Pathway to Japanese Literature

First Chapter: Ten'ichibō, the High Treason Criminal

and Various Theories Stirring Public Discourse

During the era of Tokugawa Yoshimune, the eighth shogun, there occurred a disturbance known as the Ten'ichibō Incident.

As for its factual basis, theories varied widely—some accounts could be summarized in four or five lines here, while others comprised voluminous records spanning an entire volume.

There were even claims it was entirely baseless; though academic circles... likely wouldn't consider it worth disputing, and general historians... probably wouldn't alter their fundamental perspectives over it either.
However, as narrator, I would face considerable difficulty were this dismissed as "baseless fabrication."

That is something I categorically refuse to accept at this juncture.

This is something I must categorically refuse to accept at this juncture.

In Record A, Ten'ichibō is named "Kaigyō," but in Document B, he is referred to as "Hōzawa." That he was a native of Kishū appears certain. Using as evidence what he claimed were Shogun Yoshimune’s handwritten authentication and a dagger—"I am Lord Yoshimune’s legitimate child"—he declared himself in this manner, flaunting the triple hollyhock crest and marching into Edo. This alone was an act of sheer audacity. Compared to those like His Majesty Emperor Kumazawa—who once capitalized on postwar turmoil to boast "I am the legitimate heir"—this strikes me as operating on a different level altogether.

The uproar throughout Edo exceeded mere clamor.
Given that the opponent had arrived so boldly, the shogunate could not feign ignorance for the sake of its own dignity.
They promptly ordered the magistrate to conduct a factual investigation.
As for who was assigned this task... Record A states Ina Hansaemon, while Document B lists Echizen-no-kami Ōoka Tadasuke.
As the narrator, I could go either way, but considering factors like popular appeal, I settled on Ōoka Tadasuke here.

As is widely known, Echizen-no-kami had an established reputation as a renowned magistrate. Having received his orders, he first took in the full scope of the case with a penetrating glare, tilted his head slightly, then seized the moment to dispatch his subordinates in all directions.

I had no desire to dwell on the hardships of this investigation.
Tadasuke had likely spared no effort in his duties, while his subordinates ran themselves ragged—though their exhaustion was no mere weariness.
However, in the end, Ten'ichibō’s misdeeds were exposed, and Ōoka Echizen, needing to demonstrate the law’s authority, kicked this monk off the veranda of the white sand court—though in theatrical renditions, it’s said that the audience here would roar.

“Here now, you high treason scoundrel!”

Tadasuke declared such things.
And how did Ten'ichibō respond to this?
Having been kicked down onto the gravel, he—still clinging to some semblance of pride—likely adopted a sullen posture.
And then, with a sort of sneering laugh,

“Heh... I can’t match Lord Ōoka.”

he let slip such a pretentious remark.
In short, it was nothing more than that—I don’t believe it’s an issue worth making such a fuss over.

Ten'ichibō and those implicated with him were subjected to extreme punishment.

Thus, the incident had been resolved; yet, most strangely, the foolish citizens remained unconvinced.

When Ten'ichibō appeared, hadn't they flown into a blind rage?
“What an audacious bastard, trying to stir up a succession dispute against the shogun!”
“That damn audacious beast trying to seize our shogunate family! Grind him to powder with a stone mortar and dump him in the Abe River!”

Had they not made these very sorts of base remarks? Yet no sooner were the conspirators subjected to extreme punishment than the townsfolk recanted their earlier words, each suddenly launching into hushed conversations.

“This here’s hush-hush, but I’ve got my eye on this judgment bein’ fishy—there’s a reverse to that reverse, y’know.”

“What’s this ‘reverse of the reverse’ even mean?”

“Can’t say this too loud—hey, listen up, ’kay? This’s hush-hush, but that guy’s the real deal.”

“So... he was the real deal after all?”

“Exactly! That guy’s definitely the Shogun’s illegitimate child—can’t go blabbin’ to nobody, ’cause this’s hush-hush, got it? Once ya know this, you ain’t got no complaints—this here’s the real deal!”

These were whispered rumors among the proletariat, but the propertied intellectual class naturally offered more penetrating insights than this.

“The truth is, I heard this from a certain reliable source—you mustn’t breathe a word of it—that such-and-such occurred... What do you make of that? I’d had my suspicions all along, but hearing concrete details about this-and-that still shocked me... Well?”

“Well now, about that story—truth is, I did catch wind of something through, you know, that particular channel we both know... But I thought, ‘No, surely not!’ After all, you couldn’t possibly have—”

“No no, my information comes straight from the source itself—why, when it came to the shogunate family, they say tears streamed down their very eyes in that moment, such was the depth of parental affection. Even the entire council of elders were choked with silent tears, I tell you. No really, this is an ironclad account from the most unimpeachable channels.”

Rumors of this kind—claiming reliable sources yet supposedly not strictly confidential—spread rampant through the city.
Elderly men with investigative tendencies would bring out preposterous-looking books to research the incident’s origins or dissect its underpinnings.

Second Chapter: The Logic of Mortar Being Mortar

And: The Youths of the Tenement Takuan and

The Substitute Affair

At that time, there existed in Honjo Ishiharacho a poor tenement district called Rokken Nagaya.

The actual number of households was thirty-eight.
However, as it initially consisted of six houses, it seems the name "Rokken Nagaya" persisted indefinitely due to nearby residents’ negligence and indifference.
The landlord was Gosuke Nawaya, who with his wife Otaki had one daughter named Owaki.

Gosuke was born in Sano, Shimotsuke Province, and after failing at two or three occupations in his hometown, he came to Edo at thirty-one years of age and established Nawaya.
For approximately twenty years since then, the husband-wife-daughter trio worked as one to diligently apply themselves to their business. Through these efforts, they gradually purchased the Rokken Nagaya tenements one by one from the outer edges; he established a shop on the main street for himself and continued expanding them in succession—purchasing and stockpiling old lumber—until achieving their present grand scale.

The tenants of the tenement were not favorably disposed toward their landlord.
In private, they called Gosuke "Baldy," his wife Otaki "Stingy," and their daughter Owaki both "Mortar" and "Stingy-with-affection."
As nicknames went, they were tasteless and unimaginative.
Gosuke was bald-headed, and Otaki embodied "Stingy."
Referring to the daughter as 'Mortar' naturally indicated her hips—another crude and commonplace expression.
As for "Stingy-with-affection," this was an even more vulgar and bluntly direct expression.

Owaki was already twenty-six.
As their only daughter, she naturally took in husbands—indeed, she had taken five thus far—but all five fled within about half a year each, and she had remained single these past three years.
“A widower’s man flees with hollowed eyes”—there’s a vile senryu verse that goes like this. Though Owaki was no widow, the tenement residents would recount how her five husbands each hollowed out some part of themselves before fleeing for dear life.

“We know—me and Kinta here, we know everything.”

The two youths named Ginta and Kinta—who had grown up in the tenement house since their parents’ generation and now worked together carrying street palanquins—were proclaiming such things with particular emphasis.

“All five of those sons-in-law came to our place every night to eat supper, right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… They used to come.”
The taciturn Kinta slowly nodded while thinking.

“They’d come over every night—see, we’d get back late from work, eat supper… then go to bed… and that’s when they’d show up… all five of ’em. And all five would be bawlin’ their eyes out—always starvin’, they were. That second son-in-law, Kurō or whatever his name was—every night he’d shovel down five bowls of your rice, tears streamin’ down his face the whole time. Right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… streamin’ down, they’d spill their tears and their rice too… When they spilled rice, they’d pick it up and eat it… They were that starvin’.”

“I mean, you get it—daytime’s Baldy and Stingy workin’ ’em to the bone, right? They gotta haul carts from Senju all the way west to Shinagawa and Meguro’s edge, and for grub? They ain’t fed nothin’ but a kid’s lunchbox scrapings. All three meals—pickled plum, miso, or old takuan ends. Fish? Once a month, and even then it’s one measly sardine. And nights? Nights are all Mortar’s show. Right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… When you hear that stuff, everyone goes ‘No way!’—nobody could believe it was true. I thought there was just no chance.”

“That third son-in-law—Ikutsugu or whatever—get this: not one night went by without him hauling that palanquin five times over. Worked him like an oil press squeezing out seed oil—wouldn’t let him make a peep of protest. And if he so much as grimaced? ‘Don’t like it? Get out! I ain’t feedin’ no useless freeloaders!’ Can you believe she’d spout that shit? Right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… It’s shocking, really… Yeah… And then they took everything those sons-in-law brought with ’em… The couple’s pocket money—forget how much it was… Mortar snatched that too, didn’t even give ’em bath money…”

“So every night them palanquin rides went off without a hitch—take that fifth son-in-law Jirosuke, you’re talkin’ six or seven times a night! The bastard hollowed out his own damn forehead! Right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… That Jirosuke was like that—he cried again when he ran away… It’d be good if he got away safe, but if he messed up and got caught… He kept sayin’ to let his folks know it was such-and-such a reason… Yeah… just kept spillin’ tears.”

The storyteller does not know vulgar terms like “palanquin” or “rides.” Though one has no desire to know such things, generally speaking, the meaning of the nickname ‘Stingy-with-affection’ can be understood from this.

She stood around five feet tall with thick bones and a robust build, her reddish curly hair framing a waist that defied description except as a Mortar. Her legs were what is commonly called bow-legged—curving outward, short and thick. Above those legs, her buttocks jutted out angrily. In vulgar terms, one might call them protruding buttocks—but even among such protrusions, hers would have to be ranked supreme. ……She—that is, Owaki—worked diligently from morning till night. She possessed not an ounce of vanity; her utter disregard for attire and personal grooming was unparalleled in its carelessness.

Her labor capacity would likely have been equivalent to three times that of her father.
In terms of stinginess, she even slightly surpassed her mother.
Since the fifth son-in-law fled, she took over executing rent collection duties that had previously been her mother’s role.

For the tenants of the tenement house, this must have been quite a hardship.
Her mother—that is, Otaki, called "Stingy"—had been stingy to a tolerable degree; however, her rent collection was of an extraordinary magnitude.

She carried a cloth purse as large as a flour sack and a ledger, with a writing kit tucked into her obi, slightly hunched forward, her arms—so long they reached her knees when dangling—hanging limp at her sides. Swinging those protruding buttocks behind her, she clattered along gutter planks or thudded heavily across bare ground as she visited door-to-door through every alleyway. In households containing males—whether youths in their prime, boys, or even elderly men—the residents inevitably faced ruthless rent collection.

“We ain’t runnin’ some hobby-house lettin’ you freeload here—your rent’s three months piled up! You think gettin’ roofed from rain’n wind makes us square? Can’t cough up today? I’ll rent ya our cart for three hundred coppers—clear out by sundown! Oh, and when you scram, I’m takin’ that brazier an’ every last thing in your wicker trunk.”

When read in writing, the gender might seem ambiguous; even when heard aloud, the distinction wasn't entirely clear. However, her femaleness became unmistakably apparent when collecting rent at other single men's dwellings.

Put plainly, she visited such houses at night. For those who returned late from work, she timed her visits accordingly—and under these circumstances, her methods shone with particular intensity.

“How about paying your rent properly?”

First, she delivered her opening line as described above, though her eyes softened and her voice took on a sultry quality.
Moreover, through movements of her upper body, hands, and waist—not calisthenics but what might be called “coquettish posturing”—she made various suggestive gestures.

“Look at you—a strapping grown man! You got balls or what? If you do, you’d be out carousing! What a waste! When you’re randy, just say the word to me. I’ll settle your balls *and* your rent—landlords and tenants ain’t strangers! Ha ha ha! How ’bout tonight? Instead of wasting coin on some grimy whore, we’ll have real fun—pay your rent proper. No need to hold back—what d’ya say?”

When such bluntly obvious things were stated like this, the storyteller—being in the position of her sympathizer—found himself at a loss.
But the tenement’s single men seemed even more troubled than the storyteller.

No matter how fiercely a man’s lustful heart burned, the sight of her bloodshot, glaring eyes; thick, curled-up crimson lips; a physique so imposing it seemed to emit an eerie aura; and her already labored, fiery breathing would extinguish even the most ardent desires in an instant, leaving his innards as cold as an old monk’s. Thus, they would hurriedly empty their tattered purses to pay the rent—even if it meant going without breakfast the next morning—all while feigning gratitude for Owaki’s “kindness.”

“Hey—got your rent here. But takin’ it don’t mean I’m leavin’ yet. Plenty of time ’fore mornin’—let’s take it nice ’n’ slow.”

“N-no—hold on, not that part!”

“Quit bein’ so damn formal—landlords ’n’ tenants ain’t strangers. Hate this standoffish crap—let’s cut the bullshit.”

"Hold on—w-wait just gimme a sec! Maybe landlords and tenants ain't strangers, but the world says landlords are parents and tenants are children! Doin' that between parent and child makes you worse than an animal! Anyway—tonight I'm dead tired—just wanna collapse and sleep! So let's call it quits for tonight!"

"Hmph. No discipline."
She likely seethed with indignation: "Tired? Wanna sleep? Every last one of you men spout the same damn excuses! If your worthless balls can’t even handle a proper meal, I oughta chop ’em off and toss ’em out! Goddamn idiots—maybe I’ll go home, wash some pickles, work up a sweat, and call it a night myself. Hmph!"

As the storyteller, one felt ashamed before society for having to recount such base language.
But the tenement's single men had been more ashamed than the storyteller.
They were indeed the very parties involved—men who had been compared to old pickles right to their faces.

As for why they had remained passive in the face of this humiliation—it was not solely due to heeding the cautionary example of the five sons-in-law who had fled—but here, we shall first advance the main thread of our narrative.

Third Seat: The Matter of Nawaya Gosuke's Resolute Determination

And also, that "genealogy scribes" are a legitimate profession.

The impact of the Ten'ichibō Incident on Edo citizens was discussed in the First Seat.

Nawaya Gosuke—the man himself, known as “Baldy”—received tremendous shock and inspiration from this incident, which was only natural in human affairs.
He pondered and sighed, tilted his head in thought, sighed again, pondered once more, sighed once again, then finally muttered a soliloquy.

“In this world… it stands to reason there might be all sorts of people lurking unnoticed in unexpected places…”
He pondered again and continued muttering: “Scrutinizing it, even I might have noble blood flowing through these veins—perhaps descended from Ōta Dōkan’s bastard line, or someone grander still… why, even a Muromachi shogun! That’s it—right there!”

Gosuke rubbed his nose, straightened his posture, and continued pondering.

“In other words—this is where genealogy matters—genealogy... this thing exists because humans have parents who bear children, those children bear grandchildren who bear great-grandchildren, continuing endlessly generation after generation—that’s how humanity exists today... Famous artifacts have provenance records, scroll paintings have box inscriptions, swords require Hon’ami certificates for authenticity... Everything proper has its pedigree papers—without them, you can’t prove legitimacy and have no defense against forgery claims. How much more so for humans! If someone like me... having attained the stature to be called ‘master’... might possibly belong to some noble lineage... To say ‘I don’t know my ancestors’ would stand to reason as inexcusable before society—it would negate one’s very humanity as... Wait—no—this is no time for such muttering!”

Nawaya Gosuke thus began his frantic endeavors.
He sent multiple letters to his hometown of Sano, negotiated through correspondence with the temple’s head priest there, dispatched funds per the priest’s instructions, and ultimately obtained a bound copy of several pages from the death register.
…Attached to that transcript, the head priest further lamented the temple’s dire circumstances,

Based solely on the investigations funded by your previous remittance, the findings are as detailed in the separate document. However, should we proceed with further inquiries, it is not beyond reason that your ancestors may be revealed as the renowned Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo. To that end, we request an additional twenty gold coins as investigation fees.
Furthermore, should an additional fifty gold coins be remitted, this humble one humbly considers that your lineage as a direct descendant of Lord Taira no Masakado may also be ascertained.
Furthermore, in cases where a genealogy is required for these matters, we shall be of service at a transcription fee of five gold coins for the former and fifteen gold coins for the latter, payable to the genealogy scribe.
(Note) We would like to particularly note that the aforementioned prices have been set at an extremely modest rate.

He had written to this effect.
True to his standing as Nawaya who had achieved success, Gosuke immediately discerned the head priest's cunning intentions while simultaneously discovering from the correspondence the existence of a "genealogy scribe"—his smirk in that moment being a testament to his business acumen.
Genealogy scribe.
That personage, bearing authority comparable to the Hanhanpu, would visit various households to correct and amend their lineages, and—in most cases—produce genealogies according to each patron's wishes as their professional occupation.

Do not rage against the existence of such professionals as defiling familial dignity—this storyteller has a distant acquaintance who possessed a complete genealogy stretching unbroken through one hundred twenty generations from Emperor Tenji onward, a man so overwhelmed by its sacredness that he lived in perpetual bewilderment until, falling gravely ill, he met his end with utmost reverence while venerating said lineage. …From this we may boldly assert: there exists no occupation that does not benefit society and serve mankind.

Where Gosuke found the genealogy scribe remains unrecorded in historical fact.

He brought along a perpetually sniffling old man—a stooped figure in his sixties with rust-stained white hair and a matching beard trailing from his chin—lodging him in his own home until finally making him compile a genealogy attesting to his own legitimate lineage.

“G’day ’ere... g’day... g’day ’ere!”

When receiving his payment, the elderly genealogy scribe—this old man—gaped his toothless mouth open and closed repeatedly.

“In this case—that is—no, correction—s-sweetness of… father… as for me…”

“You’re so damn noisy, you beggar geezer.”
Daughter Owaki responded thus: “You’ve been holed up here four or five days stuffing your face with three square meals while scribbling your damn nonsense! On top of extorting coin from us, you’ve got complaints? Get the hell out now or I’ll ram a burning fire poker through your eyeballs!”

“Mmmph... bl-blurble... mmph... hnngh...”

Having given this response, the old man staggered off and fled to parts unknown.

Fourth Seat: The Matter of Gosuke's Genealogical Delusion Obsession

And also, the great nuisance to the entire tenement.

Be that as it may, Nawaya Gosuke had now become the owner of a genealogy.

It was a detailed chronicle tracing back to Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo—renowned from the Noh play *Hachi no Ki*—and spanning eleven generations to Gosuke himself. Yet upon close examination, this splendid document proved no blood relation whatsoever to founder Tsuneyo, riddled as it was with illegitimate children, spousal adoptions, disinherited heirs, and disappearances at every turn.

But originally, a genealogy’s very existence suffices for its purpose. Should one scrutinize it—even the Imperial Household, revered as an unbroken line for myriad generations, has records that seem cobbled together, like how some imperial descendant in Echizen was welcomed as Emperor Keitai.
And so, with that settled, Gosuke had become the owner of a genealogy.

Now, returning to our tale.
Gosuke repeatedly gazed upon his family’s illustrious genealogy, and as he continued to pore over it, he began letting out sighs of genuine awe from the depths of his heart at the solemn fact that Nawaya Gosuke—scrutinizing the matter—was indeed a descendant of Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo.

“Looking at this… yes… it stands to reason that all manner of people might exist unnoticed in this world.”

Therefore—though this was a thought he kept to himself—even among the rabble inhabiting his tenement, if one were to dig deep enough, some might reveal pedigrees that would stir up considerable dust.

This was no mere jest—even if not reaching as high as the shogunate, one might yet uncover an illegitimate child of some daimyo.

"I must thoroughly doubt this—but am I not living proof? If so, then it stands to reason that no one can definitively assert otherwise."

And what if—this too he pondered inwardly—what if such a person existed and were discovered in my tenement?

At that time, wouldn’t the existing genealogy speak for itself? If Nawaya Gosuke were verifiably a descendant of Sano Genzaemon, how monumental that would be.

"I can’t afford to be careless about this—this is no time for such soliloquizing."

Having muttered this soliloquy, Gosuke promptly set about investigating the backgrounds of his tenement residents.

For the tenement residents, this became a new kind of affliction.

Landlord Gosuke came in, saying, "Excuse me."
He first drew attention to the Ten'ichibō Incident, explained the existence of genealogies for households, provenance records for renowned artifacts, box inscriptions for paintings and antiques, and appraisal certificates for swords; then spread out his own august genealogy before them, carefully wrapped it in a silk cloth, and solemnly posed his questions.

“Since I have now disclosed that my lineage is of considerable standing, it naturally follows that I should adjust my speech accordingly. Therefore, I wish to inquire about your own lineage.”

“Well now, that’s mighty kind of ya to ask, but as for the likes of us... it’s just... y’know...”

“No need for secrets—I’ve shown my pedigree here. Since landlords and tenants share a parent-child bond, I’ll have your disclosure too.”

“Oh I get that clear enough, but seein’ as I’ve no use for fancy bloodlines or potato peel pedigrees...”

“A pedigree isn’t something to boast about—pedigree is… But let me ask you this: what’s the story with your ancestors?”

“Well now, when it comes to ancestors—this is in front of you, Master Landlord—but truth be told, I’ve been so swamped with work lately that I’ve sorta lost touch with ’em for a while now.”

“That won’t do. No matter how busy you are with work, neglecting your ancestors means failing in human obligations... Now then—what about your genealogy?”

“Quit jokin’ around! You think just ’cause you’re Master Landlord you can mess with me? I’ll have you know I’m called the best damn plasterer in these parts! Sure, drink’s kept me poor, but I ain’t done a single shady, underhanded thing in my life—so quit talkin’ down to me like I’m some kinda fool!”

“Why are you so enraged? I merely inquired about the genealogy.”

“You’re still yammerin’ on! I ain’t done no false-buyin’! Say that shit one more time—landlord or dyer, I’ll kick your shins in...”

This involved a spirited man who paid his rent properly, so the matter had been settled as easily as described earlier, but most other cases didn’t resolve so smoothly.

“It’s unthinkable you wouldn’t know your lineage! Even swords and scrolls have authentication papers proving their worth—how could humans lack such credentials? Eh? That’s sound logic, isn’t it?”

“I’m truly mortified about this whole business, so please sir, won’t you let this one slide?”

“When I speak of leniency, it’s not as though I’m investigating gambling or petty theft here. Given that my own lineage is of such standing, it stands to reason that among you tenants there may exist individuals of comparable pedigree. Consider the recent example of Lord Ten'ichibō—if by chance there were an illegitimate scion of nobility or some unexpected personage of distinguished bloodline among you...”

“Oh no, there’s absolutely no need for concern on that front—I assure you there’s nothing so grand as lineage or bloodline here.”

“This isn’t about rising above or falling short—no staged performance here. What station did your ancestors hold? Court nobles? Samurai houses? Feudal lords? Did they tumble from grace? The second generation did thus, the third generation so—Hyōe’s child sired Kaniemon, who fathered Yoshigakarō... In short—your family’s lineage through the ages. If ‘genealogy’ baffles you, think tournament rankings—though not quite identical. But... what? None exists? Truly nothing at all?”

“Well, that part’s already been cleared up completely, so I beg you to overlook it just this once—I’ll pay the rent right away, so please let this matter rest here.”

“I’m appalled—utterly appalled beyond words.”
Gosuke could no longer endure such contempt. “In an age where even paintings and antiques have box inscriptions and provenances—and you dare call yourself human?”

As the investigative visits progressed, Gosuke's disappointment grew daily.
Not only were there none who resembled an illegitimate child of nobility, there wasn’t even anyone who gave him pause to consider.
No—the majority of tenants showed absolutely no interest in family background, lineage, ancestors, or genealogy.

—What ignorant, vulgar fools they were.

Gosuke could not help but become enraged.
What began as his rhetorical condemnations—"You call yourself human?"—soon proved insufficient,
"You are all inferior even to paintings and swords—nothing but human-skinned bundles of firewood scraps!"
he started involuntarily blurting out remarks that seemed to spill directly from his thoughts.

The situation reached its most convoluted peak in the case of those two young men, Ginta and Kinta.
As previously mentioned, both men were born and raised in this tenement house, spending their days in intimacy throughout their childhood and youth.
If one lost both parents, the other would also lose both parents—such was their inseparable bond. Currently, they lived together in a single tenement unit and jointly operated a palanquin-bearing business.
For their part, the two men had been residents since before Nawaya Gosuke moved here and had observed the Nawaya family’s journey from their hand-to-mouth existence to the present day,

—That upstart Nawa-scum.

They had looked down on him from the start. When Gosuke came to conduct his investigative visit, unfurled the genealogy tracing back to Genzaemon Tokiyo, and began questioning them about their ancestral lineage, the two men were in stitches the entire time.

“Ain’t got nothin’ like that! I’ve got no use for such outlandish forgeries—beggin’ your pardon, but I make an honest livin’ carryin’ street palanquins, so I don’t need no fancy-pants trinkets!”

“Such foolish—that is, this is some monstrous sham or forgery or… Well then, I ask you—what manner of man was your father?”

“When ya say ‘old man,’ ya mean our dads? Ah, my old man was called Ginzō, and Kinta’s here’s old man was Kinbee. Both of ’em were good sorts—Kinta’s dad was ‘Deko Kin,’ mine was ‘Yabu Gin,’ see? Mine had a squint, and Kinbee-san here—right, Kinta?—had a forehead.”

“Yeah… my old man had quite a forehead—yeah, was somethin’ else.”

“No—I’m not asking about your fathers’ appearances! If there’s a father, then logically there must be a father’s father—meaning your grandfathers.”

“Ah, seems like there were such creatures too.”

“You call them creatures? Even if we speak of a grandfather and grandson sharing blood—a grandfather being what one might call a great parent—however unlettered or ignorant he may have been... Now then—what was your grandfather’s name? Where was he born?”

“I ain’t no magician—don’t know squat ’bout the old man’s family registry.”

“What’s this drivel about magic tricks? What twisted logic makes you spout such nonsense? Preposterous—every word you utter... Now then—were your families townsfolk from the start? Or further back—samurai? Court nobles? Or perhaps even feudal lords...”

“Shut your trap, Baldy! I ain’t tangled up with no shady creatures—keep slingin’ your worthless grudges and see what happens!”

“What are you saying? How dare you call me ‘Baldy’!”
Gosuke seethed with irritation. “You're the shady one here! Though I—as a descendant of Sano Genzaemon—must endure this for the family's honor, what of you? You know neither ancestors nor lineage nor bloodline! How dare you call yourself human? Wh-what—planning to resort to violence? D-daring to wield that... th-thing—you... hk—!”

Gosuke rushed out to the street, seemingly intending to deliver some sharp retort—but upon seeing Ginta emerging with a carrying pole in hand, he must have abandoned his cutting remark. For now, he stomped across the gutter planks and fled.

“We gotta do somethin’ ’bout this—gotta find a way t’shake off that damn curse! It’s a nuisance fer th’whole tenement!”

While settin’ down his breath-staff, Ginta voiced his thoughts as described above an’ there reached th’decision t’convene a strategy meetin’ ’mong th’tenement comrades.

Fifth Session: The Tenement Residents' Rain-Shelter Meeting

and Kinta and Ginta's Brilliant Plan

One rainy afternoon, ten prominent members of the tenement comrades gathered at the residence of Ozaki Fushikisai, a fortune-teller. There must have been some modest food and drink laid out there; as comrades, they livened the mood and denounced the landlord’s misdeeds.

“That Baldy bastard spouted some outrageous nonsense at me, goin’ on about this and that haranguin’!”

One of the comrades, a plasterer, groaned like this.

“As for me—I’ve let the rent pile up.”

One man, already grown tipsy, said.

“I must speak of my shame for this to make sense—so I’ll say it: I’ve let the rent pile up. But even so, to be told I’m inferior to paintings and not even human... Before everyone here, I... th-this...”

“That’s only natural—Mr. Genbe’s tears are only natural! I was told the same—I’m a tsukudani peddler, but being inhuman has nothing to do with tsukudani!”

“Anyway, everyone—whinin’ ain’t gonna solve nothin’.”
Ginta, exuding the authority of a longtime resident, declared: “First off—why’d Baldy get possessed like that? What’s the root of his sickness? How do we cure his crazy antics? Let’s hash this out already!”

“O-o-o-o, Heh-hee-heh-hee!”

The one who emitted the strange cry was Kanji the Stutterer—he made his living sharpening saw teeth and was one of the bachelors, but his stutter was so severe that there had been an occasion when it took him a full two hours to completely utter the phrase “Tomorrow will probably rain,” during which he exhausted all his energy and suffered a convulsion.

“Look, Kanji—just sit there an’ stay put, will ya? If you keep ramblin’ on an’ makin’ Mr. Genbei cry, the meeting’ll get derailed... Master Fushikisai—ain’t there some divination you can work up ’bout this?”

“Now then, regarding this matter—”
Master Fushikisai stroked his beard and said, “From what this humble one has observed, the spirit possessing Landlord Gosuke is Ten’ichibō.”

“Huh? Ten’ichibō, you mean?”

“When observing his words and deeds during these lineage investigations through careful analysis—it is Ten’ichibō’s doing. Heaven lies above, earth below, and man dwells betwixt, governed by fire, wind, water, wood, metal, and earth... Thus even Ten’ichibō cannot defy the natural rhythm of this cosmic cycle—yet ’tis said he was in truth the Shogunate’s rightful illegitimate heir.”

“I don’t get all that Master-said-this Master-said-that! Can’t you break it down proper-like with pictures or somethin’?”

“Now then, as Landlord Gosuke would have it—if perchance there exists within this tenement a man resembling Ten’ichibō, then by heaven, earth, and man—why, this transcends mere Nawaya-family squabbles! The likes of Yamauchi Iganosuke, Akagawa Daizen, Jōrakuin… those ended in gibbets—but should one avoid that fate and rise as Yamauchi or Daizen might… Well then—even Jōrakuin would suffice! For Landlord Gosuke, ’twould be a monumental ascent—and for Stingy and Mortar as well.”

“That’s the one—no doubt about it!”
Ginta slapped his round kneecap. “That’s exactly what’ll match Baldy’s delusions—that’s the one, Master.”

The assembled comrades all nodded, voicing their agreement with Master Fushikisai’s divination.

Thereupon, Ginta promptly proposed moving the discussion to countermeasures and provoked unreserved opinions on how to rid themselves of Ten’ichibō’s possession.
The members scratched their heads, crossed their arms, fidgeted, suddenly coughed or sniffled, and each presented their unreserved ingenious plans—but eventually, the slow-speaking Kinta...

“Yeah… had been thinkin’ ’bout that, but—”
Kinta said gravely, looking at Ginta, “Well, uh... that, you know... there was that dim-witted beggar at Kanda’s Yanagihara embankment, right?”

“That pumpkin-headed young guy?”

“Yeah, that guy… Had been thinkin’ we could use ’im, but—”

“But you—what’re you gonna do with that half-wit?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing—but what if we fix up that guy somehow, make ’im look like Ten’ichibō, then shove ’im onto the landlord?”

“You mean that half-wit beggar?”

“That half-wit beggar—”
Kinta quietly flexed the big toe of his right foot. “With him, y’see—yeah, credentials or a dagger or such... This here’s just ordinary stuff—if we fix it up proper-like, y’know, say there was this guy who had these things... Then we shove ’im onto the landlord.”

“Brilliant! That plan’s perfect—let’s do it!”

Master Fushikisai inadvertently leaned forward so far that the knee of his kimono—the fabric must have been weakened—ripped open with a loud tear, gaping wide.

“This must be implemented! Landlord Gosuke will take the bait without slightest suspicion! Get some dagger from the junk tools lying about—I’ll write the credentials on aged torinoko paper or such. Even stamping a three-mon seal will make them look official! Then Landlord Gosuke’ll be pleased as punch, and we’ll all escape this mess! There—there! This resolution must be ratified!”

There, the strategy meeting was thereby concluded.

Sixth Session: The Noble Credentials and Dagger

and the Matter of the Illegitimate Child Nearly Wetting Himself

A mere few days after that rainy day—during which they must have engaged in some underhanded scheming behind the scenes—on a certain wind-whipped evening, Ginta and Kinta brought along a vacant yet composed young man riding in a palanquin to Rokken Nagaya.

Since arrangements had been made in advance, the neighboring residents noisily gathered and came crowding in to gawk.

This must be the aforementioned dim-witted beggar from Kanda’s Yanagihara Embankment.
He was around nineteen or twenty years old, appeared to have been taken to public baths and barbers—presumably through collective funding by the residents—and wore a threadbare kimono with hakama trousers while carrying a folding fan.

As for his facial features—though this remains a relative assessment—if forced to categorize them between beauty and ugliness, they would likely settle around the midpoint.
The thick elongated nose, drooping eye corners, and slack lips perpetually curled in an ambiguous half-smile—were a discerning observer to behold these traits, they would not deny he possessed an extraordinary visage of serene detachment.

Needless to say, Nawaya Gosuke, the landlord, came upon hearing the commotion.
Ginta, since he had some degree of prudence there,
“Please don’t come, Landlord—we’ll handle this, me and Kinta. Seems like some high-status guy we don’t know—got weird documents an’ a dagger—plus he’s actin’ like some daimyo’s young lord. Anyway, can’t have trouble landin’ on you.”

“No such thing! Handlin’ tenant troubles is the landlord’s duty. So—them documents an’ dagger they say he’s got... That true?”

“They’re said to be incredibly important items, but since this is me and Kinta’s responsibility—”

“No—that’s not it at all!” Gosuke got worked up and first drove away the tenants gathered there. “Go on, everyone—go home! You all being here won’t help a thing. Go prepare your dinners or something! I’m closing this door.”

Gosuke clattered the storm shutters closed and went upstairs to plant himself firmly on the floor. Seemingly in a state of rapt fascination, he relaxed his stern expression and turned toward Ginta,

“Well, uh... those documents and dagger—why don’t I appraise them first?”

“I don’t mind myself, but this is one hell of an unpredictable case we’re dealin’ with here, right, Kinta?”

“Well... if there are complaints later,”

“No—absolutely not!”
Gosuke would have sworn by Inari-sama himself. “Absolutely not! By all logic, cases like these are matters the landlord should take responsibility for! I absolutely won’t complain—just show me those two items now!”

“Alright... guess we’ll show ’em, Kinta.”

“Well... guess there’s no helpin’ it,”

What Ginta reluctantly produced was a timeworn oil-paper package. With his hands trembling in excitement, Gosuke opened it to find inside what appeared to be a timeworn and grimy karakusa-patterned wrapping cloth; unwrapping that revealed yet another aged wrapping cloth of Tōzan stripes, and opening that brought forth still another weathered light-blue cotton wrapping cloth.

“This is quite something,” Gosuke muttered softly. “Why, it’s quite… Only meticulous work could achieve such authenticity—just look at this wrapping alone…”

And finally, from within emerged a dagger in a brocade bag and an antiquated document housed in an exceptionally large envelope resembling persimmon-tanned paper.

“Th-this... th-this... no—th-th...”

Gosuke began trembling violently.

As for that brocade bag—it was in fact a scrap from an old Buddhist robe bought at a rag market, which Genbei’s wife had painstakingly sewn into a pouch—though “painstakingly” here meant the thread was pulled so taut it could tear from there—but Gosuke failed to notice any of this.

Gosuke pressed it reverently to his forehead, then took out the document and unfolded it.
On it, in an elaborately foolish brushwork, was solemnly inscribed an article as follows.

Certification Document

The pledge made with thee stands proven.
Beloved, beloved—when I think of thee, a single day becomes already a thousand autumns.
A thousand leagues are but one.
Through bone-grinding toil.
Since it is the time of the birth of a male child, I am undoubtedly thy descendant.
For posterity’s sake—a tarnished heirloom dagger of one blade—have I dispatched as evidence.
The above hereby attests to the evidence.

An auspicious day in an auspicious month of an auspicious year. Seal of Yoshichika.

Lord Kame

“This is the genuine lineage—no, it transcends mere lineage!”

Gosuke called forth his self-restraint and, striving with all his might to remain composed, reverently bowed once before taking out the dagger from the bag this time and examining it.
This too was an antiquated piece.

Firstly, its dimensions were non-standard.
The maker must have hesitated over whether to fashion it as a wakizashi or a dagger, ultimately unable to decide on either, yet unable to abandon the work midway—thus resorting to such a method to complete it.

As for the hilt—this resembled sharkskin yet also looked like something wrapped, while not appearing particularly special in any way. The menuki and kashira, of course, were present.
Moreover, no vulgar fittings such as gold had been employed.
Using thin shakudō plates, a well curb pattern with a tachibana crest had been haphazardly embossed on both sides through repoussé work.

As for the scabbard... The scabbard was peeling and worn-out; whether the remaining lacquer was black or gray could not be definitively stated. At first glance, it had an indescribably elegant, somewhat refined hue. On this as well was a well curb pattern with a tachibana crest; only that part had been clearly printed with what appeared to be gofun paste.

“I’ve seen this crest somewhere before, but...” Gosuke tilted his head thoughtfully. “Somewhere… a well curb and… some pattern… Ah, right! The crest at the Hokke temple!”

While muttering such soliloquies, he reverently tried to draw the dagger.
It was likely intended as a ceremonial offering; the balance from tsuba to kissaki was all wrong.
The sharpening had clearly been done roughly—since it had been completely rusted red when bought from a street antique shop, requiring such aggressive polishing that metal was worn away—resulting in nearly all traces of temper line, steel texture, and pattern having vanished, leaving the blade looking as though it were bowing in apology with an "I beg your pardon."

“Increasingly genuine and orthodox—this is a true antique among antiques! From long ago... Well, perhaps the Kamakura period? Or maybe even older.”

Gosuke must have glared with Nawaya’s discerning eye: “My word—what reverence this commands! For centuries it’s been polished again and again—a veteran blade that has crossed countless battlefields. Never have I laid eyes on an artifact so steeped in tradition. My word—this verily manifests the orthodox lineage!”

Gosuke made sweat burst from his bald pate, sheathed the dagger, sat up straight to look at the young man, then turned to Ginta and Kinta and demanded an explanation.

“Now, I must ask—how exactly did you come to have this esteemed person in your possession?”

“That’s exactly it!”
“Today, Kinta and I took a fare to Hamacho,” Ginta launched in eagerly, “but with the rain comin’ down like this, we figured we’d make more of a loss than a profit, so we headed back along the riverside path—and there this fella was standin’ right in the middle of Ryogoku Bridge.”

“In the middle of the bridge… Ryogoku Bridge’s.”

“There was an old bridge keeper nearby—when we asked, he said he was crossin’ bold as brass without payin’ the toll, just marchin’ on like he owned the place.”

“Boldly, you say? Hmm… His breeding truly differs.”

“Cool as cucumber—the bridge keeper said he looked just like a young lord from some grand clan! Me an’ Kinta here took one look an’ saw proper quality in ’im—pitiful state he’s in—figured there must be some deep tale to ’im. So anyways, we fronted the bridge toll, see? Ask ’im anything though, an’ he’s greener than spring shoots—ain’t got a whit o’ sense ’bout how things work with us common folk... Hey Kinta—you sniggerin’? This ain’t no laughin’ matter!”

“Cough, cough—I choked, see? Yeah, choked and choked. Can’t help it—it’s just too pitiful.”

“So anyway, after talkin’ it over with Kinta here—even if there’s some deep reason behind it all—lettin’ someone of such high standing… You chokin’ again, Kinta?... Letting ’em wander ’round like that felt downright disrespectful. Figured we oughta escort ’em home proper-like—so that’s how we ended up bringin’ ’em here, see?”

“My, my—quite perceptive for men of your trade, noticing such details. And so?”
Gosuke now turned fully toward the young man for the first time. “Now then—I am Gosuke, landlord of this tenement house... I have the honor of making your acquaintance.”
“Ah, right—you gonna give me a penny?”
“Ahem, hrmph.”

Ginta swiftly pinched the young man’s buttocks.

“You see, Mr. Landlord, this gentleman occasionally deigns to make such peculiar jokes.”

“No—you stay quiet! Those of noble birth speak with such refinement that the likes of you could never grasp their meaning—pray remain silent!... Ahem—though I now humbly engage in tenement management as Nawaya, my ancestors were none other than Sano-no-Shō’s resident, Minamasaemon Tsuneyo.”

“Ah, right—Minamasa’s an idiot who’s got his head in the clouds, always rummaging through garbage pits—ow!”

“Well now, your esteemed words are most gracious, heh-heh... And so... might I inquire as to which region your illustrious birthplace is located?”

“Ah, right—proper, proper proper, treat him proper!”

“Heh-heh, most humbly do I inquire—next, might your honorable birth mother still grace this world? And heretofore in which domains has she resided? If you would be so gracious as to disclose such particulars...”

“Do I have to leak?”

“I most earnestly entreat you to kindly leak for us, if you please.”

“I don’t wanna leak, though...”

“Wait, wait—hold on!”
Ginta exclaimed in shock, “You—no! What do you think you’re doing pulling up your front like that?”

“This person told me to leak here.”

“Heh-heh... Well, this is quite...”
Gosuke smiled ingratiatingly. “Look here, Ginta—you see? Breeding shows itself plain. Even were this but jests—the very act of deigning to leak so majestically upon the tatami—this alone proclaims noble lineage! To these eyes of mine at least.”

Seventh Act: The Matter of Kinta and Ginta’s Great Laughter

And: The Matter of Mortar 'Goyakuin' Being Enamored with Her Nose

“Well now, ain’t that a hoot! Hey Kinta—you hear that just now?”

“Yeah, heard it.”
Kinta spoke slowly. “Yeah… and then… and then… I was thinkin’—that bedridden old man from Night-Crying Udon’s been leakin’ too. Guess that must be some kinda noble birthright, huh?”

“You idiot—that’s apoplexy!”
Gosuke found this unbearably pitiful. "How dare you equate the dribblings of apoplexy with the majestic leakings of nobility? This is precisely why uneducated louts get mocked!... Be that as it may, we cannot leave such an exalted personage in this squalid place. I shall take him into my custody."

“That ain’t gonna fly—that’d be trouble!”

“Why shouldn’t I? What’s your objection?”

“But keepin’ someone whose background we don’t know—no, not that his quality ain’t plain to see—no—no—or rather—no—damn it, he does look like he’s got that noble look about him—but if he turns out to be a fraud, it’s you who’ll catch the heat, Mr. Landlord!”

“No no—it’s only fittin’ for a landlord to fret over his tenants’ troubles. That’s exactly what sets a landlord apart from his tenants.”

“Well now, listen here—if this guy’s a fraud and you’re willin’ to take the heat for it, that’s all fine and good—but here’s the thing—”
Ginta cleared his throat. “Now supposin’ this was all genuine—this dagger and documents bein’ real, this gentleman actually bein’ some daimyo’s young lord—and say he does rise up in the world... Then we’d end up suckin’ hind tit for sure!... Ain’t that right—heh-heh-heh—not that I’m mockin’ your way of talkin’, Mr. Landlord—but that’s how it adds up, don’t it?”

“Don’t say such things! It’s precisely because you spout vulgarities at the drop of a hat that palanquin bearers get scorned!”

Gosuke took out his wallet as he spoke, retrieved several bean-sized silver pieces from within, and placed them there.

“Consider this compensation for your efforts—this matter isn’t about profit. When this gentleman comes into his station, proper rewards shall naturally follow from the estate. However, harboring such base thoughts would render one utterly incapable of advancement. With that settled, I shall now escort this gentleman to my residence.”

Having concluded the transaction, Gosuke reverently rewrapped those pieces of evidence, guided that young man, and departed for his own residence.

To what extent did Ginta and Kinta laugh?

Regarding this, the narrator shall cease to speak.
From the standpoint of humanity, I do not wish to associate with this despicable jest.
They laughed and laughed.
Kinta’s mirth was more restrained, but Ginta soon found his sides aching from laughter. Even so, unable to stop, he resorted to clawing at the tatami mats and clutching at bamboo baskets.

“Hee-hee-hee, help me!”

“W-well, that’s true, but...”

Kinta was slow of speech but also deliberate in thought.

“I wonder if it’s safe... That mortar-brained fool’ll expose the ruse eventually, but he won’t spill the beans right away, will he?”

“That part’s safe—no need to worry.”

Finally, as the fit subsided, Ginta wiped away his tears and said as follows.

“See, I drilled it into that guy’s head real good—made him believe he’s some big-shot noble’s bastard kid. That’s where a fool’s virtue comes in—once he gets an idea stuck, there’s no stoppin’ him. You know how they say ‘a fool’s single-mindedness’? It’s solid, I tell ya.”

“Yeah… that’s… that’s about right.”

“Instead of that—Baldy Landlord! Oh, look, look! Three coins—three mon! This is astonishin’!”

"Well... anyway... it's the legitimate core when it comes to the main scheme."

“A majestic leak, hee-hee-hee—oh no, not again—hee-hee-hee—help me—hee-hee—don’t say such gloomy things—hee-hee.”

And so, before long, the two men set out to visit the homes of their fellow tenement residents to convey this good news.

As for the Nawaya household in this situation, Stingy and Mortar initially scoffed before concluding that their husband and father Gosuke had fallen victim to an elaborate fraud.

They concluded that this young man—who didn’t even know his own name—was not composed and elegant due to noble birth, but rather simply a fool and dim-witted.

In response to this, the very dim-wit himself—this youth who had been a beggar at Kanda Yanagihara Embankment—lowered the corners of his eyes limply and nodded with a cheerful grin.

“Yeah right, everyone says that—they all call me a dim-wit! But I’m not… I’m not some dim-wit! Me, I’m a goyakuin—terrifying one, really! Goyaku… goyakuin or whatever—treat me proper!”

“There, you see? Did you hear those words just now?”
Gosuke adopted a solemn gaze. “To call this Illegitimate Child of Nobility a *goyakuin*—you women fail to comprehend the depths of this matter! Pitiable in the extreme—tears truly spill forth! That he himself declares ‘I am no dim-wit’ from his noble heart—ah! That you feel no pity for him proves how shallow women are!”

“Shallow? Ah, shallow—me knows all about that!”
The young man grinned cheekily and shook his leg restlessly. “That guy’s the dim-wit! It’s true! That guy… he takes my alms, y’know? But me… soon, soon… me’s gonna be a dai-my lord! He said so! It’s true! That person really said it!”

“When His Lordship says ‘dai-my lord,’ he means ‘daimyo,’ you see?”
Gosuke began to tremble. “From His Lordship’s own mouth—precisely because he deigns to trust this humble one—he has disclosed the most secret of secrets! No—no, not disclosed—the leakage shall occur in the privy!”

“Have you gone mad with such absurdity?”

Stingy curled back thick lips and directed nostrils upward.

“I don’t know if it’s some holy relic or what, but if you’re going to drag something home, you might as well pick up rope fragments—ropes don’t eat rice. Hmph! If we’re keeping it in the house, the food costs come out of your tobacco money.”

“But this person’s nose is splendid, isn’t it?”

Owaki, known as both Mortar and Stingy-with-affection, gazed directly at this gentleman’s face—likely captivated particularly by the magnificence of his robust nose.
She licked her lips while making a strange expression.

“They say men with big noses have big… other things too. And there’s that saying about fools… Never mind, Mother—I’ll cover this person’s food costs myself.”

It was a strange thing, but Owaki likely employed feminine language within the household.
Upon hearing this, Mother Stingy made a sour face, but the father known as Baldy suddenly thrust out his knees.

“Indeed, that is precisely what I have long thought in my heart! I implore you—let us overcome all obstacles to ensure this—... Should he prove to be a lord of the chamber, then Otaki and I would be... what relation might we bear to His Young Lordship?... Though that hinges upon His Lordship’s formal recognition first.”

“If parent and daughter are both out of their minds, I want nothing to do with such matters.” Stingy flared her nostrils higher still. “Let me make this clear—I want no part of this. Understand? I’m not involved.”

“It’s fine, Mother—it’s all good.”

Owaki, for her part, grew ever more feminine in her mannerisms.

“You won’t be troubling Mother with this person around… Come now, you there—let’s go to my room together, shall we? Let’s head over there together.”

“Ugh! If his nose is that big, he must have something else large too—what arrogance! If you’re so desperate, why not just marry a tengu demon as your son-in-law?”

Stingy thus whinnied.

But enough digression.

Nawaya Gosuke became busy. He immediately rushed around, purchasing samurai directories published over several years, and began searching for the "Well Curb with Mandarin Orange" crest and the name "Yoshichika."

As is well known, the samurai directory was a pioneering publication akin to modern-day social registers, exhaustively documenting everything from family crests, spear decorations, horse insignias, Edo residences, and family relations to senior retainers—covering all feudal lords under the Tokugawa clan, whether hereditary or non-hereditary. And during that time, supplementary editions such as family lineage registers and official position directories were also published.

Gosuke flipped through these randomly, tilting his head to gaze at the walls or ceiling, sometimes attending to shop customers, and at other times meticulously flipping through them again.

"What cannot be achieved by human resolve? There exists an ancient tale of severing grass roots and removing stones," he would sometimes mutter to himself. "Five winds and ten rains... fall seven times, rise eight... hardships shall... you... you..."

And one night, Gosuke—holding a volume of the samurai directory in one hand—jumped up about three feet from a seated position and let out a series of sounds: "Ah! Ah! Ko! Ko!"

He finally discovered it.
The 'Well Curb with Mandarin Orange' crest.
It was the crest—albeit a secondary one—of Matsudaira Iga-no-kami, the lord of Settsu Province with an income of 124,000 koku, and moreover, the branch family member Shikibu had the given name Yoshichika, who had entered the main family five years prior and succeeded to the title of Iga-no-kami.

Gosuke first went to the kitchen to drink water, then sat back down anew to devise his strategy.

**Eighth Act: Truth Born from a Lie**

And the Illegitimate Child’s Great Exploitation by “Mortar”

The astonishment could not be limited to Ginta and Kinta alone.
The tenants of the tenement were astonished—or rather, one might say the entire tenement was astonished, and I do not think it irresponsible as narrator to state so.
To summarize succinctly: Nawaya Gosuke, clad in feather-patterned hakama, visited Matsudaira Iga’s residence and made covert inquiries to the relevant authorities.
And lo—what a shock—Yoshichika, Lord Iga-no-kami, during his time in the branch family as Shikibu, had indeed loved two or three maidservants among his attendants.

This alone would hardly be surprising—but among these two or three was a woman possessed of violent jealousy and an obstinate drinking habit, who would often become dead drunk, fly into jealous rages, and resort to outrageous behavior: calling her lord and master Yoshichika—this botched eggplant of a man—scratching his face to shreds, and destroying household objects.
Not only for Lord Yoshichika, but from the retainers' perspective, it must have been a nuisance—yet despite this, Lord Yoshichika doted on her, and even with his face covered in scratches, he refused to yield,

“What am I, Sakura, without her?”

It is recorded that such mawkish sentiments were uttered. Eventually she became pregnant, causing her jealousy and alcohol addiction to intensify relentlessly, until one night she engaged in an unprecedented brawl with Lord Yoshichika,

“Ah! You lecherous bastard—I can’t go on living! I’ll throw myself into the Ōkawa and die for you—no, die and haunt your line for nine generations! Don’t you dare strut around proud after this, you… bastard.”

The exact… language remains unrecorded, but she fled the estate then and there, vanishing without a trace. As for Lord Yoshichika—consumed by desperate longing—he exhausted every means to search for her, yet her whereabouts remained utterly unknown; even now, having succeeded as Lord Iga-no-kami of the main family,

—Where could she be now? Was the child born a boy or a girl? Ah, how feeble this world has become.

As described above, it was said he constantly heaved deep, prolonged sighs.
That is to say, as for the retainers in charge, neither the documents nor the dagger underwent thorough inspection; it was solely upon the emergence of this "illegitimate child of nobility" that they erupted in commotion.
However, this incident being intricately linked to matters of succession required profound scheming in its handling; the retainers in charge addressed Gosuke,

“Regarding His status, you shall strictly guard secrecy. We shall henceforth devise procedures to receive Him at the Honorable House through legitimate means. Keeping utmost reverence in mind, you shall keep Him in custody temporarily. We hereby command that you ensure He suffers neither inconvenience nor displeasure.”

Having issued these strict orders, they furthermore bestowed ten gold coins—such was the factual circumstance.
As for Gosuke’s astonishment and delight, I find no need to expound upon this as narrator either.

Stingy still had not dispelled her suspicions, but when it came to the ten gold coins, she seemed willing to trust them.
As for Mortar's own case—though I must clarify this is no exaggeration—from that very day onward, she styled her hair in samurai fashion, donned samurai-style kimono, fastened a samurai-style obi, applied samurai-style makeup, and affected speech and mannerisms befitting the role.
To give a concrete example: when going to collect rent, her obi was equipped with not only a writing case but also a dagger.
And when facing the tenants—needing to look down on them from above yet hindered by her short stature—she would lean her upper body backward out of necessity, direct only her eyeballs downward, and speak in that curdled voice of hers.

“Hey there, Uhei the scrap paper dealer! Let’s have the rent out proper now! Hurry up over here—quickly, quickly!”

When encountering tenants in the alleyways, she would lean backward—so far that most people would gasp in astonishment, to an unbelievable degree—and then, with a gracious smile, nod her head deeply and speak.

“Oh, your daily toils are most arduous indeed!”

As for the tenement residents, they misunderstood it as an act of madness.
They thought the “affection” in “Stingy-with-affection” had addled her mind; though they may have taken some vicious pleasure in this, one could hardly blame such ignorant commoners for their foolishness.

However, one day, when Gosuke summoned the tenement representatives to a meeting and disclosed what had been strictly confidential until then, it was only then that they were truly astonished.

As for why Gosuke had called the representatives and personally exposed such a grave secret... he had made the following demand:

"Now then, to speak plainly: given that we are dealing with such an august personage, we must by all means construct a residence worthy of His habitation. Moreover, now that my daughter Owaki has become... involved—though this is a personal matter—...and so regarding this matter, we are proceeding with plans to demolish thirty-two units of Rokken Nagaya to repurpose the land for His new residence... This goes without saying, but you must understand it as a divine command from His Noble Excellency. Therefore, we shall not make unreasonable demands—we have set the deadline at sixty days. Sixty days."

Gosuke, with a gaze befitting his self-important majesty, swept his eyes around the faces of the tenement representatives.

“That the demolition of the tenement on said land within sixty days starting today shall be firmly contracted—thus, for this reason, I must state this clearly as my position.”

How utterly astonished all the tenement residents were—this alone makes everything abundantly clear.
However, for Ginta and Kinta, mere astonishment wasn’t the end of it.

“But he’s a dimwit—a beggar from Yanagihara Embankment! We’re the ones who dragged that actual beggar here, right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… It’s true—he was that dimwit beggar from Yanagihara Embankment.”

“That he’s the illegitimate child of Lord Matsudaira Iga with 124,000 koku? What idiotic lunatic scheme is this? Ugh... There’s no way this cockamamie story holds water—they’ve fallen for a complete fraud! But I, Ginta, am here to testify to that much, with all due respect. Just you wait—they’ll get what’s coming to them! Right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… I’m sure that’s how it’ll turn out. Even if it doesn’t… well, that’s how it’ll be.”

However, when the next month arrived, Gosuke once again appeared at Lord Iga-no-kami’s residence in his feather-patterned hakama and was handed thirty gold coins as a stipend.
Until the parent-child audience could be arranged, he would receive a monthly stipend of thirty gold coins…… Gosuke once more summoned the tenement representatives, informed them of this development, and made them confirm the sixty-day deadline for demolition.
By this point, even Ginta had lost the courage to backbite.
Moreover, the tenement residents now held some resentment toward the two men—there were likely fickle individuals among them—and whenever they encountered the pair, they would adopt strange smiles,

“Mr. Ginta, Mr. Kinta—what a prize you’ve dug up for us! Thanks to you, we’re all sitting pretty now. Much obliged.”

They would say things like that—mockeries dripping with false cheer.
The two men felt like vomiting bile.

“People say the world’s turned upside down, but could there really be something this idiotic?” Ginta said with a quivering lip. “They say the real Ten’ichibō was fake and the fake Ten’ichibō’s real… It’s making me feel all uneasy, don’t it? Hell, if you scrubbed me clean, I might turn out to be some half-million-koku daimyo’s bastard child too! Ain’t that right, Kinta?”

“Yeah… That’s a real concern… We gotta watch out for that… maybe.”

“This is one hell of a mess—been up so late I’m bound to catch cold.”

But even so—what had the dimwit Illegitimate Child been doing all this while? He too, when observed directly, was sniveling. He had been confined ever since that incident to a room in the Nawaya residence and was obliged to receive visits from Owaki—both Mortar and Stingy-with-affection—at any hour of day or night.

Regarding this point, commoners claim the dimwit possessed limitless abilities, but this theory merely panders to popular fancy; even when examined from an organizational science perspective, no academic principle supports the notion that a human body deficient in the five senses and five faculties could exhibit such tremendous vigor solely in this one matter.

The narrator could not indulge in deception.
Indeed, was not the Illegitimate Child emaciated—like those five sons-in-law who had once fled?... He had grown quite thin: his eyes dulled, lips pale and sagging, perpetually sniveling in a state of collapse as he vacantly stared at the ceiling or walls or scratched at something.

“Me—shoulda got married instead. Yanagihara Embankment didn’t push me down this much. When I was on th’ embankment, wasn’t worn out like this. Stingy-with-affection? Me—can’t stand it.”

There were times when he would mutter such things to himself.
If Owaki happened to be nearby at such times, she would flush and start shrieking.
The speech was of course impeccably refined—though occasionally marked by lexical distortions—but needless to say, never compromised samurai-style dignity.

“There may be ears to hear such words, Your Lordship! Were Your Lordship in sound health, none would know of Yanagihara Embankment proclamations—for walls have ears in this world, oh-hoh-hoh-hoh! Deign to rest at ease now!”

Oh-hoh-hoh was her laughter, but whenever she did this, she would invariably take some form of action.
Though I cannot expound upon those actions, it seems permissible to at least mention that the Illegitimate Child would often raise strange voices and at times flail about.

“Um, uh, y’see—Hmph-hmph-hmph—my m-mouth’s all twisty-like! Ah! Uh! Um... T-Tasty!” There came a clattering commotion. “Me—I can’t take it no more! Ah! C’mon, Auntie—stop! Please stop already!”
“Goodness gracious, Young Lord! Should Your Lordship carry on flailin’ so, even Her Highness’s dignity’ll be the town’s gossip! Now hush—ah! You featherbrained lout! Thrash about again an’ I’ll—take this, scheming bastard!”

“Stop! Please stop! Eek!”

Well then, as the narrator, I shall hasten to proceed with my lecture.

**Ninth Act: A Lie Remains a Lie**

**And: The Comedic Finale of the Incident’s Resolution**

When the third month since the incident’s inception arrived, Gosuke’s demands gradually began to take on tangible form.
The lumber for the new palace now piled into mountains in the vacant lot beside the tenement, while to tenants in the designated area, they sounded daily alarms about the looming deadline, reiterating in no uncertain terms that no extensions would be permitted under any circumstances.

“Can’t take it anymore—I gotta start packin’ up to move out. Been here so long it’s like home, but…”

“Same here...”

Every time they heard such conversations, Ginta and Kinta must have cringed with shame.
A few households that were quick to give up had already each secured new residences elsewhere and tearfully relocated from the tenement.

But then—it happened. …It was around two in the afternoon on a clear day, amid a refreshing early summer breeze, when a splendid samurai accompanied by three attendants arrived at Nawaya Gosuke’s residence—and there, a major commotion broke out.

“I am a member of the Matsudaira Iga-no-kami household. Are you Nawaya Gosuke?”

The samurai first spoke thus. He appeared to be around thirty-four or thirty-five years old, with thick eyebrows, sharp eyes, and a resolute countenance—one might say his posture exuded an air of dignified composure. Gosuke did indeed perform all manner of gestures at the shopfront—prostrating himself, offering obsequious chuckles, rubbing his hands together, and frequent deep bows. Then his daughter Owaki came out, sat down there and pressed her hands to the floor. “Why, what an honor this is! For the honorable retainer to go to such trouble—welcome, welcome! Please do come in!”

The samurai seemed to startle, if only for an instant.
He may have initially mistaken this woman—with her russet curly hair, samurai-style attire, thickly built frame of flesh, bone, and limbs, and overall grotesque appearance like smeared white powder and rouge—for some sort of monster.

To put it bluntly, the samurai faltered and drew back half a step.
But being a man of training, he must have steadied himself, for he planted his feet firmly and stared at Gosuke with evident bewilderment.

"Heh-heh, this here is my daughter Owaki."
Gosuke declared, "That is to say, she is a legitimate daughter of the Sano Genzaemon family serving closely by the Young Lord—no, the Illegitimate Child-sama’s side—and as for matters too delicate for a parent to voice..."

"Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh!"
With a coy laugh, Owaki corroborated her father’s words: "Though modesty forbids me, I have indeed been attending His Lordship in capacities... unsuited for parental discussion."

In the meantime, many tenement residents had already gathered here and there out front, their eyes shining with fear and curiosity as they observed this spectacle.

“You are Nawaya Gosuke, I take it?”
The samurai pressed his point: “You do indeed declare yourself to be Gosuke without error?”

“There is absolutely no mistake in that regard.”

“If that is the case, I shall state this plainly: Not only have you, since some time ago, ventured to Lord Iga-no-kami’s upper residence to fabricate claims of an illegitimate child and such, but you have also swindled a substantial sum of gold coins—is this not indisputably true?”

“Your Lordship speaks of something quite mistaken. The matter of Illegitimate Child-sama has already been duly recognized by the mansion officials, and as for what you call gold coins—these were stipends for our services, bestowed upon us by Your Lordship’s house in three installments totaling seventy ryō.”

“Silence, silence! There’s no such thing as some dubious figure claiming to be an illegitimate child!”

“That is your misapprehension,” Owaki interjected from the side. “We possess concrete evidence—the written affidavit and the dagger—and at this very moment, His Lordship the Illegitimate Child has oh-hoh-hoh-hoh, grown quite fatigued from his exertions, and now oh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh, shall retire to his bedchamber to engage in further intimacies!”

“Bring that person here—no need for debate—bring that impostor here!”

Owaki must have adopted a haughty demeanor. With an air of “Don’t you dare lose your nerve, you bastard,” she stood up, entered the inner rooms, and emerged leading the Illegitimate Child. The Illegitimate Child appeared with thoroughly sunken eyes, walking unsteadily as if his bones had dissolved, then slumped limply into a seated position.

“So this is the impostor.”
The samurai said this, surveyed the Illegitimate Child’s entire form, and began his interrogation in a thunderous voice: “You there—state your identity and name.”

“H-heh... heh...”

“Young Lord! You must posthaste—posthaste obey His Lordship’s decree!”

“Silence, woman! Restrain yourself!”
The samurai bellowed, “Answer me! Who are you?”

“I-I-I’m... an offi... official...”

“State clearly—who are you, and what is your name? If you speak in ambiguous terms, you wretch, I will show no mercy!”

“A-a-a-a, a-a-a.”
The Illegitimate Child turned deathly pale, trembling violently as he pressed his hands together in supplication. “I-I-I don’t know nothin’! I’m sorry! I-I-I’m innocent! N-no-no-no… bad… bad…”

“Can’t even speak properly, you fool?”

“Y-yeah-yeah! Th-that’s what they all say! Idiot! Half-wit! It’s true! Back in Yanagihara, everyone knows! I was gettin’ handouts there—ain’t lyin’!”

“What… What…” The samurai’s eyes widened. “You claim you were begging in Yanagihara?”

“I-I-I’m not a beggar... I’m get-get-getting handouts!”

“Truly, such hardships you’ve endured—how utterly pitiable.”

“Shut up, Gosuke! Stay back, you fool! So you were begging in Yanagihara—is that truly the case?”

“I keep telling you I’m not a beggar!”
The born fool seemed unable to endure the insult: “Beggar? That’s Genkō and Bōshū and Taichi! It’s true! I’m gettin’ handouts! It’s true! Everyone knows! Mom’s from Tsuchizutsumi’s Okan—she wasn’t no beggar neither! She was gettin’ handouts too! It’s true! Everyone knows! I’m just Tsuchizutsumi’s born fool, that’s all!”

“You appear to be a born fool.”

It went without saying that the samurai made a bitter face. “Then why have you come to this house? Why aren’t you receiving alms in Yanagihara?”

The half-wit puckered his face in a pout.
And then tears spilled from his eyes like scattered beans.

“Why won’t you let me go back? You—I wanna go back to Yanagihara! In Tsuchizutsumi they don’t push me around, they don’t lick or tickle me, an’ they don’t do all them other things neither! It’s true! So I-I-I wanna go back to Yanagihara!”

“Do you want to go back right now?”

“I wanna go back!” The half-wit wiped his tears with one hand and shook his body. “Wanna go back! Back to Yanagihara! Wanna go back right now! Waaah! Waaah!”

“Very well—go back. I permit it, so leave at once.”

“Huh? Wha—huh? … You’re really lettin’ me go back? Really go back—you’re not lying?”

“W-w-wait a moment, if you please!”

“I don’t care about Gosuke—go home at once.”

By the time the samurai said this, the half-wit had already vanished from the spot.
By that time, tenement residents had already formed a crowd in front of the shop; though the half-wit should have dashed out from the shop and slipped through that human wall to escape, not a single person could confirm having seen it—a testament to how dearly even a half-wit clings to life.

“Wh-why would Your Lordship—th-this—this treatment—I-I will not let this stand! I-I have th-the *written document*! I have th-the *dagger*! I shall proceed at once to th-the mansion—”

“Oh—off to the mansion with you!”
The samurai glanced at him with a measure of pity: “During His Lordship’s time at the branch family, in the indiscretions of youth, he deigned to favor a servant girl. However, that girl—who recently gave birth to Lady Wakako—was granted an audience with His Lordship and now resides in the middle mansion. First and foremost, this ‘favoring’ occurred nine years prior. That beggar would be twenty years old now—do you truly believe a thirty-one-year-old lord could have a twenty-year-old illegitimate child…?”

“Haa... s-so... haa...”

“In my judgment, you seem to harbor no malice—I shall regard this as the act of a fool blinded by greed. Under normal circumstances, I would report this to the magistrate’s office and ensure severe punishment, but this time I shall handle it leniently—be grateful.”

“Haa... haa...”

“However—you shall personally deliver seventy ryō in gold to the mansion within ten days. Ten days for seventy ryō. Should there be the slightest discrepancy, I will immediately report this entire matter to the magistrate’s office. This is my command.”

“Hey—wait just a moment!”
Owaki desperately called out to stop him: “You might be done with your duty here, but what about me? What exactly are you going to do about my situation?”

“―What do you mean by ‘what to do’?”

“I’m not just some ordinary body—I’m telling you this because it’s you—but inside my belly is the Young Lord’s own illegitimate child! If you leave without settling this matter, how can you samurai take responsibility? If you’re going back, then settle things with this belly of mine before you leave!”

“Alright, alright—I’ll tell you what you can do.”
The samurai sneered with magnanimous derision, “If you want to settle that belly of yours, it’s simple—listen well. Go to Yanagihara—right now.”

And so, accompanied by his retinue, the samurai departed with leisurely composure.
At the same moment, the tenement residents who had formed a human wall erupted in a war cry and stamped their feet against the ground,
“Settle that belly in Yanagihara!”
and were hurling vulgar insults such as these.
At the same time—or rather even before that—inside the shop, Otaki (Stingy) came out while Owaki (Stingy-with-affection), for her part, grabbed onto Gosuke—both her husband and father—from either side, shouting as they roughly manhandled him.

“You bald-headed good-for-nothing blockhead!” snapped Stingy. “Repay every meal you’ve fed that fool till now! I’ve had it with a blundering half-wit like you—get out!”

“What ‘Illegitimate Child’—you bastard!” snapped Stingy-with-affection. “Shoving that beggar half-wit onto us—how dare you! Thwack, thwack, thwack—you good-for-nothing lump! What’ll you do about my belly now, you bastard? ‘Sano’s legitimate house’ my ass—having someone write a fake genealogy! Damn you! ‘Written document and dagger’—ha! Listen here, bastard—if it’s come to this, I won’t let you off easy!”

“Tenement residents—ah!” This was Gosuke: “Agh! Someone help—agh! Oh, everyone—help! Help! Agh! Murder!”

In concluding this lecture, as the lecturer, I wish to bring the matter to a close.

Upon hearing this commotion, Ginta and Kinta promptly vanished without a trace. As for the Nawaya family—to put it bluntly, Owaki was abandoned by her sixth husband, while Gosuke, compelled by debts from construction materials purchased for his new mansion and the need to return seventy ryō to Lord Iga-no-kami's residence, reluctantly sold both his shop and residence along with the tenement house. One night, under cover of darkness, the three family members fled to parts unknown.

The conclusion of the great Ten'ichibō Incident of the tenement house is as described above, and as the lecturer, I particularly have no desire to add anything further.
Farewell.