Hoichi the Earless [Episode 4] Night Cherry Blossom Hundred Demon Parade ②

Tonight, gathering beneath the cherry blossoms are a hundred demons—

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Chapter 3: Ikuno Silver Mine, the Mystery of the Night Wind

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Kyoto, Higashiyama. The night at Seikan-ji Temple was exceptionally quiet.

Even though it was spring, the clouds were thick and there was no moon. Though the flowers were in bloom, in the depths of the mountains without a single light, their colors could not be seen.
Only the wind whistled in the distance, flowing as if stroking the earth.

That night, something was falling silently from the sky.
The white shadows fluttering down were like flower petals, yet they were not flowers.
Burnt scraps of cloth, scorched skin, the shape of a face that had lost its mask.
They were the remains of vengeful spirits swept up from the mountains of Sasayama.

They drifted on the night wind to the capital of Kyoto, and without anyone noticing, they piled up in Higashiyama.

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The grounds of Seikan-ji Temple. Beneath the weeping cherry tree in full bloom, a woman sat.

Her long, tied-up black hair swayed quietly along her back.
Her neck stood out white, and there was a faint smile on her downcast profile.
Her kimono was a deep red. The hem was shaded with purple, blending into the colors of the quiet night.

In her hands was an old biwa.
A worn body, a neck scarred with age. Yet, the woman's hands held it quietly, as if accustomed to it.

The flowers were in bloom, but no wind blew. Nevertheless, the weeping cherry tree swayed slightly.
From within the darkness, one by one, shadows began to gather.

Those without faces, those with split mouths, those crawling forward as if crouching, those slithering.
None of them were human. They were those who had turned into demons—

The woman, eyes still cast down, quietly plucked the strings of the biwa.

A low, damp sound shook the night air and seeped into the depths of the darkness.
As if drawn by that sound, the vengeful spirits gathered in the temple grounds one after another.

A quiet vortex had formed beneath the cherry tree.

In its center, the woman said nothing, simply waiting.
No one knows what lies in the depths of her eyes.

—The Night Cherry Blossom Hundred Demon Parade.
She was the only one who knew its beginning.

The woman, eyes still cast down, stroked the strings with her fingertips.

Pluck—
A sound that permeates the silence.
Ripples of sound spread out beneath the weeping cherry tree.

Plink, pluck... plink-plink-pluck...
Before long, as if the mist were whispering, the woman's voice descended.

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Now, listen well, everyone.
Three mountain passes to the west from here, in the valley where smoke drifts, lies a mining town.
In the Ikuno post town, where men drunk on dreams of silver gather,
there lived a young boy.

His face was smiling and gentle, and his attire was but a single poor, thin garment.
However, his eyes—
Those who saw his eyes would all say the same thing:

"It was... like a bottomless well."

Pluck... jingle... ng...

The boy's name is unknown, and his age is uncertain.
But it is said that whenever he appeared,
laughter would always echo somewhere in the town.

Hee, hee... hehehehe...

A figure standing alone under the eaves on a rainy day.
A silhouette peering at a bonfire in the corner of a miner's hut on a snowy day.
He would vanish the moment you looked away,
yet the sound of his laughter would linger for a long time.

Heh... hehehe... kuku...

It happened one evening.
The boy set his heart on a courtesan.
Her face was white, her voice soft.
A woman of that trade who drew in the money and hearts of men.

It is said the boy visited her for many days, gave her gifts, and spoke his heart.
The woman, too, responded with a smile.
But—that was, after all, a fleeting affection.

The boy did not realize it,
or perhaps, even realizing it, he was still smiling.

And that night,
the woman disappeared.

No matter who searched where, she could not be found,
only, in the alcove, there was the sleeve of a red undergarment, and
marks like sharp claws...
And only a muffled laughter danced in the air.

Hehe... hehehe... kuku-kuku...

—Ever since then, strange occurrences have plagued the town.

Night after night, the boy's figure appears on a small boat floating on the river.
Those who witnessed it
all vanished the next day.

One miner jumped from a cliff while laughing,
a girl at an inn had something whispered in her ear in a dream,
and by morning, she had lost her voice, collapsed, and was foaming at the mouth.

Those who saw the boy vanished,
and those who followed him never returned.

All that remains is—
the scent of a woman, and drifting like the wind,
only that laughter.

Heh-heh-heh... hehehehehe...

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The woman plucked the final note.
Kiiin...
The lingering sound seemed to tear through the sky, chilling the hearts of those who heard it.

Cherry blossom petals fluttered down.
And the woman showed signs of beginning to speak again.

The woman quietly plucked the strings once more.

Plink... plink-plink... ng...

The sound of the biwa swayed in the night wind, casting shadows on the moonless sky.

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Now then, it has been many years since everyone who saw the boy began to disappear.
People gradually began to whisper among themselves.

"That is not of this world," they said.
"The curse of the corpses that dug for silver has taken the form of a boy," they said.
"No, something even more terrifying is walking in the guise of a boy," they said.

And—

The last time the boy was seen was at the house of a young miner who was a regular customer of that courtesan.

That night, neighbors say they heard this:

Thump... thump... thump...
The sound of knocking on a locked door.
The sound of something slithering across the roof, even though there was no wind.

Slither... slither... slither...

"Open the door, return the woman."
Such a voice echoed in the darkness, from nowhere at all.

The miner's house remained silent even when morning came,
and what those who went to check saw was—

a paper sliding door dyed crimson with blood,
a red undergarment nailed to a pillar,
and only the shadow of a boy, scorched black like ink.

There was no human figure there.

Heeeee... hehehe...

Since then, no one in town has seen the boy.

However, in the corners of the town, or in the valleys at night,
they say you can sometimes hear the wind laughing.

He... hehehe... kuku...

And—
where the boy last stood,
a red cloth is always left behind.

Like the lingering grudge of a woman dyed in blood.
That is the only remnant left in this world.

—That town now harbors a grudge, neither sleeping nor forgetting,
quietly, quietly, waiting for the footsteps of a demon.

Pluck... jingle...
Plink... plink... plink...

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The woman smiled.
But her eyes were not smiling.

The petals of the weeping cherry tree, like drops of blood,
were raining down onto her shoulders and hair.

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