Pathway to Japanese Literature

At first, Tachibana too had felt some glimmer of joy.
Unlike her uneventful maidenly days of yore, she now perceived how each day—these days that seemed to multiply like unfolding petals—was being fashioned expressly for her sake compared to all prior times, and found herself greeting them as days truly lived.
That days could exist for Tachibana not as mere happenstance but with such piercing vividness struck her as a sensation breaching some vast celestial dome.
On those chill-tinted early spring evenings when indigo powder began blending into daylight’s hue, two young men would invariably materialize beneath an ancient plum tree whose gnarled branches had just begun showing gloss and tautness in their buds. Clad in fern-patterned hunting robes and split trousers, they let their eboshi hat tips graze perilously close to plum blossoms. Though their postures feigned restraint, their gazes burned sharp—faces fierce with the certainty of having already pierced through each other’s intentions.
One would stand by the western earthen wall; another lurked in the eastern corner’s embankment shadow.
If one wore gardenia-dyed hunting robes, the other would don golden-yellow garments of equally immaculate pleating.
When one appeared next evening clad in deep sappanwood hues, his rival would come the following dusk robed in wisteria-purple or aster tones, neither ever yielding in their contest of sartorial pride.
Moreover, should one flaunt pale layered robes like a youth’s finery, by next sunset the other too would be arrayed in matching splendor.
If one entreated maidservants to deliver delicate noble fragrances, the other would propose offering precious seven-spice incense to Her Highness.
One bore lily roots from Izumi’s mountain depths; his counterpart had servants carry boxes of crimson sea bream from Tsu Province.
Thus did Chihara of Tsu Province become known as one persistent suitor.
And thus too was revealed Ryōfu—he whose father held sway in Izumi.

The evenings of the Heian court—when robes vied in fashion and splendor—dissolved not into indigo hues, but rather into deep purple.
At Tachibana’s residence—where only the earthen walls floated white as ripened grain—the evening clouds, stirred by the voices of two men calling for her, scattered like tattered brocade and sank into darkness.

“Have they presented themselves again this evening?”

Each night without fail, Tachibana would first ask her maidservant this question, then reveal upon her eyelids a beauty as if her brows had unfurled.

“One lord has taken position to the east, and the other lord stands in the shadow of the western earthen wall.”

“And their robes?”

“They share matching preferences for sappanwood red and aster purple.”
“And they each humbly request even a single glance at Your Highness.”
“They humbly beseech just a single audience with Your Highness.”

“I cannot meet one lord while denying audience to the other.”
“Ensure they receive my resolute refusal.”

“But even that can no longer be amended now.”

The maidservant had exhausted every recourse.
However harshly she rebuffed them, the two young men remained unheeding, never ceasing their visits with each evening’s fall.

“Might it not be better if Your Highness were to address them directly?”

“This I myself directly?”

“There remains no way to send the two gentlemen away save for Your Highness taking such action.”

Tachibana could not bring herself to utter such boldness. To show her face—nay, even for Tachibana to approach the gate—would surely have deepened the wounds in their hearts all the more. Moreover, when she imagined how she might live each day compared to before should the two men suddenly cease their visits, she felt a directionless loneliness defying contemplation. Initially, Tachibana had transplanted two iris stalks daily by the pond’s edge, secretly dedicating them in her heart—*This one for Lord Sappanwood, this one for Lord Aster Purple*—as mementos of each passing day. Yet her maidservant observed that if her heart had become so entangled, meeting them might make the young men abandon their pursuit—and abandon it they surely would. Tachibana resolved to accept from both men only what her heart could hold. The irises now encircled the pond’s edge; even when attempting transplantation, not a single sprout remained unplanted in the southern bed—all had been replaced. Their number matched precisely the days of the men’s visits, divided clumps displaying buds plump as seedpods while green leaves raced upward in vigorous growth. These seventy-some sprouts counted the days the Man of Tsu Province and Man of Izumi Province had persisted in their courtship. Tachibana found no moment to ponder whom to love—so synchronized were their arrivals and departures that she began wondering if they might be one man split asunder. Their quiet bearing mirrored each other: when one coughed, after measured pause came the other’s echo. In countenance too they matched peerlessly—cheeks and noses aglow with youth’s zenith, even their slightly rigid brows of luminous breadth perfectly mirrored. Strangers would have deemed them brothers. Tachibana could neither turn from one nor judge either superior. Were she to favor one who visited so devotedly—what then of the other? Yet she harbored no such intent and returned no poems to either man. At first, restless delight alone had dominated her heart, but gradually—as she wondered what would become of these two and where her own place might lie—a leaden weight seemed to accumulate daily within her spirit. Strangest of all was how both men possessed merits; even considered apart, she found herself unable to choose one without grieving the other. The beauty in one’s steadfast gaze—an intensity verging on life itself—pierced her with unbearable poignancy. Yet his counterpart’s eyes held only sorrow, fixed unwaveringly upon her. Had one seen beyond pupils’ surfaces, these men’s eyes might have proven a single orb—inseparable halves. That she favored both yet found them inextricable struck Tachibana not as presumption but simple truth. In age and stature they matched; in delicate hands and voice and hue—for when one wore sappanwood-dyed robes, the other donned akin shades—how perfectly mirrored they stood! Now too deep in this courtship’s thrall to feign detachment, she realized it was herself who observed them thus.

Moreover, though their youth defied description, she found every aspect of them endearing and wished to keep both men just as they were, tucked within her heart. However, if there were someone who considered it wrong for a woman to even think such things, what would become of the two men’s outpouring of life? No one could possibly assert that women must not think. But now, having come this far, Tachibana found herself truly at a loss—what ought she to do? Would it be better to avoid meeting either man? To let them linger eternally at her gate? Here, for the first time, she reached an impasse. Around her, she felt something immovable—as though her body had been pressed against that familiar heaviness, rendered incapable of motion.

The transplanted irises had long since shriveled their flowers, and even as the nightingales’ songs near the fishing pavilion aged, the two men persisted in their visits.

Father Motonori, who had endured near his limit for so long, one day summoned Tachibana.

“Why not choose one to receive? To have two men courting so unsightly for this long—is it not painful even to witness?”

“Were I to meet one, the other would be pitiable.”
“Thus I cannot meet either of the two gentlemen.”

“Then they’ll just keep coming forever, won’t they? It damages our standing in society.”

“Father, please share your wise counsel with me.”

Motonori could not help but sense the two men’s breathing as they took aim at one another, fearing that Chihara and Ryōfu might someday cross long swords. At the end they had reached, even the slightest provocation would lead them to cross blades—this outcome now loomed visibly imminent. It was not out of shallow motives—deceit or shame—that they acted. Motonori knew full well that both men confronted each other with pure-hearted devotion, and he understood precisely what violent rupture such intensity would unleash. And yet, now that spring was about to pass, he could no longer allow them to keep visiting indefinitely. Even just the rumors circulating among the maidservants of the neighboring estate separated by a wall were enough to make Motonori feel he must resolve this matter quickly, growing impatient. Even Motonori himself, when he felt the earnestness of the young men who had devoted themselves so deeply to his daughter alongside his own heartrending pity for her, even wished to breathe life into them and nurture their devotion—yet he found himself unable to choose which of the two men to favor. From a father’s heart, both were splendid youths he would have wanted for his daughter. Having come this far, Motonori could no longer separate the two men and view them apart, and the strange sense of fate binding them gradually fermented within him a fatherly affection toward the youths.

“If this continues, Father will be troubled.”

“Even I can find no good solution as things stand.”

At the gate, the Man of Tsu Province and the young man of Izumi Province continued their nightly visits, pacing restlessly back and forth, unable to remain still.
The two men, adorned in their finest attire, directed their sharp eyes toward the inner garden and felt their hearts race at even the slightest movement of the maidservants—yet Tachibana still did not show herself.
The Man of Izumi Province bore something indistinguishable between irony and sorrow; the Man of Tsu Province carried a directionless confusion they could not dispel—and these emotions, driven by mutual obstinacy to be resolved at all costs, were now pressed to the very brink.
Even as the problem of the woman called Tachibana faded away, the confrontation of human lives had to continue endlessly, entering a state of unreasonable compulsion.
At first, they avoided each other’s gaze, but as days passed, even in their briefly exchanged glances, only the words *“We’ve come again”* would surface between them—after that, there was nothing but a ruthless exchange of merciless stares.
The Man of Tsu Province seemed to come only to see the face of the Man of Izumi Province; both would merely present their usual scowling faces—the tender softness of Princess Tachibana’s heartrending countenance could no longer be seen at all.
Amidst this desolate void, what always became visible to the two young men was the mutually annihilative prediction that their lives must inevitably collide through some opportunity.
And these things swelled mysteriously day by day—a certain heaviness accumulating with each passing day bore down upon them.
Both could only think of the other as a fool; that foolishness was itself a void that could never be laughed away.
They would first snort through their noses with a “Hmph,” shrug their shoulders, shield their hands on their long swords—and with expressions of utter absurdity—occasionally pass each other while walking the same road.
Cold laughter that seemed to pierce each other’s hearts would occasionally escape.

The evening rain was not so frequent, but one night, the two men took shelter simultaneously beneath the gate’s eaves.
Facing opposite darkness, listening desolately to the bone-chilling sound of rain, they gradually found themselves in an uncanny state—one they had never experienced before—where they felt an urge to speak.
The sound of the rain seemed to pierce them with such painful intensity.

“How many months has it been now?”

The young man of Tsu Province suddenly spoke as if scattering characters into the darkness, neither turning sideways nor facing forward.

“Indeed, you’d do well to count them yourself.”

The Man of Izumi Province’s voice pounced upon the Man of Tsu Province’s words as if lying in wait and challenged him.

“You there—why don’t you count them for me?”

“Be silent. I’ve no desire to speak.”

“So, you don’t even want to talk.”

The Man of Tsu Province’s voice was one of suppressed anger, a strained sound.

“We two lost any semblance of conversation ages ago.”
“Then what remains?”
“Is that not already clear?”
“You mean… life?”
“Well spoken.”
“Do you not feel the day we receive it draws near?”
“Indeed it nears—by leaps and bounds since yesterday.”
“What will you do when that hour comes?”
“I shall claim your life without fail.”
“That was my own thought to voice.”

Their voices held not a trace of wavering; rather, they were coldly exchanged as if pressing their convictions against one another.
Moreover, they did not face each other, casting those words into the rain as one might hurl stones.
On what day—through what unforeseen chance—the two would be compelled to confront each other remained unknown.
The daily agitation of “today for certain” and “tomorrow without fail,” along with all pent-up matters within them, accumulated layer upon layer.
For these men now existed in void—Princess Tachibana’s very presence might have already faded from their perception.
What filled their vision: for the Man of Tsu Province, it was the pulsing life within his Izumi counterpart; for he of Izumi, only the loathsome vitality animating his Tsu rival.
They lived confronting these mirrored lives, striving to claim them—perhaps unaware they breathed solely in anticipation of that consummation.

The rain grew heavier still, its oppression plunging the two men into a gloom so profound it seemed to presage some sudden event.

“This rain leaves no path forward. Shall we withdraw?”

The Man of Tsu Province stood and gauged the rainfall’s force against his palm.

“If you retreat, we too shall retreat.”

“So… again tomorrow?”

“It’s a day further ahead.”
“As long as I draw breath, I will come.”

“Then I too shall come as long as I draw breath.”

“But, Man of Tsu Province—do not forget there will come a day when one of us is first to lose his life.”

“We’ll keep it on hold until then.”
“You’d better grow fat.”

“I’ll repel you even if you grow so fat a blade cannot pierce you.”

The two men simultaneously leaped out into the rain-soaked road.

The two men eventually parted ways—one to the west, the other to the east.
Mindful of the darkness around them, both steeled themselves against the premonition of a blade that might flash out unexpectedly at any moment, and hurried along the Earthen Wall’s edge while listening intently to each other’s footsteps behind them.

The Men of Tsu and Izumi Provinces continued to come to the vicinity of Tachibana’s gate as if possessed, still not leaving until the first watch.
Princess Tachibana felt as though she were seeing, today as she had yesterday, the fissures in the young men’s hearts—fissures akin to terror, growing ever more hostile.
According to the maidservants’ accounts, the young men might finally have a duel at the gate—the situation had reached the very brink, they said.
The gentleness in their eyes, their sincerity, and the quiet demeanor they had when first seen in early spring had long since vanished, and their gazes had grown so fierce—so poised to lunge at any moment—that one might wonder if human eyes could change so drastically, while their refusal to leave their positions before the gate was terrifying enough, the maidservants said.
They also said that the fresh, courteous speech they had first observed—like that of young samurai lords—had gradually vanished.

“Under these circumstances, I must now make the final choice.”

With that, Motonori said listlessly, his face clouded with worry.

“For my sake, to have caused you such trouble—I can find no words to apologize.”

Tachibana offered a physical bow of contrition, but Motonori dismissed this as irrelevant.

“Neither you nor the youths bear blame; this can only be deemed an inscrutable karmic bond. Let us settle it swiftly.”

“As you decree.”

“We shall hold a hunt. On that occasion, I myself shall clarify matters with both of them.”

Princess Tachibana too thought it would be better to clarify matters once and for all. He proposed inviting the two men to a hunt where they could spend a leisurely day outdoors before speaking unreservedly to settle everything.

“You too must meet with them on that day.”

“Yes.”

“It would be best for you to remain silent.”
“And prepare special food and drink as well.”

“Yes.”

Princess Tachibana sent messengers to inform the young men of the hunt’s date.
The young men’s joy defied description, and Princess Tachibana herself felt this invitation might bring good fortune.
The selection of Ten'ichijin—that most auspicious day—sprang from her newfound clarity of purpose.
Even should this end in misfortune through the young men’s own discussions, she resolved to remain detached.

On the day of the hunt, Princess Tachibana followed her father while wearing a pale blue unlined robe with a kerria-yellow outer garment, while Chihara of Tsu and Ryōfu of Izumi, armed with bows and long swords, made their way to the banks of Ikuta River in the rich hues of late spring.
The two men blinked with such ferocity that their agitated hearts could be read at a mere glance, leaving Motonori unable to voice the words he had prepared.
Even he himself was so disquieted—and thinking how much more complex must be the emotions of Tachibana, being a woman—that he repeatedly turned back to look at his daughter.
Princess Tachibana, amid the field’s brightness, revealed features of such dazzling clarity and an unfamiliar beauty so profound that one might doubt she was his own daughter.
Though restrained, both the man of Tsu and the man of Izumi found in every contour of Tachibana’s face—seen under the open daylight—the immaculate luster of her modest complexion, thereby only hardening further the resolve within their hearts.

The four were sitting atop the embankment.
In the high branches of the hazel tree’s crown, where the spring thrush that no longer descended to the fields now hid among the boughs, its rich, fluid song rang out loudly time and again.
The glossy black thrush of spring fluttered the gleam of its wings amidst the branches in the sunlight, while hazy spring hues suffused both the rice field banks and the river’s surface, and the two young men gazed at Princess Tachibana’s beautiful form with a drowsy sort of longing.
The fact that the two men had already been visiting Tachibana’s residence for eighty days, and that they were leisurely enjoying the fields as they were today, had been an unexpected invitation.

Princess Tachibana had the maidservants bring the prepared sake and food and spread them out on the grass that had only just begun to sprout.
The two young men saw Tachibana eat for the first time.
That act of eating made the woman’s beauty appear twice as vivid, and in the subtle movements of her lips and cheeks there lay an indescribable familiarity.
In this way—if they were to share morning and evening meals with this woman, how delightful it would be—the young men were simultaneously engrossed in the same thought.

“We had long forgotten the beauty of the fields,” he said with solemn humility.

The hurried young men dwelling in the capital now gazed penetratingly at the pure expanse before them—a vista they had once rushed past without heed. The Man of Tsu Province could not leave unanswered this ambiguous utterance from the Man of Izumi, though its intended recipient remained unclear.

“We too had never dreamed such windswept vistas existed,” replied his rival, voice softening like spring grass beneath silk robes. “To be brushed by this breeze—it feels akin to bliss.”

“For we who find no respite for our storm-tossed spirits,” countered the other, fingers tightening around his unused bowstring, “we would gladly return here tomorrow.”

However, both the man of Tsu and the man of Izumi were filled with an ominous dread, sensing that today Tachibana’s father would surely deliver some pronouncement—likely intending to directly compel their consent, probably to have them withdraw. And they could not imagine any other unforeseen events occurring beyond that happening. Chihara of Tsu and Ryōfu of Izumi, setting aside their usual quarrels, subtly gazed at each other—the opponent they had only ever seen by night. That the two who had so fiercely hated each other were speaking relatively peacefully amidst the bright scenery of the field was something no one had ever even conceived.

Motonori took the cup and offered it to the two men.

“Please partake.”

“We are deeply obliged.”

Neither Chihara nor Ryōfu was one to indulge in sake.
After they returned the cup to Motonori, he said quietly:

“To both gentlemen.”

Chihara of Tsu could not refuse passing the cup to Ryōfu.
He poured clear water into it.

“Lord Izumi,” he said with forced courtesy.

“You honor me deeply.”

Ryōfu also poured clear water into the cup in like manner and returned it to Chihara. This brief moment of shared familiarity brought an unreserved softness to both men’s faces. The sharpness that had lingered at the corners of their eyes when they first confronted each other in this field earlier had now completely vanished.

“Through your kind invitation today, we have been granted the honor of meeting Her Highness—no words suffice to express our gratitude.”

“This is our most heartfelt thanks from both of us.”

The candid pair had unwittingly come to refer to themselves as "we both." Princess Tachibana, with eyes as bright as if she had just awoken, imbued them with care and affection, remaining enveloped in a tenderness that seemed to embrace the two men.

“I must apologize for always committing nothing but thoughtless discourtesies.”
“Having beheld your relaxed faces today, I cannot express how overjoyed I am.”

“We gratefully accept your gracious words.”
“We humbly beseech your forgiveness for our actions, which have always been akin to those of night thieves.”

When the man of Tsu said that，the man of Izumi blushed deeply.
“For ceaselessly troubling your heart—this sin I humbly apologize for today.”
“Everything—all of it—has now passed.”
“The one who must apologize is none other than my own inadequate self.”

Princess Tachibana reached out her hand and filled the two men’s cups.
This brought immense joy to the two men’s faces, and their hearts trembled so profoundly that it seemed to pass through her very hand.

And so, the time of their outing in the fields quietly drew to a close.
Their words held no discourse beyond the serenity and beauty of the fields.
There remained no particular unease save anticipating what Tachibana’s father might declare.

“I too have never seen a view as splendid as today’s.”

Princess Tachibana responded thus when addressed.
The young men had almost simultaneously thought that the scenery was beautiful because Tachibana was there.
Motonori had been watching the black thrushes that refused to leave the treetops since earlier, but suddenly pointed at them and said,

“Look at that.”

The two young men looked up at several black thrushes clinging motionless to the hazel branches. Tachibana too, with a sudden pang in her heart, gazed up at the treetops and saw the glint in her father’s eyes. It was then she sensed within herself the unyielding weight of her father’s gaze. She could not help but feel the moment had arrived. Motonori’s second command rang out harshly like a general’s cry:

“Shoot down the thrushes.”

Both Tsu and Izumi knew what manner of trial those words entailed.
One nocked a white-feathered arrow, the other a black-centered shaft; when their aim steadied, both arrows flew simultaneously through hazel branches.
At that precise instant fell two spring thrushes—Tsu’s pierced by his own arrowhead, Izumi’s by his.
Princess Tachibana’s countenance revealed a gentle smile upon both cheeks—equally composed to commend either man.

“I must say it was splendidly done.”

That was admirably and graciously shot.
“Even if either were to suffer defeat, I would grieve before Father—yet you both demonstrated skills neither inferior to the other. How might I express this joy through comparison?” With tender grace, Princess Tachibana turned toward her father and showed him a pleasant smile, then drew closer to him in her overwhelming delight.

“That was swift work indeed.”
“It’s not often one comes across such a thing, but you accomplished it splendidly.”

Motonori’s astonishment grew even deeper.
To shoot down a thrush—even if it held perfectly still mid-song—was no easy feat with common skill when loosing arrows through the finely trembling hazel branches.
Even when he saw the two men split to left and right, Motonori thought both would surely miss the thrush—and this was precisely when the thrush’s song abruptly ceased.
But at that very moment, the thrush had already been shot down.
Motonori gasped and gazed at the same two young men.
They then carefully buried the thrushes that had become sacrifices in the earth,

“We are inexperienced and deeply ashamed.”

Both men humbly withdrew.

“You two are like one and the same person!”

Motonori grew increasingly perplexed.
He gazed into their pure eyes, wondering if people could resemble each other to such an extent.
The look in both their eyes was one of such seriousness that they would spare no means—not even arduous toil—to make Tachibana their own.
Chihara of Tsu turned toward Ryōfu of Izumi for the first time and said admiringly,
"Had I not shot it down, I would have left this place for good."
"Were you also considering leaving Princess Tachibana's side?"

Despite being adversaries, Ryōfu was struck by that honesty and came to deeply respect his sincerity.

“Regrettably… yet I had steeled my resolve.”
“And you?”

“I too had resolved to depart in silence.”
“I would entrust Princess Tachibana to you… but I can no longer yield.”

Ryōfu put force into his words as he spoke.
The same thought simmered in the chest of the man from Tsu.

“I will not retreat a single step further.”

Yet through this opportunity to discuss what they had long harbored in their hearts, their faces relaxed more than ever before, even taking on a refreshed clarity.
How long it had been since such a peaceful time had last visited them.

At this moment, something moving came into view upon the water’s surface.
That was the figure of a single grebe diving beneath the water.
The grebe appeared nearly as small as a pebble, so distant they could hardly distinguish what manner of bird it was.
The eyes of the four fixed uniformly upon that swift bird.

“We have never laid eyes upon such a small bird.”

The man from Izumi gazed intently and spoke without addressing anyone.

“We have not seen it either.”

The small waterbird—no larger than a sparrow—that surfaced in the glittering river’s sunlit intervals only to submerge again with swift ripples lingered upon the spring-warmed water’s surface for but a blink’s worth of fleeting instant.

“What manner of bird might that be?”

Princess Tachibana pointed out a small waterbird she had never seen before.

“That is a bird called a grebe—a bird of the lagoons.”

Motonori suddenly realized this as he spoke.
“Could these two men shoot this waterbird?” Motonori wondered. When he casually glanced at them, the sensitive young men—both the man from Tsu Province and the man from Izumi Province—seemed to hold their breath, poised in anticipation as though awaiting the moment those words would leave Motonori’s lips.
Motonori looked at the daughter as if to confirm.
Princess Tachibana wore a fearful countenance as though praying for her father to say nothing, her eyes now imbued with meaning that shooting the bird would be too pitiful.
But today, Motonori had to fulfill what he must as a father.
The daughter caught between two men had to be entrusted to one of them.

“A swift waterbird.”

Chihara of Tsu Province pulled the bow close with a fierce gaze.

“I could land at least one shot.”

Ryōfu of Izumi Province’s eyes glinted, his impatient stance—poised to nock an arrow at any moment—intertwined with Motonori’s breathing.
Motonori, now with no moment left for hesitation, gradually found even himself strangely agitated by the subtlety of the swift wing movements of the small waterbird surfacing and submerging.
Motonori had to choose one of them there and then, and he had to separate that chosen one from his daughter.
As a father, Motonori, unable to endure any longer, suddenly shouted in a loud voice as if issuing a command, his tone severe.

“To the noble one who shoots down that waterbird, I shall offer Tachibana.”

“Father.”

Tachibana tried to restrain something she meant to restrain in a small voice.
Her eyes were filled with a maiden’s fear, and through that very fear, held unparalleled beauty concentrated with single-minded intensity.

“Today I must choose one of the two of you.”

Tachibana had nothing more to say.

Both the man of Tsu Province and the man of Izumi Province rose to their feet simultaneously with that voice.
Their faces were ashen and coarse as cloth.
Princess Tachibana’s face stiffened, and she inadvertently let out a low gasp of surprise.
With matters having reached this point, there was nothing left to say; her thighs began to tremble faintly as she watched the two youths mutely.

“Are you prepared?”

“Ready.”

The arrows were nocked.
And a single grebe surfaced on the water but sank back down immediately.
The arrows remained nocked.
By the time the waterbird resurfaced, the second opportunity had already come before both men’s eyes.
The arrows left their bowstrings in an instant, but aside from two arrow feathers tinged white floating palely upon the water’s surface, there was no sign of the waterbird.
The youths, undeterred, waited for a third opportunity, but both their faces were crimson with rage.

The grebe surfaced again.
The swift-footed Chihara of Tsu Province released a white arrow that soared over the small waterbird’s back, while Ryōfu’s black-centered fletching sank soundlessly into the water after the waterbird had vanished.
At last, the grebe did not resurface in the same waters again.
The man of Izumi Province strode forward aggressively.

“Your arrow was too hasty.”
“Why did you shoot before the signal cry?”

“No—we shot at the same time.”

“You must realize Lord Motonori himself knows your arrow startled the waterbird into flight first.”

The man of Izumi Province, enraged, took a step forward.
The man of Tsu Province touched his hand to his long sword and, choked by his opponent’s hot, rough breath, shouted.

“Why don’t we go downstream from here and shoot each other?”
“We’ll shoot right here.”

The man of Izumi Province pounded his chest and shouted.

“Today I shall splendidly cut you down!”

“Today, you will finally reveal the feelings I’ve long harbored.”

“Run!”

When both men shouted the same words at each other, they dashed out like madmen along the embankment toward downstream as if they had prearranged it. The place where they had earlier failed to shoot the grebe seemed to have unintentionally become their destination.

As he ran, the man of Tsu Province proceeded with thorough caution.

“If Lord Motonori intervenes, matters will grow thorny.”
“Hurry further downstream!”

“You’re the one who mustn’t lag!”

The two men continued to race as though set ablaze, their faces pressed together as they shouted.

“I’ve long awaited this day!”
“I’ve lived for this day alone!”

“If I do not shoot you today, when will there ever be a time to shoot you?”

The man of Tsu Province and the man of Izumi Province moved far away from where Motonori was, until finally Princess Tachibana’s figure became barely visible.
They ran and ran, their faces nearly colliding as they did.

“The princess is trapped between you and me, driven to distress!”

“Had you not existed, the Princess and her father would have lived in peace—yet since your arrival, everything has turned for the worse.”

Even as he ran, the man of Tsu Province did not cease his unending words of lament.
The man of Izumi Province roared with hollow laughter.

“That is what I too would say to you.”
“Do you imagine the princess would yield to one such as yourself—reeking of Tsu’s brine? That presumption lies at the root of your error.”

“The time has come to settle this.”
“This spot will do.”

The two men arrived near the embankment where they had earlier failed to shoot the grebe and stopped running.
The embankment, cloaked in spring grass, was as soft as a pillow of Tang brocade.
The two men contentedly pressed their bare feet against the cold grass.

“This place is good—whichever of us falls, it’ll make a comfortable resting spot.”

The man of Tsu Province anchored his feet firmly and peered far upstream, but by now, trees cast shadows where the Tachibanas stood, obscuring them from view.

“How many paces?”

“What say fifty paces?”
“Too close to shoot you properly.”

The man of Izumi Province, still roaring coldly and hollowly, said while testing his pacing.

“Then let’s make it thirty paces—and don’t you dare fire a blank shot.”

The two parted, separated by fifty paces.
The bows coiled like living serpents around both their hands.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

As if prearranged in unison, the two men longed to hear the words hidden in each other’s hearts.
Even now, in this state, it felt strange to be listening for something in each other.

“If you remain behind, tell the princess that Chihara of Tsu cherished her in his heart until the end. If I remain, I shall convey whatever thoughts you wish.”

“It’s just repeating the same thing.”
“But today I will sever this fated bond and be done with it cleanly.”
“And you—do not hold back either.”

In the end, the two men somehow exchanged a cold laugh.
There was nothing left to say.
Beyond laughter, there remained nothing to express—nothing at all.

“If we delay, Lord Motonori will see us… We’ll bear eternal disgrace.”

“Let us swear to loose our arrows as one—invoke no gods falsely.”

The two men nocked their arrows.
Their hands gleamed with sweat and oil at the fingertips.

“Here we go.”

“Are you ready?”

“Shoot.”

At nearly the same moment, these words rang out—the last human sounds to reach each other’s ears.
The arrows were loosed.
Where the white feathers of the Tsu Province man’s shaft crossed paths with the black feathers of the Izumi Province man’s arrow lay precisely halfway between them.
A mournful shriek tore through the spring scenery—the arrow’s cry ill-suited to the season—freezing hearts as it passed.

Chihara of Tsu Province was struck in the chest by a heavy object with a sickening thud, his body twisting forward as it contorted cleanly in two.
Thinking he had been hit, he groped with his hand for something to steady himself, but there was not even a single tree.
When something hot surged momentarily through his chest again—already—his knees could no longer hold.
He only became able to look steadily at the man of Izumi Province when he collapsed like crushed pottery.
The man of Izumi Province had likewise fallen on the embankment and, while making motions like clawing at his surroundings, watched with eyes alone still alive as the man of Tsu Province thrashed about.
Wondering if that was what a human's death throes looked like, he turned to see an ash-pale face.
But now they could neither laugh nor cry out—they only knew they had simultaneously received their rival's arrow in their chests.
A laughter cold as sweat rose like a single thread.

“Mutual Shooting.”

He cried out like that and wondered whether it had reached his opponent.
The man of Izumi Province let out a shrill cry like a grey heron at the same time; though its meaning was unclear, they had clearly acknowledged the Mutual Shooting.

The hand that had been supporting the man of Izumi Province buckled, and he gradually began to struggle toward the edge of the embankment.
By now, that spot had become part of the embankment beneath Ikuta River.
The man of Tsu Province thought the man of Izumi Province would not survive, but suddenly, a wind blew with a cold so biting it felt as if the skin of his face were being peeled away, and the embankment that had been visible far into the distance vanished from sight.
When he felt around the ground with his hand to check the bleeding, it was muddy like a swamp.
He too was on the verge of death, and though he thought the man of Izumi Province had already stopped breathing, a faint glimmer of hope arose—if he could survive, he would try to live.
It was a hope that had suddenly welled up, utterly beyond consideration.
As he grasped at something he had nearly forgotten—what would happen if he lived—Princess Tachibana’s face suddenly surfaced in his mind.
But now, he could no longer see the embankment or the man.
He suddenly shouted as loudly as possible to confirm once more whether the opponent was still alive.

“Ryōfu of Izumi!
“Mutual Shooting.”

But in reality, he could no longer utter a sound—no, even his fingertips wouldn’t budge. Only a tiny part of his mind still functioned.

When the two figures had gradually receded from Ikuta River’s bank, this frenzied instant was a scene beyond Motonori’s comprehension—a momentary, chaotic scuffle so inexplicable that one might have thought they had gone in search of a waterfowl’s nesting place. But Tachibana’s face grew ashen and began to fade from a premonition so intense it made her shudder. For it was no different from the truth that they had raced off to make each other’s lives their marks. She had known such a day would come eventually, but it grieved her that today’s summons had hastened—even if by chance—their untimely demise through this contest of mutual annihilation. If one were to live, the other had to die.

“Dear Father, follow them!”

Tachibana’s voice, with just that alone, made Motonori intuit everything, and Motonori had to realize it was already too late.

“Do you also think so?”

“Hurry, Father!”

Motonori galloped along the same embankment and chased after them.

Had about twenty minutes passed? The evening haze of this spring day—its hours already fleeting—gradually enveloped the vast and desolate banks of Ikuta River, tracing faint streaks across its expanse as it spread.

On the embankment where Motonori had arrived, Chihara of Tsu Province lay with half his body leaning toward the river, his chest deeply pierced by an arrow—his breath had ceased.
Ryōfu of Izumi Province had tumbled down beneath the embankment; an arrowhead had driven through his chest and out his back, his breath already stilled.
The first arrows they had nocked could only have pierced each other’s chests nearly in unison—no other conclusion remained when considering the timing and count of shafts.
The depth of their arrowheads and the precision of their aim seemed a challenge undertaken with their entire lives—a resolve layered deep within their spirits, compelling them to seize each other’s lives with such vivid finality.
The two men had needed to come this far—there could have been no resolution otherwise.
Whichever path they might have taken, they would have had to reach this point.
Motonori lowered his head and pressed his hands together before them.
To call them beautiful—how much truth lay in that? Such were the two men.

Princess Tachibana finally arrived at the embankment where the two corpses lay and immediately knelt on the grass to weep soundlessly.
Though she had understood these men could never remain tranquil, she could never have conceived they would duel to death today—and directly before her eyes.
How could those two who had so long come spiritedly vying before Tachibana’s gate—how could they have envisioned becoming corpses now? Had they truly been incapable of living beyond this, truly unable to exist outside?

“You have acted rashly.”

For now, Princess Tachibana uttered these words, but of course she knew that by this point, the two men had been fated to come this far.
Princess Tachibana applied pure white paper to their arrow wounds, then let loose both sleeves of her robes over the faces of the young men—whose lingering scent still seemed alive—and with the patterned side facing upward, she covered each of them with one sleeve, addressing the two without voice.

“Now at last do I humbly receive the full measure of both your hearts.”
“Even I can offer no greater thanks than to follow after you.”
“I implore you—kindly wait but a little while until Tachibana comes behind.”
“By the gods I swear—without fail—I shall come before this very night ends.”

She folded her hands at her chest, lowered her eyelids, and remained motionless there for a long time.
Why had she not met and spoken with them sooner before it came to this? Tachibana pictured in her heart the faces of the young men lying beneath her robes; in this moment, their faces appeared even more beautiful.

“You have done well.”
“You both must surely be rejoicing now.”
“There is nothing more to say—only your devotion will bring peace to both of you.”

“Father, deign to witness their splendid end.”

“You noticed well.”
“I shall pray.”

Father examined the arrow wounds.

The unmistakably deep gouges left by the arrowheads were nearly identical in their vividness.
Moreover, their resolute determination in that mutual shooting had even engraved a vein of serenity deep into their countenances.

“That’s a splendid form, Tachibana. Did you witness it?”

“No, but I feel as though I comprehend.”

“You cannot be named fortunate, but do not forget—this is the glory of being born a woman.”

“I am not one deserving enough to receive both gentlemen’s august lives.”

“What do you mean to do hereafter? Never act with rashness.”

Motonori sensed an unswerving resolve in Tachibana’s countenance and deemed it necessary to quell it.
Yet whether Motonori possessed power sufficient to quell it remained gravely doubtful.
Tachibana’s voice began to carry a timbre mingled with anger.

“My mind is made up.”

“No—you must live even more resolutely than you have until now.”

Motonori stared fixedly into Tachibana’s eyes.
Yet within those eyes—hazy and ethereal as though yearning for something—the glint that fleetingly revealed itself in her pupils seemed less beautiful than noble.
When one shows such a glint in their pupils, rarely does that moment allow itself to be captured.
Motonori felt his body tense as though drawn taut by those eyes.

“I do not wish to become a frivolous woman who treats human lives carelessly.”

“My daughter.”
“Stay by your father’s side.”

Princess Tachibana pressed her face close to her father as though nearly embraced and wept once more with barely perceptible, stifled sobs.
Motonori thought of the danger of leaving his daughter alone even for a moment and resolved she must not leave his reach to prevent it.
Yet he had never imagined until this very moment that his daughter had grown into a woman to such an extent.
Moreover, within her ethereal and mist-like eyes appeared a paleness that seemed to rise—something seen only when one makes an irresistible resolution.

That night, Princess Tachibana adorned herself with unprecedented care and sat radiantly at the elevated dining tray for the evening meal.
Motonori could no longer doubt why his daughter had adorned herself so meticulously or why she had even deliberately smiled as she sat at the dining tray—for it aligned perfectly with a certain thought already rooted in his heart.
Motonori never took his eyes off his daughter, striving to discern what lay beneath the terrifying beauty that seemed to intensify with each passing moment.

“Father, deign to allow me to receive the cup.”

“The cup!”

“Yes.”

Motonori deliberately smiled and remarked “What an unusual thing to say,” personally handing the cup to Tachibana.
Princess Tachibana pressed the cup reverently to her forehead and quietly brought it to her lips.
Motonori gazed at this with barely contained emotion.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you drink sake.”

“It occurred to me that I wished to partake in something this night.”

“Is the sake to your liking?”

Motonori, in good spirits, gazed with a calm heart at his daughter’s now-brightened face.

“Though this is the first time I have partaken of sake since being born, the sake is fragrant and most delicious.”

Tachibana soon reddened her cheeks.
Thus, the evening meal took a considerably long time to conclude, ushering in a night of late spring.
Inside and outside the mansion was especially warm tonight, and the incense smoke for the two who had perished—ceaselessly tended by Tachibana’s hand—twined into a deep purple cord within the room; the cord spilled into the garden and skimmed over the pond.

At dawn, as the night was about to pass—when sunlight like silver powder sprinkled upon Ikuta River’s ripples began to gleam—Tachibana’s figure could not be seen at her mansion, and people panicked. But Motonori, almost instinctively, commanded his retainers to search the riverbank, as though this outcome had already been decided.
Princess Tachibana lay at the riverbank where the men of Tsu and Izumi had perished, her head turned toward the embankment, still exuding the fragrance of her makeup as she breathed her last.
Her corpse, with hair tightly bound and ceremonial undergarments meticulously fastened, was itself like a large, wet bundle of flowers.
When her body was brought back to the mansion, the people were profoundly and deeply moved by such depth of feeling.

Motonori bowed his head and stroked his daughter’s hair, and as he stroked it, he said:

“You did well.”
“I shall praise you. I had nearly understood your resolve since last night, but never did I imagine you would act so nobly.”
“I will praise you—praise you so thoroughly that no amount of praise could ever suffice.”

That night, Chihara of Tsu’s father and Ryōfu of Izumi’s father sat with bowed heads before the princess’s coffin.
The three fathers—faced with their sons’ deaths and Tachibana’s own death as she followed after them—mourned grievously; yet in their hearts, with a peculiar joy, they spoke to the coffin time and again.
These old men who had long resigned from official posts had become gaunt beyond gauntness.

“How desperately those two must have craved Her Highness’s noble life—and they received it.”
“No words suffice to console you in your profound sorrow, Lord Motonori, but as a father I renew my gratitude.”

The father of the man from Tsu Province pressed his head to the tatami mats and bowed in gratitude.
The father of the man from Izumi Province likewise placed his hands on the ground and solemnly spoke.

“Though we speak of karmic bonds, as fathers of men, there can be no greater joy than the Princess’s noble end.”

Motonori restrained the two men with his hand—first motioning for them to raise their heads—then humbly stepped back.

“Had the Princess not done thus, I would have been left in utter shame.”
“That my daughter’s life served a purpose is at least some consolation.”

“I wish to bury [my child] alongside the Princess. If you would arrange the tombstone in that manner as well, my child’s joy would know no bounds.”

Ryōfu of Izumi Province’s father also held this thought and likewise entreated Motonori to grant this wish.

“This is a father’s final wish for his child.”

Motonori answered agreeably.

“Let us erect a tombstone with all three laid side by side.”

The father from Tsu seemed to feel intense revulsion and disgust at sharing a grave with Ryōfu of Izumi, but now that he had obtained Motonori’s consent, he could say nothing.
However, the stubborn old man suddenly conceived an idea.

“Since this is the soil of Tsu Province, our burial custom dictates that men of Izumi be interred in Izumi earth. Take him back to Izumi.”

The father of Izumi Province, while sensing his opponent’s fierce words through aged eyes, gave a sarcastic laugh.

“By ship we shall transport soil from Izumi; Izumi’s soil will calm the child and grant him sleep.”
“To have a father who lays such unreasonable demands even after his son’s death—your son must have felt profound regret.”

He moistened his aged eyes, imparting a renewed hue to his sorrow.

“In Tsu Province, there exists not a single handful of Izumi soil.”
“Chihara—who exchanged arrows with a son begotten by such a father as yourself—can only be said to have most unwisely chosen his opponent.”

“On our side too, we deem you an unworthy rival.”
“Should such words be uttered, even considering our present location, I shall grant no quarter.”

As he pressed closer, he saw even his beloved son’s face before his eyes.

“Well, well—your son was an odd one, but his father proves no less peculiar a gentleman.”

“How dare you! Say that again, and you’ll regret it.”

Ryōfu’s Father had already placed his hand on the hilt of his long sword; with each breath, he might lunge at any moment—a sharp tension hung in the air.

“Then this is exactly what I was hoping for.”

Chihara’s Father too already had his hands on the hilt of his long sword, sweating a cold sweat.
By this point, the two old bones could only grate against each other.
They had in truth become so enraged for their beloved sons’ sake that not a shred of prudence remained.
The two shouted simultaneously.

“Now, draw!”

Was fate raging through the fathers’ minds, or could it be said their sons’ spirits were possessing them?

Motonori restrained them with his hand.

“Lords, I implore you to calm yourselves by sharing in my heart.”

To this Motonori, neither Tsu nor the man of Izumi had any words to answer.
They, the old bones, lowered their heads.

“We are deeply ashamed.”
“As fathers of those who received your Princess’s august life, we bow in shame and offer our apologies.”

“Let us bury them together in harmony.”
“I have at last understood that parents must care for their children until death itself claims them.”

Motonori proposed erecting a tombstone aligning three graves to both fathers.
The next day, people of Izumi Province carried pure soil from their land by ship, which reached Ikuta River’s banks at dawn.
This was virgin earth dug from golden-glowing depths within a newly risen mountain.
The father from Izumi blended this soil into the grave plot and established his ill-fated son’s resting place there.

“You too have indeed been able to rest beside Princess Tachibana.”
“Lord Motonori, I pray you grant your consent.”
“It has been done with utmost care.”
Motonori paid his respects to the soil.

The father from Tsu Province, too, said nothing more.
Such profound paternal feelings seemed now to impart deep emotion to him, who was also a father, and his voice repeatedly took on a low tone as though steeped in shame.

“You have done well.”
“The three youths must not be thought of as siblings.”

The enclosed gravesite fenced with shino bamboo was built at the edge of a pine forest on a height overlooking Ikuta River’s flow. The river’s surface, as if brushed with silver powder from days of old, reflected the sunlight and created beautiful ripples.

Motonori placed into the princess’s coffin an incense box, a mirror adorned with paired cranes, a lacquered fan, and a set of writing boxes; he then gathered and arranged layered cherry-blossom robes, a pale-hued mo skirt, and a twilled silk uchigi robe in softened hues. This thoughtful preparation served as a fitting means to recall Princess Tachibana’s resplendent figure from days gone by. The father of Tsu and the father of Izumi also placed hunting robes, hakama trousers, eboshi hats, bows, quivers, long swords, and other such items into the coffin, arranging them to complement Princess Tachibana’s beauty. And thus, there was no one to disturb their slumber.

After years had passed, a certain traveler wrote thus and left upon the moss-covered shared tomb a sheet of pure white paper on a day when the autumn wind blew.

Even for but a moment, together did they pledge.

To meet—though unseen by others—

Years and months had profoundly flowed away.

One day, a certain traveler inscribed a single discarded poem, placed a pebble on the paper to keep it from being blown away by the wind, and departed.
In its preface was written, “Become one man,” offering solace to the heart of one of those men while also carrying a tone that seemed to lament the wounds in the traveler’s own heart.

To dwell within the same inlet brings joy—and yet

Why did you not pledge yourself to me alone?

Years had carved white moss of a hundred years into the tombstone when time came to be precisely at midspring’s gentle zenith.

There was a traveler who, on behalf of a woman, inserted a single poem laying bare her heart into the moss-filled crevice of Renge-dai and departed like the wind.

Having despaired of dwelling, I shall cast my body into Tsu Province’s—
As long as Ikuta River flows not dry—