Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The wedding of Kajii Shume and Sudō Kinu was held on a bitterly cold evening in mid-November.

Shume succeeded his late father’s position as Construction Magistrate at age twenty-five.
While there was an element of hereditary succession in this appointment, it remained certain that his talent had been recognized.
The Construction Magistrate oversaw all architectural maintenance and repairs—restoration of castles, mansions, temples, and shrines; repairs to furnishings from formal reception rooms down to kitchenware; cleaning; inspections—affairs spanning complex and diverse responsibilities. Yet within less than a year of assuming the post, Shume had demonstrated his full competence for the role.
This was not because Shume possessed extraordinary genius; rather, he was an ordinary bureaucrat.
Practical and meticulous to a fault, he insisted on classifying and tabulating every matter into comparative charts before deeming it settled.
After his mother passed away a year following his father’s death, a cousin called Michi assumed household management.
She was the orphaned daughter of his mother’s youngest brother, taken into the Kajii household at sixteen.
When no suitable marriage prospects materialized before her prime marriageable years had passed her by—perhaps having resigned herself—she devoted herself to mastering old-school flower arrangement and Nijō-style flute, declaring these arts would become her livelihood.
……Despite such misfortunes, Michi maintained a cheerful disposition free from bitterness.
Skilled at cultivating bright and lively moods, she ensured the household remained filled with measured laughter.
To Shume, however, this cheerfulness seemed merely frivolous and grating—nothing but a source of irritation.
Though not unpleasant enough to merit reprimand, he scarcely ever joined in laughter with her; instead, subordinates conducting official business began approaching her with familiarity as one might a young aunt or elder sister—sharing casual consultations or secretly pleading for drinks.
Shume never voiced explicit disapproval, yet he could never bring himself to approve of such conduct.

The marriage negotiations with the Sudō family had begun in September.
Over the next fifty-odd days, Shume expended considerable mental effort on meticulous arrangements.
He had entrusted ceremonial matters to his uncle Ōnuma Hyōgo and left household affairs to his cousin, but being of a disposition that could not leave things at that, he ultimately ended up giving instructions himself.
Moreover, since Sudō Sōemon—the bride’s father—insisted on maintaining his status as a middle elder, the arrangements tended toward extravagance, which weighed even more heavily on his mind.

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, so why not let it be?”

Michi said this and tried to have everything newly made.

“Since it’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, I must keep things modest.”

Shume reduced expenses with bureaucratic precision.
The cousin laughed without protest and procured most of what he had struck from the budget through discreet means.

The wedding ceremony concluded without delay.
The celebratory banquet also concluded peacefully, and after the invited guests had departed, the relatives of both families alone exchanged cups once more.
That took over an hour, and when these people took their leave, outside had turned to snow.
Shume still had one role to play—taking the opportunity as the bride was led to the inner chambers by the matchmakers, he made his way to the detached retirement quarters.
There, about ten subordinate officials from the office were holding a relaxed celebratory banquet in their own manner.

As soon as Shume took his seat, Michi came to his side with a sake decanter.
She had been acting as hostess, but upon closer inspection, the areas around her eyes and cheeks were flushed, and her breathing seemed slightly labored.
Though it was a wedding celebration and everyone present was close acquaintances, allowing oneself to drink enough for it to show in one’s complexion was improper among a gathering where many were unmarried.
Shume frowned in displeasure and reprimanded her in a low whisper.

“How unsightly—your face is red. What’s wrong?”

“With Wakita-sama and Ogura-sama being so insistent, and I too…”

Michi abruptly averted her gaze.

“Since this will be my farewell to everyone.”

Shume began his address while letting her words go in one ear; Michi quietly stood up and left.
After concluding his address, Shume relaxed his posture and showed a smile.

“Since the troublesome guests have left, take your time and relax. The snow’s just started falling—if you like, you’re welcome to drink through the night with snow as your companion. Kawakami, let’s drink.”

At the mention of snow, the atmosphere livened even further.
One person went to open the shoji, but that alone wasn’t enough to see; another person brought a candle stand out to the veranda.
In the garden stood rows of old camellia trees, their dense foliage and the shadows beneath them enhancing the candlelight’s glow, so that this time, the swirling snow could be seen quite clearly.

“Isn’t this just made-to-order? Are we really drinking through the night?”

When Wakita Shinnosuke said this, laughter burst forth in a great wave.

“No need to put on airs—you came planning to drink till dawn snow or no snow.”

“There’s absolutely nothing unsuitable for Wakita to drink.”
Shume interjected uncharacteristically, “It was when he was bedridden with that terrible cold once—groaning with a bright red face from high fever—and he said egg sake was just the thing for it.”

Before long, Shume left there.
It was just before twelve o'clock when he saw off the Hatano couple.
He then had someone check the bath temperature and entered......As he soaked in the hot water and his body gradually warmed, the tension from the evening began to dissolve. He could feel his nerves and every muscle in his body pleasantly stretching out—letting out sigh after sigh like a man released from bondage.
He lingered at length in the bath—the fifty days of troubles had ended, and now that he thought this much at least was settled, a kind of soothed, pleasant, fresh emotion welled up within him.
He closed his eyes.

Two

It wasn’t a pure, intense emotion that would set one’s heart racing. He was already twenty-eight, had served as Construction Magistrate for nearly four years, and knew the ways of banquet revelries.
Moreover, since it was an utterly ordinary marriage conducted strictly by custom, there was no reason to expect any great joy.
Yet now, the simple, pleasant emotions welling up in his chest were surely no less valuable than that—he lingered in the bath a long time, reluctant to part from this delightful mood that enveloped him like the gentle warmth of a distant fire.

When Shume entered the bedroom, the bride was still awake.
In the soft light of the dimmed lamp, the bedding enclosed by golden screens displayed a pure yet alluring charm.
Kinu sat with white bridal kimono layered under an over-robe, both hands placed on her knees, head deeply bowed.
Shume entered his own bed, turned his back toward her, and closed his eyes.

Even after considerable time had passed, there remained no sign of the bride moving.
When he looked back again, Kinu maintained the same rigid posture.

“You must sleep now—it’s freezing. You’ll catch a cold.”

She answered “Yes” in a voice so faint it was hard to hear. Shume returned his head to its original position. From the direction of the retirement quarters came singing—its echoes muffled by the snow, sounding more like a voice resurrected from memory than reality. Even after that, Shume urged her twice more to sleep. But the bride did not sleep until morning, keeping her body rigid and remaining seated without moving a muscle, her face still bowed.

“Is something the matter? Your complexion looks quite poor.”

Michi looked at her cousin with doubtful eyes—it was the morning after Kinu had returned from her parental home.
It was certain that things were not going well between Kajii Shume and the bride—from the very night after their wedding, she had been sleeping in her own quarters.
The matters of the bedroom were handled by a maid who had come with Kinu from the Sudō household; Kinu did not involve herself. The changing of attire for going to and returning from the castle remained entrusted to Michi. Moreover, Michi knew that the two hardly exchanged words.

“It’s nothing, really—”

Shume faltered.
He suddenly felt the urge to consult someone—but the impossibility was evident; he furrowed his brows in gloom and remained silent. How should he interpret his wife’s rejecting attitude? Did she despise him? Was it shame? Or her youth?
If she had disliked him that much, she wouldn’t have come as a bride.
Shame wasn’t hers alone to bear.
Every bride must overcome that shame—at eighteen, she couldn’t be called too young. Then what was the cause?
His mind, trained to handle matters through calculations and statistics, found itself helpless before problems of emotion and psychology.
At this, he grew angry with himself.—Do as you please.

“I shall take my leave tomorrow.”

One night, his cousin came to Shume’s study with these words.
He was spreading official documents across his desk while persistently blowing on the charcoal in the hibachi; Michi brushed the ash from her cousin’s hair and pulled the hibachi toward herself.

“Sister-in-law has mostly come to understand household matters by now—though not completely—so from here on out, you must give instructions wherever things remain unclear.”

Shume looked at his cousin’s face.
Michi continued, bowing her head as she tended to the fire.

“You need to be more approachable. Lately you don’t even take a drink at supper—always sitting silent with that stern face of yours. How can Sister-in-law possibly come to know your heart that way? You really must try harder to act more like a husband—it’s too pitiful otherwise.”

“You may take your mother’s chest and mirror stand.”
Shume said while taking up his brush, “Come by whenever you have time—you don’t need to worry about the household.”

Michi watched her cousin’s profile. Then, after a moment, she murmured the following:

“There are times when impropriety becomes propriety, you know.”

It had been decided that Ōnuma Hyōgo would take Michi in once she married.
When Michi left, the daily rhythms of the household suddenly grew hushed. Within that stillness, Shume kept turning the same words over in his mind—*There are times when impropriety becomes propriety*.

On the night marking seventeen days since the wedding, Shume ordered sake for supper.
He was fond of sake, drinking a little even before breakfast; it was not uncommon for him to indulge quite heavily at supper. This usually occurred when subordinates were present—especially when boisterous ones like Wakita and Ono Heisuke gathered—and he would listen to their aimless banter with his cousin while drinking in silent enjoyment.
Since getting married, he had hardly touched a sake cup, but that night he intended to drink until he was thoroughly drunk.

“It’s tedious drinking alone. Won’t you join me?”

After a moment passed, Shume offered the sake cup.
Kinu kept her head bowed as she replied, “I am unskilled at drinking.”
Shume said in as casual a tone as he could muster—though he felt it ill-suited to him—as if joking:

“Quit just staring at the floor and look this way once in a while. I’m a husband who still doesn’t even know his wife’s face well—though I suppose this is rather irregular.”

Kinu quietly raised her face.

III

It was a pale, mask-like face—a face devoid of spirit and stripped of emotion.
Though slightly thin, her features were beautifully proportioned.
Eyes framed by thick lashes held particular beauty—but they were cold and hard as stone statues. Shume shuddered and averted his gaze.

After hearing Hōzenji’s midnight bell, Shume rose and left his bedroom.
Steeling himself against hesitation, he slid open the door to his wife’s chamber.
Kinu bolted upright with startling speed, like one ambushed, and fixed trembling eyes upon him.
Those eyes undid Shume’s restraint. He advanced boldly; Kinu wrenched free from the bedding and snatched the lamp’s cloth shade.
Using the brightened light as her shield, she knelt formally with bowed head.
Shume stepped to her side regardless and waited until his ragged breaths stilled.
Then Kinu spoke in a voice fraying at its edges.

“I… Mother’s mourning period has not yet concluded—”

This was a word akin to a harsh, unannounced leg sweep.
In an instant, the fire went out and his blood cooled.
Shume—crushed by wretchedness yet finding meager solace in her words—remained silent for a considerable while.

“Let us try to grow closer. It’s unnatural to leave even such matters unspoken. Men are obtuse creatures at heart—we struggle to grasp subtleties or emotional intricacies. Don’t merely stay silent—voice complaints and hopes freely. As mistress of the Kajii household, you must understand this.”

Kinu nodded softly and answered, “Yes.”
Shume still had more he wanted to say—but putting it into words seemed likely to come out disjointed. With as much sincerity as he could muster, he stood while uttering these words:
“Well, good night. I’m sorry for startling you.”

Several days later, he learned that the mourning period for Kinu’s deceased mother would end at the beginning of February.
Whether there truly existed a custom in society of wives refusing their husbands until the mourning period concluded—he had no knowledge of such a thing and harbored some doubts.
Yet he had no objection to waiting.
He had thought they might achieve spiritual closeness during that interval—but with the arrival of the New Year, he abruptly became consumed by work.
In April, the feudal lord would return from Edo—an order had come down to remodel the East Palace of the main citadel before then.
The design was quite large-scale, requiring considerable strain on expenses and materials; he stayed in the castle for several nights and traveled for days to procure supplies.
He was constantly negotiating with the accounting office and storehouse officials, seeking approval from executives and agonizing over the allocation of craftsmen.
And when returning home, he had come to truly desire rest and solace.

Of course, that hope was not fulfilled.
The house remained as hushed as an empty temple; his wife would sit to serve meals, assist with dressing, and see him off and greet him upon return.
But that was all.
She kept her head bowed—stubbornly bowed—her hands resting on her knees, sat perfectly still.
She walked without a sound or disturbance of air; what came from her mouth was almost entirely limited to the single word: “Yes.”
Even the servants were affected by this; they too spoke in whispers, stole their footsteps as they walked, all pricked up their ears, held their breath—it felt as though everyone was waiting intently for something.
It was when he could no longer endure this state of affairs that he realized the mourning period for Kinu’s deceased mother had already concluded.
Having returned home after three days away, he drank his evening sake in a turbulent mood; the intoxication wouldn’t come easily, and his weary nerves only grew more jagged.
As he looked at his wife sitting before him—her rigid, inhuman posture, her collar as cold as porcelain—he suddenly found himself replacing her image with that of his cousin Michi.

“Kōjin-sama is the god who punishes wrongdoers, I hear.”

She would suddenly adopt a serious expression and say such things. Usually there was someone present who, while dumbfounded, would retort, “But Kōjin is the kitchen god,” or “There’s no deity specifically dedicated to punishment.” Michi declared with unshakable conviction:

“But that’s what they said!”

Once she heard something stated as fact, she believed it unquestioningly—her habitual “But that’s what they said!” serving as both refrain and sole proof—and everyone would burst into laughter, exclaiming, “There she goes again!” ……The scene he had once found grating now struck Shume with nostalgia so profound it ached. Come to think of it, no one visited these days. Even when they did come, they avoided mealtimes. Those who lingered over sake were vanishingly rare—once their business concluded, they hurried off. Back then, it hadn’t been like this—the house had brimmed with warmth and chatter, voices talking and laughing without cease. Now it felt exactly like a household in mourning.

When Shume thought this, he realized his wife was in mourning, and then it occurred to him that the period must have already ended.
He counted the days—indeed, it had already ended a few days prior.
Shume looked at his wife with a face as though he had just awakened.

“Today is the twelfth—it must be Nirvana Day already. So the cold will end now.”

His sharpened nerves warped in unintended directions from the uninebriating sake; Shume strained to suppress them as he tossed restlessly in bed until midnight struck.
Then he rose decisively and entered his wife’s room.

Startled awake by the sliding door’s rattle, Kinu turned terror-stricken eyes toward him while slipping free of the bedding and reaching for the lamp’s hanging cloth.
Shume halted sharply at the threshold with a barked “Kinu”; she lowered her outstretched hand and shrank like a cornered beast.
There she sat—unchanged from that night, not a whit altered—the pretense of maternal mourning now laid bare as ruse. Shume advanced.
At this, Kinu shuddered and pleaded in a voice that clawed for deliverance.

“Please wait just tonight… Just tonight…”

She looked up at Shume with eyes filled with desperate entreaty.
What eyes those were! Suddenly, Shume felt himself perceived as a loathsome, degenerate man. Assaulted by a nausea-like tightness in his chest, he fled the room as if escaping and shut the sliding door behind him with a backward motion—humiliation and rage made his head go numb and his legs tremble. While he saw himself as a vile creature deserving scorn, anger at this unjust humiliation blazed uncontrollably.
What was wrong? Where was there any reason to be treated like this? What in the world— But Shume whirled around.
He was still standing before the sliding door when he heard a noise from inside the room.
It was a quiet sound, like that of a chest of drawers being opened. When he listened intently, he sensed an unusual presence. He immediately slid open the door.

Kinu sat atop the bedding and had just drawn the dagger.
Upon hearing the sound of the sliding door opening, she gripped it in a reverse grip and tried to stab her chest—but Shume seized her forearm, twisting it violently upward as he wrested the dagger away.
Kinu did not resist; rather, she remained chillingly composed.
Shume forcibly turned Kinu around by the seized arm and growled in a low voice, “I’ll hear your explanation.”

“I cannot go on living. Even if you stop me now—tomorrow, the day after… someday… I must… I must end my life…”

“Are you aware this would tarnish the Kajii family name? Are you aware it would ruin my life? No—you have no such right.”
Shume trembled with fury. “After tormenting me with your confusion for nearly seventy days, you have no right to act so selfishly!”

“Would I tarnish the family name?”

“A wife who married not long ago commits suicide—the reason completely unknown. Do you think this has no bearing on the Kajii family’s honor or my own standing?”

“Ah…” Kinu let out a groan.
She had certainly forgotten that point—because the reason compelling her to act this way was too immense and weighty, she had not considered the consequences her actions would bring about.
Kinu covered her face with both hands for the first time and began to weep as though overwhelmed.

“What am I to do—”

“Tell me your reason. If you must die, I won’t stop you. Depending on your reason, there may be measures to spare your name disgrace after death. Speak.”

Kinu cried for a long time; her weeping was indescribably anguished and pitiful.
Then, her voice fracturing through sobs, she forced open her lips with tremendous effort.

“I had someone I loved—though it was already two years ago…”

It was an unexpected confession.
Yet Shume seemed to have anticipated this; he made an effort to casually urge her onward.
Kinu continued.
Two years prior—in April, when fires were rare for the season—a blaze had spread to part of the samurai district. At that time, a distant relative of the Sudō family whose home had burned in the conflagration came to lodge at her house for half a year.
“His name was Enomoto Ryōsaburō—twenty-two then, working in the storehouse office while still unmarried.”
“Though Kinu had heard rumors beforehand about him being lazy and dissolute, not long after he came to live with them, she found herself unable to believe such talk.”
To Kinu’s eyes, he appeared only as a lonely man of weak constitution.
No one acknowledged him; he had no friends.
With eyes both lonely and perplexed, he would often stand gazing at clouds in the garden, his lips perpetually curved in a resigned smile.
Kinu felt intense sympathy stir within her.
Thus began their closeness.
As they grew more intimate, Kinu’s conviction strengthened.
Ryōsaburō possessed exceptional talent—not only did those around him fail to recognize it, but out of jealousy they conspired to undermine him precisely because of it.
Yet he bore them no resentment at all.

“It’s this kind of era—I don’t hate anyone,” she said. “Since sin resides in this kind of era, let them do as they please.”

As if pitying the vulgar world, he would often say this with a smile and gaze subtly at the sky with a lonely, perplexed look. But after some time, he sought love from Kinu—if Kinu would love him, he would rise above the vulgar crowd and become someone of note; he wanted to put his talents to use for her sake... Kinu believed it without a shred of doubt and pledged unchanging love.

Their love lasted just over fifty days, but they were discovered by her mother and separated. Her mother did not inform anyone and devised a pretext to send him away from the house. Before parting, Kinu repeatedly asked him to propose marriage.

He argued that it was not yet the time; as things were now, there was no hope of being permitted. He urged her to wait until he had become someone of note—and that it would take at most a year or two.

“After we parted, I never had another chance to meet him. Then my mother passed away. When the marriage proposal with you arose—if only my mother had still been alive—”

IV

I should have killed myself when the marriage was arranged.
But something had been missing—she had certainly wanted to see Ryōsaburō one last time; she had felt there might still be a path to survival somewhere; there had also been a vague yet fierce attachment to life.
I should wait a little longer—even if things reached the point of no return, it wouldn’t be too late—and yet I’ve dragged myself this far.

“Through my foolish lack of resolve, I’ve wronged both you and him—yet I too have suffered. Each day I vowed ‘today’ or ‘tomorrow,’ but when the moment came, my heart faltered… Please forgive me.”

Shume silently listened to Kinu’s weeping.
Then, he quietly sheathed the dagger he had been holding and, with a deep sigh, said—

“Write down everything you’ve just said as your final testament. Be as detailed as possible regarding that man. I will be waiting in the other room.”

Holding the dagger, Shume left the chamber.
He moved the lamp from the bedroom to the sitting room, stirred the buried embers in the brazier, and added charcoal.
A cat’s cry came from near the camellias in the garden.
That’s right—the camellias should have bloomed long ago. I haven’t seen them once this year.
Shume took the fire tongs and listlessly stirred the ashes.
He shook his head and let out a low groan. “There is no other way.”
He muttered under his breath: “Kinu must kill herself—but it mustn’t be seen as suicide. It must look like an illness—”
Shume groaned again.

Kinu came to the sitting room about an hour later.
She looked as if she had aged five years at once—emaciated, her cheeks noticeably hollowed, her lips nearly gray.
She handed the rather thickly rolled letter toward Shume, her face still downcast.

“For precaution’s sake, I’ll read it.”

He said this and unrolled it.
From Kinu’s knees to her shoulders, fine tremors ran incessantly.
Due to shallow rapid breathing, the chest heaved violently—and near the camellias in the garden—shrill cat cries continued piercing through air.

“I won’t stop you.”
Shume said as he rolled up what he had finished reading, “I don’t think there’s any other way. Prepare yourself and change into the White Bridal Kimono. I’ll make arrangements in the Buddhist altar room.”

Before dawn, a doctor was summoned.
Ōta Jun’an—an old doctor who had been very close to his late father—was the physician; Shume guided him to his wife’s parlor.
The two of them remained there for a considerable time.
When they emerged from there, Jun’an shook his head and said.

“It’s been a full hour since she died. Hmph—not even Kihaku or Bian Que could treat this illness. Right—proceed with encoffining immediately.”

The old doctor, being hard of hearing, spoke in a loud voice.

“When one dies from this illness, poison will seep from the corpse for two days and nights. Once encoffined, close the lid immediately. Never open it again—inhale that poison and that’ll be the end of—”
After saying this, he shook his white-haired head. “Listen well—you must do this alone. That is marital duty, hmm? But even if you forget, do not let others approach! I will report to the authorities. One more thing—burn musk. If you have none, I’ll send some. It’s most effective for neutralizing the poison.”

As soon as the doctor left, Shume sent a messenger to the necessary parties and, alone, entered his wife’s parlor once more.

By the time relatives from both families rushed over, the corpse had already been encoffined.
And due to Ōta Jun’an’s strict admonitions, even her real father, Sudō Sōemon, was not permitted to view her face.
It was all too sudden—dreamlike.
At the wake, that matter was repeatedly discussed, and sympathy gathered around Shume.
He sat silently like a stone, properly seated by the coffin all night.

The following morning, the funeral was conducted.

Once the seventh-day memorial service concluded, Shume resumed his official duties. As overseer of palace reconstruction works, he could not prolong his absence. The cousin who had come from Ōnuma to assist ultimately decided to remain after consultations, her belongings being returned as well. The household gradually regained its ordinary rhythms—though the lingering scent of somber misfortune never fully dissipated, life naturally settled into composure through the master’s ceaseless dawn-to-dusk occupations. Thus the days accumulated.

The day after the thirty-fifth-day memorial service, Shume visited Kurihara Wasuke, the Storehouse Magistrate, at his office.
Kurihara was three years older than Shume. He listened to Shume’s proposal and narrowed his eyes with scrutiny.

“There is an Enomoto Ryōsaburō, but you should avoid that. He’s no good—not someone you can use.”

“Actually, I want to try using him. I know the general reputation, but there are factors I must weigh.”

“I cannot recommend it. Not only is he incompetent, but suspicious too—forcing work onto others then presenting it as his own, wantonly wounding people with slander and defamation. A breeding ground for complaints and discord.”

“But people have their uses if you know how. At any rate, I’ll handle the formalities—I ask your cooperation.”

Soon after these discussions took place, Enomoto Ryōsaburō was transferred to the Construction Magistrate.
He appeared far older than his twenty-four years—a face with a pallid complexion, clouded eyes, and a sullenly defiant expression. Despite his slender frame, there was a sagging quality about him as if weighed down by flesh, his fingers unpleasantly long and sickly pale.
When Shume saw him, he was overcome by such discomfort that it verged on pity, turning his eyes away.

Five

That day, when leaving the castle grounds, Kajii Shume invited Enomoto Ryōsaburō and entered the Ogura restaurant in Kyōmachi.
Ryōsaburō alternated between anxiously wringing his hands and plastering on insolent smirks, his entire demeanor radiating restless discomfort.

“Today I thought we’d drink alone, but first there’s something to discuss—a serious matter, so listen carefully.”

Shume regarded him with calm eyes.
Ryōsaburō formed a faint smile and slowly shook his head in mockery.

“I’ll take the drink, but spare me the lecture. There’s nothing I handle worse.”

“It won’t take long.”
Shume continued casually, “Simply put—I want you to work properly from now on. When I asked Kurihara to transfer you to construction, I had my reasons and take responsibility. I’ll support you fully, so why not apply yourself here?”

“But this’ll cost you quite a bit, Mr. Kajii—you sure you’re ready for that kind of price?”

Ryōsaburō twisted his lips venomously.
Shume scrutinized that face, but his eyes gradually shed their calmness.

“What do you mean by ‘costly’? Be clearer.”

“Shall I spell it out?”
Ryōsaburō cut over Shume’s words and thudded into a cross-legged pose, then sneered anew, “But let’s save that for next time. No need to rush grave matters—digging them up won’t resurrect the dead anyway.”

“Is that meant to threaten me?”

“Well, who can say? What I regret is not being able to attend a certain person’s funeral. Had I been there… yes, I would have opened the coffin lid.”

Shume’s face turned pale from the forehead.
Ryōsaburō gazed at this with clouded eyes and continued leisurely yet coldly, as if savoring a victory now beyond doubt.

“If you open the lid, you’ll be poisoned? Nonsense! The coffin only has a smell—not poison at all, just a smell… specifically, the smell of blood.”

“Then why didn’t you do it?”
Shume said with every ounce of restraint, “If you were so certain, why didn’t you come to open the lid?”

“Even now, it’s not too late—… What? If we dig up the grave, we’ll find out. Shall we try it?”

Shume swung his right hand wide and slapped Ryōsaburō’s cheek, then lunged to pin him down.
Ryōsaburō shook his head as he struggled and bit Shume’s hand; Shume let him sink his teeth in before striking back.
He hit with full force—a blow loud enough to crack cheekbone.
Tears spilled from his eyes and drenched Ryōsaburō.
After pummeling him relentlessly, he sat down and spoke while suppressing labored breaths—

“You guessed right—Kinu didn’t die of illness. As for how she died… Someone rotten to the core like you could never understand, but I’ll show you anyway. Here’s Kinu’s suicide note—read it.”

Shume took out a sealed letter from his kimono fold and shoved it before Ryōsaburō, who lay sprawled in disarray. At the words “suicide note,” Ryōsaburō flinched and drew back his legs. He straightened up, adjusted his collar, and after staring at the letter’s front and back for a moment, opened it with trembling hands.
Shume closed his eyes prayerfully and bowed his head…… Ryōsaburō read halfway through before returning to the beginning.
Over and over he wiped his eyes; over and over he reread passages.
When he finished, still clutching the suicide note, he lowered his hands to his knees and shook violently—his whole body trembling.

“Though over seventy days have passed since our marriage, we never consummated it—I preserved my chastity for Enomoto Ryōsaburō. How I suffered… torn between duty to my husband and duty to Enomoto Ryōsaburō, enduring seventy-some days of torment alone… I should have died when the engagement was settled, yet I could not—this lingering attachment to my beloved remained. What manner of attachment, you ask?… I believed you possessed exceptional talent. I trusted that if you loved me in return, you would become a person of merit—I even believed your own words claiming this. But… through cruel fate, I had to wed Kajii. I wanted to apologize for this—to meet you once more, apologize, and then die.”

Shume stretched out his hand and pointed at the suicide note.

“Read it. Read it again—see how much she trusted you, how she apologized for the betrayal that resulted. ‘Even in death, my love will not change. From the next world, I will believe in your success and protect you.’ Isn’t that what’s written? Enomoto—a man should get serious at least once in his life.”

Ryōsaburō, as if in a daze, rolled up the suicide note with heavy, sluggish hands.
Shume wiped the blood from his bitten wrist with a folded paper while taking the bell from the alcove and ringing it.

“The talk ends here. As promised, let’s drink.”

Ryōsaburō stood up casually. “I’ll go wash my face.”
With that, he went out into the corridor.
With unsteady, faltering steps, he reached the middle of the corridor when he noticed a small sitting room with open shoji screens on the right. He swiftly entered, sat down, and loosened his collar.

Six

Until the moment he tried to thrust the dagger into his own belly, Kajii Shume had been watching from the corridor. And in that instant, he rushed in and stopped him.

“There is no other way—please let me go.”

“I’ll let you go—but not now.” Shume seized the dagger. “She’s waiting for Enomoto Ryōsaburō to rise—but she wouldn’t wait for a wretch like this. Enomoto—show proof. Become the man she believed in. Until then, you can’t die even if you have to bite into stone—… Isn’t that right?”

Ryōsaburō pressed both hands against his knees, bowed his face, and began to cry—it was the first time he had ever wept.

“Try it for two years. If I see proof, I’ll take you to her grave. Two years—if your resolve now isn’t a lie, if there’s even a shred of humanity left in you… Listen—show me that proof within two years. The living can be deceived, but you can’t fool those who’ve become spirits in death… Don’t forget that.”

The palace renovations were barely completed in time for the feudal lord's return.
The outcome proved quite successful, with even rewards bestowed upon those involved.—However, as the financial burden had been severely strained, settling the aftermath took the entire month of May, and by the time everything concluded, the season had already turned to summer.

People began coming to the Kajii house again.
Shume often visited Sōtaiji in secret to pay respects at the grave, but in daily life he was cheerful and in good spirits—wearing a brighter face than in any previous period, and when drinking, it became no rarity for him to laugh together with everyone.
Michi remained unchanged as ever; these days, with her cousin no longer wearing a stern expression, her every movement grew even more buoyant.
And from time to time, she would present those strange proofs of hers that made people laugh.
...Just as everyone had gathered and were drinking, distant thunder began to rumble despite the starry sky. Michi, who had been on the veranda, hurriedly came into the sitting room.

“They say the thunder beast claws through when splitting things!”

Of course she wore a serious expression; everyone burst out laughing. Wakita Shinnosuke couldn’t stop laughing, writhing in agony as he rolled about shedding tears. When the commotion began to settle slightly, someone nearby remarked, “Huh—so the thunder beast claws through when splitting things?” sending Wakita into another fit of rolling. Finally flat on his back, just as he somehow stopped laughing, Michi produced her usual proof.

“Oh, but that’s what they said!”

Wakita let out an “Eeeek!” as he covered his ears with both hands, shouted something unintelligible, and abruptly dashed out into the corridor.

Shume was now able not only to look upon such scenes but to savor them.
To his former self, they had been nothing but bitterly painful.
They had been nothing but foolish and noisy.
He had once found interest only in rational matters—things that could be calculated and quantified—but now he was different. Somehow, he had come to know the taste of repose—something that allowed his weary body to rest and his work-strained nerves to soften without reason, something that finally taught him what comfort and rest truly were.

At the New Year’s court visit the following January, he encountered Kurihara Wasuke, the Storehouse Magistrate. At that moment, Kurihara spoke with a wary gesture.

“They’ll come for you—mark my words. Stay vigilant. The snake’s merely hibernating.”

Yet the following New Year, Kurihara drew Shume aside and sighed deeply while studying his face.

“Such things can happen… such things… How on earth did you manage to reform him?”

“I simply believed in him.”
Shume smiled. “Nothing strengthens a person more than being believed in. He recovered through his own efforts.”

“Seems genuine enough—to remove one’s helmet. I’ll grant that people are a matter of how you use them.”

The camellias at Shume’s house bloomed again.
It was February 10th.
Kajii Shume, who had returned early from the castle, left these words for Michi: “Maruya will deliver something later, so make sure to receive it.” Then, changing clothes in haste, he went out again.—Enomoto Ryōsaburō was waiting outside.
He looked markedly different from two years prior—his frame had grown leaner and firmer, his face sunburned with a healthy sheen and tautness, his eyes bearing a somber glint though their cloudiness had nearly vanished.—He walked slightly behind Shume, and upon exiting the samurai district and crossing Ōta River Bridge, he suddenly halted there as if noticing something.

“Is our destination Sōtaiji Temple?”

“That’s right.” Shume turned around. “The second year comes three days early—her third-year memorial is on the thirteenth. But I thought it better to come before the service… Or—”

“No, let us go.” Ryōsaburō immediately offered a quiet smile. “To be honest, I was mistaken—that was in March.”

“Then shall we make it March? I’m fine with that.”

“No, we’ll go today. In fact, today would be better—”

And he resolutely proceeded forward.

Sōtaiji Temple lay at the foot of Kasuga Hill.
When they climbed the stone steps and entered the temple gate, a young monk sweeping the garden greeted them warmly.

“Is the abbot in?”
Shume said this while entering through the entrance in a familiar manner.
A young acolyte who had come running at the young monk’s call wiped the corners of his mouth with his hand and guided them to the guest room.

Seven

“Won’t doing this here cause any trouble?”

As soon as he sat down, Ryōsaburō asked suspiciously.

“When you say ‘do,’ what are you…—”
Shume lowered the knee he had started to rise with. “You don’t mean cutting your stomach open, do you?”

“However—isn’t that precisely why we came?”

“If you ask why—it’s to live. Enomoto Ryōsaburō will live. I’ve been shown proof of that very thing. That’s why I came here.”

“I don’t understand—what you mean by that.”

“Very well, I’ll make it clear. But wait a moment.”

Shume left briskly.
What he had gone to do was unclear; after some time had passed, he returned accompanied by a single young woman.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

While saying this, he seated the young woman he had brought along to Ryōsaburō’s left and settled himself between the two.

“Enomoto—there’s someone I want you to meet. A distant relative of mine named Kajii Kinu.”
“Look at her.”

At the name “Kinu,” Ryōsaburō shuddered.
And fearfully turned around.
It was Kinu.
Kinu looked up at Ryōsaburō—his face drained of color, his voice catching in an “Ah”—with eyes brimming with tears.

“It turned out just as you believed, Kinu.”

Shume said in a low voice.

“Enomoto was a man of talent—he proved it far beyond what you had imagined, Kinu. Love—sometimes it corrupts people, but sometimes it uplifts them so splendidly… If one is to love, this is how it should be.”

Kinu stifled a sob; Ryōsaburō too covered his face with his hands.

“Congratulations, Kinu—congratulations, Enomoto. The day has finally come for you two. You’ve won.”

Shume left them there and exited.
Then he stopped by the abbot’s quarters—to express gratitude for their having cared for Kinu these two years and to request they continue looking after her a while longer—and after that, left the temple with an exceedingly refreshed and cheerful expression.

Even after sitting down to the evening meal, and even after a fair amount of sake had been consumed, Michi continued to engage in nothing but aimless chatter, showing no sign of having the crucial matter in mind. Left with no choice, Shume asked, “Did nothing arrive from Maruya?”

“Yes, it has been delivered. It’s waiting in the parlor.”

“Bring it here.”

Michi left but soon returned with an object wrapped in paper cradled in both hands.
She hadn’t even tried opening it since its arrival—so very like Michi. Feeling his eyes grow suddenly hot, Shume said, “Open it.”

“What could it be? It’s a garment, isn’t it?”

When the wrapping paper was opened, a beautiful pattern appeared like blooming flowers.
How beautiful! Michi exclaimed in a childlike voice, her eyes widening.

“Why don’t you try draping that over your shoulders?”

“You mean me?”

Michi stood up brightly and draped the garment over her shoulders.
Against an antique purple gradient lay a dazzling yuzen pattern of a hundred flowers.
She continued without pause—“Oh my! Oh my!”—twisting her body this way and that, spreading the hem as she gazed with an entranced look.

“How beautiful! This is my first time seeing such a splendid pattern… Do look at this peony—it might as well be alive! Oh! And this must be a pink!”

“What inconsistent nonsense are you spouting? Look at this—the leaves are completely different. That’s a bellflower.”

“But it’s beautiful—how do they dye it like this?”

“How should I know?”
Shume’s lips twitched. “You’d have to ask the dyer.”

“So humans really do the dyeing after all.”

Shume finally let out a chuckle.
Michi was dragging the hem, turning around, and flipping her long sleeves, but when laughed at by her cousin, she turned red and said, “Oh my.”
Shume promptly cut in ahead of her.

“Did I say that?”

But he was perplexed.
That this was Michi’s wedding garment, and that she would wear it to become Kajii’s bride—he was at a loss for how to broach the subject.
—Michi was still entranced by the pattern.