Disclaimer: I don't own Fushigi Yuugi.
AN: I do in fact know that Genbu Kaiden is out. However, long before it came out, before there were even rumors that it was coming out, I sat down and wrote The Genbu Story. It took me a year to finish the darn thing and when I was done I just wasn't satisfied. So, many years later, I'm revisiting and rewriting it. If you want to read the finished original you're welcome to do so. It's still posted. I warn you, though, the writing is pretty bad.
Prologue
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Einosuke
If only I had known.
If only I had known what horrors China would bring home I never would have gone on that trip. I never would have taken those oh so diligent notes. I never would have carefully translated what I had found. I never would spent hours carefully binding it. I never would have let her open it. I never...
But that is all in the past now. Now my daughter lies dead, slain by my own hand. Her body still glows with a faint green light, but it is quickly fading. Curse him, for what he did. Curse me, for letting him.
Blood seeps from her breast, staining the ceremonial robes she still wears. All I can see is the blood. My vision is red. The same red as that cursed book.
And there it is, the damn thing is, lying innocently on the floor. I snatch it in my hands. This must never happen again. I have to destroy it.
It doesn't take me long to build a fire. It takes me even less time to realize the thing will not burn. I leave it in there for a good half hour but it's not even singed. It cannot be cut and the chemicals under the sink are harmless. I try everything I can think of. The book still looks as pristine as the day I put it together.
Why won't it die? The damn thing is eluding me in every way. It has taken my everything. My life. My daughter. Why does it insist on torturing me?
In a fit of rage I throw it across the room. It hits the wall, then falls to the floor. The sound it makes is much heavier than I know the object to be. I sink to the ground. I'm exhausted. I put my head in my hands. They're shaking. The rest of me is too. I feel a strangled, hysterical laugh bubble out of my throat. Suddenly I am full out cackling. A crazed, maniacal laugh. I try to stop, but I can't. Is this what it feels like to go insane? I gasp for air. I can't breath. My body refuses to let me. My chest hurts; a huge, aching hurt. My heart has been ripped out.
Tears come then. Sobs rack my body. I feel weak. The room is spinning. Is it possible for tears to kill you? Somehow I find myself by my daughter once again. The blood has stopped flowing out of her wound. Her face is a pale, ghostly white. I touch it. The feel of cold is strange when her face is usually so sunny, but I don't take my hand away. She's still smiling. Even in death, she smiles for me.
I couldn't protect her. That's what parents are for, isn't it? They're there to protect their children. I could never protect her. I couldn't save her from the grief she suffered as a child; I could only share it with her. I couldn't save her from the grief she suffered in that book; I could only watch. And I couldn't save her from myself.
Oh God. I killed her. I killed my child, my baby.
This was not the fate I had imagined for her when I held her in my arms fourteen years ago. Waterfall child. That is what we called her. I hated the name at first. I wanted to name her Sachiko, child of happiness. I wished her happiness from the moment I saw her little, scrunched up, slightly swollen face. I wished for her name to bring her such happiness. Yoshi wanted to name her Takiko. When I asked her why, she would only smile. I still don't know what about our daughter made her think of waterfalls, but it was a name I came to love. It was the right name, perfect for her in every way. Yoshi was right. She usually was.
If she hadn't gone out that night...
It's over now. There is no more hope left. I will die like this. I cannot live on without both of them. Not with this guilt. The knife is there. It won't be hard. I hold it in my hand. The blade is still stained with my daughter's blood. I cannot look at it. My eyes slide away.
The book is still laying where I threw it. My eyes come to rest upon it. I cannot destroy my creation, this much had become clear, and yet...
There are four beast gods of the four nations in that book world. Genbu was Takiko's, but each of the countries has it's own legend. Will the other three gods pull more unfortunate girls into their world? I am stunned to realize that I know the answer. Yes. Yes, they will. Takiko won't be the last. No, she is only the first. I stare at the book. It is truly a monster. But monster or not, I am the one who made it so. Were it not for me... I cannot let more girls be thrown into that world. I cannot let more die, for die they almost certainly will. I will not be responsible for their pain.
But I cannot destroy the damn thing.
What can I do then? I could hide it. But where? Once I am dead this house will be given to someone else. Any safe deposit box will no longer be safe. I have no foolproof way to hide it. I cannot risk it being found. It needs a keeper. Someone who knows it's powers and can keep it safe and hidden. But no one knows what happened except me. I could tell someone. But who would believe me? I wouldn't believe me had I not lived through it. And I can't tell them what I've done. Any sane person would call the police. I can't afford to get arrested. Not when there is so much at stake. Who knows what would happen to the book then? No. That is not an option.
My eyes roam searchingly around the room, searching for a place I can hide it. Any place where it won't be found. They land on a picture. We were standing outside of this very house. We'd just moved in, I remembered. That was such a happy day. Takiko was so young. She was only five years old. She was so excited to set up her new room. She wanted everything just so. Yoshi cooked a big celebratory dinner. Salmon. That was what we had. We invited friends to eat with us. We were so glad to be living close to each other. Suzuno didn't like the salmon. Takago was so embarrassed.
Takago.
An idea is forming in my head, slowly but surely. Takago is a good man and a good friend. I could not see him in person. No, he would surely turn me in. But if he knew it was my dying wish... Even if he didn't believe me he is careful. He would not risk finding that I had been right. I know him well.
The first letter I write is unclear, the second too long and rambling. The third is perfect. I slip it into the cover of the book, shutting it soundly. Shi Ji Ten Chi Sho. That is what I wrote so carefully on the cover. It was just a few weeks ago. How can one's life go so wrong in so short a time? How did this happen? How did it begin?
--
Perhaps it began when I was a child. I always had a fascination with the past. I couldn't help it. History was interesting. I left my small Hokkaido town to go to university in Tokyo where I studied history and religion.
I met Yoshi in 1903. I was 24 and she was 20. We fell in love and our parents allowed us to marry in 1905. Four years later Takiko was born. Our only child. Our beautiful child. My career was taking off so we lived fairly well in Tokyo until Takiko was five. Yoshi never liked it in Tokyo, so when we had the money she convinced me to leave. We moved to Morioka, but we came back to Tokyo for vacations. My work took me away often, but the money I made was good and coming home always made it all worth it.
We were so happy back then.
I first became interested in China through a myth, a story that had made its way to Japan. I went there and the natives told me the full story. The beautiful story. Only a smidgen of the legend had made it to Japan. The scrolls they showed me were old and decrepit. Some of the characters were impossible to make out, but I copied as much as I could. I was determined to show the public this old, ancient, beautiful religion. I asked them what it was called. Shi Ji Ten Chi Sho, they told me. Four Gods, Sky and Earth. I told them I wished to publish what they told me. At first they didn't understand my broken Chinese. When they realized what I wanted to do they shook their heads vehemently. They called me a fool, but I was arrogant. I did not heed their warnings. I was a great scholar and historian. They were superstitious peasants. They didn't know what they were talking about.
I took my notes home and began my work. For months it consumed me.
The book was strange from the start. I'd wake up and find that I must have written more the night before than I thought. I would misplace it for days at a time, only to find it on my desk. I just assumed that Takiko had found it and put it there. I was absent minded by nature. It wasn't so strange for her to find my work around the house and put it on my desk.
I would work on it for hours, late into the night. I wrote of gods and warriors and priestesses and lands in peril. All of my projects had fascinated me, but this obsession was new. I never thought that maybe the book was writing itself, as it did again once it took my daughter into it. It never seemed strange then.
And then I was done. I finished the last sentence, stacked the paper neatly, and bound it. I'd asked Takiko what color I should use. She chose the color of the cover of all my books since she was old enough to know the words. It was tradition. She chose red, so that was what I used. My masterpiece, I called it. My finest work. I carefully wrote the title on the cover. Shi Ji Ten Sho. I had just finished the last character when the door slammed. Shoes were taken off and books set down.
"Papa?"
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