Pathway to Japanese Literature

Revised Official Laws

I

“You’re just getting tougher and tougher.”

“That’s your perception.”

“You always had two bottles at first.”

“I didn’t want you to dislike me.”

“How diplomatic.”
Kawamoto Kana glared up at him through narrowed eyes. “So now you don’t care if I do?”

“Not that I’m that confident,” said Nakasho Naoe, pointing at Kana’s meal tray. “The fish will get cold.”

“I can’t manage such feats as serving while eating. I’ll dine with you once you finish your sake.”

“Your old nature’s resurfacing bit by bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“After moving to Isozumi’s household, didn’t you become all prim? That plucked-eyebrow face perpetually bowed down, eyes lowered, movements languid and delicate—even when addressing Daisuke, using that cloying voice thin as a mosquito’s hum.”

“Oh, what an excellent memory you have.”

“That tomboyish Kana could change this much when becoming someone’s wife—who would’ve imagined?”

“You never even thought about it!” Kana glared again and said, “Since I married into Isozumi, you’ve only visited three times—and one was during their family funeral. How could you possibly know whether I used that cloying voice or not?”

“Because my memory is excellent.”

“You’re the one who hasn’t changed a bit! You’re kind to everyone else but turn spiteful when facing me—since childhood I must have thought countless times how you truly despise me from your very core.”

“Yet you still chose to become my bride.”

“You’re the one who told me to come.”
“Was I too late in expressing thanks?”

Kana stared at Naoe’s face and shook her head as if it were hopeless. “—Why must you act so spiteful toward me alone?”

“Because I dislike you—that’s why.”
Naoe handed her the cup without laughing. “My hands are occupied.”

This occurred about twenty days after their engagement had been settled toward the end of spring.
Nakasho Naoe had lost his wife to death, and Kana, having married Isozumi Daisuke, had returned to her family home after her husband died two years into their marriage.
Not only had Kana’s brother, Kawamoto Sōbee, been close with Naoe since long ago, but the two families had also frequently visited each other, maintaining a relationship that was almost closer than that of relatives.
Nakasho Naoe and Kawamoto Kana had been thought by those around them to be destined for marriage from the beginning, but when the current domain lord implemented revisions to the Official Laws, Naoe obstinately opposed them, incurring Lord Kainokami Norinobu's disfavor and resulting in his demotion to Director of Compilation for the Generational Records—the domain's historical chronicle.
The Nakasho family was a lineage of distinction in this domain—his grandfather San'emon had served as castellan, and his father Hyōe, from the age of twenty-nine until his death at forty-one, had concurrently held the position of chamberlain to the previous lord, Shinano no Kami Norinobu, who was hailed as a wise ruler.
Naoe assumed headship of the household at eighteen and became "Co-Signer" at twenty-three.
This position was a stepping stone to becoming senior councilor, but two years later, when the issue of domain law revisions arose, he was relegated to a sinecure.

The Kawamoto family was a high-ranking retainer family with a stipend of 400 koku, but Sōbee had served as Town Magistrate for three years now.
He was thirty-two, the same age as Naoe, and had two children besides his wife.
Since the revision of the Official Laws seven years prior, this marked the third change of Town Magistrates even during Sōbee’s tenure.
Under the new laws, townspeople and peasants had been granted various rights, resulting in numerous lawsuits and making the Town Magistrate’s position increasingly arduous—as for Kana, who had married into Isozumi, her return to her parental home after her husband Daisuke’s death occurred because Daisuke’s younger brother was to inherit the household and already had a fiancée.
Even without that circumstance, she likely would have had no intention of spending her life childless in Isozumi.
Kana persuaded her brother and returned to the Kawamoto household.
This matter soon became known to the Nakasho household as well, and not long after, Naoe brought forward a proposal of remarriage.
In the year Naoe became Director of Compilation, he married—only to lose his wife a little over a year later.
This wife named Hatsuo was of the Yamada family; she had married in the winter of her seventeenth year and died in the spring of her nineteenth, again without being blessed with children.

Approximately three times a month, Naoe and Kana would meet at the riverside restaurant Nanba on the banks of the Hinokawa River and share dinner together.
Of course, this was with Kawamoto Sōbee’s approval, but Kana, claiming that being seen would cause trouble, was being cautious to an extreme degree.

“That’s foolish—unlike you, Kana,” Naoe laughed. “Our engagement is properly settled, and we’ve known each other since childhood. There’s no reason to be concerned about what others think.”

“You may be fine with that, but a woman cannot do the same.”

“Why isn’t a woman allowed?”

“You’ve had your own marriage experience, and I’ve been a married woman myself. If we’re seen meeting alone like this, people might start wondering what we’re up to—who knows what suspicions they’ll harbor.”

“Hmm, is that so?”
Naoe tilted his head with utmost seriousness.

“When a man and woman who’ve both been married dine alone together, people suspect them of doing something? I hadn’t noticed that—but really, what exactly would they suspect us of doing?”

Kana turned red.

“Well,” Kana said, turning away her flushed face, “—they must think we’re playing hide-and-seek or something.”

Naoe pushed up his lower lip and shook his head slightly. "You hid yourself quite neatly in that retort—how cunning."

“What could I possibly be hiding?”

“You’re hiding your whole self—and there’s no sake left.”

“What a detestable thing to say.”

Kana glared at Naoe, her eyes locking onto his.

When mid-autumn arrived, Kana began refusing to meet at Nanba.
The staff at the restaurant had begun giving her odd looks, and her sister-in-law made sarcastic remarks.
From now on, she wanted them to meet either at the Kawamoto residence or Naoe’s house, it was said.

“If we hold a wedding ceremony, we’ll just turn into a domestic household,” said Naoe. “This is our only chance to break free from the tedious bonds of family life and enjoy meals together with just the two of us. Caring about others’ eyes is absurd.”

“That may suffice for you.”

“It’s unlike you, Kana, to draw such distinctions between men and women,” Naoe said. “—I remember when you were eleven or twelve, arguing that men had no particular reason to put on airs—because the difference between men and women is—”

“This is how it is,” Kana interrupted, turning red and pressing her hands together in supplication. “Please stop that talk.”

“Ah,” Naoe smiled. “It seems you remembered it yourself after all.”

“With that silver tongue of yours, why didn’t you put it to better use during the Official Laws revision?” Kana retorted. “Now that you’ve taken on this retirement-like position as Director of Compilation, at best you can only make me give in.”

This time, Naoe covered his mouth with one hand and said sharply.

“Forgive me—back then I was young, so I stubbornly confronted them head-on with arguments, and because of that, the elders deftly outmaneuvered me. No—rather, my demotion itself became how those senior officials evaded accountability,” said Naoe. “—That alone was the blunder of my life. I apologize.”

“Surely you don’t mean me?”

“That’s for Kana to know—let’s meet again on the fifteenth.”

“Is this my room?” Kana said gently, looking up at you with a sidelong glance. “At your mansion granted by His Lordship.”

It was during a meal in Kana’s sitting room at the Kawamoto residence in Muromachi, but before their conversation could conclude, Kana’s brother Sōbee appeared and somewhat casually joined them.
Saying “Mind if I intrude?” as he sat down, he didn’t touch the tea his sister had brewed and vacantly listened to the two of them talking.
Even as close as siblings were, sharing a seat with her fiancé must have felt awkward—before long, Kana rose with an air of purpose and withdrew from the room.

“Right, I meant to ask but forgot,” said Naoe. “Is there someone in the Kawamoto family who wrote something called the Genzai Niroku?”

“It would be my great-grandfather,” Sōbee answered.

“There should be other works written by that person—I believe one is called Kansō Yawa or something like that.”

“I don’t know, but there might be.”

“If you have it, I’d like to borrow it. It seems there’s some entry in Kansō Yawa about the achievements of Lord Iyo no Kami Norikiyo of Shun Gakuin—I found that written in Genzai Niroku.”

“I’ll look for it. Is there urgency?”

Naoe narrowed his eyes slightly.
He noticed for the first time something uneasy coloring Sōbee’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Naoe asked. “Is something troubling you?”

Sōbee looked puzzled and retorted, “How come?”

“How should I know?” Naoe said. “You’re not acting like your usual self. Is something troubling you?”

“Yadō Genba knows.”

“Let’s drop that—if it’s about Genba, there’s nothing more to discuss.”
Naoe picked up the teacup but found it empty and set it back down. “Shall we go for a drink?”

Sōbee shook his head indecisively.

II

Naoe attended the office every day, but there was almost no work for him to do; if he stayed until around noon, he could leave afterward.
When submitting to print, manuscript review would be requested, but since the person in charge was properly in place, he had no need to inspect it.
Since it was merely a formality as the director, it was customary to simply return them to the clerk as they were.
In such a life, both mind and body would grow dull; thinking it might serve some purpose, Naoe began practicing swordsmanship last summer.
At Seishikan, the domain academy, they taught Nen-ryu; he had studied under Ōnuma Saburōbee from the age of twelve until twenty.
His swordsmanship displayed a unique sharpness; though he rose to top rank at eighteen, this very achievement caused him to lose interest—deliberately lowering his performance to be relegated to second place, where he remained until leaving the academy at twenty.
When he resumed practice last year—a little over ten years since leaving the academy—he was placed in a separate category from regular students, and three assistant instructors were assigned to teach him.
He attended once every three days; for about thirty days his body ached, but once he began finding his rhythm, his true prowess emerged, and the assistant instructors grew unable to handle him.
Those who came to the special-course training were mostly individuals who had once left Seishikan and already obtained official posts, their purpose being little more than maintaining physical condition; the regular-course youths referred to them as the "Yōrō-gumi."

Among these was Yadō Genba.
The Yadō family also boasted an esteemed lineage, but when the previous Genba was punished for a failure in his duties, their five-hundred-koku stipend had been slashed to two hundred koku.
The present Genba had inherited the family headship at twenty-five and held a largely nominal post as Oversight Officer for Retainer Residences.
In other words, when there were changes to retainers’ residences, he was to oversee land selection and house construction; however, in this domain’s cramped castle town, such occurrences proved exceedingly rare, and even when they arose, the Construction Magistrate handled the actual work—leaving Yadō’s involvement purely nominal.
He was twenty-nine years old but had yet to take a wife.
His parents were deceased, and while living with long-serving retainers and servants, he had gradually brought in a woman akin to a concubine—rumors even spoke of children.

Last autumn, about thirty days after Naoe began attending Seishikan, Yadō asked him to spar for the first time.
Though he had occasionally glimpsed Yadō’s face, given the man’s unsavory reputation and disagreeable nature, Naoe had never exchanged words with him before—not even when they happened to train in the same dojo.
From then on, whenever their paths crossed during practice sessions, they ended up sparring roughly one out of every three encounters.
Yadō’s swordplay carried an idiosyncratic edge; he would unveil razor-sharp techniques whenever he gained tactical superiority.
Naoe typically yielded defeat—a concession that appeared deliberate on Yadō’s part—but rather than taking offense at this dynamic, Yadō seemed convinced of Naoe’s pliability. This perception culminated one evening after practice when Yadō insistently dragged Naoe to a drinking establishment.
Naoe humored him through four such outings before refusing all further invitations regardless of persistence.
Yadō’s drinking marathons stretched interminably—once intoxicated, he would harass serving women and ramble tediously while letting unpaid tabs accumulate across every venue. Not only did these sessions lack any semblance of enjoyment, they left even Naoe steeped in bleak desolation.

When Kawamoto Sōbee mentioned Genba’s name，Naoe did not listen further.
This was because he had heard that about half a month earlier，a merchant named Kaneya Kishirō from the castle town had filed a lawsuit against Yadō with the Town Magistrate over non-payment of debt.
The very notion of a merchant suing a domain samurai stemmed from these excessive revisions to the Official Laws，and in similar disputes thus far，the Town Magistrate had repeatedly tasted bitter defeat.
Even if such incidents occurred again now，it’s none of my business，Naoe thought.
However，that was no longer possible.

A mere two or three days after sharing a meal with Kana at the Kawamoto household, Naoe—having risen that morning—was washing his face at the well in the backyard when Kawamoto Sōbee abruptly appeared.
He had likely assumed this was the place and come around from the front without an escort, he explained.
When Naoe asked if there was some business, Sōbee replied that he wanted him to set the date for the wedding with Kana.

“The wedding date?”
Naoe widened his eyes slightly. “So you came at this hour of the morning?”

“That’s not all.”

“Spit it out.”
Naoe stared into Sōbee’s eyes—“What’s wrong?”

Sōbee averted his gaze and bit hard on his lower lip.
Naoe kept silent, his eyes still tracking Sōbee’s.
Sōbee took three large strides back from the wellside, then abruptly returned and lifted his head.

“This may sound presumptuous,” Sōbee said, “but would you spar with me once?”

Naoe scrutinized his expression before replying, “Very well.” He called a retainer and ordered him to fetch his swords.
While waiting, Naoe noticed vermilion ink on Sōbee’s right hand. “You’ve got ink here,” he said, his expression hardening.

“Hey, cut the evasiveness,” Naoe said. “You didn’t come here wanting to spar, nor is this about fixing a wedding date. The crucial matter lies elsewhere—isn’t that so?”

Sōbee waved a hand vaguely and looked up at the sky.
The retainer brought the swords, and Naoe, having received them in his left hand, kept his eyes fixed on Sōbee’s face.

“The truth is, we’ve hit a snag in Yadō Genba’s investigation,” said Sōbee, raising a hand to stop Naoe’s attempted interruption and pressing on, “No—this isn’t just about Genba himself. The Revised Official Laws themselves have run into a wall over this matter.”

“We can’t do anything here. Let’s go to my room,” said Naoe, showing his swords. “Or shall we spar?”

Sōbee answered with his eyes in the negative.
Naoe started walking toward the garden with large strides.
When Naoe, having changed clothes, entered the living room, Sōbee was pouring a small amount of tea into a saucer, then moistening a kaishi with it to wipe the vermilion ink from his fingers.

“You know about Kaneya’s business,” Sōbee said after waiting for Naoe to sit down. “They deal in silk fabrics, dyed goods, furnishings—along with money exchange and a pawnshop.”

“Officially, you know,” said Naoe.

“There are rumors they’re involved in money-lending too, but no evidence has surfaced,” said Sōbee. “Kaneya won’t deal with small merchants or poor folk—for samurai, only those with stipends of 200 koku or higher; for merchants, storehouse owners; for farmers, landlords. Those sorts keep their debts secret, so officially, no one will testify.”

“Before the revision of the Official Laws, we could have barged in and seized the ledgers,” Naoe began before waving his hand dismissively. “But never mind—let’s hear the rest.”

“The claims against Yadō include various items—from short-term loans to seasonal robes and furnishings—totaling over 180 ryō.”

Naoe licked his lip. “—How much exactly?”

“Over 180 ryō, 3 bu, and several shu.”

Naoe straightened his right index finger and brought it slowly to rest on his nose bridge.
The pupils of both eyes converged inward and froze mid-gaze.

“Can you do this?” he said. “When you bring both pupils together like this, they call you the Cat-Wasp-Dragonfly-Cricket Master.”

Sōbee sullenly clamped his mouth shut.

“If your eyes stay crossed the whole time you’re talking, you win. If they come apart, you lose,” said Naoe. “Go on, try it. It’s surprisingly tricky.”

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish by mocking me now?”

“I once taught this trick to the lord,” Naoe continued undeterred, “when he was seven or eight—back when I served as his study companion. Then Mr. Asakura—who’s now Castle Deputy but was doubling as Edo elder and his guardian back then—found out and threw a fit. ‘What if the young lord goes cross-eyed?!’ He made such a righteous fuss. But later, when I kept watch, I noticed Mr. Asakura himself secretly doing it in the shadows—waggling his finger like this and muttering under his breath, ‘Cat-Wasp-Dragonfly-Cricket Master.’”

Sōbee glared at Naoe with angry eyes, and Naoe stared back, but eventually shrugged his shoulders in disappointment.

“Alright, let’s hear the rest.”

“I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

“I’ve regained my composure,”
Naoe sharply straightened the left sleeve of his kimono with his right hand. “Or if you’d rather not, I needn’t listen.”

Sōbee began speaking again in a tone suggesting he had regained his composure.
If Kaneya’s complaint were formally accepted, Yadō Genba would have to be punished.
Since this would compromise the domain’s honor, they conducted behind-the-scenes negotiations to have senior officials pay two-thirds of the debt to Kaneya and withdraw the lawsuit.
However, it was said that Kaneya, using the Official Laws as his shield, stubbornly insisted on demanding a formal judgment.

“Understood.”
Naoe interrupted Sōbee’s words and retorted, “Let’s move to the conclusion here—what does the Town Magistrate intend to do?”

“We held five sessions of senior council deliberations, but in the end—it was concluded that there was no choice but to make Yadō commit seppuku.”

“Did Kawamoto agree to that?”

“It means we’ve reached a point where the judgment can’t be shouldered by the Town Magistrate alone.”

Naoe stood up.

III

Having stood up, Naoe went to the engawa, crossed his arms, and looked at the garden. When he stood straight like that with his arms crossed, his stature appeared much taller. He narrowed his eyes as if he had spotted something, muttered, “The wild stauntonia has borne fruit,” and in the same stance declared, “It’s no good.”

“Forcing Yadō to commit seppuku won’t preserve the domain’s honor—on the contrary, it will only result in a complete loss of prestige.”

“I argued the same in council deliberations—that obscuring matters like this would only plant seeds of future calamity. But when they pressed me, ‘Then what should we do?’ I had no concrete plan to offer.”

“There is,” said Naoe.

Sōbee raised his eyes.
Naoe remained standing with his back turned to him.
Sōbee waited for the next words, but Naoe said nothing.

“You say there is one?” Sōbee asked. “What method?”

Thereupon, Naoe turned around, came over, and sat down.

"If you leave it to me, I'll handle it."

"What do you mean, 'leave it to me'?"

"It's judgment," Naoe said. "Whatever authority it takes—if you entrust the verdict to me, I'll deliver it in a way that preserves the domain's honor."

"Am I unfit for this?"

"No one else can do it—it has to be this Nakasho Naoe."

Sōbee stared at Naoe with probing eyes and said, "You're not planning to undermine the Official Laws, are you?"

Naoe smiled.
It was a clear smile, carved and polished as if by a sculptor.

“So that’s your plan?” said Sōbee.

“I have no particular plan—only that if it’s me, I’ll deliver the judgment,” said Naoe, slowly raising one hand. “But I’m not forcing myself to take this on.”

Sōbee considered for a moment before asking, “What should I do?”

“You’ll consult Castle Deputy Asakura—without bending the Official Laws or tarnishing the domain’s honor and the samurai households’ reputation—I can deliver that judgment. That’s what you should say.”

“Are you on duty today?”

“I’m off duty—might go to Seishikan though.”

“Stay here,” said Sōbee. “The final council convenes at ten—Yadō’s forced seppuku will likely be decided there. Before that, I mean to meet and consult the Castle Deputy.”

“Hurry,” Naoe said tonelessly. “Let them force that seppuku and there’ll be no undoing it.”

Sōbee left, and Naoe ate breakfast.

After the meal, he went down to the garden and looked at the wild stauntonia.
It was not a garden-cultivated stauntonia but a wild one; its height measured about one shaku five sun, and its branches were exceedingly slender.
It had been transplanted from somewhere by the deceased wife, and in spring, vermilion flowers bloomed splendidly.
She had said that salt-pickling these fruits would make a fragrant palate cleanser, but during her lifetime, only one or two ever formed.
Earlier, he had noticed it bearing fruit, so he went over to count them and found twenty-eight mandarin-colored fruits growing.
In farming households without plum trees, they pickle them while still green to use as a substitute for pickled plums, the deceased wife had also said.
Naoe plucked one of them from the branch.
The color was beautiful, but it was hard as stone and emitted a strong, sweet-sour fragrance.

"She had said to pickle them while they were still green."
Naoe murmured quietly，*Pick them while they're still green?*

As soon as he returned to the living room still clutching the fruit, a messenger from Asakura Settsu arrived.
The message conveyed that he wanted to meet him immediately.
Naoe did not don his kamishimo and went wearing only hakama.
Settsu must be seventy-five or six by now. When Naoe was seven, he had been summoned to the Edo mansion as a young companion to the lord’s heir, serving there until age ten before returning to the domain. Throughout his time in Edo, Asakura, the caretaker overseeing his upbringing, had kept a constant watch over him.
At the time, he had simply thought their personalities clashed, but upon later reflection, he realized he himself had been at fault.—Years later, during the Official Laws revision conference, he again clashed head-on with Asakura and stubbornly persisted alone in his stance. But then he reconsidered: even during his Edo service, it wasn’t that he had been wrong—rather, Asakura had been narrow-minded.

“Today, be cautious,” he told himself. “If you anger him, it’s over.”

Upon arriving at the Asakura residence, he was guided to old man Settsu’s sitting room, and Kawamoto Sōbee was also there.

“We don’t have time—let’s get straight to business,” Settsu said without looking at Naoe. “I hear you have some opinion regarding the Yadō Genba matter.”

“I have no particular opinions regarding Yadō’s case.”

Sōbee looked at Naoe in surprise.
Settsu also raised his eyes for the first time.
Beneath the old man’s gray eyebrows, his eyes revealed anger.

“No opinions,” Settsu retorted. “Then what was it you told Kawamoto?”

“I heard a certain rumor regarding Genba’s disciplinary action,” Naoe answered. “Though I believed it to be mere hearsay, it seemed so underhanded and likely to invite future troubles that I visited Kawamoto to verify the facts. However, as it concerned confidential matters of duty, Kawamoto was reluctant to speak. I had no choice but to assert that the Nakasho family’s lineage entitled me to be informed of critical affairs within the domain.”

“Alright, alright.” Settsu snapped his fan against his knee. “There’s no need to shield Kawamoto now. Enough—get to the point.”

“I stated that Genba’s judgment must be delivered in the White Sand Court,” Naoe answered. “—The new Official Laws explicitly stipulate that even peasants and townspeople may bring suit if samurai of the domain commit wrongdoing. Therefore, unless Genba’s case is adjudicated in the White Sand Court, I believe the domain’s honor cannot be upheld.”

“Did you say you could render judgment yourself?”

“I did state that if it were me, I could adjudicate without contravening the Official Laws or blemishing the samurai households’ honor.”

“What method?” Settsu demanded.

“I cannot divulge that here.”

Settsu’s eyes narrowed to slits.
His gaze seemed to declare, “This man’s scheming something.”

“The hour approaches,” Sōbee interjected from the side. “I must proceed to the castle now.”

Settsu nodded.
Sōbee looked at Naoe’s eyes and left at a hurried pace.

“How will you judge?” Settsu asked. “Do you think I can entrust this without even hearing your procedure?”

“If you cannot trust me, I will not insist on the request—I am, after all, outside my jurisdiction.”

The old man muttered something under his breath while opening and closing his fan. He seemed to be either cursing Naoe or trying to suppress his own rage. Naoe gazed at the garden with an expression that seemed to say “hmm,” as if contemplating a haiku.

“Your obstinacy hasn’t lessened one bit,” Settsu said at last. “Very well. If you claim conviction, I’ll entrust this to you.”

“Will your position remain unchanged?”

“I’ll appoint you as Town Magistrate—for this matter alone.”

Naoe smiled and said, “Please do not forget—this matter alone.”

“Why?”

“I cannot endure being left as Town Magistrate.”

Settsu opened his mouth and seemed about to shout, but Naoe bowed and swiftly stepped backward.

On his way back from the Asakura residence, he stopped by the Kawamoto house, summoned Kana, told her to come to “Naniwa” as he had something to discuss, paid no heed to her attempts to protest, and promptly left for the Hino River area.

When Kana arrived at Naniwa slightly late, Naoe was sipping tea while nibbling on sweets.

“First, let’s settle the business.”
As soon as Kana sat down, he said, “What’s the amount of your dowry?”

Having sat down while adjusting her kimono’s hem, Kana stopped her hands mid-motion and looked up at him with suspicion.

“What did you say?”

“Come on,” Naoe urged. “No need to be coy. How much is it?”

“Do I have to bring such a thing?”

“Isn’t it the general custom? When a woman marries, she brings money regardless of the amount.”

Kana’s expression tightened. “Were you counting on that?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” Naoe said, “but now I have to. Don’t keep me in suspense—how much is it?”

“I do not know.”
Kana turned away. “Such matters are what parents handle. Since I have no parents, please ask my brother instead.”

“I can’t tell Kawamoto.”

“Was that all you wished to discuss?”

“Kawamoto came to ask about setting the wedding date—I do want to discuss that too—but right now I need to know about the dowry.”

“I have no obligation to bring such a thing. If there is no other business, I shall take my leave now.”

Without giving Naoe a chance to stop her, Kana swiftly stood and left.

“Your old self has come out in full force.”
Naoe smirked and muttered while clapping his hands—“Your angry face is still beautiful as ever.”

A maid came and said, “Did you call?”

“Call Manbei,” Naoe said. “Manbei, the master.”

IV

For the next three days, Naoe went to the town magistrate’s office and examined Kaneya’s petition together with Sōbee.
It itemized credit sales and temporary loan amounts from three years earlier in chronological detail, concluding with a statement to this effect: “Despite our repeated demands for repayment, [the debtor] drew his sword to threaten us and even came to our shop to cause disturbances. We have therefore resorted to bringing this lawsuit under the Official Laws.”
Naoe affixed seals to the necessary sections of the petition, made some additions, then smiled and said, “This will do.”

“We’ll begin the preliminary trial at this White Sand Court the day after tomorrow,” Naoe said to Sōbee. “Summon Kaneya’s proprietor, his manager, and two clerks—or rather, the three individuals who signed here. The time will be five and a half.”

“Starting with the preliminary trial?”

“Thoroughly.”
Naoe rubbed his left arm with his right hand. “So it’s true—arms really do tingle with anticipation.”

“What about Genba?”

“Custody or house confinement?”

“We’ve placed him in Lord Yanagida Samon’s custody.”

“He can remain as he is. Summoning him to the White Sand Court will likely only take once or twice.”
After saying that and pausing briefly, Naoe looked at Sōbee. “Hmm. Let’s have the Castle Deputy attend every session.”

“Why begin with the preliminary trial?”

“I want to lend gravity to the investigation,” Naoe said bluntly. “For the final two sessions or so, I plan to have other senior officials observe—at least three of them.”

Sōbee stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “What in blazes is Nakasho scheming?”

Naoe laughed silently, said "Count on it," and rose from his seat. And as he took his own sword from the sword rack, he suddenly turned around as if remembering something and asked how Kana-bē was doing.

“She hasn’t been up to anything in particular,” Sōbee answered. “Do you have some business with her?”
“Nah,” Naoe shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just asked out of curiosity.”

And he left there.

After a day's interval, on September 12th at ten o'clock in the morning, the White Sand Court was convened. The light rain that had been falling since morning had ceased, but the sky remained overcast with rain clouds, leaving no telling when it might start pouring again. Naoe assigned three scribes and instructed them to divide and take down statements individually from Kaneya's proprietor, manager, and clerks. Asakura Settsu arrived before the appointed hour in an ill temper, complaining to Naoe about why he was required to attend a mere preliminary trial.

“The preliminary trial is in name only—this is already a judgment,” Naoe answered. “That’s why we’re using that White Sand Court over there.”

“Why stage such theatrics?”

“I will conduct this judgment through my own methods,” said Naoe. “You will refrain from meddling in proceedings.”

Ignoring Settsu entirely, he issued meticulous orders regarding the assistant magistrates’ seating and personnel placements within the White Sand Court.
The number of dōshin constables and lower guards exceeded all precedent, and with the Castle Deputy’s presence, solemn tension saturated the court—yet despite these elaborate preparations, the inquiry concluded in barely fifteen minutes.
The proceedings unfolded thus: At the appointed hour, Kaneya’s three subordinates appeared and aligned themselves in the White Sand Court; officials and Nakasho Naoe assumed their seats; Castle Deputy Asakura Settsu made his entrance; when the duty officer summoned the trio forward, Naoe commanded Kaneya’s master: “Produce the ledger.”
Kaneya Kishirō stood sixty-one years old—a squat man with compact musculature. Hair and brows retained youth’s jet blackness, while thick lips and a bulbous nose lent his oil-slicked face an air of vulgar vitality.
His eyes seemed ordinary at first inspection, but resembled membranes stretched across smoldering coals—from beneath which occasionally leaked an obstinate, razor-edged glare.
“The petition contains full particulars,” he replied, “and since Lord Kawamoto has already verified those details, I deem ledger presentation unnecessary.”

“Whether it is necessary or not is a matter for the magistrate’s consideration,” Naoe said calmly. “Tomorrow at the same hour, gather and present all documents related to this case—ledgers, account books, promissory notes—at this White Sand Court. Today’s inquiry is concluded.”

After saying that, Naoe left his seat and bowed deeply to Elder Asakura.
When he returned to the waiting room, Asakura Settsu was waiting and snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Naoe silently met Elder Asakura’s gaze but offered no reply. He then went to Kawamoto Sōbee and conveyed that the White Sand Court’s decorum would remain unchanged the following day.

At the White Sand Court the following day, they undertook the tedious task of cross-checking the petition, account books, and each promissory note one by one. Once that was done, they began detailed interrogations on every item.
When it came to even a single seasonal garment or a complete set, they interrogated them down to the fabric’s pattern name, dye color, cost price, selling price, and tailoring fees, so Kaneya and his retainers were immediately at a loss for answers.

“I did not anticipate your honorable inquiry would extend to such minor details,” answered Kaneya Kishirō. “Unless we examine the subsidiary ledgers, I fear I cannot provide a proper response.”

Naoe kept his gaze fixed on Kaneya’s face, took a deep breath, exhaled quietly, and said, “Yesterday, I ordered you to gather and bring all documents related to this case—the ledger, account books, promissory notes, and such.”

Kaneya and his retainers prostrated themselves.

“How do you interpret the Magistrate’s orders—did you presume your hired men could voice complaints?”
Naoe’s voice remained low and soft. “Kaneya Kishirō—I await your response.”

Kaneya pressed his forehead against the mat in apology.

“Very well.”
Naoe nodded. “While it is reprehensible to trouble the authorities and impede their vital duties with such delays, I shall show clemency this once. The next examination will convene at the same hour on the fifteenth. See there is no negligence.”

And with that declaration—“We are done for today”—he rose from his seat and bowed deeply to Castle Deputy Asakura.

“I’m surprised,” said Sōbee, who had been waiting in the holding area. “What in the world were you thinking, going through all that trouble?”

“Was Elder Asakura in good spirits?”

“He probably was—left without a word, absolutely fuming.”

“He’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Will you conduct another inquiry like today’s on the fifteenth?”

“Didn’t I tell you from the start? ‘Thoroughly,’ I said.” Naoe continued, “Don’t forget.”

“I hadn’t realized that was what you meant.”

“So now you understand.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Not really,” said Naoe with a grin. “Give my regards to Kana.”

That Kana had come to the Nakasho residence in Gotenka and was waiting there.
In a casual ensemble of a Genroku-sleeved everyday kimono patterned with scattered chrysanthemum sprigs and a white half-width obi dyed with autumn grasses, she stood arranging red-leafed mountain bush clover in an old Seto ware pot when Naoe returned home.
Tightening the cords of his freshly changed hakama, Naoe stepped out and watched her flower-arranging figure from behind without moving from his standing position.
Kana neither turned around nor spoke until she finished arranging. After gazing at her work awhile in that same posture, she finally asked, "How does it look?"

“Is the color of the leaves a bit too gaudy?”

“Well, that’s about right.”

“What a greeting,” said Kana, finally turning around. “—What are you looking at?”

“That kimono.”
Naoe remained seated while gazing at Kana’s figure. “You’re dressed up. What’s going on?”

Kana glared at Naoe, tidied her surroundings, and stood to make tea.
Naoe too rose and stepped out to the engawa. Crossing his arms and treading barefoot on the cold planks, he wandered absently along the veranda.
At the voice announcing tea was ready, he turned—it was Hatakenaka Jūhei, the retainer.
Naoe nodded and entered the living room, but Hatakenaka followed; Kana had vanished, with tea preparations laid out beside the desk.

“Miss Kawamoto asked me to give you this,” said Hatakenaka, holding out a fukusa-wrapped package, “and instructed me to deliver it to you.”

While accepting it, Naoe looked at Hatakenaka with suspicion.
“Miss Kawamoto has just returned.”

When Naoe nodded, Hatakenaka left.
Muttering "What's this?" under his breath, Naoe opened the fukusa.
What emerged was a plain paper package with "Dowry" written on the front, inside of which were fifteen ryō.
There was no letter or anything—it was just that money packet.

“That’s just like you, Kana,” Naoe murmured with a smile. “I like it.”

At the White Sand Court on the fifteenth, the same tedious examination as before continued. When a loan of three ryō appeared in the records, they scrutinized the composition of that currency - whether koban gold coins, silver ingots, or small silver granules. If a writing box set was listed, they examined its shape, lacquer finish, place of procurement, and original purchase price down to the last detail. For each entry among debts spanning three years and several months, they conducted an inspection as painstaking as counting tatami mat threads, barely managing to process six months' worth in half a year. Throughout this period, while three scribes meticulously recorded every statement from Kaneya and his retainers, Naoe kept his writing set at hand and frequently annotated crucial sections of the petition. They took a half-hour rest at noon and concluded their scrutiny upon hearing the four o'clock drum.

“We will conduct the next inquiry tomorrow at the same hour,” Naoe said. “We are done for today.”

Castle Deputy Asakura rose from his seat without waiting for Naoe’s bow, his face so grim it seemed impossible to imagine a more displeased expression, and stormed off roughly toward the inner chambers.

V

The preliminary inquiries spanned nine sessions. Not only Kaneya and his retainers but even the officials in attendance had ceased hiding their utter weariness and exhaustion.
The month changed to October, and on the twelfth day—exactly one month later—Naoe declared to Kaneya that he would pronounce his judgment.

He had assumed Castle Deputy Asakura had left first as usual, but upon returning to the waiting room, he found Sōbee waiting alongside an old man.

“Have a seat for a moment,” Sōbee called out. “A petition has been submitted by Kaneya.”

Old man Asakura glared at Naoe with cold eyes as he sat down, noisily snapping his fan open and shut on his lap.

“Withdrawing the lawsuit?” Naoe asked.

“How did you know?”

“I thought it was about time they’d come,” said Naoe. “What are the terms?”
“Wait a moment,” said Asakura Settsu. “What do you mean by ‘about time they’d come’?”

“What are the terms?” Naoe asked Sōbee.

“I’m the one asking here,” said Settsu in a tone of suppressed anger. “Were you waiting for Kaneya to withdraw?”

Naoe turned to face him, placed both hands on his hakama-clad knees, and looked at the Castle Deputy. “No matter what reasons you may have, I made it clear there was to be no interference in this judgment. Should you remain dissatisfied, I shall have you relieved of your position effective immediately.”

Settsu’s face flushed dark red as he glared at Naoe with blazing eyes, then suddenly stood up and snapped his fan against his hakama before storming out.

“He’s a terrible fellow,” said Sōbee. “There was no need to make him angry like that.”

“Let’s hear Kaneya’s terms instead.”

“It was our initial proposal,” Sōbee said with a sigh. “They say they’ll withdraw the lawsuit if they receive two-thirds of the total amount.”

“That’s precisely what I’ve been waiting for.”

“You went through all that trouble over an entire month for this?”

“I’m rejecting it outright!”

Sōbee started to say something but fell silent, his eyes fixed on Naoe’s face.

“Record that petition,” said Naoe as he stood up. “Five days remain until the twelfth. If rejected, Kaneya might make a move—though if he had any sense, he wouldn’t. Then again, the old guard might pressure me too. Their priority is maintaining harmony, after all. But I will absolutely not yield.”

“I’m growing increasingly concerned,” Sōbee said uneasily. “You seem to be staking something beyond this judgment itself. Isn’t there some greater purpose here than merely settling Kaneya’s case?”

“The reformed Official Laws overreach,” Naoe answered. “As you well know, they’ve repeatedly cornered the Town Magistrate into impossible positions. But statutes once enacted cannot be lightly altered. Since I share responsibility for failing to block these revisions, I mean to use this judgment against Kaneya to establish clear authority and standards within the new laws.”

“Then you should’ve at least consulted Mr. Asakura! What happens if you shoulder all this responsibility alone and fail?”

“Not one chance in ten thousand of that,” Naoe replied with a silent laugh. “Stop worrying—you’ll see when the time comes.”

Sōbee shook his head incredulously and asked when he planned to draft the official decree.

“I won’t be writing any decrees. First I’ll spend two or three days at Seishikan—intensive stamina training.”

Kana had come to Lord Naoe’s residence.

“This is unusual. Do you have some business?”

“Please change your clothes. I’ll brew tea now and offer you a rare confection indeed.”

“Hmm,” Naoe began to say something but waved a hand dismissively. “I’d rather drink sake today than have sweets.”

“You can’t drink at this hour of the day.”

“I haven’t touched a drop in a full month.”

Kana shook her head.

“The hearings concluded today—I want to fix our wedding date with you, Kana.”

Kana shook her head once more. “Change your clothes at once,” she said before withdrawing to the inner chambers.
Naoe narrowed his eyes, thinking to himself—still the same Kana from years past.
While changing, he instructed a young retainer to prepare sake, but the man only smiled evasively without consenting.
After the retainer gathered the discarded garments and left, Kana returned bearing tea and confections.

“Have you occupied this house, Kana?” Naoe said. “You’ve stopped listening to what I say.”

“You can’t drink sake in the middle of the day,” Kana replied. “Please try this.”

About the size of apricots and colored a ripe apricot hue, three unfamiliar fruits lay arranged on a flat plate.
Since chopsticks were provided, when he tried eating one, it was hard as if biting into wood, feeling nearly impossible to chew.

“What is this?”
Naoe picked the morsel from his mouth with chopsticks and scrutinized it. “Can’t even chew this.”

“How could that be?”

“Then you try eating it.”

“I already tasted one earlier,” she said, taking another from the plate and putting it in her mouth. “How peculiar—what could be wrong?”

She too promptly spat it out.

“What on earth is this fruit?”

“It’s quince fruit from the garden,” Kana said. “Around this time last month, I found them when you were away. They looked so splendid that I picked them and tried preserving them in sugar.”

However, since it simply wouldn’t soften no matter what, today she had spent half a day trying to boil it.
“A little while ago, when I ate one, it was hard—certainly hard—but edible, and it had a unique flavor that was quite good,” Kana said.
When Sōbee had come to consult about Kaneya’s case, Naoe had also noticed them and had recalled that his deceased wife Hatsuo had once said pickling them in salt would make a good palate cleanser.

“I’d heard about pickling them,” Naoe began before pausing to study Kana’s face suspiciously. “—Surprising. You came here while I was away to do such a thing?”

“So it’s hardly unusual at all.”

“The household members didn’t say a word.”

“It must be Mr. Hatakenaka’s thorough training—I certainly never asked anyone to stay silent.”

“I suppose so,” said Naoe, pointing at the quince. “Now that I’ve witnessed your handiwork, you might at least provide me sake.”

“Are you that desperate to drink?”

“I told you I haven’t touched a drop in a full month.”
Naoe adopted an earnest expression. “The inquiry’s finally concluded—and here’s even Kana-kō making a rare appearance—no—wait—was Kana-kō’s presence not so rare after all?”

“Please cease calling me Kana-kō. There’s nothing I loathe more than that form of address.”

“You were the one who told me to call you that—when you were eleven or twelve. There’s no discrimination between men and women—only differences.”

“I will have sake prepared.”

“Let’s skip what came after that.” Naoe smirked. “Back then you said—no—demanded—‘From now on call me Kana-kō.’”

“Lies!” Kana glared at Naoe and stood up. “I will instruct them to prepare sake.”

“Isn’t this something Kana should handle herself?”

“Without even consulting about the wedding date?”

“I did say we’d decide that.”

“Please don’t imagine that I’m in any particular hurry.” Kana smiled softly back at him. “There are other marriage proposals available, you know.”

“I won’t return the dowry.”

Kana left without saying a word.

He hadn’t seriously thought she would leave outright, but when two young retainers came carrying trays of sake and appetizers to serve him, he asked what had become of Kana. They answered that she had returned home.

“Was she angry?”

“She said the quince was a failure, stuck out her tongue, and laughed,” the retainer said. “Then she gathered all of them up and took them home.”

Naoe laughed without making a sound.

The next day, he went to Seishikan.
He had told Sōbee he needed to build physical strength—and this was no exaggeration, for when presiding over the judgment in Kaneya’s lawsuit, he had truly required it.
After changing into practice clothes at Seishikan’s waiting area and heading out to the separate training hall, five young samurai in practice uniforms without masks came and surrounded Naoe in a semicircle.

“Mr. Nakasho,” called out one of them, “there’s something we’d like to ask you.”

Naoe looked over each of the five faces in turn and asked in a calm voice, "What is it?"

“I hear you’re presiding over the judgment in Kaneya’s case—is that true?”

Naoe silently nodded.

“Then,”
The young samurai continued, “Is it also true that Yadō Genba will be summoned to the White Sand Court?”

Naoe again silently nodded.
The young samurai exchanged glances with the other four.
Then, the one who had been at the left end stepped forward.

“I am Okakura Kotayū of the foot soldier unit,” said the young samurai, “—this may be impertinent, but might I suggest summoning Yadō to the White Sand Court is a miscalculation on your part?”

Naoe pushed them aside and silently went to retrieve his bamboo sword.

VI

The young samurai named Okakura and the other four followed after him.
Naoe, still holding the men and kote in his left hand, turned around with the shinai in his right and once again looked over each of the five faces in turn.

“Do you understand the implications of my inquiry?” said Okakura Kotayū. “Yadō may be a libertine, but he is a domain samurai.
“To summon him to the White Sand Court and put him on trial alongside mere merchants—I believe this concerns the honor of our entire samurai household.”

“When you eat rice,” Naoe retorted calmly, “do you use chopsticks or your fingers?”

Okakura exchanged glances with his four companions.

“That is—” Okakura cautiously replied, “—there may be things one picks up with fingers to eat.”

“I’m asking about eating rice.”

“What bearing does that have on this matter?”

“Demanding I judge without summoning the accused would be like ordering a man to eat rice without chopsticks before guests. So long as the Official Laws expressly permit even samurai to be sued for wrongdoing, I cannot adjudicate without calling Yadō.”

"That may be so," Okakura interrupted, "but you opposed the revision of the Official Laws."

Naoe stared sharply into the man's eyes. "If you recall that, you should imagine what judgment I'll deliver. If you haven't imagined it yet, begin imagining it now."

And he tried to leave that spot but suddenly turned back to look at them.

“I want to work up a sweat,” Naoe said. “Will no one face me?”
Okakura immediately said, “I’ll face you,” ran toward the front dojo, and returned with a bamboo sword.

“Aren’t you going to put on the mask and gauntlets?”

“This is fine,” Okakura replied. “Please go ahead and put yours on.”

Naoe put on the gear.
The two matched their bamboo swords in proper form, rose, and spread out to either side.
The instant Naoe stepped in, Okakura’s bamboo sword sprang from his hand as if alive, slammed into the dojo’s wooden wall, and clattered to the floor.
In the still air of the sparsely populated auxiliary training hall, the dry crack of the fallen bamboo sword rang startlingly clear.

“Another bout,” Okakura said with a bow. “Please.”

“I don’t think so.”

Naoe looked at the other four. “Will no one else step forward?”

The four immediately ran off to the front dojo.
Okakura flushed red and went to retrieve his bamboo sword, then sat down with his back against the wooden wall.
The four returned with their gear. As one of them finished preparing, he lowered his bamboo sword, dropped to one knee, and announced, “Watanabe Magojirō.”
Next was Shibata Keinosuke, followed by Ebara Jizaburō and Watanabe Jūbei—all four of them had their bamboo swords sent flying with the first strike.

“Please, one more bout with me!” Okakura Kotayū came rushing forward. “I beg you.”

“Put on the gear,” Naoe said.
Okakura went to retrieve his gear. When he returned, six or seven young samurai—dressed in practice attire without their equipment—followed behind him and sat down in a row with their backs against the wooden wall panels.
Okakura firmly secured his mask and gauntlets, matched his bamboo sword in proper form, and the moment he stood up, he mustered all his strength and charged with a scream, delivering a body check.
With a tremendous shout, it seemed as though Naoe’s body had been sent flying—but it was Okakura himself who went soaring. Naoe shifted lightly aside to the left, pivoting back as Okakura cried, “I yield!”
No one had seen it, but his torso was struck as he was sent flying.

“Not yet,” Naoe said, “that one doesn’t count as a point. Come on.”

Okakura retrieved his bamboo sword again but immediately shook his head, dropped to his knees, and removed his mask.

“I yield,” Okakura said, bowing deeply with his bamboo sword held at an angle.

“I’ll ask for another bout next time.”

And he stood up and approached while staring into Naoe’s eyes.

“Though I lost this bout,” Okakura said, “depending on how you judge Kaneya, I intend to pay my respects anew. Please do not forget this.”

Naoe nodded silently and began removing his gear.

By the 12th, three senior officials had visited the Nakasho household.
All had come out of concern over how the judgment would be rendered, but to each senior official, Naoe said only, “Please attend on the day,” and did not utter a single word about how he intended to rule.
In addition, the official purveyor Ōhashi-ya Mohee came with Masu-ya Wasuke after nightfall.
Ōhashi-ya handled general official procurement while Masu-ya specialized in financial matters; they too seemed intent on probing Naoe’s intentions regarding how he would judge Kaneya.
They ultimately refrained from voicing their concerns, and Naoe pretended not to notice; the two stayed only briefly before leaving.

On the evening of the 10th, Kawamoto Sōbee came accompanied by his sister.
Kana had come later with a servant girl—presumably having heard about the various visitors—with the intent to have her assist until the judgment was concluded.
She had said it wasn’t something worth making such a fuss about, but Naoe did not insist on refusing.

“Fine,” he nodded. “Since we’ll be holding the wedding soon anyway, you might as well tidy up your own sitting room.”

“It’s already been tidied up.”
Kana, who had arrived later, brought tea and said, “Bulky items like chests and trunks were moved here ages ago. Didn’t you know?”

Naoe kept his eyes on her face. “—Did you do that while I was away?”

“While you were away.”

“There must have been other marriage proposals for you, no?”

“I thought it would be a shame if you were disappointed,” Kana said, laughing in a coaxing manner. “Now you can rest assured, can’t you?”

Sōbee glared, and Kana, feigning ignorance, offered tea to the two before exiting with an affected air.
As Naoe watched her leave, Kana briefly stuck out her tongue at the sliding door.

“The moss has completely fallen away,” Naoe muttered. “Now she’s truly the original Kana from the core.”

“What do you mean by ‘the moss has fallen off’?”

“The moss of being Isozumi’s wife—I was waiting for her to become the original Kana again.”

“She’s always been Kana through and through. Father lamented until his dying day that she should’ve been born a man—but anyway,” Sōbee shifted topics, “I heard you took on five young men at Seishikan the other day and defeated them all.”

“One fought twice—so six in total.”

“Why did you do that? Even if you didn’t let them win outright, there must have been a way to settle things. They’re dissatisfied with this judgment—this could spark an uproar.”

“That’s how the conditions align,” Naoe said with a smile. “The Castle Deputy and senior officials, the young samurai of our house, the merchants—and likely most townsfolk—will all be watching the judgment on the 12th. They may find it shocking when revealed, but there’s no doubt this ruling will have significant impact.”

Sōbee started to say something but, seeming to reconsider, shook his head slightly and took the teacup before his knees.

“You want confirmation that it’s secure,” Naoe said. “Don’t fret—it will hold.”

And then the 12th arrived.

The seat of judgment was solemn.
Castle Deputy Asakura headed two senior councilors, three high-ranking officials with joint signatures, and three clerks—each attended by one yoriki.
Kaneya and his retinue remained on the White Sand Court's gravel, but on that day for the first time, Yadō Genba appeared—accompanied by two dōshin—and took his seat on the veranda.
Though disarmed, he wore fresh garments with newly bound hair and a clean-shaven face.
The contingent of dōshin and attendants at the purification basin seemed nearly doubled from before, and even prior to the judgment's commencement, an oppressive tension had permeated the White Sand Court.

Naoe's interrogation focused entirely on Kaneya.
He read aloud once more from the beginning - going through every detail of the complaint that had been examined over the past month - and demanded Kaneya's confirmation.
A current of discontent and lethargy began moving through the White Sand Court.
Though they had anticipated some extraordinary development amid this ceremonious tension, what unfolded was merely a repetition of established procedures.
The assembled senior officials, Kaneya and his retainers, even the lower-ranking clerks - all seemed to have begun succumbing to disappointment, irritation, and boredom in their own distinct ways.

Nakasho Naoe, as if fully aware of this spreading atmosphere, finished meticulously rechecking the complaint. "Now then," he said, turning his gaze to Kaneya and his attendants.

"The above has been examined in detail, article by article, through our investigation thus far. However, I wish to confirm once more whether these facts are accurate."
As he rolled up the complaint and placed it beside his knee, Naoe continued: "Master Kishirō of Kaneya—state your reply."

"This is a most thorough pronouncement from you."
Kishirō lowered both hands and looked up at Naoe as he answered: "As has been made evident through your repeated examinations up to this day, there exists not the slightest discrepancy between the facts and the entirety of the complaint we have submitted."

“Are you certain there is no discrepancy?”

“There is not the slightest error.”

Naoe took his folding fan and placed it on his knee. “Now then, though the magistrate remains uninformed, I will inquire into Kaneya’s business practices.”

Kishirō turned to the head clerk.
The head clerk Gosuke lowered both hands and began to say, "With all due respect, I shall explain on my master’s behalf—" but Naoe stopped him, stating he wished to hear directly from Master Kishirō.

“I will explain,” Kishirō answered sullenly.

“As I answered at the start of your investigation, our business operations are as reported: the sale of silk fabrics, hemp cloth, furniture, and household goods.”

“Do you have any other businesses that you operate secretly without reporting them to the authorities?”

Kaneya Kishirō fell silent for a moment.

“This judgment has taken nearly thirty days,” Naoe said. “During that time, the magistrate was not merely gazing at the gravel of the White Sand Court. Due to unsavory rumors surrounding Kaneya, we have exhausted every means to investigate and verify the facts.”

At this remark about not gazing at the gravel of the White Sand Court, suppressed laughter could be heard among the senior officials.
Naoe took out a sheaf of documents from his kimono and, flipping through the pages, continued speaking.

“In addition to your legitimate business, you have been secretly lending money at high interest rates—” He tapped the documents in his hand with a finger. “Here we have both the facts of this and witness testimonies recorded. Do you have any explanation regarding this?”

“With all due respect,” Kishirō declared in a forceful voice, “this White Sand Court’s judgment concerns the complaint we submitted. To censure my business practices here seems beyond the proper scope.”

“Are you engaged in moneylending or not?” Naoe said in a soft tone. “First, I will hear your answer—consult with your head clerk and clerks, then state it clearly.”

Kishirō turned toward Gosuke on the mat, and the clerks Heikichi and Shōji, along with others, leaned their heads in.
Of course, what they were whispering could not be heard, but their consultation concluded quickly, and Kishirō lowered both hands.

“I shall answer,” said Kishirō. “With all due respect, through business connections, there are times when I am asked to provide financial assistance and find myself compelled to lend funds. This is not limited to us merchants—if one has savings and is entreated by friends or acquaintances, I believe anyone would do the same.”

“What the magistrate is asking is whether you are engaged in moneylending outside of your legitimate business. A simple yes or no—that is all I require.”
Naoe held up the documents he was carrying. “Lending funds out of necessity when entreated by friends or acquaintances differs entirely from fixing interest rates and due dates from the outset—even determining penalties for missed payments. Consider this distinction carefully before you answer.”

“With all due respect,” the head clerk said, “regarding that matter, my master knows nothing. I, Gosuke, shall explain.”

“I will hear the answer from Kishirō.”

“My master knows nothing about it.”
“This was done by myself alone,” Gosuke pressed on. “At first, as my master stated, we lent the funds out of necessity. However, the borrowers themselves said it would be pitiful to have no interest, and as merchants, leaving silver idle would deviate from proper business principles. Thus it naturally came to pass that we received some measure of interest.”

“Understood.”
Naoe’s voice remained soft. “So you state that Master Kishirō knew nothing about this matter?”

“It is exactly as I have stated.”

“You claim that Kaneya’s silver was lent out solely at the head clerk’s discretion, that substantial profits were gained through its interest, yet Master Kishirō was not informed of any of this—and further, that Kaneya’s master Kishirō remained entirely unaware of these facts—is that correct?”

Gosuke, the head clerk, silently prostrated himself.

“Then let us return to the complaint against Yadō Genba,” said Naoe, setting down the documents he had been holding and picking up the complaint once more. “Kaneya Kishirō—it is difficult to recognize as factual that you have brought this suit against Yadō for non-payment of a debt totaling 180 ryō, 3 bu, and 2 shu, as well as for threats and violence.”

“What do you mean by this pronouncement?”

“As Gosuke just stated—‘letting silver sit idle deviates from a merchant’s principles.’ You are a merchant. Merchants utilize funds productively and sustain their trade through profit. Thus, you would never lend unrepayable sums or extend credit on goods. You are aware that Yadō Genba’s stipend is nominally 200 koku but yields barely over 150 koku in actual income.”

Kishirō started to say something but immediately stopped himself, tilting his head slightly as if he couldn’t comprehend Naoe’s words.

“As a merchant who frequents the samurai residences throughout this castle town, you cannot possibly be unaware of the disparity between nominal yields and actual income.”
Naoe’s tone still retained its calmness. “Therefore, you should have known that Yadō Genba lacked the means to repay such a substantial debt—180 ryō.”

“With all due respect, you have inspected both the ledgers and promissory notes. I cannot fathom why you now voice suspicions.”

A defiant expression surfaced on Kishirō’s face, his voice carrying an unshakable resolve.

VII

“If you find this difficult to comprehend, then I must ask—”
Naoe spoke each word slowly: “Since you lent a large sum of money and goods to someone without the ability to repay, there must have been some definite criterion for this. What exactly was that criterion?”

“What might that criterion be?”

“Let me repeat the question: Merchants move capital and live by its profits. Only when there is a measurable criterion for gain would they lend money and goods. Yet you lent such a large sum to Yadō, who lacks repayment capacity—what criterion did you use?”

“With all due respect,” Kishirō retorted, “it is true that merchants build their livelihoods upon profit, but trade cannot subsist on that alone. The foundation lies in trust; even without immediate cash on hand, it is customary business practice to extend credit if one deems the other party trustworthy.”

“I see,” said Naoe with a nod, idly moving the fan in his lap. “So you lent to Yadō Genba out of trust.”

“With all due respect, it was exactly as you stated.”

“Then why did you sue him?”

Kishirō did not answer immediately.

"If you lent to Yadō out of trust," Naoe repeated, "why did you sue him to the magistrate?"

“Trust is not infinite; there must be a limit.”

“The magistrate holds that trusting others knows no bounds,” he said. “But you being a merchant—you set a boundary here beyond which you refuse to extend trust. That is your position, correct?”

“If such is your interpretation, I cannot dispute it.”

“Let us term this boundary-setting your criterion. What criterion guided you in lending Yadō over 180 ryō?”

“I must respectfully appeal to your discernment—as I have stated, trust inherently possesses limits.”

“The magistrate is asking about your criterion.”

“I can only humbly state that no such criterion existed.”

“I see.” Naoe threw down the complaint and bundle of promissory notes he had been holding. “Then I declare—your lawsuit is without factual basis.”

“I cannot accept that pronouncement.”
Kishirō flushed. “With all due respect, I possess evidentiary ledgers and promissory notes.”
“Even if Your Honor declares it baseless, I find such a pronouncement impossible to comprehend.”

“While engaging in moneylending by evading the authorities’ notice, you claim Master Kishirō knew nothing of this being solely the head clerk’s doing—this too is something the magistrate cannot comprehend.”
Naoe’s words remained calm. “Furthermore, at the outset of this lawsuit, when a certain party approached you offering to withdraw the complaint upon payment of two-thirds, you adamantly demanded a formal judgment. Yet as the magistrate continued preliminary investigations, you yourself then petitioned to withdraw the suit in exchange for receiving two-thirds.”
“From your handling of both the moneylending matter and this lawsuit—so many dubious aspects—to your ledgers and promissory notes, none of which couldn’t have been forged—I hereby declare your accusations against Yadō Genba to be entirely baseless!”

“Do you have evidence of this?”
Kishirō did not retreat. “If Your Honor declares the evidence I submitted to be baseless, then I wish to see the evidence that proves it so.”

“Very well. I will show you.”
Naoe nodded, looked toward Yadō Genba waiting on the veranda, and called to the retainer behind him: “Bring Lord Yadō’s sword.”

One of the retainers glanced toward the senior officials, then stood and withdrew—but soon returned carrying a single sword, which he handed to Naoe.
Naoe slid from his seat, put a sheet of paper in his mouth, and quietly drew the sword.
He placed the scabbard to his left, stood the sword upright, and examined its cutting edge.
From its tip to the base of the guard.
He then flipped the blade over to inspect its front and back, gazed at it slowly, removed the folded paper he had been holding between his lips, and held out the gleaming blade toward Kaneya.

“Look at this sword,” said Naoe. “Examine this blade—without a single cloud or flaw—from where you sit.”

Kaneya and his retainers kept their hands lowered and looked up uneasily at the sword.

“The sword is said to be the soul of the samurai.”
Naoe’s voice remained quiet, carrying a softness meant to placate his listener. “To you merchants, this may sound like hollow samurai incantations—but this is the soul of a samurai. It embodies the very essence of what makes one truly samurai.”

He lowered the sword he had been holding aloft and, still gripping it, placed his fists on his knees as he continued: “A boy born into a warrior household learns the ritual of seppuku around seven years old. At that moment, he ceases to be merely a child of his family and becomes a vassal sworn to the feudal domain. There remains no concept of ‘self’—both body and spirit are pledged to the domain. When grave matters arise, he must stake his very life to fulfill his duty. This is why they learn the law of seppuku at seven.”

Samurai neither spun thread nor cultivated fields nor held planes; generation after generation they lived by hereditary stipends.
This was because serving lord and domain while safeguarding people’s welfare constituted their fundamental duty.
The way of samurai bound them inseparably to domain and subjects regardless of good or evil deeds—virtuous acts became pride for both domain and people; wicked acts brought shame upon them.
This was why they never faltered in dignity while maintaining decorum even alone—and why swords stood as proof that resolve remained unerring.

“A sword does not exist to cut people down but as proof that one’s resolve remains unerring,” Naoe said in a gentle tone. “Look closely at this blade once more.”

Naoe raised the sword again, held it aloft for about five breaths, then lowered the fist to the knee.

“Yadō Genba is a samurai—moreover, one belonging to a family of unbroken lineage in this domain,” he continued. “For a samurai born into such a lineage to borrow money and goods from a merchant, refuse repayment, and resort to violence when pressed—such a thing is inconceivable. Kaneya Kishirō, your lawsuit is entirely baseless.”

Naoe returned to his seat and declared, “Given the questionable nature of your business operations compounded by this groundless lawsuit, such conduct is beyond reprehensible. While severe punishment would be warranted, by our lord’s mercy I hereby sentence you and your three retainers to thirty days’ imprisonment. Remove them.”

Naoe flicked his hand. Though the crouching constables wore dubious expressions, they herded Kaneya and his retinue out of the White Sand Court.

Naoe meticulously wiped the sword he had been holding with a sheet of paper and sheathed it.

"I had heard since boyhood that the Yadō family possessed Meiju," Naoe said to Yadō Genba on the veranda. "I had long wished to see it someday, though I never imagined doing so under such circumstances—a magnificent heirloom. Forgive my presumption, but I must say I'm thoroughly impressed."

Then, after summoning a retainer and handing over the sword, he slid from his seat and lowered both hands, looked up at Castle Deputy Asakura while declaring the judgment concluded, then swiftly rose and departed the scene.

In the waiting room was Sōbee—having undoubtedly heard the judgment—who called out with a look of astonishment, but Naoe shook his head, saying, “Later, later,” and left the magistrate’s office still wearing his hemp ceremonial robes. He returned directly to Lord Gotenka’s residence, asked the young retainer who greeted him if Kana was still there, and without waiting for a reply, immediately ordered him to prepare sake. The young retainer started to say something, but he barked “Sake!” and entered the parlor, stripped off his robes, and went straight to the bathhouse. He had intended to bathe with cold water, but Kana opened the stokehole door and appeared, calling out to ask about the bath’s temperature.

“Don’t startle me,” Naoe said. “You scared me! What are you doing?”

Kana spread her hands. “I was heating the bathwater. What did you imagine I was doing?”

“Never mind that.”
Naoe removed the wooden bath lid. “I’ll be drinking soon—make something decent.”

“Yes,” Kana replied with a smile, “just for today, I’ll grant you a proper ‘yes.’”

“So you can show kindness after all.”

“Please don’t flatter me—women grow presumptuous quickly, as they say.”

“Prepare something tasty,” said Naoe.

After rinsing off quickly and stepping out, Kana was waiting and helped him into a kimono.
He thought she might ask something about the judgment, but of course she didn’t mention it. Instead, she said that since she had obtained yamadori, she had prepared it roasted and in a bowl.

“Sorry,” said Naoe, turning his bare back toward her, “scratch here for me.”

Kana burst out laughing, approached, and touched him with her finger as she asked, “Where?”
“Higher up—there?”
“To the right—no, a bit lower—no, to the left there,” Naoe twisted his body this way and that as Kana giggled and scratched.

In the parlor was set a meal tray with sake and dishes, and a young retainer sat in attendance.
Naoe told him to leave and, as he began drinking by himself, thought that Kana would try to slip away again.
How many times had he fallen for that trick of hers? Once at Hinokawa’s “Naniwa”—no, twice maybe? Then there was the time at— As he puzzled over this, Kana entered carrying a tray.

“It’s mountain bird,” Kana said as she sat down. “Was it too early?”

“Ask this Kana person,” Naoe said. “She’s particular about timing for both drinks and appetizers—careless mistakes earn scoldings.”

“What an impressive memory,” said Kana as she moved plates and bowls from tray to meal stand, “then let’s keep this secret from that person.”

“We’d make fine partners in crime.”
Naoe smiled faintly with his lips alone, drained his cup, and handed it to Kana. “Allow me to pour you one properly.”

Kana straightened her posture and meekly accepted the cup. When Naoe poured, she briefly stuck out her tongue between her lips.

VIII

Approximately half an hour later, Yadō Genba came calling.
After having him shown to the guest room, Naoe continued drinking for a while longer with Kana in attendance.

“The bowl has cooled,” Kana said. “Won’t you eat it?”

“Three more cups,” Naoe said. “That should be about the right tide.”

Kana silently poured the sake.
It seemed someone had inferred that keeping Yadō waiting in the guest room was a matter of timing, but Kana showed no sign of such awareness.

“Well then,” Naoe eventually set down his cup. “Time to settle judgment.”

And he stood up.

When he entered the guest room, Yadō Genba sat motionless in the fading half-light.
He seemed not to have touched the tea laid before him, both hands resting on his hakama with his head bowed so deeply it looked ready to snap.
Naoe seated himself with formal precision and said keeping him waiting had been inexcusable.
Still facing downward, Yadō spoke in a voice barely above a whisper—of his release from Yanagida family custody and homecoming, how everything owed to Naoe’s verdict left him without means to express gratitude.

“I will not speak of what I felt while hearing your judgment,” Yadō continued. “But when you declared that Meiju’s blade bore not a single cloud or flaw—I felt stripped bare, as though my very skin had been peeled away.”

Naoe said nothing and did not even look toward Yadō.

“It is a matter of utmost lingering attachment that I bring this up now,” said Yadō, staring at his knees, “but—taking this as an opportunity—I wish to become a samurai-like person and start anew. Might I beg your assistance?”

Naoe kept his gaze fixed on the darkening garden and remained silent for a considerable time.
Yadō Genba watched that expressionless profile with a clinging gaze, and eventually, Naoe slowly turned toward Yadō.

“My grandfather once told me this,” said Naoe. “—Since samurai are human too, we cannot expect them to be free of human errors or missteps. But there are two things a samurai must never forgive—one is theft, and the other is failing the time to die. For a samurai, these two cannot be excused, regardless of reason.”

Yadō flinched and looked at Naoe’s face.
He wore a look as if he’d been slapped across the face; at the same time, he clenched both hands on his knees tightly and bowed his head until it seemed ready to break.

“Understood,” Yadō said in a whisper-like voice. “I am ashamed to have spoken of such lingering attachments—please forget them.”

“If you’re leaving, wait a moment,” said Naoe as he stood and exited. He soon returned with a paper package and presented it before Yadō. “The amount to repay Kaneya is inside this. Leave it at Kaneya’s shop on your way home.”

“This is—” Yadō’s eyes widened. “No—there’s no justification for you to do such a thing.”

“Take it with you,” Naoe interrupted. “A debt is a debt.”

Yadō silently lowered both hands.
After staring fixedly at his figure for a moment, Naoe said, “Excuse me,” and stood up.
Yadō Genba returned to the parlor as he was—finding no one there—but when Naoe drank two cups by himself, Kana entered carrying a sake warmer on a tray.

“A dowry?” Kana gently glared while pouring sake. “—You could just tell me the truth.”

“Eavesdropping is rude, you know.”

“I’ve been relieved all this time,” Kana said. “To think you were this prosperous behind appearances—aside from my own share, over a hundred eighty ryō—I never would have imagined.”

“How naive.”
Naoe sipped his sake and gave a knowing glance. “That’s borrowed money.”

Kana looked at him with puzzled eyes.

“Back when we talked about the dowry,” Naoe said smiling as he lifted his cup, “after you went home that day—I persuaded Naniwa’s owner.”

“Lies,” Kana said. “Rumor has it he’s famous for being stingy, you know.”

“It’s all about how you use things. Good medicine is made from poison, so to speak.”

“Did you really borrow it from Naniwa?”

“It’ll take five years,” Naoe said, turning away. “The rest is up to you, Kana.”

Kana silently bowed.

“Good,” Naoe nodded. “Once the month changes, we’ll hold the wedding right away.”

The next morning, Naoe was awakened by Kawamoto Sōbee while still asleep.
He washed his face, changed into his everyday clothes, and went out, whereupon Sōbee stood up from where he had been sitting and immediately sat back down.
His face had turned ashen and stiffened; his hands, seemingly with nowhere to rest, alternately clasped over his knees and clenched into fists.

“That’s early,” Naoe said. “You kept Kana up late last night.”

Kawamoto Sōbee shook his head and said with a slight stutter, “Yadō Genba has committed seppuku.”

Naoe averted his gaze and asked, “Did he perform it properly?”

“Properly—” Sōbee began, then widened his eyes. “You knew?”

“Was there any other resolution?”

“But then why,” Sōbee pressed urgently, “did you stop them from forcing seppuku initially? If you knew he’d kill himself after the trial, why publicly shame him in the White Sand Court?”

“Nothing is more precious than human life,” Naoe said in a tone of carefully chosen words. “Nothing is more precious than human life—but that life cannot be severed from the entire fabric of society. Those who trample on societal morals and order to pursue self-interest shatter their own lives with their own hands. Yadō Genba walked the path of self-determination. Sooner or later, his suicide would have been unavoidable. Yet forcing him to commit seppuku would have been wrong. Kaneya’s lawsuit absolutely had to be judged in the White Sand Court.”

“There’s also an issue with that—even senior officials are calling it unjust, imprisoning Kaneya and his retainers for thirty days.”

“The crux of my judgment isn’t in such matters,” Naoe cut him off with a raised hand. “What I wanted to clarify was the basis on which Kaneya lent such vast sums of money and goods.”

Sōbee widened his eyes.

“Kaneya did not lend that money and goods with Yadō himself as collateral—it was our 52,000-koku domain he had in mind,” said Naoe. “Under the new Official Laws, any large loan can be reclaimed if pressed. I wanted to make clear that he lent based on that assurance. Without this ruling, others in our domain would remain at risk of falling into the same pit by exploiting the laws’ excesses—it was that danger I sought to eliminate.”

Kawamoto Sōbee nodded silently, then nodded again.

“Kaneya and his retainers have likely grasped this meaning by now, and the merchants in the castle town should learn their lesson,” said Naoe. “We’ll let Kishirō and his managers and clerks return home in about ten days.”