Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One: Supernatural Incidents at the Pomegranate Mansion

In those days of housing shortages, saying this might have gotten me punched, but until just over a decade prior, there had still been vacant houses known as haunted mansions even within Tokyo city limits. In Omori-Magome, where Fu-fu-tei resided—the very person making that declaration—there were two such houses, and in drunken bravado, I once ventured into them for exploration. One presented a crumbling spectacle where even Princess Taki Yasha might have materialized, while the other stood as a sturdy two-story residence with a gate structure not yet particularly aged, accompanied by a garden so vast it surpassed what one might require for cultivating potatoes or pumpkins.

That such properties remained vacant for so long even after rental shortages grew severe made one appreciate how commendable was the human inclination to fear the supernatural. Even as recently as just over a decade prior—before something as inconceivable as nuclear power emerged—this state of affairs had persisted.

In the Edo period, when even supernatural beings saw their fundamental rights acknowledged, their rampant activities took on the aspect of a golden age—ghosts, specters, shape-shifting monsters, vengeful spirits, demonic entities, and even foxes, badgers, plants and trees would terrorize people and disturb society to their grim satisfaction. "Haunted houses" stood utterly commonplace, holding not an ounce of novelty.

Hiroshima in Aki Province was a castle town under the Asano clan's 426,000-koku domain, with over ten thousand houses within its bounds. Due to its free-trade commercial nature attracting many merchants from other provinces, it thrived as a land fully deserving its reputation as the foremost city in the Chūgoku region.
...Given that Lord Tairin'in was in his final years, this would place it in the Kyōhō era.
In this bustling Hiroshima castle town—and moreover, right within its samurai district—there stood a single haunted house.
To the east of the castle stood Shukkeien Garden, the feudal lord's spring villa; located nearby on the outskirts of the samurai district, though it had remained vacant for seven or eight years now.
For a time, there were those who wished to live there, and among them were some who came rushing in with declarations like, "I'll exorcise this place myself!"
However, even if they managed one night, those lacking fortitude never lasted past midnight—without exception turning pale and fleeing, never to return again.
It was an era when all four social classes—their bellies full—were intoxicated by peace—so much so that it was called the Genroku-Kyōhō period.
"It might be said that samurai morale had decayed," one might observe, "but there’s no need to get worked up over such claims—after all, Iwami Jūtarō and Miyamoto Musashi weren’t found everywhere at any time. Even samurai generally possessed ordinary human nerves. In fact, adhering to the principle of 'not speaking of supernatural forces,' dabbling with monsters was rather considered frivolous."

The house itself was already old and quite dilapidated.
It had likely been originally inhabited by a samurai with an income of five or six hundred koku.
There were numerous rooms and a stable.
The garden spanned approximately five hundred tsubo, yet every tree spread its branches without restraint, while thickets of withered bushes and thorny weeds tangled wildly among them, presenting the appearance of a lush, primeval jungle.
In the open space at the garden's front, female bamboo shoots sprouted vigorously across the ground, while at their center stood a pomegranate tree reaching some fifteen shaku in height. When seasons turned, every branch would burst with vermilion flowers—their garish red hue amidst the decaying scenery seemed to exude an eerie aura, visible to all eyes no doubt. Thus had this house come to be called "Pomegranate Mansion."
...Now, the back of the house was a grove of oak and cedar trees, to the east lay a dense thicket, and to the west stood a roofed well.
From there, set back three or four ken with a cypress-leaf hedge as the boundary, it connected to the neighboring residence of one Jubei Miura.
...The Miura family held a 250-koku stipend as mounted guardsmen, a household of five consisting of a couple, an elderly woman, and one boy and one girl.
The eldest son was still eight years old, and the daughter, named Tomi, was seventeen. The entire family was well-acquainted with the neighboring haunted house, but above all, their daughter Tomi was its most avid observer, having compiled an extensive memorandum dedicated to its phenomena.
To begin with, Tomi had loved "being startled by things" since childhood, going so far as to assert that if there were no mysteries or inexplicable phenomena in this world, there would be no point in living.
Consequently, her memorandum regarding the haunted mansion was meticulously detailed in its coverage of dates, weather conditions, times, phenomena, and frequency levels—its scientific rigor surpassing even Dr. Inoue Enryo’s "The Science of Ghosts" by a wide margin.
Let us present an excerpt: —As a general rule, paranormal phenomena were most active when people moved in or attempted exorcisms.
Luminous phenomena, violent noises (as if a millstone were rolling through the ceiling rafters), and anguished wails enveloped the entire building—she described it as precisely resembling "monsters welcoming their prey to commence a grand banquet."
When there were no humans present, the phenomena became markedly subdued.
The luminous phenomena would either pass through the main house’s corridors or appear from the eaves to vanish atop the roof; the resonant sounds and wails were extremely faint, as if "the monsters were sighing from boredom."
"...the monsters were sighing from boredom," was recorded in the memorandum. ...But let us set aside these written descriptions for now and kindly guide you, dear readers, to the scene itself.

But wait a moment—it seemed that a boy had just dashed into the Miura residence’s gate. That was Miss Tomi’s younger brother Kotaro. He quickly found his sister in the garden and, panting heavily with a panicked expression, said:
“Sis, it’s terrible! Someone’s moving into the haunted house next door!”

"Oh!" Miss Tomi's eyes flashed open.
It was the spitting image of a child's expression upon receiving an entire box of genuine chocolate.
And quite beautiful at that—she first verified the facts with her brother, then let out another loud "Oh—!" before flusteredly dashing back into the house—likely to record it in her memorandum.

Part Two: Where There Are Humans, There Are Things

The one who entered Pomegranate Mansion was a young samurai named Goza Heinosuke—third son of Ueda Mondo, an Edo-based chief retainer for the Asano clan with a 12,000-koku stipend—who had inherited the extinct Goza surname and been stationed in Hiroshima.
At twenty-seven years old, his imposing frame—a well-proportioned five shaku seven sun—combined with a remarkably serene and refined countenance that drew all eyes.
Traditionally, third sons had an established reputation as quick-witted sore losers and troublemakers; however, Heinosuke was the complete antithesis of this.
No—to call him merely the opposite would be too lenient; he should rather be termed "a heretic of the secular world, a rebel against common sense." Though this stems not from any twisted spitefulness in his spirit that deliberately defies convention—far from being twisted, one could guarantee that a human as pure-hearted, single-mindedly candid, and radiantly transparent as he could not be found outside a society of gods or fools.
After all, his birth family maintained an income comparable to a minor daimyo with their 12,000-koku stipend, and his upbringing set him apart—no, these matters will naturally become clear as the story progresses; let us instead observe his actions.

On the day young Kotaro from next door rushed to report the news, subordinate officials and Goza’s servant came over and proceeded to clean and carry in luggage. At that time, the subordinate officials kept making jokes toward Gonpachi—a servant with this stylish name who was a robust man in his late twenties, sturdy enough to wrestle in sumo—but Gonpachi sneered and boasted, “Don’t mock me! I get paid to serve the Master, but I ain’t obliged to deal with no monsters.” “Even if you say that,” they countered, “the monsters are attached to this house! If you serve here, you’ll have to tangle with ’em whether you like it or not!” “Monsters don’t come out in the daytime anyway.” Gonpachi snickered again. “Once night falls, I’ll just lodge elsewhere. You’re out of your mind.” He blustered in this manner.

The following day, Goza Heinosuke made his nonchalant appearance. Since his appearance had already been described, readers who had forgotten were invited to refer back to earlier sections.
The house had been cleaned the previous day regardless, but given that there had been no permanent residents for nearly ten years, a perfunctory duty-cleaning made little difference. He didn't seem particularly concerned about this, entering through the gate with truly carefree composure and stepping onto the paving stones to approach the house.
Gonpachi guided him through the interior. "This here's the bathhouse, sir. These be the lower quarters. Over yonder lie three rooms we can't rightly figure the use of. Aye, turn down this corridor here and you've got the reception parlor, antechamber, main guest room. Past that lies the Mistress's chambers—though none dwell there—followed by sleeping quarters, hearth room, Buddhist altar room. This wing holds the Retired Master's quarters—empty too—with your bedchamber across that hallway, sir. Round this bend now—inner guest rooms, secondary parlor, and finally your study. That be the whole layout of it, sir."
Heinosuke listened amiably as he walked through the house, but after thoroughly viewing everything, he finally said, “Hmm, well… What’s the name of the master of this house?”
“Huh?”
Gonpachi stared at his master. “Wh-what did you say, Master?”
“So I’m asking what kind of person the master of this house is.”
“So you mean...”
Gonpachi put a hand to his head. “Well, when all’s said and done... wouldn’t that be you, Master?”
“So when you say ‘Master,’ you mean me here?”
“That’d be about the size of it, Master...”
“You're out of your mind.”
Heinosuke shook his head and muttered, “I’ve no need for retired masters or mistresses,” but just then his eyes were drawn to the garden—there in its center stood the pomegranate tree now blooming thickly with vermilion flowers amidst female bamboo shoots sprouting wildly in every direction.
In contrast to the wildly overgrown surroundings, its garishly vivid, almost toxic hue seemed to emit an eerie aura.
Heinosuke gazed thoroughly at this scenery before nodding with a kindly smile. “Hmm... this is remarkably tranquil and pleasant.”
Gonpachi looked doubtfully at his master’s face.
He thought it might be sarcasm. “I’ll gradually trim back the garden, Master—beggin’ your pardon, what with this bein’ so sudden-like, I couldn’t manage it today.”
“No, don’t touch it. I like it as is.”
Heinosuke narrowed his eyes in delight. “To achieve this level of natural flavor is no ordinary feat—no mediocre hand could manage this. It must have taken a gardener of exceptional skill. Hmm... I’m quite taken with it. Not a single blade of grass shall be disturbed.”
The moment he realized this was genuine and not sarcasm, Gonpachi—overwhelmed with emotion—vowed he would spare no effort in serving this Master.

After all, he’d dreaded even the thought of tending to this upkeep.

At that moment, there was a girl watching from the cypress-leaf hedge across the way—none other than Tomi Miura.
From there, she fixedly gazed at the figure of Goza Heinosuke standing on the veranda—with eyes blending curiosity, longing, jealousy, antipathy, obsession, envy, hatred, attachment, and every other emotion imaginable—fixedly, fixedly gazing. Then she let out a low exhalation-like cry: "Oh—," and again, "Oh—."

Three: The Garden as Day Gradually Darkens

When lunchtime arrived, a meal accompanied by sake was delivered from Kobai-tei, a restaurant in the city.
Though many had gone to great lengths to assist, servants proved utterly unavailable—March being the designated month for servant rotations made securing help out of season quite impossible. Still, had it not been Pomegranate Mansion, finding two or three might not have been entirely out of the question.
The sole exception was Gonpachi, who finally agreed after wages were doubled with advance payment—though only on condition that “since me parent’s ill abed, you’ll let me tend to ’em nights.”
With no alternatives, Gonpachi would prepare his own meals while Heinosuke arranged to have his delivered from town until proper help could be found… After finishing lunch, he lay down.
When Gonpachi came to clear the dishes, he noticed the sake remained untouched. “Didn’t touch your drink, Master?”
“Hmm—”
“Goin’ out somewhere?”
“Nowhere particular.”
“Don’t care for sake then?”
“Sake? Hmm—I don’t drink.”
The master declared: “Drinkin’ leads to drunkenness—tiresome business.”
“Right y’are. We’ll leave it be then.”
Gonpachi gulped audibly as he cleared the tray away.
Heinosuke dozed for half a bell—his post-lunch nap being an essential ritual since boyhood, said to ensure sound sleep come nightfall.
Even when visiting others, he’d never skipped this practice.
Upon waking, he summoned Gonpachi to bring out the shogi board. “Fancy setup for chess, eh? Not that this one’s got two coppers to clink together no more.”
“You do spout the oddest notions sometimes—”
Heinosuke remarked while arranging pieces: “Not drinkin’ sake… sudden arrangements… formal chess sets… penniless state… This Hiroshima dialect?”
“Hōgen or Kengyō or whatnot—weeeell now—still ain’t got the hang o’ that samurai jabber o’ yours.”

“So you don’t know, hmm—”

When one saw how he had arranged the pieces while saying such things, it turned out to be a counter-rook opening already advanced into midgame positions. Gonpachi, who had fully expected to enjoy a match with an opponent, slumped in disappointment. “Master... ya ain’t playin’ alone here, are ya? Th-that’s—” “Don’t bite your tongue.”
“Th-that’s... how it’d be then...”
“I don’t waste time on trifles—there’s a proper opponent.”
“You mean... someone local?”
“What nonsense—Edo.”
“Edo?” Gonpachi gulped loudly. “You mean... that Edo way out east?”
“Exactly—Edo far away.”
“So... you’re playin’ against someone there?”
“That’s who I’m playing against.”
“Huh—”
Gonpachi swallowed hard. “But... how’s that work?”
“In shogi, when your opponent moves, you answer—that’s the rule. My rival’s Hisadayu Sasano from Edo estate—a fierce player. I took first move here, but now he’s pushed this 5-5 pawn...” He tapped the board. “Can’t decide whether to take it.”
“Heh heh heh...”
Gonpachi began edging backward while glancing about. “S-so... where’s this Lord Sasano sittin’?”
“Fool—if I’m here, he’s naturally over there!”
“Wha—”
With that, Gonpachi leapt sideways and bolted off.
This wasn’t some jest—when leaving Edo, they’d started a game they now meant to continue move-by-move through couriers. Sasano was famed for marathon deliberations—twenty-three days per move once—so with each play traveling between Hiroshima and Edo by post riders, this match would span years beyond reason even in peaceful times.
Later explanations somewhat reassured Gonpachi—though he’d first believed his master was playing against a ghost... As Goza pondered capturing the pawn, dinner arrived.
Thus dusk fell early again. Fidgeting while carrying the meal tray, Gonpachi hesitated over the included sake once more. Waiting for his slow-eating master meant darkness would fall before he could ask about it. He barely set down the tray before losing his chance to mention the liquor. Though conflicted, his growling stomach won out—steeling himself, he finally asked: “Not partakin’, Master?”
“I don’t indulge.”
“Then I’ll take this for me ailin’ parent!” Blurting through garbled words, he deftly snatched up both lunch and dinner’s sake—five gō total—and fled Pomegranate Mansion posthaste. By nightfall he sat guzzling it in a riverside den with a red-haired matron: “Place bein’ Pomegranate Mansion ’n all... Master playin’ shogi with some Edo ghost? Near scared me liver out!”

Combined with lunchtime’s portion, it made five gō total. Clutching his prize with an air of finality, Gonpachi bolted from Pomegranate Mansion. Within half an hour, he sat in a disreputable riverside house along Tenma River’s banks, enthusiastically explaining to a stout, red-haired woman: “What with the place bein’ Pomegranate Mansion an’ all—then havin’ some Edo fella sittin’ across from Master plannin’ shogi moves—enough to make a man’s guts twist right up!” Meanwhile, back at said pomegranate-adorned estate, Master Heinosuke remained deep in contemplation over the shogi board.
The lantern light spilling from the lit veranda into the garden made the pomegranate flowers appear sinisterly vivid, yet the Master showed no sign of concern—continuing to tilt his head while staring at the shogi board and muttering things like “Hmm… so that’s their move? I see.”

IV: The Sleep-Disturbing Voice Beneath the Floor

Heinosuke went to bed after ten o'clock.
Thanks to his afternoon nap, he had fallen into a deep sleep, but after how many hours had passed? A horribly clamorous noise from overhead jolted him awake.
Too violent for mice—it was as if pickling stones were being rolled about, with something rumbling and clattering as it raced across the entire ceiling.
“Mrmph.”
Heinosuke groaned and looked up at the ceiling, let out one large yawn, then leisurely turned over and shut his eyes.
The noise abruptly ceased... When the deafening roar suddenly stopped, an oppressively sinister silence of the night descended—utterly soundless, certified “death-like stillness.” Yet within that silence, a faint voice soon began to be heard—a fragmented, barely audible murmur.
At first, he couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from or what it was saying.
Rising slightly, then falling—intermittent, as if pleading or choking—it gradually became clear that this was a human moan. … Moreover, it seemed to be coming from directly beneath where Heinosuke lay. “Aah… aah uuh…”
The voice groaned thus; then came a sound like claws scraping against a wooden box—scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch—followed by another “Ahh...”
The despairing groans gradually transformed into fragmented gasps and words: “I beg you... let me out of here... It’s unbearable in this coffin... Ah... please... release me from this coffin...”
Then, it groaned again with a strangled voice.
Heinosuke turned over again—since the sounds were coming from right beneath his pillow, making deep sleep impossible—and clicking his tongue, he sluggishly sat up in bed.
He was so sleepy his eyes were glued shut.
He pressed his hands against his knees, lowered his head, and groaned, “Ugh.”
Then the voice beneath the floorboards shifted into choked sobs. “Ahh—how wretched! My hands and feet have rotted away—I’m half a skeleton now! I want out of here—please, I beg you—release me from this coffin—”
“Ugh,” groaned Master Gonpachi. Then, after letting out another large yawn, he finally showed signs of irritation. “Whatever this is, keep it to daytime hours. I’m too damn sleepy for this.”
He snarled and flopped back down.
The voice beneath the floorboards persisted, accompanied by the chilling sound of claws scraping against a coffin. … Yet the Master was not silent either—after tossing and turning several times, he began to snore. But this was no ordinary, vulgar snore: it was a meticulously structured composition of grinding and scraping sounds across a pentatonic scale, its fortissimo passages deftly articulating a central motif. Such solemn magnificence achieved through mere repetition and variation of a simple theme had no parallel save for Maurice Ravel’s symphonic poem *Daphnis et Chloé*.
The voice beneath the floorboards and all noises ceased—undoubtedly having judged themselves no match for its musical efficacy. Even after that, sounds arose here and there: sliding doors opening, stealthy footsteps down corridors.
From the ceiling came a sudden burst of shrill female laughter—these sounds boasted more refined technique and expression than those beneath the floorboards, yet ultimately served only as accompaniment to the Master’s snores. ……Gonpachi returned at dawn, convinced his Master had either been slain by monsters or absconded under cover of night—a favorable outcome, given he’d already pocketed double wages under their special contract. Humming cheerfully, he strode down the corridor to the Master’s room, where mosquito netting hung and bedding lay prepared—yet no sign of the Master himself. “Gone an’ croaked!” he nearly shouted—when suddenly the Master’s voice sounded from behind: “I am Goza Heinosuke.”

After saying this and appearing to exchange greetings with someone—peeking quietly in surprise revealed the master standing by the wellside talking to a neighbor.
“He’s alive… damn it!”
He blurted out without thinking; then realizing his blunder, he leapt sideways into the kitchen and strained with all his might to let out a fart—hoping to reverse the bad omen.

Truly, these humans are base creatures… The one exchanging greetings with Heinosuke across the hedge was Tomi Miura of the Miura household, her entire body brimming with such exhilaration that she seemed barely able to remain standing.

“So… so you slept well last night?”

“I slept well.”

“As long as I take a nap during the day, I can sleep soundly at night.”

“Was there nothing at all—absolutely nothing—out of the ordinary?”

“Well… let me see…”

He wiped his neck with a hand towel. Miss Tomi’s curiosity had reached its peak, her hands frantically plucking away at the hedge’s finest cypress leaves.

Heinosuke remained silent for quite some time.

Miss Tomi, unable to bear it any longer, said in a trembling voice: “I heard various noises and what sounded like people weeping at your residence—”

“Ah, right.”

The master smiled at Tomi. “Yes, there was such an occurrence. It was so noisy I couldn’t sleep—so I told them to keep it to daytime hours.”

“During the day—”

“But there’s nothing to be done in the dead of night—it’s everyone’s bedtime after all.”

“Oh—” Never had Miss Tomi’s hands plucked the hedge so vigorously. Stripping cypress leaves faster than a gardener’s shears, gazing up at Heinosuke with eyes ablaze in wonder and longing, she let out a sigh so deep it seemed to emerge from her very core: “Oh—”

V: Late-Night Tea-Bearing Footsteps

"Ah—the moment my desire would be fulfilled had finally come! Since childhood I'd seen and heard countless wonders, but none had ever excited, captivated, and shaken my heart into flames like Lord Goza. All ghosts and specters paled before him like midday fireflies. What a man... what a—"
With sleep-deprived eyes reddened and while haphazardly stringing together interjections, Miss Tomi wrote in her memorandum.
Her full, rounded chest heaved violently, her cheeks flushed a vivid red—who could have imagined such tormenting beauty lay hidden within her? But let us leave her to her memorandum and venture over to Pomegranate Mansion.
Heinosuke finished his morning meal and stepped out onto the veranda. For half an hour now he had sat there blankly—occasionally tilting his head or grunting—as though struggling to recall some forgotten thing.
What was this? Something nagged at him. Indeed—it felt like it might be in his chest, but no—his head. It must be right here in his head—he mused along these lines.
The mansion stood quiet. Gonpachi, apparently worn out from nursing duties, did a quick sweep before retreating to his room where he now lay mid-nap... Nothing occurred until lunchtime—he properly took his afternoon sleep and uneventfully made it through dinner.
Gonpachi once again secured five gō of sake from Kobai-tei today and slipped away before dusk.
The master had been staring at the 5-5 pawn move until around ten o'clock; when sleepiness finally overtook him, he went to his bedroom and slipped inside the mosquito net.
...Not long after Gonpachi's departure came a fine rain that whispered against the gloomily deepening eaves—quiet—a night so still it seemed to draw one inward.
The ariake andon lantern outside the mosquito net sputtered fitfully—nothing amiss... No—that wasn't quite right—the corridor's far end now glowed faintly with pale light floating and swaying.
Pit-a-pat—pit-a-pat—pit-a-pat—someone approached barefoot down the corridor. The pale fireball floated ahead of those footsteps through the air.
Yet the master slept soundly and remained unaware; footsteps and fireball passed his bedroom door, reached the corridor's end, then turned back.
But he remained motionless in sleep—the reader must now understand why Heinosuke had been called a heretic of customs and rebel against common sense.
The attitude he displayed constituted blasphemy against natural phenomena and supreme insult to mystery. Yet even if one raged about it—with him sleeping thus—nothing could be done—the true pity belonged to Mr. Monster of the corridor who now found himself stripped of dignity.
In France there was a portly fellow called Descartes who lamented "People become careless because they deceive"—yet even by this measure one understood humans mustn't be careless even in sleep.
...The pale light vanished down the corridor.
The footsteps faded entirely.
The monster had realized—emotional tactics proved worthless against such nerves; concrete practical methods alone would suffice.
Just as planned!
A thunderous noise began roaring from above as if millstones tumbled—rumbling clattering house-shaking vibrations—while beneath floorboards rose shrill shrieks of unknowable origin.

Heinosuke's sleep was disrupted by the commotion, and he lumbered upright with a groan. Squinting through eyes still gummed shut from sleep, he glared sourly at the ceiling while roughly scratching his neck with one hand before releasing an enormous yawn. The house's creaking intensified above while matching clamor rose from below the floorboards—until his exasperated "Ugh..." instantly silenced both realms. Ceiling rattles and subterranean shrieks alike vanished into what could only be called an abyssal hush, leaving only the soft patter of rain against eaves to permeate the graveyard stillness now enveloping Pomegranate Mansion.

"Good grief," he muttered through another yawn.

As he lay back down hoping to salvage some rest, a faint sound made him turn—just as the fusuma door slid open with unnatural smoothness. From the parlor's darkness emerged a figure bearing a tray, its features obscured by the dimmed andon lamp across the room. Soundlessly approaching his mosquito net, the visitor knelt outside and lifted its face with a whispery "Your tea..."

The stark white visage revealed a single central eye above a lipless crimson gash spanning where nose and mouth should be. Heinosuke sat up properly. "Ah—my apologies," he said with perfect composure. "You may leave it there."

When rasping noises issued from that horizontal slit of a mouth, he tilted his head. "Pardon? Did you say something?"

Only then did he properly examine his visitor's face. "Ah—forgive my bluntness," he continued conversationally, "but that appears quite a severe injury. Burns perhaps?"

"...What?"

"No offense intended—your facial features being somewhat deficient made me wonder if you'd suffered fire damage."

"This isn't burned!"

"So congenital then?"

"Born... Don't spout nonsense! I'm a monster!"

"A facial abscess perhaps? What they call a carbuncle?"

"A one-eyed imp!"

The disguised gambler's inner voice crowed: Now things are getting interesting...

VI: The Logic Behind Manifesting Phantoms

“Well, well—a one-eyed imp.”
The master shook his head sympathetically. “It must be quite inconvenient walking around with just one eye. Though I suppose losing your bearings has its advantages—when you bump into things, at least you’ve got nothing to smash your nose against.”
“...Your tea...”
The monster, realizing its duty, let out a pitiful voice.
“Ah, right—since you’ve gone to the trouble, I’ll accept it. If you wouldn’t mind, please place it here.”
“...You’re going to drink it?”
“I’ll take it.”
“...I’m in a real bind here…”
The monster muttered and began fidgeting, “Well… the truth is—there’s actually nothing here. This is empty.”
“So you’re saying... what exactly does that mean?”
“There’s no tea in here at all—it’s completely empty!”
“Hmm—so you went out of your way to bring that here.”
“Yes—in other words, I brought it.”
“So what you’re saying is, you came here intending to deceive me from the very start?”
The master seemed displeased; the monster flusteredly waved its hands. “I would never consider such a rude thing as deceiving you! This wasn’t my intention—it’s just how things ended up!”
“Then what exactly was your intention that led to this?”
“What intention—this is really troubling... I’m sorry, please wait a moment.”
Finally unable to endure any longer, the monster sneaked away.

Where had it gone and for what purpose? Let us follow stealthily from behind, dear readers—come this way quietly, minding your footsteps.
...They turned twice down the corridor toward the farthest end, where in one of the rooms Gonpachi had declared useless, about ten people sat circled around a dimmed andon lantern draped with cloth—undoubtedly human, with two women among them, one middle-aged and one young.
The one-eyed imp burst in, flinging off his mask and wig before collapsing onto the floor with a thud. “Hey everyone! Help me out! I ain’t cut out for this!”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” they gathered as the Imp—a decent-looking craftsman around thirty—wiped cascading sweat with one hand and spat, “What’s with accusin’ me o’ burns right off?”
“Sure, havin’ one eye messes with my bearings, but when I bump into stuff, I got no nose to smash—so it evens out! I went to serve tea, but got cornered when he told me to hand it over!”
“Why’d ya get stuck?”
“Why’d ya think we got any damn tea? We’re tryin’ to act proper-like as monsters here! You expect me to give ’im an empty cup?”
“What’re y’all yappin’ about—ya ran back ’cause o’ that?”
“But you—he got mad! Said I was lyin’ when I admitted it was empty! Scared me shitless, so I just...”
“What’s ‘just’? If the monster’s the one gettin’ scared, we’re screwed!”
“Say what ya want—that samurai don’t know squat ’bout monsters! Nothin’ at all!”
“Oh hush now, Mr. Tatsu,” interjected the middle-aged woman. “That’s nonsense—everyone knows ’bout monsters!”

The middle-aged woman with a slightly vengeful air declared, “Fine, I’ll give it a shot—been ages since I showed off my skills. Y’all come watch—Roku-san, you got the gear ready?”
“I’ve got it ready.”
“Lend me a hand.”

“Now hurry along, dear readers—we must return once more to the master’s room.”
...No need for concern—the master remained awake, likely waiting as requested when told to stay put. Yet upon closer inspection, though his body sat upright atop the bedding, his eyes had sealed shut while his head dipped rhythmically forward—in short, he was dozing quite contentedly.... The night had deepened fully now, the patter of rain against the eaves sounding oppressively dreary—when suddenly, *swoosh*, the fusuma slid open. From the darkness swayed forth an unsteady form drawing closer... Long bramble-like disheveled hair cascaded from face to shoulders in limp strands, pale emaciated hands paddling forward as if through water... A face half-stained in murky blood clenched its teeth, eyes rolled back to show their whites in a ghastly expression. Its gaunt waist bent like a snapped reed as it dragged a long hem soundlessly toward the mosquito net.
And in a threadlike voice laden with resentment, it groaned, “How bitter...”
The master’s head nodded heavily forward, yet the resentful voice seemed unheard; observing this, the specter let out another bitter moan.
After two minutes’ wait came a slightly higher-pitched attempt—still apparently inaudible to the master. Resigned to amplification yet constrained by convention—for voices of resentment demand frail, pitiful tones rather than cheer-squad bellows—the specter settled on an “Ahem.” Ghostly throat-clearing being rare indeed proved effective: the master’s shoulder twitched. Emboldened by success came another cough—whereupon the master finally stirred awake. “Ah—who’s there? Gonpachi?” he mumbled thickly. “Has dawn broken already?”
Never anticipating such cheerful reception, the specter faltered—then fearing renewed slumber hastily growled out a menacing “How bitter...”

VII: Even the Ignorant Have Their Vulnerabilities

“Huh? What’s that?”
Heinosuke turned around. “Ah—it’s you. Did you bring the tea?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Caught in his rhythm, she reflexively retorted: “If not that, then what?”
“How bitter...”
“I can’t quite hear—oh? You’re someone else entirely! I thought you were the One-Eyed Imp, but you appear to be a woman.”
“How bitter...”
“Forgive my bluntness, but your voice is absurdly faint—couldn’t you manage a higher pitch?”
“I could if I tried!”
“Ah—then please attempt it at that volume.”
“This isn’t some parlor trick you can ‘attempt’ once! If you won’t listen properly too, Master, we’ll have real problems—this is no jest!”
The specter—pride evidently wounded—seethed: “You want it done right? Fine!”
After this declaration, she unleashed an even more dreadful moan.
“Ah...”
The master—still unclear on matters—offered a vague smile and assurance: “I heard it this time.”
“Only heard it?”
“No—I believe I generally grasp your intended meaning.”
“What meaning could that be?”
“The meaning behind what you just said.”
“There was no meaning—I merely said it!”

“In that case, there should be no complaints—this is precisely why I dislike women.”
He had muttered the final words very quietly, but the specter—already irritated—caught them. “What did you say? ‘This is precisely why I dislike women,’ you said? Huh—so you hate women, Master?”
“Ah, I dislike them—loathe them, in fact. Especially women who snap at others like that—I detest them more than earthworms.”
“Earthworms, you say? Hmph!”
The specter snapped back, “You said it, Master! You called me an earthworm, didn’t you?”
“Such a thing I would never say—I said I dislike you more than earthworms. Earthworms don’t spin such trivial arguments, nor do they appear before others with their hair undone and their faces caked in mud in such a disrespectful manner.”
“Thank you ever so much for your concern! This isn’t mud, I’ll have you know—it’s blood paste made from red pigment and white powder! And I did have my hair properly tied up before I went through the trouble of letting it down for this! Hmph! You don’t know a thing about it, so don’t go mocking people!”
“You’re too loud. Whenever I hear that sort of voice, it sends me into a rage. I’m sorry, but please leave—this is my bedchamber.”
“Absolutely not! After being humiliated like this, I’m not some simpering miss who’ll just say ‘Oh, is that so?’ and slink away! If you want me gone, let’s settle this properly!”
No sooner had she said this than the specter rose to a half-sitting position there and plopped down with a thud.
They had finally ended up in a quarrel.
From the hem of her raised knee, glimpses of something alluring in light blue crepe peeked through.
Doubtless she had adopted this posture as the most effective one for such situations based on years of experience, but given her disheveled hair and face smeared with blood paste on one side, the effect had rather backfired. Heinosuke, still suppressing his anger, said, “So you won’t leave then.”
“Oh, I won’t go.”
“You truly won’t leave?”
“Since I won’t leave, do as you please! Go ahead—cut me down or run me through if you like!”
“――――” Heinosuke stood up smoothly and exited the mosquito net.

At that very moment, about ten people came pouring in noisily from the adjacent room while saying, “Now now, Master—if you’d please wait a moment,” some attempting to pacify the specter and others trying to calm Heinosuke. “We must humbly beg your forgiveness—that’s Omatu the Madwoman, you see, a loose cannon who loses all sense of whom she’s dealing with when angered. However cross you may be, Master, we implore you to indulge us just this once.”
“We’ll offer apologies however you require—please, we beg your forgiveness.”
“At least spare our lives, we beg you!” they pleaded, swarming around him in prostration. “What’s all this commotion?”
Heinosuke stared blankly, “I’m not doing anything at all—since that person refuses to leave, I’m simply going over there to sleep.”
“Huh? Over there…?”
“I’ll sleep in the parlor.”
Having said this, he tried to leave—but suddenly grew suspicious of the appearance of over ten people. Turning back, he surveyed them all. “My, that’s quite a crowd.”
“Y-Yes, heh heh heh... W-Well, you see... Apologies for such an unexpected intrusion.”
“In other words, you all are the retired gentleman and newlywed wife that Gonpachi mentioned.”
“No, we’re not any retired gentleman or newlywed wife or such, heh.”
A seemingly articulate man in his fifties stepped forward while saying this; he had discerned that this master was an exceptionally carefree young gentleman who truly knew nothing of monsters or ghosts and remained utterly ignorant of the ways of the world.
There was no need to go through the trouble—this could be settled directly through negotiation. Having thought this, he put on an air of gravity and laughed once more.
“The truth is, Master, we’ve come to beg your assistance—there’s a matter we simply must ask you to help us with. That’s why we’ve all gathered here to trouble you like this.”
“Well now, I may not have any power to help, but let’s at least hear your story over there. Please come to the parlor.”
Heinosuke exited the bedroom after saying this.

VIII. No Time for the Hedge Leaves to Grow

“Good morning.”
“Oh—”
When she came running through the rain toward the wellside under shelter of a roof, she was suddenly called out to and startled.
On the other side of the hedge stood yesterday’s girl holding an umbrella. “Was that you? You’re early.”
“Good morning to you. I overslept and jumped up to come here.”
“Jumped up—for what purpose?”
“What do you mean ‘for what’?”
She began to say this—and the girl turned bright red.
“Dear readers, you may not believe this, but Fūfūtei never tells lies.” Miss Tomi turned red—and upon realizing she had turned red, flushed an even deeper crimson from embarrassment before stiffening formally. “What I meant was—well—I only came to ask whether anything unusual occurred again last night.”
“Ah, that? There was something—a one-eyed imp came bringing tea.”
“Well—” Miss Tomi widened her eyes as far as they would go and grabbed a handful of the hedge’s cypress leaves. “It brought an empty teapot, leaving them terribly apologetic. Then later appeared a woman with disheveled hair and blood paste—what they call a ghost.”
“Oh— Oh—” Miss Tomi’s hand plucked out hedge leaves with tremendous vigor. “So you witnessed it then, Lord Heinosuke?”
“It couldn’t be helped—they’re the ones coming over.”
“Oh—”
The girl felt her chest might tear apart from overwhelming emotion, her head beginning to spin.
Ah, my body is falling into his chest… She had just thought this when she actually began to collapse—fortunately supported by the hedge.
At this, Miss Tomi retaliated by plucking leaves at ferocious speed and dashed toward the house with an “Oh—!”
She was likely heading to record this in her memorandum; Lord Heinosuke, perplexed by the exchange, kept his hand on the well bucket and watched her depart for some time.

……The Pomegranate Mansion had settled into tranquility. No more stones rolled across the ceiling boards, no fireballs flew about, and no voices pleaded from beneath the floorboards to be let out of coffins—peace and quiet reigned at last.
The only thing that remained unchanged was their daily meeting at the wellside—Miss Tomi and the master would inevitably meet once each morning to exchange words. “It was quiet last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s perfectly quiet now.”
“Do the ghosts still appear?”
“Yes, they still come, but they’re quite calm now.”

Such were their conversations, but these too gradually changed as days passed. The first shift lay in location—their standing chats began migrating westward from the wellside. This relocation owed itself entirely to Miss Tomi’s leaf-plucking habit along the hedge; once she had denuded the area around the well, they naturally gravitated toward patches where cypress foliage still thrived.

The second was the gradual transformation in Miss Tomi’s demeanor and actions; she had begun wearing light makeup and started giving off the scent of face powder and hair oil.

Her method of plucking the hedge leaves had greatly improved from before, now enhanced with technique—curling her little finger beautifully and executing each motion with utmost refinement and elegance.

The third was the content of their conversations—ghostly matters were now dismissed with perfunctory formality, giving way to discussions of all manner of human affairs, particularly those of an increasingly domestic nature.

For example: “Speaking of monsters—how are your meals coming along?”—this was the nature of their exchanges.

Being the laid-back sort that I am, I asked, “When you say ‘meals,’ do you mean the ghosts’ or mine?”

“Of course it’s your meal, Lord Goza.”

“In my case, I have Kobai-tei deliver them, as there’s no one to cook rice or a chef available.”

“That’s such a shame—meals from restaurants are made for profit without any heartfelt care. They say meals should be prepared with affection, you know—you really need someone to look after you properly.”

There were also moments like this: “Oh my, however could you be doing such a thing? Have you caught a cold?”

This had been free from monster talk from the very beginning. “I haven’t caught any cold. Why do you ask?”

“But you’re wearing a lined kimono, Lord Goza?”

I smirked. “Well, you see—both my unlined robes and summer kimonos got dirty, and I’ve run out of things to wear.”

“Goodness gracious, why don’t you have someone do your laundry?”

“But Gonpachi doesn’t do such things. However, since I’ve sent word to my house in Edo, they’ll likely send some over soon.” Miss Tomi protested “No, no, no!” five or six times—“Then what will you do about your soiled clothes?”

“They’ve all been stuffed in.”

“If you leave them like that, they’ll get ruined. I’ll do the laundry for you, so have Gonpachi bring them over right away—today!”

That day, Gonpachi carried a mountain-like bundle of soiled clothes and went to the Miura residence from the rear.

And then that same afternoon, Miss Tomi—doing laundry even more vigorously than her usual hedge-plucking—muttered to herself in a sing-song tone, “There must be someone—simply must be someone—to look after him,” while the master glared at his 5-5 pawn move and mused, “Meals require affection... Hmm—perhaps I’ll send the rook around here instead of worrying about the 5-5 pawn—laundry it is.”

IX. A Wife’s Domestic Negotiations Take Priority

“You had many guests last night, didn’t you?”
One morning, Miss Tomi asked suspiciously.
He grew even more puzzled.
“There are no guests whatsoever.”
“But…” Miss Tomi pointed.
Having followed the hedge’s thicket westward, they now stood where they could see the Pomegranate Mansion’s rear entrance. “About twelve or thirteen people just left from there.”
“Ah, those? They’re monsters.”
“What do you mean?”
“Monsters—not guests.”
He must still be half-asleep. “Nonsense! They weren’t monsters at all! I saw them clearly—perfectly formed humans with all limbs intact!”
“Precisely—without all five body parts, walking would prove difficult.”
“But you called them monsters!”
“Therefore—those are monsters.”
“You’re not making sense—”
“I’m perfectly coherent—this is simply how matters stand.”
Lord Goza began his explanation: “That group had operated a dice gambling den here for years. My arrival forced them out—but lacking alternatives and finding this location secure, they negotiated continued use.”
“How brazen!”
“Not at all—they’re agreeable monsters. Their gambling occurs in distant rooms without noise or voices. I sleep soundly; they avoid playing ghosts or cyclopes—everyone benefits. They even leave nightly ‘seat fees,’ though I don’t inspect them.”
“Oh—” Miss Tomi’s hands resumed plucking hedge leaves with renewed vigor.
Yet her thoughts had already shifted from fantastical beauty to practical realities.

Having transitioned from an observer’s stance to a caretaker’s position, this “Oh—” served as a warning signal of impending danger. “It all seems terribly strange, but what exactly is this dice gambling business you speak of?”
“I don’t know much about it myself, but sometimes there are clattering thuds and voices calling out things like ‘Odd!’ and ‘Even!’”
“Oh—! Oh—!” Miss Tomi gasped violently and shuddered, now beginning to pluck the hedge leaves at a dazzling speed with both hands.
“Oh—! Oh—!” she gasped further, then cried out, “This is terrible! This is terrible! So you’ve been accepting money from those people, haven’t you?”
“I don’t accept it, but they leave it behind.”
“Oh dear, what should I do? What should I do—”
“Is something troubling you? If you’d like—”
“It isn’t mine—it’s yours.”
“My—”
“You are the third son of a 12,000-koku chief retainer and likely know nothing of such matters, but that ‘chōhan’ refers to dice gambling.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a vulgar pastime called gambling or dice games.”
“But that’s strictly prohibited by law, isn’t it?”
“Therefore, by pretending it’s a haunted house and such, they devised a way to keep everyone out—now that I mention it, the reason servants don’t come is because they all know about the apparitions.”
“That is disagreeable.”
The master shook his head. “I don’t mind ghosts appearing, but gambling is a problem. I’ll report this to the town magistrate immediately.”
“I—”
“Exactly! You accepted those seat fees—no, they’ve planned this meticulously. If you’re caught, they’ll surely claim you knowingly allowed gambling and even took fees for it—making you their accomplice.”
“I see—that’s a clever excuse.”
“This is no time for admiration—you must comport yourself properly!” Miss Tomi admonished him in the manner of a wife scolding her husband.
“Very well, I shall comport myself. But what am I to do?”

“Comport yourself thus—”
She finally plucked a brilliant scheme from the hedge. “You must go to their place tonight.”
“So I’m to meet them, then?”
“And with the intention of consulting them in an extremely calm manner, you are to declare that you have now decided to take a wife.”
“Hmm.”
“When you take a wife, she’ll bring her mother and maids along—naturally increasing the number of servants. Since women are loose-lipped creatures, for caution’s sake, we’d like you to find another place and relocate. Regrettably, we’ll even return all previous seat fees—this is what you should declare.”
“Let me make this clear—I am by no means loose-lipped, you understand? This refers to women in general, so please declare it as such.”
“I can certainly say that much, but if I don’t end up taking a wife, they’ll likely be furious, won’t they?”
“If you were to take…” Miss Tomi began to say, then suddenly turned crimson and violently plucked at the hedge—only to turn deathly pale moments later.
And then, with a hurried “I’ll see you tomorrow morning—um… forgive me!” she left the stunned master behind and dashed back toward the house.

That night—no, let us cut the story short and move to morning.

And so, the next morning, the master and the young lady met with the hedge between them.

“Well now, this is quite astonishing,” Heinosuke began that morning—unusually being the first to speak.
“Your cleverness continues to amaze me. A single-layer kimono becomes perfectly wearable after washing, and restaurant meals utterly lack affection—day after day of sea bream sashimi and clear soup.”
“What transpired last night? Last night?”
“It worked flawlessly—no objections whatsoever. When I mentioned the bride arriving with her mother and maid, they immediately protested—‘That won’t do! We’d agree to anything else, but having both bride and mother-in-law here would endanger our lives.’”
“How utterly impertinent! What brazen rogues!”
“Thanks to your excellent counsel—after expressing gratitude for your long-standing assistance—we reached an amicable understanding that they’ll cease their disturbances.”
“So there’s truly nothing left to worry about?”
“Yes, completely settled.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not even a particle’s worth of concern remains.”
“How perfectly splendid!”
“It feels rather pleasant,” Miss Tomi murmured, her hands resting on the hedge though not plucking a single leaf this morning.
Her eyes remained downcast while her chest rose and fell dramatically.
Undoubtedly, she awaited something far weightier than hedge-stripping.
The master meanwhile tilted his head repeatedly, grappling with that sensation of having forgotten something crucial yet being unable to recall it.
“That’s right—there was something I meant to say, but now…” he pondered aloud.

Nothing is more mysterious than a woman’s intuition. Miss Tomi immediately discerned this truth and concluded inwardly, "He needs everything"—"Indeed, I must care for every single aspect of him from now on." This was humanitarian compassion and maternal protective instinct, containing not the slightest hint of selfishness or ulterior motive. Then she spoke aloud: "But there remains only one problem—taking a wife. That’s it, isn’t it?"

“Ah, that’s it—that’s the critical matter.”

“Well then, if you’ll excuse me… until tomorrow morning…”
And having confirmed that the desired effect had manifested upon his expression, Miss Tomi left the spot proudly and solemnly.
A short while later, the master was muttering these words while glaring at the 5-5 pawn: “Right—discard the 5-5 pawn. If you checkmate the bride in shogi... no, take the king who isn’t a bride—no—that’s not right—well, even if it’s wrong, fine—checkmate the bride.” And at the same time in the Miura residence, Miss Tomi was writing this in her memorandum: “That gentleman will surely propose. When he does, I shall resolutely refuse.”
“Yes, resolutely—and then I shall enter a nunnery and live out my life in purity, weeping as I yearn for that gentleman.”
“I swear to God I’ll resolutely do just that—no matter how ardently I’m asked, I absolutely won’t become a bride—yes, never—but I should abandon patterned garments. After all, it’s only once anyway. Instead, I’ll have many practical items made—Chichibu weave or tsumugi silk—but then what would I wear for the ceremony? Oh dear, I’m so worried—so terribly worried……”