Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“Well, you’ve given up then—it can’t be helped. You’ll marry Yasunaga’s daughter,” Ryūemon said to his son. “Any woman becomes much the same once married. Unmarried girls may seem different in various ways—in some respects they’re certainly distinct—but in another sense, all women end up alike. Compare your mother and Aunt Edashima. I myself initially preferred Edashima’s… no—never mind.” Ryūemon continued, “At any rate, that’s my opinion.”

II

Kaji Ryūemon was the Castle Deputy Chief Elder with a stipend of 2,130 koku; he was forty-seven years old. His wife Sawa was forty-two years old, and their only son Kōichirō was twenty-six. The Kaji household employed seven female servants in the inner quarters. This was a one-year apprenticeship in etiquette lasting from March to March, through which daughters from wealthy merchant families in the castle town or major landowners in nearby villages—strictly selected by Madam Kaji—would enter service.—That year in May, Madam Kaji told her husband that she would assign a girl named Yono from the new chambermaids to be Kōichirō’s personal maid. Ryūemon was slightly surprised—assigning a lady’s maid to an unmarried son was relatively new among samurai households’ customs, and from his wife’s established principles, it seemed rather uncharacteristic.

“However,” Ryūemon said, “if word of that reaches Yasunaga, wouldn’t it be rather awkward?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Of course, that probably won’t happen,” Ryūemon said, “but Kōichirō is already twenty-six. If we have a young girl tending to his daily needs… well, what if some sort of mishap were to occur?”

Sawa glared at her husband and said, “Ah—”

“You immediately jump to such thoughts,” she said. “You must always look at the maids that way—if some young maid bats her eyes at you even a little, you’d get carried away in no time.”

“Let’s return to the main topic,” Ryūemon said. “Is there some particular reason behind this?”

“Do you imagine I would act without careful consideration?”

“I’ve come to understand that much.”

“The Young Master persists in claiming he dislikes women,” Sawa said. “Though betrothed to Miss Yasunaga Tsuna, he maintains this aversion and still refuses to marry. I believe we raised him with excessive formality.”

“So that’s the reasoning, then?”

“So that’s your reasoning?”

“Let’s hear the rest,” Ryūemon said.

“Please do not interrupt me.”

“Very well.”

“So, in other words—” Sawa said, “to put it simply, if we assign him a pretty lady’s maid, Kōichirō is already twenty-six. He might start taking an interest in women. No matter how rigidly he’s been raised, a man is still a man after all.”

Ryūemon muttered inwardly, “This is a wicked scheme.”

“Did you have something to say?”

“No—not particularly,” Ryūemon said. “Let’s hear the rest.”

“The rest,” you say?”

“Is that all?”

“You’re pretending not to understand.”

“No—I do understand,” Ryūemon said. “But here’s the thing—if Kōichirō were to take an interest in that maid and some sort of mishap were to occur—”

“Honestly!” Sawa glared at her husband.

“You immediately imagine such things,” she said. “Kōichirō is different from you.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Precisely! Kōichirō is pure and gentle—that’s why he has this aversion to women,” she said. “Or are you claiming to oppose this?”

“Don’t be absurd—as if I’d oppose your opinion.”

“You claim you haven’t done anything—that’s right,” Sawa said.

“And if anything happens, you’ll hold me entirely responsible—since that’s the kind of person you are.”

“Well, uh—why are you closing the shoji?”

“This is a good opportunity,” she said. “I have something I wish to tell you.”

Sawa shut the shoji firmly.
The room remained as it was, settling into prolonged silence.

That day, Kōichirō returned from the castle past seven in the evening.
He worked at the domain’s library with a stipend of fifteen koku, but aside from having attended Shōheizaka Academy at the Edo residence from age nineteen for five years, he did not possess any particularly outstanding talent.
Since they could not leave the twenty-six-year-old son of the Castle Deputy Chief Elder idle, it seemed to mean little more than having him become accustomed to affairs within the castle.

When Kōichirō entered the living room, his mother came in bringing a single chambermaid.

“Your return seems quite late today.”

“Ah,” Kōichirō said, “I was treated to dinner at Murata’s on my way back.”

“Which Mr. Murata are you referring to?”

“Saburosuke,” said Kōichirō.

“When taking a detour, you must inform us,” Sawa said.

“You were waiting without eating dinner.”

“I apologize for that.”

“In such circumstances one ought to return home first and give notice before going out.”

“I shall do so,” said Kōichirō.

At that, Sawa presented the servant and said, “Starting today, she will attend to your personal needs.”

“Mine?” Kōichirō looked at his mother. “That is to say—”

“Your lady’s maid.”

“Why?”

“You are to become Lord Castle Deputy Chief Elder in due time,” Sawa said. “You must gradually accustom yourself to various matters.”

“What do you mean by ‘various matters’?”

“Various matters,” Sawa said. “You’re being rather persistent. This is the daughter of a silk fabric merchant in the castle town named Myōgaya Bunzaemon. Her given name is Yono—she’s seventeen. We call her Kii in this household, so you shall do the same.”

“Ah,” Kōichirō said.

“Now then, Kii—” Sawa said. “You shall help the Young Master change his clothes.”

“Yes,” the lady’s maid said.

Kōichirō grimaced and looked away.
Probably having been instructed by Sawa during the day, Yono—no, Kii—the lady’s maid opened a chest of drawers, took out a set of everyday clothes, and had Kōichirō change.
Sawa watched from the side and gave a few instructions but seemed generally satisfied with Kii’s demeanor.
From beginning to end, Kōichirō never once looked toward the lady’s maid and retreated into the study he shared with his father as though impatient for the changing process to conclude.

Ryūemon was writing something.
With an air of great earnestness, he continued writing silently even when his son entered.

"What is the meaning of this?" whispered Kōichirō. "Assigning a lady’s maid to me—what exactly is going on here?"

"I don’t know about that."

"You claim you don’t know?"

"I couldn’t possibly know," the father said. "My apologies—could you brighten the paper lantern a bit more?"

Kōichirō brightened the paper lantern’s flame.
Ryūemon remained engrossed in writing.
At the very least, this much was clear—he was evading his son’s questions through such absorption.
Understanding this, Kōichirō smiled faintly with his lips and sat at his own desk positioned opposite his father’s.

Before long, Kii came in carrying tea utensils.
She brewed sencha with composed movements, came to Kōichirō’s side, and offered it.
“The tea is ready,” Kii said.

Kōichirō said “Ah,” still looking at the wall.

三

One morning in June, Kōichirō looked at the lady’s maid’s figure and found it pleasing.

What an elegant figure.

He thought.
Putting aside the precise meaning of the word “grace,” he had felt that way.
It was just when she had begun wearing lighter clothing that the suppleness of her figure—the soft roundedness with its elasticity and curves—were beautifully revealed.
Because he had never looked at her before, it appeared particularly fresh and pleasing to Kōichirō.

And before long, he noticed Kii’s skin was white.
As it was his day off duty, he cleaned around his desk and ordered Kii to bring water to wash the brushes and inkstone.
She brought a metal basin and brush washer, wearing a sash that pulled both sleeves up high—more than necessary—exposing nearly to her armpits.

Kōichirō averted his eyes as if dazzled.
The melting softness of those pale-pink-tinged, immaculately white exposed arms was indescribably beautiful, their intense allure captivating him.
Even while looking away, he felt his heart pounding.

When July arrived, he realized that Kii’s voice was soft, calm, and crystal clear. Then, when he discovered her good looks—her delicate beauty—Kōichirō involuntarily widened his eyes. Had she been this beautiful all along?

He asked himself this inwardly, and at the same time felt heat rising within his body.

Madam Kaji had apparently been secretly observing these developments.
From time to time she would casually pose questions to him—asking her son whether Kii was performing adequately or if there was anything he found disagreeable.
Kōichirō answered ambiguously.
He replied with things like: Yes she seemed to be doing well; he supposed she was quite diligent; there was nothing particularly disagreeable.

After August began he started conversing with Kii.
Strangely whenever he spoke to her he could not suppress his blushing and Kii too would similarly redden while displaying shyness through her entire body.

One night—in the study shared with his father—the father and he were reading.
Though mid-August meant autumn by the calendar, the lingering summer heat made it a severe day. Even at nightfall, the temperature refused to drop, and though the veranda-side paper screens and windows stood open, not a wisp of breeze entered.
While reading, Ryūemon chased mosquitoes with a round fan and fluttered his collar for air.
When he looked toward his son, the young man sat with both elbows planted on the desk, motionlessly absorbed in his book.
There was no swatting at insects, no effort to catch a draft.

“Kōichirō,” Ryūemon said, “aren’t you hot?”

Kōichirō said, “Ah.”

“What are you reading?”

“The *Sandai Kikigaki*.”

Ryūemon said, “Mhm.”

“Father,” Kōichirō said, “don’t you think that girl resembles someone?”

“Which girl?”

“She’s my lady’s maid—a girl named Kii.”

“Who does she resemble?”

“I don’t know, but doesn’t she seem to resemble someone?”

“I don’t think so—I’ve never even properly looked at that girl,” Ryūemon said. “You’ve taken a liking to her, haven’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“If that’s how it is then fine,” Ryūemon said. “Whether man or woman—when you come to like someone you often think they resemble another person—people have their own preferred types according to their nature.”
“So whoever you fall for must share some common trait…… Didn’t you once have some girl you liked too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Please stop.”

“If that’s the case, then fine,” Ryūemon said. “You have a betrothed named Yasunaga Tsuna. Even if you were to fall for some other girl, your mother wouldn’t allow it.”

Kōichirō said, “I’m fine.”
It was a tone that sounded utterly unconvincing and drained of spirit.
And then he turned the pages of the book and continued reading intently.
Ryūemon fluttered his fan, then suddenly took the book he had been reading, flipped over the cover, and looked at the title label.

“Ichirō—” he said, “what did you say you’re reading now?”

“It’s the *Sandai Kikigaki*.”

“Hmm,” Ryūemon said. “Is that book really interesting?”

“Yes, it’s interesting.”

Ryūemon smiled and said, “Is that so,” then looked again at the title label of his own book.
There, “*Sandai Kikigaki Zen*” was written.
It was a compilation of taboo rituals for averting calamity by predicting wars and disasters—something that should never have been “interesting” to a young man like Kōichirō—and there was only one copy in the entire Kaji family library.

“Be careful, Kōichirō,” Ryūemon said, “take care not to fall for that girl—if you don’t, you’ll face hardship.”

Kōichirō remained silent.

What a foolish man he was to worry about such things.

After being left alone, Kōichirō thought this.
Do you really think I could fall for that girl in such a way?
Admittedly, Father has learned his lesson from experience, Kōichirō thought.
Father had an arranged marriage proposal with the daughter of Edashima but proactively married my current mother instead.
Edashima’s daughter was named Toki; while her refinement did not match Sawa’s, she was known for her gentle disposition and reputation as a koto virtuoso.
After Father married Sawa, in Edashima the eldest son died, so Sawa’s younger brother, a man named Jinbee, became an adopted husband.
For three years after that, the two young husbands would talk to each other about their respective family lives, concluding that no matter how the brides had appeared before marriage—whether they seemed strong-willed or gentle—once married, they all turned out much the same.
In terms of the strength of their lust, greed, vanity, and stubbornness—these were not things that men considered their enemies. Having reached this conclusion, together, the two men lamented.

"I won't end up like that," Kōichirō muttered to himself. "It's not that I like her in that way—I just... I just think that girl is simply—"

He was at a loss for words there and made a bitter face.

One night in September, while changing in the bedroom, he noticed Kii looking terribly downcast.
Kōichirō asked, “What’s wrong?”
She did not answer for some time.
“It’s nothing at all—there’s nothing the matter,” was all she would say.

“Be honest with me,” Kōichirō whispered. “Even if you try to hide it, I’ll know. What happened?”

Then, Kii started crying.

Four

Kii sat there, covering her face with both hands, and sobbed in a hushed voice.
Kōichirō also sat down.
Since the bedding had already been laid out, there was no choice but to sit beside Kii to speak quietly.
He sat next to Kii.

“Tell me—did Mother scold you?”

“No,” Kii shook her head, “I may be given leave.”

Kōichirō jolted and said, “Huh?”

“Th-that’s,” he stammered, “why is that? Why? Is there some reason?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Why—why can’t you tell me?”

“I cannot say that either,” Kii said, “you’ll surely find out someday—but I cannot speak of it from my own lips.”

Kōichirō stammered again.

“Isn’t that a marriage proposal?”

Kii did not answer.

“It’s an arranged marriage, isn’t it?” he said. “Tell me—that’s it, right?”

Kii nodded and began to cry even more violently.
Kōichirō flushed.
Sitting so close together, her sweet body odor—the scent of white powder and perfumed oil—enveloped him, while her sobbing voice seemed to pierce directly through his chest.

“Is it because you dislike the suitor that you’re crying so much?” Kōichirō asked, his face still flushed.
“Yes,” Kii answered.
“It’s not just that—I don’t like him at all. I clearly refused by saying ‘No,’” she said.
“So he won’t take no for an answer?”
“That seems to be the case.”
“Persistent bastard,” Kōichirō said.
“Who is he?”
“A samurai.”
“From our household?”
“Yes—Lord Sano, the Deputy Chief Elder’s eldest son.”
“So it’s Yōhei.”
“Yes.”
“That Heike crab bastard,” Kōichirō spat.
“Alright—I’ll deal with him.”

But Kii said: “If you resort to violence, that would be troublesome—I hear he’s quite strong.”
“No—it’s alright,” she continued. “I dislike violence.”
“Is that true?”
“You needn’t worry about him,” Köichirö said.
“Now tell me—you must have mentioned there being another reason for your tears.”
“Yes... but that...” She lowered her eyes.
“Can’t you tell me?” he pressed urgently. “You spoke of marriage arrangements already—why withhold this other reason?”

Kii lowered her head even further.
Her ears turned red all the way to the tips, and her breathing grew deep and heavy.
Kōichirō was seized by terror.

“You,” he said in a hoarse voice, “there’s someone else you like, isn’t there?”

Kii hunched her shoulders and covered her face with her sleeve.

“I see—” he said in a trembling voice, “I didn’t know that.”

“But there’s no hope,” Kii said from beneath the sleeve she had covered her face with.
“Our statuses are different, and you have a betrothed. My only wish is to stay by your side for life,” she said—her voice muffled by her sleeve—and Kōichirō held his breath.

“But you’re here now—”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then you—”

“Yes,” she said, “Young Master… having to part with you is so painful…”

And she began to cry again.

Kōichirō was suddenly seized by the impulse to embrace her tightly. Of course, it wasn’t with impure intentions—the sight of Kii crying was so pitifully endearing, she looked delicate enough to vanish. However, he restrained his impulse, steadied himself with a deep breath, and nodded.

“Alright,” he said, “there’s no need to cry anymore. I’ll arrange things properly for you.”
“So I may stay by your side.”

Kōichirō said, “Yeah.”

“Young Master,” Kii said, “—I’m so happy.”

This time, she made a gesture as if to cling to Kōichirō.
She had already shown a posture as if about to leap forward, but Kōichirō pursed his lips into a へ shape and stared fixedly into space.

That Heike crab bastard.

Kōichirō thought to himself.

You’ll see what I’ll do.

The next day—after attending his duties at the castle, Kōichirō immediately went to Sano Yōhei’s quarters.
Yōhei was the eldest son of Deputy Chief Elder Iemon and belonged to the domain’s page corps.
He was twenty-eight years old, but as a lazy drunkard, no one wanted to marry their daughters to him, and he remained single, drinking himself into a stupor.

Sano was infamous for his poverty.
As household head, Yōhei had thirteen children to support; his wife favored lavishness while Iemon squandered resources.
Consequently, their 470-koku stipend never sufficed—drowned in debts from all sides, leaving no coin for Yōhei’s drinking.
Thus Yōhei leeched off friends and accumulated tabs everywhere.
He wielded swords with skill and boasted formidable strength.
Though expelled from his dojo for drunkenness, he’d once ranked second among assistant instructors at Seishinkan.
Once roused to fury, none could restrain him—most surrendered through tearful compromise.

Yōhei was sprawled asleep in the guardhouse.
Likely drunk—his angular face, well-suited to his nickname “Heike crab,” flushed crimson as he slept using his arm for a pillow, drool trailing from the corner of his mouth while he snored.
Kōichirō shook him roughly.
Yōhei opened his eyes but didn’t sit up until Kōichirō kept calling him.

“I’m awake,” Yōhei said. “I’ve opened my eyes properly—see, I’m up, aren’t I? What do you want?”

Kōichirō stated his business.
Yōhei looked at him with bleary eyes, his expression doubtful.

“Alright,” Yōhei said, “but what’s this about?”

Kōichirō said, “I’ll tell you then,” and left.

After five in the afternoon, at Jinbagaoka north of the castle town where Kōichirō and Murata Saburosuke were waiting, Sano Yōhei arrived.

“You’re late,” Kōichirō said. “I told you to be here at five. Get ready.”

Then he fastened his tasuki cord, tied a sweatband, and tightened the crotch strap of his hakama.
Yōhei stood dumbfounded, gaping with his mouth hanging open.
“Get ready,” Kōichirō said again.
“What for?” Yōhei said.
“Enough talk—draw your sword. This settles it.”
“Aren’t you going to explain?”
“You should remember why yourself,” Kōichirō said.
Yōhei looked thoroughly confused.

“Is this about beating Harada?” Yōhei said. “If so, I’ll apologize—I was drunk.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then it’s about the incident where I stripped Oshino from Chashō naked.”

5

Kōichirō shook his head and said, “No.”

“Then it’s about extorting money from Kagami Tatsu?” Yōhei said. “If that’s it, I’m not to blame. Kagami Tatsu always drinks at Chashō but never pays his tab. Not that I haven’t let mine pile up a bit too—but his debts are downright lawless. So I acted as Chashō’s proxy—”

“Enough! Get ready and draw,” Kōichirō said. “I’ll explain after we settle this. Hurry up.”

“You insist?”

“Murata’s our second.”

Yōhei sneered.
It was an unpleasant laugh filled with contempt and mockery.
He glared at Kōichirō and Saburosuke.

“Hmph,” Yōhei spat. “I’ve been going easy on you ’cause you’re the Castle Deputy’s son, but you really wanna go through with this?”

“Enough talk. Draw.”

“You won’t complain even if you’re cut down, right?”

“Murata’s our witness.”

Yōhei looked that way.
Saburosuke nodded. “That’s right.”

“Fine—I’ll play along,” Yōhei said. “You’ve been holed up in Edo, so you wouldn’t know—I’ve built some reputation around here these days. Come at me like you mean it.”

“Are you prepared?”

“If my opponent’s you—” Yōhei sneered again, lips curling, “—then come.”

The instant Yōhei cried “Come!”, a flash burst from Kōichirō’s waist.
Of course, it wasn’t lightning—what had flashed was a sword.
Yōhei cried “Ah—” and leaped back.
He leaped back about three ken, but instantly his hakama and obi slid down with a slither, exposing the front of his kimono.
Yōhei gaped and, while clutching his fallen hakama with one hand, shouted “Wait!”

“No—I won’t wait,” Kōichirō said. “There’s no pause in a duel with live blades. Here I come!”

Yōhei retreated backward.
Kōichirō raised his sword overhead and advanced step by step.

“Wait!” Yōhei said. “I can’t fight like this—not like this!”

“The duel is settled.”

“I beg you, wait! Ah—”

Yōhei, attempting to retreat backward, stepped on the hem of his slipped-down hakama and tumbled over backward.
Kōichirō stepped in and thrust the tip of his sword downward toward Yōhei’s nose.

“How about that?”

Yōhei gaped.

“Shall I cut you down?” Kōichirō said.

Yōhei said, “I yield.”
“Is that certain?”
“Confirmed,” Yōhei said. “But I don’t get it. First, tell me—what was this duel even for?”

“The daughter of Myōgaya,” Kōichirō said.

Yōhei looked up at him blankly.

“The girl clearly rejected your marriage proposal,” Kōichirō said. “Yet you persist. You’re likely banking on your Middle Elder status and ill repute to force this—but I won’t permit it. I won’t let this stand.”

“Wait—hold on!”

“Withdraw your claim, Sano,” Kōichirō said. “Do so quietly, and I’ll cover your drinking debts monthly.”

“What?!” Yōhei gulped audibly.

“I won’t give you much—one ichibu per month for your drinking tab. Will you back off cleanly for that, or not?”

“Th-that’s definite, right?” Yōhei said. “Y-you’ll really give one ichibu each time—yes?”

“Will you back off?”

“If—if I can get it for sure... I accept.”

“I am a samurai.”

“Good—I too am a samurai.”

Saburosuke gave a quick, wry smile from across the way.
Yōhei spotted it immediately and grimaced. “This ain’t no laughing matter.”

“This ain’t no laughing matter,” Yōhei said. “Murata here’s our witness to this contract too.”

Saburosuke nodded. “Sure thing.”
Kōichirō wiped his blade clean and sheathed it.
He then straightened his clothes, pulled a paper wallet from his breast pocket, wrapped an ichibu silver coin in tissue paper, and handed it to Yōhei.

“This is for this month.”

“Well, thank you,” Yōhei bowed his head. “If it’s definite… then how exactly will you be giving it after this? Can I come by to ask about it?”

“If you come on the fifth of the month, I’ll hand it over.”

“The fifth, right? Understood.”

“Let me give you a warning,” Kōichirō said. “From now on, conduct yourself properly. If you engage in any misconduct, I will naturally discontinue your drinking tab and take this matter public—be prepared for that. And never speak a word of today’s events.”

“I’m not about to go around airing my own shame, you know.”

“If you’ve realized that much, good enough. Don’t forget it.”

And Kōichirō left together with Saburosuke.

Yōhei watched them go, tilting his head and scratching it with one hand, his expression one of utter bewilderment.
His other hand was still clutching the slipped-down hakama.

"What a strange fellow," he muttered. "The Myōgaya matter was last year—after being rejected, I haven’t done a thing. Withdrawing or not, I’d practically forgotten about it entirely... I don’t get it." He shook his head.
"I feel like I’ve been bewitched."

Kōichirō and Saburosuke went down the slope.
Laughing at Yōhei, Saburosuke said, “Cutting the hakama’s belt was masterful.”
“I didn’t know Kaji practiced swordsmanship,” he said, “and it’s quite unexpected that he has such splendid skill.”
Kōichirō gave a wry smile. “I’m a samurai’s son too, so of course I practice swordsmanship. They were strict about it at the Edo residence.”
“What school?”
“Since a Battō-ryū instructor came to the Edo residence, I practiced it for about three years.”
“Ah, so that was iaijutsu just now? No—I learned that by watching,” said Kōichirō.
“When I was in Edo, I visited Kan’ei-ji Temple. On the way there, two rōnin got into a fight. One suddenly slashed the other’s torso—then his hakama strings and belt snapped, making him unable to move. I just imitated that,” said Kōichirō.
“I see,” said Saburosuke.
When in Edo, one engages in various studies.

“But even so,” Saburosuke said, “why did you go out of your way to do such a meddlesome thing for the daughter of Myōgaya?”

“Yeah,” Kōichirō averted his face. “That girl has been working as a chambermaid in my... household since March. It’s my mother’s preference—I don’t really know the details—but... I was asked by her.”

“So the monthly one ichibu for the drinking tab too?”

VI

Kōichirō averted his face even more.
Otherwise, Saburosuke would have seen him flustered and red-faced.

"Even Sano—" Kōichirō said, "if he has his drinking allowance, he won't do anything foolish."

"Who's to say?"

"Let's part ways here," Kōichirō said. "My apologies for troubling you to come all this way."

“I’ll keep quiet about today’s events.”

Saburosuke said with a laugh.

That night—Kōichirō whispered to Kii, "It's all right now."
Kii had frightened eyes.
But when he explained it simply, she smiled as if relieved, suddenly looked up at him with feverish eyes, and nodded happily.

The two of them only grew closer.

The matter of Jinbagaoka was a secret between the two of them.
That very secrecy seemed to separate them from others while binding them closely together.
Then, one night in October, while attending to his bedroom, Kii said, “Might I have the day off tomorrow?”
She explained that it was for her grandfather’s seventh-year memorial service and that she had requested leave from Lady Kaji.
Kōichirō replied.
Kii looked up at him with a suggestive gaze, smiling.

“Young Master, you are certainly off-duty tomorrow as well, are you not?”

“Was that so?”

“It is your day off,” Kii said. “I truly do not wish to attend the memorial service.”

“But you yourself requested it, did you not?”

“I did request that.”

“So you’ve changed your mind?”

Kii gave a knowing smile and looked up obliquely at Kōichirō.
He averted his eyes as if dazzled.
But the moment he averted them, he abruptly looked up at the ceiling and pursed his lips.

Tomorrow was your day off too.

In that single character "also" within "you too," lay her implication.
In other words, it undoubtedly meant that they could go somewhere together—that they could go.
He turned around and looked at Kii.

“Do you know Akane Hot Springs, Kii?”

“Yes, I know of it.”

“Yeah,” Kōichirō mumbled. He didn’t know how to broach the subject—it might be improper to say such a thing, and she might refuse—“Well—” he said, “it’s quiet and nice there. The hot spring waters are clear, and there are five or six large inns.”

“That is true,” Kii said. “And since it lies outside your domain, we won’t encounter many acquaintances there.”

“That’s right—Akane is in Matsudaira domain.”

“You can still see the autumn leaves there, can’t you?” Kii said. “I would love to go.”

“I’d like to go see it too.”

Kii waited.
Kōichirō's chest thudded, but he couldn't summon any courage.
He turned red and, abruptly turning away, spoke.

“I will go there tomorrow.”

Kii looked at him.

“I—,” he continued indecisively, “I will go to recuperate at an inn called Tōfūrō for half a day.”

“I am aware of Tōfūrō, I must say.”

“That’s a good inn.”

“But Tōfūrō seems to have many samurai guests,” Kii said. “Hirano-ya is a smaller inn, but you can see the valley stream right below it, and it’s quiet and settled—I do like it, I must say.”

“In that case, Hirano-ya would be acceptable.”

Kii waited.

“Let’s go with Hirano-ya,” Kōichirō said. “—I’ll go to bed now.”

He changed into his sleeping garments and then burrowed into the bedding (as if fleeing).

Early the next morning, Kōichirō took leave of his parents and set out for Akane Hot Springs.
Kii said nothing and showed no change in demeanor.

Akane was located about two ri from the castle town, on the mid-slope of a moderately high hill overlooking the rapids of the Sakaigawa River.
Kōichirō walked there.
Along the way, he grew increasingly despondent.
What’s the point of going alone for recuperation? Soaking in the hot spring and getting out, gazing at the valley stream—it’s all pointless. Maybe I should just call it off, he muttered.
He stopped a couple of times and tried to turn back.
However, he thought that perhaps Kii might come.
Given how she had recommended Hirano-ya, she might be planning to come after him.
No, that can’t be right.
There's no way a girl could come alone to a hot spring resort—don't indulge in such foolish fantasies, he thought.

He quickly found Hirano-ya.
Along both sides of a single road stretched a row of inns and souvenir shops—and at the very end of this row, on the side facing the river, stood Hirano-ya.
He was guided to a room overlooking the stream; though the building was old, its construction felt sturdily composed, and with there seeming to be no other guests, only the sound of the stream flowed quietly into the room.

The maid brought tea utensils and a change of clothes and asked, “Would you like to enter the bath right away?”

He said he would leave it for later and, after sipping his tea, went out to the veranda to gaze outside. The opposite bank was a pine woods with many maple trees, but perhaps the season had passed, for all their leaves had already fallen.

“Won’t you go to the bath?”

A woman’s voice came from beside him. Because it was so sudden, Kōichirō nearly jumped up.

When he turned around, Kii was there.

“Ah—” he said, “Kii?”

She gazed boldly at him and nodded while smiling coquettishly.

Kōichirō opened his eyes wide.
She had already bathed, her skin dewy and alluring, appearing softly blurred as if veiled in a halo of light.
Her kimono, unlike when she was at the residence, had a pattern with alluringly vibrant colors, and the obi tied in a town fashion appeared strikingly vivid.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “—Truly beautiful.”

“I’m delighted.”

“It’s like waking from a dream.”

Kōichirō said earnestly.
Kii accepted it sincerely and was sincerely pleased.

"But when did you get here?" said Kōichirō.
“Yes, I hurried the palanquin and arrived ahead of you.”
“So we met along the way then.”
“Yes, I caught sight of you along the way,” Kii said.
"You stopped at the Ōenoki spot."
“Yeah—that was when I’d been hesitating whether to turn back,” he thought to himself.

“Why don’t you go ahead to the bath?”

“No—the bath can wait,” Kōichirō said. “Let’s talk a bit.”

“There is something I should like to ask.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “Won’t you come into the parlor?”

Seven

The two sat and talked.

Kii asked, “They say you hate women in society, but I don’t believe that—is there some reason?”
“There is,” Kōichirō answered.
“May I hear it?”
“Of course.”
“What’s the reason?”
“I’ll be honest—it’s because of a certain girl.”
“I thought as much,” Kii said. “That must be your betrothed—the one called Ms. Yasunaga Tsuna.”
“What?!” Kōichirō was astonished.
Why does Kii know that?
“I was study companions with her—koto, tea ceremony, flower arrangement—we all had the same teacher,” Kii said.
“People often said we resembled each other like sisters.”
“Is that so? I don’t think so myself,” Kōichirō said.
“We weren’t close, I suppose.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That girl was a strong-willed and spiteful child.”
“Oh my, is that so? She treated me very kindly.”

“She was a strong-willed and spiteful girl.”
“In what way?” Kii asked.
“I still remember it well,” Kōichirō said, “and every time I recall it, there are moments when I feel both frustrated and resentful.”
“I would very much like to ask.”
“I hate snakes,” Kōichirō said. “Even now, when I see one, my whole body crawls as if covered in goosebumps.”

He was twelve years old at the time.
When he went to visit the Yasunaga house, Tsuna said, “I’ll show you something interesting—come here,” and invited him into the garden.
The Yasunaga garden was spacious, with woods and grasslands here and there, and there was also a small pond.
As he followed her absentmindedly, she nimbly squatted down in the grass and said, “Here it is.”
And then, when he approached and tried to peek, she let out a “Waah!” as she plucked a small snake and thrust it right before his eyes.

“I nearly fainted,” Kōichirō said. “I must have screamed—everything went distant, and when I came to my senses, I was standing in the parlor still wearing my sandals, Mother was furious, and that girl was laughing uproariously.”

“How old was that person?”

“Since I was twelve, she would’ve been six,” Kōichirō said. “Though I think it was the year before that when both the Yasunaga and Kaji families came to this Akane.”

The inn was Tōfūrō.
While the parents were talking, that girl said, “Let’s take a bath together.”
When he hesitated, she said, “What a spineless coward you are for a man!”
He entered the bath with Tsuna.
When they stepped into the bathtub, Tsuna said she wanted to have a diving contest.

“I don’t want to—my hair will get wet.”

“You can just dry it later.”

He didn’t want to—Mom would get angry.

“For a man, you’re scared of your own mother.”

“Well, well—what a coward,” Tsuna sneered.
Thereupon, he consented.
The two of them competed in diving, but try as he might, he kept losing. Though he persisted through three attempts—on the third even pushing himself to the point where he thought he might die—Tsuna remained submerged thirteen counts longer than he had.

“That girl boasted proudly and relentlessly mocked me,” Kōichirō said. “Then, after getting out of the bath and drying our hair, we tied each other’s up, and she suggested we play until it was completely dry.”

“So that’s when it happened?” Kii asked.

“We were naked,” Kōichirō said, “and she began by boasting about her own body—‘See how white and smooth and pretty it is? Take a good look,’ she said.”

Her skin was indeed pure white with a fine texture—supple and beautiful.
“After making him look at her entire body,” Tsuna declared, “I have the Three-Star Mark,” spread her legs, and showed the inside of her right thigh.
He saw three moles arranged in a triangle on her pale pink skin near the base of her thigh.
Though it was just a brief glimpse—a mere glance—he felt his heart pound as if he had done something wrong, and a deep sense of guilt took hold.
“Let’s compare our bodies this time,” Tsuna said with an unperturbed face, then commanded, “Press yourself right up against me.”
He panicked, said “No,” and fled.
Thereupon Tsuna scornfully frowned and mocked him once again: “Spineless for a man, aren’t you?”

“Such things happen to everyone,” Kii said. “Around that age, one naturally becomes curious about the body and wants to show each other theirs.”

“Did Kii do it too?”

“Oh—” she flushed, “Young Master is the one speaking now, isn’t he? I shall speak of myself later.”

“Yeah,” Kōichirō said, “but that’s not the important part.”

After fleeing from their body comparison, Tsuna said, “Shall I teach you something good?”
What’s this “something good”? he wondered warily.
Tsuna shrugged her shoulders and giggled.
Then she said, “If you keep diving like that, you’ll lose every time. You should come up for air midway.”
“I came up two or three times myself.”
“You were foolishly honest,” Tsuna said. “How resourceful you aren’t.”

“I was frustrated,” Kōichirō said. “I kept thinking I’d get back at her someday and be the one laughing, but she always beat me. It was always me being laughed at in the end.”

On another occasion, again in the Yasunaga garden, Tsuna was climbing a tree and boasting.
As was her wont, she said, “You can’t do it, can you?”
When he climbed, she climbed even higher. “I can see the ocean,” she said.
He climbed even higher, but not only did he not see the sea—the branch snapped, causing him to fall, and he struck his back and lost consciousness.

On another occasion, on a narrow path through the grass, she said, "Walk straight ahead here."
"There's a snake there, isn't there?"
"There's no snake here—it's winter already! What a coward," she laughed mockingly.
When he walked straight ahead, he fell into a pitfall and sprained his left ankle.

“Are you laughing?” Kōichirō said.

“I am not laughing.”

“It seems you laughed just now.”

“I would never do such a thing as laugh.”

“If I start counting, there’s still plenty more,” Kōichirō said. “Things like the bag-sword incident, having a beetle put on my back, the runaway horse, forgetting I’d been made up and getting locked in the storehouse like that—or whatever.”
Kōichirō stopped talking and looked ahead.

A maid came to the veranda.
When she asked, "Is this the Kaji residence?" and received confirmation, she said, "A guest has arrived."

Kōichirō was startled.

There shouldn’t be any guests coming.
Kii also turned slightly pale.

“Well—” Kōichirō asked the maid, “what sort of person is this guest?”

“A samurai, my lord.”

Kōichirō said, “Uh.”

八

“I asked for his name,” the maid continued, “but he seems rather angry and keeps insisting, ‘You’ll understand when you meet me—you absolutely must see me.’”

“Alright—” Kōichirō said, “I’ll go right away, so have him wait in another room.”
The maid acknowledged and left.

“Who could it be?”
Kii said anxiously, “What should I do? Have I been found out?”

“Anyway, I’ll meet them.”

“I will leave. I think it would be better for me to go while you’re meeting them.”

“Yeah—” Kōichirō said, “that might be better. Let’s do that.”

Kii stood up.

“The palanquin has been arranged,” Kii said. “If I hurry，I should make it to Grandfather’s memorial service.”
“Then this evening，”Kōichirō said.
Kii left swiftly.

Kōichirō sipped cold tea.
He sat thinking he would wait until Kii finished getting ready.
Eventually regaining composure and judging the time right, he deliberately went out without wearing his sword.
The maid had guided him to a dark narrow room in the corner.
In that utterly plain space with old tatami—gloomy as a paper lantern storeroom—a samurai sat before a butterfly-legged tray drinking sake.
Kōichirō stood dumbstruck; the man who turned with a cup saying “Yo” was Sano Yōhei.

“Yo, well this is unexpected,” Yōhei said, “you’re treating me well.”

“What business brings you here?”

“Consider this my courtesy call—today’s the fifth, remember?”

Kōichirō remembered.
So that’s why he’d come?
“It’s a promise, you know,” Yōhei said, taking a sip of his sake. “Can’t have you forgetting from the very first payment.”
“When I called at your house and they said you were in Akane, I came chasing right after you. What do you say?”

“Are you offering to pay?”

“Don’t mock a pauper—you’re joking!”

Kōichirō sat down.
It seemed the man didn’t know about Kii’s presence; thinking to atone a little by keeping him company, he had made up his mind.

That night—Kōichirō said, “It was nothing,” and spoke of Yōhei.
Kii nodded and whispered, “How delightful it was.”
And during their moments alone—though always brief—they would often murmur to each other about their joyful days in Akane.

From their time at Akane Hot Springs, their hearts grew ever closer; often, merely exchanging a glance would let them understand each other’s feelings down to the slightest detail.
Then one afternoon in mid-November—on Kōichirō’s day off—they found time to speak at length deep within the garden.
This place was called Hokuto Myojin, where stood the Kaji family’s ancestral tutelary shrine, surrounded by young cedars despite being a fledgling grove.
Hokuto Myojin was a deity the Kaji clan worshipped wherever they resided, said to have been their guardian god for over ten generations.

“I have something I wish to ask,” Kii said. “Back at Akane Inn, you spoke of Lady Tsuna, did you not?”

Kōichirō nodded as he thought how Kii grew more beautiful each day.
Her complexion kept improving too—there was no girl as gentle and good-natured as her. What an adorable girl she was, he thought.

“Young Master, is it because of that you have not married Lady Tsuna and have ended up becoming a misogynist?”

Kōichirō looked at Kii with a “Hmm,” then realized he was being questioned.

“Well—no, it’s partly that,” he faltered slightly, “but to be honest—it’s also about Mother.”

“You mean Madam?”

“Since it’s you, Kii, I’ll speak plainly—you must know what sort of person Mother is,” Kōichirō said. “I’ve watched Father and Mother’s life all these years, always pitying Father… On the surface, she upholds him as master—Father sits there as family head. But—” He shook his head, “—in truth? As Castle Deputy Chief Elder he’s separate, but privately? Everything follows Mother’s will. She holds all real power. Father only has as much freedom as the length of chain she grips—and with those chains, she steers him as she pleases.”

“That’s going too far.”

“Not just Father—it seems most men are like that!”

“That’s going too far.”

“Monkey handlers set up monkeys as Masters, then make them dance and perform plays to earn money—don’t you think that’s quite similar?”

“But—” Kii said, “not all women are like that.”

“For example, someone like you, Kii?”

“Oh, someone like me?”

“I want to marry you.”

Kii gasped “Oh!” and flushed crimson.
Kōichirō himself was startled by his own words—they had spilled out unbidden, without conscious thought.
He flustered momentarily, but having spoken them, realized these were his true feelings that needed full articulation here.

“Kii, will you become my wife?”

“I am most delighted, Young Master.” Kii kept her eyes lowered, her face still flushed. “I understand your feelings perfectly—truly, I am overjoyed—but our stations differ, and above all, Madam would never permit it.”

“I’ll handle that. Will you come?”

“I cannot give you an answer.”
Kii turned her face away. “But… that’s not something that can be done, you see.”

“I’ll talk to them right now—I’ll definitely make them consent!”

“You mustn’t, Young Master.”

“Let’s meet later,” Kōichirō said. “I’ll let you know the result tonight.” And he abruptly grabbed Kii’s hand.
Her body jerked, and her breath grew deep and ragged.
And the hand Kōichirō had grabbed remained cold and stiff, unmoving.

“Don’t worry—it’ll surely work out,” Kōichirō said.
Kii remained silent and turned her face away.
She appeared to be in such a state—having no power to speak due to successive waves of emotion.

Kōichirō went to his mother’s room.
There，the drum teacher had come and was overseeing her practice.
He waited until the sound of the drum could no longer be heard and visited once more.—Madam Kaji listened to Kōichirō’s words in silence.
She did not so much as twitch an eyebrow，nor did she show any particular sign of taking offense.
“This is it，”Kōichirō thought to himself as he spoke.
This might unexpectedly work out after all—Mother was fond of Kii，he also thought.—Having finished listening，Sawa said in her usual voice，“Ask your father.”
Kōichirō asked，“Mother，what is your opinion?”

“As a woman, I cannot meddle in such matters,” Sawa said. “Since Father is master of the Kaji household, you must ask him.”

Kōichirō said, “Then I will do so.”

Nine

His father Ryūemon shook his head.
Then, as recorded in the first chapter of this story, he stated his own views on women and said it would be better to give up.

"I do not intend to give up," Kōichirō asserted.
"I love Kii, and I believe she will make an excellent wife," he said.
“It’s no good—the fact that Mom told me to ask you is already proof she disapproves. Right? You should know Mom’s nature.”
“But Mother said, ‘Because Father is the master of the Kaji family.’”
“Do you think so too?”
“Well, yes… since that’s undoubtedly the case,” Kōichirō mumbled.
Ryūemon gave a wry smile and said, “Let’s leave that inquiry be.”

“Well then—you should give up,” continued Ryūemon. “Besides, you seem quite taken with that girl—but as I said earlier—once married—all women become much alike—whether Yasunaga’s daughter or Kii—I don’t know much about Kii myself—but once they become wives through marriage—they’ll both turn out similarly in any case.”

"But you’re not opposed then—Father?"

Ryūemon nodded and said, “If Mother agrees.”

Kōichirō went to his mother’s room.

This time, the issue had become clear.
“I won’t allow it,” Mother said.

“You have a betrothed named Ms. Yasunaga Tsuna.”
“Moreover, as you are soon to become the Castle Deputy Chief Elder, you are forbidden from marrying a townsman’s daughter,” Sawa declared firmly. “I will not hear such talk again.”

“But—” he said, “Father said it was fine.”

“I will speak to Father later,” Sawa said. “—Is there anything else you wish to say?”

Kōichirō withdrew.

Very well. If that’s how it is, I’ll devise tactics, he thought. Father would likely be put through the wringer from now on—quite pitiable indeed—but that meant he was reaping his own thorns. "Very well," he muttered. "I’ll devise tactics."

But there was no time for that.
While he was negotiating with his parents, Kii had left the residence.
He realized this when he entered his bedroom.
Kii was nowhere to be seen during dinner; a different chambermaid had brought tea to the study; and a chambermaid named Aki had prepared the bedroom.
Kōichirō was seized by an ominous premonition. “Where is Kii?” he asked the chambermaid.
Then, as if she had been waiting for that question, Mother entered and said, “From today onward, this Aki will attend to you.”

Kōichirō flared up.

“Mother found time to interfere, didn’t she?”

“Kii took her leave voluntarily,” Sawa said. “Surely you haven’t grown so servile as to suspect your own mother?”

Kōichirō bowed his head.
He too had no wish to become that servile.
Kii remained within the castle town—if he wished to meet her, he need only visit Myōgaya.
“Good night,” he said.
Sawa returned “Good night” and exited the bedchamber.

After completing her task, Aki placed a sealed letter there, bid her farewell, and left.
Aki said nothing, but certain it was Kii’s letter, Kōichirō immediately took it and broke the seal.

—I will surely return to you, the letter had written.
I swear to the gods and buddhas that I will surely return, so please believe this and wait for me.
I earnestly beg you to refrain from attempting to summon me back or come to visit me.

“Even if you come to meet me, I will absolutely not see you,” the letter reiterated. “Instead, I will surely return to ‘your side’ within half a year.”

“I understand,” Kōichirō murmured. “I’ll believe you, Kii—I’ll wait.”

And he waited.
December came, the year turned, February came, and March arrived.

At the Kaji household, as was the annual custom, seven chambermaids were replaced; shortly thereafter, it was decided that Kōichirō’s marriage would take place.

“We’ve kept Ms. Yasunaga waiting nearly five years—we can’t delay any longer,” Sawa declared. “Kōichirō’s aversion to women appears cured, given he even expressed wanting someone as a bride,” she added pointedly. “This time, we shall conduct the ceremony.”

The matter was decided.
Now that Madam Kaji had made such an unequivocal declaration, who could possibly oppose it?
Interactions between the Kaji and Yasunaga families resumed, and the wedding ceremony date was promptly decided.

Kōichirō prayed, “Come back, Kii. Come back.”
He called out to the sky, to the wall, to the night’s darkness: “What’s wrong, Kii? When are you coming back?”
And he said again, “I’m waiting—I believe in you. I’ll wait until the very last moment.”

Kii did not return.

The day of the wedding ceremony drew near and finally arrived on the very day.
Kii had still not returned, but he had not abandoned hope.
Guests gathered at the Kaji household, and he was made to change clothes.
While reflecting his groom attire in the mirror, he still waited.
Kii would surely return.
Kii was not the kind of woman who would break her vow; she would undoubtedly return. Before long, the hour drew near, and the bride arrived.
The matchmakers were Second Chief Elder Unno Tosho and his wife; the appointed hour of seven o'clock arrived, and the ceremony began.

Standing beside the bride in her pure white bridal kimono and wataboshi headdress, exchanging wedding sake cups, Kōichirō still waited for Kii.
Kii still did not appear as the sake cups were finished and the event moved to the banquet.
The lively, cheerful banquet continued, and the bride was led by the hand by the matchmakers and rose from her seat.

Kii, what's wrong?
And Kōichirō screamed internally.
What’s wrong? It’s almost the final moment.

And then, that time of "final moment" had come.
After the bride had risen and left, nearly an hour later, the matchmaker Unno Tosho delivered the closing remarks, and Kōichirō rose from his seat and was led to the bedroom.
While changing into his ceremonial sleepwear, he called out inwardly to Kii—

Mrs. Unno guided him to the newlyweds’ bedroom, led him inside the folding screen, then quietly closed the sliding door and left.

The bride was sitting on top of the bedding.

The light from the silk paper lantern was reflected on the six-panel golden folding screen.
On the gorgeous, alluring bedding, wearing a snow-white nightgown with a golden-yellow obi tied around her waist and her head deeply bowed, the bride sat.
Kōichirō resolved—he would confess everything to the bride.
Tsuna was a strong-willed and mean-spirited girl.
However, if he opened up and explained everything, she would understand—he thought this as he sat down there.

Then, for the first time, the bride quietly raised her face.

“Ah—” Kōichirō said. “You.”

The bride placed both hands down.

“Please forgive me,” the bride said. “I wanted you to see how I had changed.”

Kōichirō muttered “No way” and stared blankly, his eyes wide.

“I intended to give up if you still didn’t take a liking to me after serving by your side,” she said. “I never meant to deceive you—I only wanted your own eyes to see how Tsuna had grown.” The bride sobbed, “—Will you forgive me?”

“It feels like I’m dreaming,” Kōichirō murmured. “—So the daughter of Myōga House was...”

“Yono-san was my practice companion,” she replied.

“Did Mother know?”

“Yes—”
The bride sobbed, “Please forgive me—I was single-mindedly determined to become your wife.”

Kōichirō was flustered.
He had become completely flustered and no longer knew how to respond.
Then, in a nasal voice, he said.

“You didn’t break your vow—in other words, you’ve come back to me.”
Then he quickly wiped his eyes with his fingers and said something foolish.
“I suppose Ms. Three-Star is still there, right?”

Ten

“It’s been another month now,” Ryūemon said to his son. “Another month—hmm—seems things have settled down peacefully after all.”

“Yes,” the son answered. “It’s been going peacefully.”

“Did what I said occur to you?” the father said. “That once you’re married, all women are much the same.”

“Indeed,” Kōichirō replied calmly. “You were right—women are all the same.”