimes.

The girl was from a shrine family—the eldest daughter of Katsuragi Fujima—and was named Inaho.

She had fulfilled her pure duties as a ceremonial dancer in the Kagura Hall, but during the Darkness Festival night five years prior, over a dozen young mikoshi porters wearing rope belly wraps dragged her into the shadow of the Breast Ginkgo tree, subjecting her to unbearable verbal abuse and the ultimate humiliation.

The sheer frustration and bitterness—
Ashamed of her ill-fated existence, she had attempted to throw herself into the Tama River eight times.
Deemed mad, she had been confined for three years in a house prison fashioned from the storehouse.
Behind this tragedy also lurked the stepmother’s malice.

The already arranged marriage into a respectable family had been transferred to her half-sister.

Inaho could not help but curse the young men who had sown the seeds of such misfortune as heinous enemies.
But as it was an event shrouded in darkness, there had been no way for her to know who or where they were from the start.

Revenge—it had no target to strike.
It was a tragedy among tragedies.
In the end, she began cursing the world.
She began cursing people.
Above all, she came to curse young men and young women with supreme intensity.

Three years in a house prison.
Having grown accustomed to the storehouse darkness and now wielding terrifyingly sharp night vision, she infiltrated last year's Darkness Festival to slice men's noses and cut women's buttocks.

Through this, she felt intense pleasure.
She had planned to repeat it this year.
By these acts, she proved herself truly mad.
The family's decision to release her from house imprisonment had been an error.

Upon hearing this bizarre truth, all three found themselves sympathizing with Inaho, unable to discern whether this was right or wrong.

“Well, no wonder the culprit couldn’t be identified,” Genpachirō said.

“The one who found that was Gorōsuke Shichisaburō. Well, no matter how much night vision you’ve got, you folks can’t see what’s right in front of your noses—makes you completely useless! When it comes to that, only a true Edokko can cut it! The fact I pegged this culprit as a woman shows real sharp thinking,” Shichisaburō boasted needlessly.

“What?”
“You—a damn thief—don’t get cocky!” Taiun turned crimson.

“No—it’s the promise.”
“I’ll treat you to drinks.”
“This too was agreed upon.”
The discoverer would boast to his heart’s content, while the remaining two pressed their palms to the earth and bowed in perfect form.
“Now here’s my proposition.”
“Since that mountain priest bastard’s an enemy of my comrades, let me land two punches—one for Mr. Kotsukue’s share and my own—whacking his skull good with my fist.”
“That’ll settle scores for Sakazuri Kinkurō and Fuseana Chōshirō—two debts paid.”
“Once that’s done, we’ll laugh it off, drink our fill merrily, and go our separate ways—how’s that sound?”

“Being made to take an extra punch on Kotsukue’s behalf—that’s utterly ridiculous.”
“Fine then.”
“Either way I’m going to get punched.”
“One punch or two—it’s all the same.”
“But my head’s harder than stone—you will be the one hurting your fist!”

“Whatever’s fine. If we get through with hittin’, it’s just like that Jin-era tale of Yu Rang I heard in the storytellin’ circles. That’s how revenge holds true to its logic.”

What Taisho-era modern people would find absurd was something those of this time generally recognized as theatrical posturing—yet without treating it as comedy, they earnestly engaged with and dismissed such matters.

Dairyūin Taiun removed his hood and bared his head—whereupon Gorōsuke Shichisaburō spat on his knuckles and swung with full force: Thwack! Thwack!

“That really cleared my chest.”

Amidst this bizarre act of vengeance, Kotsukue Genpachirō had been deeply engrossed in thought—but now he straightened with resolve,

“Well, I wish to take this Lady Inaho as my bride,” he declared.

At this, both Taiun and Shichisaburō were startled.
It was because it had been far too sudden.
Genpachirō had not merely sympathized with Inaho’s circumstances.
From Taiun’s claim that night vision was hereditary across generations, he had reasoned thus: through the union of a man endowed with night vision and a woman similarly gifted, their child might attain night vision surpassing all predecessors. Such was the calculation that had driven his proposal.