Pathway to Japanese Literature

Lord Kira, our good lord.

The red horse's patrols,

Attacked by ronin, and from then on,

There’s just no helping it now, is there?—

The popular ballads circulating among the masses likely mirrored the psyche of Kira villagers.
There was absolutely no helping it.
It was persona non grata.
All human affairs were like Saiō’s horse—it was in the unpredictability of what might happen that human destiny lay.
The saying “All’s well that ends well” comes from a Shakespeare play, but consider a man who loved his household, was cherished by neighbors, performed every possible good deed—only for fate to abruptly reverse course as his life’s journey neared its end.

Had my hometown’s lord, Kira Kōzuke-no-suke, died of apoplexy or some other cause in the autumn of Genroku 13 (1700), then in today’s history textbooks—where all war-related heroes had been expunged since the war’s end—they would never have branded him a “persona non grata” through memorandum cases as some historically exiled figure. Instead, the virtuous Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s renown would have swept across all Japan.

Truly, what a waste it was.
The line between fortune and misfortune, luck and calamity, hangs by a thread—by the time one thinks *Damn it all*, it’s already too late.
Karmic retribution and such are but a thin veneer of lies.

To state it precisely, my hometown is Yokosuka Village in Hazu District, Aichi Prefecture—though commonly called “Kira Village”—and one cannot entirely dismiss that the chivalrous ethos which welled up abundantly in this land in later years originated from their irrepressible devotion to Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke, a ruler they could not help but revere.
Far from being inexpressible, the commoners’ seething resentment toward society and indignation at fate have permeated the earth for three centuries, flowing unbroken into the present like water seeping through soil.

"If you think this is a lie, I suggest you go to 'Kira Village' and see for yourself."
"If you, dear readers, were to set foot in Yokosuka Village and whisper even a single word of slander against Kira Kōzuke-no-suke, what consequences might arise—even I, the author, dare not lightly guarantee."

In the village, there existed an organization called the “Kira Historical Sites Preservation Society,” which had exhaustively investigated every last one of the virtuous lord’s deeds; yet even in the chronicle included in pamphlets published by this Preservation Society, a passage such as the following had been appended.

"The secular world abounds with countless misrepresentations concerning Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke, all arising from mistaking theatrical plays and dramatic ballads for historical fact."
"The assertion that individuals like Shimizu Ichigaku (born in Miyasako Village), Torii Riemon (born in Okayama), and Saitō Seizaemon (born in Otogawa) were dispatched by the Uesugi family as escorts following the Matsu-no-ma assault stands as one such example—truly laughable, et cetera.”

It was truly laughable.
Far from it—their anger burned deep within their hearts.
In my boyhood, there had existed an association called the Akahata-kai that crafted local dolls of the red horse—a practice imbued with commemoration for Kira Kōzuke-no-suke.
The red horse had been his mount, which Kōzuke-no-suke himself had tenderly cared for.
Each time he returned from Edo to his domain year after year, he would set out to tour his territory without bringing a single attendant.
At such times, Kōzuke-no-suke appeared as a benevolent old man wearing a tea master’s hood; on the road, he addressed everyone he encountered without distinction, his face suffused with a gentle smile.

When the lord’s red horse emerged like a painting upon the country path adorned in the yellow of rapeseed blossoms and the purple of Chinese milk vetch, runny-nosed urchins would come clamoring and swarming around.

Carving a languid shadow in the spring sunlight, the red horse plodded along—this very delight in its unhurried form stood as a testament to Kōzuke-no-suke’s virtue.

Not a single grievance or complaint from the villagers—be it trivial or significant—was left unaddressed by their lord.
This benevolent old man, when in the mood, would tie his horse before a farmhouse encircled by a narrow-leafed Hosoba hedge,

“Fine weather we’re having. Ah, my throat’s parched—I’ll request a cup of tea.”

With a carefree voice, he slowly lumbered into the dim earthen floor of the low-eaved farmhouse.

“Why—it’s His Lordship!”

Villagers in work clothes were laboring out back.
While telling the wife to bring tea and a cushion, he settled himself at the edge of the veranda. In the garden where the smell of night soil drifted in from somewhere, sipping on the weak bancha tea she brought, Kōzuke-no-suke chatted about this year’s planting and whether they were facing any hardships—laughing over casual talk with not a shred of lordly dignity in his bearing.

Of course, it was not that he lacked the intention to consciously demonstrate conduct befitting a virtuous lord in order to deepen the villagers’ trust.
However, for that reason, he did not call newspapers in advance to coordinate his farm visit times or have photography teams specifically capture him patting the horse’s head.

Even now, a section of the embankment called the Kogane Embankment remains in the outskirts of Yokosuka Village; this was constructed by him—utilizing the undulations of the hills—for the residents of Kira Village, who suffered from poor irrigation and were plagued by rainwater floods every rainy season.
Once completed, this would instantly transform the domain’s cultivated lands into fertile fields; however, as it would cause the downstream areas of the Yahagi and Ōhira Rivers to flow backward into adjacent territories—particularly the lands north of Okayama—the daimyo of neighboring domains repeatedly petitioned for its cessation. Nevertheless, under the condition that it would never be rebuilt if once destroyed, he forcibly constructed it.
All the village farmers participated in the construction work.
The embankment—thirteen shaku high and one hundred ken long—was completed in a single night.

Because of this, flood damage immediately ceased to leave any trace.
The early autumn wind grazed the fertile, endless farmlands, and the villagers' lives grew more prosperous with each passing year.
When that was completed, he immediately embarked on road repairs and carried out a form of land consolidation—all deeds of Kōzuke-no-suke after he passed forty—through which contact between him and the villagers had become increasingly inescapable.

In a village where benevolent governance reached every corner, there was no room for wicked magistrates to take root.
Within Edo Castle, he held the rank of Junior Fourth Rank, Upper Grade and Major Captain while leading the kōke families; beyond its walls, he reigned as a peerless virtuous lord. Though his official stipend stood at a mere 4,200 koku, his political influence within the castle walls and the domain's actual revenue far surpassed that of daimyo commanding 40,000 to 50,000 koku.

Moreover, the relationship between the Tokugawa family and him possessed a profound bond that could not be resolved by the mere words of lord and vassal.

Simply spreading out the genealogical records makes it immediately clear: he stood as the culmination of over five hundred years tracing back through the Seiwa Genji's direct line—from the Northern and Southern Courts period through the Ōnin War until reaching Kōzuke-no-suke's generation. Though battered by shifting tides across eras multiple times during this span, the Kira clan had ruled the same domain ever since Yoshiuji—born to Hōjō Tokimasa's daughter—first established their reign.

Moreover, until Tokugawa Ieyasu’s father Hirotada’s era, they had remained proper lords protecting a castle—albeit modest—upon a hill near Hakuba Tōjō Road at Yokosuka Village’s eastern edge.

The connection with the Tokugawa family dates back to Hirotada’s childhood; when counted from Kōzuke-no-suke’s generation, it was not that distant a past.

Amidst the turmoil of the Sengoku period, the Tokugawa clan—having encountered a fate of unpredictable vicissitudes—fell into dire straits of fragmentation, and Hirotada, who had just turned ten years old, fled to seek refuge with Kira Mochihiro, then lord of Tōjō Castle.

Hirotada’s childhood name was Senchiyo, but Mochihiro personally sheltered this youth, willingly becoming his ceremonial guardian (eboshi-oya) to oversee his coming-of-age ceremony and bestow upon him the character ‘Hiro’ from his own name, thereby granting him the name Hirotada.

Yesterday’s fate belonged to others; today’s was our own.
By the time Hirotada returned to Okazaki Castle, welcomed by his retainers, the Kira clan—battered by the tides of war following Lord Mochihiro’s death—had suffered a fierce assault by Imagawa forces and met crushing defeat at Fujinami Nawate and Yoroigafuchi.
Toshitsugu-ni, the widow of Lord Yoshihisa who had narrowly escaped the horrors of their fallen castle, wandered through Suruga with Yoshisada—her late husband Yoshihisa’s forgotten memento—until Eiroku 12 (1569), when she was finally permitted to return to Kira Village. There, she built a modest hut in Seto Village and continued her austere life.

This news had already reached the ears of young Tokugawa Ieyasu—who maintained imposing authority throughout Mikawa—carried by winds from some unknown quarter. It seemed Ieyasu too had been stirred by a desire to repay his father's debt. In the first month of Tenshō 7 (1579), he visited Seto Village under falconry pretext. According to the Ietada Diary, he met Toshitsugu-ni with auntly courtesy and bestowed upon Seto Village's two hundred households stipend rights as parting gifts—then declared:

"I shall personally oversee Yoshisada's future. Not even in dreams have I forgotten the debt owed my father Hirotada—when he comes of age, send him to Okazaki."

It is said that he reiterated this before departing.
The once-dark future of the Kira clan had become filled with bright radiance.

If Yoshisada had been a man endowed with the talent to reciprocate Ieyasu's esteem, he would never have let such good fortune slip through his fingers.
Ieyasu had been seeking a splendid opportunity to restore Yoshisada's house for the young man.

The times were gradually reaching a turning point.
When the Toyotomi came to power, Ieyasu became Minister of the Center and a major daimyo with a fief of two million koku.
For Yoshisada, not only his ancestral family name but also honor and power were things he should have eagerly seized.
However, fate is ultimately determined by people.
However much Ieyasu labored to select the perfect opportunity for him, in the end, without battlefield achievements connected solely through the spear, Yoshisada could not be elevated at once to a daimyo of 50,000 or 100,000 koku.
Despite being placed in such a privileged situation, Yoshisada was not a man who could establish a household in the Sengoku period.
Inherently mediocre and foolish, timid and indolent—he was precisely the sort of man whose lips would go dry and heart race at the mere clang of swords; to imagine him charging across battlefields brandishing a bloodied blade was utterly unthinkable.
There had been countless opportunities before, but each time Yoshisada had no choice but to betray Ieyasu’s expectations; though Ieyasu had verbally promised to take charge of Yoshisada’s future, it seems he was gradually coming to grasp the man’s true capabilities.

Then came Keichō 5 (1600), bringing the decisive Battle of Sekigahara.
If Yoshisada had possessed an ounce of shrewdness, he needn't have leapt into enemy lines nor grappled with famed generals—having been assigned to Ii Naomasa's forces as a provisional commander of reserve troops, all required was trailing behind burly warriors chasing routed enemies while maintaining at least the appearance of dauntless courage.
This alone would have secured him a daimyo title of ten thousand koku amidst the confusion of post-battle commendations—yet he and his forces stayed rooted in the rear, refusing to budge an inch.

Had this been any other situation, even the patient Tokugawa Ieyasu would likely have rebuked Yoshisada and sent him back to Seto Village. But for Ieyasu—who had secured victory in that grand decisive battle and ascended to rule over the realm overnight—whether Yoshisada performed military feats mattered little. In his thoroughly buoyant mood, Ieyasu bestowed upon him a 3,200-koku stipend across Kira Village’s hamlets—Yokosuka, Yoshida, Toba, Isshiki, and others—for no reason other than his nominal participation at Sekigahara.
This could be called a borderline extraordinary favor.

Kōzuke-no-suke was the fourth-generation descendant from that Yoshisada.
Now that an era of true peace had arrived, regardless of his relationship with Yoshisada, his position within Edo Castle stood as unassailable as a fortress.

Moreover, Kōzuke-no-suke was no mediocre man like Yoshisada.
He was granted an audience with Shogun Tsunayoshi at age thirteen—Tsunayoshi himself being likewise thirteen at the time—making it natural that their mutual trust grew extraordinary as they matured.
His appointment to Junior Fourth Rank at seventeen came through no accident.
At eighteen he married—his wife being sister to Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu Tsunakatsu of Yonezawa's 150,000-koku domain.
Simultaneously, Kōzuke-no-suke's eldest son Sannosuke became adopted heir to the Uesugi family and successor to Tsunakatsu, while his eldest daughter Tsuruko entered the Shimazu household as wife to Satsuma-no-kami Tsunataka.

In his generation, he was granted a stipend of 4,200 koku—but whether measured by the size of his fiefdom or his nominal status as head of the kōke families, it defies imagination what authority Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshihisa maintained within Edo Castle, backed by the once-mighty Uesugi of the northeast—a direct line from Kenshin the monk and a domain once yielding 1.2 million koku—and the prestigious Shimazu of Kyushu, all under the favor of Shogun Tsunayoshi.

Having reached forty-nine years of age, Kōzuke-no-suke welcomed Haruchiyo—born to the Uesugi family—as his adopted son at the Kira residence in Kajibashi. The matter of sending his own eldest son to the Uesugi family and now reverse-importing an adopted son from them was indeed a complicated affair, but it went without saying that within this very complexity lay proof of how greatly Kōzuke-no-suke's presence was valued.

Be that as it may, having come to know his heavenly mandate at fifty, he conducted a memorial service for the temple bell at Kezō Temple in Okayama, where his ancestors' spirits were enshrined. From his perspective, his current position within Edo Castle could now be said to represent the pinnacle of personal standing.

He, humble in assessing his abilities, was thoroughly satisfied with his current circumstances.
However, Kōzuke-no-suke had both pride commensurate with his station and honor.
Even were he to realize everything exactly as he desired, whom would he need to hesitate before? Whom would he need to restrain?
His life was drawing to a close.
As a meager memento against life’s transience, he selected only those from the Kira lineage who had been appointed to Junior Fourth Rank and had three wooden statues carved.
On the left was Yoshisada, in the center Yoshiyasu, and on the right himself—that is, Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshihisa.

Kezō Temple—said to have been built under the direction of Kobori Enshū and modeled after Kyoto’s Kiyomizu-dera—featured a long veranda extending from its main hall. Descending one level to enter its study-style guest room revealed a courtyard framed by densely growing cedar trees within the temple grounds, layering a tranquil charm that seeped into the heart through understated elegance.

The casually arranged stones and artfully positioned pines radiated a naturally harmonious composure. When opening the shoji screens in the anteroom, the bell tower appeared like a painting perfectly framed within an alcove.
Because Kōzuke-no-suke favored this room, he would seldom enter the administrative office upon returning to his domain, typically spending his days in one of Kezō Temple’s chambers.

When the mausoleum enshrining the three wooden statues was completed, he built his own tomb.
He had nothing left to leave behind in this world.
If pressed, all that remained was to leave behind the conduct of a virtuous lord for posterity.

In the spring of Genroku 5 (1692), Kōzuke-no-suke, now fifty-two years old, returned nonchalantly to his domain.
He arrived on a rainy day at the beginning of March.
The air was still faintly cold, but at Kezō Temple, signs of spring were already rippling through.

That night, after drinking tea prepared by Priest Ten’ei, Kōzuke-no-suke composed a poem.

“Though rain clouds veil tonight’s sky, the moon emerges as they clear.”

His state of mind—having drawn a line under worldly concerns—held a gentle sentiment within the poem, truly befitting a virtuous lord’s disposition. Exhausted from his long journey, Kōzuke-no-suke slept soundly that night.
The next day would begin with him rising before dawn to visit his ancestral graves, followed by a leisurely ride on his red horse along early spring country roads—all preparations were in place.

Having been reminiscing over old tales with Priest Ten’ei and just about to retire for the night, Magistrate Karasawa Hanshichirō arrived accompanied by Village Headman Riemon of Koma Village.

When informed of Riemon’s visit, Kōzuke-no-suke did not even inquire about its purpose and immediately ordered him admitted.
Riemon—past sixty—followed Karasawa Hanshichirō and prostrated himself before the corridor.

“My Lord,” he said, “you appear as ever in splendid spirits—this humble one knows no greater joy than to behold it.”

“Now, now,” Kōzuke-no-suke interjected with an outstretched hand.

And, Kōzuke-no-suke interjected while spreading one hand.
“What is it, villagers—are you all safe and well? Do not hesitate; come in here. Do you have some urgent matter?”

“All the villagers are moved to tears of gratitude by your great benevolence.”

Karasawa Hanshichirō leaned forward over the threshold.

“That is most reassuring.”

“If I may venture, regarding that matter...”

“What is it?”

“An incident has occurred that compels us to beseech your exceptional mercy. As this humble one cannot resolve it through my sole discretion, I must earnestly seek your lordship’s judgment.”

“Speak freely—that this exceeds your discretion indicates its gravity.”
“Does it involve matters of life and death?”

“Your consideration honors us.”
“The particulars shall be explained by Village Headman Riemon, but with profound respect, I entreat you to review the petition we’ve brought this day.”

Hanshichirō respectfully presented the petition, which Kōzuke-no-suke casually accepted and immediately read through in one go under the light of the short lampstand.
The incident had occurred two days before Kōzuke-no-suke’s arrival.

Within Kira Village—renowned as a prime bamboo shoot producing region—the Koma area in particular was considered the true heartland. Across its undulating hillsides, every path wound through bamboo groves.

The level road lay beneath a slope that wound along the mountain's base.
However, though it was called a village, there were only small houses with thatched roofs dotted here and there among bamboo groves—perhaps forty or fifty households in total—and each home was surrounded by low earthen walls with fine-leafed hedges.

In ancient times, it was said to have originated when the clan of Ashuke Jirou Shigenori—loyal retainers of the Southern Court—fled from the terraced foothills, escaping along the mountains to this place where they endured hardships by disguising themselves as woodcutters and farmers to build the foundations of their livelihood.

Enclosed by mountains, the temperature was high, and along the valley road, buds of red plum blossoms were beginning to swell.
It was a beautiful moonlit night.

A black shadow ascended the narrow path through the bamboo grove.
In the shadow of the hill stood a small farmhouse with a sloping roof.

“You there?”

A thick, muddy voice clung like tar.

The sound of stomping footsteps shook the ground.

“Cold, isn’t it? Ms. Onobu in there, eh?”

The plank door showed rough grain with gaping cracks, ready to collapse at a touch.
Fingertips rapped against it—knock-knock.

Through a gap, he glimpsed a hearth beside the wooden edge of the earthen floor, dried branches smoldering in its pit.
Chestnuts popped in the fire.

The household consisted of a mother over thirty, her fourteen-year-old daughter, and her seven-year-old son.
The mother and daughter exchanged glances.
Just thinking He’s come again—was enough to plunge them into utter despair.

Onobu shielded her daughter behind her back.
“Who’s there?”
In a low voice thick with tension，she turned toward the front plank door.
“Seems you've already retired for th' night.”
After saying that，she hurriedly nudged her daughter’s shoulder.
“Okinu，slip out quiet-like through th' back an' tell Mr.Tōsaku th' chestnuts're roasted proper．Best he come quick.”
“Yeah.”

She was too large for fourteen.
With glossy skin, round and chubby, plump flesh looked ready to burst at any moment.
She had only just become a young woman—still far from any hint of allure—but precisely because of that, there was a dreamlike purity in innocent eyes.

It seemed to arise naturally from the habits of daily life—she shuddered convulsively.
The terror of men coursed through her flesh—a sensation so instinctive it seemed to seethe beneath her skin.

"But..."

She brought her mouth close to her mother's ear and whispered.
“Ma, will you be alright alone?”

“Go quickly!”

Onobu glared with sharp eyes.
She was now a frog caught in a snake’s gaze.
There was no leeway to be delayed by such exchanges of words.
The very next instant, the voice outside changed abruptly.

“Hey, you in there or not?”

He seemed to be growing impatient—harassment pure and simple.
He knew perfectly well she was there.
It was a voice laced with implicit threat—depending on her reply, he’d kick this door down and come in.

Onobu stepped down quietly into the earthen floor, then suddenly changed the tone of her voice.

“Is that you, Mr. Gonji?”

She deliberately avoided touching the latch and quietly glanced back—likely wanting to confirm her daughter had slipped out through the rear exit. After all, he wasn’t someone who would leave empty-handed. Onobu had grown entirely accustomed to this kind of fate. It was simply that she didn’t want to remain where her daughter’s eyes could see her.

At the same time, she didn’t want Gonji outside noticing her daughter’s escape. She rattled the door with both hands, then shoved it open to the left with all her strength.

“Hey—quit keepin’ me dangling! Had me in a sweat thinkin’ you had company already.”

The smell of overripe persimmons melted into greasy body odor and wafted pungently to the nostrils.
Onobu put on a desperately forced smile as she,

“Don’t joke like that—people will get the wrong idea.”

Six years had already passed since she parted from her husband in death. With only a woman’s hands to support the household through fieldwork, weaving, and even helping neighbors with sericulture, Onobu worked tirelessly. Her face bore a sun-kissed tan, yet not a single fine wrinkle marked her features by age thirty-five. The only flaw one might note was the slightly narrow space between her eyes and nose, but the youthful vitality within her body remained fresh and vibrant, unadorned by makeup.

“They say love makes a thousand miles feel like one ri, but mountain roads make even one ri wear you down.”

It was an uncharacteristically polished line.
His angular jaw jutted sharply from a flattened face flushed dark red with drink.
The blind-striped kimono and matching haori might have suited him perfectly—had they not been grime-stained and frayed at the hem.

“The buzz is wearing off—let’s get right to it and drink our fill.”

He removed the blade-down sword along with its scabbard from his waist and pushed the one-shō sake bottle he had placed by the edge toward the hearth. Then, immediately darting his eyes around restlessly, “Where’d Okinu go? I thought I heard her voice earlier.” His narrow eyes held a faint smile. “She went to Mr. Fujizaemon’s place to borrow their bath—since he came by calling for her so many times, I thought it’d be rude to keep ignoring him.”

“Well, never mind—maybe I’ll take a little rest in the meantime.”

As he stood up to enter the inner room, Onobu hurriedly positioned herself before the sliding door to block his way.

“Shunjiro just fell asleep—if you make any noise, you’ll wake him right up.”

“You’re being damn stubborn tonight—alright then, let’s get this business talk over with first.”

After all, she was prey in his grasp.
He was no greenhorn unaware of the pleasure in letting prey thrash about before pinning it down.
Deliberately feigning exaggerated composure, he poured sake for himself to the brim into the teacup Onobu had reluctantly offered.

The sound of a mountain stream came welling up.
The sound of Japanese river frogs calling.
The whispering rustle of bamboo leaves.

“You’re already so drunk—you should really quit now.”

“You’re bein’ damn pushy—ain’t goin’ home tonight anyhow, so quit givin’ me the cold shoulder right when I arrive.”

“But you—Shunjiro’s turned seven already. Don’t talk nonsense.”

“What nonsense—I’m talkin’ ’bout Okinu here! Need a clear answer or I ain’t leavin’, got it? Mr. Kikyōya’s fumin’—how many days d’you think passed since then? At this rate, I got no standin’ as the middleman! This ain’t no kid’s errand!”

Kikyōya was the owner of a sake brewery in Tomita Village, which bordered Yokosuka Village at the foot of the mountains.
He was well past fifty, but given his innate womanizing tendencies and having started a moneylending business on the side, one could well imagine what he might get up to.
When it came to serving women—from kitchen drudges to day laborers—he had never failed to take advantage of any, though his methods were hardly overtly vicious; under the guise of kindness, he would lend money to impoverished tenant farmers, thereby creating opportunities to acquire one neatly dressed daughter after another under the pretext of employment.
If one could fully satisfy his desires without even resorting to unreasonable demands, then this would surely qualify as a splendid pastime indeed.
Of course, if a baby were to be born, with money alone, things could be settled satisfactorily in any way necessary.

The one who had grasped this method and served as their operative was Gonji, a gambler by trade based in these parts—though his moniker “Kobigon” rang infamously throughout the village, he was ultimately little more than a tolerated rogue within the benevolent confines of Kira’s domain.
The “kobi” in “Kobigon” carried a dual meaning: “to flatter those above” and “to cling like a burr once attached.”
In other words, he was precisely the sort of cunning opportunist perfectly tailored to the era—a man who would grovel endlessly before the strong and wealthy, then cling like a burr to anyone he perceived as weak, executing this standard playbook without deviation.
However, it went without saying that he himself affected the airs of a chivalrous man.

If a woman alone supported a poor household—as was the local custom—it wasn’t necessarily a thing of the past for young men, drunk on festival or wedding sake, to turn her home into their gathering place on such nights.

"Sisters and their younger siblings all sharing the same snake-eye patterned umbrellas"—so went the Bon dance song with spirited rhythm, and those going from one drinking spot to the next weren’t limited to just disreputable young men.
In any case, it was certain that the home of Onobu of the Makino family had unwittingly become an indispensable place for them.

Whether Gonji had truly responded to the retired master Kikyōya’s request remained doubtful, but for him—now utterly captivated by Onobu’s charms after her six years of solitary widowhood—this was no longer mere opportunistic gain. Throughout history, killing two birds with one stone had been the way of business; rather, it would be more accurate to say that now Kikyōya was being used as a pawn.

“Leave it to me—I ain’t gonna do you wrong. The retired master’s so damn impatient even I’m havin’ trouble handlin’ him. How ’bout it? Forget tomorrow—let’s make it tonight. Hell, she can head back right after. I’ll just take her for a quick introduction. No need to change outta them everyday clothes neither. If she’s gone to the bath already, that’s perfect timing, ain’t it?”

“How could you say such a thing?”

She knew full well the man’s ulterior motives were directed at her.
As she suppressed the rising swell of emotions, Onobu’s expression gradually stiffened.
While sugarcoating it with her customary forced smile,

“Okinu hasn’t been told a single word about this yet—how can you demand something so unreasonable just because I’m her parent?”

With long fire tongs, she mechanically retrieved charred chestnuts from the hearth—repeating the motion without conscious thought.

“Hey—what’s this now? Bringin’ it up all sudden-like?”

His voice sharpened abruptly.
Onobu flinched, shoulders trembling as she drew back.
“But you said it yourself—‘I’ll give my answer after thinkin’ it through proper.’ Didn’tcha?”

“There’s a limit to how long you can think about this—it’s been ten days already! At this rate, no matter how you slice it, Kikyōya’s retired master’s getting pitiful.”

Kobigon swiftly thrust his hand into his inner pocket and shoved forward a small paper-twisted packet before Onobu’s eyes.
“It’s an advance on her wages—I’ve brought it proper-like.
“No need for airs—just tuck it away safe.”

As if declaring “Well now?”, he shifted his cross-legged stance and stroked up his hairy shin with his left hand.

Beyond a bamboo-thicket-covered hill lay Fujizaemon’s residence.

Fujisaku, the eldest son who had just turned fifteen, grew taller with each passing year—his sturdy frame appearing nothing like a minor’s when viewed from behind.

Even in this land where amateur sumo thrived, though he never reached ōzeki rank when competing against adult wrestlers, he never fell below the san'yaku positions.

From childhood, Okinu had formed the habit of going with her mother to assist at the Fujizaemon household during busy farming seasons, and thus was treated like a sibling by their only son Fujisaku.

Filial piety—to even mention such a notion these days was to invoke an antiquated term, one that had fallen out of fashion and become a source of social discomfort, but this was an era when concepts like children’s rights or obligations were not yet loudly proclaimed.
From the autumn of the previous year (Genroku 4 [1691]), Fujizaemon had begun spending more days bedridden with mild stroke symptoms, and Fujisaku single-handedly earned three times an adult’s wages to support his grandmother, mother, and ailing father.

The dim light of an andon lamp with a thin wick cast shadows on the torn shoji screen.
Upon entering the earthen gate, one could see Fujisaku splitting firewood still clad in his work clothes.

“Oh, thank goodness!”

With that, Okinu muttered as if to herself and let out a relieved sigh.

“What is it, Okinu?”

Fujisaku did not dislike Okinu.
When her face emerged from the dimness, he felt an oddly exhilarating sensation in his chest.
He couldn’t understand why he had come to feel that way.
Instantly, Okinu stared fixedly downward.
In her nervous demeanor, there was none of her usual brightness.
It gave the impression as if she had been chased by something and fled here on the spur of the moment.

“Tōsaku, the chestnuts are roasted—she said to come.”

“Chestnuts?”

“Yeah—Mom says you should come.”

“The hell I want any damn chestnuts.”

“That’s exactly why.”

“What’s wrong?”

Fujisaku said while raising his wood-splitting hatchet.

“There’s a bad guy here.”

“Who is it?”

“Kobigon—that creep—is bullying Mom. So she said it’d be good if you came and stayed till he leaves.”

“Hmm, what’s Kobigon here for?”

“Tōsaku, please come.”

Okinu pressed her face into her apron and began to sob quietly. Okinu’s large frame, her femininity all the more striking, appeared painfully vivid to Fujisaku’s eyes. Kobigon was one of the village adults to Fujisaku. No matter what the adults might do, there was no room for a child to intervene. However, if Okinu’s mother was being harassed, he couldn’t just stay silent. Fujisaku, whose large frame surpassed even adults', held neither anxiety nor fear toward Kobigon.

The incident occurred less than thirty minutes later.
Before the hearth, Kobigon—who had been trying to woo Onobu—was growing impatient as their conversation made no progress.
No—he had only been feigning impatience.
Moreover, the intoxication from gulping down cold sake in quick succession must have contributed.
His eyes took on an unusual gleam that was neither quite resentment nor torment.

He clicked his tongue with a “tsk” before disgustedly licking his upper lip.
He then descended to the earthen floor.
This was to latch the back door.

Kobigon not only latched the bolt but propped it with a bar.

“Hey”

He sat down right next to Onobu and abruptly seized both her shoulders.

“You—Harujirō,”

Onobu’s shoulders, which were heaving as if in pain, were yanked sharply forward.
Kobigon extinguished the andon lamp in one breath.

“It’s fine, right? While sittin’ here facin’ you, my head’s gone all flushed hot—I like you, y’know.”

Depending on the circumstances and mood, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had experiences of surrendering herself to men even more unpleasant than Kobigon.
Even to welcome the young men who would wander in on festival nights, Onobu had never forgotten to secretly apply light makeup.
However, given tonight’s circumstances, she had no intention of letting Kobigon have his way.
As the man’s force suddenly pressed against her upper body, nearly twisting her sideways, Onobu—her entire body breaking out in gooseflesh from a sinister chill—jabbed upward at his chin while falling.

“I don’t want to!”

“Hey, don’t make a sound.”

The man’s leg, pressing down on the disheveled hem, came bearing down forcefully.

“No, tonight—tonight, tonight just isn’t the night.”

Kobigon was not by nature a strong-willed man, but having come this far, he couldn't retreat now that he'd weighed the circumstances.

When Onobu finally resisted, she too found within herself the fortitude to throw Kobigon off.

As they struggled desperately, a rattling came from the back door.
Yet neither Onobu nor Kobigon registered that sound.

The back door came off from outside, and Fujisaku came leaping in still wearing his work clothes—exactly at that moment.
He was already consumed by frenzy.
He thought Onobu would be killed.
In the moonlight outside, seeing Kobigon straddling Onobu, he vaulted onto the veranda still in his straw sandals and desperately lunged.
When he seized the man’s neck, Kobigon’s body collapsed sideways like a sprung trap.

“You bastard! What the hell’re you doing?!”

If Kobigon had realized Fujisaku had entered, he would have let go right then and there.
At the moment when he couldn’t discern who his assailant was, being abruptly seized by the neck forced him—with the woman watching—to defiantly steel himself despite his reluctance.

Kobigon had fallen into a kind of wild drunkenness.
He impulsively grabbed the sword that had been placed beside the hearth.
He had no other way to intimidate his opponent.
Fujisaku heard something like a loud pop deep within his chest.
No words.
It was a seizure—the moment when his excess physical strength naturally overflowed.
Now, there remained only two paths—either Fujisaku would flee, or Kobigon would discard his sword and crawl on all fours.

Kobigon drew the sword in one swift motion.
Of course he had no intention to strike, but it ultimately only served to fuel Fujisaku’s hostility and fighting spirit.
He almost unconsciously picked up the storm shutter support rod that had been lying at his feet.

Fujisaku gripped it in his right hand and lunged at Kobigon almost simultaneously. As Kobigon, finally standing on unsteady feet, tried to swing his sword, his right wrist was struck hard—in an instant, he dropped the blade. It was a lightning-fast maneuver executed without a moment’s delay. Fujisaku seized Kobigon’s fallen sword and slashed straight at him head-on. Blood sprayed as the hulking man let out a scream-like groan, collapsed backward with a thud, and breathed his last. Standing there clutching the bloodied sword, Fujisaku felt consciousness gradually return to his mind.

Onobu became as if her legs had given out, kept her vacant eyes wide open in bewilderment, and didn’t utter a single word. Before he knew it, the rear shoji screens had been removed, and only Harujirō’s sleeping form—peacefully breathing—dimly came into Fujisaku’s view.

“Tōsaku.”

Okinu pressed herself tightly against him, crying out in a voice wrung from her gut.

“I’m sorry, Tōsaku.”
“Can’t be helped—I’ll go see the Headman now.”

He remembered Kondō Riemon, a distant relative of his.
Even in his childlike mind, the certainty that his life had come to an end settled over him perfectly.

“Okinu—go to my house and explain things proper to my old man.”

He couldn't stay still another moment. Fujisaku ran down the slope as if fleeing, Okinu clinging after him with panting breaths. What they spoke of along the way, which paths they took—neither could clearly recall. Before they knew it, they had emerged before Kezō Temple's cemetery along the mountain's back.

What would become of Fujisaku's fate—Okinu could well imagine. There would likely be no chance to meet alive again. Her sorrow turned into irrepressible attachment. Under moonlight streaming through tall cedar boughs, Okinu pressed close against Fujisaku. Descending the long stone steps from there, Village Headman Riemon's residence came into view immediately to the left, shadowed by thickets. Somewhere an owl hooted—hoo, hoo—.

The incident spread throughout the village the following morning.
The previous night, through Fujisaku's surrender as the perpetrator, everything had been laid bare.

The incident proved utterly simple and clear, requiring no tedious inquiries or investigations.
There existed no direct cause that should have led to the murderous act.
This was because—needless to say—neither perpetrator nor victim had harbored any feelings of enmity or obligation between them.
By this point, Fujisaku had already resolved himself to die.
Village Headman Riemon agonized over how to handle this matter, yet by any proper judgment—even considering the victim's ill repute—the crime of murder remained inescapable.

At this time, Riemon—the village elder over sixty—found himself unable to bear formally subjecting this incident to legal judgment and callously discarding Fujisaku’s entire life.
After much agonizing, he took Fujisaku to appear at the magistrate’s office and explained the circumstances to Karasawa Hanshichirō, the magistrate of Kira Village.
Karasawa also shared Riemon’s view, and what proved most convenient for both men was news arriving that their lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshihisa would reach Yokosuka Village the following day.
Riemon had often exchanged words with the approachable Lord Kōzuke-no-suke since long ago.
He knew submitting a petition to Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—a man of humane and attentive benevolence—would not be such a difficult task.
The purpose of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s return this time was to bring his adopted son Sahee Yoshichika (Haruchiyo)—who had been scheduled to depart Edo a step later—to Kezō Temple and show him the newly completed wooden statues.

The narrative returned to earlier events.
Lord Kōzuke-no-suke read through the petition bearing Riemon’s signature that Karasawa had presented, then shifted his gaze momentarily to the elderly headman’s face.

“I’ve remembered you well since the embankment’s construction.”

Riemon’s chest tightened, rendering him speechless.

“You’ve endured many hardships.”

“Your kind words humble me—but what are Riemon’s trifling struggles compared to your lordship’s burdens?”

“Nay—have this youth called Fujisaku brought forth at once.”

“Here, my lord?”

“No need for concern—if he’s deemed strongest in the village at fifteen, his build must be formidable indeed.”

“With all due respect, he excels in physical stature and appears most robust at a glance.”

When Riemon said that, a look of bewilderment surfaced on Hanshichirō’s face.

“This humble one wishes to report,”
“He is currently being interrogated in the temporary cell, but I humbly inquire whether it would be proper to have him appear before your lordship still wearing his field clothes.”

“Nay, such concern is unnecessary—bring him here at once.”

It was an edict that brooked no dissent.
The two men immediately withdrew from their lord’s presence.

This unfolded like a dream—no, not even in dreams could such destiny abruptly manifest thus.
Fujisaku, presented before Lord Kōzuke-no-suke still clad in his work garments, received not a single reproach for the incident; from that day he was elevated to page attendant to Sahee and granted the new name Ichigaku.
Village Headman Riemon and the villagers who had agonized over Fujisaku’s fate marveled at this unforeseen outcome, yet all alike breathed sighs of relief.
Truly, this was the judgment of a virtuous lord.

About ten days later, when Sahee’s party arrived, the spirit hall opening ceremony was held.
That night, bonfires burned before the encampment until late into the evening, and fireworks dedicated by the villagers burst across the hazy moonlit sky.
The winding procession of floats—keeping time to flutes and drums—continued from the temple gate to the spirit hall’s front, torchlight leading the way as they came one after another until dawn approached.

The following day saw what could be called an unprecedented tour of the domain take place.
It was not his usual patrol on the red horse, conducted as if in secret.
Though the lord’s crimson mount followed annual custom, only a dozen or so mounted samurai accompanied him, while welcoming crowds packed both sides of the road in every hamlet.
At each stop awaited the villagers’ gazes, heavy with gratitude and reverence.
When meeting those eyes, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke answered with a smile overflowing with tender affection.

In the eyes of the villagers, there was nothing in the world as noble as Lord Kōzuke-no-suke proceeding leisurely on his horse without any pretense of a daimyo's dignity. Following behind him came Yamayoshi Shinpachirō’s horse bearing Sahee, and immediately after that rode a young warrior with an endearingly fresh countenance who kept a firm grip on his chestnut mount’s reins.

“That’s him!”

“Huh—that’s…”
“They say clothes make the man, but isn’t that Fujisaku?”

“That’s him…”

As the procession passed by, the crowd buzzed restlessly and began to disperse, everyone whispering among themselves.
Everywhere here and there, it was dominated by talk of Shimizu Tōsaku—no, Shimizu Ichigaku.
The ripples of voices filled with astonishment and admiration rapidly spread wider and wider.

When the procession entered Miyasako from Hiba, nearly all the village's young and old, men and women were lined up along the roadside in formal attire.

Ah, Shimizu Ichigaku.
Look, that's the second one after Lord Yamayoshi carrying Young Lord Sahee—that strikingly handsome young samurai. That's Tōsaku, who until yesterday had been trudging back and forth along this very road shouldering charcoal bales.
The crowd fell silent as if water had been struck.
From behind them came faint, choked sobs—as if someone had been overcome with emotion.
The narrow slope surrounded by bamboo groves had just enough width for people and horses to pass in single file.
When the procession reached that spot, into Ichigaku's eyes—gazing about with a dreamlike air—came the sight of two women standing forlornly apart from the crowd in the shadow of a low hill.
Though standing apart, they were barely three and a half meters away.
He immediately recognized them as Okinu and her mother Onobu.
Four eyes were fixed intently on him.
Ichigaku felt his chest constricted by a strangely suffocating sensation.
Even after the procession had disappeared from view, the villagers still showed no sign of moving from their positions.

“Mama!”

Okinu clung to her mother’s shoulder and began to sob quietly.
“When I think I won’t be able to see Tōsaku anymore, I feel so sad.”

“Not being able to meet? Such a thing could never happen—you saw it too, didn’t you? Tōsaku turned this way and smiled.”

“I was crying so hard, I couldn’t even make out people’s faces.”

“Even Tōsaku—you must sometimes remember the old days, you know.”

Okinu leaned silently against her mother’s shoulder, sobbing quietly.
In the dignified, robust figure of the page etched in the depths of her eyes, the traces of Tōsaku from just yesterday were nowhere to be found.

After staying for over ten days and completing the ancestral memorial services without incident, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s party withdrew back to Edo.

A year passed, two years went by.
News from Edo resounded and reached the village immediately, but the attention of the people of Kira Village was focused on Shimizu Ichigaku.
Whenever talk turned to Ichigaku, their eyes would gleam, they would hold their breath, and their pulses would quicken.

Ichigaku's popularity was immense even within Edo's mansions; he had begun attending the town dojo of Ura Shunosuke, a renowned two-sword style swordsman, and by Genroku 9 had already received full mastery certification. Now, not a single one among Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's retainers could match him—such rumors had begun to spread.

In truth, he and Yamayoshi Shinpachirō were both minor pages serving Sahee, and though Yamayoshi far surpassed him in rank and treatment as a page, in martial arts they were scarcely comparable. Ichigaku had not only mastered swordsmanship but combined it with his innate physical strength to demonstrate an intimidating presence against any foe. Even Ura Shunosuke could only marvel at the remarkable speed of his progress. It was rumored that if it came to real combat, his endurance would demonstrate its true potential.

The people of Kira Village had longed for Ichigaku’s return with each new piece of news that arrived.
Until then, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had returned every year without fail, but as he neared sixty, his body seemed to develop one ailment after another, and there was no telling how many times plans for his final homecoming had been canceled shortly after being decided.

In Genroku 9, there had indeed been notice of his return, but it was abruptly canceled when it was suddenly decided he would have an audience with Shogun Tsunayoshi, bringing along his eleven-year-old adopted son Sahee.
In Genroku 11, April too had seen informal word of his homecoming conveyed, but this was postponed to September. Just as their departure became imminent, a sudden fire caused the Kajibashi residence to burn down in the conflagration, resulting in yet another postponement.

After the fire, having been granted a replacement plot of land at Kofukubashi, he immediately began construction on a new residence. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, who had indulged in architecture as a hobby since his youth, was now almost entirely occupied with directing its construction, leaving him no time for rest.

The construction costs for the new residence amounted to 25,500 ryo, all of which were to be covered by the Uesugi family.
At this time, Ichigaku, who had turned twenty-one, was appointed as Sahee’s swordsmanship instructor and granted an independent residence within the estate.
Now that matters had reached this point, it naturally became necessary to have someone attend to his daily needs—and it was then that he suddenly remembered his childhood friend Okinu.

More than anything, he wanted to know her whereabouts, but unable to voice this desire, two or three years had slipped away in the blink of an eye while he waited for his homecoming day to arrive as soon as possible.

In March of Genroku 14 (1701)—as Edo Castle prepared to receive its annual imperial envoys—the sixty-one-year-old Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was to conclude his final official duty, immediately transfer family headship to Sahee, and retire to Kira Village.
Since Ichigaku was from Yokosuka, he should have originally accompanied Lord Kōzuke-no-suke; however, as he was a retainer who could not leave Sahee’s side, it was rumored that he would likely remain at the Edo residence.

From around that time, Ichigaku began to acquire a taste for teahouse sake.
His partner was Yamayoshi.
As he came to understand the taste of sake, his consumption began rising steadily.
He was already twenty-four years old.

“Ah.”
“I was born in the wrong era—if only I’d been born in the Warring States period...”
Whenever he got drunk, he would sullenly rub his arms.
Having no interest in teahouse women, he would sometimes seclude himself at home from morning onward and gulp down cold sake alone.

March 14th was a day of hazy clouds and strong winds.
After Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had departed for the castle early that morning, Ichigaku invited Yamayoshi along with Niimi Yashichirō and Ōsuga Jirōemon to his quarters, where they had been sipping away since dawn—when Shimizu Dan'emon, the steward, rushed in pale-faced.
That morning, a ceremony for receiving imperial edicts was scheduled to take place within the castle, but the violent incident occurred beforehand.

In the corridor of the Pine Chamber, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was suddenly slashed by Asano Takumi-no-kami, who was serving as the day's reception official.

Asano Takumi-no-kami—the motive for the assault originated when this young daimyo was appointed as envoy reception officer. Due to his lack of understanding of the castle’s protocols and precedents, he relied entirely on Lord Kōzuke-no-suke for guidance. It is said this stemmed from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s resentment over the gift presented at that time—a single bundle of dried bonito—being deemed far too meager.

Of course, it was an era when bribery was rampant, and it was indeed customary for officials entrusted with ceremonial duties to present heartfelt gifts to Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—yet he was not so blinded by greed as to alter his demeanor based on the value of those offerings.

Though there was no blood connection, his status derived from his ties to Ieyasu stood imposingly within Edo Castle.
Could it be conceivable that he—over sixty and having renounced worldly ambitions—would, as popularly claimed, receive a visit from Asano Takumi-no-kami, listen earnestly to his entreaties, only to secretly peek at the gift in the shadows, then suddenly change his attitude in a fit of spiteful malice upon finding it was merely a single bundle of dried bonito?

It is said that Date Sakyo-no-suke—who had been appointed alongside Takumi-no-kami as envoy reception officer—sent several rolls of Kaga silk, a hundred gold pieces, and additionally a pair of dragon-and-tiger hanging scrolls painted by Kanō Tan’yū. Yet even if this were true, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was not a man of such shallow judgment that he would compare these gifts to dried bonito and resolve to teach that young Asano upstart a lesson.
Today, the mere mention of bribery immediately conjures Kira Kōzuke-no-suke in the public imagination—a common perception inflamed by *Chūshingura*. Yet unless one can substantiate through psychological analysis that he harbored some modern duality—committing tyrannical, remorseless acts within Edo Castle while returning to his domain as an overflowing fountain of benevolent rule—it remains improper to resolve this incident through such one-sided judgment.
The fact that the villagers of Mikawa Kira stood shoulder to shoulder for three hundred years, never permitting even a single step of *Chūshingura* to enter their domain, was not born from some passive reason like pity for their deceased lord.
If there is reason for the collective sympathy evoked by young Asano Takumi-no-kami’s misfortune, then why does no one sympathize with Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—plunged into the depths of calamity by that single day’s chance occurrence?
Yokosuka Village’s argument does not deny the inevitable developments that led to Ōishi’s faction’s attack.
In the figure of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke astride his red horse flickering in their eyes’ vision, there remains not even the faintest shadow of the incomparably wicked human image symbolized by Moronao in *Chūshingura*.
If they were praising Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s virtue solely based on the feudal relationship between lord and villagers, then how could it be possible that—even after his family’s demise, their domain passing under other lords’ control, and changing hands repeatedly up to this day—they have maintained this unwavering sentiment for three hundred years?

In any case, the role of envoy reception was a crucial duty for the shogunate, and regardless of who was appointed, the method of reception had to be prepared according to standard protocol within the shogunate’s inner circles.

According to commonly told accounts, Asano Takumi-no-kami fell into Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s trap through roughly the following sequence of events.

(First) Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, incensed by the single bundle of dried bonito, curtly rebuffed Takumi-no-kami’s earnest entreaties.

“The matter of receiving the imperial envoys is not something this old fool knows about. Giving instructions would be superfluous—it would be best if you handled it at your own discretion.”

“Ah, though this unworthy one is of little merit—and considering that any mishap would be inexcusable—I had repeatedly declined. Yet it was only upon receiving your lordship’s command that ‘If such be the case, you would do well to follow Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s instructions’ that I reluctantly accepted the duty. I humbly entreat you not to lead this inexperienced youth astray.”

“If you insist so vehemently, I have no choice but to offer my counsel—instructions aside. Above all else, gifts are essential. You must not neglect to deliver them day after day not only to the shogunate officials overseeing the reception but also to Their Excellencies the Imperial Envoys.”

It remained a widespread rumor among the populace that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had expected an enormous bribe from the Asano clan to be delivered to himself.
If Takumi-no-kami had indeed acted according to his proposal, would Lord Kōzuke-no-suke have been satisfied with that?
As previously mentioned, he was now an elderly man of sixty-one years and had settled into a state of mind that held no worldly aspirations beyond immersing himself in the tea ceremony and poetic arts.
Around that time, he composed the following poem.

"The moon’s renowned glow in tonight’s sky—welling forth unopposed, not a cloud in sight."

Even if he had felt dissatisfaction with the dried bonito gift, had he truly desired bribes, there would have been countless means for him to obtain them after Takumi-no-kami had fully discharged his duties.
He was a seasoned wise man, but not a villain versed in treachery.
Generally speaking, a man who had renounced worldly ambitions speaks his mind without mincing words or hesitation before others—and he too must have said everything he wanted to say to young Asano Takumi-no-kami.
This, of course, was by no means limited to Takumi-no-kami alone.
In any case, it remains abundantly clear that he was not the sort of man who would deliberately torment Takumi-no-kami and cry out in triumph by making him dance in distress.

(Second) Asano Takumi-no-kami received Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s admonition but found himself utterly unable to accept it, so he immediately visited Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami—a senior councillor on monthly duty with whom he was well acquainted. He had gone to seek Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s guidance to fulfill his great duty, but when asked how exactly one should manage the matter of presenting gifts day after day to both the imperial envoys and high-ranking officials, Sagami-no-kami responded with a dismissive laugh: “This is the first I’ve heard of it—I’ve never been told of any such matter.”
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself to such an extent.”
“I have never heard of any precedent requiring gifts to be delivered day after day. Even if it were Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s opinion, there is no law compelling you to obey it from start to finish. It would be best if you ensured no oversights through your own discretion.”

The rumors among the populace began taking on an increasingly grave aspect from this point onward.

(Third) Not long after, Asano Takumi-no-kami's close friends—Tozawa Shimōsa-no-kami and Ogasawara Nagato-no-kami—came to the Asano residence. They repeatedly advised him: "Lord Kōzuke-no-suke is an arrogant man—if he discovers you visited Senior Councillor Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami for private discussions, there's no telling what spiteful interference he might devise. No matter what occurs, you must endure and forbear." They departed shortly thereafter.
This account appears in Muro Kyūso's *Gijinroku* and is likely true; from this, it seemed the relationship between Takumi-no-kami and Kōzuke-no-suke had become quite the subject of rumors even within the shogunate.

(Fourth) On March 11th, when Takumi-no-kami—tasked with accompanying the imperial envoys to Shiba Ueno—sought Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s opinion the previous day on whether to replace the resting room’s tatami mats, he immediately—

“That won’t be necessary.”

he answered.
Then on that very morning, they discovered the Date household had completely replaced all tatami mats in the imperial envoys' reception room.
Realizing Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had tricked them, they frantically gathered every tatami artisan in Edo City and forced them to replace two hundred mats at Shukuhō Fukuin's guest quarters overnight.
With that completed, next came the meal preparations.
When they consulted about serving vegetarian cuisine, the response approved vegetarian dishes as suitable.
Yet when the critical moment arrived, they discovered a catastrophic error—each dining tray required one whole sea bream.
Panicked by this disaster, they mobilized every fishmonger in the city to barely arrange a presentable display—though this was supposed to be a grand banquet for imperial envoys.
Such fundamentals should have been understood from the outset.
Takumi-no-kami acted like some head chef or housekeeper, anxiously peering into kitchens and pacing through rooms alone—tasks that should have long been delegated to appointed roles and officials.

(Fifth) When March 14th finally arrived, a ceremonial response to the imperial edict was held within the shogun's palace.
On this day, all daimyo attending court and shogunate officials were ordered to appear in formal court robes.
Takumi-no-kami once more sought Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's counsel regarding whether to wear long ceremonial hakama or the eboshi cap with formal kamishimo bearing large family crests.
They provisionally settled on wearing long hakama per his recommendation, though established precedents existed for such matters.
Fearing another trap by Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, the Asano clan's senior council convened, prepared alternate arrangements, and appeared in long hakama—only to discover not one fellow reception officer among the assembled daimyo wore long hakama.
"Ah—deceived again," thought Takumi-no-kami as his rage finally reached its limit.
He immediately went to confront Lord Kōzuke-no-suke in the kōke's waiting room, where the elder sneered with feigned innocence.

“Ah, was that how it was? I must apologize for my rudeness.”
“That was not how it was meant to be, but what can I say—my ears have grown dull of late, and perhaps this senility keeps breeding nothing but errors. My deepest apologies.”

The fact that Takumi-no-kami—who had lost all trust in Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—repeatedly went to seek his instructions was itself baffling, but even more so was the notion that one must consult Lord Kōzuke-no-suke about every single detail of the customary ceremonies.
One might understand if this were a rural daimyo—newly arrived in the capital—seeking Takumi-no-kami’s guidance as reception officer. But how could Takumi-no-kami himself, stationed day after day in the shogun’s palace agonizing over whether to don mourning attire or formal kamishimo for this grand ceremony requiring uniform dress from all participating lords, remain ignorant of the protocol until the very day?
Even if this involved some secret greeting requiring confidentiality—given that he had many acquaintances within the castle—there’s no conceivable reason why he, as reception officer, would venture out in formal kamishimo and hakama while remaining entirely unaware that everyone else was wearing tailcoats.
According to the fabricators of these rumors, the cause of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s hatred for Takumi-no-kami lay not solely in the dried bonito incident but also in a profound grudge: Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, having become enamored with Takumi-no-kami’s beloved beautiful boy, had secretly requested to have him transferred—a demand that was brusquely refused. Yet whether Lord Kōzuke-no-suke truly was such a persistent lecher remains in question.
In his youth, he may have taken women by force and kept concubines like any daimyo of his time, but whether he still possessed the tenacity at over sixty to covet another’s lover remains uncertain.
When adapted into *Chūshingura*, he makes a sorrowful romantic advance on Takumi-no-kami’s wife only to be rebuffed—resolving instead to make Takumi-no-kami suffer in retaliation.
If he had truly been such a lecherous man, then in Kira Village of Mikawa Province—renowned for its beautiful women and handsome men—there should have been one or two men who resented their lord for having their daughters or wives taken from them.

And so, it finally came—the fourteenth day.
It was a blossom-hazed morning.
The reception officers—the Date and Asano lords—along with the kōke representative had gathered in the Pine Corridor, awaiting the arrival of the imperial envoys.

At that moment—what had come over Takumi-no-kami?—he rose from his seat and advanced hesitantly toward where Lord Kōzuke-no-suke sat in the superior position.

“There is a matter I wish to inquire about—when the imperial envoys arrive, should we reception officers receive them upon the Grand Entrance Ceremonial Platform, or wait below it?”
Before the words had even finished, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s white-haired and ruddy-faced countenance flashed with a piercing glare.
“What now—how utterly reckless! You know nothing of palace etiquette, yet have the audacity to serve as reception officer? This is beyond unthinkable!”

According to one account, here Kajikawa Yosabē—an envoy from Lady Keishōin—emerged to coordinate something with Takumi-no-kami. Overhearing this nearby, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke tapped Yosabē’s shoulder from the side,

“What business do you have? I, Kōzuke, will take care of it.”
“Even if you were told by Takumi-no-kami himself, given how things stand, you’d hardly be able to fulfill your duties.”

The moment these words reached his ears, killing intent surged across young Takumi-no-kami’s face.

A hand grasped the sword hilt and Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s body toppled sideways almost simultaneously.
Though the metal rim of his court cap barely intercepted the sword tip thrust at his forehead, blood already gushing from his head streamed down his face and soaked into his light yellow ceremonial robe.
As Lord Kōzuke-no-suke attempted to rise unsteadily, a second blade was brought down from behind in a diagonal slash aimed at his shoulder—but in that instant, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke lurched forward as if fleeing, and in that opening, Kajikawa Yosabē seized him from behind.

“This is the palace! Do not lose your composure here!”

In *Chūshingura*, this would likely become a grand swordfight—the dramatic climax of the play.

“Release me! Have some samurai mercy!”

The castle interior was in an uproar as if boiling over.
The judgment that day was carried out summarily.
Takumi-no-kami was immediately placed in the custody of Tamura Tateaki, lord of Ichinoseki in Ōshū, and confined in the Clock Room within the castle; though it had been expected that his punishment would be determined following a meeting of the Elder Council, Shogun Tsunayoshi unilaterally ordered him to commit seppuku that very day.
The reason given was that despite being entrusted with the great responsibility of hosting the imperial envoys, his act of disturbing the palace with premeditated intent was deemed utterly inexcusable.
The public's sympathy swiftly and unanimously gathered toward Takumi-no-kami.

If Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had died violently within the palace grounds, such fierce sympathy for Takumi-no-kami would never have arisen.
Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—having been slashed yet demonstrating awareness of propriety and restraint regarding the location during this sudden crisis—received no punishment whatsoever under the Elder Council's verdict deeming his conduct commendable. Once his wound was treated, he was promptly placed in a palanquin and returned to his Gofukubashi residence. Yet this lopsided judgment—or rather, the glaring disparity in rulings—left a lingering unease in the hearts of Edo's townspeople, who prided themselves on their righteous fervor.

It goes without saying that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s return to his domain was thereby abandoned.
On September 2nd of the same year, his petition to be relieved of official duties was granted, and he had to move from his newly-built Gofukubashi residence to his new estate in Honjo (Matsuzaka-chō).

The grounds of the new residence spanned over 2,500 tsubo (approximately 8,250 square meters) and were situated behind what is now Ekōin Temple.
Although called a town, at the time it was nothing more than a sparsely populated hamlet.

When rumors of the castle assault spread like wind to Yokosuka Village, representatives of the villagers, concerned for their lord Kōzuke’s safety, gathered at the guardian shrine and devoted themselves to prayer.
At Kezō Temple, devout villagers visited without cease, and among them were some who continued to pray through the night without a wink of sleep before the spirit hall enshrining the wooden statues.

From Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's perspective, the lifetime he had meticulously built over sixty-one years collapsed with a resounding crash due to a single day's unforeseen event. There was no way to prevent it. Given this was the golden age of vendettas, there could be no doubt that the Ako ronin—stripped of their stipends overnight—were focusing their resentment over their clan's destruction and family's dispersal squarely upon Lord Kōzuke-no-suke.

Lord Kōzuke-no-suke devoted himself entirely to living in seclusion, spending his dwindling days engrossed in tea ceremony; yet despite this, the ominous aura swirling around him grew denser with each passing day.

December 14, Genroku 15 (1702).

At the Kira residence in Matsuzaka-cho, a year-end tea gathering was held.

The guests consisted solely of those connected through peripheral ties, but when snow began falling after nightfall—adding an unseasonal charm—the gathering’s atmosphere suddenly grew tense. Though not reaching full merriment, hosts and guests alike parted ways around ten o’clock, laughing and chattering together.

Ichigaku had also attended the gathering, but once the outside guests had been seen off departing in palanquins through the snow, the sound of the front gate creaking shut was heard.

“Hey, let’s drink again—snow-viewing sake!”

He invited his four colleagues—Shinmi, Saitō, Kozuka, and Sōda—slipped out through the back gate, went up to the second floor of their regular haunt Tasoya Andon and the boat inn Shinshichi, and plopped down cross-legged.

“Lately, I hear Asano’s ronin scum have been prowling Edo’s streets—have you heard any new rumors about that?”

“Even around here, suspicious fellows seem to be persistently observing the mansion’s movements. Lord Kobayashi (Heihachirō), for one, appears unable to sleep peacefully at night these days.”

Shinmi Yashichirō warily scanned his surroundings.
"We must make the night patrols much stricter."

“Nah, when they come, they’ll come. From their perspective, that’s only natural. If those ronin scum charge in here, I’ll gladly let them cut me down.”

“Will you be cut down in silence?”

“You fool! Who’d just sit still and get cut down? Even if hundreds of ronin scum come at me, I alone could hold them off if I put my mind to it. But seeing how hard those bastards are working to avenge their lord… I don’t feel right about cutting them down.”

A clump of snow piled on the riverside roof fell into the water with a heavy crash.
Ichigaku downed a full cup of hot sake in one gulp and laughed with a boisterous "Ha, ha, ha!" while—

When push came to shove... but he supposed it wouldn't go that smoothly.

That night, feeling somehow out of sorts, he turned back around midnight only to find the back gate of Kira’s mansion buried in snow.
Ichigaku entered his own room, collapsed onto his side, and immediately fell asleep snoring loudly.
The whispers of maids who had spent a long time tidying up the reception room wove through the hushed night air, murmuring faintly for a while, until eventually, they too fell silent.

In the profoundly still depths of the Hour of the Ox and Tiger—what we now call around 3:30 AM—when Ichigaku awoke, the mansion was already in the midst of violent chaos.
He had been awakened by war drums resounding immediately nearby.
Ichigaku hurriedly sprang up.
No sooner had he pulled on his hakama and assumed a fighting stance than he rushed that night to the inner room where Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and Sahee were supposed to be sleeping.

A squad of ronin, held back by guard warriors under Kobayashi Heihachirō, had only just managed to step into the corridor leading from the entranceway to the central hall.

In the inner bedchamber, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke sat upright in formal seiza atop his futon like the master he was, while Sahee—who had just turned sixteen—paced back and forth before the room with a flustered expression, a naginata gripped in one hand.
The clamoring voices pressed in from all sides—front, back, left, and right.
By now, even Ichigaku could no longer discern where to make Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and his son escape.
If pressed to extremity, he would simply use the wall of the adjoining room as a shield and cut down each assailant rushing in one by one.

At that moment, Torii Riemon, the steward, came leaping in with a springing gait.

“Lord, this way!” he called out in a strained voice, half-carrying Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s body as he led him toward the kitchen.

In the same instant that the thought "I must get Sahee to safety" flashed through Ichigaku's mind, he was already supporting the trembling Sahee—still in his nightclothes—under one arm and kicking through the storm shutter.

Cutting through the backyard and emerging from the shrubbery led straight to the wall of the neighboring Doi estate.
Ichigaku was already in a frenzy.

“Escape from here—I will take responsibility for your father. You must escape! Do not forget that your precious life carries the blood of the Kira family!”

Forcibly using all his strength to hoist Sahee onto his shoulder, and with a heaving shout, he hurled the small-statured Sahee's body over the stone wall.

When he thought his duty was finally done, new blood surged through his entire body, numbed by lingering drunkenness.
As he turned back and tried to circle toward the inner garden, a spear tip suddenly flashed from the shadow of a lantern toward his chest.
The moment he lightly dodged it and emerged at the pond’s edge, he was immediately surrounded by five or six ronin.
Ichigaku brandished both swords, sweeping right and dodging left before cutting down the man who lunged at him head-on with a single shoulder-to-hip strike of the long sword gripped in his right hand.
The strike had clearly connected, and after confirming his foe toppling backward into the pond, he seized the opening to leap up onto the veranda.
Groans and screams could be heard from every corner of the room.
There was not a single man left among the allied samurai who was still putting up a defense.

The number of ronin charging at Ichigaku swelled—five, then ten.
The snow blazed with a brilliance that could rouse eyes from slumber.

The conviction that this made a fine place to die seemed to kindle a radiant sentiment within him. Moonlight glinted sharply across his bloodied twin blades. Ichigaku leapt back into the dense ring of encircling foes. He fought with reckless abandon now. He kept slashing wildly until his arms gave out and his stamina failed. Amid the chaotic flurry of attacks, Ichigaku felt his legs swept from under him by an assailant at his flank—then collapsed soundlessly, escaping death by a hair's breadth.

"He was a formidable one—must've been Shimizu Ichigaku."
Not one man among them dared tread upon Ichigaku's corpse lying in the snow, both swords still clenched tightly in lifeless hands.

Rumors from Edo poured into Yokosuka Village day after day.
As the peasant daughters and youths selected from the village to serve at the Kira mansion returned dejectedly one after another, the atmosphere in the village gradually grew more hostile.
“How brutal! — To gang up on that honorable elder like that.”

The old men listened intently to the tale, clasping their hands and fingering their prayer beads.
The forty-seven ronin who hounded the merciful Lord were men akin to demonic beasts.

"So what happened? What about Tōsaku?"

A spirited man rolled up his sleeves and took on a menacing air.
“Tōsaku alone wouldn’t go down without a fight!”

“What a regrettable turn of events—having drunk deeply the previous night, he’d fallen soundly asleep and rushed out still wearing his hakama over nightclothes. That night, only Lord Tōsaku and Lord Kobayashi stood to face the enemy head-on in battle.”

A maid over forty who had known Shimizu Ichigaku since childhood spoke in a sorrowful voice.
The maids had all been trembling inside closets and under the verandas.
They’d had no way of knowing about Shimizu Ichigaku’s actions during the fray, but according to later rumors, it became widely known throughout Edo that Ichigaku alone—alongside Kobayashi—had been a hero who fought valiantly for the Kira family.
Yet scornful voices hurled at Lord Kōzuke-no-suke were already lapping at the village borders.
Even those who belatedly returned from Edo found that once they identified themselves as residents of Mikawa Kira, no one took them seriously anymore.

“That guy’s a Kira.”

The moment one stepped beyond the village borders, voices would drift in from nowhere in particular—uttering such remarks.
As Chūshingura evoked fresh waves of emotion across the land, the residents of Yokosuka Village had to endure growing feelings of shame.
However, they could not remain cowering forever.
When daughters who had married into other domains and youths sent out as adopted sons had their engagements broken off for being from Kira and returned home, they gradually squared shoulders that had been hunched in submission.

“What’s wrong with Kira Village? How could those idiots fooled by that lousy Chūshingura play ever understand our feelings? Let them try badmouthing Lord Kōzuke-no-suke even once—we won’t let that stand!”

The youths linked arms in groups of three or five and went charging into other domains whenever there was a festival. What was truly pitiable was not Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, but their own wretched state.

One night, a man who had gone all the way to Okazaki Town to secretly watch a Chūshingura performance returned and reported to the villagers while drowning his sorrows in drink.

“It’s so damn stupid I couldn’t bear to watch—hey, Tōsaku comes out as some Uesugi family retainer in it! And get this, they had the gall to change his name to Shimizu Ichikaku! Absurd, I tell you!”

For two hundred and fifty years, Yokosuka Village closed its gates and steadfastly upheld its principles. There should no longer have been a single man alive who had met Tōsaku, yet they continued to recount the same stories in the same manner. The figure of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke astride the red horse had already become ingrained in their memories. Around the Kogane Embankment surrounded by plateaus, the autumn winds rose early.

Once again this year, the season of the Autumn Night Festival was drawing near.