Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

There are two theories regarding the biography of Lord Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu.
The first is the domain’s official history, which recorded statements such as “born wise, decisive, and astute” and “the achievements of his reign were no less than those of our founding lord, Lord Taiju-in.”
Since domain lords’ biographies were usually formulaic, such phrases were neither rare nor of particular interest.
However, separate from this, in a work titled *True Record of Conduct* written under the pen name Sen-Ami, there existed the following daring account.

From early childhood, he was delayed in intellectual development; though physically healthy, he lacked willpower and could do nothing without assistance. He constantly dripped mucus and drool, unaware of how to wipe himself, and when his attendants neglected their duties, he would occasionally wet himself. These conditions remained unchanged even as he grew, persisting to such an extent that even after succeeding to family headship, he would be made to repeatedly ask those around him who exactly he was.

The general meaning was as described above, but expressions like "constantly dripping snot and drool" or "asking those around him who he was each time" seemed too blunt even for a *True Record*, practically declaring him "dim-witted"—which paradoxically lent it an air of credibility. Upon consulting what were called the Domain Samurai Stipend Register and *Biographies of Eminent Ministers Through the Ages*, it emerged that the author's true name was Nagai Minbu, a man who had risen from a page with a stipend of about 100 koku to become a middle elder commanding over 700 koku in his later years. He was one year Mitsutoki's junior and, having been promoted to minor page at fourteen, appeared to have served in close attendance ever since. After Mitsutoki's death, he reportedly shaved his head to assume the name Sen-Ami, guarding his late lord's grave until his own demise—an account by such a man would likely contain neither falsehoods nor embellishments. The *True Record* further stated that from around twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, he began displaying somewhat ordinary discernment—yet even so, one finds no encomiums like those in the official history, nor any mention of particularly notable administrative accomplishments. Only one article caught attention—a passage sympathetically addressing Mitsutoki's succession to family headship as follows.

Lord Genzaburo (Mitsuaki), his elder brother, had been disinherited due to his numerous eccentric behaviors, and thus he was designated heir—but for his person, whose intellect was delayed, how burdensome this weighty responsibility must have been; it was truly pitiable.

The lineage of domain history was as shown in the diagram to the right.

At the time of the events recounted here, Mitsukazu—known as Seijuin—was fifty-four years old and retired, while Mitsutoki’s elder brother Genzaburo Mitsuaki had turned twenty-six but had been disinherited at fifteen on grounds of mental instability and was sequestered in the Edo Azabu subsidiary residence.
Lord Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu, became heir at age ten and married the daughter of Matsudaira Shinano-no-kami at seventeen.
The wife’s name remains unknown; however, at the time of their marriage, she was already twenty-five years old—eight years Mitsutoki’s senior.

Mitsukazu retired at fifty-two, and Mitsutoki succeeded to family headship and was appointed Governor of Settsu.
This occurred when he was nineteen years old, but—there is something worth noting here: both his grandfather and father had shown almost no interest in domain politics.
His grandfather Mitsuakira—posthumously known as Tōju-in—had been devoted to pottery since youth; he had a kiln built at the Azabu subsidiary residence and spent his life crafting dishes, bowls, jars, teacups, and similar wares.
His father lacked even such pursuits; from the age of twenty-nine when he inherited the household, he had lived as though retired all along.

This was thought to depend on the domain’s circumstances.
This was because the domain’s topography proved exceptionally favorable.
With the Chūbu Mountains to the north, fertile plains spread widely to the southeast.
The climate remained warm, yielding abundant crops, while the three clear streams and large lake called Ōnuma teemed with fish and game birds throughout the seasons.
Moreover, these bountiful products combined with convenient transportation meant the actual yield reportedly exceeded the official tally of 56,000 koku by as much as 20,000 koku.
Consequently, domain governance stayed stable, incidents requiring attention grew exceedingly rare—one might say there had been no need to trouble the lord with administrative matters. This reality manifested in the domain’s bureaucratic structure.
In both Edo and the domain headquarters, key posts had been filled through a hereditary rotation system, with the families listed below occupying these positions for nearly forty years.

▲Castle Keeper Elder ▲Edo Elder

Mochizuki Kichidayū Akimoto Rokurōzaemon

Hamooka Toshokan Mochizuki Naigon

▲Domain Elders ▲Edo Elders

Sakura Saikyū Naruse Kōnoshin

Hamooka Jūrobei Tajima Tetsunosuke

Town Steward Abe Hisanoshin

▲Chamberlain

Asari Jūdayū Kurisu Uneme

There were also middle elders, councils, and other important positions, but for this story, it suffices to note the families listed above and their five-year rotation system that had been dutifully maintained.
Amid these circumstances, Mitsutoki succeeded to family headship and was appointed Governor of Settsu; then, after a year, in October at age twenty-one, he made his first provincial entry.

II

Since it was his first provincial entry, beginning with the inaugural celebration, there were various ceremonies.
Of course, the domain headquarters had made thorough preparations, but most of them were omitted.

“Because the fatigue from your journey has yet to subside.”

Chamberlain Asari Jūdayū announced this, the samurai audience was omitted, and the reward ceremony was also omitted.
The reward ceremony refers to the domain lord summoning filial children, chaste women, and diligent farmers to the castle to bestow honors upon them.
It had been conducted approximately once every five years; however, due to the frequent illnesses of the previous lord, Lord Mitsukazu, Governor of Kawachi—who had not returned for over seven years—and because this marked Mitsutoki’s first provincial entry, the ceremony had been highly anticipated by the people of the domain.

The samurai audience was omitted, but a celebratory banquet was held at the Ninomaru Palace, and retainers of meken rank and above attended the feast.
Grouped into tens or fives according to family rank, they advanced before His Lordship, received trays of sake and delicacies, and withdrew.
And then held a banquet in the grand hall—this was the established procedure.

Mitsutoki was merely sitting on the upper dais.
He had a round, soft-featured face and a tall, well-built physique, but his eyes and mouth lacked focus—bearing a weary, sleep-deprived air that gave him a vacant, unfathomable expression.
Behind him on both sides were three pages: one held a ceremonial sword, while of the other two, Nagai Minbu—the page captain—would occasionally lean forward to whisper some admonishment to Mitsutoki. Each time, Mitsutoki would halt a half-formed yawn or slowly wipe around his mouth with his sleeve.

Directly below the upper dais were lined up senior vassals—the three elders, chamberlains, and key senior officials—but Castle Keeper Elder Hamooka Toshokan and Chamberlain Asari Jūdayū would occasionally glance at Mitsutoki’s condition, nodding to each other or exchanging whispers.—Their words were nearly inaudible, but when looking at Mitsutoki, both men’s eyes revealed pity and scorn—particularly on Jūdayū’s face, where it was particularly blatant.
Once, he twisted his lips and was heard whispering this to Toshokan.

“If we leave him be, he’ll start nodding off.”

After the ceremonial cup had concluded in about an hour, Mitsutoki moved to Izumi Pavilion.

At Izumi Pavilion, there was a banquet with the Castle Keeper Elder and six senior vassals, and ten girls chosen from the domain served as attendants.
There was a reason for this—Mitsutoki and his legal wife had not yet produced a child.
Whether it was due to too great an age difference or a physical incompatibility, since five years had now passed since their marriage, the senior vassals consulted physicians and resolved to select a healthy maiden from the domain as a concubine.
It was said the physician had insisted—“He himself should choose one he favors”—and indeed, those serving at Izumi Pavilion were concubine candidates. Though Asari Jūdayū had naturally informed Mitsutoki of this fact, even as the banquet progressed, Mitsutoki made no attempt whatsoever to look at the girls.

“Lord—” Jūdayū whispered impatiently, “have you found anyone to your liking?”

Mitsutoki looked at Jūdayū, wiped around his mouth with his sleeve, then—as if trying to recall what Jūdayū’s question had meant—rolled his eyes upward to gaze at the ceiling.

“From among those girls,” Jūdayū clicked his tongue and whispered, “you were supposed to select someone to serve at your side.”

Mitsutoki looked bewildered and said timidly, “I... anyone will do.”

“Choose,” Jūdayū whispered harshly. “There should be one or two who’ve caught your fancy. Make your selection.”

Jūdayū glared fiercely.

“Minbu—” Mitsutoki turned as if seeking help and asked Nagai Minbu, the page captain, “Who am I?”

“With all due respect,” Minbu answered, “you are none other than Lord Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu, sovereign of Old Pine Castle and its 56,000 *koku*.”

“Mm-hmm.”
Mitsutoki nodded and said to Jūdayū, “As you heard, Jūdayū—I don’t care who. Tell them all to relax.”

Jūdayū clicked his tongue again, whispered into the ear of Castle Keeper Hamooka Toshokan, and then had the girls approach Mitsutoki one by one in turn.
However, the result remained unchanged—when Jūdayū asked, “How about this girl?” he would answer, “Good.”
Each time he inquired—“How about the next one?” “What of this girl?”—the reply stayed “Good.”
With each repetition, they scrutinized Jūdayū’s expression, their desperate eagerness to please him—to win his favor and earn praise—becoming unmistakably clear.

“It’s no good,” Hamooka Toshokan said. “We’ll have to choose ourselves.”

“Very well,” said Jūdayū. “They say even an idiot manages this much normally—but it seems Lord Drool here can’t even reach that standard.”

Nagai Minbu whispered something, and Mitsutoki slowly wiped around his mouth with his sleeve.

“Minbu—” Mitsutoki turned around and asked, “Who is this Lord Drool?”

“You overstep,” Jūdayū said. “Be silent.”

Mitsutoki dejectedly fell silent.

That night, the senior vassals gathered at Hamooka Toshokan’s residence and conducted the concubine selection.
It was a sensitive meeting.
If the concubine bore an heir, her parents would gain influence to a greater or lesser degree.
Yet at the same time, those of appropriate lineage would never willingly offer their own daughters as concubines.
Even if the man in question were the feudal lord himself, a concubine remained a concubine.—After putting forward various candidates, the senior retainers settled on Yoshidaya Sakubei’s daughter as the suitable choice.
Yoshidaya was a purveyor to the domain, with two sons and three daughters.
If she was a merchant’s daughter, even if she bore an heir, there would be no risk of her parent interfering with domain governance.
Therefore, the following day, the vice-chief elder summoned Yoshidaya Sakubei and informed him of the decision.
Sakubei returned home temporarily and, after consulting with his family, came back with the answer that he would offer his second daughter, Otaki.
Then Asari Jūdayū went to Yoshidaya accompanied by a physician, met Otaki, and conducted a qualification examination.
She was seventeen years old—rather plain in looks but well-developed in physique, her health leaving nothing to be desired.

“Her hands seem rough,” Jūdayū finally asked Sakubei. “Do you make your daughter do chores like washing?”

“It is our family custom,” Sakubei answered, “to have our daughters engage in tasks like dusting, cooking, sewing, and even laundry, rather than artistic pursuits—it’s our tradition.”

A faint smile floated onto Jūdayū’s lips.
“A noble family custom indeed,” Jūdayū said in a syrupy tone, “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
Sakubei silently bowed.

Three days later, Otaki entered Sakakura Saikyū’s residence.
Saikyū was an official in charge of elderly roles, but it was decided he would take charge of Otaki and instruct her in palace etiquette.
Entering the lord’s bedchamber apparently involved various customs that differed by household.
In this domain, while procedures for the legal wife varied, concubines were apparently required to undo their hair in the antechamber, strip off even their undergarments, and enter completely naked as an established custom.
The bedchamber was followed by an antechamber, which was surrounded on three sides by night duty rooms, with the rule being that three pairs of two guards each would take turns standing guard.

There existed a common belief that concubines entered the bedchamber without wearing a single thread and with their hair let down to prevent the danger of bringing in weapons or such. In fact, secret records of various noble houses appeared to contain examples where such measures had been employed due to marital connections or other conflicts, but whether that had been the sole reason could not be definitively determined. There existed various other customs in the bedchamber as well—many of which were said to be of a kind too improper to speak of or commit to writing. Otaki had been thoroughly instructed in these customs over twenty days at the Sakakura residence before ascending to the castle and entering Ninomaru’s Snow-Viewing Palace.

The one who had instructed Otaki at the Sakakura residence was an elderly woman named Kikuoka, but upon entering the palace, two maids and three lower servants were assigned to her.

III

In late November, when duck hunting was conducted at Onuma, Mitsutoki saw Otaki for the first time.

Onuma was a lake located approximately two *ri* northwest of the castle town, containing the waters of five mountain streams that flowed from the highlands and featuring the outlet of the Old Pine River upon its surface.

Mitsutoki’s procession departed at 3 a.m., circled the northern shore of the lake, stopped at Rurikōji Temple—the family’s ancestral temple—and rested there while awaiting the appointed time for the hunt.
When they left the temple, night was yielding to dawn, with mountain foothills and valleys pressing on the right and the lake surface spreading to the left appearing intermittently through morning mist that alternately thickened and thinned.
Though the hunting ground lay near the outlet of the Old Pine River, along their route Mitsutoki observed from horseback forty or fifty small huts clustered tightly by the lakeside path.
They were wretched structures—walls woven from straw and split bamboo, roofs mere planks laid atop—so crude they resembled beggars’ hovels. Were it not for the cooking smoke drifting through the morning mist, one would never have imagined people could dwell there.

“What are those?”
Mitsutoki stopped his horse and asked while pointing at the cluster of huts with his whip, “What are those shacks?”

Nagai Minbu was positioned directly behind him.

“I don’t know,” Minbu replied, halting his own horse. “Shall I investigate?”

“Jūdayū will scold us,” Mitsutoki said as he urged his horse forward again. “It can wait.”

A new temporary lodge had been constructed at the hunting ground.
The two-storied lakeside structure featured Mitsutoki’s seat elevated in a viewing gallery style, with senior vassals’ seats below and the lower tier reserved for those of miken rank or higher.

At Mitsutoki’s seat, surrounded by the elderly Kikuoka and five maids, the resplendently attired Otaki waited; Asari Jūdayū presented her to Mitsutoki, and Otaki proceeded to her designated seat. Mitsutoki glanced at her briefly but, appearing entirely disinterested, averted his eyes immediately.

Dawn had fully broken.
The hazy far shore—invisible yet revealing mountain ranges silhouetted against the sunrise’s backlight to appear deceptively near—showed hunters’ boats rowing across the lake surface. Laden with prey, they docked one after another at the temporary hut’s bank before heading back out to open water.—Mitsutoki found this puzzling and asked how the hunt was conducted.
Then Mochizuki Kichidayū, the vice-chief elder, explained the hunting method called “branch drifting.”
When coating dead branches with birdlime and floating them, ducks landing on the water would either grasp the branches or have their wings stuck to them, becoming unable to fly.
It was a mechanism where small boats collected them.

“How fascinating,” Lord Mitsutoki said in a tone devoid of interest. “So you don’t use hawks or bows either?”

“We do not use them,” Kichidayū answered.

"Hmm," Mitsutoki said after a pause. "—This doesn't seem like a warrior's hunt."

Then Jūdayū glared and uttered, "Lord."

"No—it's like a warrior's."
Mitsutoki wiped around his mouth with his sleeve and amended, "It's like a warrior's hunt—how amusing."

But having apparently lost interest in the hunt, Mitsutoki raised his eyes to survey his surroundings.
Mist still drifted across the lake's surface while the morning sun climbed above the mountain range on the far shore, casting half-shadowed clarity over the mountainous terrain stretching along the northern lakeside.
Mitsutoki turned to face Nagai Minbu and pointed at an exceptionally tall peak among the mountains, its summit capped with snow.

“That snow-covered mountain,” Mitsutoki said. “Have I seen that mountain before?”
“Since this is your first provincial visit, today marks the first time you are seeing it.”
“Oh.”
Mitsutoki smiled as if relieved, wiped around his mouth, then asked with feigned dignity, “What is that mountain called?”
“It is called Koshimidake,” Minbu answered. “In ancient times, there was a watchtower atop that peak—it is said they monitored those illegally crossing provincial borders and poachers.”

“You know so much.”

“I was born in the domain and raised here until age ten.—Please allow me to tend to your mouth.”

Mitsutoki wiped around his mouth with his sleeve.
The cuffs of the white rinzu-silk haori were already thoroughly soaked.

When the hunt concluded, they gathered the game and presented it to Mitsutoki.
The one who managed the day’s proceedings was a supply officer named Izumi Gorobei, with the game consisting of six hundred ducks and eighty snipes and other birds.
Afterward, trays of prepared game were distributed, and a small banquet was held.
First came the ceremonial cup, then when Mitsutoki turned to the meal trays, Mochizuki Kichidayū advanced his seat to the upper dais edge and spoke about the ducks of Onuma.

The ducks caught in this Onuma were said to be foremost in the neighboring provinces for their plumpness and flavor; every December they were offered to the shogunate, and when that season came, it was not uncommon for daimyos to detour through this castle town in hopes of tasting the ducks.
Moreover, they had gained favorable reception by sending ducks marinated in yuzu miso even to senior councilors of the shogunate.
Such was the reputation of these ducks.

Indeed, the duck was delicious.
In the soup bowl were three tender, richly marbled pieces of duck meat accompanied by vibrant green parsley.
The hassun tray held leeks and a single piece of grilled meat—both brimming with savory richness—which had grown nearly cold due to protocols like poison tasting; yet their deliciousness spread throughout his mouth so intensely that it seemed his tongue might melt.
But that was all.
Three pieces in soup, one grilled piece—that was all the duck amounted to.
Others seemed to have eaten more; though the savory aroma of roasted and simmered dishes wafted through, the duck on Mitsutoki’s tray amounted to only that.

Mitsutoki wanted more.
Because his stomach was still empty, holding his chopsticks, he looked sadly at Minbu.
Then Jūdayū cleared his throat with an “ahem” and glared at Mitsutoki.
At that moment, Otaki noticed Mitsutoki dejectedly set down his chopsticks, wiping around his mouth while puckering his face as if about to cry.

“Jūdayū,” Mitsutoki said sorrowfully, “tell everyone to relax.”

Jūdayū lightly lowered his head while clicking his tongue.

“He’s like a five- or six-year-old child,” Asari Jūdayū whispered to Mochizuki Kichidayū. “Even when he ascends to Edo’s great castle, not a moment can you take your eyes off him—truly a diseased heart.”

“His facial features bear a strong resemblance to Lord Gensaburō (Mitsuō), it seems.”

“It’s fortunate their dispositions aren’t similar,” Jūdayū said while sipping his sake. “Lord Gensaburō kept everyone trembling in their boots after all.”

“Indeed,” Kichidayū nodded solemnly,“indeed.”

That night, Otaki entered the sleeping quarters of the Ninomaru Palace.
Accompanied by Elder Kikuoka, she followed protocol: undoing her hair in the antechamber, becoming naked, and entering the sleeping quarters.
After confirming Otaki had entered her bedding, Kikuoka withdrew, replaced by two maids who took up night duty in the antechamber.—This room lay east of the sleeping quarters, positioned opposite the samurai retainers’ night duty chamber, with plastered walls between them making passage impossible.

From the first night for seven nights, Kikuoka also kept watch in the antechamber. This was to hear the response “Yes” from Otaki, and when that response came at dawn on the seventh night, she thereafter ceased keeping watch and withdrew according to protocol. There should be no need to explain anew what the response “Yes” signified. From the following New Year onward, Otaki moved to the Ninomaru Palace and officially came to be called Lady of the Chambers.

Four

Otaki, clad in a white kosode given by Mitsutoki and wearing a white obi, carefully peered alternately at the samurais’ night duty room and maids’ antechamber before returning to her bedding.

“Ready?” Mitsutoki whispered.

“Yes,” Otaki answered.

Mitsutoki whispered, “At ease.”

There were two futons, both thickly layered, wide, and large.
Otaki bowed, entered her own futon, and Mitsutoki sat up straight.
The time was past midnight, and with no fires lit, the air in the sleeping quarters had grown bitterly cold.
Mitsutoki pulled the lantern closer, opened the plastered closet’s sliding door, retrieved a book, then sat directly on the tatami mats and began reading.

That had been his unbroken habit since the seventh night after Otaki began attending him—not a single evening missed.

“Will you keep silent?”

On the first night, Mitsutoki said to Otaki:

"If the retainers find out, it'll be trouble—if Jūdayū finds out, I'll be scolded. That's why I want you to tell no one. Will you keep silent?"

Otaki promised to remain silent.

Why did he hesitate before retainers when engaging in scholarship?
Instead of sneaking around late at night like this, why didn't he do it during the day?
For Otaki, it remained completely impossible to understand.
Of course there had to be some reason—even during the duck hunt, a kind of doubt had already arisen in Otaki’s heart.
At that time she saw Mitsutoki pucker his face and heard the exchange between Jūdayū and the elder.
—Mitsutoki appeared wanting more duck still holding his chopsticks as he looked sorrowfully at the page captain’s face.
Then Jūdayū cleared his throat dryly and glared with sharp eyes.
Even so Mitsutoki must have found it impossible to give up—puckering his face as if about to cry—and said to Jūdayū: "Tell everyone to relax."
His tone carried the unvarnished hope that by saying this he might receive more duck.

What a pitiable state.

Otaki thought, and would avert her eyes.

Because the lord’s mind was unsound, the retainers mocked him.
Even so, for someone who was the lord of a fifty-six thousand koku domain, what a tragic figure he was.
She found herself wondering if there weren’t five or ten people who could become his allies.

However, as days passed, Otaki’s suspicion shifted in a different direction.

Could it be that the lord was feigning idiocy?

One day, that thought suddenly occurred to her.

After the seventh night, Otaki gave the elderly woman the response “Yes,” but this was not the truth.
Because Mitsutoki would not touch Otaki no matter what, she resolutely appealed her position to him.

“No—it’s not that I dislike you at all. I think I like you.”

Mitsutoki answered thus.
“I think I like you, but I can’t feel that way yet.
Someday I may come to feel that way, so wait until then—just tell Kikuoka ‘it has happened,’” Mitsutoki said, and so the elderly woman was informed accordingly.
At that moment, Otaki was extremely happy.
Mitsutoki’s words carried sincerity, but what made her happier still was being treated like a human being.
And so, as she watched him reading late into the night, she noticed there was none of that foolish demeanor he displayed toward his retainers during the day.
For over thirty days without missing a single night, he would sit directly on the tatami in his nightclothes for one and a half to two hours, reading books almost without moving a muscle.
Though it was called spring, the cold from January to February remained severe; the sleeping quarters without any fire grew especially frigid.
Amidst this, his figure—reading quietly yet fervently—rather exuded an austerity uncommon among ordinary people.

Otaki wanted to know the truth and could no longer suppress that desire.
She resolutely and boldly asked Mitsutoki about it.

“I too have something I must inform you of.”

She had confessed earlier.
Otaki was not Yoshidaya’s daughter; she had been born into a poor peasant family in Ibe Village and had been serving at Yoshidaya since she was twelve.
And when the order came from the castle stating “to provide a concubine,” she was made to substitute as their second daughter.
Yoshidaya Sakubei was a purveyor to the domain, well-versed in the inner workings of the household, and knew that Mitsutoki was simple-minded.
Unwilling to surrender his own daughter, he used money as compensation to persuade her through appeals to cause and effect and presented her to the castle as his daughter.

“We were poor with many children, so that money would save us, and I couldn’t refuse the master’s request.”

“I was the same age as her, but my real name was Michi,” she related.

Mitsutoki tilted his head and furrowed his brows as he listened in silence, remaining wordless even after she finished speaking.

“It’s all so complicated,” he said.

“I don’t really understand such tangled stories,” Mitsutoki declared, shaking his head. “But I like you. I don’t want anyone else besides you. That’s fine, right?” He gazed steadily at Otaki’s face.

Otaki scrutinized Mitsutoki’s demeanor.
The expression with which he tilted his head, furrowed his brows, and listened earnestly—as if trying to comprehend her story—showed no sign of being feigned.
As Otaki wondered whether he truly couldn’t grasp something so simple, Mitsutoki wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stammered.

I am exactly as I appear—my foolishness isn’t an act. Yet I don’t consider myself as witless as my retainers believe. At any rate, since I study like this, I think I’ll become a bit smarter in time.

“Even though I look like this, I’m patient, you know,” I said with a smile.

From within her futon, Otaki watched Mitsutoki engrossed in his reading. Recalling those words, she nodded inwardly—yes, this must be his true self. He knew he lagged behind others in intellect and secretly strove to become ordinary. Believing this to be the truth, her chest tightened with pity and compassion.

In early March，Mitsutoki went out for a long ride with about ten attendants.
The plan was to travel along the mountain path to the trailhead of Koemidake and back，with Watanabe Hansuke and Kagoishi Tōshichirō—district captains from the domain’s home province—serving as guides.
Because it was a covert operation，they wore everyday clothes with riding hakama and donned usual lacquered sedge hats.
The one-way distance was about five ri．Departing the castle at eight in the morning，as the journey had many ascents，they allowed the horses to rest three times before reaching their destination.
At the trailhead of Koemidake stood the Hie Gongen Shrine；there they ate lunchboxes，rested for half a koku，and began their return journey—but when they had reached roughly halfway along the path，Mitsutoki suddenly shouted，“A deer！”
In the forest nestled between hills，Mitsutoki pointed his whip toward the depths of the woods to his left and rose up in his saddle．

“A deer!” Mitsutoki shouted. “There’s a deer over there—a live one!”

And then, with a swift swoosh, he rode his horse in that direction.

Five

From behind, he heard someone shout, “Lord!”
“Lord! You mustn’t do that, Lord!”
But Mitsutoki applied the whip to his horse.
On the narrow logging path, branches stretched out from both sides and struck Mitsutoki’s lacquered sedge hat and shoulders with sharp cracks.
He veered off the path, directed his horse’s head into the grove, and nimbly wove between the trees while repeatedly applying the whip, galloping onward.

Mitsutoki saw a deer.
Magnificent antlers, a large dappled physique, and slender limbs that seemed agile.
The deer stood beneath an ancient cedar tree. When Mitsutoki turned his horse toward it—as if luring him onward while measuring its speed and glancing back repeatedly—it fled. Eventually emerging from the forest onto a rocky slope, Mitsutoki abandoned his horse.
He had completely forgotten about his attendants, utterly captivated by the deer. He swiftly climbed the rocky slope and, upon reaching the summit, descended the other side.

He lost sight of the deer in that area.
Until he descended beyond the hill, about 150 paces ahead, he could see its antlers and dappled fur—but once he reached the bottom where a mixed pine forest began, there the deer vanished from sight.

Mitsutoki wandered lost for nearly an hour.
Occasionally, through gaps in the trees, the large swamp came into view, and he walked using it as his guide.
He would follow narrow trodden paths, pass through mixed woods, and—finally becoming aware of his attendants—stop to listen intently, wondering if they were pursuing him.
And then, he caught the sound of someone singing.

“Even if you wait three years, same age’s same age.”

He sang in a drawn-out, sluggish tone, slowly and deliberately.

“Even if you wait seven years, same age stays same age.”

Mitsutoki walked in that direction.

The edge of the mixed grove had collapsed into a cliff, and below it, in an open space of bare ochre soil, an old man was digging earth.
The one singing was that old man, with a cluster of filthy huts immediately behind him and beyond that, the wide surface of the great swamp could be seen.
Those huts he had seen before, Mitsutoki thought.
Yes, that was when he went duck hunting.
Shortly after leaving Rurikō-ji Temple, he had noticed those huts by the side of the road and asked Minbu, "What are those?"

"I want to rest," Mitsutoki muttered, "my throat’s dry too. I want to take a little break. Let’s rest here."

He retraced his steps through the mixed grove, gauged his general direction, and headed down that way.

Before long, Mitsutoki was sipping tea while talking with an old woman in one of those huts.
The interior of the hut was dim, with only a straw mat laid over its plank floor. In the corner of a stiflingly narrow room—barely a single tatami mat in size—lay a jumbled heap of indistinguishable clutter, while a sour, rancid smell permeated every corner.

“We have no tea,” the old woman said first. “Proper tea is beyond our means. Would mulberry tea suffice?”

Mitsutoki was drinking that mulberry tea.
It was said to be made from shade-dried mulberry leaves and supposedly effective against apoplexy, but it was a peculiar beverage with a sun-baked odor and an odd flavor.

“Even if you wait twenty years, same age stays same age.”

The sound of singing still came from the rear.

“Are you from the castle, sir?” asked the old woman, peering at Mitsutoki with rheumy eyes. “My vision’s clouded—can’t make out your form proper.”

“That’s not so.” Mitsutoki said while wiping his mouth, “Is that song being sung in the back a local one?”

“That’s Mr. Ichibē—he’s gone mad,” the old woman gave a disjointed reply. “If you’re not from the castle, then are you a traveler?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Mitsutoki said. “That old man’s gone mad.”

“After they made the riverside into a prohibited duck hunting ground and drove us to this Ibe Village—that’s when he lost his mind,” the old woman said. “With his paddies and fields gone... Now he just digs up that worthless red soil only to bury it again, over and over like that. He must think he’s still tending his fields. He’s been doing the same thing for over three years now.”

“Why… did his own paddies and fields… disappear?”

“As I said earlier—because the riverside became a prohibited duck hunting ground.”

“What exactly are these ‘prohibited hunting grounds’?”

The old woman wiped the rheum from her eyes with a cloth scrap as she spoke.

The area now serving as the duck hunting ground was called Kawabe Village, where over fifty farming households had existed across three hamlets.
They had combined farming with fishing, but five years prior, it was designated as a "prohibited hunting ground" for the domain lord’s hunts, and all fifty-odd households were ordered to vacate.—The prohibited hunting grounds came under direct control of senior retainers and district magistrates’ jurisdiction—without their permission, no one could enter.
Of the over fifty households driven from their land, about ten migrated elsewhere, while the remaining forty-odd built temporary huts in this Ibe Village and began living hand-to-mouth.
It was temple land belonging to Rurikō-ji Temple, which required no land tax, and since they were assigned roles as hunters during duck hunting seasons, each household received between ten and fifteen bales of rice.
And there was another reason—they had lived on that land for generations, so they could not leave the vicinity of Ōnuma.

“The same thing happened along the Kanagawa River,” the old woman continued. “Where the Kanagawa and Yasui Rivers meet, there’s a village called Hata-no. Five years ago, that too became a prohibited ground for Ayu fishing. Forty families who made their living along the riverbanks were driven out. Yes, they ended up in much the same situation—living in huts at Taira-dori, working when Ayu fishing season comes, receiving just enough rice per person to get by.”

“About these prohibited hunting grounds…”
After thinking for a moment, Mitsutoki asked, “Are they used for the lord here?”
“So that would be the prohibited hunting grounds.”

Mitsutoki slowly wiped around his mouth, gazed with a bewildered look at the cramped, dim interior of the hut and the old woman’s face, then set down the chipped bowl he had been holding.

“That...”

Mitsutoki stood up and began to say something, but seemed unable to put his thoughts into words. “Thank you for your trouble,” he said with a bow. “I’m glad I could rest here and have your tea. Let’s meet again someday.”

“No need for thanks—it’s embarrassing to be thanked like that,” the old woman said. “Do stop by again if you’re ever passing through.”

Mitsutoki went outside, then turned back slightly and looked toward the vacant lot behind.
There—Ichibē, that old man—was working his hoe in the same manner as before.
At the base of the collapsed cliff, on the bare ochre-soil ground, he was digging up the earth with sluggish movements, all the while singing alone.

“Even if you wait fifty years, same age stays same age. Even if you wait sixty years, same age stays same age.”

Mitsutoki kept holding the lacquered sedge hat in his hand and walked away from there with a gait as if burdened by some load.

Six

When he returned to the castle, Asari Jūdayū scolded him.

He had reunited with his scattered attendants before Rurikō-ji Temple’s main gate, but since their guide Watanabe Hansuke had sent word to the castle, a search party had been dispatched from there as well.
Asari Jūdayū refused to believe the deer story and appeared to suspect Mitsutoki of deliberately shaking off his attendants, interrogating him in an unrelenting tone.
Then Nagai Minbu stated, “I saw a deer.”

“I was positioned directly behind the Lord,” Minbu said. “When His Lordship was struck with the whip, I observed a deer in the cedar shade some twenty to thirty ken away, which immediately fled deep into the forest.”

“Like this,” Mitsutoki made a hand gesture, “swiftly, towards the depths of the forest.”

“You talk too much,” Asari Jūdayū glared, pointing at Mitsutoki’s mouth. “You should wipe that.”

And as Mitsutoki tried to wipe around his mouth with his sleeve, [Asari] said “Pocket tissue” while pressing a hand to his own chest.
Mitsutoki made a dejected face and, while taking out a pocket tissue, wiped drool with his left sleeve; Jūdayū clicked his tongue.

“To have your precious self become separated from attendants and lose your way shows utter recklessness,” Asari Jūdayū rebuked. “Should anything befall you, there will be no undoing it. While we might overlook such behavior in childhood, henceforth you must exercise greater prudence.”

“Minbu,” Mitsutoki asked Nagai Minbu, “—who am I?”

“The lord of Horimatsu Castle,” Jūdayū said sharply before Minbu could respond, “and ruler of fifty-six thousand koku—Lord Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu. Do you still not comprehend this?”

“If I’m the lord,” Mitsutoki stammered, “would there still be danger in walking through my own domain?”

Asari Jūdayū coughed sharply.
Mitsutoki fell silent, gazed blankly at the pocket tissue in his hand, then tilted his head in apparent bewilderment as if wondering why he had even taken out such a thing.

That midnight—when Mitsutoki was about to begin reading as usual—he unconsciously hummed a tune.
It was the song sung by that mad old man from Ibe Village.
Otaki was listening from within her own bedding.
Though he sang in whispers and remained unaware of doing so—making the words nearly inaudible—Otaki sat up in surprise and slid closer to Mitsutoki.

"Why do you know that song, sir?"

Mitsutoki turned around and looked at Otaki.

“It’s the song you just sang—‘Even if you wait seven years,’” Otaki whispered. “How do you know that, sir?”

“Did I sing?”

“Have you known it all along, sir?”

“No—I heard it today,” Mitsutoki said. “In a place called Ibe Village, I heard a mad old man singing it. The melody and lyrics were simple enough that I seem to have memorized them. Do you know it too?”

“Yes, sir.”
Otaki said with bowed head, her words barely audible, “That mad old man is called Ichibē—he is my maternal grandfather.”

Mitsutoki fell silent for a moment.

“That…” Mitsutoki asked after a pause, “has that song been sung since ancient times?”

“Yes—the melody is an old folk song, but the lyrics are my grandfather’s nonsense.”

“I thought the lyrics were strange.”

“It’s something he started singing after losing his mind.”

“Does it have an end?”

“Even if you wait until death—that’s how it ends—and then it loops back to the beginning’s ‘even if you wait three years.’”

Mitsutoki fell silent, then said, “Time is precious. We’ll talk again.”

Otaki returned to the futon.
Mitsutoki liked horseback riding and spears; every morning he would ride hard, and every afternoon he practiced spearmanship.
Though he loved both, he showed little improvement. While his horsemanship remained passable, the spear instructors were at their wits’ end during training.

In Edo, Mitsutoki had learned spearmanship from a man named Kaihara Kotōji, but after returning to his domain, Nagai Minbu assumed the role of sparring partner, practicing with him daily without fail for one koku. Not long after the incident during the extended ride, while engaged in spear practice, Minbu lowered his voice and addressed Mitsutoki.

This was the lord's private training hall attached to the Ninomaru Palace, measuring about ten ken by twenty ken, where three pages stood waiting at that time.

Minbu skillfully maneuvered Mitsutoki away from the pages and spoke in a voice so low it was barely audible.

“Reveal your true heart,” Minbu called out, shifting his position to the right as he spoke. “What do you intend to do? When will you commence your plans?”

Mitsutoki looked quizzically at Minbu.

“Your spear is dropping,” Minbu warned, then raised a loud shout as he circled further to the right and whispered, “Ever since joining your service, I have observed your conduct, Lord—and I have always believed that one day you would remove that mask of yours and begin to act.”

Mitsutoki watched Minbu’s face with a perplexed expression; Minbu roared and thrust his spear.
Mitsutoki narrowly dodged, swung his spear horizontally, and prepared for the next thrust.
Minbu said, “Your stance is wrong,” and pressed Mitsutoki step by step into a corner.

“Please thrust,” Minbu whispered.

Mitsutoki thrust.
Minbu sidestepped sharply to the left, then closed the distance again.

“I suspected you intended to act during this return to the province,” Minbu said. “When you feigned losing control of your horse during the recent long ride, I recognized it immediately and went straight to Ibe Village after parting with the others—I am aware that you visited the huts there.”

Mitsutoki lowered his spear. “Minbu,” he said, his face twisting as if on the verge of tears from bewilderment, “I saw a deer... and got lost.”

“Please raise your spear.”

“I got lost—I got tired—my throat was parched,” Mitsutoki said apologetically. “I’m not lying—I truly saw a deer. You—Minbu—you must have seen it too, didn’t you?”

Minbu stared fixedly into Mitsutoki’s eyes.

“Don’t tell Jūdayū,” Mitsutoki whispered. “I was tired—my throat was parched—so I just stopped by to rest and sip some strange tea. That’s all. Truly, Minbu. If Asari finds out, he’ll scold me again. Keep quiet about me visiting that hut—no, don’t keep quiet about it, Minbu.”

“Please give me your spear,” Minbu said as he received Mitsutoki’s spear, then whispered, “There is something I must deliver to your bedchamber. Once you have read it, please burn it immediately—I am prepared to stake my life in your service.”

Mitsutoki stared vacantly at Minbu’s face with lifeless eyes.

Seven

Several days later at night, a bundle of documents was delivered to the bedchamber.

It remained unclear who had placed them there.
Before Mitsutoki rose for his reading, the west sliding door of the night duty room opened; someone inserted the documents and immediately shut the door again.
Otaki had been lying awake; hearing the door close, she sat up and looked toward the sound.
At Otaki's stirring movement, Mitsutoki too opened his eyes.

“Is it time?” Mitsutoki asked.

Otaki gestured to stop him, then quietly stood up and went to the sliding door. She retrieved the documents placed there and returned.

“Now, this,” Otaki whispered, “there was someone who placed it from the night duty room.”

Mitsutoki sat up.
He flipped through the received documents and said, "Go to sleep."
Otaki entered her bedding, and Mitsutoki stood up, drew the paper lantern closer, and sat down.

It was a record of the senior retainers' misconduct from Mitsutoki's grandfather—Goshō Mitsuaki, known as Tōjuin—up to the present day.
After revering and keeping the lord at a distance, the hereditary senior retainers took turns controlling governance and continued embezzling over ten thousand koku annually.
It listed these examples in detail, with "prohibited hunting grounds" being cited as one such instance.
Ducks yielded nearly twenty thousand per hunt; even in lean years, the catch never fell below ten thousand. As they were renowned as local specialties, they could fetch high prices.
For generations, duck hunting had sustained the livelihoods of lakeside residents, but five years prior someone had designated prohibited hunting grounds—evicting some inhabitants to place them under district magistrates’ control—and began selling most captured ducks as "domain provisions."
The designation of prohibited hunting grounds was naturally under the pretext of being the lord’s hunting grounds, and the proceeds from sales were nominally deposited into the lord’s private coffers—but as with many other cases, in reality, the senior retainers were dividing the profits among themselves.
The "prohibited fishing grounds" for ayu in the Kana River were no different, and in both cases, the residents ordered to evacuate had been reduced to destitution.

How destitute they were—as you yourself had witnessed.

Such a note had also been appended.

Furthermore, these matters were principally driven by the two hereditary chamberlain houses—the Asari and Kurusu—while other senior retainers merely colluded for gain.
Therefore, it had stated, were they to subdue both chamberlains, eradicating the source of calamity would prove no great difficulty.—Having finished reading, Mitsutoki sat silent for a long while, deep in contemplation.
He had many problems requiring resolution.

Mitsutoki turned toward Otaki.

“Are you awake?”

Otaki answered "Yes" and sat up.

“I have something to tell you,” Mitsutoki whispered. “Check on the night duty.”

Otaki quietly stood up.
Then she meticulously checked on the night duty room, returned to sit beside Mitsutoki, and answered that everyone seemed to be asleep.

“A troublesome matter has arisen,” said Lord Mitsutoki, wiping his mouth and showing the documents he held. “Can you read these documents?”

“It’s only in kana characters.”
“Then I’ll explain it briefly.”

After outlining the contents of the documents, Mitsutoki recounted what Nagai Minbu had said several days earlier during spear practice.

“He says to burn it after reading, but what do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know,” Otaki answered. “Depending on your lordship’s intentions, would it not be permissible?”

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

Mitsutoki leaned on the writing desk he always used for reading, pressed his head between both hands, and let out a low groan.

“I don’t know,” Mitsutoki muttered. “With this dull head of mine, I can’t make a judgment.”

“Are you suggesting that what is written there is suspicious?”

“No, this is factual,” said Lord Mitsutoki. “I secretly received nearly identical petitions in Edo as well, and I have confirmed that several of them are truthful.”

“Then what is concerning you?”

Mitsutoki fell silent.
That was an agonizing silence.
Confronted with a problem that demanded confrontation, rather than devising ways to resist it, he seemed to be seeking a path of escape—there was something despairing about him.

“I’ll tell you the truth.” After a moment, Mitsutoki whispered, “Come closer.”

Otaki quietly slipped closer.

“The senior retainers’ misconduct appears accurately recorded here,” said Lord Mitsutoki. “Their actions cannot be wholly condemned—one must acknowledge their achievement in maintaining superficial peace for over fifty years. However—”

Mitsutoki sat up, took out paper from under the writing desk, first wiped around his mouth, then wiped the desk’s surface.

“But to maintain that peace,” Mitsutoki said, “there are those forced into sacrifice—and I cannot forgive how these sacrifices fuel the senior retainers’ corruption. Let us take duck hunting as an example—that day’s catch numbered nearly seven hundred birds. Yet my meal contained only three pieces in the soup bowl and one slice of grilled meat. Year after year, hunts yield nearly twenty thousand birds—a resource that had sustained lakeside residents for generations. Under the feudal lord’s name, it was seized. Now they have nothing but serving as hunters once yearly for meager rice—no land, no proper homes.”

“Even I, as feudal lord, get only four pieces of duck meat in my mouth,” Lord Mitsutoki said. “The residents have been driven from their ancestral lands, can no longer lay hands on the ducks that were their prey, and a few senior retainers who control governance have monopolized those ducks for private profit—that’s what I mean here.”

Lord Mitsutoki wiped around his mouth. “No—there’s something I must say first. Some time ago, you asked if I was feigning idiocy. That’s right.”

“Yes,” Otaki nodded.

“At that time, I said I wasn’t pretending to be a fool—that this is the person I truly am.” Mitsutoki shook his head quietly. “That statement wasn’t a lie—yet it wasn’t entirely truthful either. It’s true I’m intellectually delayed; as you can see, even at this age I drool. To anyone’s eyes I must appear foolish, and this isn’t an act in the slightest. But I wasn’t always like this from the start—I’ve striven to become this kind of person.”

Otaki tilted her head quizzically.

Mitsutoki spoke about his brother Mitsuaki.
Genzaburou Mitsuaki was disinherited at the age of fifteen on grounds of mental instability.
However, the truth was different; Mitsuaki was highly intelligent, had taken an interest in domain governance from an early age, selected those he deemed reliable from classmates and young attendants, and secretly investigated internal domain affairs.

VIII

This was discovered by Kurusu Uneme, who served as chamberlain at the time, and through deliberations among the senior retainers, they branded him with "a constitutionally unstable disposition" before effecting his disinheritance—for those retainers, Mitsuaki’s ascension as lord posed an existential threat.
Tōjuin and Seijuin remained equally indifferent to governance.
Whether this apathy was congenital or compelled remains unclear, but Mitsuaki’s tragic outcome appears to have been foreseen, for Mitsutoki had been cultivated since age seven to embody idiocy.

The one who undertook this education was an elderly woman named Matsuyama. Facing the young Mitsutoki, she said, “This is for your own good,” and began by teaching him to drool.
He was to do nothing of his own initiative: shun studies, turn his back on martial arts, show no interest in anything, and pretend ignorance no matter what he was asked.
And he was to constantly drool and wipe it with his sleeve instead of using kaishi paper, she instructed.

“Do you think you can understand?”
Mitsutoki implored toward Otaki, “I was born into a house of fifty-six thousand koku yet began training to drool at seven years old—from barely seven years old.”

Otaki lowered her head while closing her eyes as though unable to endure looking directly.

Late-night studying too had been customary since that time—all under Matsuyama’s instruction beginning with midnight awakenings every other night for half-hour reading drills initially then progressing after two years to nightly hour-long sessions of reading and calligraphy practice through her guidance—this secrecy being what Matsuyama had ceaselessly stressed—that he must never speak of it nor allow detection—she had even cautioned discovery would bring him harm—when his brother Mitsuaki faced disinheritance then at ten years old he became heir apparent—then first comprehending Matsuyama’s teachings’ purpose did he start earnestly striving toward foolishness.

“Habit is a terrifying thing.”
Mitsutoki wiped around his mouth and continued, “As you see, I can no longer stop this drooling. My discernment of matters has grown dull, and I cannot outwardly manifest my own will—this foolishness of mine isn’t feigned. It has already become thoroughly ingrained in my very being.”

“No, that is not so.”
Otaki suddenly raised her head and said, “You are mistaken.”

Mitsutoki shook his head and glanced toward the night duty chamber.
Otaki closed her mouth.

“Matsuyama died two years ago,” Mitsutoki continued in a whisper. “On her deathbed, she said this to me: ‘You too will one day come to understand what you must do—I firmly believe such a time will arrive. But even then, you must never rush matters. Thoroughly lay your foundations and take years to act. So long as you remember this, the very fact of having been raised a fool will become your greatest strength.’”

Mitsutoki bit his lip there and fell silent for some time with a vacant gaze that seemed to look at nothing.

After receiving the secret petition in Edo, Mitsutoki began to discreetly pay attention to the domain’s internal affairs.
And after making his first provincial visit, through matters like the duck hunting and the story of the elderly woman from Ibe Village, he began to vaguely grasp the direction of “what he himself must do.”

“We may set aside questions of right and wrong,” said Lord Mitsutoki. “What I mean is this: a handful of men who hold political power keep their lord as a decorative figure while wielding authority to exploit the people at will—those few senior retainers who grasp power can turn their lord into a puppet, intimidate the populace, and extort them solely to protect the profits they reap from it. Simply by holding power, they enable themselves to do this.”

Mitsutoki slowly wiped around his mouth.

“If I’ve said this much, you should understand what I intend to do.”

Otaki silently nodded.

“As per Matsuyama’s dying wish, I have no intention of rushing,” Mitsutoki said. “I will take years if needed—meticulously lay the groundwork before acting. Even regarding these documents from Minbu, I cannot determine whether they reflect Minbu’s true intentions or are a trap set by Asari Jūdayū. That’s why I sought your counsel. The petition I received in Edo—I returned it to its original place to avoid detection of having read it. Now the instruction says to burn it after reading, but burning would leave evidence of my having read it. If it’s a trap, there’d be no recovering from that… Otaki—what would you do?”

“I don’t know.”
Otaki thought for a moment, then weakly shook her head. “I don’t know either, but wouldn’t following your Edo approach be safest?”

“But others might discover it then,” Mitsutoki countered. “And if Minbu’s sincere, this won’t conclude quietly.”

“Likely whoever planted this will retrieve it,” she said. “But should it remain by dawn, I’ll dispose of it properly.”

“But what are we to do?”

“I will store it in the plaster-walled chamber,” Otaki replied. “And if questioned, I shall say I disposed of it unknowingly.”

Mitsutoki fell into deep thought. Like a stone, he remained motionless and silent for a considerable time, staring fixedly at the paper lantern’s light while deep in thought. Eventually turning toward Otaki, he smiled faintly and wiped around his mouth.

“Even if we wait ten years, same age is same age,” Mitsutoki whispered with a cheerful expression that seemed to reveal a secret. “Wait until death and same age remains same age—it seems you’ve heard a fine song, Otaki. A fine song—for me now, there’s no better song than this.”

Otaki looked quizzically at Mitsutoki and said, “What do you mean?”

“I’ll keep those documents,” Mitsutoki said. “I won’t burn them or make you worry. I’ll hold onto them myself.”

“Is that truly all right?”

“Having been raised a fool will become your strength—that’s what Matsuyama said,” Mitsutoki smiled. “And she was right. If I were to begin anything, this very foolishness would be my greatest weapon.” His expression grew solemn. “Of course, that would be much later—taking years to proceed slowly. I won’t make moves that leave no room for recovery if they fail. In patience, I’ll yield to no one.”

Then he quietly stood up and, saying "Come here," reached out his hand.
He took Otaki’s hand and helped her up, then whispered while guiding her toward his bedding.

“It seems the time we promised has finally come.”

Otaki stared at Mitsutoki.
She likely hadn't immediately grasped its meaning, but suddenly averted her eyes as if startled, her face flushing as she began to tremble.
Mitsutoki embraced Otaki while remaining standing.
He too was trembling.

Nine

In early May, ayu fishing was conducted at Kana River.

Otaki could not attend due to physical discomfort, and Mitsutoki too felt weighed down as he nursed a cold.
“However,” said Asari Jūdayū, “since this day has long been fixed as the ‘First Ayu’ with all preparations complete, postponement is impossible.”
“Naturally,” he added, “you cannot oppose this.”

Mitsutoki set out in a weary mood.

The fishing grounds were located at a place called Hata-no Village, slightly downstream from the confluence of the Kana and Yasui Rivers. Just as during the duck hunting season, a new temporary hut had been built halfway onto the riverbank.

The fishing methods employed were weirs and casting nets. The weirs spanned the confluence point, while before the temporary hut, ten fishermen competed in their casting net techniques.

"Why can't things go that way?"

While watching the casting net technique, Mitsutoki suddenly muttered that and wiped around his mouth with his sleeve.

“Ha,” said Nagai Minbu, leaning forward from behind.
“It’s nothing,” Mitsutoki said. “Th-that—I’m keeping it without burning.”

Minbu remained silent and straightened his extended torso.

The documents from that time were not a trap.
Days had passed since then, yet nothing had happened.
Asari Jūdayū and the senior retainers also showed no signs of change.
Recalling this, Mitsutoki conveyed his resolve to Minbu.
Mitsutoki could not tell what expression Minbu, standing behind him, made at that moment.
But by the way he silently readjusted his posture without saying a word, Mitsutoki could tell that he alone understood the implication.

If only I could handle it like that.

Mitsutoki thought once again. Like scooping up ayu caught in the weir with a hand net, like cleanly lifting the entire school with a swiftly thrown casting net. If only I could gather them all up at once, Mitsutoki thought.

The catch of ayu was carried before the temporary hut and presented to Mitsutoki. That day's supervisor was a supply officer named Okamoto Tahee, with the ayu haul said to exceed seventy kan. Then a small banquet commenced, and ayu dishes were distributed.

Following the same order as during the duck hunts, ceremonial cups were first bestowed upon senior retainers. Once again Mochizuki Yoshidayū moved his seat near the upper dais and expounded on Kana River ayu: "These ayu are celebrated as supreme among neighboring provinces for their aromatic quality, fine form, and deliciousness. When the fishing season arrives, many lords make detours specifically to sample them." It was explained that the domain selected prime specimens to grill-dry or pickle in sake lees, presenting them to the shogunal house and gifting others to senior shogunate councilors—all reportedly met with high praise.

Salt-grilled and sliced raw ayu were served on Mitsutoki’s dining tray.
The first ayu of the season were fairly large for their kind, and both the salt-grilled and sliced raw preparations were exquisitely delicious.
Unlike those in Edo, since they were freshly caught, their flesh was firm, their bones soft, and with each chew came a nose-prickling freshness reminiscent of river moss.
However, since there were only two grilled ayu and one serving of sliced raw ayu, Mitsutoki quickly finished them and, wanting more, turned to Minbu while still holding his chopsticks.

“I want a replacement,” Mitsutoki said.

Then, from the lower seats, Asari Jūdayū let out a loud cough and glared sharply at Mitsutoki.

“I want a replacement, I tell you,” Mitsutoki said.

Asari Jūdayū coughed again and said to Minbu, “No.”

“Minbu,” Mitsutoki asked. “—Minbu, who am I?”

“With all due respect,” Minbu answered, “you are none other than Lord Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu, master of Furu Matsu Castle and its fifty-six thousand koku.”

“Is that correct?” Mitsutoki asked Jūdayū. “There’s no mistake that I am the lord of Furu Matsu Castle—is there, Jūdayū?”

Asari Jūdayū clicked his tongue.

“Well, well,” Jūdayū said with a wry smile to Hamooka Toshokan and Mochizuki Yoshidayū beside him. “We may have perfected His Drooliness, but it seems the dose was a bit too strong.”

“However, for the sake of our domain’s preservation.”

When Hamooka Toshokan whispered this, Mitsutoki spoke to Minbu with a face like he was about to cry.

“Minbu, bring me the spear.”

Nagai Minbu returned the look questioningly.

“There’s a spear out front,” Mitsutoki said. “That is an heirloom passed down through generations and a symbol of lordship. I want it as proof that I am the lord—bring it here.”

Minbu looked toward the senior retainers.
"I am Mitsutoki, Governor of Settsu," Mitsutoki said while wiping around his mouth. "I give the orders here. Minbu, bring me the spear."
Nagai Minbu stood and left.

The feudal lord’s procession included ceremonial implements.
As this was an affair within the domain—though conducted informally—tradition dictated that the spear must always be erected. They had naturally brought it along that day too, and upon arrival it stood planted before the temporary hut.
The senior retainers looked to Jūdayū.
They must have found Mitsutoki’s uncharacteristic behavior suspicious.
Jūdayū curled his lips in contemptuous amusement. “Merely a child’s tantrum,” he declared, calmly raising his cup.

Minbu returned with the spear.
It was no ceremonial implement—short, with a shaft of betel palm measuring six shaku and two sun, resembling what might be called a hand spear, its tip forged into a cross shape.—Upon receiving the spear, Mitsutoki rose from his seat, advanced to the edge of the upper dais, and called out, “Jūdayū.”
Suddenly, the gathering fell silent, and Jūdayū set down his cup and straightened his posture.

“Jūdayū,” Mitsutoki said, “the rest of you—listen well. As a samurai precept, there is this: ‘A vassal dies if his lord is dishonored.’ Are you aware of this?”

“Lord,” Jūdayū sharply rebuked.

“Do you know?” Mitsutoki said. “What about Toshokan? What about Yoshidayū? Do you know or not? —Minbu, what about you?”

“With all due respect,” Minbu answered, “as samurai, there is none among us unaware of this precept.”

“Good,” Mitsutoki nodded. “Here, vassals are dishonoring their lord. Jūdayū—come closer.”

Jūdayū did not move.
With a sneer still on his lips, he spoke without leaving his seat.
"You overstep with your tongue, Lord. Deign to return to your seat."

Mitsutoki's eyes narrowed.

"Please return to your seat," Jūdayū said.

Then Mitsutoki removed the spear’s scabbard.
With calm hands, he removed the scabbard, regripped the spear, shouted “You insolent cur!”, and thrust it straight into Jūdayū’s chest.
His movements up to removing the scabbard had been slow, but the swiftness with which he regripped the spear was peerless.

“Lord!” Nagai Minbu leapt up.

The senior retainers looked as if their guts had been ripped out, their mouths hanging open without a single one able to utter a sound. Jūdayū pressed both hands against his right chest and collapsed forward while letting out a groan.

“Minbu,” Mitsutoki called. “Clean this off.”

Then he passed the spear to Minbu and addressed the senior retainers: “Though Jūdayū’s crimes warrant death, I shall spare his life. When we return to Edo, I will report this to my lord father and conduct a proper inquiry into his transgressions—summon a physician to tend to him.”

The senior retainers prostrated themselves without a word.

“Minbu,” Mitsutoki said while wiping around his mouth with his sleeve, “I’m leaving.”

Nagai Minbu whispered quickly in a low voice while leading the way.

“A messenger just arrived from the castle,” Nagai Minbu whispered quickly in a low voice while leading the way. “Lady Otaki is with child.”

“The first ayu of the season tastes exceptional,” Mitsutoki smiled, imbuing the words with double meaning. “But don’t worry—I’ll never be so hasty as to gorge myself and ruin my stomach.”

And once more, he slowly wiped around his mouth.