Pathway to Japanese Literature

Asano Takumi-no-kami The seventh hour had just passed. The spring-swollen river’s high tide lapped against each barnacle on the stone walls with a sound akin to furtive kisses. The Asano family’s upper residence in Teppōzu Tsukiji stood encircled by waterways. With each passing breeze that crossed over red plum blossoms and willows along the walls, the briny scent of Ōkawaguchi’s sea would permeate every crevice between silver-leafed sliding doors and painted screens. Beyond a single layer of wall came the rhythmic creak of oars outside, while upon the broad eaves above, white streaks from seabirds’ droppings frequently marred the woodwork.

"The beach at Ako must be bustling with people gathering shellfish at low tide and enjoying boat excursions around this time." Takumi-no-kami gazed at the sky from his armrest. No—they were eyes remembering the smoke from salt-burning beaches in his distant home province.

The figure of a refined woman, likely twenty-five or twenty-six years old, was half-visible from the adjoining room. She must be his wife. Before the tea kettle arranged near the bath, she sat with elegant composure. Placing the renowned tea bowl upon an aubergine-colored silk cloth, she then walked with delicate grace to set the teacup before Takumi-no-kami. And following his gaze, she too looked out at the blue sky beyond the eaves.

“They all boast of Edo’s spring here in the capital, but when you think of your home province, you must still feel nostalgic—how your heart must yearn for Ako’s main castle.” “No matter where I might live—it’s already…” He nodded, “A country bumpkin belongs in the countryside.”

――At the rear of neighboring Ogasawara Hayato's residence, the sound of the Ōkura school's small hand drum continued to sound today as well. In society, Noh was in vogue. When it came to trends, it was not only Noh—both samurai and townspeople were caught up in the pursuit of fashionable matters. Individuals lacked fulfillment, and among the people, there existed a great void. Kabuki customs and the bravado of ruffians were seen as supreme. Even children from respectable families coveted lascivious colors. The number of abandoned children in the city increased, and the parents of prostitutes made their living with brazen pride. Not to mention hatamoto, even low-ranking guards knew Yoshiwara, and many could strum a verse of Edo ballads to courtesans. Even among townspeople considered extremely honest—those who kept quails or boasted of spending fifty ryō, a hundred ryō on rohdea plants—it was said that the frivolity of society had never been as extreme as it was now in the Genroku era.

(Those below emulate those above—)

And there were those who secretly lamented the state of governance. (In the Kan’ei era, both bushido and townspeople’s ethics had not yet decayed to such an extent.) And there were many who implicitly lamented and criticized what stemmed from the personality of the current Shogun Tsunayoshi.

Naturally, the inner workings of daimyo life were thoroughly rotten. Outward appearances alone were opulent and resplendent; behind closed doors, they imposed harsh taxes on peasants, extorted tribute payments from wealthy merchants, and retained clever vassals skilled in financial machinations and social maneuvering—those were considered loyal retainers—in an era where lords cherished such traits. Amidst such an era, the Asano family alone maintained quiet simplicity. The influence of renowned Confucian scholar Yamaga Sokō had been profound, and the simple samurai customs preserved since the domain's founding still refused to align with Genroku's decadent zeitgeist.

Therefore, the domain's finances had surplus. Though Ako salt's annual production was colossal in scale, ultimately it was the Takumi-no-kami couple's lack of arrogance and their samurai customs' steadfastness that constituted their greatest asset.

“The bath is perfectly heated. My lady—another cup.”

“Yes.” The wife sat back down by the bath.

As for shared pastimes, the couple had but a few—tea ceremony, incense appreciation, and the arts of calligraphy and painting. In both their shared pastimes and their daily comings and goings, the couple’s harmony appeared so enviable even to their retainers’ eyes. It was blissful sunlight. An utterly peaceful, radiant Third Day of the Third Month. Coincidentally, today was also a festival day. Sleep now, there now, sleep Hush now, little one On the eve of the festival, what did you buy? Agarwood spool Silver needle Don’t cry, don’t fuss Hush now, little one On the eve of the festival, what did you sew?

A potted-tree sash, Maro’s small-sleeved robe…

From somewhere came the plaintive melody of a lullaby mingled with an infant’s cries. ―It could not have originated within the estate—the sounds must have been seeping through from beyond the walls. Beneath the outer stone embankment, boats would often moor, and at times the guttural voices of boatmen carried; thus, it was likely the boatman’s wife from one of those floating households, her breast bared as she soothed the wailing child. While placing the ladle into the tea kettle, the wife found herself listening entranced. When she stole a glance at her husband’s face, Takumi-no-kami appeared similarly affected. He was listening intently.

(For a seven-year difference, one must search in iron-clad sandals)

There was even a proverb that said as much—and though she had been wed in an auspicious match—still she bore no heir.

Shogunal Edict-Ordered Castle Attendance

It was Tomimori Sukeemon, mounted guard-laborer.

With large strides, he walked toward the corner of the garden, “Hey!”

He opened the gate in the wall and stuck his head out toward the river behind. “Boatman’s wife! Why are you making that infant cry there? It disturbs the tranquility of the estate—does it not? Can’t you see the posted notice? ‘No mooring boats beneath these stone walls!’ Get away from here!” he continued scolding.

Then, a page came running over,

“Master Sukeemon.” “What?” “You are summoned.” “Huh— To where?” “To the tea chamber.” “Oh!”

Suke struck his own head as if to say, "Damn it!" "Was His Lordship in the tea chamber? I ended up shouting without realizing."

The tea chamber was a detached structure. Moreover, it was nearby. In flustered haste, Suke ran off. He kneeled in the garden of the Rikyu-style tea chamber.

Just when one might have thought Takumi-no-kami had summoned him, it turned out not to be so—the caller was his wife. She said gently: “Sukeemon.” “Yes.” “Please have these doll festival rice crackers delivered to the boatman’s child outside.” “Oh, the sweets...? Ah... I-I humbly thank you.” Suke, sweat of shame streaming down his back, pressed his forehead to the ground on behalf of the boatman’s wife. Having pressed his forehead to the ground, he attempted to rise,

“Return once more later.”

This time, Takumi-no-kami spoke. Suke took the paper-wrapped dried sweets and passed them down from the stone wall to the boatman's wife. When he told her this was her ladyship's doing, the woman wept together with her infant. Pressing her palms toward the estate in prayer, she untied the mooring rope and drifted beyond Akashi Bridge. "No good... I'm still worthless." "I haven't become a true samurai." "Putting on a tough act isn't the way of the warrior." "Though neither His Lordship nor Her Ladyship voiced reproach, in their hearts they must have judged me an unsteady fool beneath contempt."

He was utterly ashamed of himself. He returned to the tea chamber garden. Until Takumi-no-kami began to speak of the matter, he kept reproaching himself inwardly for his own merciless words. He placed both hands on the garden's edge strewn with fallen pine needles, “Might there be some matter requiring your attention?” “Ah, Sukeemon.” "Though the fourth is not a castle attendance day, a shogunal edict jointly signed by the Elder Council had arrived." “What in the world... An edict ordering me to attend at the castle.” “Are you aware of this?”

“I have just received word from the honorable chief retainer.” “For the spare horse, we customarily take Asatsuki, but since it appears the horse sustained a minor leg injury at the riding grounds some time past, you shall prepare another mount’s saddle.” With no further matters requiring attention, Sukeemon turned toward the stables in relief, proceeding there directly.

By directing his subordinates and lower-ranking servants, he completed all official duties in about two hours. Having judged tomorrow’s skies to be clear enough, when he came to the front quarters, he found Foot Inspector Kanzaki Yogorō—who had also finished preparing his retinue—taking a breather beside the large brazier in the official duty room. “Ah, good work. Finished?” “Since they changed out the spare horse, I’ve been rushing to swap saddles and redo all the tack adjustments—just finished now.” “Tomorrow is not even a regular day—what could be the reason for attending the castle? If it’s auspicious news, well and good...”

“I heard from Chamberlain Kataoka that there’s talk His Lordship might receive an imperial mandate.” “This ‘imperial mandate’...?” “As reception commissioner for the Imperial Envoys’ forthcoming visit.”

“I see. If that’s the case, it’s an honorable duty...” “In that case, it would be an honor...”

Then, Tanaka Sadashirō, the minor chamberlain who had been facing his desk keeping the ledger with his back turned, “Don’t spout such nonsense!” “What honor? Is there anything to celebrate?” “If this were an official appointment as reception commissioner, it would be a grievous burden for our domain. The role of hosting Imperial Envoys—this duty of reception commissioner—is ordained to be entirely funded from private coffers.” “Therefore, it’s either lords deemed wealthy or domains hated by the Elder Council that end up drawing the short straw.”

Yogorō was listening with half an ear while laughing, but Suke wore an expression of disapproval. "Is that not precisely our ordinary duty? Our domain's frugal customs exist precisely to serve in such times. With such an auspicious and esteemed duty before us, how can you speak of it as a grievous matter?" "Are you angry, Lord Suke?" "Of course."

“Don’t take it the wrong way. “I merely voiced concern about our domain’s finances, nothing more.” “Ha ha ha! Since it’s not from my own purse, if we’re to declare these expenditures auspicious too, then even if they’re extravagantly auspicious, I suppose there’s no harm done.” With that, Tanaka shoved the ledger aside and departed awkwardly.

The young lord

In Edo Castle's Hall of Imperial Reflections, the morning chill still carried a crisp freshness, and the daimyōs who customarily attended had not yet arrived for castle attendance.

Before long, when the fifth-and-a-half hour bell tolled deep within the castle, the five Elders took their seats in unison.

Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami, the monthly duty Elder, “Lord Takumi-no-kami, your attendance honors us.”

he said. “I have come as summoned.”

With that, Lord Takumi-no-kami bowed his head. “On this occasion—” With that, Sagami-no-kami declared in a solemn voice, as if reciting a shogunal edict. “As the New Year’s return of courtesies, in connection with the honorable visit of the Imperial Envoys and Envoys from the Retired Emperor’s court, you are appointed as reception commissioner. You are no doubt aware that the ceremony of receiving the Imperial Envoys is deemed foremost among the shogunate’s most august ceremonial affairs. Ensure all matters are attended to without negligence and perform your duties with utmost devotion.”

“Understood…”

"However, as the ceremonial receptions for the Imperial Envoys are annual matters that shall serve as precedents for future occasions, take care they do not tend toward undue extravagance."

“……?” Lord Takumi-no-kami lowered the shoulders of his kamishimo and remained motionless in silent contemplation. Then quietly raising his face, he addressed his response to the five assembled Elders. “To have been deemed worthy of such a great responsibility is a blessing to my clan and an honor to myself. I should gratefully accept this charge, yet with my shallow learning, I fear I cannot properly comprehend even the august protocols of the court nobility. Especially given my youthful inexperience, I humbly beseech you to entrust this esteemed duty to another.”

“Nonsense!” Sagami-no-kami lightly brushed aside the verbal objections,

“You need not concern yourself with such matters. “No one could be expected to properly comprehend the court nobility’s ceremonies. “The annual reception commissioners have all received guidance from Master of Ceremonies Kira Yoshihisa and discharged their duties without incident. “You need only receive Lord Kira’s instructions regarding all matters.” Lord Takumi-no-kami feared that to decline again might give the impression of begrudging the expenses,

“In that case, I shall humbly receive your guidance in all matters.” With that, he received the official orders and withdrew.

On the same morning, the lord of Iyo-Yoshida Castle, Date Sakyonosuke, was also appointed to the role of reception commissioner.

Sakyonosuke had also heard that he had been appointed while in the anteroom. It was a once-in-a-generation responsibility.

Lord Takumi-no-kami had been preoccupied with this matter since departing for his residence. Yet since it was an annual duty performed by daimyos, there could be no justification for him alone being unequal to the task—nay, it would prove valuable training indeed. He resolved to devote himself earnestly and discharge his obligations with sincerity, this determination taking root within him. That's right. First consult Fujii Matazaemon and Yasui Hikobei, the Edo-based chief retainers. In the Asano lineage, even the previous lord Naganao had once shouldered this great responsibility. Those documents must still exist, and those elders would surely retain some memory of the affair—they ought to possess what men call the discernment of age. Not that this was the first occasion such considerations had occupied his thoughts.

Immediately upon returning to his Teppōzu residence, he summoned the two Edo-based chief retainers, Fujii and Yasui, and informed them of the matter. And then, “I myself lack confidence, but I consider you my strength. Therefore, acting promptly in accordance with the Elder Council’s private instructions, you are to proceed and pay your respects to Lord Kira of the Masters of Ceremonies, from whom we must receive guidance on all matters.” he said.

“Understood.”

That matter had already spread throughout the retainer band. On the faces of those crowding into the duty room—soon to become their lord’s hands and feet now that he had received this great responsibility—there lingered on every countenance an anticipation of coming busyness, mingled with solemn resolve and ceremonial gravity.

Regarding the matter of paying respects to the Kira household, Yasui and Fujii had sequestered themselves in the chief retainers’ room for some time. For some time, they remained inside, knees nearly touching as they engaged in prolonged deliberation; when at last they emerged from the room,

“Lord Gengo. “Lord…?” They inquired of chamberlain Kataoka Gengoemon upon encountering him face-to-face.

Gengo too appeared to be in a hurry, occupied with some task, "He has just finished changing into his formal attire and is now conversing with the lady." "Shall I announce your arrival?"

“Then he is in the inner chambers.” “In that case—”

With that, they hurried through the locked gate. “With all due respect, we humbly wish to inquire once more...” “What is it?” Within the chamber, besides Lord Takumi-no-kami, his wife was also present. When the page quietly slid open the sliding door, there lay Yasui’s head streaked with white hair and Fujii Matazaemon’s head—its shaven pate mottled with reddish-black spots—both prostrating side by side. “Regarding the greeting to Lord Kira that you previously commanded us to undertake...”

“Hmm.” “Considering Lord Kira’s stature as Fourth Rank Major General and an eminent Master of Ceremonies, we deliberated that presenting gifts when paying our respects might appear bribe-like and risk being perceived as disrespectful... Thus we two concluded that formal greetings alone should suffice. What is your lordship’s esteemed opinion?” “Is that so?...”

And Lord Takumi-no-kami too was truly unversed in such worldly matters. "What, then, is your considered opinion?"

“Therefore, while we speak of seeking guidance on ceremonial matters,” they continued, “that constitutes the natural duty of the Masters of Ceremonies.” “This is an official duty, not a private affair.” “Were it a matter of your lordship’s gracious intentions after the shogunate’s great decree had been fulfilled without incident, that would warrant different consideration—but for this present occasion, might not some mere token suffice?”

In his wife’s eyes, an anxious shadow stirred. However, it was the chief retainers’ opinion. While listening distractedly, she gazed at the verdant garden. Regarding public matters, refraining from any interference was considered chaste and womanly virtue.

Lord Takumi-no-kami glanced briefly at his wife's profile. As a lord who embodied the pure and upright samurai code, he had until this day maintained not the slightest flaw in his public or private conduct. He nodded and said at once: "You may proceed with your considerations." "The essential thing is that propriety not be neglected." "See to it accordingly."

The Approach to the Kira Residence

Two captive cranes spread their muddied wings by the water's edge. Large bronze lanterns and massive Izu stones encircled the garden pond. Kira Yoshihisa, who had unrolled the Shūbun scroll brought by the antique dealer with an attached letter from Hon'ami, was hunched over its surface wearing spectacles as though searching for insects when the cranes' wingbeats made him lift his face. He furrowed his white eyebrows in displeasure. “Hey, hey. Magobei.”

“Yes.”

Along with the duty room’s response, footsteps approached the veranda’s edge. “Those filthy domestic cranes are muddying the water again—dirtying the lanterns and tea room windows,” Kira Yoshihisa snapped. “Talentless creatures! Their feed costs alone are vexing enough. Summon a town fowl merchant and sell them off at whatever price.” “While I humbly acknowledge your command,” Magobei ventured, “should Lord Makino learn we’ve disposed of his gift, he might take offense—particularly given the strictness of this Compassion for Living Things edict.”

“There are fools in this world,” “Who in their right mind would send others these nuisances that demand feeding and care—creatures doomed to die? However much they claim it’s flattery toward the authorities’ beast protection edicts...” “Yet Lord Sahyōe takes great delight in them and cares for them tenderly.” “Then haul them off behind my son’s quarters or wherever.” “Damnable racket.”

Behind Magobei appeared the figure of chief retainer Saitō Kunaikyō. Kunaikyō entered the next chamber and prostrated himself.

“My lord.”

“What?” “A messenger from Lord Date Sakyonosuke, who has been appointed as one of this occasion’s reception commissioners, has come to offer his greetings—” “He has arrived?”

As if having anticipated this, Kōzuke-no-suke removed his glasses. “Magobei, roll up the scroll.” “Yes, sir!” “Kunaikyō, have you admitted the messenger?” “In the Shoin.” “I see. Then I shall meet him.”

Though advanced in years, his back showed no stoop. In his youth, he was said to have been quite a handsome man. He still had a stature that made his topknot seem likely to brush against door lintels. His bony thinness appeared to preserve robust health in old age, and at this advanced age, he had a reputation for constantly employing young maids through the mediation of townspeople who frequented his household, frequently replacing them. He was a descendant of the Ashikaga clan. It was often Kōzuke-no-suke’s boast that when the Muromachi shogunal lineage faced extinction, it had been decided the Kira clan would provide the successor. Among their restoration-era ancestors was Kira Yoshiyasu, who had been Lord Ieyasu’s great-aunt, and indeed theirs was a distinguished lineage. And as the family head’s position—being Head of the Kōke, Junior Fourth Rank Major Captain with a 4,200-koku stipend—held both high court rank and special familial authority, even the three hundred feudal lords,

(If they were to incur Kira’s displeasure—) they maintained a deferential attitude. From the guest room came the insistent clapping of hands. “Prepare the food and drink.” the master said.

As the messenger began to rise, “Now, now, this is but a token of celebration.”

He was kept busy with hospitality—ordering the tea replaced, demanding to know why the sake wasn’t ready yet. When the slightly intoxicated messenger, having partaken of the feast, took his leave and reached the entrance, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke himself came to see him off there, “Though unclear of particulars, I am profoundly obliged by your manifold considerations.” “The formal protocols, etiquette, and established customs of court nobles—both instruction and reprimand in such matters fall to us Masters of Ceremony. You may inquire without reservation about anything.” “I shall impart all that I, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, know.—Though not yet acquainted, pray convey my most cordial regards to Lord Sakyonosuke as well.”

Around the time when that returning messenger would have crossed paths with someone near Kōraibashi, another envoy from the Asano clan arrived at the Kira residence’s gate. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was hiding in the parlor, opening the gifts that Date Sakyonosuke’s messenger had just left.

Fifty rolls of Kaga silk One hundred gold coins One ink-wash landscape hanging scroll With the inventory in hand, he unfolded and compared the actual items. “Well now... Most impressive indeed.”

As he did so, within his wrinkles, his needle-thin eyes glinted sharply with satisfaction. At that moment, following close behind came the announcement of a messenger from the Asano clan. “Receive him with full courtesy.—Now, now, the Asano clan outranks even Lord Sakyonosuke.” “Meticulously replace the cushions and bring out the finest tea utensils.” Then, also, to Sōda Magobei, the chamberlain, “Naturally, prepare food and drink. "I too shall change into formal attire and present myself." "In the meantime, send out Kunaikyō and ensure proper handling of matters."

This kind of guest reception was not limited to the Kira household. For the Masters of Ceremonies, this was both their income and their profession. Both the chief retainers and chamberlains were thoroughly accustomed to such matters.

Particularly, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke held considerably greater anticipation for the lord of Harima Akō—a house of substantial wealth—than he had shown toward the previous visitor. (Even the Date of Iyo-Yoshida brought gifts of this quality. If that were so, Asano must have investigated such matters in advance and subsequently dispatched an envoy...)

Just how generous would he prove to be?—Lord Kōzuke-no-suke bustled off toward the guest room with expectations beyond imagining.

However, the audience did not last long. The messenger—idle-handed for some reason—was seen off only by the chamberlain's oddly cold farewell and hurriedly departed from the Kira residence.

What followed was.

“What is this?! The Asano house of fifty-three thousand koku—a house of such standing—presenting a single roll of silk as a gift—what is the meaning of this?! To disgrace the threshold of Kira, Head of the Masters of Ceremonies—this goes beyond all bounds!”

Blatant curses showed no sign of ceasing from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s lips. His pent-up ill humor even haunted the flavor of his evening sake, “The sake is terrible.”

He persisted in his foul mood. And, grinding down the bitter pill of his miscalculation,

“Even a daimyo sending but one child to the Hayashi school would have them bring at least a single roll of silk for tuition.” “And yet—this lord of a great domain, entrusted with the shogunate’s foremost ceremonial honor of hosting imperial envoys—to come seeking our instruction on ancient protocols and rites! What manner of courtesy was that display today?” “This insults beyond measure—to mock others so brazenly!” “From the start, this Takumi-no-kami appears naught but a miserly fool.” “Could such a country bumpkin possibly fulfill the role of Reception Commissioner to court nobles?”

The retainers at his side kept muttering incessantly, to the point where they wanted to avert their faces.

Market Value of Men

Nowadays, whenever people bought or sold things, this conversation invariably arose. (So expensive!) (It's dozens of times what money used to be worth!) (Back in the day, this much would've gotten you a bathhouse visit and a drink, but nowadays it won't even buy three candy drops for a kid.)

People expressed their sense of living in a different era regarding currency through the word “old days,” but this “old days” referred merely to changes that had occurred over the past four or five years. The depreciation of currency had so bewildered the common people. Needless to say, prices had soared, and this year as well, they continued to climb relentlessly.

There had been no great natural disaster. Nor was it wartime inflation. The citizens of Edo tacitly knew this economic collapse stemmed from just two people. They never voiced it openly, yet they knew. For nothing was clearer than that careless words would mean immediate execution. Yet those of deeper discernment refused to attribute it solely to "two people." In truth, they saw how the entire system - these authorities including those two figures, the organization inherently structured to produce such crises, and everything within - had begun rotting from top to bottom.

To put it concretely, the fifth shōgun Tsunayoshi and his birth mother Keishō-in were simply extravagant spenders beyond measure. No—they did not understand how money functioned. No—what they were even more ignorant of were the very concepts of material management, national resources, and the value of human labor—all of which lay completely beyond their comprehension. The number of times Tsunayoshi made his so-called "Yanagisawa-onari" visits—journeys to the residence of Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, notorious even among the townsfolk—reached over fifty, such was their frequency. The amount of human labor, materials, and gold consumed in a single one of these Yanagisawa household pleasure outings was beyond any calculation commoners could fathom.

Moreover, the superstitious expenditures of his birth mother Keishō-in were also enormous. Her pilgrimages to Gokoku-ji saw parasol processions and lacquered palanquins threading through Edo, while security contingents and the temple’s welcoming gate—all demanded exhaustive manpower and exorbitant funds. Moreover, the temple gates passed through, the attached main halls and pagodas ascended—all were constructed through her donations. Several magistrates and master carpenters involved in the gate’s construction were exiled to distant islands during construction for minor errors. The vigorous sorcerer-monk Gojiin Ryūkō appeared in her eyes as a living Buddha. When politics began to be whispered among the shogunate’s high-ranking officials and petty bureaucrats surrounding Ryūkō, the wretched existence of the common people across generations was all but ordained. The practice of Inner Court politics began to take hold. To make Shōgun Tsunayoshi acquiesce through the words of a single woman was easier than any Elder Council member or Junior Elder could achieve. During this time, Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu—the preeminent courtier—also began expanding his influence. However, the shogunate’s gold reserves had been nearly depleted. However, starting with Yoshiyasu, their faction never reached an impasse.

——Currency recoinage. The withdrawal of old currency and issuance of new. Through this method, the shogunate multiplied phantom numbers. Old gold and silver were withdrawn from the populace while debased currency flooded circulation. Naturally, an enormous profit margin remained in their coffers. Through this misgovernment, Hagiwara Shigehide—Magistrate of Finance—gained infamy. For Yanagisawa's faction, Ōoku expenditures, and the shogun's private whims, gold vaults again overflowed with inexhaustible reserves.

Price levels soared each year, surpassing those of the previous. The hardships of life worsened the lower one's status; the fate of honest people was sealed as dropouts. As a reaction against the simple samurai ethos and townsfolk ways that had persisted since the Genna and Kan’ei eras, the golden maxim that "the world runs on money—even women depend on gold," as even jōruri playwrights of love-suicide tales proclaimed, had become an ironclad rule of this age. And yet, far more people found themselves unable to conform to this ironclad rule, lamenting together, "We can’t even afford to eat this overpriced rice." No—those who could still afford to lament and complain were the more fortunate in society.

The utterly voiceless masses of the starving lay beneath bridges and behind Sensō-ji Temple, covered in flies like refuse. Naturally, those with wild natures who could not endure this reality resorted to break-ins, extortion, highway robbery, and snatching—committing every conceivable evil without regard for its wickedness as they ran rampant through the shadows and back alleys of the city.

One could well say that for vagrants, ruffians, and fallen samurai to indulge their every whim, the times were indeed perfectly suited. Hedonistic, nihilistic, and corrosive—countless all-too-human stimuli and temptations blazed forth in lurid profusion. The fashions of male prostitutes from shadowy teahouses and courtesans' styles came to be imitated even by children from respectable families, making even the Ōoku's and Yanagisawa faction's opulence seem faded by comparison—no, this pallor had spread to notions like human compassion, duty, and all such moral principles. Those ways of thinking were all mere illusions of outdated minds from a bygone era—so the trend-chasing people began believing. In truth, it was a society—a prevailing climate—where one couldn't endure living without accepting this reality, for every single matter grated against one's very sensibilities.

What could have caused even people’s fundamental convictions to be so violently upended? Even sifting through all constituent evils—the reckless minting of debased coinage; the rot within bureaucratic cliques; livelihood struggles from inflated prices; religious disillusionment; licentiousness between the sexes; self-destructive obsessions with arts and culture; and so on—the cause defied reduction to any single one of these in isolation.

But this much could be stated with certainty—a social institution constituting the greatest cause of all these ills lay entrenched within the Genroku generation.

The animal protection edict—that unprecedented law known as "Compassion for Living Things"—which Shōgun Tsunayoshi, born in the Year of the Dog, promulgated across the realm after adopting counsel from Ryūkō and Keishō-in, was being mercilessly enforced. This marked the dawn of what historians would later term the "Dog Lord Era".

In a land teeming with starving humans, vast complexes like the Nakano Dog Kennel and Ōkubo Dog Mansion rose across sprawling grounds, while white rice and fish—envied by people—were lavished without regard for expense. Humans served these canine institutions through Dog Magistrates, Dog Inspectors, Dog Attendants, and Dog Physicians, attending them with the deference due to daimyō.

Even so, those who received stipends and made a living were still better off. However, the general populace was perplexed by the treatment of the Dog Lords who barked imperiously through the streets as if they owned them. Even throwing a stone meant beheading. Even provoking a yelp meant being hauled to the jishinban. When dogs rode past in palanquins, people had to discreetly yield the road. There were hatamoto forced to commit seppuku—their houses abolished and clans scattered—for merely kicking stray dogs that had bitten them. Even dog toys could not be carelessly entrusted to children’s hands; enshrined on household altars and worshipped morning and evening, such devotion was praised as pious virtue—even commended as humanity’s noblest conduct. In short, that the shogun had been born in the Year of the Dog was what doomed every subject of his reign to lives of misfortune. More than currency devaluation, human value itself had plummeted.

(The value of humans had fallen below even that of the Dog Lords. After all,... they were humans beneath even beasts. Whatever they pulled off, it’s no wonder.)

This was the piteous self-mockery of the Edoites. They made this hidden psychology erupt like festering boils into the societal landscape. Thus did the Genroku generation—with its flamboyant youths, musical revelries, and unabashed erotic art—burn through the nights as living torches, while by daylight, the townsfolk’s gazes chased after gold with the mantra "In this world, money comes first, second, and third."—

(Ah，Edo’s prosperity was truly remarkable. Since the Genroku era began，it had been expanding day by day，month by month.)

Thus, provincial folk who knew nothing and duty officers witnessing these transformations every three years could only gape in astonishment.

Simplicity and Venomous Tongue

“Without incident, we paid our respects to Lord Kira the day before yesterday.”

It was the morning when the two Edo elders dispatched to the Kira household delivered this report. Lord Takumi no Kami, first considering that the initial matter had been settled, “Very well. Then today I shall personally pay a visit and formally request that we establish cordial rapport henceforth.” He prepared his retinue and made a special point of directing his palanquin toward the Kira residence at Gofukubashi. Persisting in observing courtesies as though formally entering a master’s school, Lord Takumi no Kami earnestly sought instruction. That attitude rankled Lord Kōzuke no Suke.

(Is this mere lip service over substance?) (Sending tribute could be handled even by underlings.) (Why doesn't he notice the crucial matter instead?) The country bumpkin seemed beyond redemption. Yet when considering Lord Takumi no Kami—who didn't appear entirely dull-witted—he suspected this might instead be a cunning ploy: feigning courtesy through empty words while knowingly withholding due offerings. Yet either way, it couldn't be voiced aloud. There remained no choice but to make his attitude demonstrate and force comprehension.

And then, coldly,

“Is it by your leave that you are Lord Takumi no Kami?” “Indeed, you are young.” “This is indeed a most congratulatory occasion.” “If you manage to carry it out, as the lord of a province and castle, your luster will only grow all the more—or so they say.” “Well then, by all means, do try to perform it diligently.” He said with a thin smile, his eyes crinkling maliciously.

Lord Takumi no Kami sensed something unsettling from their first encounter. The man was an unapproachable old codger. Yet he reminded himself that as a daimyo-raised lord who rarely condescended to visit other households and bend his knee, he must not give rein to his natural willfulness.

“Though I have been entrusted with this august command far beyond my station, in my inexperience, I humbly beseech you—deigning to consider me your junior—to grant me your instruction.” “Such modesty, my lord. This humble one’s age must be to blame—lately I find myself increasingly prone to forgetting even the most troublesome precedents and courtly knowledge. Most inconvenient. If that’s how it stands, then perhaps I should be the one bringing tribute and seeking instruction. Hahaha.” He had intended to subtly probe a vital spot, but Lord Takumi no Kami showed no reaction whatsoever. He simply continued earnestly and diligently,

“No, there was indeed an intercession stating that rather than relying on the Elder Council, I should seek your esteemed guidance.” “Though you may find this inexperienced youth bothersome, I earnestly entreat you to lead me through these proceedings.” “…………”

Lord Kōzuke no Suke twisted his body and rudely extended his wrinkled hand—thick veins crawling across it—toward the document box. It was not impossible to perceive this as deliberately diverting the other's ardor.

Lord Takumi no Kami pressed on, “For the present moment, is there any instruction you might deign to bestow? To one such as myself, still unversed even in routine shogunate ceremonies, please do not hesitate to impart any instruction whatsoever.” “It’s shogunate duty,” he replied. “I will not hold back. Well then—as for the immediate matter, first have a look at this here.” What he had taken from the document box and presented was the schedule for the imperial envoys’ visit. It was laid out in the following sequence.

11th: Imperial Envoys and Retired Emperor's Envoy arrive in Edo; official lodgings at Tatsunokuchi Densō Residence. 12th: Both envoys attend castle; receive shogunal gifts. 13th: Sarugaku performance viewing; feudal lords attend. 14th: The shogun’s formal reply at Shiraki Shoin.

15th: Imperial pilgrimage to Ueno’s Kanei-ji Temple and Shiba’s Zojo-ji Temple. 16th: Rest 17th: Imperial Envoys' Return to Kyoto

Lord Takumi no Kami was reverently reviewing it. However, this seven-day schedule was not something he had been unaware of—even without being presented by the Master of Ceremonies, an official communication from the Elder Council had naturally arrived on the very day of his appointment. Yet in response to Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s show of goodwill, he had merely read it through in silence as though acknowledging it for the first time. “Is there anything else?” Having finished that, he inquired, “That’s right…” Lord Kōzuke no Suke said with affected gravity. “During the Imperial Envoys’ stay, you must not neglect daily offerings. “It’s the tribute, you know.” “In all matters, sincere intent proves crucial—far more than mere lip service.” “Do you comprehend?”

He glared sharply at him and said. Even this failed to penetrate Lord Takumi no Kami's understanding. He offered formal thanks and withdrew. Yet the order to present daily gifts to the Imperial Envoys persisted in his thoughts as an insoluble riddle.

When he inquired with Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami of the monthly-duty Elder Council just to be sure,

“There is no such precedent.” “You must have misheard something.”

That was the response.

Lord Takumi no Kami, as though his belief in his own innocent interpretation had been reinforced, That must be it. It must indeed be so. he nodded. That it was something Lord Kira of the Master of Ceremonies had proposed later somehow fleetingly reached Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s ears. Lord Kōzuke no Suke caused the blue veins on his fleshless temples to swell.

“Good grief. The man’s impossible. To think he’d go inquire with the Elder Council about the riddle I told him—what an utterly exasperating fool. Or did he take offense at my brusqueness and deliberately report it to entrap Lord Kōzuke no Suke?” _Tch._ “Country bumpkin!” When he gave vent to emotional mutterings, the harsh, sharp tongue characteristic of Edoites would mingle fiercely in his tone. When insulting others, he had a habit of using terms like “light-blue lining” or “duty-bound drudge.” In essence, it stemmed from his pride in considering himself a refined urbanite.

Ink-wash paintings

The workers sweeping gravel and the merchants passing through the kitchen gate—all wore new happi coats. The reception commissioner’s retainers were of course prepared; this was the supreme imperative of their lord’s lifetime. For undergarments, they cut unsoiled bleached cloth; in belly bands, some had concealed talismans praying for divine protection. "The Imperial Envoy Lord Yanagiwara Dainagon, the Cloistered Emperor’s Envoy Lord Kōno Chūnagon, and Former Lord Seikanji Dainagon of the Three Noble Houses have now safely arrived at Shinagawa." "As they are taking a brief rest at Takanawa, they will soon arrive here."

On the morning of the eleventh, a mounted samurai in noshime kamishimo brought this announcement to the gate of the cleansed Densō residence.

From the predawn hours, the Asano clan retainers had stationed themselves there, each tensely at their assigned posts, At that, their eyes and faces lit up.

Then, a member of the kitchen staff hurriedly came to the senior councilors' quarters and reported. “An urgent messenger from Lord Kira has just arrived.” “From the Master of Ceremonies.—And what did they say?” “While I cannot confirm with certainty, they informed us that today is observed as a day of abstinence for the Imperial Envoys. Therefore, they instructed that no fish or fowl be used in the dishes—and with that, the messenger departed.” The two uncertain Edo-based senior councilors, Fujii and Yasui, were thrown into confusion upon hearing this. With flustered expressions still on their faces, they appeared before Lord Takumi no Kami,

“There is scarcely any time remaining—what are we to do?”

Lord Takumi no Kami's expression too was stricken with shock. In truth, today's dishes had been meticulously selected and painstakingly prepared over three full days prior. How could they possibly replace them so abruptly? No plan existed. No ideas emerged. Moreover, this was the first morning of their great duty. Both the lord—who for days beforehand had not slept, devoting himself with utmost sincerity to his duty, and on this very morning had cleaned and stood arrayed in readiness for the grand guests—and his retainers now appeared as though sunk to the depths of anxiety, their complexions drained of color.

Then Horibe Yasube spoke up: "I cannot say whether this represents the Master of Ceremonies' honorable opinion, but there appears cause for doubt." "Even were this an abstinence day, today's proceedings follow the official protocol for Imperial Envoys entering the shogunate." "Their Excellencies would have no reason to observe some private day of mourning." "As precautionary measure, might I suggest preparing two separate meal services?"

“Hmm...” Emerging from the silence, Lord Takumi no Kami nodded deeply. “So be it. So be it.” The grand kitchen was filled with samurai in formal attire and servants in starch-stiffened happi coats; like a battlefield, kitchen knives gleamed. From the rear gate of the kitchen, horses galloped out and returned time and again. In the very moment that such commotion had barely subsided, the Imperial Envoys’ procession arrived at the gate of the Densō residence—narrowly avoiding disaster.

“That’s a lie!”

After completing the welcome formalities, Kanzaki Yogorō turned bright red with anger. “You scheming tanuki of a Master of Ceremonies! Their household must be hiding something. If we asked the Imperial Envoys’ attendants right now, this ‘day of abstinence’ would prove a crimson lie!” The accusation reached both kitchen staff and every guard post. The two senior councilors remained wholly absorbed in loudly managing the lodgings overrun with imperial attendants, fixated on immediate tasks. Yet among the more thoughtful retainers, they quietly studied their master Lord Takumi no Kami’s countenance, praying no shadow of displeasure might cloud his features.

However, Lord Takumi no Kami maintained his usual bright brows and delivered an impeccable greeting to the Imperial Envoys who had journeyed far. “…………”

Kanzaki Yogorō and Horibe Yasube peered at the scene from afar,

(Truly, our lord.) They felt both relief and an understanding of their lord's sentiments, their hearts swelling with emotion. Kanzaki's eyelids were red, and Yasube's eyes glistened with moisture. Both men had spent the previous night transporting furnishings and equipment from the Teppōzu warehouse alongside storeroom chief Okuda Magodayu and others without sleeping a wink. Around the time empty trays from the noon meal were being carried back through the corridors, Elder Councilor Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami—who had greeted them as far as Shinagawa—along with lower-ranking lords came repeatedly to pay their respects at the Densō residence gate with such frequency of palanquins and horses that dust swirled up, only to depart again.

One of the Masters of Ceremonies, Hatakeyama Minbu, also appeared. “Your preparations are magnificent. Your seven days of honorable efforts are no ordinary matter. Take good care of Lord Takumi no Kami’s well-being.”

Minbu rewarded the Asano family retainers and departed immediately. Okuda Magodayu, who had come out to see him off—being elderly— “I am deeply honored.” “Our lord possesses a most robust constitution, so in that regard we too can work with confidence; moreover, as Lord Kira has kindly directed the ceremonial affairs, through his gracious assistance all preparations have been perfectly arranged.”

While tearfully moistening his eyes, he repeatedly expressed his gratitude.—And upon returning to the conference chamber, he took his place among the domain samurai discussing the evening’s ceremonial procedures, “Lord Okuda, please come here.”

Later, a young samurai knelt and said. Looking up, there was Isogai Jūrōzaemon—a captain-ranked man—whose handsome features were accentuated by the formal noshi kamishimo ceremonial robes. "Isogai? What is it?" "Lord Kira has come to conduct the inspection." "Oh. Lord Kira..." When he stood, two or three men rose from the conference seats where they had been deliberating, "We must greet him." they declared before hurrying out.

As soon as they left that place, a rough, hoarse voice could be heard from the direction of the main entrance. Magodayu had reached an age where the waistband of his hakama appeared slightly bent. The unsteady feet in white tabi socks carried his aged body, trembling, toward the main entrance. There stood Lord Kōzuke no suke—though equally aged, he towered in stature—his sunken cheeks carved like an immobile temple bell clapper. Before the reception platform’s central screen, he rapped its lacquered frame with a folded fan while glaring down through lofty eyes at Asano’s household members prostrated before him, their heads pressed against the floor.

“What in blazes is this?—Ah, this!” “Hah!” “Did you proudly display this Dragon and Tiger Painting by Kano Hōgen Motonobu to show off?” “Hah…” “Do you imagine that no matter what is said, simply responding ‘Hah!’ will suffice to discharge your duties? This screen—by whose orders was it placed here?” Magodayu pressed both hands flat against the wooden floor, “With all due respect, I must inquire... Is your reprimand regarding the screen’s design being unsuitable, or perhaps its placement?”

“Who are you?” “Storeroom Chief, Okuda Magodayu—a humble servant of such name.”

“Hearsay breeds inaccuracies.” “Call your master.” “What troubles Lord Takumi no Kami?” “I am conveying your summons at this very moment.”

“Good grief…”

As if stretching his frame, he rolled his eyes upward with deliberate slowness, glaring at the ceiling. "You haven't even dusted these rafters properly. To imagine Imperial Envoys being received through such a vulgar entrance—the very thought makes my soul shrivel with shame." Lord Takumi no Kami rushed to where the muttering man stood and grasped his wrist. "If there has been any oversight, let this Takumi no Kami bear your censure—the fault lies in my own inattention, not my retainers'." "Ah... Lord Takumi no Kami."

“I trust the inspection has been most laborious.” “Your Grace need not waste flattery on this reception commissioner—Lord Kōzuke no suke.” “Now then—by what reasoning was this screen displayed?” “To place an ink-wash painting in the main entrance where we honor Imperial Envoys arriving from afar for this grand ceremonial occasion—what manner of judgment is this?” “Why do you not display brightly colored paintings?” “While I deeply appreciate your counsel, there is also Elder Councilor Lord Tsuchiya’s private advisement to consider.” “What?—When did Lord Tsuchiya join the Master of Ceremonies?” “Does Your Grace mean to conduct this reception through Lord Tsuchiya’s directives?”

“By no means was that my intention—” “Elder Councilors this, Elder Councilors that—how assiduously you court their favor.” “Others may feign ignorance, but the Kira house’s ancestral records show no precedent for displaying ink-wash works when receiving auspicious envoys.” “Your reproof is justly given.” “I shall replace it with polychrome screens without delay.” “This austerity stems from Lord Tsuchiya’s express decree.” “Again with Lord Tsuchiya?” “When first and last authority rests with that man, what need have we for a Master of Ceremonies? A wooden puppet would serve as well.”

“If you insist on imputing malice where none exists, Lord Takumi no Kami, I find myself utterly confounded.” “Though deficient in my capacities, I humbly entreat you to admonish my shortcomings without leniency.” When his retainers beheld their lord’s ashen countenance pressed so low against the wooden floorboards that it nearly touched the planks, their breasts tightened as though balancing upon treacherous ice—their throats choked by tears that burned like molten lead.

In the hushed silence over the heads of the tense group, Lord Kōzuke’s laugh—wrinkled and hoarse like clattering dentures—suddenly resounded. “Ab-absurd! For a puppet to presume to instruct living men—it’s an inversion of the natural order! You may do as you please. Quite—indulge your own whims to your heart’s content.” The black large-crested sleeve swept past Takumi no Kami’s topknot. Before one could blink, the swift footsteps had already darted away into the distance. The thick cypress-covered plank floor beneath Takumi no Kami’s knees creaked.

“My lord…” “And—my lord!…”

It was Okuda Magodayu’s fist. Trembling all the while, he buried his face against his lord’s back and kept a firm grip on Takumi no Kami’s inro-adorned waist, refusing to let go. His entire body convulsed—(Damn you!)—The master’s blood, poised to cry out in fury, and the retainer’s blood, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight in forbearance, quivered as one—bone-deep tremors shaking them as they swallowed scalding tears together.

Front · Back

The night appeared under a hazy moon.

The shadow of black cherry blossoms cast cloud-like dapples upon the shoji. In the distance where the damp night mist could be felt, there came the sound of oars.

A boat song drifted away.—Lady Takumi no Kami sat alone.

How excruciatingly trying the life of a daimyo that others envied must be, and the position of his wife—those boatmen laboring on the Ōkawa River could never know such anguish, she thought with piercing clarity.

She had not yet taken her evening meal. According to what Asano Daigaku of Kojimachi—her husband’s younger brother—had reported when he came during daylight hours, it seemed today as well, on this second day of the Imperial Envoys’ castle attendance, matters had concluded without incident—

“Ah…”

Involuntarily—in this solitary room—she pressed her palms together toward the setting sun and bowed in prayer.

But her husband had not yet returned. Even when he did return these days, he would merely pick up his chopsticks as if performing a duty at meals, and last night too, he had shown no signs of having slept. (This was not a matter for women to be involved in.)

If she were to ask, she would immediately be scolded for saying such a thing. On her husband’s pallid face, imperceptibly, pins stood upon his brows. Though she strove with a woman’s sincere devotion and meticulous attentiveness to attend to his daily needs and provide solace for his spirit, the pins upon his brows had not faded by morning. Nor had they faded by night. “May the seven-day grand mandate conclude safely with my husband unscathed…” She was a woman who could do nothing but offer sacred lamps to the gods and incense to Buddha, fervently praying—a solitary worry confined to her chamber.

“My lord! My lord has returned from Edo Castle.” Even the lowliest maidservant who understood her lady’s feelings—upon hearing noises from the front quarters—would run with steps normally quiet, until even her voice nervously rushed to announce the glad tidings. “Yes…”

The instant it happened, her heart collapsed like melting snow in disappointment. She wanted to leap up in joy, to weep tears of relief at seeing her husband unharmed. But she was quiet. Soundlessly dragging the hem of her hanpi, she seated herself once before the mirror. Not a single strand of disheveled hair must darken her husband. The rouge must not be faded.

“…………”

Her graceful figure glided down the long corridor—. A woman’s heart is known only to women. The maidservants following behind noticed that over these past few days，their lady’s shoulders had grown as thin as a sword blade， (Poor dear…) They bit back their compassion and wept. Takumi no Kami walked with heavy-hearted footsteps，

“You have done well,” he said to the welcoming party while planting his feet firmly. He met his wife’s upturned eyes with a brief, wordless look before immediately entering the main audience chamber. With candles blazing brightly, he gathered his retainers there and began making preparations and holding discussions for the next day. The retainers’ faces all remained rigid. No one would notice Takumi no Kami’s pallid face late at night—nor the meager amount he had eaten.

The wife quietly sent a messenger from the inner quarters to inquire. “Have you taken your bath? And have you eaten?”—she asked. Takumi no Kami responded with a single word, “I don’t need it.” shook his head, “The fifteenth is when both envoys make their honorable visit to Zōjōji. Are all preparations in order? On the thirteenth comes the Master of Ceremonies’ inspection. Let there be no oversights.” “Please do not trouble yourself. By this evening—the walls, shoji screens, fusuma panels, ceiling washing—all such tasks have been completed.”

When Yasui Hikoemon answered, someone— “What about the tatami mats?”

someone said.

Hikoemon shot a sharp glance toward the voice, “Regarding whether to replace the tatami mats or not—out of due diligence—we took the liberty of visiting Lord Kira to inquire about this matter. He gave gracious instruction that since the annual replacement customarily occurs in January, it would be unnecessary before then. Therefore, we have left them unchanged.” "I see."

Takumi no Kami finally rose from his seat with an expression of initial relief. The retainers felt more relieved at seeing their lord withdraw to the inner quarters than at catching their own breath.

Someone hurriedly left their seat. It was Kanzaki Yogorō and Horibe Yasube.

Beside the dim stables, someone was splashing water with loud sloshing sounds. Peering into that spot, “Tomimori!” “Is Sukeemon here?” At the sound of the voice, Sukeemon—wearing his tasuki work sash and clutching a horse brush still damp from washing— “Yeah, right here.”

“We have a request.” “What?” “Take that horse and go check Lord Date Sakyonosuke’s post as co-commissioner immediately.” “What exactly am I supposed to check?” “The tatami.” “Understood!” Still wearing his soaked work sash, Tomimori Sukeemon leapt onto the horse.

Through the hazy moonlit night he rode with a crack of his whip to the Date clan’s lodgings at Zōjōji Temple. When he took a furtive look inside, the sharp scent of fresh tatami assaulted his nostrils. Even the lower rooms had their mats freshly replaced. So that’s it!

With that, Sukeemon wheeled his horse around and reported back without pausing for breath. Kanzaki and Horibe exchanged glances— “So that’s it!”

They informed both senior retainers. They called together all members of their house.

Without a moment's rest, Takumi no Kami—who had been blindsided by this revelation—declared: "So you’ve deceived our house yet again, Lord Kōzuke, you bastard? The inspection is said to be tomorrow! Make the arrangements tonight!" Yasui and Fujii panicked. Okuda the elder hoarsened his voice in command. Muramatsu Kihee—his aged body still recovering from illness—crawled out from the row house and sped off on horseback.

“Money!” “Accountants! In times like these, it’s the power of money!”

The one bellowing like that was Horibe Yasube. They stuffed cash into their pockets, rounded up tatami craftsmen, and galloped off on horseback. From Zojoji Temple's main hall to the Asano family's assigned lodgings, every space was instantly filled with hawk-feather lanterns. Dozens of tatami craftsmen swung their tatami needles as if their elbows were spitting fire. Those hauling out old mats, those laying in new ones—samurai and craftsmen worked without distinction. It was exactly like a battlefield. They were desperate.

Through tear-inducing effort, by the time the night had faded to pale dawn, over two hundred blue-green tatami mats had been laid out with perfect precision. In their overwhelming joy, some young samurai even leapt upon them.

Eventually, around the fourth hour, Lord Kōzuke came for the inspection and cast his eyes over the sea of blue-green tatami.

“Most impressive—”

Nonchalantly, he lavished praise. "I had long heard of your household's prosperity, Lord Takumi no Kami, but replacing this many tatami mats in a single night—what skillful work. ...After all, so long as one doesn't shrink from expending gold and silver, matters do tend to resolve themselves quite neatly." He turned without hesitation toward Takumi no Kami, who stood glowering behind him,

“Ah, mutual hardships indeed.” “What tiresome work.” While tapping his hipbone, he moved down the line inspecting each mat.

Tears of Resentment "I want to be gentle with my wife too." He didn't want his retainers to see this expression either. Takumi no Kami was acutely aware of the feelings of those around him. (Consider this body—born lowly— Precisely because of the habits instilled by being a daimyo, precisely because of samurai discipline—my stomach churns with rage, my blood boils with indignation. For official duties—I'll shut my eyes to this for seven days—) And so, after a brief interval, he entered his sleeping quarters.

But I cannot sleep. The more I try to sleep, the more Kira's face appears. Lord Kōzuke's rasping voice rings in my ears like tinnitus.

What did Master Yamaga Sokō teach? What did Father Naganao always say? The teachings of a loving mother—every character from the scriptures I read since childhood. Recalling them was an effort I had to make. Moreover, I did not realize that this very effort to summon them constituted every obstacle.

In contemporary society existed two utterly dissimilar modes of thought and lifestyle - one old and one new - coexisting within a single world and forming one social fabric. Even households like those of Asano and Kira possessed masters and traditions diametrically opposed at their core. Endure. Endure. Endure. -Takumi no Kami focused on these words like sacred incantations. An ancient proverb declares: 'A hundred endurances bring no sorrow-' He had engraved these teachings into his soul through sleepless nights. The fourteenth of March now breaking held particular significance - with both Imperial and Retired Emperor's envoys arriving - marking this as the most critical ceremonial date within all Shogunate Response Rites.

Impatiently awaiting the whitening dawn, he left his sleeping quarters. His wife prepared the rinsing water and lacquer basin without even summoning her maids. "This is unbefitting a samurai..." Suddenly dipping his fingertips into the water, Takumi no Kami gazed intently at his haggard complexion reflected within. "Over something like this..."

The thought filled him with bitter vexation. Unwitting tears came to him. But—after washing his face, he scoured his pallid cheeks with his palms. Having completed his customary worship, he felt somewhat cleansed,

"My lady, would you prepare me a cup of tea?" The tea ceremony—this was precisely when it mattered most, he reminded himself inwardly. "Yes."

Lady Asano was delighted. Stirring the green tea with a woman's sincere heart and a wife's very soul, "If it pleases you, another cup."

“No, that will suffice.” Takumi no Kami set down the tea bowl. Though the color of true feeling showed in her eyes, the tea’s fragrance seemed absent.

And then—softly, outside the shoji screen,

“We two presumptuous intruders have come this far without permission, ever so quietly.” “Might we humbly beg your lordship to grant us the honor of an audience, if only for a brief moment?”

came the voices.

“Who goes there?” “It is Gengoemon and Yogorō, unworthy though we are.” “Oh, Kataoka and Kanzaki—the two of you. I appreciate your days of hard work. Permission granted. Enter.” “Heh heh...” they chuckled deferentially. The two remained seated as they were and opened only the shoji. When Takumi no Kami saw tears pooling in the eyes of these two men who had never left his side since childhood, his own eyelids grew fiercely hot. “What is this? An urgent matter?” “That is not so, my lord. In truth—with all due respect—we have observed your lordship’s complexion has grown markedly unwell these past several days. We humbly recognize that your lordship must surely find it vexing to employ such unworthy ones as ourselves as your hands and feet throughout these successive days of momentous duties, and we can well imagine the numerous displeasures you have endured in your dealings with the Masters of Ceremony. But today is already the fourteenth day—only three more days of endurance remain for your lordship. We humbly beseech your lordship, for the sake of your official duties and even in small part for us unworthy ones, to mercifully endure and resolutely persevere—this is the entreaty we have come to make.”

“……I understand.”

A precarious light clung to Takumi no Kami's eyelashes like dew upon blades of grass. “Well said.” “Do not worry.” "Just yesterday, my sworn friend Kato Etchu-no-kami-dono earnestly offered me counsel much like what you have given." "That bastard Kira’s insolence isn’t limited to this occasion—it’s said that when Lord Etchu-no-kami conducted the memorial service for the Great Yōgen’in, his conduct was utterly beyond words." "Moreover, during the Nikkō Shrine Pilgrimage as well, it is said the magistrate daimyos were made to endure countless humiliations on account of Kira." “Hearing such accounts—he’s nothing but a vulgar wretch beneath notice.” "Kira's—his Fourth Rank Minor Captain title and all—it's precisely because I think of him as human that it enrages me." "I consider him mere vermin." “……You need not worry so earnestly." "Even I, Takumi no Kami—a descendant of Asano Mataemon Nagakatsu—have many beloved retainers still in Akō Castle. Why would I ever consider exchanging them for that Kōke old man?" “I understand. Say no more.”

“We are relieved…” “We will say nothing more—nothing at all.” “That’s ill-omened of you.”

Kataoka Gengoemon and Yogorō hurriedly turned their faces aside. In spite of themselves, they wiped away with their hands the telltale traces of tears that had spilled out. From the front quarters, "The hour." announced. Takumi no Kami bathed and then donned his ceremonial attire. He steeled himself as if armoring a blade. His own heart was precarious. By decree of the Master of Ceremonies, formal attire had been designated as the long kamishimo. He had already put it on. Among the elder retainers, there was one who voiced doubts.

“At this grand ceremonial occasion, we find your lordship’s wearing of the long kamishimo most improper.” “Lord Kira’s conduct in every particular matter arouses nothing but suspicion.” “As a precaution—though we were merely subjected to prolonged waiting along the way—we humbly propose that your lordship might consider our separate preparation of the large-crested eboshi hat.” The hat had been concealed within the lacquered box and borne away. When he ascended to the castle interior, every daimyō without exception wore large-crested eboshi hats. Takumi no Kami entered the duty room and immediately changed into his ceremonial attire. The thought of what might have transpired had they not prepared the large-crested formal attire—this alone drew cold sweat from his pores.

As he rose from there, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Lord Kira’s face in the distance. When he saw that visage, what he had suppressed deep within his marrow stirred restlessly within him. “Ah, Lord Kira.” “Well now—how late you are for your official duties.” “According to your instructions, today’s attire was decreed to be the long kamishimo. Yet not a single daimyō lacks an eboshi hat with large crests—thus I have changed accordingly.” “I pray you will not take offense.”

“Is that so?” “No need for such meticulous consideration.” “I too—whether from age—have grown rather hard of hearing of late.” “And what’s more, I find myself quite at a loss with all these frequent memory lapses and misunderstandings.’” Was this a voice issuing from a human throat? Takumi no Kami fixed him with a gaze of icy contempt. Yet Lord Kira remained oblivious; while closing one eye, he had a habit of contorting half his face along with his mouth. He was concerned about his upper dentures. Working his tongue inside his mouth, he walked calmly toward the main entrance.

Endure a hundred times; strike once.

The appointed time for welcoming the imperial envoys drew near. The three lords' castle attendance was now imminent. Takumi no Kami searched for Lord Kōzuke no Suke's figure.

In the midst of the crowd stood a figure in black sokutai robes. Quietly approaching him, “Lord Kira. “...Lord Kira, I humbly inquire.” Lord Kōzuke no Suke feigned deafness and began striding away. Without thinking, his hand shot out toward the sokutai sleeve, “Ah!” Takumi no Kami reeled as if a branding iron had been pressed to his temple. Whether from parched lips or clenched throat, his voice emerged rasping. “—Wait!” “Wh-what is this?!”

He lowered his eyes to his own sleeve. Takumi no Kami, startled, withdrew his hand, “I humbly request your guidance. On the occasion of welcoming the Three Lords, am I to pay respects at the honorable ceremonial platform of the main entrance, or descend to the stone steps to bow? I am not versed in the etiquette of seating arrangements. I humbly beseech you to grant me your esteemed guidance.”

He placed his hands on the floor and spoke in a single breath. Emotion and reason were in disarray. His tongue hurt as though filled with needles; in his burning earlobes, he could not even hear his own voice.

Lord Kōzuke no Suke smiled thinly, as though savoring some private amusement. The attitude Takumi no Kami had displayed mere moments before had in truth stoked his fury to full measure. The opportunity he had been awaiting—the moment to make his contempt manifest—had arrived with perfect timing. He brought his folding fan down against his palm with a crack like splitting bamboo. "Presuming it your duty to answer meekly to every trifle, you grow emboldened enough to pose these interminable impertinences." "Tell me—are you not the reception commissioner?" "To accept such weighty responsibilities while remaining ignorant of fundamentals—what monumental incompetence!" "And now, with the imperial envoys nearly upon us, you still fumble about with basic protocol—what manner of fool are you?" "Though bearing the same title as reception commissioner, you might at least take a lesson from Lord Sakyonosuke." "Is this how markedly a man of discernment differs from some dull-witted rustic?"

He made no mention of the matters that had been inquired about. Stomped off as he strode past, “Outrageous!” “If that’s how you intend to discharge the shogunate’s ceremonies, then there’s no need for anyone to strive!” “What a panicked wretch of a samurai!” He declared in a voice meant to carry.

It was not only Takumi no Kami; it was not only Kira—they stood exposed before all. Around them, formally attired daimyos turned toward the voice and stared wide-eyed in astonishment. He felt his seething blood might burst forth from his eyes and ears. Undoubtedly, across Takumi no Kami's brow—turned toward Lord Kōzuke no Suke's retreating back—a deep, needle-like furrow etched malice. "Hmm..." Among the daimyos themselves existed their own customary jealousies and tangled resentments. There were those who observed coldly without taking spiteful pleasure, and those who harbored some measure of sympathy,

"May the young Takumi no Kami not act rashly..." Those who felt sympathy watched anxiously.

However, Takumi no Kami regained a composed expression. He quietly adjusted his garment and stood composed. Out of sympathy—and as if nothing had occurred—the daimyos sighed in relief and averted their gazes in various directions.

It was then.

Kajikawa Yosobei—chamberlain to Keishōin, the shogun's mother—came hurrying over at a half-run. “Where might Lord Asano be? — Lord Asano! Are you not present?” While inquiring of everyone he met, he suddenly brushed past Lord Kōzuke no Suke. But seeing that face—stiff as lacquer spread thin—he asked nothing of him. “Lord Asano!” When he called toward the entrance, “Here.” Takumi no Kami appeared and drew near. Yosobei spoke rapidly.

“As various gifts from the court nobles have been graciously bestowed upon Her Ladyship Keishōin as well, it has been decided that after today’s ceremony, those from the Ōoku shall also convey their gratitude to the imperial envoys.” “Therefore, I have come to confer with you.” “I am fully aware.” “Then, later.”

As Yosobei busily tried to withdraw, Lord Kōzuke no Suke—who had stopped some distance away and seemed to have been listening intently—called out: “Ah, Lord Kajikawa! Lord Kajikawa!”

He called out to stop him. Yosobei turned around, "Is this the Lord Master of Ceremonies?" "If you have any official business to discuss, you should report it to me—to me!" "Yes…" "The Master of Ceremonies is such a burden to manage. If I don't personally oversee every detail, nothing but blunders occur. What a nuisance—to have to tend to large-crested eboshi hats for some provincial samurai who can't grasp basic etiquette." "I acknowledge your considerable efforts." "Well then, what could someone like Lord Takumi no Kami possibly comprehend? You mustn't commit any errors."

He turned toward the assembly of densely seated daimyos and bellowed his words into the void. The unbearable disgrace—a samurai's supreme moral imperative—pierced Takumi no Kami's skull like a searing brand. What little mental fortitude had sustained him these past days now collapsed like snow sliding from a roof beam—plunging into blackest darkness before his eyes.

“Damn you! Kōzuke—” “Kōzuke—” Reason had finally been overcome by emotion. The large-crested sleeve was flipped up, and the glint of a short sword was raised overhead. “Ah! …” As he turned around, he immediately pressed both hands against his eboshi-adorned forehead, “You ruffian!”

Staggering five, six steps, Lord Kōzuke no Suke collapsed face down at the threshold of the Pine Corridor. He had collapsed, but immediately began scrambling to rise in a frenzy, “Madman! Takumi—” “Stop right there, old fool!” The second strike, falling short by an inch, slashed shallowly from shoulder to back. However, the crimson of blood that had misted away suddenly appeared before Takumi no Kami’s gloom-shrouded heart—these past days of darkness—as if a scarlet flower had bloomed brightly. But he could not deliver a third strike. Two arms like towering trees forcefully grabbed him from behind.

“Who’s there?! Let go! Release me!” “Consider where you are! — Do you not know your place, Lord Takumi no Kami? Have you taken leave of your senses?” “Kajikawa! A warrior’s mercy—release me!” “I cannot! “Calm yourself!” “What?! A miss— “I missed!” “D-damnation! How regrettable...I’ll not succumb to madness! I too—a lord of fifty-three thousand koku—shall not lose my senses!” “This is the castle interior!” Lord Toda, the daimyō of Sakura, shouted a couple of times, but his voice did not reach Takumi no Kami’s ears. Struggling violently, he dragged the powerfully built Yosobei three or four feet with a skkrt, skkrt.

“Disgraceful behavior!” With that, Yosobei bent and twisted Lord Takumi no Kami’s arm and bloodied sword, pinning them down. But by that time, Lord Takumi no Kami’s mind had already turned from an instant of incandescence to something liquid. "For one clad in ceremonial robes such as myself to be pinned down at the knees—this shows disrespect toward your superior." "I bear no resentment toward the shogunate." “My sole regret lies in failing to strike down Kira, but under these circumstances, I shall no longer indulge in such effeminate conduct.” “Spare your concern and release me.”

As the thunderous footsteps converged on him like an avalanche from all directions through the grand corridor’s echoing expanse, he pictured—in the span of a heartbeat—his wife’s face in Teppōzu, the distant skies over his home domain, and the sorrowful expressions of the many retainers and family dwelling within Akō Castle’s walls, all flashing through his mind’s periphery. Kajikawa Yosobei still did not loosen his grip, “You are the one who should release your blade. “Release the sword—” Drenched in sweat, he continued to shout.

The time was past the Hour of the Snake.

By modern reckoning, it was around 11 AM on a day when spring flaunted its full splendor across heaven and earth, a lukewarm breeze blowing gently.

Akō Dispatch Ledger

Enemies Under One Roof

A diagonal gash had been torn from shoulder to back across the black ceremonial robe. From that welling blood came no sensation of pain or of having been cut. Rather, it was merely the force of the sword blade that had struck the metal ring of his ceremonial hat with a metallic clang when he turned around, and the light that had flashed beside his eyes—these were what had caused Lord Kōzuke no Suke to lose consciousness entirely.

As if convinced his own skull had already been cleft in two, “Ugh... ugh... ugh...”

He had been convulsing, but covering his face with both hands, he rose up,

“Gah! I’ve been cut! — That madman!” Stumbling through the darkness, “Help me!” “Takumi no Kami—Takumi no Kami—!” With a voice strained from his throat, he reeled through the grand corridor toward the Sakura-no-Ma. Blood scattered in speckled trails like chicken footprints—as people rushed about in panic, trampling through them, staining the castle interior crimson.

“Lord Kira, calm yourself!” “The opposing Lord Takumi no Kami has already been restrained by Kajikawa Yosobei!” “Lord Kira! Lord Kōzuke!” The ones clinging to and supporting him were Lord Shinagawa Buzen-no-kami and Lord Ōtomo Ōmi-no-kami of the Kōke officials. Yet Lord Kōzuke no Suke seemed to have lost even the ability to recognize those people’s faces, tearing himself away again and again, “A physician! — A physician!” he shouted as if those were the only words left to him. As they formed a human cordon around him and attempted to calm him down, Lord Wakizaka Awa-no-kami, daimyō of Tatsuno in Harima Province, happened to pass by.

“Hoh, was that scream Lord Kira’s? While bloodstained armor may be considered a warrior’s honor, bloodied sokutai robes make for a rare sight—nay, an event unprecedented in all history.”

With that, he glanced over and moved on. From the cauldron-like vortex of boiling chaos, an unexpected roar of laughter erupted. This laughter laid bare the sentiments people had long nurtured toward Lord Kōzuke no Suke.

Tamon Denpachirō, who was in the Tame-no-Ma where the inspectors were gathered, “Attendant! Attendant!”

With that, he rose from his seat, “It’s noisy—what’s all this commotion?” He grabbed one of the passing tea attendants and rapidly questioned them. “At this very moment, Lord Asano Takumi no Kami has committed a sword assault upon Lord Kira, head of the Master of Ceremonies.”

“What?!”

Kurū Jūzaemon, Kondō Heihachirō, Ōkubo Gonemon, and others of the same duty also came running after Denpachirō, their expressions transformed.

"Sword assault! Sword assault!" The heated whispers of people speaking with frantic breath raced wildly past their ears. Looking—at the wooden edge of the Sakura-no-Ma, the corner of the Matsu-no-Ma, and two spots along the grand corridor—he saw faces rigid with excitement pressed against each other, while eerie voices emanated from both directions.

Tamon Denpachirō ran toward the Matsu-no-Ma. Under Kajikawa Yosobei’s knee, Lord Takumi no Kami’s blood-filled ear—his sideburns disheveled, the cord of his eboshi hat undone, his face mercilessly twisted beneath the restraint—appeared to leap into Tamon’s eyes. “Kajikawa! To handle the large-crested ceremonial robes thus—what madness is this?! Such disrespect!” Denpachirō’s hand involuntarily slammed against Yosobei’s shoulder. He jolted back to awareness. Kajikawa Yosobei, seeming to recognize his own rough handling born of excessive agitation, released Lord Takumi no Kami’s hand.

Immediately, Lord Takumi no Kami straightened up and retied the cord of his eboshi hat. His shoulders heaved like great waves. However, with a composure unimaginable for the man who had just moments ago ignited an uproar capable of shaking the shogunate through his fiery cry, “The inspector?”

he said.

“I am Tamon Denpachirō of the Tame-no-Ma. Please remain there until the shogunal edict is issued.” “Your handling—I am indebted.” Seeing the monk-attendant Seki Hisakazu, he handed over his bloodied sword, pulled out a hairpin from the opening of his empty scabbard, and smoothed down his sideburns. Then, after adjusting his collar, he immediately stood up, “...My apologies for the trouble.”

And he bowed his head. In a corner of the Sotetsu-no-Ma, they made Lord Takumi no Kami sit and surrounded him completely with large folding screens. Then immediately afterward, to the northern corner of the same Sotetsu-no-Ma came Kira Yoshihisa—groaning and surrounded by a crowd. “Please be seated.—Lord Kira—you too must sit down.” “It hurts…” “Send for a physician! Quickly now—send for a physician!” “The physician will arrive shortly—in any case—compose yourself.” As they began enclosing him with a folding screen, Lord Kōzuke no Suke cast his eyes about restlessly,

“Who might that be in the opposite corner?” “That would be Lord Asano Takumi no Kami.” “You—!” Because he was flustered and trying to crawl out from behind the screen, the attendants grabbed him as if pinning down a turtle and scolded him: “Where do you think you’re going? That’s precisely why we’re here with you. When the other party remains so composed, how utterly disgraceful you’re being—have at least some shame.”

Sentient and Insentient

From the very depths of the lower strata of society, a world beyond imagining exists here.

The high ceiling—from the transom carved with celestial beings into milky bath steam—shone with sunlight like a rainbow piercing through. This was the imperial bathhouse where one cleansed a body of mere five shaku.

Tsunayoshi, the fifth shogun—known among the populace as the Dog Shogun—lay in the cypress-scented bathwater with skin like a woman’s, pressing a rice bran pouch against himself.

Shogun Tsunayoshi—a man fond of extravagance, dispositionally concerned with reputation, and partial to ceremonial propriety—found genuine stimulation in spending several hectic days on shogunate functions like today's, precisely because his ordinary routine consisted of days steeped in utmost tedium. All the more so because today was both the Imperial Response Day and the grandest occasion during the ceremonial period to experience unbridled extravagance, he applied meticulous care even to his fingertips and each strand of his sideburns. Rather than simply being white or supple, it was his own skin—abnormally flabby in its deformity—that he painstakingly purified by bending his body with woman-like contortions.

“Your Excellency! Your Excellency!”

The decorative door of the next dressing room clattered.

“What?”

“With all due respect—” It was the voice of Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami Yoshiyasu. “Today’s duty inspectors—Tamon Denpachirō of the Tame-no-Ma chamber and Ōkubo Gonemon—have encountered an urgent matter requiring your esteemed guidance and are currently awaiting your decision.” “Dewa.—Is it not still early for the Imperial Envoys’ scheduled castle attendance?” “Should the Imperial Envoys arrive, this matter could no longer be settled in time.” “With profound respect, I must humbly entreat Your Excellency to somewhat hasten your bath.”

He spoke with evident reluctance, his words tinged with apprehension. As anticipated, the shogun seemed to take offense. No verbal response came—only the sharp click of a tongue. After creating splashing bath sounds for some moments, a flash of skin swiftly retreating into the dressing chamber became visible. The bath attendants, quivering beneath the shogun's stormy countenance, clothed him in his garments and arranged his hair. When finished, he bypassed Lord Dewa-no-kami waiting outside and slipped into the rest chamber.

Afterward, Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami and the two inspectors timidly proceeded through,

“What is this ‘urgent’ business?” “Yes, Your Excellency!” Tamon and Ōkubo looked at Dewa-no-kami’s face. The shogun’s displeasure was palpable, making them appear hesitant to broach the matter. “I shall now report.”

If Tsunayoshi was born in the Year of the Dog, then Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami was also born in the Year of the Dog. In this respect as well, there appeared to be a profound superstitious alignment between this lord and retainer. As if he had plumbed the very depths of Tsunayoshi’s heart, he did not cower like the other retainers. He appeared thoroughly accustomed to handling such awkward expressions, “At this very moment in Edo Castle’s main hall, Lord Asano Takumi no Kami, daimyō of Akō, acting upon prior enmity, has committed a sword assault against Lord Kira Kōzuke no Suke of the Master of Ceremonies. Regarding this matter, how should we dispose of both individuals, and whom should Your Excellency appoint as successor to the Reception Commissioner for Imperial Envoys? For this reason, regarding my having presumptuously urged Your Excellency to hasten, I humbly beseech your gracious pardon.”

he concluded with lucid eloquence, as though relating a matter of no consequence.

“What?!” Tsunayoshi spoke as if doubting his ears, the post-bath flush crimson across his face. “You claim he instigated a vendetta and cut down the Master of Ceremonies?” “Preposterous! What manner of lawless fool!” “And this outrage on the eve of the Imperial Envoys’ attendance—Summon Tajima!” “At once, Your Excellency!” When the attendants scurried out, Elder Councilor Akita Tajima-no-kami immediately appeared in disarray and threw himself prostrate. Tajima-no-kami remained frozen with his face lowered, jolted by realization. A mere glimpse of Tsunayoshi’s knitted brow struck him like a physical blow to the chest.

The time for the Imperial Envoys’ castle attendance was now pressing close. Each and every one among them,

(What a disaster!)

They remained silent together, their lips pressed tight with this utterly dark bewilderment.

“The outrageous conduct of Lord Takumi no Kami—Tajima, investigate this swiftly!” “Yes, Your Excellency!” “Regarding the Three Imperial Envoys—has today’s imperial response ceremony been postponed? Make inquiries at once.” “Understood.”

“Appoint a replacement for the Reception Commissioner at once!”

“All arrangements will be expedited with all haste.” “Hurry up and move it! —You too, Dewa!” “Yes, Your Excellency!”

In the Great Corridor, tea attendants were wiping away blood, purifying with water, and scattering salt.

In the fleeting moment after the storm had passed, on every face lingered tangled thoughts, and through the air flowed a stillness far deeper than before the incident had occurred.

The three lords of the Imperial Envoy and Retired Emperor's Envoy were soon to arrive at Edo Castle.

The Five Elder Councilors emerged together, “Though this unforeseen calamity has transpired during the grand ceremony of receiving the Imperial Envoys, and though Your Excellencies may entertain certain doubts, we earnestly entreat you to graciously overlook this matter.”

They humbly expressed their apologies.

Former Dainagon Yanagihara nodded. “It seems there was some manner of disturbance.” “And who might be the one who violated the prohibitions within the castle?” “One called Asano Naganori, Takumi no Kami.” “Matters between samurai—sword assaults within the castle—are not entirely uncommon occurrences, are they?” “It is not that such incidents have never occurred, but on a ceremonial day requiring Large Family Crest attire, a sword assault of this nature has been utterly without precedent since the days of the Kamakura shogunate—not merely within the castle interior, but even beyond its walls.” “And how do you deign to administer punishment?”

“Though drawing one’s blade invokes the edict of familial extinction, as for Lord Takumi no Kami’s case, we have yet to determine how it shall be settled.” Akita Tajima-no-kami and those among the Five Elder Councilors had prayed inwardly that if just one of the three lords—whether Imperial Envoy or Retired Emperor’s Envoy—might let slip even a single word of salvation, Lord Takumi no Kami’s punishment could have been mitigated—but neither Kōyō Chūnagon nor Seikanji Dainagon... “Well now, the samurai code is indeed severe.”

And so they merely listened with curious eyes. Regarding the postponement of the imperial response, “No inconvenience.” Given that answer,

“Very well.”

And so, they abruptly changed the ceremonial venue and conducted the proceedings without incident at Kuroki Shoin.

Even during this time, to Lord Takumi no Kami's state of mind— (If I were in Takumi no Kami's position—would I have done the same?) ……)

Those unable to fully suppress their secret sympathy hoped that somehow the Three Lords—or perhaps the Shogun’s household, or even his mother Keishōin— _(How pitiable...)_ or _(It must have been a momentary lapse of reason.)_ They prayed that someone might voice such sentiments and eagerly circulated such whispers, but whether the Three Lords were too preoccupied with the lavish gifts from the Shogun and the Inner Palace, ultimately no such words emerged. The people were disheartened, _Cold-hearted courtiers…_ "There may have been such a thing as samurai compassion, but it seems no words exist for courtiers’ mercy," they murmured.

they whispered. The lingering resentment—

“Immediately!”

It was an urgent summons. Tamon Denpachirō and Kondō Heihachirō were summoned to the official chamber where the Elder Councilors were assembled. And then, "It is the Shogun's will. Lord Takumi no Kami's interrogation duties: we hereby assign them to you all. Conduct the investigation with all haste and utmost thoroughness." Thus, they issued their command. Tamon Denpachirō had the short sword that Takumi no Kami had used in the assault brought forth and held it in his hand. He was considering natural human weaknesses. Comparing the psychological state when drawing it with that after it had been drawn was heartrending. Should Takumi no Kami attempt to make cowardly excuses now, this would serve as evidence to conclusively establish his guilt—such was Tamon Denpachirō's resolute preparedness.

The two men waited in the Hinoki Room, designated as the physicians’ station, and summoned Lord Takumi no Kami. As guards, three burly foot soldier inspectors lined up on each side. Lord Takumi no Kami quietly sat down in their midst.

Tamon Denpachirō stared fixedly at Lord Takumi no Kami's eyebrows. Though the fervor that had set his entire body aflame had cooled into a pallid stillness, today's events were not born of a single day's worth of pent-up frustration. It was precisely the state of his heart over these past several days leading to this moment that one could not contemplate without anguish. (If it weren't for my duty—) Tamon Denpachirō said through teeth clenched upon the bitterness of being unable to comprehend a fellow warrior's heart. "In accordance with the edicts, I shall rephrase my words." "Please bear this in mind accordingly."

“……”

Lord Takumi no Kami remained silent and slightly bowed his head. "You, disregarding the sanctity of this place and committing sword assault against Lord Kōzuke—was this act intentional or born of derangement? State your account precisely." "It was certainly not derangement." "I see." Involuntarily, Tamon Denpachirō let out a deep groan, "Then, what grudge did you hold against the other party that led to this act?"

"I have no justification to offer. Toward those above, I have committed grave misconduct and am utterly ashamed. Beyond this, I possess no words of apology save to receive whatever punishment may be bestowed." Tamon Denpachirō tried prompting him with several more questions, yet Lord Takumi no Kami never once mentioned Lord Kōzuke's actions or their circumstances. Fully aware that violating castle prohibitions led inexorably to seppuku and lineage extinction, his demeanor—now settled immovably upon fate's seat—permeated through those quiet words into the interrogator's very heart.

Tamon Denpachirō felt ashamed of the items he had prepared as potential evidence. Yet this was also something he had wished for—albeit as if it concerned another's affairs. Seeing Lord Takumi no Kami, who showed not the slightest disarray and had attained such resolve, brought him at least some measure of relief. "Then you state you have nothing further to say?" "Very well." "There is just one matter I wish to inquire about." "What might that be?" "Might I ask whether Lord Kōzuke's injuries are superficial, or..."

“I see. That matter.”

Tamon Denpachirō pulled back his chin and fixedly gazed into Lord Takumi no Kami’s eyes. Could it be that he had been trying with every fiber of his being to discern Lord Kōzuke’s condition from behind the screen even before this? Tamon Denpachirō, having thought this, “Indeed, there are two wounds—shallow they may be—but with a direct strike to the forehead. Given his advanced age, his recovery will likely be uncertain.” Tamon Denpachirō answered. “I offer my deepest thanks.” Lowering eyes that seemed somewhat satisfied toward the remaining resentment, Lord Takumi no Kami placed his hands before him.

In exchange, Lord Kōzuke was immediately brought in afterward. His eyes still held terror. [He] stiffened his ashen face into a pained expression, “As for this humble one, I have not the slightest recollection of any grudge whatsoever that could have led to this.” “In the course of this duty, I had every expectation of receiving gratitude for my goodwill, but to be subjected to such a blade assault was something I could never have imagined even in my wildest dreams.” “He is a most astonishing assailant. Though fully aware of the sanctity of this place, I sought only to evade his violence, yet sustained wounds even to my back—though it brings me profound shame—for such unforeseen calamities prove truly inescapable.”

Though he groaned as he spoke, when it came to his testimony, his cunning eloquence flowed as smoothly as water down a planed board.

The interrogations of both parties thereby concluded.

The shogunate physicians Amano Ryojun and Kurisaki Michiari arrived and were treating his wounds when, from behind the screen, “Lord Kōzuke.—Though this is a dreadful misfortune, rest assured His Majesty is fully apprised of all particulars. “Do not trouble yourself, and focus on your recovery.” Someone who seemed to be passing by called out these words before departing.

Someone who appeared to be a passerby called out and departed. Looking at the retreating figure, it was Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami Yoshiyasu.

Kajikawa's Confession

In the Clock Room, senior officials with tense faces were incessantly coming and going. Abe Bungo-no-kami, including Tsuchiya, Ogasawara, Inaba, and other Elder Council members—extending down to the Junior Elders and Senior Inspectors—all these dignitaries sat with their knees firmly set, solemnly gathered.

The early afternoon sky hung chilly and overcast. Beneath the cherry blossoms enveloping Fukiage Garden, small birds twittered intermittently, yet the atmosphere somehow lacked vitality. The Three Imperial Envoys who had completed the Ceremony of Imperial Reply had just moved seats and were conversing with Keishōin of the Ōoku. Stealing brief respites from their bustling duties, the Elder Council members and their subordinates gathered here, steadily progressing Lord Takumi no Kami's judgment with each passing hour. "The interrogation has concluded." From Tamon Denpachirō came the reported results of investigating Lord Takumi no Kami.

A report had also been issued from Kuru Jūzaemon, who had interrogated Lord Kōzuke.

The Junior Elders forwarded it to the Elder Council. The Elder Council summoned four inspectors and directly questioned them again in detail about the suspicious points. And they relayed the matter all the way to the Chamberlain. Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami Yoshiyasu stood between the Elder Council and the Shogunate. It was he who would seek Tsunayoshi’s final verdict. “Until His Excellency’s verdict is issued, each of you shall remain in the preparation chambers.” “Understood…” Having withdrawn, the Elder Council members and all those below sat as silent as a forest.

The turret clock in the Clock Room ticked relentlessly, forcing solemn gulps down parched throats.

Soon, the weight chain creaked—creak, creak, creak, creak, creak... on and on. It chimed, announcing the seventh hour.

“Lord Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami.” “His Majesty summons you.”

"Ah." As soon as he stood,

“Lord Inaba Tanba-no-kami. Lord Abe Bungo-no-kami.” “Understood.”

“His Majesty summons you! Hurry!”

Following that, the intermediary proclaimed, “Lord Inoue Yamato-no-kami, to His Majesty’s presence.” The sovereign's command spread through the ranks in an instant.

First and foremost, "Asano Takumi no Kami is to be placed in the custody of Tamura Ukyōdayū until the verdict is issued." Next, "Regarding Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshihisa—given his meek compliance, [they] permitted his retrieval without censure and ordered convalescence." Such was the proclamation issued. Furthermore, Ōtomo Ōmi-no-kami, who had assisted Lord Kōzuke during the assault, similarly faced no censure. It was also proclaimed one after another that Kajikawa Yosobei, who had subdued Lord Takumi no Kami, would be granted a new fief of five hundred koku in accordance with precedent.

Through a mere happenstance of having joined Kajikawa in disarming Lord Takumi no Kami, even the monk Sekihisa Kuwata was granted a reward of thirty silver coins. "Kuwata, you handled that well." "Kuwata, you should treat us!" "Kuwata, you must’ve gotten quite the double shock today!" Surrounded by envious monk colleagues, he was grinning broadly at his unexpected windfall, but Kajikawa Yosobei—who had brought even greater honor upon himself through his sudden elevation to a 1,200-koku lord—for some reason only showed a glimpse of his melancholy face there before disappearing entirely, absent even from Keishōin’s official chambers.

As one colleague was frantically searching around, he was leaning against a pillar in the Willow Room, lost in deep thought. “Lord Kajikawa!” When he called out, “Oh...” The eyelashes that turned glistened with tears. The oblivious colleague struck his shoulder, “Congratulations!” said.

Kajikawa, his white-streaked sideburns brushed back, “At my age, promotions mean nothing.” “But such fortune rarely comes even once in a lifetime—I can’t contain my envy! I’ll gladly attend your celebration.” “……” “Ah! I nearly forgot— “Lady Keishōin summons you.” “Go immediately.” “This chill—this feverishness—pray forgive my dereliction... “...I’ll attend at once.”

Even after his colleague had rushed ahead, he still would not move from that pillar. The shadows around the trees were deepening as the seventh hour approached. Just then, he saw a single palanquin being carried to the front of the monks' quarters beside the main entrance. Before long, several warriors surrounded the net-draped palanquin and departed solemnly toward Hirakawaguchi.

"Ah... What cause for celebration could there be? When I consider what lies in Lord Takumi no Kami's heart—" Kajikawa felt as though a cold evening wind had risen from his own cheek. When he pressed his sagging-skinned palm against it and rubbed, tears spread across his aged face. His bony shoulders trembled violently, "You wretched arm! You craven fool!"

He struck his own arm resentfully, "If only this arm hadn't interfered needlessly back then... Even still, that blade would have reached him..." "Ah... To carry such lifelong regret into old age..." "...Forgive me, Lord Takumi no Kami." Taking out kaishi paper and pressing it to his face as if to smother himself, Kajikawa let his aged, feeble hips collapse heavily to the ground.

Purity and Corruption

From Chin'ami of the Dōbōshū, “All honorable inspectors, in addition to the four on-duty officials, are to present yourselves immediately and without exception at the chambers of the Junior Elders.” Having been summoned, they filed out in a disorderly procession. The group soon returned to their duty room with expressions of profound grief etched upon their brows. Tamon Denpachirō of the remaining duty contingent immediately,

“The verdict?” When he asked, “That’s correct.”

Silently, the group sat down,

“For gross misconduct, seppuku is ordered immediately—such is the verdict.” “As for Kira—” “Yoshida Kyūan was ordered to prepare medications, and Kurisaki Michiari was dispatched as surgeon with instructions to ensure careful convalescence—so he was promptly dismissed.” “They even commanded other Master of Ceremonies to attend to him—it appears he received exceedingly gracious treatment.” “Hmmph…” It was not only Denpachirō. The low-ranking young inspectors gathered here all made faces of surprise.

They immediately recalled the "Compassion for Living Things" edicts. If Lord Takumi no Kami had been a dog, the Dog-born shogun and Yoshiyasu would surely have shed tears of compassion—this bizarre thought plagued them relentlessly. Indeed, to Shōgun Tsunayoshi, Takumi no Kami’s life must have been worth less than even a single dog. This righteous indignation burned vividly across Tamon Denpachirō’s brows. He muttered as if lunging forward. “Does ‘immediately’ mean by day’s end?”

“That’s correct.” “To execute a lord of fifty thousand koku on the spot—this punishment shows contemptible haste.” “Moreover, we’ve all caught whispers of Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s unsavory reputation.” “He’s hardly blameless himself.” “Exactly—since ancient times, any blade drawn within the castle demanded dual punishment.” “To declare only Lord Kira faultless reeks of partiality.” “This verdict lacks balance.”

Denpachirō looked up at the ceiling. He bit his lip and rigidly restrained himself.

But around them, they were still whispering. “Is there truly such a significant connection between Lord Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami, the Chamberlain, and Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke?” “They must be kindred spirits.” “Lord Dewa-no-kami—who rose from a minor fief of three hundred fifty koku to become Chamberlain reigning over the daimyō lords—and Lord Kira of the Master of Ceremonies have long maintained close ties. There’s an undeniable kinship between them.” “In today’s incident, Lord Dewa-no-kami’s protection has gone rather too far…” “Even earlier, he was saying something to Lord Kira from behind the screen.”

“Is this not manipulating governance for private ends?” “Even if one were to protest, Dewa-no-kami remains the shogunate’s favorite above all others.” “It’s no use.”

It was an utterly hopeless situation indeed. In the current shogunate administration, Dewa-no-kami’s every frown and smile held more sway over both the outer court and inner chambers than the words of the five Elders of the Elder Council—and as for the Shōgun himself, his emotions seemed displayed precisely like a puppet manipulated by Dewa-no-kami’s strings. That Dewa-no-kami and Kōzuke-no-suke maintained an intimate relationship—both privately and officially—stood as common knowledge. Their philosophies of life and methods of navigating society aligned perfectly. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s habitual arrogance appeared thoroughly calculated—an evident awareness of being shielded by someone occupying as crucial a position as Yoshiyasu—pushing his presumptuousness to even greater extremes.

(This was no isolated incident. Reflecting on it, the shogunate’s disorder had persisted for ages. Clique-driven corruption. This does not bode well for future governance.)

Denpachirō, several times—

(Should I rise up—or not?)

He seemed torn between self-restraint and righteous indignation, but before long, without a word to his fellow inspectors, he slipped out of the duty room.

After a while, in the Junior Elders’ chamber, Denpachirō’s fervent tone leaked beyond the sliding doors.

“Not voicing my thoughts would instead be insincere, so prepared for your rebuke, I humbly state my foolish considerations.” “To begin with, Lord Takumi no Kami’s domain stands among the most prominent of daimyō—he himself being a castle lord of fifty thousand koku, renowned for integrity and gentleness, and until this day, a man of unblemished reputation.” “Yet for Lord Takumi no Kami to resolve himself to family line extinction and dare commit this forbidden sword assault today—one must think unbearable circumstances compelled him. However, that we humble officials’ mere procedural documents should immediately order his seppuku, while conversely bestowing praise upon his opponent Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—this strikes me as an extraordinarily peculiar judgment. I cannot endure the anguish of how the world will debate this. I earnestly beseech you to postpone the seppuku ritual for two or three days and conduct a proper inquiry.”

In the justice he believed in, there was nothing to fear. With his ears flushed crimson and tears glistening in his eyes, as he poured forth his passion before them, Junior Elders Katō Etchū-no-kami and Inaba Tsushima-no-kami listened fixedly, as though struck by his words— “Hmm. We understand well.”

They nodded deeply in unison. “We shall relay your opinion to the Elder Council.” “Await further instructions for now.” The two men departed. Yet they returned almost immediately, “Denpachirō, we fully comprehend your position, but even the Elder Council’s influence proves insufficient here.” “They declare any appeal would be fruitless.” Denpachirō shuffled forward on his knees, “If this stands as His Lordship’s decree and the Elder Council’s ruling, I must yield.” “Yet should this resolution rest upon the private deliberations of select individuals, it cannot be deemed righteous governance.” “The tozama lords will surely take exception, and public opinion shall deem it most irregular.” “Though I may seem obstinate and must beg your forgiveness, I implore you once more to hear Denpachirō’s petition—these immutable reasons I must resolutely declare.”

Instead of his earlier forceful tone, he now persistently asserted justice—the depth of his resolve to stake even his stipend for its sake was visible within his quiet words.

“If you press the matter this far…” With that, the two Junior Elders stood up once more and conveyed his request to the duty room. Even among the members of the Elder Council, there were those moved by Denpachirō’s reasoning—

(Utterly—) There were those moved to think, "Utterly—" “His arguments are reasonable; under these circumstances, we have no choice but to concede.”

Then Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami himself relayed his opinion unchanged. As expected, Dewa-no-kami's eyebrows twitched sharply. “To raise objections—repeated appeals at that—regarding a matter already settled by His Lordship’s judgment is utterly preposterous.” “We will absolutely not entertain this appeal.” “As for Denpachirō—for his impropriety, suspension shall be ordered.” He dismissed the Elders of the Elder Council, having spoken with harsh severity.

Spring thunder

The time was still a serene midday, approaching the Hour of the Horse.

The location shifted abruptly to the dismounting area outside Edo Castle.

×　　　×　　　×　　　×

Everyone's faces were stretched like taffy. Lifting drowsy eyes, they saw thin clouds like a midday haze sometimes shrouding the noon sun, sometimes letting it through. Even the horses were yawning. Ōte Dismounting Area had been packed since morning with motionless horses, palanquins, and attendants awaiting orders—a haze of humanity stretching as far as the eye could see. “Hey Kanzaki, isn’t it about time for lunch?” “Well… Is it already that time?” “Already that time, is it?” “Seems so.”

With that, Akahata Genzō muttered and rose from the Asano clan’s retainers’ waiting hut. When he looked, there stood Kataoka Gengoemon beside his lord’s beloved horse "Asazuma". Perhaps out of boredom, he was wiping away the horse’s eye discharge or stroking its muzzle—a demeanor so unlike Gengoemon’s usual self that it made him appear somewhat vacantly dazed,

“Kataoka, let’s have our lunch.” he invited him, “Oh…” “Is it noon already?” “It’s noon.” “Since the page isn’t here, I’ll go to the tea station and fetch hot water.” “I can’t wait for evening.” “What’s got you so deep in thought?”

“It’s not that I’m particularly brooding,” he said, “but this Asazuma has been neighing with an unusually disagreeable voice.” “I’ve heard it four times since earlier.” “Other horses are neighing and acting up too, aren’t they?” “But the timbre differs.—You’re a horse attendant—can’t you discern this?” “It’s mere fancy. “That’s my view.” “If we overindulge such musings, we’ll only whet our lord’s anxieties to a keener edge.” “What use is fretting when we’re beyond the castle walls?” “Let us eat.”

“When you say that, I feel compelled to explain—I recently studied a book on phonognostics. Just as faces have physiognomy, voices have phonognostics—that’s the theory. …Perhaps I’ve noticed Asazuma’s neighing sounds different because I’ve taken an interest in such matters lately and been discerning the five tones.” “Ha ha ha! Human physiognomy and horse physiognomy aren’t the same! Trying to apply human phonognostics to horses is nonsense.”

“But roosters’ crowing and dogs’ barking are more attuned to sensing spiritual presences,” Kataoka insisted. “There’s even a documented case where pheasants’ cries predicted earthquakes.” “Fascinating,” Akahata replied, “but save this phonognostics lecture for lunchtime. Wait here—I’ll fetch the kettle now.”

In the temporary hut, they were boiling water in a large pot. Attendants and pages from various domains were jostling each other there to fetch earthenware teapots and kettles.

Since the Asano family’s page was visible among them, Genzō raised his hand from the crowd and shouted, “Hey! Over here—hand one over!” But despite his shouting, the page showed no sign of approaching.

Then someone— “This is terrible!” a voice shouted.

Already, people were scattering and running off in all directions. When he gazed across the broad dismounting grounds, humans churned like tidal waters in turmoil. “What’s happening?!”

“There’s been a sword assault within Edo Castle!” “You’re lying!” “It’s no lie! An emergency horse was dispatched from Hirakawaguchi to the Densō Residence!” “Truly?!” Genzō, who was receiving over people’s heads the kettle filled with boiling water, “What?! A sword assault within Edo Castle?”

“Ah! Hot!” Someone shouted.

Genzō abruptly changed his complexion, “Suppa!” he shouted, throwing down the large kettle and dashing out. “Hot!” “Ah! Hot! Hot! Hot!” Some were scalded into commotion, “Sword assault!” “Sword assault!” “Sword assault!” Each retainer, struck by dread for their master’s safety, scattered in all directions like hornet larvae bursting from a nest. “—Hachiman! Grant your protection.” Genzō clenched his teeth against surging anxiety and fervent prayer,

“Kataoka! Kataoka!” He scanned the area for the Asano domain retainers.

“Kanzaki!―”

That Kanzaki Yogorō was also gone. Kataoka Gengoemon was nowhere to be seen either. People from other domains surged like raging waves, running without clear direction. Thick clouds of yellow sand swirled through the air. And Shirakuma Asazuma kicked at the sand as if to uproot a stake, neighing sharply.

“Isn’t that Akahata?”

Where had he been? It was Horibe Yasube who came running as if colliding.

“Oh! Did you hear?” “I heard—but don’t panic.” “I too am bracing for the worst, but…”

“The others...” “They’re not here.” “Sakuradamon Gate or Hirakawaguchi, perhaps. If we go there, we can get confirmation from the guard officers.”

It was just like a battlefield. A towering cloud of dust.

Like blossoms shaken loose by spring thunder, retainers of various domains dashed along the moat’s edge.

Horibe, Akahata, the two of them also,

(Please, let this be a mistake.) They ran on, sand stinging their eyes.

The surging crowd collided against Sakuradamon Gate. “We demand an audience with the guard officers!” “Open the gates! Open the gates!” “It has been conveyed that a sword assault occurred within the castle grounds—pray tell, who committed this prohibited act?” “Who was the opposing party?” “We beseech you to inform us!” “We humbly request to ascertain our masters’ safety at the earliest possible moment.” “Can you not comprehend a samurai’s heart?” “Honorable guards!” It was a maddened roar.

Finally,

“Idiots!” Some even hurled insults, but whether fearing potential unrest or not, the gates remained firmly shut—neither opening nor responding.

Reluctantly, they went to Nagae Gate, but found it closed as well; Chūkin Gate was likewise shut. Rumors flew and speculations spread. Anxiety swirled into an inky black vortex as the storm of voices reached even within the castle walls. "If we leave this—" Then Magistrate Suzuki Goemon abruptly stood atop Ōtemon Gate, "Be silent! Be silent! The altercation within the castle precincts involved Lord Asano Naganori, Master of the Imperial Stables, and Lord Kira Yoshihisa, Kōzuke no Suke—both parties have sustained no life-threatening injuries—" "The matter is currently under investigation." "Be silent!"

He waved his white fan and shouted desperately, but it was like hoarsely yelling against a tsunami. “It’s no use.”

Seeing this, he now ordered the carpentry workshop to hurriedly shave several cedar planks. Then, when the magistrates wrote in bold brushstrokes and posted [the notices] at Ōtemon Gate and other dismounting areas, the crowd finally returned to silence.

Lord Asano Naganori, Master of the Imperial Stables, has committed a sword assault against Lord Kira Yoshihisa, Kōzuke no Suke. As both parties are currently under investigation, all attendants are strictly prohibited from causing disturbances. The first emergency palanquin. “Wh—what?!”

Horibe and Akahata collapsed limply beneath the posted notice. The mounted samurai who had dashed to their side like a whirlwind also froze mid-motion as he looked up at it, “Ah!”

With hooves planted firmly, he stared blankly at Momijiyama Forest through tear-filled eyes. It was Kataoka Gengoemon.

Those who came swarming over and prostrated themselves there were all vassals of the Asano house.

“Hmm…” Having uttered only this, some crossed their arms and glared at the distant arrow slits of the Honmaru visible through the trees. As though crumbling, Gengoemon slid from the horse’s back. “Everyone,” “……” Grieving faces from below all turned toward Gengoemon in unison. Gengoemon too knelt upon the ground. “What we long feared has at last come to pass.” “Our lord’s resolve requires no elaboration.” “Now we must urgently dispatch the first express palanquin to Lord Ōishi in our domain with all haste—but who shall undertake this?”

While surveying, he consulted with his colleagues. “I will go.”

Kayano Sanpei called out from a distance.

Immediately after that, “I will go too!” Hayami Tōzaemon declared.

Hayami Tōzaemon said. “Then I entrust this to both of you—depart from this place immediately.” “Of course.” “Inform Lord Ōishi that we shall send subsequent reports via the second and third emergency palanquins, hour by hour, as soon as we learn of our lord’s punishment and other matters—” “We have understood.” With that, Hayami and Kayano, still in their formal kamishimo robes from that day, leapt onto their steeds and whipped their horses toward town. And from the transport office at Yatsuguchi Pass, they had an emergency palanquin prepared,

“Whether night or day, rain or wind, keep relaying without a moment’s rest—all the way to Hanishina Akō’s castle town.” Bearing hollowed bodies and trembling souls toward skies of their homeland they had never imagined that morning—toward people who knew nothing of these events even in dreams—they were already hurtling down the Tōkaidō Road at breakneck speed. After dispatching that first emergency palanquin— Kataoka, Horibe, Kanzaki, and the others remained frozen like straw dolls beneath the Ōtemon Gate.

There were colleagues who had accompanied their lord, the Master of the Imperial Stables, into the Ogenma waiting room within the castle. Clinging to this faint thread of hope amidst their desolate hearts, they waited in anguished anticipation for those people to emerge and reveal the full truth. And—before long. The attendants Tatebe Kiroku, Isogai Jūrōzaemon, Nakamura Seiemon, and others emerged despondently from the castle in unison. When they saw the reddened eyelids of young Isogai Jūrōzaemon, every one of them was struck by a terrifying palpitation.

Moreover, Isogai Jūrōzaemon was carrying in his arms the long and short swords that his lord had taken with him that morning. The eyes of his colleagues—on the verge of spilling tears—met their fellow retainers, and for a moment, there were no words. “The attendants are to withdraw to the estate and await further orders… such is the command we have received.” Jūrōza said this and handed his master’s long and short swords to Gengoemon. The swords’ weight could be felt with a bone-jarring intensity. He could vividly picture his lord’s visage before his eyes.

“An unavoidable matter…” Transferring it into the lord’s empty palanquin and placing all ceremonial implements beneath, the group withdrew to the Teppōzu estate with leaden steps. Who could have anticipated that today’s return would involve escorting an empty palanquin? “The world is like a plaited rope… or so someone once said.” “Spring seeps into one’s very bones.”

When one person muttered,

“There is still more pain... When I think of how shocked Her Ladyship will be—” “Hmm….” “Even thinking about it makes my chest ache.” No one’s feet would advance. For even if they delayed by a single step, it seemed that for that single step, they could shorten Her Ladyship’s grief.

Sudden Tragedy

But—Her Ladyship already knew. Asano Daigaku, the younger brother of the Master of the Imperial Stables who resided in the Kobiki-chō villa, appeared with a paper-like complexion, “Sister… A terrible thing has happened.” And he came tumbling into her room a full half-period before the attendants would return. Her Ladyship turned her gaze toward Daigaku’s ragged breathing—and in that moment, she already knew everything. She was not one who had spent even a single day in a marriage where such matters could remain unknown.

The blood of the Asano clan ran strong in her as well. The daughter of Asano Inaba-no-kami Nagaharu, lord of Miyoshi Castle, and until her bridal procession,

(Princess Kurī) She was called Princess Kurī. A woman of deep chambers, she held uncommon compassion for those of lower station. Moreover, she was intelligent and possessed luminous eyes. The clan had envied them as a match most fitting for Takumi-no-kami.

Even she seemed momentarily startled—a dewdrop-like tremor flickering at her lashes—yet composed herself with quiet dignity: “Lord Daigaku, you must collect yourself.” “This is no time for composure! Ah... Brother has drawn his blade within Edo Castle—they say he was immediately placed in Lord Tamura Ukyōdayū’s custody.” Her Ladyship’s face turned ivory-pale. “And who was his opponent?” “That... I did not learn.”

“What is His Lordship’s condition?” “I inadvertently failed to ask… When I hurried there due to the Elder Council’s summons, that was the situation.” “Because I received an instruction for all members of the estate to avoid any misunderstandings and rushed here.” Her Ladyship’s gaze—clear and devoid of tears—moved sharply with a faint air of vexation. “Given your esteemed position as His Lordship’s brother, though you hurried here in such panic during this grave crisis, to return without even inquiring about the opponent’s name or condition—receiving only orders to calm the household—what manner of conduct is this?”

“...That’s right. ...I failed to notice.” “I find this most galling. In the honorable Asano clan, there should be none—neither lord nor retainer—capable of such imprudence.” “I offer my deepest apologies.” Blushing crimson, he paced restlessly between the front entrance and inner rooms, sitting down only to rise again—all while the attendants returned in hushed silence.

Immediately after that, Inspector Amano Denjirō and Kondō Heihachirō arrived as messengers. Mizuno Kenmotsu appeared. Moreover, relatives such as Toda Saemon-no-sho and Asano Mino-no-kami rushed to the scene.

All were envoys imbued with the shogunate's intent. (—To ensure the household members do not act improperly—) It was indeed a preemptive admonition. The dispatch of relatives—Saemon-no-sho and Mino-no-kami—was yet another instance of the shogunate’s cunning oppression. It was a strategy of using blood relations to control blood relations. “By strict command, you are to vacate the Teppōzu domain residence by this evening and have all members withdraw.”

It was from her cousin Saemon-no-sho that Her Ladyship received this pronouncement. Seppuku, family line extinction, and confiscation of domains were natural accompanying conditions. Her Ladyship, without showing any sign of discomposure, responded with an acknowledgment together with a representative of the retainers. Simultaneously, both Mino-no-kami’s men and the Toda family retainers stationed themselves with strict vigilance at key points inside and outside the estate. Like a tsunami surging up from beneath their feet, the commotion was sudden. From the moment they heard of the incident, the urgency was such that it hardly allowed even for sighs. Moreover, amidst this shock and chaos, dusk pressed closer with each passing moment, and as the sun began to sink, Asano’s retainers faced a number of urgent tasks that could not be neglected.

The first was the transfer of the Tatsunokuchi Den-sō Residence and the organization of various implements. The second was the retrieval of their master’s remains from Lord Tamura Ukyōdayū’s residence. Immediate burial at Sengakuji Temple. Third: Constant urgent reports of the situation to the domain headquarters. Fourth: Withdrawal from the Aoyama Annex and Teppōzu Main Residence.

Fifth: Her Ladyship’s evacuation. What came next was disbandment. Having lost their lord, severed from their stipends, and bereft of purpose in their bewilderment, they had to settle all matters within a single night—and all while maintaining samurai-like order so as not to descend into disarray that would make them the laughingstock of society.

At this point, the problematic matter was the two chief retainers: Yasui Hikobei and Fujii Matazaemon. As the senior retainers of the domain and its eldest members, they should naturally have taken the lead in overseeing every detail of the crisis. Yet both men seemed concerned only with their personal affairs, pacing aimlessly with their feet barely touching the ground—utterly useless. Even Her Ladyship maintained her composure by directing the inner chamber maids with dignified resolve, instructing the chamberlains on proper conduct, and tidying her husband’s quarters—

“What a bunch of chief retainers!”

Indignantly, Kanzaki Yogorō was muttering. Then, Okuda Magodayu and Muramatsu Kihee, the two elders,

“What happened to Gengo?” They hurried over and inquired. “Kataoka just left after saying, ‘I leave the rest to you.’” “Hmm… To witness it.”

“That’s right.”

“Well then—who should it be? Hara Sōemon.” “He should be here.” “Call him here.” “Hara!” When Yogorō called out from the corridor, “Coming!” Sōemon, the ashigaru captain, came running with straw debris clinging to his sweaty face. The two elders, Muramatsu and Okuda, spoke briskly, “Hara. Go to the Den-sō Residence. We entrust you with withdrawing all implements and formally transferring duties to the successor official. Depart immediately.” “Understood.” Sōemon hurried off. He opened the rear gate facing the Ōkawa River, summoned the ashigaru and boat crews, and had them equip oars on over a dozen small boats.

“Hurry!” With that, he too leaped aboard. Like plovers skimming across water, the line of boats rowed up beneath Dōsan Bridge. Having rounded up laborers, ashigaru, and even boatmen, when hundreds of people lined both sides from the riverbank to the gate of the Den-sō Residence,

“Approved.” With that, Sōemon began briskly hauling out the Asano clan’s furnishings—brought in for hosting the Three Lords—from the depths of the official residence in what could be called a bucket-brigade style. Meal boxes, ceramic chests, bedding, folding screens, ornaments, room dividers, curtains, lanterns, umbrellas, decorative spears—every implement was disgorged from hand to hand like a raging torrent. Finally, they swept away the dust and sprinkled water. They even scraped the hearth’s ashes clean, “We will inform the household of Lord Toda Noto-no-kami, who has assumed the role of Reception Commissioner in place of our master, Lord Asano Naganori.” “Since all ceremonial furnishings have been removed, we humbly request to proceed with the handover.” “I recognize the considerable efforts involved in your honorable appointment as successor.”

It was swift. Their demeanor showed not a single thread out of place, and at the swiftness with which they had withdrawn everything in such a short time, Lord Noto-no-kami’s retainers instinctively—

“Magnificent!” they voiced their admiration. Though the spring evening clouds still glowed crimson, Sōemon had lanterns prepared on the prows of over a dozen boats and sent them speeding like arrows down Yayosu-bori Canal before departing.

At that very moment—

Meanwhile, Takebe Kihachi—chief retainer—alongside colleagues including steward Kayagura Kanzaemon, chamberlain Tanaka Teishirō, Nakamura Kiyoemon, and Isogai Jūrōzaemon, who had been dispatched to retrieve their master’s remains, had already departed the domain residence at Teppōzu. Under the watchful eyes of Edo’s townspeople through which rumors had spread swiftly, they solemnly trod a path of utter ruin toward Tamura Ukyōdayū’s residence in Shiba, sorrowfully crossing some nameless bridge around this time.

Tamura Residence

Over Atagoyama in bloom, the evening clouds were crimson.

A single net-covered palanquin, surrounded by ashigaru bearing staffs and stern spear-bearing samurai, arrived at the Tamura residence beneath Shiba Atagoyama—having traveled from Edo Castle's Hirakawaguchi through Hibiya Gate and Sakurada Crossing—as the Hour of the Monkey approached. Within the estate grounds, carpenters had already constructed a plank-walled room. From the entrance onward, purification mats were laid out, and they carried in the net-covered palanquin in its entirety.

“Lord Takumi-no-kami.” “Come out.” The net and palanquin door were removed. “...A trying affair...” Faintly muttering a single word, Lord Takumi-no-kami stepped outside. “Hand over your personal effects and ceremonial attire.” “……” Silently nodding, he removed the still-worn ceremonial robe, gathered the eboshi hat, paper handkerchief, small sword, folding fan, and all else, and handed them to the Tamura family’s retainers. He was clad in a single-layer underrobe.

The enclosure resembled nothing so much as a prison cell for criminals. In one corner stood even a toilet, while beyond the sliding doors pressed the guards’ severe vigilance. Before long came a meal. Taking up his final chopsticks, he lightly consumed three bowls of hot water poured over rice. Through the high window now shone the evening star, dusk’s veil thickening about them. The white grains clinging to his chopsticks, the stars at the eaves—all belonged to endings. To Takumi-no-kami, this morning and tonight seemed sundered by a century’s span. Though this body fated to vanish in an instant felt unexpectedly at ease, when his thoughts raced suddenly to his wife and each retainer, an abrupt surge threatened to overwhelm his entire being with tears.

(Forgive me!) Such was his sentiment. (Forgive me.)

A feeling so intense it was as if he pressed his palms together in prayer within his heart. And what secretly consoled him was— (That wife of mine—those retainers. They will surely understand!)

Such was the case. Only—only—only.

The one lingering regret I could not erase was that even this single strike—sacrificed at such cost—had vainly missed its mark, leaving but shallow wounds upon my opponent. The compassionate samurai Tamon Denpachirō， having discerned my inner turmoil， regarding Lord Kira’s condition， (His recovery won’t come to pass.) Though Tamon had told me this， from the moment they moved me from Edo Castle until arriving here， both the walls of my detention cell and the sealed palanquin had become extensions of my very nerves， straining to catch every murmur and stir among the samurai. Kira had exited without incident； even a court physician had been dispatched by the shogunate— How could I not have realized？

"What a pity…"

As long as he drew breath, he could do nothing to dispel that singular resolve. He was neither saint nor sage. It was the earthly afflictions of a mortal. "Is there an attendant present?"

When he called out toward the outside of the enclosure, “I am here. How may I be of service?” Ikuta Magosō of the Tamura family replied from outside.

“Therefore, while I yet live, I wish to send one missive to my retainers. Would this pose difficulty?” “Wait.”

With that, the reply broke off—and after a while, "The present request cannot be accommodated through my lord's sole discretion." And without hesitation, he brusquely rejected it. "...Then."

Takumi-no-kami bit his lip. Boundless emotions surged across his face. To have such callous words thrown at him by vassals of another clan—this must have been the first time in his thirty-odd years that he had ever been cut so deeply. Yet—humbling his speech further, "I most humbly entreat you—might you consent to relay but a single verbal message?"

“Unless it has been communicated to the shogunate, nothing can be done.” “In that case... I ask that you prepare a written memorandum and have it conveyed to the inspectors.” Reluctantly, the attendant took up his brush, “Please proceed.” And reluctantly began transcribing. “Regarding this matter—I...” Takumi-no-kami said with his eyes closed.

“Next,” Asano commanded. “Though I ought to send word, today—” Ikuta began transcribing. “Next.” “Due to unavoidable circumstances, I have not conveyed this,” came Ikuta’s reply. “I find this most dubious.”

And with that final phrase, “That is all. I humbly request that you convey the above message to my retainers Kataoka Gengoemon and Isogai Jūrōzaemon.”

Later, his sentiments reached fruition as this dictated copy of a testament was conveyed from Kataoka Gengoemon's hands to Ōishi Kuranosuke in the home domain. "Whether authorization exists or not remains uncertain, but I shall keep it in custody."

When Ikuta Magosō, the attendant, dropped his brush into the inkstone box, the entrance erupted in commotion,

“Inspector!” “Prepare to receive them—” The voice rang out, piercingly cold like a wind crossing over ice. White Ceremonial Robe

With Ōmetsuke Shōda Shimotsuke-no-kami as the Great Inspector, the three members—Deputies Tamon Denpachirō and Ōkubo Gon'emon—proceeded accompanied by execution assistants and ten others,

“By your leave.”

they proceeded straight to the main hall. Ukyōdayū came out to greet them,

“The preparations are complete.”

he said. “Farewell...”

The Great Inspector and his subordinates immediately went to investigate the location.—A white curtain swayed in the twilight garden. Three tatami mats had a woolen carpet spread over them. “These preparations are most unsatisfactory...”

Inspector Tamon Denpachirō furrowed his brows. He had earlier been placed under confinement for directly remonstrating within the castle interior; however, since he held an official post and had been part of the investigation from the beginning, his censure was lifted, and he assumed the role of deputy inspector.

“Lord Ukyōdayū,” “Yes, sir!” “The person in custody today is the lord of a castle! He has not been stripped of his rank—he has been ordered to undergo bushidō’s punishment. Do you consider it proper to make him commit seppuku in the garden like a servant?” “Yes, sir…” “I consider this treatment unbefitting of samurai protocol. If you have particular considerations, I would like to hear them.” As he pressed the point,

“Now, now—” Shimotsuke-no-kami interjected from beside them. “There should be no problem with conducting it in the garden.”

“Why?” When Denpachirō pressed indignantly, “Since I, as the Great Inspector, have declared there is no issue, you will refrain from unnecessary objections.”

He flaunted his superior’s authority and glared fiercely. Tamon Denpachirō perceived the folly of further dispute.

Speaking of Shōda Shimotsuke-no-kami, he was known throughout the shogunal administration as Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami's most trusted lieutenant. Given that he served as mouthpiece for Dewa-no-kami—who had become emotionally invested in shielding Kira—any arguments from a low-ranking samurai stood no chance of being heeded, however vigorously pressed.

Just then, a messenger from the front quarters appeared, “Even to my lord,” and approached Ukyōdayū’s side to whisper something in a hushed tone. Ukyōdayū wore a troubled expression. “I shall inform the Great Inspector.” “What is it?” “For some time now, a man called Kataoka Gengoemon from Lord Asano’s retinue has been lingering outside the gates. Despite all entreaties, he absolutely refuses to depart—he stubbornly insists on seeing his master one last time. Our household staff are at their wits’ end—how should we handle this petition?”

“Huh?...” “...”

Shimotsuke-no-kami turned sideways and did not answer. Tamon Denpachirō looked at his face and pressed for a response, but receiving no clear answer, resolved—Very well, even if I must abandon my official stipend tomorrow, at least this one thing—and,

“Very well. As a matter of samurai compassion, I shall take responsibility. Allow him the meeting.” “Understood.”

The messenger hurried back. Camp stools and ceremonial straw sandals were brought out to the garden. The three inspectors summoned Lord Takumi-no-kami to the small study hall and delivered the official decree: “By order of the Shōgun—” Immediately, all members from the inspectors downward took their respective positions. Lord Takumi-no-kami reverently received the shogunate’s decree, then donned a white ceremonial robe and an unpatterned hakama of matching hue. He had retied the hakama cord up to three times—even the slightest disarray would be a disgrace. Moreover, should his retainers—who would behold him as a corpse—think that even at the end his composure had faltered, it would be shameful. He wanted his devoted wife to see how properly he had tied it.

Good. Gazing at the satisfactory knot, Lord Takumi-no-kami sat down. Strangely, his heart felt serene. Suddenly, he recalled the taste of the pale tea his wife always prepared for him—she would be making it around this time. A cup of tea that comforted him during weary evenings upon returning home. How many years had this been their marital habit… “Asano Takumi-no-kami!” The silence was shattered by a summons. “Make ready—”

A stern voice urged from somewhere. Quietly, he gave a silent bow toward the inspector delegation’s seating area, “...I humbly request your guidance.”

Smoothly, the white ceremonial robe rose like water. Guided along the corridor of the small study hall—five steps, ten steps—his hands pressed beneath the cords of his hakama, head slightly bowed as he was led forward, there in the indigo-drained twilight of the veranda knelt a figure whose piercing eyes seemed ready to leap forth, palms planted firmly against the ground. (Ah—? …)

Lord Takumi-no-kami shuddered, his leg joints quivering. Upon a mind that had been clear as a lake now crashed sudden tempests—a joy like roaring winds, an "Oh!"-crying ache that made him want to offer his entire being—racing to the very tips of his hairline until it became an irrepressible shudder, one he strained to contain but could not.

“To—! “…My lord!” “…”

Low, strong—a sound that could not be defined as either voice or sob—it was.

Lord Takumi-no-kami remained silent for a time. Whether one should call it joy or sorrow—his heart was swept away by the supreme ardor born of human blood and a complex storm of emotions, rendering him unable to part his lips.

Eventually, in a tone as calm and steady as ever, he said. “Gengo?”

“Y-yes… Yes!”

The spring evening was already darkness. With a flit, something white came fluttering down from near the eaves. Was it a blossom from Atagoyama carried on the wind, or Yoshino cherry petals from nearby? A single petal came to rest on Gengo’s back as well. “So… you came to find me.” “……” The crack of Gengo’s joints could be heard. The sound of Gengo’s tears could be heard—to those eyes he surely gave his final, resolute gaze, “……Farewell.” Lord Takumi-no-kami quietly expanded his chest.

At the swish, swish, swish of the white ceremonial hakama slipping past his ears, Gengo writhed with infant-like reluctance to part, wanting to wail at the top of his voice. The wind stirred.

At the seat of death, two white ceremonial curtains enveloped three tatami mats on the ground, cradling within them the impermanence of spring and this night's sorrow. The evening stars watched over the man who sat there soundlessly. Guards, inspectors, seconds—people filled both the upper and lower residences, yet not a soul coughed. (...What a bright night.) Somehow, Lord Takumi-no-kami found himself thinking this. The mansion's lanterns and skyborne stars seemed to be welcoming him somehow. He wanted to die smiling—grinning if he could manage it.

Such things, too, he suddenly thought of.

That he had glimpsed Kataoka Gengoemon's face—precisely because unexpected—became his greatest joy. From eye to eye, as though entrusting every ounce of his will to him, his heart had grown light. Not one lingering regret remained. (If only... if only this reaches my retainers.)

He closed his eyes but immediately looked to either side, “Though it troubles you—writing paper and an inkstone.” And then, pressing down the fluttering edge of the ceremonial paper with his little finger, he began to write. The wind stirred. More than the blossoms, I too— the lingering traces of spring How shall I grasp them? He placed it below, “I humbly beg one final act of your esteemed mercy—I wish to entrust my short sword to the second, and after its use, to bestow it upon him as it is.”

The Chief Inspector still did not nod, but the two inspectors stated, “You need not suffer.”

Thus, with their words, Lord Takumi-no-kami’s wish was granted. At the same moment, Isoda Budayu, the second, took hold of it and, “Make ready.”

Isoda Budayu took his position behind Lord Takumi-no-kami. He gave a nod to those around him and methodically performed the ritual. Removing the front panel of his white ceremonial hakama, he received the three-sided tray and grasped the short sword. "I appreciate your service, Second." he said. The whisper of steel leaving its scabbard slid silently down his back. A ladle clattered against the water bucket. "Are you prepared?" By the time Budayu called out a second time, Lord Takumi-no-kami's topknot already hung bowed as if biting into his chest, the shoulders of his white ceremonial robe quivering like cicada wings.

In the momentary darkness of his eyelids, countless jewel beetle-like lights—red, blue, white, purple, green—swirled with terrifying speed. In that fleeting instant, each swirling speck became his wife Kuri-hime's face, became Akō Castle, became his father Yoshinao, became the round smiling visage of young Kuranosuke, became the persimmons ripening in his homeland's main keep, became his own infant form cradled at a wet nurse's breast—all perceived in desperate clarity— Swish!

The white blade, scattering dewdrops of light, passed through the space between thirty-five years of life and eternal death.

×　　　×　　　×　　　×

After the Chief Inspector and the other shogunate officials had filed out in a line, “This way—” It was the Asano clan members—who had been waiting with fraying patience since daylight still lingered outside—that a servant of the Tamura family now ushered into the garden, throwing open the side gate from within as though racing against time. “There are many garden stones—mind you do not trip.” Swaying, the lantern light led the way ahead.—Upon white curtains hung tall paper lanterns.

“Oh!” “My lord!” No sooner had they swarmed inside than Isogai Jūrōza, Tatebe Kiroku, and Kataoka Gengoemon all collapsed heavily, faces pressed to the ground as they choked out sobs that seemed to claw at the earth. Beneath the white futon, the corpse lay flat. The detached head had been placed sideways on the left shoulder. With tears streaming down their faces, the people placed him into the coffin. Also received as relics from the Tamura residence were the short sword, ceremonial paper, folding fan, tabi socks, and other items.

Isogai Jūrōza held those tabi socks to his face as he wept. From the age of fourteen, he had served as a page—(Do not let your nose run)—(Your sash has come loose)—

Rather than serving his master, this existence had been one of being raised by him. Moreover, these tabi socks had never once been used to kick a retainer. Reverting to the days of his dragonfly-shaped topknot, Jūrōza wept aloud. “Silence!” And he continued until someone reprimanded him. Gengoemon, once again, “How unsightly.” said Gengoemon. And then, with the Asano family lantern leading the way, he began walking alongside the coffin. From the shadows of alleyways—who could they be, those secretly watching? Moreover, out of fear of the shogunate, they could not openly show their faces or figures.

At Sengakuji Temple, only a modest wake attended by retainers had been solemnly conducted, with sutras chanted in quiet mourning—nothing more.

A Lone Mandarin Duck Returning

“My lord has now been splendidly concluded.”

When she heard this from the retainer who had witnessed the situation at the Tamura residence, Lady Asano—

“I am relieved.”

she answered in a faint voice.

The Teppōzu mansion, which was to be vacated that very night, had been cleaned until not a speck of dust remained by evening. The cherry blossoms on the eaves that her husband had gazed upon this morning were now spilling down. Last night’s sound of the river waves behind the mansion—which her husband must have heard—was lapping against the stone wall again tonight. She couldn't help but feel she wanted to sit there forever. At the front entrance, they had just dispatched two men—Hara Sōemon and Ōishi Sezaemon—as the second emergency envoys to Akō while preparing their own evacuation; though it seemed some had already hastened to disperse on their own, leaving their numbers drastically reduced from usual. Through the opened-up mansion, river winds now blew through like travelers along a thoroughfare.

“Omiyo… …Omiyo…”

When she called, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old maid knelt respectfully before the lady, her fingers pressed to the floor. “Have you summoned me, my lady?” “Please move behind me.”

“Yes.” When Omiyo had seated herself behind, the lady had her take the dagger that had rested on her lap,

“Please cut this black hair.” “Wh—?” “But my lady, that could wait until after you return to your family home.”

“It’s only a few days’ worth of hair to cut. Let us at least do it tonight, on the eve of my lord’s honorable passing… Why do you pull back your hand?” “Yes.”

Omiyo wiped her tears against the lady’s back as she cut the black hair, then with a swish collapsed onto the tatami mat, still clutching it as she wept.

“Ah…”

At that moment, Okuda Magodayu arrived and stared wide-eyed. However, without saying a word, he merely stated that he had come to fetch her.

Her family home was that of Asano Tosa-no-kami of Nanbuzaka. From that night onward, the solitary mandarin duck’s lone chamber had been designated there as her abode.

(Farewell…) O sound of the river waves, O trees of the garden. She bade farewell in her heart to the residence where she had lived half her life and concealed herself within the palanquin that had come from her family home to fetch her. Beneath the lonely light of lanterns, all those people—from the old retainers who would scatter tonight without destinations to the youngest servants—pressed their hands to the earth and watched her depart. First, the death of their lord. Now, to part from their young lady as well—all in a single night. “Then… please take good care of yourself.”

Together with the retainers' words, the palanquin was lifted. And it was just as it began to sway gently forward a few steps. From within the tightly shut blue-lacquered door, as though finally permitted to weep, her choked sobs escaped into the spring's dark night with muffled whimpers.

Five-Day Idaten Chronicle

Perilous Passes and Crucial Points

Through Odawara town in the dead of night passed a six-pole, two-palanquin emergency palanquin—pitch-black—its bearers raising voices hoarse with sweat. Though midnight had fallen, at the clamor of footsteps like brawlers passing through, merchant houses that had shuttered their heavy doors now opened hidden entrances and peepholes here and there, spilling lamplight.

“Oh…”

“This time, it seems to be Lord Asano’s retainers.” “What a grave matter this has become.” Rumors traveled swifter than the emergency palanquin. Even in this area, they already knew about the incident that had occurred in Edo today. Because they changed bearers at each post station along the way to avoid wasting time with replacements, and because a swift-footed man ran constantly ahead of the emergency palanquin, the unprecedented incident in Edo spread along the Tōkaidō Road like a gale. Inside the palanquin were Hayami Tōzaemon and Kayano Sanpei, who had departed Edo as the first messengers immediately after the incident; they clung to cloth straps hanging from the palanquin’s ceiling, wearing white headbands and white cloths wrapped around their stomachs as they rode.

“Hey, palanquin bearers! Palanquin bearers!”

Inside the palanquin swaying like waves, Hayami Tōzaemon had been calling out for some time, but his voice was drowned out by the numerous shouts and failed to reach the bearers' ears.

Everyone was on edge, “Can’t you hear me?!” Tōzaemon stamped his feet inside the palanquin. “Hey! Need to relieve yourself?!” “No need to stop! Keep running!” “Keep running!” “We’re running!” “Just now—I caught a snatch of townsfolk’s voices—they said, ‘This time it’s Asano’s retainers’—when they say ‘this time,’ does that mean another courier has already passed ahead of us?” “Did they say that?” “Which domain’s emergency palanquin is that?” “It must be your own domain’s, no?”

“No—even Lord Geishū couldn’t have mobilized this quickly.” “It defies comprehension.” “Then… another domain’s men?” “Should rival couriers outpace us to Akō, our domain’s honor would be forfeit.” “Faster!” “Can’t be done, sir!” “I know it’s impossible! Drive them till their bones break!” “We left Edo’s relay station at the eighth daylight hour—two o’clock.” “Correct.” “This ain’t jokin’ matter! Twenty-ri and twenty-one chō to Odawara—over fifty miles—in half a day! Call us slow again, we’d need horse legs to please ya!”

“Though I know not which domain’s they are—as long as there exists even one step faster than ours, we are falling behind.” “Overtake them!” “Sir! “Help me!” “Don’t worry about shaking me off—just run!” “I’ll give you money! I’ll treat you to drinks!” In the same way, Kayano Sanpei, coming from behind, was also urging on the bearers from within his palanquin. When they arrived at Yumoto post station, nearly twenty relief bearers were already lined up with their carrying poles at the ready, having received advance notice. To this,

“Heave-ho!” they shouted as they passed off the palanquin. “Ho!” answered the fresh team taking charge. Without letting the palanquin’s rear touch ground, it shifted from shoulder to shoulder and immediately rushed forward. From Sanmaibashi, the road turned into a mountain path—the first major obstacle on the highway. Their numbers had swelled considerably, and their ascent up the pitch-black rugged trail—more lifting than carrying—was an extraordinary sight even in the Hakone Mountains. The laboring chants of “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!” echoed through the valley with foreboding intensity.

At Hatago Post Station too, they had hung tall lanterns and remained awake. Here, they provided porridge to the two messengers. Somewhere, a rooster crowed. Dawn should still be a long way off. As if this moment were the true darkness between heaven and earth, only the distant roar of the Suun River’s waters reached their ears. Even as they sipped a single bowl of porridge, the mere thought of today’s calamity made both Tōzaemon and Sanpei feel their chests tighten. The events since daytime whirled through their minds like images on a revolving lantern. Not many hours had passed since then, yet here they were in the depths of Hakone Mountain's night, spring's bitter wind—unlike anything in the city—piercing through them, and no matter how they tried, they couldn't shake the feeling that this must all be happening within a dream.

“Now, move the palanquin!” Before the gruel could settle in their chests, their bodies began to shake violently. Warisezaka, Onnagoroshizaka—the path grew increasingly treacherous, but from Hatagoshuku to Hakone-shuku at the summit, it was now just one ri and eight chō.

“Just a little longer!”

The bearers encouraged one another.

Hayami Tōzaemon repeatedly struck his head against the back and ceiling of the palanquin. Though he wore a white headband, his hair tie had been severed, and his hair was coming loose in disarray.

When they finally scaled Gongen Slope's last precipice and glimpsed the lake's glimmer beyond Hakone-shuku's rooftops, “We’re here! We’re here!” “The summit!” Cheering, they bounded across the level ground toward the checkpoint.

From sunset to sunrise, the checkpoint maintained its regulation curfew. Because it was still dim, the gate there remained firmly closed. The bearers who had charged forward with collision-force momentum roared as they reached the gate's edge, all simultaneously slipping their shoulders from the poles. "Sirs, there's still time before the checkpoint opens," said one bearer. "Why not stand on solid ground while you can?" Hayami Tōzaemon found this suggestion reasonable. Urging Sanpei, he stretched his body out of the palanquin. Yet when they stood on the earth, the ground seemed to sway like waves, leaving them dizzy enough to stagger unless clutching something.

“Ah? …Mr. Hayami.” “They’re here—over there!” While clinging to the palanquin, Sanpei subtly jerked his chin sideways. Wondering what it meant, Tōzaemon turned to look and saw four or five porters crouching by the fence about five or six ken from their group—their lanterns extinguished and legs tucked under them—alongside a single emergency palanquin, all similarly waiting for the checkpoint to open ahead of others.

Halfway Point “Just which domain could that be?” The two were at a loss. Perhaps it was someone from Mino Ōgaki Castle, where Lord Takumi-no-kami’s cousin served as lord; or maybe Geishū Domain; or else a shogunate courier hastening to Kyoto regarding the breach of etiquette toward the imperial envoys. “However, that seems far too simple,” Tōzaemon said. “If they were shogunate officials or a daimyo’s messengers, there’s no way there’d only be one person.” “No matter how swift a domain might be,” he continued, “it’s inconceivable that any would strive to report today’s incident to their home province faster than the Asano house.”

“Then perhaps those travelers have no connection to our urgent business.” “That’s right—it might just be that two emergency messengers happened to collide by chance.” If that were truly the case, there was nothing worth worrying about. The two men fell silent and gazed up at the sky. The awaited dawn remained stubbornly dark. Though sleep eluded them, they knew pounding on the gate to rouse the guards would prove futile. They walked about the area to stretch their legs. On their return, they casually drifted past the suspicious palanquin—only to catch faint snores leaking from within… Someone inside was sleeping peacefully.

Then, the snoring stopped. The man inside stirred—and simultaneously, “Palanquin bearers! Get your shoulders ready!” With that command issued, the bearers sprang up and immediately reset their carrying poles. Beyond the gate, checkpoint officials’ footsteps approached. When they noticed, the lakeshore already shimmered with pale morning light. “It’s opening!”

Hayami Tōzaemon and Kayano Sanpei swiftly entered the palanquin. What keen sensitivity and swiftness they possessed! The palanquin that had been snoring away rushed through the gate the moment it opened, getting ahead of them. Still in the palanquin, they headed toward the official residence, "You may already be aware that yesterday during the latter half of the Hour of the Snake, within Edo Castle, Asano Takumi-no-kami subjected my lord Kira Yoshihisa to a sword assault. For this reason, I bear urgent orders to proceed to my lord's stewardship lands in Mikawa Province's Hazu District." "This humble one is Shimizu Ichigaku, a middle-ranking retainer of the Kira household. I respectfully request permission to pass through while remaining in my palanquin."

he declared in a clear voice.

The moment Kayano Sanpei and Hayami Tōzaemon entered right behind, they jolted at that voice. They had long known Lord Kira’s territories produced one thousand koku in Usui District of Kōzuke Province and three thousand three hundred koku in Hatsu District of Mikawa Province. Mikawa in particular was the Kira clan’s ancestral land—home to generations of subjects, magistrate offices, and retainers stationed at their provincial headquarters. “Damnation!” Cursing himself inwardly, Hayami Tōzaemon approached the checkpoint office after Shimizu passed through and delivered a declaration identical in purpose yet diametrically opposed in stance. The checkpoint officials watched with eyes brimming deep sympathy—

“Proceed,” they said. The road sloped downward. Upon hearing Kira’s name, both men found their emotions flaring uncontrollably. Out of sheer stubbornness, they berated the porters, but they couldn’t catch up all the way to Mishima. When they arrived at the post station, amid the morning bustle, they spotted his palanquin again. To their astonishment, the man from the Kira household called Shimizu Ichigaku—having exited that palanquin—now sat leisurely upon a bench at the post station teahouse, sipping tea. His attire remained ordinary, with no signs of hasty preparations for travel visible anywhere.

He appeared to be on the cusp of thirty. His prominent, aquiline nose curved sharply, while lips marked by bitterness were pressed firmly together. His feet were also clad in straw sandals. “Granny, make the rice balls a bit saltier.” he called out to the back of the teahouse. The front of the post station was filled with people from two newly arrived palanquins. Moreover, travelers trying to learn even a shred of truth about the sword assault incident and post station officials—hearing they were from the Asano clan—swarmed around them noisily, bombarding them with questions. Shimizu Ichigaku watched this scene with cold eyes.

He drank tea in gulps between bites of rice balls. "I’ve never seen a lord like that," "Sleeping in his palanquin, eating his meals…" The palanquin bearers who had unloaded Ichigaku and taken their payment watched his antics with looks of utter bewilderment.

At the eaves of the post station, Hayami Tōzaemon and Kayano Sanpei pressed their demands: “No gruel. Hot water’s fine—just hurry up with it!” Their emergency palanquin overtook Ichigaku’s, kicking up white dust along the tree-lined road as it sped away. Yet this did nothing to settle Hayami’s mind. He couldn’t shake the conviction that Shimizu Ichigaku—this retainer whose name he’d just learned—was scrutinizing their disarray with those unnervingly composed eyes. More disturbingly still, it struck him as perverse that even a lord like Kōzuke-no-suke should have such a detestably sharp-eyed vassal in his service.

The second and third days were said to be the most grueling times for emergency messengers on long journeys. His mind went blank, and whenever the swaying grew violent, nausea would surge up. Sanpei would occasionally stuff a stimulant into his mouth. Hayami Tōzaemon in the front palanquin, “Sanpei, are you all right?” When he asked, Sanpei responded with forced cheer, “I’m all right.” Although he answered thus, his face had turned pale since around noon on the second day, and he looked pained.

As the waters of the Fujikawa River began taking on a red-copper hue through the pine trees with the sun sinking low, a man on horseback came galloping from the direction of Yoshiwara, whip raised high.

“Out of the way!” Having shouted this, he dashed past them. When they saw the retreating figure, it was Shimizu Ichigaku. His swift method became apparent through this action. He must have raced here nonstop from Edo—switching between palanquin, horseback, and even foot travel as needed—covering approximately eighty-four or eighty-five ri to reach Yokosuka Village in Hatsu District, Mikawa Province immediately following the incident’s outbreak. Though this distance amounted to merely half the journey to Harima Akō—Hayami and Kayano’s destination—Ichigaku’s urgent pace remained formidable nonetheless. Only a samurai rigorously trained in horsemanship and footwork, who maintained disciplined physical conditioning year-round, could have achieved such a feat—and Hayami Tōzaemon found himself harboring something akin to respect for this enemy who had overtaken them.

When they reached the Fujikawa River ferry crossing, the distance by which they had been overtaken could no longer be recovered. For while they had no choice but to rely on the ferry crossing with their emergency palanquin, Shimizu Ichigaku had instead guided his horse through shallow fords and crossed unimpeded to the opposite bank.

“Somehow, I find this utterly infuriating,” said Sanpei, his pallid, exhausted brow etched with impatience. “Should we abandon the emergency palanquin too and switch to relay horses?” Tōzaemon, being older, admonished him while they remained aboard the ferry: “Their route is eighty ri; ours spans over a hundred and sixty. We must consider both time and our physical limits.” With a wry chuckle, he added, “Let’s concede this round.”

Kira's fiercely loyal peasants

It was still the dimly lit predawn hours of the sixteenth day—approximately thirty-seven or thirty-eight hours after departing Edo. The emergency palanquin pressed onward without rest through the pine-lined road between Fujikawa in Nukata District, Mikawa Province and Okazaki Castle Town, its bearers' labored breaths heaving through the darkness. Having climbed to the top of Azukizaka Pass, when they spotted Okazaki Castle shrouded in thick morning mist beneath the breaking dawn, they found themselves before a teahouse whose shutters remained closed. “Let’s do it.” “Let’s do this! Let’s do this!” As if by prior arrangement, the palanquin bearers set down the litter and crossed their arms.

Kayano Sanpei, his nerves as taut as a razor's edge, flung aside the curtain and rebuked the bearers. “You bastards! What’s this ‘let’s do it’ nonsense? Move out—now!” “We’re taking a smoke break—just one puff!” “Such insolence! Do you not know the rules of relay palanquins?!” “You cannot rest until the next post station!”

“The payment’s your concern. These bodies are ours! How dare you complain about us resting our own flesh?!” “You insolent curs!”

With that, he grabbed his sword. “Are you deliberately trying to delay us?!” “We’re not trying to delay you—we’re refusing to let you through!” “What?!”

As Sanpei leapt out of the palanquin, Tōzaemon started in alarm, “Wait! Don’t do anything rash. We’re in the middle of an important mission!”

“Hah….” “But… if you call this excessive—” “There must be some reason for this. Leave it to me.” “You bearers—is it money you want?” Tōzaemon said calmly and looked around at the bearers’ faces. However, before they knew it, a crowd of forty or fifty people—peasant-like men other than the bearers, elders, townspeople, and those resembling rural samurai—had gathered around the palanquin. Tōzaemon realized that his earlier words had been both careless and ill-suited to the situation, forcing him to reassess the circumstances anew.

“People of the post station—are these samurai retainers of Asano?”

The old man carrying a staff pointed at the two men with the mud-caked tip of his cane and questioned the palanquin bearers. The bearers chorused in unison, “Yeah, these bastards here—the ones headin’ to Akō.” they said.

The miscellaneous crowd swarming around them showered the two men with insolent stares while exchanging clamorous words in an incomprehensible local dialect—when suddenly there appeared from their midst a barefoot boy with a kappa-shaped skull who screamed: "You bastard!"

With a curse, he hurled the dirt he had clutched in his hand at Sanpei’s face and ducked behind the adults. The boy’s curse acted as the spark—the men and women who until then had merely been obstructing their path with hateful glares now erupted in unison, “They’re Akō samurai, ain’t they? Makin’ such foolish faces!” “What’re those eyes for, huh? You retainers of that fool lord who went slashin’ folks in the castle!” “That Takumi-no-kami—they say he’s got madness in his blood!” “How dare you cut up Lord Kira like that!”

“He’s the one who attacked our lord!” “They’re the other half of the assailant!” “If we let you pass through this highway, other provinces will laugh at us!” “Don’t let them through! Don’t let them through!” “The nerve of you trying to pass through here!” “Moron!” “Beat them down!”

A storm of foul-mouthed abuse swirled from every direction. Peasants jeered, townspeople bellowed, even women and snot-nosed children flung insults—left unchecked, it would have no end. Sanpei matched the crowd’s frenzy with his own agitation. Gripping his sword hilt and glaring fiercely, he grew so unsteady that Tōzaemon—determined to prevent disaster—seized his wrist and stepped forward to confront the onslaught of curses. “Silence, you peasants!” “What’s this ‘peasants’ nonsense?! We’ve never eaten a single grain of Asano’s rice!”

“Now, let’s hear this calmly.” “Just who exactly are you lot—where do you hail from?” “We’re subjects of the Kira family!”

The old man from earlier—who carried a staff befitting a village schoolteacher—answered loftily. He raised his staff once more and pointed it toward one side, “From here southward one and a half ri—the seven villages of Hazu District: Otsugawa, Komyōda, Yokosuka, Toba, Okayama, Aiba, and Miyako—have been domains of the Kira family since the days of the Ashikaga clan. Since you clearly don’t know this, I’ll educate you.” “In the north of the district lies what we call Yatsumen Mountain.” “Because mica is produced there, from ancient times this region has been called Kira’s County and also referred to as Kira’s Manor.” “—We are subjects of the Kira family, who for over seven hundred years across eighteen generations—from ancient times down to our present lord, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshihisa—have never once changed rulers.” “We are quite different from those new daimyō offshoots that rose up during the Sengoku period.” “Understood?”

“Hmm… And then?” “From what I hear, your master—this so-called Takumi-no-kami—is a thoughtless fool who—” Sanpei appeared unable to endure listening any longer— “Old fool! How dare you!”

He strained the arm gripping his sword hilt like a bowstring. Hayami Tōzaemon restrained him and said, “Shut up, Sanpei.” “It seems they have something to say.” “These are plain-spoken voices of subjects. We should at least have the magnanimity to hear them out.” The old terakoya instructor immediately continued in a vehement tone uncharacteristic of an elderly man. “The rumor that our lord had fallen victim to a fool’s blade in Edo Castle and was gravely wounded reached our ears last night at the stroke of midnight.” “—The commotion among the subjects after that... no, their grief... was no small matter.”

The halting, heartfelt words carried an undeniable weight, and Tōzaemon—who similarly stood amidst the ruin of his own lord’s house—could not help but feel a shared sorrow, a compassionate resonance with these subjects of the enemy, over this tragic event.

“...Our lord is an elderly man.” “I’ve heard about the wounds on his forehead and back being shallow—but how fares his recuperation?” “...At this very time, Lady Tomiko had been staying at Kōzōin Temple in Yokosuka Village—the ancestral mortuary chapel—to conduct memorial rites for her forebears. Accompanied by her retainer Lord Kobayashi Heihachirō, she had come from Edo some days prior. When this tragic news reached them—her ladyship’s shock, the outrage of peasants and townsfolk alike, the commotion that lasted until dawn—I wish I could make you witness it all with your own eyes!”

Sanpei tightly closed his parched mouth. Hayami Tōzaemon also remained silent, letting the old man speak. "Even that much you should understand—though others may not know—we think of our lord as a parent to us." "For seven hundred long years, neither the people changed nor the lords were replaced—a lord and subjects bound to the soil." "To this, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's benevolent governance also contributed its strength." "To name but a few examples—he remediated the Yahagidaira flood disasters, invested vast personal wealth to reclaim the Yoroi-ga-fuchi marsh into fertile fields, constructed the Koganezutsumi embankment to save Atsumi's eight thousand *koku* of peasants from famine, and encouraged salt farming—who can fathom how deeply our lord devoted himself to improving the people's lives?" "Furthermore, since Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's reign began, he has repaired dilapidated temples, refrained from imposing harsh taxes like other domains, given alms to the poor, and even cast temple bells so that the timekeeping chimes—long absent—now ring in our villages." "The peasants who had been sustained by his benevolence, upon hearing of the calamity in Edo, began before dawn—some making pilgrimages to their clan shrines to pray, others going to Kōzōin Temple to entreat that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's treatment might reach the wooden effigies of the Kira ancestors—such was the grief, such the resentment that engulfed the entire domain……"

The old man’s words flowed on exhaustively, never ceasing.

Further steeling his voice, “When they heard that Asano’s emergency palanquin would pass through this highway—a mere stone’s throw from the grief-stricken, raging Hazu District—how could the villagers possibly stay silent and watch?” “To this Fujikawa post station, they have always provided supplementary labor for post stations and worked as porters and grooms from the village.” “Regrettable though it may be, we cannot allow retainers of Lord Kira’s enemy to pass through here flaunting themselves.” “You have gone to such lengths for your mission—it would be a shame if injuries prevented you from fulfilling your duties.” “Go back and take some other back road.”

As if having their grievances represented by the old man, the peasants who had remained rigidly quiet only while he spoke now—the moment he ceased— “No, that won’t settle our grievance!” “They’re remnants of those bastards—let’s beat them to a pulp!” With that, they surged forward all at once—some adjusting their grip on wooden sticks, others clutching pebbles, their eyes wild with frenzy. *Muto Zen* (No-Sword Zen)

Hayami Tōzaemon raised his hand toward the crowd’s enraged gazes,

“I fully understand your grievances,” Hayami Tōzaemon declared. “But wait a moment.” “We won’t let you say another damn thing!” shouted the peasants. “You lackeys of a coward! Ambushing someone in Edo Castle—what kind of honor is that? If you had a grudge, why not fight like men elsewhere? One who knows no decorum is worse than a dog! A dog! A beast! And your master—” Kayano Sanpei, whose face showed deeper anguish than anyone else’s, raised his bloodshot eyes. “Wh-what did you say?” “I called you a beast! Got a problem with that?”

“Tch! What could you lot possibly understand?” “My lord’s sword assault was driven by unavoidable reasons.” “Just listen to the world’s verdict on Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s cruelty and greed!” “Quiet, damn you!” A cow’s straw sandal flew over and soiled Sanpei’s chest with a filthy substance. He flared crimson, “You bastards!” He roared, “You idiots!” And again, something came flying. Sanpei, covered with dirt, grew even more emotional, “If I endure, thinking you’re ignorant peasants, you’ll get carried away—I won’t tolerate your vile insults!”

Shaking off Tōzaemon’s restraining hand and pressing forward, Sanpei caused the peasants to stagger back slightly, their agitation intensifying,

“Crush them!” Their fervor only intensified further. The moment they did, pebbles, sticks, straw sandals—all came scattering toward the two men. Tōzaemon wore a look of utter bewilderment, all while dreading in his heart that even he might be swept into this maelstrom, “Wait! Calm yourselves!” “While your grievances hold merit, regarding this sword assault—the Asano clan too has full justification.” “In essence, loyalty to one’s lord binds both sides equally.” “Even we shall likely face Lord Takumi-no-kami’s seppuku and our domain’s confiscation by decree.” “Bearing this dire news, we must spare not a moment to alert our unsuspecting people back home—this being our life’s defining charge.”

Then, from the front and back,

“You brought this on yourselves!” “That’s only natural!”

They raged in unison, as if spitting.

Hayami Tōzaemon remained unshaken. The ignorant clung all the more to pure beliefs. In an admonishing tone, he added, gauging the crowd’s expressions.

“The final judgment rests solely with His Majesty’s decree.” “If retainers and peasants were to engage in private combat, it would lead to endless bloodshed—blood washing over blood. Even so, were this any other situation, I would yield to your demands—if you told us to retreat from this highway, I would retreat; if you demanded we crawl on our hands to pass, I would do that as well.” “However, bearing our lord’s grave crisis and being in the midst of urgently carrying out a crucial mission for our domain, if word were to spread that we were obstructed by opposing peasants and forced to detour, how could we retain any dignity before the people of the realm or those back in our homeland?” “It would also compromise Akō Domain’s honor.” “Therefore, as samurai, even if we must stake our lives, we will not retreat a single step from this spot.” “If you forcibly refuse to let us pass, we have no choice but to cut our way through by the sword.” “However, doing so would only amplify the gravity of this calamity further, sowing seeds of ridicule throughout the realm.” “Be reasonable!”

“You’re spouting whatever suits you!” “Even for you, sustaining needless injuries would serve no purpose.” “You dare threaten us?!” “Whatever they say, don’t let them through, everyone!” The dawn clouds had spread brightly across the sky before they knew it. Soon the thoroughfare would already be bustling. The hour was only growing later. With matters having reached this critical point, it seemed impossible to resolve things peacefully. Tōzaemon, too, had no choice but to finally acknowledge the unavoidable situation. But persistently, his composure remained calm,

“In that case, summon the post-station officials here.” “Alternatively, we could accompany you to Okazaki and request an official witness.” “By all means—we are pressed for time and can no longer afford verbal disputes.” “Don’t be absurd.” “Do you think station officials witnessing this makes it some ordinary quarrel?” “Will you refuse to listen at all costs?” Tōzaemon, who had maintained composure until now, slightly squared his shoulders and narrowed his piercing eyes—a gesture that startled the crowd more profoundly than when Sanpei had gripped his sword hilt, leaving them teetering on unsteady feet,

“Don’t let them through! Don’t let them through!” Shouting at one another, they began hurling stones. The emergency palanquin bearers too raised their carrying poles, “You bastards!” A staff swung from behind Sanpei. Since Tōzaemon still gripped his arm, it struck his shoulder with a sharp crack. Tōzaemon released Sanpei’s arm. “Don’t kill! Throw them off!” With that command, he spun around. Sticks, poles, bamboo spears and pebbles whirled into a roaring cyclone that tore up clods of grassy earth. Tōzaemon and Sanpei plunged into the maelstrom—for every ten paces gained, they were beaten back ten more. They worked like warriors possessed six arms each—flinging attackers aside, kicking and thrusting—yet still the mob’s numbers overwhelmed them. More rubbernecking villagers kept swelling the throng rather than thinning it.

He had thought that brandishing his blade might make them scatter in fear, but considering these peasants' genuine sincerity toward their lord's plight, it might unexpectedly prove otherwise. If they stubbornly resisted regardless, even he himself could not predict where matters might lead. Azukizaka. (Not a single drop of blood must be spilled here.) With that, Tōzaemon swore to himself. Should blood be shed, it would draw more crowds into the fray, violate post-station regulations, and if any officials aligned with Kira's faction appeared, matters would grow even worse. On top of their delay, they would waste still more days.

Yet, how could they drive away these honest, stubborn peasants so devoted to their lord without shedding blood? Their bodies were as limp as cotton from the long journey by emergency palanquin, and if things took a turn for the worse, they would be in danger. He felt as though he were battling through a maelstrom of endless adversity. At this critical moment, the conviction rooted in Tōzaemon’s very core was none other than the samurai’s creed: "Exhaust all means of righteousness before yielding." Life and death were a separate matter. The more he and Sanpei threw themselves into beating back the peasants, the more their simple honesty reverted to wildness. The more violent they grew, the more blindly they acted,

“Beat ’em dead!” “Beat them dead!” And with that, they unleashed their ferocity. Then, from one part of that seething mass,

“Get out of the way! Won’t you move?!” “If you won’t retreat, I’ll deal with you myself! Silence!” Shouting fiercely, a powerfully built man pushed his way into the heart of the scuffle. Before Tōzaemon and Sanpei, he spread both arms wide and glared around at the bloodied faces of the large crowd. When the peasants caught sight of the samurai, they hurriedly withdrew from their quarry. “Go home!”

“Go home!” the samurai said sternly. “I acknowledge your devotion, but this disturbance exceeds your rightful concern.” “For the Kira household above all—so long as their domain remains secure, their lord’s life faces no peril.” “Rather, it is Asano’s retainers who merit compassion.” “What purpose could tormenting their envoys here possibly serve?” “Let them pass—grant me this favor and let them pass!” “……” “Now, do you grasp this? “Do not neglect even half a day’s labor in your fields or each of your tasks.” “Your lord exists through the peasantry.” “Should you cast aside your hoes for such trifling strife, the very world would wither.—Entrust this to me and return home… Go, return.”

At first, his tone was severe, but in his closing words, he admonished them with gentle gratitude. The peasants lowered their heads of their own accord, and then discarded their sticks and bamboo spears. After whispering something among themselves, they bowed to the samurai and slipped away from the edge of the crowd.

While watching them depart, under his breath, “Loyal souls.”

“Loyal souls,” muttered the samurai.

And with a bow, he turned once more toward Tōzaemon and Sanpei. “Even for a daimyō blessed with such loyal subjects, Lord Asano Naganori’s conduct in this affair was truly regrettable.” “As for your fellow retainers’ feelings, I can well imagine them.” he said. Staring intently at that face, Tōzaemon too inwardly gasped. “Are you not Lord Shimizu Ichigaku?” “I must apologize for my repeated discourteous acts during our journey.”

“Hmm…”

Tōzaemon inadvertently let out a groan.

He found both the peasants here and this samurai enviable. At the same time, he began to feel that unless they thoroughly re-examined their previous conception of Lord Kira Yoshihisa—not just once but twice over—they would never comprehend.

“Damn it!”

Shimizu Ichigaku exchanged greetings with the two men, then immediately glanced toward the emergency palanquin and clicked his tongue. “In my haste to drive them off with cries of ‘Go home! Go home!’, I’ve sent away even the relay porters.” “Gentlemen, how shall we proceed?” “Your arrangements bring no dishonor.” “Okazaki’s castle town lies already in sight. Even if we run on foot to the relay station, there will be no issue.” “Then you had best make haste.” “Then may we pass through?” “The great road of the realm.”

Ichigaku raised his face and laughed brightly. Within the blue stubble of his shaved beard, he revealed his healthy-looking teeth all the way back.

Sanpei was staring intently at that face, “I am Kayano Sanpei, a humble retainer of the Asano household. I deeply appreciate your courtesy.”

he declared with deep emotion.

Hayami Tōzaemon also announced his name, “Then, given the urgency of the situation—” He pulled his belongings from the empty palanquin and tucked them under his arm,

“Exactly so—with all haste.”

Ichigaku urged. “I do not believe we shall meet again…”

“No.” Ichigaku smiled faintly, “There may yet come a time when we meet again.”

“Excuse us.” And as the two men broke into a run, “Mr. Kayano! Mr. Kayano!”

Ichigaku called after them. “Hah? What is it?” “Your hakama cords are coming undone, sir!”

Having informed them, he turned on his heel—and already all that remained was Ichigaku’s retreating figure walking briskly toward Azukizaka. The Crossroads of This World

The days and nights within the emergency palanquin continued—a space devoid of food, sleep, or any will—merely shaken and swayed along. They looked utterly ashen-faced. Even the seasoned Tōzaemon clung to the bleached cloth straps and kept his eyes closed throughout the third day. “It’s Asano! Asano’s emergency palanquin!”

Wherever they ran, in every place where people gathered, such voices could be heard. Not only in the castle towns, but all public discourse was dominated by the sword assault incident that had erupted in Edo.

While some considered Lord Takumi-no-kami’s actions to be only natural for a samurai, there were also many who condemned them as the rash tantrum of an ignorant young lordling. Especially when passing through Kyoto, “Disrespectful vassals!” A harsh voice pierced their ears. That a man tasked with hosting imperial envoys would resort to violence—this was seen as proof that modern daimyō, while well aware of the shogunate’s authority in daily affairs, had forgotten reverence for the imperial court, thus enabling such disgraceful acts.

Even toward Kira, “That’s what comes from growing too accustomed to handling court nobles—he’s become a jaded old hand at it.” Resentment toward him had indeed intensified, but accusations of disrespect naturally shifted toward the perpetrator—Lord Takumi-no-kami.

Tōzaemon passed through in shock.

If only the rumors had been accurate—but in Kamigata, wildly false reports seemed to have spread, and there were even passersby who threw stones at their palanquin. On the other hand, there were those spreading rumors as if war were about to break out. Many of these rumors emanated from disgruntled groups and vagrants awaiting some societal upheaval.

In any case, the public had taken an extraordinary interest. They strained their eyes to watch the two emergency palanquins depart. The two men ran with their eyes closed through the watchful gaze of the realm. From within Sanpei’s palanquin came intermittent sounds of someone fighting back retching. He had always been of a nervous disposition and did not seem to be in good health. His frail physique was outweighed by his passion. It was precisely this that made him such an elegant youth—having been cherished by Lord Takumi-no-kami as a page since the age of thirteen and well-liked among his peers—yet for this urgent mission, Tōzaemon found himself worrying constantly about the young man’s well-being more than his own.

The house where Kayano Sanpei was born stood in Kayano Village in Settsu Province. A family of country samurai for generations, their old earthen-walled gate—its roof sprouting wildflowers—stood facing the traffic of the Tōkaidō Road. “Ah… My hometown.” When the emergency palanquin entered that highway, Sanpei was overwhelmed by boundless emotion. There was a familiar persimmon tree. The miso shop’s storehouse he had seen as a child and the cotton shop’s curtain fluttered in the peaceful spring wind. It was through the recommendation of Ōshima Dewa-no-kami at this garrison that he had entered service in Akō at thirteen—around this very time of year, he recalled. The town remained unchanged from those days...

That this son—having encountered his lord's catastrophic upheaval—was now racing through his hometown unchanged as if ten years were but a day, in an emergency palanquin: likely, even his father spending his remaining years in the family home would not know. Mother, too, would not know. As he hazily envisioned these things in his muddled, dizzy mind, the crude earthen wall along the small ditch flashed into view outside the palanquin.

(My home!) He flung up the curtain and involuntarily leaned his head out. The tawny wall streamed regretfully past his eyes—and immediately, the front gate loomed before his face. Before that gate were displayed artificial lotus flowers and white paper lanterns, while a great number of country folk in small-patterned short haori and people in formal attire wearing woven hats stood lingering in the sunlit thoroughfare. Huh? …At my house— With a puff, the scent of incense brushed past Sanpei’s face.

The weeping figures of people clad in white mourning garments were glimpsed in the dark shadow of the gate. The laborers supporting the funeral bier were just now about to carry it out.

“The emergency palanquin is coming through!” “Watch out!” The mourners urged one another aside and cleared the path. Then, behind the monk, a young woman in white mourning clothes was wiping her tears— “Ah! Brother!...” The mourners were startled.

The young woman had already clung to Sanpei’s emergency palanquin and was weeping prostrate without regard for onlookers. People even suspected she might have lost her mind. “Sister?!” Sanpei’s voice also rang out discordantly. “Brother! “…Brother!” “…” “Please come down!” “Who has died?”

“Mother...” “Wh— Mother?!”

The younger sister sobbed and trembled convulsively.

Though his back was bent like a bow, the old samurai—still robust in the frame of his shoulders—quietly carried straw sandals with paper cords,

“Sanpei?”

he peered down. “Ah! Father!” “Why have you come here?” “Due to official duties—quite suddenly.” “There’s no disputing it—last night was your mother’s wake. "She was fifty-two this year." “She wasn’t at an age to die yet, but taking after you, being slight—it was illness that killed her.” “I couldn’t even fulfill my filial duties...” “What—she was glad to die. “You’ve even risen to become a middle-ranking page for Lord Takumi-no-kami... I’ve heard your prospects are steadily improving...”

“Y-yes.” “But an emergency palanquin—that’s troubling.” “Especially that look in your eyes—I can’t believe this is any ordinary matter.” “Did something happen?” “Not yet... to your ears—”

In this area as well, the rumors must have naturally reached them by now. It occurred to him that perhaps the close relatives had kept it hidden, thinking it too heartbreaking to inform this old father—who had already lost his wife—about the grave crisis in the domain where his son served.

“...Regarding that matter, I shall later provide full details in a formal letter,” Sanpei said. “Though it pains me deeply to rush past Mother’s coffin in this urgent return to our domain—” “Your duty comes first. Go,” his father commanded. “Yes.” Without leaving the palanquin, Sanpei pressed his palms together toward his mother’s coffin from within its confines. In the front palanquin, Tōzaemon quietly mirrored this gesture of reverence.

Gunpowder Guard

People often came to the mountain, claiming it was carefree. Last night, the young samurai of the household arrived carrying a one-shō cask, so in this guardhouse they played Heike biwa, sang battle ballads, and created quite a lively scene. After a long interval, Yokokawa Kanpei found his tedium thoroughly alleviated.

“It’s cold…”

When he came to his senses and shivered while looking around the hut, the oil in the ariake lamp was nearly spent, the one-shō sake bottle lay on its side, there was no one else present, the hearth held no trace of fire, and he seemed to have dozed off still fully clothed. Drool had wet his elbow. Ah, I’m thirsty. He abruptly sat up and stretched. His hairy fist seemed about to punch through the guardhouse ceiling. Yokokawa Kanpei stood six shaku tall. He had a reputation for having the strength of ten men, and in truth, he may well have possessed it. In this guardhouse dwelling, his physique was ill-suited to the cramped quarters. His round face with somewhat childlike eyes—combined with his coarse beard growth—meant blood would often spurt from his chin after shaving.

“Oh! I fell asleep, fell asleep!” He cheerfully muttered to himself and walked toward the dirt floor with heavy thuds.

He felt around with his foot for his geta, hooked them on, and clattered open the guardhouse door. Huh? Still dark?

The sky that had just cleared was full of stars. However, the air against his face already carried the hint of dawn.

This was the summit of Wakiyama Mountain behind Akō Castle. Since the domain’s gunpowder storehouse was located here, guards were stationed to keep watch. Yokokawa Kanpei was a low-ranking retainer with a stipend of five ryō and three koku—his official title being foot soldier—whose duty lay in serving as the gunpowder guard atop this mountain. Beside the guardhouse stood a cliff that had been cut away during the building’s construction. From there, cold spring water welled up and had been channeled to the kitchen through a bamboo pipe.

Kanpei removed the bamboo pipe and, "Gulp…" He splashed the water noisily and brought it to his mouth. "Ah, w-w-w-wa!"

He gargled and spat it out in a rainbow-like arc. Then he stood at the edge of the cliff before the guardhouse and pressed both hands against his broad flanks. He bent forward, arched his back, shook his head. What he imagined himself to be doing—his purpose remained unfathomable. A rift in the clouds glowed blue like the metallic sheen of bonito skin.

From the depths of darkness rose several white streaks, gently ascending—these were plumes of smoke from salt being burned in the salt fields along Akō’s beach. From that area toward the border of Bizen Province, what appeared as a white, winding line vanishing into the distance could only be the coastline. “Hm?” Kanpei’s round eyes found something. “What is that…? At this hour?” On the main highway, this would be nothing unusual—but along the Akō Highway, which branches from Banshū Road, crosses Takatori Pass, and enters this castle town after traversing the Chigusa River ferry, a cluster of paper lanterns now rushed through the predawn darkness.

He had often stood here through evenings and midnights, but Yokokawa Kanpei had never before witnessed such a phenomenon. "If those are paper lanterns... twelve or thirteen at least..." "Hmm?"

He closed one eye and held a finger up before his pupil. By that method, when he measured the speed at which the lights advanced, it appeared they were not merely walking but approaching the castle town at what seemed to be the maximum speed human legs could achieve. As he listened intently, drawing closer, faint voices resembling "Heave-ho" could be heard between gusts of wind. "It's a fast palanquin!"

Kanpei ran into the guardhouse. He pulled back the futon of another man sleeping in the corner,

“Comrade, wake up.” “Mmm... Yokokawa...? So sleepy...” “Take your post at the guard station.” “What’s this, so sudden?” “I’m going to the castle.” “Go on then.” “Wake up immediately and take your post. The castle gates probably aren’t open yet. I’ll go rouse Lord Ōishi, the castle keeper.” “Did something happen?”

“Today is the 19th day, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right.” “…”

Kanpei counted on his fingers, tallying the days as he went,

“Our lord’s grand duty in Edo was set for five days—the 12th through the 16th. We’ve all been praying for its peaceful conclusion. A fast palanquin at this hour—something’s wrong.” “A fast palanquin?!” A chill tightened his chest. “Hey! Take a lantern!” “Fool—it’s nearly dawn. You’re not Lord Ōishi himself.” Thrusting his feet into straw sandals, he secured the long sword suited to his burly frame and tore down the bamboo-grass mountain path he knew by heart, racing toward the foothills.

*Akatae Sōshi*

*The Famous Water Sermon*

The spring dawn was pleasantly comfortable to sleep through.

Akō's castle town was still dimly lit.

Toward the seaside where the sound of waves could be heard softly, Kariya Castle’s keep stood imposingly atop pines bathed in the offshore sea light, but in the town’s intersections, the darkness of evening still lingered thickly, the eaves lanterns of the exchange house retained a dim glow, and the distant voices of stray dogs howled incessantly. The Compassion for Living Things edicts were not limited to Edo; in castle towns across the nation, honorable dogs ran rampant. In Akō too, humans were placed beneath honorable dogs.

“Kamiya—I said that’s enough, that’s enough!”

It was the bend in Hashimotochō.

Just as one wondered who it could be—this person speaking so loudly and cheerfully—a straw-sandal-clad monk came staggering along with an unsteady gait, his back supported by a townsman.

Looking closer, it was none other than Priest Ryōsetsu of Shinhama. He always appeared carefree, as if savoring life in solitary contentment—a Zen monk of refined elegance. When he walked about with a tipsy sway, the town children would often trail behind him, chanting: "The priest of Shōfukuji Temple—strong with sake, weak at Go! Lick some salt, drink your sake, then lose at Go!" Yet despite their teasing, both the wealthy merchants of the castle town and samurai of the domain frequently sought his company. There was an air of dignity about Ryōsetsu that made those who spent time with him feel their worries melt away, as though learning to embrace life’s unadorned simplicity.

Last night as well, Ryōsetsu had gone to the innkeeper Kamiya Shirōemon’s house, stayed up late playing Go, and ended up drinking until dawn. It was Kamiya who had stopped him, and out of a sense of responsibility, he had apparently escorted him partway. Supporting Ryōsetsu’s back from behind as if steadying a fragile object, “Let us proceed carefully,” Kamiya urged. “Steady now—walk straight.” “Can’t walk straight,” Ryōsetsu slurred. “Why ever not?” “Someone once said—‘Walk straight and you’ll bump into others…’ In this world, ’tis best to stagger just enough.”

“But there’s no one passing through.” “There, a dog passes—no, Honorable Dog-sama makes way.”

Laughing uproariously, he approached the stone well by the roadside, “Kamiya—I could use something to clear my head.” “You say all sorts of things. Would you like me to draw some?” “Draw me a cupful. This water supply well is a blessed water of grace that Lord Naganao, our domain’s founder, had dug at every intersection of the castle town for the people’s sake when he was transferred here from Kasama in Hitachi. My father, Nikōya Anzaemon, was one who followed Lord Naganao from Hitachi to settle here in Akō. He labored on the waterworks and especially threw himself into developing the salt fields—forgetting sleep and meals, working in unity with lord and people alike. ——Then domain lords changed eras, the five grains grew abundant, salt production increased, the climate turned favorable… With such blessings in resources and nature, you townsfolk—peasants and domain samurai included—have grown a tad too comfortable, never knowing true hardship. But this country was by no means as prosperous as it is now from the very beginning. That which has brought this about today is entirely the gift of Lord Naganao’s efforts and the hardships endured by our ancestors who migrated here from Hitachi……Every time I drink this well water, I taste the land’s benevolence—seeping into my tongue and heart alike.”

“Priest, are you preaching at us again? Here—I’ve drawn plenty. Have your fill and savor it.” “You drink too.” “I’m quite all right.” “Don’t say that. As I told you earlier—compared to places like Hitachi in Kantō, this Akō is too blessed with Seto Inland vistas, natural bounty, fair climate—overindulged by nature’s grace. That’s why your household grows decadent—weak-willed and self-indulgent—utterly blind to our forebears’ hardships. Bring your family here from time to time—make them drink this too.”

“You’re still drunk.” “Because you’ve been droning on with that sermon of yours, something’s coming from over there.” “Hurry up and finish drinking.” “What is it?”

Priest Ryōsetsu turned to look in the direction Kamiya pointed and stared in silence for a moment before suddenly gasping and grabbed Kamiya’s sleeve.

It was a dozen-odd figures who had crossed the Chikusa River and the light of paper lanterns held wearily in their hands. Thrusting through the predawn darkness where a choking brine scent hung pale and drifting, they entered the castle town with heaving breaths and labored grunts.

“Kamiya, isn’t that a fast palanquin?” “Is that a fast palanquin?” “Hmm…” “………”

In an instant, the group—now thoroughly drenched in sweat and exhaustion—along with their ragged shouts, closed in right before them. And just as they reached the street corner, “Water! Water!”

A voice so fragile it might snap at a touch rang out from two fast palanquins. With a thud—the moment they set down the palanquin’s rear by the roadside—all released a great breath in unison, as though collapsing into seated positions right there. “Ah… Akō—” “We’ve arrived.”

Exclaiming in unison, they gazed at the town and looked up at the faintly brightening sky.

Five or six palanquin bearers ran up in disarray and immediately occupied the water supply well. One of them drew cold water into a hip dipper and brought it to the palanquin, “Good!”

A voice could be heard there. The bearers too, one after another, pressed their faces into the bucket to quench their thirst or wrung out their towels, but soon lifted the palanquin again and rushed off at full speed from Tōri-machi toward the castle.

Withdrawing into the shade of the trees, Ryōsetsu, who had been silently watching them depart, involuntarily let out a deep sigh. “A grave matter approaches,” he muttered. Kamiya was staring at his face while,

“Priest, what on earth has happened, I wonder?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” “I couldn’t possibly understand.” “I can only hope this doesn’t become something like what Du Fu once wrote of…” The lacquer tree is split for its use. Oil is consumed by flame. Orchids are broken beneath white dew— The cassia tree is shattered by autumn’s gales.

As if forgetting his companions, Ryōsetsu too turned alone toward where the fast palanquin had rounded the corner.

Then—it was a burly domain samurai. Thrusting his shoulders forward as if flying through the air, he collided with Ryōsetsu walking ahead through sheer momentum and bulk. The samurai, breath ragged from exertion, "Ah—pardon me!"

He apologized but immediately ran off. Ryōsetsu staggered, “Isn’t that Lord Yokokawa of Enshōyama? Hey, Lord Kanpei! Lord Kanpei!”

he kept calling after him. But the man ahead did not even look back and had already reached the moat. And soon, with his spearhead still raised, he strode through the longhouse gate of Senior Retainer Ōishi Kuranosuke’s residence.

National Calamity Arrives

At this hour, the doors to the inner chambers where the master slept would normally still be closed—yet not only were the main house and guest rooms swept clean, but the double-winged gates of the longhouse stood thrown wide open.

Hayami Tōzaemon and Kayano Sanpei, who had departed Edo on the fourteenth at the seventh hour past noon, had just arrived here after traversing a long journey of one hundred seventy-five *ri* without rest. The time was precisely the hour of the Tiger’s descent (around 5:00 AM). They had reached their destination in a mere four and a half days. Needless to say, the two men resembled critically ill patients. At the Ōishi residence, shortly before the fast palanquin arrived, advance messenger bearers knocked on the gate, (From Edo, the urgent messenger has arrived.)

having informed them that,

(What’s happening?)

The family members had all risen, their hearts pounding as they awaited the arrival of the fast palanquin. In the kitchen, porridge was being cooked, while at the entrance hall, Lady Riku, Chikara, and all the servants had gathered. And when they saw the palanquin,

“Is it Lord Hayami or Lord Kayano?” Upon first recognizing the men, they devotedly cared for them—whether by offering the prepared medicinal water, having their straw sandal cords untied, or taking their hands to guide them up to the entrance hall—but Kuranosuke neither spoke nor showed himself there. “Young Master, there’s no need—” “Save the formalities for later.” Tōzaemon managed to bow politely to Chikara and show composure even to Riku, staggering through on his own strength, but Sanpei was in a state where he was barely breathing. The servant had carried him on their back all the way to the tatami, and as he flopped his hands onto the mat,

“Ah…” He looked as though he might very well lose consciousness then and there.

Hayami Tōzaemon said in a deliberately loud voice, as if to bolster Sanpei’s spirits. “Has the Lord Chief Retainer already risen?” “Yes,” Lady Riku replied. “He waits prepared in the study and has been expecting you.” Sanpei stiffened his chest tautly like a drawn bowstring. He removed the kogai from his wakizashi, swiftly combed his four-and-a-half days’ worth of disheveled hair, then straightened the wrinkles at his collar and smoothed his garments neatly beneath his hakama. “……Kindly announce us.”

he said for the first time. The inner study was filled with fresh dawn light and a tranquil air, just as on any usual morning.

However, when the two messengers—who had entered as if crawling on their knees—looked up at Kuranosuke’s face sitting there with a mask-like stern expression, they were struck by the feeling that some great reprimand might rain down upon them at any moment, and jolted awake in their hearts.

Kuranosuke, with his expression unchanged, “There is no need to speak of superfluous matters.” “The swiftness of your palanquin journey is commendable.” “State only that in a single word.” “On the fourteenth day, within Edo Castle, our lord was compelled to commit a sword assault.” “The full account is contained in this official letter from Lord Kataoka Gengoemon. However, as we two departed Edo immediately upon the incident’s outbreak, further details regarding our lord’s punishment and other matters shall assuredly arrive with others following by fast palanquin.”

Taking the document Hayami Tōzaemon had presented, Kuranosuke read it in silence. With each line he read, his complexion drained further of color—yet like mid-summer waves churning beneath a calm surface, no trace of this inner turbulence showed anywhere on his slightly plump frame. Having finished reading— "Hmm." And from between his tightly pressed lips came a low, groan-like sigh. His thick, dark eyebrows alone certainly moved—suddenly, as if gazing at something distant toward the garden.

At the *chirp, chirp* of small birds, the world beyond the eaves already shimmered in a dawn-lit morning. The giant weeping cherry tree he cherished above all others bloomed in this garden like a queen more resplendently than ever, yet unlike usual, this morning each of its white flowers appeared to Kuranosuke’s eyes even as clusters of ominous phantom insects. “You have done well. Withdraw and take full rest.”

After speaking these words of comfort to the two men, Kuranosuke stood up and entered his private room. The family’s morning meal together seemed to have taken place afterward, for shortly after the castle’s sixth-hour bell tolled, his figure—now prepared for castle attendance—was seen off by the anxious faces of his wife and Chikara as he stepped through the entrance. And—Yokokawa Kanpei, the gunpowder keeper, stood beside the entrance; when he caught sight of Kuranosuke’s figure, he hastily bowed.

Kuranosuke glared down at the man’s bowed head with evident displeasure, “Isn’t that Yokokawa?” “Yes, sir…” “What have you come down from the mountain for?”

“Tonight, while keeping watch from Wakiyama, I saw the lights of an unusually swift palanquin cross the Chikusa River and enter the castle town.” “Worried, I rushed to the mansion—but according to Lord Chikara’s account just now of an official report from Edo regarding our lord’s sword assault—it was indeed a premonition.” “The Lord Chief Retainer’s profound grief and the entire domain’s shock weighed so heavily on my heart that before I knew it, I stood here in a daze.”

“Are you not the one entrusted with overseeing the Wakiyama gunpowder storehouse?” “Yes, sir…”

“Why have you abandoned your post without authorization? If you knew this was an emergency, that makes your absence even more inexcusable! Return to the mountain at once.” It was an uncharacteristically harsh scolding. The reprimand was so severe that even Chikara and Lady Riku heard it clearly, and the servants too felt its weight in their chests as if it had been directed at them.

The order for all domain samurai to assemble at the castle was circulated before even a quarter-hour had passed.

At the sudden summons,

“Scout! What’s happened?”

In haste, over two hundred domain samurai residing in the province came filing in through the main gate of Kariya Castle to attend. To the district magistrates and dispatched officials in the regions outside the castle town, swift horses and urgent messengers raced, and by the time the sun was three poles high, a midday haze resembling a wisp of ominous cloud painted Kariya Castle’s main enclosure gray and enveloped the entire domain’s agitated atmosphere in unity.

Word of the Edo calamity had spread through the castle town’s populace like wildfire from the couriers’ lips. Just as the samurai envisioned war, the townspeople instinctively— “If our domain lands are seized, what’ll become of our paper notes?” Driven by this primal fear, they erupted into chaos. “If our lord’s dispossessed, won’t these scraps turn worthless as spoiled parchment?” Pale-faced petty merchants, peasants, and wealthy burghers mobbed the town elders’ residences. Finding no resolution there, they coalesced into clots at every crossroads before surging toward the currency magistrate’s office.

“Exchange these for real money!” “What exactly will you do about our domain notes?” “Exchange them!” “Exchange them for real money!” Since both the magistrate and inspectors were, of course, inside the castle, and the underlings had tightly closed the gates of the official residence and remained silent, allowing matters to take their course, the townspeople who had rushed to besiege it continued to grow in number moment by moment. “Exchange them for real money!” Finally, they began throwing stones and breaking fences, showing signs that it could erupt into full-blown riot.

For retainers ranging from senior councilors down to the castle keeper and even low-ranking samurai to gather in such numbers within a single chamber of the castle—such a sight would rarely be seen unless in wartime or similar extremity.

For retainers ranging from senior councilors down to the castle keeper and even low-ranking samurai to gather in such numbers within a single chamber of the castle—such a sight would rarely be seen unless in wartime or similar extremity. As samurai of Akō Domain, those registered in the domain’s rolls numbered over three hundred in total; excluding those permanently stationed in Edo, approximately two hundred and some individuals had been startled by this morning’s edict summoning all retainers to the castle, their eyes filled with unease as they crowded into the main keep. Before long, from the direction of the administrative office emerged five men with heavy footsteps: Senior Retainer Ōishi Kuranosuke, Castle Keeper Ōno Kurōbei, Chamberlain Tanaka Seibee, Inspector Mase Kyūdayū, and Uemura Yogorōemon—their faces as stiff as wood carvings.

When they had taken their seats, Kuranosuke addressed the assembly regarding the emergency in Edo. Then, with a grave demeanor, he read aloud the written report brought by the courier who had arrived at dawn: “The subsequent developments remain entirely unclear, but I expect another courier will arrive shortly. However, the situation has clearly taken the worst possible turn. Each of you must remain vigilant and fortify your usual resolve without negligence.” He declared this. Countless faces remained motionless, swallowed saliva caught in their throats, stunned into silence—for a time, they could not even utter a sound.

(Our lord... That lord of ours... Committing a sword assault?)

As if still doubting—and then, as they were struck to their very core by this immovable truth— “Hmm….” “Immediate seppuku…?” As if haunted by nightmares, they exchanged labored breaths, their faces etched with anguish or blanched pale from shock, “Kira—the opponent—what became of him?”

A man shuddered his shoulders and said, “Senior Retainer!”

From among the gathered assembly, another parched voice sliced through the air. “Regarding Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—the opposing party—this missive makes no mention whatsoever. Does this mean even the courier’s verbal report offered no clarity?” Every pair of eyes in the room— (That’s what we need to know!) —snapped toward Kuranosuke like drawn blades. Kuranosuke opened eyes that had been shut and answered wordlessly through their glassy sheen. Then Kurōbei, standing at his side, untied arms that had been buried deep within his sleeves—a gesture meant to shore up his lord’s ambiguous silence.

“Following this morning’s first couriers—Hayami and Kayano—others should be departing Edo one after another. If we wait for them, the second courier should arrive. —But with Edo being so far away, we have no way of knowing beyond waiting.”

Before the final words had even faded, the assembly descended into a clamor of hushed voices. In this situation, as if acknowledging that demanding silence or insisting they await the next report unmoving would be impossible for creatures of flesh and blood, both Kurōbei and Kuranosuke allowed—for a time—the domain samurai to surrender themselves to their individual hearts: those who stayed silent, those who whispered, those seething with grief, those shifting their gaze restlessly, those groaning in gloom. All remained anchored like boulders within the great crashing wave of shock that had struck them.

Being a minor official in the kitchens and thus not present at this meeting, Mimura Jirōzaemon peered into the next room from the tatami corridor at that moment, but finding no one there, “Castle Keeper! Castle Keeper!” he was shouting loudly. Kurōbei turned his wrinkled head and immediately stood up. Though now stooped with age, he had always been an old man careful about his health and prided himself on his vigor. Kurōbei briskly passed through the next room, “Mimura? What is it?” he said. Mimura Jirōzaemon knelt down,

“The disturbance in the castle town is not isolated,” “Please observe from the watchtower.” “What disturbance? —” “This has nothing to do with the townspeople.” When he pressed his face to the narrow opening of the watchtower, word appeared to have spread unbidden—domain samurai who had emerged from the great hall now clustered in groups of four or five, their gazes fixed intently on the castle town below.

In the town, yellow dust rose in clouds. Swarms of ant-like crowds were visible at every intersection. Centered around the gate of the domain note office, they clamored against its walls. Scuffles seemed to have broken out between town elders and exchange officials trying to hold them back—even a riotous bloodlust swelled visibly among the throng. “Look—the rabble have already sniffed out our domain’s calamity and demand to exchange their notes! This is intolerable!” Not only Kurōbei—several domain samurai who had returned to the great hall after witnessing this furrowed their brows as if choking down bitter gall.

“For years, under our lord’s protection, they sustained their livelihoods in peace—yet they forget his benevolence! At the time of our Lord’s calamity, they fixate on self-interest, storming the domain note exchange—such detestable conduct!” “Someone must go suppress them.” “Given this state, even town elders and exchange officials cannot contain it.” “Townspeople they may be—unforgivable.” “There must be ringleaders.” “At such times, arresting and binding five or six of those bastards would quell this themselves.”

And there were also those who declared such things from their position as a domain and their own agitation. The moment a section of the earth's crust had crumbled abruptly in Edo, 170 ri away, its repercussions already surged up to Akō's very soil, manifesting a madness surpassing even Edo's turmoil. Edo's shock had been a tremor in the system, whereas the reality here was a shudder in daily life. If the lord committed seppuku, the castle lands would be confiscated by the authorities, and the domain samurai would scatter. And the domain notes issued by the Asano clan would lose their value and might become mere scraps of worthless paper.

After eating wretched food, sweating through their labor, bowing their heads a hundred times over for profit, and scrimping to save every coin as if lighting a lamp on a fingernail—if the money they’d hoarded to support parents, wives, and children, their sole meager capital, became mere paper, the townspeople might well go mad. Naturally, this spark had all the makings of a riot. Kuranosuke, as if startled, looked around at the faces in the assembly, but—

“Okajima!” “Katsuta!” “Sugino!” He called them one after another and, seeing those people rise to their feet, “Maebara!”

And he called again. The four stepped before him and stared at the stern tightening of his brows. As if they had already perceived the mission they were about to be ordered to undertake, “Senior Retainer, will you go to the castle town?” said Maebara Isuke. “That is also true, but—” Kuranosuke looked at the four men and seemed to consider them all somewhat young. Leaving the summoned men as they were, he turned his face to the side and saw Chiba Saburōbei sitting nearby. “Saburōbei will do.” “The disturbance in the castle town concerns His Lordship’s authority.” “Go at once and suppress it.”

“Understood!” “Fuwa—you go too.” and also designated Kazuemon, who was behind him, “The townspeople’s commotion is only natural.” “Of course, we must first reassure them—rushing to respond only after seeing the disturbance was already our oversight.” “Ensure they are fully convinced—under no circumstances intimidate them.” “By tomorrow, we will certainly carry out the exchange of domain notes—carefully explain this and send them home.” “As you command.”

Chiba Saburōbei was a man in his fifties with sound judgment, and Fuwa Kazuemon, serving as Seaside Magistrate, was well-versed in local affairs and familiar with the townspeople. If he sent those two—he first watched them off with apparent relief, then— “All four of you—come to the official chamber.” Urging them on, he rose from his seat.

Both senior retainers Ledgers for domain currency, ledgers for the treasury, copies of seaside loan records—countless account books were piled before Kuranosuke.

“I would also request Lord Ōno’s presence.”

Kurōbei had been silently staring at the mountain of ledgers when— “What do you require in such haste?” “We cannot spare a single moment,” Kuranosuke replied. “We will exchange the domain notes.” “Hmph… Do we even have enough gold to cover all the notes?” “There shouldn’t be any.” Katsuta Shinzaemon, the Note Office Inspector, set up his desk, leafed through the thick ledger, marked key sections with creases, and stacked them beside Kuranosuke. Okajima Yasouemon, the Magistrate of Accounts, entered the treasury with Sugino and Maebara clutching the ledger, then soon returned to the administrative chamber.

“I have completed the inventory.” He said while looking at the inspection report,

“The domain’s current reserves amount to approximately seven thousand ryō. And as the total issuance of domain notes has now exceeded twelve thousand ryō, this leaves a deficit of roughly five thousand ryō.”

“Hmph…” Kurōbei groaned from beside him— “With twelve thousand ryō in issued notes against seven thousand ryō in reserves—this simply won’t balance.” He said dismissively and looked at Kuranosuke’s face, but Kuranosuke, while directing his gaze to Shinzaemon’s clicking abacus, soon read the numbers displayed there— “A six-tenths exchange rate can be managed.” He said, his furrowed brow relaxing slightly. “A six-tenths exchange rate?” Kurōbei interjected sharply, “Then not a single ryō of the domain’s honorable reserves will remain. But what do you intend to do about the domain’s future course and various expenses hereafter?”

“What comes later can be handled later.” “In this situation, there’s no other choice but to proceed this way.” “Their pitiful livelihoods—above all else—must be attended to first… I suppose.” “If you take such rash measures, it will cause problems.” Even as a senior retainer, his attitude toward the younger Kuranosuke remained that of an elder looking down from a superior position. On a personal level, they interacted without particular fondness or animosity, and domain affairs proceeded smoothly—yet through Kurōbei’s eyes, he could not shake the sense that Kuranosuke was still green behind the ears. His work lacked precision, his demeanor carried an air of sluggishness—though elevated to senior rank by lineage alone, it was Kurōbei’s unshakable conviction that without himself, this man could never manage the affairs of a fifty-three-thousand-koku domain.

That Kuranosuke, perhaps due to heightened emotions, was being terribly autocratic, and in his speech, he imbued his words with a force that brooked no opposition from others. Kurōbei, though aware of his own pettiness, found himself harboring genuine resentment toward him for the first time.

“Lord Ōishi, this diverges from normal procedure.” “When you say ‘later,’ what exactly will you handle later?” “Domain reorganization, compensation for dismissed retainers—every last thing demands funds.” “Moreover, facing this disastrous turn that permits no future recourse—should you attempt such reckless measures, there will be no room to maneuver.”

As a verbal habit of the old man, when provoked, he would begin scolding as if addressing mere youths. But Kuranosuke nodded to each statement, “Your words are most reasonable.” “However, this is not my sole decision.” “I am merely acting according to our lord’s intentions, as he himself would have done.” “When did our lord ever leave such instructions?” “You’re spouting sophistry!” “…………” “This is no laughing matter!” “Lord Ōishi, it is precisely in times like these that we senior retainers—you and I—must rise to meet our usual heavy responsibilities.”

“Of course.” “To claim that thoughtlessly draining all our honorable treasury reserves aligns with our lord’s intentions—has your mind gone somewhat astray?” “This has been decided after careful deliberation.” “With all due respect, Lord Ōno—you have served in vital advisory roles since the reign of the previous lord and from Lord Asano’s childhood to this very day. You must be intimately familiar with his lordship’s temperament. In this situation, if our lord were present here, can you truly not discern what course he would command us to take?”

"If our lord were here?" "..." "If our lord were here, would such a thing have occurred at all?" Sugino, Maehara, Okajima and the surrounding retainers kept silent as they stared at the profiles of both senior councilors. Yet now they saw with stark clarity the profound human divide between Kuranosuke—who claimed to act through their lord's will—and Ōno Kurōbei—who rebuked that no one could presume to know their absent lord's voice.

The onlookers stared in astonishment upon realizing that these two senior retainers, who had always worked together seamlessly, were in fact men of diametrically opposed temperaments. Yet it was generally Kuranosuke who faced constant disapproval—even young samurai who held no particular reverence for Ōno viewed him as— *(What a half-hearted man.)* Such remarks circulated freely, with some going so far as to deride him as a lantern useless in daylight—and so now too, he found himself overruled by Kurōbei’s stance,

*(In that case, as your will dictates.)* Just as one might think he would withdraw his own argument—unusually,

“No!”

He resisted stubbornly. Yet his complexion remained unchanged. He fleetingly showed the smile Kurōbei had scolded him for earlier, “I am not unaware of future matters. I ask that you entrust this matter to Kuranosuke.” he insisted. Before his opponent could raise an objection, “Shinzaemon—erect notice boards at every crossroads. Have the carpenters plane ten boards.” He took up his brush, drafted the proclamation for the six-tenths exchange rate of domain notes, and handed it to Okajima Yasouemon,

“Write this on the notice boards and post them at every location—quickly now.”

He urged them to hurry every moment. They came reporting the boards were planed. As Okajima and his men hurriedly departed, Yoshida Chūzaemon—the District Magistrate of Katō who had been stationed far from the castle town and now arrived belatedly on horseback—appeared at the administrative chamber’s entrance, his sweat-soaked forehead still dust-streaked. “Oh…” Yoshida uttered to Kuranosuke’s turned face. “Ah… Yoshida.” An emotion he seemed to have forgotten until that moment suddenly surged from his chest at Chūzaemon’s appearance, and something hot welled up in Kuranosuke’s eyes.

In the depths of twilight

It was the frame of Yoshida Chūzaemon, who did not look sixty years old. His back wasn't bent, still standing over six feet tall, with large lips and a ruddy complexion unusual for an old man. His hair, not yet fully white, resembled corn silk; perhaps from long service in rural postings, his skin was no less sun-darkened than any peasant's. His appearance carried an imposing quality. Yet his disposition remained as gentle as a woman's. The peasants under his governance clung to him like a benevolent father. Whenever he came down to the castle town, he would ride horseback wearing his battle helmet, with potatoes, carrots, and burdock root from his own garden tied to the horse's back—offerings he always brought as gifts when staying at Kuranosuke's residence during his visits.

On nights when he stayed, the two of them would shed their official roles and converse at length. Kuranosuke was fond of sake, and Chūzaemon too had a taste for it. Not that they ever formally bared their hearts to each other in such terms, but Chūzaemon was the one who had glimpsed something of Kuranosuke’s character, and none but Kuranosuke had perceived the true depths of whether Chūzaemon was merely a country magistrate in Katō District or something more. They were, so to speak, kindred spirits who accepted each other unconditionally.

The reason Kuranosuke was now shaken by some fragile emotion welling up within him the moment he saw his figure was surely because of that bond. “I’ve been waiting…” Having said that, when he faced Chūzaemon, Chief Retainer Kuranosuke was already sitting there like a rock—or perhaps a man—bearing this great crisis on his shoulders, but— “I can’t speak… I can’t speak…”

Chūzaemon said just that and then fell silent, his gaze fixed intently on a single spot of the tatami mat. “Above all, thinking I must not let our domain’s calamity become the people’s calamity, I have just now devised an emergency measure for exchanging the domain notes.” “You’ve done well… What first struck my heart were the expressions of peasants and townsfolk I encountered from Katō District to the seaside castle town… Such measures align with our lord’s will.” As Yoshida Chūzaemon and Ōishi Kuranosuke—both men of few words—exchanged two or three phrases that spoke volumes of their shared resolve, Ōno Kurōbei slipped away with purposeful air toward the great hall.

In the great hall, twilight had already settled. Anticipating nightfall, kitchen clerks moved among motionless clusters of people scattered about, doling out handfuls of rice from sushi tubs—yet none reached to take it. Monks lit wickerwork lanterns and distributed paper candles through the hall. Yet even these seemed unnaturally dim today. With nothing to occupy them, everyone sat desperately absorbed—some more intensely than others—in conjectures and contingency plans, their collective dread congealing like black sediment in swamp water. Meanwhile within the administrative chamber centered on Kuranosuke, abacus clatter and ledger-rustling filled the air while accountants' tense faces flickered crimson in candlelight—all oblivious that night had fallen.—

“Good.” Kuranosuke spoke with a note of relief—likely when the unpaid land taxes, loans distributed to coastal salt producers, and the domain’s remaining rice stores had finally been tallied. He took a sip of tepid tea. “And Lord Ōno?” he asked. “He is among the samurai.” Kuranosuke rose and went himself. Then, having summoned Kurōbei, he entered an adjoining room and did not reappear for some time. The others watched the cedar door intently, certain the two senior retainers were deliberating matters of grave import.

“Lord Tonamura, the senior retainer is calling for you.”

Someone cautioned. Squad Leader Tonamura Genzaemon hurriedly entered through the cedar door from the corner of the great hall. Before long, he emerged and—appearing to have received urgent orders—swiftly departed toward the front gates. They had dispatched someone to petition Asano, Lord of Geishū in Hiroshima, for a loan of 4,500 ryō in gold. Meanwhile, Kuranosuke had formulated within half a day a solution for collecting overdue land taxes and domain loans—a plan so meticulously detailed with numerical figures that even Kurōbei,

“In that case, commencing the exchange of domain notes at sixty-percent value should pose no hardship.” He agreed for the first time. Then, around the Hour of the Dog—past nine o’clock—in the great hall steeped in ink-like darkness, lamplight suddenly flared across the faces of the gathered samurai— “The second express courier has arrived!” At the news from the front gates, they broke into commotion. Both Senior Retainers Ōishi and Ōno hurried past those people. Even with the initial report of their lord’s same-day seppuku, the domain samurai still clung to a thread of hope.

While accepting that the shogunate’s judgment regarding the imperial envoys was unavoidable, they clung to the faint hope that some other path might yet be found—that his lordship’s life alone could still truly be spared— (There’s no way such a thing could happen. If there had been any possibility of a pardon, they would never have handed down such an extraordinary judgment as same-day seppuku.) This was a fact that anyone could have immediately realized, yet no one gave voice to it, and each of them—even as they denied their own common sense—merely,

(Could it be...? ...)

And so, praying fervently to that thread of hope, it was the long-awaited second messenger.

A Hundred Ways of Fallen Leaves Before long, as all present gazed upon the expressions of Kuranosuke and Kurōbei returning from the front gates, they gasped in unison, their hearts pierced by an ill-omened certainty. (So it is his lordship's seppuku—) A moment of uncanny chill flowed across the samurai's rigid faces, while only the multitude of candles drew labored breaths. Just as they had intuited, the documents Kuranosuke recited and the second report delivered by the messenger cast the fate of all Akō Domain into despair's abyss.

When Kuranosuke’s words of report, delivered in exhaustive detail over the more than two hundred heads that themselves hung low in rapt attention, finally ceased, this time—suddenly— “Th-This punishment defies reason!” “Is mutual punishment for quarrels not an ironclad rule of the Edo shogunate within the castle precincts?!” “Moreover! Kira—Kira not only escaped unscathed but even received a gracious decree and withdrew…” “This is blatant partiality!”

High-pitched voices erupted from all directions; among them were those who, overwhelmed by thoughts of their lord’s bitter fate, could no longer restrain themselves—wailing, sinking into the shadows, and choking back sobs. “Lord Chief Retainer! Lord Castle Keeper! The critical matter is already settled—what resolve have you determined beyond this?”

Already, young samurai were pressing forward on their knees,

“You fool! Is there any need to debate such matters at this critical juncture? There’s no dual path in the way of the samurai—is it not simply to die pillowing our heads on the castle our domain’s founding ancestor built?”

Voices could also be heard from the rear denouncing their comrades' foolishness. Like an armful of fallen leaves cast into churning rapids—though the turbulent scene seemed uniform, each leaf's shock, movements, and will differed from the others. Flushed faces, pallid faces, those staring blankly with vacant expressions, eyes fixated solely on self-preservation, emotions consumed by mindless rage—like fallen leaves tossed into a river's churning whirlpool, their fragmented forms bobbing helplessly—such was the tumultuous uproar here, beyond all control.

“Of course, officials will come to take over the castle.” “But we must not retreat even a single step from this castle.” “If we retreat, it’ll bring shame on Akō!” “Let’s die! Let’s follow our lord in death!” “If we’re to die either way, let’s face the castle takeover forces head-on, fight a memorial battle to our heart’s content, and die so they’ll say Akō still had men of backbone!” “Well said! Let any who disagree step forth now.” The impassioned words of the young samurai silenced the elderly and those who had remained quiet around them. For some of these fervent youths, Kuranosuke and Kurōbei might as well have ceased to exist.

Kurōbei made a slightly bitter face and started to say something, but— (This is beyond control, I tell you.) Kurōbei remained silent as though reconsidering, while Kuranosuke—appearing to hover between having no plan and having one—watched with eyes like one entranced, letting the water do as it would: sinking or flowing, catching on rocks in the rapids, or swirling in eddies of fallen leaves. Yet he alone appeared with the countenance of an observer—like a kingfisher perched on a branch apart from the water, gazing upon its flow.

His face, too, appeared slightly wearied by the endless uproar, “Lord Ōno, let us convene another council.” “The night has grown late, and henceforth, our lives are all the more precious to each other.” Kurōbei nodded deeply in agreement, “Calm yourselves, all of you—men of the domain.” “Do not mistake the clan’s grave matter for a personal grudge.” “Private disputes and selfish obstinacy must be restrained.” “In such times, we must unite as one domain; it is precisely through composure and quiet conduct that we shall appear admirable in others’ eyes.” “These self-indulgent disputes, occurring in our lord’s absence, have likely already reduced us to such a state that other domains mock us.” “In any case—tonight, the fire watch, honorable treasury officials, and all others shall return home for now.” “Until the official order for the second general castle assembly arrives.” “On that day, we shall conduct honorable deliberations on all matters.”

he proclaimed. Seeing their hesitation, “Alright.”

When Kurōbei stood up, others began rising to their feet here and there throughout the hall. Kuranosuke had been standing in the adjoining room talking with Yoshida Chūzaemon; but as Chūzaemon was remaining at the castle to oversee fire prevention and night watch duties, they continued their conversation while walking to the entrance before parting.

When he exited the main gate, the stars were beautiful.

*The Dread of Imperial Soil*

As Kuranosuke watched the domain samurai scattering toward their homes from the moat’s edge, his chest ached at the thought that each shadowy figure still had families, relatives, and children to support. (That lord… That lord’s gentle disposition… Could it be that some demon possessed him…?) He still could not bring himself to comprehend his lord’s state of mind.—No tears came; what stirred within him instead was sorrow—sorrow that gripped him more intensely for the pitiable families of low-ranking retainers who sustained elderly mothers, ailing relatives, and children on meager seven- or ten-koku stipends.

Once the third and fourth reports—the intelligence from Edo—were properly scrutinized, he had no doubt they would come to fully grasp their lord’s state of mind and the true nature of his dealings with Lord Kira. Yet foremost in his mind, judged through his unyielding sense of justice and the samurai code’s common precepts, was an overwhelming urge to apologize to the world on his lord’s behalf for this inexcusable act. This applied even—no, especially—to the wives and children of impoverished low-ranking samurai and foot soldiers.

What chilled him most was the act of disrespect toward the imperial envoys. This alone permitted no justification. Even were every soul in Akō Domain summoned to die and Kariya Castle buried as their tomb, he felt such dread would still fall short of atonement. "Until I meet Onodera Jūnai," he thought, "this affair cannot find resolution." "Ah... If only I could see Jūnai soon..." He stood on the stone bridge spanning the moat and gazed at the water's surface. Bubbles rose with the foaming tide from the sluice gate. As if drawn by the current's pull, he walked along the bank.

His residence was not far from there. As for Kira Yoshihisa—from his youth at twenty-two years old, he had repeatedly journeyed to Kyoto as the shogunate’s envoy, been involved in constructing the Sentō Imperial Palace, mediated between court and shogunate alongside his father Yoshifuyu during Emperor Go-Sai’s abdication, and even served as celebratory envoy for accession ceremonies. By sixty years of age today, he had cultivated countless acquaintances and close relations among the court nobles. Therefore, if Kira wished to preemptively devise schemes in that sphere, he could do so; and even without Kira himself seeking it, should those court nobles surrounding the imperial court stir based solely on superficial facts and emotions to raise charges of disrespect, how could the entire Akō domain possibly justify itself—how could it atone for such a grave crime?

At this thought, a shiver ran down Kuranosuke’s spine. “Castle siege—seppuku—dispersal. No matter what we do, that one critical point weighs on my mind. Only after meeting Jūnai can I proceed.” When he reached this conclusion himself, he came to an abrupt halt. Before he knew it, he stood at the gate of his row house residence. Then, along the base of the earthen wall, a bat-like black figure flitted back into the shadows. ……

When Kuranosuke turned and cast a glance, the man who had been brazenly clinging to the wall—as if unable to endure it any longer—swiftly ducked sideways from the corner. He was the same man who had been tailing him since earlier along the moat’s edge. Kuranosuke was not unaware of why the man followed him. Eight years ago, when I received the great commission to take over Matsuyama Castle and was dispatched there, I too had employed such covert tactics. The first to infiltrate an enemy domain’s territory are always spies.

“All things of earth and cosmos turn in endless cycle.” “Have I, who once acted, now become the one acted upon?”

It seemed the entire family were awake in restless anxiety, the lights of the main house burning brightly.

Kuranosuke was terrified by the lights of his own home.

Yet at the same time, he steadied himself as master of the household. And just as he moved to approach the entrance, from the shadows— “Master?!”

And then, a man leaped forward.

It was Yasuke, an old man from a farming family in Ozaki Village. He had served as a manservant at the residence since Kuranosuke's boyhood, remaining loyal through the years, but when carrying water buckets began straining his aged body, he had declared himself unfit and returned to his son's home in Ozaki Village two or three years prior. "Oh... Old man..." The familiarity warmed him. Since losing his parents, this plain-spoken servant had always felt like family to Kuranosuke. "...Come to visit? You've come at a good time."

“What are you saying, Master! Your heart could not be in such matters.” “What a disaster to call it—or rather, at my age, I never thought I’d live to see the domain in such a pitiable state.” He pressed a hand towel to his face and wept openly. Knowing of their lord’s return, paper lanterns cast their light across the reception hall. His wife O-Riku—alongside their eldest son Chikara, second son Yoshichiyo, and even Oruri still nursing in her mother’s arms—had come out to greet him. Yet neither parent seemed their usual self, and even the innocent children looked desolate.

Yellow dust.

In the wake of this great upheaval, what became clearest of all was the difference in status between the samurai and the townspeople—the two classes. It was that the disparities between their two ways of daily life had been laid bare by the incident’s unfolding. On one side were those who could not conceive of life having any purpose beyond their castle lands and honor; on the other were those who, pivoting instantly to self-interest, thrust their individual livelihoods into the town’s chaos—for whom it sufficed to assert profit and loss with naked urgency.

However, the townspeople who had feared that all the domain notes they clutched would turn to wastepaper later turned to composed faces, as if they themselves felt somewhat abashed. At every intersection, signs announcing the six-tenths exchange rate for domain notes were erected, and the note exchange magistrates, who had piled up cash and stood ready, found themselves feeling almost let down by the lack of urgency. Okajima Yasouemon of the accounting department, who had been ordered by Ōishi Kuranosuke—anxiously staying at the residence these past two days of yesterday and today—to observe the situation, looked upon the desolate scene there and—

“Are the townspeople dissatisfied with the six-tenths exchange rate?” He wondered aloud. Katsuta Shinzaemon, the note exchange overseer, leaned forward from his desk— “Far from it.” “Those who come to exchange all apologize and return in tears.” “Not a soul fails to praise Lord Ōishi’s measures.” “The very absence of exchangers proves their complete confidence.” “Yet Lord Ōishi declares this very ease risks delaying residual duties,” Okuda countered. “His orders were clear—even should we press deadlines upon the town elders, all domain note matters must conclude within three days.”

“We must do so to settle matters, but until the messenger sent to appeal to the head family returns—” “No, the messenger dispatched to request aid from the Lord of Geishū was recalled midway.” “With the unpaid salt taxes and other collections progressing more smoothly than expected, even Lord Ōishi’s furrowed brow has begun to relax.” “Understood. Then let us have the town elders press them without delay.”

Thus they continued their discussion there. The townspeople’s psychology in the castle town—now reassured by the domain treasury’s economic strength—had by that day already shifted its vigor toward new endeavors. The black-market arms trade began flourishing. Where were these weapons destined? Even dull swords and rusted spears that had lain buried for years in antique shops’ dust—unwanted even at a single shu or bu—disappeared overnight. Moreover, rumor held that on that morning’s ferry, dozens of Kamigata merchants with coin purses strapped to their necks had landed at the harbor, infiltrating Akō’s castle town to offload goods at fire-sale prices. From calligraphy scrolls and old kimonos to hand tools, antiques, military gear, and even scrap paper—the clamor of Kamigata-accented merchants, each hawking their specialty, echoed through the samurai district’s back alleys. A group transporting a cannon supposedly used in the Amakusa Rebellion rumbled past on a cart; passersby barely glanced at it now.

“I’ll buy horses—if they’re good ones, I’ll pay any number of ryō.” Even horse brokers who normally couldn’t afford plow horses now boldly made extravagant offers—something impossible without newfound confidence. They visited impoverished domain samurai households, cornering wives naturally desperate for money, and flaunted absurd sums pulled from their neck purses. If they purchased even a saddled horse, they paraded it through town with pride, bits jangling loudly. To view this as human nature’s quirks and society’s fluidity would offer endless fascination. At the harbor, barges and ferries grew scarce; shipping agents competed fiercely for boatmen. Laborers’ wages reportedly surged thirty percent, yet no idle workers remained visible. None could discern where this demand originated or where goods and people flowed—yet undeniable economic upheavals had erupted around the domain’s collapse. The townspeople’s agile speculative spirit now raced headlong toward profit, begrudging even the time needed to exchange domain notes at official counters.

*The Taste of Tade*

From the 19th to the 25th—a span of roughly seven days since the first report of calamity arrived—the townspeople’s conduct had manifested in such forms, blatantly revealing both the merchants’ spirited activity and their vigorous livelihood. Yet the samurai residential quarter stood as its polar opposite, silent as a stagnant swamp. The figures of domain samurai walking to handle remaining duties or spurring their horses onward appeared to the townspeople’s eyes as nothing but pitiful. And they found themselves grateful for their status as non-samurai—contrary to their usual stance.

From Edo thereafter arrived two town messengers, bringing only reports of Asano Daigaku’s confinement and the completion of the domain residence’s evacuation. And there was no summons to the castle. Some who were handling remaining duties were overwhelmed by the extreme urgency of their tasks; those with idle duties had tightly shut their gates and could do nothing but observe mourning for their lord. Since even the Miyoshi Asano clan—their relatives—and Hiroshima in Geishū had suspended festive music, here in Akō all pleasurable sounds had ceased entirely. It appeared as though all worldly sounds had utterly transformed, and people’s hearts had undergone a complete change as well. However, the peasants had their peasants’ path, and the townspeople their townspeople’s path—there was no confusion in how they lived. After all, it was the samurai who were being tested at this juncture. The true backbone and governing force of present society lay not with the shogunate nor with the provincial lords. It was the power of samurai—those who remained faithful within the old system, enduring coarse garments and meager meals. When they went to Edo, they were derided with terms like “duty-bound retainers” or “light blue linings”—epithets for provincial simplicity—yet it was these very people who upheld society. Among those people there still remained what could be called bushido—and with it, the trust of the general populace endured. If it were to betray their daily vows and conduct, one could almost detect an air of mockery—as if they were ready to deride such hypocrisy.

However, when one stepped slightly away from the bustling streets and residential lanes into the back areas, there lay a world entirely detached from society—a splendid day nurturing wheat ears and rapeseed flowers in abundance. Along the ridges, crimson peach blossoms blazed unseen, while insects basked under the searing sun that soaked through their backs, their bellies swelling. Several thin streams, like veins flowing from Mount Arine through the castle town to the sea, threaded through the cultivated fields. Along that single stream, Ōishi Chikara walked with his younger brother in tow. His younger brother was named Yoshichiyo, three years his junior at eleven years old. His hands, having apparently been plunged into the muddy fields, were completely blackened as he carried something wrapped in a straw bundle.

“Just throw it away.” Chikara kept insisting, and Yoshichiyo shook his head, “I don’t want to!” he stubbornly insisted. “Father would not partake of such things.” “Even if you take them back, it would be wasted.” “That’s a lie! Father likes them!” “Uncle Yoshida said he likes them too!” “He would normally partake of them, but now he absolutely will not.” “Why?” “After all I explained, do you still not understand?” “Lord Asano Naganori has performed seppuku.”

“I know that, but why can’t we eat snails just because Lord Asano has passed away?” “You impossible boy.” “On your grandfather and grandmother’s memorial days, do we not observe abstinence?” “But snails aren’t fish.” “They’re living creatures.” “If you call them living creatures, then even vegetables or radishes…” “This isn’t about splitting hairs.” “Be a good lad now—throw them away and wash your hands in that stream.” Reluctantly, Yoshichiyo discarded the straw bundle of snails, washed his hands, and wiped them on his hakama.

“Oh, there’s the Reverend from Shōfukuji Temple!”

The two walked about eighteen meters in long strides and came to a halt. The dull ochre-stained Buddhist robe had been worn so threadbare it scarcely retained the shape of priestly vestments. It was none other than Reverend Ryōsetsu. Unaware that the boys stood behind him, he kept plucking young grasses from the stream bank and tucking them into one drooping sleeve of his robe. “Reverend Ryōsetsu, what’re you doing?” When Yoshichiyo called out, “Oh...” The face that turned toward them drew in the boys’ hearts like a lodestone. The bright, tender spring breeze wafting through the fields seemed to emanate from the very bosom of this boyish-faced man.

“Where’d you go?” Reverend Ryōsetsu asked. Yoshichiyo pointed toward the shadow of the mountains encircling the back of the castle town.

“To Ōshikadani.”

“Where were you going?” “We went to see for ourselves because they said soldiers from Himeji, Okayama, Takamatsu, and other provinces were pouring over Hosaka Pass and Takatori Pass—I went with my elder brother.”

“Ah, reconnaissance, eh?” “It even looked like the sea.” “That’s right. Kyōgoku of Marugame in Sanuki, Hachisuka of Tokushima in Awa, Honda of Himeji, Matsudaira of Iyo—they’ve lined warships across the sea and deployed troops at the borders. They’ve encircled this Akō territory like the Great Wall itself, aiming their arrowheads and cannons at our domain’s retainers.” “It’s war, isn’t it, Reverend?” “Well… that depends on how these clouds gather.” Chikara had been silently smiling while his younger brother and Ryōsetsu spoke, but then he gazed at Ryōsetsu’s hands and—

“What are you gathering there, Reverend Shōfukuji?”

he asked. “Who, me?”

Reverend Ryōsetsu gazed at the dirt lodged under his nails while— “I’m trying to pick parsley, but this area’s nothing but knotweed.”

“If you need them, we can help pick some for you.” “No, no, that’s quite all right.” “I don’t need nearly that much.” “Lord Ōishi is present, I suppose?”

“My father is at the residence, but…”

“I’ve been meaning to pay a visit for some time now, and finally managed to come out here. Since I’m always treated to your feasts, today I thought to at least bring some fish dishes and started gathering parsley—but there’s little parsley here, just knotweed. Red knotweed—look, there and over there.” Saying this, he stretched his back. And then, as he began walking once more, “Look at all this red knotweed.—Do you know why there’s so much red knotweed in Akō?”

“I do not know.” “My mistake—’twas backward, how I asked. See, since ancient times, this land’s had red knotweed aplenty—so thick it gave the place its name: Akō.” “This is the first I’ve heard of that.” “There are things you need not know—but there are matters you must not remain ignorant of.”

“What is it?” “It’s about service.” “I have been instructed by my father.” “Are you listening? Your father must have trained you thoroughly—for a samurai, service is duty; there’s no other work.” “Have you read Master Yamaga’s *The Way of the Samurai*?” “Yes.” “’Tis there too in that book—whether they’re daylight lanterns or noon moons matters not.” “Take this knotweed now—even horses shun it, yet ’tis faithful repaying soil’s grace and sun’s favor.” “When sweetfish run thick in Chikusa River—isn’t this prickly garnish vital for miso-grilled catch?” “Biting sharp—tongue-stinging bitter.” “Aye—dispels gut worms and summer sickness too—noble service indeed.” “Common days—just some worthless weed they say—fit only for bugs with queer tastes—”

Ryōsetsu had been toying with the knotweed leaf at his lips when he suddenly bit down on it as though savoring sweetness. “The Akō samurai—they should aspire to be red knotweed samurai,” he mused. “But their true mettle wasn’t forged solely by Seto’s mild sea winds or Chūgoku’s fertile soil.” “What flows through these retainers’ veins still carries their grandsires’ iron—undeniable as spring tides.” “Three generations hence, that blood would thin to naught—yet today it pulses strong.” “Do you grasp what endures?”

“That would be Master Yamaga’s teachings, I presume.” “The influence of Master Sokuyū goes without saying,” he said. “However, what I ask about is nature’s influence on humans—the bond between soil and people. Master Sokuyū himself was not from this province either. He hailed from Aizu.” “Our lord resided in Kasama Castle in Hitachi until midway through Lord Nagaao’s reign,” replied Chikara. “I’ve heard our grandfather Yoshikata and great-grandfather Yoshikatsu both migrated here from Hitachi. That’s why Father always laughs when he sees me and says, ‘You’ve got that Kantō spirit in your bones.’”

“Though Lord Kuranosuke was born in Akō, even that man already carries the Kantō backbone within him.” “The Kamigata region westward overflows with natural bounty—fair landscapes and cultured refinement—yet this breeds indolence in men’s hearts. Still, wisdom’s gleam tempers them.” “Hitachi’s winds roar fierce, its soil lies harsh, its people rough-hewn—but fortitude lodges thick in their marrow.” “Thus does Lord Ōishi’s nature walk the middle path between these two worlds, steeped through with both—or so I reckon.”

Chikara could faintly perceive why Reverend Ryōsetsu—after years of closeness with his father—now suddenly scrutinized him with such meticulous eyes and sought to dissect his character. It was because Ryōsetsu was fond of Father. It was because he trusted Father. And he thought it was because Ryōsetsu was concerned about the gravity of Father’s position in this situation more than anyone else.

A singular understanding.

There is nothing that requires fewer words than true understanding between kindred spirits. If one says “Right” and the other answers “Right,” that alone conveys everything.

As Ryōsetsu requested the Go board to be brought out as usual, the family members prepared the board and stones between the two men. The quiet clack, clack of Go stones could be heard leaking from that very room. Even to the family member who, while being considerate of Kuranosuke’s state of mind, poured and carried tea, and between the host and guest seated with the Go board placed sideways along the southern side of the study hall, not the slightest difference from their usual selves could be detected. Occasionally, Kuranosuke laughed.

Ryōsetsu’s laughter was especially loud.

It was the moment when a grating sound of dislodged stones arose. “Madam, Madam.” When Ryōsetsu called,

“Yes.”

O-Riku’s reply came, and after a brief interval, her figure appeared there. Piercingly, Ryōsetsu looked at the pallid sheen of her face. O-Riku looked down. Her hair was not disheveled. “Now then, Madam.” “Yes.” “Earlier, I left some parsley in the kitchen.” “Would you prepare that as a simple dish with sesame dressing?”

“It has been prepared as instructed.” “Next, as usual, a drink goes without saying—” “Yes.” However, O-Riku, upon seeing her husband’s complexion, seemed somewhat hesitant.

Seizing that gaze, Reverend Ryōsetsu— “Lord Ōishi, would sake be impermissible?”

“Would sake be impermissible?” Kuranosuke briefly directed a glare—sharp enough to deflect—back at Ryōsetsu’s pressing gaze. Next, he sullenly turned his face aside and pressed his lips together, facing the weeping cherry tree that had completely lost its color over the past four or five days.

“Would that not be impermissible? I am well aware of your mourning attire, Lord Ōishi. But if you do not drink, then a monk like me cannot drink either.” Kuranosuke reached into the Go stones,

“Another game.” “Oh…” “O-Riku, make the preparations in the meantime.” “The side dishes as well—the usual will suffice.”

Ryōsetsu placed a stone with a clack, “Understood, Lord Ōishi?” “Understood.” He said without any particular meaning.

The days were growing long in spring. White and black stones steadily filled the grid points on the kaya wood board. The scent of parsley from the meal tray that had been brought to their side some time ago was now persistent, but they had already forgotten it entirely. “Lord Ōishi, will you partake?” “Wait.” “Let us wait—but at this critical moment, your resolve—” “Wait.” “A siege?” “Well then,” “Will you surrender it?”

“Not likely.” “First, you must take your time, my lord.” “As such.”

At the scent of parsley, Ryōsetsu abruptly turned toward the meal tray. He took the sake cup, displaying the leisure to offer a drink, then placed it before Kuranosuke’s contemplative face. “For a breather.” “I’ll partake.” “Will you drink? — Shall I pour?” Holding the sake flask, Ryōsetsu pressed the point. Though he himself had insisted on having the sake brought out, now that it was presented, “While you remain in mourning for your lord, pouring you a drink like this would be ill-advised—perhaps I should refrain?”

"...", he said. “You may pour.” “Is this acceptable?” “I will not live constrained.” “A samurai’s existence must be expansive.”

Ryōsetsu stretched his thick neck upward and slapped his knee. A cheerful voice, as though laughing from the ceiling, filled the room. And without pouring into Kuranosuke’s cup, he emptied the sake flask’s contents into his own teacup and drank it down. “That’s it! The monk’s path should be broad, and bushido should be expansive.”

What was the purpose of this game of Go? The grid of stones had already collapsed in his sleeve; he picked up those that had spilled beneath the board and carelessly put them away. Repeating the motion again and again, “Expansively—that’s it! I’m relieved.” “Now I can rest easy.” Setting his grimy heels into straw sandals, he drifted away through the back garden. Kuranosuke remained standing at the veranda’s edge to see him off, his back turned—but sensing a rough voice calling from behind him in the distance, he turned to look.

I see no flower.

Using a well-worn spear with a nine-shaku shaft as a walking stick, his back burdened by an armor chest and his hakama’s thigh ties hitched high beneath straw sandals, a masterless samurai had visited this longhouse gate yesterday as well. Today, too, a rugged rōnin—similarly attired, his sun-scorched face sporting a patchy beard—entered the Ōishi residence’s gate with the same spear-staff in hand, sharp eyes glinting as he slipped inside. “I beg you!” Facing the entrance, he thrust out his chest and shouted, but no answer came from within. Instead, as though startled by his voice, a shadowy figure rustled the leaves deep within the garden shrubs.

It was near the guest hall’s window. The crouching man’s behavior—like that of a cunning thief or a cat—was anything but ordinary. The moment their eyes met across the distance, he abruptly dashed diagonally through the shrubbery, trying to flee outside the longhouse gate.

He wore dark blue gaiters around his shins and carried a weighted balance scale at his waist. He was unmistakably a townsman—moreover, one who seemed to have arrived as a traveler recently. The masterless samurai’s spear snapped sideways at once, and he pursued the fleeing man’s shadow through the trees with rapid, sidestepping strides— “I’ll stab you!” As the man lunged forward, he thrust it toward his face. The townsman with an earth-pale complexion froze rigid. Planting his spear upright with one hand, he seized the man’s collar with the other,

“You’re an outsider,” he glared fixedly. “W-well, I’m just a merchant from Kamigata! I ain’t doin’ nothin’ suspicious here, I swear!” “You’re lyin’!” “Why’d I go spoutin’ lies? If ya ask ’bout Hikohei the tool seller, check with any old shop in Junkeibori! Look—got my license right ’ere! Been roamin’ the provinces buyin’ tools!” As the man shouted and clawed at the hand gripping his collar, old servant Hachisuke—who’d been turning soil with a hoe in a ten-tsubo field beside the longhouse—

“Huh?!” He turned and came running, hoe in hand. The man jumped up, but the hoe struck him hard on one leg. Hachisuke swung it again overhead, “This bastard’s a spy!” he snarled. “A spy?”

The masterless samurai released his grip on the collar, and the man— “Ow!” With a thud, he pitched forward onto the ground. “See? That’s a Shikoku accent!” Struck in the hip bone with the spear’s butt, the man rolled three times. With a nose scraped raw and red as a strawberry, he sprang up and fled beyond the gate like a tossed cat. “Old man, do those types come around here often?” “Why, we couldn’t afford a moment’s carelessness or leave any opening whatsoever, I tell you.” “Oh, by the way—Lord Yata-no-jō—it’s good to see you’ve come.”

“Is the Senior Retainer at home?” “He is here.” “Why, just yesterday too—Lord Iseki Monzaemon and Lord Tokubei, both masterless samurai of our clan, along with Lord Okano Jidayu and Lord Ōoka Seikurō—they all came calling. We had no end of discussions, I tell you.”

“So they’ve come rushing here too.” “Even as masterless samurai, they have not forgotten the Asano family’s gracious favors,” Hachisuke said. He had already wiped his eyes. “Old man, working the fields?” “I was told to divide the chrysanthemum roots and keep them ready.”

“What an odd thing to be doing.” “Does the Senior Retainer intend to see the chrysanthemums bloom this autumn at this estate as well?” “I also found it strange and pressed for confirmation.” “Then the Senior Retainer declared: ‘Come autumn, some clan from another province will take over after the Asano family and see [the chrysanthemums]. But flowers bloom no differently for whoever gazes upon them—and I do not wish to leave withered ones behind.’” “Thinking this made sense, I decided not just to tend the chrysanthemums—I’d sow seeds, cut back overgrowth, and burn every last fallen leaf too.”

While talking, Hachisuke ushered him to the entrance and drew water from the well into a foot-washing basin. It was a message from the inner quarters telling him to come up immediately. Nakamura Yata-no-jō placed his spear and armor chest on the shikidai and passed through. “It has been some time.”

Unable to say more, Yata-no-jō spoke only that and placed his hands together in a formal bow. This marked the fifth visitor—former comrades from the domain who had long since faded from the memories of even the household retainers—to come calling upon hearing of the recent calamity. The virtue of their late lord was being profoundly reconsidered, and Ōishi Kuranosuke felt glad. “I have come fully prepared,” he said. “I have made arrangements so that my wife and children will have no regrets. Though I fear I may be of little use, even as a masterless samurai, I have never forgotten—not even in my dreams—the gracious favors bestowed by the former house. I humbly ask you to make use of this humble self. On my way here, at the border passes of Takatōri and Hotate, troops from various domains had already amassed—two or three thousand strong. I find it puzzling why measures haven’t been taken to promptly regulate the removal of your domain’s horses and weaponry to enemy hands. No matter what happens, the people of Akō will resort solely to a castle siege—this is both the rumor on the roads and the unified assessment across the provinces. I have come rushing here with old armor and a single rusty spear; I humbly beg you to consider my earnest plea and add me as a member of the siege. Presumptuous as it may be, I wish to repay the late lord’s gracious favor through my death…”

At the core of his urgent words lay something that struck at humanity’s fundamental truths. Kuranosuke harbored a vulnerability he couldn’t control in such moments. His face betrayed unmistakable distress. Both the hands resting on his knees and the curve of his back fidgeted restlessly under its weight. When the man finished speaking, Kuranosuke bowed deeply—a gesture that felt inadequate to match such sincerity— “Your noble devotion…”

he said in a low voice. “How should I put this… Words fail me. I am deeply moved.” “However, each of you is no longer a retainer of the Asano family.” “One may praise righteousness on a personal level, but the laws of the realm will deem gathering masterless samurai to raise arms against the shogunate as rebellion.” “Though your noble intentions are deeply appreciated, I cannot have our late lord’s name tarnished. I ask that you go to the castle, bid your farewells, and withdraw.” “To Messrs. Okano, Iseki, and Ōoka as well, I conveyed the same yesterday and obtained their gracious understanding.”

Beyond that, even when pressed all half a day yesterday, Kuranosuke had not altered his words. His expression—which had at first seemed troubled—now appeared as immovable as bedrock, whether viewed from the side or front. “I must have proper rest tonight.”

After instructing that Yata-no-jō be given supper, he retired early to his sleeping quarters. The following day, the 27th, he held in his heart the plan for a grand council meeting within the castle to determine the allegiance of all domain samurai.

*A Bird Takes Flight*

The River Crossed

Sweat seeped through the lining of the layered kimono, staining the plain brown outer fabric with white blotches like age marks on old manuscripts. Murashima Sandaifu stared at his father's back, imagining a halo radiating from the salt-crusted sweat. As he pondered what could wring such torrents from a sixty-year-old body, the corners of his eyes burned. "Father—Shosha Mountain comes into view." "Hmm. So it does." Though the elderly Kihee had labored breathlessly during the climb, once they began descending the pass, he kept his son Sandaifu firmly behind him while setting a brisk pace. Even between father and child, this rivalry of wills persisted unabated.

Atop Takatori Pass, which they had just crossed, about four hundred soldiers from Himeji Domain were stationed, preparing checkpoints as if for war and intimidating travelers by lining up spears and guns—but even as they passed through this gauntlet, they did so with composure, glaring down at the surrounding troops without so much as a nod of their heads, “Edo-based retainer of the domain Murashima Kihee, and his son Sandaifu” With a curt declaration of their names, they waved and proceeded forward. A general of Himeji Domain, wearing armor befitting considerable status,

“Have you returned from Edo on your honorable journey?” Even as he called out to them with what seemed like concern for their exhaustion from the long journey,

“Indeed.” They exchanged curt greetings, “I observe your troops deployed here. As the saying goes—‘peace in the neighborhood’—I acknowledge the burdens each of you must bear. Should fate ordain it, we may meet again on the battlefield.”

With that, they strode resolutely through the enemy encampment. The voice of the Himeji Domain general who had laughed heartily behind them still echoed in their ears. “I see it! I see it!” This time, Kihee pointed. —There lay Akō’s castle town. There flowed the Chikusa River. There stretched the rocky shores of Misaki. The two quickened their pace.

They reached the foot of the mountain. Eventually, they arrived at the riverbed of the Chikusa River.

“Son. Let’s rest.”

Kihee sat down on a rock. The strain of their 160-ri journey now seemed to exhale in relief. He grabbed a hand towel and wiped the sweat from his ribs.

“Now, Sandaifu.” “Hah!” “You shall return here.” “What?” “Return to Edo Side.” Sandaifu made a resentful face, bent his knees, and pressed closer to his father. “But this contradicts our agreement!” “Since you insisted on coming no matter what, I yielded to your fervor and accompanied you this far—but once we set foot in the castle town, there will be no path back for you.” “This river marks the boundary.—Reconsider and return to Edo Side.” “I ask you to care for my elderly mother in my stead.” “Take care of your frail younger brother.”

“You speak of unexpected things,” “Have I not already bid farewell to Mother and my younger brother in this life?” “How could I turn back now, abandoning you to your death, Father?” “I will not return.” “With that resolve alone, both the samurai’s duty and the bond between father and son are nobly upheld.” “Once we tread upon the castle town’s soil, it ends only in death—be it siege or following our lord. There is no need for you to share that fate.—Return. Turn back from here.”

“I refuse.” “I cannot comply.” “Father has given his orders—”

Having said that, Kihee averted his clouded eyes, “Why do you refuse to obey?” he rebuked him sharply.

Sandaifu understood his father’s feelings all too well. However, as a son raised in a household that had taught him to act thus, he resolved that even if it meant defying his father, he would not turn back from this point. And while steeling his fierce resolve, his eyelids—contrarily—spilled ceaseless, childlike tears onto the grass. At that moment, someone had tied a horse in the shade of the trees behind them. Kihee turned toward that direction and uttered under his breath with a start—and from the other side as well,

“Ho there!”

A hoarse voice sounded. Attached to the horse’s back were an armor chest and a bundle, evenly distributed on either side. From there came a white-haired old samurai, his ruddy face beaming with a smile, wearing a battle hat and clad in severe travel attire with arm guards and gaiters. It was Onodera Jūnai, the Kyoto liaison officer. “If you were returning to the domain, why didn’t you stop by my humble residence in Kyoto Side? It was right along your way.” When Jūnai said this, Kihee—

“No—we had heard the Kyoto liaison officer had already withdrawn.” “What nonsense! Those of us dwelling under the very shadow of the imperial court would never go scurrying about in panic to depart like thieves in the night. What with wrapping up affairs and greeting the court nobles—once I’d finally settled everything without delay, I rushed here in such a state— By the way—what are you all doing here? You seem to be scolding Lord Sandaifu, but—” “Very well.”

Thus, they were both old men.

Kihee explained the details as if he had encountered a receptive listener. Then, at a single word,

“It’s your way as a father that’s at fault here. I stand with Lord Sandaifu—take him along.” Thus declared Jūnai.

Jūnai and Kihee were both sixty years old. Moreover, Onodera Kōemon—Jūnai’s adopted son—was twenty-eight years old, a year older than Sandaifu, and though still an unmarried dependent, had declared his intent to have him participate in either following their lord in death or joining a siege, depending on the domain’s stance. Thus, Kihee could no longer insist on his own will. “Lord Kihee, you have a fine son—one you can face the people of the domain with pride indeed.” “Come now, let us go, Lord Sandaifu.” “The young ones are useless—I’ll take the horse’s bridle. If we enter the castle town with tear-streaked faces, we’ll be laughed at.”

By the time they crossed the Chigusa River, both father and son had become utterly detached. Calmly, they considered arranging their pillows and dying.

Clever Samurai

On the 27th, 28th, and 29th, the entire domain’s people continued their grand deliberations in the castle’s great hall, and over these three days, they found themselves in a crucible of excitement—as if they had burned through a lifetime’s worth of emotions. From around the second council meeting onward, it became apparent that the domain samurai’s stance had clearly split into two factions.

(What good would come of sharpening arrows against the shogunate? They would only invite the disgrace of being branded rebels and taint our lord’s name even after his death.) Based on this reasoning, there emerged peace advocates who sought to surrender the castle without incident and then devise appropriate measures—and on the other hand,

When the lord was disgraced, his retainers died. In bushido there were no two paths. At this juncture, they had only death before them—a siege? Or following their lord in death? Even were they to seek the shogunate's intervention, surrendering this castle and submitting was unthinkable.

they were divided into two factions: the peace advocates and those who adhered stubbornly to hardline positions. Amidst this, there were of course worldly-wise individuals who raised trivial side issues—slick-tongued yet devoid of conviction—skillfully obscuring their true aims as they intervened. But such pretenses were swiftly pierced through amid this fervent atmosphere, and they found themselves dismissed by both factions alike.

The main figure of the moderate faction advocating for surrendering the castle without burdening the shogunate—in any case, doing so first—was Ōno Kuranojōbē. “Now, let us all step back and cool our heads for a moment.” “We are all, so to speak, worked into a frenzy at this juncture.” “Wouldn’t it be necessary for us to step back from this fire for a moment?”

With the composure of one seasoned in worldly affairs, he spoke as if dousing water upon those with fierce expressions. “Lord Ōno’s words are not without merit.” Kuranosuke, too, did not outright oppose this commonsense argument. However, those who would not consent were the hot-blooded faction. They shook their heads obstinately. With veins bulging on their foreheads, they denounced it as Ōno’s cunning, cowardice, and a despicable warrior’s attitude,

“What do you mean by ‘hysterical’? Being unable to remain coldly composed before this great calamity befalling our lord’s house is no disgrace! Our sole resolve lies in taking up arms against those coming to seize the castle—this alone repays three generations of our lord’s benevolence! Cowards—get out!” Thus did they suffuse the entire assembly with an air of tragic resolve. To this too, Kuranosuke responded with a nod conveyed through his expression. Which side did this senior retainer truly favor? That some doubted whether he held firm convictions was only natural—indeed, the inclination to favor Kurōbei’s unequivocal stance ran stronger, his faction occupying the majority of seats.

“Silence!” Kurōbei roared back at their roaring—a roar answering a roar. He never once considered his argument unprincipled. The weighty duties of his role as castle keeper, the very standing of a samurai—these were matters he had long stored in his gut, far beyond needing instruction from some greenhorn junior. Yet within him, the fervor of youth had long since withered dry. Moreover, charging at matters fueled by passion alone had always been a disposition he despised. For every matter—even their ironclad creed of “bushido”—they had to first pass it fully through wisdom’s light and theory’s sieve before they could nod assent or translate it into action.

In this regard, he was regarded as far more skilled than Kuranosuke in both eloquence and social graces, and even now, he himself never for a moment considered that he was inferior in ability to Kuranosuke, who was much younger than him.

Of course, he was angry. “How could a castle siege be considered an act of loyalty? What grudge does our domain hold against the Honda clan, the Matsudaira clan, or any other besieging forces? Are you all so barbaric that you can fight people you don’t even hate? To torment our people further, bring trouble upon our main family and allied domains, and invite the disgrace of rebellion—how could Kurōbei ever see that as loyalty to our deceased lord? I will have no part in this. If participating in such folly is required, I would sooner leave this council. But as Castle Keeper, I cannot abandon my post here. Nor will I ever permit such reckless defiance of a siege.”

“You!” A man abruptly rose from the rear seats. His enraged brows appeared to clutch his sword’s hilt as his face contorted into a lunge— “You—!” Those nearby restrained him. Kurōbei fixed an obstinate, aged glare upon them. Both factions had now drawn distinct lines of silent opposition, their disillusionment complete. “However—”

At that moment, Kuranosuke turned his face toward Kuranojōbē. Kuranojōbē steadfastly met his gaze, “Is there any flaw in my reasoning?” “You may excel in reason,” “But what of righteousness?” “Why?” “Though Akō Domain may be small, for three generations since our founding in Kasama of Hitachi Province, we have nurtured warriors—over three hundred retainers who have received our lord’s benevolence. At this juncture, how could we shamelessly surrender the castle and claim to uphold the honor of our warrior house?” “Then, do *you* consider a castle siege acceptable up to this point?”

“I do not think it advisable.” “I see no alternative—” “However, my true conviction lies in following our lord through death. The optimal strategy would be for us all to sit in rows within the main gate and devote ourselves to following our deceased lord.” “What? Following him in death?” Kurōbei scrutinized Kuranosuke’s face. Was this man truly contemplating such a thing? “What purpose would dying serve?” “With sincere hearts, we shall humbly petition for Lord Daigaku’s restoration.” “By doing so, even the shogunate may come to recognize the depth of their retainers’ devotion.”

Kurōbei fell silent. There was something in his innermost heart that he could not bring himself to oppose outright. However, it was not long before voices from the former hardline faction began to argue that the strategy of following in death was too passive.

In the end, First, they would dispatch envoys to plead their case to the inspector. In the worst case, if that proved hopeless, they would resort to a siege. Thus was decided the final council resolution, and the ill-omened month of March came to an end. When April began, as if people’s hearts had crumbled under some unseen weight, the castle fell utterly silent. Even when looking out over the castle town’s samurai district, a desolate air akin to after a downpour lingered even in broad daylight. *(See?)*

Kurōbei laughed coldly.

Sworn Oath

It was the fifth day. Today, there was an order for domain samurai to assemble regarding the distribution of remaining granary stores and gold. Faces that hadn’t seen each other for about seven days had gathered. Their mental states had likely changed as well. Moreover, today, a distinct awareness of gold now occupied their minds. Even through Kurōbei’s eyes, he found many faces—those who had once vehemently argued—now sitting in sober silence today. In place of greetings, Kurōbei walked around personally muttering intermittently.

“How about it—do you still believe dying constitutes loyalty?” “In the heat of the moment, anyone can die—” Some did not answer, while others abruptly showed agreement with Kuranojōbē that day. Even regarding the distribution of public funds, considerable objections were fiercely contested. As for the allocation: “Without distinction of rank, divided equally per person.”

This was Kuranosuke’s intention, but Kuranojōbē—along with group leaders Tomura Genzaemon, Okabayashi Bokunosuke, Itō Gozaemon, Tamamushi Shichirōemon, and others— “By land stipend.”

they insisted and would not yield. According to Kuranosuke’s argument, those of high rank had the leeway to sell their weapons and household goods. Taking up the argument that “the lower one’s rank, the more it is a superior’s duty to treat them generously in such times,” Kuranojōbē countered that those of high rank bore familial burdens. Moreover, they argued that unlike lower-ranking retainers who could swiftly manage their affairs, those of established families had social reputations to uphold—they raised endless counterarguments, leaving this matter unresolved as well. In the end, a compromise was reached with what they called a “stipend-based reduction for higher ranks.”

Under the stipend allocation system, eighteen ryō were distributed per hundred koku—meaning one thousand koku would yield a hundred eighty ryō—but with the "stipend reduction for higher ranks," two ryō were subtracted for every additional hundred koku in stipend tier. In other words, starting from two hundred koku at sixteen ryō and three hundred koku at fourteen ryō, they had thinned the allocations for higher tiers. Ultimately, "generous to the lower ranks, reduced for the higher" had been Kuranosuke’s unwavering position. Additionally, donations to the Asano family’s clan temple and the dowry funds of the deceased lord’s wife, Yōzen’in—the assets she brought upon her marriage—had been allocated separately without being touched.

Kuranosuke paid no heed to his own allocation share. He secretly observed, *Now they had been roughly sifted.* To what degree would those who left today after receiving their money show changes in their resolve? He seemed to be taking no active measures, yet before he knew it, he had already gathered in his hands the blood-sealed sworn oaths of nearly twenty men. On the surface, the sworn oaths did not commit to either following in death or mounting a siege. They were simply united in action—it was stipulated that everything depended on Kuranosuke’s judgment.

When had he spoken of such sworn oaths and gathered them in his hands? Only he and those who had submitted them knew. *There must still be more men.*

Kuranosuke viewed things thus. However, human beings are difficult to judge. Clever ones like Kurōbei are not worth discussing. Most theorists are men of the moment. It was because they knew nothing of lives steeped in passion. That said, he considered those who displayed their fervor too openly to be equally perilous. Viewed this way, such men were few. This was by no means a matter to be carelessly divulged. His eyes maintained a patience of almost terrifying dullness.

The eleventh day.

The petition envoys sent earlier had returned. Their petitions had not been accepted at all. They had even come back bearing an edict from the allied Toda family demanding the castle’s surrender. Under the pretext of deliberating on that outcome and preparing for a siege, when a notice for reassembly was circulated the following day, fewer than half as many retainers came to the castle as before. (Hmm... That man—) To his surprise, even faces he would have expected were missing. Kurōbei was of course present.

By now, those who shared his views had naturally gathered around him, forming a unified faction. And today, as if they had prearranged it during the previous night’s discussions, they spoke in unison from their faction to refute the folly of mounting a siege. “No matter how many times I say it, it remains the same—as castle deputy and elder, I will speak my piece to the end. It seems each of you now finds your own personal honor too difficult to abandon. What disgraceful bushido! Is it not akin to trampling both the honor of our deceased household and the peace of our neighbors, all for your own satisfaction? I too feel heartrending grief over our lord’s household meeting such an end. But what would you accomplish by setting flames to what has already crumbled and spilling more blood? It’s absurd! People will laugh and call it madness. Cease this! I will not speak ill—no, even if it takes Kuranojōbē’s very self, I came to the castle today resolved to make you abandon this course!”

It was a voice that could not cry out in falsehood. He too had his own convictions. And bushido holds that as its truth. Moreover, if others were to die in a siege, he found it distressing to imagine himself surviving unscathed. Advocating this position was also for his own sake. Never before had Kurōbei’s eyes appeared so bloodshot as they did today. In contrast, those resolved on mounting a siege listened in near-total silence, letting his words wash over them. It was a wall of silence, as though they were laughing murderously in their hearts.

“Shut up!”

It was a voice that suddenly rose from their midst. Onodera Jūnai, who had not been seen at the previous gathering, was present there alongside Murashima Kihee. Stomping over, the old man stood up and approached, “Lord Ōno.” he sat down before him. “What now?”

Kurōbei was trembling. His eyes held tears. The sense of justice he alone believed in suddenly filled him with sorrow and rage. “Please rise.” “Cowards have no business remaining here.” “Only those who remain will remain—” “That’s how it should be.”

Kuranojōbē stood rigidly with indignation. He attempted to say something to Kuranosuke, but his tongue tangled, rendering his words unintelligible. “With your leave!”

Then, following suit, Tomimura Genzaemon stood. Tamamushi Shichirōemon stood. As if emboldened by their example, those who followed also began streaming out of the chamber one after another. The refreshingly empty seats multiplied before their eyes. More than half had departed, but their absence was no more regretted than that of a missing tooth. “The air feels fresher now.” Yoshida Chūzaemon bared his large front teeth in a grin as he laughed beside Kuranosuke. (Is there no one else who will rise?)

Kuranosuke was looking away as if granting a reprieve. Those who remained carried an air of something densely congealed. Kuranosuke addressed those left behind,

“It’s grown dark; shall we have a candlestick brought in?”

he said. While waiting for the candlestick to arrive, Kuranosuke revealed a fragment of his true intentions to the group—that they would not die here. To those who had already sworn upon the sworn oaths, there was no need to repeat themselves; but to those who remained after being sifted through, this was now being whispered as a crucial matter for the first time. (Here, we will not die)—that was its meaning. The silent message reached every heart at once. A face suddenly flushed crimson swallowed hard and turned toward Kuranosuke’s countenance.

“However—to the fullest extent of our strength, even if it be but a thousand koku—it is only natural that we entreat the authorities to grant Lord Daigaku succession to the family headship.” “Whether that comes to pass or not lies with heaven’s will.” “No matter how things may turn out, we who serve as samurai have but one path to walk henceforth.” “Glancing right and left—that is unnecessary.” “To be born a samurai is to die a samurai.” “That is all there is.” “As for the place of death, I would ask you to entrust it to this Kuranosuke for the time being—is there any objection?”

There were approximately fifty of them. Silently, shadows merged with shadows. At that moment, a candlestick was brought in. Pulling an inkstone closer, they all drafted identical oaths, affixed blood seals, and presented them before Kuranosuke. Among them was the name of Mimura Jirōzaemon, a low-ranking kitchen servant. Moreover, Yatō Uemonnana—fifteen years old and still wearing his forelocks—had also written and submitted his pledge. Kuranosuke set those two sheets aside separately. He summoned the two and admonished them, but both merely welled up with tears and refused to consent. The assembly was stirred,

“They have entreated so fervently—it would be heartless not to permit them to join.” “Chief Retainer, we beg you to accept their sworn oaths.”

Together, they added their voices in unison, pleading to be allowed to join. When permission came from Kuranosuke's heavy lips, Uemonnana broke into a grin. He was a fair-skinned youth with large, round eyes—a beautiful boy. None wished to see this boy killed, yet he himself stood there utterly delighted. Mimura Jirōzaemon of the kitchen staff was a low-ranking retainer with a mere seven koku and two buchi stipend, one who until this day had not even been permitted to attend council meetings—yet mastery of the samurai way was no exclusive province of high-ranking men. Indeed, looking upon those who remained until the final hour, there proved more among these meagerly compensated retainers who sought to live with integrity than among their superiors.

“Though it is nothing of worth, I have prepared a humble offering in celebration of your sworn oaths being sealed.”

As Jirōzaemon brought cold sake and vermilion cups to it,

“Ah, well noticed.”

Kuranosuke raised the cup in his hand and passed it around in order.

"How many days had it been since they last heard the word 'joy'? The people looked back on these past twenty days as though they were distant years."

Evacuation Bales

“Hey! Isn’t that Ōtsuya?”

“Hey! Isn’t that Ōtsuya?” someone called out. Ōtsuya Jūemon, a merchant supplying the castle, halted his hurried, wide-strided walk and turned toward the grinning face emerging from the moatside shadows—a smile baring teeth. “Ah, is that Lord Yasouemon?” “Where have you been?” “I had urgent business arise in Hamagata.” “You lot must be busy making money.” “Townspeople have it easy, don’t they?”

The razor mark on his chin was blue. Okajima Yasouemon, younger brother of Hara Sōemon, had just withdrawn from the castle and parted ways with his elder brother Sōemon, Sugino Jūheiji, Maebara Isuke, and other colleagues at the main gate nearby. “Not at all. With our lord’s tragic demise fresh upon us, such base notions as profit-seeking could scarcely take root.”

“Don’t lie!” Yasouemon’s laughter still carried the scent of sake he had shared with everyone in the castle. “There’s no need to hold back at all. In such sudden upheavals of a domain, goods circulate—and when goods circulate, townspeople profit. There’s not the slightest reason for restraint. Samurai are samurai, townspeople are townspeople—each has their own position. To tread the righteous path means to stand firm in that position without wavering or deceit.”

“Your reasoning is most sound…” “At a time like this, townspeople need only uphold their own path.” “Samurai too must maintain their code of conduct.” “I say this—whether peasant or townsman, those wholly devoted to their station are truly noble.” “Then may townspeople seek profit without reproach?” “So long as there’s no deceit or usury.” “Earn righteously.” “New lords will soon enter these provinces.” “Celebrations will come, hearts will stir—a fair wind blows for your kind.”

“I cannot help but sense sarcasm in your words.” “Ha ha ha! Well now, you’re more honest than I expected,” he said, the sake still warm on his breath. “Even that trip to the harbor must have been for business, I suppose.” “Yet it was merely a trivial request—one I could hardly refuse given our longstanding ties. We townsfolk have rendered no small amount of unpaid service amidst this upheaval.” “Official domain business?” “Were it official domain business, I would not complain though it brought ruin—but this comes as an order from that miserly Lord Ōno.”

“What was the order from Ōno?” “Since they are relocating to Osaka, isn’t it an unreasonable demand to have seventy bales of household goods and over twenty loads in boxes and straw bags all shipped by tonight? Even without this trouble, cargo ships are scarce these days. After negotiating with shipping agents, I finally managed to load about half tonight, but the rest likely won’t go out until tomorrow. The moment I tell him that, that old man will puff up his authoritative shoulders in anger and start spouting nonsense—I could already see it. That’s why I came back disheartened.”

“Has Kurobei resolved to relocate to Osaka?” “And where is that half of the cargo?” “As there are still fifty bales belonging to your son, Lord Kurobei, we intend to store them in our shop’s earthen floor and storehouse for tonight.” “I see. Show me.” “Wouldn’t it be rather dull for you to look at them?” “No, I want to see. I want to see just how much bulk that miser Kurobei has amassed by hoarding every scrap down to his nail clippings until his hair turned white—it’ll make for a good story.”

Ōtsuya could not refuse the man who followed him. Ōtsuya guided him to his house and offered tea at the shopfront,

“The sake I went through such trouble to receive after so long will get cold. Cold sake is fine—give me a cup.” Yasouemon remained seated on the entryway step, gazing at the cargo piled mountain-high on the earthen floor there. “Truly, he is a man of different character." "The pity is that Ōno Kurobei was not born a townsman."

He drained the sake from his bowl. “Ah, I feel much better now. Ōtsuya.” “Yes?” “Not a single one of these cargo bales is to be shipped. The household goods of your son Kuroemon stored in the storehouse are likewise not to be handed over—no matter what excuses they make.” “That’s outrageous! We townspeople cannot possibly insist on such a thing.” “Rest assured. Inform them that Hara’s younger brother, Okajima Yasouemon, declared it so. If you wish to insist, state that it must be with Lord Ōishi’s permission.”

“This is truly troublesome,” Ōtsuya Jūemon said. “After all, he is the senior retainer, and his son is that Lord Kuroemon. If we say such a thing, we might be cut down for insolence.” Okajima Yasouemon laughed harshly. “Ha ha ha! Before that happens, I’ll go restrain Kurobei myself. Whether it’s that bastard’s attitude today or this flawless maneuvering of his—he’s what you’d call a samurai who obstructs the way of bushidō.” His voice dripped contempt. “He’s not fit to share the same air.” The retainer’s fingers tightened around his sake cup. “That alone would be infuriating enough, but that bastard—forgetting his own faults—has been using some minor discrepancy between the treasury’s gold and the ledger to spread rumors that this Yasouemon embezzled funds.” He rose abruptly, the straw mat creaking beneath him. “Incidentally, I’d been meaning to pay him a visit anyway—perfect timing. I’ll ensure no complaints reach this place.”

About ten spears—some with mother-of-pearl-inlaid shafts, others of oak or vermilion-lacquered—were bundled together, wrapped in straw matting, and propped up among the cargo. Yasouemon stroked his face—flushed with drink—as he walked over and untied the bundle of rope. He pulled out a nine-shaku oak shaft, “Ōtsuya, I’ve given strict orders.” He slid open the oil-paper lattice shutters and stepped out into the street, spear tip leading the way.

A vacant house with people inside.

“A hopeless gathering of fools.” “Even among fools, there are two types.” “Fools who appear as fools, and fools who do not appear as fools.”

The mansion stood emptied of its notable furnishings. Only a servant's lantern, a dining table, and cheap dishes remained as Ōno Kurobei's family—dressed in formal travel attire—gathered in the barren space. "Wet Nurse—keep him quiet," Kurobei ordered while passing a ceremonial cup to his son Kuroemon, his eyes lingering on the red-haired grandson fussing at the nurse's lap. "He inherits your coloring—that crimson hair."

he laughed.

Kuroemon poured sake for his father. “Grandchildren generally take after their grandfathers, they say.” “If he took after me, that would be something—but given how many years of being rōnin likely lie ahead, with this producing mediocrities, I suppose the Ōno family will reach its peak in my generation.” “Such a thing could never happen.” “But well, even when faced with such circumstances, I made sure to prepare myself so as not to be driven to such life-and-death desperation that I’d be ready to die or anything like that. I’ll head out to Kamigata and live out my remaining years in comfort.” “I too, at first, earnestly considered Lord Daigaku’s future. Even after our lord’s death, I resolved to uphold the family’s honor and standing among neighboring domains—I played the unpopular role for quite some time. But today of all days, I find myself wanting to laugh right here in the castle.” “Ōishi may seem that way, but he’s an extremely good-natured man at heart.” “Impoverished lower-ranking retainers and young samurai who’d starve without their lord—driven by momentary passion to prattle on about bushido this and bushido that—find themselves trapped in this predicament, unable to break free even as they recognize the danger.” “When one is called a chief retainer or a general, they often meet with such fates.” “As for precautions against being overwhelmed—I had prepared for that from the very beginning—so at least I’ve managed to avoid being seized by the god of death. What would dying accomplish anyway?” “Tonight, Ōishi and his ilk are likely lying in bed pondering.”

“Isn’t there talk that Okajima’s subordinates embezzled gold from the treasury in the confusion and fled?” “Hmm, the accounts were quite mismatched.” “But you know, such things happen even on battlefields.” “Best not to speak of it further.” “He’s quite the shrewd one, isn’t he?” “I can’t exactly praise him for that.”

Kuroemon lifted the sake bottle and,

“There’s no more sake!”

“Wait, wait!” “Is that acceptable now?” “No—”

He listened intently,

“What’s that? Isn’t someone knocking at the main gate?”

“That would be Ōtsuya.” “If it were him, he’d come through the back gate.” “…” Tonight’s evacuation was kept strictly secret from both the household and the townspeople. A guilty conscience weakened Kurobei’s resolve. Kuroemon also stiffened in alarm.

The pounding at the gate grew increasingly violent. It became immediately apparent this was no ordinary visitor. The massive crossbar shuddered in its fittings. "Open up!" "You can't possibly be out—let me see Ōno Kurobei!" There could be no doubt—this was the voice of Hara's younger brother they had just been gossiping about moments earlier. Okajima Yasouemon himself stood outside.

Kurobei walked out of the room with a sobered face. "Stop it, Father."

Kuroemon hurriedly grabbed his father’s sleeve. Kurobei squinted his eyes, “I won’t meet…” “Who would…” he muttered.

The two went to the entrance bay window and quietly peered outside. If someone were to jump over the gate, they also had to consider prearranged hiding places during that time.

Yasouemon was shouting in a voice so loud it echoed to the neighboring residence. “Since lamplight still shines within, this house cannot yet be abandoned! “I am certain both Kurobei and Kuroemon are present there. “If you have ears, listen! “You—who bear the station of castellan for an entire domain—have forgotten generations of our lord’s favor and now scheme to sneak away under night’s cover like some base commoner! What utterly despicable character! “And you dare call yourself a samurai?! What became of those fine words you uttered within the castle? “It is precisely the likes of you who defile our deceased lord’s honored name! “I shall grant you your lives—but should you ever again show yourselves where our eyes might fall upon you, know we will not stay our hands! “Mark this well—remember it!”

A spear that had flown over the gate roof thudded into the door frame of the side entrance.

Kurobei swallowed bitter saliva. After a moment’s pause, Yasouemon’s booming laughter resounded outside the gate.

Enrinji Temple Conference

Since yesterday, all domain affairs had been transferred to Enrinji Temple, their place of prayer, which had become both a meeting hall for the remaining retainers and a place to handle residual duties. Amidst the still-unsettled positions of document boxes and desks they had brought in, Kuranosuke sat. Inside the castle, seasoned retainers such as Yoshida Chūzaemon, Onodera, and Hara remained; they should already be attending to organizing the keep, main bailey, and domain warehouses starting around today. "Even after we leave this castle," he mused, "we'll surely keep dreaming of nothing but this castle."

Even as he muttered such things, the retainers' faces had been strangely bright since yesterday. It was because their circumstances had shifted from castle siege to surrender. Whether through junshi or toshi - every path they faced had been a death strategy - yet once they resolved on surrender, if one were to ask whether this brought them joy at surviving here however many more days, it was decidedly not so. Had their thinking truly prioritized life above all else, they could have walked out of that council meeting at any time. There were no checkpoints that could prevent them from leaving Akō.

Furthermore, on the final day, a pact had been formed, and from Kuranosuke's lips came—for the first time—

“Castle Surrender” the underlying intention was revealed,

“—Would you not leave future plans to my discretion for the time being?” Now that matters had reached this point and they had added that line to the sworn oath with their acceptance, they understood these lives they now preserved would not endure indefinitely.

They would all die soon enough!

Nothing had ever been so clear as what lay ahead. Yet that sudden radiance spilling from every face could mean nothing less than a fundamental transformation of spirit. Despair had turned to hope. They had come struggling to rise from catastrophic defeat to the station of victors. In the raw intensity of the retainers' brows since yesterday lay the emergence of a vital force declaring they would not perish meaninglessly.

Amidst this transformation where people seemed to have shed their black mourning clothes from just two days prior, Ōishi Kuranosuke alone remained as unchanging as ever—from the first council meeting until today, no matter how one looked at him, there was no sign of alteration.

Even now, amidst the bustle, he was exchanging small talk with Kegakuji Temple’s envoy.

He left.

Again, the chief priest of Kōkōji Temple came. He had come to express gratitude because the donation inventory had arrived. Dairenji Temple also sent a similar acknowledgment. “Katsuta, there’s something quite strange going on—have you heard?” Arriving at the corner of the main hall where a group of young men were huddled together, Sugino Jūheiji—who had just returned from outside—spoke in a loud voice.

Katsuta Shinzaemon, Yatō, Mase, and others were gathered there when, "What? What happened?" "The night before last—Ōno Kurobei fled under cover of darkness!"

“Not Ōno again? If it’s about Ōno, I laughed at that yesterday!” “But here’s another tale. It seems Yasouemon’s threats proved too effective—he panicked so terribly that he left his nursing grandchild in the wet nurse’s hands and forgot to take the infant when fleeing the escape boat.” “No way!” “No—I saw it with my own eyes moments ago.”

“Where?” “It seems the wet nurse abandoned the child in town and went into hiding.” “In the alley behind a merchant’s storehouse, it was wailing away.” “People had gathered and were making a commotion, asking whose child it was.” “The wet nurse had been getting milk from a merchant’s wife in the neighborhood.” “If the lord is a lord, then the wet nurse is a wet nurse, I suppose.” “Yasouemon has done something terrible.”

Having apparently overheard, Ōishi Kuranosuke turned from a side room and spoke. "Sugino, bring that child to the temple and protect him." "It is Kurobei's grandchild, but..." "I am aware of that." "That infant, too, is one who received our late lord's favor." No sooner had Sugino descended the main hall's stairs and stepped out into the courtyard than he hurriedly returned,

“Lord Chief Retainer! Lord Chief Retainer! The group from the Edo Side has arrived!” “Who? —”

At this, Kuranosuke turned his gaze from the side room adjoining the inner sanctuary toward the temple gate. Three swarthy faces could be seen—their burly shoulders aligned—striding straight toward the main hall. On the right flank stood Horibe Yasube, in the center Okuda Magodayu, and approaching from the left Takada Gunbei; having already recognized those awaiting them, they reached the stairway’s base with expressions that seemed ready to call out “Ah!” Kuranosuke reacted instantaneously— *They’ve arrived.*

He wore an expression that seemed to say. To the mediator Uemonnana, "Admit them." His voice remained impassive.

“Let them through.” And his voice was equally toneless.

From those who had previously arrived from the Edo Side—Murashima Kihee, Kataoka, Isogai, and others—news of these three men had already been conveyed. Moreover, from Horibe Yahee—Yasube’s foster father who still remained on the Edo Side—he had just received a sternly worded letter a mere two or three days prior. Brushing off the dust, the three men came to the room where Kuranosuke was.

The sunlight was blue on the large cycad in the garden.

The Hidden Implications

“Have you only just arrived?” This was Kuranosuke’s first greeting. “No, late last night.” Gunbei gulped down the tea the young acolyte had brought. All three men somehow shared similarly fierce eyes. Together, these three were distinguished students of Horiuchi Gentazaemon, Edo’s renowned master swordsman of that era. Above all, Yasube’s sword was held in higher regard throughout Kantō than even within their own domain. Amidst Edo’s multitude of cultured retainers, (I am a man of martial bearing)

The fact that they carried themselves as men of martial bearing was another distinctive trait.

According to what had been conveyed through these accounts, these three samurai had—soon after the incident—

(A hundred clever-sounding arguments—none worth adopting. Kira lives unharmed. To present our late lord's archenemy's head—that alone would suffice.) They were said to be the vanguard of the radical faction who had sought to act solely with those remaining in Edo, rallying under elder Horibe Yahee as their commander.

How much Kuranosuke had been secretly tormented by this matter until that day, none could say. What seemed misfortune proved fortunate in one regard: even on the Edo Side, there were many level-headed men like those of the Ōno faction. First among them stood the Edo house elders Yasui Hikoemon and Fujii Matazaemon. However fiercely they might gnash their teeth, however confident they were in their blades, the question remained whether three men alone could breach Kira's gates and charge even a few dozen paces inward.

(Now we must unite with Akō and together make the castle our deathbed—)

They must have resolutely journeyed all 165 ri to reach here. Kuranosuke read the fierce resolve in the eyes of the three men,

Hmm, this is troubling.

In this manner, he remained silent for a time with an ambiguous attitude and expression, but soon, as if at a loss, picked up his pipe and lightly tapped it. Then, he took a scrap of paper from the edge of the desk and began twisting it into a paper cord. “Lord Chief Retainer. It has come to my understanding that even Ōmetsuke Araki Jūzaemon, the official envoy of the shogunate, has offered to accept the castle surrender—is this mere rumor, or is it true?” “You’ve already heard, have you?”

“At the castle—from Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon.” “Then there is no need for me to elaborate in detail.” “That is indeed the case.”

Okuda Magodayu's long eyebrows, streaked with white, twitched sharply over his sunken eyes. "Lord." It was a voice that had turned defiant.

As they waited to see what furious roar might erupt from his livid countenance, Magodayu's hand pressed against his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. Here was a man of fifty-six years—a samurai—weeping.

Kuranosuke abruptly averted his eyes to the cycad leaves. A large black-veined tiger butterfly swayed languidly. —He watched it. “A s-samurai…? You…!”

The voice finally erupted from Takada Gunbei’s lips. His shoulders were trembling. Under his arm, he pressed the long sword tightly against his side, "What is this 'castle surrender'?" “I came here thinking that at least in our home domain there might still be men with some spine—but to hear such words uttered so calmly by you, our chief elder!” “Have you been cowed by the troops of neighboring domains?” "Is your life so precious to you?" “Wh-what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Setting up desks in temples and fiddling with paperwork at a time like this—is this the conduct of a samurai who’s witnessed the ruin of his lord’s house?!”

Yasube also drew his knees closer and— "In my father Yahee’s testament, it was written that you, Kuranosuke, were the man to rely on in this crisis—yet hearing such words from you now leaves me no choice but utter astonishment." "I understand even the petitions for Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement are ultimately futile." "What possible justification remains for hesitation that would have us shamelessly surrender the castle?" "I demand to know your true intentions." "Depending on your answer, we three shall demonstrate we did not return to Akō for nothing!"

The paper cord was tightly twisted around Kuranosuke’s fingers. Lips thickly pressed together in a most disagreeable manner answered silently—these radical sentimentalists were more troublesome than the likes of Ōno and Tamamushi. —This must have been what he was thinking. He utterly detested displays of righteous fury. Kuranosuke was not one to carelessly invite even tears. Because he himself was prone to that, in such moments he had no choice but to redouble the meticulousness of his mental preparations. The more the other party raised their voice or their eyes grew bloodshot, the more he required his own cold detachment. In the depths of his heart,

*(This is what cools—)* he thought. And then he enveloped himself in the indistinct hue of his own countenance. “You are quite right.”

At length, he replied. It was one of his oft-repeated phrases. "But—"

he added after a pause. “My lords, just because we have surrendered the castle does not mean that all matters are concluded.” “There are further considerations.” “We have already notified both the shogunate officials and Lord Toda Umenosho of our acceptance—is there any alternative?”

Okuda Magodayu, who had been bowing his head between his angular shoulders, sharply raised his eyes. "What you just mentioned—these 'further considerations'—what are they?" "Well..."

He picked up his kiseru. However, rather than filling it with tobacco, he let it rest idly on his knee, “I must absolutely ascertain Lord Daigaku’s well-being as well…”

“Is that all?” “In any case, will you not entrust this matter to me?” Formless and insubstantial—their anger found no foothold.

Yasube exchanged glances and stood up. This man departed, casting a scornful glance as though he had deemed them unworthy to accomplish the task together. And the three men stood side by side along the veranda of the main hall, whispering as they tied the cords of their straw sandals. “In that case, let us consult Chief Retainer Okuno Shōgen-dono. If we sound him out, there should be some response in his chest.” As they stormed out indignantly, from beyond the temple gate came Sugino Jūheiji returning with an infant in his arms. He walked over, jostling the infant in his awkward arms as it wailed fiercely.

“Are you leaving already?”

Jūheiji’s round face bore the amiable charm of youth. “Whose child is that?”

Gunbei’s tone, rather than addressing that matter, seemed to reproach his nonchalance in holding an infant at such a time.

“He’s Ōno Kurobei’s grandson.” “What a dreadful grandfather and father he had.” “When evacuating, they panicked and forgot him along with his wet nurse—a pitiful child, so they say.”

Gunbei peered briefly, "He looks like him." He muttered scornfully and caught up to Yasube walking ahead. Then, heaving a deep sigh,

"It's no use—bushido no longer belongs to Genroku." And he spat on the ground.

Cleaning

The sound of carpenters' chisels resonated pleasantly over the moat's water. They were repairing the rotten sections of the main gate's drawbridge. On the embankment of the second bailey gathered a multitude of sedge hats from herb-picking women. Gardeners were up in the pines. On the roads, ashigaru were directing and sweeping in meticulous lines. The tidying of the castle interior had been completed. The cleaning would also soon be completed.

All weaponry and equipment, civil administration ledgers, provincial maps—everything had been catalogued, neatly arranged in their proper places, and they awaited the arrival of the shogunate envoys. Having received orders from the shogunate, Araki Jūzaemon and Sakakibara Umenosuke—who had arrived at Akō's lodging as deputy envoys overseeing the castle's handover—conducted a preliminary inspection of the castle interior the day before the official transfer was to occur.

After inspecting the extensive areas of the main keep and second bailey, the soles of their white tabi socks remained unstained. The great corridor gleamed brilliantly. The decorations on the weapons were magnificent. The village registers, salt field maps, and annual tax ledgers were all prepared to be understood at a glance. “I humbly offer you a serving of humble tea.” When Kuranosuke made the proposal, “Indeed.”

The envoys were guided magnanimously. That was the sitting room from Lord Takumi no Kami’s lifetime. As the aroma of tea drifted, the retainers lining the room could not keep their lord’s visage from rising behind their eyelids. At that moment, Kuranosuke prostrated himself toward the two envoys,

“Our lord Takumi no Kami, through his regrettable lapse in conduct, we humbly receive the shogunal command for castle confiscation.” “Now that our lord has perished, our domain lies ruined, and word reaches us that Lord Kira remains unharmed—we retainers ought properly to seek self-determined ends. Yet while Takumi no Kami’s younger brother Lord Daigaku remains among us, we must temporarily cling to life and devotedly await a merciful decree—this constitutes our sole humble intent.” “Previously through Lord Toda Umenosuke-no-kami’s mediation, we entreated regarding our petition. Should even the faintest thread of that hope prove attainable, we as one shall gather before our deceased lord’s mortuary tablet to fulfill our vassal’s duty: first rendering humble service to the shogunate, then offering contrition to all under heaven’s canopy, finally interring our worthless bones beneath the springs—such is our fixed resolve.” “We earnestly implore Your Honors’ compassionate consideration above all.”

He uttered these words, pouring his long-cherished resolve into them. “…………”

The two envoys stood silently, exchanging glances. They passed through a series of rooms and arrived at the great hall. Sunlight shimmering like heat haze rippled across the black latticed ceiling. At the feet of Araki Jūzaemon—who stood gazing upward at this phenomenon—Kuranosuke prostrated himself once more, “Behold—though ours is but a small domain, this main keep has endured for three generations.” “As a bulwark for the Tokugawa house, erecting this castle was no momentary endeavor; it was built through the meritorious deeds of our domain’s founder, Asano Umenosuke-no-kami, and sustained by generations of loyal service rewarded with your esteemed favor. Even our late lord Takumi no Kami never forgot this truth in his waking or sleeping hours, constantly urging us retainers to devote ourselves wholly to loyal service. That such unforeseen indiscretion occurred fills us with deepest regret.” “Alas, should even a sliver of mercy be granted to Lord Daigaku through your august benevolence, we would never forget this profound grace through all eternity beneath the earth.” “Though I tremble at my audacity in repeating this earnest entreaty—a grave offense—I beg you to hold these words within your noble hearts.”

Gathered around, the samurai retainers standing at attention were struck by Kuranosuke’s quiet voice, their eyelids trembling beyond their power to suppress tears. Still, the two envoys maintained their silence. After they began to walk, “Kuranosuke’s petition—as retainers, it seems unavoidable.” they muttered in a low voice.

But—that night, an invitation came from Jūzaemon to Kuranosuke, “I have humbly witnessed your sincere resolve today.” “All matters were admirably handled.” “Upon my return to Edo, this matter will be brought to His Excellency’s attention.” he said.

He had not mentioned Daigaku by name, yet he had succeeded in swaying Jūzaemon’s heart.

The nineteenth day finally arrived—the day of parting with the castle.

After leaving Araki Jūzaemon’s lodging, Kuranosuke immediately returned to the castle. After spending the night at their designated posts—to those samurai standing guard— “Tonight, for this one night, this is still our deceased lord’s castle!” “Do not neglect the gates or fire precautions.” he went around encouraging them.

Before long, as the night seemed to approach dawn, the distant sound of a conch shell resounded far and wide.

When he climbed up to the keep and looked out, the star-filled sky was coldly twinkling. The castle town remained dark, and the rooftops did not yet stand out. Through that lacquer-black expanse of darkness, there was a line of torchlights flowing from Takatōri Pass, crossing the Chikusa River toward the castle town. They were, needless to say, the soldiers from Himeji, Okayama, and other domains who had positioned their cannons at the border for dozens of days in preparation for this very event.

Upon closer inspection, there were also forces that had drawn near the castle town and set up camp in close proximity—likely the ranks of Wakizaka Awa-no-kami of Harima Tatsuno, today's official envoy for the castle takeover. Then, turning his gaze toward the sea, he saw that pale dawn already glimmered upon slender waves there. Like a pod of whales, warships from various domains had drawn up naval battle lines that encircled Akō Domain's rear. Feeling the chill wind against his temples, Kuranosuke stood motionless. No matter how long he remained standing, he felt no desire to move from that spot. Never in his lifetime had he imagined he would live to witness such a dawn breaking. This was a darkness, he thought, that demanded deep excavation of one's soul to truly perceive. Should complacency ever creep into his heart, he resolved to close his eyes and recall this very darkness.

It was not that he believed in frivolous Buddhist teachings. Yet he thought with conviction—that tonight, within these castle walls, the soul of their late lord Takumi no Kami must surely have come to dwell. And he imagined his lord’s spirit now standing with a hand upon his shoulder, both of them gazing fixedly at this world that seemed wrought from anguish itself. From the forest of the Ninomaru, crows beat their wings and rose in a flock. Even their cries struck his heart with portentous weight.

The conch sounded. Before long, drums echoed through the encampment of those come to receive the castle. Moment by moment, sea and sky paled into separate entities until at last crimson sunlight raced across waves, dyed stone walls crimson, glittered through trees, and blazed upon every corner of the castle roof. What surpassing beauty this castle we relinquish today possesses! "Ah yes—the Hour of the Rabbit."

At the edge of the moat by the opened Ōtemon gate, a troop of soldiers guarding the official envoy’s passage had already begun forming their ranks. (Farewell, Akō Castle—)

Having declared this within his heart, Kuranosuke looked around once more in all directions. The sole consolation was that, as far as the eye could see, the cleaning had been executed to perfection.

Yonezawa Reinforcements

Sprouting Yellow Arabesque There was nothing else to do now but cast a line. When he considered that this was the station of one who received a high stipend, he sometimes felt a sense of shameful guilt—not so much toward his master as toward the peasants toiling in the fields to plant the tax rice.

Shimizu Ichigaku was once again silently casting a line from the Kira River embankment today. The rapeseed flowers had darkened, and in the meantime, the fields, mountains, and Atsumi Plain had all turned green. It had been approximately two months since mid-March when they had arrived at Sanshū Yokosuka Village. Here, aside from the calendar, no changes could be seen. At the time of the Edo incident, all that occurred was Lady Tomiko—wife of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke [Kira Yoshihisa], who had been residing at Kajōji Temple—immediately departing this place, and villagers enraged by their lord’s peril becoming temporarily agitated to such a degree that containing them proved troublesome; yet even that unrest subsided on its own once the Asano family’s punishment became known.

Ichigaku should already have been able to return to Edo, and he himself was driven by the desire to go back; however, there came a written notice from Chisaka Hyōbu—the Edo-based chief retainer of Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu of Yonezawa, who shared an inseparable bond with the Kira family—stating: "Regarding the attendant guard Kimura Jōhachi: as he shall soon stop by that location, you are to await him within the domain and return to Edo together—this being the most suitable arrangement." As for what business his fellow guard Kimura Jōhachi had, where he was headed, or approximately when he would stop by here, Ichigaku could not form the faintest idea. Yet it was not entirely impossible to infer Chisaka Hyōbu’s intentions in ordering him to remain within the domain until then. For Ichigaku naturally considered how that meticulous, statesmanlike mind assessed the progression of the incident—and that repercussions, whether great or small, were bound to strike.

“Oh—it's biting!” “Sir, it’s biting!”

From behind, someone suddenly spoke.

The shadowy figure of a townsman carrying luggage had fallen from the top of the embankment to beside the basket.

Ichigaku noticed the float sinking into the water's surface and lightly raised his rod. The bait had been taken. Drops from the line glistened as they trickled down to his hand. Scooping the hook, he attached fresh bait—then, riding the wind, cast it onto the water with a plop. "Having any luck?" With that, the townsman squatted down beside him. "......" Through gentle ripples between reeds, pond skaters and freshwater shrimp traced crisscrossing patterns. The white bellies of fish occasionally flashed as they darted along the riverbed.

“There are some here!”

The townsman lit his tobacco and peered into the basket. At the bottom of the basket, there were no fish scales. “Sir, isn’t your float depth a bit too long?” “……” Ichigaku remained silent, as if declaring the man a nuisance. The smoke smoldering from the townsman’s tobacco appeared to be from western Japan. And not Awa tobacco or Satsuma tobacco either—it was Chinese-produced. Thinking about such things, his mind was not on the fishing line. “Ah—it’s biting!”

The townsman craned his neck again. Ichigaku clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder. For a traveling merchant in his mid-thirties, he was a man with surprisingly little sunburn. When their eyes met, he suddenly broke into an obsequious laugh, “Sir, try raising your line a bit sooner—you’re being too slow.” Ichigaku muttered as if to himself, I should head back. When he smoothly raised the rod, a small dace with bait in its mouth dangled from the line.

The townsman laughed again. Ichigaku stood up, winding in the line with the dace that had fallen into the grass still attached, his expression not at all amused.

Not far from there stood his family home where his aged parents lived. In this Yokosuka Village, the estate of an old multi-generational farming family remained completely unchanged since his childhood—two large main houses, a thatched gate, living tree fences, and zelkova windbreaks. As it was the busy planting season, everyone from the household had gone out to the fields. The only person present was his elderly mother, sewing her grandchild’s clothes on the veranda. When she caught sight of Ichigaku, “Shirōbe. Did’ja catch any today, Shirōbe?”

she said.

Shirōbei was Ichigaku’s childhood name. This mother did not seem particularly proud of having borne a 100-koku stipend samurai from her peasant’s belly, continuing to call him “Shirōbe” even as years passed, just as she had during his snot-nosed days. Ichigaku replied in country dialect: “Naw, didn’t catch a damn thing from the start. No fun at all, so I came back.” “You might be good at swordsmanship, but you’ve been lousy at fishing since your snot-nosed days.” “Hahaha.” “Guess so.”

“Impatient one, ain’t ya? Even your dead grandpa used to say you’d rather chase wild horses or whack things with a stick than stick to anything that takes patience.” “I s’pose I ain’t the same brat I was back then, but to you, Ma, I still look no different.” “You’re just holdin’ back, that’s all. A person’s innate nature won’t change unless they’re born anew.” “So that’d make it a damn problem then.” “In the way of samurai service, you gotta be extra careful—Lord Asano Naganori’s a prime example of that.”

To the point where geta left imprints in the earth beyond the veranda's edge, pale persimmon flowers spilled forth in abundance. Ichigaku placed his fishing rod beside the storehouse and came over,

“Ma, whose is this?” As he spoke, he sat down and picked up the package beside him. It was a small kerchief with a yellow arabesque pattern, wrapped around three or four account books, with a weathered yatate writing brush tucked into the knot. *Secret Correspondence* “That thread merchant must’ve forgotten it.” “He just bought some needles now.” “The traveling merchant?” “That’s right.” “Quit yappin’ ‘bout stupid shit.” “Who’s yappin’ here?” “It’s you, Ma.” “Don’t be daft! Who’s yappin’ here?” “You told me to keep my mouth shut ‘bout that, and I ain’t said a word to the villagers neither.”

Outside the windbreak beside the house, shadowy figures flickered into view through the trees and began circling around toward the gate. At the sight of the white sedge hat, Ichigaku nodded to himself, thinking that the thread merchant he’d met on the embankment had come to retrieve his forgotten item—— From outside the gate, the sedge hat peered inside. Though he was indeed a traveling merchant, he was not the same man as before. He had dropped a short sword along the way, was short in stature, and had sharp eyes.

“Oh, this is the house.”

With that, the man strode into the house with long strides upon spotting Ichigaku. For a moment, even he seemed different. "Oh, Kimura Jōhachi?" "What's with that look of surprise?" "That outfit of yours?" "This?" Jōhachi lowered his gaze to his cotton-striped kimono. "There's...a bit of a situation." "No doubt you've got your reasons, but showing up like this out of nowhere—I barely recognized you."

“Can’t afford to be recognized. Anyway, I need to wipe off this sweat—where’s the well?”

“That one there.”

When he pointed, Kimura Jōhachi, holding a single straw sandal in one hand at the edge of the veranda, "I’ll wash my feet while I’m at it."

He placed his sedge hat and shoulder bag there and walked toward the stone well in the corner of the garden.

From the paddy fields behind, a rice-planting song flowed in. The elderly mother bundled thread scraps into her sleeve and set about boiling water in the dim tea room. The well bucket of the wheel well clattered briskly again and again in the corner of the garden.

Just a step behind, the thread-selling traveling merchant from earlier unexpectedly walked in. There, having encountered Ichigaku at the embankment, the thread merchant looked slightly surprised but bent slightly at the waist,

“I must apologize. I seem to have left behind my inkbrush and account book bundle—might they have been found around here by any chance?” “This?” “Thank you very much.” As he tucked the small wrapping cloth into the bundle on his back, securing it with a knot at his throat while preparing to leave, Kimura Jōhachi—who had just returned from washing his feet at the stone well—tensed his muscles,

“Huh?!” He froze in his tracks. Then the thread merchant also, “Ah?!”

With that, he spun around and suddenly bolted out through the gate. “Damn it!” With a terrifying expression twisting his face, Jōhachi gave chase, startling Ichigaku into hastily stepping into his sandals. By the time he reached beyond the fence, Jōhachi and the thread merchant had already closed in on each other at the distant embankment, their travel swords drawn as they clashed blades in a fierce exchange. The rice-planting women and men cried out in surprise from the paddies. Ichigaku stood watching with arms folded across his chest.

Even among the Kira household's close retainers—those who could wield spears or long swords—there were scarcely any who could function as full-fledged samurai if cast into another clan.

However, Kimura Jōhachi and Kobayashi Heihachirō alone stood so far above the rest that one might even say they were overqualified for the Kira household—indeed, they would outshine even the swordsmen of Edo if placed shoulder to shoulder among them.

*(It's Jōhachi—)* Having judged the situation thoroughly safe, he had been waiting for Jōhachi's return while keenly observing his movements with an amused smile. But as Jōhachi pressed forward in hot pursuit—carelessly—his foot slipped into the irrigation ditch alongside the ridge path, sending muddy water spraying upward.

“Ah…!” Ichigaku, knowing it was already too late, did not move.

The thread merchant abandoned Jōhachi—whom he could have cut down had he chosen to—without so much as a glance, and dashed away headlong into the distance. By the time Jōhachi clambered up, covered in marsh mud, the figure had already become a distant speck. With lips pressed in vexation, Jōhachi returned as though giving up. “Who is he?”

Suppressing a hint of amusement, Ichigaku inquired, "A retainer of Akô."

With that, Jōhachi went once again toward the well. "Hmm... A man from Akō..." "I'm fairly certain he was Chikamatsu Kanroku, one of the horse guards. That face—I distinctly remember it, but I can't quite place it. We can't afford carelessness within our own ranks anymore." "You seemed to know him from before."

“I should know. For about two months now, he’s been bumping into me all over Akō Town, and even coming into our clan’s residences to peddle his wares.” “So you were the one who went to Akō?”

“Yes.”

“Under whose orders?” “It was under confidential orders from Lord Chisaka Hyōbu.” “You certainly were quick about it…”

While stepping on persimmon blossoms, Ichigaku went toward the house, fetched his yukata from the main residence, and gave it to Jōhachi. As he wrapped it around himself to change clothes, "I let him get away... But I must say—for an enemy, he struck me as a man of caliber." "Do you think he might have snatched any documents meant for our household?"

“Such a thing is impossible.” “But given that outcome, it seems even Akō has men with some backbone.” “They do exist!” With lips drawn tight, Jōhachi stared fixedly at Ichigaku’s face. Ichigaku set his foot on the veranda edge as he said, “Well, let’s settle down and talk. What’s your stomach telling you?” “It’s empty. I want soba.” “I want soba.” “I’ll request it.—Mother, would you prepare some soba? My friend from Edo wishes to eat some.” With those words, Ichigaku withdrew to a back room his late father had used for retirement, hiding there together with Jōhachi.

Mura no Shirōppe “I heard the surrender and disbandment of Akō Domain settled without incident—but what of those rōnin’s movements since then?” No sooner had he sat down than Ichigaku inquired.

Jōhachi recounted in detail what he had seen and heard since first infiltrating as a tool peddler, “After surrendering the castle to Lord Wakizaka Awaji-no-kami, the castle receiver, some departed for Edo and Kamigata while others withdrew to nearby villages through family connections—so while Akō’s affairs might seem settled, for our house, isn’t this precisely when vigilance becomes paramount?” “Then—as rumors claim—do they plot something?” “That’s my read of it. On the surface, they play obedient.”

“But once their domain has been confiscated and all personal stakes severed—will their unity endure?”

“Now it comes down solely to bonds between men—but seeing how deftly this castle surrender was handled, I realized there exists one truly exceptional man among those three hundred-odd rōnin.” “So long as he remains, even with Lord Takumi-no-kami dead and our domain confiscated, Akō cannot be said to have perished.” “Speaking of notable figures in Akō—would it be Okuno Shōgen or Ōno Kurobyōe?” “—Or perhaps Hara Sōemon?”

“Everyone thought so,” Jōhachi continued. “But seeing how things unfolded, it became clear everything had been driven by Ōishi Kuranosuke—a man everyone dismissed as ordinary.” “Lord Chisaka Hyōbu did warn me to keep an eye on him. Mark my words—he’s someone we can’t afford to overlook from now on.” “And where has this Ōishi Kuranosuke withdrawn to?” “He plans to move to Yamashina in Kyoto soon—even packed his belongings. But since last month, he’s been laid up with a boil on his left arm and raging fever, still recuperating at Yasuke’s house in Ozaki Village, just outside Akō’s castle town.” “That’s why I decided to first report back to Lord Chisaka. I was on my way from Akō when I stopped here.”

Outside the room, the old mother’s voice sounded at that moment. “Shirō! “I’ve made the soba—I’ll bring it there.”

Ichigaku turned around. “Just leave it in the hearth room, Ma—we’ll come eat there.” “Have some with the guest too.” “Ain’t no need to fuss—he’s my friend here.” “What ’bout the sake? Y’all drinkin’ or not?” “We’ll drink! We’ll drink!”

"That much," Kimura Jōhachi answered. And together with Ichigaku, they laughed heartily in the room.

The next morning.

By the time they headed for breakfast, both Jōhachi and Ichigaku were already in traveling attire. Jōhachi’s face, with its once townsman-style topknot now awkwardly reshaped into a samurai’s shaven pate, looked slightly comical.

After finishing the meal, Shimizu Ichigaku entered the room with the Buddhist altar and sat there for a while. When he emerged, his elderly mother's eyes were glistening. "Shirō. At my age, I don't know when I'll be gone—but even if I fall ill, you've no business neglectin' your duties to the Lord just to come see me. Don't you go forgettin' his kindness now," she said, watching her son fasten his straw sandals as she blew her nose.

Kimura Jōhachi went ahead,

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

They bowed respectfully and fastened the cords of their sedge hats.

As the figures of the two walked along the ridges of the green rice paddies, the rice-planting people stood up and waved. Ichigaku also raised his sedge hat high.

Nieces, nephews, cousins—all those working in the fields were people bound by familial ties. For the sake of these good family members under the Kira family’s patriarch as well, he felt compelled to fulfill his mission.

When they came beneath Keizōji Temple—the ancestral temple of the Kira family—the two removed their sedge hats and bowed toward the stone steps. For Ichigaku, this was a temple imbued with particularly deep memories. When he had still been a boy with close-cropped hair, spending summers obsessively catching cicadas and playing until his skin turned dark, there had been a noble figure who often visited this temple to escape the heat—their lord, Kira Yoshihisa, Governor of Kōzuke, and his wife. Around that time, Yoshihisa had commissioned three statues—the Kira family’s founder, its restorer, and himself—and vowed to enshrine them in this temple. The man enshrined at the center and the man now returning to his hometown seemed like entirely different beings. The Governor of Kōzuke had taken notice of "Shirōppe"—the boy who dashed about the temple grounds and back mountains—though when exactly he first became aware of him remained unclear—

That boy shows potential. I want to take him to Edo. He confided this to the chief priest. The reason Shirōppe from the village became a samurai lay in that motivation. Since becoming Shimizu Ichigaku, this marked his fourth return to his hometown, yet somewhere within him lingered the sense that this might be his last. In any case, he could not believe that his master's life would remain peaceful and secure as it was—for that very reason. As someone who would put his own body on the line against the enemy in an emergency, he had lately come to recognize his purpose.

Even among the Kira household’s retainers, Kimura Jōhachi’s background was slightly different. He was a samurai through and through. He had been a vassal of the Uesugi clan of Yonezawa. He was one who had been transferred to the Kira family’s vassal registry after Tomiko, the daughter of the lord, married into the household of Yoshihisa, Governor of Kōzuke. Therefore, he maintained constant access to his home province’s Uesugi clan and, moreover, held considerable sway with Hyōbu—the hereditary senior retainer whom people debated whether it was Chisaka of the Uesugi or the Uesugi of Chisaka.

(As long as Kira has these two...)

The two secretly prided themselves on this. Edo still had Kobayashi Heihachirō. No matter how the Akō rōnin might scheme, as long as they surrounded their master’s inner circle with these three crows, they vowed in silent understanding not to let a single finger touch him.

Stones speak.

Edo was already sweltering in June’s heat. As one approached Takanawa from Shinagawa-shuku, even the sea breeze felt lukewarm. The highway lay parched white, flies chasing dust like scattered sesame seeds whenever oxen or packhorses passed. “Hot!” Kimura Jōhachi fanned his scorched-red face vigorously with a folding fan, “Shimizu—”

and looked back. Ichigaku, wiping his chest hair with a towel he’d wrung out at a roadside well, caught up. “Maybe from being stuck in the countryside—this damn heat’s really getting to me.” “Today’s especially brutal.—So then, shall we head straight to Lord Chisaka’s place like this?” “You’ve been waiting eagerly, I suppose.” “But both of us in these sweaty states…” “No need to fuss. Announcing we’ve just arrived will put them in better spirits than if we tidy up and come at our leisure.”

“Then—”

As they turned from Takanawa Highway and began ascending Irayasuzaka slope, stone dust chipped by chisels came flying from the stonemason’s workshop at the corner. Four or five stonemasons worked without glancing away. Amid them, one mason was already chipping away at the face of a stone that had become a monument.

Suddenly, Ichigaku stopped before it. “……” Jōhachi too stared fixedly at the characters the stonemason was carving. They thought inwardly that it was a magnificent monument. Even observing the stonemason’s work, it did not seem like ordinary stone monument carving. Reikōin-den Zen Chōsan Daibu Suimō Genwa Daikoji Both of them gazed intently at the characters that could be read this way even when inverted, with a sense of wonder. Needless to say, this was what would soon become Asano Takuminokami’s tombstone. When they considered this, Sengakuji Temple was right there, and the twenty-fourth of this month would mark exactly one hundred days since the castle assault.

“Stonemason.” “Yes?” Raising startled eyes, the stonemason stopped his chisel. “That monument—who commissioned it?”

“It was commissioned by Lord Asano Shikibu-shōyū of Imai-chō...” “Hmm... The residence where Lord Takuminokami’s widow, Lady Yōzen-in, resides...” “That is correct.” “Who comes as messengers?” “The Lord Steward.” “Anyone else?” “Lord Horibe—now a masterless samurai—Lord Okuda, and others occasionally visit.” “I see. Are they all well?” “And you sirs...?” “I too am from Akō originally. Having relatives in Edo, I came here from our domain.” “No sooner had I entered Edo than I encountered my lord’s monument—such profound fate—and found myself moved to tears.”

“Ah, so you sirs are also from Akō—”

At this, the stonemason finally adopted a more familiar tone, “It’s quite hot over there.” “Step inside, why don’t you? Have some barley tea to cool off.” “Don’t trouble yourself—I’d only be in the way of your work.” “Ah, when I think of you sirs’ hardships, we’re just too carefree—shamefully so, really.” “Hey, Katsu-kō!” “Yes?” “There was some mint candy, right? “Tell Granny to make some tea and bring it here.” “Sir, the well water over there is nice and cold. You should wipe your face with it.” “You lot, take a break too.”

“Then I’ll take a moment to cool off.” Beneath the reed-screen shelf on the veranda, Shimizu Ichigaku and Kimura Jōhachi sat posing as Akō retainers.

The stonemason Tatsuzō embodied the quintessential Edoite temperament in full display. In front of the two men’s campstools, he too settled himself down for a smoke break, “You’ve had quite the ordeal, sirs—journeying all the way from Akō in this scorching sun must’ve been unbearable.” “I’ve heard quite a few rumors from over there, but they say that Lord Ōishi handled the castle surrender envoys with such mastery—truly showed the unyielding resolve of an Akō warrior, or so I’ve been told.” “In Edo as well—do they speak of this?”

“To be honest, there’s folks in town badmouthing him too, y’know.—Hey, Katsu-kō, didn’t you hear that at the bathhouse?” “What was it again? That kyōka...”

The craftsmen were reluctant to answer, but Tatsuzō tilted his head and, "That's right—'If you take Ōishi by the foot, he's an unexpectedly flighty pumice stone,' as they say." "……But I don't think so." "What's the point of fightin' the shogunate's envoys?" "It's a fool's death." "Lord Ōishi wouldn't do such a foolish thing, and there must be other wise men too." "I'm sure Lord Ōishi's resolve ain't no different from 'any day now,' and if it don't come to that, it'd all be a lie—well, that's just a townsman's take, but we're prayin' for it all the same."

“Do Horibe and Okuda also come here and say such things?” “Not at all. They wouldn’t so much as breathe a word of such matters. ……But folks are whisperin’—seein’ as how Lord Horibe an’ his lot sometimes rent boats from the net-shipyard up ahead, seven or eight of ’em at times, even over ten—must be plottin’ somethin’ in secret meetin’s out at sea. You sirs ain’t gonna let things stay like this forever neither, I reckon—but whatever you do, take care of yourselves now, hear?”

“Ha ha ha ha, you’re quite the staunch supporter of the Asano family, aren’t you?” “It ain’t just the Asano family. I’m a straight arrow—always side with the underdog.……’Specially since I took this commission for Lord Takumi-no-kami’s tombstone. When I’m carvin’ it, I start thinkin’ ’bout what was in my lord’s heart, what Lady Yōzen’in must’ve felt… Then I get to wonderin’ how all them Akō retainers are holdin’ up, and the frustration wells up so bad—tears come streamin’ down, and before I know it, I’m slammin’ my own hand with the mallet...”

For some time now, Kimura Jōhachi had been wearing a look of intense bitterness on his face and remaining silent, but now he could no longer contain himself, “Shimizu—”

He had involuntarily called out that name— “Let’s get going.”

With that, he stepped away from the eaves first. Catching up from behind to Kimura Jōhachi, who was striding up Iraisaka Slope, Ichigaku reprimanded him with a laugh. "That was careless of you, Kimura."

“Why?” “Did you not just call me ‘Shimizu’?” “How should I know?” “Even that aside—you idiot—you left your sweaty hat on Lord Reikōin’s memorial stone, didn’t you? I only prevented trouble by moving it elsewhere immediately. Had that stonemason any wits about him, he’d never have believed us Akō rōnin.” “I see. That was careless.” “With such carelessness, you somehow survived overseeing Akō’s dissolution.”

“The thought that we’ve returned to Edo—it seems I let my guard down.” “Edo demands even greater vigilance.” “We’ll track their movements here while they investigate ours there.” “If you compare the three houses of Kira, Uesugi, and Asano—it’s like the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.” “Refuse to understand if you will—we stand ready regardless.”

Chisaka Hyōbu

In those less than a hundred days, even I myself could see how my white hairs had multiplied.

Each morning during his ablutions, even looking in the mirror had come to feel terrifying—

Chisaka Hyōbu let out a sigh unseen by others, "—Even the Asano family's old retainers would not bear such anguish. Were they to have accepted what their master had done—how much lighter their spirits might be."

Deep within, he thought this to himself.

For a body nearing sixty years of age, the heartache since spring felt almost too heavy for these old bones to bear. But for the Uesugi family, when one considered that this crisis rivaled those faced by their distant ancestor Kenshin, even if these frail old bones should break under the burden, they had to bear it to support Lord Kenshō and protect Yonezawa’s 300,000-koku domain at all costs—even if they must cling tooth and nail to stone. Lord Danjōdaibu Kenshō had been adopted from the Kira family at age two to become the Uesugi family’s heir. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke [Kira Yoshihisa] was his biological father, while his mother Tomiko descended from their kinsman Uesugi Harima-no-kami. Thus by blood and duty alike—and under society’s watchful eyes—the Kira and Uesugi families were bound by a relationship that could neither be severed nor denied.

It was a major crisis within Edo Castle caused by his biological father. At that time, it was the Uesugi family—more than the minor injuries and terror inflicted upon Lord Kōzuke-no-suke himself—that experienced the greater shock. And it was Chisaka Hyōbu, the elder statesman who bore the weight of that unshakable domain.

When Hyōbu heard of the incident and departed from Yonezawa for Edo, every pore on his body stood on end,

(Has even our illustrious house, descended from Lord Kenshin himself, reached its end?) Chisaka Hyōbu had even gone so far as to think this. Fortunately, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's position had been defensive in nature. Through kinship ties with powerful domains like Shimazu and Sakai—coupled with backroom strategies that ultimately proved effective—the matter had been settled with our side being "left undisturbed." Yet this outcome brought Hyōbu no sense of relief whatsoever. If anything, he believed it meant the Uesugi family now faced an even greater burden looming in the future.

"What a troublesome old lord..." Even now, Hyōbu was sitting at the edge of the tea room—already growing dim—facing the trees whose leaves had been dampened by evening sprinkling, his brooding countenance letting slip an involuntary mutter. "This is preposterous." "To shelter that venerable lord in this Shirogane lower villa would be like opening our doors to invite flames inside." This was the proposal that Sawane Ihee, the Edo estate steward, had just now brought from the upper residence beyond Sakurada Gate.

(Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's circumstances are truly precarious. I sense something that might strike at any moment. As an emergency precaution, what if we were to move your person to this Shirogane lower villa and construct a tunneled passageway in the cellar to ensure safety? Though the venerable lord himself seems inclined toward this course—) Such was the proposal.

Hyōbu had dismissed it— "It shall not come to pass." He had dismissed it outright and had just now sent Sawane Ihee back. Though fully aware this proposal stemmed not from Ihee but Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's own intentions—while clutching an unbearable sympathy in his breast—he had refused point-blank. But... agonizing. Hyōbu too was human. Lord Kenshō’s anguish as a son—driven by such agitation that it might outweigh even his 300,000-koku domain—as he fretted over Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s safety from distant Yonezawa; this too, Hyōbu could now vividly picture behind his closed eyelids.

"I may be called heartless. I may be thought a demon. Rather, being perceived as such must become Hyōbu’s very mission in coming to Edo…" A swarm of mosquitoes began to rise beneath the eaves in the twilight.

Behind him, the small sliding door opened.— The young samurai prostrated himself,

“Lord Chief Retainer.” “What now?” “Lords Shimizu Ichigaku and Kimura Jōhachi have arrived together.” “Have they returned? —Show them in.”

He had apparently been waiting impatiently. The very timbre of his voice seemed laden with unspoken urgency.

“The reception hall will do.” He immediately stood up to leave.

Shortly after he took his seat, Ichigaku and Jōhachi were ushered in and sat before him. They had washed their hands and feet at the well within the estate and brushed off the dust, but their faces still bore a ruddy flush from the blazing sun. "You’ve both had a long journey. —Is all well in the Sanshū territory?" "All remains peaceful." Next, he began asking Jōhachi various questions about the situation in the Akō region. However, Hyōbu already knew most of what Jōhachi had reported. Intelligence had even reached him that Kuranosuke—whom he regarded as the enemy’s most critical figure—had entered into a contract to purchase land and a residence in the Nishinoyama tea fields of Yamashina, with the down payment already completed.

“You must be weary.” “Take your ease.”

“How can we rest when these eyes have witnessed the tragic reality of Akō’s people?” “That could also be said,” Hyōbu acknowledged. “Now then—I would have you depart for Yonezawa again at first light tomorrow—” “Regarding the mission—” “I have already dispatched the letter. However, as matters remain unresolved, you must go to press for action.” His voice grew heavier. “I sent word to the Yonezawa side to select some twenty skilled warriors to serve as Lord Kira’s attendants. Yet seeing none dispatched—and hearing of this unfavorable public sentiment—it seems even our domain’s young warriors find little honor in becoming Lord Kira’s retainers.”

“Surely that cannot be the case.” “No, there is nothing questionable about that reality. As warriors—and by human sentiment—it is only natural that all hearts now side with Lord Asano’s faction. However, such thinking is misguided. Protecting Lord Kira means safeguarding the Uesugi clan’s ancestral legacy. Impress upon them our position thoroughly—by mid-August, you must bring capable swordsmen without fail.” “Is there to be some event in mid-August?”

Chisaka Hyōbu fell silent. It was to confirm—by straining his ears—whether there was any trace of human presence in the garden grounds or along the corridors. Eventually, he said in a much lower voice: “—Lord Kira has been relocated. “He must vacate the residence at Gofukubashi and relocate to Matsuzaka-cho in Honjo by August 20th.” “At all costs, security will be required for that occasion.”

The living veteran samurai

Two or three days prior, Ishitate’s stonemasons had hauled the stone monument into Sengakuji Temple and completed its assembly from the foundation stones. June 24th marked the 100th-day memorial of Lord Takumi-no-kami Naganori. In the early morning, a modest women’s palanquin and several attendants had proceeded stealthily to pay their respects. The figure of Lady Takumi-no-kami—now with her hair cut short and her appearance utterly altered—was glimpsed as she slipped into the palanquin. Representatives from the Geishū family and members of the Toda family came one after another in the morning only to depart, but with Asano Daigaku still under confinement and apprehension toward the shogunate lingering, it made for a lonely 100th-day memorial—unbefitting one who had been a daimyō of 50,000 koku.

However, as the seventh hour approached, After completing sutra recitations and worship, a group of over twenty masterless samurai emerged solemnly from the main hall—and for the first time, something resembling the Asano family’s proper 100th-Day Memorial could be sensed.

The faces of Horibe Yahee and his son Yasube came into view. Murashima Sandaifu and his father were also present. Kuramashi Densuke, Okuda Magodayu, Isogai Jūrōza, Akahane Genzō, Takata Kōribe, Tanaka Teishirō—the faces that appeared one after another showed not the slightest decline in resolute determination, even after becoming rōnin. No—if anything, a spirit more vigorous than before dwelled within every figure there. “Who knows when we might meet again with all these faces gathered? As rōnin we’re like duckweed—to part like this would be too lonely.”

As Kataoka Gengoemon said,

“Shall we stop somewhere?” Murashima Kihei addressed Horibe Yahee, “Old man—” he called—

Yahee turned around, "It’s a bit odd for one old man to call another ‘old man’." "Ha ha ha." "You’ve been especially sensitive about being called old lately, haven’t you?" "I intend to become young again." "Splendid!"

He nodded in vigorous agreement, "Now then—about this 'rejuvenation'—there's been talk of stopping somewhere to hold a proper memorial service." "Sounds good. Where?" "No common teahouses." "If we walk along the shorefront, there ought to be a decent establishment." "The youngsters being so quiet tugs at the heart." "Our late lord was strict by nature, but when he shared his sake with us, he'd let the young warriors get away with anything." "Today, we'll drink in his memory."

“Look at that. When you say such things, the young ones behind us perk up eagerly.” “That *is* the memorial.” “Old man sir.”

Tanaka Teishirō called out from behind, “So... how will the payment be settled?” “We’ll split it evenly.” “Hahahaha.” “Since we’re not the venerable patron—” “When you become a rōnin, everything turns lean.” No one who saw them would have thought these men faced adversity. There was not the slightest hint they contemplated revenge. To the Sengakuji Temple monks observing them, they appeared to have embraced their fall from grace with carefree resolve, living as heedlessly as tomorrow’s wind. As they passed through the temple gate, an elderly warrior came hastening from afar—alone, breathless—his bow-like stoop mismatched with the oversized crimson-sheathed sword at his waist.

“Oh, Lord Munnin!”

Everyone turned their gaze.

He was nearing seventy years of age. With his hair in a traditional topknot and clad in field trousers with grass-green leather tabi, he approached while repeatedly wiping away sweat. The rōnin residence being in Honjo Nakano Sato meant the journey from there was no short distance. Yet he moved with sprightly vigor. This was Ōishi Munnin—a distant relative of Kuranosuke.

“Have you already concluded?”

Munnin addressed the group, "What a pity I’ve caused. If only I’d been a bit quicker, I could have joined you in the last seat."

“No, it’s not too late.” “The memorial service has yet to begin.” “We shall wait here while you proceed to pay your respects at the grave.” “That would be improper.” “Please go ahead.” “Nay—we must first secure lodging for our rest.” “While someone scouts for accommodations, we’d be obliged to wait regardless.” “Very well. Then I shall take my leave...” “Lord Yasube.” “Yes.” “My apologies—would you be so kind as to guide me to the gravesite?”

“Understood.” “A magnificent stone monument has been erected.” “Allow me to guide you there.” Guiding Munnin, Horibe Yasube turned back toward the cemetery once more.

Kneeling before the new stone, Munin bowed his head low in prolonged reverence. The cicadas' cries permeated the countless graves like seeping water, while a faintly cool breeze began stirring beneath the trees' shade.

“Lord Yasube.” When he finally raised his face, Munin squared his shoulders,

“Please sit there.”

he pointed to the ground before him. “What is it?” “There’s a matter I wish to discuss.” “This may be presumptuous of me to say before you, but—”

“I shall hear it.” “It concerns that matter.”

Munnin fixed Yasube with a harsh, suspicious glare. Seething discontent burned in the amber depths of his eyes. “—It appears Akō has lost all its true men. “Today is our lord’s hundredth-day memorial. You fine young warriors—assembled in such numbers—what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “……”

Yasube lowered his head. Two or three short hairs at his temples stood trembling in the wind. “There was a time when you showed such resolve—ignoring cowards like Yasui and Fujii, declaring you’d act even with five or ten men. What has become of that spirit now?” “By no means have we forgotten even a single day. “However, due to the considerable disparity between our handling of affairs in the home domain and Lord Kuranosuke’s intentions, as well as the circumstances that make it difficult to advance our resolve...”

“That’s only natural. I heard from old man Okuda that over a hundred and twenty men on the Akō side swore an oath under Lord Kuranosuke’s leadership—but how could such a large group unite under a single coherent purpose? If you’re going to rely on numbers to that extent, you might as well abandon this altogether. It will inevitably collapse midway; it will fail. Lord Kuranosuke’s methods are half-hearted. That’s no foundation to rely on!”

The old man’s spirit was fierce. It seemed that even in Genroku-era Edo, such old samurai archetypes still persisted. Thrusting his iron fan into his left knee, he continued his reproach while fully exposed to the blazing sun from head to toe. “Hearing the world’s mockery pains me.” “Though I am no retainer of Asano, as a warrior I cannot stand idly by.” “Why do you look right and left in hesitation?” “Will you not present Lord Kōzuke’s severed head at today’s memorial service?” “With all this talk of ‘the right time’ and clever-sounding excuses—how could success ever be achieved?” “Why must you select a day to strike Lord Kōzuke? I cannot comprehend it.” “Each day you delay grants them another day to strengthen their defenses.”

“We have repeatedly submitted joint petitions from Okuda, Takada, and myself to Lord Kuranosuke in accordance with your esteemed opinion, but at present, Lord Kuranosuke appears fully committed to pleas for Master Daigaku’s reinstatement.” “What a fool of a man! Even if the full 56,000-koku fief were passed down intact to his younger brother, could Master Daigaku possibly inherit the family name and live in peace while leaving Lord Kōzuke untouched?” “I share that understanding. Whenever we see Lord Kuranosuke’s lukewarm letters, even old man Okuda grows so frustrated he could grind his teeth. That being said, were we to storm Kira’s residence with a small force and fail in our endeavor, it would become an eternal blunder—‘the deranged fools of Akō’—and we would be made a laughingstock for generations. What with one thing and another, we have let days slip by, but regardless of the home faction’s intentions, come what may, we will not abandon our original resolve before year’s end. Even you, old man—please do not trouble yourself over this. For now, simply watch and wait a while longer.”

“Hearing that, I was relieved. But do you have any leads on a favorable opportunity?” “Well.” “That is…” “There is one, Lord Yasube.”

Munnin drew forward one knee,

“Kira’s residence has been ordered to relocate—do you know of this?” “What?! They’re moving from Gofukubashi to another location—” “This comes from a reliable source.” “They’re confirmed to relocate to former hatamoto Matsudaira Tonosuke’s estate in Honjo Matsuzaka-cho.” “When will such an opportunity come again?” “During that transfer—that singular chance when Lord Kōzuke must emerge from his mansion, willing or not—” “Lord Munnin, can this intelligence be trusted?” “I’ve ascertained the very day.” “From one who frequents the Matsudaira household.” “The Kira relocation concludes by August twentieth.”

“I am deeply grateful.” Yasube grasped at the weeds in the cemetery. His entire body seemed to swell with blood. Munnin felt profound satisfaction at having discovered a young man who embodied the unyielding spirit of their glorious past. “Now then. If we resolve to act, what could possibly hinder us? When one man rises in valor, he shall rouse ten thousand. No matter how many allies we have in Edo, only three will execute this deed—you, Okuda, and Takada Gunbei.”

“I am deeply obliged for your consideration.” “If we let slip this opportunity, next we’ll see Lord Kōzuke’s retirement petition granted—just as the rumors say—and his person taken in by the Uesugi family to be hidden away until death in some remote corner of Yonezawa Castle. That outcome is not beyond reckoning.” “Once that comes to pass, not even a hundred men—let alone a thousand—could lay hands on him.” “Even should that not occur—given his years, if he were to catch but a chill and perish—consider the disgrace!” “With what honor could you all walk beneath the sun?” “No—would you dare show your faces before this grave a second time?”

At that moment—likely because it had gone on too long—they came to check on them. Two or three companions peered out from the shade of the trees, “Horibe! —Is Lord Munnin still there?” they barked.

Munnin finally stood up,

“Finished. I’ll be right there.”

“Everyone is growing impatient.” “So did I not already inform you there was no need to wait?” He was, to the very end, an unyielding old man.

Takada Gunbei Half Bow A single red crab walked leisurely sideways across the bridge. The water of the outer moat bubbled and seethed, and during the hour from midday to the peak of the afternoon sun, even the bustle of Gofukubashi Bridge took on the appearance of a temporary lull.

At the same fixed time each day, when that hour arrived, a young eel restaurant worker—carrying a small bucket in one hand—would dash as if transporting something that might melt and enter through the kitchen gate of the Kira household within Gofukubashi.

“I’ve brought the loaches.” “Mr. Hanaki, where should I put these loaches?—If the cats take them again, I won’t know about it!” At this shout, Hanaki Ichibei—a kitchen foot soldier wearing a work apron who had been laboring inside— “Hey now! You can’t leave them there.” “Take these things outside immediately!” “What a commotion here—are you moving house?” “We’re just storing unused utensils in the warehouse.” “You’re lying through your teeth.” “Everyone’s saying the mansion’s being relocated to Honjo Matsuzaka-cho.”

“Has it already gotten out?” “Didn’t you haul ten bargeloads of goods yesterday too?” “Keep your mouth shut about that!” “Until when should we keep bringing the loaches?”

“Let’s see…” “Even if you brought ’em to an empty house, what’s the damn point?” “Of course we ain’t cuttin’ your payments.” “But the move date—we’ve had strict orders to keep our traps shut.” “Can’t decide this solo—wait here a spell.”

With that, Ichibei stepped down from the stool where he had been lowering a toolbox from the shelf and peered into the room of Nakazato Jin'emon, the kitchen official.

He had been whispering something with Jin’emon, but soon emerged and, “Eel man.” “Yes?” “Given that your establishment has conducted business faithfully for many years, I trust there will be no leaks of information.” “Even if I were to blab things that aren’t good for the household, there’s nothing in it for me…” “That’s correct. In truth, this honorable residence will complete its relocation as of today indeed. Therefore, the loaches will no longer be required starting tomorrow.”

“Huh... Isn’t this rather sudden?” “Keep it quiet from the other merchants.” “Why would I say anything?” “While you’re at it, could you take those loaches to Nabetsuru in the pond? We must have all the kitchen items packed and loaded onto the ship before sunset, and as you can see, we’re busy with our aprons like this.” “Would it be all right if I go around to the garden?” “Just for today, it’s permitted.”

The eel restaurant worker, carrying a bucket of loaches, passed through the middle gate. In the garden too, long chest poles and bundles awaiting shipment lay heaped upon straw mats. Even upon ornate lanterns and carefully tended garden trees, straw dust had settled. The desolation of this soon-to-be-vacated house hung thick amidst the disorder.

“Who’s there?!” A sharp voice suddenly barked from the pond’s edge. The eel restaurant worker flinched and lowered his bucket. “I’m from the eel shop that delivers daily—here with crane feed as always—” “Who authorized your entry?!”

Wearing garden clogs, an olive-brown hakama, and a fine hemp kimono, he was a young samurai who carried himself like nobility. His somewhat sickly slender face had sharply raised eyebrows, and he gripped a half-bow and arrow in his hand as he glared. The eel restaurant worker suddenly plopped down because he immediately sensed that this person might be Lord Uemon’s legitimate son, Sahyōe-no-suke. “I won’t allow it!” In a harsh voice, the young man spoke again.

“Get out! —You shady wretch.” “Y-yes...” “Then I’ll leave the loaches for the crane’s feed here.” “Loaches? “Take those back too—we don’t need them!”

“As you wish.” With a puzzled look—momentarily flustered—Sahyōe-no-suke turned toward the house and—

“Magobei! Magobei!” “A shady wretch has entered the garden.” “Drive him out immediately!” While bellowing these orders, he nocked an arrow to his half bow and aimed it toward them.

The eel restaurant worker jumped up and tumbled out beyond the middle gate. Chasing the crane

“What has occurred?” “Young Master.”

Chief Retainer Sōda Magobei arrived; attendants Matsubara Tanaka and Iwase Toneri also came running.

When they saw Sahyōe-no-suke’s pallid face, the retainers started. Seeing he had nocked an arrow to his half-bow, they immediately scanned the garden’s shaded corners as though alarmed. “He’s already fled… It’s over,” Sahyōe-no-suke said. “What sort of man was it?” asked Sōda Magobei. “He claimed to bring crane feed.” “Then it must be that eel vendor who comes daily to the kitchens. There’s no danger here—you may set your mind at ease.”

“I see…”

Slumping his shoulders, Sahyōe-no-suke let out a deep breath. The half-bow he had been holding— “Tanaka,” he called and handed it to one of his attendants. Then: “Tanaka, use this to shoot down those kettle cranes.” With his chin, he indicated the three birds crouching across the pond. “Huh? The cranes?” “That’s right.” “Why would you order me to shoot them? At least let me consult Lord [Kira Yoshihisa] first.” “I’ll inform Father myself. I’d resolved to kill them with my own hands just now.”

“I hear the new residence in Honjo where you will be relocating has a rather spacious garden pond. If we move the cranes there, there should be no issue.” “These kettle cranes bring no good fortune.” “In China, they say they’re ill-omened birds—and I tell you, they truly are ill-omened.” “Which daimyo was it that brought this nuisance here as a gift on the fourteenth day of New Year’s this year?” “Then that Asano Naganori attacked my father within the palace on the fourteenth day of the third month.” “And then, wasn’t it September 14th when the order for our relocation was issued this time?”

“It must simply be a coincidence that those dates aligned.” “It’s not as though this is the crane’s fault…” Chief Retainer Sōda Magobei deliberately laughed it off,

“No!”

Sahyōe-no-suke shook his head vehemently, “Father has always disliked living creatures to begin with. From the moment he received them, he could not find joy. Especially since the incident, he has had no mind for cranes. Even looking at these creatures fills me with gloom. At night, they sometimes startle us with their great wingbeats.” “In that case, how about leaving only the cranes here and presenting them to some noble relative or other?”

“If someone were to receive such a thing, another scandal would break out at that mansion.” “Go ahead and shoot them.”

“Leave it to me.” “We will manage it in a way that does not trouble you.” Calmed by Magobei,

“I won’t be keeping them in the next residence.”

With that, Sahyōe-no-suke went up to the study building. Hanging scrolls, vases, bookshelves—all the furnishings had been put away, leaving the space utterly empty. Sahyōe-no-suke looked up at the new wooden beams and ceiling, recalling how his father Umanosuke had obsessively fussed over every detail during this building’s construction—the times when the construction budget fell short, forcing them to borrow large sums of 5,000 or 10,000 ryō from the Uesugi family, each instance placing his mother in agonizing straits—and stood despondent.

The absurd extravagance—from how many ryō a single inlaid nail cover cost, to the tens of ryō for a single plank of wheel-grained wood in the central gate, as if the entire place were sheathed in koban coins—all seemed to bare ironic fangs, mocking humanity. Strangers will live here.

When he thought this, Sahyōe-no-suke felt unbearably lonely and furious. (After I have enjoyed my old age, this is a mansion where you can live out your life again.) (He resolutely decided to invest the money and leave it there.) This was the mansion about which Lord Umanosuke, ever mindful of his mother, would habitually say... When he considered his father’s feelings, Sahyōe-no-suke found it unbearable. The world that condemned his father as a cold-blooded demon driven by nothing but greed filled him with mounting resentment. “No matter who says what, he is my absolute father. Even at home, he badmouths others as you’ve seen, but his true nature is surprisingly straightforward and Edo-bred. He may have a habit of despising uncultured people, but as a father who is a man of refined culture, it cannot be helped. That trait was something even the tea ceremony teachers who frequented the household, the gardeners, and even the fishmongers knew best. Though one might call him strong-willed and deeply greedy, those are traits common among the elderly. People said he acted arrogantly or abused his authority during palace ceremonies or imperial envoy visits, but given my father’s career and the Kira family’s standing, was that not only natural? He did not act arrogantly solely toward the Asano family. It was only because Lord Takumi-no-kami—who had never held any position of real significance in the shogunate—chose to defy my father, a man decades his senior, out of petty samurai pride, that Father dug in his heels in turn. From the perspective of us who know Father’s temperament well, the reason for Asano’s anger remains incomprehensible. And why does the world single out us father and son as enemies? That too, I cannot comprehend…”

Even as he muttered this, Sahyōe-no-suke found himself relentlessly gripped by a certain unease. His father still retained, in some aspects, the boldness natural to a seasoned man, but he himself had yet to experience battling against the wider world in such a manner. Moreover, having been born as the hereditary eldest son of the Kōke class, he had never even dreamed that such circumstances would befall him within his lifetime.

“Ah! It went that way!” In the garden, Matsubara Tanaka and Iwase Shajin had summoned ashigaru and were chasing them about, seemingly attempting to herd them into a large cage. Sahyōe-no-suke tsked and headed toward his room. However, noticing that retainers were still tidying tools there as well, he crossed the bridge corridor and entered the temporary inner chamber behind the two-doored storehouse. In the small room beside the storehouse and in the chambers flanking the rear veranda, seven or eight samurai sat here at all times, hands poised at their sword hilts. Even as Sahyōe-no-suke crossed the bridge corridor, the sound of his footsteps immediately caused several men gripping their swords to peer out.

“…………” Under the unsettling gazes that followed him, Sahyōe-no-suke entered the dark chamber where his elderly parents lay—a room as dim and confined as a double-layered box. It was a twelve-mat space where shadows from fresh leaves cast a gloomy light through narrow, north-facing eaves. There, when he saw his elderly father’s narrow shoulders and his mother’s hunched back—their gloomy faces pressed together as they sat in silence, utterly devoid of resolve—his chest tightened. Why could this father of his, so utterly lacking in backbone, have committed acts in the palace that provoked such furious outrage in others? Why was he viewed by society as a self-willed, arrogant man? It made no sense. Yet this same father was revered like a clan deity by villagers from his Mikawa domain who brought first harvest offerings each year. That the father those people worshipped and the father Edo’s citizens reviled were one and the same—for him, their son—left the world irreparably suspect.

This household “Sahyōe-no-suke?” Lord Umanosuke immediately detected the vigor of the person’s presence. He kept the deeply shadowed face he had been directing at his elderly wife Tomiko unchanged, “There’s a rather involved matter to discuss.” “You—go over there and stay.” It seemed the parents were arguing again among themselves. Sahyōe-no-suke regretted nothing more than the great rift that had formed between these parents—both in their sixties—since that incident involving his father. As a son, there were frequently times when he had to avert his face in his parents’ presence.

“...If my presence here intrudes—” “It’s not that you intrude, but hearing this would bring you no benefit.” “Then…” As he began to rise,

“You—have you finished preparing your belongings?” “We can move at any time.”

“I see.…… Don’t worry about a thing.” “Yes.”

“Stay strong! There’s nothing at all to worry about! Mother too worries, saying your complexion looks poor. I may be a man with little time left in his years, but you are the one to inherit the Kira house. Take care of yourself. What will you do—being so sickly at barely twenty years old? Do not trouble your mind with the idle gossip of the world.” “Yes.”

“This father does not possess such a weak spirit.” “No matter what anyone says, I have faithfully fulfilled my duties.” “The shogunate is well aware.” “For forty years since I was nineteen, even the court nobles know full well of my service.” “If the head of the Kōke is made a fool by such an ignorant minor daimyō, then henceforth none of us Kōke members will be able to perform our duties.” “It is precisely by commanding daimyō with a mere tilt of the chin that the annual ceremonies manage to proceed without any blunders from the court nobles.”

He must have repeated these justifications dozens of times—to close relatives, vassals, acquaintances. By nature an honest and timid man, this trait emerged at every turn; and whenever it did, Umanosuke would still grow agitated in tone and adopt an extraordinary expression.

But even he himself, when noticing his own abnormal state of mind of late, could not help but feel somewhat ashamed— “Well… there’s no use in me saying such things now.” “But I believe you alone will still trust me.… That’s why I’m telling you this.” “Yes.” “You are my child, after all. “Sahyōe, when night falls, let us move to the new residence by boat. “They say a change of residence shifts one’s spirit—let us change our spirits and live on.”

To the son, this was simply how his father had always been. Sahyōe-no-suke averted his tear-filled eyes, bowed, and stood up.

Even after Sahyōe-no-suke had left the room, the elderly couple remained silent with each other. In the incense burner stood a single stick of mosquito-repellent incense. Like their emotions, a thin line bound the two.

“Tomiko”

At length, Umanosuke began to speak.

“Must you truly return to the Uesugi house—leaving me behind?” “I shall take my leave and return.” “Don’t you think it disgraceful for a couple in their sixties?” “I am aware of the awkwardness.” “...But there is something I can no longer endure.” “What?” “There is no use in my saying anything more.” “I will not offer you any admonishment.” “As long as I remain by your side, my words might inadvertently betray me—therefore today shall be my last day here. I shall return to my family home.”

“Go!”

He declared——

“Every last wretch who shares the Uesugi blood seems thoroughly cold-hearted by design.” “Whether it’s Chisaka Hyōbu or you…” “Hyōbu is a retainer.” “That man embodies the frigid nature of Yonezawa samurai.” “A lie? Look!” “When the Lord of Yonezawa—out of kinship—hears of any ominous plot by those Akō rōnin, he immediately considers my safety: offering shelter at his Shirogane villa or inviting me to Yonezawa Castle itself, showing concern from his distant domain. Yet in stark contrast, it’s that Chisaka Hyōbu who warps every word of his lord’s offers—rejecting shelter here, declaring retreat to Yonezawa unthinkable—and at every turn schemes to cast me into peril!”

“…” “That much I could endure.”

His voice was deliberately kept even, but his breathing had grown ragged. He took a sip of tea. “Hyōbu’s attitude is hateful in terms of emotion, but it is reasonable.” “But for even you—after forty years by my side—to return to your family home at this age… What is the meaning of this?” “I gather that too must be Hyōbu’s meddling—”

“……” “Enough! Married couples, relatives—in times like these, none can be relied upon. Such is the way of the world. Go! Go! You will sever all ties with the Uesugi house from this day forth. Convey that to Hyōbu. Do you think that satisfies the retainers’ honor?” “My lord.” Tomiko slid closer until their knees nearly touched and stared directly at her husband. Since marrying into the Uesugi house at age twenty, this wife had possessed a stricter disposition than Umanosuke. A husband who—relying on his wit and influence—had often pursued perilous gains, a man of weak constitution yet arrogant in his dealings with others, one who toyed with society—she had been the supportive spouse who skillfully reined him in. Thus even Umanosuke could not lift his head before his wife like a cat.—It could be said that until three months prior, he had at least never quarreled with her.

“What?” Umanosuke said, his face still bearing the expression of one confronting a great enemy.

“This is the end. Once more, I shall offer my final admonishment.” “I beg you—if you hold any love for our child, resolve upon your course of action.” “Ba!” “Don’t talk nonsense!” “By all means, have you not resolved yourself?” “Die? How could I endure that?” “What possible reason could there be for me to kill myself?” “I do not press this matter through reason.” “I appeal to your heart.” “To *feelings*? “This! How can a wife who urges her own husband to kill himself speak of *feelings*?”

“For our child’s sake, I must speak.” “Should you meet an unexpected blade from those Akō rōnin—what would become of Sahyōe-no-suke?” “Could the Kira house endure?” “If mishandled, even the lord of Yonezawa may face consequences.” “Though sent as an adopted heir to rule another domain—by blood, is Lord Danjōdaihitsu not our true son?” “The survival of both Kira and Uesugi houses hangs on Your Lordship’s decision alone.”

“Enough… Cease your nagging.” “No, this will be the last.” “I have said all I can say.” “As your wife, I cannot bear to hear the world’s clamorous gossip.” “What joy could there be in surviving the short remainder of your old age while enduring vile slander—tormented in every waking moment, even by the sound of the wind?” “Have we not already outlived our natural lifespan? For the sake of both houses and our two children.”

“Shut up…” “……” “If you want to die, die alone.” “If my life alone could resolve this, I would die smiling.” “If society slanders me, I’ll refuse to die; if the Akō rōnin target me, I’ll cling to life out of sheer spite.” “I am, by nature, a man made to be that stubborn.” “If I were to kill myself, they would all clap their hands and mock me.” “That’s what I refuse—what I cannot bear.” “That would be cowardice.”

“What?!”

A sharp crack rang out, like the sound of a slap across a cheek. Tomiko’s low sobs continued to tremble endlessly afterward.

The room was already dark. The candles, too, were not lit tonight. Around Umanosuke’s face, stiff as a mask, a swarm of mosquitoes droned.

Light streamed in from outside the room. A retainer holding a lantern and chief retainer Sōda Magobei knelt quietly and spoke— “Then, Your Lordship, please deign to proceed with the relocation.”

Eleven Shadows

On the dark surface of the outer moat, a single ferryboat was moored, its lantern light flickering.

A samurai who had come running out from the Kira household’s side gate near the riverbank spoke in a low voice from the shore, “They’re coming out.” When he said this, the four or five samurai who had been huddled at the stern all stood up at once and scanned both riverbanks. In the brief space between the side gate and the boat, about twenty retainers swiftly stood up and formed a human barrier. Through their midst walked Umanosuke and Sahyōe-no-suke, father and son, dressed in inconspicuous clothing. Tomiko was nowhere to be seen. Sahyōe-no-suke took his father’s hand and guided him from the gangplank into the ferryboat. Amidst the samurai’s silent bows, the father and son sat down on the seats prepared in the central cabin.

“Well then…”

“Then.”

With that, exchanging whispers between the ship and shore, the retainers quickly dispersed. The ferryboat was already gliding slowly along the bottom of the narrow moat.

Umanosuke gazed up at the lights and stars on land, “How many days has it been since I last felt the outside wind?”

he muttered.

Sahyōe-no-suke was thinking solely of his mother, who had returned to the Uesugi household that evening. When he heard his mother’s arguments, she seemed to be in the right, and when he heard his father’s assertions, those too struck him as reasonable. However, no matter how correct she might be, he thought as her child, he could not obey what his mother was insisting on. He firmly resolved in his heart to remain by his isolated father’s side, no matter what. “What’s that?” The guarding retainers at both bow and stern suddenly exclaimed, so the father and son—their eyes tensing—immediately scanned the front and rear of the boat.

“What is it?” Lord Umanosuke said. One of the retainers whispered to those nearby， then quietly whispered into Sahyōe-no-suke’s ear.

“About ten suspicious masterless samurai are walking along the riverbank, following this boat. …Do not let down your guard.” “Wh-where?”

The retainer wordlessly indicated the left bank with a tilt of his head.—Sure enough, figures moved there. Six led while five trailed behind—after observing their movements awhile, it became clear these two clusters formed one group. Sahyōe-no-suke’s gaze grew restless as he kept glancing back at the two barges rowing behind their ferry. Each barge carried four reliable retainers from their vassals for emergencies. Altogether they numbered about twenty men. Against this, the shadowy figures on land could plainly be counted as eleven.

...Will we be all right?

When he whispered to the retainer,

“Please do not trouble yourself with concern. They cannot easily approach from either land or river.” “But…”

Sahyōe-no-suke’s sideburns stood disheveled in the river wind. I have heard that among the Akō rōnin are some rather formidable individuals. As for masters of spearmanship, the name Takada Gunbei resounds, and among those excelling in swordsmanship, there are men like Horibe Yasube. Even twenty against eleven—they could never fight as equals. Moreover, they had lost their lord, been severed from their stipends, and were now what one might call bodies ready to be discarded.

“Row faster!” When Sahyōe-no-suke urged the oarsmen in a low voice to hurry, “Nonsense.” His father, Lord Umanosuke, shook his head and said: “If they attack around here, row to beneath the river patrol station. When we enter the Ōkawa River, first have one person go ashore and call for the mansion’s attendants. However, they will not press so urgently. Those wretches must have considered that if they were to fail, what would become of Lord Takumi-no-kami’s younger brother Daigaku, or what repercussions might befall the Asano clan in Aki and Tosa.”

Sahyōe-no-suke, who had been at his father’s side resolved to protect him, instead felt as though he were the one being protected by his father. After gazing at his father’s composed demeanor, he too felt his heart settle somewhat. Though his father was viewed by the general public as the basest among base bureaucrats, he had mingled with court nobles and dignitaries since the age of nineteen—cultivating both poetry and the incense ceremony. From middle age onward, he had turned a contemplative eye toward Buddhist teachings, and in recent years had devoted himself particularly to the tea ceremony, often speaking of “tea and Zen as one”—such self-cultivation would prove useful in situations like this, the son thought—and through these eyes, his father appeared unshakably strong and dependable.

Before long, When they rowed out into the Ōkawa River，the figures that had been tailing them along the riverbank had scattered to who knows where and vanished. Lord Umanosuke laughed for the first time． “What can masterless，mangy curs possibly do? No matter how hard they work，their stipends won’t increase—all they’ll get is their own heads flying off．While walking，blown by the river wind，their heads cooled，and they realized the foolishness of it all，” he said． However，

Before long, when his boat and the guard barge entered the Yokobori Canal below Ryōgoku, there on Hitotsume Bridge stood the eleven men from earlier, lined along the railing. And then—(Here they come.) When they looked, the figures were seen scattering across the bridge—exactly in the area of Matsuzaka-chō’s back riverbank, situated between Hitotsume Bridge and Futatsume Bridge, those eleven men aligned their shadows in a row and stood blocking the way. Frantic Squad

Before that.—It was still when the western sun was blazing.

While sweating profusely and hurriedly fanning himself at his chest,

“Forgive me.” A rōnin entered the entrance of the eel restaurant “Miyatogawa” in Hakuya-chō—it was Horibe Yasube. “Welcome.” “Is everyone here?” “You’ve been eagerly awaited, sir.” He headed upstairs.

The lush green leaves of dwarf bamboo in the courtyard rustled beyond the back railing.

In that very room, the voices of a dozen or so people could already be heard. There were Okuda, Kataoka, Akahane, and the Murashima father and son, as well as Takebayashi Tadashichi and Yada Gorōemon.

“Oh, Horibe!” Takada Gunbei spotted him from across the room and said.

“My apologies for being late.” As Yasube took his seat, “Isokai Jūrōza and Tomimori Sukeemon still haven’t arrived.” “Isokai sent word through me.” “He ate some watermelon that disagreed with him—has been bedridden with diarrhea since yesterday.” “Sukeemon asked me to convey his regards to both men as he’s departing on a journey.” “Even a youth like Isokai—you see—could fall ill at any moment.” “—let alone—” Takada Gunbei lowered his voice,

“An aged frame like Lord Umanosuke’s might collapse from illness at any time.”

Old Man Okuda also nodded. "That prospect is precarious." Gunbei formed a lump on his shoulders, befitting a spearman, "Why don’t we proceed? With this many of us here…"

he surveyed the faces around him.

Yasube took out a letter from his pocket, “This is from Yamashina no Tayu—a reply to our recent inquiry.” “Please circulate it.”

Old Man Okuda silently read it and passed it to Gunbei. As it circulated from Gunbei to Tanaka, then to Kataoka and Takebayashi, “Horibe!” Gunbei said. There was an intensity to his tone—one that vented both the document’s unbearable unpleasantness and his long-simmering frustrations. “Coordinating with the Kamigata faction is well enough, but how much longer must we trade these same hollow phrases? Every letter from Lord Kuranosuke follows the same pattern—groveling for the shogunate’s pity. They prioritize Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement above all else. And again—‘premature.’ ‘Refrain from reckless actions.’”

“Hmm.” Yasube pulled in his chin.

Murashima Sandaifu, who was beside him,

“One.” Murashima Sandaifu placed a cup in his hand. Gunbei also took a cup and said, “Reading today’s letter—once again—they’re pinning their hopes on these contemptible women’s tricks for this campaign to reinstate Lord Daigaku! That Yūkai from Enrinji Temple seeks connections with the Yanagisawa family or scrambles to curry favor with the Ōoku, all while waiting to see results first—isn’t that right?” “Such indecisiveness goes beyond reason.” “Lord Ōishi’s true intentions are laid bare for all to see.” “I now believe he’s no longer someone who’ll share in our great cause…”

Okuda Magodayu, who was bending his back and removing the skewers from the grilled eel, “Letters between Edo and Kamigata won’t settle anything." “We ought to send someone there once and for all, I say.” “Lord Hara Sōemon is planning to travel down here shortly, as stated in the recent correspondence.” said Kataoka Gengoemon. Gunbei retorted with murderous scorn,

“And that too—they’re coming to pacify us like giving candy to a crying child. That we honor our lord’s name and seek to devote ourselves to the samurai’s foremost duty must appear to Lord Ōishi as nothing but reckless folly. At its core, this is a divergence in our understanding of bushidō. No matter how much we exchange letters and debate, it will never reach resolution. In that case, even if we must set aside the Kamigata faction, we shall carry out our original resolve.”

Gunbei's seething resentment was something they all shared equally. This man showed no trace of being some drunken loudmouth—a spearmanship master acknowledged by others and self-assured. His transfer from the Ogasawara clan to high-ranking service under the Asanos had been secured precisely through this martial renown. Gunbei never ceased extolling that benevolence. Since Lord Asano's calamity, he had stood as the Edo faction's militant vanguard. Their unbending stance held that they must execute their resolve before their lord's hundredth-day memorial—or forfeit all honor in society's eyes.

Among those who shared his resolve were Horibe Yasube and Okuda Magodayu. These three men were, so to speak, the ones who held sway over the Edo faction—former retainers remaining in Edo—and had advocated immediate action as their doctrine.

Just as the Home Province Faction had produced various dissenters, neither was the Edo Faction one where members had been carelessly united. Many senior councilors and high-ranking officials—the likes of Fujii Matazaemon and Yasui Hikoemon—had gradually ceased appearing altogether, their relations with radicals such as Horibe and Takada having grown positively strained. Yet disregarding such deserters entirely remained precisely the defining characteristic of those assembled here.

(Let the disagreeable ones leave. Let those who hesitate watch. Even if I’m left alone, I’ll see it through.) Such was their resolve. Moreover, behind the scenes,

*That’s how it had to be.*

And there were elderly men bolstering the younger ones. First among those absent was old Horibe Yahee, while Ōishi Bujin—a masterless samurai dwelling in Honjo Nakanogo—went so far as to scornfully declare that recent youths showed excessive caution and deficient resolve. “Enough debate,” “No more outrage,” “It boils down to action or inaction.” At Yasube’s ensuing words, “We act—of course.” Gunbei seized this momentum and—

“The day looms.” Gunbei said.

“When?”

Suddenly lowering his voice, Takebayashi Tadashichi said. “I cannot say for certain... but it is a fact they’ve already started sending relocation supplies to Honjo.” “Yet there appears to be no indication that the Kira father and son have moved.”

“Then it will be within these three or four days at the latest.”

“Maebara Isuke is constantly keeping watch over that area, so once he learns anything, he should send word immediately.”

“When they move—will it be day or night?” “Considering Lord Kira’s reluctance to venture out even a step for fear of public scrutiny, he will undoubtedly opt for nighttime.” “But we can’t assume they won’t act unexpectedly.” “With only Maebara keeping watch, will he manage when the time comes?” “For these next four or five days, you must all remain at your designated posts.” “And keep emergency protocols in mind.” Before they knew it, every voice had sunk to a whisper. Even after Lord Asano’s hundred-day memorial had passed, these men—chafing at Ōishi Kuranosuke’s endless equivocation and rumors of Kira’s planned spring relocation to Yonezawa—now felt they could delay no longer. Seizing this perfect chance presented by the Kira household’s imminent move, they whispered together for another half-hour, resolved at last to fulfill their sworn purpose.

—And so. Tanaka Shōshirō, who had risen from his seat and gone downstairs to the lavatory, still had not returned. The eyes of the mutually wary people immediately turned suspiciously toward that vacant seat,

“What’s happened to Tanaka?” “He’s taking rather long for the lavatory…”

Akahashi Genzō rose, “Shall I go check?”

and he descended to the lower floor.

Land Attendants In the smoky clatter of grilling eel, the sound of a fan being beaten resounded from the kitchen. Men were busily working there, splitting eels and steaming them. Tanaka Shōshirō was standing beneath the staircase, near a window overlooking the kitchen, listening intently. When Genzō called out, “Shh…” and waved the fan pressed against his chest sideways.

The loud voices of the delivery person and chef carried as clearly as if cupped in one’s palm. To this mix came the clerk’s interjections from the counter: “What’s this? We can’t even get payment for today’s loach delivery?”

“Well, they just said they don’t need ’em.” “If you don’t want it, why not take it back?” “That’s just it. “Had to be Lord Kira’s young master—he was holding a half-bow like this and aimed it right at me. “If I’d been shot dead, that’d be it—so I left the loaches and ran.” “That mansion’s all high-and-mighty and slow to pay. “Now they’re pointing bows at us merchants? Damn bastards!” “Go get our money!”

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“But I’m tellin’ you—the mansion’s movin’ to Honjo today! That’s what they say!” “After today, we’ll have to haul ass all the way to Matsuzaka-chō just to collect!” “If they won’t cough up the payment, go snatch back them loaches!”

“Someone, go!” “You coward!” “Even I value my life.” “You idiot! You’re just going to collect payment for the loaches—you think someone’s actually going to get killed over this? I don’t know if he’s some young lord or what, but that samurai who aimed a bow at you—he’s probably a madman or something.” “What do you mean? He’s a fine young master with such good character. The oblong shape of his face resembled Lord Kōzuke’s in some way.” “Damn that stingy mansion!”

“Oh well—consider it a gift.” “Don’t get cocky just because it’s the master’s property!” “In return, I’ll just blabber all about that hushed-up matter from Mr. Hanaki, the kitchen foot soldier.” “What’s this? You’re saying you were told to keep quiet?” “Well, y’see, because of that incident, they’re ridiculously keeping the day when His Lordship and the young master are moving to Honjo a secret from everyone.”

“Hmm, I see.” “To the other merchants, they’re still saying they’ll be here four or five more days, but truth is, everyone from that mansion’ll be gone for good after today.” “You idiot! Blabbing about that won’t ease your damn frustration!” “We’re clear losing money on the loaches.” “Someone go bow and get ’em back! Now!” Genzō’s eyes locked with Shōshirō’s—one midway up the stairs, the other at the bottom. When they sensed maids approaching, both men silently withdrew upstairs.

Before long, they clapped their hands and, “Hey! Get me some food!” they said on the second floor.

As the meal was being carried upstairs, Kurahashi Densuke arrived here, his eyes tense with focus. Amidst all this commotion, the street had grown dark.

“Well then, until next time.”

“Give my regards to your family.” Exchanging such deliberate farewells at the Miyatogawa gate, the group scattered in all directions—though not a single one among them returned home afterward. At the gravel yard’s tokoroten shop, in the grassy thicket of the vacant lot, at the bridge’s edge—all the figures idly strolling as though enjoying the evening cool were none other than them. And then—before long, they had confirmed that Lord Kira’s retainers had quietly moored a barge alongside the shore of the outer moat where Kira’s service gate was visible.

Before long, Kurahashi Densuke, “The fan has been dropped.”

He passed through the backs of the scattered people. “The fan has been dropped.” When they heard that whisper, multiple eyes glinted from the darkness toward the opposite bank. The figures of Lord Kōzuke and his son came into view. They boarded the boat, so densely surrounded by retainers that their shadows vanished from sight. The barge creaked away from the shore—.

The group swiftly gathered in the vacant lot.

They began to move like the wind. The plan was set. Only the location remained. The enemy’s use of a boat was an unforeseen development.

“Let’s circle ahead.”

This was Akahashi Genzō's remark.

“Matsuzaka-chō?”

"If they disembark from the boat, it'll be around Futatsume Bridge." "Alright!" With that, their focus intensified.

“But wait!”

This was Elder Okuda’s caution. “We can’t outflank them even if we try.” “Matsuzaka-chō isn’t necessarily Lord Kōzuke’s only destination—the Uesugi family’s middle and lower residences could also be part of his strategy.” “Understood.”

Murashima Sandaifu nodded.

“Very well,” said Kunibe, “Let’s tail the boat along the riverbank.” “That would still attract notice,” “No—we’ll disperse.” “Understood.”

And so, there were no objections.

Immediately, they chased along the riverbank. They split into groups—one by one—two by two—in clusters of about three each. However, after walking four or five blocks in this manner, there suddenly appeared before them a group of figures marching boldly in formation along the shore, following Lord Kira Kōzuke’s boat. They numbered eleven. Their footwear consisted of straw sandals and leggings, with long swords slung at their sides—two or three among them cradled spears horizontally. “What—?” “Who could they be?”

Yasube and Kunibe were suspicious. They could not be allies—.

Moreover, their attire was unusual even for retainers of the Kira household. Straw sandals, travel packs, dust-covered field trousers—no matter how one looked at them, they appeared to be country samurai. Not only that—each of the eleven men moved with terrifying force in every step, leaving no openings in their formation. Even had cannon fire struck them, their tension showed not a flicker of panicked disarray. They advanced alongside the boat like an iron rampart gradually sliding into place. “Shimizu Ichigaku is here!...”

Kunibe approached Horibe Yasube and whispered.

“…………”

Yasube’s cold, fierce eyes were all that glittered.

“—What about the ones behind?”

This was Elder Okuda.

From among them, “I’ve figured it out—Shimizu Ichigaku had been dispatched to Yonezawa. “They’re provincial samurai handpicked from the Uesugi domain’s home territory!” “That’s right… It must be.”

“Swordsmen from Yonezawa?” “They’re the ones brought by the retired lord’s attendants.” In a low voice—yet with forceful intensity—someone muttered: “Damn it!”

The muttered words were carried away by the wind.

Garden shears Having received orders from Chisaka Hyōbu, Shimizu Ichigaku had selected ten swordsmen from Yonezawa’s provincial headquarters and returned to Edo just this morning. (Before the retired lord’s relocation)

Having been instructed by Hyōbu, they had rushed to set today as the designated day. Due to the notification from Hyōbu, Lord Kira Yoshihisa and his son had decided to immediately relocate to their new residence. As a result, the group—without even pausing to shed their travel attire—had received orders from Hyōbu upon arriving in Edo: to follow Shimizu Ichigaku into tonight’s mission and then take up quarters in Matsuzaka-chō. “Truly, as expected of Lord Hyōbu—his discernment from afar is peerless. Just as expected—the emaciated Akō rōnin are trailing us here and there.”

Ichigaku said this and admonished the attendant swordsmen. “Stay ready—don’t look back.” he said—. As instructed, the attendant swordsmen walked on. Each step was a matter of life and death. Their backs were rigid with tension. “—The ones in there are surely Horibe and Takada.” “These two are a bit tough.” “If they attack, I’ll call out their names—then strike those two all at once.” “Even if opponents come at you from the side or back—take down those two first.” “All together.”

However, such an opportunity never came. The Akō side was, of course, agitated, but they were in no way opponents for the Yonezawa samurai. Shimizu Ichigaku was no ordinary enemy.

They crossed Ryōgoku and reached the field at the first corner, but there— “No good!” Elder Okuda blurted out.

Murashima Kihee also— “Ah! …The time has not yet come.” Murashima Kihee let out a lament. Takada Kunibe alone— “If the old man can’t make a move, then we’ll strike when Lord Kōzuke disembarks from the boat.” “—What’s Shimizu Ichigaku got to do with this?” he said in a tone that suggested he would not agree, but Yasube—typically so vehement—seemed to be considering something,

“Takada, let’s hold back,” he attempted to placate him. “Why have even you come here only to hesitate now?” Kunibe indignantly rebuked him, “Akahane, Kataoka—and the rest of you—” “Let us follow the elder’s lead.”

And so, most of them had reconsidered and were already turning back. Kunibe glared at his comrades’ retreating backs with scornful eyes. “Horibe—you’re retreating?” “It cannot be helped.” “You and Elder Okuda—stay here a moment.”

Grabbing the sleeves of the two men,

“I have something to discuss.” “What?” “At the very least, we three cannot simply leave here.” “Why?” “This isn’t what we agreed on! What oath did we swear at the beginning?—It’s unavoidable that the others lost their resolve at this critical juncture. But didn’t we three swear that even if reduced to our last man, we would strike through—whether Kira erects ironclad defenses or meets us with drawn blades? Have you forgotten—have you abandoned those very words?”

Gripping Yasube and the old man’s wrists tightly in both hands and shaking them, Kunibe spoke. Anger born of passion made tears glisten in his eyes. Even Yasube and the old man felt their hearts shaken. They thought that passion was noble. Even they had their own limits. However, they thought that this man’s raw stubbornness was something even more beautiful——. “Takada… Well, calm down. Don’t be so angry.” “It’s not that we faltered when facing this critical moment tonight.”

“No—even if you call me a coward, there’s no room for excuses. And the words from this afternoon…” “Now listen—you’re so eager to die, but could you really die laughing without taking Lord Kōzuke’s head?”

“I have confidence,” Kunibe declared, his grip tightening on their wrists. “I’ve gauged Shimizu Ichigaku’s skill well enough.” “Is Ichigaku our foe?” Yasube countered. “Even if he isn’t—” Kunibe began. “This burning desire to strike tonight—it consumes me as much as you,” Yasube interrupted, “but charging against prepared defenses offers no path to victory. Any strategist would see it.” His voice hardened with tactical precision. “We might cut through attendants by the dozen, yet slaying Lord Kōzuke himself? Not one among us could swear to that.” He gestured toward the moonlit riverbank. “Consider the terrain—Kira’s mansion lies too near, flanked by guard posts and crowded dwellings. A single shout would bring commoners swarming like ants.” Yasube’s finger traced an invisible arc through frost-laden air. “Projectile weapons would fail us here. Should we falter…” His jaw tightened at the imagined disgrace. “Lord Ōishi’s warnings would prove prophetic—we’d become laughingstocks, compounding our lord’s shame.” The night seemed to absorb his next words before they emerged: “Endure this night. We retreat silently.”

Okuda Magodayu also pleaded until his mouth went dry to placate him, and finally, Kunibe reluctantly began to walk, though he remained in a foul mood. In sullen silence, without uttering a word, he made his way back across Ryōgoku Bridge. It was still early evening, and Yasube, finding the thought of spending even a single night with a close friend while harboring unresolved emotions unbearable, tapped Kunibe on the shoulder. “Takada, how about we stop by the usual teahouse and have a drink to clear the air?” “I don’t want to drink.”

He shook his head bluntly. “Now, don’t say that.”

Okuda Magodayu joined them, "I’ll join you as well—keep me company," he added with an elderly half-laugh.

They led him along as if placating a spoiled child. When things settled down over drinks, Kunibe finally regained his composure. In exchange—perhaps because he had steeled his resolve to do nothing more than sleep safely through another night with a life already meant to be discarded—he drank heavily. The fervor of his drinking grew fierce once more. Kataoka, Takebayashi, and Murashima’s followers berated them for not yet having truly hardened their hearts for revenge. However, determined to carry through to the end, we gripped the old man and Yasube’s hands, our voices choked with tears as we pleaded. And then,

“My lords, shall we go to Kamakura in the coming days?”

And then, Kunibe was the one who proposed. The preliminary plan—to travel from Enoshima to Kamakura under the guise of sightseeing, establish a blood-sealed oath of revenge before the gods at Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine, and use it as the foundation for a pact among comrades—had long been discussed among the three men. Yet until now, they had proceeded through tacit understanding alone, never finding the opportunity to act. That Kunibe now raised this proposal might ultimately stem from his inability to fully trust these two men through words alone. Yasube agreed without hesitation,

“Very well—we shall go without fail.”

On the spot, they set a date for their journey and parted ways.

Several days later, in the early morning, “Horibe, are the preparations ready?” Kunibe came to his rōnin residence to invite him.

The sound of shears could be heard in the garden. Beyond the hedge of morning glories—their blossoms growing smaller with each passing dawn—stood a white-haired old man holding pruning shears.

“Ah, Mr. Takada! Please come in,” he said, opening the garden gate. This was Horibe Yahyōe, Yasube’s father. Heading toward the back,

“Sachi. Bring tea.”

He placed the gardening shears on the veranda.

Kamakura Blood Seal O-Sachi spread out a floor mat, “Such a humble spot…” As she greeted Kunibe and glanced at her father’s face, “Oh, the veranda’s edge is actually better. And there’s no need to remove your straw sandals.” “Oh, you’re always so willful…” “Ronin etiquette. Lord Kunibe, isn’t that so?” “You always say such amusing things.” Kunibe lifted the tea to his palm, “Is Lord Yasube not yet here?” “What? He’s been up for ages.” “Sachi, what is my son doing?”

“Forgive me, but since Lord Okuda is also expected to stop by this morning, would you kindly wait a short while?” “Even so, tell my son to come quickly.” “Um…” “Just now, he’s in the middle of his usual daily routine.”

“Ah, I see. Lord Kunibe, then grant me a brief reprieve.” “What exactly is this daily routine he does?” “Oh, it’s just some trivial thing…”

No matter the occasion, this old man—who always dominated every conversation with talk of his sons—wore a wry smile even as a look of pride flickered across his expression.

“That fellow’s been keeping himself busy since becoming a rōnin—this summer he’s dug out calligraphy manuals and practices his summer writing daily. Calligraphy practice, you see. Ha ha ha ha!” “Oh? So he’s made calligraphy part of his daily routine?” “Indeed.”

Kunibe privately wondered. Why would he—resolved to die whether sooner or later than the autumn cicadas—need to learn calligraphy? he thought.

“Oh, you were here before me?” At that moment, elderly Okuda Magodayu—dressed in light travel attire and being one who visited frequently—pushed open the garden gate and entered. Then, to Yahyōe,

“Will you not join us as well?” As he urged,

“No, I need not go.” Yahyōe had taken up his pruning shears again and was trimming the summer-thickened garden plants with brisk snips. His appearance, too, could not be perceived as that of a man single-mindedly devoted to revenge. Whether it was this rented house they had moved into after their disbandment, the orderly state of the household, or the brightness on the face of Yasube’s wife, O-Sachi—nowhere could one find shadows of gloom or tragedy. Kunibe— (Huh…?) ……)

He could not help but feel bewildered. Kunibe was still a man who had never known a wife. Before long, when he saw Yasube come out to greet them—watching as O-Sachi helped him into a robe in the inner room and attended to every detail of his travel preparations—he found himself seized by a faint envy, lamenting his own life in solitary silence. “My apologies for the wait.”

After announcing a four- or five-day absence, Yasube fastened new straw sandals to his feet. Holding a sedge hat, O-Sachi moved about outside. Yahyōe also saw them off to the gate— “Did you remember the travel medicine?” “What about the writing set?”

Such meticulous attentiveness evoked the image of this father and daughter’s daily home life.

Kunibe found himself strangely unable to shake the image of another man’s wife from his mind during that day’s journey. Moreover, the farmers’ houses, merchant shops, and households of various classes visible from the highway strangely caught his eye. And as he imagined each home’s family gatherings, pondered life, and turned his thoughts inward, he walked on with few words.

Two days later, they visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangu. Okuda Magodayu had brought with him a scroll he had made himself by pasting paper and mounting it, carrying it in his pocket. It was the pact. Before the gods, the three men signed their names and affixed their blood seals. “Takada.” “Hmm…?”

While descending in front of the great ginkgo tree, Yasube asked, “Are you tired…? Your complexion looks a bit off.” “It might be the water.” “That won’t do.” Breaking open the medicine case, he spilled the pills into his palm. “You should take this.” Kunibe received it into his palm but pretended to take it and ended up spilling the medicine. The plan was to go around Enoshima. However, even that seemed to hold little appeal for Kunibe. “Why don’t we head back?”

he proposed at the teahouse. “We’ve come all this way—it’d be a shame to turn back now.” said the elderly Okuda. Having been told that, Kunibe found himself dragged along once more. They were circling the island, watching the abalone-gathering ama. From the eaves of a souvenir shop selling shell crafts, a samurai father and daughter accompanied by a young retainer were intently watching the backs of the three men. “Hmm…” “He bears a striking resemblance.” They were focusing their attention particularly on Kunibe. As the three men turned their steps from the wave-splashed rocky outcrop and began to pass before the souvenir shop, the samurai and his daughter—who had not taken their eyes off them since earlier—

“Oh!” he exclaimed with a vibrant voice. Kunibe turned his face toward the sound,

“Ah… Well…” he came to an abrupt halt.

The lingering scent of autumn.

“What an unexpected place to meet.” “How have you been faring since then?” Leaving the servant and his daughter behind, the samurai approached.

“It has been too long.” “You remain unchanged as ever.” “As for me, I remain as you see.” “However, you have been through quite an ordeal, I must say.” “Being invited to the Asano family with an exceptional stipend—when I reflect now—has instead brought misfortune.” “Had you stayed with the Ogasawara house, none of this would have occurred.” “Ah well—human fortune remains ever unknowable.” “O-Sayo too has heard naught but rumors and fretted constantly since that disaster.” The one called O-Sayo must have been that daughter; she offered greetings from her father’s side. Their conversation flowed with uncommon vitality; the man seemed of substantial station, his daughter a woman of elegant refinement.

Horibe and Okuda, who had been ambling along at a leisurely pace ahead, moved to the roadside and stood waiting when Kunibe did not readily appear. Just when they thought he had finally arrived, Kunibe— “Oh, I’m in a bind,” he said.

But the complexion that had been sullen and withdrawn since Tsurugaoka now brightened and softened. “He’s a talkative old man—and since we hadn’t met or heard from each other in five or six years, he wouldn’t let me go. My apologies—could you go on ahead? Secure lodging, and we’ll meet at dusk.” “Who is that man?” “My brother owes him favors too. I was once recommended to the Ogasawara house by Lord Uchida Kageyu, a hatamoto serving the shogunate.”

“Very well. Then we’ll proceed ahead.”

At the appointed inn, the two had already removed their straw sandals. After night had fully fallen, Kunibe—whom they had thought might no longer come—returned energetically. He said that he had taken his meal with the Uchida father and daughter at a separate inn. From then on, Kunibe’s small talk flowed animatedly. Having set out on their journey, all three of them savored their first truly lively evening that felt like a proper trip.

Even until Edo, that liveliness endured. However, after returning to Edo, Kunibe never showed his face to anyone again.

Having received instructions from Kuranosuke in Yamashina, Hara Sōemon journeyed down not long after that. Of course, Sōemon’s journey down was meant to quell once and for all the flames of resentment that had burned since their lord’s downfall. Observing from afar the intense fervor of the Edo-based group, Kuranosuke felt a growing dread—this fire was dangerous and could not be left unchecked. Yet even those tasked with extinguishing these flames—if they were ordinary men—risked either fanning them into greater conflagration or creating an uncontrollable situation. It seemed Sōemon—seasoned and steady-handed, trusted by many—had been chosen and dispatched precisely for this purpose.

Horibe immediately dispatched a messenger to Takada Kunibe. The reply cited illness. They reluctantly visited Hara Sōemon’s lodgings along with Okuda Magodayu. “Do you have any idea how deeply Lord Ōishi worries about everyone acting rashly out of fervor—”

Sōemon’s words struck the two men’s hearts with utmost force. Perhaps deeming Sōemon’s efforts alone insufficient, two more men descended from Yamashina in pursuit—Ōtaka Gengo and Shindō Genshirō. Meetings were held time and again, each time in a different location. With Takada Kunibe absent from these gatherings, Horibe Yasube had become the one to directly present their arguments to the pacification envoys like Hara Sōemon and Ōtaka Gengo.

However, Sōemon realized it was not only Yasube—stubborn elders like Horibe Yahei, Okuda Magodayu, and Murashima Kihee also adamantly insisted on immediate revenge and would not yield. This was not merely a matter of impulsive fervor or radicalism; there was a significant divide between those immersed in Edo’s political realities and those observing the broader situation from Kamigata’s vantage point. When information was dispatched by courier from their side, Kuranosuke soon—

(Mid-October—I too will make a trip to Edo Side.)

A reply stating [the above] arrived addressed to the entire group.

“Lord Ōishi is coming!”

The exclamation—"Lord Ōishi is coming!"—indeed seemed to solemnly tighten the resolve of the Edo-based group, who had been mired in debate and agitation. "In any case, let us await Lord Ōishi’s commands." And so, they placed all their expectations upon it.

Soon arrived a letter stating that he had departed Yamashina on October 20th. Subsequently, around November 2nd, an advance notice was received from his journey indicating his planned arrival in Edo. Furthermore, he had already sent a letter intending to borrow the residence of Maekawa Kyūdayū—formerly the daily labor supervisor for the Asano family in Shibamatsumoto-chō—as lodging during his stay. Yet, as an added precaution, he requested in the letter that the Edo-based retainers visit and inspect the site.

Winter was beginning to arrive, and mornings occasionally bore frost, yet in forgotten corners of gardens and along the hedges of thoroughfares, late-blooming chrysanthemums still perfumed the air like autumn’s lingering fragrance.

Two Paths It was the night when they had discussed sending three or four men to Shinagawa Checkpoint the following day to welcome Lord Ōishi and then parted ways.

When Horibe Yasube returned home, his wife Osachi informed him that a guest had arrived in the evening and was waiting in the inner room.

“Who is it?” “It is Lord Takada.” “Kunibe?” He couldn’t bring himself to meet Kunibe right away. Despite having issued today’s summons for the council meeting, he couldn’t make sense of him not showing his face there and instead coming here to wait all this time. Furthermore, ever since the blood oath in Kamakura, he hadn’t been himself.

“Bring me tea.”

When he settled into the living room, "But he has been waiting quite intently for a long time..."

“Fine. I’ll meet him later.”

As he sat alone, intently sipping his tea, Yasube began to faintly perceive Kunibe’s purpose.

(I see.) That was all he thought.

He quietly rose and slid open the sliding door to the guest room. In deep despondency, with the lamp beside him, Kunibe’s face—exhausted from sitting—

“Oh…” He looked up and shifted back from his seat. As was their custom, a somber silence immediately enveloped both their faces. Under Yasube’s arrow-sharp gaze, he had already lowered his eyes. The silence persisted. Yasube too let the wordlessness linger. Osachi’s sleeve whispered against the tatami as she set down the tea and withdrew. A patter of tears fell from beneath Kunibe’s bowed face. Startled, his fist jerked upward to cover his features.

His face gradually sank into his shoulders. “Horibe!…” “F-forgive me.” With his elbows pressed flat against the tatami, Kunibe pleaded: “To tell the truth… I came here with no face to show you—crossing the threshold feeling as though I wore a mask.” “They say nothing in this world cuts deeper than duty, yet I’ve been cornered with no escape.” “That Uchida Kageyu I met at Enoshima—he’s taken such a liking to me he’s dragged in my brother and uncle… Now they’re demanding I become his son-in-law…”

“————” “Of course, I refused. I stood my ground resolutely—stubbornly, even. But when my brother and uncle pressed me to explain my reasons, I couldn’t find a way to deflect them. To put it plainly—my brother owes a debt to the Uchida family, so he’d never imagine his own younger brother would object without consulting him first. Even if I had objections, he’s already taken it upon himself to persuade me—hasn’t he? They’re weeping that this demands seppuku… Even so, as I—”

“Wait.” Yasube averted his gaze and stopped him. Listening was even more heartrending than his own suffering. He could not bring himself to be cruel enough to endure long the voice emerging from such ragged breaths of a friend bound by blood. “I understand, Takada.” “Just listen.”

“No!” The refusal was stern. “Is there any need to hear more? Enough. I’ll inform Old Man Okuda tomorrow as well.” “...Understand my position.” “We’ve been friends for years. You and I have been comrades since before we even entered service with the Asano clan. Back when they called you Spear Kunibe and me Red Scabbard or Drunkard Yasu—we’ve been allies since those days.” “......” “But there’s no duty forcing friends to share the same fate. We were friends until now. Why would I stop you from walking the path you’ve chosen? And even without tedious questions—how could I fail to grasp your feelings?”

“…………” “If I told the others bound by the blood oath, some might even call for your death.” “But while I live, I’ll never permit it.” “...As friends—keep silent about the oath.” “Why would I speak a word to harm them now?” “If I were such a traitor, I’d never have reached this wretched state.”

“This is farewell. Shall we share a final cup?” “No.” He hurriedly rose to his feet. “I must take my leave. We’ll meet again someday.” “I see... Sachi, you should head back now.” Carrying a lantern, Yasube saw him out to the entrance, but— “There’s no need to go that far—”

He placed his foot into his sandals. “Please—enough.”

“At least let me walk you to that crossroads.”

Yasube stepped outside shoulder to shoulder with him.

The stars shone with a beauty that made one contemplate the universe anew. In silence, the sound of straw sandals fell in rhythm with the night dew. Kunibe kept edging leftward, drawing nearer to Yasube. His body had gone rigid like a drawn bowstring. Every fiber of his being trembled with alertness, his posture taut as if anticipating a sword strike. Were he not a spearmanship master whose skill resounded across the realm, Yasube would have—

(Don't worry so much. I have no intention of cutting down someone like you.)

He wanted to say something to quickly put him at ease, but he too was a master of strategy. He was also a man known as Kunibe the Master Spearman. He had no desire to demean him so thoroughly. They came to a frost-white field of wild grass and the crossroads of the row-house town with its doors already removed. Yasube came to a halt. “Well then, Takada—here we part.” “My apologies.” He bent his back like a worm. When he patted his shoulder and said, “Take care of yourself,” Kunibe kept his face down as if unable to lift it,

“Though I am no longer among you, I pray for the day you achieve your noble cause. And to our honorable comrades as well…”

The words "Take care" seemed difficult for him to voice; his sentence trailed off as he merely lowered his head.

And then, hunched forward, he hurried back into the dark town. He’s a weak-willed man. Yasube keenly felt that spears, swords, martial arts—none of these things did anything to strengthen a person. Precisely because he had taken some pride in his swordsmanship, this was no longer another’s affair—he was compelled to reflect. No—this was the true form of a human being, he realized. The retreating figure, moving away in small, hurried steps, no longer seemed like someone else’s concern.

But—

As he gazed up at the piercingly clear night air and walked alone back toward his house, within Yasube’s chest, something far more resolute than the loneliness of losing a longtime friend kept him company. And if anything,

"He can be as he is. For me, it was rather that one fragile person had withdrawn. With that alone, the substance of those who remain would become genuine."

he muttered.

Tomorrow, Kuranosuke would arrive in Edo. Looking back now, Yasube felt he had come to dimly understand even Kuranosuke’s reluctance to act.

The supreme difficulty lay not in achieving one's objective. It lay in the unfathomable movements of the human heart.

Yamashina Construction

Purple hood Could this be the chamber where a still-youthful woman resided? There was nothing of vibrant scents or crimson hues. Moreover, all worldly sounds were utterly absent.

It was mid-November, and this morning’s cold was exceptional.

The already frigid room held only eggshell-white walls of bird’s-egg hue, a simple tokonoma alcove and walls in the Kobori Enshū style, a small desk, and a soba jar into which a single sasanqua blossom had been casually cast.

——That was all there was.

Since retreating deep into her family’s residence—the Akasaka Nanbuzaka estate of Asano Tosa-no-kami—Lady Yōzen’in seemed to find her greatest solace in spending her days either sitting upright in the Buddhist altar room or facing her desk to transcribe the Lotus Sutra, all while immersed in fond recollections of her late husband, Lord Takumi-no-kami, from their time together. She had abandoned her discreet lacquered palanquin and hardly ever ventured out beyond that single pilgrimage to Sengakuji Temple.

“My Lady Dowager! My Lady Dowager!” Unusually hurried footsteps echoed through the middle corridor between the Buddhist altar room and tea room as O-Myō—who had served continuously at the upper mansion in Teppōzu—appeared with white breath in the cold and spoke into the altar chamber. “Lord Ōishi has come. That Lord Kuranosuke you always speak of—he has arrived.” “Oh…. Has Lord Kuranosuke appeared?” “Yes.”

Myō, too, seemed delighted.

In the next room of the study, Kuranosuke lay prostrate. He had departed for Edo on the third day of this month and held repeated meetings with former retainers residing there. This was of course to placate the radical faction—Horibe, Okuda, and others—to the fullest extent possible. Today being the fourteenth day of the month, he had completed his visit to his late lord’s grave, settled affairs in the domain, and expressed gratitude for the retainers’ assistance during their disbandment. All while his tormented conscience found no outlet, he had long carried in his breast the desire to console her—imagining how bitterly cold and sorrowful her life must be this early winter with her shorn head. Thus on this day—to fulfill that long-cherished resolve—he had come here directly from Sengakuji Temple.

“Where do I even begin…” Lady Yōzen’in’s lips quivered—indeed, she was a woman. The mere sight of Lord Kuranosuke made her tears impossible to restrain. “Forgive me.”

For a time, she wept. Kuranosuke could not lift his face. In the profound silence，the master and servant surrendered themselves to their tears. Through wordlessness，they conveyed all that lay beyond speech. At last—

“Kuranosuke, you must be cold.” “Yes.” “You should move a bit closer to the brazier.” “Then I shall defer to your gracious will.” “I heard through rumors that you were ill at the start of this summer—have you recovered?” “It was nothing more than a minor boil I suffered.” “Please do not concern yourself—as you can see, I am now in sound health.” “Rather, it is Your Ladyship’s well-being of heart and body, and the retainers who have left the domain, that weigh upon my mind from afar.” “Unlike when our lord still graced this world, I cannot pay daily respects. Moreover, one never knows when a meeting may prove to be a farewell.” “I beseech you to take utmost care of yourself.”

“I am most heartened.” “However, Lord Kuranosuke…” “Yes.” “If I were born a person, I would want to be born a man.” “That alone do I dwell upon most deeply.” “…” “The thought of what might be if I were a man does not leave my heart, morning or night.” “The path of the samurai must be arduous, though…” “I understand—this Kuranosuke can discern the depths of your heart.” “I rely solely on your strength.” “Whenever I heard rumors of affairs in the domain, I pressed my hands together in prayer from afar, grateful for all you have accomplished.”

“You honor me too much.” “No, these words come from this humble self.” “The bonds between lord and retainer have already faded—scattered to the winds, with some even vanishing without a trace—though such is the way of the world—” “Kuranosuke, I still consider us bound as lord and retainer!” “I am deeply honored by your words, and I do not consider my service yet fulfilled.” “Though I am but an unworthy one, I, Kuranosuke, intend to remain Lord Takumi-no-kami’s retainer even in the next world.”

“Hearing that, this one feels life’s worth anew. “My late lord husband would surely rejoice as well.” Lady Yōzen’in called for Myō and had something fetched. Before Kuranosuke, placed by Myō’s hands, lay a round hood of purple silk crepe. “...You honor me by coming this long way amidst weighty affairs. “This I stitched in idle hours—they say you suffer winter’s chill keenly. Let it shield you from night’s cold, and guard yourself well.”

Having said that, she gave it to Kuranosuke. Perhaps—no, likely—this might be their final farewell, Kuranosuke thought profoundly as he gazed up at Lady Yōzen’in’s austere brow. “Well then… I shall take my leave.”

Uttering those words felt agonizing. Yet lingering longer would bring no comfort. Kuranosuke departed Tosa-no-kami’s residence. With the sensation of his hair being tugged from behind—

Unlike before, he was now a mere masterless samurai without even a palanquin or attendants. Standing midway up Nanbuzaka where the parched wind blew, Kuranosuke scanned for a town palanquin. Then a traveler’s sedge hat—snatched by the wind—went tumbling down the slope before him. It belonged to a man who had been loitering purposelessly beneath Tosa-no-kami’s kitchen gate. The man scrambled after his hat, but when Kuranosuke’s gaze pierced his forehead, he wheeled about and feigned departure into the distance.

“Palanquin!” Kuranosuke stepped into a passing town palanquin. He paid it no heed. The man who had lost his hat was a small but sturdy townsman. Chasing the shadow of the palanquin sinking down the slope, his feet suddenly quickened.

Covert Operations

Whether he belonged to the Kira household, served as a retainer of the Uesugi, or was in the employ of Chisaka Hyōbu, Kimura Jōhachi had lately been so occupied with mysterious comings and goings that even he himself could scarcely comprehend it. (From Sukiya Gate, pass through the central garden and always come silently to the veranda of the sitting room.) Since Hyōbu had granted him free rein, he frequently entered and exited without permission—especially since Ōishi Kuranosuke had arrived in the eastern capital.

Even now, a townsman—still in gaiters and straw sandals, seated on the stone step with his legs dangling over the veranda like a traveling merchant—was whispering with Hyōbu inside the room. That was the man who had lost his hat at Nanbuzaka. In other words, Kimura Jōhachi—acting under Hyōbu’s orders—was leaping into action day and night like an Iga ninja. “Yesterday, Kuranosuke visited Lady Yōzen’in’s residence from Sengakuji Temple and then proceeded directly by palanquin to the estate of Inspector Lord Araki Jūzaemon. It is believed he likely combined a plea for his lord’s house’s restoration with expressions of gratitude for the resolution of Akō’s affairs. On the same day, he also stopped by Matsudaira Aki-no-kami and Asano Mino-no-kami to pay his respects. All were brief in duration.”

Hyōbu was listening to Jōhachi’s report with a sidelong glance. His response, like a soliloquy,

“Hmm… I see. Thoroughly prepared.”

It was a mutter that sounded almost like praise for the enemy. To Hyōbu, he could truly grasp Kuranosuke’s state of mind even now. Though they had never met, and though there lay the gulf between a great domain and a minor one, he too was a man who protected the realm as its foremost retainer—and he, bearing the survival of the Uesugi house upon his shoulders, stood as an elder statesman who must toil tirelessly for the realm’s sake. If their positions were reversed and he stood in Kuranosuke’s place—how would he act? What course would he take?—pondering this, Kuranosuke’s actions and intentions became as clear to him as if reflected in a mirror.

“—Lord Elder,”

Jōhachi leaned his short frame out over the veranda. “I propose we urgently dispatch seven or eight men to the Kansai region.” “Has some matter arisen?”

“No, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about Kuranosuke remaining in Edo, but there are signs he will soon return to Yamashina.” “So I believe it would be less conspicuous if we act before their party does.” “Five men have already gone to Yamashina.” “But dispatching too large a force may be unwise.” “Then shall I handpick five colleagues from the Honjo mansion and bring them along?” “No, you must not remove even a single one of Lord Kira’s men.” “Even if Kuranosuke returns to Kyoto, there’s no guarantee someone won’t recklessly charge in alone at any time.” “I will handle dispatching them from my side.” “I want you to devote yourself fully, acting as if this task rests solely on your shoulders.”

“Understood. Depending on circumstances, I may depart for there without even taking my leave.” “For occasional matters, written communication is preferable. Rather, that would be less conspicuous. Do not assume that covert operations are solely our doing. A man of Kuranosuke’s caliber would leave no opening. His spies must also be operating around. Perhaps even within Hyōbu’s own residence there may be suspicious individuals. Proceed with caution.”

After providing travel funds, Hyōbu added:

“—But Jōhachi,” “Yes?” “You must absolutely refrain from any behavior that could be seen as challenging the former Akō retainers.” “I am fully aware.” “The crux lies in determining whether Kuranosuke’s true intentions contain any facts such as those being discussed in society—that alone must be ascertained.” “The movements of the masterless samurai will also become clear if you focus your observations there.” “Jōhachi shares that perspective.” “If it becomes known that the Uesugi and Kira houses are openly surveilling them, not only would it stir unfavorable rumors, but it would further inflame their indignation—hardly beneficial for Lord Kira.” “Were this old Hyōbu free to act,” he thought, “I would even support Lord Takumi-no-kami’s brother Asano Daigaku in restoring his house and aid Kuranosuke himself—but as an Uesugi elder, such freedom eludes me.” "If only Asano’s restoration could be achieved," he mused, "however enraged they grow, the rōnin’s fervor would wane... This was mere fancy—in truth, I cannot interfere. But should we weather this crisis unscathed, it would mean triumph for our house."

“I will keep your sentiments close to heart.”

Jōhachi soon left Hyōbu’s residence. The fervor that had gripped them since the incident was no less intense among the Kira household’s members than among the Asano family’s masterless samurai. For this reason, Kimura Jōhachi and his trusted retainers were clearly in a state of combat against the Asano masterless samurai, driven by a tense fighting spirit. Jōhachi was of course no exception. However, whenever he drew near the elder statesman Chisaka Hyōbu, that fighting spirit was invariably reined in. Hyōbu’s intent was to avoid receiving Kuranosuke and his men as enemies. He wanted to avoid armed confrontation. If they were to attack, he had no intention of crushing them. The sole question was how far he could protect the Uesugi house’s roof beneath this typhoon without losing even a single tile. That old man was fixated on that alone.

“This is tough.”

Jōhachi thought to himself. “We remain entirely on the defensive—” Why wouldn’t he just order Kuranosuke’s assassination? Even eliminating Horibe, Okuda, Yoshida, Hara, and those around them wouldn’t seem particularly difficult with our own planning alone. He always thought how much easier that would be.

However— "If I were in a position to act freely, I would even wish to assist Kuranosuke in supporting Asano Daigaku’s reinstatement"—when Jōhachi considered the profound depth behind Chisaka Hyōbu’s words,

“I see...” he murmured. Jōhachi now clearly perceived within himself the difference between what were called minor retainers and major retainers, and he thought that society’s assessment—that there were indeed few men of Hyōbu’s caliber—was not mistaken.

Before long, Jōhachi departed from Edo Side. He briefly showed himself near Yamashina and vanished into the shadows around the end of that month.

About four days later, the group consisting of Ōishi Kuranosuke, Shiota Matanojō, Nakamura Kansuke, Nakamura Seiemon, Shindō Genshirō, and others returned. After dispersing from Akō, Ōishi Kuranosuke had purchased a house in Yamashina—presenting it to the world as though he had chosen the place for permanent residence—where the group first shed their travel gear before soon settling into their respective dwellings within the capital. ――At least on the surface, all was peaceful. Each person seemed engrossed in their own path in life.

Striking Down the Phantom

The year turned. —Genroku 15.

Having changed his name to Ikeda Kyūemon, Kuranosuke spent this winter at the kotatsu. His wife O-Riku—summoned from Tajima—along with Kichijirō and Daisaburō were also there. The eldest son, Chikara, was always the center of their gatherings. This boy, who had just turned sixteen, was already five feet eight inches tall. He was larger than his father Kuranosuke, and this always became a source of laughter.

His younger brother Kichijirō, “Fly the kite for me! The kite!” clung to his giant older brother and pleaded insistently.

“Later— There’s a good lad.” “There’s a good lad.” “No! No!”

Kichijirō threw a tantrum. Chikara,

“If you don’t study and just play around all the time, you’ll get scolded. Go ask Father.” When he said this, Kichijirō began searching for his father.

Kuranosuke had gone out to the field within the estate. The February sunlight was bright and warm there. The field had been completely leveled, with numerous stones and timber brought in; the carpenters drew ink lines and swung their hatchets. Wood shavings spilling from the planing boards had thoroughly covered the ground there. Kuranosuke sat by the bonfire, watching the carpenters at work while persistently criticizing their end-grain chisels. “Hey, you there, craftsman! Your chisel work is careless and unacceptable. “Have you never worked on sukiya-style construction before? I won’t tolerate such cheap, slapdash work on pillars meant to be seen!”

The foreman came running,

"My deepest apologies.—Hey, you! Get to another task!" "Foreman!"

“Yes, sir!” “Give them a proper scolding.”

“I do strive to be most careful, but whenever I take my eyes off them even briefly, this happens.” “The day laborers’ cost matters not—I mean to build this house for enjoying my remaining years in leisure.” “Most reasonable, sir.” “Have the ceiling boards from the lumberyard arrived?” “Yes sir—they’ve arrived. Allow me to present them. Here they are, master.” “What’s this? Mere common straight-grained cedar!”

“Even straight-grained planks of this quality are rather scarce, sir.” “Compared to the nageshi beams, pillars, and other end grains, these are slightly lacking in quality. Have ancient cedar applied to the ten-tatami room.” “Ancient cedar… Ah, understood.” The foreman gazed at Kuranosuke’s face as he spoke. No matter how much one might claim this construction was for future generations, even a merchant who’s always pinching pennies would likely find it somewhat wasteful. “Right—we’ll use ancient cedar for the ten-tatami room. Then, since ordinary red cedar won’t harmonize with that in the four-and-a-half-tatami room, apply Yoshino cedar with radial cuts.” “Ensure that when shown to guests, they do not think we spared any expense.”

The foreman, recognizing that such a showy construction client would ultimately become mere guests at flower-viewing parties, did exactly as instructed: he promptly summoned the lumber merchant’s clerk and returned the planks. The walls too met his exacting standards, and even now that the garden stones had arrived from Kishū, he found half of them unsatisfactory. They were ordered to find better stones even if it meant absorbing the shipping losses. Just how much money did this man possess? There were even rumors circulating that when surrendering Akō Castle, a senior retainer had secretly diverted 10,000 ryō elsewhere. Thus the carpenters’ subcontractors and plasterers speculated on their way home from work—he must be splurging on this construction now to secure a life of comfort later, no matter what people might say.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” said Tatsuzō, the plasterer’s assistant. The carpenter Tomekichi retorted, “Then what exactly are you getting at?” “That Ikeda Kyūemon or whatever his name is—the chief retainer of Akō—I’ve been watching him. He’s got the guts to carry out vengeance.” “Don’t act so high and mighty,” snapped Tomekichi. “A man set on vengeance wouldn’t squander time on fancy construction.” “That’s precisely the deception tactic—a desperate stratagem!” “If it’s a stratagem, he’d make the construction look like one, wouldn’t he? There’s no call for such finicky demands or wasting coin like that.”

“That’s precisely where the art of strategy lies—peeling back layer after layer.” “Talkin’ all high and mighty—where’s your proof?” “Ain’t nobody seen any signs o’ that?” “You idiot! Wasn’t you who started this? Since when d’ya ask others ’bout your own claims?” “So I was just thinkin’—but I’m askin’ if anyone’s heard whispers ’bout any evidence.” “Ahahaha! What a damn fool.” “Struttin’ ’round like some big shot over somethin’ even you don’t get!”

“Hmm, ya think…” With a look of feigned innocence, Tatsuzō glanced briefly toward the crossroads ahead, and—

“I’ve got an errand to run, so I’ll split off here. Later.” “Later.”

He turned briskly past the Yatsu Teahouse in front of Bishamon and went on his way.

A townsman who had been standing in the shade of a tree at the crossroads followed after Tatsuzō. He surveyed the street— “Sekiguchi—”

he called out after a moment. “Oh, Kimura!” Tatsuzō, the plasterer’s assistant, was in fact Sekiguchi Sakubei of the Kira faction, who had come from Edo under Chisaka Hyōbu’s orders. Kimura Jōhachi drew closer. “Has anything unusual occurred?” “There’s nothing at all.”

“What about visitors?” “Yesterday saw Terai Genkei from Yanagi no Baba come by.” “The former Asano domain physician.” “He sometimes visits under pretext of calling on households with sickness.” “Kuranosuke himself has made one or two visits too.” “Don’t Onodera’s lot—Nakamura and Shioda—hold their secret meetings at Genkei’s house?”

“That may be so, but recently they’ve rented Shūsuian within Zuikōin Temple’s grounds in northern Kyoto—disguising it as a poetry and haikai gathering—where they occasionally hold councils.” “Shūsuian—that’s next to Asano Inari, yes?” “Correct. The Asano ancestors enshrined Inari there and donated temple lands, hence ‘Asano Inari.’ Since it’s right beside that shrine, they can approach under the guise of making pilgrimages when meetings occur.” “Any indications of an imminent gathering?”

“In mid-last month, Ōtaka Gengo and Hara Sōemon departed Edo. Along the way, they paid homage at the Grand Shrine of Ise. Hara took up residence in Osaka, and Ōtaka in Kyoto—each renting houses. Since then, meetings have grown frequent—both in Yamashina and at Shūsuian.” “It seems disagreements have arisen among their ranks lately, causing some turmoil.” “That’s favorable.” “But we mustn’t lower our guard!”

“Naturally.” “How goes the construction—the one in Yamashina?” “It’s underway.”

“It must be Ōishi’s stratagem to deceive our eyes.” “I’ve thought the same—but there are times when it seems otherwise.” “The work is astonishingly meticulous.” “Moreover, Kuranosuke himself appears genuinely fond of construction—his exacting standards for wood grain, the relentless demands of the labor—so much that the craftsmen are buckling under the strain, yet he’s investing heavily from the very foundation up.”

“Hmm… To that extent.” “The younger retainers—Fuwa Kazuemon, Takebayashi Tadaichi, and their desperate faction—began growing distant from Ōishi after seeing that construction site. There are many others doubting his true intentions too.”

“That’s precisely it—the cause of their infighting.” “The timing also factors in.” “Timing?”

“Those who want to act immediately and those hovering around Ōishi in indecision.” “Hmm, that’s plausible—but what would you say lies at the core of Kuranosuke’s true intentions?” “A seventy-thirty divide.” “Which way does it tilt?” “Consider this—Kuranosuke’s human too.” “Without society or those around judging, seventy percent of him would lean toward wanting to live.”

“We’ll meet again in due time. Should urgent matters arise, mark the north pillar of that votive plaque hall at Bishamondō with a nail. I’ll conceal the documents behind one of the plaques there—check the pillar’s markings periodically.” “Understood.”

The two parted in the evening dusk.

As soon as the month turned, Kuranosuke abruptly vanished from the Yamashina house. He had not shown his face at the construction site for these five or six days either. No matter who they asked, there was no one who knew.

Tatsuzō’s Sekiguchi Sakubei, panicked, recalled Jōhachi’s words on his way back from work that evening and stopped by Bishamondō. Looking at the north pillar of the Picture Hall, he found graffiti etched with a nail tip: “Slay the Nue.” — When he tilted his head back to survey the many votive plaques hanging there, one depicted Minamoto no Yorimasa, the Third Rank, in the act of shooting the beast. He searched for a stepping stool and stretched out his hand. There was a scrap of paper tied into a butterfly shape; upon untying it, he found it to be Kimura Jōhachi’s handwriting.

The master of Yamashina has abruptly departed for Akō on urgent business; I accompany him. Awaiting your esteemed reply. I follow thereafter. Eighteen shaku

It was written. “He went to Akō…?”

Sekiguchi Sakubei muttered to himself and descended from the picture hall. By the time white stars had begun to twinkle in the dusk-filled sky and with no worshippers left in the temple precincts, he had let his guard down—making his shock all the more intense when he realized two young masterless samurai had been watching his movements from below all along.

Immediately—Sekiguchi Sakubei’s hand shot to his own mouth. He tried to bite through Jōhachi’s letter clutched in his palm—but before his hand could move, one of the masterless samurai— “You bastard!” —grabbed his wrist. Without intending to unleash it, the martial discipline honed through years of training erupted from Sekiguchi Sakubei’s body. Wrenching down the seized wrist with a forceful surge, he slammed the masterless samurai’s body back-first into the earth. “You did it!”

The moment he was thrown back, he grabbed his leg. That face and that voice—Sakubei had seen and recognized them at the construction site. It was Onodera Jūnai’s son Kōemon. The other masterless samurai—slender and tall-statured—was Shiota Mataemon.

Mataemon grappled him from behind. Damn it! With every pore bristling, Sekiguchi Sakubei’s second technique proved ineffective. Kōemon swept his leg up at him, and with a thud, he toppled sideways, striking the ground with a rumble. Enraged at having been thrown once, Kōemon straddled him and tightened his grip on his throat. Counterattack. “Kōemon, don’t strike like that—you’ll kill him!” “Stubborn bastard.” With a ragged breath— “I’ve suspected all along—you’re no mere plasterer’s assistant.” “Shiota, lend me your sageo.”

“Tie him up?” “And then—”

They wrenched Sekiguchi Sakubei’s arms taut, “Hey! What happened to that scrap of paper this guy saw up in the Picture Hall?” “No, I’ve got it.”

Shiota Mataemon was already smoothing out the creases of that scrap of paper, attempting to read it by starlight.

“Look, Kōemon!” “Hmm… This is it.”

――He glared fiercely at Sakubei’s forehead, “You—who sent you to Yamashina?” “……” Sakubei made no attempt to answer; he sneered coldly. Sneering, he sat cross-legged on the ground. “Won’t talk, huh?”

As Kōemon raised his foot to kick the side of his face, “Stop. This is pointless.”

Mataemon restrained him.

“It must be Kira or Chisaka Hyōbu.” “To witness such depths of paranoia—it borders on absurdity.” “Driven by their guilty consciences, they’ve troubled themselves to come all this way just to see whether we’re plotting anything.”

Though young, Mataemon possessed considerable discernment. After becoming a masterless samurai, he had also been shaped by frequently living alongside Kuranosuke. He was one who understood best what Kuranosuke hesitated over and what he feared.

“Here we have ‘Jūhasshaku’—whoever’s pseudonym that might be—but it appears they tailed Lord Ōishi all the way down to Akō. This fellow too seems to be an idler wasting his time; the master went to collect outstanding loans from Akō’s coastal residents. Of course he couldn’t have gone solely for that—since March fourteenth marks the first anniversary of our late lord’s passing, he also conducted the memorial service while there. And to think… Ahahaha… that some fool actually trailed him all that way! It seems the world teems with busybodies and freeloaders pretending purpose.”

Kōemon now understood why Mataemon was explaining these matters in such detail. “But as for someone disguising themselves and sneaking into the master’s construction site—while it neither harms nor hinders us, it’s still an unpleasant matter. We can’t let this one live.” “Don’t say that. No matter what he might report to Kira, such a thing doesn’t harm us in the least.” “Just know this—if you’re caught prowling around here again after today, we won’t show mercy. Understood, plasterer?”

“……”

Sakubei hung his head. “I’ll untie that for you.” “You’ll untie me?”

“That’s right… However, as a matter of samurai propriety, I must at least inquire after your honorable name. By what appellation shall I address you?” “I implore you—grant me clemency in this alone.”

Sakubei groaned. Kōemon stiffened. “To spare your name? Sparing your life would be indulgence. Show leniency now, and you’ll grow presumptuous.”

Shiota Mataemon remained unwaveringly gentle,

“Very well—if that too displeases you, I shall not inquire. But Master Plasterer, how many of your people came to this Kamigata region, harboring suspicions as insubstantial as grasping at clouds?” “……”

“It must be on Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s orders.” “...Mr. Shiota.”

At last, Sakubei opened his mouth. “I was determined not to speak, but I yield to your magnanimity and will tell.” “As you have surmised, I was undoubtedly commissioned by Lord Chisaka Hyōbu, chief retainer of Yonezawa.” “Those entrusted with the same mission have come to the capital from as far as Osaka, Fushimi, both within and outside Kyoto, and Nara—numbering approximately twenty-two or twenty-three individuals.” “I know nothing beyond that.” “Well said. I’ll let you go.” He untied the cord binding his wrists and shoved him away. Sakubei turned back with a look of regret, the whites of his eyes flashing abruptly, then disappeared into the darkness.

While descending the stone steps before Bishamon, the two took out the paper fragment they had obtained from Kimura Jōhachi and exchanged another reading of it. Even though Kuranosuke had meticulously disguised his movements and cast mist over his comrades' activities, things had still reached this state. Moreover, even if the likes of Horibe, Okuda, Hara, and Ōtaka were to take sudden action, there could be no chance of success. On the contrary—wouldn't making Lord Kōzuke-no-suke sense impending danger only result in driving him deep into Yonezawa Castle's innermost recesses? ――Mataemon keenly perceived this truth as he

“Kōemon,” he called out. “What?” “Suddenly I’ve grown concerned for the master’s safety on his journey ahead. As for this Jūhasshaku fellow—whoever he may be—even aboard the ship, there’s no guarantee he won’t attempt to harm Lord Kuranosuke.” “I’ve kept silent too, but since earlier I’ve had this incessant foreboding—can’t shake the feeling it’s an omen. And given what we’ve just learned—that over twenty spies have infiltrated this Kamigata region alone—there’s no telling whether those bastards might not strike first against us instead.”

“I heard his return is by ship. At least we could meet him along the way. If anything were to happen to the master himself here, it would be disastrous. Shall we go stand guard?”

“Won’t you come with me to my house? I want to consult Father.” “That works too.” When they hurried onward, they came upon Takebayashi Tadashichi before the Yamashina Gobō of Hongan-ji Temple. He had come from Osaka on business but, unaware that Kuranosuke was away, had visited his house only to return empty-handed and was now on his way back. “What of the others?” Tadashichi watched the two men. As Kōemon recounted the details, “That’s unacceptable. Why did you capture a man under Chisaka Hyōbu’s influence only to let him go?”

“If we release him, he’ll return to Edo and report everything exactly as it happened to Hyōbu. If we harbored any intent for revenge, we would never release a spy—this is precisely to make Hyōbu think so.”

Tadashichi refused to accept Mataemon’s justification. “At first glance, that may seem clever—but why would the renowned Chisaka Hyōbu of Uesugi breathe a sigh of relief over such a strategy? Furthermore, a man ordered to conduct covert operations and sent back after being exposed would never truthfully report his own failures—saying things like 'actually...'—to begin with. On the contrary, he will exaggerate our actions and report them to Hyōbu. Releasing him only turns mercy into folly. Very well. I will pursue him and cut him down.”

“Do you truly believe his trail can still be tracked now?” “And you don’t even know his face.” “His residence—” “He appears to be staying at Master Plasterer Matsugorō’s house.” “It’s in the backstreets about four or five hundred meters west of Nucha-ya.”

“Are you all heading to Lord Terai Genkei’s residence now?” “No—to my father Jūnai’s house.” “Then I’ll come by shortly after.” “Are you truly determined to kill him?”

Mataemon still seemed intent on swaying Tadashichi’s resolve, but he also knew—as any comrade could attest—that once Tadashichi set his mind to something, he would not be dissuaded.

“Once this has reached my ears, I cannot let such a man escape unnoticed.” “Wait at Lord Jūnai’s house—I’ll show you his head later.” The swift patter of straw sandals faded into the darkness. After watching his retreating figure, Shiota and Onodera began walking while gazing at the distant town lights, but they remained uncertain whether Takebayashi’s judgment was sound or if their own actions had been correct.

Suichōshi Night Boat Story

Behind Teramachi

“What? Takebayashi Tadashichi heard that and went chasing after Kira’s spy again? …Foolish!”

Leaving the two young men in the next room, Onodera Jūnai was putting on his haori in a narrow, unlit chamber. As he emerged while tying the cords, "Why did you not stop him?"

With his thin knees drawn up sharply, he sat rigidly square.

His son Kōemon,

“No, we did try to stop him, but…” excused himself, “It’s pointless.”

He was not a father who would listen. He stubbornly shook his head, "Lord Ōishi has always earnestly instructed us... Such pointless posturing."

Shiota Mataemon, who had stopped by with Kōemon, also felt as if he were being scolded alongside him and hung his head in shame.

Jūnai seemed to be preparing to go out somewhere. He neatly tucked the paper pouch, tissue paper, and tobacco pouch his wife handed him into the tightly fastened inner pocket of his collar. “Even to the alleyways of this rōnin residence—disguised as all sorts of things: paper scrap collectors, medicine peddlers, umbrella repairers—these suspicious characters come snooping around incessantly. But there would be no end to the days if we attended to each of those fellows. No—rather, it would be playing right into those bastards’ schemes.” “We need only remain indifferent—simply bend like willows in the wind.”

“But Father,” Kōemon felt sorry for Mataemon. And so, inadvertently breaking his restraint, “It cannot be dismissed so easily. Those bastards even harbor schemes to ambush Lord Ōishi and other key figures of our faction under cover of darkness—given the chance.”

“Who among us would be ambushed by Kira or Chisaka’s agents in the shadows?” “Needless worry.” “However—according to a document Mr. Shiota and I obtained tonight—a man called Jūhasshaku appears to have been tailing Lord Ōishi during our late lord’s first memorial service in Akō.” “Therefore, Lord Mataemon and I have been discussing along the way that we should now go to escort Lord Ōishi at his current location for security—”

“You needn’t go.” He said bluntly, then—under his breath—

“—Is Lord Ōishi so careless?”

he muttered.

At the same time, Jūnai stood ready. He was about to leave for Terai Genkei’s house where he had a Go game appointment. His wife laid out the sandals at the exit. As Jūnai stepped into them and reached for the lattice door, a figure appeared beneath the eaves,

“Lord Onodera.”

With that, a visitor arrived.

“Ah, Lord Chikara.” Had some urgent matter arisen? It was Chikara, the son of Kuranosuke who had come from Yamashina. He said that he had come as a messenger on orders from his mother, O-Riku, bringing a courier’s letter; since his father was away traveling, she had instructed him to have someone else open it in his father’s stead. “Let me see…” With that, Jūnai received the document,

“Oh—it says ‘Kayano Sanpei’s father, Shichirōzaemon’.” “Hmm?” Tilting his head slightly, “Kōemon, the lantern—” he said to the back.

Yodogawa Ōrai From Sanpei, who had returned to his hometown of Kayano Village in Settsu Province, all communication with his comrades had since abruptly ceased. He was a quiet, melancholic youth, but a passionate man. Last year, during the calamity that befell his lord’s house, it was he who had rushed to Akō as the first messenger by express palanquin, delivering the initial report from Edo. Since then, he had not been in particularly good health,

(How about returning to your hometown for a while to recuperate?) Ōishi Kuranosuke had urged him to do so, and his friends had also expressed their concern, but— (Nah, it’s nothing serious.) Until just recently, Sanpei had been bustling about the Kyoto-Osaka corridor—knowledgeable about the lay of the land—and had become a valued member among his comrades. However, in mid-January, when Yoshida Chūzaemon and Chikamatsu Kanroku were to depart for the Edo side, Kayano Sanpei also came to join them. As there was talk that he might remain in Edo until they achieved their revenge, Sanpei wished to return once to his hometown and bid farewell to his parents in a roundabout way—so it was said.

(That's acceptable—by all means, go.) (Even if it delays us a day or two—we'll rearrange our schedule and wait.)

Yoshida Chūzaemon and Kanroku had urged him to depart for Settsu Province. That was how it remained. Since January, there had been no word or tidings at all. Some began to speculate: (Sanpei too must have skillfully withdrawn from joining [the faction], in the manner of Takada Gunbei-ryū.) some remarked, but— (No—not him of all people.) Onodera Jūnai too shook his head. However, even after Yoshida and Chikamatsu had reluctantly departed for Edo, there was still no word from Sanpei. By now, he too was on the verge of being erased from his comrades' ranks as one of the defectors.

“…Damn it.” When he finished reading the document, Jūnai lifted his grief-stricken face from beneath the lantern and groaned. “We’ve lost a fine young man.” “What?!” Both Chikara and Kōemon swallowed hard. Shioda Matanojō watched the faint trembling of the document in Jūnai’s hand,

“Kayano… is dead?” “Hmm… It says here he committed suicide.”

“Why?” “They’ve refused to acknowledge the circumstances at all.” “Since Kataoka and the others are due to gather at Genkei’s residence tonight, I’ll inform them there.” “Right—you two must go at once to Kayano Village in Settsu Province and visit Sanpei’s father, Lord Shichirōzaemon.” “Offer your condolences and prepare the condolence money.” “Yes.” “Then I shall take my leave here.” With that, Ōishi Chikara departed.

Jūnai chased after him,

“Let me accompany you that far.”

he followed along.

Watching their departing figures, "...I never imagined Kayano Sanpei would die."

“Anyway, let’s get going.”

Kōemon entered his house and told his elderly mother something. Kayano Village in Settsu Province wasn’t that far—walking through the night would get them there by noon the next day. The sky hung warm and cloudy; they took raincoats and hats just in case. As the two left the rōnin residence on Nijō Street in Teramachi, “Hey, Shioda!”

Then, someone called out.

When he turned to look, there stood Takebayashi Tadashichi, who had earlier parted ways in front of the Honganji abbot’s residence. “Look. This must be it.”

He held up the round object he gripped into the darkness for them to see - a freshly severed head still dripping with blood. It belonged to Sekiguchi Sakubei, Chisaka Hyōbu's spy whom Matanojō had once let escape. "He was tough - no surprise for an agent Chisaka handpicked myself. Even gave me this scratch here." Takebayashi rolled up his sleeve to show the wound. Both Shioda and Onodera grimaced. "Stop these foolish antics," Shioda snapped. "Old Man Jūnai just finished reprimanding me about you. Toss that thing into the temple bushes or somewhere."

“Old Man Jūnai? …But that old man isn’t one to lose to anyone in vigor—always charging ahead of us youngsters in everything.” “But with enemies doggedly tailing us so persistently these days,” Old Man Jūnai says, “responding to each and every one would be counterproductive. From now on, be cautious—I was even scolded on your behalf.” “Hmm… I see.” Suddenly, as if the severed head he was gripping had grown heavy, Tadashichi searched for a place to discard it. When he threw it from the temple’s broken fence into the bamboo thicket, the darkness rustled with a dry crunch.

“By the way, what about you gentlemen?”

“We’re departing suddenly.” “Are you going to meet Lord Ōishi?”

“No—we received a document saying Kayano Sanpei took his own life.” “Kayano?” “…That Sanpei?”

Upon hearing the circumstances, Tadashichi declared he would accompany them as well. They hurried to Yodo together in their current state. Just in time for the night’s last ferry, the three covered themselves with a straw mat. They were shaken awake; it was already morning. They arrived at the residence of Kayano Shichirōzaemon in Kayano Village slightly earlier than planned. “We are former retainers of the Asano family and old friends of your son Sanpei-sama, having come upon hearing of this unexpected tragedy. We humbly request to be announced to Sanpei-sama’s respected father, Lord Shichirōzaemon.”

They stood at the entrance and announced each of their names in this manner. The household seemed to be occupied with something.—Later, they would learn that this day marked the 100th-day memorial of Sanpei’s death. “Please.”

They were shown to the inner rooms.

The ancestral home of a country samurai family; in the dimly lit parlor sat a haggard old warrior with slumped shoulders, utterly despondent—this was Shichirōzaemon. The moment he saw the three figures, “Through my son, I had long known of your honorable names.” “As a parent... I hardly know what to say. I have no face left to show you.” Though bereaved of his own child, Shichirōzaemon pressed both palms to the floor and bowed deeply in apology to these three strangers.

He was shedding tears,

“It was precisely the fourteenth day of the first month,” he began. “After arriving at year’s end and spending New Year in this house without incident—my son Sanpei took his own life—” Even before that event, Sanpei had shut himself away in his study as if stricken by melancholia, rarely exchanging words with his family except during meals. The cause lay in his strict adherence to the comrades’ pledge—concealing from parents and kin alike his true purpose of journeying to Edo under the pretense of seeking employment. This deception led Shichirōzaemon, who had believed his son’s claim,

(If he meant to seek employment now, why wouldn’t he remain with his aging parents and inherit the headship of our country samurai household?) This conflict seemed to have arisen from Shichirōzaemon refusing permission for his son’s departure to Edo. Sanpei agonized. To confess the crucial matter would betray his comrades’ pledge. To disobey his father would be unfilial. Though physically frail, Sanpei possessed unyielding integrity. He had weighed both obligations too gravely, unable to devise a balanced course through life. At twilight, he went alone to his deceased mother’s grave behind the house and played his cherished bamboo flute. When the melody faded, he sat upon the grass and slit his belly.

“We have brought about this regrettable matter.”

The three repeated. Eventually, guided by Shichirōzaemon, they climbed to the hill of graves at the back. At the grave of their dear friend, incense offerings for the 100th-day memorial smoldered.

“No, Lord Sanpei has not yet died. “On the day we depart this world, Lord Sanpei too shall achieve his true death… This pure-hearted spirit of his—we have taken it into our blood, and we swear we shall not let your son’s brief life end in vain. “…Though it pains us not to reveal more now.” Matanojō and Tadashichi took turns comforting the lonely old father before taking their leave. He pressed them to stay, but their hearts were too wounded to remain long.

They came to the Shibamura roadside teahouse, ate their midday meal, inquired about the departure time of the Yodo upstream boat, and until then took a brief nap on a folding stool in the back. The thirty-koku boat ascending from Osaka to Kyoto was threading through the bright river waves of the evening calm, approaching Moriguchi landing. Mingling with the other passengers, Shioda, Onodera, and Takebayashi—the three of them—also boarded.

“—Oh?” As soon as Onodera Kōemon sat down at the stern, he blurted out. “Lord Ōishi is here! “Lord Ōishi is—” “Quiet!... Stay silent.”

Shioda shook his head sideways and admonished Kōemon’s outburst. Takebayashi had not failed to notice either; he had already glanced over early on. However, with Lord Kuranosuke present among the many passengers in the midship area under the alias Ikeda Kyūemon and accompanied by a suspicious number of traveling companions, he refrained from speaking and silently watched.

“Keep pretending not to know.” “…Taifu also averted his eyes. If we were permitted to address him directly—Lord Ōishi would surely speak.”

Matanojō turned sideways and whispered.

Tadashichi clicked his tongue, “Are all those courtesans part of Lord Ōishi’s entourage?” “So it seems…” “What is that creature clinging to Lord Ōishi’s side—you can’t tell if it’s a woman or a man?”

“Kabuki youths.” “I know they’re kabuki youths, but…” “Isn’t that Segawa Takenojō, famous in Kyoto theater? The fellow passengers are peering intently and whispering.” “So that’s Takenojō, the male prostitute. Lord Ōishi has no restraint either!”

Tadashichi hocked a mouthful of spittle onto the water’s surface and, with bitter resentment, feigned ignorance.

The Great Drunken Spree

The rumors that Kuranosuke had been visiting Tsukimachi in Fushimi or frequenting Shimabara were not new; ever since his return from Edo last year, his drinking had begun to increase. (Hadn’t Lord Ōishi changed somewhat as a person compared to before?) Such remarks were exchanged even among the comrades.

(That too is acceptable…) Onodera Jūnai, Terai Genkei, and the other elderly retainers watched with smiles that seemed to say they were in full agreement—if not outright stating it.

However, the principled ones—such as Ōtaka Gengo and Tomimori Sukeemon—and the younger retainers— (He renovates his house, buys courtesans—and yet whenever we consult about revenge, it never comes to a decisive point. Utterly impossible to fathom Lord Ōishi’s true intentions.) —would sometimes voice their indignation upon witnessing his misconduct. Shioda, Takebayashi, Kōemon, and others of that faction naturally belonged to this group; they exchanged not a word, their faces turned away from one another in bitter silence at a corner of the stern.

Moreover, Ōishi Kuranosuke had recently returned to Akō’s Kakuzenji Temple on March 14th—the exact date marking the first anniversary of their deceased lord’s passing—to conduct the memorial service on behalf of all the surviving retainers. Was he not now on his return journey?

Where had he shed those travel garments? Without even his family in Yamashina or anyone in Kyoto noticing, had he not discarded his travel attire somewhere—donned a black crepe haori over soft Rikyū tea-colored robes, settling back in full regalia with gaudy gold-embroidered obi and accessories? Moreover, was this some clandestine revelry? Even aboard a thirty-koku boat as public as any thoroughfare, he occupied a midship seat surrounded by a garish entourage—five courtesans likely brought from Osaka’s Sonezaki district, the male prostitute Segawa Takenojō, and serving women—ostentatious enough to seize every gaze.

“Whoa… Thought th’wine in m’cup was swayin’… Whassat—boat startin’ t’rock?” “Ha ha ha! Shore growin’ distant, or boat driftin’ away? Solve this riddle, Otsuyu—let’s hear yer answer.” Kuranosuke’s words tangled like frayed rope. Otsuyu, the serving woman, dabbed at the wine staining his lap as she— “Boat growin’ distant, or shore growin’ distant? —That’s th’riddle?”

“That’s right—to whoever solves this riddle, I’ll let them have the sake cup.”

One of the courtesans said, "I've had enough sake." When she spoke, "Then I'll hold you through the night," Ōishi Kuranosuke replied. "Oh! How shameless you are to flirt so brazenly in public!" "What's wrong with saying it openly? In this world, there should be no men who despise women nor women who scorn men." His words slurred slightly. "Should any claim otherwise—they're liars beyond doubt... Beyond doubt..." How long had he been drinking?

He was slightly weary. Supporting his head with his fingers and leaning against the gunwale, Kuranosuke looked downward. “Lord Transient.” “Lord Big Spender.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” “If you keep this up, you’ll collapse drunk before we even reach Tsukimachi.”

Takenojō placed Kuranosuke’s head onto his own lap, “Would you like some water...?” “No! Liquor! Liquor!” “It’s poison now, my lord.” “Who dares call liquor poison? They say it’s the sovereign of medicines—has any poet ever sung of it as venom?” “To live long hoarding gold—that’s one way through this world.” “Or do what you please surrounded by fair women—drifting through life drunk on fine wine—that too’s a path.” “Either way—this life lasts only while we draw breath… beyond lies void.”

“Now then… would you kindly sit upright?” “The other passengers find this quite bothersome.” “Ah… I see… So there were still other travelers aboard this vessel after all. …My humblest apologies.”

With that, he sat up in disarray, legs splayed sideways, “—Are we not at Fushimi yet?” “Not yet, sir.” “Well now, how tedious. On water’s surface there’s neither dance nor song to be had. Fushimi—draw nearer!” “What do you mean?” “Forgive me. When journeying, this Kiuemon here tastes true paradise—but return to Yamashina’s house and there’s my wife’s sullen face, debt collectors’ ceaseless visits, this demand and that grievance—not a moment’s peace to stretch one’s bones.”

“You must be joking… *chuckle*.” “No, ’tis true.” “Therefore, on this return from Harima Akō, I mean to revel at Hananuri of Minatoya in Tomo no Tsu, Sonezaki in Naniwa, and Sasaya’s Ukihashi in Fushimi—carousing through drunken nights—that I might reach Kyoto even a day later.” Ah… Now that I’d said it aloud, I burned to see her. Ukihashi must be pining for me this very moment. “Though I’d sent word from Hyōgo by courier of our meeting day…” “Boasting of your paramour again, my lord?”

“I assure you—this is no boast—’tis the plain truth.” “Hohoho, unhand me!”

“Takenojō.” “Yes.”

“My shoulders have grown stiff. Give them a rub.” “Just give ’em a bit of a rub.” “Is this to your liking, Lord Big Spender?” “Hmm… Right there… Ah, that feels good… Even playin’ around can leave a man’s shoulders stiff.”

Among the shared passengers were those who could not afford rice for the morrow. There were also those who went to sell their daughters to Kyoto's procurers' houses with darkened faces. There were also traveling merchants who, day after day, would wear themselves out and sleep in firewood lodges. They had been gazing enviously at Kuranosuke since earlier, but upon seeing him collapse drunk once more onto the kabuki actor Takenojō's lap, they suddenly began whispering among themselves.

“Where in the world is that big spender from?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but he did mention something about Yamashina.” “Yamashina?” “Then isn’t that man Ōishi Kuranosuke, the Akō rōnin?”

“That might be the case.” “He carouses often in Shimabara too.” “Does he really have that much money?” “After all, he was once the chief retainer of an entire domain—he must’ve stashed away quite a fortune amid all that chaos.”

“But with a chief retainer like that, it’s no wonder Akō fell.” “It’s utterly appalling, isn’t it?” “No, it’s not just that chief retainer—samurai these days have changed completely from how they were in the past.” “They compete in nothing but flashy outfits and sword fittings! In Naniwa or Shimabara, when it comes to extravagant revelries—whether it’s daimyo deputies, storehouse officials, or town magistrates—even wealthy townsfolk can hardly match them.”

“But with this, the Kira household must be feeling quite secure.”

“Oh right—there was that strange rumor… With the way things are going, that too must be…”

Seeing Kuranosuke’s face as he slept snoring on Takenojō’s lap, everyone snickered.

“…………”

Motionlessly, huddled together with their narrow shoulders drawn in, the three men—Shiota Matajirō, Onodera Kōemon, and Takebayashi Tadashichi—stared at the dark river surface without even raising their faces. —The death of the pure-hearted Sanpei, the many hardships endured by their comrades—all lingered in the corners of their minds… Original Song “Lord Ukihashi, Lord Big Spender.” “Shut up… Let me sleep a little longer.” “You must rise now. We have arrived in Fushimi.”

“No… I’m sleepy.” “Then shall we continue on to Kyoto as we are? Would you not wish to meet with Yūgiri?” “What… Has Yūgiri come?” “No, we are in Fushimi.” “Fushimi? That’s a grave matter. If I don’t show my face to Yūgiri this time, I might be killed. …Let’s go.” “Ah, that’s perilous!” “Takenojō, carry me.” “I cannot carry you. Please hold my shoulders instead.”

“Otsuya, come to the left.” “Oh… The boat’s rocking.” “Boatman, keep it steady!”

Supported by both arms, Kuranosuke finally made his way up onto land.

“What’s this?” “Look at that state of his!” Those who remained on the boat all jeered in unison. And then, in the now-vacated space behind them, they sprawled out luxuriously, “Ah, now we can finally breathe freely!”

“But they could’ve at least left the Sonezaki courtesans behind.”

“Hahahaha”

Then, suddenly from within that laughter, a townsman abruptly stood up. Clad in a travel cloak with arm guards and gaiters, wearing crisp straw sandals, his sharp demeanor made him appear like a seasoned traveling worker. “Ah—I must’ve dozed off. This is Fushimi, right, Boatman?” “So this is Fushimi, Boatman.” “That’s right—it’s Fushimi.” “I’m getting off here!” He flipped his cloak and leapt ashore. Around the same time, Shiota, Takebayashi, and Onodera—the three of them—also “Shall we get off?”

“Let’s disembark.”

Exchanging glances, they blended into the people on land.

A young man carrying a Masuya lantern from Shōmokuchō had come out to meet them, leading a line of palanquins. The courtesans climbed into them, but Kuranosuke, his bleary eyes wide, “What… You want me to get in a palanquin or something?” “Enough of that—if I may say so, the journey until I see Yūgiri’s face is the entertainment of the waiting room, all the more so on this fine spring evening.”

With his fan, he clapped out a rhythm while staggering forward.

The maid, Takenojō, and a single Masuya lantern surrounded his shadow. “Lord Uki, will you be walking?” “What do you expect? To waste this tipsy haze and hazy moonlit night on some cramped palanquin?… Takenojō, provide the vocal shamisen accompaniment.” “Would you care to sing something?” “The Ryūdatsu ballad, perhaps?” “Rather than that, how about your own composition about rural scenery, Lord Uki?” “Hmm, shall we practice?… Practice in the dark.” As Takenojō provided rhythmic interjections with his vocal shamisen accompaniment—

As night deepened in the pleasure quarter, When I beheld her guise, The evening lamplight turned aside in bed— Even the flowers of dreams Were scattered by the beckoning storm— The lover led his companion from the bedchamber While others' farewells lingered sorrowful— Rear gates and middle doors opened at dawn's break. The single-layer obi of she who saw me off Melted away, came undone—disheveled sleep-tousled hair, Boxwood—the boxwood comb too Let tears fall scattered upon sleeves— "Lord Uki!" "What is it, Takenojō?" "Wait—that rhythm doesn't match the strings' tempo." "Once more, from 'boxwood—'"

From O-Yu’s side, “No—it isn’t Lord Uki’s singing at fault, but Mr. Takenojō’s strings.” “Let me try providing the vocal shamisen accompaniment this time,” said O-Yu. “Ah! You’ll play—no, you mean to provide the accompaniment?” “I’ll sing—follow my lead!” Spilling onto sleeves— The grievous bond of dewdrop tears— Spilling onto sleeves— A cruel tether— A life adrift or a soul in torment?

“Yes! “I’ve done it!”

When Takenojō clapped his hands and began praising him, the man in the traveler’s cloak—who had been tailing them since they disembarked the boat, slipping from shadow to shadow—slipped smoothly to his side like a coiling serpent, then suddenly thrust the dagger hidden beneath his cloak and slammed it into Kuranosuke’s body. “Ah! Unthinkable…” Staggering backward, Kuranosuke seized the man’s wrist with iron resolve,

“Who are you, reckless fool—”

Wordlessly, the man shook off the grip. The young man from Masuya had already thrown down his lantern and fled, while Takenojō and O-Yu instantly let out a shriek and threw themselves face-down by the roadside.

Seeing this, Burin and Shioda—who had been following at some distance— “Hey! Who’re you?” They dashed forward, “You!” and surrounded the cloaked man from three sides.

The man clearly appeared flustered. He threw the dagger toward Onodera Kōemon’s face. And, with terrifying speed, dashed from a nearby alleyway into the forest of some shrine. “Ugh...” “O-Yu! O-Yu!”

Leaning against the cherry trees lining the street, Kuranosuke was slumped limply. As if he still did not fully grasp that his life had narrowly escaped such peril— “Where did you go, O-Yu? … What was that just now… A robber…”

But Takenojō and O-Yu still had not risen from the roadside.

Before Kuranosuke, rather than the cloaked man, three masterless samurai with ghastly expressions stood, spearheads aligned, glaring at him. “Lord…!” Shioda Matanojō was the first to speak. “Lord Kuranosuke.”

Then Yuina barked next. “Lord Ōishi.” Kōemon rebuked him.

Finally, Kuranosuke turned his eyes—which hardly seemed to see—toward where the three figures stood.

“Hmm…” With that, he laughed. “Who do we have here... Matanojō, Yuina, Kōemon… When did you arrive?” “Do you comprehend the situation, my lord?” “You speak of sorrowful things—these eyes still see.”

“The man posing as a townsman who just attacked your person with a dagger—that was one of Chisaka Hyōbu’s agents, a stalwart spy operating under the alias Jūhasshaku! However much you may claim to be amusing yourself, do you not realize how vital your position remains? Even if this body is yours, do you not understand that until our appointed hour arrives, it does not truly belong to you?!” “What is this, Matanojō? Have you come to scold me, Kuranosuke?”

“That we glimpsed your lordship aboard the thirty-koku boat must have been our deceased lord’s divine guidance.” “And did your lordship attend the first anniversary memorial for our Akō comrades?” “I did.”

And Kuranosuke bowed his head, “At Kegonji Temple… it was truly a grand memorial service. Even townspeople from our former domain—fishermen and peasants who hadn’t forgotten their roots—came bearing incense and flowers to pay their respects. At the sight of them, even this body of mine could not help but feel tears welling up.” “You attended that first-anniversary memorial—yet before even returning to Yamashina, what is the meaning of this frivolous behavior? It is far too shameful.”

Following Matanojō’s lead, Yuina also— “In any case, would you not return with us to Yamashina at least once? During your absence, matters that must reach your ears and those requiring consultation have piled up.” “Now now, youngster—you mustn’t speak so crudely.… Over there awaits my favored Takenojō, and O-Yu of Sonezaki too. Having brought our entire company this far, how could we abruptly turn back now? Tonight, above all else, I must go to Masuya.”

“Is Masuya truly so important to you?” “In play too there’s posturing and obligation.” “Given that I’m called the Floating World Tycoon of Yamashina...” “Tch!”

And Yuina bit his lip, “Who speaks of this ‘Ukiyo Tycoon’?” “Lord Ōishi—does your duty to brothels outweigh our sworn pact?” “Here.”

And, turning his eyes sharply toward Yuina,

“What are you saying? The solemn vow was one I made with Yuugiri. I’d sent a courier promising to visit upon returning from this trip—to show them Akō souvenirs too—but now I see how careless I was. Even those souvenirs were snatched away in Sonezaki. At the very least, I must let them see my face.” “Enough of your prattle! To think you’d spout such drivel to us!” “The essence of amusement lies in flaying open these innards—usually festering in the heart’s damp corners—for all to see with such flair. Don’t be so boorish. What say you, Yuina—will you join me tonight in Shurikimachi?”

“We must decline!” “We three have only just returned from visiting the grave of our late comrade Kayano Sanpei. To think of his death brings tears to our eyes.” “In this state of affairs, even Sanpei must be regretting in the afterlife that he died for nothing.” “Sanpei… How could Sanpei be dead?” “Though this is no matter to speak of to one reeking of drink like yourself—and least of all in a roadside conversation—I shall tell you this.” “Alas! The single-minded Kayano, torn between his sworn oath to comrades and his aged parent, took his own life by seppuku.”

“…………”

Was he gazing at the hazy night clouds, or was he staring at the cherry blossom treetops? Kuranosuke leaned his back against a tree, face upturned, his eyes never lowering.

――Dew’s fragile thread―― Fleeting duty— Spilling onto sleeves The bitter thread of sorrowful duty— And then, clapping his hands to keep time, he began to chant―― “Even young lives are fleeting in this world of ours—Matanojō, Yuina, and Kōemon should have at least caught a glimpse of the unknown world.” “Come now—won’t you join me? Kuranosuke here will teach you the ways of debauchery tonight. All matters can wait until after that.” “No—let us drink deep into the night until the cups run dry…” Staggering forward unsteadily, he beckoned toward Takenojō and O-Yu’s figures with his folding fan.

*Kyoto Fushimi Pleasure Quarter Directory*

*Grieving Mother, Grieving Wife*

Spring too would linger for only a few more days. In Yamashina Village, an old bush warbler was singing ceaselessly. Hah! Hah! Hooah!

Somewhere, fierce shouts of exertion and the clashing of wooden swords leaked through the intervening silence. It was from within the Ōishi residence—where garden trees had been newly planted and numerous stones and lanterns lavished with meticulous care.

What manner of person born beneath such fortunate sunshine could be passing their remaining days enjoying the transient world within these extravagant renovations?—Every passerby would inevitably turn to gaze at that gate. In the peony garden of the front courtyard, splendid blossoms vied in splendor—the dazzling sunlight of approaching May cast its full radiance upon the new Yoshino cedar ceiling of the study hall, reflecting brightness throughout.

“…O-Riku.” “…Water… Give me water.” Kuranosuke lay face down, asleep. That morning—after returning by palanquin from the Gion teahouse—he had thrown off the bedding O-Riku laid out for him, pulled his haori collar over his head, and begun snoring loudly.

――Hah! Hooah!

As if to rouse their father from his indolent slumber, the eldest son Chikara and second son Kichichiyo seemed to be diligently practicing kendo in the rear quarters. Licking his parched, hungover lips, Kuranosuke sat up, "O-Riku—" and clapped his hands. "Yes." The reply sounded faintly distant before his wife came hurrying over to attend him. "Oh... Have you awoken?" "What were you doing?" "I was merely occupied with kitchen matters..." "Pray forgive me."

“If the kitchen lacks hands, I’ve told you to hire any number of maids and menservants needed—yet… you remain unable to shed your penny-pinching ways.” “…Bring water.”

“Yes.” These days, whenever he returned from the pleasure district, he would invariably be in a foul mood and quick to anger. O-Riku poured the water as though handling a festering wound, and he downed it in a single gulp, “That shouting—it’s Chikara and Kichichiyo.” “That is correct.” “—It was that shouting that roused me.” “Those noisy brats—tell them their father said their pointless training must cease, and make them stop.”

“…………” “Why do you stare at my face with such resentment?” “With all due respect, Kichichiyo has now taken up wooden swords in that manner, and Chikara—behaving as an elder brother ought—finds time to instruct him.” “…You might commend their efforts, yet how could a parent utter words like ‘Cease these worthless exertions’?” “O-Riku.”

Having said this sharply, Kuranosuke shifted his knees. "Yes…"

“Today marks your dismissal.” “Return to your family home in Toyooka.”

“Huh? …” O-Riku swallowed her breath. Her face pale as if still doubting her husband’s words, her tone edged with sharpness, “Wh… why is that?” she pressed closer.

Kuranosuke fixed his gaze intently, “It does not suit our house’s ways,” he said coldly and unfeelingly. “But… Master… If I have committed any fault, I beg you to forgive me. I will reform myself in any way necessary.” “How old are you?”

“…………” “You’re well past the age where scolding will reform you.” He had grown utterly weary of repeating such admonishments of late. This Kuranosuke had changed his name to Ikeda Kyūemon after leaving Akō, having explained at length to them all that he would live as an ordinary townsman—finding amusement and levity in this transient world. He had strictly instructed that henceforth landholdings should take precedence over bow and arrow, and the abacus over martial arts, even drilling this mindset into Chikara and Kichichiyo’s upbringing. “Yet with a disposition that secretly rejoices in the children’s swordsmanship practice, you prove unreliable as Kyūemon’s wife for what lies ahead… This is precisely what clashes with our house’s traditions.”

“Master… Is that truly your will?” “That much is plain.” O-Riku prostrated herself on the tatami. She wept without uttering a sound.

“Prepare immediately. Take whatever clothing, household goods, or belongings you wish.” “Master...!” Clutching at his knees, “Is this not excessively cruel? We who bore children together—Chikara, Ruri, Kichichiyo, Daisaburō—how can we separate over such trivial matters now?” “Trivial? A woman who clashes with our house’s traditions becomes its ruin—for the Ōishi family, this is grave indeed. Knowing this principle, I cannot let you remain here another moment. Stand! Leave at once!”

Having noticed his mother weeping beneath his father’s booming voice, Kichichiyo—who had been practicing kendo out back—came running up still in his muddied feet. Chikara, too, wondering what was happening and cautious of his father’s demeanor, followed from behind and quietly positioned himself respectfully in the corner of the study.

Because his brother was silently waiting with downcast eyes, Kichichiyo pressed his hands together alone before his father.

“Father, please show mercy. I will correct Mother’s faults, so please forgive her.” “This is no concern of a child’s. As for your mother…”

Kuranosuke stared intently and placed his hand on Kichichiyo’s forelock. “As for your mother… She is someone who has left the Ōishi family as of today. I will no longer speak words of reprimand to her.” “I don’t want this… Father… Please keep Mother in the household forever.” “Do you love your mother?” “Yes.” “Farewell. You shall be your mother’s child now.”

“I love you too, Father. I wish to live with you and Mother together forever.” “It cannot be.”

When he lightly pushed his shoulder, Kichichiyo fell backward. O-Riku forgot herself, “Oh, don’t cry, Kichichiyo. Father is just having a bit of an off day. By evening he’ll come around as his usual self and show you a smile.”

Drawing him to her lap, as she pressed her tear-streaked face against his tear-streaked face,

“No—not just this evening, but for all eternity, such a day shall never come.” “I will keep only our eldest son, Chikara, by my side. But you are to take all the other children and depart for Toyooka at once—do you hear me, O-Riku? Mark my words.” “In any case, I must first consult with Uncle Koyama-sama and Cousin Shindō-sama...” “…Kichichiyo.” “Since I long since informed Shindō and Uncle Koyama of this matter, there is no need for you to relay it anew.”

“Huh… Then you had prepared everything to such an extent?” “Yes.” With a deep—a grand nod—Kuranosuke stared fixedly at her and spoke. “We have been together for many years, but were I to lower myself to a townsman’s station, you—ill-suited to our house’s ways—would inevitably leave someday. That is what I had thought…” O-Riku no longer shed tears. In her husband’s eyes lay a clarity like that of a bottomless lake—filled with mercy contradicting his words and distant contemplation. Held within them was something unfathomable to a woman.

“There is no alternative…”

When O-Riku dropped both hands onto the tatami and said this, her husband seemed to nod. ——However, it was a sorrowful matter. As a woman and a mother, a pain more bitter than death pierced through her chest.

All she could do was trust her husband.—No, until this day, O-Riku had never harbored the slightest doubt toward this husband. Why had she let go of this conviction from her heart even for a moment?

Scolding herself, encouraging herself, she dried her tears and rose. In the back, Daizaburō seemed to have woken up and was crying for his mother’s breast.— Chikara supported his low-hung neck and shoulders with his stone-like hands planted on his knees, “Father! …”

He raised his tearful eyes to Kuranosuke’s face. “Chikara—”

Father’s voice was heavy and quiet. “Do you resent your father’s decision?” “No.”

Chikara shook his head. Tears spilled to both sides of his face. “Father has been indulging in dissipation of late. Do you not wish to voice your objections?” “No… Please do as you must.” “Chikara is pleased.” “Hmm… You are my child.” “Chikara, come.” “You too—as the son of Yamashina’s magnate—must at least have some knowledge of tea ceremonies.”

Bitter Idleness

At the corner of the alley in Tenma-Oimatsu-chō, Fuwa Kazuemon came to a stop. Placing a hand on the brim of his woven hat, he scanned the alley’s foot traffic. Once satisfied no suspicious figures were tailing him, he strode resolutely under the tenement eaves and reached the fourth house—

“Lord Sōemon, are you at home?” He peered inside. “Oh—”

After Sōemon’s reply, some time passed, “To the garden then.” “Kazuemon—straight through to the inner garden—” From the rear, Hara Sōemon’s voice could be heard. He pushed the broken wooden gate beside the house. Stepping over a rotten bamboo rain gutter that had fallen from the eaves, “Huh… You’ve got a garden here?” “Even in poverty, five tsubo of garden remains a garden.” “Still early yet, but this summer I thought to build a loofah trellis or morning glory hedge—today I’m preparing the seedbed.”

“How commendable.” “Truly commendable indeed. Who will cool under the loofah trellis, who will admire the morning glories—no one can say… Yet humans cannot let today pass without doing something. Idleness is a bitter thing.” “There are also those in this world not bound by such compulsions.” “Is that so?” “To be sure, even among our close acquaintances—” “Hmm… Umm, like Ōno Kurobē, for instance.” “No, no—given that man’s nature, it’s hardly surprising, nor does it anger me… But Lord Sōemon—are you unaware of it?”

“Unaware?” “Ōishi Taifu’s recent dissipation—” “I have heard through rumors, but well, let it be.” “After all, we are all fated to scatter like morning glories before their dew has dried.” “Lord Ōishi too—in the prime of manhood—may leisurely gaze upon and savor this world and this spring that will never come again… And besides—”

And Sōemon, peering over the fence into the neighbor’s veranda, washed his hands in their water jar. “It must be part of Lord Ōishi’s stratagem—to deceive Kira and Uesugi’s spies.” “I view it as such and rather admire his handling of matters, but—” “Yet even we—who initially trusted Lord Ōishi as you say—have lately come to find it somewhat… dubious.” “How so?”

Then, heavily sitting down on the veranda, Sōemon pulled the tobacco tray from the sitting room closer and held his kiseru pipe at an angle.

He looked young for fifty-six. This person still had no white hair. Having served as an ashigaru captain, he was particularly adept at grasping the hearts of the younger men, and moreover, Sōemon himself still carried much of a youthful spirit. “If it were strategy or diversion, he would naturally exercise some discretion there—but ah! When it comes to Lord Ōishi these days, it’s not just excessive—no, not merely excessive—it’s downright the ravings of a madman.” “In Shimabara, Gion, Tsukimachi—wandering wherever his feet take him, blown wherever the wind wills—he scatters gold like water, reveling in being hailed as some dandy or big spender. One can even see him preening at such antics.”

“Impossible.” He truly did not believe it. Sōemon, amidst a bitter smile, caused the mouthpiece of his pipe to glint as he squinted at the late spring sun. “It’s so absurd I can hardly bring myself to discuss every detail.” “Impetuous ones like Takebayashi Tadashichi were burning with rage.” “Moreover, Shioda, Onodera Kōemon, and others were also in a state of agitation—unable to be left alone.” “Something will happen!” “‘Cannot be left unattended’ refers to us.” “Lord Sōemon, you must make a journey to Kyoto at least once.”

“What would I accomplish by going?” “So I ask that you quell the young men’s discontent before it erupts.” “That task is ill-suited to me. Just hearing this talk makes my stomach churn—how could I possibly calm the young ones? I might end up joining them instead. Even without that—for some time now, Horibe, Okuda, and other comrades from Edo have been sending frequent exhortations. It’s no wonder. Lord Ōishi had sworn during his previous return that the major action would be carried out next April. But now he acts as if he’s completely forgotten it, postponing day after day, so Horibe and the others have apparently lost all patience.”

“After all, if we wait for Lord Ōishi to act, it could be ten years from now—twenty years—or perhaps we’ll find he never truly intended revenge at all.”

“What truly worries me is this fear—that if Lord Kōzuke were to hide himself deep within Yonezawa Castle’s keep...” “When I think of that possibility, I feel I can neither sit still nor rise to act.” “Let us make our move.” “What would you have us do?”

“First, let us go to Kyoto and try confronting Lord Ōishi once more.” “Hmm.”

“If he remains irresolute to the end, we’ve already seen his true colors.” “We should abandon that sort and act alone—” “By ‘we,’ you mean... who exactly?” “In Kyoto and Osaka—Ōtaka, Shioda, Nakamura Kansuke—these three have stood firm from the beginning.” “Okano and Onodera’s son won’t waver in loyalty.” “In Edo—Horibe father and son, Okuda Magodayu, Tanaka Teishirō, Kurahashi Densuke—all sworn allies.” “First—do we have about twelve or thirteen?” “Without doubt.” “Better ten men of iron resolve than a hundred cowards—”

“Hold.” Suppressing Kazuemon’s heated words, “In any case, let us go to Kyoto, confirm Lord Ōishi’s true intentions, and while we’re at it, devise an urgent plan… But this timing is ill-suited.” With that, he entered the house, “My wife has gone to visit relatives in Sumiyoshi today—she’s out.” “Very well—I shall prepare my will then.” “Kazuemon, I’ll take my leave briefly.” Having entered the next room, Sōemon sat before a small desk, his rounded back visible as he wrote at the edge of a scroll. The sound of oars from Tenma River whispered through. From Dōtonbori’s theater turret came the languid thump of a drum.

Kazuemon had noticed that even he himself was not immune to the urge to steal away and savor a small respite in life amidst this gentle April sunlight and warm southeastern breeze. "...Truth be told, it’s no wonder that high-ranking officials like Ōno and Ōishi end up like that.... But no matter how others choose to live, I will walk my own path." "That’s right—I’ll walk my own path."

Crossing paths.

When they went to Kyoto and visited Onodera, both father and son were out; when they went to Ōtaka Gengo’s place to inquire, he too had been away from home since last night, they were told.

Among the comrades, not the slightest communication was being maintained. A sense of scattered and fragmented lethargy hung in the air, and Sōemon seethed with frustration.

"The more days passed, the more this became people's natural inclination—yet even so, what an exasperating state. With things like this, how could we ever repay Lord Kira with even a single arrow of vengeance?"

“There might be someone in Yamashina.” Kazuemon ended up being the one to calm Sōemon instead. “I’m exhausted. What a bother—if we go all the way to Yamashina now only to be told they’re out again, I won’t be able to keep from getting angry.”

“Let’s call a town palanquin.” “Lately, we’ve grown poor ourselves and begrudge the palanquin fare… but let’s ride anyway.”

They rode to the foothills, and from there walked onward through the pitch-dark night. Just as they abandoned their palanquin, two others passed them by—palanquins descending hurriedly from Yamashina toward the village below. Turning to glance at the receding lights, “Was that Lord Ōishi just now,” Sōemon asked, “or someone else?” “No,” Kazuemon replied. “Likely a village woman. I heard an infant’s cry from within.”

They casually walked on as they were. Even on such a dark night, the walls of the newly built Ōishi residence were visible from afar. As they approached, someone stood dejectedly at the gate. Against the chest of a monk wearing a woven bamboo hat, a boy was pressing his face and weeping. “Is that not Lord Chikara?” When Sōemon called out, Chikara—as if startled—pulled his face away from the monk’s chest and hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Yes!” His reply was clear. His voice was no different from usual.

“Why—Lord Hara, Lord Fuwa too.” “Is your father here?” “He is regrettably absent at present.”

“Off to Gion or Shōmachi again?” “What?...” “...”

Chikara acted awkwardly, and in the eyes he had once wiped, tears began to overflow copiously once more, as if something uncontrollable.

“What troubles you?” The moment Sōemon struck his shoulder, pearly tears split through his eyelashes and trailed down his cheeks.

“…” As Chikara remained silently unresponsive, the monk—who until then had been wearing a woven bamboo hat and was unidentifiable—greeted them from the side. “It gladdens my heart to find both gentlemen unchanged in health.” “Ah—you are—” “I am Yūkai of Enrin-ji Temple in Akō Domain.” “Oh! So it’s you, Monk!” “By Lord Ōishi’s command, I traveled to Edo regarding the reinstatement of your honorable younger brother Daigaku-sama. Though I pursued every avenue and strained my humble efforts to their limit, I failed to fulfill our hopes. Now I come bearing this shameful report of failure, which has brought me here tonight.”

“Upon hearing that, was Lord Chikara so overcome with disappointment that he shed tears?”

“No… it’s something else.” “Something else? Is it something important?” “It is but a trivial family matter; please do not concern yourselves with it.” “If it concerns family matters, we cannot simply let it go unheard.” “We share a bond with Lord Ōishi that cannot be severed—please tell us.” “Allow this humble monk to explain…”

Yūkai stepped back and, “…In truth, when I stopped by here just now, I found two palanquins prepared, and Her Ladyship Orika was departing somewhere in tears, taking with her the three children—Lord Yoshichiyo, Lady Ruri, and Lord Saburō. Upon inquiring into the details, I learned that today she had been dismissed by Lord Kuranosuke and was withdrawing to her family home in Tajima Toyooka, to the residence of Lord Ishizuka Gengoemon.” “Huh… Then… does that mean… Her Ladyship has been divorced?”

The two turned blankly toward the darkness. Realizing that the palanquin they had just passed at the base of the slope might have been that very one, “What a regrettable thing we had done. Kazuemon—you said you heard an infant’s cry, did you not?” “I didn’t realize it was that.” “Why the lord divorced her—I feel I can grasp the profound reason even without being told. What—how could we stand by and watch that? Lord Chikara, do not weep. I shall go and bring your mother back for you.”

As Sōemon started to run, “Ah—wait!”

Chikara grabbed his sleeve, “—Please… just let her go.” “Why?” With eyes gleaming reproachfully, Sōemon said to him, “Do you feel no sadness at all that your mother has been divorced and departs for Tajima? Even I—a mere outsider—feel my heart being torn out at the thought of a mother of four being cast out to return to her distant family home.” “No, no… Please do not trouble yourself with such compassion. I do not wish to make Mother cry any further.”

“That’s why I’m saying we’ll call her back—then both of us will plead your case to your father.” “That too would be futile.” “Hmm… So even toward you, his own son—are you saying Lord Kuranosuke has exhausted both love and hate?”

“……” “He must be out carousing as an extravagant spender in the lively streets again tonight.” “Alright, Kazuemon—even if it takes all night, let’s go search for Lord Ōishi now.”

Chikara did not stop the two men as they strode off with wide steps after saying that. Perplexity and sorrow had stained his youthful face black with tears. The lamplight of a house bereft of both father and mother held no allure. Only the cold desolation of fading spring lingered there. “……Then, when you return, please relay to Lord Kuranosuke that Yūkai came tonight. …I shall send a detailed written report from Akō in due course.”

Yūkai, too, started to leave—but then suddenly turned back—

“Lord Chikara, the fog has descended. Pray enter your residence lest you catch chill.” “Ah me… The road to Tajima must weary her sorely, yet his jaunts to Fushimi and Gion bring him little comfort either.” “……A waste indeed for one clad in monk’s robes.” Muttering thus, his form too dissolved into Yamashina’s inky night mists.

Rice-washing basket

“Is it ready yet?”