Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Futago Rokubei was called a coward.
There was no concrete basis for this reputation.
Not a single soul knew any concrete fact that he was a coward, yet before long it had become the general consensus throughout the household, until even he himself came to believe he was a coward—from boyhood he had never once fought or quarreled, nor engaged in any dangerous games.
He disliked dogs and would detour whenever encountering even a slightly large one on the path.
Though he could ride, horses frightened him, and even now at twenty-six, the darkness of night terrified him.
When he saw mice he would leap up; when he saw snakes he would turn pale and freeze—yet even if you listed each of these examples one by one, they would not constitute proof of cowardice.
That was a matter of sensitivity, and after all, it is something most people have experienced themselves to some degree.

The source of this story was an incomplete copy of an old record called Henjiroku, where references to the "Echizen family" appeared frequently alongside entries like "the centennial memorial service for Lord Ryushoin" and "a summer retreat for Lords Tangen and Shoan." Anyone wishing to investigate would find it not difficult to identify the domain's name.
In Echizen at that time there existed five domains: Matsudaira in Fukui, Manabe in Sabae, Ogasawara in Katsuyama, Sakai in Tsuruga, and Doi in Ōno.
Yet when collectively referring to the "Echizen family," one would reasonably first consider the Matsudaira of Fukui. Even if this proved inaccurate, since it bore little relevance to the story's content, I decided to proceed under the designation of Fukui domain here.
According to Henjiroku, the Futago family had held the position of Permanent Moat Control with a stipend of 180 koku and provisions for thirty-five retainers.
Their duties apparently involved monitoring water levels in the castle's inner and outer moats, dredging mud deposits, and repairing collapsed sections of stone wall.
These responsibilities were later transferred to the Construction Magistrate's jurisdiction, yet the Futago family's title of Permanent Moat Control remained unchanged.

In essence, decades earlier, the Futago family’s moat control had become purely nominal, leaving them without actual duties. And whether no one had noticed or whether the character “permanent” in “Permanent Moat Control” held true meaning, even by Rokubei’s generation this state of nominal duty without real work persisted.—At the time this incident occurred, he was twenty-six years old and his sister Kane twenty-one. Their parents had already passed away, and with only a few male and female servants, the siblings lived quietly. Rokubei remained unmarried, and his sister Kane unwed. They likely had relatives and acquaintances, but there was no one to propose marriage arrangements to either brother or sister. I, the author, would prefer to continue observing the siblings as they were. For there was an ineffably profound human depth to the sight of these siblings—past marriageable age by the standards of the time—living quietly and modestly, forgotten by society.

But—the story must progress.

“Brother, can’t you do something about this?” said Kane. “I’ve grown thoroughly sick of it all.”

Rokubei knew exactly what his sister was trying to say.
It was a woman’s periodic complaints and grumbling.

“Today, you see,” he tried to divert the conversation, “there was a fight in front of Mr. Besshu’s gate.”
“Brother,” Kane mercilessly interrupted her brother’s words, “didn’t you hear what I’ve been telling you?”

“Well—I did hear you, but the fight was on my mind.”

“I’m already twenty-one!”

“Hoh.”
He widened his eyes in feigned surprise. “Twenty-one, you say—is that true?”

“I’m already twenty-one.”

“Seems like just the other day you were still playing with dolls.”

“All my friends have married—some even have three children now—yet here I remain, still unwed. It’s so mortifying I can hardly bear to live.”

“Won’t you have some?” he said. “This confection is delicious.”

“‘This confection is delicious,’” Kane mischievously mimicked her brother’s voice. “Is that all you can say, Brother?”

This was where she would start crying—that was what he couldn’t handle most of all, Rokubei thought.
But Kane did not cry.
Her face stiffened, glaring at her brother’s face with fierce eyes, her lips quivering faintly.

“Brother, you have no bride coming to you, and I have never received a single marriage proposal,” said Kane. “Do you know why that is?”

“You say that, but in this world...”

“Do you know why?”

Rokubei fell silent. If all women were like my sister, he muttered to himself, I’d be better off staying single my whole life.

“It’s all because of you,” Kane declared flatly. “Because you’re called a coward. No one would send a bride to a samurai branded as such, and it’s only natural we’ve received no offers. Don’t you agree?”

He felt he’d been told the same thing month after month—no, year after year—yet Rokubei showed no sign of it. Instead, he scrutinized something with apparent care and tilted his head.

“I suppose,” he said cautiously. “Now that you mention it...”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t have realized unless someone told you?”

“No, that’s not—that’s not it at all. I myself had vaguely noticed.”

“Oh, you’d ‘vaguely noticed,’” said Kane, trembling the fist on her lap, “—then why not do something? Anything! Yes—to wash away this disgrace of being called a coward! Isn’t it past time you acted? Have you never once considered that?”

“I do sometimes think that myself, but...”
Rokubei said with a sigh, “Well, you see—this isn’t the sort of problem you can just solve by picking up a wallet found on the road.”

“Then pick one up,” said Kane. “Wallets are often found on roads.”

Certainly, he had picked up a wallet that had fallen on the road.
And a substantial one at that.

There, two or three articles from *Henjiroku* had to be quoted.

Enkyo 2, 10th month, 5th day: His Lordship’s departure from Edo; on the 18th day of the same month: return to the castle.

3rd Year of the Ox, 8th month: His Excellency Shogun Ieshige made an official visit to Kyoto.
In the same year, an official mountain hare hunt was conducted in Hoei Hiba Province.

During the hare hunt, a dispute arose; the domain-employed martial artist Nito Gorodayu (given name Gorodayu, native of Hitachi Province) slew the page Kano Heihyoe and fled.
Kano died instantly; concurrently with His Lordship’s return to the castle, a pursuit party was commanded.

Nito Gorodayu was a master of swordsmanship and the half-spear, newly recruited with a three-hundred-koku stipend, and provided training to members of the household.
He possessed a robust physique measuring six shaku and one sun; his eyes, mouth, and nose all appeared notably large.
Perhaps his nose stood out particularly—the young samurai had taken to calling him "Nose" behind his back. What exactly transpired during that hunting ground dispute remains unclear—Gorodayu had always been a mean drunk, drinking whenever idle and invariably turning violent when intoxicated.
His skills in swordsmanship and the half-spear were undeniably first-rate, and while his training methods were strict, they were by the book.
He had been recruited by the feudal lord in Edo three years prior, coming to the domain headquarters with a stipend of 200 koku and provisions for ten retainers, but at thirty-one remained unmarried and showed no interest in women.

――My wife is sake.

Gorodayu had always said that, and in a region where outsiders were met with distrust, no one ever broached marriage proposals with him. As a domain-employed martial artist he commanded respect, yet remained incapable of experiencing human affection or shared labor. This isolation clashed with his pride in having been “recognized by the feudal lord,” until gradually his nasty drinking habits grew worse.

Kano Heihyoe, who was slain at the hunting grounds, had been a page said to remain ever at his lord’s side; his parents and siblings resided in the Edo estate. The feudal lord was enraged and immediately commanded that a pursuit party be dispatched. It was definitively declared that this matter had no connection to Kano’s family—“Gorodayu raised his blade against me; this constitutes an Official Execution Order.”—Gorodayu returned home once from the hunting grounds but immediately prepared for travel and departed. And as he left, he addressed one of his disciples, declaring that he would take the Hokkoku Highway to Edo—that since he was neither fleeing nor hiding, they were welcome to send pursuers if they wished.

Thus began deliberations over whom to dispatch as pursuers, but given their opponent's caliber, all hesitated.
There was none who could vouch for him with confidence, nor any who would step forward declaring, "I will do it."
Yet to form a group against a lone opponent would disgrace the Echizen clan. As their endless debate about what to do continued, Futago Rokubei volunteered.
The people turned away as if mocked and paid him no heed.
Rokubei wore a frightened look—lips bloodless, body trembling visibly.
He must have volunteered through extraordinary resolve, yet the mere act of stepping forward already left him seemingly possessed by terror.

“You should stop,” said one of them.
“If you get yourself killed in a counterattack, it’ll be an even greater disgrace.”

However, the others did not show agreement.
The reputation that Rokubei was a coward was an open secret within the clan, and it might have reached Nito Gorodayu’s ears.
If that coward were to come as his pursuer—how would Gorodayu react? What course would he take?
One who had been considering this suddenly slapped his knee and motioned with his eyes to summon those present.

II

“Kane, are you there?”
Rokubei shouted the moment he returned home, “Come here—prepare for travel.”

Kane, his sister, entered her brother’s living room with an imposing air and said the moment he returned home, “What do you mean by ‘prepare a meal’?”

“Not a meal—travel preparations.”

As if wanting to say So it’s finally come to this—Kane looked at brother with cold eyes.
It seemed she thought he could no longer endure society’s ridicule and had finally resolved to abandon the domain.

“There’s no need to rush so much,” said Kane, “there are belongings that need sorting, and besides—”

“I don’t need any luggage.”
Rokubei cut off his sister’s words and said, “Two or three undergarments and loincloths will suffice. Hurry up!”

Watching her brother remove his hakama and undo his obi with restless hands, Kane asked worriedly, “Did something happen?”

“There certainly was!” said Rokubei. “The time has come to clear my long-standing disgrace—I’ve been entrusted with an Official Execution Order.”

Saying “Look at this,” he took the package of official documents that had been placed beside him and handed it over.
On its front was written “Official Execution Order,” while inside were Nito Gorodayu’s charges and a directive—set down in the feudal lord’s name—requesting that all possible assistance be granted to Futago Rokubei in his role as executioner.
The feudal lord’s name bore a black seal and his stylized signature, and the address section read “Honorable Senior Councilors of the Provinces Along the Route.”
Kane’s complexion changed.

“Nito...” Kane asked her brother, “Are you referring to that domain-employed martial artist called Nito Gorodayu?”

“Correct—exactly as written there,” answered Futago Rokubei while stripping naked, “That Nito Gorodayu. Get my clothes ready.”

“No way!” Kane began trembling. “Stop this madness—he’s a master of swordsmanship and the spear!”

Upon hearing this, Rokubei covered his ears with both hands and screamed in a voice like a shriek, “Get my clothes ready! Hurry with the travel preparations!” before dashing off toward the bathhouse.
Kane chased after him and pleaded, “Please stop.”
“He’s a martial artist renowned as a master; you’ve never properly practiced swordsmanship.”
“It’s certain you’ll be killed in a counterattack—if that happens, the Futago family name will perish.”
“Because I’m always complaining and whining, you must have ended up feeling this way—but I’d rather be called a coward than have you die.”
“Please return to the castle immediately and decline the mission. From now on I’ll never utter another complaint or grievance—please go withdraw your acceptance.”
Kane pleaded tearfully while shedding tears.

While bathing in the bathhouse, Rokubei said, “It’s no use.”

“This is for my sake,” he said. “It’s not that I’ve grown reckless from your whining—I want to prove, just once in my life, that I can be of use.”

“You will be killed.”

“That may be true... but it might go well.”
While drying himself, Rokubei said, “In a dojo match, that’s one thing—but in a contest like this, luck plays its part. Nito Gorodayu is hailed as a master and trusts his own prowess, while I openly admit I’m a coward. This difference is crucial, Kane. I’ve staked my claim as executioner by betting on this very difference.”

“You’ll be killed,” Kane said, bursting into tears. “You’ll surely be slain in a counterattack.”

“Even if that were to happen,” Rokubei said in a trembling voice, “since this duty bears the name of an Official Execution Order, our lineage won’t be extinguished—I don’t think it will. You can take a husband and uphold the family name. I firmly believe our house will endure.”

“It’s my fault.” Kane sobbed convulsively and said, “It’s all my fault, Brother. Please forgive me.”

“Come on, hurry up,” Rokubei said. “Get the travel preparations ready—save the crying for later.”

According to *Henjiroku*, Futago Rokubei caught up to Gorodayu on the third day of pursuit. It was at Matsuto—when he reached the raised path through rice fields before the town—that Rokubei spotted Gorodayu. That tall stature with broad shoulders and large bones, that robust build—Rokubei recognized it at a single glance from behind. He involuntarily recoiled into a defensive stance, mouth gaping open as he gasped for air. His throat would have constricted had he not kept his jaw unhinged—he felt he might suffocate otherwise. His heart pounded like frenzied drumbeats while strength drained from his legs below the knees, leaving mere upright posture as the utmost feat he could manage.

“Wait—calm down,” Rokubei whispered to himself. “Staying calm is crucial first. He hasn’t noticed yet. For now, that alone counts as my advantage.”

He tried to suppress the trembling in his entire body and repeatedly attempted to swallow his saliva.
The trembling wouldn’t subside; his mouth was parched, and not a drop of saliva would come out.
Gorodayu slowly moved away, wearing a large woven hat that didn’t sway in the slightest. His gait was quiet, each step maintaining equal intervals as if measured by a ruler; despite the bone-dry road, not a speck of dust rose from his feet.

“When a martial artist reaches that level,” Rokubei muttered, “even their way of walking becomes different.”

He shook his head as if impressed and began walking slowly.

Gorodayu took lodging in Matsuto.
After confirming this, Rokubei stayed at the same inn, and the following morning waited for Gorodayu to depart before leaving afterward himself.
Being lodged together with Gorodayu meant Rokubei couldn’t sleep soundly.
He racked his brain for assassination methods but found no viable plan—instead repeatedly snagging on the phrase “Rough God”.

"What Rough God?" he muttered while cocking his head and trailing after Gorodayu, "Why would the Rough God appear here of all places?"

Nito Gorodayu did not stop in Kanazawa and walked straight along the Hokkoku Highway.

Kanazawa Castle town seethed with activity, its atmosphere thick with officious vigilance.
When he listened to travelers' conversations, they spoke of Shogun Ieshige's planned visit to Kyoto and heightened surveillance against suspicious persons.
If the shogun were bound for Kyoto, he'd take the Tokaido Highway—what sense did it make to monitor travelers in remote Kaga Province?
Some laughed derisively at this precaution.
Gorodayu had likely avoided Kanazawa Castle town to steer clear of such commotion.
The shogun's visit appears in *Henjiroku* under "Enkyo 3, Year of the Ox: August," situating these events between July and August that year.

By the modern calendar, this would have been midsummer—even along the Hokkoku Highway, a time of severe heat. As he trudged along the parched, dust-choked road, Futago Rokubei found himself growing increasingly disheartened.
His own actions began to feel foolish; reflecting on the hollowness of this so-called Official Execution Order and his stupidity in thinking he could cleanse his usual disgrace through such means—Gorodayu must have had personal reasons for killing Kano at the hunting grounds, and that had nothing to do with me.
While lost in such thoughts, dabbing at his sweat as he walked, he was suddenly called out to from behind.

“Hey, wait a second,” said the voice. “Aren’t you the assassin sent from Fukui?”

Rokubei jumped up, shuddering as every hair on his body stood on end.
When he jumped up and turned around, Nito Gorodayu was standing behind him.

“I recognize that face,” said Nito Gorodayu as he lifted one end of his woven hat and fixed Rokubei with an icy, stabbing gaze. “Hmm... Yes, that face is definitely familiar. You’re the executioner sent after me, aren’t you? You want this head of mine.”

Rokubei erupted in fury.
Every drop of blood surged to his skull until he nearly lost consciousness.

“Murderer!”
Rokubei involuntarily let out a piercing scream, “Someone help! There’s a murderer here! A murderer!”

Then he started running frantically, continuing to shout the same thing as he ran.
How long had he been running? His breath grew labored, his legs wobbling as strength drained from them, so he turned around thinking it must be safe by now.
The white, dry road stretched straight ahead, and to the right, the blue surface of a sea or lake was visible.
Both sides of the road were rice paddies, and on either side of the not-too-wide highway stretched rows of pine trees; looking closer, travelers coming and going and farmers leading horses on the road had all stopped in their tracks, staring this way in astonishment.
Since the road curved about a kilometer ahead, he was likely still around there—but Nito Gorodayu’s figure was nowhere to be seen.

“Escape,” he told himself. “Escape now while you can—quickly!”

While gasping violently, Rokubei walked at a hurried pace. When he eventually spotted a hill with a pine grove to his right, he frantically climbed it and entered the pine grove.
Rokubei removed his hat, took off his travel bag and threw it aside, then collapsed onto the undergrowth in the grove.

“That was close,” he muttered between ragged breaths. “I almost got cut down back there. Never thought he’d be behind me. When did he even get past?”

Rokubei narrowed his eyes.
As he lay on his back, his eyes took in the interwoven treetops of the pine grove and, beyond their lofty heights, a blue sky where white clouds drifted.
“I’m such a blockhead,” Rokubei thought.
Cowardly and foolish—unaware that the man he was chasing had overtaken him, he had instead been called out to from behind by his target.
Heh—serves me right.
As he berated himself this way, he suddenly remembered the Rough God.

"Oh," he furrowed his brows, "that story from when I was a child?"

When I was young, my mother admonished me.
You shouldn’t throw hot water or tea out the window—because the Rough God is always patrolling around the house, and any discarded water or tea might splash onto him. If that happens, you’ll be punished—or so she said.

III

When it came to the Rough God，he was supposed to be divine.
If he were truly omniscient，he should have foreseen everything—yet couldn’t dodge scalding water tossed from windows，only lashing out punishments after being struck first．That reeked of incompetence．
Whether this made him an inept deity remained uncertain．But if even gods failed against sudden attacks，then Gorodayu—mere mortal—stood no chance．
This logic flickered through Rokubei’s mind like fireflies in dusk．

"So that's it—that's what it meant? How absurd," he muttered while still gazing at the sky above, then heaved a deep sigh. "If that's the case... To get called out from behind by the man I'm chasing—hell, I'm like some kind of Rough God myself. What a farce."

"What a farce," he muttered while tearing up at his own wretchedness.
What should I do now? I can't return to Fukui, and the travel funds provided by the senior officials are limited.
Should I go to some unknown land and become a laborer or something?—As he agonized over such thoughts, voices speaking in a thick country dialect reached his ears.

“Is it true? About the murderer,” a voice said. “Did someone actually get killed?”

“He got away clean,” said another voice. “The samurai got away clean—smart move to run when you can, what with that demon of a ronin he was up against. Looked like he’d cut down ten—no, twenty men. I ain’t lyin’! Everyone on the road took one look at that face and scattered like mice.”

“Hmm,” said the first voice. “I’m plannin’ t’head t’th’castle town now—that ronin still ’round here?”

“By now he’s prob’ly near Kasamatsu’s earthen bridge,” said one of the voices. “Th’only road t’th’castle town’s that way—best stay clear if y’know what’s good fer ya.”

“If that’s how it is, then there’s no urgent business. Let’s head back from here today,” said the first man’s voice, and the two men’s conversation faded into the distance.
They must have been peasants he had encountered on the highway—their voices carried all the way here in the stillness of the surroundings. But when he heard them describe “a face that looked like it had killed ten or twenty men,” the words pierced Rokubei’s ears, and he was seized by a fresh shudder through his body.

"But wait."
After a moment he muttered this and fixed his gaze on a point in the high sky: "But wait—hold on—there might be something here. Let me think this through carefully."

His face stiffened like a mask, and his breathing grew quietly deep.
He pushed aside the Rough God.
The strategy of waiting for an opening was useless—indeed, it had already failed, leaving him exposed in a pitifully wretched state.
"In that case," he thought, "what if I turned this failure to my advantage? The locals had panicked upon hearing the cry of 'Murderer!'"
The peasants who had been talking on the highway just now—though they had come all the way to the castle town on business—abandoned their errand and turned back upon hearing that such a ronin was around.
They turned back merely upon hearing the account.
Merely upon hearing. Just upon hearing the account.

"I see," he muttered as he sat up halfway. "I'm a coward. The world must have more timid weaklings like me and those peasants than courageous masters who keep their composure. Then..."

He muttered "If that's the case," smiled, then berated himself for having repeated the phrase three times already, opening his mouth in silent laughter.

"That's it," he muttered as his laughter subsided. "My cowardice is plain fact—no use fretting over reputation now. Very well—this method it shall be."

Futago Rokubei stood up, shouldered his travel bag, put on his hat, and left the pine grove.
Nito Gorodayu had already passed through there, but his large woven hat and strikingly robust figure from behind allowed Rokubei to immediately recognize him.
Rokubei chased after him at a hurried pace, then slackened his steps about twenty ken short.

“Good, good—keep strutting around like that,” Rokubei muttered toward Gorodayu’s retreating figure. “Your swagger won’t last much longer—just you wait.”

On the right side of the path wedged between rice fields stood a slightly elevated, rounded mound. There alone clustered pine trees formed a shaded pocket, within which sat a small wayside tea stall.
"Don't enter that tea shop," Rokubei thought.

Gorodayu entered the tea shop, removed his hat, placed his travel bag down, sat on a bench, and wiped his sweat.
After confirming this, Rokubei stopped about ten ken away and began shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Murderer!” he shouted. “That man’s a murderer! He killed someone in Echizen Fukui and fled! Who knows when he’ll kill again! Dangerous, I tell you!”

Rokubei shouted the same thing three times in a row.
From a novelistic standpoint, this situation became troublesome.
As Gorodayu rose to his feet upon hearing the shout, an old woman with a bent back and a middle-aged woman around forty darted out from behind the tea house, fleeing toward a slightly elevated round hillock that resembled a burial mound.

“Silence!” Nito Gorodayu shouted back. “I killed Kano for my own reasons! I’ve neither fled nor hidden—I declared I’d take the Hokkoku Highway to Edo, fully aware assassins would come! If you’re one of them, attack me! Let’s settle this!”

Rokubei shouted while stepping back, “It won’t go that smoothly! A duel? Don’t make me laugh—if we cross blades, you’ll obviously win. I’ll do this my way, you murderer!”

“Coward!” Gorodayu shouted back. “You call yourself an assassin? Fight me!”

Gorodayu strode toward him, and Rokubei swiftly fled backward.
He shouted “Murderer!” while fleeing.
“That man is a murderer! Don’t go near him! He might kill again at any moment! He’s dangerous!” he shouted repeatedly.
On the road, scattered travelers and local-looking men and women could be seen, but upon hearing Rokubei’s shouts and witnessing Gorodayu’s imposing figure, those who had come from the north fled back north, while those from the south retreated southward, all scattering in terror.
Gorodayu approached shouting “Fight me!” and Rokubei retreated while yelling “Murderer!”

“Coward!” Gorodayu shouted, his face flushing red. “You call yourself a samurai? You call yourself Fukui Domain’s assassin?!”

“I may look like this, but I am a samurai,” Rokubei declared while retreating. “I’ve come pursuing you with an Official Execution Order as your assassin—but I’m no coward. The clan calls me a coward, and I myself believe it. Cowardice and timidity are entirely different matters. I volunteered for this mission, and I intend to see it through.”

“Then why won’t you fight? Why do you run when I challenge you to duel?”

“I’ll fight you,” Rokubei answered, “—but in my own way.”

Gorodayu stared fixedly at Rokubei’s face. He seemed to be trying to ascertain what his method was. Rokubei bared his teeth in a laugh. It was a laugh—not a true laugh, but the kind someone might make when suddenly seized by terror, bursting out before they could scream. In fact, he was far from laughing—his entire body trembled, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead and under his arms.

“You’ll fulfill your duty? What a joke,” Nito Gorodayu said. “Fine then—I’ll neither flee nor hide. You might try catching me off guard to slit my throat, but if you think such tricks can defeat me, you’re dead wrong.”

“Who’s to say?” said Rokubei, baring his teeth again. “That much I can’t say—no, that much I can’t say, Nito Gorodayu!”

Gorodayu frowned, waved one hand, and returned to the tea shop.
Futago Rokubei followed behind, stopped about ten ken short, and kept watch on his movements.
Gorodayu was shouting, demanding they bring him tea.
However, the hunched old woman from earlier and the middle-aged woman around forty who appeared to be her daughter had fled from behind the tea shop.
No matter how much Gorodayu shouted, there was no chance they would return—to put it bluntly, Nito Gorodayu couldn't even sip a single cup of bitter tea.

“See there,” muttered Rokubei from where he stood. “No matter how much you shout, people won’t come. You’re a murderer—that label will haunt you forever now. You’ll wear yourself out.”

The tea shop women never returned, and Gorodayu had no choice but to leave without sipping a single cup of bitter tea.
That evening, Nito Gorodayu secured lodgings in a place called Takaoka.
There too was shogunate-controlled territory, belonging to Matsudaira Awajinokami’s domain yielding 100,000 koku.
Rokubei followed after him, and the moment Gorodayu entered the inn, he shouted “Murderer!” from the main road.

“That samurai is a murderer!” he shouted at the top of his lungs while pointing at Gorodayu. “He kills people at the slightest provocation! A master of swords and spears—no one can stop him! He’s a murderer! Dangerous, I tell you!”

The young maid who had brought a foot-washing basin overturned it and fled, leaving behind only one clerk who had been in the shop, while all the other male and female employees cautiously vanished toward the back.

“Murderer!” Rokubei shouted from his position, pointing at Gorodayu. “That samurai is a murderer! Stay away—he’s dangerous! I’m warning you, he’s dangerous!”

Takaoka was not particularly large but was a bustling town, and as it was evening, there were many men and women coming and going.
Upon hearing Rokubei’s voice, they all either turned back the way they had come or hurried past in terror.

“Coward!” Nito Gorodayu shouted as he rushed out to the street. “You think these filthy tactics will break me? Using rotten, womanly coward’s tricks—aren’t you ashamed?!”

“Not in the slightest,” said Rokubei, languidly swaying a hand. “You have your weapons—swordsmanship and spears. I lack martial talent. So I’ve no choice but to act within my means. If you think martial prowess alone lets you dominate this world—that you can swagger anywhere unchallenged—well, that itself is the grave mistake you mentioned. Surely you grasp this.”

“Wait,” said Nito Gorodayu. “Do you intend to keep doing this forever?”

Rokubei nodded.
Futago Rokubei nodded emphatically, as if to declare, "Exactly so."

"This won't last," Nito Gorodayu said with feigned sympathy. "Townsfolk and peasants might cower at your words, but samurai are different. We have our own code. You'll find no allies among us for your cowardly methods."

"Let's test that," Rokubei replied while maintaining his retreating stance. "When pressed, I'll produce the Official Execution Order. Besides, not every samurai is a martial arts master—most are timid souls like me who detest bloodshed. I intend to make allies of such men."

Nito Gorodayu's face flushed dark red with rage as he raised his fist and cursed, “You coward! You weakling! You disgrace unworthy of being called a samurai!” Evidently lacking an extensive vocabulary, he kept repeating the same insults. Rokubei cautiously retreated backward while shouting at the top of his lungs: “Murderer! You’re a murderer! Everyone, this man is a murderer!” On the road were many passersby, and upon hearing Rokubei’s voice, they each fled back the way they had come. By the dust kicked up from their feet, the road was seemingly shrouded in a gray haze for a time.

“Coward!” Nito Gorodayu barked, gripping his sword hilt. “If you’re an executioner, fight me!”

“Even calling it a duel would be pointless—I know I stand no chance of winning.”
Rokubei retreated again. “I’ll do this my own way.”

“You call yourself a samurai?!”

“Think what you will—I’ll fulfill my duty my own way.”

“You’re beneath contempt!”
Gorodayu spat on the road. “Seems Fukui breeds nothing but cowards like you.”

“Better than breeding murderers, I’d say. Just remember—complacency kills.”

Gorodayu tried to give chase, but Rokubei had already fled.
The swiftness of his movements and the speed with which he fled were nothing short of astounding, and Gorodayu immediately abandoned pursuit.

“Ah, right—I remember now,” Nito Gorodayu muttered. “That man’s definitely called Futago something-or-other—the notorious coward of Fukui domain. What could those Fukui bastards be thinking, sending a wretch like that as an assassin?”

There was no particular intention behind it—the reader should already know that he alone had volunteered to be the assassin. And this was not some deep-laid scheme or premeditated plan, but rather a method he had conceived after hearing the conversation between two farmers in that pine forest on the hill—for Futago Rokubei had no other means available to him. When Gorodayu entered a roadside tea house, Rokubei would shout “Murderer!” from the road. “That man has killed people in Fukui! He might kill again at any moment! Don’t go near him! ‘That man is a murderer!’” he shouted at the top of his lungs, warning people to stay vigilant. First, the customers in the tea shop left their coins and fled; next, the tea shop staff fled as well. In the end, Nito Gorodayu couldn’t even get a cup of bitter tea and had to leave the establishment while hurling abuse at Rokubei.

At inns as well, when Nito Gorodayu tried to enter an establishment, he would shout the same thing.
Usually the staff would refuse him, but sometimes he forced his way in; when that happened, he too would stay at the same inn. He’d request they wake him when that samurai departed in the morning, then spend the entire night shouting accusations from his side.

“The samurai staying in Room 10 is a murderer!” he kept shouting one night. “That samurai’s a killer! You never know when he might strike! Everyone, be careful! It’s dangerous to go near him!”

When Nito Gorodayu rushed out, Futago Rokubei swiftly fled, continuing to shout as he ran.
“Look, just as I said! That man is a murderer—a killer without remorse! Everyone, be on your guard!”
Then the people on the road fled, and the shops hurriedly closed their large doors.
Nito Gorodayu was not remaining idle either; hiding behind objects, thickets, and groves, he attempted several times to ambush Rokubei unexpectedly.
But not once did he succeed.
The coward Rokubei remained thoroughly cautious and vigilant; even at moments when Gorodayu nearly caught him, he skillfully slipped through Gorodayu’s grasp and escaped.
As if an amateur were trying to grasp an eel, he slipped smoothly through Gorodayu’s hands and fled with the speed of the wind.
At one inn, there was also the pitiful sight of an old man who had fled while limping—his right knee protruded with cartilage that refused to heal despite medical treatment, leaving him unable to run properly—staggering unsteadily as he tearfully pleaded through sobs, “Please don’t kill me!”
And when they came to a place called Takaoka, something unexpected occurred.
Takaoka was a 100,000-koku domain of the Matsudaira of Toyama, a quiet, dignified town more settled than the castle town of Toyama itself.
Nito Gorodayu stayed at an inn called Matsubaya Ichibei on the main street, and after carefully observing the situation, Futago Rokubei removed his straw sandals at the same inn and was particularly allowed into the andon-lit room next to the front desk.
Then, as usual, when he asked the maid who had brought his evening meal about Gorodayu, she told him in detail that he was in the “Plum” room on the second floor, that he had just come out of the bath and was drinking sake, and that he was also wary of Rokubei.
There, he slipped the maid a tip and explained that the samurai was a villainous man and that he was pursuing him as an official executioner.
He asked her to keep a close watch, as he might try to slip away if given the chance.
The maid acknowledged his request and nodded resolutely, determined not to let him slip away no matter what.

After dinner, Rokubei took a quick bath, put on a sweat-stained kimono and dust-covered hakama trousers with gaiters, then lay down and slept for about an hour.
I can't afford to sleep long—it'd only give him time to rest. My only chance at victory is to wear him down completely!

As he drifted between sleep and such thoughts, someone shook him awake.
Rokubei startled and jumped up, asking what had happened and if something was wrong.
He had instinctively assumed the maid from earlier had come to deliver news, but instead there stood a beautiful girl who appeared seventeen or eighteen, looking down at him.
The girl had a slender, petite frame with an oval face and clearly defined features—a beauty unlike any Rokubei had ever witnessed in his life.
Yet the girl’s expression so closely resembled his sister Kane’s when angered that his first impression was of her fury rather than her beauty.

“Well I never,” the girl said, brightening the andon lamp’s flame as she scrutinized Rokubei’s disheveled state. “Do you always sleep in such a manner?”

“Certainly not.”
Rokubei shook his head. “No human could sleep like this perpetually. Unless you can?”

“I heard everything from Sakura the maid.”
The girl pressed on, disregarding his retort. “They say you’re scheming to ambush our upstairs guest under cover of night.”

Rokubei considered briefly before countering, “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m the one asking questions here.”

“I’ve never even considered doing something like a night attack.”

“In that state?” The girl pointed at Rokubei’s attire. “Slipping money to a maid to spy on the guest upstairs—is that what you call proper conduct for a samurai?”

“There are circumstances here.”

The girl sat down and placed both hands neatly on her knees. “Let me hear it,” she said. “I’m Oyo—seventeen years old. After my parents died three years ago, I’ve managed this inn as its proprietress. In that time, I’ve experienced all sorts of things and observed many guests, both men and women. I can tell whether someone’s words are truthful or fabricated nonsense.”

"Just like his sister Kane," Rokubei thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Then came the recollection of his sister’s desperate words—“Because you’re a coward, I’ve had not a single marriage prospect until now”—and her earnest expression. As if spurred by that memory, Rokubei repositioned himself into a wide cross-legged posture.

“Very well,” he said, “I don’t know how you’ll judge what I’m about to tell you, but I’ll set that aside and speak honestly about my situation.”

And he spoke.
While thinking this seventeen-year-old girl probably wouldn’t understand, he recounted his journey up to now in detail.
To his surprise, the girl thoroughly understood his story.
She teared up, sent away the maid and manager who had come to summon her, and listened intently; when Rokubei requested to be the executioner, she pressed the corners of her eyes and even shed tears.

“Go ahead and tell me.”
After finishing his story, Rokubei looked at the girl. “That’s the whole story. Do you believe it or not?”
“I was wrong,” the girl sobbed. “Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have doubted you—but in return, let me help too.”

Rokubei looked at the girl suspiciously, and Oyo slid closer to him on her knees.

IV

Oyo entrusted all remaining matters to the manager and departed Takaoka with Rokubei, prepared for their journey.
The inn there appeared to be an old establishment; they quickly obtained travel permits and apparently prepared ample travel funds.

More than that, however, the "assistance" proved even more practical and produced significant results.
Until now, Rokubei had been cornering him alone, but from Takaoka onward, Oyo became his replacement.

In other words, when Rokubei was resting or sleeping, Oyo would take over and shout "Murderer!"

“That samurai is a murderer!” she shouted, pointing at Gorodayu. “He killed someone in Fukui of Echizen and fled! He might go on another rampage and kill again at any moment! Everyone, be on your guard!”

This was the arrangement: after resting fully and sleeping as much as he desired, Rokubei would relieve Oyo.
This proved a devastating blow to Gorodayu.

He could not stop at roadside tea houses nor get proper rest at inns.

When people heard the shout of "Murderer!", tea shop workers would flee and inns refuse him service.
They would claim the establishment was full of guests or that they had barely anyone to serve meals.

It went without saying that the guests fled, and the inn staff and hired workers refused to approach.
The two of them carried on unperturbed.

"I'll tell you the truth."
Oyo said with a girlish pose, "My real name is Otora. I had an older brother and sister who died when I was little, so they named me that hoping I'd grow up strong."

“It’s a common enough story.”

“But I hate it—being called Otora like that.”
Oyo wrinkled her nose bridge. “That’s why I chose my own name. First it was Oyumi, but I didn’t like that either, so next was Hana, then Seki. Until last year, I went by Sayo.”

“And so you became Oyo?”

“There was a graceful and gentle person with that name among my old friends.”

“Graceful and gentle, you say?”

“I hate that!”
Oyo flushed red. “I only said there was a friend like that!”

Through these and other matters, their conversations gradually softened and grew more intimate, but let it not be thought that Rokubei had forgotten his mission in all this.
When they arrived at Toyama Castle town, Rokubei—on duty at the time—saw Gorodayu attempting to enter an inn and shouted his usual accusation, causing a crowd drawn by morbid curiosity to gather in a wide circle around the inn.
Then a middle-aged samurai who appeared to be a town magistrate’s assistant emerged with two men resembling constables and blocked Rokubei’s path.

“This is the castle town of Lord Awaji-no-kami Matsudaira, a 100,000-koku domain,” declared the middle-aged samurai. “To shout ‘Murderer!’ in the town at this hour and frighten passersby into commotion—such insolence! You will come with us to the magistrate’s office.”

The Echizen dialect was heavily accented.

However, the Toyama dialect was even more heavily accented, making precise interpretation difficult, but he could still grasp the general meaning.

Thereupon, Rokubei explained the circumstances in full, presented the Official Execution Order document, and had the middle-aged samurai read it.

“Most extraordinary,” said the middle-aged samurai. Having finished reading and placed it back in the envelope, he bowed three times and returned the document to him. “This was most discourteous,” he continued, suddenly changing his demeanor. “I had no knowledge of such circumstances—my deepest apologies.”

The middle-aged samurai, evidently of old-fashioned upbringing and as antiquated as a stone lying on the roadside, listed formulaic phrases of apology at length and lamented his misunderstanding.
Rokubei didn't understand even half of it and listened while thinking that this man was a genuine country samurai.

“Now that we fully understand the circumstances,” continued the middle-aged samurai, “our domain cannot remain idle either. We shall immediately dispatch officers from the magistrate’s office to watch this inn. Please rest at your leisure—we will notify you instantly if anything befalls that martial artist. The Tagawa inn across the way would suit you well.”

He showed thorough consideration by assuring there was no need to worry about lodging fees and that they would accommodate any other requests he might have.

“I have something to ask you,” Oyo said after they settled at Tagawa Inn, “though I wonder if it’s rude to bring this up.”

Since they had written themselves down as siblings in the inn register as before, the two of them slept side by side on bedding laid out in an eight-mat room.

“I won’t know unless I hear it,” Rokubei answered. “—Though I have a rough idea of what you’ll ask.”

“Oh really?”
Oyo turned her head on the pillow toward him and opened her round eyes wide. “Then what do you think I’m going to ask?”

“Ugh,” he uttered ambiguously, then sighed and said, “I wonder if it means I probably can’t carry out the Official Execution Order.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

This time, Rokubei turned around.

“Yes, that’s right,” Oyo smiled at him—a tender smile that a woman shows only to a man she trusts completely. “Gorodayu, you call him? He’s utterly exhausted, both body and soul. Even I could take him down now.”

“It won’t be that easy,” said Rokubei with a deep sigh. “A master of martial arts can change in astonishing ways when push comes to shove—astonishing ways, I tell you. It’ll still take considerable time to finish him off.”

“What I want to ask isn’t about that sort of thing,” said Oyo. “I’ll speak bluntly, but please don’t think me an indecent woman.”

He answered, “I don’t think that.”

The man and woman's conversation before reaching the crucial point followed such a formulaic pattern that it seemed destined to be excruciatingly dull. Let us therefore skip past that portion and proceed to the main subject.

"Do you already have a wife?" Oyo inquired.

"To me?" Rokubei echoed in astonishment. "I told you that first night I'm an undisguised coward—which is why my sister remains unmarried at twenty-one. What bride would come to such a man?"

“So you’ve never been married then, have you?”

Rokubei silently nodded.

“But,” Oyo asked skeptically, “there must be two or three women you’ve fancied?”

“Who’s to say?”
He looked up at the ceiling shyly. “Having been called the clan’s number one coward since childhood, whenever I saw pretty girls, I’d quickly avert my eyes or run away—I’ve never liked a single one before.”

“What a foolish clan! Since when has martial strength alone been the measure of a samurai?”

“The world needs its laughingstock,” Rokubei sighed again. “I believe no one harbors real malice—I can’t speak for elsewhere, but every place needs at least one person they can label a coward, someone who’ll bear the name without protest.”

“So you…”
Having slipped into improper address, Oyo flushed crimson. “Are you truly resolved to kill him?”

“If I don’t, my sister will never be able to marry.”
“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“It’s about your bride,” Oyo probed. “If the Official Execution Order succeeds, there’ll be plenty of women coming to marry you, won’t there?”

Rokubei paused briefly, then gently shook his head on the pillow. “I don’t think so,” he said in a gloomy tone. “The coward here is me. My sister might get married, but I’m the one who’s been called a coward all along. Even if I achieve some success now, the name of a born coward won’t just disappear.”

Oyo fell into deep thought.
From somewhere in this inn came the sound of lively music and singing, and from beneath the floorboards could be heard the chirping of insects.

“Hey,” Oyo whispered after a while, “you should get some sleep now.”

“No—I’m awake.”
Rokubei answered awkwardly, “Actually, this is my first time sleeping in the same room as a woman, and since I toss and turn in my sleep, I’ve been too worried about that to feel drowsy—though if I tough it out a little longer, I should manage to fall asleep.”

“Heeey,” Oyo whispered, covering her mouth with the quilt, “won’t you take me home with you?”

“But,” he stuttered, “but you bear the crucial responsibility of being Matsuba-ya’s daughter-proprietress.”

“I left that in the hands of Kichishichi the manager and Okou the head maid. Those two even have children now.”

“I don’t quite understand,”

“I’ll explain the details later,” Oyo said with a coquettish smile. “Right now, I want to know whether you’ll take me home with you.”

Rokubei swallowed hard. “Of course—if that’s what you wish, it’s perfectly fine by me.”

“Will you prove it?”

“What should I do?”

“You just need to stay still,” said Oyo as she sat up and blew out the lamp’s flame.

Five

Gorodayu, Nito Gorodayu was completely exhausted in body and spirit.
When he arrived at an inn, a shout of “Murderer!” would send guests fleeing and inn staff scattering.

It seemed a report had been filed from the Toyama Matsudaira Domain—guards were stationed everywhere without exception, even at roadside tea houses. If he snatched food from shops to stave off hunger while leaving payment behind, people would still shout accusations like “Thief!” or “Dine-and-dasher!”
Moreover, while there had initially been only one pursuer, now a girl had joined him—making them two.

While one slept soundly, the other stayed awake, kept shouting "Murderer!"
When she heard that cry, the inn maid who had brought the meal tray would flee still clutching it.

From Etchu Toyama, crossing over Oyama Pass, the road entered Shinano.
While some descended the Tenryu River to reach Mitsuke on the Tokaido, it seemed common sense for most to choose the Nakasendo.
Nito Gorodayu had chosen the latter route, but before reaching Lake Suwa, he became utterly sickened to his core and completely wearied of it all.
Unnamed high mountains loomed distantly to both left and right, while all around stretched endless rice fields.

By that roadside stood a plateau about three feet high, surrounded by pine groves. Nito Gorodayu climbed up there, removed his large woven hat, tossed aside his travel bag, and heaved a deep sigh.

Far along the highway could be seen two travelers—a man and a woman, needless to say, Futago Rokubei and Oyo—walking this way.

“I’ve had enough,” Nito Gorodayu muttered. “It’s time to end this here.”

His cheeks were hollowed, his eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness and nervous tension, his lips parched and white.

In stark contrast, the two walking along the highway were brimming with such fresh vitality they seemed dewy.
What exactly had transpired, even I, the author, cannot say.
Rokubei was much the same, but Oyo in particular appeared positively bubbly, constantly giving him quick sidelong glances, saying something before gently touching his elbow or giving him soft little pokes.—They seemed about to pass right by that plateau as if having completely forgotten their original mission.

There, Nito Gorodayu stood up and called out, “I’m right here!”
The two looked astonished, and the girl immediately shouted, “Murderer!”

“Stop it—I’ve had enough of this!” said Nito Gorodayu as he came to the edge of the plateau. “You there—Twin whatever-your-name-is—you’re the man who came to carry out the Official Execution Order on me, aren’t you?”

Rokubei nodded silently.

"I told you from the start I wouldn't run or hide," Gorodayu continued. "If you're a samurai, why won't you fight? We can settle this right here! I'm sick of this farce—fight me!"

"That won't do."
Rokubei licked his lips before replying, "There's no contest between you and me. I've said from the beginning—I must carry out the Official Execution Order my own way."

“Are you even a samurai?!”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“And yet you feel no shame?”

Rokubei shook his head from side to side. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ve long been established by reputation as a coward. No matter what you say now, there isn’t a shred of shame left in me to feel.”

“Just how far do you plan to chase me?”

“That’s up to you,” Rokubei said, baring his teeth. “I’ll follow you anywhere until you collapse—I’ve got more than enough travel funds.”

“You’re a bloodsucking tick—not even human!”

“When I return to Fukui, I’ll tell them exactly that,” Rokubei answered with defensive posture. “I’m sure everyone will be delighted.”

“Won’t you fight me properly?”

“That depends on you—though I doubt there’s any need for concern.”

“I’m through with this—sick to death of living like this,” Gorodayu said as he sat down heavily. “Starving constantly, never sleeping, haunted by ‘murderer’ cries day and night—and you refuse a proper duel! I’ve had my fill of this absurd theater—I’ll slit my belly here and now.”

Gorodayu spread open his kimono collar to both sides and drew his short sword.

“Wait.”
Rokubei extended a hand. “Wait—hold on a moment.”

“What?!”

“Ah, but I can’t have you settling this through your own self-serving methods.”

“What do you mean by ‘self-serving’?”

“I can’t have you settling this however you please,” Rokubei said. “After all, I’m the official executioner here.”

“But you have no intention of drawing your sword to fight me, do you?”

Rokubei shrugged his shoulders as if questioning whether that was his sin.

“I was wrong.”
Gorodayu hung his head and spoke with the air of a man who regretted things to his very core. “I too was wrong,” he said earnestly. “And society’s way of thinking is wrong too. My homeland lies in Hitachi’s countryside where my family served for generations as priests at Washoji Temple—but I couldn’t bear ending my days in such a rural temple.”

I wanted to go to the capital, make myself known to people, and become someone celebrated by the world as a man so extraordinary he'd be unmatched in any era.
Hitachi has always been a province where martial arts thrive, having produced many martial artists renowned as experts and masters.
I believed martial arts were the sole path to making a name for oneself, resolved to make a name for myself throughout the land through that very way, and received instruction from countless renowned masters and experts.

“But they were all wrong,” Nito Gorodayu continued, “Martial arts means training not to lose—prevailing over strong opponents. Training to become stronger and stronger, to defeat any adversary. I learned this and nearly mastered those techniques—it was my extraordinary skill that the Lord of Echizen recognized. Yet through this ordeal I’ve learned something: defeating the strong does not make one a true martial artist.”

“Now, now,” said Rokubei, “please don’t suddenly get so worked up like that.”

“ ‘Suddenly’?”
Gorodayu indignantly surged to his feet but immediately bowed his head again, then slowly shook it from side to side while keeping it lowered. “No—this isn’t some sudden impulse or spur-of-the-moment notion. It’s nothing so frivolous. Through this ordeal I’ve come to understand for the first time—there are limits to strength itself, and there will always be methods to shatter that strength. This isn’t just about me. Since ancient times, strategists and martial artists have all studied with the aim of becoming stronger and overcoming powerful foes, believing that to be the highest form of training. But that’s a mistake.”
Once more, Gorodayu slowly shook his head from side to side. “I know I sound repetitive, but I’ve only just now come to understand that this was an error—a fundamental mistake.”

“You’ve been saying that over and over already.”

“I could keep saying it a hundred times over.”
Gorodayu gazed at the glinting blade of his drawn short sword and said, as if scolding himself: “There are ways to defeat strong opponents—all martial artists acclaimed as masters were like that. Even someone like Miyamoto Musashi apparently followed that path. But no—there must be ways to defeat the strong. Such methods exist in abundance, but they represent only one aspect of martial arts, not the whole of it. With just that alone—you cannot overcome the weak—the cowards.”

Rokubei looked embarrassed as he glanced sidelong at Oyo.

"No matter how skilled the kendo master," Nito Gorodayu continued, "there's no way to counter your methods—no means to shatter them. I've given up. Had enough. I'll cut my belly open here. So take my head back to Echizen."

“Is that…” Rokubei asked, “your true intention?”

Gorodayu took paper from his breast pocket and wrapped it around the drawn short sword.
Rokubei hurried over there and came to a stop at the base of the plateau.

“Wait—wait a moment,” Rokubei said. “Do you truly intend to commit seppuku there?”

“That’s right,” Gorodayu answered. “—Or will you fight me?”

Rokubei shook his head and waved his hand.

“That’s right.”
Gorodayu nodded. “If that’s the case, I’ve no choice but to commit seppuku. Rather than continue this journey where you two take turns following me endlessly, shouting ‘Murderer! Murderer!’ without respite, leaving me unable to eat a decent meal—plunging a blade into my gut would be far more peaceful.”

Rokubei turned to Oyo and said, “Wait a moment,” then turned to Gorodayu and repeated, “Wait a moment,” resting his hand on his chin, tilting his head, and scratching the back of his neck.

“Then let’s do this,” said Rokubei in a tone suggesting business negotiation. “In this weather, the head would rot before reaching Echizen. That makes bringing it back useless, yet returning empty-handed isn’t an option either. So here’s my proposal—”

“Are you saying you’ll take me back alive?”

Rokubei shook his head. “No—though I fear this may anger you—I want you to cut off your topknot.”

“The topknot,” said Gorodayu, pressing his own head, “—you mean this?”

“Exactly,” Rokubei nodded. “Having one’s topknot cut is considered the greatest disgrace for a samurai—at least, that’s what my domain has proclaimed since ancient times, and what I too have been taught.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“My apologies,” said Rokubei, “but cut off that topknot. I’ll take it back as substitute for your head.”

“Can a topknot replace a head?”

“A fresh-severed head rots,” Rokubei said. “Besides, I dislike killing people or witnessing their suicides.”

To quote the *Henjiroku* chronicle here once more: Futago Rokubei successfully accomplished the official execution order, even bringing home a bride into the bargain. Moreover, through his elevated reputation, his sister Kane came to be auspiciously wed to Daihachirou, son of Nakano Chuuro.
—so it states.

As the author, I believe there is nothing more I could possibly add.