Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Inzumi Province’s Sakai was the only free city in medieval Japan.
In the fourth year of Eiroku (1561), Father Vilela—who had come to Sakai for Christian missionary work—recorded: “While other cities were ravaged by war, Sakai alone maintained peace, independence, privileges, and freedom, thriving in utmost tranquility under a republican government, its state being just like that of Venice.”
Indeed, Sakai was an independent free city—it possessed vast wealth, abundant goods imported from overseas, and even an arms factory.
Thus, even the brave warlords of the Sengoku period had to bow their knees to Sakai and beg for military supplies.

However, things like freedom, peace, and independence must surely hinder and poison human culture, for they wilt as easily as morning glories and, like a beauty's countenance, never endure.
Sakai City was no exception—the time soon came when it would be struck down.
Oda Nobunaga hauled away vast amounts of gold and supplies; Toyotomi Hideyoshi filled in the moats surrounding three sides of the city and forcibly relocated the Assembly of Merchants (Sakai's warehouse merchants and administrators of the republican government) to Osaka.
In the nineteenth year of Keichō (1614), it became a battleground between the Eastern and Western armies during the Winter Siege of Osaka, and in the Summer Siege was utterly reduced to ashes.
Having become unambiguously scorched earth, it came under the direct control of the Tokugawa clan through establishment of the magistrate system called the "Sakai Magistrate Office."
—Thus did Sakai's "Free City" character—once compared to Venice of Southern Europe—become dismantled in accordance with historical laws, flattened clean by the millstone of elimination until finally ending as nothing more than a magistrate seat under the shogunate.

Five years after becoming a burned field, the filled-in moats were restored, land divisions were established, and many houses were built.
Sakai faced the sea to the west and had moats on three sides.
The only way to enter or exit was via bridges spanning these moats; each bridge had a guardhouse that strictly monitored contraband smuggling—the surveillance was so stringent that one had to take utmost care.
At the town's approximate center along its north-south axis—a place called Tonobaba—stood the Sakai Magistrate Office, complete with residences for yoriki and dōshin officials. Along the north and south avenues stood wealthy merchants' and warehouse operators' residential storehouses, earthen warehouses, wholesalers, and shops, while shipping warehouses lined Ōchōhama facing the sea.
Although five temple roofs could be seen here and there... the commoners’ residential areas looked utterly wretched—less like a beggars’ colony and more like lumps of charred stakes bound with straw mats.
Of course, there were still empty grounds left as burned ruins everywhere, with the huts of even poorer people scattered across them.
At every crossroads stood official notices, upon which ordinances like these were posted.

1. One go of rice per person per day.

2. Alcohol, sweets, and tobacco are strictly prohibited.

3. Miso, soy sauce, and salt shall comply with periodic notices.

4. Clothing, furniture, household utensils, and similar items shall not be newly acquired.

5. Lighting shall be prohibited even at night.

The above were the main ones; over thirty additional articles of prohibition laws had been enumerated.
"Fish: once every twenty days"
"Vegetables: five momme per person every ten days"
"Straw sandals: half-foot length," "Obi: three feet," and similar restrictions—it stated that violators would be strictly punished.
In other words, life here seemed to have been trussed up in every direction—shackles on hands, feet, and neck before being hoisted onto a raised platform.—But look here, people were indeed surviving! In the bone-chilling early evening, three shabby-looking men walked through the crossroads under the watchtower—hooded and wearing swords, yet with shoulders hunched against the cold... The tall, lean man was called "Chūjō"; the stout one with a boar-like neck was "Gondō"; while the bearishly bearded man with an absurdly gentle voice went by "Moku."
They had fought in drawn-sword assault units during the Osaka campaigns, but now earned their keep by brandishing blades on night roads and breaking uninvited into others’ homes.
The three of them talked as they walked.

“Past Tsunbo Well, turn left at the willow—tightly now—and it’ll be right under your nose, eh Moku?”

Gondō said while shivering, his words terribly foul,

"The master's still a greenhorn silver handler—nothin' but a half-dead geezer servant and some shriveled crone cookin' rice. Place is surrounded by scrawny pines and frozen daikon fields—that's how it lays."

"Hmph. Good enough,"

Chūjō snapped mockingly,

"—As if."
"You mean there's actually somethin' there?"

Moku spoke in his feminine lilt,

"Ahem—to put it metaphorical-like—it's Ishiyama's stones."

“Moku’s no good with symbolism, but this one’s worth biting into. That’s right, Chūjō—we made sure Ishiyama’s got stones aplenty. There’s this money exchanger called Mochigi Nariuke in Ebisu District—him and Nishihama’s warehouse operator Kitarokuya Idehira built three storehouses each in no time after coming to Sakai. Top-tier moneybags, I tell ya. And that silver handler across Tsunbo Well I mentioned? He’s stashed twenty or thirty thousand-ryō chests at Mochigi Nariuke’s place.”

“If you don’t believe me, Chūjō—”

Moku fluttered his fingers,

“How about we go to that house after dark—quietly now—and listen close? We’ll know for sure then—when the temple bell strikes twelve.”

“There’s meat on that bone! You hear that, Chūjō? Gold clinking every night—counting koban till their fingers bleed, every damn night!”

“Understood. We’ll manage it tonight.”

At the corner of the town stood a guardhouse. Just as they were approaching it, a girl came clattering up from behind, overtook the three of them, and rushed into the guardhouse.

II

“It’s terrible! Please come!”

The girl shouted like a madwoman,

“Right now burglars have broken in and are trying to take everything from the house.
Please hurry, hurry and come!”

Inside the guardhouse were three guards.
They had lit a fire in the dirt-floor hearth, grilling dried fish over it, and were just beginning to warm sake for drinking.
“A burglary, you say?” said one of the guards, puffing out his cheeks in irritation.
“That’s not here—wrong department. Coming here to report such things—completely wrong department! This is no joke—a burglary? Pah!”

“Then where? Where should I go to get help?”

The girl screamed, half-mad with panic,

“This is already the third time! They’re taking everything! Where can I go to get help? Which office handles this?”

“Yeah, right—must’ve been Hirokoji’s notice board area, I think.”

“I’ve already been to the guardhouse at the notice board.”

“Then it might be Nishihama.”

The guard said this while transferring grilled dried fish onto a plate,

“They keep changing jurisdictions these days. Yeah, probably Nishihama.”

The girl dashed off toward Nishihama, muttering “Will I make it? Will I make it?” with all the frenzy of an actual madwoman now—while the three villains turned right after calling out “Evenin’, gents” to the guardhouse, Gondō shuddering violently as he sniffed back snot.

When they’d gone some way into Yuya-chō, mournful weeping from a woman and child came through the left-side house.

Stopping short, they heard a ferocious shout drowning out those cries.

The three instinctively hunched their shoulders.

For these were voices from magistrate’s office officials—who roared thus:

“The official prohibition states one go of rice per person per day, you hear? For a family of five, that’d be five go. Which makes each meal’s portion one go, six shaku, six bu, six rin, and six mo—you hear? But look inside this pot here! There’s over three go in here!”

“I deeply apologize.”

It was the wife’s voice, pleading in distress.

“My husband works unloading cargo at Ōhama, and with a fifteen- and thirteen-year-old in their growing phases, we can’t survive on five go a day—so we’ve been selling what little we have…”

“Shut your mouth, you wretch! How dare a lowly commoner like you slander the governance?”

The officials screamed,

“The Law is supreme and inviolable—firstly, you hear? Laws are established for the authorities’ convenience, not for wretched lowlifes like you! You lot need only obey! One go per person per day—if the Law commands it, then one go per day! Whether you can survive on that is an entirely separate matter, you hear? The Law orders compliance—it doesn’t order you to live! This pot of rice is confiscated! Hand over every grain you’ve got! Try anything funny and we’ll string you up!”

However, at the neighboring house as well, they were at it—here, there were three officials.
And at the next house over as well.
The third official seemed drunk, his speech slurred. “Take a good look at me!”

he was declaring,

“How’s this—am I dead? (hic) Do corpses walk around or talk? (hic) I’m an official of the Sakai Magistrate’s Office! But I don’t cheat! When they say one go per day, I’m grateful—I make do with one go! No lies or secrets! The gods and buddhas—(hic)—they don’t overlook—no, see right through everything!”

“And I’m alive—proof right here! Yet you lowly scum claim to be alive too—suspicious! Impossible! A damn miracle! What’s there now—(hic)—must be watery gruel, right? But by mornin’ or noon, there’s gotta be cheatin’! Me—an official of the Sakai Magistrate’s Office—I live on one go a day! How the hell can scum like you survive on one go? The gods see everything! That kinda—(hic)—logic don’t hold! Hand over the rice—we’re searchin’ this house!”

“Ugh…”

Gondō groaned in reluctant admiration,

“Officials are educated folks—they lay out proper logic. Get hit with that kinda reasoning and you can’t even squeak—brr, freezing! Let’s dash!”

In the middle of the town district stood a house with eaves lanterns labeled “Oyasumi-dokoro.” Gondō’s two allies entered there.
It was strange enough to see eaves lanterns displayed under the lighting ban, but stepping inside rendered that trivial—huge hachiken hanging lanterns dotted the space, alongside paper lamps and candlesticks, bathing the entire house in a glare so intense it dazzled the eyes. Though the stools in the dirt-floor area had been put away, all ten-odd rooms—large and small—were packed with patrons: some arranging sake bottles beside lavish platters of fish and fowl, others scattering grains from polished rice bowls, their singing voices and clapping hands weaving a scene where prohibition laws might as well have been leaves tossed to the wind.
When Gondō showed his face at the kitchen, a woman in her late twenties appeared.
Her eyes and lips were lewdly alluring yet exquisitely refined—she came to the dirt-floor area and nodded gracefully to the three.

“You must be freezing—good work. I’ll have a cup poured for you, so drink up. Gon—you take that stool down. Yes, the corner’s better—let me make this clear: don’t go collapsing on me tonight. This job’s too important, got it?”

“I got it, Osugi, Sis. But you sure about this?”

Gondō, shivering again, looked toward the parlor.

“There seem to be a lot of officials over there.”

“They’re officials—that’s why it’s safe. Just the usual honorable invitation for the gentlemen—nothing to be shocked about.”

In this one dim corner of the dirt-floor area, the trio began drinking sake with quiet restraint.

Well then, during this lull, let us take a look at the inner parlor—the innermost, most luxurious parlor of all.

III

There gathered the invited gentlemen and high-ranking officials from among those summoned.
These so-called gentlemen included Tamaruya Masuzō the rice wholesaler, Oritsuya Dennai the silk and cotton clothier, Mizuoya Warisuke the sake merchant—along with fishmongers and dry goods dealers... or rather, observe instead the moneychanger Mochigi Nariuke seated nearby! Why, this was none other than Nariki Mochisuke himself! The counterfeit forger known as Yamishichi, who had failed to become son-in-law to Lord Gonemon of Hora District's wealthy family and fled his own wedding feast!
Moreover, the man sitting beside him—ah, what a fateful coincidence!—was Kitarokuya Idehira of the warehouse trade, that very Dekiroku! The rebellious servant who once threatened pitiful young Yaosuke during his travels, robbed him blind, and left him for dead—that Dekiroku!
According to Gondō's earlier account, these two were said to be the masterminds behind Dekibungen—one a moneychanger, the other in warehousing. Having arrived in Sakai not long before, they had already amassed enough wealth to build three storehouses. Indeed, both cut splendid figures and carried themselves as consummate gentlemen through and through.
...Now let us introduce the guests: the portly man at the center of the head position was Minoga Sanzō, chief assistant magistrate of the office; to his left sat Kaikyo Ta Kuro, second assistant magistrate; to his right Yado Shinpei; and beside him Ikena Kanbei—all eminent executives of the magistrate's office.

“Morality has truly fallen into disarray.”

Magistrate Minoga Sanzō drained his cup with evident bitterness,

“No matter how many Prohibition Laws we decree, they flout them—stuffing themselves till their bellies burst while ignoring others’ plight, guzzling sake in shadows, sneaking off for illicit purchases! And all while muttering slander against our governance! With such conduct, how could Sakai’s restoration ever materialize? What has this age come to?”

“In essence, it’s the people’s moral corruption.”

Yado Shinpei indignantly poured sake into his bowl’s lid, gulped it down, and glared.

“This won’t do. We must first revitalize the spirit of quasi-laws, social morality, and conscience.”
“If alcohol is prohibited—hmph!—one must resolutely abstain. That is order! Yet these commoners cry, ‘Oi, there’s no sake!’—then violate the ban to drink! Is it any wonder order collapses?”

“You’re being too lenient.”

Having said this, Ikena Kanbei poked at the salt-grilled sea bream.

“We need to squeeze them tighter—relentlessly. There’s no other way with these lowly commoners.”

“That is precisely why I must request even stricter enforcement.”

The rice wholesaler Tamaruya addressed them,

"The paupers slip across the moat at night to buy rice illegally in Kawachi Province—they say the price there's about one-fifth of ours. Lately, hardly anyone comes to our back door anymore. I can't help worrying about our business prospects."

"No, that's the same for cotton, thread, silk fabrics, and hemp cloth."

Oritsuya Dennai bared his buckteeth,

“After all, they all sneak across the moat to buy outside—why do you think that is? Precisely because of the Prohibition Laws, we’re properly conducting business through the back door! Yet they babble about prices being too high or goods being shoddy—sure, some cotton cloth wears through in three days! Some thread might be too frayed to sew with! But so what? Goods are goods! Three shaku of cotton cloth means three shaku! One spool means one spool! We deliver exactly what’s promised! And considering we’re selling banned items under the table, high prices are only natural! These stray dogs don’t grasp this logic—they go sneaking off to buy elsewhere! They mock your governance and aim to bankrupt us! At this rate, we absolutely must—”

“Your enforcement is quite strict, but it needs to be more thorough.”

The fish wholesaler shook his head worriedly,

“Some among them catch and eat fish themselves—this renders the Prohibition Laws mandating consumption once every twenty days utterly void, and our business that sustains itself through these laws can no longer function. I earnestly implore you to enforce stricter measures.”

Let us excuse ourselves from this earnest discussion.
In the other room, lower-ranking officials were drinking heartily—drinking, eating, then drinking again—all while spittle flew from their lips as they raged against societal decay and denounced the moral corruption and shamelessness of the people. "In short, they’re monkeys! Dogs! Pigs!" they bellowed.
Meanwhile in another area: "Hey, where’s Osugi?"
They shouted boisterously with cries of "Where’d Osugi go?" while others among them were likely reading works by the then-popular Professor Hayashi Fusō,

“Our princess Madonna—where’d she get off to now?”

There were even those showing off their Arabic phrases and such.
As for Osugi herself—she was in a detached small room, engaged in some cat-related wordplay... Wait, “wildcat” meant post office strikes and “seagull” referred to black-tailed gulls—yes, yes, she was playfully engaging in this *shin neko* tête-à-tête. But who was her partner? Astonishingly, it wasn’t a human at all—it was a wooden doll, about three shaku tall, painted in vibrant colors and carved into the likeness of a young man.
A doll and *shin neko*?
――There indeed was Sis Osugi before a feast of sake and dishes, curving her body into a C-shape as she snuggled up to the doll, persistently casting seductive glances while trying to woo it.

“Oh please say something, Young Master. Don’t you think it’s pitiful, making a woman like me go this far?”

IV

“I’m not saying anything like making me your wife, you know.”

Osugi's Madonna continued thus,

“I despise things like marriage—the very word ‘wife’ is an insult, you know? It’s like being called garnish on a sashimi platter! No, I’m a supporter of Professor Ochimura Taijiro’s teachings—if you feel love and desire, you should act on it with anyone, anywhere! That’s the liberation of humanity! Isn’t it a splendidly modern theory? Now that this philosophy exists, we needn’t fear being called profiteers or wanton hussies! Young Master, let’s live the Ochimura-style way!”

The wooden statue gave no answer.
Sis Osugi, now thoroughly dazed, wrapped her arms around the wooden statue’s torso and pressed her face against it as she embraced it—it had grown thoroughly unsettling. Had Sis gone mad from her devotion to Ochimura theory, or had some spirit bewitched her? At any rate, finding this too eerie to bear, we shall excuse ourselves and peek back into the main room.
The discussions between the executive officials and merchant gentlemen had concluded—namely: reducing allocations of staple and non-staple foods along with daily necessities, doubling prices, strictly cracking down on illegal purchases, and subjecting offenders to inverted crucifixion.
This conclusion declared it to be "the supreme law for guaranteeing the livelihoods of the poor and honest—through which we shall foster among the populace a sense of social solidarity, self-restraint, and awakened moral conscience."
The fairness and logical coherence of this would undoubtedly have sent Gondō into raptures if someone were to tell him about it.
Before long, the officials—having drunk their fill and eaten their fill—stuffed the gifts from the gentlemen into their pockets and left their seats in exceedingly good spirits.
The banquet had come to an end.

They all left together, but soon only three men returned.
They were Chief Magistrate Minoga Sanzō, Mochigi Nariuke, and Kitarokuya Idehira.
The returning trio closed the sliding paper doors and sat with their knees nearly touching.
Magistrate Minoga’s plump, round face now wore a taut severity, his voice resonating with low solemnity.

“A messenger has arrived from Edo.”
Magistrate Minoga announced: “An inspector will come at the start of next month. We must finish our work before then. Kitarokuya’s warehouse stands ready—Mochigi, what of the funds?”

“Three thousand or five—I can produce either sum immediately.”

Nariuke smiled faintly,

“Should more prove necessary, I shall make arrangements to gather it.”

“We’ll need at least twenty crates. With twenty-four or twenty-five days left, if we tighten control over food supplies drastically, the legal reserve quota should be met. In ten days, rice will arrive from Higo and Shōnai. Then we’ll bundle up all the stockpiled goods we’ve hidden so far.”

“Tamaruya and Oritsuya—these two are quite the troublesome ones.”

“They’re trying to move the goods themselves,” said Mochigi Nariuke with an air of discernment. “If they find out the inspector’s coming, they won’t budge an inch.”

“Of course, this is all strictly confidential. If those two hesitate to release the goods, we can always charge them with possession of prohibited items. In any case, hurry the financial arrangements.”

Suddenly, a voice cried out, “I heard you! I heard you!”
The three men were so startled they nearly leapt into the air. Magistrate Minoga grabbed his sword and looked around while shouting, “Who’s there?!” but found no one else in the room besides themselves. “How strange—”
When the three men involuntarily exchanged glances,

“Hey! It’s here! Here! Right before your eyes!”

the voice declared.

“Here I am! Can’t you see me?”

With these words, the warmed sake decanter atop the dining tray swayed violently from side to side.
The three men started anew—first stunned speechless, then shuddering uncontrollably.
The sake decanter alone sprang onto the tatami mat and began swaying tauntingly from side to side as it uttered terrifying words.

“I’ve uncovered your schemes—colluding with officials and merchants to impose consumption bans, restricting people’s lives to hoard all goods, not just reaping exorbitant profits through backdoor dealings but diverting stockpiled supplies for massive gains. Now you’ve heard the shogunate’s inspector is coming and plan to offload your hoard for one last windfall. But it’s impossible. Every hidden item belongs to the people—surpluses wrung from their extreme austerity and unjustly inflated prices. You must return it all—everything—to them. Understood, gentlemen?”

With a shout of “Ei!”, Magistrate Minoga struck the warmed sake decanter with a sudden strike.
The warmed sake decanter floated lightly into the air, moved over to Magistrate Minoga, and tipped sideways; drenched head to toe in sake, he swung his sword wildly in anger.

“Ahahahaha! I’ll see you again!”

No sooner had the sake decanter mocked them than it came falling down onto Kitarokuya Idehira, struck his head, and split into three pieces with a crash.
The three men frantically pounced on the decanter fragments, picking up each piece to examine them meticulously—but they were mere shards devoid of any trickery or mechanism, with nothing remaining to prove supernatural intervention.
The three men exchanged blank looks—then suddenly burst into shrill laughter.
As they say, intense emotional agitation compels humans to laugh—the three men, their faces pale and greasy sweat streaming down their foreheads, cackled and cackled.

“This is absurd! Such a thing can’t possibly happen!”
Magistrate Minoga declared with a laugh, “What cannot exist has no reason to be!
“A poor joke! What is there to fear? Child’s tricks! We are absolutely secure!”

V

“He’s leaving, Sis! Your guest is departing!”

Hearing this voice, Sis Osugi hazily raised herself.

“How noisy! You’re just a lowly clerk yet act so self-important—Young Master, do excuse me for a moment.”

Having said this, she pressed her cheek against the one she was holding—but the moment she did,

“Eek!”

With a terrible scream, she leapt back.
What tumbled from Osugi’s arm was the very same wooden doll you all know.
It was neither Young Master nor anything of the sort.
When she realized it was an authentic wooden doll after all, Sis ground her teeth in humiliation and blurted out words of the utmost vulgarity—a vocabulary that defies reproduction here.

Just then, one of the maids came running over.

“Sis Osugi, what’re ya doin’? Yer guest’s leavin’.”

“Heard ya th’ first time! Quit yer yappin’!”

Sis picked up the fallen hairpin and stood up while frantically jabbing at the roots of her hair.

“Do you know what happened to the Young Master?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? He left quite some time ago.”

Osugi went out to the shop.

After seeing off His Lordship Minoga, Sis Osugi immediately hurried at a trot to the earthen-floored entrance. There sat Gondō, Chūjō, and Moku drinking; they seemed in high spirits, humming tunes between sips, but set down their cups when they saw Sis’s face.

“A magistrate’s man just slipped out the side gate—Minoga Sanzō, that fat samurai. He’s heading back to his yoriki residence in Kojimachi. You three go settle him proper. Should be stuffed full tonight—don’t botch it.”

“Understood.”

The three men stood up as soon as they said this, nodded to each other, and went out.

Emerging from Ichimachi onto the main road and heading north, His Lordship Minoga walked alone through the streets late into the night—Zaimoku-chō, Shinmei-chō, Kugatsu-chō, Yanagi-chō… Though there were no lanterns, it was a fine moonlit night. His Lordship Minoga seemed troubled by something, tilting his head and muttering to himself as he turned right at the corner of Nishiki-chō.
At that very moment, Moku—one of the three who had been tailing him from behind—swiftly overtook His Lordship Minoga,

“Pardon my abruptness, but may I ask...”

he called out courteously.
The man reflexively reached for his sword and spread his stance,

“Who are you?!” he shouted—whereupon Chūjō struck the man’s head from behind with a club.
With a solid thud, His Lordship Minoga let out a soft groan, pitched forward and collapsed, then released a deep sigh as if relieved before losing consciousness.

“The sake tonight wasn’t bad.”

Gondō and Chūjō untied the victim’s hakama strings while saying,

“Yeah, that’s right—easy pickin’s.”

“Here’s the wallet—clinkin’ heavy, no lie!”
“Quit bein’ disgusting.”

“Now, that won’t do.”

Moku spoke in a feminine voice,

“It’s better we strip him clean after all—the profligacy of a fool’s son.”

“Here we go again! What’s the damn punchline here?”

“To put it plainly—nakedness brings swift awakening.”

“Ain’t wrong—gotta bite hard on that bone too.”

And so the trio stripped His Lordship Minoga naked, bundled his garments into a single roll, and stood up to make off.
But at the same time, Gondō called out "Hey, wait!" and stopped the two.

“This wallet’s got near a hundred ryō in it. Listen up, Chūjō, Moku—we’ve done some nasty jobs under Sis Osugi to earn our keep, but it’s ’bout time we stood on our own feet. Three full-grown men riskin’ our necks crossin’ dangerous bridges, only for Sis alone to skim eighty percent off the top? That don’t sit right. How ’bout we cut ties with her right here?”

“Nah, enough dawdlin’. I’m a man too—let’s go, that’s it.”

"I also agree."

Moku also fluttered his fingers as he said this,

“Let’s do it. You see—in other words—”

“Well, keep the symbolic stuff for now—once we’ve settled our discussion, let’s take care of that plan from earlier tonight.”

Gondō began walking,

“The house beyond the Deafman’s Well—there’s bound to be a tidy sum there for the taking. Once we’ve got it, let’s sell off this land, yeah?”

“No good—hurry-hurry!”

“Moku’s right. Let’s hurry—gotta cross the moat.”

The trio hurried west along the road.

In the moat of Zaimoku-Uchiku-chō, a small boat waited at night.
This boat existed for citizens to slip out at night to procure food supplies—a service provided by minor officials at the guard posts as a side hustle, who even gave advance warnings during crackdowns, which was why these three found it so convenient to use.
They crossed the moat in this boat; beyond lay a purely rural landscape—paddies, fields, and forests bathed in blue moonlight, with farmhouses near and far appearing hazily through the mist.
Following the moat for five or six chō brought one near the northern edge of Shōson Village, where a path led to an ominous Jizō statue called Kubikiri Jizo. Beside it stood a wild well—known for unclear reasons as the Deafman’s Well—and beyond this well, meandering down to the right through a pine forest, a house immediately came into view.

“That’s the one.”

Gondō whispered this to Chūjō,

“Let’s go quietly—they’re surely counting money again. Moku, take this kimono.”

The trio stealthily approached from the radish field’s direction.
The house stood newly built yet modest—a retirement cottage spanning just over twenty tsubo. Gondō took point, creeping toward the room leaking faint lamplight.
He gestured to Chūjō: “Listen in.” Chūjō cocked his ear.
There it was—clink, clink... The unmistakable chime of gold coins. Chūjō gulped loudly before slinking up to peer through the latticed shutters.
Inside, a young man counted gold beneath a short lamp’s glow.
This had to be Gondō’s “wet-behind-the-ears money exchanger”—a vision of masculine beauty clad in extravagant silks. Ah! He lifts his face now, dear audience! Behold—our protagonist, Tamatsukuri Yaosuke himself!

**Six**

The trio huddled in the frost-covered radish field and discussed their assault plan.
The trio were now panting; they had seen with their own eyes the mountain of thousand-ryō chests piled in the room—those would soon belong to them.
The wealth of kings, the guarantee of pleasure, ease, and freedom—what exhilarating fortune this was! They were thrilled and raring to go,

“Enough with these Odawara debates!”

Gondō stood up.

“They’re just that young punk and a couple of old geezers. We’re the badasses who fought in the drawn-sword assault unit during the Osaka Campaign—let’s bust in!”

“Yeah yeah, no need t’ complicate shit—let’s wreck ’em!”

Chūjō also said this and rolled up his sleeves.—Moku tied the items stripped from Lord Minoga onto his back, the three each prepared themselves, and then they slipped out of the radish field and crept toward the house’s back entrance.

They opened a door that seemed to lead to the kitchen—a dark dirt floor.
A door with lamplight seeping through was visible ahead. "—Alright?"

With these words, Gondō drew his sword; Moku and Chūjō likewise drew theirs as they synchronized their breathing.
Gondō suddenly thrust open the door—only to find another pitch-dark dirt floor where he’d expected people.
This time, a door with lamplight seeping through appeared on the left side. “Aha—here it is!”
Gondō declared—and sure enough, an entrance step stood there.
Keeping his shoes on, Gondō stepped up and pressed his eye against the door to peer inside.
But the dimness made it hard to see. He quietly opened the door and ventured in—the moment he did, Gondō stepped into empty air, somersaulted, and plummeted downward. Convinced he’d fallen into a bottomless chasm, he screamed, “Help me!”
When Chūjō and Moku peered down in shock, they found he’d merely tumbled onto an ordinary dirt floor—no chasm in sight.

“That scared the life outta me!”

Gondō stood up while spitting mud from his mouth and rubbing his waist,

“No matter where we go, it’s just goddamn dirt floors—I can’t make heads or tails of this!”

“Right, I’ll try. Ain’t no problem.”

Chūjō scanned his surroundings intently, set his course to the right, and moved forward.
He immediately bumped into a door.
Caution above all.
When he listened intently, voices could be heard. “Here,” Chūjō whispered and, regripping his sword, flung the door open with a clatter.
Yet again—pitch blackness and another dirt floor. The trio erupted in fury.
Like panicked hares they lunged at every door, bursting through each one only to find endless dark dirt floors stretching in all directions—no proper rooms anywhere to be seen.

“Hey! You bastard in this house! Get out here!”

The trio marched from one dirt-floored area to another, shouting like this.

“Can’t you see this sword?! Hand over every last coin! Spout any nonsense and you’re dead! Hey! Where are you hiding?! Get out here!”

“If you don’t come out, you’re dead! We’re the dregs of the Drawn-Sword Assault Unit—men who laugh at death!”

“Quit screwin’ around or you’re dead! We’ll slaughter every last one of ya!”

But no one answered at all—every direction they turned led only to dark dirt-floored spaces, with no trace of human presence.
Eventually, all three of them grew exhausted from walking and, having worn themselves out with shouting, became thoroughly sick of it all.

“This is hopeless. We can’t handle this.”

Gondō eventually stopped,

“Let’s call it a night and try again another time, shall we?”

“Yeah, I’m beat.”

Chūjō shook his head in exasperation. “Gimme sleep.”

So with the decision to leave, the trio dragged their weary legs back the way they’d come—this time too it was a journey from dirt floor to dirt floor. No matter how many times they went through it, it remained an endless succession of dark dirt floors.
Gondō couldn’t take it anymore and shouted.

“Hey! Quit your sinful tricks! Where’s the damn exit?!”

When dawn broke, the sky cleared into a pristine morning. Tamatsukuri Yaosuke emerged from the Tamatsukuri residence, clad in his signature resplendent attire with a golden longsword at his side—hatless and handsome as if he’d stepped straight from a painting—holding a fan in his right hand as he strolled leisurely away. Exiting the pine forest and approaching the Deaf Well, he came upon a half-collapsed storage shed and glanced back at it—inside were three men: Chūjō, Gondō, and Moku. Groping blindly, they stumbled about within the shed while muttering things like, “We’re fine now—the exit’s close.”

“Don’t wander off—just a little longer. Keep your spirits up!”

And they were going around in circles inside the narrow shed.
Tamatsukuri Yaosuke smiled gently and, while gazing at the clear sky, strolled leisurely past.

About thirty days had passed since he arrived in Sakai. He had already investigated the city’s corruption, deceit, and depravity, and learned firsthand of the citizens’ plight—starving, freezing, and weeping from scarcity of supplies.
On one front, he had driven that servant Dekiroku into a corner there and assigned Mochigi the counterfeiter to a crucial position.—Just as Naruki Mochisuke had emerged in Shimatsu before, there too he was certain to play a pivotal role.

Now, Yaosuke first stopped by the money exchanger Mochigi Nariuke’s shop.

“What? Young Master Tamamura?!”

Nariuke leapt up—Yaosuke being Nariuke’s legendary benefactor and golden-opportunity financier, apparently called that here—and dashed out into the shop.

“Well now! Young Master Tamamura, what an honor! Last night you never did grace anyone’s sleeve in the end, did you?”

“I did go.”

Tamatsukuri Yaosuke passed through to the back while,

“I did go, but Osugi caught me, you see—dragged me off to the annex and simply wouldn’t let go. So that’s why I came early this morning. Now, what’s this business about?”

Seven

“Hmm, twenty more boxes remaining, correct?”

Yaosuke listened to the other party’s explanation and nodded,

“That’s fine—combined, this makes fifty boxes. Mochigi, you do keep your abacus skills sharp, don’t you?”

“With all due respect, I’m a businessman too—I don’t handle sums this large without clear prospects. To be frank—regarding that magistrate’s office official I mentioned earlier. Since you’re my benefactor, Young Master, I’ll confide this—this scheme was devised by three parties: this official called Mr. Minoga, Kitarokuya the warehouse lender, and myself. Should the bottom fall out, those two will merely shoulder the beams—but when disaster strikes, I alone will be left holding the rafters.”
“For your fifty-box investment, I guarantee at least twenty boxes in profit.”

“By saying that, aren’t you trying to make me carry the log too?”

“This is no joke—business may be a battle of wits, but investors are my lifeblood. If I were to do such a thing, Mochigi would never be able to show his face in society again.”

“To society, huh?”

Yaosuke laughed dryly.

“Then I’ll trust that and have twenty boxes delivered immediately. But if it’s fifty boxes in total, it can’t be for free—write me five promissory notes for 10,000 ryō each with a ten-day deadline.”

“Promissory notes, sir?”

“It’s just a formality. We can’t very well proceed without documentation. If you refuse—”

“Not at all—it’s perfectly acceptable!”

Nariuke made a slightly bitter face. This was because Mochigi’s promissory notes now carried the same credit as Keichō Ōban gold coins—though of course that credit stemmed entirely from Young Master Tamamura’s influence—and consequently he had never issued such notes except when equivalent to payments made in Keichō Ōban. Hmm—driven by self-preservation instinct—Nariuke felt momentarily conflicted; however, his counterpart was his sole financier, and the business stood as certain as an arrow shot into solid ground.

“That will be perfectly acceptable. I will write them immediately, so please wait a moment.”

With these words, Nariuke stood and left.

Shortly after leaving Mochigi’s place, Yaosuke headed straight down Hirokoji Avenue to visit Tamaruya Masuzo, a rice wholesaler in Kokumotsu-chō. Upon stating it was a confidential matter, he was guided to the storehouse reception room and there conferred with the proprietor Masuzo.
Yaosuke’s account didn’t seem particularly unexpected to Masuzo either.

“It’s likely just as you say, I expect.”
The old man said this and rubbed his hands.

“Mr. Minoga, Kitarokuya, and Mochigi—these three cannot be let out of one’s sight. We too have been viewing them as such. But is there... some loophole regarding this?”

“How much rice is there exactly?”

Yaosuke pressed further.

“Apart from the stored rice stipulated by the magistrate’s office regulations, how much rice is currently available?”

“Indeed—though I cannot state the precise figure—it would be approximately three thousand bales or more.”

“Then I will buy it.”

“Ah—you—...”

“I will.”

Yaosuke nodded nonchalantly,

"I'll have three ships docked at Nishihama by tonight. Please load them by dawn—I'll buy it all at this price."

He placed one of Mochigi's promissory notes there—3,000 bales for 10,000 ryō. At the period's standard rate of 60 ryō per 100 bales, this was exorbitant even considering inflated black market prices. With Mr. Minoga's unlawful diversion imminent, the note—issued by Mochigi whose credit equaled gold—stood legitimate.

“Or would you prefer I let those three profit?”

The moment Yaosuke smiled at him like this, Tamaruya's resolve was set.
The deal was settled, arrangements for tonight's cargo loading were in place, and Yaosuke—having left Tamaruya—headed straight to visit Oriya Den'nai, a kimono fabric and cotton wholesaler; Mio Warisuke, a sake wholesaler; and Minaya Kurazō, a marine products wholesaler. The final stop of his rounds was Kitarokuya Idehira. Standing before this house in Nishihama's district—with its imposing storefront and three large warehouses—Yaosuke lingered with a mysterious smile for some time.

“I am the proprietor of Kitarokuya.”

Idehira looked over the face of Yaosuke, who had come, with arrogant scrutiny,

“Is there something you require?”

“Are the warehouses available?”

Yaosuke said bluntly while standing,

“This much cargo will arrive within five or six days—take a look at this.”

What had been presented turned out to be an enormous cargo: seven bills of lading covering 5,000 bales of rice, 4,000 rolls of silk fabrics, 1,200 kan of cotton thread, 1,200 kan of marine products, 500 barrels of sake, 800 barrels of soy sauce and miso, and 300 barrels of oil.
Idehira glared wide-eyed at the young man’s face, then hurriedly looked back at the bills of lading.
They were bills of lading from Hyogo’s Wadayu Tobei—famous for his higakibune ships.

“This is your cargo, isn’t it?”

Idehira’s attitude changed abruptly—and not just his attitude; his gaze and expression transformed completely. “Well now, what’s this? With cargo of this sort, we typically provide accommodations, but as for that matter...”

“Just those bills alone won’t do—I’ll attach this too, so could you float me about five thousand ryō?”

Yaosuke said this and extended Mochigi’s promissory note,

“I need some pocket money for four or five days—just five boxes will do.”

Hearing that five thousand ryō was being requested as pocket money for four or five days, Idehira secretly clicked his tongue while simultaneously hatching a greedy plan.
This brat knows nothing! Mochigi’s promissory notes are as good as gold. Perfect—I’ll swindle him out of the full amount at five thousand ryō. I can just borrow the five thousand ryō I’m lending from Mochigi using the bills of lading. This guy’s a godsend like no other in recent times. With this thought, he leaned forward.

8

When Idehira borrowed five thousand ryō from Mochigi using the bills of lading, loaded them onto a horse, and delivered them to his house in northern Sonemura Village, Sleeve Osugi came rushing out from Yaosuke’s house in perfect counterpoint.
—This stunningly beautiful woman narrowed her eyes sharply, her face contorted with rage.

“What an insolent brat!” she muttered through gritted teeth as she hurried toward the deaf-mute well. “Making me fret endlessly—last night he tricked me into embracing a wooden doll, and today again with that... Ah, how infuriating! What should I do with him?”

As for today’s incident—though regrettably unseen—having stormed all the way to his main residence, she had likely fallen victim to the same trick involving that young male doll once more.
Burning with wrathful fury, she quickened her pace... when three men lumbered out from beside a peasant house’s stable up ahead and caught her eye. *They look familiar*—she halted mid-stride. The men likewise froze in shock.

“Gondō?!”

The madam widened her eyes and then shouted,

“Moku and Chūjō—what’s happened?”

“Well now, this is quite something, Sis.”
“I’m not your Sis.”

While saying this, Sis approached the three.

“You three vanished like stones thrown into pear trees after heading out last night! This morning I hear Minoga’s been stripped bare for sure. Certain you’d turned traitor and skedaddled, I went and reported your names to the magistrate’s office! Now what in blazes happened here?”

“Well, you see... it’s just that...”

Gondō was still dazedly shaking his head,

“Well, y’see, we got fox-tricked somethin’ fierce. Truth be told, there was this marked house—figured we’d hit it while we were at it, make some extra to please ya, Sis. Right, Moku?”

“In other words,”

Moku said with a face that still didn’t seem fully awake,

“From our perspective, you see... well, it’s that...”

“Enough with your riddles, Moku. What about this ‘marked house’ you mentioned?”

“That’s right nearby.”

Gondō pointed.

“It’s a lone house right there in the pine grove—master’s still a greenhorn silversmith, with just two withered old geezers living there.”
“And every night he’s clinking away with gold—”

“Hold on.”

Sis pursed her lips tightly,

“Isn’t that the house visible beyond the daikon field?”

“So that’s the house, but Sis—”

Gondō shook his head unsteadily, supplementing with gestures where words failed as he narrated in detail their grueling experience—beginning in the dirt-floored room and ending in the dirt-floored room—that had pushed hardship to its limits.

“So anyway—when we came to our senses, it was morning. There we were, the three of us wandering around in that storage shed over yonder. Then these peasants rescued us, sayin’ we must’ve been fox-tricked or somethin’, and they’d been lettin’ us sleep it off at their place till now. That’s how it went down. No damn honor left in us at all.”

Sis Osugi was a woman—a woman among women who epitomized femininity—and now her lips bore a smile brimming with the vulpine cunning and sadistic delight of her fox clan.

“So you’re doing it again, are you?”

Sis coldly declared,

“I’ve already reported your names to the magistrate’s office. You lot have no choice but to sell out Sakai now. Do it again tonight—that house is practically groaning with gold. Kitarokuya just delivered another five thousand ryō there. Tighten your loincloths and make a haul tonight. Then sell off the land. Otherwise—”

“But Sis, that house is already—”

“Channel the spirit of the Sword-Drawing Raiding Party!”

Sis’s eyes gleamed intently,

“Sneaking through the back door’s why you bungle things! Charge through the front entrance with the Sword-Drawing Raiding Party’s spirit! It’s just one youngster—you all are men, aren’t you? Get your act together! The gold’s practically groaning for the taking!”

Thus admonished, the three sat by the moat’s edge and waited for night to fall.
Indeed, sneaking through the back door was precisely why they kept bungling things—weren’t they the Sword-Drawing Raiding Party? Men ought to act with bold propriety in all things.
The items stripped from Lord Minoga had been confiscated by Sis, but since she’d left behind just the meal money, they’d managed to fill their stomachs.

“After all, Sis is Sis.”

Gondō sighed deeply after saying this many times over,

“Do it bold—you’re men, ain’t ya? Can’t keep goin’ like this. Hey—tonight’s the night we do it!”

“We’ll start clean—do it loud! No other way!”
“In other words—that is to say—it’s unpaid taxes.”

“There’s your signature move—and the punchline is ‘Moku’ every time!”

“Which means we’ll help ourselves without reserve.”

“Not bad at all. Let’s charge in with that spirit!”

Night had reached the first watch—moments after the ten o’clock bell tolled—when the three men boldly exited their base, plowed through the daikon field, and charged into the house’s entrance. Now embodying the Sword-Drawing Raiding Party’s momentum, they showed no restraint: sliding open the cedar door with a clatter, kicking through the sliding doors with muddy feet, and stomped inward—a thoroughly exhilarating advance, as if sweeping across an unpeopled plain.

“How’s that?”

The three exchanged glances; each man was a heroic free spirit; and there lay the master’s chamber.

“Alright—”

Gondō said this to his allies and kicked down the sliding door with a crash.
Behold—there sat Yaosuke in the room, a short lamp placed beside him as usual, counting golden-yellow koban coins. Gondō gripped his sword hilt and shouted at the top of his lungs: “May the heavens themselves split asunder!”

“Hey you! We’re survivors of the Sword-Drawing Raiding Party feared since the Osaka Campaign—hand over every coin you’ve got! Spout any nonsense and we’ll cut you down!”

“Hey there—”

Yaosuke calmly lifted his head,

"You seem quite spirited. Do you have some business?"

"Spouting calm nonsense, are ya? Hmph, look at this!"

Gondō tried to draw his sword with a forceful tug,

"This... this damn two-shaku-eight-sun blade—! Don't piss yourself in shock—this two-shaku..."

His face turned bright red as he strained, but the sword simply wouldn't budge. Gondō panicked, pouring all his strength into bending his body and pulling desperately.

“Wait! I’ll get this damn blade out—! Damn it, almost there—! Don’t piss yourself when you see this two-shaku-eight-sun monster!”

Moku and Chūjō, worried, came over.
Yaosuke began counting the koban gold coins again, smiling cheerfully and completely unruffled.

Nine.

They drew their two-shaku-eight-sun blades in unison—this was no jest or idle threat—Gondō, Moku, and Chūjō were dead serious.
They were supposed to intimidate this youngster from the outset and make off with all the gold.
Yet despite his strained “Hrgh!”, the sword refused to budge—the blade clung to its scabbard as if glued fast. “Lemme try,” said Chūjō, reaching out. “Well, you see—it’s like this—”
Moku also peered in.

Yaosuke calmly continued counting the koban.

"This ain't workin'. Lemme do it."
Chūjō gave up and took out his own.
But his wouldn't budge either. How about Moku's blade? They tried the third time's the charm with a "Hrah!", but this one too proved utterly useless.

"What's the matter?"
Yaosuke paused his counting and looked their way. "Having trouble drawing it? Something must be jammed."

Yaosuke stood up and approached.
With a “Let me see,” he took Gondō’s sword. The trio watched suspiciously as he gripped the hilt with his right hand and gave a firm pull.
The blade slid smoothly out of its scabbard; he sheathed it once and tried pulling it out again.
This time too, it slid out effortlessly. “You see? It draws just fine.”
He snugly sheathed it and handed it back to Gondō; Yaosuke then returned to his seat.
Gondō regripped his sword, assumed a menacing stance, and roared.

“Alright now—prepare yourself! We’re the Sword-Drawing Raiding Team—bandits who steer clear of tough foes but show no mercy to weaklings! Spout any nonsense and our ancestral blade’ll slash through you—Hrah!”

Twisting his waist to draw the blade—No—wait, Hrah! One more push—Yaosuke listened with apparent sympathy.

“What’s the matter? Has it gotten stuck again?”

“The hell’s this?!” Gondō flew into a rage. “Goddammit—it won’t come out now, won’t budge now—but once I draw my ancestral two-shaku-eight-sun blade, I’ll slice you to ribbons!”

“That does sound impressive. I’d like to see a demonstration of your skills.”

“I’m tellin’ ya—it ain’t comin’ out now! And I’d rather not get rough if I can help it! Shut your trap and hand over the money—struggle, and you’ll regret it!”

“Wait a moment.”

Yaosuke turned around,

“Who’s there? —Has Genbei returned?”

Answering “Yes,” the old man slid open the fusuma door and emerged.
This was likely the aged retainer Gondō had derisively called “deadwood geezer”—the household servant named Genbei. He appeared to have hurried here, beads of sweat glistening on his skin.

“The ships have indeed arrived—four vessels of about two hundred koku each—and they’ve already begun loading the cargo.”

“Now, now.”
Gondō yelled, “What about us?!”

“Wait a moment—I’m busy.”
Yaosuke didn’t even glance his way. “So it reached the guardhouse then. Good—you may retire now. You’ve endured the cold.”

The old servant bowed and retreated to the back; Yaosuke opened the document box at his side, took out some Japanese paper while looking at the three men.

“Excuse me—I’d like to borrow your hands for a moment. These gold coins are laid out here—could you wrap them in paper five at a time? I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

“Quit screwin’ around!”
Gondō shouted at the top of his lungs, “We ain’t here for no damn home crafts—we’re robbers! You kept us waitin’ this long, so no whinin’! We’re takin’ the gold whether you like it or not! Hey Moku, Chūjō—gather up every last coin there! I’ll keep this silver dandy pinned down! Hurry the hell up!”

“Yeah!”
Chūjō shouted, “Let’s smash through like Ishiyama stonecutters!”

Moku and Chūjō set to work.
The entire floor was covered in gold coins, glowing golden under the lamplight. Without a second thought, they leapt to gather them—no, rather, when they reached out to start collecting, both men simultaneously screamed, “Ah! Hot!”
As if they’d grabbed fire, they screamed and leapt up while shaking their fingers.

“Yikes! Ouch, hot! It’s burning!”

“You see, these are freshly minted koban coins.”

Moku fluttered his fingers. “We should fan them to cool down a bit. Don’t we have a fan here?”

“Ain’t even a damn thing to blow with!” Chūjō dropped to all fours and began puffing air.

“Hold on—’s almost there.”

Yaosuke kept counting koban coins, stacking them in sets of five and arranging them neatly—handling them effortlessly all the while.
Chūjō glared up at him. “Hey! Ain’t this hot?”
Yaosuke answered without smiling: “I suppose so.”

“Can’t say it ain’t hot—but I’m used to it, so I’ll manage. Nothin’ worth makin’ a fuss over.”
When he said this, he rose quietly. “Well—the counting’s done. All that’s left is for you folks to wrap ’em up.”

“Hey, don’t move!”
Gondō twisted his sword hilt. “Sit still and stay put! I ain’t takin’ any lip!”

“My part’s finished—I’d gladly keep you company, but business calls.”
Yaosuke looked at the three men. “I’ll leave the rest to you. Wrap them five coins per sheet and pack ’em in that box over there. Three days oughta do it.”

Then he vanished abruptly.
He’d disappeared completely.

The three men fell silent for about five seconds as if turned to stone, then suddenly burst into laughter.
Laughing while intently studying each other’s faces, their laughter collapsed decadently, and at the same moment, all three turned to look behind themselves.

“Ain’t nothin’ here.”
Gondō said softly, “Nothin’ happened at all. Just your eyes playin’ tricks—heh.”

Ten

“Absolutely, it’s just a trick of the eyes,” Moku whispered while glancing around. “And with that meddler gone now, it’s like newlyweds home alone when the mother-in-law’s away.”

“More nonsense! You can’t do shit without the mask! Right? Enough already—what the hell?!”
Chūjō said this, yet nervously reached out toward the gold coins—but the moment he did, he jumped up shaking his hand, “Ah! Hot! Hot! I burned my hand again! It’s fire!”

Gondō, furious, kicked and scattered them with his tabi-clad feet.
But—the moment Gondō kicked with all his might, he yelped “Owowow!” and hopped on one foot, lifting his toes as if he’d struck an immovable boulder. The pain shot through his bones, but the gold coins didn’t budge an inch. “Goddammit!”
In a fit of rage, he jabbed at them with his sword’s pommel—only for the blade to snap clean off in its sheath—yet still the koban remained unmoved.
The trio, fuming with rage and flushed with fury, stubbornly persisted in their wrath—using every means and method at their disposal to continue their efforts to seize the koban.
Thus, after about an hour and a half of grappling with these golden-glowing inanimate objects—when both body and mind were utterly spent—a path forward was narrowly discovered through Moku’s wisdom.

“In other words, this is futile labor. Please wait a moment.”
He said this and raised a finger, “That swindler told us to wrap them five at a time in paper. By that reasoning, doesn’t it mean wrapping five coins per sheet should work?”

“Goddammit!” Chūjō shouted. “That’s more nonsense! One coin? You try it then!”

Chūjō immediately took the paper.
Then, cautiously, he reached out toward the koban stacked in sets of five. Not hot. Placed them on paper and wrapped them—it worked. Chūjō looked at his comrades’ faces. “This’s it! Heh heh… Banzai!”
Gondō and Moku plopped down. “No problem! Just do it like this—finish up quick! Heh heh… Banzai! Banzai!”

The three began wrapping, their courage multiplied a thousandfold.

Their single-minded and earnest work continued for three full days.
These same seventy-two hours held precious and profound significance elsewhere as well.
Namely, Lord Minoga Sanzō, chief retainer of the magistrate's office, had frequently conducted business negotiations in that infamous Dare ga Sode chamber—his counterpart being a clerk from a certain Osaka merchant house, their transaction becoming an intricate dance of feints and counterfeits until the deal was finally struck when each believed they had outsmarted the other.
The clerk drew up a bill of exchange for 10,000 ryō as advance payment, Lord Minoga presented an itemized list of goods for delivery alongside warehouse release certificates, and to commemorate their agreement, they hosted a grand banquet.

Mochigi Nariuke came rushing into Lord Minoga’s private residence precisely two days after that lavish banquet.
He was pale as a corpse, eyes bloodshot like a madman’s, snorting like a galloping horse. “They’ve beaten us to it—everything’s been cleaned out!”
He gasped in pain and screamed for water.
Lord Minoga had water brought for him, but upon hearing Nariuke’s report, he began trembling, his eyes bulging and teeth clenched as he groaned—then in a panic, he hurriedly drank that same water himself.

“Th-that can’t be true! No—no, that’s idiotic—... Such... Ha ha ha... Such a preposterous thing—”

“Please go check for yourself.”
Nariuke took another gulp. “Tamaruya’s rice storehouse, Oriya’s earthenware warehouse, Mizuo’s sake cellar, Minaya… every last one’s bone-dry! There’s nothing! Not a scrap left—just hollowed-out husks rattling in empty shells!”

“But that can’t be—such preposterous nonsense!”
Lord Minoga struck his knee indignantly. “I don’t believe it! There’s no way they could pull that off—because...”

“They’ve caught on—they’ve been investigating the secret pact between you and us.”
“That must be their work beating us to the punch.”

“If that is indeed the case,”
Lord Minoga had been reminded—of the deal with a certain wealthy merchant from Osaka; that this deal had been concluded; that he had received a deposit as its agreed compensation; that he had already appropriately allocated this 10,000 ryō deposit—these points were clear as day, utterly undeniable and each an irreversible fact.
“Those pigs! I’m ruined! Those insect-brained thieving swindlers—good-for-nothing shameless wretches! Ahh, I’m ruined!”
Lord Minoga clapped his hands wildly at the air. “Who’s the one who let those bastards profit all this time? None other than Lord Minoga Sanzō! Why do you think I established merciless controls—made citizens starve and freeze? To grant them unfair profits through price hikes, backdoor deals, and brazen illegal sales! Sure, I took bribes the size of eye boogers—but look at them! Ahh those thieving bastards—swindling lowlifes—traitors fit for crucifixion and head spikes! Repaying my daily favors by strangling me at this critical hour—how dare they?!”

“Please calm down.”
Nariuke instead found himself feeling almost sorry for him. “You mustn’t speak so despairingly, Lord Minoga. This is merely your plans gone awry—to speak of ruin or losing your head—”

“No use! I’ve already made the deal!
“I handed over all the warehouse release certificates and used up that 10,000 ryō deposit!”

“What are you saying?!”
Nariuke’s eyes bulged.

“You’ve already made the deal—that you—”

The plan to confiscate vast quantities of hoarded goods from those merchants and divert them sideways to seize massive profits was the product of a joint scheme by Lord Minoga, Mochigi Nariuke, and Kitarokuya Idehira.

Admittedly, Nariuke himself had intended to secretly monopolize the scheme, but upon discovering that Lord Minoga had outmaneuvered him, he couldn’t help but be shocked.

But—indeed, seeing how things had turned out—heh—Nariuke bore no hostility whatsoever. Far from hostility, Lord Minoga had now become his "easy mark."

“That’s most unfortunate.”
Nariuke heaved a sympathetic sigh and closed his eyes with a somber expression. “After all, it’s a massive amount of goods. Even if we return the deposit, the merchants will never agree to cancel the transaction.”

"If it comes to it, we'll make them disgorge the legal reserves. The rice from Higo and Shōnai will arrive soon enough."

"Oh my... You still aren't aware?" Nariuke opened his mouth. "Early this morning, word came to the harbor—both the Higo ship and Shōnai's have reportedly been wrecked."

“Wh-wh-wh-what did you say?”

When Lord Minoga shuddered, Ikenami Kanbei came rushing from the magistrate’s office—to prove Nariuke’s words with an urgent report stating, “One in the Bungo Channel, the other off Akashi—both ships sank without a trace.”

“I’m ruined! Undoubtedly facing a twofold catastrophe!” Lord Minoga’s eyes rolled white. “It’s over… No salvation… We flee!”

“No—rather, this is just the beginning.”
Nariuke slowly began casting his net over his mark. “A man of your standing, Mr. Minoga, mustn’t show weakness now. Have you forgotten that Mochigi Nariuke stands at your side?”

“Oh! You—Mochigi! You... something—”

“In any case, please take a look at this.”

Nariuke presented seven certificates.
Lord Minoga trembled as he looked at them—they were none other than bills of lading.
Five thousand bales of rice, four thousand bolts of cotton fabrics, twelve hundred kan of silk floss, twelve hundred kan of marine products, five hundred barrels of sake, eight hundred barrels of soy sauce and miso, and other such enormous quantities of goods—these were the legitimate bills of lading issued by Wada-ya Chūbei for his hishikaki ships.
Gentlemen must surely know—these were passed from Yaosuke to Kitarokuya, then transferred by Kitarokuya to Mochigi as collateral for the 5,000 ryō loaned to Yaosuke—Lord Minoga thought it a dream, then revived from death’s door and regained his true nature.
With this much, there would still be a surplus even after completing the transaction.

“If these Wachū certificates are genuine...”
Lord Minoga stiffened with bureaucratic grandeur. “But can you actually handle this?”

“I received these as collateral for five thousand ryō from Kitarokuya.” Mochigi’s voice dripped unctuous deference. “Consider them yours—a humble return for your longstanding patronage. This should resolve your predicament.”

“That will suffice, but… there must be some compensation for this.”

“Oh, it’s nothing—just my way of repaying your kindness.” Nariuke said quite plainly, “However, if you would be so inclined, I would like to receive the legal reserve warehouse release order.”

“Very well,” Lord Minoga said, promptly putting away the certificates. “We must make those merchants squirm regardless. Now, accompany me to the office.”

The fox and the raccoon dog set out together.
At the same time, three villains were calling for help at Yaosuke’s residence.
Through seventy-two hours of labor, they piled gold bundles all around themselves, but when it came time to grab them and flee, they found themselves at a loss.
The gold bundles wouldn’t budge.
When wrapping them, they handled them with ease, but once again they became as immovable as bedrock.
To put it succinctly, through their own efforts and struggles, they built an immovable iron wall around themselves.
……For the three, the problem was already a matter of life and death.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to eat.”
Chūjō stroked his pancaked abdomen. “Nothin’... nothin’ left... parched... gonna black out.”

“You bastard of this house!”
Gondō stamped his feet and shrieked, “What’re ya schemin’ with us?! You conned us proper—makin’ us pull this damn home workshop scam! On top o’ that, you’ve rigged it so we can’t get out nor in! I’ll drag you to court, Silver Flusher! Fix this! Get your ass out here! This shit ain’t right—!”

“Putting it into words, I suppose.”
Moku fluttered his thinned fingers with what little strength remained. “This, I suppose… I mean, well, it seems that… —it was a failure, wasn’t it?”

“Ain’t got nothin’ left—it’s all gone to shit—head spinnin’, guts churnin’.”
Chūjō plopped down exhausted, “Ain’t nothin’ left… gonna die…”

Gondō rampaged—slammed his body into the mountain of gold bundles, shoved at them, lunged.
The gold they had been so obsessed with forcing into [the house]—the gold they had resolved to steal even if it meant slaughtering the entire household—now lay piled mountain-high before their eyes, having become both their mortal foe and the enemy of their very lives.
……After collapsing hundreds of times and rallying hundreds more to attempt escape, all three had exhausted their strength and vitality, collapsing in a heap.

“If we had children, you know,”
Moku raised fingers that could no longer flutter and said with utmost gentleness, “I leave this as my last will—never set your eyes on it, you know. Gold is the enemy.”

Twelve

In this manner, the three finally began to cry out, “Help us!”
Even the brave warriors of the drawn-sword raiding party and the ferocious trio of villains valued their own lives dearly; when faced with death or survival, it seemed they too chose “I want to live.”

“Help me—I don’t need nothin’! Don’t want no gold or nothin’! Just spare my life!”
Gondō wailed in a pitiful voice, “I’m really gonna die—beggin’ ya here—help me!”

At the very moment of that scream, suddenly—truly suddenly—Yaosuke materialized there.
He had returned after using those seventy-two hours in their entirety.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to steal the gold?”

“Don’t want it…”
Chūjō shook his head, gasping for breath. “Nah... ain’t worth lookin’ at... hell no... don’t want nothin’...”

“To put it plainly—as for us here...”
“Help me! Feed me!”
Gondō shook his head groggily, “I’ll do anything—can’t see—gonna die.”

“No, you won’t die. It’s all right.”
Tamatsukuri Yaosuke smiled and said, “You still have work left—the finishing touches are yet to come.”

The story shifted tempo - from a slow "thud, ah, thud" to allegro.

Five ships sailed into Sakai’s harbor without warning. Though there had been no prior notice, the moment they docked came a momentous announcement: "Relief supplies from the three great lords of Kaga, Satsuma, and Sendai have arrived for Sakai’s citizens."
It was no false report—the unloading began.
Rice bales, sake barrels, clothing, marine products, miso and soy sauce, oil barrels—every manner of goods piled onto the shore. Upon hearing this, Lord Minoga Sanzō set out from the magistrate’s office. If this proved true, it would spell catastrophe for the city’s leadership—the release of such vast supplies would destroy the inflationary economy they had maintained through draconian controls.
Lord Minoga conducted a meticulous investigation.
Yet reality confirmed the facts.
There were seals from Date, Maeda, and Shimazu—foremost among great domains—and even a permit from the Edo shogunate.
……Lord Minoga swallowed bloodied tears as he delivered his speech of gratitude, promised every convenience in distributing the supplies, then swallowed more bloodied tears as he returned to his office.

A hut was erected on the beach, and the distribution of relief supplies began immediately.
The citizens cheered and raised a victory cry; every household turned out in full force, shuttling between the beach and their homes for three days to carry rice, clothing, miso, oil, and every other imaginable item.
Not only that—finally, bundles of five koban each were distributed.
And lo, behold those distributing them—the three villains: Gondō, Chūjō, and Moku. It was none other than them.

“Do not push. Take turns. Please remain calm.”
Moku called out, “Come along now. Yes, you there. Next is over here. Please keep moving.”

“I’m a victim! A martyr!”
Gondō handed out gold bundles while lamenting, “Workin’ ourselves raw without bite nor sup to cobble these damn packets, near bought the farm hauling ’em here sweat-drenched—now just doling ’em out gratis. Not a copper earned—nothin’ but slave labor! I’m crucified here!”

“This defies reason. Utter bedlam.”
Chūjō likewise groused, “Ain’t no yarn—pure madness.”

Elsewhere too, time pulsed with vigorous life.
First, let us peer into the magistrate’s office—there, an urgent courier had just arrived bearing news that the Edo shogunate’s inspector would reach Sakai tomorrow, earlier than scheduled.
This was nothing short of catastrophe—they had to remove every last one of those official notices immediately. Should the inspector lay eyes on those merciless shackles of daily life—those draconian controls over all food supplies and restriction ordinances—it would spell their doom.
All officials rushed into the city—tearing down notice boards at every intersection, issuing warnings to the citizens: “If anyone asks you, answer this—life in our city is peaceful and satisfying! Food, clothing, and shelter all abundant! Our governance fair and just! Not a single complaint exists! —Whoever asks, give this answer! Any bastard defying this gets crucified upside-down and sawed apart!”
Thus they went around issuing these warnings.
Meanwhile, Lord Minoga, the chief magistrate, was conversing with a lone guest at his office.
Undoubtedly, he was a clerk from a certain wealthy merchant in Osaka.
He placed the warehouse release certificate there and began interrogating Lord Minoga like a bailiff: “This is fraud! Deception!”
He ranted on, “There are no goods in any shop! Every last warehouse is empty! I can state this definitively—"

“It’s a discrepancy—merely a minor administrative discrepancy.”
Lord Minoga paced erratically while rummaging through his document chest. “I meant to notify you—please wait—the cargo does exist! An extraordinary quantity of provisions! Bills of lading issued by Wasada of the Higaki fleet—now where could they be? Just wait—you’ll be astounded! Imminently!”

At the same time, a commotion broke out at Mochigi’s shopfront.
Five merchants—Tamaruya Masuzō, Oriya Den’nai, Mizuo Warisuke, and two others—each presented Mochigi’s promissory notes worth 10,000 ryō and demanded, “We want these converted to cash immediately.”
It was a bolt from the blue, but very well—we’ll pay. Mochigi’s promissory notes carried the same credit as Keichō Ōban gold coins.
The thousand-ryō chests were carried out—though nothing equaled merchants in stingy meticulousness—“Just to be safe, let me inspect these.”
Having said this, Tamaruya’s master opened one of the thousand-ryō chests and inspected the gold.

Thirteen

“This is—” Master Masuzō barked like a steam whistle as he tore open the seal and produced a koban, “What’s this? No—wait! This is counterfeit!”

“What… What did you just say?”

“It’s counterfeit gold! Everyone, take a look and see for yourselves! This is a swindle—outright counterfeit gold!”

The merchants stood thunderstruck.
The boxes were pried open one after another, every seal torn away—indeed counterfeit through and through, genuine in its falseness: no deception spared, no forgery left undone.
Nariuke himself shook more violently than the merchants, his face ashen. “Please remain calm—I implore you to remain calm.”
He waved both hands desperately. “This must be some error—I’ll replace everything immediately! You all know my backer—Young Master Tamamura! A patron who can furnish tens of millions of ryō for me at a moment’s notice! Come with me now—I swear you’ll suffer no inconvenience!”
And he departed together with the merchants.

It was exactly that moment.
The young master of Tamamura—that is to say, our Yaosuke—had unexpectedly brought along Osugi, that famed courtesan, to Kitarokuya’s shop. As he had the six thousand ryō in gold he’d brought on horseback unloaded at the storefront, he addressed Idehira:

“Thanks to you, I’ve managed without any shortage of pocket money. Take this thousand ryō as interest—modest though it may be.”

“Why, this is… This is…”
Idehira rubbed his hands together. “Through your generous consideration—yes indeed—six thousand ryō duly received.”

“And then there’s the matter of that deposited item.”
Yaosuke turned sharply around. “The Mochigi promissory note for 10,000 ryō and the seven Wasada bills of lading—I’ve transferred both to Ms. Osugi here. Consider it an apology for not yielding to your… persuasions. Understood, Ms. Osugi? They’re yours now—take them without hesitation. I’ll be heading back ahead of you.”

“Oh my! What a—oh my! Young Master!”
Osugi became ecstatic at the dreamlike gift and writhed while clutching her chest with both hands,

“I... I just...”

But Yaosuke had already left the shop.—What followed was chaos: Kitarokuya had intended from the start to swindle both the promissory notes and bills of lading.
That young man was a naive, spoiled brat with no wit or talent—just like that lame, hunchbacked, one-eyed Yaosuke boy who’d once swindled money in the Chūgoku region and fled. No trouble at all—when push came to shove, he’d dance to their tune.
He had carefully calculated everything—yet the rights had been transferred to another.
Moreover, this was a woman who stood as man’s greatest adversary—a sorceress of unparalleled cunning among her kind.
There was nothing left to be done. Before Idehira could utter ten words, the sorceress began shrieking and wailing.

“No complaints! I don’t want any complaints!” Osugi raised the outer corners of her eyes and barked, “All I need are Mochigi’s promissory note and the bills of lading—those two things! Hmph! Who do you think you’re dealing with? I’m Sis Osugi, the famed courtesan!”

Then at the storefront, she spun around and hitched up her kimono skirts to strike an indecent pose like Benkiku’s apprentice.—Goodness gracious, everything was collapsing at once! At this frantic pace, my brush shall snap clean through. Let us rest here and resume tomorrow’s affairs.

In the dimly lit hours of early morning, news of "The Inspector’s Arrival" spread throughout all of Sakai.
By whom and when it was done, someone had erected official notices at every intersection bearing a proclamation: "Should there be any injustice or corruption in governance, file your lawsuits—the Inspector himself will hear them at the magistrate’s office."
An hour after sunrise, the Inspector mounted his horse and rode in, accompanied by three attendants.
But look closely—the Inspector bore an uncanny resemblance to our Yaosuke, and though their attire differed, his three attendants were spitting images of Gondō, Chūjō, and Moku. The procession advanced with stately dignity down Minami Hirokōji Avenue, responding to the cheers of the crowds packing the main street as they slowly made their way to the magistrate’s office.
—At the magistrate’s office, since Kasama Rokurōbei, the Magistrate of Sakai, was bedridden due to illness, Minoga Sanzō, the chief magistrate’s assistant, acted as responsible official in receiving him.
The Inspector presented the authentic "Inspection Order" bearing the shogunate’s official seal and introduced himself as Tamamura Yaonosuke.
Minoga introduced the officials, celebrated the safe journey, and promptly guided them to the reception hall.

The reception hall had been prepared for hospitality.
Above all, it was a lavish spread—getting them drunk, stuffing them with food, plying them with sensual pleasures, and stuffing their hands with gold. This was the unvarying etiquette—nay, the sole and indispensable protocol—when dealing with an Inspector.
“Though humble, pray make yourself comfortable first.”
Lord Minoga seated the Tamamura envoy in the place of honor and declared, “Our city’s public safety, economy, and people’s livelihood are all without flaw. The people are content, their bellies full as they sing praises of this peaceful era.”
“Truly, this state could be called a paradise on earth—we shepherds of the people are overwhelmed with satisfaction and awe. Now, please relax at ease. Therefore—there being not the slightest need for inspection—we humbly present this feast. We simply wish for you to linger at leisure, resting and recuperating as your heart desires.”

“Ahaha, so Sakai is a paradise on earth, is it?”
The envoy accepted his cup. “I’ve heard entirely different rumors, but no—that’s splendid—”

The envoy sipped at the sake but immediately made a bitter face and set down the cup.
Lord Minoga drank by himself and eloquently expounded on Sakai’s impeccable governance.

“Pray indulge further,” he urged upon seeing the envoy set down his cup. “This is premium sake from Nada. Do not restrain yourself—enjoy your stay unreservedly.”

“No, that’s enough. More importantly, the investigators have returned there.—Let’s take care of official business first.”

Fourteen

Sure enough, Gondō, Moku, and Chūjō entered there.
The distress of Lord Minoga and his officials was pitiable to behold, but the envoy solemnly straightened his posture and declared.

“Have you investigated what I ordered?”

“We have conducted the investigation.”
An attendant who bore a striking resemblance to Gondō responded, “Food, clothing, daily necessities—there is absolutely nothing. Down to the last grain of the legally mandated reserves—all sold off.”

“Good. I thought as much.”
The envoy nodded. “Mokuemon, there must be citizens who’ve come to file lawsuits—allow them into the courtyard. Minoga Sanzō—don’t move from there.” As soon as Mokuemon went out, a crowd came flooding into the magistrate’s courtyard.
Every illegality was laid bare—nothing remained hidden.
Mochigi Nariuke had been sued by five merchants for using counterfeit coin; those same merchants were then sued for hoarding supplies and unjust profits.
Kitarokuya found himself sued by Sis Osugi for swindling promissory notes and bills of lading; Sis Osugi in turn faced lawsuits for instigating robberies and running illicit businesses. In the chaos that followed, Nariuke got bound alongside the five merchants—but Sis Osugi, trussed up herself, retaliated by accusing officials of bribery and malfeasance, spurring them to start binding one another.
Yato Shinpei bound Mina Hikitarō only to be bound by Ikena Kanbei; Komatsu Taizo bound Ikena Kanbei before ending up bound himself.
When a clerk from an Osaka merchant house testified that Minoga Sanzō was the fraud mastermind—when every wicked deed and scandal of Lord Minoga came spilling forth in damning detail—even this Chief Magistrate found himself bound at last.—Thus did corrupt officials and tainted merchants meet their arrests by storybook convention, while peace returned to Sakai’s good and blameless citizens.

But wait—there went Kitarokuya fleeing yonder! This fool had slipped out of the courtroom amidst the chaos and vanished into thin air like mist. Run! Just a bit more—he crossed the moat.
And he kept barreling down Kawachi Kaidō as if floating mid-air, but upon reaching Shimata Village’s crossroads, he collided head-on with three men running from the opposite direction—sparks flew from his eyes as he tumbled flat.
Well now—what a sight! The trio consisted of Moku, Chūjō, and Gondō; they too, terrified by the horror of their roles, had come fleeing in this manner.
“Hurry! Hurry!”
Gondō pulled up the fallen Moku. “If pursuers catch us, we’re done for! Every last one of our misdeeds will be exposed! Run—we flee to the ends of Japan!”
And the three villains vanished into the distance, along with a cloud of dust.

“Agh, damn it! What a hell they’ve put me through!” Idehira rubbed his forehead repeatedly as he stood up. “Bastards blew through like a damn whirlwind... Now I’ve got a lump.”

“But it’s smaller than the lump on my back.”

Suddenly, there was a voice from behind.
Idehira yelped and spun around.
There was someone standing there—someone—a wall-eyed, hunchbacked, lame boy…… Idehira’s jaw went slack.

“What’s the matter, Dekiroku? It’s me. Have you forgotten?”

“A- a monster!”
Idehira—that is, the unruly servant Dekiroku—began to tremble violently. “A ghost!”

“No—not a ghost, not a monster. Look closely—I have legs. A lame one at that. Why not touch the lump on my back? It’s been quite some time. Yaosuke. Still don’t recognize me?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha!” Dekiroku laughed while his eyes trembled in terror. “This is hilarious! What a fine joke! Quite the witty play! Ha ha ha ha ha! Let’s dance!”

And with a groan of “Ugh…,” he collapsed backward onto the road.
Yaosuke slowly stretched, waved his hands, and stamped his feet—his form peeled away in a swift motion, transforming back into a radiantly handsome man.—He took out a folded paper from his pocket, spread it over Dekiroku’s chest, and pressed it down with a stone.
It contained a detailed list of Dekiroku’s crimes, with a note instructing that whoever discovered him should immediately bind him and deliver him to the magistrate’s office.

“Dance all you want—your jailmates will surely applaud you.”
Yaosuke said this and turned around. “Well then, let us return—to the mountains of my homeland, to Fukiya Village’s dear sanctuary.”

To add a superfluous detail—at that very moment, the real Inspector had arrived at the magistrate’s office and was finalizing matters after taking over from Yaosuke.—The three villains were still running, desperately running, raising clouds of dust… It seemed they intended to keep running forever.