Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Chirp, chirp—the calls of marsh warblers. Spring had yet to warm the air; the mountain pass had yet to thaw. Through the sparse woods of budding season, where the folds of the mountains showed clearly, vivid patches of snow shone white.

"You... You—"

Oine weakly called out to the person walking ahead.

About ten ken ahead of the woman, Sanbee walked on in silence.

He turned around, his thorn-like eyes—

"What?"

he snapped brusquely.

With an infant of about six or seven months bound to her back, Oine had dragged her weary legs feebly along—even closing that ten-ken gap required effort.
This Kōshū backroad—seldom traveled except by couriers in great haste or those slipping through society unnoticed—made crossing from Great Bodhisattva to Ko-Tanba an impossible path for any woman from the start, even one traveling empty-handed.

“Let me rest a bit…”
“I need to nurse this child too.”

“I want to reach Ōme by sunset.”

“Now that we’ve come this far...”

With that，Oine read the guidepost stone and simply sat down on the grass.

Putting down the infant，she exposed the white skin of her chest.
In the stark sunlight，Sanbee cast a fleeting glance at the woman’s dark nipple and the infant’s face greedily sucking at it，

“What a damn tedious journey.”

And it grew dark.

Back-to-back, they sat down heavily on the grass,

“At this rate, when will we reach Edo proper?”

“As if it’s someone’s fault.”

With a resentful gaze, Oine—

“Whose child is this?”

“Don’t state the obvious.”

“You forced me to obey as your wife—you made me bear this child on a whim, yet all you do is treat it as a burden—”

“You’re nothing but a nuisance. Why do I have to drag such a person around?”

“Even if you regret it now, it’s too late for both of us. Now that the child’s alive, even if you try to abandon it, I won’t let you this time. I’ll never let go… for my entire life…”

“To hell with it.”

Sanbee muttered as if spitting out the words and gazed at the clouds.

He could not help but feel that each of the woman’s words acted as Murakami Sanzo’s proxy, thornily accusing and defying him.

(It’s a reversal.
I’m rightly the one being struck by Sanzo’s counterblow—)

Thinking this, Sanbee felt unbearably infuriated.
Even looking at their faces made him sick.
Oine and the child too.

Moreover, even regarding this child—whether it was truly his own or Sanzo’s—that too was uncertain.
It was during last year’s cold season that he had stayed at Ayukawa Nisuke’s county office—Oine was the woman he had taken then. Having discovered that she, while evading the watchful eyes of Nisuke to whom he owed a debt, was carrying on a secret affair with Sanzo the bodyguard, he had forcibly taken her away—this harlot.

(That bastard Sanzo must be sniveling like a baby by now.)

As he imagined this, Sanbee satisfied his characteristically tenacious thirst for vengeance while simultaneously indulging in toying with Oine's youth and promiscuous nature as he pleased—but when the woman informed him of the child's physical abnormality, he jolted with an icy chill for the first time.

But—it was too late for regrets.
Even if he were to regret it, this was something even Yasunari Sanbee could do nothing about.

A cursed bond.
A cursed bond.

He had acquaintances in Edo.
“At least until the child grows up—let’s stay there,” he had told the woman. They were now wandering out from the Shinano roads where they had lain low for about a year toward Edo’s skies.

“Hey—”

While letting the infant suckle, Oine persisted—staring nervously at the man’s demeanor—

“You’ve grown tired of me already.
But I’ll never let go—not until I die.”
“Shut it!”
Sanbee snapped irritably,

“Depressing. Clingy.”

“Even if we go to Edo, leaving just me at some stranger’s house—how awful.”
“That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Sanbee felt it was endless and fell silent.
And then, from his flute bag, he pulled out his beloved flute—the one inscribed with the name Hakkan Shō—and tried to escape the unbearable heaviness.

The midday clouds—white clouds mottling spring’s azure—glowed bright and dazzling as they drifted restlessly.

Sanbee tilted his hollow-cheeked face slightly upward.
Then, with light, airy breaths, he began playing his transverse flute.

II

What must he be feeling?

Oine felt as if the man’s flute were mocking her.
Her blood seethed, driven by a heart that wanted to snatch it away and snap it in two.

“Ah, I can’t stand this!”

and, thrusting her fingers into her ears,

“Stop it with that flute already!—It’s ridiculous!”

she spat venomously.

But even as Sanbee kept playing, Oine’s eyes themselves grew fierce,
“Won’t you stop?”
“……”
“If you don’t stop—”

And from the side, she grabbed the flute.

Sanbee furrowed his brow,

"What're you doing?"

"'Cause you won't stop."

“Does it pain you?”
“The sound of this flute makes me shudder.”

“Of course it does. Your former lover—Murakami Sanzo—used to shudder when he heard this sound too. Can’t blame you for hating it.”

“You’re like a demon—a demon, a demon…”

“Indeed, my blood must be colder than a demon’s. Lonely people naturally end up like this. And the cause, when you get down to it, was Sanzo. If that handsome yet sinister Sanzo hadn’t seduced my sister and disrupted my household—”

And then, as he sank into recollections now distant in the past, a sudden surge of intense hatred and resentment ignited in his eyes,

"My sister wouldn’t have died."
"My father wouldn’t have died either."
“Therefore, this Yasunari Sanbee must have been living peaceful days in his home province—a perfectly ordinary human with a perfectly ordinary stipend-bound existence. But that I’ve been reduced to this warped state—a grime-covered ronin scum wandering from journey to journey, sustaining myself through this damned flute, playing at shrine festivals in Chichibu today and Mitake tomorrow—isn’t just due to my inborn nature.”
“It’s all because of that bastard.”
“Sanzo sowed the seeds.”

“Then why didn’t you just declare him your enemy and cut him down when you met that man at Ayukawa’s place?”

Oine pressed in a sharp, interrogative tone,

"That... that..."

she said tearfully, voice choked with frustration.
Gasping for breath, she directed a gaze filled with hatred,

“What is this—this disgrace?!
What’s so fun about forcing the enemy’s woman to become your own?
……
You’re no better than a dog or beast! You’re not even fit to be called a samurai!”

“Howl all you want,”

Sanbee laughed bitterly and,

“I rarely go around killing that bastard—that weak, charming enemy of mine called Sanzo.
I’ll keep him alive and spend his whole life returning every ounce of pain I’ve suffered.
That is Flute-Playing Sanbee’s vengeance—no, a retaliation beyond vengeance.”

“Ah… I want to go home.”
“If only it weren’t for this child.”
“If only it weren’t for this child—”

And Oine writhed,

"I wonder how he’s doing... That person—"

"You’re free to leave anytime—go ahead and leave. I’ve already done more than enough to sever your bond and make Sanzo suffer. On the contrary, now you’re just a hindrance—I’d be grateful if you disappeared."

"Who would—"

And Oine, now defiantly,

"As if I’d go back! Not even if I die! This time, it’s my turn to make you suffer here. You better remember that."

“But the pitiful one is the child who was born.”

“To have a father like a demon.”

“Even that—who could possibly know whose child he is? He’s starting to look more like Sanzo every day, isn’t he?”

“Whether I’m asleep or awake—even while nursing him—it must be because I never stop thinking about Sanzo.”

“You said it.”

“I certainly did.”

“Now then...”

And tucking the flute case into his obi, Sanbee started walking ahead.

Regardless of their true circumstances, this man and woman—who were a married couple in form alone yet cursed each other more fiercely than enemies—trudged through Futamatao and passed out of Ōme Post Town the following day.

Leaving the post town and meandering down the backroads, they could already see the sea-like expanse of Musashino Plain stretching before them.
At the mountain pass, the weather was entirely different—both peach and apricot blossoms were already scattered.
A large herd of horses tied up by the roadside grazed busily on grass.

Then, from the shadow of a nearby cliff,

“Oh, sir! You there, sir—the one headed that way—”

someone abruptly called out.

“Huh?”

When he turned around,

“Dunno what it is, but that thing on your hip’s ’bout to fall off.”

the man cautioned Sanbee.

III

Smoothing his obi,

“Oh— The flute—”

Having noticed this, Sanbee turned toward the man laughing in the sunlight who was watching him,

(How kind—) he conveyed through his eyes with a nod.
(Not at all—) came the reciprocal response from the other side.

He was a man just past twenty years old who didn’t look like a farmer, nor did he seem to be engaged in any respectable occupation. Slightly plump and dark-skinned, his jujube-like round eyes radiated a charm that clashed oddly with his sturdy build. Sanbee looked at the kiseru pipe in the man’s mouth,

“A light?”

and took out his own tobacco pouch as he approached.

While waiting there for Oine, who had fallen quite far behind, Sanbee surveyed their surroundings,

“Young’un. Quite a gathering of horses here.”

“Well, tomorrow’s the horse market in Hachiōji, so a lot of Kōshū horse traders have come up.”

“A horse market. That explains it.”

“Sir, did you come over Great Bodhisattva Pass? Here to see the horse market after all?”

“Nah,” he laughed— “Got no use for horses. Headin’ to Edo.”

“But it’s a once-a-year grand market—since you’re here, why not stay an extra night and take a look? For someone from Edo like yourself, it’d make a fine souvenir tale to bring back.”

“You’re pushing awfully hard.”
“You’re one of those horse traders heading to the market too?”

“Nah, I’m Hyaku the blacksmith, s’what they call me.”

“Why’s a blacksmith watching over horses?”

“I’m no horse watcher.
“I may look like I’m just idling around here, but actually, sir—” Hyaku gestured with his pipe toward the thicket behind him.
“—On account of the horse traders opening their prologue gambling den, I’ve been asked to keep watch here in case any magistrate’s men come snooping around.”

“Oh, so this is your little diversion?”

“Since I get regular work from my esteemed clients—making metal rings for horse gear and horseshoes—I can’t exactly say no.
“—You can hear it, can’t you? The sound of the pots.”

“Hmm, seems quite lively indeed.”

“Since folks coming from all over for the market include those with long swords mixed in too—makes things rowdy.”
“Plus, with tomorrow’s open-air gambling having its targets set, the organizers’ll keep those wheels spinning however they please.”

From the shade of the trees drifted the faint clink of coins.
Sanbee’s mind stirred.
Even if they reached Edo and managed to settle quickly, there was a chance they might immediately find themselves—a man accompanied by a woman and nursing infant—wandering destitute with empty pockets.

“Hyaku, mind if I take a quick look?”

“Well, please,” he said, standing up first— “I’ll show you the way.”

“Ah, I’ve had my taste of yakuza work—gambling dens hold no secrets for me. More pressing—my companion’s coming up behind me...”

“Huh.
What sort of person…?”

“A frail woman carrying an infant.
When she passes through here, stop her and tell her to rest around there for a while.”

Leaving those words behind, he entered the thicket.
He was Fuefuki Sanbee—a dabbler in traveling kagura who had fully embraced yakuza dealings alongside taiko drummers and tsuzumi players.
He was confident in his dice skills and saw the horse trader as naive.

And then, when he spotted Oine passing by, Hyaku called out to stop her and relayed Sanbee’s message.
She lowered the infant from her back as though seizing a fortunate opportunity,

“That must be quite lively.”

Oine listened absently to Hyaku’s tales of the horse market.

Hyaku, who seemed fond of children, peered in while remarking,
“It’s a girl.
“I see. She’s quite thin for being nearly a year old.
“Is the milk not coming out well?
“That’s no good—poor thing.”

and so on—such harmless talk,

“Well, you must be tired.”
“I’ll hold ’em for a bit for you.”

“Well…” Oine promptly handed the infant over to him.
She truly wished she could be free of the child even for half a day—no, for a single hour—so desperate was her longing.

“She’s laughin’.”

“Truly—even when it comes to infants—those fond of children seem to understand them well.”

“But carryin’ this on your back, you managed to cross those backroads.”

“The mountains were terrible—we had such hardship.”

“You bet,” Hyaku said, gazing at Oine—who was rubbing her legs—with a soothing look.

“Even men rarely cross Kotanba or the Great Bodhisattua Pass.”
“Why on earth would you take such a path…”

“Kōshū Road has some hindrances, you see.”

Since there seemed to be some profound reason behind this, Hyaku fell silent but kept staring intently at the infant’s face.

“If only I had a cute little one like this—who knows how much comfort she’d bring mom.”

Oine listened to Hyaku’s muttering with a puzzled look.
While I’m even thinking of abandoning it—she mused sardonically,

“Shall I give her to you?”

When she said this, Hyaku’s face turned red,

“’Tis someone else’s child.”

he laughed it off.

A blacksmith craftsman would typically have at least one burn scar on his thick sideburns or a forehead wound from flying sparks, but Hyaku, despite being a blacksmith, was an oddly pure man who showed no such blemishes of hardship.
Few spineless men—the sort who’d stand guard at an open-air gambling den—would blush when spoken to by a woman.
Instead, he was the stubbornly single-minded type—if he were to fixate on that woman or fly into a rage over some misunderstanding, things could turn dire—so Oine thought.

“Oh, she knows a stranger’s hands. Seems she’s not used to being held this way—she’s started whimpering.”

“Thank you. Now, back here…”

It was just as Oine reached out to take back the child.
Save for the occasional sounds of dice and horses, deep within the thicket that had lain silent—suddenly,

“Cheater!”

And then, a sharp voice rang out.

The moment this happened, as if someone had poked a hornet’s nest, the air around the crowd erupted into turmoil. Two shouts, three shouts—words bristling with murderous intent—had just shattered the air there when,

“Kill ’im!”

With the violent cracking of snapping trees and rustling thicket came the sight of Yasunari Sanbee—flutist and ronin—being chased by seven or eight men wielding large swords. He leapt over the cliff ahead and ran onward like a deer.

“We thought he was just some two-sword samurai and let our guard down—what a terrible swindler!”

“In a flash, that cheat swindled us out of forty ryō!”

“If they can just catch him properly…”

“Unless they let me torture ’em to death, this fire in my gut won’t settle—not after he robbed me of every last coin I had!”

The horse traders, having dispersed from there, formed a group of about twelve or thirteen and clamorously emerged from the thicket,

“Hey, look...”
and gestured toward Oine with his chin,
“She’s a looker.”
“Hmm.
She ain’t from around here.”

And they whispered to each other with lecherous looks.

And then, one of them, near Hyaku’s ear,

“Where’s that one from?”

he asked.

When Hyaku offhandedly mentioned that she was with the ronin who had just been driven out of the gambling den, the horse traders fixed Oine with harsh glares,

“He left us a fine hostage.”
“Hey, Mistress—”

As she started to rise, someone shoved her shoulder, and they surrounded her.

“Whether he’s your husband or what, I don’t know, but that swindler ronin robbed us of forty ryō. If they catch that bastard and make him spit out the loot he swallowed, fine—but if that don’t work out, you’re our hostage. Don’t even think about movin’ from there.”

“Right—with looks like hers, she’d fetch forty ryō easy.”

“At tomorrow’s market?”

“As if!”

And with that, they burst into raucous laughter,

“She’s got a brat attached!”

“Nah—that thing? If we throw in a bit of cash, we can offload her anywhere.”

Numerous eyes filled with feral intensity.
They brazenly stared at the woman’s collarline, peered at her profile, traced her curves with their eyes, and clamored—when two of the long-wakizashi bearers who had earlier pursued Sanbee returned panting,

“Damned bastard!”

they came back there, shouting.

Kanzō from Ōme was a man of Hamura no Tome—those who made their living by controlling this territory through what they called "domain management."

“Hey—Boss!”
The horse traders turned around,
“What happened to that bastard?”
“No honor in this—he got away.
“On top of that, one young guy from Fussa grabbed onto the ronin’s obi from behind—and just as he did, the ronin drew his sword and slashed him right at the base of the arm like this—”
“What? He was slashed?”
“He had his entire right arm cleanly severed, so now they’re all carrying him to the room in Fussa.”

“We get swindled, one of our men gets maimed by a ronin—what a mess this is!”

“I’ll definitely make him pay for this.”

“Boss—for this, we’ve got prime hostage material here.”
“How ’bout we use her as bait to draw that ronin to tomorrow’s market?—If the bastard don’t bite on that scheme, we’ll just sell off the woman and use the coin to cover our swindled cut and that Fussa kid’s doctor bills.”

“Hm—solid thinking.”

With that, Kanzō raked his eyes over Oine from her collar to hemline,

“Using that bastard as bait—how’d you work it?”

“We’ll spread the word that we’re putting the woman up for auction at tomorrow’s horse market and selling her off.”

“Sounds like fun. Then I’ll go consult with Hamura no Tome later—you lot can keep hold of her.”

“Not ideal with the brat, but we’ll take her along.”

“But if that two-sworded lizard robs us along the way, we’ll be in deep trouble,” said about ten horse traders as they surrounded Hamura no Tome and Oine, escorting them down the shortcut of Donguri Slope.

The other horse traders also led their horses toward Hachiōji Highway, each going their own way.

Hyaku was alone, listlessly brooding, but eventually he too received a straw-wrapped rough bell from the back-alley moneylender, shouldered it, and returned to his house in Tanashi.

Threading through the Musashino Plain’s silvery-blue pampas grass that resembled parted black hair was a single stretch of Ōme Highway; walking past Mitsugi and Kamishuku for about two ri brought one to Tanashi.
Hyaku’s house stood alone in the wilderness, removed even from that sparsely populated hamlet—a solidly built structure where the main room’s hearth faced a pitch-black workspace: the forge’s earthen-floored area with soot-covered beams and pillars.

Opening the door there, Hyaku,

“Mom, I’m home now.”

With a clang that echoed through the earthen-floored workspace, he let fall both the burden from his shoulder and the gloom weighing on his heart—as though hurling them out in one bundled mass.

Five

In the back, his mother Oshige—who had been tending the smoking fire of the tub stove—turned around.

“Hyaku?”
“……”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re late.”

“Mom—with your poor eyesight—I meant to come home early, but the regular horse traders asked me for a favor and I couldn’t refuse…”

“What’s this?”

“The market’s booming—they raided the gambling den.”
“Got stuck standing lookout.”

“You fool—! From now on, don’t you go accepting such requests!”

“I hate gambling, but I just wanted a bit of money to buy iron.”

“If you take coin like that and get caught by someone like Mr. Hachishū, what’ll you do then?”

It was an unusually fierce scolding from his mother.

Hyaku scratched his head,

“I’ve quit it.”
“As of today, even if someone asks me, I’ve decided I ain’t doing that stuff anymore—so you can rest easy.”

“But you must be exhausted.”
“Get in the bath.”

“Despite your bad eyes, did you go and split the firewood yourself again?”

“But if I waited until you got back to prepare the bath and food, you’d be impatient, wouldn’t you?”

“If you keep doing reckless things and get hurt with a hatchet again like last time, it ain’t good!” Hyaku said as he undid his obi,

“When night falls and Mom starts groping around, I get all worked up.”

After removing his kimono, Hyaku submerged his rough iron-like black sturdy body fully into the bath bucket,

"Ah... nice and hot."

"Ain't too cold?"

"Just right... Ah, feels good."
"Sorry 'bout this, Ma."

"What's this? No need to get all formal."

"Nah, really mean it.
"I've been prayin' in my heart, see—after finally servin' years 'prenticeship under a master only to get expelled. Now I'm just hammerin' horseshoes and farmers' hoes, clang clang all day—how long can I let this shame go on?"

“So don’t go wasting your days getting roped into standing lookout for gamblers—what you need is to earnestly hone your craft instead.”

“That’s right—if I don’t do this, I can’t face our ancestors while living in this house once called the Tanashi swordsmith residence of Musashi no Ju Yasushige.”

“That’s right…”

Oshige hung her head before the smoldering stove.
She was already crying.

While never praised as master craftsmen, the previous generations had at least lived decently as swordsmiths in Tanashi. But now, in dear Hyakunosuke’s time, they had fallen to peasant blacksmiths—a decline that, more than anything, cast the darkest shadow over Oshige’s twilight years.

(If only the previous generation hadn’t died so young…)

And whenever something happened, she would brood over this grievance.

There were no apprentices left—Murakuni, who had served as striker for the previous generation, had gone to Kamigata—so they’d had no choice but to send Hyaku at age ten to Edo, placing him under Yamaura Kiyomaro, a master of new sword forging known as the “Yotsuya Masamune.”

For a time, even Master Kiyomaro—

(He shows promise)

—had sent a letter with an official appraisal attached, so they had been delighted. But in the eighth year,

(Expelled)

And suddenly, he was sent back to the house in Tanashi.

What was the crime?

For what reason?

Neither Hyaku nor Oshige could comprehend the reason.
The senior apprentices pointed at Hyaku behind his back as he left and whispered among themselves that he had sticky fingers.

――It was later learned that the incident had occurred during that year’s New Year.
It seemed that the calamity of his expulsion had occurred when he accompanied his master Kiyomaro to Manpachirō in Ryōgoku at Hon’ami’s invitation and was on their way back.

Kiyomaro had a weakness for alcohol.
That day, having apparently drunk himself into a stupor, he left Manpachi and immediately complained of feeling unwell. In his haste, he stopped by the home of Sakurama Yaehachi—a drum master in Yanagibashi—where he vomited, received medicine, and lay down for about an hour.

It happened that courtesans from Yanagibashi had come for their lessons, and one or two among them—apparently familiar with Kiyomaro—were diligently tending to him. Hyaku waited in a separate room eating rice cakes, but upon returning home later discovered that the hundred ryō obtained from Hon'ami that day had vanished from Kiyomaro's pocket.

For three days there was chaos—messengers dispatched to Sakurama the drum master, Kiyomaro himself rushing to make inquiries at Manpachi—until finally Hyaku was expelled without explanation. Though the master never voiced it aloud, the suspicion fell on him.
Hyaku had sensed it—eighteen years old and bristling with youthful defiance.

(He’s looking down on me.
Even if I’m unskilled, I’m Yasushige of Tanashi’s son.
Treating his disciple like some thief—like I’d stay in a master’s house that does that!)

And so he returned.

But what he immediately regretted was that expulsion notices had circulated among swordsmiths across the provinces—once that happened, he could no longer make a living as a swordsmith.
The code forbade taking apprenticeship under another master or freely forging swords.

(Why—why couldn’t I have properly explained myself back then—)

And as the years passed, his regret had deepened—all while clinging to thoughts of honing his skills as atonement—until six or seven years of mere training had slipped away from Hyaku, spent hammering horseshoes and farmers’ hoes on the earthen floor of a wild smithy overgrown with grass.

After emerging from the bath, Oshige—

“I grated that yamaimo you like, I tell you.”

With her dim eyes hindering her movements, she crawled on her knees and fumbled out the tray and rice container.

While hurriedly changing his clothes, Hyaku—

“Oh—the meal—”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’ve gotta go out for some errands again now…”

――Lonely-looking,

“Are you going out again already?”

“I’m sorry, Mom—” he said, kneeling. “Just let me take a few days off work.”
“And after that, I’ll work as hard as I can…”

he said with uncharacteristic hesitation,

“And then… there’s one more thing I gotta ask—you’ll hear me out, won’t you?”

“There’s no need for things between mother and child to change at all,” she said with affectionate exasperation that couldn’t mask her concern, “but you keep saying such strange things tonight.”

“Ain’t nobody else here,” he countered gruffly, guilt roughening his rural cadence as he gestured toward her hunched form. “Eyes gone bad—body failing—how long you gonna keep crawling round this kitchen? Tears me up inside every time I see it.”

“That’s why I keep telling you,” she pressed with maternal pragmatism while feeling for the rice container’s edge, “if you’d just wed that girl from Igusa Village like we talked—”

“That Okiyo?” His refusal came sharp as a hammer strike on cold iron. “Ain’t no way I’d ever take to her.”

“If you’re gonna be picky about looks at this poor country smithy, who’d ever come?”

“But there’s someone who’ll come.”

“Huh…?” Oshige crawled forward on her knees—

“Hyaku.
“You’ve gone and gotten yourself a woman—now you want to bring her here, ain’t ya?”

“Th-that’s not it, Mom.”

And Hyaku waved his hand—
“You’ll see.”

And he went outside.

That night, his mother thought about Hyaku—who in the end had not returned until dawn—

(If she’s a woman that child loves—one who’d come to this wretched house knowing full well what it is—then even if she’s some lowly tavern wench or streetwalker…)

And with lonely resignation to old age, she made her peace.

Six

The horses’ backs were lined up like waves.

From the outskirts of Hachioji post town all the way to Daikakuji, the commotion and din of the horse market continued.
Sake shops catering to opportunists, secondhand stores, street performers, and all the scum of society stood choking the air.

“Come on—get those bids in—bids—”

The two-day market ended, and the evening began to crumble.

Within Daikakuji’s precincts, a cluster of dark human silhouettes had gathered.
They had a twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old beauty with freshly washed hair and light makeup stand at the edge of the Yakushido hall, while Kanzō from Ōme and Tome from Hamura sat down beside her.
Twenty or thirty street urchins—or those resembling them—were indeed standing nearby.
And three young men circulated through the crowd with bidding slips, an inkstone with brush, and a bid box,

“Aren’t you putting them in? Since the time’s come, I’ll open the bids now,” he bellowed.

Hamura no Tome stood at the edge of the veranda and surveyed the densely packed crowd of horse traders from various provinces, brokers, and travelers surrounding him.

“Now I reckon some among you gentlemen present might scorn us as heartless brutes—beasts no better than animals—for putting up a mere woman, no different from chickens or cats, for auction like this. But there are circumstances behind this affair...”

After exaggerating and spreading word of the incident at the gambling den from the day before yesterday,

“Given these circumstances, had that two-sworded man come forth here to identify himself, we would have made proper amends and settled the matter. But that worthless ronin shows no sign of appearing, no matter how long we wait. So—though it pains us—we must reluctantly put the woman up for auction here and hand her over to the highest bidder. As for concerns about future complaints: Kanzō from Ōme, all members of Fukaya’s group present here, and I, Hamura no Tome, hereby pledge with our official seals to assume full responsibility for any such matters henceforth.”

“Whether as a cook, a wet nurse, or a mistress—gentlemen who might have need of her, please rest assured—”

As Tome’s words concluded,

“Then, I’ll open the bid box now.”

Then Kanzō from Ōme stood up and, just to be thorough, scanned the crowd one more time. As witnesses, bosses of the horse traders and owners of rural teahouses announced their names in turn. Several split-bamboo poles impaled with hundred-me candles stood crimson, illuminating sharp-cheekboned faces and square-jawed profiles—the bid box was placed at their center, as many hands began arranging the slips in their palms.

“Bids below twenty ryō will be discarded,”
“and bids below one bu won’t be called out.”

Having declared this—

“Twenty-one ryō and one bu.
“Mr. Tsuruya of Uenohara.”

he began announcing in a booming voice.

The crowd’s faces, driven by curiosity,

“Tsuruya.”
“Tsuruya the restaurateur—”

The crowd shifted as if searching for that face, but immediately the next slip—

“Thirty ryō exactly—” was read.

“Oyabun Yoshikuma of Atsugi!”

they roared.

Then, while receiving the slips handed over one after another—each marked with high bids—Kanzō, the bid reader, raised his voice:

“Leaping to forty-one ryō and two bu—Daikokuya Zenroku of Kawagoe’s brothel quarters.”

The next highest bid skipped over two or three slips,

“Seventy ryō!”

And in one explosive leap—the bid soared.

(Who could it be?)

As the crowd stood momentarily daunted,

“Guest of Ayukawa’s establishment in Kōshū—Mr. Murakami Sanzo.”

The woman’s face shifted sharply.

Her eyes darted restlessly.

Kanzō announced the name, then paused to draw breath—

“This marks the high bid.
"The lot falls to Ayukawa’s guest.”

Just as he raised his hands to clap,

“Hold—another slip!”

A new bid emerged.

“Hmm, this one’s steep…” he muttered,

“The current one is the second bid.”
“This one’s sold.”
―One hundred ryō!”

(Huh? A hundred ryō?)

Countless eyes darted restlessly.
And then, as they strained their nerves on Kanzō’s lips—
“Sold, one hundred ryō, one hundred ryō.—Mr. Hyakunosuke of Tanashi Village.”

He proclaimed in a loud voice.

"What? A hundred ryō?"

“That blacksmith Hyaku?”
“…….”
“It must be some kind of mistake—no way!”

The ring leaders of the ticket brokers, having said this, were perplexed.
The bold price being bid up was one thing, but they began to feel uneasy—was this a prank or a mistake—

“Second bidder, kindly wait a moment.”

he shouted in a panic.

Seven

When he heard the final call, Hyaku—who had been mingling in the crowd—stumbled out through the gate of Dairaku-ji temple,

“Mr. Shichibee! Mr. Shichibee!”

From the shade of a pine tree, a black figure,

“Here! Here!”
“What’s wrong?”

“It’s won. Now—lend me the hundred ryō.”

“You say ‘lend me,’ but I ain’t handin’ over coin for free.”
“Like we jawed about last night.”

“So I’ll stamp that paper you scribbled.”
“Got the seal right here.”

“Then it’s not just the house—collateral’s land, fixin’s, gear, every last tool in your smithy.”

“Quit yappin’. I got it.”

“And the mountain.”

“The mountain…”

Hyaku’s face went dark as he muttered this,

“To tell the truth, that Sayama Mountain ain’t much different from our family’s own mountain, but there’s this stubborn uncle living there who clings to ancestral rules—no matter how bad things get, he won’t sell it…”

“I ain’t talking about buying it either.”
“If it’s collateral—them tea fields on the mountain show promise—then I’ll take ’em in.”
“But if there’s gonna be lingering trouble, sorry Mr. Hyaku, but this deal’s off.”

The moneylender Shichibee, having said that, already started to briskly head back.

“Hold on!”

Hyaku grabbed the sleeve.

“Fine then, the mountain too.—With these hands, I’ll work my hardest and pay it back, that’s all there is to it.”

“Exactly. It’s not like I’m taking anything away.”

“Then I’ll stamp the seal. Hand over the document.”

In exchange, grabbing the money, Hyaku caught his breath and ran toward Dairakuji Temple's Yakushi Hall.

Kanzō of Ōme, Tome of Hamura, and the many horse traders seemed to have gotten their conversation slightly tangled and were making a racket, but when they caught sight of him, they all turned around in unison,

“Hyaku—” they gulped.

Hyaku politely bent slightly at the waist,

“Then may I take her home…”

“The money—”

Someone snapped sharply.

“Here it is.”

Then, quickly moving to the darkened rear of the hall, he took Oine’s hand—she had been crouching there frozen with the infant in her arms—and vanished from the crowd into the shadows.

Meanwhile—weaving through the mass of dark figures—the young masterless samurai with sloping shoulders who had been pursuing Hyaku’s trail,

“Huh? Which way?”

He scanned the area with bloodshot eyes,

With a shout of "Hey!", he started running through the temple front—where the lights of sake shops lined the street—toward Hachiōji.

Thud—the young ronin with sloping shoulders collided chest-first with someone and staggered back two steps, but—

“Excuse me—”

And with that, he slipped past without stopping.

“Hey!”

A hoarse voice called out, stopping him in his tracks.

With a start, he thought—then immediately—

“Murakami Sanzo.”

The voice addressed him by full name.

Murakami—renowned across Kōshū as Ayukawa-beya’s bouncer, though more for silver-tongued charm than martial prowess—jolted as if struck,

“Who’s there?!”

he demanded.

The woven sedge hat that had halted to observe him now snapped up its front brim like a broken twig,

“It’s me.”

he showed his face—sunken-cheeked like a mantis.

“Ah…!” Sanzo’s face changed color.
As if bound by some pact, he instantly turned pale and froze in place.

The brother of the woman he himself had once seduced and abandoned in his home province—that was Yasunari Sanbee.

The woman abandoned by a man who then died on her own—the father who committed seppuku claiming his daughter had defiled the family name—these Yasunari Sanbee regarded not merely as enemies of his blood, but as demons who had buried his very life itself, and with terrifying hatred, he stalked them.

That was the man.
Moreover, this Sanbee was one whose very arms could cut like blades.
That Sanzo trembled was not merely due to weakness—it was only natural.

Yet Sanzo understood this much—that even in such a collision, Sanbee, who differed slightly from ordinary men, would not kill him immediately. For Sanbee was the sort who declared that one who hates an enemy should let them live rather than slay them, making them taste terror, anguish, and life’s bitterness at every opportunity—a vengeance surpassing vengeance. This was the man who, when they had met at Ayukawa-beya in Kōshū, had seized his mistress Oine by force rather than cutting him down.

(First, matters of life and death...)

With that, Sanzo first considered this and began calming himself,

“Yasunari.”
“How dare you show yourself in Kōshū—”

As he began to speak, Sanbee let out a parched voice from beneath his woven sedge hat,

"What’s wrong? What happened next?"

"What?"

"You must want to know—about Oine’s condition—"

"D-don’t spout nonsense! That faithless tramp—"

“Unfaithful? —Is that so. Oine was originally an itinerant performer who drifted from Edo to Yanagi-chō in Kōfu—Ayukawa’s boss Nisuke plucked her from there and made her his kept mistress, or so I’ve heard.”

“……”

“Sneaking under Nisuke’s watch to have an affair with Murakami Sanzo isn’t infidelity, but running off with another man being called infidelity—that’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

“You’ll remember that mouth of yours!”

“Don’t get angry, Sanzo—sooner or later, no—in the near future, I’ll have Oine returned to you.”

“W-who would?!”

“Quit your sore loser’s act.”
“Still clinging on.”
“At tonight’s auction, you came in with the second bid—what a pity.”

“I’m not searching for that woman out of lingering feelings.”

“Out of jealousy?”

“I’ll cut you down!”

“Hahaha! With those arms—that sword—you think you can cut down the woman you love? Enough, enough with that bluster—”

“Call it a bluff if you want—just you wait and see.”

“Hm, watch if you will—Sanzo, Oine’s become even more beautiful since her first childbirth. What’s more, the child she bore looks just like your face.—You really think you can cut them down?”

“I’ll cut them! I’ll cut them!”

“Let’s part ways today.—Or shall I make you hear a tune?”

While Sanbee was drawing the Hakkan Shō from his flute bag, Sanzo’s shadow had already vanished from that place.

Eight

When the moneylender Shichibee came to collect interest at month’s end, Hyaku started.
—Yet by good fortune, Oshige remained unaware.

Not only that—his mother had at first eyed the child-bearing woman Hyaku brought into their home with mistrustful looks—but in time had thawed,

“Were she Hyaku’s bride…”

She muttered.

Moreover, the adorable infant in its prime suddenly brightened this desolate house.
Oshige loved the infant as if it were her real grandchild.

When she brought the mugwort rice cakes for tea next to the forge’s bellows in the workshop,

“Hyaku—” Oshige crouched there and,

“Ms. Oine—does she have a husband or not?”

“She doesn’t have one, Mom.”
“When I first met her in the mountains, I heard bits and pieces about her circumstances, and since she came here, I’ve asked all sorts of things. Turns out she was originally the daughter of an Edo thread merchant.”

“And the infant?”

“At first, I thought it might be the child of some disreputable ronin I’d seen at the gambling den. But it turns out it’s apparently the secret scion of a proper samurai—someone who briefly looked after her in Kōshū.”

“That explains it.”

And Oshige accepted everything Hyaku said exactly as it was, taking it all in with complete goodwill. And then, solemnly,

“What of your temperament and…”

“Mom, I reckon Ms. Oine and me’d get along real good.”

“But the future…”

“Even Ms. Oine told me she won’t forget my kindness.”
“Mom, just try talking to her once… come on, come on.”

“This child…”

Oshige looked slightly exasperated,

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Ah, I’ll be straight with you.”
“To be honest with you, Mom, I’m in love with Ms. Oine.”

But Oshige, being an old woman, remained stubbornly tight-lipped.
Hyaku considered asking his uncle in Sayama for help, but anxiety over the contract with Shichibee ate at him—and then there was the fear that Oine might grow weary of this backcountry smithy’s home. Bewildered by such thoughts, even when he sat before the bellows, he found himself utterly incapable of concentrating on his work.

With each rainfall, the silver grass grew taller, and already the Musashino Plain took on summer’s aspect.

That day, they were alone.
Oshige had gone to stay overnight in Sayama—which wasn’t far away—saying she had a matter to discuss.
Nor had she gone empty-handed—she carried Oine’s child on her back, treating it as if it were her grandchild.

“Mr. Hyaku,” she said in a slightly airy voice after bathing first—her hair washed and light makeup applied—“why don’t you close up early today?”

“Once in a while,” she added with a sly laugh.

Hyaku also soon entered the bath—and emerged—

"Somehow, when it's just the two of us like this, it feels like we're a married couple—kinda awkward."

"What’s wrong with that—either way…"
"Mr. Hyaku, care for a drink?"

With that, she reached under the tray and grinned slyly.

"Sake? Well, sake…"

With that, Hyaku shifted his gaze and brought his hand to his head.

“Never had a drink before?”

“Got some—but Mom hates liquor somethin’ fierce.”
“So at home…”

“Today she’s gone.”

Hyaku turned red before even taking a drink.
In age, Oine seemed about three years older, but it felt as though there were a full decade between them, like she was an elder sister.

The scent of wild lilies stole in from somewhere.
The color of the grass dampened by the evening moon cast just the right amount of brightness into the house where no lamp had been lit.
The faintly flushed white powder on Oine’s face floated like azalea blossoms, blurred softly.

She licked the cup with apparent enjoyment.
Oine seemed to have already forgotten about the child.
Yet Hyaku found himself occasionally troubled by thoughts of his elderly mother staying in Sayama and his uncle’s nighttime conversation, lingering in the back of his mind.

“Ah, the countryside is so carefree and pleasant, isn’t it?”

Oine revealed the light blue disarray of her hem from between her disarranged knees,

“If you lived in a place like this with someone you love…”

“Ms. Oine… you’ll stay with me forever, right?”

“It’s not that I mind.”
“...a woman like me.”

“You’re too good for this—” Hyaku said earnestly,

“Aren’t you sick of this poor blacksmith’s place?”

“But... you were originally a swordsmith.”

“Even I ain’t gonna spend my whole life just shoeing horses!”

“You keep whinin’ ’bout bein’ poor every chance ya get—but truth told—a soot-black house like ours does got money stashed away.”

“No, there’s no money. No money at all…”
“There’s no money…”

“You’ve been hiding it all this time—hohoho…”
“The one who claims to have no money went and casually bid a hundred ryo at Daikakuji’s auction—”

Suddenly assailed by the intense fragrance of wild roses—as if he’d thrust his face into a thicket—Hyaku choked.
Feeling Oine’s hand on his neck, Hyaku’s heart pounded violently, hot blood surging as his vision spun.

“Wh-what’re you doin’ to me?”

“Do stay still.”
“Young master.”

“Quit it—I’m just a blacksmith.”
“When you say such things, it tickles somethin’ fierce.”

“But I do like it.”

“What part?”

“How innocent you are—” She pressed her cheek to his,

“Let’s stop this—between us.
“—Money talk feels so... cold between us.”

“Th-that’s right.”

“But... just one—no, another... I got a request.”

“What is it?”

“If I just send another hundred ryō to the house in Edo, then I could stay here until I die—can you manage that?”

“Well…”

“Can’t you?”

“If you can’t…”

“I… I might die…”

“Huh? R-really?”

“Oh, forgive me—lie, lie, that was a lie. Don’t worry so much.”

Wet eyelashes met the back of a hand.

Hyaku was in too much pain.
But that evening's dream—the night a strange unknown had been revealed—he couldn't help remembering with joy.

The next day, Oshige returned carrying Oine’s child on her back.
Hyaku immediately noticed something dark in mother’s face,

(Has she found out?)

—and his chest tightened.

“You’ve done a terrible thing.”
“Uncle was shocked when he heard the rumors, but what’s done can’t be helped now.”
“I too will never complain to you…”

Seeing that Oine was away, the mother said this.

“That woman’s temperament alone is what worries me. If only that were settled—well, I’m not the bride coming into this household, so I’d endure any hardship. But even last night, I stayed up late with Uncle talking about you and ended up crying… Hyaku, really now—what are you thinking?”

“Mom… this…”

Hyaku clasped his hands.

“The wrong I’ve done—I’ll make up for it through work.”

“To such lengths...”

“It’s shameful, but I just have to.”

Hyaku bit his nails.
On the anvil where heated metal was struck, tears fell in drops.

With tender concern, Oshige,

“Silly, why are you crying and making such a scene?
To a bride you love, I’ve got no call to complain.
But with this poverty we’re in and a hundred-ryo debt piled on top, there’s no way we can manage the commotion of a wedding right away.”

“Don’t say that, Mom—I’ve already swallowed that matter.”
“I’ll definitely earn it.”
“I’ll work this hammer until it’s scorched through!”
“If I can just hear that…”
“Even I’m at the age to marry, Mom. When you give me that worried look, this country blacksmith’s hammer just gets duller.”

Nine

The susuki grass grew tall amid summer grasses dark as night. Night after night, the forge fire from the country blacksmith’s home—unaware of the deepening hours—cast a crimson glow. Sparks flew even on rainy nights, Teen, teen, teen Kaan, kaan

And then—a single hammer's blow rang out with desperate intensity.

The hammer's sound was Hyaku's very soul.
Hyaku's soul was the hammer's sound.
Whether dawn broke or dusk fell, there was not a day when that sound went unheard in the fields.

From summer to autumn.

But earn as he might through farm tools and horse fittings, the sum Hyaku hoped for would never materialize.
Hyaku wanted only to repay Shichibee's hundred ryo and secure enough to please Oine—but how could he ever amass over two hundred ryo—?

And what he conceived and forged were tanto daggers.

Even one or two wouldn’t amount to the money he hoped for.
By autumn, he had forged ten sets of tanto daggers—large and small.

No—even that still wasn’t enough.
If one considered how much a country blacksmith’s forged tanto daggers sold for each, even were he to work like a demon with his hammer for ten years, it remained doubtful whether two hundred ryo would accumulate.
Hyaku also knew.
Yet knowing this himself, the fact that he kept working so desperately suggested he had some plan.

It was an autumn day during the Ishigami Shrine festival, when the boisterous strains of the Asagaya Kagura performance resounded cheerfully from village to village.

“Mom, I’m off to Edo for a spell.”

“What for?”

Oshige seemed uneasy.

“Nothin’ to fret over.”
“Gonna find work outlets.”
“When I’m back, I’ll clear the debt and ease your mind proper.”

“Then don’t traipse about in them muddy rags. Take this lined kimono instead.”

“Well now—brand new stitchwork.”
“Mom, when’d you get such finery?”

Hyaku hurriedly threw the Chichibu-striped cotton-lined kimono across his shoulders.

“Ms. Oine, I’m off.”

In the back, Oine—hanging out the infant’s laundry—showed bright dimples beneath her headscarf as though she understood everything,

“Please come back quickly.”

“Ah.
“I’m countin’ on ya to mind the house for ’bout seven days.”
“Look after Ma now.”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

“Since Mom has night blindness, make sure to take extra care of her in the evenings.”
“Make sure she doesn’t go sneaking into the kitchen.”

Having already finished ten sets of tanto daggers yesterday, he wrapped them from end to end in yellow-dyed cotton cloth and secured them firmly against his back over his waistband.

Oshige and Oine stood outside the forge’s dirt-floored area, watching him depart.
Edo was practically on their doorstep—not far at all—yet even so, a seven-day journey’s absence left an ache of loneliness.

Hyaku turned back and, from within the susuki grass, waved his hat toward the susuki-thatched house.

Upon reaching Edo, Hyaku lodged at a cheap inn on the outskirts and from the next day began searching for buyers of his tanto daggers.—Though given his status as an expelled craftsman, he couldn’t approach sword shops or establishments connected to the Hon’ami lineage.

Moreover, his plan—to sell each set of two tanto daggers for twenty ryo and return with two hundred ryo from the ten sets he’d brought—was fraught with difficulty. However, he patiently made the rounds—visiting well-appointed samurai residences, or else hidden mansions of wealthy families—places like Kuramae’s rice brokers. Starting with selling one set at the Okabe guard residence in Kojimachi, he then sold another set to Oguchiya—a rice broker in Kuramae—and was told by a samurai of unknown status who happened to be present at the shopfront: "Bring the goods to my residence tomorrow, as I currently lack ready funds."

Hyaku rejoiced.

With forty ryo in cash, he lay in the cheap inn’s futon, listening to his heart swelling as if about to burst from both happiness and terror.
And picturing Oine’s face—left behind in Tanashi—and his mother’s face, he slept.

The next day.

He searched for the residence of Tsuda Uemon in Azabu Imozaka—the one he had been told about.
The attendant, with considerable formality—apparently having been briefed—
“Hm—you’ve brought the tanto daggers? Come up from there and wait in the business room.”
Soon, the fortyish samurai he had met yesterday at Kuramae—
“I am Kakuemon, steward of this household.”

With that, he sat down.

"He isn't the master?"—Hyaku found this unexpected. And he felt a flicker of unease—wondering whether a steward could afford twenty ryo for tanto daggers—but

"Regarding that which caught your eye yesterday—"

"Did you bring them? Let's see—show me."

Kakuemon stared intently at the tanto daggers Hyaku had presented,

"They're well-forged."

"They're well-forged," said Kakuemon. And while glaring through his brow, he compared the tanto daggers with Hyaku's face,

"How much?"

"Twenty ryo."

“Cheap indeed.”

Hyaku was startled.

“When it comes to Yamaura Kiyomaro, even among new swordsmiths, he’s a modern master.”
“Even for tantō daggers, this is too cheap.—But are you certain?”

“Huh?”

“No—what I’m asking is whether this Kiyomaro signature is authentic.”

“H-huh? There’s no mistake.”

“Something’s off.”
“You said they were secondhand, but the base metal reeks.”
“Not only does the gold color look freshly applied, but while the forging’s skilled, the edge is poorly made.”

Hyaku grew increasingly flustered,

“Th-that can’t be...”

he stammered.

“First of all!” Kakuemon said harshly. “From whose hands did you obtain this?”

“...”

“You impudent wretch! This is a counterfeit of Kiyomaro!”

“No, no—absolutely not!”

“You dare to argue?!”

Suddenly grabbing Hyaku by the collar and yanking him down onto the tatami mats, he then turned toward the rear fusuma—

“Ensaku! Ensaku!”

he shouted.

Ten

No sooner had the door clattered open than a man entered—

“Oh! You’re Tanashi no Hyakunosuke!”

Ensaku exclaimed in surprise.

Hyaku raised only his eyes from the tatami mats.

“Oh, Senior Brother... I’ve disgraced myself,” he said, hiding his face.

“You bastard! You actually forged counterfeits of our master and went around selling them! Lately, when I heard rumors of someone peddling Kiyomaro’s tanto daggers, I thought it strange—then the honorable steward here kindly informed me, so today I’ve been lying in wait, ready to strike. Now then—I’ll punish you according to the swordsmith’s code. Come here.”

They bound Hyaku with rope and threw him into the palanquin.
Leaving behind Ensaku’s farewell and Kakuemon’s laughter, the palanquin departed.

(How embarrassing—facing the master.)

Hyaku clawed at his hair inside the palanquin.
He wanted to bite his own tongue.

“Good work—” came a voice as the palanquin arrived.
The small door opened.
When he glanced up, Hyaku realized this differed from his former master’s estate he remembered.
Gone was its former grandeur—now a cramped dwelling with a thick black fence that even an impoverished low-ranking samurai might occupy, and one that stood terribly dilapidated,

“Hey! Ain’t nobody here?”

When he called out, three or four rough-looking men assisted Ensaku,

“So this is the bastard—the one who sullied our master’s name.”

“To the garden—drag him out and press him down with casting sandbags!”

With about ten bales of sand, Hyaku’s body was surrounded.
The private punishments among swordsmiths were utterly brutal.
They could cut off ears or an arm and leave you alive if they pleased; torture you to death or test their professional blades on your body—you couldn’t complain.

(In any case, I’ll probably be killed.)

Hyaku resolved to steel himself.
But I have a mother—and Oine is waiting.
Even if they crippled me, there was no helping it—but I wanted to at least save my life.

“Beat him!”

“It’s a lesson.”

Ensaku and his men beat down Hyaku’s back with broken bow staves.
When he lost consciousness, they would splash water on him and go back into the workshop.

Whenever it was mealtime, tea break, or they had spare moments, they would come out and beat him.

――When he came to his senses, the surroundings were dark.
Stars were twinkling in the sky.
The kimono was twisted like seaweed glue.

“Ugh…” Hyaku involuntarily let out a deep groan.
To the marrow of his bones—a deep, piercing ache; painful, weary—his mind grew hazy.
His lower legs were embedded in water-soaked casting sand, leaving him unable to move even an inch.
As his head drooped heavily—Hyaku called out in his heart the names of his mother and Oine.

The workshop, the main house, and the shutters were all closed.
It was already late at night.—Even in the soft, sticky sound of stealthy footsteps approaching from somewhere, the clinging dampness of night dew could be felt.

“Hyaku…”

Someone called out.—After a pause, in a low voice,
“Hyaku…”
Hyaku—who had been staring upward with white-rimmed eyes piercing the darkness—suddenly contorted his face as if about to weep.
“Ah… M-Miss.”

“Shh, keep quiet.”

She waved her sleeve as if to silence the sound.

“What’s wrong with you?” said Osode—the daughter of his former master, with whom Hyaku had often quarreled, babysat, been teased by, and teased in return during his apprenticeship—as she drew near with nostalgic warmth.

“I’ve no shame left, Miss. Kill me. Smash me to bits.”

“Now, now—there’s no need to shout like that.
Hyaku... you’ve really grown up, haven’t you?”

“Miss… you’ve grown up too, haven’t you?”

“Ah, you must not recognize me anymore.”
“Well, I’m twenty-two now, you know.”
“I’m two years younger than you.”
“And… a husband?”
“This is no time for that! After that—well, after you were driven from the house, a curse fell upon the Yamaura family. Nothing but misfortune ever since.”
“And Master...?”
“He’s been ill all this time—for years now, without lifting a hammer, confined to that room.”
and pointed to the door where light leaked through the gaps,
“He’s been bedridden ever since.”

“Then he’s right there.”
“Ah… how nostalgic!”
“If it weren’t for this ruin… even just one look…”

“Father heard from Ensaku that you were caught.”

“If there were a hole, I’d crawl right in. The Master must think of me as a dog or some beast.”

“No, he doesn’t—”

Osode looked around and, with a sudden motion of her short blade, severed Hyaku’s bonds—

“Come on, you need to run.”

“Wh-why?”

“Father secretly instructed me to let you escape—I know your feelings better than anyone.”

“Then… Miss, you pleaded for my life?”

“No, Father now regrets in his heart having disowned you.”
“Everything is time’s verdict—when the time comes, it will all be clear.”

“……”

Hyaku sat frozen, his head bowed.

“The reason Father disowned you was because of that suspicion—when he came back from Lord Hon’ami’s gathering, drank himself into a stupor, and lost the money—but…”

“That’s right.
“That this Hyaku was thought to have stolen it.”

“Actually, there was a wicked woman who claimed to have seen it and tattled to Father.”

“Huh? Then someone shifted the blame onto me?”
“You bastard!”

“At Mr. Sakurama’s house, there was a geisha who acted all kind while nursing Father that night.”

“Seems so... but with those pretty geishas around, I kept to a separate room.”

“Among them was this wicked Yanagibashi geisha called Koine.”
“She’s the one who stole it! Then after you got expelled, she used that as her in—started coming round the estate! To think Father—a master smith—would get fooled by some harlot... how shameful!”

“So, as his mistress…?”

“He built her a house, gave her money—that much was still acceptable. But the master’s hammer rusted.”
“It might have been a curse.”
“In the end, she moved in.”
“And then the woman—after indulging in luxury for about two years—ran off with another man, and Father, ashamed of the scandal, took to his bed and…”

“There are some truly vile women.”
“And that woman is still in Edo—”

“I heard from the metal brokers who come to our house—they were gossiping with the apprentices about how after parting ways with that man in Kamigata, she tidied up loose ends twice in Kofu before being rooted out by some gambler from a place called something-or-other.”

“Huh… In Kofu,” Hyaku murmured, his eyes staring blankly as he processed this,

“How old was she?”

“She must be about twenty-six or twenty-seven by now.”

“Hmm, Koine...”
“Do you have any idea?”

“Koine… Koine…”

“When she was a young geisha,” he pointed to his canine tooth, “they say she broke her front tooth and had a sliver of silver put here. When she laughed, it made her look like some enchantress.”

“Oh… She has a silver tooth,” Osode said as Hyaku panted, still dazed.

“Then she’s got a big mole here at the corner of her right eye too?”

“You know her well.”

“Guh! So Koine really does have a mole there.”

“That’s what they say—the mark of an adulteress.”

“Damn it!”

Hyaku kicked away the bundles of casting hammers pressing against his knees, sending them scattering in all directions as he leapt to his feet—

“Miss—please give my regards to Master.”

“Ah! You—making such a terrifying face—where are you rushing off to?”

“Taking advantage of your mercy, Hyaku will escape.—I won’t trouble your sight again.”

As Hyaku started running and leapt onto the ridge of the black wall, Osode clung to his hem,

“Hyaku—”
“You are—”

she was crying.

“Farewell… Miss.”
“Miss, please find yourself a good husband soon.”

“We won’t meet again.”
“There’s no one left to share childhood stories with.”
“Hyaku… won’t you take this?”

Osode removed the comb and placed it in Hyaku’s hand. Hyaku too brimmed with tears.

“A memento.”

Atop the wall, he put it into his pocket.

Eleven

Hushabye, rockabye

Hushabye, lullabye

If you ask where Kazuko dwells

If you ask the bell of a steed,

Chōfu Town of a Thousand Loom Houses

Bush clover and silver grass and katydids

The waters of Tamagawa bleach the cloth

The moon bathes Musashi’s market

“Ma.
“—Ma.”

Bang bang bang—Hyaku was pounding on the door of the Tanashi house.
Oshige’s lullaby, likely meant to lull the infant to sleep, could be heard faintly inside the house, darker than the outside.

“Ma, it’s me.
“Open up, won’t ya?”

Suddenly, the lullaby stopped short, as if startled,

“Hyaku, is that you?”

“It’s me.
“I’ve just come back now.”

“Oh, oh”

In her haste, she must have tripped over something.
In the darkness came a sound like a shoji screen collapsing.

“That was dangerous, Ma. Even with your bad eyes, you oughta be more careful.”
“—Oine ain’t here?”

“The back’s open, Hyaku—come ’round through the rear entrance.”

“What, it’s open?”

Hyaku jumped in through the back,

“Oine—”

With sharp eyes, he looked around the house.

To Oshige with her bird-like eyes, his bloodshot gaze went unseen, but when her groping hands found Hyaku’s foot, she gave a start—

“You reckless fool! No matter how desperate you are to see Oine’s face, what idiot would come barging into the house with your shoes on?!”

“Ain’t got time to take ’em off!”

Then Hyaku knelt down, took both of Oshige’s hands, and as if praying—

“I’m sorry!
I’m sorry!”

he wept like a man.

“Leaving you in this ancestral house ends tonight.”
“This yakuza I’ve become—punish me however you want later.”
“Right now, I ain’t got time to explain everything.”
“—Come on, get ready right away.”

“What preparations... you...”

Oshige’s voice trembled.

“Let’s set out on a journey, hey, Ma.”

“So your plan is…”
“No—better not say it.”
“When old, obey your children—they say.”
“Hyaku, take me with you anywhere.”

Hyaku embraced his blind mother in his thick arms like a child,

“Aren’t you angry, Ma? Ain’t you even gonna scold this idiot Hyaku?”

“Why would I scold you?”
“When you’re young—’tis only natural for all manner o’ things to happen in a person’s lifetime.”

“That’s right—there’s all sorts of things.
“But Ma, from here on out…” he spilled tears onto his mother’s body in a rush,

“From here on out, there’ll be no more of this hardship…”

“You… realized it?”

“I’ve come to my senses!
“I’ve come to my senses—clear as day!”

“Clever lad—ye’ve realized it well! If only ye’d see e'en that much in this old woman…”

“Ma, don’t bring that up anymore. Hyaku’s still a man.”
“Hyaku’s still a man.”

“’Tis true. You’re my child—a swordsmith’s child.”
“Even without a house, I’ve still got my child.”

The infant unrelated by blood separated from Oshige’s embrace and kept on crying.
Oshige hurriedly drew near.

“Hyaku, let me carry this child on my back.”

“Where’s Oine’s bastard?”

“…………”

“Did she run away, Ma?”

“Even if I tell ye the truth—you won’t mind?”

“W-who’d have any lingering feelings for a bitch like that?”

“Well, I’ll spill it… Since you’ve been away, there’s been a samurai coming round back here near every night to summon her.”
“And she’d come back at dawn.”

“Hmm, ain’t nothin’, that stuff.”
“Figures for that whore.”

“Not only that, but Mr. Shichibee—who’s been coming around often to press for money—has been talking in a strange way lately, and it’s been downright grating on my ears.”

“That’s not human.—Don’t take that woman’s brat，Ma.”

“Nay，that ain’t so，”Oshige shook her head，

“If I don’t raise this child，what do you think will become of it? Pitiful—I’ll carry it.—And just the ancestral tablets at my waist.”

Hyaku looked around,

“Ma, there ain’t nothin’ else to take ’sides the ancestral tablets.”

Pulling her hand, the mother and son trudged out onto the Tanashi Plain.
The night dew was like that after the rain.

“Good thing it’s a moonlit night.”

“Can you see the path at all?”

“It looks just like we’re walking through a place that’s not of this world.”
“But the folks in Tanashi Village will feel lonely from now on, I reckon.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because your hammer’s sound will be gone.”

“What nonsense—they’ll call it a relief to be rid of that racket.”

Hyaku laughed, but when his gaze idly strayed that instant, he saw something that made him gasp—something that seemed to strangle the very sound of breathing.

Twelve

Bathed in faint moonlight, two shadows emerged side by side from the sinister house in Tanashi.
As for the man, it was unclear, but the woman was unmistakably Oine.

“This way.”

In a panic, he led his mother onto a side path, and the two walked about half a cho through the grass in heavy silence—when suddenly,

“Ma, can’t ya wait here a bit?
“Don’t go wanderin’ off alone in some strange direction.”
“I’ll be right back.”

Oshige, brushing aside whatever she tried to say, ran back with terrifying speed.

Along the very path the mother and child had just traversed, the two figures walked seductively close together.

One was a ronin.

For a samurai, he had sloping shoulders and carried himself with affected airs.
And Oine seemed slightly drunk.

Swish, swish, swish—like a gale, the grasses rustled behind the man and woman.

(Something?)

As he turned, the graceful ronin saw a white needle-flash streak straight toward him—

“Gah!”

He clasped both hands to his temple and pitched forward into the grass—no, collapsed where he stood.

“Oh my, whatever’s the matter?” Oine bent to peer at the man’s face.

“Mr. Sanzo, I don’t care for this joking.”

She casually pulled her hand away.

The ear had shifted position. A tanto dagger stood buried deep in his left temple. When she recognized the viscous substance coating her fingers as blood, Oine sprang back with a gasp.

“Wench!”

Seeing Hyaku’s approaching figure—

“Oh, you—when did you get back from Edo?”

“I just got back now.”
“No doubt you were waiting for my return.”

“You said seven days, but we’ve just been wondering what happened and talking about it every day with your mother.”

“Hmph... That sweet talk won’t work on me anymore.”
“There’s no way you were waiting for me.”
“What you were waiting for was money, right?”

“I truly felt bad afterward for asking you to make such a difficult arrangement.”

“Did that sweet talk of yours melt even a swordsmith’s steel?”
“How dare you deceive Master Yamaura Kiyomaro.”
“Hey! And years back, you snitched that I stole the money you swiped from our master!”

“Mr. Hyaku… I truly don’t understand what you mean—”

“I’m Hyakunosuke—Yamaura Kiyomaro’s former disciple from Yotsuya, the one you framed to get expelled! And you’re that Koine from Yanagibashi back then, ain’t ya!”

“Ah…!”

“Serves ya right, whore!”

When Hyaku lunged, Oine scrambled into a panicked run, her voice shredding through her throat as she—

“Eeek—Murderer!”

“Shut up!”

Grabbing her collar, Hyaku swung the woman’s body around.
With eyes blazing wildly—breathing like fire—he dragged Oine’s body through the dew with a harsh scraping sound.

To the root of a single tall tree visible in the wilderness, Hyaku bound the woman’s body.
Oine exerted her utmost in coquetry and frantic desperation, crying out to Hyaku to save her life.
“I’ll endure any hardship—do anything—just please…”

Hyaku laughed heartily,

“Eat shit and die!
“I ain’t gonna set you free now—no, I’m gonna do somethin’ way, way more satisfyin’ than that.
“Oine!”

and showed her the several tanto daggers he gripped,

“These here are all the tantō daggers I forged for you without sleepin’ a wink—so I’m givin’ ya every last one I got here. Bury ’em in your flesh and haul ’em off!”

One blade sliced through the wind—

“Kyaugh—”

Oine screamed—a wail that might’ve scraped the moon itself. Black liquid streamed in rivulets from her brow down that pallid face before you could blink.

“This here’s your reckoning for Master’s daughter—Lady Osode! Chew on that!”

The next one he sent thudded into her breast.

“Ugh… Ughm…” As she writhed, the white skin became smeared with blood like clusters of grapes crushed against a chest.—Next, next—the seven tanto daggers swiftly moved from Hyaku’s hands to that shadow, standing pale as thorns on a briar.

“Ah… how cleansing…”

Hyaku, as if stepping out of scalding water, drenched in sweat from head to toe, staggered and sank to his knees in the grass.
—And somewhere, a fierce flute’s tone flowed.
Who was playing it? It was the sound of a flute.
It was exactly like the sound of Hakkan Shō beloved by Yasunari Sanbee.
It resembled life’s ceaseless journey and human emotions—resentful as hatred, mournful as weeping, yet mirthful as laughter—

Hyaku had been listening.

A shudder—he felt it course through him, though he knew not why—while...

And his wide-awake eyes remained fixed on a clump of grass.
With a rustling, rustling sound, something crawled away—a black bestial shadow fleeing as if pursued by the fierce flute's tone.

Even reduced to gasping his last breaths, Murakami Sanzo still struggled to survive, to live.

× × ×

“Ah, it’s cold!”

Hyaku, too, had started running without looking back.
Having returned to where they had been,

Restlessly glancing around,

“Mom, where are you?”

“Here.—Hyaku, I’m right here.”

Oshige sat down on a single stone amidst the dew-heavy susuki grass and taken the infant from her back.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Ain’t got no more business left here?”

“Ah, cleanly settled—all the business’s done.”
“Feels like I washed my ass clean in the Ōkawa River, Mom—must be tonight’s doin’, huh?”

“I somehow feel a tad reluctant to leave, but...”

“Enough with the grumblin’.”

“Ah, enough now, enough!”

“The moon don’t shine only on Musashino.
“No matter where I end up forg-in’ horseshoes out in the backcountry—I’ll make damn sure you can live in peace from here on out.”

“And this time, you’ll find yourself a proper bride.”

“Cut it out, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“I’m puttin’ marriage on hold for now.”
“I’ll just think of you as my beloved woman and live with ya, Mom—that’s good enough for me.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense—d’ya really think you can see your own mother as some ‘beloved woman’?”

“I do think so—ain’t no lie to you, Mom.”

But Hyaku was still clutching the crimson comb against his skin.

“The dew’s cold—let’s get moving.”
“Oh—the baby’s conked out, ain’t it?”

“Innocent thing… Look at this face.”

Should he hate it? Should he love it? In the midst of his tangled emotions, Hyaku stared fixedly at the innocent face—then abruptly snatched the infant from his mother’s hands.

“I’ll carry ’em.—Huh—light as a feather, ain’t ya?”