Pathway to Japanese Literature

Asano Takumi-no-kami

The Seventh Hour The spring-vitalized high tide of the river channel lapped against each oyster on the stone walls with a hushed, kiss-like rhythm. The Asano family's upper residence in Teppōzu Tsukiji stood completely along the river's edge. With each mild gust, the sea's briny fragrance from Ōkawaguchi slipped past crimson plum blossoms and willows along the wall, stealing through every interval between silver-painted fusuma and decorated partitions until it permeated them all. Just beyond the single-layer wall, oar sounds could be heard outside, while white seabird droppings frequently marked the wide eaves.

"The beach at Akō must surely be bustling now with tide gatherings and pleasure boating."

Takumi-no-kami was gazing at the sky from his armrest. No—rather, his eyes were recalling the smoke rising from salt-burning beaches in his distant homeland.

The figure of an elegant woman, likely twenty-five or twenty-six years old, could be seen partially from the adjoining room. She was his wife. Before the tea kettle arranged near the bath area, she sat with graceful composure. Placing a renowned tea utensil upon an eggplant-colored cloth, she then walked with refined poise to set the tea bowl before Takumi-no-kami. And following his gaze, she too looked out at the azure sky beyond the eaves. “In Edo, all take pride in Edo’s spring—yet when you dwell upon your domain’s affairs, you must surely feel such longing for Akō’s Honmaru Castle growing dearer still.”

"That’s already… Rather than dwelling in any place—" He nodded, "Country folk belong in the country."

—At the neighboring Ogasawara Hayato residence, the sound of Ōkura-ryū kotsuzumi could be heard again today. Society was in the throes of a Noh craze. When speaking of trends, it was not only Noh—both samurai and townspeople were caught up in the pursuit of fads. Individuals lacked fulfillment, and the people harbored a great void. Kabuki customs and the bravado of ruffians appeared as supreme ideals. Even children from respectable families indulged in decadent fashions. Abandoned children multiplied in the streets, and parents of prostitutes lived with pride, their livelihoods secured. Not to mention high-ranking samurai—even stationed retainers all knew Yoshiwara, and many could strum a verse of Edo ballads with bathhouse women. Even among townspeople renowned for their honesty—keeping quails, boasting of omoto plants valued at fifty or a hundred gold pieces—the frivolity of society was said to have reached unprecedented heights during the Genroku era.

(The lower ranks follow their superiors’ example—)

There were also those who secretly lamented the state of governance. (In the Kan'ei era, neither bushido nor the townspeople's code had yet decayed to such an extent.)

And many also implicitly criticized and lamented what stemmed from the personality of the current Shogun Tsunayoshi. Naturally, the inner workings of daimyo life had thoroughly rotted. It was an era where only the exterior was opulent and resplendent, while behind closed doors, harsh taxes were imposed on the subjects, forced loans exacted from the wealthy, and retainers skilled in such financial maneuvering and social graces—(those were the loyal ones)—were cherished by their lords. In such an age, only the Asano family remained quietly modest. The influence of the renowned Confucian scholar Yamaga Sokō had been considerable, and the simple samurai customs maintained since the domain’s founding still refused to conform to Genroku’s corrupt trends.

Therefore, the domain’s finances were in surplus. Though the annual production of Akō salt amounted to vast sums, ultimately it was the humility of Lord Takumi-no-kami and his wife, combined with the steadfastness of their samurai ethos, that constituted their greatest asset above all else. “The water is perfectly heated. “Madam—another bowl.”

“Yes.” Mrs.Asano reseated herself before the bath area. Their shared pastimes amounted to tea ceremony, incense appreciation, and calligraphy and painting. Moreover, in both these pursuits and their daily routines, the couple’s harmony appeared enviable even through their retainers’ eyes. It was blissful sunlight—a perfectly peaceful, radiant March third. Today also happened to be a festival day. Sleep now, sleep little one Dear child

What did we buy on the festival night? Agarwood spool Silver needle Don’t cry, don’t fuss Dear child What did we sew on the festival night? Hachinoki sash Small-sleeved kimono…

From somewhere came the sound of someone singing a sorrowful lullaby, accompanied by an infant’s crying. —Since it couldn’t possibly be within the residence grounds, it must have been seeping in from beyond the wall. Beneath the outer stone wall, boats would often moor, and occasionally the rough voices of boatmen could be heard; thus, it must have been a boatman’s wife from a boating household soothing her crying child at her breast.

As she placed the ladle into the tea kettle, Madam found herself listening, entranced. When she glanced at her husband’s face, Lord Takumi-no-kami too appeared to be struck by the same feeling. He listened intently. (A seven-year gap must be sought with iron sandals)

There was even a proverb about such things—despite having been wed as an auspicious match, she still bore no heir.

Official Summons to Edo Castle

It was Tomomori Sukeemon, a mounted guard and messenger.

With large strides, he walked toward the corner of the garden.

“Hey!”

With that，he opened the gate in the wall and stuck his head out toward the back river． “Boatman’s wife！Why are you letting an infant cry there？That racket disturbs the residence！―‘Do not moor boats beneath the stone wall’―can’t you see the posted notice？Get away from here！’” he was scolding．

Then, a page came running, “Lord Sukeemon!” “What?” “You are summoned.” “Huh—? Where to?” “To the tea ceremony room where His Lordship resides.” “Oh no!” With that, Sukeemon struck his own head as if to say, “I’ve messed up!” “Was His Lordship in the tea ceremony room? I didn’t realize and ended up shouting.”

The tea room was a detached building. Moreover, it was close by.

In a flurry, Sukeemon ran off. He knelt in the garden of the Rikyū-style tea room. At first he thought it had been Lord Takumi-no-kami who summoned him, but no—it appeared to have been Madam. she said gently.

“Sukeemon.”

“Yes.”

“Please have these hina festival rice crackers delivered to the boatman’s child outside.” “Ah… The sweets…?” “Ah… Thank you.” Sukeemon, sweat of shame streaming down his back, pressed his forehead to the ground in place of the boatman’s wife. Having pressed his forehead to the ground, he attempted to rise, “Come again later.” This time, Lord Takumi-no-kami spoke.

Sukeemon took the paper-wrapped rice crackers and handed them down from atop the stone wall to the boatman's wife. When he told her it was the Madam's wish, the boatman's wife began to cry along with her infant. While pressing her palms together and bowing toward the inside of the wall, she untied the mooring rope and drifted away toward the outside of Akashi Bridge.

"This won’t do... I’m still no good. I have not become a true samurai. Merely putting on a brave front is not the way of the warrior. Though neither the Lord nor the Lady spoke words of rebuke, in their hearts they must have secretly measured and scorned me as a man without substance." He was utterly ashamed of himself. He returned to the tea ceremony room garden. Until Lord Takumi-no-kami broached the matter, he had been reproaching himself in his heart for his own merciless words.

He placed both hands on the garden strewn with fallen pine needles, “May I ask what your business might be?” “Hmm, Sukeemon.” “The fourth is not a castle attendance day, yet a jointly signed missive from the Senior Councilors has arrived.” “What could this be? An order for me to attend the castle.” “—Are you aware of this?” “I received word from the Chief Retainer earlier.” “For the spare horse, we always bring Asatsuki, but it seems the horse recently injured its leg slightly at the riding grounds, so have another horse’s saddle prepared.”

The matter being just that, Tomomori Sukeemon, with relief, made his way directly toward the stables.

He directed his subordinates and lower-ranking servants and completed all official duties in about four hours. While judging tomorrow’s skies to be likely clear, he came to the administrative quarters to find Kanzaki Yogoro, the junior inspector, who had finished preparing the entourage and was now taking a brief rest beside the large brazier in the duty room. “Ah, good work,” he said. “Have you finished?”

“We had to change saddles in haste and redo all preparations when they switched the spare horse—only just finished now.” “What business requires castle attendance on a non-scheduled day? Let it be auspicious tidings...” “From Chamberlain Kataoka—they say His Lordship may receive an imperial mandate.” “What manner of mandate?”

“As the Reception Commissioner for the Imperial Envoys’ honorable arrival.”

“I see. If that proves true—though ’twould bring great honor—”

Then, Tanaka Sadashirō, the steward who had been facing his desk with his back turned while keeping the ledger,

“Don’t talk nonsense.” “What honor is there to rejoice over?” “If this appointment as Reception Commissioner comes to pass, it would spell major hardship for our clan. The role of hosting imperial envoys—that is, serving as their entertainer—requires covering all expenses from one’s own purse by ordinance.” “That’s why domains whose lords are deemed wealthy or have incurred the Senior Councilors’ enmity end up forced to draw the short straw.” Yogoro listened with half an ear while laughing, but Sukeemon wore an expression of indignation.

“Is that not our honorable public service in times of peace? Our frugal clan customs exist precisely to serve in such times. What do you mean by calling it a hardship when we stand entrusted with such an auspicious honorable duty?” “Did you take offense, Lord Sukeemon?” “Of course I did.”

“Don’t take it badly. I merely spoke out of concern for the clan’s finances. Ha ha ha! Since it’s not coming from your own pockets, if we’re calling the expenses auspicious, then even if it’s quite auspicious, there’s no harm in considering it so.” With that, Tanaka shifted the ledger aside and awkwardly took his leave.

Young Lord

In the Teikan-no-ma hall of Edo Castle, the morning chill still carried a crisp freshness, and the feudal lords who gathered daily had yet to arrive for their castle attendance. Before long, a clock from deep within struck the fifth hour and half, and five Senior Councilors took their seats in unison.

Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami, the Monthly Rotating Senior Councilor,

“Lord Takumi-no-kami, your attendance and efforts are appreciated.” he said.

“I have come as summoned.” Takumi-no-kami bowed his head. “On this occasion—” Then Sagami-no-kami declared in a solemn voice, as though reciting an imperial missive: “As part of the New Year’s reciprocal courtesies, you are hereby commanded to serve as Reception Commissioner for the honorable attendance of the Imperial Envoys and Retired Emperor’s Envoys. You are likely aware already, but the ceremony for receiving the Imperial Envoys is regarded as the foremost of the shogunate’s grand rites. Ensure all matters are handled without negligence and perform your duties with utmost reverence.” “Understood…” “However, as the ceremonial events for the Imperial Envoys’ reception are annual matters that will set precedents for future years, ensure they do not become overly extravagant.”

“……?” Lord Takumi-no-kami lowered the shoulders of his kamishimo and sank into silent contemplation. Then, calmly raising his face, he addressed the five Senior Councilors in attendance.

“To be granted this selection and entrusted with such grave responsibility is both divine providence for my house and personal honor.” “Though it would be most gracious to humbly accept, my shallow learning leaves me unequal even to the court nobles’ protocols.” “Being especially youthful and inexperienced, I reverently implore you to bestow this duty upon another.”

“Ah, no—” Sagami-no-kami lightly tempered his words, “You need not trouble yourself over such concerns in the slightest.” “No one could be expected to fully grasp the ceremonial protocols of the court nobles.” “The annual reception commissioners have all followed Master of Ceremonies Kira Yoshinaka’s guidance and discharged their duties without incident.” “You too shall receive Lord Kira’s instructions on all matters.” Takumi-no-kami feared that repeated refusals might create the impression of begrudging the expenses,

“In that case, I shall humbly receive your guidance in all matters.”

With that, he received the official order and withdrew.

On that same morning, the one appointed to the same role of Reception Commissioner was Date Sakyōnosuke, lord of Iyo-Yoshida Castle. He heard in the waiting room that Sakyōnosuke had accepted the appointment as well. It was a once-in-a-generation grave responsibility.

Takumi-no-kami was preoccupied with the matter since beginning his journey back to his residence. However, since this was a duty that daimyos performed year after year, there could be no justification for him alone being incapable of it; moreover, it would serve as significant training. He resolved to apply himself diligently and perform his duties with sincerity.

That’s right. I should first consult the two Edo chief retainers, Fujii Matazaemon and Yasui Hikobei. In the Asano family, even the previous head, Lord Naganao, had once undertaken this momentous duty. The documents must still exist; those elders likely retained some memory of it, and they should possess what is called the prudence of age. Nor was this simply a matter of having considered it.

Upon returning to his Teppōzu residence, he immediately summoned the two Edo chief retainers, Fujii and Yasui, and informed them of the circumstances. And then,

“I myself lack confidence, but I place my trust in your strength. Therefore, acting promptly in accordance with the Senior Councilors’ private instructions, you shall go pay respects to Lord Kira of the Master of Ceremonies, from whom we must seek guidance on all matters.”

he said. “We humbly accept.”

The matter had already resounded throughout the household. The faces of those gathered in the service room were all filled with a blend of resolve and ceremonial solemnity - ready to become their lord's hands and feet now that he had received this grave responsibility, anticipating the busy times ahead.

Regarding the matter of paying respects at the Kira residence, Yasui and Fujii remained shut away in the chief retainers' room for a short while. For a time, they stayed inside with their knees touching as they deliberated at length, but eventually emerged from there. "Lord Gengo. Where is Lord—" Upon encountering him and meeting his gaze, they inquired of chamberlain Kataoka Gengoemon. Gengo too appeared to be hurrying with some business, but— "He has just finished changing into formal attire and is currently speaking with his wife." "Shall I arrange an audience?"

“Then he is in the inner chambers.” “In that case—” With that, they hurried through the locked gate together.

“With all due respect, may we humbly inquire once more—” “What is it?” Within the chamber, Takumi-no-kami was accompanied by his wife. When the page silently opened the sliding door, there appeared Yasui’s head streaked with white hairs and Fujii Matazaemon’s head—its shaved pate mottled with reddish-black stains—both pressed to the floor in prostration.

“Regarding your earlier command about paying respects to Lord Kira—” “Hmm.” “Given that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke Yoshinaka holds both the Fourth Rank Major General position and eminent standing among the Masters of Ceremonies, we conferred that presenting gifts—which might be construed as crude bribes—could rather be seen as impertinent... Thus we concluded mere formal greetings might suffice. How does this accord with your lordship’s judgment?”

“Is that so?…” Takumi-no-kami too was truly ignorant in those aspects of worldly affairs. “What is your considered opinion?” “Therefore, though we speak of seeking your guidance on ceremonial matters, that is the natural duty of the Master of Ceremonies.” “This is an official duty, not a private affair.” “If it were a matter of your lordship’s personal inclination after our great duty has been completed without issue, that would be another matter entirely. But for the present occasion, would not something merely symbolic suffice?”

In Mrs. Asano's eyes, a restless shadow stirred. Yet this was the chief retainers' counsel. While half-listening, she fixed her gaze upon the garden's verdure. In matters of governance, complete abstention from commentary was deemed chaste - the very essence of feminine virtue. Takumi-no-kami stole a glance at his wife's profile. As a lord of unblemished integrity who embodied the warrior's code, he had maintained flawless conduct in both public and private affairs to this day. With a nod, he spoke.

“Proceed as you have devised.” “The paramount matter is not to neglect propriety.” “Attend to the preparations.”

Kira Residence Thoroughfare

Two domestic cranes spread their soiled wings by the water's edge. Large bronze lanterns and massive Izu stones surrounded the garden pond. Lord Kira Yoshinaka—who had just unrolled the Shūbun scroll left by an antique dealer with Hon'ami's accompanying letter, crouching over its surface with spectacles as if inspecting an insect—lifted his face at the cranes' wingbeats and furrowed displeased wrinkles into his white-browed forehead. "Hey, hey. Magobei."

“Yes, my lord.”

Along with the reply from the chamberlain’s room, footsteps sounded on the veranda. “Those filthy domestic cranes are muddying the water again and dirtying the lanterns and tearoom windows. Utterly graceless creatures—a nuisance with their costly feed. Call the town’s fowl dealer and sell them off at whatever price.” “As you command, my lord, but should Lord Makino learn we’ve disposed of his gift, he may take offense—particularly given how strictly the Compassion for Living Creatures edicts are enforced.”

“There are fools in this world.” “Who would send others burdensome gifts—creatures requiring feeding and care, doomed to die—just to flatter the shogunate’s Compassion for Living Creatures edicts?” “Nevertheless, Lord Sahyōe finds them diverting and cares for them fondly.” “Then take them behind that whelp’s quarters.” “Their racket is intolerable.”

Behind Magobei appeared the figure of chief retainer Saitō Kunai. Kunai entered the adjoining room and prostrated himself.

“My lord.”

“What is it?” “A messenger from Lord Date Sakyonosuke, one of those appointed as Reception Commissioners for this occasion, has come to pay his respects.” “So he’s come.” As if anticipating this, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke removed his spectacles, “Magobei, roll up the scroll.” “Yes, my lord.” “Kunai, have you admitted the messenger?”

“In the reception hall.” “I see. Then I shall receive him.”

Though advanced in years, his back did not stoop. In his youth, he was said to have been remarkably handsome. He still stood tall enough that his topknot nearly brushed the lintel. His gaunt, bony frame appeared to maintain his vigor in old age—at this age, he was known to frequently employ young women through town brokers' arrangements and just as often replace them. He descended from the Ashikaga clan. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke would often recount how it had fallen to the Kira clan to provide an heir when the Muromachi shogunate's lineage was extinguished. Among their ancestors who had restored the family's standing was Yoshiiasu Kira, who had been Lord Ieyasu's great-aunt—truly an illustrious lineage. Moreover, as family head holding the position of Head Master of Ceremonies with the court rank of Junior Fourth Rank and Major Captain—commanding both elevated status and a stipend of 4,200 koku—and wielding both distinguished pedigree and unique authority, even the three hundred feudal lords...

(If they were to incur Kira’s displeasure—) they regarded him with wary deference.

From the reception room came the insistent sound of clapping. “Prepare the food and sake.”

“Prepare the food and sake,” the lord said. The messenger was about to leave, “Now now—let this serve as a token of our mutual goodwill.” He immersed himself in hospitality—barking orders to change the tea, demanding why the sake still hadn’t arrived.

When the messenger, slightly intoxicated from the hospitality of food and drink, took his leave and stepped out to the entrance, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke himself came to see him off there,

“Though I hardly deserve such varied kindnesses, I am deeply obliged.” “As for the protocols, etiquette, and precedents of the court nobles—whether instructing them or reprimanding them—it is the duty of the Master of Ceremonies. You need not hesitate to inquire about anything.” “I shall impart all that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke knows.—Though I have yet to meet him in person, do convey this appropriately to Lord Sakyonosuke as well.”

Around the time that returning messenger would have been passing by Kōraibashi Bridge, another envoy from the Asano family arrived at the gates of the Kira residence. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was hiding in the parlor, having just opened the ceremonial gifts left behind by Date Sakyonosuke’s messenger. Fifty rolls of Kaga silk One hundred gold coins One ink landscape scroll

Holding the inventory list in hand, he spread out the actual items and compared them, “Hmm... Impressive indeed.” Within his wrinkles, needle-thin eyes glinted sharply with satisfaction. Thereupon, close on their heels, came an intermediary announcing a messenger from the Asano family. “See that he is received with utmost courtesy.—Now then, the Asano family ranks above Lord Sakyonosuke in status.” “Meticulously replace the cushions and bring out the finest tea utensils.”

Then, to steward Sōda Magobei, “Prepare the food and sake. “I shall change clothes and go out. “In the meantime, send out Kunai to handle matters appropriately.”

This manner of receiving guests was not unique to the Kira family. For the Masters of Ceremonies, this constituted both their livelihood and vocation. Both chief retainers and stewards were thoroughly versed in every aspect of such matters. Particularly, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke harbored considerable anticipation toward the wealthy lord governing Harima Akō Domain—far more than he had for his earlier visitor. (Even Date of Iyo Yoshida brought such substantial ceremonial offerings.) If that were so, Asano must have made prior arrangements regarding such matters before dispatching an envoy afterward...

So, how generous would their offering be?—Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, his expectations beyond imagining, eagerly bustled off toward the guest room.

However, the meeting did not last long. The messenger—left idle and seen off only by the steward's strangely cold farewell—hurriedly departed from the Kira residence.

After that. “What?! A house of fifty-three thousand koku like the Asano clan dares present a single roll of silk as a greeting gift?!” “To disgrace the gates of Kira—Head Master of Ceremonies—this exceeds all bounds!” Vitriolic curses spilled endlessly from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s lips. His foul mood—finding no outlet—even corrupted the taste of his evening sake. “This swill tastes vile,” he persisted petulantly. Gnashing his teeth over the bitter disappointment: “Even sending some daimyo’s brat to the Hayashi academy warrants at least one silk roll for tuition! Yet here we have the lord of a great domain—entrusted with hosting imperial envoys as the shogunate’s grandest ceremony—who comes groveling for instruction on ancient rites while offering such paltry tribute today?!” “The sheer mockery! This Takumi-no-kami reeks of provincial stinginess and ignorance!” “How could such a clodhopper ever properly receive court nobles?!” The surrounding retainers averted their faces, enduring his endless grumbling.

Even his own retainers at his side wanted to avert their faces from how interminably he kept grumbling.

The Human Exchange Rate

Now, whenever buying or selling goods, such conversations inevitably arose.

(Damn expensive, I tell ya. (It's dozens of times what money used to be worth.) (Back then, this much could get you a bathhouse visit and a drink or two—nowadays you can't even buy three pieces of candy for a kid.)

People expressed their sense of generational disconnect toward currency with the word 'the past,' but this 'past' referred merely to changes that had occurred over the past four or five years. The depreciation of currency left the common people so utterly bewildered. Needless to say, prices soared, and this year as well, they continued to climb.

There had been no great natural disaster. Nor was it a war-driven surge. The citizens of Edo implicitly understood that the cause of this economic destruction lay with merely two people. They knew without putting it into words. For it was all too clear that speaking carelessly would mean losing one’s head in an instant. However, discerning individuals who reflected more deeply did not necessarily attribute it solely to "two people." In short, they considered that not only the group of authorities that included those two individuals but also the very system designed to allow such situations to arise—and everything within it—had begun to rot through and through.

To put it concretely, the fifth shogun Tsunayoshi and his biological mother Keishōin were above all extravagant spenders. No—they did not understand the workings of money at all. No—more precisely, they were utterly clueless about the value of materials, national resources, human labor, and such matters. The number of times Tsunayoshi made what were called "Yanagisawa visits"—trips to the residence of Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu that became the talk of the town—reached over fifty in frequency. The amount of manpower, materials, and gold consumed in a single one of these Yanagisawa pleasure excursions lay beyond any commoner's ability to calculate.

Moreover, the superstition-related expenses of his biological mother Keishōin were also enormous. For her pilgrimages to Gokoku-ji Temple, parasol processions and lacquered palanquins stitched through Edo, while security personnel, horses, and welcoming temple gates—all relied entirely on human labor and gold. Moreover, not only the gateways passed through but even attached pagodas and temple halls climbed were all constructed through her donations; several magistrates and master builders involved in the gate’s construction had been sentenced to exile on distant islands during work for slightest missteps. The dynamic and sinister monk Ryūkō of Gohōin appeared to her eyes as a living Buddha. When politics began being whispered among shogunate’s high officials and petty bureaucrats surrounding Ryūkō, that generation’s wretched lives had been effectively doomed. What came to be called Ōoku politics began being conducted. Persuading Shogun Tsunayoshi through words of a single woman proved easier than any Senior Councilor or Junior Councilor could achieve. During this time, Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu—the foremost courtier—also began expanding his influence. However, shogunate’s gold reserves had almost been entirely depleted. Yet beginning with Yoshiyasu, their faction never faced deadlock.

——Currency Recoinage. The withdrawal of old currency and the issuance of new currency. Through this method, the shogunate multiplied numbers that did not exist. The shogunate withdrew old gold and silver coins from the populace and enforced the circulation of debased currency. Naturally, a massive profit margin remained in their hands. Through this misgovernment, Hagiwara Shigehide, the Finance Magistrate, became notorious. For the Yanagisawa faction, the Ōoku’s expenses, and the shogun’s immediate surroundings, inexhaustible amounts were once again piled up in the gold vaults. The unit of prices soared every year, surpassing the previous year. The hardships of life grew harsher the lower one’s status; the fate of honest people was sealed as dropouts. As a reaction against the simple samurai ethos and merchant ways that had persisted since the Genna and Kan’ei eras, even playwrights of love-suicide jōruri dramas proclaimed, “The world revolves around money—even women depend on gold,” establishing the supremacy of wealth as an ironclad law of this age.

Yet those who could not follow this ironclad rule proved far more numerous, lamenting together: "We can't afford this expensive rice." No—those who could still lament and complain counted among society's fortunate. The utterly silent starving masses lay covered in flies beneath bridges and behind Sensō-ji Temple, like refuse heaps. Naturally, those with untamed spirits who could not endure this resorted to burglary, extortion, highway robbery, and snatching—committing every evil needed to survive without deeming it evil—as they ran rampant through the shadowed alleys and backstreets of the city.

For vagrants, ruffians, and masterless samurai to indulge in their desires, it could be said that the times were perfectly suited. Stimuli and temptations—hedonistic, nihilistic, and corrosive in their human stench—lined up their garish lights. The fashions of male prostitutes at kabuki tea houses and courtesans’ attire came to be imitated even by children from respectable families, rendering even the opulence of the Ōoku and Yanagisawa faction pale in comparison—no, this paleness extended to notions like human compassion, duty, and all such moral principles. That those ways of thinking were nothing but illusions of antiquated minds from a bygone era—the trend-following people began to believe this. In truth, it was a society and a prevailing trend where one could not live without being provoked by every little thing unless they accepted this.

What had so thoroughly wrenched even people’s fundamental thoughts into turmoil? Even when sifting through all component evils—the debased currency’s proliferation and bureaucratic corruption; livelihood hardships from soaring prices; disillusionment with religion; lawlessness between men and women; arts and culture’s self-destructive poisoning; and so forth—none could singularly claim causation; it defied such simplicity.

But this much was certain: a social regulation that could be definitively stated as the greatest cause of all these [ills] lay entrenched within the Genroku generation.

The animal protection edict—an extraordinary law strictly enforced under the name “Shōrui Onawaremi” (“Compassion for Living Creatures”)—was proclaimed to humankind by Shogun Tsunayoshi, born in the Year of the Dog, after incorporating counsel from Ryūkō and Keishōin.

It was the emergence of what historians call the "Era of the Honorable Dogs."

Upon land teeming with humans who couldn’t eat, vast complexes like the Nakano Dog Kennel and Ōkubo Dog Mansion arose with sprawling grounds and buildings; white rice and fish that humans envied were lavishly provided without regard to cost; humans served them—Dog Magistrates, Dog Inspectors, Dog Attendants, Dog Physicians—with a deference rivaling that shown to daimyo. Even so, those who received stipends and could eat were still better off. However, the general populace was perplexed by the treatment of Honorable Dogs that howled through the streets as if they owned them. Even throwing a stone would result in decapitation. Even making one yelp would get you hauled off to the neighborhood watch post. If you saw a dog being carried past in a palanquin, you had to discreetly step aside and yield the road. There was even a hatamoto who, merely for reflexively kicking away a stray dog that had bitten him, was forced to commit seppuku—his household abolished and clan scattered to suffer disgrace. Even a dog’s toy could not be carelessly allowed into a child’s hands; if one enshrined it in the household altar and worshipped it morning and evening, this was heard to be the height of piety and might even be commended as humanity’s noblest conduct. In essence, that the shogunate of the time was born in the Year of the Dog had guaranteed an existence of misfortune for all the people of that age. More than the depreciation of currency, the value of humans had plummeted.

(Human value falls below that of the Honorable Dogs. After all... they’re humans lower than beasts. Whatever they do, it’s no wonder.)

This was the sorrowful self-mockery of the Edoites. They made this hidden psychology bloom into the social climate like a festering boil. Thus did the Genroku generation—with its flamboyant youths, melodies, and unabashed bawdy prints and licentious books—burn as night’s garish lanterns by dark, while by day they chased gold with the townsfolk’s fevered gaze that chanted, “The world runs on gold—first gold, second gold”—

(Ah, Edo's prosperity is truly remarkable. Since the Genroku era began, it has only continued to flourish day by day, month by month.)

Thus, the clueless provincials and duty-bound officials who observed these transformations every third year could only gape in astonishment.

Simplicity and Venom

“Without any issues, we have duly paid our respects to Lord Kira the day before yesterday.”

It was the morning when these reports had come from the two Edo Chief Retainers dispatched to the Kira residence. Lord Takumi no Kami, first considering the immediate matter settled,

“Very well. Then today, I shall visit in person and humbly request to establish closer relations henceforth.”

After assembling his retinue, he specially directed his palanquin toward the Kira residence at Gofukubashi. Lord Takumi no Kami earnestly sought guidance, conducting himself with the utmost courtesy as though entering a master’s tutelage. That attitude displeased Lord Kōzuke no Suke.

(Shouldn't it be substance over empty words? Sending it could be managed even by retainers. Why don't you notice the crucial point instead of that?)

He judged the country bumpkin to be beyond redemption. Yet when he considered that Lord Takumi no Kami did not appear so foolish after all, he speculated maliciously—this might instead be a cunning ploy; the man knew full well what was required yet sought to settle matters through mere polite words while withholding the substantive offerings he ought to provide. However, either way, it was not something that could be spoken aloud. There remained no alternative but to demonstrate through attitude and make him realize.

And coldly,

“Is it Lord Takumi no Kami who has been bestowed this honor?” “My, you are remarkably youthful.” “This appointment proves most auspicious.” “Should you fulfill this duty, your prestige as provincial lord and castle master would be notably enhanced.” “Well then—do strive to apply yourself with due diligence.” He spoke with a faint smile creasing the spiteful wrinkles around his eyes.

Lord Takumi no Kami felt something unpleasant from the very first impression. He was an unapproachable old man. However, he also reflected that he should not indulge his own willfulness—bred from a daimyo’s upbringing that seldom required bowing to other houses—and chided himself. "Though I have been entrusted with this weighty mandate beyond my station, as I—inexperienced as I am—humbly beseech you, please consider me your junior and deign to provide your esteemed guidance."

“How modest of you.” “As for one such as myself—whether due to age—lately I find myself utterly prone to forgetting such tedious historical precedents and courtly knowledge; it is most vexing.” “In that case, one such as myself might wish you had brought offerings to receive instruction. Ha ha ha.” He had aimed a subtle probe at his pressure point, but Lord Takumi no Kami had shown no reaction whatsoever. Simply earnestly and sincerely,

“Rather, there was also the intercession suggesting it would be better to receive Lord Kira’s instruction than that of the Senior Councilors. Though you may find a youth such as myself bothersome, I humbly entreat you to provide your guidance unreservedly.” “…………” Lord Kōzuke no Suke twisted his body and extended his rudely wrinkled hand with thick, snaking veins toward the document box. One could not help but perceive this as deliberately diverting the other party’s enthusiasm.

Lord Takumi no Kami pressed further,

“For the present moment, might there be any instructions you would deign to impart? To someone as inexperienced as myself—still unversed even in routine shogunate ceremonies—please do not hesitate to instruct on any matter whatsoever.” “It is an official duty of the shogunate. There will be no holding back. —Well, for the present, you should first examine this.” What he took from the document box and showed was the schedule for the Imperial Envoys’ visit. It was written in this order: 11th: Imperial Envoys and Retired Emperor’s Envoys arrive in Edo; Official Lodgings at the Tatsunokuchi Densō Residence.

12th: Both envoys proceeded to Edo Castle; received shogunal gifts 13th: Official viewing of Sarugaku performances Feudal lords attended as observers

14th: Shogun’s Official Response at the Shirakawa Study Hall 15th: Imperial Visit to Kanei-ji Temple in Ueno and Zōjō-ji Temple in Shiba 16th: Rest 17th: Imperial Return to Kyoto Lord Takumi no Kami was reverently reviewing it once more. However, this seven-day schedule was something that should have naturally been communicated by the Senior Councilors on the day of his appointment—even if the Master of Ceremonies had not provided it—and was not unknown to him. Yet toward Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s supposed goodwill, he had merely read it silently as though acknowledging it for the first time. “Is there anything else?”

When he finished and asked— “Indeed…” Lord Kōzuke no Suke said with affected gravity. “During the Imperial Envoys’ stay, you must not neglect daily offerings.” “Gifts, you understand.” “In all matters, sincerity in action outweighs hollow words—mark this.” “Do you grasp this fully?” He glared directly at his face as he spoke. Even this, Lord Takumi no Kami failed to grasp. He expressed his thanks and took his leave. Yet the instruction to present daily gifts to the Imperial Envoys remained lodged in his mind—utterly incomprehensible.

When he made an inquiry to Tsuchiya Sagami no Kami, the Senior Councilor on monthly duty, just to be sure,

“There is no such precedent.” “There must be some misunderstanding in what you heard.” This was the reply.

Lord Takumi no Kami, as though his own pure interpretation had been validated with conviction,

"That must be so." "It must be so."

He nodded. That Lord Kira of the Master of Ceremonies had originated those words - later, somehow, this story faintly reached Lord Kōzuke no Suke's ears. At his thinly fleshed temple where muscle lay sparse, Lord Kōzuke no Suke made a blue vein swell thick.

“Good grief! The man’s impossible to talk to!” To think he’d take the riddle I gave him and go verify it with the Senior Councilors—what an utterly hopeless fool. Or perhaps he took offense at my brusqueness and deliberately reported it to entrap Lord Kōzuke no Suke? —Tch— “You provincial lout!”

When he spat out emotional mutterings, a harsh, distinctly Edoite trill laced his tone. When insulting people, he habitually used terms like “asagiura lining” or “provincial guard.” In short, this stemmed from his pride in considering himself a refined urbanite.

Ink paintings.

The workers sweeping gravel with six-foot brooms and the merchants passing through the kitchen gate—all wore new happi coats. For the Reception Commissioner’s retainers, this was naturally their lord’s most crucial lifelong duty. They cut unsoiled bleached cloth for undergarments; some even hid sacred talismans in their belly bands while praying for heavenly protection.

“The Imperial Envoy Lord Yanagiwara Dainagon, the Retired Emperor’s Envoy Lord Takano Chūnagon, and Former Lord Seikanji Dainagon—the three envoys—have now safely arrived at Shinagawa without incident. Since they are taking a brief rest at Takanawa, they will soon arrive here.”

On the morning of the eleventh day, a mounted samurai in noshi-patterned kamishimo brought this announcement to the gate of the freshly cleaned Densō Estate.

From the break of dawn, stationed there and tense at their respective posts, the retainers of the Asano clan— “At that,” they stirred with their eyes and expressions. Then, a member of the kitchen staff hurriedly came to the chief retainers’ council room and reported.

“At this very moment, an urgent messenger from Lord Kira has arrived.” “From the Master of Ceremonies… And what does he say?” “Though I cannot confirm it with certainty, today appears to be observed as a day of purification for the Imperial Envoys. Therefore, they have returned to instruct that no fish or fowl be used in the dishes.” The two Edo Chief Retainers, Fujii and Yasui—men lacking confidence—were thrown into disarray upon hearing this. With flustered expressions, they appeared before Lord Takumi no Kami, “There remains not a moment to spare—what should we do?”

Lord Takumi no Kami also wore a stunned expression. The day's dishes had in fact been meticulously selected and prepared with painstaking effort for as long as three days prior. How could he possibly replace such preparations on such short notice?

There was no solution. No ideas came to mind. Moreover, it was the first morning of their great duty. For days now, without sleeping, serving with utmost sincerity—this morning having lined up to clean for the grand guests—both lord and retainers alike seemed to sink into the depths of unease, their complexions paled as one.

Then Horibe Yasube spoke up. "I can't say if this comes from the Master of Ceremonies' own counsel, but there's something amiss here." "Even were today a day of ritual abstinence, this remains an official reception for Imperial Envoys entering the estate." "They'd never cling to some private citizen's superstitious taboos." "Why don't we prepare two sets of dishes as contingency?"

“Hmm—”

Emerging from the silence, Lord Takumi no Kami nodded deeply. “Let it be done. Let it be done.” The main kitchen, filled with samurai in kamishimo and servants in stiffly starched happi coats, saw kitchen knives gleaming like a battlefield. From the kitchen’s back gate, horses galloped out and returned time and again. At the very moment that commotion had subsided with a collective sigh, the Imperial Envoy’s procession narrowly reached the gate of the Densō Estate.

“Lies!” After completing the welcoming formalities, Kanzaki Yogoro’s face flushed crimson with rage.

“That badger-faced Master of Ceremonies! There’s no doubt he’s scheming something against our house. If we ask the Imperial Envoy’s attendants right now, this ‘day of abstinence’ nonsense will prove to be an outright lie!” The revelation spread through both kitchen staff and every guard post. While the two chief retainers busied themselves barking orders about the lodgings crammed with imperial attendants—distracted by immediate concerns—the more perceptive retainers stole glances at Lord Takumi no Kami’s composed bearing, silently willing his brow to remain unclouded by displeasure.

However, Lord Takumi no Kami, with his usual bright brows, delivered a splendid address to the Imperial Envoys who had traveled a long distance.

“…………”

Kanzaki Yogoro and Horibe Yasube peered at the scene from a distance, (Truly, our lord) They felt both joy and an overwhelming sense of their lord's resolve, their chests swelling with emotion. Kanzaki's eyelids were red, and Yasubei's eyes glistened with something hot. The two of them, along with head steward Okuda Magodayu and others, had spent the previous night transporting equipment and utensils from the storehouse in Teppōzu throughout the night without sleeping a wink.

Around noon, when the midday meal had concluded and empty trays were being carried down the corridors in succession, Senior Councilor Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami—who had gone as far as Shinagawa to welcome them—along with lower-ranking lords arrived once more at the Densō Estate’s gate in palanquins and on horseback, raising clouds of dust with their comings and goings to pay their respects.

One of the Masters of Ceremonies, Hatakeyama Mimbu, also appeared. “Your preparations are splendid.” “The hardships of these seven days are no ordinary matter.” “Take good care of Lord Takumi no Kami’s health, I pray you.”

Mimbu rewarded the Asano clan’s retainers and departed immediately. Okuda Magodayu, who had come out to see him off, being elderly,

“I am deeply honored.” “As our lord is blessed with a most robust constitution, we retainers can perform our duties with confidence. Moreover, since Lord Kira has kindly directed the ceremonial matters, all arrangements have been perfectly settled through his gracious assistance.” Tearful yet composed, he repeated his words of gratitude again and again.—Then, upon returning to the conference chamber and joining the domain samurai discussing the evening’s ceremonies, “Lord Okuda, please come here.”

Later, there was a young samurai who spoke with hands pressed to the floor. Looking over, there stood Isogai Jūrōzaemon of captain rank—a handsome man for whom the formal noshime kamishimo suited all the more.

“Isogai? What is it?”

“Lord Kira has come for the inspection.” “Oh... Lord Kira...”

When he stood up, two or three people left from the conference seat where discussions were being held. “We must greet him.” With that, they hurried out. As soon as they left that place, a rough, hoarse voice was heard from the direction of the main entrance. Magodayu was already of an age where his hakama waistband appeared slightly bent. The unsteady feet in white tabi socks hastily carried that aged body toward the main entrance. There stood Kōzuke no Suke—an elderly man like himself yet towering in stature, his sunken cheeks etched with a rigid jaw resembling an unyielding temple bell—glaring down with lofty eyes at Asano’s retainers prostrating themselves before him, their heads pressed to the floor, while he rhythmically struck the lacquered edge of the partition screen positioned before the formal reception platform with his fan.

“What is this?—This here…” “Yes, my lord.” “Was it your pride that displayed this Dragon and Tiger painting—Kano Hōgen Motonobu’s brushwork—here?” “Yes…my lord.” “Do you imagine your duties can be fulfilled with nothing but these curt ‘Yes, my lord’s? This partition screen—by whose order was it placed here?” Magodayu pressed both hands flat against the wooden floor. “With all due respect, I must say: Is your reprimand regarding the unsuitability of the partition screen’s design, or perhaps its placement?”

“Who are you?” “Head Steward Okuda Magodayu—a humble servant unworthy of your notice.” “Hearsay breeds errors.” “Summon your master.” “What has become of Lord Takumi no Kami?” “I am relaying your message at this very moment.” “Good grief…”

And—as if stretching—he rolled his pale eyes upward in a deliberate manner, "You haven’t even swept the dust from the ceiling. To think you received the Imperial Envoy in such an ill-mannered entrance hall—it’s so awe-inspiring it makes one shrink with reverence." Lord Takumi no Kami rushed to where he stood muttering and seized his hand. "If there has been any negligence, let your reprimand fall upon this Takumi no Kami’s carelessness rather than my retainers’ oversights." "Ah… Lord Takumi no Kami?"

“I appreciate your efforts in this inspection.” “Your flattery to this Imperial Envoy’s Reception Commissioner—Lord Kōzuke no Suke—is unwelcome here. Now then—under what reasoning was this partition screen installed? To display monochrome ink paintings in the main entrance celebrating the grand ceremonial occasion for an Imperial Envoy who traveled afar—what utter lack of judgment! Why have you not presented bright colored paintings?” “Ah—though your words carry weight, Senior Councilor Lord Tsuchiya’s private counsel must also be acknowledged.”

“What—when did Lord Tsuchiya deign to join the Masters of Ceremonies?” “Your Lordship—do you intend to conduct this reception by Lord Tsuchiya’s instructions?” “By no means was such consideration given, but...” “Senior Councilor this, Senior Councilor that—how diligently you scurry about.” “Others may not know this, but in the Kira family’s ancient precedents, there exists no instance of using ink paintings on days when auspicious grand guests are received.” “I am deeply apologetic.” “We shall promptly replace them with colored paintings.” “It was because Lord Tsuchiya instructed us to keep everything modest.”

“Again with Lord Tsuchiya?” “First and foremost, if it’s Lord Tsuchiya dictating matters, the Master of Ceremonies becomes but a marionette!” “If you insist on imputing malice to me, Takumi no Kami, I find myself confounded.” “Though deficiencies remain in my inadequacies, I earnestly entreat you to instruct me without leniency regarding any shortcomings.” When the retainers saw their master’s pallid face pressed nearly against the wooden floor in prostration, their chests tightened—both from the perilous sensation of sitting atop ice and from scalding tears. Above their heads weighed down by stifling silence, Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s creaking, hoarse laughter suddenly resounded—like dentures clattering from a mouth.

“Preposterous! For a puppet to presume to teach a living man—that’s the world turned upside down!” “You may do as you see fit.” “By all means, indulge your whims to your heart’s content.”

The black sleeve of a grand-patterned robe swiftly brushed past Lord Takumi no Kami's topknot. Before one could register it, rapid footfalls had already retreated to the far side. The thick cypress-planked floor creaked beneath Lord Takumi no Kami's knees. "My lord..." "My lord! My lord!..." It was Okuda Magodayu's fist. Trembling, he pressed his face against his lord's back and desperately clung to Takumi no Kami's medicine-case cord at his waist. His entire body strained upward—

(You…!) The master's raging blood that sought to cry out and the retainer's blood—clenched teeth, closed eyes, focused on the mantra of forbearance—quivered as one entity, bone-deep tremors shaking them as they swallowed their scalding tears in unison.

Surface and Depths

The night showed a hazy moon.

The shadow of black cherry blossoms cast cloud-like dapples upon the shoji screens. In the distance, where the night mist hung with a clinging dampness, came the sound of sculling oars. A boat song drifted away.—Lady Takumi no Kami sat alone.

How little the boatmen working on that Ōkawa River must know—she thought with piercing clarity—of how agonizing the heart finds the life of a daimyo that others envy, or the position of his wife in the inner chambers. She still had not eaten dinner. During the day, according to an account from Asano Daigaku of Kobikichō—her husband’s biological younger brother—it seemed today, the second day of the Imperial Envoy’s visit to the castle, had concluded without incident, “Ah…”

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

But her husband had still not returned.

Even when he returned these days, meals had become mere formalities where he would mechanically pick up his chopsticks, and last night too, he had shown no signs of having slept. (This was not a matter for a woman to be involved in.) Were she to ask, she would immediately be scolded with those very words. On her husband’s pale face—without her quite noticing when it had happened—his eyebrows were drawn into needle-sharp lines. Though she endeavored with a woman’s sincere devotion and meticulous attentiveness to manage household affairs and provide emotional solace, the needle-sharp lines of his brows had not faded by morning. They had not faded by night.

“Please… may my husband’s person safely fulfill this seven-day grand mandate…” She was a woman who could do nothing but devoutly pray—offering sacred lamps to the gods and incense to the Buddha—and a chamber-bound sorrow solitary as her prayers.

“My lord! My lord has left the castle.” Even the lowliest maids who understood Mrs.Asano’s state of mind would—upon hearing noises from the front entrance—break into a run despite their normally quiet footsteps, their voices turning shrill as they announced the joyous news. “Yes…”

The moment her chest collapsed like melting snow in disappointment, she wanted to leap for joy and weep at the sight of her husband safe and sound.

But she remained quiet. Soundlessly drawing the hem of her haneri overdress, she sat once before the mirror. Not a single strand of her hair out of place—that alone would cast a shadow over her husband. The rouge must not fade either. ………… A delicate figure gliding down the long corridor— A woman's heart is known by women. The maids following behind noticed how their mistress' shoulders had grown as thin as a blade over these past few days, (How pitiful she looks) they choked back their compassionate feelings and wept.

Takumi no Kami, dragging his somber footsteps,

“You’ve endured an arduous day,” he declared with firm steps as he came to greet her.

In response to his wife’s upturned eyes, he merely returned a silent glance before immediately entering the grand audience hall at the front. Gathering the blazing lamps and retainers there, he immediately proceeded to make arrangements and hold discussions for the next day. The retainers’ faces were all rigid. No one would notice Takumi no Kami’s pallid face late at night, nor even the scant amount of his meals. Mrs.Asano quietly sent a messenger from the inner quarters to inquire. “What of the bath? What of the meal?” —

Takumi no Kami uttered a single word: “I don’t need it.” He shook his head, “The fifteenth marks the Honorable Envoys’ pilgrimage to Zōjōji Temple. Are all preparations complete? On the thirteenth of next month comes the Master of Ceremonies’ inspection. Let there be no oversights.” “Please do not trouble yourself. By this evening, we have finished cleaning walls, shoji screens, fusuma doors, ceilings, and all else.”

When Yasui Hikobei answered, someone— “The tatami mats?” said. Hikobei glared in the direction of the voice. “Regarding whether to replace the tatami—as a precaution—I personally visited Lord Kira to inquire about that matter. He instructed that since the annual replacement occurs in January, it would be unnecessary until then, and thus we have left them untouched.” “I see.” Takumi no Kami rose from his seat with an air of relief. The retainers felt more relieved seeing their master retreat to the inner quarters than catching their own breath.

There were those who hurriedly left their seats. They were Kanzaki Yogoro and Horibe Yasube. Beside the dark stables, someone was noisily splashing water. Peering into that spot,

“Tomomori!” “Is Sukeemon here?” Hearing the voice, Sukeemon—wearing a tasuki sash and holding a horse brush while soaked— “Right here.” “I have a request.” “What is it?” “Take that horse and go immediately to inspect Lord Date Saikyōnosuke’s assigned post.” “What exactly am I to check?” “The tatami.” “Right!” Still wearing his wet tasuki sash, Tomomori Sukeemon leapt onto the horse. Through the misty night, with a crack of his whip, he rode to the Date clan’s lodgings at Zōjōji Temple and peered inside—only to find the pungent aroma of fresh green tatami mats overwhelming. Even the lower rooms had their tatami mats newly replaced, hadn’t they?

“Ah, so that’s it!” Without catching his breath, Sukeemon wheeled his horse around and reported his findings—whereupon Kanzaki and Horibe exchanged glances. “So that’s it!” They informed both chief retainers. They summoned the entire household. Given no moment’s respite—blindsided as if doused with cold water while asleep—Takumi no Kami... “Has that Lord Kira deceived our house yet again?” “The inspection comes tomorrow! See everything prepared by tonight!” Yasui and Fujii fell into disarray. Old Okuda rasped commands through a raw throat. Muramatsu Kihee hauled his illness-weakened frame from the tenement and galloped off on horseback.

“Money!” “You treasury officials! This is when money shows its power.”

The one barking out those words was Horibe Yasube. Putting cash into his pocket, he galloped off on horseback to round up tatami craftsmen. From Zōjōji Temple's main hall to the Asano family's assigned lodgings, every space filled instantly with hawk-feather-patterned lanterns. Dozens of tatami craftsmen worked feverishly, their needles flying as if their elbows were on fire. Those carrying out mats, those laying them in—samurai and craftsmen alike made no distinction in rank. It was just like a battlefield. They were frantic. Through tear-inducing effort, by the time night had paled into dawn, over two hundred fresh green tatami mats lay perfectly arranged. In their overwhelming joy, some young samurai even leaped upon them.

Eventually, around the fourth hour, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke came for the inspection and cast his eyes over the sea of lush green tatami mats. "I see…" He composedly lavished praise. "I had long heard that Lord Takumi no Kami was blessed with ample means, but to have replaced this many tatami mats in a single night—how resourceful. …After all, so long as one does not begrudge gold and silver, matters tend to proceed quite smoothly." He turned around without fear toward Lord Takumi no Kami, who stood behind him glaring.

“Well now, you’ve both worked hard,” he said with composed mockery. “Tiring business, isn’t it?” Tapping his hipbone, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke continued his inspection walk, moving from item to item with affected diligence.

The Water of Composure I want to be kind to my wife. I do not want my retainers to see this expression either. Takumi no Kami brimmed with awareness of those around him’s feelings. (Consider your very being lowly from birth. It was precisely this daimyo’s ingrained upbringing—precisely this samurai discipline—that made his gut seethe and blood boil. For my lord’s service—seven days—I shall shut my eyes—)

And so, for a brief while, he retired to his sickbed.

However, he could not sleep. The more he tried to sleep, the more Kira's face appeared before him. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's hoarse voice rang in his ears like tinnitus. What had Master Yamaga Sokō taught? What had Father Nagaao always said? His mother's teachings; the characters of all the scriptures he had read since childhood. Recalling them required effort. Yet he failed to realize that this very effort to summon them constituted every obstacle.

In the society of that time, two entirely dissimilar modes of thought and lifestyles—one old, one new—coexisted within the same world and formed a single social fabric. The Asano and Kira households were prime examples of masters and customs as diametrically opposed as could be.

Endure. Endure. Endure. —Takumi no Kami recited them like a protective charm. An ancient saying states: "A hundred endurances bring no worries—" He lay all night engraving that truth into his very core.

Particularly, today—the fourteenth day of the third month now dawned—marked the appearance of both the Imperial Envoy and the Retired Emperor's Envoy, making it the most crucial ceremonial day within the shogunate's formal reply period.

He could no longer wait for the whitening dawn and left his sleeping quarters.

Mrs.Asano arranged the rinsing tools and lacquered water basins without borrowing her maids' assistance. "This... ill becomes a samurai." Suddenly dipping his fingertips into the water, Takumi no Kami gazed intently at his own haggard countenance reflected there. "To have come to such a pass..."

He thought bitterly. Unwilled tears rose.

But—after washing his face, he vigorously rubbed his cheeks with his palms. As usual, after completing his worship, he felt somewhat refreshed, “My Lady, might I have you prepare a bowl of tea?” The tea ceremony was precisely for times like these, he told himself firmly in his heart. “Yes.”

Mrs. Asano was glad. Stirring the green tea with a woman's true feelings and a wife's soul,

“If it pleases you, another bowl.”

“No, this will suffice.” Takumi no Kami placed the tea bowl down. Though the color of true feelings was visible to the eye, the tea’s fragrance seemed absent.

And then—outside the shoji, quietly—

“Two presumptuous men have stealthily intruded thus far without your gracious permission. Might we humbly beg your leave to grant us the favor of an audience for a brief while?”

There were those who spoke. “Who is it?” “Gen’emon and Yogorō at your service.” “Oh—Kataoka and Kanzaki—the two of you. Your days of toil—I am grateful for them. Permission granted. Enter.” “Heh-heh.” The two men, remaining seated as they were, slid open only the shoji. When Takumi no Kami saw that these two men—who had never left his side since childhood—had tears welling in their eyes, his own eyelids grew fiercely hot. “What’s this urgent matter?” “That is not the case. In truth—if I may be so bold—we have observed that your complexion has grown markedly poor these past few days. We, who are but unworthy ones employed as your hands and feet in these day-after-day ceremonial duties, can well imagine your lordship’s mounting frustration—and we humbly perceive the numerous displeasures in your dealings with the Master of Ceremonies’ faction. But already today is the fourteenth—only three more days of your endurance remain. We humbly beg that you might deign to endure—for the sake of your official duties, and in your compassion even for lowly ones such as ourselves—to steel yourself and persist resolutely through this trial.”

“...I understand.” A precarious light hung upon Takumi no Kami’s eyelashes like dew clinging to grass blades. “Well said.” “Do not trouble yourselves.” “Just yesterday, my sworn friend Lord Kato Etchu no Kami offered counsel much like yours.” “Kira’s discourtesies extend beyond this occasion—they say when Lord Kato conducted memorial rites for Great Yōgen-in, his conduct defied description.” “Moreover, during the Nikko pilgrimage, magistrate daimyos endured countless humiliations at Kira’s hands.” “Hearing this, he proves himself but a vulgar wretch unworthy of notice.” “It’s precisely because I regard Kira—that Junior Fourth Rank Lieutenant General—as human that my fury mounts.” “I deem him vermin.” “...Spare yourselves further concern.” “Though I am but Takumi no Kami—a scion of Asano Mataemon Nagakatsu—within Akō Castle yet remain many retainers dear to me. How could I trade them for that senile Master of Ceremonies?” “I understand. Speak no more.”

“We are relieved…” “We will say nothing—nothing at all.”

“That’s ominous.” Gen’emon and Yogorō hurriedly turned their faces aside. Unintentionally, they wiped away with their hands the traces of tears that had inadvertently spilled out.

From the front quarters,

“The hour has come.” “The hour has come,” he announced. Takumi no Kami bathed and donned his formal attire. He armored his spirit like a steel-clad blade. His own heart was precarious. By directive of the Master of Ceremonies, the formal attire had been designated as nagagashira. He had already donned it. Among his senior retainers, one who harbored doubts spoke up. “For such a grand ceremony, I find no precedent for wearing the nagagashira.” “The way Lord Kira conducts matters—every single one arouses suspicion.” “As a precaution—though prepared only for interim use—we have separately arranged large-crested formal hats and robes. Might this meet your lordship’s approval?”

They were concealed within the folding box. Sure enough, when he ascended to the castle's inner halls, there was not a single daimyo without large-crested formal hats and robes. Upon entering the duty room, Takumi no Kami immediately changed into his ceremonial attire. The thought of what would have happened had he not prepared the large-crested formal robes—a cold sweat oozed out.

When he stood up there, Lord Kōzuke no Suke’s face fleetingly appeared in the distance. When he saw that face, what he had suppressed to the marrow surged uneasily into motion. “Ah, Lord Kira.” “Well, well. How late your attendance is.” “According to your lordship’s directive, we were told to wear nagagashira today. However, as not a single feudal lord lacks large-crested formal hats and robes, I too have changed attire accordingly.” “I pray you will not take offense.” “Ah, so that’s how it is.” “Such thoroughness is commendable.” “Age must be why my hearing fails me these days.” “And with this wretched forgetfulness and confusion—I’m quite at my wit’s end.”

*Is this a voice that emerges from a human throat?* Takumi no Kami fixed his gaze with cold contempt. Yet he did not sense it—Lord Kōzuke no Suke had a habit of squinting one eye while twisting half his face along with his mouth. He was concerned about his upper dentures. Muffledly working his tongue within his mouth, he walked calmly toward the main entrance.

A hundred endurances; one decisive strike.

The hour for welcoming the Imperial Envoys drew near. The Three High Nobles too would soon be arriving at the castle. Takumi no Kami searched for Lord Kōzuke no Suke's figure. In the midst of the crowd stood a motionless figure clad in black plain robes. He quietly approached his side, "Lord Kira. "...I humbly seek your guidance, Lord Kira."

Lord Kōzuke no Suke pretended not to hear and briskly started to walk away. Unintentionally, a hand reached out toward the sleeve of the plain robe,

“Ah!” Dizzily, Takumi no Kami felt a blinding sensation at his temple as if a soldering iron had been pressed there. Perhaps because his mouth was dry, his voice came out hoarse.

“Wait!” “Wh-what is this?!” Kira dropped his eyes to his own sleeve. Takumi no Kami recoiled, snatching back his hand, “I humbly seek your instruction. When welcoming the Three High Nobles, should we pay our respects at the main entrance’s box platform, or descend to the stone steps to bow? The etiquette of seating—I am not versed in it. I most humbly beseech your guidance in this matter.” He prostrated himself and spoke in one breath. Emotion and reason tangled like snarled threads. His tongue burned as if crammed with needles; through burning earlobes, even his own voice sounded distant.

Lord Kōzuke no Suke smiled faintly, pleasantly tickled by something. The attitude Takumi no Kami had shown moments before had sufficiently enraged him inwardly. The opportunity he had been anticipating—"Just watch!"—had arrived at once. He snapped his folding fan against his palm. "If you, in your sense of duty, respond obsequiously to every trifle, you grow complacent and dare spout this endless drivel." "Your pardon—are you not the Reception Commissioner?" "To accept such grave responsibility without grasping even these trivial matters—utterly appalling." "Moreover, with the envoys' arrival imminent, you still dither over etiquette—what do you imagine you're doing?" "Even as fellow Reception Commissioners, you might take some lesson from Lord Sakyonosuke." "Can there truly be such disparity between the discerning and the dullard?"

He made no mention of the matters that had been inquired about. He stomped off toward the other side while—"Outrageous! If *he* can conduct shogunate ceremonies like *that*, there’d be no hardship at all. What a bumbling excuse for a samurai!"—making his remarks loud enough for all to hear.

It was not only Takumi no Kami; it was not only Kira—it was in the midst of the crowd. Around them, formally attired feudal lords turned toward the voice and stared in astonishment.

His seething blood seemed ready to gush from his very eyes and earholes. On Takumi no Kami's brow—turned toward Kōzuke no Suke's retreating back—a deep needle-thin line carved its ominous prophecy.

"Hmm…" Even among the daimyos themselves existed the usual jealousies and tangled emotions unique to their station. There were those who, though not taking malicious pleasure, coldly observed; there were also those who felt some sympathy—

Young Takumi no Kami had better not let his temper flare up. The daimyos watched with bated breath. But Takumi no Kami had regained a calm expression. He gently adjusted his attire and stood composed. Feeling both pity and relief that nothing had come of it, the daimyos let out sighs and scattered their gazes elsewhere, each lost in their own thoughts.

It was then.

Kajikawa Yosobei, chamberlain to Keishō-in—the mother of the shogun—hurried over at a brisk pace, "Lord Asano—where might he be? —Lord Asano—is he not present?" While inquiring of each person he encountered, he suddenly brushed past Lord Kōzuke no Suke but, seeing his stiffened expression—as if lacquered over—did not question him. “Lord Asano!” He headed toward the entrance and called out, “Here.”

Takumi no Kami showed himself and approached.

Yosobei said hurriedly. “As various gifts had been bestowed upon Lady Keishō-in from the court nobles, it has been decided that after today’s ceremony, the Inner Palace also wishes to express its gratitude to the Imperial Envoys.” “Therefore, I have come to consult with you.” “I am fully apprised.”

“Then later.” As Yosobei busily turned to leave, Lord Kōzuke no Suke—who had apparently stopped some distance away and pricked up his ears—

“Ah, Lord Kajikawa! Lord Kajikawa!”

[Kira Yoshinaka] called out to stop him. Yosobei turned to look back, “Is this Lord Master of Ceremonies?” “If there is any official matter, you should report it to me—to me.” “Ah…” “Being Master of Ceremonies is such a tiresome burden.” “If I don’t grasp every single thing myself, nothing but blunders will occur.” “After all, I’m stuck tending to some country samurai who doesn’t know a whit of proper etiquette—can’t even manage his own formal crest-adorned hat and robes!” “I recognize your considerable labors.” “Well then, what could the likes of Lord Takumi no Kami possibly understand?” “Make sure you don’t commit any blunders.”

He turned toward the gathering of densely seated feudal lords and bellowed out loudly. The unbearable shame—a samurai’s greatest conscience—pierced Takumi no Kami’s skull like a branding iron. Over these past few days, what had been sustained by the utmost limits of his mental strength now felt as though it had collapsed like snow sliding off a roof—plummeting into darkness before his very eyes. “Damn you—! “Kōzuke—!” Reason was finally defeated by emotion. Sweeping up his large-crested sleeve, he swung overhead the gleam of his short sword.

“Gah!…”

As he turned his head, he suddenly pressed both hands to the forehead beneath his court hat,

“You ruffian!”

Staggering five or six steps, Lord Kōzuke no Suke collapsed facedown at the threshold of the Pine Chamber. He collapsed, but immediately began to frantically try to rise, “Madman! —Takumi no Kami—!” “Wait, you old fool!”

The second strike, falling slightly short, shallowly slashed from shoulder to back. Yet the redness of the blood—dissolving into mist—suddenly bloomed like a crimson flower upon Takumi no Kami’s gloomy heart that had been shrouded in darkness these past days. But he could not deliver a third strike. Two arms like towering trees clamped onto him from behind.

“Who are you?! Release me! Let me go!” “The location— Do you not comprehend your surroundings, Lord Takumi no Kami? Have you lost all reason?” “Kajikawa! By a warrior’s mercy—release me!”

“I will not permit this!” “Compose yourself!”

“Ugh! I’ve botched it.” “Botched it!” “G-gah! How regrettable… Takumi no Kami does not lose his mind! I too—a 53,000-koku castle lord—shall not lose my mind!” “This is the shogun’s inner court! You must not—!” Lord Toda, the castellan of Sakura, shouted a couple of times, but his voice did not reach Takumi no Kami’s ears. Struggling, he dragged the powerfully built Yosobei along with a scraping drag for three or four feet. “You disgrace!”

With that, Yosobei wrenched down Takumi no Kami's arm and bloodied sword as though bending them double. But by then, Takumi no Kami's mind had already transformed from a flash of fiery rage to something fluid and calm. "To have one in court attire such as myself pinned by the knees would show disrespect to those above." "I bear no resentment toward the shogunate." "My sole regret lies in failing to strike down Kira; but now that matters have reached this pass, I shall indulge in no womanish conduct." "Spare yourself further concern—release me."

Amidst the thudding footfalls echoing through the grand corridor—an avalanche-like rush converging upon him from all directions—he envisioned in a corner of his mind his wife’s face in Teppōzu, the distant skies over his domain, and the sorrowful expressions of the many retainers and families dwelling within Akō Castle’s walls.

Kajikawa Yosobei still did not loosen his grip,

“It is you who must release the sword, my lord.” “Release the sword—!” Drenched in sweat, he kept shouting. The hour had passed that of the Snake.

In terms of modern timekeeping, it was around eleven in the morning—a day when spring flaunted its radiance between heaven and earth, and a lukewarm breeze blew.

Akō Dispatch Ledger

Wu and Yue Under One Roof A gash ran diagonally across the black sokutai from shoulder to back. The blood gushing from there held no sensation of pain or of having been cut. On the contrary—the mere force of the blade that had clanged against the metal ring of his court hat when he turned, and the light that had flashed beside his eyes, left Lord Kōzuke no Suke utterly senseless. as if he had already convinced himself that his own skull had been split in two, “Ugh... u-u-u...”

He had been convulsing, but covering his face with both hands, he rose to his feet. “Gah—I’ve been cut! You—you madman!” Through the darkness, stumbling— “Help! Someone—!” “Takumi no Kami— Takumi no Kami—!” In a shrill voice that seemed to rise from his very brow, he stumbled through the grand corridor toward the Hall of Cherry Blossoms. The blood scattered in mottled patches like chicken tracks.—People rushing about trampled it underfoot, staining the hall crimson.

“Lord Kira, please compose yourself!” “The opposing Lord Takumi no Kami has already been subdued by Kajikawa Yosobei!”

“Lord Kira! “Lord Kōzuke!” Those pursuing and supporting him were Lord Shinagawa Buzen no Kami and Lord Ōtomo Ōmi no Kami of the Kōke. But Lord Kōzuke no Suke seemed to have lost all ability to recognize even these faces, wrenching himself free as he— “A physician! —A physician!” —did nothing but scream.

As they formed a human ring around him and attempted to calm him down, Wakizaka Awa no Kami, castellan of Tatsuno in Harima Province, happened to pass by.

“Ah! Was that scream Lord Kira’s?” “To see armor drenched in blood might be called a warrior’s honor—but a *sokutai* soaked in gore? Now that’s a rarity. Indeed, a scandal through the ages!” With that, he peered in and left. From the seething vortex of chaos akin to a boiling cauldron, an unexpected burst of laughter erupted. That had proven the feelings people had long harbored toward Lord Kōzuke. Tamon Denhachirou, who had been in the *Tame no Ma* room where the inspectors were stationed, “Tea attendant! Tea attendant—!”

And with that, he rose from his seat, “It’s quite noisy—what’s happened?” He grabbed one of the passing tea attendants and rapidly questioned him. “Lord Asano Takumi no Kami has just assaulted Lord Kira Yoshinaka, Head Master of Ceremonies, with his blade.” “What?!” Kurū Jūzaemon, Kondō Heihachirō, Ōkubo Gonnoemon, and others of the same duty also followed behind Denhachirō, their eyes wild as they ran off. Assault! Assault! The heated whispers of people—uttered with frantic breaths—raced chaotically past ears.

When one looked—at the wooden verge of the Hall of Cherry Blossoms, the corner of the Hall of Pines, and two spots along the Grand Corridor—excited and tense faces pressed against each other, and from both directions came strange voices.

Tamon Denhachirou ran toward the Hall of Pines. Under Kajikawa Yosobei’s knee—the blood-filled ear of Takumi no Kami, cruelly pinned down with disheveled sideburns and the cords of his court hat undone—seemed to leap into his vision. “Kajikawa! What are you doing to the ceremonial robe with large crests? This is unconscionable!”

Denhachirou’s hand involuntarily thrust hard against Yosobei’s shoulder.

He abruptly regained his senses. Kajikawa Yosobei appeared to realize his own excessively agitated rough handling and released Takumi no Kami's arm. Immediately, Takumi no Kami righted himself and retied the cords of his court hat. His shoulders heaved like great waves. Yet with a composure unthinkable for one who had moments prior caused an uproar sufficient to overturn the shogunate itself through his fiery cry, "An inspector?" he said. "I am Tamon Denhachirou of the Tame no Ma." "Until official judgment is rendered, you will await over there."

“I am grateful for your consideration.” Upon seeing Seki Hisakazu’s figure, he handed over his bloodied sword, drew a hairpin from his empty scabbard’s mouthpiece, and smoothed his sideburns. After adjusting his collar, he stood straight up— “I appreciate your trouble.” —and bowed his head. They seated Takumi no Kami in a corner of the Hall of Sago Palms and enclosed him behind large screens. Then immediately after, to the northern corner of the same hall came Kira Yoshinaka—groaning as a crowd pressed around him. “Be seated.—Lord Kira, you too—sit down.”

“It hurts… Fetch a physician! Quickly—fetch a physician!” “The physician shall arrive momentarily. Pray compose yourself, Lord Kōzuke.”

When they began enclosing him with a screen, Lord Kōzuke was still casting unsettled glances around, “Who might that be in the opposite corner, pray tell?”

“The other party is Lord Asano Takumi no Kami.” “Gah!” In his panic, he tried to crawl out from behind the screen, so the attendants seized him as if restraining a turtle and scolded him.

“Where do you think you’re going? Precisely why we attend upon you. While the other party maintains such composure, does this not shame you? Pray acquaint yourself with some modesty.”

The Feeling and the Unfeeling

From the depths of the lower social strata rose a realm beyond imagining. Beneath a soaring ceiling where sunlight streamed through celestially carved transoms into milky bath vapors—rainbow-hued beams piercing the steam—stood a bathhouse meant for cleansing a mere five-foot frame.

Tsunayoshi—the fifth shogun, known among the populace as the Dog Shogun—lay on the bath's cypress-scented floor with woman-like skin, pressing a rice bran bag against himself. Shogun Tsunayoshi—a man fond of extravagance, deeply concerned with reputation, and enamored of ritual—seemed to find vigorous purpose in busily spending several days on shogunal events like today's, for his ordinary days were ones of excruciating tedium. Above all, today being the Imperial Reply Day—the grandest occasion during the ceremonial period and a day to experience unparalleled extravagance—he applied meticulous care to his fingertips and each strand of sideburns. Bending like a woman, he fastidiously cleansed his own skin—not so much white or supple as grotesquely flabby—in a manner befitting its doughy deformity.

“Your Excellency! Your Excellency!”

The ornamental door of the next Honorable Dressing Chamber clattered. "What is it?" "With all due respect—"

It was the voice of Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami Yoshiyasu.

“The two inspectors on duty today—Tamon Denhachirou and Okubo Gonnoemon of the Tame no Ma—have encountered an urgent matter requiring Your Excellency’s immediate instruction and are currently awaiting your command.”

“Dewa.—Is it not still too early for the imperial envoys’ arrival?” “Should the Honorable Envoys appear now, this affair cannot be settled in time. With profound respect, might I suggest Your Excellency curtail your ablutions?”

he said, as if finding the words difficult to utter, speaking with evident reserve.

As expected, the Shogun appeared irritated. There came no reply—only a sharp click of the tongue. The sound of disturbed water echoed briefly before pale flesh vanished behind the Honorable Dressing Chamber's screen. Bathmaids quailed before their lord's stormy countenance as they robed his limbs and smoothed his hair. When their task ended, he bypassed Lord Dewa waiting beyond and withdrew to his private chambers. Then Lord Dewa advanced with the two inspectors, their steps hushed as temple acolytes,

“What is this ‘urgent matter’?” “Yes!” Tamon and Okubo looked at Lord Dewa’s face. The Shogun’s displeasure was palpable, making them appear hesitant to broach the matter.

“I humbly report.” If Tsunayoshi was born in the Year of the Dog, then Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami had been born in that zodiac year as well. This shared bestial sign seemed to deepen the superstitious bond between lord and vassal. Unlike other retainers who quailed before their master’s moods, he carried himself as one who had plumbed the darkest recesses of Tsunayoshi’s heart. Such awkward moments appeared to hold no novelty for him— “At this very hour in the main courtyard, Lord Asano Takumi no Kami of Akō Castle—acting upon private grievance—has committed an act of swordsmanship assault against Kira Kōzuke no Suke of the Master of Ceremonies.” “Regarding this matter—how does Your Excellency command we dispose of both parties? Furthermore, whom shall assume the vacant post of Reception Commissioner for the Imperial Envoys?” “For this presumption in urging haste upon Your Excellency’s bath, I most humbly beg your gracious forgiveness.”

he concluded with smooth eloquence, as though it were nothing. "What!" Tsunayoshi spoke as though doubting his ears. Flushed with post-bath blood suffusing his face,

“Having instigated a vendetta-driven brawl, he cut down the Master of Ceremonies—is that what you’re saying?” "Nonsense! What manner of madman is this?!" “Moreover, this outrage on the very eve of the imperial envoys’ arrival—summon Tajima!” “Understood!” When the attendants rushed out, Senior Councilor Akimoto Tajima no Kami immediately arrived there in panic and prostrated himself.

Tajima no Kami, struck by realization, could not lift his face. Having merely glimpsed Tsunayoshi's furrowed brows, he felt struck through the chest by the intensity of that wrath. The scheduled time for the Imperial Envoys' castle arrival was fast approaching. They exchanged glances among themselves— (Trouble!) —and sat frozen in dark perplexity, lips pressed tight. "Takumi no Kami's unconscionable behavior—Tajima! Conduct an investigation at once!"

“Understood!” “Regarding the Three Lords—make inquiries whether today’s imperial response ceremony has been postponed.” “Understood.” “Appoint someone to replace the Reception Commissioner immediately.” “I shall attend to all matters with utmost haste.” “Move quickly! —Dewa too.” “Understood!” In the main corridor, tea attendants were wiping away blood, purifying the area with water, and scattering salt. In the fleeting moment after the storm had passed, every face bore tangled thoughts, and a far more subdued atmosphere flowed through than before the incident occurred.

The Three Lords—the Imperial Envoy and Retired Emperor’s Envoy—would soon arrive at the castle. The Five Senior Councilors emerged in unison, “We humbly beg your gracious overlooking of this unforeseen calamity that has occurred, though there may be some suspicions regarding the grand ceremony for receiving Your Excellencies the Imperial Envoys.” They bowed deeply and expressed their apologies.

Former Major Counselor Yanagiwara nodded, “It seems there was some commotion.” “Who might be the one who violated the palace prohibitions?”

“A man called Takumi no Kami Asano Naganori.” “When samurai houses clash—why, acts of blade-work within palace walls are hardly unprecedented.” “Not entirely without precedent, perhaps—but for such violence on a ceremonial day requiring grand-crested robes? This stands without parallel since the Kamakura shogunate’s founding, whether within these halls or beyond the castle moats.” “And how shall punishment be meted out?” “Though drawing steel alone warrants clan dissolution by edict—as for Lord Takumi no Kami’s particular case, its resolution remains undetermined.”

Akimoto Tajima no Kami and those among the Five Senior Councilors had prayed in their hearts that if even one of the Three Lords—whether the Imperial Envoy or Retired Emperor’s Envoy—were to let slip a single word of intercession, they could have lightened Takumi no Kami’s punishment—but neither Kōyanochūnagon nor Seikanjidaigaku... “Well now, these samurai edicts are truly severe.”

They merely listened with curious eyes. Regarding the postponement of the imperial response, “You need not trouble yourselves.” Given this response, “Then,”

Then, they abruptly changed the ceremonial venue and conducted it without incident at Kuroki Shoin. Meanwhile, in Takumi no Kami’s mind,

(If I were in Takumi no Kami's position...?) ……) Those who could not fully suppress their secret sympathy hoped that somehow the Three Lords might intercede with either the Shogun himself or his mother, Lady Keishō-in— (Pitiable) or— (A momentary lapse of reason.) They prayed that [the Three Lords] might say such things as—and eagerly spread rumors—but all three lords, perhaps distracted by the lavish gifts from the Shogun and the Inner Palace, ultimately never uttered those words.

The courtiers were dejected,

(Cold courtiers...)

“There may be such a thing as samurai compassion, but it seems there exists no term for courtier compassion.”

they whispered.

The lingering resentment— “Immediately!”

was an urgent summons.

Tamon Denpachirō and Kondō Heihachirō, the two men, were summoned to the Senior Councilors' assembly chamber. And, “It is His Excellency’s will.” “We hereby command you both to undertake Takumi no Kami’s interrogation duty.” “With haste, ensure the investigation is conducted resolutely.”

they declared. Denpachirō summoned the small dagger that Takumi no Kami had used in the assault and held it in his hand. He contemplated natural human frailties. Comparing the state of mind when drawing the blade versus after it was drawn made one apprehensive. This was Denpachirō's resolve—should Takumi no Kami now offer some cowardly pretext, he would use this evidence to conclusively establish guilt. In the Hinoki Room serving as the physicians' station, the two men waited and summoned Takumi no Kami. As security, three burly foot inspectors lined up on either side. Amidst them, Takumi no Kami sat down quietly.

Tamon Denpachirō stared fixedly at Takumi no Kami's brow. Indeed, having cooled the fiery blood that had set his entire body ablaze, he now sat pale and ashen—but today’s events were not born of today’s frustrations alone. It was his innermost heart over these past few days leading to this moment that was truly painful to contemplate. (If it weren’t for my duty…—) Denpachirō said through clenched teeth, the bitterness of one samurai being unable to comprehend another’s heart weighing heavily on him. “In accordance with the law, I shall adjust my words.” “In that case, I trust you will keep this in mind.”

“――” Takumi no Kami remained silent and slightly lowered his head. “You—having disregarded the hallowed nature of these grounds and drawn blade against Lord Kōzuke—declare plainly: was this act deliberate madness or calculated intent?”

“It was absolutely not an act of madness.” “Hmm.” Involuntarily, Denpachirō let out a deep groan,

“Then what grudge did you hold against the other party that led to this act?” “There is nothing to explain. To those above, I offer my deepest apologies for these grave improprieties. In this matter, I have no words of contrition beyond humbly receiving your judgment.” Denpachirō made several more attempts to prompt him, but Takumi no Kami never once mentioned Lord Kōzuke’s conduct or the circumstances. Knowing that violating the castle prohibitions led inexorably to seppuku and clan dissolution, his demeanor—now seated immovably in fate’s unyielding seat—permeated through those quiet words into the interrogator’s very heart.

Denpachirō felt ashamed of the items he had prepared as evidence for any contingency. —Yet this too was something he had wished for, as if it were someone else’s affair. That Takumi no Kami showed not the slightest sign of disarray and was able to attain such a state of mind was at least some comfort to him. “Then, do you state that you have nothing to say in your defense?” “So be it.” “——There is but one matter I humbly wish to inquire about.”

“What?” “Regarding the opposing party’s Lord Kōzuke—were his injuries slight, or perhaps…” “Ah, that matter.”

Denpachirō pulled in his chin and gazed intently at Takumi no Kami’s eyes. Could it be that from the very beginning, even within the folding screen, he had been trying with all his senses to discern the condition of Lord Kōzuke in the same room? Tamon Denpachirō, with this thought in mind, answered: “Indeed, there are two wounds—shallow they may be, but a single strike to the forehead. Given his advanced age, his recovery will likely be uncertain.” “I humbly thank you.” With eyes that seemed somewhat satisfied by lingering resentment, Takumi no Kami placed his hands on the ground.

In exchange, Lord Kōzuke was immediately brought in afterward. His eyes had yet to dispel their terror. He stiffened his ashen face into a pained expression, “As for myself, I have not the slightest recollection of any grudge whatsoever.” “Given my role in this matter, I would have expected gratitude for my goodwill; to be subjected to such blade-wielding frenzy was something I never could have imagined.” “He is an utterly outrageous madman! Though fully aware of the location’s sanctity, I sought only to evade his violence—even sustaining wounds to my back in the process—leaving me utterly disgraced. Yet such unforeseen calamities prove truly inescapable.”

He moaned as he spoke, but when it came to his defense, his cunning eloquence flowed as smoothly as water down a plank.

Thus concluded the interrogations of both parties. The court physicians Amano Ryojun and Kurisaki Michiari arrived and were tending to Lord Kōzuke’s wounds when, from beyond the screen,

“Lord Kōzuke.—What an unforeseen calamity this has been. Yet rest assured—His Excellency is fully apprised of all matters. “Set your mind at ease and devote yourself to recovery.”

Someone who appeared to be a passerby called out and then departed.

Looking at the retreating figure, it was Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami Yoshiyasu.

Kajikawa Repents

In the Hall of Clocks, outer officials were incessantly coming and going with tense faces.

Abe Bungo-no-kami led the assembly of Senior Councilors Tsuchiya, Ogasawara, and Inaba, flanked by junior elders and senior inspectors of high station, all sitting with knees firmly planted in solemn conclave. The midday sky hung cold and overcast; beneath cherry blossoms shrouding Fukiage Garden, the chirps of small birds sounded through the shade—piping yet devoid of vitality. Having concluded the imperial response ceremony, three nobles had just shifted their seats to confer with Keishō-in of the Inner Palace. Seizing fragments of time from their frantic schedules, they gathered here—the Senior Councilors and their subordinates—steadily pressing forward with Takumi no Kami's sentencing hour by hour.

“The interrogation has concluded, my lords.”

The results of Tamon Denpachirō's investigation into Takumi no Kami were reported back. A report was also issued by Kurijūemon, who had interrogated Lord Kōzuke. The Junior Elders passed it to the Senior Councilors. The Senior Councilors summoned four inspectors and directly questioned them again in detail about any suspicious points. Then they relayed it up to the Chamberlain. Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami, the Chamberlain, stood between the Senior Councilors and the Shogunate. He would be the one to request Tsunayoshi's final judgment. "Until His Excellency's verdict is issued," came the order, "each of you shall await further instructions in your duty rooms."

“Yes…” Withdrawing, the Senior Councilors and all those below them sat as silent as a forest. In the Hall of Clocks, the turret clock ticked relentlessly, compelling those present to swallow thick, anxious breaths under its solemn weight.

Eventually, the weight chain creaked—creak, creak, creak, creak... It rang out, announcing seven strikes. “Lord Tsuchiya Sagami-no-kami.” “You are summoned.” “Ah.” When he stood up, immediately, “Lord Inaba Tango-no-kami, Lord Abe Bungo-no-kami.” “Yes.” “You are summoned! Hurry!” “Hurry!”

Following that, the attendant called out, “Lord Inoue Yamato-no-kami—to the presence.”

The sovereign’s decree spread swiftly.

First and foremost,

"Asano Takumi no Kami shall be remanded to Lord Tamura Ukyōdayū pending final judgment." Next,

"Regarding Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke: Given his submissive acceptance of circumstances, he shall be remanded without censure and ordered to convalesce." Such were the proclamations issued. Furthermore, Ōtomo Ōmi-no-kami, who attended to Lord Kōzuke during the assault, similarly received no censure. Kajikawa Yosobei, who subdued Takumi-no-Kami, was awarded a new fief of five hundred koku in accordance with precedent—such proclamations too were issued one after another. Due to what was, even by chance, a trivial matter of having joined Kajikawa in seizing Takumi-no-Kami’s blade, the monk Seki Hisakazu too was granted a reward of thirty silver coins.

“Hisakazu, you’ve done well.” “Hisakazu, you should stand us a treat!” “Hisakazu, two surprises in one day, eh?” Surrounded by the envy of his fellow monks, he was beaming at his unexpected good fortune, but Kajikawa Yosobei—who had brought even greater honor upon himself by suddenly rising to a prestigious position of 1,200 koku—for some reason only flashed a gloomy look there before disappearing, his figure nowhere to be seen even in Keishō-in’s duty room.

While one of his colleagues was searching frantically for him, he was leaning against a pillar in the Willow Room, deeply lost in thought. “Lord Kajikawa!”

When he called out,

“Oh…” His eyelashes glinted as he turned, glistening with a tear. The oblivious colleague clapped his shoulder, “Congratulations!” he said. Kajikawa turned outward his sideburns streaked with white, “At this age, I’ve no need for promotions.” “In any case, such fortune rarely comes even once in a lifetime—I can scarcely endure everyone’s envy. I’ll surely be invited to your celebration someday.” “……” “Ah yes—I’d forgotten the errand. “Lady Keishō-in has summoned you.” “Please go at once.”

“I must be coming down with a cold—I’m feeling slight chills. Please forgive my neglect of duty.” “...I shall go at once.” Even after his colleague ran ahead, he still did not try to leave the pillar there. The shadows around the trees were growing deeper as it neared the Hour of the Monkey. Just as a single palanquin was being carried in front of the monks’ quarters adjacent to the main entrance, he watched. Before long, several samurai surrounded the net-covered 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 a cold evening wind rise from his own cheek. When he pressed his sagging palm against it and rubbed, tears spread across his face. His pointed shoulders trembled as he shivered, “You wretched arms! You panicking fool!” He struck his own arms resentfully, “If only these arms hadn’t done that unnecessary thing back then—even then, that blade tip would have reached… Ah, at this age, I’ve gone and left a lifetime of regret. …Forgive me, Lord Takumi no Kami.”

When he took out kaishi paper and pressed it to his face as if to smother himself, Kajikawa slumped his aged, feeble hips down heavily.

Clear Streams and Muddy Torrents

From Chin'ami of the attendant monks,

“In addition to the four on-duty officials, all inspectors without exception must hasten to appear before the Junior Councilors’ chambers immediately.”

Called, they filed out in a line. Before long, the group returned to their duty room, pained expressions etched on their brows. Tamon Denpachiro of the duty group that had remained immediately, “The verdict?” When he asked,

“That’s correct.”

Silently, the group sat down, "For his misconduct, he is ordered to commit ritual suicide immediately—such is the verdict." "And Kira?" "Yoshida Kyūan was ordered to prepare medications, and Kurisaki Michiari was dispatched for surgical treatment, so he has already left to receive careful convalescence." "With other high-ranking officials even being ordered to assist him, it appears to have been an exceedingly gracious appeasement."

“Hmm…”

It was not just Denpachiro. The low-ranking young inspectors gathered here all made faces of surprise. They immediately recalled the "Edicts on Compassion for Living Things." If Lord Takumi no Kami had been a dog, they could not help but feel a strange sensation—that the Dog-born Shogun and Yoshiyasu would have shed endless tears of compassion. Indeed, to Shogun Tsunayoshi, Lord Takumi no Kami's life must not have been worth even a single dog. This righteous indignation burned vividly in Tamon Denpachiro's eyebrows. He muttered confrontationally.

“Does ‘immediate’ mean by the end of today?”

“That’s correct.” “To punish a fifty-thousand-koku lord immediately—this penalty is too rash.” “Moreover, we’ve heard numerous ill rumors about Lord Kōzuke no suke.” “Nor can he be called blameless.” “Indeed—in palace assaults with blades, we don’t debate merits. Dual punishment has been our ancient law.” “To declare only Lord Kira faultless reeks of partiality.” “This verdict lacks balance.”

Denpachiro cast his eyes toward the ceiling. Biting his lip, he rigidly restrained himself.

But around them, whispers still lingered. “Is there truly such a significant connection between Chamberlain Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami and Kira Kōzuke no suke?” “They must share some compatibility.” “Dewa no Kami—who rose from a minor lord of three hundred fifty koku to Chamberlain keeping even daimyos in check—and Kira of the Kōke have maintained close dealings for years. There’s an undeniable thread binding them.” “In today’s incident, Lord Dewa no Kami’s protection went beyond what eyes could bear…” “Even moments ago, he spoke something to Kira from behind the screen.”

“Is he not steering governance for private ends?” “Even were we to voice this, Dewa no Kami remains the Shogunate’s favorite above all.” “It’s futile.” The matter was utterly hopeless. In the current regime, Dewa no Kami’s slightest expression swayed both outer court and inner palace more than any word from the five Senior Councilors—as for the Shogun himself, his emotions played out like puppetry on strings.

That Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami and Kira Kōzuke no suke maintained close ties both privately and officially was widely known throughout the realm. Their shared philosophy of life and methods of navigating society aligned perfectly. Kira’s habitual arrogance—bolstered by his awareness of Yoshiyasu’s influential backing—appeared particularly evident in how he flaunted his shameless indolence. (This was no isolated incident. When I reflect upon it now, corruption had long festered within the shogunate. The dregs of factionalism. This bodes ill for future governance.)

Denpachiro, several times,

(Should I rise up, or should I not?)

He seemed torn between self-restraint and righteous indignation, but before long, without a word to his colleagues, he quietly left the duty room. After a while, Tamon Denpachiro’s vehement tone began leaking through the sliding doors from the Junior Councilors’ room. “To remain silent would itself constitute insincerity. Though prepared for your censure, I must voice these humble thoughts.” “Let it be stated—Lord Takumi no Kami’s main fief ranks among the great daimyo; he himself governs a fifty-thousand-koku castle, renowned for integrity and benevolence. To this day, no reproach has touched his name.” “Yet having resolved to risk his house’s annihilation by committing this forbidden blade assault today—surely only because he faced circumstances beyond endurance! That he should be ordered to perform seppuku based on our mere procedural testimonies, while Lord Kōzuke no suke receives commendation instead—this we perceive as a most irregular judgment. How shall public discourse regard it? My heart cannot bear the anguish. I implore you—grant two or three days’ stay of the seppuku rite and permit renewed inquiry.”

In the justice he believed in, there was nothing to fear.

With his earlobes flushed red and tears welling in his eyes, as he passionately argued, even Junior Councilors Katō Etchū-no-kami and Inaba Tsushima-no-kami listened rigidly, as if struck dumb— “Hmm. We understand clearly.” They nodded deeply and spoke.

“We shall have your opinion conveyed to the Senior Councilors.” “Wait temporarily.”

The two men left.

But they immediately came back and,

“Denpachiro, we well understand your feelings, but it seems even the Senior Councilors’ authority cannot prevail.” “Even if we were to convey [your request], they say it would be futile.”

Denpachiro shuffled forward on his knees,

“If this be His Excellency’s will and the Senior Councilors’ verdict, then there can be no objection.” “Yet should this matter have been settled through the private discretion of a few during these proceedings, it cannot be deemed righteous governance.” “The tozama lords will harbor doubts, and the populace will deem it most peculiar.” “Though I risk seeming importunate, I must firmly reiterate my unyielding position and humbly entreat your consideration.” Though no longer employing his earlier forceful tone, his quiet words now carried an earnest advocacy of justice—a resolve to stake even his feudal stipend shone through.

“If you insist to this extent…” Then, the two Junior Councilors stood up once more and conveyed this message to the duty room.

Even among the Senior Councilors, there were those so deeply moved by Denpachiro's argument— (Utmost—) that they found themselves profoundly affected.

“His arguments are reasonable—given this, we have no choice but to concede.” Even Yanagisawa Dewa no Kami had the argument relayed to him exactly as presented. As expected, Dewa no Kami’s eyebrow twitched. “To raise repeated petitions quibbling over a matter already settled by His Excellency is utterly preposterous.” “Consideration shall absolutely not be given.” “As for Denpachiro, due to his insolence, he is hereby ordered to refrain from duty.”

Speaking harshly, he dismissed the Senior Councilors.

Spring thunder

The time was still a radiant midday, approaching the Hour of Noon.

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

×　　　×　　　×　　　× Every face was stretched long like taffy.

When they drowsily raised their sleepy eyes, haze-like thin clouds intermittently veiled or cleared the midday sun. Even the horses yawned. The dismounting area of the Ōte gate had been filled since morning with motionless horses, palanquins, and waiting attendants—a human haze stretching as far as the eye could see. “Hey Kanzaki, isn’t it about time for lunch?” “Well…” “Is it already that time?” “Seems so.”

With that, Akahata Genzō muttered and rose from the Asano family’s waiting hut.

Looking, he saw Kataoka Gengoemon standing beside his master’s beloved horse "Asazuma." Perhaps out of boredom, he appeared to be either removing eye discharge from the horse or stroking its muzzle—his demeanor so uncharacteristic of the usual Gengoemon that it seemed vaguely listless—when,

“Kataoka, let’s have lunch.”

As he suggested, “Oh….” “Noon?” “It’s noon.” “Since the servant isn’t here, I’ll go fetch hot water from the water station.” “Evening can’t come soon enough.” “What’s weighing on your mind?”

“It’s not that I’m brooding over anything, but this Asazuma has been neighing in 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 voice is different—you’re a horse guard, yet you can’t tell?” “It’s just your imagination.” “I think so.” “If we fret too much, it’s like honing our lord’s anguish all the more.” “Outside the castle, there’s nothing we can do about it.” “Let’s just eat.” “When you said that, I felt compelled to explain—I recently read a book on sound physiognomy.” “Just as faces have physiognomy, voices too possess what this theory calls ‘sound physiognomy.’... The reason I felt Asazuma’s neighing differed from usual might be because I’ve recently taken an interest in such things and started distinguishing between the five tones.”

“Hahaha, human physiognomy and horse physiognomy are different.” “Trying to apply human sound physiognomy to horses would be unreasonable.” “No—chicken cries and dog barks sense spiritual phenomena quicker.” “There’s even the fact that pheasants’ calls can predict earthquakes.” “That sounds interesting, but tell me this theory over lunch.” “Wait here—I’ll fetch the kettle now.” In the temporary hut, water boiled in a large pot. Retainers and servants from various domains jostled to collect teapots and kettles there.

Since the face of the Asano family's servant was visible among them, Genzō raised his hand from the crowd and shouted, "Hey! Give me one here!" But the servant wouldn't come over.

Then, at that moment, someone— “It’s terrible!”

Someone shouted. Already, people began scattering and running off. Gazing across the broad dismounting grounds, people surged like the tide. “What the—?”

“There’s been a swordsmanship assault within the castle grounds!” “Liar!” “As if that’s a lie! An urgent messenger horse raced from Hirakawaguchi to the Densō Residence!” “Is it true?!”

Genzō, who had just been handed the medicinal pot filled with boiling water over people’s heads, “What?! There’s been a swordsmanship assault within the castle grounds?” “There’s been a swordsmanship assault within the castle grounds?”

“Ah, hot!” Someone shouted. Genzō’s complexion abruptly changed, “Spy!” With that cry, he threw down the large medicinal pot and dashed out.

“Hot!”

“Ah, hot! Hot! Hot!” Some were doused in hot water, others were making a commotion,

“Swordsmanship assault!” “Swordsmanship assault!” “Swordsmanship assault!” They all, struck by concern for their masters’ safety, scattered in all directions like disturbed hornet larvae with a roar.

“Hachiman! Grant your protection!” Genzō clenched his teeth against the welling anxiety and supplication. “Kataoka! Kataoka!” He looked around at the retainers of the Asano clan. “Kanzaki—!” That Kanzaki Yogoro was also absent. Kataoka Gengoemon was also no longer visible. People from other domains were rushing off like raging waves with no clear destination. Thick yellow sand swirled densely through the air. Shirakuma Asazuma kicked up sand as if about to pull up a stake, its neigh piercing through the chaos.

“Isn’t that Akahata?” Where had he been? It was Horibe Yasube who came running as if about to collide. “Hey—did you hear?” “I heard… But don’t panic.” “I’ve been praying for the best too, but…”

“What about the others?” “Can’t see them.”

“Sakuradamon Gate or Hirakawaguchi, I’d reckon. If we go there, we can verify the truth with the guards.”

It was exactly like a battlefield. It was a towering cloud of dust.

Like flowers shaken loose by spring thunder, retainers of various domains raced along the moat's edge.

Horibe and Akahata, the two of them also,

(Please, let this be a mistake)

They ran with sand in their eyes.

The crowd, now a raging surge, was colliding against Sakuradamon Gate. “We demand answers from the guards!” “Open the gates! Open the gates!” “We have heard there was a swordsmanship assault within the castle grounds—might we inquire who committed this transgression?” “Who was the opposing party?!” “We beg to be informed!”

“We humbly entreat to know our masters’ safety without delay.” “Can you not fathom a warrior’s heart?” “Guards!” It was a roar verging on madness. At last,

“You fool!” Some even hurled insults, but perhaps fearing potential unrest, the gates remained firmly shut—neither opening nor offering any response. Reluctantly, they went to check Nagae Gate, but it too was closed, and Chūkin Gate was no different. Rumors flew, speculation spread. Anxiety drew pitch-black whirlpools as the storm of voices reached even within the castle. “If left unresolved—”

Then Inspector Suzuki Goemon stood up abruptly atop Ōtemon Gate, “Be still! Be still! The altercation within Edo Castle involved both Lord Asano Naganori and Lord Kira Yoshinaka; however, neither party sustained life-threatening injuries— An investigation is currently underway! Be still!!” He waved a white fan and shouted desperately, but it was like shouting oneself hoarse against a tidal wave. “It’s no use.”

Upon seeing this, they immediately ordered the carpentry workshop to plane several cedar planks in great haste. Then, when the inspectors wrote in thick black ink on them and posted them at Ōtemon Gate and other dismounting points, the crowd finally regained composure.

Regarding Lord Asano Naganori, Master of the Imperial Table, having committed a swordsmanship assault upon Lord Kira Yoshinaka, Governor of Kōzuke: as both parties are currently under investigation, all their respective followers are strictly prohibited from causing disturbances. The first fast palanquin

“Wh-what?!”

Horibe and Akahata, the two of them, flopped down heavily and collapsed at the waist beneath the notice.

The mounted samurai who came flying like a gale to that spot also—the moment he looked up at it—

“Ah!”

With his horse's hooves planted firmly, he remained frozen in a daze, staring through moist eyes at Momijiyama Forest.

It was Katakura Gengoemon.

Those who came gathering in a flurry and prostrated themselves there were all retainers of the Asano family. "Hmm..."

With only that said, there were those who crossed their arms and glared at the arrow slits of the main keep visible distantly through the trees. Crumbling, Gengoemon slid from the horse’s back.

“My lords.” “…………”

Grieving faces turned in unison from the ground toward Gengoemon. Katakura Gengoemon also sank to his knees. “It has finally come—what was destined to arrive.” “It goes without saying that His Lordship has already resolved himself.” “Now then, it is an urgent task to dispatch the first fast palanquin to Lord Ōishi in our homeland as quickly as possible—but who would be suitable?”

While surveying the scene, he conferred with his colleagues. "I shall go."

Kayano Sanpei said from afar. Immediately after that, “I will go too!” Hayami Tozaemon said. “Then I leave it to you both—you must depart from this very spot immediately!”

“Of course.” “As soon as we learn of His Lordship’s punishment and other matters, we will send subsequent reports via the second and third fast palanquins one after another—please convey this to Lord Ōishi.”

“Understood.” With that, Hayami and Kayano—still wearing their formal kamishimo attire from that morning—leapt onto their horses and spurred them toward town. From Yatsuguchi Pass’s courier station they had arranged a fast palanquin, “Whether night or day, rain or wind—relay without pause.” “—To Akō Castle Town in Harima Province.” Toward homeland skies they’d never imagined seeing this dawn—toward countrymen who’d never dreamed of such calamity—bearing hollowed flesh and quivering spirits, they raced down the Tōkaidō with reckless fury.

After they had dispatched that first fast palanquin— Katakura, Horibe, Kanzaki, and the others still stood rigid as straw dolls beneath the main gate. There were colleagues who had followed their lord Takumi-no-kami into the Ogenma waiting room within the castle. When those people emerged, they would surely learn the full truth—so they waited in their gloom-laden hearts, clinging desperately to this fragile thread of hope.

And then—before long.

Tatebe Kiroku, Isogai Jūrōzaemon, Nakamura Seiemon, and others who had accompanied their lord emerged dejectedly together from within the castle grounds. When they saw the reddened eyelids of young Isogai Jūrōzaemon, everyone was struck by a terrifying palpitation.

Moreover, Isogai Jūrōzaemon was coming with his lord’s long and short swords—which he had taken with him that morning—clutched to his chest.

The eyes of their colleagues—nearly on the verge of welling up—greeted their colleagues and left them all speechless for a time.

“The attendants are to withdraw to the residence and await further orders—such is the command that has been given…” Jūrōzaemon said this and handed his lord’s swords to Gengoemon. The blades’ weight pressed into their bones like iron judgment. Before their eyes rose their lord’s visage—pale with resolve yet contorted in final anguish. “A matter beyond contesting…”

Transferring them into their lord’s empty palanquin, laying all attendant implements facedown below, the group withdrew to the Teppōzu residence with strengthless steps in unison. Who could have anticipated returning today accompanying an empty palanquin?

“The world is like a twisted rope… who was it that said that?” “Spring seeps into one’s being.” One person muttered, “There is still more suffering to come.” “…When one considers Mrs. Asano’s shock.” “Hmm…” “Even thinking of it makes my chest ache.”

No one moved a step. For even if they were a single step late, they felt that during that step, they could shorten Mrs. Asano’s grief.

The Onslaught of Tragedy But――Mrs. Asano already knew. Asano Daigaku, Lord Takumi-no-kami's biological younger brother who resided in the Kobiki-chō villa, had a paper-like complexion,

“Sister… A terrible event has occurred.”

The one who came stumbling into her room had arrived half a period before the attendants were due to return. Mrs. Asano turned her gaze toward Daigaku’s labored breathing—and in that moment, she already knew everything. She was someone who had never spent a single day in a marriage that could fail to grasp such things. The blood of the Asano clan ran strong in her veins.

[She was] the daughter of Lord Asano Inaba-no-kami Nagaharu, lord of Mitsugi Castle, and before entering the bridal palanquin, (Princess Kururi) was called Princess Kururi. She, though one raised in seclusion, held a rare compassion for those beneath her station. Moreover, she was intelligent and possessed beautiful eyes. They were considered a couple so well-matched with Takumi-no-kami by all accounts that they were envied by the entire clan.

Even she seemed startled for a moment, a dewy tremor flickering in the lashes of her beautiful eyes—yet she calmly,

“Lord Daigaku, please have a seat.” “This is no time for that! Ah—my elder brother was subjected to a swordsmanship assault within the castle grounds. He has been placed under the custody of Lord Tamura Ukyōdayū immediately.” Mrs. Asano’s face turned as white as ivory. “And who was the opposing party?” “I have not yet ascertained that detail.” “What of His Lordship’s condition?” “I failed to hear—when summoned by the Senior Councilors in haste, such was the situation I found. Having received their admonishment for the household to avoid misunderstandings, I rushed here directly.”

Mrs. Asano’s perfectly clear gaze, with no tears welling up, moved sharply, with a hint of anger. “As Lord Daigaku—your elder brother’s very flesh and blood—no matter how urgently you rushed here in this grave crisis, to return without even inquiring about the opponent’s name or condition, having received only orders to calm the household… What manner of conduct is this?” “That’s right… I failed to notice…”

“I find this utterly mortifying.” “The Asano clan—whether lord or retainer—should never count such an unobservant person among its ranks.” “My deepest apologies.” Blushing crimson, he paced restlessly—standing at the forecourt one moment, retreating to the inner chambers the next—until finally the attendants returned in hushed solemnity. Right behind them came inspectors Amano Denshiro and Kondo Heihachiro as official envoys. Mizuno Kenmotsu appeared. Then relatives—Toda Umenosho and Asano Minonokami—rushed to the scene.

All were envoys bearing the shogunate's will.

(—Let the members of the household avoid any misunderstandings.)

This was a preemptive admonition they had issued. The fact that they dispatched relatives—Umenosho and Minonokami—was also part of the shogunate’s skillful oppression. They resorted to a strategy of using blood relatives to control blood relatives.

“By this evening, you must vacate the Teppōzu domain residence and have everyone withdraw—such is the strict order.” It was thus delivered by her cousin Umenosho to Mrs. Asano. Seppuku, the extinction of the family name, and the confiscation of territory were natural accompanying conditions. Mrs. Asano, without a trace of discomposure, responded with her acknowledgment together with the representative of the retainers. Simultaneously, Minonokami’s troops and the Toda family’s retainers took up strict security positions at all key points inside and outside the residence.

Like a tsunami surging up from beneath their feet, the commotion was abrupt. From the moment they heard of the incident, it had been such a relentless rush that they were scarcely allowed even a sigh. Amidst this astonishment and chaos, as dusk pressed in moment by moment and the sun began to tilt, Asano’s retainers had several urgent tasks they could not abandon. First was the handover of the Tatsunokuchi Denzō Residence and the organizing of various tools.

Second was the retrieval of their lord’s remains from Lord Tamura Ukyōdayū’s residence. The burial at Sengakuji Temple was to be conducted immediately. Third was the urgent, moment-by-moment reporting of the situation to the homeland.

Fourth: withdrawal from the Aoyama annex and Teppōzu main residence.

Fifth: Mrs. Asano’s evacuation.

What came next was dispersal. Having lost their lord, stripped of stipends, and adrift in bewilderment with no destination in sight—they had to settle all matters within a single night, doing so within samurai order that would not let their disarray become the laughingstock of society.

Herein lay the problem: Senior Retainers Yasui Hikoemon and Fujii Matazaemon. As senior officials of the domain and its eldest members, they should naturally have taken charge of overseeing all matters; yet both appeared preoccupied solely with their own personal affairs, wandering about restlessly and unsettled, proving utterly useless. Even Mrs. Asano maintained her composure by briskly directing the maids-in-waiting, instructing the officials on proper conduct, and tidying her husband’s quarters herself—yet—

“What manner of senior retainers are these?”

Indignantly, Kanzaki Yogoro muttered. Then came Okuda Magodayu and Muramatsu Kihee—the two elderly men—

“What of Genro?” They approached briskly and inquired. “Kataoka said moments ago, ‘I’m entrusting the rest to you,’ and went out.” “Hmm… To see it through.”

“That’s right.” “Then—who should it be? Hara Sōemon.”

“He is here.”

“Call him here.”

“Hara!” When Yogoro stood in the corridor and called out, “Right here!” Foot soldier captain Sōemon came running, his sweaty face streaked with straw debris. Muramatsu and Okuda, the two elderly men, spoke rapidly: “Hara. “Proceed to the Denzō Residence. We entrust you with retrieving all implements and overseeing the handover to the successor. Depart immediately!” “Understood.” Sōemon raced off. He threw open the rear gate facing the Ōkawa River, summoned foot soldiers and boatmen, and had them fit oars to more than ten small craft.

“Hurry up!”

With that, he himself leapt aboard. Like plovers skimming water, the line of boats rowed upward beneath Dōsan Bridge. Laborers, foot soldiers, even boatmen—all rounded up—formed hundreds lining both sides from riverbank to Denzō Residence gates. “Proceed!” Then Sōemon began briskly removing the Asano family’s furnishings—brought for entertaining three lords—from the government office’s rear through a hand-to-hand relay. Meal boxes, ceramic containers, bedding, folding screens, ornaments, room dividers, curtains, lanterns, umbrellas, decorative spears—every implement surged hand-to-hand like a torrent.

Finally, they swept away the dust and sprinkled water. They even scraped the hearth ashes clean, “We hereby notify the household of Lord Toda Noto no Kami, who has assumed the role of Reception Commissioner on behalf of our lord Takumi no Kami. Since all furnishings have been removed, we request the handover. We acknowledge the hardship involved in assuming your subsequent duties.” Swift. Their demeanor showed not a 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 could not help but—

“Magnificent!” they exclaimed in admiration. The spring evening clouds still glowed red as Sōemon had lanterns mounted on the prows of over a dozen boats and ordered them rowed through Yayosu Canal like arrows.

At that very moment—

Meanwhile, Takebe Kihachi—chief retainer—alongside colleagues including steward Kaya Kanzaemon, chamberlain Tanaka Sadashirō, Nakamura Seiemon, and Isogai Jūrōzaemon, who had been dispatched to retrieve their lord’s remains, departed the Teppōzu domain residence. Under the watchful eyes of Edo townspeople where rumors had already spread, they solemnly trod through profound loss toward Tamura Ukyōdayū’s mansion in Shiba, sorrowfully crossing some bridge at this very moment.

Tamura Residence

Atagoyama stood in bloom; the evening clouds burned crimson. A single palanquin draped in netting arrived at the Tamura Residence beneath Shiba Atagoyama—escorted by ashigaru bearing staffs and stern spearmen—having traveled from Edo Castle's Tairaguchi river mouth through Hibiya Gomon gate and Sakurada-no-tsuji crossroads as dusk approached the Hour of the Monkey's end. Within the estate grounds, carpenters had already erected a boarded-up chamber. From the entrance onward, purification mats were laid across the path as they bore the net-shrouded palanquin into its confines without removing the covering.

“Lord Takumi no Kami.” “Please step out.” The net and palanquin door were removed, “…My gratitude for your trouble.”

Faintly uttering a single word, Lord Takumi no Kami stepped outside. "We will now receive your personal belongings and ceremonial robes." “……” Silently nodding, he removed the ceremonial robe he still wore, arranged the black-lacquered hat, tissue papers, small sword, fan, and all other items, and handed them over to the Tamura family retainers. He was left in a single under-robe. The enclosure was exactly like a prison cell for criminals. In the corner was even a toilet, and outside the sliding doors, the guards kept a stern watch.

Soon, a meal was served. Taking up his chopsticks for the last time, he ate three portions of hot-water rice with light seasoning. Through the high window, the evening star already shone visible as dusk began thickening around him. The white grains clinging to his chopsticks, the stars at the eaves—all bore the mark of finality. Lord Takumi no Kami felt this morning and evening lay a century apart. For one whose existence was fated to vanish in an instant came an unlooked-for ease—yet when his thoughts raced suddenly to his wife and drifted across each retainer's face, his whole being felt poised to drown in tears.

(Forgive me!) Such was his sentiment. (Forgive me.) A feeling so intense he might as well have pressed his hands together in prayer within his heart. And what secretly consoled him was— (That wife of mine. Those retainers of mine.) They will surely understand!) Such was the case.

Only, only, only. The one regret that could not be expunged was that even the single strike for which he had sacrificed so much had been in vain—missing its mark and amounting to nothing more than a shallow wound. Tamon Denpachiro, a samurai of conscience, had discerned his anguish and spoken of Kira’s condition: “He will not recover.” Yet from the moment they left Edo Castle until their arrival here, both the walls of his cell and the sealed palanquin had become extensions of his very being—he had listened with every fiber to the retainers’ urgent whispers. That Kira had departed unscathed; that the shogunate had promptly dispatched an imperial physician to tend him— How could he not have realized?

How regrettable... As long as he drew breath, that single persistent thought could not be dispelled. He was neither saint nor noble man. Such were the worldly passions of an ordinary mortal.

“Is there an attendant present?” When he called out beyond the enclosure,

“I am here.” “What do you require?”

Ikuta Magosō of the Tamura family spoke from outside. “Therefore, while I yet live, I wish to send a letter to my retainers. Would this present any difficulty?”

“Please wait.” With that, the reply broke off—and after a while, “The request you have just made cannot be accommodated based solely on my master’s discretion.” and flatly brushed it off without hesitation. “Then…”

Lord Takumi no Kami bit his lip. Boundless emotions overflowed across his face. To have such cruel words hurled at him by retainers of another household—this must have been the first time in his thirty-odd years that their sting had pierced him so deeply.

But—lowering his tone even further, "I humbly beg your pardon, but might you convey a formal message through official address?" "Unless relayed through proper channels to the authorities, no action may be taken." "In that case... I would request you draft a memorandum and deliver it to the inspectors."

Reluctantly, the attendant took up the brush, “As you command.”

and reluctantly began transcribing the dictated words. “—This matter, I hereby...” Lord Takumi no Kami said while closing his eyes.

“Next,”

“—Though I would inform them, today...” “Next.” “—Due to unavoidable circumstances, I could not send word.” “I must voice my suspicions—” he concluded the wording, “That is all. I humbly request you convey this message to my retainers Katooka Gengoroemon and Isogai Jūrozaemon.”

Later, his resolve reached its destination—this dictated testament passed from Katooka Gengoroemon's hands to lodge in Ōishi Kuranosuke's heart at their home domain. "Though unclear whether sanction will be granted, I shall retain custody of this."

When Ikuta Magosō, the attendant, dropped his brush into the inkstone box, the front entrance erupted into commotion, “The Honorable Inspectors!” “We must welcome—” The voice sounded piercingly cold, like wind passing over ice. Ceremonial attire. With Chief Inspector Shōda Shimōsa-no-kami serving as Grand Inspector, the three officials—Deputies Tamon Denpachirō and Ōkubo Gon’emon—proceeded accompanied by an executioner and ten others. “By your leave.” With that, they proceeded straight to the great hall.

Ukyōdayū went out to greet them,

“The preparations have been completed.”

Ukyōdayū said.

“Farewell――”

The grand inspector and his subordinates immediately went to investigate the location.—A white curtain swayed in the twilight garden. Three tatami mats lay covered with felt.

“This... is an unsatisfactory preparation.” At this, Inspector Denpachirō furrowed his brows. He had earlier been ordered into confinement for remonstrating directly within the shogun’s residence; however, as he held an official post and had been involved in the investigation from the beginning, his censure was lifted, and he attended as deputy inspector.

“Lord Ukyōdayū.”

“Understood.” “The detainee today remains a castle lord! He hasn’t been stripped of rank—this is bushido discipline ordered by His Excellency. Would you make him perform seppuku in the courtyard like some menial?” “Understood…” “This treatment defies samurai decorum. If you’ve reasons for it, state them plainly.” When he pressed further— “Now—” Shimōsa-no-kami cut in from the side. “The courtyard suffices.” “Why?”

When Denpachirō indignantly pressed further, “Since I, as the Grand Inspector, have declared there to be no issue, you will refrain from unnecessary verbose arguments.” Displaying the authority of his superior position, he glared. Denpachirō realized the folly of arguing. Speaking of Shōda Shimōsa-no-kami, he was none other than Yanagisawa Dewa-no-kami Yoshiyasu’s right-hand man, known throughout the shogunate. No matter how much one might argue with Dewa-no-kami’s spokesperson—who was acting emotionally to protect Kira—there was no chance that a low-ranking samurai’s reasoning would prevail.

At that moment, a mediator from the front gate approached, “Even to my lord...”

With that, he approached Ukyōdayū’s side and whispered something in a low voice. Ukyōdayū wore a troubled expression as he said, “I shall seek guidance from the honorable inspectors.” “What is the matter?” “Since earlier, a man named Kataoka Gengoemon—a retainer of Lord Asano’s household—has been lingering outside the gates. No matter how we urge him, he refuses to depart, demanding to see his master one final time. Our household is at a loss—how should we handle this request?”

“Well…?” “……” Shimōsa-no-kami turned his face aside and did not respond. Denpachirō looked at his face and sought a response, but failing to obtain any clarity, resolved that even if he had to abandon his official stipend tomorrow, he would at least see this one thing through. “Very well. As an act of samurai compassion, I will take responsibility. Allow him to meet his master.” “Understood. Then…” The mediator quickly turned and left.

Camp stools and lacquered clogs were brought out to the garden. The three inspectors summoned Lord Takumi-no-kami to the small study hall and, “By decree of His Excellency—” delivered His Excellency’s official decree.

Immediately, the inspectors and all their attendants took their respective positions.

Lord Takumi-no-kami, having reverently received His Excellency’s decree, donned a light-blue ceremonial robe and matching unpatterned light-blue hakama. He retied the cords of his hakama three times—even the slightest disarray would be a disgrace. Moreover, should his retainers see him as a corpse afterward, it would shame him if they perceived his mind had been disturbed at the end. He wanted even his devoted wife to see how properly he had tied them. Good. Gazing at the knot he had tied to his satisfaction, Lord Takumi-no-kami sat down.

It was strangely serene. Suddenly, he recalled the taste of the pale tea his wife always prepared—around this very moment. A cup of tea that comforted weary returns at dusk. How many years had this been their marital custom…

“Lord Asano Takumi-no-kami!”

A summoning voice shattered the silence.

“Make your preparations!” A stern voice urged from somewhere. Quietly, he turned toward the seats of the inspection officials and gave a respectful nod. “……I humbly request your guidance.” Smoothly, the light-blue ceremonial robe stood like water.

Guided forward, he walked five steps, then ten down the small study hall's corridor—hands pressed beneath the cords of his hakama, head slightly bowed—until they led him to where indigo-steeped twilight clung to the veranda edge. There knelt a figure with eyes so fiercely focused they seemed ready to spring forward, palms pressed against the earth.

*(Ah...?)*

Lord Takumi-no-kami shuddered, his leg joints quaking. Upon his mind—clear until then as a mountain lake—there suddenly swept a tempest of joy and an ache that made him want to offer up his whole being. Oh—it raced through him to the very tips of his hair-tied sidelocks, becoming a shudder he could not suppress however he tried. “To— “…My lord!” “…My lord!” It was a low, forceful sound—neither fully voice nor sob.

Lord Takumi-no-kami remained silent for a time. Was this joy or sorrow? Swept away by the greatest ardor of human blood and a tempest of complex emotions, he found himself unable to part his lips. Eventually, he spoke in his usual calm tone. “Gen’go?” “Y… Yes, my lord.” The spring evening was already dark. Fluttering, a white thing came dancing down from near the eaves. Was it a flower from Mount Atago carried by the wind, or a Yoshino cherry blossom from nearby? A single petal had come to rest on Gen’go’s back as well.

“Ah… You came seeking me.”

“……” One could hear the creaking of Gen'go’s bones. The sound of Gen’go’s tears could be heard—to those eyes, he surely bestowed his final, strongest gaze— “...Farewell.” Lord Takumi-no-kami quietly straightened his posture. The swish, swish, swish of the water hakama’s rustling faded from his ears. Against this sound, Gen’go writhed with infant-like anguish—he wanted to wail at the top of his voice. The wind rustled. At the seat of death, white two-sided curtains enclosed spring’s impermanence and this night’s sorrow within three tatami mats on the ground, whereupon the evening stars gazed at the soundless seated figure.

Security guards, inspectors, seconds, and others filled both the upper and lower floors of the residence, yet not a single cough could be heard. (...What a bright night.) Somehow, that was what Lord Takumi-no-kami thought. The mansion lights and stars in the sky seemed to welcome him. If possible, I want to die grinning—with a smile.

Such things too would occasionally cross his mind. That he had seen Gen’goemon’s face—precisely because it was unexpected—had been his greatest joy. From eye to eye, as though he had entrusted every ounce of his will to him, his heart grew light. Not a single lingering grudge remained. (If only this... If only this could reach my retainers.)

He closed his eyes, but immediately looked left and right, “I apologize for the trouble, but please bring writing paper and an inkstone.” And then, pressing down the fluttering corner of the poetry paper with his little finger, he began to compose. The wind stirs More than the blossoms, I too, Spring’s lingering traces How then shall I...

Having placed it below, “I humbly beg one final act of your benevolence: I wish to entrust my personal sword to the second. After its use, may it be bestowed upon him as is.” The chief inspector remained unmoved, but when the two inspectors— “You need not endure this.” —spoke those words, Lord Takumi-no-kami’s wish was granted. Simultaneously, Isobe Takefu the second grasped the sword— “Prepare yourself.”

Isobe stood behind Lord Takumi-no-kami. He gave a silent bow to those present and began performing the ritual with measured steps. After removing the front panel of his water kamishimo and receiving the sanpō tray, he immediately took hold of the dagger, "I appreciate your service as my second," he said.

The sound of the blade leaving its scabbard slid quietly across his back. Then the ladle clattered against the water bucket. "Are the preparations satisfactory?" When Takefu called out for the second time, Lord Takumi-no-kami's topknot already hung bowed as if biting into his own chest, the shoulders of his water kamishimo trembling like cicada wings. In the momentary darkness behind closed eyelids, countless jewel-beetle lights—red, blue, white, purple, green—swirled with dreadful speed. Each fleck became Kurihime's face, became Akō Castle, became Yoshinao his father, became young Kuranosuke's round smile, became persimmons ripening in his homeland's keep, became his infant self cradled in his wet nurse's arms—in that instant when he saw them all,

Swish! The white blade scattered droplets as it passed through the space between thirty-five years of life and eternal death.

×　　　×　　　×　　　× After the chief inspector and other government officials had filed out in a disorderly manner,

“This way—”

It was the people of the Asano household—who had been waiting restlessly since it was still light outside—that the servant of the Tamura household rushed toward, eagerly bursting through the side gate as it opened from within. "There are many garden stones; please take care not to trip." The lantern light swayed as it led the way ahead.—Above the white two-sided curtains, tall lanterns had been hung.

“Ah!” “My lord!” In a flurry, they rushed inside—and no sooner had they entered than Isogai Jūrōza, Tatebe Kiroku, and Kataoka Gengoemon all thudded facedown, their wrenching sobs clawing at the earth. Beneath the white futon, the corpse lay flattened. The severed head had been placed sideways beside the left shoulder. Tears streaming down their faces, the people laid him into the coffin.

From the Tamura residence, they had also received mementos: a small sword, writing paper, a folding fan, tabi socks, and other items. Isogai Jūrōza was weeping, pressing the tabi socks against his face. From age fourteen, he had served as a page, (Don’t let your nose run.) (Your obi’s come undone.) Rather than serving his master, this body had been raised by him. Moreover, these tabi had never once been used to kick a retainer. Reverting to his dragonfly-topknotted youth, Jūrōza cried aloud.

“Enough!” Until he was scolded by someone.

Kataoka Gengoemon, once more, “This is unsightly.”

“This is unsightly,” he said. Then, with the Asano family’s lanterns at the forefront, they began walking behind the coffin.

Who were they—those secretly watching from the shadows of every alley? Out of fear of the authorities, they dared not reveal their faces or forms openly.

At Sengakuji Temple, only a modest wake had been conducted—a quiet memorial service with sutra chants for their retainers.

A Lone Mandarin Duck Returns

“My Lord has now completed the act with honor.” When she heard this from the retainer who had gone to confirm the situation at the Tamura residence, Mrs.Asano, “I am relieved.” she answered in a faint voice.

The Teppōzu residence they were to vacate that night had been cleaned until not a speck of dust remained by evening. The cherry blossoms from the eaves her husband had gazed upon that morning were scattering down. The sound of river waves behind the residence—waves she must have heard together with her husband the previous night—was lapping against the stone wall once more this evening. She could not help feeling she wanted to remain seated there indefinitely. At the front quarters, they had just dispatched two men—Hara Sōemon and Ōishi Sezaemon—as second urgent messengers to Akō while preparing to vacate the premises. Already some seemed to have hastened their own disbandment, for their numbers had drastically dwindled from usual. Through the emptied mansion, the river wind blew through like a transient traveler.

“Myō… Myō…” When called, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old maid knelt before Mrs. Asano with her fingers pressed to the floor. “Did you summon me?” “Move behind me.” “Yes.” When O-Myō sat down behind her, Mrs. Asano made her take the dagger that had been resting on her lap. “Cut this black hair.”

“Wh-what...? But my lady, you could do that after returning to your family home.” “In a few days, this hair will be cut regardless. At the very least, let us cut it tonight, on the eve of His Lordship’s honorable passing.… Why do you draw back?” “Yes.” O-Myō scattered tears down Mrs. Asano’s back as she cut the black hair, then clutched it with a swish and wept prostrate on the tatami. “Ah…”

Okuda Magodayu, who had arrived there, widened his eyes. However, without saying anything, he only announced that he had come to fetch her.

Her family home was that of Asano Tosa-no-kami of Nanbu-zaka. From tonight onward, the single room where the lone mandarin duck would dwell alone had been designated as that place.

(Farewell…) O sound of the river waves, O garden trees. She bid 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. Under the desolate light of lanterns, they—from the elderly retainers who would disperse tonight without knowing their destinations down to the youngest servants—pressed their hands to the ground and saw her off.

First came parting through death with her master—now they were to endure separation from their young mistress within a single night—such was their fate.

“Then… Take care of yourself.”

Together with the retainers' words, the palanquin was lifted. ——And it was the moment when, after a few quiet steps, it began to sway. From behind the tightly shut blue-lacquered doors, her choked sobs—as if finally permitted to weep—escaped into the spring’s dark night, muffled and trembling.

Five-Day Idaten Chronicle

Perilous Passes and Critical Points

Through the midnight streets of Odawara Town, a six-bearer fast palanquin raced past, its carriers' voices made hoarse by sweat as it cut a path through the pitch-black darkness. Though it was the dead of night, at the thunderous footsteps—as if a brawl were passing through—the hidden side doors and peepholes of merchant houses that had lowered their large shutters opened here and there, letting lamplight spill forth. “Oh...” “This time, it seems to be Lord Asano’s retainers.” “Things have taken a terrible turn.” Rumors outpaced even the fast palanquin. Even in this area, they already knew about the incident that had occurred in Edo earlier that day.

Because they changed bearers at each post station to avoid wasting time on replacements, and because a single fleet-footed man kept racing ahead of the fast palanquin, the unprecedented Edo incident spread along the Tōkaidō like a whirlwind. Inside the palanquin rode Hayami Tozaemon and Kayano Sanpei—the first messengers dispatched from Edo immediately after the incident—clinging to bleached cloth straps hanging from the ceiling, their heads wrapped in white headbands and their stomachs bound with white cloth.

“Palanquin bearers! Palanquin bearers!” Inside the palanquin swaying like waves, Tozaemon had been calling out for some time, but his voice was drowned out by the bearers’ loud chants and did not reach their ears.

Because everyone was on edge, “Can’t you hear me?!”

Hayami Tozaemon stamped his feet inside the palanquin. “Oh! Do you need to stop for something?”

“Don’t stop. Keep running!” “We’re running!” “Just now—when I caught the townsfolk saying ‘This time it’s Asano’s men’—if they say ‘this time,’ does that mean another fast courier has already passed us?” “Did they say that?” “Which domain’s palanquin was it?” “Wouldn’t it be our own domain’s?”

“No—not even Lord Geishū could have deployed messengers this swiftly. It makes no sense.” “Then… another domain’s?” “If we arrive after other clans’ urgent couriers, we’ll shame our homeland. Faster!” “Can’t be done, sir—” “I know it can’t! Drive them harder—don’t spare the bearers!”

“We left Edo’s post station around the eighth daylight hour—two o’clock!” “Correct.” “This ain’t no jest—we’ve covered twenty ri and twenty-one chō to Odawara in half a day and night! Yet you call us slow? We’d need horse rebirth to match this!” “I care not whose domain—if any outpaces us by one step, we lag behind.” “Overtake them!” “Sir!” “Have mercy!” “Run even if you must cast me off!” “Silver you’ll have! Sake funds I’ll swell!”

In the same way, Kayano Sanpei—following behind—was also urging on the bearers from within the palanquin. When they reached Yunohana’s post station, advance notice had already arrived, so nearly twenty relay bearers stood waiting with their carrying poles at the ready. To them,

“Heave-ho!” As they called out and transferred it, “There!” the fresh team took over. Without letting the palanquin’s rear touch ground—passed from bearer to bearer—they immediately broke into a run again. From Sanmaibashi, the road became a mountain path. It was the highway’s most treacherous section. Their numbers had swelled considerably, and their ascent up the pitch-black precipice—more hoisting than carrying—became an extraordinary event rarely witnessed even in Hakone Mountain. “Heave! Heave!”—their sweat-soaked cries echoed through the valley with ominous resonance.

At Hatago’s post station too, they had hung tall lanterns and remained awake. There, they gave porridge to the two messengers.

Somewhere, a rooster crowed. Dawn remained distant still. As though this were the true darkness between heaven and earth, only the distant roar of the Sumugawa River pressed upon their ears.

Even as they sipped at a single bowl of gruel, when they suddenly recalled today's calamity, both Tozaemon and Sanpei felt their chests constrict. The events since daytime raced through their minds like a spinning lantern.

Before even a few hours had passed, here they were deep in Hakone Mountain's night—the spring's cold wind, unlike anything they had known in the metropolis, piercing their bodies—unable to shake the feeling that they were trapped in a dream. “Now, move the palanquin!” Before the gruel could settle in their chests, their bodies were jolted violently. The road grew increasingly treacherous past Warisezaka and Onnagoroshizaka slopes, though from Hatago to Hakone’s summit remained only one ri and eight chō. “Just a bit longer.”

The bearers encouraged one another. Tozaemon struck his head against the palanquin's rear and ceiling countless times. Though wearing a white headband, its fastening cord had been severed, leaving his hair half-loosened in disarray. Having scaled Gongen Slope's final precipice and glimpsed the lake's shimmer beyond Hakone's rooftops, "There it is! There!" "The summit!" They cheered exultantly and bounded across the level ground before the checkpoint. From sunset until sunrise, the checkpoint maintained its ordained curfew. As dawn's light remained faint, its gate stood firmly closed.

The bearers, charging forward with a force that seemed ready to crash through, reached the gate’s edge and let out a collective cry as they simultaneously slipped their carrying poles from their shoulders. “Gentlemen, there’s still some time before the checkpoint opens.” “Why don’t you step on solid ground a bit while you can?” Tozaemon also thought the bearers’ suggestion reasonable. Urging Sanpei, he stretched his body out of the palanquin. However, when they stood on solid ground, it felt as if the earth was swaying like waves, and they experienced such dizziness that they would stagger unless clutching onto something.

“Huh? …Mr. Hayami.” “Look—they’ve come over there.” Clutching the palanquin, Sanpei quietly jerked his chin sideways. Wondering what it meant, Tozaemon turned to look and saw—five or six *ken* away from their group, at the edge of the barrier—four or five porters crouching with extinguished lanterns and bare shins, alongside one fast palanquin, all similarly waiting ahead for the checkpoint to open. Midway point. “Just which domain could they be from?”

The two men were at a loss. Since Lord Asano’s cousin was the lord of Mino Ōgaki Castle, perhaps they were from there, or from Aki Province—or if not, perhaps they were the shogunate’s urgent messengers heading to Kyoto regarding the breach of etiquette toward the imperial envoys. “However, that seems too simple,” Tozaemon said. “If they were shogunate or daimyo messengers, there shouldn’t be just one person.” “Moreover, no matter how swift another domain might be, it was unthinkable that any domain would try to report today’s incident to their homeland faster than the Asano clan.”

“Then perhaps those travelers have nothing to do with our urgent business.”

“That’s right. It might just be that one fast palanquin and another collided by chance.”

"If that were so," they closed their mouths and gazed up at the sky. The awaited dawn showed no sign of brightening. Though sleep eluded them despite their efforts, they knew it would be pointless to bang on the gate and wake the guards. The two men walked about briefly to loosen their legs. On their return, as they stealthily passed by the questionable palanquin with feigned nonchalance, faint snoring escaped from within…… Someone was sleeping peacefully.

Then, the snoring stopped. The man inside stirred and, at the same time,

“Palanquin bearers, put your shoulders into it!” With that, he had already given the order. The palanquin bearers, having jolted upright, immediately hefted their carrying poles once more. Inside the barrier, the sound of checkpoint officials’ footsteps could be heard approaching. When they noticed, the lakeshore had already begun to pale with the morning calm. “Ah! It’s opening!” Tozaemon and Sanpei swiftly entered the palanquin. What astonishing alertness and swiftness! The palanquin that had been snoring in sleep had already rushed ahead through the opened barrier. and headed toward the official building while remaining in the palanquin,

“You may already be aware that yesterday during the Hour of the Snake, within Edo Castle, Lord Asano Naganori, Master of the Imperial Table, launched an assault against my master Lord Kira Yoshinaka. For this reason, I bear urgent orders to depart for my master’s domain in Sanshū’s Hazu District of Mikawa Province.” “I am Shimizu Ichigaku, a minor retainer of the Kira household, and humbly request permission to pass through while remaining within my palanquin.” He declared this in a voice both clear and resonant.

Sanpei and Tozaemon, who had entered immediately after them, were struck by that voice with an "Ah!" They had long known Kira held territories of 1,000 koku in Ushikubo District of Kōzuke Province and 3,300 koku in Hazu District of Mikawa Province. This Mikawa land particularly served as Kira's ancestral domain—complete with hereditary subjects, magistrate offices, and retainers stationed at its heartland. "A lapse!"

While thinking this, Tozaemon immediately approached the government office after the other had passed through and delivered a formal address that conveyed identical substance but from a diametrically opposed position. The checkpoint officials, their eyes filled with profound sympathy, said: "Proceed."

The road headed downward.

Upon hearing Kira’s name, both men found their emotions flaring up uncontrollably. Out of sheer stubbornness, they berated the bearers, 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 named Shimizu Ichigaku—having exited that palanquin—was leisurely settling himself onto a stool at the post station teahouse and sipping tea. His attire remained ordinary, with no signs of hasty preparation visible anywhere.

He appeared to be just around thirty years old. His prominent nose bridge curved slightly, and his lips, etched with bitterness, were pressed thickly together. His feet were clad in sandals. "Granny, make the rice balls—season them more strongly with salt." he said toward the back of the teahouse. The front of the post station was crowded with people from two newly arrived palanquins. Moreover, travelers and post station officials—all seeking any scrap of truth about the assault incident—noisily swarmed around Asano's men, bombarding them with questions. Shimizu Ichigaku watched this unfold with cold eyes.

He gulped down tea and ate rice balls. "I've never seen a master who acts like one." "He sleeps in the palanquin and eats meals..." The palanquin bearers who had set Ichigaku down and received their payment watched his demeanor with dismayed expressions.

Under the eaves of the post station, Tozaemon and Sanpei demanded, "We don't need gruel! Hot water will suffice—make it quick!" With that, they pressed urgently.

Overtaking Ichigaku, the fast palanquin raced down the tree-lined road, kicking up white dust. Yet Tozaemon remained unsatisfied. He couldn't escape the sense that Shimizu Ichigaku - this samurai with unnervingly composed eyes - had seen straight through their disarray. More startling still was realizing that even a master like Lord Kira could command such vexingly competent retainers. The second and third days were known to test urgent travelers most harshly. Minds grew blank, every rough jolt bringing surges of nausea. Sanpei periodically crammed stimulant herbs into his mouth. Tozaemon in the lead palanquin,

“Sanpei, are you all right?” When he asked—he responded energetically—

“I’m all right.”

Though he had answered, his face had turned pale since around noon on the second day and bore a pained look. As the sun sank low, when Fuji River’s waters began taking on a coppery-red hue through gaps in the pine trees, a horseman came galloping from Yoshihara’s direction with whip upraised.

“Make way!”

Having thrown out those words, he galloped past. When they looked at the figure’s retreating form, it was Shimizu Ichigaku. His swift methodology became clear through this display. That is to say, he must have rushed here immediately upon the incident’s occurrence—alternating between palanquin and horse as needed, sometimes even proceeding on foot—from Edo across approximately eighty-four or eighty-five *ri* to reach the territory of Yokosuka Village in Hazu District, Mikawa Province. Though this amounted to merely half the distance compared to Hayami and Kayano’s destination of Harima Akō, Ichigaku’s urgent manner nevertheless bore a fierce intensity. Hayami Tozaemon felt something resembling respect toward this enemy who had overtaken them, recognizing that only a samurai trained in horsemanship and foot techniques—one who maintained daily rigorous conditioning—could achieve such a feat.

When they reached the Fuji River ferry crossing, the gap by which they had been overtaken became irrecoverable. This was because the fast palanquin inevitably required the ferry, whereas Shimizu Ichigaku had discovered a shallow ford to ride his horse through and crossed unimpeded to the far bank.

“I find this utterly insufferable.” “Should we abandon the fast palanquin too and switch to relay horses instead?” Sanpei said this, his pallid exhausted features brimming with impatience, but Tozaemon—being senior—admonished him that taking whatever rest they could manage while aboard the ferry remained the wiser course.

“The other side has an eighty-ri journey; ours is over a hundred and sixty ri. We must consider both the days required and our physical condition.” “Well… we’ll let him have this round.”

he sneered.

Kira's loyalists

It was still the dimly lit predawn hours of the sixteenth day.—Approximately thirty-seven or thirty-eight hours after departing Edo—the urgent messengers’ fast palanquin continued racing without sleep or rest through the pine-lined road between Fujikawa in Nukata District of Mikawa Province and Okazaki’s castle town, pressing onward with labored exertion.

Having climbed up Azukizaka, when they caught sight of Okazaki Castle shrouded in thick morning mist under the breaking dawn, at a teahouse whose doors had yet to open, “Let’s do this.” “Let’s do it, let’s do it!” As if they had agreed upon it, the bearers set the palanquin down on the ground and folded their arms. Kayano Sanpei, tense as a razor’s edge, sharply rebuked the bearers. “What’s this ‘Let’s do this’? Hurry up and move out!” “We’re taking a smoke break—just a puff!”

“You dare speak such insolence! Don’t you know the rules of relay fast palanquins?” “You can’t rest until we reach the next post station!” “The payment’s your concern.” “Our bodies are ours to manage.” “How dare you complain when we’re resting our own bodies?” “You bastard!” he grabbed his sword. “—Are you deliberately delaying us?” “We’re not delaying—we’re stopping you dead!” “What?!” When Sanpei leapt from the palanquin, Tozaemon shouted— “Wait! No reckless moves!” “We’re mid-mission!”

“Hah….” “But… if I may say so, this is going too far.”

“There must be some reason behind this. Leave it to me.” “Bearers—do you want money?” Tozaemon said calmly and surveyed the bearers’ faces. Yet before they realized it, around the palanquin had gathered some forty or fifty people—men who looked like peasants apart from the bearers, elders, townsfolk, figures resembling rural samurai—and Tozaemon, understanding now that his words had been both careless and ill-chosen, found himself compelled to properly reevaluate the situation.

“Folks of the post town—ain’t this samurai one of Asano’s retainers?”

An old man carrying a staff pointed at the two men with the mud-caked tip of his staff and asked the palanquin bearers. The bearers answered in unison, "Yeah, these scum here—the ones bound for Akō." they said. Directing rude stares at the pair, the motley crowd gathered around muttered among themselves in near-incomprehensible dialect—until a barefoot boy with a kappa-like bowl-cut, "Bastard!" cursed and flung dirt from his hand at Sanpei's face before ducking behind the adults.

The boy’s insult acted as a spark, and the men and women—who until then had merely been obstructing the road with hateful glares—all at once, “You Akō samurai—making such idiotic faces!” “What’s with those eyes? Retainers of that idiot lord who went on a slashing spree in the castle!” “Lord Takumi-no-kami must’ve been mad by bloodline.” “How dare he cut Lord Kōzuke-no-suke to pieces like that!” “You’re the ones who opposed our lord!” “You’re the other half of their lot!” “If we let ’em pass through this highway, other provinces’ll laugh at us!”

“Don’t let ’em through! Don’t let ’em through!” “You’ve got some nerve trying to pass through here.” “Blockhead!” “Beat ’em down!”

A tempest of filthy abuse raged from all directions. Farmers spoke their piece, townspeople shouted their fill, women and snot-nosed children alike hurled abuse—there was no end to it. Sanpei was just as frenzied as the crowd. Because he gripped his sword’s hilt with a fearsome glare, Tozaemon—determined to prevent disaster—seized his wrist and thrust himself forward to face the torrent of abuse.

“Peasants, be silent!” “What do you mean by ‘peasants’? We haven’t eaten a single grain of the Asano family’s rice!”

“Now, let’s hear this calmly.” “First off—what land do you people hail from?” “We’re Kira family subjects.” The same old man who carried a staff like a terakoya teacher answered with pride swelling in his chest.

He raised his staff once more and pointed it in one direction, “From here, heading south one and a half *ri*—the seven villages of Hazu District: Otsugawa, Komiyata, Yokosuka, Toba, Okayama, Aiba, and Miyasako—have been Kira territory since the days of the Ashikaga clan. Since you seem unaware, I’ll enlighten you.” “To the north of the district lies a mountain called Yatsumenzan.” “Because mica is produced there, since 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—unchanged for eighteen generations over seven hundred years, right up to our present lord, Lord Kira Yoshinaka—never once having changed our ruler.” “We are quite different from those upstart daimyos of branch families who rose to power during the Warring States period.” “Do you understand now?”

“Hmm… And then?” “If I may say—your master, that shallow thinker they call Lord Takumi-no-kami—” Sanpei could no longer bear to listen. “Old fool! How dare you be so rude!” He strained the arm gripping his sword hilt like a drawn bowstring. Tozaemon restrained him, “Stay silent, Sanpei.” “It seems he has something to say.” “Their voices are those of simple villagers—we can afford the magnanimity to hear them out.” The elderly terakoya teacher immediately continued speaking in an impassioned tone uncharacteristic of his age.

“The rumor that our lord in Edo Castle fell victim to a fool’s blade and lay gravely wounded reached our ears at midnight last night.” “The uproar among our people afterward—no, their grief—was beyond ordinary measure.” The faltering words, heavy with anguish, carried an undeniable weight. Hayami Tozaemon—who himself stood amid the ruins of his own lord’s house—found his heart pierced by shared sorrow for these enemy subjects, empathy compelling him to mourn this tragic event alongside them.

“…Our lord is elderly.” “Though I heard they were shallow—the forehead wound, the back wound—how fares his recovery?” “……At that very moment, at Kozo-in Temple—the ancestral memorial site in Yokosuka Village—Lady Tomiko had been staying there for some time, having come from Edo for ancestral rites attended by her retainer Kobayashi Heihachiro. When the tragic news reached them—Her Ladyship’s shock, and the uproar of those farmers and townsfolk, their fury lasting until dawnbreak—I wish you lot could have seen it.’”

Sanpei kept his parched mouth shut. Tozaemon also remained silent, letting the elder continue his explanation. “Even that much should be clear, but others may not know—our lord is like a parent to us.” “For seven hundred long years, neither people nor rulers changed—lord and subjects bound to this soil.” “To this, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s benevolent governance lent its strength.” “To name but a few examples: he controlled Yahagidaira’s floods, spent his own wealth to reclaim Yoroigafuchi’s marshes into fertile fields, built Koganezutsumi embankment to save Atsumi’s eight thousand *koku* peasants from famine, and promoted salt field cultivation—who could measure how deeply he labored for the people’s welfare?” “Moreover, since Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s reign began: ruined temples were restored, no harsh taxes like other domains imposed, alms given to paupers, temple bells recast so village timekeeping chimes—silent so long—rang anew.” “When peasants who’d felt his virtue in their bones heard of Edo’s calamity, before dawn some prayed at clan shrines, others before Kira ancestors’ statues at Kozo-in Temple—begging their lord’s wounds might heal—all territory shared this grief, this hatred……”

The elder’s words continued endlessly, in exhaustive detail. Raising his voice even louder, “When we heard that Asano’s fast palanquin would pass through this highway—lying just a stone’s throw from our grief-stricken, furious Hazu District—how could we villagers simply stand by and watch?” “At this Fujikawa post station, we have always provided sukego labor, and from our village come baggage carriers and horse handlers for their work.” “Regrettable though it is, we cannot allow the retainers of Lord Kira’s enemy to pass through here openly.” “You’ve gone to great lengths to undertake this mission—if you get injured, you won’t be able to fulfill your duty.” “Go back and take some other back road instead.”

The villagers, who had remained perfectly still as if letting the elder voice their grievances, all at once surged forward when he finished speaking. "No, that won't quell our rage." "They're accomplices of that loathsome cur! Let's thrash them within an inch of their lives!"

With that, they all surged forward at once—some readjusting their grips on broken sticks, others seizing pebbles, their eyes wild with frenzy.

Mutō Zen

Hayami Tozaemon raised his hand toward the many enraged gazes. "I understand your grievances." "But wait a moment."

“We ain’t lettin’ you speak a word!” “Coward’s lackeys! What kinda sneak attack in the castle is this? If you wanted a fight, why not clash like men elsewhere?” “Mannersless curs—worse than dogs! Dogs! Beasts! That’s what your master is!” Kayano Sanpei’s face showed deeper anguish than any other. He lifted blood-flecked eyes: “Wh-what’d you say?” “We called ’im a beast—got a problem with that?” “Tch… What’d you dirt-grubbers know?” “My lord’s blade-strike had reasons beyond refusal.” “Hear the world’s verdict—Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s cruelty and greed are legend!”

“Shut the hell up!” A straw sandal flew through the air and struck Sanpei’s chest with filth. He flared up, “You bastards!”

As he roared, “Fool!” And again they came flying. Sanpei, being covered with soil, grew increasingly emotional,

“If we endure while thinking you ignorant peasants, you grow insolent—we won’t tolerate your vile slander!” As Sanpei shook off Tozaemon’s hand and tried to step forward, the villagers faltered slightly, stepping back in agitation, “Beat them down!”

Instead, their fervor only intensified. The moment they did, pebbles, sticks, and straw sandals came haphazardly flying toward the two. Hayami Tozaemon looked almost bewildered, while fearing in his heart that even he himself might get swept up in the atmosphere.

“Wait, calm down.” “While your grievances are not without merit, when it comes to the sword assault, our Asano clan also has ample justification.” “In essence, the loyalty we hold for our lords is the same on both sides.” “Even we will likely not escape the decree of Lord Takumi-no-kami’s honorable seppuku and the confiscation of our castle lands.” “With that tragic news, we find ourselves in the most critical moment of our lives, racing against time to report this calamity to those in our home province who remain unaware—not sparing a single moment.”

Then, from both in front and behind, “You reap what you sow!” “That’s only natural!” They raged in unison, spitting venom with every word. Tozaemon remained unflinching. The less wise someone was, the more fervently they clung to pure beliefs. In a lecturing tone, he added while gauging the crowd’s expressions. “The final judgment shall rest solely with His Excellency’s verdict.” “If retainers and villagers were to engage in private quarrels, it would lead to an endless cycle of blood washing blood. Yet even so—were this any other circumstance—we would yield to your demands. If told to turn back on this highway, we would turn back; if told to prostrate ourselves to pass through, we would prostrate ourselves.” “However, bearing our lord’s calamity upon our shoulders and undertaking this urgent mission critical to the domain’s fate—if word were to spread that we detoured due to obstruction by the very villagers of the opposing side we clashed with—how could we possibly show our faces before the realm or our people back home?” “It would also disgrace the honor of the Akō domain.” “Therefore, as a samurai—even if I must stake my very life—I will not retreat a single step from here.” “If you insist on blocking our path, we have no choice but to cut through with our swords.” “But if we do that, it will only serve to further amplify the gravity of this calamity and sow seeds of mockery throughout the world.” “Be reasonable.”

“You spout such selfish nonsense!” “Even you all won’t benefit from sustaining pointless injuries.” “They’re gonna attack! No matter what they say, don’t let them through, everyone!” The clouds of the brightening dawn spread clear and vast. Soon the streets would already be bustling. The hour only grew later. With matters having reached this critical point, it seemed impossible to resolve things peacefully. Tozaemon, too, finally had no choice but to acknowledge the unavoidable situation. But persistently, his demeanor remained calm,

“Then summon the village officials here.” “Or we could have you accompany us to Okazaki and request a witness’s presence.” “By all means, we’re racing against time—we can’t waste another moment on this bickering.” “Ridiculous! Do you take this for some petty squabble requiring village officials to mediate?”

“No matter what, you all refuse to listen—is that your final word?” Tozaemon, who had maintained his composure from the beginning, slightly squared his shoulders and let his sharp eyes glint—a movement that, combined with Sanpei’s hand reaching for his sword hilt, made the crowd recoil and shift uneasily on their feet,

“Don’t let them through! Don’t let them through!” Shouting at each other, they began throwing stones. The fast palanquin bearers too swung their staves overhead, “You bastard!”

A staff came from behind Sanpei, and since Tozaemon was gripping his arm, he was struck sharply on the shoulder. Tozaemon released Sanpei's hand. And then, "Don't cut them down—hurl them aside!"

With that, he whirled around. Sticks, staves, bamboo spears, pebbles—with a whoosh, they became a whirlwind, kicking up a cloud of dust and grass. Tozaemon and Sanpei charged bodily into its midst, but for every ten steps they pressed forward, ten steps they were driven back. They threw, kicked, and jabbed at whoever came within reach, laboring as if with six arms—yet even so, the overwhelming numbers defied reckoning, and the crowd showed no sign of thinning as more gawkers swelled its ranks.

They thought that brandishing their naked blades might make [the villagers] scatter in panic, but considering these peasants' sincere devotion to their lord, it was uncertain whether that would actually occur. If they were to stubbornly resist nonetheless, even they themselves could not predict where that momentum would lead.

Azukizaka (Not a single drop of blood must be spilled here) Tozaemon swore this oath to his core. Should blood be shed, it would summon more crowds, breach highway edicts, and worsen matters further if Kira-aligned officials intervened. On top of their delay, days would be lost.

Having said that, how could they possibly drive away these utterly honest, obstinate, and lord-devoted villagers without shedding blood? Their bodies were as limp as cotton from the long journey by fast palanquin, and if things took a turn for the worse, they would be in danger. They felt as though they were swimming against a whirlpool of countless hardships. At this critical moment, the conviction rooted in Tozaemon’s core was simply the samurai’s path: ‘Exhaust all means of goodness before yielding.’ Life and death were another matter entirely. The more recklessly he and Sanpei tried to subdue the villagers, the more their simplicity reverted to savagery. They grew violent and blind with rage,

“Beat them dead!” “Pummel them dead!”

And unleashed something fierce.

Then, from one part of that jet-black mass of people,

“Move aside! Won’t you move aside?!” “Those who refuse to yield—I’ll handle you myself! Silence!” Shouting harshly, a man with a robust frame forced his way into the fray’s epicenter. Spreading both arms wide before Tozaemon and Sanpei, he swept a fierce glare across the sea of enraged faces. When the villagers glimpsed the samurai’s presence, they scrambled back from their targets in panic. “Return home!”

And the samurai said sternly. “I understand your sentiments, but this isn’t your fight to pick.” “For the House of Kira, so long as our lands remain secure, our lord’s life faces no peril.” “The ones deserving pity are Asano’s men.” “What purpose does harassing their messengers serve here?” “Let them pass—grant me this courtesy and let them through.” “……” “Do you understand now? “Don’t neglect your fields or duties for half a day.” “A lord stands through his peasants.” “If you cast aside your hoes over trifles and raise chaos, the world itself will wither.—Leave this to me. Go home… Just go.”

At first his tone was severe, but as he concluded, he admonished them with gentle gratitude. The villagers lowered their heads of their own accord, then discarded their sticks and bamboo spears. After exchanging whispers among themselves, they bowed to the samurai and left from the edge of the crowd. As he watched them depart, under his breath, "How endearing."

And the samurai murmured.

And while bowing with a clasped-hand salute, he turned once more toward Tozaemon and Sanpei, “Even considering he was a daimyo who commanded such devotion, Lord Asano Naganori’s conduct this time was truly regrettable.” “I can well imagine the sentiments within your household.” he said. Staring fixedly at that face, Tozaemon felt a sudden realization strike his core.

“Is that not Lord Shimizu Ichigaku?” “I must apologize for the repeated discourtesies along the way.” “Ugh...”

Tozaemon involuntarily groaned. Both these villagers and this samurai—he found them enviable. At the same time, he began to feel they would never understand unless they thoroughly re-examined their perception of Lord Kira Yoshinaka—the image they had held in their minds until now.

“Damn.” Shimizu Ichigaku bowed to the two men, then immediately turned toward the fast palanquin and clicked his tongue in frustration. “Through my carelessness in shouting ‘Go home!’ repeatedly, I’ve driven away even the relay porters.” “My lords—what would you have me do?” “Your consideration brings no shame.” “Okazaki’s castle town lies within sight—even if we run on foot to the relay station, there will be no issue.”

“Then you should hasten.” “Then… Might we pass?” “This is the realm’s great thoroughfare.”

Ichigaku lifted his face and laughed brightly. Amidst the bluish stubble of his shaved beard, he revealed his healthy-looking teeth all the way back.

Sanpei was staring fixedly at that face. "I am Kayano Sanpei, a humble retainer of the Asano clan. I deeply appreciate your handling of this matter," he declared emotionally, announcing his name.

Hayami Tozaemon also declared his name and,

“In that case, given the urgency of the situation,”

He took out their belongings from the empty palanquin and held them under his arm, “Indeed—with all possible haste.”

“Indeed, with all possible haste,” Ichigaku urged.

“I do not believe we shall have occasion to meet again...” “No—” Ichigaku smiled thinly,

“We may yet meet again.” “Pardon us.” As the two men began to run, “Master Kayano! Master Kayano!” Ichigaku called after them. “Hah? What is it?”

“Your hakama waistband is coming undone.”

After informing him and turning on his heel, there was already the retreating figure of Ichigaku walking briskly toward Azukizaka.

The Crossroads of This World

Days and nights continued within the fast palanquin—a space devoid of food, sleep, or any will—merely being endlessly jostled along. Their complexions were utterly ashen, like those of invalids. Even the experienced Tozaemon clung to the bleached cloth straps, keeping his eyes closed throughout the third day. “It’s Asano! It’s Asano’s fast palanquin!”

No matter where they ran, wherever people gathered, such voices reached them. Throughout castle towns and indeed all of society, public opinion was wholly consumed by the violent attack that had erupted in Edo. Some deemed Lord Takumi-no-kami's deed only natural for a samurai; many others condemned it as rash - the outburst of a naive lord ignorant of worldly ways. Particularly when crossing through Kyoto, "Retainers of the blasphemer!" A stinging voice stabbed their ears. That one who had hosted imperial envoys would resort to violence - such was the censure leveled at contemporary daimyos: knowing full well the shogunate's authority in daily affairs yet forgetting the imperial court's dignity, they claimed this act could even occur.

As for Kira, "That one's a jaded old fox, grown too accustomed to being treated like a court noble." Resentment was mounting, but the accusation of disrespect was naturally directed toward the perpetrator, Lord Takumi-no-kami. Tozaemon passed through in stunned silence.

Still, if the rumors had been accurate, it would have been one thing, but in the capital region, wildly exaggerated false reports seemed to have spread—there were even passersby who threw stones at the palanquin. Then again, there were those spreading rumors that war might break out. Many of those theories originated from disgruntled groups and vagrants awaiting some societal upheaval.

At any rate, society took an abnormal interest. They strained their eyes to watch the two fast palanquins depart. The two men raced through the watchful gaze of the realm with their eyes shut tight.

Inside Sanpei’s palanquin, occasional retching sounds rose as if someone were being overcome by nausea. He had always been of nervous disposition and did not seem to be in good health. His frail physique was overpowered by his passion. It was precisely because he was such an elegant youth that Lord Takumi-no-kami had cherished him as a page since age thirteen and that he remained well-liked among friends; yet for this urgent messenger duty, Tozaemon found himself constantly more concerned for Sanpei’s welfare than his own.

The house where Kayano Sanpei was born stood in Kayano Village, Settsu Province. For generations it had been home to hereditary rural samurai, its old earthen-walled gate—where wild grasses bloomed across the roof—facing directly onto the Tokaido highway.

This was...my hometown.

When the fast palanquin entered that highway, Sanpei was struck by an immeasurable feeling. There was a persimmon tree he remembered. The miso shop’s earthen-walled storehouse he had seen as a child and the cotton shop’s curtain appeared to billow peacefully in the spring breeze. He thought it had been around this very time when he was thirteen—through the recommendation of Ōshima Dewa-no-kami from the local magistrate’s office here—that he had entered service in Akō. The town remained unchanged from those days……. That this son should now pass through his hometown—unchanged as if ten years were but a single day—in a fast palanquin after his lord’s catastrophic downfall: the father spending his remaining years in the family home would likely never know. His mother would not be aware either.

While picturing such things in his chaotic, dizzy mind, the rough earthen wall along the small ditch outside the palanquin came into fleeting view.

(My house!) He lifted the curtain flap and instinctively stretched his neck outside.

As the tawny wall flowed regretfully past his eyes, the main gate immediately appeared before his face.

At the gate’s entrance stood artificial lotus flowers and white paper lanterns, while a great number of country folk in short-patterned haori and people wearing crested garments with woven hats lingered in the sunlit thoroughfare. “Huh? …At my house—” A puff of incense grazed Sanpei’s face. Through the dark gate’s shadow flickered glimpses of figures in pure white mourning robes weeping. The pallbearers bearing the funeral bier were just preparing to lift it.

“The fast palanquin is coming through!” “Look out!” The mourners restrained one another and moved aside from the path. Then, behind the monk, a young girl clad in white mourning garments was wiping tears— “Huh—? Brother!” “……” The mourners were startled. The girl had already clung to Sanpei’s fast palanquin and collapsed weeping, heedless of onlookers. People even began to wonder if she had lost her mind.

“My sister?!” Sanpei’s voice rang out discordantly. “Brother! ……Brother! ……” “Please get down.” “Who died?” “Mother…” “Gah! Mother…!” Sobbing, his younger sister trembled. Though his waist was bent like a bow, an old warrior who hadn’t lost sturdiness in his shoulder frame quietly brought straw sandals with paper cords— “Sanpei?”

peered down. “Oh! Father!” “Why have you come here?” “Official duties—quite unexpectedly.” “No denying it—last night was your mother’s vigil.” “Fifty-two this year.” “Too young to die—but delicate like you—illness took her.” “I couldn’t perform my filial duties.” “Nonsense—she died content.” “You’ve risen to junior attendant for Lord Asano himself—your service grows commendable by the day...”

“Y-yes.”

“But this fast palanquin business has me concerned.” “Especially your complexion—I cannot believe it means nothing.” “Did something happen?” “It has not yet reached your ears…”

In this area as well, the rumors should have naturally arrived by now. Perhaps the relatives, thinking it too heartbreaking to inform this old father—who had already lost his wife—of the calamity that had befallen the domain where his son served, had chosen to keep it hidden.

“—I shall provide a detailed report on that matter later via formal letter. Though it pains me deeply to rush back to our domain without even attending Mother’s coffin side, every moment counts.” “Your duty comes first. Go.” “Yes.”

Sanpei pressed his palms together toward his mother’s coffin from inside the palanquin without emerging. Tozaemon too, in the front palanquin, quietly pressed his palms together in the same manner.

Gunpowder Guard

If someone said the mountain was carefree, they all came here often. Last night, the young samurai of the household arrived carrying a one-shō flask, and in this guardhouse they made quite a commotion—playing Heike biwa lutes, singing battle ballads, and all manner of revelry. After a long while, Yokokawa Kanpei found his boredom greatly alleviated.

“Cold...” Coming to his senses and shivering, he looked around the hut—the lamp oil was nearly spent, the one-shō flask lay on its side, there were no people, the hearth held no warmth of fire—it seemed he had dozed off still fully dressed. Drool soaked his forearm. “Ah, I’m thirsty.” He abruptly rose and stretched.

A hairy fist looked ready to punch through the hut’s ceiling.

Yokokawa Kanpei stood six shaku tall. He had a reputation for possessing the strength of ten men—and in truth, he might well have had that much. In this guardhouse residence, his physique was undeniably cramped. He had a round face with somewhat childlike eyes, and because his facial hair was coarse, blood would often well up on his chin after he shaved his beard. Whoa, I slept! I really slept!

He cheerfully uttered to himself and walked toward the dirt-floored area with heavy thudding steps. He felt around with his foot for the geta, slipped them on, then slid open the guardhouse door with a clatter.

What? Was it still dark?

The sky, newly dawned, was filled with stars. Yet the air touching his face already carried the feel of daybreak.

This was the summit of Wakiyama behind Akō Castle. As the domain's gunpowder storehouse stood there, guards had been stationed. Yokokawa Kanpei was a low-ranking retainer with five ryō and three koku stipend—his official title foot soldier, his duty being this mountain's gunpowder guard. Beside the hut stood a cliff cut away during its construction. From there cold spring water welled up, channeled through bamboo piping to the kitchen.

Kanpei removed the bamboo pipe and, "Gulp..." He splashed the water noisily and drank it.

“Agh, c-c-cold!” He gargled and spat it out in an arc. Then he stood at the edge of the cliff before the guardhouse and pressed both hands against his bulging sides. He bent down, arched his back, and shook his head. What he thought he was doing—his reasoning remained unclear. A rift in the clouds gleamed steel-blue. From darkness below rose pale streaks drifting upward—smoke from salt fires burning along Akō’s shore. What vanished white and winding toward Bizen’s border could only be the coastline.

“What’s that?” Kanpei’s round eyes spotted something.

"What could that be? At this hour..." On the main highway this would be nothing unusual, but along the Akō Road—which branches from the Banshū route, crosses Takatori Pass, and continues over the Chigusa River ferry into this castle town—a cluster of lanterns raced through the gloom of dawn.

Though he had stood guard many times during evenings and late nights, Yokokawa Kanpei had never before witnessed such a phenomenon. "If those are lanterns, there must be at least twelve or thirteen..." "Hmm?" He closed one eye and raised a finger before it. Using that method to gauge their speed, he realized they weren't merely walking but were likely approaching the castle town at the maximum pace human legs could manage. As he strained his ears further, faint voices—like "hup, hup"—reached him intermittently through the wind as they drew nearer.

“A fast palanquin!”

Kanpei rushed into the hut. And then, he lifted the futon of the other man sleeping in the corner, “Comrade, wake up!” “Mmm... Yokokawa? ...So sleepy...” “Man your post!” “What’s this sudden rush?” “I’m going to the castle.”

“Go on then.”

“Get up immediately and attend to your duty. The castle gates probably aren’t open yet. I’ll go rouse Lord Ōishi, the castle steward.”

“Did something happen?” “Today’s the 19th, if I’m not mistaken.” “That’s right.” ………… Kanpei counted on his fingers, tallying the days. “His Lordship’s great duty in Edo lasted five days—from the 12th through the 16th. Everyone’s been praying for his safe return. A fast palanquin now? That’s odd.”

“A fast palanquin, you say?” I have a bad feeling. “Hey! Why don’t you take a lantern?” “You idiot! It’s already dawn—it’s not like you’re Lord Ōishi, the chief retainer.” Stepping into his straw sandals, he fastened a large sword befitting his massive frame at his waist and raced down the bamboo grass-covered mountain path—a route he walked daily—flying toward the foothills.

*The Red Knotweed Manuscript*

*Sermon by the Sacred Spring*

It was a pleasantly restful spring dawn.

The castle town of Akō was still dimly lit. While Kariya Castle’s keep towered above the pines on the seaside—where the sound of waves whispered quietly and bathed in the sea’s light—the lingering darkness of last night still pooled in the town’s intersections. The lanterns beneath the eaves of the meeting hall faintly glowed with remnants of extinguished light, and stray dogs whined and howled clamorously in the distance. Because the animal protection edict was not limited to Edo, the rampage of the honored dogs was severe in every castle town across the country. In Akō as well, humans were placed below the honored dogs.

“Kamoya! I said enough already—enough!”

It was the corner of Hashimotomachi. Just as one might wonder who was speaking so loudly and cheerfully, a monk-like man in straw sandals came staggering forward with unsteady steps, his back supported by a townsman. Upon closer inspection, it was Ryōsetsu Oshō of Shinhama. He always appeared carefree, as if savoring life alone—a cultured Zen monk. When he walked with a hint of drunkenness, the town children would often trail behind him,

The priest of Shōfukuji Temple “Strong on sake, weak at Go! Licks salt, downs sake, loses at Go!” They teased him like this, but there were many among the major townspeople of the castle town and even among the domain samurai who enjoyed his company. There was an air of dignity about Ryōsetsu—when spending time with him, people would forget their cares and feel they were learned to enjoy life just as it was. Last night too, he had gone to the innkeeper Kamoya Shirōemon’s house, spent the evening playing Go, and drunk until dawn. The one who had stopped him was the innkeeper himself, who out of responsibility seemed to have escorted him partway home. Supporting Ryōsetsu’s back from behind as if propping up fragile pottery,

“Let us pause here.” “Please try to walk straight for a moment.” “That’s not how one walks straight.” “Why do you say so?” “Someone once said—‘Walk straight and you’ll collide with others…’.” “The world is best navigated by staggering just enough.” “But no one is passing through.” “There—a dog passes. No, an honored dog is passing by.”

Laughing heartily, he approached the stone well by the roadside,

“Kamoya, I could use something to sober up.” “You do go on about all sorts of things. Are you going to draw some?” “Draw me a cup. This water supply well was dug at intersections throughout the castle town by Lord Naganao, our domain’s founder, for his subjects’ sake when he relocated from Hitachi’s Kasama—a blessed gift of mercy. My father, Nikkōya Yasauemon, was one who followed Lord Naganao from Hitachi to settle here in Akō. He worked on the waterworks and especially toiled day and night—united with both lord and people—to develop the salt fields. Since then, even as lords and eras changed, our five grains grew abundant, salt production increased, and our land became blessed with favorable climate and natural riches. So you townsfolk—peasants and domain samurai alike—have grown a bit too complacent, never knowing true poverty.” “But this land was by no means as prosperous as it is now from the very beginning.” “That this land has reached its present state is entirely due to Lord Naganao’s efforts and the hardships endured by our ancestors who migrated here from Hitachi.” “…Every time I drink this well water, I savor my homeland’s benevolence as it seeps into both tongue and heart.”

“Oshō, another sermon?” “There, I’ve drawn it. Drink as much as you like.” “You drink too.” “I’m fine.” “Don’t say that. As I told you—compared to places like Hitachi in Kantō, this Akō is too blessed with the Seto Inland Sea’s beauty, natural bounty, favorable climate, and excessive natural blessings. That’s why even your family members grow extravagant, weak-willed, and selfish—utterly ignorant of our ancestors’ hardships. You should bring them here from time to time and make them drink this too.”

“You’re still drunk.” “Because you were going on and on with that sermon, something approached from over there.” “Hurry up and finish drinking.” “What’s coming?”

Ryōsetsu turned to look in the direction Kamoya pointed and stared silently for a while, then suddenly exclaimed and pulled Kamoya’s sleeve. It was the dozen-odd figures who had crossed the Chigusa River and the light of lanterns held wearily in their hands. Thrusting through the predawn gloom where a choking white sea breeze hung thick, they entered the castle town panting heavily as they went.

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

Their group—drenched in sweat and exhaustion along with their hoarse shouts—had drawn right up before them. Just as they were about to reach the street corner, “Water! Water!” A voice so fragile it might shatter at a touch rang out from within the two fast palanquins. With a heavy thud, as soon as they set down the rear of the palanquin by the roadside, all the people let out a collective gasp as if they had all collapsed on the spot.

“Ah, Akō—” “We’ve arrived!” Muttering among themselves, they looked around the town and gazed 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 with a waist ladle and carried it over to the palanquin, “Tastes great!” a voice called out there.

The palanquin bearers too, one after another, pressed their faces against the well bucket to quench their thirst or wrung out their hand towels, but soon lifted the palanquin again and ran off at full speed from Torimachi toward the castle. Withdrawing into the shade of the trees, Ryōsetsu silently watched them depart, then inadvertently let out a deep sigh, “A critical moment has come.” he muttered. Kamoya stared at his face,

“Oshō, what on earth could have happened?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“There is no way I could understand.” “I can only hope this doesn’t become something like what Du Zimei sang of...” Lacquer splits by its very use; Oil burns away to feed flame. Orchids break beneath white dew; Cinnamon trees snap before autumn winds.

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

Then—it was a large-bodied samurai. The samurai had thrust his shoulder forward and came flying through the air when, due to his momentum and build, he collided with Ryōsetsu walking ahead. The samurai, with labored breathing, “Oh! My apologies!” He apologized but immediately ran off without stopping. Ryōsetsu staggered, “Isn’t that Lord Yokokawa from Gunpowder Mountain? “Lord Kanpei! Lord Kanpei!” he called out.

However, the person ahead—without so much as a backward glance—had already reached the moat. And soon after, he entered the nagayamon gate of Chief Retainer Ōishi Kuranosuke’s residence with his chisel still raised, striding in boldly.

A national calamity descends.

At this hour, the doors to the master of the inner chambers' sleeping quarters would not yet be open under normal circumstances, but not only were the main house and guest rooms cleaned—the double-winged doors of the nagayamon gate were thrown wide open.

On the fourteenth day at seven marks past noon, Hayami Tozaemon and Kayano Sanpei—who had departed from Edo—arrived here after traveling 175 ri without sleep or rest.

The time was precisely the latter part of the Hour of the Tiger (around 5:00 AM). They had arrived in just four and a half days. The two were, of course, akin to men on the brink of death. At the Ōishi residence, slightly before the fast palanquin arrived, the advance messenger knocked on the gate, (The urgent messenger from Edo has arrived.) having informed them,

(What’s happening?) The family members, every last one of them having risen, were waiting with their hearts pounding for the fast palanquin to arrive. In the kitchen, they were cooking porridge, while at the formal entrance, O-Riku the wife, Chikara, and all the servants had gathered. And when they saw the palanquin, “It’s Lord Hayami and Lord Kayano!” They finally recognized the men, administering the medicinal broth they had prepared beforehand, having them untie their straw sandal cords, and taking their hands to assist them up to the formal entrance—all while caring for them with heartfelt devotion—but Kuranosuke made no sound and did not show himself there.

“Young master, this is too much...” “Save your greetings for later.”

Tozaemon bowed to Chikara, showed resolve even to O-Riku, and managed to stagger through on his own, but Sanpei was in a state where he could barely breathe. The servant had carried him on their back all the way to the tatami mat, and when he dropped his hand onto it with a thud,

“Ah…” He appeared on the verge of losing consciousness right then and there. Tozaemon deliberately spoke in a loud voice to encourage Sanpei. “Would the chief retainer happen to be awake already?” “Yes—he has been prepared and awaiting you in the study since earlier.” O-Riku answered. With a snap, as if a bowstring had been pulled taut, Sanpei raised his chest. He took out the hairpin from his short sword, quickly combed four and a half days’ disheveled hair, then neatly smoothed out the wrinkles in his collar beneath his hakama.

“……Please announce us.” he said for the first time. The inner study was filled with fresh dawn light and a tranquil atmosphere, just like any other morning. However, when the two envoys—who had entered almost crawling—looked up at Kuranosuke’s face sitting there with a mask-like, fearsome expression, they were struck by the feeling that they might at any moment be subjected to some great rebuke, jolting their hearts awake. Kuranosuke, his expression unchanged,

“There is no need to mention unnecessary matters. My concern lies with the fast palanquin affair. State only that matter in a single word.” “On the fourteenth day past, at Edo Castle, our lord committed an act of violence with a blade. The particulars are contained in this document from Lord Kataoka Gengoemon. However, as we two departed Edo immediately upon the disturbance’s outbreak, details regarding our lord’s disposition and other matters shall arrive subsequently via follow-up fast palanquin bearing certain individuals.”

Taking the document that Tozaemon had presented, Kuranosuke silently read it. With each line, his complexion drained of color, yet like midsummer waves churning beneath a calm surface, no trace of this inner turbulence showed anywhere on his stout frame. Having finished reading— "Hmm..." A groan-like sigh was heard low within his tightly closed lips. His thick, bushy eyebrows alone had indeed moved suddenly toward the garden, as if gazing at something distant.

With chirp chirp cries of small birds, outside the eaves, the dawn-tinted morning already glowed. The giant weeping cherry tree he cherished so deeply—a queen reigning gloriously over this garden—stood in full bloom as always, yet this morning, to Kuranosuke's eyes, each white flower appeared like nothing so much as a sinister swarm of ill-omened insects. "You have done well. Withdraw and take sufficient rest." After speaking these consoling words to the two men, Kuranosuke stood up and entered his private quarters. The family's morning meal together seemed to have taken place afterward, for when some time had passed after the castle's sixth hour struck, his figure—having prepared to go to the castle—was seen off by the worried faces of his wife and Chikara as he stepped out through the entrance.

And—Yokokawa Kanpei，the gunpowder guard，stood beside the entrance．When he saw him，he hurriedly bowed． Kuranosuke shot a displeased glare at his head． “Yokokawa，isn’t it？” “Yes，sir…” “What brings you down from the mountain？” “Tonight，while watching from Wakiyama，I saw unusual fast palanquin lights cross the Chigusa River and enter the castle town．Worried，I rushed to the mansion．Just now，from what Lord Chikara said—about our lord’s swordsmanship incident in Edo—it proved indeed a premonition．The chief retainer’s grief and our whole domain’s shock weighed on me…I ended up standing here dazed．”

“Are you not entrusted with guarding Wakiyama’s gunpowder storehouse—a duty of grave importance?” “Yes, sir...” “Why abandon your post without leave? Had you understood this crisis hour, such negligence would have been doubly inexcusable. Return to the mountain at once!” This rebuke carried an uncharacteristic edge. The words rang loud enough for Chikara and O-Riku to hear, striking the servants’ chests as though meant for them.

The summons for all domain samurai to assemble at the castle was circulated within less than a quarter of an hour thereafter.

At the sudden summons,

“Spy! What has occurred?”

Without delay, over two hundred domain samurai present in the country streamed one after another to assemble at the main gate of Kariya Castle.

Swift horses and urgent messengers were dispatched to district magistrates and duty officers stationed beyond the castle town. By the time the sun stood three poles high, a wisp of daytime haze—resembling an ominous cloud—had stained Kariya Castle’s main keep gray and enveloped the entire domain’s agitated atmosphere as one.

From the mouths of the fast palanquin bearers, news of Edo’s upheaval had spread in an instant even among the castle town’s townspeople. Just as the samurai immediately thought of war, the townspeople instinctively— “If our domain gets confiscated, what’ll happen to all this domain paper currency we’re holding?” Driven by this natural anxiety, they began to stir. “If our lord gets dispossessed, won’t these become as worthless as scrap paper?” Wild-eyed petty merchants, peasants, and wealthy burghers swarmed toward the town elders’ residences. But finding no resolution there, they clustered at every crossroads in agitated groups before surging toward the domain currency magistrate’s office.

“Exchange them for gold!” “What will become of the domain paper currency?” “Exchange them!” “Exchange them for real gold!” Since both the magistrate and inspectors were inside the castle, and the servants had tightly closed the gate to the official residence while remaining silent, the townspeople who had rushed to storm it kept growing in number by the moment, “Exchange them for gold!”

Finally, they began throwing stones and breaking fences, showing signs that it could escalate into a riot.

A boulder amidst turbulent waves. For such numbers—from chief retainers down to the castle steward and even low-ranking samurai—to gather in a single castle chamber was something only seen in wartime or similar crises. As Akō warriors registered in the domain's rolls numbered over three hundred in total, excluding those permanently stationed in Edo, roughly two hundred and several dozen men—startled by that morning's general summons—had assembled at the main keep, their eyes holding uneasy light.

Before long, from the direction of the administrative office, Chief Retainer Ōishi Kuranosuke, Castle Steward Ōno Kurōbei, Chamberlain Tanaka Seibee, Inspector Mase Kyūdayū, and Guard Uemura Yogorōemon—all five men with faces as stiff as wooden carvings—emerged in unison with heavy footsteps.

When they took their seats, Kuranosuke addressed the group about the emergency in Edo. Then, with a grave demeanor, he read aloud the written report brought by the fast-palanquin messenger who had arrived at dawn,

“The subsequent events still remain entirely unclear, but I believe another fast palanquin will arrive soon.” “In any case, the situation has clearly taken a turn for the worst.” “Each and every one of you must steel your usual resolve without negligence.” He declared. Motionlessly, with dry swallows stuck in their throats, the countless stunned faces could not utter a sound for some time. *Our lord... That lord of ours... Committed an act of swordsmanship?* As if still doubting—and then, struck down from the very depths of their hearts by the immovable fact—

“Hmm….” “To think His Lordship’s seppuku was ordered on the very day…” As if tormented by a nightmare, heavy breaths were exchanged—faces with anguished eyes or countenances turned pallid with shock— “What became of Kira—his opponent—?” A man shrugged his shoulders and uttered, “Chief Retainer!” From within the assembly came another parched voice: “Regarding Lord Kōzuke-no-suke of the opposing party—there appears no mention in the current document. Does this mean even the fast messenger’s report offers no clarity?”

The people’s gazes turned in unison, (That’s what we need to know!) They fixed their piercing stares upon Kuranosuke. Kuranosuke opened his closed eyes and with those eyes gave a wordless reply. Then Kurōbei, standing beside him, freed his arm from deep within his sleeve as if to amplify this ambiguous response.

“Following Hayami and Kayano’s first fast palanquin that arrived this morning, couriers should have departed Edo in succession. If we give chase, the second fast palanquin ought to come into view—but with Edo’s skies being so distant, we’ve no means of knowing save waiting.”

Before his words had fully trailed off, the assembly descended into chaos with clamorous whispers. In such circumstances—where demanding silence or insisting they wait motionless for the next report would be unreasonable to expect from beings of flesh and blood—both Kurōbei and Kuranosuke allowed each retainer to follow their heart's dictate: some remained silent, others whispered, some seethed with grief, others shifted their gaze restlessly, still others groaned in gloom. For a time, all domain samurai anchored themselves like boulders within the great waves of shock that had crashed upon them.

Mimura Jirōzaemon, a minor official in charge of the kitchen who had not been present at this meeting, peered into the next room from the tatami corridor at that moment, but finding no one there, “Lord Castle Steward! Lord Castle Steward!” Mimura Jirōzaemon was shouting loudly.

Kurōbei turned his wrinkled head and immediately stood up. Though his back was bent like a bow, he was an old man who always took good care of himself and prided himself on his health. He swiftly passed through the next room, “Mimura? What is it?” he said.

Jirōzaemon knelt down, “The disturbance in the castle town is not limited to one area.” “Please view it from the watchtower.” “What disturbance? ———.” “This has nothing to do with the townspeople.” When he showed his face at the arrow slit of the watchtower—apparently alerted by someone—the domain samurai who had emerged from the great hall were gathered in groups of four or five, staring intently down at the castle town. In the town, yellow dust was rising. Lines of ant-like crowds could be seen at every intersection. Centered around the gate of the note exchange office, they were clamoring while pressing against the walls. It seemed that minor clashes had begun between town elders and exchange officials trying to stop them, and even a riotous bloodlust appeared to be swelling.

“That’s it—the townsfolk must have caught wind of our house’s misfortune and are clamoring to exchange their domain notes.—How inconvenient!” It was not just Kurōbei; some domain samurai who had returned to the great hall after witnessing this were furrowing their brows in distaste as if swallowing bitter dregs. “For years they built their livelihoods in peace under our lord’s gracious protection—yet now they forget his benevolence! At the very moment of his lordship’s calamity, they think only of base profit, storming to demand their notes be exchanged—such detestable conduct!”

“Someone must go suppress them,” declared one voice. “Given how things stand, even the town elders and exchange officials can’t maintain order.” “Townsfolk they may be—this is intolerable,” spat another. “There must be ringleaders. Arrest five or six of those wretches, and the rest will quiet down on their own.” Some retainers made such pronouncements, driven by feudal duty and their own rising agitation. In Edo—one hundred seventy ri distant—a segment of earth’s crust had abruptly collapsed. Now its shockwaves manifested greater frenzy than Edo’s own turmoil, surging upward through Akō’s very soil.

The shock in Edo had been a tremor in the system; the true reality here was a shudder through 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 scrap paper. They had eaten wretched food, worked until they sweated, bowed their heads a hundred times for profit, and scrimped to accumulate every scrap of coin—their sole small capital to support parents, wives, and children. If all that were to become mere paper, the townspeople might go mad. Naturally, this spark was destined to ignite into riot.

Kuranosuke, as if startled, looked around at the faces in the assembly— “Okajima!” “Katsuta!” “Sugino!” He called them in rapid succession, and upon seeing those people rise to their feet,

“Maebara!”

he called again.

The four came before him and gazed at the stern tightening of his brows. As if they had already sensed the mission about to be commanded to them, “Chief Retainer, are we to go to the castle town?” said Maebara Isuke. “That is part of it, but—” Kuranosuke looked at the four men and thought they all seemed somewhat young. Leaving the summoned people as they were, he turned his face to the side—and there, right nearby, sat Chiba Saburobei. “Saburobei will do. The disturbance in the castle town concerns His Lordship’s prestige. Hasten there immediately and quell it.”

“Yes!” “Fuwa, you go too.” and also appointed Kazuemon, who stood behind him, “The townsfolk’s uproar is understandable. We should have reassured them first—rushing there only after seeing the disturbance was already our oversight. Ensure they’re fully persuaded—absolutely no intimidation. Thoroughly explain that we’ll exchange all domain notes without fail by tomorrow.” “Understood.”

Chiba Saburobei was a prudent man in his fifties, and Fuwa Kazuemon, holding the position of beach magistrate, was well-versed in the people’s circumstances and familiar with the townspeople. If he sent those two—he first saw them off with apparent relief, then—

“All four of you, come to the administrative office.” Urging them thus, he rose from his seat.

Both Chief Retainers Domain note ledgers, treasury ledgers, copies of coastal loans—countless account books were piled before Kuranosuke. “I would like to request Lord Ōno’s presence as well.”

Kurōbei was silently looking at the mountain of ledgers, but— “In such haste—what do you mean to summon us for?” “We cannot waste a single moment. We will conduct the exchange of domain notes.” “Hmph... Do we even have enough gold to cover all the domain notes?” “There’s no way we do.” Katsuta Shinzaemon, the assistant inspector of the note office, had set up a desk, turned through a thick ledger, folded corners at key points, and piled them next to Kuranosuke. Okajima Yasueimon, the magistrate of finance, took Sugino and Maebara with him, entered the treasury with the ledger in hand, and before long returned to the administrative office,

“I have prepared the report,” he said while reviewing the investigation document. “The domain’s reserves amount to approximately seven thousand ryō in total. And as the total amount of domain notes issued has reached over twelve thousand ryō to date, this deficit amounts to roughly five thousand ryō.” “Hmm...” Kurōbei groaned from beside him— “With twelve thousand ryō in issued notes against seven thousand ryō in reserves—this cannot possibly balance.” He spoke dismissively and looked at Kuranosuke’s face, but Kuranosuke, glancing at the abacus Shinzaemon operated, read the numbers displayed there.

“We can exchange at sixty percent.”

“We can exchange at sixty percent,” said Kuranosuke, his furrowed brows relaxing slightly. “A sixty percent exchange?” Kurōbei interjected. “In that case, not a single ryō of the domain’s reserves will remain—but what do you intend to do about the domain’s future course and various expenses hereafter?” “What comes after will come after. There was no other way but to think so in this situation. We must first attend to their pitiable lives above all else…” “I cannot allow reckless actions to be taken.” Though a senior chief retainer, Kurōbei always maintained a lofty attitude toward the younger Kuranosuke befitting his age. On a personal level, they interacted without particular fondness or animosity, and domain affairs proceeded smoothly—yet through Kurōbei’s eyes, Kuranosuke still seemed somewhat green, an impression he could never quite shake. Kuranosuke’s usual work lacked sharpness, his demeanor carried an air of sluggishness, and though family status had elevated him to senior rank, it remained Kurōbei’s steadfast conviction that without himself, this man could never manage the dissolution of a fifty-three-thousand-koku domain.

This Kuranosuke—perhaps due to heightened emotions—was acting extremely autocratically, and when he spoke, he imbued his words with a force that brooked no opposition. Kurōbei, though aware of his own childishness, for the first time felt genuine resentment toward him. “Lord Ōishi, this is unlike your usual self! You say ‘later,’ but what will you do later? Domain reorganization, retainers’ severance pay—everything requires money. Moreover, in the face of this irreversible crisis, if you commit such a reckless act, there will be no room for maneuver.”

As a verbal quirk of the old man, when he became agitated, he would end up sounding as if he were scolding a junior. But Kuranosuke nodded at each statement, “Your words are most reasonable, indeed. However, this is not my sole decision. It is merely a matter of acting with our lord’s heart, as our lord himself would have done.” “When did Lord Asano ever leave such instructions? You’re spouting sophistry!” “…”

“This is no laughing matter!” “Lord Ōishi, it is precisely at times like these that we who serve as chief retainers must fulfill the weighty responsibilities entrusted to us.” “Of course.” “To recklessly drain every last coin from the reserves without a thought for consequences—and claim this is acting in accordance with our lord’s heart—are you not somewhat unhinged in the head?” “This decision comes after careful deliberation.” “With all due respect, Lord Ōno—you have served in senior advisory roles since the era of the previous lord and from Lord Asano’s childhood to this day. You ought to know our lord’s temperament well. In this situation, if our lord were here now, can you truly not discern what command he would issue?”

“If the lord were here—” “If the lord were here—” “If the lord were here, such a thing would never have occurred!” Sugino, Maebara, Okajima, and the others surrounding them silently gazed at the profiles of the two chief retainers. Now they had been made clearly aware of the vast difference in their characters—between Kuranosuke, who claimed to act according to their lord’s heart, and Ōno Kurōbei, who rebuked that there was no way to know the voice of their absent lord. The people could not help but stare wide-eyed upon realizing that these two chief retainers, who had always worked together in perfect harmony, were in truth men of entirely contrasting temperaments.

However, generally speaking, Kuranosuke was the one who had always been unpopular, and even young samurai who did not pledge loyalty to Ōno still regarded him... *He’s so indecisive.* Some went so far as to call him a useless lantern lit in daylight—and thus in this instance too, they found themselves swayed by Kurōbei’s arguments, *Then we must yield to your will—* Just as they were about to withdraw their own positions—unusually, “No—!” he rebuffed with tenacity. Yet his complexion remained unchanged. Once more, he flashed the smile Kurōbei had chastised earlier,

“I am not without understanding of matters yet to come,” he insisted before his opponent could raise an objection. “Entrust this matter to Kuranosuke.” “Shinzaemon—erect notice boards at every crossroads,” he commanded. “Have the carpenters plane ten planks.” Seizing his brush, he drafted an ordinance for exchanging domain notes at six bu and handed it to Okajima Yaemon. “Inscribe this text on the boards and post them throughout—make haste!” He pressed them to hurry down to the minute.

They came to report that the planks had been planed. As Okajima and the group members hurriedly rose to depart, Yoshida Chūzaemon—the district magistrate of Katō County who, having been in a remote area away from the castle town, arrived belatedly on horseback—appeared at the entrance to the utility room, his dust-covered forehead drenched in sweat, “Ugh...”

he said to Kuranosuke’s turned face. “Oh… Mr. Yoshida.”

A single emotion he had seemingly forgotten until then—when he saw Yoshida Chūzaemon’s figure—suddenly surged up from his chest, and a surge of heat welled up at the corners of Kuranosuke’s eyes.

In the depths of twilight,

It was the frame of Yoshida Chūzaemon, who did not look sixty years old. His waist showed no bend; he still stood six feet tall with large lips and a complexion remarkably ruddy for an elderly man. His hair—not yet fully white—resembled corn silk, while his skin, perhaps darkened from years of rural service, rivaled peasants in its duskiness. There was something indefinably imposing about his bearing. Yet his nature proved as gentle as a woman's. The peasants under his governance clung to him like a benevolent father. When visiting the castle town, he would always don his jingasa and ride horseback, garden-grown potatoes, carrots, and burdock roots strapped to the saddle—provisions destined for Kuranosuke's household where he invariably lodged.

On nights when he stayed over, the two would shed their official roles and talk at length. Kuranosuke enjoyed his drink, and Chūzaemon was fond of his cup as well. Though they never formally bared their hearts in any particular way, it was Chūzaemon who could glimpse Kuranosuke’s character to some degree, and there was none but Kuranosuke who saw with considerable depth whether Chūzaemon was merely a rural magistrate of Katō County or something more. They were what one might call kindred spirits who understood each other completely.

The moment Kuranosuke saw his figure, he was shaken by a fragile emotion that welled up—it must have been because of that bond. "I've been waiting..." Having said this and now facing Chūzaemon, Chief Retainer Kuranosuke—already bearing this great crisis on his shoulders—sat like a rock, or perhaps a man... "I can't say a thing...." "I can't say a thing...."

Chūzaemon said nothing more after that and simply stared fixedly at one spot on the tatami. “Above all,” Kuranosuke said, “thinking I must not let the clan’s calamity become the domain subjects’ calamity, I have just now devised an emergency measure for exchanging the domain notes.” “You’ve done well…” Chūzaemon replied. “What first struck my heart were the expressions of the peasants and townsfolk I encountered along the way from Katō County to the seaside castle town—precisely because of that. These measures align with our lord’s intentions.” As Chūzaemon and Kuranosuke—both men of few words—conveyed a world of emotions in their brief exchange, Kurōbei slipped away toward the great hall with an air of purpose.

The great hall was already steeped in dusk. The kitchen staff, anticipating nightfall, walked among clusters of people who remained motionless here and there, distributing handfuls of rice from sushi tubs—but no one reached out to take any. The monk lit amayukidō lanterns and distributed paper candles throughout the great hall. Yet even their light today felt unnaturally dim.

With nothing to do, each person desperately pondered their own conjectures and countermeasures—some grand, some trivial—their collective anxiety thickening the air like black sediment settling in a swamp. In stark contrast, within the utility room centered around Kuranosuke, the clatter of abacuses and rustle of ledger pages mingled with candlelit faces of tense accountants, all oblivious to night’s arrival.— “That will do.” It was likely when they had finally finished checking the unpaid taxes, loan amounts distributed to coastal salt producers, and current rice stock in the domain’s storehouse that Kuranosuke spoke with relief.

He took a sip of lukewarm tea, “Lord Ōno...” he asked. “He is among the samurai.” Kuranosuke stood up and went himself. Then, having invited Kurōbei, he entered a separate room but did not emerge for some time. The people, certain that the two chief retainers were discussing something of grave importance, kept their eyes fixed on the cedar door there.

“Lord Tomomura, the chief retainer is summoning you.”

Someone noticed. Group leader Tomomura Genzaemon hurriedly entered through the cedar door from the corner of the great hall. When he emerged shortly after, he seemed to have been entrusted with some urgent task and swiftly exited toward the front. They had him go to request a loan of 4,500 ryō in gold from Asano, the Lord of Geishū in Hiroshima. On the other hand, Kuranosuke had devised a solution within half a day—collecting unpaid taxes and loans in the domain—and because this had been shown in meticulous detail through numerical data, even Kurōbei,

“In that case, commencing the exchange of domain notes at sixty percent should present no hardship.” Kurōbei agreed for the first time. Then, during the Hour of the Dog (past nine o’clock), as the great hall lay sunken in ink-like darkness, lamplight suddenly flared across the samurai’s faces. “The second urgent messenger has arrived!” At the news from the front, they burst into commotion. Ōishi and Ōno, both chief retainers, walked quickly past those people. Even to the first report of their lord’s immediate seppuku, the domain samurai were still clinging to a thread of hope.

As for the imperial envoys—while accepting the shogunate's unavoidable judgment as such—perhaps there might yet be some other path to truly secure his lordship's life— (Such a thing could never happen. If there had been any possibility of sparing his life, there would have been no reason for such an unprecedented judgment as immediate seppuku to be handed down.) This was something everyone had quickly come to realize, but none gave voice to it. Each of them, even while denying their own common sense, simply—

(Could it be…? ......) Thus praying fervently to that thread of hope, they had been awaiting the second messenger.

Myriad Forms of Fallen Leaves

Gazing at the expressions of Kuranosuke and Kurōbei, who had soon returned from the front, they all gasped as an ominous finality pierced their hearts. (It's seppuku—) A chilling moment of uncanny stillness flowed over the frozen faces of the samurai; only the numerous candles seemed to draw deep breaths. Indeed, the documents read aloud by Kuranosuke and the second report delivered by the messenger—just as everyone had intuited—plunged the entire Akō domain's fate into the abyss of despair.

As over two hundred men listened with bowed heads, Kuranosuke’s detailed report came to an end—and then, suddenly erupted: “This—this punishment makes no sense!”

“Is not the principle of punishing both parties in a quarrel an ironclad rule of the Edo shogunate within the castle precincts?!” “And yet! Not only did Kira escape with his life unharmed—he even received an imperial decree and was allowed to depart!” “This is one-sided!” Shrill voices erupted from all directions. Among them were those who, overwhelmed by thoughts of their lord’s bitter fate, could no longer contain themselves—wailing as they sank into shadowed figures and choked back sobs. “Lord Chief Retainer! “Castle Steward!” “The critical matter is already settled—what resolve have you determined beyond this?”

Already, young samurai were edging closer on their knees. “Fools! Is there any need to question such things at this critical hour? There is no second path in the way of the warrior—is it not simply to die with the castle our domain’s founder built as our pillow?” Voices from behind could also be heard berating their colleagues’ folly. Like an armful of fallen leaves cast into a churning rapid, their turbulent appearance may have been uniform, yet each leaf’s shock, movement, and will differed from the others. Faces flushed to extremity, faces drained of all color, those standing expressionless in dazed stupor, eyes fixated solely on their own survival, emotions filled with nothing but unthinking anger—nearly resembling scattered leaves caught in a river’s whirlpool, their chaotic rising and sinking created a tumultuous uproar here beyond all control.

“Of course the castle-receiving envoys will come. But we must not retreat one step from this castle. Retreat would disgrace Akō!” “Let us die! Let us follow our lord!” “If we must die regardless, let us meet the castle-takers’ assault! Let us fight a memorial battle to avenge him properly! Let us die so Akō may be said to have men of spine!” “Well spoken! Let any who disagree step forward!” The young samurai’s impassioned words struck down the elderly and those who kept silent around them. To some of these hot-blooded youths, even Kuranosuke and Kurōbei’s presence had now vanished from perception.

Kurōbei made a slightly bitter face and tried to say something, but— (This is beyond control.) Kurōbei fell silent as if reconsidering, while Kuranosuke—whether he had a plan or not—watched with eyes that sometimes seemed vacant, leaving the sinking, flowing, catching on rapids' stones, the swirling forms of leaves to the water's will. Yet he alone appeared with the countenance of a bystander, like a kingfisher perched on a tree branch away from the water, gazing at the stream.

His face too appeared slightly wearied by the endless commotion,

“Lord Ōno, let us hold another council. The night has grown late, and henceforth our lives shall be all the more precious to each other.”

Kurōbei nodded deeply.

“All of you, be still. Do not mistake the grave matter of our domain for personal resentment. Refrain from private disputes and selfish obstinacy. In such times, it is through becoming united as one domain and maintaining calm composure that we may appear admirable in others’ eyes. These self-serving quarrels of yours—in our lord’s absence—will soon invite ridicule from other domains. For now, those of the fire watch and storehouse keepers, along with all others, must return home tonight. Await the second general summons to the castle. On that day, we shall deliberate all matters thoroughly.”

he announced. Seeing the state of those hesitating to stand,

“Well then.” When Kurōbei stood up, here and there in the hall, retainers rose as they saw fit. Kuranosuke had been standing in conversation with Yoshida Chūzaemon in the adjoining room, but since Yoshida was to remain at the castle overseeing fire prevention and night watch duties, they continued talking while walking to the entrance before parting ways.

When he exited the main gate, the stars were beautiful. Awe of the Imperial Land. Seeing retainers scattering toward their homes from the moatside, Kuranosuke's heart ached as he considered how each shadow still contained multiple families, relatives, and children needing support. (That lord... With his gentle disposition—had some demon possessed him...?) He still could not make himself understand their lord's state of mind.—No tears came; what stirred his grief more keenly were the pitiable families of low-ranking retainers who sustained elderly mothers, ailing relatives, wives and children on meager stipends of seven or ten koku.

As the third and fourth reports arrived, once more precise information from Edo had been gathered, their lord's state of mind and his relationship with Kira would undoubtedly become fully clear. Yet he found himself filled foremost with a desire to declare his lord's recent actions inexcusable before the world when judged by his own absolute sense of justice and the warrior code's common precepts—and to offer apology on his lord's behalf. This applied equally to the wives and children of the impoverished lower-ranking samurai and foot soldiers.

What chilled him most was the act of disrespect toward the imperial envoys. This alone left no room for justification. Even were all Akō Domain's lives sacrificed and Kariya Castle buried as a tomb, he felt such dread would still prove insufficient to atone for the crime. "Until I meet Onodera Jūnai, this affair cannot be settled. Ah, how I long to see Jūnai soon..." He stood on the Kara Bridge spanning the moat, gazing at the water's surface. A gurgling, foaming tide swelled up from the sluice gate. As if pressed by the water's force, he walked along the bank.

The mansion was not far from there. Speaking of Kira Yoshinaka—from his youth at twenty-two, he had served as a shogunate envoy, traveled to Kyoto countless times, been involved in constructing the Sento Imperial Palace, worked alongside his father Yoshifuyu between the imperial court and shogunate during Emperor Go-Sai's abdication, and even served as an envoy for enthronement celebrations—thus by his sixtieth year today, he had formed innumerable acquaintances and close ties with court nobles of the upper echelons. Therefore, if Kira wished to preemptively devise strategies in that sphere, he could do so; and even if Kira himself did not seek it, were those court nobles surrounding the imperial court to act solely upon superficial facts and emotions to raise accusations of disrespect, how could Akō Domain possibly establish justification or properly atone for such a grave crime?

As he thought this, a shudder ran down Kuranosuke’s spine. "Castle siege—self-immolation—dispersal—." No matter what I do—that single point weighs on my mind. Only after meeting Jūnai." Just as he reached this conclusion himself, he jolted to a halt. Before he knew it, he had come up against the tenement gate of his own residence. Then, at the base of the earthen wall, a bat-like black figure flitted back and retreated.

“…………” When Kuranosuke turned and cast a glance, the man—who had been brazenly pressed against the wall—apparently unable to endure it any longer, scurried sideways from the corner and concealed himself. It was the man who had been following him since midway along the moatside earlier.

Kuranosuke was not unaware of why the man was following him. Eight years prior, when he had been dispatched under the shogunal order to take over Matsuyama Castle, he too had employed such minor tactics. The first to infiltrate an opposing domain's territory were invariably spies.

“Earthly things, cosmic things—all revolve in cycles. I who once acted have now become the one acted upon?” The family appeared to have risen in their anxiety, for the main house’s lights burned brightly. Kuranosuke found his own home’s illumination terrifying. Yet simultaneously, he steadied himself as household master. As he moved toward the entrance, from the shadows— “Master?!” —a figure came leaping forth. It was Hachisuke, an aged farmer from Ozaki Village. He was an old servant who had loyally worked as a manservant since Kuranosuke’s boyhood, but two or three years prior—declaring himself unfit for water-bucket carrying—had retired to his son’s home in Ozaki Village.

“Oh… old man?” It felt dear. After being separated from his parents, Kuranosuke had always regarded this unassuming old man as parental. “Did you come visiting? How good of you to come.” “What are you saying! Your lordship’s mind can scarce entertain such matters.” “What manner of calamity should one name this… At my age, Hachisuke never imagined he’d live to witness our lord’s domain reduced to such wretchedness.” He pressed the hand towel against his face and wept like a child. Aware of their master’s return, paper lanterns illuminated the entrance hall. From his wife Orika to their eldest son Chikara, second son Kichijiro, and even Oruri—still nursing at the breast—cradled in their mother’s arms as they came forth to greet him; neither father nor mother appeared their usual selves, and even the guileless children looked desolate.

Yellow Dust

In the wake of this great shock, what became clearest of all was the disparity in standing between the two classes: samurai and townspeople. The difference between their two daily lives was laid bare and surfaced in the incident. One group were people who had to regard their very lives as nonexistent except in service to their domain and honor, while the other immediately resorted to self-serving calculations, dragging their individual lives into the town’s turmoil—where blatantly and swiftly asserting their interests sufficed.

However, even the townspeople who had feared that all the domain notes they held would turn into scraps of paper later settled into composed expressions, as if they themselves felt somewhat ashamed. The currency office magistrates, who had set up signs at every intersection announcing a 60% exchange rate for domain notes and prepared stacks of cash ready for exchange, found themselves feeling a distinct lack of tension. Okajima Hachiemon, an accountant who had received orders from Ōishi Kuranosuke—the latter having spent the past two days anxiously waiting at the mansion—gazed at the deserted scene before him.

“Are the townspeople dissatisfied with the 60% exchange rate?”

he wondered suspiciously. Katsuta Shinzaemon, the currency office inspector, from his desk—

“No, it’s not that at all. Those who come to exchange all apologize, shed tears, and leave. There’s not a soul who doesn’t praise Lord Ōishi’s measures. Those who aren’t coming have rather settled into complete assurance.” “In fact, Lord Ōishi declared that leaving it like this would only delay handling the remaining tasks and cause problems. His words were that even if we show deadlines to the town headmen and press them ourselves, all domain notes must be settled within two or three days.” “That may be necessary to resolve the matter—but while the envoy sent to appeal to the main family hasn’t yet returned—”

“No—the envoy dispatched to request assistance from Lord Geishū was recalled midway. The unpaid salt taxes and other collections are being gathered more smoothly than anticipated. Given this development, Lord Ōishi too has begun to ease his furrowed brow.” “I see. Then we’ll have the town headmen press them without delay.”

Such were the discussions taking place there.

Having ascertained reassurance in the domain treasury’s economic strength, the psychology of the castle town’s townspeople had already turned briskly toward different pursuits by that day. The smuggling of weapons began to thrive. Where could they possibly be in such demand? Even dull swords and rusty spears that had lain buried in antique shop dust for years—items that found no buyers even at a pittance—vanished in the blink of an eye. Furthermore, dozens of Kamigata-based merchants with cash at hand were said to have come ashore from that morning’s ferry and entered Akō, speculating that goods would be sold off cheaply in the castle town’s markets. From calligraphy and paintings to old clothes, hand tools, antiques, military gear, and even scrap paper—the voices of merchants specializing in each category, their accents distinctly Kamigata—noisily made rounds through the back alleys of the samurai district. A group that had purchased what was claimed to be a cannon used during the Amakusa campaign—though none knew where they procured it—passed by with the weapon loaded on a cart, and passersby no longer regarded it as strange.

“I’ll buy horses—if they’re good ones, I’ll pay any number of ryō.” Even horse brokers who normally couldn’t afford to buy farm horses now boldly made large offers—something impossible without newfound confidence. They would visit impoverished domain samurai households, corner wives and daughters desperate for money, and flaunt disproportionate sums pulled from their neck purses. If they purchased even a saddled horse, they would proudly lead it through town streets, bits clinking. To observe this as manifestations of human nature’s quirks and society’s fluidity promised endless fascination. At the waterfront, barges and ferry boats grew scarce while shipping agents competed fiercely for boatmen; laborers’ and carters’ wages had reportedly surged thirty percent—yet no idle workers remained visible. Where this demand originated or what vortex drew goods and people defied comprehension. Yet indisputably, rapid economic upheaval had arisen around a domain’s collapse. The townspeople’s keen speculative spirit now raced toward fresh quarry—so consumed that they grudged even the time needed to exchange domain notes at currency offices.

The Taste of Tade

In the approximately seven days from the 19th—when the first report of the incident arrived—to the 25th, the state of the common people manifested in such forms, laying bare both the overt movements of townspeople's spirit and the vigor of their vitality; meanwhile, the samurai residential quarter stood in complete opposition, like a soundless swamp. The figures of domain samurai walking or urging their horses onward to handle remaining duties appeared to the townspeople's eyes as nothing but pitiable figures. And they found themselves grateful for their status as non-samurai—contrary to their usual sentiments.

From the Edo side came two town couriers thereafter, bearing only reports of Asano Daigaku’s house arrest and the completed evacuation of the domain residence. No summons to the castle followed. Those occupied with residual duties found themselves driven by crushing urgency, while idle retainers kept their gates shut tight—left with nothing but mourning for their lord. Since even the Miyoshi branch of the Asano clan in Aki Province’s Hiroshima had silenced all music, naturally no such pleasurable sounds lingered here either. All worldly noise seemed utterly transformed—as if people’s hearts too had shifted entirely. Yet peasants remained steadfast in their peasant ways, townspeople in their townspeople’s paths; only samurai faced trial at this hour. The true backbone and governing force of society then lay not with the shogunate or feudal lords—it resided in samurai who clung faithfully to the old order despite coarse robes and meager fare. These were men mocked in Edo as “duty-bound officials” or “faded linings”—epithets for rustic simplicity—yet within them still burned what was called bushido, a trust yet held by common folk. Should that bushido betray its daily vows and bearing? One might even glimpse mockery poised to strike.

However, stepping just a short way from the main streets and mansion-lined avenues into the back alleys revealed a world utterly divorced from society—a radiant day nurturing wheat ears and rapeseed flowers in full bloom, scarlet peach trees burning unseen along the ridges, and insects swelling their bellies under a sun that soaked through their backs with unrelenting intensity.

Several vein-like thin streams flowing from Yūnen Mountain through the castle town to the sea threaded through cultivated fields. Along one such stream walked Ōishi Chikara, leading his younger brother. The brother, named Yoshichiyo, was three years his junior at eleven years old. His hands—now blackened as if he had plunged them into muddy fields—clutched something wrapped in a straw bundle. “Throw it away.” Chikara kept insisting while Yoshichiyo shook his head, “I don’t want to.” The boy stubbornly held his ground.

“Father does not eat such things.” “Even if you take it back, wouldn’t it be pointless?” “That’s a lie! Father likes them.” “Uncle Yoshida said he likes them too!” “Though he normally partakes of them, he absolutely will not do so now.” “Why?”

“I’ve told you so much—do you still not understand? Lord Asano Naganori has performed seppuku.” “I know that! But just because our lord has passed away, why does that mean we can’t eat river snails?” “What a clueless child! On the anniversaries of your grandfather and grandmother’s passing, do we not observe abstinence?” “But river snails aren’t fish.” “They’re living creatures.” “If we’re talking about living creatures, then even greens or daikon radish—” “This isn’t a matter for logic. Since you’re a good child, throw it away and wash your hands in that stream there.”

Reluctantly, Yoshichiyo discarded the bundle of river snails, washed his hands, and wiped them on his hakama. "Oh, the priest from Shōfukuji Temple is here."

The two walked about eighteen meters with large strides and came to a halt. The decayed-leaf-colored, grimy priest’s robe was so worn out that it no longer retained the shape of a priest’s robe. It was none other than the aforementioned Priest Ryōsetsu. Unaware that the boys had come up behind him, he was picking young grasses along the stream bank and tucking them into one sleeve of his priest’s robe. “Ryōsetsu-san, what are you doing?”

When Yoshichiyo called out, “Oh…” The face that turned around instantly drew in the boys’ hearts. The bright and gentle spring wind drifting about seemed as though it might be blowing forth from the bosom of this boyish-faced man. “Where did you go?”

“Where did you go?” Ryōsetsu asked.

Yoshichiyo pointed toward the mountain shadows encircling the back of the castle town,

“To Ōshika Valley.” “What for?” “Because they said soldiers from Himeji, Okayama, Takamatsu, and various provinces were attacking in great numbers from the direction of Hosaka Pass and Takatori Pass, I went with my brother to see.”

“Ah, reconnaissance then.” “They were visible even at sea.” “That’s right.” “The Kyōgoku of Sanuki Marugame, the Hachisuka of Awa Tokushima, the Honda of Himeji, the Matsudaira of Iyo—they’ve lined up warships at sea and deployed troops along the borders, surrounding this Akō domain like the Great Wall itself with their arrows and cannons trained on our household.” “It’s war, isn’t it, Reverend?” “Well—that depends on where these clouds drift.”

Chikara was silently smiling while his brother and Ryōsetsu talked, but as he gazed at Ryōsetsu’s hands,

“Reverend Shōfukuji, what are you gathering there?” he asked. “Me?”

Ryōsetsu gazed at the dirt lodged in his nails while,

“I’m gathering parsley, but this area has nothing but smartweed.” “If you require assistance, we could help gather some for you.” “No no, that’s quite enough. “I don’t need such quantities. “Might Ōishi Daifu be present at the residence?” “Father is indeed at the estate.” “I’ve intended to call upon him these many days, and have at last made my way here. “As I’m forever partaking of your household’s generosity, today I resolved to bring at least some river herbs—began plucking parsley only to find scarce sprigs amidst this sea of smartweed. “Red knotweed—see there, and yonder too.”

As he spoke, he straightened up. And when he started walking again, “Look at all this red smartweed.—Do you know why there’s so much red smartweed in Akō?”

“I don’t know.” “My fault—the way I phrased the question was backward.—You see, since ancient times this region has had such an abundance of red smartweed that it became our place name—Akō.” “This is my first time hearing that.” “Such knowledge isn’t essential—but there are matters you mustn’t remain ignorant of.” “What matters?” “Service—that’s what defines us.” “My father has schooled me in this.” “Are you listening? This concerns the Daifu—he must have drilled you thoroughly. A samurai’s sole purpose is service—there exists no other work. Have you read Master Yamaga’s *The Way of the Samurai*?”

“Yes.” “It’s there too, in that book. For now, whether they’re a lantern lit at noon or the moon in daylight—it matters not.” “Take this smartweed—even horses won’t eat it, yet it properly repays its debt to the soil and sun.” “When ayu are caught in the Chikusa River season, isn’t this the essential garnish for miso-grilled ayu?” “That sharp pungency stings the tongue.” “Yet it also kills stomach worms and cures summer sickness—a noble service indeed.” “In ordinary times, it seems a worthless weed. They say even insects that eat smartweed have their preferences, but...”

Ryōsetsu was toying with the smartweed leaf at his lips but then began chewing it as though savoring a sweet taste.

“The Akō samurai are red-smartweed samurai—that’s what they ought to be.” "But originally, the essential nature of our domain’s warriors wasn’t forged merely by these fertile harvests, gentle landscapes, Seto Inland Sea breezes, or Chūgoku soil." "The unyielding spirit within every household member still carries the indelible mark passed down from grandfathers and great-grandfathers." "Were this three generations later, that essence would’ve grown faint—yet it endures." "Do you know what preserves it?"

“It must be Master Yamaga’s teachings.” “Master Sokuyō’s influence goes without saying.” “However, what I ask about is nature’s influence upon humans—soil and humanity.” “Master Sokuyō was not from this country either.” “He was from Aizu.” “Even our lord resided in Kasama Castle in Hitachi until halfway through Lord Nagaao’s reign.” “I have heard that our grandfather Yoshikata and great-grandfather Yoshikatsu—all of them—moved here from Hitachi.” “That’s why Father always laughs when he sees me—‘You’ve got Kantō spirit in your bones,’ he says.”

“Lord Kuranosuke was born in Akō, but even that man already possesses Kantō spirit in his bones.” “From Kamigata westward, the land abounds in natural bounty, boasts fine scenery, and fosters refined culture—though this very richness breeds a tendency toward indulgence—yet the light of wisdom polishes humanity.” “In Hitachi, the winds are rough, the land is coarse, and the people are rough-hewn—but fortitude sits thick in their bones.” “It is by walking the middle path between these two and achieving perfect balance that Ōishi Daifu’s character is formed, I think—”

Chikara wondered why Priest Ryōsetsu—who had been close to his father for many years—now suddenly scrutinized him with such meticulous eyes and sought to dissect his character, but he could vaguely sense the sentiment behind it. It was because Ryōsetsu liked Father. It was because he trusted Father. And he thought it was because Ryōsetsu was concerned about the gravity of Father’s position at this juncture more than anyone else.

A bond unspoken.

There is nothing that requires fewer words than kindred spirits. If one says "Yeah" and another responds "Yeah," that alone says everything.

At Ryōsetsu’s customary request for the Go board, family members set up the board and stones between them. The quiet click-click of stones drifted from that very room. To those serving tea while mindful of Kuranosuke’s mood, and to the host and guest seated across the board in the study’s southern wing, there was not the slightest sign that either differed from their usual selves. Occasionally, Kuranosuke laughed.

Ryōsetsu’s laughter was especially boisterous. It was the moment when a gritty, scraping sound of stones shifting occurred.

“My lady, my lady.” When Ryōsetsu called, “Yes.” O-riku’s answer came, and after a brief interval, her figure appeared there. Ryōsetsu looked piercingly at the sheen of her pale face. O-riku averted her gaze. Her hair was not even disheveled.

“Well, My Lady.”

“Yes.”

“The celery I had left at the kitchen earlier.” “Would you prepare that as a marinated dish—perhaps with sesame dressing?” “I have been instructed.”

“Next—as always—the drink goes without saying, but…”

“Yes.” However, O-Riku appeared slightly hesitant as she observed her husband’s complexion.

Ryōsetsu intercepted her gaze. “Daifu, would sake be impermissible?” said Priest Ryōsetsu. Kuranosuke cast a fleeting glance—sharp enough to deflect Ryōsetsu’s pressing gaze—toward the priest. Next, he sullenly turned his face aside and pursed his lips toward the weeping cherry tree, whose color had completely faded over the past four or five days. “Would that not be acceptable? I am well aware of your mourning attire, of course, but if you do not drink, then I, a mere priest, cannot drink either.”

Kuranosuke reached into the Go stones. “One more game.” “Oh…” “O-Riku, make the preparations in the meantime.” “The side dishes should also be as usual.” Ryōsetsu placed a stone with a click, “Do you agree?” “Understood.” He spoke without inflection.

The days grew long in spring.

On the kaya wood board, white and black stones persistently filled the intersections. The scent of celery from the meal tray that had been brought beside them some time ago was now pervasive, but they had already forgotten about it.

“Daifu, how will you play this?” “Wait.” “Even if we wait, our resolve at this critical juncture—” “Wait.” “A siege?”

“Now then,” “Will you surrender at dawn?” “Rarely ever.” “First, let us proceed with composure.” “As you say.”

At the scent of celery, Ryōsetsu suddenly turned toward the meal tray. He demonstrated his composure by taking up a cup for a drink, then held it out before Kuranosuke's pensive face. "For a breather." "I'll partake."

“Will you drink? — Shall I pour?” Holding the sake flask, Ryōsetsu pressed his point. Though he himself had insisted on having the sake brought out, now that it was before them, “For you who mourn your lord—to pour like this would be improper. Perhaps I should refrain.” said Priest Ryōsetsu. “Please pour for me.” “Is this acceptable?” “I will not be constrained. A samurai’s life is broad and open.”

Ryōsetsu stretched his thick neck upward and slapped his knee. A cheerful voice, as if laughing from the ceiling, filled the room. Without pouring into Kuranosuke’s cup, he emptied the sake from the flask into his own teacup and drank it down. “That’s it.” “The path of a priest is broad, and bushido should be expansive.” What was the purpose of this game of Go? The grid of stones in his sleeve had already been disrupted; he gathered those that had spilled beneath the board and stored them away with a gritty sound, showing no reluctance. And while repeating this many times,

“Expansive… Yes, that’s it. I’m satisfied.” “With this, I am relieved.”

Placing his dirty heels on his sandals, he returned through the back garden with a carefree air.

Kuranosuke remained standing to see him off, his back to the edge of the veranda, but sensing something—a rough human voice in the distance—against his back, he turned to look.

A flower I shall not see

A masterless samurai—using a well-worn spear with a nine-shaku shaft as a staff, carrying an armor chest on his back, his hakama’s thigh guards hitched high and straw sandals on his feet—had come to the nagaya gate there yesterday as well. Today again, a stalwart rōnin—prepared in the same manner, with a sunburned face bearing sparse stubble—using his spear as a staff once more, his fierce eyes gleaming, slipped quietly through the gate into the Ōishi residence. “I beg of you!” He faced the entrance and spoke with chest thrust forward, but there came no response from within the house—only a shadowy figure that seemed startled by his voice rustling leaves in the rear shrubbery.

It was beneath a window near the guest hall. The behavior of the man, who had been crouching like a cunning thief or a cat, was far from ordinary. The moment their eyes met from afar, he dashed diagonally through the shrubbery and tried to flee outside the nagaya gate.

He wore navy gaiters around his shins and carried a weighted scale at his waist. He was undoubtedly a townsman, and what's more, likely a traveler who had recently arrived. The rōnin's spear suddenly turned sideways as he pursued with lateral steps matching the fleeing man's shadow between the trees, making skittering sounds, "I'll run you through!"

He thrust it toward the tip of his opponent's nose as the man leaped forward.

The ashen-faced townsman froze in place. With one hand planted firmly on his spear, his other hand already had a grip on the man’s collar, “You’re from out of town, aren’t you.” he glared fiercely. “W-w-well, I’m a merchant from Kamigata—I’m not doin’ anythin’ suspicious here, I swear!”

“You’re lying!” “Why in the world would I tell a lie? If you ask Hikobei the Tool Merchant—go ask around the established shops in Junkeibori. I’ve got my license right here—I travel through various provinces buying tools, I tell you!” As he shouted and flailed his hands at the grip on his collar, Yasusuke, an old servant who had been turning soil with a hoe in a ten-tsubo field beside the nagaya, “Huh?!” The moment he turned around, he came running with a hoe.

The man jumped up, but the hoe struck one leg hard. Yasusuke swung it overhead again and— “You’re a spy!” He shouted.

“A spy?” The rōnin released his grip on the collar, and the man— “Ouch!” —pitched face-first into the ground. “See? That’s a Shikoku accent.”

The spear's butt struck him in the lower back, and the man rolled three times. With his nose scraped raw and strawberry-red, he leapt up and fled outside the gate like a thrown cat. “Old man, does that sort come around often?” “How could we afford even a moment's carelessness or leave any opening? Well now, Lord Masaemon, you’ve come at last.”

“Is the chief retainer at home?”

“He is here.” “Just like yesterday, Lords Iseki Monsaemon and Tokubei—and Lords Okano Jidayu and Ōoka Seikurō too—all rōnin of our domain came calling. We had all manner of discussions.” “So they’ve rushed here as well?” “‘Even as rōnin,’ they said, ‘we’ve not forgotten the Asano family’s kindness.’” Yasusuke was already wiping his eyes. “Working the fields, old man?”

“I was told to divide the chrysanthemum roots.” “You’re doing something peculiar. Does the esteemed chief retainer mean to see these chrysanthemums bloom at this estate come autumn too?” “I thought it strange myself and pressed him about it, I tell you. Then the chief retainer said come autumn, whichever clan replaces the Asano family here would see them—flowers bloom the same whoever looks, and he didn’t want shriveled ones left behind. Since that makes sense, I tell you, I mean to do more than just the chrysanthemums—sow seedlings, cut back growths, burn every last fallen leaf too.”

While talking, Yasusuke showed him to the entrance, then drew water from the well into the foot-washing basin himself. It was a message from the inner quarters telling him to come up immediately. Nakamura Masaemon placed his spear and armor chest on the reception platform and proceeded through. “It has been some time.”

Unable to say more, Masaemon spoke only those words and bowed. They were former clansmen who had become distant memories even to the household members, and this was the fifth individual who had come visiting upon hearing of the recent incident.

The virtue of his deceased lord had come to be profoundly remembered anew, and Kuranosuke felt glad.

“I have come fully prepared. “...so that my wife and children might bear no lingering regrets.” “Though I may be of little use, even as a masterless samurai, I have not forgotten the kindness of my former lord’s house—not even in my dreams.” “I humbly ask that you make use of this unworthy self.” “On my way here, at Takatori and Hotate border passes, soldiers from various domains had already massed—two or three thousand strong.” “I found it strange that no swift measures were taken to prevent our domain’s horses and arms from falling into enemy hands.” “Be that as it may, both roadside whispers and the unified judgment of the provinces agree—the men of Akō will choose siege.” “Clad in ancient armor and bearing a single rusted spear, I hastened here. I beg you to recognize my meager sincerity and number me among the castle’s defenders.” “Though impertinent, I would repay our departed lord’s grace through death...”

In the depths of his urgent words lay something that struck at the core of human truth. Kuranosuke had a fragility he couldn't quite control in situations like these. He wore an unmistakably troubled expression. His hands on his knees and the bend of his back fidgeted restlessly because of it. And when the man's words ended, he bowed deeply with a feeling that his response was inadequate to the other's sincerity, "...I deeply acknowledge your noble devotion." he said in a low voice.

“What should I say… There are no words. I am deeply grateful.” “However, each of you is no longer a retainer of the Asano family.” “As for justice, one may praise it as an individual, but the laws of the realm will deem gathering rōnin to raise arms against the shogunate.” “Though your noble intentions do not tarnish our deceased lord’s honorable name, I ask that you bid farewell to the castle and withdraw.” “I stated the same to Messrs. Okano, Iseki, and Ōoka yesterday and was grateful for their understanding.”

Even beyond that, Kuranosuke had not altered his words; just as he hadn’t budged after half a day of arguing back and forth the day before. His initial look of consternation seemed as unyielding as a boulder, whether viewed from the side or straight on.

“I must get proper rest tonight.” After instructing that Masaemon be given supper, he retired early to his bedchamber. The following day being the 27th, he carried in his mind plans for a grand council within the castle walls that would decide the loyalties of every domain samurai.

The Departing Bird's Testament

The River to Cross

Sweat seeped through the lining of the lined garment, tracing white patches on the plain tea-colored surface like stains from old books. Muramatsu Sandaifu gazed at his father’s back and imagined a halo radiating from the salt-crusted sweat. When he considered what could wring such moisture from his father’s sixty-year-old frame, the corners of his eyes burned. “Father—Shosha Mountain is visible.”

“Hmm. It’s visible.”

On the uphill slope of the mountain pass, Kihee had panted considerably, but once they began descending, the elderly samurai kept the young Sandaifu behind him at all times and pressed onward hurriedly. Even between father and son, he remained stubbornly competitive. Atop Takatori Pass, which they had just crossed, about four hundred soldiers of the Himeji domain were stationed—preparing wartime barriers and lining up spears and guns to intimidate travelers—yet when passing through their midst, they calmly glared down at those troops without offering a single bow,

“Muramatsu Kihee, Edo-based retainer of the clan, and his son Muramatsu Sandaifu.” With just those words, they declared their names and waved as they passed through. A general of the Himeji domain, clad in armor befitting his considerable status, “Have you returned from Edo?” Even when he called out as if to acknowledge their exhaustion from the long journey, “Indeed.” exchanged curt greetings, “I see you are on an honorable military expedition. As they say, ‘peace in the neighborhood’—I recognize the hardships each of you endures. If fate allows, we may yet have the honor of crossing paths on the battlefield.”

Having said that, they briskly walked through the enemy camp. The voice of the Himeji domain general—who had laughed merrily behind them—still lingered in their ears. “I can see it! I can see it!” This time, it was Kihee who pointed. This was the castle town of Akō. This was the Chikusa River. This was the rocky shore of Misaki. Their pace quickened.

They reached the foot of the mountain. Soon, they arrived at the riverbank of the Chikusa River. “Son. Let’s rest.”

Kihee sat down on a rock. The tension from their grueling 160-ri journey seemed to finally ease as they caught their breath. He grabbed a hand towel and wiped the sweat from his ribs. “Now, Sandaifu.” “Yes!” “You will turn back here.” “What?” “Go back to Edo.”

Sandaifu made a resentful face, bent his knees, and pressed close to his father. “But this goes against our agreement.” “You insisted on coming along, so I yielded to your fervor and accompanied you this far. But once we set foot in the castle town, there will be no turning back.” “This river marks the boundary.—Reconsider and return to Edo.” “Take my place in caring for our elderly mother.” “And look after your frail younger brother.”

“You say such unexpected things. Have I not already bid farewell in this life to Mother and my younger brother? How could I turn back from here, abandoning your death? I will not return.” “That resolve alone fulfills both samurai duty and the way of father and son. Once you set foot in the castle town, you’ll be doomed to death—either through siege or martyrdom. There’s no need for you to perish as well.—Go back. Return from here.”

“I refuse. I will not!” “I have ordered—” With that, Kihee averted his clouded eyes, “Why won’t you obey?” he sharply scolded. Sandaifu understood his father’s feelings all too well. However, as a child raised in a household that had taught him thus, he resolved that even if he had to defy his father, he would not turn back from here. And while steeling his fierce resolve, his eyelids—contrary to that resolve—spilled endless, childlike tears onto the grass.

At that moment, someone had tied a horse in the shade behind them. Kihee turned his face in that direction and uttered "Ah!" under his breath—when from the other side “Hey.” A hoarse voice rang out.

On the horse’s back were an armor chest and a traveling trunk, balanced on both sides. The white-haired old samurai approaching from there with a beaming ruddy face wore a battle helmet and was clad in severe travel attire with arm guards and gaiters. It was Onodera Jūnai, the Kyoto Liaison Officer.

“If you were returning to your domain—it being on your route—why did you not stop at my humble Kyoto residence?” When Jūnai spoke, Kihee— “We’d heard word that the Resident Officer had already withdrawn.” “Preposterous! Would those dwelling beneath the imperial court’s august presence flee in panic like night-fleeing debtors? What with settling affairs and paying courtesies to the nobles—only when all was properly concluded did I hasten here.—But what are you doing here? You appear to be reprimanding Lord Sandaifu.”

“In that case...” They were both old men. Kihee explained the particulars as if he had found a sympathetic listener. Then, with a single word,

“That’s because you’re in the wrong here, old man. I side with Lord Sandaifu—take him along.”

“And with that,” said Jūnai.

Jūnai and Kihee were both sixty years old. Furthermore, Onodera Kōemon—Jūnai’s adopted son—was twenty-eight years old, just one year older than Sandaifu and still dependent on his family. But Jūnai had declared that depending on the domain’s stance, he intended to have Kōemon participate in either martyrdom or a castle siege. With this, Kihee could no longer insist on his own will.

“Lord Kihee, you have a good son and can face the domain’s people with pride.” “Come, let us go, Lord Sandaifu.” “Put the young ones to work—I’ll take the horse’s bridle. If you enter the castle town with that tearful face, you’ll be laughed at.”

When they crossed the Chigusa River, both father and son were already empty-hearted. The thought of dying serenely with their pillows aligned came to be considered.

Shrewd samurai On the 27th, 28th, and 29th, the members of the domain continued their grand council in the castle's great hall. Over these three days, they found themselves in a cauldron of fervor as though they had spent a lifetime's worth of emotions. From around the second council meeting onward, it became clearly visible that the domain retainers' stances had split into two distinct factions. (What gain could come from sharpening arrows against the shogunate?) (We would merely invite the ignominious label of rebels to no avail and sully our lord's name even beyond his death.)

Based on this premise, there were the peace advocates who sought to peacefully surrender the castle and then devise appropriate measures, and on the other hand— When the lord is dishonored, the retainer dies. Bushido allows for no dual paths. At this juncture, there is only death for us. A castle siege or martyrdom? Even if we were to request Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement, we cannot possibly surrender this castle and submit. They were divided into two factions: those who advocated peace and those who clung to hardline arguments and refused to yield. Even amidst this, there were of course those worldly-wise and clever individuals who intervened by raising trivial side issues—glib-tongued yet devoid of conviction—artfully whitewashing their own agendas. But such pretenses were swiftly seen through in this fervent atmosphere, dismissed as a matter of course by either faction.

The central figure of the moderate faction that insisted on first surrendering the castle without burdening the shogunate was Ōno Kurōbei.

“Let us all regain our composure for a moment.” “We are, so to speak, overheated at this juncture.” “Would it not be necessary to take a step back from the fire?”

With worldly composure, he spoke as if dousing water over people with fierce expressions. “There is some validity to Elder Ōno’s words.”

Kuranosuke, too, did not actively oppose this common-sense argument.

However, the ones who would not consent were the hot-blooded faction. They shook their heads obstinately. Veins bulging on their foreheads, they cursed it as Ōno's cunning, his cowardice, and a warrior's despicable attitude. "What do you mean by 'worked up'?" "It is no shame that we cannot remain coldly indifferent in the face of this great calamity that has befallen our lord's house." "We will take on the besieging forces for the castle takeover—we have no other resolve but to repay three generations of our lord's benevolence." "Cowards, get out!"

And with that, they filled the entire assembly with tragic resolve. To this as well, Kuranosuke showed his assent through his countenance. This chief retainer—which side was he truly on? It was only natural that some doubted whether he held firm convictions; rather, the inclination to favor Kurōbei’s clear-cut attitude was stronger, and his faction occupied the majority of seats.

“Shut up!”

Kurōbei answered their outcry with an outcry of his own. He did not for a moment believe his own argument lacked righteousness. He had no need to be lectured by young upstarts on the weighty responsibilities of being castle steward or the proper stance of a samurai—these truths were already deeply ingrained in him. But in him, youthful passion had long since withered away. Moreover, tackling matters with passion alone had always been a disposition he inherently disliked. In all matters—even their ironclad rule of *bushido*—unless he had thoroughly examined them through the light of wisdom and logic, he could neither consent to them nor manifest them in action.

On this point, he had always been viewed as far superior to Kuranosuke in both eloquence and social grace during ordinary times—and even now, at this critical juncture, he himself never for a moment considered himself 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 do the Honda family, Matsudaira family, or any other besieging forces hold against our domain?" "Are you all such savages that you can fight people you bear no hatred toward?" "Moreover, inflicting further suffering upon our subjects, bringing trouble to our main family and allied domains, and courting the disgraceful label of rebels—how any of that could constitute loyalty to our deceased lord was beyond Kurōbei's comprehension." "I will have no part in this." "If joining such folly is required, I would sooner vacate this seat." "Yet as castle steward, I cannot abandon my post here." "At the same time, I absolutely forbid any reckless siege."

"You bastard!"

At the back of the room, someone suddenly stood up. With brows furrowed in rage and gripping his sword hilt, he made a face as if about to lunge forward— "You—!" when those around him restrained him. Kurōbei stared intently in that direction with the unyielding face characteristic of an old man. The members of both factions clearly formed a silent standoff, their fervor drained away.

“However—”

At that moment, Kuranosuke turned his face toward Kurōbei. Kurōbei firmly met his gaze,

“Is my argument flawed?” “You may excel in logic. But in righteousness—how do you fare?” “Why?” “Though small in stature, the Akō Domain has nurtured samurai for three generations since our founding in Hitachi Province’s Kasama—over three hundred retainers who have received his benevolence. At this critical juncture, to shamelessly surrender the castle—how could we possibly fulfill the true purpose of our warrior honor?” “Then do you consider a castle siege acceptable?” “I do not consider it good. I see no alternative——. However, my true conviction lies in martyrdom—the best strategy is for us all to line up seated within the main gate and follow our deceased lord in death.”

“What—martyrdom?”

Kurōbei looked again at Kuranosuke's face. Was this man truly considering such a thing?

“What would dying achieve?”

“With sincere hearts, we shall humbly plead for Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement. If we do so, even the shogunate may perhaps deign to discern the true intentions within our retainers’ hearts.”

Kurōbei fell silent. There was something in his true heart that he couldn't bring himself to oppose in words. However, from among the former hardliner faction members, voices began to emerge arguing that the martyrdom strategy was too passive.

And so, in the end, First, they would dispatch envoys to plead their case and attempt to appeal to the Senior Inspector. If, by any chance, that proved futile, they would resort to a castle siege. This decision marked the final council, and the ill-omened month of March came to a close.

When April arrived, as if people's hearts had suddenly sunk into dejection, the castle interior grew utterly silent. Even when gazing across the samurai quarters of the castle town, a desolate stillness resembling that which follows a downpour lingered through the daylight hours.

(There now.) Kurōbei laughed coldly.

**Pledge**

It was the fifth day.

Today, an order had been issued for retainers to assemble regarding the distribution of the remaining granary stores and funds. Faces they hadn't seen in about seven days gathered there. Their dispositions had likely changed. Moreover, those managing matters today held a distinct awareness of money. Even through Kurōbei's eyes, he noticed several faces—those who had once voiced impassioned arguments—now maintaining a sobered silence. In place of greetings, Kurōbei personally walked around making sporadic remarks.

“Do you still consider dying to be loyalty?” “In the heat of the moment—anyone can die—”

Some did not answer, while others abruptly showed agreement with Kurōbei today. Even regarding the distribution of public funds, considerable objections were fiercely contested.

The allocation was, “Without distinction of status—per capita allocation.” This had been Kuranosuke’s proposal, but Kurōbei—alongside group leaders Tomomura Genzaemon, Okabayashi Bokunosuke, Itō Gozaemon, Tamamushi Shichirōemon, and others— “By land stipend allocation.” —insisted and refused to yield. Kuranosuke argued that high-ranking retainers would retain surplus even after selling weapons and household goods. Taking the position that superiors bore greater obligation to support lower-ranked retainers in such times, Kurōbei countered that those of higher status carried heavier familial burdens. They further contended that unlike low-ranking samurai who could not easily manage their affairs, society required consideration for the dignity of old families—raising endless rebuttals until the debate proved interminable. Ultimately, a compromise emerged through “reduction for high stipends.”

Under the land stipend-based allocation, since the distribution amounted to eighteen ryō per hundred koku—making one hundred eighty ryō for a thousand koku—the "reduction for high stipends" implemented a two-ryō deduction for each additional hundred koku as the stipend increased. In other words, starting from two hundred koku at sixteen ryō and three hundred koku at fourteen ryō, they scaled back allocations for higher stipends. Kuranosuke had relentlessly insisted that the policy should favor those below while sparing those above. In addition, donations to the Asano family temple and the dowry for Yōsen-in, the deceased lord’s wife (brought at her marriage), were kept separate and remained untouched.

Kuranosuke did not pay any attention to his own allocation. He secretly observed, "This has roughly sifted them out." To what extent would those returning today show changes after having received the money? He appeared to be taking no active measures, yet before he knew it, he had already gathered in his hands the blood-sealed pledges of nearly twenty men. The written pledges did not explicitly commit to either martyrdom or a castle siege. It was simply a matter of unified action—they had pledged to act entirely according to Kuranosuke’s judgment.

When had he spoken of such pledges and gathered them into his hands? Only he and those who had submitted them knew.

(There must still be true men left)

Kuranosuke observed thus. However, humans proved difficult to discern. Those scheming like Kurōbei were not worth discussing. Most theorists existed only for the moment. This came from never having known a life of profound emotion. Yet he considered it equally dangerous to display fervor too openly. Viewed through this lens, true men remained few. This was no matter to be carelessly disclosed—a grave affair demanding discretion. His eyes maintained patience, dull yet unyielding as stone.

The eleventh day.

The petitioners who had been sent earlier had returned. Their pleas had been utterly rejected. In the end, they had instead been made to return from the Todo family—a related feudal clan—carrying a surrender order demanding the castle’s opening.

Under the pretext of deliberating that outcome and preparing for a castle siege, when they circulated notices for reassembly the next day, the number of retainers who came to the castle did not even reach half of what there had been previously.

(Oh, that man—) And yet, even faces one would expect to be there were missing. Kurōbei was, of course, present. By this time, those who agreed with him had naturally gathered around him and formed a unified front. And today, as if they had coordinated their arguments the previous night, they unanimously refuted from their faction the folly of a castle siege. “No matter how many times I say it, it’s the same thing—but as castle steward and as your elder, I will speak my piece to the end.” “Each of you seems to have now found your personal honor too difficult to abandon.” “Such bushido is improper.” “For their own satisfaction, would they not trample both the honor of the deceased house and the peace of the neighbors all the same?” “Even I feel heart-wrenching grief over such an end for your house.” “However, what will adding more flames and shedding blood accomplish for something already crumbled?” “It’s idiotic—people will laugh and call it madness.” “Cease this—I won’t speak harshly, no—rather, I resolved today to come to the castle prepared, even if it takes Kurōbei’s very being to make them abandon this course!”

It was not a voice that could cry out in falsehood. He too had his own convictions. And bushido believes in that. Moreover, he felt troubled by the thought of surviving unharmed should others stage a castle siege and fall in battle. Arguing in this way was also for his own sake. Never before had Kurōbei’s eyes appeared so bloodshot. In contrast, those who had resolved on a castle siege mostly listened in silence, letting his words wash over them. It was a silent front, as though they were inwardly ridiculing him to death.

“Shut up!”

Suddenly, a voice rose from among them. Onodera Jūnai, who had not been seen at the previous gathering, was there alongside Muramatsu Kihee. Stomping heavily, the old man stood up and approached, "Lord Ōno."

and sat down before him. “What?!”

Kurōbei was trembling. His eyes held tears. The sense of justice he alone believed in had suddenly saddened and enraged him. “Leave.” “A coward serves no purpose staying here.” “Only those who remain will remain—” “That suffices.”

Indignantly, Kurōbei stood defiantly. He tried to say something to Kuranosuke, but his tongue tangled, rendering his words unintelligible.

“I take my leave!”

Then, next, Tomomura Genzaemon stood up. Tamamushi Shichirōemon stood up.

As if emboldened, those who followed also continued to exit the room one after another. The refreshing emptiness of vacant seats multiplied in an instant. More than half had left, but their absence was not lamented—it felt no more regrettable than losing a single tooth. “The air feels much clearer now.”

Yoshida Chūzaemon bared his large front teeth and laughed beside Kuranosuke.

(—Is there no one else who will stand?)

Kuranosuke turned away as if allowing a moment of respite. Those who remained were densely packed, leaving behind a solidified sense of cohesion.

Kuranosuke turned to those who remained,

“It’s grown dark. Shall we have a candlestick brought in?” he said. Before the candlestick arrived, Kuranosuke, for the first time, revealed a portion of his true feelings to the group—that they would not die there, he declared.

To those who had already sworn upon the pledge, there was no need to repeat it; but for those who remained after being sifted through, this was now a vital matter to entrust for the first time. (They would not die here)—that was the declaration. The meaning of that unspoken resolve reached every heart at once. Suddenly, a face flushed crimson swallowed hard and turned toward Kuranosuke. "—Nevertheless, to the utmost of our strength, it is only natural we entreat the authorities to grant Lord Daigaku succession to the house—even should it cost a thousand koku." "Whether this succeeds lies with heaven's will." "No matter what may come, the path we samurai in service must tread hereafter admits but one course." "No glancing left or right—it serves no purpose." "If born a samurai, die a samurai." "That alone suffices." "As for the place of death—I would have you temporarily entrust this decision to Kuranosuke. Are there objections?"

There were approximately fifty people remaining. Solemnly, shadows drew together with shadows. Thereupon, a candlestick was brought in.

Pulling an inkstone close, all drafted identical pledges, applied blood seals, and presented them before Kuranosuke. Among them was the name of Mimura Jirōzaemon, a menial of the kitchen staff. Moreover, fifteen-year-old Yauchi Uemonnana—still unable to part with his forelock—had also written and submitted his pledge.

Kuranosuke set those two sheets apart. He called the two and admonished them, but both merely stood with tears in their eyes and refused to consent. The entire group was moved, “Since they have pleaded so earnestly, it would be heartless not to include them.” “Chief Retainer, please accept their sworn pledges.” Together, they added their voices and pleaded to join. When permission finally came from Kuranosuke’s reluctant lips, Uemonnana smiled. A fair-skinned, beautiful boy with large, round eyes. No one wanted to kill this boy, but he himself was delighted.

Mimura Jirōzaemon of the kitchen staff was a low-ranking retainer with a mere seven koku and two bishis—so insignificant that until today he had never even been permitted to attend council meetings—yet the cultivation of bushido was not exclusive to those of high rank. Rather, when observing those who remained until the final day, there proved to be more among the low-ranking group who sought to live with integrity than among the high-ranking samurai. “Though it is nothing worthy,” Mimura Jirōzaemon said, “I have prepared a humble offering to celebrate everyone’s pledges being sworn.”

Jirōzaemon had brought cold sake and vermilion cups for the occasion. “Ah, you’ve been most attentive.” Kuranosuke raised a cup and passed it around in turn. How many days had it been since they last heard the word “joy”? The people looked back on these past twenty days as if they were distant years.

Evacuation Bundles

“Hey! Isn’t that Ōtsuya?” And someone called. Ōtsuya Jūemon, the townsman who supplied the castle, stopped his hurried, wide-striding walk and turned toward the smiling face—teeth visible—approaching from the darkness along the moat’s edge.

“Ah, is that Lord Yasōemon?”

“Where did you go?” “To Hamagata. An urgent matter came up there.” “You lot must be busy making money.” “Ah, how fortunate you townspeople are.” On his chin, the razor mark showed blue. Okajima Yasōemon—younger brother of Hara Sōemon—had just withdrawn from the castle and parted from his colleagues—his elder brother Sōemon, Sugino Jūheiji, Maebara Isuke, and others—right there at the main gate. “You’re too kind. With our lord’s tragic incident, such unscrupulous thoughts as money-making could hardly arise.”

“You’re lying.” Yasōemon’s laughter still carried the scent of sake he had shared with everyone in the castle. “No need to hold back at all. In such sudden upheavals of a domain, goods circulate; when goods circulate, townspeople profit. There’s not the slightest cause for hesitation. Samurai remain samurai, townspeople stay townspeople—each keeps their proper station. To walk the righteous path means maintaining that position without wavering or deception.” “You are quite right…”

“In times like these, townspeople should uphold the way of townspeople.” “Samurai have their own code of conduct.” “I think that whether you’re a farmer or a townsman, those who fully devote themselves to their path are the greatest.” “Then, is it permissible for townspeople to profit?” “However, unjust acts and exorbitant profits must not be made.” “Profit justly.” “From now on, there will also be other lords arriving in the domain.” “There will be celebrations, people’s hearts will be renewed—it’s quite a favorable wind for you townspeople.” “I can’t help but feel there’s some sarcasm in your words.”

“Ha ha ha! Surprisingly enough，you’re an honest man after all—even your trip to Hamagata must’ve been for business.”

“However, it was a trivial request, and given our long-standing relationship, I couldn’t refuse. We townspeople have also been performing considerable unpaid service during this turmoil.” “Official domain business?” “Since it’s official domain business, even if it brings loss or requires me to grind myself to dust, I wouldn’t complain—but this was an order from that stingy Lord Ōno.” “What orders did Ōno give?” “Since he is relocating to Osaka, there are seventy bundles of household items and over twenty loads of boxes and straw bags—isn’t it an unreasonable demand to insist they all be shipped by tonight? To begin with, given the shortage of cargo ships, I negotiated with the shipping agents and have only managed to load about half so far. The rest will likely have to wait until tomorrow, but if I tell him that, that old man will probably puff up his shoulders authoritatively and start spouting arbitrary demands again—so I returned here feeling utterly disheartened.”

“Has Kurōbei resolved to relocate to Osaka?” “――So, where is the remaining half of the cargo?”

“As there are still fifty bundles for Lord Kōnemon-sama’s share as well, we intend to keep them stored on our shop’s earthen floor and in our storehouse for tonight.” “I see. Show me.” “Wouldn’t it be rather dull for you to inspect them?” “No—I want to see them.” “I want to see just how much that miser Kurōbei has amassed—every last speck he’s scraped together until his hair turned white—if only for a good story.” He could not refuse the man who followed him. Ōtsuya guided [him] to his house and offered tea at the shopfront,

“This sake I’ve finally been given after so long will cool. Cold’s fine—pour me a cup.” Yasōemon sat on the entrance step, gazing at the mountainous stacks of goods piled in the large earthen-floored area. “Truly he’s a man of different character.” “The pity is Ōno Kurōbei wasn’t born a townsman.” He drained the sake bowl,

“Ah, I feel refreshed. Ōtsuya.” “Yes.” “Not a single one of these cargo bundles shall be shipped. The household goods supposedly stored in the storehouse by that son Kōnemon are likewise prohibited—no matter what excuses they bring forth, you must not hand them over.” “This is preposterous—we townspeople could never make such demands.” “Rest assured. Tell them Hara’s younger brother Okajima Yasōemon declared it so. Should they persist, say it requires Lord Ōishi’s explicit permission.”

“This is quite troublesome.” “The other party is a chief retainer, and his son is none other than Lord Kōnemon.” “If we say such a thing, we might be cut down for insolence.” “Ha ha ha.” “Before that happens, I’ll go silence Kurōbei.” “Between his attitude today and this meticulous scheming—he’s precisely the sort of samurai who obstructs the way of the warrior.” “A man not fit to stand upwind.” “And as if that weren’t galling enough—that wretch forgets his own misdeeds! Lately he’s been using some petty discrepancy between the treasury gold and ledgers as pretext, spreading rumors that I embezzled funds!” “Well then—since I’d been meaning to pay him a visit anyway—this is perfect timing. I’ll lay down a ward here to keep complaints at bay.”

About ten spears with mother-of-pearl hafts, oak hafts, vermilion hafts, and the like were bundled together, wrapped in straw sheaths, and propped up among the cargo. Yasōemon, stroking his face flushed with drink, went over and untied the bundle of rope. And, pulling out one nine-shaku oak-handled spear, “Ōtsuya, I’ve given strict orders.” He opened the lattice shutters with oil-paper doors and stepped out into the street, spear tip leading the way.

The emptied house with its occupants

“A hopeless lot beyond redemption.” “Even among fools, there are two breeds.” “Fools who look the part, and fools who don’t.”

Inside the mansion remained no household items of note anymore. Having left behind only a servant’s-room lantern, a dining table, and cheap dishes, Ōno Kurōbei’s family had gathered there in full traveling attire.

“Wet Nurse, don’t make him cry.” While handing the sake cup to his son Kōnemon, Kurōbei looked at the head of his colicky grandson sitting on the wet nurse’s lap. “He takes after you—the hair’s red.”

he laughed. Kōnemon poured sake for his father, “Grandchildren generally take after their grandfathers, they say.” “If he takes after me, that would be something—but who knows how many years we’ll remain rōnin. If this is how mediocrity takes shape, then the Ōno family will have reached its peak in my generation.” “How could that be?” “But in any case, even when faced with such circumstances, I prepared myself not to be driven to desperate measures like death or bloodshed.” “I’ll head to Kamigata and live out my remaining years in comfort.” “At first, I too earnestly considered Lord Daigaku’s future—how even with our lord gone, we must uphold the clan’s name and standing among neighboring domains. I played the villain for that cause more than once. But on this day of all days… somehow, I find myself wanting to laugh right here in the castle.” “Ōishi, as a man, is actually quite decent at heart.” “Impoverished low-ranking retainers and young samurai who can’t feed themselves without their lord—in a fit of passion, they prattle on about bushido and such. Even while recognizing the danger themselves, they find their feet stuck fast.” “When one’s called chief retainer or field commander, such becomes their lot.” “As for precautions against being outmaneuvered—I’d made preparations from the very start. At least I’ve avoided Death’s grasp.—What would dying accomplish?” “Tonight, Ōishi and his ilk are likely lying abed thinking things through.”

“Isn’t there talk of Okajima’s subordinates embezzling gold from the treasury amid the chaos and fleeing?” “Hmm, the accounts were quite unbalanced.” “But even on the battlefield, such cases exist.” “Do not speak of it further.” “He’s quite sharp-witted, isn’t he?” “I cannot bring myself to praise him for it.”

Kōnemon lifted the sake bottle and, “There’s no more sake.” “Wait, wait.”

“Is it time already?” “No—” He strained his ears,

“What’s that? Isn’t someone knocking at the front gate?” “It must be Ōtsuya.” “If so, they should come through the back gate.” “……” Tonight’s evacuation had been kept strictly secret from both the household and the townspeople. A guilty conscience had weakened Kurōbei’s resolve. Kōnemon too was startled. The knocking at the gate grew increasingly violent. It became immediately clear this was no ordinary visitor. The heavy latch began shaking.

“Open up! You can’t be hiding—show yourself, Ōno Kurōbei!”

There was no mistaking it—this was the voice of Hara’s younger brother they had just been discussing. It was Okajima Yasouemon. Kurōbei walked out of the room with a face that had sobered from drunkenness. “Stop it, Father.”

Kōnemon hurriedly grabbed his father’s sleeve. Kurōbei squinted his eyes,

“I won’t meet...” “Who would…”

he muttered.

The two men went to the entrance bay window and quietly peered outside. They also had to consider hiding places prepared in advance in case someone were to jump over the gate. Yasouemon was bellowing in a voice that carried to neighboring estates. “Since lights remain visible, this house cannot yet be vacant.” “Kurōbei and Kōnemon must both be present there.” “If you have ears, hear this!” “For one who bears the station of castle steward—to forget generations of our lord’s favor and slink away under night’s cover like a base coward—this reveals your utterly contemptible nature!” “Do you still dare call yourself a samurai? What became of those fine words you uttered within the castle?” “Those who defile our deceased lord’s name—it is precisely your sort I denounce!” “I shall spare your wretched lives, but should you ever again appear where our eyes might fall upon you—know I will show no mercy!” “Do you comprehend?! Brand this warning into your souls!”

A spear came flying over the gate roof and thunked into the shutter compartment of the side entrance. Kurōbei was swallowing bitter saliva. After a moment’s pause, Yasouemon’s laughter boomed loudly outside the gate.

Enrin-ji Tea Conference

Since yesterday, all domain affairs had been transferred to Enrin-ji Temple, the clan's prayer site, and it had become both a meeting place for the remaining retainers and a space for handling residual duties. Before the positions of the document boxes and desks they had brought in could be settled, Kuranosuke sat there. Within the castle walls, seasoned retainers such as Yoshida Chūzaemon, Onodera, and Hara remained and were likely already organizing areas like the keep, main bailey, and domain warehouse starting that very day.

“Even if we leave this castle, we’ll surely keep dreaming of nothing but this castle.”

Even as they muttered such things, the retainers’ faces had been strangely bright since yesterday.

From siege—because it had become surrender of the castle. Whether martyrdom or death in battle—no matter which way they turned, their only strategies had been ones of death—yet even if they had settled on surrendering the castle, if one were to ask whether there was joy in surviving here for even a few days, it was by no means so. If they truly prioritized survival above all else, they could have walked out of that council chamber at any time. There are no checkpoints that can block one from leaving Akō. On the final day, a pact was formed, and for the first time from Kuranosuke’s mouth—

“Surrender of the castle” the underlying intent behind his words had been revealed, “Would you not entrust matters of future plans to my judgment for the time being?” Since they had reached this point—with that line added to the sworn pledge and formally accepted—they understood these lives they now clung to would by no means endure long.

They would all die soon enough! There was nothing as clear as this future that lay ahead. Yet despite this, the sudden brightness that appeared on each of their faces—impossible to conceal—could only mean a profound change of heart.

Despair had turned into hope. They had been striving to rise from the devastation of defeat to claim victory. What had emerged as a vitality refusing to let them perish meaninglessly now manifested since yesterday in the raw intensity of the domain retainers' brows. Amidst this transformation—as if people had cast off mourning robes worn until two days prior—Kuranosuke alone showed no visible change from that first council meeting until now, remaining unaltered however one observed him.

Even now, amidst the busyness, he was exchanging casual talk with a messenger monk from Kakuzen-ji Temple. The monk left. Then came the chief priest of Kōkō-ji Temple. The donation register had arrived, so he had come to offer thanks. A similar greeting also came from Dairenji Temple. “Katsuta, something most peculiar has occurred—have you heard?”

Sugino Jūheiji, who had returned from outside, came to the corner of the main hall where a group of young retainers had gathered and said in a loud voice.

Katsuta Shinzaemon, Yatō, Mase, and others were gathered when Sugino Jūheiji returned and announced loudly: “What? What happened?” “Ōno Kurōbei fled in the night before last!” “Is this about Ōno again? If it’s about Ōno, I had a good laugh over that yesterday!” “However, there’s another story. It seems Yasouemon’s threat worked too well—Ōno panicked so badly that he left his infant grandchild with the wet nurse and forgot the child outside the ferry.” “No way!” “No—I just saw it with my own eyes.”

“Where?”

“The wet nurse apparently abandoned the child in town and went into hiding.” “The child was wailing in the alley between the townhouse and storehouse.” “People have gathered and are making a commotion, asking whose child it is.” “She had been getting milk from the wife of a nearby merchant.” “If the master is such a master, then the wet nurse is such a wet nurse indeed.” “Yasouemon also commits a sinful act.”

Seeming to have caught wind of it, Kuranosuke turned from a room and said.

“Sugino, bring that child to the temple and protect him.” “It is Kurōbei’s grandchild.” “I know.” “That very infant too is one who received our late lord’s benevolence.” Sugino descended the main hall’s stairs and went out to the courtyard, but no sooner had he done so than he hurriedly returned,

“Chief Retainer! Chief Retainer! The envoys from Edo affairs have arrived!” “Who? —” With that, Kuranosuke looked from the side chamber of the inner sanctuary toward the main gate.

Three swarthy faces, their sturdy shoulders aligned, could be seen approaching straight toward the main hall.

On the right end was Horibe Yasube, in the middle Okuda Magodayu, and on the left stood Takada Gunbei; they had already recognized the faces of those present and came to the foot of the stairs as if about to call out in greeting. Kuranosuke instinctively— (They’re here.)

He wore such an expression. To Uemonnana, the mediator, “Let them through.” That voice too remained devoid of emotion. From Muramatsu Kihee, Kataoka, Isogai and others who had earlier come from Edo affairs, word of these three men’s movements had already been relayed. Moreover, they had just received a sternly worded letter from Yasube’s adoptive father—the elderly Horibe Yahee who still remained handling Edo affairs—merely two or three days prior. Dusting themselves off, the three men came to the room where Kuranosuke waited. The sunlight cast a blue hue upon the large sago palm in the garden forecourt.

The Unspoken Implications

“Have you only just arrived?”

It was Kuranosuke’s first greeting. “No—we arrived late last night.” Gunbei gulped down the tea brought by the young acolyte. The three men all bore a uniformly fierce gaze. Together, these three men were esteemed disciples of Horinouchi Gentazaemon, the renowned swordsmaster of Edo at that time. Above all, Yasube’s sword was held in higher regard throughout the Kanto region than even the domain itself. Among the many refined gentlemen stationed in Edo, (I am an unrefined martial man) This persistent self-identification remained another distinctive trait of his.

According to reports, these three warriors had, soon after the incident,

(A hundred clever theories—none worth adopting. Kira lives unharmed. To claim the head of our late lord's sworn enemy—that alone would suffice.) They were said to be leaders of the radical faction who, honoring elderly Horibe Yahee as their chief, had sought to act using only those stationed in Edo.

How much Kuranosuke had been secretly tormented in his heart regarding this matter until today may never be known.

In what seemed misfortune but proved fortunate, even within Edo affairs there existed many level-headed individuals like those of the Ōno faction. Beginning with the Edo-based senior retainers Yasui Hikobei and Fujii Matazaemon, they stood foremost among them.

No matter how much they gritted their teeth or how confident they were in their swordsmanship, the problem remained: with only three men, how many steps could they charge into Kira’s compound? Now we must unite with Akō and together make our final stand at the castle— They must have resolutely traveled the 165 ri to come here. Kuranosuke read the radical fervor in the eyes of the three men and— This is troublesome— Maintaining a vague demeanor, he remained silent for a while before absently picking up his pipe and tapping it lightly. Then he took a scrap of paper from the desk’s edge and began twisting it into a cord.

“Chief Retainer—it has come to our understanding that even Ōmetsuke Araki Jūzaemon, the official envoy, has submitted an offer to accept the castle surrender. Is this mere rumor or truth?” “Have you already heard this?” “At the castle—from Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon.”

“Then there is no need for me to explain in detail.” “That is correct.” Okuda Magodayu, who sat at the edge, had his long eyebrows streaked with white twitch above sunken eyes. “Chief Retainer.” It was a voice turned defiant. As they waited to see what great rebuke might issue from that furious countenance, Magodayu pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. Tears fell pattering down. Here was a man of fifty-six years—a samurai—weeping.

Kuranosuke abruptly averted his eyes to the sago palm leaves. A single large black swallowtail butterfly drifted languidly. He watched it. "What kind of samurai are you?!" The voice finally burst forth from Takada Gunbei's lips. His shoulders trembled. He pressed his long sword tightly against his side, "What is this 'castle surrender'?" "I came here thinking there might at least be someone with backbone in our home domain—and yet you, as chief senior retainer, dare utter such words with composure." "Have you been cowed by neighboring troops?" "Is your life so precious?" "What is this?! At such a time—setting up desks in temples and fiddling with documents—is this the conduct of a samurai witnessing his lord's ruin?!"

Yasube also drew his knees closer, “In Father Yahee’s written instructions as well, it was stated that you, Kuranosuke, were the one to rely on in this crisis—yet faced with such unexpected words from you, I could do nothing but be dumbfounded.” “I understand that even the petition for Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement ultimately holds no hope.” “What further reason is there to hesitate, that you would shamefully surrender the castle?” “I wish to understand your esteemed intentions.” “Depending on your reply, we three shall make it clear that we have not returned to Akō in vain.”

A paper cord was tightly twisted around Kuranosuke’s fingers. Lips pressed thickly in clear displeasure answered silently—such hotheaded sentimentalists were more troublesome than the likes of Ōno and Tamamushi. —he must have been thinking. He had always detested passionate indignation from the very start. Kuranosuke was not one to carelessly invite even tears. Because he himself was prone to it, it became inevitable that his mental preparations would grow all the more meticulous in such moments. 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 it means to grow cold—) he tried thinking. And he enveloped himself in the vague complexion of his own face. “—You are quite right.” Eventually, he answered. It was one of his oft-repeated phrases.

"But—" he added. “My lords—merely surrendering the castle does not mean all matters have concluded.” "There remain future considerations." "We have already declared our compliance to both the shogunate and Lord Toda Saemonnojo—is there any alternative left?"

Okuda Magodayu, who had been bowing his head between his angular shoulders, abruptly raised his eyes. "What you just mentioned—these 'future implications'—to what do they refer?" "Well..." He picked up his kiseru. Yet rather than filling it with tobacco, he let it idle upon his knee, "I must by all means confirm Lord Daigaku's safety..."

“Is that all?” “In any case, will you not entrust this matter to me?”

There was nothing to grasp hold of; their anger found no outlet. Yasube stood up, exchanging glances. This man left, casting a scornful glance as if he had concluded they were unfit to accomplish the task together. And the three men lined up their backs and whispered to each other while tying the cords of their straw sandals on the veranda of the main hall. “In that case, let us consult Okuno Shōgen-dono, the chief retainer. If we tap his chest, there should be some resonance.”

As they left indignantly, from outside the temple gate came Sugino Jūpeiji returning with an infant in his arms. He walked toward them, clumsily rocking the wailing child—who cried as though aflame—in his awkward embrace. “Are you leaving already?”

Jūpeiji’s round face had a youthful charm. “Whose child is that?”

Gunbei’s tone seemed to reproach not the matter itself but rather his carefreeness in holding an infant at such a time. “This is Ōno Kurōbei’s grandchild, you know.” “To have such a terrible grandfather and father.” “A pitiful child who was left behind along with the wet nurse in their haste during the evacuation.”

Gunbei peered briefly, “It resembles him.”

He muttered scornfully and caught up to Yasube, who was walking ahead. And, letting out a deep sigh, “It’s no good—bushido is no longer of Genroku.”

He spat on the ground.

Cleanup

The sound of the carpenter’s chisel resounded clearly against the moat water. They were repairing the decayed sections of the main gate’s drawbridge. On the embankment of the second bailey, the sedge hats of herb-gathering women were crowded in great numbers. On the pine tree, the gardener was climbing. On the road, foot soldiers were directing the sweeping lines. The tidying of the castle was completed. The cleanup would also soon be completed. They had compiled inventories of everything from the stored weapons and equipment and civil administration ledgers to the provincial maps, placed each item neatly in its proper location, and were awaiting the arrival of the shogunate’s envoys.

Having received the shogunate’s order, Araki Jūzaemon and Sakakibara Umenosuke—the two men who had arrived at Akō’s lodging as deputy envoys for the castle takeover—conducted a preliminary inspection of the castle on the day before the formal handover was to take place. They inspected the extensive areas of the main keep and second bailey, yet the soles of those people’s white tabi socks remained unstained. The grand corridor was gleaming brilliantly. The weapon adornments were magnificent. The village registers, salt field maps, and tax ledgers were arranged to be understood at a glance.

“I would like to offer you a humble cup of tea.” When Kuranosuke made this proposal, “Understood.” The envoys were magnanimously escorted.

This was the sitting room from Lord Takumi no Kami's time. As the aroma of tea drifted through the air, the retainers lining up could not prevent their lord's visage from rising behind their eyelids. At that moment, Kuranosuke prostrated himself before both envoys and declared: "We humbly accept the order to confiscate our lord Takumi no Kami's castle lands due to his regrettable error." "Now that our lord has perished, our domain fallen, and we understand Lord Kira remains unharmed on the opposing side, we retainers ought to follow the path of self-determination. Yet with Takumi no Kami's younger brother Daigaku still remaining among us, we have no choice but to cling to life awhile longer and await His Majesty's merciful decree—this alone constitutes our humble resolve." "Previously through Lord Toda Umenosho's mediation, we earnestly entreated that our petition might find favor. Should even the faintest thread of hope remain possible, we all united vow to fulfill our duty as retainers before our deceased lord's grave, serve the shogunate foremost among all obligations, apologize to every soul under heaven for our transgressions, and inter these worthless bones beneath the earth." "We humbly implore your compassionate consideration."

He said, pouring his long-held resolve into his words. “…………”

The two envoys stood silently, only exchanging glances. They passed through several rooms and came to the great hall.

Heat-haze-like sun shadows shimmered on the black lattice ceiling. Kuranosuke once again prostrated himself at the feet of Araki Jūzaemon, who was gazing up at them, “Please behold—though ours is but a small domain, three generations of history have accumulated within this main keep.” “As a bulwark of the Tokugawa house, this castle was not built here in a day—it stands through the meritorious deeds of our domain’s founder, Asano Umenosho, and the loyalty of successive generations that earned us this esteemed favor. Even our late lord Takumi no Kami never forgot this truth in his waking or sleeping hours, constantly exhorting us retainers to devote ourselves wholeheartedly to loyal service. That such an unforeseen blunder has now occurred fills us with profound regret.” “Alas, if Your Honors would but grant Lord Daigaku even a sliver of your magnanimous forgiveness, we would never cease to revere your noble benevolence through all eternity beneath the earth.” “Though we tremble at the audacity of pressing this earnest entreaty as a grave offense, we implore you to deign to keep it within your hearts.”

The retainers attending nearby, their hands at rest, were struck by Kuranosuke's quiet voice, their eyelids barely able to hold back tears as they struggled not to weep. The two envoys still maintained their silence. After they started walking,

“Kuranosuke’s appeal—as a retainer, it seems inevitable.” He muttered in a low voice.

However――that night, there came an invitation from Jūzaemon to Kuranosuke,

“Today I have fully witnessed your sincere intentions.” “All matters were handled splendidly.” “Upon our return to the capital, this shall surely reach His Majesty’s august hearing.”

“I see,” he said. He did not mention Daigaku by name but had managed to sway Jūzaemon’s heart.

The next nineteenth day was finally the day to part with the castle. After leaving Araki Jūzaemon’s lodging, Kuranosuke immediately returned to the castle. After spending the night at their respective posts, he addressed the retainers on guard, “Tonight still belongs to our deceased lord’s castle! Guard the gates and fires without fail.” he went around encouraging them.

As night seemed to approach dawn, the distant sound of a conch shell resounded.

When he climbed up to the castle keep and looked out, the star-filled sky was coldly twinkling. The castle town was still dark, and the roofs had not yet risen into view. Threading through the vast, lacquer-like darkness, there was a line of torch fires streaming from Takatori Pass over the Chigusa River toward the castle town. Needless to say, these were the troops from the Himeji, Okayama, and other domains who had been stationed at the border with cannons at the ready for several dozen days prior, preparing for such an eventuality. Upon closer inspection, there were also some approaching the castle town and preparing positions nearby. These must be the ranks of Lord Wakizaka Awaji no Kami of Harima Tatsuno, today’s chief envoy for receiving the castle.

Furthermore， when he turned his gaze toward the sea， pale， slender waves already glimmered there， and warships from various domains formed naval battle lines like a pod of whales， enveloping Akō territory from behind. Feeling the chilling wind on his temples， Kuranosuke stood. He felt as though he could stand there forever without growing weary of standing. In my lifetime， awaiting such a dawn was something I had never imagined. This darkness—he thought—was something he must delve into deeply within his heart and examine. Should negligence ever arise in his heart， he resolved， he would close his eyes and recall this darkness at once.

It was not that he believed in idle Buddhist teachings. Yet with firm conviction, he thought: Tonight, the soul of our deceased lord Takumi no Kami must surely have come to dwell within this castle. He imagined his lord's spirit now resting a hand upon his shoulder, both of them gazing intently at this world that seemed made of pure regret itself. From the Ni-no-maru forest, crows beat their wings and rose in a flock. Even their cawing struck his heart with portentous meaning.

A conch shell sounded. Before long, the sound of drums flowed from the encampment of the castle-receiving envoys. The sea and sky separated into two distinct entities with each passing moment, growing paler and paler, until at last the crimson sun’s radiance raced across the sea, dyed the stone walls, glittered among the trees, and blazed brilliantly upon every corner of the castle’s roof.

What indescribable beauty this castle we were handing over to others possessed that morning.

"That’s right—the Hour of the Rabbit."

Along the moat of the opened main gate, a troop of soldiers guarding the chief envoy’s passage had already begun forming ranks. (Farewell, Akō Castle—)

Having declared this in his heart, Kuranosuke looked around once more. The sole remaining freshness lay in how thoroughly every visible corner had been cleaned.

Yonezawa Reinforcements

萠黄唐草

At present, there was nothing else to do but cast a line. When he thought of himself living off a high stipend like this, he sometimes felt a sense of shame—not so much toward his master, but rather toward the peasants planting tax rice in the fields. Shimizu Ichigaku was silently casting his line from the Kira River embankment once again today.

The rapeseed flowers darkened, and while this unfolded, the fields, mountains, and Atsumi Plain all turned completely green. Nearly two months had passed since arriving in Mikawa Yokosuka Village in mid-March. Here, beyond the turning of calendar pages, no changes could be discerned. Yet during the Edo incident, Lady Tomiko - wife of our master Lord Kōzuke no suke who had been residing at Kezōji Temple - had abruptly departed this place, while villagers incensed by their lord's peril had grown so restive that containing them proved troublesome; though even that unrest settled naturally once the Asano family's punishment became known. Ichigaku ought to have been able to return to Edo by now, and he himself felt compelled toward homecoming - yet there came a missive from Chisaka Hyōbu, Edo steward to Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu of Yonezawa whose interests were inextricably tied to the Kira house, and within it...

The directive stated: “As Attendant Guard Kimura Jōhachi will soon be stopping by there, you should wait within the domain and return to the capital together.” As for what business his colleague Kimura Jōhachi had, where he was headed, or approximately when he would stop by here, Ichigaku could form no conjecture whatsoever. Yet he could not entirely fail to infer the intentions behind Chisaka Hyōbu’s order for him to remain in the territory until then. For it stood to reason that Ichigaku too should recognize how some reaction—great or small—would inevitably arise from that economically-minded, meticulous brain’s assessment of how events were unfolding.

“Ah, it’s biting!” “Sir, you’ve got a bite!” Behind him, someone suddenly spoke. The shadow of a townsman carrying luggage had fallen from the embankment to beside the wicker basket. Ichigaku noticed the float sinking into the water and nimbly raised his rod. The bait had been taken. Drops from the line glistened as they traveled down to his hand. He scooped the hook and attached the bait—then, riding the wind, tossed it onto the water’s surface with a plop. “—Catching anything?”

The townsman squatted down beside him.

“……” Cutting through the quiet ripples between the reeds, water striders and freshwater shrimp drew small crisscrossing patterns across the surface. The white bellies of fish occasionally glinted as they dove along the riverbed.

“—There’s some here!” The townsman lit his tobacco and peered into the wicker basket. At the bottom of the wicker basket, there were no fish scales. “Sir, isn’t the depth of your float a bit too long?” “……” Ichigaku remained silent, as though wordlessly declaring the man a nuisance. The smoke smoldering from the townsman’s tobacco appeared to be western Japan tobacco. And not Awa tobacco or Satsuma tobacco either—it was Chinese-produced. Thinking about such things, he paid no attention to his 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 a surprisingly light tan. When their eyes met, he suddenly forced a flattering smile, “Sir, try raising the line a bit sooner. You’re a bit too late.”

Ichigaku muttered as if talking to himself, “Let’s go back.” When he smoothly lifted the rod, a small dace with bait in its mouth hung from the line.

The townsman laughed again.

With an utterly humorless expression, Ichigaku reeled in the line bearing the dace that had fallen into the grass and stood up. Not far from there stood his family home where his aged parents lived. In this Yokosuka Village, they were generations-old settled farmers - their two large main houses, thatched gate, living hedge fence, and zelkova windbreak remaining entirely unchanged since his childhood.

As it was the busy planting season, all the family members were out in the fields. The only one present was the elderly mother, sewing her grandson’s clothes on the veranda; when she caught sight of Ichigaku, “Shirobei.” “Did you catch any today?” the elderly mother said. Shirobei was Ichigaku’s childhood name. This mother did not seem to take much pride in having birthed a 100-koku stipend samurai from a peasant’s belly, for even as the years passed, she continued calling him “Shirobei”—just as she had during his snot-nosed days—without ever changing.

Ichigaku replied in the same rustic dialect, “No luck. Didn’t catch a damn thing—wasn’t even fun, so I came back.” “Didn’t catch a damn thing from the get-go—wasn’t even fun enough to stick around.” “You’re good with the sword, I’ll give ya that—but you’ve been lousy at fishin’ since you were a snot-nosed brat, I tell ya.” “Hahaha. “Guess you’re right.” “Short-tempered, I tell ya—galloping wild horses, clubbing folks with a stick—you’ve always loved that, but patient work just ain’t in your nature. Even your dead Grandpa said so.” “I’ve changed plenty since my brat days, but to you, Mom, I still look the same.”

“You’re just bottlin’ it up inside.” “A body’s born nature don’t change ’less they get born anew.” “So I’m cursed to be a hopeless case then.” “You don’t mind your ways proper-like in samurai service—it’ll end bad for ya.” “Lord Asano Naganori’s proof enough o’ that.”

Pale persimmon flowers lay scattered across the ground beyond the veranda so thickly that straw sandal prints could form in them. Ichigaku placed his fishing rod beside the shed and returned, “Mom, whose is this?” As he sat down, he picked up the package beside him.

A small furoshiki cloth patterned with sprouting yellow arabesques wrapped around three or four ledger notebooks, its knot securing one weathered yatate. Secret Correspondence “That thread merchant must’ve forgotten it here, I tell ya.” “I just bought some needles from him.” “That traveling merchant?” “That’s right.” “Don’tcha go spoutin’ such pointless crap.” “Who said that?” “You did, Mom.” “Don’t be ridiculous—who’d go blabberin’ such things? The things you told me to keep quiet about—I ain’t said a word to the villagers.”

Beside the house, a figure could be glimpsed intermittently through the windbreak, circling toward the gate. At the white of the sedge hat, Ichigaku nodded to himself, thinking that the thread merchant he had met on the embankment had come to retrieve his forgotten item.

From outside the gate, the sedge hat peered inside. He was indeed a traveling merchant, but different from the man earlier. He had dropped a travel sword, was short in stature, and had sharp eyes. “Oh—this house!”

And the man, catching sight of Ichigaku, strode through the gate. He too had momentarily failed to recognize him. “Oh—Kimura Jōhachi.” “What’s got you so surprised?” “What’s with that getup?” “This?” Jōhachi lowered his eyes to his cotton-striped kimono, “There’s… a small matter.” “Of course there must be circumstances—but in this sudden guise, you hardly resemble yourself.”

“I can’t afford to be recognized. “Anyway, I need to wipe off this sweat—where’s the well?” “That’s the one.” When he pointed, Kimura Jōhachi held 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 split bundle there and walked toward the stone well at the corner of the garden.

From the fields behind came drifting a rice-planting song. The elderly mother gathered thread scraps into her sleeve and began boiling water in the dim tea room. The well pulley creaked sharply again and again in the garden corner.

A moment later, the thread-selling traveling merchant from earlier suddenly appeared. There, finding Ichigaku—whom he had met on the embankment—present, the thread merchant looked momentarily surprised but bent slightly at the waist,

“My deepest apologies. I seem to have forgotten my writing set and account book wrapper here. Would they happen to be around here?” “This one?” “I humbly thank you.” As he tried to leave—wrapping the small furoshiki into the bundle on his back while tying a knot at his throat—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—

“Huh?!” With that, he spun around and suddenly dashed out through the gate. “Damn it!” As Jōhachi gave chase with a terrifying look, Ichigaku—startled by the commotion—stepped into his sandals. By the time he stood outside the fence, Jōhachi and the thread merchant had already caught up on the distant ridge path, their travel swords drawn against each other in a fierce exchange of blades. The rice-planting women and men cried out in surprise from the fields. Ichigaku stood with his arms crossed, watching.

Even among the attendants of the Kira household, there were not many who—whether wielding spears or swords—could hold their own as proper samurai if cast into any other clan. However, Kimura Jōhachi and Kobayashi Heihachirō alone were so exceptional that they might rather be called overqualified for the Kira household; indeed, they stood head and shoulders above even when measured against Edo's swordsmen circles.

(It's Jōhachi—) Having judged the situation thoroughly safe, he had been waiting for Jōhachi to return while calmly observing his actions with a laugh. But as Jōhachi, carried by momentum, pursued fiercely onward, he unwittingly slipped one foot into the ditch beside the ridge path, sending up spray. "Ah—…"

Ichigaku, knowing it was already too late, did not move. The thread merchant abandoned Jōhachi, whom he could have cut down if he wished, without so much as a glance, and fled headlong into the distance. By the time Jōhachi, covered in swamp mud, had clambered up, that figure had already become a distant sight. Clenching his lips in frustration, Jōhachi returned as if giving up. “What manner of man is that?”

Suppressing a hint of amusement, Ichigaku asked,

“He’s an Akō retainer.”

With that, Jōhachi headed straight back toward the well.

“Hmm… An Akō retainer, then…” "I believe it was certainly Chikamatsu Kanroku, the mounted guard. "I distinctly remember that face, yet I can’t quite recall it. “We can’t afford to be careless with our secrets either.”

“Seems you knew earlier too.” “I should know. These past two months, I’ve been frequently encountering them even in Akō’s town, and entering clan households’ mansions under the guise of tool purchases.” “So you went to Akō?” “Yes.” “By whose orders?” “Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s confidential orders.” “Remarkably swift indeed…”

While stepping on persimmon flowers, Ichigaku went to the house, brought his yukata from the main building, and gave it to Jōhachi. While putting it on to change,

“What a waste—but even as an enemy, he seemed a man of some caliber.” “Could they have stolen some document that’s come to our household?” “Such a thing is impossible. However, given that situation, it seems even Akō has people with some backbone.” “There are.” Tightening his lips, Jōhachi stared intently at Ichigaku’s face. Ichigaku placed his foot on the edge of the veranda while,

“Well, let’s settle down and talk.” “How’s your stomach holding up?” “I’m empty.” “Want some soba.” “I’ll make arrangements.—Mother, would you prepare soba?” “A friend from Edo wishes to partake.”

Having said that, Ichigaku hid together with Jōhachi in a back room that his late father had used as a retirement chamber.

Shirōppe of the Village

“I hear the surrender and disbanding of the Akō domain concluded without incident, but what of the rōnin’s movements afterward?” As soon as he sat down, Ichigaku asked.

Jōhachi meticulously recounted his observations from the time he had first infiltrated under the guise of a tool buyer, “After handing over the castle to Wakisaka Awaji-no-kami, the castle-receiving envoy, some departed for Edo and the capital region while others withdrew to rely on relatives in nearby villages—so it might be said that the handling of Akō has reached a conclusion. But for your household, rather, isn’t this now the time for vigilance?”

“So as the rumors say—are they plotting something?” “I saw it that way.—On the surface, they feign obedience, but…”

“But will their unity persist even after their domain lands have been confiscated and all personal stakes severed?” “What remains now is simply bonds between people—but seeing how smoothly this castle surrender was handled, I realized there exists one remarkable figure among those three hundred-odd rōnin. As long as that man exists, even with Lord Asano dead and our domain confiscated, Akō cannot be called destroyed.” “When speaking of notable figures in Akō—would it be Okuno Shōgen or Ōno Kurōbei?” “Or Hara Sōemon?”

“Everyone thought so. “However, when we examine the results, it becomes clear that everything had been driven by Ōishi Kuranosuke’s power—a man who had always been called a mediocrity. “That man—Lord Chisaka Hyōbu had also warned us to be cautious of him—is indeed someone we must keep our eyes on from now forth.” “And where has Kuranosuke withdrawn to?” “He intends to move to Yamashina in Kyoto soon and has even prepared his belongings, but since around last month he seems to have developed a boil on his left arm accompanied by a high fever and was still recuperating at Yasuke’s house in Ozaki Village, a short distance from Akō’s castle town. “So I too, thinking to first report back to Lord Chisaka at this point, had withdrawn from Akō and am on my way back.”

Outside the room, at that moment, the elderly mother’s voice sounded,

“Shirō. “I’ve prepared the soba, so I’ll bring it there.”

Ichigaku turned around, “Just leave it in the hearth room—we’ll come eat there.” “Ma, have some with the guest too.” “No need to hold back—he’s my friend.” “Well ’bout the sake—ya drinkin’ or not?” “I’ll drink! I’ll drink!” “I’ll drink! I’ll drink!” was all 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 their travel attire. The face of Jōhachi, whose once townsman-style topknot had been forcibly reverted to a samurai-style 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 from there, the old mother’s eyes were wet. “Shirō... At my age... Don’t know when I’ll die...” “Even if I fall ill, there’s no need for you to come all this way neglectin’ your lord’s duties.” “You better not forget your lord’s favor.” While watching her son fasten his straw sandals, the old mother blew her nose.

Kimura Jōhachi moved ahead,

“Thank you for your hospitality.” He bowed politely and tied his hat cord. As the two figures walked along the ridges between young rice fields, the planters stood up from their work and waved. Ichigaku raised his hat high in response.

Whether they were nieces, nephews, or cousins—everyone in the fields was connected by some bond. For these good families under the single patriarch of the Kira household too, he felt compelled to fulfill his duty. When they came beneath Keizō-ji Temple—the ancestral family temple of the Kira household—the two men removed their hats and bowed at the stone steps. For Ichigaku, this place held memories that ran particularly deep. Back when he’d been a bowl-cut boy chasing cicadas through summer days until his skin turned earth-brown from sun—there had been noble visitors who often came to this temple seeking cool air. They were Lord Kira Yoshinaka and his wife.

Lord Kōzuke-no-suke had commissioned three statues during that period—the founder of the Kira clan, its restorer, and himself—fulfilling his long-held vow to enshrine them in this temple. The man enshrined at the center and he as he was now, having returned to his hometown, seemed like entirely different people. That Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, having come to know him at some point, took notice of Shirōppe, who was often dashing about the temple grounds and back mountains,

(That boy has potential. I want to take him to Edo, but...)

he had confided to the chief priest. The village's Shirōppe had become a samurai with that as his motivation. Since becoming Shimizu Ichigaku, this marked his fourth homecoming, but somewhere within him lingered a sense that this might be the last. In any case, it was unthinkable that his master’s life would remain safe and sound as things were. As someone who would confront the enemy with his own body in an emergency, he had recently come to recognize his own existence.

Even among retainers of the same Kira household, Kimura Jōhachi’s upbringing was somewhat different. He was a samurai through and through. He had been a retainer of the Uesugi family of Yonezawa. He had been transferred to the Kira family’s retainer register after Tomiko, the daughter of the domain lord, married into Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s household. Therefore, he constantly visited the Uesugi family in his hometown, and moreover, he was a man deeply connected to Hyōbu—the hereditary chief retainer ambiguously referred to by society as either “Chisaka of the Uesugi” or “the Uesugi of Chisaka.”

(As long as these two remained with Kira—)

And so, the two men secretly took pride in this. There was still Kobayashi Heihachirō in Edo. No matter how the Akō rōnin might scheme, as long as these three crows surrounded their master’s inner circle, they had silently vowed not to let even a finger touch him.

Stones speak.

Edo was already in the heat of June. As one moved from Shinagawa-shuku toward Takanawa, even the sea breeze carried a lukewarm oppressiveness. The highway lay parched white, and whenever oxen, horses, or packhorses passed, flies chased the dust like scattered sesame seeds.

“Hot!” Kimura Jōhachi, his face crimson and scorched by the sun, vigorously fanned himself with a folding fan as he called out, “Shimizu—” and looked back.

Ichigaku, wiping his chest hair with a hand towel he had wrung out at a roadside well, caught up. “Maybe because I’ve been in the countryside for a while—this heat hits harder than usual.” “Today is especially harsh.—By the way, shall we proceed to Lord Chisaka’s as we are?”

“He must be waiting eagerly.” “But both of us, with these sweaty bodies—” “No need to fuss. Announcing we’ve just arrived—rather than tidying ourselves up and making a sluggish visit—will put him in a better disposition.”

“Then—”

As they turned their feet—which had been heading straight along Takanawa Highway—and began ascending Irayamizaka Slope, stone dust chipped away by chisels flew over from the stonemason’s workshop at the corner.

Four or five stonemasons were working without looking away. Among them, one stonemason was tapping his chisel against the face of a stone that had already been shaped into a monument. Abruptly, Ichigaku stopped before them.

“…” Jōhachi too found himself staring fixedly at the characters the stonemason was carving. He thought inwardly that it was an impressive monument. Even as they observed the stonemasons’ work, it seemed different from merely carving an ordinary stone monument. Reikō-in den Zen Chōsan-dayū Suimō Genwa Daikoji Both men gazed at the characters—which could be read this way even when inverted—with a sense of wonder. Needless to say, this would soon become Lord Asano Naganori’s tombstone. Reflecting on this, Sengaku-ji Temple stood nearby, and the twenty-fourth day of this month would mark exactly one hundred days since the palace assault.

“Stonemason!” “Yes?”

Raising startled eyes, the stonemason stopped his chisel.

“This monument—may I ask who commissioned it?”

“It was commissioned by Lord Asano Shikibu-shōyū of Imai-chō, but—”

“Hmm… The residence where Lady Yōsen-in, honorable widow of Lord Takumi-no-kami, resides—” “That is correct.” “Who comes as messengers?” “It would be the steward.”

“Anyone else?” “The rōnin Lord Horibe, Lord Okuda, and other distinguished persons occasionally come to pay their respects.”

“I see. Is everyone well?”

“As for your lord...” “Though I too am of Akō, having kin in Edo brought me here from our domain. When first setting foot in Edo and beholding my lord’s monument—such fateful connection—tears welled unbidden.” “Ah... So you gentlemen are also from Akō—” At this, the stonemason’s manner grew familiar. “The sun beats fierce there. Come hither and take barley tea.”

“Don’t trouble yourself—we’d only be in the way of your work.” “Not at all—when I think of you sirs’ hardships, folks like us being so carefree feels almost wasteful. Hey, Katsukō!” “Yes?” “There were some peppermint candies, weren’t there? Go tell the old woman to make tea and bring it here. Sirs, the well water there’s cold—why don’t you wipe your faces? You all, take a rest.” “Then we’ll take you up on cooling off.” Under the reed-screen shelf at the veranda’s edge, Shimizu Ichigaku and Kimura Jōhachi sat, posing as Akō retainers.

Tatsuzō, the stonemason, fully embodied the brash disposition of an Edo native. In front of the two camp stools, he too settled himself down for a smoke break, “You’ve had quite the ordeal—traveling all the way from Akō in this blazing heat must be unbearable.” “I’ve heard quite a bit about the rumors over there—they say Lord Ōishi handled the envoys for the castle surrender splendidly, showing the resolve of Akō samurai for all to see.” “Do they say the same in Edo as well?”

“To be honest, there’s some among us who badmouth him too.—Hey Katsukō, didn’t you hear ’bout it at the bathhouse? What’d they say again—that crazy verse?”

The craftsmen hesitated to answer, but Tatsuzō tilted his head and, "That's right.—If you step on Ōishi expecting a boulder, you'll find he's just a pumice stone that flies away—or so they say." "……But I don't think so." "What's the point of fighting the shogunate's envoys?" "It's a fool's death." "Even if Lord Ōishi were the type to do such a foolish thing—which he isn't—there must be other wise men as well." "I'm sure their resolve to act isn't any different from what's expected—if they don't make their move soon, it would all be a lie. Well, that's just a townsman's thinking, but I'm praying for it all the same."

“Have Horibe and Okuda also come here and said as much?” “Not at all. They wouldn’t let so much as a word slip from their lips. …But folks say they’re up to somethin’ secret-like—Lord Horibe an’ others, sometimes seven or eight of ’em, sometimes over ten, rentin’ boats from that net boat house down yonder an’ headin’ offshore. You sirs must be thinkin’ this ain’t gonna end quiet-like neither—but please, take care o’ yourselves.”

“Ha ha ha ha, you’re quite the stalwart supporter of the Asano family, aren’t you?” “It’s not just about the Asano family. Folks like me stick straight to the weak side……Specially when I’m commissioned to carve Lord Asano’s gravestone—while I’m chiselin’, thinkin’ ’bout His Lordship’s heart an’ Lady Yōzen’in’s feelin’s, an’ what all them Akō retainers must be goin’ through—the frustration wells up so fierce, tears come pourin’, an’ I end up slammin’ my own hand with the iron hammer ’fore I know it……”

Kimura Jōhachi, who had been sitting with a bitter expression etched across his face since earlier, finally reached his breaking point. “Shimizu—”

He had inadvertently called out that name, “Shall we get going?”

With that, he left the eaves ahead. Catching up to Kimura Jōhachi as he climbed Irazaka Slope with long strides, Ichigaku laughed while admonishing him. “That was careless of you, Kimura.”

“Why?” “Did you not call me Shimizu?” “How would I know?”

“Even that aside—you fool, didn’t you leave your sweaty hat on top of Lord Reikōin’s memorial stone? It’s only because I immediately moved it elsewhere that things turned out alright, but if that stonemason had half a brain, he’d never have taken us for Akō rōnin.” “Ah. That was a blunder.”

“Given such blunders, it’s remarkable you managed to witness Akō’s resolution through to completion unscathed.” “This sense of having returned to Edo—it appears to have loosened my vigilance unwittingly.” “Edo demands even greater wariness—this is no place for lowered guard.”

“We’ll keep tabs on their movements here—they’ll be tracking our actions there.” “To compare the three houses of Kira, Uesugi, and Asano—it’s like when a mantis stalks a cicada, an oriole stalks the mantis.” “Don’t get it? Then go. We’ve made our own preparations.”

Chisaka Hyōbu

In less than a hundred days, I could tell that my white hairs had multiplied. Every morning when washing my hands, even looking in the mirror had begun to feel frightening——.

Chisaka Hyōbu let out a sigh to himself,

Even the senior retainers of the Asano clan would not bear such anguish. How much lighter their hearts might feel having already accepted what their lord had done. He thought this deeply, within the solitude of his heart.

For an aged body nearing sixty, the mental anguish since spring felt far too heavy to bear. Yet for the Uesugi family—when one considered the great trials endured since our distant ancestor Kenshin—even if this frail old body were to break under the weight, he must bear it, support Lord Noritsuna, and cling tooth and nail to protect Yonezawa’s 300,000 *koku* domain at this critical hour. Lord Danjōdaihitsu Noritsuna, the provincial governor, had been adopted from the Kira family at the age of two to become the Uesugi family’s heir; since Kira Yoshinaka was his biological father and his mother Tomiko also hailed from their kin, Uesugi Harima no Kami, the Kira and Uesugi families were bound by blood, duty, and the watchful eyes of society in a relationship that could not be severed even if attempted.

It was the grave palace incident that his biological father had provoked. More than the mere scratches and terror Lord Kira himself sustained, it was the Uesugi family that had suffered the greater blow at that time. And it was senior retainer Chisaka Hyōbu who bore that steadfast domain's weight.

When Hyōbu heard of the incident and departed from Yonezawa for Edo, every pore on his body stood on end, (So this is where it ends—the illustrious house that has endured since Lord Kenshin’s time?) He had even thought to himself. Fortunately, Lord Yoshinaka’s position had been passive, and given his familial ties to major clans like the Shimazu and Sakai, backroom maneuvers succeeded in securing a resolution of “no interference” for their side—yet this brought Hyōbu not the slightest reassurance. Rather, he considered that for the Uesugi family, the incident had left a significant burden for the future.

"He is a troublesome old man…" Hyōbu sat at the edge of the tea room—already growing dim in the twilight—facing the trees dampened by the evening’s sprinkled water, his somber visage betraying his thoughts as he inadvertently muttered to himself. “……This is unthinkable. To take in and hide that old lord at this Shirogane lower villa would be no different from opening the door and inviting flames in ourselves." It was a proposal that Sawane Ibei, the Edo chief retainer, had just now come from the upper residence outside Sakurada Gate to present.

(Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s personal security was truly precarious. The sense that they might strike at any moment hung palpable in the air. As a precaution against unforeseen events, how about relocating to this Shirogane lower villa—constructing an underground passage or the like—and ensuring safety? (...Though the old lord himself seemed to desire it.) Such was the proposal. Hyōbu regarded that— "That cannot be permitted.")

With a single word of refusal, he had just sent Sawane Ibei away. Though he knew full well this proposal stemmed not from Ibei but from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's own intentions—though he clutched unbearable emotions to his breast—he had refused outright. But... it was agonizing. Hyōbu too was human. Lord Noritsuna's state—driven as a son by anxiety that thirty thousand *koku* could scarcely measure—worrying over Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's safety from distant Yonezawa—even now painted itself clearly behind Hyōbu's eyelids.

"Let them call me cold-hearted if they will." "Let them think me a demon." "Rather, being thought of in such terms must be considered Hyōbu’s very mission in coming to Edo…"

A swarm of mosquitoes emerged under the eaves in the twilight. Behind him, the small sliding door opened.—

The young samurai bowed low, “My Lord Chief Retainer.” “What is it?” “Lords Shimizu Ichigaku and Kimura Jōhachi have arrived together.”

“They’ve returned, have they? —Show them in.” He seemed to have been waiting impatiently. The resonance of his voice overflowed with urgency.

“The reception hall will do.”

He immediately stood up to leave.

He had no sooner taken his seat than Ichigaku and Jōhachi were shown 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 red flush from the blazing sun’s heat. “You both have done well.—Is all well in your domain in the three provinces?” “All remains peaceful, my lord.” Next, he began asking Jōhachi various questions about the situation in the Akō region. However, Hyōbu already knew most of what Jōhachi had reported. He had even received intelligence that Kuranosuke—whom he regarded as the most significant figure among the enemy—had entered into a contract to purchase land and a residence in the Nishinoyama tea fields of Yamashina, with the deposit already paid.

“You must be exhausted. Take your time and rest.” “But how can we—with these eyes that have witnessed Akō’s wretched state—”

“That could indeed be said.” “Now then—I would have you depart for Yonezawa first thing tomorrow.”

“What is the nature of our mission?”

“I already dispatched a letter.” “But since this matter won’t resolve itself easily, I need you to go press them.” “I specifically requested about twenty skilled swordsmen from Yonezawa to serve as Lord Kira’s attendants, yet seeing none have arrived, it appears our countrymen’s youths—having heard the unfavorable public sentiment—find no honor in serving as Lord Kira’s retainers.” “That may not be entirely true.” “No—there’s nothing strange about that being the case.” “By both samurai ethics and human feeling, everyone’s sympathies naturally lean toward the Asano faction at this juncture.” “However—that perspective is mistaken.” “Protecting Lord Kira means safeguarding the Uesugi clan’s very foundations.” “Thoroughly convey this truth and bring me reliable swordsmen without fail by mid-August.”

“Is there something that is to occur in mid-August?” Chisaka Hyōbu fell silent. He strained his ears to ascertain whether there was any human presence in the garden or down the corridors. Eventually, he spoke in a much lower voice. “—Lord Kira has been relocated.” “You must vacate the Gofukubashi residence and move to Matsuzaka-chō in Honjo by August 20th.” “Security will be absolutely essential when that time comes.”

The living old samurai

Two or three days prior, Ishidate’s craftsmen had hauled a stone monument into Sengaku-ji and completed its assembly from the foundation stones. June 24th marked the 100th-day memorial of Lord Asano Naganori. In the early morning, a modest women’s palanquin and several attendants went to worship quietly. Mrs. Asano’s figure, now with her hair cut short and her appearance utterly changed, was glimpsed as she slipped into the palanquin. Representatives from the Geishū clan and members of the Toda family appeared one after another in the morning only to depart, but with Asano Daigaku still in confinement and apprehension toward the shogunate lingering, it made for a lonely 100th-day memorial service befitting a daimyo of 50,000 koku.

But soon, it was nearing seven o'clock. A group of over twenty masterless samurai emerged solemnly from the main hall after completing sutra readings and worship—and for the first time, something resembling the Asano family's hundredth-day memorial could be felt. The faces of Horibe Yahee and his son Yasubei could be seen. Muramatsu Sandaifu and his son were also present. Kurahashi Densuke, Okuda Magodayu, Isogai Jūrōza, Akano Genzō, Takada Gunbei, Tanaka Sadashirō—the faces that appeared one after another showed no decline in their fortitude even after becoming masterless samurai. No—rather, a loftier spirit than ever before was present in every one of them.

“Who knows when we’ll meet again with all these faces gathered like this—once we’re masterless samurai, we’ll be like duckweed adrift. To part like this now would be too lonely.”

As Kataoka Gengorōemon said, “Shall we stop by somewhere?” Muramatsu Kihee turned to Horibe Yahee and, “Old man—” called out. Yahee turned around. “For one old man to call another ‘old man’—this ‘old man’ business feels a bit strange.”

“Ha ha. Old man—you’ve grown particularly sensitive to that lately.” “I’m thinking of turning young again.” “Much obliged.”

Nodding as if in full agreement, “Now then—regarding that rejuvenation, there is a proposal to stop by somewhere and hold a memorial service.” “Very well. Where?” “A common teahouse won’t do.” “If we walk along the shore, there should be a suitable traditional restaurant. The meekness of the young ones is touching. Our late lord was normally strict in his dignity, but when he partook of sake, he would permit anything to the young samurai without reproach. Today, let us partake of sake.”

“Look there,” said Horibe Yasube. “If you say such things, the young ones behind us will perk up like hounds catching a scent.” “That’s precisely what makes it a proper memorial,” replied Muramatsu Kihee. “Honored elders—” Tanaka Sadashirō interjected from behind, “—how shall we handle the expenses?” “We’ll divide it equally per head.” “Ha ha ha!” Tanaka laughed. “Not being esteemed patrons ourselves—” “When one becomes rōnin,” Muramatsu concluded, “one’s purse strings tighten.”

No matter who looked upon them, these men did not seem like those facing adversity. All the more so—not a trace could be detected that they harbored thoughts of revenge or anything of the sort. Carrying themselves with open-hearted resolve and living as though tomorrow’s winds would blow as they may, they appeared thus even to the monks of Sengakuji Temple. And as they passed through the temple gate, from afar came a lone figure—an elderly samurai hurrying breathlessly forward, bearing a large sword in an incongruously crimson scabbard that clashed with his bow-bent frame. “Ah! Lord Mujin!”

They all turned their gaze.

He was nearing seventy years of age. With his hair in a topknot, wearing field hakama and grass-colored leather tabi socks, he approached while repeatedly wiping away sweat. Mujin’s residence was in Honjo Nakanosato, so the distance from there to here was not short. He moved spryly. He was a distant relative of Kuranosuke and a man by the name of Ōishi Mujin. “Have you already finished?” Mujin said to the group,

“What a regrettable thing I’ve done. Had I arrived but a step sooner, I might have joined you in the last row.” “Nay, it’s not too late. The memorial service has yet to begin. Let us wait while you pay your respects at the grave first.” “That would be improper. Please, go on ahead.”

“No, we need to find a place to rest now. While someone goes to look for one, we’ll have to wait regardless.” “Very well. Then I shall go... Lord Yasube.”

“Yes.” “My apologies—would you guide me to the gravesite?” “Understood.” “A splendid memorial stone has been erected.” “Allow me to show you.”

After guiding Mujin, Horibe Yasube turned back toward the cemetery once more. Sitting before the new stone, Mujin bowed his head deeply for a long time. The shrill cries of cicadas permeated the countless graves while a faint cool breeze began to move through the shade of the trees. “Lord Yasube.”

When he eventually raised his face, Mujin squared his shoulders, “I’d like you to sit there,” and pointed to the ground before him. “What might this be about?”

“There’s something I wish to discuss.” “――Though it may be presumptuous in your presence.” “I shall hear it.” “It’s about that matter.” Mujin shot a harsh glare of suspicion at Yasube’s face. A welling of discontent burned from the depths of slightly tea-colored eyes. “――It seems there are no real men left in Akō.” “Today marks our late lord’s 100th-day memorial, I tell you.” “You all—fine young men gathered in such numbers—what on earth are you doing?”

“......”

Yasube lowered his head. Two or three short hairs at his temples quivered as they stood in the wind. “Once you showed spirit enough to act with five or ten men, scorning cowards like Yasui and Fujii—what became of that vigor?” “We have not forgotten for a single day. Yet between the domain’s affairs and Lord Kuranosuke’s will lies a chasm so wide, we find ourselves in circumstances where advancing our resolve proves difficult——”

“That’s only natural. I’ve heard from old man Okuda that over a hundred and twenty men in Akō have sworn a pact centered around Kuranosuke—but how could such a large group possibly unite under a single coherent purpose? If you must rely on numbers, then you should abandon it altogether. It will surely collapse midway and fail. Kuranosuke’s methods are too lenient. That’s no way to succeed!” The old man’s spirit was fierce. One might think that even in Genroku-era Edo, such archetypes of ancient warriors still remained. He thrust his iron fan into his left knee and continued reproaching them, exposed head to toe under this blazing sun.

“It pains me to hear the world’s mocking laughter. I am not a retainer of Asano, but as a samurai, I cannot stand idly by. Why do you hesitate and look around? Will you not offer Lord Kōzuke’s severed head at today’s memorial service? What’s all this about waiting for the right time? Do you think such petty calculations will lead to success? Why must you pick a day to strike down Lord Kōzuke? I cannot fathom it. For every day you delay, their defenses grow stronger by a day.”

“We have repeatedly submitted petitions bearing the joint signatures of Okuda, Takada, and myself to Lord Kuranosuke in accordance with your esteemed advice. However, it appears Lord Kuranosuke is currently devoting his full efforts to petitioning for Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement.” “What a foolish man! Even if they were to grant the full fifty-six thousand koku directly to his younger brother, could Lord Daigaku possibly inherit the family name and remain complacent while leaving Lord Kōzuke as he is?” “I too share that understanding. Whenever we see Lord Kuranosuke’s tepid letters, even old man Okuda grows exasperated, I tell you. That being said, were we to storm Kira’s residence with a small force and by ill chance fail in our attempt, we would become the laughingstock of future generations—blood-mad fools of Akō. For these reasons we have let days slip by, but regardless of our comrades’ opinions in the homeland, we are resolved to carry out our original intent by year’s end. Old man, I beg you not to trouble yourself over this—simply watch a little longer.”

“That eases my mind. But tell me—have you identified any favorable openings?”

“Well.” “Well, that is…”

“There it is, Lord Yasube.”

Mujin edged one knee forward, “Kira’s mansion has been ordered to relocate—are you aware of this?” “What? They’re moving from Kōraibashi?” “This comes from an unimpeachable source.” “They’ve settled on moving to the former estate of Hatamoto Matsudaira Tonosuke in Honjo Matsuzaka-chō.” “When will such a chance come again?” “—that journey—when Lord Kōzuke must emerge from his gates whether he wills it or not—that thousand-year opportunity—” “Mujin-dono, can this be relied upon?”

“I heard the date—” “—from someone who frequents the Matsudaira household.” “The Kira household’s relocation is set to be completed by the twentieth day of August.” “I am deeply grateful.” Yasube braced his hand against the cemetery weeds. His entire body seemed to swell with blood. Mujin felt joy at finding a young man who still carried intact the indomitable spirit that had flourished in their own era. “Now.” “Is there anything impossible to achieve through determined action?” “When one man rises resolute, he stirs ten thousand to follow.” “However many comrades fill Edo—those who will act are none but you, Okuda, and Takada Gunbei—these three.”

“I am deeply grateful for your many kindnesses.” “If we miss this chance next—should Lord Kōzuke’s retirement petition be granted—then just as rumors say, he’ll be taken into the Uesugi clan’s custody and hidden away until death in Yonezawa Castle’s deepest recesses! That outcome isn’t beyond imagining!” “Once that happens—mark my words—not a hundred men could reach him, let alone a thousand!” “Even if that doesn’t transpire—consider this! At his age—what if he catches some trifling chill and dies?” “What honor would let you all walk beneath open skies then?” “No—would you even dare show your faces before our lord’s grave again?”

At that moment, perhaps because it had gone on too long, they came to check on the situation. Two or three companions showed their faces from the shade of the trees,

“Horibe. — Is Lord Mujin still there?” they barked.

Mujin finally stood. “It’s done. I’m coming now.” “Everyone has been waiting impatiently.” “So I told you there’s no need to wait, didn’t I?”

He was, to the last, an unyielding old man.

Takada Gunbei Short bow

A single red Benkei crab walked leisurely sideways across the bridge. The outer moat water bubbled furiously, and during the hour spanning late morning to midday peak, even the traffic on Kōraibashi Bridge appeared to momentarily cease. At precisely that hour each day, a young eel-restaurant worker clutching a small bucket would dash as if transporting melting goods, slipping through the kitchen gate of the Kira residence within Kōraibashi. “I’ve brought the loaches, Mr. Hanaki.” “Where should I put these loaches? If the cats snatch them again, don’t blame me.”

When he shouted like this, Hanaki Ichibei—a kitchen attendant with his sleeves tied back—was working inside, but—

“Hey! You mustn’t leave them there!” “Now you must move this luggage outside.”

“It’s terribly crowded here—are you moving?” “We’re just storing unused tools in the storehouse.”

“You’re telling nothing but lies.” “Out in the world, they’re saying you’re relocating the residence to Matsuzaka-chō in Honjo.” “Has it already become known?” “Didn’t you just move ten boatloads of luggage by cargo boat yesterday as well?” “Shut up about such things!” “Until when should we continue delivering the loaches?” “Let me see…” “You can’t be bringing them to an empty house now, can you?” “Of course, we would not reduce such payments. “…The date of relocation is not to be disclosed—we’ve also been strictly instructed on that matter.” “I can’t decide this on my own authority, so wait here a moment.”

With that, Ichibei stepped down from the stepladder where he had been taking down a toolbox from the shelf and peeked into the room of Nakazato Jin'emon, the kitchen official.

He had been whispering with Jin'emon about something, then soon emerged and called out, “Eel Restaurant!” “Yes?”

“Given your establishment’s years of honest dealings with us, I trust you’ll keep this confidential.” “Even if I did blab about things that don’t help the residence, what good would it do anyone……” “Precisely. “In truth, this residence is to be relocated as of today.” “Therefore, we’ll no longer require loaches starting tomorrow.” “Huh… That sudden?” “Keep it quiet from the other merchants.”

“Why would I tell anyone?” “While you’re at it, could you take those loaches to the Nabezuru in the pond? We must pack all the kitchen items completely and load them onto the ship before sunset – with our sleeves tied back like this.” “Is it alright if I go around to the garden?” “Just for today, it doesn’t matter.”

The eel restaurant worker, carrying a bucket of loaches, passed through the middle gate. Long chest poles ready for garden transport and bundles lay piled in mountains atop straw mats. Even the ornate stone lanterns and garden trees stood coated with straw dust. The melancholy of a house soon to be abandoned drifted amidst the disarray.

“Who goes there?!” A sharp voice suddenly shouted from the edge of the pond. The eel restaurant worker froze in surprise and lowered his bucket. “I’m from the eel shop that delivers crane feed daily—just an errand boy.” “Who authorized your entry?!” The speaker was a young samurai resembling an aristocratic prince—wearing garden clogs, a warbler-brown hakama, and an exquisite linen kosode overgarment. His gaunt face bore a sickly pallor, eyebrows sharply arched as he gripped a short bow with an arrow nocked, glaring fiercely. The worker abruptly dropped to the ground, instantly realizing this must be Sahyōe—Lord Kira Yoshinaka’s heir apparent.

“I won’t allow it!” With that, the young man said again in a harsh voice. “Get out.—You’re a shady one.”

“H-heh… I’ll leave the loaches for the cranes’ feed here then.” “Loaches? We don’t need those! Take them back!”

“Is that so?”

With a puzzled look—utterly flustered—Sahyōe turned toward the house,

“Magobei! Magobei!” “A suspicious man has gotten into the garden.” “Hurry up and drive him out!” While shouting loudly, he nocked an arrow to his short bow and aimed it this way.

The eel restaurant worker jumped up and tumbled out through the middle gate.

He chased the cranes. “What is the matter?”

“Young Lord.” Chief retainer Sōda Magobei arrived; attendants Matsubara Takanaka and Iwase Toneri also came running.

When they saw Sahyōe’s face, its pallor startled them. Moreover, having nocked the short bow, he immediately scanned the garden’s tree shadows as if alarmed. “He’s already gone… It’s nothing.” “What sort of person was it?” “He claimed to bring crane feed.” “Then it must be the eel vendor who comes daily to the kitchen. If it’s him, there’s nothing amiss. Please set your mind at ease.” “I see…”

Letting his shoulders drop, Sahyōe took a deep breath. The short bow he had been holding,

“Takanaka.” He called out and handed it to one of his attendants. Then, “Takanaka, use this to shoot down those pot-crowned cranes.” He gestured with his chin toward the three pot-crowned cranes hunched on the far side of the pond. “Huh? The cranes?” “The cranes?” “That’s right.” “Why would you order us to shoot down the cranes? At the very least, I must first inquire with His Lordship.” “I’ll inform Father myself, so don’t concern yourself. I was just about to shoot them down myself right now.”

“I hear the new residence in Honjo where you will be relocating has a sufficiently large garden pond. If we move the cranes there, there should be no issue.” “These pot-crowned cranes bring no auspiciousness. “In Cathay they’re said to be ill-omened birds—and I tell you, truly ill-omened. “Some daimyo brought this nuisance as a ceremonial gift on the fourteenth day of New Year this year. “Then that Asano Naganori attacked my father in the palace halls on the fourteenth day of the third month. “—And wasn’t the relocation order issued on the fourteenth day of the ninth month this time?”

“It must simply be a coincidence that those dates overlapped.” “It’s not at all because of the cranes…” Chief Retainer Sōda Magobei deliberately laughed it off— “No—!”

And Sahyōe shook his head, “Living creatures—Father has always detested them by nature. From the moment we received these, he could not find joy in them. Especially since the incident, there’s been no room for cranes. Even looking at such things fills me with gloom. At night, they sometimes flap their wings loudly and startle us.” “In that case, how about leaving the cranes here and presenting them to one of your esteemed relatives instead?” “If someone were to receive such a thing as a gift, another incident would occur at their estate, I tell you. Shoot them down and be done with it.”

“Leave it to us. We shall manage things in such a way as not to displease you.”

Pacified by Magobei, “I won’t keep them in the new residence!”

With that, Sahyōe entered the study hall. The hanging scrolls, the vases, the bookshelves—all the furnishings had been cleared away, leaving the space utterly barren. Sahyōe looked up at the new wooden fittings and ceiling, recalling how his father, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, had obsessively attended to every detail during this building’s construction—how each time the budget fell short and they borrowed large sums of 5,000 or 10,000 ryō from the Uesugi family, his mother had been placed in agonizing positions—and he grew disheartened.

The inlaid nail covers—each costing who knew how many ryō—the single planks of wheel-grained wood for the central gate priced at tens of ryō—the entire ludicrous opulence that might as well have been plastered with koban coins—all of it seemed to bare ironic fangs and sneer mockingly at humanity. "—Others will live here now."

When he thought this, Sahyōe felt unbearably lonely and furious. (—This is the estate where I spent my old age, and where you could live out your entire life.) (Let’s boldly invest money in it.) This was the estate where his father Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, out of consideration for Mother, would habitually say such things. When he thought of his father’s feelings, Sahyōe could no longer endure it. The world’s condemnation of his father as nothing but a cold-blooded demon driven by greed filled him with mounting resentment. “No matter who says what—to me, he is my absolute father. Even at home, he’s as quick to speak ill as you’d expect, but deep down, he’s surprisingly straightforward—a true man of Edo. While he does have a habit of scorning uncultured people, as a father who is exclusively a refined cultural connoisseur, it cannot be helped. That characteristic is something even the visiting tea masters, gardeners, and fishmongers know best. Even if you say his will is strong and his desires run deep, that is a common trait among the elderly. People said he acted high and mighty in the shogun’s palace or when receiving imperial envoys—but given Father’s career and the Kira family’s status, wasn’t that only natural? He didn’t act arrogantly only toward the Asano family. It was only because Lord Asano—who had never held any significant position in the shogunate worth mentioning—defied Father, a man old enough to be his parent out of some narrow samurai mentality, that Father became obstinate in turn. From our perspective—we who know Father’s temperament well—the reason for Asano’s anger remains incomprehensible. Moreover, why does the world single out us father and son as enemies? That too is beyond comprehension…”

Sahyōe muttered this even as he was ceaselessly assailed by unease. Father still occasionally displayed the boldness natural to seasoned maturity, but he himself had never experienced confronting such an immense world. Moreover, born as the hereditary eldest son of the Kōke families, he had never dreamed such circumstances would befall him within his lifetime. “Ah—it escaped that way!”

In the garden, Matsubara Takanaka and Iwase Shajin had summoned foot soldiers and were chasing the cranes about, seemingly attempting to herd them into a large cage. Sahyōe clicked his tongue and headed toward his room. However, noticing retainers clearing tools there as well, he crossed the bridge corridor and entered the temporary inner chamber behind the storehouse two doors ahead. In the small room beside the storehouse and in the chambers flanking the rear veranda—here, seven or eight samurai perpetually sat with hands resting at their sword hilts. Even as Sahyōe crossed the bridge corridor, men gripping blades thrust out multiple heads at the sound of his footsteps.

“…………” Having been seen off by sinister glances, Sahyōe entered the dark room—resembling a double-layered box—where his elderly parents lived. It was a twelve-tatami room where shadows from fresh leaves cast gloomily through the narrow, north-facing eaves. There, when Sahyōe saw the frail shoulders of his elderly father—sitting with melancholy faces pressed together in silence, devoid of spirit—and the bent back of his elderly mother, his chest tightened. He could not understand why this spineless father of his—who sat there so meekly—could have behaved in ways that provoked such intense anger from others in the shogun’s palace, or why the world viewed him as a self-willed, arrogant man. Yet this same father was also revered like a tutelary deity by the villagers from his home province of Mikawa, who brought him their first harvest offerings every year. That the father revered by those people and reviled by the citizens of Edo was not a different person—he, as a son, could not help but doubt the world.

This household

“Sahyōe?” At the person’s vigorous presence, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke noticed immediately. He kept his face—marked by a grave shadow—turned toward his elderly wife, Tomiko, “I have a rather complicated matter to discuss.” “You. Go wait over there.” Once again, it seemed the parents were arguing over something. Sahyōe regretted most of all that since that incident involving his father, a great rift had formed even between these parents who were now in their sixties. As their son, there had often been times when he found himself turning his face away from these parents.

“...If my presence here is an impediment—” “It’s not that you’re an impediment—it’s simply that hearing this would bring you no benefit.” “Then...”

As she started to rise, “You—have you put your personal affairs in order?” “I can relocate at any time.” “I see… Worry about nothing.” “Yes.” “Stay resolute! There’s nothing whatsoever to fear! Mother says your pallor worries her too. However few my remaining years may be, you’re the one who must inherit the Kira house. Tend to yourself. What becomes of a youth barely twenty in such frail health? Let no trivial gossip trouble your mind.”

“Yes.” “This father does not possess such a weak spirit. “No matter what anyone may say, I have faithfully fulfilled my duties. “The shogunate knows. “The manner of my forty years of service since the age of nineteen—even the court nobles know of it. “If—if the head of the Kōke is made a fool of by some ignorant minor daimyo, then henceforth, the ceremonial duties of the Kōke members cannot be properly performed. “It is precisely by commanding daimyos with a flick of the chin that the annual ceremonies somehow manage to proceed without any fault on the part of the court nobles.”

He had repeated this kind of explanation dozens of times—to close relatives, retainers, and acquaintances alike. At his core, he appeared to be an honest and timid man—traits that surfaced at every turn—and when they did, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke would still raise his voice and assume an extraordinary expression.

But when he himself noticed his recent abnormal state of mind, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed, “Well… There’s no use saying such things now.” “But I believe you alone will trust me… That is why I say this.” “Yes.”

“After all, you are my child. Sahyō, once night falls, we shall move to the new residence by boat. They say a change of dwelling shifts the spirit—let us renew our outlook and live anew.”

To the child, this was how his father had always been. Sahyōe averted his tear-filled eyes, bowed, and rose.

Even after Sahyōe had left the room, the elderly couple remained silent together. A single mosquito-repellent incense stick stood in the incense burner. Like their emotions, a thin line bound the two.

“Tomiko.” Eventually, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke began to speak these words. “Are you truly determined to return to the Uesugi house—to abandon me?” “I humbly ask to be allowed to return.” “Don’t you think it’s disgraceful for a couple in their sixties?” “I am well aware of how uncomfortable this is... but there is something beyond that which I cannot endure.”

“What?” “It would be futile for me to say anything more.” “I will not offer you any remonstrance.” “As long as I remain by your side, unintended words will inevitably escape me. Therefore, today shall be my last day here; I shall return to my family home.” “Go!” Having spat out—

“Those who carry the Uesugi bloodline—every last one—seem made with remarkable callousness.” “Chisaka Hyōbu and you…” “Hyōbu is but a retainer.”

“That man perfectly embodies the cold nature of Yonezawa samurai!” “Lies! See for yourself!” “Lord Yonezawa, being flesh and blood, upon hearing rumors of the Akō rōnin’s treacherous plots, immediately considers my safety—proposing to shelter me at the Shirogane villa or inviting me to Yonezawa Castle itself, showing concern from his distant domain! Yet in stark contrast, that Chisaka Hyōbu breaks his lord’s every word—‘Shelter cannot be arranged,’ ‘Retreating to Yonezawa is unthinkable’—time and again maneuvering to cast me into peril!”

“…………” “That is still acceptable.” His voice strained to remain even-toned, but his breathing had grown rough. He took a sip of tea,

“While Hyōbu’s attitude is detestable in terms of sentiment, it is not without reason.” “But for even you—who have been by my side for forty years—to return to your family home at this age... What is the meaning of this?” “From what I can gather, that too must be Hyōbu’s meddling.” “…………” “Very well! “Spouses and relatives alike cannot be relied upon in such times—such is the way of the world.” “Go!” “Go!” “Sever all ties with the Uesugi family from this moment onward.” “Convey that to Hyōbu.” “Do you imagine that will satisfy the retainers?”

“My lord.” Tomiko slid closer until their knees nearly touched and stared directly at her husband. Since coming as a bride from the Uesugi family at twenty, this wife had possessed a sterner nature than Kōzuke-no-suke. She had been the supporting spouse who deftly restrained such a husband—one who pursued perilous gains through wit and influence, looked down on others despite his frail temperament, and toyed with society. Thus even Lord Kōzuke-no-suke could not raise his head before this wife of his—submissive as a cat.—It might be said that until March of that year, he had at least never clashed with her.

“What now?” Lord Kōzuke-no-suke said, his countenance still that of one confronting a great enemy.

“This will be the last. Once more, I humbly offer my final remonstrance.” “If you deign to think your child dear, I implore you to make your decision.”

“Ba—! “Nonsense!” “By all means, have you still not resolved yourself?” “Die? How could I endure that? What possible reason could there be for me to kill myself?” “It is not reason that I press upon you. It is to your heart that I humbly appeal.” “To your heart? …… How—how can a wife who urges her own husband to kill himself dare speak of ‘emotion’?” “For the sake of our child, I can say this. If, by any chance, you were to fall to an unforeseen blade at the hands of the Akō rōnin, what would become of Sahyōe-no-suke? Will the Kira family continue in peace? Moreover, if mishandled, it cannot be said that the lord of Yonezawa will remain free from implication. Though we have now sent him as an adopted son to become the lord of another domain, is not that Danjōdaibu-sama, by blood, our own child? Whether it be the Kira family or the Uesugi family—their survival or collapse may hinge solely on your heart’s resolve.”

“Enough. Cease your nagging.” “No—this shall be the last.” “I will speak what must be spoken.” “As your wife, I cannot endure hearing the clamorous rumors sweeping through society.” “What joy could remain in these dwindling years of old age—persisting through vile slander that assails you waking and sleeping, unsettling your heart at every rustle of wind?” “Have we not already outlived heaven’s appointed span? For both houses—for our two children—”

“Shut up…”

“…………” “If you want to die, go die alone.” “If my single life could resolve this, I would gladly meet death.” “If society reviles me—I’ll refuse to die. If those Akō rōnin target me—I’ll cling to life through sheer spite.” “By nature, I am a man forged of such obstinacy.” “Were I to kill myself, they’d all clap their hands and jeer.” “That I cannot endure! That I cannot abide!” “How utterly cowardly.”

“What?!”

A sharp slap-like sound rang out. Tomiko’s low sobs continued afterward, endlessly sniffling and weeping.

The room was already dark. The candles too remained unlit tonight. Around Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's face, stiff as a mask, columns of mosquitoes buzzed.

Light streamed in from outside the room. Both an attendant holding a lantern and chief retainer Sōda Magobei knelt quietly and said— “Now then, please deign to relocate.”

Eleven Shadows

On the dark surface of the outer moat lay a single ferry boat moored, its lantern light flickering. A samurai who had come running from the service gate of the Kira residence near the riverbank spoke in a low voice from the shore, “Come forth.” At these words, the four or five samurai clustered at the stern all rose as one and scanned both riverbanks.

In the brief span between the service gate and the boat, about twenty retainers suddenly stood to form a wall of human figures. Through their midst walked Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and his son Sahyōe-no-suke, dressed in inconspicuous clothing.

There was no sign of Tomiko. Sahyōe-no-suke took his father’s hand and guided him from the gangplank into the ferry boat. Amidst the samurai exchanging silent bows, the father and son took their seats in the central cabin.

“Well then…” “Well then.”

Exchanging whispers between boat and land, the retainers quickly dispersed. The ferry boat was already gliding slowly along the bottom of the narrow moat.

Lord Kōzuke-no-suke gazed up at the lights on land and the stars while— “How many days has it been since last I felt the outside wind?” he muttered. Sahyōe-no-suke could think only of his mother, who had returned to the Uesugi household that evening. When he heard his mother’s arguments, they seemed right; when he considered his father’s stance, that too appeared reasonable. Yet however right she might be, he thought he could not obey what his mother advocated as her son. He resolved firmly in his heart to remain by his isolated father’s side no matter what.

“Huh?!” The guards stationed at both bow and stern suddenly uttered these words, causing the father and son to jerk their heads around with startled eyes and immediately scan the front and back of the boat.

“What’s this?”

Lord Kōzuke-no-suke said.

One of the retainers whispered to those nearby, then quietly relayed it into Sahyōe-no-suke’s ear. “Suspicious rōnin, about ten in number, are walking along the riverbank following this boat. …Do not let down your guard.” “Wh-where…?” The retainer wordlessly gestured toward the left bank with his face.—Indeed, they were walking. Six went ahead, and five followed behind, but after observing their movements for a while, it became apparent that the two groups were one and the same. Sahyōe-no-suke suddenly grew restless-eyed, doing nothing but glance back at the two barges rowing after their ferry boat. In case of emergency, those two barges each had four reliable retainers from among their vassals riding along. Altogether, they numbered approximately twenty men. In contrast, the number of suspicious figures on land could clearly be counted as eleven.

“…Will we be alright?” he whispered to a retainer. “Do not trouble yourself with worry, Your Lordship. Land and river—they cannot easily draw near.” “But…” Sahyōe-no-suke’s sideburns stood disheveled in the river wind. Among the Akō rōnin, he had heard there were quite formidable individuals. As masters of spearmanship, Takada Gunbei’s name was renowned; among those excelling in swordsmanship were men like Horibe Yasube. Even with twenty men against eleven, they could never fight on equal footing. Moreover, they had lost their lord and been severed from their stipends—they were what one might call men prepared for self-sacrifice.

“Row faster!” As Sahyōe-no-suke urged the oarsmen in a low voice to hurry, “Nonsense.”

Lord Kōzuke-no-suke shook his head and said: "If they attack around here, row to beneath the river checkpoint." "Once we enter the Ōkawa, have one man go ashore first to summon someone from the estate." "But matters will not escalate to that point." "Even those wretches must have considered—should they fail—what would become of Takumi-no-kami's younger brother Daigaku, or what calamity would befall the Asano clan's branches in Geishū and Tosa."

Sahyōe-no-suke, who had resolved to protect his father while staying by his side, instead felt as though he was being protected by him. After gazing at his father’s composed demeanor, he too felt his mind settle somewhat. Though his father was generally viewed as the most vulgar of bureaucrats, having mingled with court nobles and esteemed gentlemen since the age of nineteen, he had practiced poetry and cultivated the way of incense. From his middle age onward, he had turned a contemplative eye to Buddhist teachings, and in recent years had become particularly devoted to the tea ceremony, often speaking of notions like “the unity of tea and Zen”—such self-cultivation must be serving him well in circumstances like these—and through his son’s eyes, this father appeared unshakably strong and reliable.

Before long, When they rowed out into the Ōkawa River, the figures that had been tailing them along the riverbank scattered and disappeared from sight. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke laughed for the first time.

“What can ownerless emaciated mutts possibly do? No matter how hard they work, their stipends won’t increase—their own heads will be the only things to fly off. While walking exposed to the river wind, their heads cooled and they realized the foolishness of it all.”

However,

Before long, as his boat and the escort barge entered the Yokobori Canal below Ryōgoku, there on Hitotsume Bridge stood the eleven men from earlier, their figures lined up along the railing. And, (They're here)

As he watched, the figures scattered across the bridge—exactly at the back riverbank area of Matsuzaka-chō between Hitotsume and Futatsume Bridges—those eleven figures stood blocking the way, their shadows aligned in perfect formation. Desperadoes.

Before that—it was still a time when the western sun beat down fiercely. Sweating profusely, bustling about as he fanned his chest,

“Pardon me.” A rōnin entered through the entrance of Miyatogawa—an unagi restaurant in Hakuya-chō—who was none other than Horibe Yasube. “Welcome.”

“Is everyone present?” “We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

He ascended to the second floor. Over the back railing, the leaves of female bamboo in the courtyard swayed vividly green. In one of those rooms, voices of over a dozen people were audible. Okuda, Kataoka, Akahane, the Muramatsu father and son; Takebayashi Tadashichi and Yada Gorōemon were also present.

“Oh, Horibe.” Takada Gunbei caught sight of him directly and said.

“My apologies for being late.”

When Yasube took his seat,

“Isogai Jūrōza and Tomomori Sukeemon still haven’t arrived.” “I was asked to relay a message from Isogai. He ate watermelon that didn’t agree with him—has been suffering from diarrhea and lying abed since yesterday. Sukeemon has departed on his journey—he conveyed his regards to both men.”

“Even a young man like Isogai—exactly—you never know when illness might strike.” “Let alone—”

Takada Gunbei lowered his voice and said, "A frail old body like Lord Kōzuke-no-suke's could succumb to illness at any time." Okuda Magodayu nodded. "That prospect is precarious." Gunbei tensed his spearman-like shoulders into a knot,

“Shall we act? With this many of us here…” he said, surveying the faces of those seated around him.

Yasube took out a single document from his pocket. “This is from the Daifu of Yamashina—the esteemed reply from some time ago. Please circulate this among yourselves.” Okuda Magodayu, the old man, silently read it and passed it to Gunbei. As it circulated from Gunbei to Tanaka, then to Kataoka and Chikurin, “Horibe!” Gunbei’s voice carried an intense edge. Unable to endure the document’s unpleasant contents, his tone seethed with long-harbored frustrations.

“It’s all well and good to coordinate with the Kamigata group, but how much longer must we keep exchanging these same phrases? Whenever it comes to Lord Kuranosuke’s letters, without fail, they consist of humbly beseeching the shogunate’s mercy. He prioritizes Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement above all else. Furthermore, it’s still too early. It states we must refrain from reckless actions.”

“Hmm.”

Yasube drew back his chin.

Muramatsu Sandayu, who was beside him, “One,” and placed a cup into his hand. Gunbei also took a cup, “Looking at today’s letter—once again, for the campaign to reinstate Lord Daigaku—that Yūkai of Enrinji Temple is seeking connections with the Yanagisawa house, or someone’s rushing about to forge ties with the Ōoku, waiting to see the results of such efforts or whatnot—isn’t this relying on schemes as base as those devised by women to carry out our great cause? His indecisiveness knows no bounds. It could be said that Lord Ōishi’s true intentions are now laid bare. I already think he’s no longer someone to share our great cause with…”

Okuda Magodayu, bending his back as he removed skewers from grilled eel, said: “Edo and Kamigata—letters won’t settle things between them.” “They should just send someone once.” “The recent letter stated Lord Hara Sōemon would soon make his way down here—” Kataoka Gengoroemon interjected. Gunbei sneered mockingly: “He’s coming to pacify us—like giving candy to a crying child.” “When we honor our lord’s name and devote ourselves to bushido’s foremost principle, Lord Ōishi sees only reckless delusion.” “This is ultimately a difference in our understanding of bushido.” “No matter how many documents we exchange, this debate will never conclude.” “We must set aside the Kamigata group and carry out our original resolve.”

Gunbei’s indignation was something everyone equally shared. This man did not appear to be some shallow drunkard spouting empty words—he was a master spearman whom others respected and who respected himself. The reason he had transferred from the Ogasawara family to be retained by the Asano clan at such a high stipend was precisely because his renowned spearmanship had been recognized. Gunbei never ceased to speak of that preferential treatment. Since Lord Asano’s tragic demise, Gunbei had become the vanguard of the Edo faction. His position was absolute: unless they carried out their resolve by their late lord’s hundredth-day memorial, they could not show their faces in public.

Among those who shared his resolve were Horibe Yasube and Okuda Magodayu. These three individuals effectively held sway over the Edo faction—former domain retainers who had remained in Edo—and maintained the immediate execution of their plans as their firm belief. Just as the home province group had produced various dissenters, so too in Edo were those united by no means carelessly brought together. Many senior councilors in high positions—Fujii Matazaemon, Yasui Hikonoemon, and others—had gradually ceased showing their faces and even developed strained relationships with more radical members like Horibe and Takada. Yet paying no heed to such deserters remained a defining trait of those gathered there.

(Let the disagreeable ones leave. Let those who hesitate watch. Even if I’m left alone, I’ll accomplish it.) Such was their resolve. Moreover, behind the scenes,

(It had to be this way)

And there was also an old man encouraging the young ones. To begin with, there was Horibe Yahee—an elder not showing his face here—and Ōishi Muto, a rōnin residing in Honjo Nakano-gō, who went so far as to harshly criticize that even now, the younger generation remained overly prudent yet deficient in execution. “I’ve had enough of this discussion.” “Enough with the indignation.” “In short—it’s whether we act or not.” At Yasube’s subsequent words, “Of course we will do it.” Gunbei accepted this,

“The day approaches.” He said. “When?”

Suddenly lowering his voice, Takebayashi Tadashichi spoke. “I can’t say for certain… but it’s a fact they’ve already begun sending relocation goods to Honjo.” “However, there still seems to be no sign that the Kira father and son have moved.”

“Then at latest, it must be within these three or four days.”

“Maebara Isuke maintains constant surveillance over that vicinity, so once he discerns anything, he’ll send word without delay.” “When they relocate—day or night?” “Considering Lord Kōzuke no suke’s refusal to venture beyond his gates for fear of public notice, he’ll undoubtedly choose to move under cover of darkness.” “Yet we can’t assume they won’t act unpredictably.” “Will Maebara alone suffice when the moment arrives?”

“For the next four or five days, each of you must remain at a fixed location.” “Furthermore, keep the essential points for emergencies in mind.” Before they knew it, all voices had lowered to whispers. Even after the hundredth-day memorial of Lord Asano’s death, these men—growing impatient with Ōishi Kuranosuke’s persistent indecisiveness and spurred by circulating rumors that Lord Kōzuke-no-suke might relocate to Yonezawa come spring—now felt they could delay no longer. Seizing the perfect opportunity presented by the Kira clan’s estate relocation, they appeared determined to fulfill their long-cherished ambition, secretly deliberating for another half-period.

――And then. Tanaka Shōsaburō, who had risen from his seat to go to the restroom downstairs, still did not return even after considerable time had passed. The eyes of those mutually harboring wariness turned suspiciously toward the empty seat,

“What happened to Tanaka?” “That’s a bit long for a restroom visit…”

Akahashi Genzō stood up, “Shall I go and check?”

he went downstairs.

Land Attendant

In the smoke of grilling eels, fans flapped noisily in the kitchen area. Men worked busily there, splitting and steaming eels. Tanaka Shōsaburō stood beneath the ladder steps by a window overlooking the kitchen, straining to listen.

When Genzō called out, “Shh…” he waved the folding fan pressed to his chest sideways. The loud voices of the delivery person and the chef came through as clear as day. Moreover, the clerk’s interjections also mixed in,

“Then couldn’t you get payment for today’s loach delivery?” “They said they didn’t need ’em, see.” “If they didn’t want ’em, why not just bring ’em back? Ain’t that how it works?” “Well… y’see…” “I reckon it was Lord Kira’s young lord—he had a half-bow like this, pointed right at me.” “If I’d got shot dead, that’d be it—so I left the goods and ran.” “That estate’s all high-and-mighty and tight-fisted.” “To top it off, aiming bows at honest merchants—they’re mocking us proper.” “Go get that payment.”

"I've had enough." "I told you—the estate's moving to Honjo as of today, ain't they? If we let today pass, you'll have to go out all the way to Matsuzaka-chō again to collect it. If they don't pay up, go take back the loaches." "Send someone else!" "You coward!"

“I don’t want to die either.” “You fool! You’re just going to collect payment for the loaches—there’s no way anyone would get killed over that. I don’t know if he’s some young lord or what, but that samurai who pointed a bow at you was probably a madman or something.”

“Why, he’s a fine young lord with such noble bearing. The long shape of his face somewhat resembled Lord Kōzuke no suke.” “Damn that stingy bastard of an estate!” “Well, fine. If they consider it given…” “Don’t get cocky just because you think it’s the master’s property!” “In return, I’ll go around blabbing all the secrets that kitchen foot soldier Hanaki-san made me keep, you hear?” “So you were told to keep quiet, huh?” “Well, y’see, there’s that whole incident—so Lord Kōzuke no suke and his young lord are goin’ outta their way to keep their movin’ date to Honjo a big secret from everyone.”

“Hmm, I see.”

“To the other merchants, they’re still saying they’ll be here four or five days more, but truth is, after today, everyone from that estate’ll be gone for good.” “You idiot! Blabberin’ about that won’t fix a damn thing!” “The loaches are a dead loss.” “Someone—go bow your head and get ’em back! Go get ’em!”

Genzō’s eyes and Shōsaburō’s eyes were locked intently at the ladder’s middle and bottom steps. Sensing a maid’s approach, the two wordlessly returned to the second floor. Soon after, someone clapped their hands and shouted, “Oi! Get the meal ready!”

he said on the second floor. When the meal was being carried up to the second floor, Kuramoto Densuke arrived here, his eyes tense.

Amidst all this commotion, the streets darkened into dusk. “Well then, until we meet again.” “Give my regards to your household.”

With such exchanges, the group deliberately bid farewell at the gate of “Miyatogawa” and scattered in all directions—yet not a single one among them returned home afterward. The figures loitering around the tokoroten shop in the gravel yard, the grassy thicket of the vacant lot, and the bridge’s edge—all of them were part of that group, appearing as though they were out enjoying the evening cool. And then—before long—they watched as Lord Kōzuke’s retainers quietly moored a small boat to the shore of the outer moat where the Kira family’s service gate was visible.

In the midst of this, Kuramoto Densuke— “—I dropped a fan.”

He passed through the backs of the people scattered around there. “—I dropped a fan.”

When they heard that whisper, several eyes glinted from the darkness toward the opposite bank. They had caught sight of Lord Kōzuke no suke and his son. They boarded the boat, surrounded by so many retainers their shadows couldn’t be discerned. The small boat soon creaked away from the shore—.

To the vacant lot, the group swiftly gathered.

They began to move like the wind. The plan was fixed. Only the location remained uncertain. The opponent’s use of a boat had not been foreseen.

“Let’s circle around ahead.” These were Akahane Genzō’s words. “Matsuzaka-chō?”

“If they disembark from the boat, it’ll be around Nitemmebashi Bridge.” “Alright!”

With that, their focus scattered.

“But wait.” This was Old Man Okuda’s caution. “We can’t simply outflank them.” “Matsuzaka-chō isn’t necessarily Lord Kōzuke’s only destination—there’s also the strategy of the Uesugi family’s main and secondary residences.” “Understood.”

Muramatsu Sandayū nodded.

“Then,” said Gunbei, “Let’s follow the boat and walk along the riverbank.” “That would also attract attention.”

“No—we’ll scatter.” “Perfect.” There was no dissent. They immediately pursued along the riverbank. Splitting apart—one... two... into groups of three.

However, after walking four or five blocks in this manner, there suddenly appeared before them a group of figures marching boldly and unitedly along the shore, following Lord Kira Yoshinaka’s boat. There were eleven of them. Their footwear consisted of straw sandals tied high, their long swords curved, and among them, two or three carried spears horizontally. “What?” “Who are they?” Both Yasube and Gunbei were suspicious. They couldn’t be allies.— Furthermore, their attire was strange even for retainers of the Kira household. Straw sandals, packs, dusty field trousers and the like—no matter how you looked at them, they were country warriors. Not only that, but each of the eleven men, with every step they took, possessed terrifying strength and left no openings. Even if cannon fire were unleashed upon them, one could see a tension that suggested no flustered panic would arise. The iron barrier seemed to gradually move along with the boat as well.

“Shimizu Ichigaku is here!...”

Gunbei came to Horibe Yasube’s side and whispered. “……” Yasube’s eyes gleamed with cold intensity. “—What about the ones behind?”

This was Old Man Okuda.

Someone—it wasn’t clear who— “I’ve got it—Shimizu Ichigaku had gone to Yonezawa.” “Warriors handpicked from the Uesugi domain!” _That’s right... It must be so._ “Swordsmen from Yonezawa?”

“They’re the ones brought by the retired lord’s attendants.”

In a low―yet forceful―tone― “Damn!”

The muttered words were carried away by the wind.

Garden shears. It was just this morning that Shimizu Ichigaku returned to Edo after receiving orders from Chisaka Hyōbu to select ten master swordsmen from Yonezawa Domain. (Before the retired lord’s relocation) Since Hyōbu had instructed him to do so, he had rushed urgently to arrive by today’s appointed date. Having received this notification from Hyōbu, Lord Kira Yoshinaka and his son promptly relocated to their new residence. As a result, the party—without even time to shed their travel attire—followed Shimizu Ichigaku’s instructions upon arriving in the capital, immediately undertaking their duties for the night before proceeding directly to Matsuzaka-chō as ordered by Hyōbu.

“As expected of Lord Hyōbu—your keen insight reaches even from afar. As anticipated—the emaciated rōnin of Akō linger here and there, trailing behind us.” Ichigaku said this and admonished the attendant swordsmen. “Stay alert—do not look back.” —. As instructed, the attendants walked. Each step held life-or-death gravity. Their backs remained rigid with tension. “—Horibe and Takada must surely be among them. These two will prove slightly troublesome. When they attack—I’ll call their names. Rush those two en masse. Even if assailants come from flank or rear—cut down those two first. All together.”

However, such an opportunity never came. Of course, the Akō side was on edge—but their true target was by no means the Yonezawa samurai. Shimizu Ichigaku was not the enemy.

They had crossed Ryōgoku and reached the first corner field, but there, Old Man Okuda—

“No!” he said. Muramatsu Kihee, too—

“Ah! …The time has not yet come.” he exclaimed in despair.

Takada Gunbei alone declared, “If the old man can’t act, then we’ll ambush Lord Kōzuke-no-suke as he disembarks from the boat.” “—Who cares about Shimizu Ichigaku?”

He said in a tone that showed no sign of agreement, but Yasube—who was always vehement—seemed to have reached some conclusion. “Takada, let us withdraw,” Horibe Yasube attempted to calm him. “Why do even you hesitate here?”

Gunbei indignantly rebuked, “Akahane, Kataoka, all of you—”

“Let us follow the old man.” And so, most of them reconsidered and began turning back. Gunbei glared at the retreating backs of his comrades with contemptuous eyes. “Horibe—are you leaving?” “We’ve no choice.” “You and Old Man Okuda—stay here a moment.” Seizing both men by their sleeves, “There’s something to discuss.” “What?”

“At the very least, we three cannot get away with leaving here.” “Why?”

“This isn’t what we promised! What oath did we swear at the beginning?—It can’t be helped that the others lack resolve at this critical juncture. But haven’t we three sworn that even if reduced to the last man—whether Kira fortifies himself like an iron wall or tries to cut his way in—? Have you forgotten those words already?” Gunbei said while firmly grasping both Yasube’s and the old man’s wrists and shaking them. Anger born of passion made tears glisten on his eyelids. Even Yasube and the old man felt their hearts stirred. They thought that passion was a noble thing—that within themselves too existed something just as unyielding. Yet they found this man’s raw, uncompromising resolve even more beautiful—

“Takada… Calm yourself. Don’t rage so.” “We never faltered when facing this critical moment tonight—that much is certain.” “No—even if they call us cowards, there’s no defense to make.” “This afternoon’s words already…”

“Listen—you’re rushing to die, but can you laugh at death without claiming Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head?” “I’m certain of it.” “I’ve measured Shimizu Ichigaku’s skill well enough.”

“Is Ichigaku the enemy?” “—Even if he isn’t,” “Even I—and even the honorable old man—want to strike all at once tonight. There’s no difference in that. But if the enemy is prepared like that, no matter how we charge out, there’s no chance of victory. Anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of military strategy would sense this immediately. You could kill however many attendants and retainers, but when it comes to whether Lord Kōzuke-no-suke can be slain—truth be told, even I see no chance of victory, nor does anyone else.” “First, considering the lay of the land—it’s close to Kira’s residence, this riverside area has a small guard post, and there are many households nearby.” “If someone raises a shout, the rabble will swarm in an instant.” “Even if projectile weapons were employed, it would likely prove difficult.” “If we were to fail, not only would we be laughed at by Lord Ōishi—who has been sending us such earnest letters of admonition—and the home province group, but as Lord Ōishi says, we’d become the laughingstock of the realm, bringing further disgrace to your house…” “Endure this—for tonight, let us return in silence.”

Okuda Magodayu too wearied himself with persuasion, and at last Gunbei reluctantly began to walk—though he remained in an extremely foul mood. Gunbei returned across Ryōgoku Bridge, sullen and silent. Since the night was still young—and finding it unbearable to spend even a single evening with a dear friend while harboring lingering unresolved emotions—Horibe Yasube tapped Gunbei on the shoulder. “Takada, how about stopping by the usual teahouse for a drink to clear our heads?” “I don’t want to.”

He shook his head resolutely. “Now, don’t say that.” Okuda Magodayu also joined in, “I’ll come too. Keep me company.” with a half-laugh befitting an old man. They led him along as if coaxing a spoiled child. When things settled down and they began drinking，Gunbei’s mood finally improved. Instead，perhaps because he had steeled his resolve that his life—already one to be discarded—would merely end with him sleeping safely tonight，he drank heavily. The fervor from his drinking was intense. Kataoka，Takebayashi，Muramatsu，and their ilk were condemned for not yet having truly solidified their resolve for revenge. However—we will carry through to the end！—they vowed as they gripped each other’s hands and squeezed out tearful voices. And then，

“Honorable sirs, why don’t we go to Kamakura in the coming days?”

he proposed. The preliminary plan—to visit Kamakura under the guise of sightseeing, traveling from Enoshima to Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine, where they would establish a blood oath of revenge with signed pledges before the gods and use it as the foundation for a pact among comrades—had long been discussed among the three men. Yet they had proceeded thus far through tacit understanding between their hearts rather than formal arrangements. That Gunbei now voiced this desire suggested he might not fully trust these two men based on words alone. Yasube, without hesitation,

“Very well. Let us go without fail.”

Right then and there, they agreed on their departure date and parted ways.

Several days had passed when, in the early morning,

“Horibe, are the preparations ready?”

And so, Gunbei came to his rundown residence to invite him. In the garden, the sound of shears rang out. Through the hedge of morning glories—their flowers having grown smaller with each passing dawn—an old man with white hair gripped pruning shears,

“Well, Mr. Takada? Come in.” He opened the garden-side door and spoke. It was Horibe Yahyōe—Yasube’s father. Turning toward the interior,

“Sachi.” “Bring the tea.” With that, he placed the pruning shears on the veranda.

**Kamakura Blood Oath** Sachi offered a floor mat and,

“Here at the edge of the veranda…” While offering this greeting to Gunbei, she glanced at her father’s face. “No need for that—the veranda’s edge is actually better. Besides, you won’t have to untie your straw sandals.” “You always do exactly as you please…” “Ronin etiquette.” “Well now, Lord Gunbei, isn’t that so?” “You always say such amusing things.” Gunbei raised the tea to his palm.

“Is Lord Yasube not yet here?” “Oh, he’s been up for ages.” “Sachi, what is your son doing?” “I beg your pardon, but as Lord Okuda is also expected to stop by this morning, please wait a little while.” “Even so, tell your son to come quickly.” “Um...” “He’s just... right now, he’s in the middle of his usual daily task.”

“Ah, I see.” “Lord Gunbei—then please grant us a little more time.” “What is this daily task he does?”

“It’s nothing... just some trivial matter...” No matter the situation, this old man—so wholly preoccupied with his sons—wore a bitter smile yet still managed to let a hint of pride show through. “That fellow’s had ample leisure since becoming a ronin. This summer he’s taken out copybooks—does summer writing every day. Calligraphy practice, you see. Hahaha!” “Oh… So he’s practicing calligraphy as his daily task?” “Therefore,” Gunbei was inwardly puzzled. Why would someone resolved to die sooner or later than the autumn cicada even need to practice calligraphy?

“Ah, you’ve arrived before me.”

At that moment, Old Man Okuda—wearing light travel attire and as was his frequent custom—pushed open the garden gate and entered. Then, addressing Yahyōe,

“Won’t you join us as well?” he pressed. “No need for me to go,” came the reply. Yahyōe took up his pruning shears once more, snapping through summer-lush foliage with brisk cuts. Nothing in his bearing suggested a man consumed by vengeance. Not in this rented dwelling they’d occupied since their scattering—not in the household’s orderly rhythms nor the brightness of Yasube’s wife Sachiko—could one find shadows of gloom or solemn resolve.

Gunbei,

(Huh? ...?) He couldn't help feeling perplexed. Gunbei, who still knew nothing of what it meant to have a wife. When Yasube came out to greet them and was seen in the back room being helped into his kimono by Sachiko's hands while receiving her meticulous care for his travel belongings, something—a faint envy—seized him, and he found himself lamenting his solitary existence in the depths of his heart.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” After stating he’d be away for four or five days, Yasube fastened new straw sandals to his feet. With a hat in hand, O-Sachi went outside. Yahyōe too came to see him off at the gate—— “Did you take your travel medicine?” “And your writing set?” These meticulous attentions called to mind the daily home life of this father and daughter. Gunbei found himself strangely unable to look away from the married women they passed during that day’s journey. The farmers’ homes visible from the highway, the merchant shops, and households of various classes all strangely caught his eye; as he walked—imagining each family’s gatherings, contemplating life, then turning his thoughts inward—he spoke little.

Two days later, they visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangu. Okuda Magodayu had brought with him a single scroll he had made himself by joining paper and mounting it. It was the pledge. Before the gods, the three men signed their names and affixed their blood seals.

“Takada.”

“Hmm…?”

While descending before the great ginkgo tree, Yasube asked. “Are you tired…? Your complexion looks rather poor.” “Perhaps it’s bad water.” “That won’t do.” He split open the pillbox and spilled medicine into his palm,

“Take this—it’ll help.” Gunbei received it into his palm but pretended to take it and ended up spilling the medicine. They planned to go around Enoshima. However, even that plan seemed to hold little appeal for Gunbei. “Why don’t we head back?” he proposed at the tea shop. “After going to the trouble of coming all this way…” said Old Man Okuda. When told so, Gunbei found himself being dragged along once again.

Circling the island, they watched the abalone-diving 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 looks just like him.” Their gaze remained particularly fixed on Gunbei. When the three men turned from the wave-lashed rocky promontory and passed before the souvenir shop, the samurai and his daughter—who had kept their eyes unwaveringly upon them since earlier— “Oh!”

he exclaimed in a lively voice.

Gunbei too turned his face toward the voice,

“Ah…!” “This is…” he came to a halt.

The lingering scent of autumn

“What an unexpected place to meet. How have you fared since then?”

Leaving his retainer and daughter behind, the samurai approached. “It’s been too long.” “You remain unchanged as ever.” “As for me, I’m just as you see.” “However, you have been through quite an ordeal.” “Being invited to the Asano family with an exceptional stipend—now that I think of it—turned out to be a misfortune instead.” “If I had stayed with the House of Ogasawara, none of this would have happened.” “Well, well, human fortune and misfortune are truly unknowable things, I tell you.” “—Oyo too, ever since that calamity, has only heard rumors and been worried about you.”

Oyo appeared to be the daughter; she offered greetings from beside her father. The conversation seemed quite animated—the man was clearly of high standing, and his daughter possessed refined elegance. Earlier, Horibe and Okuda—who had been ambling along at a relaxed pace—moved to the roadside and stood waiting when Gunbei failed to catch up. Just as they thought he had finally arrived, Gunbei— “This is troublesome.”

he said. However, the complexion that had been sullen and gloomy since Tsurugaoka now brightened and relaxed, “He’s a talkative old man—since we hadn’t met for five or six years without a word, he wouldn’t let me go.” “My apologies, but could you go ahead to secure lodging? We’ll meet up in the evening.” “Who is that gentleman?” “My brother owes him favors too, and I myself once received a recommendation from the House of Ogasawara—it’s Lord Uchida Kageyu, a hatamoto.”

“Understood. We shall go ahead then.” At the appointed inn, the two had removed their straw sandals first. When night had deepened completely—just as they began fearing he might not return—Gunbei came back brimming with vigor.

He had taken his meal with the Uchida father and daughter at a different inn, it was reported. From then on, Gunbei’s casual conversation grew animated. Having embarked on their journey, all three experienced for the first time a lively evening like true travelers. The cheerfulness persisted even until Edo. Yet after returning to Edo, Gunbei never again showed his face to anyone. Not long afterward, Hara Sōemon journeyed down upon receiving orders from Kuranosuke in Yamashina. Naturally, Sōemon’s dispatch aimed to suppress once and for all the flames of resentment that had smoldered since their lord’s downfall. Observing from afar the vehement fervor of the Edo-based retainers, Kuranosuke had grown apprehensive—these flames were perilous and could not be ignored. Those assigned to extinguish them risked either fanning the fire further or losing control entirely if they were ordinary men. This was why they had chosen Sōemon—a man of seasoned wisdom, temperate strength, and trusted reputation—for this task.

Horibe immediately dispatched a messenger to Takada Gunbei. The response came that he was ill. With no alternative, Horibe Yasube and Okuda Magodayu went together to visit Sōemon’s lodgings.

“How much do you think Lord Ōishi worries about everyone’s impetuousness—” Sōemon’s words struck the two men’s hearts most powerfully. Perhaps deeming Sōemon alone insufficient to reassure them, from Yamashina came two more men—Ōtaka Gengo and Shindō Genshirō—following after him. Meetings were held repeatedly, each time in a different location. Due to Takada Gunbei’s absence, it fell to Horibe Yasube to directly present their arguments to the pacification envoys such as Hara Sōemon and Ōtaka Gengo.

However, Sōemon realized it wasn't just Yasube—indeed, many elders like Horibe Yahee, Okuda Magodayu, and Muramatsu Kihee were unyielding stalwarts insisting on immediate revenge—and that this divergence arose not merely from youthful fervor or extremism, but also from differences between those immersed in Edo's political realities and those observing the broader situation through Kamigata's lens. When information was relayed by courier from their side, Kuranosuke soon responded—

(Mid-October: I too shall journey to Edo.) A reply letter addressed to the entire group arrived.

“Lord Ōishi is coming!”

The voice that spoke these words solemnly tightened the resolve of the Edo-based retainers who had been consumed by debate and agitation. "In any case, we must await Lord Ōishi's commands."

They placed all their expectations on that. Before long came a letter stating he had departed Yamashina on October 20th. Then a notice from along the way indicated he would likely reach Edo around November 2nd. He had also sent formal intent to borrow the residence of Maekawa Kyūdayū—once daily labor overseer for the House of Asano in Shiba Matsumoto-chō—but still requested retainers in Edo inspect the premises beforehand as precaution. Winter approached with frost-touched mornings here and there, yet in forgotten garden corners and along roadside hedges, late chrysanthemums still wafted like autumn’s lingering breath.

Two Paths

It was the night when they discussed sending three or four people to Shinagawa checkpoint the next day to meet Lord Ōishi and parted ways. When Horibe Yasube returned home, his wife O-Sachi informed him that a guest had come in the evening and was waiting in the back. “Who is it?” “It is Lord Takada.” “Gunbei?” He couldn’t bring himself to meet him right away. Even though the notice for today’s meeting had been sent out, it made no sense that he hadn’t shown his face there and had instead come here to wait so long. Moreover, ever since the Kamakura joint pledge, he had been acting strangely.

“Tea.” He sat down in the parlor. “But Lord Takada has been waiting intently for a long while now...”

“Fine.” “I’ll meet him later.” As he sat alone, intently sipping his tea, Yasube began to sense what Gunbei’s purpose might be. (I see.) That was all he thought.

He stood up quietly and opened the sliding door to the guest room. Gunbei’s face, downcast with the lamp beside him and wearied from sitting,

“Ah…”

He looked up and shifted from his seat. As was often the case, a weight that stifled laughter immediately enveloped both their faces. Under Yasube’s piercing gaze, he hung his head. The silence stretched endlessly. Yasube too let the silence linger. Only O-Sachi’s sleeve whispered against the tatami as she set down the tea and withdrew. A patter... of tears fell from beneath Gunbei’s face. As if startled, his fist jerked toward his face.

His face gradually buried into his shoulders. “Horibe!….” “F-Forgive me!” With his elbows flatly pressed against the tatami, Gunbei pleaded. “To tell the truth… now that I’ve come here, I have no face to meet you with. But wearing a mask over my heart, I crossed this threshold.” “They say there’s nothing more painful in this world than duty, but I find myself cornered with no way out.” “To tell the truth, that Uchida Kangai I met at Enoshima some time ago has taken such a liking to me that he’s even won over my brother and uncle—and now they’re asking me to become his son-in-law……”

“...”

“Of course, I refused.” “I resolutely persisted, stubbornly holding my ground.” “However, when pressed by my brother and uncle to explain the reason, I could find no way to evade.” “Especially since my brother had a debt of gratitude to the Uchida family—before consulting me, my younger brother couldn’t possibly have any objections.” “Even if there had been any objections, my brother went so far as to persuade him—and I’ve ended up accepting it, haven’t I?” “I’m being pleaded with as if this were a matter worthy of seppuku….” “Even so, as for me…”

“Wait.”

Yasube averted his eyes and stopped him. Listening was even more heart-wrenching than he could bear. Yasube wasn’t cruel enough to endure long the voice escaping his blood-bound friend’s ragged breaths.

“I get it, Takada.” “Just—let me explain—” “Don’t!” That refusal held no compromise. “Is there more need to hear? Enough. I’ll tell Elder Okuda tomorrow too.” “...Try to understand my position.” “We’ve been friends for years. You and I knew each other before either joined the Asano clan. Comrades since they called you ‘Gunbei of the Spear’ and me ‘Red Scabbard’ or ‘Yasube the Drunk’.” “......”

“However, there exists no moral obligation that friends must share the same fate simply because they are friends.” “We were comrades up to this point.” “Why should I stop you from taking this path you’ve gone to such lengths to choose?” “Moreover—even without tedious questioning—how could I fail to understand your feelings?” “……” “Were this disclosed to the others bound by the pledge, some might demand your death.” “But so long as I live, I will never permit that.” “…Only keep silent about matters concerning the pledge—as friends should.”

“Why would I disclose anything harmful to everyone now? If I meant to leak such matters, I would never have put myself in this agonizing position.” “This is farewell then. Shall we share a drink?” “No—”

Hurriedly, he rose from his seat. "I must take my leave. We'll meet again." "I see..." "Ko*, you're leaving now." Carrying a lantern, Yasube came out to see him off to the entrance, but "There's no need to go that far—" And he placed his foot into his straw sandal. "Please, that's enough." "At least let me escort you to that crossroads."

Yasube stepped outside shoulder to shoulder with him. The stars shone beautifully, evoking anew the vastness of the universe. The sound of straw sandals fell into silent unison with the night dew. Gunbei kept shifting closer and closer to Yasube’s left side. His body had stiffened as taut as a drawn bowstring. His entire body seemed to bristle with watchful eyes, his readiness to meet the sword trembling with intensity.

If he were not a master of spearmanship renowned throughout the land, Yasube would— (Don’t worry so much. I have no intention of cutting down someone like you.) (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 first-rate strategist. He was a man known as Gunbei the Master Spearman. He had no desire to belittle him so thoroughly. They came to the field of white-frosted weeds and the crossroads of the one-sided town where the doors had already been removed. Yasube came to a halt.

“Well then, Takada, here—” “I’m sorry.” He bent his back like a bug. As he patted his shoulder and told him to live well, Gunbei seemed unable to lift his face, “Though distant, I pray for the day you achieve your true wish.” “And to all of you as well…” It seemed the words “Take care” were too difficult for him to voice; trailing off, he could only bow his head.

And then, hunched over, he hurried back into the dark town.

“He’s a weak-willed man.” Yasube keenly felt that spears, swords, or martial arts did nothing to strengthen humans. Having taken some pride in his swordsmanship, this became not someone else’s concern but his own reckoning. No—this was humanity’s true form, he realized. The figure shrinking into the distance with hurried steps now seemed inseparable from his own being.

But—

While gazing up at the piercingly clear night air during his solitary walk home，Yasube found something far more solid than the loneliness of losing a longtime companion keeping him company—a resolve that filled his chest where mere desolation might have dwelled. And yet— "He can stay as he is. For me，rather，one fragile soul has withdrawn. That alone will make what remains true in substance."

he muttered.

Tomorrow, Kuranosuke would arrive in Edo. Looking back now, Yasube felt he had begun to faintly understand even that reluctance in Kuranosuke's heart—its resistance to being roused. The true difficulty lay not in achieving the objective. It lay in the inscrutable movements of the human heart.

Yamashina Construction Project

Purple hood

Could this truly be the chamber where a still-young woman dwelled? There were no traces of opulent fragrances or crimson hues. Nor were there any sounds from the outside world whatsoever.

It was mid-November, and this morning’s cold was exceptional.

The already cold white silk robe lined with bird down, simple alcove walls in the Kobori Enshū style, a small desk, and a buckwheat jar with a single camellia flower thrown in—that was all there was. After retreating deep into her family home—the residence of Asano Tosa-no-kami on Akasaka Nanbuzaka slope—Yōzeiin seemed to find her greatest solace in spending her days either sitting upright in the Buddhist altar room or facing her desk copying the Lotus Sutra, immersed in fond memories of her late husband Lord Takumi-no-kami from their time together in years past. Shut away in her unobtrusive lacquered palanquin, she had scarcely ventured outside except for one pilgrimage to Sengakuji Temple.

“Your Ladyship! Your Ladyship!”

Unusually hurried footsteps echoed through the middle corridor between the Buddhist altar room and the tea chamber, where O-Tae—who had been serving from the Teppōzu upper residence—spoke into the altar room, her breath visible as white in the cold.

“Lord Ōishi has arrived.” “Ah—the Lord Kuranosuke you always speak of—”

“Oh…” “Has Kuranosuke arrived?”

“Yes.” O-Tae, too, seemed delighted.

In the next room of the study hall, Kuranosuke lay prostrate. On the third day of that month, he had left for Edo and held repeated meetings with former domain retainers residing in the capital. This was of course to placate hardliners like Horibe and Okuda as much as possible. As today was the fourteenth day of the month—the day he had completed memorial rites at his late lord’s grave—he had settled long-pending domain affairs and expressed gratitude for the compensation provided during the retainers’ dispersal. With an anguished heart that found no outlet, he had long harbored the desire to console her over how bitterly cold and sorrowful her life must be this first winter since taking monastic vows. To fulfill this longstanding resolve, he had come directly from Sengakuji Temple to visit her here today.

“Where should I begin…” Yōzeiin’s lips quivered—indeed, she was a woman. At the mere sight of Kuranosuke’s figure, tears could no longer be restrained. “Forgive me.” For a time, she remained weeping. Kuranosuke, too, could not raise his face. In solemn silence, the two—master and retainer—surrendered themselves to their tears. In silence, they had fully expressed sentiments beyond words. At last— “Kuranosuke, you must be cold.”

“Yes.” “You should move a little closer to the brazier.” “Then I shall humbly accept your kind instruction.”

“I heard through rumors that you were ill at the start of summer—have you recovered?” “It was merely a minor swelling I suffered. I beg you not to worry—as you can see, I am now in robust health. Rather than that, I am concerned—from afar—for Your Ladyship’s heart, Your Ladyship’s health, and the retainers who have left the domain. Unlike when my lord was with us, I am unable to pay my respects regularly in daily life—and one can never know when a meeting may become a farewell. Please keep yourself well.”

“I am most grateful.” “But… Kuranosuke…” “Yes.” “If I am to be born human… I would wish to be born a man.” “That thought alone sinks deep into my heart.” “…………” “The thought of how things might be if I were a man never leaves my heart—not by morning nor by nightfall.” “Though I imagine… the path of samurai must be fraught with hardship.” “I understand—this Kuranosuke can discern the depths of your heart.” “I rely solely upon your strength.” “Whenever word reached me of domain affairs… I would press my hands together in prayer from afar… grateful you had managed them well.”

“That is too generous.” “No, those words come from me.” “The bonds between lord and retainer have already weakened—people have scattered so thoroughly that some have even vanished without a trace—no, rather, such things are simply the way of the world—” “Kuranosuke, with you, I still consider us bound as lord and retainer.” “Your gracious words honor me deeply. I do not yet consider my service to be complete.” “Though I am but a clumsy fool, Kuranosuke too intends to remain Lord Takumi-no-kami’s retainer even unto the next world.”

“Hearing that, this humble self finds purpose in living.” “My late lord husband would surely rejoice as well.”

Calling Tae, Yōzeiin had something brought. What was placed before Kuranosuke from Tae’s hand was a purple crepe round hood. “You have deigned to visit me despite the long journey and amidst your many pressing affairs. This is something I sewed in idle moments—they say you are particularly sensitive to cold—please shield yourself from the night chill and tend well to your person.”

Having said that, she gave it to Kuranosuke. Perhaps—no, likely—this might be their final farewell, Kuranosuke thought with profound clarity as he looked up at Yōzeiin’s composed brow. “Well then… I bid you farewell.”

He found it painful to say those words. But lingering would bring no comfort whatsoever. Kuranosuke left Tosa-no-kami’s residence. With a lingering reluctance—

Unlike before, he was now a mere masterless samurai without a palanquin or attendants. Standing midway up Nanbu-zaka where the dry wind blew, Kuranosuke scanned the area with his eyes for a town palanquin. Then a passerby's sedge hat, snatched by the wind, went tumbling down the slope past him. It belonged to a man who had been loitering purposelessly beneath the kitchen gate of Tosa-no-kami's residence. The man made to chase after his hat, but when Kuranosuke's gaze pierced his forehead, he abruptly turned his back and feigned departure into the distance.

“Palanquin!” Kuranosuke stepped into a passing town palanquin. He acted as though nothing concerned him. The man whose hat had been blown off was a compact yet sturdy townsman. Pursuing the shadow of the palanquin descending the slope, his footsteps abruptly quickened.

Covert Operations

Whether he was of the Kira household, a retainer of the Uesugi, or in Chisaka Hyōbu’s employ—Kimura Jōhachi was lately so busy with his mysterious comings and goings that even he himself could no longer tell. (Come through the Sukiya Gate, pass through the inner garden, and always proceed silently to the veranda of the sitting room.)

Since Hyōbu had granted him unrestricted access, he frequently came and went there without permission—especially since Ōishi Kuranosuke had come down to Edo. Even now, a townsman who looked like a traveling merchant—still wearing his gaiters and straw sandals, sitting on the stone step with his legs dangling over the veranda edge—was whispering with Hyōbu inside the room. That was the man who had his sedge hat blown off at Nanbu-zaka. In other words, Kimura Jōhachi—acting under Hyōbu’s orders—was leaping about day and night like an Iga ninja.

“Yesterday, Kuranosuke visited Yōzeiin’s residence from Sengakuji Temple, then proceeded directly by palanquin to the estate of Lord Araki Jūzaemon, the inspector. I believe he likely intended to express gratitude for the resolution of Akō’s affairs while also petitioning for the restoration of his lord’s house. On the same day, he also stopped by to pay his respects to Lord Matsudaira Aki-no-kami and Lord Asano Mino-no-kami. All were brief visits.” Hyōbu listened to Jōhachi’s report while glancing sideways. His reply resembled a soliloquy,

“Hmm. I see. Thorough as ever.” It was a murmur that sounded like praise for the enemy. Hyōbu felt he could truly understand Kuranosuke’s state of mind even now. Though he had never met the man, and despite the difference between a large domain and a small one, Kuranosuke too had been someone who protected the domain as its foremost retainer, while Hyōbu himself stood as a senior retainer who must toil for the domain’s sake, bearing the survival of the Uesugi family. If their positions were reversed and he were in Kuranosuke’s place—how he would act, what course he would take—the moment he considered this, Kuranosuke’s actions and intentions became as clear to him as if reflected in a mirror.

“Lord Chief Retainer.” Jōhachi leaned his short frame forward from the veranda edge. “I wish to urgently station seven or eight men in Kamigata.” “Has something occurred?” “There is nothing notable about Kuranosuke’s presence in Edo at present, but signs suggest he may soon return to Yamashina.” “Thus I believe acting before their party would attract less attention—” “Five men have already gone to Yamashina.” “A larger force might prove inadvisable.”

“Then shall I select five colleagues from the Honjo estate and bring them along?” “No—you must not withdraw even one of Lord Kira’s men. Even if Kuranosuke returns to Kyoto, there’s no guarantee someone might not attempt a solo assault at any moment. I’ll handle that dispatch myself. You should consider yourself solely responsible and work accordingly.”

“Understood.” “Depending on the circumstances, I may depart for that place as I am, without even taking my leave.” “For occasional matters, written reports would be preferable.” “On the contrary, that would be less conspicuous.” “If you think covert operations are solely our side’s doing, you’re mistaken.” “A man of Kuranosuke’s caliber would leave no openings.” “His spies are likely operating as well.” “There may even be suspicious individuals within Hyōbu’s own residence—proceed with caution.”

After providing travel funds, Hyōbu added.

“However, Jōhachi—” “Yes?”

“You must absolutely refrain from any conduct that could provoke the former Akō retainers.” “I understand perfectly.”

“The crux lies in determining whether there exists within Kuranosuke’s true intentions any fact such as those being circulated in society—nothing more.” “Observe the rōnin’s movements with that focus, and their purpose will reveal itself.” “I share that assessment.” “Should it become known that the Uesugi and Kira houses maintain surveillance over them, public rumors would worsen—moreover, it would only stoke their fury, hardly serving Lord Kira’s interests.” “Were I free to act, I would support Asano Daigaku—Lord Asano’s younger brother—at this juncture and aid Kuranosuke in restoring their family’s name. Yet as a senior retainer of Uesugi, this impossibility gnaws at me.” “If only the Asano restoration could be achieved—however enraged they grow—the rōnin’s fervor would shift entirely… This may be mere fancy on my part, for we cannot meddle directly. But should we weather this crisis unscathed, it would be our house’s triumph.”

“I will take your sentiments fully to heart.”

Jōhachi eventually left Hyōbu’s residence.

Since the incident, the fervor of the Kira household’s members had not lagged behind that of the Asano family’s rōnin. For this reason, Kimura Jōhachi and his trusted attendants clearly felt as though they were fighting against the Asano rōnin with tense battle readiness. Jōhachi was naturally no exception. However, whenever he drew near Chisaka Hyōbu, that elder retainer, his fighting spirit would always find itself restrained. Hyōbu’s intent was not to receive Kuranosuke and his men as enemies. He wanted to avoid combat confrontation. If they were to attack, he had no intention of crushing them. The sole question was how far he could go to protect the Uesugi family’s roof beneath this typhoon without allowing even a single tile to be damaged. That old man’s sole fixation was on that very matter.

“This is difficult.” Jōhachi thought.

“He’s so passive—”

Why doesn't he just order me to assassinate Kuranosuke? Even eliminating Horibe, Okuda, Yoshida, Hara, and those around them wouldn't seem too difficult with just our scheming. He always thought how much easier that would be—if only.

However— When Jōhachi considered the depth of Chisaka Hyōbu’s words—*“If I were in a position to act freely, I would want to assist Kuranosuke in supporting Asano Daigaku’s reinstatement…”*— I see... He had come to clearly perceive within himself the difference between so-called minor retainers and major retainers, and he thought that the world’s assessment—that few were of Hyōbu’s caliber—was indeed not mistaken.

Soon, Jōhachi departed Edo.

He briefly showed himself near Yamashina and immediately concealed his presence around the end of that month. After about four days had passed, Ōishi Kuranosuke and his party—including Ushioda Matanojō, Nakamura Kansuke, Nakamura Seiemon, Shindō Genshirō, and others—returned. After their withdrawal from Akō, they first removed their travel attire at the Yamashina house—which Kuranosuke had purchased to feign to the world as though he had chosen it for permanent residence—and soon afterward settled into their respective dwellings within the capital.

At least on the surface, all was calm. Each seemed occupied with their own life's course.

Striking the Nue

The year had turned. —to Genroku 15. Having changed his name to Ikeda Kyūemon, Kuranosuke spent this winter living at the kotatsu. His wife Oku, whom he had summoned from Tajima, along with Yoshichiyo and Daisaburō, were also there. Chikara, the eldest son, was always the center of their gatherings. This boy, who had just turned sixteen, stood over five feet seven inches tall. He was larger than his father Kuranosuke; it had always been a source of laughter. Yoshichiyo, the younger brother, “Fly a kite for me! A kite!”

he clung to his big brother and pleaded persistently. “Later— There’s a good boy.” “No, no!” Yoshichiyo threw a tantrum. Chikara, “If you keep playing instead of studying, you’ll be scolded.” “Go ask Father.” When he said that, Yoshichiyo began searching around for his father. Kuranosuke had gone out to the garden within the estate. The February sunlight was bright and warm there. The field had been completely leveled, filled with a great number of stones and lumber; the carpenters were drawing ink lines and wielding hatchets. Wood shavings running from the planing board had completely filled that area.

Kuranosuke sat by the bonfire, watching the carpenters at work, and repeatedly complained loudly about the chiseling of the wood ends. “You there, craftsman! Your chiseling is careless and unacceptable.” “Have you never worked on sukiya-style construction before? I cannot tolerate such slipshod work—like some cheap job—on these exposed-face pillars.”

The master carpenter came running, “My deepest apologies.—You there, go do some other work.” “Master Carpenter,” “Yes, sir?” “Scold them more harshly.”

“I do try to be quite careful, but when I take my eyes off them for just a moment, this happens.” “I don’t care how much the daily labor costs—I intend to build this place to leisurely enjoy what remains of my life.” “You are absolutely correct.”

“Has the ceiling board from the lumberyard arrived?” “Yes, sir, it has arrived. I’ll show it to you. Here it is, sir.” “What’s this? This is just straight-grained cedar!”

“Even straight-grained planks like these are scarce, sir.” “Compared to the decorative crossbeams, pillars, and other wood ends, these are slightly inferior—use Jindai cedar in the ten-mat room.” “Jindai cedar… I see.” The master carpenter gazed intently at Kuranosuke’s face as he spoke. Even if this construction was meant to last generations, it seemed even a merchant—someone always counting pennies—would find it extravagant. “Right—we’ll use Jindai cedar for the ten-mat room. Then, since the four-and-a-half-mat room would look shabby with ordinary red cedar, apply Yoshino cedar in flying cuts.” “When shown to guests, it must not give the impression we spared any expense.”

The master carpenter, concluding that such a showy patron would ultimately prove merely a cherry-blossom admirer, did exactly as told and immediately called the lumberyard clerk to return the boards. He proved equally fastidious about the walls; regarding the garden stones newly arrived from Kishū, he declared half unsatisfactory. He ordered them to seek better stones even at the cost of wasted shipping fees. Just how deep did his coffers run? Among the subcontracting carpenters and plasterers walking home from work spread this rumor: that when surrendering Akō Castle, the chief retainer alone had squirreled away ten thousand ryō elsewhere—hence this extravagant construction project launched with resolve to live out his days in comfort, whatever folk might whisper once it was done.

“Hmm, I dunno… Me, I don’t think so,” said Tatsuzō, the plasterer’s assistant.

Carpenter Tomekichi, “Then what exactly are you saying?” “That Ikeda Kyūemon—or whatever his name is—the Akō chief retainer, I reckon he’s got the guts to carry out revenge.” “Don’t act so high and mighty.” “A man bent on revenge wouldn’t be building something like that.” “That’s precisely the counterintelligence stratagem and desperate measures!” “If it’s a stratagem, wouldn’t he build something that actually looks like one?” “There’s no need to go to such lengths, making such a fuss and wasting money.”

“That’s exactly the double-layered military stratagem!” “Spouting cheeky theories—where’s your proof?” “Hasn’t anyone spotted any signs of it?” “You idiot! You’re the one who started this—since when do you ask others about your own claims?”

“That’s just what I thought—but I’m asking if anyone’s actually caught wind of any proof.”

“Aha-hahaha, what a fool you are! You’re pushing something even you don’t understand.” “Hmm… I wonder…”

And with a feigned clueless look on his face, Tatsuzō cast a fleeting glance toward the crossroads midway,

“I’ve got an errand to run, so I’ll part ways with you here.” “See ya.”

He briskly turned the corner at the teahouse in front of Bishamon and walked on.

A townsman who had been standing in the shade of a tree at the crossroads followed after Tatsuzō. Looking around the street, "Sekiguchi—"

He finally called out. “Oh, Kimura.”

Tatsuzō, the plasterer’s assistant, was indeed Sekiguchi Sakubei of the Kira faction, who had come from Edo under Chisaka Hyōbu’s orders. Kimura Jōhachi stepped closer. “Has anything unusual happened?”

“There’s been nothing at all.” “What about visitors?” “Yesterday, Terai Genkei, who resides in Yanagi no Baba, came by.” “He’s the former Asano domain physician.” “He sometimes comes under the pretense of visiting patients’ homes.” “Kuranosuke has also come once or twice.” “Aren’t the likes of Onodera, Nakamura, and Ushioda holding secret meetings at Genkei’s house?” “That may be so, but lately, they have apparently been borrowing Shūsuian in the grounds of Zuikōin Temple in northern Kyoto, making it look like gatherings for poetry and haikai, and occasionally holding councils there.”

“Shūsuian—that’s the land adjacent to Asano Inari, right?”

“Correct. The Asano family’s ancestors enshrined Inari and donated temple lands, so it’s called Asano Inari—right next to it. When there’s a meeting, we can approach by disguising ourselves as shrine visitors.”

“Is there any indication of an imminent gathering?”

“In mid-last month, Ōtaka Gengo and Hara Sōemon departed from Edo. On their way, they visited the Grand Shrine of Ise—Hara has taken up residence in Osaka, and Ōtaka in Kyoto, each renting a house. Since then, there have been frequent meetings both in Yamashina and at Shūsuian.” “It seems that lately, there have been disagreements among the comrades, leading to some disarray.” “That’s a favorable situation.” “However, we must not let our guard down!”

“Of course.” “How goes the construction—the one in Yamashina?” “We’re on it.” “It must be Ōishi’s scheme to deceive our eyes.” “That’s what I’ve been thinking too—but sometimes I wonder if that’s not the case at all.” “The work is terrifyingly meticulous.” “What’s more, Kuranosuke himself seems to genuinely enjoy construction—his exacting preferences for woodwork, his obsessive standards—he’s pouring money so relentlessly into the foundations that the craftsmen can barely keep up.” “Hmm… To that extent?”

“The younger comrades—like Fuwa Kazuemon and Takebayashi Tadashichi’s eager faction—began growing distant from Ōishi after seeing that construction site. Many others doubt Ōishi’s true intentions too.” “That’s precisely it—the root of their discord.”

“There’s also the matter of timing.” “Timing?”

“The faction pushing to act immediately versus those hovering around Ōishi who can’t make up their minds.” “Hmm—that tracks. But what’s your read on Kuranosuke’s true intentions?” “Seventy-thirty split.” “Which way?” “Think—even Kuranosuke’s human.” “Without society or his men watching, seventy percent of him wouldn’t choose death.” “We’ll meet again.” “If an emergency arises, mark the northern pillar in Bishamondō’s votive tablet hall with a nail.” “I’ll stash documents behind one of those tablets—check the pillar mark regularly.”

“Understood.” The two parted in the gathering dusk.

As soon as the month turned, Kuranosuke abruptly vanished from sight at the Yamashina residence. He had not shown his face at the construction site for five or six days either. No one knew his whereabouts, no matter who was asked. Sakubei Sekiguchi of Tatsuzō, panicking, recalled Jōhachi’s words on his way back from work that evening and stopped by Bishamondō. When he looked at the northern pillar of the Hall of Votive Tablets, there was graffiti scrawled with a nail tip: “Shoot the Nue.”―He tilted his head back and gazed at the many votive tablets hanging there. Among them was one plaque depicting Minamoto no Yorimasa of the Third Rank. He searched for a stepping stool, brought it over, and reached out his hand. There was a piece of paper tied in a butterfly shape; when he untied it, it bore Kimura Jōhachi’s handwriting.

The master of Yamashina has abruptly departed for the Akō region on urgent business. I will accompany him. Await further instructions; I will follow from behind. Eighteen shaku. It was written. "So he went to Akō…"

Sekiguchi Sakubei muttered to himself and descended from the hall of votive tablets. By now, the evening sky was dimming with white stars beginning to twinkle, and since there were no worshippers in the temple grounds, he had let his guard down—which made his panic all the more intense. It seemed two young rōnin had been intently watching his movements from below.

Immediately—Sekiguchi Sakubei’s hand flew to his own mouth. He had tried to crush Jōhachi’s letter clenched in his palm with his teeth—but before his hand could move, one of the rōnin, “You bastard!”

and grabbed his wrist. Without intending to act, Sekiguchi Sakubei’s body unleashed its martial discipline. He wrenched down the seized wrist, channeled a surge of force through it, and slammed the rōnin’s body back-first into the earth. “Well struck!” Immediately—the thrown man grabbed his leg.

Sakubei had seen that face and heard that voice at the construction site. He was Onodera Jūnai’s son, Kōemon. The other ronin, lean and of slender stature, was Ushioda Matanojō. Matanojō grappled him from behind.

“Curses!” Every pore bristling, Sekiguchi Sakubei’s second technique proved ineffective. Tripped by Kōemon’s sweeping leg, he collapsed sideways with a thud that shook the ground. Furious at having been thrown, Kōemon straddled him and clamped both hands around his throat. “Retaliatory strike.” “Kōemon—don’t throttle him! You’ll kill him!” “Stubborn bastard!” With ragged breaths— “I’ve always known you weren’t just some plasterer’s lackey.” “Ushioda—your sword cord.”

“Tie him up?” “And then—” Twisting Sekiguchi Sakubei’s wrists to the limit, “Hey! What happened to that paper scrap this guy saw in the votive hall?” “No—I have it.” Ushioda Matanojō was already smoothing out the creases in that paper fragment, trying to read it by starlight. “Look, Kōemon.” “Hmm… This must be it.”

Kōemon glared fiercely at Sakubei’s forehead. “You bastard—who sent you to Yamashina?” “…………”

Sakubei refused to answer, sneering contemptuously. He sat cross-legged on the ground with a sneer. "I ain't talkin'." As Kōemon raised his leg to kick the side of his face, "Stop. This is pointless." Matanojō restrained him. "It must be Kira or Chisaka Hyōbu." "This is paranoia made manifest—almost laughable in its absurdity." "They're so tormented by guilt that they'd trouble themselves to come all this way just to see if we're plotting something."

Though young, Matanojō was rich in prudence. After becoming a rōnin, there had also been the influence of having spent much time living alongside Kuranosuke. He was one who knew best what Kuranosuke hesitated over and what he feared. “This note here—marked ‘Eighteen *Shaku*’—uses someone’s pseudonym, but it seems they tailed Lord Ōishi all the way down to Akō.” “This fellow too appears an idler engaged in pointless activities; Lord Ōishi has gone to collect remaining debts from Akō’s coastal residents.” “Of course—it’s not merely for that alone he went—since March fourteenth marks our late lord’s first death anniversary; he conducted memorial rites while there.” “And yet… Hahaha… Fools tailed him all that way—proof enough this world teems with busybodies and idle bellies.”

Kōemon too understood why Matanojō was saying such things. "But sneaking into Lord Ōishi's construction site in disguise—while it may not wound or itch us physically, it's an unpleasant matter. We can't let this one live." "Don't say that. Whatever they might report to Kira—such things don't pierce flesh or skin. Just know this—if you're caught prowling around here again afterward, I won't tolerate it. Understood, plasterer?"

“…………” Sakubei hung his head. “I’ll untie you.” “You’re going to untie me?” “That’s right… However, as a matter of samurai courtesy, I should at least inquire your honorable name. By what name are you called?” “At least spare me that.”

Sakubei groaned. Kōemon flinched. “To spare your name? To spare your life? That’s luxury.” “Show leniency, and they’ll presume upon it.”

Matanojō remained persistently gentle. “Well, if you dislike that, I won’t ask. However, Mr. Plasterer—how many of you have come to this capital region harboring suspicions as insubstantial as grasping at clouds?”

“…………” “This must be on Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s orders.” “...Mr. Ushioda.”

At last, Sakubei opened his mouth. “I was resolved not to speak… but I shall submit to your generosity and confess.” “As you’ve deduced, I must have been employed by Lord Chisaka Hyōbu, chief retainer of Yonezawa.” “Those bearing the same mission span Osaka, Fushimi, within and beyond Kyoto’s bounds, even reaching Nara—some twenty-two or twenty-three have ascended to the capital.” “Beyond that, I know nothing.” “Well spoken. I shall release you.”

He untied the cord binding his wrists and shoved him away. Sakubei turned back sharply with a resentful glare—his eyes flashing white—and vanished into the darkness.

Even as they descended the stone steps before Bishamon, the two took out the paper fragment obtained from Kimura Jōhachi and read it once more between them. Despite Kuranosuke’s meticulous efforts to disguise his movements and veil his comrades’ covert activities in secrecy, this was how things stood. Moreover, even if men like Horibe, Okuda, Hara, and Ōtaka were to act rashly, there would be no chance of success. On the contrary—wouldn’t making Kōzuke-no-suke feel cornered only drive him deeper into Yonezawa Castle’s innermost defenses? While keenly sensing this truth, Matanojō—

“Kōemon.”

he called out. “What?” “Suddenly, I had grown concerned for Lord Ōishi’s safety on his journey ahead.” “As for this man called Eighteen Shaku—I don’t know who he is—but should he attempt to harm Lord Kuranosuke even aboard the ship, that would spell disaster.” “I’d kept silent too, but ever since earlier, this unease had taken hold—it felt like some kind of premonition.” “Moreover, now that we’ve learned over twenty spies had infiltrated this region alone, there’s no guarantee those bastards won’t strike first against us.”

“I heard his return would be by ship.” “At least we might meet him along the way.” “Should any harm come to Lord Ōishi’s person there, it would be catastrophic.” “Shall we go provide escort?” “Will you come home with me?” “I wish to consult Father.”

“That’s fine too.”

As they hurried along, they suddenly encountered Takebayashi Tadashichi before the Yamashina Gobo of Honganji Temple. He had come from Osaka on business and, unaware of Kuranosuke’s absence, had just visited his house only to return empty-handed. “What of the others?” Tadashichi studied them both. As Kōemon recounted the particulars, “That was unwise.” “Why capture Chisaka Hyōbu’s man only to release him?” “If we let him go, he’ll return to Edo and report everything to Hyōbu.” “Were we truly bent on revenge, we’d never release a spy—this will make Hyōbu doubt our intentions.”

Tadashichi would not accept Matanojō’s explanation. “That may seem like clever stratagem at first glance, but why would the renowned Chisaka Hyōbu of Uesugi breathe easy over such a ploy?” “Moreover, a man ordered to spy who gets exposed and returns—he would never truthfully report his own failure as such.” “On the contrary, they will exaggerate our actions until they reach Hyōbu’s ears.” “By releasing him, your compassion has backfired.” “Very well. I will chase him down and cut him down.”

“Can you even see his figure now?” “Besides, you don’t even know his face.” “Residence?” “He seems to be living at the house of Master Plasterer Matsugorō.” “It’s in the backstreet about four or five blocks west of Nucha-ya Tea House.” “Are you heading to Lord Terai Genkei’s residence now?” “No—to Father Jūnai’s house.” “Then I’ll come by later.” “Are you truly resolved to kill him?”

Matanojō still seemed intent on making Tadashichi reconsider his stance; but as any comrade knew—and Matanojō himself was aware—once Tadashichi declared his intent, he would not be moved.

“Now that this has reached my ears, I cannot let such a wretch escape.” “Wait at Lord Jūnai’s house—I’ll show you his head later.” The swift patter of straw sandals receded into the darkness. Ushioda and Onodera watched his back vanish before setting off toward the distant town lights—yet they could not be certain whether Takebayashi’s judgment was sound or their own measures prudent.

*The Tale of the Night Boat’s Water Rhythm*

Teramachi Backstreet

“What? Takebayashi Tadashichi heard that and went chasing after Kira’s spy again… That’s absurd…” Having left the two young men in the adjoining room, Onodera Jūnai had been putting on his haori in a narrow, unlit chamber. As he tied the cords and emerged, “Why didn’t you stop him?” he demanded, drawing up his bony knees to sit rigidly square. His son Kōemon, “But we did try to stop him,” began to explain. “That’s no use.”

He was not a father who would listen. Stubbornly shaking his head, “Lord Ōishi has always earnestly instructed us… Such a trivial show of force.” Ushioda Matanojō, who had stopped by with Kōemon, felt as though he too were being scolded and hung his head in shame. Jūnai seemed to be going out somewhere. He neatly stored the paper case, pocket paper, and tobacco pouch handed to him by his wife into his tightly fastened inner pocket. “To this alley of rōnin residences as well, they come constantly peering in—disguised as wastepaper dealers, ointment sellers, umbrella repairers, all sorts of suspicious-looking characters. If we were to deal with every one of those wretches, there’d be no end to it. No—rather, that would be playing right into their schemes.” “We need only remain indifferent—like willows bending sideways in the wind.”

“But Father,” Kōemon felt sorry for Matanojō. And so, he inadvertently broke his restrained silence, “It cannot be entirely as you say, Father. Those wretches even harbor schemes to ambush Lord Ōishi and other core members of our faction under cover of darkness.” “Who among us would be secretly killed by Kira or Chisaka’s agents?” “Needless worry.”

“However—according to a document Mr. Ushioda and I obtained tonight—it appears that a man said to be eighteen shaku tall has been tailing Lord Ōishi, who attended the first anniversary memorial service for our late lord in Akō.” “And so, Lord Matanojō and I have been discussing along the way that we should now go to Lord Ōishi’s current location to escort him for security.” “There’s no need to go.” He said bluntly, then muttered the remainder under his breath,

“—Is Lord Ōishi so careless?” he muttered.

At the same time, Jūnai stood. He was going out for a go game appointment at Terai Genkei’s house. The wife arranged the sandals at the exit. When Jūnai stepped onto them and reached for the lattice door, a figure appeared beneath the eaves, “Lord Onodera.”

Then, a visitor arrived.

“Ah, Lord Chikara.”

Wondering if some urgent matter had occurred, it was Chikara—Kuranosuke’s son from Yamashina. He had come bearing a courier letter and explained that since his father was traveling, his mother O-Riku had sent him to request someone open it in his stead. “Let me see…” As Jūnai accepted the document, “Ah—it concerns Kayano Sanpei’s father, Shichirōzaemon.” “Curious…” Tilting his head slightly, “Kōemon—the lantern—”

he called toward the back room. Yodo River Route From Sanpei, who had returned to his hometown of Kayano Village in Settsu Province, all correspondence with his comrades had abruptly ceased. Though a quiet and melancholic youth, he had been a passionate soul. Last year, when calamity struck their lord’s household, it was he who had carried the first urgent dispatch from Edo to Akō as lead courier. Since then, his health had shown little improvement, (Why not return to your hometown awhile and recuperate?)

and so, Kuranosuke had advised him, and his friends had been concerned, but— (It’s nothing serious.) Until very recently, Sanpei had been rushing about the Kyoto-Osaka area—a region whose geography he knew intimately—handling various matters and becoming an indispensable asset among his comrades. However, in mid-January, when Yoshida Chūzaemon and Chikamatsu Kanroku were to depart for Edo, Kayano Sanpei was also to accompany them; as there was talk that he might remain in Edo until their revenge was accomplished, Sanpei wished to return to his hometown once to discreetly bid farewell to his parents.

"That’s fine—by all means go. Even a day or two’s delay—we’ll adjust our plans and wait." Yoshida Chūzaemon and Chikamatsu Kanroku had urged him too, sending him off to Settsu Province. That was how matters stood. Since January, there had been no word. Some speculated— (Sanpei had skillfully withdrawn from joining them, following Takada Gunbei’s example.) Some said as much, but— (Not him—of all people.) Onodera Jūnai and others like him shook their heads. Yet even after Yoshida and Chikamatsu had reluctantly departed for Edo, no news came from Sanpei. Now he too teetered on being struck from his comrades’ records as one who had turned traitor.

“Damn it…” When he finished reading the document, Jūnai lifted his grief-stricken face from beneath the lantern and groaned. “What a waste—to lose such a promising young life.”

“What?!” Both Chikara and Kōemon swallowed hard. Ushioda Matanojō watched the faint trembling of the document in Jūnai’s hands. “Kayano has died?” “Hmm… The document states he committed suicide.” “Why?”

“He hasn’t addressed the circumstances at all.” “Since Kataoka and the others should gather at Genkei’s residence tonight, I’ll announce it there.” “Right—you two must go immediately to Kayano Village in Settsu Province and visit Sanpei’s father, Lord Shichirōzaemon.” “Offer condolences and prepare a monetary offering.” “Yes.”

“Then I shall take my leave.”

With that, Ōishi Chikara departed.

Jūnai chased after him, “Let me accompany you that far.”

He followed along. Watching his figure depart, "I never thought Kayano Sanpei would die..."

“Anyway, let’s go.”

Kōemon entered the house and told his elderly mother something. Kayano Village in Settsu Province was not particularly far. If they walked through the night, they would arrive around noon the next day. The sky hung unseasonably warm and cloudy; as a precaution, they took raincoats and hats. And as the two of them left the rōnin residence on Nijō Avenue in Teramachi, “Hey, Ushioda!”

Someone called out. When they turned to look, there stood Takebayashi Tadashichi, whom they had parted from earlier in front of the Honganji Abbot’s quarters. “Look. This is it, right?” He lifted the round object he was grasping into the darkness to show it. It was a freshly severed head, still dripping with blood. It was the head of Chisaka Hyōbu’s spy Sekiguchi Sakubei, whom Ushioda had once allowed to escape. “Tough one, he was—no wonder Chisaka handpicked and sent that spy. I even sustained a light wound here.” Takebayashi rolled up his sleeve and showed them. Ushioda and Onodera both furrowed their brows.

“Old man Jūnai just scolded us for such foolish antics. Throw it into the temple thicket.” “Old man Jūnai? …But that old man never loses to anyone in vigor—always charging ahead of us younger ones in everything.” “But he says that with enemies hounding us these days, retaliating against each one would be unwise. From now on, show restraint—I got an earful meant for you too.”

“Hmm… I see.” Suddenly, as if the severed head he gripped had grown heavier, Takebayashi sought a place to discard it. When he flung it from the temple’s broken fence into the bamboo thicket, the darkness rustled sharply. “By the way—what of you two?” “We’re departing on sudden business.” “To meet Lord Ōishi?” “No—a document arrived reporting Kayano Sanpei’s suicide.”

“Kayano?” “That Sanpei…?” Takebayashi Tadashichi, upon hearing the circumstances, declared he would accompany them. As they were, they hastened together to Yodo. Just catching the night’s final boat, the three covered themselves with straw mats. They were roused—it was already morning. They arrived at the residence of Kayano Shichirōzaemon in Kayano Village slightly ahead of schedule.

“We are retainers of the former Asano household and old comrades of your son Sanpei-dono. Having learned of this unforeseen tragedy, we have come to pay our respects.” “We humbly request an audience with Lord Shichirōzaemon, the esteemed father of Lord Sanpei.”

Standing at the entrance, they announced each of their names.

The household seemed to be in some sort of commotion.—Later, they would learn that it was, of all days, the 100th-day memorial since Sanpei’s death. “Please.” and were shown into the inner rooms. The house bore the structure of an old country samurai’s residence. In its dimly lit small parlor sat a gaunt old warrior, shoulders slumped in despondency—this was Shichirōzaemon. The moment he saw the three figures, “For some time now, I had heard from my son of your esteemed names.” “I scarcely know how to begin… As a parent, I have no face to show you.”

Shichirōzaemon pressed both hands to the floor and apologized to the three others—even after losing his own child—with his palms still pressed down. While shedding tears, “It was precisely the fourteenth day of the first month,” “when he came at year’s end to spend New Year in this house, showing no signs of distress—and yet that very son Sanpei committed seppuku…”

he began to speak.

It is said that even before that incident, Sanpei had shut himself away in his study as if afflicted by melancholia, rarely exchanging words with his family except during meals. The cause lay in his strict concealment—to uphold his comrades' pact—of his true purpose for traveling to Edo, telling neither parents nor family members a single word about it, instead claiming he was going to seek employment—a story which Shichirōzaemon had believed, (If he means to seek employment now, why doesn't he remain with his aging parents and inherit the family headship of our country samurai household?)

It seems to have arisen from his father’s refusal to permit his departure to Edo.

Sanpei was tormented. If he revealed the crucial matter, he would betray his pact with comrades. If he defied his father, he would be unfilial. Sanpei possessed a frail constitution and unyielding integrity. He had weighed both obligations too heavily and failed to contemplate the wisdom of living with moderation. At dusk, when he had gone alone to his deceased mother’s grave in the back mountain and was playing his favorite transverse flute—around the time the flute’s sound ceased—he sat upon the grass and committed seppuku. “We have done a regrettable thing.”

The three repeated their words. Guided by Shichirōzaemon, they climbed to the grave hill behind the house. At their dear friend’s resting place, incense and flowers from the hundredth-day memorial smoldered. “No—Lord Sanpei has not yet perished,” one said. “On the day we depart, he too shall attain true death… We shall carry this pure spirit in our blood and ensure your son’s untimely fate does not end in vain.” Another added, “Though we regret being unable to explain everything now.”

Matanojō and Tadashichi took turns comforting the lonely old father and then left the place. He repeatedly tried to make them stay, but they all found their hearts too pained to remain long. They came to Shibamura’s wayside teahouse, ate their midday meal, inquired about the departure time for the upstream boat at Yodo, and until then, took a nap on a bench in the back.

The thirty-koku boat ascending from Osaka to Kyoto wound through the bright river waves of the evening calm and approached Moriguchi’s landing. Mingling with the other passengers, the three—Ushioda, Onodera, and Takebayashi—also boarded. “Hm?” No sooner had Onodera Kōemon settled at the stern than he blurted out.

“Lord Ōishi is here! Lord Ōishi is—” “Quiet... Keep silent.” Ushioda shook his head sideways and rebuked Kōemon’s surprise. Takebayashi had not failed to notice—in fact, he had already glanced over early on—but with Kuranosuke seated among the many passengers in the boat’s midsection under the changed name of Ikeda Kyūemon and accompanied by a suspiciously large entourage, he refrained from speaking and kept silent. “Keep pretending you don’t know.” “...Even the physician averted his eyes. If we’re to speak, Lord Ōishi will say something first.”

Matanojō turned sideways and whispered.

Tadashichi clicked his tongue, “Are all those courtesans part of the physician’s entourage?” “It would seem so…” “What is that creature clinging to the physician’s side—can’t tell if it’s a woman or a man?” “A kabuki actor specializing in female roles.” “I know he’s a kabuki actor, but…” “Isn’t that Segawa Takenojō, famous in Kyoto theater? The fellow passengers are straining their eyes and whispering.” “That’s Takenojō, the kabuki actor. The physician has no restraint at all!” Tadashichi spat a mouthful of saliva disgustedly onto the water’s surface and, with bitter resentment, pretended not to notice.

Drunken Playboy

The rumors that Kuranosuke had lately been frequenting Tsukumachi in Fushimi or visiting Shimabara for leisure were not recent; shortly after returning from Edo last year, his alcohol intake had begun to increase,

(The Chief Retainer has changed somewhat from before, hasn’t he?)

Such things were being murmured even among comrades. (That too is acceptable…) Onodera Jūnai, Terai Genkei, and the other elderly retainers watched with laughter that seemed to say they had grasped their own intentions—if not outright declaring it. However, those like Ōtaka Gengo and Tomomori Sukeemon—men of scrupulous integrity—and the younger members, (He built houses, bought courtesans—and when it came to discussions of revenge, they never reached a decisive conclusion.) They could not fathom the physician’s intentions at all.)

There were those who, witnessing his debauchery, felt indignant and occasionally voiced their dissatisfaction—Ushioda, Takebayashi, Kōemon, and others, who were of course members of that faction—sitting together in bitter silence at a spot in the stern, their faces turned away from each other. Moreover, since March 14th had recently marked the first anniversary of their lord’s death, Kuranosuke had returned to Kakaku-ji Temple in Akō to conduct the memorial rites on behalf of all the surviving retainers—was he not now on his return journey?

Where had he removed his travel attire? Without even his family in Yamashina or anyone in Kyoto noticing, he had discarded his travel attire somewhere and now sat perfectly composed, adorned in a black crepe haori over soft Rikyū-brown garments, with gaudy gold-embroidered obi and accessories. It was as if he were engaging in secret revelry—even aboard this ordinary thirty-koku boat common to the route—occupying a seat in the midsection, surrounded by a gaudy entourage that drew everyone’s attention: five courtesans likely brought from Osaka’s Sonezaki, the kabuki actor Segawa Takenojō, and a serving courtesan.

“Oh... I thought the sake in my cup was trembling... But no—has the ship started rocking?” “Ha ha ha ha! Is the shore growing distant, or is the boat drifting away? Solve this riddle for me, Otsuyu.” Kuranosuke’s speech was already slurred. Otsuyu, the serving courtesan, wiped the spilled sake on her knee while— “Is the boat growing distant, or is the shore receding? —Is that the riddle?” “That’s right—to the one who solves this riddle, I’ll let them have the sake cup as a prize.”

One of the courtesans said, “I’ve had enough sake.” As she spoke, he replied, “Then I’ll take you to bed.” “My! How shameless you are in public, Lord Ukidōjin!” “What’s wrong with saying such things openly? In this world, there should be no men who hate women or women who hate men. If anyone claims otherwise, they must be liars… Must be…” When had he started drinking? He felt slightly fatigued. Supporting his head with his fingers, Kuranosuke leaned against the gunwale and looked down.

“Lord Ukidōjin.” “Lord Playboy”

“Are you feeling unwell?” “If you carry on like this, even if you reach Tsukumachi, you’ll collapse drunk right away.”

Takenojō rested Kuranosuke’s head on his own knee, “Would you like some water…?” “No! Sake! More sake!” “It’s poison now.” “Who says sake is poison? Someone called it the best of medicines, but no poet ever sang of it as poison. Living a long life, saving up money—prolonging one’s days in this world is one approach. Again—to do as one pleases, surrounded by beautiful women, and spend this life in the intoxication of fine sake—that too is a way of life. After all, this world is only while we’re alive… the next is emptiness.”

“Well… In that case, please rise.” “The other passengers are being inconvenienced.” “Ah... I see... There are still other passengers on this boat... My apologies.” With that, he sat cross-legged in disarray and straightened himself, “—Are we not at Fushimi yet?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Well, well, this wait is interminable. You can’t dance or sing properly on the water, can you? Fushimi—hurry and draw near.” “What do you mean?” “Forgive me. During my travels, this Kuemon finds true paradise—but when I return home to Yamashina, there’s my wife’s sullen face, the incessant visits from debt collectors, and all manner of nuisances. I can’t even stretch out my bones in peace.” “You jest… Hoho.” “Nay, ’tis true. Therefore, upon returning from Harima Akō this time, I wish to carouse at Minatoya Hanausu in Tomo no Tsu, Sonezaki in Naniwa, and Sasaya’s Ukihashi in Fushimi—drinking through the night and arriving in Kyoto even a day later than necessary.” …Ah… Once I said it aloud, I suddenly wanted to see her. Ukihashi must be longing for me. “Even though I sent a courier from Hyōgo to inform her of the day we’d meet…”

“Are you boasting of your paramour again?” “’Tis no boast—’tis plain truth I speak.”

“Hohoho, unhand me!” “Takenojō.” “Yes.” “My shoulders grow stiff.” “Rub them.” “Does this suffice, Lord Ukidōjin?” “Mmm... There... Ah, that’s good... Even revelry stiffens the shoulders.”

Among the passengers were those who could not afford to buy rice tomorrow. There were those who went to sell daughters to Kyoto procurers with somber faces. Day after day, traveling merchants who had exhausted themselves slept at cheap lodgings.

They had been gazing enviously at Kuranosuke since earlier, but when they saw him collapse drunk once more onto the kabuki actor Takenojō’s lap, they suddenly began whispering among themselves. “What sort of Lord Playboy is that?” “Well, I don’t know for certain, but he did mention Yamashina.”

“Yamashina?” “Then isn’t that man Ōishi Kuranosuke, one of 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 chief retainer of an entire domain—he must’ve hidden away plenty of gold during the turmoil.” “But with a chief retainer like that, no wonder Akō fell.” “Isn’t it disgraceful?” “Ah, but these days it’s not just that retainer—samurai have changed completely from how they once were.” “They compete to outshine each other with gaudy robes and sword fittings. When it comes to extravagant revelry in Naniwa or Shimabara, it’s always domain stewards, warehouse officials, or town magistrates setting the pace. Even wealthy townsfolk can’t match them.”

“But with this state of affairs, the House of Kira must feel perfectly secure.” “Exactly—there was that odd rumor... but seeing how things are progressing now...” When they saw Kuranosuke’s face snoring as he slept on Takenojō’s lap, everyone stifled giggles. “......”

Ushioda Matanojō, Onodera Kōemon, and Takebayashi Tadashichi—the three of them—remained still, huddled together in their narrow confines, their faces not once lifted as they stared at the dark river surface. Depicting in the corners of their minds the death of the innocent Sanpei and the many hardships of their comrades… *Self-Composed Song* “Lord Ukidōjin, Lord Playboy.” “Shut up… Let me sleep a bit longer.” “Please wake up. We have arrived in Fushimi.” “No… I’m sleepy.”

“Then shall we continue straight to Kyoto? Won’t you pay a visit to Lady Yuugiri?” “What… Has Yuugiri come?” “No—we are at Fushimi.” “Fushimi? This changes everything. If I don’t show my face to Yuugiri now, I might be killed for it… Let’s go.” “But—this is dangerous!” “Takenojō—carry me.” “I cannot carry you. Please take hold of my shoulder instead.” “Otsuyu—you there, move to the left.” “Oh—the boat is rocking! Boatman—keep it steady!”

Supported by both arms, Kuranosuke finally managed to ascend ashore. “What the—?”

“What a sight.”

In unison, those who remained on the boat jeered. And then, they stretched out luxuriously into the vacant seats, “Ah, this is much better now!” “But they could’ve at least left the Sonezaki courtesans behind.” “Ha ha ha!”

Then, abruptly from within that laughter, a townsman stood up. In a travel cloak with arm guards and gaiters, wearing sturdy straw sandals—his sharp, efficient demeanor gave the impression of a traveling laborer or perhaps an itinerant entertainer.

“Ah, I fell asleep. This is Fushimi, Mr. Boatman.” “That’s right, this is Fushimi.” “I’m getting off.” Flipping his cloak, he leapt ashore. Around the same time, Ushioda, Takebayashi, and Onodera—the three of them—also

“Shall we get off?”

“Let’s get off.” Exchanging glances, they had blended into the crowd ashore. A young man carrying a Masuya lantern from Shumokuchō lined up palanquins and came out to greet them. The courtesans got into them, but Ōishi Kuranosuke, his drunken eyes wide open, “What… You’re telling me to get into the palanquin?” “…Let’s not. If I may say so, the journey until we see Yuugiri’s face is itself the entertainment of the waiting parlor—especially on this fine spring evening.” With his fan, clapping a rhythm all the while, he staggered forward.

The maid, Takenojō, and a single Masuya lantern surrounded his shadow. “Are you going to walk, Lord Ukidōjin?” “What’s the point? It’d be a waste to cram this pleasant buzz and hazy moonlit night into some stuffy palanquin. …Takenojō, hum an accompaniment.” “Would you like to sing something, Lord Ukidōjin?” “The Ryūtatsu-bushi, perhaps?” “Rather than that, what about your own composition, ‘Satogeshiki,’ Lord Ukidōjin?” “Hmm, shall we practice? …A rehearsal in the dark.” Takenojō interjected with a vocal shamisen accompaniment—

Deep into the night, the pleasure quarter's When you gaze upon their attire— Evening lamplight turns away in slumberous recline, Even the flowers of dreams The scattering storm comes beckoning The man escorts his companion from the boudoir Even others' farewells remain sorrowful, Both the back and middle doors open at dawn's first light, The single-layer obi of one who bids farewell Loosened, undone—sleep-tousled hair's Boxwood's—boxwood's small comb too Even tears scatter upon the sleeves—

“Lord Ukidōjin.” “What’s this, Takenojō?” “Wait—that part isn’t matching the strings.” “Once more—from ‘boxwood’s…’”

From Otsuyu’s side came the remark: “No—it isn’t Lord Ukidōjin’s singing at fault, but Mr. Takenojō’s shamisen accompaniment.” “Then let Otsuyu attempt to carry the melody with vocal shamisen this time.” “Oh—you’ll play? No, rather, perform the shamisen?” “I’ll sing—follow my lead.” *Spilling onto sleeves* *The wretched duty clings like dew* *Spilling onto sleeves—* *These cruel bonds* *A drifting life or sorrow’s weight—*

“Bravo!” “It’s perfect!” As Takenojō clapped his hands in effusive praise, the man in the traveling raincoat—who had been tailing them from shadow to shadow ever since they disembarked from the boat—suddenly slithered close, thrust a dagger concealed under his raincoat, and slammed its hilt against Kuranosuke’s body.

“Ah!” “Unthinkable…”

As he staggered, Kuranosuke firmly grasped the man’s wrist. “—Who goes there, you careless fellow?”

Wordlessly, the man shook off the hand. The young man from Masuya had already thrown down his lantern and fled, while Takenojō and Otsuyu instantly let out a shriek and threw themselves facedown by the roadside.

Seeing this, Takebayashi and Ushioda—who had been trailing at a slight distance— “Hey! Who goes there?” They dashed forward, “You!”

And from three sides, they surrounded the man in the raincoat.

The man clearly panicked. He hurled a dagger at Onodera Kōemon's face. Then with terrifying speed, he bolted from a nearby alley into the shadowed grove of a shrine.

“Ugh…” “Otsuyu… Otsuyu.” Leaning against the row of cherry trees, Kuranosuke slumped limply. As if his life—having narrowly escaped such peril—remained unaware of its own survival— “Where did you go, Otsuyu? … What was that just now…? A robber…?” But Takenojō and Otsuyu still had not risen from the roadside. Before Kuranosuke stood not the cloaked man, but three ronin with ghastly expressions, their sword hilts aligned as they glared at him.

“Taifu! …”

Ushioda Matanojō was the first to speak.

“Lord Kuranosuke.” Then Tadashichi bellowed.

“Lord Ōishi.”

Kōemon rebuked him.

Finally, Kuranosuke turned his seemingly unfocused eyes toward the three figures. "Hoh..."

And he laughed. “Who do I find but Matanojō, Tadashichi, Kōemon… When did you arrive?” “Are you aware?”

“You speak such sorrowful words—yet my eyes still see.” “The man who attacked Your Lordship with a dagger was one of Chisaka Hyōbu’s agents—a brawny spy operating under the alias Jūhasshaku [Eighteen Shaku]. However much you dismiss this as mere diversion, do you not grasp how vital your person remains? Even your own body—until the appointed hour—is not yours to squander so recklessly!”

“What’s this, Matanojō? Have you come to scold this Kuranosuke?” “That we happened to glimpse your figure aboard the thirty-koku boat must surely be by our deceased lord’s guidance. Did you attend the first anniversary memorial in Akō?” “I did.” Kuranosuke hung his head. “At Kegakuji, it was a most solemn memorial service. Even townspeople of the domain who remember their roots—fisherfolk and farmers alike—came bearing incense and flowers to pay respects. This body could not help but be moved to tears.”

“Your Lordship attended that first anniversary memorial service, yet before even returning to Yamashina—what is the meaning of this frivolous behavior? It is far too disgraceful.” Following Ushioda’s lead, Takebayashi pressed— “At any rate, how about returning with us to Yamashina just once? While you were absent, numerous matters requiring your attention and deliberation have piled up.” “Now now, young man—you shouldn’t utter such uncouth words.… Over there remains my favored Takenojō, and Otsuyu of Sonezaki too. Having brought my entire entourage this far—how could we possibly depart in haste? Tonight, above all else, I must go to Masuya.”

“Is Masuya truly so important to you?” “Even in play, there are pretenses to uphold and obligations to fulfill. Since I’m known as the playboy of Yamashina…” “Tch!” Tadashichi bit his lip. “Who exactly is this ‘Playboy Lord’? Lord Ōishi—are your obligations to the brothels more important, or the solemn oath you made with us?” “Enough!” Ōishi fixed his gaze on Tadashichi. “What are you saying! The solemn vow was made to Yūgiri.” I had sent a courier declaring that upon returning from this journey, I would surely visit and show souvenirs from Akō—now that I think on it, what a blunder. Everyone—even those souvenirs were taken in Sonezaki. At the very least, I must show them my face.

“That’s enough of your nonsense!” “To think you would spout such drivel to us.” “The essence of play lies in this very act—laying bare the sodden depths of one’s heart, long hidden away, and revealing them for all to see. That is its amusement.” “Don’t be such a killjoy. How about it, Tadashichi—won’t you join me now for a visit to Tsukimachi?”

“I refuse!” “We three have only just returned from visiting the grave of our late comrade Kayano Sanpei. Merely thinking of his death brings tears to our eyes.” “In this state of affairs, even Sanpei must be lamenting in the afterlife that he died meaninglessly.” “Sanpei… What do you mean—that Sanpei has died?” “Though this should not be said to Your Lordship—reeking of sake as you are, in a mere roadside exchange—I must speak one truth.” “Alas, the single-minded Kayano—torn between our sworn pact and his aged parent—ended his life through seppuku.”

“…………” Whether he was watching the hazy night clouds or gazing at the cherry blossom treetops, Kuranosuke leaned his back against a tree, face upturned, never lowering his eyes. —Dew’s fleeting trace transient duties spilling onto sleeves The bitter remnant’s sorrowful task.

Once again, he began chanting with handclaps— “Even young lives—in this fleeting world of ours—you, Matanojō, Tadashichi, Kōemon—should glimpse something of the unknown.” “Come—tonight Kuranosuke shall teach you debauchery’s ways. All else follows thereafter.” “No—let us drink through the night down to the cup’s very dregs…”

Staggering forward, he beckoned to Takenojō and Otsuyu’s figures with his fan.

Kyoto-Fushimi Pleasure District Guidebook

Grieving Mothers, Mourning Wives

Spring, too, would linger only a few more days. In the village of Yamashina, old bush warblers sang on and on. ――Hyaah! Hyaah!

――Ooh!

Somewhere, fierce shouts of exertion and the clatter of wooden swords leaked through the intervening silence. It was from within the Ōishi household—where they had newly planted garden trees and elaborately arranged numerous stones and lanterns with aesthetic taste. Such extravagant construction—what fortunate souls born under a blessed sun could be dwelling within, enjoying their remaining days in this fleeting world?—those passing by outside would inevitably turn to gaze at its gate.

In the garden's peony field, magnificent kings of flowers vied in splendor as they bloomed—the dazzling sunlight of approaching May cast its full brightness against the study's fresh Yoshino cedar ceiling.

“...O-Riku.” “Water… give me water.”

Kuranosuke lay face down, asleep. This morning—after returning by palanquin from a teahouse in Gion—he had flung off the bedding O-Riku laid over him, pulled the collar of his haori over his head, and fallen into loud snoring. —Hyaah! Ooh!

As if to rouse their father from his indolent slumber, from the rear came the sounds of the eldest son Chikara and second son Yoshichiyo diligently practicing kendo.

Licking his parched lips from the lingering hangover, Kuranosuke sat up, “O-Ri—” He clapped his hands. “Yes.” The reply was heard faintly, and soon the figure of his wife came hurrying over and clasped her hands deferentially.

“Oh… Have you awoken?” “What are you doing?” “I was just caught up in kitchen duties…” “Please forgive me.”

“If the kitchen lacks hands, I’ve told you repeatedly to hire as many maids and manservants as needed... Hmm... You still can’t shed your penny-pinching ways.” “...Bring water.”

“Yes.”

When he returned from the pleasure district, he would invariably become irritable and quick to anger these days. O-Riku poured the water as though handling a swollen wound, and he gulped it down in one breath. “That shouting must be Chikara and Yoshichiyo.”

“That is correct.” “That shouting woke me up. Those noisy brats—tell them their father said their pointless practice must stop. Go make them quit.”

“…………” “Why are you looking at my face with such resentment?” “With all due respect, Yoshichiyo has begun to wield a wooden sword in that manner, and Chikara, like an elder brother, instructs him whenever he finds the time.” “You could praise them for their efforts… So how can you, as their parent, say such things as calling their endeavors pointless?”

“O-Riku.” Sharply uttering this, Kuranosuke adjusted his kneeling posture. “Yes…”

“As of today, I dismiss you.” “Return to your parents’ home in Toyooka.” “Huh?...” O-Riku caught her breath. Her face pale as if still disbelieving her husband’s words, she pressed closer with sharp intensity: “Wh...why would this be?”

she pressed closer. Kuranosuke fixed his eyes intently on hers, “It doesn’t suit the household’s ways.” he said, devoid of any warmth or compassion. “If… Master…. If there has been any fault in me, I beg you to forgive me. I will reform myself in any way necessary.” “How old are you now?”

“…………” “You’re no longer at an age where scolding will make you mend your ways.” Those reprimands, too, he had grown utterly weary of repeating. This Kuranosuke had—since leaving Akō—changed his name to Ikeda Kyūemon and explained repeatedly to them all that he would live out his days amusingly, absurdly, as an ordinary townsman; he had strictly ordered that henceforth landholdings and properties were to take precedence over bows and arrows, the abacus over martial arts, and that Chikara and Yoshichiyo’s education must adhere firmly to this principle. “However, if you secretly take pleasure in the children’s kendo practice, then as Kyūemon’s wife, your future conduct is unreliable… That is what makes you unsuited to our household’s ways.”

“Master… Is that truly your will?” “That should be clear.”

O-Riku prostrated herself on the tatami mats. She was crying, unable to make a sound. “Immediately, prepare.” “Take whatever you want—clothing, household goods, anything.” “Master…!” Clinging to his knees,

“Is that not excessively cruel? Starting with Chikara, Ruri, Yoshichiyo, Saburō—how could a couple who has brought forth so many children part ways now over something so trivial?”

“What do you mean ‘trivial’? A woman who does not suit our household’s ways is the cause of its ruin—for the Ōishi family, this is a grave matter.” “If it is known that you hold such an understanding, then I cannot keep you here a moment longer.” “Stand!” “Get out immediately!” Having noticed his mother weeping beneath his father’s booming voice, Yoshichiyo, who had been practicing kendo in the back, came running up with his feet still muddy. Chikara, too, wondering what was happening, hesitantly followed from behind, quietly ascending to take a respectful position in the study’s corner.

Because his brother remained silent with downcast eyes, Yoshichiyo alone pressed both hands to the floor before his father. “Father, please have mercy. I will correct Mother’s faults, so please forgive her.”

“This is not a matter for a child to know.” “Your mother is…”

With that, Kuranosuke stared intently and placed his hand on Yoshichiyo’s forelock.

“...Your mother... is one who has left the Ōishi family as of today. I will not scold her again.” “No… Father… Please let Mother stay in our home forever.” “Do you love your mother?” “Yes.”

“Then become your mother’s child.” “I love you too, Father. I want to live with you and Mother together forever.” “That cannot be.” When he lightly pushed Yoshichiyo’s shoulder, the boy fell backward. O-Riku lost all composure, “Oh, don’t cry, Yoshichiyo. Father is just having an off day today. By evening, he’ll return to his usual self and show you a smile.” As she drew him to her lap, pressing her tear-streaked face against his,

“No—not just this evening, but for all eternity, such a day shall never come. Only the eldest son, Chikara, will remain at his father’s side. Take all the other children and leave immediately for Toyooka—do you understand, O-Riku? I have given this order without fail.”

“In any case, after consulting with Uncle Koyama and Cousin Shindō…” “…You know, Yoshichiyo.” “I have already informed Shindō and Uncle Koyama long ago, so there is no need for you to relay it anew.”

“Huh… Then, you had everything prepared to that extent.” “Indeed.” Deeply—greatly nodding—Kuranosuke said while staring fixedly at her. “We have been together for many years, but seeing how you do not suit the family’s ways when cast into the life of a townsman, I had long thought you would leave someday…” O-Riku no longer shed tears. In her husband’s eyes—eyes that contradicted his words—there dwelled a distant contemplation brimming with mercy, clear as a bottomless lake, containing an immeasurable depth that eluded a woman’s understanding.

“There is no alternative…” Placing both hands on the tatami, when O-Riku said that, 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.

There was nothing to do but trust her husband.—No, until this very day, O-Riku had not harbored the slightest doubt toward this husband. Why had she let this belief slip from her heart even for a moment?

While scolding and encouraging herself, she wiped her tears and stood up. In the back, Daizaburō seemed to have woken and was crying for her breast— Chikara supported his lowered neck and shoulders with hands like stones planted against his knees, “Father!” “……” He raised tearful eyes to Kuranosuke’s face.

“Chikara—” The father’s voice was heavy yet calm. “Do you resent your father’s decision?” “No.”

Chikara shook his head sideways. Tears spilled down both cheeks.

“Father has been indulging in debauchery lately. Do you not wish to voice your opinion?”

“No… Please proceed.” “Chikara is pleased.” “Hmm… You are my child.” “Chikara, come here.” “You too—as Yamashina’s playboy’s son—must learn the tea ceremony.”

The Bitter Idler

At the corner of the alley in Tenma Furu-matsu-chō, Fuwa Kazuemon came to a stop. He touched the brim of his woven hat, scanned the alley for passersby, and once he confirmed no suspicious shadows were trailing him, he strode brusquely beneath the eaves of the row houses to the fourth one,

“Lord Sōemon, are you at home?”

He peered inside.

“Oh—” A short while after the reply, “Come to the garden.” “Kazuemon, straight to the inner garden—”

Then, from the rear, Hara Sōemon’s voice could be heard. He pushed the broken gate at the house’s side. Stepping over the rotten bamboo rain gutter that had fallen from the eaves, “Oh… There’s a garden here?” “Even in poverty, it’s a five-tsubo garden. Though still early in the season, I thought to build a loofah trellis and morning glory fence this summer—today I prepare the seedbed.” “How commendable.” “Truly commendable. Who will rest beneath these vines? Who will gaze upon these blossoms? None can say… Yet man cannot let today pass without labor. Idleness is bitter.”

“There are indeed people in this world who are not entirely so.” “Is that so?” “However, even among our close acquaintances—” “Hmm… Well, Ōno Kurōbei, for instance.” “No, no—given that it’s that man, it’s no surprise, nor does it anger me… But Lord Sōemon, are you unaware?” “Are you saying you are unaware?” “Lord Ōishi’s recent acts of debauchery...” “I have heard through rumors, but well, it’s probably fine.” “Eventually, we have all resolved that our lives are as transient as morning glories whose dew dries before they scatter.” “Lord Ōishi too, in the prime of manhood, may gaze upon and savor this world and this spring that will never come again… And moreover—”

Then, Sōemon peered over the fence at the neighboring house’s veranda while washing his hands in the water jar there. “It must also be part of a deeper strategy to deceive Kira and Uesugi’s spies.” “I see it that way and rather admire how he carries out such a role, but...” “However—we too, at first, trusted Lord Ōishi as you said, but lately, it has come to seem a bit fishy.” “Why?”

Then, Sōemon heavily settled onto the veranda, pulled the tobacco tray in the sitting room closer, and held his pipe at a slant. He was young for fifty-six. He still had no white hair. Having served as commander of foot soldiers, Sōemon could keenly gauge the hearts of young men and still carried much of their youthful spirit within himself. “If it were strategy or diversion, he’d exercise discretion—but with Lord Ōishi these days, it’s not just excessive—no, far beyond that—utterly the ravings of a madman.” “In Shimabara, Gion, Shumokuchō—wherever his feet wander, wherever the wind blows—he scatters gold like water and even preens at being hailed as ‘Lord Ukidōjin’ and ‘the playboy.’”

“Surely not…” He truly did not believe it. Sōemon, between the teeth of a bitter smile, made the metal mouthpiece of his pipe glint and gazed as if dazzled at the late spring sun. “It’s so absurd I can hardly bring myself to address each and every instance.” “The impetuous Takebayashi Tadashichi is burning with rage.” “Moreover, Ushioda, Onodera Kōemon, and others are in a state of agitation, unable to stand idly by.” “Something will happen.” “The fact that we cannot leave things as they be—this is our situation.” “Lord Sōemon, you must go to Kyoto at least once.”

“What would I accomplish by going?” “Before the young ones’ discontent erupts, I want you to quell it.” “That role ill suits me.” “Just hearing this talk makes my stomach churn—how could I possibly calm hot-blooded youths?” “I might join them instead.” Even without that complication, comrades from Edo—Horibe, Okuda, and others—had been frequently sending urgent missives of late. No wonder. Lord Ōishi had sworn during his previous return that by next April they would execute their decisive act. Yet he now wore a face of perfect oblivion while postponing matters day by day—until Horibe and the others seemed to have entirely lost patience.

“After all, if we keep waiting for Lord Ōishi to act, it could take ten years—twenty years—or we might even realize he has no true intention of revenge at all!” “What I fear is this concern—that once Kōzuke-no-suke has hidden himself deep within Yonezawa Castle, that will be the end of it.” “When I think of that, I can’t sit still—it’s unbearable.” “Rise.” “What should we do?”

“First, let us go to Kyoto and confront Lord Ōishi one more time.”

“Hmm.” “If his attitude remains half-hearted to the end, then his true intentions are already clear.” “We should abandon that sort of man and act alone—” “Then you mean… who exactly?”

“In Kyoto and Osaka—Ōtaka, Ushioda, and Nakamura Kansuke—these three have been stalwart from the beginning.” “Okano and Onodera’s son would harbor no duplicity either.” “In Edo—Horibe father and son, Okuda Magodayu, Tanaka Sadashirō, and Kurahashi Densuke—these men are indeed dōshin constables.”

“First, there must be twelve or thirteen of them.” “Certainly.” “If ten men with iron hearts and stone guts are gathered, they would surpass a hundred cowards.”

“Wait.” Suppressing Kazuemon’s agitated words, “At any rate, I shall go to Kyoto informally, verify Taifu’s true intentions, and formulate an urgent plan... though ill-timed it may be—” With that, he entered the house,

“My wife has gone to visit relatives in Sumiyoshi today and is out.” “Very well—I shall go prepare my will.” “Kazuemon, I must beg your leave for a moment.”

Sōemon entered the next room and sat before a small desk, his rounded back visible as he wrote something along the edge of a scroll. The quiet sound of oars from the Tenmagawa River drifted in. A drowsy drumbeat flowed from the theater turret in Dōtonbori. Kazuemon had noticed that even he himself was not immune to the temptation of stealing moments of life's small peace to savor within this gentle April sunlight and warm southeast wind.

...In truth, it was no wonder that those in high positions like Ōno and Ōishi had ended up that way... But no matter how others chose to live, I would walk my own path. Yes—I would walk my own path.

Passing each other. If one went to Kyoto and visited Onodera, both father and son were out; if one called on Ōtaka Gengo, he too was said to have left home since the previous night.

Among the comrades, there was no communication whatsoever. A scattered lethargy seemed to linger among them, and Sōemon seethed with frustration. “The more days pass, the more people’s hearts naturally turn this way—but even so, this is a maddening state of affairs. With things like this, how can we even land a single blow of vengeance against Lord Kira?” “There might be someone in Yamashina.” Kazuemon, on the contrary, ended up calming Sōemon.

“I’m worn out.” “What a trial—if I go all the way to Yamashina now only to be told *he’s* absent again, I’ll be furious whether I like it or not.” “Shall we hire a town palanquin?” “These days we’ve grown so poor, even palanquin fare pains us… but very well, let’s ride.” They rode to the foothills, then walked from there.

It was a pitch-dark night. As they abandoned their palanquins, two palanquins came rushing down from Yamashina above, brushing past them toward the village. Turning toward that light,

“Was that Lord Ōishi just now, or perhaps someone else?” “No—it must have been a local wife. The sound of an infant crying was coming from inside the palanquin.”

They casually continued walking as they were. The newly built Ōishi residence was visible even from afar on such a dark night. As they drew closer, someone was standing dejectedly at the gate. Against the chest of a wandering monk wearing a woven bamboo hat, a boy pressed his face and wept. “Isn’t this Lord Chikara?” When Sōemon addressed him, Chikara pulled his face away from the monk’s chest in surprise and hurriedly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Yes.” It was a clear reply. It was no different from his usual voice. “This is—Lord Hara, Lord Fuwa as well.”

“Is your father here?” “Unfortunately, he is not present.”

“Off to Gion or Shurikamachi again?” “Huh?...” “……” Chikara looked ill at ease, and in eyes he had wiped once already, tears began overflowing uncontrollably like torrential rain. “How do you fare?” The moment Sōemon struck his shoulder, white pearls broke through his eyelashes and streamed down his cheeks.

“……”

As Chikara remained silent without answering, the wandering monk—who until then had been wearing a woven bamboo hat and was unrecognized—greeted them from the side. “I am pleased to find you both in good health.” “Ah! You’re—” “I am Yūkai of Enrinji Temple in Akō.”

“Oh, Monk!” “Having received Lord Ōishi’s orders, I went to Edo on his behalf and tirelessly sought various leads regarding your younger brother Lord Daigaku’s reinstatement. However, despite my efforts, I could not achieve the desired outcome. In truth, I have come here now bearing this unsuccessful reply.”

“Upon hearing that, was Lord Chikara shedding tears out of disappointment?” “No… it concerns another matter.” “Another matter? Is it something significant?” “Kindly refrain from concerning yourselves with trivial household affairs.” “When it comes to household matters, we cannot remain uninformed.” “We share bonds with Lord Ōishi that cannot be severed. Please tell us.” “Allow this humble monk to explain…” With that, Yūkai withdrew slightly and “…In truth, when I stopped by earlier, two palanquins stood prepared. Lady O-Riku of the household was departing somewhere in tears, taking with her Yoshichiyo-dono, Ruri-dono, and Saburō-dono—her three children. Upon inquiring further, I learned she had today received dismissal from Lord Kuranosuke and would withdraw to the ancestral home of Lord Ishizuka Gengoemon in Tajima Toyooka.”

“Huh?... Then... Has Her Ladyship been divorced?” The two turned blankly toward the darkness. They realized that the palanquins they had just passed at the foot of the slope must have been those carrying her.

“What a regrettable thing we’ve done.” “Kazuemon—you said you heard the sound of an infant crying.” “I didn’t realize that was it.” “As for why the master divorced her—I feel I can discern the profound reason even without hearing it.” “What use is there in us standing by and watching that?” “Lord Chikara, don’t cry. I’ll go and bring your mother back.”

As Sōemon tried to run,

“Ah! Wait—”

Chikara grabbed his sleeve, “Please… leave it be.”

“Why?” With a reproachful glare, Sōemon said to Chikara. “Do you not feel any sadness at all that your mother has been divorced and is leaving for Tajima? Even someone like me, Sōemon—a stranger—feels as though my guts are being torn out at the thought of a woman with four children being sent away to her distant family home.” “No, no… Please do not trouble yourself with such kindness. I do not wish to make my mother cry any further.”

“That’s why I say we’ll call her back and have us both plead your case to your father.” “Even that would prove futile.” “Hmm… So even toward his own flesh and blood—does Lord Kuranosuke declare his capacity for love and hatred spent?”

“......” “Surely tonight too, he revels as Lord Ukidōjin in the gaudy streets. Right then—Kazuemon! Never mind if it takes till dawn! Let’s go find Lord Ōishi now!” Chikara did not stop the two men striding away with great steps. Bewilderment and sorrow stained his youthful face black with tears. The lamplight of this fatherless and motherless house held no charm. Only the bleak desolation of departing spring lingered there.

“...Then, when you return, kindly convey to Lord Kuranosuke that Yūkai visited this evening. ... I shall send a detailed written report from Akō in due course.”

Yūkai, too, had begun to leave but suddenly turned back— “Lord Chikara, the fog has settled. To avoid catching cold, please go inside your home.” “Ah, well… The journey to Tajima must be arduous, but neither can her visits to Fushimi and Gion be easy.” “……Ah, but for a monk’s life to be wasted like this…”

Muttering to himself, even his shadow vanished into Yamashina’s black night fog. Rice-washing basket

“Are we ready yet?” “Not yet.” “Ready now?”

“Alright, let’s get started.” From behind the folding screen, at that very moment, a single drunkard—his hips unsteady, dressed in costume—lurched upright. “Wahahahaha!” “Hohohoho.” “Hahaha!” The men, courtesans, and everyone in the troupe doubled over laughing when they saw the guest’s outlandish attire. They clapped their hands, clutched their stomachs, and laughed endlessly without cease. He had a rice-washing basket completely covering his head. What he held in his hand was a pestle that the maid had fetched from the kitchen. And then, draping the scarlet-dappled sash—which he had made the courtesan untie—over his back-tied tasuki,

“What am I to make of this?” he said from inside the rice-washing basket. “If you keep laughing like this, I can’t possibly dance. Ohana, Otoyo, Oshige—hurry up and play the shamisen! Beat the taiko! And what about the jiuta ballads?” “Aye, aye!” they chanted as they launched into the lively Kokin-bushi accompaniment that had recently become popular in Gion and Fushimi. “Come see! Come see! Dance for us, Groom-sama! Dance!”

Then, the maids, courtesans, Tokunishi the street jester, Segawa Takenojō the kabuki actor, and others began to sing in spirited competition. The handsome ones Not only the well-connected The ugly ones Stay widowers. For me, bald since my father’s time, Even eating tororo yam—would hair sprout? Groom-sama Ah! Would hair sprout?

The drunkard wearing a rice-washing basket danced a comical dance in time with the song. He appeared to be someone who had thoroughly indulged in both style and debauchery, for even in his half-mocking play, glimpses of refined gestures occasionally surfaced. "Since my father’s time," "With a flattened nose," "Even if you eat a long-nosed tengu, will your nose grow any higher?" "Groom-sama" "A short haori since my father’s time" "Even if you eat a doctor," "Will it grow long?" "Groom-sama" "Ah, will it grow long?" This was the grand hall of Sasaya Kiemon, a first-class tea house in Fushimi. This was not the only place. In the packed building’s upper and lower floors, the lights of chic elegance and opulent luxury vied with one another.

And then—someone was striding around Sasaya’s garden with squared shoulders and long strides, uninvited. They were two rough-mannered samurai. They had been peering into rooms here and there from the garden when they suddenly spotted the dancer wearing the rice-washing basket. “Kazuemon! That’s him!”

said one of them, pointing at the man behind him. They were Hara Sōemon and Fuwa Kazuemon. They had recently come from Osaka, frequently visiting Yamashina and Gion while inquiring at their comrades’ houses, but having gotten no clear information from even those comrades; for the past half-month they had grown impatient and had been walking about trying to pinpoint Kuranosuke’s whereabouts—those were the two men.

“Stop this at once!” Fuwa Kazuemon raised his characteristic loud voice, suddenly leaped onto the veranda, and roared. “Ridiculous! This affectation has gone too far! What a disgraceful spectacle!” “Step back, courtesans!” In the meantime, Sōemon pushed his way through the maids and courtesans—who stared wide-eyed in astonishment—and thrust his face close to the dumbfounded face of the rice-washing basket holder standing there with a pestle in hand.

“Lord Taifu. —I am Sōemon.”

“……” “When did Your Lordship become so accomplished in such vulgar arts?” “Shall I call it masterful? Or how else might one praise it?” “Surely even you must have heard the public censure by now.” “Ha ha ha ha ha… You’ve changed—if I may say, excessively so!” Even as he spat these barbed words, tears streamed down Sōemon’s face. Fuwa Kazuemon had arrived vowing to thrash the man upon finding him, yet now stood before him powerless to act. But the fury within etched his features ashen and rigid, his raised shoulders trembling with suppressed violence. One misstep, and despite Kuranosuke’s seniority, that blood-mad countenance suggested he might abandon reason and strike.

“Lord Taifu…!”

With that, together with Sōemon, they pressed forward, “It’s impossible to speak here. To Yamashina—may we request your return home?” he said sternly.

“Ahahahaha! I am not Lord Taifu. I’m no mere playboy, you know.”

“What?… A case of mistaken identity?” “It’s not so different.” and, taking off the rice-washing basket— “I am Onodera Jūnai.”

“Huh?!” Both men stood dumbfounded, “Old Man Jūnai?” “How did you find this one’s dance just now?”

“How can I bear to watch such disgrace?” “Lord Jūnai... even you... you of all people...” “What do you make of this? —Now see here, Kazuemon! Where else would you find a fool like yourself—pale-faced and swaggering into these pleasure grounds like some priggish simpleton?” “...Still, you tasteless lout—why not learn from my boy Kōemon?”

“What? Kōemon is here too?”

“Not only Kōemon—Naka-sama, Shō-sama, Suke-sama, and Tansui-sama as well.” “What in blazes are these ‘Tansui-sama’ and ‘Suke-sama’?” “Names like Jūnai or Kōemon—those crude monikers—aren’t used in the quarter.” “Shō-sama refers to Ōtaka Gengo, Tansui-sama to Muramatsu Sandayū, Suke-sama to Tomomori Sukeemon, and Shige-sama—well, that’s this very Jūnai before you. As for my son Kōemon, he goes by Tan-sama here… and I must say, he’s quite favored by the courtesans.”

“Let’s go!” Furiously, Kazuemon urged his companion Sōemon and kicked away from their seats. “Wait!”

And, Jūnai restrained him, “There’s no rule that allows coming to a drinking party, standing around talking without sharing a single toast, and then parting ways.” “First, sit.” “…Courtesan! Cups, cups!” Forcibly placing them into Kazuemon’s hands, “Lord Jūnai.”

“What’s with that fierce look?” “Convey this to Taifu as well.” “I’ll never see you again!”

“I see. It can’t be helped.” “I shall convey it exactly as you say.” “Everything—it’s all come to this!” As if forcing them to witness their grand endeavor’s collapse firsthand, he crushed the vermilion cup against his knee with a splintering crack, fury radiating through his grip.

Dance leader

In the pleasure quarters especially—and in towns and villages as well—night dances became all the rage these days. Like an epidemic, when night fell, dance chants could be heard at every street corner. Since it had spread from Nagoya, it was initially called Nagoya Ondo, but in Kyoto, Miyako Ondo emerged; in Fushimi, Dōnen Odori was created; and men and women of the pleasure quarter—dressed in delicate attire, wearing headbands or woven hats, fans in hand—formed dancing circles. Come on, let's dance! Dance, good people! The mortal world— Even summer nights—

Are fleeting indeed— Cuckoo— Lo!

The cuckoo sings— In the evening's span— Come now, let us dance! Dance, good people!

In Nakamachi Street of the pleasure quarter, a bench had been set out where a dance leader sang with a fan pressed to his face. A middle-aged man in tanzen robes stood among teahouse maids, attendant servants, townspeople sporting angular forelocks, little girls, monks, and samurai in high spirits—

The circle of dancers traced their path around the bench of the dance leader, moving hands and feet in time with the Dōnen Odori chant. “Shō-sama!” “Shō-sama!” She was a maid from Sasaya. Clattering hurriedly, she crossed through the circle, approached the male dance leader, and whispered something.

“Oh... Oh.” “I see.” He nodded at something, “Lord Suke, Lord Tansui.” “There’s urgent business—make haste!”

And the dance leader jumped down from the bench and ran off.

It was Ōtaka Gengo. Tomomori Sukeemon, who was called Lord Suke, and Muramatsu Sandayū, who was called Lord Tansui, also extricated themselves from the dancing circle and chased after Gengo.

“A fight?” The people turned around, but the figures were already gone.

As soon as they exited the main gate of the pleasure quarters,

“Everyone!” “Oh!”

Beneath the dark shade of a leafy willow—

The figure of Onodera Jūnai appeared briefly, then raised his hand and beckoned.

He whispered something to the three. Gengo, with an air of apprehension, “Then… your intentions?” “In that case, catch up and properly inform them.” “Understood in full.”

Gazing down the road,

“And where have the honorable Fuwa and Hara gone upon their return?” “Well, that’s unknown.” “In any case, they shouldn’t have gone far yet.” “We’ll split up.” “Alright, I’ll take this direction.” Already, Suke started running. Gengo and Sandayū also split up and chased after the two men—Hara Sōemon and Kazuemon—who had gone ahead.

The maid from Sasaya came running there as well and reported. "Might you be Lord Shige?" "Oh, what’s this?" "Lord Ukidōjin has awakened and cannot see anyone present. 'What is the meaning of this?' he is most displeased. Please come quickly." "What." "Lord Ukidōjin has awakened, it seems." "Hmm, how hectic." Upon returning to Sasaya, in the main hall as before, Ōishi Kuranosuke’s Lord Ukidōjin leaned his body against the lap of the rival courtesan Ukihashi, surrounded by the street jester Tokunishi, Segawa Takenojō, and lesser jesters,

“You lot—doesn’t this feel lonesome? I’m lonely… Everywhere else brims with life,” he said. Yet though he had only just seemed to rouse awake, he already clutched a sake cup in hand.

“Did you see some dream in your sleep, my lord? Yet it’s so lively and noisy here.” “Who’s that troupe making such an uproar in the inner Tsutsuji room?” “Those would be Lord Yodoya’s guests, I should think.”

“Yodoya, you say? “Hmm, Lord Yodoya—the wealthy merchant renowned throughout the three cities.” “So even I, Lord Ukidōjin, have been utterly belittled before the gleam of Yodoya Tatsumi’s gold?” “My, what unprecedented sulkiness!” “What’s Yodoya… Ukihashi, call everyone! I’ll scatter gold—gold that won’t be outdone—in the inner chamber!” “What?!” In the blink of an eye, Kuranosuke pulled out a money pouch from the disheveled front of his kimono. “There!” Gold coins, small nuggets, silver, and gold—all scattered with a patter as far as the lamplight reached.

The hands of women and men scrambled for them with a roar. Kuranosuke clapped his hands and laughed like a madman. When he began laughing uproariously, the profligate lord would not be satisfied with mere hand-clapping. He drained the sake cup and recklessly poured for those around him. Everyone knew full well what misfortune would follow refusal. Amidst the chaos, they glimpsed Lord Ukidōjin rising unsteadily to his feet. Though his gestures were terribly clumsy, he seemed versed in the dance—the elderly courtesan had once marveled at how firmly he planted his feet. The Dōnen dance, learned through observation and mimicry, had become known as Lord Ukidōjin’s signature piece.

“Float up! Float up!” The street jester Tokunishi rose in turn, “We float! We float!”

Then Takenojō, too, rose once more.

Following that, they trooped along behind him, “Where could Lord Ukidōjin be?” “Ah, Lord Ukidōjin! There you are!” Someone from behind Kuranosuke blindfolded him with a patterned hand towel, and in an instant, everyone scattered. Clapping their hands,

“Lord Ukidōjin—over here.”

“Lord Ukidōjin—over there.” Kuranosuke, like an imbecile, opened his mouth, “Dark. So dark.” Then, the crowd,

“So dark!” “This way—to your hands!” “Lord Ukidōjin—this way—” “Over here—”

The hand claps gradually grew more distant. In the meantime, there were also maids slipping out to attend to tasks they had started. There were also courtesans who whispered to others and quietly hid in another room. “Dark… so dark…” Kuranosuke stroked the wall. Before he knew it, he had left the room and was groping his way along the long tatami corridor. Suddenly, he touched cold silk. The captured man had been holding his breath and deliberately allowing his body to be stroked, but when Kuranosuke’s hand sensed something, he jerked back,

“You fool of a ronin!” The samurai, having been mistaken, suddenly let out a fierce shout and shoved Kuranosuke’s body forcefully, “You appalling fool!” With that, he threw a glance over his shoulder and strode off.

Rebellious Spirit Midnight rain pattered onto the bamboo blinds of the window. Since the rainy season had passed and June had come, the tatami where he had dozed off was not particularly cold, but his entire body—still reeling from heavy drinking—shivered uncontrollably, as if from the very marrow of his bones.

——Whose child…

In the depths of the private quarters, an infant cried. The infant must have fallen ill—though some distance away, its cries reached his ears.—Kuranosuke lay on the dark tatami where he had collapsed in drunkenness, his eyes now wide open and fixed on the ceiling. (Is there no breast milk?) That was what he thought.

The late-night hours of the pleasure district were oddly dreary. After the revelry, an indescribable melancholy—hushed, grave-like—had settled over everything. ——It resembled a voice warbling faintly from the depths of the earth. Whose child was this? Kuranosuke was now completely sober.

His wife O-Riku, whom he had sent back to her family home in Tajima—this year’s newborn Daizaburo—. And what was Rurijo doing? Was Yoshichiyo safe? (...His wife’s breast milk) Before he knew it, he found himself worrying.

——Someone had quietly slid open the fusuma at that moment; Kuranosuke kept his eyes closed. Without any rustle of clothing, a presence drew near. A hand came to rest gently on his shoulder.

“Psst… Lord Ukidōjin… Lord Ukidōjin… Please awaken and come to Lady Ukihashi’s room.” He knew it was a maid but groaned and deliberately turned over. He could feel the medake bamboo blinds rustling as if stirred by wind—or perhaps a struggle. The maid’s hand pretended to rouse him while actually searching his sleeve. She seemed to have swiftly taken something. “Mr. Tokunishi.” The maid had already moved to the window. “Shh…” someone outside whispered. Kuranosuke quietly saw—the shaved head of Tokunishi the street jester concealed among the medake leaves.

Kuranosuke carried nothing that would cause trouble no matter what was taken from him. While sensing something amiss, he maintained a clueless expression and turned over once more.

The white feet slipped quietly out of the room.—How terrifying! Kuranosuke thought deeply. Just because this was a world of debauchery didn’t mean one could let their guard down. The Kira and Uesugi households had no shortage of funds or manpower. In pleasure districts where money talked, these became their most effective operational grounds. Here I exist—so to speak, right in the enemy’s very midst. (Dangerous.) He lay sleeping beneath a quilt of unsheathed blades.

However— Even if things had not come to this, a samurai’s existence was always thus. A life of fifty or sixty years was lived upon unsheathed blades. And beneath unsheathed blades it lay. Had he lived out his days peacefully and idly in a rural corner of Akō, such a tense moment in his life would never have crossed his mind. ——Whether it was misfortune or fortune, the life he had lived in the year and mere three months since the incident—through experiencing humanity—had possessed a depth surpassing even a hundred years, no—a thousand years of existence.

“……”

Kuranosuke pushed aside the silk bedding that had tangled around his legs and sat up straight.

The baby’s nighttime crying still occurred occasionally. As a father. As a samurai.

And as a single, mere human being.

He tried to savor the complexity of his own existence with detached intensity, as if contemplating another person. He found it fascinating. Truly—the world and humanity—he found them fascinating. What reason could there be to grieve now? ――Nothing at all. It is precisely because one is born human that one can savor this complex existence. If one had never been born, that would have been the end of it. It was not unthinkable to regard it as a virtue of birth. People call it a despicable pleasure district. However, he felt not the slightest trace of such narrow fastidiousness.

This too was the world. All were warm-hearted people. Things one could feel while alive, things one could savor, things one could enjoy—even in this very moment, to take pleasure in being as one was, where one was—what unnaturalness was there in that? What lack of virtue? "Only...the moment of falling...To act or not to act." When he thought of that, his flesh tightened viscerally. If he ended up not accomplishing what must be done, then all of it—the nights in Fushimi, the debauchery in Gion—would amount to nothing but the depraved acts of a wastrel. All events up to this day would be nothing but a history of falsehood and misconduct.

However, Kuranosuke could faintly discern the pass ahead—getting there had been the true trial. He was already certain. As for what worried him—more than the enemy, it was the shifting hearts of those within their own ranks.

Furthermore, what frightened him was himself. Day by day, even as his convictions seemed to solidify, there were moments when he was terrified by his own frailty—how it threatened to undermine those very convictions. In the void of his heart dwelled the philosophy of nothingness. It, finding an opening, raised its head, (Foolish!) mocked him from directly before him.

(What's in a name? What remains after death? It is but a fleeting phenomenon. Phenomena are borne along by time, and time carries them away. Spring comes, summer comes, autumn departs, winter arrives—nothing but this endless cycle. What meaning has a life without joy?) he whispered.

(The child was crying from lack of breast milk. His wife had grown thin from lonely sorrow. To go so far as making such sacrifices just to fulfill my duty. Is this acceptable—as a father and as a human being? Furthermore,)

(Enjoy—enjoy! Not merely now, but throughout this long life.) To have been born human—a chance so rare it may never come again—what waste that would be!)

As for the path Ōno Kurōbei had taken, Kuranosuke alone would sometimes nod in agreement within his heart, deeming it reasonable. Ah, he understood well that urge to follow such a path. I cannot claim to lack such inclinations entirely within myself—they undeniably exist. "But it was simply that he possessed a nature too unbending to yield so readily"—even now, Kuranosuke observed his complex self as though it were another person.

But—but—the moment of falling is dear.

Either way, I think it's a short life. A waste—there's no need to make it ugly. When I consider it, my own self should not be merely a solitary being born only to vanish. There are ancestors, and there will be descendants to come. In other words, I am a single link in a chain; I must not rust here.

“No—that’s too small.” He closed his eyes and scoured every corner of his heart. Then, suddenly, a true intention—one that even he himself found startling—rose vividly to his consciousness. Indeed, I suppose I’ve always had that rebellious streak in me. That is what compels me to act this way.—It seems that defiance, rather than being absent, lurks all the more audaciously within those who appear least likely to possess it. He had been born into a simple samurai family and lived solely by the way of the warrior. He did not consider this misfortune, nor did he think it the intervention of an unreasonable, unnatural society. Yet he could not suppress his dissatisfaction and frustration with this Genroku generation and the general state of the world. As a human being, he had been shown far too much “inhumanity” that he could not remain indifferent to. Most of it stemmed from the shogunate’s misgovernment. It was the “springtime of my reign” sung by venal bureaucratic cliques nesting within power. —The glory of the Fujiwara clan, who had boldly proclaimed “I deem this world my own,” still possessed the naivety and poetry of people chasing dreams as dreams. Unlike the modern assemblage of Shogun Tsunayoshi, the Ōoku, sycophantic cliques, and corrupt monks, they had not sacrificed the lower classes. They had not made inferior luxury and insatiable consumption their sole purpose. They had not yet stripped the common people of their freedom to the extent seen today.

Above all, what Kuranosuke’s unadulterated samurai spirit could never stomach were the twin evils perpetrated by the current shogunate: first, their scheme of withdrawing sound currency from honest citizens and replacing it with newly minted debased coinage; second, their so-called *Edicts on Compassion for Living Things*—a decree that reduced humans to beings beneath beasts, amounting to nothing more than dog worship. The debasement of currency—how it plunged the lives of honest commoners into utter misery, how it only further enriched a portion of the shogunate’s high officials with endless means for indulgence—was evident even in rural Akō; and though its ripples spread far, their effects resulted in conditions no different from Edo’s in various regions across the provinces.

Especially under the Edicts on Compassion for Living Things, problems had arisen here and there even in the provinces. In such cases of strictly enforced prohibitions, it was often the case that regions adopted even more extreme measures than the central government. If people grew accustomed to the Honorable Dogs, poor families immediately found their households plunged into destitution. The Honorable Dogs had to be fed white rice while families had to endure hunger. Even if they could not give medicine to their own sick children, if an Honorable Dog fell ill, they had to summon a veterinarian; if it died, landlords and tenement residents had to jointly report it to the authorities, and the funeral had to be conducted with utmost solemnity. If neglected, they would be sentenced to exile, a hundred lashes, long imprisonment, or banishment to a distant island; if worse came to worst, the death penalty would be decreed.

This was true for every domain. The Edicts on Compassion for Living Things were indeed national law. Though lords and local regions made some adjustments out of leniency, fearing censure from neighboring domains, they instead competed to rigorously enforce this law that reduced humans to beings beneath dogs. Even a peasant child who did not know that the current shogun’s name was Tsunayoshi somehow knew what "Dog Shogunate" meant. When they saw a stray dog walking by—this animal transformed into human form, an immensely august being—they thought, “That is it.” And so, the people lived in resignation—resigned to the belief that here on earth, all humans were animals lower than those very dogs—for every stray yapping at crossroads and vacant lots was kin to the Dog Shogunate.

Even if it were Ōishi Kuranosuke Yoshio—so long as he lived under the current system—he could not be an exception among humanity. Merely, within his self-awareness, he maintained that he was not beneath beasts.

Once, Kuranosuke, having heard of the reputation of the Confucian scholar Dazai Shundai’s work *The Outer Chronicles of Three Kings*, had it sent from a bookseller in Osaka. In that passage, he came across these words and, alone by lamplight, shed bitter tears for the people of this world.

—The sovereign (Shogun Tsunayoshi) first lost the Crown Prince (the shogun’s heir), and the inner palace had since borne no child. The monk Ryūkō of Gohshin-in advised, saying: "The scarcity of human heirs is largely the retribution for killing many living beings during one’s lifetime. If the sovereign (Shogun) truly desires to obtain an heir, why would he not prohibit the killing of living beings?" Moreover, the sovereign [Shogun Tsunayoshi] was born in the year of Hinoe-Inu (Year of the Fire Dog). "The sign of Inu belongs to the Dog. It is most imperative to hold the belief of loving dogs above all." The Sovereign approved this.

The Empress Dowager (Keishō-in, his birth mother) also held profound devotion to Ryūkō. Together, they ceaselessly advocated for this and petitioned for governmental decrees. The Sovereign commanded his ministers, established a prohibition on killing here, and on that very day issued the Dog Protection Edict throughout the realm.

*The Outer Chronicles of Three Kings* records that these Edicts on Compassion for Living Things were promulgated as law in the first month of the fourth year of Jōkyō. From then until this year, Genroku 14—spanning nearly fifteen years—humans remained classified as beings beneath beasts, and during this time, the number of those who incurred calamities under the Dog Deity Edicts—executions, exile to distant islands, banishment—had grown as countless as pebbles in a riverbed. When this unprecedented decree was issued, the people of the world doubted their very existence and were thrown into confusion. However, before long, news of the first recorded violation reached even the Akō region. The shogunate’s Chief of the Musketeers, Mizuno Tōemon, along with his subordinate yoriki and dōshin, was sentenced to exile and house arrest, while a certain Amano, an Imperial Kitchen Attendant, was ordered to commit seppuku. Even within Akita Awaji-no-kami’s household, there were those sentenced to severe punishment. At the rumors of this and that, the people recoiled in terror.

New official posts such as dog doctors, dog inspectors, and dog magistrates were established, and even on the highways, if dogs were idling about in the thoroughfares, the processions of various daimyo would often find themselves hindered out of deference to the Honorable Dogs. The realm overflowed with the clamor of dogs—if it concerned dogs, even their excrement was disposed of with utmost care.—This falsehood of a world was truly forced upon humanity, and humans gradually came to accept the notion of being beneath beasts. It was a world where one could not survive even a single day without growing accustomed.

As humans came to calmly accept within their self-awareness the notion of being defined as creatures beneath beasts—even embracing this as common sense—they advanced a step further and began striving to become beings no different from dogs themselves. Under the Dog Shogunate, they strove to resemble as much as possible—even if their faces and forms could not transform into beasts—the Dog Elders, Dog Chamberlains, Dog Townspeople, Dog Ronin, Dog Courtesans, and Dog This-and-Thats that were fitting for such a regime. Wealth, empty fame, greed, licentiousness, incest, flattery, treacherous strife, sycophantic schemes—whatever served their profit, they rushed to scavenge with their sense of smell, and they came to hold in utmost contempt even the foolish ideals of humanity.

Human assertion

But of course, the aforementioned did not encompass all of humanity. Still, there were humans who strove to remain human, maintaining a pride above beasts. Naturally, two types of people formed two distinct currents there. Like cold-current fish and warm-current fish, even while inhabiting the same sea, they could never mingle as one.

For example.—Kuranosuke thought of this incident as entirely someone else's affair. The differences between Asano Takuminokami and Kira Kozukenosuke—their misfortune amounted to nothing more than a fate they had enacted by chance, granted a stage and opportunity by the tides of their era that would inevitably have summoned such an outcome someday, performed moreover in ceremonial attire on an auspicious occasion. Even had it not been Takuminokami, someday—once—someone would have had to do it.

Kuranosuke understood well Kozukenosuke’s manner toward his lord, his daily life, and his life principles. By no means was that conduct so divorced from societal norms as to be deemed unreasonable. Rather, in his way of thinking, he must have had quite a few allies who shared his views. No—or rather, one would not be mistaken to view the majority of this world as aligned with him. Moreover, a title like Head of the Master of Ceremonies was one of fallen status and shattered prestige—its stipend pitifully low. If he did not do so, he could not live in the city, maintain an imposing household, engage in social activities twice as extravagantly as others, and sustain his livelihood.

Moreover, while in Edo’s center, he exploited his official authority and occasional ceremonies to make considerable illicit gains, even stooping to petty investments to secure income—yet when visiting his domains like Mikawa Yokosuka and the Kira region as their lord, he revealed another facet: a man who cared for his subjects, devoted himself to public works like flood control and land reclamation, and delighted in being revered as a benevolent master and exemplary feudal ruler.

Truly, even within him existed a proper human being. Yet when interacting with Dog Elders and Dog Daimyo under the Dog Shogunate's rule, Kozukenosuke too had no choice but to become a Dog Master of Ceremonies. For otherwise, the prosperity and livelihood of his household as he envisioned them could never have been sustained. Moreover, he possessed cunning second to none, and the role of Master of Ceremonies could at times transform into fangs that made even senior councilors and daimyo cower.

The annual imperial envoy’s visit. This was his most profitable season. If the Master of Ceremonies didn’t profit on such occasions, what then could be called the privileges of the Master of Ceremonies? Kōzuke-no-suke faced this moment with his mouth brimming with covetous saliva—a course of action that was, for him, an inevitability so natural it bordered on the obvious. On the other hand, as for Takuminokami’s state of mind— This was utterly antithetical. He did not understand the trends of the times, nor did he grasp the undercurrents of human life. He wholeheartedly adhered to the martial traditions established since the Genna era, and upon receiving that rare and grand imperial command, he came to harbor a contradictory mindset and tension—as if to demonstrate, this autumn, the very refinement of his daily samurai spirit. It was not only Takuminokami; the common samurai were like that as well.

Who knows? The world was not so pure. Even the imperial envoys descending from the capital—though received with solemn ceremony and protocol—as individuals in truth found their greatest pleasure in the lavish shogunate gifts. The accompanying officials were no exception. All members of the shogunate tasked with welcoming them were utterly fixated on awaiting ceremonial scraps as personal perks and official privileges—not merely Kira, the Master of Ceremonies alone—and thus it had become an unspoken common sense throughout society that this floating world thrived through mutual exchange: embellishing the imperial court and shogunate’s prestige while transforming life itself into a grand festival where all might line their pockets.

——Later. As Kuranosuke, what he could not help but find regrettable was— (If I had been in Edo...) was. If I had held the post of Edo chief retainer, I could have significantly altered our lord’s thinking there—this I could not help but regret. Gifts to Kira were trivial matters—utterly trivial—and making that good-natured old man beam with satisfaction was all too easy a task. Had they been willing to spend even one-hundredth of the domain’s fifty-three thousand koku treasury, it would have required no effort at all to have that old man brush the dust from Takuminokami’s hakama hem and make all the domain’s retainers shower him with syrupy flattery.

Beyond that—for every official’s duty-appropriate inclination: teahouse liquor should have been employed; for preferences in cosmetics and rouge, providing women would have sufficed; where small koban coins could settle matters—why didn’t we scoop them out by the handful and scatter them? ——Had I been stationed in Edo, I too would have reveled greatly while becoming one dog among the dog pack——or so I thought. Since this is an age ruled by the Dog Shogunate, if one remains bound by the pair of swords and cannot do so, then one must cast aside those swords. Daimyo must cease being daimyo, samurai must cease being samurai, officials must cease being officials; beyond the mountains and fields, they must emulate the ancient example of Xu You and Chao Fu—wash their ears and stand alone in solitary nobility.

Is that acceptable? Is solitary nobility alone what elevates one as human? For Kuranosuke, it had long been a question. No—it had been an agony. His daytime-lantern melancholy—born from the decree that placed humans beneath dogs—had over more than a decade until now become something akin to habit.

(No—no, I'll be human at times and a dog at others, wandering as the occasion demands.) ——As some ancient one said, 'I do not stray from the path of generations'——if this world's decree demands we crawl, then crawl we shall.)

The conclusion of his heart settled there. Therefore, even among some within the domain, the current misgovernment and criticism of the shogunate were always whispered in hushed tones—but the daytime lantern was ever dozing. The provincial elder seemed to think that a wick of this modest length was just right— But that wick had been stirred. His dozing was abruptly ended by the tragic news that the Edo express palanquin had brought that spring. Kuranosuke had no choice but to declare to himself that he must now deviate—whether he liked it or not—from his creed of “not deviating from the path of the world.”

For Lord Takuminokami had, in one decisive leap, bounded beyond those confines. And this deed stood not as Lord Takuminokami’s alone—but as an act of the collective entity that was all Akō Domain’s people, down to every last wife, child, elder, and infant under its care—a people now stricken with lives severed and scattered. Even Kuranosuke stood not apart from these co-actors. No—he numbered among those bearing greatest responsibility.

Thus, he too had to settle this matter. They needed to render their deceased lord’s act meaningful and thereby find purpose for their own insignificant lives to follow. The world dismissed Takuminokami’s actions as mere “rashness,” but within that rashness lay an undeniable rebellion against the currents of the times. It might well be called his own assertion of humanity against the Dog Shogunate-style societal ills embodied in Kira Yoshinaka.

(You curs—I am no dog!) Takuminokami had shouted precisely thus—there in the very midst of canine vassals within the Dog Shogunate’s halls. Beneath that unconscious blade, he had utterly cast aside and discarded this world’s wicked laws. When he considered this, Kuranosuke felt a faint smile well up from his heart’s depths. In this present age, he thought, there could be no daimyo as guileless as that lord—none who would commit such folly born of pure intent. ——We are not beneath dogs. We are human.

We must carry forward our deceased lord’s will. Moreover, we—homeless, stipendless, exiled companions in misfortune—knew that unless the current shogunate’s misrule were abolished, even recognizing this path diverged from ancestral ways, we had no choice but to walk it.

People said all sorts of things. The world’s eyes saw in myriad ways. The phrase “act of revenge” had become the most simplistic rallying cry to frame their future as a point of intrigue. But Kuranosuke did not diminish himself to such an extent. That Kira—a man past sixty, that simple good-natured old fellow—what significance would striking him down hold? What meaning could it have? At the very least, he was more covetous when it came to his own life—Kuranosuke himself laughed bitterly. He knew full well that ending one’s precious life over crude human constructs—those age-old cycles of resentment and affection, or revenge with its precedents littering history—was neither simple honesty nor a lifelong endeavor worthy of such gravity.

――Strike, and you will be struck; judge, and you will be judged. Prosperity and decay—flourishing and decline. This very cycle was humanity's inescapable cosmic principle. Just as there existed the faithful promise of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, so too did it dwell within each human being. Why would humans need to brandish small swords to make others comprehend anything beyond this?

However, even if only during Shogun Tsunayoshi’s brief reign, a generation forced to live defined as beneath beasts must be eradicated. For humanity, it is a disgrace that will endure until the end of time. The disgrace our deceased lord suffered at the hands of old man Kira pales in comparison to this—a disgrace beyond measure. Is this not the defilement of all human history—for as long as humanity endures?

(We are human. Even in the Genroku era, we were not dogs!) Kuranosuke felt as though he had discovered a broad sense of justice within his objective. In form, whatever people might call it, there was no change to its inherent significance. Revenge—its form was acceptable as it was.

Especially regarding the outcomes of his comrades, there was no need for any profound explanation. Each of them should be free to hold the significance of their resolve as small or consider it as grand as they wished. As Priest Ryōsetsu had once said, “The way of the warrior is not a constricting one. Samurai life is expansive—” From now on, let us live expansively as masterless samurai, think expansively, and somehow bring about a regretless conclusion to our lives. Be that as it may, this resolution of his—lying drunk in Kyoto’s pleasure districts, day and night immersed in naked desire, comporting himself without pretense or shackles, as nothing more than a mere human—was one he had freely considered, exactly as he wished to think it through. There was no need to proactively reveal to others the very depths of his own utmost resolution. Moreover, in that case, it would instead be seen as a truthful lie. Whether a lie or the truth—whichever one may question—both shall remain dependent on how people choose to interpret them—and it was precisely this ambiguity that constituted the world’s fascination. Moreover, for his comrades who relied on him as their leader and sought to conclude their lives with purpose, this too would be the most fitting place to die.

When he thought about it，there had been no incident so steeped in dramatic coincidence as this one. ——In the floral month of March，upon the spacious stage of the Pine Chamber corridor in the Willow Palisade，clad in classical attire of large-crested eboshi hats and formal robes，Lord Asano had delivered that fateful blade-strike upon Yoshinaka. If viewed broadly，was this not more akin to the opening act of a play than a raw social incident？ By some twist of fate，they had been thrust onto this living theatrical stage against their will. Each could even be seen as having been entrusted with directing their fates——whether as *waki* supporting players or *shite* protagonists——in this performance. Upon reflection，this was no ordinary matter.

Could it be that some sentient force in the cosmos had commanded this performance to chosen humans upon the earth?

Humans are not beneath beasts.—Had we not been compelled to stage this truth before countless souls deemed lower than honored dogs—this audience of the oppressed—mandated by heaven’s will to perform our ephemeral lives through unknown acts, persisting even now? Kuranosuke had envisioned such fantasies. ……Perhaps the sake’s remnants from that evening’s excesses freely toyed with his thoughts in the liminal space between wakefulness and dreams. Regardless—he kept turning restlessly until the small window faintly whitened with dawn’s approach.

Within the pleasure quarters, at dawn's first hour, a silence like true midnight descended heavily upon the rooftops. Kuranosuke pulled the bedding's collar deep over himself.

Long-Term Stays Prohibited

Even after the Yodoya troupe had left, Ukidōjin did not return. Today as well, the lingering in idle amusements continued until sunset.

“How on earth do you never tire of such revelry?” Even Sasaya Kiemon, the proprietor—though business-minded by trade—could not help wearing a look of dismay. “Master.” It was a maidservant bearing a flustered expression. “What is it?” “Please come here at once.”

“Where to?”

“Master Uki has already...” “He does nothing but cause trouble—we’re at our wits’ end!” “What has he done now?”

Kiemon hurried after the maidservant.

“Ah…” When he looked, Master Uki stood facing the ceiling of the newly built tatami room from that spring—stacking a kotatsu frame into a makeshift platform, brush in hand, scribbling something across it. One courtesan held up an inkstone while another supported his waist. Kiemon’s face flushed with anger. The cost and labor required to replace this entire ceiling immediately tallied in his mind. “Master Uki, I must ask you to cease this mischief at once.”

From atop the kotatsu frame, Kuranosuke looked down at Kiemon’s reddened forehead. “Hahahaha! Innkeeper—you’re angry?”

“Who on earth could remain unangered by this?!”

“Oh, very well.” “I’ve gone and written this much here.” “Let me write! Let me write!” In that very state, he finished writing the final line. “Read it, innkeeper.” “……” “If it displeases you, I’ll have you take the money for repairs.” “Don’t get so angry.” “The complaint is thus:” 今日亦逢遊君過光陰 明日如何

可憐恐君急掃袖帰 浮世人久不許逗留 不過二夜者也 When he finished reading, “Wahahahaha…”

Ukihashi collapsed onto his knees in laughter. Just then, Onodera Jūnai suddenly appeared, “Oh… This is…”

He stood there entranced.

From that hand, a white scrap of paper fluttered down onto Kuranosuke’s chest. As soon as he read it, Kuranosuke twisted it into a paper string and toyed with it, but before he knew it, he had disposed of it.

Before long, Tomomori Sukeemon appeared, Ushioda Matanojō appeared, and the gathering once again seemed lively with the time of lighting the evening lamps, but suddenly—

“Well then... shall we take our leave?” Kuranosuke said. Assuming the maidservants were displeased about the earlier incident with the innkeeper, they persistently tried to stop him,

“What can I say? Suddenly I was reminded of Okaru and felt rather pitiful.” “Though on rare occasions, I suppose I must show my face there too…” he said with amorous affectation. This Okaru was the sister of Ichimonjiya Jirōbei from Nijō Teramachi Street—known even to Fushimi locals—and though some had never met her personally, all knew of her renowned beauty.

——Due to Kuranosuke’s excessive misconduct, his cousin Shindō Genshirō and uncle Koyama Gengoemon had consulted together, (That girl would please him, and his carousing would cease.) And so, they had brought her into the Yamashina residence.

Kuranosuke loved Okaru. Yet despite this, the numbers at Fushimi Gayoi showed no decrease whatsoever. (There's no fathoming him.) Both his uncle and cousin threw up their hands in defeat, while (it seems Kuranosuke's behavior might be genuine after all) more comrades began voicing such opinions—until even the obstinate Okuno Shōgen had reached his limit: (I wash my hands of him.) He slammed the letter of severance against Kuranosuke's chest. "Let's go back." His declarations always came abruptly.

“I want to see Okaru’s face.” “I’ll return once I’ve had my fill.” “My—releasing me already?” “Don’t let go! I’ll fall!”

He made his way unsteadily out to Sasaya’s large curtain, leaning on a woman’s shoulder. “Oh—to the palanquin!” “Palanquin!” “Hmm… I hate palanquins…” With that, Kuranosuke was already walking out into the dimly lit evening. Starting with the innkeeper, a crowd’s voices showered his retreating back with flattery.—Both those offering the compliments and the one being sent off felt a certain sense of relief.

The dance circle had already begun.—Someone called out to Sukeemon, asking if he wouldn’t join the dance. Kuranosuke was being barked at by a dog. Sukeemon picked up a stone.

Onodera Jūnai would occasionally draw near Kuranosuke’s side and whisper something. While pretending not to hear, Kuranosuke nodded. And in a low voice,

“Later,” he said. When he turned around, Tsujibayashi no Tokusai was following behind, his haori pulled over his head. Tomomori Sukeemon and Onodera Jūnai exchanged glances, summoned a palanquin, and helped Kuranosuke inside. As he settled into the palanquin, “Then tomorrow,”

With that, they parted ways along separate paths. The moment Kuranosuke entered the palanquin, he appeared to lose all substance. The palanquin rocked along Kamogawa-jiri with a lapping rhythm—Tokusai’s footsteps quickened behind. Before anyone knew it, those shadows multiplied—two became three, then four. Among them stood Chisaka Hyōbu’s trusted aide: the man codenamed “Ten Feet Eight Inches”—Kimura Jōhachi. “Someone—try taking him on here!”

“Alright, I’ll do it!” A man who looked every bit the exposed guard—thrusting a red scabbard into his obi—answered with bravado. “Everyone, stay hidden.” “Hmm, I’ll see it through.” They scattered and melted into the twilight shadows. Of course, both Tsujibayashi no Tokusai and the guards were all part of the faction controlled by Kira and Chisaka.

“Hey!” “Hey!” “Wait!”

In a gruff voice, the red-scabbarded guard called out to stop them. At the same time, he closed in on the front of the palanquin. The palanquin bearers fled in surprise. Despite this, from within the abandoned palanquin came the sound of contented snoring. “You traitor. Aren’t you going to wake up?!” He kicked aside one of the palanquin’s curtains. Ah! Kuranosuke’s voice passed through to the other side and collapsed to the ground. “Wha... Who...?”

Still with sleepy eyes, Kuranosuke opened them and looked up at the man’s large frame. The red-scabbarded man rolled up his sleeves, “No one—a samurai!” “A samurai… Hmm… I see.” “Do you understand, you fool of a samurai? You traitor! You inhuman wretch! Dost thou understand what a true samurai is?” “May I have your name? May I have your name?”

“To speak my name to a dog samurai like you would defile it.” “I’ve no ties to Akō Domain—a samurai from another fief—yet this sight enrages me.” “Wh-what’s that wretched look?!” “Is this the bearing of Akō Castle’s former chief retainer?!” “Th-that… This angers you?” “I most humbly apologize.” “I earnestly beg your leniency.” “What? Leniency?” “How dare utter such cowardly drivel!” “You! Fool of a chief retainer!”

He placed his dirt-covered foot on Kuranosuke’s shoulder. He pressed down relentlessly, as though crushing a frog beneath his foot. Kuranosuke inserted his hand between the ground and his face to keep the dirt from scraping him.

“I hear that among the lower-ranking Akō ronin, there are those who have engraved their deceased lord’s bitter regret into their very souls and now endure hardship upon hardship to claim Lord Kira’s head.” “And yet you—who wallowed in a high stipend while standing above an entire domain during your lord’s lifetime—have failed to avenge him! You hoard a mistress at home and idle about abroad! Has the world’s mocking laughter—‘Is this what a samurai should be?’—not reached your ears?!” “You are the one who disgraces the name of samurai.” “You coward!” “Are you even human?!”

“Agh... Agh...” “If you can feel pain, you ought to have some spine. If this shames you, rise and face me!” “N-no, I couldn’t possibly.” “Take this!”

And spat saliva onto his head.

Kuranosuke brought his hand to his sober face, “Please discard your duty… As you can see here.” Planting both hands on the ground, the red-scabbarded man threw back his head and roared with laughter. —and in a fierce tone, “How pathetic!” After hurling his insults, he turned toward the figures loitering nearby, flashed a quick eye signal, and strode off to conceal himself.

Strangely enough, Kuranosuke's mind was serene. His wretched face—his disheveled hair—lay pressed against the ground, yet within his heart there existed something spacious. He even possessed enough composure to find the situation absurdly comical.

And—that the current guard was Chisaka’s spy had been plain to see all along. He had also sensed that rogues like Tokusai of Tsuji-bayashi and Kimura Jōhachi were likely observing his words and behavior in the vicinity.

“Lord Kuranosuke.” The ones who came running up were Tomomori Sukeemon and the elderly Jūnai, who had earlier pretended to part ways before the enemy. Sukeemon went around behind Kuranosuke and brushed off the dirt. Jūnai pressed down on his muddy hand,

“I can well imagine your hardships,” he said tearfully. “Oh, it’s nothing… I am still in service to our lord. This is merely a small duty.” For the first time, words escaped him that were calm and even—true to Kuranosuke’s character. At that moment, Ushioda Matanojō returned with the palanquin bearers who had fled. The joy of the three lay in their shared conviction that even Chisaka’s tenacious spies would now deem further suspicion futile and report as much to the Kira household.

“I long to show Horibe, Okuda, Fuwa, Hara, and the other gentlemen this endurance of ours—unyielding as bedrock… No—those gentlemen too are gathered tonight at Terai Genkei’s residence, likely deep in earnest consultation at this very hour. Since we shall join them there, let us part ways here.”

And the three men once again left the palanquin and hurried along a different path.

Incense Burner Heart

The sound of a koto was coming from the inner rooms.

When he returned to his Yamashina residence,

“Welcome home.” Chikara came out and greeted his father, whom he hadn’t seen in some time.

This spring, having come of age and taken the name Yoshikane, Chikara was already a splendid young man. “Were there visitors while I was away?”

“Lord Hara and Lord Fuwa paid frequent visits.” “Yes, I am aware.” “Additionally, Lord Horibe Yasube from Edo.” “When did he arrive?” “He had arrived on the twenty-ninth day but did not deign to appear until yesterday.” “Is that all?” “Were there any other notable visitors?” As he walked deeper into the residence, Kuranosuke found himself enveloped in a loneliness akin to winter fields—his wife’s voice absent, the scent of breastmilk absent. An unbearable emptiness rendered every room piercingly cold.

“Who is playing the koto?” “It is Ms. Okaru…” “I see.” With his back turned, the figure of the father entered a room along the corridor of the detached annex. Chikara, realizing the koto had stopped playing, returned to his desk. “Okaru, you must be lonely.” Kuranosuke sat quietly, “Tea.” he said. “Yes.” Kuranosuke stared intently at the back of Okaru, who was facing the kettle by the bath in the next room. In the wife-less house, it was a striking beauty. Suddenly, his heart stirred with an uncharacteristically gentle ripple.

“Does this suit your taste…?” She timidly set down the tea. Her fingertips bore a vivid color unseen among the women of Gion or Fushimi. “Excellent…” “I reserved some for when you’re fatigued.” “It was a weariness of ill nature.” “No.” For no apparent reason, Okaru’s face quivered faintly—what feelings had brought this girl here? Naturally, she must have been thoroughly instructed by her brother Ichimonjiya Jirōbei, as well as Koyama and Shindō, yet there was no trace of anxiety or fear in her bearing. She seemed utterly composed. Perhaps during his absence, Chikara had vaguely acquainted her with his disposition and household affairs, leaving her to feel she was merely minding the house.

“I’m growing drowsy… In the palanquin, I had been drifting in and out of sleep.” “Please wait but a moment.” She rose and went to prepare the bedchamber.

In the meantime, using his arm as a pillow, he lay down and closed his eyes. Okaru’s white collar, her round eyes—from those eyes, a posture that seemed rather to beseech flickered into view. “I have prepared your bed.” “Oh…”

Okaru followed [him] to the bedroom. The palanquin-shaped lantern was placed far away in the corner. In the incense burner on the alcove, an unfamiliar scent smoldered. The fragrance resembled that of plum blossoms. Moreover, it was indistinguishable from her faint scent of rustling garments.

“Is there anything you require?” She sat down as if to take her leave and spoke. The faint lamplight from the side cast shadows that all too vividly accentuated the maidenly contours of her form. “So? …”

He did not answer for some time. Kuranosuke covered his eyes. Somewhere within him, blood like a boy's pounded. "Why do I deceive myself?" he asked inwardly of the flickering passions that fluttered in his heart. Yet seeing Okaru's exceeding loveliness, he found himself unable to sink into blindness that ignored whether her future held joy or sorrow. For just a brief moment—with effort like tearing free from long bewilderment—he next spoke.

“No… I have no further business.” “You too must retire for the night.”

Soga Dance

“When one becomes a ronin, before you know it, they start to reek of being a ronin,” Horibe Yasube said with a laugh to Takebayashi Tadashichi. “You’re right—now that you say it, everyone’s changed after all.” “In my case, especially so…” “The only one who hasn’t turned ronin-like is Yamashina’s master.” “There’s no way he hasn’t changed. Unless his samurai spirit has vanished entirely—” Yasube, who had come up to Kyoto from Edo affairs, was staying at Ōtaka Gengo’s masterless samurai residence—a rare sight in these times.

He visited Hara Sōemon in Tenma, Osaka; met with Fuwa Kazuemon; called on Nakamura Kansuke; searched for Ushioda Matanojō—rushing about in all directions until he was sun-scorched and drenched in sweat. He had only briefly appeared in Yamashina, and afterward, in conversations with his comrades, he had not so much as uttered the syllable 'Ku' from Kuranosuke's name. Deep down, Yasube seemed to have already abandoned hope. Kuranosuke's dissolute behavior surpassed even Edo's rumors. He found it distasteful to recall—and even more loathsome to voice—the foolishness of having been dragged along until now by expectations placed in someone unworthy of mention.

Strike now, act decisively.

To Yasube’s resolve, first responded Hara and Fuwa, “That’s it!” With that, they immediately agreed. Takebayashi and Nakamura naturally had no objections. Okano Kujūrō also joined this. Afterward, Yasube had delayed his departure for Edo by a day and was waiting here, intending to at least speak with Onodera’s son Kōemon and Ushioda Matanojō. In Edo, starting with Okuda Magodayū and his son, along with Sugino Jūbei, Kurahashi Densuke, Maebara Isuke, and others combined, fifteen or sixteen would likely join. It was sufficient.—What need was there to let opportunities slip by through Kuranosuke’s composed and patient waiting?

“Gengo isn’t coming back yet.” “He’s been keeping rather close company with those playboy types lately—perhaps his backbone has softened a bit.”

“I’m bored.”

Yasube lay down, “Having spent this past month doing nothing but rushing about on journeys, I find it painful to sit idle even occasionally.” “Takebayashi, shall we drink?” “Drink?” “So—you’re a teetotaler?”

“If it’s sake you want, there seems to be some in the kitchen.” “Is there?”

It was when he sat up.

The entrance opened, and someone came in. “Gengo, have you returned?” When they went out to look, it was not Ōtaka Gengo. It was Muramatsu Santayū. “Oh... It’s you.” Santayū offered a casual smile, but both Yasube and Tadashichi maintained bitter expressions. They felt decisively severed from the Fushimi-affiliated pleasure district faction. Their eyes—filled with self-mocking contempt—settled on Santayū’s face. “Is Lord Gengo…” “He is out.” “Each of you—”

“Do you have some business?” “I’ve been making rounds to deliver an urgent message from Yamashina.” “How dutiful.” Their reply was brusque. Yet Santayū paid no mind and boldly climbed up. Though cicadas already shrilled in the sweltering heat, he snapped the shoji screen shut,

“Gentlemen, a word, if I may.” Santayū adopted a formal tone. They wore expressions of utter disinterest. However, when Santayū began to speak, the two men were astounded and changed their expressions. That morning, an urgent message from Edo had arrived at Yamashina. According to it, the matter of reinstating Lord Asano’s younger brother Daigaku—which Kuranosuke had eagerly awaited and for which he had secretly relied on Yūkai of Enrinji Temple’s efforts—was decisively concluded to be hopeless.

The written reports from Yoshida Chūzaemon and Okuda Magodayū in Edo stated that Daigaku Nagahiro had even his sole remaining residence in Kobiki-chō—which had been left as his only dwelling—confiscated and was being transferred to Hiroshima in Geishū. ……It was a demotion. The hope of restoring their lord’s house had now been completely severed. “And Lord Kuranosuke has declared with a single word: ‘Up to this point—’” “Several times he has directed to each of you that his resolve stands firmly set upon the single path of revenge, as sworn.”

Santayū’s eyebrows tensed as he spoke. “Then… has our lord also resolved to move?” “Without doubt—preparations to abandon Yamashina and journey along the Tōkaidō are already underway.” “You swear this?” “What fool would jest of such things?” “Tadashichi!” The two men clasped hands, barely restraining their tears.

Gengo returned. Unlike his usual calm demeanor, his bearing now brimmed with suppressed excitement. He had apparently learned everything at the residence of Terai Genkei, where he had been sent earlier. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Yasube halted mid-motion toward Yamashina. He resolved to visit Yamashina first thing the next morning to pay formal respects. Yet any abrupt change in their comrades’ movements now risked unwanted attention. “Stay put until orders arrive”—this became Gengo’s counsel.

×　　　×　　　×

It was not long after Yokokawa Kanpei had departed for Edo upon receiving Ōishi Kuranosuke’s secret orders.

At Maruyama, in Jūami’s lodging, the comrades in the capital gathered on the appointed day. Everyone who had ever harbored suspicions came. Those who had resolved not to come were nowhere to be seen, just as expected. Before they knew it, over the course of this past year, each other’s hearts had become something that could no longer be falsified. Even those who had worn considerable disguises no longer showed their forms on this day. The number was nineteen.

It was an unprecedented meeting—intense and rigorous. Furthermore, there were none of the usual arguments, and all suspicions of probing each other’s intentions had been swept away—when, for the first time, from Kuranosuke’s heavy mouth,

“There remains nothing more to await beyond this.” “A single word of resolution shall suffice.”

At these words being spoken, they all felt their blood surge. The mood was clear and bright as a cloudless sky. “By early September we shall complete all remaining tasks in Kamigata, and by late October we shall surely make our departure.” “Until then, you must remain utterly quiet.”

Thus did Kuranosuke declare his resolve. Both Hara Sōemon and Yasube humbly complied with the command.

“I’m glad… But don’t rejoice yet,” he thought. “Even reaching this point had been filled with obstacles at every turn.” The men already felt as though their hands were brushing Lord Kira’s collar. Yet when they recalled how they had endured that year and a half, they could not help looking back on the many trials that had filled those brief months.

Sake was distributed, and cups were exchanged vigorously. When the ears of the group grew hot and flushed—suddenly, a resonant voice, startling to the younger ones— “Ah! A warriors’ gathering—a banquet of trustworthiness indeed!” Onodera Jūnai beat the hand drum and chanted. “I shall dance once.”

It was Hara Sōemon.

Swiftly opening his fan, he stood, "—At the imperial hunt at Mount Fuji, seize the moment, seize the moment—" —and danced *Soga*. As they watched with smiles, several more cups accumulated before Kuranosuke’s tray.

Matsuzaka-chō neighborhood

Paper Scraps Return The thoroughfare of Kurama-guchi was bleached white with scorching heat. Even the ants swarming over a cicada’s corpse added to the heat.

Ōtaka Gengo stood waiting under the blazing sun, the soles of his sandals being scorched, until he spotted Kaiga Yazaemon returning from the front of the leaf-tea shop. “Did you find out?”

Yazaemon nodded and walked ahead in silence. Sweat seeped through the back of the tea-colored summer kimono. They turned immediately alongside the temple’s earthen wall. The crape myrtle flowers caught their eyes, “This is the place…”

Yazaemon pointed at the nameplate and came to a halt.

Nagasawa Rokurōzaemon.

—No mistake. When they opened the clean, neat gate—resembling that of a townhouse’s retirement residence—and entered, the cheerful voices of women that had been audible from within fell silent. From behind a reed screen emerged a woman in her early forties with light makeup, appearing nonchalant at first. But upon seeing the two guests streaked with grime from the blazing sun, she exclaimed “Ah!”, offered only a cursory greeting, and retreated back inside. “Well, what a rare visit!”

Next to appear was the master, Nagasawa Rokurōzaemon, a water fan in hand. “Do come up.” He led them upstairs as though wary of the first floor. Before stepping onto the ladder stairs, they caught a glimpse of a group of women in the back—mingling with one monk and a man dressed as a townsman—sitting in an ill-mannered circle while scattering karuta cards, a popular game of late.

“Well, since then…” Gengo casually dismissed the host’s stiffened, pompously solemn greeting,

“Ah, we’ve both been neglectful.” “Well… It seems we’ve intruded upon your kind entertainment.” Rokurōzaemon’s expression grew truly pitiable. Flustered, he kept fumbling at his collar,

“Ah, well… Ha ha ha, did you notice?” “The life of a ronin—the idleness becomes unbearable.” “But given that—we who are sworn by oath can neither seek new service nor let society perceive our lives as idle…” “Actually—” Kaiga Yazaemon pulled out a document from his breast pocket and,

“Today, we have come regarding that matter.” “That matter?” “We have come to return the blood-oath pledge documents exchanged by those of us who shared the same resolve within Akō Castle, as Lord Ōishi has reconsidered his position.” “Oh? …Hmm…” With a frown of incomprehension, Nagasawa Rokurōzaemon stared at his own blood-oath document laid before him. When the Akō siege had been decided, this man too had burned with righteous fervor, He had been one of those who cried out, “We shall make this castle our deathbed!” When the strategy shifted from siege to vendetta, the domain samurai who pledged commitment to their future course had numbered one hundred twenty at that time.

“Indeed, I have returned your portion here.” Yazaemon had already started to rise to his knees,

“Gengo, shall we take our leave?” Then Nagasawa Rokurōzaemon hurriedly unfolded the blood-oath document to examine it. There could be no doubt—this was the pledge he himself had written during that fervent crucible within Akō Castle last April. The blood from the thumbprint pressed at that time had dried to a lacquer-like hue. “...A moment.” Rokurōzaemon suddenly squared his shoulders and looked down at the two messengers as he spoke. “I’ve caught wind through town gossip of Lord Ōishi’s dissolute conduct—does this mean he’s truly forsaken his resolve?”

“So it seems… Though it shames us to bear such tidings, in essence, Lord Ōishi is not alone in this altered resolve.” “As days pass, men’s hearts inevitably shift with their circumstances.” “Then—has the vengeance been called off?” “Debates remain fractured as ever. But when the Maruyama elders convened recently, they concluded that while our spirits were united at the incident’s outset and the realm’s eyes rested upon us with expectation—now that fervor has cooled—well, with so many faltering even at vengeance… In the end, it was decided to dissolve the blood-oath pact.”

“So that’s why you’ve come to return it?” “We still have over a dozen households to visit.” “Well—after all this while, we’ve done nothing but waste our days on such foolish back-and-forth.” “This is unconscionable!”

Rokurōzaemon stuffed his blood oath into his sleeve and declared bitterly, “To gather people’s blood pledges only to return them with empty words—" “I had expected it might come to this...but this is beyond foolishness.” “By rights, Lord Kuranosuke should have summoned all oath-signers to explain the situation properly and beg pardon for his own failings. Yet even at the Maruyama meeting, none would assemble—and now Lord Ōishi himself seems too ashamed to show his face before anyone...”

“When you return, please convey this to Lord Kuranosuke—that Rokurōzaemon is disheartened.” “Understood.” Hiding bitter smiles, they hurriedly exited through the Sarusuberi Gate,

“Kaiga,” “Walking like this makes me realize how truly fascinating the human heart is… It’s like gazing at twin mirrors—one reflecting the surface, the other what lies beneath.” This path and that.

“Where next?” “Haikata Tōbei in Kitano.” “That’s good since we know the residence well—but there are still quite a few left, aren’t there?” “There would be seventeen or eighteen.” “This business of returning blood-oath scraps has taken five days already. Walking about is one thing, but when we hand them back in Rokurōzaemon’s current manner—the man’s secretly relieved deep down, yet still has the gall to posture like that. Absolutely insufferable.”

“Ōtaka, Haikata’s house is in this alley.” “What a wretched tenement.—Lend me Haikata Tōbei’s portion. Since taking formal leave would be troublesome, I’ll return it alone.” Gengo stepped onto the gutter board and peered into the tenement as he went.

“Is Mr. Tōbei at home?” “Who’s there?” “Gengo.” In this heat, within a tattered mosquito net whose color had completely faded, Tōbei lay naked, asleep. Abruptly propping himself up on his elbows, “Oh, Mr. Ōtaka.” “...This is rather awkward.” “I’ll take down the mosquito net now, so wait there for a moment.” “Ah, no—leave it as it is.” “I don’t even have a yukata—in that case, I’ll stay inside the mosquito net.” “I’ll borrow a corner here…”

He sat down and explained that he had come to return the blood oath, reciting the same speech he had given at every house. “Ah, so that’s it.” At this, Tōbei made an honest face, as though a weight had been lifted. “Well… now that things have come to this, that way is better for us. Back when our lord’s house fell, our blood ran hot, the world’s eyes were upon us, and there was even an atmosphere among our comrades to die in battle with the castle as our pillow… but after scattering, one comes to think of various things…”

“Now, truly…” Gengo simply kept nodding obediently. “Back then, we laughed at them as cowards and inhuman scum—but looking back now, someone like Ōno Kurobei truly was admirable.” “Is that so?”

“The fact he wasn’t swept up in that atmosphere inside and outside the domain proves he’s a man of true integrity.” “They say he’s been living around Saga these days—lending small sums and getting by quite comfortably, hasn’t he?”

“I haven’t heard a single rumor.” “They say he keeps a mistress.” “—The very pinnacle of envy.” “Compared to that, I was too honest.” “Looking at this blood oath now makes me want to sneer.” “Ha ha ha—you’ve changed so drastically again.” “How could I stay unchanged?” “Once you commit to revenge, you sell off all your household luxuries for pennies—and even when that’s gone, attacking Kira remains some vague ‘someday,’ a day you can’t even begin to guess.” “……We’ll shrivel up long before we ever take revenge.” “And yet Kuranosuke lives in extravagance—I sent letters begging for funds through a child two or three times, but not even a reply came.” “The whole approach treats people like fools.” “I should’ve served Ōno Kurobei and sought his counsel…but at Akō Castle I went waving bushidō about and called him a petty pseudo-samurai to his face—now it’s too late to go crawling back……”

Since this was getting nowhere, Gengo said, "Well, next time I'll make some money and we'll meet again."

As he began to rise, “Ah, no—just a moment…”

“What?” “It’s difficult to ask, but… do you have a little small change on hand?” “In truth, as you can see, I’ve even pawned an unlined kimono, so I can’t go out to raise funds.” “Money? … Unfortunately, I’m in the same boat.”

“Oh, it’s not such a heavy sum to speak of.” “Even if it’s just whatever you’ve got at hand…”

Gengo took out the truly meager coins from his purse. “This little?...” “That’s fine, that’s fine. This will get me through the evening.” Even after stepping out into the street, Gengo could not bring himself to speak immediately to Yazaemon, who was waiting. ――To think a human being could fall so low. It was not a matter of wealth or poverty in money—it was the degradation of the human spirit. Tears welled up uncontrollably at his eyelashes.

If our deceased lord were to learn of this, what would he feel? He remembered that. Among those absentees who had not shown their faces at the recent Maruyama meeting—of course, as part of his deep stratagem—Kuranosuke had ordered Ōtaka and Kaiga to go house-to-house daily, returning blood oaths to those individuals he deemed significant. Yet as a result, (Indeed, as expected of Lord Ōishi—he had observed everything thoroughly.)

The two of them felt that Lord Kuranosuke’s meticulous preparations had a double or triple bottom—something they could never fully fathom.

That was the day their task came to an end.

To combine his report, Gengo went alone to visit Kuranosuke at Bairin-an Temple in Shijō.

His villa in Yamashina, built by piling stones and digging a spring, had already passed into others’ hands not long after the Maruyama meeting. Of the household possessions, the items needed by O-Riku and the young children were sent to Tajima, while the remainder were mostly sold off through the town doctor Terai Genkei. When the attendant of Bairin-an Temple saw Gengo’s figure, “Ah, unfortunately, Lord Ōtaka.” “Lord Kuranosuke has gone out for a casual visit to Lord Genkei’s residence.” “Oh, I see.” “Then I’ll stop by Terai’s residence.”

When he immediately went there, Kuranosuke was in a back room with Terai Genkei and his son, sharing a drink. “Ah, you’ve arrived.” Genkei, as if he had gained reinforcements, “Lord Gengo, I must also ask you to put in a word with Lord Taifu.” said Genkei.

Okaru’s house

Upon inquiry, the story went like this. Genkei had become Akō Domain’s retainer physician with a stipend of 300 koku in Genroku 13, the year before the Asano family precipitated that calamity. The days since he had entered service may have been few... and his official role may have been that of a physician, but his heart was no different from those of the domain warriors. Trusting this, since arriving in Kyoto, Kuranosuke had relied on Genkei as his confidant in all matters—visiting the families of comrades at the first sign of illness, selling household items too delicate for domain warriors’ hands, placing orders for weapons and firefighting attire to be used in the revenge, even entrusting him with the most minute economic details—and Genkei had never betrayed that trust. Yet when it came time for Kuranosuke to depart for Edo affairs, he refused Genkei’s request to accompany him with nothing more than a curt dismissal: “We shall meet again when the time comes.”

“Now hear me out, Lord Gengo. Is my grievance unreasonable, or is Lord Ōishi’s refusal more justified?” “...This is troubling. To speak honestly, I too understand that Lord Taifu’s refusal is most justified.” “Why?” Genkei moved his white eyebrows and sharpened his shoulders.

“The way of the warrior and the way of the physician—the duties required by our respective callings differ.” “I know!” “But consider Hua Tuo of ancient China—a physician who stood beside Guan Yu on the battlefield out of gratitude, treating his wound when struck by a poisoned arrow.” “If such righteous spirits endured hardships together, why must we draw distinctions between warrior and physician? However meager our strength, we wish to join this cause!” “I cannot fathom your refusal, Genkei!”

It seemed the debate between Kuranosuke and his counterpart had already reached an impasse, with neither side conceding even before Gengo arrived. Gengo, understanding precisely what this entailed, wore a troubled expression.

“Then, how about we proceed thus? —Though this humble proposal would require both a concession from Lord Genkei and a request to Lord Taifu, adopting the middle path—”

“Let me inquire,” said Kuranosuke. “What manner of proposal is this?” “Lord Genkei will remain in Kyoto,” proposed Gengo. “And—” “In exchange, might we send your son Lord Gendatsu to Edo?” “……My son…?” Though Genkei still showed traces of discontent, Kuranosuke—who had already struggled to reject repeated pleas conveyed through Bairin-an Temple’s Head Priest Kai to bring Genkei along—declared: “An excellent notion, Gengo. As he is your son, I shall request his accompaniment and entrust him with tending wounds on the night of our vengeance.”

said Ōishi.

Genkei could no longer insist on imposing his aged frame after being told that. So they solidified their agreement, “Well, well… This old relic has been left behind.” And with that, the remainder turned to laughter and drink. Ōishi Kuranosuke had visited there that night to have Genkei handle final tasks—farewells and settling affairs—now that preparations for his imminent departure to Edo matters stood nearly complete.

That, too, was about fundraising. At present, Kuranosuke’s coffers were already running low. Among the comrades beginning to depart for Edo affairs, many lacked even travel preparations—let alone journey funds. The stipends distributed during Akō Castle’s surrender had long since dried up in everyone’s hands. The funds Kuranosuke had reserved for preparations had also been spent ordering hachigane hoods, robes, haori jackets, and other raid attire from a man named Kin’ya Yahee at Genkei’s clinic—all items now completed and paid for in full, leaving his coffers completely emptied.

And so, he had devised a plan.

A distant relative of Kuranosuke served as a Shodaibu of the Konoe family. That person was named Shindō Chikugo-no-kami Nagatomi. He had Genkei’s disciple deliver a letter and collateral to this individual to request a loan of 100 ryō in gold. The collateral item was a sealed long chest. Inside were items that Kuranosuke had filled with heartfelt care, but before long, the messenger returned and reported:

“Though your request is most gracious, at present, the Shindō household too faces pressing financial obligations, and thus we regrettably cannot comply with the intent of your letter—such was the esteemed reply.” It read. “Thank you for your trouble.” Kuranosuke thanked the disciple and quietly sipped his cup—within the long chest he had sent to the Shindō household were mementos he would distribute posthumously, each item accompanied by a slip of paper inscribed with the recipient’s name, filling it to the brim.

Though it was already late at night, when he left Genkei’s house, the coolness of the summer moonlit night made his steps restless, and he found it a pity to enclose his slight intoxication within a mosquito net. “I will stop by Ichimonjiya, but won’t you join me for some tea?” At Nijō Crossing, Kuranosuke suddenly said. Gengo, being weary, parted ways after promising to meet tomorrow.—When he turned to look back, Kuranosuke was already drifting lightly in the wind as he turned onto Teramachi Street. “Is anyone there?”

“Oh! Well, well…”

The people of Ichimonjiya widened their eyes at the unexpected visitor arriving at an unexpected hour, and the entire household ushered him into a cool inner room. This was the house of Okaru’s older brother. At the same time as vacating the Yamashina estate and all its possessions, Okaru had been sent back to her family’s home. (A rare incognito visit—) The Ichimonjiya family members had deliberately left their seats, and before long, from Okaru’s inner room—likely at Kuranosuke’s request—the sound of her koto playing began to drift out——

The lamp was dimmed, A few lines of Yu-shi’s Tears Okaru’s singing voice seemed to hold back those tears, and the household members, though keeping their distance, listened in hushed silence. Suddenly, the voice laughing was Kuranosuke’s. It was a voice that rose above his usual drunken merriment. “What’s this, Okaru? Are you crying?” “As I mentioned in Yamashina, this journey to Edo affairs is simply because I’ve resolved to mend my poverty-stricken ways by seeking a proper master—nothing more than that decision to depart.” “Once I’ve secured a proper master there, I’ll send for you once my residence is settled…” “Hahahaha! The koto strings are damp with tears—how about another tune? A different one… one that doesn’t spill tears…”

A seven-foot folding screen— Though one may leap, by no means shall it be crossed. The hem of gauzy silk— If pulled, how could this gauzy hem not tear? From the sky above the alley between houses with high walls, the summer moon peered down at the veranda late into the night with an insatiable gaze.

×　　　×　　　×

Kyoto Hino family steward, Kakimi Gorōbei.

It was on October 17th, not long after, that Kuranosuke—having affixed labels to two long chests—decisively left behind his brief, dreamlike life in Kyoto and set out along the Tōkaidō road toward Edo affairs. As for those who accompanied him,

Ushioda Matanojō, Chikamatsu Kanroku, Hayami Tozaemon, Mimura Jirōemon. —along with young retainers and two chūgen. Terai’s son, Gendatsu, had also gone ahead. Ōishi Chikara had already visited his mother in Tajima and paid respects at Otokoyama Hachiman with his father before this, and he too had departed ahead for Edo.

Okano Kin'emon and Takebayashi Tadashichi had departed one month prior. Yoshida, Mase, Fuwa, Chiba, and Onodera followed in succession, leaving Kyoto one after another. And only those whom Kuranosuke had sifted through with a silk filter of utmost scrutiny—under leakproof preparations—maintained meticulous coordination and had deeply entrenched themselves in Edo affairs.

Autumn had ended, and the Minor Cold of winter in the fifteenth year of Genroku was about to arrive.

The cousin upstairs

The sundries shop Zenbei in Honjo Futatsume was a small establishment that had only just recently hung its navy blue noren there.

Until around summer, he had been a man who often came around here peddling while carrying loads of binzuke oil and matsugane oil, (That sundries shop owner was such a friendly person!) the women would whisper among themselves. Since Honjo saw many flower-viewing guests, he had announced plans to open a small shop—and this advance notice seemed to have paid off—creating a male household engaged in women’s trade. It flourished. “Oh! Isn’t this Okume-san? Why—it’s Lord Kira’s Okume-san!”

Zenbei—who always sat properly at the shop front with his knees squared, fully embodying the role of a sundries shopkeeper—was none other than Kanzaki Yogoro. The one who had been called out was an eighteen-year-old maidservant who had just hurried past outside the noren curtain—a servant of the Kira household in nearby Matsuzaka-chō.

Okume, who had in fact been waiting in her heart to be called, blushed slightly and emerged from behind the noren curtain, “Zenbei-san, what is it?” “Where’d you go rushing off to, playing coy?” “To my family home.” “To your family home. Heh heh—went and suckled at your mother’s teat plenty, didn’t you?” “No—Papa was feeling poorly.” “Be that as it may—marching past my shopfront! Turning away like you’re too good for me! I’ll have you know Zenbei resents this!”

“Oh, I didn’t look away and pass by like that!” “Ah, now I see.” “Oh, nothing.” “It must be because today I was the only one you noticed at the shop—since my cousin Uemonnana isn’t here.”

“Oh, Zenbei-san! You really do jump to conclusions!” “It’s troublesome, really—here I am, a man yet so jealous… Well, come on in.” “Then don’t come in.” “Next time your friends O-Suzu, O-Sae, and all of you come shopping, I’ll have a grand old chat!” “What? What?” “What? What?” “—About the thing with Uemonnana, you know.” “Oh! I haven’t done anything at all with Uemonnana-san—you’re hateful!”

With that, Okume entered, raising her sleeve to her shoulder and pretending to strike. “Hahaha! It’s a joke.” “A joke, a joke!”

He placed a small zabuton cushion there and—

“Don’t be angry—come now, do me the kindness of sitting for a moment.” “Everyone says you’re the kind of person who’s both infuriating and adorable, Zenbei-san.” “I’m in a bind—please pick one or the other.”

"I'm the hateful one." "After all, you simply must belong to Uemonnana."

“There you go again.”

“Oh! The tea’s about to spill. Here—have some.” “Come now, do have a sip.”

“That’s why I can’t stand you! —Oh, now a perfect opportunity has arrived.” “Shall I show you some tortoiseshell items?” “Don’t be absurd! A mere maidservant like me?” “Just pester Uemonnana into buying it for you.” “He’s a relative of ours, so he helps out part-time and comes around like that now and then. But with that good country home of his, he never wants for pocket money—enviable fellow, really.” “No.” “Such things.”

“But Okume-san—truth be told, Uemonnana actually wants to buy it for you.” “...He’s up on the second floor again today.” “He must be listening to your voice right now—keeping utterly silent.” Okume had placed two or three combs from there on her lap and was pretending not to listen, yet the nape of her neck flushed as though stained with madder dye.

“Hey, why don’t you just go upstairs and talk to him? Uemonnana said he’s feeling a bit under the weather today and is bored reading chapbooks.” “But…” “Is it about the mansion?” “No, I’ve been given leave from the mansion until evening, but—” “—In that case, wouldn’t that be fine? A delicious shiruko shop has opened up ahead. Uemonnana said he wanted to try it earlier too, so why don’t you go keep him company?”

“Is Uemonnana-san truly feeling unwell?” “It’s nothing serious, but…” “Well then… maybe I should go visit him for a bit?” “But… somehow, going to Uemonnana-san’s place alone…” “Goodness, you’re so exasperating!”

Zenbei took Okume’s white wrist and raised it.

A Cage of Nestlings

No sooner had the cat darted like an arrow from beneath the mud stove into the back than the kitchen’s sliding door, bathed in western sunlight, swung open with a clatter, “Thank you kindly for your continued patronage.” “At the second rice shop in Aioi-chō—” Zenbei called from the shop, “Oh, the rice shop?”

“Hey, where shall I move it?”

“Just wait a moment.” “A household of men has to manage both front and back.” “I’ll go right now.” Rising in the shop, Zenbei gazed with composed eyes at the edge of the curtain—then raised those very eyes to the utterly silent staircase leading to the second floor, which he ascended—before slipping quietly into the kitchen.

“Ah, Goheibei-san. You’ve worked hard.” The man known as Komeya Goheibei was none other than their comrade Maehara Isuke, who had already established a shop half a year earlier than this notions store here—diagonally across from Kira’s rear gate, a short distance past the second block.

A face covered in bran—a figure smeared with straw debris. Zenbei (Yogoro) lost himself momentarily as an indescribable emotion surged through his chest. Goheibei kept his expression neutral, “Shall I measure it here?”

“Nonsense—your shop has been running honestly.” “The masu is reliable, I assume.” “There’s no need for that.” “It’s only because everyone speaks so kindly that my efforts feel worthwhile.” “If you open that one—well, it’s just lukewarm tea, but have a sip.” “Thank you kindly.—My, my, the days have grown shorter, haven’t they?” “I beg your pardon, sir—might I trouble you for a flint?”

“Here you go.”

Closing the waist-high sliding door, Zenbei moved right up beside him and lit his own tobacco. So that the mouthpieces of their tobacco pipes touched. “Maehara—any changes?”

“Hmm…” “Regarding that…” With a sharp, deliberate tap of his tobacco pipe, “In the evening, Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon from Kōjimachi, Mōri Koheita from Hayashichō, along with Horibe, Sugino, and others are set to gather—can you make an appearance?” “Your house?” “To the usual back rice storehouse.” “Let’s go.—Perhaps there’s some good news.”

“Well, we’ll have to go and see.” “No matter what—the Kira household’s strictness, their thorough precautions—they’re even greater than we had anticipated.” “The days pass idly by,” “Somehow word has leaked out—rumors in Edo these days say many Akō ronin have infiltrated the city, that Lord Kuranosuke has descended from Yamashina, that revenge is imminent—and with these persistent troublesome rumors swirling, Kira’s security has become visibly stringent of late.”

“Not only do rumors arise from our actions, but similar ones persistently swirl around Kira’s faction as well.” “—that due to Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu’s illness, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke has relocated to the Uesugi residence with a retinue of attendants for care; or that he will soon withdraw to the Uesugi clan’s ancestral lands under Yonezawa Domain’s protection—” “The true difficulty lies in those bystanders’ meddlesome chatter.” “Human nature—craving spectacle—magnifies even trifles.” “They proclaim impossibilities as plausible truths.” “We dare not heed them carelessly.”

“Anyway, what we need to confirm as soon as possible is the interior of the Kira household.”

“Well, you see…” “The other day at Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon’s ronin residence in Kōjimachi, we discussed our immediate challenges—confirming Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s whereabouts, obtaining mansion blueprints, determining internal layouts, bedchambers, escape routes’ existence, and security personnel numbers—but though all have exhausted every investigative angle with utmost care, given Kira’s previously mentioned strict precautions, we’ve yet to uncover a single lead.” Even Lord Ōishi had been daunted by this. “If we rashly contrive schemes, they’ll only become causes to ruin our cause…”

“—Well, the truth is…”

Zenbei bent down and directed the mouthpiece of his tobacco pipe toward the second floor.

“We’re midway through executing that scheme—even now I’m fretting whether it’ll succeed.” “Is someone upstairs?” “Among Kira’s maidservants—there’s a somewhat charming girl called Okume.” “Hmm…” “It’s peculiar.” “That one keeps coming to the shop for unnecessary purchases.”

“Hmm…” “I thought it strange… but then I discerned it. Yagami Uemonnana has been coming here occasionally. Seeing him, she seems to have grown fond without realizing it herself.” “Uemonnana… Indeed, he is quite handsome.” “But try as we might—that innocence of hers. Moreover, Uemonnana being seventeen and the girl eighteen—after carefully maneuvering to get her up to the second floor today too, I fear he won’t be able to handle this.”

“That’s a promising lead.” “A little bird we mustn’t let slip away… I’d like to skillfully coax her into the cage, but…” “Yet in this matter—we can neither send a substitute nor lend assistance.” “Hahaha.” Goheibei’s inadvertent laughter prompted

“Shh!” He conveyed with his eyes, deliberately,

“Oh, it’s getting dark.” “I suppose I should start preparing the lanterns.”

He peered through the sliding door partitioning the shop from the back room and began to take out a lantern. Goheibei also stood up to go to the kitchen, leaving white traces of bran on the tatami mats. “Thank you for the meal, sir.” “When you find a moment of leisure, do come over to our place in the evening for a chat.” He began to put on his straw sandals.

At that moment, rapid footsteps resounded as if someone were tumbling down a ladder. Goheibei, still clinging to the waist-high sliding door, instinctively glanced back toward the interior. It was Okume.

Suddenly coming down to the lower floor, she stood frozen in the shadow of the sliding door, clutching her sleeves and staring fixedly, her face pale—

Zenbei, appearing more startled than anyone else at the situation, peered into the back room.

“Okume? What’s happened?” he asked. Okume’s eyes were wide as she tried to calm her racing heart.—What she finally managed to explain was this: Even after going up to the second floor, Uemonnana had barely spoken to her, and feeling awkward, she’d cracked open the window slightly; sitting back-to-back—him poring over a book while she gazed out at the street—she’d suddenly noticed, when peering into the shadow of the shop’s curtain, a samurai wearing a woven sedge hat standing there, staring fixedly into the shop as if rooted to the spot—

And in her imagination—perhaps because it was evening—while Zenbei was handling some matter in the back, a malicious vagrant might be eyeing the shop’s cashbox. Driven by such fears, she impulsively called out from the second-floor window: (Do you have some business here?) It seemed she had called out in this manner. Then, the man with the woven sedge hat placed his hand on the hat’s brim and, without uttering a word, silently looked up at the second floor.

(—Oh!) Closing the window and letting out that cry happened simultaneously—and she, unable to endure staying there any longer, fled downstairs in a frenzy without even a word to Uemonnana, who stood wide-eyed behind her—recounting it all as though she had encountered some twilight-dwelling specter, trembling as she spoke.

“Who on earth was it?” “—the ronin standing before the shop wearing that woven sedge hat—”

When Zenbei deliberately asked in a calm manner, Okume, still with a faint trace of fear on her pale face, “It was Lord Shimizu Ichigaku from the mansion’s samurai quarters… What should I do? If Lord Ichigaku returns to the mansion and tells them I was up on the second floor here—” Her eyelashes were on the verge of tears. “What? Shimizu Ichigaku?” Zenbei, flustered to cover up his own blurted-out lapse, “—Was Lord Ichigaku standing there?” “What’s this about? Ha ha ha ha.” “As for Lord Ichigaku—he often passes through the streets drunk, humming little songs, and returns home late at night—isn’t he quite an amusing fellow?” “It’s all right; there’s no need to worry.” “I’ll lend you some good wisdom so that Zenbei can ensure a proper explanation is given.”

he called up from the ladder steps, “Uemonnana—could you come down for a moment?”

he said— Glancing sideways, he saw Goheibei’s face still concealed uneasily outside the kitchen. However, as a local passed through that alley carrying a water bucket, [Goheibei] busily brushed the bran from the rice bag and hurried away.

Okume and Otsuyu Uemonnana’s voice was heard from upstairs at once. “Yes.”

A response was heard, followed by stirring movement. Descending—when he saw Okume standing in the shadow of the ladder steps, his face flushed faintly as he—

“What is it, Uncle?” he said to Zenbei (Kanzaki Yogoro). “Go check the front of the shop.” “The shop front?” Uemonnana went out to the shop and peered cautiously beyond the curtain. “There’s nothing unusual... What is it? Did something happen?” “Miss Okume says Lord Shimizu Ichigaku—a retainer of Lord Kira—was standing there looking up at the second floor.” “A case of mistaken identity.”

“That might be the case.”

Zenbei, with a comforting expression, directed his gaze at her despondent figure,

“Miss Okume—they say there’s no one there now.” “If you return to the mansion at once, nothing will come of it.” “Shall I escort you to the back gate?”

“No…”

Okume shook her head but did not move from the base of the ladder steps. As the sun had already set, she had to return to the mansion, yet she seemed to want to remain by Uemonnana’s side forever. “…………”

Holding both sleeves in her hands, Okume traced lines of tears that fell softly down her white cheeks. “If only…”

Zenbei placed a hand on her shoulder and, while looking toward Uemonnana in the shop, whispered. "Do you truly care for him?" "If you truly care for Uemonnana... I, as your uncle, do have some ideas..." "Mr. Zenbei..." She slumped down to the floor— "Why with lies and jests?" "Hmm, that may well be, but young folks can flare up in a fit of passion one moment and cool off the next."

“I beg of you. Whether I am such a woman or not—please let me be with him. I swear to stay by his side until—” Her heartrending devotion was evident in her tear-filled eyes. (Ah... What a sin I commit.) For a moment, Zenbei Yogoro found himself overwhelmed by such tender emotions— (For the greater cause!) Crushing down his flickering conscience, he averted his gaze and abruptly seized her wrist. “If your words hold true, I shall indeed have you marry my nephew Uemonnana.—Though we cannot act hastily this year, come next spring, we’ll divide this shop’s noren and—”

“Huh? Really?” “But”

As he said this, Zenbei stared fixedly at her eyes, burning with a maiden’s single-minded devotion, “A marital vow determines one’s lifelong fate—if Miss Okume were to have a change of heart, as your uncle, this Zenbei would lose all standing. Not that I doubt you, but I’d like some written oath—or rather, your resolve alone would suffice.” “I’ll write the oath. I’ll cut my finger.” “Mr. Zenbei, I’ll do anything—anything at all.” “Your father, I hear, is a master carpenter.—I once heard this from Uemonnana.”

“Yes, through connections with Lord Kira’s household, I attained the position of maidservant.”

“Then this spring—what with Lord Kira’s estate having repairs done on the storehouse, bedchambers, and other areas—quite extensive renovations—your father must have been involved in the work, I imagine.” “Yes—he worked there for many years.” “Now—to speak plainly, this may sound peculiar—but at an estate I frequent, there’s a certain person who remarks: ‘Lord Kira is a renowned connoisseur, and they say he’s particularly passionate about construction—I should very much like to see the layout of his residence, how meticulously designed it is. If only there were blueprints of his mansion…’” “…Well now, Miss Okume… Those carpentry plans from that time—I wonder if they might still be in your father’s keeping.”

“Well… I’m not entirely sure, but I believe that’s usually how it goes—once the work is completed, the blueprints are returned to Lord Kira’s mansion.” “I see. That makes sense.” “Then how about this—with your hands, Miss Okume—could you find an opportunity to slip it out for us?” “Huh…?” “Is it difficult?” “Or are you saying you refuse to do such a thing?”

“But…” “You see? You claim you’ll write an oath or cut your finger—easy words to say—but when asked to do this one thing for Uemonnana’s sake, you hesitate immediately.” “That’s not the reason, but… at the mansion now—though I cannot speak of this loudly—they are terrified by the rumors of those Akō ronin, so the security has become extremely strict.” “You must be thinking of the risk of being caught—but no matter, we’ll guide you from the outside.”

“If I steal that and bring it out… will it truly be for Uemonnana’s sake?”

“As I’ve just said, a certain retired hatamoto with an obsession for construction insists on seeing the ingenious layout of the Kira household’s garden. In such matters, demonstrating faithful compliance is the merchant’s way of things these days. If we have Uemonnana deliver it and it pleases him, gradually gaining his favor could lead to you and Uemonnana starting a household under your own shop’s curtain—a future I believe would prove most advantageous.” “Well—if you say your heart isn’t in it, then there’s no helping it.”

“…………”

“No, Miss Okume… There’s no need to worry yourself over this.” “It’s not as though I’m forcing or pressuring you in any way.” “...Mr. Zenbei!” “Then… would Mr. Uemonnana truly make me his wife?” “He may be reserved, but the truth is he’s utterly smitten with you, Miss Okume.” “If even I give my approval, what possible grounds could Uemonnana have to refuse?” “Then… the renovation blueprint.”

“Oh? You’ll retrieve it for me?” “…………” Okume nodded with her eyes. Her eyes no longer held tears. There remained only a fierce resolve—a woman staking her entire being on this love.

Yogoro’s Zenbei felt guilty, his heart aching. Using Uemonnana—a man he knew would never join them—as bait, the result of deceiving this pure-hearted maiden was all too clear: what misfortune it would bring upon her life. The thought weighed on him with transparent clarity. But this time, Okume was the desperate one. After returning to the mansion, she declared she would retrieve and deliver it tonight. Zenbei found himself having to caution her against moving too hastily and risking discovery. But she knew well the layout of the carpenter’s shed where all the construction materials were stored. “Once I retrieve the blueprint panels, I’ll throw them over the eastern wall of the mansion. If you set the time, there will be no mistake,” Okume declared with conviction.

“Then… without fail…” “Yes.”

When they had agreed on the time,

“Uncle, please come here.”

Uemonnana, who had been guarding the shop, peered into the back and said hurriedly. “It’s a customer—Miss Otsuyu from Lord Kira’s household.” “I don’t know the prices, Uncle—please come out.” Bat-patterned haori The one called Otsuyu was likewise a maidservant of the Kira household, a colleague of Okume’s and a frequent visitor to Zenbei the haberdasher’s shop—a woman of around twenty years old. She was two years older than Okume, but her disposition was far brighter, and she was also worldly. A slender-waisted beauty,

(With that face of hers, the retired gentleman would never leave her be.) Otsuyu was often teased with such jokes.

She sat on the raised threshold at the shopfront, pulled a stacked paulownia wood box toward herself, and was selecting hair ornaments.

“Welcome!” Zenbei rubbed his hands together and offered a cushion, whereupon Miss Otsuyu, “I’ll take this. How much?” “There’s no need to worry about payment now… It’s all part of serving you and your companions.” “Then I’ll have you put it together for me.—”

She glanced into the back. “Oh, isn’t that Miss Okume?” “Ha ha ha ha. You’ve found us out at last.” “Actually, a new shop serving delicious sweet red bean soup has opened up ahead. She stepped out quietly—not to dawdle, but to enjoy some sweets there.” “Oh, I should have come a bit sooner myself.” “……Miss Okume, aren’t you heading back yet?” “I was just about to head back.” “What perfect timing—Miss Otsuyu—please let me accompany you back together.”

“You must have had an enjoyable day off today.” At Otsuyu’s words, Okume hid her pounding heart and replied, “But I did go home.” “So I’m saying you must have had a lovely time suckling at your mother’s breast…… Hohoho, fretting over such odd matters.”

“You too will be granted leave to return home within four or five days, Miss Otsuyu.” “Yes, I came to buy this hairpin too, thinking about how we’ll amuse ourselves from now on.”

Okume, spotting a gap in the pedestrian flow, hastily slipped on her sandals and stepped out from behind the shop curtain.

“Well then…”

She said with her eyes— “Thank you for your hospitality.” Lining up their figures in straight vertical formation, they walked toward the service gate of the Kira household nearby.

“Uemonnana, take down the curtain rod.” Zenbei went outside and began removing the eaves curtain. Soon after lowering the shutters and locking them from within, the two left through the back entrance—faces concealed—heading toward some unknown destination. Though they kept their rice bin stocked, being an all-male household meant they frequently dined out. To places like Nishiryōgoku’s food stalls or Yagenbori’s tea-and-rice shops. After sharing a timely drink with Okume until the appointed hour, the two ambled back to Matsuzaka-chō.

There was that matter to attend to—and besides, tonight there was also a secret meeting at the residence of Maehara Isuke’s Komeya Gohei, so they had to make an appearance there as well. “Uemonnana, keep an eye on both sides.… I’ll oversee the rest.” Kanzaki Yogoro (Zenbei) had Yagami Uemonnana take the lead and walked about ten ken behind. Yogoro wore a hood—Uemonnana had pulled his bat-patterned haori over his head. Of course, when walking out at night, they carried their long and short swords, and their bearing had returned to that of samurai, so even if they passed neighbors, no one would recognize them as Zenbei the haberdasher and his nephew.

“There.—Around there.” At the whispered voice of Yogoro from behind, Uemonnana came to a halt. The wall of the Kira household loomed high. The large chinquapin tree was said to be the promised marker. Yagami Uemonnana stood motionless for a while. The carpentry blueprint of the Kira household—if they could obtain it so easily, how wildly everyone would rejoice at tonight’s gathering of comrades at Komeya Gohei’s. They would clap their hands and rejoice. Yagami Uemonnana imagined the radiant faces of those people, and his chest throbbed loudly.—He could not help but pray that the carpentry blueprint would successfully fall from Okume’s hands over this wall.

Woof! Woof woof woof!

Suddenly, two or three stray dogs barked and lunged at his bat-patterned haori. Uemonnana, startled, “Shoo!”

While he was raising his fist, Yogoro clicked his tongue from the distant darkness and called to the dogs. The dogs headed toward the food he had thrown from his hand, gathering while wagging their tails. To remain standing in the same place too long was like deliberately inviting suspicion. Uemonnana began pacing back and forth around the area. Yet despite their anxious waiting, there remained no sign of the pebble from Okume.

Strategic Deployment and Preparation

Meticulous operations targeting a specific day and flawlessly thorough preparations for that occasion were progressing so gradually as to be imperceptible within the hideouts of the former Akō retainers who had gone underground in Edo.

When October came.

Earlier, the group led by Ōishi Kuranosuke departed Kyoto, arrived in Kamakura, met up with Yoshida Chūzaemon and others there, quietly made their way to a farmhouse in Hirama Village, Kawasaki, and removed their travel attire. To elaborate, it was a section of the residence belonging to a farmer named Keibe Gohee in Hirama Village, Bushū Tachibana District. There, Tomomori Sukeemon had previously secluded himself and taught calligraphy and reading primers to village children—a connection that led to the site being hurriedly prepared to welcome Kuranosuke.

Horibe came. Kataoka paid a visit. Yogoro and Uemonnana also went there three or four times. Kuranosuke too occasionally went out to Edo affairs, changing his name to Kakimi Gorōbei, and frequently visited the home of Yoshida Chūzaemon—who operated under the alias Taguchi Ichigaku and had put up a sign as a military science instructor in Shinkōji-chō Fifth District.

Military Science Night Lecture— such as, and also tonight, Sun Tzu Study Sessions—

Under the pretext that there would be such events as “Military Science Night Lecture—” or “Sun Tzu Study Sessions—”, comrades in Edo gathered on each occasion.

However, this too soon attracted attention. Especially around Kuranosuke, there was a sense of danger. There were also rumors that swordsmen from both the Uesugi and Kira households were constantly prowling about.

(Raid) While they were devising opportunities and methods, who could guarantee that the enemy would not suddenly come slashing in with full force? Moreover, while we were targeting Lord Kira’s head here, how could we assert that the enemy’s assassins would not abruptly snatch away Kuranosuke’s life?

“We must do something about this.” This was something that Yoshida Chūzaemon had constantly worried about. While intense vigilance could be seen on the enemy Kira faction’s side, even greater meticulous caution was required of the Akō ronin. And so—Kuranosuke soon moved from Hirama Village to a rented house behind Ishichō. Whether going out or coming in, two or three comrades were following him. Kuranosuke found it bothersome, but “Your life no longer belongs solely to you.”

With that, the comrades were protecting him even to the point of being forceful. Kōjimachi and Ishichō had, so to speak, become the de facto headquarters for the Akō faction members lurking throughout Edo. Terai Genkei’s son Gendatsu also stayed at Shichimonjiya in Honmachi, which was close by, “I shall assist through medicine.”

Having declared this, whenever someone had a cold or fell ill, he would immediately go to examine them.

“We must achieve our long-cherished objective by year-end.” The group’s shared objective was there without anyone having decided it. The daily actions of everyone were reported from Chūzaemon to Kuranosuke, who at times furrowed his brows and at others clapped his hands,

“Good news! Good news!” they rejoiced together. Before departing Kyoto, the weapons, attire, and other items for the raid—prepared in Kamigata—had been disguised as moving luggage and shipped. Since these needed storage in a hideout near the Kira household’s residence, they entrusted the task to two men—Elder Horibe Yahee and Okuda Magodayū—who transported them there. Thus steadily and methodically, the preparations advanced. Yet one problem showed no progress whatsoever: they could discern nothing from outside about Kira’s mansion interior or Kōzuke-no-suke’s movements.

“If we let the year end—” With this, Horibe Yasube and the others grew even more impatient. For no matter how cleverly they changed names and disguised appearances, this was Edo—there could be no way fifty-odd comrades lying in wait would remain undetected by the world indefinitely. That was one reason; another lay in their exhausted coffers. Already, comrades journeying from Kyoto and other regions to Edo affairs had each endured dire hardships with travel funds. Most had sold off household possessions and personal belongings until they stood empty-handed, while those without means relied on others’ dwindling surpluses—all now wholly consumed.

Poverty—they now laughed at it among themselves, but should they find themselves with no prospect of revenge, driven to the brink in their livelihoods, and wholly consumed with staving off hunger, this would be no laughing matter.

On top of that, if they were to act now, the world with its malicious tongues would— (At last driven to struggle with poverty, they had resorted to reckless desperation)— say such things.

In this regard, it was already too late. The number of comrades had once numbered one hundred twenty but now dwindled to fifty-five. The majority were those driven to financial ruin—the longer this dragged on, the more deserters they would likely produce. Betrayal is detestable, but it is also an inherent weakness in all humans. One cannot entirely blame only those who depart.

That was the opinion Yasube had always expressed. Chūzaemon too, regarding this matter, "Even military strategy proves useless in such matters," he would lament. Yet no matter how they fretted, there remained that impassable line—the reconnaissance issue mentioned earlier. To undertake their great cause based on mere vague conjecture, without securing a complete floor plan of Kira's mansion or confirming Kōzuke-no-suke's presence within, would border on recklessness—and above all, Kuranosuke refused to move.

"Reconnaissance."

“If only we could uncover that.” Lately, it could be said most of them were wholly devoted to that task. Beginning with Maehara Isuke’s rice shop Gohee in Aioi-chō 2-chōme: Yogorō’s haberdashery Zenbē; clerks and servants such as Okano Kin’emon and Kurahashi Densuke. And others. At this time, over fifty men—disguised as doctors, swordsmen, tea masters, day laborers, and occasional merchants while changing their identities—gathered every scrap of information around Matsuzaka-chō’s walled enclosures, leveraging all connections and opportunities to ensure not even the slightest detail about the Kira faction went unnoticed.

Yagami Uemonnana gazed up at the chinquapin tree from the ditch’s edge along the wall— “Might as well sneak inside...” He considered this, “No—if by any chance—”

And as he considered that this blunder would not be limited to himself alone, he could only cling futilely to the arrangement Okume had mentioned— “God, have mercy.”

Putting himself in the feelings of all his comrades, he could only pray in his heart for divine favor. And then— With a rustle, a leaf or two fell from the chinquapin tree, and a small pebble clattered down behind Uemonnana. “Ah, Okume’s… So it worked.”

He too immediately picked up a small pebble and tossed it up to the chinquapin treetop with a soft thud. At that signal, she must have understood. From inside the wall, Okume threw out a wooden blueprint. The floor plan—drawn on a board by a carpenter using ink from his sumitsubo—clattered against the corner of the stone-lined ditch, bounced off, and split into two pieces. A Kira samurai. Thank heavens! Uemonnana instinctively cried out from his heart toward her beyond the wall. But as he lunged for the split blueprint and reached out his hand, someone seized with an eagle’s grip the bat-patterned haori that had been draped over Uemonnana’s head.

“Got you!” “Ah!”

“Who are you?!” As he maintained his grip on the haori—during which struggle—one split piece of the wooden blueprint fell into the ditch. The man who had accosted him proved formidably strong. Since Uemonnana refused to release the haori, the assailant wrapped his arms around the youth’s neck from behind like iron hoops and tightened his hold. “Ugh… Ughh…” Seventeen-year-old Uemonnana possessed a physique as delicate as willow branches. In contrast, the man boasted a frame twice his size and appeared to be around thirty. He wore a thick scarlet scabbard, his angular face sparsely bristling with coarse beard hairs,

“You there! Whose masterless samurai are you?”

Wrenching his body while cursing and applying the chokehold—his voice chaotic and reeking of alcohol. Uemonnana immediately realized this was a ronin from the Kira household.—Screaming “Gods!” inwardly, he desperately grabbed the enemy’s wrist and tried to throw him over his shoulder—but this was no fragile opponent who would succumb to such techniques. Damn!

The enemy's arm wrapped around his throat. Their two bodies arched into a bow shape and staggered backward rapidly. Uemonnana could not make a sound. The man remained unaware that Yogoro—who had darted over like a bird in flight from the shadows—had circled behind him. Yogoro suddenly slapped the man's earlobe hard with his open palm. It must have hurt more than any fist. As if sensing his eardrum had ruptured, he released his grip on Uemonnana,

“Ah…!” And the man dodged. Yogoro’s hand immediately darted toward the man’s collar. Before one could even see how he threw him, muddy water splashed up from the ditch with a swift sound. “Wait, you bastard!” Raising his entire body like a ditch rat, the man shouted from the bottom of the ditch. And clambering up onto the thoroughfare, he chased after the two figures fleeing into the distance, “Neighborhood watch! Neighborhood watch!” he continued running without bending, shouting all the while.

When they arrived at the corner of the firewood store next to Ekōin, “Isn’t that Shinmi?” “Oh! Shimizu!” “Shimizu!” “What’s with that look?” “Well, there were two opponents.” “Even against two?” He twisted his face into a bitter smile. Shinmi seemed to have returned from an outing elsewhere. Shimizu Ichigaku had his face deeply concealed under a woven sedge hat pulled low over his brows. Not only Ichigaku—all those now residing within the mansion as crucial ronin groups guarding Lord Kira’s person considered it necessary to disguise their appearances against the Akō ronin. When venturing beyond their immediate vicinity, they wore sedge hats; even nearby, they walked in varied guises.

“Oh no, I messed up!” The man’s name was Shinmi Yashichirō. He was one of the eleven swordsmen selected from the Uesugi family’s Yonezawa territory.

Looking around beyond the crossroads while stamping his feet, “While you were keeping your composure, you let that stinking bastard get away! They were indeed members of Akō.” “Isn’t the stinking one you yourself?” “This is no time for jokes.” Shinmi wrinkled his nose at the ditch mud covering his entire body.

“I went out as far as the second block with Ōsuga and Saitō for a quick drink and was on my way back.” “The alcohol’s worn off completely, and so has everything else.” “……However, I did something regrettable.” “Where?”

“Under that chinquapin tree over there…”

Leading the way back,

“That’s right—something was thrown out from the mansion.” “You can’t afford any carelessness or lapses, Shimizu.”

He peered into the ditch and grabbed half of the wooden blueprint. Then, while showing it to Shimizu Ichigaku,

“This is it…” “This came from the mansion.” “Hmm.” “We must immediately ascertain who was responsible.” “Seeing this leaves no room for doubt—those were Akō ronin.” “They’re growing restless.” “Their supply lines must be strained.” “This reeks of desperation.” “Starving men know no bounds.” “What truly frightens me is the fire risk.” “Then hurry back and douse yourself with well water.” “Talking to you wearies me.”

The back gate’s wicket stood slightly ajar. The lantern light wavered within. A lookout had heard suspicious sounds, and even in this hypervigilant mansion, four or five men were now investigating their source. Genroku-style

“Hey! What’s that about, Ushi?” “What the hell you yappin’ about? What’s your damn problem?” “You just called my dice roll rigged, didn’tcha?” “Oh Tatsu. “Cut the fancy complaints.” “Ain’t just this joint.” “Every den knows your cheap tricks!” “Liar!” “Serves ya right—pips showin’ plain!” “Get outside!” “Ain’t my fight to start.” “Won’t come out? Yellow-belly!”

He grabbed the dice and struck his opponent’s face to gouge his eyes. What was this—the opponent wasn’t backing down either. They grabbed whatever they could get their hands on. Tobacco pouch, jar, teacup—they hurled them all. The surrounding people all stood up to intervene as Ushi and Tatsu grappled and struck each other. A thick leg kicked the lantern; the shelf’s contents clattered down. “Mr. Gohee! Mr. Gohee!” “Mr. Gohee! Please come here quickly—it’s urgent!”

The rice shop’s second floor was about to give way.

It was an everyday occurrence. Those who gathered here included neighbors like Orisuke, the owner of a cheap sweets shop, cart drivers, and even the local watchmen from the neighborhood guard post. Even though it was gambling, it wasn’t the kind where one could win or lose big sums. Moreover, since sushi payments were even delivered to the neighborhood guard post, everything operated completely in the open. Tonight, just as that gambling was starting up again, this fight had broken out. After all, it was just an empty second floor—they could use it however they liked, but fights and fires were the last thing he wanted.

Under this arrangement, Gohee the rice merchant not only allowed them to use the space without charging a single coin but even occasionally treated them to rice crackers and soba. Yet despite his goodwill, starting a brawl there was utterly inexcusable.

“Drive out such troublemakers by ostracizing them”—the ringleader inside admonished them with reasoned arguments. The proprietor Gohee had entered the back rice storehouse where he usually pounded rice and sifted bran, but tonight—due to a mutual aid meeting—he had lit a lamp on the storehouse’s second floor since early evening. “What’s going on?”

When they saw Gohee’s face, Ushi, Tatsu, and the others assumed apologetic looks, their commotion having already subsided. “Nothin’, just a little mix-up.” “That bastard Tatsu was spoutin’ nonsense.” “What? You!” “Enough now. Quit it.” “Please don’t trouble yourself, sir—we’re keepin’ quiet here. Let us stay awhile longer.” Gohee’s Maebara Isuke surveyed their faces with a wry smile. They all wore harmless expressions.

“Of course, please take your time.” “But if the commotion grows too loud, even the neighborhood guard post won’t stay silent—not even for sushi payments.” “You’re absolutely right. If we caused you trouble, not even hanging ourselves would make amends.” “The mutual aid meeting over there remains deep in discussion, so please take your leisure.”

Having said that, Gohee returned to the rice storehouse.

The lower floor held rice mortars and sieves, with straw rice bags tightly packed further back; climbing the ladder revealed a straw-matted floor spanning about twelve square meters, complete with a lantern, a brazier, and tea being brewed.

The guests sat in solemn silence around the lamplight until Gohee returned.—The guests were: Ōtaka Gengo, known as Wakiya Shinbee. Horibe Yasube, who went by the alias Nagae Chōzaemon. Kurahashi Densuke, serving as the clerk here. Isogai Jūrōzaemon, who went by the alias Naitō Jūrōza. Doctor Ryūen and Muramatsu Kihee.

Uedaya Genbei’s Kataoka Gengoemon. In addition to Okajima Yasuenon, Takebayashi Tadashichi and Onodera’s son Kōemon were also among them.

“I must step out briefly. Please excuse me.” Maebara Isuke of Gohee returned to his seat and reported with a wry smile that the commotion in the main house had been nothing serious. “Hahaha! Such an insignificant matter?” Everyone laughed in response.

Yasube took a rice cracker from the tray and broke it in half as he— “It seems Yagami and Kanzaki still haven’t arrived.” “That’s right—even though they’re closer than anyone else—”

Everyone exchanged glances,

“Did Maeba say he was coming?”

“He did say he would come.” “—And that was as recently as this evening.” “Hmm?”

“Shall I go take a look?”

As Kurahashi Densuke, in his clerk’s guise, began to stand up,

“Well, perhaps we should wait a little longer.—It’s not advisable to have too much coming and going from this storehouse.”

These were the words of Muramatsu Kihee.

Quite right——the people nodded in agreement. They made it their practice to gather in this storehouse about twice a month to discuss what they managed to uncover regarding Kira’s mansion. They would propose, "What if we do this?" or "How about this plan?" and came to hold discussions on those matters.

However, from summer to late autumn, they still had grasped nothing concrete through their probing. This place stood directly before the back gate of Kira’s mansion—so near that a voice raised too loudly would carry across the distance. That what lay plain before their eyes remained beyond their power to make clear was an agitation far keener than any impatience toward distant matters.

“However, acting recklessly is something we must caution each other against—as Lord Kuranosuke has said, and needless to repeat.” “It’s said that during Okudaira Genhachi’s vendetta at Jōrurizaka, they suffered a grave blunder because they hadn’t thoroughly scouted the interior before charging in.”

“In that regard, the one who remains thoroughly prepared would be Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon. Being someone who bases everything on military strategy, he has reportedly been walking daily around Matsuzaka-chō—from Ryōgoku to Honjo—personally scouting every alleyway shortcut, vacant lot, and well location to familiarize himself with the lay of the land for when the time comes.” “Indeed, I admire that man,” said Kataoka Gengoemon, leaning forward slightly. “Lord Kuranosuke also once remarked—if Lord Chūzaemon hadn’t restrained them, the Edo contingent might have acted rashly on their own, and those in Kyoto might have lost their strategy entirely…”

Kataoka Gengoemon leaned slightly forward, “Okajima.” “Oh.”

“You—that time at Hibiya Gate or such—claimed to have verified Lord Kira’s face. Was that true?” “Hmm.—I glimpsed him.” “How?”

“Among our fifty-odd comrades, there isn’t a single soul who’s laid eyes on Lord Kira’s face.” “Unavoidable.” “Between those of high station and secondary retainers—”

“In that case, even if we don’t let him slip away during the revenge, we still won’t be able to confirm with certainty when raising his head that it’s truly him. That’s why I’ve actually been keeping watch on the Kira household’s comings and goings for a long time—but there’s been no good opportunity.” “Hmm.” “Then—not during such surveillance, but on my way back from Kōjimachi, as if drawn by our deceased lord’s guidance—I happened to encounter Lord Kōzuke’s palanquin.” “I recognized the accompanying samurai.” “Something—my chest burned like fire as I was overcome, but in that instant I devised a plan, dashed around to the palanquin’s front, and prostrated myself flat on the ground.”

“I see.” “When encountering one’s lord’s relative or a closely allied feudal lord on the road, this is proper samurai etiquette—and opening the palanquin door to exchange greetings is the formal custom.” “When Lord Kira saw me, he indeed opened the palanquin door and asked, ‘Which lord’s retainer—?’” “Hmm, you pulled it off.” “A retainer of Matsuura Hizen-no-kami.” “When I answered thus, Lord Kira pressed further, asking for my full name.” “Thinking, ‘If I give myself away here—’ or rather, ‘I am not one to divulge my full name,’ I deftly evaded and brushed it off.”

“Hahaha.—So you got a clear look at Lord Kira’s face there?” “No—it couldn’t be seen. “I had tried to remain composed and look up calmly, but it lasted only an instant—and the palanquin door was barely open. “—I merely caught a glimpse of the area around his thin, white-haired temples and the glossy silk collar. “And the moment that white-haired head caught my eye, my chest flared up as if boiling over, driving me to leap forward—but when I think back, I feel no clear memory of it remains.”

“Lord Kira—where was he headed that time?”

“To the middle residence of the Uesugi family—I followed it all the way back to Honjo and confirmed it myself—but that appears to have been an empty palanquin.” “That approach is perilous.” “He’s present when you assume absence—absent when you presume presence.” “Can we not find some means to probe the interior?” “Isobe claims some confidence in progressing further—yet states he cannot speak plainly at present.”

“Huh, Jūrōza?”

At this, everyone's eyes turned toward him who sat silently at the edge of the seating area as if he weren't there.

Two Men Who Could Not Laugh

Isobe Jūrōzaemon was a youth who was the very picture of earnestness. At the same time, *(Jūrōza is a beautiful man——)*

is what anyone would say. He could indeed be called a Genroku-style handsome man. His face was somewhat oblong; his eyebrows were as if lacquered, and his lips were vermilion against pale skin. He was on the slender side, but by no means unhealthily so. While possessing that beauty and grace, what was most admirable was his solemnity. He was a man of few words, yet passionate. His devotion to his parents was something the elderly comrades often spoke of. “This is the first I’m hearing of it, Jūrōza. Do you have some good lead you’ll be able to uncover soon?”

Takebayashi Tadashichi, who was nearby, pressed insistently about what kind of target it was, and the others too began asking one after another— “It is not yet time for me to speak of it.” Jūrōza replied in a bashful tone, looking down. “If such a target exists, I would wish to act upon it even a single day sooner.” “Given Jūrōza’s careful nature, he must be plotting something…… Ah, I’m starting to see it now—I’ve got it.” As if recalling something, Maehara Isuke said this with a faint smile.

“Shall I tell them, Jūrōza?” “No—please don’t.”

“I really want to tell you—it’s nothing bad—” “Enough of that.” When Isuke spoke these cryptic words, Jūrōza’s face flushed like a maiden’s. Hearing this exchange only sharpened the group’s curiosity. They turned their pressure on Isuke now, demanding he explain. “Well—I can’t keep secrets worth a damn. Truth is, there’s this beauty named Otsuya—a maidservant in Kira’s inner chambers.” “However she grew close to Jūrōza here—her feelings go way beyond ordinary infatuation.”

“Oh… Jūrōza!” “Of course—among all these heads here, where else would you find one that could make a woman fall for him?” “That’s excellent work.”

The one who praised him without laughing was Muramatsu Kihee, an old man of sixty-two this year.

“Jūrōza, go for it.”

Having said that, the old man turned to the earnest youth and urged him as if to incite action.

“A woman—ah, a woman—I hadn’t noticed that.” “As I grow old, I become careless in such matters.” “A woman… Hmm. To exclude women from consideration in all matters is fundamentally wrong from the start.” “Not even a military scholar of Yoshida Chūzaemon’s caliber has noticed this here yet.” “……Jūrōza, that’s a fine thing!” “Do it, do it! Why be bashful!”

With a clatter, the rattle hanging at the entrance downstairs sounded.—Everyone held their breath and strained their eyes—and Onodera Kōemon, who had been peering down the ladder, “Lord Kanzaki?” Then, from below, “Ah, Yagami and I!”

Kanzaki Yogorō of Komanomono-ya Zenbei came up, bringing Yagami Uemonnana behind him.

“I apologize for my tardiness.” “We were growing impatient and worried. Had you been any later, Kurahashi would have gone to check.” “There was pressing business tonight—” “At your shop?” “No—concerning Kira.” “Did something occur?” “Then Yagami—show everyone that souvenir.” Yagami Uemonnana produced under the lamplight a carpentry blueprint split in half. “Th-this is the Kira household’s…”

“Hmm. We finally obtained it—but regrettably lost half.” “Moreover, the section from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s bedchamber to the inner quarters is missing.” “From the nagayamon gate onward, the exterior’s layout is mostly visible, but…” “Why, Kanzaki—this tonight—” “There’s a lovely maidservant named Okume from the Kira household who often comes to the shop on errands.” “Since she had fallen for Uemonnana, I felt it was wrong—but for our greater cause, I deceived her by promising they would marry someday and made her steal it out.”

When the results of tonight’s efforts were also reported, the elderly Muramatsu Kihee struck his knee and exclaimed in a voice so loud it nearly leaked beyond the storehouse. “What—this too was a woman?!” “Was it taken through a woman’s hand?!” “What a shame.” “If I were even twenty years younger, I would’ve had someone bring out the remaining half of the blueprint—even if my wife were to scold me for it.”

Drawn into the humor, everyone burst into laughter—but among them, there were two who could not laugh. They were Yagami Uemonnana and Isobe Jūrōza.

Lord Kira’s Longhouse

Autumn Tensions

What startled them was that all the horses in the stable began stomping their hooves in unison. The Kira household’s stable was a single structure built to hold eight horses, so five or six were always kept tethered there.

When one horse stirred, all the horses thrashed violently against their hitching posts. The clamor reached all the way to the inner quarters. Kira Yoshichika (Sahyōe-no-suke), the eldest son of Kōzuke-no-suke, was more sensitive than anyone to sounds within the mansion. Immediately, he strained his jittery eyes and laid his book facedown on the desk. Then, standing in the hallway—

“Someone, come here!” he snapped.

“Is no one here?! Magohachirō! Riemon!” When he called out the names of the junior retainers, “Yes, Young Master!”

Both Sōda Magohachirō and Torii Riemon hurriedly emerged from the utility room just beyond that corridor—as if something were amiss—and immediately prostrated themselves. Sahyōe-no-suke’s complexion was already as pale as paper, his voice trembling from palpitations. “...What is that noise from the stable?”

“There exists one high-strung chestnut horse; being agitated by it, the other horses likely began to stir.”

“No—”

Sahyōe-no-suke, confident in his sixth sense, shook his head vehemently. “The usual whinnying and commotion—somehow feels different.” “Go check—immediately!” “Understood!” Even these people had not a single day when they could yawn in peace and idleness. Every day was, every night was—a life under tension-filled vigilance.

With a rustle, Sōda Magohachirō thrust his feet into his sandals and hurried off. Then, the wooden gate leading from the stable to the attendant waiting area beside the entrance was slightly ajar. Startled, as if a spectral shadow had flashed before his eyes, he continued straight out beyond the main gate.

Then, at the very moment he stepped out, “Sōda! Where are you going?” “Oh—Kimura Jōhachi!” “Something urgent—” “Not now—later!” With eyes darting restlessly across the street, Magohachirō sprinted to where the long wall of the neighboring Honda residence tapered off. The afternoon town lay parched beneath a pallid autumn wind that seemed poised to strengthen. Scarcely a soul stirred on the roads—only the retreating back of a lone servant trudging toward the first intersection briefly drew his notice. Even the candy seller’s drumbeat drifted mournfully like a funeral chant.

“Hmm?”

He could not detect any particularly suspicious figures. However, Magohachirō could not shake the perception that a wisp of sinister energy had slipped through the open stable gate, passed through the side entrance, and vanished into this street.

He stood there.

The world gradually deepened into autumn, with leaves here and there beginning to fall.—The Kira household versus the Asano ronin—the eyes and whispers of society watching with keen interest felt as clamorous as those very leaves. Feeling that his figure standing there would soon draw the neighboring townspeople’s gazes like a target, Magohachirō sensed a pang of guilt. Having returned empty-handed to the side entrance of the main gate, he found Kimura Jōhachi still standing there—regarding his behavior with suspicion as he questioned him.

“Mr. Sōda, who are you searching for—who?” “......” “Well, it’s not about anyone in particular, but just now, upon hearing the Young Master’s words, I noticed that the stable gate was open.” “Hmm….” “Was there any sign that someone had entered as far as the inner quarters?” “We still need to question those in charge of external affairs before we can know for sure.” Then, the two of them went to the entrance, summoned the attendant pages and utility room staff for questioning, and all insisted there were no particular traces of suspicious individuals having entered. However, according to the gatekeeper, just now, a servant from the Makino family—a hatamoto—had come with a letter, sat in the attendant waiting area for a while, waited for the lord’s reply to be delivered, and then taken it back—that was what he said.

“That’s it! I just remembered!”

And then, Kimura Jōhachi suddenly shouted. “I just passed by that servant at the crossroads over there.” “I had a feeling I’d seen him somewhere before, but I couldn’t recall.” “Now that I think about it, that must have been one of the Asano ronin—a man named Katsuta Shinzaemon.” “What a blunder!” “What?! That servant just now?!” The gatekeepers and the officials in charge of external affairs alike turned pale. Since he was a messenger bearing an imposing document from the Makino family, no one had suspected him, but now that it was mentioned, there were those who muttered that there had been something sharp about his eyes.

Between those who hunt and those who are hunted, there exists an inherent disparity in position. An incident like today’s could almost be termed force majeure. There was no way to prevent it. Even so, when the Kira household servants contemplated how the Asano ronin—disguised even as attendants of other daimyo and hatamoto—had infiltrated this mansion through ever-shifting methods, a chill ran through their flesh, making them tremble as though this threat directly embodied their own anxieties. “...But it would be wiser not to report this matter plainly to the Young Master.” “As it stands, he’s already as tightly strung as a needle.” “All of you—keep silent with that understanding.”

Sōda Magohachirō, having silenced the group on that matter, turned to Jōhachi and—

“Later.”

Having said that, he withdrew into the inner quarters.

Paper mortuary tablet

The row houses where Shimizu Ichigaku, Kobayashi Heihachirō, Ōsuga Jirōuemon, and others lived formed a single block in a corner of the estate, their entrances lined up.

“Are you there?” Jōhachi peered into Ichigaku’s house. During daytime hours, Ichigaku would typically return to the row house to rest. He was apparently lying down,

“Kimura? This is a rare visit.”

He sat up straight in the back. They had constantly exchanged written correspondence, but opportunities to meet in person had been few. Last year, on his way back from Akō, he had stopped by Hazu district in Mikawa—a territory of the Kira household—where Ichigaku's elderly mother had treated him to country-style soba at her thatched-roof house. They had stayed overnight talking until dawn... That had been the last time they met, he thought.

“Long time no see.” “Well, you’re looking hale.”

“Not really,” Kimura Jōhachi replied to Shimizu Ichigaku. “Since early autumn, I came down with a severe cold and had been confined to bed for about two months.” “Are you recovered now?” Shimizu asked. “I finally rose and came out to stretch my legs.” Perhaps due to his illness, a trace of gauntness showed in Jōhachi’s cheeks. His appearance had changed altogether from before. When he had worked as a spy around Akō and Kyoto in earlier days, his hair had been styled in a townsman’s topknot; now, however, the locks grown long during his sickness were tied back into his former samurai chonmage.

“Now then, how have you been since then?” “As you can see—”

And Ichigaku pressed hands on both knees,

“I’m still in one piece.” “You can drink sake—that’s fortunate.” “Without sake to drink, I can’t bear the boredom.”

“No official duties?” “There’s no reason there should be any duties. Even excluding the swordsmen brought in from Yonezawa, there are twenty to thirty newly hired ronin alone—and when you add in the lower attendants and servants, over a hundred retainers are stationed within this sprawling estate.” “Are there that many?” “Speaking of the master—nowadays, his wife has returned to her family home, he has no children or grandchildren, so it’s just Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and his adopted son, Lord Sahyōe-no-suke, living alone as a household of two.” “So when it comes to duties, there’s nothing but work related to managing the staff for the staff’s sake.”

“At night,” “We take turns each night.” “That must be quite draining.” “Not really.” Ichigaku shook his head. However, his face looked desolate. “If one gets mentally exhausted, they won’t be of any use when the crucial moment arrives.” “If we’re talking about uselessness—among these newly hired swordsmen, how many would truly throw their lives into the fight when the time comes? That’s what leaves me uneasy.” “Hmm, hmm...” Jōhachi agreed. He bowed his head and remained silent for a while, then suddenly turned his face to the side and cast his eyes toward the next dimly lit room. He turned his suspicious eyes toward Ichigaku’s face,

“Did someone die?” “Why?” “Can’t you smell the incense?” “Hmm. A courier came, and I found out this morning.” “My mother died…”

“Oh! That elderly mother who made soba and fed me when I stopped by sometime ago?” “That’s right.” “That must have been disheartening for you.” “No, it may sound ungrateful, but ever since receiving that courier this morning, I’ve felt strangely relieved.” “…After all, it won’t be long before news from our side reaches the countryside.” “Her passing before me may seem unfortunate, but as for me, I have no regrets.” “Have you resolved yourself to that extent?”

“That’s only natural. No matter what we do now, it’s a collision between those compelled to attack and those unable to avoid it. Being on the defensive means our side’s inglorious affairs multiply endlessly. It’s a wretched role—but even stranded on this losing side, unknown to others, I alone mean to die having fulfilled my duty as a true samurai.” “…………”

“Kimura… Don’t you think it’s only a very few of us—you, me, Kobayashi Heihachirō—who are truly retainers of the Kira household?” “No matter how much we increase our numbers, how could we possibly stand against the life-or-death frenzy of those Akō men?” “No matter how many more we gather within this estate, they’re a mere comfort… Since I see it that way, I won’t involve myself in routine duties.” “Because I believe that drinking sake, conserving my strength, and waiting for that day is the most loyal service I can offer.”

“Well said.”

Kimura Jōhachi’s post-illness face flushed red. “I too will die.”

He bit his lip. While keeping watch on the tenement outside, he strained to lower his voice. “To speak frankly—I believe Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s resolve also lies there.” “As you say—no matter how much we pray against being attacked or fortify our defenses—what awaits us is like storm clouds racing across the sky.” “A tempest cannot be avoided.” “So you’ve discerned this too.” “Through my covert operations in Akō, Kyoto, Yamashina, and elsewhere—I’ve come to realize something: while there are weak elements among them, those who’ve remained by Lord Kuranosuke’s side until now all revel in death.” “Is this not terrifying? There could be no mightier foe.”

“I understand… I think I can grasp that.” “The education drilled into us since childhood was just that – until yesterday’s society still glorified it as moral beauty. Those who idly hate their enemies, dismissing this as reckless abandon by masterless men or hollow fame-seeking – such cynics cannot comprehend how bushidō’s ultimate beauty – how death itself – becomes both truest wish and deepest joy for those who embrace it.” “My current feelings lie precisely there.” Even I found it strangely perplexing. The day of my death held no dread for me. Even someone like me in this gloomy mansion felt this way – how much more must the Akō ronin see this estate’s gate as akin to Buddhist teachings’ gate to Pure Land salvation. When they crossed through there – only then would they truly have lived.

Jōhachi felt as though everything he had come to say had already been said by Ichigaku. His observations of Chisaka Hyōbu—whom he had been closely approaching after receiving direct orders—were nearly aligned with Ichigaku’s resolve. The final calamity was now unavoidable, no matter what—and it was around this summer that Hyōbu’s considerations had settled upon this conclusion.

In response to this, as the Uesugi family, there naturally should have been more proactive measures. For example, as the public speculated, such as relocating Lord Kōzuke-no-suke to Yonezawa, hiding him in the Upper Residence in Azabu, or retaliatorily assassinating three or four of the Akō faction’s leaders. (It must not be!)

No matter who brought such strategies to him, Hyōbu would only shake his head. At the core of his profound resolve lay two convictions, immovable as bedrock: one a calm acceptance to "entrust matters to divine will," and the other an unyielding refusal—as a senior retainer of the Uesugi family—to "risk endangering the foundations of the Uesugi state for the sake of rescuing the Kira household."

And so—Kimura Jōhachi, too, after finally returning to Edo and taking to his sickbed, no longer fretted over his work as he once had. Those who ceaselessly fretted and panicked, retaliating against Akō spies with their own spies, jumping at every gust of wind or dog’s movement—they were all the veteran and newly recruited members within this estate. “The conversation has grown too cerebral—let’s drink, Kimura.” “Hmm, there remain various matters to discuss,” “Let us speak piecemeal while drinking.—But first, perhaps we should offer our respects.”

Seeing the flame of an incense stick on the dimly lit desk in the next room, Kimura Jōhachi went before it and silently prayed. It was a house devoid of any feminine presence. On the desk lay only a cup of water and some flowers as offerings, but considering that even these had been prepared by Ichigaku himself, it was truly forlorn. There was no lamp. There was nothing resembling a mortuary tablet either. However, on the wall before the desk, there was a narrow slip of paper pasted. Jōhachi casually glanced at the writing and—with a shudder—once again pressed his palms together and prostrated himself in reverence.

Honorable Mother　　　　Deceased in October of Genroku 15 (1702) Shimizu Ichigaku　　　　　Deceased within the same year The mortuary tablets for the mother and son had already been prepared.

A Love That Is Not Love

It was a woman’s scream—a shrill, sob-like cry. Immediately after, the sound of hurried footsteps followed—coming under the tenement window—and then, as if someone had tripped, there was a heavy thud of a collapse. “—I don’t know! “It’s not me!” “—Have mercy, I beg you!” The woman shrieked, “Someone… please come…”

she pleaded for help. "What are you screaming about? You stubborn wench!"

The shouting voice carried the guttural roughness of the Yonezawa dialect. It was the voice of Shinmi Yashichirō, who held the position of junior page serving under Saemon-no-suke.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time now—suspicious behavior.” “Speak! Out with the truth!” “If you stay silent, I’ll bind you and take your head!” “I don’t know… Whatever you say… I…” “Quiet!” “If you know nothing, why did you enter that carpenter’s shed again?” “I have no memory of entering.” “Then whose comb is this?” “That’s…” “A servant found this dropped inside that shed.” “But even then, I kept watch for four or five days—and today too! Though I didn’t see their face clearly, someone among the inner maids was lurking near that shed… Not just that—what were you writing while hiding in the backyard trees?”

“It’s a letter to my father…” The girl answered in a tearful voice, but being both flustered and still a young girl of tender years, her excuse proved far too childish in the face of Shinmi’s severe interrogation. It was Okume, the inner maidservant. Shimizu Ichigaku and Kimura Jōhachi, who had been drinking together in the house with dried sardines as a snack, set down their cups and pricked up their ears at the noise outside— “They should’ve just stopped—this foolish interrogation.”

Muttering, Ichigaku chewed on a dried sardine. Jōhachi drank the chilled sake, “What the hell is that?” “It’s nothing important.” “But interrogating someone who’s crying and making excuses with such high-handed tactics that could kill her—isn’t that going too far?” “Not long ago, the carpentry blueprint from when the mansion was renovated went missing from the carpenter’s shed.—Someone must have stolen it and tossed it over the wall to the Akō men.” “—That’s the suspicion she’s under, I suppose.”

He spoke as if it were someone else’s affair. Ichigaku poured sake for his friend, then leisurely filled his own cup and spoke. “Poor thing—what could such a young girl possibly know? Besides, no matter how much they try to keep it secret—with a mansion this large and Akō having its own strategists—if they want to investigate, there’s nothing they couldn’t uncover. It’s daunting because they’re all fixated on such trivialities, believing their defenses to be an impregnable fortress.” “Shimizu.”

“Hmm…?”

“Why don’t you go out and deal with her?” “She’s whimpering and crying.” “They’re being rough with her.” “...And this sake tastes terrible.” “If I go out there, my sharp tongue might make things worse...” “Should I speak up for her?” “Call it a rescue.” “Very well.”

Ichigaku stood up and leaned out from the window of the room at the entranceway.

Okume was grabbed by the collar by Shinmi Yashichirō and dragged roughly beneath a large Chinese parasol tree. Shinmi seemed intent on tying her to the roots of that tree. He twisted up her hands, “Go on, cry all you want.” “I’ll report this to the Lord and have you beaten thoroughly later.” “Confessing after suffering through the pain or honestly spilling the dirt now amounts to the same thing in the end—but since you refuse to speak properly, there’s no other choice.”

“...Please help me! ...Someone, please come! ...Mom! Dad!” “You fool!” Shinmi delivered a kick. “No matter who comes, I won’t forgive you until you confess. What do you hope to achieve by calling your parents’ names from here?” “Aah… Have mercy! ...Please, I beg you…” “Then talk. It was you who stole and took out the carpentry blueprint, wasn’t it?” “I—I don’t know anything about that.” “Your family are master carpenters, aren’t they? Precisely because you’re a carpenter’s daughter, you’d know how to steal something like that.”

“This is shameful… I don’t know anything…” “Then hand over the letter you were writing secretly earlier.”

“I lost it… That was a letter to my Dad.” “What possible reason could you have for sneaking around to write a letter to your parents in the backyard? And when you were about to be found out, you panicked, tore it up, and tried to stuff it into your mouth, didn’t you?” “No… no…” “Tch, stubborn brat!”

As the second kick was about to spring toward her upturned face, Ichigaku, wearing sandals, had quietly come up behind Shinmi Yashichirō. “Hey, Shinmi, you’re making quite a racket.” “Oh, Lord Shimizu?”

Yashichirō turned around and loosened his grip slightly. But—when Okume heard the name Shimizu, she seemed to startle, and in an instant, all color drained from her face. Some time ago, when she had gone up to the second floor of Azukiya Zenbei’s haberdashery and sat frozen in silence out of shyness with her beloved Uemonnana, just the two of them carelessly leaning her face out from the second floor—the person who had stopped before the shop’s curtain and looked up at her face, wearing a sedge hat—was undoubtedly this Shimizu Ichigaku.

Ichigaku alone knew of her love and must have discerned that she was on close terms with that haberdashery.

(There was no saving her now.) (Not with this person here—)

Okume was momentarily startled and driven by the urge to flee even if it was futile, but in the depths of her heart, she coldly resigned herself almost immediately. And at the moment of death, she had thought to call out her lover’s name. “What are you doing?” “You heard me, did you not?” “Heard.” “It’s a continuation from the other night.” “I’m interrogating this girl because her behavior is suspicious.” “I’d like you to lend me a hand as well.” “Nonsense!” Ichigaku burst out laughing,

“Cease this trivial matter.”

“Why?” Shinmi flushed with anger, “How is this a trivial matter?” “She’s just a woman—a trifling matter.” “Even if she is a woman…” “The opponents are the Akō ronin.” “They’re not women or blueprints.” “They’re the Akō ronin.” “Even if you go through the motions of patching paper screens, you won’t keep out the winter wind.” ……Ah, winter is nearly here. “Shinmi, release that girl.”

“But—before we finish interrogating her—” “Don’t be dense. You’ve got some woman you visit during your off hours too—whether it’s Tatsumi, Okabasho, or some amateur—don’t you? Even if it’s forbidden within the mansion walls, she must have a fiancé or sweetheart outside. People write secret letters all the time.”

“Even so, as for the recent blueprint matter—”

“Such a thing—even if it were to fall into someone’s hands—how much use would it be? It’s based on a carpenter’s blueprint, and moreover, the mansion’s renovations have been altered numerous times since then.” “Regardless of circumstances, does Your Lordship claim it’s acceptable to keep a dangerous woman who would steal such things within the mansion?” “Well, you’re quite fond of raising your voice. Shinmi, be quieter—it wouldn’t do for this to reach His Lordship’s ears. Even without this, both the Young Master and His Lordship already live in constant fear and anxiety. If we burden them with needless worry over such trifles for even a single day, that alone would constitute a day’s worth of disloyalty.”

“Your reasoning is backward!” “It’s your thinking that’s inverted! Let’s cease this futile argument. If she’s an inconvenient maidservant, why not discreetly send her back to her quarters?” “Why do you shield this woman so vehemently?” “Truth be told… Shinmi… Though it shames me, I’ve long held affection for this girl.”

“Don’t fuck around!” “I’m serious. If this weren’t within the mansion grounds, I would’ve acted on these feelings long ago—that’s how I feel. Therefore, I know this girl’s conduct and temperament better than anyone. She’s not the sort of woman who’d dare commit acts of disloyalty or greed against the household. If I’m wrong, Ichigaku will stake his neck to take responsibility—so leave this to me today.”

“Very well—you’ve made your case plainly enough.” “I’ll bear the responsibility… Ha ha ha! You’re no different—just as lenient with women as I am, aren’t you? What say you? Kimura Jōhachi’s here too—we’re sharing a drink right now. Why not step into my humble abode for a cup?” “Enough of this!” Shinmi Yashichirō averted his face in suppressed fury and strode away.

The next day.

Kichigorō, the carpenter master who was effectively her parental home, —Your daughter Okume, due to unsatisfactory conduct in her duties—

Having received a summons letter from the Kira household stating such, he came in shock to retrieve his daughter.

And then, before even leaving the mansion, “You wretched girl! What kind of impropriety did you commit against the household that showed you such long-standing favor?” “You’ve truly smeared mud on your parent’s face!” It was a barrage of rebukes that nearly turned physical. Pulled by the hand of her father, whose face was livid with rage, Ichigaku caught a fleeting glimpse of Okume’s figure slinking out through the back gate as he watched from the window—

“Hey, Kichigorō! Kichigorō!” he called out to stop him. “Oh, is that you, sir?” “Today, there’s nothing I need to discuss with you.” Shielding his daughter’s figure behind him as if hiding something shameful, Kichigorō pinched his nose and bowed toward the window.

“I wondered who was causing such a commotion—so it’s you berating your daughter?” “Well, with this, even the mansion’s become a failed project.” “Don’t rebuke her so harshly.” “Instead, you should focus on finding her a proper husband.” “It troubles me that you’d speak such gentle words.” “She couldn’t have done anything proper in any case.” “It’s unforgivable toward the mansion.” “When we return, I’ll have to make her atone rigorously.”

From behind her father, Okume pressed her palms together toward the window of Ichigaku’s house.

Winter wind

It was after November had begun.

Shinmi Yashichirō came hurrying to Kichigorō’s house near Takahashi in Fukagawa. When he met Kichigorō, he immediately broached the matter at hand. “Some time has passed, but I’ve come regarding a matter that requires me to question your daughter again.” he said. “Huh?”

This time, it was Kichigorō who wore a look of surprise.

“It may not be my place to say, but this time, it’s more serious than before. From the library near His Lordship’s sitting room—not merely the carpentry blueprint that went missing earlier—two copies have now vanished without trace: the land survey map submitted to the authorities and the mansion’s floor plans.” As he listened, Kichigorō’s face grew flushed with fury. “Well, that’s one misfortune after another, isn’t it? But what exactly is your reason for wanting to question my daughter about this matter?”

“Given prior circumstances, we must at least entertain the suspicion.” “So you’re declaring my daughter Okume stole those two copies—that she’s the culprit?”

“There are no other suspicious individuals to consider.” “Don’t mock me with such jests, sir. It’s been half a month since I brought my daughter back to her parents’ house. You can’t saddle her with blame for things lost after she left service! —But since you’ve troubled yourself to come, it’d be discourteous to send you away empty-handed. Go up to the second floor and search all you like. I haven’t let her step outside that room since the day I took her back.”

“Very well—as a precaution…” As Yashichirō started to rise,

“Sir,” Kichigorō also stood up and grabbed his sleeve. “It’s fine for you to go up and investigate—but if it turns out my daughter isn’t responsible, what will you do?” “Well… it’s not as though…” “You may be a samurai, sir, but I am a townsman of Edo.” “Precisely because I feel accountable to the mansion, I’ve kept her confined to a single room on the second floor to make her atone—and if you heap even more blame on her now, as her parent, I can’t just stay silent and let you walk away.” “I might restrain myself, but I don’t know what those folks around here might do—so for safety’s sake, you’d best keep that in mind.”

Placing his hand on the ladder, Yashichirō looked up at the second floor—and indeed, it was shut tight like a prison cell, dimly lit and gloomy. When he considered that this father—who claimed his daughter’s dismissal from her former employer’s mansion remained unresolved and thus subjected her to such harsh discipline—was not acting like a mere townsman, Yashichirō could not help but hesitate slightly at Kichigorō’s words.

“Hmm… Well—if you insist to that extent, then it can’t be Okume’s doing. Don’t take offense at my coming to suspect her—it was merely my duty.” He withdrew the foot he had raised toward the second floor, “I have troubled you.”

In a fluster, he slipped into his straw sandals in the earthen entryway and stepped out beyond the lattice door.

“Damn him!” As Kichigorō muttered, one of his disciples scattered salt and barked, “Get lost!” Then looking up at Kichigorō’s face, he added, “Master, if you care so much about Miss Okume, why not show some mercy already?” “Nah, ain’t happenin’,” Kichigorō growled. “Truth is—still don’t sit right with me. Seems that one’s got herself a lover.”

“Even if there is such a thing…” “Don’t talk nonsense. Keep your guard up while I’m gone.” But all the disciples and apprentices pitied Okume upstairs. When they heard she had a lover, they pitied her all the more. Okume had become utterly emaciated. She had been confined to bed with a medicine earthenware bottle placed at her bedside. But the over half a month spent like this had not been particularly painful. For unlike when she had been in service at the mansion, she was now free to think of whatever she wished, whenever she wished.

“…Mr. Uemonnana.” She murmured softly. Then, the person with the forelock poked their white face out from the ceiling and seemed to give her a quick smile. “I want to see you.”

That alone pained her whenever she remembered it.

"I wonder if the carpentry blueprint I passed on has successfully reached that person?"

She wanted to know that too, but there was no means to send word. The ladder steps creaked audibly.

“Who’s there?” “It’s me.”

Then Take, the young apprentice who always brought her porridge, quietly peeked his head out. "...Miss Okume, you want to go outside, don’t you?"

“I don’t want to go anywhere outside.” “You’re lying.” “You want to go meet that person, don’t you?” “……” “The master’s out right now.” “And on his way back, he said he’d stop by the flower client in Koamichō, so he won’t be back till evening.” “How about it? If he’s sure to come back by evening, I’ll take responsibility—won’t you go?” “Really?”

Okume sat up on the futon. Before long, she put on a hood and left the house. Her legs, which had not touched the ground for some time, buffeted by the biting winter wind that had fully set in, seemed unsteady and frail.

But—

There was no joy to be had. At the haberdashery in front of the Kira household’s back gate, that nostalgic navy-blue noren was no longer visible. “Huh? When did they move?”

When she looked up at the second floor, the shutters there were also closed, and a white rental notice was pasted diagonally.

“……” Standing beneath the wall of the Kira household where she had served until the previous month, Okume kept staring at the rental notice for what felt like an eternity—at the shutters of the window where she had once sat in silence with Uemonnana. Pale tears trickled down her cheeks.

From the branches of the large deciduous tree covering the Kira household’s roof, leaves fell like rain and were blowing violently against both the door of the vacant house with its rental notice and the eaves.

Genroku Human Portraits

Decorative Cord

The tree-filled Yamate residential district of mansions lay buried under fallen leaves. It was already November frost. As what few days remained in the year were being counted one by one—amidst their restless thoughts—the wintry chill of life’s winter seeped coldly into their hearts.

“What awful frost…”

Tamon Denpachirō stood on the veranda and muttered. The frost’s whiteness stabbed at the eyes. His spacious mansion in Omote Yonbanchō had been left untended, abandoned to winter’s ravages. As soon as a flock of small birds fluttered away from the tree with a rustle, samurai passed along the lane outside the wall, laughing and exchanging banter in boisterous voices. They were the group that had emerged from the gate of a certain Torii—a direct shogunate retainer in the immediate neighborhood. Until past midnight last night, lewd songs accompanied by handclaps and music had echoed from there, and bathhouse women—utterly incongruous in this samurai residential district—were said to have come and gone. Likely these were the same men who had dragged in women from town pleasure houses and caroused through the night, now trudging homeward.

“It’s cold.—Feels like my nose might fall off,” one of them said with exaggerated emphasis as they passed by. “Hey, Imamura!” the one behind called out to the man ahead, as casually as if they were walking through a field. “Got duty today?” “Hmm.” “It’s guard duty—nothing stopping you from taking a break if you want.” “On days like this, I just make a sour face and don’t feel like going out at all.” “Might as well go.” “Where to?” “The baths.”

“In the morning, no matter where you go, there probably won’t be any parlors available yet.” “If we go near the North Quarter—” “It’s a bit far. Should we barge into that place with those women from last night—Oren, Ochō, and Ofuji from Chōji Bathhouse?” “A bath—I’d really like to take a bath. What do you say, gentlemen?” “Sounds good.”

“What about you?” “What possible objection could there be?” The last man answered in kabuki-style speech with a singsong tone, prompting them to burst into uproarious laughter as they scattered in small groups. As their footsteps faded away, the small birds quietly returned to the treetops and resumed singing. Through gaps in the rain clouds, a dull winter sun cast its light upon crimson persimmon leaves. “Master, please gargle.” The elderly manservant arranged the mirror, water bucket, hair-washing basin, and other morning necessities at the bathhouse washstand, then assisted from behind by adjusting his sleeve.

Wetting the comb's teeth, Tamon Denpachirō combed his hair—now markedly streaked with white in recent days—while...

“Old man, who were those fools that just passed by?” “They are likely the group that gathers at Lord Torii’s and Lord Suzuki’s residences.” “Last night too, they made such a clamor—one might have thought some event was afoot—” “What a racket—not just nights, but mornings and noons too.” “In my youth, mornings rang with bowstrings at the archery grounds, nights with voices reading—it was truly a tranquil time.”

“Things have changed indeed.” “These days you hear shamisen music playing… Though I shouldn’t speak too loudly—there are even mansions where those so-called town ruffians come and go to gamble.” “What an appalling state of affairs. “We who revere the old customs of Keichō and Genna and honor those of Kan’ei disposition that still retained a martial spirit must be considered what they call moldering fossils. “But then again—when Chief Minister Yanagisawa himself wallows in such disgrace, how can we solely censure the petty bureaucrats beneath him?”

Far below the veranda was the figure of a maidservant. “Your preparations are ready.”

“Hmm…” Nodding, Tamon Denpachirō descended into the garden. There was a small shrine enshrined there. Kneeling there, clapping his hands in prayer and conducting his morning rituals had been part of his daily routine. Next, he would enter the Buddhist altar room to pay his morning respects to his ancestors. After sitting down to eat, on days when he had to attend at the castle, he would don his official attire and—before leaving home—sit briefly in the study to compose himself. “Master, while you were changing your attire just now, an unfamiliar masterless samurai left this item here and urgently requested that I convey his regards properly before departing.”

In the palanquin for attending the castle, the young retainer who always accompanied him presented something resembling a box of confectioneries and spoke. When faced with such offerings—no matter their contents—the impeccably upright Tamon Denpachirō immediately furrowed his brows. “What is this? Who would present such an item?” “When I inquired his name, he only identified himself as Yoshioka Katsubei—a masterless samurai from Owari—and said to pass it along since there was an accompanying document—” “Why did you accept this? Have I not repeatedly ordered that no gifts or offerings are to be received unless expressly approved by me?”

“Hah—” “A mere ‘hah’ is insufficient! Go after that man at once and tell him we’ve no grounds to accept such a thing—return it immediately.” The young retainer scrambled out through the side gate in panic. By his demeanor, this had occurred mere moments prior. Tamon Denpachirō shoved the folding box before him aside with visible irritation. It was only when his hand brushed against it that he noticed— Looking at the wrapping paper atop the box——

Akō Specialty: Cherry Blossom-Shaped Imperial Roasted Salt　　　　　Produced by Banshūya Hmm? ...Akō... He had said it was a masterless samurai from Owari—so why bring Akō salt as a gift?... The vivid brushstrokes of the letter beneath the decorative cord immediately struck Tamon Denpachirō’s eyes.—He hurriedly turned it over to look. Oh!

And there, written upon it, were these very words.

Kataoka Gengoemon.

The twilight of that day

It felt like both a distant past and as if it had happened just yesterday, but when he properly counted back on his fingers, it was an event from the twilight of the fourteenth day of the third month last spring. At the residence of Tamura Ukyōdayū, Asano Takuminokami—who had received the imperial command for immediate seppuku—beneath those twilight blossoms, More than blossoms stirred by the wind, Yet I, The lingering traces of spring— How shall I bid them farewell? On that evening when he recited his death poem of myriad regrets, staining his white death robe with the fresh blood of his self-disembowelment before falling. “Ah… That time…”

As if I could ever forget! Even now, if Tamon Denpachirō closed his eyes—he could vividly conjure that twilight within his eyelids. Together with Inspector General Shōda Shimōsa-no-kami and Ōkubo Gon’emon, he himself had attended the scene as deputy envoy to witness Asano Takuminokami’s seppuku and undertake the duty of conducting the inquest. From each step Asano Takuminokami took to reach his death seat in the dimly lit garden to the faint breeze that stirred the hair at his temples in his final moments—Tamon Denpachirō remembered it all with vivid clarity.

At that moment—exactly! He appeared to be around thirty-five or thirty-six—a robust, well-built samurai with distinctive eyebrows. Having identified himself as Asano Takuminokami’s retainer, Kataoka Gengoemon, and having obtained permission from the Tamura residence, he knelt in the shadow of the garden’s trees, (Grant me but a glimpse of my lord’s final moments in this life—) There came a man who pleaded pitifully, clinging desperately as though tearing out his own entrails. Perhaps neither the retainers of the Tamura household nor the chief envoys of the Inspector General had been as deeply moved as he was, for Kataoka’s plea was not granted. However, as a samurai—when he weighed the heart of a samurai—he could not help but refuse to permit it, even at the risk of his own position.

(Let him meet) The joy he showed when I said that——. That drop of light upon his eyelashes—indescribable as either sorrow or joy—was something I, too, could never forget for the rest of my life. It was not limited to the measures taken at the Tamura residence that time. On that day, even within Edo Castle’s council chambers—still embroiled in chaotic, unresolved debates immediately following the incident—I believe I alone was the one who dared to confront them directly and resolutely voice arguments that should have been stated: against Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s official misconduct, and against the senior councilors’ one-sided resolution demanding immediate seppuku.

This appeared to have damaged the impression held by senior retainers—particularly Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, who maintained significant ties to the Kira household—and consequently, "Tamon, this exceeds your station. You are commanded to desist." He had endured reprimands until nightfall. Though the censure was eventually lifted, from that day forward, Tamon Denpachirō's presence brought no comfort to his superiors in the shogunate council. Failures multiplied. The very climate of the current shogunate council—which dictated the social order—not only spurned his unyielding principles but saw his moral austerity gradually transform his twilight years into solitude.

But Denpachirō never once regretted it. Rather, it was those who numbed themselves to life’s fleeting vanities that he pitied. What truly warranted lament was how the nation corroded before his eyes. The people of Genroku reveled in Genroku’s excesses only to perish. One might grant them their birthright—but this nation endures eternally; it belongs not solely to us who breathe today. For even the shogunate merely borrowed its authority from the Emperor’s grace. Could we let this imperial soil—resplendent since antiquity—fester with culture’s rot? Could we bequeath our descendants naught but ruin’s seeds? To squander one brief life in self-indulgence guarantees such national decay.

Moreover, even when considered on a personal level—how long could fleeting pleasures or indulgences ending in emptiness last through one’s lifetime? Their ultimate destination was surely the pit of oblivion. What depth of human radiance or happiness could there be to feel? “I have brought him back at once.”

The young samurai retainer panted and spoke at that moment by the next sliding door.

Denpachirō's eyebrows—which had been absently lost in thought—jerked upward at the voice,

“Did you make it in time?” “Yes, I raced all the way beneath the fire watchtower and fortunately managed to catch up…”

“You’ve done well.” “Then I shall return this immediately.” As he said this, clutching the folding box of Akō salt, he began to rise. “Ah... Wait, wait. Actually, it was my oversight.” “I am acquainted with that gentleman and have long desired to meet him.” “Please show him through to that room over there with care.”

*The Samurai’s Salt* “Since that time… though I have constantly held in my heart the desire to formally visit and express gratitude for your compassionate kindness shown then, I became preoccupied with this rootless existence of a masterless samurai and—to my profound shame—allowed prolonged silence to accumulate as an offense. I most humbly beg your magnanimous forgiveness.”

Kataoka Gengoemon spoke these words and, as he gazed nostalgically at Denpachirō’s figure, filled his eyes with the greatest gratitude a human could express. It was something beyond words. Especially in the bonds between samurai, it was all the more so. “Think nothing of it…” Even if he had spoken lightly, Denpachirō was also pleased to think that his sincerity had been clearly etched into that man’s heart even now, over a year later.

“If you speak of gratitude, Denpachirō, I am deeply ashamed.” “Rather than that, ever since your lord’s household met with misfortune, whenever I heard each rumor, I felt pained though observing from afar.” “However, your continued well-being matters most above all.” “To your lordship as well——” With that, Gengoemon—his hands still pressed against the tatami—forgot himself—— “As I gaze upon your unchanging figure like this, memories of that twilight garden’s glow and scattering flowers from that time well up in my eyes…”

“Denpachirō feels the same way.” “How swiftly time passes—once we cross into the new year, it will have been two years.” “Through your lordship’s arrangements, our late master’s testament and death poem reached the domain. All former retainers—Ōishi Kuranosuke and those beneath him—have been profoundly grateful for your virtue, offering endless thanks for your benevolence.” “…Yet after that, as you have heard, we scattered. Regarding those others who sent no word—I humbly beg you to graciously overlook this.”

“And… where are you now?” “To my utmost shame, I must report that I have rented a shop in Honjo Hayashichō and live the life of a masterless samurai in desolation. Yet no opportunity for service has presented itself, and I merely pass my days in idleness.” “Days of idleness...” As he was about to voice another question, Denpachirō nodded with a restrained expression. And then, he lowered his eyes to the gift of Akō salt, “I shall gratefully accept your kind gift.”

“It is but a humble offering, sent exactly as received from an acquaintance in Akō of late—” “This surpasses all gifts.” “May we both become those deemed worthy to be called the salt of this world.” “The warrior’s salt—Akō salt—this is a treasure beyond measure.”

Having humbly received it, Denpachirō placed it again into the tokonoma. Since it was morning and he realized a prolonged stay would be an imposition, Gengoemon promptly took his leave. Having thought they would not meet, being able to do so now was a joy beyond expectation. Denpachirō still seemed to want to talk, but appeared concerned about the time to attend at the castle. He himself came to see him off at the entrance, “Please do stop by again when the occasion arises.” he said.

“Ah, this will likely be our final farewell in life—” Kataoka Gengoemon nearly let slip. He felt that to this person alone, he might let slip a fragment of his true intentions, even if only subtly—but, “Yes, when you have leisure, I shall do so.” He said nonchalantly and exited through the gate.

A Man Airs His Grievances

Thinking he had encountered someone unsavory, the man in the woven hat turned briskly at the Ishichō crossroads and walked on, all while feigning not to notice. “Ah. Lord Ōishi.” “Lord Ōishi.” The latter man quickened his pace and called out to stop him. He wore a warabicha-colored haori adorned with family crests, hakama trousers with sharply pressed pleats, and white tabi socks paired with fuku zōri sandals—such was his attire. He appeared a little over thirty years old, with a slim build and a pale face wrapped in an eggplant-blue hood, giving him the delicate air of a Kyoto samurai—yet his features were sharply tense, with thick eyebrows.

“If I may be so rude as to stop you on the roadside—are you not Lord Ōishi?” Having no choice, Kuranosuke gently turned his woven hat. “Oh…” he said as if he had just realized. “When I wondered who it was—why, it’s Lord Kada no Azumamaro.” “Indeed—in such an unexpected place.” “Honestly!” “When did you arrive in Edo?” “Ah… For one in the utterly rootless circumstances of a masterless samurai, I can scarcely recall how many days have passed.” “And your residence…”

That too was unavoidable, “Therefore, I reside nearby here.” “Oh—your son as well?” “Therefore, it remains as desolate as can be.”

Having been pressed into conversation like this, he could not very well refrain from offering at least some humble tea. Kada no Azumamaro and Ōishi Kuranosuke had met in Kyoto in previous years and were old academic companions.

Kada no Azumamaro was an artistic name he used in the realms of waka poetry and Japanese classical studies, while his real name was Hakura Sai. Though still young as a scholar, he was counted among the greats in Japanese classical studies, and during his time in Kyoto, he had received the patronage of Ōimikado Udaijin and served as a priest at Kyoto Inari Shrine. Their connection had begun when he attended lectures on Japanese classical studies and through exchanges where Kuranosuke occasionally provided critiques of his waka poetry via correspondence—but to encounter that man in Edo was something he had never imagined.

“In such cramped quarters…” He took him to the rōnin residence in Ishichō 3-chōme, served tea, and endeavored to steer the conversation toward topics like waka poetry and rumors about scholars of Japanese classics. “In Kyoto, you lived quite luxuriously, but this is rather simple…” Kada no Azumamaro muttered as he looked at the walls and decorative beams. “Ah yes—since arriving here, have you met Nakajima Gorōsaku?”

“Gorōsaku. “Ah, would that be the wealthy magnate of Reiganjima?” “In Kyoto, I had the honor of being introduced.” “However, given my fallen circumstances, I’ve no leisure time—as for that magnate you mentioned earlier, I’ve refrained from paying him visits.” “I had only just heard from that Gorōsaku himself the rumor of your relocation to Edo.” “Oh….” “Did you know of this beforehand?” “Whether people know or not, your coming to Edo resonates powerfully through society.” “It’s as though… a kingfisher has shifted through the treetops and now watches intently—like one observing a fish’s form.”

“Ah, who are you referring to?” “Lord Ōishi.” “A riddle, is it? Good grief, I’m being subjected to all sorts of speculation. Yet to secure clothing and food, one must live within society.” “In Edo, did you visit places such as Yoshiwara?” “After our fallen comrades at Gion and Fushimi, and our retreat to Edo, you see the desolation of this masterless samurai’s dwelling—not a trace of such vigor remains…… Ha ha ha! From now on, I plan to make use of this desolation and dabble in tea ceremony… though even tea requires money these days.”

“How do you view the customs of Edo’s high and low?” “Oh, it’s all flimsy ostentation—everything reeks of money.” “A world of coin, coin, coin!” “How long can such a rotten-ripe culture thrive in this state?” “Well… hard to say what manner of thing it might be.” “Utterly… such weighty matters—” “I tell you this: “Unless both high and low open their eyes to this depraved age of indulgence, divine retribution shall surely fall.—People today writhe in anguish.” “To be ranked below Honorable Dogs, treated as less than beasts—this is our deserved lot.” “The fault lies within humanity itself.” “The Honorable Dogs know nothing of it.”

“Hmm…” “That stings these ears of mine to hear.” “No, no—it is not you alone. “The shogunate officials, the townspeople, even we samurai—all have rotted beyond imagining. “Bushido was abandoned long ago in the Kan’ei and Genna eras. Authority now rests solely on gold. “It is the great merchants who rule through that gold. “The decay of morality astounds—what has taken root and swelled in men’s minds is naught but self-interest and indulgence. “Compassion and virtue are scorned in this age. “Humanity’s self-destruction draws near. “It pains my heart. “Will no true man arise to chastise them? Nay—mere words would not pierce the ears of men today. “None may suffice save one who shows them through deeds—who strikes with force crying, ‘This is how a true human must live!’”

Without interjecting a single word, Kuranosuke was listening. However, his expression showed a complete lack of engagement.

In contrast, Kada no Azumamaro—a young scholar of Japanese classics and poet—sat with his ears faintly reddening as he lamented the state of the times. This was no mere academic sentiment. It carried a force from the gut that demanded its recipient feel its conviction. No matter how impassive Ōishi Kuranosuke's expression remained, Kada poured forth his anxieties and indignation with fiery intensity—as though believing he could not rest until he had shaken that stony countenance.

The Hours of Waiting

After that as well, Kada no Azumamaro often visited the ronin residence in Ishimachi. Kuranosuke also, (toward this person)

With each repeated opportunity, he came to trust him more, but he never once revealed the true intent of his revenge.

Before they knew it, Horibe Yasube and Kada no Azumamaro—who had met there—had swiftly grown more intimate than even with Kuranosuke.

Whether it was Azumamaro's passion or his lamentations over the state of the world, when he spoke of them to Kuranosuke, there was no telling whether they elicited any reaction at all—but once he met and spoke with Horibe Yasubei,

(Hmm! You think so too?) This reaction, if anything, was one that even Azumamaro found astonishing. No—rather, it was Yasubei’s words, spoken through gritted teeth, that overwhelmed Azumamaro with their vehemence. “You are refreshing.” “For a scholar of Japanese classics, you seem rather spirited.” Suddenly, they opened their hearts to each other, “And where do you reside?”

When asked, Yasubei—

“Honjo Hayashimachi, Kinokuniya-dana.”

Azumamaro,

“I reside at Nakajima Gorōsaku’s rented shop in Kyōbashi Thirty-Ken Moat.” “When you have time, please come by for a discussion.” “By all means.” Yasubei promised.

It was from unexpected quarters that they came to learn of unforeseen secrets. Even when they exhausted themselves striving in all directions and gained no favorable signs, there were also times when someone would unexpectedly bring them information they had never anticipated—straight from an unforeseen quarter. It had only been his second or third meeting with Azumamaro. It began with some topic—before long, the conversation turned eagerly to tea ceremony, and someone let slip a fragment about the Kira household. (I myself, through the Ōimikado family’s connections, have gone to lecture on national studies to the son of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke twice.)

He said something to that effect. Horibe Yasubei, calming the blood in his face, (Perfect!) he thought to himself.

From then on, he made a deliberate practice of associating with Azumamaro, often visiting his house at Sanjūkenbori Moat.

In the meantime— Another piece of good fortune had come into Yasubei’s hands. The item they had long been maneuvering to obtain had now been successfully acquired. The mansion in Matsuzaka-chō where Lord Kōzuke-no-suke currently resided had previously been occupied by Matsudaira Tonosuke, a hatamoto, before his relocation. Through covert efforts targeting the Matsudaira family—the former occupants—they had acquired the architectural blueprints of the residence. These were nearly complete. However, the Kira faction had not been negligent; rumors suggested they had extensively renovated crucial sections and made significant additions thereafter—and because of this, some comrades argued that relying on these blueprints might instead lead to errors.

“I see…” Yasubei did not persist.

In the meantime, regarding the blueprints, Isobe Jūrōza had acquired a set that was undoubtedly the current layout of the Kira residence and— “This is it.—This is it!” He had brought in an item, fluttering about excitedly like a young warrior who had taken an enemy general’s head in his first battle. “How did you obtain this?”

When he was praised by everyone for his great achievement and asked about it as if it were a miracle, “Oh, it’s nothing…”

It was not modesty. Jūrōza blushed, said nothing, and hid himself away.

Only those who had gathered on the second floor of Komeya Gohei’s storehouse some time ago dimly knew the details—the faint secret between Otsuya, a maidservant serving in the inner quarters of the Kira household, and Jūrōza. —— “Just don’t ask.”

“Just don’t ask,” said Kanzaki Yogorō of Azukiya Zenbei with a laugh. When they combined the carpentry blueprint Yagami Uemonnana—driven by Okume’s affection—had single-mindedly procured with the one Jūrōza brought, every detail of Kira’s mansion—the tsubo measurements, room layout, longhouses, and other structures—could now be perceived as clearly as if they stood inside. “Alright—this part’s settled.”

Meanwhile,

From Yoshida Chūzaemon—who had been in charge of surveying the exterior of Kira’s mansion: road widths, ditches, relations with neighboring houses, as well as squares and temples in the Ryōgoku vicinity—there also came

“In the event that the Uesugi family mobilizes their forces—” “—the location for our withdrawal.—As for other investigations, there are no oversights on our side.”

Thus, the notification reached Kuranosuke. All weapons, attire, and equipment had already been secretly transported to Yasubei's ronin residence; every preparation was now complete to act on any given day. Yet that single crucial piece of intelligence—the final probe—still eluded their grasp. At this point, the group's resolve could not help growing increasingly impatient. Even Onodera Jūnai—among the more composed—seemed unable to remain still, venturing out each day with his hood pulled low over his eyes. The younger retainers were frantic.

This greatest obstacle— (How many days would Lord Kōzuke-no-suke remain at his mansion?) This was the problem. Even the slightest miscalculation—once they had carried out their deed— (What a blunder that would be!) —would reduce all their hardships and resolve endured until now to mud-stained futility. It would not merely become a laughingstock for a hundred generations. The name of the former Akō Domain—even the name of the late Lord Takumi-no-kami—would be dragged through the scornful gossip of townspeople.

When they considered this, the matter became so grave that even taking a single step filled them with dread. Moreover, when all battle formations had been arranged, the younger faction—Horibe, Takebayashi, Ma, Katsuta, Yagami, Isobe, Sugino, and others—who could scarcely endure waiting any longer,

“I tell you—he is here!” At the slightest provocation—whether minor town rumors or mere comings and goings at the gates—they would nearly break through their restraints and surge into motion. Even Kuranosuke’s brows had shown terribly minute nervous movements these past few days. He constantly had Chikara disguise himself and visit the masterless samurai’s hideouts to prevent violence or accidental fires—particularly restraining them from drinking alcohol and ensuring they neglected no precaution at bathhouses or on streets. To town officials and local guards, he went so far as to have Chikara emphasize utmost care and meticulousness.

(Don’t move—) (Stay focused—hold your positions and wait—) Tacitly, the people scattered throughout Edo maintained a hushed silence.

In time, “Mōri Koheita has deserted.”

Such news began to circulate. Moreover, two or three more members had deserted during this time. Even those who had endured hardships together this far—still, one could never know when a human heart might falter or crumble. Moreover, for a group of nearly fifty individuals—ranging from youths of sixteen or eighteen below to elders of sixty or seventy above, with disparities in age, former social statuses, and even in their philosophies of life and self-cultivation—to remain completely united in heart and mind, sharing the same resolve even for just ten days of living together, was in itself an exceedingly difficult feat in this society.

If this were a battlefield-like place where humans were reduced to their beastly nature, and all that met their ears and eyes existed within the clamor of Asura's realm, then even that would still not be worth mentioning. But—

The world was filled with songs of sake, women’s cosmetics, the extravagance of Genroku townspeople, samurai’s stylish kosode jackets, the influence of dog physicians and dog inspectors, and all manner of allure and doubt. There were lives of those who carried damp bath towels from morning baths while tending small cooking pots right there in the streets, and lives of those who floated snow-viewing boats on the Sumida River while plucking covert shamisen melodies—such existences crowded the riverbanks. The Edo-za’s haiku composition gatherings occurred nightly. Tea ceremony was also in vogue. The lights of the unlicensed pleasure quarters blazed as if declaring that life itself flourished there. And yet, that very day too saw violators of the Dog Protection Edicts dragged away bound by ropes; clusters of vagrants loitered beneath bridges; wherever one looked, the Genroku world was a canvas splashed with two stark hues—the spread of a semi-bestial philosophy urging “live, revel, satiate yourself,” and its polar opposite: the impoverished, mired like refuse in ditch mud.

Amidst this—with December now approaching—the spirits of the forty-seven young and old had congealed as one in utter silence, resolved to die without awaiting the coming early spring. Moreover, they embraced a profound joy greater than any pleasure found in society at large—blood boiling through their very ribs—as they relished that death.

Rumors

There was a rumor that Lord Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu—Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s trueborn son—had fallen ill... It was said Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, moved by paternal affection, made frequent visits to tend to him. But in truth—those who commuted from Matsuzaka-chō were chiefly his senior retainers and stewards; Lord Kōzuke-no-suke himself seemed not to set a single foot beyond the Uesugi residence. There were even whispers he had already taken refuge in Yonezawa Castle.

“That’s a lie!” “Even so—there’s been no notification to the authorities.” “He’s here!” “In Matsuzaka-chō!” “No—he isn’t!”

Into the finely-tuned nerves of the group poured various streams of intelligence. Like a parched winter beam, it snapped—no, resounded—with a brittle crack. From Kōjimachi’s hills came Yoshida Chūzaemon; from Ishichō’s lowlands, Kuranosuke—these two alone remained fixed at the kotatsu, vigilantly monitoring the combative air of the vast positions they would soon occupy.

Except in cases of urgent matters, the comrades refrained from visiting one another. Particularly, wherever they went out, they were to clearly maintain contact with someone regarding their whereabouts. Horibe Yasubei, for the first time in a while—thinking that visiting too frequently would arouse suspicion—peered into Kada no Azumamaro’s house. “Are you home?” “I am here. …Ah, Lord Horibe?”

“Since I had come to Zaimoku-chō.”

“Please come up.” Harumitsu ushered [him] into the study. Chinese texts and Japanese volumes filled [the room]. The scent of ink hung in the air. He appeared to have been midway through writing—colored papers lay scattered about.

Taking a hawk feather from the desk, he wiped the dust off the guest table and placed the tea utensils there. Yasubei was looking at the calligraphy in the tokonoma. The five characters of Amaterasu Ōmikami displayed splashed ink that still appeared wet. While making tea, Kada no Azumamaro noticed where Horibe Yasubei’s gaze was directed. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he said. “Master Hosoi Kōtaku, isn’t it?” “Yes… I hear that your esteemed father, Lord Yahē, and Master Hosoi were close.”

“You knew this too.” “We meet frequently at gatherings.” “Hmm—one can never truly discern who shares close bonds.” “So you and Master Hosoi are intimate acquaintances.”

Yasubei resolved internally that he must avoid such circuitous discussions. Hosoi Kōtaku was someone who had long known their faction’s true intentions through particular circumstances. They had disclosed everything to him under absolute confidence of secrecy—yet one could not entirely dismiss the possibility that Harumitsu might have inadvertently learned of it through some unforeseen means. Though Harumitsu’s repeated visits to Kira’s mansion were considered by their side as strategic overtures for infiltration—this very approach carried ample risk of exposing their true nature to the enemy instead. Yasubei felt compelled to fortify his resolve and proceed with unwavering determination.

“Oh, right—it was this morning.” “Just now, while pouring tea, I recalled—the master of this house, Nakajima Gorōsaku, came by.” Just when Yasubei thought he was about to broach some significant matter, it seemed to be nothing but trivial worldly affairs. Yasubei took the teacup and “Gorōsaku.” “…the man I once heard about from Lord Kuranosuke as well.” “Yes.” “That Gorōsaku—true to his nouveau riche mentality—declared proudly.” “…declared that he has been invited to attend a tea gathering hosted by Lord Kira Yoshinaka in the near future.”

“Wh…”

Yasubei, startled, chided himself as he—

“Is Lord Kira truly so devoted to the tea ceremony?”

“It seems so. He hosts them rather frequently.”

“Hoh…”

Once again, he inadvertently let out a deep breath that had surged up from his chest. “That Gorōsaku seems quite close to Lord Kira.” “No, that’s not it. Gorōsaku’s tea ceremony master is one Shihōan—a tea master named Yamada Sōhen, who is retained by Senior Councilor Ogasawara Sadatoshi. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke also studied tea under that Shihōan. So… Gorōsaku was invited as Shihōan’s companion, I suppose. But he seemed to consider it a great honor and was utterly delighted.”

“Hahaha. Even a wealthy man like Gorōsaku would consider an invitation from the Kōke family to be such an honor?” “Even for someone of the Kōke family’s stature, would a wealthy man like Gorōsaku truly consider an invitation to be such an honor?”

The more Yasubei tried to appear nonchalant, the more acutely he became aware of the unnaturalness in his own words—so much so that he could no longer even taste the tea. Within his chest, a fierce joy somersaulted wildly, driving him toward urgent action. No matter how he tried, he could not keep still. He took his leave from Harumitsu's house before their conversation could settle into any coherent topic. Once outside—

“A palanquin—!” He waved toward the intersection.

Shihōan Almanac

In the backstreets of Minamihatchōbori was a group that had moved from Honjo just two or three days prior. They were three households—Kataoka Gengoemon, Kaiga Yazaemon, and Ōtaka Gengo—who claimed to be Owari masterless samurai. They abruptly caught sight of Yasubei’s figure at the entrance.

“Hey.”

As he was about to go out somewhere, Ōtaka Gengo—his foot already on his footwear—widened his eyes.

Ōtaka Gengo always handled his stocky body—with its tightly tensed muscles—as if it were heavy and cumbersome. There were faint pockmarks on his swarthy skin, and perhaps due to his slightly bull-like neck, he had a habit of tilting his head. At first glance, he appeared to be an ugly man of sluggish demeanor, but everyone agreed that when sitting across from him—listening to his sporadic remarks while observing his gaze and movements—one felt an indescribable calmness. He took the pseudonym Shiyō and possessed talent in haikai poetry, while his knowledge of the tea ceremony was deeper than anyone’s. Even in his writing, he was a samurai with a refined grasp of mono no aware—the pathos of existence—so much so that one might doubt where he concealed his famed boldness and martial prowess.

“Where are you going?” Yasubei said, slightly out of breath, “There’s a haikai gathering at Itsukaku’s house today as well.” “Would you wait?” “Elegance—as the wind, as the water—let things follow their course.”

“Then, if I may…” “We’ve only just moved in—I can’t offer you any proper hospitality.” “This is no time for that.” He sat down— “Kaiga and Kataoka—are the two gentlemen present?” “They’re out.” “Then I’ll speak plainly. Ōtaka.” “Hmm?” A glint flashed within the faint pockmarks; his large eyes shone. Yasubei leaned forward and began recounting in detail what he had just learned from Kada no Azumamaro, “What do you think?! This plan—” “Is it true?” “I can’t believe it’s a lie.”

“Alright, let’s investigate.” “Without you, this task would be impossible.” Having resolved thus, he had come here without even informing Lord Kuranosuke. “When will you go?” “The preparations are just complete—I can leave immediately.” “—Right away.” “Rather than appearing like a haikai poet, wouldn’t disguising yourself as a Kyoto textile merchant make them lower their guard?”

“Hmm, I see…” “Though today’s preparations remain incomplete—” “Even tomorrow would not be too late.” “Should they grow suspicious, it would spell catastrophe.” In Fukagawa by Takahashi Bridge stood Yamada Sōhen’s residence. A diverted river flowed through its rear garden, creating an atmosphere of refined tranquility. The sukiya-style gate bore Shihōan’s wooden plaque. Beyond it lay a secluded path where moss-clad stones exuded desolation, broken only by the whisper of falling leaves. “Is it tea study you seek?”

Sōhen was already elderly. “That is correct.” As he bowed low, Ōtaka Gengo observed that this tea master too belonged to that growing breed of moneyed aesthetes. He was disguised as a townsman. In his clothing and belongings, he affected the magnanimous air of a prosperous shopkeeper, keeping his voice deliberately subdued. “I am a Kyoto textile merchant called Nishijinya Rihee.” “Yes, in truth, having secured patronage from a certain daimyo, I frequently visit this region on business—though my commercial affairs here are trifling. During these stays, I often find myself at leisure, and thus have long wished to seek instruction from one of your esteemed repute… Such was the reasoning that brought me here.”

“Then, I take it you have some knowledge of the art?”

“I would not presume to claim such mastery.” “Well then, you may begin your studies.” “In any event...”

When he presented a wrapped monetary gift for tuition—with “one thousand *hiki* in gold” inscribed atop it— “Thoroughly done.”

he casually accepted it.

(First—) Ōtaka Gengo felt as though he had brushed a hand over his chest in relief. From then on, every time he visited, he presented a gratuity. Taking care to project an air of indifference toward gold and silver in all matters, he gradually began to glean details about the Kira household’s tea gatherings. Sōhen seemed delighted to have gained another good disciple. From their first meeting onward, his affectionate demeanor had gradually improved to an almost comical degree. Gengo hoped that, if possible, he might accompany Sōhen and attend one of the Kira household’s tea gatherings.

But—bearing the lives of over forty comrades, he trod on thin ice. If a crack appeared, total annihilation followed. “This—the essence of the tea ceremony lies here.” He changed his resolve—abandoning his initial mindset of learning tea merely as a means, he immersed himself wholeheartedly in the practice and faced Sōhen with sincerity. Sōhen’s conversation grew even more candid.

But the opportunity did not present itself easily. Vainly, the calendar drew one step closer to the days of December—

The Raid, the Kotatsu, and The Art of War

The Coward’s Chill

Ōishi Kuranosuke was quite sensitive to the cold. The comrades who stopped by here, (He must have been born during the Dog Days, it seems.) would often laugh at such remarks, but he himself admitted to being more sensitive to the cold than most,

“In winter, even a toad buried in the earth is no different.” “Since I’ve lost all vigor, you’ll have to pardon this idleness.”

Having said that, he would always position the kotatsu before him, place the book stand laden with texts to his left, and—apparently having stuffed silk wadding into his back—appear hunched over. Moreover, this ronin residence in Ishichō was built in a way that made it prone to coldness. When the shoji was opened, the red berries of heavenly bamboo on the veranda came into view, but looking up, the icicles hanging from the shaded rain gutters were like swords—these days, there had been no thaw.

“I have just returned.” It was Chikara.

“Is it done?” he said from within the kotatsu. “Yes, I requested assistance from everyone and completed everything.” “That was quite an undertaking.” He had circulated the notice for tomorrow’s gathering. Though they had gradually become accustomed and the codes were now being distributed swiftly, it still always required considerable effort to convey the will of this central hub to the over fifty individuals scattered throughout Edo within a single moment. The leadership huddled around the kotatsu,

“Chikara, that spot seems slightly open.” “Close it tightly.” “It is closed.” “Is that so? Where’s the draft coming from then?” “The cold today is particularly severe.” “You must have been cold out there.” “Today marks the start of December.” “Hmm.” “Father, another detestable individual has emerged from among our comrades.” “Nakamura Seizaemon and Suzuta Shigehachi—both individuals.” “More defectors?” “Someone like Lord Nakamura was a man whom everyone had placed their complete trust in, and yet…” “He was one of those who, on the very night we conducted the solemn funeral procession of Lord Takumi-no-kami’s honorable remains to Sengakuji Temple, cut their topknots before his body and swore revenge, but…”

“Hmm…” Ōishi Kuranosuke—perhaps because his ear near the shoji felt cold and painful—laid his profile against the kotatsu quilt and narrowed his eyes like a sleeping cat.

Was he listening or not—

Chikara involuntarily tensed the robust muscles of his shoulders—twice as broad as his father's— “Not only that—there are still more.” “Tanaka Sadashirō and Nakata Riheiji—both men—have apparently gone into hiding, and their whereabouts remain unknown.” “The most egregious case—is something I would not wish to reach your ears, but…”

Suddenly, Ōishi Kuranosuke raised his face, “Is this about Koyamada?” “Yes, Koyamada Shōzaemon.” When he addressed him,

“I had already heard.” “From whom?” “While you were away, Fuwa Kazuemon stopped by and told me.” “Is this not an utterly inexcusable manner of conduct? To think we considered someone like him a comrade until today—” With his cheeks burning with youthful emotion, Chikara seethed with indignation.

――It was an incident that had occurred just yesterday—on the last day of the month. Even among their comrades, there had been a story—so unbelievable it defied belief—that Koyamada Shōzaemon, who had been regarded as a sincere and composed individual, left under the pretext of visiting his elderly father Ikkan but, for reasons unknown, changed his mind mid-journey, entered Kataoka Gengoemon’s house during Gengo’s absence, stole three ryō of gold and a kosode robe, and absconded.

Now, having just heard about this from outside, Chikara was about to vent his pent-up resentment to his father when—

“No, that sort of cowardly chill can strike anyone suddenly.” “Even I—were I to examine myself thoroughly—would find all human frailties within me: cowardice, lingering attachments, grumbling, indecision. Chikara—this isn’t another’s concern.” “Hah…” “You’re speaking rather freely. Temper yourself.”

“Yes, I will restrain myself.” “There will likely be more—comrades who will be absent from tomorrow’s gathering.” “Until the very moment of action arrives, in human endeavors, there will be fish that slip away and waters that cloud.” “That is as it should be.”

Chidori gathering It had been arranged under the name of a mutual-aid association gathering.

It was December 2nd.

At the mutual-aid association tea house in front of Fukagawa Hachiman，faces began to gather one by one—doctors，Confucian scholars，merchants，samurai，monks—a diverse array of appearances.

“Oh, it’s been a while.” “The other day…”

Even the greetings exchanged at the entrance were all casual. Even at the tea house, they harbored no suspicions. Such gatherings were not uncommon.—Seats would be settled, small talk would flow, tea would be ordered. Timing it, “Now then—” Ōishi Kuranosuke adjusted his posture to face the assembly.

“The reason I called this gathering is simple—the day we’ve long awaited now draws near.” “One might say the heavens’ timing has ripened of its own accord.” “In this matter, we have been united as one body and soul from the start.” “Though there should be no cause for wavering resolve at this late hour, I deem it meaningful to renew our sacred oath now and strengthen our bonds further.” “If none object, I shall ask for your blood oaths.”

Having said that, “Mr. Yoshida.” With that, he glanced around. The oath document that Yoshida Chūzaemon and Hara Sōemon had painstakingly prepared since the previous night—Yoshida now withdrew it from his breast pocket and passed it into Hara’s hands, “Thank you for your trouble.” he said. “Understood.”

With that, Sōemon adjusted his posture,

“I shall now read it aloud.” It comprised four articles.

As for the first article— (To avenge our revered lord, Lord Reikō-in, we samurai who share the resolve to strike down Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke have hereby sworn our pact—) Beginning with this preamble, it admonished that although cowardly defectors had been emerging of late, those who remained must now more than ever solidify their resolve with desperate unity, concluding with the invocation that the spirit of their deceased lord would surely bear witness. The second article— Terms for the Day of the Raid. There shall be no distinction in the depth of merit; all comrades shall share equal merit and unite to confront [the enemy]. Third: —

Third: — Discipline and restraint. Fourth: — Even if Lord Kōzuke-no-suke is killed, the group shall not disband arbitrarily. Spanning these four articles, finally,

(—Should this great task remain unaccomplished, those who disband on this occasion shall be deemed no different from the great cowards who withdrew.) It stated. Sōemon read that section twice.

“Please circulate it.” The oath document passed from hand to hand in order. They wrote their names and affixed their blood seals. In solemn silence unbroken by even a cough, it quietly completed its circuit.

All told, forty-seven men. That was the entirety of those who had gathered that day. Just last month—until November—they had numbered fifty-five comrades, but as the month’s end approached, their count had dwindled to fifty. Then, a mere two days later, three more faces had vanished forever from their ranks. Chikara, within his heart, So this is how it is.

He was recalling his father’s words from the day before. That father of his, who was always so sensitive to the cold, didn’t seem to feel the chill at all as he sat there. His eyes were softened, like those of a wealthy man delighting in a large construction project as he watched its ridgepole-raising ceremony. "Is it done?"

He quietly asked the man beside him. Hara Sōemon, who had rolled up and stored away the signed oath document, “It is done,” he answered.

“Now, please present this next.” With that, Kuranosuke took out a document from his own breast pocket. Memorandum of Guidelines for the Comrades It read: Assembly location for the Day of the Raid. Designated time for the operation. Treatment in the event Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head is taken. Guidelines for conduct en route to Sengakuji Temple. Precautions for when taking the head of the son, Saemon-no-suke. Treatment of comrades’ injuries. Signaling via small flutes. Method for striking the gong when accounting for the total number of personnel. The retreat shall be decisively via the back gate.

Attitude to adopt when clashing with pursuers, the Uesugi Forces, or similar adversaries. —And so on—everything had been recorded in meticulous detail. “Truly, our leader’s thoughtfulness reaches precisely where it itches.” Some of the men committed it to memory, while others copied it down to keep close to their persons. —Then, Horibe Yahee, “Lord Kuranosuke.” From four or five seats ahead, [he] peered in this direction, “With this, all preparations appear complete—yet among the instructions presented thus far, I believe one article remains omitted.”

“If there are any matters you have noticed, please do not hesitate to speak them.” “—Honored Elder.” “Though this does not concern me personally, should word of our plot reach the shogunate’s officials before we act, and one of our comrades be summoned to their residence—what manner of attitude ought we to adopt in such an event?” “Lately, especially with rumors spreading throughout Edo, we cannot say that such sudden obstacles will not arise.”

Ōishi Kuranosuke slapped his knee,

“A lapse, a lapse—to have overlooked that was an oversight born of thousandfold deliberations.” “Truly befitting of you, Honored Elder—you’ve grasped this flawlessly.” He apologized. The matter held grave significance. Ōishi Kuranosuke fell silent for a time, deep in contemplation,

“Should such an eventuality come to pass by any chance, we shall all humbly petition for an official inquiry and, after Akō’s surrender, have no recourse but to candidly state our innermost convictions regarding the aftermath.” Both Yoshida Chūzaemon and Hara Sōemon added their assent: “We deem this proper.” The entire assembly followed suit.

As dusk approached, the sky grew overcast. Even when they stoked the charcoal fire, the cold still pierced through them. “Well, that should suffice for now.” “As for the remaining matters…” “There should be nothing left remaining.” They called for sake and deliberately began to relax their postures. They deliberately discussed matters like the Chidori gathering amidst casual conversation, then ate their rice with tea and dispersed as they pleased.

A faint scattering of white frost lay scattered on the road. Incessantly, the plovers cried out in the darkness offshore.

Rain Maiden

The next day—it was December 3rd.

In the hideout in Honjo Hayashicho, Horibe Yasube was alone today. He pulled the inkstone box closer and was marking cipher symbols onto what appeared to be a memorandum.

It was an inventory of the weapons that had been gradually transported here over the past half year. It had not been written clearly from the start, but of course it was legible only to Yasube. 1. Twelve spears. Two naginata. —Two broad axes. ―Bows and half-bows: two each.

Next, to another item. Bamboo ladders, sledgehammers, iron crowbars, wooden crowbars. And then— Two large saws Sixty clamps Sixteen lockpicks and such were also recorded. In addition, Torches, enough for all members. Covered lanterns: two Gong: 1 Signal whistles, sufficient for the number of people.

“Hmm… Did I put the small flutes in there?” He stepped out onto the engawa and put on his footwear. In the grimy vacant lot behind the house stood a storage shed containing barrels of pickled vegetables and sacks of charcoal. Entering inside, Yasube examined the large woven basket covered with a straw mat. “—Is anyone here?”

Then came a voice calling from the front.

He hurriedly closed it, and

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” The figure of Ōtaka Gengo, disguised as one of the proprietors of a Kyoto textile wholesaler, was glimpsed outside the lattice. “Ah, you’ve come? Please, enter.” “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Let’s head that way.”

Gengo opened the side gate and entered from the rear. Through the thicket, a narrow river covered with a thin layer of ice could be seen.

“Horibe—” When he saw his face, he immediately lowered his voice, “Rejoice! I’ve brought good news.” “Huh? What is it?” “Today, I went to that Shihōan again for tea practice. After receiving instruction and as I was leaving, I casually mentioned, ‘For the next practice session, I will attend on the early morning of the sixth.’” “Hmm…” “Then Sōhen immediately cut in, saying, ‘No—the sixth is inconvenient.’ ‘On the sixth,’ he said, ‘there’s a morning tea gathering at Lord Kira’s residence that I must attend. Please choose another day.’”

“Got him!” Yasube involuntarily shouted. Day and night, this had been the very information he had longed to uncover—to obtain definitive confirmation of the day when Lord Kōzuke-no-suke would certainly be at his residence. If they were to hold the morning tea gathering on the sixth, there could be no doubt he would be present on the evening of the fifth. “Then take this news to Lord Kuranosuke at once!” “Hmm… That’s urgent too,” came the reply. “But if it’s the fifth, that’s already tomorrow or the day after.” “We’ll handle arrangements from here as well.”

“Oh, anytime.” “Also, the comings and goings at Kira’s mansion—” “I will take charge of all those matters.” “You must go to Ishimachi immediately.” “Then I’ll leave it to you.”

Gengo left immediately. After locking up, Yasube also hurriedly left the hideout in Hayashichō. In various places, each comrade lying low in hiding spent this day in unprecedented tension, waiting for the edict—(Prepare!)—from Ishimachi headquarters to arrive.

But on the fourth day, there was no word. There was no movement between comrades. Because each one did not move an inch from where they were. If, while they were out, something like a sudden uprising were to occur, not only would they lose unified control in one stroke, but arriving late would also become a lifelong disgrace.

The morning of the fifth day―― That day, a chillingly fine, icy drizzle was falling. After contacting Yasube of Hayashichō, Kanzaki Yogorō wrapped himself in a straw raincoat and hat,

“Alright—I’ll determine it.”

He kept watch near Matsuzaka-chō, where Kira’s mansion stood, getting drenched in the rain.

This neighborhood was a dangerous area for him. Until this very autumn, he had kept shop as Zenbee the haberdasher beneath a shop curtain before Kira’s rear gate—a fact that meant many here still recognized his face. Yet people proved surprisingly quick to forget. He passed several who clearly remembered him but dared not speak. Yogorō walked past the front of his former residence as well. Ah… Still vacant? He gazed up at the closed second-floor shutters and felt an unexpected pang of loneliness. Even in that fleeting moment, he could distinctly sense himself transforming with each passing second.

“...Oh?” Suddenly, he stopped. Beneath the eaves rotting in the rain stood a beautiful girl, drenched. Under the vacant house’s eaves where no haberdashery curtain now hung, she lingered—the girl—searching for something, “A hairpin… Don’t have any?... Then hair oil.” In a low voice, muttering these words, she stroked the storm shutters.

Heaven’s Design The misty rain fell coldly, beaten and carried away by the wind— With a whoosh, it blew against the vacant house’s door too. But the girl seemed not to feel the cold. Her kanoko-patterned satin obi had absorbed so much water that droplets now spilled from it. Tap, tap, tap— A white fist knocked lightly on the door. “Uemonnana… Uemonnana of the red bean shop…” She called out and pressed her face against it. “Are you still asleep?… Please give me the hair oil. Open this door—come on, Uemonnana!”

Kanzaki Yogorō stood frozen in the rain，staring fixedly at the scene. All the blood in his body froze. There was only hot pressure welling up behind his eyelids. (—Okume.)

I felt sorry. I thought I had done something wrongful. If this had been an ordinary person’s lot, I would have brought Yagami Uemonnana—Okume’s lover—here, had him carry her drenched figure to some warm place, and done whatever it took to let them bear the fruit of her lovely first love, but— ――

But. That was merely an excuse to myself. Okume’s demeanor was no longer that of someone in an ordinary mental state. Even if someone were to give her any joy now, she would not comprehend it. (—Forgive me.) He could do nothing but offer this silent apology in his heart. He thought about taking off his own raincoat and putting it on her, but hesitated, fearing it would draw unwanted attention. And then—there, three or four carpenter apprentices came running like soaked rats,

“There she is!” “Okume’s here!” “You’ve come back again?” “Why do you keep doing this? Day after day…”

While shouting such things, they surrounded her and tried to take her back home. Yogorō kept walking resolutely through the mud. He was afraid to look back. Passing far below Kira’s wall, when the vast waters of the Ōkawa River came into view from the Ryōgoku riverside, he finally felt like himself again.

After killing some time around that area, he once again walked through the thoroughfare of Matsuzaka-chō, vigilantly monitoring the main gate of the Kira mansion from the side as he moved past.

Then, a single lacquered palanquin nonchalantly exited through the gate there. Five or six foot soldiers and two who appeared to be junior pages. At first glance, it appeared to be a simple outing, but about eighteen meters behind, seven sturdy samurai in sedge hats and rain cloaks—wearing straw sandals—could be seen following the advancing lacquered palanquin with constant vigilance. (Ah, could it be?) Impelled by intuition, Yogorō hurried under the eaves of the town’s buildings.

When he reached the banks of Shin-Ōhashi Bridge, there too a group of attendants was waiting, and for the first time they proceeded with their numbers fully gathered. (—It’s Kōzuke-no-suke!) There was no longer any room for doubt. The lacquered palanquin soon arrived at the Uesugi family’s rear gate. From the shade of the trees, as he stared intently, the white hair resembling a wild silkworm cocoon and the hollyhock crest on the kosode—in a flash—though only for an instant, certainly flickered into Yogorō’s eye.

(That’s right.)

He ran to Ishichō, covered in mud. He reported that to Kuranosuke. And immediately, he returned once again to Matsuzaka-chō and kept watch for Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s return.—In vacant lots, eateries, and the shadows of temple gates nearby, they had stretched a web of watchful eyes to maintain contact for when the moment arrived—

But in the end, even when night fell, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s palanquin did not return to the mansion.

As he listened to the constant stream of reports, Ōishi Kuranosuke did not leave his usual kotatsu.

The impetuous men seemed to have already lost patience. One by one, two by two, before anyone knew it, the area around Ōishi Kuranosuke’s *kotatsu* had become filled with a thronging crowd,

“Lord Taifu, let us act.” “If there is a morning assembly tomorrow, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke will surely return even if it becomes late at night.”

“If we let this opportunity slip—” Thus they pressed for decisive action that night. Seeing his indecisive expression as he pondered by the kotatsu, some among them indignantly kicked the tatami mats and began to rise, “Now, wait.”

Told by a comrade, they reluctantly sat back down, but the air itself now seethed with a force ready to erupt—the irrepressible will of so many gathered souls—superheated like magma breaking through the earth’s crust. The awkwardness that suppressed it—save for Kuranosuke, everyone’s brows twitched with impatience.

—Just then, Horibe Yasube

“It’s no use.” He entered with a dejected expression. And what he said was:

“Having visited Nakajima Gorōsaku’s house and tactfully probed about, I found that due to an unforeseen complication arising for Lord Kira on the sixth day, the morning assembly had been postponed.”

Yogorō, too, soon—

“It appears he has stayed at the Uesugi residence as he was tonight.” he reported.

Both statements matched. The young retainers, too, upon hearing this, had no choice but to relent.

On the eleventh, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke appeared to be at his residence. Reports stating this kept pouring in. They had made significant progress toward launching the raid that night of the eleventh, but Kuranosuke once again— “It cannot be done.” —halted them. That day marked the shogun’s scheduled visit to the residence of Grand Chamberlain Matsudaira Ukyō-dayū. With strict fire prevention measures and heightened vigilance throughout the city—and recognizing how disadvantageous on all fronts this would prove for their grand undertaking—they once again, (Why must everything go so awry?)

they sighed. But the more they burned with impatience over these missed opportunities, the more their blood boiled and their bones rattled. From then on, not a single deserter emerged. He left the kotatsu. There was no telling where a heaven-sent chance might appear. There was no telling when a heaven-sent opportunity might arise. It was indeed not far from Honjo Hayashicho, where Yasube and his group were in hiding. It was a dingy old temple sandwiched between artisan districts.

Yokokawa Kanpei often frequented there.

“Mōami-san, are you there?”

When he called out to the narrow priest’s quarters, a voice mimicked his own, and from within—

“I’m here.”

And out came an amiable monk of around fifty. Kanpei did not know this monk’s name. Since the neighbors called him that, he also took to calling him the same way, but the man himself did not take offense. This monk was, quite literally, blind. He apparently couldn’t see any colors at all. When Yokokawa Kanpei had been in Akō, he had served as a guard of the gunpowder store, so he held an interest in firearms. This monk, too—from stories of how he had once studied Ikkaryū gunnery and zealously taken lives back when he still had his sight—had at some point become close to him.

“Ah, right—when you came by, I was thinking of having you take a look at something. I’m sorry to trouble you every time, but would you mind reading it aloud for me?”

As if suddenly remembering, Mōami-san said. This was, as he had said, a regular task. However, Kanpei never showed any sign of annoyance and always examined the documents thoroughly. “Is it a letter?”

“That’s right.” With that, Mōami-san groped atop the small desk and picked up a single document. “Please read it to me,” he said. When Kanpei casually glanced at the sender’s name on the sealed letter: Matsuzaka-chō, within the gates of Lord Kira’s residence Saitō Miyauchi

——Huh?! Kanpei nearly let out a cry. Saitō Miyauchi! This was indeed the chief retainer of the Kira household. His hands trembled. He felt as though he were holding a treasure so dazzling it could blind him—

“Hmm…” “Is this it?” “Yes.” “When did the letter arrive?”

“Just now.” When he thought of the date—today was December 10th. Kanpei suppressed his racing heart as he broke the seal. The text was simple. The fourteenth day of this month As there will be a night gathering held, We ask that prior engagements from others be excused. When he finished reading it aloud, Mōami-san nodded. “Ah, I see.”

To this monk, it seemed to be no problem at all. “You’ll be sending a reply, I suppose?”

“Might I ask one more favor while you’re at it?” “No trouble at all.” With that, Kanpei promptly drafted a concise reply in accordance with Mōami-san’s instructions, conveying his full understanding of the particulars.

As it happened, since the servant also seemed to be out, Kanpei— “Might as well have me deliver it to Lord Kira myself.”

“Perish the thought!” Mōami-san shook his head,

“To ask for your writing efforts and then request you serve as my errand boy—” “Nonsense! Between close friends like us, such formalities aren’t needed. I’ve business to attend to in Ryōgoku anyway…” he said casually, “Mōami-san, do you have a letter box?”

“My apologies.” “Even a poor temple has its writing box here.” “Then lend it.” “I’ll take custody and go.”

Kanpei emerged from the stone steps there and involuntarily bowed to the vast sky. “How grateful…” he muttered. Transforming himself to resemble a servant, he entered Kira’s residence. Soon after leaving the premises, his feet were already flying through the air. Of course—it was toward the Ishimachi headquarters.

“—The 14th!”

Ōishi Kuranosuke said this with more force than usual. Something had pierced his senses with a sharp resonance. His countenance lit up, making it clear. (We struck! We’ve already taken Lord Kira’s honorable head!) His intuition whispered within him: The fourteenth—how strange it was—for that day marked the true death anniversary of his late lord, Lord Takumi-no-kami. Just then, an express letter arrived from Ōtaka Gengo: "On the fourteenth day of this month, at the invitation of Lord Ōmi-no-kami Ōtomo, a tea gathering shall be held, with Master Sōhen of Shihōan also expected to attend."

"At last—there was no mistake!" But—one could not entirely rule out the possibility of another postponement like before. Kuranosuke resolved that from this point onward, they must not slacken in the slightest their investigation of the enemy. "Yokokawa." "Hah!"

“Go back to Matsuzaka-chō immediately—once more. And whisper to the men lurking around there and tell them not to slip up.” “Understood—”

As Kanpei departed,

“Shusuke, Shusuke.”

he called toward the room, “Prepare. You will make a quick run to Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon’s residence and return.” “Understood. —And you, Father...?” “I too shall be here and there,” he murmured, and

“Now that we depart, fetch me the hood.”

With that, he rose from the kotatsu.

This Moment: Moon-Snow-Blossoms

Vegetable-Bird Bowl

It was such a rare year with heavy snow that even elderly people who had lived long lives stared wide-eyed as they gazed outdoors—for this was snow that had begun falling precisely on the eleventh. Unlike the usual heavy clumps of peony snow that fell with a sodden plop, this came as ice shavings—silver flakes whipped into frenzy by the wind. The twelfth day dawned under snow, the thirteenth closed beneath snow, and by the fourteenth Great Edo lay nearly buried under its weight, only its rounded contours visible through white depths—the world remained hushed all day, scarcely a human voice to be heard.

Clack, clack, clack—the sound of geta teeth striking snow echoed outdoors. The seventy-six-year-old man—his rounded back propped against a pillar and a kotatsu quilt draped over him—abruptly lifted his snow-white topknot. “Old woman! Aren’t you watching the gate? It seems someone has come—about time for the guests to arrive.” The voice belonged to an old man of astonishing volume—Yayoshi Magoemon, Horibe Yasube’s father-in-law. In Yanokura’s Yonezawa-chō neighborhood, just west of Ōkawabata, the elderly couple had made their temporary refuge.

“Yes, yes.” And his elderly wife replied busily from the kitchen’s direction. In the twilight kitchen quarters, the aroma of simmering stew and steam from boiling broth hung warmly in the air. Daughters of relatives and maidservants who had come to assist were being given instructions, while Yasube’s wife Osachi bustled about energetically at her tasks. “Lord Sugaya Hannojō and Lord Hayami Tōzaemon have arrived together.”

A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old relative’s young girl, seemingly today’s messenger, properly tied her obi and, grasping Yayobei by the kotatsu, announced. “Upstairs.” “Yes.” “There are also guests who will arrive later—is that clear? If unfamiliar faces come, immediately report to the old woman and do not carelessly let them through.”

Suddenly seeming to recall the remaining letters he had yet to write, Yayobei put on his glasses and, atop the five or six he had already completed there, proceeded to compose about two more letters,

“Let’s keep our farewells to a moderate degree—there’s no end to them,” he muttered.

In the ceiling of this room, where lamplight had now come on unnoticed, the voices of guests and sounds of their movements already resounded with lively cheer. “Hoh… Quite a crowd has gathered.” As he lowered his glasses—then looked up at the ceiling with a smile—his elderly wife approached from before the chest in the adjoining room,

“Your attire, Grandfather—?” “This will do. …Well then.”

With that, he rose from the kotatsu, “To those from my home province and relatives I’ve no means of meeting—I’ve written and left a letter for each,” he said. “After I depart, have them delivered by courier.” “Understood.” “Are the meal preparations upstairs ready?” “Everything stands prepared at your convenience.” “You’ve labored hard—working in the kitchen this snowy day must have chilled you,” he continued, turning to his wife. “When I reckon it, our life together now spans forty years. Tonight’s supper made by your hands will be our last.—You’ve tended to us all this long while.”

And—at that moment, the young girl said, “Grandfather, Lord Kakimi Sanai of Ishichō and Lord Senbaku Jūan have—” “Hmm. You’ve arrived.”

Yayobei went straight out to the entrance. Two guests were taking off their snow capes. Kakimi Sanai referred to Ōishi Kuranosuke, and Senbaku Jūan was an alias for Onodera Jūnai. “Oh.”

“Oh…” Even their usual friendly exchanges of glances were filled with solemnity tonight. Following Master Yayobei up the ladder stairs, they found the second floor to be spacious. In a room spanning two bays—large enough for twenty-some tatami mats—about twenty earlier guests were already seated, chatting while leaving only the formal seating before the tokonoma vacant. Next to that vacant seat, Yoshida Chūzaemon’s face immediately caught the eye. Kuranosuke exchanged glances with Chūzaemon,

“I pray you forgive me.”

...and he immediately sat down in the vacant seat. “Shusuke, Ushioda, Chikamatsu, and Mimura—the four of them have returned the vacant house in Ishichō to the landlord and are attending to final arrangements. As such, they will not stop by here but proceed directly to Hayashichō and stated they would meet with us later.” When Kuranosuke informed the host, Yoshida Chūzaemon followed after him, “Though Sawamura Uemon was graciously invited, he has already departed for the Maehara residence in Aioichō accompanied by Fuwa Kazuemon and Terasaka Kichiemon. Pray forgive the discourtesy.”

As if there were no more formal matters requiring solemn discussion that night, the people relaxed at ease. Soon, before the meal trays brought up from downstairs by Yasube’s wife Okō and the young girl, “Old sir, we shall gratefully accept your generous hospitality without reserve.” At Kuranosuke’s prompting through this greeting, the whole company raised their cups. “Well… Though it’s nothing elaborate—”

With that, Old Man Yayobei attended hospitably to the young men in the lower seats. “With this, my estate will be neatly settled—even if you hold back, it’ll just be useless leftovers. Please drink to your heart’s content.” But tonight, all the young men were reserved. They exchanged quiet cups of sake, just enough to bring a faint flush to their cheeks. On each meal tray, in addition to kachi-guri and kombu, there was a soup bowl containing vegetables and chicken. Old Man Yayobei, taking up his own chopsticks as well,

“This is that old woman’s way of celebrating everyone’s departure and preserving their honor—such is her resolve.” “—This old man won’t be outdone either!” With that, he drained his bowl.

Age Differences Amid a blizzard so heavy it seemed to halt palanquins and carriages, these men had carried out every task—swiftly and silently, without letting the world hear a sound—with orderly precision, completing all preparations by the evening of December 14th.

――That all had been accomplished in the span of a mere day―from yesterday to today. It was now certain beyond any doubt that on the 14th, a year-end tea gathering had been held at Kira’s mansion. ―Ōishi Kuranosuke, as cautious as one who taps a stone bridge before crossing, took even greater care today: he deliberately had one of his comrades carry a tea caddy and dispatched him to Shihōan Sōhen in Fukagawa Takahashi, ("I am a messenger from the textile merchant Shinbei and have come to request Lord Shihōan’s appraisal of this tea caddy," but...)

Under this pretext—which included fabricating such a message—he had sent them to observe the daytime situation. Then came Shihōan’s attendant’s reply: “My master has been invited to Lord Kira’s tea gathering today and is currently absent, but if you have no objection, we would be honored to keep the tea caddy in his stead.” Meanwhile, from the reconnaissance team stationed at Matsuzaka-chō as well,

(Sōhen’s palanquin had indeed passed through the gate.) Such was the report.

There was no mistake now! Tonight—at last—Kōzuke-no-suke Kira Yoshinaka would be sleeping in his Matsuzaka-chō mansion. The timing aligned perfectly: the anniversary of their late lord’s death, with Great Edo itself buried under endless snow. Since the previous night, the comrades had been occupied writing letters to their home provinces and dispatching keepsakes to mothers, wives, and acquaintances. Those living in rented houses summoned secondhand dealers to pack their belongings and informed their landlords—

Having informed [their landlords] that they would be departing for distant provinces and staying at a relative’s house tonight—they had settled all outstanding loans and shop rents in the neighborhood without issue. Everyone suddenly felt a crisp lightness in their being. They felt a profound sense of liberation unlike anything they had ever experienced—freed from familial bonds, worldly entanglements, and all other ties. From this point onward, their minds would focus on nothing but the single task ahead. They did not feel the kind of extreme tension that comes with facing a make-or-break moment. Somehow, there was something so carefree and refreshing about them that it seemed to render even such a momentous event trivial.

“The tobacco smoke is awfully thick, isn’t it?” When the meal trays were cleared away and replaced with tea, Old Man Yayobei had someone open the veranda’s sliding screens wide. The thick heat from the charcoal fires and the warmth of the crowded bodies drifted away from the eaves into the purple-tinged sky. “Ah, the moon!”

“Has it cleared up?” “Gaze upon the waves of the Ōkawa.” Between the roofs of the townhouses in Yagurakashi, a stretch of the Ōkawa River sparkled with moonlight, appearing whiter than the snow. In the distance, a few lights of Ryōgoku flickered.

From here to Kōzuke-no-suke Kira Yoshinaka’s mansion was a mere five or six chō. The town had already fallen silent in sleep. By now，Lord Kōzuke-no-suke himself had likely retired to his night’s quilts． “Ah，what a cool breeze!” Exhaling pure white breath，the two or three young men exposed their cheeks，flushed from drink，to the cold air outside．

Ōishi Kuranosuke sat huddled knee-to-knee with elders including Yoshida Chūzaemon, Onodera Jūnai, and Hara Sōemon, seeking their understanding concerning his personal handling of certain matters. This appeared to relate to financial affairs. He informed the elders that he had personally delivered to Ochiai Yozaemon—chief retainer to Yōzen-in—a document prepared the previous day: a detailed accounting of expenditures from the public funds entrusted to his care. The public funds kept in Ōishi’s custody had amounted to six hundred fifty-one ryō and some odd coins. Additionally, there were approximately ninety ryō in interest accrued from loans made against Yōzen-in’s cosmetic allowance.

If the restoration of Lord Daigaku-no-kami’s family name—younger brother to Lord Takumi-no-kami—had been achieved, those funds would have become the first deposit toward reviving the Asano clan. Yet Ōishi Kuranosuke’s struggles went unrewarded. And those funds had been spent until now toward purposes he did not approve of. In terms of days—over six hundred and fifty days since the Akō dispersal—the public funds had been spent on the masterless samurai’s living expenses and military costs for their revenge, ultimately leaving a final deficit of seven-odd ryo.

The younger men had no involvement with the funds whatsoever. Though they had endured considerable hardship and poverty, ultimately it was Ōishi Kuranosuke and the elders who had borne the unseen burdens of managing these unknown funds. Even now—since it still concerned those funds—they deliberately kept their distance,

“What do you think? If we all leave here at once, won’t the neighborhood watch find it suspicious?” As Hayami Tozaemon began speaking, “Right—we should start leaving bit by bit now.” Having consulted Kuranosuke, the young men departed one after another.

Hayami Tozaemon, having noticed that his master, the old man Yayobei, was nowhere to be seen for some time and wondering what had happened, went downstairs and addressed Yasube’s wife Osachi: “I would like to pay my respects.”

and inquired about the master’s living quarters.

“Perhaps it’s due to his advanced age—though he says he’s lost his spirit—he excused himself and is resting in that room there.”

Hayami Tozaemon gently opened the sliding door of the room indicated by the old wife and peered inside. There was a kotatsu covered with a futon, and Old Man Yayobei was lying there with his legs inside it. As the host, he had seemed somewhat lively in his drinking tonight, yet there he was, snoring loudly like a young man and fast asleep. “Hmm… Such thorough preparation.”

Hayami Tozaemon murmured in admiration as he gazed at this stubborn old man who looked like a samurai of old. Even as he glanced back at Sugaya Hannojō standing behind him, he spoke again. “From where a guy like me stands, it really does just come down to age, doesn’t it?”

Yanokuratachi

The hour of the Rat had already passed.

After the many guests had left, the kitchen was briefly filled with the busy clatter of cold ceramic dishes. Once those too were put away, the house suddenly fell silent, and in the snow-buried depths of night, the beams and rafters would occasionally let out a sharp splitting sound as if cracking. Hurriedly entering,

“Uncle...”

The two nephews, Sato Jōemon and Horibe Kujūrō, stood rigidly and surveyed the interior of the house.

Osachi, who had quietly descended from the second floor, widened her eyes slightly, "He is sleeping in the back," she said in a low voice,

“What? He’s asleep?” “...” With doubtful expressions, the two boldly entered Old Man Yayobei’s living quarters. Tonight was the raid! This was the night when the Akō ronin—their resolve long amassed—would at last dispel the trials of over six hundred and fifty days in one stroke and offer their crimson blood as loyal vassals to the spirit of their fallen lord! And yet—there he was, snoring away so contentedly that they could hear it right there. (What an exasperating old man.) As if to voice their thoughts, the two—without sitting down—cast their eyes toward the lantern. At this critical juncture—when even his sleeping in the kotatsu defied comprehension—his seventy-year-old elderly wife was desperately massaging the legs of the seventy-six-year-old man, all while remaining oblivious to the two who had come and now stood rigidly there.

“Uncle! Uncle!” As Kujūrō called out, “Oh…,” the old couple finally raised their faces together.

“What?”

they said belatedly. Jōemon took over the conversation, “The members of our party have already departed for the three meeting places: Lord Yasube’s residence in Honjo Hayashimachi, Lord Sugino Jūhēji’s hideout in Tokuemonchō, and Lord Maehara Isuke’s shop in Aioichō.” “Are you aware of this, Uncle?” “Don’t you know? Half of those people drank their farewell cups here before leaving.” “But the hour remains too early.” “With this heavy snow outside—and considering your aged legs—wouldn’t it be prudent to depart sooner rather than later?”

A stubborn old man like him had no reason to meekly accept his young nephew’s words.

With a thud, he flung off the kotatsu quilt, “Jōemon.” “Hah…” “You said it.” “Very well. Then I shall order an escort to Jūhēji’s residence in Aioichō.” “From the start, Kujūrō and I came with the intent to accompany you to that vicinity.” In the meantime, the old man’s footsteps thudded heavily as he moved to the next room. He was taking down a spear from the decorative beam in the unlit room. His waist, which had seemed problematic due to its bow-like curvature, now stretched taut as if released from a bowstring. He swiftly swung the spear he had taken up two or three times,

“It’s a bit too long for indoors.” “Kujūrō, cut this shaft down by about seven sun and reattach the butt cap.” He said and handed it over. Kujūrō did exactly as instructed: he shortened the spear’s shaft and returned it to his uncle. Yayobei struck the reattached butt cap’s tip against a garden rock two or three times, “This will do, this will do.” He gave a deep nod. Tucking it under his arm, he headed straight out to the entrance. His wife had followed along while gazing fixedly at the white hair at her husband’s temples—hair she had watched turn silver over forty-odd years of marriage—but when Yayobei suddenly looked around, there remained one person still unseen.

“Sachi… Sachi…” He called out loudly and turned around. —And there, beneath the sliding door of the very next small room, the sound of Osachi’s stifled sobs could be heard.

Old Man Yayobei had already lowered one foot onto his footwear, “Ba…! “You fool!…. “If Yasube hears that voice, he’ll lose all patience with you. No—rather, it’s this father-in-law who feels awkward.” Jōemon circled around ahead, mindfully attending to the old man’s footing, “Uncle, are your footwear properly arranged?” “Hmm… The preparations are complete. I’ll handle the rest at Sugino’s residence.”

Stepping out from under the eaves, the old man suddenly looked up at the sky. The creak of oars from a night boat rowing down the Ōkawa groaned like weeping as it faded into the distance.

“Osachi—do you have any messages? …None for Yasube?” Without answering that, Osachi’s voice spoke from the window. “May you go forth in good spirits. “…I will take care of everything here, so please set your mind at ease.” “Hmm, hmm… I’ll make sure to tell Yasube the same.” “Well then, you all live well.”

The snow was frozen hard. Crunch, crunch—the sound of three pairs of footsteps could be heard for some time. He seemed merely an old man going out on some errand nearby. Neither Osachi nor his elderly wife could bring themselves to think of him as one who had left with no promise of return. Fragrant attire Though it was no soba shop, one among them had wanted to eat soba noodles, so they had ordered some from elsewhere and were eating them.

It was a tea house called Kamedaya in Mukō Ryōgoku. They opened up the second floor and laughed boisterously in plain sight. Since this was a bustling district by day with many late-night establishments nearby, no one found it suspicious.

From time to time, Kaiga Yazaemon, who had been keeping watch outside, “Ah, Hayami and Sugaya are passing by.”

Kaiga Yazaemon whispered to Ōtaka Gengo,

“Call them.” “Shall I call them?” Immediately, Okajima Yasueimon, who had been near the staircase, ran down.

“Well, here for some snow viewing?” When the two were led up by Okajima, the teahouse owner followed along, holding a scrap of paper and a grimy counter inkstone. “It seems you are a gathering of most cultured guests. While you are here, would you be so kind as to compose a haiku or two?” Kataoka Gengoemon, who was in the middle of eating soba,

“Proprietor, you’d best stop right there. If you ask this lot to do such a thing, they’ll get carried away and scribble all over your fusuma and byōbu—even the ones you never asked them to touch!”

“Oh no, there’s nothing of such value here, so rest assured.” “You’re into haiku too?” “Well, in my spare time at the shop, I pass along assigned haiku topics for critique—so I end up dabbling in amateurish attempts.” “That’s interesting.” “…So, what’s the upper verse of the current assignment?” “What’s that? “The one starting with ‘What’s that?’ came from the master yesterday, but I simply can’t find a fitting lower verse.” “In that case, have that person add it.”

As Kataoka Gengoemon directed his gaze toward Ōtaka Gengo, the proprietor promptly turned the inkstone box and paper in that direction and edged closer. “What… You’re asking me to provide the lower verse for the haiku’s upper phrase?” “All right.” Ōtaka Gengo immediately took up the brush and wrote below the phrase “What’s that?”— “A mulberry bow that pierces rock” —and handed it over. The eyes of each person, whether sipping from cups or eating soba, silently read it. The teahouse owner, finding it amusing without understanding the meaning, went back downstairs.

It was nearly the hour of the ox—around two in the morning. Even the lanterns in the alleyways of the pleasure district, where women with white-powdered faces dwelled, had gone dark. When seven or eight figures filed out in a ragged line, Kamedaya shut its doors behind them as if they had been waiting for this moment all along.

“Well then—” “Well then—later—”

They split into two groups at the crossroads and scattered. Ōtaka, Kataoka, and three or four others immediately quickened their pace from there and rushed to Horibe Yasube’s ronin residence in Honjo Hayashichō. (They’re here!) His heart swelled with reassurance. At Yasube’s residence as well, a celebration feast for the raid had been underway since evening. By the time it was cleared away, people who had gathered at the armory and others who had eagerly awaited this night arrived one after another to assemble there.

The packages, boxes, and straw bundles containing weapons, attire, and other raid tools were unpacked in the rear garden. Of course, there were lookouts, and shadows lurked in the streets and crossroads before this house as well. They wasted no time in their preparations. In an instant, most of those who had gathered there cast off their usual appearances and changed into their formal raid attire for this night’s mission. “You’re unrecognizable—what splendid warrior bearing!” There were even those among them whose transformation into warrior figures was so complete that they might have dazzled even their fellow men. Yoshida Chūzaemon, in particular, had a tall stature, broad shoulders, and an imposing countenance. He wore black leather with horizontal white leather stripes inserted, a Hachiman-style helmet base shaped like a kabuto, a vermillion forehead guard, white felt cheek flaps, and a crepe silk cord deeply fastened beneath his chin.

His undergarment was a padded light-blue habutae silk layer; he wore chainmail beneath a black kosode with tea-dyed lining whose sleeves had been shortened, thrust his arms through single-layer sode-gote arm guards lacking metal plates, slung an Ōshida-style tasuki sash across his shoulders, and donned chainmail leggings with straw war sandals. On his sleeve was written "Yoshida Chūzaemon Kanesuke," For my lord, thoughts pile up like white snow— Scattering them, the pine wind of the peak this morning He had tied a poem—intended as his final words in this world—to the inside of his hood’s neck guard. Except for Ōishi Kuranosuke, everyone in the group revered this man as their vice-commander.

The younger men displayed flamboyance through their stealth cords. Crimson chirimen cords, purple leather straps. Inside their fire hoods, they all uniformly inserted metal headbands. The attire varied according to each individual’s preference—some chose crepe silk, others damask. Arm guards and shin guards were also worn by everyone. Their outer garments were all kosode bearing family crests, with bleached cloth sewn onto both sleeves—these were identification marks for allies. To these, each person wrote their name, place of origin, age, and other details.

Moreover, some had written their names and formal titles on tanzaku-shaped gold leather strips and sewn them onto their rear tasuki sashes, while others had inscribed death poems or haiku. The tasuki sashes ranged from Ōshida-style crimson crepe silk to leather and miscellaneous fabrics, but all had chains twisted into them. The tip of the thread concealed from collar to pocket was a small flute. For signaling when they had taken Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head—when retreating—and in all other circumstances. Three or four individuals had particularly concealed daggers and fast ropes in their sleeves.

Yoshida Chūzaemon carried a new white fan for submitting formal petitions to the shogunate and, as vice-commander, one additional item—a commander’s baton. Stimulants and restoratives were tied to their collars with thread. This was so they could place them in their mouths even during fierce combat. Hemostatic agents, rice cakes, parched rice, and other items were also attached in small amounts to their waists. Each had prepared about one ryō in gold. All these preparations were for their objective and actions, but there was just one preparation unrelated to tonight’s purpose—and yet every man had made it. As for what that was—it was a mortuary refinement suffusing each figure: the scent of incense they had burned and concealed within the undergarments and hoods of their attire.

The snow resonated. From Honjo Hayashichō to Matsuzaka-chō.

It was a distance of about ten chō (approximately 1.1 kilometers). The snow and wind had ceased, but a sudden snow whirlwind swept past. From beneath the feet of those advancing through kicked-up snow, a silver light hazed forth, lashing against the dark figures trailing behind. As they reached Futatsume Bridge’s crest,

“The bell!”

Someone said. “Fourth hour—(4 AM)” Kimura Okaemon declared. Suddenly, someone picked up an object that had fluttered out from the collar of Kanzaki Yogorō, who was moving ahead, “Lord Yogorō, your death poem has fallen.” and, while picking up that poem strip and handing it over, they continued running without stopping and read it aloud. Catalpa bow— As spring approaches, on the small hand, shall I see even the snow as a blizzard of flowers? Then immediately following, Mankihei himself recited his own death poem aloud.

Capital bird Now let us question—this warrior's world Where honor dwells— Do they know it? Do they not? "I was there! I too!" Onodera Jūnai raised his voice again: How could I forget? Through a hundred years and more, Generations that served... *your mercy*

The group beyond the bridge charged forward along the riverbank through moonlight and snow's glow, like crows in flight. By this point, their uncontrollable bloodlust could no longer be contained by bodily tremors alone; voices erupted helplessly from their mouths. Kimura Okaemon recited through white breath a poem of his own making, sewn into his hood's lining. Entrusting my body to drifting clouds in the eastern sea, Long have I neglected my obligations amidst this world's dust.

Viewing flowers, facing the moon—boundless this regret. Scattering through dawn sky's wind amid grass and trees.

That's right—it was no longer midnight. The fifth watch meant dawn. The fourth hour (4 AM) they heard on Imabashi Bridge was the signal to assemble at the crossroads.

At that crossroads in Matsuzaka-chō, both the Tokuemonchō unit led by Sugino Jūbeiji and the Aioichō unit led by Maebara Isuke already stood assembled as a single black mass. “Quiet!”

Yoshida Chūzaemon waved his hand toward the impetuously advancing group. When they looked up at the Kira estate’s enclosure now directly before them, their pores tightened reflexively, and every leg froze fast to the ground. “…………”

Beneath the visor of his shikoro hood, Yoshida Chūzaemon’s eyes had sharpened into a gaze unrecognizable from his usual self—in one swift motion, he tallied every head among those gathered here. “All right!” Approaching Kuranosuke’s side and exchanging brief whispers with him, he saw all forty-seven men split at once into two forces: the East Front Gate Unit and West Back Gate Unit. Their assigned positions had long been predetermined. The front gate fell under Ōishi Kuranosuke’s direct command. At the west back gate stood Shusuke Yoshikane as field commander, with Deputy Yoshida Chūzaemon overseeing operations. As one body they crouched low—forming disciplined ranks that parted cleanly toward their respective gates.

Thud, thud, thud, thud!

It was the sound of falling snow. At the same time, from both the back gate and front gate, figures could be distinctly seen clambering up like monkeys onto the tops of walls and tips of trees. Thudthudthudthud— The snow fell incessantly, shaking the earth. The garden trees surrounding Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s inner mansion all scattered snow and trembled. Moreover, there was still no sign that those inside had noticed anything. The tip of the ladder propped against the front gate pierced through the moon that seemed to glare down at the scene. The first to leap from that light to the roof eaves was Ōtaka Gengo.

“Make way!” Then, competing with Okajima Yasoemon to be first, Yoshida Sawaemon—the second to board—leapt down into the gate with a ground-shaking thud.

“Watch out, old sir!”

Okajima Yasoemon, the third to board, said this and reached out a hand to Horibe Yahē, who was climbing up from below him. But the old man—

(Unnecessary help!) As if voicing this refusal, he batted away Yasoemon’s hand and hauled himself upward while gripping a spear in one arm. Yet he was seventy-six—an age that told. Watching Kataoka, Ma, Yagashira, Katsuta, Takebayashi, Hayamizu and the others scramble up behind him and leap down into the mansion grounds in scattered bursts, even this veteran found the physical strain taxing. “Gengo! Gengo! Your shoulder—here!”

There he was, crawling on all fours on the roof of the Kabuki Gate.

“Oh!” When Ōtaka Gengo rushed beneath to assist, “Such insolence—I cannot allow this!” The elderly Yahē placed one foot on his shoulder and leapt down—or so he himself thought he had leapt—but in midair, his body was gently caught and supported by Gengo’s sturdy arms.

“Light.”

As if setting down a child, when Ōtaka Gengo lowered him from his hands, the old man— “Whoa! …”

Mingling with the other young men without so much as a glance back, he kept his spear pointed at the shattered main entrance and leapt into the building. The twenty-three members of the Front Gate Unit still piled over one another from the gate, walls, and roof as they descended into the mansion grounds with heavy thuds. “Damn it!” Among those who slid down from the roof along with the snow while shouting were Kanzaki Yogorō and Hara Sōemon. When had he crossed over? Kuranosuke already stood inside the mansion grounds. He faced forward, wielding a sledgehammer as he watched the grand entrance door being splendidly shattered, when from the gatehouse, a figure resembling a servant darted like a weasel into the shade of the trees.

“Damn you!” Someone immediately spotted him and gave chase. “Don’t kill him!” The warning—“Don’t kill him!”—rushed from Kuranosuke’s lips. The bound gatekeeper was immediately tied to the guardhouse’s pillar.

——Somewhere,

“Fire! Fire!” A shout tore through the air. Friend or foe—voices had become indistinguishable. From the back gate came an even greater clamor, perfectly synchronized with the chaos here. The Kira mansion—encircled by walls thirty ken east-west and over twenty ken north-south—was plunged into cataclysm, its foundations shuddering beneath a roar that might split the earth itself. Peony Wing Charge through the front gate, and you’d find an entrance hall. Beyond lay a study, then storage rooms, with several living quarters deeper still.

The residence of Kōzuke-no-suke’s son, Saemon-no-suke, was there.

When they leapt in through the back gate, Kōzuke-no-suke’s retirement residence stood nearby. Saemon-no-suke’s residence and the retirement residence were connected by a rear corridor spanning the inner courtyard. Tiles came clattering down with such force that one might suspect the roof itself would tear away. The plank roof sections and large eaves resounded with a cacophony like some demonic dance. “Mr. Hara, the item!” At Kuranosuke’s command, “Right!” Hara Sōemon ran toward Maeda Kyūdayū—who stood waiting at the front entrance holding a green bamboo pole roughly one jō (~3 meters) long—took out a document from his pocket, securely fastened it to the bamboo’s tip, and together they thrust it deep into the earth. It was—

“The Written Statement of Asano Takuminokami” Beneath this heading lay an appeal listing all forty-seven names of their faction—an acknowledgment of their retainers’ righteous indignation and their lord’s lingering resentment, both born of unavoidable duty, and a clarification to the shogunate’s inspectors who would surely arrive tomorrow of their unwavering justice and their lord’s house’s rightful position in this “justification.” When the green bamboo pole was planted, Kuranosuke called out: “Mr. Hayami, Mr. Kanzaki—it appears the others also require no preparations against the longhouse. Enter the building!”

he said toward them. Anticipating that skilled retainers dispatched from the Uesugi clan resided in these longhouses, they had Hayami Tōzaemon and Kanzaki Yogorō hold bows while stationing four or five others to lie in wait and observe the situation; but since no significant enemies emerged, he issued this command.

“Right!”

With that, the group headed toward the grand corridor. Although several storm shutters had already come off, when they swung the sledgehammer and struck around, the shutters spun off like tops and rolled into the garden. “We, retainers of Asano Takuminokami, have come to avenge our deceased lord!”

“Where is Lord Kira?!” “Come forth at once and grant us your head with dignity!” “Would you stain your name through all eternity?!”

“Lord Kira!” “Lord Kōzuke-no-suke!” “We, retainers of Asano Takuminokami, have come!” The voices shouting as they ran about here and there were like the onslaught of demons. Young voices, hoarse voices, voices of fury.

Kōemon, son of Onodera Jūnai, worked frantically, his hair in disarray. He rose abruptly from the attendants’ quarters, “We intrude!” Surrounded by three samurai who charged at him with drawn swords, he fought desperately, half-dead. “Look out!”

When he saw this, Ōtaka Gengo came rushing headlong from the study to help— Though he couldn’t make out who it was, midway through, from behind a sliding door— “Out of the way! Villain!”

A blade lunged like a leopard. Gengo, “What?!” He turned around, his eyes blazing like torches, and raised his large sword overhead. Before he could utter a word, the man darted sideways toward the corridor to flee, but in that instant, he was struck up by the blade of a spear wielded by one of the Akō men and hurled out from the veranda into the open. When they saw Gengo’s figure, two of those who had been surrounding Kōemon fled. One of them gave chase, and Gengo struck him down.

Gengo’s attire was splendid. He wielded a large sword resembling a naginata, and beneath his black kosode wore layered sleeves of blazing crimson on both sides. Whenever the whirl of his great sword traced lightning bolts, scarlet flared like peonies from beneath his sleeves.

Kōemon had also cut down the last enemy. Gengo, “You got him!” he blurted out in praise. With a faint smile over his shoulder, Kōemon dashed toward the alcove in the great hall—Where was the enemy? As Gengo watched, his sword sliced clean through the bowstrings of the weapons lined up in the two-ken alcove with a single stroke.

“Ah...!” Amid the fierce fighting, everyone’s ears were suddenly captured. For it was as though a hundred-stringed koto had been severed all at once—the bowstrings trembled with an unnatural resonance before scattering into fragments. “It’s done!” “Well spotted!”

From the chaotic shadows of their comrades, another voice—likely that of an elderly man—rasped out in hoarse praise.

Kira’s loyal retainers

The Perceptive Friend

Judging by their usual vigilance, that night alone—despite the suddenness—the Kira household showed laxity in both preparations and emergency response. Many had fallen into deep sleep, utterly trusting their impregnable defenses. The snow likely contributed. When covering winter night's beautiful charcoal embers with ash, contemplating heavy snow on roof beams while sinking into thick quilts—how could they foresee that an instant later this silence would shatter under terrifying reality's assault? Even if some premonition had fleetingly brushed their hearts—

(Surely, not on a night like this—)

And thus, it was human nature to utterly defy everyday logic. Another reason was the attention given to the daytime tea gathering that had been concluded. The comings and goings for these tea gatherings had always been a headache for both the Kira household’s retainers and attendants.—Especially when Lord Kōzuke-no-suke hosted them at his residence: retrieving utensils from the storehouse became a major task, along with changing hanging scrolls, preparing the tea room, devising menus, and managing hospitality on the day—even for someone with ample leisure time, it was no ordinary undertaking.

(What could possibly be enjoyable about holding tea gatherings under such tight security?) Some attendants from the Uesugi clan had even voiced such complaints aloud, but upon hearing that for Lord Kōzuke-no-suke—now similarly living in seclusion—there truly existed no pleasure beyond using tea to forget his sorrowful days, (I see... When you put it that way...) both the retainers and attendants grew somber, unable to withhold sympathy for the current circumstances of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and his son.

The heir, Sahyōe-no-suke, always wore a nervous, pallid expression and remained secluded. In his loneliness, his father, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke,

“You ought to try engaging with the world a bit more.” Even when invited to tea gatherings or social exchanges of calligraphy and antiques, Sahyōe-no-suke would always claim headaches or disinterest, preferring his dimly lit room of seclusion. There were even occasions when a click of irritation escaped his father’s lips. Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was by nature a cheerful man who favored extravagance. Yet for over a year now—his elderly wife Tomiko having returned to her family home, and his own flesh-and-blood eldest son Saburō having become the Uesugi clan’s adopted heir and provincial governor—even without these burdens weighing him down, it had been nothing but crushing despondency. All his other children were daughters who had married into other families. Upon reflection, his surroundings were overburdened with ranks and treasures for a man of his age, yet he was granted not a shred of familial affection or the warmth of a home. The Kira father and son were as lonely as lone geese battered by winter storms.

Steadily and constantly, [he] gazed upon his master’s circumstances within such a life from the row house quarters of the estate, “How tragic.” The Lord Kōzuke-no-suke seen through the world’s eyes and the one seen from here are entirely different, but the world would not think so. He must be thought of as a man consumed by greed and luxury... What an unfortunate soul he is. But it can’t be helped. Shimizu Ichigaku would always mutter to himself alone and, when off-duty, pour himself a drink in solitude,

“For someone like me, when gloom sets in, I can drink like this and flop down with my arm as a pillow—so I’m still grateful…” In all things, he—ever mindful of his master—would ponder Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s loneliness. From the time he was fourteen with close-cropped hair—plucked from a peasant household in Mikawa Province’s Yokosuka Village and raised into a full-fledged samurai—Ichigaku felt not merely a debt of gratitude but Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s decades of affection. Now, his master’s desolate solitude and the gloom of these dark days pressed sharply against his heart each dawn and dusk. At times, it grew so viscerally painful—as though it were his own flesh—that many were the nights he slept only through wine’s numbing effect.

From noon until evening on the 14th, the day passed in unrelenting busyness. Once they had concluded the tea gathering, seen off the guests, and stored the utensils away, it was already time to shut the massive snow-proof doors encircling the mansion.

After taking a bath, Ichigaku returned to the row house around ten o’clock.

After that, as he was taking a sip of his nightcap, “Shimizu, you’re drinking.—That sharp nose of yours must’ve known; I caught the scent and came.” Kimura Jōhachi, his sworn friend with whom he had daily secretly pledged mutual loyalty, entered from behind.

Libation Rite Jōhachi was strong, and Ichigaku could hold his liquor. The one-shō cask they had set aside at the kitchen entrance was empty.

“...Still a bit short on drink, eh.” “Shall I go to the kitchen and fetch more through our usual means?”

As Ichigaku started to stand up, “Alright, let’s endure it for tonight.” “I think I’ll head back to the attendants’ quarters and turn in now.” “You’re calling it a night earlier than usual, aren’t you?” “I’m feeling a bit worn out.” “Stay a bit longer and talk.” “I don’t mind talking, but there’s no sake.”

“I’d rather talk than drink. Why don’t you sleep here tonight?—Who knows if we’ll have another night like this next year.” “Shimizu… You’re acting awfully lonely tonight, aren’t you?” “With all the guests gone, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke must surely be sleeping in loneliness.” “To me, that feeling strikes my heart.” “...And besides—” With that, Ichigaku abruptly peered into the unlit adjacent room as if to glance inside, “For these past two nights, I’ve been having nothing but dreams of my deceased mother.” “Perhaps the time has drawn near when my mother comes to take me.” “...So, even talking with you like this—I don’t think it’ll be for much longer.”

Having been told this, Jōhachi too had noticed. Unlike a residence devoid of women, in the adjacent room, a lamp flickered before the memorial tablet of Ichigaku’s mother.

It wasn’t just today. Whenever his duties were done and he returned to the row house, Ichigaku would first head to his mother’s memorial tablet, (Today as well, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke spent the day without incident.) After announcing this, he untied the cords of his hakama. Jōhachi had once visited Ichigaku when he had returned home to his elderly mother in Mikawa Province’s Yokosuka Village and was allowed to stay overnight under the thatched roof. At that time as well, upon seeing how deeply this mother and son cherished the benevolence of their lord, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, he had been struck by profound admiration. The taste of the country soba that his old mother had personally made and served him back then was also something unforgettable.

After that—after receiving word from his hometown of his elderly mother’s death—Shimizu Ichigaku had since carried an air of something deeply resolved within his heart. On one hand, he devotedly guarded his master Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s person, while on the other, he seemed to be secretly awaiting the arrival of “some inevitable event” that could not be prevented. “You’ve gotten strangely gloomy.” “Whenever you and I drink together, it always gets too damn melancholy—that’s just how it goes.”

“The value of sake lies in how it seeps into the heart—if it’s just about drinking in a rowdy manner, there’s no need to choose your company.” “…Well, you can stay over.” “We don’t have proper bedding, but sharing a single futon for a night of talk as we lie about isn’t so bad.” When told this, Kimura Jōhachi did not rise from his seat. With a trusted friend, a drunken arm-pillow could hardly be unpleasant from the start. That friend seemed intent on speaking solemnly tonight of all nights. The only regret was the lack of sake. With a drinker’s stubborn greed, he couldn’t help but think that if there were just a bit more sake.

Then, beneath the window, someone passed by, their heavy footsteps thudding through the snow. (That’s it.) As Jōhachi had the thought and started to rise, Ichigaku—who had shared the same idea—had already approached the window and opened the snow-covered door. “Hey! Servant! Servant!” Every night, in hourly shifts, a pair of servants patrolled the mansion grounds throughout the night—it was with this assumption that he had called out. But in response to that call, what returned from beneath the trees was neither a pair of servants nor anyone carrying a six-foot pole or lantern.

“—Were you calling for me?” “Ah... My apologies.” “It’s… Lord Kasahara Shichijirō of the junior retainers.” “That is correct.” “I called out thinking you were part of the patrol.” “At this hour when all have settled to sleep, I assumed none else would be walking through the honorable mansion grounds.” “Is there something you require?” “Though not on night duty, on an evening such as this—when daytime obligations weary us and heavy snow invites negligence—I deemed vigilance necessary. In truth, I patrol of my own accord. Should you have any need, please command me.”

“Ah… Even though you’re off-duty, you haven’t slept at all—”

Ichigaku bowed his head to the figure in the snowlight and said.

“—I appreciate your efforts. To be frank, Kimura Jōhachi and I were sharing a nightcap here, but finding ourselves short on sake, we thought to have the servants fetch more from the kitchen. Yet hearing you stood guard through this snow without rest while others slept—it felt like three buckets of water dousing us, shamed by your devotion. I called out to stop you—a discourtesy—but pray forgive me.”

“……Sake?”

Kasahara Shichijirō laughed and nodded. He was well aware of Ichigaku’s fondness for sake. “It’s no trouble at all.” “I’ll have it delivered right away.” “Oh, there’s no need for that.” “Lord Kasahara, there’s truly no need for that.” He apologized and closed the door, but immediately, the clattering footsteps of someone returning to the window made him open it again, revealing Kasahara Shichijirō in a red raincoat, clutching a one-shō sake bottle in his frozen hands,

“There is still some left.” “Will this suffice?” “Ah… I am deeply obliged.” “This is inexcusable.” “It’s nothing…”

Kasahara Shichijirō left, smiling.

Ichigaku and Jōhachi watched his retreating figure from the window for some time. And they brought the one-shō sake bottle back beside the brazier, but they simply stared at it, dispirited.

“Jōhachi.” “Hmm…” “I’ve often worried with a sinking heart—among over a hundred retainers and attendants in this honorable mansion, how many truly harbor devotion? Yet it seems genuine samurai do exist… Now I’m starting to feel unworthy even to drink this sake.” “In response to the earnestness of that young samurai, Kasahara—” “He is Sekiguchi Sakubei’s younger brother. Though still young, he is a man of both resolve and skill.” “Who is Sekiguchi Sakubei?”

“He was Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s trusted aide who once volunteered alongside us to investigate the movements of the Akō masterless samurai in Kyoto and Osaka—but he was killed by unknown hands near Bishamon in Yamashina, his corpse found headless.” “Then it was the Akō men.” “The perpetrator—” “We only know it was likely Takebayashi Tadashichi. That Kasahara Shichijirō from earlier—with his brother meeting such an end—keeps steeled in grim resolve, as if expecting those Akō dogs to come storming in any moment.”

“Speaking of Lord Hyōbu, I hear his health has been somewhat poor of late.” “The strain of his duties must have worn him down.” “Even before this snowfall, I went to pay my respects while reporting our situation, but there happened to be a guest at the time—I couldn’t meet him.” “...It’s grown rather cold.” “The night seems to have deepened.” “The sake’s begun to wear off.” “I feel guilty toward Kasahara Shichijirō patrolling sleeplessly—but I’ll drink this after all.—Jōhachi, hand me that warming flask there.”

“Hold on—if we don’t add more charcoal, the water in the copper pot will start to cool.” After drinking it down, the two continued talking, but when midnight came, they fell silent—though some sake still remained—and slipped their legs under the futon, drifting off to sleep with their arms as pillows. Exactly two people had consumed nearly two shō of sake. Even though they had intended not to get drunk, their guts had become thoroughly soaked in sake. Amid their loud snoring, the lamp eventually went out.

And thus, the fourth hour (4 AM) had come.

A short while before that, Kimura Jōhachi had tossed restlessly in his sleep. With the lamp extinguished, he could be seen groping his way toward the kitchen. Evidently parched, he fumbled for the bamboo ladle in the water bucket—only to find its contents frozen solid. Jōhachi began breaking the ice with the ladle.

With a crash, at that very moment, Shimizu Ichigaku sprang up in the darkness.

“Jōhachi!” “…What was that noise just now?” “It’s me… I was breaking the ice in the bucket.” “What are you listening for?!” “That’s all it was?!” “That’s it.” “Oh! At the front gate—and the rear gate—there’s an extraordinary presence.”

“Wh—?!” Startled, Jōhachi froze in place. Ichigaku pressed his face against the window and strained his ears intently. His glaring white eyes shone there.

In an instant, throughout the vast mansion grounds arose the roar of snow, the fearsome sound of sledgehammers, and amidst footsteps kicking up powder as they raced about— “The Asano ronin have come to claim Lord Kira’s head!” Voices roared—voices upon voices. “Ah! …They’re attacking!” Jōhachi dropped the ice ladle he had been holding. “Shimizu—it’s the Akō ronin!” “Calm yourself, Jōhachi!” Ichigaku reprimanded him, grabbed the neck of the half-empty sake flask, then—as if struck by a sudden thought—entered the dark adjacent room and sat down.

A tempest of arrows and blades. Ichigaku was pouring sake into a bowl and announcing his final words to the deceased mother at the family altar. When he peeked at that, Kimura Jōhachi, too, snapped back to his usual self.

"That’s right—I have my own mission." He was Chisaka Hyōbu’s trusted aide. In particular, acting on Hyōbu’s orders, when out in the field he worked as a secret agent across the Akō region and Kamigata, and while stationed there, he maintained constant communication between Kōzuke-no-suke and the Uesugi family. “Shimizu, I’m going.” “Wait!” Ichigaku drank down in one gulp the sake he had poured for his deceased mother and turned toward Jōhachi. “This is goodbye…” “Mm.”

It was the moment when Jōhachi, lowering to one knee, received the sake bowl. With a clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter, a sound as if large hail were striking resounded against the wooden shutters of the windows and entrance. They were firing short bows from outside. Thud, thud—the tips of the arrows piercing through the wooden shutters glinted like white stars, several of them visible. Ichigaku hitched up the crotch guard of his hakama high, tied a warrior’s headband, and moved toward the door, but—

“Danger! Put this on before you go out!” Then, Jōhachi threw a woman’s small-sleeved kimono from behind. In the closet of Ichigaku’s house—devoid of any feminine presence—only Jōhachi had known that such a small-sleeved kimono existed. It was the bridal kimono of Ichigaku’s wife, who had now passed away. “I will not disgrace it.” Ichigaku pulled the hooded cloak over his head from above. Amidst the smell of mold, the lingering scent of his young wife—who had died in childbirth during their second year together—suddenly enveloped his face. (It seems both my wife and deceased mother are eagerly waiting for me.) Behold—Shimizu Ichigaku’s final stand!)

With this resolve, he placed his hand on the door. From among the Asano ronin, what sounded like the voice of a leading senior was heard outside—shouting arrow cries and urgently repeating these words—reaching both Jōhachi and Ichigaku.

“Do not kill women and children. Let the women flee as they will.”

The moment the sound of arrows ceased, Ichigaku flung it open and leaped out. The cold of the thickly frozen ground's snow pierced from the soles of bare feet straight to the core of the head.

Not only was there snow, but outside, the moon shone with piercing clarity. Already the main entrance had been smashed open, and figures could be seen breaking down the study’s heavy door with a battering ram. Scattered across the mansion grounds, through the snow, black figures and blade shadows darted like night ravens—the moment Ichigaku saw them, his hair stood on end. “You!” “You’ve come to ambush him in his sleep.” “You shall not take his lordship’s head—not while I, Ichigaku, still draw breath!” Ducking through the shrubbery, Ichigaku hurried toward Kōzuke-no-suke’s bedchamber—there should be ample fortifications there, he thought, and night watchmen on guard; even in the worst case, nothing ill could have happened yet. But already his heart was pounding like a frantic bell. No matter what, he couldn’t help worrying about the safety of the lord and his heir.

The thick, cotton-like snow from the treetops thudded heavily onto the shoulders of his hooded cloak and scattered. And—suspicious of the agility unbefitting that resplendent hooded cloak— “Halt!”

From the shade of the trees, one of the Akō ronin holding a short bow came running.

(Something’s wrong!) Realizing this, someone drew the arrow nocked on the bowstring taut and loosed it in a flash. The arrow lodged in the sleeve of the hooded cloak, and like a bird of paradise, that shadow raced up the artificial mound. “Damn you!” He discarded his short bow and gave chase.

“Coward! Coward! We might spare women and let them flee, but for a retainer residing in Lord Kira’s longhouse to show your back—that’s a disgrace!” When he called out, Ichigaku planted his stance and turned around— “Ah! One of Asano’s starveling ronin?” “Former mounted guard of two hundred koku—Kanroku.” “How gracious of you to announce yourself. I am Shimizu Ichigaku—a retainer born and bred from peasants in the domain of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke Kira!” “Shimizu? To meet here again—this is karmic bond indeed. I’ll grant your wish to attend Lord Kira in death.”

“Oh! I thought I’d seen you somewhere before—you bastard! You’re that traveling merchant who sneaked into Lord Kira’s domain at Mikawa Yokosuka Village and came peddling wares at Ichigaku’s house!” “My apologies for my conduct then.” “A worthy foe! Today I won’t let you escape—you’ll join me on the road to death!” “Nonsense!” To the tip of the drawn sword, in that instant, the hooded cloak Ichigaku threw billowed as it caught the wind and came fluttering. With a gasp—Kanroku jerked his face aside and retreated, but Ichigaku’s blade, swung down with both powerful hands, split the void in the next instant and came crashing toward Kanroku’s crown.

“What the—?!” With his whole being he uttered this, yet Kanroku’s blade remained perpetually a beat behind. Ichigaku parried each subtle strike—a foe granting no moment to counterattack. Three slashes, four slashes—Kanroku kept reeling under the tempest of steel, “—Ah!” Kanroku’s foot slipped from the artificial mound’s edge, sending him tumbling into the garden pond below. The thin ice shattered as Kanroku sank waist-deep into the water—one leg clad in pale yellow hakama thrust skyward, night raid sandal dangling from his raised foot.

Ichigaku did not even turn around.

(Lord Kōzuke-no-suke... Lord Sahyōe-no-suke...) His desperate expression held nothing else. He leapt over the slipping snow and ran down from the west side of the artificial mound into the spacious garden. Then, overlapping with that shadow,

“Ichigaku, wait!” “Kanzaki Yogorō of the Asano clan ronin!” No sooner had the voice begun its declaration than—swish!—a sword arced backward in a single stroke, striking Yogorō’s chainmail legguards with a spark like steel splitting stone.

“Damn it!” Yogorō planted his left hand on the ground and watched the swift enemy’s shadow depart. He sustained a shallow wound around his thigh or knee. Seeing this, Yagami Uemonnana, Hayami Tōzaemon, and Hazama Jūjirō—who were nearby—

(It shall be me!)

And they chased after Ichigaku’s magnificent warrior’s figure, kicking up a flurry of snow.

Ashikaru Kichiemon

Of course, this action was launched in unison with the front gate group’s assault. The twenty-four-man squad assigned to Kira’s mansion’s rear gate—the karamete—had Ōishi Shusuke as its commander, with Yoshida Chūzaemon and Onodera Jūnai, two elders, serving as vice commanders. The first strike of the revenge raid came from Mimura Jirōzaemon’s mallet. Jirōzaemon had been a minor official overseeing the kitchen in the former Akō Domain, with a meager stipend of seven koku and two fuchi. To participate in tonight’s decisive action and be the first to breach their enemy’s gate was a joy that felt like divine providence to him—so profound he could have died content.

Bang! Bang, bang, bang! Three strikes—four strikes—answering even unto Lord Kira’s sleeping gall!

Crrrack—the gate split open. “Now!”

And Shusuke’s voice. Yoshida Chūzaemon held a golden command baton. But before it could be swung—Sugino Jūheiji, Kurahashi Densuke, Akahashi Genzō, Isogai Jūrōzaemon, Horibe Yasube— “Wait!” Horibe Yasube held back the tide of people, removed the gate bar from within, and with a heave hurled it toward the guardhouse in the distance. With a panicked uproar, from within emerged what appeared to be gatekeepers and three or four samurai, covering their heads as they stumbled out in flight.

The five men carrying bows— Chino Wasuke, Hazama Shinroku, Fuwa Kazuemon, Kimura Okaemon, Maehara Isuke. They drew their bowstrings and fired a scattered volley of arrows toward the row houses visible in the distance. This was to flush out enemies lurking within. For an instant, Yoshida Chūzaemon, the vice commander, started—because from one of those row houses, flames had suddenly flared up. But the fire vanished instantly, and from the pitch-dark windows and back doors of every house, figures swarmed out and spilled into the night.

Okuda Sadauemon, Chiba Saburōbee, Mase Magokurō, Nakamura Kansuke, and others—wielding long swords—confronted the assailing enemies outside. Spears darted and blades flashed here and there; the surrounding snow, trampled into mud or blood in utter chaos, became the stage for a spreading melee. “To the retirement quarters! “—to the inner bedchamber!”

Shusuke’s voice could be heard somewhere.

The blueprints of the Kira mansion, which they had obtained beforehand and each committed to memory, were now proving their worth. This rear gate was closer to the single enclosure containing Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s retirement quarters than approaching from the front entrance.

“Masterless samurai of Asano – here to purge our late lord’s grievance!” “We come to receive Lord Kira’s august head!” “Let those who deem themselves worthy step forward!” “Face us!” “Face us!” The inner entrance door shattered under their assault. The study’s storm shutters splintered. Windows cracked open. The kitchen entryway yielded.

Every spear had been cut down to nine shaku (approximately 2.7 meters), no matter whose hands held them. Horibe Yasube wielded a large sword, Sugenya Hannojō his well-used small sword—along with approximately ten others who had stormed into the building. As for the scene at that moment—it was later described in a letter that the elderly Onodera Jūnai wrote and sent to his aged wife back home:

The ferocity of their onslaught was such that not even the fiercest demons of heaven could have dared face it. He wrote. “Lord Shusuke! Lord Shusuke! The exterior remains crucial!” Yoshida Chūzaemon and Onodera Jūnai stood guard outside with their spears at the ready—then, caught up in the momentum of those charging into the building, they restrained Shusuke from shifting his position from behind. “—I am well aware.” Shusuke turned around and smiled with round eyes from beneath the shadow of his thick eyebrows under the headband. And then, standing firm with his spear held at the ready—as if his youthful blood could not suppress a warrior’s tremble—he scanned the surroundings, hoping for a worthy adversary. And—before Chūzaemon, a man had flattened himself in prostration. He was indeed wearing raid attire, yet he did not appear to have fought.

“Who is there?”

As Shusuke watched closely, the man buried his face in the snow and wept. When he looked, it was unmistakably Terasaka Kichiemon—the ashigaru who had long served Yoshida Chūzaemon. Shusuke, too, suddenly felt his eyes grow hot. Because he understood both Kichiemon’s feelings and those of his master, Chūzaemon. Terasaka was merely a low-ranking retainer of a retainer to the late lord Lord Takumi-no-kami, but he was a man who absolutely refused to yield, insisting on being included in the ranks of the avengers. Even Chūzaemon, his direct master, found himself at a loss over the man’s single-minded sincerity; whether during their time in Yamashina or after relocating to Ishimachi in Edo, he had brought him to his father’s residence two or three times.

When he stayed in the shadows and listened to the ashigaru Kichiemon’s words, Shusuke had wanted to let him join their ranks, no matter what others might say. However, both my father Kuranosuke and Chūzaemon had always been unyielding in their refusal, deeming it impermissible, and their reasoning was— Even the act of samurai storming the Kira mansion of the kōke—though in revenge—was already an unprecedented destruction of order. If ashigaru were to join their ranks, the problem would become even more complex. Moreover, if even an ashigaru who was a retainer of a retainer were to join us, it would make it appear all too much as if the Asano house had no true men left—how would that reflect on our late lord’s honorable dignity?

Such was their reasoning. But Kichiemon’s zeal could not be deterred by mere admonishments like those. One after another, he persuaded his comrades, and at last, sparing no effort, he demonstrated his sincerity to both Chūzaemon and the entire group. Kuranosuke and Chūzaemon, too, finally seemed to have been worn down by this man.—They permitted it! they had no choice but to give their consent. However, in response to this, Kichiemon also had to respect the opinions of others even more than Kuranosuke did.

He had joined the raid, stepped inside the enemy’s gate, and once he had witnessed his comrades’ efforts, he resolved to vanish voluntarily from their ranks. And so, with a life not worth preserving, he determined that even merely surviving to report this night’s events to these men’s bereaved families would become his faintest hope.

The gateless man

Yoshida Chūzaemon had known his feelings beforehand, so when he now came before him and saw Kichiemon prostrating with both hands on the ground, “Go quickly,” he said. “This is our farewell, I believe. Master… Master… This is farewell.” “Wait. Go and pay your respects to Lord Kuranosuke.” “Y-yes.” As he started running, a Kira retainer—drenched in snow and blood, his hair disheveled—suddenly collided chest-to-chest with Kichiemon.

With a gasp, Kichiemon fell backward. The blade swung by the man sliced horizontally across his chest. Someone, "Kobayashi Heihachirō, an attendant from the Uesugi clan." Upon hearing this, Shusuke had already forgotten Chūzaemon's words. Grabbing his spear, he leapt onto the veranda of the study hall. "I shall strike with my spear—this is Kuranosuke's son, Shusuke Yoshikane!" he called out. Seeing this, "Do not let Lord Shusuke be killed!" With that, the members of the archer unit discarded their bows.

And just as three or four of them began to scatter and rush to assist, from a tree-shaded path nearby—amidst this frenzy where not a single person present was free from bloodshot-eyed desperation—a man walked forward with an air of composure, chest thrust wide. At a glance, they realized he was not an ally, yet his excessive calmness gave pause—

(Huh?)

(Is he a samurai from another domain staying here as a guest?) This suspicion made the Akō loyalists who saw him hesitate momentarily to intervene. Yoshida Chūzaemon and Onodera Jūnai stood with spears raised as the man walked straight past them toward the back gate. Stiffening at the sight of his fierce countenance, “Halt!”

Onodera Jūnai pointed the tip of his spear. Chūzaemon immediately— “I humbly inquire your full name.” “Who are you? What name do you go by?”

The man showed no sign of fear. In addition to the two men, he could see others in chain-patterned undergarments and fireman’s attire pointing their spears and staring fixedly at him. He knew he couldn’t move a single step further—and yet, in that moment, he gave a wry smile and spoke.

“Among those here, there must be someone you recognize,” he said. “I am Kimura Jōhachi, trusted vassal of Chisaka Hyōbu under Lord Inspector General of the Left Uesugi.” “What?! Kimura Jōhachi?!” The spear tips glinted menacingly, eager to strike. Had Yoshida Chūzaemon’s hand not restrained them, Jōhachi’s body might have been pierced like a sieve. “Hmm…”

With that, Yoshida Chūzaemon accepted it and gave a deep nod. As they looked at his face with a strange sense of realization—this was the shadowy man who had troubled their comrades under the alias Jūhasshaku from Akō to Kyoto and Osaka. “Where are you headed?” Depending on the reply, Onodera Jūnai’s voice grew slightly harsher. Kimura Jōhachi looked around at the people’s faces illuminated by the snow’s glow—there were some he had seen in Gion. There were also faces he had seen on the boat from Akō. There were also faces he had just recently passed by in the streets of Edo—.

“My duty concludes this night.” “I leave the remainder to attendants and your retainers. Henceforth, I shall simply return to my master Chisaka Hyōbu—to you all, this marks our parting.” “Though brief our association, I sense a bond of profound connection.” “…As for my longstanding aspiration—whether fulfilled or not—I pray it meets clean resolution. Farewell.” He bowed and walked straight through, exiting via the rear gate as their gazes followed.

Old Man Jūnai and Yoshida Chūzaemon exchanged glances. "As expected of Chisaka Hyōbu—he trains his men well," they growled under their breath.

Samurai are those who weep.

Drumbeats. The indoor combat of the group searching for Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s figure and the outdoor combat of the group covering them while striving to fulfill their objective—by then, Kira’s mansion had become the very bottom of a crucible. This commotion naturally startled the neighboring residences adjacent to Kira’s mansion. At the first occurrence of the noise, in every mansion, ——Spies? A fire? —it seems they had thought.

At the Hatamoto Mōri Nagato residence facing the main gate and the Honda Magotarō residence to the north, retainers climbed onto the roofs, (Huh? …)

They gazed suspiciously at the whirlwind of screams where no flames or smoke could be seen.

Immediately at the residence of Tsuchiya Chikara adjacent beyond the wall,

(So it’s—) Whether they had realized something, the retainers had raised high lanterns and maintained solemnity, but they seemed to be fortifying their preparations against any contingency regarding the neighboring disturbance. ——Now. After seeing off the retreating figure of Kimura Jōhachi of the Uesugi family, who had exited through the back gate of that crucible, Yoshida Chūzaemon—suddenly struck by an emotion known only to warriors—

“Oh!… Has anyone made the courtesy call to the neighboring houses?” he said.

“No—not yet.”

When someone said this, Onodera Jūnai, who was nearby, “—We’ve been outmaneuvered! “Given our neighborly ties, if we’re disturbed by retainers from the Tsuchiya, Makino, or Honda households, matters will grow complicated.”

The old man immediately ran off. With a lightness of body unlike a man of sixty, he moved with swift strides as if delighting in the snow.

“To the esteemed neighboring households, we have a declaration to make!”

At the base of the wall, Old Man Jūnai’s voice already resounded. It had been written in certain martial manuals that voice training formed part of a samurai’s essential discipline. For should one enter battle with a shrill tone or feeble whisper when declaring one’s name or addressing foes, they said, it would diminish one’s martial dignity. The sheer volume of Old Man Horibe Yahee and this Old Man Jūnai’s voices had become such that even in peacetime it frequently drew comment. The younger men had taken to calling it Old Man Jūnai’s war-drum voice.

“To the neighboring households—we have a declaration!” With that, Jūnai repeated his words in his drumbeat voice, “This is the former retainers of Asano Takumi-no-kami.” “Though we have caused this sudden disturbance without regard for the hour of rest, we humbly apologize for any alarm it may have caused. We have come to raid Lord Kira’s residence to avenge our late lord, Asano Takumi-no-kami.” “The way of the samurai is called mutual aid.” “We know not of stray arrows, but as for our side, we bear no ill will toward other households. Do not take action against us.” “In the unlikely event that you should interfere, we will have no choice but to engage you in combat and even storm your premises.”

As though entranced by this thunderous voice, the neighboring houses fell utterly silent. The message had gotten through! As Jūnai nodded to himself and shifted his footing, a Kira retainer lurking nearby suddenly swept his sword at the old man’s legs from behind a stone lantern. “Ah—!”

Even as he leapt back, the old man’s expertly wielded spear seemed to have pierced his opponent; the enemy stretched out with his sword still in hand and collapsed face-first into the snow, turning it crimson. At this display of skill, someone behind him involuntarily— “Lord Jūnai, you’ve displayed your prowess!”

“Someone said.” When he turned to look, Kataoka Gengoemon was watching. The old man seemed pleased to have been praised. With a faint smile, “An old man’s transgression.” he replied.

Then, once again from the same spot where the previously felled enemy had hidden, another man came charging out in a death-desperate slash. Gengoemon was no longer there.

But it was Old Man Jūnai, who was in good spirits. In an instant, he speared the enemy’s throat with his lance tip and severed it. The man who was struck down—having been a devout believer in ordinary times—let out a death-throes cry—

“Namu Amida Butsu…”

It is said that this chanting was later recounted by Ōishi Seizaemon as part of his reminiscences of that night. Having run right past the spot at that moment, Seizaemon must have caught the dying man’s prayer in his ear. The Foremost Figure of the Kira Household Isogai Jūrōzaemon—the handsomest among their ranks—had pulled his sharp eyes taut with a headband that night. The tip of his straight spear glistened with fresh blood up to its hilt wrapping, while one torn sleeve of his battle attire revealed the chainmail beneath his shoulder where an enemy’s sword had slashed through.

Together with Mimura, Muramatsu, and the people from Ma, they charged into the building. Mimura Jirōzaemon brandished a sledgehammer and began knocking off the sliding doors and cedar door fittings from one end. “You bastard!”

Shimizu Danemon, mediator of the Kira household, emerged from behind the dislodged cedar door and charged at Mimura with a slash.

“Oof!” The head of Mimura’s sledgehammer, swung back in retaliation, struck the wall. With a thunderous crash like a collapsing cliff, wall plaster fell between the two men. “We have come to settle this!” When Ma Kihee’s cross-shaped spear blocked his path, Danemon lost his footing and tumbled out into the great corridor. ―Kira and―whose blade was it?―slashed sideways through the shadow. Enemies emerged endlessly from the depths, one after another. Granted it was large, but to think there could be this many people in a single mansion— Isogai Jūrōza had captured a single Kira retainer and was pinning him down by the collar.

“Help me! Help me!” the man was saying. “If you want me to spare you, hand over the candles!” “Y-yes, I’ll give them!” “Where are they?” Dragging him along, they forced him to produce the candle box, swiftly lit the candles, and distributed them to every room. “Jūrōza, well noticed. “That’s not something one could do without composure. “Your composure here outshines even your spear-wielding martial prowess!”

Ma Kihee said this while helping. With all its cedar doors, sliding partitions, and every boundary removed, the interior of Kira’s mansion had transformed into a single vast hollow visible straight through from front to back. Amidst the chaotic figures and glinting blades there, countless lamps spewed sooty smoke as they flickered without cease. “Ah—Lord Kōzuke-no-suke!”

The moment he entered what seemed to be a wooden-floored storage room, Takebayashi Tadashichi shouted. "What? Kira?" As Maebara Isuke, Okuda Sadauemon, and others nearby came swarming over, two elderly samurai now emerged from behind the futon storage room and fled.

“No!” “Wrong!” Exchanging words, they stumbled toward the kitchen entrance—just as Maebara Isuke struck them with his nine-foot-shafted straight spear.

“It hurts!” Into the large kitchen sink, one of them had tumbled. One man slipped out like a thief’s cat from there, leapt from the top of the wall into the outer ditch, and hid behind Sangorō the Umbrella Seller’s shop across the street. Both men were elderly around sixty years old, and one had white hair, so Takebayashi Tadashichi had mistaken them for Kira; however, it was soon learned afterward that they were Saitō Kunai and Sōda Magobei, chief retainers of the Kira household. They took unnecessary trouble.

Each of them clicked their tongues and muttered in frustration, then pressed further—

“Where is Lord Kōzuke-no-suke?”

After splitting up, they rushed into the inner quarters.

And it was just as Tadashichi was about to step into Sahyōe-no-suke’s quarters. A long sword with a mother-of-pearl hilt was suddenly brandished,

“Who’s there?!” A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy charged forward slashing. With his freshly shaved head making him look like an adorable young acolyte, Tadashichi—for some reason— “Agh!”

Feeling pressured, he recoiled, and the boy—wielding a long sword too large for his small frame— “Damn you! Damn you!” With a face contorted by rage from the depths of his heart, he swung wildly in all directions. This was one who had always been cherished by Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and those of the household— (Shunsai, Shunsai) This was Makino Shunsai, a trainee tea attendant who had been doted on like a favored plaything by Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and the household members.

Since killing him would bring no martial glory and seemed pitiable—Tadashichi thought—he shouted, “Enough!” When he knocked aside the longsword with his spear shaft, Shunsai lunged forward like a Kakubei lion dancer, heels raised high. Then— “Don’t waver, Shunsai!” Suzuki Sadanoshin—the page who’d always been friendly with the boy—hurled a go board at Tadashichi from the room’s corner. The board grazed Tadashichi’s cheek and gouged a triangular dent in the pillar behind him. Discarding his spear,

“A worthy foe! Don’t move!” He leaped forward and slashed downward at Sadanoshin’s shoulder with a reverential strike. *Clatter, clatter*—countless white and black go stones rained onto Tadashichi’s cheek. The boy Shunsai grabbed at the stones scattered around him, “Damn you! Damn you!”

he came hurling them at him. (—This foe is not to be engaged.) As he thought this and Tadashichi tried to move his foot, Suzuki Sadanoshin—who had once fallen— “Damn it!” And while remaining prostrate, he swept both of Tadashichi’s legs. Balancing on one leg and crossing them, Takebayashi Tadashichi’s second backward slash cut into Suzuki Sadanoshin’s face. A sound like grating gravel rang out as the blade deflected.

“Coward! Coward! Coward!” Shunsai, in a voice like that of a madman, next turned toward enemies other than Tadashichi and began wildly hurling whatever objects lay at hand. By whose blade he had been struck remained unknown, but when Takebayashi Tadashichi left and passed through that spot a second time, this pitiful young acolyte already lay fallen together with his friend Sadanoshin, having met a gruesomely heroic end.

×　　　×　　　×

An old text known as Akō Gijinroku states: There was a lone youth, He resisted fiercely, exerting all his strength. Though they could not avoid killing him, They also praised his bravery. They deeply mourned him. Moreover, in the days following the revenge, among the formal statements that Yoshida Chūzaemon later made to people, "Truly, in my own case, though my military fortune was poor and I did not encounter a single one of the principal enemies, there was a lone youth among the foe who fought with such extraordinary valor that, though I deemed it pitiable, I had no choice but to take his life. Yet the fervor of his courage—this was indeed the foremost of the Kira household."

he states. Shunsai—who had been called the foremost of the Kira household by Yoshida Chūzaemon, the Akō faction’s preeminent military strategist—was the fourteen-year-old son of a supplier merchant near Nihonbashi, having served as a tea ceremony apprentice for barely a year and several months.

Attendant Heihachirō Among the samurai and attendants of the Kira household were those who fled in confusion from indoors to outside and others who conversely rushed from outside into the building. Shimizu Ichigaku, Kobayashi Heihachirō, Kasahara Shichijirō, Ōsuga Jiemon—these were but a few among many. They were people resolved to die if they could draw even an inch or two closer to their lord, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke.

With a force that kept enemies at bay, catching sight of Kobayashi Heihachirō’s figure still trying to rush from outside the kitchen entrance into the building, “You don’t look like an enemy who neglects your rear—Wait! Wait! This is Fusa Kazuemon, a former Asano retainer—no trifling opponent!” A lone demon drenched in snow, mud, and blood strained his hoarse voice and hurled a sword gust at Heihachirō. “You want to die?!” Whirling around, he made Kazuemon’s blade slice empty air before his chest. Kazuemon planted his heels and slashed through the kitchen entrance’s bamboo rain gutter with a sharp *crack*.

With a thunderous crack, the eaves’ ice pillars—like hundreds of swords—shattered and came crashing down. Kazuemon had exposed his back to the enemy, but what struck it was an ice pillar; Heihachirō’s blade sliced through the neck guard of his helmet and clanged against his shoulder.

Had the chain-lined undergarment not protected his skin, Kazuemon’s shoulder would surely have been sliced off. The blade’s force was ferocious. Even though it hadn’t penetrated deeply, Kazuemon felt a heavy, painful reverberation from his shoulder bone down to his spine.

Their blades clashed like the interlocking teeth of a bamboo saw as the two dueled fiercely, with none daring to intervene. Fusa Kazuemon was a man formally recognized as a master of test-cutting among their faction. Heihachirō too—even among the many attendants selected by the Uesugi clan—stood acknowledged by all as a consummate swordsman and a man of unyielding integrity. Kazuemon held the advantage of full armor. Heihachirō’s robe tore as though chiseled by blades, each of his many wounds spurting blood.

At that moment, Mase Magokurō and Okuda Sadaemon arrived, “Kazue! We’ll help you!”

From both sides—spears!

Heihachirō reflexively parried Mase’s spear thrusting from his right and swiftly retreated into the building. Just then, atop that very spot, Kimura Okuemon—who had been crossing swords with a lone enemy—collided back-to-back with Heihachirō.

“Are you with Kira?!” With the sword he had been directing at his previous enemy, he struck Heihachirō’s waist, then staggered on one leg and slammed his body forcefully into the corner’s wooden wall. Heihachirō had slid and fallen toward Ōryūmoto. As Mase Magokurō pulled back his thrust spear there, raised a sword in one hand, and leapt outside once more with such vigor—even enemies like Kazuemon and Sadaemon—

*(Well fought!)* They had half a mind to voice their admiration. Yet the single strike to his waist had already taken its toll. He leapt out—but even Heihachirō collapsed onto the ground in the end. A spear thrust to the chest, a sword strike to the forehead—Fusa and Okuda delivered their blows. Still, even as Kobayashi Heihachirō fell onto his back, he swung his sword and thrashed his legs— “Ugh—” —and did not cease combat until he drew his last breath.

The three men heaved a sigh so deep it seemed to rise from their very shoulders.—And with that, a fatigue akin to having battled some formidable foe assailed their bodies. “We can’t stay like this—what of Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s whereabouts?” “The signal whistle still hasn’t sounded.” “There! To the sworn enemy we seek!” Grabbing handfuls of snow to wet their throats, Fusa, Okuda, and Kimura trampled over the muddy footprints with their own soiled feet and plunged into the hermitage. By then, the battle against those within the household was just passing its fiercest peak. And gasping for breath on their own,

“Where’s the enemy? Where’s the enemy?”

“The Kira father and son—” “Where did he go?” “Find Kira!” Voices crying out in unison raced through bloodshot eyes as the house search began everywhere. Shimizu Ichigaku—Kira’s lifelong retainer. No—the fierce clash could not yet be declared over. At the corridor of the main hall, a pair had been locked in combat since earlier, their sword ridges grinding together. The man visible there was a stout, round-faced youth whose robust build immediately marked him as Yokokawa Kanpei, the Asano family’s gunpowder supervisor.

Kanpei had been armed with a sword from the very beginning—a large blade befitting his stature. His companion was Tomimori Sukeemon, master of the cross-shaped spear; tonight’s weapon was naturally that which he wielded best. The foe overwhelming these two men was none other than Shimizu Ichigaku—the Kira household’s peerless warrior who styled himself Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s lifelong retainer. Gripping both long and short swords in his hands—(Come! However many you bring!)—he settled into a stance that seemed to declare. This man still moved with undiminished composure.

Wherever Ichigaku charged, several of the Akō forces were wounded—left to collapse, kicked aside, or beheaded by the momentum of his blade’s tip. An opponent had fallen into the pond. An opponent had been knocked off from the edge of the veranda. Yet Ichigaku had not yet put a single knee to the ground. There was nothing more than a single shallow graze visible near his left forearm. Was this the strength of his heart, the fortitude of his spirit, or the prowess of his arm? In terms of resolve, both the Akō men and Shimizu Ichigaku harbored the same unwavering determination. Shimizu Ichigaku had long since fortified within himself the same degree of resolve as the forty-seven men.

(If I retreat from here, my Bushido means nothing.) Standing with absolute resolve, he drew both his long and short swords and committed himself on this snowy night to the culmination of his loyalty to his master, his personal integrity, and a samurai's life. Yokokawa Kanpei was short-tempered.

Though they considered encountering this formidable enemy a stroke of martial fortune for tonight’s battle, it brought them no closer to resolution. Kanpei’s impatience naturally manifested in his swordplay—and Ichigaku saw through it. (If he comes closer) There, his twin swords left an opening.

With a *thud*—a sound like the floor collapsing—came from Kanpei’s feet. His large body stomped down the corridor and lunged at the enemy. “Tch— Damn it!” Lunging into empty space, Kanpei—his entire body carried upside down—slashed his large sword into the four-sided pillar of the tatami room. Ichigaku, in that instant— (Got him!)

As if seizing the moment, he swung his great sword at Kanpei’s back, but Tomimori Sukeemon’s spear would not permit it. The cross-shaped light flashed upward, grazing from beneath the chin to the tip of the nose. *Clang!* The short sword in his left hand deflected it.

The spear shaft remained unsevered. With a sharp pull to his grip, he thrust again. Again and again, the same flash of steel repeated its arc. Ichigaku appeared increasingly vexed by Sukeemon’s persistence. The instant Sukeemon lowered his stance, Ichigaku’s body flexed like a fish—his motion sent the spearpoint skyward as his blade sliced through Sukeemon’s shin. “Grhh!”

The chain of his greave deflected the blade—though his leg remained unharmed，the pain rendered him unable to stand．Letting out an involuntary groan，Sukeemon collapsed into a seated position with a heavy thud．

Then, at that moment,

“I won’t take you from behind, Ichigaku! Reinforcements are coming!”

Katakana Genzaemon shouted. Toward Katakana came a silent naginata thrust slicing through the air. In the brief moment when he gasped and jerked back his foot, Ichigaku leaped over the veranda and emerged once more into the snow-covered courtyard. “Coward!” As someone cursed, Ichigaku twisted his face—burning with sweat—into a smile, “I took my stance—how is that cowardly? Those raised in Akō may prefer cramped spaces from growing up in a small domain—but my Shimizu Ichigaku style knows no bounds! Come at me! All together now!”

“What?!”

They could no longer distinguish friend from foe. They resembled swarming crows descending upon their prey. The earth’s snow turned to powder, and the blizzard engulfed swords and figures. Ichigaku strove to hold the swarm of enemies in a single line before him while keeping himself in a position of freedom—yet even he slipped two or three times on the snow. Each time, he would seize an inhuman vitality and leap back up. Before he knew it, his entire body was drenched in blood. His hair was disheveled. Could a single human soul radiate such ferocious, such solemn—such annihilating beauty? Those who charged toward it, those who advanced to strike it down—all now stood equal, with no distinction between enemy and ally.

Those who strike do so for a single vow of loyal spirits; those struck do so solely for an undivided path of loyal devotion. A blossom—blood, snow, blades, eyes—all were blossoms of humanity’s highest morality, polished through the samurai’s way. Though they pursued him relentlessly, they had grown overwhelmed by this enemy who showed no sign of meeting his end, “A worthy foe, I must say. “I see Lord Kira’s household too contains men of valor. “I am Horibe Yasube Takeyuki—ronin of Asano!”

Having announced his name, a man rushed from the side and stood before Ichigaku. (Horibe?) With that, Ichigaku opened his eyes wide—clouded with sweat. “The foe I’ve sought!” “The adversary I’ve longed for!” Their voices already sparked flames. The small sword in Ichigaku’s left hand—released like a flying fish beneath his words—darted toward Yasube’s chest. No sooner had the gleam arced behind him than Yasube’s body and Ichigaku’s body pressed chest-to-chest, their tsuba locked in a clash of steel.

However, slipping on the snow they had been trampling, the two bodies immediately drew a spinning dance, and their blades—aiming for the slimmest opening—slashed through each other’s sleeves.

At that collar, Tomimori Sukeemon’s jūmonji spear caught hold. With a gasp, Shimizu Ichigaku’s face snapped upward— that face, the last he would show to the snowy dawn of this world. With a praying strike, Yasube Takeyuki’s sword cleaved from his shoulder down to his chest.

Blood gushed three feet―― His blood was red. “Grhh…”

Like a great tree falling, he ended his young life—still in his thirties—while grasping life’s essence in the void. Since Ichigaku had inscribed his own death date alongside his mother’s on that paper mortuary tablet when she died, his corpse must have frozen there in the snow, still smiling. “…………” Yasube, Sukeemon, Kanpei, and Gengo—all who had drenched themselves in sweat for his sake—quietly drew their blades back and gazed upon his death for a time.

Restlessness

A rooster crows in the distance—

Dawn was near.

A voice resembling Yoshida Chūzaemon's called out, "Retired lords generally reside beyond the inner courtyard—in the rear rather than the front quarters." "Search the rear! Comb through the back!"

From somewhere, he strained his voice to command. “Locating Lord Kira’s whereabouts is what matters most.” “Now, let’s go!”

Yasube and his group abandoned Ichigaku’s corpse and, each heading their own way, turned back into the building, "You retired bastard—where have you hidden?"

And, with bloodshot eyes, they searched frantically.

Then, at the corner of the central corridor, a large man collided with Yasube’s shoulder with a thud upon their sudden encounter. Behind him was another young man, about twenty years old, gripping a naginata as he edged along the wall, his eyes wide with fear. The large man was Sudo Yoichiemon, a steward, and a man whom Yasube had long heard was a master of martial arts. Yoichiemon stepped back in surprise and moved his hand to his sword hilt.

“You bastard!” He drew his sword in a swift strike, extending his elbow. Yasube let his opponent slash at empty air two or three times before cutting down Yoichiemon in one decisive motion. Then the young man who had been pressed against the wall with a naginata suddenly charged forward in a frenzy, whirling the blade wildly. Yet the flimsiness of its cutting arc forced a bitter smile from Yasube.

(This one moves like a court noble.) Thinking this, he knocked down the naginata, delivered a single-handed strike, and the young man let out a shrill, incomprehensible cry as he fled. “Do not pursue those who hide.” “Do not harm women or children.” “Shoot down without fail—using half-bows—anyone who climbs over the wall to flee outside.” These were the ironclad principles that Ōishi Kuranosuke and Shusuke had been repeatedly calling out to their comrades engaged in the task since earlier.

Yasube did not so much as glance at the fleeing young man. But when he suddenly picked up the nagamaki that had been discarded behind him, he saw its blade inlaid with blue shell, its fittings gold-plated, with the Kira family’s paulownia crest scattered across its designated crest area. “Ah… So that was the heir, Sahyōe-no-suke!” What a waste—he clicked his tongue—but the figure had already vanished into hiding. “—He’s not here?”

“—He’s not here?”

“Where’s the retired lord?”

Ma Jūjirō, Ōtaka Gengo, Kurahashi Densuke, and others called out as they passed by— At the rear entrance’s cedar door, Kinmatsu Kanroku was fighting Torii Toshizaemon, a Kira faction retainer. When Ma, Ōtaka, and the others rushed over, “No assistance needed!”

Refusing [their aid], he pressed forward again and again, driving Toshizaemon back—but perhaps realizing he couldn’t win, Toshizaemon fled into the courtyard. “Take this back!” Chasing closely, the momentum of his attempted strike carried him too far, and Kanroku plunged into the courtyard pond. If Toshizaemon had turned back and struck a single blow, Kanroku’s life would have been in peril. But——Toshizaemon was already panicking. He clung to a garden tree and stretched his leg toward the top of the wall.

Whizz— From inside the tatami room came the whine of a half-bow’s arrow that pierced deep into Toshizaemon’s back. Into the pond from which Kanroku had crawled up now tumbled Toshizaemon’s corpse, head over heels. The later they were encountered, the tougher the remaining enemies proved to be. Of the eleven swordsmen dispatched as retainers by the Uesugi clan—Sakakibara Heiemon, Ōsuga Jirōemon, Yamayoshi Shinpachi among them—most fought valiantly and died by the blade. By contrast, many hereditary retainers of the Kira family had fled into hiding. Most laughable were the senior vassals with large stipends—they cowered without shame or dignity.

The peak of destructive power is always momentary. The clang of blades, groans, and twang of bowstrings that had arisen across carnage-strewn battlefields here and there gradually diminished. And now they all merely voiced aloud—

“Where?” “Isn’t he here―” “There too!” “He’s not here!”

Exchanging words all the while, their eyes frenzied—noses—lips—every fiber of their beings taut with nerves—they began searching for Lord Kōzuke-no-suke Kira's whereabouts. They had fought, fought to the fullest, and won. Yet the crucial final objective still withheld the triumphant song from the Akō side.

In the town, even the first rooster’s crow could now be heard. The dawn had arrived. Yet despite having come this far, the crucial figure of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke was nowhere to be found! “Tch… Did he get away?” Already there were those stamping their feet in frustration. Letting out cries of despair, “What a disappointment…” And there were others moistening their eyes with blood-like tears as they wandered about, sniffing through the darkness. “What’s this? It’s still too early for despair.”

Even the old man who was scolding them like this—yet his expression lacked confidence.

Room by room, meticulously,

“Hah!” “Hrah!” Raising their spears, they thrust them into the ceiling with dull thuds, pried up floorboards, kicked in every cabinet they found, and slashed about with spears and swords. “Do not rush! Do not panic!”

Yoshida Chūzaemon went about saying such things because his comrades had grown far too frantic.

“Even if dawn breaks without finding him, we’ll spend tomorrow’s full day searching until we do. We’ve already confirmed through exhaustive consultation that Lord Kira remained home through the night. Furthermore, not one drop has leaked from tonight’s arrangements. Do not panic—do not lose heart—search every corner of this mansion with utmost care.”

Chūzaemon’s words always carried a peculiar credibility; no matter the situation, the group trusted his voice and felt their strength renewed. Where was the retired lord’s bedroom? Where were the living quarters? What about the tea room?—such questions had been exhaustively investigated through reconnaissance before the raid, and with floor plans in Chūzaemon’s possession, they believed they had ample prior knowledge. Yet once they began rampaging through in such disarray, their knowledge of the diagrams proved utterly useless.

Moreover, there were hidden rooms in unexpected places and tea rooms that had been constructed, making the mansion so vast that they couldn’t help but get lost wondering whether that area was the living quarters or this one was the bedroom. Isogai Jūrōza was one who should have known this layout best. For he had, through some means, obtained a diagram of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s bedroom and previously delighted their faction with it.— “What say you, Lord Isogai—the bedroom?”

Ōishi Shusuke said to him.

Kimura Okuemon also followed along from behind,

“Don’t you know?” Jūrōza, his eyes burning with urgency, “Hmm?” He shook his head without another word. They drifted into a secluded chamber—a nondescript twelve-tatami room. But when their gaze fell upon the alcove wall, they found the grand hanging scroll collapsed to the floor, revealing a lamp-window-like aperture yawning blackly where it had hung— “Ah?!” “A secret passage.”

A wind blew from the mouth of the hole. Okuemon started to approach but suddenly seemed to sense danger.

(What could be inside?)

While he was thinking this, Shusuke casually crawled through the hole. This matter was later addressed by Okuemon and the others when they had been entrusted to the Hisamatsu family, in response to the question of why they had been unable to enter the hole at that time and had been preceded by Lord Shusuke—

(It seems that not only do people differ in courage and cowardice, but even among the courageous, there are differences in degree.) he reflected honestly. As soon as Shusuke entered the hole, “Got him!”

he shouted from inside. Of course, Jūrōza and Okuemon followed close behind immediately. What their feet touched was a cold wooden corridor, but beyond it lay three rooms that could not be detected from anywhere. In one room lay resplendent bedding, with a candlestick by the pillow; mingling with the aura of surrounding objects lingered an air of nobility and the alluring scent of a bedchamber. Needless to say, this could only be Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s bedroom.

But around the extinguished oil lamp, a gold-lacquered tobacco tray lay overturned; in the corner, a woman’s discarded garments lay cold and disheveled—yet across all three rooms and beneath their futons, there was no one. Behind the clothes rack. Shusuke slid his hand into the bedding, “It’s still warm!”

he muttered.

“It’s open! The rear—” “The rear—” Kimura Okuemon exclaimed simultaneously. “So there’s still another hidden passage ahead—” With that, the two hurried to the rear. Isogai Jūrōza, just to be certain, stayed behind and was prodding around the ceilings and closets there. In the room adjacent to the bedroom, in one corner, a gold-lacquered clothes rack stood visible, upon which hung a blue-gold surcoat and a faded crimson kosode.

Suddenly… The clothes rack swayed and began to fall on its own. Jūrōza jerked around,

“…?” He fixedly aimed the white tip of his spear toward the shadow of the clothes rack and held his breath intently.

There was someone hiding here!

Moreover, it was a woman.

There must have been several guards stationed there as well, but how had she remained hidden alone in such a place even after all of them had fled? But it seemed Jūrōza had already solved that mystery. For the eyes of the woman trembling behind the clothes rack and Jūrōza’s eyes were locked together as if no spear could come between them. The woman’s eyes were filled with tears. In Jūrōza’s eyes too, there suddenly glistened beads of passion—indistinguishable whether blood or tears.

“...It’s dangerous—don’t come out.”

Jūrōza said faintly.

“……” The woman was stifling sobs with her shoulders， but the trembling spread to the clothes rack and kosode.

At that moment―― It seemed someone else had noticed the hidden passage here, for footsteps echoed. A clamor of voices arose. “Oh…” Jūrōza appeared somewhat flustered—he had likely missed his chance to say the one last word he intended. With a swift whirl of his body, he too leapt out toward the snow-lit rear exit where Shusuke and Okuemon had gone earlier. That was the moment.—In the sky, the crimson of dawn began to faintly appear.

A whistle sounded. Signal. That had been prearranged in this manner. “Lord Kira is here!”

They had found Lord Kōzuke-no-suke. Four breaths—five breaths—the whistle continued to be blown until every last member had gathered without fail. An old scar. Just as there had been a bedroom in an unexpected place, so too was there a kitchen meant solely for the retirement residence in another unforeseen location. It was the charcoal storeroom there. It was a standalone building, and a lock hung from the outside of the shed’s door. At first glance, it appeared completely normal, “Hmm?” Shusuke stopped in his tracks, and Okano Kin’emon gently pressed his ear against the wooden panel and listened intently.

Meanwhile, from one alleyway, having broken through the gate, Yata Gorōzaemon arrived here with Horibe Yasube, and Yokawa Kanpei and Ma Jūjirō also rushed up right behind them. “Suspicious!” Kanpei said. “Open it!” When Shusuke approached, Yasube, fearing potential danger, pushed him aside and reached for the door. Yata Gorōzaemon struck the lock two or three times with the butt of his spear. As the lock was struck off, the charcoal storeroom door swung open with a groan.

When a man tentatively stepped inside, dishes, bowls, charcoal, and pieces of wood suddenly came flying from the pitch-black darkness. "There they are—two or three of them!"

By that time, a considerable number had already gathered there. Someone shouted for those in front to step back and loosed an arrow from a half-bow into the charcoal storeroom. Then from the darkness, a young samurai charged out resolutely, slashing. That was Kasahara Shichijirō—who until just before the raid had patrolled the mansion grounds nightly, devotedly guarding his master’s peaceful sleep. “If I die—” He spoke those words, but no further cry followed. The instant he swung his sword overhead and lunged forward, beneath countless spears and blades, only the fresh-faced visage of disheveled youth remained—obstructing the mud-stained feet of the crowd.

Next, another middle-aged samurai charged out in desperation, but he was kicked in the shin, threw his sword into their midst, and collapsed. Grabbing his collar, “Tell us where Lord Kōzuke-no-suke is.” “If you don’t speak plainly, this will happen!” Yata Gorōzaemon thrust his spear into the seated man’s thigh and pressed the attack. The middle-aged samurai stubbornly refused to speak. He picked up the dropped sword, “Damn it!” Since he suddenly seemed about to resist with his blade, “Too much trouble!”

The group cut him down.

An eerie tension abruptly creaked around the entrance of the charcoal storeroom—there was still another person inside. Moreover, he seemed to be an old man.

A dreadful, rumbling sound of violent thrashing arose. They thought someone had entered the charcoal storeroom, but that was not the case. The sole remaining person seemed to be moving blindly, trying to destroy something.

Ma Jūjirō entered. When he saw that figure, he came bolting out toward the entrance. (Kira—!) While instinctively realizing this, Jūjirō thrust his spear toward the man’s feet. The old man vigorously stepped one step outside and then plopped down with a thud. Without realizing it was Kōzuke-no-suke, Takebayashi Tadashichi bowed deeply and delivered a single sword strike. “...Huh?” “...Could it be?” “Th-that’s right!” “Kira?” The men were still half-convinced.

His hair was square-cut and streaked with white. He appeared to be over sixty years old, wearing a silk nightgown with a white undergarment beneath. When they searched inside his clothing, two amulets worn close to his skin—a Kannon statue and a Jizō statue—came out. “So it is...” “This must be him!” Everyone had already decided.—Yet in truth, not one among them had ever seen Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s face up close. “If this is Lord Kōzuke-no-suke,” came the voice, “there should be an old wound—either on his face or body—”

“If this is Lord Kōzuke-no-suke,” said Kuranosuke.

One person examined the hairline on the forehead. “There it is!” he said. “Is it there?!” “It’s here.”

“Oh…” “Oh, that wound… That old scar on his forehead—it’s the one! The scar from when our late lord struck him down in the palace.” When the words “our late lord” slipped from someone’s lips, the group suddenly felt their chests tighten as tears welled in their eyes. …Snf. Two or three men stifled their sobs. When they saw someone bend an arm to cover their face, those who witnessed it broke through their suppressed emotions, “Hey!”

“Oooh…” They clung to those beside them, resting their faces on each other’s shoulders until finally all burst into tears of joy and wailed aloud—the old men wept; the young people wept. Even Kuranosuke kept his fingertips pressed to his eyelids and, for a short while, remained unaware of the shifting dawn sky.

The Uesugi Clan’s Resolution to Avoid War

Tofu Shop Courier

Every morning, around the time when the sound of the morning prayer bell—rung before dawn—reached the back of Ekō-in Temple, it was always at that hour that the tofu shop couple opened their rain shutters. “Gisuke! Gisuke! It’s me—Kimura Jōhachi! Still not up? Hurry and open this!”

That morning. The front door remained shut, but Gisuke and his wife of the tofu shop had already risen from their bed. By the bean-grinding mortar, Gisuke held aloft a lantern while his wife drew frigid well water in the earthen-floored room.

“Okura, someone’s knocking on the shop door,” said Gisuke. “An awfully rough fellow. Open it and tell ’em we don’t house deaf folk here!” “Still not dawn—what impatient fool’s this?” Okura retorted. “I’ll open it now, so quit battering! You’ll break the door!” Yet the pounding continued outside. “Asleep, Gisuke? It’s me—Kimura Jōhachi! Open up quick!” “Ah! That’s Master Kimura’s voice!”

In the icy washing area, the teeth of the geta that Gisuke wore slipped perilously, nearly making him lose his footing. “Is that you, Master?” “It’s me. A terrible thing has happened—I need your help. Hurry and do it.” “I’ll open it now.”

The threshold was frozen solid as well. When she pulled it open with all her strength, outside was a blinding expanse of white snow and the pale light of the morning moon. This tofu shop supplied Kira’s household kitchen, had a reputation for honesty, served as a gathering spot when young samurai went out for nighttime revelries, and its proprietor Gisuke had long been on familiar terms with Jōhachi.

“Do come in. What brings you here so early?” “You don’t know?” “What do you mean we don’t know?” “The Akō ronin have finally attacked Lord Kira’s mansion.” “What? When?” “Just now.” “……” When they listened closely, the morning moon shone brightly, and the nearby town lay utterly still, though somewhere beyond, the raging sounds of a blizzard echoed faintly through. After all, this old man had always been such a staunch Kira supporter that he often quarreled with others over it. The moment his body shuddered violently,

“Old woman, I’m going out for a bit.” “Don’t you dare open the shop door until I get back.” Jōhachi ran out into the snow with him without stating his business, but “Gisuke! Gisuke! Don’t turn that way—this way! This way!” “But, to Lord Kira’s mansion—” “Just shut up and follow me.” “If you go that way, the direction to the mansion will be reversed.” “Just where on earth are you planning to go, sir?”

“I’m heading to the Uesugi clan’s main residence in Sakurada.”

“Huh? “Then… I…” “You, run to Lord Chisaka Hyōbu’s villa in Azabu Tanukiana and inform him of this grave matter.” As they ran across Ryōgoku Bridge, they continued shouting to each other. When they reached the crossroads of Bakurōchō, dawn-returning palanquins from Yoshiwara and packhorses for hire were gathered around a bonfire.

Kimura Jōhachi found a horse and immediately mounted it, but Gisuke said he couldn’t ride horses.

Considering the distance, going to the villa in Tanukiana was twice as far as going to the main residence in Sakurada. Now, Jōhachi had originally intended to go to Sakurada himself to deliver the urgent news, but he instead decided to send Gisuke in that direction, “Then, I’ll rush over to Lord Chisaka’s side. “Since delivering word to the main residence is also a matter of utmost urgency, if you cannot ride a horse, take a palanquin—take a palanquin!” Having said this abruptly, Jōhachi did not even let the groom take the reins. He continued to strike the horse’s flank with the end of the reins and galloped away into the distance in the blink of an eye. The powdery frozen snow enveloped the man and horse in pure white.

Sickly sweat

Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu had been confined to his sickbed since around May of that year. Those who superficially observed his circumstances—having been adopted into the Kira family to become lord of Yonezawa, a great domain—would call him fortunate or speak enviously of his rise, but Danjōdaihitsu himself always... Those who inherit a minor house are fortunate indeed. They have the drive to build up and expand, and can freely test their own strength. Is there not also the great rejoicing of being born human in that endeavor?

He had occasionally let slip such thoughts to his night attendants. Resembling his biological father, Kira Kōzuke-no-suke, he had a slender build and was tall, though his health did not mirror his father's. This was likely also due to having assumed the position of lord over this great domain while still young and lacking in human refinement, which forced him to remain constantly attentive to both internal and external affairs. The larger the domain grew, the more power its hereditary senior retainers and branch domains wielded; thus Danjōdaihitsu, who had come from outside to inherit the prestigious Uesugi family name, found himself in most cases merely addressed as "Lord" and treated as a figurehead.

To this situation—he constantly— "Please endure this trial—whether they be the hardships borne by those of low station or the trials endured by those governing a domain, all are equally precious ordeals. Not a single soul who avoided hardship’s gate ever achieved greatness in all history." Thus spoke the one who had encouraged him, comforted him, and—across both internal governance and external affairs—served as his sole pillar of strength through many years: the elderly retainer Chisaka Hyōbu.

Now，Chisaka Hyōbu had not been at the main residence since several days before this heavy snow arrived. Admittedly，even under normal circumstances，he was often stationed at the Azabu lower villa. Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu knew why he was often at the lower villa and understood his reasons.

(I am sorry) he apologized in his heart. Needless to say, it was the problem of the Kira family that had persisted since last year's incident on the fifteenth day of the third month—a matter concerning his biological father's circumstances. Danjōdaihitsu's illness had undoubtedly been caused in large part by that matter as well. In July of that year, his condition had grown so critical that the shogunate dispatched Miyake Bizen-no-kami as an official envoy to inquire after his health.

Hyōbu sat by the bedside, (With such timidity, how can you carry on?) (Leave everything to this old man.) He spoke with heartfelt warmth layered beneath his stern words. He would encourage him by invoking the final testament of Uesugi Kenshin, the clan’s founder, or quoting the words of sages. However, from Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu’s perspective, Chisaka Hyōbu’s hair had turned completely white over the past year or so. “Old man… Old man… I can’t atone.”

Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu suddenly opened his eyes in his bedchamber and immediately thought it again. He had been awakened by the heavy thud of snow sliding from the eaves of the main hall. With a start, he sat up and looked around the room where faint white steam rose from the large brazier. Two night-duty samurai sat dozing in a corner, their heads bowed identically as they maintained proper posture. "What hour is it?" He murmured the question as if to himself,

“Hah...” With that, the night-duty samurai raised his head and looked around,

“I believe… it is around the seventh hour.”

“Dawn is long in coming.”

“Is your chest paining you again? Shall I summon the court physician?” “No—” When he shook his head on the pillow, clattering footsteps rushed from the corridor into the next anteroom. There, the court physician, page chief, chamberlain, and others on night duty had barely exchanged a few words when— “Wh-what? Is it true?!” one man cried out in a near-scream. “Spies!” At this, everyone seemed to leap to their feet.

At the same time, “The Akō ronin have stormed Lord Kira’s mansion—it’s confirmed!” Someone rushed into the corridor and bellowed into the adjoining rooms. Danjōdaihitsu flung off his futon with a violent jerk,

“Wh-what?!” He looked up with a pale face. Before that pale face, Iwai Gorōzaemon, the chamberlain, opened the fusuma door and prostrated himself.

“You are awake, my lord?” “Gorōza, this noise—what is it… What has happened?” “Please do not be alarmed.” After ensuring his lord’s composure, Gorōza deliberately spoke in a calm voice. “At this moment, a townsman affiliated with Lord Kira—a tofu seller named Gisuke from Honjo—has rushed to the gate to report that early this dawn, a group of Akō ronin stormed into the mansion in Matsuzaka-chō and are currently wreaking havoc.”

“Hmm…”

Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu clenched his bloodless lips and stared fixedly at the white flicker of the candle stand. “Now…? So it’s… happening right now?”

"The details remain unclear, but the assault reportedly occurred mere moments ago. Kimura Jōhachi has confirmed the particulars..." Since July, the Governor—who had scarcely ventured beyond his sickroom—suddenly rose in his white silk nightclothes. "Damn them!" As he staggered forward, Gorōzaemon hastily caught him. "My lord! My lord... Where do you mean to go?"

“It’s obvious!” He shook off Gorōza’s hand. “Bring me my clothes! —Night-duty men! Prepare the equipment! Prepare at once!” he shouted in a fierce voice.

Beads of sweat formed on his pale forehead.

The Uesugi Onslaught Both Mori Kenmotsu, the page chief, and the close attendants stood blocking Danjōdaihitsu’s path entirely. They grasped his sleeves and supported his body, “It will aggravate your illness.” “My lord! My lord… please calm yourself.”

Danjōdaihitsu trembled his entire body as if seized by a spasm, “Illness? What does illness matter? Do you think that even if Kira’s mansion and the Uesugi clan’s honor are trampled underfoot by the Akō ronin with their muddy feet, as long as this Danjōdaihitsu lies here peacefully, it will not aggravate my illness?!” “...We are here.” “My lord, as long as we are here—” “Silence! Do you intend to make me an unfilial wretch?”

“That is not our intention, but…” “Bring it at once!”

The Governor, impatiently stamping his feet,

“This isn’t a kosode—it’s firefighting gear! If we miss this moment, those Akō ronin will flee at their leisure, leaving their filthy bootprints everywhere! Move!” It was the harshest reprimand ever heard from their lord’s lips—unprecedented in its ferocity. To obstruct him further now would risk being split cleanly in two by the sword he gripped, judging by his murderous expression.

“We have them, sir!” Three or four close attendants hurriedly placed firefighting attire beside him.

Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu had already discarded his sash.

The attendants divided the work of dressing his body with a belly band, undergarment, and leather tabi socks among themselves. "Danjōdaihitsu."

Behind him, the elderly mother’s voice called out. She was the wife of Kōzuke-no-suke and also his biological mother from his birth family, Lady Tomiko. Ever since the old residence at Gofukubashi was dismantled, Lady Tomiko had been separated from Lord Kōzuke-no-suke and taken into residence there. “Oh…” When Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu saw his elderly mother’s figure, his chest seethed as if boiling. Tears welled up, and he could not meet her gaze. The elderly mother’s eyes also appeared filled with tears. As Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu gazed upon the state of his preparations, the more disordered that emotion became—as if,

“Will you go to help?” she said.

“Yes.” Danjōdaihitsu braced both hands,

“I will go.” “Could I possibly stay away?” “How brave of you.”

Lady Tomiko quietly wiped her tears. “You and Lord Kōzuke-no-suke may have been blessed with children, but…” She began to voice another complaint about her husband, Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, but restrained herself in consideration of the Uesugi retainers nearby, “Do not injure yourself.—Ah… So it has finally come to this…” To the elderly mother who sighed and murmured, “You need not worry.”

Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu stepped out into the grand hallway with heavy footsteps, “Prepare the horses!”

he shouted. He snatched the mother-of-pearl-inlaid naginata from his attendants’ hands, tucked it under his arm, and stomped clatteringly toward the front with heavy footsteps,

“Ah! Where are you going?” Irobe Matajirō Shigemasa, the Edo chief retainer, came running belatedly and revealed his ashen face.

“It goes without saying. You—hold down the fort.”

“Wait.”

“What?!” “For Your Lordship to go personally would be an extraordinary measure, I believe.” “Why not dispatch someone from the household first and observe the situation yourself before proceeding?”

“Shut up! Do you not understand this is no time for such leisurely measures?!” Thudding footsteps—samurai gripping their weapons came filing in from the rear. Both the entrance and garden teemed with spears and naginatas, “What could masterless rōnin who’ve forsaken their stipends possibly accomplish through such recklessness?” “We must make those Akō curs learn their place once and for all.” “Do not raise such a clamor—it sullies the Uesugi clan’s dignity.” “But this cannot wait.” “Shall we advance first to verify the retired lord and his son’s safety?”

“But from our house,” Danjōdaihitsu declared, “eleven carefully selected attendants have been dispatched. There’s no way they’d all be slaughtered without resistance. Moreover—those guarding your lord’s person will grow perilously thin!” Already this commotion matched wartime mobilization. Every soul in the domain residence threw themselves into preparations.

At that moment, Maruyama Seiemon, a retainer of the Kira household, stumbled through the snow and came to report the sudden turn of events.

Just as Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu stepped out to the grand entrance.

“Seiemon—your father…?” he immediately asked. “He has taken his own life.” Seiemon said. He could not bring himself to say that his master’s severed head had been taken by the ronin.

“Ah! He’s taken his own life—!”

The governor’s resolute voice resounded simultaneously, striking the people of the Uesugi clan with shock,

(Damn it!) —they bit their lips, then— (Alright—now that it’s come to this…)

—and fueled their burning animosity toward the Akō ronin. Even before this, the hostility between the Akō ronin and Uesugi retainers had harbored a volatile mix of fire and oil for over a year. Since Kenshin’s time, the Uesugi clan had been a house that prided itself on martial prowess, and their domain residence teemed with hot-blooded men eager for conflict. To turn a blind eye now would disgrace both the Uesugi name and their standing as samurai—so they fumed.

By now, people had spilled beyond the gate as well. Then came two horses kicking up snow—an old warrior arriving at the domain residence’s gate accompanied by another figure. The white-haired man was senior retainer Chisaka Hyōbu; trailing behind him rode Kimura Jōhachi.

Hyōbu spurred his horse into the throng of armored samurai clamoring at the gate. “What madness is this?!” he barked. Leaping from the saddle, “None shall rush to Lord Kira’s calamity without my leave! —Back inside the gate!” “But these are our lord’s orders!”

When someone retorted, “Shut up!” Spreading his arms wide, Hyōbu pushed back the crowd and said: “The actions of a ronin group like Akō may be their own affair—but your actions are those of the Uesugi clan.” “By tradition, when a domain mobilizes its forces en masse, branch domains and senior vassals must first present their opinions before the provincial governor. Only through such council deliberations may orders be issued.” “It is no accident that the Chisaka house stands among Uesugi’s three great families alongside Hirobe and Sawane—since Lord Kenshin’s era, we have for generations occupied the highest seats in council chambers.” “Even were the governor himself to issue commands, once taking up arms, none may recklessly raise clamor without consent from Hyōbu and the other senior retainers.”

At his righteous reprimand, the samurai withdrew inside the gate. To those still hesitating, “Let me make this absolutely clear—anyone who rushes to Lord Kira’s mansion without permission will face severe punishment.” Having said his piece, he handed the reins to Jōhachi, pushed through the crowd of domain samurai, and proceeded toward the entrance. The news of Hyōbu’s arrival immediately reached the governor’s ears. The horse adorned with a mother-of-pearl saddle had already arrived there, but Danjōdaihitsu stood as still as a fossil, the butt end of his naginata planted on the platform, waiting for him.

“Oh… old man.” “My lord.” The master and retainer pair stood rooted for a short while after exchanging those words, their hearts seething in wordless silence. the same mistake as before “Well…”

Hyōbu bent forward, “Please proceed to the inner chambers. —Please proceed to the inner chambers.” With that, he too ascended to the entrance hall and planted himself down. “Hyōbu—did you hear?” “The details come from Kimura Jōhachi.” “Knowing this—you dare tell *me* to withdraw?” “I have matters to discuss.” “I’ve heeded your words until today, old man. —But this I cannot allow! Do not hinder me!” “I *will* hinder you.—Even should you claim this Hyōbu’s life.”

“What?!” “Though Lords Irobu and Fukazawa are present, why do they not stop you? Even if Hyōbu dies, he will not release the hem of these hakama.” Uesugi Danjōdaihitsu could no longer contain the explosion of emotions he had been suppressing until then. “Hyōbu!—You old fool!” “Yes.” “Do you intend to make this Danjōdaihitsu a laughingstock of the realm? Do you intend to make me the most unfilial son in all the world?!” “With all due respect, it is precisely as your lordship says.”

“Have you gone mad?” Instinctively, Danjōdaihitsu raised his foot and shook off Hyōbu’s hand clutching the hem of his hakama. Hyōbu’s gaunt body thudded onto the tatami mats, yet his grip remained unbroken. The enraged lord kept shouting, “Release me! Release me!”

Dragging Hyōbu’s body two or three steps with a scraping sound, “Retainers! If you hesitate any longer, the Akō ronin will disperse, and the Uesugi clan’s disgrace will never be erased for all eternity! Tear this interfering old man away from my feet and lock him in the inner chambers!” “I beg you to wait.” Hyōbu clung on desperately. Even if his close attendants were to rush in out of duty to their lord’s command—he would likely rebuke them and drive them away—his sharp, pale eyes glared fixedly at the entire group. It was none other than Chisaka Hyōbu. No one laid a hand.

“My lord, just a moment… just a moment, I beg you to wait.” “Hyōbu has something to show you.” “What?!”

“It is the Five-Article Family Precepts that the Chisaka house received from Lord Kenshin, founder of the domain.” “Please look at just the first article.” It states:—

“Article 1: Uesugi exists, and then Chisaka exists; Chisaka exists, and then Uesugi exists. Solely this—the realm must be prioritized.” “It states as such.” “…………” “I do not mean to boast, but the Chisaka house—since our ancestor Chisaka Kagechika—has been appointed hereditary chief retainers. In matters critical to the survival of the domain, we are endowed by Lord Kenshin himself with authority equal to that of the Uesugi clan’s lord to devise solutions in times of crisis.—Though it is presumptuous to say so, my lord, while you and Hyōbu are indeed master and servant, there is a difference in age. However wise you may be, I believe Hyōbu has observed more of the world, understood men’s hearts, grasped the essence of affairs, and moreover excels in discernment from the perspective of the greater whole.”

“Old man—you’re spouting such nonsense just to needlessly prolong this moment!” “Exactly as you surmise.” “However, in time—when that turns out well—even my earnest remonstrations will surely meet with your understanding.” “How could things turn out well later?” “Where does the Uesugi clan’s honor stand?” “The name of Danjōdaihitsu’s unfilialness will be a laughingstock for all eternity—with that, can the warrior class stand?” “Let them laugh. The world will laugh without fail.” “But even in allowing their mockery—there lies the great duty of the warrior class.”

“Shut up! —Resign already! Let go! Bring the horses!”

“You obstinate fool!”

With that, Hyōbu—straining his voice as if scolding a child—

“Have you forgotten that you are lord of the great domain of Yonezawa?” “Which holds greater import—the crisis facing your natal family or the fate of Yonezawa itself? And can you not grasp that while Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s death weighs heavily, the lives of every soul in the Uesugi clan weigh heavier still?” This was no ordinary vassal’s voice. At its severity, Danjōdaihitsu froze mid-stride. “Sit.”

Hyōbu declared solemnly and drew himself upright.

“Your Lordship’s feelings are not unreasonable—they are entirely justified.” “Hyōbu can well imagine how gut-wrenching Your Lordship’s anguish must be.” “The bond between parent and child—it must indeed be so.” “But fundamentally—a ruler must make their very person embody the people’s will; their whole being must become the heart of their retainers.” “That is the kingly way.” “To be swayed by self-interest, personal pride, or petty righteousness—even when such motives seem just—is impermissible for a sovereign.” “Your Lordship’s affection constitutes petty righteousness.” “The great duty of the warrior class lies elsewhere… Suppose you were to—driven by these passions—mobilize an entire domain’s samurai to clash with Akō’s masterless men.” “Not only would this breed horrific carnage—within the shogunate’s very seat, you would face charges for inciting unlawful strife. Retribution from Edo would be inevitable.” “Would my lord deem it acceptable to battle stipendless ronin at the cost of overturning Uesugi’s ancestral domain?” “Moreover—can you truly believe your late father’s severed head might somehow regain life?”

“…………” “For some time now—anticipating this day might come—I have endeavored to prepare Your Lordship’s resolve through subtle counsel… Yet until now, had you remained so undecided in your heart?” “…………” “Have you not seen with your own eyes—how Asano Takuminokami’s rashness scattered countless retainers and their families into wretchedness, weeping openly in the streets?”

“…………” “To reiterate, Your Lordship’s very being is not Your Lordship’s own.” “You must embody the people’s will, make your retainers’ hearts your flesh, and—having received from our domain’s founder the sacred duty to safeguard the realm—though you must bite down on bitter trials until your teeth crack, cast aside all personal desires, and dedicate this body wholly to populace and land.”

“…………” Danjōdaihitsu had collapsed where he stood and now sat motionless, head bowed in silence. Hyōbu steadied his trembling voice—a voice that threatened to crack with emotion—and pressed on: “Ōishi Kuranosuke—the leader of those ronin—has his own position to uphold, his own mission, his own code as a warrior-retainer.” “For him, this may indeed be the finest path of bushido—but for you, my lord—for the Uesugi clan—to act merely from outrage at present circumstances and charge blindly into conflict is no great duty.” “Let the heartless townsfolk mock if they will—true scholars and those who understand the warrior’s way would never rashly brand this house as cowardly or unfilial.”

“Hyōbu… I… I understand…” “I hear your words as the founder’s rebuke.” “What a waste.” Hyōbu prostrated himself, “Then—have you come to accept it?”

“I was mistaken,” “I nearly trod the same path as Asano Takuminokami.”

“It grows cold… my lord… Please rise.” “Your precious health—especially in your current illness—now, to your sickroom.”

With that, he took the governor’s hand and led him to the inner rooms.

No one else followed besides the two. When they had closed themselves in, Danjōdaihitsu suddenly clung to Hyōbu’s body, “Old man… Old man—understand me! Understand me!” “There, there…” Hyōbu too, upon entering that space, found his voice and body grown brittle. Sobbing as though struck mute, he spilled tears onto the governor’s back while still clinging to him, “I understand… Please… please endure this.” “…From this day forth, Hyōbu too is an invalid.” With that, both lord and retainer collapsed where they sat.

Having said that, both master and retainer collapsed where they sat.

The Taste of Mandarins

Inevitably, the Uesugi forces will attack here! That was something that Kuranosuke, Yoshida Chūzaemon, and everyone had anticipated.

(Withdrawal)

When the small whistle resounded, the ronin patrolled the trampled mansion grounds, extinguishing candle flames as they went. They doused remaining embers in braziers with water, counted enemy dead and wounded, and tended to their own injured.

“To Ekō-in! To Ekō-in!” With that, they divided and exited through the rear and main gates. Their allies’ injuries numbered only four—Yokokawa Kanpei, Hara Sōemon, Chikamatsu Kanroku, and Kanzaki Yogorō—but the counted enemy corpses amounted to sixteen. Beyond these, more than twenty others had sustained light or grave wounds.

They emerged onto Ryōgoku-suji Avenue at around the Hour of the Hare (6 AM). The morning moon still hung in view.

“Do not break formation!” “The battle isn’t over yet!”

At the rear of the column, Yoshida Chūzaemon and Hara Sōemon—who walked with a limp—called out to the younger men at the front. From the front of the column, Kanzaki Yogorō alone ran ahead. (Scouting?) The men, who had kept the threat of Uesugi’s forces foremost in their minds, immediately assumed this and tensed—but Yogorō turned left at the corner of a long earthen wall and began pounding violently on Ekō-in Temple’s great gate. “I come to address the temple,” “We are ronin who served the late Asano Takuminokami. We have just now avenged our lord’s death and withdrawn from Lord Kira’s mansion.” “We humbly beg your pardon, but we wish to borrow the temple grounds for a brief rest. As we will cause no trouble, we ask that you open this gate.”

After repeating his demands several times and shouting,

“We appreciate your efforts, but—”

A dull reply came from within the gate. “Unfortunately, as the abbot is away, we cannot open the gate on our own authority.” “Yes… It seems we truly cannot permit entry.” Yogorō clicked his tongue and turned back.

During that time, the group stood at the crossroads, preparing for any unexpected enemies, but upon hearing they had been refused at Ekō-in, “Then let’s rest there—that’s the spot.” he pointed. It was a nearby sake shop. The owner opened the door and glanced this way nonchalantly, then startled, lost color in his face, and hurriedly began to close the opened door. “Open up! Open up!” Yasube ran over and seemed to be calming the trembling proprietor. Laughing, he raised his hand and beckoned to the group, so everyone gathered there. They gave him money,

“Proprietor, bring out one barrel of that straw-wrapped sake under the eaves.” Holding teacups, the men gulped down cold sake that chilled their teeth. The eastern sky faintly brightened with dawn, while Lord Kira Kōzuke-no-suke’s severed head—wrapped in a white under-robe and lashed to a spear’s blade tip—was held aloft. “Ah—this seeps right into the bones!” Someone said. Kuranosuke too accepted a teacup. The elderly men clicked their tongues as they drank.

“This taste—even in death, I will never forget it.”

Old Man Jūnai laughed dryly and spoke.

Ōtaka Gengo and Tomimori Sukeemon had summoned the sake shop owner to bring an inkstone and were jotting down what appeared to be haiku. “Let me see that.” Peering at it, Okuda Magodayu recited: “Even strength to rend mountains breaks—snow on pine.” “This is Ōtaka Koyō’s verse.” “Indeed.” Everyone nodded. “What of Sukeemon’s?” “A winter bird’s flesh stripped bare— / its fate unknown.” “A fine composition.”

At that moment, a man arrived carrying a box of mandarins mixed with rice cakes. It was Jinzaburō, Kinmatsu Kanroku’s manservant. “Well noticed.” Kinmatsu Kanroku praised him and distributed rice cakes and mandarins into everyone’s hands. In the snow, the peels of mandarins lay scattered in vivid yellow. It was simply impossible to see them as people who had just emerged drenched in blood from that ferocious battle. Shusuke, Sukeemon, Uemonnana—the young ones were already cracking jokes and laughing uproariously.

As the sky grew pale, the bloodstains on each under-robe and weapon began to appear vividly to the eye.

Kuranosuke addressed the group,

“Those with spears should tear off their sleeve markings and wrap the spearheads.” Kuranosuke instructed.

By now, a jet-black crowd had gathered at the crossroads of the main street before anyone realized. No one approached. From afar, one could perceive the astonishment in their countless eyes as they gazed at our numbers and clamored noisily. “It seems the Uesugi clan isn’t attacking either.” Yoshida Chūzaemon muttered, “Chisaka is here.” Kuranosuke said in a low voice. However, the others still did not feel at ease by any means. Not only the Uesugi clan—there was also the possibility of a punitive attack being launched from the Kira family.

Before long, Horibe’s elderly nephew Kujūrō, Ōishi Sanpei—a distant relative of Kuranosuke—and swordsman Horiuchi Gentazaemon arrived with two or three disciples each, “Congratulations on successfully achieving your noble ambition—” they gathered to offer words of congratulations. According to their observations, “There’s no sign of Uesugi forces approaching from Sakurada or Azabu either.” Such was the report. “Well then,”

Forming their ranks, the group began their march along the road to Sengaku-ji Temple. Since the fifteenth was Orei-no-Hi—the day feudal lords attended the shogun’s castle—they deliberately avoided crossing Ryōgoku Bridge and instead proceeded straight along the riverside road of Higashi-Ryōgoku, reaching Hitotsume Bridge. “Oh!” Squinting, the people shaded their eyes with their hands above their brows. Upon each of the forty-six faces, the morning sun—having just broken through the clouds of dawn—burned crimson.

Sengaku-ji Hearthside Tale

The Gate of Time

When the rumor spread, within the span of time it took for the morning sun to rise, the snow across Edo had turned pitch black.

All the citizens went out into the streets and made a commotion, squinting.

“They did it!” The citizens watched as their premonition had become an undeniable fact passing before their eyes, “They did it!” they felt like shouting even more. The simple emotion immediately stirred into unrest. The streets, barely past dawn, were transformed by the uproar into a scene unlike any ordinary day. Of course, among the diverse citizenry, most were likely those who mindlessly gawked at the procession of Ōishi and the forty-six ronin withdrawing—mere onlookers without reason—but even such ignorant crowds were all stirred by the conviction behind the ronin’s actions. They saw the figures of humans shining in the snow and correctly discovered that humans are indeed more than mere dogs. At the same time, it was also a discovery of their own humanity. On the faces of the countless petty citizens clustered at crossroads and roadsides was a renewed recognition of the samurai class, as if realizing it anew, and within their silence,

(After all, they are different from us.) No—in truth, we too are by no means beneath beasts. And so, compared to their usual selves, they felt something fragrant—something more beautiful—even an envy akin to respect as they gazed intently at the passing ronin’s bright faces and attire, watching as if they were something wondrous. The withdrawal route was: From the backstreets of Ofunagura to Eitai Bridge—then Reiganjima—Teppōzu—Shiodome Bridge—Hibiya—in front of the Sengoku residence—in front of the Date residence—Kanegasaki Bridge—

passing through these points, they were scheduled to arrive at Sengaku-ji Temple. The distance from Matsuzaka-chō to there was roughly about two *ri* of road.

“Old sir, you must be weary—please ride in the palanquin.” Kuranosuke turned to Old Man Yahēe and urged him thus. The old man—true to his stubborn nature—kept shaking his head and walking onward, but when his stride failed to match the younger men’s pace, he boarded a town palanquin near Ofunagura. Hara Sōemon, Chikamatsu Kanroku, Kanzaki, and the other wounded were likewise persuaded to ride in palanquins partway through the journey. From within the crowds, relatives of the ronin would occasionally dart forth to clasp hands or weep tears of joy. Each time their comrades and those lining the roads witnessed such scenes—though unaware of any personal connection—they felt a heat surge from chest to eyes, as though these moments pressed directly upon their very beings.

“Teppōzu—”

Someone muttered this, and the ronin’s procession came to an abrupt halt. The gate of the former Asano family’s upper residence unexpectedly came into view. The passage of time became vividly clear to their hearts. By now, Asano Takuminokami was a figure of the past within those grounds, and the many retainers and families who had lived centered around their lord had all been borne away by the shifting seasons to fade into a distant realm far beyond this gate. Out of those, only forty-six men—now, unexpectedly having achieved their great ambition and on their way back to their late lord’s temple to report their success—had once again passed before this gate. Kuranosuke passed by, gazing disconsolately. Each and every one of them passed through, gathering their various memories at that gate.

A man by the roadside. “—Jūrōza, Jūrōza!”

It was when they reached Kanegasaki Bridge. Abruptly, Kuranosuke called out and turned to look over the heads of those following behind.

From the middle of the procession, “Yes—what is your command?”

Isogai Jūrōzaemon answered and advanced forward. “Jūrōza, this is near Shōgen Bridge.” “Is that so?” “Don’t you wish to see her? I hear your mother is right there near Shōgen Bridge…” “Ha…” “Having been taken in by your brother, Lord Naitō Man’emon’s household, she has fallen gravely ill—recently, her condition has become such that she cannot even raise her head from the pillow.” “...It seems you will have no other chance to meet her.” “Step out of the procession for a moment—go see your mother one last time and bid her farewell in this life.”

“…Yes.”

“Kuranosuke permits it.” “Hurry and return.” Jūrōza, tears welling in his eyes at Kuranosuke’s words, kept his head bowed low—but “No—I shall refrain.” He declared resolutely and maintained pace with the procession.

(Why?) But Kuranosuke did not ask. —But they understood. Not only Kuranosuke, but all those walking together understood Jūrōza.

Sengaku-ji was already near. Because the snow had begun to melt，the ronin were kicking up muddy water up to their backs. When they came to Mita no Tsuji，someone—

“Oh—a strange person approaches from yonder!” a voice whispered.

Horibe Yasube turned his face away. Okuda Magodai also turned his face away, wearing an expression of feigned ignorance. “Who is it? This strange person?” When one spoke, another spoke.

“Look—that man approaching with a sly grin from over there.” “Could that be Takada Gunbei, the traitor?”

“Hmm, indeed.” Seeming to have overheard those whispers, Old Man Yahēe descended from his palanquin and moved to the side of the procession before anyone noticed. “Isn’t that Lord Gunbei?” “Hey, Takada! Takada!” As if he had been waiting for the call, Takada Gunbei forced a smile and immediately approached from the roadside. “Ah! Old Man—all of you—you’ve successfully achieved your objective—” “Behold, Lord Gunbei—all of us here have fulfilled our single-minded resolve and are on our way to Sengaku-ji Temple bearing Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s severed head.” “And you—for what purpose are you troubling yourself to wander about in this melting snow?”

“Well—though circumstances compelled me to part ways with all of you and spend my remaining days in obscurity, these past ten mornings I have prayed daily at Mita Hachiman for your swift success in achieving your true purpose. Even now, I return from such prayers—” “Oh? Then it wasn’t a morning return from Shinagawa?” “What absurdity! Ah—to witness your splendid withdrawal procession—for Gunbei too, there could be no greater joy than this.”

Those who questioned and those who answered were no ordinary men; they passed by with faint smiles, but Gunbei looked thoroughly pained. He had never appeared so haggard as he did now. Yet he thought even this face-burning shame would last only for that moment. When he had put half a chō behind him and looked back, he still did not regret the cleverly divergent path he had taken.

"What honest-to-a-fault fools they are," he thought. To think they actually went through with it—how absurd. …Gossip fades in seventy-five days, yet they discarded decades of life they might have lived, all swept up in some transient passion. …Idiots. *I’ll* relish this floating world to the fullest from now on. Yet no rumors ever spoke of Takada Gunbei enjoying or living out his remaining years as he’d envisioned. And truly—did that confidence, which had seemed to mock the forty-six men walking the opposite path as he spat with contempt, endure thereafter? Was there ever a day when he didn’t abruptly sense the void in his dwindling years or his spiritual destitution?

No matter how one walks, it is life. The paths each chooses to take are undoubtedly varied. However, only by grasping significance and purpose in life can the joy of living be supremely delightful to that person. Moreover, it possesses an immortal effect. Will one become an undecaying life, or disappear as a mere withered leaf? Each person must ultimately determine their path as they choose.

A world of white

At the Jōhō-dō Hall of Sengaku-ji Temple, that morning, all the monks from the monastery had gathered.

They were drinking Zen-style ceremonial tea together while engaged in casual conversation. “What’s all that commotion?…” As someone spoke these words and they strained to listen, the gatekeeper monk— “This is terrible!” —rushed in and breathlessly reported the situation. With the attending monks having hurried into the inner chambers, no one remained in the main hall. The voices of forty-six representatives who had entered through the gate—standing there now and speaking loudly—reverberated clearly across to the temple complex of Jōhō-dō Hall.

“We hereby formally notify the temple authorities—” “We are retainers of the late Asano Takumi-no-kami. At dawn, we stormed Kira’s mansion in Honjo, obtained Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head as proof, accomplished our purpose, and have now withdrawn with all comrades to this ancestral temple to present it before our late lord’s grave.” “For a brief period while we pass through to the graveyard to report to our lord’s spirit, we ask you to keep the main gate closed to prevent others from entering.” The monks of Jōhō-dō Hall had fallen silent without realizing it, their ears seized by those resounding voices.

(What should we do?) Such expressions first appeared across the eyebrows and eyes of Head Priest Chōon Oshō. Sensing his mood, someone—

“Gatekeeper, refuse them. You must not let them through—not without awaiting the authorities’ permission.”

A voice declared. Sōten Sokuchi abruptly stood up. Sōten Sokuchi was the deputy administrator of this temple, second only to Head Priest Chōon Oshō. “Wait—is it truly proper to send them away so brusquely?” “Disposition according to the authorities’ laws is naturally a matter for the superior officials to handle, and they will undoubtedly issue their orders in due course.” “But Buddhist practitioners must have their own methods—their own way of thinking.” “Sengaku-ji Temple is, needless to say, the ancestral temple of the Asano family. At such a time as this, we must become their sheltering eaves.” “Not to mention—when these loyal retainers seek shelter under this temple’s sacred trees to make a heartfelt offering at their deceased lord’s grave, what reason could we, as monks, possibly have to refuse them?” “It would be good to let them through—kindly allow it. Promptly instruct them to proceed to the graveyard.”

Then, the gatekeeper who had been making rounds in the courtyard spoke from outside. "No, Lord Sokuchi—they've all already trailed through to the graveyard." Sokuchi looked satisfied. "I see. That will do.—Gatekeeper, have the spectators leave the temple precincts and keep the main gate securely closed for a time."

he instructed. When the monks went out to see, the crowd was larger than they had imagined. It was a crowd that had trailed all the way from Fukagawa and Kyōbashi. When they drove them out and closed the gate, people clung to the walls or broke through the cemetery fences. The monks of Sengaku-ji Temple were instantly enveloped in the overwhelming atmosphere brought by the crowd, and before they knew it, they themselves had become as excited as characters in a play, dashing about the temple grounds. However, the snow in the graveyard still lay thickly piled, pristine and undisturbed. The countless gravestones had all become round towers of snow, and this morning, nowhere could be found the gloomy shadow that usually clung to the cemetery.

At the well by the graveyard’s entrance, Kuranosuke himself drew up bucket after bucket of water and washed Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head. “Do you require any items?” “Please do not hesitate to state your needs.” Standing behind, the temple monk Sōten Sokuchi said.

Kuranosuke turned around and, after explaining the circumstances in full detail, “If I may presume upon your kind words—though it is impertinent—might we borrow one incense burner and a sanbō stand?” “A simple matter.”

Sōten Sokuchi ordered a servant and immediately had those items and incense brought. (—Here it is.) The forty-six people stopped and looked up at a snow-covered monument. At Kuranosuke’s command, Shusuke carefully brushed the snow from the tombstone with his hands. Reikō-in Denzen Shōfu… The characters carved into the monument’s surface emerged from beneath the snow. The men recalled the reverence they had felt when granted audience with their lord in life. ...Chōsan Daibu Suimō Genri Daikoji

When they had clearly read down to these characters below, all forty-six men sat upon the snow. As if to smolder bloodstained sleeves from the night before, threads of incense smoke traced wispy purple lines. When they gently raised downcast eyes to look before the grave, there upon the unvarnished wooden stand lay the washed white-haired head, offered up. “…………”

Kuranosuke was prostrating himself before it. Everyone thought that figure was exactly like themselves. The words that Kuranosuke was now speaking to the grave of their deceased lord seemed no different from their own voice. Lord Takumi-no-kami’s grave—for those forty-six men at that moment—could never be merely a cold stone. It was a complete personality that would receive both their sincerity and their actions. Therefore, in their tear-filled eyes, the stone seemed to weep with joy, glistening wet. It seemed as though it had heard Kuranosuke’s report and was moving.

Kuranosuke then drew his dagger, directed its blade toward the head, and placed it upon the pedestal stone. Next, he took it in hand and struck the head three times. “…………” After burning incense again, he slid back across the snow-covered ground and placed his hands—slightly open—upon his knees. It had been a long time since they had seen him assume such a solemn posture as they had witnessed in the great hall of Akō Castle. Steadily, those eyes gazed over the heads of the group, “Ken—”

he called out. It was Ken Jūjirō. “Yes…” From a distance, Jūjirō answered, “Please proceed.”

he said solemnly. Jūjirō was hesitating. Urged by a modest whisper, he finally came forward timidly, whereupon Kuranosuke proclaimed: “By our prior agreement, we do not debate the depth of merit in this undertaking—however, that one there delivered the first strike upon Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, which may be called a warrior’s divine fortune. […] I ask that you all grant him this honor and permit him to burn incense first.” “Uh…”

“Takebayashi Tadashichi, who delivered the second strike—next, you may offer incense.” “……Eh? I’m to…?” The two men, faced with this unexpected honor, stiffened as if ashamed.

People of the Other Shore Sengaku-ji Temple was the foremost great Zen temple in the Kantō region. For meal preparations—whether for fifty or a hundred people—they were never lacking at any time. From the direction of the kitchen came warm—yet eye-stinging—firewood smoke that smoldered through the temple complex for some time.

The ronin who had ascended to the main hall were each relaxing as they pleased, thinking of their own bodies sitting on the tatami mats as if in a dream. Abbot Chōon, who had earlier gone to deliver a list of all their names and a written report to the temple magistrate, eventually returned with a somewhat relieved expression on his face, “Ah, I didn’t go to any trouble—” and, with a casual air, emerged into the main hall.

“As you know well, Zen temples maintain strict prohibitions against pungent foods and alcohol within their gates—but seeing your evident exhaustion, I have prepared a modest serving of sake.” “…The porridge will soon be ready. Please rest at your ease.” Kuranosuke expressed his gratitude for the greeting, “Though accepting wine within these temple precincts where cups are forbidden seems improper—given your thoughtful consideration and that few here would decline—we shall gratefully receive your kindness and partake fully.”

“Ah, please do not trouble yourselves.” They each took up large and small cups as they pleased and drank. The rims of Kuranosuke’s eyes reddened more than ever before.

“The white bones in the earth have received unexpected warmth.” Someone said this. (Yes—we had long since—been white bones in the earth.) In their mild intoxication, they shared this thought among themselves. This was, they reaffirmed, memorial sake poured into the soil. “Abbot! Abbot!”

Abbot Chōon, who was being surrounded by the group, “Yes.” When he turned toward the voice that had called him, from among the faces of the young men glowing crimson, old man Horibe Yayobei— “As your final hospitality after this, I beseech you to perform the last rites for our appointed time of death.”

Thereupon, the abbot waved his hand and said. “No—that would be quite troublesome.”

“Why? Why?” “For we monks—whether enduring thirty or forty years of ascetic practice upon the meditation mat, or battling against desire through the teachings of self-reliant enlightenment—our very aim is to attain a state of mind such as yours now. That is our goal.” “Yet even should we practice asceticism our entire lives, it remains exceedingly hard to reach that state.” “How could such foolish monks as ourselves presume to grant you last rites?” “On the contrary, it is we who would rather learn a thing or two from your state of mind.”

“Hahahaha! Then such warriors must die alone and conduct their own last rites alone.” “No—as one of you earlier declared yourselves white bones in the earth—you completed your own rites long ago.”

At that moment, Noriji also arrived,

“The bath has been prepared—those who wish to may enter.”

The group exchanged glances. Because this hospitality was something they had not anticipated, even such words alone were enough to fill their hearts. Kuranosuke, on behalf of everyone,

“Thank you. However, even remaining here as we are, there is no telling when forces from the Kira or Uesugi families might launch an attack. Therefore, we can hardly indulge in baths at present,” he declined. Sure enough, someone from near Sengaku-ji Temple came to report that in the city, rumors were spreading about Uesugi forces being on the verge of storming this place at any moment, causing great commotion. (About two hundred samurai had already departed from the Uesugi residence in Sakurada.)

and, (Around Fudanotsuji, there were squads conducting reconnaissance patrols—ten or twenty men each.) and also, (About thirty people who appeared to be Kira’s retainers had gone up to Takanawa Beach.) False rumors posing as credible intelligence kept streaming into the temple grounds one after another. The young members, still feeling their efforts from the previous night had been inadequate, “We’re waiting!” “Come on—attack whenever you please!”

They examined their swords, tightened their armor, and paid meticulous attention even to the cords of their straw sandals. Watching the agitated men, Shusuke said: “It’s futile. You’d be better off resting at ease. If the Uesugi clan members truly intended to attack in earnest, why would they choose to do so in broad daylight?” His father Kuranosuke also spoke: “That’s right. I share Shusuke’s view. However, those who anticipate disturbances must not grow complacent in their wisdom. It would be prudent to make preparations for any contingency.”

The temple attendants said to Shusuke. “We’d like to see a real sword fight.”

“If they attack, I will show you. You all have likely seen nothing of real combat beyond the sword fights in Sakaimachi puppet theater—it’s quite splendid indeed.”

Just then, a kitchen monk emerged from the back wearing a work sash tied around his waist, “Ladies and gentlemen, the porridge has finished cooking. Will you partake now, or shall I serve it later?” “If it’s porridge, I want to eat it immediately.” “There remains ample sake as well.” “We will gratefully receive that too.” The elderly Okuda Magodayū burst out laughing and doubled over in mirth. “How bustling we are… It seems everyone has rather returned to being human again.” As the sake’s intoxication spread and their bellies filled, everyone at last began feeling the previous night’s exhaustion rising to the surface of their skin. Some flopped down right where they were and fell asleep snoring thunderously, while others clustered around the large hearth,

“Ah, we’re warming up now.” “Uemonnana, let’s have a finger-wrestling match.” “Finger wrestling? Alright! I won’t lose to you, Lord Shusuke!” From there, loud bursts of laughter erupted explosively from time to time.

Peering

The kitchen monks working in the back huddled together and whispered.

“Among that group—there’s just one woman mixed in, I tell you—a woman!”

“Don’t talk nonsense! Why would there be a woman among the avenging ronin?” “No—it’s true.”

“But there’s no such thing!” “Then go take a quiet look yourself.” “Where is she?...” “Look… Among those ronin clustered around the hearth… That youth of seventeen or eighteen—the one with the faintly flushed face who lost at finger wrestling.” “Hmm… I see.” “That’s no man—he may look like one, but it’s clearly a woman.”

Everyone began to believe so. The words “There’s a woman among them” suddenly seemed to stir an uncanny fervor within the temple grounds—ordinarily cold and silent, now charged with violence. The temple attendants took turns coming to peek into the room with the hearth. Due to the commotion, the senior disciple Sokuchi came around to inspect the kitchen and issued a reprimand. “What are you peeking at, you fools!”

“There is a woman among the ronin!”

With that, the kitchen monks informed Sokuchi as well. Sokuchi, pretending it was news to him, went to investigate. When he returned, he laughed uproariously and declared: “Ha ha ha! That’s Xue Diao of Tang!” “What’s this ‘Xue Diao’?”

“No—perhaps Wei Jie.”

“What? What? Wei Jie and Xue Diao—who are they? Don’t keep us hanging—just tell us!” “It’s from Chinese texts.” “Huh?” “Xue Diao of Tang had a dignified and beautiful appearance—people called him the Living Bodhisattva. Wei Jie too possessed outstanding beauty; after gaining fame in Yuzhang, he came to the capital. When word spread, those who came to see him blocked the roads like walls. Later, when Wei Jie fell ill and died, everyone said the capital’s citizens had looked him to death—meaning his beauty was so overwhelming, people’s eyes killed him.”

“Is that a woman or a man?”

“A woman’s beauty isn’t all that remarkable. He was a man.”

“Huh…?” “So… that person… is a man?”

“The person called Yagami Uemonnana.” “He was said to be seventeen years old at the time.” Such voices must have carried all the way over there. From beside the hearth, Yagami Uemonnana glanced briefly in this direction. Noticing that many monks from the kitchen were talking about something while looking at him, Yagami Uemonnana stood up awkwardly and abruptly. Then, as he went out to the veranda beside the main hall, “Lord Uemonnana… Hey, Lord Uemonnana.”

He felt someone calling him. When he peered beneath the corridor, there stood Takada Gunbei—the deserter he’d glimpsed by the roadside earlier—looking up at him. “Ah… Lord Takada.” “What brings you here?” “Could you pass this along?” “Pass what?” “Well…” Takada lowered his eyes to the straw-wrapped sake barrel he’d brought. “My comrades achieved their great purpose.” “Though I left the blood oath under such circumstances, my heart remains with you all.” “…After we parted earlier, I wanted… to convey my feelings somehow. This barrel is a token. When Horibe and Old Man Okuda saw me before, they made sour faces—so I’ll avoid the main hall. Just tell them later that Gunbei brought this and said… Take your time announcing it.” “Alright? Do this for me.”

“Ah, wait a moment, please.” “Lord Gunbei, I cannot accept this either.” “Why?” “Before I go ask the others—” “No need for formalities. Just pass it along informally.”

“But…” And, cutting him off with words, “Lord Horibe! Lord Horibe!” called out again. When he caught sight of Yasube, Gunbei began to retreat as if fleeing. The sake barrel left there immediately caught Yasube’s eye. “Hey, Gunbei!” Gunbei turned around.

“Oh…” He laughed with forced joviality, but the furtive weakness behind it remained exposed. “This… You brought this sake?” “Laugh with me. A trifling thing, but it carries my heart.” “Your heart?” “……” “Gunbei. Were this from true comrades, I’d gladly accept it. But your sake? I’ll drink others’, never yours.” “Don’t mistake me.” “My heart… My heart beats as one with yours still.”

A shadowy figure "Cut it out!"

With scorn— “Gunbei, even in the path you chose, it’s not that there can’t be a splendid way of living.” “But with this weak way of life—trying to make your lies seem genuine to those comrades over there while embellishing yourself to us here—you’ll end up spending your days as society’s dregs, barely kept alive by the world’s mercy. That’ll be your life’s peak.” “As your friend, I’ll say this last—it doesn’t matter which path. Charge through it and live, Gunbei. Otherwise it’s all lies.”

“Thank you.”

Thinned like a skinned dog, Gunbei was dejected, but then he raised his face again. “You’re the only one who’d say that to me, Yasube.” “I won’t forget.” “I’ll surely do good in the world as long as I live… But this sake—I brought it here with all my heart. Please give it to everyone.” “A hopeless man.” “—Gunbei, you’re being noisy. Get out of here.” “Then I’ll leave it here.”

“You fool!” Yasube finally lost his temper and showered Gunbei with fierce words, spat out like venom. “Go to your late lord’s grave and seek his forgiveness. If you knew to bring us sake, why didn’t you join us this morning in sweeping the snow from the graveyard? No matter how much you wear a false mask, you cannot deceive your lord’s grave—it seems you still have some semblance of a good person in you. If the others find you, you’ll be beaten. Enough talk—get out! Get out!”

And then Yasube shouted at the kitchen monks in an unceremonious voice. “Close the small gate within the main temple gate.” “With that left open, unauthorized people with no business keep intruding and causing trouble.” “Along with this sake barrel, I want this man expelled too.” After Gunbei left as if fleeing, the guard monks threw out the sake barrel he had brought, hurling it through the small gate to the outside.

And as they tried to close it completely, one of the guard monks—

“—Oh?”

And they stared toward the inner corner of the main temple gate.

Stomping heavily, the guard monk approached. The hooded woman who had been standing in the dim corner of the gate—her eyes widening—shrank further into the shadows. They stared intently, peering through,

“She’s a real woman. … This is what a real woman is like.”

The guard monk muttered.

The other monk showed a face that looked ready to seize the woman by the wrist. “Who art thou? …Thou art—” he chastised her.

“What business brings you into the temple grounds?” “…Eh?” “For what purpose have you come?”

Pressed with questions, the woman lost all color in her face beneath the hood. Her lips trembled. “It’s… nothing.”

“You must not enter without permission.” “You must be one of those who came to gawk at the Akō ronin.” “Uh… uh… yes, that’s right.” “Out with you—outside the gate!” “Yes.” “Soon, the shogunate’s envoys will arrive here. Now, get outside the gate.”

The woman was beautiful. Her slender figure carried an aristocratic fragrance of refined elegance. While anxiously inching her way toward the small gate, she kept gazing with tear-filled eyes toward the main hall where the ronin were resting—as if searching intently for someone.

×　　　×　　　×　　　×

In that narrow room, there was no one else. In the shadow of a soot-stained Kano-style folding screen painting, Isogai Jūrōzaemon sat alone, utterly still.

“Jūrōza… Jūrōza…” While thinking he had glimpsed his figure nearby, Maebara Isuke came through the main hall and called out several times in a hushed voice. Jūrōza did not respond, but Isuke soon found him behind the folding screen. They had kept a shop in Aioi-chō of Honjo under the alias Gobei the Rice Merchant, and in their shared mission to spy on Kira’s activities, they had become the closest of comrades—men who had bared their hearts to each other until this very day.

“Oh… so this is where you were… Jūrōza, did you know?” “What is it?” “She’s here. …The woman who was in Kira’s inner quarters… Otsuya…”

Jūrōza remained motionless, coldly staring downward. Seeing the hair at his temples trembling faintly like needles, Isuke averted his eyes. "...What a pitiful victim. If you went and said some kind words to her, that would be good—but given how you didn't even stop by your mother's house when you passed by... I can't suggest such a thing. But Jūrōza, I hear Uemonnana's Okume also went mad afterward and wanders the streets. Uemonnana still doesn't understand a woman's heart, so he seems to forget without any lingering attachment... But Jūrōza—you couldn't do that."

“Maebara.” “What?” “This may sound selfish of me, but we can’t have the others growing suspicious about secret talks.” “Go to that hall over there and laugh with everyone.”

“Hmm… I guess you’re right.” “My head aches—I’ll lie down here a while… But I’ll head to the main hall soon. I’ll go join in all that lively laughter… You know, Maebara.” As he spoke, Jūrōza turned toward the snow-brightened shoji and lay down heavily.

Evening Tales of the Hosokawa Loyalists

The Righteous Path of Vengeance “Lord Sukeemon, I believe this is indeed the residence of the Great Inspector.”

“That’s correct. I shall go first.”

The two were Tomimori Sukeemon and Yoshida Chūzaemon. They were still wearing their raid attire and carried a large spear in hand. Though the spear’s tip had been wrapped in white bleached cloth since dawn to conceal it— “We request an audience with the gatekeeper. We are Yoshida Chūzaemon and Tomimori Sukeemon, ronin of Asano and former retainers of the late Takuminokami Asano.” “We have come on an urgent matter of petition to present ourselves before Lord Hōki-no-kami, the Great Inspector.” “We humbly beseech you to arrange an audience so that Lord Hōki-no-kami himself may hear our petition directly in person.”

Having come from outside the gate, when Sukeemon made that announcement, “Wait a moment――” Then, from within the mansion, the commotion of retainers could be heard, and soon the sound of footsteps faded into the depths. In the meantime, the townspeople immediately noticed the two figures, “Hey, it’s the Akō ronin!” “They’re the samurai who carried out the raid.” Gathering around them with eager curiosity, they stared wide-eyed at the two men’s raid attire—unseen in ordinary times—and watched from a distance, but as they grew accustomed, they gradually drew closer. “Oh, honorable Akō ronin—you’ve finally done it.” “All of Edo is buzzing with talk about you today!”

...and things like, “Why haven’t you two withdrawn to Sengaku-ji Temple?” ...and things like—when one person addressed them—words came pouring in from others too, with some saying, “Congratulations.” as they passed by, “You’ve endured much hardship.” There were also passersby who bowed deeply before the two men as if it were their own affair.

Chūzaemon and Sukeemon merely responded with grins and smiles to the people who addressed them thus. At times, as if ashamed, they would turn their faces away and pace restlessly while awaiting a reply from within the mansion. At that very hour, their comrades had likely arrived at Sengaku-ji Temple. These two alone had received a special mission from Kuranosuke and broken away from the procession at Shibaguchi to come here. Long ago, Yamaga Sokō had written in his works, recording the following essence.

In matters of revenge, one must first present the case to the magistrate of the time, clarify right and wrong and guilt and innocence, and receive his command. This is the time-honored law. In public opinion, to report to the magistrate resembles having an intent to preserve oneself. Once one has accomplished revenge, there should be nothing left to seek in matters of life and death; thus, to claim such an act is unnecessary is to ignore the laws of society and is merely the talk of those who rely solely on mere bravado and do not know the true path.

In Kuranosuke’s heart, there could be no doubt that resided the teachings of this predecessor which he had received in his youth. The reason Kuranosuke had sent Chūzaemon—who was known even among their group for his prudence and eloquence—accompanied by Sukeemon partway to the Great Inspector’s own residence was that he believed it righteous to petition the government proactively before its laws could be set in motion against them. In other words, they had taken the path of turning themselves in. This morning’s incident must have already reached Lord Hōki-no-kami’s ears. Upon hearing the mediator’s words, Lord Hōki-no-kami immediately,

“Admit them. I myself shall meet them directly.” he said.

The two who had come as envoys to surrender carried the manifesto of the raid in their pockets. Lord Hōki-no-kami directly received it and then briefly ascertained the key points,

“This is a most dutiful course of action.” “I shall hasten to the castle at once to report to the Elder Council and seek their judgment.” “In the interim, let these two gentlemen rest at our residence with all due comfort.” The two men were escorted to a separate chamber. Then, out of consideration from the Sengoku household—who presumed they must be famished—they were served rice with hot broth poured over it. As it was an ordinary guest room, “Given that we remain in last night’s battle attire and are in rather disheveled condition, we humbly beg to be seated in some inconspicuous corner.”

Apologetically, they said to the retainers, “No, no—as per my lord’s instructions, there is no need for such modesty.” And so it was. “Well then…” The two men tightened their undergarments and sashes, displayed nothing but courtesy in their hearts, and partook of the hot water over rice. When a monk came to pour tea there, the two men both, “We have had enough tea,” declined, and from their sleeves took out roasted rice wrapped in paper, “We deeply apologize, but these are unclean items we brought last night as provisions. Since they are no longer needed, please dispose of them somewhere.”

they requested.

In the meantime, Lord Sengoku Hōki-no-kami, with his retinue in hurried disarray, hastened his palanquin toward the castle in his capacity as Great Inspector.

×　　　　　　　×

×　　　　　　　×

That very day coincided with the day when the feudal lords attended the castle.

The dawn's major incident had delivered a strong shock to these government offices. The chambers within the castle held an atmosphere reminiscent of that fourteenth-year third-month fourteenth-day assault incident. Yet even within this same shogunate court's tense gravity—where Asano Takumi-no-kami's assault had cast dark shadows of anguish across every brow—today's commotion carried a brightness that seemed to glimpse life's radiance.

“I hear that at dawn today—in this era of peace—an ill-omened event has occurred right under His Majesty’s very nose.” Though all spoke these words with apparent concern—as befitting members of the shogunate council—somewhere in their hearts lingered an unspoken conviction: (The warrior spirit has not yet wholly decayed. Bushido remains unbroken!) This unyielding resolve showed clearly in the brows of every daimyō present throughout the castle’s chambers. Even Shogun Tsunayoshi—who during Asano Takumi-no-kami’s punishment after the assault incident had acted with such rashness bordering on passion—

“...Hmm, I see.”

Upon hearing the report from Lord Hōki-no-kami delivered by the Elder Council, he—it is said—remained silent for a time, his lips sealed in emotion. Notifications came pouring into the government office one after another. From the temple and shrine magistrates came the abbot of Sengaku-ji Temple’s appeal; from the Kira family, the Uesugi family, and the town magistrate as well—each petitioned the higher authorities from their respective positions.

To Kira’s residence, inspectors immediately rushed off to conduct the actual inspection. Furthermore, Lord Hōki-no-kami, having received the shogunate’s intentions, soon returned to his residence.

(The disposition of the ronin group would be decided at a later time; for the present, they were to be divided and placed in the custody of four domains.)

Thus it was decided. To Sengaku-ji Temple as well, a shogunate order was immediately issued, ("Ōishi Kuranosuke and the entire group are to evacuate the temple grounds by evening, proceed to the residence of the Great Inspector Lord Hōki-no-kami, and quietly await judgment.") Such was the directive. —It began to rain that evening. After the snow, a light rain drizzled down, turning the road into a muddy field. As night fell, rumors of "the Uesugi forces mobilizing" spread all the more credibly, and an anxious unease took hold in people’s hearts. —It was a rainy night to begin with, and even among those who did not believe it,

(Could it be on such a night?) This anxiety was not entirely absent.

A Night of Relentless Rain The Hosokawa family of Higo, the Matsudaira family of Iyo, the Mōri family of Nagato, and the Mizuno family of Mikawa. Thus did the combined forces from these four domains—some fourteen or fifteen hundred men—linger around the main gate of Lord Hōki-no-kami’s residence, standing drenched in the shadows of walls and across the road from evening until near the lower hour of the Boar (11:30 PM). “Not yet?” “It seems not.”

“What are they doing?” “We’ve no inkling of what transpires within.” The rain soaked through their raincoats, and cold stole all sensation from their hands and legs. The custody allocation for forty-six ronin stood as follows:

To Hosokawa Etchū-no-kami Tadayoshi: Seventeen men To Matsudaira Oki-no-kami Sadanao: Ten men

To Mōri Kai-no-kami Tsunamoto: Ten men To Mizuno Kenmotsu Tadayuki: Nine men Such was the imperial command. This was the number of personnel from the four domains assigned to receive the detainees. The Hosokawa domain alone had mustered close to seven hundred men and prepared for any contingency. From the shogunate to the Hosokawa family, ("To take custody of the detainees") The order had been issued around two in the afternoon, after which the Hosokawa retainers hastily commenced large-scale preparations. Though they were initially to proceed to Sengaku-ji Temple by evening, an abrupt change in the shogunate's directive shifted the handover of detainees to Lord Hōki-no-kami's residence instead. Thus they trudged through torrential rain all the way to Nishikubo, enduring their wait under the assumption that the transfer would occur by ten that night—yet no word came, and the rain only fell harder…….

The people from the other three domains were all in the same situation. They were hungry, the cold was biting, and as the night deepened, the rain poured down, washing away days-old snow into inky blackness.

When viewed from the dark exterior of the mansion, within the walls, countless lights were lit, and the streaks of rain appeared to glow in the sky.

“To call it excessive—they’re ignoring us.” “What on earth is taking the Sengoku household so long? Perhaps we should request an update.” It was only natural for voices of discontent to arise. No matter how much they covered them, the storm raged sideways so fiercely that the lanterns’ light could not be maintained.

—Then Hirano Kurōemon, page commander of the Hosokawa family, “Now now, bear with this a little longer,” he said as he moved among them. “I’ve just made discreet inquiries with someone from the Sengoku household—apparently this delay past the appointed hour stems from Lord Hōki-no-kami’s own consideration.”

With the intent to placate them, he came into the midst of the group and said this,

“Then, are they deliberately delaying the time?” He maintained a composed expression, yet the voices of discontent only swelled louder. “Yes—it is deliberate. But when I learned of Lord Hōki-no-kami’s intentions through discreet inquiry, I found myself heartened instead. For once these forty-six Akō ronin enter this mansion, they may never again meet face-to-face in this world.” “Though their official sentencing remains distant, after this night they will be separated—divided among four houses for custody.” “Consider—even those like Lord Kuranosuke: fathers and sons, uncles and nephews, friends bound by decades…”

Before he could finish, the group nodded and shouted, their faces battered by the rain as they blinked their eyes. “Understood!” “So that was his lordship’s consideration?” “We’ll wait as long as needed.” “If each passing moment we spend waiting like this serves to cherish their comrades’ farewell—well, a little rain or cold—it’s nothing at all.”

But—as the twelfth hour approached, Miyake Tōbei, senior retainer of the Hosokawa family, and Kamada Gunnosuke, the chief clerk, were summoned into the mansion.

At last—

When they felt this, even those who had been exposed to rain and cold since daytime—

(Would they too now be separated from both family and friends for all eternity?) Thinking of this, they instead felt a heart-wrenching ache in their chests. The group entrusted to the Hosokawa family consisted of seventeen men, including Kuranosuke, Yoshida Chūzaemon, Hara, Ma, Kataoka, Onodera, and old man Horibe; Shusuke was not among them. Shusuke’s name was recorded among the Matsudaira family’s detainees. And—as he was about to leave, Kuranosuke called Shusuke to a secluded spot and whispered.

“Shusuke, this is our parting in this life.” “Yes, I believe this will be the last time I see your face, Father.” “Remember this well.” “The things your father has always taught you.”

“I have not forgotten. Please rest assured.”

“Hmm… Mmm…” Father’s eyes looked satisfied. Yet what fervent tears did this father—who bore a love distinct from any mother’s—hold back as he rose from that seat? Soon after, he was jostled toward the Hosokawa residence in his palanquin, fierce rain lashing against it while Shusuke’s face—the very one from which he had just parted—remained etched behind his closed eyelids. The Matsudaira family, the Mōri family, and Mizuno retainers each received the ronin into custody in turn. For about an hour—as the four households erected their imposing guard formations in the rain—the front gate of Lord Hōki’s mansion became as clamorous as a battlefield. Most striking were the Hosokawa family’s seven hundred retainers—advancing ahead of the other three domains in procession with tall lanterns, box lanterns, mounted samurai, palanquins, and foot soldiers—a sight truly befitting a great domain yielding 540,000 *koku*.

The main residence was located in Takanawa. The seventeen detainees' palanquins and their attendants entered the mansion through the entrance called Meguro Gate. By then, the hour was already well past 2 AM.

Along the way, “There is one called Horiuchi Den’emon among the attendants,” “Should any among you honorable ronin have needs, pray do not hesitate to summon him.” “Does the palanquin’s confinement oppress you? Would you have its door opened?” “Declare whatever you desire.” Such utterances occasionally reached them from without. This benevolence flowed not solely from loyalty owed to household retainers. Lord Hosokawa Etchū-no-kami himself had kept vigil unsleeping, awaiting their arrival.

Though this was merely an expected duty in service to the shogunate’s command, when the seventeen men prostrated themselves in the mansion’s great hall, Lord Etchū-no-kami himself appeared there and—

“You must be tired.” Having expressed concern for Kuranosuke and the others, “I, Lord Etchū-no-kami, hold your recent actions in profound reverence,” “It being late at night, you may stretch your limbs and rest at ease.” “Should you have any reasonable requests, speak freely to my retainers without reserve.” he said. They were prisoners who had broken national law. From Kuranosuke downward, none had ever dared hope for such considerate treatment. Indeed, they grew almost suspicious—why would the lord of 540,000 *koku* deign to show them such personal kindness?

“We… Yes.”

The seventeen prisoners, having answered, suddenly found themselves unable to even raise their heads. While they accepted Lord Etchū-no-kami’s warm words with gratitude—sinking into their chests—they could not find the words to express that gratitude—so abruptly.

Even funeral offerings know the touch of spring.

It was the early morning of the 16th. At Nambu-zaka, a man in traveling attire briskly entered through the gate of Asano Shikibu-shōyū. Because he wore a bamboo hat, his face remained obscured. (Hmm—a courier? Though if so, several days early...) With this passing thought, while the gatekeeper idly let it go unremarked, the bamboo-hatted man handed a paper-wrapped parcel to a page who had come to the entrance platform—then promptly departed through the gate without awaiting acknowledgment.

There was a stable next to the side entrance. In front of it stood a low-ranking old gardener. “Hm? —That just now was—” He ran out to the entrance. “Hey, isn’t that Yoshie? Yoshie! Yoshie!” He raised his hand and called out, but by then the figure was already retreating into the distance. The old man muttered to himself, tilting his head slightly.

“How odd… He bore such a striking resemblance—could I have mistaken him for another?”

He tilted his head slightly. Meanwhile, there was an elderly and amiable gatekeeper. “Mr. Saita, did you know that man just now?” “Hmm… I haven’t seen him in ages—it might be someone who merely resembles him—but that man was undoubtedly Terasaka Yoshie, who served as a foot soldier under Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon of the honorable Akō ronin…” “In that case, isn’t it strange? Like a courier, he handed something to the attendant and left immediately. That Yoshie—is he an acquaintance of yours, Mr. Saita?”

“My nephew serves Lord Honda of the Himeji Domain.” “In that same domain, a relative of Lord Yoshida also serves—not that we’re closely acquainted, but I once shared tea and conversation with him at my nephew’s house.” “If that was indeed Yoshie, I meant to ask him about the other night’s affairs and how matters concluded with the honorable Akō ronin.”

—Then, at the entrance, steward Ochiai Yozaemon stood holding the large sealed letter he had just received from an intermediary,

“Hey, hey.” “What became of the messenger?” “The man who brought this just now—”

The two men turned around. “Ah, that messenger has already taken his leave.” “Oh—has he already left?… “I had so many things I wanted to ask… Lady Yōsen-in will surely be disappointed as well.” “Then, was that indeed a messenger from the honorable Akō ronin?” “The outer seal bore the name of Kyoto Zuikōin Temple, but upon opening it, inside was a sealed document addressed from Lord Kuranosuke to Lady Yōsen-in here.” “…I don’t know what it contains, but since it was a messenger from Lord Kuranosuke—one who must know every detail of the raid’s planning and aftermath—I hurried out here.”

Yozaemon was deeply regretting having missed that opportunity when he suddenly realized, "No, no—it may be that the ever-prudent Lord Kuranosuke, considering that even the slightest trouble must not befall your esteemed household or Her Ladyship Yōsen-in, deliberately instructed the messenger to act thus. ...You all should understand that intent as well—it would be best not to speak of today’s matter." Yozaemon returned to the inner quarters after saying that. And then he slipped quietly into the chilly room where Lady Yōsen-in, the widow, would spend her remaining years.

“It is Yozaemon. A man claiming affiliation with Kyoto’s Zuikōin Temple has delivered this sealed letter. Upon opening it, I discovered it contains a delivery from Lord Kuranosuke addressed to Your Ladyship’s hand…” “Please examine it, Your Ladyship.” “What? …From Ōishi?”

Yōsen-in turned around and had her maid Myō take what Yozaemon held out from the adjoining room before opening the seal herself. From Lord Takuminokami’s death until now—some twenty-one months—every vestige of hope had vanished from her countenance. Compared to the dewy radiance of her beauty in those bygone days, even the flesh of her cheeks and shoulders now appeared cruelly pared away. There had been a time when she listened to the swirling rumors— (That man alone—) —but even Kuranosuke, whom she had clung to as her last pillar of strength, had become someone she could no longer rely upon. She began to doubt life itself, and on more than one occasion may have found her very existence loathsome. As a woman rendered powerless—a widow—further bound by the cold shackles of her station in the daimyo’s inner residence, she may well have writhed in anguish and cursed her fate.

But—yesterday morning.

As was her custom, she had prepared the light tea her late husband had favored, just as he had in life, and was sitting quietly in morning devotion before his memorial. Yozaemon, who was always composed, stumbled in as if missing the very sliding door there,

“Your Ladyship! It is good news! The honorable Akō ronin have finally—Lord Kira’s—Lord Kira’s—” The moment he uttered those words in a voice tangled like snarled thread—

(It’s because I’m alive!) She trembled with that joy—and simultaneously burned with shame, as if struck down by her own self who had fleetingly doubted Lord Kuranosuke’s resolve and scorned this mortal world. (Forgive me…) Her thoughts turned to her late husband,

(Your retainers have succeeded.) The castle you held in this world has now been spared a meaningless demise through this. Ah no—what great purpose this may yet serve within people’s spirits for generations to come in this world—I cannot know.)

She comforted his spirit, and then, with one memory after another welling up—both sorrows and joys—she spent the entire day weeping tears of bittersweet emotion. Not only her memorial chamber but every last servant in the mansion—from yesterday onward—had taken on a different, brighter look. Above all, Myō—her maid who had served alongside her since their days at the old Teppōzu residence—joined hands with Lady Yōsen-in, and together they dissolved their year and a half of pent-up sorrows in tears, weeping them away.

And then, another. It was this morning’s news. Moreover, from Lord Kuranosuke came a bulky bundle of documents. (What could this be?) Rather than question it, nostalgia welled up in her chest. Though he was her retainer, to Yōsen-in’s lonely heart as a woman, the mere fact that a man named Lord Kuranosuke existed in this world was a great reason to live. She felt a poignant nostalgia. However, the bundle of items that emerged from the sealed letter was no ordinary message. It was a numerical ledger that was terribly far removed from her heart at this moment,

Ledger of Gold and Silver Receipts

It was a complete set of accounting documents bearing the title. It meticulously recorded—down to the most minute figures—a detailed statement of all public funds used for private purposes that had been disbursed from Kuranosuke’s hands since their withdrawal from Akō: this was the report on the expenses for their revenge. That was all.

There was not a single letter containing any personal message enclosed alongside it, as she had thought there might be. …… Yōsen-in abruptly felt a sense of unfulfillment. Why was she concerning herself with such material matters—down to these trivial numbers—regarding Kuranosuke and the other former retainers? His conscientiousness felt cold, leaving her forlorn. (—Kuranosuke. What sort of human being could he be—this man who spoke of benevolence?)

Given that yesterday’s events still burned vividly in her heart, she found herself unable to comprehend it. The full scope of Kuranosuke as a man felt somehow too multifaceted—was he grand or small? Was this simply what it meant to be an ordinary man?—and she could not shake her inability to understand. Before the incident, this Kuranosuke—with his compact build and sluggish demeanor—had been derided as an incompetent chief retainer, a daytime lantern good for nothing. Yet after the incident, he was the same man who flaunted lavish extravagance in Gion and Fushimi, then with stormlike swiftness turned toward his final purpose, solemnly demonstrating the raid’s reality and shaking the realm to its core.

Was he a master strategist? A passionate warrior? Or was he a man with a mind as precise as this *Ledger of Income and Expenditures*, crafted through meticulous calculation to the very end? Those samurai rich in emotion and passion tended to lack a head for calculations. Those endowed with a talent for calculation might understand righteousness and loyalty, but they lacked the resolve to willingly charge into deadly peril. They lacked courage. They usually lacked the ability to take action. (Even scheming his way through society for so long must have been no easy task—yet he had gone so far as to attend to such minute details?)

Even just vaguely looking at the numbers in that ledger, Yōsen-in could only be astonished at his thorough methods.

And,

(He didn’t need to go to such lengths.) and thought how much more joyous a message it would have been if he had instead sent even a single line—whether a word from Kuranosuke or news of the former retainers.

But as Yōsen-in gradually looked through the *Ledger of Income and Expenditures* page by page, her shallow thinking was solemnly corrected.

The title was merely Ledger of Income and Expenditures, but as she read through the meticulously recorded uses of funds item by item, the year-and-a-half-long life of the forty-seven comrades who had joined the revenge vividly rose before her imagination. Depending on how one read it, this was not merely a record of numbers but a diary of the former retainers' life of revenge. Yōsen-in had, before she knew it, become engrossed in reading it, her eyelids growing hot. And she contrasted her own life—a life resembling that of a nun, which she had resented as the height of misfortune—with the lives of those within its pages.

(Ah, what a waste.) Involuntarily, she pressed her hands together in prayer within her heart. Surely, when Kuranosuke sent this *Ledger of Income and Expenditures*, his intent was not merely to report figures or clarify his own integrity. Was it not his intent—through this ledger—to have her indirectly discern the state of his comrades’ wretched lives over more than a year, lives from which she herself was excluded? If read with that understanding, this was a more detailed account than any lengthy letter—or even meeting and hearing directly. Upon realizing this, Yōsen-in once again compared the extent of male and female reasoning—and keenly felt that men’s thoughts possessed a depth, height, and breadth that women’s reasoning could not measure.

And whenever this came to mind, what she immediately regretted in her heart was why she had not opened such eyes of respect toward her late husband and served him more dutifully—so she wondered.

Dual Perspectives Debate

Around dusk on the same 16th.

Due to last night’s heavy rain, pebbles were washed out onto the road. ＝Sengaku-ji Zen Temple A young monk held a lantern inscribed *Sengaku-ji Zen Temple*, while another young monk carried a heavy-looking bundle under his arm, “Shoo! Damn it!” Swinging his staff at the stray dogs trailing behind them, they trudged along the dark path. “Why does Edo have so many strays?” “The damn dogs won’t stop barking.” “Strays come with night walks.” “Oh no, they’re back! What should I do?”

“It’s no use—no matter how much you chase them, it won’t work.” “Let’s just hurry and ignore them.” “Why?” “They must smell it.” “A dog’s nose is keen.” “Huh?…”

The young monk carrying the round bundle looked down at what he held in his arms and made a slightly disgusted face as he said— “Oh, I see. “Even if it’s in a head bucket, I wonder if they can still tell…” “They’re even called dogs of earthly desires, you know.” “No doubt! — “This area’s near Eitaibashi Bridge already, but it’s still quite a way to Honjo. “—The sky over there that’s suddenly bright—is that Sakai-cho’s theater district?” “It seems so; the faint sound of music drifts over. “There are those carrying a human’s fresh head and walking night roads on solemn errands.”

“The world is full of variety… Still, I wonder how the Akō ronin entrusted to the four clans must feel tonight.” “Even on our way here, people at every crossroads were discussing it. They remain in shogunate custody—their punishment still undecided. Some argue they acted from loyalty—that since loyalty forms our nation’s spiritual foundation, pardon is natural. Others counter that even loyalty-driven actions violated national law, making punishment proper. There are even those who believe any penalty would exceed what their lord Takumi-no-kami suffered. Depending on how the shogunate rules—if handled poorly—not just daimyo and officials but townsfolk too will likely clamor with whispers… and vicious lampoons will sprout everywhere.”

“Hmm… It’ll be quite the spectacle.” “For this single judgment will define the true nature of loyalty—thus, not only the daimyōs who uphold the way of the warrior, but even the shogunate itself cannot act carelessly in their disposition.” “Oh… That’s Eitaibashi Bridge.” “Finally, Honjo’s sky came into view.”

“There’s still a bit more to go. After all, a human head is heavy—since there’s no one around the riverbank, let’s skewer it on the staff and carry it between us.”

“Alright, alright—like this?”

Inserting a bamboo staff into the knot of the furoshiki bundle, the two monks gripped both ends.

They were monks of Sengaku-ji Temple; one was named Ichinon, and the other was named Sekishi. From Manshō-ji, the Kira family’s ancestral temple, through the magistrate for temples and shrines, (We request you return Lord Kōzuke-no-suke’s head.) There had been such negotiations, and so—having been instructed by their abbot to deliver the head of Lord Kōzuke-no-suke, which had remained in the temple’s custody exactly as received—the two were now making their way to Matsuzaka-chō in Honjo. “Ichinon, what do you think?”

“What do you mean? About what?” “Should we save the people of Akō, or should we punish them?” “It goes without saying.” “It is only through such loyal people that bushido exists, and it is only through bushido that the nation’s order stands.” “Not only would this decadent, self-indulgent social climate of the Genroku era be tightened, but into the demoralized hearts of the people, a new human spirit would surely be forged with strength.” “If such righteous warriors are killed, bushido will vanish.”

“But back at the tea shop in Shibaguchi where we rested earlier,” said Sekishi, “there was a scholarly-looking man who told the townsfolk: ‘What the ronin did was surely born of loyalty—yet by national law’s measure, they stand as great criminals.’” “True, they may have breached the shogunate’s statutes,” Ichinon shot back, “but can this very shogunate administration claim such fairness and righteousness before the people? I’m overjoyed! That they smashed those laws declaring humans no better than dogs—this fills me with unbearable gladness! Their bushido finds full expression here. Let it be said: this was a deed of significance for all mankind.”

“That may be so, but—” “Sekishi—are you saying laws matter more than spirit?” “You can’t claim laws aren’t important.” “The more one considers it—national laws stand inviolable.” “Disrupt them, and society’s order slackens.” “Even if emotion might present some righteous cause—” “Wait! When I said ‘emotion,’ I don’t mean petty personal feelings.” “—I’m viewing this through what makes a solemn state.” “If you define humans as lower than beasts—what human state exists there?” “Laws must remain unbroken—but those who wield power abusively are humanity’s foremost violators.”

“That’s too extreme—” “Idiot! What’s extreme about it? You train on Zen temple floors—how can you not grasp this? If you remove spirit from Zen, what’s left? What do you think you’re living for?” “Enough—stop provoking me. First those ‘honorable dogs’ bark at us, now you? Unbearable.” “I’m not fighting—but you, my friend, yammering ‘laws, laws’ like some soot-sweeper hawking his wares—it rankles.”

“It’s not like I ever said the Akō ronin should be killed.” “I only mentioned earlier that such debates exist in town.” “Well, if that’s how it is…”

Suddenly aware of the weight of the staff they carried, “Ha ha ha ha! I wonder what face Lord Kira is making inside that head bucket as he listens to this conversation.” And the two of them laughed together.

Receipt for the Head Sekishi and Ichinon, being vigorous young monks trained at a Zen temple, had worn sullen expressions toward the Kira family’s attitude from the very start. It went without saying that this place was crowded and understaffed, but after merely serving a single cup of tea with one brazier, both the old retainer who had come out to greet them and the monk from Manshō-ji Temple had retreated to the back with the head bucket and never showed their faces again, no matter how much time passed. Even though the return journey was long, the night grew late, and their legs had grown numb from sitting, “Hey Sekishi—shall we go and press them again?”

“They’re likely in a bind because we demanded a receipt for the head.” “However dire their circumstances, we cannot return empty-handed as official envoys without that document.” “Unlike ordinary parcels, accepting a lord’s severed head has no precedent in samurai households—even for these gutless retainers. They must be struggling to draft it... Let’s clap for more tea.” “But neither of us has finished our first cup yet.”

“I’ve been dreadfully thirsty since earlier, but the moment we sat in this room, a foul stench struck my nose—now I feel too ill to drink anything.”

“I’m actually feeling sick to my stomach too—what *is* this smell?” “Isn’t it blood? It reeks of blood…” “Look—on that sliding door over there, there’s a mark that looks like blood splattered.” At that moment, the chief priest of Manpuku-ji Temple came out, “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

The chief priest made an apologetic face. Sekishi promptly asked.

“Chief Priest, there seems to be an unusual odor within this mansion—do you not think so?” “You are quite right.” “In truth, there are sixteen corpses laid out in the adjacent room.”

“What? Sixteen?”

Exchanging glances, they swallowed dryly, "Are that many dead?" "Yes, beginning with Lord Kobayashi Heihachirō, the household steward, and Lord Shimizu Ichigaku, a junior page, among others." "Then, are there more wounded than that?" "There are twenty-two wounded. The most grievous case is that of Shunsai, a mere fourteen-year-old page-in-training—it is said he fought valiantly, only to be struck down by a single blow and close his eyes without resistance." Somberly, the chief priest said. Both Ichinon and Sekishi involuntarily straightened their posture. For they were struck by the realization that this stench, too, was an odor emanating from loyalty. They realized that loyalty was not something exclusive to the Akō domain.

Whether they had been holding council before their deceased lord—now returned as a severed head—or not, the old retainers who had been delayed in the inner chambers for so long finally emerged with lifeless, grudging expressions, clutching a single document in their hands. When they read what had been presented before them,

Memorandum 1. Head: 1 1. Paper package: 1 We hereby duly acknowledge receipt of the above items. End. From the Office of Kira Sahyōe Sōda Magoemon Saitō Kunaī Sengaku-ji Temple Envoys Sekishi the monk Ichinon the monk “Is this acceptable?”

Sōda Magoemon, the elder whose name was recorded here, spoke. This elder had wrapped his left wrist in white cloth to indicate a minor injury, but the bandage clashed incongruously with his expression, creating a discordant impression. “It is acceptable,” they replied. “Given the nature of our duty, we cannot perform memorial prayers. We ask for your continued benevolence hereafter.” Smiling wryly, the two men stepped outside and gazed up at the stars in the night sky with a measure of relief.

Judges of Men

Every day was like a festival day at Sengaku-ji Temple's front gate, which had bustled with commotion ever since that incident. Not only samurai and townspeople but peasants from nearby villages and even travelers arriving via the Tōkaidō Road halted their palanquins and horses there. Though the forty-six Akō ronin had long been entrusted to four clans and were no longer present, some visitors wished to see weapons the warriors might have left behind, others inspected Lord Asano Takuminokami's grave as if discovering it anew, while still others sought audiences with the chief priest or temple guards.

“The day after the raid, how did the righteous samurai comport themselves? What words did they exchange? How old might Lord Kuranosuke be? I’ve heard Lord Shusuke is a comely youth—is this true?” No sooner were there samurai making such curious inquiries than others arrived—townspeople bearing clothes, books, and food who entreated, “Might you find some way to deliver these to the righteous samurai through your temple’s hands?” But as the temple had no channel to relay such items, its staff spent their days explaining this to send petitioners away and turning visitors back—until at last, overwhelmed by the nuisance, they closed the gates altogether.

Then, someone posted a lampoon mocking Kira and Uesugi on that gate. Songs praising the righteous samurai were also plastered all over.

Then, once again, someone filled a piece of patchwork paper—larger than any other—entirely with bold characters: A Plea Wise officials must not execute the true samurai. May heaven and earth grant divine protection to the righteous samurai. On behalf of the sovereign—Jōnan no Inshi (Hermit of the Southern City) Such posters could be seen at other shrines and crossroads as well. The commotion surrounding this incident grew louder with each passing day—five days, ten days—far beyond when citizens first learned of it. Across nearly every domain, discussions of the righteous samurai’s actions, their reputations, and all related matters became so intertwined with the people’s own lives that they debated these topics from dawn till dusk, fueling the uproar ever further.

And now, the people’s greatest concern was focused on— (How would the shogunate judge the righteous samurai?) —this very question. Moreover, within these few days, the term “righteous samurai” had newly emerged in the people’s vocabulary until even when one spoke of “righteous samurai,” it had come to refer specifically to the Akō ronin. Some townspeople went so far as to place bets on whether the righteous samurai entrusted to the four clans would be pardoned or sentenced to death, while others—more direct and heated—often escalated such disputes into outright brawls.

At first glance, one might think it was merely ignorant commoners driving this discourse, but that was not entirely the case. Samurai among themselves frequently fell into debates over matters of bushido—whether the theory of bushido would prevail or legalism would triumph. Paradoxically, those considered authorities were more prone to establishing these two opposing doctrines and finding themselves at loggerheads due to divergences in their perspectives. Scholars too willingly immersed themselves in the whirlpool of public opinion. *To punish them would equate to punishing the Way of Sages and Worthies,* argued some. *Without the Way of Sages and Worthies, there can be no great duty to lord and father, nor clarity in governance. By what means then can national law preserve its true essence and dignity? National law that discards the Way of Sages and Worthies is mere naked power.*

Such was the essence of the sympathy argument, and many within the shogunate’s high officials—beginning with leading Confucian scholars of the time such as the Daigaku-no-kami of the academy and Muro Kyūsō—held this view. In opposition to this, from the legal theory of governance, (The spirit of righteousness is, in essence, the activation of one’s own heart to cleanse the self. It is one’s personal conviction in life. Even if such personal actions constitute loyalty and align with filial piety, any opinion that seeks to disregard public law must again be called a private argument. Even if a filial child were to steal, it would be the duty of officials to punish them through tears. If the great laws of the state were to be distorted by private arguments, then henceforth, the laws of the land would exist in name only, and it would be impossible to predict how the complex hearts of society might turn.)

And there were not a few who refuted the sympathy argument. Yet here, both sides had left behind—while keenly aware of it—a void they deliberately avoided addressing. That was touching upon the merits and demerits of the Animal Protection Laws—or rather, the Human Cruelty Laws—enacted by the Dog Shogun’s decree over the past decade or more. However, they willingly debated. In particular, among those serving as leading proponents of the argument for executing the righteous samurai—and representing another school of thought—was Ogyū Sorai.

Among the daimyo as well, opinions were of course divided into these two camps, and across all strata of society, the ideological currents of Genroku 15 were such that—with the debate over the righteous samurai’s punishment at its center—everyone from peasants below to the shogunate above seemed to be testing their own convictions against one side or the other. Naturally—beneath the boiling surface of such debates—clandestine maneuvers beyond theoretical arguments had likely been exerted upon the shogunate’s senior officials: from the Kira faction and Uesugi clan, and likewise from Asano’s affiliates—each driven by their own agendas.

After all, debates erupted everywhere; theories couldn’t be handled so carelessly. The debates stretched endlessly, spanning even to discussions of the righteous samurai’s conduct and theories of revenge. All manner of rumors and slanders were unleashed amid this turmoil. The shogunate too, keenly aware of the matter’s gravity, exercised utmost caution and found itself unable to easily render judgment. Moreover, the shogun himself displayed not a shred of remorse. To that shogunate, it seemed even bringing the matter to the stage of formally requesting a verdict remained agonizingly beyond reach.

Amidst all this, as the year's end approached, regardless of anything else, Edo's streets bustled with worldly clamor—year-end markets, battledore markets, and preparations awaiting spring.

A Woman Seen Twice Horiuchi Den’emon was already an elderly man. He was a military officer of the Hosokawa clan and a hereditary retainer. After taking custody of Kuranosuke and seventeen others at the clan residence, he too had been appointed as one of the reception officers.

As he resided in town, the day after returning home, he attended to his duties at the clan residence by horse. “Heisuke, do you think it might be snow or sleet again tonight? “The cold is really biting tonight.” “Look—there’s another crowd gathered over there.” “It must be a satire poster. Go see what’s written on it.”

Heisuke, the groom-servant, ran to the corner wall and soon returned from the crowd to his master’s horse. “I have seen it.” “A satire poster? What did it say?” “Though Hosokawa and Mizuno’s streams run clear…” “Hmm, the second line?” “Only Ōkai and Oki’s streams run turbid.”

“Ha ha ha ha! They’ve done it again. The townsfolk’s observations are fearsome indeed.” “Among the four houses entrusted with the righteous samurai’s custody—Hosokawa and Mizuno have treated them with compassion—but rumors say Mōri and Matsudaira, fearing the authorities, have given them cold treatment.” “It seems they’re the ones who composed that.” As he exited beside the clan residence and began ascending the slope path of Meguro Gate, Den’emon—

“Wait, Heisuke.”

Pulling on the reins, he bent his body intently over the horse's mane and gazed into the distance.

The white mist of dusk drifted faintly over the road from the forest on the cliffside. Though unclear at first glance, it was unmistakably a woman. She loitered outside Meguro Gate, occasionally wandering as if searching for knotholes in the fence. “Ah, there she is again—the one wearing the purple hood.” “…Heisuke, what is that?” “I do not know anything about that.” “This makes two or three times I’ve seen her now.” “Go catch that suspicious one. …Ah, no good—she’s turned this way.” “Heisuke, go quickly!”

At the same moment Heisuke dashed out, the woman’s shadow flitted away like a small bird. She seemed to have fled into the grove of trees atop the cliff.

“What happened?” When Den’emon followed and inquired, Heisuke replied regretfully, “She’s nowhere to be found—shall I track her down more thoroughly?” “No need to go that far.” “Could be some painted woman from Shinagawa sneaking visits to our young samurai.” “It’d be unseemly if you lack discretion before the righteous men in our custody.” “Though mind you—I did such things often enough in my youth… Ha ha ha!”

After leaving his horse with the groom-servant, Den’emon withdrew into the inner quarters of the residence. No matter the occasion, this old man would drag out mentions of the righteous samurai. Lord Etchū-no-kami, the domain’s ruler, had by now become a complete sympathizer of Kuranosuke and his men, deeply admiring the forty-seven samurai. Thus, none among his retainers openly opposed him—yet within the residence, those who harbored implicit resentment toward Den’emon’s habitual remarks and attitude were far from few.

As attendants for the custodial prisoners, those selected from the household numbered nineteen in total. They were all of considerable age and held important positions within the domain. They were stationed at the front, while the two spacious inner rooms had been provided as quarters for the righteous samurai.

Now—having glanced inside—Den’emon strode toward the duty room, his face clearly clouded with displeasure. Just then, a young samurai carrying something toward the inner quarters caught his eye with that sullen gaze of his. “I gave orders two days ago to have braziers placed in their rooms,” he said, “yet I see none there now. Why have they not been provided?” When scolded, the young samurai pressed himself against the wall, apologizing in fearful tones.

“We had taken out the braziers from the storehouse as instructed, but Lord Miyake Tōbei reprimanded us, saying it was utterly unthinkable to give such things to the shogunate’s criminals…” Miyake Tōbei had been in a nearby room. Den’emon and the young samurai’s voices must have reached him, for he emerged and demanded: “Lord Den’emon—was it your instruction to provide the braziers?” “In that case—why did you stop it?” “This should be obvious—not only braziers, but even idle conversation is strictly forbidden for prisoners of national law. Though exceptions were made for writing materials, bathing tools, and medicine by special dispensation—but only after submitting each item in writing to the shogunate for approval.” “To act on your own authority regarding braziers is utterly arbitrary.”

“S-such unthinkable actions…” Den’emon stuttered as though he himself were being unlawfully restrained.

“What do you mean you don’t understand?” “Lord Elder, do you regard those men as mere prisoners?” “The crime of forming factions, the crime of wielding lethal weapons, the crime of murdering a high-ranking person—those who have committed grave offenses against national law, numbering more than can be counted on one hand—are undoubtedly prisoners.” Den’emon’s eyes moistened with a look of wounded pride. For his part, he had counterarguments to that. But Miyake Tōbei was a senior retainer, and he himself had long been a captain of the guard of lower rank.—He remained silent, but as Tōbei’s glaring eyes did not relent—

“However, Lord Elder,” “Not only samurai—even townsfolk who come and go through the kitchen, even lowly monks—the entire world praises them as ‘righteous samurai’ and ‘the flower of bushido.’” “You would not understand how precious its effect on people’s hearts truly is.” “Silence!” “The act of praising criminals itself poisons people’s hearts.” “It ignores laws and breeds disorder in the nation.” “Lord Elder, you—” “Must you still argue?” “Set aside the laws, and a domain’s governance cannot stand!”

“Words that show no understanding of a warrior’s heart,” Den’emon retorted, his voice trembling with conviction. “As a samurai, I cannot submit to this.” “You refuse to comply?” Miyake Tōbei’s eyes narrowed. “Yes!” “You openly declare disobedience, Lord Den’emon?” “I do.” Miyake’s lips curled in disdain. “For a man of your years, Lord Den’emon, this preoccupation with vulgar popularity is unbecoming.” “To have such shallow motives ascribed to me is intolerable.” Den’emon stepped forward, his aged frame quivering with passion. “Have you no eyes for the world around us? Where now lies bushido? Where remains the bond between lord and vassal? They call it wisdom when samurai hoard gold from stipend to stipend, keep concubines by the dozen, and idle their days in silken ease—this was the path that led to Lord Kira and Lord Takumi-no-kami’s fatal quarrel! Had martial honor not rotted to its core, such disgrace would never have stained our age!” He slammed his fist against the pillar, dust shaking loose from the rafters. “The Akō ronin’s deeds may have served their own justice, but look how they’ve stirred reflection in this putrid world! Through their trials—their parental devotion, their comradeship forged in hardship, their unblemished resolve—even as they broke laws to fulfill their duty, did they not show profound reverence for those very laws in all other matters?” His voice dropped to a growl laced with tears. “And when today’s statutes themselves reek of unprecedented tyranny... To equate such men with common criminals—” Den’emon’s wrinkled hand flew to his sword hilt “—I ask again: are you truly samurai?”

Before he could stop himself, Den'u blurted out these words.

His face was redder than fire.

Tōbei twisted his smile thinly, as if to flaunt his composure, “What a troublesome fever you have.” “If they knowingly violated the sanctity of the law, that makes it even worse.—In any case, braziers are out of the question.” “Storehouse!” “Take these braziers here and return them to the storehouse at once.” “No—never mind! Leave them out!”

Den’emon rebuked them fiercely, unlike his usual self, as though he were a different person. “This Den’emon too am one of the reception officials. Should any fault be found, I shall slit my stomach.” “It would be well enough if slitting your stomach alone settled matters—but this cannot avoid involving the clan.” “I shall absolutely bear full responsibility myself. If men shed no tears for their innermost feelings, then no tears exist for men to shed. Bushido lies trampled in the dirt. This reception duty I perform at the risk of my very life—even if ordered by the Lord Elder himself, I shall never submit to such heartless treatment.”

“Well, I wash my hands of this.—Lord Den’emon appears unwell.” “Storehouse! To the storehouse—put these away immediately!” “Disregard that—take them to the guest chamber.” “To defy your superior—” “To our lord, Den’emon considers this his loyal duty.” He stood unwavering to the last. The clamor reached even the hall where Kuranosuke and his seventeen men waited. The Akō retainers listening in silence seemed to etch deeply into their hearts—deeply—the name of Horiuchi Den’emon, a Hosokawa clansman. Some felt their eyelids burn with gratitude surging from their core.

Then—shortly after those voices ceased—Den’emon entered, directing the storehouse attendants while wearing his usual gentle smile. “One here… Yes, one there as well.” He was giving instructions on where to place the braziers. They were large bronze braziers with metal grills. Until then, these vast upper and lower halls had held no warmth from fire. When several braziers were arranged there, Den’emon—as if he too had grown warm alongside them—let out a relieved breath.

Four or five days prior—this had likely stemmed from something Tomisaka Sukeemon, who was in the lower hall, mentioned to Den’emon during casual conversation. (Lord Kuranosuke stays like that...but he’s terribly sensitive to winter cold—) The people felt increasingly apologetic at this realization. More than the glow of charcoal fire, Den’emon’s kindness warmed their chests. “Right—I have an idea.” Den’emon again took matters into his own hands. He had several small quilts dyed brick-red brought over and draped them across the metal-grilled brazier like a kotatsu. Then—

“With this, even when night falls or sleet comes down, it should be somewhat bearable.” He muttered, glanced toward Kuranosuke sitting at the head of the upper hall, and— “Especially you, Lord Ōishi…” and laughed to comfort his sensitivity to the cold. Kuranosuke, from a distance, slightly lowered his head. The full gratitude was clearly reflected from those eyes into Den’emon’s heart. “Lord Den’emon—I am grateful for your kindness.” “However, for us who await the shogunate’s judgment… it is beyond our station.” “I earnestly beg you—kindly remove the braziers.”

“Hahahaha! It seems our earlier voices outside reached even here.” “No—this brings me shame.” “Sukeemon need not trouble himself with idle talk—I am not in circumstances to speak of cold or such trifles.” “Set your mind at ease.” “Though I quarreled briefly with my superior, just then came our lord’s order to visit Atago Shrine tomorrow.” “Our lord himself will make pilgrimage to offer prayers.” “…What he prays for…you must surely grasp.” “Day and night, our lord agonizes over what form the shogunate’s judgment might take.” “…The braziers pose no issue whatsoever.” “When Lord Miyake, the clan elder, heard of the shrine visit, he withdrew without another word.” “You need harbor no further concerns.” “Now now—if your lordship persists in restraint, none may act freely.” “This is the Hosokawa clan’s earnest offering—pray accept it. Come now, everyone—make yourselves comfortable and partake.”

The earth untrodden.

Night dawned, night came, night came again—

To the dim coffered ceiling, the candlelight arranged in two rooms cast a quiet halo of light.

Ushioda Matanojō and Tomisaka Sukeemon, among others, each held a borrowed copy of the Taiheiki and read. Some wrote letters; a pair pressed their heads together, whispering secretly about something; listening to them sidelong while feigning idleness, Akahashi Genzō dug out his ears with a twisted paper string.

The seventeen men were divided into two groups: eight in the upper hall and nine younger ones in the lower hall. In the upper hall group were many elderly men: among them, the eldest was Horibe Yayobei; Yoshida Chūzaemon, whose voice was gentle but whose face was fearsome; Ma Kihei, who remained perpetually silent; Onodera Jūnai, who occasionally composed waka poems; and Mase Kyūdayū and Hara Sōemon—these latter two would sometimes crack jokes. Kuranosuke was seated in the tokonoma. His hands were always inside a small red-dyed quilt. He tilted his face slightly upward, his eyes of unfathomable depth now seemingly devoid of thought as they half-closed in a daze—gazing at the young men in the next room one moment, staring vacantly at the ceiling the next.

That said, he did not appear bored with each passing day. A wry smile was his answer when spoken to. Small in build, his body—not squared at the shoulders but slightly hunched and rounded—sat with utter composure, as if he had now placed himself precisely where he ought to be. (Humans grow accustomed easily. It seems that in the midst of all this, I am growing accustomed to the extraordinary kindness shown here. This is wasteful... divine protection beyond measure...)

He kept asking himself these questions inwardly. The clothing, food, and daily provisions were all too comfortable. From lives of extreme hardship, this had come as a sudden leap. Because of it, I even felt physically unwell. And so—though fearing his request might seem presumptuous toward their kindness—he had made this appeal to the approachable Den’emon: “Through our long years as ronin, accustomed as we’ve grown to coarse garments and plain fare, these two soups and five dishes we receive morning and evening from your honorable house are too splendid—they sit rather heavily upon us.” “Though it sounds like some base fellow grown weary of luxury—a most impertinent request—henceforth morning and evening alike, let us have but one soup and one dish, or at most two dishes, and those of clear broth or bran miso soup if it please you.”

When Kuranosuke brought it up—Yayobei， Jūnai， Sōemon， and others as well— “Indeed—we must insist upon this.” “To speak truthfully, these daily feasts—to palates long accustomed to poverty—prove rather overwhelming in their extravagance.” As he delivered this with jesting inflection, Den’emon too burst into laughter. “Then this becomes what men call ‘smothering kindness through overindulgence,’ does it not?” “Precisely—that very matter.” “After all, in our present state, we either write letters or do naught but read—there’s little else to occupy us.”

“Ah, I understand your concern.” “However, the order for meals of two soups and five dishes comes directly from our lord—I cannot reduce them on my own authority.” “Moreover, the cooks labor daily to prepare dishes that might please your palates, putting their full skill into the cooking.” “Ah—this grows ever more vexing!” “It would be good if you could move about somewhat, but that lies beyond my power due to shogunate regulations—though were there a nearby fire soon, under the rule requiring all to gather in the garden…I would have gladly shown you the grounds…”

“Waiting for a fire does seem rather...” When everyone burst out laughing, Okuda Magodayū—ordinarily a man of few words—spoke up uncharacteristically: “Being shut away from fresh air must be why our soles grow parched and cracked each night—it’s truly unbearable.” “We want for nothing now, yet we yearn to feel bare feet upon the earth.” “Most reasonable indeed,” Den’emon solemnly agreed.

Den’emon said solemnly. “Oh, the honorable clock has chimed.” “Well then—please retire for the night.” He started to stand but came back again,

“I nearly forgot to mention—starting tomorrow, carpenters will begin work in the inner actors’ quarters, but as it is not an inauspicious matter, please do not concern yourselves.”

With that explanation, he withdrew.

No matter how considerate the words might have been, the group fell asleep savoring those words.

Beside each pillow stood a small folding screen.

Kuranosuke slept with the brown crepe hood still on his head. The young men in the next room fell asleep quickly and soon grew quiet, but in the upper hall, the sound of hacking coughs showed no sign of ceasing. Ushioda Matanojō had a habit of grinding his teeth and was often teased for it. Then there was Old Man Yayobei, the eldest among them, who would be seventy-seven the following year. One night—

“Hraagh—!” “Hraaagh—!”

Suddenly, someone let out two shouts in their sleep—battle cries as if cutting down a foe—so the young men in the neighboring room all sprang to their feet with a start. Later, upon realizing it was merely the old man talking in his sleep, they burst into uproarious laughter in the dead of night.

In such monotonous daily life, sleep remained their supreme pleasure.

After the raid, when they were taken into custody, everyone recounted sharing the same experience during those first two or three days—whenever they lay their heads down and closed their eyes, white snow and white blades would flicker relentlessly through the darkness. Then came nights when they were routinely assailed by grave contemplation of the impending "death" that awaited them. The younger they were, the more fiercely they seemed to dwell on it, falling asleep looking utterly spent. The elderly, though less attached to life, found no deeper rest either—each night recalling their lives up to that day as if leafing through a pleasant picture book, their breathing finally settling into sleep only when their coughing subsided.

However—as time passed, they no longer had any problems weighty enough to disrupt their sleep with relentless pondering. “Death”—as a concept—became as ordinary as gazing at a blank sheet of paper, and from then on, their breathing seemed to synchronize uniformly, falling into peaceful slumber all the sooner. And then, into each small folding screen surrounding their pillows, they held thoughts of their mothers back home, brothers, children, and comrades entrusted to the three other domains—and until dawn’s light arrived, their souls reveled to their heart’s content without waking.

Still... still... still.

A sparrow chirped. The morning light glinted off the frost. (Ah, I'm still alive.) When they saw the sun's radiance, everyone seemed to think this way. Emotions drifted across their brows. Not a single one of them spoke of their dreams.

(The year too was ending.) Those with such expressions, and again, (The winter sunlight was so pleasant…) And so—setting aside tomorrow’s death—there were those who seemed determined to savor this day, this dwindling life, letting it seep into their hearts; those who ground ink and meditated in silence; and those who laughed together in carefree conversation. Though the days changed, their daily routine remained no different from yesterday’s. Today as well, Den’emon appeared with a beaming face, carrying something.

“Everyone, permission to smoke tobacco has been granted starting today. I’ve brought some. Now, please help yourselves.” he said.

This was an unexpected boon. Desire there was, but they had all but forgotten it. Most of those present were fond of tobacco, yet in the Hosokawa domain—where even its lord Etchū-no-kami detested smoking and abstinence had become clan custom—how had Den’emon obtained their lord’s permission? “We cannot leave a tobacco tray here, but we shall provide one whenever desired.” “Huh… this is—” Rather than rejoicing, the group fell into solemn silence. The earnest Okuda Magodayu blinked rapidly, while Old Man Yayobei turned away and sniffed into a tissue.

“There, there, please go ahead.” He urged them. They expressed their thanks. There were no words to express it. “Then, we shall gratefully accept your kindness.” After humbly receiving the tobacco pipe, Hara Sōemon took it in hand—but rather than smoking first himself, “Since it is your favorite above all else, let us offer it to Lord Ōishi first.” and he passed it on to Lord Kuranosuke. For a time, wisps of lilac-tinged smoke drifted through the two rooms.

Hayami Tōzaemon suddenly asked, "Have the repairs been completed? We haven't heard the carpenter's chisel since yesterday." Den’emon began to reply but abruptly closed his mouth before speaking again. "You'll be able to move to the actors' quarters across there early in the new year." "It's dark here, but those honorable rooms have views of both garden and sky - your hearts might find some brightness there."

The year came to a close. With the arrival of the new year’s calendar, the early days of Genroku 16 were already being counted off as two, then three days into the new year.

The group was relocated to the completely renovated new actor’s quarters. (They could see the sea) (They could see the clouds) Like children, they all marveled at the view there.

Whenever they wrote letters, Den'emon would deliver them wherever necessary each time he returned home and bring back replies. They learned all the town's rumors without leaving their quarters. Even so, Kuranosuke feared the divine favor they were experiencing during this time. He was particularly concerned about the young men entrusted to other domains and his son Shusuke's well-being. It was not a concern about what harsh treatment they might be enduring. He feared growing accustomed to overly comfortable days—feared that their pre-raid resolve might waver.

(Even I—encountering this new year’s spring—) he thought. If I kept living, I would see plum blossoms again next year. If one went out into society—even to greater poverty than here—there would be days of more freedom than this.

(Even I—)

Suddenly，I felt scared. In society，it seemed people assumed they were satisfied now that they had accomplished their raid，but within Kuranosuke’s heart，there still remained something yet undone. Until that was settled，I could not say my mission was perfectly accomplished. The strenuous efforts up until now hinged entirely on that final touch. To act cleanly，without losing rationality，and submit obediently to fate. If，by any chance，we failed to fulfill this，we would end up nothing more than great criminals who had violated national law. The more I dwelled on this，the more each passing day grew unbearable. And even Hosokawa’s kindness and preferential treatment—I came to see them as trials imposed upon me until my very end.

What was even more terrifying—terrifying in its very emptiness—was the world’s judgment. It was immense praise lavished upon us. (I am not such a person—absolutely not such a person. Such praise is unjust. If I were to speak frankly of my innermost thoughts, there is also the same feeling as Ōno Kurobē. In Gion-Fushimi, my drunken heart was no stratagem—I drank from the soul, I reveled from the soul. There was also a considerable feeling of, had I continued to leisurely enjoy the natural scenery in Yamashina as I was. There is no mistake that I am such a person. But it was merely that within my blood—even when I thought such things—there existed something strong enough to repel them and steer me toward the heart of the samurai’s path. That is not because I am great. It is because my grandfather was great; it is because my father was great. Human personality is not something formed in a single generation. At the very least, I think it takes the eras of three generations—grandfather, father, and myself—to form something. To call that “myself” would be too presumptuous; let us tentatively call it blood. That blood—I tempered it somewhat through discipline. The strength that brought me this far without straying from the intended path was the power of that discipline. Even so, I cannot boast of my own talent. It is merely that I have followed the teachings of Master Yamaga Sokō and other predecessors. ...the world overestimates it far too greatly. However, having been esteemed by the world to this extent, I must not betray those expectations.)

The greater part of the world’s populace seemed to ardently wish for his life to be spared, but if he were to avoid betraying those very hopes—now! (He must splendidly betray the people’s expectations without a moment’s delay.) Thus did Kuranosuke think. This conviction did not waver. And he resolved that not only himself—not a single one of the other forty-five men must fail before accomplishing their final act of completion.

But now, he made no effort—for even if he did so, it would amount to nothing. A spring breeze had come to the garden; he allowed his heart to wander within it.

And simply— (As soon as possible—) he waited for that day alone.

Great Compassion

Once the New Year decorations were taken down, the issue of "the disposition of the Akō ronin" flared up again in both shogunate councils and public discourse, and people split into two factions—those arguing for clemency and those demanding punishment—as debates grew heated. The written opinion jointly submitted by the fourteen members of the judicial council to the senior councilors passionately advocated the "Ronin Clemency Argument." The gist of it was:

(—Their deed was a righteous one—one that embodied the virtues of lord and vassal to their utmost expression. To impose death upon this would equate to imposing death upon morality itself. Furthermore, their conduct adhered strictly to every protocol within the edicts—the Laws for the Military Houses—without exception. Thus, it cannot be deemed a mob’s lawless act.) This opinion could well be said to represent public sentiment too. Indeed, it was rumored that even Shogun Tsunayoshi himself appeared inclined toward agreement.

However, the staunch opposition argument was that of Ogyū Sorai: ("The dignity of the law must not be violated in the slightest. If one distorts the law, there can be no governance.") —this was his firm argument. The senior councilors found themselves unable to render a verdict. The written opinion was submitted to the Shogun, leaving no course but to await his approval.

The argument from Ogyū Sorai presented by Yanagisawa Minonokami finally swayed the Shogun's resolve. Within Sorai's discourse, interwoven with its legally rigorous logic, ("Their guilt must be judged as guilt, but let them be ordered to commit seppuku with the dignity befitting samurai.")

for there had also been a touch of humane consideration in saying that.

The Shogunate’s word delivered the final verdict to all disputes. “The forty-six individuals are hereby ordered to commit seppuku.” The Shogunate was this nation’s supreme legal authority. In matters of compassion, it was an absolute entity that permitted not the slightest intention to influence the law. They must have been compelled to state it thus.

At that very moment—coinciding precisely—the Prince of Nikkō Rinnō-ji Temple came to Edo Castle for the New Year’s audience. Since His Highness shared cordial relations with the shogunate, after the ceremonial formalities, as they whiled away time in casual discourse, Tsunayoshi sighed and declared: “In all this world, there exists no station more burdensome than one charged with governing the realm’s affairs.” “Though human compassion stirs within me—and though they be criminals—when I weigh the sanctity of life, I cannot but desire to spare them.” “Yet in such matters, needless to say, the law of the land holds greater sway.” “Where the law decrees, even Tsunayoshi’s will may not intrude.”

“……”

The Prince could only remain silent and listen.

And then, when the topic shifted elsewhere again, Tsunayoshi—as if remembering—repeated the same words with a sigh, but the Prince still... “……” Silently, he could only nod, and eventually departed from the castle.

Afterwards—after returning to the temple—the Prince was said to have spoken thus to his close attendant monks.

“There has never been a day as painful to my heart as today.” “During our casual conversation, His Lordship twice obliquely raised the matter of the Akō ronin.” “I believe that had His Lordship spoken thus to me, he must have been secretly imploring me to utter with my own lips: ‘Grant them clemency.’” “Yet though men may debate the merits of Lord Kuranosuke’s great deed through words alone, even this multitude could scarce achieve such a feat once in many generations.” “Even should men of worth appear, unless they meet with such opportunity, that event could never again be wrought in this world.” “Precisely because I hold it so sacred did I resolve never to let their actions lose that light of true beauty—eternally renewed like sun and moon through endless ages.” “Were we to spare them, how could those forty-six hearts remain as pure as now until death claimed them in old age?” “Let but one bring disgrace, and all would share that stain.—By contrast, should we now swallow our tears and grant them death, their lives’ radiance would equal sun and moon.” “However this world may change, however men’s hearts grow wild, that true spirit shall ever shine—a mighty force and light upon our nation’s soul.” “However they might live out their brief mortal span in this dreamlike foam of existence, I came to see death’s gift as supreme mercy—and thus until departure gave no answer… Though doubtless His Lordship deemed me heartless.”

sleet sake Even after the verdict had been decided, it would naturally have been kept secret for a certain period.

Even within the Hosokawa clan and others—trusting that public opinion would prevail— (They’ll be spared.) everyone had clung to this belief. (We must save them.) This desperate wish filled every heart. Their thoughts kept bending irrevocably in that direction. Thus, when the Hosokawa clan privately learned the shogunate’s verdict announcement was imminent— In case of pardon—

――In the event of exile to a remote island, ――In the event of a death sentence, In this way, they had prepared for these three anticipated scenarios to avoid being flustered when the critical moment arrived. In particular, Den’emon and others had regarded the last of the three—the death penalty—as an impossibility.

Moreover, in the hall as well, it was such that one might suspect those gathered there had gone mad in the face of death—though this may have also been due to the New Year—for every night was filled with boisterous laughter. “My, how lively it remains here.” “Ah, Lord Den’emon. Come here.” The young retainers were already treating this man as if he were their uncle. He gladly accepted this treatment once again, “So, any amusing stories to share?”

"There is," said the eccentric Kataoka Gengoemon. "Do sit down."

“That Chikamatsu Kanroku here just had the gall to boast about his romantic exploits.” “How extraordinary—and quite unheard of these days.” “What manner of amorous tales…?” “When stationed in Edo, he visited Yoshiwara and got so thoroughly pampered by some courtesan he’d just met that he missed curfew—and with that face of his—”

When he pointed, Kanroku— “Lies, lies!”

and he flusteredly waved his hands. The others found this amusing and,

“Hey! A samurai doesn’t go back on his word!” “You only started backtracking after Lord Den’emon showed up!” “Ahahaha, even I’ve had my share of such things.” “Heh, heh.” “So now it’s Lord Den’emon boasting about a love affair?” “What’s this? You’ll have to treat us to something, then!” “I brought some.” “How about this?” “Once in a while, I thought a snack like this might be just the thing.”

He set down a lidded ceramic dish there. When opened, soy-simmered dried sardines with red chili peppers were inside. “Hey, tazukuri!” “What do you mean ‘tazukuri’?” And then, everyone craned their necks, “This is a rarity.” “Fragrant and quite delicious.” “Spicy! —I went and bit into a chili pepper.”

Then, as things had grown far too boisterous there, Yoshida Chūzaemon emerged from the upper chamber—

“Lord Den’emon. “You’re far too fond of the young ones—it’s becoming a problem. Do come this way too.” “My apologies.” Den’emon immediately stood up with the lidded dish of dried sardines, making the young men burst into laughter.

As he settled into his seat there again, from among the young retainers in the lower chamber,

“Lord Den’emon, another amusing story has come up.” “This time, it’s not a love affair but a scandalous tale—Isogai Jūrōza, the youngest and most handsome among us, was heard talking in his sleep last night by Lord Gengoemon.”

Hayami Tōzaemon said. Suppressing his mouth from the side, the handsome Jūrōza retorted: “You speak falsehoods, Lord Den’emon. This is but a jest.” “Lord Den’emon, this is but a jest.”

Kataoka Gengoemon got excited, “Nay, this is no jest. The one who heard it was I; I speak no falsehoods.” “Hahahaha! Outnumbered and overwhelmed, eh?” “Given Lord Jūrōza’s appearance, that matter can be believed.” “Wouldn’t it be better to just go ahead and reveal it?” And Den’emon joined in the teasing. “Shall I say it?”

Turning toward Gengo, Jūrōza became serious,

“Please stop, you ill-natured one!” “But it would be a problem if I were made out to be a liar.” “Ah, Lord Gengo—this Den’emon absolutely must hear it. In all seriousness, what were the words that the handsome Jūrōza was said to have spoken in his sleep?” “That is… Lord Den’emon… Jūrōza spoke a woman’s name.” Jūrōza’s face flushed red. “Stop it! Such a thing! Surely it must have been my mother’s name!” “No no—it wasn’t your mother’s name.”

Kuranosuke looked over and smirked. Jūrōza couldn’t take it anymore and hid behind Akahashi Genzō. —Such things also happened, but…

January passed in the blink of an eye.

It was the evening of the 2nd, soon after February had begun.

For some errand, when Den'emon briefly showed himself, it was Kuranosuke who called out to him—unusually, in a voice brighter than ever. When he looked, sake had been brought out. They were gathered together harmoniously. Those with a sweet tooth who couldn't drink alcohol—Akahashi Genzō, Yoshida Chūzaemon, Onodera, Mase, and others—were likewise exchanging cups of "sweet mizore."

Somehow, a different kind of relaxation was visible, and even Okuda Magodayū, the Man of Few Words, was smiling broadly tonight,

“A cup for Lord Den’emon,” Magodayū offered. “I hear you’re bestowing a cup upon me, Lord,” said Den’emon. “I humbly accept this honor.” Den’emon dried them, returned each in turn, and when he poured for Isogai Jūrōza, Jūrōza waved his hand, “I can’t drink anymore.” Chikamatsu Kanroku called out, “Isogai, you coward!” As he filled the cup, even Kuranosuke—who rarely joined such jests— spoke up: “Lord Den’emon, though Jūrōza may seem delicate, he drinks with formidable vigor. Do not underestimate him.”

“There, you see? —Don’t let him escape!” “Mercy! Mercy!”

As someone rose and tried to flee, Den’emon caught them and forced them to drink—then Onodera Jūnai cried out: “Atsumori, slain in battle!” At his rallying cheer, the whole company erupted in laughter once more.

(—What’s this?)

In the atmosphere there, Den’emon suddenly sensed something unusual—he thought—but while he remained at the gathering, he still hadn’t realized what it was. ……That night had grown late. Suddenly, a messenger arrived. The verdict for the ronin band had been privately announced. At that same hour, messengers must have been dispatched to the other three clans as well. With solemn gravity, the shogunate declared its resolve here to demonstrate the law’s unyielding severity. The forty-six men—seppuku!

Announce it, vase flowers. “……Was it in vain?” Den’emon lost both the courage to rise from his post and the strength to speak.—At the same time,

“Noble… Ah, noble as expected.” He groaned from the depths of his gut and said.

—When I reflected on it, New Year had many ceremonial days. February 1st was also Nikkō’s Kagami Biraki—another day deemed inauspicious. —And once that had passed, there would be little time before the day of execution—it seemed they had discerned this sooner than even someone like myself, free to act, and shared a farewell cup of sake.

No wonder—these past two or three days, each of them had been writing many letters. Somehow, their demeanor showed signs of final preparations. But even for people who had seen so far ahead and steeled themselves to that extent, Den’emon could not bring himself to utter the shogunate’s verdict to them with his own lips. Lord Echizen-no-kami too had withdrawn to his inner quarters in disappointment. The ronin must be told.—This morning had already become the third day. One or two more days—and those voices of laughter, each face among them, would vanish from the earth forever.

Den’emon, overwhelmed by his thoughts, inserted flowers into the alcove of the upper room on the morning of the third day. He inserted flowers into the criminals’ quarters. This riddle—those perceptive souls would surely solve it without being told. Has the day finally come to show these people flowers?

Den’emon, with downcast eyes, retreated from before the vase. He did not show himself until night. He could not bear to look there. Yet still, unable to put his mind at ease, he went to check on them quietly after nightfall, and found that in both the upper and lower rooms, most were already fast asleep—but Ōishi Seizaemon, Chikamatsu Kanroku, Tomimori Sukeemon, and a few others remained awake. When they caught sight of Den’emon,

“Oh, perfect timing. Come in, make yourself at home here.” “You should all be asleep by now.” “Oh no—those who have gone to bed are all blinking their eyes like that. There’s something we’d like to show you.” “What might that be?” “To speak plainly, we too believe our worldly affairs will soon reach their conclusion. Though it may seem tardy to speak of gratitude, as our farewell, we wish to present you with an exhibition of arts here.”

They brought out a small folding screen. Then, hiding behind it, Sukeemon and Kanroku imitated the Ryūtatsu-bushi melody, and Ōishi Seizaemon, putting on a serious face, performed a Sakaimachi kabuki dance. From behind the screen, two pairs of buttocks stuck out, and Seizaemon’s hairy shins were exposed as he stamped his feet in time—both absurd sights. Those in the futon snickered, then everyone burst into uproarious laughter. Den’emon’s sides ached from laughter. He shed tears and laughed himself into a frenzy.

Jūrōza, intending to settle the score from the other day, lifted his head from the futon,

“You incorrigible adults—eternally refusing to sleep.” “Lord Den’emon, you must cross-examine those rascals tomorrow.” “I shall dutifully oblige.” “Though I do wonder if you mightn’t retaliate by mentioning that sleep-talking affair.”

“Ah, that matter’s already…” Jūrōza pulled the futon over himself. “Hahaha! Off to bed with you.” “Good night.”

“Good night, Lord Den’emon…”

Every last one of them said their farewells, and the light there soon went out.

Undying Life

Fatigue set in. By noon on the fourth day, there were still no indications—and so during this interval, Den’emon decided to return home for a brief nap, setting out for town on his customary horseback. The townspeople still knew nothing of the shogunate’s private decision. To Den’emon, who understood this truth, even the February daylight felt unreal. It was just as his home near Kyōbashi came into view. From behind came the rapid drumming of hooves. Startled, he turned to find his colleague Hayashi Heiroku approaching on horseback,

“Lord Den’emon—return at once! The envoys—the envoys have arrived!” “To the mansion!” “They’ve finally come.” “Inspector Lord Araki Jūzaemon and Envoy Hisanaga Naiki—the two envoys’ inspection party.” “With seven foot inspectors and six page inspectors in attendance—they arrived just now at the Hour of the Sheep [2 p.m.] and were ushered into the envoys’ chamber!”

“Ah… Then at last… today!” “Today!” The two horses, their muzzles aligned, kicked up sand as they galloped back to the Shirogane estate.

Den’emon rushed into the inner quarters of the clan mansion in a dreamlike state—ah, it was no longer as it had been that morning. The seventeen warriors had finished their final meal; clad in white kimonos—gifts from Lord Etchū-no-kami—and light yellow ceremonial attire, with tabi socks and obi gathered close beside them, there was an air of quiet preparation for death. Ah! With just a single glance, Den’emon began pacing between the corridor and the waiting room for the inspection.

“What do I do?! To think it would come to this! How unsightly.” He scolded himself, entered the guardroom, gulped water noisily, and emerged again. Since there had been prior notice, the seppuku began immediately when the Imperial envoys arrived. However, their numbers were considerable—they had to process all seventeen men in succession and finish before dusk. Lord Etchū-no-kami too was secretly present there, apparently observing from the grand hall. The site was the front garden—where white curtains and a white screen stood—and Den’emon turned his eyes away.

The preparations were declared complete. When he suddenly glanced toward the great hall—ah, could there be such a sight as this? Seventeen men in white and light yellow death garments stood neatly aligned, facing the garden. When viewed through Den’emon’s fervent eyes, the composure of those men—aligned so calmly and composedly—seemed wondrous indeed. —And those people too seemed to have noticed his figure; flickers of eyes bid farewell to this world through their gaze. Taking in the gentle spring light around their eyes, there were even those whose gaze held a smile. ——Trying to respond, Den’emon’s eyes inadvertently let loose a stream of unbidden tears.

——Then, someone among them,

“Lord Den’emon, though we’ve been specially feasted today, the tobacco still hasn’t appeared,” said a voice. “Ah! At once!” Those who would keep living were instead the ones thrown into disarray. The Hosokawa retainers all stood restless. The young acolyte—familiar from daily ministrations—hurriedly bore the tobacco tray to them.

“Become a good person, you hear?” Having his head patted by Hara Sōemon, he returned weeping.

Writing paper and inkstones were provided. --The death poem brush. However, some wrote, and others did not.

In the meantime, Den’emon finally exchanged brief words with the people. He was also able to hear Kuranosuke’s final voice. At last, the time came.—The faces of the Imperial envoys and inspectors drew taut like masks. The mansion interior fell utterly silent, like a great temple. He could hear the sound of his own throat swallowing. ——Then from the garden entrance, the first summons of death resounded. “Lord Ōishi Kuranosuke!” “Please come forth!” A figure swiftly stood visible from amidst the white and light yellow. It appeared as nothing more than a fragment gently separating from a single entity. In that instant, they doubted whether he was human at all. To those remaining in this world, he somehow seemed like something beyond human.

A moment more hushed than midnight arrived. The moment Kuranosuke's figure—having completed the formalities—was thought to have disappeared behind the white screen—a painful throbbing surged into the chests of the people. —An uncanny sound pierced their ears at that instant. With a resounding clang—the sword's strike shook the air. No sooner had this happened than a pallid hue swept across their faces, leaving mouths parched and burning.

“Lord Kuranosuke—it is concluded.—Lord Yoshida Chūzaemon! Please come forth.” “Please come forth.” The officials’ voices had grown even drier than before.

Names were called one after another. The name of Ōishi Seizaemon, who had danced humorously the night before, was also called. The name of Isogai Jūrōza, twenty-four years old—a name that woman would have wanted to see—was also called. The garden shade had already grown cold as dusk approached, and the sunlight filtering through the trees from the setting sun even smelled of blood. Den’emon’s temples throbbed, and he no longer knew whether he was a demon or a human. He was attaching name tags to each of the mementos and discarded clothes of those who had departed, assigning numbers, and piling them in the corner of the room for the day they would be delivered to the bereaved families.

In the midst of this, there was a set of clothing he suddenly recognized—Isogai Jūrōza’s. Before he could lay a hand on them, it seemed they had already been neatly folded by their owner before his passing. The old obi, his belongings—everything had been meticulously arranged atop them. He was so young... He took a deep breath and murmured involuntarily. When he pressed the kimono firmly against his cheek, he even thought he could faintly sense the warmth of the young Jūrōza still lingering within it. Then, something fell from the sleeve.

“……?” Den’emon took it in hand and stared intently. It was a small cloth of ancient purple chirimen silk, with something small wrapped inside. When he absentmindedly opened it, a koto plectrum emerged.—From within the deep purple cloth, there lay a single koto plectrum. Ah… Could it be that the owner of this koto plectrum— Den’emon envisioned a woman he had once lost sight of near the clan residence. What a pity! And now, he tried to recall. Moreover, he now realized that even Gengoemon’s jest from that evening long ago might not have been a mere jest.

――The garden was already dim.

There, Jūrōza was not present. He was nowhere in this world. In that form harmonizing beauty and fortitude, Den’emon thought this mystery—finally kept secret without being told to anyone—was indeed characteristic of Jūrōza.

The pinnacle of love is love endured in silence. A samurai’s love—its fragrance too is faint. A phrase he had once read in some book—as though it had been written solely for Jūrōza—flitted through Den’emon’s mind. Love! Even in such matters—he now thought—did a samurai have a love bound to bushido? Yet this was but one of the inevitable aftereffects of the great work those men had left behind in this world. It was a flower blooming by the wayside of bushido. The love men aspired to dwelled in a place as lofty as the sun itself.

The stars of the February night began to glitter. That night was a darkness with a quiet breeze carrying the faint fragrance of plum blossoms. Kuranosuke must have felt some measure of relief somewhere.

Around the time the white screens were folded in the Hosokawa garden, in the Mōri, Matsudaira, and Mizuno households as well, white screens had been equally folded into six panels. Safely. For Ōishi Kuranosuke, it was truly a good day—a day he passed away safely, his death transformed into eternal life.

Moreover, it was a rightful human assertion against the unjust laws of the time.