Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

During Emperor Go-Shirakawa's cloistered rule, a rare death penalty was been carried out at the Kamo Riverbed in Kyoto.

The Taihō Code stipulated five punishments—flogging, beating, forced labor, exile, and death—but since Emperor Shōmu’s reign, successive emperors had all been devout Buddhist adherents. Due to their deep reverence for Buddhist teachings, they considered even the slightest reduction of penalties to be the highest merit. Particularly out of imperial intent that "the dead cannot be revived," it had become customary to establish various acts of grace such as general amnesties and regular pardons when granting special clemency.
Those sentenced to death would naturally have their penalty reduced by one degree to exile through a special imperial decree, but for other crimes as well, exile would become forced labor, and forced labor would become beating.
Furthermore, the Office of Police and Judicial Officials maintained a provisional legal provision: for those who stole fifteen *tan* or more of cloth, while the code mandated hanging and sub-statutes prescribed fifteen years of labor, they avoided imposing death penalties altogether as this conflicted with imperial wisdom. The stolen cloth would be administratively downgraded by the office to under fifteen *tan* as deemed appropriate, thereby ensuring that even a fifteen-year forced labor sentence could be halved through their efforts.
Even if a robber killed someone while stealing goods, only the stolen items would be treated as a matter of concern, with no penalty imposed for the murder itself.
The legal provisions existed as legal provisions on paper, but in reality, capital punishment did not exist in this era.
Afterward, in Bunji 2 (1186 CE), Hōjō Tokimasa bypassed the Office of Police and Judicial Officials to apprehend Kyoto’s notorious bandits—those who could be called local specialties—then executed them arbitrarily without judicial transfer.
This being Tokimasa’s decisive judgment, he likely intended to wake leniency-prone legal precedents from their complacency; however, in an era when the imperial court raged indiscriminately—clamoring to send Tokimasa back to Kamakura or similar uproars—not only was capital punishment itself extraordinary, but those condemned were none other than Koushi, wife of Chūnagon Fujiwara no Yasufumi, and his youngest daughter Hanayo-hime. Koushi being thirty-five and Hanayo sixteen—both women of such beauty they would become subjects of later tales—they left unforgettable memories etched in people’s hearts.

The true likenesses of Koushi and Hanayo-hime were painted by Mitsuzane, a disciple of Mitsunaga. Mitsuzane possessed many not particularly skilled portraits of Prince Shōshin and Fujiwara no Muneko, but the true likenesses of these two women were likely the sole masterpiece of his lifetime. The crimson *karaginu* robe of ukisen-ori brocade worn by Hanayo upon the execution platform is said to have been specially woven for her final day; yet even within its dancing hues, the emotional turmoil of this sixteen-year-old pitiful girl—her heart’s disarray—is starkly depicted with visceral immediacy.

Her long flowing hair exuded youthful vitality, and though the contours of her face still showed a childlike firmness, her gaze remained gentle, her eyes wide and large—amidst weeping with hot tears, she wore a simple, good expression tinged with spirituality, as if suddenly startled by something unseen. Koushi embodied the archetype of a Fujiwara-clan accomplished woman from the late Heian period—confident and self-possessed. Her complexion held a deep mutedness, her eyebrows stood starkly black, and her eyes, bearing an unclouded hue, were composedly open. With her plump, fleshy physique, she formed a stark contrast to Hanayo’s emaciated, spiritual aura reminiscent of Buddhist paintings.

In modern terms, the two women’s crime amounted to joint principal offenders in “kinslaying.” Though they did not directly lay hands on him themselves, they summoned to their residence a mercenary whose trade was assassination, urged him on from both sides when he hesitated, and thereby accomplished the great deed of patricide for Hanayo and uxoricide for Koushi.
Needless to say under the laws of the time—for kinslaying was undeniably a capital offense—no one had even imagined that this beautiful, spirited girl, who had fought against unparalleled misfortune, would face the death penalty.

It was not from complacency bred by leniency that Chūnagon Fujiwara no Yasufumi—father to one and husband to the other—had been killed by his wife and daughter; long notorious for reckless cruelty if not outright villainy, he stood as a man of established repute for impiety and immorality, one whose very name made many furrow their brows.
Moreover, in compelling his wife and daughter—the former his spouse and the latter his own child—to slay the man who was both father and husband, the fault lay wholly with Yasufumi himself; the two women had been forcibly compelled to adopt such measures through utter desperation.
Were one to assume an impartial stance, the nature of Koushi and Hanayo’s culpability proved difficult to readily determine; thus all had remained thoroughly convinced these two women would naturally face nothing graver than temple confinement or redemption through copper (a monetary penalty—albeit a costly one).

Fujiwara no Ason Yasufumi of Junior Third Rank was the fourth-generation descendant of Fujiwara no Tadabumi—infamously known by the derogatory epithet “Malevolent Spirit Minister of Popular Affairs”—who served as Controller, Head of the Imperial Treasury, and was appointed Minister of the Treasury before advancing to Junior Third Rank and becoming Chūnagon in Angen 2 (1176 CE).
Except for his younger brother, who held the position of Gon-sōjō (Provisional Archbishop) at Hiei, nearly all his siblings and relatives held positions related to the Ministry of Military Affairs. Yasufumi alone was an exception—from his youth, he excelled in mathematics, and over time demonstrated such mastery of mathematical arts that even the official mathematicians of the Daigaku-ryō (Imperial Academy) could not match him.
After becoming Minister of the Treasury, he demonstrated remarkable administrative skill by rehabilitating abandoned manors to double the court’s revenue. During this time, he shrewdly amassed personal wealth and further secured his status by taking Asahiko—the second daughter of the wealthy Taira clan elder of Fukakusa—as his wife, her dowry including twelve fertile manors in Yamashiro Province. By merely thirty years of age, he became one of the Fujiwara clan’s foremost magnates, erecting an unprecedented two-story mansion on a three-chō plot along the Shirakawa River, its grandeur unmatched in Kyoto at the time. Yet Tadabumi’s infamy persisted even into Yasufumi’s generation, costing him considerable social capital.

Tadabumi had once received orders to subdue Masakado and raced down to Musashi Province, but while he was delayed along the way—though due to unavoidable circumstances—Masakado was quelled, and he returned to the capital without incident.
From Tadabumi’s perspective, he believed he had exerted himself greatly in his own way, but he resented until his dying day how Dainagon Saneyori’s meddling had caused his reward to come to naught.
On his deathbed,

“I will surely exact my vengeance.”

Tadabumi died clinging to his grudge even without uttering such words, and immediately after his death, Saneyori’s sons and daughters began dying mysterious deaths one after another.

The mid-Heian period was the zenith of the tengu demon realm—an age when dragons, fox spirits, avian-masked grotesqueries, leaders of heretics, blue women, and such monsters roamed freely. Society lived in terror of divine retribution and eerie phenomena, so when misfortunes struck, they attributed them to Tadabumi’s vengeful spirit. From then on, people began calling him “Malevolent Spirit” or “Malevolent Spirit Minister of Popular Affairs,” viewed his entire clan as affiliates of the tengu cult with dread, and even spread rumors that Yasufumi’s extraordinary mathematical genius owed itself to demonic aid.

Yasufumi, perhaps finding this too amusing, would invariably go out whenever there was a celebration at some house,

“The Malevolent Spirit Minister of Popular Affairs has arrived!”

He would stand blocking the middle gate entrance and present himself with an extraordinarily loud voice.
Though merely a childish prank, when unleashed upon events like bridal processions or sons’ hakama ceremonies, it became calamitous—a disaster that even Grand Purification Rituals couldn’t remedy.

Yasufumi carried himself with the bold grandeur of a Fujiwara clansman from antiquity, as though embodying their martial valor to this very day—his thunderous voice earning him the moniker “Resounding Minister of the Treasury.” Yet the impression he generally left was one of unfathomable eeriness; he bore an unsettling demonic aura that made one dread encountering him at twilight’s lonely crossroads.
A giant monk demon known as the Leader of Heretics—its limbs as thin as straw stalks—would pass by at dusk, glaring fiercely with bloodshot eyes.
It is said that even someone like the Lieutenant of the Retainers died of fright from such encounters—in short, that was the kind of impression he gave.
He always kept his eyes lowered as if drowsy, but occasionally, when he lifted his eyelids, he would fix others with a chilling gaze.
Even martial artists confident in their skills found themselves immobilized when pierced by Yasufumi’s sneering gaze—somehow feeling things were not going their way.
In their time, few men were as detested as Yasufumi; yet he managed to continue his licentious deeds without once suffering blade or staff—a circumstance that surely had its reasons.

Setting aside commoners and the general populace, the lives of court nobles in this era were governed by rigid formalism—whether they indulged in elegant pastimes or devoted themselves to Buddhist faith. Yet amidst such conventions, Yasufumi stood as a figure of singular distinction. He detested all literary pretensions—poetry and waka he scarcely understood—mocked and spurned even the pleasures of biwa lutes and flute orchestras. Moreover, this man of utter lack of faith had never once clapped his own hands in ritual nor set foot within temple grounds—a defiance that further blackened his reputation. The fact that he continued to be misunderstood many times worse than reality stemmed from that perverse disposition; yet despite this, he remained terrifyingly sensitive to insults—whenever he felt slighted, within three months he would dispatch assassins to kill or injure the offender.

In addition to this, Fujiwara no Yasufumi had many other strange behaviors that took people by surprise. Within Yasufumi’s body dwelled a creature-like entity—restless, unable to endure stale customs—that could not feel alive unless constantly confronted with novel, disquieting sensations. Shamelessly baring his primal passions, he rampaged with untamed abandon. Displaying bravado was also one of his pastimes. At the time, ruthless bandits loitered at Kuratsukuchi and Ōsaka-goe—gateways to the Minoji Road leading from Kyoto to Ōtsu—making solitary travel perilous even in daylight. Yet Yasufumi would fasten an Emishi-style curved-hilt short sword of roughly one shaku at his waist and ride alone on horseback to the courtesan quarters in Zeze, without any attendants. The Hashimoto-juku post station in Tōtōmi Province—a renowned hub for courtesans even mentioned in the *Azuma Kagami*—exemplified his audacious spirit; when his horse grew weary, he would abandon it and seize another from a passerby, and when passing through areas infested with bands of bandits’ wilderness manors,

“Chūnagon and Minister of the Treasury Fujiwara no Yasufumi”

he would announce himself as “Chūnagon and Minister of the Treasury Fujiwara no Yasufumi” and pass through.
The thunderous volume of his voice left the bandits overawed, watching him depart in dumbfounded silence.

Yasufumi further harbored a peculiar predilection for shameless carnal pursuits.
He utterly disregarded composed-faced retired empresses and senior court ladies.
All his revelries leaned toward vulgarity; he craved only the most potent stimuli.
He found himself constitutionally incapable of appreciating such conventional aristocratic pastimes as Daigo’s cherry blossom viewings, Kamo’s Aoi Festival, Kankaku-in’s winding stream banquets, or even Sen-in’s Gosechi dances.
While subduing post station courtesans single-handedly counted among his official duties, he nightly slipped from his mansion to haunt Anshūbō’s slums—sharing dregs wine with beggars, hunting streetwalkers in Hachijō-Inokuma, and ultimately dragging back clattering-bowl nuns and itinerant female performers to stage drunken bacchanals.
Even in affairs of love, respectable women failed to stir his ardor.
Ministers’ secret paramours, counselors’ cherished mistresses, happily wedded judicial officials’ northern consorts, newly ordained nun-princesses—the more unattainable they were, the sweeter the conquest. Once marked by his gaze, neither Chikunai of the nunneries nor Anshu of the retired empresses could thwart him; through bizarre stratagems he invariably prevailed.

II

Fujiwara no Yasufumi had four sons—Fumio, Kuniyoshi, Yasuhiro, and Mitsumaro—and two daughters—Katsuraki and Hanayo—but he merely attended their Kubii seventh-night celebration before abandoning each of them in the rear detached quarters.
To Yasufumi, children were incomprehensible nuisances—creatures who considered causing others trouble their privileged right; sons required costly tuition at the Daigaku-ryō (Imperial Academy) to even attain the rank of Seventh-Rank Junior Secretary while daughters demanded exorbitant dowries merely to be marriageable—in short, he likely viewed them as nothing more than supremely economically inefficient creatures—and setting aside such calculations, he grew far too preoccupied with his own affairs to spare even a thought for his offspring.

Asahiko entered Yasufumi’s household in the spring of her sixteenth year and bore six children over the next decade.
It is not known what sort of countenance Asahiko possessed as a woman.
If Hanayo resembled her mother, then one might imagine that Asahiko would have been considered a beauty by the standards of the time; yet Asahiko herself, descended from the Hata clan that had migrated from Korea, seemed to possess the tenacious temperament characteristic of immigrant peoples.
Yasufumi had taken Asahiko as his wife out of utilitarian calculation—to marry the daughter of a wealthy man—and held little interest in her as a woman. Asahiko, for her part, accepted this as natural; she watched without resentment as nightly lewd revelries unfolded in the Tai-no-Ya, quietly raising their six children in Aoi-no-Tsubo—a detached building isolated in the northern depths of the garden—while observing the shifting blossoms and hazily sensing time’s passage through plant-like days of tranquil solitude.

Yasufumi was not what one would call stingy, but as a thoroughgoing egoist, he approached financial matters with an unprecedented decisiveness and saw no value whatsoever in investing money in his children’s generation.
He seemed to believe that all the money he had was solely his own, and that spending even a single copper coin on expenses for his children would be nothing but an utmost loss.
Asahiko, having heard of Yasufumi’s reputation from her father and brothers and anticipating such behavior, had secretly brought belongings beyond her dowry; thus, all child-rearing expenses were funded from the income of those lands.

This was all well and good, but as the children had grown and the age for sending the three eldest boys to the Daigaku-ryō had nearly passed, Yasufumi still said nothing.
Year after year she endured and waited in silence, but unable to bear it any longer, one day she timidly broached the subject.

Yasufumi wore a silk hitatare directly against his bare skin and sat cross-legged on a round cushion atop the wide dais without his crown,

“The children you speak of—whose children are they exactly?”

He retorted through a yawn; when he realized this concerned his own children, his face turned as though struck by lightning. Indeed, it seemed he had finally recalled having several children of his own, but appearing preoccupied with some urgent new notion, he curtly dismissed the conversation with a “Do as you see fit.” The following year, upon hearing elsewhere that his eldest son Fumio had passed the Provincial Examination and attained the rank of Scholar, he suddenly wondered where exactly the funds for such studies had come from. If Asahiko had been squeezing them from the household budget—which would have been unforgivable—he went straight to Aoi-no-Tsubo upon returning and interrogated her harshly, whereupon she reluctantly confessed to using income from her dowry lands. With an eerie sneer, Yasufumi declared that since this was originally part of her dowry, he would incorporate it into his own domain—but threatened to disown the children unless she revealed all other hidden paddies.

Around that time, Fujiwara no Yasufumi built something resembling a memorial hall on the mid-slope of Higashiyama’s Yasaka.
What could have possessed such a notorious non-believer to build a Buddhist hall?
When a certain invited man laughed in amusement, Yasufumi took him to the edge of the hall’s veranda and pointed to the cemetery below,

“That is our family cemetery, but once every last one of those brats has entered there, I shall sit here and leisurely watch.”
“That’s what this hall is for.”

he said without laughing.

The man was astonished to understand that Yasufumi had built such a hall out of his bizarre desire to retire and look down upon the graves of his own children from its edge, but what truly elicited pity were the three sons deprived of their allowance: only the eldest, Fumio, wrote a treatise on statecraft to pass his examinations and was about to depart for his post as Junior Secretary at Kawachi Provincial Office, while the second son Kuniyoshi became a wick seller, and the third son Yasuhiro took up service as a low-ranking attendant at Nijō-in, living like beggars.
Yasufumi’s methods had grown so cruel that even his relatives could no longer stand idly by, and through Regent Motofusa, they petitioned for the Cloistered Emperor’s judgment.
The Cloistered Emperor, exasperated, admonished him to provide for the two children, so Yasufumi reluctantly agreed to pay their educational expenses; yet Motofusa’s meddling must have gravely irritated him, for he soon exacted a severe retaliation.

In the vicinity southeast of Gion’s Yasaka Shrine, Cloistered Emperor Go-Shirakawa’s favored consort was hiding. She was an Eguchi courtesan called Kameyuu—a shrewd woman who had once performed the Kishunraku dance at a cherry blossom banquet in the Southern Palace to imperial acclaim, known publicly as the Gion Consort. When Yasufumi learned she conducted monthly three-day seclusions at Kiyomizu Temple’s meditation hall during each new moon, he compelled Kurogane of Hashirimizu—a clattering-bowl ascetic—to don a crow mask and infiltrate the hall’s darkness in tengu guise to seduce her, then had him plant Motofusa’s kyara aloeswood prayer beads nearby. When Kameyuu recognized Motofusa’s beads, matters nearly escalated dangerously; but with Kurogane’s capture, all was revealed as Yasufumi’s handiwork. Strung up on the pillory and beaten mercilessly, Kurogane—perhaps believing himself protected by Yasufumi—maintained an unflappable demeanor as he recited a lewd poem: “Thoroughly [a pun on ‘woman’s cave’] / The boat rocks at the shore; / Beneath the reeds lies a dream of fortune and misfortune.” His insolent air proved infuriating.

During the Cloistered Emperor Go-Shirakawa’s regency—a lenient age when one could do nearly anything if they wiped their mouth and kept quiet—Yasufumi’s debauchery had so far exceeded all bounds that even the Emperor found himself utterly exasperated. Deciding it best for Yasufumi to spend some time exposed to sea breezes in a place removed from the capital, he exiled him to Tsuruga Manor.

Yasufumi—whom everyone had expected to erupt in defiance—surprisingly accepted the imperial decree with uncharacteristic meekness. Taking some twenty horsemen in his retinue, he first engaged in a bout of water-horse antics at Byōdōin Temple in Uji, then mounted a bareback horse completely stark naked and paraded through Kyoto’s grand avenues and narrow lanes before departing with leisurely composure for Tsuruga.

With Yasufumi gone from the capital, a refreshing clarity descended as though the demonic faction and their beastly ilk had vanished. The two sons returned to Shirakawa Manor, where the family gathered together and spent their days in joy as if in a dream.

One day, when even the eldest son Fumio had returned to the capital and was at the residence, the eldest daughter Katsuraki-hime—

“If Father weren’t here, how utterly delightful every day would be.”

She said as if convinced.

That was something everyone felt in their hearts but left unspoken; and as all wished these days would continue forever, Fumio—

“Let us make a request to Father Emperor (Cloistered Emperor Go-Shirakawa).”

and proposed that to prevent Yasufumi from further tarnishing the family name, they draft a written appeal requesting he be kept long in Tsuruga without returning to the capital—a petition the three brothers then submitted under their joint signatures.

As for Yasufumi, there was no way he would meekly retreat over such a matter. Regent Motofusa was Motomichi’s uncle and became regent when Motomichi was still young following Motozane’s death; however, as Motomichi’s stepmother was Moriko—a daughter of Kiyomori—which made him related to the Taira clan, Kiyomori strongly favored Motomichi, leaving Motofusa relegated to a nominal existence. Fujiwara no Yasufumi, having fully grasped these subtleties, spent an exorbitant amount of money through Motomichi—then serving as Junior Fifth Rank Chamberlain—to campaign for pardon from exile. Kiyomori concocted a peculiar argument—that exiling capable officials over trivial offenses could not be considered sound governance—and incessantly pressured Motomichi to badger the Cloistered Emperor. The weak-willed Cloistered Emperor, overwhelmed by the ceaseless badgering, issued a pardon decree as demanded, so Yasufumi was recalled to the capital before he could properly take in Tsuruga’s scenery. Crowned with a headdress atop his grotesque forehead—uncannily resembling that of a heretic leader—Yasufumi proceeded to Ōsaka to greet a motley crew: bowl-clattering ascetics, puppeteers, and noodle vendors whom he clad in court robes. Forming an indescribably bizarre procession to enter the capital, he then spurred his horse into a gallop back to his Shirakawa residence.

Who had informed him? It seemed he had heard that his sons had jointly submitted an impertinent petition to the Cloistered Emperor. With a terrifying expression, he ascended the entrance platform and raced through the mansion—from the long covered corridor to the hallway chambers and the Tai-no-Ya’s great hall—searching for his sons. However, Kuniyoshi and Yasuhiro, alerted by a low-ranking servant, had fled the residence with desperate haste, narrowly escaping peril.

Once again deprived of means to eat, they sank into circumstances more wretched than before; barely sustaining their lives through unspeakable trades at Anshūbō’s Sanjo. That winter, Kuniyoshi was killed in a quarrel at a stable, and the following spring, Yasuhiro too met his end—slain by unknown assailants outside Ōtenmon Gate. Thus did the second and third sons enter the tomb beneath the jibutsudō, just as Yasufumi had desired.

When Yasuhiro was killed and a certain government clerk offered condolences at the office, Fujiwara no Yasufumi:
“Finally, only two remain. It’s still too early for congratulations.”

It is said he made this venomous remark.
Few men employed assassins as skillfully as Yasufumi; thus rumors spread at the time that Kuniyoshi and Yasuhiro had been killed by men dispatched at his command.
The author of Kyōkusōshi implies as much through suggestive hints, yet such claims remain difficult to credit.

Yasufumi—with his strikingly anachronistic features ill-suited to the era—was perceived as a deviant who reveled in cruelty; still, most consider it unthinkable he would order assassins to murder his own children.
His frequent acts of childishly violent behavior and brazenly immoral remarks—his cruel treatment of wives and children—appear not as calculated malice but rather sprang from a desire (when examined closely) to commit extraordinary deeds that would shock his contemporaries.
Both his cruelty and mercilessness stemmed from an obsession with self-display and etching his existence into society's consciousness; had he truly orchestrated his children's deaths per the rumors, Yasufumi would never have refrained from boasting of such a feat.

Three

When Kuniyoshi and Yasuhiro met unnatural deaths in the back alleys, Katsuraki was eighteen, Hanayo eleven, and the fourth son Mitsumaro six years old; but ever since the incident with his sons’ petition, Yasufumi’s suspicions had grown so intense that—perhaps thinking nothing good would come of keeping the children together—he separated Katsuraki and Mitsumaro, making them live and sleep in the eastern tower.
Yet Asahiko neither despaired of the world nor succumbed to worldly desires; believing that someday she would again meet Katsuraki and Mitsumaro, she spent her days copying sutras with Shirome—a side wife distantly related to Hanayo and Yasufumi—never raising the shutters.

Amidst those bleak days, Yasufumi’s cousin Yasuhira came forth from Hōjō in Awa Province, bringing his eighteen-year-old son Yasutsugu.
Yasuhira had formerly served as Daisuke of Yamashiro Province, was on familiar terms with figures like Taishinō, and appeared to have harbored certain feelings toward Asahiko.
Considering that Yasuhira withdrew to Awa immediately after Asahiko married into Yasufumi’s household, it is said there must have been considerable resentment on Yasuhira’s part.
For this journey to the capital, since there were gifts such as gold dust from Awa, a bay horse as a present, and no small number of other offerings, Fujiwara no Yasufumi had Yasuhira and his son reside in the fishing pavilion and extended them hospitality fit for nobility; yet as the concubine Shirome attended to them at the residence, she became preoccupied with thoughts stirred by Yasutsugu’s noble demeanor tinged with rustic charm.
Even so, as a legitimate woman of the Fujiwara clan, if only Asahiko would become her supporter, her love for Yasutsugu might not be entirely impossible.
To achieve this, she first determined with shallow wit that securing Asahiko's allegiance was paramount; through indirect observation, she then remarked how Yasuhira—though never voicing it—still seemed tormented by an inability to forget Asahiko, thereby stirring the latter's emotions.

Even without being told such things, for Asahiko, Yasuhira was a dear childhood friend whose kindness she knew intimately; perhaps there had been a delicate thought that she might have married Yasuhira instead of Yasufumi. Though not exactly lured into it, she ended up revealing her true feelings to Shirome.
Believing she had now seized Asahiko’s vulnerability—no mere hesitation—Shirome boldly approached Yasutsugu; but as he was a calm and intelligent young man who understood that causing any trouble there would only earn him a thrust from Yasufumi’s dagger, he took advantage of his recent appointment as a clerk at Naniwa Provincial Office and, before matters could escalate, abruptly departed for Naniwa by boat from Yodo.

Shirome’s disappointment was profound; time and again she seized Asahiko and lamented bitterly. As for Asahiko, she had grown weary of the same repeated complaints; one day, when she could bear it no longer and spoke curtly, Shirome—interpreting Asahiko’s cold attitude—suddenly twisted her understanding. Convinced that Yasutsugu’s sudden departure for Naniwa was due to Asahiko’s scheming to drive him out, Shirome—consumed by resentment—tattled to Yasufumi every real and imagined detail about Asahiko and Yasuhira. From incidents like Yasuhira sneaking into Asahiko’s sleeping quarters on moonless nights and lingering until dawn, the accounts grew increasingly elaborate, crafted with such vivid detail they seemed visible to the eye.

During this time, Fujiwara no Yasufumi plunged into the pleasures of a new love.
The woman in question was Koushi—a female poet and daughter of Fujiwara no Tsunenari, an impoverished Confucian scholar residing at Tsuruga Provincial Office—who had accompanied her father to Tsuruga and became Yasufumi’s travel companion upon their departure from Tsuruga Manor when returning to the capital.

She possessed a well-proportioned, voluptuous body reminiscent of Tenpyō-era nobility—intelligent and quick-witted—yet unlike the pseudo-intellectual women of her time who flaunted literary talents to belittle men, she harbored no such frivolous airs. Hers was an unaffected nature: she laughed when amused and raged when angered.
Fujiwara no Yasufumi was not a man to engage in meaningless dalliances with women, but whether they simply hit it off, he became utterly infatuated with Koushi—on every pretext halting his carriage before her house on Shijō when coming to and from court.
Due to such circumstances, with Yasufumi’s spirits elated, the matter of his old wife—now past her prime—was of little concern, and he hadn’t truly taken to heart anything Shirome said.

For Shirome, since exacting revenge on Asahiko had become her sole reason for living, exasperated by Yasufumi’s indifferent attitude, she began venturing out to spread embellished tales of both real and imagined events. Disorders in the bedchamber were a common occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary, but people took great delight in the fact that this one had originated within Yasufumi’s inner chambers. The women who had been wronged by Yasufumi and the husbands nursing resentment seized this moment to raise a clamor, until there remained not a single soul throughout the capital and its outskirts unaware of this tale. What proved strange was Yasufumi’s attitude—not only did he calmly let the boiling scandal wash over him, but he even went about visiting various places himself to recount the pitiful ordeals he endured daily, at times choking up with tears overwhelmed by his own tale’s pathos. During this time, what thoughts occupied the man called Yasufumi remained utterly inscrutable to others. Yet that was not the only strange thing.

While keeping Yasuhira at the residence as he was, he hung Yasuhira’s retainers and servants from the beams of the carriage house and demanded they confess the extent of what had transpired between Yasuhira and Asahiko.
The psychology behind this was utterly inscrutable.

The first to be targeted was a retainer named Amaha Tōji—a man who was both Yasuhira’s friend and considered his confidant.
Fujiwara no Yasufumi had the ruffians he had long since tamed attack Amaha’s sleeping quarters and drag him into the carriage house; then, binding him to a cross-shaped stake—when had they prepared such a thing?—that was nailed between pillars, they first lashed him with all their might.

“I want you to tell me the truth.”
“You must know exactly what Yasuhira was doing with Asahiko.”

“I know nothing.”
“For about twenty days now, Lord Yasuhira has excluded me and hasn’t told me anything he confided in others.”

Yasufumi called in the ruffians, bound Amaha’s wrists, passed the end of the rope through a ring on the beam, and had them hoist the net.
Amaha was hoisted to a height of four fingers above the floor; he endured for about fifteen minutes until his arms seemed ready to give out—then he spoke.

“Please let me down.”
“I will tell you everything I know.”

When they lowered Amaha, he drove the ruffians out of the carriage house and remained alone with him.

“Out with it.”

“I accompanied Lord Yasuhira near the northern hall about three times, but beyond that, I know nothing.”
“I say this because it was customary for me to wait in the courtyard until dawn.”

The ruffians were summoned, and Amaha was hoisted up to the beam once more.
This time, he surrendered immediately.

“I will tell the truth—I had particularly noticed that Lord Yasuhira was being intimate with Her Ladyship. Her Ladyship would daily have Shirome deliver letters and sent splendid lacquered boxes to Lord Yasuhira.”

“I’ve had enough.”

Yasufumi bound Amaha and threw him into the storage shed, then hoisted me up.

“You must have seen what Yasuhira and Her Ladyship were doing.”
Amaha had said.
“What exactly did you accomplish? You remained by their side until dawn broke.”

I kept insisting I knew nothing, but when my wrist joints nearly dislocated, I began screaming incoherently.

“It’s true—I did enter Aoi no Tsubo at that improper hour.”
“Yet I wasn’t actually near them.”
“In truth… I was with Shirome in the adjacent office.”

“If you won’t talk, it’s just a matter of hoisting you up again.”

I began to tremble.

“There’s no need to hoist me up again.”
“I’ll tell you everything.”

At that moment, Shirome was summoned.

“There’s a serving woman you were intimate with.”
“In front of this wretch, recount everything that occurred.”

“I will confess.”
“I undertook the role of reenacting an actual scene before Their Ladyships.”
“This Shirome here compelled me to do so.”
“First, Lord Yasuhira’s undergarments were removed, then Her Ladyship’s waist cord was unfastened.”

“Understood.”
“You will transcribe these words onto this paper.”

“At your command.”

I immediately took up the brush in my desperation to survive, but with my shoulder injured, I could not proceed effectively. Still, I managed to write it all down. Yasufumi snatched the oath paper, drew his waist dagger, and thrust it three times into my chest. He stood watching coldly as I died, but when I had stained the breast of my hempen robe with blood and breathed my last, he turned toward Shirome.

“Now it’s your turn, I suppose.”

“Please—spare just my life!”

Shirome screamed in frenzied panic.

“No no—that arrangement won’t do at all.”
“To stage such obscene spectacles and inflame the master’s lust—you overreach grotesquely.”
“Even I wouldn’t stoop to such depths.”

Having said that, he wrapped Shirome’s hanging hair around his wrist and gouged her throat with his waist dagger.
Shirome bled profusely and died.
Yasufumi threw the two corpses into the garbage dump and let stray dogs in through the back gate to devour them.
Having done that, he then went directly to Yasuhira’s room and began a merry drinking party.
Due to the horrific screams and rebukes, Yasuhira had been anxious about how things would unfold, so he had no room to breathe, wondering what would be done to him, but Yasufumi was in thoroughly high spirits, wearing an expression as if nothing had happened.
Yasuhira grew increasingly uneasy and, the next day, fled Yasufumi’s residence using some pretext.
While in the capital, he had been constantly on edge, fearing assassins, yet somehow nothing occurred, and that autumn, he returned safely to Awa.

As for Asahiko, nothing like what she had feared occurred in her case either.
Far from that, he began showing unprecedented courtesy, occasionally crossing the bridge corridor to visit Aoi no Tsubo where he would engage in casual conversation for about two hours at a time in a booming voice that seemed deliberately over-loud.
Asahiko had been tormented by her inability to fathom Yasufumi’s intentions, but as such encounters accumulated, she unwittingly let down her guard and—anticipating future misfortunes for her children’s sake—confessed the location of the hidden fields she had kept separate… those very fields whose existence she had refused to disclose no matter how harshly pressed.

“This is Mitsumaro and daughter’s portion, so please respect that.”

“I know.”
“If you leave it to me, I won’t do you wrong.”

Yasufumi nodded with an indifferent expression—this outcome he had anticipated from the very beginning.

IV

The matter between Asahiko and Yasuhira was supposed to be settled without incident here, but the affair was unexpectedly reignited from an unforeseen quarter.

Asahiko’s brothers and Yasufumi’s younger brother, Provisional Archbishop Mitsuaki, were all inflexible, uncouth men who were dissatisfied with how the recent incident had been resolved.
Not only had Asahiko betrayed her husband, but she had also smeared mud on the faces of her clan and brothers; therefore, no matter how Yasufumi alone might try to reach an understanding, if things were settled in such a careless manner, they would have no ground to stand on.

Mitsuaki was a preacher who commanded reverence among his congregation, but unless he settled the matter of Asahiko, he could not attend lectures or deliver sermons, so he pestered them with letters and messengers asking, “What will you do about dealing with Asahiko?” Meanwhile, Asahiko’s brothers complained among themselves: “Being dragged out like this is more agonizing than being tortured. If you do not comply with what the family’s honor demands, we will have no choice but to resign from our posts as Emmon,” they pressed harshly.

In truth, the northern consorts of this era often met obscure deaths while secluded in the innermost chambers—their passings so unnoticed that one could scarcely tell when they had died—and with their funerals hastily conducted in secret under cover of night, they were deemed utterly insignificant beings.
Especially when it came to Yasufumi, they viewed him as nothing more than a natural phenomenon that existed now but would soon vanish; thus, whether the incident involving Asahiko and Yasuhira was true or not, he felt neither pain nor discomfort.
The killing of Yasuhira’s servant and Shirome had occurred merely through the momentum of such circumstances—it was neither born of anger nor a fit of rage.
He found it all merely bothersome, letting even their severe protests brush lightly through his mind, but as their pestering knew no bounds, he finally said, “If Asahiko is such a hindrance, do as you please—send her to a nunnery or kill her.” In response came a letter: “Then we shall handle it ourselves without further ado; pray take no offense.”

Then, about three days later at night, Asahiko’s brothers Kiyonari and Kiyotsune came to Yasufumi’s residence during his absence, bringing about five young retainers with them, and went to Aoi no Tsubo where Asahiko was.
Asahiko had been lying in her bedding, but startled by the footsteps crossing the bridge corridor, she sat up and saw her eldest brother Kiyonari enter carrying a rope about six shaku in length, while her second brother Kiyotsune held a club roughly three shaku long.

“What brings you here at this late hour?”

“This is unfortunate, but we’ve come to end you.”
“This was our destined course.”

“Is that Yasufumi’s command?”

“Yes.”

Kiyotsune nodded and said.

“If there’s anything you wish to do, say it now. We’ll wait here.”

“What can I say... It’s nothing. I had thought it would come to this in the end anyway.”

“That’s commendable resolve. Hanayo must be sleeping next to you. Wouldn’t it be better to move her over there?”

“I see. Please do.”

Kiyonari lifted Hanayo from behind the screen and left, but returned immediately.

“Well then, we’ll begin.”

“It may seem belated now, but there was absolutely nothing between me and Yasuhira.”

“That’s right.
However, since such a rumor has arisen, there is nothing to be done about it.
There is nothing for it but for you to resign yourself.”

“I know.”

“I’ll blindfold you with silk cloth so you won’t be scared.”
“Oh, it’ll be over in no time.”
“Do as you see fit.”

When Kiyonari took the flat silk from the screen and placed it over Asahiko’s face, Kiyotsune moved behind her with the rope.
They adjusted the rope’s tension and began tightening it using a stick as a lever, but when it didn’t work properly, they tried to go fetch a different rope.
Hearing footsteps, Asahiko removed the silk cloth from her face.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Kiyonari said while turning around.

"This rope doesn't slide well, so I'll go find another one."

Having said that, he left.
He soon returned from the carriage room with a curtain cord and started over by blindfolding her again, but when this cord too proved unsuitable, they abandoned it once more.

“What’s wrong?”

“This one’s no good either.”

He went to search for another rope, brought back a palm-fiber one, took lamp oil, and applied it to the rope.

“This time it should work.”

The rope caught properly around the lever stick.
As the brothers joined forces to twist once, then twice, the matter was effortlessly concluded.

Asahiko’s remains were placed in the prepared coffin, carried by the young retainers to Fukakusa that very night, and after seven days, her family sent formal word to Yasufumi that Asahiko had suddenly died of an epidemic.

“What exactly is this ‘epidemic’ you speak of?”

“Beriberi entered her abdomen, and she succumbed to it.”

Yasufumi listened with narrowed eyes, but

“How pitiful. What agonizing beriberi that must have been.”

he said with malicious glee.

Asahiko had died in the tenth month of the third year of Jōan (1173 CE), and after that, about two years passed without incident.
Yasufumi continued visiting Koushi as always, while the children lived gloomily in Aoinotsubo without their mother.
On the night of the horrific strangulation, Katsuraki and Mitsumaro had been in a distant building; Hanayo, still eleven years old, had been carried out by Kiyonari while asleep—thus none of the three children knew even a fraction of how terribly their mother had died.
Having wholeheartedly believed the servants’ account that she had died of illness at her family home in Fukakusa, the image of their deceased mother buried deep within their hearts retained no particular gruesomeness; their grief at losing her gradually faded with time until they resigned themselves and rarely spoke of her anymore.

In the same month of the second year after their mother’s death, a new mother arrived.
The previous mother had been a prim and proper woman of few words who gave off a chilly air, but this new mother was a full-figured woman with a radiant face who laughed readily—despite being older than her predecessor—and spent all day enlivening the household by playing fan-tossing and shell-matching games with the children, leading firefly chases or teaching them plant-identifying contests, leaving them astonished that such vibrant living could exist within these gloomy manor walls.
For the especially sensitive Hanayo, it felt as though a sudden new world had unfurled—so profoundly that in her drowsy states, she would drift into imagining whether Koushi might truly have been her birth mother all along.

Fujiwara no Yasufumi found it displeasing that Koushi had grown too familiar with the children, but even he could not bring himself to say so outright; instead, he would vent his irritation on them and struck them with a whip for no reason.
The true cause of Fujiwara no Yasufumi’s displeasure was that he now had to provide substantial dowries and send his daughters off in marriage; whenever this thought came to mind, he would grow irritable and inevitably lose his temper.
For Fujiwara no Yasufumi, who by no means intended to reconcile himself with such customs, it may have been that he even considered turning the mansion into a nunnery outright—for he built a separate middle gate at the entrance to Aoinotsubo and barred any being bearing the name “man” from proceeding further inward—but he was soon made to realize just how naive such an endeavor was.
This was because Katsuraki-hime, the eldest daughter, had eluded Yasufumi’s notice and submitted a petition to the Cloistered Emperor.
The father, detesting sending his daughter out of the house, confined her to the tsubo and even halted the exchange of letters.
Not only that, but he beat her with a whip or stick at every turn, making it unbearably harsh.
She wrote entreating that she be delivered from this world of suffering—whether through marriage or being sent to a nunnery—and appended a waka poem: “Though blossoms of a thousand hues weigh heavy on the boughs, my prime decays as the trunk rots away,” earnestly pressing her plea.
The Cloistered Emperor, taking pity, selected Norikane, the third son of Norio, Head of the University Bureau for the Crown Prince, as Katsuraki’s husband, and issued an order to provide a dowry of 1,000 kan and have her married off.

It is said by some accounts that Koushi drafted Katsuraki’s petition and composed the waka poem—this was likely true indeed.
There had been much speculation about why a woman of Koushi’s shrewdness and high self-regard would choose to become second wife to a base man like Yasufumi; yet it may well have been that she pitied Kuniyoshi and Yasuhiro’s tragic ends along with the children enduring ceaseless abuse, resolving to take Asahiko’s place in shielding them from Yasufumi’s wanton cruelty.
If removing Katsuraki from Yasufumi’s residence had indeed been Koushi’s resourceful doing—as claimed—then her unexpected decision to willingly become his second wife also became somewhat explicable.

Amid these circumstances came the first year of Jishō (1177 CE), when the story’s pivotal incident occurred—the spring when Hanayo turned fifteen and Mitsumaro eleven.
Hanayo and Mitsumaro were siblings who had inherited their mother’s features in every particular, so alike that when Mitsumaro wore his hair loose, he became the very image of his sister.
Of Hanayo’s beauty, records survive with such descriptions as: “Her form stood peerless in its loveliness, making one wish to commission portrait paintings for posterity,” and “No beauty (mime) could compare.”
Though excessive sympathy for her tragic fate may have colored these accounts with some exaggeration, the beauty preserved in Mitsuzane’s portrait must indeed have existed as depicted.

Fujiwara no Yasufumi could not forget his resentment over the 1,000 kan wrested away by leveraging his authority; he would drink heavily and rage alone. Yet when he saw Hanayo's beauty growing more radiant by the day, he felt as though pursued from behind and became unsettled again. Afterward, piecing together various clues, he had begun to suspect it might have been Koushi's doing to remove Katsuraki from the household—but setting that aside, Hanayo's beauty was undeniably perilous. If left alone like this, she would undoubtedly start doing the same as her sister. Another 1,000 kan on top of this would be the end of me. At any rate, thinking it best to keep Hanayo away from Koushi to prevent her from being fed wicked ideas, he confined her to the second-floor residence and went so far as to personally deliver her meals—yet being the libertine he was, he acutely realized that adolescent desire was an inevitability of human nature no power could suppress, and that true satisfaction could only come by addressing this root cause rather than attempting complete restraint. If he fulfilled what was lacking and provided sexual satisfaction, she would not entertain such presumptuous thoughts as wanting to marry and would remain by his side forever. Even if one were to provide her with whatever she desires, forcing some low-ranking samurai or local official upon her and having her get pregnant would be troublesome. After pondering what to do, he concluded that he himself, as her father, should take on the role of her lover. There was nothing more cost-effective than this—it was both convenient and secure—so he settled on this line of thinking. He promptly called Hanayo and set about coercing her with such blasphemous talk.

“You too possess a cave that will push out a child someday, but if you must bear one regardless, let it be a splendid child who becomes a saint.”
“When a father knows his own daughter, the child born will inevitably become a Buddhist preceptor.”
“All saints are born thus—in truth, it is the maternal grandfather who becomes the saint’s father.”

The moment Hanayo met Yasufumi’s indescribably vulgar gaze, even with her child’s mind, she had sensed what shameful thing her father now contemplated.

“What are you trying to do?”

“That’s why I’m doing this laborious task for you.”

“I do not want this.”

“You’ve no desires at all? When your own father says so, you’ll answer neither yes nor no.”

When words proved useless, he forced her physically.

5

It was an outrageous tale, but an unbelievably bizarre negotiation had continued until the beginning of summer.
If she resisted, she would be subjected to a beating so severe it could snuff out her life, so the pitiable girl had no choice but to continue enduring this miserable existence, weeping all the while.

Yasufumi—whether intending to lend solemnity to his nonsensical proverbs—clapped his hands in worship, stroked his daughter’s belly with a sacred wand, and performed every manner of folly; yet as summer gradually approached, he began roaming the mansion completely naked, bathing in the garden pond only to immediately ascend to the second floor.
Yasufumi seemed to believe he was performing some great act of merit, always smiling cheerfully in high spirits, but growing increasingly emboldened—likely out of perverse interest—he went so far as to take the naked Hanayo to Aoinotsubo, stir up the flame of the chrysanthemum lamp stand, and make his current stepmother observe every detail of what he and his daughter were doing.

For Hanayo and Koushi, it must have felt as though they were in hell.
Preferring death to enduring this unimaginable defilement of bestial impurity—and steeling themselves for Yasufumi’s retribution should their actions be discovered—they recorded the unspeakable depravities occurring at the Shirakawa residence in a diary and submitted formal appeals; but Yasufumi, having shrewdly anticipated such measures, ensured all three petitions were meticulously returned to his hands.
The cruel torments Yasufumi inflicted upon Hanayo and Koushi in his rage defy imagination, but the two women—finding themselves unable to endure this existence even one day longer and recognizing no conventional means of escape from this hell—conferred together and at last resolved to take drastic measures.

There was a low-ranking servant named Inukai no Zenyo who served as an attendant at the residence.
He wore a deutzia-patterned sweat hakama and crouched on the reception platform feigning ignorance, yet bore a deep sword wound across his neck and unnervingly sinewy limbs—a man whose past, if uncovered, would likely reveal unexpected origins.
Due to his attendant duties, he alone among men could enter Aoinotsubo; Koushi began by winning Zenyo over.
With Yasufumi—who grew indiscriminately violent when provoked—as their foe, there had been no hope of completing the deed through women’s strength alone.

Zenyo, his eyes clouded, remained perpetually sullen and silent, his thoughts utterly inscrutable; though she hesitated to abruptly divulge such grave matters to him, with no other recourse available, one day Koushi resolved to broach the subject—and to her surprise, he agreed without objection, immediately joining her cause.

Upon hearing this confession, it emerged that Inukai no Zenyo had originally been called Onikabuto, a member of bandits who roamed Mount Ibuki, and that the wound on his neck came from five years prior when he had clashed with Yasufumi in a mountain pass’s darkness and been struck by a dagger.
The reason he endured this menial role akin to a stepping stone stemmed from his resolve to someday exact vengeance.
“This humble one has long harbored resentment toward the Minister of Popular Affairs’ treatment of you all. Should such resolve dwell within you, I shall assist in whatever manner required,” came his decisive reply.

Zenyo suggested that since Yasufumi would soon be visiting the Yasaka detached palace, they should gather his comrades and strike during the journey, but Koushi considered the matter and proposed a different plan.
In past instances, Yasufumi would take along a large retinue to prepare for danger, so she did not believe they could reliably finish the deed.
Since Yasufumi was not one to let his guard down, he would undoubtedly have them both accompany him on this Yasaka excursion and keep them within his sight.
Moreover, when confronting Yasufumi—a man of unrestrained volatility—a meticulously devised plan would only prove a hindrance; a flexible approach allowing decisive action adapted to the moment’s circumstances would likely offer greater odds of success.
“Since we are always by Yasufumi’s side,” she reasoned, “I believe that if we remain vigilant, we will surely find an opportune moment.”
“You must stay close and remain alert,” she instructed Zenyo, “so you can act immediately when the signal comes.”
Zenyo acknowledged this as sound strategy, and thus their consultation reached its conclusion.

After Tanabata and the insect-repelling ritual concluded, Yasufumi suddenly announced he would go to Yasaka.
His true purpose appeared less about escaping summer heat and more about lavishly decorating his sons' graves for the Fourteenth Day Bon offerings to leisurely view them from the narrow hall atop the valley.
As anticipated, Koushi and Hanayo accompanied him as well; they boarded a palm-fiber carriage and departed through the estate gate while morning dew still lingered.
Inukai no Zenyo walked beside the carriage in hunting attire, his sullen face occasionally wiping away sweat—his figure visible through gaps in the sleeve lattice.

Upon arriving at the Yasaka detached palace, Fujiwara no Yasufumi took Koushi and Hanayo, crossed the long bridge corridor spanning the valleys, went to the narrow hall atop the ridge, and began a drinking feast while overlooking the graves below.
For some reason, that day he did not seem to become properly intoxicated; grabbing the side dishes from the serving tray with his hands, he continued drinking in an odd, erratic manner until late into the night. But near midnight, he flung his cup aside and collapsed into a drunken stupor, letting out a ferocious snore.

Koushi and Hanayo turned pale, exchanged glances, and shared their resolve through locked eyes. They had long anticipated such a moment might arrive, yet its coming felt unnervingly premature. Having only just reached their destination, even Zenyo likely remained unprepared. A shared look conveyed both women’s agitation and uncertainty about how to proceed. While Koushi still hesitated in her decision, Hanayo assumed an expression of grim determination and slipped from the narrow hall—only to return moments later and beckon Koushi from the bridge corridor’s edge.

As Koushi approached Hanayo, suppressing her footsteps, Hanayo put her mouth to Koushi’s ear and,

“Zenyo is coming now,” she whispered.

Zenyo pushed through the summer grass and climbed up the valley ridge. After crouching beneath the hidden staircase for a short while, he slipped smoothly into the narrow hall. Drawing a large dog nail and golden hammer from his breast, he drove the nail straight into the forehead of Yasufumi—who lay sprawled on his back—and gauged the moment.

“You damn catfish!” he snarled, striking it in all at once.

Yasufumi let out a tremendous groan, thrashing his limbs like tail fins as he writhed about like some monstrous catfish that had failed to transform. But when another dog nail was driven into his throat, he fell completely silent.

It was a dark night without a single star, and everywhere was nothing but profound darkness. If one were to speak of light in the mountains of Yasaka, it would likely be only the lampstand’s flame in this narrow hall—and that flame, buffeted by the wind, now solemnly illuminated Yasufumi’s grotesque heretical head.