Pathway to Japanese Literature

Chapter One

Three Men

“I envy the dogs. “Ah, why was I ever born human?” Ironically, hearing such words among humans had become no longer rare in recent years. When things were still laughable, it had been better, but nowadays even when such jokes arose, there remained no one to laugh. “What an absurd world this has become. “The honorable dogs must understand, but we humans can’t make heads or tails of anything.” This was the unified chorus from those human masses called commoners, though their minds stood far from united in truth. As befitted such an era, each person’s thoughts and philosophies differed—three people meant three perspectives. Gather ten people, and ten different ways of being emerged. Their worldviews and modes of survival scattered like broken pottery; yet on the surface they strangely vied in frivolous fashions and gaudy excesses, weaving a society steeped in eerie indulgence and decadence that feigned universal human satisfaction.

It was a summer night. —The summer of Genroku 14 (1701), after the Bon festival.

It wasn’t even firefly-hunting season, yet three men walked through the pathless area near Yodobashi Josui Canal as if bewitched by a fox.

“Hey, Ookame.” “Wait up!” “Wait up, will ya?”

“What’s your plan, Anoujuu?” “That idiot Misokyu went and fell into the rice field. It’s pitch black—even if I tried to pull him up, I can’t figure out where he is.” “That guy’s nothing but a walking disaster. I don’t give a damn about Misokyu, but he better not have gone and scattered all the bait we made him carry into the rice fields.”

A different voice cut through the darkness,

“That’s a terrible thing to say!” “You two are so light on your feet, yet…” “At least help carry some of this load!” He seemed to be crawling up the rice paddy’s ridge. Ookame and Anoujuu laughed together without reason—whether from the absurdity or the darkness— “Now now, don’t complain like that. Nakano’s nearly in sight. Persevere, persevere.” “But if I don’t wring out my kimono’s hem—it’s clinging to my shins so bad I can’t walk proper.” “Anou. The crybaby’s blubbering again. Let’s take a breather here.”

On a small hill in a mixed woodland, the men sat down.

All three were between twenty and just under thirty. Two had the bearing of masterless samurai, and one was a townsman. Only Misokyu carried a bundle with a pungent odor slung around his neck. Though there was a highway, they deliberately chose this midnight darkness to carry their strange cargo—where had they come from, and where could they be going? Might this trio too belong among society’s “Collection of Unknowables” spawned by this era?

Owl

How was one supposed to trust humans? How was one supposed to make sense of the world? And how was one supposed to live authentically? To the people of Genroku, strictly speaking, it seemed no one truly understood. Those who had clarified this and truly loved life were as sparse as stars. For the young especially, there had been neither direction nor hope beyond stealing ephemeral pleasures. For them—unaware of the Kan'ei to Manji eras said to be healthier generations than now—having no comparison with that earlier period meant they could neither lament nor agonize, and thus some found it easy to conform to this decadent world. Even when they looked at printed materials like the "Collection of Unknowables" sold in town, those below a certain age could no longer grasp the satire within those very collections of incomprehensible things.

“Hey, Anoujuu! Look at that!” “Even from way out here beyond the city limits—Sakaimachi’s night sky’s glowing a faint red.”

“Truly, by now, both the theaters and Kagemachaya teahouses must be bathed in lamplight.” “Cut it out, Anou. Ah, damn it—it’s nothing but insect noises here. The moment I remember a woman’s face, tonight’s mission suddenly feels terrifying.”

“That ain’t very big bro-like of you.” “…Hey, Misokyu.”

“Damn right,” Anoujuu shot back. “You start whining, and this Kyuusuke’d be beggin’ to ditch us right here.” “Quit your yappin’,” Misokyu grumbled. Seizing the moment, Anoujuu puffed out his chest—all bluster and bravado.

Ookame, with his pockmarked face, was the oldest and most robust in their group, while the compact Anoujuu possessed both the dignified bearing and agility befitting a samurai’s son. “Tonight’s plan was my idea. Even if we mess up, there’s no way I’ll let Ookame or you bungle this and get away with it. I’m here. Let’s move out.”

Anoujuu untied the cloth covering his cheeks, gave it a brisk shake, and while readjusting it over his face, rose to his feet letting the curve of his long sword swing out. In pitch darkness nowhere near the pleasure quarters, Anou walked with his usual affected swagger. Watching him from behind and laughing, the pockmarked Ookame too set out trudging along with Misokyu sandwiched between them. They descended the slope of the terraced fields, crossed the valley, and climbed up the hill on the opposite side. And after walking about half a ri along the narrow path through the mixed woodland, they heard the droning howls of dogs. Not one or two dogs. It was the cries of a pack—hundreds, maybe thousands. The echoes enveloped the night with a ferocity that seemed not of this world.

“Oh! There it is—the Dog Kennel.”

“Did they catch wind of some different human stink?” “They’re already barking their damn heads off.” “Be careful.” The distant howls soon ceased, and the three men groped their way forward again.

As they emerged from the woods, they came up against a high wooden fence. In the darkness of night, all they could see was the endlessly long line of the fence stitching through the abyss. This must be the renowned Nakano Field Dog Kennel they had heard about. “Shh! Let’s go back. If you go that way, the guardhouse light is shining.” “No—go as dogs. Be dogs.” “Be dogs.” “Wh-what do we do?” “You’re telling us to become dogs?”

“Like this.” “Just like...”

With that, Anou got down on all fours and went ahead through the gate at the fence. Ookame and Misokyu followed suit, passed through, turned back to look at the guardhouse light, and laughed soundlessly together.

They set about their objective. The bundle they had made Misokyu carry contained a large fish basket packed full of fried fish-and-meat dumplings that would undoubtedly whet the dogs' appetites. Using Misokyu as a stepping stool, Anoujuu peered inside the wooden fence. The plan was for them to take the fried dumplings from Ookame’s hands and scatter them like stones across the inner plaza as they moved about. “Anou-san, we’re out.”

“They’re out? Good.”

With that, he jumped down from Misokyu’s back. “Let’s wait for dawn up in one of these trees somewhere.”

He looked around at the surrounding tall trees.

“This spot here should work.” With that, Anoujuu was already climbing toward the top of a tall red pine. Ookame too had begun climbing the neighboring large tree when he suddenly noticed Misokyu pacing restlessly, “Hey, Kyu. “You’d better get going from here now. “Tomorrow before noon, Anou and I’ll head to the usual place on empty stomachs. Go tell Osode to fix us something good to eat.” Smoothly, his shadow was already an owl in the tree.

Misokyu, who had endured their company this far to his absolute limit, perked up when Ookame said this, “Right away! Understood.” “Then I’ll meet you at Osode’s place!”

His figure, resembling a night bird, swiftly vanished toward Edo proper.

Though people say summer nights are brief, to the two men mimicking owls perched in the trees, the sky stretching before them felt excruciatingly long.

“Anou. “Seems cold, huh?” “Hmm. A stylish way to cool off.” “A stylish way to cool off.” “Can you sleep?” “Not a bit.” “I figured if I slept, I’d fall.” “I’ve heard our human ancestors used to sleep in trees before they lived in caves. “There’s no reason we can’t sleep here, I guess.” “That explains it. “In this world today, Lord Dogs and all the filthy beasts are treated better than humans, while we humans sleep in trees.” “Makes perfect sense. Ain’t a damn thing strange about it.” “This is just us returning to ancient times.”

“Hahaha. Maybe so.”

This laughter in the dark night, had there been anyone to hear it, would have struck them as eerily unnatural. However, this too was undoubtedly one of the deeds that society forced upon people.

Evil Age, Misgovernment

The so-called Genroku youth style may appear elegant and alluring when viewed through the lens of genre paintings, but from a socio-historical perspective, it amounted to nothing more than delinquent youths vying to outdo each other in fashionable bravado. After all, delinquents proliferated in those days. Or rather, the entire realm was filled with delinquents. That even within the Shogunate's Ōoku there existed numerous delinquent girls and delinquent old women remained common knowledge among Edo's populace. The current shogunate: the fifth Tokugawa shogun, Tsunayoshi. The common people thoroughly grasped this man's delinquency.

Now, even Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu—said to be the most formidable among the senior councillors, manipulating fellow councillors like Sakai, Abe, Ōkubo, and Tsuchiya at will—was considered a major delinquent who had risen exceptionally from the minor position of chamberlain. Be that as it may, there was no one among high or low who did not bear some measure of delinquency—if one were to walk through society with integrity, they would end up like Asano Takuminokami this past spring. Such was the common refrain regarding that incident. And the defining characteristic of present-day society was this paralysis—that no matter what edicts were issued, people no longer felt shock at Misgovernment.

An era where outcries of indignation could still be heard might yet be considered a moderately healthy age. To hear such [lamentations], people had already grown too drunk on worldly pleasures and over-familiar with resigned acceptance.—Thus it was only decrepit old men who remembered earlier eras like Kanei and Keian that would occasionally mumble such things through gaps in their teeth.

“In days when men still raised cross banners over Shimabara’s lone fortress to face the realm’s armies—when rebels like Yui Shōsetsu and Marubashi showed their fangs to Tokugawa even in defeat—society still sought something greater. It refused to tolerate human decay.” “To rot, it gave preservatives against rotting.” “But come Genroku times? Set humans below dogs and not a soul lifts a straw-mat banner.” “High and low, men and women rut like beasts—their brief lives spent hammering this world into the realm of brutes.” “For misrulers, this must feel like eternal spring.”

Among all the misgovernment, none worsened society so rapidly and tormented the people of the age as much as the two edicts: the currency reform and the Edicts on Compassion for Living Creatures. Even the shogunate’s once-abundant gold reserves had in recent years been brought to the brink of depletion through reckless financial management and the water-like profligacy of Shogun Tsunayoshi and his birth mother, Keishōin. Thus, by prohibiting all old gold and silver currency in circulation—once recalling them from the populace—adding silver to gold and mixing tin into silver to issue new coins—the realm's currency would amass in the shogunate's hands without expending resources. The one who proposed this policy was Ogihara Omi-no-kami Shigehide, the Finance Magistrate, who suddenly rose to prominence—and behind him stood Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu.

Needless to say, during this time Yanagisawa, Ogihara, and their ilk enriched their own coffers and, through the power of the new currency, further invigorated the misgovernment faction. The increased issuance of debased currency drove up prices. The skyrocketing prices in turn forced the excessive issuance of currency. In response, the shogunate oppressed the commoners’ lives with successive austerity edicts and prohibitions. Eating, sleeping, dwelling, clothing, viewing, walking—to take it to extremes, they laid down edicts reaching even into a single bowl of rice.

Yet Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the fifth shogun, gladly accepted invitations from his vassal Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu and visited his residence countless times throughout the year—their revelries reached such extravagance that even the glory of Fujiwara no Michinaga, who famously sang "I deem this world my own," seemed foolish by comparison.

On that day, resplendently attired feudal lords joined the accompanying procession, and the serpentine pleasure procession blocked the bustling townspeople's passage. Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu welcomed him with his entire clan in attendance, and it is even said that in the secret chambers behind screens filled with burning aloeswood, he did not hesitate to offer even his own wives and concubines or the fair maidens of his household to attend upon Tsunayoshi.

Tsunayoshi’s "Yanagisawa visits" had exceeded fifty in number, yet Yoshiyasu still invited the shogun’s birth mother, Keishōin, on countless occasions.

However, for her, pilgrimages to Gokoku-ji Temple held far greater interest than attending Noh performances or indulging in fine sake and beautiful women there. Nothing captivated her more than vanity, superstition, and blind love for Tsunayoshi.

In all respects, she was a woman of blind passions.

She blindly loved Tsunayoshi, blindly favored Yoshiyasu, and blindly believed in Ryūkō of Gokurin-in. The seven main temple halls of Gokurin-in were what she funded with her gold and donated. During its construction, charges of negligence led even the initial magistrate, master builder, minor construction officials, and several others to be sentenced to exile on distant islands—such was the severity of this project. At that time, Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu—still just one of the chamberlains—became the next magistrate and gained favor; this marked the beginning of his rise to prominence. From this alone, one could see how the petticoat politics of him, Ryūkō, and Keishōin in the Ōoku developed thereafter, and how the trio's exclusive secret came to be cherished.

Foolish rulers and tyrants are not uncommon in the world, but never before had any nation’s history of misgovernment witnessed—the sudden promulgation of such a bizarre decree as the Edicts on Compassion for Living Creatures. That too came to pass thereafter.

Age of Human Suffering "Edicts on Compassion for Living Creatures" This edict was enacted in the first month of Jōkyō 4 (1687). Afterward, this law remained unrepealed for twenty-three years until Tsunayoshi's death. It was an age of tribulation where humans were placed beneath beasts. Now in Genroku 14 (1701), marking a decade since the edict's promulgation, people still could not fully adapt to its dictates. For pelting cats with stones, dumping rats in rivers, secretly swallowing snake charcoals, knocking down sparrow nests, black-marketeering grilled eels, withholding medicine from sick horses, refusing employment under canine physicians—under countless such charges, from the law's inception to present day, never did a day pass without hundreds across the capital and provinces facing beheadings, exile to distant islands, imprisonment, or severe banishment.

“What exactly happens if you smoke out mosquitoes or swat them?” “It’s obvious.” “Smoke ’em out with pine needles.” “Those who swat ’em get a hundred lashes!” “So you can’t even squash fleas?” “That’s right. “Carelessly keeping fireflies or katydids would land you in prison for life, I bet.” The commoners of Edo knew only how to distract themselves from the weight of the laws and their daily hardships with such jests and wordplay, never once thinking, “Why must humans...?” And even as they played at minor acts of rebellion through lampoons and caricatures, they never forgot to address dogs as “Honorable Dogs” rather than simply “dogs”.

The shogunate too placed Honorable Dogs at the pinnacle of all living creatures, giving them special priority among the edict's prohibitions. This was because Shogun Tsunayoshi had been born in the Year of the Dog. Moreover, Tsunayoshi's youthful name had been Uma no Kami, and Tenna 2—the year he emerged from being the Tatebayashi Lord to inherit the shogunate—was also a Dog year. To Ryūkō of Gokurin-in, even such trivial coincidences became highly exploitable chance events. His proposal first convinced the superstitious Keishōin, who then persuaded the shogun until it finally became codified law.

Dazai Shundai, a prominent figure of the time, wrote of these circumstances thus in his work Sangō Gaiki. The King had lost his Crown Prince (the shogun's heir), and the royal consorts bore him no further children. Ryūkō of Gokurin-in counseled thus: "Those lacking in human progeny all face retribution for having committed much killing in life." "If the King (referring to the Shogun) truly desires an heir," he continued, "how could he not prohibit killing?" "Moreover, the King was born in the year of Hinoe-Inu (Fire Dog)." "The Dog [zodiac] belongs to canines; it is most fitting to love dogs above all." The King deemed this fitting. The Dowager Empress (Keishōin), who again deeply revered Ryūkō, joined him in advocating this. The King consented. Immediately establishing the prohibition of killing, they promulgated the Dog Protection Edict throughout the capital and provinces on that very day.

The edict startled the humans. No—it confounded them. Moreover, it was strictly enforced with thoroughness, and not the slightest leniency was shown. The first violation listed was when, early that spring, subordinates of Mizuno Tōemon, the Head of Musketeers, were charged with knocking down pigeons gathered at a gate using stones; Tōemon was dismissed from his post, and all his yoriki and dōshin were placed under house arrest.

In February of the same year, Amano Gorodayū of the kitchen staff was sentenced to exile on a distant island. This was because he had been charged with a cat falling into and dying in the Honmaru's kitchen well.

Also, around early summer.

When it was discovered that a minor retainer from Akita Awaji-no-kami's lower residence had shot swallows with a blowgun—and furthermore, that this violation of the edicts had occurred on the shogunate's memorial day—both husband and wife were sentenced to decapitation. According to rumors later brought to trial, this minor retainer had a beloved young daughter suffering from a grave illness; having been told that administering swallow charcoal would cure her, his parental heart led him to violate the prohibition and suffer this cruel punishment—so that all who heard cursed the wicked law and could not restrain their tears of sympathy.

These examples occurred within a mere four or five months after the edict's promulgation, and even in that single year alone, the number of violators apprehended across Edo City and the provinces numbered in the thousands.

"The 'Edicts on Compassion for Living Creatures' was effectively the 'People's Oppression Edict.'"

The edicts added increasingly minute and nitpicking clauses year after year; falconers and bird-watcher constables all shifted to roles as Dog Magistrates or Dog Inspectors, while dog veterinarians' signboards multiplied abruptly across the city. Daily occurrences in every neighborhood saw stone-throwing children hauled to guard posts, their parents then denounced by Dog Inspectors and subjected to handcuffing and exile. Those working in trades that used cattle and horses yielded a particularly high number of offenders. Many faced death or exile to distant islands for mere acts like wielding whips against livestock or abandoning ailing horses.

The shogunate's edicts made clear that all people were required to serve not only the shogunal house but even beasts—that should any creature fall ill or be injured, even if there was no rice to feed children nor decent robes for wives, they were to pawn possessions to summon dog veterinarians and provide medical treatment, lest they face charges under the law and severe punishment—so it all but proclaimed.

They wanted to become dogs. They envied dogs.

The suffering people declared from the depths of their hearts.

The numerous children of people who lost their homes through death sentences, exile, or severe banishment inevitably joined the ranks of vagrants, while even youths from respectable families swelled the ranks of those wishing to become dogs out of disdain for the world's absurdity and folly. Together with the decadent fashions of the age, these forces combined to create a spectacle of societal decay across the realm.

Late at night.

Ookame, Anoujuu, and others who had been surveilling the Nakano Field Dog Kennel, scattering fried dumplings while passing nights in trees were unquestionably children of this era too.

Bile. The dog kennels existed in Ōkubo, Yotsuya, and several other locations outside the capital, but the Nakano kennel boasted the largest scale. Dogs bore pups; they bred prolifically. Moreover, with over a dozen years having passed since even drum leather production had been prohibited, their breeding rate reached extraordinary levels. As violation numbers in society naturally swelled in proportion, even the shogunate and Dog Inspectors could no longer refrain from crying out when striving to rigorously enforce the laws.

Therefore, regarding ownerless dogs in the city—(as no eccentric who wasn’t currying favor with officials kept dogs anymore)—the authorities devised a plan to collect these canines into dog kennels immediately upon discovery for state-funded care. They appointed former falconer Ozeki Jinzaemon as overseer, established positions like Dog Yoriki and Dog Dōshin, and employed over a hundred dog handlers under them to construct this massive kennel complex in Nakano where several thousand dogs were now bred. For this reason, Finance Magistrate Ogawara Omi-no-kami commanded magistrates across the eight provinces surrounding Edo to impose a dog stipend of one koku per hundred koku of assessed yield, while ordering townspeople to contribute unhulled rice at five to six shō per district.

For one dog’s daily provisions: three gō of white rice, fifty me of miso, and one shō of dried sardines each—the items differed by day, but this remained the standard amount. Therefore, even at Ōkubo Kennel—smaller in scale than Nakano—records showed the daily provisions for dogs had amounted to 330 koku of rice, ten barrels of miso, ten bales of sardines, and fifty-six bundles of firewood. The Ōkubo facility occupied 25,000 tsubo of land, while Nakano spanned a staggering 160,000 tsubo—given these figures, one could imagine the scale of canine consumption there.

Homeless human children filled both city streets and mountain wilds，yet if even a single dog fell ill，there would be an uproar． When looking at articles such as those in the *Jisei Fudoki*， When dogs fell ill，if it was winter，nightclothes and bedding were thickened，and dog veterinarians were summoned． Dog veterinarians，being official physicians，were summoned in a manner akin to those of the Bureau of Medicine—borne on the shoulders of six men，accompanied by young retainers，sandal bearers，and medicine chest carriers． They checked the pulse，prescribed medicine，and returned． Moreover，Honorable Foot Soldier Inspectors and Honorable Page Inspectors were summoned；on the second day，an official inspection was conducted． For such incidents，the townspeople too followed suit and incurred financial burdens；yet should anyone harm a dog，those imprisoned—extending to relatives and entire neighborhoods—numbered in the hundreds per district，though none could say precisely how many． Even if passersby，upon hearing a “Woof，” had their hair stand on end and were bitten，they would not be scolded；there was no choice but to flee． Criminals—fifty or thirty in groups each day—would be beheaded；their bloodied heads stuffed into straw bales，carried out in thirty loads，and dumped into a large pit—or so it was heard．

The grievances against misgovernment were endless. Yet this was humans tormenting humans—but a mere vagrant like Ookame Kamejirou or Anou Juuzou had no power to protest against those humans. They had no fight left.

Let’s give those Dog Shogun bastards and their Dog Magistrates a taste of their own medicine—flip their precious kennels upside down and make them foam at the mouth!

This was the purpose of tonight’s operation—and the full extent of their righteous indignation.

This was Anoujuu—Anou Juuzou’s suggestion. His father, Anou Seizan—a Confucian scholar of the Zhu Xi school—had once kicked away a red dog that suddenly barked “Woof!” and bit him on the temple’s stone steps (whether deliberately or reflexively); upon returning home, before the arresting officers could arrive, he committed seppuku. His son Juuzou was captured while away and sentenced to exile on a distant island; but en route, under cover of night, he leapt from the exile ship into the sea and made his way back to Edo—since then, he had been cultivating a self-destructive, feral vitality as a man.

As for Ookame—Ooka Kamejirou—his personal history differed somewhat, but his present circumstances and state of mind were entirely the same; in any case, he too was in a position where whether he acted or not, once caught in the hands of the authorities, severe punishment was inevitable. Interesting—I'll act innocent and watch the chaos unfold.

And so, their plan was quickly settled. Misokyu’s parents had run a miso wholesaler in Fukagawa, but after their property was confiscated for hoarding old gold and silver, he had joined the ranks of vagrants; recognizing him as a tight-lipped man, they had made him carry fried dumplings laced with rat poison and painstakingly brought him along secluded paths all the way here to carry out their plan.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp—

“Hey. “Ookame! Ookame!”

“What is it, Anou?”

“Look. The east is starting to brighten faintly.” “Has it dawned? I must’ve dozed off.” “You’ve got nerve… Oh hey. They’re coming out—coming out!” “What? What is?” “What do you mean ‘what’? It’s the pack of dogs!”

“Oh...” “Heh. Here they come. Here they come.”

The two in the tree peered intently from their perch into the enclosure visible below.

Across the 160,000 tsubo field, even the numerous dog kennels appeared as mere specks—like small boats adrift in a sea of morning mist. —and Dog Officials in hakama trousers crawling on their knees, along with Dog Associates who had emerged from the government office, threw open kennels across the grounds. The astonishing pack of dogs burst forth like a broken dam for their morning exercise, soon frolicking wildly as they scattered across the field, sniffing at the mist-shrouded earth. “Ah! They ate it! Ookame! Look, look!” “Quiet!” “Ah.” “It’s true.” “They’re eating.” “They’re eating.”

“Anou, shut up.” “Stretch up too much and your pine tree’ll sway—they’ll spot us even from afar.” The fried dumplings they’d scattered during the night were now being contested everywhere by the curs’ keen noses, their ravenous howls of struggle piercing the air. Then—a sharp yelp! With bizarre shrieks, two or three dogs spun wildly and darted off in random directions like arrows—only to collapse one after another with heavy thuds.

“What? What?” The Dog Associates also began screaming something.

“Anou—run!”

“What?! Damn it!” Chests tightened. “Ookame! Let’s get out of here!”

The two men slid down like monkeys. They had no time to exchange words. They had no idea where or how they had run.

Ookame had made his way to Nerima.

It was at the spot approaching Hongō Moriguchi from Itabashi Road that Anoujuu—? He looked around—but whether they had become separated somewhere along the way, there was no sign of him ahead or behind.

A Mother Too Young

The long-standing prohibition on killing had left the riverside businesses in ruins. The edicts on fish and birds, though not as stringent as those for dogs, generally prohibited even river fish of palatable varieties. Fishermen, fishing gear shops, fishing boat houses—none of them could make a living. But beneath the surface lay deeper shadows—apparently there were illegal boat operators and fishermen plying their trade in the dark. They even sneaked into mansion areas, and though all restaurants boasted vegetarian fare, not a single establishment lacked fresh fish like sea bass, sea bream, or flounder.

And so, places like the Kyobashijiri riverfront—once reduced to utter desolation—had recently begun to see houses with feeble lights multiplying along the backwater canals come dusk. “Mr. Kyuusuke, you’re always lying.” “Both of them haven’t shown a single trace, have they?”

Osode clicked her tongue at Misokyu as she lit the andon lamp, suddenly noticing the untouched meal tray left there since morning, still covered with its fly net. Misokyu, playing with Osode’s three-year-old daughter Oen on the drying platform, was buffeted by the river breeze. Really, what could have happened? It was already getting dark.

Imagining what had become of Ookame and Anou since parting ways the previous night, Misokyu suddenly raised anxious eyes to the evening clouds. “Come now, Oen, let’s take your bath. “That’s my good girl… There now.” “There.” “Let’s put on your white powder and make you all pretty-pretty with makeup.” Osode came to pick up the child. Then, under the kitchen eaves, to the tub enclosed by storm shutters laid sideways, she undid her obi and submerged her white skin. In the evening darkness spilling over, blending with the sound of bathwater,

“Oh, how pretty you’ve become. Even though you’ve become such a good child, why won’t your Father come see this adorable face? You must want to meet him too, Oen-chan.” Perhaps thinking no one could hear her, the young mother poured out her heart’s contents to this innocent divine flesh-lump as if playing a game. Misokyu, sinking into dusk on the drying platform’s railing, caught fragments of this and felt his own heart constrict,

"...No wonder." "That makes sense."

He muttered under his breath. "At seventeen she gave birth to that child who's now three—Miss Osode is still nineteen. How pitiful... Becoming a mother so young." Slapping the mosquito on his knee, he thought again of those vexing edicts. The thought that perhaps the two men from last night had botched their task and been captured made him unable to stay still. "Oh, Mr. Kyuusuke, where are you off to?"

“I just thought I’d go check.” “The bathwater’s ready．Don’t you want to take a quick dip？” “This isn’t the time for that！”

After Kyuusuke left, she did her evening makeup and patted oshiroi powder onto Oen’s forehead.

At that moment, there came the tapping sound of a cane at the entrance.

“Ah.” “Welcome home, Father.”

“I’m back,” he said. “Hot again today.”

Umega the masseur removed his hood and handed it to Osode. He probably hadn’t yet reached sixty, but for his age, he possessed a robust bone structure. Without showing any fatigue from returning from his client’s place, he immediately immersed himself in the bathing tub and muttered to himself, “Ah, paradise...” “Miss Osode.” “Wait—let me tell you again—” In a hushed but urgent whisper, Misokyu—who had returned from outside—crouched in the shadows of the dirt-floored entryway, beckoning frantically.

"What is it?" "You've gone pale." "I just had this feeling... Went out around there—no—the town's in an uproar." "What do you mean?" "Calm yourself and tell me properly."

“That’s why… this morning, I whispered to you alone in strict confidence, didn’t I?” he said, peering restlessly at the back door—

“The dog kennel incident.”

“Ah. Is this about those two?” “Seems they did it... Town’s buzzing with rumors and lampoon verses everywhere you turn—most satisfying scandal in years. Folk say it must’ve been townsfolk or shogunate retainers.” “Nah—you think those pompous windbags could pull off something that sharp? Whole town’s crowing it’s tengu mischief! Everyone’s savoring this like a feast after famine.”

“That’s probably right,” Osode grinned. “So is this a commotion like when Lord Asano attacked Kira Kozuke-no-suke in the palace this spring?” “Oh, surely not that extreme.” “But deep down, tonight must tighten anyone’s chest more than that incident ever did. Though for the Dog Shogun of this Dog Year and Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu of this Dog Year—it’s like they’ve been slapped in the face. Who knows how furious they might be.” “That’s why every guardhouse in town has dog inspectors and magistrates’ men out in full force watching the streets, and they say all river mouths will have boats stopped till dawn.” “I’ll slip into Sakai-cho’s entertainment district while there’s still light and hide among the theater people. If those two come here, make sure to tell them that.”

“Ah, that’s fine… But with such extensive preparations deployed, those two likely won’t come near here anytime soon.” “Make sure to whisper it to Umega-san too.” “Well, see you later then.” Once he’d dashed out, Misokyu came hurrying back again,

“Osode-san! Osode-san!” “Somehow, it seems the town inspectors and their underlings are combing through every house along the river tonight.” “You gotta be careful.” Mindful of his hurried speech, he vanished without a trace into the evening gloom.

Ichijuurou's Love

Umega the masseur wiped his body after emerging from the bath and changed into yukata attire with a shibuuchiwa fan in hand. “Osode,” he said, “seems Anou and Ookame finally went and did something stupid.”

“Were you listening to that just now?” “Nah. Heard the rumors while treating clients at the tea house already.” “If they’re caught, it’ll mean crucifixion, won’t it?” “Might get boiled in oil. “Waste of time.” “Madcaps.—Osode! Dinner.”

Holding a rice bowl, Umega glanced briefly at Oen’s innocent sleeping face as she dozed there,

“He’s another one of those unfathomable men—the guy who’s this kid’s father. Young people nowadays are so infatuated with the Sacred Dogs that they’re treating reckless breeding like it’s nothing.” “Well…” “Please don’t say such terrible things.”

“Heh, heh, heh… Osode. Even after being treated this heartlessly, you still mean to wait for Ichijuurou?” “But there’s nothing I can do. He’s a resident dependent in that strict mansion household.” “Don’t make me laugh. Ichijuurou’s an adopted son. He’s got a proper fiancée with family standing.” “But he and I share a child. He swore vows to me. Even five years… even ten…”

“You mean you’ll wait?” “What an admirable paragon of virtue you are.”

“Ookame-san, being his cousin, has promised to bring him here soon and let us meet.”

“That probably won’t come to anything. “True enough, Ookame and Ichijuurou might be relatives—but family connections aside, wherever he goes, I who was once called Ooka Kamejirou can’t go around announcing myself. I’m an outcast.” “True enough—you and I are fellow outcasts too, but—”

The sound of tears falling on the tatami suddenly struck his ears, so Umega set down his chopsticks and bowl. Even the neighbors believed Umega to be completely blind, but the way he handled his chopsticks and the gaze with which he had just looked at Oen’s sleeping face suggested he could see at least a little. Their manner of speaking, too, carried an artificial reserve unlike that of real parent and child. The neighbors had noticed this as well, but they only knew her as an adopted daughter—none were aware of the full circumstances.

Osode’s true father had been a retainer of Akita Awa-no-kami, a low-ranking samurai with a mere fifty-koku stipend. When Osode was just five years old and fell gravely ill—to the point that even doctors had abandoned her—her parents were told swallows might cure her condition through some miraculous property. They used blow darts to hunt the birds, but were discovered on what tragically coincided with a shogunate memorial day. Both husband and wife met execution by beheading. All blood relatives faced criminal charges too—some perished while others scattered into ruin—but through strangers’ care Osode’s illness miraculously abated. In cruel exchange she came to know life’s bitter hardships through constant displacement, sold from childhood as a serving girl at roadside teahouses.

Seventeen.

She came to know love.

At that time, among the young sons of samurai families who frequented the water teahouse—to one of them. She remembered the name Ooka Ichijuurou—he who had an estate near Akasaka—from the very first time.

The one who had brought Ichijuurou there was his cousin Ooka Kamejirou—a man two or three years older who had been steeped in debauchery longer. (I'll set it up.) That night, Kamejirou finally borrowed Umega the masseur’s house, abandoned the young couple in a lightless room, and departed. Umega ostensibly practiced massage therapy but was actually a cunning villain who exploited society’s trust—finding vulnerable targets for his gang to extort or skimming profits from thieves’ loot.

With the cunning of an old fox, he indulged his desired luxuries by traveling to Kamigata several times a year under the pretext of attending examinations for the highest rank of blind masseurs during Ise pilgrimages, where he squandered money, while in Edo he maintained his modest livelihood as a masseur and never revealed his tail. However, that house had become a den for himself and his gang of villains, where delinquent youths would often gather, treating him as their leader. Kamejirou had long been part of this den, wearing down his young life with women, sake, gambling, and the dangerous dalliances of petty crime.

His cousin Ichijuurou had been carelessly dragged into it. By the time he realized, it was already too late. He had become entangled with Osode, and as an adopted son, this created a terrifying vulnerability toward his adoptive family. Regret tormented his conscience, yet his clandestine meetings with Osode only deepened in pleasure and sweetness—the more he agonized over their sinful nature, the more furtively stolen their moments became. Ichijuurou learned deception, sharpened his capacity for wickedness, numbed his cultivated intellect, and rapidly descended into every form of depravity. In underworld matters, he even made his senior Kamejirou marvel in disbelief—it seemed he might plummet straight to depravity's nadir through his single-minded obsession with Osode.

A shower of insect cries.

However, whether fortunately or unfortunately, in the year after Ooka Ichijuurou and Osode began their relationship, a violent incident occurred within their clan member Kamejirou’s household.

No—rather, it was an incident that brought calamity upon all eleven households of the Ooka clan. It was that Kamejirou’s father, Ooka Gorouzaemon Tadafusa, had struck down the chief retainer Takatsuka Iyo-no-kami in his own residence following a political dispute. Gorouzaemon was also cut down on the spot by Iyo-no-kami’s retainers, but due to the disgraceful conduct, the family name was ordered extinguished. The other ten related Ooka households all met with the misfortune of house arrest and confinement.

Ichijuurou’s adoptive family—the household of Ooka Chuuzouemon—could not escape either. The entire family were all placed under strict house arrest. No love could break through these vigilant eyes of authority and this iron door.

During this period—the one year and four months of confinement—Ichijuurou regained himself. His nature contained a reflective dimension. Through days of seclusion spent immersing himself in reading, plunging into Zen practice, and beating awake his youthful vitality through his own efforts, he wept endlessly alone.

But for Kamejirou, the only son of Gorouzaemon Tadafusa who met a violent end, there had been no such opportunity. Their flesh and blood were severely exiled, scattering to rely on servants’ rural homes or pin hopes on distant relatives with tenuous connections—but Kamejirou immediately returned to Edo. Of course, having completely altered his appearance. His pockmarks were artificial ones he himself had created through moxibustion and medicinal burns.

“Lord Ichijuurou.” “Shall I prepare a cup of light tea?”

The live-in Onui, though not beautiful in features, was a bright and pure maiden with cultivated refinement.

The two already knew they were betrothed. Onui was twenty years old. Ichijuurou was already twenty-six. “Tea?” “Let’s forgo that.” Ichijuurou briefly lifted his eyes from his book but kept his body turned toward the desk; to Onui, he seemed to wear an expression wanting her to leave at once. But she—having lived in the same household as Ichijuurou since he was ten—lacked both by nature and through this shared upbringing the delicate interplay of sensibilities that lovers might develop between them.

“You must be exhausted, reading nothing but books like this.”

“That’s unnecessary. Please leave me be.” “Autumn evenings are when I devote myself to reading by lamplight.” “I don’t notice the night deepening.”

“Your father and mother also think you’ve changed completely. They’re worried in private that… well，that something might have happened because of the house arrest incident and all.”

"If I go out, they make noise about me going out." "Truly. But three or four years ago—no matter how you consider it—it was excessive. Night after night, you kept going out solely for your nightly amusements."

“…………”

Unmindful of his annoyed expression, Onui kept talking by herself.

“Once—didn’t you once climb over the wall and return home near dawn?” “Lady Nui.” “Please retire for the night.”

“You’re still reading? — As for the door...” “I’ll close it myself.” “Well then, I’ll take my leave to retire first.” By now, she even appeared somewhat like his wife.

For Ichijuurou, there was no interest. He didn’t dislike her, but neither did he love her.

Reading. He always found—even now—that unless he immersed himself in it, his heart remained somehow precarious. Three years prior, that house arrest had truly saved his precarious youth from taking that final step at the crossroads—or so he believed. He would consult the writings of ancients with humility. He would become a child and let adult experiences instruct him. The crux was the problem of life itself. How ought one receive the significance of being born human? The human world. Should it be seen as fascinating? Should it be seen as sorrowful? Or should it be seen as trivial foam?

“……Oh?”

He suddenly focused his gaze on the autumn grasses in the garden. Because the chorus of insects had abruptly ceased all at once.

“Hey. “…Ichinoji.” “Do you remember?” “—me?” Parting the bush clover thicket near the latticed fence, a figure—some man with cloth over his face—slithered out, stood half-crouched, and exposed his face to the study’s light.

“Wh-who are you?……”

He held his breath and stared intently, but couldn't make it out. "Ain't no way you'd recognize me." "Course you wouldn't know me, Oichi." "It's been four years, after all." "Ah, how nostalgic this room feels too." Like a toad, he shambled closer, settled onto the stepping stone, removed the cloth covering his head, propped his elbows on the veranda edge, and grinned broadly. Though he had a pockmarked face, that laugh of his jolted Ichijuurou's not-so-distant memory awake. The bonds of comradeship There is nothing as fated as the bonds between bad companions.

Even if one could sever the bonds of brotherhood or those between lord and vassal, the path to escape wicked companionship and return to righteousness remained fraught with difficulty. In the logic of their comradeship: (What's this? Becoming a proper human? Who in hell wouldn't think about that? But even now, thinking you can play nice all by yourself—ain't gonna work. That's some damn fine presumption you got there) That must indeed have been the case.

That night— In this autumn when Ichijuurou had been cleansing his past wrongdoings through quiet study by lamplight, even in his cousin Kamejirou—who had slipped into the study with fierce eyes, whispering closer while minding the surrounding silence—such thinking dwelled. "Hmph. Studying, are we, Oichi?" "...Well now, you." "Putting on such scholarly airs—what're you reading there?"

With that, Kamejirou stretched from the edge of the veranda and peered over the desk where Ichijuurou was leaning, "Huh, the Analects?" "What’s the point of reciting that ‘The Master said’ nonsense now? Ain’t like there’s any use for the Analects anymore. What the hell are you trying to do?" "To begin with, a bastard like Confucius is nothing but a big fat liar and a charlatan who preys on honest people." "The best proof is—look at society!" "Where’s this supposed ‘Way’ Confucius preached?"

As if encountering someone he ordinarily detested and suddenly spitting in their face, he began to curse. "Confucius, Shakyamuni, Hōnen—every last one of 'em's nothing but self-important liars running wholesale scams." "And I know damn well—from personal experience—just how many fools there are who swallow those middlemen’s sermons whole, never doing what they want, living all cramped up and wasting their whole damn lives." “First up—my old man, Ōoka Gorōzaemon." "Yammering about proper governance standing or falling, he cut down Takatsuki Iyonokami, got himself killed, had our house destroyed, then went and died leaving even a son like me with this life in the shadows." “Hell, the whole Ōoka clan’s full of samurai who’re honest to a fault—take the old man here—your adoptive father Chuuzouemon for instance—”

“Kameji… Q-quiet down.”

Unable to bear it any longer, Ichijuurou waved his hands in supplication while pointing with his eyes toward the inner room.

Ookame pulled in his neck and flicked out the tip of his tongue, “Still awake? Is he… still awake in there?” “...And the inner room?” “He’s asleep now, but if my adoptive father wakes up and comes here, neither of us will get off lightly.”

“I’m fine. Don’t give a damn.” Ookame said pointedly, “But you’re the adopted son.” “Can’t blame you for being cautious.” “Let’s keep it down.”

“Kameji.” “Just what have you been doing since then?” “I’ll save the long story for later.” “Anyway, Ichinoji.” “Hide me, starting tonight.”

“What? Here?” “Just temporary. Once twenty days pass, the manhunt’ll ease up for sure. Let’s make do with some cramped closet around here. …I’m countin’ on you—to keep me under wraps for now.”

He shambled up. Then he opened the corner cupboard in the study and, deeming it his new dwelling, wriggled in rear-first.

To live in this world without meeting...

The Ōoka family crest was a ring of rice ears. The family founder had been a devotee of Inari, hence the design. Perhaps because of this, within the grounds of the Akasaka estate stood Toyokawa Inari enshrined since ancient times. When late autumn arrived and trees shed their leaves, the small shrine became visible through mixed woodland on a modest hill.

From the western back of the hill extended a single narrow path. This was a pilgrimage route that devotees from town—having heard of the shrine—had gradually worn flat through countless visits over time, its course now so established that even breaches in the boundary fence went unmended by the estate authorities, left to crumble through natural decay.

“...Well. You’ve fallen asleep looking so content.”

Back-to-back with the Inari shrine, bathing in dappled sunlight on a bed of fallen leaves, there was a young mother peering down at the child who had fallen asleep at her breast. When she gently tried to detach the nipple, the nursing infant's instinct made it clamp down even harder—painfully so—producing a sucking sound. “No—no. Not like that.” “Not so hard.” The too-young mother writhed. The unusual throbbing throughout her body left her dazed, while the torment of sensuality and resentment toward the male heart lurking within her mind became a single flame in her eyes. And below her—the Ōoka family’s great roof—she stared fixedly.

“Osode. …You’ve had to wait quite a while.”

Suddenly, Misokyu climbed up there. Today, he was disguised as a bookseller’s clerk. He lowered the book-wrapped package dyed with "Tsutaya" from his back and sat down beside Osode. “From around Mitsuke, I got the feeling some suspicious bastard was tailing me, so I took a roundabout path. That’s why I’m late.” “Whew, playing mediator for secret rendezvous ain’t no easy job either.” “I’d waited so long, I was just thinking maybe I should leave.”

“Liar!” “You’re lying, Osode.” “You think I’d go home without meeting Ichinoji? Not a chance.” “If you understand my feelings that well, then go—go over there and quickly summon Lord Ichijuurou for me.” “Well, no need to get so frantic...”

With that, Kyuusuke blew tobacco smoke into a ring, glancing sidelong at the distant great roof, “Even if I bring Ichinoji, it ain’t gonna go as smooth as you say, Osode-san.” “If we botch this, it’ll be dangerous.” “Cowardly, aren’t you, Kyuusuke-san?” “And who was it that got down on her knees beggin’ ‘Please Kyuusuke! I’m beggin’ you for mercy!’ while blubberin’ and pleadin’ so desperate-like?” “Just drop it already.”

When she pretended to strike him and urged him on, Kyuusuke finally rose to his feet, hoisting a wrapped bundle of Japanese books from shoulder to underarm, “Then stay here and wait, alright.” “If it goes smooth, you’re in for a treat.”

“I beg you…” Osode pleaded as if in prayer and saw Misokyu off. He descended from that path there, circled around the hill’s base, and soon walked along Akasaka-suji’s broad street where the Ōoka family’s main gate stood. The Ōoka family consisted of eleven households. There, Tadazane Tadayoshi—though not of the main lineage—had held successive posts including Captain of the Foot Guards, Commander of the Vanguard Musketeers, and Sunpu Castle Guardian. Though now in an inactive post, his estate remained vast. Having no male heir, they had adopted Ichijuurou (childhood name Kyuuma), the seventh son from their relative Yaemon Tadataka’s family, when he was ten years old. It went without saying they intended to wed their daughter Onui to him and have him inherit the family headship.

However, as the adopted Ichijuurou came of age, he too began displaying undesirable conduct, no exception to the prevailing trends of youth.

While hastening in his heart toward marriage with Onui, Ichijuurou found their clan plunged into prolonged confinement due to a sword assault incident involving their relative Gorozaemon Tadafusa. Even now that this punishment had been lifted, their continued avoidance of official audiences with the shogunate meant the couple's wedding ceremony remained postponed.

However, Onui of the household was still twenty years old—by no means a late age. Rather, like cherry blossoms awaiting spring rain, she concealed their readiness to bloom both in posture and heart, never missing a day to attend tea ceremony lessons at Edo Senke and koto lessons under Nanigashi Kengyō each afternoon.

Today as well.—At that hour. Onui exited the gate and began descending toward Yagenzaka.

And there in the shade of the roadside trees stood Misokyu, “Ah. Young Mistress… You are Lord Ōoka’s esteemed daughter, are you not?” “Ah—what perfect timing.”

He stepped forward and bowed his head.

“Thank you kindly for your patronage.”

“Who are you? You there?” “It is Tsutaya Booksellers of Ishimachi. As for the young lord of your esteemed household, we have often received commissions from him, and frequently...” “You claim to have met him?”

“Yes, yes. Today as well—actually—the rare book you’ve long been seeking has come up for sale, so I’ve come to present it.”

“How strange. Lord Ichijuurou... these past year or two, he hasn’t gone outside at all.” “No, no, young mistress.” With that, Misokyu hurriedly retracted his earlier statement— “The meetings were frequent in the past—lately through letters and such, he’d instruct that if certain books came up for sale, I must bring them without fail…” “Yes, as I had received word through messages.” “Is that so?”

—Onui tilted her head slightly, then, “Then enter through the main gate, go to the left side service entrance, speak to the steward, and have them relay it.” “Could I ask you, young mistress, to directly relay this to the young lord once more?” “Oh? Why?” “It seems that elderly steward made some mistake—when I requested an audience earlier, Lord Ichijuurou refused me outright, saying he knows no such bookseller.”

“But he must know you.” “Yes indeed—we’re thoroughly acquainted.” “Were we to meet face-to-face, there’d be no room for doubt...” “If you were to relay this message yourself, he’d recognize me at once.” “I’m Kyuusuke—once heir to a miso shop, who used to frequent places like Master Umega’s residence in Kyōbashi-jiri.” “Then wait here.” Onui left him standing there and briskly returned inside the estate. But when she finally reappeared after some time—

"As for this Kyuusuke person—Lord Ichijuurou states he does not know anyone of your sort." "And he says he has no recollection of ever ordering books from Tsutaya." "You there—could it be you've mistaken this estate for another patron's?" After dismissing him with those words, she hurried down Yagenzaka slope at a half-run, as if rushing to reclaim her unexpectedly lost leisure.

Silent Koto

Chūemon Tadazane had been known among all his relatives as a man of unwavering integrity. He was a typical old-fashioned man of the Genroku era, unchanging even amidst change. But even that Chūemon had bent his principles for his child’s sake—today he had visited the private residence of Senior Councilor Akimoto Tajima-no-kami, they said—and returned home listlessly that evening. “By next spring,” Lord Tajima said, “we shall somehow arrange an opportunity for an audience before then, so that permission for the wedding may be granted.” You can likely rely on this—there should be no mistake. "...There's nothing more disagreeable than bowing one's head to power." "What times we live in—even samurai need flattery and worldly wisdom to get by now."

After exiting the bath and sitting down to the evening meal, he reported the results of today’s outing to his elderly wife—who always shared his sentiments—while interweaving reminiscences. "—If you wish to hasten the wedding between your adopted son Ichijuurou and Onui so urgently," his clan relatives had advised him, "why not pull strings? Use bribes with Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu and secure favorable arrangements through the shogun’s court?"—but Chūemon could not bring himself to do it. He understood its effectiveness, but his disposition would not permit it.

(You're just like Asano Takumi-no-kami. You know too little of the present world.) Even among relatives, many laughed at his foolishness—yet Chūemon never once passed through the gates of the Yanagisawa residence. Akimoto Tajima-no-kami had only been appointed last year to fill the vacancy among the Senior Councilors, and approaching this man didn't feel like something that would bring shame upon himself. Therefore, he resolutely set out. The result was good. He said he would arrange an opportunity for an audience in the near future, and that after that, it would be good to submit a request for permission for the wedding.

Hearing this, his wife also—together with her husband—relaxed her brow,

“Our daughter has just passed twenty, and Ichijuurou has reached the age for official appointment.” “Then let’s prepare everything necessary before year’s end.” She began counting the days and saying they must bring in carpenters to do some maintenance on the inner study and old building for the young couple. At the summons to the evening meal, Onui too came and took her place on one side of the harmonious dining tray. However, during every meal lately, Onui had felt a sense of dissatisfaction.

For about ten days now, Ichijuurou had been having his meals brought to the inner study morning and evening, not showing his face among the family.

“What could have happened to Lord Ichijuurou? …Don’t you think so, Mother?” “Shall I call him here?” “Why don’t you tell him, ‘Do join us for a meal sometime’?”

“No— let him have his way.”

Chūemon shook his head. “Night and day he seems completely immersed in reading. He may be somewhat melancholic, but in my youth I went through similar phases. Leave it be, leave it be.”

“But Father. Even when I occasionally peeked in, he made such a frightening face.” “It’s fine. When he’s engrossed in his studies, women just get in the way.” Is that really the case? She had further doubts, but she also feared that bringing up things that seemed like tattling might truly anger her father. One of those lingering doubts still lodged in her chest was being called out to today at midday on Yagenzaka slope—by a clerk from Tsutaya bookstore.

Even though Ichijuurou had smoothly refused by claiming ignorance, when she returned home that evening and asked the servants, they said that persistent clerk had come again—insisting with phrases like "I’ve just met the young mistress there now…"—until through a maid’s mediation, he finally gained entry to Ichijuurou’s study, talked at length about something, and left. When she asked Ichijuurou, he simply shook his head saying "I won’t meet them," his mood particularly foul that day.—Though Onui wasn’t one to dwell on things, the thought "Why would he lie to me…?" lodged in her chest even her post-meal hot water.

At times like these, she would think to play her koto—returning to her room and starting to practice the piece she’d learned that afternoon—but even this failed to soothe her heart. When her fingers touched the strings, she found herself wanting to weep without reason. Outside the window stretched an evening where winter-approaching shower clouds marred the moon's final days of autumn through leafless treetops. She left the koto beneath the candlelight and descended to the garden.

There was an old pond said to have existed before this mansion was built. Autumn grasses left to grow wild covered the water’s edge, and beyond them, a light was visible—Ichijuurou’s study.

She had been circling the pond, her feet unconsciously drawn toward that light, when suddenly—in the vast darkness of the moonlit night—she paused, listening intently.

“Oh?” “A baby’s cry…?” Where was it? “It really does sound like a small child crying…?” It felt distant yet near. Ceasing with the night wind yet carried by it, the plaintive wail seemed worn down by the darkness-born life it carried in this world.

Red spider lilies

Even though it was late autumn with short days, it had already been since noon.

Though the dew on the trees marked the arrival of a chilly evening, at the Inari shrine on the hill, a young mother holding a child still crouched motionless in the grass.

“What’s wrong, Osode?” “……Come on, let’s go.” “Let’s go back. We can always try again another time, can’t we?” "...Hey." “Osode, really…”

Misokyu stood nearby, persistently coaxing and urging, but Osode—along with the child on her lap she had cried herself dry over—continued to weep silently, neither rising nor offering any reply. Kyuusuke with his tear-streaked face and the Misokyu his companions usually called him—tonight, it was Misokyu who wanted to cry far more. “Well, Osode. "For goodness' sake, stop giving me trouble already." “I wrung out every last drop of my wit to meet Ichinoji today—and meet him I did—but no matter what, he won’t come here. There’s nothing to be done.” "No matter how much I try to persuade him or appeal to Osode-san’s heart, that bastard just keeps his eyes tightly shut." “It’s true—that bastard seems to have become a different person.”

“Kyuusuke-san…”

Osode raised her red, tear-drenched eyes——

“So even if he abandons me, I have to accept it—is that what you’re saying?” “W-well, even if you make such a terrifying face and snap at me, I’m telling you now—I won’t be responsible! But getting yourself involved with some 3,000-koku adopted heir was a cursed bond from the start.”

“What the hell?” “What does 3,000 koku matter?!”

“Oh? Are you angry?” “Of course…” With that, Osode buried her face in the crying child’s and broke into convulsive sobs. “Y-you… What do I care about someone like you… about someone like Kyuusuke-san? The relationship between Lord Ichijuurou and me isn’t th-that shallow!”

“Huh? You’re still goin’ on about that? ...Well then—since it’s a sin anyway—I’ll just come out and say it clear: Ichijuurou said this to Kyuusuke today.”

“That person...” “Yeah. He told me. ‘I deeply regret my past wrongs—I’ve completely cut Osode from my heart now. Have that child born between you two sent away somewhere. Let Osode find herself a better man. Once I gain control of my finances, I’ll make the formal break. I’ll even send money for the child’s keep’—that’s what he said.”

“What...? Lord Ichijuurou would... say such things?” “So I say Osode-san should just cut ties with that bastard and make a clean break here—go back proper-like.”

“I-Is that... really true?” “Kyuusuke-san.” “If it’s true that Lord Ichijuurou said to you—”

She suddenly rose to her feet. As Kyuusuke hastily caught and supported her staggering form, Osode made him hold the child in his hands, then began walking unsteadily alone.

“Ah, Osode-san! ...Where are you going. “Where are you going?” To Misokyu, who was clinging to her,

“Quiet, you. I can’t keep relying on someone like you anymore. What’s wrong with going to see my own man myself? Until I hear Lord Ichijuurou’s true feelings clearly, I won’t return even if I die—take Oen and go back ahead of me, Kyuusuke-san.”

“D-don’t say such foolish things. He’s from a high-ranking samurai household.” “That exalted status of his grates on my nerves.” “Does being of exalted status make it acceptable to deceive a woman?” That was no longer directed at Kyuusuke. She was screaming toward the distant light. From this hill through the trees of the vast garden that stretched unbroken below, the light flickered coldly. —coldly, like Ichijuurou’s heart.

Trampling through kudzu vines, sasa bamboo grass, bush clover, and silvergrass—anything that entangled or obstructed—she blindly tried to rush down the slope. But upon seeing something—Osode flinched and suddenly pulled back her foot. And then she staggered to the hazel tree beside her and leaned against it.

Suddenly, the woman Osode had encountered was also there—half-concealed against the trunk of a large tree beside the shrine, her gaze piercing and unwavering.

“?” The two women held their breath and fell completely silent. Their eyes burned together like red spider lilies. “Who are you, and from where? ...And where do you intend to go?”

Eventually, the woman spoke quietly—yet in a trembling voice that contained a distinctly feminine sharpness at its core—reproaching her thus. That was Onui.

Abandoned palanquin Water and fire. Osode fired back with the blunt force of downtown dialect and emotion sharp enough to split bamboo. “None o’ your business! Where I go’s my own affair.”

“That will not do.” “Why the hell not?” “Even beyond the garden walls, this remains Ōoka territory.” “To approach a samurai residence—who granted you leave?”

“You go ask Ichijuurou-san.” “If it’s to where Ichijuurou-san is—not just through the garden—I’ll march straight into his chambers.” “There’s no law against going where my own husband lives!”

“You mustn’t!” “I will not permit such a thing.” “Whether you permit it or not—there’s no such thing.” “I’m his wife going to see my own husband.”

“W-What did you say?” Onui could not muster a retort through her chagrin. Tremors coursed through her entire body—across her face, whiter than paper—and that was all she could manage. In life—between Osode, who from thirteen or fourteen had worked in tea houses, been tempered by hardship, and jostled by frivolous men, and Onui, the properly raised mansion girl—there could be no contest. But though her words held strength, Osode carried more jealousy, more fragility, more resentment than Onui ever could.

When she thought that this girl belonged to the household—that she lived in the same house as Ichijuurou—the tears surged up, yet still she could not keep silent. “I don’t know if you’re some young lady of the household or what, but Ichijuurou-san and I have even brought a precious child into this world.” “Don’t you go stirring up trouble.” “Shut up—” And Onui, refusing to yield, "If you take one step beyond this point, I will summon the household staff."

“Oh, go ahead and call them.” “Whoever it may be.”

“You mustn’t go— Oh! Someone— Someone come—!”

A little before that.

An old steward named Kabei. Meanwhile, the young retainers and their companions, having noticed Onui’s absence from her room, raised an alarm and came running in this direction. Seeing the footsteps and lantern lights—Misokyu panicked, repositioned the crying Oen into a cradle hold, and scrambled away toward the path leading to town behind the hill, fleeing as if tumbling down.

One of the burly young retainers arrived a single step behind them and suddenly— “You bitch!” He seized Osode and slammed her down. Without bothering to inquire why she was wailing and screaming, they delivered two or three kicks, knocking her unconscious.

Onui too lay there prostrate in tears. In this state of affairs, Kabei momentarily wore a face like one possessed by a fox, then whispered something to his fellow young retainers before devoting all his efforts to placating Onui alone. And then Onui, tearfully accompanied by Kabei, returned to the mansion.

After that.

The young retainers and their companions crammed the still-unconscious Osode into a crude palanquin and carried her out from behind the hill into the night-shrouded town. They ran headlong through Yotsuya Hollow, past the myoga ginger fields and Ichigaya's tree-lined avenue—still they did not stop their flight. At some jolt, Osode inside the palanquin suddenly regained her breath and let out a resentful sob,

“Alright, this is the spot.”

The moment they did, the companions threw both palanquin and her body into the shadows beneath the trees, then ran back without a backward glance. All through that night…. And the next day too.

The Ōoka household sank into an oppressive swamp of anguish that engulfed the entire house. The same days continued for over ten days.

Beneath the drizzling clouds that had lingered since last night, today passed chillingly with the sound of rain throughout the day, but inside the house, not a single sound could be heard. At times, the voices that drifted faintly from the depths of the house were either Chuuzouemon’s resentful growls or else only the stifled sobs of his wife or Onui.

“Hey… Hey… Ichinoji.” “…Ichinoji.” In Ichijuurou’s study, no one was visible before the desk except Ichijuurou himself, yet somewhere, a low, low whisper persisted.

“They’ve finally found out. What’re you gonna do?”

From inside the corner cupboard came rhythmic tapping on the door’s inner surface as he whispered outward. “Let’s get out while we can still see our feet.” “Hey, Ichinoji.” “The world’s wide open.” “Wider than this cramped shithole we’re stuck in.” “I meant to tough it out here twenty days, but with your secret blown…” “Put yourself in Osode’s place—no wonder she came crawling here.”

Of course these words were directed at Ichijuurou, but he remained leaning against the desk, clutching his head in both hands—offering no reply, not even turning around—merely listening with his back. Though his eyes were fixed on the book before him, Ichijuurou’s heart was tossed about in chaos—who could say where it truly lay? There was no semblance of life left in him. Since last night, neither family nor servants had so much as glanced into his room. But he understood everything. He was undergoing the greatest torture within a prison of his own making.

"I was wrong too." Even without a reply, the small voice from inside the cupboard—like the rain outside—kept murmuring persistently to itself. "Osode had been begging me for ages to let her see you, to bring her to you—I can't tell you how much she pestered me." "But ever since that dog kennel incident I told you about before, we've been in danger ourselves and couldn't even go near Umega's place. So out of a woman's jealousy, she sweet-talked that soft-hearted Kyuusuke into it, and here we are—no doubt about it."

When the voice from the cupboard ceased, the sound of rain grew conspicuous to the ear. The rain grew all the more desolate and forlorn as evening approached. “...Hey, Oichi… Don’tcha feel sorry for a woman who’s been so sincere? Kids can fend for themselves, but a woman of such deep affection is rare. She’s beyond pitiable or endearing—there’s no words for her. If Osode says yes, I’d wanna take your place for her sake… Hey. Say something, damn it!”

Impatiently, he resumed tapping with a woodpecker-like rhythm, "I’ve got reason to believe that once ten more days pass, the investigation into the dog kennel incident will ease up for sure—but we can’t stay here even one more day. You should come back to the old nest with us. Back at that nest there’s Osode, there’s Umega, and Anoujuu’ll show up from somewhere soon enough. Let’s get back to having fun with the old crew again—do what we damn well please and play around, I say!"

“Shh… shh!”

Ichijuurou, still facing away, waved his hand beneath the desk. "You here?"

A man’s voice. With the rough sound of the sliding door, those who entered were Chuuzouemon and—contrary to Ichijuurou’s expectations—his biological brother Ōoka Shudon from his birth family, more fearsome to him than even his adoptive father.

Flesh and Blood He acted before he had even settled into his seat. Shudon suddenly snatched the book from the desk. "You wretch! What's the point of reading this filth?" With that, he hurled it at the shoji. "Brother. Here—show me your face! That face!"

Shudon was worked up. From those eyes, Ichijuurou's silence appeared as nothing less than a coldly indifferent figure, which only served to heighten the turbulent waves of Shudon's impassioned heart all the more.

“When I came here at Lord Chuuzouemon’s summons, wondering what the matter could be, I found myself utterly appalled by the circumstances.” “No—utterly unforgivable!” “I—I couldn’t bear to show this face to the couple or Lady Onui any longer—not after all this!”

Struck the tatami mat while drawing his knees closer,

“From our ancestral founders Tadanori and Tadamasa-sama down to this day, our house has never produced a single shameless, spineless, thoughtless wretch like you.” “How a scoundrel like you could spring from Ōoka blood—this brother finds it unbearable.” “But surely even a fool like you isn’t still clinging to the likes of some tea-house harlot?” He swallowed his voice... then lowered it... “There now. “On this matter, I, your brother, swear upon my sword.” “I do not believe my brother to be so far gone as that—I have just now informed the three in Lord Chuuzouemon’s chamber.” “Now... read between the lines, brother.” “What else can I say as your brother?” “Even if our late Father were still alive here—”

Ichijuurou hung his head, tears streaming down unabated, both hands pressed firmly on his knees as he remained motionless. “Now, brother. "In truth, your heart must be the same...... These past two or three years—your restrained conduct and diligent studies since confinement—I, your brother, had secretly taken joy in them...... I need say no more." "A single accidental misdeed from three years ago—there’s no need to dwell on it now." “……Just write me a pledge and hand it over.” “The breakup letter you wrote to that Osode or whatever, declaring this ends your relationship—”

“Ah... Brother.”

“Wait,” he cut in— “Would I do something so cruel? Leave it to me—I’ll handle everything.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial growl. “Even if I must sell our ancestral treasures, I’ll pay off that woman and dispose of the child.” “B-but Brother, that’s precisely—” “What now? Still clinging to her?” “I hold no attachment... but she won’t agree.” “Fool!” The word cracked like a whip. “That’s why you’ll write that damned farewell letter! Show it to me and I’ll make the break final.” He loomed closer, his breath misting his brother’s tear-stained cheeks. “If you keep sniveling like some lovesick girl instead of settling this cleanly... there are other solutions.”

“The final measure... You mean—” “I cannot exchange your life. Should unfavorable rumors reach the authorities again—compounded by Uncle Gorouzaemon’s failure two years prior—it would endanger the entire Ōoka clan’s security. …A single woman’s life—” “Gh—... You would have her killed? You find this acceptable?” “What’s there to be shocked about? Do you still cling to her?” “Th-this is most shameful, Brother. The guilt lies entirely with this Ichijuurou.”

“No—you don’t understand women.” “How could some tea-house wench—” “B-but she—Osode isn’t like those common women of the streets—” “How does she differ?”

“Her disposition...” To his brother who was about to speak, Shudon suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the collar, “You! Still blind to your shame? Can’t you see sense yet?” and shoved him with all his might. In the wrath born of love toward a blood relative, there surged a fiercer instinct than any rage directed at strangers’ enemies.

Ichijuurou’s deathly pale face twitched violently like a severed head. Tears streamed from his closed eyes as he offered no resistance to his brother’s force. “Will you write the breakup letter or not? Speak!” “You refuse to answer?!”

“I… will write it.”

“What? You’ll write it?” “B-but, Brother. I beg of you. Should she refuse to sever ties, please refrain from sinful acts like letting blades speak. Please write me a sworn pledge that you’ll never resort to such measures.” “Foolish promises—how could I grant you this? What of Lord Tadau and Lady Onui?” “Then... I refuse.” “What?! You refuse?” “Unless Osode finds true happiness, I cannot write that letter. The fault lies wholly with me—this Ichijuurou. Though she served at a tea house, until then Osode remained a virgin pure as untrodden snow.”

“You damned fool!”

The released hand struck Ichijuurou's cheek with a sharp crack in the blink of an eye. Covering his face, toward his fallen younger brother, Shudon’s hand pursued relentlessly—grabbing his collar again and shoving. In a fit of rage, he ground Ichijuurou’s face against the tatami mat. "Considering our adoptive family’s standing—how dare you! How dare you say such a thing!" "Whose body do you imagine this belongs to?" "Born into a samurai house yet showing no respect for your ancestors or the shogunate—you disgrace!" "Y-you... you wretched bastard!"

More than the younger brother being beaten, it was the older brother—clenching his fist and striking—who contorted his tearful face, streamed with tears, and took on an utterly exhausted visage. “The one beating you like this isn’t me.” “A fool like you—I haven’t enough love in me to bother beating.” “It was our deceased Father who struck you through me.” “Think of this fist as Father’s!” he snapped,

“Think again!” “Properly calm your mind and think it through.”

Shudon dismissed his words and left the room. Because the steward Kaihei had come to the outer corridor and reported that Ooka Hyoukurou had arrived. Hyoukurou was also one of the Ooka Ten Families, an uncle to the Ichijuurou brothers, and it was this Hyoukurou who had arranged Ichijuurou’s adoption. And since he had already been designated as the matchmaker for what would eventually be Ichijuurou's marriage to Onui, he too must have hurried over immediately upon receiving the summons, wondering what urgent matter required his attention.

魔笑仏涙

Night fell. ……The rain did not let up. No one brought candles to his room. Because lighting the nightly lamps himself had been the custom of this study— A single pallid face lingered there, desolate, fading into the dusk. Around the desk and in his heart, the ink-like twilight deepened. I beg your forgiveness. ……Brother. My deceased Father... and to my honorable adoptive parents as well. He alone found his hands faltering. The hair at his temples stood on end, looking as though they were weeping.

"For this ill-begotten Ichijuurou, only confusion arises—I know not what to do." "My sole atonement lies in departing while praying that Lady Onui may forget this day and become a good wife in the future without suffering further pain... Please forgive me." When he turned, he raised his face. And quietly, he drew the dagger from its sheath. His face was already deathly composed. He resolved to atone through death.

“Ah! That was close! — Ain’t no way you should be doin’ somethin’ like that!” In his panic, Ookame—still inside the closet—banged his head, dislodged the door, and tumbled out with it to seize Ichijuurou’s wrist.

“Let’s go! If you’re gonna die, we’ll dash into town! Anyway, I’m sayin’ my goodbyes tonight too.—Hey, let’s head where Osode is.” He yanked the arm roughly. In the hand that had once dropped the dagger, Ichijuurou felt an irresistible pull toward his cousin’s force. If he yielded to that strength and went, Osode would be there. There were capricious lights of self-indulgence, and bubble-like comrades of wickedness who knew no suffering swarming about in amusement.

“Oh! Someone’s comin’. Hurry it up!”

“Brother!” “Ah, Brother…”

“Enough already! What’re you sniveling and loitering around for? Grab my arm and come here! Act like you’re on a grand voyage—”

With arms tightly locked, they dragged themselves out into the corridor, then burst straight into the white night rain.

“Halt! Wait, brother! —Who’s the other one?”

The voice was Shudon's. Immediately, he too leapt down into the rain and circled around to block the path of the two figures. Startled by the unnatural noise, three men came running from the rear quarters—of these, Hyoukurou snatched a spear from the wall rack, while Chuuzouemon held up a hand lantern and stared sharply into the rain-lashed darkness from the corner of the veranda.

“Shudon, don’t falter. You’re not alone here!”

Hyoukurou also burst down and thrust his spear to one side. Letting the rain wash his spearhead—

In response to his uncle’s voice, Shudon gripped his sword and pressed forward through the rain that choked his breath. “Hah! I know not what manner of wretch you are who would abduct my brother—this makes no sense, villain. State your name! Brother! Who exactly is this man?” Then—from within the ink-like darkness and rain—came a voice roaring with laughter. Ookame found the two men’s fervor unbearably absurd compared to the world they themselves inhabited. Baring white teeth and shaking his shoulders, he kept laughing alone.

“Hey now, old men—you’d do better not to raise such a ruckus for your own good." "And here we are trying to slip away quiet-like outta consideration for that very thing—" “Wh-what’s that?” "If word gets out, the Ooka Ten Houses’ll be repeatin’ their three-year house arrest." “Nah—this time your little slap-on-the-wrist won’t cut it." "The kin tied to me—three, four households’ll get crushed." “Bwahaha!” “Kin? …And you who speak of them—” “…You who speak of them—”

“Do you want to know? Know it—and don’t go losing your nerve. I’m Kamejirou—son of our kinsman Gorouzaemon.” “Gah! K-Kamejirou, you say?” “You should’ve never asked. But I ain’t got no intention of harming our pathetic relatives or mooching off the clan’s meager stipends, so you can rest easy. See, that little prank we pulled at the dog kennels came back to bite us—these past hundred days, our footing’s been shaky as hell. So truth is, we’ve been holed up in Ichinoji’s room for about ten days now, toughing it out in closet living—that’s all there is to it.”

He pressed Ichijuurou’s arm even more tightly beneath his own,

“Hey, Ichinoji.”

He looked at the face right beside him.

Ichijuurou’s hand had unconsciously begun groping once more for the sword at his own waist. The rain fell as if mercilessly beating down on him alone.

“Ain’t no good, ain’t no good. Thinking of dying? What a petty plan. Take a good look at me!” Defiantly, his life beckoned Ichijuurou’s—lives that should have remained together in the shadows, as if they never were. “Hmm... An audacious bastard unafraid of the world.” “Even if they’re relatives, we must put them to the sword and present their heads to the authorities.” As Hyoukurou’s spear radiated murderous intent, he loathed and reviled them,

“Cut it out, Uncle. Even if you kill me and every one of you tries to ensure the clan’s safety, I’ve got my own comrades. They’ll definitely spill everything! The great prankster who slaughtered dozens of dogs at Nakano Dog Kennel in one night is none other than Kamejirou—son of our kinsman Gorouzaemon—whom the Ooka Ten Houses knowingly concealed!”

At that moment, Chuuzouemon suddenly blew out the hand lantern’s flame. It might have seemed like the wind, but even his subsequent words made clear that Chuuzouemon had intentionally extinguished it.

“Go.” “Go then…I won’t stop you.” “Both of you—wander lost as long as you must, then come back.” “You’re young.—But whenever you come to your senses, return at any time.” “Even for you, Kamejirou—there’s a home that’ll warmly take you in whenever you return.”

“There isn’t—!” he roared. “There ain’t one for me! So I’ll rampage through the wide world!” “No—there is. Come to Chuuzouemon.” “Come to Chuuzouemon.” “And then you’ll truss me up and parade me before the authorities as your excuse?”

“If matters came to that, I wouldn’t let you leave here—showing you how to lop off your head would be no trouble at all.” “Old though I may be, I remain Chuuzouemon.—Ichijuurou.” “This I’ll say to you too.” “Return whenever you wish to come back.” “Come back… O-Onui too…”

He started to say something but—his voice catching huskily—

“Onui will wait… no matter how long. …Now go.” “Go—before the night grows too late.” He pulled the rain shutters from their storage compartment and, sliding each panel one by one across the threshold, stepped over them.

“Come now, come now. “Lord Hyoukurou, Lord Shudon—go around to the bathhouse and change into yukata. Let’s have a drink. “On such a night—with rain whispering its tales—the sake’s flavor surely can’t be poor—”

Chapter Two Nestlings

The Nestlings

His still-sleepy eyes forcibly roused, Ichijuurou reluctantly opened them. The morning sun streamed through holes in torn shoji screens, illuminating his sleeping face and another—the woman’s face with peeling white makeup—in the six-tatami room that still held last night’s frenzy behind closed doors. They floated like two swamp-drowned corpses, bluntly exposed. “You’re awake?”

The woman pressed her sleep-dampened lips—dried from nighttime saliva—close and spoke.

The stench of her breath, the smell of cheap hair oil, the rough skin visible beneath flaking white makeup. Ichijuurou could not keep his face turned away from the woman’s breath. On the bedding collar, even the smell of another man—not his own—lay exposed. "Ugh…"

With that, he stretched, disguising some unbearable feeling in his heart while turning and beginning to rise, “Well… Why are you…” With that, the woman, still lying down, entwined both hands around his neck and abruptly pulled him down.

Then, from above the small screen standing beside the futon, his companion Kamejirou stretched his neck sneakily, “Well now, what’s this next door?”

“Oh my, you mustn’t peek. Even as it is, this boy...” With that, still in her disheveled state, the woman deliberately wrapped her arms around Ichijuurou’s neck with crushing force, squeezing until his breath caught— “Is this what they call inexperience, cowardice, or do you hate me? Since last night, you’ve been pushing me away... Look at you—this person just keeps shrinking back.”

“Let me see now.” “In what way?” Though last night’s rowdy antics lingered, Ookame remained unsobered. Over the screen he stretched his arm, beginning to flip back the futon. The woman and Ichijuurou both sprang upright. Instantly Ookame too went down with the screen, collapsing atop them both. “Oh! Oh my! Well...” “How dreadful...”

From behind the screen, another woman sprang up. A single small screen divided the space—there too lay two pillows scattered about. This was the grimy back second floor of a bathhouse in Kanda. Bathhouse women played shamisen and served sake; cheaper than Yoshiwara, they let customers stay overnight or linger indefinitely—one of many amusement bathhouses lining the alley. The two of them had already wallowed in debauchery for three mornings now. This continued what began two nights prior—when they fled the Ōoka household through rain-lashed darkness, soaked like drowned rats with empty pockets, and washed up here.

“Hey, Ichinoji. “What’re you spacing out for?” “Let’s go downstairs and take a quick dip. …Hey now, you lot—while we’re at it, whip up some tofu hot pot or whatever and heat up a flask of the hot stuff.” “Got it?” “And today, let’s practice yesterday’s kouta too.”

Ookame showed not a hint of exhaustion, whether asleep or awake. Was he born a natural rake, so effortlessly skilled at rousing women's anger, coaxing laughter, and kindling delight—all while boasting of extravagant luxuries without betraying the slightest trace of his penniless state? In stark contrast, even after coming here, Ichijuurou found his foster father's final words still clinging to his ears. He would try to gauge Onui's true feelings after that incident, brood over his brother and clan's wrath... Even lying beneath the red futon, he spent nights tormented by self-reproach—merely existing there left him seething with restless discontent. He could only watch in anxious suspense as his cousin Ookame pursued every indulgence to its limit.

“With such a short life meant for wringing every drop from this world—what’s the point of that small-hearted timidity? Quit your brooding, I say.” “And Osode—I’ll make damn sure you see her soon enough.” At the bathhouse washing area, while having Ichijuurou scrub his back, Ookame lectured haughtily. That back bore numerous sword wounds.

“……O-Ichi. When evening comes, I’ll go out for a bit to catch some air.”

While wiping a body that seemed the very embodiment of desire, he whispered again in a low voice. “Money.” “It’s money.” “I’ve gotta get my hands on some money somehow. Otherwise, wherever I swim from here on out won’t be fun or anything.” Ookame grinned with menacing amusement. Though he had just emerged from the bath, Ichijuurou broke out in goosebumps. He knew this man’s nature—once he acted, he’d show no regard for his own ferocity—and that those actions would instantly become acts of shared guilt for himself.

But now that things had come to this, all regrets and remorse fell short. Like a sheep to the slaughter, Ichijuurou began ascending the dimly lit staircase back to the rear second floor, following his imposing figure.

Then, from behind the secret curtain of the lower room emerged a disheveled samurai in his forties—a threatening long sword at his waist, eyes glinting dangerously, his thickly grown-out shaven pate—

“Oi. Little fledglings. Hold it right there.”

Right from the first move, he treated them like children and called them to a stop.

Carrying a child

“Fledglings,’ huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” “Don’t fuck with me.” Ookame descended from midway down the ladder, determined not to show any flinching as he spoke. “Did that get under your skin?” The disheveled samurai chuckled derisively. His twisted lips revealed silver teeth. The Silver Teeth Gang—said to be a gathering of corrupt hatamoto. This one’s trouble, Ookame thought with an involuntary flinch. “I’m a friend of the proprietor here—the brawler of Bathhouse Town—a man called Akazari Sanpei.” “I hear you’ve been carrying on with three whole days of this spoiled brat’s play—quite the feat.” “Do you have money?” “If you’ve got it, show me you can pay up once.”

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay. What’s three or four days’ petty tab?” “Hmph, is that so? Well, pay up.” “But not now. I’ll pay you back soon enough.”

“What?” Sanpei grabbed Ookame’s collar with his right hand and seized Ichijuurou’s wrist with his left. “You damn punk! You waltzed in here like drowned rats spouting big talk, but something seemed off. Just now, the proprietor and women checked your clothes and belongings—not a single coin, not even a pack of tissues on you.” “What impudent bastards!”

“Well, today I meant to have it sent from the estate.” “Estate? Where’s your damn hideout?” “Just don’t ask that. I’ll bring it for sure.” “……Ichinoji.” “Sorry, but stay here alone.” “I’ll go to the estate and make the steward scrape up some money.” “I’ll be back by noon without fail.” “Lord Akazari—this friend here’s the scion of a great house, a young lord still green in worldly ways.” “Take him as your hostage and let me go, won’t you?”

“You’ll have it here by noon?” “I’ll bring it without fail.” Ookame turned to his companion. “Well then, Ichinoji—you’ll be lonely, but stay put on your own for a while.” With his glib tongue and strangely submissive manner, even the formidable Akazari Sanpei found himself outmaneuvered—and thus Ookame made only cursory preparations before he darted out into the street before breakfast had even been served.

“The weather’s fine and all, but first thing in the morning, there’s no damn way to scrounge up any cash.”

Even malice was at a loss.

Late October’s crystal-clear midday. A shadowless sun. His malice, too, found no opening to spring into action.

“Right—I’ll go to Umega’s place and squeeze out some of Osode’s pocket money. If I say I’ll bring Ichinoji here—even leaving him as collateral should get three or five ryo—” Casually, he peeked into Umega’s house for the first time since that incident.

The sound of a child crying could be heard. Thinking it must be Oen, he entered the dirt-floored area and peered into the depths of the vista extending to the back river,

“Osode. Are you there?”

“Who is it?” Surprisingly, the response came in a man’s voice.

“Oh, if it isn’t Misokyu!” “Oh, it’s Ookame!” “What do you think you’re doing? Carrying a kid on your back and slaving away in the kitchen—how pathetic.”

“But I can’t just let this child wither away.” Kyuusuke washed chopsticks and bowls while soothing Oen, who kept crying on his back. “By the way…Osode?” “Since that night.” “…She’s vanished without a trace.”

“Huh? She’s been gone since that night?”

“Because she absolutely insisted on meeting Ichinoji, I took her to the Ōoka estate three nights ago, and...” “……She hasn’t come back here… or anywhere.”

“Huh... Surely she ain’t gone and thrown herself in the river or nothin’.” “Or maybe I was worried they’d killed her—couldn’t take it anymore—so yesterday I finally went and asked someone from the Ōoka family. So then, apparently that night, three or four servants forced Osode into a palanquin, carried her out, and just tossed the whole thing into the moat near Banchō before heading back—that’s what they’re saying. —I searched all over Banchō too, but there’s not a single clue.”

“Is Umega not here either?” “He left four or five days back and hasn’t returned.”

“Kyuusuke—just give me breakfast.” “Let’s think things over after eating.” Ookame immediately lay down. Resting his cheek on his hand, he surveyed the interior of the house until the meal was ready, then leisurely shoveled it in. “Kyuusuke, you don’t need to wash these things anymore.” “Instead of that, go call a night-fleeing dealer.” “What’s this ‘night-fleeing dealers’ nonsense?” “It’s a secondhand dealer.” “There must be one around here somewhere.” “If you keep dawdling, you’ll get dragged into the dog kennel incident as a suspect too.”

He threatened Misokyu into summoning a secondhand dealer, then sold off the entire household’s belongings for the offered price of seven ryō and two bu.

In due course, he handed two ryō to Misokyu, “I’m giving you this much—take it, get Ichinoji out of Chōjiya bathhouse, and go into hiding somewhere. As for me, I’ll be hitting the road a while longer in my straw sandals.” “After all, since the culprit behind the dog kennel incident still hasn’t been apprehended, the town magistrate’s practically foaming at the mouth.” “I’m countin’ on ya, Kyu no Ji.”

Like the wind, Ookame abandoned him at the town crossroads and vanished.

Kyuusuke immediately headed for Chōjiya.

Ichijuurou had been waiting, leaning out from the rear second floor. Contrary to his expectations—not only Ookame but also Kyuusuke had come—and seeing his own child being carried on the latter’s back, Ichijuurou felt his entire blood run cold. The women, having seen Kyuusuke pay the bill to the secret area there, “Oh! What a cute child!” “What a cute child!” They grabbed Oen and fussed over her, but upon realizing she was Ichijuurou’s child, abruptly shoved her back spitefully, “Well, isn’t she just loathsome!”

This time, they surrounded Ichijuurou and obstinately held him back, declaring they wouldn’t release him unless he returned her.

Tearing himself free from the women, Ichijuurou fled outside. Behind him, shrill laughter rang out, but in such a state that he couldn’t even see the path, he dashed all the way to Kamakura Riverbank.

“Ichinoji! “That’s cruel!” “Running away like this—that’s cruel!” “This brat’s your own kid! — Wait for me! Wait up!”

Kyuusuke came rushing from behind as well. Oen’s neck faced upward, shaking violently as she was carried along. Ichijuurou turned around and froze like a rod.

“Where’s Kameji? And Osode?” Along the willow trees just beginning to shed their leaves, Ichijuurou walked weakly like a will-o’-the-wisp as he rapidly asked his questions. And hearing from Kyuusuke’s mouth about Ookame’s outlandish actions and Osode’s disappearance since that night—his face grew clouded, greener than the moat’s murky waters.

“What should we do? …Ichinoji.” “Ichinoji.” Even good-natured Kyuusuke was becoming overwhelmed by the child on his back. He thrust Oen’s face into Ichijuurou’s view. Ichijuurou unfolded his crossed arms. Then he obediently turned his back toward them.

“She’s my child.” “I’ll carry her.” “…Kyuusuke, let me bear her on this back.”

The Beautiful Youth of the Back Alleys

November arrived. The cold bit into their very hearts. As they drifted between cheap lodgings, the coins in their pockets had dwindled away. Misokyu gazed up at the winter sky and sighed like a man mourning the dead. "Hey Ichinoji. We gotta do somethin', somewhere. Keep yammerin' 'bout how you can't steal or shake folks down—nothin' but coward's talk—an' this kid'll freeze stiff!" The two men wandered aimlessly through entertainment district alleys once more that day, taking turns carrying Oen on their backs.

Cold and hunger drove men blindly toward evil, but without veterans like Ookame and Anoujuu, even Misokyu was unable to snatch a single thing. All the more so for Ichijuurou—he lacked any talent in that field. Yet for Ichijuurou, this daily routine of carrying a wailing child through the town's desolate streets was beginning to hold a strange pleasure.—Osode, Osode, where are you? His heart remained perpetually adrift. When he considered these romantic tribulations as part of his search for her, hunger and cold meant nothing. The torn sedge hat hiding his disgrace—to himself alone—no longer seemed shameful. Even when sleet-laden winds lashed at his tattered straw sandals, the instant he glimpsed a figure resembling Osode's back in the crowd, fireworks erupted within his chest. After rushing over only to recognize his mistake, a bittersweet melancholy lingered mournfully within him, secretly transforming him into love's poet.

But—Osode’s whereabouts remained utterly unknown. Even as they discreetly inquired about possible leads while wandering, they couldn’t even ascertain whether she was alive or dead. And reality loomed before the two of them: how to secure tonight’s meal and shelter. Let helpless Oen starve to death—or abandon her as a foundling? Relentless circumstances pressed cruel decisions upon them without cease. “Ah, what a fine inrō.” “—If only we had that one inrō—” Kyuusuke was fixated on the waist of the beautiful youth walking ahead. He was tall and fair-skinned. Though dressed in rough clothes, he carried an air of innate nobility. From his hair down to his chin, he was wrapped in a purple cloth tied like a hood that draped loosely, wearing leather hakama and new straw sandals as he walked with a leisurely gait.

A back alley near theater-filled Sakai-cho— The rustling of several small shop banners in the dry wind assaulted their ears. It took them so long to reach the corner that they were already beginning to be enveloped in the noisy clamor from all around. While thinking this—unbeknownst to him, Kyuusuke, who had strayed from Ichijuurou’s side,

"Ah! I'm sorry!" In the midst of the crowd, the samurai bellowed loudly. The young child’s scream pierced through, jolting Ichijuurou’s chest. Oen was on Kyuusuke’s back. Even though he was carrying a child on his back, Kyuusuke staggered unsteadily behind the beautiful youth and snatched the inrō case from his waist.

However, the beautiful youth was not alone. A few steps behind him, a samurai—his face similarly concealed by a black cloth tied like a hood—had been secretly following. "You bastard—" Hannojo snarled, almost without a moment’s delay, as Kyuusuke’s collar was seized by the samurai’s swift hand and he was slammed toward the reed screen of a roadside food stall, somersaulting head over heels.

“What did you do? Hannojo?”

“The inrō at your waist appears to be missing.” “Hm… Gone. It’s gone.” “Was it stolen?”

“This scoundrel here.”

The retainer samurai called Hannojo snatched the inrō from Kyuusuke’s hand, "Do take care, your lordship." and returned it to the hand of the beautiful youth who appeared to be his master. In an instant, the surrounding people began to form a seething black mass. In unison, they shouted and cursed, calling him a pickpocket, a thief. But when they discovered Kyuusuke’s wretched figure—crouched by the reed screen’s edge, sniveling with the child on his back—the crowd’s eyes all wavered, exchanging looks of utter bewilderment.

At that moment, the beautiful youth's bright eyes turned toward Kyuusuke's figure. The exquisitely handsome countenance of an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old smiled beneath the hood. He appeared utterly amused by something. Then, clutching the inrō that had been returned to his hand,

“This? …Would a child want this?”

he tossed it with a plop toward Kyuusuke’s knees, then whirled—and vanished into the human tide.

The Shunned Hollyhock Crest

Last night, they slept on the temple porch. Tonight, at Otakegura's bamboo storage yard, father and child lay covered with straw mats, enduring the night frost. Kyuusuke had gone to sell that inrō since evening, and with no prying eyes around, Ichijuurou pressed his cheek against Oen's face as he held her. Something about it called to mind Osode's skin. "I wonder where your Mama is. Do you cry for Mama too? There now, there now. Getting hungry? Kyuusuke will bring something soon. Don't cry. Don't cry."

From time to time, he would stand and walk around, or sing a lullaby in a soft voice…… And as he sang his own lullaby, the young father grew sentimental and shed tears alone. For what reason had he left the mansion? He could no longer keep himself from doubting his own unsettling feelings now. Had I succumbed to my cousin’s temptation? Was the prospect of spending his future with house-bound Onui so loathsome? Was it from an unbearable feeling toward mansion life and the hypocrisy and emptiness of the samurai class?

Even if I counted them all through every last one none stood alone as reason. After all what burned hottest lay within me. That restless fire of youth demanding outlet after outlet—this blaze now scorched fate’s prairie through its own volition. A single small misstep had bred sin upon sin amassing karmic weight without end. Wildfire—this too mirrored youth’s conflagration. These flames owed their spark both to my own curiosity and undeniably to that companion who lit them—my cousin Kamejirou. Had he never existed I might have walked free of this destiny.

But do I truly regret this situation? If I truly regretted it—my foster father had said ("Go ahead and lose yourself completely"), adding ("And return anytime when you come to your senses")—even now I could still apologize for my past wrongs and return to the mansion. Yet I couldn't bring myself to abandon this child as a foundling. The longer I held her like this, the more her cuteness grew within me. Instinct or love—call it what you will—this incomprehensible obsession kept intensifying within me. No—the true nature of that obsession lay not with this child, but with Osode herself. Had there been no hope of seeing Osode again—the young father would undoubtedly have cast aside even this child as a roadside foundling—

All reasons seemed to exist, yet in reality there was nothing. There existed only Osode. Were he to find himself in circumstances blessed with mutual love with her, he would realize all other reasons had been as ephemeral as foam. Such was the essence of youth's tribulations—and Ichijuurou proved no exception.

“Brr, freezing!” “All that work for nothing.” “No buyers at all.” “This is what they mean by letting treasure go to waste.”

Before long, Kyuusuke returned. The inrō he’d tried to sell wouldn’t sell no matter where he showed it. The reason was that its maki-e design appeared to resemble the hollyhock crest. The hollyhock crest held the same sacred status as the dogs. Leave untouched gods unangered—that was common sense, and everyone avoided it. With Kyuusuke’s shabby appearance compared to such finery, buyers’ absence was only natural. “...But hey, Ichinoji,” “I bought a little something here—give it to little Oen.” “This child hasn’t done anything wrong…” “Hey there, little Oen.” “Oh! She laughed—looked right at me.”

Taking out a bag of candy and a bundle of manju, Kyuusuke fed them to Oen. ――Looking closer, Kyuusuke had lost the jacket he had been wearing and was down to just his undergarment. He must have taken off that grime-stained best outfit somewhere and used it to buy the meager souvenir. Ichijuurou’s eyes grew hot. Just then, a night-soba vendor passed by. The warm aroma of green onions and the smell of broth tormented their hunger. The gnawing of their stomachs churned saliva, driving them to an irrepressible, wretched urge.

“Oh—soba vendor!” Kyuusuke called out as if forgetting himself, then blurted, “Give us two hot ones.”

Frostbound Nocturne Eventually, the two of them, their hands numbed by cold, cradled bowls of night-soba and ate together, blowing steam from their mouths. The blood in their bodies surged with vigor as though kindled by life's fire, warming them to their fingertips. They didn't notice snot dripping from their chopsticks. Let no one call this wretched. Supreme bliss was enlightenment itself. Humans were creatures who found utter contentment in such trivial, momentary things. They felt neither pain nor itch. Honor, gain, strife, shame—none of those existed. Love, lust—those too belonged to what came after.

“Ahh, that was delicious…” Kyuusuke returned the chopsticks and bowl to the soba vendor, then heaved a deep sigh toward the heavens. Ichijuurou was giving the leftover broth at the bottom of the bowl to Oen’s mouth. “Seconds?...” said the soba vendor. Kyuusuke looked very much like he wanted to ask for another bowl, but his face showed he was wrestling with himself internally. And hesitantly, under the soba vendor’s cart lantern, he produced that inrō with a casual flick.

“Soba vendor.” “Well, I don’t have any money.” “How about I use this as collateral for another bowl?” “What’s this…?” The soba vendor stared at it without taking it in his hands, “This here—isn’t this an inrō bearing Lord Kii’s crest?” “That’s right.” “It’s not stolen.” “I received it from a fine young lord in a purple hood at the back alley of Sakaimachi.” “Huh, I see. Then it must not be a lie.” “That young lord is rumored to be Lord Tokugawa Shinnosuke—the third son of Lord Kii—who often slips incognito into town from the Akasaka estate.” “…But why would he give an inrō to you folks?”

“He threw it down as a toy for this child.”

“Hmm, you think so?” “He might indulge in such whims.” “After all, he’s quite the eccentric young lord.” “―Just the other day, you see, such a thing happened—and that’s how people in that neighborhood first learned that young lord was Lord Shinnosuke, the third son of Lord Kii and still a dependent in residence.”

With that, the soba vendor packed his pipe with a puff, leaned against his carrying pole, and began to speak.

As expected of the son of a certain senior councillor from the Yanagisawa faction, he too would come to Sakaimachi in incognito attire, always parading his prized Tosa dog on a silver chain through bustling entertainment districts. He took pleasure in having this ferocious noble hound clear paths through crowds, delighting as people recoiled in terror.

While he was watching the play, he would entrust it to the theater attendant and enter. The theater attendant had specially prepared a separate seat at the entrance for the esteemed dog, spread a scarlet carpet on the ground, and tethered it to a fresh green bamboo. Then, one day, a young man of no mean status stood before it. And then, suddenly, he stroked the esteemed dog with the tip of his foot. The watchdog of the powerful family—perhaps accustomed to viewing humans as beneath cats and rats—bared its Tosa dog’s distinctive fangs at this human’s insolence and ferociously sank them into the young man’s exposed ankle. The watching crowd gasped, their blood running cold. They must have thought there was no time left to pull back his leg. Yet—whether to call it audacity or grandeur of spirit—the young man transformed his toes into a blade in that instant. Contrary to retreating, he suddenly thrust his foot deep into the Tosa dog’s maw with such force it might have pierced through to its stomach.

Even such a fierce dog seemed to have no time to bare its fangs against this; with a retching groan as if vomiting its guts, it collapsed. Though not killed outright, it let out a shrill bark and completely drooped its tail. It was not the dog’s voice but the cheers of the watching crowd that shook the front of the hut. Before the laws of power and misrule—forced to swallow unbearable humiliation and stifled rage—the commoners, witnessing the young man’s righteous self-defense against the “esteemed dog’s” violence, could not help but vent their pent-up bitterness, erupting into a frenzy of elation that bordered on delirium.

The senior councillor’s son and his retainers came rushing out from inside the hut, their faces twisted in fury. The young man still had not left, remaining as composed as ever. The theater attendant, bound by duty, immediately rushed off to summon the town officials. Of course, even in such a bustling district, dog overseers were stationed everywhere. An unruly wretch who feared no law—moreover, daring to kick the esteemed dog raised by His Excellency the Senior Councillor—given such precedents, death by execution and public display was a foregone conclusion, sparking a great uproar to apprehend him.

Moreover, the young man remained utterly composed. The officials and constables closed in. After assessing his demeanor, the dog overseers questioned him briefly. But then, the officials all lost their initial ferocity like dogs, and after conferring furtively with the senior councillor's son and his entourage, they dispersed without further incident. Since that incident, the young lord's identity had become an open secret in this neighborhood. He was the grandson of Yorinobu, the Kii Dainagon, and third son of Sadamitsu—still a dependent in residence yet holding dominion over 30,000 koku in Echizen Niu. In recent years, he had been granted an audience with Shogun Tsunayoshi, who favored his effortless talents. His childhood name Genroku had been changed to Shinnosuke; after undergoing his coming-of-age ceremony, he was appointed to Junior Fourth Rank and named Left Gate Guards Lieutenant—thus it became known that this was one troublesome young lord.

The soba vendor, who seemed to have ears as swift as the wind in the streets, had been chattering away, but suddenly thrust the carrying pole into his load, “A hollyhock-crested inrō is no better than a wind chime to a place like the Night Hawk Soba Shop.” “I’ll pass on this. …But here you are—decent young men—carrying a child on a frosty night. What’s your story?” “Did your old lady get herself a lover and run you out, huh?” “I’ll cover the soba for the kid.” “Don’t go letting her catch a cold now.”

With that, he left.

Night turned to day; day gave way to night; yet still people managed to keep eating. Kyuusuke would scavenge for food and bring it back. At times they even had coins, and when they did, they slept on thin rented futons. The hollyhock-crested inrō became Oen's favorite plaything, but Ichijuurou—deeming even that noble lord's kindness too precious to squander—had since made her carry it alongside a protective amulet bag tied to her obi sash.

An unsaddled horse

“Ah, thief! —Thief! Thief!”

Like a hurled stone, a man came fleeing. There were two or three pursuers. One of them was holding something like a curtain pole. The town was just at the hour of preparing the evening meal, hazy as though shrouded in mist. If one were to wait for twilight only to be caught so easily, they’d surely end up a petty thief before long. “He turned! —Went through there! —Catch him!” “Thief! Thief!”

The thief fled desperately, circling Ishimachi’s bell tower round and round until cornered again, then bolted toward Setomono-cho—but just then, two patrolling constables happened by, joined by three or four guards from the nearby station. The more he ran, the fiercer the pursuit grew, sparking an uproar as if chasing some notorious criminal. Near the former residence of Umega in Kyōbashi-jiri, there was a wide vacant lot along the river. Beside a remaining chestnut grove stood two or three tenement lodgings with leaning eaves.

Ichijuurou casually leaned his head out from the broken window there—for no sooner had he heard the clattering of fierce footsteps nearby than a voice strikingly similar to Kyuusuke’s seemed to suddenly cry out from the direction of the chestnut grove.

“Oh?” He could see a man being brutally dragged along, surrounded by figures who appeared to be constables. Each time they struck him, a voice that mingled weeping and screaming reached his ears. The group passed between the tenement row houses and Funatama Shrine before emerging onto the main street. "Kyuusuke!" Stunned—he abandoned Oen’s crying behind him and burst out from the tenement’s earthen-floored entryway. In the thoroughfare where dusk thickened, a crowd of shadowy figures stood clustered together, all pointing at the bound captive. There walked a small-statured man with a rope around his waist, head hung low in dejection—it was unmistakably Kyuusuke.

“...Oh!”

“Kyuusuke—” Ichijuurou swallowed the cry that had risen to his throat and clasped his trembling chest with bleak despair. Dear gods—was there no way to save him? Even if he had committed the crime, the responsibility for it lay with me. Hadn’t he himself known by what means those small coins and food Kyuusuke brought were obtained? The innate kindness he possessed—that guileless nature of his—and how he found supreme, childlike joy in witnessing others’ children’s happiness—how could anyone call such a man a villain?

But clearly, he committed theft. No matter what crime he was charged with, he was undoubtedly a bound prisoner who could raise no objections. Ichijuurou was tormented. He etched the signs of anguish so deeply upon his face that, had anyone noticed, it would have aroused suspicion. At that moment, Kyuusuke too seemed to notice his figure. He suddenly halted mid-step as if to linger, but at the barked command to move, was immediately struck with the rope’s end. With eyes cast downward, he turned the twilight street corner while stealing glances toward Ichijuurou, trudging away dejectedly.

A petty crime born of momentary weakness. It probably wouldn’t be a long imprisonment. “When he comes out, I’ll apologize profusely—” So Ichijuurou resolved to postpone his self-reproach for another day, and continued carrying the child on his back from that tenement each day, wandering aimlessly. But—there was no word of Osode whatsoever, and not even a hoped-for chance encounter came to pass. That had now become his primary objective, but he also needed money for the daily lodging fees. He carried Oen on his back, his face deeply hidden beneath a tattered woven hat, standing shamefacedly at people’s doorsteps while chanting Noh verses—choosing to walk through artisan districts in places like Asakusa and Shitaya where he’d attract little notice.

Since this path had no fixed destination, Since this path had no fixed destination, Where might one rest? The town had already entered December. The bustle of year's end. Through this bustle, he continued to chant Kanze-ryū Noh verses with worldly detachment—yet none reproached him, and alms coins rarely alighted upon his fan. And now, with snow fallen, Firewood from snow-capped peaks where one served a hermit "Thus verily it must be" "I too, my body――"

〝The Potted Trees for the Abandoned One〟 〝Though I cut them down, verily I shall not regret〟

When I brush away the snow and look—

How splendid! What now shall I do?

Today too, while chanting a passage from "The Potted Trees," he emerged from Torigoe toward Asakusa Mitsuke when the town suddenly erupted into a clamor of footsteps. A group racing past his side bellowed "Outta the way!" and shoved him forward the instant they barked their warning. "What's this? What's happening?" "What's coming through?" "It's a public shaming!" "A criminal!" "They're parading him on bareback horses!" "The vandal who hit Nakano's dog kennels this summer got caught." "After being dragged through every ward of Edo, they're taking him to Kozukappara now."

“Huh.” “It’s the Nakano kennel vandal.” “We oughta bow down to that guy—show some damn respect!”

As they exchanged words and scrambled onward, their feet churning up horse-dung-brown dust under the parched December noon, both sides of the road were now thronged with spectators.

Gray Procession

On this day, the Edo town magistrate had resolved a long-pending difficult problem and regained a semblance of brightness for the first time in over a hundred days. After all, it had been widely rumored that Niwa Tōtōmi-no-kami, the current Edo Town Magistrate, would likely be forced to commit seppuku before year’s end. The incident of over ten dogs perishing overnight at Nakano Kennel had, of course, reached the ears of Shogun Tsunayoshi, his mother Keishō-in, and Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, The situation was deemed “no trivial matter”—they were appalled at this “national calamity,” and figures like Ryūkō of Gohōin even regarded it as an ideological crime, declaring: “This must assuredly be the work of those who curse the shogunate’s august authority and harbor treacherous discontent and rebellion against His Excellency’s governance. Such individuals must be rooted out from every last blade of grass and made examples to society through extreme punishment—otherwise, who knows what manner of malcontents may arise next?”

he even went so far as to make his customary recommendation. Tsunayoshi, already enraged, had strictly ordered Town Magistrate Niwa Tōtōmi-no-kami through the senior councilors to apprehend the culprits by a set deadline. However, making those arrests proved far from easy. The reason given was that the incident stemmed entirely from selfless acts. Because of this, conventional investigative methods—tracking footprints or tracing stolen goods—were rendered utterly useless. All they had was a single fish basket—apparently containing poisoned dumplings—discarded in Nakano’s mixed forest. That was all.

The hundred-day deadline was finally postponed through explanations from the senior councilors, and furthermore, the deadline for arresting the culprits was extended by fifty days. Beyond that point, Niwa Tōtōmi-no-kami’s position had become so dire that he had no recourse but to apologize for his incompetence as magistrate and commit seppuku—the situation had reached critical urgency. The town gossips, blurring truth and rumor, clamorously discussed such matters while waiting with bated breath for the bareback procession to the Sanzu River. Before long, led by execution ground laborers shouldering rusted spears, those bearing aloft wooden placards detailing crimes and the bamboo hats of guard officials flanking bareback horses came into view.

Three bareback horses. Each horse bore a prisoner in convict garb bound to its back. All of them were emaciated like grasshoppers, their eyes sunken, their hair and beards wildly overgrown. Upon the nobori banners that resembled white funeral flags, their crimes were inscribed in thick black characters, and bringing up the very rear came two monks clutching prayer beads—for reasons unknown—following along in wooden clogs. —A chillingly gray procession that seemed to belong to neither this world nor the next.

Ichijuurou doubted his eyes—he too stood among the roadside crowd. —and then looked at the back of one of the three leading bareback horses. Could it be—though his appearance had altered—wasn’t that Kyuusuke the miso seller arrested for a minor offense about a month prior? "Could it be?" he thought, staring intently and steadying his heart as he watched it pass right before his eyes—so overwhelmed that he nearly forgot the child on his back and almost rushed toward it.

“……Kyuusuke!” “Oh, what can I do?” His head swam with some inexplicable doubt. Anoujuu wouldn’t know about this. Ookame wouldn’t know about this. What of Kyuusuke? ……He couldn’t believe it. —But immediately, the next bareback horse passed by. The person atop it was someone he didn’t recognize at all. Then, the third bareback horse passed by. He didn’t recognize the person atop that one either.—Only Kyuusuke. Only Kyuusuke passed endlessly, endlessly through his mind along the endless road to death. Even if he tried to banish it, that pitiful figure would never fade from his mind for the rest of his life.

But among the spectators’ voices, none of the usual abusive curses or anger directed at common criminals—robbers, arsonists, murderers—could be heard. Rather, they were tacitly sympathizing with those bound to the bareback horses. Some recited Buddhist prayers. Some clasped their hands in secret prayer. Others watched with eyes that all but declared, "Well done." Those figures too, in a manner befitting December, swarmed together and scattered just as swiftly. All that remained afterward was the withered willow by the roadside and Ooka Ichijuurou.

“Well ain’t this a rare sight! Ichijuurou! You’re Oichi for sure!”

Contrary to expectations, yet another figure stood in the shadow of the willow tree—a ronin who had thrust a long sword into his obi and roughly pulled a coarsely woven Kumagai-gasa hat down over his face. “Wh-who... who are you?” “There ain’t no ‘could be’ about it. You can’t go forgetting me now. As for Osode—the one who birthed that child—I, Anoujuu, had my eye on her way before you did.”

“Oh, Anoujuu?” “Oichi.” “Have you met Osode lately?”

Midday darkness

The reed-screen enclosure of a tea-rice shop where prostitutes from this area would gather at night. There were many such places at Omaya Riverbank. —Ichijuurou was led inside, “Ah, no need for formalities.” He sat down on the stool Anoujuu indicated. “A celebration! Today even I’ve got cause to celebrate. —Hey proprietor, heat us some sake. And bring decent appetizers.” He too settled cross-legged on the stool, leaning forward in a hushed tone as he spoke through half-covered lips.

“The pitiful one here’s poor gullible Misokyu—but with this, the whole affair’s been neatly wrapped up.” “Magistrates—when those bastards face seppuku themselves, you’ve no idea what they’ll do.” “You saw those bareback horses earlier, yeah?” “Of those three culprits, Kyuusuke’s half a culprit at best—the other two’re just the magistrate’s scapegoats.” “Grabbed some mute beggar or half-wit criminal and framed ’em as dog killers—no doubt.” “Heh heh heh. For us, this’s nothing but dumb luck.” “If they’d just laid low proper, I always figured they’d end up settling things this way.”

And then, defiantly, he also said: “Ah, well—even the senior councillors and the shogun—it’s all Yanagisawa’s world now.” “Magistrates can’t stomach seppuku either—so they just route everything through Yanagisawa’s inner circles. Do that much, and anything becomes possible.—How’s that?” “What a farce the world is!” “Especially when you walk the backstreets—” When the sake arrived, he fell silent for a moment, but soon resumed in a whisper, leaning forward, this time beginning to speak of Osode.

“——Have you been searching that hard for her?”

This was what he had been saying since they began making their way here.

According to Anoujuu, "I've been seeing Osode now and then. Around last month, it was practically every night." With casual ease, he insinuated this, then watched sidelong as Ichijuurou's face paled—"We'll discuss the details later..."—and thus they had reached this juncture. "I'll let you meet her. Anytime." Anoujuu gulped down a cup of sake and thrust it into Ichijuurou's hands, "If you'd come to me sooner, I'd have taken you anytime..."

Yet he still refused to clearly state her whereabouts. Ichijuurou was left in suspense without any means. He had inadvertently flashed eyes of righteous indignation at the corruption Anoujuu described among the shogunate’s upper echelons and magistrates—but once he caught a whiff of a clue to Osode’s whereabouts, all resolve evaporated from his heart. Stripped of every shred of pride, he bowed his head before Anoujuu again and again.

“Alright, I’ll let you meet her for sure. “I hate layabouts like Ookame. “I promise—an ironclad promise.” “It is precisely as you say. “I implore you.”

“Right, don’t get all formal on me, Oichi. I’m samurai-born too—can’t help turning stiff myself. So instead of that promise, there’s something I want you to bring me.”

“What is it?” “The thing you’re telling me to bring—”

“Among your relatives, there was definitely one called Ōoka Hyōkurō, wasn’t there? The residence is in Ushigome. He’s an old hand at the Minor Repairs Magistrate.” “There is. He was the one who arranged my adoption into the Ōoka Tadaemon household, serving as mediator during that time.” “Is that so.” “Hmm…” “How about you go to that Hyōkurō’s estate and bring me Edo Castle’s treasury blueprints? Nah, they’ve got one. Any Minor Repairs Group household’s bound to have it.—What? You can’t just go borrow it?” “Don’t be dense! Nobody lends that sort of thing, no matter how close you are.” “Sneak in and liberate it quietly. You’d know the estate’s layout, right? I ain’t telling you to pinch coin or anything.” “Go on—try it. Perfect test of your mettle… And I’ll even let you see Osode.” “Swear on my life—not a lick of falsehood in it!”

Under the whispered eloquence, Ichijuurou had no chance to respond much. This Anoujuu possessed a covert yet powerful magnetism distinct from his cousin Ookame. It was an assimilative force that, once you shared their darkness, wouldn’t rest until it made you peer into the very depths of the abyss. He was also an extraordinary master of temptation. Even as Ichijuurou wavered, Anoujuu casually dropped mentions of Osode, made him take the child on his back down to feed and soothe her, and thereby intensified all the more in Ichijuurou a pity for the child who yearned for her mother.

He closed his eyes—

“Then when?” Ichijuurou finally blurted out. “Would you let me meet Osode?” Anoujuu answered “anytime,” but added that he wanted those blueprints obtained as soon as possible within the year. “Let’s meet again here on this month’s thirteenth night.” He firmly promised that if Ichijuurou obtained the blueprints by then—he could go straight to where Osode was. “I will bring it.” “By the thirteenth night.” “Then I’ll be waiting right here.”

"I understand... But the problem is this child." "If I take this child with me, I can hardly move freely." "That's settled then." "I'll take custody of her." "I will."

And Anoujuu had already pulled her onto his lap. Yet Ichijuurou remained full of unease toward him, and when he showed apprehension about leaving the child with inexperienced hands, Anoujuu—already in a tipsy mood—threw back his head and laughed loudly. "I'll get into a palanquin right now and head straight to where Osode is—it's not far." "Rather than being exposed to the cold wind on your back, being held against that comely mother's ample breasts would be so much better for this child, don't you think?" "Hahahaha! ...If I had to say, you're the one longing for those breasts more than Oen is, aren't you?"

Ichijuurou felt he had been told the truth. By the time he went out with him beyond the reed screen of the tea-and-rice shop, he had strangely forgotten where his conscience resided, his heart occupied solely by the prospect of seeing Osode—even feeling a faint glimmer within for the first time in ages.

“For your expenses in the meantime.”

With that, Anoujuu passed two or three silver coins into his hand and immediately hailed a town palanquin at the bridge’s edge—

“Hey.” “To Banchō,” he said as he got into the palanquin with Oen in his arms. “To Banchō?” ... “Hmm... He did say something about going to Banchō—” Ichijuurou kept watching the shadow of the receding town palanquin for what felt like an eternity. And he imagined white breasts that Koyoi-ko would cling to—still in midday darkness where sunlight lingered high.

A thief he’d seen before

“Shudon, let’s stop.” “I’m not in the mood either, and you seem rather out of sorts—” Hyōkurō swept the go stones together with a gritty scrape and pushed the board aside.

He called a servant. “Bring it,” he said dully. It was the evening meal tray that had been kept waiting. The sake had been reheated and candles lit, “Let’s have a drink.” “Well, from you first, Uncle.” They began, but the lonely emptiness they had shared during their Go game lingered still—in both the meal tray and the sake cups.

On the slope leading through Ushigome's Akagi-shita. In this area, nestled against the cliff, there were many small residences of the kobushin-gumi. Ōoka Hyōkurō too, at one of those houses, had caught his nephew who had come for year-end greetings and tried whiling away his desolate mood of late through a game of Go. "Shudon. Do you visit Akasaka occasionally?" "Do you visit Akasaka occasionally?"

“Yes. I paid my respects briefly yesterday as well.”

“I see. Out of pity, I’ve neglected my visits—but how fares Lord Chuuzou’s condition these days? Has there been any improvement at all?”

“Well... It seems his condition has only worsened day by day this time.” “Lord Chuuzou was known for his considerable fortitude, but given his age... The worries concerning Ichijuurou have grown heavier—it must have taken its toll on him as well. …Let us pray that Onui does not fall ill alongside him.” “Whenever I see Lady Onui’s figure, I—as Ichijuurou’s older brother—feel my guts torn by remorse, and can only bow in apology within my heart……”

From time to time, the sound of fallen leaves striking the eaves created the illusion that it was raining.

Rain. When they associated it with rain, both Shudon and Hyōkurō were plunged into the same memory. Nearly two months had already passed. That night too had been a pitch-black rainy night. The figure of Ichijuurou—that demon-possessed Ichijuurou who had abandoned his adoptive father Chuuzouemon and betrothed Onui to flee the Akasaka estate—still revives in their ears even now, mingled with the mournful rain and stifled sobs of that time. Bitterly, it gnaws at their hearts.

(Where in the world could he be wandering this year's end? I hope he hasn't gotten too involved with bad companions. And if only he would come knocking on this house's door, repenting...) To call him a hateful brother, a detestable wretch—such words would instantly ignite their fury, but deep within, both Shudon and Hyōkurō—their feelings had not changed from this prayerful state.

“I will take my leave before the night grows too late. “It’s cold enough to snow.” “Uncle, please take care not to catch a cold as the year draws to a close.”

“Are you leaving already? …Even if I tried to stop you, somehow right now, our hearts would find no comfort.” “I’m in good health, but when you have time from official duties, go visit Akasaka for me from time to time.” “There is nothing more to say to your words.” “Well then…” With Hyōkurō seeing him off, Shudon exited through the entrance. Then, as he groped his way along the dark stepping stones toward the gate, a shutter clattered unnaturally against the sleeve fence’s shadow, and something unmistakably human slipped through the garden trees and climbed onto the roof of the wall.

“Thief!” “Uncle! Someone has broken into your room!” After shouting this warning into the house, Shudon burst out into the street. Like a solitary leaf buffeted by winter winds, the thief’s shadow was already fleeing down the slope. ——With a curse, Shudon gave chase as though flying. He closed the gap between them in an instant.

The thief turned like a weasel—"This is—"—and broke into a desperate run, but upon rounding the bend at the slope's base, both the pursuing footsteps and shouts from behind now reached his ears. “Stop! Thief!” As if pierced by the shout, the thief flinched and froze for an instant—but Shudon, now close, was struck by an even greater shock. “Ah—Brother! You’re Ichijuurou, aren’t you?!”

The thief, staggering, looked back and made a gesture as if clasping his hands. But Shudon's astonishment only fueled greater fury; his feet kicked up sand, and now his hand was mere inches from grasping the thief's collar.

However, in that instant, Shudon's body collapsed with violent force toward the roots of a roadside tree. The reason was this—suddenly, a figure in a rough straw hat emerged from the shadows and collided with him from the side; with a heavy thud from either weapon or fist, it knocked him down before streaking away like the wind in the direction opposite to the thief’s shadow.

Blind Path

It was an evening heavy with snow. How many waterfowl crowded the river that day!

The appointed day—the Thirteenth of the Twelfth Month. Ichijuurou showed his bleak figure—clad in his usual layered kimono, old woven hat, and emaciated sword—before the tea-and-rice shop at Oumayagashi and peered through the reed screen,

"I wonder if he’s here?" With that, he searched the benches at the back for any sign of Anoujuu, whom he had parted with there previously.

“Oichi. You made it.” When his back was tapped and he turned around, there stood Anoujuu—wearing the same rough-woven straw hat low over his brows as before and grinning meaninglessly, true to this man’s peculiar habit.

“Ah.” “You had already arrived before me.”

"Nah, just now. Perfect timing. C'mon, let's have a drink and warm up," he said, entering the establishment and ordering standard dishes like stew and hot sake. When the alcohol had properly warmed their bellies—Anou promptly launched into conversation. "Now then—about that thing we agreed on. What's your move?"

“I have brought it.” “What? You brought it?” “That’s bold!” “Let me see it then.” “But... there are eyes here.” “Nonsense! You think these folks know what they’re looking at?” Anoujuu pressed with his gaze as Ichijuurou apprehensively withdrew an item from his inner pocket, turning his back to meticulously unfold and examine it. “Right—got it for sure now.”

It was a single document folded into several sections. After tucking it deep into his own pocket, Anoujuu grinned meaninglessly again.

"Ichinoji. “You put on quite the show last night.” “With that, if you grow just a bit more backbone, you’ll be a proper pro soon enough.”

“Huh? Last night…?” “Come on, Oichi. If you’d gone and bungled things, I can’t have you failing to recognize the very savior who came to rescue you, now can I? At Akagishita, I tell you. You’d have been caught right then and there though.” “Ah—” He suppressed the surprise that threatened to show on his face. “Then... that figure who suddenly collided with my brother from behind and knocked him down at that time—” “Oh, that was me. Good thing I’d been patrolling near the Kobushin mansions every night, anticipating such a thing might happen. But… that man was your older brother, wasn’t he?”

"Though I was absorbed in the moment, the voice that twice roared at my back did seem to belong to my brother Shudon." "That's—damn it!"

"What? 'Damn it'—did something happen that time?" “No,” Anoujuu hastily shook his head, “ain’t nothin’ like that.” "Could it be... did something happen to my brother’s body?" Without answering, Anoujuu clapped his hands. He paid the tea shop owner and was already putting on his hat.

He went outside. Ichijuurou also exited as if clinging close, then pressed strongly toward the man’s demeanor—a face that seemed to have forgotten. “It’s a promise, Anou. "Tell me where Osode is." “—Isn’t that the promise?”

“I know，Oichi．Don’t get flustered．”

Anoujuu walked toward Mueno Watashi with feigned nonchalance, taking large strides, then raised his hand toward the crouched gathering spot of palanquin bearers. “Two palanquins—to Banchō.”

He handed over the palanquin fare in advance and was explaining something about the route in meticulous detail. Then, boarding the front palanquin himself and assigning the rear one to Ichijuurou, "I'll keep my promise to let you see Osode—but don't go flaunting your reunion too brazenly." With that teasing remark, he disappeared into the palanquin's interior. Night deepened within the enclosed space. "—Snow tomorrow," the palanquin bearer panted as he ran. Ichijuurou remained oblivious to the cold seeping into his knees. The terror of last night's crime had already faded from his mind. Even his fleeting anxiety about Brother Shudon's safety had vanished without trace. His heart held only the prospect of meeting Osode. No one untouched by love could fathom this swelling joy—this single-minded passion burning through all reason.

“Ah… Palanquin bearer. Why are you stopping? Why are you stopping? We’ll lose sight of the front palanquin!” “Master,” the palanquin bearer replied calmly. “My partner’s straw sandal thong broke. —Please wait just a moment.” “I can wait—but what about the front palanquin?”

“We’ve already ascertained the destination, so even if you follow later, there’s no need for concern.” “No—this is bad!”

“Wait.” “Why don’t you have a smoke?” “—You’ll catch up in no time.”

“Stop them.” “The front one.” “—It’s already out of sight, sir.”

"Wh-what?" When Ichijuurou rushed out, the palanquin bearer fled instantly, leaving nothing visible ahead or behind but outer moat water and withered willow shadows. Storehouse latticework. "I've been tricked—" When realization struck, he stamped his feet—not from anger toward the deceiver, but from Osode's figure suddenly becoming as distant as the stars.

His sideburns cut through the gale. His feet, forgetting even to wear sandals, ran and ran without feeling the cold or pain of the frozen earth—chasing after the Bra lantern ahead, which by all means shouldn’t have gotten too far yet. He caught up. Sure enough, a flicker appeared ahead. That was definitely it. But this time, Ichijuurou turned the tables on Anou. Eventually confirming the gate of the abandoned estate where the palanquin’s light had stopped, he concealed himself beside the collapsed earthen wall there. After making sure Anou had gone inside, he too vaulted over the earthen wall.

The interior was vast. It appeared to be a residence of at least a thousand koku, yet its state of ruin rivaled that of an uninhabited mountain temple. There was no sign of any proper locks. Ichijuurou entered the interior of the building with ease.

Not a single light was lit in any of the rooms, but from the central hall of the house, a bright glow spilled forth. Not only that, but a strange human odor—thick and warm—came flowing from there. "Oh… So this is where they are." Peering through the narrow gap in the slightly opened cedar door, Ichijuurou was seized by suspicion. And immediately, he doubted whether Osode would be in such a place. A horrific gambling den scene filled his vision. Disgraced hatamoto, miscellaneous samurai riffraff, doctor-types, merchant-class men, monks, women—they formed a circle and were fighting frantically over each round of gambling with bloodshot eyes. But among those several women, Osode was nowhere to be seen. The only familiar face was that of Anoujuu, who had just entered here.

Anou had approached the man who looked most arrogantly self-important among this crowd and was peering at the gambling match. The man was around fifty. He was likely the owner of this abandoned estate. When addressing him, those in the room would specifically call him "Banchō-sama" or use honorifics like "Gyobusho-sama." Gyobusho-sama was an exceptionally ugly man, yet his very appearance—bulging muscles that seemed to strain even when bending—demonstrated beyond doubt that he possessed both the wealth to subjugate disreputable samurai and fallen hatamoto, and the physical strength to match. Moreover, when he moved his thick, boar-like neck and shifted his eyes from that greasy, flushed face—whether from burns or scars—the flesh of one eyelid twitched upward with half the eyebrow missing, giving him an intensely ferocious presence that weighed heavily on those around him.

Before long, Anou—

“Gyobusho-sama.” “...when you have a moment.”

After whispering this, he and Gyobusho-sama came together toward the cedar door where Ichijuurou was peering.

Ichijuurou was bewildered. He panicked. But the two men who had emerged immediately began a standing conversation in the darkness. "...What do you think? This." “This here.” “Oh. “The Ninomaru gold storehouse blueprint, eh?” “You managed to get it, Anou.” "But in return, it was a hell of a struggle." “The reward’s gotta be plenty hefty to make up for it.” “Quit your petty scheming. “The work’s just beginning.” "But as for Ichijuurou, who you used as a pawn to take this out—what do you plan to do with him?"

“I’d promised to let them meet Osode, but it’s such a damn hassle—gave the palanquin bearers some drinking money and ditched them halfway.”

“How pitiful. Should’ve let ’em meet. …No need to hold back on my account, Anou.”

"But if it could be managed without letting them meet, even you, Gyobusho-sama, probably wouldn’t have let them meet either." “Nonsense. “I don’t think so. “I even felt like making them clash—if you were going to bring them, I told you to go ahead and do it, but— “……Ah, whatever. “Anyway—the blueprint stays with me. “As for any discussions—we’ll save those for later.”

“Well then, as agreed.” “Hmm, I’ve received it. …Oh.” “Seems that brat’s squealing up on the storehouse’s second floor again. But Anou—that thing you dragged in here the other day was one hell of a nuisance.” “We can’t exactly take it to the dog kennel, you know.” “We’ll just send it off to foster care soon enough.” “Why’d it have to go and be born a human brat?” “Should’ve popped out as a damn puppy instead……”

The two had been gazing at the storehouse from the corridor window but soon concealed themselves back in the main hall. Ichijuurou crawled out from the cover of the small room. And he clung to the window where the two men had stood, scanning the graveyard-like rear garden here. There were two storehouses. From the large lattice at the entrance of one storehouse emanated a faint lamplight—a dim light so faint that one wouldn’t notice it unless consciously recognized as lamplight—flickering outward faintly.

The cries of a young child could be heard from there. It must be Oen. The cries immediately stirred the blood of kinship within him. They ceaselessly tormented the human conscience of a father. Ichijuurou sent his frenzied shadow wandering, then each time went out like a drunken cat. And he pressed his face against the storehouse lattice.

A Changed Blossom “Who…? Who’s there?” A woman’s voice challenged from the storehouse’s second floor. Despite the heavy keyaki door downstairs creaking open bit by bit with a grating noise, there was an eerie sense that no one was actually coming up. Osode—who had been breastfeeding Oen—gently pulled away from the sleeping child’s face— “Who are you?”

While adjusting the white skin of her chest, she raised herself up and peered into the dark ladder opening once more, as if looking down. “Oh. Osode…” A voice like an echo answered. The next footsteps were unnaturally loud. Osode turned her face away as if recoiling, her entire body momentarily shuddering pale before curling tightly into a ball.

Dazedly standing there, tears streaming down his face, Ichijuurou took a moment to steady his ragged breathing. As he did so, he saw the figure of his lover before him vividly not as a dream but as reality, and confronted by his own past resolve, found himself unable to refrain from self-reproach. At once, even his struggle against all hunger, cold, and bitterness slackened in his heart—as if his bones, flesh, and sinews were disintegrating all at once—and he thudded down to sit there.

“Osode. “It’s me—Ichijuurou. …These dozens of days.” “How I searched for you…” “…………” “Ah, even so… I’m glad we could meet like this.” “Thankfully, you’ve stayed safe.” “I won’t leave you! I won’t part from you!” “Hey… Osode.” “…………”

Osode remained prostrate, not showing her face. She hadn’t responded since earlier. Yet with each word from Ichijuurou, her back betrayed violent waves of emotion. At last, sobs escaped from beneath the face she wouldn’t show, every strand of black hair quivering as though weeping.

“…What’s wrong? “Osode.” “Aren’t you happy?” “Come now—it’s not as though you want to stay in a place like this.” “Oen—I’ll carry her on my back.” “You must prepare yourself.” “The two of us—we’ll raise this child—let’s live happily from now on.” “No matter what life we may lead.”

As he sidled closer, slipped an arm around her back, pressed his cheek to hers, and whispered into her crimson ear, Osode suddenly reared up and violently shoved Ichijuurou’s shoulder.

“What now—coming here at this late hour—” “What do you mean, ‘We won’t part’ or ‘We won’t separate’ now? C-Coming here… at this hour…” “W-What’re you doing here…?”

“Ah—ah! Osode, what delusion are you under?” “—Ichijuurou.” As if forcing herself not to cry any longer, Osode gritted her teeth until their roots ground together. Except for the redness at the corners of her eyes and her ears, she had lost all blood from the surface of her skin to the tips of her nails—a statue of a woman. Though her lips alone still quivered faintly with suppressed sobs, nowhere in her was there anything left to receive Ichijuurou’s sentiments. Her skin felt as though it might pierce like a needle’s tip or chill like ice to the touch.

“If you truly felt that way, why didn’t you meet me even once when I went to Toyokawa-san’s hill in Akasaka carrying Oen late last autumn?” “Th-that day’s bitterness… the helplessness…” “You wouldn’t understand.” “—No!” “What did you say to Kyuusuke back then?” “You’d already made up your mind.” “‘Forget about Ichijuurou.’” “‘Go marry some other man……’ Didn’t you say that?”

“Osode. “It was my fault. “That day, my heart was indeed so. “I stepped out of that room and did not even show my face to you. “But Ichijuurou’s—”

“Ah, shut up! Stop it. I’ve staked my whole life as a woman on this—even had a child—all while believing there was no man in this world but Ichijuurou… R-ridiculous.” What a fool I was—‘It’s my fault,’ you say? ‘That day, my heart was indeed so.’ …Hmph. “How dare you have the gall to say that. You’d better remember that now—that heartlessness of yours.” “I apologize. Osode… Forgive me.”

“Yes…”

“I can’t bear to look at you like this. …Even if you groveled a hundred times now, what good would it do for a love that’s already shattered? I’m not the same Osode anymore.”

“What.” “You’re not the Osode I knew?” “Without even considering you to be an unreliable man who changes his mind day by day, I went to meet you at that Akasaka estate—whether through Demon’s Crossroads or Dream Crossroads—only to be treated like a prisoner that night by the estate’s servants, forced into a bound palanquin, carried all the way near Hanzo Gate, and finally abandoned by the outer moat.” “…I might as well have lost consciousness.” “When I came to my senses—my body was no longer my own……”

Osode sobbed quietly and ceaselessly once more. Pressing her sleeve to her face, she seemed to try telling Ichijuurou in clipped, forceful words about that anguish—the days and nights her heart had taken to escape it—but could not speak. It dissolved into tears.

Her body had been at the master's disposal since that night—since being taken from the bound palanquin by the outer moat's tree-lined path to this derelict estate. Before she could show any will or resistance, her fate had drastically changed. It was an era when women lacked the power to rationally accept their circumstances through their own intellect and shape their destinies solely through their own will—and a society that would not permit it. She had blossomed into a different woman from the graveyard of love.

Snow Umbrella

This monster mansion was the den of the Silver Teeth Gang. The man known as Lord Gyobusho—in other words, the master here—was both a hatamoto of the Silver Teeth Gang and the leader of samurai-class ruffians. His origins were unclear, but in the world of evil, he undoubtedly possessed monstrous skills to subjugate others. No one had ever heard him referred to by any name other than Lord Gyobusho of the Silver Teeth Gang. No matter what she did, Osode would not be able to leave there unless Lord Gyobusho grew weary of his relentless carnal appetite for her. Whenever her fury as a woman blazed against this fate, her resentment returned to Ichijuurou. To make Ichijuurou an object of resentment could now even be called love for Ichijuurou. Because of Ichijuurou—the man she yearned for—she had to fill her days and nights with resentment; otherwise, she could not contain it within her heart. At times, she depicted Ichijuurou and Onui together as cursed effigies, setting both body and soul ablaze.

In this dank second-floor storehouse, night after loathsome night endured as the plaything of that grotesque man—the monstrous Gyobusho—a peculiar transformation fermented within her body, divorced from her true heart. Under inescapable submission, Osode had now become entirely monstrous Gyobusho’s possession. Even after Oen was suddenly returned to her arms—awakening the maternal within her heart—what filled her thoughts as she tearfully nursed the child was resentment toward Ichijuurou. It was not the world’s cruelty—it was a man’s cruelty. Her hatred was not so much directed at Gyobusho as it was an ever-growing loathing for Ichijuurou.

“...Reconsider.” “Forgive me.” “Osode, I was too preoccupied with my own affairs.” “I was wrong.” “...I’ll make any amends.”

Ichijuurou thought it only natural that he should receive any manner of abuse before her who had done such things.

“What? …Tch，shut up!”

Osode irritably shook off the man's hands clinging to her body—though her heart wasn't in it—while continuing to berate him as if she still hadn't said enough, "Reparations? …Hmph… What exactly do you plan to do?" "If you can make amends, then go ahead and try." "Go ahead and return this child and me to how we were before."

With that, she picked up Oen and thrust her forward.

Oen, who had been sleeping innocently, was startled and began to cry. That voice also accused the father.

“Oh, have mercy!”

Ichijuurou half-rose and reached out just as Osode violently thrust against his chest—both movements happening in unison.

“Liar.” “How could someone like you have such a kind heart?” “You damn beast!” “Osode…” Failing to brace himself behind, Ichijuurou fell backward. “Th-this is too much.” “Too cruel.” “Even though I’m saying I’m the one at fault—”

Did the father's torment and mother's torment - this blood connection - mean their anguish would instantly become their child's wailing agony? Oen's crying at this moment was extraordinary. That voice like ignited flames must have aroused suspicion. At that moment, someone came clomping up the storehouse ladder.

It was Anoujuu. Also among them were the thuggish samurai and unidentifiable men and women who had been seen in the gambling den of the great hall. Around Ichijuurou and Osode, six or seven faces formed a screen-like enclosure. Within this circle, Lord Gyobusho's eyes—set in an unusually broad face—fixed on Ichijuurou's figure without blinking. “Anou—so this is Ichijuurou?”

“Yes. Why he had come here.” “Well, fine,” Lord Gyobusho said with a magnanimous nod— “Once you’ve seen him yourself, you’ll be satisfied—if anything, this settles matters completely. …You there.” With that, he turned to the men behind him, raised his chin sharply upward like a blade being drawn from its scabbard, and issued his command.

“Throw him out.” “Make sure he never comes crawling back.” What followed proved too brutal even for Osode to watch. Ichijuurou found himself at the mercy of the gang’s rough justice. They dragged him down the storehouse ladder, then beat him with sandbags even after hauling him outside. Whether through the back gate or front mattered little—in the end, they hurled him senseless from that crumbling estate.

After that.

How much time had passed—he had no clear awareness of it.

...he came to his senses abruptly. When he regained awareness, he found himself lying face down in pure white snow. The whiteness had buried his hands, sleeves, and chest. As he shifted his body, snow cascaded softly from his hair and shoulders. Everything was blindingly white.

“Ah, good timing—you’ve come around, huh. Samurai. If you stay like this, you’ll freeze to death.”

Ichijuurou raised his face at the unexpected woman’s voice.

Above him, a snake-eye umbrella was open.

The world was a quiet snowy night. When one peered beneath the umbrella, beautiful delicate winter blossoms fell in relentless cascade. Still devoid of sensation throughout his body, Ichijuurou's eyes remained dazedly entranced by that phantom light.

“Are you up? …If not, grab my arm.”

Adjusting her grip on the umbrella handle, the woman turned her elbow toward him. Ichijuurou, for the first time, stared at the face beneath the okōso hood,

“Ah. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you. I’m in your debt.” He bowed his head. “Let’s walk around there for now. How far are you headed? I’ll find you a palanquin.” Following her words, Ichijuurou grabbed the woman’s arm and rose. Then, under the umbrella, supported by her, he finally began to walk.

Wilderness of Reckless Abandon

The snow that had begun last night still fell in scattered flurries this morning, occasionally letting up only to start again. The year’s end was drawing near—just fourteen days away—but with this snow, the world’s mornings lay hushed, and somewhere even the sound of a shamisen being practiced at dawn could be heard.

Ichijuurou lay half-awake in bed, listening to the distant sound of a shamisen. The Yuzen-patterned bedding enveloping his body seemed like something from an alien world.

“Oh. You’re awake?” The face that had peeked out from beside the pillow screen and laughed belonged to the woman from the previous night. The woman in the okōso hood—it would later be revealed—was named Oshima, appeared to be several years older than Ichijuurou, and lived in a stylish two-story house located on a particular side street in Minami-Hatchōbori. Through the shoji screens’ light, the shadow of a pine tree bearing snow was cast.

“I am indebted to you for your unexpected kindness last night. I have no adequate way to express my gratitude.” Ichijuurou hurriedly got out of bed and placed both hands squarely on the floor. When surrounded by well-ordered household items and furnishings, the discipline of mansion life was summoned forth, and instantly he reverted to a version of himself that was unlike his current state. “Hohohoho. My, such formalities—you’re making me blush!” With that, Oshima laughed, covering her lips with her hand. Of course, she was not that kind of woman of the streets. When she went to Bakemono Gyobusho’s mansion, even when dealing with the Silver Teeth Gang or thugs, she was the kind of woman who sought to emerge victorious when it counted.

Yesterday too, she had been among the gambling den comrades in the hall. Moreover, finding herself on a winning streak at just the right moment, she had seized upon the incident at the storehouse's second floor as the perfect excuse to leave ahead of the others—which was how she came to be walking that snow-covered path. ——Where are you headed? Even had someone asked, given Ichijuurou's tone of having nowhere left to return to—his disheveled hair, torn clothes, limbs showing traces of blood—it was Oshima who offered, "If my home would suffice," then lit lanterns from a palanquin they found along the way, arriving late last night at this house in Hatchōbori.

“Please, enough with these stifling formalities and gratitude,” she said. “There’s no one here to mind except the old maid… And to be honest, I’m just a flighty lotus-leaf woman through and through.” True to her spirited nature, Oshima layered undergarments beneath a well-patterned man’s tanzen and draped it over him from behind. “Still hurting?” she asked. “Nothing serious this morning,” he replied. “Though I’ve burdened you with so much trouble.”

“Oh, you…” she said, lightly patting his back while reaching over his shoulder to adjust Ichijuurou’s collar with her fingertips, their faces nearly touching. “It’s snowing—still this morning too. …Why don’t you go take a bath.” “In the meantime, I’ll get breakfast ready while you do.” Like the whispering of snow, it reached his ear. When he emerged from the bath, she informed him she had waited without eating herself, had already prepared a small pot of sail-shell clams from the morning meal—and even poured him sake into a cup.

Inadvertently accepting it, then drinking again, Ichijuurou spent the snowy day collapsed in drunkenness. No—what compelled that drunkenness so fiercely was not Oshima's pale hand, but something within his own heart. He could find not the slightest reason to resent Osode in return. When all was said and done, it was nothing but resentment toward himself. That plunged his mental state at once into the abyss of reckless abandon.

In the true essence of humanity, there were originally neither sages nor fools. There existed no distinction between good and evil people. But needless to say, this spoke of dragging humanity back into an animalistic and primitive society. And just as humans still bore traces of tails and remnants of fangs from that era, they carried those same vestiges within their hearts. Even if the physical remnants of fangs and tails remained atrophied, those within the heart—when liberated by some trigger—would begin exercising their primal functions as if released into wilderness untouched by time.

Reckless abandon was precisely that state. It came not from others, but from oneself—the act of driving oneself back toward something akin to primitive humanity. To cast oneself there was both the easiest path into the realm of reckless abandon for anyone and the ordained fate of the common fool. Ichijuurou drank heavily. Oshima held her liquor well. Yet he drank more than Oshima. And so both remained lying drunk in the small second-floor room beneath snow-laden eaves, never descending until lamplighting time.

They saw the lamplight, rose, bathed again, and when they emerged, the old maid had already laid out the evening meal. Oshima, using a side comb, approached the dressing table. "Ichisan, how about it?… Can you drink again tonight?" "Drinking? Can't do it." "Can't drink." Their tone differed from the morning's.

Under the basket lamp, with a small pot steaming and sake being warmed there as well, the two of them remained subdued that evening too. Then, it seemed someone with business had come to the lower floor—the old maid came up to tell Oshima, "Please show your face for a moment—" As Oshima remained seated, reluctant to rise, the old maid came through the ladder steps multiple times, her face showing an unmistakably troubled expression. “I don’t like this… On a night like this.” Oshima clicked her tongue and went downstairs. Before long, her unrestrained speech and a man’s intimidatingly loud voice began to sound as though a quarrel had broken out.

As the argument grew rougher by the minute, Ichijuurou grew restless. Pretending to visit the toilet, he quietly peered through a gap in the corridor—and recognized the man as Akazari Sanpei, the same local enforcer from Furoyamachi who had once threatened them when carousing with Ookame at Kanda’s Chōji Bathhouse, now identifying himself as a member of the Silver Teeth Gang.

A Critical Turn

Like a rabbit that had glimpsed a wolf’s shadow, Ichijuurou muffled his footsteps and stealthily fled back upstairs. The quarrel downstairs showed no signs of subsiding. "You’ve taken in that greenhorn Bakemono Gyobusho drove out right here, haven’t you?" "There’s someone who definitely saw him." Sanpei’s voice carried such words as well.

“Fine then! If that’s how bold you’re gonna be, I’ll make sure the authorities know your real trade is being a damn pickpocket—you better believe it! I’ll make sure you can’t stay in this house—can’t stay in this whole damn neighborhood either.” And such terrifying threats reverberated all the way up to the second floor.

(You’re not fooling anyone. So what if I'm a pickpocket? You think threats would work on someone like me? When I finally sit in the magistrate's court, Akazari Sanpei here will have already taken his place on the gallows—one step ahead of me. If you know that’s how it’ll go, then try whatever you like.) This was Oshima’s counter. When Sanpei saw his threats weren’t landing, he changed course: "(He’s upstairs. Let me see him!)"

(If I let you meet him, what do you plan to do?) (You think I'll stay quiet after having my woman taken? I'll settle this man to man) (Don’t spout such nonsense.) (No—the man Akazari Sanpei won’t stand for this. It would disgrace the Silver Teeth Gang. Bring out the bastard.) Before long, a thudding noise reverberated, and immediately from beneath the ladder steps, Akazari Sanpei began bellowing up toward the second floor. “Oi, Ichijuurou! You dare take my woman! Now come out front! Prove you’re a man and fight me!”

Ichijuurou’s blood ran cold; from what he could gather, Sanpei must have been Oshima’s lover. Moreover, Oshima hadn’t realized she was a female pickpocket. What should I do? As he did so, he looked around for an escape route.

However, Sanpei’s ferocious roar ended after just a single outburst. It was likely Oshima who had pulled him back. The sounds of sliding doors and shouts still faintly reached them for a brief while, but soon the house fell completely silent—unnervingly hushed. Both upstairs and downstairs had become as though devoid of people. "Has he left? ......"

Ichijuurou began to feel some relief—but there was no sound of the gate’s lattice. No—when he strained his ears, from downstairs still came, occasionally, the faintest murmurs of a man and woman. A whisper akin to bamboo leaves rustling through snow. Ichijuurou poured the sake that was there and began to drink alone. He poured one bottle, then another, and kept drinking. He felt as though he had spent an endlessly long time alone. Finally, Sanpei left. Upstairs, having detected this by the noise, Ichijuurou let out a faint sigh of unnameable relief. And then, when he realized Oshima was coming up the ladder steps, he flopped onto his back and lay sprawled.

Oshima’s face overlapped with his.—“Are you angry?” she said, as if soothing a child, “Or… did you suddenly get disgusted when you found out I’m a female pickpocket?” And she too poured herself two or three cups in quick succession and drank them down.

“What? So you’re a pickpocket? …You think I’d be shocked by that now?” Ichijuurou blurted out words mimicking Oshima’s earlier retort to Akazari Sanpei, “Fine—I’ll drink too.”

And he sat up. The two drank until streaked with grime. The acts that followed were left to instinct. It didn't matter whose heart felt what. They were beasts—beast and beast. To possess spirit or integrity would be absurd. In his reckless despair, Ichijuurou didn't even consider this might be humanity's truth. They were casting aside their humanity. No—it was a frenzy of maintaining human flesh while desperate to expel any semblance of wisdom or conscience within. Fortunately, Oshima wasn't one to agonize over body-soul divisions at this late hour. For she'd never possessed anything resembling a conscience—by nature or nurture—that might hinder such moments.

――The grime-streaked night broke.

This morning was a blindingly bright snowbreak. Ichijuurou raised his heavy, dull, and throbbing head. As Oshima puffed on her morning tobacco, smoke wafted into his face. Pressing a hand against his stomach to suppress the nauseating ache, "Oh? What's that?" "What could it be?" Suddenly, Oshima flung her pipe. Indeed, as befitting a woman of the underworld, her agile movements were evident even as she went to stand by the window; she threw a kimono over her underrobe, tightened her obi with practiced tugs, and opened it.

The reflection of the morning sun on the snow flooded the entire room. Ichijuurou sprang up. From under nearby roofs, an unusual commotion of voices was welling up. The sound of footsteps swarming toward Hatchōbori’s thoroughfare continued. Amidst occasional tremors from snow melting off the eaves, they persisted endlessly—one after another.

Even directly below the second floor there, people were rushing past and others standing still—all sorts—but among them, the news was being passed from mouth to mouth in hushed, urgent voices.

“Not yet? Haven’t they come through yet?” “Still haven’t come through yet?” “What is it? What on earth is happening?” “What on earth is happening?” “The Akō rōnin are supposed to pass through here any moment now, they say.” “That’s Lord Asano Takuminokami’s retainers—the ones who caused the great disturbance in the Pine Corridor last spring.” “Oh! They did it?” “…Huh.” “So the rumors… they weren’t just rumors after all.” “They say it’s around forty-some people.” “Yes, Matsuzaka-chō—Lord Kōzuke’s estate, you know.” “They’ve really done it now, haven’t they?”

"They did it… finally." "Hmm… I just… I can’t find the words." "My heart's about to burst." "Come to think of it, I thought it was a dream—but last night’s drums, were those their battle drums?" "Don’t lie. Do you think we could hear that all the way from Matsuzaka-chō? That must’ve been the fire on Konnyaku Island." "Do you think we could hear that all the way from Matsuzaka-chō?" "That’s just the fire on Konnyaku Island." "I see… So they still haven’t come through yet?" "Which route are they taking?" "Apparently, today coincides with an official day of gratitude at Ryōei, so they can’t cross Ryōgoku Bridge. They’ll come from Honjo Ittsume into Fukagawa, cross Eitai Bridge from Ofunagura-mae, then pass through Inari Bridge, Minatochō, and Minami Hatchōbori—that’s the route they’re taking."

“You’re quite well-informed, aren’t you? A route they haven’t even taken yet...”

“Don’t tell me you’re related to Ōishi Kuranosuke?”

“Nah.” “At dawn, I got wind of it from Rokuobei at the guardhouse—heard how everything went down. Went to check with An the scroll mounter and Foreman Kichi and them, all the way to Ekōin Temple right by Matsuzaka-chō.” “Haven’t even touched breakfast yet.”

“That explains it...” “If they’re passing through here soon, we won’t have time to even think about eating.” Oshima and Ichijuurou stood side by side at the second-floor window, catching fragmented snippets of the neighborhood voices. ――Oshima laughed as if muttering to herself.

“I’ll give them a scare,” Oshima said with dark amusement. “After last night’s business, I was certain the arresters had come.” She cast a sidelong glance at Ichijuurou’s profile, but he remained motionless—vacant eyes fixed on some distant point, body still as stone.

Life in all its forms Before long, the thoroughfare was black with people. Not only the crowd, but even on the roofs, people could be seen. Several dozen Akō rōnin, forming a quiet procession, now seemed to be passing through that thoroughfare toward Shibaguchi.

It was quiet. The blue sky after so long, reflecting off the snow, poured bright and gentle light over the towns. The earlier commotion that had been so intense fell utterly silent in an instant—so quiet one could hear melting snowdrops and sparrows chirping—as the ronin procession still seemed to continue along the thoroughfare.

…… Ichijuurou, who had been at the second-floor window, dropped heavily into a seated position. Oshima was no longer beside him. Relieved they weren't arresters, Old Ayama had rushed out - it seemed Oshima too had gone to watch from the thoroughfare. Ichijuurou let his head slump between his shoulders and remained frozen that way. Through what they called Genroku's present moment, through time's currents - something unseen flowed with silent apocalyptic gravity across Ichijuurou's closed eyelids.

Suddenly, his heart began to sob quietly within another heart. Within a single human being, there were two hearts. But—discovering that one heart was terrifying to him. It was fatal. He would no longer be able to go on living. Like a madman, Ichijuurou thundered down the stairs. And he stood abruptly in the kitchen, his gaze shifting unnaturally. He found a one-shō sake bottle. He grabbed the neck of the sake bottle and brought it upside down to his face. ...he squeezed his eyes shut, swelled his throat, and gulped, gulped, gulped—without even pausing for breath.

“She’s not here? …Oshima.”

With a clatter, someone slid open the waist-high door there. Ichijuurou slowly moved the lightened cheap sake bottle away from his face.

When he looked, it was Akazari Sanpei. Behind him, about four men of the same appearance were craning their necks. “Oh! “You’re Ichijuurou, aren’t you.” “If… Ichi… jū… rō… then…?” Ichijuurou huffed out a rainbow-like breath of alcohol, then with a pained expression, retreated unsteadily as he planted his heels. “That’s right. “Ichijuurou.” “If... if that’s the case... what’re you gonna do?” “Get out here!” “Wh-where to?” “Today’s the day we settle the score—I’ve already told Oshima.” “You heard me, didn’t you?”

“I know not.” “Enough! I didn’t come here to listen to your blathering. Come out to that vacant lot over there. Come out!”

“Alright! I’ll die for you.”

“Wh-what did you say?” “Die! Die, you worthless thing!” he snarled through gritted teeth, writhing violently as if trying to shake free from his own body— “Whether it exists or not—a garbage-like life.” “You want it that badly?!” “Fine then! If you want it so bad, I’ll give it to you.” “Just you wait!”

He ran up to the second floor. Then over his nightclothes, he layered a tanzen robe, wrapped the obi around and around, grabbed his swords—first thrusting the short sword into place, then attempting to secure the long sword next—but with drunkenness already coursing through his entire body, his hands unsteady, the sword hilts slipped against the obi and came loose. But even through his drunken gaze, the gold-inlaid sword guard suddenly glinted as if speaking. Even a life like trash, even a life unworthy of notice—surely every life has its own vitality. That thing sucked his drunken gaze to the long sword’s guard and wouldn’t release it…

Those red eyes immediately welled up with tears like boiling water.—This Gotō Yūjō sword guard carried stories of distant ancestors he had often heard as a child, and had been his father’s cherished possession throughout his life. It had been passed down to his elder brother Shudon, and when his brother too had relinquished it—at the time he himself was to be adopted into the household of their relative Tadaemon—[Shudon] had earnestly recounted its history, imbued it with his warm sentiments, and given it to him.

Ichijuurou's head had suddenly called up those memories like bubbles and already forgotten the one he'd left waiting downstairs.

Downstairs, Oshima’s voice rang out at that moment. Sanpei’s guttural growl and Oshima’s shrill voice clashed again, more fiercely than the night before, as they started arguing about something. "Th-that’s right... Even if I end up dying like a stray dog in some ditch... at least Brother..." "...at least Brother... I must see him once—" Without going downstairs, he straddled the window frame and crawled out onto the snow-covered roof.

He grabbed snow and ate it. From the direction of the main street, people could be seen trudging back in disarray. Those people kept chattering endlessly among themselves, excitedly sharing their awe at what they had just witnessed firsthand.

Ichijuurou covered his ears. And, grabbing another handful of snow to eat, he avoided the alley where people streamed and crawled out on all fours toward the northern roof. He stretched his leg to the toilet’s eave, then cautiously crossed along the top of the wall like a cat, and leaped down into the narrow alley between houses. The moment he did, he slipped forward violently. Thick snow buried his waist.

Leaf insect

The Toshi no Ichi drew the biggest crowd of the year.

Centered around Senso-ji Temple in Asakusa, Kaminarimon and every alleyway were waves upon waves of people. The self-satisfied customer—flattered by teahouse women into buying large battledores, New Year’s combs, geta sandals, and obi sashes as if asserting his manly pride, then eating and drinking at a small restaurant until he had utterly scraped clean his purse—

“Well then, do come see us again for New Year’s. And don’t forget the New Year’s gifts!”

With deliberate poise, the women distanced themselves from him, leaving him abruptly alone in the noisy throng.

“You’re making a fool of me!” “You drained every last coin from me and then just walked off!”

The man clicked his tongue and sat down beside Kannon Hall. Suddenly, pigeons came near. His foot kicked that one bird. With a sudden burst, numerous sand whirls danced up, and beneath Kannon Hall’s great eaves, a canopy of pigeons unfurled. (What kind of madman is this? …) Countless vagrants lazing about in the area turned their languid eyes toward his figure, but soon returned to being masses of inertia and slumber, creating black voids within the sunlit space.

Then, among them was a man wrapped in a straw mat, sleeping like a leaf insect. Suddenly, he jerked his raised head toward this direction,

“Ah. Kameji!” he blurted out. The man who had kicked the pigeon and sat hugging his knees in a daze turned around, met eyes with the straw-mat-wrapped leaf insect, and startled upright.

“Ain’t this O-Ichi? You’re shocked! When the hell did you turn into a straw-mat bum?!” He approached, took his hand, and forcibly led him away to the back of the five-story pagoda where few people lingered. This was their first meeting since he had abandoned Ichijuurou at Kanda’s Clove Bathhouse. But Ookame wasn’t the sort of man to feel bashful about such past transgressions of friendship. Instead, he scorned and mocked the excessively deteriorated shabbiness of his cousin Ichijuurou.

“What do you want to do? You’ve wasted away completely—look just like Houkaibou, ain’t ya? In this world where we’re all just fellow rice-devouring parasites swarming to gobble up every last grain, there ain’t no need for you to get all fancy and stoop so low as becoming a straw-mat beggar! Hey, hey, Ichinoji. Pull yourself together, damn it!”

“Ah…” “Thank you…”

“What?! ‘Thank you,’ huh? You damn fool! Who’re you thanking? Your voice sounds like some ghost’s, with that gutless mug of yours. Hey, Ichijuurou. When we meet after all this time, can’t you at least crack a damn smile?”

"I have no pride left." Ichijuurou only bowed his head further. The year was drawing to a close under an Indian summer sun, yet he looked as though he couldn't bear the glare within his heart. "Heard you met Osode yourself once, ain't that right?" "Huh? Kameji. How do you know that?"

“The day before yesterday at Monster Gyobusho’s estate—met Anoujuu there—he was spouting that kinda talk.” “That ain’t all.” “Heard you been cozying up to Oshima in Hatchobori—almost got your head lopped off by her man Akazari Sanpei! What’s this? You turnin’ tail from that bastard now?” “No… It’s not Sanpei I fear.” “Hoh! Got some spine back?” “Bastard finally grew teeth!”

“I just want to see my lord brother once. I live solely to see my lord brother. Kameji. Do you know the whereabouts of my brother, Lord Shudon?” “What do you plan to do when you meet Lord Shudon?” “I intend to offer apologies for this life... and settle my affairs.” “This life’s…? Ha... hahaha. If you speak of 'this life,' do you suppose there's an afterlife? Cut it out. There ain’t no such thing as an afterlife. Even if there were one, what good would it do? The world of humans—the next life, the life after that—they’re all like this. Well then, ain’t the only way left to enjoy this life to its rotten core? What’re you in such a damn hurry to go dying for?”

"I simply cannot bring myself to think like you. Even if I try to become like you and act on it..."

“Ha ha ha.” “You’re an amateur.” “That’s proof you’re still clinging to that greenhorn part of yourself that can’t fully commit to villainy.” “Becoming a proper villain takes training.” “Takes guts and smarts both.” “Ain’t like turnin’ monk—this here’s life-or-death stakes!” “Ah, tough it out. Just tough it out!” With that, he comforted him,

“By the way, how’s your stomach?” “You still ain’t had breakfast yet, have ya?”

Ichijuurou silently nodded. Ookame briefly slipped his hand into his pocket and pondered, then assumed a ‘so be it’ expression.

“Anyway, let’s get ourselves warm somewhere,” he said, taking him along as they walked back into the year-end market’s crowd.

The Tail’s Scar

—The fifteenth day of this month. That snowy morning.

After fleeing Oshima’s house, Ichijuurou wandered aimlessly through the hunger-ridden streets once more. In his desire to catch a single glimpse of his brother Lord Shudon—he loitered around his family home for days, but ultimately failed to see Lord Shudon. Not only that—the gate remained shut both day and night. When he checked his uncle’s estate at Mount Akagi’s foot, there too the gate stayed closed despite the hour. Suspecting some incident, he caught a new member—one who didn’t recognize him—as they emerged outside and questioned them,

"About half a month ago, when thieves broke in and one of the shogunate’s castle blueprints went missing, the master wrote a will and committed seppuku as atonement." "It’s just... truly tragic." He continued, regarding that night’s thieves: "As it happened, Lord Shudon—who was present that evening—gave chase to the thieves only to be ambushed by their accomplices in the dark, sustaining an injury to his right leg. He remained here receiving treatment until Lord Hyōkuurou’s funeral rites concluded. Then he declared his intention to request two months’ leave from his duties to enshrine your uncle’s remains at Mount Koya, departing just two or three days past."

Upon hearing this new calamity, Ichijuurou finally came to know the self that could no longer go on living. The thief from that night was none other than himself. It was also he himself who had killed his uncle.

Hounded ceaselessly by self-reproach and anguish, he wandered about searching for a place to die. But as long as he was thinking of death, he could not yet die. Even regarding Osode, he still felt lingering attachment. When he saw other children, he would think of Oen. —and he would think of his foster father in Akasaka, feel remorse toward Onui, and press his palms together in silent prayer. Worldly desires beget worldly desires, and in that brief span, death was forgotten. And battered by hunger and cold, he slept among vagrants at night. Driven by hunger, to obtain food, he too engaged in acts similar to those of the vagrants.

Thus, the present Ichijuurou had transformed into a man who was yet was not Ichijuurou. Humans are creatures that change easily. He as an individual demonstrated this. In human bodies there still remain vestiges from the era when they had tails. Humanity’s distant ancestors were undoubtedly animals. For that animal to become human—possessing a human-like society and culture, taking pride in morality, religion, literature, art, and music—has required thousands of years of time and the collective efforts of all.

However, even after thousands of years of progress, the truth remains that humans—still bearing the vestiges of tails—hold within them the strong possibility of abruptly reverting to their primitive origins should significant societal decay occur.

If one peered into the depths of a society corrupted by misgovernment, it became clear. The swarming mass there was nothing but humanity reverted to its primal state—the original condition of man regressing from modern humans to primitive beings. If ordinary people saw that and thought it someone else’s problem, they were mistaken. One had to consider that they themselves bore the vestige of a tail. In that regard, neither Ookame nor Ichijuurou could exactly be called dishonest. Because both were humans who had fully bared their vestigial tails. However, Ichijuurou anguished over it, while Ookame rather took pride in it.

“Oichi.” “Drink.” “Why don’t ya drink more?”

“Sake… I’ve had enough already.”

“Food…”

“Food too.”

“No matter how much you eat, my purse won’t get any lighter. You’d better stuff yourself while you can.”

The two entered Bamichi’s Mago Chaya. The cloudy sake was their specialty. Scattering the side dishes and soup, Ookame kept pressing Ichijuurou to eat and drink.

“Ah, warmed right up.” “Alright, let’s get going.” The time for lighting lamps had arrived, and guests bound for Yoshiwara and palanquin bearers began to crowd the area. Ookame whispered into Ichijuurou’s ear. “You go ahead and wait in front of Nitenmon. “I’ll catch up later.”

Ichijuurou went out ahead and waited at Nitenmon. —and soon, Ookame came clattering up, “Run!” he shouted as he shoved Ichijuurou. Without understanding what was happening, Ichijuurou fled together with Ookame. Eventually, Ookame looked back at the dark street, “Enough. Oichi, looks like they’ve stopped chasing. Dine-and-dash ain’t exactly a stroll,” he said, clutching his chest. But Ichijuurou was retching violently—gagging up the meager contents of his stomach into the roadside ditch. The sudden exertion on an empty stomach had apparently overwhelmed his gut.

“What a hassle you are.”

Ookame moved around behind him and patted his back— “What a waste.How’s that?Settled down now?”

“No—my apologies... I’m indebted... I’m... alright now...” “And here we were planning to storm Yoshiwara tonight—what a miserable face you’re making. Your Yoshiwara regulars will weep, I tell you.”

They crossed the dark paddy path and emerged from Negishi to Miwa. This area had many villas belonging to Edo merchants and Yoshiwara brothel owners. This must be one of them—a ship-plank fence with a post-and-lintel gate. Ookame whispered and pointed.

“Alright, time to figure out the money—night robberies are rough by nature. You keep watch outside for now.” He pulled a black cloth from his breast pocket, handed one to Ichijuurou too, and wrapped it over his face like a robber’s mask. Then he vaulted over the fence—only to immediately open a hidden door from inside and poke his head back out. “Hey... Don’t let your guard down. And when you slip in—shut this tight behind you.”

Ominous Shadow

Ichijuurou stood guard outside as instructed for a while. As it was evening, people occasionally passed by. Each time someone passed, he would make his beast-like eyes gleam fiercely. Those eyes were completely unlike the man he had been a month before. Ichijuurou was certainly out of his mind. For one thing, the moment Ookame slipped into the inner quarters, an eerie clatter and a woman’s scream erupted—only to cease abruptly, plunging everything into an ominous silence—so it was no wonder that Ichijuurou, waiting outside, had been driven into a frenzy.

As he'd said—nighttime robbery was rough work—Ookame barged in knowing full well the household remained awake. This must have been the women's dormitory they had long targeted. Nighttime robbers would apparently press weapons against throats—first binding the residents, then forcing them to reveal the money's location. The inner rooms' lights had gone out, all noise ceased, a graveyard darkness settling over the roof beams... All while Ichijuurou fidgeted restlessly—peering through the hidden door, scanning outside—until finally unable to endure—

“K-Kameji…”

He too groped his way inside the house, crawling on all fours. A tremor ran from the soles of his feet through his entire body. “N-Not yet, Kameji?” At the end of the corridor, the inner room was visible, from which lamplight flickered. Thinking it was Ookame, he cautiously rose to his feet and began moving forward when something slippery made his foot skid. “Huh?...” He caught himself with his hands, every hair on his body standing erect. It was a human corpse. Needless to say, it was a pool of blood.

Behind the pillar, another household member was bound. Ookame had cut down one who resisted, tied another there, and was now ransacking the house. But the money didn't seem to be coming out readily. Ookame's shadow peered out from between the shoji screens. "Oichi...?" Ichijuurou couldn't muster a reply. Then again— "What're you doing?" "Search those rooms for money—the money—" he pressed impatiently.

But Ichijuurou could not walk even if he tried. From fear, he couldn't move, as if his leg joints had come undone. However, the truth was that the person he had mistaken for a corpse—a mortally wounded individual—had in their death throes grabbed hold of Ichijuurou's hem. Growing impatient, Ookame shouted again, this time in a slightly louder voice. "Hey! What are you dawdling for? "Hurry up and ransack those rooms to find the money." "The money. "Don't take anything that'll weigh you down."

In his daze, Ichijuurou tore free from the wounded person's grip. A low groan—"Ugh..."—escaped from beneath his feet. He could make out nothing. Moving as though swimming through water, he entered the room and crept along to the next one. There was a dim glow. A woman's haori had been draped over the lamp. A young mother clutched her nursing infant against pale skin, trembling atop the futon.

………… Her pale face was unconscious. But the gleam in her eyes blazed with a fierce maternal instinct. Ah—Ichijuurou froze in place, a strange shudder rattling his bones. The woman had stretched out her hand. When he looked, several gold coins lay on her palm. And her bloodless lips— "(I'll give you this... please help...)" she seemed to mouth soundlessly. In Ichijuurou's mind, the figures of Osode and his child floated dimly—reflected as if in a dream.

The sudden recollection of Osode and his child—this too had been him regaining a part of himself with a start. He found himself thinking—Huh? ...he wondered suspiciously. —Where had he come to now? —he pondered. And in that instant, he also considered what he had been trying to do. He felt like a specter who had fallen into the pitch-dark depths of the underworld, writhing and lamenting. He covered his face with both hands. —Had he done so because he couldn't bear to look at the woman and infant before him, or was he suppressing the rising urge to weep? He himself didn't know.

“Ah! Gold.” “Ain’t this gold?” “...Hey, dumbass! Why ain’t you takin’ that gold over here?” Coming up from behind and seeing the gold coins, Ookame suddenly shoved Ichijuurou aside and lunged at them like a beast pouncing on prey. The woman instantly tossed the gold coins away and clutched her child,

“Heeelp!” she cried, prostrating herself.

Ichijuurou staggered and collapsed on top of them, and Ookame began frantically gathering the scattered gold coins. Beneath the woman’s skin, the infant let out a loud "waaan!" and began crying—all at once. Oh, how that innocent voice so resembled Oen’s cries. At the sound of the child blaming her father, Ichijuurou covered his ears. His true self was lashed by the infant’s shrieks, driven out, staggering, and tumbled out of that room.

“Hey, Oichi! “Did something come?!” “W-wait up, damn it! Oichi!” Ookame panicked too. Which of them had tripped? The lantern was kicked over, scattering oil from its dish and fiery sparks. Amidst the clatter of fleeing footsteps—Ookame’s shouts still ringing incessantly—Ichijuurou ran as if dreaming. Pursued by self-reproach, he fled wildly.

“Fire!” “The direction of Miwa—!” “Fire!” “Fire!” “Looks like a dormitory!” People came swarming in. They came running from the opposite direction he was fleeing. Nevertheless, to Ichijuurou, that whirlwind of countless figures all seemed to be chasing him alone.

The Great Bonfire

It was a year of heavy snow.

The year turned, and the second day of the New Year was also a day of snow.

Ichijuurou had no memory of where he had slept or where he had walked. Even on such a snowy night, he picked up a sake barrel straw mat from the road and wore it over his head, staggering from one eave to another as he walked.

Since it was New Year's Eve, every household had closed their doors early, and under warm lamplight they were playing karuta, laughing merrily, pouring sake, and roasting rice cakes—but for Ichijuurou, such a life was now beyond even his imagination.

Whether it was due to being near the pleasure quarters or drifting from snow-viewing boats on the moat, a shamisen's plaintive melody could be heard somewhere—but to his ears, it was no sound at all. Along the pure white night road, his shadow walked like a stray dog. But soon, in the distance, a mass of fire began to glow crimson, arresting his gaze. As he approached, he found it to be the grounds of a large temple complex where firewood was piled mountain-high and intense steam rose from a massive cauldron.

Beside it, on an old cotton banner, in ink— With compassionate eyes, behold all living beings. Annual New Year's Grand Charity Gruel Distribution. Dōkubō it read. Needless to ask, this was the great bonfire of the charity gruel distribution.

Innumerable vagrants—like those seen in Hungry Ghost Scrolls—surrounded the great bonfire, bustling about like a New Year’s celebration in hell. Unlike the pitch-black masses of vagrants that haunted Asakusa Kannon Hall’s rear alleys and scattered corners of the city through year’s end, these people—flushed faces aglow—chattered joyfully, laughed with mouths wide open, resembling nothing so much as one great family gathered in reunion.

And even when Ichijuurou quietly joined them, no one gave him hostile looks, and those nearby made space for him. “Hey, Reverend. Everyone’s bellies are growlin’ like crazy. Can’t wait any longer!”

One person said. The one whom the vagrants called Reverend was none other than the monk Dōkubō, whose name was written on the banner. For over ten years now, Dōkubō had conducted grand charity gruel distributions every New Year, starting at the grounds of Fukagawa Hachiman Shrine and continuing at various locations throughout the city. Once this was done, he would vanish from Edo, only to reappear during Obon to distribute gruel and medicine to vagrants across the entire city—then disappear from Edo once more, with no one knowing where he went.

For over ten years this had continued, so the vagrants came to regard him like a compassionate father and found joy in seeing him during Obon and New Year. But Dōkubō conversely grieved whenever he recognized faces from previous years. Even after five years, seven years, he would lament seeing the same faces at these bonfire gatherings—offering advice, encouragement, and brainstorming ways they might rebuild their lives together. “Tatsu, you’re such a fool.” “That gurgling ain’t our empty bellies.” “It’s the gruel starting to boil in that cauldron, I tell ya.” “Hey, Reverend.”

“That kinda thing—I know it too.” “But those lookin’ forward to charity gruel ain’t just at Fukagawa Hachiman, y’know.” “In all Edo, there’s tens o’ thousands—who even knows?” “If tens o’ thousands o’ growlin’ bellies went off, they’d roar louder’n this boilin’ cauldron!”

“Quit your bellyachin’!” “But admittin’ defeat right at New Year’s start? That’s bad juju.” “What’s luck—good or ill—matter to us at rock bottom?” “Ain’t no place lower to fall.” “Nah—still got sickness ‘n’ death left!” “Ahahaha! Suppose that’s true ‘nough!” The crowd roared with laughter, but when “death” pierced the air, Ichijuurou—huddled knees-to-chest in half-sleep—jerked his head upright. Then slumped forward again, eyes heavy-lidded.

Then, one of the women holding a child let out a shrill scream. “Oh, gross! Mr. Yasu! You’re taking the lice you pick off and throwing them into the fire! Don’t go sendin’ ’em over here, I tell ya!” Then, the old man who was next to Yasu said: “Yasu. It’s New Year, isn’t it? Stop the killing. Once we’ve eaten our fill of warm gruel, we should let the lice have their New Year too—allow them to feast plenty on the skin of us who’ve eaten the gruel. Even if you let ’em feast, it won’t shorten your lifespan one bit!”

“Yasu,” he said. “It’s New Year, isn’t it? Stop the killing. Once we’ve eaten our fill of warm gruel, we should let the lice have their New Year too—allow them to feast plenty on the skin of us who’ve eaten the gruel. Even if you let ’em feast, it won’t shorten your lifespan one bit!” Seated on a bundle of firewood, Dōkubō listened to the crowd’s idle banter with a smirk. At the words someone now said—“Even lice deserve a New Year”—he pressed his hands together in prayer. Dōkubō was around forty, but he had never told anyone the name of his temple or his origins. If someone were to press him for answers— (A temple?) My temple is, well, always the society temple where everyone gathers. It is also known as Ukiyoyama Donzoko-ji, and its principal image isn’t something we enshrine here, but something each of you carries within yourselves. In other words, each of you holds your own temple membership. For everyone should have Amida Nyorai residing right here— He pointed to his chest as he spoke.

He pointed to his chest and stated.

However, at some unknown time, they had come to know that this eccentric monk was formerly a lacquerware artisan called Han-san who had indulged in every pleasure imaginable, even attempting double suicide with a Yoshiwara courtesan before being publicly displayed at the foot of Nihonbashi Bridge—along with other such details. The reason this Han-san awakened his faith and became a monk—it was said to have begun one year when he met a priest called Tetsugen Zenji of Uji Ōbaku. Tetsugen was, as is well known, a monk who made it his life's vow to complete the printing blocks of the complete Buddhist scriptures and transmit them to posterity's culture. He was a man who—through appealing to the populace and dedicating his life to bloody perseverance—achieved at last this monumental task of publishing the complete Buddhist scriptures, something neither the shogunate’s might nor the imperial court’s wealth had been able to accomplish.

Han-san became a disciple of this Tetsugen and for many years shared hardships with his teacher. When they stood by the roadside, they were derided as frauds; when they stood at gates, water was thrown on them—they endured together all manner of trials: ridicule, persecution, hunger, and cold. Moreover, during years of famine, Tetsugen would invest the devout donations collected through such hardships for the complete Buddhist scriptures to buy as much rice as possible, saving starving people across the three cities of Osaka, Kyoto, and Edo. Even after Tetsugen had achieved a peaceful death, Han-san did not remove his straw sandals of saving the people.

Though had he settled in a temple he could naturally have become its head priest, Han-san had continued his ascetic practices under trees and on rocks for over a decade. In this era of the Dog Shogun—a world where humans grew weary of humanity itself, prisons overflowed with criminals, and roads teemed with crowds of vagrants—Han-san declared this earthly hell his very temple. Unfazed by heat or cold, he continued his teacher Tetsugen’s blood-soaked mission of soliciting alms, accumulating donations to appear in Edo every Obon and New Year, bringing warmth to the destitute before departing again for the provinces.

Even if he did not speak of it himself, the vagrants would eventually come to know and pass on his story, until there was scarcely anyone among them who did not know these things.

And tonight too— Gathered around this great bonfire, they waited for the gruel to cook—at times listening intently to sermons, at others laughing over bawdy tales, and even asking Dōkubō about his past—thoroughly satisfying their New Year’s night revelries.

This scene, depending on one's perspective, could be called a vision of the Pure Land, a manifestation of Bodhi, or even a mandala where humans themselves become Buddhas.

"........" Ichijuurou’s hugged knees were drenched in tears.

"Ah..." He moaned involuntarily, released a heavy breath, then buried his face in his knees once more. The flames of mercy warmed his frozen limbs like a mother's bosom. His ice-sealed heart met springtime, awakening human consciousness within him. Every face glowing crimson around him appeared beautiful and kind. Among them alone, he felt himself bearing the countenance of a rakshasa or hungry ghost.

“Oh… The east has grown bright.”

“The dawn crow cawed. It’s clear today!”

“The gruel’s done too.”

As people began rising, the Hachiman bell tolled its dawn announcement. The great drum thundered out, signaling the start of the charity gruel distribution. Those who had volunteered to help organized the crowd into lines—some ladling out gruel, others rinsing leftover rice to prepare the second cauldron, still others lending bowls to those without—until the commotion resembled a battlefield. By the time the morning sun rose softly in the sky, crowds of paupers—the elderly, children, and sick—who had learned of this event came streaming in, forming an undulating line that spilled all the way to the town before Hachiman Shrine, vividly mapping onto the earth the horrors of this present age.

Ichijuurou too joined the crowd and blew on the white warm gruel before sipping it. Tears spilled once more at its deliciousness. This was no mere matter of taste upon the tongue. It felt as though melted life itself was filling his hollow flesh. Before he could set down the bowl, he vividly understood this vitality now flooding through him. "That's it."

After returning the chopsticks and bowl, he—without being ordered by anyone—in a burst of resolve picked up the rope from an empty rice sack that had fallen there. Just as Dōkubō and the other caretakers were doing, he too followed their example, put on a rope sash, and began assisting with the gruel distribution. No one reproached him, and in return, no one thanked him. Ichijuurou worked until he was drenched in sweat.

The Hunger Line

The grand charity gruel distribution had ended by noon, having emptied all the planned number of rice bales. When it ended, the people from the previous night all dispersed to unknown places. Only Ichijuurou remained, assisting alongside Dōkubō.

"......?" Dōkubō cast a fleeting glance at his face that seemed to scrutinize him, but he neither asked anything nor offered even a word of thanks. Onto a borrowed cart from somewhere, Dōkubō loaded the large cauldron. Ichijuurou also lent a hand.

“Well,” “Tomorrow it’s Kuramae’s Fudō Hall, then.” Muttering to himself, Dōkubō pulled out the cart.

Ichijuurou pushed the cart from behind as he followed.—They arrived at Kuramae’s Fudō Hall toward evening. When they placed the large cauldron there, Dōkubō immediately set off for the rice wholesaler in Saga-chō, Fukagawa, to fetch several bales of rice. The pure donations he obtained through year-round begging were almost entirely directed to this rice wholesaler, save for the extremely meager expenses required for his ascetic lifestyle of living under trees and on rocks. As this had continued for over ten years, the proprietor here known as Sagachū had become one of his devotees, offering convenience, alms, and every manner of assistance for the grand charity gruel distributions.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before—have you become his disciple now?”

Ichijuurou was questioned by Sagachū.

Ichijuurou shook his head. After loading the cart with rice, while Sagachū and Dōkubō were chatting over tea, the old shopkeeper who had approached the cart also assumed him to be Dōkubō’s new disciple. “After all, there’s no other priest like him in this day and age. They keep hidden prostitutes in temples; take over brothel operations; seize clever connections to entangle even palace maids and extort money—that’s the sort of lecherous priests you mostly find these days. If there were even ten holy men like Master Dōkubō in this world, how much brighter society might become.”

Then, the old shopkeeper went on to tell him all he knew—stories of karmic connections between Dōkubō and his teacher Tetsugan, various anecdotes, and tales rich in human compassion.

Ichijuurou listened as though lashed by a whip.

“Well then, shall we go? They must be growing restless waiting…” Soon after, Dōkubō appeared. Seeing him approach, Ichijuurou grasped the cart’s handle himself this time. Dōkubō wordlessly pushed from behind. It was Ichijuurou’s first time pulling a cart, and the rice bales weighed heavily. He kept swaying unsteadily. Yet Dōkubō never offered to take his place.

Finally, they returned to Kuramae.—

Even more than the previous night, the nearby vagrants had gathered in a dark mass. They had piled firewood, built a hearth beneath the cauldron, and waited with everything ready to light the fire. "The holy man has come!" "The holy man has arrived!" Like children beholding a father figure, the vagrants welcomed him and gazed at the mountain of unloaded rice bales, "Holy man, how do you get so much rice? Where does it all come from?" With their joy and suspicion—and because there were so many of them—it sounded like cheers.

“I have fields,” he said. “They’re the fields of compassion that every person carries within them—fields of good-heartedness. As a great landowner spanning all Japan, I humbly gather one or two stalks from these fields across the provinces. Now you must make ears sprout from your own fields too. Even if it takes years, share some stalks with me. Understood?”

A grand convivial gathering like the previous night’s began. The next day was Shiba's Shinmei. The day after that, it was somewhere in Honjo—and so it continued daily. Ichijuurou did not leave Dōkubō’s side—or rather, he clung to the large cauldron and cart as though letting go would send him plunging back down the cliff to the valley floor. It was the period leading up to Nanakusa—that final day being the seventh of the New Year. The location that day was before Koukou Temple in Shitaya. Though near the back alleys of Yoshiwara’s pleasure district, the throng of destitute people crowding there was inexplicably worse than elsewhere.

The endless procession of hunger had finally dwindled to a few. Leaning on a cane, a young monk dragging a lame leg, his face covered by a woven bamboo hat, had joined the line for charity gruel. When his turn finally came, he produced an alms bowl and bowed politely, as befitting a monk.

Ichijuurou had been scooping gruel from the large cauldron with a ladle when— “Ah, that alms bowl would be difficult to eat from. Please, do not hesitate—partake from this vessel here.” Seeing the monk’s courteous bow, he found himself reverting to samurai speech, pouring gruel into a separate bowl and offering it. Then the young monk did not extend his hands. He stood rigidly as a faint tremor coursed through his body—and suddenly shouted from beneath his woven bamboo hat.

“Brother! You there, Ichijuurou!”

“Huh?!”

“I am your brother Shudon. I won’t let you escape today!”

Ah— Ichijuurou dropped the gruel bowl to the ground. And he desperately tried to pry loose the hand gripping his wrist. Far from intending to flee—it was Ichijuurou himself who had lingered around his brother’s residence and searched for him out of longing—yet in that split second, instinct made him unconsciously shove his brother’s hand away and lurch into a fleeing stance. “Y-you...!” Shudon staggered. The wound in his leg had never properly healed.

If things had continued as they were, Ichijuurou would have unintentionally vanished into thin air, and Shudon with his injured leg could never have caught up—but fortunately, at that very moment, Dōkubō's arm snapped out and grabbed Ichijuurou by the collar to pull him back. “Holy monk—are you this man’s brother?”

“That is indeed the case.” “You there—Ichijuurou, or whatever you call yourself. Is that person your brother?” “Th-that… Ah…” While being grabbed by his bristling collar, Ichijuurou kept both hands over his face, streaming tears of shame. “Though you are blood brothers, what reason compels you to flee like sworn enemies the moment you meet? Unfortunate souls you are.—But regardless, we stand amidst ongoing charity gruel distribution. Ichijuurou—wouldn’t it be wasteful to abandon your half-completed assistance with this virtuous magistrate’s work here now? Come—help until we finish.”

Dōkubō released his hand and said to Shudon. "Do not worry—he will not run away. "I have come to understand your younger brother's true feelings these past few days. "Now, sit down over there and rest."

The Warbler's Palanquin

Ichijuurou continued scooping gruel. As he continued doing this, his mind had regained considerable calm. Over these past few days, he had even occasionally spoken with Dōkubō and expressed fragments of his anguish. Each time, Dōkubō’s brief words had deeply touched his true heart, calling back the self he had lost within him.

That evening—after all the distribution work had been completed.

The brothers, trusting Dōkubō, laid bare everything before him. Ichijuurou also spoke frankly of everything from his running away until today—the difficult-to-recount matters of Osode, of Oshima, and of his subsequent self-destruction—as an apology to his brother now. However, despite his sincere confession, there were many inconsistencies in his account of those few days at year’s end. According to him, it was not that he was concealing anything—perhaps he had not yet become his true self—but rather that, try as he might, he simply could not recall certain actions here and there.

And finally, he said. “I have now somewhat returned to myself. “I am by no means speaking in a state of confusion. “By your compassion, Brother, Reverend—please release me here.” When I left Oshima’s house earlier—the shameful episode I just confessed—my intention was to meet you face-to-face, Brother, apologize for my crimes, then proceed directly to the Ōoka family temple at Jōken Temple in Sagami Tsutsumi Village, where I would commit seppuku before our ancestors’ graves. …I shall depart for Jōken Temple immediately. “I beg you to grant me your permission for this farewell.”

Shudon involuntarily averted his burning eyes upon seeing his brother act like a proper brother for the first time in ages. For this younger brother’s sake，Uncle Hyōkurō had committed seppuku. His adoptive father lay bedridden，and his beloved betrothed had been condemned to a lifetime of feminine misfortune. —The remaining sins defied enumeration. Once found，he must behead him—first apologizing to his adoptive father Tadayuemon—he must soothe the Ōoka Jūke clan’s anxieties，or he could never make amends.

Yes, he had been fixated on that. But upon seeing his brother returned to his former self, even such a tragic resolve had been overturned. He wanted by all means to bring him back. He wanted to apologize to his former adoptive family. And he wanted them to address each other as "brother" and "younger brother" as they once did.

However, there were too many difficult problems with that. The child born from his relationship with Osode. Whether Uncle Hyōkurō’s blood relatives would consent. Moreover, even if this brother had fallen so low, even temporarily—whether Lady Onui would still wait for him as her husband. “Wh-what. You say you intend to go to our ancestors’ gravesite and commit seppuku? No—such a matter cannot be permitted through my authority alone.—” Despite his hesitation, Shudon hurriedly interjected, “...Regardless, I will take you back to this brother’s residence. And then… Tadayuemon-dono of Akasaka. We must also hear the opinions of the rest of the clan. …Do you think I took on this monk’s guise, falsely claimed to be enshrining Uncle Hyōkurō-sama’s remains at Kōya, deceived the authorities to obtain a burdensome leave of absence, and wandered Edo day after day for no purpose? …Regardless, come to my residence.”

“…………”

Ichijuurou did not answer. The more his true self resurfaced, the less face he had to meet anyone. How could he return alive and shameless to his family home? He could only torment himself with these reproaches.

“Let him die. Let him have his wish.” Dōkubō said. He preached that this was rather an act of mercy. Shudon’s resolve crumbled easily when told this—even if he brought him back, whether Tadayuemon and Hyōkurō’s kin would consent was highly doubtful. Moreover, were they to make him a clan prisoner—should he rise again in sudden rebellion pursuing cousin Kamejirou—there would be no recovering from it.

“…That’s right.”

Lord Shudon had steeled his resolve alone. "In place of my younger brother... this crippled body..." he suddenly thought.

For that purpose—as Ichijuurou had said—he would go to the Ōoka family temple. Before their ancestors, he would cast aside this body and use his final words to reforg his brother’s heart from its very foundations. Having resolved thus, Shudon complied with Dōkubō’s counsel. Dōkubō declared that this too was karmic destiny—he would accompany them to Jōken Temple and perform memorial rites.

That night, they stayed at Kōtoku Temple, and the following morning, the three departed for Jōken Temple in Tsutsumi Village, Kōza District, Sagami Province. Jōken Temple was a rural area accessed from Fujisawa's post town.

“We’ve come from Edo for grave visitation—” Having informed the temple’s head priest thus, the three soon made their way to the Ōoka family’s ancestral burial grounds. Fully composed and resolute now, Ichijuurou appeared transformed—his complexion markedly improved, brows and eyes both clear and refreshed. Wild plum blossoms bloomed.

A bush warbler sang somewhere.

Ichijuurou sat there. Facing the ancestral stones, composedly. “…………” Dōkubō, who stood behind, glanced at Lord Shudon beside him and said something with his eyes. Lord Shudon’s eyes also nodded. Thus, between the two of them, during their journey, a new unspoken pact different from what had been agreed upon at Kōtoku Temple had been formed. Yet Ichijuurou had no way of knowing. He was already prostrating himself on the earth, offering a lengthy apology from the depths of his heart to the stones.

Quietly, he bared his torso and drew the short sword from its scabbard. Then his right hand—leaving part of the icy blade tip protruding from his fist wrapped in his sleeve—tried to press it against his own abdomen. Dōkubō, who had been watching from behind, suddenly grabbed Shudon’s staff and swung it back in a swift motion— “—Go die!” —and roared as he struck Ichijuurou’s body. The blow must have carried terrifying force. Ichijuurou fell unconscious from that single strike.

“Ah…” Lord Shudon immediately approached and checked where he had been struck, but Dōkubō laughed— “There’s no need for concern. I too once received this treatment from my teacher Priest Tetsugen.” —and returned the staff as if nothing had happened. “Then, following your instructions, we shall hasten back to Edo at once.” “Ah, take care.” “There are so many words of gratitude I should offer, but now...” “What’s this, what’s this. This is no time for that. Hurry along now.” Shudon immediately hurried his disabled leg supported by the cane and went out through the gate.

He hired a fast palanquin and returned to Edo. ―And then, first visiting Ōoka Tadaemon of Akasaka and having the principal members of the clan gather, he convened a family council.

Shudon's sincere feelings struck everyone's hearts. With no objections and having unanimously agreed to entrust him, he immediately took a fast palanquin back to Fujisawa-zai.

However, this time, he had two fast palanquins in tow.

In one of them rode Onui.

Death and Rebirth

Ichijuurou lay in a room at Jōken Temple. The marks from where he had been struck by the staff ached. Moreover, he had developed a fever overnight and still retained some residual heat. But his spirits were clear. He certainly felt as though he had died once. His memory had abruptly cut out. And with the early spring of his twenty-seventh year, he now felt reborn.

To this infant, Dōkubō sat by the bedside for half a day and earnestly spoke about what constitutes life. “One who cannot love others’ lives has no way to love their own. A person who treats even their own life carelessly—how could they ever be blessed by others for that life, or loved? …Misfortune is inevitable. It’s neither others’ fault nor the world’s.” He also said such things.

Brother Shudon arrived. Onui also followed quietly behind and entered this bright sickroom.

—But Dōkubō was no longer there. That morning, he had already departed on his journey. When he saw Onui’s figure, Ichijuurou could not help but show shame and anguish in his brow. Dōkubō had told him many times—his dead self—began to throb again.

Onui merely showed eyes full of tears and could not say anything. However, from that moment onward, her figure was always present at Ichijuurou’s bedside.

A few days later, Ichijuurou left his sickbed. Onui had brought new clothes and personal belongings from her adoptive family. In the bathhouse, Ichijuurou washed his hair, cleaned his grown-out beard, and transformed his appearance entirely.

Around April of that year. The adopted son Ōoka Ichijuurou formally submitted a marriage notification to the shogunate with Onui of the main house. —At the same time, his adoptive father Tadaemon retired, and Ichijuurou received an official appointment. First, he became a member of the masterless samurai council, and soon after was transferred to the Shogunate Guard. On each regular day off, he properly returned to his household in Akasaka. Onui also made for a fine new wife.

The year was drawing to a close. Winter arrived, and they spent the first New Year in the new household. The days of official service passed without incident, and nearly another year went by.

Then, on the 22nd of November the following year, at midnight, a major earthquake struck.

It was the Genroku-era great earthquake, noted even in disaster histories. A fire broke out in Yotsuya Shiochō, turning Shitamachi into a sea of flames; even Yamanote—Aoyama, Akasaka, Azabu—burned, and the blaze swept through to Shibaura. Countless houses collapsed; there was also a tsunami, and deaths from fire, drowning, and crushing—casualties from this event were said to have exceeded thirty-seven thousand people.

Ichijuurou was off-duty that day and stayed at home. Immediately, without even a glance back at his own home, he had a horse prepared and hurried to the castle. There were no fires in Honmaru or Ninomaru, but they worked desperately to prevent embers from reaching them from the Hanzō district. When dawn broke and temporary relief came with confirmation of the Willow Palaces' safety, “Investigate conditions outside the castle grounds and compile a report.” the Senior Councilors commanded. Only young hatamoto were selected. He became one of them, riding out into streets still billowing with embers from smoldering ruins.

Everywhere they went was marked by extreme horror, so much so that one could not bear to look.

"Ah... This place too." Suddenly, in a corner of Banchō, he reined in his horse and found his heart pierced by something he tried not to dwell on yet could not help but recall.

Where was Osode? What of his child Oen? ...And—

The estate of that monster Gyobusho had been completely obliterated. What looked like storehouses had collapsed entirely, and the entire area had burned away, leaving nothing but a desolate expanse of ash. —Yet beneath the great trees standing amid manor ruins here and there, survivors could be seen spreading straw mats and gathering storm shutters, making pitiful makeshift shelters scattered near and far. —Could she be among them? And, forgetting himself, he spurred his horse. “Osode…” “Osode!”

He tried calling out toward the scorched plain stretching before his eyes—just this once, granting himself permission—while apologizing in his heart as he did so. No one answered. He traced streaks of ash-stained black tears across his cheeks and wheeled his horse around at full gallop.

From that point on, he resolved never to utter Osode’s name again—not even in secret. Yet even afterward, Oen’s cries would still come to mind all too easily. On his way to and from the castle, whenever he glimpsed an infant or heard a young child’s wail—his chest would seize without conscious thought. That cry of his child was not summoned from within his heart—it rose from the depths of his chest. ――Blood’s doing, no doubt. The sinful father remained unforgiven. Even if his consciousness believed it had died and been reborn, blood could not be remade by mere awareness.

However, the passage of time gradually faded even such burdens borne of blood. Particularly, a child was born to him and Onui, and he himself was nearing adulthood. In the first year of Hōei [1704], he advanced to captain of the foot soldiers, and in the fifth year [1708], was promoted to inspector general. His rise through the ranks was remarkable. He always poured sincerity and passion into his duties. This seemed instead to have been grounded in his experiences from before his rebirth. He felt no pain in any hardship. In matters of endurance and perseverance, he seemed to have become unyielding.

Even after receiving his appointment to the judicial council, he was awarded a diligence prize for his dedication. And the very next year, he was appointed Yamada Magistrate and departed for Ise. He was appointed Noto-no-kami, and in his assigned region, as a regional magistrate, he achieved outstanding results. In upholding the law and caring for the people under his jurisdiction, there were even instances where he did not yield to the Kishū domain, whose governed territories bordered his own. As Yamada Magistrate, his name became renowned for fortitude, strictness, and decisiveness.

“He is a rare, renowned magistrate.”

And even within the Kishū domain—defeated in official proceedings—there were those who praised him. His tenure there lasted only about five years.

Before long, upon this man would fall

―was appointed Edo Town Magistrate. This weighty duty awaited him. He received the official appointment and―regretted by the people of Yamada―returned to Edo. It had been twelve years since he first began serving as a guard in Edo Castle’s library.

At the same time, he became Echizen-no-kami. When humans lost their humanity and were filled with apocalyptic evil and corruption, the extreme difficulty facing a judge went without saying. It could be said that the fundamental contradiction inherent in humans judging humans already guaranteed difficulty in this weighty responsibility.

But at that time, this man emerged—it could well be called fate. Ōoka Echizen-no-kami Tadasuke resignedly took his seat in the position fate had ordained.

Chapter Three

Midnight Watchmen

The late night of Great Edo was exactly what its people often called "crow-black gemstone darkness"—an immense void of blackness.

Along the main avenues at key points stood guard post barricades, their watchtowers' eaves bearing tall paper lanterns that flickered amidst the rustling willow branches. "Otatsu, still not done? Past midnight now—can't stand this cold without something in my belly. Hurry it up!" Shoushichi the guard called out toward the kitchen noises while warming himself by the fire in the watchtower's dirt-floored area. Otatsu turned around as she lowered the earthen pot from the charcoal brazier. "Oh! The alarm clapper's ringing! You—the tall lanterns outside went out again! Don't want another scolding from town officials, do you?"

“Right. Didn’t notice,” Shoushichi replied, adding more wax to the candle. He returned immediately to the hot udon pot, took up his chopsticks, and began blowing on them. At that moment came a clatter as the oil-paper door slid open. “Shoushichi! Curfew alert!”

Just then, Yasu the informant appeared in the doorway.

“Huh? A curfew alert? Did something happen again?” Shoushichi dropped his chopsticks, rushed outside, and shut tight the small gate standing beside the guard post. For Edo’s security—beyond what people called Edo’s Thirty-Six Gates like checkpoints and castle gates—such barriers existed at key points throughout the city. From dusk till dawn, the main gates remained closed, with nighttime passage confined to these narrow small gates. And whenever an incident occurred in the city, alarm clappers would sound, curfew notices would circulate, and this place would immediately become a security cordon.

“Did something happen? Damn bastards—as if there’s ever a night in Edo’s darkest hours without some incident! They slipped right past us again—the Quintet Gang raided the kimono wholesaler at Horidome Riverbank!” “Huh. The Quintet Gang, huh? Bad things have been spreading around. But were there no injured people?” “Well, the coroner ain’t come yet so we don’t know for sure, but seems tonight’s bastards went all out with some vicious work.”

Yasu dismissed the conversation and dashed off to another guard post. Immediately after that, “Otatsu, go wake Yozo too. This doesn’t seem like some minor disturbance.” Shoushichi hurriedly slurped down the remaining udon, but suddenly recalled the punning lanterns from the Hatsuuma Festival, Not a night passes in Edo’s spring without a head being lopped off.

He recalled the eerie picture and satirical verse that had mocked these turbulent times, and shuddered violently, a chill running down his spine.

“Yeah，the udon’s gone cold，and somehow it’s gotten even colder．Hey，Yoshi！Lock it down！Hurry up and get to the gate！”

Holding a six-foot staff, he too went outside.

Yamada's Scarecrow Before long, another group of constables and arresting officers arrived. "Haven't seen any suspicious characters?"

They came by on patrol and left. The full picture of the incident gradually came into view. The kimono wholesaler Yamazen—a large establishment with an eighteen-ken frontage (~32.7 meters) and dozens of employees—had its residence broken into by thieves who scaled Horidome River's back embankment along the stone wall. They inflicted grave injuries upon proprietor Zenbee and his wife, while several servants were brutally murdered. As it was month's end, a monthly ledger and over four hundred ryō in cash from the store's accounting department had been delivered to the inner quarters by evening. This too—including even the portable case itself along with the utility chest and other available cash—amounting to over seven hundred ryō in total had been stolen.

Apart from money, not a single item had been taken away. Their assault was swift as a gale; their retreat was equally tempestuous. It became clear these were methods that dispensed with time-consuming measures like binding family members with ropes or gags - refraining from wielding unnecessary blades to achieve objectives with brutal efficiency. And—they left behind not a single trace resembling evidence. However, according to surviving servants' accounts, all five Quintet Gang members had worn identical black attire and masks; whether to conceal identifying features on their sword hilts or not, they'd even wrapped both long and short sword grips in black cloth.

“Hey, Yoshi. What in the world is this all about?”

Shoushichi and Yoshi. The two guards stood at the city gate while, in the tedium of the late-night hours devoid of passersby, they began conversing without either initiating. “With His Lordship the Shogun’s reign changing and those ‘Edicts on Compassion for Living Creatures’ that lasted over a decade finally repealed, you’d think we humans wouldn’t be treated lower than dogs anymore. But now we’ve got disgustingly bloody home invasions and villains running wild even in broad daylight—seems like the magistrate’s office can’t get a handle on things either.”

“Honestly… Must’ve gotten into people’s bones by now.” “What’s that?” “After more’n ten years bowin’ down to Lord Dogs, we’ve gone an’ drilled it into our own skulls—that we’re lower’n beasts. That’s what’s gotten into us.” “Might be right. We’ve all gone crooked somehow. Can’t even take things straight no more, not like the old days.”

“If you walk straight, you’ll bump into people—see? There were plenty who called Asano Takumi-no-kami a great fool too.” “Come to think of it, after those forty-seven retainers were ordered to commit seppuku, something interesting happened.” “Oh? What happened?” “Have you forgotten? Well, the Ako Incident was over ten years ago now—after those ronin killed themselves, every last one of those official edict boards that’d been standing at key spots across Edo, starting with Nihonbashi, got smeared with mud and ink or bashed into rivers. Didn’t matter how many times they put up new ones—none stayed standing for three days straight.”

“Hmm, the edict vandalism back then was rampant.” “I wonder if they ever actually caught the culprits from that.”

“Not a single one was caught.” “Now that I mention it, even those of us on the arresting side ended up joining in.” “Hahaha.”

“And then what happened? In the end...” “In the end...” “Finally, even the authorities ran out of patience and revised the wording on the edict boards.—Up until then, the first article of those official edicts had read, ‘One must strive in loyalty, filial piety, literary and military arts,’ but now they rewrote it to say, ‘Parents and children, brothers and sisters shall live in harmony; each shall devote themselves to their duties…’ So the official edict boards ended up obscuring their own message.”

"Huh. So they've gone and boxed up loyalty and filial piety somewhere." "Though I guess such gripes are wasted on the bastards who used to parade Lord Dogs around in palanquins." "The Genroku era turned to Hoei and Shōtoku, and now it's Kyōhō 3—but human rottenness hasn't changed one damn bit. When you see how things stand... maybe being priced below Lord Dogs was humanity's true worth all along."

When their legs grew numb from standing, the two squatted down on the ground and quietly took out their sword bean pipes, beginning to light tobacco. Smoking during curfew meant severe punishment if discovered, but such discipline had now decayed; they had mastered what they called 'pocket smoking'—inhaling without showing even a glimmer of fire. “This isn’t something to say too loud,” one muttered, “but some claim if this turmoil and hardship keep up, we’ll see another Yui Shōsetsu rising before long.”

“That’s bound to happen.” “It’d make perfect justification for Yui Shōsetsu.” “Hey—you think this is some joke?” “Quit that talk.”

“Hahaha. Give me a break. If we didn’t crack jokes once in a while, how could we keep up this moronic duty? … What d’you think of that southern magistrate who transferred here last year from Ise Yamada?” “First off—there’s probably never been his like among all the Edo Town Magistrates.” “Probably not. Rare to find a magistrate so utterly useless.” “They’ve even got lampooning poems calling him ‘Yamada’s Scarecrow’ plastered up—but inside Sukiyabashi Gate, everything’s peaceful as you please.”

“In contrast, Lord Nakayama Izumo-no-kami of the North Town Magistrate’s Office is finally demonstrating his formidable skills, making Edo’s villains cower in fear.” “The difference between North and South is too vast—it isn’t even a contest. What on earth were they thinking, bringing some country magistrate to be South Town Magistrate of Edo?” “It’s said to be by the discernment of the new shogun, Yoshimune-sama. There’s even a rumor that he secretly admired Lord Ōoka Echizen back when he was a dependent in Kii Province.”

“Ah… Shoushichi! They’re here.” The two men regripped their six-foot staffs and stood rigid as rods. Then, as footsteps mingled with hoofbeats pounded across the midnight earth drawing near, they swung open the large gate from both sides.

Bearing a lantern marked "North Town Magistrate’s Office," a coroner, two mounted officers, and a group of constables swiftly passed through.

The large gate closed again. Through a gap in the clouds, the slanting hazy moon briefly showed its face. But spring's dawn remained distant still. Thick night air like spilled ink dragged between towns, and dogs - perhaps startled by the earlier hoofbeats - barked without cease.

“Hey! Who’s there?!” “Hey!” “No passing through the gate!” The two suddenly struck the ground with their six-foot staffs. And then, their eyes half-filled with terror, they fixed their gaze toward the side of the guard post. Half the front of the guard post was occupied by the candy store Shoushichi’s wife ran as a side job, with about two shutters closed.—What the two now saw was a shadowy figure that had walked from that darkness toward the willow tree’s shade and stood perfectly still.

A man who stepped out of a crimson painting

“Hey! Why’re you standing there?!” “The gate’s closed.” “You can’t pass through here until dawn.” “Go back! Go back!”

It was when Shoushichi shouted for the second time in this manner.

The shadowy figure left the willow tree and timidly approached the oil-paper doors of the guard post. The seventeen-or-eighteen-year-old petite youth stood there dejectedly like a shadow puppet - his pale face half-hidden under a purple hood, wearing slender gold-lacquered long and short swords at his waist and page's hakama trousers.

“Yes… I understand… My deepest apologies.” His appearance was striking enough，but his voice was unmistakably that of a woman．Though he bowed his head repeatedly，there was no sign of him turning back．

Yoshi and Shoushichi exchanged glances. Could it be...? The strength drained from their tightly gripped six-foot staffs, and the fear and tension that were suddenly dispelled welled up into contrary amusement. "Hey! Ain't you a male courtesan from a kagema house? From your getup, it's plain as day—you're one of them boy whores, ain't ya?"

“Yes, that is correct.” “Your attire’s proper enough, and those decorative cords look fine. But you’re no streetwalker haunting open roads—what’re you doing skulking about town this late?” “Indeed, I’d meant to return much earlier in the evening. But after escorting a client all the way to Hamacho, I found myself detained at his residence—forced to drink and such...” “You escorted a client? Should’ve demanded a palanquin for your return.” “You should’ve gotten a palanquin to return.”

“I couldn’t possibly return to the kagema house in the mansion’s palanquin.” “Is he a high-ranking noble?” “I cannot state his name, but he maintains a grand secondary mansion and commands numerous retainers—a man of distinguished...” “Hmm, I wonder who that could be.” “Please, I beg you, do not ask me that….” "I beg of you…" With that, she pressed her white hands together and assumed a posture of prayer. "Nah, there's no need to force it out of ya." “These days, it’s not the least bit unusual for daimyo and hatamoto to grow tired of their usual mistresses and concubines and devote themselves to haunting pleasure quarters or buying male courtesans." “But which house’s courtesan are you?”

“I am Anezaki Kichiya from Manjiya in Yoshichō. Guard post uncles… I beg you—if I can just pass through this gate, I can return home to Yoshichō. Won’t you quietly let me through?” “Th-that’s completely outta the question!” Shoushichi and Yoshi both widened their eyes and abruptly reasserted their guard mentality.

“If such a thing were discovered, our heads would roll immediately,” Shoushichi said. “Even while I’m alive, I can barely feed my wife and kids—what d’you think’d happen to them?” “In that case,” Kichiya replied, bowing deeper, “though I know this is an imposition...might I trouble you to let me stay in some corner of your home until daybreak?” “Ah! Now you’re puttin’ on them courtesan airs,” Shoushichi scoffed. “Y’got a real silver tongue... Guard post’s got dirt floors ’cept one six-tatami room. Ain’t no fun havin’ a pretty thing like you sleepin’ next to my woman—hell, she might start gettin’ ideas ’bout me too...” He crossed his arms. “Nope. Not happenin’.”

“Don’t say such things, okay, Uncle?”

“Cut it out, draping yourself over someone’s hand like that. …Hey, Yoshi, what should we do?” “Please ask your colleague here too.” “It’s nearly dawn already, isn’t it?”

“Shoushichi.” “This one’s got me stumped too.” “Since you’re the one being adored, you should handle this however you like.”

Yoshi laughed as he paced from one end of the gate to the other, thrusting his six-foot staff with each step.

“This is a problem…” Shoushichi muttered as he opened the oil-paper door and peered inside. And then, “Hey, Kichiya. “If that spot’s okay with you, go ahead and sleep there.” He pointed to the corner of the earthen floor where the hearth was dug. In the hearth hung a large kettle from a hook, and on the empty box in the corner lay straw bags. “Oh, how warm…”

With that, Kichiya delightedly sat down there, leaned against the frame of the wooden floor, and assumed a posture as if about to fall asleep immediately. Shoushichi peered into the six-mat room and started to say something, but his wife Otsutsu, clutching their nursing child, was already sprawled out fast asleep. "It gets cold before dawn—cover yourself with this..." Shoushichi removed a raincoat from the wall and gently draped it over Kichiya’s body.—At that moment, he suddenly noticed an exquisitely lacquered inrō hanging at Kichiya’s waist, its surface scattered with hollyhock crests glinting brilliantly,

He let out an audible gasp—so startled that the sound escaped his lips. For commoners conditioned through generations of prostration under Tokugawa rule, this instinctive reaction—neither pure reverence nor outright fear—toward the hollyhock crest, which none beyond the Three Houses or the Shogun’s family dared imitate, flowed through their veins like inherited reflex. Shoushichi went outside and whispered this discovery into Yoshi’s ear, suggesting that Kichiya’s patron might be an unexpectedly exalted nobleman. Hearing this, Yoshi’s curiosity reignited as he stealthily peered through a hole in the oil-paper door. Kichiya leaned against the wall, already dozing in apparent comfort. The figure resembled a man who had stepped straight from one of Okumura Masanobu’s beni-e prints—those vibrant “crimson pictures” popular in Edo’s pleasure quarters.

Black Makeup

Nakayama Izumo-no-kami, the North Town Magistrate, was highly reputed for his ruthless competence. To such a man belonged such subordinates: among his most trusted retainers was Satō Gōzō, feared as the "Demon Yoriki," while his constables included master operatives like Hayakawa Ippei—known both as the "Three Crows of the North" and "Nakayama's Thirty Hands"—along with Kawagoe Gonbee and Kurahashi Kensuke.

Since assuming office in Shōtoku 4, Nakayama Izumo-no-kami had achieved remarkable results in both administration and policing, but on the third day of the second month of last year—Kyōhō 2—Ōoka Echizen-no-kami Tadasuke was newly transferred from Ise Yamada as South Town Magistrate, thereby forming the twin pillars of Edo’s security apparatus.

Historically, North and South shared a relationship as close as lips and teeth, but in reality, they inevitably became adversarial. In a single capital there were two police superintendents. Moreover, situated within the boisterous populace of Great Edo, they could not help but be driven by competitive spirit. To this they added their skilled observations and expressions of mockery, criticism, and satire—something the petty citizens here relished most. However, while Edo citizens might hurl abuse and sarcasm, they rarely offered praise. Moreover, they remained ever anti-authority, their underlying motive being resentment toward the samurai class.

Thereupon, when Ōoka Echizen-no-kami took his seat in the South, immediately— (The current South Town Magistrate was apparently a great man who had received an honorable promotion from his post as Yamada Magistrate through the new shogun’s favor. He’d make a fine rival for Nakayama Izumo-no-kami of the North—bet they’d stir up something soon.) The townspeople immediately latched onto that expectation.

The North Magistrate’s group, too, spurred on by the townspeople’s clamor, (What does he know—some country-bumpkin magistrate)

Needless to say, as was customary, they ignited their competitive spirit. Whether that was the reason or not, since last summer, the Demon Yoriki of the North and the members of the Thirty Hands had suddenly redoubled their efforts in their crusade against evil, their arrest numbers said to be unmatched in recent years. Now. Even in tonight's sudden Quintet Gang robbery in Ise-cho. The Demon Yoriki of the North, Satō Gōzō, had immediately rushed to the scene, while Kurahashi Kensuke—one of the Thirty Hands—swiftly hunted down a suspicious figure who appeared to be a straggler from the thieves near the site, directing his officers to corner the shadowy presence all the way to Edo Bridge's gate.

Then, from some dead-end alleyway, the captors’ voices erupted in a roar—the commotion of seizing their prey. Before long came the sight of a bound prisoner being hauled toward the guard post, surrounded by a cluster of shadowy figures. “A woman… She’s a woman!” The captors buzzed with disbelief as they exchanged words over this unexpected turn. When they dragged one of the black-cloaked, black-masked thieves beneath the guard post’s light, there she was—a woman of thirty-two or thirty-three, her skin luminous pale, eyes sharp with intensity—a middle-aged beauty whose striking presence commanded both awe and dread.

“Hmm… So she’s a woman. Wait—those brutal methods tonight are no woman’s work. Then she must’ve gotten separated from the other four. Good.”

With that, Constable Kurahashi Kensuke gave a firm nod and summoned guards Yoshi and Shoushichi, “I’ve left this bound prisoner in the guard post’s care.” “Keep a close watch,” he ordered. Kensuke whispered something to two or three of the captors. The woman must be the wife or mistress of one of their kind. He concluded that men of their kind must still be lurking in the area, waiting for this woman who had gotten separated from the group. The captors split into three groups and scattered to conduct their manhunt toward areas such as Arafune Bridge, Anjincho, and Odawaracho. And Kensuke, leading the remaining seven or eight members,

“We’ll make another round from Horidome through Setomono-cho and Ise-cho, then return here immediately. Until then, you mustn’t let your guard down even for a moment.”

With that, he left instructions at the guard post and strode away. Shoushichi and Yoshi bound the entrusted prisoner to the base of the large willow tree in front of the guard post, coiling the ropes with excessive tightness. But even so, feeling uneasy, both of them stood guard continuously, propping their six-foot staffs against the oil-paper door at their backs. "Wow, Yoshi." "This is one of the robbers!" "That’s right. There’ve been plenty of gangs before now, but this is the first time a woman’s been mixed up in one"—as was typical of low-ranking officials, they’d start chatting the moment they grew even slightly bored.

“But no matter how hard our North magistrates work, with the South being that incompetent, they’ll never round up all Edo’s scoundrels.” “Even female villains look down on the South enough to pull such stunts.” “Now now, don’t speak so ill of the South.” “He’s got a good reputation, I tell ya. Isn’t that right?” “Has the South actually made any arrests?” “Well, not an arrest, but recently Tarohei the caterer from Daikumachi caused a fire through negligence and got fifty days in handcuffs.” “Handcuffs are for minor offenses—remove ’em yourself and it becomes a serious crime... But that Tarohei bastard somehow broke ’em.” “This was bad!” “Even for a minor offense, they’d never avoid exile—so when they came to the sanded court to apologize, led by the town headman and Quintet Gang, Ōoka-sama didn’t hear a word of their pleas.”

“Huh, and then?” “You careless fool! If you fell down, why didn’t you report it properly? If you went and hurt your knee again, wouldn’t you need to submit a doctor’s certificate with your report? So Ōoka-sama scolded him—‘Tarohei, you must’ve fallen down’—and they all came to their senses. ‘Yes, just as you say!’ Grateful for his lordship’s mercy from the bottom of their hearts, they went home without any trouble. That’s how it went.” “That’s it? That’s your big story?”

“There’s another story I heard recently. A fishmonger from Shitaya had debts piling up from eight different temples—no matter how much he pressed them, they wouldn’t cough up a single coin. So he took his ledger showing nearly two hundred ryō owed across all eight temples as evidence and appealed to Magistrate Ōoka.” “Then the magistrate sent summons to the monks of those eight temples, had them line up in the sanded court, and left them waiting from morning till evening without conducting any interrogation.” “Huh.” “He’s a patient one, isn’t he?”

“Well, listen up. The monks got bored and hungry. They kept taking turns going to the restroom. Then they found detailed account sheets from the Shitaya fishmonger’s ledger pasted on the plaintiffs’ restroom wall—lists showing how much was loaned to each temple on specific dates.” The monks whispered anxiously among themselves until evening when a court official emerged, announcing Lord Echizen-no-kami couldn’t hold court due to stomach pains. “Since we’ll investigate at dawn tomorrow,” he declared, “you may withdraw for today.” The monks returned relieved, but dreading daily repeats of this ordeal, every temple repaid the fishmonger’s debts the very next day.”

“I see—a leisurely sanded court. For Edo’s villains, he’s no different from a merciful Lord Magistrate they oughta thank.” Yoshi sneered and started turning toward the side of the guard post as if heading off to relieve himself. Then Shoushichi behind him suddenly let out an eerie groan and doubled over. “Huh?” Startled, Yoshi dashed back and lifted Shoushichi’s body with the hand that had thrown his six-foot staff. “Gah!” Stunned, Yoshi sat down hard while still holding Shoushichi. The guard post’s oil-paper door stood open about two shaku. From within the earthen-floored area emerged the kagema tea house attendant from earlier—Shinozaki Kichiya—thrusting a bloodied sword right before Yoshi’s face.

Yoshi couldn’t utter a sound. Kichiya moved closer to the base of the willow tree and neatly severed the bindings of the woman in black attire, “Come on, Mom, now’s our chance…”

He helped her up and began to run. Shoushichi, wounded and gasping his last breaths, dragged Yoshi's body along with a scraping sound— "Damn... you...!"

And he clung to Kichiya's hem. Kichiya’s sword swept backward in a one-handed swing. The blade twisted Shoushichi’s body and cleanly sliced through Yoshi’s shoulder. Yoshi choked out a flute-like voice and collapsed face-first to the ground with a thud.

The hunters, led by Kurahashi Kensuke, who had scoured every town, eventually returned here like tightening a net—no more than an hour later.

Spring’s dawn breaks. By then, the railings of Edo Bridge and Nihonbashi Bridge were beginning to be faintly tinged with the crimson of dawn.

And apart from the mist, not a single large gate on the main street had yet been thrown open, but the small gate of last night’s kido alone gaped wide like a demon’s maw—opened by whose hand, none could say.

Again.

About one and a half chō beyond this guard post, by the roadside, lay a bundle of discarded items—a black kimono jacket made of extremely thin fabric, a black hood, black hakama trousers, and the like—left there by who knows whom.

Secretly Sealed Inrō

It was high tide. From the river mouth toward the city's waterways, beneath dawn-streaked clouds, a briny flow carrying countless debris lapped against embankments and stone walls. Descending Horidome River along Kaede-gashi and Hakozaki-gashi riverbanks, two shadows raced as one through lingering mist and dawn's stubborn gloom.

“Hey! Isn’t that Oen? Here it is! Here!—” Slightly downstream from the shore where countless thatch-covered boats were moored toward the Ōkawa waterway, another small boat—also covered with thatch—lay anchored. Raising a hand from under the thatch, they found the face calling out toward the shore like this.

“Ah, good. Mom, Anou and the others were over there.” Then Shinozaki Kichiya from last night—together with the woman in black attire he had rescued by breaking through the gate at Edo Bridge—nodded toward the thatch-covered boat with a faint smile. The man who emerged from the shade of the thatch immediately stood on the boat and thrust the pole. The small boat slowly approached... In the meantime, the woman on land had stripped off the guise of black attire, hood, hakama trousers, and the like—Kichiya helping her.

Once she had discarded them, she appeared no different from a strictly proper merchant’s wife or samurai matron. Her hair was neatly bound up, clad in an arare-patterned kimono. As the boat approached, she crisply adjusted her obi, smoothed back stray locks, and with eyes and lips that suggested not masculinity but rather a flower weathering violent storms, surveyed the spring dawn without respite.

Ah, those dozen-odd years had transformed Osode of the waterside tea house - who had once been as delicate as an evening glory, an innocent young mother - beyond all recognition. That they called Osode "Mom" meant the youth who had told Shoushichi at the guard post that he was Shinozaki Kichiya, an attendant from Manjiya, was no kagema courtesan but undoubtedly Osode's true daughter Oen. By this reckoning, Oen - the suckling babe who had done nothing but wail at her mother's breast in those days - should now be a maiden of sixteen or seventeen summers.

“What’s your plan, Oen? Your mom’s been damn worried sick about you.—Thanks to that, though our job went smooth enough, we got stuck dealing with those bandits afterward and ended up in one hell of a mess. …Come on, get in. Think you can make that jump from there?” The man who’d been talking while roughly pulling the boat’s bow closer was none other than Anoujuu—now a forty-year-old in his prime of judgment, yet still—no, increasingly—the same full-fledged scoundrel who styled himself Anoujuuzou.

“Oh no! That won’t do—you need to hold it steadier so the boat doesn’t rock!” “Keep it from rocking altogether!”

Oen peered down from the shore and hesitated. Then the two other ronin still hiding under the thatch burst into raucous laughter, “When clad in black attire, even we villains steer clear of Oen-chan—but once she reverts to being a woman… Well! Still just a woman after all—how peculiar!” “Oen-chan, jump clumsily and we’ll get an eyeful of the water god under those courtier hakama!” “No way!” Oen let out a gallant cry, grabbed her mother’s shoulder, and collapsed into shared laughter.

However, moment by moment, the sky whitened, and the morning grew lively.

The small boat soon hid them under its thatch and rowed out from the three-pronged sandbar into the Ōkawa River like an arrow.

Besides Anoujuu handling the oar, two more men remained under the thatch - Ookame and Akazari Sanpei. Needless to say, this was the lineup of the Quintet gang that had infiltrated Yamazen in Horidome. The street delinquents and mobs of low-ranking samurai castoffs and libertines - having layered inevitable numbness with self-abandonment - had now transformed into pure brigands. Their faces seemed less aged than permanently warped, as though masks of pure malice had been grafted onto their features. Yet among evildoers, those who piled up greater crimes grew closer within their ranks - intimate as flesh and blood. They carried on with the guileless ease of family.

“Oen.” “Did you not understand the plan we all agreed on at all?” “You gave us one hell of a scare!”

The boat was heading upstream along the Ōkawa. Once they’d settled down and deemed themselves safe, both Sanpei and Ookame began pressing Oen with questions. The thing was—last night, after achieving their objective and preparing to withdraw, when they’d all scrambled down into this small boat they’d tied up in Horidome River, Oen alone had been missing. Realizing (That girl isn’t here?), Osode—who had initially fled to the boat—turned back and combed through the town where alarm clappers now clanged and emergency drums echoed, heedless of her own peril.

Discovered by the northern constables and pursuers—Osode, while searching for her child, was cornered. And at the Edo Bridge approach, she was bound with rope. "I never would have dreamed Oen could be inside the guard post either, you know. "So in all the confusion, I just kept running blindly... "Hey Oen—why on earth were you in a place like that?" Osode too kept pressing with the same suspicion.

“…………” Oen was just laughing. For some reason, she was reluctant to answer. But Sanpei and Ookame, determined to get answers, pressed her relentlessly about every detail. “Oen-chan, didn’t you understand the plan we agreed on before heading out?” “No.” “Then why didn’t you come straight to this boat we’d tied up at Yamazen’s back riverbank when we gave the retreat signal?” “That’s what we can’t figure out.”

“But…” “But what happened?” “I... went and dropped something important of mine somewhere.” “Huh. What did you drop?” At this, Osode widened her eyes and stared deeply into Oen’s face. Oen still hesitated to speak, but pressed further, she finally began to talk. “Ever since before I can remember, I had kept close to my skin an inrō that was so very precious to me, but when we fled Yamazen, I dropped it somewhere. While I was searching for it... I got separated from everyone.”

“Huh.” “Did you drop the inrō?”

“Just when I finally found the inrō, the emergency drums were already sounding in the neighborhood. People came swarming in... Realizing this, I ran out into the town. And when I came near Edo Bridge, I saw the guard post’s light, so I threw off my hood and black clothes by the roadside. Pretending to be a male courtesan from a shadow teahouse, I talked my way into staying at the guards’ hut.” “Hmm…” Both Ookame and Sanpei scrutinized Oen’s face as if seeing it anew. “You’ve got some nerve.” “Damn, that’s shocking!” “She’s one hellion who outdoes even her own mother!”

they exclaimed in astonishment.

But Osode showed a displeased expression,

“What an unbelievable little fool you are. What’s one measly inrō worth?” “But to me, it’s as precious as my own life.” Oen fired back sharply, her tone shifting abruptly. Between mother and daughter hung an unspoken tension that Sanpei and Ookame, mere outsiders, could never hope to decipher.

“Hand over that inrō. I might as well toss it into Ōkawa River for you.”

“I won’t. If you do that, even if you’re my mom… I won’t stand for it.” “Then you—”

Beneath her words, Osode snatched the inrō from Oen’s waist.

"No—!" Oen clung to that hand. Between their hands, the inrō was wrestled over as though contending for a jewel.

With a snap, the layered lid popped open. And from within it, a scrap of paper folded small like a protective charm fell between their knees.

Osode released the inrō and darted her hand toward it. But Oen's hand was quicker—snatching it up like a gambling tile and hiding her hand in the shadow of her sleeve. The hardship of life. “Hey, cut it out already. The boat’s gonna rock!” “If you want your mother-daughter squabble, do it slow after we get back.”

Ookame and Sanpei forcibly pulled the two apart. Oen cried. Osode also teared up.

“What on earth’s the reason you’re both crying?” The strangers who couldn’t comprehend the reason exchanged looks and said this. Oen was still gripping the small paper scrap in the shadow of her sleeve. The reason might lie not in the inrō itself but perhaps in the paper scrap. As Ookame gingerly touched Oen’s hand... her fingers did not forcefully resist. Her fingers loosened. “What’s this? What is that?”

Akazari Sanpei also leaned his face in. The small piece of paper, folded many times over, was unfolded by Ookame's hand. On it, traces of kana written in ink and faint characters read as follows: To the gods of heaven and earth, and to the Buddhas,

I humbly pray. Though I must endure the retribution for all my evil sins until this body perishes, in your mercy, do not let punishment fall upon this child. All this child’s sins lie with the father. May the gods safeguard this child's health. Genroku's frigid year, day of famine Pheasant of the Scorched Field “What the hell...” “Ookame, you got any clue?” “No idea. What kind of charm this is supposed to be.” “What kind of charm this is supposed to be.” Then Anoujuu, having rested his oar, peered down from the mat covering and called out to those inside.

“You already know,” Anoujuu said. “That’s right—this comes from Osode’s first love… and for little Oen here, her real father… Ichinoji wrote this.” “Ah.” Akazari Sanpei’s eyes burned with curiosity. “The old Ichinoji? So that man—the one now calling himself Ōoka Echizen and posing as Edo Town Magistrate—wrote this?”

Akazari Sanpei burned with curiosity in his eyes, while Anoujuu continued speaking from above.

“Once, Oen quietly showed it only to me and sobbed about what a cursed fate it was to have a father she couldn’t meet.” “Hey, Anou. Don’t spout unnecessary crap from up there. Look—Osode-san’s eyes turned terrifying in an instant, like a wrathful demon.”

“Hey. Did I say something wrong?” “Of course it’s bad. Even if someone just casually mentions the ‘I’ in Ichinoji, she’s the type whose face instantly changes color—she’s always saying she’ll make him understand the grudge of having her life ruined like this for as long as she lives. You know that, don’t you?” “Ah, my bad—my bad. Let’s just row in silence.—Well then, passengers, our boat has now passed beneath Ryōgoku Bridge and approaches Shubi no Matsu. It’s about time to prepare to disembark.”

Anoujuu muttered such things to himself amid the creak of oars, clowning around alone.

Perhaps the boat approached its landing place, for under the mat grew quiet accordingly. Oen, paying no heed to her mother's expression, once again carefully folded the handwriting she kept as a memento of her father and quietly tucked it away at the bottom of the inrō.

Osode sat with her profile sharpened as though declaring, "I have nothing more to say——" But just as Ookame had observed, even recalling the mere syllable "I" from Ichijuurou's name caused her complexion to shift instantly—yet still, the turbulent depths of her heart showed no signs of calming. Though she couldn't bring herself to voice her profound sorrow to Anou, Ookame, Sanpei, or any of that motley crew, she had always turned inward—— ——How the truth of a woman betrayed——how a life that sought authenticity only to be ruthlessly crushed——must endure this world's immense suffering, how each torment breeds another, how she must writhe in eternal ill fate—— ——And burning with cursed resolve, she had sworn to make that man comprehend this retribution.

A Woman’s Judgment

After she was forced to spend her days weeping on the second floor of Monster Gyobusho’s earthen storehouse. After experiencing that Genroku 16 November Earthquake, even during the thirteen years that followed, she had never once thought that she had walked her own path of destiny. No matter how many times her circumstances changed, her heart harboring resentment toward her first love, Ōoka Ichijuurou, never wavered. Moreover, if Oen were to inadvertently let slip a word like "father," the buried embers of her curse would immediately burst into flames, scorching her entire body.

For a long time, her love had been directed solely at Oen. It was precisely because Oen had been born that she had come to know love existed among humans. Even their mother-daughter quarrels had never occurred except over matters related to "father." No matter how hardened her fellow outlaws were, the depth and tenderness of Osode’s love for Oen compelled those who witnessed it— “Ah… come to think of it, I had a mother too.” —to such an extent that it made them involuntarily lament. And yet, precisely because Oen secretly harbored this longing for a "father" beyond her mother, the woman found her hatred for that man growing only stronger with each passing year.

The more Oen grew into adulthood, the more she nurtured her longing for her father in her consciousness; the more years passed over Osode, the more she carved that father into her heart with a chisel of resentment. However, as long as she had heard that the man who was her father served as a country magistrate in some distant province, the fire in her chest still smoldered beneath ashes. But when she learned last year that he had assumed the post of Edo South Town Magistrate as Ōoka Echizen-no-kami Tadasuke, overseeing the city’s policing, the man’s deceit merged with years of smoldering resentment, igniting a curse that burned day and night without respite.

(Hmph. No matter how many ceremonial robes he dons, how grandly he postures, how virtuously he acts—I know the truth. That man is nothing but a mass of lies. A masterful beast of deception—yet the scoundrels around us are far more honest than you'd ever believe. If he wants to play magistrate and arrest us as outlaws, then let him try. As long as I live, I'll commit every wicked deed and make fools of them all!) In any case, living within this nest of evil, she felt as though she had been challenged by the former Ichijuurou.

(The name Ōoka Echizen—I’ll keep living and fighting until it’s dragged through the mud of ridicule.—And when I’m finally captured and dragged before South Town’s sanded court, that’s when I’ll truly pour out a lifetime’s worth of resentment. I’ll strip off the hypocrite’s mask. How could I not turn the tables and pass judgment on that man’s crimes?) The woman had found her one sole reason to live there, and— (Then how refreshed my heart would feel. After that, I wouldn’t mind dying.)

She firmly resolved. Though there had certainly been other reasons for her joining the Quintet gang last night and treading on dangerous thin ice, there was no doubt it had also been one of her responses to the man.

“Ah, welcome.” “My, Madam honors us with her presence too.” “As you’d graciously notified us yesterday, we’ve prepared your private room.” “Now then, this way please.”

The boat entered the narrow Sanya Canal. At the canal-side tea house frequented by morning patrons returning from Yoshiwara, the mistress promptly appeared at the pier to welcome them. After taking a morning bath, eating a light breakfast, leaving the boat there, and hiring a town palanquin, Osode and Oen returned ahead. The palanquin proceeded from Shitaya to Negishi Village. In Negishi—a perpetually desolate area behind Kan'ei-ji Temple—they were first set down before a gate befitting a temple samurai of Ueno.

Nearby stood many estates belonging to temple samurai. Osode served as the Madam of this residence. Though addressed as "young lady," Oen would occasionally venture out in male attire—a practice none of the neighbors found suspicious. This ambiguity of gender among visitors proved no oddity limited to Ueno; even monasteries saw such comings and goings as perfectly ordinary for the era.

The place was deathly silent and bone-chilling. Every room surrounding the dim courtyard contained nothing but sliding doors with peeling gold-leaf paintings and faded ink artworks. From deep within came a cough that rasped with asthmatic wheezing,

“Osode.” “You’re back?” rasped the phlegm-holder between coughs. “South” Wind

Osode peered into the room but did not sit down. "I've returned." "Well? Did it go smoothly?" Heaving up from the futon was a grotesque giant of a man already sixty-odd years old. Appearing to suffer from his chronic illness, his salt-and-pepper hair had grown wild and long over his shaved pate, but Monster Gyobusho's piercing gaze remained unchanged from days of old. "Osode. Well, why don't you just sit down? And then—Yamazen—how much did they manage to grab?"

“About seven hundred ryō, they say.”

“Is that all? After all the wisdom I’ve imparted over time, sending that many men on a raid—and they couldn’t even bring back a thousand ryō? Every one of them’s got noodles for arms.”

“After all the wisdom I’d imparted over time—sending that many men on a raid—and they couldn’t even bring back a thousand ryō? Every last one of ’em’s got noodles for arms.”

“What’s this? Not even a ‘good work’…” “For a sick man, you sure do love lecturing.” “You did well enough—but if I went out healthy, I wouldn’t return without two thousand-ryō chests. …Even from Edo’s treasury, Gyobusho hauled out four of those chests. Ah… can’t beat this damn illness.”

With that, he immediately lay down on his back.

Despite feeling not a shred of love, Osode had lived by Gyobusho's side for over a decade now. Even now, though utterly sick of it, she herself didn't understand why she remained with him. Because she wanted to raise Oen. That was also part of it. But above all, betraying Gyobusho meant immediate danger to her life. Though bedridden with asthma, this man still had numerous associates and underlings throughout Edo.

Having obtained the blueprint for Edo Castle’s treasury vault, patiently bided his time, and ultimately stolen a vast sum of gold from within the castle grounds—this was precisely why Gyobusho commanded such reverence among his ilk; with that gold, he enlivened comrades, but

(This should last me a lifetime.) He purchased a temple samurai position and since then abruptly shut himself away, avoiding public gossip, but the funds for idle living dried up around last year, and at the same time, he became prone to illness.

When his funds dried up, he recalled that familiar thrill. Gyobusho lay scheming in his sickbed, his cunning mind settling on Yamazen of Horidome. First came the preparations—dressing Osode and Oen as noblewomen, sending them twice to Yamazen under pretense of shopping and commissions. Only after this reconnaissance did they execute their plan.

Anou, Ookame, Sanpei, and the others returned after night had fallen. They had long been Gyobusho's trusted retainers. Outclassed in wickedness, they could never hold their heads high as long as they remained in this underworld. Gyobusho distributed their shares of the gold and lay gazing at the fortune from his bed. Then he summoned Osode again,

“Take as much as you want.”

he said, but Osode did not even touch it.

The next day. Of the three who had gone out somewhere with ample pocket money to enjoy themselves, only Ookame returned abruptly around noon. "Hey, watch yourself, Oen. "This morning too, when I was heading out, those damn constables were walking around Kan'ei-ji with an informant. "This stinks—got a bad feeling—so I changed my route back to Uguisudani, only to find another bastard with a jutte under his haori skulking around there too. "They're both South's men. "Folks fear the North, but I'll be damned if the South Wind doesn't turn my stomach."

Oen remained silent, but upon hearing "South," Osode immediately flared up with defiance in her eyes. “What’s this? Spineless fool!” she snapped. “Ookame’s turned into a proper senile turtle these days.” “Ōoka Echizen is your cousin, isn’t he?” “If you’re going to take this body, then try taking it! Why not show some backbone?” “If you panic every time you see a jutte, you wouldn’t even be able to walk past an antique shop.” “You got me there.” “I’m beaten.” “If I keep thinkin’ of you as the old Osode-san, one day you’ll be the boss lady—or rather, I’ll tell ya, can’t match a woman’s guts.” Laughed at for his timidity, Ookame shook his head repeatedly and went off somewhere to dry his shell.

Laughed at by Osode for his timidity, Ookame shook his head repeatedly and went off somewhere to dry his shell.

Dialogue at the Secluded Pavilion

Yoshimune was thirty-two years old this year. Even after assuming the position of Eighth Shogun, he still retained traces of the wildness and youth from his days as Tokugawa Shinnosuke, third son of the Kishū family. During his time as a dependent household member, he had frequently wandered through Sakaimachi's pleasure quarters. He resembled his grandfather Dainagon Yorinobu in resoluteness and decisiveness, yet most believed he would spend his life leading Nibu domain's impoverished thirty-thousand-koku retainers. Though favored since boyhood by the fifth shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, he likely never imagined inheriting the eighth shogunate and ascending to power.

He considered himself a restoration innovator through dynastic revival. A shogunate that defied expectations of His Lordship the Shogun. Against longstanding abusive governance and harmful practices, he resolutely ordered their wholesale abolition. Without mercy, he dismissed eunuch-like chamberlains, thoroughly corrupt incompetent officials, meddlesome sycophantic Confucian scholars, and those verminous castle rats—treacherous figures trafficking through hidden passages between the inner chambers and outer courts. For his kimono—tsumugi-patterned silk; for his hakama—karasanshi stripes—even after entering Chiyoda Castle's inner sanctum, he stubbornly retained his rugged provincial tastes from Kishū.

“Yabu. Hey! Yabu! Yabu!”

Yoshimune called for someone outside from within the Fukiage Garden Teahouse. Among the retainers he had brought from Kishū was one named Yabuta Sukehachi. In abbreviation, Yoshimune called him Yabu and employed him as a garden guard. The head garden guard was a secret position. They were also referred to as covert inspectors. Even when the shogunate secretly summoned someone to the Fukiage Garden Teahouse for confidential discussions, only the head garden guard remained nearby to keep watch. “Your summons?” “Oh, fetch me some water.”

Earlier, he thrust the thin tea bowl that the monk had prepared toward Sukehachi. "The water from that monk doesn't taste good. Go to some stream and bring back a cup of fresh, lively water. I'm thirsty." Before long, Sukehachi returned with clear water from Momijiyama Stream and presented it. "Is Echizen not here yet? He's late, isn't he?"

he said while drinking it with relish.

“No, sir.” “He has just arrived, sir.”

“Ah. He’s here?”

Stretching his neck from inside the teahouse, Yoshimune caught a glimpse of the kamishimo-attired figure crouching beneath the sukiya-style eaves at the entrance.

“Summon him.” and had Sukehachi convey the summons.

Before long, Sukehachi stood at the front, and Ōoka Echizen-no-kami Tadasuke prostrated himself before Yoshimune. "In official settings we meet, but I have never relaxed informally with you." "Today concludes at that." "Henceforth I shall summon you here occasionally." "At Your Lordship's convenience." "In Yamada I hear Kishū retainers were bested by your righteous judgments." "In public matters like the Kishū-Yamada border dispute and the Kishū timber driftwood case."

“Were you aware of this?”

“Of course I heard,” Yoshimune said. “Back then, I too had returned to Kishū and spent all my time fishing and hunting birds. And to think we would meet again like this within Edo Castle... Echizen, fate binds us tightly.” “I am humbled beyond measure,” Ōoka replied. “That such mediocrity as mine should receive this extraordinary promotion through Your Lordship’s discerning judgment—by what means could I possibly prove worthy? Echizen quakes at his own inadequacy.” “Nonsense,” Yoshimune countered. “This wasn’t my personal doing. Your refusal to bow before provincial powers like Kishū—your steadfast upholding of legal purity, your righteous breaking of those retainers’ arrogant noses—this integrity moved nameless multitudes to demand your appointment as Edo Town Magistrate through proper channels. I merely heeded their counsel.” He leaned forward, the bamboo blinds casting prison-bar shadows across his face. “The burden now rests with you.”

“I shall stake my very life—” “But Echizen. You’re rather unpopular in Edo, I hear.”

“Echizen finds this most reasonable and offers humble apologies.” “No need. The Town Magistrate’s office isn’t a popularity contest. Proceed as you deem fit.” “I shall consider Your Excellency’s words equal to a million men’s strength.”

That was the gist of their conversation. Yoshimune no longer touched upon Echizen's position. He asked if he would drink tea, and when the man answered that he would, he ordered Sukehachi to summon the tea attendant and served weak tea. "Now then, Echizen," he said. "How bustling is Sakai-cho these days? You don't know?" "Yes," answered Echizen, suddenly feeling as though something had crushed his back—"As I am still quite unaccustomed to the duties of town magistrate, I have not observed Sakai-cho in recent days."

Yoshimune laughed, "When occasion demands, go observe firsthand."

he remarked casually.

A Wall in the Heart

Echizen, having left the garden, found himself pondering the true meaning of Yoshimune’s words—"When occasion demands, go observe firsthand"—even as he made his way back from the castle.

Even the mere act of recalling it made him feel as though his very flesh might change at any moment. He summoned back both the visceral reality of that time and his former self into his present being.

He recalled wandering through the starving town as hail fell—the clamor of Sakai's back alleys. He painted on his eyelids the days when they would go out to Kichin—having Misokyu carry Oen on his back—and scavenge for food through the streets.

Until the palanquin passed through Sukiyabashi Gate and was set down at the official residence's entrance, his mind had been suddenly preoccupied.

It was already dusk, and every room in the official residence had been vacated. However, only two men—Ichikawa Yoshihira, the examination officer who always assisted him, and Kobayashi Kanzō, the petition clerk—had prepared candles in Ōoka’s office and were waiting. Echizen immediately approached his desk and began reviewing documents covering all matters from that day’s official duties—municipal administration, prison affairs, firefighting, roads, and town incidents. Suddenly, the documents concerning the Yamazen case caught his eye. Through statements from Yamazen’s servants and the severely injured couple, a fairly clear outline of the Quintet Gang’s raiders from that night—their facial features, approximate ages, and such—had emerged within those documents.

In addition, the testimonies of Shoushichi and Yoshizou from the Edo Bridge guard post had also been meticulously written up. “……?” Echizen trimmed the candle wick several times. He had forgotten dinner.—No—under normal circumstances, he would have long since returned home to his wife Onui and his child, dissolved into a mere self among them by this hour—yet even that had slipped from his mind.

"A maki-e inrō bearing what appears to be a hollyhock crest...? "Hmm, one bearing a hollyhock crest...?" Echizen, startled, read that part over and over again. "A sixteen or seventeen-year-old youth—who had been pretending to be a male courtesan from Manjiya and spending nights at the guard post—was said to have been in possession of it." "Sixteen or seventeen...?" He closed his eyes, moving his fingers on his knees. The only child born from his relationship with Osode floated dimly before his eyelids. At that time—how old? Counting up the years to this year—the age would match.

"However, the deposition states 'a youth.'... For Oen, that detail—" Whenever he wavered, he would read other sections, and whenever he encountered suggestive details— Could it be... ..." A sudden blow struck his chest. The walls of his heart shuddered violently as young Oen's cries from years past revived—gnawing at his innards like a beast devouring its prey.

Sinful Father

Onui was now happy.

Looking back now on those bygone days before their marriage—days she had spent in tears—her husband seemed like a completely reborn man: gentle to his wife, warm to their children, and when evening came, carrying the day’s fatigue in his official palanquin, (He’s back now—) he would show his figure released from official duties at the entrance, and when he entered the room, he still wholeheartedly enjoyed the family’s peaceful moments. The eldest son, Kyutaro, born after their marriage, was already nine years old, and the eldest daughter, Yukiko, was twelve. The second daughter, Sonoko, was three years old. They had been blessed with children in the enviable order of first a daughter, then sons.

“I want to show Father.” “If Father were alive…” Each time Onui gave thanks for this happiness, she never failed to remember the late Tadayuemon. Her husband was uncharacteristically late that night. “What could have kept you?” Onui sat in the inner bedroom nursing Sonoko while worrying. Though they had assigned a wet nurse to the still-unweaned child, Sonoko had shown signs of a cold since yesterday—her fever ran high, and she clung to her mother’s skin, refusing to let go.

"Even though it's not his month on duty..." She fretted. Even at home, whenever she sensed something grave had occurred within the weighty responsibilities of her husband's position as Town Magistrate, her breast milk would immediately diminish.

“My lord has returned.” “My lady.”

Outside in the corridor, as usual, the maid's announcing voice could be heard.

Onui was relieved.

Entrusting Sonoko to the wet nurse, she hurried to the mirror stand before going out to greet him. Having alighted from the palanquin, Echizen-no-kami was just stepping onto the entrance platform. “Welcome home, my lord.”

"I got held up a bit today." His usual composure showed no change.

Having removed his official attire, taken a bath, and sat down to supper served by Onui, “Have the children gone to bed?” “Yes—until evening came, both Kyutaro and Yukiko kept waiting eagerly for you, but...” “Sonoko sounds like she’s crying in her room.” “Today she’s been coughing and fussing constantly.” “What did Doctor Rakuō say?” “Though he said he would come examine her even if it grew late, he still hasn’t arrived.”

“Oh? He’s been summoned.” “Go check on her.”

She hurried to the sick child’s room. Echizen-no-kami entered the study as usual. Reading was both his nightly routine and hobby, but that night, Sonoko’s crying lingered in his ears, and no matter what, his mind remained restless. "...An irrefutable truth"—he reproached himself. The father’s sin still had not disappeared. The crying voice of Oen in her infancy—and the crying voice of Sonoko in the inner room—were far too similar.

No—they could not possibly be different. "...The mother is different, though." The guilty father, unable to bear the reproach, finally closed his book and cradled his deeply aching heart in his arms. At the magistrate’s office, he was the judge who daily passed judgment on the countless people dragged before the sanded court, but in the stillness of night, sitting alone, he could not help but pass judgment on himself.

To the edge of the sliding door came a young retainer, who softly inquired. “Dr. Rakuō wishes to know if he might have a moment to pay his respects on his way back, my lord?” “That’s fine. Let him through.”

Echizen waited for him. The town doctor of Kōjimachi, Ichikawa Rakuō, was the biological father of Ichikawa Yoshihira, a yoriki working at the magistrate’s office.

Rakuō was a man of refined taste and an easy companion. Upon being admitted, he would first offer a physician’s assurance that there was no need to worry about your daughter’s cold, then shift to casual conversation—praising how his son Yoshihira always received your esteemed favor—to pass the time. “By the way, I hear that recently a quintet gang including women broke into a kimono wholesaler called Yamazen on Horidome Riverbank... Indeed, the town has been abuzz with rumors... It must be quite trying for Your Honor as well.”

And so he began recounting assorted tidbits overheard here and there during their tea.

The Voice of the Town: The Voice Within the Office

The perceptiveness of the masses is a fearsome thing.

No political secret nor confidential matter of the Ōoku could remain hidden from the masses forever. What proved impossible to deceive were their collective intuition and judgment. The masses constituted a vast intellect. Were they not society's true eminent arbiters of worldly affairs? Echizen-no-kami had always keenly felt this truth. Thus even Rakuō's gossip about current events demanded his full attention. "Of this quintet gang, I hear those two women are mother and child." "And they say the daughter's a blossoming beauty who's become quite celebrated."

If Rakuō's words represented the voice of the town, then the commoners already knew even such things. Echizen-no-kami asked within his heart: (Ah, who is the one being judged?)

He was questioning and answering himself. Rakuō could not possibly know what lay in his heart, “Moreover, the townspeople seem to be taking their usual interest in whether it will be the North or the South that apprehends the criminals in this case. …As my son Yoshihira serves in the South Office, whenever I hear disparaging rumors about the South, I find myself growing unreasonably angry despite my age.” “...Please, Your Honor, above all else, take care of your health—and this time, let us splendidly outwit Lord Izumo-no-kami Nakayama of the North and his ilk.”

What the old man had wanted to say seemed to be this very point. More than the townspeople, Rakuō himself was vehemently invested in this "North versus South" rivalry. Having thus concluded his exhortations, he left behind a bag of prescribed kidney tonic as a concerned gesture and took his leave.

The next day.

And then, the days that followed.

Echizen-no-kami spent his days attending the magistrate’s office as usual, hearing cases in the sanded court and adjudicating all manner of municipal affairs—an uneventful, ordinary busy routine. Since his appointment, as public opinion held, this South Town Magistrate Office had achieved poor results in hunting criminals—Sukiyabashi’s detention houses and prisons remained remarkably quiet—but in municipal governance, it had steadily produced effective administrative results. He thought about how he might eliminate fires from Edo.

“Fires are Edo’s flowers”—or so the saying went—but in the Great Fire of Meireki, half the city burned, resulting in a disaster claiming 100,000 casualties. In the third year of Manji [1660], a new record was set with 105 fires occurring in the brief span from the second day of the New Year to the end of March. Even if Echizen-no-kami tried to recall the major conflagrations he could remember from his childhood to the present, there were likely dozens of them.

(He could not leave it be) Thus he came to believe that eliminating this calamitous fire demon took greater urgency than dealing with the town's villains. Thereupon he established penalties for firestarters, and when blazes grew into major conflagrations, enacted laws holding even town headmen, landlords, and landowners jointly responsible. However, he placed greater emphasis on preventive measures before fires could ignite. He established numerous firebreak zones throughout the city.

He abolished the previously imposed restrictions on building structures (for instance, that only daimyo and samurai could have tiled roofs), and reformed municipal administration to allow anyone to freely construct fireproof-focused houses.

He also organized new fire brigade groups. In every ward across the entire city, standby firefighter groups of thirty men each were stationed; when the bell clanged, they would vie to swing their fire hooks and raise their standards, cooperating to extinguish the flames. Rather, he made them compete and awarded the successful groups. The conception of Edo's "Iroha" Forty-Eight Groups—it is said to date from this time. However, the unassuming administration of things like civil engineering, transportation, public morals, and fire prevention struggled to capture the citizens' attention.

"The South is incompetent." In contrast to such criticism, the subordinates of Nakayama Izumo-no-kami, the North Magistrate, (a roster of skilled men) enjoyed precisely such high public esteem. Therefore, while public censure gathered around the South Town Magistrate Office, Echizen-no-kami paid it no mind whatsoever. However, each time, those who seethed with resentment were his subordinates below the yoriki and dōshin. That day too, after lunch in the dōshin room, joined by two or three informants who had just returned from making inquiries around town,

“This time, we’ve gotta catch the criminals ourselves—South style—or we’d be too ashamed to walk around with these jutte in broad daylight. Tatsuzō, got any leads?” one of them asked. The informants Tatsuzō, Matsu, and Kanjū all shook their heads in unison. “Not a damn thing worth hearing. We’re just fumbling in the dark like dogs sniffing for bones. Even the North bastards haven’t dug up squat beyond their witness statements.”

“Aren’t we being careless here? Those North bastards might be quietly scheming right now to catch us Southerners off guard.” “No—this time we won’t absolutely let the North outmaneuver us again. But no matter how many times we comb the scene, grill those two Edo Bridge guards, or dig through every corner of Horidome—we’ve got nothing solid. The North group’s stuck in the same rut, y’know. Right now both sides are just groping in the dark—sometimes bumping into each other, sometimes feeling each other out.”

Their words were no exaggeration. Originally, each of the North and South Town Magistrate Offices had fifty yoriki and two hundred forty dōshin assigned to them. The majority of these were engaged in general municipal administration and internal office duties, with the actual number of yoriki and dōshin tasked with criminal apprehension being but a small portion. Nevertheless, when a major incident occurred, the highest functions of the magistrate offices would become concentrated on it. Nevertheless, even after twenty days had passed since the incident—and even with the combined investigative might of both North and South—not a single trace of the criminals had been found. How could one or two informants possibly pick up the trail so easily?

To be honest, this seemed to be their subordinates' argument—but even so, they maintained composed expressions, their pride refusing to voice complaints against Nakayama Izumo-no-kami's North group, finding it utterly galling. "Is Yamamoto here? Yamamoto Sōta?"

At that moment, the interrogator Ichikawa Yoshihira came searching for yoriki Yamamoto Sōta.

“If it’s Mr. Sōta you’re after, he was just now taking his lunch in the tea room.” “I’ve already checked both the yoriki room and the tea room.”

“Is there some sudden official business?” “The Magistrate has summoned him.”

“Then let’s search for him.”

With that, they all left the dōshin room and scattered to search individually through the vast official residence, interrogation rooms, various guard posts, detention houses, temporary jails, and the vacant lot behind the unclean gate.

Sōta’s Dismissal from Service

In front of the west gate of the magistrate's office stood a teahouse colloquially called "Ishiyaki Tōfu," officially named the Litigants' Rest Teahouse. Those handling legal procedures or waiting to send parcels to jailed relatives would have their documents drafted here or bide their time, making the place perpetually busy. Yamamoto Sōta numbered among the younger yoriki, barely thirty years old, his angular features not unhandsome. Persistent rumors connected him to Otsugi—the celebrated daughter of Ishiyaki Tōfu.

The informant Tatsuzō had vaguely known about this, so

“No way…?” he thought, but just to be sure, when he peeked into the side room of the shop that served as their residence, there was Sōta with Otsugi by his side, drinking sake since noon. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Tatsuzō hesitated, but given that it was an urgent matter for the office, he was nowhere to be found, and his colleagues were growing concerned, “Mr. Sōta. Everyone was searching for you, sir.”

He stood outside the window and cautiously called out. “What? Me?” Sōta showed no sign of standing up,

“I was just taking a short nap during my lunch break. It’s probably nothing urgent.” “I don’t know what it’s about, but they say the Magistrate has summoned you.” “Don’t lie. I finished my reports for the past three days by noon—I’m already done with my official duties. I need to catch my breath a little or I can’t keep up.”

Just then, Yoshihira also tracked him down, and when he heard that from Tatsuzō,

“This is outrageous!”

he barked harshly in unison, shouting from the window. “Sōta! What are you doing? The Magistrate has summoned you! Come here at once!” At this, Yamamoto Sōta could no longer remain skeptical, it seemed,

“Really? Yoshihira.” “Who’d go through the trouble of coming all this way just to lie? What time do you think it is?”

“Then I’ll go right now.” Sōta circled around to the shopfront and stepped outside through its earthen-floored entrance ahead of the two men. Watching him stride briskly toward the magistrate’s office back gate without so much as a nod of acknowledgment, “He wasn’t like this before,” Yoshihira remarked. “Something’s off with him lately.”

And Ichikawa Yoshihira looked back at Tatsuzō. Tatsuzō also tilted his head slightly,

"That’s strange..." he muttered— “Even if love is a fever, drinking during office hours... Hardly calm behavior.” “There’s something self-destructive about him.” “True—he’s been using town grievances to slyly slander the Magistrate lately.” “Pent-up frustrations must’ve boiled over.” “Then perhaps this backbiting reached Lord Echizen-no-kami’s ears?”

When the two returned to the yoriki room, the other colleagues were also whispering about rumors concerning Sōta. Before long, Yamamoto Sōta himself appeared there—his complexion had changed. People sensed that he had been summoned to Echizen-no-kami’s chambers and told something.

True to form, as soon as Sōta arrived there, he immediately blurted out his words as if chewing them over. "To all of you—though I've been indebted to your daily kindness—Yamamoto Sōta has today been dismissed by the Magistrate. ...However regrettable this parting may be, there's no alternative."

“Huh?! Have you been dismissed?”

“Yeah,” “For now, I’ll be wandering around.” “What happened exactly? Did you seriously defy the Magistrate’s will?” “Because I couldn’t help but defy him.” “...Why?” “Haven’t you all heard how South Town’s being slandered out there? —No, forget it. I shouldn’t say more.” “I thoroughly insulted Lord Echizen-no-kami to his face.” “They say good advice stings the ears—when it’s ignored, stepping back’s the timeless way. ...You’d all do well to keep your wise words to yourselves.” “Well then—see you again someday.”

Sōta delivered a resentful farewell to colleagues and soon departed alone through the common gate.

“With those feet of his, he’s probably heading straight to the stone-grilled tofu place again, isn’t he?” When one of the yoriki said this, they all laughed as if everyone had thought the same thing. Through Kurahashi Kensuke of the petition office, Yamamoto Sōta’s dismissal was publicly announced by Echizen-no-kami to each duty room. The reason given was conduct—violent and licentious behavior. None who had seen him recently could consider it an unjust dismissal.

However, among those very close to Sōta who shared his room, "Why has he suddenly become such a self-destructive fool lately?"

And his behavior was also being viewed with suspicion by those close to him.

Amidst this situation, Lord Echizen-no-kami—since it was his regular day to attend the Tatsu-no-Kuchi Council—entered his palanquin past noon and departed through the magistrate office gate earlier than usual.

Soul-Bonded Companions

With twilight, the magistrate office was vacated, and except for the lights in the night duty room and the prison barracks, everything sank into ink-thick darkness; the main gate, west gate, and common gate—all were shut tight. Kurahashi Kensuke and Ichikawa Yoshihira were the last to leave there.

The two stopped,

“Well then, Yoshihira. Will you go alone?”

“That way we won’t draw unwanted attention,” said Yoshihira. “Then I entrust this to you.” “I’ll make discreet contact at the magistrate’s office when possible.” Kanzō returned home while Yoshihira remained alone at the scene.

That Yoshihira had already made his way around to the side of the stone-grilled tofu residence where, as evening fell, the reed screens had been rolled up and the shutters taken down.

“Otsugi. Are you there?”

“O... Lord Ichikawa.” “Sōta came by earlier, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did come,” Otsugi replied. “And he instructed me to give you this when you arrived, my lord.” She produced from her sash a scrap of paper that Sōta had entrusted to her as a makeshift letter. Yoshihira scanned the brief message and turned to leave with a casual “Thank you,” but stopped abruptly when Otsugi called him back. “What is it, Otsugi?” “Has something happened to Lord Sōta? Is it... related to his official duties?”

“Did you hear?” “Yes, this evening the informants were whispering such rumors while sitting on camp stools at the shop.” “I’ll tell you this—Sōta’s been dismissed from duty. He won’t be coming to the magistrate office anymore.” “...Was I at fault?” Otsugi bit the edge of her sleeve and averted her tear-filled eyes. “Ha, ha, ha. Why would you have anything to do with appointments and dismissals at the magistrate office? Why would there be any connection between you and appointments at the magistrate office? Sōta’s dismissal seems to have arisen from a difference of opinion with Lord Echizen-no-kami. Ah, don’t worry—he’ll be reinstated before long.”

With a light laugh to brush it off, Yoshihira quickened his pace and headed somewhere.

Around that time, Yamamoto Sōta stood at the foot of Kaede Riverbank bridge, wearing the expression of one awaiting another's arrival.

“Sōta…” came a voice from the evening darkness.

“Oh, Yoshihira. You came.” The two faced the river and sat on the stones at the stone pile.

“Sōta. You must’ve had a rough day today.” “You understand. Only you, Kanzō, and I—just us three—know about this. When I left through the gate, seen off by all my colleagues and subordinates with scornful looks and cold eyes…it didn’t feel good at all.” “But if we three consider this all part of facing Lord Echizen-no-kami’s great trial—him whom we regard as both parent and master, and to whom we pledge our aid—then… Hey, Sōta. It won’t come to anything.”

“Hmph. It’s nothing.” The two sat in silence for a while, gazing down at the night river’s surface. Yoshihira was the son of town physician Ichikawa Rakuō. Sōta was originally the son of a farmer in Kazusa Province but had been suddenly noticed by Lord Echizen-no-kami and promoted from a minor role at the magistrate’s office.

All along, the only other colleague who had been fully qualified as an assistant magistrate was Kobayashi Kanzō. Kanzō had been a subordinate of the previous Edo Town Magistrate, Matsuno Ikinokami, but when Ōoka Echizen-no-kami assumed his post, he earnestly petitioned Ikinokami and had Kanzō taken into his own group of assistant magistrates. There were indeed many other assistant magistrates and constables, but regardless, centered around Lord Echizen-no-kami, they stood against the storm of public criticism, (To devote oneself to this person was none other than repaying the world.)

They were the three who, believing this conviction, stood firmly united. Naturally, Sōta's dismissal today had been something Lord Echizen-no-kami and his three trusted aides agreed upon beforehand out of necessity—their mutual pledge remained entirely unchanged. "Now then, Sōta," Yoshihira continued, "when Lord Echizen-no-kami judged us three as men worthy of entrusting his affairs and confessed the mistakes of his youth so plainly—without any pretense—have you made actual progress in responding to what you undertook? Do you have any tangible leads?"

"That goes without saying. Now that I've deliberately gone so far as to accept dismissal and walk out the magistrate office gates, I'll surely get to the bottom of that case before long."

“But during that time, I just hope we aren’t beaten to it by the North Town Magistrate. If by any chance the North Office gets their hands on it first…” “That’s a life-or-death battle. Rather than directing constables and informants from the magistrate’s office—if I move freely on my own—the odds of success would be far greater.” “Have you secured temporary lodgings?”

“The second floor—” Sōta turned and pointed toward the light of a boat rental shop. “Remember this place—it’s called Fune-gen at Kaede Bridge. But having magistrate officials come here for every communication would raise suspicions.” “What about using Otsugi? Still unsuitable?” “Don’t you start mocking me too. I’ve deliberately been lingering around these past few days, but that doesn’t mean I’ve truly entrusted my heart to some stone-tofu vendor’s daughter.”

“...Huh?” At that moment, Yoshihira looked around at the riverside willows and,

“Did someone cry out just now, or is it just my ears?” He strained his ears, then abruptly stood and moved toward the tree shade behind him.

“Ah.” “It’s Otsugi-san… Sōta, Otsugi-san was here, eavesdropping on your words just now.” “When did she…?”

Sōta made a perplexed face. But considering he had written the location on the note entrusted to her, Otsugi reading it and quietly following Yoshihira was not so surprising through the lens of a young woman’s heart. Rather, Yoshihira was pleased this turn of events proved convenient both for his friend’s sake and their upcoming strategy.

“I know Otsugi-san’s temperament too. We could go ahead and tell her everything, don’t you think?”

Yoshihira had spoken, but Sōta...? Sōta fell deep into thought, "Women are loose-lipped, you know..." He showed reluctance.

Otsugi was simply crying, as if ashamed of the self she couldn't believe in. What had been mere scandalous rumors until yesterday now, through today's events, had caused her heart to suddenly take on the appearance of a burning passion.

“It’s okay, don’t cry. Yoshihira understands. And more than anyone else, I trust you, Otsugi-san. Besides you, there’s no one else who can smoothly liaise between us at the magistrate’s office and Sōta. If Sōta can’t tell you, I will. ……Otsugi-san. Look this way for a moment.”

Yoshihira led her to a slightly removed spot and disclosed a certain secret.

Morning chazuke The secret concerned the youthful transgression of the current Town Magistrate, Lord Echizen-no-kami. Among the bandits of the Horidome Incident's Quintet Gang lurked someone tied to Lord Echizen-no-kami by fate—a person connected to him since his youth through crime. Lord Echizen-no-kami had come to realize this. Needless to say, as a man called Echizen, he had spent countless nights tormented by this knowledge.

But above all else, his position was that of Town Magistrate. He was a judicial officer who passed judgment on people's crimes. Kanzō, Sōta, and Yoshihira—the three of them had been directly informed of this matter by him. (Your Honor—how do you intend to handle this matter?) We will serve as your hands and feet. We shall become your trusted retainers and execute your will in secret. —Simply give us your orders. We will follow them without question.) This had been the three men's unanimous response at that time.

Today’s events marked the first step in unraveling the great crisis that had befallen Echizen-no-kami as a human being. The work was all yet to come. “Otsugi-san, will you help me? No—now that I’ve laid everything bare, I won’t take no for an answer.” “It would be my pleasure... I’ll do anything.” “Sōta. You heard from behind, right? Let’s work together nicely and help each other out.” The three continued conspiring about certain matters for about an hour longer before parting ways.

Sōta rented the second floor of Funegen and began living as a rōnin, as though botching his government post were something to boast about. The couple running Funegen were fellow natives of Kazusa, just like him. They had discussed this matter to the extent that it wouldn’t cause any problems.

“Boss, I finally figured it out. That boat from that night—”

It had been seven days since coming to this second floor. Funegen’s owner rushed back from his associates’ gambling den and informed him. “Boss, your hunch was spot on after all.” “The one who lent a boat to the Quintet Gang bandits was a boat master named Iwagorō from the Kisarazu boats.” “How did you find out?” “One of Iwagorō’s underlings let slip something strange at the gambling den, so I invited him on the way back, took him to a clam hotpot place, set a trap, and questioned him.” “The thatch-covered boat owned by Iwagorō was lent to a customer at the chazuke shop by the moat—and when I count back on my fingers, it turns out it was exactly the night before that big commotion broke out at Horidome.”

“Did he charge a fortune? What about the rental fee?”

“From what I hear, the mistress of the chazuke shop mediated the negotiation.” “How many times do the Kisarazu boats enter the Ōkawa River?” “Well, the parent ships probably come in about once a month, I suppose.” “You know about Iwagorō’s house in Kisarazu, right?” “He’s a net operator too—an open boat owner with nothing to hide.”

“Well, we’ve got our lead.” “Congratulations.” “Don’t be daft—this is just the beginning. But keep this to yourself—you hear?” “You needn’t even say it.”

“As a reward, I’ll take you to Yoshiwara.” “Don’t joke about that. ……Boss—my wife’ll kick us both out.” “No—tonight, you’re mine to borrow. I’ll handle things with your wife.” “You serious, Boss?”

"But it's a boat—make sure there's sake, a brazier, floor cushions and such prepared." Sōta went downstairs and negotiated something with Genkichi's wife through shared laughter. An understanding seemed to have been reached,

"Genkichi! Permission's been granted!" Laughing, he stepped out from under the eaves.

And then—right at the moment they crossed paths,

“Mr. Sōta.” “Where are you off to?” Otsugi—who occasionally visited this second floor—happened to arrive carrying what looked like food packed in a tiered box. Genkichi turned around and laughed exaggeratedly while clapping his hands. “Hey Boss!” “Now it’s your turn.” “Think she’ll give permission?” Parasol after parasol.

The late cherry blossoms had already faded, and summer drew near.

It was the season when fishing boats, pig-boats, and roofed pleasure boats would soon come swarming out onto the river. Funegen’s pig-boat carried Otsugi along with two passengers and a boatman. With a brazier in the center and facing each other across its width, the boat had just the right amount of space. “Hey, Genkichi! Wait! Wait!” “What is it?” “Did you forget something?”

“No—it’s still early evening. Don’t head straight out to Ōkawa. Row us toward Horidome instead.” “Horidome?” “Just turn the boat around—doesn’t matter why.” “Understood. My lips are sealed.” Genkichi twisted the oar, creaking as he rowed upstream. The river narrowed gradually, banks rising higher until earthen storehouses and loading docks lined both shores. “...This spot. Yamazen’s rear—” Recognizing the storehouse markings, Sōta halted the boat and studied Yamazen’s residence and alleyways from the water.

He had long since discerned that the thieves' path of attack had come from this river course. "Go ahead, Genkichi—do it." "Where to?"

“To Yoshiwara.” Otsugi made a face as though she hadn’t heard. Genkichi deliberately, “Is this alright with you, Otsugi-san?” “It’s not that tactless. Hey, Otsugi-san.” Sōta took over and answered. While buffeted by the early summer night’s river breeze, the chokibune arrived late at Sanya-bori. The three of them circled through the pleasure quarters and ascended to Tomoe-ya Teahouse. “Well. What a rare sight.” With that, the teahouse mistress recognized Sōta. Otsugi sat as though she had nowhere to settle.

“The cherry blossoms have already scattered,” Yamamoto remarked. “It has been too long since we last saw you,” the teahouse mistress replied. “Nakanochō will soon be blooming with irises. I trust you won’t forget us when the season comes.” “Tonight I brought along a visiting relative’s daughter from Kazusa for sightseeing,” Yamamoto explained. “...But returning stone sober would make for a poor story. Let’s share a drink of something.”

They drank lightly, kept track of the time, and on their way back,

“Mistress. Around the moat—isn’t there some place where Otsu can get breakfast?”

“How about Chazuke-ya? It’s quite popular these days.”

“Is it alright if we’re just pretend customers?” “…I’d like you to write a quick note as if from Tomoe-ya.” “Easy enough,” the mistress wrote the customer’s referral note and handed it to Genkichi. The pig-boat returned to the moat before dawn—even for customers returning home in the morning, it seemed a bit too early. But the lights of Chazuke-ya’s private room cast reflections on the moat’s water—indeed, they proudly proclaimed their status as an all-night establishment. The three took their seats and gazed at the still-darkened water and sky of the Sumida Embankment.

“That was a cuckoo’s call just now, wasn’t it?” “Are you right now around Komagata—?”

“Genkichi. You’ve got some refined tastes, don’t you?” At that moment, a maid came to draw the bath. When Sōta had entered first and Genkichi came up next, the sky began to shine beautifully. “Otsugi-san, you should freshen up too.”

After having her stand up, he called the maid and asked to have the mistress come out for a moment. As they were customers brought by Tomoe-ya, the mistress came to greet them immediately. “Hey, you—step outside for a bit.” Sōta, after sending Genkichi away as well—

“Mistress, please close the back.”

“Huh. “...Why ever would that be?” “You should close both the sliding doors and paper screens. “I’m not concerned about myself, but there seem to be quite a few servants around. “It’s for your sake.”

Sōta placed the jutte he had been carrying wrapped in a cloth before the mistress. The mistress lost the color from her face. She stood up and barely managed to close the back.

"My apologies for startling you," said Yamamoto Sōta. "But I haven’t come to arrest you. I only placed the jutte here as proof that I’m from the magistrate’s office." His voice carried a calculated calmness. "If you tell me everything you know exactly as it is... well then, I suppose we can settle this with the lightest possible consequences." "What on earth... regarding your inquiry—" The mistress’s words trembled. "It’s nothing complicated—" Yamamoto Sōta calmly began his interrogation. On the eve of the Horidome incident, someone must have borrowed a thatch-covered boat from Iwagorō of Kisarazu ship here. It concerned that person’s condition and other matters.

The mistress spoke without hesitation. However, when it came to the next morning—when a group of five men and women from that thatch-covered boat came up to this house, ate breakfast, and then left—she was reluctant to say where they had gone. "Then I won't ask. I already know everything... But don't make yourself an accomplice."

Of course, this was Sōta’s bluff. The mistress trembled violently and confessed everything. She described that morning’s events in meticulous detail. Yet beneath it all lay her terror—the dread of future retaliation from Monster Gyobusho, that arch-villain who commanded fear through reputation alone. “Did Gyobusho disembark from the thatch-covered boat with them?” “No—they say Monster Gyobusho lies bedridden with asthma. But even so, his glare holds such power that you’ll find no outlaw daring enough to defy him.”

“Won’t you guide me to Gyobusho’s house?” “...to Gyobusho’s house?” “Please—I beg you to spare me that one thing.” She feared Gyobusho more than she did the magistrate’s office.

Sōta laughed, “There, there. ...In exchange, you’ll let me use this house occasionally from now on. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” After eating breakfast, Sōta and Genkichi borrowed pillows and took a short nap. He had them summon the palanquin service that regularly traveled between this house and Gyobusho’s residence, then said to Genkichi and Otsugi—

“Return ahead by boat. I’ll wander where I need to and eventually return to the second floor at Kaede Riverbank.” With that, he made his preparations. He would return in a few days—

Otsugi felt uneasy.

“Is there any message you would like conveyed to the magistrate’s office?” In the shadow of an object, when she whispered this, Sōta entrusted the sealed document he had prepared beforehand into Otsugi’s hands. “Deliver this securely to either Ichikawa Yoshihira or Kobayashi Kanzō—whichever of the two gentlemen you can reach.”

He made his request and parted ways.

The palanquin hurried toward the backside of Ueno’s mountain. They arrived near the villa in Uguisudani. “Palanquin bearer. Is it still far?”

“No—it’s just ahead on Dadarazaka slope.” “Then let me out here.”

“Is it alright, sir?” “As long as I can identify that house’s gate.” The palanquin bearer led him partway up Dadarazaka slope. Nothing but old samurai residences belonging to temple retainers lined the path. The bearer pointed to one house distinguished by an especially weathered kabukimon gate. Then—utterly incongruous with the gate’s austere surroundings—a gaudy painted parasol snapped open from its shadow like a peony bursting into bloom.

…Hm? As he leapt into the shadow of an object and focused his gaze, following the peony parasol, another subdued parasol with a swallow pattern cut out against a navy background opened once more.

The two parasols, keeping each other company, climbed the slope, appeared at Uguisubashi Bridge, and crossed over toward the rear of Kanei-ji Temple in Ueno.

"...Osode and Oen—mother and child. Ah, how could those beautiful figures appear to anyone's eyes as demons cursing the world and plunging the Edo Town Magistrate into agonizing depths of suffering?" Sōta repeatedly doubted his own actions, wondering if even what he saw with his own eyes might be a case of mistaken identity.

"Where are they going?"

He too, exercising every precaution while pretending not to notice anything, had reached the midpoint of Uguisubashi Bridge. The beautiful mother and child’s parasols were already beginning to climb the slope on the opposite side of Ueno’s backstreets. Then—the parasols spun around sharply, and two pale faces turned distinctly toward him, giggling softly.

"Oh damn."

Had they noticed him?—It was just as he pressed himself against the railing and began to turn his face away. Someone suddenly grabbed Sōta from behind—no, it wasn’t that gentle. The moment he felt his breath constrict as though abruptly choked, five fingers from the person behind him were already pressing into his throat, digging in.

Under the bridge was a deep valley. Sōta momentarily felt the roots of his hair grow hot, but by the time he forgot that sensation, he must have already been on the verge of losing consciousness.

Chapter Four

Urban Weeds

The adjudication of lawsuits takes place at the monthly rotating magistrate’s official residence, as it is a duty that rotates each month.

This month, it was the South Office’s turn for the monthly rotation. Kobayashi Kanzō of the petition clerks’ office, Ichikawa Yoshihira of the interrogators’ office, and their subordinates all saw their official duties increase markedly; consequently, they could rarely overhear their colleagues’ casual conversations in the boiler room. “Oh! You’re attending to your duties quite early today.” “Ah, Yoshihira.” “This morning, I prided myself on being the first to arrive—only to be shocked finding you already at your desk in the office.” “Well, I’ve been tasked with some research. With so many sanded court sessions during daylight hours making it impossible, I’ve kept dawn attendance these past two or three days.”

“Oh, just research?” “Well, once you get into it, it’s quite interesting. It’s the ‘allure’ kind, you see.” “Hmm… I see…”

Since they were on such close terms—closer than brothers even among colleagues—Ichikawa Yoshihira peered over Kobayashi Kanzō’s desk and picked up some of the documents there. They consisted of statistics on unlicensed prostitutes throughout Edo, background checks, lodging house investigations, and the like. Among them was a copy of Edo’s population survey from the first year of Kyōhō.

According to it, Edo’s total population at the time was— —501,404 which—when divided by gender— (Male) 323,285 people (Female) 178,119 people was classified as such.

“Kobayashi. Is this table accurate? The number of men compared to women seems excessively high.” “No—this table only counts citizens. If you include daimyo households, retained townspeople, Noh performers, and others from sankin-kotai residences, the numbers would never remain that low.” “So the male count becomes even greater?” “Of course. The large households of Edo-residing daimyo are made up almost entirely of men.”

“Hmm... Is that truly the case?” “I never imagined the ratio of men to women in Edo could be so severely skewed.” “Ah—with such a dearth of women, it’s inevitable that all manner of crimes would continually arise.” “The daimyo households prove particularly challenging to survey thoroughly, but under the sankin-kotai system, we can confirm at least two hundred thousand people permanently reside in Edo—even by conservative estimates.” “Since their wives and children remain in their home domains—factoring those numbers in, men outnumber women here roughly three to one.”

“Hmm. Moreover, the most desirable of these scarce women get monopolized by the inner palace, daimyos, and moneyed patrons...” “Ahahaha. What strange conversation to have first thing in the morning.” “But what does His Honor mean to accomplish by ordering such investigations?” “It seems he’s been contemplating how to curb the citizens’ disorderly conduct for some time now.”

“It can’t be helped. This one thing…” “Hmm. As we’ve just discussed—the balance between men and women is entirely skewed, so contradictions are inevitable… Yet His Lordship states that this cesspool breeding crimes lies here, and seems determined not to abandon efforts against syphilis outbreaks and other sources of misfortune.” “But it would be difficult.”

“Hmm, this too is a most difficult endeavor.” “Honestly, our Magistrate seems intent on seeking out nothing but the most arduous challenges and toiling tirelessly at them.” “Is he what you’d call a glutton for hardship?”

As it was still early dawn, no one had yet arrived at the desks in the magistrate’s office. When the two met, they were sincerely concerned for Magistrate Echizen-no-kami’s well-being.

Even though Echizen-no-kami himself already had mountains of difficult problems piling up—not to mention countless others—if he were to now embark on something like a crackdown on unlicensed prostitutes—the two furrowed their brows at the thought of such hardship and even began to worry about Echizen-no-kami’s health. Up until now, among previous magistrates as well, there were certainly those who had attempted to address issues such as regulating unlicensed prostitutes and moral rectification. However, not a single magistrate had ever accomplished it.

In truth—much like the darkness of Edo’s nights—the moral decay of that era was something rather difficult to imagine from today’s perspective. Boat prostitutes, streetwalkers, night hawks, itinerant nuns, mountain cats, call girls, dancing girls, white-clad courtesans, leg-pullers, denizens of hell, male courtesans—all these names were synonymous with those dark blossoms. They would crack down on this. The shadows would vanish. Yet in no time at all, koto and folk song lesson studios, rented second floors of tenement houses, temples, temple grounds—even the residences of hatamoto samurai—became flesh markets. The ill effects only grew worse, with diseases and crimes becoming increasingly insidious.

Particularly, the practice of temples and hatamoto residences secretly harboring unlicensed prostitutes to exploit effortless profits had since become ineradicable. This had unwittingly forged underground tunnels of carnal desire connecting even to the shogunate's inner palace, rendering it—to the magistrate's office—a fortress now too formidable to breach. To lay hands on it would endanger oneself. However, if he did not take decisive action, as Town Magistrate, he would merely be performing the foolish repetition of plucking weeds while leaving their roots intact—simply going through the motions of his duties.

“Oh… We got sidetracked, but has Tatsu reported anything since then?” “No, nothing.” “Then—has there been any word from Yamamoto Sōta either?” “I keep expecting there to be some word…”

What Kanzō awaited was equally what Yoshihira awaited. For these two men, Magistrate Echizen-no-kami's municipal reforms—the establishment of Edo fire brigades, improvements to bridge traffic, and measures against public immorality, all pursued with such fervor that he neglected sleep and meals—paled in significance compared to a far more critical undertaking that had been consuming him in secret for over a month, a task so grueling it had visibly emaciated him. Regarding this crucial matter—approved by Echizen-no-kami himself—the sworn comrade who had resigned his post and now operated outside the magistrate's office to investigate the Quintet Gang's hideout in Horidome: it was precisely news from Yamamoto Sōta that these two men awaited ceaselessly, day and night, their vigil unbroken though unspoken.

Two Urgent Reports

Otsugi from the delivery teahouse had gone to Hori’s chazuke shop last night with Sōta and the boatman Genkichi and returned a little before noon today, but— "If I rely on others, I worry something might go wrong, and I can’t go into the magistrate’s office myself…"

Carrying the usual letter of communication entrusted to her by Sōta, tucked into her obi, she was in a state of unbearable anxiety.

The shop’s stone-grilled tofu was occasionally delivered to the yoriki and dōshin rooms as well, so she had been thinking that if an order came in, she would carry the stacked boxes herself—but perhaps because noon had already passed, though the shop was packed with customers, there were no requests from the magistrate’s office. Then, as twilight approached—

“Otsugi-san. Are you there?” By chance, Kobayashi Kanzō appeared to pay for the lined garment he had commissioned through her to another party four or five days prior. “Oh, there’s really no need for such things.” “No—if I don’t have you take this now, I won’t be able to make any more selfish requests of you in the future.” “I see. Then I’ll accept it graciously. But since our shop prospers precisely because of customers like you with business at the magistrate’s office, please do not hesitate to ask if there’s any troublesome request we can assist with.”

There were people present, so Otsugi carried tea to the small garden-facing tatami room— “Please rest here awhile,” she offered, laying out a cushion. Kanzō—who had actually come wanting to hear from Otsugi about Sōta’s future movements somewhere private—sat down as invited. “How the wisteria blooms all at once,” he murmured, gazing out. “White and purple… Their sweet scent drifts with every stir of the breeze.” While he spoke these words to himself, Otsugi glanced about and quietly slipped a small folded letter from her obi beside Kanzō’s hand.

Kanzō remained silently seated facing the garden, his eyes rapidly scanning through the letter, but suddenly his complexion changed and his voice dropped. “Otsugi-san... You went there too? To Hori?”

“Yes.” “From what the landlady of the chazuke shop said, Lord Sōta had pieced everything together and was trembling with fervor, but… Did the letter mention any good leads?” “Hmm. It seems he’s grasped the initial lead, but having Sōta go alone all the way to Lord Goinkaden’s residence—that’s what troubles me.” “Why is that?” “That place is a den of villains. One misstep could cost him his life.”

“What... Lord Sōta’s life—?”

Otsugi's lips turned white. Though he thought it heartless to casually mention Sōta’s life being in danger before her—thereby threatening their pitiful romance—Kanzō’s intuition held true, (Sōta in peril) And his heart was driven with unusual urgency. “Otsugi-san, will you come along too?” “Where to?” “The residence of Ichikawa Rakuō in Ushigome… Yoshihira’s father’s estate. Today, both of us had been on duty at the office since dawn, so we left together intending to head home early, but he said he had an overwhelming matter to discuss and would stop by his father’s residence instead, so we parted ways.”

“If it’s not an intrusion...” “No—rather, Otsugi-san, if you’re not exhausted from last night continuing into tonight, I’d like you to come along.” “I shall accompany you. I slept quite a bit both last night and this morning on the boat, so I’m not particularly tired.”

Otsugi exited from the back of the shop.

In the meantime, Kobayashi Kanzō hurried back once more to the dōshin room at the office, left some message with the night duty officer, and came out to the foot of Sukiyabashi Bridge. "This will attract attention. Let’s get a palanquin." He had Otsugi board as well and hastened to Yanagichō in Ushigome. A gate characteristic of a town physician. When the calling card was presented, Rakuō himself came out to the entrance, "Oh! Well now! What an unexpected visit. Come in..."

and ushered them further inside. Since he was the father of a friend, Kobayashi Kanzō had long been acquainted with him. After introducing Otsugi, he immediately brought up the matter of the incident.

“Lord Yoshihira should have come here as well.” “No—your son hasn’t shown up yet.” “Then has he still not arrived this evening?” “He was supposed to come but hasn’t shown up yet.” “...Has there been any progress on that case?” “Because we couldn’t wait even until tomorrow.” “Well now! That’s splendid news!” The old man rejoiced as though he could already see the case resolved through the South Office’s efforts.

Just as they were being treated to dinner, Yoshihira Ichikawa, panting and with sweat beading on his forehead, burst in abruptly, "Oh, you've come." "I was actually thinking of coming to see you myself." "Oh—Otsugi-san too!"

They all sat down to the meal together, but Yoshihira, uncharacteristically refraining from sake, quickly finished eating, “To be honest, I had just stopped by yesterday as well, so I thought it would be pointless, but on a sudden whim, I decided to check in on informant Tatsumi’s house—and he had sent word.” “What? Did Tatsumi’s side also have some clue?” “Tatsuzō’s subordinate named Hanji came rushing in right when I was there, saying it’s a crisis.”

“What? A crisis?”

“The report says there’s no telling whether Sōta will live through the night or not.… After all, we’d explicitly told Tatsumi not to contact the magistrate’s office openly about this matter, so he seems to be at a loss—wondering where to report this emergency.”

“No wonder,” said Kanzō. “But we only just received word through your efforts, Otsugi-san, and now this from Tatsumi’s side. There’s no time to deliberate.” “A sudden reversal of fortune,” Yoshihira countered. “Sōta’s young—the moment he seized a clue, he must’ve charged straight into their den without waiting for backup.”

First, Yoshihira recounted the news that Hanji had brought. Informant Tatsuzō, with his extensive experience and seasoned yet upright nature, had earned the trust of the two men, who had disclosed to him every detail of both this incident and its hidden secrets. The role entrusted to Tatsuzō was to keep constant watch over Sōta's comings and goings, ensuring no harm would come to him.

When one challenged a major incident or confronted evil associates, terrible reprisals, persecution, and every sinister scheme inevitably reached out to that person. The friendship between the two feared that danger for Sōta’s sake more than anything. That was why another small craft carrying Tatsuzō and Hanji had rowed behind Sōta’s boat through last night, keeping constant watch. Tatsuzō simultaneously learned everything Sōta discovered. Sōta made someone hasten from Horichazuke-ya to Negishi no Goinkakushita. ——And Tatsuzō saw it all with his own eyes—the moment when Sōta, who followed the two painted parasols exiting the temple estate’s gate, was suddenly seized from behind by three assailants on Uguisubashi in the blink of an eye, dragged away as though his breath had been cut off… and then hidden away into one of the temple buildings as if swallowed whole.

—Why hadn't he helped? Even when they pressed Hanji, their contact, for answers, it proved futile.

The opponents were said to be three rōnin who appeared physically strong, and since they weren't nearby either, the whole matter had ended in the blink of an eye.

Let those who judge also be judged. The crisis threatening Sōta's life before tonight's end did not allow the two to remain settled there even a moment.

The full extent of the evil had already been revealed. Yoshihira and Kanzō promptly coordinated their preparations for the raid.

Though it was already night, Hanji received orders and rushed off to the magistrate's office.

The two finished adjusting their attire and tucked their jutte into their belts. "Otsugi-san, you must be too worried about Sōta's safety to return home now." "We might need you to play a role once we reach our destination." "We won't let harm come to you - you'd better join us." Kanzō then turned to address Rakuō as well,

“We’ve caused some disturbance, but we can now be certain the Horidome incident will be resolved through the South Office’s efforts.” “Until next time.”

With that, they took their leave briefly and, together with Otsugi, started toward the entrance. Ichikawa Rakuō—who always burned with competitive zeal toward the North Town Magistrate and fervently championed the South—wore an uncharacteristically somber expression at their departure. “Son.” “Wait.”

He called Yoshihira back. “Do you require something?” “I’ve an uneasy premonition—apologies for delaying Mr. Kanzō, but you alone must accompany me to another room.” “As you wish.” Yoshihira entered the chamber and immediately faced his father’s severe countenance upon sitting.

“Now, Son! “...Do not commit any impropriety.” “What do you mean? What impropriety?” “What do you mean by ‘impropriety’?” “No—I’m saying both of you mustn’t act rashly in your eagerness for glory.” “Somehow, Father, I can’t quite make sense of your words.” “Then I’ll ask—you lot! Even if it means sacrificing Lord Echizen-no-kami, do you intend to capture the Quintet Gang?” “You speak of things beyond my understanding.” “Yamamoto Sōta, Kobayashi Kanzō, and even I, Yoshihira—we three comrades have shared blood and are single-mindedly determined to protect Lord Ōoka Echizen-no-kami’s person by any means necessary.” “Father, your words are most unfounded!”

Yoshihira’s voice rose with tears welling in his eyes. The elderly father, too, was weak to tears; when he saw his son’s eyes, his own eyelids immediately reddened.

However, he stubbornly shook his head, “Then does this not contradict your sincerity and actions? From what I’ve heard since earlier—are not those two women among the Quintet Gang criminals a mother and child bound by an ill-fated connection to Lord Echizen-no-kami’s youthful transgression?” “Until today, even from you, Father, we kept it hidden—but the truth is, that mother and child are Lord Echizen-no-kami’s own flesh and blood, born from a woman he briefly became entangled with during his dissolute youth.”

“Wh-wh-what utter depravity…!” Rakuō shuddered even at hearing this from his own son’s mouth, dreading the world’s ears.

And then, with an earth-like complexion and a sigh held within—

“Son.” “This is dreadful.” “Were it any other official matter, it might yet stay hidden—but should people learn that Lord Ōoka himself, who passes judgment on others, bears such a past... what would become of the public’s fury?” “The shogunate’s punishment goes without saying, but I dread the rage of those he condemns.—Stop this! Abandon it!” “You must absolutely cease pursuing this case.”

“Then shall we leave it to the North Town Magistrate’s men?” “Y-You fool! How dare you suggest such a thing! I am no such base coward! Even this Rakuō recognizes Lord Ōoka’s worth as town magistrate better than any soul alive. What all previous magistrates failed to accomplish—municipal reforms, dismantling outdated customs—that man possesses the resolve to achieve. That’s precisely why he must be preserved!”

Rakuō, no less than his son, listened with rapt attention, his words burning with intensity. “To force an excellent magistrate—one who emerged precisely when needed—to resign in disgrace as a pitiful failure due to a single youthful misstep, and then stand idly by as societal evils fester, is a lamentable tragedy for good citizens. From Lord Tsunayoshi’s reign through over a dozen years of being trampled beneath dogs’ feet, we finally glimpsed relief at Lord Yoshimune’s succession… like seeing a break in endless storm clouds. Now of all times, we must sustain a man like Lord Ōoka within these stagnant, rotting administrative waters—we must let him work unrestrained.” “We must let him work unrestrained.”

“Th-that’s exactly why! Father——” Yoshihira leaned forward and firmly grasped his father’s hand, “We young city officials had long yearned for a magistrate we could truly recognize as Lord Echizen-no-kami’s own man—and in him, we saw precisely that... Therefore, we must have Lord Echizen-no-kami accomplish what our young strength alone cannot achieve.” From that same resolve, Sōta, Kanzō, and Yoshihira—the three of them—forged a firm pact and became sworn brothers in their shared aspirations. “Father, please rest assured.”

"But if you lot apprehend the gang members behind this incident, Lord Echizen-no-kami's past will be dragged into broad daylight... What do you imagine you'll achieve with such idiocy?"

“Then what is your plan, Father?” “It’s simple. You lot—become rōnin and cut down those five bandits! After all, even if they were brought to the sanded court, they’d just be sentenced to public execution anyway—aren’t they?”

“That won’t do. That plan—” “Why not?” “That idea occurred to us young men immediately, but Lord Echizen-no-kami will absolutely not permit it.” “What? Lord Ōoka does not permit it? Then—does he mean to exchange those condemned criminals’ lives for his own precious self?” “It’s not so simple. Lord Echizen-no-kami resolves to be judged himself—however distant his past transgression may be, he deliberately awaits divine punishment upon his person, determined to suffer fully for his sins.”

“Then wouldn’t he have to resign from his hard-won position as magistrate? I understand Lord Ōoka’s humility, but he fails to recognize the magnitude of his own mission. What a disappointment. I shall voice my counsel and have you cast aside such narrow-minded thinking.”

“That will not do,” Yoshihira countered. “Once His Lordship has resolved upon a course of action, he shall never waver.” When pressed, even Rakuō had to acknowledge his own uncertainty. “Then how precisely,” the elder demanded, “do you intend to resolve this predicament without endangering Lord Echizen-no-kami?” “We have no strategy whatsoever.” “No strategy?!” “We simply act with utmost sincerity in accordance with His Lordship’s will. As with all matters—this one especially—he has strictly forbidden us from being swayed by personal motives.” Yoshihira’s voice hardened with resolve. “Therefore, should honor demand Lord Echizen-no-kami perform seppuku, though it compounds our filial impiety, Kobayashi Kanzō, Yamamoto Sōta and I shall line our seats and follow him in ritual suicide.”

“Very well!”

Rakuō no longer opposed. Confronted by Yoshihira's wide eyes and involuntary outburst, he declared with equal resolve: "If you insist on facing both personal judgment and divine punishment with such unwavering fairness—then do it fully." "I won't stop you... No, I myself won't stop you. Go quickly." "Then I must hurry—"

Yoshihira stood up and exited into the hallway through the sliding door. There he came face to face with his friend Kobayashi Kanzō, who had been standing motionless in deep emotion. Seeing each other's hot tears clinging to their eyelashes, they tightly clasped damp hands together.

Saw.

When he abruptly regained consciousness, he found himself bound with coarse rope like a ball.

The air was thick with a damp stench, and everything around was pitch black.

It must be beneath the floorboards of some building.

Before he could even process a thought, Sōta instinctively tried to stand up. But naturally, thudding his head against the underside of a floorboard or something, he sat back down again.

“Ah…” Feeling dizzy, Sōta nearly lost consciousness again. But at that very moment, he heard voices above his head.

“Oh.” “Heard a weird noise.” “Thud—thud.” “Nah—just the bastard comin’ to ’n startin’ to thrash ’round. No doubt ’bout it.” “Oh yeah? “Shit—almost forgot. Ain’t no way he’s escapin’ though.”

“Don’t worry—he’s tangled up tight and lashed to the foundation pillar.” The voices in the room seemed to belong to three or four people—to Sōta, they all sounded unfamiliar. Where am I? ...This place— Finally, Sōta began piecing together his fragmented memories. He had been following Osode and Oen as they left through the temple gate together—but when they reached Uguisudani Bridge—his memories from that instant onward had snapped clean off.

That's right. At that moment, someone had suddenly grabbed me from behind and choked me. I recalled there being about three opponents, but unfortunately, it seemed I had lost consciousness right then.

—And then, where had I been taken? He had no memory whatsoever of the path they had taken during that interval.

However, Yamamoto Sōta was surprisingly neither panicked nor showing any signs of despair. He held—a sense of reassurance and foresight—that even if his life were to end here, he had already accomplished the greater part of his mission.

At Horinochazuke-ya by the moat, when parting with Genkichi the boatman and Otsugi, into Otsugi’s hand— (To pass this to Yoshihira Ichikawa or Kanzō Kobayashi at the magistrate’s office) The single hastily scribbled note he had entrusted now proved to be a divine blessing. It became the sole connection to the outside and a beacon of hope. In that note, I had managed to uncover at Horinochazuke-ya—the hidden figures behind the incident and their routes—and I had also written down that I would soon be heading alone to Bakemono Gyōbu’s den.

"They'll come! Before long, Yoshihira or Kanzō will surely make arrangements and come." He closed his eyes with conviction. Now the pain throughout his body began to make itself known. He couldn't tell whether it was night or day—or even what hour it might be. Yet from Uguisubashi Bridge onward, he found it hard to believe much time had passed. The sound of a bell reached his ears—not distant—the bell of Kanei-ji Temple. If so, this must be near Ueno's Goinden area. That monster Gyōbu's temple estate? Yes... That had to be it.

He had heard that temple bell marking the hour several times. Before long, the sixth bell of dusk was tolled. “Master...” “Master Yamamoto.”

A low voice called from somewhere. Steadying his resolve, Yamamoto Sōta, who had been dozing, looked around as if doubting whether it was a dream.

“Master...” “It’s Tatsuzō. Tatsuzō here. Can you hear me?” It was a whisper so soft it was almost inaudible, but it definitely wasn’t coming from the floor above. Sōta fixed his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, in one direction. Like a toad, a figure lay prone, crouched beneath another foundation pillar further ahead. Even through the South Town constables’ office and informants’ room, the informant known as the old-timer Tatsu—it was none other than Tatsuzō. “Oh! Tatsu?”

“Shh…” Tatsuzō waved his hand, then began gesturing insistently. Though part of the same connected underground space, closer inspection revealed that Sōta’s area had thick timbers arranged horizontally around it, partitioned into a square enclosure that made escape from within or approach from outside impossible. A slow, low, eerie sound began immediately—creak... creak... creak... At Tatsuzō’s hand, the saw’s teeth writhed.

Even if there was the slightest sound from the room above the floor, Tatsuzō would immediately stop sawing. —straining his ears, scanning his eyes—and then once more began stealthily sawing with a creak, creak. Ailing Soul, Virtuous Nature It was one of over a dozen temple samurai residences in the district, but even this single residence was remarkably spacious.

All were affiliated with Kanei-ji's Rinnō-ji no Miya, wielded the princely house's authority as their shield, and maintained special privileges. At dusk, clandestine lovers would conceal themselves at one gate while gamblers and corrupt hatamoto marched openly through the other. Some estates harbored unlicensed prostitutes and employed chefs, their hedgerows leaking suspicious ballads and feeble shamisen tunes. Thus shares in Rinnōji's temple samurai traded at prices far exceeding those of ordinary gokenin. Such properties scarcely ever appeared on the market.

Bakemono Gyōbu and his ilk had been dwelling there for many long years, but thanks to having invested capital in shares, they had never once felt unease about this den of evil until today.

However, this morning— When Osode and Oen said they were going to see a Kabuki performance in Sakai-cho, and Ookame, Anoujuu, Akazari Sanpei, and others were seeing them off, someone with uncanny agility followed the two painted parasols from the shadows. The three noticed immediately. It was an evil intuition.—On Uguisubashi Bridge, they seized that man. And with remarkable swiftness, they hauled him into the temple estate,

(No doubt about it—this guy's either a northern or southern constable or officer.) Having determined this, they gave him a thorough kicking and thwacked him with club fragments, lifted the tatami mats in the room, and threw him into what they called the pit beneath the floor—the "ikezu" or "masu."

“Boss. Why the hell can’t we just finish off that bastard in one go?”

Akazari Sanpei was discontented. Compared to Anoujuu and Ookame, he was stronger in cruelty and possessed murderous tendencies. “Shut your mouth!” Gyōbu sat cross-legged on his perpetual bedrest spot, propping his elbow on a monk-style pillow serving as an armrest. “Keeping him alive makes him useful bargaining material.” “We could kill him anytime we want.”

Ookame had been restless since this morning. He wore an expression that showed he could no longer endure staying here, so anxious had he become.

“Ever since Horidome, this old nest’s gotten a bit harder to feel safe in. Boss...”

“What is it, Kame?” “Haven’t we given up on Edo enough already? Boss, you’re always saying ‘when the time comes’ about that island in the western provinces. Shouldn’t we make our escape there soon?” “Hmm... This year, we’ll go. But unless this damn chronic asthma of mine eases up a bit more, I can’t get my body to move.”

“So where the hell is this island you keep talkin’ about?” “That’s a pact between comrades that can’t be told to nobody.” “I ain’t breathin’ a word till we get there.” “You always say that—that’s why I kept my trap shut—but when you go on ’bout this ‘gang code,’ does it mean the three of us here ain’t even proper members?” “When I say ‘island comrades,’ I mean comrades in smugglin’ alone.” “Don’t take it personal.” “The boss of those comrades ain’t some two-bit hustler workin’ flea markets in Edo or Naniwa—he’s big-time, whole different league.”

"I see. So that makes us about the level of vassals' subordinate retainers then." "Well, that’s probably how it is. But if the shogunate hadn’t changed hands—if Tsunayoshi’s era of human disqualification and that auspiciously self-destructive age had lasted just a bit longer—I could’ve let you all play a part and shown you far more interesting times… But alas, that fool of a shogun died, and now we’ve got this eighth Yoshimune—so that path’s got no prospects left."

“When you say ‘that path’…” Anoujuu, who had long seemed to harbor considerable interest in that matter, seized this moment to press Gyōbu-sama with his question.

“Since it’s come to this, I’ll tell you…” said Boss Gyōbu, wrapping his habitual cough along with phlegm into a tissue before continuing. From around the mid-Genroku era, smuggling comrades in the western provinces had rapidly increased in both numbers and strength, amassing enormous profits—not only accumulating vast fortunes but also secretly stockpiling foreign-made weapons and gunpowder on various islands. When satiated with profit, humans turn to fame and status. With smuggling being a national crime, they couldn’t openly spend their money even in broad daylight—any lavish carousing in Gion or Shimabara would leave tracks immediately.

Under the Dog Shogun’s misgovernment, the realm had been filled with voices of discontent. Society rotted; moral principles lay in disarray. “Now’s our chance—we can do it!”—and so like-minded rōnin and retainers of ambitious western daimyōs connected through shared ambitions, until eventually in that place, a seemingly legitimate pact to overthrow the shogunate had been drafted. Gyōbu had been one conspirator in Edo. His mission was to let society fester and rot with unrest and decadence as much as possible until the time came.

His family had been hatamoto, but they were soon ordered to disband their household; having squandered their assets, for him—a quintessential example of corrupt hatamoto—this venture was nothing short of a grand opportunity to plunge headlong into ruin. "...So that's how it is," he said. "There was a time I secretly dreamed of ruling my own castle and province. But through my own dissolute ways—before the world could rot away—this body became one afflicted with asthma, confined to a perpetual sickbed." "A life of evil—when you've lived it through—turns out fleeting as bubbles." "If I'd known it'd come to this, I should've changed my ways and turned good while still healthy—would've made dying easier," he let slip with uncharacteristic regret. "When folks get sick, money and lust don't mean squat." "Reckon my summons to the next world ain't far off either."

Perhaps because he had divulged a past secret he’d never so much as hinted at before, Gyōbu—uncharacteristically—let slip a pitifully human lament. “Yeah, real auspicious…” “Cranes and turtles, cranes and turtles... What a load of nonsense—coming from a villain like you, Boss.” The three exchanged gestures, but those most deeply entrenched in villainy were in truth haunted by ceaseless thoughts of death, seizing every opportunity to have someone hear their pitiful human truths.

“It’s gotten awfully damp and gloomy today.” “To lift our spirits, let’s have a drink.”

Someone went out to order food from a food stall and light the lamps, then they drank together by Gyōbu's bedside. When he drank alcohol, he would immediately start coughing, so Gyōbu did not even touch the cup. For what purpose had he spent his life in obscurity, tormented by his own nightmares, only to end up as the master of this perpetual sickbed?—Gyōbu once again began to grumble. “The Boss’s luck has run dry.” “What’s gotten into you?” “Unfortunately, Osode isn’t here by your side.”

“Well now, you’ll just get scolded again for your nonsense. Unlike how Osode used to be—crying her days away around twenty—now it’s like our sickly Boss here’s slowly settling his grudges bit by bit.” “Still, Oen’s running late too, ain’t she?”

“What do you expect? She’s seeing a play in Sakai-cho. Even if she leaves during the second act and takes a palanquin back, it’ll be near midnight by the time she reaches Negishi.” “There must be something she’s bringing back.” “Let’s keep drinking till then.” “……Boss, how about you.” “One cup.” “N-no… can’t.”

Gyōbu weakly waved his hand, then suppressed another cough as if that hand couldn’t keep up.

At that moment—what had Ookame sensed? “Ah… something’s wrong!” He dropped his cup—suddenly shot upright.

Arrest.

With deliberate slowness, taking nearly half an hour, Tatsuzō sawed through the horizontal squared timber in two places. No sooner had he crawled in than he sliced through Yamamoto Sōta's ropes with the wakizashi and thrust the short sword into his hand,

“Now… hurry. Quietly.”

Clutching Yamamoto Sōta's body close, he tried to emerge together with him from the excavated space beneath the floor they had cut through.

At that moment, in the bright starlight outside, there appeared the shadow of someone—only two legs visible. Startled, he whirled around—his shoulder struck a foundation pillar with a noise so loud it surprised even him. "Damn it!" Tatsuzō immediately shouted toward the light above. Suddenly, a floorboard the size of one tatami mat was removed from above. Anoujuu, Sanpei, and Ookame—three faces peered in together.

“Bastard!”

Three swords came slashing down, violently striking the square hole of darkness. But Sōta and Tatsuzō barely dodged the rain of white blade tips and thought of a quick escape. For the two of them, this moment seemed truly life-threatening. For the leg silhouettes they had glimpsed outside earlier had multiplied from five to ten, then kept increasing in number as they crawled beneath the floorboards in an encircling formation. But Tatsuzō knew that each of those black shadows crawling closer carried short, white gleaming objects in their hands,

“Oh, Hanji?” he called out to one person. There was no answer, but upon recognizing his voice, countless shadows burst through the square foundation there all at once, swarmed beneath the light, and roared, “Official business! Official business!”

Inside the room, an even greater noise erupted. “Sanpei! Sanpei! Press down those floorboards—the tatami mat—quick! Close up the opening once you’ve done it!” “Press down the floorboards—the tatami mat—quick!” “Close the hatch after you do it!”

It must have been Gyōbu's shouting. He too kicked off his sickbed and violently drew his great sword. But before Akazari Sanpei could return to block the floor opening, three, five, ten constables and arresting officers who had leapt up were already filling every corner of the room.

The sound of a sliding door collapsing. The house creaked from the struggle. Dodododo—Gyōbu dashed out onto the veranda,

“You bastards!” Gyōbu fiercely threw a terrifying glare at the pursuing arresters. He who bore the moniker “Monster,” now aware this was his end—the enraged visage he showed became something none could approach. “Don’t let the ringleader escape!” One of the constables brandished his jutte with a body charge. As Gyōbu snarled through clenched teeth, the first blood was drawn there—the constable’s body flung upward, heels over head, tumbling into the front garden. The splintering crash came from Ookame—quick to flee—as he broke through the bamboo window of the kitchen room and desperately tried to escape.

“This guy!”

Two arresting officers who had pounced pulled both his legs. Ookame somersaulted onto the tatami mats, lay on his back, kicked up with his legs to flip upright, and with desperate force burst through the kitchen storm shutters with his body. "Hey, Anou!"

“You there, Kame! No good here either!”

“Huh? What about the hidden door?” “Outside too—a whole swarm of arresters and official lanterns.”

“Then the back gate—over the wall to the neighbor’s!” “That way’s swarming with arresters too.” “Face it, Ookame—reckon your dues’ve come due.” “The hell I will! I ain’t dyin’ today. Wait—those official lanterns! South Office’s jurisdiction!” “South Office means I’m saved!” “I’m Ōoka Ichijuurou’s—no, Ōoka Echizen-no-kami’s own blood cousin!” “That’s right—Echizen-no-kami’s cousin Kamejirou!” “Arrest me then! I’ll sing every dirty secret ’bout Town Magistrate Echizen in that sanded court!”

He kept cursing and fleeing about like one deliriously ranting, but "Kamejirou, you're under arrest!" Just as he tried to escape over the wall to the neighboring house, Kobayashi Kanzō apprehended him. He snarled again. "Let me see Echizen-no-kami! —I've got things to say to Echizen-no-kami! Come on, drag me wherever you want!"

Meanwhile, Akazari Sanpei too, at the back wellside, was surrounded and finally bound with ropes. Anou was nowhere to be found.

“The shed?” “Under the floor?” “…Check the roof!” As the arresters scrambled about, their vision obstructed, a red flame suddenly flashed from a room inside the house. “The ringleader!”

“Gyōbu!” Ichikawa Yoshihira—who had been pursuing him—ran up and approached the flaming shoji screen. “Stay back, you bastard!” True to his reputation as a great villain, Gyōbu had set the fire himself and now attempted seppuku. His face in that moment—resembling the wrathful visage of Aka-Fudō—was too terrible to behold directly. Yet Yoshihira plunged through the flames and grappled with the evil figure. But when they bound him, they found Gyōbu had bitten through his tongue.

“Palanquin bearer! Isn’t that a fire?” “The sky’s red though.” “It really does look like one.” “Where?” “Can’t say.”

“Wait, let me out of the palanquin.” With Uguisubashi’s cliff slope below them, two palanquins were setting down two female passengers at that very moment. They were Osode and Oen. Holding kabuki candy from Sakai-cho as a souvenir, she gazed up at the night sky where stars and fire scattered and mingled, lost in thought for some time. “Palanquin bearers. “Thank you for your trouble. This will do here...”

When she and Oen descended the slope and reached Uguisudani Bridge's approach, her sixth sense seemed to have already detected something. "Oen, don't!" Suddenly, they began running back toward Ueno's back hills.

“Stop!” A sharp voice chased after them. Yet the surrounding mountain trees promptly hid their two shadows away as if nothing were amiss.

Cornered Birds

It was the forest of Kan'ei-ji. In the darkness and thick undergrowth, the two stumbled and fell in the night dew time and again. Was the night wind forming the pursuers' voices, or were the pursuers' voices forming the night wind? Blown by terror, driven by unease, no matter how far they ran, they felt something closing in right behind them. "Oen! Oen! "What's wrong? "This way. "Oen—" "Mom! Wait! "...Something's caught on my sleeve—" There is neither inherent good nor inherent evil in human nature. In this situation, these two had nothing but the instincts of mother and child.

Osode ran back and frantically pulled at Oen’s sleeve, which had become entangled in thorns. The eight seams of the sleeve were torn. Osode’s hands had likely been torn and stained with blood. But she felt no pain.

“Hold on tight. Are you alright?” “Mom, what’s happening tonight? What’s all this commotion about?” “Don’t you get it yet? They must’ve gotten to His Highness the Cloistered Prince. We need to steel ourselves now.” “And where exactly are we supposed to run to next?”

“Who knows?...” Osode bit her lip as if trying to keep her expression of utter helplessness from being seen by Oen. “Don’t you worry. Since Lord Ouchi Fuden serves the prince of Rinnō-ji Temple, if we ask him to hide us in one of the branch temples, neither the Town Magistrate nor the Temples and Shrines Magistrate can touch us. Lord Fuden has always taken a liking to you—he’s even made private overtures to me before—so he’ll surely agree. Right—you wait somewhere around here. I will be right back.”

Ueno was known as the thirty-six subtemples of Tōeizan. Through the dense trees and beyond the night fog, faint lights from Chūdō's corridors and Monjudō's railings could be seen. "Listen well, Oen. You mustn't move from there until I return. Press yourself deeper into the shade—so the pursuers don't notice—"

Osode kept looking back repeatedly as she eventually ran toward the back gate of the main hall.

This place was the shogunate's prayer site, and owing to the prestige of having the prince of Rinnō-ji Temple serve as its head priest, all matters there received special treatment. As Osode had conceived, if they took even a single step into the temple grounds, neither the Town Magistrate’s jutte nor the Temples and Shrines Magistrate’s jurisdiction could reach them. Will he really agree to help…? ...Mom went off convinced, but... Left behind, Oen could only fret alone.—Please, have mercy—forgetting her own transgressions, a feeling of praying to the gods and buddhas welled up within her.

But also, somewhere in Oen's heart, "If Mr. Fuden were to save us...?" she felt reluctant to be rescued. The next hardships and worries immediately came to mind - they seemed even more painful than being pursued by the jutte now.

Among the monks and temple samurai of Kan'ei-ji, there were not only Fuden but several others who knew them. They too harbored dissolute aspects no less than the temple samurai of recent times, so within the cluster of samurai residences under His Highness the Cloistered Prince's jurisdiction, Osode and her daughter would often meet their companions at gathering spots. Ouchi Fuden was deputy chief of the branch temple's administration and a man of influence throughout the entire temple complex. Though he had always shown kindness to her mother Osode, Oen couldn't help but distrust him. If I were saved by that Fuden, what would become of me? It wasn't something that required contemplation.

“Ah, I want to die!”

Truly, she thought this. The pursuers were terrifying, and being saved seemed dreadful. "What cursed fate had she been born into?" she suddenly wondered, transformed into an ordinary sentimental maiden like any other, standing alone with her entire face drenched in tears. Stealthily, with meticulous care. For some time now, a black figure had been following them and gradually creeping closer from behind. Osode did not notice, and Oen too remained unaware.

Suddenly, when Oen let out a cry of shock akin to a scream, the man's black shadow—

“Gotcha!”

With that, he leaped forward and grappled her like a beautiful bird thrashing against its bonds, "No more... I won't let you escape! "In the name of the law! "You're under arrest, Oen!" he gasped desperately, his breath ragged. Yet strangely, his voice remained an uncharacteristically low whisper for an officer, and the physical strength with which he held her betrayed unexpected fragility. But when pressed, Oen proved no delicate flower. Born and nurtured in vice and savagery, she wielded both serpent's agility and outlaw's defiance.

“Tch! Like hell I’ll let you catch me!” The ferocious yet beautiful hand, driven by desperate strength, shook off the fragile opponent’s grip. She knocked away his renewed attempt to grab her. But thrown down, thrown down—no matter how many times he fell, the black-clad man kept clutching some part of her—hem, sleeve, or obi—refusing to let go. Rakuō, the town physician “Ah—” “Mom—!” A maiden remained a maiden after all. She finally screamed. The instant she tripped over something and fell.

But that cry had unwittingly called out to their enemies. When they saw the figure rushing over with a sudden rustle, it was unmistakably a magistrate office yoriki (police captain). In his hand, he held up a lantern marked “South.”

“Huh?! “And you are?” “Oh! “It’s you.” “Hurry up and help!” The black-masked old man who had been struggling to pin Oen down from above urged breathlessly. Ichikawa Yoshihira immediately subdued Oen.

The old man in the black mask who had gotten to his feet spoke in a commanding tone.

“Son.” “Since she’s noisy，go ahead and gag her while you’re at it.”

Yoshihira then bound half of Oen's face with cloth.

And for the first time, he showed genuine surprise. "This is unexpected. That Father would personally involve himself is truly beyond imagination. I never could have—" "Naturally." As if even Rakuō himself—a physician who had navigated old age with such competence—now doubted his own judgment, "Well. I'll explain my thoughts and tonight's details later. First—how fared the arrests at Lord Onkage's side where you were deployed? Did they succeed?"

“The leader—that monster Gyobusho—set himself ablaze and took his own life.” “A pity. And the other outlaws?” “We’ve apprehended Akazari Sanpei and Ookame. Anoujuu fled the scene and leapt into the valley below Uguisubashi Bridge, but we’ll hunt him down and collar him too. After dispatching teams one after another, only the two women thieves and our most trusted men remained to stake out the area—yet here you are, Father, in your advanced years, stealing a march on us to claim the glory.”

“No—I’m neither yoriki nor dōshin.” “The ones I’ve captured aren’t going to the magistrate office.” “That would be problematic.” “Father, this is illegal!” “Let it be illegal.” “If you, as a magistrate office yoriki, are staking your life on this affair—then I too, as Lord Echizen’s personal acquaintance, have staked my all tonight.” “I won’t hand Oen over.” Rakuō, perhaps having deep thoughts of his own, not only stubbornly refused to agree but suddenly dashed off somewhere—and no sooner had he done so than a voice called out “Hey!” in the distance, followed by an answering “Hey!—”

Before long, two town palanquins were brought near the shade of the forest trees. Looking closer, he saw the master of Kago Tora from Ushigome Yanagichō and a young man. They lived right near Rakuō’s house, always addressing him reverently as sensei, and whenever someone fell ill, Rakuō would drop everything and rush over to treat them—such was their relationship.

“Hey, Kago Tora. Take this young woman, load her into the palanquin first, and make haste to the place I specified ahead of us.”

“Yes, understood.” “Oh, Lord Yoshihira is also here...” “You’ve done splendid work tonight, indeed.”

“Now, Tora. No need for extra words. Hurry up, hurry. And not just you—make those young ones swear never to breathe a word of this. Understood? I’m counting on you.” “You needn’t worry. Since it’s a request Sensei has staked his life on, the young ones are eager to help without expecting anything in return.” Meanwhile, Oen was moved into the palanquin, and Kago Tora followed close behind as they hurried ahead.

“Yoshihira.” “Hah…”

“What are you vacantly staring after them for?”

“Father. Just where have you sent Oen?” “Enough of that. Leave it to me—I won’t do wrong by you.” “But I too bear the jutte. I can’t just leave it like this—”

“Who has disgraced your jutte? I’ve been weighing matters from the greater perspective. You, constrained by your official role, complain of immediate grievances. But in time to come, you’ll see both your earnestness and my tribulations served the same purpose.”

Even as he spoke, Rakuō too quickly concealed himself inside the palanquin. And from inside the palanquin, Yoshihira heard a voice saying something like, "To Akasaka."

Uragiku Gate “To Akasaka?” Yoshihira tilted his head slightly. “Hmm?...” he murmured, growing increasingly suspicious. If Father had hurried to Lord Echizen’s residence, it would make even less sense. But Yoshihira believed in his father. He believed in Rakuō not merely as a child but as a righteous man. For Lord Echizen—with whom they had come to trust each other’s hearts—how he had worried and agonized over matters since the incident. That might be something far deeper than what someone like himself—who needed only to cling to the duties of a single police captain—could comprehend.

As he stood frozen with arms crossed, lost in solitary thought, the cold night dew from the great tree fell upon his shoulder. Startled back to awareness, he stroked his collar while—

"Right. My colleagues must have been worrying about what they were doing. In any case, tonight I should return to the magistrate office."

He had just turned back and started walking down one of the side paths when—

With a rustle, the darkness quivered. Through the shadows between trees, a pale face fled away as though swimming. "Ah—a woman?"

It was Osode. That must be Osode. Yoshihira shuddered violently. The duty of a police captain. A man bearing the jutte. "Halt in the name of the law!" he had roared instinctively. He plunged after the fleeing shadow—then froze in turmoil—capture her? Let her go? Right or wrong?

Osode and Lord Echizen. When the relationship between these two became public knowledge, would Lord Echizen’s position truly remain unshaken? How would he explain himself against the world’s censure? Moreover, would that not once again bring calamity upon Lord Echizen’s personal life? (No matter what you face—do not yield to personal desire. You are public servants. Not merely Lord Echizen’s personal retainers—you are public servants.) Since this incident had occurred, Lord Echizen, as town magistrate, had been firmly stating to us. Just from hearing the tone of those words and seeing his brow, Yoshihira understood Lord Echizen’s resolve well.

But now, when he saw that woman's shadow before his eyes—and in the instant his hand touched the arrest rope—even Yoshihira could not remain unshaken. Yet even as he wavered and agonized, he kept chasing the fleeing shadow—chasing relentlessly. A white glint—undoubtedly his jutte—lunged at Osode's back like a fish striking water. When it seemed certain he had caught her, he must have believed the capture complete. But near where their shadows overlapped, a figure suddenly rushed from the darkness and shoved him sideways from Yoshihira's flank.

Yoshihira stumbled forward with great momentum but turned around to face the person.

“Hey! Don’t get the wrong idea. “This humble one serves the magistrate office! A servant of the magistrate office!” “We know. “What do you magistrate officials think you’re doing?”

"You there! You know who I am yet dare interfere? Don't let her escape!" As Yoshihira lunged again toward Osode, "Do you know where you stand? "This is Kan’ei-ji’s sacred grounds! "For defiled officials bearing jutte to trespass near Rinnō-ji’s imperial prince is beyond reckoning. "Did you come here prepared to lose your heads?"

The man who appeared to be a temple samurai arrogantly blocked their way like a wall.

Yoshihira’s eyes blazed fiercely,

“Wh-what? You called us ‘impure officials,’ did you?” “Magistrate, town police captains, officers, informants—the world lumps you all together as impure officials. It’s not just me saying it.”

“Let us set aside other matters.” “This isn’t such a situation.” “Oh? And what ‘situation’ would that be?”

“Though this area is colloquially called Kan’ei-ji’s forest, it hasn’t yet reached the inner temple grounds.” “This is normally a public thoroughfare—our entering here shouldn’t cause any obstruction.” “That’s precisely why we’ve permitted you this far.” “Beyond here is forbidden.” “Open your eyes and look closely.” “Right there marks the temple boundary—” When Yoshihira looked where the man pointed behind him, he instinctively ground his teeth in frustration. Osode’s figure had already slipped past the sleeve-shaped wall of Kan’ei-ji’s rear gate—where a large lantern emblazoned with the sixteen-petaled chrysanthemum crest cast its dim glow—disappearing into a small hidden portal as though swallowed whole.

“Wait— Osode!” “Osode—!”

“What—or who—do you mean by ‘Osode’?” “This is an improper act of shielding! That woman is part of an outlaw band we’ve been pursuing tonight with arrest ropes. To shelter such a violent criminal within grounds containing His Highness’s prayer hall—this defies all reason!” “Now now, town official,” he said coldly— “Are you addled? The woman you saw is under the protection of Ouchi Fuden here.”

“No, that can’t be right. Indeed—” “Shut your mouth!” Fuden pressed with intimidation— “You think my own eyes would mistake my kin? The world has its share of unrelated lookalikes. Make one clumsy move, and this won’t end with mere apologies from your magistrate and his men.” “Hmm… What a disappointment,” Yoshihira ground out. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

“Go back. Go back.” “If you remain suspicious, return properly prepared another time.” “I am Ouchi Fuden of the branch temple.” “While we’re at it—your name?” “Yoshihira Ichikawa, yoriki of the South Office.” “Is that so.” “The South’s reputation isn’t particularly favorable.” “Ha ha ha!” “Been feeling somewhat impatient lately?” Fuden lumbered toward the hidden rear gate, his haughtily broad shoulders turned to Yoshihira. Then—still facing forward—he glanced back once more at Yoshihira’s shadow frozen behind him, bared white teeth in a grin, and vanished inside with a thunderous slam of the gate.

Internal Inquiry

For the past ten-odd days, an unusual tension had shrouded the South Town Magistrate Office. Though no official announcement had been made, word spread through Edo—no one knew from whom—that the Horidome Quintet Gang had been captured by the South Office’s hand. Citizens who had taken interest in their rivalry with the North Town Magistrate were, “The South did it, didn’t they?” “They did! Lord Ōoka too!” As if perpetual losers had finally scored a point amidst their losing streak, rumors swirled chaotically with fresh excitement.

However, within the South Town Magistrate Office itself, there was none of that frivolous excitement nor any triumphant cheers. Rather, a cold severity—as if a stroke of ink had been brushed across it—had drifted over the entire surface of the ancient massive structure since that day. Whether one peered into the interrogation rooms, scribes' quarters, yoriki waiting area, or even the magistrate's chamber, there was only a hushed, strained silence. Today too, Echizen-no-kami remained shut away in a room. He kept a towering stack of documents at his side, with petition clerk Kobayashi Kanzō and investigative clerk Ichikawa Yoshihira—two yoriki—positioned nearby. These men likewise leaned against their respective small desks, wholly absorbed in organizing interrogation records and conducting inquiries.

In effect, this had become a crime research laboratory. One of the three yoriki, Yamamoto Sōta, remained outside—using informants Tatsuzō and Hanji as his hands and feet to gather materials for the multifaceted investigations ordered from there and conduct searches—and had continued these activities without rest since that time.

“Summer approaches.” Echizen-no-kami, his eyes weary from the documents, suddenly looked up,

“Kanzō,” he said. “Could you open the rear shoji a bit?” Even this official residence containing prison cells and a sanded court had a central garden. Beyond the damp veranda, young maple branches swayed their fresh tips in sunlight filtered through leaves – summer’s approach made vivid through dappled light. From a stone-rimmed well, a water channel fed a slender stream. Where droplets scattered at its edge, small birds alighted to play. “Quiet, isn’t it?” Ōoka observed. “Yoshihira – won’t you pause awhile? There’s a verse in the Tang Poetry Anthology... or perhaps another collection... that goes: ‘Though near market springs and woods, its seclusion grows ever deeper.’”

“Magistrate. What does that mean?” “Seclusion... In other words, true tranquility—rather than that found in deserted mountains and fields—is said to reside instead in unexpected moments amidst the city’s clamor itself.” “Ah. A poet’s paradox, then?” “It would not be accurate to call it a paradox. It is not an abstract concept. So while it may seem contradictory in logic, if considered carefully, it must be a truth beyond mere reasoning.” “Then even matters cannot reach absolute truth through logical reasoning alone.”

“Perhaps one could say that.” “Would laws and ordinances be founded on logic?” “There exists no law that does not stand on reason.” “However, what of the notion that reason becomes codified as law?” “There are many cunning sages in the city who wield unreason to subvert true principle.” “Then would laws and ordinances equate to moral justice?” “Law is—law itself becomes the compass of moral principle.” “To revere law is to revere morality.” “In the words of Miyamoto Musashi the swordsman—in the first tenet of his *Dokkōdō*, he declared: ‘Through all generations I have never strayed from my Way.’” “Even the path of the sword cannot be walked apart from law.” “Yet there are also countless self-styled patriots and false paragons who cloak themselves in moral rhetoric—who intimidate good citizens under pretense of virtue while peddling wickedness.” “Law cannot be conflated with morality.”

“Then would it be compassion?” “Are you asking if the law should judge primarily through human compassion? If you maintain such a perspective as magistrate, you’ll never render proper judgment. Compassion must be studied—yet in the sanded court or anywhere else, you must never consciously wield it. Because even I, who pass judgment, am merely a vessel of compassion—a foolish, afflicted mortal.” “Then what should we consider the true essence of law?” “Humans performing deeds beyond human capacity. A manifestation... perhaps that’s what to call it?”

“What is this ‘manifestation’?” “It is divine will. What should be beyond judgment unless divine—humans take their place to demonstrate it.” When I think about it, it’s difficult… “We are too human.” “However, when judging humans, it is precisely because we are human that we may sometimes judge well.”

"That's right."

Echizen-no-kami, as he was being questioned alternately by the two, instead made a face as if relieved at those questions.

“Ultimately, we cannot render divine judgment.” Ōoka’s voice carried the weight of centuries-old judicial paradoxes. “Humans must finally content themselves with human judgment—it would be prudent to beg forgiveness from the gods and buddhas from the outset.” “Then what constitutes the law’s ideal?” Yoshihira leaned forward, his magistrate’s notebook catching a slant of afternoon light. The South Magistrate’s fingers traced invisible characters on his desk. “A society needing no laws. Prisons holding no prisoners.” Yoshihira’s brush hovered over fresh ink. “That would make magistrates like the North Town Magistrate—packing prisons until they burst while preening over arrest tallies—appear rather absurd, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not so easily dismissed—not in an age such as this,” Ōoka Tadasuke countered, his voice heavy with the weight of magistral office. Ichikawa Yoshihira pressed further: “But when they crack down on every speck of dust and hurl even petty offenders relentlessly into cells, soon enough we won’t know whether society has become a prison or prisons have become society.”

“Don’t speak of such things. “Don’t speak of such things as if they’re someone else’s problem.”

Echizen-no-kami took that moment to sip his tea before immersing himself once more in his documents. He never showed particular strain no matter how many minor cases came his way—petty thefts, fraud investigations, or civil suits. When presiding over the sanded court, he dispensed justice with swift fluidity like flowing water. Particularly in civil matters, he preferred arbitration over formal judgments. Disputes resolved by his word alone always left both parties fully satisfied through fair treatment that pleased all involved.

In that regard, during this time, among Edo’s town chiefs and the elders of the five-family groups, (Harmony Ōoka. Oni Izumo) such coded terms had come into use.

Slang terms like "Harmony Ōoka" and "Oni Izumo" were used.

Public cases brought before Magistrate Nakayama Izumo-no-kami of the North's sanded court generally saw quarrels escalate until one party became thorough villains. But Echizen-no-kami's true intent lay not in such achievements or accolades—his ideal was solely the realization of a society needing no laws, of prison cells devoid of criminals. Naturally, even if this remained merely an ideal, it was a judge's duty to strive for a society approaching it.

To achieve this, he believed it was absolutely necessary to first eliminate the root causes from crime's very seedbeds rather than rounding up perpetrators of major and minor offenses from the breeding grounds of actual vice. For this purpose, he could not help but devote his mind to municipal governance—particularly social policies.

Even so. The path he aspired to was long, and now, instead, complex dilemmas—ones that seemed to demand he pass judgment on himself—surrounded him and lay piled upon his desk.

He did not yield. He mustered unyielding courage and confronted his own judgment day after day.

“Magistrate, sir.”

Then, a voice came from the next room.

“Who goes there?”

“It is Sōta.” “Might I have a moment of your time?” “Ah, Sōta. Come in—I’ve been waiting for you.” Yamamoto Sōta—one of the three yoriki who had been temporarily dismissed from his position and idling on Fugen’s second floor—had been permitted access to the magistrate’s office again following his contributions during Lord Oinkaden’s case resolution. Though not fully reinstated to his former post, he occasionally appeared there as part of his town patrol duties.

Howling Prison

When they saw his figure, Yoshihira and Kanzō both,

“Oh, Sōta.” “You’re drenched in sweat!” “Your face is black with grime.”

They raised their faces from their desks and turned eyes filled with concern. Sōta wiped his forehead with a hand towel while, “Ah, walking through the streets now—the sun beats down fiercely. Every time I hear the seedling sellers and reed screen vendors calling out, I feel lashed by how swiftly the days pass.”

Then, taking out a memorandum from his breast pocket, he settled formally before Echizen-no-kami. "I have indeed spent many days, but I have at last completed the investigation into Osode’s upbringing from childhood through her time at the water tea house." "I see," said Echizen-no-kami, his expression remaining impassive even at the mention of Osode’s name. "Kanzō. "There’s a bundle of documents concerning Osode. "Into those, now write down in detail what Sōta has related."

"Understood."

Kanzō took up his brush. This too was the coldly composed demeanor of a clerk. "Most of the information was gathered through investigating past registries at Yusen-ji Temple in Hibiya Village—where Osode's ancestors up to her father are buried—verifying details with the head priest, and searching out distant relatives to compile accounts." "Combining these, I will first present only the summary."

Sōta read from the memorandum as he spoke. "Osode’s father, Imamura Kanato, was a retainer in the household of Lord Akita Awa-no-kami with a stipend of fifty koku, serving in the role of foot soldier." "He was gentle and kind by nature, sincere and diligent." "He seems to have been well-regarded by all in the domain." ………… Ōoka Echizen-no-kami, his quiet half-closed eyes reflecting the color of the young leaves on the veranda, listened in silence. —Kanzō’s brush soundlessly followed Sōta’s account. "When Imamura Kanato’s daughter Osode fell gravely ill at age five and had been abandoned by doctors—a certain acquaintance advised them that swallow’s charred remains were the only cure for her condition." Out of love for his child, the doting Kanato took a blowgun, shot down swallows nesting in the estate’s tenement, quietly made them into medicine, and had his daughter drink it. “Someone must have informed on them… At that time, under the Compassion for Living Creatures decree, informants who reported those committing acts of killing—not limited to dogs—were rewarded by the shogunate…”

“Hmm,” Echizen nodded deeply. “Unfortunately, that day also coincided with the shogun’s honorable mother’s visit to Gokoku-ji for Buddhist prayers. The prominent couple were judged guilty of capital crimes—preparing charred swallow remains and forcing their child to ingest them—resulting in their conviction, the ruin of their family name, and the scattering of their kin.” “Osode was then raised by others, working as a nursemaid and selling street fortunes until she was ultimately sold into service as a tea server at a mizujaya.”

………… “When she turned sixteen—as was customary in the water tea house business where they had to take customers at night—there came occasional visiting patrons during that time: Ōoka Kamejirō and his cousin Ichijuurou, who shared the same family name. Among them, Osode became romantically involved with that Ichijuurou and, before long, found herself carrying his child. In time, the child born of their union was Oen.” Even as they tried to speak impassively and record impassively, their brushes faltered, and their voices quivered with a heartrending, unmistakably anguished tremor—

Alone, Echizen-no-kami was receiving it as if it were another's affair. "Hmm. The name Oen—uncommon in the world—appears to have been drawn from that connection in Osode's upbringing when naming her." That much I had known from the start—no—though I had heard Osode came from samurai stock, I hadn't known such particulars of her circumstances.

"...And what of the events from then until now?"

Echizen-no-kami further pressed for the rest.

Naturally, Echizen-no-kami's dissolute conduct during those years, his disreputable companions, and his domestic circumstances would emerge. The reasons he ultimately could not remain with Osode would likewise come to light. It was from that moment Osode began cursing the motive that had shattered her life as a woman—that it had all been for a man's sake, for Ichijuurou's sake—and even now, the flames of that curse had not been extinguished from her breast. While Yamamoto Sōta methodically narrated and committed to writing the findings he had gathered from various quarters, Ichikawa Yoshihira labored to delineate the full scope of events—using materials assembled from multiple sources concerning Gyobusho-sama, who until her dying breath had never relinquished Osode from his demonic clutches, and his faction's conspiracy to overthrow the shogunate—through investigating the gang leader's origins.

The fact that Gyobusho-sama had conspired for years with smuggling associates from the western provinces and vagrants from various regions to plot a grand conspiracy—this came to light through Anou Juuzou, who had recently been confined in the prison. Additionally, the motive behind Juuzou's fall from his former status into the criminal underworld. That, too, was made clear. Whether it be Ōoka Kamejirō, Anō Jū, the deceased miso merchant Kyūsuke, or Osode—the motives that led these individuals to face critical junctures in their youth, along with their circumstances and societal conditions, all ultimately stemmed from a single source.

If Tokugawa Tsunayoshi—the Dog Shogun of that era—had not heeded his birth mother and those corrupt monks, enacting evil laws like the so-called Compassion for Living Creatures that placed humans beneath dogs and cats, these people would never have been forced to walk such shadowed paths through half their lives. At the very least, they would not have committed the crimes that became their motives. Just as was the case with Ookame and Anou, even Gyobusho-sama could be said to be so. If society had been brighter and the common people had raised no voices of discontent, even they would not have sought to overturn the world—

(Even we could at least manage slightly better governance than this.) And they would not have been driven to plot such reckless rebellions. Weak, bearing a woman's lifetime—Osode's innocent upbringing under that vile governance, that rotten social climate, lacked even the strength to be called a sacrifice. Moreover, how could one possibly sever the evil destiny of Oen, born later, even when her fate had been cursed? Even with a mother’s love, they could not sever it; it was no wonder that mother and child drifted through evil deeds.

Whether he was truly listening or not—there was nothing in Echizen-no-kami's countenance that could be read from without—this single room thus became a grand chamber of inquiry where the full picture of this incident would be scrutinized from every angle, both in its individual parts and outer framework, down to its very roots. For a long time Yamamoto Sōta's report continued; he further submitted another document and added various new materials to the papers on the desk. Eventually the western sun in the courtyard faded, and with the arrival of a chilly evening breeze, the clerks and other officials of the magistrate's office began withdrawing one after another.

Then, somewhere in the distance—

“You bastard! “Oi! Prison guards! “Why don’t you come closer? “You scared? “Scared of me? Or scared of the Magistrate? “Bwahaha! “What’s so scary ’bout that bastard Magistrate?” It was a roaring loud voice.

It came echoing over the roof of the prison barracks as dusk fell, over the fences, over several magistrate office buildings.

He must have been screaming with tremendous force.

Heart's Flame, Frenzied Dance

Echizen-no-kami suddenly pricked up his ears. Muttering, he said to the three.

"Kamejirō's shouting again," Echizen-no-kami muttered. "At this rate, his body won't last. Has he been given the medicine?" "We've been ensuring the prison doctor remains vigilant," Kanzō answered. He and the others wore expressions as if their chests were being gouged out. "A prison doctor has inherent limitations," Echizen continued. "Yoshihira." "Yes, my lord." "You should request your father—Dr. Ichikawa Rakuō—to examine him personally and provide proper diagnosis." "I shall relay your instruction at once."

Then, once more, it reached them. As dusk deepened, with the surroundings growing quiet and the twilight thickening, an eerie aura more intense than before threatened this single room. “Echizen! “Hey! You imposter! Damn magistrate! “Why won’t you show yourself to me? “Why aren’t you interrogating Ōoka Kamejirō?! “You! Come here!” Intermittent, hoarse, throat-tearing as it was—that distant voice—the listeners here could finally no longer bear to ignore it.

“Magistrate. I’ll just go take a look.”

As Kanzō and Yoshihira started to stand, “Enough. “Leave it be.” Echizen wore a look of practiced familiarity.

"But the prison guards are always at their wits' end. If they don't calm him down a bit, he might stay up all night and go mad again tonight." "True enough - it'll wear on the body. ...Even if it breaks you, don't fight back." "Never. We'll manage that part."

The two stood and left.

After that, Yamamoto Sōta resolutely edged forward on his knees.

“There remains one matter I humbly failed to mention in your earlier reports.” “It must concern Osode and Oen’s whereabouts.” “Your discernment is correct.” “You refrained from stating it plainly before your two colleagues—” “Whether this was right... or wrong...” “Having stressed Lord Echizen’s impartiality so thoroughly—do you still not fully grasp it?” “Nay—I comprehend your position perfectly... yet beg your forbearance.”

“We are human,” said Ōoka Tadasuke. “Your concern is appreciated. But unless we rise above such sentiments, we cannot uphold our duty as magistrate officials.” His voice carried the weight of decades presiding over Edo’s sanded courts. “Speak plainly, Sōta.” Yamamoto’s jaw tightened before he confessed: “The truth is… Oen is currently sheltered next door to Dr. Ichikawa Rakuō’s residence in Ushigome Yanagichō.” “Did Yoshihira conceal her?” “No, Magistrate. That night near Kan’ei-ji Temple—Dr. Rakuō himself kept watch, enlisted a local called Kagotora, and after clashing with your son…” Yamamoto hesitated, choosing his words like a surgeon selecting blades, “…it appears he took decisive measures to remove her.”

“And what about Osode?” “It appears Dr. Rakuō was unable to manage it and let her escape, but after his subordinates Tatsuzō and Hanji desperately searched, it seems she is being hidden within the mountain by Ōuchi Fuden, the vice-chief priest of Kan’ei-ji Temple’s branch.” “So she’s at the branch temple of the princely abbot… That’s a bit troublesome.” “That is my greatest concern.”

“Do not worry. As long as Echizen’s resolve remains steadfast as it was from the beginning, there will be no cause for alarm, whatever may come.”

"Regarding this matter, should I have told Yoshihira that I had already reported it to you, Magistrate? And was it proper that I kept it concealed?" "Do not conceal it. Yet Yoshihira's inner conflict pleases me. It shows discernment. My apologies... for causing such distress to everyone." With a clattering noise, the two men from before came rushing back from the inner courtyard.

“Magistrate. Something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” “Perhaps because Kamejirō thrashed about too wildly, he suddenly collapsed inside his cell.”

“What? Has he died?” “Oh no, no. We believe it’s a temporary seizure, but he’s suffering terribly—foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back, face deathly pale, writhing and thrashing uncontrollably. This doesn’t seem like his usual condition.” “Did you call the prison doctor?” “Nakane An’an, the prison doctor, is unfortunately not at his residence today either. He apparently went far away to examine a patient somewhere.” “There must be no contingencies—” Echizen immediately stood up and slipped into the courtyard sandals,

“Yoshihira! Yoshihira!” “Yes!” “Go quickly and bring Dr. Rakuō here. Take a palanquin and make haste!” “Yes. Understood.” Yoshihira immediately ran off. Echizen returned once more to his private quarters, retrieved the inrō from the library, promptly descended, exited through the courtyard gate into the alley of the office storehouse, circled around multiple times, and passed through the barred gate into the realm of the prison cells. Detention cells, hundred-day confinement cells, felony cells—the prison blocks, resembling beast cages, spread out in multiple directions, the alleys wide, with guard huts standing here and there between rows of tenements facing each other.

“The Lord Magistrate!” “The Lord Magistrate is here!” At this, the prison guards cast fearful glances and became flustered at the sight of someone they rarely encountered. “Kamejirō’s cell—”

Behind him followed Kanzō and Sōta. The prison chief,

“This way.” The prison chief led the way with nervous urgency.

Due to his barking, it was situated in a corner completely separate from the other prison blocks.

Behind it was a thicket. In front stood five or six trees. The area showed nothing but parched soil. “Here…?” “That is correct.” “Quiet now. Has he settled?”

Echizen-no-kami approached the prison bars. Outside, the twilight still faintly lingered, but inside the cell was pitch black. Something squirmed heavily in the darkness.

Under the Lamp: A Work

“W-who’s there?! Who’s fucking peeking in?!” Ookame pushed himself up halfway from the floorboards and fixed his gleaming eyes intently. And then, with a slow, scraping sound... he inched closer.

"Gah! D-damn you!" he suddenly snarled, pressing his mouth against the cell bars with a metallic clang as if biting down.

“Echizen! — No! Wrong! You’re Ōoka Ichijuurou. Oichi…!”

“Kamejirō. How are you faring? Is your body well?” “W-what the hell... you saying? Don’t fuckin’ make me laugh, you impostor!” “I heard you were suffering, so I brought medicine. Will you take it?” “I’ll take it! Go on—make me swallow it! My whole body’s been burnin’ like fire since yesterday! Mark my words—this is all your damn curse!” “—Prison guard. Try administering this to him. It’s Jingūmaru. Good for fevers too.”

When Echizen handed over the inrō, Kamejirō flew into a demon-like rage.

“Don’t fuck with me! Even if you think to poison me, I ain’t swallowing that bait. Hey! Ichijuurou! Come here—get in this cell! I’ve got my reasons.”

“We’ll hear it in the sanded court.” “In the sanded court, speak your fill.” “You refused. “Hey! You think you can interrogate *me* in the sanded court?!” “What a fucking joke!” “Ha ha ha….” “If I have past sins, then you have past sins too!” “Want me to tell you?” “No! Like hell I’d keep quiet!” “Come on! Take me to the sanded court right now!” “Prison guard! Open up! Open this cell!” “As long as that fury remains unquelled, no proper inquiry can be conducted.” “If you wish to appear in the sanded court, you should calm yourself swiftly.”

“You mean to treat me like a madman, huh? Ugh, I see—you’ll write off everything I say as lunatic ramblings, falsify the interrogation records, and put on a pretty show for the world, won’t ya? Eat shit! If I’m headed for the gallows, I’ll drag you down with me! If I’m crucified, I’ll haul you to the stake too!—You and me were tied by fate from the start, bonds no blade can sever. And now you try playing the good little boy all by yourself? Damn you—quit fucking with me!”

In his excitement, he truly seemed to have struck his forehead against the cell bars. Drip... drip... A thread of blood trickled through his one eye and dripped onto his chin. With a groan, Kamejirō collapsed once more.

“There!” The prison guard immediately entered the cell, gave him water, and administered the medicine. When he came to, Kamejirō began howling again. Again, he bit at the cell bars. At that moment, Ichikawa Rakuō, who had gone to pick up Yoshihira, arrived carrying a medicine basket. He immediately examined Kamejirō’s condition. Whether it was because this doctor differed from his usual jail physician, or perhaps due to some lingering attachment to life itself, Kamejirō suddenly became as docile as a child, allowing his pulse to be taken and submitting to an examination of his chest, back, and even the soles of his feet.

“He’s actually quite healthy.” “Given his current state, there’s nothing to worry about.” “It’s merely a touch of cold.” “The fever runs high.”

Laughing, Rakuō came out. Then, after instructing them to retrieve the medicine, he returned to a room in the administrative quarters accompanied by the chief prison guard.

He handed over the prepared medicine and washed his hands,

“What about the magistrate?” he inquired of Yoshihira.

“He is waiting in the back.”

“As it happens, I had been meaning to request an audience shortly.” “Given the pressing circumstances, would you kindly inquire whether His Honor might grant me a brief meeting?” Before long came the reply that there would be no inconvenience, and now Kobayashi Kanzō arrived to provide guidance.

Following along, they came to Lord Echizen's private chamber. That was a small, secluded room where he would occasionally steal moments of leisure from his busy schedule to seclude himself in silent contemplation.

"If there is business, I will call for you. All of you, go rest. Withdraw to the yoriki room and remain there."

Lord Echizen-no-kami too, this night, seemed to have a particular matter he wished to discuss while sitting face-to-face with him alone in his private chamber.

“Well. Master Rakuō. Make yourself comfortable.”

“All day long. You must be exhausted.” “I shall take my ease.” Taking a floor cushion and settling his knees upon it, Rakuō turned his gaze toward the small alcove. With compassionate eyes, behold all living beings　　　　Words of Dōkubō the Monk

A single-line inscription on a slender scroll hung there.

“Oh.” “Whose writing is this?”

“How mortifying,” Lord Echizen replied, his gaze falling to the floorboards. “Merely my own handiwork.” “This Dōkubō you mention...” Rakuō pressed, leaning forward. “The monk who redeemed Echizen.” The magistrate’s fingers brushed invisible ink stains on his sleeve. “Where he wanders now... I transcribed his teachings during nights of longing. These characters bear witness.” Rakuō’s breath caught at the raw ache in those words. “Longing,” he echoed, the syllable hanging between them like temple incense. “Truly, it’s compassion’s nourishment and life’s strivings alone that sustain us mortals – that temper our baser clay into something... nobler.” His hand disappeared into his sleeve, emerging with violet silk. “There’s something you must see.”

Rakuō took out a small purple cloth bundle and placed it before the other’s knees. “You seem rather formal about this. What is this?” “Well. Please take it and have a look.”

Rakuō reached out and drew the distant candle closer. Lord Echizen unfolded the cloth bundle. Upon the subdued purple fabric lay a single maki-e inrō. The burnished gold of its polished lacquerwork, scattered with hollyhock crests, pierced the eye.

“Magistrate… sir. Do you recall?”

“I do.” His eyes remained fixed on the inrō as Lord Echizen answered in a low voice.

How could I not remember? This hollyhock-crested maki-e inrō had been the possession of the current Shogun Yoshimune from when he was still a room-residing noble in Kishū, going by the name Tokugawa Shinnosuke. No—how could I ever forget? This inrō obtained by the roadside; those days of wintry winds and sleet when I wandered through famine-stricken streets with young Oen on my back—the pitiful figure of a father struggling even for a single bowl of food, the child’s weeping voice—how could such memories ever fade? Though Magistrate Echizen-no-kami had rigorously hardened his heart for public duty, beneath his official robes he remained a man of skin and blood—thus even now, nearly twenty years later, viewing this under lamplight left him no possibility of remaining unmoved.

Chapter Five

Road Construction The tears supported by his eyelashes nearly overflowed and began to dampen Lord Echizen’s cheek.

Rakuō had indeed seen them even in Lord Echizen's eyes. ——Just as he thought this, he himself noticed something trailing down his own cheek and hurriedly turned his face away. Lord Echizen also turned his face aside and softly used a tissue, but immediately returned to his usual self, "Master Rakuō—" he asked quietly, his eyes still lowered to the inrō beneath the lamplight. "How did this inrō come to be in your possession?"

“Since Your Honor has taken that as collateral, what does Your Honor intend to do? First, before that—allow me to inquire.” “Therefore, the owner of this inrō is one of the female bandits Echizen is currently investigating. As you are aware, it was the possession of a young woman who was among the Quintet Gang robberies...and that is why I humbly make this inquiry.”

“Well then… Lord Echizen,” Rakuō began, gazing directly at him as if wanting to say something, but only his lips trembled, and no words came out.

In response to his direct gaze, Lord Echizen likewise kept his eyes fixed on the other's lips without averting them. The two pairs of eyes, having conquered their tears, blazed with resolve and conviction. "Then—if Your Honor were to learn this inrō owner's whereabouts—would you intend to have them apprehended?" "Of course!" He declared resolutely, as though issuing himself a command. "As my official duty requires, I shall naturally dispatch arresting officers at once."

“However, Magistrate.” “No—Lord Echizen.” “If for that reason... suppose, hypothetically speaking...” “Even if Ōoka Tadasuke the man were to have both his current position as town magistrate and his entire life utterly destroyed due to some long-past connection with this criminal—would you still resolve everything solely by clinging to the law?” “That is a question beyond my comprehension. Unworthy though I may be, Echizen currently holds the office of Edo Town Magistrate.” “No—Lord Echizen, I do not presume to ask about your feelings as a human being... but as a parent.”

“This is an impertinent line of questioning. When Echizen may indulge his private self—as parent, husband, and householder at leisure—that exists nowhere but within my Akasaka residence.” He turned his face slightly toward the purple bundle. “—This is the South Town Magistrate’s official residence.”

“I understand well enough where to draw the line between public and private. However, what this old fool means to say is—‘For the sake of great public matters, even heaven does not condemn minor personal affairs, nor do people begrudge them’—is what this old fool means to say. For instance, even if there were some minor faults or petty sins in the past of a certain current town magistrate—common human failings—”

“Please wait.” “…What you say may serve as self-defense.” “But from society’s perspective, one might call it veiling disgrace.” “The public will not be convinced.” “No—in your case—” “I do not possess such great trust or moral authority from the public.” “Even if none exists now—who but you could possibly emerge in the future to better this world?” “The long-standing self-destruction and indolence of the people since Lord Dog’s governance—the resulting anxiety and moral chaos will not recover with mere trifling efforts.” “Even if the shogunate changes hands, unless there are good magistrates and virtuous officials who actually mingle among the common people to govern...”

"I do not at all consider myself suitable material, but Echizen intends to exert the utmost effort within his capabilities." "And yet—why would you trouble your heart with such trivial matters this time, even going so far as to choose a reckless path that would destroy both your position and your very self?" "Let us stop this..." Lord Echizen suddenly changed his demeanor, as if to placate Rakuō’s stubbornness— "Master Rakuō. "Well, rest assured." "No— "Far from reassuring—" "This old fool cannot rest."

“Ha ha ha. Someone like Tadasuke—there are plenty in this world who could replace a petty official. —But since I now find myself fortunately positioned to walk ahead, I intend to pave the way by repairing roads through society’s long-standing mire. If we simply maintain proper paths, there’s no shortage of wise men and capable talents—countless worthy individuals will emerge in time.” “I shall take my leave.” Rakuō began to rise with sudden resolve. Then, wrapping the inrō that lay between them in a silk cloth and starting to put it away—

“Ah, no— “Leave this here.”

Then, Echizen-no-kami also reached out his hand and restrained Rakuō’s hand that held the inrō.

Child’s Jutte “No—this is something entrusted to me. Unless I ask the person’s true intentions, I cannot hand it over.”

Rakuō brushed off Echizen-no-kami’s hand and briskly tucked it into his breast pocket. And then,

“This old fool has his own convictions to uphold—do not think ill of me for it.”

With that, he performed a bow once more and attempted to exit the room. Then, Echizen-no-kami bellowed,

“Old man—stop!” he said from behind. Rakuō turned around,

“Magistrate.” “What business do you have?” “If you leave here with that inrō, misfortune will befall you as well.” “—This is evidentiary material required for criminal investigations.” “Discard this ill omen and depart.”

“No—even you, as magistrate of this era, make no attempt to avoid calamity befalling yourself for duty’s sake. They say medicine is a benevolent art. This old fool too will not shun personal misfortune for benevolence’s sake.” Through the dark corridor, Rakuō’s footsteps faded into the distance.

Echizen-no-kami—before the remaining lamplight—firmly raised his face that had been bowed down,

“Is there no one here?!” “Kanzō! Sōta!” “...Get in here now!” A sharp response came from the yoriki room’s direction. Yet somehow, the three men seemed locked in argument. Though their voices carried, none appeared for some time.

Echizen-no-kami called out again, his voice slightly higher-pitched.

“Is there no one in the yoriki room?…Even Yoshihira will do! Come here at once!” “At once, sir!”

With a clatter, footsteps came to a halt outside the window. From there, he knelt down, “What is your command?”

“Oh. “Yoshihara?” “I am Yoshihara.” “—”

Echizen-no-kami’s words did not come easily from his mouth. But with a tone that forced them out, “Hmm. You will do. The physician Ichikawa Rakuō has just left—did you see him?” “Yes, sir. I am aware.” “Pursue Rakuō and retrieve the *inrō* he showed me.” “...Should he refuse absolutely to surrender it, you must consider him a knowing accomplice sheltering criminals under this office’s investigation—and apprehend him accordingly.”

“Ah... Then—” “If he refuses to hand it over... Yoshihira, if you doubt your own capability, then enlist Sōta’s or Kanzō’s assistance.” “Wh-what…? I have my jutte at my waist as well. Forgive me!”

And so, Ichikawa Yoshihira came running desperately to the back entrance of the magistrate’s residence—through the long dark corridor that twisted many times—grimacing at tears stinging his lips. Because it was night, no one was visible in either the dōshin room or nearby servants’ quarters. He stepped into sandals of unknown ownership. And then his colleagues Kobayashi Kanzō and Yamamoto Sōta—who had been running right behind him—

“Hey! Wait!” They grabbed him—

“You’re not going! For you—his own son—to confront your biological father and arrest him…”

“No—let go! Release me!” “Yoshihira! You’re acting as stubborn as the magistrate—what’s gotten into you? Leave this to us. H-hey now, Yoshihira. We’ll manage it.” “Don’t interfere! This duty was entrusted to me by the magistrate—” “Fool! Ichikawa Rakuō is your father! Your own flesh and blood!” “In official matters, there’s no room for familial ties.” “We understand the magistrate’s plight—but if we loyal retainers fixate solely on such rigid principles while trying to aid him through this crisis, where does that leave us? Calm yourself.”

“I am calm. I’m not out of my mind. When I consider how the magistrate resolves to uphold the law’s righteousness—even if it means being judged himself and showing no mercy to his own child—” “Enough! Get back!”

“I won’t back down—I will fulfill my duty!” Shaking them off, Yoshihira ran out the back gate in pursuit of Rakuō’s palanquin, which should have just departed from there.

The night within Sukiyabashi Gate was one where pedestrian traffic was sparse. Apart from the light of that familiar stone-grilled tofu shop being visible, the area from there to the edge of the moat was already a vast expanse of grassland where summer grass was beginning to sprout.

“Wait!” “Wait!”

Yoshihira circled around to the front of the palanquin he had caught up to and spread both arms.

“I am a yoriki of the South Town Magistrate’s Office. There is a matter I must briefly inquire about with the person within this palanquin.” “Kindly step out.”

Indeed, his voice carried a tremor somewhere within.

Yoshihira chided his own trembling as if to expel his selfishness, strengthened his tone, and pressed further: “...Hand it over, Rakuō. If you surrender the inrō you carry, all will be well. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to take you into custody with my jutte.”

——Then from inside the palanquin came: “What? You’d use your jutte on me? ……Now see here, you’ve got the wrong man.” “Who exactly are you addressing? And what do you demand be handed over?”

When Yoshihira saw the figure that emerged by pushing aside the palanquin's curtain, it was not Father Rakuō as expected, but a samurai wearing a black night hood and formal black twill lined kimono with hakama properly fastened. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties—stern in demeanor yet with piercingly sharp eyes.

“Ah…!” “Wh-what is this?”

Realizing his mistake in identity, Yoshihira was flustered at his own carelessness.

Yabuhachi Earlier, even when facing his two colleagues, he had boldly declared that he was composed and certainly not agitated—but had his mind actually been in turmoil after all?

——And. He reexamined the lantern hanging from the front pole of the palanquin, which bore the Ichikawa family crest of three scales, and upon looking at the palanquin bearer’s face, he recognized him as a young man from Kago Tora—the nearby palanquin shop his father always used.

“Hmm... This is strange.” There had been no mistake about the person being different, but there was absolutely no error regarding the palanquin. Why was an unfamiliar samurai riding in Father Rakuō’s palanquin? Enveloped in suspicion akin to thick night fog, Yoshihira still did not retreat from before the palanquin. “You there—South Town yoriki or whatever you are,” said the samurai. “What are you staring at so intently? You haven’t even apologized for your rudeness.”

"Truly——" he said hastily bowing, "I acknowledge your apology for mistaking my identity," came from within the palanquin’s curtains,* "but where did you board this vehicle?" "I drank at Sashiire Chaya’s stone-grilled tofu shop while keeping my palanquin waiting,* and am now returning home." The occupant’s shadow shifted.* "What exactly warrants suspicion?" *Note: Asterisks indicate narrative descriptions directly corresponding to original Japanese text movements/actions without added modifiers

“Did you pick this up around here and board it?”

“No. This is a hired palanquin I boarded from my home.”

“This grows ever more suspicious. This appears to be a young man from Kago Tora in Ushigome Yanagichō, but...” “My humble residence is also in the vicinity of Yanagichō. There shouldn’t be anything particularly strange about that.” “Even so, this lantern’s crest is that of Ichikawa Rakuō, the town physician of Yanagichō, but—” “What nonsense are you spouting?”

With that, the samurai dismissed it with a laugh. "This one's family crest is also three scales." "In all of Edo, that three-scales emblem doesn't belong solely to some physician's household." Yoshihira seized his chance and pressed harder.

“You can’t just say that. Your robe has hawk feathers attached.”

“What? Hawk feathers? This is the official crest. For ordinary affairs, I use the unofficial one. There’s nothing unusual about a house maintaining two crests. No—more importantly, you’ve been blocking the way this whole time. Even if it’s your duty, to keep harassing someone after realizing your mistake—isn’t that rather rude?”

“Ugh...” “I must apologize for my abruptness.” “However, while we’re at this, I must request your full name.” “Now that suspicion has been cleared, you should state your name first.” “My apologies for not introducing myself sooner. “Ichikawa Yoshihira of the South Town Magistrate Office.” “And you are…?” “I am called Yabuhachi.” “Your surname?” “Yabu.” “Your given name?”

“Hachi, at your service.” “Cease your mockery.” “Who dares mock you? Surname Yabu, given name Hachi—no discrepancy exists!” Immense authority weighted his final syllables. When Yoshihira—struck by that razor-edged tone—fell silent, the samurai—

“Hurry up! Move it!... Damned detour!” With that sharp command to the palanquin bearers, they vanished into the grassy thicket, the lantern’s light shrinking into the moatside darkness.

Tearful laughter

“Yoshihira.” “How long do you plan to stand there dazed?” “Come now - let’s head back once.”

Approaching him as he stood dazed, the two colleagues linked arms with Yoshihira from both sides and made him walk with them.

“Hey, Yoshihira. To tell the truth, we were listening from the shadows too—the world sure has its share of strange people. What do you think that man was?” “I haven’t the faintest idea. He’s like some bastard who came out just to mock people.” “A fox spirit?” “No way.”

“Anyway, the magistrate must be waiting. With Lord Rakuō’s whereabouts unknown and another person having ridden in that palanquin, this is indeed a matter requiring consideration. If we’re to answer truthfully, it would be best to first make an official report.”

“No—I—” As Yoshihira struggled, trying to break free from his companions’ grip, the two firmly restrained him,

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” “What do you think you’re doing?”

"I'll try chasing that palanquin again." "Stop it! It's useless!" "If not—Ushigome Yanagichō's—" "Are you planning to storm your own house on a raid? Enough already—don't make your friends clean up your mess." At those words, Yoshihira too found his entire face drenched in tears all at once.

“Don’t cry. You look pathetic.”

When Sōta patted his back, Yoshihira sobbed even harder, bursting into childlike tears.

Sōta too turned his face away, and Kanzō pressed his forearm over both eyes. The three walked arm in arm, weeping as they went.

The black rear gate of the magistrate's office loomed perilously close before the three who kept their eyes averted from the ground. They all snapped back to awareness. No—rather, they had reverted to being yoriki who had sworn official duties to society from this very gate.

“Hahahaha… Hey, wipe your face.” “Ahahaha! Something’s off lately with the South Office.” “Everyone’s turned into crybabies.” “Let’s pull ourselves together. …Hey—Sōta—if you’ve got a tissue, hand it over.” “...Hey—Sōta—if you’ve got a tissue, hand it over.” “Tissue?”

“A tissue?”

The three of them laughed together there—without knowing why, without any reason at all.

Kobayashi Kanzō received a tissue from Sōta and shot him a meaningful glance. Sōta nodded and turned to face the stone-grilled tofu. Kanzō shared the tissue with Yoshihira as well, had him wipe his face, and led him inside the gate.

Lord Echizen was still sitting alone in the same room, before the same candle, solemnly. Just like a portrait, his formal overgarment and the pleats of his hakama remained exactly as they had been earlier, not a single crease out of place. And then, he was meditating with closed eyes. His brow and complexion had completely returned to their usual calm.

He was always the physician who healed his own spirit into calmness. Physicians for the body can be summoned from without, but for physicians of the mind, one must become a master oneself.

“It is Kanzō and Yoshihira.” “We have returned.”

“Oh… Well done. Did you retrieve the inrō?” “No. It hasn’t been returned.” “Then have you apprehended Rakuō?” “We hurried, but completely lost track of their return path.”

“What do you mean? You can’t determine it…?” “Though we feared reprimand for returning without fulfilling your orders, having encountered a most peculiar circumstance, we judged it prudent to first seek your assessment before proceeding.” Kanzō gave a faithful account on behalf of the speechless Yoshihira—both the matter of the suspicious individual they had mistaken and the undeniable fact that the palanquin had belonged to Rakuō.

However, this matter appeared beyond Lord Echizen’s judgment, and he too could only furrow his brows and listen. "I cannot make sense of this truly..." He muttered incessantly, "Tell me again."

Then he grew even more cautious and inclined his ear. “—Ah. “That’s right. I forgot to mention earlier—when Yoshihira asked the samurai for his name, he replied that his family name was Yabu and given name Hachi. He stated that his name was Yabu Hachi when asked for both family and given names—then uttered such mocking words and left. Though I knew there could be no such absurd name in this world, yet that man bore an air of earnestness about him, and without further grounds for suspicion, we had no choice but to part ways under such circumstances.”

When the name Yabu Hachi was mentioned, a distinct ripple of shock—like a sudden wave through his heart—passed fleetingly across Lord Echizen's countenance.

But the two did not see it at all.

“Hmm... I see,” said Lord Echizen, bowing so deeply that the two could see the nape of his neck. After a moment of contemplation, he announced: “Well... In any case, Ichikawa Rakuō is not one to run and hide. Tomorrow morning, both of you shall visit his residence in Yanagichō once more and carry out as I previously ordered you. Whether you have him present the inrō or apprehend him and bring him back.”

“Understood, my lord.”

For the first time, Yoshihira also answered together with Kanzō.

For some time now, night after night, Lord Echizen had been released late from his official duties, but tonight too had grown late into the depths of night. He apologized to his two subordinates for their nightly labors, finally entered his palanquin himself, and soon departed for his private residence in Akasaka.

The usual place

"Otsugi-san. …Otsugi-san."

The Sashiire Tea House followed the custom that when evening came and the magistrate office's gates closed, here too they would roll up the reed screens, stack the benches, and shut the front door.

However, light seeped from the back entrance of the famous stone-grilled tofu establishment—the one lightly knocking on that door was Yamamoto Sōta, who had just parted ways with Yoshihira and Kanzō near the magistrate office’s rear gate. “...Otsugi-san.” “Hey, can I have a word?” “My apologies for coming so late.”

Sōta and Otsugi’s relationship was known even to the hired maid. He seemed cautious about being noticed by the household.

Finally, there was a reply from within the household. From the gap in the door, Otsugi's pale face. —A lover's face is as immediately readable as a book. Sōta immediately noticed that her eyebrows looked unusually dull. "Suddenly, something I need to ask you came up…" "Listen, can I come in?"

“Um… Mr. Sōta.” “Tonight is...”

“Is there someone in the back—a guest or something?” “No… Not exactly a guest.” “If it’s inconvenient, we can talk outside—just a quick chat. Can’t you slip out for a bit?” “Would you wait?” “Yeah. Where should I be?” “The usual boat shed?” “Then I’ll be there.”

Sōta went ahead to a small hut by the riverside—not far off—with the embankment at its back. Soon, Otsugi came from behind. Being in the shadow of the embankment and facing the river, it was a place where they could remain undisturbed. "What is it? This is so sudden..." "This may seem sudden, but I have an odd question—after closing up shop tonight, was there anyone here? Any customers?" "Huh... In the evening, when the palanquin bearers who brought Lord Rakuō came, we had already closed the shop but couldn't refuse and ended up doing business."

“So they’ve already left, huh? Those palanquin bearers?” “Yes, they left.”

“Just now?” “That’s right.” “Who was in it?” “Since the magistrate’s business was concluded, they had Lord Rakuō board.” “Hmm. Where did he get on from, I wonder?” “From in front of the shop.” “You must not tell lies. Ah, Otsugi-san… You’ve been told to keep quiet, haven’t you?” When stared at, Otsugi suddenly showed tears streaming down. “Mr. Sōta. Why would I lie to you?... Do you still think of me as that kind of woman, Mr. Sōta?”

“Ah—what’s the matter? Crying over something so trivial already? …I take back what I said. I was wrong to doubt you. Seems my assumption’s a bit off.”

“Why would you ask such things?” “You must tell me the truth too.”

“Exactly how it was.” “Since you trust Sōta, I’ve no reason to hide the truth.” “The fact is—something happened tonight.”

Outside of the magistrate’s office, those with even a vague knowledge of the recent incidents were none other than Ichikawa Rakuō and that woman. Moreover, his two colleagues had already been made aware of this matter through prior understanding. Thinking it safe to confide—since he saw no harm in disclosure—Sōta explained in detail the painful circumstances surrounding Rakuō and Yoshihira’s father-son relationship, entirely divorced from any mutual romantic sentiments. Being prone to sentimentality was common for women in love, but tonight’s Otsugi proved especially tearful. What was wrong? She kept crying incessantly yet persistently avoided addressing the crucial answer.

“Oh. “Otsugi-san… “That strange samurai Yabuhachi himself said he’d been drinking with stone-grilled tofu since evening. For a spur-of-the-moment lie, there’s too much connection to the palanquin they rode in… Doesn’t anything come to mind?”

“That samurai was indeed at our shop.” “Huh. So he really had been here since evening?” “The person was brought by young men from Kago Tora as well—they arrived slightly later than the palanquin bearers who had transported Lord Rakuō.”

“Huh… So,” “He said, ‘Since I had arranged to meet Lord Rakuō there, lend me your parlor room late at night—sorry for the trouble.’” “So he was waiting for Lord Rakuō then.” “But when Lord Rakuō’s voice was heard outside, they left without another word—went straight through the entrance together. One lantern headed toward the moat.” “The other went toward the area outside Sukiyabashi Gate, departing separately.” “Ah! That’s it! I’ve got it—that’s how!”

Sōta instinctively clapped his hands. The two had swapped palanquins and boarded them, then deliberately took separate paths—one heading north, the other south—to return.

But who was Yabuhachi? Why had he taken such action? This remained something even he couldn't understand.

Her older sister Even Otsugi couldn’t have known anything beyond that, but the subsequent facts only served to deepen the mystery shrouding Sōta’s understanding all the more.

According to Otsugi, ever since the recent arrest involving the Retired Lord—Ichikawa Rakuō and the samurai called Yabuhachi had met on numerous occasions, ("Hey, lend me the back for a bit") Each time he came to the stone-grilled tofu shop—saying they couldn’t talk in the storefront—they would retreat to a small room in the cramped main house, hold whispered conversations, and then leave. This had occurred frequently, it was said. Moreover, on occasion, Yabuhachi had come alone, and upon arriving, would summon Otsugi, engage in gossip about the three yoriki serving as assistants to the South Magistrate, and subtly attempt to glean every detail about the actual state of affairs within the magistrate office—behavior that undoubtedly indicated someone with profound interest in Echizen-no-kami himself and the current incident—or so it was said.

“Things have grown utterly incomprehensible, but… well, thanks to you, Otsugi-san, tonight’s mysterious palanquin at least has made Lord Rakuō and Yabuhachi’s collusion plain as day.—Now then, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.” “What is it, Mr. Sōta? ...Staring so intently at my face like that.” “There’s something about you… You don’t look like your usual self, Otsugi-san.” “Has some personal trouble come up?” “……Huh? Otsugi-san.” “Or are you feeling unwell somewhere?”

Sōta gently embraced her shoulder. Her shoulder and stray hairs trembled with sobs; there was no doubt that one of the two questions he had asked had struck a nerve.

“I-I…” “I can’t… with you anymore—”

“Huh? What? …What do you mean ‘with you’—?” “…What happened—?”

“Mr. Sōta,” she suddenly pressed her tear-streaked face against his chest, clinging tightly, “...P-please—wash away the promise we made together.” “I... I can no longer become your wife, Mr. Sōta.”

“Wh-what are you saying?” Sōta grew agitated, gripping both of Otsugi’s shoulders tightly and shaking her tear-streaked face. “Explain yourself. Crying isn’t an excuse. Depending on the reason, you could marry wherever you like.” “I’m not crying because I’m going off to marry someone else.”

“Well then. ...What’s all this about?” “You see... my sister... The sister who ran away... suddenly came back home.” Sōta burst out laughing. —He deliberately put on a look that said, What’s this nonsense? Yet the more he laughed, the deeper Otsugi’s grief grew. To the point of being unable to stop her convulsive sobbing. The reason for her distress became clear when heard—and not without cause. Sōta immediately regretted having laughed.

She had an older sister named Oshima.

Oshima was fickle by nature; from before she had even let out the shoulder tucks of her kimono, she had roamed around with men in town, and even after abandoning her parents and running away from home, for over a decade she had severed all contact. That had been the previous month. The day after that raid by the Retired Lord. She wandered back, So this is the house where I was born, huh.

She returned home looking around curiously. When Oshima had run away from home, they were not yet making stone-grilled tofu. It had been an ordinary tofu shop behind Nihonbashi. Their deceased father was the one who had transformed the shop into this. Mother lay paralyzed in bed day after day. Even after Father died, the shop continued to prosper because Otsugi served as its beloved poster girl. (You don't remember me. I'm your sister. Don't treat me like some nuisance.)

From the very evening of her return, Oshima had been upsetting Otsugi with such remarks. Though already nearing forty, she still retained a youthful freshness. She promptly washed her hair, helped herself to Otsugi's kimono from the chest to dress up, applied makeup thicker than her much younger sister ever wore, and occasionally peeked out at the male customers in the shopfront from the back rooms. Edo truly has no shortage of handsome men. She would casually remark such things.

—But Otsugi was not grieving to Sōta over such things. For it had eventually been revealed by Oshima herself that her sister—who long ago had been exiled to Kamigata due to her criminal record as a female pickpocket, been sentenced to distant island exile, and then deceived the island headman to escape before completing her term—was in fact a fugitive. (But, Otsugi. I’m beyond saving anyway. I won’t be your burden forever. …I just thought—rather than spending my whole life on that remote island and dying there—I’d escape to see Edo one more time, do what I want, and make a quick end of it. Just for that time, I ask of you. “Just because the magistrate’s office is right under your nose doesn’t mean you can go informing on me—I won’t let that slide.”)

When such a sister appeared as flesh and blood, Otsugi had resolved in her heart that, no matter how she considered it, she no longer possessed the qualifications to become a police captain's wife.

Nestless Bird She had agonized for some time over when to confess this to Sōta, but her sister Oshima—being a fugitive bearing the criminal record of island escape—grew deeply suspicious of everything. Whether she whispered briefly with someone or stepped out abruptly on an errand, Oshima would immediately grow wary and pry into her actions—leaving her to nurse her hurt heart alone—or so she would have explained.

“Ah, another hardship here as well.” Sōta had believed their love alone could be preserved in his heart as a small flower meadow untouched by the vile world—but had even this sanctuary, which should have remained free from human wickedness and squalor, become corrupted?—and he sank into bleak resignation.

But within his heart, (This was fundamentally different from both the magistrate's position and Yoshihira's sufferings.) he immediately resolved with confidence. Even if he firmly refused his lover Otsugi like this, he thought it would never betray his duty or deceive himself. “All right, I understand! “It’s only natural to grieve, but you mustn’t let narrow thoughts of discarding our promise take hold—you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But…to your name as a police captain—” “Let them interfere if they will. I’ve nothing to hide myself." “If our love comes to harm, it’ll be from weakness in our own hearts.” “Love rests on the two of us...” “Stay strong too, Miss Otsugi.” “Understand?” “Mr. Sōta…I’m glad.” “Do you truly mean that?” “The problem is this—Police Captain Yamamoto Sōta has discovered an exiled pickpocket hiding right under the magistrate’s nose. This can’t be ignored.” “Turning a blind eye for love’s sake would betray the spirit our magistrate stakes his life upon—and deceive two comrades.” “I cannot let this stand.”

“Then… what should we do? …What do you intend to do?” “I’ll arrest Oshima.”

“Wh…what…?” Otsugi, as if she had not anticipated such an outcome, suddenly lost the color from her lips and trembled.

Then, from beside the boat shed, footsteps sounded as someone ascended the embankment. Suddenly alert, Sōta pushed Otsugi away with an "Oh!" and straightened up to look. Below stood a woman with oil-free hair carelessly tied in a mizura style—a childlike topknot—a comb inserted sideways through her locks. Casting a sidelong glance downward, she laughed with the ephemeral beauty of an evening glory blooming at dusk.

“Ah... Sis!” “What? Oshima?”

As Yamamoto Sōta tried to run up the embankment, Otsugi—forgetting herself—clung to his arm. Though she had just been told of the clear distinction between love and duty—the resolve to separate right from wrong—Otsugi couldn't bear to watch her sister being tied up right before her eyes. Even imagining her mother lying bedridden from a stroke, she desperately wanted her sister to escape at least from this moment.

“Otsugi-chan, you’re a fortunate one… You must walk your path as a woman with care.”

What boldness. Without even fleeing, Oshima said that to the two below and vanished in a flash.

That night, Oshima did not return. Where she had gone remained unknown; her presence vanished without trace.

The next day, Otsugi appeared before the stone-grilled tofu shop as usual, spouting flattery to many customers—but the lonely shadow tinged with anguish in her smile appeared more pronounced than the previous night.

The Pretense of Sincerity

Morning—it was early.

To the gate of Ichikawa Rakuō, town physician of Ushigome Yanagichō, "Pardon us—" came the voices of two police captains who had arrived. One was Yoshihira Ichikawa—the son of this household—though today he stood as a South Town police captain. Similarly, even regarding the other man, Kanzō Kobayashi—while hailing from a family with close ties—precisely because of this connection, his brow bore a stern resolve.

“Please come this way.” Rakuō himself promptly emerged into view at an inner guest room. —The discussion required no lengthy words. “Ah... So you’ve come regarding the inrō matter under the honorable magistrate’s orders.” “That’s most gracious of you.” Rakuō bluntly said this. “That inrō—last night, on my hurried way back by palanquin, I must have dropped it somewhere.” “No—I did realize I’d dropped it, but what with the dark night roads and the palanquin’s speed...” “Where I could have dropped it... Ah well, there’s no telling.”

The two stood dumbfounded, at a loss for words.

They had come prepared to face this moment with the resolve of those sitting in death's seat. Yet even so, the two men's rigid tension showed no sign of easing. "Very well."

Kobayashi Kanzō declared firmly and pulled his knees together. “In that case, I will not insist on the inrō. “In exchange,”

Without letting him finish, Rakuō spoke first with resolve. “Take me with you—I shall gratefully receive your bindings and accompany you.” “Before taking in an old master like yourself,” countered Kobayashi, “we’ll bind the female thief hidden in the vacant house next door. You’re prepared for this, I trust?” “A female thief?” “One of the Five-person group—a woman called Oen.” “I don’t know…” “I don’t know any such person.” “You won’t deny this.” “We have a witness.”

“Where could such a witness be?” “Your son here—” Kanzō began, then hastily corrected himself. “—This colleague here…” “This colleague present here indeed witnessed that you helped Oen escape by palanquin in the forest of Kan’ei-ji Temple in Ueno the other night. Moreover, the fact that you have been hiding Oen next to this household since then has been fully uncovered through the South Town Magistrate Office’s investigation.” “Ah—so that young, lovely girl from that night was called Oen? Though I didn’t know who she was... I don’t know her identity, but on my return from Kan’ei-ji Temple, there was a woman crying for help. Out of pity, I rescued her and brought her back, but...”

“Well said.” “That woman is one of the important criminals we are searching for.” “Having you hand her over would prove troublesome as well.” “The two of us will go to the neighboring house to make the arrest and return—we ask for your understanding.” “In that case, naturally, we would not need to trouble your venerable self to come all the way to the magistrate’s office.”

“Ah! Where do you think you’re going?” “We’ll arrest the one I just mentioned.”

“That’s futile.” “Why?” “The girl has thrown herself into death.” “What?! She drowned herself?!” “Into the rear well.”

“Ah... Into the well...” The two men who had risen could read Rakuō’s true intentions as clearly as if gazing into a mirror; suddenly finding themselves without even a moment’s chance to suppress the tears welling up, they simply wept. Lord Echizen had staked his entire being and severed all personal desires—this old man too had clearly cast aside his aged life to sustain that Lord Echizen. From his account of the *inrō* to his method of hiding Oen—these were desperate measures, transparent pretexts. Yet even if they pursued them relentlessly in the sanded court, there was no countering one who had staked their very life to make such claims.

(Thank you for letting Oen escape.)

Both Kanzō and Yoshihira wanted to prostrate themselves in reverence from the depths of their hearts. In truth—perhaps having anticipated this outcome while secretly hoping for it—the two had pressed about Oen. On Yoshihira’s face swirled a complex mix of joy and apprehension for his father’s future. “That she threw herself into the well—it doesn’t sit right with me,” he said. “When did this occur?” “Your doubts are entirely reasonable,” replied Rakuō. “That girl had gone mad. She kept insisting that Lord Ōoka Echizen was her father, crying endlessly that she wanted to meet him. As I pondered this... one night several days prior, she cast herself into it. The neighboring garden is vast, and since even locals were unaware of the old well... no one knew for days.”

It was a monologue. No—it must have been a fabrication. Yet for the two listening intently, it felt all too real. At the very least, it was a lie that even tears could not contain.

The Face at the Second-Floor Window “...The single *inrō* that had been entrusted to my care became a memento.” The pitiful death of the madwoman. Though they were nothing but baseless ravings of insanity, she did call out for Lord Echizen as her father in her final moments... “To tell the truth—last night, when I showed you the *inrō* on a whim, intending it as humorous banter—your reaction proved most unexpected.” “If you insist the woman under investigation was arrested by order, I see no indication this matter will be settled outside legal proceedings.” “This foolish old man erred too—I returned home after uttering some spiteful words.” “Ha ha ha... Such trifling matters.” “For prudence’s sake, inspect that well and submit your report accordingly.”

Rakuō led the way and guided them to the neighboring garden.

The well was not there.

On top of the new mound of earth that was said to have been there,

“Madwoman Oen’s Gravestone” And there lay only a single small stone inscribed in vermilion.

“This?” “…This is the well?” “We simply filled it in and made it into a grave. …A creepy old well—and besides, it wasn’t even drinkable. Ha ha ha.” “In any case, I will report this matter to Lord Echizen as it stands, but should he find it unsatisfactory, he may order it dug up again.” “Oh, anytime. …Should doubts still linger, arrest Rakuō—interrogate him in the sanded court as you will, and tell them he won’t refuse even torture… Do convey that.”

With feelings that had long become unbearable, the two rushed out from the garden gate into the street. And then, unintentionally, they exchanged glances.

“Yoshihira.” “That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

“Thank goodness…” “Truly, thank goodness.” “But I pity you.” “The Magistrate isn’t one to accept Lord Rakuō’s testimony at face value just to escape his own predicament.” “Father may mean to shoulder everything and die.” “Somehow, his demeanor this morning was far too composed—he didn’t seem troubled by anything in the slightest.”

“Ah...!” “Hey, Yoshihira.” “Look at that.” “Huh? Wh-what is it?” Suddenly urged by Kanzō, Yoshihira casually glanced up in the direction he indicated—and there, on the second floor next to Rakuō who had just emerged, was a man leaning his cheek on his hand and gazing down at the street from the window. “Don’t you recognize that man…” “Hmm… Last night’s samurai named Yabuhachi.” “That’s right.” “That’s Yabuhachi!”

“Hmm.” "Why... at this house...?"

Perhaps noticing their intense gaze, Yabuhachi over there promptly closed the window shutter and withdrew his head.

Kobayashi Kanzō whispered something to Yoshihira and returned alone to the magistrate office.

Yoshihira was patiently monitoring the comings and goings of that house from the grounds of a nearby temple.

Sure enough, around noon, last night's Yabuhachi emerged from the garden gate. Keeping out of sight, Yoshihira trailed him. The man ahead showed no sign of awareness. But as Yoshihira doggedly pursued his quarry across the city, this mysterious figure astonishingly strode straight through Edo Castle's main gate and vanished into the castle's depths. Dumbstruck, Yoshihira found himself abandoned outside the moat. Beyond lay territory where no commoner could venture even a single step.

Then, about an hour later.

In the depths of Edo Castle’s main enclosure, at the secluded tea house in Fukiage—the very place where Shogun Yoshimune had resolved to meet only here, always without others present—he met today with his hidden inspector Yabuta Sukehachi, whom he had employed as a trusted right-hand man under the official title of garden keeper since his days in the Kishu domain.

“Yabuhachi, have you completed your investigation?” “Yes—to some extent.” “How fares Lord Echizen? …Can he be saved?” “It appears to be quite a difficult matter.” “Hmm. Is it truly so difficult? Insurmountable?”

Yoshimune frowned and lightly tapped his right knee—a habit when his resolve stirred—before asking, “Is it indeed because the North Town Magistrate’s faction spreads exaggerated rumors to bring down Echizen?” “No, no—it isn’t solely that,” Yabuta replied. “The truth lies in Lord Echizen himself deliberately refusing to conceal his past while thoroughly investigating the matter.” “Then he would not only lose his position,” Yoshimune countered, “but find himself barred from public life forever.”

“To uphold the law’s righteousness, he’s resolved not just to risk disgrace—he’s likely prepared to face death itself.” “A terrifying man…” Yoshimune muttered with a bitter smile, though his furrowed brows betrayed inner turmoil. “Yabuhachi.” “This bodes ill.” “What troubles you?” “Those who subtly exaggerate Echizen’s past misdeeds through senior councilors’ whispers and temple magistrates’ rumors—they must be the North Town Magistrate faction seeing him as a rival in their merit-grubbing schemes.”

“It would seem to be as Your Lordship has astutely discerned.” “But these matters are truly delicate.” “...If we act thus—letting them claim victory would only feed their bureaucratic mentality.” “The lasting harm would be considerable.” “I too have been agonizing over this, but undeniable facts remain.”

“Wasn’t Yabuhachi supposed to be a wise man? …He’s quite an unreliable fellow.” “My deepest apologies. But… please grant us just a little more time to see how things unfold.”

Yabuta Sukehachi scratched his head and prostrated himself. But he didn’t seem truly terrified to the core. He knew better than anyone that Yoshimune—back when he was called Shinnosuke during his days as a dependent relative—had been nothing but a town delinquent.

called Uneme

About ten days later. —Yabuta Sukehachi returned once more to his temporary residence.

Recently, the temporary residence where he occasionally appeared was none other than the neighboring house of the aforementioned Ichikawa Rakuō in Ushigome Yanagichō. Since the landlord was none other than Ichikawa Rakuō next door, all matters during his absence—locking up and meal preparations—were entirely handled by the neighbor. For him, there could hardly be a more carefree rental arrangement. Instead, whenever he coughed or made a sound, Ichikawa Rakuō would immediately come through the garden unannounced. When not summoned by a sick person’s family or receiving patients, this doctor would linger at the neighboring house—playing Go, discussing worldly affairs, and at times huddled in close consultation while whispering about some matter.

“Lord Rakuō.” “Have the South Town yoriki ceased their activities since then?” “Have they stopped at just that?”

And so, today as well, the two men were engrossed in conversation in a room on the second floor. “Indeed. They haven’t come since then. We insisted Oen threw herself into the well—this tombstone proves it—so they couldn’t excavate the old well’s site and had no choice but to withdraw.” “But.” “We can’t claim there are no informants watching this house’s comings and goings—we mustn’t lower our guard.”

“I have taken every precaution.” “As for the South—putting that aside—there are considerable signs of movement from the North Town Magistrate’s side as well.” “That’s precisely it,” Yabuhachi said, slapping his knee. “The reason we must hasten to resolve this case at all costs with our own hands as soon as possible is none other than the North Town Magistrate’s schemes—they are what we must fear.” “By the way, with your assistance, we have temporarily buried Oen’s existence outside of society.” “…Furthermore, we must hasten to resolve the matter of her mother—the woman called Osode.”

“For this matter, this Yabuhachi has devised a plan.—Lord Rakuō, today I’d like to borrow her for a brief outing.” “Where to?” “To that branch temple of Kan’ei-ji—the one we spoke of previously.” “Ah, I see.”

Rakuō immediately nodded. Regarding that matter as well, the two seemed to have already made some prior arrangements.

No—this went beyond simply resolving matters with Osode and Oen. Rakuō and Yabuhachi had been involved in every aspect of the current issues surrounding Lord Echizen. This involvement had in fact originated from Shogun Yoshimune's will and been directed toward hidden inspector Yabuta Sukehachi,

(Proceed. Execute thus.) That this directive had been issued with explicit instructions, compelling them to act with urgent diligence since earlier, was now beyond any doubt. Moreover, once Yabuhachi—that is, Yabuta Sukehachi—activated his unique authority as the shogun’s personal hidden inspector, the investigative networks and functions he could mobilize surpassed even those of the town magistrates or temple magistrates. In essence, though his official title remained merely "garden guard," Surugadai’s Iga and Kōga groups all operated as extensions of his will. At times, he could establish confidential communications with the Elders and Junior Elders. Even in places considered inviolable sanctuaries—whether the Ōoku or the inner chambers of Rinnōji Temple’s prince—none could refuse formal inquiries delivered through his missives. To reject them meant rejecting the shogunate’s direct authority.

“Well then, I take it you’ll be departing shortly?”

“Hmm. I’ll have my boy Uneme prepare as well—at any rate, we’ll head out toward Ueno.” Yabuhachi revealed an unspoken implication through his smile and peered down at the detached garden room from his second-floor window. “Uneme.” “Uneme—”

He lightly clapped his hands and called out toward the roof. The detached room was connected continuously from the main house’s wraparound veranda downstairs.

“Yes!” came a gentle reply, and as soon as it was heard, the small window there opened. “Were you calling for me?” As he did so, the young man with a forelock hairstyle lifted his pale face. Oh, that face. Indeed, though Yabuhachi called him Uneme and he did present the appearance of a young page with a forelock—wasn’t he the very spitting image of that male-attired enchantress who had once appeared suddenly at the Edobashi watchhouse on the night of the heinous robbery at Yamazen, falsely named herself as Anezaki Kichiya of Manjiya, and helped her captive mother Osode escape?

Then, if that were the case, one of the mother and child driven into Kan’ei-ji Temple’s forest on the night of the raid on the Retired Prince’s residence—that must have been Oen. That night, after Doctor Rakuō had hidden Oen’s whereabouts by taking her away in a palanquin, it appeared her person had ultimately been concealed here through Rakuō’s efforts in this manner. Yabuhachi on the second floor nodded with his eyes toward the face in the detached room, “Hmm, I called you. The weather’s fine today—I thought I’d take a stroll around Ueno with you. Hurry and get ready.”

“Huh? To Ueno…?” “Are you happy, Uneme?” “I am most pleased. I shall prepare immediately and join you.”

The window closed. Yabuta Sukehachi and Rakuō-dono exchanged a look. "When I think on it... a pitiable one..." he muttered.

But Rakuō shook his head in response, “No—if one speaks of pitiable souls, compared to her, it is Lord Echizen who stands as the most sorrowful figure in this world.” “Ah, right. If you’re heading out, I too shall make a house call to the Akasaka estate to attend to the little one.” “The esteemed patient in Akasaka…?” “Lord Echizen’s youngest child—the three-year-old—contracted a severe cold in spring, then dysentery after the rainy season, and has yet to show significant improvement.”

“Good grief. That is truly a case of domestic and foreign troubles for Lord Echizen. One can easily imagine his current anguish. Yet despite this, the way he calmly attends the magistrate office daily—striving to overcome every surrounding adversity and conquer himself—is nothing short of valiant. …and one can only nod in admiration at Lord Yoshimune’s discernment—having already taken notice of him during his time in Kii Province and promptly summoning him from the Yamada Magistrate post upon assuming the shogunate.”

At that moment, quiet footsteps echoed from someone ascending the ladder stairs. It was Oen. No—let us call her Uneme. Uneme wore attire befitting a refined samurai scion, his forelock styled modestly as he placed both hands on the floor. "Um... I've finished preparing." Oh no. Even when dressed as a man and addressed as Uneme—the voice, the gestures—she remained undeniably female. Longing for father, yearning for mother... Yabuhachi and Uneme rode in Kago Tora's palanquin from Ushigome Yanagichō toward Ueno.

“This should do.” At the foot of the hill, Yabuhachi alighted and gave a gratuity, strictly instructing the young man not to utter a word if questioned by strangers. The young palanquin carrier from Kago Tora, through his connection with Rakuō, was well aware of such matters. “Please don’t worry—my master has also given me firm instructions regarding that affair.”

“Good work.” “You may leave.”

Although it was still a bit early for lotus viewing at Shinobazu Pond, with summer approaching, there were somehow many men and women strolling from the mountain area toward the lakeshore.

But when they came near the forest of Kan’eiji-zaka, there—apart from the occasional figure heading toward Negishi—were scarcely any passersby. “Uneme, are you tired?” “No… not particularly.”

“Ah,” said Yabuhachi. “There’s an abandoned teahouse from the cherry blossom season. Though there’s no tea seller about, shall we rest in its shade?” “There are benches here too,” replied Uneme. Uneme brushed off the dust and gestured for Yabuhachi to sit. “You should take a seat as well.”

“Yes…” “By the way—you must have some inkling about today’s purpose.” “Yes…” Uneme bowed her head. “I presume you mean to visit my mother—the one sheltered in Kan’ei-ji Temple’s annex.”

“That’s correct. Even if the town magistrate knows Ōuchi Fuden—a temple samurai serving Rinnōji Temple’s lord—is sheltering Osode, he cannot intervene there. —Yet even the temple lord himself cannot flatly refuse this Yabuta Sukehachi’s proposal.”

“Lord Yabuta.” “…Please, let me meet Mother.” “Do you want to see her?” “I want to see her—I want to see her so much.” “I want to see her so much that I dream of her.”

“Alright, I’ll let you meet your mother.” “But Oen—no, Uneme.” “Is it only your mother you wish to see?” “No,” Uneme replied, now fully a woman in her true form, and wept with suppressed sobs.

“You must want to meet your father—the one you’ve never seen—at least a little, I imagine.” “Please, by your mercy… arrange it so that I may meet my dear father as well.” “And if my father and mother could just once… hold hands before my eyes… and let me call them ‘Father’ and ‘Mother’ with my own voice, I would be willing to die right then.” “Ah, to think that I too am a child with parents... I can only imagine how overjoyed I would feel.”

“I’ll grant your wish without compromise.” “But as I’ve drilled into you time and again at Yanagicho’s hideout, you yourself must first await that moment with the ironclad resolve you pledged to Lord Rakuō.” “No—unless you arm yourself with determination fierce enough to wrest happiness from fate’s grip, this path remains impassable!” “Yes…” Uneme wiped her tear-damp eyelids, her gaze hardening like forged steel to affirm the oath sworn through her very pupils.

“Through Lord Rakuō and your lordship’s detailed accounts, I’ve come to fully understand Father’s position.” “Though Mother’s resentment may be justified, Father’s standing holds greater importance.” “So long as Mother curses Father, I—her child—can never find salvation.” “…I shall surely use my sincere heart to amend Mother’s misunderstanding.” “I must save Mother from that terrifying asura in her heart—this curse she casts upon people and the world.” “Ah, well said.” “Only thus can you truly be called one bound by blood to Lord Ōoka.”

“After shutting myself in that hideout and contemplating my fate each day in stillness, even amidst sorrow, a single hope somehow began to pierce my heart.” “When you reflect on your life from childhood until now, you must feel an inexplicable dread.” “But… when I consider how Mother managed to raise me all these years…” “Even after spending long years among villainous companions, Mother remains undoubtedly pure of heart.” “…I wish to rescue Mother from this muddy swamp of evil at the earliest possible moment.”

“Hm. Since we’ve come today precisely for that purpose, even when you meet your mother, you must not let yourself be swayed by fleeting emotions.”

“It’s all right. Mother may be a person of strong emotions, but I too have a child’s love that yearns for her.” “Then, shall we go?”

“Please wait a moment.”

Uneme stood in the shadow of an object, took out a pocket mirror, and fixed the area around her eyes soiled by tears.

To transform through love into love—this was Yabuta Sukehachi’s conception.

Chronicle of Wayward Paths No matter how fiercely Osode burned with curses and sought to resent Lord Echizen, he believed success would come through using the love of the child born from their union to persuade her—.

Even so.

What was truly unexpected was Oen’s change of heart. A daughter raised in a den of evil almost from the moment she was born. Contrary to all expectations of how troublesome she would be, once given the mere single hope of meeting her father Lord Echizen, from that very day she became completely an obedient, pure-hearted girl who took joy in goodness. Without any preaching or threats, her transformation was so drastic it seemed unreal.

Undoubtedly, that woman’s life of committing various misdeeds alongside her mother must have been, rather, a continuation of painful effort. No—Osode too, bound by her oath to curse men without respite—or rather, by her ingrained habit of viewing the world as ever-worsening evil—may in truth be one who suppresses her own true goodness, tormenting herself through expressions of wickedness alien to her genuine heart.

(No—probably so. If that were the case, then this was but one pitifully pure-hearted woman.)

Yabuhachi discerned this in his heart.

Originally, there was no greater hedonist than Yabuta Sukehachi. Though a samurai by station, he had indulged in every form of debauchery, been cast out by his clan, and tasted the bitter life of a masterless ronin. It was precisely these disreputable credentials that saw him appointed by Kii no Daijin Mitsusada—father to Tokugawa Shinnosuke (the future Shogun Yoshimune’s youthful name)—as the young lord’s tutor. Yabuhachi honored this charge by faithfully trailing after Shinnosuke through every corner of Edo. They prowled unlicensed pleasure quarters and Yoshiwara alike, transforming the cloistered Tokugawa heir into what might generously be called an accomplished delinquent.

In this world, there may be what are called bad friends, but such a wicked master-servant pair surely did not exist. However, for Yabuta Sukehachi, this stemmed from an unshakable conviction. "If you lie with vermilion, you’ll turn red"—such proverbs disregarded innate qualities, for true innate qualities were never so fragile as that. But later—and indeed soon—he had never even dreamed that the room-bound delinquent he had molded would attempt to become shogun. However, in the conclusion he reached after Yoshimune had assumed the position and he reflected on it,

(After all, it was good that he had undergone such training among the common folk.) He himself was convinced of this, and Yoshimune likewise showed no sign of regret. Maintaining a countenance as if he had never glimpsed such vulgar matters, Yoshimune comported himself with even greater austerity and unyielding resolve than any previous shogun—yet on occasion, when alone with just the two of them in that familiar garden at Fukiage, fragments of reminiscence would surface,

(…Yabuhachi. I’d like to go again...)

There were times when they bantered about such matters. Yabuhachi too, half in jest, waved his hand with exaggerated emphasis, (No good, no good. Unless Your Lordship were reborn anew, it would never do.) They were master and servant who maintained utmost solemnity in speech while secretly sharing laughter. Bound by such karmic ties, Yabuta was indeed the ideal candidate to serve as Yoshimune's hidden inspector. In confronting this present crisis, Yoshimune surely recognized how the unconventional methods they had cultivated together in their wayward youth—lord and retainer united—now proved immensely valuable in practical governance. Yabuta himself privately took such satisfaction in this that he felt their past had not been wasted.

—Be that as it may.

Yabuta Sukehachi passed straight through the main gate of Kan’ei-ji Temple, leading Oen’s Uneme behind him.

And then, he visited the annex of the Prince of Rinnō-ji Temple, “I wish to meet with Lord Ouchi Fuden.” With that, he silently presented his sashi to the temple official. Sashi refers to a name card.

“He is not here. His Lordship is currently away.”

Such was the reply. Where to? Without asking—Yabuhachi, “In that case, I beg your pardon, but there is a matter I wish to discuss directly with the princely house. I humbly request an audience.” he said. The temple official, with eyes wide in surprise, read his name card once more. Edo Castle Garden Guard, Fukiage Tea House Attendant, Yabuta Sukehachi.

The steward came out. And then, with utmost courtesy, he apologized for the audience, explaining that regrettably, the princely house was currently indisposed by illness— "What is the nature of your business? If I, the steward, may suffice without causing offense, I shall convey your message."

With that, he himself led them to the guest hall. Yabuhachi had Uneme wait in a separate room and engaged in a rather lengthy discussion with the steward. Finally, the steward stood up and went to a secluded area to obtain the princely house’s private approval, then shortly returned to his seat and gave a definite answer. “Regarding Ouchi Fuden’s conduct, there have long been unfavorable rumors, and hence, should the facts be as you have stated, you are hereby instructed to proceed with an investigation without hesitation—no objections whatsoever have been raised to this course of action.”

“Now, as a precaution, I will have the annex inspected.” “Please proceed.” “Proceed as you see fit.” Yabuhachi left and asked to be guided to Fuden’s room in the annex. Fuden was out, of course. The room contained Japanese bookshelves, a desk, and sutra scrolls arranged with clinical precision—no different from any ordinary resident monk’s quarters.

"Hmm. 'Shall I wait here until he returns?' Deliberately voicing a soliloquy, Yabuhachi provisionally settled himself there. The whispers about the shogunate's hidden inspector's arrival instantly spread through all the monks and temple samurai in the compound, stirring unrest they couldn't conceal. The monks' secret affairs and temple samurai's corrupt practices were even more exposed than those already revealed in the city. This place too was by no means an exception among those corrupt temples. No—precisely because it held a sort of absolute authority where neither Temple Magistrates nor town officials could intervene, the reality might have been worse than imagined.

The temple samurai—monk officials who had been huddling in corridor corners, the main kitchen, the lecture hall, and other spots throughout the compound, conferring in anxious agitation with hushed voices—eventually sent out a representative from among themselves, who timidly approached Yabuhachi. *Mad Butterflies Chronicle* "Is there some official inquiry underway?"

“Is there some official inquiry underway?” said the representative. “Well now—” said Yabuhachi, looking at the man who had walked into his trap with a smirk. “I have come regarding business with the woman whom I heard Ouchi Fuden has been concealing within this annex.” “As for that woman, she is no longer here... In truth, we feared that suspicion might fall upon us as well, so we have just now gathered everyone within the annex and voluntarily conducted our own inquiry—”

“That is most kind of you.” “Recently, someone purchased shares in the Lotus-viewing Teahouse at Shinobazu Pond, and there is someone who states that Lord Fuden has had that woman reside there.”

“The Lotus-viewing Teahouse, eh?...I see.” “So has he made her the proprietress there?” “No.” “I cannot confirm whether she serves as proprietress.” “Where exactly?” “By Benten Hall on Nakano Island.” “They say there’s only one establishment there.”

“Ah, much obliged. Well then, let us go there. Uneme, come here.”

He hurriedly exited the gate of Kan’ei-ji Temple. Along the way, he glanced back at his companion Uneme, “Even if you meet your mother, restrain yourself until I say something.” “The same applies if you see Fuden.” he instructed.

The swaying lantern lights from Benten Island at Ike no Hata painted a summer evening scene, yet the sun still hung high, and it was too early even for the lotus blossoms to bloom.

"This must be it," he said. Peering through what appeared to be the matching gate, "Do you have any rooms available?"

“Right.” “This way.” The Lotus-viewing Teahouse woman led them with practiced efficiency to an innermost room overlooking the pond. She arranged sake cups and small dishes—four or five items in total—

"If you require anything, please clap your hands to summon me." With those words delivered in a considerate tone, she withdrew from view. She must have mistaken Uneme for a male courtesan from a male-attendant teahouse.

Those male-attendant teahouses were numerous along the edge of the pond and were colloquially known as iroha teahouses. Many of their patrons were monks from Ueno. Moreover, with temple samurai holding shares in these establishments, come nightfall, the red lanterns bustling with string music and lewd laughter garishly colored the pond's waters. (Are they here or not?) (I'll confirm Fuden and Osode's presence first before making a move.) Yabuhachi maintained his composure as if executing precisely such a plan, calmly holding his sake cup while occasionally engaging in casual conversation with Uneme.

Then, in a room about two ken away along the row facing the pond, "What did you say?! “Even if I give my name, the proprietress here claims she doesn’t know who that is? —And then you demand payment?!” “This is no joke!” “It’s because I don’t have money that I went out of my way to come drink at this place, isn’t it?” “On the contrary, I came to meet my old acquaintance Osode-san and want to borrow ten ryō from her for a bit before heading home.” “...Say it again for me.” “It was a long time ago, but please tell them it’s Oshima, who used to meet with you occasionally in Banchō—would you say that?”

It was a woman’s voice, but she was so drunk it showed even in her speech. Earlier, when Yabuhachi passed through here, he had caught a glimpse of a woman in her forties who looked bored, sitting alone by the pond and pouring her own drinks. Because the maid quickly closed the partition door, he couldn’t get a good look, but it must have been that middle-aged woman.

Utterly confounded by the woman’s razor-sharp retorts—words that, perhaps fueled by drink, carried an oddly self-destructive edge—the maid retreated once more to the inner private quarters.

From the back room, low plucked-string music had been leaking out for some time when it abruptly stopped. The voices of maids and a man mingled in hushed commotion until finally someone resembling the proprietress entered the middle-aged guest's room.

“Who’s there? The one claiming to know me—speak up.” “Well now, if it isn’t Ms. Osode after all these years. Here—have a drink.” “So it’s you—Ms. Oshima the pickpocket from Hatchōbori.” “You’ve changed. Trained by Bakemono Gyōbu, they say you became quite the formidable woman. Truth is—I heard about your recent exploits from some associates. Came to offer congratulations.”

“How kind of you. But unfortunately, there’s nothing worth celebrating here.” “Don’t play dumb,” said Oshima, pouring herself another drink and drinking alone—

"You've had temple samurai like Ōuchi Fuden buy shares in the teahouse and settled in here completely, haven't you?" "...And compared to that, my own fate is beyond wretched." "I heard you went to Hachijō-jima for recuperation, but judging by your state, I suppose you've broken out of exile." "There's no point dragging out life in a place like that—so I made up my mind and came dancing back." "To make my final mark on this world, I try my hand at all sorts of reckless deeds here and there—but after ten years of island exile, my instincts aren't what they used to be, my body won't move smoothly, and the money just won't come in. Even when I cake on makeup and prowl the pleasure districts, no men bite for a middle-aged woman like me anymore... Ah, it's too dreary to think about." "When a woman hears forty's call, she can't keep living through vice or seduction's back alleys." "You'd better think hard about what'll become of you after your looks fade away."

In those words lay the raw truth of a woman quivering in the late autumn of life. This bore no resemblance to drunken rambling. To expel the self-destruction, nihilism, and tearful regrets filling her chest, Oshima appeared determined to drink herself into oblivion. Shadow operatives. Though initially intending to eject her, Osode too walked a path not unlike Oshima's - that of a woman straying from society's course. Suddenly confronted by shared experience, she found herself compelled to witness this autumn-drenched woman's inexorable fate.

—And then, suddenly softening her tone, “Alright, alright,” Osode conceded. “Look... Oshima-san, don’t worry about paying—just go home. When evening comes, we’ll have customers we can’t turn away in this business.” “What’s the rush?” Oshima slurred, her eyelids drooping. “Seeing your face... puts me at ease somehow... Makes me sleepy...” She slumped against the partition. “Let me rest here... Just a little while...” “You’re being difficult, Oshima-san.” “Difficult?” The older woman barked a laugh. “Not me... To these eyes, your glittering Edo’s nothing but a field of dead grass...” She pawed at an empty bottle. “I’ll surrender myself soon anyway... To South Town Magistrate’s Office... If you’ve any pity—” Her throat convulsed dryly. “—let me drink while I can... Another bottle... Chilled this time...”

“Oh, falling asleep in a place like this.” “Well… you’re such a handful.” “Just haul me off to the South Town Magistrate Office like this, will you?” “Please, I’m begging you.”

“To the South Town Magistrate Office...” “Ah.” “If I’m to turn myself in, I’ll make a dash for South.” “That’s all I could ask for.” For some reason, Osode’s face twisted, and she suddenly pulled Oshima’s hand hard enough to slip free.

“Come on out, come on out. Then hurry up and go turn yourself in at South.”

Hearing a noise, from the inner secret room, a man’s footsteps clattered closer.

And when they tried to drag Oshima outside together with Osode, Yabuhachi—who had been quietly sipping from his cup until then—suddenly stood up, “Wait—there’s someone I want you to meet.” “Turn your face this way.”

Grabbing Osode’s hand from the side, he dragged her into his own room. “Ah… You?” When Osode saw Oen, she instinctively rushed toward her. But Oen kept her eyes fixed only on Yabuta’s face. She strictly kept the promise made before coming here—not to say anything without his permission— “Oen!” “Why aren’t you saying anything?” “Oen!” “It’s me.” “It’s your mother!” “And you’re putting on such a prim face.” “What in the world has happened to you?” “And... who is that person there?”

The woman shook her child’s knee. When she suddenly turned around behind her, there stood Yabuta Sukehachi and Ouchi Fuden—who had entered afterward—both blocking the way in silence while glaring intently at each other.

“Are you the temple samurai Ouchi Fuden?”

YABUTA suddenly cut in.

“Indeed, I am Fuden.—What of it?” “Then, what about that woman?”

“What the hell are you? Then speak!” “I am this kind of person.”

With that, he showed his business card and immediately next presented the expulsion order for Fuden that he had obtained from Rinnōji Temple's chief priest.

“Th-this is…”

“Fuden! If you don’t speak plainly, I’ll have you bound!” “Crap!” No sooner had he spoken than Fuden dashed out and burst into the street. Yabuta Sukehachi immediately slid open the shoji panels facing the street and bellowed toward Bentendo Hall from there.

“Hey! Hidden agents, seize that man—right now!”

Who were these hidden agents? Did it mean "retinue"? But there had been no precedent of Yabuhachi being accompanied by attendants. Yet the truth remained—wherever he went, unseen attendants would invariably follow. It was unthinkable that Yabuta Sukehachi, Edo Castle’s hidden inspector, would lack helpers serving as his hands and feet. Sure enough, as Fuden dashed forward, two samurai leapt out sideways. Spreading their arms wide, they effortlessly caught him and waited attentively for Yabuhachi’s next command.

“No—stop that, stop that. After all, that guy’s an exile from Kan’ei-ji. Even if we capture him, he’s just dead weight. Just let him go!” Hearing this, the two hidden agents pushed Fuden’s back and sent him off with bitter smiles as they watched his figure depart. Then they sat back down in their original spot under the tree and leisurely blew tobacco smoke.

The Woman Who Coveted Tragic Fate

“Uneme. That’s enough now… You may speak freely.” Yabuhachi closed all the shoji panels and fusuma sliding doors in the room as he said this. But even permitted to speak, Oen could only weep without uttering a word to her mother. Osode’s suspicion instantly branded Yabuhachi an enemy. The corners of her eyes now blazed with fierce resolve and hostility. Even Oen found herself pierced by those hateful eyes.

“Oh, I see…” “Oen, you’ve come here as the town magistrate’s decoy, haven’t you?” “Damn you! Don’t play games with me!” “But…” “Mother, what are you saying?” “Why would I ever try to lure you out?” “Then who’s that person there?” “That must be a South Town yoriki or something similar—no doubt about it.”

“No, that’s not it.” “He is my great benefactor.”

“Benefactor?” “Why would he be your benefactor? Explain.” “But he promised to let me meet my father – the one I’ve never seen.” “And he’s thinking about your situation too.” “Silence!” “Be silent!” “I won’t hear this! I...”

Osode's voice turned into a scream. It stemmed from that single word Oen had uttered—"Father".

“There, you see! You betrayed this mother and sided with that inhuman father of yours, didn’t you? And then you fell for sweet talk and came here to arrest me! Come on—why don’t you just say it outright? If you’re going to tie this mother up with rope, then go ahead and do it! ……I... I would die before—” Osode’s entire face was drenched in tears, yet like the very embodiment of a curse’s flames, her eyes, cheeks, even her ears burned as she continued to speak.

“Even if I die—I’d never let that man call you his child! And how could that cold-blooded man ever think of someone like you as his own child! ……Oen, you’re being deceived. When this mother was about your age…that man deceived me…gave birth to you…a-and th-th-then…had my entire life ruined like this…”

“No, no. Calm down and listen properly, Mother. Neither Lord Yabuta here nor that physician Lord Rakuō are working to bring us such misfortune. If you persist in misunderstanding like this, even you will end up climbing the execution platform.” “Hmph hmph hmph. What nonsense are you spouting now? The execution platform? Ah, I consider that place to be my final laughing stage.”

“Please stop!” “That’s terrifying!” Oen trembled and wept as if clawing at her mother’s lap— “Mother, the demonic souls of those monsters Keibu and his ilk are still possessing you!” “If it were to come to such a thing, what would become of my life?” “And what will become of Father, who holds the position of South Town Magistrate?” “Oh, what now? You think you can just say whatever you please?” “I don’t know if he’s the South Town Magistrate or what—what do I care what happens to that masked impostor of a beast?” “No—as long as that man remains magistrate, I’ll do worse and worse things and declare them all in the sanded court!” “I’d even want to carry you up to the execution platform itself.” “But…precisely because you’re here.”

Burn and subside, burn and subside—like flickering flames, Osode suddenly broke down in tears again. No matter how madly she cursed, the moment her child’s future surfaced in her awareness, that wrath would—in an instant—cool from fire to water-like clarity.

Seeing the subtle nuances of her fury’s ebb and flow, Yabuta Sukehachi interjected from the side. “Osode. The details are something I cannot discuss here. Won’t you come with me to a quiet place?” “To a prison cell?” Osode’s nerves—honed to a razor’s edge—immediately whetted suspicion’s blade. Yabuhachi softly laughed it off,

“No—it’s this Yabuta Sukehachi’s residence.” “I have no connection whatsoever to the South Town Magistrate Office.” “Rather, I am one who has been thoroughly investigating Lord Echizen’s past conduct under the orders of a certain personage.” Oen also pleaded as if in prayer and clung to her. “Mother, “There is absolutely, absolutely no falsehood in Lord Yabuta’s words.” “I’ll come with you too.” “...Please, please, Mother.” But still, Osode remained doubtful—when at that moment, from her vacant room where Oshima had been thought to lie drunk and collapsed, her voice came crawling through the sliding door as she raised herself up:

“Ah, how envious I am!” “...Osode, you have such a wonderful child, don’t you?” “Don’t get too greedy.” “If it were me, I’d want something I could call my own child—even if it meant taking one from the man who deceived and abandoned me. If I had such a child and they pulled me along... I’d climb even the Mountain of Needles for them.” “...What’s there to hesitate about, Osode?” “Go on and do it.” “Ah, desire truly knows no bounds.”

Chapter Six

Lamplight Shadows and Figures Could it be the festival day at Yushima Tenjin Shrine? Through Kiridoshi Forest, the lights of red lanterns and insect sellers vied with the stars in the night sky, trembling fiercely each time the wind blew.

“Oen—is it far, this place we’re going?”

“No. “It’s Ushigome no Yarai, so it’s not that far…” The mother and daughter could not help feeling nostalgic for this rare occasion of walking together after so long. Osode and Oen pressed close together as they climbed Yushima’s Kiridoshi slope. Yet from some distance behind trailed Yabuta Sukehachi—still someone Osode couldn’t bring herself to trust. Preoccupied by this—Osode kept her heart and mouth shut even toward Oen.

*Just what does he intend by taking me to this Yarai residence?*

For her, this suspicion had not yet dissolved. Though Oen pleaded through tears and Yabuhachi earnestly urged her—enough that they had left Hasumi Tea House together—her anxiety remained intense. (Enemy or ally—for me?) As she thought this, Osode suddenly felt a pang of alarm—Oh no.

According to the common wisdom of those who had lived among evil companions, this world held no true allies. She truly believed that only fellow evildoers cared for one another—that among the world’s self-styled righteous folk, not a single soul would ever sympathize.

“Oen. “...This is the end.”

“Ah. Mother. Where are you going?” “Mother.” “Where are you going?” “Enough...” Osode tore away her daughter’s hand—clutching the edge of her sleeve beneath its shadow—while fixing her with a harsh gaze and whispering. “You’ve been completely deceived by that Yabuhachi underling and turned into his decoy, haven’t you.” “Isn’t that right?” “I saw that he was Lord Echizen’s agent.”

“No.” “That’s not true!” “Mother.”

“No.” “I’ve already seen through it.” “Oen.” “This is the last time we’ll meet.” No sooner had she uttered these words in a hushed voice than Osode’s shadow abruptly darted into the festival intersection. They had just reached the crest of the dark mountain pass and melted into the lantern-lit crowd when Yabuhachi—trailing behind—finally noticed something amiss only after Oen let out a wailing cry of “Ah—!”

“Ah! Osode? —” “Uh... Into the crowd—behind the stalls—” Oen ran. Yabuhachi chased after her. The “shadow retainers” who had been following Yabuhachi while fading in and out of sight also joined in. The two of them frantically searched through the lantern-lit alleys filled with wind chimes and insect sellers.

Notice Board Slashing

Ichikawa Rakuō from the neighboring house, as if he couldn’t wait for dawn, came along the garden paths and was knocking on Yabuta Sukehachi’s hideout.

“Ah! “Yabuhachi-dono—are you already awake?”

“No—I only just returned.” “Hm.” “Then you haven’t slept at all?” “Well...” “Last night was a disaster.” “I’ve committed the greatest blunder of my life as Yabuhachi.” “So... You didn’t bring Osode with you?” “I did track down her whereabouts successfully and even brought her part of the way, but...” Yabuhachi recounted every detail with an utterly exhausted expression—from yesterday’s expedition through last night’s events—how he had suddenly lost sight of Osode at the crossroads near Yushima Tenjin Shrine and ultimately returned empty-handed after a fruitless search.

Having heard this, Rakuō too— “Hmm—this matter has finally become quite dire indeed.” With that, he pressed a hand to his forehead, crossed his arms in deep thought, and sank into endless worry alongside Yabuhachi. “And… How is Oen this morning?” “No—as soon as we returned, I quietly put her to sleep in a separate room. She met her mother face-to-face only to hear nothing but curses against the world from her mouth—perhaps it wounded her heart so deeply that she now lies like one gravely ill... Later, I’d like you to check her pulse and prepare some herbal medicine.”

“Good grief, nothing but sick people cropping up. At this rate, we’ll be bedridden ourselves before long.”

“Did you visit the Akasaka estate yesterday?”

“Hmm. Lord Echizen’s younger daughter—his second child, Sonoko—has yet to recover, and now his wife, Lady Nui—would you believe it—has come down with a high fever since two or three days ago.” “What? Her Ladyship is bedridden too?” “Given what I’ve heard, it’s only natural. His Lordship’s temperament being what it is, he apparently never breathes a word about official matters to his family even at home—but over these past several months, Her Ladyship must have sensed her husband’s unwell demeanor there—until she too eventually came to know of this incident.”

“That must be so. As a wife.” “Unfortunately since spring, his youngest daughter has been suffering an illness that defies diagnosis—neither quite a cold nor measles. Exhausted from nursing her while hearing of her husband’s great crisis, Her Ladyship has reportedly performed nightly cold-water purifications and devoted prayers. Now mother and child lie side by side on their sickbeds.” “Does Lord Echizen return to his estate nightly?” “No—for over ten days now he’s remained continuously at his official residence. To Her Ladyship too, he left word implying his resolve not to return home until seeing this critical matter through.”

“Hmm... So that’s how it is.” Yabuhachi involuntarily groaned under his breath.

It would seem Lord Echizen’s resolve had grown all the more unyielding. Compromise, evasion, willful ignorance, or cover-up campaigns—all considered common sense for public officials in their way of life—he had not chosen a single one of them. If left unattended, the outcome was clear. The Town Magistrate’s downfall—his own destruction. He was now diligently hastening with his own hands toward that clear-cut outcome. “This is bad. There’s no strategy left, Lord Rakuō.”

“You alone remain our lifeline,” Ichikawa Rakuō said to Yabuta Sukehachi. “Don’t go abandoning your post now. Even this old monk’s strength has been spent.” “There remains but one final recourse,” Yabuta replied. “Though it brings me no joy, we must now seek sanction for this plan.” “This ‘final recourse’ you speak of—” “We bury this affair in darkness—by decree of the shogunate itself.” “Hmm.” Rakuō stroked his chin. “If only such a thing were possible.” “In Lord Yoshimune’s reign there exists no precedent, but during Lord Tsunayoshi’s era and before—why, examples abound beyond counting. High officials’ transgressions, scandals within the inner palace—all settled through mutual pretense of blindness to shadows.”

“Compared to those, an incident like Lord Echizen’s—”

“Trivial, trivial. Precisely because of that triviality, His Lordship commanded this Yabuhachi to somehow settle it without letting it surface—such was his private intention. However, given our resourcefulness, we ultimately cannot bend Lord Echizen’s resolve, nor can we fend off the North Town Magistrate’s offensive—” “Exactly, Lord Yabuhachi. …In that case, a word from on high.” “We have no choice but to seek it—there’s no other way.” “Hmm.” “I will propose it. His Lordship would likely have no objection either.”

That day, Yabuta Sukehachi entrusted Oen's safety and subsequent precautions to Rakuō and secretly went to meet Yoshimune at Edo Castle. However, whether due to the complexity of that procedure or because Yoshimune did not accept it, Yabuhachi did not return to this hideout the next day, nor the day after that. It was during those five or six days that—

In the towns of Edo, several strange incidents occurred every night.

“Female Highway Robber” “Female Notice Board Slasher” At the summer night cooling platforms, those rumors dominated all talk. Unlike the clichéd summer night tales of lovers’ suicides or debates over ghost sightings, these fresh shocking incidents made perfect topics for conversation at the cooling platforms.

Edo’s Bats

Ouchi Fuden, the temple samurai who had been expelled from Ueno, promptly rented a house behind Neribei Alley in Shitaya and had the household goods from Hasumi Teahouse transported there that very day. Having apparently learned of this, Osode came to visit the very next day. “Osode, wasn’t there a poem like this?” “—A couple facing execution changed their robes for a fresh start… How about it? Why don’t we just become husband and wife as we are?” “Heh, heh, heh...” Osode held a rouge dish while curling her lips in a smirk at her reflection in the mirror.

“What are you laughing at?” Fuden lay sprawled in his yukata, cheek propped on his hand as he watched the woman apply makeup.

“But... When Oen was here, you’d woo her, and now that she’s gone, it’s me? How ridiculous.” “No—I mean it. Looking at you like this... I can’t just cast you aside either.”

“Stop it. I may look like this, but I’ve raised Oen all these years without ever giving a man a second glance.”

“Oh really…” he retorted mockingly. “Wasn’t Akazari Sanpei your husband?” “You’re talking about men, aren’t you? A beast like that—I’ve never thought of him as a man or anything.” “Well. What about the one before that—Ōoka Ichijuurou?” “How annoying.” “I’m not being noisy. It’s because you go on about hating men that I can’t help wanting to ask.” “I don’t know!” Osode’s eyebrow twitched in the mirror. The eyes were neither clearly angry nor tearful. And then, unconsciously gripping the rouge dish in hand,

“Damn you!” “I’ll show you—watch this!”

and she hurled it at the garden stone. The red and white fragments turned to powder and scattered like arrows. Fuden sprang up,

“H-hey. Where are you going?” Stunned by the woman’s frenzied figure, he watched her retreat to the adjoining room. “Much obliged for your help.”

Osode rattled the dresser drawers. After applying evening makeup and donning a navy gauze-weave summer kimono, she took up a round fan and strolled out nightly as usual. "There's a man involved," Fuden speculated wildly. Until then, Oen had been his focus, but sudden jealousy made him recognize Osode's lingering allure as a woman of age. "Look," he pressed. "Where are you going? Where? ...Out again?"

“But it’s so hot out—staying home would just be boring anyway.”

“While sponging off others’ kindness, don’t you dare whine about boredom.” “Never seen anyone as damn selfish as you.” “Don’t go mistaking me for Akazari now.”

Osode was no longer at the dimly lit entrance.

“That’s it,” Fuden abruptly rose to his feet and thrust his feet into his sandals from the back entrance. He decided to follow her to see where she was going and shut her sharp mouth.

She headed toward Ōkawabata. Eventually, she strolled leisurely around Umaya Riverbank. Cooling boats, cooling stools. Both on the water and along the shore, there was nothing but harmonious figures enjoying summer. Osode’s figure too appeared as nothing more than one of them. "Hmm. Is she really just out for a stroll to cool off?" Fuden occasionally glanced back over his shoulder. The incident at Hasumiya Tea House was still vivid to him. He had vaguely known about Osode and Oen’s true nature, but somehow he couldn’t shake off an eerie feeling. Moreover, that eeriness held an even greater fascination for him than any ordinary townswoman ever could.

“Hm?”

Fuden came to a halt. At night, many women of the night would appear at Ōkawabata. Night hawks, boat dumpling sellers, barley tea vendors, so-called nuns, wildcats—they were called by sundry names, but they remained powdered women blossoming in the darkness.

Osode hid within an enclosure where reed screens were propped against willows. —and then, in a flash, there was the shadow of a man who darted out swiftly like a bat. The retreating figure—clad in a black sheer garment and matching sheer dew hood, wearing daisho swords and straw sandals as they walked briskly away—bore a faint resemblance to Osode in the gentle slope of their shoulders.

“Hey! Was that someone who just left here a customer or who?” “Lie to me, and I won’t stand for it!” Fuden threatened the night woman sheltering in the reed screen’s shadow.

The woman, perhaps taking Fuden for a town official, paled and began speaking at once.

Though no one knew which household this young married woman belonged to, she had apparently been making hundred-night pilgrimages to some desolate temple. On the way, vagrants would cause trouble whenever they spotted a woman, so she had been instructed to deliberately adopt male attire when traveling there. "So she changes her clothes here nightly like this before setting out?"

“Yes. I simply keep the kimono and swords here and receive a fee in return.”

“I see.”

Fuden immediately dashed out from there. And once more, he caught sight of Osode's silhouette ahead.

Her Challenge

Here and there, Osode wandered through nothing but the shadows of night.

And she waited for midnight. Her pupils, as the night deepened, resembled those of a beautiful wild beast. Her entire body grew agile, becoming defiant toward society. “Which one tonight?” Her eyes, blazing with curses, froze as if confronting a sworn enemy when they found the roadside notice board.

Notice boards itemizing administrative decrees and prohibitions—those thou-shalt-nots—under the name of the town magistrate office stood at every bridge, checkpoint, and bustling crossroads in Edo. There were also the shogunate’s laws and decrees. There were also neighborhood five-person group ordinances.

However, Osode targeted only those notice boards among them that bore the name of the South Town Magistrate Office. Her challenge took the form of slashing down those notice boards, trampling them underfoot, or flinging them into nearby gutters—acts that were unmistakable acts of defiance against the South Town Magistrate.

That night too, the woman vandalized two notice boards. No—for her, it was a life-risking challenge to the law, a mockery of South, and revenge against men. She cut down the notice board, trampling it again and again underfoot until finally, weeping, she felt as though her very body might collapse to the ground along with the notice board.

“Osode… Aren’t you gonna go back?”

At Takeyakishi—a place along the riverbank with no foot traffic—the woman was abruptly called to a halt. "Oh... It's you."

“It’s Ouchi Fuden.” “Hahaha… Didn’t you notice?” “I’ve been following you all this time.”

“I see…” Osode remained as composed as still water, showing no trace of surprise. The woman of twilight hours and this midnight apparition seemed like entirely different beings even through Fuden’s eyes. An unapproachable chill radiated from her like winter mist. “Hey, Osode.” “Those notice board slashings everyone’s gossiping about—your handiwork, eh?” “Pathetic way to settle scores.” “If you’re itching to ruin Lord Echizen, there’s smarter moves than this.” “Take his skirt-chasing habits.” “Wouldn’t it serve you better—and sting him deeper—to spread word that his whoring drove you to ruin?”

“For my own sake…” Osode smiled. “I discarded any concern for myself long ago.” “Don’t spout such nonsense. If you get arrested, that’ll be the end of you!” “Ah, I’ve been waiting for it all along. Do you think I could do such things if I feared the sanded court or the execution grounds?” “Cut it out. You idiot.” Approaching, Fuden embraced Osode’s shoulder. “If you’re serious about becoming husband and wife, let’s sell off the household goods, leave Edo for a while, and live as travelers. I’ve got money,” he whispered.

Osode's hand suddenly shoved Fuden's chest away. Fuden slid backward into the bamboo bundle. "What the hell are you doing?!" he shouted. "You'd repay kindness with enmity?!" As Fuden tried to rise from his weakened stance, Osode shoved him again. Behind him lay the river, right there. Fuden's startled cry and the splash of water erupted into droplets that sprayed upward from beneath the surface. Osode ran headlong for a moment but soon resumed her previous pace. With this act, she knew she could never return to Fuden's house in Neribeicho, and somehow felt the end of her path drawing near.

——Edo Bridge. At the characters on the bridge railing, Osode was startled by something. The light from the nearby guardhouse’s lattice door streamed out brightly enough to make those characters readable.

Had she known there was a guardhouse, she would never have approached it on her own, but lost in thought, she had carelessly wandered all the way to the front of the bridge. Naturally, the woman instinctively flinched and started to turn away, but then suddenly, forgetting the danger, she came to a halt. There too, a notice board stood. And then, the traces of ink that read "South Town Magistrate" drew the woman's gaze. The Compassionate Demon

“Hey… Heard some weird water sound in the distance, I tell ya. Like a loud splash.” Shoushichi, who had been sleeping in the guardhouse, said to Yoshi from his bedding.

“It’s your imagination.” “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Is that so? Well, I was dozing off, so since you say so, it might’ve been a dream.”

“Shoushichi.” “Get some rest.” “If you don’t take it easy, that body of yours ain’t ever gonna heal.”

“Thank you. But whenever I get even a slight fever, I can’t help seeing those dreams.” “This spring’s… black-clad mother and daughter?” “Hmm. The night those home invaders broke into Yamazen in Horigome… Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. But when I really think about it, both you and I had one hell of a close call with death.” “In my case, the wound was surprisingly shallow, so after a month passed, I was back to my old self. But your injury—the location’s bad.”

“But Yoshi. Since it was a woman’s strength that did me in, I got off with just this much—but if it’d been a man’s arm, I wouldn’t have survived on the spot. That’s what the doctor said. …Ain’t no end to human want.” “Since I’ve always worked honest-like, I figure the gods must’ve helped me out—what with lying in bed so much lately, I’ve turned into a proper believer, I have.” While they were deep in talk, they suddenly sensed someone moving behind the guardhouse.

“Huh? …Yoshi.” “Somethin’s off here.” “Go check round back.” “Quit scarin’ me like that… Ever since that night, I’ve gone soft in the guts, I tell ya.” “Yer cowardice ain’t no new thing.” “But when you been through what we been through, ain’t nobody’s nerves stay steady.” “Ah, I wanna quit this lousy guard work for good.”

Finally rising to his feet, he took the six-foot staff from the corner of the dirt-floored area. Then, sliding open the oil-paper door and leaning his face outside—something happened. Yoshiro shuddered, his chest quivering, and there he stood, voice caught in his throat, utterly dumbfounded.

At the base of the bridge, right before him, he saw a dark figure. Moreover, even through the darkness, the profile beneath the white mask was enough to remind him of that terrifying night last spring. Osode had already forgotten the guardhouse light, the surrounding atmosphere—no, indeed every shred of fear. Magistrate! South Town Magistrate... Toward those written characters, she felt a hatred that made her want to spit. What a farce of authority. Hypocritical legal codes. Pathetic intimidation tactics. I alone won't be fooled by such pretense—her fury blazed relentlessly.

However, when the scar of tragic love at its core began to throb rawly, her resentment transformed into nothing but a woman's pure vengeance. With a woman's resolve and curse etched in the corners of her eyes, a voice like tearing flesh caught in her throat,

"Tch, damn it!"

Drawing her sword as if to cleave through the figure in her mind's eye, she struck diagonally at the signboard's wooden legs. The blade wouldn't bite. Whether from feeble arms or flawed steel, it refused to split with a single blow. With each failed strike, her features twisted into a yaksha's snarl.

Then—toward her hands.

*Whish—* something came flying.

“Ah—” As she staggered, the woman realized it was a hemp rope—needless to say, an arrest cord. The rope had snared her sword’s guard. She instinctively threw the blade aside and began scrambling backward in a swimming motion. “Now, Sōta! Arrest her—quickly!” “Hurry! Don’t let her escape!” “You there! Why aren’t you making the arrest?” A strange chorus of hesitation—officers deferring to each other—echoed from the shadows between guardhouse and bridge. In that split second, Osode’s silhouette raced across the span like a creature of the night.

“Yoshihira, get over here!” Yamamoto Sōta—who had earlier thrown the arrest rope from that position—lunged onto the bridge on instinct while shouting. “Become the demon. Become the demon.” “If we let her escape here again, it would be no different than trampling the magistrate’s heart!” “Now.” “No more wavering.” “I’ll make the arrest.” The two men’s swift strides easily overtook Osode. “Resign yourself!” “Osode.” “You’re under arrest!” Two shouts simultaneously pinned down Osode’s frail shadow. As both hands were seized from behind, Osode screamed.

“Are you South Town officers? Are you North Town officers? Which is it?! Tell me which one you are!” Without answering or letting her speak further, the two men subdued Osode and immediately dragged her toward the guardhouse. Both Ichikawa Yoshihira and Yamamoto Sōta, holding the ends of the rope, walked while averting their eyes from Osode’s figure as if unable to bear the sight. No—even tears welled in the eyes of the two men. Gloomily biting their lips, then hurriedly bending their arms to wipe their eyes.

Resolute execution. “Guards! Open this—the waist-high sliding door!” After bringing bound Osode into the dirt-floored area, they heaved a fiery sigh and collapsed limply into a guardhouse corner, bodies crumbling like broken clay.

“…………” Neither Sōta nor Yoshihira had any energy left to speak. With this, they could only think Lord Echizen’s fate had already been sealed. No matter what, the tears came. The more they tried to hold them back, the more they surged up. Even holding the weighty post of Edo Town Magistrate—did he truly have to go this far? The voice of Yoshihira’s father, Ichikawa Rakuō—who had always denounced its wrongs with vehement confidence—suddenly revived in both men’s ears.

Even so—they had already bound Osode with rope tonight. What room remained now for reconsideration? Were Ichikawa Rakuō to learn of this, he would likely lament the collapse of his doctrine in bitter grief and commit seppuku. No—he had declared resolutely. That old man would never recant his words. “……We… cannot keep living.” The two had already sworn this implicitly between them. As for their remaining colleague Kobayashi Kanzō—he too would likely choose the path of honorable suicide with resolve.

"What have I done." "No matter how impoverished humans may be or what grueling jobs they endure—they should never become officials who brandish and enforce the law. Ah—why did I ever become someone called a yoriki under a magistrate?"

Yoshihira was struck by a regret that pierced his very being—if only he himself had not taken up service at the South Town Magistrate Office, he would never have dragged even his physician father into such turmoil. Indeed, up until today, these individuals had time and again—regarding Osode—

(Should we arrest her? ...or let her escape?)

They had agonized and anguished over it to the point of utter indecision.

Lord Echizen had not returned even to his Akasaka estate for over ten days now, staying continuously at his official residence,

(The investigation of all others was complete. If only Osode were captured now, the sanded court would open immediately. Cast aside personal feelings and bind her without delay. Let Echizen find relief soon.)

And so, morning and night, he ceaselessly drove his subordinates. If he perceived even a hint of sluggishness in the actions of the three yoriki, (Well now, you foolish grumblers. If your hands prove unequal to this task, must Lord Echizen himself take up the arrest rope and come bind her? That they still fail to grasp Lord Echizen’s true intent despite such repeated insistence—what pitiful subordinates.)

he had even gone so far as to shower them with scathing rebukes.

Especially when nightly reports came of high placards being toppled across various districts, Lord Echizen— (You strive daily not to fall short of the North Town Magistrate in any matter—yet would you hand over only this criminal to them?)

and listed Sōta, Yoshihira, Kanzō, and others. Sōta and Yoshihira fixed their tear-filled eyes on the magistrate's face and answered that day—swearing they would bind Osode within days. Entrusting Kobayashi Kanzō with office duties, the two resolved not to return inside Sukiyabashi Gate unless they captured Osode with rope—then departed. That had been four or five days prior. Refusing to borrow arresting officers' help, they prayed to accomplish it solely with their own hands.

Within the informant group, only Tatsuzou and Hanji occasionally sent updates on their investigations. They quickly uncovered Osode’s movements. Since the day before yesterday, they had known she frequented places like the house in Neribeichō and the prostitute’s shack at Umaya-gashi. Yet even as they glimpsed her shadow and tracked her movements, they found themselves utterly unable to throw the arrest rope. Indeed, each night they observed Osode’s actions—and when they weighed them against her long-standing fate—this outcome seemed inevitable. She was no villainess or poisonous woman by any measure; rather, she had come to strike them as a virtuous figure deserving of pity. Binding her with rope became more than they could bear.

(But then we would be acting against Lord Echizen’s will, and if we erred, she might fall into the North Town Magistrate’s hands—leading to an irreparable outcome!) Steeling their hearts and encouraging each other, they had finally—just now—dragged Osode into the dirt-floored entrance of Edobashi Jishinban as a bound prisoner. Yet now, with both ruthlessness and compassion intermingling and pressing upon their chests, they momentarily lacked even the strength to lift their faces.

Late-Night Conversation Shōshichi and Yoshiro were the ones who stood shocked.

“Wh-what? Th-this is… that woman from the other night!” “The burglary accomplice who broke into Yamazen—” “Oh…” “The mother of the daughter who deceived us by posing as an attendant from Manjiya, inflicted grave injuries on us, and helped this woman escape…” As if the terror of that night were being recreated before their eyes, both Shōshichi in his bed and Yoshiro standing rigidly behind the oil-paper door stared vacantly with wide, hollow eyes at Osode’s figure.

Sōta, as if finally regaining his senses, called out to Yoshihira.

“Yoshihira.” “What should we do?” “You mean to proceed?” “Should we send her by palanquin or escort her on foot?” “Using a town palanquin for a bound prisoner would invite public censure afterward. It’s late at night. Let’s escort her on foot.” “Then you—go ahead to the magistrate’s office and inform His Honor and Kanzō-dono.” “Understood… But should I go alone?” “Don’t worry—go quickly. Now that it’s come to this, we must get word to His Honor without a moment’s delay.”

“Then, I’ll go ahead.” And Ichikawa Yoshihira ran and ran through the depths of late night.

He entered Sukiyabashi Gate. Then he passed through the west side gate of the magistrate office. Winding through the darkness of numerous buildings, he turned a corner to find a dim light shining through a single window.

He went up the side entrance and quietly peeked into the duty room there, where Kobayashi Kanzō—still awake and examining some interrogation record—turned around.

“Oh, Yoshihira. What’s wrong?”

“W-we’ve… captured her.” “Is His Honor the Magistrate staying at the official residence again tonight?” “It seems he managed to sleep a little in the evening, but he rose again and after some reading, is now conversing with a guest.” “To have a guest at such a late hour is suspicious.” “Who is that?”

“Ah, no—the guest arrived at dusk, but he was a peculiar one. He rose at midnight, and since then their conversation has been in full swing… An old traveling monk I’ve never laid eyes on before.” “In any case, I must report Osode’s capture to His Honor immediately.” “Yoshihira.” “…Did you do it?” “Hmm. It’s time for both of us to steel ourselves.”

“We must devote ourselves to the law and to His Honor.” “I have no regrets—you did well.” “…And Sōta—” “He’ll be bringing Osode here under custody afterward.” “So he’ll be coming here immediately?” “This is hectic!” “I will go to His Honor’s chambers to report the details.” “Before Sōta arrives, I’ll leave the procedures to you.”

Yoshihira walked further down the long corridor and proceeded deeper inside.

“Yoshihira here. Are you awake, Your Honor?”

He knelt outside the room and waited for His Honor’s response.

As Kanzō had said, voices could be heard inside—Echizen-no-kami’s laughter, so rarely heard, and the unrestrained guffaws of some guest seated across from him. Yoshihira was suddenly struck by an icy chill. The tension that had gripped his chest found itself bewildered by the host and guest’s excessively cheerful laughter. “Your Honor. “It is Yoshihira. “I have just returned. “If I may, there is an urgent matter I must report.”

"Oh. "Yoshihira...?" came Lord Echizen's voice from within—as if he had finally noticed—followed immediately by: "No need for concern. "Enter..."

The Elderly Monk and a Single Disciple

Yoshihira entered the room and, first facing Lord Echizen, assumed a formal posture with both hands on the floor, “Though it is late at night, having apprehended the individual you previously ordered us to capture, I deemed it necessary to report this to Your Honor without delay...” he endeavored to state calmly. “I see.”

Lord Echizen nodded. Yoshihira then turned to the guest sitting across from Lord Echizen and silently bowed.

“…………” The guest also silently bowed his head. The guest was an old monk clad in a shabby robe, his body like withered timber. Yoshihira had no recollection of him, but given how comfortably he sat in Lord Echizen’s private chambers, their bond must have been deeply intimate. With that thought— “Sōta will bring the bound prisoner shortly. Shall Your Honor proceed at once to the sanded court?” Disregarding the guest entirely, Yoshihira pressed the magistrate about official urgency.

Lord Echizen replied without hesitation, “Ah! Bring them straight to the sanded court! I shall commence an immediate interrogation.”

he answered. “Understood… Then once preparations are complete, I shall summon you. I humbly request a brief postponement until then.” Yoshihira withdrew from the room with extraordinary tension. The elderly monk guest who had been watching intently met Lord Echizen’s gaze when Yoshihira’s figure disappeared beyond the sliding door. “They have come… The day has finally arrived,” he murmured.

“It seems they have arrived,” Lord Echizen responded, his voice resonating in kind.

A solemn silence fell between the two for an instant. “Zenji… Before I proceed to the sanded court, please offer some words of admonishment to Echizen.” Like a disciple entreating his teacher, Lord Echizen spoke humbly. “Ha ha ha ha! Your Honor, what are you saying? You are the Edo Town Magistrate!” Doukubou laughed so hard that the candle flame swayed. Or rather, Doukubou was his name from the distant past; now he was known as Tettsuzen Zenji, the abbot of one of the temples at Uji Hōōzan.

Over a dozen years prior, he had appeared year after year among Edo’s destitute masses, cooking gruel in large cauldrons to relieve countless hunger pangs and earning the adoration of vagrants—yet from around the time that infamous Dog Shogun’s misrule ended, his presence had faded away without notice. Yet Ōoka Ichijuurō—now Lord Echizen—who had attained his present reformation after receiving Tettsuzen’s stern Zen stick during that fateful roadside encounter years prior, continued even afterward through correspondence to seek the path of enlightenment. Though his body remained amid the relentless duties of a public official in the city’s ceaseless bustle, his heart stayed that of a lay disciple and student of Tettsuzen, never neglecting their exchange of letters.

However, this Tettsuzen had gone to Kyoto—and then appeared in Edo—to travel around persuading influential figures, seeking support from both the Imperial Court and the shogunate for permanent preservation methods of the printed Buddhist canon, the legacy of his late teacher Tetsugen. And in the course of visiting Elder Councilors, Junior Councilors, and others—from Honda Iyo-no-kami, the Temple and Shrine Magistrate— (It seems Lord Ōoka Echizen is now in a dire predicament due to a certain incident.)

he heard the rumor.

With that alone, Tettsuzen immediately grasped the general situation. This was because he had been reminded of matters that Lord Echizen had previously and indirectly inquired about through their exchange of correspondence. "I'll comfort you." With a light heart, he visited Lord Echizen at his official residence that evening. The two men, meeting after a long time, comforted each other's long-pent feelings from the heart. Lord Echizen found that with this man alone, he could speak without concealing anything. Regarding himself as still an immature ordinary person, he could lay bare even the weaknesses inherent to humanity without any pretense.

“What a profound karmic bond we share, you and I.” Tettsuzen said after a while. “Whenever you face a major crossroads in your life, I always appear before you.” “Indeed, this is a most gracious karmic bond,” Lord Echizen replied with a smile. “Not merely once, but twice already. …Surely, by the third time, I may have become a lifeless corpse, receiving your final rites.” “Immediately fixating on death is unwise,” Tettsuzen countered. “Though I suppose it’s a samurai’s stock phrase.”

“Yes. I’m not in any particular hurry.” “One should choose life whenever possible. Survive one ordeal, and life’s flavor changes beyond it—for humans face infinite unknowable paths ahead unless they live through them. This world isn’t so shallow or flimsy that forty or fifty years would leave one utterly weary of living.” “Then… With the sanded court nearly prepared, I must excuse myself briefly now.”

“Ah, you’ve had quite the ordeal.” “I’d like to listen from the shadows as well—may I?” “……Please do.” With those words, Lord Echizen entered the preparation room. It was to change into his formal uniform—kamishimo and hakama—for appearing in the sanded court.

Attending "Inspectors" When criminals were brought to the Magistrate Office, to remand them to prison required conducting an immediate "preliminary interrogation"—even for those accused of minor offenses—where the magistrate himself had to verify whether the case involved false charges or fabricated evidence. Only after an official legal declaration ordering imprisonment came directly from the magistrate's mouth could they be confined to cells. This stood as a crucial legal statute within the Magistrate Office regulations. Yet this custom too had crumbled in recent times—preliminary interrogations were carelessly handled through perfunctory investigations at local guard posts, or prisoners were remanded via declarations from yoriki acting as magistrate substitutes, reflecting a growing trend of crude disregard for what might be termed human rights. Since assuming office, Lord Echizen had strictly enforced adherence to these procedures, striving to ensure that even in such matters, the common people's modest rights might find some measure of protection.

(Ah, that too now falls upon my own self.)

He was likely quite sensitive. Outwardly composed, he had dressed in his kamishimo and hakama in the preparation room as he would when dealing with ordinary criminals, but precisely because of this, he must have been exerting no small effort to maintain self-restraint. “Magistrate... The preparations for the sanded court are complete.” It was Kobayashi Kanzō’s voice. Having announced from outside, he seemed to be waiting in the corridor for the magistrate to emerge.

“I shall attend presently.”

Lord Echizen walked immediately toward the interrogation chamber. While aware of Kanzo behind him—carrying documents and following in his wake— With nightfall, the various duty rooms had been vacated, their occupants dismissed and lanterns reduced, leaving the magistrate office desolate and dim—yet just moments earlier, since Yamamoto Sōta had led Osode through these gates,

An air of "The final hour has come—" tinged even the sound of footsteps and late-night lanterns, at a time when all Edo slept unaware. Yet within the South Town Magistrate Office alone, an unprecedented tension gripped the air. Having resolved not to return to his private residence until solving the case, the magistrate had been staying continuously at his official quarters. Consequently, most of his assisting yoriki and lower-ranking officials had adopted a shift system and remained overnight. In the sanded court, candlesticks already burned. At the front stood the magistrate's seat, to the left the clerk's desk, with complaint officers and interrogating yoriki visible in their appointed positions.

“…………” When Lord Echizen took his seat—though this was customary even on ordinary days—the courtroom’s solemnity, or rather a more severe form of its inherent sacredness, drew taut the nerves of those present. In the sanded court sat a single woman, still bound with ropes. Needless to say, it was Osode. The arresting yoriki was Yamamoto Sōta. On standby were tonight’s duty officers—the five reserve constables Oka Yaichirō, Sakurama Kanpachi, Kanō Umakichi, Ishihara Jūzō, and Funazaki Sohee—while numerous vassals could be seen at the sanded court gate.

Kobayashi Kanzō was at the complaint officer’s seat. At the clerk’s desk sat Ichikawa Giheita, and at the yoriki seats were also seated Uesugi Masakata, Katō Naeda, and three or four others.

Though merely a preliminary interrogation, the ceremonial gravity surpassed even that of ordinary sessions in the sanded court. Lord Echizen observed that in addition to the regular magistrate office staff, two unfamiliar samurai were seated at a level lower than the magistrate’s seat.

“Who are they?” As if posing this question, he directed a whisper toward Kobayashi Kanzō at the complaint officer’s seat. “......?” Kanzō too seemed not to understand; tilting his head slightly, he relayed a whisper to Giheita’s desk beside him, but Giheita merely made a suspicious face. Upon seeing this, Katō Naeda from the opposite yoriki seat turned toward Lord Echizen and— “The two honored individuals seated in attendance are under the command of Official Inspector Lord Matsudaira Tōkurō and Lord Arima Gennojō.”

he informed him. Then, for the first time, the two men bowed respectfully toward the magistrate, “I am Akayama Sanai, an inspector under the command of Lord Matsudaira.” “I am Ota Kizaemon, also serving as an inspector under Lord Arima Gennojō…” At the same time, they introduced themselves. The temporary sanded court, already taut with tension, grew even more charged with an ominous air as the two inspectors joined the proceedings. Inspectors were selected from hatamoto-ranked samurai with stipends around one thousand koku and were not of particularly high status. However, they had oversight over even the Elder Councilors, Finance Magistrates, Junior Elders, and both Town Magistrates, and held the authority to report directly to the shogunate. Thus, among samurai with dark secrets, the mere mention of inspectors struck fear.

Colloquially called “yokome,” they were subordinates of the official inspectors. Moreover, both inspectors and their subordinate officials could enter and exit places like the Town Magistrate Office suddenly and at will. Thus, even the magistrate’s staff—who seemed fearless to the citizens—were feared by them. (Inspectors have arrived.) When this was whispered, they would immediately become wary, and everyone made unpleasant faces, it was said. But how had those inspectors already learned of tonight’s events? Even for them—infamous as they were under the moniker “Eyes That See, Noses That Smell”—to have come to this temporary sanded court already was far too soon. They couldn’t help but feel there was something even spiteful about it.

The yoriki, constables, and other magistrate office personnel must have inwardly thought so, but there was no reason to refuse their attendance. "I acknowledge your service." Lord Echizen answered the two men. And he allowed a faint smile to form. Rather, he seemed to welcome their official observation as his true intent. —And then, sitting up slightly straighter, he turned his eyes toward the shadow of Osode seated in the sanded court. His eyes were quiet and calm.

Undoubtedly, everyone in the court must have watched his eyes at this moment with considerable anxiety and trepidation. —Even Tettsuzen Zenji, who remained hidden in the shadows without showing himself here— (Well, when the moment comes, what will happen?) With bated breath, he must have been listening intently to how Lord Echizen would judge Osode—or rather, how he would judge himself.

Stone

“Osode, or rather—” Lord Echizen calmly began to speak. And, “Lift your face. “Osode—or whatever you call yourself—lift your face.”

he repeated.

"......" Osode had remained motionless with her face bowed ever since being seated there. She remained silent like a wet heron in the rain.

Lord Echizen suddenly moved his eyes, “Sōda.” “Untie the ropes for her.”

he ordered. Sōda, as if he himself had been saved, immediately untied the ropes and stepped back. “The culprit who has been roaming the city night after night, knocking down government edict boards and committing outrages—it is certainly you, is it not? Tonight as well, it is reported that you were apprehended from that very scene.” “…………” “Furthermore, this spring, you were also among the gang of five robbers who broke into the Horidome textile wholesaler Yamazen. You were also among them.”

“……” Like a solitary stone placed amidst watchful eyes, Osode offered no answers and showed no expression. “Kanzō. Hand me those investigation records.” With that, Lord Echizen abruptly reached out his hand, took a bundle of documents from the evidence desk, and opened them on his lap. One of the yoriki moved a candlestick beside him. Chillingly, the night mist descended upon the sanded court. Summer nights are quick to dawn. Wouldn’t the eastern sky begin to lighten before long?

Lord Echizen calmly settled into flipping through the investigation records. Before long, he returned them to the evidence clerk’s hands and began interrogating Osode once more.

“As this is a preliminary hearing, detailed examination shall be reserved for another day.” “However, I must briefly inquire about your parents’ lineage and the circumstances that brought you here. ……First I ask: who were your parents?” “…………” “According to these investigation records, your parents resided in Lord Akita Awa-no-kami’s tenement housing by the Koishikawa waterway, serving as foot soldiers with a fifty-koku stipend. From the union of your father Imamura Kanato and mother Mitsu came two children. At the time of their deaths, your elder sister Shima was nine years old, and the younger sister called Osode—that is to say yourself—was five years of age. Is this correct? Do you remember?”

“…………”

Osode’s form ceased being stone-like. A flicker of emotion crossed her features as what seemed like a single tear trickled down—this when her parents’ names were mentioned. Then, for just an instant, she abruptly raised her face before bowing it again—the precise moment she learned of having an elder sister named Oshima. “When your younger sister Osode was five years old,” he continued, “she fell gravely ill. They were told swallow’s charred remains might cure her, but when her father Kanato was discovered shooting swallows with a blowgun, he violated the strict ‘Compassion for Living Creatures’ edict issued under the fifth shogunate’s reign. Both husband and wife were sentenced to execution.” “The family scattered—all relatives exiled… Later, Osode entered service at a riverside teahouse.” “Your elder sister Shima was taken in by Denbei the tofu seller of Nihonbashi Ura Shindō, but upon coming of age she ran away—her whereabouts remain unknown to this day. Do you distinctly recall these facts?” “Osode…”

“…………”

“State any discrepancies, if you have them.”

“…………” Osode tried to speak. Yet no voice emerged. Her thoughts refused to cohere. What she strained to voice was no answer to his questions. For days—no, for over a decade—the flames of vengeance against this heartless man had burned within her. Could she stay silent now? Yet with blood roaring through her veins, her head throbbing, fingertips chilled, hair standing on end—not a single word escaped.

And so, even as she sat facing that hated man across the raised platform, Osode still could not bring herself to lift her face and look upon his figure. But Lord Echizen’s voice pierced through her defenses. Wasn’t that voice the same Ichijuurou’s from before? Hypocrite! Fraud wearing a mask! What magistrate? Where’s your magistrate’s dignity now? You bastard—! At the threshold of her eardrums, she battled that voice with every fiber of hatred in her being. Her stone-like silence flew like a banner of defiance. Of course, she had fortified the levees of her heart against the magistrate’s words, permitting not a drop of their meaning to seep within.

“Do you not remember these matters either? That is only natural. From the age of five, she was orphaned—thereafter living as a child of others yet knowing no child’s tenderness, existing in society yet ignorant of its ways, merely drifting through the human world—such is the woman before you. ……This magistrate will summon you again to the sanded court. Stand!”

With that, Lord Echizen briskly concluded the preliminary hearing and turned to address the evidence clerks, scribes, and constables collectively:

“Take the woman to the temporary prison.”

he declared. And as Lord Echizen abruptly began to rise from his seat, Osode—who until then had been writhing in mute agony from her internal struggle—suddenly and blindly surged to her feet, “Wait—!” “Wait!” “Ichijuurou!” and she shrieked. "Thud!"

Yamamoto Sōta, who had anticipated trouble, was the first to seize Osode’s arm from behind.

“What are you doing?!” Osode shook free and lunged toward the magistrate’s seat. However, a multitude of constables immediately twisted and suppressed her wildly thrashing force back onto the sanded court.

………… Lord Echizen withdrew into the scabbard-patterned sliding door without turning around. The people too should have risen immediately. The observing inspectors too should have withdrawn. Yet long afterward, the sanded court remained disordered with bustling figures, Osode’s screams persisting unceasingly amid the chaotic atmosphere. But these too transformed into anguished sobs, and soon she was dragged toward Agebayarōji alley, growing distant like a thread before vanishing.

The Enemy of Good Intentions

Having retired at dawn, he awoke near noon.

Lord Echizen slept soundly. After completing his morning routine—gargling, eating, dressing—he immediately proceeded to his duty room. When he sat down here, he could instantly sense the office's atmosphere. That morning, the magistrate's office harbored unusual unrest. Within it, several rooms lay silent as ice chambers. These were the duty rooms housing Kobayashi Kanzō, Yamamoto Sōta, Ichikawa Gihei, and others. Around the magistrate too, general litigation duties were piled up like mountains. Similarly, each yoriki room was surely busy. The case was by no means solely about Osode.

"Kanzō—" Lord Echizen first summoned him from the evidence clerks, heard today’s schedule of matters requiring processing, and before long went out to the sanded court as usual. After completing several rulings, he prepared tea alone in the afternoon and was quietly sipping a cup when the physician Ichikawa Rakuō came to visit. He’s come… Lord Echizen thought as he waited for the old man to take his seat.

“Magistrate. It’s finally come to pass.” Rakuō said this as soon as he took his seat. Lord Echizen prepared tea and offered it to him. “...With your help, matters have at last begun taking form. Even His Lordship has been troubled by this.” “What can I say? I have no words left.”

Rakuō stared at the other man with a sullen expression. However, as if having resigned himself that anything he said now would be too late, he quietly set down his teacup, “By the way, what I came to inquire about today concerns the matter of your Akasaka residence, but—” “Ah. I hear my family back home has been under your considerable care.”

“Never mind that, Lord Echizen. “Your wife’s condition has taken a grave turn these past two or three days…grave indeed—so much so that one might say she is on death’s doorstep. “Perhaps you should return home once to see her.” “Nui…” Even Lord Echizen showed a pained expression— “Is Nui in such critical condition?” “She had been administering medicinal baths together with Lady Sonoko all this time, and even when visited periodically, her condition showed no particular cause for concern… But when she suddenly developed a high fever, I inquired with the household and learned she had heard from someone about an incident gravely concerning Your Lordship—night after night, she performed water ablutions and devoted herself to prayers.… It is unbearable. “Her condition took a sudden turn for the worse.”

“Ab...absurd. She is but a woman.”

With tears in his eyes, Lord Echizen spat out the words.

Rakuō’s complexion abruptly changed. This old man would always react this way. “Ah, but Magistrate— “To call it foolish—I can’t believe those words came from you.” “How can you call your wife’s devotion foolish?” “It is a pitiable folly.” “There is nothing more pitiable than women.” “Pity I can accept—but what do you mean by calling it foolishness?” “A heart that prays to the gods—thinking of her husband’s great peril and forgetting her own illness—” “That is precisely why I call it foolishness.” “What good will praying to the gods do?” “Why couldn’t she gather medicinal herbs for Sonoko and the children, sleep warmly, and keep herself at ease?”

“When you, her husband and Magistrate, stand today in a position as if being boiled in a cauldron of scorching heat, it is only natural she cannot remain composed as your wife. Especially since this concerns a world beyond women’s power.”

"But I have told my wife everything—all my past transgressions and what lies ahead—keeping nothing hidden." "Even about a woman named Osode." "That only worsens matters." "It is women’s fate to suffer all the more." "And you do not return home." "Admirable conduct for a magistrate—but does that suffice?" "As a man—as a husband?"

“Indeed, Echizen himself apologizes for being an inadequate human being and an unfeeling husband. But let us set aside personal matters, Rakuō-dono. Where have you hidden Oen?” “Oen. Ah… Oen threw herself into the old well at the neighboring house and died. As Clerk Kobayashi Kanzō and Gihei have already witnessed and reported.”

“It doesn’t sit right with Echizen, but…” “Even if Your Lordship insists otherwise, the reports to the government are complete—the procedures with the inspectors and temple magistrates concluded without delay. One who has been buried at this old man’s family temple and even granted a posthumous name… Well, you cannot summon such a person back from the afterlife.” Lord Echizen fell silent. This old man acted out of strong goodwill yet stood in complete opposition to his own convictions. It was as if he were an adversary born of benevolence itself. Goodwill and kindness—there existed no foe more formidable than these.

“Though it is improper to speak of personal matters at your official residence, this old one must say here in my capacity as a physician… Then, until this case is settled, you truly will not return to your estate?”

“I have carefully informed my wife of everything—she must be prepared for this outcome.” “Yet… I earnestly entrust her care to your hands.” “Even should your wife reach her final hours—”

“I leave it in your hands.” “It cannot be helped…” Rakuō, too, threw in the towel. “But you are Magistrate; this old fool is a physician.” “Both of us, for our divine callings, shall fulfill our duties to the utmost until we fall.” “Well now, I’ve overstayed my welcome during your busy hours.” “My apologies.”

With that, Rakuō withdrew with uncharacteristic briskness, walked through other duty rooms, exchanged whispers with Kobayashi Kanzō and Yamamoto Sōta about some matter, and then departed.

Around that same time，Tettsuzen Zenji too，

“This evening, I have an appointment with Lord Tsuchiya Sagami of the Senior Council, so...”

With that, he left nonchalantly.

After a day’s pause, the next day, Lord Echizen once again ordered Osode’s trial in the sanded court. And this time, in the name of the magistrate, he declared that Ookame—Ōoka Kamejirō, Akazari Sanpei, Anou Jūzō, and others who had thus far undergone only one preliminary interrogation—would also be summoned one after another to the sanded court, and that the main trial would at last commence.

TABLOIDS

That morning.

Otsugi of the Stone-Grilled Tofu and Yamamoto Sōta were meeting in secret at the back riverbank where the morning mist still hung thick.

“Otsugi.” “What I told you yesterday.” “Did you ask your mother?” “Huh.” “I asked.” “Just as you said—Shima wasn’t my parents’ real child. When we lived behind Nihonbashi, my late father took her in after the samurai lord he served lost both his wife and himself, leaving her an orphan with no kin to turn to.”

“That adopted child’s biological family—didn’t you ask their name?” “Um… A retainer of Lord Akita Awaji-no-kami—someone called Imamura Yōjin.” “Then there’s no mistake! Otsugi—that Shima who came home claiming to be your sister, the jailbreaker—she’s the real sister of Osode, the woman now at the heart of Lord Echizen’s torment.” “Huh? Wh-what? Is that true?” “With you, she was just a sister in name. But with Osode—same blood, same parents. True sisters. Osode was Shima’s younger sister.”

“How did you know that?” “During the preliminary hearing in the sanded court, the magistrate stated so from the front of the investigation records. I was astonished, but Osode also jerked her face up at that moment. She likely had no idea she even had such a sister.” “My word,” Otsugi opened her eyelids as wide as they would go, mirroring the shock in her heart onto Sōta’s face—

“What should I do?” “Then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘What should I do?’ What are you—” “That Shima sent another letter via a messenger, saying she absolutely must meet me once more at Mitsumata Ayame Bridge because there’s something she has to discuss with you… What should I reply?” “Ah, that matter you consulted me about yesterday. Now that it’s clear Shima is Osode’s real sister, you should definitely go meet her. Though I don’t know what business [she has]—”

“Then tonight, I will go at the promised time.” “And then tomorrow at dawn, you will meet me there again.”

“Mmm.” “I’ve come before official duties… But how many days remain for such fleeting meetings as this?”

“Don’t... Please don’t say such sad things.”

Otsugi clung to the man’s chest, her increasingly thin white neck trembling.—Embracing her, Sōta too firmly shut his eyes. “Like a morning glory blooming by the riverbank, our love was too brief.” “But resign yourself, Otsugi—we are prepared to die alongside the magistrate.” “Gihei, Kanzō, and the others have all made firm promises.”

“Why must Lord Echizen die?” “The magistrate would never choose death willingly.” "But to personally demonstrate the surrounding circumstances and the law’s severity through his own body, he likely can consider nothing but suicide." At that moment, amidst the fierce morning traffic already flowing around Daikon Riverbank and Fish Market, a man passed through, bellowing to sell tabloids.

“Tabloids! Tabloids! Step right up! Freshly printed tabloids reporting a major scandal! The culprit behind the edict slashing has been apprehended! Moreover, she’s an unprecedented female bandit who calls herself the Female Jiraiya! Having fallen into the hands of the South Town Magistrate Office, you’ll get to see her at the pillory before long. Tabloids! Tabloids! But get this—they say that female bandit and Lord Ōoka Echizen of the South were lovers way back when! Or maybe not! Lately there’s even wilder rumors swirling about—pure fiction, who knows! Tabloids! Tabloids! Did smoke rise where there was no fire? Or did fire exist where smoke rises? Tabloids are ten mon! Just ten mon! Step right up and read! Read all about it!”

Her Decisive Battle

The rumors spread throughout Edo in a single day.

The tabloid hawkers skillfully avoided direct statements in their writing, but the roots of the rumors struck true. “Since the North Town Magistrate’s officials keep insisting it, it can’t be lies.” The townspeople repeated this and spread it further. This too seemed close to fact. No matter what, Osode’s arrest became the catalyst that dragged into broad daylight the full scope of incidents previously concealed as covert struggles between the North and South Magistrates—from resolving five-member gang robberies to identifying edict-slashing culprits and every issue connected to Lord Echizen’s personal past—all reaching public ears without exception.

The public's expressions and shifts in sentiment were immediately reflected within the magistrate's office.

Lord Echizen continued performing his duties as usual, but in this matter, it seemed rather to be his heart's desire and what he had long wished for. His face appeared even brighter than it had several days before. That was how he looked when he took his seat before the sanded court at the magistrate’s dais.

Today as well, the usual two inspectors came to observe. The police captains' seats, document examiners, scribes, and others were even more solemn than during the previous preliminary hearing, their numbers having grown by several. “Osode!” “Look up.” When Lord Echizen began speaking thus—unlike two nights prior—Osode immediately raised her face.

And from below, she stared up at Lord Echizen’s face. ...... During her day and two nights in the prison cell, Osode had likely regained her composure from temporary confusion. Resolving not to yield to any pressure from authorities or be intimidated by stern-faced officials in formal attire, she must have been brought here with a demon-like resolve. The eyes that pierced Lord Echizen’s face told the tale. What manner of eyes were these? Her eyes possessed an uncanny light—seething with resentment, blazing with fury, overflowing with curses—yet beneath it all, the pitiable tears of a woman’s frailty were brimming to overflowing...

Even Lord Echizen, faced with those eyes, momentarily forgot what manner of man he ought to be when confronting her. He was utterly helpless against the innately human emotions surging through his entire being. “Wh-what is it? “Didn’t I raise my face?” “I too have plenty to say for myself, you know.” “……If you’ve got questions, hurry up and ask them already.”

Next, it was Osode who spoke up. Today's Osode could not endure even a moment of silence - her eyelids and ears were bloodshot.

“What now?! Even after hauling me out to this pompous sanded court, you can’t say a word when you look at me, can you? ……If you won’t speak, then I’ll do the talking. Ichijuurou—you’re ready for this, aren’t you?” “Osode. This is the court of judgment! Personal matters have no place here. I am neither the Ichijuurou of old nor Lord Echizen acting privately. Under heaven’s gaze and bearing the shogunate’s trust, I examine you solely as a magistrate. You need only answer my inquiries.”

“Ohoho! Don’t take me for a fool. Who do you think would submit to your interrogation? The ignorant masses might cower before ‘His Honor the Magistrate’,” Osode sneered, “but this Osode won’t fall for such tricks.”

“Silence!” “Do you still not comprehend?” “How could I possibly comprehend?!”

Osode lashed out. As if declaring today would be her final battle, her eyebrows etched the woman's desperation, the corners of her eyes split crimson.

“No! “No. …If I’m such a clueless woman, then make me understand.” “What manner of man are you—perched up high in those stiff-starched robes, rigid as a post, your true nature impossible to fathom?” “Are you any different from that lying stray son called Ōoka Ichijūrō of old—who deceived an ignorant woman, got her with child in the end, abandoned both wife and child to rot, and devoted himself solely to social climbing?”

Unable to bear listening any longer, Yamamoto Sōta, the fidgeting constable, lost all restraint,

“Wh-what the—! Shut your mouth! Silence! Do you have any idea where you are?!” When he barked from behind，Lord Echizen slightly shook his flushed-looking face and—

“No, Sōta. Don’t stop her—let her speak. Let her say her piece.” “Of course. Did you think I’d stay silent?”

Osode’s demeanor had nearly lost all self-possession. She must have thought this was the day of battle—as both a weakling and a woman conscious of her own existence—staking her entire life on this fight. Even as she spoke, streaks of tears that could be mistaken for blood were continuously tracing down her cheeks.

The sanded court of judgment abruptly presented an unprecedented spectacle. The observers and minor officials at the sanded court’s gate—though aware that a courtroom demands solemnity—grew restless, whispered among themselves, and fixed their anxious eyes upon the two figures: the one judging and the one being judged—though none could discern which of them was truly undergoing judgment.

Chapter Seven

Sanded Court Chronicle

The sanded court that day seemed to have been granted solely for Osode’s sake. Toward Lord Echizen, Osode said everything she wanted to say. She laid bare her years of resentment without holding anything back. She had spoken her fill, leaving nothing in her heart left to restrain. And yet, after that, the woman could do nothing but collapse prostrate, overwhelmed by a torrent of tears and loneliness that welled up uncontrollably. “Osode.—Do you have anything more you wish to state?”

Lord Echizen waited for the woman’s frenzied speech to cease before speaking thus. The woman no longer retained even the strength to utter a single word of rebuttal. Only the sanded court’s stifled weeping answered.

“Then I shall begin the questioning.” Both the observing inspectors and subordinate officials began to suspect Lord Echizen had forgotten his position as magistrate and the very nature of the courtroom—it was because he behaved far too unlike a magistrate. Moreover, ever since earlier—before this trial where the woman raged and cursed with passionate resentment—it was as though he had been placed in the defendant’s position, enduring it all in silence, only to now utter these tepid words. “Was your nightly rampage of tearing down edict boards across the city these past days meant as some message to Echizen?” “Osode, what say you?”

“...” “That must be the case. Particularly, given that you committed acts of vandalism solely on the edict boards of the South Magistrate’s Office, your true intentions are evident.” “Very well. That matter is understood.” At the court scribe’s desk, Ichikawa Gihei had been continuously running his brush, transcribing the interrogation records throughout. Lord Echizen then spoke: “At the time of the break-in at Yamazen in Horidome, you remained in a boat on the Horidome River. The ones who entered the house to commit robbery and kill or injure the family members were only three men—as both Anoujuu has stated and Akazari Sanpei has confessed. There should be no discrepancy in this.”

Osode neither answered nor denied. Lord Echizen pressed once again. And then he moved to the next question. "You were apprehended at the Edo Bridge guardhouse because—concerned for the daughter Oen whom you had been with at the time—you went out to search for her in the town and fell into the hands of the arresting officers. This account matches both the testimony of guards Shōshichi and Yosozō from the guardhouse and the confessions of Jūzō and Sanpei. We therefore recognize it as accurate. Do you have any objections?" "..."

“You have none.” “Then, what of this matter?” “To Nagasaka Gyōbu—formerly a shogunate hatamoto commonly called Monster Gyōbu—you entrusted yourself for over a dozen years, living as one of their companions. Was this done of your own will?” “Did you willingly accompany Gyōbu of your own volition?”

At this moment, Osode reflexively raised her face. She must have glared fiercely at Lord Echizen, but she had already spat out every last drop of resentment and vile curses. A heart like a dried-up, empty well from which nothing could be drawn made her lips tremble with hollowness, showing nothing but silent resistance through tears and bodily writhing.

“In fact,” Lord Echizen continued, “according to my investigation records, Gyōbu initially confined you to the second floor of a storehouse in Banchō, forced your compliance through threats and violence. You—out of love for that fatherless nursing child in your care—have endured his oppression against your will while raising that child ever since.” His voice hardened like drawn steel. “Osode. This would be the truth of it, would it not?” The sanded court fell silent, her choked sobs alone piercing through the stillness to strike the ears of all assembled. “Very well.” The magistrate’s words fell like gavel strikes. “Understood.” He leaned forward, shadows deepening the hollows beneath his eyes. “In essence, you were neither wife nor concubine to Gyōbu. No affection existed from the start. Though you feared him as one does venomous serpents, you merely shared his roof out of desperate hope to see your child reach adulthood.” A muscle twitched in his jaw as he delivered the final blow. “Given this, Gyōbu’s gang conspired with western smugglers and ambitious ronin to orchestrate Edo’s destabilization—nay, to overthrow the shogunate’s divine order itself. Such secrets he’d never entrust to you. You remain ignorant of all these machinations.”

Of course, this was the first time Osode had heard such secrets. Lord Echizen gazed intently at the emptiness in her eyes.

“Osode. “The resentments you have voiced from the outset remain private matters with no relevance to this sanded court’s proceedings. “Yet that fervent resolve you cried out must have struck even this Ōoka Ichijuurou you speak of—as a man—piercing deep into the marrow of his heart. ...But know this: Ichijuurou is not present here. Only Magistrate Lord Echizen remains, alongside attending colleagues and inspectors. “When Ichijuurou is stripped of office and reduced to a private citizen, he will surely come before you to answer your grievances. “Vent your decade’s worth of hatred freely then. ...Nay—such words have no place in this court. “There remains nothing more to investigate. “This interrogation is concluded. “Rise. Rise!”

The Remaining Culprit

That afternoon, immediately following, the sanded court for Ōoka Kamejirō was convened. Ookame was dragged to the sanded court with a heavy thud and, without once raising his eyes to Lord Echizen, kept his head bowed throughout. “No honor left.” “Just do whatever you want with me…”

And his very appearance already seemed to be saying as much. However, this Ookame too had initially resisted fiercely, raving day and night in his cell against Lord Echizen’s vile abuse. During the preliminary hearing as well as during the subsequent one or two main trials, he had lunged at the magistrate’s seat with venomous words, scornful ridicule, mockery, every manner of wild antics, and spittle. Yet Lord Echizen had steadfastly offered himself completely as fodder to this satiated malice. With great compassion, he had allowed Ookame’s warped gratification to be fully sated. Then by the third and fourth sanded courts, Ookame had already lost all spirit.

“Oichi... I’m real sorry.” “I thought.” “Ain’t got nothin’ more to say…” “Burn me at the stake or stick my head on a pike—just take out all your hate on me proper.”

he blurted out. Today’s fifth sanded court session saw Lord Echizen demand testimony from Ookame regarding all he could recall about the historical incident in which his father, Ōoka Gorōzaemon Tadafusa, had assaulted Takatori Iyo-no-kami—the shogunate’s chief guard—at the latter’s private residence. Ookame honestly stated everything he knew. This incident too was nothing but a conflict between corrupt officials and upright ones, shrouded in the underbelly of the Tsunayoshi era’s corrupt governance. It was an incident where the unyielding integrity of upright official Ōoka Gorōzaemon, overcome by the slander and oppression of corrupt officials, ultimately led him to cut down his opponent.

However, at that time, under the sway of Ogihara Ōmi-no-kami, Magistrate of Finance, and the Yanagisawa faction's authority, the corrupt officials had distorted the facts to the utmost. Gorōzaemon's household was extinguished, and all ten Ōoka families were confined under prolonged house arrest—misfortunes that consigned the incident to oblivion.

The incident had concluded its formal shape, and from there, the fates of each member born into the households forged by its calamity embarked on a new and lengthy journey through hell. Ōoka Kamejirō’s downfall stood as precisely one such instance. No—Ichijuurō, that is, Lord Echizen Tadasuke—who counted among the ten Ōoka households and stood as cousin to Kamejirō—had also walked that same perilous cliff’s edge as his path through life. Thrust forth from identical misfortunes born of their era’s great calamity, having traversed the same dangerous valleys and cliffs—his cousin Ookame now faced the wretched end of his life as a bound prisoner in the sanded court, while he himself sat upon the high seat, passing judgment upon men! It was this disparity that Lord Echizen perceived with terrifying dread between that man and himself.

He and I—where, and how much, could we differ?

As human beings, they were no different.

In terms of vitality and certain intellectual capacities, he was rather superior.

The only difference was that at some fork in the road—I had suddenly chosen to follow where my conscience pointed. It was nothing more than a single step at a divergence. Even that—all of it—had not stemmed from my own willpower. The catalyst had been Ani Shudono's love and the great love manifested through the stern staff of admonishment from my teacher Dōkubō.

(When I reflect, I realize that who I am today is nothing more than one blessed by those chance encounters and a single step... Ah, poor Kamejirō.)

He held heartfelt sympathy for his cousin Kamejirō in this regard, and with unfeigned honesty, acknowledged that he too possessed the same humanity as Kamejirō. And he had considered it only natural that Kamejirō had initially raged and hurled insults at him. That very forthrightness undoubtedly caused Kamejirō to return to honesty as well. The interrogations and interviews concerning Ookame thus proceeded smoothly. Over the next day and the day after, the investigations of Akazari Sanpei and Anō Jūzō also progressed steadily.

During Anō Jūzō’s interrogation, Lord Echizen began raising questions about such an incident. “Were you previously acquainted with a man by the name of Ōoka Ichijūrō?” “Of course I know.” “You promised Ichijūrō you would let him meet Osode—who was confined in Bakemono Gyōbu’s storehouse—and then made him steal the shogunate treasury blueprint from the residence of his relative Ōoka Hyōkurō of the Kobushin Group. Did you not?” “I did.”

“What became of that blueprint after you disposed of it?” “I sold it off to Gyōbu.” “Does Gyōbu still have it?” “He was pleased at first, but when he realized it wasn’t any use, he never went through with the treasury break-in.”

“Was that also intended to be used as military funds to overthrow the shogunate?”

“As for that part—what was in Gyōbu’s mind—we didn’t have a clue.” “Gyōbu only confessed to us ’bout havin’ those schemes with western ronin and smuggling buddies on the very day that bastard died.” This testimony matched perfectly with what Sanpei and Ookame had stated. Anō Jūzō had been frank from the beginning. He’d calmly recounted everything—from the old Nakano dog kennel raid to recent events—like a man finally ready to pay his dues.

In summary, the investigation Lord Echizen had intended was roughly concluded within about twenty days. All that remained was merely the delivery of the verdict based on his "judgment." However, he placed the crux of the entire case on Nagasaka Gyōbu's conspiracy with western ronin and smugglers to undermine governance—deeming it beyond the adjudicative scope of a single town magistrate's sanded court—and transferred all voluminous bundles of preliminary investigation records and interrogation reports wholesale to the Ryūnoguchi Court.

The Court of Justice is the supreme judicial organization. It was where all shogunate leaders and key figures from every department—Senior Councilors, Junior Councilors, Magistrates of Finance, Magistrates of Temples and Shrines, Inspectors, and others—would deliberate collectively and decide crucial public matters. However, Lord Echizen transferred this entire case—including his own personal issues—to Ryūnoguchi, and prior to the grand court session of the Court of Justice being convened—as a prerequisite—he submitted a single requested condition as an indispensable requirement, attaching it along with the formal application.

That condition was as follows:

This incident must not be regarded merely as trivial crimes perpetrated by common ruffians and burglars; nor can these minor offenses be isolated and adjudicated separately—for I am convinced such approach would serve as neither warning nor sound policy for future governance. At its core, we must eradicate these societal evils by identifying the roots of each transgression, fundamentally severing their sources to ensure transparent governance and prevent renewed corruption of public sentiment. Moreover, consider how these chains of vice have long poisoned our world—their origins stretching back to reigns of shoguns past—with culprits ranging from disaffected western ronin to smuggling rings operating across domains and seas. To apprehend all such criminals at once lies beyond even a town magistrate's authority or the shogunate's august might. Yet through resolute action, this Echizen maintains unwavering conviction: a judgment that extirpates evil's roots, demonstrates equitable governance, enlightens the populace, and secures prosperity for common livelihoods remains not merely possible, but imperative.

Such was the content of the written statement. And, at the end, he had clearly inscribed such a clause.

(There remains a need to apprehend and restrain the root evil. In truth, we have yet to apprehend this root evil. Without interrogating said root evil, even should they round up petty vermin at the fringes and trouble the realm’s Court of Justice, it would amount to dousing not the fire’s source but its flickering shadows—thereby falsely claiming accomplishment of extinguishing the blaze. It is my earnest request that the Court of Justice kindly await its convening until Lord Echizen apprehends this root evil within these coming days and reveals the ringleader of these long-entrenched criminal foundations.)

Such was the main thrust of the document.

This was unprecedented. There was absolutely no provision for this in the Court of Justice regulations. The Senior Councilors and various magistrates continued their top-secret meetings. During this time, doubts about Lord Echizen circulated widely, with personal attacks and slander against him being voiced openly or covertly. (During that period, Lord Echizen had likely been frantically devising all manner of fabrications to protect his position.) (He disrupted the sanded court and neglected his official duties for personal matters without compunction.)

(For Lord Echizen alone, the authority of the town magistrate had fallen to the ground. He had now become a tabloid darling.)

"What a farcical town magistrate we have here." Some among them embellished Osode and his long-past private affairs with outrageous details, turning them into seeds of unspeakable slander. Since all these were voices from those said to hold positions, authority, and considerable influence in key posts, one realized the world was the same everywhere—merely the same people and same society.

A Night of Family Reunion

“Mother! Father has returned…!” “Father has returned…!” “Father!!” “Father has returned.” “Mother!”

Near the garden fence on a day when autumn was approaching.

Before the Ōoka residence, a palanquin was set down. The person who emerged from the black-lacquered palanquin—lingering almost nostalgically on the entranceway paving stones, abruptly gazing through the garden gate at the wildly overgrown thicket that had clearly gone untended all summer—was suddenly spotted by sharp-eyed children in the distance, who—

“Father! Father!” They threw aside the morning glories and wildflowers in their hands and rushed to cling to Lord Echizen’s knees. “Ah, Yukiko. And Kyūtarō—you’ve been well?” As he embraced them—seeing his children’s faces after countless days—the father’s eyes grew hot. “You behaved well and played quietly while I was away. Yukiko, were you diligent in your lessons? Did you study too, Kyūtarō?” “Yes, every day—Elder Sister and I both studied hard. Father, you...”

“Father was also studying at the office, you know. Well, today I was been granted leave, so I have returned.” “I’m happy. I’m happy.” Twelve-year-old Yukiko. Nine-year-old Kyūtarō. The two clung to their father’s sleeves and did not leave his side until they reached the entrance platform. Due to the attendants’ notification, the people inside the house had all come out to the entrance to greet him. The only ones not visible were his ailing wife Onui and their nursing infant. But Echizen-no-kami immediately sought his wife and children in one room above all else. No—rather, he was presenting himself to Onui for the first time in two months.

“Welcome home...” “I did not even come out to greet you.”

Onui slightly adjusted her bed-mussed hair, stepped down from her sickbed, and placed her hands on the floor. The thinness of her hands, the emaciation around her collar—to her husband’s eyes, these were painful to behold.

“Onui.” “…Stay in bed. Don’t push yourself.” “There, now. You should sleep.” “Make yourself comfortable at your bedside.”

“No, today I am feeling quite well. With your unexpected return, the children too—” “Oh, I won’t let go.” With that, while holding Yukiko and Kyūtarō on both knees, “Due to official duties, I could not return to see your illness. It must have been lonely for you.” “It was all for official duties… As the wife of a town magistrate, it cannot be helped. Rather than that—I could not allow you to devote yourself to your duties with peace of mind regarding the household during your absence… My negligence… Please forgive me.”

The wife apologized, and the husband apologized in turn. Onui forced a smile, wondering how to comfort her husband after their long separation and how she too might find some joy, momentarily forgetting the gravity of her illness in her distraction. "Yukiko and Kyūtarō must be so happy." "Mother... Father won't go away again, will he?" "Yes, see how he holds you both? But more importantly—since Mother cannot go to the kitchen herself—you must tell the servants to prepare many delicious things for Father. And you must keep Father's room tidy as well."

“Yes.”

With that, the two raced each other down the hallway.

“Those... those joyful footsteps...” “The ones to be pitied are your children.” “Your heart too—Onui humbly perceives.” “I will go forth trusting you. The final day has come for Echizen as well. Tomorrow morning will be our parting.” “Will this be... a long farewell?”

“Perhaps… Onui—it was you who was made to live a sorrowful life.” “Once more, I bow my head to you and offer my apology.” “Forgive me.” “N-No, not at all.” “Onui... Ah, Onui—it is I who must apologize to you.” “When I think back, I was in the wrong.”

“You need not apologize to me. You were but an unwitting daughter kept within your family household.” “…Yet I knew—that before me, there had been a woman called Osode-sama with whom you had sired a young child. I have met that Osode-sama myself.”

“What? You and Osode…? And—on what day, and in what place?” “At the hill in the corner of the estate’s garden. In front of that small Inari shrine… Your Honor was still in seclusion then, shut away in the inner study.” “Ah… Back when I still kept company with that troublemaker Misokyu from the miso shop. That was when Misokyu brought Osode to meet me.” “At Inari Hill—hearing a child’s cry—when I chanced along the garden path, Osode-sama shoved aside this Misokyu and desperately tried to rush toward the light of your room. I gasped and blocked her way—I too fought with all a woman’s resolve. A fiery clash of words—two women staking claim to one lord—such combat was fiercer than any swordplay between men. Even now I scarcely recognize that strength within myself when I recall it.”

“…………” “But afterward, even I who had prevailed would at times find myself assailed by inexplicable worries and loneliness.” “It is only now that I can speak of this.” “Onui—though I believed in you through all these long years... I could do nothing about my own wretchedness in doubting my husband.” “I lived in constant terror that Osode-sama might appear before me again...” “She is a woman.” “That cannot be helped.” “It constitutes no fault.” “The sin lies in this husband’s youthful transgressions.”

“No, Onui deeply regretted it.” “Why… why did I not let you meet Lady Osode back then?” “Why… why did I not instead love you from a deeper place within my heart?” “Had I also considered Lady Osode’s happiness, I would not have driven Your Ladyship into such dire straits today, nor made a ruin of Lady Osode’s entire life.”

Even Onui, who had won in love, could never attain complete happiness. Now that she had confessed her long-hidden suffering before her husband, laying bare every corner of her heart washed with tears, even that alone brought her a faint sense of peace. To any observer, she should have appeared happy. Yet even within her, if one were to split open the core of her heart, a worm of misfortune dwelled—one that had been eroding her with misery for many years. Is complete happiness truly unattainable for humans? No—for when those made absolutely unfortunate exist on one side, even as the other side achieves what seems a satisfactory fulfillment of purpose, such outcomes often resembled fruit—possessing at their core this erosion of misfortune while bearing only a splendid exterior like fine flesh.

True happiness, it seems, in most cases does not become complete and lasting until life’s end unless one finds their own happiness within the happiness of others.

In Onui’s case, her wishes had been fulfilled not through artifice or forced struggle, but in a natural manner. Even so, when happiness was built upon the absolute misfortune of others on one side, it ceaselessly obstructed the victor’s happiness, preventing them from ever truly enjoying it.

The autumnal morning. The night’s gathering was an intimate family affair. Breaking with precedent, the meal was brought to his ailing wife’s bedside, and joined by their children, they ate together under the lively lamplight. The children were in high spirits. Magistrate Echizen alone poured himself sake, showing a faint reddish flush of mild intoxication; to his wife he presented his body as a husband, and to his children as a father, (I am yours.) and gave himself completely, entrusting himself to their whims.

Climbing onto his shoulders and leaning against his knees, the children played with and caressed their father as they pleased, refusing to settle down. The ailing wife, concerned about her husband's worries, lay on her back as told and watched the father and children with a smile.

However, Onui had understood all too well why Magistrate Echizen had suddenly returned home that night—she knew her husband’s heart. From the corner of her eye, a trail of tears struck the pillow. Pretending to turn over, from time to time, she averted her face.

Morning. Whether night had broken or not yet.

Magistrate Echizen splashed water in the bath chamber. With his own hands, he bound his hair, shaved his beard, and entered the sitting room. The previous night, his wife had summoned a maid and whispered instructions. These appeared to be the items she had ordered prepared then. A complete set of pristine garments for her husband lay folded before him. Her husband’s heart swelled at his wife’s thoughtful preparations. She knew without words what filled her own heart. To Magistrate Echizen, this brought more reassurance than anything. He felt no lingering worries over his young children’s upbringing. Yet he prayed only this—that she might regain her health even a day sooner, for her long road ahead living solely as a mother in solitary chambers.

Amid a tumult of emotions, he put on his undergarments, then donned his outer robe and hemp kamishimo until fully attired. Simultaneously, he felt a heavy sensation in his gut—like resolve settling into place. Except for his kamishimo and kosode, his attire this morning was entirely white death robes. He himself felt refreshed, and to others’ eyes, he appeared immaculate.

He came to his wife’s sickroom. Onui, lightly made-up, sat outside the bed and was holding Sonoko. “Allow me to see you off.”

“Allow me to see you off,” she said.

Having shared the morning meal with his family, just as they had the night before,

“Be good kids,” he said, patting Yukiko and Kyūtarō on the heads. A steward announced from outside that the palanquin was ready. Magistrate Echizen stood up, leaving the child clinging to his sleeve. His wife also stood up and tried to follow him, so

“This is far enough… Nui, get well—for the children’s sake.” Onui collapsed in tears. With Sonoko at her breast and Yukiko and Kyūtarō gathered in both arms, the mother and children became one rounded form and fell prostrate. As their mother wept, the children cried too without understanding why.

At that moment, someone came rushing breathlessly to the outer corridor. It was Kobayashi Kanzō, the document examiner, and Yamamoto Sōta.

“Well now, what brings you here? Did I not order Echizen not to leave the office for an instant during my absence?” “Yes,” “We humbly beg forgiveness for this disobedience, but upon hearing outlandish rumors this morning—we simply couldn’t remain idle. Having entrusted matters to Ichikawa Gihei, we two came to guard you.” “Guard me?... What need has Echizen for guards? Do not lose composure!” “We’re not panicking.” “But baseless tales spread—that Echizen-no-kami would be arrested today by order of the Court of Justice.” “That he’d flee, cornered by unmaskable past misdeeds.” “Worse—that he returned to his mansion last night and took his own life. Such wild conjectures swarm through the town.” “Though we’d resolved to stay steadfast—to ignore these groundless rumors until witnessing Your Honor’s final decision as commanded—the public’s credulity toward falsehoods proves terrifying.” “Since dawn, townsfolk have massed around the South Magistrate Office sensing upheaval. Even our underlings and jailers now believe calamity has befallen you—they’re beyond persuasion.” “All whisper that Your Honor’s destination today defies comprehension—”

“Well now, you unreliable lot,” he said. “Precisely because of that—because I left explicit instructions—did Echizen return to his residence for merely this single night.” “No matter what,” they pleaded, “please allow us two to accompany you to today’s destination.” “Don’t be absurd,” he rebuked. “What need has a town magistrate for guards? If magistrates must personally demonstrate walking through a society where even magistrates cannot move about alone, it would truly constitute a grotesque spectacle of governance.” “We don’t mean it as protection,” they clarified. “But for everyone’s peace of mind—”

“Why can you not find peace of mind? Has Echizen become so untrustworthy even to his own subordinates?” “Nothing of the sort, Your Honor... Then at least tell us today’s destination. We will inform everyone and restore order.” “Hmm. If you insist so gravely, I may disclose it. Listen well—today Magistrate Echizen will stake his lifelong courage and faith to personally arrest the root of all evil in this world. Stay prepared and do not stir commotion. Until word arrives from where I have gone, you and all at the South Magistrate Office must guard the gate of law protecting public order with unyielding strictness. Perform your duties quietly as usual.”

It struck their ears like a colossal statue voicing adamantine conviction. They could only gasp and prostrate themselves, leaving no room for other will to stir. By the time they realized—Echizen himself had already stepped down from the entrance platform and leaned against the waiting palanquin. On that autumn morning thick with chirring insects, within dew-laden shade of trees and grass, sharply flowed the sobs of family and servants.

And from within that—there came a deep, clear voice—

“Oh, wait! Echizen-dono, wait a moment…” A voice called out. “Ah, Master Priest!” Echizen also turned around and grinned.

The Gate of Eternal Separation

It was Tettsuzen Zenji. Behind him stood another monastic disciple. “Brother, it has been a long time.” “Ah! Brother—it was you?” “It is I—the Lord.” “No—or rather, now I am the Zen master’s disciple, Tetsuun. Last night, a lengthy letter from you arrived at our master’s quarters, which I also read. Thus, though an outsider, I have come to bid farewell.” “I am deeply honored.” “Looking back, I caused you nothing but hardship, Brother. …No—even now, seeing your disabled form with that crippled leg pains my heart. To think my youthful conduct brought such misfortune upon your entire life—I am overwhelmed with shame.”

“What’s this, brother? Thanks to you, I cast off my twin swords and found true peace in a haven where I can live as a proper human being.” He pressed palms together. “I count it as Buddha’s mercy.” Tettsuzen chose that moment to interject.

“Lord Echizen,” Tettsuzen Zenji began, “having harshly scolded Yamamoto Sōta who had gone through the trouble of coming here, it seems he ended up unable to tell you what he’d been meaning to say... Have you heard anything about a woman named Oshima?” “Eh? Who is this Shima you speak of?” interjected Ōoka’s elder brother. “You’ve laid bare every last one of your past deeds—both white and black—under the sun’s glare,” Tettsuzen continued, addressing Ōoka directly. “Seeking judgment from heaven as you pass sentence upon yourself... Yet there remains another—Oshima!”

“What has this Shima person done?”

“Though exiled, she somehow escaped back to Edo. Recently, she invited her sister-in-law Otsugi from the grilled tofu shop onto a roofed boat on the Ōkawa River, poured out her heart in detail, and then threw herself into the water to die.” “Through our connection with Sōta, we had the remains disposed of.” “After that, a suicide note was found beneath the boat mat.” “This is Oshima’s suicide note—take a look.” He was surrounded by a multitude of tear-soaked eyes. Tettsuzen Zenji did not seem to consider such matters an issue. He took out a single scroll from the sleeve of his priestly robe and handed it over. As the wind unraveled it, feminine characters spilled from the hand.

The whiteness of the paper made Magistrate Echizen recall a distant, distant snowy night. In the warmth of a beautiful female pickpocket’s skin on a winter night and within the enclosure of yuzen bedding—how his blood had raged and writhed in those days. How he had been tormented by the boundary between conscience and numbness!

On the morning when the procession of the Akō rōnin withdrew straight westward along the snow-melt road. The image of himself crawling along the roof tiles, having escaped through the demon's window, surged up from the depths of his heart as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Oshima's letter was halting. But its general meaning was as follows. —I will die. I am a woman who has no choice but to die. Even I myself feel neither affection nor regret. I am a woman who has done everything she wanted. It was discovered that Otsugi and I were related by marriage. My true sister is one called Osode. You must be surprised. When I reflect upon it, even the trivial misdeeds of a wayward woman were terrifyingly linked to society's harsh truths and the fates of upright people. That I have come to this end may not be the judgment of human law, but it is the judgment of Heaven's Way.

Yet, for the love of a sick child, was it truly necessary that our parents' wrongful execution—merely for shooting a single swallow with a blowgun—should haunt so relentlessly even the lives of those young sisters from that time? I bear no grudges against any person. But I resent this Heaven's Way. This is my final request. Please save my true sister, Osode. Since I hear she too is in prison, I suppose she cannot be acquitted. But please have my corpse bear Osode's name, and hide her from the world as one who died in prison.

"For your lordship’s own sake as well. I have asked Otsugi to tell Mr. Yamamoto everything in detail—at least as some small comfort to myself, a wayward woman who has reached her wretched end—before taking my leave from this world..." "Have you read it, Lord Echizen?" "Lord Echizen?"

“I have read it.” “I shall leave this in your keeping.”

"I'll hold a memorial service," said Tettsuzen, tucking it into his robe,

“……My business here is concluded. Then you may depart with a clear conscience.”

When he withdrew, Old Master Ichikawa Rakuō stepped forward as though having waited and delivered his farewell.

“Magistrate.” “I will say nothing for now.” “...It seems this meddling old man’s excessive concerns have only hindered your lordship’s convictions instead.” “Having heard from your esteemed elder brother Lord Tono about your lordship’s intentions regarding today’s destination, I could do nothing but marvel.” “Never could I have imagined your lordship would confront this matter with such impartial and righteous courage. From some time ago, my repeated discourtesies—Rakuō can only feel profound shame.”

“Not at all. “Old master. To think that someone like Echizen would receive your life-risking protection, your profound understanding, and your overwhelming friendship—it is more than I deserve. Taking advantage of your benevolence, Nui, and the children’s medical care—I humbly ask for your continued favor in the days to come.” “I accept…… You need not worry.” “Then, with this, I bid you farewell.” The palanquin, concealing Magistrate Echizen within, exited beyond the gate. The people stood disconsolate, watching until the end.

Where was he going? That day, he had permitted not a single attendant. The man who had exited these gates after vowing to finally arrest the archcriminal defiling the world for years—just who was this root of evil, and where did he lurk? None knew save him. Or rather—it seemed Master Tettsuzen, his elder brother Lord Tono, and a mere handful might have known...yet none gave voice to it. "Hurry," came his command from within the palanquin. "—We've fallen behind schedule."

On the way, his voice hastened the palanquin’s pace.

They emerged at the moat-side. Above the hazy leafy willows along the water's edge, the white walls of Edo Castle's keep could be glimpsed even from within the palanquin.

“Ah, wait! That palanquin!” Abruptly, samurai stood blocking their path. There were three of them. One was Yabuta Sukehachi. The other two were “inspectors”—men under both Matsudaira Tōkurō and Arima Gennojō, official shogunate observers who had been spitefully attending each session of the recent trials at the sanded court.

The Ambush Conspiracy That day, Magistrate Echizen had been earnestly requesting since the previous day to obtain an audience with the shogun in the secluded depths of Fukiage Garden within Edo Castle. When meeting the shogun directly at Fukiage, it had always been customary for only Yabuta Sukehachi of the shogunate’s hidden inspectors to be specially stationed at the shogun’s side. However, such exceptions were not permitted even for a town magistrate other than him. Members of the Iga and Kōka groups under Yabuta Sukehachi’s command—along with official shogunate observers in only the most exceptional circumstances—were the sole exceptions.

However, Magistrate Echizen had once been specially invited by Shogun Yoshimune to a pavilion in Fukiage. At that time, Yoshimune had promised, "I will always hear what you have to say here." Of course, it went without saying that this pledge applied solely to situations requiring direct counsel or during extraordinary emergencies.

“Oh, Lord Yabuta.” “I am humbled by your gracious reception.” As Magistrate Echizen began to exit the palanquin, Sukehachi hurriedly stopped him. “Stay as you are. Stay as you are.” “His Lordship has been most keenly anticipating your arrival today.” “I shall guide you at once.” Sukehachi and the two inspectors flanked his palanquin and crossed the bridge shrouded in Ushigafuchi’s dense foliage—Edo Castle’s so-called hidden gate. This gate stood perpetually closed, permitting passage only to garden guards or inspectors. When Magistrate Echizen had previously paid homage to Yoshimune, they had not used this route.—Was this why Sukehachi had gone to such lengths to escort him beyond the castle walls? The extraordinary care Yoshimune had taken with today’s meeting became abundantly clear.

“This is the Kurokuwa Room at the Inner Garden entrance. In truth, there are certain people awaiting Your Lordship here. Once His Lordship proceeds to Fukiage, I shall come to inform you. Until then, please spend a short while with those individuals here in the back.” When Yabuta Sukehachi departed, the two remaining inspectors stepped ahead of Magistrate Echizen, urging him on as they guided him deeper into the vast and empty Kurokuwa residence—a space devoid of any furnishings.

Kurokuwa was another name for the Inner Garden Guards. They were called Kurokuwa members or referred to as the Kurokuwa group. Who could be waiting for him at that group's residence? While perplexed, Magistrate Echizen was led to the spacious inner hall at the back. In an instant—he gasped and stopped in his tracks. When he looked at the faces arrayed along the corridor where dappled sunlight filtered through from the great hall, not a single one among them was unknown to Magistrate Echizen. They were all individuals with whom he maintained close professional relationships through his daily official duties.

Magistrate of Temples and Shrines Makino Inabanokami Hidenari, and Kuze Yamatonokami. Also visible were figures such as Iyanokami Itakura of the Junior Councilors and Ōminokami Ishikawa, the Chamberlain. There were also official shogunate observers such as Matsudaira Tōkurō and Arima Gennojō, and notably, Nakayama Izumo-no-kami—the North Town Magistrate who held the same post as Echizen no Kami and was often rumored to be at odds with the South—was also in attendance. *(This is...? ...?)* Even he could not help but stare wide-eyed.

This assembly comprised the entire staff of the Tatsunokuchi Court of Justice. For what purpose had they gathered in such a place and waited for him? "Oh, Lord Ōoka. This way—this way." Magistrate of Temples and Shrines Makino Inabanokami rose to welcome him, taking a seat at the assembly's center beside him. "Might I inquire—for what purpose does this gathering convene? I, Echizen, find myself utterly perplexed and at a loss for proper greetings."

“No need for formal greetings,” said Makino Inabanokami. “We ourselves chose to await your arrival. Or rather,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle, “it may be more apt to say we ambushed you.” At Inabanokami’s jest, the assembly rippled with relaxed laughter and subdued smiles. Their informal demeanor and disregard for official seating protocols made clear this gathering stemmed from personal motives rather than bureaucratic duty. “Your bewilderment is justified, Lord Ōoka,” intoned Itakura Iyonokami, leaning forward. “No precedent exists for such an assembly among us. Yet precedents hold no sway in His Lordship’s considerations—this being a defining quality of our current shogun.”

Leaning slightly forward on his knees, it was Junior Councilor Itakura Iyonokami who spoke up in this manner. It seemed that this person, representing the consensus of those present, was about to say something.

Generation’s Poisonous Mushroom

Lord Iyonokami Katsushige was said to be a gentle and kind, well-liked figure even among the cabinet members. It appeared that Lord Iyonokami Katsushige had been urged by those present and thus moved forward on his knees. Katsushige’s statement was as follows. Last night, suddenly, all officials holding seats at the Court of Justice were summoned to the Tatsunokuchi Hall under the authority of Senior Councilors Andō Shigeyuki and Tsuchiya Masanao. Present as reference persons were town physician Ichikawa Rakuō; Tettsuzen Zenji of Uji’s Ōbaku Temple; inspectors Arima Gennojō and Matsudaira Tōkurō; among others. Until late into the night, they confronted what was truly the most complex issue since Tatsunokuchi’s founding—each demonstrating fervor as if it were their own personal affair, and exchanging truths—

(How to effectively handle the problem) they had deliberated thoroughly on how to best manage the issue. The Senior Councilors' intentions were undoubtedly rooted in the shogunate's will. When considering how this matter began—just yesterday, Magistrate Echizen had requested today's audience at Fukiage—immediately afterward, from Yoshimune came ("Find a way to handle this properly.") Thus it was likely Yoshimune had discreetly conveyed these private intentions to the Senior Councilors. Why had Yoshimune issued such a directive? To this, Katsushige provided further explanation.

It was in this early summer, when rumors about the case’s hidden aspects and speculations had already become widespread, that Yoshimune developed an interest in the incident and simultaneously began to deeply worry about Magistrate Echizen no Kami’s precarious position. Thereupon, Yoshimune promptly had Yabuta Sukehachi investigate the truth of the matter from oblique angles while exercising extreme caution to ensure this would not become Magistrate Echizen no Kami’s downfall. When Yoshimune was still called Shinnosuke and a dependent in the Kishū household, he often ventured into the city and had a history of engaging in reckless behavior that was hardly different from that of local delinquents. “Yabuhachi, Yabuhachi,” he would call—Yabuta Sukehachi had been his trusted confidant since those days. Moreover, Yabuta Sukehachi also fully grasped Yoshimune’s character and conduct.

Thus. Yabuta Sukehachi’s subsequent covert activities had been carried out under Yoshimune’s private orders. As the incident progressed, every detailed truth of the matter reached Yoshimune’s ears. He had dealt with the town physician Ichikawa Rakuō—after consulting with Rakuō—to conceal Oen from society. Beyond that, everything else he had investigated—down to mobilizing Kōga agents and yokome dōshin inspectors—had all entered Yoshimune’s awareness. Even Osode’s interrogations conducted until mere days prior in the South Magistrate’s sanded court—alongside preliminary trials of Ōoka Kamejirō, Anō Jūzō, and Akazari Sanpei—had been reported exhaustively by two observing inspectors who omitted nothing.

As a result— In Yoshimune’s mind had been etched with clarity both the full scope of the incident and where its root of calamity lay. The origin of disaster reached back to the reign of the fifth shogun Tsunayoshi two generations prior—an era of unprecedented misrule that reduced humans to beings beneath beasts. Under this governance, Osode emerged as a tragic child of fate; Oen’s embryonic bud—a flower fated never to know sunlight—was cast aside; and delinquents like Ookame, Anōjū, Sanpei, and Oshima—those who took pleasure in prideful malice and rebellion against society—sprouted forth like poisonous mushrooms.

Beneath the dangerous societal foundation created by that generation, they had, unbeknownst to them, created even greater fissures. That being the anti-shogunate conspiracies in the western regions, far from the central eye’s gaze. The rebellions of discontented ronin always sought to take root in the western provinces as their breeding ground. This was because they possessed the economic power of the western provinces, the backing of powerful domains, and the geographical advantage of sea routes and islands. In particular, the rampant spread of smuggling combined their financial power with ambitious individuals. Relying on the movements of powerful domains behind them and gathering vagrants from across the nation, they formulated a plan to shake and topple the vulnerable seat of authority.

Bakemono Gyōbu was one of its members in Edo. His mission was to rally the disgruntled, the lawless, the ambitious, and the self-destructive in Edo; to further accelerate the societal decay and public despair already festering under misrule; to drive humanity utterly into the depths of depravity and anxiety; and then, when the time came, send them rushing to join their allies in the western provinces. Unfortunately, he fell into the trap he had set himself, perishing by his own blade in the flames. Through him, they could not ascertain the current state of the western conspiracies or the movements of smuggling networks during this investigation—their scope proved too vast. Yet there was no doubt that these vulnerabilities posed an undeniable danger to the shogunate.

Having assumed the role of new shogun—bold in his political reforms to eradicate abuses inherited from two generations prior, at times astonishing those around him with his daring—Yoshimune would never dismiss these matters through the narrow lens of a mere five-man gang robbery incident that had been pinned overnight on Yamazen in the city. Moreover, even for Yoshimune—beyond having inherited his position during this reform period—there was also a dual sense of responsibility. Quashing the Shogun’s Decree

The one who had promoted Ōoka Tadasuke, Lord of Echizen, from a minor local official in Ise Yamada to the important position of South Edo Town Magistrate was none other than Yoshimune himself. This exceptional, bold personnel appointment—together with Yoshimune's disregard for precedent and his groundbreaking implementation of sweeping away corrupt policies—had astonished the public at the time. That magistrate Ōoka Tadasuke—installed through Yoshimune’s discernment, one might say placed there by Yoshimune to fulfill his mission and objectives—now faced this crisis of downfall while still harboring many ambitions for the future, before he could accomplish even a few achievements. As Yoshimune, there was no doubt this was a matter he could not abandon.

Moreover, whether Tadasuke knew of Yoshimune’s extensive covert protection and concern or not—no matter how the shogun shrouded his disadvantages in shadow and extended a rescue boat into his dire straits—he would not board this timely vessel. Rather, he increasingly cornered and drove himself into a predicament, ultimately submitting the matter to the Tatsunokuchi Court of Justice, resolutely seeking not so much the incident’s resolution under heaven’s clear light as his own judgment.

*(What a troublesome man... A terrifying man.)*

This muttered remark was a sigh from the depths of Yoshimune’s being that he had once let slip in Yabuhachi’s presence—but suddenly, yesterday, Lord Echizen himself had come forward with a request to once more seek an audience at Fukiage. To Yoshimune, he felt he had immediately discerned Echizen’s true intentions behind this petition. (He likely came to subtly bid his final farewell while still holding office.)

Having discerned this, he concluded that he could not afford to waste another moment and urgently ordered through the Senior Councilors that the matter be handled appropriately.

The key points of these confidential instructions were: 1. The Court of Justice was not to take up the trial brought forth by Echizen. 2. All matters were to be conclusively resolved within the jurisdiction of the South Town Magistrate’s Office. 3. The North Town Magistrate was to suppress opposition to the South and cooperate with them to strive to disperse the current speculation and rumors. ——and so on—were the three items.

Lord Itakura Iyono Kami, having earnestly finished explaining all the above circumstances,

“Therefore, our deliberations involved visiting Magistrate Nakayama of the North Town Magistrate’s Office and Magistrate Makino of the Temples and Shrines Office at an opportune time, then including Zen Master Tettsuzen—who had recently arrived from Uji—to devote ourselves to discussions until late last night.” “…As a result, moved by His Lordship’s profound concern—which runs so deep—we have unanimously resolved to align entirely with Your Honor’s principles and pool our strength to resolve this pressing predicament and its attendant difficulties. Thus, all who convened last night now await Your Honor here.” “I beseech you to dispel any uncertainties you may harbor.” “And so, without delay, how about we have the Magistrate of Temples and Shrines, the inspectors, and Lord Nakayama of the North here sit down together at this very place to discuss measures for resolution?” “……Well now, Lord Echizen.” “Without reservation… Surely, my lord, you cannot have any objections to this.”

he said. Indeed, while Lord Iyono and the others did not fully comprehend the particulars, they could at least perceive an extraordinary resolve—his manner seeming both to placate and admonish Lord Echizen through his very countenance this day.

Secular Sermon

After listening in silence— After a brief pause, Ōoka Tadasuke spoke quietly. "I deeply apologize for causing you such unexpected concern." "...However, this magistrate cannot obey these so-called esteemed instructions of yours." "What?" "How dare you?!"

To Lord Iyono Kami, this response from Lord Echizen seemed utterly unexpected. Indeed, every face in the room clearly stiffened in shock and fixed their gazes solely upon Lord Echizen. "While I deeply appreciate your gracious goodwill—and accept it gratefully as Echizen in my personal capacity—in my role as Edo Town Magistrate, I cannot comply with His Lordship's mercy or those considerations." "That is..." "This is excessively obstinate." "Then, Lord Echizen." "How do you intend to dispose of this matter?"

“This comes as an unexpected inquiry.” “All investigative records and preliminary examination proceedings have already been submitted to Tatsunokuchi with a formal request for an impartial public verdict once the Court of Justice convenes.” “The matter has departed from Echizen’s hands—in this affair, Echizen himself awaits judgment with utmost sincerity in his heart. You must surely be aware of this already.”

“But—they have received His Lordship’s confidential instructions not to accept that matter at Tatsunokuchi.” “They are not to accept that matter at Tatsunokuchi—such is His Lordship’s confidential instruction.” “There is no need to accommodate His Lordship’s confidential instruction.” “Lord Echizen.” “Is this not an outrageous statement?” “Are you saying you would ignore the gracious will of the shogunate?” “That is correct,” he answered decisively. “For what purpose does the Tatsunokuchi Court of Justice exist?” “If we were to move according to confidential instructions and such, what would become of the law’s dignity?” “Th-that’s absurd!”—unable to remain silent any longer. Lord Kuze Yamato-no-kami interjected forcefully from beside them.

“These great laws were established by the Tokugawa family.” “Tatsunokuchi judges all public matters of good and evil throughout the realm through those very laws.” “When we have explicit words from the main Tokugawa shogunal house, what possible irregularity could there be?” “…Preposterous!” “Ah now, Lord Yamato—please calm your anger.” “What Echizen reveres is precisely that principle.” “The law must inherently contain not the slightest trace of personal interest.” “Even if it was the main Tokugawa house that first established these great laws, once they have taken effect as statutes governing all people under heaven, neither the shogunate’s will may sway them nor should it presume to interfere—should His Lordship himself violate their absolute dignity, then His Lordship too becomes an enemy of the law.” “It disrupts society, shatters order, and ultimately leads the Tokugawa shogunate to destroy itself.”

“……This is beyond remedy.” Yamato-no-kami turned around and exchanged wry smiles with Nakayama Izumo-no-kami, the North Town Magistrate.

Izumo-no-kami, too, seemed to feel obligated to say something—

“Now, Lord Echizen.” “You shouldn’t cling so single-mindedly to legalistic arguments.” “You have long resided in a laid-back countryside like Ise Yamada, Lord Echizen—it’s only natural you remain unversed in Edo’s affairs and the shogunate’s inner workings. Yet politics has its front and back stages, and even in applying the law, adjustments and considerations are always made.” “Originally, the laws of the Orient take benevolence as their foundation—harsh punishments are not their aim.” “Moreover, as Zhu Xi also states—”

"The governance of sages takes transforming the people through virtue as its foundation," he quoted. "Punishment merely supplements where virtue does not reach..." He concluded the classical reference with a period's weight before adding his own commentary: "That's probably how it should be, wouldn't you agree?" The North Town Magistrate leaned forward, silk sleeves rustling against the council chamber's tatami. "Lord Echizen—if you cling so rigidly to the law as your shield, you'll find yourself shackled by its chains."

He laughed in a worldly-wise manner.—Many faces nodded in agreement. —as an affirmation of common sense. However, Echizen did not respond. Echizen ignored it.

At that moment, Makino Inaba-no-kami slipped closer to Tettsuzen and was whispering something in a low voice.

Tettsuzen had frequently visited the private residence of Inaba-no-kami, the Commissioner of Temples and Shrines, to petition the shogunate for the publication of the Tripitaka left by his late teacher. Given that Inaba-no-kami was a devotee of his, talk of Lord Echizen naturally arose, and for some time now, the two had been mutually concerned about this matter. As it was whispered, what Inaba-no-kami said could not be heard, but Tettsuzen’s reply boomed out unrestrainedly for all to hear. “Ha ha ha ha! “I don’t know a thing. “I don’t know a thing about politics or laws or such matters. “What could a clueless monk like me possibly say to Lord Echizen? “Can we not simply let Lord Echizen act as he pleases? …I’ve come here as a mere spectator.” “Ha ha ha!”

The atmosphere grew tense. People’s eyes saw Echizen-no-kami’s attitude as clear self-willed obstinacy,

(That’s right. Let him do as he pleases and see how it turns out.)

Their inclination to let him have his way grew stronger.

Around that time, a figure came racing down the narrow slope between great trees from the dense jungle behind Fukiage. It was Yabuta Sukehachi, looking flustered. Upon entering the Kurokuwa estate, he signaled to Makino Inaba-no-kami and began whispering inquiries in a corner of the veranda. "Have you concluded your discussion with Lord Echizen?" "No... Not yet." "Will it take much longer?" "Everyone's just been sitting there in one awkward silence after another. I fear Lord Echizen's compliance may be beyond hope."

“Then, what of His Lordship’s will?” “His stance remains uncompromising. I thought I had admonished him quite thoroughly, but...”

“That complicates matters.” “Hmm, what’s to be done?” “His Lordship—” “Today’s matter must weigh heavily on His Lordship’s mind.” “He has already proceeded to the Fukiage tea pavilion somewhat earlier than the appointed hour—alone—and keeps urgently asking, ‘Has Echizen not arrived yet?’”

"Contrary to His Lordship’s gracious intentions—that he would persist in such needless obstinacy—surely His Lordship remains entirely unaware of this." "That goes without saying." "Undoubtedly, Echizen would come before His Lordship rejoicing in imperial benevolence and weeping with gratitude for his lord’s favor—and His Lordship eagerly awaits that very sight." "But why would Lord Echizen—" "At this juncture, we have no choice but to defer entirely to His Lordship’s will." "In case matters grew complicated—as a precaution—we even invited Tettsuzen Zenji here, yet look at him over there coolly observing as if this were mere spectacle."

“Then there can be no more delay…” “There’s no alternative.” “I shall take him.” After withdrawing from Inaba-no-kami’s presence, Sukehachi stepped onto the veranda and solemnly declared: “Lord Echizen, please come this way. “His Lordship has been eagerly awaiting you.” A pale tension flashed across the assembled officials’ faces. The mere mention of “His Lordship” made bodies instinctively stiffen—even when spoken through another’s voice. But Lord Echizen’s muscles merely rippled with a supple motion,

“Very well.”

Quietly returning a bow to Yabuta, he once more expressed gratitude to the assembly for their kindness and rose from there.

Incarnation

The area behind Fukiage evoked the image of deep mountains. Covered by giant trees and dense bamboo grass that no one could peer through, the path had been deliberately constructed with twists and turns, making it impossible to reach without a guide. When one became aware of the gurgling water sound, there was a precarious log bridge on a rock face that seemed like a ravine itself. Upon crossing it, for the first time, a wide lawn spread out before one’s eyes. Beyond the lawn, a sprawling rock formation could be seen, and atop it stood a single teahouse.

Inside the teahouse, there was a human figure. Abruptly, that person sat perfectly still. And then—that face looked this way. It was Yoshimune.

Magistrate Ōoka strode over and took his place before the pavilion. "Oh, Echizen. Come in, come in." It was a voice brimming with anticipation. This marked their second meeting here, but the Yoshimune before him now bore no resemblance to the cold shogun. There lingered about Tokugawa Yoshimune an unexpected warmth—even a faint echo of Bontchi Shinno-suke from his Kishū family youth. By protocol, one ought to have first prostrated in the distant antechamber. Yet Lord Echizen's feet—nay, his entire being—pressed forward with such unyielding resolve that he found himself standing directly before Yoshimune's face.

“……?”

Yoshimune looked up at him, dumbfounded. "Echizen." "Won't you sit?" At last came his rebuke. Yet Magistrate Ōoka kept standing rigidly, fixing Yoshimune with an eerily calm stare as he spoke. "Your Lordship should be the one to withdraw from that seat." "I must ask you to remove the matting and relocate your position." "Wh-what?"

Yoshimune doubted his ears. There, even Yabuta Sukehachi—who should have been standing outside the teahouse—suddenly noticed the situation and leapt aghast behind Magistrate Ōoka. With eyes brimming with shock, murderous intent, and suspicion, he gripped his short sword's hilt, poised to instantly stab through the magistrate's back at the slightest provocation. Magistrate Ōoka remained utterly calm. He knew what threatened his back. Yet without so much as a glance backward, he met Yoshimune's gaze with his own.

“Let me make this clear: Ōoka Tadasuke has not come here today as a mere retainer of the shogunate. I present myself bearing the office of Edo South Town Magistrate. While you remain seated upon that mat, this interrogation cannot lawfully commence. To uphold the dignity of our statutes, you must relinquish your seat.” “Wh-what nonsense do you utter, Echizen? Is this some jape—or have you taken leave of your senses?” “No—I am Judge Tadasuke, charged with upholding the realm’s edicts however nominally. That such a query escapes your lips suggests Your Lordship’s own grasp on reason grows tenuous.”

“Then I shall not permit this!” “Nor shall I overlook it!” Yoshimune’s earlobes flushed crimson. The essence he had restrained in recent years—that volatile temper and passionate blood once freely unleashed during his Kishū days—now surged across his countenance after long dormancy. As if he had deliberately provoked this reaction while awaiting the psychological moment, Magistrate Ōoka Tadasuke now bellowed thunderously with his whole spirit. This roar also served to check the murderous advance of Yabuta Sukehachi, who had been poised to strike from behind.

“Silence! You are the root of evil. For one who could be called the very source of the world’s evils to dare utter such words to this magistrate is nothing short of utter presumption. You overstep your station—this magistrate has brought his arresting rope and jitte here.” “Do you intend to use those against Yoshimune?” “That depends on the circumstances.” “I cannot call this madness, but what insanity drives you to dare brand me, Yoshimune, as the root of all evil?” “As long as Your Lordship persists in maintaining such bluster, I cannot possibly explain the details. You must first demonstrate humility.”

“Very well!” “I’ll hear you out.”

With that, Yoshimune yanked out the mat beneath his knees as if plucking it free and flung it brusquely outward,

“Well.” “Go on, state your case.” “How am I the root of evil?” “I will not tolerate sophistry.” “If you obscure your words even slightly, I’ll cut you down.”

“No— In any case, if you take issue with this magistrate’s questions, state your objections plainly.—First, I ask: To whom in this world do the realm’s laws—those established by the ancestral shrines, their fundamental principles and every article—apply?”

“Not a single soul in this realm shall be exempt.” “Then even the shogunate itself cannot stand beyond the law’s reach.” “Wh-what… Cease this petty questioning!” “No—this touches upon governance’s vital core.” Tadasuke pressed with desperate intensity. “—Does the shogunate reign above the law, or kneel beneath it?”

“When, pray tell, have I, Yoshimune, ever violated the law?” “This is no trivial inquiry.—If we trace it back, for over twenty years now, since the time of your predecessor’s predecessor, the current shogunate has been committing grave crimes.” “Hmm…” “So... that’s what you mean to say?” Yoshimune's raging blood had somewhat subsided from his face. Signs that the door to comprehension had begun to creak open became apparent.

When he sensed this, Magistrate Echizen-no-kami felt the framework of his heart suddenly begin to slacken. Ah—you understand. He had believed without doubt that you would come to comprehend... Yet even as he thought all would now be well, his eyelashes teetered perilously close to growing hot and damp. “...I see.” “So... you mean to declare that?”

Yoshimune groaned once more from the depths of his heart. To judge is to be judged.

It had not yet been many years since Yoshimune had assumed the office of the eighth shogun. His innovative ambitions appeared quite decisive and bold, but their actual results still had not progressed as desired. The form changes, but the substance remains unchanged. They bow to authority, but the internal corruption only hardens the shell it wears.

The roots of corruption ran deep. The roots of misgovernment stretched far into the past. The thirty-five-year-old new shogun—who had assumed office burning with ambition to reform all this overnight—had recently come to feel with painful clarity, like a defeated general, the vast gulf between ideal and reality, and how excruciatingly difficult it was to implement such changes. He had dismissed them en masse—the eunuch-like chamberlains, incompetent officials wielding nothing but flattery and bribe-loving cunning, their connected purveyors, rotten Confucian scholars, and lowly go-betweens trafficking between the inner and outer courts—yet even as these generational castle rats seemed to retreat into shadows, their schemes never truly ceased. If anything, they twisted "shadow-whispers" and "clandestine maneuvers" into ever more complex patterns, visibly grating on Yoshimune at times.

Even the frontal reform of misgovernment was no exception. Edicts of reform and abolition were frequently issued, but their spirit and results showed no signs of taking root or bearing fruit. From ousted high-ranking officials and factions of scholars, critical voices furtively leaked into the town, but even through Yoshimune’s eyes, society showed not the slightest sign of improvement. Yoshimune himself wore tsumugi silk robes and hakama of kara-zan cotton, insisted on rustic meals, and enforced frugality in both the inner and outer courts—yet his reputation remained unfavorable for demanding the same simplicity and stoic austerity from the general populace.

According to a report from Kitamachi Bugyō Nakayama Izumo-no-kami, criminals in the city—though once decreased—were said to have proliferated rapidly since around last year.—And while the South remained unknown, the northern magistrate’s office was constantly filled with these offenders, with prison expansion now stated to be a matter of urgent necessity. What did the expansion of prison facilities signify? Yoshimune had no choice but to consider. The North Town Magistrate prided itself on this. Was this truly something to take pride in? But more than that—could Yoshimune himself, as the new shogun, find this acceptable?

The original wildness that had existed in his youth.

And the passion and ideals honed from that wildness had collided with the harsh realities of vast human populations, driving him toward a state of utter helplessness in recent times.—The path ahead seemed clear—to persist as a man of lukewarm sensibilities indulging in fine robes and delicacies, swelling the ranks of concubines in the inner palace, siring dozens of children destined only for idle privilege, and awaiting old age within a gilded mausoleum built atop the suffering masses.

For Yoshimune, this was no life he could endure. He knew the taste of rice from cheap eateries and had seen black-market meat sellers clucking their tongues under night-soba vendors' lanterns. How much more like a life worth living—a truly human existence—must that be, he wondered.—After all, he had secretly come to believe Magistrate Echizen was the only one with whom he could bear his heart and speak openly on such matters. Yet though he kept Echizen in his thoughts day and night, circumstances these past months had made summoning him through official decree impossible. The anguish he felt ran deeper for his own sake than for Echizen’s.

When the words “the shogunate itself is the root of evil” were spoken from his mouth, Yoshimune was momentarily startled—yet at once also felt as though he had suddenly been told what he had long wished to hear. A resonance traveled from his eardrums to his skull; propping this reverberation against his eyelids, he closed his eyes for a time—and within that darkness, his heart...

(That's right. Exactly!) He clearly realized that he himself was shouting. It was with a voice separate from himself.

However, Yoshimune soon clearly recognized that voice as his own. By now, he had fully perceived Magistrate Echizen-no-kami's true intentions. From the time he had served as Yamada Magistrate in Ise—where in two or three incidents he had stubbornly refused to bend the law against even the Kishū family of the Three Houses for the sake of local citizens—this resolute man now stood clearly before him.

“Magistrate.” “You have rightly challenged that point.” “None but Your Honor could pass judgment on the sins of the shogunate—that fount of evils accumulated over generations.” “Judge Yoshimune; Yoshimune will listen with the mindset of one seated in the sanded court.” He withdrew from his seat without hesitation. Magistrate Echizen also took his seat below.

“I humbly beg your forgiveness for my earlier discourtesy.” “It was because I wished to speak after witnessing your humility.” “Yet from the very moment Your Lordship deigned to appoint one such as Echizen—a man whose former life was dissolute and who remains riddled with flaws and shortcomings—to the office of Edo Town Magistrate over a minor official from some rural backwater—unworthy though I am—Echizen had resolved himself for this day. Though lacking in talent and learning—I found in the *Mukeiroku* text these words of Xun Qing—”

“All affairs under heaven—if one does not clearly understand the principles of life inherent in one’s mind—hold no basis for judgment or decision. How much more so for those who become lords governing human lives, and for those ministers and judicial officers appointed to administer governance and punishment—the examination of life becomes a matter of utmost importance, beyond what words can convey.”

“...it appeared,” “With this, when assuming office, I came to believe it would serve as the talisman of my duties.” “Moreover, from Tettsuzen Zenji of Uji, I have periodically received stern admonishments...”

1. View all living beings with compassionate eyes. 1. No punishment and empty prisons—these indeed constitute the ideal of law. 1. Divine judgment upon humans is difficult. Constantly reflect on the awe of humans judging humans. "If you judge, you shall be judged." 1. One prison cell for ten thousand lives—. 1. With every punishment administered, shed tears of ten thousand prayers. Taking these principles as my guide, I have repeated them to myself day and night while carrying out my precarious duties as town magistrate. "However, I came to realize that no matter how strenuously we strive, if there exist privileged individuals above the law—unrestrained by its constraints—then even should we proclaim ten thousand statutes, they would remain mere empty words upon the populace." "—That, unexpectedly, stems from past transgressions committed by Echizen himself in his capacity as Town Magistrate."

Wrathful Magistrate At length, as Echizen-no-kami poured out the depths of his heart, Yoshimune did not utter a single word, listening. Echizen spoke without mincing words. The political crimes of Tsunayoshi's generation—where he himself created bad laws to impose upon the people while dwelling beyond the reach of law, in a realm above it, plunging countless lives into suffering over more than ten years—now revealed ever more horrifying consequences with each passing year. Even after Tsunayoshi’s death, even as the shogunate’s name changed through the sixth and seventh generations, it did not cease. Once children of humans were condemned to a cursed generation, their misfortune became endless—linking unfortunate fates to unnatural deaths—and this spread through social evils like tenacious weeds.

“For example…” Echizen continued, forcing out the words as if swallowing boiling water. —Osode’s evil. Oen’s evil. Moreover, the emergence of vagrants like Ookame Kamejirō and his ilk—all stemmed from the polluted waters that bred them, the true source of sin.

The corruption and decay within the samurai class itself, as seen in Bakemono Gyōbu and his gang; the perilous conspiracies in the western provinces; even the rampant operations of smuggling rings overseas—when traced back to their source, not a single one of these was anything other than a growth spawned from a rotten pond. Truly, for the human world, the shogunate stood as the source of sin that ceaselessly produced human suffering and human evil—to call it the "abode of sin" would have been no exaggeration. Was it not these frail women, ignorant children of men, and youths with pent-up energy—those doomed to such a generation—who were truly pitiable? Where one poisonous mushroom grew, only more would follow.

Viewed this way, The childish pranks of old, such as the Nakano dog kennel break-ins, had to naturally be deemed innocent. If Osode and Oen were to bear guilt, then to whom should we assign the greater crimes—the crimes of misgovernment inflicted upon their fathers? The death of Ookame Kamejirō's father, Gorōzaemon, had also stemmed from the same cause. Had his father not been among the corrupt officials of misgovernment, Kamejirō might never have lived his life as he did. The same could be said of Anoujuu. There remained room for leniency toward the others as well.

How could Magistrate Echizen alone possibly pass judgment on all these individuals? Moreover, Echizen himself—being one who had a foolish and dissolute past—

This was Echizen's lament. It was occupational anguish and torment. And when he became mired in its execution—when he vowed to become the very incarnation of the law—he saw an insurmountable wall. It was the existence known as the shogunate. When he saw it, he could not help but be driven by the blood of indignation. For the sake of the powerless masses beneath the law, he resolved to become an asura. Today, he had transformed into Asura Echizen and confronted Yoshimune.

“Ah... Somehow I feel I’ve glimpsed a great light. “Magistrate—bind Yoshimune with rope, if only for an instant! Truly, the shogunate itself is the root of all evil. “Bind me, and strike this body with the jitte in heaven’s stead!”

Yoshimune abruptly shouted.

“Ah. I humbly thank you. Do you now understand?” “Have you resolved it?” Yoshimune showed his characteristic surge of emotion at the corners of his eyes, yet still he would not cease urging, “Strike! Strike!” “In Your Lordship’s current reign, there have yet been no such crimes as those previously enumerated. If I must specify the punishment—with all due respect—it would have to extend beneath the shogunal mausoleum. Please set your heart at ease. Magistrate Echizen-no-kami’s inquiry has now concluded.”

“No—Yoshimune cannot rest easy. “Echizen—place the jitte and rope over there.”

He leapt down from the veranda and rushed onto the broad lawn below.

For some reason, he planted himself firmly on the lawn. Echizen-no-kami placed the jitte and arrest rope before him in accordance with the command. Yoshimune placed both hands on the ground and swore an oath upon them.

“When I think back—it was terrifying. How countless innocent souls and those cursed by cruel fate were ensnared without cause by these hemp ropes and white fangs... generation upon generation cast into darkness’s groaning abyss! While this Yoshimune draws breath—I swear to forge a world where prison cells stand empty! Let this atone—may those who bore ancient grudges now forgive me.”

And then, Yoshimune turned his knees toward one side of the widely spread sky.

Beneath the clear autumn sky, the roofs of Great Edo's towns—along with bridges, the great river, small boats, and willows lining both banks—formed a bird's-eye view as though they were objects at the bottom of a lake. It could also be seen as a vast tapestry of life that countless commoners beneath had drawn out in their struggle to survive each day. Yoshimune's heart had indeed taken a stance of facing this reality—distant though his position might be. He placed his hands properly upon the earth and apologized to the people with the same words he had used before. Through his office, he reflected on and repented for the great crimes committed by previous shogunates. Then he swore an oath—with Ōoka Tadasuke, the man he trusted, as his aide—that he would surely establish proof of reform in this world, calling upon Heavenly justice to bear witness.

………… Echizen-no-kami sat distantly on the grass, maintaining vassal etiquette toward Yoshimune's figure. But when Yoshimune abruptly rose, it was as though every bone in his body had disassembled—he trembled reverently and wept without cease.

“Echizen.”

“…………”

“Echizen.” “Ha... Yes.” “Come here—” he said, leading him to the sukiya’s veranda. However, Echizen already had a certain official who could no longer approach his side again. Even if he approached, he prostrated himself.

“Well... Echizen. “...When you think about it, both you and I have ended up making formidable positions our lifelong seats.” “Hahaha… As a human being, I’ve somewhat failed at this.”

“Truly,” Echizen-no-kami replied, raising his still-damp face as he managed a tearful smile. “But this is a crime Your Lordship has committed against me alone.” “Echizen—to speak honestly—as a man, profoundly regrets this.” “Forgive me.” “A cursed bond we were born to share.” “...Regain your composure and withdraw today.” “I shall take my leave at once.”

“But... Wait. Echizen—you shall not die.” “Your Lordship’s words...?” “Dying is forbidden—this I declare through official decree.” “You once judged the shogunate in your role as magistrate.” “Now Yoshimune commands this as head of the warrior class.” “You must not commit seppuku!” “Ha... Yes.” Magistrate Echizen-no-kami—who had begun to rise—collapsed flat against the earth once more.

His mistress’s house

The year came to an end, and the autumn of the following year arrived. The gate of the Minamimachi Magistrate’s Office continued its mission among the citizens without incident—or rather, with much activity.

As the gate protecting Great Edo’s livelihoods and nightly restful sleep. And as a champion of the honest. Even the notorious series of incidents involving Osode and her group were resolved through exile to distant islands and other severe punishments, until eventually even the citizens wore expressions of having forgotten it all. Not a single death sentence had been carried out. Moreover, within that year, a general amnesty decree was proclaimed. In particular, every last criminal—whether imprisoned during the fifth shogun Tsunayoshi’s reign for violating animal protection laws or convicted of crimes stemming from those laws—was pardoned.

Osode was one of them, and Kamejirō’s gang of evildoers, who had initiated the Nakano Dog Kennel Raid, were also released from exile and returned.

At the onset of this autumn. With the early autumn wind, those people scattered to various places, each going their own way.

Osode, with feet that no longer wandered the streets as she had envisioned from the boat, went straight to Aoyama Zenkō-in and shaved her head. The unfamiliar nunnery life filled her rather with the joy of rebirth. Yet each time she heard the nightly chorus of insects, Oen...? she would recall her daughter and dampen her pillow with tears. Within her, a maternal instinct stronger than ever before had grown acute. The nunnery's silence and meditation now focused her entire being into single-minded concentration.

“Oen is living safely.” “I’ll let you meet her.”

It was already late autumn. A traveling monk had casually come calling and taken her out—a disciple of Tettsuzen of Uji named Tetsuun. Needless to say, he was Magistrate Echizen-no-kami's biological elder brother, the man once known as Mondo. Tetsuun was lame. Dragging his disabled leg, he made his way through Gonda Plain toward Yotsuya's lights. They lost count of how many blocks they passed. The surrounding neighborhood held nothing but quiet minor estates. Turning at that intersection, they stood beneath a black-walled barrier where the alley narrowed to a dead end. What appeared to be a rear gate stood open. Tetsuun wordlessly gestured.

“May I enter?” To this too, Tetsuun merely nodded silently. Osode timidly stepped inside. She stealthily made her way diagonally through the garden, her hem growing damp from dew-covered grasses. Then a window came into view. An old-fashioned lamp called a tankei glowed within. ...Ah! She stood frozen, her entire body trembling momentarily. There visible through the window was undoubtedly Magistrate Echizen-no-kami himself. And sitting properly across the desk facing him was Oen.

On the desk lay books. Magistrate Echizen was lecturing Oen on their reading and meaning. Like a terakoya teacher instructing young children. Osode drew her body closer, step by step, until before she knew it, she was right outside the window.

“Good, good. You’ve started reading properly now. What do you think, Oen? Now that you’re beginning to understand, studying books must be enjoyable, don’t you agree?” “Yes. Now that some time has passed, it’s finally become enjoyable for me. At first, I just couldn’t get it into my head.” “That’s right. You couldn’t even read a single simple primer that terakoya children manage.” “It was the first time since I was born that I had looked at characters intending to read them.”

“You should consider yourself born anew from now on. Since even Echizen isn’t particularly well-versed in the classics, once you become able to read works like The Tale of Genji, I shall find you a proper teacher.”

“No. I wish to keep you as both Father and master forever.”

“Ha ha ha ha. There’s still something truly newborn-like about you. Since Father has his official duties at the magistrate’s office, I can’t stay that late every night—but on nights I come here, I’ll teach you until we’re burning the midnight oil! Now then—take out the inkstone, grind the ink, and begin your usual calligraphy practice.”

“I like calligraphy. “Father, won’t you please write the next model for me already…” “Have you been practicing that much already?” “During the day, whenever I have a moment to spare…” “Let me see. Show me.” “Hmm.” “Truly, you’ve improved remarkably in such a short time. …But there’s still something slightly off here.” “Very well—I shall take your hand and guide it.” Due to Oen’s simple innocence in one aspect of her character, her father Magistrate Echizen had there completely transformed into an exemplary terakoya teacher.

He stood up, moved behind Oen’s back, and patiently taught her brush techniques by taking her hand holding the brush over her shoulder.—It had been nearly a year since they had begun instruction in this manner, starting from guiding her hand through the very basics like the first character 'i'.

He had quietly acquired a separate residence there, following the advice of his close friend Ichikawa Rakuō, unbeknownst to society.

Everyone believed it was a mistress's residence. In the neighborhood that had vaguely noticed Magistrate Echizen's comings and goings, "The magistrate has found himself quite the pleasant diversion," they whispered among themselves.

they were whispering behind his back. However, the one who had been called Rakuō’s adopted daughter and transplanted from wild fields into this house’s garden was none other than Oen, who was already publicly registered as deceased. Magistrate Echizen had discovered a great paternal duty toward her. For him, this was an unexpected source of joy and purpose. To what extent could he—through his sincere devotion and paternal affection—impart upon this wild maiden, who until eighteen had grown up like a beautiful squirrel amid utter ignorance and evil company, the cultured refinement and inner beauty befitting a woman?

"Yes, that is also my apology to Osode." From then on, whenever he came here, he began devoting himself earnestly. Both teacher and student, bound by such deep affection they seemed entranced, deliberately used a dim desk lamp as they sat facing each other across the writing table, completely losing track of the late hour once again that night. Osode had now wiped clean even the faintest haze lingering in her heart like the night sky. Though endless tears fell and suppressing sobs pained her terribly, these were never tears that wrung out curses and lamentations like before. They were sweet tears of joy that even she herself could taste. They were tears that now made her want to both revere the man's true intentions and beg his forgiveness.

“Well… Let’s go back. If this were discovered, it would only create more hardship—for Oen and for yourself.” Tetsuun whispered softly into her ear. Obediently nodding, Osode quietly stepped back from the window’s light.

She returned unnoticed to the gate where they had entered. When she turned back, tears overflowed once more for Issan. At that moment, Oen stretched her pale face out through the window. Osode hurried out into the street.

“They’re geese.” “Oh, a flock of wild geese passed by, crying as they went.” “…Then I shall take my leave here.” “When I emerge from Uji, I shall call on you again.” “And each time, the two of us shall come here to observe how the seedlings grow.”

Tetsuun dragged his lame leg toward the intersection ahead that seemed tinged with either moonlight or mist, departing with his staff producing its utterly unsentimental clacking.