Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Esteemed readers, are you acquainted with what is called “Ninjutsu”?
Lately, one could often come across Sarutobi novels scattered throughout various magazines.
From my youth, I had exclusively loved and been so engrossed in Ninjutsu that—for the verification and elucidation of its historical significance—I had exhaustively researched texts and surveyed ruins, thoroughly mastering its mysteries; yet viewing these Sarutobi novels through such eyes, I could not help but sneer at their petty bourgeois pettiness and miserly rationalism.
Therefore, I resolved to chronicle the true origins of Ninjutsu and the nearly vanished deeds of its founder, thereby seeking to benefit society’s morals and hearts.
With that, I devoted my erudition and commenced this magnificent tale.

As for the era’s dating, we regrettably had only circumstantial evidence to rely on; however, it was certainly after Osaka Castle’s fall and undeniably before the Edo Shogunate’s sankin-kotai system began.

That is to say, while the Toyotomi clan had been vanquished, the Tokugawa clan’s governance had only just begun—an era where opposing forces such as chaos and order, despair and hope, peace and unease, discipline and licentiousness, darkness and light swirled and clashed throughout society.—In Fukuya Village, Hora District, Hida Province (regrettably, both the district and village names have since been abolished), there lived a boy named Yaosuke.The family was called jewel crafters; his father’s name was Isosuke, and his mother’s surname has not been passed down.This family had long made their trade by polishing agate stones, lapis lazuli, amber, and other such materials into jewels, crafting them into ornaments, and selling them in Kyoto.Yaosuke was their only son, but—through some cruel twist—he was born with a lame leg, lost an eye by the age of two, and became a hunchback from the autumn of his fifth year.The mother constantly lamented,

“It just doesn’t make sense,”

she kept saying,

“Even though I prayed to the Sokoji Deity of Horaisan Mountain and conceived this child… How could he have ended up with such a body?”

Even as a young child, Yaosuke had constantly heard these words. When he turned seven, he went to petition at the Sokoji Shrine on Horaisan Mountain. The shrine stood in a cedar forest near the mountain's summit; with his disabled body, he painstakingly reached it, then—using a seven-year-old's wisdom, seven-year-old's tongue, and seven-year-old's voice—lodged a protest to the sacred object and pleaded for the correction of his physical form. However, this was in October, and he realized that the gods were away at the master of Izumo’s house to conduct their annual financial settlement; when November came, he went to make his plea anew. As esteemed readers well know, there are no beings as stingy, prone to feigning deafness, indolent, and self-righteous as the gods—whether the Sokoji Deity had received some dividend from the master of Izumo or not, it lay sprawled in its tiny shrine without uttering a single word. No matter how much he pleaded thereafter, there was absolutely no effect; Yaosuke then visited the tutelary deity and further extended his efforts from the district’s guardian shrines to Inari and Hachiman. When he eventually began traveling to Kyoto with his father, he made sure to visit every shrine, Buddhist temple, and even stone Jizo statue along the round-trip route. However, the unrelated deities had no reason to take responsibility for the failure of the Sokoji Deity, whom he had petitioned, and he turned fifteen still bearing his three possessions.

On a certain winter night that year—Yaosuke, who had gone to bed early, heard his father and mother having such a conversation in the neighboring room while drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

“The Hijikura deposit at Mitsuiwa is worth ten thousand in jewels; Ishifuta in Minamidani, eight thousand in koban coins; and the gold dust at Anazoko’s depths—though we’d need to measure it properly—has been said since your grandfather’s time to amount to two million.”

“We can discuss it without you having to go into such detail,” said his mother. “Mr. Gonemon will do anything for profit—and go even further for gold that promises gains.”

“It’s a wretched thing to let money do the talking,” he said, “but as parents who gave him that body, we must do all we can. My only worry is that girl—Mr. Gonemon will consent, I’m sure—but when little O-Sen comes of age and the time arrives… whether she’ll come to him.”

“In any case, discussing it comes first.”
“That’s right—I’ll go and discuss it with him tomorrow.”

All of this was what Yaosuke heard while half-asleep; without grasping the true meaning of his parents’ words or considering what fate they would bring upon him, he drifted back into slumber.

II

Who was this Gonemon mentioned in the couple’s conversation?
He was the village headman of seven villages in this district—owner of the surname Muto; a rapacious wife; two sons who could not endure a day without alcohol and gambling; a fourteen-year-old daughter called O-Sen; a large estate with black gates; and vast fields and forests.
But he was an adherent of creative evolution theory:

“Inherited property isn’t truly property if left untouched—it gains meaning only when spent entirely or multiplied a thousandfold! I’ll make mine a hundred millionfold!”

Based on this “enlightened” rationale and mobilizing his official position and financial resources, he began a moneylending business using fields and houses as collateral—a venture that over twenty-seven years amassed a colossal fortune: over 333 *chōbu* of forests, fields, and mountains; fifty-seven residential buildings and storehouses; and more than 33,300 *ryō* in silver.
But his creative avarice kept pace with the intensification of his two sons’ penchant for drinking and gambling, grew in tandem with the expansion of his assets, and now was taking on the visage of a saint of greed.
No sooner had Isosuke presented his proposal than Lord Gonemon was in the finest of moods,

“Hey, bring sake—the high-quality kind!”

He began to shout loudly.
He assumed a grandiose and expansive posture, as if he had purged a hundred days’ worth of pent-up frustrations at once, and his plump, reddish-bearded face suddenly brimmed with vigor.
The greedy wife emerged alongside the sake and dishes, and the discussion concluded as smoothly as water soaking into sandy soil.
To summarize the terms: O-Sen would be welcomed as Yaosuke’s bride upon turning eighteen; Isosuke would provide 1,000 ryō in gold as betrothal gifts, 2,000 ryō for wedding expenses, and an additional 2,000 ryō interest-free and without written contract for a ten-year term—totaling 5,000 ryō.
In an absurd world where one-fourth of a ryō of gold—that is, twelve monme of silver equivalent to one bu—meant that fourteen monme could buy a koku of rice, I ask you to imagine how much value 5,000 ryō held.
Now that the agreement was settled, Gonemon was in rapturous delight—like a monkey-faced upstart who had become Taiko—

“You need not have the slightest concern regarding O-Sen,” declared Gonemon Muto, spitting as he spoke. “If she shows even a hint of refusal, I’ll put a rope around her neck and drag her off—Gonemon Muto is a man of his word!”

The contract was concluded. And the concluded contract was executed accurately. The promised gold was promptly delivered, and in the following February, formal cups were exchanged.

In June of that year, Yaosuke traveled to Kyoto with his father—a practice repeated annually since he was twelve—where they would take agate jewels and crafted ornaments to sell in the capital, then return with the year’s necessities; accompanied by a servant named Dekiroku, the father and son set out from Fukuya Village.

However, on the evening they arrived at Ōminami Station, his father Isosuke suddenly fell ill and took to his bed.
Due to a severe intestinal disease—the doctor estimated recovery would take about half a month—but with a promised date at the Kyoto trading firm, Yaosuke had no choice but to depart with Dekiroku.

Alas—this departure for Kyoto was also a step into misfortune. For when they had completed their transactions at the Kyoto shop and were about to return with 352 ryō, 2 bu, and 1 shu in gold, Dekiroku suddenly brought up an unexpected matter: that they were supposed to make a pilgrimage to Miyajima in Aki.

“I was ordered by my mother to make a pilgrimage on your behalf—both to cure your lameness and ward off disasters for your father—so I’ve come to ask this of you.”

“That’s what he said,” Dekiroku declared.
Yaosuke had never heard of such arrangements and, concerned about his father lying ill at Ōminami Station, insisted they return immediately.
The servant then brazenly demanded,
“Then I’ll make the pilgrimage myself! Hand over 120 ryō!”
He claimed twenty ryō would cover travel expenses while one hundred ryō constituted offerings for Itsukushima Shrine—all supposedly approved by his revered mother.
“No!” Yaosuke refused. “I won’t allow this!”

The boy glared at the servant with his one eye. “What do you mean by ‘No’?”

Dekiroku glared fiercely—and what a fearsome glare it was—

“Fine then! If you’re gonna keep refusing, do as you like! Brute force it is—I’ll take the lump on your back, your life, and every last coin you’ve got!”

With these words, he pulled out a dagger from his breast pocket, its blade glinting.
Needless to say, the glint of the dagger proved more effective than the boy’s one-eyed glare. The mountain-bred sixteen-year-old boy shrank back in fear and muttered “We’ll go to Miyajima,” his eyes cast downward.

Is there anything in this world more base than a base human? Having lured the boy out in this manner, Dekiroku took every last coin from him in Okayama of Bizen Province and vanished without a trace.

Very well—let us leave him to his escape for now and turn our gaze to Yaosuke’s plight. Yet even this we must abbreviate, relying on your imagination, dear readers. As you know, he was a sixteen-year-old boy ignorant of the world, his body crippled and purse empty—a condition gilded with a world in chaos.

I ask you to imagine the utmost pinnacle among all conceivable hardships—starvation, mockery, persecution, despair, and suffering—that you, dear readers, can conjure.
He saw the world in its entirety alongside his own hardships—for though it was called a feudal system, once the Edo Shogunate stabilized and the alternate attendance system took hold, it became a centralized feudalism where politics and morality gained a semblance of universal validity. But before that, it had been pure despotic feudalism, rife with the coercive peddling of power and prestige.
Everywhere there were transitions of daimyo lords; all costs for castle constructions, samurai estate expansions, and merchant quarter relocations accompanying these changes were imposed on commoners. Heavy taxes became cruel taxes and evil taxes. With inter-domain trade prohibited, industries withered and prices swung wildly between inflation and collapse. Officials imposed tributes while clerks extorted bribes. To compound this, bands of rōnin—those who had failed to die in the Osaka Campaign, lost their masters, or abandoned their stipends—renamed themselves "Reckless Outcasts" and roamed boldly as night raiders, extortionists, murderers, and highwaymen.
In short, it was a decisively harsh era where the weak had no choice but to resign themselves to their suffering.—Yaosuke saw this with his single eye, felt it with the hump on his back, and trod upon it with his lame leg.
At an age when his sensitivity was acute and his sense of justice most fervent, having experienced such social realities alongside his own calamities, what worldview he developed need hardly be explained.

Now, then—after such wanderings, driven by his sole desire to see his parents, Yaosuke finally reached his hometown in the following February.

III

What awaited in Fukuya Village?
In keeping with the ironclad rule of “out of sight, out of mind,” I will state it simply: his father Isosuke had fallen ill and died at Ōminami Station, and only his bones had returned to the village.
When the hundred-day mourning period had ended, Lord Gonemon Muto arrived at the house accompanied by his daughter O-Sen,

“As per our prior agreement—though the date comes early—I’ve brought her here. I ask that you accept her as this household’s bride starting today.”

he said.
“However, since my son Yaosuke’s fate remains unknown,” she objected,

“Whether your son lives or dies, the contract we signed remains unchanged. Gonemon Muto is a man of his word!”

With these words, he left his daughter behind.
But that was not all—Lord Gonemon went so far as to proclaim himself “Chief Guardian,” installing his two sons as “Guardian Officer” and “Advisory Officer” within the household. As for what ulterior motives lay behind such actions—dear readers, you have surely already nodded in understanding with an “Ah, I see.”
Precisely so—Lord Gonemon had taken notice of the immense wealth of Isosuke that he had heard about during the contract negotiations.
Legend had it that Isosuke’s family had crafted tubular beads, faceted beads, jujube-shaped beads, pestle-shaped beads, comma-shaped beads, spherical beads, and the like there for generations beyond counting.
In recent times, as demand for such jewels waned, they no longer employed craftsmen and worked solely as a family; moreover, from about two generations prior, they had come to appear utterly destitute.
The villagers had believed this fully. Yet Isosuke—excessively concerned for his disabled child’s welfare—had let slip a fragment of the Tamatsukuri family’s secret: a strict prohibition guarded through generations.
He blurted out that raw stones were mined from their own mountain; that lapis lazuli, agate, and amber still lay buried there in abundance; even revealing stockpiles of polished beads alongside ancient coins, gold dust, and koban gold coins accumulated over dozens of generations.
By this measure, it constituted a vast fortune. Lord Gonemon had boasted, “I shall multiply the inherited assets a hundred millionfold,” and now fate had granted him the moment to fulfill this lifelong ambition.—When Yaosuke finally returned home in his tattered, hunched state, his household stood roughly thus:
Lord Gonemon as Chief Guardian; the Guardian Officer and Advisory Officer—these now ruled as masters of the Tamatsukuri household, while he and his mother were granted no more space than lodgers or nuisances.
Initially, they showed compromise—for O-Taka, Isosuke’s widow, stubbornly insisted she knew nothing of the vast assets’ whereabouts.

“The five thousand ryō we took to your house was every last coin we had. I’ve never heard of such a vast fortune existing, and even if it did, I know absolutely nothing about it.”

Her obstinate stance yielded no progress; thus, while the return of Yaosuke—whom they had believed dead—proved infuriating, it also kindled hope that the whereabouts of the vast fortune might now be revealed.
Therefore, at first, they tried to show as much amiability as possible,
"Anyway, you're already the master of the household,"
flattering him with such remarks and so on.
However, from the moment they confirmed that Yaosuke not only did not know the location of the vast wealth but was truly unaware of whether such a thing even existed, his treatment changed drastically.

“I made the marriage contract with Mr. Isosuke based on his claims of certain assets existing! Given Mr. Isosuke’s character, he couldn’t have fabricated such an elaborate tale without basis—nor could he have produced five thousand ryō out of thin air! I was certain the assets he spoke of truly existed!”

Lord Gonemon declared pompously,

“—If you do not know of it or its whereabouts, then logic dictates Mr. Isosuke had no intention of bequeathing it to you! Pressing further—by fulfilling the contract, the effective inheritance rights to said assets shall transfer to O-Sen! This I, as Chief Guardian, declare before heaven and earth without hesitation—for Gonemon Muto is a man of his word!”

And he shook his corpulent frame and laughed like a triumphant hero.

The Chief Guardian, the Guardian Officer, and the Advisory Officer—the three of them—began ransacking the house like bandits.
O-Sen had long since been sent back to her home with the black gate.
Yaosuke and his mother were confined to the storage shed, while they took up residence in the main house, spending their days ransacking the place, drinking, singing, rampaging, and ransacking some more.
To fund their feasts, they liquidated everything—the Tamatsukuri family's assets starting with rice fields, farms, and firewood mountains; even clothing was carried out. After emptying the main house completely, they stripped its roof, removed beams, demolished walls, destroyed hearths, split pillar bases, and tore up floorboards—searching every square inch without sparing day or time—before dismantling the entire structure piece by piece and selling it off at firewood prices.
In the house, there was not only no trace of the "said assets" but not even any documents resembling them. If that were the case, they must be underground—they began digging up the ground.

Yaosuke had watched up to this point, and the moment his patience snapped, he suddenly cast aside reason and restraint to file a lawsuit at the magistrate’s office in Sodegata Village.
Foolishness, sheer foolishness! Of course Lord Gon was summoned to the magistrate’s office, but after holding a certain “cordial discussion” with Magistrate Kanoe Gohee, Magistrate Kanoe—through a “fair trial”—pronounced his verdict with furious eyes and an indignant roar: “An impudent wretch bringing false accusations!”
Yaosuke received fifty lashes to the hump on his back, tasted to the full the exorbitant price of reason and self-restraint, and wept bitterly as he returned to his mother’s side.

Lord Gonemon and his two accomplices continued digging up the ground.
This was no mere digging—they tore up every inch of ground, flipped it over, loosened the soil, sifted through it, sniffed at it, peered into crevices, and searched relentlessly. All the while, they found time to guzzle liquor recklessly, sing rowdy songs, and rampage about. Yet eventually, the three bandits grew weary of their mole-like labor and convened to discuss anew.
There was no way O-Taka didn’t know; her calmness in watching them search so thoroughly meant the hiding place must be registered within her skull. Therefore, they should feign surrender and withdraw from there, secretly keep watch over her—she would surely take action to seek out that location. This was Manjushri’s divine wisdom—hitting the golden target without effort.
They reached this conclusion, and they immediately put it into action.

IV

O-Taka and Yaosuke found themselves in pitiful circumstances.
Did mother and child resent heaven and curse the gods? No—the two bore resentment toward none and cursed nothing. The boy, seeing something wordless in his mother's eyes, felt a vague conviction that they would be alright.
Sure enough, after the three scoundrels had withdrawn, O-Taka spoke to him thus.

“Just wait a little longer. I’ll make sure O-Sen becomes your bride. You don’t need to worry about the house or money at all.”

The house truly held an immense fortune.
And his mother knew of it.
Yaosuke became convinced of this. Mother and son borrowed a small plot of land to till, beginning a life of silent, seemingly meager existence—but this lasted barely ten days. True to misfortune’s pact of arriving hand in hand, they were struck by one final calamity.
It was O-Taka, tilling soil in the field, who suddenly collapsed and died—likely from cerebral hemorrhage. She fell with a thud, let out one deep sigh, and then departed for the realm of ten thousand billion lands.
This time, Yaosuke truly wailed, threw himself onto the ground, and cursed heaven and earth.
For Gonemon, who had been secretly monitoring the mother and child, this was both an unexpected disappointment and an unforeseen miscalculation.
However, the fact that Lord Gonemon held a funeral for O-Taka must be recorded for the sake of truth.
The acquisition of the vast fortune had been postponed for the time being, but with this—if only he could drive out Yaosuke—Lord Gonemon would need not repay a single copper coin of the 5,000 ryō. Rather than resentful, he held O-Taka’s funeral with something akin to delight (albeit as cheaply as possible).

On the night of his mother’s burial, Yaosuke climbed Mount Horise by the light of the crescent moon and squeezed into the shrine of the Sokoji Deity.

“What kind of god are you?”

He steeled himself thus,

“If you could make Mother conceive me when she prayed for a child, then you ought to take some responsibility after my birth too! Not only do you turn a blind eye to me being stuck in this wretched body—you let kind-hearted Father and Mother die without lifting a finger, then just silently watch as the house gets reduced to ruins! Aren’t you ashamed to be called a god when you’re this irresponsible and lazy? Tonight I’ve come to hear your true intentions—depending on your answer, I’ll set fire to this shrine and burn everything down. So you’d better think carefully!”

And he glared at the shrine and sat down.
When there was no order to rely upon, no laws or statutes to appeal to, no morals or human compassion to cling to—and one was driven to the utter depths of destitution—humans craved the manifestation of miracles as unreasoningly as infants. And that such fervent longing could often summon miracles was a truth proven by the annals of history.
The moments dragged on—yet the Sokoji deity did not utter a single word.
Yaosuke finally said,

“Fine! If that’s how you’re going to be, I won’t ask anything more of you! I’ll burn this place down right now—you can count on that!”

Having said this, he gathered withered cedar branches from the area, stuffed them beneath the shrine’s edge, and took out his tinder pouch.
And when he struck the flint with a sharp click, a voice called out, “Wait a moment.”
Yaosuke, startled, looked around.
Of course, there was no one there anywhere—and so,

“Was that you, Lord Sokoji?” he asked.
The shrine remained silent, neither confirming nor denying. Yaosuke, deciding it had been his imagination, reignited his anger. He struck the flint again with a sharp click—and at that instant, a clearer voice rang out: “Wait!”

The words were heard.
After repeating this two or three times, he confirmed that striking the flint produced the voice, and then began the following exchange.

“Are you Lord Sokoji?”
“That’s correct.”

“Do you know of my family’s misfortunes?”
“I must apologize.”

Lord Sokoji spoke thus:
“I’ve reached 2,119 years and nine months now—my eyes and ears don’t work well, and everything’s become such a bother. I’ve just been... letting things slide. But please, spare this dwelling! At my age, having to rent a new shrine would be too undignified.”

“Then will you listen to my wish?”

“I’ll hear just one. I’ve granted so many to your ancestors that I’m rather short on means.”

“One will suffice. I will state it, so please listen carefully.”

Yaosuke struck the flint with all his strength and said,

“Grant me the power to make anything I wish come true.”

“Very well—”

The moment these words were spoken, a hissing sound rang out—like charcoal plunged into water.
And after that, no matter how he struck the flint, the voice of the Sokoji deity could no longer be heard—presumably because Lord Sokoji, having violated a divine prohibition by granting a human omnipotent power, had been duly punished under the laws of the spirit realm.
The custom of devout people striking flint before their household altars indeed originates from this ancient tale, and the reason why no Sokoji Shrine exists anywhere today also stems from this event.

"I have been granted the power to make my thoughts come true."

Yaosuke believed this without the slightest doubt,

“Alright, I’ll test it.”

He closed his eyes and willed his lame leg to stand.
The lame leg stood.
The stiff-necked intellectuals, suspicious moneylenders, and single-minded damn naturalists might not believe—after all, these breeds can at best chase possibilities through literature—but you discerning readers, sensitive in emotion, flexible in spirit, wise and astute, will surely give credence.

The lame leg stood. Yaosuke did not even smile. For him, this was merely what should exist coming to exist as it should. "Crushed eye—open." Thus he willed, and then "Spine—straighten." Thus he willed.

V

From that day on, Yaosuke vanished from the village.
No one knew when or where he had gone—the villagers rejoiced at having rid themselves of a "future" nuisance, while Lord Gonemon smirked at having disposed of a more "immediate" one.
And a year—to be precise, three hundred seventy-two days—had passed. On a certain day in September, a farewell banquet was held for their daughter O-Sen at the Muto residence in Kuromon, with over fifty guests invited.
“What parting event is this?” you might ask—but wait, dear reader, for this writer has yet to formally introduce her. Let us first behold Miss O-Sen in her resplendent glory, now splendidly adorned for the banquet. She had turned seventeen—and become a great beauty indeed. To borrow Lord Gonemon’s phrasing, one could declare to heaven and earth without hesitation: unquestionably beautiful, perhaps excessively so. Her inhumanly clear eyes and lips that acknowledged no dignity, virtue, or solemnity beyond herself epitomized classical beauty’s very archetype.
――She placed mirrors and lamps around herself, standing and sitting and turning sideways and twisting her body, smiling and composing herself and furrowing her brows sorrowfully—reflecting every gesture and expression in the surrounding mirrors. After repeating this Narcissus-like ritual until sated, she finally said, “Alright,” and extended her hand to her mother.

In the grand hall spanning three adjoining rooms, countless candlesticks were arranged with screens erected, while fifty-odd guests—seated before their meals—raised their cups in praise of this household’s enviable fortune.
After all, in this single year alone, Lord Gonemon had earned three thousand ryo and increased his holdings of foreclosed fields by three chō.
Not only that—there was now a man named Nariki Mochisuke making waves in Kudamatsu Town, said to be the second son of a major Osaka lumber wholesaler. About ten months prior, he had built an extravagant two-story house in Kudamatsu and lived in opulent splendor with fifteen male and female servants employed. Though Mochisuke was only twenty-five or twenty-six, his wealth knew no bounds—he voraciously purchased one wooded mountain after another called Kiyama, laughing that he would “strip every mountain in Hida bare.”
Half a year ago, he had come to buy Gonemon’s mountain—flung down a thousand ryo without even inspecting the land, saying *“This is just the deposit”* before leaving briskly. But two or three days later, he returned with four horses loaded with twelve chests of a thousand ryo each and declared with a nonchalant expression, *“You’ll have to concede with this.”*
Lord Gonemon immediately hauled the thousand-ryo chests into his storehouse—but at the same time resolved to deliver O-Sen to Lord Mochisuke.
As a result, the engagement was splendidly settled, with tomorrow finally set for the bridal procession—meaning tonight’s banquet served as both O-Sen’s farewell from this house and her departure from this village. I trust you grasp the situation—now let us proceed with the tale.—The guests, who had been drinking to celebrate this household’s fortune and drinking again to celebrate it, raised voices of excessive astonishment, admiration, praise, and acclaim at the sight of the daughter of the house—led by her mother as she appeared with measured grace—(though some did so without even looking).

“She’s like a celestial being!”

“No matter what anyone says, my eyes are ruined!”

“Is that Miss O-Sen? I thought a bundle of peonies, Chinese peonies, lotuses, and peaches had arrived.”

And they burst into applause.

Miss O-Sen took her seat resplendently and surveyed the assembly resplendently.
To her, these mountain backwoods trees—monkey spawn, firewood scraps, discarded rope bits—were already beneath her notice; if she wished, tomorrow she could line them up along the road and trample over them with her palanquin—hmph—or so she thought.

The guests readjusted their seating; Lord Gonemon heaved his belly—swollen with deferential delight and satisfaction—and began his address: “Now then—” We shall naturally omit this interminable, rambling self-aggrandizement, but upon reaching his conclusion—

“We are honored to announce the wedding ceremony with Lord Nariki of Kudamatsu.”

Just as he reached that point in his speech, from the very center of the room,

"That is impossible."

A voice interjected: "But O-Sen is married to me—"
It was an oddly hoarse, low voice that nevertheless carried clearly to every corner of the room.
Both guests and hosts turned around in surprise. When they saw Yaosuke sitting right there in the very center of the room, they were truly astonished and stared in renewed shock.
Undoubtedly, it was Yaosuke.
Hunchbacked, one-eyed, and lame—it was Yaosuke of Tamatsukuri, who had vanished like smoke from this village a year prior.
He was in a more wretched and filthy state than before—his hair grown wild, limbs caked with grime, kimono reduced to rags—a figure so pitiable it might make even a beggar envious of his potential earnings.

“O-Sen and I became engaged three years ago, with a contractual payment of five thousand ryō handed over. Beyond that, Gonemon served as chief guardian, his two sons as guardians and advisors, and O-Sen once came to my house as a bride—the people here should know this. I’ll say nothing of the home you destroyed or the fields you sold off. Though we’ve yet to share a first night together, O-Sen is Yaosuke’s wife.”
“You impostor! You swindler! You thieving braggart!”

Lord Gonemon roared thus, likely intending to amplify the credibility of his denial through sheer volume.

“You wandering vagabond! You beggar! You ruffian! You worthless lout! You gangster! You hunchbacked wretch! You pickpocket! You swindler! You shameless liar deserving crucifixion! And furthermore—”
“Father—”

With a bell-like voice, the daughter of the house quietly interjected—a sound truly akin to crystalline jade, pure yet mysteriously alluring—whereupon her father fell utterly silent, and the guests solemnly straightened their postures, some even pressing their hands to the tatami in reverence.

“Do not utter such vulgar words, Father. I myself shall enlighten this Yaosuke person.”

She solemnly declared, looking at Yaosuke.

“You there—I permit it. Behold my face.”

VI

"Our family has served as village headman for seven villages," she continued.

“—With wooded mountains, fields, mansions, storehouses, and silver assets enough to sweep aside—what need could there ever be to betroth ourselves to a base disabled wretch like you? What possible reason would there be to accept a mere five thousand ryō as a token sum?—Let us ask the villagers here: Could anyone imagine such a thing occurring, even in passing, for a family of the honorable Muto lineage?”

“That’s absurd!”

The guests firmly denied while averting their eyes to the ceiling and tatami mats,

“Such an absurd thing!”

“Such an utterly absurd thing!”

“Understood—”

The young lady said this while looking at Yaosuke: “The villagers’ testimony here proves your claims lack any foundation. Or do you claim to possess some irrefutable contract? If so, present it now—let us see.”

"Well done, O-Sen!" Gonemon exclaimed in such admiration that he first slapped his knee sharply.
But from that moment, Yaosuke began to speak,

“People of the village,”
He swept his gaze across the guests,
“Among you, there must be many who have been grievously wronged by the master of this house—and you likely know what hardships my parent and I endured. But do not think matters are settled here—far from it. Everything is only just beginning. Absolutely everything.”
And he turned toward Miss O-Sen,

“Miss—I must apologize for my misunderstanding in addressing you familiarly and calling you my wife. Since this misunderstanding has been clarified, I will take my leave. However, let me state one thing: the one who should truly be presenting such a baseless contract is not I—it ought to be you.”

“What did you say?”
“Indeed—what *could* it be?”

Yaosuke slowly heaved himself up and let out a deep groan as he stretched.
At that very instant—lo and behold—the hunchbacked spine straightened, the lame leg lengthened, and the crushed eye snapped wide open.
No sooner had he swung one hand swiftly than—as though shedding something he had been wearing—his form peeled away from head to toe in one fluid motion. Behold: no more disheveled hair, no grime on limbs, no tattered kimono. In their place emerged a face of striking beauty with a clean-shaven pate tinged bluish, limbs polished to perfection, a silk damask kimono paired with amber-weave hakama trousers, and at his waist a gold-adorned short sword. His stature measured over five shaku and seven sun; his age appeared twenty-one or twenty-two—a dazzlingly handsome figure that eclipsed all others.
Guests and hosts alike, the daughter of the house, the wife of the house, even the sons fond of drink and gambling—all stood dumbfounded, wide-eyed, aghast, and terrified, utterly speechless.
Yaosuke quietly said, “People of the village,”

“I will live in this village again—rebuild my house and reclaim my lands. Please continue to associate with me as before. Now if you’ll excuse me—Palanquin!”

In response to the call for the final palanquin, the sliding door swiftly opened, and eight young men carried in a woven bamboo palanquin. Yaosuke boarded it, the door closed, and then the palanquin was lifted and quietly departed toward the entrance.

The room fell utterly silent, like a deserted valley devoid of any sound.
The people remained motionless, sat with eyes wide open and breath held as if under a spell.
What in the world had just happened? What had they truly witnessed? Was what they saw reality, or some sort of dream or illusion?—Overwhelmed by surprise, bewilderment, fear, trembling, and timidity, they seemed at last to yearn for home. First, Tombachi-dono of Magariyama began fidgeting,

“Ah, right—I’ve got urgent business to attend to.”

After saying this, he stealthily left his seat.
The floodgates had opened,

“Now that you mention it, I’d forgotten some urgent business.”

“I’d just remembered some urgent business.”

“I had urgent business to attend to.”

“I was in the middle of urgent business.”

“My urgent business is only half-done.”

And in an instant, the guests departed.
Thus, the grand banquet—intended as both a display of power and ostentation—ended as soon as it began. Yet the bridal procession the following day reached unprecedented heights of splendor and extravagance: three decorated horses at the lead, ten packhorses, seventeen loads carried by porters, over sixty attendants, and a preposterous arrangement of five replacement palanquins.
It was five ri to Kudamatsu; Her Ladyship the Bride would rest every ri, change her attire and palanquin there, then proceed.
They departed the house at six in the morning and reached Kudamatsu at six in the evening.
After a twelve-hour ostentatious procession, upon arriving at the Nariki house, yet another banquet—one beyond words or brushstrokes—commenced there.
The magnificent opulence of this banquet I must leave to your imagination, dear readers—for our tale has suddenly grown urgent. You may ask why? I suggest you first behold the banquet itself.

Candlelight that mocked the daylight, dazzling ornamental implements, over eighty assembled guests—the banquet had just reached the ceremonial toast when boys and girls dressed as male and female butterflies, bearing stacked trays of offerings, calmly advanced toward the bride.
The bride took the first ceremonial cup and drank according to protocol; after quietly returning it to the tray, this was then transferred to the groom.
Lord Nariki Mochisuke solemnly took the cup that had just touched the lips of the resplendent woman and, with even greater solemnity, brought it to his own mouth.
At that very instant—just as Lord Mochisuke’s lips were about to touch the cup—the shout arose: “Counterfeit gold—”.

“Counterfeiter Yami Shichi, you’re under arrest!”

The shout piercedly echoed off the ceiling panels—simultaneously, arresting officers clad in full regalia burst in through three sides of the room.
What a sudden turn of events!—But who was the thief? Ah—the groom leapt up, shouted vulgarly, “Damn this!”, and no sooner had he rudely planted one foot on the bride’s shoulder than he sprang bird-like toward the ceiling.

Seven

Lord Edmond Dantès of Marseilles was cast from his wedding feast into the fortress prison of Dieppe, while Miss O-Sen’s groom fled to the ceiling midway through the ceremonial toast.
Using the bride’s shoulder as a foothold to leap upward, he was swallowed by a hole that opened in the ceiling and snapped shut—a mechanism engineered expressly for this purpose.

What vile scoundrels they were! According to later investigations by arresting officers, this house had been filled with such contraptions everywhere—walls, tatami mats, corridors, even the kitchen—all an unholy union of dishonesty and opportunism. No sooner had the commotion erupted than all guests rose to their feet and fled in self-interested retreat—though not before the counterfeiter Yami Shichi and his over ten male and female subordinates—for these villains escaped ahead of everyone present at the banquet, slipping away like water through a sieve.

Those who remained were but three: Lord Muto, his avaricious wife, and the resplendent bride—their two sons having joined the fleeing group.

Gonemon quivered with humiliation and shook with rage. “I swear you will face reprimand!”

He issued this threat to the arresting officers.

“Lord Nariki is the scion of Osaka’s most renowned great merchant—a man of impeccable character, indifferent to wealth, and of unquestionable lineage—all of which I, Gonemon Muto, village headman of this district’s seven villages, swear upon heaven and earth without hesitation. Yet you, acting on reckless delusion, have dared to commit such lawless acts! Now that Lord Nariki is my son-in-law and I his father-in-law, you should be aware that decisive measures will be taken against this defamation of honor, trampling of human rights, and abuse of official authority!”

“Well, well.”
The commander of the arresting officers responded thus,
“So you’re saying—let me confirm—that you are the father-in-law of this house’s master, correct? That you are well acquainted with his background and nature—in other words, that you are on most intimate terms with him?”
“Precisely so!”
“Ah, splendid! While we let Yami Shichi slip through our grasp, we’re quite satisfied to have caught his associates. Bind him!”
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Lord Gonemon turned pale and flailed both hands wildly,

“This is no joke! I have no connection to someone like Yami Shichi! You will face reprimand for this!”

“Then allow me to inquire—where might this Lord Nariki of verified background that you speak of be?”

The commander sneered thus,

“What logic explains how your son-in-law—the scion of a great merchant family and a man of such noble character—could escape through the ceiling? And why is it that not only he, but every last one of his gang of underlings, those servants, managed to slip away without exception?”

“Ah—”

Lord Gonemon groaned, and through his astute intellect, he dimly perceived the truth of the matter—albeit belatedly—yet a secret plan did exist.

“Well, you see… that is to say… precisely… Ha ha ha!”

He forced a laugh with quivering lips,

“Ah, your keen eye is truly unmatched! Absolutely, you’re entirely correct. Now, speaking for myself—though you may already be aware—I happen to be on most intimate terms with Magistrate Kanoe of Sodegita Village. He’s quite the remarkable figure, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you saying Magistrate Kanoe is also an accomplice?”

“N-n-no, that’s absurd! That gentleman and I, you see—”

“Damn it!” Lord Gonemon muttered. “This guy’s even greedier than the magistrate. Damn shame, but I’ll have to fork over ten ryo.”

“In other words, you see—”

He said this and swiftly pressed a gold coin into the arresting commander’s hand—yet Yami Shichi’s price must have been higher, for the commander mercilessly flung the coin away and, shouting “Bind him!”, was the first to strike Lord Gonemon’s shoulder with his jitte.

“You’re under arrest!”

With this, all was lost. Her Ladyship the Bride was bound along with her resplendent dignity, and his wife was bound along with her avarice. Thus, the magnificently opulent banquet came to an end.

Readers could rest from this tale for twenty-five days at this point—but on the twenty-sixth day they must return to Fukiya Village.
For there Yaosuke’s house had just been completed; today marked the commencement of its celebratory banquet.
The house stood rebuilt upon its original foundations—yet its structure and scale now differed entirely.
It comprised tile-capped earthen walls spanning one chō square (approximately 109 meters per side), a tower-topped mansion, tea pavilion, three storehouses, stables, servants’ quarters and an extravagant garden—but what truly stunned observers wasn’t this grandeur itself but rather how such monumental construction had been completed in barely twenty days.
The materials appeared pre-prepared; transported via horses oxen carts—every conveyance imaginable with massive manpower—they were assembled without cutting planing or sawing snapped together flawlessly at dizzying speed.
Villagers who’d worked there for staggering wages whispered that during Yaosuke’s vanished year he must’ve struck gold or found Uchide-no-Kozuchi—the wish-granting mallet.
Yet discerning readers would nod—“Ah!”—for neither mine nor mallet applied here Through omnipotent wishcraft he’d simply located those storied deposits—“Hijikura” “Anazoko” “Ishifuta”—his parents once mentioned unearthing generations’ buried wealth gold-dust antique coins koban precious stones.
Thus today celebrated construction’s completion.
The eighty-tatami hall overflowed with guests sake flowed freely lively talk crisscrossed air—“No matter how we theorize” came a voice “we can’t fathom Tamatsukuri’s young master’s transformation.”
“Compared to that” declared Shimpei Hiruta “the real tragedy’s Lord Gonemon of Kuromon—too choked even for tears.”

八

“The groom we thought was a wealthy man turned out to be Yami Shichi—a counterfeiting villain! Officers stormed the wedding feast, dragged off the parent and child trio as accomplices, over a dozen chests stuffed with fake coins emerged from the storehouse, and their panicked sons got caught gambling with counterfeit money—irrefutable proof they’re Yami Shichi’s ilk! That swaggering braggart now shares a jail cell with common criminals!”

“Make others weep, and you’ll weep in turn—heaven’s justice brooks no lies.”

Well now—quite unexpectedly, word of Lord Muto’s family’s fate had come to light.
But where was Yaosuke, the linchpin of it all? What had become of our protagonist?—Ah, no—he was in the tea pavilion, seemingly with a guest—a lady, no less—but no—behold!—it was none other than the Miss O-Sen of Kuromon!

“I see.”
Yaosuke said this:

“That does sound quite terrible indeed. They say the world’s darkness lies just an inch ahead—how true. Hmm—but it was fortunate that at least you managed to get out.”

“What am I to do?”

The young lady said this and stared fixedly at her interlocutor.
However, her eyes had remained fixed on Yaosuke’s figure since earlier.
Exquisitely arched brows; cool, limpid eyes; nose, mouth, ears, cheeks—every feature composed of peerless materials polished to perfection. Flesh brimming with moisture and elastic vitality; a presence both serene and majestically refined. No aspect of him failed to seed enchantment and compulsion.
“—He’s so handsome,” the young lady muttered.
“A lord among lords—his manliness surpasses even Prince Genji and Lord Narihira.”
And she let out a sigh like fire—but at the same moment, flames ignited in her eyes and kindled in her breath,

“Please tell me—what should O-Sen do? What should she do?”

“First you should sleep. Sleep will soothe all sorrows and sufferings.”

“I wish to sleep—in this house, by your side.”

Ah, how boldly she shifted forward on her knees as she spoke thus—but do not misjudge her, gentlemen, for the young lady had her own moral rationale,

“—After all, O-Sen has been your betrothed since she was fourteen—she even once came as your bride—and now O-Sen stands utterly alone in this helpless situation.”

“What did you say?”

Yaosuke abruptly stood up and said this:

“—This is my reply. I trust you understand.”

“Lord Yaosuke.”

“Please do not touch me.”

He pulled away from the young lady’s hands that sought to cling to him.

“When my mother died, Lord Gonemon held her funeral. In return, I’ll have your parents and two brothers released from prison—a debt is a debt.”

“Wait—please wait!”

The young lady looked this way with eyes burning with entreaty,

“O-Sen has no other wishes left—only that you allow her to remain by your side, by your side in this house, Lord Yaosuke.”

And the young lady prostrated herself in tears, mustering every ounce of her allure, charm, and coyness with the utmost artistry—but Yaosuke paid her no heed and descended into the garden.

True to his word as a man, Yaosuke loaded sacks of gold dust onto a horse and set off for Kudamatsu Prison.
No sooner had he announced himself as Tamatsukuri Yaosuke than he was met with “You’re under arrest!”—and immediately had ropes thrown around him and was dragged to the courthouse.

The story now approached its conclusion, and just as the author had begun to relax—what a dramatic twist this was! But wait—Yaosuke himself remained utterly unperturbed; thus, something was certain to follow. Let us bear with it a little longer.
The sand-strewn court was prepared. In the judge’s seat, the magistrate from the main castle had come on official business, with his assistants, clerks, and constables solemnly arrayed.
Moreover, below them—lo and behold—Gonemon of Kuromon waited as a witness, and the presiding judge was none other than Magistrate Kanoe Gohee through astonishing coincidence.
Indeed, this was none other than Magistrate Kanoe—the very same esteemed magistrate of Sodegata Village.

“Are the preparations complete? Then let us commence—*ahem*.”

Magistrate Kanoe cleared his throat in this manner and set about performing this solemn duty.
The issue at hand was none other than Gonemon Muto’s lawsuit from prison, which could be summarized as follows: “The Tamatsukuri family has resided in Hora County since time immemorial, amassing immense wealth through their hereditary trade of jewel crafting. Yet despite all gemstone ores being excavated from Mochiyama—the county’s own territory—they concealed this fact to deceive authorities, illegally evaded tribute taxes and corvée labor, thereby hoarding riches rivaling those of princes.”
This was the nature of the complaint.
What a grand occasion—the honorable magistrate from the main castle presiding over this trial! Magistrate Kanoe, resolved to showcase his prowess with every ounce of his ability strained to its limit, read aloud the principal complaint.
It was a splendid performance.
He was satisfied, stole a glance at His Lordship the Magistrate’s countenance, and further gratified, he deliberately began the interrogation.

“By this indictment, there exists none as unconscionable as you!”

Magistrate Kanoe Gohee found himself suddenly glared at,

"What do you take your superiors to be? I am revered as the bribe-taking magistrate of Sodegata Village—a solemn fact known to all!"

A restless stir rippled through the courtroom—somewhere, someone stifled a snicker. Magistrate Kanoe tilted his head slightly but continued with unshakable confidence:

"No—it's absolutely no lie! I am a man who has never once passed judgment without taking bribes—wh-wh-"

The magistrate, startled, covered his mouth with both hands and nervously glanced around—as for the courtroom’s suppressed giggles, meaningful glances, and eavesdropping born of curiosity and mob mentality, one could well imagine them—while Magistrate Kanoe raised his voice even higher:

“—Here stands none so unconscionable as you, Tamatsukuri Yaosuke! Just a year ago, you came to file charges against this witness Gonemon Muto’s ruthless villainy—villainy so blatant it stains the entire county! Thus, as a fair magistrate, I engaged in earnest discussions with Gonemon.”

“Magistrate Kanoe—this can’t be! Magistrate Kanoe!”

Unable to endure any longer, Lord Gonemon from the witness seat called out—but Magistrate Kanoe, sweat streaming from his brow and eyes blazing with anger, continued his argument.

“Silence! I am the magistrate among magistrates! Precisely because Gonemon is wicked and lawless did I hold discussions with him—taking five ryō in bribes from him to administer fifty lashes to you, Yaosuke! For what reason? Because not only did you file a complaint about such blatant facts, but you offered not half a sen in bribes—proof you neither revere authority nor fear the law! Laws do not function without bribes! There has never been a magistrate without bribes! Bribery—this world is bribery through and through!”

At this moment, had His Lordship the Magistrate in attendance not roared forth and the four officers not rushed to restrain him, Magistrate Kanoe would surely have expounded further his boundless discourse on bribery, and the courtroom would have taken on the appearance of a tavern or farcical play—though why Magistrate Kanoe delivered such arguments remains beyond even this author’s discernment. Let me instead inform you solely of this: during these arguments, Yaosuke secretly muttered something (you likely already surmise what it was).

Magistrate Kanoe was arrested on charges of corruption in office, and Gonemon was also returned to prison.
His Lordship the Magistrate once again invited Yaosuke to a separate room and offered him tea and confections along with a formal condolence address.
There Yaosuke presented the sacks of gold dust he had brought on his horse and dedicated them—declaring them for civil governance.
Everything was settled with the best possible outcome—what had been taken was taken back, and what needed to be paid was paid.
After settling accounts neatly and leaving the magistrate’s office, someone suddenly clung to Yaosuke—behold—oh my!—it was none other than the resplendent Lady O-Sen!

“I heard everything—that my father sued you—but you are unharmed! How dreadfully I agonized—how dreadfully!”

“Please release that grip.”

“No, I shan’t release it! O-Sen shall never leave your side! For I am your wife—no matter what befalls us, never, never—”

Having pleaded this far, the young lady shrieked—she had thought she was clutching Yaosuke’s sleeve, but now found herself clinging to a notice board pillar instead, with Yaosuke nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, what an insufferable blockhead!”
The young lady stomped her feet and glared upward as she berated him, “You blockhead—you don’t understand my beauty at all! How infuriating!”

Having completed his business in Fukiya Village, Yaosuke set out on a journey to search for Dekiroku, it is said.
Thus, we humbly conclude the first tale here.