Pathway to Japanese Literature

In place of the magistrate

“Okoma-san, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Oh, Gonji-san, you never lose that sharp tongue of yours!”

“A sharp tongue’s a drifter’s trait—but unlike your beauty, it don’t breed sins.”

“What’s this? First insults, now sweet talk?”

Whenever they met face-to-face, this was how they spoke to one another.

Okoma—daughter of Nihei who ran a modest water tea house before Kanda Myōjin Shrine, a beauty rumored to surpass even the legendary Osen and Ofuji of Kyōhō and Meiwa eras, her loveliness fit for Kunisada’s woodblock prints—through some twist of fate now served Gotō San’emon at the gold mint, straightening sandals and plucking garden weeds. Yet she shared an inexplicable rapport with that low-ranking Tide-Spitter Gonji, a menial servant of no account.

Admittedly, there was neither love nor affection between them. Although Okoma was radiantly beautiful, Gonji lived up to his Tide-Spitter moniker—a man perhaps nearing forty, a rootless drifter without family, wealth, dignity, or discernment. Thus, a man like him could harbor no ambitions toward Okoma, who had suitors aplenty.

That Okoma—strong-willed and fiery-tempered despite her stunning beauty, barely nineteen yet wrapping wolves around her finger to savor them with feigned sweetness—and Gonji—carefree, quick-witted, and thoroughly elusive—should share something resembling friendship came as no particular surprise.

“By the way, Okoma-san, there’s a private matter I need to discuss.”

After trading their usual banter, Gonji's face turned unexpectedly serious, his tongue flicking across those sharply tapered lips of his.

“Oh please, just confess your private matters right here and now.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to sweet-talk you, Okoma-san.”

“Of course I wouldn’t bat an eye if you tried sweet-talking me—but aren’t you just angling to borrow pocket money again?”

“Let’s not go airing dirty laundry now—that happened just once! When my split of the bill came up short and I nearly suffered terrible shame, I asked you to cover the difference—didn’t I return it with a gift the very next day?”

“If you’re going around braggin’ ’bout your gift, I’ll be in a real fix—”

“Well fine then—today’s business is a matter o’ national importance. Don’t go makin’ light of it an’ hear me out proper.”

“A matter o’ national importance, is it?—Then I s’pose I must listen lest we displease Lord Suruganokami. This way, then—Hohoho.”

“Mistakin’ me for Ōkubo Hikozaemon’s lecture now? No thank you!”

Pushing through the customers who were watching them depart with bemused expressions, Gonji followed behind Okoma.
Separated from the shopfront by nothing more than an accounting counter stood a token six-tatami room that seemed occasionally used for overnight stays, furnished with basic domestic necessities.

"It's sweltering shut up like this—should I open it a bit?"

"Hold your horses—let's get through our talk first before you go flinging windows open."

"But it's April already!"

"April or May makes no difference—you don't court a lady with every shutter thrown wide."

“Are you actually planning to court me now, Gonji-san?”

“You’ve got me there—if I were ten years younger, I might actually feel inclined to court you.”

“Even if you were young, you couldn’t change that face of yours.”

“You’ve said it now, Okoma!”

They had digressed yet again.

“Enough with the jokes—just say what you need to say already! The shop’s only got Kan-chan looking after it—she must be struggling!”

Even so, Okoma pulled the conversation back to its main point.
When she sat slightly askew, a crimson something spilled between her knees—those limbs smooth with subcutaneous fat, that pearl-toned skin and cherry-shell-like nails. Merely glimpsing these made one marvel at how this woman’s blessed beauty suffused her entire being.

“I’ll speak plainly, Okoma-san—you must sever ties with Lord Aizawa Sōsaburō.”

“What?!”

“And now I must task you—you need to approach the gold mint’s Gotō San'emon’s heir, Lord Sannosuke.”

“Who dares order me to such folly? How insolent—from a Tide-Spitter like you—”

Okoma flushed crimson and struck Gonji’s cheek with the red sash she’d removed and been clutching.

Her skin, beautiful like polished silk, suddenly flushed crimson—even her black eyes gleaming sharply with terrible fury held an unbearable allure in Okoma’s case.

“Okoma-san, your anger’s justified, but there’s deeper reasons here. Settle down and hear me out.”

“Who could stay calm? May dogs devour you and let that be your end!”

As Okoma abruptly stood up, Gonji grabbed her hem and pulled her back.

“Just like the ditty says—better for me to get eaten by dogs than spout such heartless words.”

“What’re you doing? Let go! If you think your only redeeming trait’s this shameless hem-grabbing act—I’ll scream!”

“Ah, scream your lungs out then, Okoma—even if they beat me senseless and toss me out, I won’t begrudge it. Just ditch Lord Aizawa and worm your way into that Gotō brat’s household—no boast, but I’d slice my own belly if it came to it.”

Gonji's upraised face had stiffened with an unnervingly focused intensity—even this era's most grotesque Tide-Spitter no longer wore a countenance one could laugh at.

“The hell you say?!”

“Is no one listening? Okoma-san—let’s lay everything bare. This comes straight from Magistrate Lord Yabe Suruganokami’s coffers.”

“What?!”

“Okoma-san, I’ve come to court you on Lord Suruganokami’s behalf—listen to me.”

Gonji's voice had grown completely choked up, and Okoma sat rigidly before him with her head bowed.

The duty to investigate ill-gotten wealth

The horror of the great famines in Tenpō Year 4 and again in Year 7 was recorded in writings and passed down through elders’ tales, but Year 8 in particular saw destitution reach its peak—one could rightly say the people across all Japan had turned sallow with hunger, and from Edo to Tōhoku, days of misery continued where starved corpses literally lay strewn across the fields.

In Osaka, Ōshio Heihachirō's Rebellion broke out in February, and in Edo, from spring onward, the atmosphere had sunk completely, with hundreds starving to death each day.

There were proposals to open the shogunate's granaries to relieve the destitute or mint debased currency to ease the strained financial system, but none that considered more fundamental solutions—such as lowering rice prices or immediately saving hundreds of thousands of impoverished people.

Magistrate Yabe Suruganokami—who would later be framed by Torii Kainokami and die in indignation without witnessing Mizuno Echizen-no-kami’s fate—stood among the few truly virtuous officials not only during the Tenpō era but throughout the entire three-hundred-year Tokugawa reign.

At this time he remained young and vigorous, yet as a newly appointed magistrate, there lingered apprehension about his lack of authoritative presence; nevertheless, he undertook and dismissed what many considered rather harsh work.

His first target became the officials of the Gold Mint and Silver Mint under the magistrate’s jurisdiction.
This involved their practice of receiving a commission called bun'ichi (10 per 1000, meaning 10 ryō for every 1,000 ryō minted) with each coinage production, alongside various other perks—it was said Gotō San'emon’s personal wealth alone likely exceeded one million ryō.
In Kōka Year 2, long after these events when Gotō of the Gold Mint received death sentencing, the official charge became slandering superiors; however, the true cause lay in his collusion with Torii Kainokami and others to mint debased currency while amassing excessive illicit wealth.

The officials of the Silver Mint were no less extravagant in their indulgence of luxury, with rumors circulating that mid-ranking officials like Konan had homes filled with koban coins, paid for grilled eel using nibu gold pieces, and built three villas each costing over a thousand ryō.

Lord Suruganokami considered seizing tribute money from these Gold Mint and Silver Mint officials for famine relief, but he simply couldn’t devise an appropriate method.
As part of his duties as Magistrate, conducting inspections at the Gold Mint posed no particular challenge; however, Gotō San'emon’s private residence in Fukiage-chō—specifically the inner storehouse said to be groaning with gold—remained beyond scrutiny even under the pretext of official duty.
The heads of the Gold and Silver Mints possessed insight comparable to today's Bank of Japan Governor; thus, even the Magistrate could not lightly point fingers at them, for if an investigation found no evidence of illicit hoarding, it would become a seppuku warrant.

Thus, though a man of incorruptible integrity, Lord Suruganokami—unable to overlook the worsening plight of townspeople and peasants each day—dispatched spies to the residences of Gold Mint and Silver Mint officials. He had them investigate their living conditions to determine hoarding activities, even making them copy the layouts and structures of main houses and villas.

The details of this period are recorded in works such as Kasshi Yawa, but for the virtuous Lord Suruganokami, this must have been an entirely unprecedented espionage policy.

“I’ll come clean.”
“I’m one of the spies Lord Yabe Suruganokami planted on Gotō of the gold mint—”

“What?!”

This surprised even Okoma.
That Gonji the Tide-Spitter—who always spouted nonsense—was a spy for the magistrate had not even occurred to Okoma, whose trade was judging people.

Moreover, that Gonji—who had staked his life infiltrating the gold mint—would so carelessly reveal his identity struck Okoma as utterly incomprehensible, for she knew full well how rigorously the spy system operated in those days.

“If I go blabbering such things, you’d be shocked, Okoma-san—but it’s all Lord Suruganokami’s orders. This ain’t my own idea.”

“……”

“Listen, Okoma-san—after two or three months of investigating, we’ve laid bare the lifestyles of every other official clear as day. But that damned ringleader Gotō San’emon’s dealings? Can’t pin ’em down. They say his three inner storehouses in Fukiage-chō are stuffed with ōban and koban coins, but since nobody’s ever gotten inside to see, Lord Suruganokami ain’t got no way to unravel the tribute money mystery with just street gossip.”

“……”

"I’ve been lodged at the Fukiage-chō mansion for six months now, but unlike Konan from the Silver Mint, Gotō of the Gold Mint runs a tight ship—outside my four ryō annual pay, I ain’t so much as glimpsed a koban’s face. Whether it’s truth or lies I don’t know, but they say if anyone enters those three inner storehouses, they get cut down on the spot without leaving. Figured if I got killed I’d come back as a ghost to report to Lord Suruganokami—been watching for my chance these past six months, but no luck."

“……”

“The keys to the three storehouses—San’emon keeps ’em himself and doesn’t let anyone open ’em.”

“……”

As Gonji’s account gradually approached its crucial point, Okoma listened with a feeling as if she wanted to cover her ears.

The magistrate’s subordinate—having broken off with Aizawa Sōsaburō, with whom Okoma had secretly pledged marriage, and now ardently visiting Gotō San'emon’s heir Sannosuke—this request could only mean investigating the three inner storehouses within Gotō’s private residence in Fukiage-chō.

When it came to most matters, Okoma would flatly refuse and send petitioners packing—but when the other party was Magistrate Yabe Suruganokami, such direct refusal proved impossible.
What a cruel twist of fate—for when Lord Suruganokami still drew his modest 1,500 koku stipend as Arson and Theft Magistrate, Okoma’s father Nihei had committed some minor offense that nearly earned him exile to distant islands, only to be spared through the magistrate’s merciful judgment—a debt demanding lifelong repayment.

"That Gotō's young heir makes daily shrine visits to drink tea he doesn't even want—Lord Yabe knows every detail. But having imposed a small debt of gratitude long ago, he declares he can't bring himself to ask Nihei or you directly."

“……”

“I understand Lord Yabe’s feelings well—those three storehouses in Fukiage-chō won’t open without a woman’s hand.”

“……”

“Okoma-san—enough with the empty words. Just step outside this temple grounds and look at Edo’s streets these days! With rice priced at two to per ryō—or rather, 100 mon for just 0.28 liters now—who can afford to eat? Who can?!”

“――――”

Gonji darkly choked back his words.

"In the countryside, they say they eat bracken roots and river snails, straw and cedar bark—but what in blazes are Edo's folks supposed to chew on? Three dropped dead by Shōhei Bridge yesterday, two more at Ochanomizu today—right in this district alone, who knows how many dozens or hundreds keel over daily in this cursed world."
"Even with relief huts scattered about, measured against all the starving mouths in Edo, it's like pissing on a bonfire. You seen the mobs flooding into the Sujikai and Izumi Bridge relief stations? Handing out single lousy bowls of gruel ain't no simple chore."

“……”

“I shouldn’t say this, but the government’s vaults are empty—they want to buy grain but got no funds. Ten thousand koku of relief rice went out, but that’s just a drop in the bucket! The townsfolk say they’d buy up a hundred thousand ryō worth of rice to sell half-price, but Lord Suruganokami insists we need three hundred thousand ryō minimum just to last till new harvests. You can’t squeeze that kinda coin from merchants—only place to count on is the pockets of Gold Mint and Silver Mint officials stuffed with koban!”

"I get it, Gonji-san."

“Huh?!”

Okoma suddenly raised her face and spoke as if wanting to silence Gonji’s torrent of words.

“I don’t know the reasoning behind it, but whether it’s across the way or next door—people can’t even get three proper meals, let alone decent hot water to drink. The weak ones, the elderly, the children—they’re all dropping dead one after another. I know that full well.”
“In times like these, prattling about love and romance seems wasteful—I’ll go.”

“Huh?!”
“I’ll go to Gotō’s young heir and see what’s inside those three storehouses for myself.”
“Is that true, Okoma-san?”

"But you know, when I think about ending up under that greenhorn's thumb, I find it galling."

“Okoma-san.”

“Why on earth was I born so beautiful?”

“Even if you say that, Okoma-san.”

“I want to cry, Gon no ji. Let me borrow your lap.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

Okoma laid herself down on Gonji’s lap and wept and wept and wept uncontrollably.
"So overwhelmed one might float away"—this expression could only truly be used at times like this.

Gonji endured with helpless resignation as the beautiful woman’s scalding tears streamed over the padded kimono onto his sturdy thighs.
That was truly a terrifying allure.

She would discard her life to save others.

“Does Mr. Aizawa know about that?”

Having cried herself out and lain still for some time, Okoma suddenly raised her head after about half an hour. Her face, thoroughly washed with tears, turned as crimson as a fresh plum, and the nineteen-year-old girl's overwhelming charm scattered an indescribable fragrance.

“Of course he knows—Mr. Aizawa joined the search too, but they couldn’t make any headway with Fukiage-chō. In the end, they couldn’t hold out any longer, so the discussion settled on relying on you.”

Until now, Gonji had been indulging in the beautiful woman’s tears upon his lap; he spoke as though roused from a dream.

“If you know that much about it, why don’t you go in there yourself?”

“He said he couldn’t face telling you these things himself, Okoma-san.”

“He’s spineless, isn’t he?”

“Huh?!”

“Isn’t that right? If this were about dumping me for some new woman, he could’ve had someone else deliver the message. But did he really think I’d refuse to end things when it’s about taking on this mission—about saving all of Edo?”

“Joke? This isn’t a joke, Okoma-san. Mr. Aizawa was just timid—that’s all there is to it. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘Break up with me’ to your face.”

"Hmm... Is that right?"

With a strangely discordant feeling, Okoma buried her chin in her collar and sank into thought.

"You shouldn't think ill of Mr. Aizawa, Okoma-san."

"I don't think ill of him, but I do think he's spineless."

"......"

"Where does such a samurai exist?"

“Okoma-san.”

“Shut up! —I can’t stand men who bite their fingers and cower while their woman gets stolen away.”

“Okoma-san.”

“Gonji-san, stay quiet. If I don’t get angry, I won’t have the drive to go to Gotō’s young heir.”

“……”

“Damn you!”

Gonji, unable to offer any comfort, could only silently look on at the woman’s disheveled state.

“Okoma-san, it’s only natural, but Mr. Aizawa isn’t to blame.”

“Quiet and get out, Gon no ji! Meddling spy—poking your nose into love affairs! Damn you! Keep this up and I’ll fall for you!”

“Ah!”

Gonji tried to recoil.
Okoma’s furious bearing overwhelmed him.

“Gon no ji, this burns my soul.”

“Okoma-san, keep your composure.”

“Mr. Aizawa’s a magistrate’s deputy with a two-hundred-koku stipend—a man of status. Even if we’d sworn to marry, someone like him and the daughter of a water teahouse like me go together like a lantern and a temple bell—I never thought it could last. —If I’m in the way, why couldn’t he say so himself?”

“Okoma-san, that’s impossible—Mr. Aizawa never meant to abandon you, nor was this some fabricated scheme to be rid of you—”

“I get it already, Gon no ji! That’s why I’m going to that Gotō gourd-bastard’s place on my own terms! I’ll discard this body to save everyone in Edo—no, all of Japan! What does Mr. Aizawa matter anyway?”

“……”

“Well then, when you go back, tell him—that I’ll be the one to break it off with Mr. Aizawa.”

Okoma stood up and approached the window where dusk's faint light streamed in.
There stood a dressing table. When she removed the cover draped over it, the freshly polished mirror revealed her face - slightly swollen yet made all the more beautiful by tear-stained cheeks.

It was already the time when Gotō Sannosuke would come visiting.

To the mansion in Fukiage-chō—Okoma’s resolve.

“Oh, Lord Gotō.”

“You’re being awfully friendly today, Okoma.”

“Because there’s no one else here.”

“Uh-huh-huh.”

Sannosuke, son of Gotō San'emon of the Gold Mint—though somewhat sickly and pale-complexioned—was by any measure a fine young samurai.
Leaving his sole attendant waiting at the shopfront, he alone proceeded straight to the inner quarters as was his custom.

“And what might be the reason you look more beautiful than usual?”

Brushing the hem of his haori, he placed the long garment beside him and—fan held at a slant—assumed a slightly affected pose.
In his mid-twenties—twenty-five or twenty-six years old—Sannosuke was young by any measure.

“It must be because you’ve graced us with your presence, Master.”

“Hmm-hmm-hmm.”

“Moreover, today I thought to give you that reply from before—I’ve been waiting since morning.”

Okoma sat beside him and, supplely bending her upper body, gazed up at Sannosuke’s blank face from below.

“That’s most welcome! Auspicious? Half-auspicious? Surely not inauspicious?”

“Whether fortune or misfortune awaits, I cannot say, but having fully discerned your intentions, Master, and after consulting my father, I have resolved to comply with your words.”

“Oh, truly? That’s most welcome! Once the matter’s settled at last, I’ll transfer this teahouse’s shares to another and establish you in a place of your choosing.”

“Ah, if I may interrupt your gracious words—”

“What’s this, Okoma?”

“If you would place this humble one by your side, Master, I would not mind being even a lowly servant—but if possible, I would most humbly ask to be placed at your Fukiage-chō mansion.”

“That’s an unusual wish—wouldn’t that be constricting?”

“I am prepared for that as well—having been born a woman and bound by the karmic fortune of being pledged to a splendid person such as yourself, Master, I wish to dwell in the Gold Mint mansion even for a single day.”

“Hmm.”

Precisely because of his pride in family prestige, Okoma’s request struck Sannosuke as most reasonable.

“What am I to do, Master? However comfortably I might live, being a kept woman like any other—I detest it.”

“Wait, wait—I’m not refusing your entry to Fukiage-chō. I’ll first inform Father and let you know his favorable decision in the near future.”

“Master, I beg of you.”

Okoma was desperate—clinging to Sannosuke’s knee, which he had never before allowed her near—vigorously shaking it as she unleashed every ounce of coquetry, willfulness, allure, and fragrance she possessed.

The Wish to Enter the Vaults

The matter advanced with unexpected rapidity.
It was merely three days later that Sannosuke's steadfast resolve—having remained single until twenty-six and never deigning to glance at any woman besides Okoma—finally swayed his obstinate father San'emon, resulting in Okoma's admission into the household as a "servant."

Okoma readily infiltrated Fukiage-chō. Yet upon entering the palatial mansion and standing among scores of servants, her beauty now became all the more striking.

Okoma—who had earned her reputation as a firebrand—served with unexpected obedience, which left even San'emon somewhat taken aback.

Two days, three days, five days—the days passed.

The terrible famine following the poor harvest had left all of Edo as cold and lifeless as wet ashes, but in Fukiage-chō, the Gotō mansion swirled with splendor and revelry.

Though nominally a servant, Okoma became in truth young master Sannosuke’s beloved mistress—her presence gradually blazing forth like fire—yet approaching the three storehouses in the rear remained beyond her wildest dreams.

On the seventh day,

Okoma had finally lost all patience.

“Master.”

Sannosuke, who had been dozing from exhaustion after Okoma’s caresses, was abruptly roused from his sweet dream.

“Oh—Okoma?”

Before anyone noticed, Okoma had slipped from the bedding and now sat at Sannosuke’s pillow side wearing only a single underrobe.

Perhaps due to the andon lamp casting light from one side alone, her normally dewy face appeared strangely drawn tight, while the hand she pressed against the tatami mat trembled violently.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Stay still and you’ll fall asleep—there’s no one who’d get up at this hour.”

Though Sannosuke’s tone resembled that of soothing a child kept awake past bedtime, Okoma shook her slightly loosened shimada hairstyle vigorously,

“No, I have a severe case of nervous excitability—at times like these, I must either douse my head in water or enter an underground cellar, otherwise I cannot sleep.”

“Then—”

Sannosuke raised his upper body with a slightly teasing air.
He thought that this woman who was like passion itself might indeed possess such peculiarities.

“I beg of you, Master—please let me enter one of the three storehouses in the rear.”

“That cannot be allowed.”

Sannosuke was slightly taken aback as well.

“Why ever is that?”

“That’s been settled so none may enter without Father’s permission.”

“Even in the dead of night?”

“Night or day.”

“Ah, ah.”

Okoma said as if throwing out the words and swiftly turned to show her back.

“Won’t you sleep, Okoma?”

“Please do rest. I shan’t sleep regardless.”

“This is troublesome.”

For a time, words ceased—but Okoma remained motionless, and Sannosuke did not once look away from her beautiful back.

"What could be inside that storehouse?"

"Well..."

Okoma’s question came so abruptly that even Sannosuke was momentarily startled.

“They say rumors claim there are piles of ōban and koban coins inside...”

“Well...”

“Won’t you show them to me just once?”

“Instead of spouting such nonsense, why not try finding a way to sleep?”

“I won’t sleep anyway—I’m burning up like fire, you see—”

Okoma took Sannosuke’s hand and pressed it against her chest.
He didn’t find her particularly hot, but the pounding of her heartbeat resonated through his hand.

“What are you going on about?”

“I want to cool this burning skin with gold—I beg of you.”

“?”

“I want to wrap this burning body in golden-yellow gold and feel myself cooled through to the core.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Please allow me this, Master—I’m burning up inside and can’t bear it any longer.”

Okoma, as if energized by her own words, stood up and pulled Sannosuke out from the bedding.

“What are you doing?!”

“Master, let us go to the storehouse. I desire neither glory nor splendor—the sole reason I came to this mansion was to catch but a single glimpse of the tens of thousands of ryō coins.”

“…………”

“Isn’t it terribly wasteful to let coins rumble unused in storehouses? Come now—let us go. I want to drench myself in koban and ōban until this fiery feeling consumes me.”

“…………”

“Then send me back—not tomorrow, this instant—I’ll return to Myōjin-sama’s waterside tea house and cool this body on wooden planks—silk quilts and such finery, I can’t abide another glance—”

Okoma clung to Sannosuke and would not let go—what extraordinary passionate fervor radiated from her body—leaving Sannosuke able only to flounder helplessly.

To the golden cascade

Okoma had finally persuaded Sannosuke.
The two of them, like two butterflies, sneaked into his father’s bedroom, crept quietly up to the pillow-side, and took out the key from the hand basket and the small key hanging on the pillar.
“Shh, be quiet.”

In the course of reaching the three storehouses lined deep within, how many times did Sannosuke have to admonish Okoma.

Okoma had become utterly ecstatic and clung to Sannosuke with tenacious persistence.

At the corridor's end hung a metal-mesh-covered Ariake lantern, its light burning.
Sannosuke removed it and held it in his left hand, then opened the wooden shutters and approached the door of the central earthen-walled storehouse.

He removed the large lobster-shaped padlock and opened the lacquered door to reveal double wooden doors inside—they opened without resistance using just a single small key.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Beckoning Okoma, Sannosuke entered inside while still holding the basket lantern.

At first, she could see nothing through her emotional turmoil, but when she calmed slightly, she realized the scene inside the storehouse was something more magnificent than she had ever imagined.

On either side rose towering stacks of thousand-ryō chests—so numerous their count defied estimation—while directly ahead lay koban and ōban coins, unsealed and heaped like gravel.

Scattered among them were metal plates, ingots, raw bullion, and sacks of gold dust that could have been mistaken for stones or timber amidst that gravel-like expanse—yet being of pure, untainted golden-yellow as if freshly unearthed from the earth, they blazed resplendently under the lantern's glow, their magnificence defying all description.

“How’s this, Okoma?”

From beneath the basket lantern he held aloft with a somewhat triumphant air,

“Ah!”

Okoma let out something like a scream and sprang forward.

Suddenly, she scrambled up the golden mountain, rolled across its summit two or three times, then scooped up handfuls of koban and ōban coins to pour them clattering over her head from above.

The glittering gold washed over the beauty's skin, clanging resoundingly against the floor, walls, and windows.

Okoma’s claim that her impulsive nature made her want to wrap her body in gold had originally been nothing more than a pretext, but now that she beheld this magnificent mountain of gold, she found herself compelled to fulfill that promise in a frenzied golden dance.

The 200,000 ryō stained with blood—

At that very moment, Gotō San'emon awoke.
The clinking of gold against gold resonating from somewhere—however faint it may have been—was sufficient to startle San'emon from his accustomed dreams.

Instinctively looking at the bedside hand basket, he found the storehouse key missing.

When he suddenly raised his eyes with a start, he noticed that the long key that should have been hanging on the pillar was also gone.

San'emon fastened his formal obi, dropped a sword into his sash, took the spear from the wall rail, and stepped out into the corridor.

One of the wooden shutters was open.

The sound came from the central storehouse—no sooner had he registered this than he acted without hesitation, placing his hand on the wooden door.

“This is dangerous, Master.”

A man in servant attire—appearing from nowhere—blocked the path.

“What? Gonji? There are intruders. Go back and rouse everyone.”

“And you, Master?”

“I’m going in to check.”

Gotō San'emon was fully composed, his resolve steely.

“That is dangerous, Master.”

Gonji still would not budge from the storehouse door—letting San'emon enter now would lead to unknowable consequences.

“Move! Move!”

But San’emon could no longer endure—shoving Gonji aside, he opened the oak door and stepped inside—

“Ah!”

Inside, illuminated by a pale light, was a golden rain—a golden deluge.

“You—whore!”

When San'emon saw Okoma continuing her frenzied state amidst the golden deluge, his spear shot forth in a flash.

“Ah!”

The beauty’s flesh, flushed pale pink, collapsed upon the golden mountain, and from her chest gushed forth a cascade of crimson blood like a waterfall.

“Gonji... Gonji-san...”

Okoma said this and raised her face, but sensing some presence outside the storehouse, she slumped back into the pool of blood, and with that, her breath ceased.

Hearing the clangor of gold—the continuing screams, the voice calling his own name—Gonji attempted multiple times to leap into the storehouse, but reconsidering, he dashed out through the gate instead.

Ahead lay Magistrate Yabe Suruganokami's residence; disheveling his own hair and gasping for breath, Gonji's Tide-Spitter face streamed with tears.

The next morning, Magistrate's Assistant Aizawa Sōsaburō stormed into Gotō San'emon's residence in Fukuya-chō with Gonji as his guide.

"This official pronouncement states: 'Having obtained consent from Nihei and established proxy guardianship, I have formally taken his daughter Okoma as my wife. Though regrettable during her service period, I demand her immediate handover.'"

Neither Gotō San'emon nor his heir Sannosuke could mount any defense.
Executing a servant on the spot was common practice—one could simply claim they had attempted to rob the gold vault—but with that vault now soaked in blood amidst hundreds of thousands of ryō, no proper inspection could be conducted. Furthermore, with Gonji revealed as the magistrate's spy, there remained no grounds for dispute.

San'emon silently and immediately submitted 200,000 ryō.

This became a story famous in history; he subsequently submitted a retirement petition, but since there had been no intention to pursue matters that far, it was not approved.

The 200,000 ryō stained with Okoma's blood were swiftly allocated as relief funds for the destitute, bringing the Great Tenpō Famine to a provisional resolution.

Magistrate Yabe Suruganokami was transferred to the North Magistracy and died in anger during Tenpō Year 13; Aizawa Sōsaburō's ultimate fate remains unknown; Gonji the Tide-Spitter became a monk—it is said that having been drenched to the bone by Okoma, he must have thoroughly absorbed into his very marrow how meaningless the world had become.