Pathway to Japanese Literature

Adopted Son

In Fukuyama Domain of Bingo Province serving as chief retainer to Abe Iyo-no-kami, lord of 100,000 koku, there was an old man named Kandyū Kantaifu.
His stipend stood at 1,000 koku; being fifty years of age at that time and having been widowed some six years prior, he kept not a single female servant in his residence, maintaining an austere household composed solely of men.

Though lacking biological children of his own, his younger brother Genzaemon Takataki—serving as finance magistrate in Edo—possessed a second son called Naojiro.
This nephew he had taken in as his adopted heir, with arrangements settled to formally transfer family headship in the near future.

When discussions about adoption first arose, Genzaemon sent word: "Naojiro isn't suitable—I'd like you to take my third son Matsunojō instead."
The phrasing felt oddly hedged and evasive, so when Kandyū had intermediaries investigate, they found Naojiro possessed not only a manly bearing and excellence in both martial and scholarly arts, but also a universally likable disposition—bearing the household’s collective affection single-handedly.
Where Naojiro was present, there had never been an instance of harsh words being spoken, and the sound of laughter always filled the air in warm harmony.
He possessed razor-sharp wit yet never sought the limelight, always first to shoulder burdens unseen.
Thus, far from being "unsuitable," it became clear that he was an ideal adopted son.

Kandyū promptly declared, “I’ve decided on Naojiro here. Send Naojiro over immediately. Other than Naojiro, I need neither pine nor cedar!”
He sent a letter that wrote “Naojiro” twenty times over—Naojiro here, Naojiro there.

A prompt reply came from Genzaemon.
“Now that matters have reached this point, I shall speak candidly—the truth is, I find myself unable to relinquish Naojiro. While no parent should show favoritism among their children, he alone holds exceptional worth. With Naojiro present, our household remains bright; even when vexations arise, merely beholding his countenance dispels my gloom. Having laid bare my heart thus, I earnestly entreat you—please accept my third son Matsunojō instead. Brother, as you are fond of bonsai, Matsunojō would at least suit you nominally—for ‘matsu’ signifies pine.”
This was what had been written.

Kandyū Kantaifu became furious; the old man had a reputation for being hot-tempered and notoriously stubborn. While he himself would declare, "I detest twisted logic—that's why I lose my temper," he failed to notice how often he himself twisted reality.
Upon seeing the characters "Since Brother is fond of bonsai," the old man contorted—contorted himself into a great knot of indignation.
"What impertinent meddling—to assume pine would suit me simply because I like bonsai! By that logic, should I demand fishing rods if I fancied angling? Perhaps Go stones if I enjoyed board games? Don't spout such nonsense!"
Though fully aware he himself was being absurd, Kandyū mentally composed: "...You're the finance magistrate—must you count pennies even when offering sons? If giving someone a child, shouldn't you recommend one you'd personally mourn losing? Prattle further and I'll sever our fraternal bonds—mark me! But send Naojiro immediately."
Having dispatched a letter to this effect and after such exchanges had transpired, he brought Naojiro to Fukuyama.

Kandyū Kantaifu had met Naojiro once when the boy was about five years old. He remembered a fair-complexioned face with large, round eyes—features that had once made him burst into laughter with some absurd remark. It had been nearly twenty years since their last meeting, but when Naojiro—still retaining his boyish face with those bright eyebrows—suddenly smiled at him, Kantaifu found himself involuntarily thinking, "I’ve struck gold." This was a real bargain—no wonder Genzaemon had been reluctant to part with him. This was a tremendous find. With these thoughts, he found himself in remarkably high spirits.

In his youth, Kandyū had served as steward at the Edo estate—drinking freely and frequenting pleasure quarters so zealously that he’d earned temporary renown throughout the household as a "man about town." Therefore, believing he thoroughly understood the hearts of young people, he would occasionally take young men out for leisure in Fukuyama. Given both the generational gap and the fact that the old man's pastimes were Edo-style, the Fukuyama youths often found them troublesome, and after two or three outings, they would usually beg off. Since Kandyū remained unaware of the reason, he would pontificate with self-satisfied airs, saying things like, “One cannot become a proper human being without knowing at least a little about recreation.” After his wife’s death, he had completely given up such outings, but when some time had passed after Naojiro’s arrival, he took him out for the first time in ages.

“To become a senior official, mere rigidity won’t suffice; one must understand how to navigate society’s duplicity, discern truth from falsehood in men’s hearts, and balance severity with leniency as circumstances demand—for that purpose, occasional recreation proves beneficial.”
“You mustn’t drown in excess or lose yourself to debauchery, but if you engage in leisure with proper restraint, there’s much to be learned.”
Having said this, he took him to a riverside restaurant along the Ashida River and introduced him as his adopted son.
“How about it? This sort of place isn’t half bad.”
When the gathering was properly arranged and the women had all assembled to perform their prized Ogie-bushi pieces, the old man spoke those words and cheerfully looked at his nephew’s face.
Naojiro narrowed his characteristically round eyes as if dazzled by something and solemnly remarked, “Ah, this is quite splendid indeed.”

Thus, about a year had passed.
And so came Kandyū Kantaifu's turn to sigh—the turn to sigh "A childless man knows no troubles"...

The Money's Whereabouts

“Uncle, please allow me to borrow a small amount of silver.”

He first made the request directly.

At first, he made such requests directly.
As the amounts were small, Kandyū handed them over without comment, but when the requests came three, then five times in succession, he began to knit his brows.
When asked what he needed it for, Naojiro would grin—a face so bright and clear it held not a trace of malice—meeting Kandyū’s gaze directly as he smiled. Confronted with that smile, the brows Kandyū had so carefully knitted would begin to soften against his will, forcing him to hastily contort his features back into severity.

“Hanamura should be in its seasonal peak now—surely there’s no need for such funds there? Of course, when a man moves through society, unseen expenses naturally arise. I’m not refusing, but state your purpose.”

“When people grow weary or bored, they naturally yawn.”
Naojiro smiled cheerfully and began saying something peculiar: “When handling official duties in the administrative office, if I find myself utterly overwhelmed by the urge to yawn, at the Edo residence we’re supposed to stand and go yawn in the hallway. How does one handle such matters here in Fukuyama?”

“I don’t know about that—are you saying you need money to go yawn in the hallway?”

“That is not the case.”
Naojiro replied with calm composure.
“When handling official duties, yawning being improper conduct, I step out to the corridor. Even if asked why I rise then, I could hardly explain having come to yawn under such circumstances—nor when attending to matters like using the privy.”

“All right, all right, I get it. To put it bluntly, you’re saying you can’t tell me what the money’s for.”

“No—it’s not that I cannot tell you; it’s simply difficult to put into words. It’s not a matter of sufficient importance to reach your ears, Uncle. Rather, I fear that troubling you with even one such trivial matter would invite your reprimand.”

“Hmm…”

The old man was simple-minded, so when skillfully approached like this, he inevitably gave in. “Very well, tell Sōbei to bring it over. But don’t make a habit of standing up to yawn too often.”

He would claim he’d refrain hereafter, yet before long he’d be pleading again—his timing was superb, like a swordsman’s kiai, expertly exploiting my moment of vulnerability to strike with his request.
For instance, just as we were cheerfully discussing something like the weather, he’d abruptly begin with, “This fine weather reminds me—Uncle, might I trouble you for another sum of silver?”

“There was a fire in Edo that left thirty thousand people homeless, they say,” and immediately upon mentioning this: “Thirty thousand people—how dreadful. Ah, I nearly forgot—might I trouble you for a small sum once more?”
“The fact that thirty thousand people were burned to death is truly dreadful. Though spring is indeed a season prone to great fires.”
“Wait—those thirty thousand weren’t burned to death; they were displaced by the fire.”
“They were displaced, but what does that have to do with you needing money?”
“No—it has no connection to those who perished in the flames.”
“They’re not burn victims but displaced people! For you to conflate burning to death with being displaced—what a nuisance, I’m biting my tongue here. Just how much do you want?”
Their exchanges would generally unfold in this manner and come to an end.

Kandyū Kantaifu sighed on one occasion, thinking that far from having made a good deal, he had ended up with quite a troublesome acquisition.
He ought to flatly refuse, but when confronted with that intelligent and witty countenance—utterly unblemished and charming—grinning while making requests, his resolve would crumble into compliance. Later he would gnash his teeth over having been outmaneuvered again and vow never to be fooled next time. Yet his timing always anticipated these resolutions, employing tactics that were impossible to defend against through sheer unpredictability.

Of course, the amounts Naojiro took out were hardly substantial—for a thousand-koku household’s finances, nothing worth making a fuss over. What worried Kandyū Kantaifu was whether this money might lead the young man astray. Having once been called a “man about town” in his youth, he knew well both the virtues and dangers of indulgence. Since he himself had initiated these outings, and given that Naojiro was already twenty-five, he couldn’t very well now forbid such recreations. Yet the thought that his heir might be entangled with some woman of ill repute left him no peace of mind—until he began concluding that securing Naojiro a bride posthaste was the only solution.

“It’s about time we completed the succession formalities,” the old man carefully broached.
Careful not to let the conversation drift toward money, he spoke with exceptional caution: “At your age, we’ll have no money talk today—no—the matter isn’t about money. At your years, I think you should take a wife—any objections? And no money talk!”

“Please hold on that for a moment.”

“Which one are you referring to—the money or the bride?”

“I should like to address both matters.”
Naojiro smiled amiably. “For now let us focus on the bridal matter—if you would kindly allow me to defer discussion of it a while longer.”

“Why defer? Is there cause for delay?”

“In any case I must ask you to put that discussion on hold—you’ll come to understand in due course, Uncle… *Ahem*—it’s frightfully hot today, isn’t it? I believe I’ll go splash some water on my face.”

Bonsai

"My apologies," he said as he fled. Watching his retreating figure through narrowed eyes，Kandaifu groaned， “There truly must be something afoot.”

The cause behind both the money's usage and his refusal of the marriage proposal must be one and the same—he thought he should investigate Hanamura, but ill-timed as it was, his lord Iyonokami's sankin-kotai obligations loomed close. Engulfed in those administrative tasks, he found no opportunity to pursue the matter, and before he knew it, over half a month had passed.

Thus, with the administrative tasks finally settled, on that evening when he descended from the castle in relief and was tending to his beloved bonsai in the garden, Naojiro came.
...As previously noted, Kandyū Kantaifu loved bonsai—cultivating seed-grown specimens of plum, pine, cedar, along with bamboo, orchids, hinoki cypress, and even fruit-bearing trees like persimmon, pomegranate, pear, and peach—all meticulously shaped by his own hands. He took pride in his pots, amassing quite rare pieces, yet the reputation within the household was far from favorable. Had he focused solely on pines for pines’ sake or orchids for orchids’, it might have been acceptable. But his haphazard selection of plants—even common fruit trees—was deemed vulgar. The general consensus held that he did not truly comprehend bonsai’s essence.
Of course, given that he was the chief retainer, if anyone dared offer well-meaning advice, he would immediately fly into a rage, hauling out foundational texts like *Chikinshō*, *Sōmoku Ikushu*, and *Ishishokufu* to lecture them with torrential eloquence. Thus they kept their distance, limiting themselves to effusive praise—"How splendid! Truly magnificent!"—which only fed the old man’s swelling conceit.

“Uncle, have you already returned from the castle? Allow me to congratulate you on completing all preparations for His Lordship’s procession to Edo.”
Naojiro drew near as he spoke, his congratulations seemingly heartfelt: “My, my, how splendidly maintained this is. Is this a wintersweet?”

“Which one?” The old man asked in surprise.

“This stubby, stunted tree.”

“That’s a Yae-kobai! And ‘stubby’ or ‘stunted’ are hardly terms of praise—it’s practically like insulting short people!”

“And this one is a hibiscus, I presume?”

“Hibiscus is a herbaceous plant. Look properly before speaking—that’s no shrub. It’s tsuki.”

“You must be joking.”
Naojiro smirked. “Though I may be ignorant, I know a tsuki when I see one. You can’t expect me to believe this shriveled runt of a tree is tsuki. Surely you’re not deceiving me?”

“What reason would I have to deceive you?”

“Then go anywhere else and look! Tsuki trees around estates typically have trunks thick enough to embrace and stretch twenty, thirty feet skyward with robust vitality…”

“That’s because they’re left to grow wild. Ridiculous!”
“The essence of bonsai lies in deliberately cultivating trees that would naturally reach two or three jō in height into these miniature potted forms, yet shaping them to mirror the stature, age, and appearance of their full-grown counterparts. This pine here, the cedar, even the plum and cherry—each has over thirty years of history behind it. This is what true bonsai cultivation means.”

“Ah, I see! So ultimately you’re crippling them all into dwarves then?”
“Go stand over there!”
Kantaifu turned his face away. “It churns my insides.”

“Oh my, how remarkable! The one over there is a sakaki, isn’t it? What an exquisite tree. How should I put it… It’s so classically styled, yet tastefully restrained.”

“Ahem, ahem.”
The old man left that spot.

“Refined yet understated, and within that understatement there’s this… a touch of flair—I never knew sakaki could be cultivated like this.”

“Enough of this! What’s this nonsense about ‘a touch of flair in understatement’? What exactly is ‘flair’ supposed to mean here? First of all, I don’t cultivate sakaki for bonsai!”

“Then may I ask what this one is—hinoki cypress?”

“You... you—!”
Kandyū ripped off his glasses, then immediately put them back on. “If it’s not sakaki you call it hinoki? Look at the leaves—the leaves! That’s maki—Koya maki! Generally speaking, maki trees are difficult to cultivate as bonsai. It’s through my painstaking efforts that I’ve shaped it to this state. Remember that well.”

“What about this one?”
He remained completely unfazed.

“Ugh... Don’t know.”

“Hmm, what could this be? Ah, I’ve got it! This must be your prized shinpaku. I’ve guessed correctly this time, haven’t I? How about that?”

“Did you come here to play guessing games? If that’s supposed to be a shinpaku, what exactly are you getting at?”

“In that case,” he grinned, “it seems I’m not entirely clueless about lumber—no, rather, bonsai trees—either. Which reminds me, Mr. Senuma was quite resentful about something.”

“What exactly was Senuma so worked up about?”

“It’s regrettable, but I can’t match Mr. Kandyū,” he said. “Even though he’s put considerable effort into cultivating shinpaku himself, he claims he could never produce such splendid blossoms as yours.”

“Don’t mock me!”
Kandyū flushed red and bellowed, “No matter who tries to cultivate it, would a shinpaku ever bloom?!”

“That is… that is most strange.”

“You’re the far stranger one here. Turn this way and look at me!”
Kantaifu removed his glasses again and glared holes into his nephew’s face. “You’re planning to wheedle something out of me again, aren’t you?”

Oue

“Uncle, please save them,” Naojiro interjected without pause, “a soul of pitiable circumstance—orphaned at birth, bereft of mother in youth’s bloom, who spent days cloaked in back-alley dust to no purpose, now sinking into an inescapable quagmire.”
“If it were something I could manage on my own, I wouldn’t presume to ask—but these are truly inescapable circumstances.”

“No good! Won’t have it!”
Kandyū shook his head violently. “I knew something was off with all that buttering up earlier—and here it is! No good! I won’t be fooled by you anymore. No matter the reason, you won’t get a single copper coin from me—mark my words!”

“No—I’m not asking for silver coins, it’s not about money, I don’t need a single copper coin—but I ask you to take them into the residence.”

“…………”
Kandyū looked at his nephew out of the corner of his eye—he’d been tricked by this method countless times before. Smoothly claiming not to need money only to swindle him the moment his guard dropped. Keeping such thoughts to himself, he quietly kept watch.

“You tell me to take them into the residence—well, who exactly is this person?”

“Let’s save that inquiry for later. What matters now is whether you will grant permission, Uncle. If you cast that person aside here, they will sink to society’s lowest depths and endure a lifetime of hellish torment. Please save them, Uncle—to spare or condemn a life rests entirely in your hands. I beg of you.”

“Your tone bothers me—the way you put it makes it sound as though if I refuse, I’d be pushing that person straight into hell!”
“In that case...”

“What do you mean ‘in that case’? Suppose I do take them in—where exactly would I put them? Even now it’s cramped enough that I’d have to build extensions!”
“Why, Uncle’s tea room should suffice.”
“The tea room... Then where am I supposed to perform the tea ceremony?”

“I find the sukiya-style building far more refined—that tea room is too ornate and rather vulgar... I’ve already cleared it out completely and moved all implements to the sukiya, wishing to spare you any inconvenience.”

“That’s just like you.”
“You had this swindle plotted from the very beginning!”

“Might I request your approval?”

“With such thorough scheming against me, I’ve no choice! But before taking them in—bring them here once! I’ll meet them and judge their character first.”

“She has already arrived.”

“…………”
Kantaifu grunted.

“Miss Oue, this way.”
When Naojiro turned and called out like that, a woman emerged modestly from behind the middle garden’s hedge to that spot.
A beautiful woman of around twenty—skin like burnished wheat, almond-shaped clear eyes, hair glossy beyond measure and styled in samurai fashion.
Kandyū’s eyes bulged; then, as if he’d sprung open a jack-in-the-box, he arched his upper body backward, thrust one hand forward, and emitted a bizarre “hyo” noise.

“Miss Oue, please pay your respects,” Naojiro said unabashedly to the woman. “This is my uncle.”
“His current station is Chief Retainer managing Fukuyama’s 100,000-koku domain, but in his youth at the Edo estate he served as a household steward—though after enduring considerable hardships he compensated by frequenting pleasure quarters so zealously that his mastery of Ogie Ichū singing rivaled professionals! For a time he was renowned as the foremost man-about-town in the clan—a seasoned connoisseur who’s discerned life’s bitter and sweet, intimately acquainted with human nature’s dual faces.”

Kandaifu was utterly flabbergasted; though he’d been feigning ignorance until now, everything was known—even having that “man-about-town” moniker invoked beyond his expectations—leaving him completely flustered.
Clearing his throat with feigned coughs, he hurriedly tried to cover it up, but Naojiro promptly—

“When I presented Miss Oue’s situation, he showed extraordinary compassion—declaring it truly pitiable—and commanded that you be brought here immediately to receive care. You must offer your proper gratitude as well.”

“I offer my deepest gratitude for your kindness on this occasion,” said the woman called Oue, bowing gracefully as she greeted him in a quiet, mellifluous voice. “Though I am an unworthy person, I humbly beg your merciful benevolence.”
“Please be kind.”

“W-well, that’s—”
Kandyū flusteredly turned his face aside, but seeming unable to endure it any longer, said “Naojiro, come here,” then briskly departed toward the artificial hill.

Naojiro grinned at the woman and said, “You can see the tea room over there, can’t you? Go wait over there. There’s nothing to worry about—I’ll be right along.”
With that, he went after his uncle.

One year.

When his nephew arrived, Kantaifu immediately uttered vulgar language unbefitting a Chief Retainer.
One hesitates to specify for the old man’s dignity—but they were along the lines of “you scoundrel” and “good-for-nothing.”
Then he listed off other utterances sure to make any samurai gentleman frown—phrases like “stuffing her full,” “tricked me proper,” and “outright swindle.”
In essence, the old man had been furious.

“Isn’t that a woman, you impudent wretch?”

"That is correct—she is indeed a woman. I would never claim she isn't."

"I'm not saying she isn't a woman—but your phrasing made it sound otherwise! 'That person' here and 'a human being' there—of course one might refer to a woman as 'that person,' since women are human too! But proper society would say 'that woman' or 'a young lady' when speaking plainly—like 'a woman in distress' or... Bah! This grows tedious! To begin with, you're not even wed yet, taking in some woman of dubious origins—"

“Not at all—I am fully aware of both her lineage and circumstances.”
While saying this, Naojiro prepared to flee.
“That is Oue—a geisha from Hanamura in Shinmachi.”

“Wh-what?”
Kandaifu shuddered. “A geisha... A geisha?”

“Admittedly, she is a geisha,”
Naojiro began gradually shifting his position toward the side. “Originally born to a samurai family—her nature is commendable and her spirit dignified.”

“You—wait!”

Kandaifu suddenly lunged to seize him.
It was behavior utterly unbefitting both his age and station, but the old man couldn't afford to fuss over such concerns—with all dignity already forfeited, he simply had to catch the wretch and land a solid punch to soothe his fury.
Naojiro lithely twisted away and bolted toward the artificial hill's far side.
The old man pursued.

Though ordinarily confident in his stamina, the age gap was an immovable truth—the elder ran crimson-faced with wheezing breaths while the younger kept up his breathless appeals even as he fled.

“I beg you, Uncle—she is by no means someone who would bring shame upon the Kandyū name.”
“I have been closely observing her for over half a year now.”
“Please don’t be so angry—won’t you take her in?”
“...Perhaps we should ease up on the running a bit?”

The old man ran headlong without saying a word, chased him around the artificial hill about three times, but his breath grew labored and his vision began to darken, until finally he plopped down onto the lawn.

“Ah, that was close!”
Naojiro ran back and grabbed the old man’s shoulders. “What happened? Are you injured anywhere?”

“Sh-shut up! Don’t come near me!”

“Shall I bring something cool?”

“What ‘something cool’? More importantly, Naojiro—”
Kandaifu wheezed through labored breaths. “You’ve done quite enough tormenting my patience up till now—and now you demand that the Chief Retainer of a 100,000-koku domain take in some geisha—a geisha! Do I look like such a pushover to you? Naojiro—just what fresh outrage are you planning to spring on me next?”

“Actually, that is precisely the matter at hand.”

“What?”
The old man seemed to stiffen. “Wh-what do you mean by ‘that matter’? Is there still something else?”

“As you are aware, I shall be accompanying his lordship to Edo this time—where I will remain in residence for one year—and during this period, I wish to entrust Oue to your care. Please keep her close at hand and observe her character thoroughly…”

“Wait a moment, Naojiro.”

“Just one more thing—after you have thoroughly observed Oue’s character, should she meet with your approval, I humbly ask to take her as my wife.”

“You’ve finally said it… Hmph…”

Kandaifu tore off his glasses once more—then put them back on—clenched his fist and thrust it forward—a gesture utterly incomprehensible yet seemingly declaring this was his inner turmoil—as sweat began dripping from the old man’s forehead.

The texture of the pot.

“What an utterly brazen fellow!”

Kandaifu sighed time and again while muttering to himself.
But he did not flatly refuse—there was a reason for this, one that would naturally become clear in time.
…A few days later, Naojiro joined his lord Iyonokami’s retinue and departed for Edo.
As he departed, he said simply, “I entrust her to you.” Kandaifu nodded and declared with great authority, “I have indeed taken her into my care. But having accepted this charge, know that should any unforgivable misconduct occur, I shall cut you down without hesitation.”

In Kandaifu's estimation, Naojiro—being young—had likely been sweet-talked by a woman into this temporary infatuation; he was certain the boy would come to his senses once separated from her for a time. That was roughly the extent of his considerations.

As for the woman, she must have set her sights on him being the Kandyū household's heir—anticipating she might either become mistress of a thousand-koku household or at least extract money from the situation. Therefore, he thought monitoring her for one year and taking appropriate measures when the time came would suffice—that was his conclusion.
...Oue came to dwell alone in the tea room. For when a samurai attains a thousand-koku stipend, the separation between inner and outer quarters becomes strictly defined—so even the numerous retainers remained unaware of Oue’s presence. The tea room—facing Shijō-school elegant water features and stones, encircled by pine groves and bamboo thickets in tranquil seclusion—had its stone pavement extending from the tea garden's roji entrance to the vicinity of the tsukubai stone basin.
Kandaifu often ventured to that area.
He couldn’t shake the habit of always enjoying tea alone.
When he reached the tsukubai, he would recall that the tea room was occupied and sullenly scowl before turning back.

About half a month had passed when one day, as Kandaifu was tending his bonsai, Oue appeared unnoticed and said, “Allow me to assist you.”
When he looked over, she had neatly tucked up her kimono hem, fastened a work sash across her sleeves, and was holding a water bucket.
As he wondered what she intended and kept silent, she began washing each bonsai pot one by one.
“Have you done this sort of work before?”

“No, this is my first time.”
She shook her head modestly and smiled—an innocence utterly unbefitting a woman who had been a geisha. And in the way her smile lingered, it felt exactly like Naojiro’s, as though she had perfectly copied his characteristic laugh. Kandaifu found himself momentarily charmed—had Naojiro grown so fond of her as to be influenced this much?—but he immediately furrowed his brows and pressed his lips into a sullen line.

“If you’re doing things against your will just to flatter me, that’s quite enough! I despise empty compliments.”

“Um, this pot containing the shimpaku juniper—is this what they refer to as white porcelain?”

Unperturbed by Kandaifu’s raised voice, Oue quietly spoke those words and tilted her head upward.
Her eyes—as lovely as Naojiro’s, wearing the same smile—Kandaifu forced his features into a sullen expression.

“Lumping white porcelain and celadon together like that won’t do—this is what’s called Raozhou white among white porcelains, a rare treasure from Tang China.”

“Raozhou white… Thank you for informing me.”

“Look at this one here.”
Kandaifu led Oue to the side. “This is said to be a Kobizen piece by Ryōshin—that one over there is a bowl, this is called a half-body. Compare them with Raozhou and you’ll see the difference. Go ahead and take a look.”

“I humbly observe.”
Oue pressed down on the half-body pot containing a maple with both hands, stroking it quietly with her beautiful fingers. “Though I speak presumptuously to my shame, I still perceive that Raozhou’s white possesses greater clarity even among similar whites.”

“That’s what we call the secret glaze of white.”

“The densely textured areas, where the touch has a moist richness—I still believe Raozhou’s pieces remain superior in those aspects as well.”

With fingers as pale and slender as whitebait, she continued caressing the pot’s surface with such absorption that it seemed less like mere frivolity than genuine enjoyment—Kandaifu found himself thoroughly delighted.

“Now look at this one—this is Satsuma celadon. The dullness in its color likely comes from imitating Ruri Nankin glaze. While there are others in the household who dabble with plants, most use stone bases or garden beds—using as many pots as this is something only I do.”
“There’s something over there to show you. Follow me.”

In this manner, the old man ended up becoming completely engrossed with Oue for over half an hour.

“Damn it all—I’m too soft on people.”
That night, Kandaifu clicked his tongue in vexation. “That one puts on such a convincing act of being enamored with ceramics that I ended up getting completely swept along! At this rate, far from grasping her true nature, I’ll be the one having my every thought anticipated. I’d better approach this with more caution—or I’ll land myself in real trouble.”

As the saying goes, the best defense is a good offense—the old man devised a strategy to take the fight directly to the enemy’s stronghold.
……And one cool, breezy evening, without prior notice, Kandaifu visited the tea room and requested tea.

Light tea

“As some fine new tea has arrived—though it shames me to say so—I had thought to request the honor of bringing it to you.”
With those words, Oue cheerfully began preparing sencha. “I deeply apologize for having no sweets to offer—this is but a poor refreshment for your palate.”

She served fragrant new tea accompanied by pickled vegetables arranged in a bowl.
Kandaifu scrutinized the room—impeccably cleaned without a speck of dust to be found. In the alcove stood an antiquated rust-coated iron pot holding a single artfully arranged branch, its tasteful composition almost irritatingly perfect. He snorted through his nose, then leisurely picked up a tea bowl—only then noticing the pickled vegetables in the dish. The old man’s face lit up with triumphant satisfaction.

“This is pickled vegetables.”

“Yes.”

“Townspeople and farmers might not know this, but in samurai households, serving pickled vegetables with tea is unheard of! If others were to see this, it would bring shame upon Kandyū. How can you not understand something so fundamental?”

“I have acted carelessly. I shall take greater care henceforth, and humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“Given the trouble you’ve gone to, there’s no need to remove them today.” While saying this, the old man sullenly placed a piece of the pickled vegetable into his mouth. “Samurai households have many strict customs—so severe that a single misstep could force one to commit seppuku. For instance… Did you pickle these yourself?”

“Yes, I have been most inept.”

“Mm, mm.”
The old man took another piece—astonishingly delicious. Kandaifu had inherently disliked pickled vegetables; even during his wife’s lifetime, he had never once found them palatable. Yet this pickle he now ate was terrifyingly good in both texture and flavor, so perfectly harmonized with the tea that he secretly marveled. “Now then—that is to say—or rather, in truth, before Naojiro’s departure for Edo, he left word requesting you to become his wife.”

Oue flushed crimson and, placing both hands on her knees, bowed her head deeply.

“As I just stated, samurai households have strict protocols. While there are rare instances these days of taking brides from merchant families—exceedingly rare at that—for someone like you who once worked as a geisha, formal marriage would be nigh impossible. Not that I swear by the gods it’s unattainable. However, Naojiro is heir to the Kandyū family. Should there be even a hint of tainting the bloodline, I could never face our ancestors.”

“When you speak of tainting the bloodline...”

“Given your line of work, I cannot believe your body remains pure.”

"I am pure."
Oue quietly raised her face.

“From the age of sixteen, when I first entered the parlors, for three years there were many inescapable circumstances—but that one thing alone I protected with my life.”

“In that world, at your age, such a thing being permitted is unthinkable.”

“For this reason, I have caused Lord Naojiro considerable undue concern over the past year. Had he not done so, as you say, I would not have been able to remain the Oue you see today.”

Kandaifu slapped his knee—he finally understood what Naojiro had been using the money for. But the old man coldly dismissed her claim: “You may say that with your mouth, but in this matter alone there’s no evidence.”
Oue resolutely looked at the old man, and in a calm yet sharp tone, began to say:

“Though it may be rude to say so, do you secretly harbor ambitions to poison our lord and seize control of his 100,000-koku domain?”

“Wh-wh-what?” Kandaifu’s eyes bulged. “What nonsense! This goes beyond jest—it’s unforgivable! Why would you claim this Kandaifu nurses treasonous designs?”

“Then will you show me proof of your loyalty’s purity? A woman’s virtue faces equal scrutiny—though I’ve no physical evidence like this to display my chastity, it wounds me deeply to be doubted solely for my former lowly station.”

“Enough! Enough!”

Kandaifu was thoroughly flustered. “Don’t spout logic that ill suits your face! Truth will out regardless. Till then, I’ll trust your word. You interrupted me.”

When he’d probed to test her mettle, she’d unexpectedly landed a strike—yet the quick wit of her riposte struck him as worthy of commendation.
A woman’s virtue and a retainer’s loyalty stood as equals in dignity. By deftly wielding this equivalence, Oue left Kandaifu grasping for rebuttal.

With a clatter—having said this and stood up—Kandaifu realized he had completely emptied the bowl of pickled vegetables. Looking abashed, he stepped down from the raised floor; but just when it seemed he had turned away,

“Well—that thing,” he said with eyes squinting as if dazzled.

“Next time too—pickles with my tea.”

Clearing his throat with feigned coughs, he hurriedly retreated toward the main house.

The Inviting Hand

In this manner the rainy season ended and summer reached its midpoint; on an evening when an afternoon shower had brought cool winds and softened the daylight, there came unusually from the tea room the sound of a shamisen accompanied by the rich tones of Ichi-chū-bushi narrative singing.
...To think—there sat Kandaifu at his ease with Oue as companion, in fine spirits enjoying modest drinks and quiet song. Even she, compelled to taste two or three cups, now appeared with eyelids delicately tinted and eyes misted over—a figure of remarkable allure.

“Now then—have another cup.”

“I really couldn’t.”
Oue set down the shamisen and propped her cheek with one hand. “My face has grown quite warm—allow me to pour instead.”

“That’s become a fine color,” he remarked. “I haven’t felt this invigorated in years.”
“Let’s cease the singing and have some conversation.”
“Come closer.” “Yes,” Oue replied, obediently shifting her knees nearer.

“When at Hanamura—were you called Oue then too?”

“Yes, I kept my true name as it was.”

“I’ve no recollection whatsoever—you’d never attended my parlor.”

“No, many times,” Oue said with a smile.

“That was careless of me. Even clad in austere samurai attire you retain such beauty—you must have been radiant in those days.”
“Now—face this way properly.”

“Yes,” she replied with bashfulness yet no trace of awkwardness, turning toward him with an enraptured smile.
Kandaifu abruptly extended his hand. “Come closer,” he commanded while seizing Oue’s delicate wrist and pulling her near.
He expected resistance, but Oue—yielding willingly, even smiling joyfully—leaned fully against him.
At that instant, Kandaifu violently thrust away the hand he held, his manner transforming completely as he spoke sharply,

“Oue! What is this disgrace? Drinking with a man in a room without witnesses—even if I am Naojiro’s uncle—not only failing to resist when a man like me takes your hand, but leaning in with such apparent delight! Is this the conduct of a woman who claims to have preserved her purity until now?”

“Ah—” Oue’s face paled.

“In two or three cups of sake, your true nature became disordered—I’ve witnessed you forgetting yourself and revealing your real character!”

“…………”

Oue crumpled forward, thrusting both hands against the floor as she remained silent for a long while, heaving breaths through her shoulders—then at last, in a low voice,

“I beg your pardon,” she said in a voice that seemed to fade away.

“Since you had this all schemed from the start, there’s nothing you could say now that I’d heed—but regarding your remark about seeing my true nature… I’ll have one final word.”

“There’s no need for explanations.”

“Just grant me the courtesy of hearing me out.”
Oue kept her face lowered as she spoke: “Though Lord Naojiro may have already informed you of this, I lost my father when I was two years old, and my mother when I was seven.”
“My father had served the Echizen clan, I’m told. After becoming a rōnin, he relied on an old friend and came to this province, eking out a living through unfamiliar day labor. After losing both parents, I was taken in by a man named Matsuzō from our tenement, who raised me until I was eleven. He had no wife and worked as a plasterer’s assistant, leading a rather destitute life—but his heart was truly kind, and he cared for me with particular tenderness. However, Matsuzō had a son named Nagayoshi who by nature utterly refused to work, instead pestering his father for hard-earned money to carouse around town with bad company. In the autumn when I was fourteen, Matsuzō returned injured from a construction site and took to his sickbed. Suddenly Nagayoshi began acting like an elder brother, declaring that our guardian needed medicine money and that I should repay past kindnesses by obeying him—thus he sold me to Hanamura.”
Oue cut off her words there and paused for a short while to steady her breath before continuing in a quiet voice, “...But what I beg to inform you is not about such matters. Resolving that I—a daughter of a samurai—must not disgrace my father’s name, I have kept my vow steadfastly through every desperate circumstance. In those days, I would always call out to my departed parents within my heart, relying solely on their faint images to endure harsh times. What grieved me was that while my mother’s face could dimly rise from my childhood memories, I could never recall the face of my father, who died when I was two... How I wept and wept, thinking if only he had lived until I could remember his features.”

Father's face

“On the day you took me in—when I first met you in the garden—for some reason I cannot explain, you suddenly seemed like my own father. My heart filled with such painfully sweet longing that I interfered with your bonsai care despite knowing it troubled you. When I served tea that time, it wasn’t that there were no sweets.”

“From this secret wish to think of you as a father, I clumsily yet earnestly made these pickled vegetables, hoping you might taste them and offer even a word of praise… How I longed to someday call you ‘Father’—to speak that name I’ve never uttered since gaining memory, to be scolded or indulged like a child… Perhaps because such yearnings filled me daily, I never imagined your earlier teasing was a test. Overwhelmed by the joy of feeling a true father’s hand clasp mine—by the delight of being cherished as a father’s child—I… I lost all sense of restraint…”

Having said that much, Oue could bear it no longer—burying her face in both hands, she collapsed into tears.
Kandaifu had somehow straightened his posture—though the admission was undignified—and now found himself sobering up completely; just as he became aware of a stinging heat rising in his nose, tears threatened to spill, leaving him at a loss for how to proceed.
Fortunately, since Oue was weeping facedown, he swiftly flicked away tears with his fingertips and, while forcing an extremely strained dignity, said this.

“There’s no need to cry—that was just drunken foolery! Ha ha ha! Who’d weep over such nonsense? Look at me—laughing like this! Enough tears now—spare me this!”

He finally relented. “Well... given circumstances... Just bring out another round of pickles then. Let me cleanse my palate and enjoy one more cup properly—the drink’s gone straight to my head.”

Every time he tried to meddle, he ended up losing; this time too he was soundly defeated—yet Kandaifu remained in high spirits. And thinking things like "That Naojiro certainly has good taste," he drank contentedly before returning to the main house.

After Kandaifu left, Oue stared vacantly at the lamp for a while—her shameful past, long concealed within her breast, having been heard in full detail for the first time. Enveloped in a caressing weariness, she sat utterly detached from herself in blank abstraction.
…Yet as she wove through the deepening night’s silence and caught the razor-sharp clarity of insect cries piercing through, she finally rose as though regaining human presence of mind and began tidying the area.

Having finished tidying the meal utensils and floor coverings, she noticed Kandaifu’s tobacco case there—he must have forgotten it—and just as she thought to pick it up, there came a thud at the garden entrance, and someone slipped inside.

“Who might you be?”
Oue turned around as she said this.

A man suddenly emerged into the lantern light—wearing a striped long workman’s coat with a thin sash, a towel wrapped around his cheeks.
He was unmistakably not someone from this mansion; Oue, while casting her eyes toward the rain-veranda’s shoji, determined that if it came to it, that would be her escape route.

“Oue, it’s been a while.”
The man lowered his tucked-up hem and removed the cloth from his cheeks. “It’s me—you ain’t forgotten me, have ya?”

“Ah! You’re Nagayoshi!”

“Ain’t ya gonna call me ‘Brother’? Heh heh, I’ve been lookin’ all over for ya.” As he spoke, the man plopped down cross-legged. “Ya cost us plenty—starvin’ orphan from seven years old, Pops scooped ya up. I treated ya like a sister. Finally grew tall ‘n’ pretty—time to pay us back—then ya bolt like a mangy mutt kickin’ dirt? But listen Oue—Heaven’s justice sees all. Wore out my sandals searchin’ a hundred days—tracked ya here. Oue—quit squirm’n’. Get packed quick. My patience’s worn thinner’n temple paper lately.”

“I must decline. I received great kindness from Uncle—I would do anything to repay him. But now that Uncle has passed away, I owe you nothing. Please leave.”

“Taken in by a samurai mansion and gotten all high and mighty, eh? I ain’t lookin’ to stick around here either. Hurry up and get ready—it gets dangerous out there once night deepens.”

“Even if I am killed, Oue will not leave here. Please depart at once, or I shall raise my voice and summon help.”

“Go ahead and try.” Nagayoshi sneered with a grin, “Let’s test whether help arrives faster or I haul you out quicker. Oue—quit squirming.”

The moment the man said this and stood up, Oue whirled around and slid open the shoji.
There stood Kandaifu—Oue gasped in surprise, but Nagayoshi’s shock ran deeper still. He let out a strangled cry and made to leap up, yet being a man of his trade, likely realized escape was futile. Eyes glinting, he smirked with brazen defiance before planting himself in a wide-legged sprawl.

“What’s all this racket in the dead of night? You’re making a spectacle of yourselves!” Kandaifu said as he entered. “You there—state your name.”

“Who, me? Heh heh,” the man replied. “I’m Oue’s husband here. Would appreciate your gracious acknowledgment of our union.”

“Oue’s husband…” Kandaifu quietly retrieved his tobacco case from the tatami mats. “You claim this relationship holds validity?”

Unblemished skin.

“Well now,” the man sneered, “‘Husband’ might be stretchin’ it for my sort. Not exactly registry-worthy proper-like. Call me her... kept man, if we’re namin’ things proper.” He leaned forward with a vulgar grin. “Been sharin’ her bed three years runnin’ now.”

“That is a lie!”
Oue’s face contorted as she cried out, “This is the man called Nagayoshi I mentioned earlier! He wrung me dry since I was fourteen—yet still it wasn’t enough—and ultimately tried to sell me off to Nagasaki or such places.”
“It was Lord Naojiro who rescued me from that peril.”

“Exactly right,” the man retorted with an unchanged grin. “In our world, a wife enduring hardships for her husband’s sake ain’t strange—it’s proof they’re proper married! And sir—tonight ain’t my first time sneaking into this bedchamber.”
“Through her guidance here, I’ve come regular-like every three days without fail.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the gods and buddhas, Mr. Nagayoshi?”
Oue cried in a trembling voice, “How much longer will you torment me with these groundless lies? Can you still claim to harbor a human heart?”

“Don’t play innocent! So you’re weighing me against this gentleman’s money and trading your ox for a horse now, eh?”

“Silence! Be silent!”
Kandaifu calmly intervened, “This bickering serves no purpose. Oue—look at me... I believe you. But my faith alone won’t resolve this matter. You’re to become Naojiro’s wife—even if this scoundrel claims impropriety, you must offer proper defense. Compose yourself—think carefully—if you possess proof, demonstrate it.”

“Yes…”
Oue looked up steadily at Kandaifu. Kandaifu’s eyes, brimming with warmth, gazed down at her—their hearts met perfectly in that moment. His eyes seemed to instill courage in her, appearing to urge her to stand firm.
She had been looking up at him with a pleading gaze when she quietly began, “I will speak.”

“No matter what might occur, I had resolved never to disclose this matter—but this concerns a woman’s most crucial moment in life.”
“As there is no other way to provide proof—though it brings me profound shame—I must state it.”
“Lord Naojiro and I exchanged vows for our future over half a year ago—yet we have not once shared a bedchamber. Even with Lord Naojiro, to whom I pledged my future, I remain chaste—for my body bears an affliction that makes intimate contact impossible.”

When Oue said that much, Nagayoshi sneered and tried to interject, but Oue cut him off and spoke as follows.
“It began in the winter when I was fourteen—a tumor formed beneath my left breast.
At first it was small, but over half a year it grew larger—now about the size of an infant’s head. Though I received much treatment from doctors to no effect—was it early this spring?—when examined by the clan physician Dr. Ohashi Junsō, he diagnosed it as taishō, declaring it would not heal until I turn twenty-two. I apply ointment with cotton padding and wrap three meters of bleached cloth around it—others cannot smell it, but to my own senses it reeks nauseatingly foul. With such a malignant growth upon my body, no one could possibly make intimate contact.”

“Heh heh heh, so that’s your big secret?”
Nagayoshi sneered mockingly, “So what’re ya sayin’—you’ve forgotten how I put up with that stinkin’ pus night after night, slappin’ on ointments and wrappin’ bandages for ya?”

“How could I remember something I never received?”

“Marriage ain’t such a heartless thing—me grindin’ ointment on cold winter nights, spreadin’ cotton over your—”

"That's a lie—such a thing has never happened!"

"Ain’t no use squawkin’—here’s her lawful husband tellin’ it plain! You think anyone’ll believe your yappin’? Right, sir?"

"Very well. If you insist so fiercely on having treated it, I shall show you… Pray excuse me."

Oue bowed to Kandaifu and quietly loosened her collar. The moment she withdrew both hands from her sleeves into her bosom, she resolutely—yet smoothly—slipped out of her undergarments. Her wheat-toned skin stretched taut like polished lacquer, exposed shoulders and chest held proud and firm, up to the resilient swell of twin breasts—not a single blemish marred their dazzling perfection.
Oue quietly met Kandaifu’s gaze.

“This man claims to have treated my tumor—please observe. This body I’ve cherished to present to my husband-to-be—not even a mosquito has been allowed to bite it. There is no blemish so much as a pinprick, let alone any tumor. Does this not stand as proof I’ve committed no impropriety?”

“I have indeed witnessed it, Nagayoshi—or whatever you call yourself.”
Kandaifu reached for his sword. “You won’t escape me!”

True to his villainous nature, he knew when to cut his losses—the moment the old man’s hand moved toward his sword, he kicked over the lantern and sprang sideways, vanishing through the open shoji into the garden like a weasel.

“I recognize that face!”
The old man shouted into the darkness beyond, “If you value your life, leave this castle town immediately! Linger in Fukuyama and I’ll have you captured and beheaded!”

Having seemingly regained his full vigor, Kandaifu’s voice rang out remarkably clear and high, piercing through the night air—his face bright, his eyes brimming with vitality.
Oue dealt with the fallen lantern and lit the candlestick, then the old man sat up straight and spoke earnestly in a tone that seemed almost grateful.
“Splendid! Though I confess I was on edge wondering how you’d manage—magnificent presence of mind to navigate through that! The way you drew him in to that extent—one might well call you a splendid judge of strategy. Truth be told, even I believed the ruse for a moment.”

“I must apologize most profusely for this unbecoming exposure of a woman’s form—for baring skin meant to remain veiled. Your compassion humbles me. I entreat you to cast this transgression from memory.”

“Whether to pardon such exposure rests with Naojiro alone—no affair of mine. Yet cast your fears aside! When a woman’s virtue hangs in the balance like driftwood at the channel’s edge, even unveiling forbidden flesh becomes permissible—provided it’s done with finality and grace. Your purity now stands beyond reproach—at last these old bones may know peace.”

“For you to speak such words has revived me… Now I feel my struggles were worthwhile—this joy fills me beyond measure.”

“Wait, wait—a happier time will come soon.”
Kandaifu stood up and said, “The day you call me father...”

Oue looked up at Kandaifu with eyes that seemed ready to leap.
The old man made a strange gesture with one hand, suddenly frowned as if embarrassed, and headed toward the main house.

“I approve your marriage to Oue,” wrote Kandaifu to his Edo-based nephew in a letter. “Before your return to the domain, we shall establish her family registry and have planned the wedding for early summer next year.
“Though I initially accepted Oue through youthful discretion when taking you as my heir, as the wife who shall accompany the future Chief Retainer, her unmatched lineage and qualities are those I have thoroughly discerned.” Here he emphasized his discerning judgment.
“……Furthermore, I shall privately disclose this—though you may fancy yourself singularly blessed with a refined wife, this is precisely what the world deems a fool’s self-delusion. Let there be no concealment: my late wife, your aunt Oshin whom I wed during my youthful posting in Edo, was formally of the Nakamura Tarōzaemon household but in truth the celebrated courtesan Omom of Yanagibashi. Need further words be spent? …Thus it stands.”
As if challenging contradiction, the old man smoothly stroked his forehead with one hand.
After all, Fukuyama and Edo’s Yanagibashi occupied entirely different realms.
The old man’s pride here swelled visibly.
“Yet I hereby declare this caveat: though uncle and nephew may claim two generations of refined wives, this is absolutely no matter for public boasting. You must instruct your children—prepare them repeatedly—to strictly forbid any repetition of this under any pretext.”

From the window beside where he was writing, a single cricket flew in and alighted on the lantern—then began singing out with a pure, ringing tone.