Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In mid-February of Meiwa 9 (the era would be renamed "An'ei" in November), on a certain day—Jomura Kuraba visited the residence of Wakiya Daijirō in Tonmachi.

The Wakiya family held senior retainer status with a 700-koku stipend, and Daijirō served as a mediator on the council of retainers.
Jomura was a chief retainer under upper-ranking samurai, and Kuraba also served as an instructor at the "Renshikan".
He was twenty-nine years old—three years older than Daijirō—with a muscular, taut build and a dark complexion. His strikingly dignified appearance was marked by distinct thick eyebrows, lips always drawn in a straight line, and a calm gaze that rarely blinked.
He stood just over five shaku and seven sun tall—approximately 5'7"—and possessed a slightly hoarse yet resonant voice that carried well.—When Daijirō saw Kuraba’s figure standing at the entrance, he caught his breath.
From one sleeve of Kuraba’s kimono down to part of his hakama, the fabric was darkly stained with blood.

“I killed Komori Kensō.”
Jomura Kuraba said, “I discovered three men dining at Kawabata’s Ama-ya, stormed in, and cut them down.”

“By yourself?”

“Alone,” Kuraba nodded. “I killed Komori Kensō but let Ochiai and Iseki escape.”
“I struck Ochiai with a single blow too, but it seems to have been a shallow wound—unfortunately, they got away.”

“Is that blood from a wound?”

“No—it’s their blood,” Kuraba said. “Since I let two escape, I can’t cut my belly here and now. I’ll barricade myself in the estate and clash with the pursuers. Kubo Teizō, Itatsuchi Tomojirō, Marumoto Gengo—they’re coming.”

“Are you going to barricade yourselves together?”

“I refused, but they wouldn’t listen. The numbers might grow even larger—that’s why I came here to put a stop to it,” Jomura said. “Wakiya’s engaged to my sister, but he’s been against my ideas from the start. If Wakiya joins us, people will say he was dragged into this by Momoyo’s ties. That’d be trouble for both him and me. You get it, don’t you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No—there’s no need for that. I refuse outright,” Kuraba said. “And... I can’t save my wife and child, but I won’t let my sister die. Take Momoyo in—will you?”

“Of course—it goes without saying.”

“That settles it—I’m counting on you.”

Having said this, Kuraba strode away.

Daijirō watched his retreating figure.
The hem of Kuraba’s hakama was torn horizontally by about five sun, and with each step he took, the underrobe beneath became visible.
Kuraba exited through the gate and immediately turned right, departing without a backward glance.

Daijirō returned to the living room; he saw steward Koizumi Sennojō and three young retainers sitting uneasily in the adjoining room. They must have heard Kuraba’s account—for Kuraba’s voice had been loud and his tone unlike usual—and his mother Motome, having apparently heard it as well, followed Daijirō into the living room.

Daijirō sat down before the desk. The room spanned six tatami mats with a window on the northern side. As the desk faced this window, part of the garden could be seen through the open shoji screens. Beyond an adjacent vacant lot stood the Bamboo Storehouse, though its structure remained hidden behind the garden’s densely grown trees. Three ancient cherry trees extended their branches near the window, limbs thickly clustered with swollen buds tinged with color—save for one branch that had already begun to bloom.

“This has become quite a situation.”

Motome sat beside Daijirō.
Daijirō kept silent.

“What will you do?” Motome said. “You will go immediately, will you not?”

Daijirō said, "Well..." and slowly turned in the direction opposite to his mother.

In the tokonoma hung a scroll inscribed with “Layered Blue Mountains and Clouds,” beneath which sat an incense burner.
There was nothing else; the scroll had been written by Priest Kanseki, the head priest of Gyokurinji Temple who had been close to his late father, Tadaemon.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime event—if you do not go, you will be called a coward,” Motome said. “I will take care of Momoyo and the rest. Prepare yourself and go at once.”

“I’ll consider it for a moment.”

“What do you mean by ‘consider’?”

“This concerns the entire domain’s fate—a matter separate from my personal honor,” Daijirō said. “I beg you—allow me some time alone.”

Motome glared at Daijirō’s profile. Her plump, florid face turned pale, and her eyes flashed with anger. She tried several times to speak but eventually gave up, standing to leave through the corridor.

“Layered blue mountains and clouds—”
Daijirō murmured, “Bluish-green—so these must be distant mountains. Far, far away, range upon range overlapping. Around those mountains, unmoving clouds hang still… An air of eternity. An air of millennia frozen in place. To me now, this scene feels ill-suited.”

He propped his left elbow on the desk, leisurely supporting his chin, slipped his right hand into his breast pocket, and closed his eyes.
In the distance, a navy-blue mountain range and the motionless layered clouds encircling it appeared on the back of his eyelids.
Infinitely distant, solemnly desolate—from there toward here, across tens of millions of leagues toward here, to this domain’s castle town, to those who fiercely lit beacon fires over the governance of 52,000 koku—he pulled his consciousness back.

Thoughtlessness too is a form of prudence—Wakiya clings too tightly to deliberation.

Those were Kuraba’s words.
He had spoken them just five days prior at their meeting in Yunoyama’s Ōgiya.

“I can’t match him,” Daijirō murmured, eyes still closed. “There are things about him I can’t rival—his unerring decisiveness and ability to act. He feels no shame in what he chooses to do. Even years ago—if he saw a persimmon from some unfamiliar estate that looked delicious and wanted to eat it, he’d march right in and ask for one. If he wanted a woman, he’d head straight to Yunoyama without hesitation.”
“I could never hope to match him.”

Daijirō opened his eyes with a smile.

“Selling virtue isn’t a virtue,” he had said. “But neither is abstaining a virtue. Not sleeping with prostitutes is merely not sleeping with them.”

It was Kuraba’s words—those he had said—that came to mind.
That was four years ago, right after Daijirō and Momoyo’s marriage arrangement had been settled, and also when the current disturbance—later called the “Lord Ukyōnosuke Incident”—had begun.

II

Daijirō went to Edo at the age of fifteen and trained at the Yagyū Dōjō for five years while attending Seisaka Academy.
Kuraba had been enrolled at the Yagyū Dōjō since three years prior.
This was specialized training to become an instructor at the domain’s Renshikan—he was already among the highest-ranked within its disciples and would soon complete his studies to return home—but during his time in Edo, he had devotedly looked after Daijirō.
Although they had known each other since childhood, it was during their two-plus years of living in Edo that they came to trust one another.
At least for Daijirō, that was how it seemed.

When Daijirō returned from Edo, Kuraba came and suggested that he do a bit more finishing at Renshikan.
Daijirō refused, for he had little interest in martial arts.
Kuraba seemed disappointed but did not press the matter, and their close association continued thereafter.
Kuraba often visited Wakiya’s home, and Daijirō was frequently invited to Jomura’s.
During this period, he came to know Momoyo; however, in the third spring after his return to the domain, not long after Kuraba had married, he too became engaged to Momoyo.

Momoyo was fourteen years old at the time. Resembling her brother, she had sun-tanned skin, a slender frame, and petite stature. Her round eyes that seemed to take in everything, her intelligent-looking features, her cheerful disposition ready to laugh at any moment, and above all her utterly guileless nature—these were what Daijirō found appealing. Daijirō’s mother liked her even more and praised his discernment.

“Daijirō has quite the discerning eye—not only is her temperament good, but she will grow elegant as well.”

Kuraba had always called his sister “Chestnut.”
Perhaps because she was dark-skinned and petite—when this was mentioned, Motome laughed but did not retract her assertion that she would grow elegant.

Immediately after the engagement was settled, Kuraba took him to Yunoyama for entertainment.

“We’ll stay the night, but please don’t worry.”

Kuraba told Daijirō’s father this.
Tadaemon, Daijirō’s father—still alive at the time—likely grasped the implication of “staying over.” He made a deeply sour face but did not forbid it.

Yunoyama was a hot spring resort nestled in a mountain valley about five miles north of the castle town, beyond a single mountain pass. It housed brothels and women known as “hot spring attendants,” thriving as a bustling destination that drew customers even from neighboring provinces.

“The reason Wakiya can’t cut loose is he doesn’t know women. Today I’ll make a man out of you.”

Kuraba said.
Daijirō said, “Huh.”

“Are you suggesting making your own brother-in-law sleep with a prostitute?”

“Because you’re the man who’s going to be my brother-in-law.”

Having said this, Kuraba grinned slyly.
And then that “Selling virtue isn’t—” began.
Daijirō had never thought that abstaining from debauchery was a virtue.
Whether it was a physical late bloom or not, there had been several opportunities, but a sense of uncleanliness always interfered, and he couldn’t muster the will to push past it—that was all there was to it.
That night at the brothel in Yunoyama, he had the courtesan promise they “slept together,” then slept alone in a separate room.
The lie seemed destined for quick exposure, for come morning, Kuraba fixed Daijirō with eyes filled with scorn, clicked his tongue loudly, and spoke.

“I’ll keep bringing you back here until you become a man.”

Daijirō remained silent with a bitter smile.

After leaving the brothel, Jomura began saying suspiciously, “The new silver notes aren’t being accepted.” Though unstated explicitly, their clear reluctance toward the notes had irritated him—he claimed to have paid in hard coin instead. Jomura looked thoroughly dubious, but since Daijirō largely understood the reason, he found himself nodding absently while muttering.

“I thought it would come to this.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Jomura asked in surprise.

“Because the new silver notes don’t have the official seal.”

Daijirō replied. In this land, there had always been official seals from wealthy merchants within the domain on silver notes since ancient times. This meant the domain jointly guaranteed the stated amount, but those issued last winter lacked these seals. This was because in February of that year—the fifth year of Meiwa—a grand ceremony for the Crown Prince’s investiture had been held at the imperial court, with even the shogunate dispatching congratulatory envoys. Since Lord Iwami-no-kami Yasutomi was among those honored, Ukyōnosuke Yasusada—remaining in the domain—had hastily ordered their issuance to cover these expenses. Without seals, one couldn’t verify issuance volumes nor prevent overissuance. Naturally their value would decline—the old retainers had vehemently opposed this. Okajima Tanomo, the chief elder, admonished them by citing the founding lord’s decree: “Governance must not be conducted without the council of the three elders and five magistrates—” Among the founding lord’s precepts, this article stood foremost as what successive lords were bound to uphold. Nevertheless, Ukyōnosuke refused to listen.

“This duty was unforeseen, and procurement is urgently required. Other methods will not suffice—the aftermath can be dealt with later.”

Ukyōnosuke overruled them with those words.
They should not have let him overrule them then; that was precisely when they should have restrained Ukyōnosuke.
Even without that, the harmful effects of reckless governance had already begun to manifest in various areas.

“I don’t understand economics and such, but if that’s how it is, I can’t just let it be.”

On their way back to the castle town, Jomura fell into deep thought as he listened to Daijirō’s explanation regarding the silver notes.
In brothels and such places, customers have social appearances to maintain, so even if refused, they do not make it public; however, in general transactions, refusal is impossible—for rejecting the domain’s silver notes would incur punishment.
Therefore, to keep them in circulation, there was no choice but to raise prices of goods, and this would inevitably affect other silver notes as well.

“In fact, compared to last October, general prices had risen by nearly ten percent.”

Daijirō said.
Then Kuraba asked.
“The problem ultimately lies with Lord Ukyōnosuke.”
“And it’s those three close aides as well, I suppose.”

Alright—I'll think this through.

Kuraba's thick straight eyebrows twitched.

There was a reason the old retainers found it difficult to restrain Ukyōnosuke.
Ukyōnosuke Yasusada was not Lord Iwami-no-kami’s biological son but had been adopted from the Matsudaira Dewa family.
Since Lord Iwami-no-kami Yasutomi served as a senior councilor of the shogunate stationed permanently in Edo, he had left Ukyōnosuke to manage domain governance at home—but being young, recklessly bold from daimyō upbringing, fiercely self-centered, and possessing a neurotically abrasive temperament, the old retainers had to treat him like an inflamed sore.
Moreover, there were wicked men among his close aides—three individuals named Iseki Fujiya, Komori Kensō, and Ochiai Shōjirō.
Iseki had been brought by Ukyōnosuke from his birth family; the other two had been recruited from the Edo estate. Komori was thirty-two and had served as a two-hundred-and-fifty-koku shoin guard in Edo.
Ochiai was twenty-eight and had worked as a mid-level attendant with a stipend of about one hundred fifty koku.
These men—with Iseki and Komori as chamberlains and Ochiai as petition handler—solidified Ukyōnosuke’s inner circle and steered politics with near-dictatorial control.

Such were, in general, the aforementioned circumstances.

III

For about half a year after that, Kuraba persistently invited Daijirō to Yunoyama.
He claimed it was to “make a man of him no matter what,” but in truth, the number of companions gradually increased, and their main activity at the hot spring inn—they no longer frequented brothels—became holding secret discussions.
They investigated how reckless governance was conducted and what harmful effects it produced, then devised methods to counter it.
Daijirō occupied a position akin to a theoretical explainer of economics and politics, maintained a detached yet engaged stance from the outset, and even attempted to temper their fervor.

Kuraba, leveraging his decisiveness, had apparently attempted to sway the old retainers as well.
But this backfired with the conservative elders, and Kuraba found himself severely reprimanded.

“Meddling in governance violates domain law.”

They had been sternly warned that reckless action would breed internal strife and must be strictly avoided.

Kuraba fell silent.
Yet he kept persistently bringing Daijirō to Yunoyama.
The fifteen-strong band of comrades disbanded—though covert communications seemed maintained.
Kubo Teizō, Itatsuchi Tomojirō, and Marumoto Gengo would occasionally gather at the hot spring inn.
Even when Daijirō showed wariness, Kuraba always preemptively diverted the conversation.

“Enough—try becoming a man tonight.”

He would say things like that—how one should indulge while young, how those without such experience were only half a person’s worth, how Daijirō’s refusal was like a maiden dreading her first night, how crossing that threshold would render it meaningless.

“Speaking of first nights—I thought this when I took a wife—the courage of women stepping into marriage is remarkable.”

Jomura Kuraba abruptly said one day.

"Leaving the home where she was born, parting from the parents and siblings who raised her, entering into a life of near-strangers she barely knows—into that curtained realm of 'first night' where any fate might await—a girl with no experience whatsoever steps boldly into it all alone. This courage is truly remarkable."

Daijirō said with a bitter smile.

“But I think it’s the same for men.”

Jomura glared back—a look that seemed to say What a shameless man. Daijirō pretended not to notice and turned away.

The unsealed silver notes had been recalled once before. Likely an attempt to quell discontent over soaring prices. Indeed, this measure showed signs of bringing prices down. But recalling them required resources. Thereupon Ukyōnosuke ordered a pole-measuring survey of all domain farmlands, calculating a new yield of roughly five thousand koku. A land survey had been conducted seven years prior too, but this pole survey proved especially thorough—leaving no yobu, those portions traditionally spared for farmers during measurements. Even then they couldn’t fully recall the new silver notes. So next came a twenty percent stipend cut from all retainers’ salaries over five years.

Not limited to this domain, feudal lords across the land were economically strained at the time. However, there, planning was haphazard, and as they rushed into financial maneuvers unbacked by production, the situation gradually escalated toward catastrophe.

――This will lead to irreversible consequences.

――Fundamental reforms were necessary.

Such voices grew louder.

Those voices ended up inflaming his recklessness further rather than restraining Ukyōnosuke.
Leaving the unrecovered silver notes without official seals untouched, they issued new silver notes and expanded levies to include houses with frontages over two ken, storehouses, goods and transactions, garden trees, and even wells.
Moreover, they proposed destroying over fifty thousand tsubo of paddy fields—among the domain’s most fertile lands—southeast of the castle town to build a villa for the domain lord.
...The old retainers sent a messenger to Edo.
But Lord Iwami-no-kami was likely too occupied to scrutinize the matter thoroughly.
At the same time, since economic gridlock bred disputes common to all domains in varying degrees, they probably deemed it just another routine case.

“What do you think you’ll achieve by reporting such trifles all the way to Edo? Are there no competent men left in the domain?”

Thus rebuked, the messenger withdrew.

This censure had been meant to stay secret, but rumors spread regardless of how they leaked, reaching Jomura Kuraba’s ears. At a meeting in Yunoyama, they resolved to eliminate the three chamberlains. Farmers crushed by oppressive taxes—enforced through two rounds of land surveys—had begun abandoning their fields. Meanwhile, prices kept soaring from unchecked silver note issuance, and bankruptcies multiplied among merchants.

“It’s those three close aides moving Lord Ukyōnosuke—not that they bear all responsibility—but they’re the ones who’ve isolated His Lordship from senior vassals and brought domain governance to this chaos. Unless we eliminate them first, no plan for reform will hold.”

Seventeen men had gathered at the meeting—Daijirō among them.
Every member but Daijirō approved the proposal to kill the three.
Daijirō objected.
“Slay those three and we’ll sacrifice our own men too—there must be a more peaceful way.”
He insisted.

“You’re shackled by your own prudence! Cast that caution aside when needed—even recklessness holds strategic worth!”

Jomura said this, but at his words—“we too will have to sacrifice lives”—the feverish atmosphere in the room cooled slightly, and with an agreement to reconvene later, the meeting then came to an end.

"He had noticed—how the fervent atmosphere had cooled that day."
Daijirō muttered, "And he—he resolved instantly to do it himself and carried it out today... But while he cut down Komori, the other two escaped... Yes, I well understand why he can’t commit seppuku as things stand."

Apart from those muttered words, countermeasures were being actively formulated in his mind.

“Daijirō-san—”

From the hallway came Motome’s voice calling out.
When the shoji slid open and he turned around, his mother entered with Momoyo of the Jomura family.
Momoyo was now eighteen years old—her petite frame remained unchanged, but her skin had turned pale, her once slightly reddish hair now hung thick and lustrously black, and (though not to the extent Motome had prophesied) her complexion appeared far more refined.

“I have severed ties with the Jomura family.”
Momoyo placed her hands on the floor and said, “I humbly entreat you henceforth.”

“I’ve been waiting,” said Daijirō. “Without delay—I’ll be going to the castle now, so ask Mother and prepare.”

“You’re going to see Mr. Jomura, aren’t you?”

When Motome asked that，Daijirō did not answer and said to Momoyo.

“It’s time to go to the castle. Please bring out the hemp kamishimo.”

IV

Momoyo calmly assisted him with changing clothes.
Though slightly pale, she showed no signs of agitation.
Daijirō smiled as though straining while fastening his hakama cords.

“Are you aware that Jomura took me to Yunoyama and tried to make me indulge in pleasure?”

Momoyo nodded “Yes,” and while looking up at Daijirō, smiled shyly.

“Then you must also know that in the end, I couldn’t indulge in those pleasures and was despised by him for it.”

“Yes,” Momoyo answered.

“What about you? Do you still despise me?”

“No,” Momoyo answered, blushing, “I was... happy.”

“That’s… kind of you.”

Daijirō started to say that and turned around. Steward Koizumi Sennojō entered. He had likely dispatched his retainers to investigate the situation; now kneeling before them, he relayed their report. According to this, at Jomura’s residence, they had opened the gates and erected bamboo barricades, and already about thirty people had gathered, with more still arriving continuously. Among the senior vassals and high-ranking officials, Someya Yugi and Okayasu Masuzaemon went to the castle, but the others closed their gates and remained secluded in their residences without emerging. Such was the report.

“Understood.”
Daijirō received the folding fan from Momoyo and said to the steward, “I will go to the castle. Ensure no one leaves.”

And then he went out to the entrance.
Motome did not come, but Momoyo saw him off to the entrance steps.
Daijirō looked at Momoyo while fastening his sword.
Momoyo’s eyes appeared to be glistening.
He smiled at those eyes and said,

“You needn’t worry.”

And then he quietly put on his footwear.

Daijirō thought it fortunate his father was no longer alive.
His father Tadaemon had died of illness last May, which had delayed his marriage to Momoyo by a year; he could vividly imagine how his kind yet timid father—had he lived—would have been anguished and bewildered, and how his engagement to Momoyo would likely have been annulled.
From his residence in Tonmachi, the Tatsumi Gate offered the nearest route to the castle. But taking that path would mean passing near the Jomura family home in Babashita—so Daijirō detoured toward the Ōtemon Gate.
The streets along the way were in turmoil.
They must have been early evacuees—urging along elders and children, loading carts with belongings—the crowd moved in a column from Tsujimachi toward Hinokimachi.

At Ōtemon Gate, spearmen were deployed.
As Daijirō passed by, they stared intently as if at some strange creature and whispered just audibly.

“It’s Wakiya—that sister of Jomura’s.”

“What’s going on?” another voice was heard. “Isn’t he joining the rebellion?”

Daijirō paid no heed and passed through.

From there, he went to Nakanoguchi, ascended from Nakanoguchi, and until entering the chamberlain’s office, every person he passed along the way looked at him with those eyes and whispered suspiciously.
……The castle interior was hushed.
It was a silence born of the gravity of events and the uncertainty of what was to come—a hush as though all things were holding their breath.
There was no one in the chamberlain’s office.
Daijirō adjusted his attire, peeked into the elders’ duty room, and upon finding no one there either, proceeded to the administrative office.
In the administrative office, monks and attendants had gathered; everyone’s faces were pale as they paced restlessly, standing and sitting by turns.
He deemed it unnecessary to wait for an attendant and proceeded down the long corridor further inside.
Then, he saw Someya Yugi emerging from Kuroshoin.
Someya was an elder mediator and counted among Ukyōnosuke’s faction.
Daijirō let Yugi pass by and swiftly entered Kuroshoin.

Lord Ukyōnosuke was shouting on the upper dais.
He was twenty-seven years old.
He had a lean frame with little flesh, a long face with a sharply pointed high nose, thick eyebrows that pressed in from both sides, and large, keenly gleaming eyes—all of which vividly conveyed his short-tempered disposition.
His face was twisted in anger, and his eyes were nearly flushed with rage.

“Does my will hold no sway here?!” Lord Ukyōnosuke shouted. “That insolent wretch killed Komori and wounded Ochiai—then gathered a faction to barricade himself in his residence! This is rebellion! Open treason!”

Directly below the upper dais was Okayasu Masuzaemon.
Okayasu was a low-ranking elder—already past sixty and a man known solely for his gentle sincerity—who could do nothing but bow his head and stammer out excuses.
Beside the old man stood Iseki Fujiya and Ochiai Shōjirō.
From behind, it was unclear, but Ochiai had half his head wrapped in bleached cotton.
This was likely from the single strike Kuraba had delivered.
There were over twenty others—pages and attendants—along with about five higher-ranking officials.

“Send out the punitive force—it is Our command!”
Lord Ukyōnosuke struck the armrest with his fist and shouted, “Surround them with bows and guns! If they prove too much, set fire and burn them out!”

Masuzaemon prostrated himself and, in a trembling voice, repeated the same placating words—that until Someya returned, they would handle matters exactly as His Excellency commanded for just a little longer now.
Daijirō quietly moved on his knees through the people and raised his head at the position according to his rank.

“I humbly report—Middle Elder Wakiya Daijirō—I humbly report.”

Though not loud, his voice carried clearly.
Lord Ukyōnosuke turned his gaze.
The others also looked back, many widening their eyes in surprise.

“Should we dispatch a punitive force as Your Excellency commands,” said Daijirō, “the unrest will spread and may bring catastrophe upon our domain. The crime of assault rests solely with Jomura Kuraba—having him commit seppuku will resolve this matter. With all due respect, I believe it would be misguided to risk great turmoil for one man’s sake.”

“The crime of assault is indeed a crime, but gathering a faction and barricading oneself in a residence is rebellion!”

“The claim of him gathering a faction is a misreport—in truth, it was merely relatives assembling to prevent his violent act and restrain him,” Daijirō said, shifting forward on one knee. “With all due respect, deign to appoint me as envoy—I will go at once and have him commit seppuku.”

Lord Ukyōnosuke looked at the faces of Iseki and Ochiai.
There was no need to question what reaction the two men showed—Jomura Kuraba was the master of Renshikan, with many disciples who revered him and the deep trust of the entire domain.
They must have well understood what kind of uproar would occur if a punitive force were dispatched.
Despite Lord Ukyōnosuke’s fury, this was precisely why they had hesitated to dispatch the punitive force—Daijirō’s proposal came as nothing short of a godsend to them.

“Is there no error in those words?” Lord Ukyōnosuke looked toward him. “—I will have him commit seppuku without fail.”

“If I may receive Your Excellency’s command, I will have him commit seppuku.”

“Very well, go,” said Lord Ukyōnosuke. “—I appoint you as envoy!”

V

“Certainly, I have understood. In that case—”

Having said this, Daijirō glanced left and right and noticed the presence of a chief clerk named Satō Kichūrō.
“Kichūrō, with a stipend of 320 koku, serves as commander of the foot soldiers’ group,” Daijirō said to Lord Ukyōnosuke.

“In that case, I humbly request Lord Iseki Fujiya from your side and that Satō Kichūrō accompany me as inspectors.”

“Very well—have both men witness and proceed.”

Iseki Fujiya flinched.

“I must decline,” Fujiya said. “I... I am not suited to this duty.”

“You were close to Komori-dono,” Daijirō said. “—For witnessing Jomura Kuraba’s seppuku, there should be no one more suitable than you. Or are you declining out of fear of Jomura?”

“Iseki, you’re being pathetic,” Lord Ukyōnosuke shouted. “—I command it! Go!”

Fujiya prostrated himself. Daijirō looked at Satō Kichūrō, then quietly slid from his seat.

Iseki Fujiya was cowering. Had Lord Ukyōnosuke not been so enraged, he might not have assigned him as an inspector. Daijirō’s words—“Is it fear of Jomura...—” seemed not only to fuel Lord Ukyōnosuke’s anger but also to more forcefully suppress Fujiya’s refusal. Satō Kichūrō also appeared unsettled; as commander of the foot soldiers’ group, he had only attended at the castle and had no desire to be dragged into this commotion—nor had he ever wanted to take on such a role in the first place.

“This isn’t going to end quietly.”

He thought this.
It was unthinkable that Jomura would obediently cut his belly—the gathered men probably wouldn’t let them do it.
He seemed unable to remain calm, worried about what to do if they resisted.

“How about taking guards along?”

On their way down the long corridor, Satō Kichūrō said this.
Fujiya was quick to agree, but Daijirō flatly rejected it.

“If we bring a guard detail to where agitated men are gathered, a clash is certain to occur—that’s unthinkable!”

Daijirō did not permit them to bring attendants and proceeded to the Jomura residence with an escort of five officials from the inspector general, in the manner befitting an envoy.

Jomura’s house stood at the corner below the riding grounds.
At the right corner where Tsujimachi Street met the large riding grounds stood the estate of Kurasawa Shigedayu, the Warehouse Magistrate, while the other side was a servants’ tenement.
The Kurasawa residence had its gate closed, the servants’ tenement was hushed and still, and not a soul was visible on the road.
...At the Jomura residence, they had flung the gate wide open and encircled it with a bamboo barricade fashioned from split green bamboo. Inside the gate, dozens upon dozens of water-filled buckets stood lined up, and here and there, torches had been bundled and erected—likely in preparation for night combat.

Daijirō had the inspectors wait at a distance from the gate, and the three of them entered the residence alone.
At the entrance stood seven or eight young samurai in light armor who, upon seeing the three men, blocked their path while half-drawing their swords.

"Do not resort to violence—I am an envoy dispatched by Lord Ukyōnosuke," Daijirō said. "—Kindly relay this to Jomura."

At that moment, Itatsuchi Tomojirō appeared at the entrance.
He wore a barrel-shaped cuirass and had readied his leg armor.
Seeing Daijirō, he tried to rush forward but halted at the genkan step upon noticing Satō and Iseki.

“Are you the one they’re calling envoy now?”

Itatsuchi said.
When Daijirō answered affirmatively, he turned menacing and shouted with a stutter.

“Is it truly you… Wakiya-san?”

Daijirō did not answer.

“You know Master Jomura’s position!” Itatsuchi Tomojirō shouted. “We believed you’d come here to stand with us—and now you arrive as their envoy?”

“That’s correct,” Daijirō said. “—Please convey that to Jomura.”

“Absolutely not!” Tomojirō shouted. “I can’t convey such a message—leave at once!”

Perhaps having heard Itatsuchi’s voice, three more armed young samurai came clattering out to the spot.
Among them was Kubo Teizō, who—still hearing Itatsuchi’s shouting—glared at them with fierce hostility, then likely recognizing Iseki Fujiya, raised his hand and yelled, “Secure the rear!”
Of course, this was directed at the seven or eight comrades in light armor; they swiftly blocked Daijirō’s trio’s retreat.
Then Kubo Teizō screamed toward the rear.

“The prey’s caught! Come out—it’s Iseki Fujiya!”

Iseki began trembling visibly, his face pale and rigid, and while glancing sideways at Daijirō, tried to reach for his sword hilt.
When Daijirō noticed this and restrained his hand, about five men came rushing out from the rear.
At the front was Marumo Gengo, along with two others Daijirō recognized—all disciples of the Renshikan—and then Kurama arrived afterward.
…Jomura Kurama could be seen wearing a crested black formal kimono with Sendai-hira silk hakama, white beneath, and chainmail.
He held a sword in his left hand, stepped briskly forward in white tabi socks, and looked down at Iseki Fujiya from the front.

“I have come as Lord Ukyōnosuke’s envoy,” Daijirō said. “—I ask that you accept these two as inspectors at my request.”

Kuraba’s eyes did not waver from Iseki.

“Aren’t you going to kill him?” Teizō shouted. “Shall I do it, Master?”

At that voice, they all suddenly tensed with murderous intent.
Like a flash of lightning, they could feel all those surrounding the three men tensing with murderous intent.

“He would not do that,” Daijirō said. “Jomura would not do that. Jomura cut down Komori Kensō to save the domain from crisis; though he failed to eliminate the other two, by finishing Komori, he exposed the corruption’s source and demonstrated to all samurai their true duty and resolve. Jomura has achieved his purpose. He would not stir chaos in the castle town or drag many into rebellion’s guilt. I swear—Jomura would never commit such a reckless act.”

Jomura looked at Daijirō for the first time. Until then, he had been staring fixedly at Iseki with eyes that rarely blinked, having confirmed that the terrified Iseki was trembling uncontrollably throughout his entire body, before finally turning those eyes toward Daijirō. Daijirō calmly returned his gaze.

“So,” Jomura said, “—what are you telling me to do?”

“First, have these people disperse.”

“We decline,” said Marumo Gengo. “We stand with Master in life and death.”

Then all of them began shouting at once.
Jomura Kuraba let out a roar—a slightly hoarse yet penetrating voice—and the entrance ceiling reverberated sharply.

“Wakiya’s words are sound—my purpose has been fully achieved,” said Kurama. “Having failed to kill two targets and expecting them to send forces against us, I meant to strike back once—but now that Wakiya comes as an envoy, there’s nothing left to do. Everyone—look at that man.”
Kurama pointed at Iseki. “See him gasping for breath, trembling like rattling tiles? He’s already dead in spirit. We needn’t dirty our hands. He and Ochiai will flee on their own soon enough. My purpose stands achieved—all of you withdraw now.”

VI

Those who had gathered disbanded.
It was because Kurara’s unyielding resolve did not waver and because they had heard he would commit seppuku rather than face punishment.
Many of them were crying as they removed the bamboo barricade and tidied up water buckets and night-battle preparations.
Inside the house too they straightened rolled-up tatami mats set aside earlier erected shoji screens and fusuma doors and thoroughly wiped clean areas soiled by dirtied feet.

Marumo Gengo requested to witness the seppuku as their representative, but Daijirō refused.

“Rather than that,” Daijirō said to Gengo, “I have a request for you. Since Jomura’s seppuku will result in this house being confiscated, please accompany his wife and Lord Ichimatsu to my residence. Then have Kubo and Itatsuchi remain to assist with disposing of the remains.”

Daijirō told the remaining men to disband immediately in a tone that brooked no argument.

Marumo, Itatsuchi, and Kubo remained and prepared the ten-mat guest room for the ritual suicide.
They turned over a single tatami mat, stretched bleached cotton cloth over it, and placed it in the room’s upper alcove.
During that time, Kuraba went into the back, changed into white robes, retied his hair with water, and returned.
…Daijirō and the two others were sitting and watching in the adjacent six-mat room.
When Kuraba settled onto the prepared tatami mat, his wife Itsuki brought forward a ceremonial tray bearing the dagger.
Afterward, three-year-old Ichimatsu—likely because all the servants had withdrawn—followed with a startled expression and sat down neatly before Kuraba alongside his mother.

The mother and child exchanged brief parting words and immediately withdrew to the rear.
Daijirō knew well that Itsuki was mannish and had a strong-willed disposition.
Perhaps today, resolved that parent and child would die together, they had already completed rituals like the water ritual—yet even so, their parting appeared utterly devoid of lingering attachment, too dignified, even cold-hearted in its severity.
Daijirō signaled Marumo with his eyes.
Marumo Gengo nodded, followed after the mother and child, and Itatsuchi and Kubo came to sit in this six-mat room.

Daijirō remained silent.
A sound of people leaving came from the rear—once it faded—and the house abruptly fell into hushed stillness.
At that moment—Iseki Fujiya began trembling again.
In this sudden spreading silence—perhaps sensing renewed danger—Daijirō clearly perceived him beginning to tremble.
“Wakiya—” Kurama said.
Daijirō nodded—stood—went to Kurama’s side—and sat.
Then—as Kurama drew his dagger—he turned quietly and spoke.

“Lord Iseki, have you witnessed it?”

Fujiya raised his eyes.
Sato Kichijūrō also looked toward them, but Fujiya—seeing the dagger’s glinting light and Jomura loosening his collar—immediately lowered his gaze.

“You have confirmed it,” said Daijirō. “Then report this matter to His Excellency upon returning to the castle. As Jomura’s friend, I shall dispose of the remains and return.”

Sato Kichijūrō tried to speak.
But Daijirō, acting as though he hadn’t noticed, addressed Kubo Teizō and Itatsuchi Tomojirō.

“The inspectors are returning. Escort them out.”

Iseki Fujiya immediately stood up.
Kichijūrō seemed to hesitate for a moment, but as Iseki stood to leave, he too rose from his seat.

In the dimming room, Jomura Kuraba’s dagger—taken up once more—glinted coldly.

Daijirō then returned to the castle nearly an hour late.
Ukyōnosuke immediately summoned him to the Kuroshoin.
Ukyōnosuke was thoroughly enraged because whichever of the two who had returned earlier had reported it, they had not shown him the scene of the ritual suicide.
…Daijirō listened calmly. At that time, in the Kuroshoin were two senior councilors—Someya Yugi and Okayasu Masuzaemon—along with pages and attendants, making five individuals in total.
Neither Iseki nor Ochiai was in sight.

“Speak，Daijirō!” Lord Ukyōnosuke shouted．“Who confirmed Kuraba’s ritual suicide without showing it to the inspectors? What use are inspectors who don’t witness its scene?”

“With all due respect，” Daijirō answered，“I personally verified Jomura Kuraba’s ritual suicide as His Excellency’s envoy．”

“Is that all your evidence?”

“He performed it splendidly, and his remains were interred at Gyokurinji Temple. As His Excellency’s envoy, I personally witnessed the entire process with my own eyes.”

“I ask again—why did you not show it to the inspectors?”

“To allow him to die as a samurai should,” Daijirō said. “Needless to say, inspectors only attend executions of criminals. He is not a criminal. To save the domain from crisis, he cast aside his life and home, severed ties with his wife and children, and fulfilled his duty. I repeat—he is not a criminal. I wished to let him die as a samurai should, with peace of mind.”

“Do you demand that We believe those words?”

“The inspectors themselves should serve as witnesses,” said Daijirō. “—Anticipating even the remotest doubt, I personally requested their attendance. They observed him take his seat for seppuku, loosen his collar, and grasp the dagger. Had there been any irregularity, inspectors of their station would never have returned.”

Having declared this, Daijirō remained composed, his face still raised.
Ukyōnosuke’s fist—resting upon the armrest—trembled uncontrollably.
He glared at Daijirō with piercing eyes while seeming to falter for words of rebuke.
Daijirō bowed his head quietly and, after retreating some distance, looked toward the two men—Someya and Okayasu.

“Esteemed elders,” he said, “Jomura Kuraba’s resolve remains unfulfilled. Until the domain’s crisis is resolved and all affairs secured in peace, he cannot rest in death. Moreover, we retainers as one shall never forget where his resolve lingers. I humbly request you keep this matter deeply in mind.”

And he prostrated himself before Ukyōnosuke.
Lord Ukyōnosuke stood up indignantly and wordlessly hurried off to the rear.
Two attendants (one holding up a sword) followed after him.

Seven

On the night of Kuraba’s seventh-day memorial, a secret Buddhist service was held at Gyokurinji Temple.
Since they still feared public scrutiny, those who attended were limited to the bereaved mother and child, Daijirō and his wife—no one else was invited.
At Gyokurinji Temple, Priest Kanseki (who had been close to Kuraba’s late father) remained alive and well.
The priest—knowing full well it would displease Lord Ukyōnosuke—had taken charge of Kuraba’s remains and personally officiated that night’s memorial service at the head of five assistant monks.

When sutra chanting ended and incense offerings concluded, Ichimatsu had already begun dozing on his mother’s lap.
Itsuki—enveloping the child’s shoulder within her sleeve—spoke to Daijirō for the first time.
Since arriving at the Wakiya household seven days prior, this marked her first utterance.
The monks had departed, but bright lights still illuminated the main hall’s altar where thick incense smoke continued rising from the large burner.

“I find it regrettable,” Itsuki said, “—your approach may align with reason, but I wanted to let Jomura die a man’s death.”

“A man’s death?”

“Jomura steeled himself,” Itsuki said, “—he cast aside his samurai obligations and name, ready to perish by the sword alongside his wife and children. When a man resolves himself so completely, why deny him the death he desired?”

“Ah, I see. That’s what you meant?”

Daijirō was slightly taken aback.
It was just like Itsuki, but he hadn’t expected her to voice such grievances so plainly and to his face.

“However, this is what I think.”
Daijirō said, “—He killed Komori solely to protect the domain’s stability—it was never his aim to destroy anything. It was precisely because he made that decision to kill Komori that I stepped forward to handle the aftermath. And since that resolution went smoothly, I believe this is all the fruit of his manly resolve.”

“That is your logic. I am not speaking of logic.”

At that moment, a voice came from the darkness beyond.

“That’s right—you’re exactly right,” came Jomura Kuraba’s voice.

The three turned toward the sound’s source.
A monk emerged into the light, approaching with a wry smile.
It was Jomura Kuraba in priestly vestments—shaven-headed and robed.

“You—!” Itsuki cried out.

She nearly leapt up, almost dropping Ichimatsu from her arms.

“You’re dead right—Wakiya’s too soft-bellied to grasp how husband and wife feel,” Jomura declared as he drew near. “Look what he’s done! Not only denied me a warrior’s death, but transformed me into this miserable shape!”

Itsuki stood dumbfounded, her mouth agape, shoulders heaving with each breath as she stared unblinkingly at her husband. Kuraba sat down and—as if unable to contain his disdain—plucked at the sleeve of his priestly robe to show Momoyo, who remained too stunned to speak.

“Say more to him, Itsuki,” Kuraba continued. “Wakiya isn’t merely bookish—he’s downright cunning. Cunning enough to devise such a scheme at the critical moment and remain utterly unfazed by it. I permit you—speak your mind freely to him.”

Itsuki looked at Daijirō.
The face twisted, tears spilling from eyes.
Itsuki stared fixedly at Daijirō with tear-streaked eyes, then lowered her head over the sleeping child.

“Please forgive me, Lord Wakiya—”

But after that, her sobs choked off any further words.

“I did not want Jomura to die,” said Daijirō. “—I could not let him exchange his life for someone like Komori. Once Lord Ukyōnosuke regains his senses, he will understand. Though I had Jomura take monastic vows, when the time comes, I will ensure his family name is restored. I may have overstepped, but I ask you to endure until that day arrives.”

Itsuki was interrupted by sobs and could not answer.
Yet through her entire being, she expressed gratitude.
Daijirō signaled Momoyo with a glance and, while preparing to leave, looked at Kuraba.

“I’ll have the two of you stay here tonight,” Daijirō whispered to him. “—I’ve already informed the priest’s quarters. We’ll take our leave now.”

Kuraba nodded with a sullen face and called out to his sister, “Momoyo.”
Momoyo had been wrapping something but stopped her hands and looked at her brother.

“Don’t let Wakiya dislike you,” Kuraba said.

Momoyo silently lowered her head.
The face with shaved eyebrows and hair tied in a topknot flushed red at that moment.

“She certainly looks the part of a wife,” Daijirō said with a smile, “—to tell the truth, the wedding ceremony is tonight.”

Kuraba looked perplexed and faltered in speech.

“So—the two of you tonight…”

“That’s right,” Daijirō said, “—this is our night of farewell, and we… well, that’s how it is. We’ll take our leave now.”