This familiar horizon again.
Is the sun rising, or setting? A starless sky erases light and depth from the abyss, with only that scarlet colour in the distance to guide us. The crashing waters, thick as tar, awake me again, beckoning towards that painful rebirth. No matter where I look, or what I try to understand about it, this so-called 'river' seems to have no beginning or end. The fiery-haired ferrywoman clicks her tongue once I make my presence known, although doesn't divert her attention from the voyage.
"I was hoping we would reach the other side before you woke up." She laments.
Head spinning, I let my body sway to the boat's rhythm, "And how long have I been asleep for?"
"A day or so?" She answers, "It seems your journey into death is quite a long one."
"I'm sorry for ruining your hard work like this."
"It's my fault for being wishful." Nonetheless, she continues rowing, "Lady Eiki is in for another disappointment."
"I'm sorry, but as long as Fujiwara no Mokou lives, I won't allow myself to pass on."
"You haven't given up that habit of saying ridiculous things, I see." She replies, "Well, keep up the good work."
"Did she bring me here again?"
"She did. Dumped you in like a catfish."
"That girl..."
"I'm surprised it took you this long." She continues, "It's not polite for a ghost to wander."
"Oh, I haven't been wandering at all." I answer, "In fact, I've been living with her this past year."
"Eh... this just keeps getting harder and harder to understand."
"We agreed to duel once a year." Quietly, my hand meets my torso, "As you can see, I didn't come out on top this winter."
"So it's something like that." The boat rocks gently upon the invisible waves, "She must be expecting you back, in that case."
"I can't return." I proclaim suddenly, "Not until I have something to show for my failure."
"Are you trying to impress her?"
"I want to become stronger." My voice lowers, "There's only so much I can learn from one person, however strong they may be."
"Hah~ I take it that means we're not making it to the other side." The ferrywoman sighs, "I'm in enough hot water just letting you go at all."
"What's wrong with that? I'm a spirit, aren't I?"
"Well, there's nothing wrong with it, but..." She pauses, "Ghosts belong in the Dark World, where they can't bother the living."
"So why am I not there?"
"Most passengers coming through the Sanzu River don't just hop off the boat on a whim, you know." The waves calm as she elaborates, "Only souls judged by a Yama enter the Dark World."
"If that's the case, why don't all souls just throw themselves overboard?"
"Because most of the time, they get lost in the water." Her tone shifts, "Even I don't know what happens to them."
"The river seems calm, but terrifying things prowl below the surface." I recount, "Making my way back to shore last year connected me to a dreadful feeling. Compared to death, it was... so violent and desperate. As if I was sinking into the chasm that separates worlds."
"The feeling of rebirth."
"That trial awaits me again. It almost makes me want to give up." I continue, "To be reincarnated through water. Isn't that strange?"
"Some rationalise that all life stems from the oceans of the world." The ferrywoman comments, "Even infants are born from flooded wombs."
"Lakes that take months to cross..." My eyes close. The musty smell of the village library seems to hover, "The outside world seems to be filled with such ridiculous-sounding things."
"Be thankful that you've been given a chance to exist the way you do." She replies, "In the forgetful world beyond the barrier, it wouldn't be possible at all."
Like always, no destination comes creeping over the crimson-haunted horizon. The lapping waves and gentle creaks of the rowboat lend a carefree and peaceful atmosphere to this passage of death. Within the waves reside a hell like no other. My path towards Mokou - towards the redemption at the very end of my journey, awaits beyond there. Gensokyo hides trials beyond hermits in bamboo forests. A premonition strikes me, like a flash of inspiration between partitions of fear. Fables of 'the cave into the brightest darkness beneath the world.' What other wonders dwell there? Something teachable, festering. Unconscious and feverish like before, I will appear there.
"I'll be off." My feet dip into the tar.
"We weren't even close." She sighs and lifts her scythe, "I have to make my way back every time you do this."
"Don't work too hard."
"Oh, that's a good saying." Without turning her head, she seems to be smiling, "But, be certain to follow your own advice every once in a while."
With that, I sink into the water, and the rowboat disappears.
Like fire, my flesh scalds away in the deep. Shadows rear up over the waterline to collapse downward with their shivering gums, swallowing me whole. Somehow, the pain is more manageable than before. Throughout the many loathsome years my heart endures, across bodies feasted upon, across my soul slipping away, the mind drifts to the experiences of the living world. What was Mokou thinking, at this moment? It would be nice to see more of that complex person draped in curtains of boredom. Focusing on such wholesome things, on certain occasions it seemed as though I might be damned to this for good. That singular purpose which spurs me towards reincarnation tethers to both ends of the river. This revenge - Mokou's death, pivots me into a rage. It is all that matters.
And, upon realising that, the waters regurgitate me once again.
It's serene. With one year spent staring alongside the rows of bamboo stalks, a view of just about anything else is enough to give me pause. A cacophonic mixture of birdsong blends into the wind running sweetly between verdant, snow-capped leaves. Streamside mud clings to these familiar robes of mine as I rise to my feet. It's a different place. A forest separate from the one I last re-entered the world from. But, like before, the thought of becoming lost doesn't bother me in the slightest.
I envy these hours of wandering now. With thoughts unconnected and fearsome, a walk is what I need to consider my final thoughts aboard that rowboat, and the moments shared with Mokou during the last ebbs of my previous life. The pain of death is still so excruciatingly real. No other sadness can compare to that helplessness, that despair. But, there was also beauty to be found. Without a doubt, as worthless as it may be now - if that duel had been our first, I would not have returned as a spirit. I should be grateful, then, that my true 'death' was something much more unsatisfying.
It's a sight to behold, certainly. Even so sure of my arrival, I'm still intrigued. Capped against a formidable hilltop, hidden beneath the canopy, a cavernous maw seems to beckon any passing traveller. Though rocky and unassuming, even a body so unfamiliar with warmth as my own can sense it. The beginning of a terrible heat, almost like a premonition rather than a complete feeling, exhumes from the opening. What dangerous residents of Gensokyo find themselves at the bottoms of damp caves in the middle of nowhere? A lovestruck wonder surrounds me, paces collapsing towards the answer.
Into subterranean soil.
The Second Year - Winter
Crumbs of pebbles dislocate and tumble from the ledge, echoing as they follow into darkness. Tempting the cliff's precipice, I exhale and wipe the sweat from my brow. Once again, the cave has taken a dive, sinking impossibly further into the world. This water-slick cavern turns even the most innocent of steps into perilous games of death. Every once in a while, some fairies will pass by, hovering up and down the cave's generous airspace. Envious, I can only stare into the abyss and ready myself for another suicidal climb down the bluff's ledges.
The temperature's becoming unbearable. The blanketing darkness creates a uniquely suffocating atmosphere - an anxious, preliminary fear that compels me to leave. How much deeper can it go? I've heard that caves like these can be filled with miasma. In the air, a sulphurous odour, as with everything in this dreaded hole, seems to bellow up from the expanse. Deep underground, the seconds of my journey blend innumerably. At times, it seems like descending an inch takes an hour, whereas on other occasions I seem to traverse miles in the span of just a few moments.
"Yaaaah~"
I wonder whose bucket that was, and why it made such a strange sound when I kicked it off the cliff. In any case, I don't encounter its shattered remains even as the terrain peters out afterwards.
Rather than that, I encounter something more worrying. Painting into the eroded ridges upon the walls and ceilings comes a light from down below. A bright, scarlet colour, like aged blood. Peeking over the nearest edge enlightens me - rows of torches sit flaming upon iron sconces, beckoning. But towards what? For the first time, the cave rises towards a crest marred by reddish fog. What view awaits me atop that tempting hill? Feverishly, I jog to discover the meaning behind this plunge, flinching as my eyes adjust to the dull but blinding light below.
"...Unbelievable."
A home.
No. One of many homes. A great estate that stands out among the others, dissolving into sight as my vision improves. Streets. Walkways. A bridge. Shadows, backlit by hanging lanterns, swing and dance in-amidst the sight.
A village. Is it larger than mine? Or, can I even consider that place 'my own' anymore? Truthfully speaking, I've never seen it from on high before, so perhaps vantages like these have a way of exaggerating scale. Nonetheless, this is a village. Still populated, it seems, although with what exactly, I've yet to figure out. What creatures make home beneath the soil? What do they eat and drink? If Gensokyo were a simpler place, such questions might be answered easily. But even so, an idea of what to expect has already formed in my head.
"Youkai."
But what sort? That question continues to frighten me. 'Youkai' are a great number of things, few of them easily dealt with. Since my birth, their shared, playful wickedness has been the source of many sleepless nights. While it seems humans are getting along better with Youkai in recent years, the truly dangerous among them continue to pose a great threat to the village. How many unbelievable stints of near-destruction have we weathered? That tenacity is something to be proud of, but at the same time...
When was the last time we fought for our own sakes?
Humans solve the problems of humans, and Youkai solve the problems of Youkai. But our simple, wordly issues seem overshadowed by the strange politics of individuals beyond our influence. Certainly, there are some powerful humans in Gensokyo. That shrine maiden who overlooks the barrier, for one, and that golden-haired girl who can supposedly wield magic. The people of the village show no such talent. Farmer and hunters - keen to thrive, but powerless to defend against the whims of this land. Could that be my reason? Seeking after the strength of those who can stand against Youkai?
Of course not. After all, it seems that bloodless conflict is the preferred method these days, using that strange card system. Even the weakest of us can stand against a Youkai following such rules, or so it goes. My sword doesn't play a part in any of it.
Then, why do I walk this path?
The bridge is short and barely covers a stream, but it would be impolite not to cross it. Strangely, though this seems like the cave's final chamber, there doesn't seem to be anything causing the insufferable heat. Is this simply how hot things become underground? Thinking useless thoughts like those, my first steps across the bridge remain heavy with caution.
"Welcome to the bottom floor."
There's some kind of guard idling at the far end. A bright-haired, green-eyed girl, but clearly no human.
"A cave doesn't really have floors, does it?" I answer, "More importantly, could you tell me what this place is?"
"You might be the first visitor that's ever asked such a ridiculous question." She chastises, "But, no matter how you look at it, this is definitely Former Hell."
"I've wandered into the afterlife?"
"Isn't that what ghosts do anyway? You've clearly gotten your destination wrong, in any case."
"It's not so simple. I came here on a prediction."
"I'm not sure what you expect me to do with information like that." The girl exasperates, "If you came here to die, then I can oblige you."
"For crossing a bridge? Is it really necessary to threaten every visitor?"
"Well, I wouldn't be much of a guard if I didn't." She answers, "That said, it doesn't look like you have any spell cards."
"Just a sword, I'm afraid."
"How rare. Even a ghost should know that violence is going out of style in this day and age."
"If you're looking for a fight, I'll have to pass. There's someone else I'm looking for."
"Someone else?" She asks, "That's only natural. But who could that be?"
"All I know is that whoever they are, they must be powerful." I reply, "Otherwise, I wouldn't have come down here."
"Hm, hm. Not a bad answer." The girl closes her eyes thoughtfully, "It's a pain to fight everyone that comes through, so you can go on ahead."
"And what sights can I expect to see in Former Hell?"
"Oni. So if you came here looking for strength, you're about to see plenty of it."
"I've heard the tales. What are my chances of leaving alive?"
"Worry more about how you're getting back to the surface. Former or not, Hell isn't an easy place to escape." She shrugs her shoulders, "You'd be surprised how laid-back Oni can be."
"I'll take your word for it."
I could imagine a hundred different ways in which that encounter might have gone worse. Stories from my childhood seemed to always focus on the dangerous or cunning natures of Youkai, but from my own experiences, they seem to live lives as ordinary as any human's. They speak of death often - of murder, like killing is something they occupy themselves with on a daily basis. Times really must be changing, if carrying around a sword searching for death is considered strange.
There's some sort of festival going on here. Clashing, drunken tunes leer over the roofs between streets. Sake dishes and half-broken gourds litter entranceways and verandas. The people here seem to be drinking like drinking is going out of style, although considering its supposed residents, maybe this is just how things normally are. It doesn't take long before I spot them. Tall, horned folk, tumbling down roads on unsteady feet, drinks in hand. I've seen humans who carry themselves with less grace on a night out. For a moment, they seem almost harmless. Playful, even. Until one of them comes crashing through a stone wall ahead of me with the ease of brushing aside a curtain.
How frightening. An entire settlement of drunkards who don't know their own strength.
"Excuse me. Are you alright?"
I ask that as more of a formality than anything else. I know she's alright, maybe better than alright. Even after the fact, her hand continues to balance a dish filled to the brim with something I can smell from a few paces away. As if in a dream, the woman turns towards me, eyes half-lidded, equal parts intoxicated and curious. Like being caught in the gaze of a wild beast, I feel some distant urge to run away. That, or contend with strength I can't possibly hope to win against.
Then, she shouts.
"Go haunt somewhere else! You're ruinin' the atmosphere!"
Touting her shackled wrists around like that, I can spot the redness in her cheeks. It seems like she's had a little too much to drink, if such a thing is possible for an Oni.
"Hn?" Standing up straight, she scrutinises me for a moment, "Hoh... you reek of death."
"I'm a spirit, so that shouldn't be surprising."
"You come here lookin' for a fight?" She continues, "Or, is that sword just to make you look tough?"
"I haven't ended a single life with it."
"Hah! Honesty's a good start, but if you can't fight, it'd be better if you gave it to someone else."
"Once, I thought I could fight." Somehow, that realisation stings me more painfully than I imagined it would, "But, I've had nothing but humbling experiences since I decided it was time to test that thought."
"The journey towards strength is a difficult one for a human." A surprisingly gentle response arrives, "Knowin' there're still those types of folk out there is kind of refreshing."
"What types are those?"
"Strugglers. Humans who fight Youkai straight-up. No danmaku lightshow." She takes another sip, "If you ask me, we're all gettin' too soft these days."
"The one I chase after is a human." I admit, "Fujiwara no Mokou."
"Ah, I know that name..." Nodding, she twirls around and begins walking off, "The elixir girl. You tryin' to kill her? What a bad joke."
"Elixir girl? Is there something special about her?"
"Wh- you're tellin' me you don't know!? Pfft-" Without any restraint at all, she rears her head back, "Hahahahahaha!"
Her laugher is something else. Loud enough to risk bringing the entire cave down on our heads. Just like with the ferrywoman, mixing the topics of Mokou and death together seem to provoke unbelievable reactions. All that I can understand fully is that she has some reputation for being difficult to kill. Not that I wasn't aware of that already, but for her death to be considered a 'bad joke' by someone so forward as an Oni, there must be something about her that I'm yet to understand.
"Priceless!" Ending her laugh on a whim, she beckons with her free hand, "Follow me. I want to hear the rest of this story."
Why did I even come down here? On a 'premonition', like I said before. Another wasteful pursuit into tempering something which cannot be tempered. The more time I spend away from Mokou, the less I remember about our duel - the less I recall of that immaculate moment in which we were equals. My bloodless heart yearns for that feeling once more. The sharing of 'love' that occupies perfection in battle. In a simpler way, I miss her because, all things considered, it's likely she's not eating correctly without me around to goad her into it.
The boisterous Oni leads me through the lamplit streets of Former Hell, past the rallying hordes of her kind running amok, their uncontrollable song and dance lending a festivity that I never imagined the underworld could possibly have. On the outskirts of the cavern, almost invisible in a dripping darkness beyond the sconces of flame, a home tearing at the seams sits, dilapidated and mistreated. The torn sliding door provides a view into the lightless front room, tatami mats scored with gashes and sour from drink. The Oni wastes no time in planting herself firmly next to the only intact gourd in the room.
With a gleeful expression, she tops off her dish and cheers to no-one in particular. The drink disappears down her throat like water.
"Hah~" She smiles sweetly, "Come here and sit down."
Miraculously, she's already poured out another helping before I can even oblige her. By the time I do, her arm is outstretched with a hemmed pool of sake waving in the vermillion bowl.
"Try some."
Nothing like the softness of Mokou's offer that night hits me. To an Oni, this sort of introduction is second nature. But after the perilous journey here, I find myself spoiling for a drink of just about anything, and so I silently accept it without much fuss at all. Despite that, I have trouble keeping it down. The alcohol stings my throat like no sake I've ever tasted. Booze for the sake of booze, flavoured like spice. It would take a palate far more refined that my own to appreciate it, or perhaps that's just part of its charm. In that way, it really is something an Oni would drink like water.
"Whew..."
"Oh! You're a good drinker!" She slams her fist on the floor, "Not bad for a human!"
"You said you wanted to hear the rest of my story. Is it really that interesting?" I reply, coughing.
"Interesting ain't the word for it." She answers, "It's more like, someone sayin' they're gonna 'kill Fujiwara no Mokou' is so ridiculous that I have to hear them out no matter what."
"I'll ask plainly because it's something I can't stand not knowing, but what is it about her that makes that such a ridiculous thing to hear?"
"Heh..." She grins, "If she hasn't told you herself, then it ain't my place to ruin it."
"I lived with her for a year, so whatever you're talking about doesn't sound like the type of thing she lets out on the regular."
"That's wrong. Fujiwara no Mokou's story is old stuff. Everyone knows what's up with her." She crosses her arms, "More to the point, what the hell are you doing livin' with her? Thought you were trying to kill her, not bed her."
"We fight once a year, in the winter." I explain, "Besides that, we tolerate each other."
"And how's that going?"
"She's killed me twice."
"Haha! Good stuff!" The Oni laughs, "So you're one of those types of spirits."
"What type would that be?"
"The ones that never give up." She responds quickly, "...Well, knowin' her, that just makes sense, doesn't it?"
"How so?"
"'How so', he says..." Repeating my words, she leans forward to retrieve her dish, "If you don't know, you don't know. It's for you to figure out."
"I can't have the smallest hint?"
"I'll tell you one thing I'm certain of." Pouring once more, her expression becomes more refined, "-There's no happy ending waiting for you at the end of this tale."
"Love is tempered through suffering. In fact, I would say that love without suffering can't be called genuine."
"Love, huh... is that what it's all about?"
"Have you ever known love?"
"All my life." She drinks, "That's what it means to be an Oni. Love without effort."
"I'm a little jealous."
"You should be. Love's too hard for a human, ghost or not." She continues, "But, that girl... she might be one of the few who has it figured out."
"Maybe that's why she seems so impenetrable most of the time."
"Hm. At least you know what you've gotten yourself into." Content with that reply, she smirks, "Though, it doesn't explain what you're doin' all the way down here."
"I won't return to her with nothing to show for having been killed." I begin, "All that I put to use was what she taught me. It must have been like duelling a bad copy of herself."
"-So you came lookin' for a new teacher. I get it." Like that, she stands up, "Fair enough. It's been a while since I got to play around with someone."
"Eh?"
"Something wrong with your hearing? I said I'll help you out." She stretches her arms, "Don't go thinkin' it'll be easy, though. If you're serious, I'm gonna put you through the wringer."
"Are you sure? I can't just improve in a day or two."
"Naturally. 'Yuugi's training regimen from Hell' lasts a few months, at least." She flashes a fanged grin, "Don't worry, we'll get you back above ground before winter's up."
"No, it wouldn't even be a fair fight between us..." I wave a hand, "You'll kill me without even realising it."
"Who said anything about fighting me?" In response to that, she outstretches her arm, displaying the scarlet-red sake dish in full view, "This is gonna be your opponent."
"A dish?"
More of a bowl, with how wide it is. Very fitting for an Oni.
"It's brittle. Would shatter if I even dropped it." She explains, "Which is exactly what you'll be tryin' to do."
"When?"
"Anywhere. Anytime. From now until the first day of spring." She replies, "It's my favourite, though, so don't go thinkin' I'll just let it happen."
"I see. And what will this teach me?"
"A lesson you won't find helpful." She answers cryptically, "Not until it matters, anyway."
"I was hoping that an Oni's teachings would have more to do with strength."
"You want sword lessons, go see someone who knows a thing or two about 'em." Twirling the dish, her retort comes quickly, "A couple of those types are still around, if you know where to look."
"Even so..." Standing up, I let my gaze focus on the dish, "It's still a while until spring. Will breaking it really be that difficult?"
She outstretches her arm again. I could reach out and touch it from here.
"Give it your best shot."
A strange silence fills the room.
"Then, if you don't mind..." I reply, unsheathing my blade, "...Hmph!"
One simple, overhead swing should do it. Or, if it really is as fragile as she says, maybe I could break it without the sword? Of course, I would never dream of this working - she can just move her hand out of the way. But, rather than indulging her, it's more like a hungering curiosity has overtaken me. Just how quickly can an Oni, these fearsome Youkai of legend, actually move? Though it's dangerous, I'm strangely eager to see it with my own eyes.
Only, I don't see it. For the briefest of moments, it seems as though I've found my mark, but the ensuing instant brings me back to reality.
"Wh-"
"Come on, now! You'll have to swing faster than that!"
My sword hovers harmlessly above the crimson dish, trapped squarely between two well-placed fingers.
No, 'trapped' isn't the word for it. I can't even lever the hilt with all my strength, as if the entire blade is sunk in stone.
"I've heard the tales, but..." A bead of sweat forms on my forehead, "That's just ridiculous."
She grins at me, "Like I said, it's my favourite, so I'm not about to just hand it over."
With a curious glance, she examines the blade, "Hoh, not bad. Not many around who can still make 'em like this."
"I worked two coinless years in the fields until the village blacksmith agreed to forge it."
"That so?"
A horrible sound, like a chick breaking through its eggshell. A singular crack runs down the length of the blade before it can take no more, and the tip comes careening off, landing harmlessly on the ground with an empty, disarmed clattering. By squeezing her fingers, the Oni splits metal as easily as one would snap a twig. In my time spent training in the bamboo forest, I've noticed that my outlook on Youkai has been softening over the past year. What ruthless creature would sell medicine to the needy, or run a grilled lamprey stall? I would say now that, all things considered, Youkai are more human that I ever thought to give them credit for.
Perhaps it's for the best, then, that this happened. To remind me that some legends are not mere stories.
"You should know this by now." She releases her effortless hold on my broken blade, "-That's it ain't polite for a ghost to be attached to what it had in life."
After a sombre second, I can only manage a sigh, "I worked hard for every inch of this sword, you know."
"Hah? You can still cut with it, can't you?" She points at the flat edge where the tip once sat, "Be thankful it didn't shatter completely."
"Do you make a habit of breaking things to prove a point?"
"It's like I said." She smiles, "Love without effort."
"Then there's still a lot about 'love' I don't understand."
"Hm! Well said!" She puffs out her chest, "I'll even let you use this place while you're here."
"Ah, no, I wouldn't want to impose..."
"Impose on who? I ain't stayin' here."
"Then who owns it?"
"Whoever's the strongest around. And that'd be me, so burn the place down for all I care!"
That carefree attitude makes her strength seem all the more terrifying.
"Come at me anytime." She begins to to wander towards the door, "When I'm eatin', when I'm sleepin'... try your luck whenever."
"It's certainly an interesting challenge. And, it's only fair that I break something of yours to make up for my sword."
"You're starting to sound like one of us now!" She chuckles, "I'll be lookin' forward to it."
With that sentiment, she slides open the door and takes her leave.
"Hm." The sudden silence almost surprises me, "...Phew."
As expected, even speaking with an Oni is tiring. But, just as the stories go, they're also strangely wise creatures. It surprised me that, even in this remote place, there are still those who have heard of Mokou - even if the details are as foggy as ever. What does 'elixir girl' mean? She made it sound like I'm the only one who doesn't know the answer. Could I learn more about her, if I parleyed with other Youkai like I did today? Either or, it seems like I've managed to get myself into another duel of some kind. Break the Oni's sake dish? It doesn't sound difficult at all.
Then again, I seem to have a habit of underestimating my opponents.
So began that time in the scorching, cavernous city of Former Hell. Days spent wandering the lantern-lit streets, searching for or stalking the Oni I would come to know as Hoshiguma Yuugi, dreaming up plans of catching her off-guard at a crucial moment. Just as she suggested, I attempted every obvious method that came to mind at first. Approaching her while she slept, or when she set the dish down to hold something else. But some unbelievable, unconquerable show of strength and reflexes managed to stop me every time. I came awfully close on a few occasions. The ornament never strayed far from her side, whether out of habit or simply to make things harder for me. Many times, she would offer it to me in the same way she did back then, holding it at arm's length and daring me to strike. I never passed up that opportunity, however fruitless it might have been. My blade landed between her fingers more times than I cared to keep track of. In any case, she seemed to be enjoying the whole ordeal thoroughly, or, perhaps that jovial attitude towards all things is simply how Oni are meant to live.
Time passed faster than I imagined it could. Perhaps because the sun's rays never reached that place, days and nights became troublingly indistinguishable, made even more difficult in no small part by the hordes of Oni endlessly drinking and celebrating in the streets. When I thought a week had passed, Yuugi was quick to chime in that a full month had gone by. The second vanished just as quickly. Perhaps out of amusement, she began refusing to tell me how long I had left before the first days of spring.
It's a little embarassing to admit, but in the feverish haze of chasing after that sake dish day after day, a part of me couldn't wait to return to the bamboo forest. If only for a year, that place had been my home. In the space between long-winded, aimless conversations with Mokou, I cooked, and slept. That hostile, boisterous village within the depths of the earth carried a fragment of the torturous place it once was. But, through that suffocating air, I continued chasing after Yuugi's challenge.
Until, one day...
The Second Year - Spring
Like always, my travelling is just a suggestion. Whatever verdant sights I spot throughout the land exist only as fragments. Memories of anything transient and forgettable are difficult to keep hold of. I wonder, does Gensokyo experience me in a similar way? Perhaps I'm only 'here' for the moment, within glimpses of otherworldly things. In this newfound death, it's turned into my nature - passing through places as a spirit should. Despite that, time flows, and the weather changes. The world ticks by ahead of me. Thinking of it makes me afraid. Though my story continues, the life I led in the village is long over. I have trouble recalling where it is, exactly.
I remember this place, however. What binds me to the land of the living? A reason? A promise? Whether this or that, there's no denying one truth - the forest is my cage. Any fruitful experiences someplace else are tangential 'wrongs' which, in some way or another, guide me to a place of importance. And how 'important' did my stay in Former Hell turn out to be? I've returned with a broken sword and enough geriatric wisdom to put a monk to sleep. Have I been training? From the very beginning, when Mokou cut me down on that day, have I ever been training? I've certainly acquired a 'something' which will turn useful at 'sometime', or so I've been told.
Bit by bit, a conclusion is forming. Of what type, I can't be sure, but the secret to it may lie in those who can impart wisdom in the same way that Yuugi did.
But for now, another fate awaits me. A future at the end of my life, stained in chalk-white snow.
Here again, in the bamboo forest.
"Oya." She sits there like always, admiring nothing in particular, "Look who it is."
"Hah..." The breathlessness of a weeklong journey is suddenly given form, "I'm... ah..."
And like that, I collapse.
Warmth.
It's something I'm not too familiar with nowadays. This 'closeness to death' has given me a certain resistance to it. But is that so surprising? My blood no longer flows. My heartbeat is reduced to a pitiful twitching. The tar-like waters of the Sanzu River continue to dampen my skin, that even the barest whisper of wind has me shivering. In that way, if I were still alive, the heat of Former Hell might have been too much for me to bear.
My eyes open.
"Hm..."
A familiar ceiling hangs above me. Mokou must have brought me inside after I fainted. The futon feels like it was just freshly aired out.
One problem with this phantasmal body of mine is that, without 'observers' to constantly verify the 'realness' of my body, A number of physical needs can occasionally build up without me realising it. This strange phenomenon occurred constantly when I first started living here. During striking practice, I would unknowingly overwork myself with hours of labour. As soon as Mokou 'verified' my existence by stepping outside, the terrible exhaustion would hit me all at once. In the time it's taken me to wander out from Former Hell back towards the bamboo forest, those myriad necessities of life - hunger, thirst, and sleep, have all been steadily overflowing in the background. Having Mokou acknowledge me after all that time was like setting a bomb off.
"Ahh-" Sitting up, I can still feel my joints aching, "I need to take better care of myself..."
"Oh, he's still alive." A voice from across the room replies, "It looked like you really kicked it for a second."
"I'd just come back if that happened." Massaging my neck, I manage that dry response, "But, thank you for bringing me inside."
"Keine's been asking me where you ran off to." She lifts a tray from the counter, "She thinks we had a falling out."
"We did, didn't we? Good friends don't try to kill one-another."
"I wonder about that." She sits down with her legs crossed, placing the tray next to the futon, "Drink this. It's from Eientei."
"Medicine?"
"So they say. It's just a powder I mixed into some tea."
She reaches out and places her hand on my forehead.
"That being said..." She pauses, "I don't think you're sick. Just exhausted."
"Hm." I close my eyes, "This is pleasant in its own way."
"It's the small dream of every man to be lovingly tended to by a woman, after all."
"Well, more than that..." I reply, "It's just refreshing to see this surprisingly tender side of yours every once in a while."
"Is that any way to speak to your murderer?"
"You're no murderer, Mokou." I return my gaze to the ceiling, "Like you said back then, I was just a wild animal in need of putting down."
"Hoh, any more thoughts like those and you might not come back next time."
"Isn't that what you'd prefer?"
"Naturally. I wasn't complaining about it."
"This is where your kindness comes to an end, is it?"
"You won't learn a thing about killing by being coddled."
"I suppose not."
Despite all this, the two of us will still cross swords come winter. The inevitability of that day seems to be the only thing I can expect nowadays.
Mokou lounges freely while I drink my medicine. I've heard that the drugs of Eientei are capable of some miraculous things, though knowing that doesn't help with the taste.
"You were gone for a while, huh." She remarks coolly.
"Mmh." A sickly aftertaste forces me to wince, "I was searching for strength."
"Looks like all you found was a broken sword."
"I met an Oni who called herself Yuugi." Staring into the cup, I try to remember that woman's overwhelming attitude, "She was... powerful."
"Hoshiguma Yuugi?" She crosses her arms, "Surprised you're still alive."
"I'm not."
"Ah, that's right. Almost forgot."
It's difficult to tell whether she's joking or not.
Mokou listens patiently whilst I recount the lukewarm tale of the damp cave tunnelling into the earth, of Former Hell, and of the festive Oni named Yuugi. In a way, I'm grateful just for that. These experiences, separate from the bamboo forest, are fated to fade away quicker than most. Telling a story meaningfully works it into the mind in a way that simple reminiscence can't. Whether friend or foe, or however complicated it might be, Mokou listens silently to anything I might have to say. And so, while my body aches, and while I share this hazy, pointless story, the thought of another deadly winter becomes shelved away for the time being, replaced by this occasional, dreamlike moment where the two of us almost seem like friends.
"So, how did you do it?" She speaks up a moment after I finish, "Hoshiguma Yuugi's one of the big four of the mountain. Even I would've had trouble smashing that dish."
"With that said, there's only one possible answer, isn't there?"
Her expression shifts. I've begun noticing that her bored demeanour shifts to something more contemplative whenever she thinks deeply.
"You didn't break it." She concludes.
"Hmhm..." I chuckle, "Isn't that obvious? I'd only need one hand to count the number of times I even got close."
"Why did you bother trying?"
"Hm. That is the question, isn't it?"
More to the point, what would have changed? Say I did break it. That, through some miracle, I was fast enough to catch Yuugi off guard. Where's the strength in any of that? Or, could it be that 'strength' wasn't what I was searching for the whole time? The yearning for adequacy I developed on the rowboat lead me to that place, if only to look for an answer that would keep my spirits up. An independence from Mokou's teachings - some technique or philosophy I could call my own.
Just one. To avoid coming back empty-handed from our duel.
"Ah, that look..." She sighs, "You're definitely putting too much thought into something again."
"You don't want to hear my satisfying conclusion?"
Mokou stands up, "Just focus on getting some sleep for now."
"Are you going out?"
"It's been a while since Keine dropped by, so we're running low on ingredients." She replies, "I'll get Eientei to share some of theirs, and see what I can gather up outside."
"Try not to pick any poisonous mushrooms if you can help it."
My words fall on deaf ears. In a way that's much like her, Mokou is already gone.
The clinic called Eientei once had a legendary reputation in the village as the place where an ashen-haired woman could cure all manner of ills, should one have the courage to seek it out. It's become more well-known recently, although travelling beyond the village for any length of time is still a risk many refuse to take. Mokou is fond of reminding me that the mansion is close by even if I've never been able to find it myself.
"...Ah." Laying there, a thought comes barging through, "I'm home."
I feel like smiling. Resting in this familiar place brings me the smallest amount of comfort. Untouched, forgotten moments like these, where the winter hangs like some far-off dream, leave me feeling almost embarrassed by my own happiness. Have I been overworking myself? Or, is this the sweet lull of laziness that borders on an addiction for some? Loud must my thoughts be, that even the room's silence seems worth listening to.
It is a 'home', isn't it? In Former Hell, my thoughts often led me back to this place.
Exhausted and hungry, being cared for by my own enemy.
It's shameful to admit, but...
I haven't slept so peacefully in months.
"Oh, if it isn't Mokou." A proper voice notices, "It was starting to get dull around here, so I was secretly hoping you would visit."
Long ago, that sentiment alone might have provoked them into blows. Even now, it has a strange way of irking her. She'd only come to ask for some food, but there are days where this fateful encounter is bound to happen whether she wants it to or not. The thin chatter in the room comes to a sudden halt as those words are spoken, the sterile atmosphere vacuuming into delirium.
"Kaguya." Mokou's response is neither passionate nor disinterested, "I wasn't really feeling it today..."
Snapping her fingers, a shimmering flame begins undulating in her palm, dissolving into the sweet-smelling air.
"Well, that's would I would say." She continues, "But, like always, seeing you in person has a way of changing my mind."
Such is the way of Gensokyo that friendliness and hostility often blur into one-another. The emergence of spell cards has injected a competitive spirit into every conflict, no matter the scope or stakes, but only those who cannot know death are given the privilege of channelling that playfulness from true, murderous revelry. Any spectator could feel the danger electrifying the air around these two.
"How troublesome." The raven-haired princess smiles sweetly, "I suppose I can entertain you for a bit."
"Stoooop!" A pair of crossed arms rise up in the background, "Time out!"
Reisen yells that from behind the safety of the pharmacy counter, her frenzied expression loosening as the two immortals begin to simmer down.
"Lady Eirin won't enjoy the front room being treated like a battleground, princess!" She pleads.
"Oh, I suppose that's true." Kaguya puts a finger to her mouth, "It's so easy to forget sometimes."
"And, Miss Fujiwara, please be more considerate... someone might come by looking for medicine."
"Hmph." Mokou's flaming palms disappear into her pockets, "My bad."
"I won't pretend to understand the situation, but the two of you have to be aware that there's a time and a place for everything!"
Just maybe, the nonchalance with which the modern problems of Gensokyo are handled can occasionally create this dissonance, where a scolding seems more troublesome than plain murder. Either way, the bloodlust in the air is wafted out rather quickly with Reisen's intervention. It's dependable that an umpire like this often exists in some shape or form, otherwise how would either of them know when to call it quits? Exhaustion and hunger are just antiquated thoughts to immortals, after all.
Exhaustion. Hunger.
"Ah." Mokou raises her head, "That's right. I was wondering if you had any food to spare."
"Don't just start a fight and then ask for a favour right after..." Reisen mutters, "Are you having trouble keeping yourself fed? I've heard it's difficult to forage this time of year."
"I just need enough ingredients to last a week or so."
"It sounds like you're eating for two again, Mokou~" Kaguya grins, "I told you he would come back."
"Don't go implying that I care whether he did or not." She lashes, "...Well, he's in some state, anyway, so I'll need more than weeds and berries for a few days."
"Eirin would be more than happy to treat him, you know."
"He's not dying. Just needs some rest, is all."
"Maybe now is the perfect time to tell him?" The princess continues, "That he'll never be able to kill you."
"Kaguya!"
"Okay, that's enough!" Reisen steps up to bat once again, "Please don't provoke her, princess..."
"Come, now. I was just offering some choice advice." She closes her eyes thoughtfully, "Leading along someone's dying wish like she's doing is just poor taste, if you ask me."
"Stay out of it." Mokou suggests.
"Do you see a part of yourself in him?" She rallies, "Or, is the thought of another deathless fool existing in this world enough to get you all excited?"
"You're eager to die today."
"Oh, I'm long past eager." Her poisonous smile fades, "Rather, even being reminded of it nowadays is enough to put me in a bad mood."
"Knowing that almost makes it all worth it."
For well over a millennium, boredom has been the recurring villain to Mokou's long-lived life. It seems that humans were never meant to experience such a spectrum of emotions. Through periods of rage and contempt, fleeting happiness and despair, there's no peak she hasn't suffered, no low she hasn't sunk to. The bloody embrace of another so utterly estranged from the world of the living turned out to be her saving grace. A greater disaster awaits at the end of the road - when these acquaintances of hers; Reisen, Tewi, Eirin, become just another transient point on the timeline of her existence.
To avoid those fearful futures, she clings to whatever can't be lost.
"There's no helping it." Kaguya sighs, "Reisen, we're able to spare some food, aren't we?"
The moon rabbit nods, "I'll have Tewi and the rabbits wrap up some supplies."
Mokou crosses her arms, "Eh... so even you can be considerate sometimes."
"If you're taking care of someone, it's only in good faith to lend some generosity." Kaguya replies.
"I only need a little. Don't give me so much that I won't be able to carry it all home."
"The rabbits enjoy slacking off this time of year, so I'll have it sent directly to your doorstep."
"It's your loss. Don't expect me to owe you a favour or anything."
"Of course not." Wistfully, she spins around, "...Well, at the very least, hear out this one request."
"Spit it out."
After a dreary pause, she speaks.
"That man..." Her voice is laced with unease, "When the time comes, be sure to do the right thing, Mokou."
The Second Year - Summer
"Mokou!" I exclaim, "Spar with me!"
"No way. It's too hot."
"You humoured me yesterday."
"It wasn't too hot yesterday."
"If you spend all day lounging around, it's only going to get worse."
"Maybe I should pay that kappa girl a visit..." She wipes the sweat from her brow, "Get her to make one of those machines from the outside world that can cool rooms down."
"They have some rather luxurious things beyond the barrier, don't they?"
"You've got no idea."
"Even so, this is troublesome." I reply, "I've been spoiled by our sparring sessions, so training any other way is leaving me unsatisfied."
"Just practice your swings, like you always do."
"No. It isn't enough." I sit down by the hearth, "Duelling to the death proved to me just how useless that kind of practice is."
"At least you're starting to get a taste for it."
"I only mentioned it in passing back then, but-" A pause, "-you once said that you've killed before."
"I've done plenty of killing." Mokou answers coldly, "Isn't that much obvious?"
"But why?" I ask, "You don't seem like the type to go looking for a fight."
"You've been making a lot of assumptions about me, recently."
"It's true that I can't understand the way you think." Admitting that, I continue, "But your attitude doesn't suit a killer."
"Youkai are always true to themselves." She begins, "Humans are more unpredictable. Our philosophies and opinions can change on a whim."
"You used to be different."
The cicada song fills the room as she retreats into her thoughts for a moment.
"There was a time when I killed everything that crossed paths with me, whether they were asking for it or not."
"I've read the legends of those who challenged every swordsman they came across." I recount, "But, I take that to mean not everyone you met was armed, necessarily."
"I didn't care who it was." Her pensive look is unbreakable, "I would cut them down, or beat them, or burn them to death..."
I open my mouth, but somehow, the words get stuck in my throat.
"I killed merchants, bandits, soldiers, wives, children..." She continues, "At some point, I started running into Youkai, so I killed them too."
Staring out towards the veranda, her listless eyes focus on nothing in particular, "Then, I got bored. So I stopped."
"You-" I lean towards her, "But, why?"
"Hah?"
"Don't act like it's a ridiculous question! What was your reason!?"
I ask that as if there's some simple answer that would explain everything. It's impossible to rationalise that kind of senseless behaviour, but there exists no such thing as a journey without rationality. Whether regretful or penitent, in that moment there had to be a justification that allowed Mokou to do what she pleased. I want to understand that reason, for better or for worse.
Her silence only deepens the unease in the room. It's certainly human, to ruin such a fine day with depressing stories like this.
"Masashi." Out of nowhere, she mutters my name, "What's 'love' to you?"
"...What are you talking about?"
"Last winter, you told me that 'love' was what you were searching for. What did you mean by that?"
It was suddenly my turn to answer a difficult question.
Love.
On that snow-covered morning, I decided that 'love' was what I wanted. Without giving it any thought, the word came to me in a moment of need. Grasping for my own justification, maybe in fear of coming off as a disappointment, the sum total of my life's longings crystallised into something that flew off with the wind into darkness. Whatever I believe - or, what I would like to believe, at least, was for a moment suspended in one word, for however much I could possibly pick it apart myself. True, 'love' or not, without an explanation, can't be anything but what it sounds like. How wonderful it would be if my beliefs were laid out in such a straightforward way, but 'love' cannot be that answer unless I shape it that way myself.
'Love' is simply whatever I want it to be, for now. Only, I can't tell Mokou something so ridiculous.
"I don't know." So I respond honestly, "All I know is that, it was the right thing to say."
"Ehh..." She scratches the back of her head, "So, 'whether I understand it or not, that's my answer' - it's that kind of thing, right?"
"Why do you care? What's 'love' got to do with this?"
"There's something about it." She answers, "Maybe it's a term that you can apply to many problems, or maybe there's some deeper meaning, but the thought of that - 'love', makes it sound like a good answer to just about anything."
"But not even love can excuse pointless slaughter!"
"What makes you think what I did was pointless?"
"Wasn't it!?"
After a beat, she smirks, "I was furious. So I vented my frustrations for a little while. There's nothing else to it."
It's contemptable. This woman is contemptable.
Only the wicked can speak of murder with such a straight face. In the dry summer heat, I can somehow picture Mokou's affectless expression in a situation like that. The lives of purely innocent folk, ended by a soul which seems void of any true purpose. Perhaps that's why my own still desires revenge, unable to accept such a hollow death. Over these myriad days spent lounging beneath the midday sun, I entertained bittersweet thoughts of a future unbothered with duels, finding peace in the possibility of a bloodless, undying life.
"It's not much of a reason, in retrospect." Mokou reflects, "All I can say is, if you were in- hngh!?"
As she stares wistfully towards the bamboo forest, I launch myself at her. A clumsy, disconnected surprise attack fuelled by impulse. Anger, sadness, repulsion - how am I supposed to feel? A mess of tumbling, disorganised limbs flurry over the hearth's ashes, kicking up thin clouds of dust. Those brief seconds pass by so quickly that I'm given little time to focus on anything in particular, blinded rage. Sensations come through in violent bursts. A kick lands in my side. A punch grazes my chin. Through the stinging pain, my arms carry me through desperate motions, fearsome with an unfamiliar hatefulness.
Then, the room is silent. And in that calmness, my senses return.
From beneath me, a dry chuckle emerges, "You're heavy."
"Fujiwara!"
"Oya, you're upset with me."
"Who wouldn't be!?" I yell, "Killing innocent people for your own sick pleasure!? How can you live with yourself!?"
"There was nothing pleasurable about it." She retorts, "Like I said, I was furious. It was my own way of lashing out."
"You know that's no excuse!"
"I regret it now, if that's what you want to hear." A cool wind blows into the room, "-But, if it was as simple as that, then we'd all be happy, wouldn't we?"
"But why!?"
"You asked me that already."
"Because I don't understand you! How can anyone understand you!? Murdering wives!? Children!? How could you mention that with such a calm attitude, as if it's the most normal thing in the world!?"
"Hm." Her pensiveness surfacing again, she coolly thinks up a response, "When you put it like that..."
Her answer arrives differently. With a graceful, contemplative look I've never seen from her, she smirks.
"It has to be 'love', right?"
My eyes blur up. Perhaps, from somewhere deep down, I could feel it coming. A knot of despair forms in my throat, impossible to swallow or digest, coalescing into a lump of inarguable sobs. Clinging to an unbreakable pillar of goodness, my hands naturally find their way around Mokou's throat, tears openly staining her shirt.
I shake my head, "Love?"
"But it didn't exist there. Not in that kind of killing, anyway." She frowns, "So I found it here, instead."
"Then it really was pointless!"
"Maybe." Her smile hides a blooming sadness, "Oi, Masashi."
"Don't call me that." My anger rises up from the simplest thing, "What is it?"
"Do you think I deserve to die?"
For once, I don't end up putting too much thought into it.
"You do."
An answer she seems to fully expect. Resigned to that tired acceptance of all things, her thoughts harden and become impenetrable once more. A conjoined moment of bitterness, gone as if it had never arrived - through the cryptic conversations we share, I've learned to understand that vagueness of hers somewhat, that a topic so simple as 'love' is enough to drive me to tears. I glimpsed that life. Horror. Tragedy. Unforgivable crimes never meant to leave the box, and yet laid bare for me to judge.
I do understand. That's what frightens me. Glimpses of romance in grotesque death, cycles of revenge looping; connecting to a mindless ouroboros.
My grip tightens. The soft flesh around Fujiwara's neck collapses inward, her hands unconsciously rise to pull on my wrists.
"Gh-" A whistle of air escapes from her nose, "Come on..."
True, death is instinctual. That is to say, we all fear it to some degree. Even with the knowledge that I would only rise again, when Mokou struck me down last winter, I might have tried anything to escape it. We humans were simply never meant to die more than once. So, even if Fujiwara wants, or desires, or expects death, her body attempts to resist it. It must be the pain. I'm liable to throw a fit over something as simple as a paper cut, but that sort of exaggeration is just in our nature. Simple thoughts like these distract me from Mokou as she yanks and squirms beneath me.
At some point, I close my tear-streaked eyes. If I had an extra pair of arms, I might have covered my ears, too. Her voice is a whisper, devoid of air. Words come through in breathless heaps, entropic and hurtful. As the silences between her gasps grow in length, the midsummer cicada song reaches a deafening hiss. What kind of expression am I making? One of anger? All I know is, there's no catharsis in such a disorganised murder. This immaculate revenge of mine ended not in snow, but in a dizzying heatwave, when the faraway threat of death should have remained.
On this day, I murdered Fujiwara no Mokou.
It's only then that I breath, feeling exhausted myself. Tears continue streaming uncontrollably down my face. A despair like no other follows in the wake of killing - grief and emptiness twisting together in a helix of emotion. I should be happy, rightfully, but where's the happiness in this? Straddling Mokou's corpse, my head remains abuzz with questions like that. In the end, my sword played no part in revenge. I had sunk to the deepest fathoms of Gensokyo for a revelation I would never need, adventured for no other reason than boredom.
Aimlessly, I wander towards that old sheath, still propped up in the corner of the room, edge blinking against the sun as I watch the blade slide out. A tool for murder, delegated to slicing vegetables and falling through thin air. The crux of my journey. My reason for living on through death on that day, in the end destined for nothing but household chores and wishful exercises, the only measure of its length that once tasted blood shattered on the floor of some forgotten underworld. I almost feel like apologising to it.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, something moves behind me.
A body.
Shuffling as if waking from a bad dream, that crumpled mess of white and red rises slowly from the ground, hands rising to tenderly massage the neck. A nightmare made real, I find myself unable to react, nerves still in confusion or disbelief. As listless as ever, Mokou confirms her health with a tired sigh, and raises her head to meet eyes with mine. If only I could understand her so well in this moment. Is she wondering what's going through my head? Or, at risk of skipping a few steps - how is this happening? She sits there as full of life as she was moments ago, animating from death with the same attitude one might have after a good night's rest.
Yet even so, as she finally opens her mouth to speak, her tone is one of mild disappointment.
"No luck." Saying that, she stands, "Not that I was expecting anything."
She's alive.
"What is this?" I mutter, "You're dead."
"There's no need to sound so harsh about it." Wincing, she brings a hand to her neck, "Ah, that still hurts..."
For an instant, her movements seize up as the flat crown of my blade presses up against her chin.
"...Oi." She remains still, "Twice in a row's just plain sadistic."
"What's going on here?" When the confusion subsides, that question is what comes out of me, "I killed you. I watched you suffocate."
"Aren't you proud? I thought that's what you wanted."
"Killing isn't-" Forcing myself to clam up, a pause hangs between us, "...Please, Mokou. What is this?"
"Find out for yourself." She challenges, "Kill me."
For nothing more complicated than simple defiance, I lower my sword arm, "No."
Or, at least, I try to. Faster than my eyes can follow, her hand snatches the blade with reckless speed.
"Don't act like you're better than this all of a sudden." Blood leaks down from her palm as she tightens her grip, "You already know what's going to happen."
"You'll stand up, no worse for wear? Is this why you treat yourself so poorly? Why you barely eat?"
"Is that so surprising? A body like mine doesn't need to be kept healthy."
With a yank, Mokou winces and covers her wound as I pull my sword back fully.
"...What are you, then? A spirit, like me? A demon? Some kind of god?"
With an unsatisfied sigh, she answers, "Immortal. But still human."
"Undying in some shape or form. I had that much figured out."
"It's more like a return from death than undying." Somehow, she manages to look a little pleased with herself, "Like a phoenix."
"Hm." The image of a flame burning in her palm comes to mind, "That's not a bad comparison."
"Well, you were bound to find out at some point." Looking resigned, she shrugs, "Naturally, there's a lot to worry about when your purpose is to kill an immortal."
"Is that why you kept it from me?"
"I wonder." She makes for the door, "At least you know you've got your work cut out for you."
The sombre atmosphere persists in the wind as I follow her out to the veranda.
"It really is too nice of a day for a conversation like this." I sit in a cluster of bamboo-cast shadows.
With a practiced familiarity, Mokou settles down in her usual spot, "You've calmed down."
"I wouldn't say that. I'm still furious with you."
"There's no running away from what we've done in the past, even after so long. I'll apologise if that's what you want to hear."
"What good would it do?"
"Right?" She smirks, "Even so, I'll tell you again that I regret it."
"I just don't understand." Piece by piece, my thoughts move into a more productive arrangement, "To kill the innocent so pointlessly - no matter how you look at it, only the truly evil are capable of such acts."
"At that time, whether it was evil or not wasn't something I considered." Her gaze follows into the thicket, "I reached out for anything that made me feel alive."
"You're immortal, so-" I take a moment to think, "-how long ago was this, exactly?"
"Huh, that's a tough one..." As if it would help, she stares towards the sky, "It's been about one thousand years since then."
"One thousand." I repeat, "As in, ten-hundred?"
"Give or take. There were times when I wouldn't keep track."
"...Have humans even existed for that long?"
"Isn't that the kind of thing you learn in school?"
"I wasn't tutored as a child. The village didn't have such a place until recently, thanks to Miss Keine." I explain, "More to the point, who could ever know something like that, teacher or not?"
"Supposedly it's a common fact in the outside world, or so I hear." Mokou replies, "You can read, can't you? Most uneducated people can't."
"Eh? Is that true?" I blink in surprise, "Everyone in the village can read. My parents were quite strict about it."
"Where I was born, only the nobility had to go through the trouble." She recounts, "A commoner doesn't have much use for it, after all."
"Nobility... you mean to say, those in charge? Like the village chief or the elders here?"
"Mm. The emperor and his consorts, financiers, diplomatic envoys, clan patriarchs - those plus all of their wives and children, usually."
"I'm not certain I understand some of those terms." I scratch my head, "Then, what about you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, if only the important received an education, then you must have been one of them."
"What's gotten you assuming I was anyone important? It'd be difficult to go a thousand years without learning how to read."
"Your name." I answer, "It's almost ornamental, like a formality."
"Maybe I just think highly of myself."
"I'm uneducated, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of learning." The winds begin to calm, "Fujiwara... that family seems to have been an important one in Japan's early history."
"Hoh, at least you know your own country's name."
"The point at which 'the outside world' stops being 'Japan' is still a confusing subject to me, so I'm hesitant to use it."
"Ah, what's the point in hiding it?" Resigning like that, she lays down with her hands behind her head, "Being born into a clan doesn't change anything in this day and age."
"It must have been worth quite a bit back then, though."
"That's because all the Fujiwara's women were married off to the emperor at the time." She explains, "Any heirs were loyal to their father, but raised in the mother's household."
"The wife of the most powerful man in the country didn't live with him?"
"Back then, it was expected of someone in power to have multiple wives." Her tired sigh is a rare occurrence, "So my family always made sure he got plenty of them."
"-Then the clan could groom the future emperor to suit their own needs."
"The relatives of the heir are treated well, after all." Mokou concludes, "It's a sour strategy, but it was either that or live as a commoner."
"Then you were destined for something similar."
"The girls of my family were shunned. Until we were old enough to be married off, the clan saw us as liabilities. They couldn't wait to get rid of us."
"You seem like the type who would have given them a hard time with it."
"I was as timid and soft as any woman was raised to be back then." She replies, "If you can believe that."
"The 'you' of one thousand years ago..." I imagine wistfully, "It's difficult to picture."
A millennium. I struggle to comprehend how so much time can be expressed through the life of a single person. My own childhood seems so long ago, the time between filled with unforgettable joys and conflicts. Even through such a short existence, I've seen death - in the wild, watching the hunters land their marks, and in the village, witnessing for myself the last breaths of life from beloved elders. That timeline, when stretched thin across the wide expanse of eternity, though I loathe admitting it myself, must dampen the importance of those moments. Would murder be my own saving grace, if I was forced to live for so long? Reaching for the distant peaks of emotion yet unattained, striving for even the barest note of meaning in a world drained of its colour?
"Mokou."
"Hm?"
"Thank you. For telling me all this." I manage, "And, I'm sorry."
"Nobody deserves death more than someone who treats it like an inconvenience." She imparts, "Lashing out against that is proof that you still have your humanity."
"I won't sit still and accept that implication."
With a quieting noise, she raises her head. Her expression may have been of confusion once, but now only belies a meagre interest.
"You're still human, Fujiwara." With a strange confidence, I continue, "More human than most, even."
"Mm." She regards those words with a quiet nod, "And where do you expect honeyed words like those to land you?"
"How rude. That came from the heart." I close my eyes, "I'm not keen on the idea of trying to get into some thousand-year old woman's garish pants."
"You damn brat!" Grinning, she leans over to push my shoulder, "A millennium of premium Fujiwara consideration went into this outfit, you know!"
Bickering like children, we go back and forth. On an unpredictable wind, the flow of our conversation changes in a way I've become familiar with. For once, the living puzzle of Fujiwara no Mokou seems alive with answers, her exquisite boredom now translucent and reasonable, and in the tragic way it does, winter leaves my mind for the time being.
Catching herself, she clears her throat, "For that, you'll be the one making dinner tonight."
"Don't make it sound like that isn't the case every night!"
Muttering that simple truth, I stand up, "...Well, it's a bit early yet, so I'll have a look at what needs preparing."
"Masashi."
Hearing my name spoken aloud since then still gives me pause, "...What is it?"
The sweltering stasis of summer brings me back to more straightforward times. Memories far enough away to be called nostalgic carry reminders of the emotions I'd took for granted that whole time. Midday exchanges with walks of life peppering the village like fallen leaves, seeing passion, stress, flecks of humanity in the faces of everyone I crossed paths with. Even imperfect, Mokou's gaze realises that small joy again - a melancholy smile, innocent as the falling sun.
Happiness. Or, something like it.
"...No." She stares back across the bamboo stalks, "Never mind."
The Second Year - Autumn
When I first arrived here, Mokou's daily strolls across the forest floor perplexed me. Hours at a time, with nothing but the maddening sight of bamboo to admire - certainly, as an immortal, her patience must be the stuff of legends, but what good can it do, that she holds the ritual so dearly in her heart? The unsatisfying answer came to me on the first days of autumn, when I began spoiling for a stroll myself.
It empties the mind, all this walking. Worrisome thoughts of the past and future dissolve into sculpting a route through the crooked bamboo stalks. Neither idling nor engaging, one can enter a sanctified, pathfinding trance that seems to eat away at the daylight hours. It's a thorough waste of time, but to someone as long-lived as Fujiwara, it must be a blessing. Of course, I'm sure her own way of putting it would be more complicated. On the fringe of that thought, I come to a stop in the whistling maze, appreciating nothing in particular, soaring to more difficult questions.
The faraway daydream of a 'warrior poet' rising up in me seems to be just that. The revelation of Mokou's undying nature, even, has shunted it from fantasy to plain impossibility. Whether rallied or not, whether cut out for it or not, my attitude towards this cold undeath is in dire need of shaking up. Now privy to the truth, in a matter of months, Mokou will be breathing regardless of our duel's outcome, if I were to be so enthusiastic as to even suggest that any kind of victory on my part is close at hand. On the contrary, with a sword halfway pushed to shattering completely, the odds are even more in her favour. The unavoidable problem of immortality is a distant mountain compared to the hurdle of overcoming the sheer gap in skill between Mokou and I.
On some rare occasions, the lull of the bamboo forest wanes enough for me to find an exit. Sights of unobstructed greenery and the horizons beyond inspire me to leave this terrible feud behind.
Judgement. The future that awaits me across the Sanzu River. To die in peace, we cross swords ceaselessly in the vain, impossible hope of victory. My overdue appointment with the afterlife has left me with enough free time to discover that there are many other things I would also like to know before the end. The way of the warrior. Yuugi's enigmatic lesson. The elusive 'love' that exists in the pursuit of death.
For the first time, I step beyond the forest's boundaries, out into the wilds of Gensokyo.
Droves of fairies pervade the skyline above this lonely path. Though it was overcast just a moment ago, the afternoon sunlight seems unusually vibrant here. In the distance, the Youkai Mountain, normally shadowed by bamboo curtains, blows out a healthy plume of smoke.
"How nice..." Idling there, a serene tiredness washes over me, "I wonder if Mokou comes this far on her walks."
In more intolerant times, these verdant frontiers were equal parts captivating and dangerous for humans to wander, but in recent years, it's become common for the village hunters to travel such distances in search of prey, especially during the winter. The fairies have become less hurtful in their mischief, and the more ferocious Youkai patrol in fewer numbers. It seems like a perfect opportunity to grow the village beyond its meagre borders, although the subject of human expansion seems to be a particularly delicate issue among the most powerful of Youkai, if the rumours are true.
My eyes catch a glimpse of something.
Brilliant, golden flourishes rising up from the earth, seed-studded faces craning proudly skyward. From on high, it must appear like a sea of yellow waving in the breeze.
"A sunflower field." Wind buffets the stalks to and fro, "It's my first time seeing one."
A clean-cut path carves perfectly down its centre, stretching into the distance. Staring down the row, a thin terror accompanies my interest - Youkai are fond of such exotic places. Tired relics like these, that grip the hearts of humans and inspire cowardice, have blossomed over decades of wariness. The thought of death is a strong one. That same 'death' which those obsessed with the ways of the sword seek to control. Truthfully, I have always been a coward. Experiencing death twice has done nothing to dampen my refusal to accept it. I wonder, how many deaths has Mokou seen through, to become as nonchalant as she is about them? It's a terrifying thought.
Terrifying, and yet I continue to walk. Passing into the parted wave of flowers, an envious feeling overcomes me. However terrifying, I also chase after that quiet acceptance, ignorant of the centuries blocking my path. Immortal or not, more than anything else, I would like to beat Mokou in a fair fight, however long it might take. Yet instead of training, or trying to understand her better, I choose to spend a crucial afternoon here, wading through a plain of sunflowers. The fairies gather in abundance here, though the chattering of birds and the sharp buzzing of insects are absent. With only the wind's whistles to appreciate, this path seems lonelier than most.
Just how long have I been walking for? As that question appears, something comes into view on the ground ahead.
A lone sunflower, broken from its stem, petals fluttering in the breeze.
Above it, a parasol twirls innocently, drowning the scene in shade.
In the silence, somewhere, my heart beats, "...A Youkai?"
Carefully, the green-haired woman kneels down and allows her hand to rest on the fallen flower. She caresses the bud of seeds with the gentleness one shows a helpless child, at last lifting it from below and cradling it towards her chest. Watching like this, unnoticed or ignored, makes me feel like some kind of trespasser. Her plaid skirt flutters in the wind as she stands, eyes listless but somewhat upset.
"This is unfortunate." Her voice is calm, "It seems death has come to reap the flowers."
Years ago, I might have reached for my sword without any hesitation. In this land, it's almost too easy to see everything as an enemy, something to be beaten or killed. Even now, a prickling danger knocks at the back of my skull, a feeling that goes beyond rationality, that plays into some spiritual 'premonition'. As a child, I may have saw it as an urge to fight - no, even now, that's what it feels like. To call myself experienced, I'll need to reach the point where these subversions of feeling come to me naturally. Desire to fight, or to run away, molded into conclusions more refined. Correct, even. I should be grateful that it came to me at all.
If I draw my sword here, I will die.
A tiredness washes over me, "I'm sorry. It feels like I've barged in on something."
"Anyone is free to enjoy the flowers." She replies calmly, "Although, it's no place for a freshly-dead human to be."
'Fresh' might be understating it a bit.
"I suppose the dead don't belong in many places."
"It's a bad omen." She continues, "Even more so, since these sunflowers will be falling asleep in the coming months."
"Then I'll consider myself lucky for having seen them in their pride before winter."
"You say that as if you've got something to look forward to."
"It's the opposite." I pause, "You could say that winter is quickly becoming my least favourite season."
"If you see evil in something, you also have to see the good in it." She advises, "Nothing is completely one or the other."
"Is there any 'good' in death?"
"Occasionally the evil die. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Doesn't that contradict what you just said...?"
"No?" She tilts her head, "The wholly evil are defeated by the wholly good. The two are intertwined perfectly."
"What happens if two people who are neither wholly good or evil fight?"
"Then their differences weigh one-another out. The greater evil of one is balanced by the minor evil of another, and the same for good."
"This is a little too complicated for me."
"Swordsmen are usually concerned with simpler things."
"Is 'love' a simple thing?"
"I'm afraid 'love' is even more complicated than good or evil."
"Hm." I sigh, a little disappointed, "You Youkai are talented at making everything sound impossible."
"When you live for so long, making sure you appreciate everything usually results in that kind of attitude."
"For how long have you lived, then?"
"My, that's just not the sort of question you ask a lady, Youkai or not."
"I live with a human who claims to be over a thousand years old."
"Being immortal sounds like a chore, if you ask me." She replies, "The thought of a sweet death after a long life is worthwhile in its own way."
"You know her?"
"I've certainly heard of at least two immortals in Gensokyo. The ones who supposedly live in the bamboo forest."
Two?
"Two?" I echo my thoughts.
"So I've heard. Apparently they're lonely sorts."
"I'd feel a little lonely myself if I was forced to live for so long."
"Existing outside the cycle of death is just in bad taste."
"Doesn't that apply to me, as well?"
"Naturally." She answers, "A phantom who seeks 'love' and 'death' has no place meddling in the affairs of the living."
As expected, speaking with a Youkai is like climbing a mountain with no footholds. That same problem of experience which drags wide the gap between Mokou and I only accelerates with each sentence we exchange. An unwrappable bundle of wisdom impressive in size but impossible to truly wrap my head around. It's no wonder humans have had so much trouble with them over the years, that only someone with a millennium of knowledge can hope to trade words on equal footing.
"In any case, it seems you aren't here to haunt the flowers after all."
"I take it our conversation wouldn't have been as pleasant if that was the case?"
"Killing a ghost doesn't accomplish much, but I'd like to think you wouldn't want to return if I had my way with you."
Though straight-faced, a shiver caresses my back.
"I'll be giving more thought to where my walks take me from now on."
"This place can get quite dangerous at night, so I'd recommend hurrying home."
"Then if you don't mind, I'll go ahead and do just that."
Turning heel, I don't waste any time putting some distance between the two of us. As it turns out, a human's intuition for danger can sometimes hit the mark a little too well. Moreover, it's been incredibly important for me to learn that, although I can claim to be somewhat undying, there are still fates I dearly wish to avoid. The piercing eyes of that woman bored into my back for longer than they should have been able to, as I retraced my steps across golden-lined rows, until the uncanny nightmare of the sunflower field became an unforgettable but faraway memory.
The Second Year - Snowfall
An alabaster omen falls softly in the early morning.
Bisected lengths of bamboo smoulder in the patiently burning hearth. Crumb-studded bowls lay out in neat assortments, the air surrounding our meal heavy and impenetrable. Mokou and I stay occupied with keeping the fire burning without exchanging words, listening to the needy whistles of the wind outside. My sword, propped up in that forbidden corner, continues to gather dust.
What's the problem here? The inevitability of our duel has reached its natural conclusion. A future so perfectly set in stone that it might inspire envy with its consistency. My mind races to discover some hidden strength that might become my saving grace, and in another moment retreats to a calm acceptance of death. I ignore the snow for an obvious reason - I simply don't want to die. Mokou's thoughts must be more complicated, for her to accept this awkward delaying. Her eyes are shut in shallow contemplation. It's not until the hearth bellows out its final ember when she at last speaks.
"Masashi." She nods, and calls out like that.
"What is it?"
Somehow, I expect to see a telling smirk, but her expression remains cold.
"It's snowing."
That's right.
Trying to run away from it won't do any good.
"...I know."
"We should share a drink, like last time."
"What good would that do?"
"None."
It's a truth honest enough to make me smile.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt."
We've only reached our second duel, and yet the air around it has already developed into the gruesome atmosphere of a public execution. Where I should be entertaining thoughts of victory, only the familiar image of the Sanzu River appears in my head. Surrender, resignation - whatever it might be, the seeds of hopelessness have blossomed into wonderful flowers of despair in such a short time. No amount of pondering has presented a solution to the problem of immortality, and no amount of training has convinced me that my chances against Mokou are any better than they were last year.
"Oi, move over."
Bottle and dish in hand, she stands over me expectantly.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's no warmer here than on the other side of the hearth."
"Make yourself useful and stick more bamboo in the pit, then." Planting herself next to me, she sets the bottle between us, "It's freezing."
"It's not often you're bothered by the cold." Despite that point, I do as she says.
"Being able to neglect myself as much as I want doesn't make it enjoyable."
She leans forward, and with a rhythmic snap, the fire roars up again.
"Ah~" Looking pleased with herself, she smirks, "It's a sin not to warm up on a cold day like this."
"That bottle..." My eyes scan over the rustic label, "It's different from last year's."
"This is top-shelf stuff." She insists, "It's not the kind of thing you drink during a meal."
"You'll have to forgive my immature palate if I don't taste much of a difference."
"It's good. Believe me."
"That's pretty high praise coming from someone like you."
"As with everything else, alcohol's become spoiled for me. I've tasted the best there is and now nothing compares."
As she begins pouring, her reminiscence continues.
"Humans are indulgent. Lifetimes spent doing whatever I liked just proved that too much of anything is a poison."
Setting the bottle down, she offers the dish to me, "-So, let's enjoy it. This yearly tradition."
Immortality is a curse.
Isn't that what most people would think? Eternal life is the gateway leading into an empty, unfulfilling reality. Experiencing the peaks of a healthy life only to thereafter see nothing but disappointment - try as I might, a more tortured existence doesn't sound possible. Perhaps Mokou's flippant attitude isn't entirely boredom, but a careful mechanism to shelter her from enjoyment. The instants of passion she rarely lets slip through, while inspiring to me, must be a part of some deeper conflict. This snapshot of the everyday must be worth its weight in gold to her.
So, even if it's just for a moment, we forget, and allow this picturesque scene to continue for a while longer.
The breeze has transformed into a wailing gust. Dark fog obscures the featureless rows of bamboo beyond the clearing. This glacial body of mine can't help but protest as the fire's comfort drains away, its glow flaring up against the sliding doors. In a few hours, the sun will rise, and this loathsome atmosphere will give way to a dawn laced with golden colours. It's a terrible shame that I'm unlikely to see it myself.
Flakes of Fujiwara's blade spread crimson rust into the air between us. Mentioning its sorry state has become redundant, however true it may be. Perhaps it will last another year - perhaps it will break today. Truer still is that my own weapon has suffered a more pathetic fate. With its tip missing, thrusting will be completely out of the question, not to mention the effect it will have on my useful range advantage. Losing even a fraction of a second reacting to Mokou's strikes is a troublesome thought.
Despite having licked blood only once, this blade has gone through an awful lot.
I close my eyes.
The duel hasn't even begun, yet my heart beats as if I've just gotten through it. Neither the trance of practice nor the rush of sparring can compare to this sensation. An emotion that might be mistaken for excitement, or happiness. Though it's shameful to admit, a part of me longs for it. The spiral of death that all swordsmen move towards - moments of perfect clarity in life-or-death situations, pitifully worthless and addicting. Staking one's life on that journey of romance is envious in its own way.
None of it inspires confidence. Not like it might have done the first time.
"...Fujiwara!" My blade dances. A final practice swing, "I won't lose this time!"
"Oya, he's all fired up." She remarks, bemused, "That sake must have done some good after all."
Her stance tightens, loose but conventional, "Don't think I'll go easy on you because of some pleasant words."
"Something so forgiving wouldn't suit you in the slightest."
And so, on this breezy morning, a duel begins.
As per usual, the two of us begin a fair few paces from one-another. So far, these encounters have ended as soon as Mokou and I draw too close. My own strategies consist of very few 'steps', instead focusing on decisive blows with little regard for my own safety. A plan involving both an 'attack' and a 'defence' is simply not productive in the long-term. Avenues of retreat combined with blocking ensure that an 'escape plan' is always close at hand. Backing away from an opponent and returning to a proper fighting stance is a core tenant of most disciplines.
My swordsmanship is top-heavy and ignorant of basic form, but the fundamentals of striking correctly are practices I'm familiar with. Contemporary depictions of what is called 'proper' swordsmanship are often very crude and 'dramatic' for lack of a better term, but as with many things besides swordplay, familiarity is developed naturally over a long period of time. I would dare to call myself 'familiar' with a blade, practical experience notwithstanding. 'Execution' is another matter entirely, something that requires tutoring to develop quickly. On a simplified scale, this is what creates the largest gap between me and Mokou.
But, I can take advantage of it.
Fujiwara's approach is completely unambiguous. Chūdan, the central pillar of all stances, has no particular strength or drawback, although its effectiveness is marred by the length of her shortsword. Slashes or thrusts are both possible from such a position, but as has always been the case, her range is far shorter than my own. Mokou's formidable skill makes giving her the first move a dangerous option, but I've proven before that evading her strikes isn't completely impossible.
Another step.
My breathing is subtle. It's a stark change to the first time we crossed swords, when I could barely stand up. Progress is transient and unsatisfying. I can feel none of the so-called 'improvement' I've been dedicating myself to over these past two years. How many more will it take, before I can stand upon that distant peak? Try as I might to find any confidence in this fate, the featureless possibilities of the future can't help but inspire a dark helplessness in me.
As we cross that crucial distance, even so inhibited with myself, I spot it - Mokou's stance seizes up for a moment.
The mind accelerates. Adrenaline fortifies reflex - the seconds become drawn out, expectant of death.
Our eyes meet.
The strange warmth we've cultivated amongst ourselves still exists somewhere, held deep beneath layers of concentration. In the heat of that moment, a thought brushes against my impenetrable focus, boring deep enough, and gladly enough, to provide a single revelation. That, here, in this instant of understanding, is where 'love' grows. The kind of mutuality that dances in the relationships of Youkai. A faraway romance; the kind humans were never meant to experience. Of course, it's only natural that this conclusion arrives in battle, where the togetherness between us seems the strongest.
A scraping impact. Metal against tarnished metal.
Clashing, our blades struggle against one-another. Our feet skid in the snow, trying to gain ground, stances dissolving into contests of posture. A situation dominated by only strength is created - if I were to slip my blade free from Fujiwara's, it would careen forward and maim me. 'Maintaining' this clinch is a full commitment, so ending it naturally involves some risk. The ideal scenario involves leveraging the opponent's arms into the air with a single push, then ducking low for a clear shot at the abdomen, though I'm not sure where to begin with a manoeuvre like that.
Not that I have to consider it. Mokou's blade is unsuited for this kind of treatment, buckling against the weight of a sword both larger and in better condition than her own. She takes care to avoid pushing the weapon so far that it shatters, but in a situation like this, she's given no choice. My own blade digs into the chipped imperfections, shaving lengths of rust from the unpolished surface. Just as it reaches its breaking point, I slacken my hold and allow her to draw closer.
Then, with all my strength, I push, and the blade snaps in two.
Particles of crimson dust fall and mix into the pristine snow. A prudent backstep puts Fujiwara at a safe distance, wrapping her sword arm with a free hand as trickles of blood seep out from between her fingers. Having broken through the shortsword, my strike had followed into her wrists, but only just. The leftover grip and cross-guard remain clutched in her grasp, flecks of corroded metal still chipping from what remains of the edge, now flat-topped and dull like my own.
She sighs, "That wasn't bad."
"It was bound to happen at some point."
"Even an old blade like this can meet its end..." Her eyes find the other end in the snow, "I'm a little jealous."
And with that, she tosses the husk of her weapon aside.
"Masashi!" She calls out, "You've gotten better at this."
"I don't suppose we can just call this my win and go back inside?"
"Come on, now. Those aren't the words of the one I killed that day."
"No, I don't have a problem with continuing... it's just-" Lowering my stance, I point at her, "You can't really put up much of a fight anymore, can you?"
"Ah, there's that presumptuous attitude again."
Boldly, she takes a step forward.
"...What the hell are you doing?"
"You messed up again." Her criticism is heavy, "You could've killed me just then, but you didn't."
"That's ridiculous." I reply, "You expect me to just cut you down? What good would that do?"
"You bring yourself back from the dead for a chance at killing me, and now 'goodness' matters all of a sudden?"
"That's..."
"Senseless, pointless - however you want to name it, 'killing' is the sole reason you're still here." She continues, "You should know by now that the so-called 'love' you're after can only be reached through killing."
That's right.
In that moment when the two of us, for the shortest of moments, seemed like equals, I realised it. Love or romance, the 'ideal' that led me out into the wilds of Gensokyo to begin with, can exist only then. When I murdered Fujiwara, I did it in thoughtless seeking of that 'love', just as I do here, in this snow-capped clearing. To have finally tasted the real thing, uncorrupted by principles, is proof enough that seeking revenge on behalf of anyone else is just plain hypocritical. This miraculous existence, in harmony with death, is a reason to explore that 'love' further than any human should have the right to.
"Mokou."
"Hm?"
"This 'undying' business is complicated, isn't it?"
"Pff-" She lowers her head, "That's really all you have to say about it?"
"Maybe in a thousand years, I'll have some more conclusive thoughts."
"Sorry to disappoint, but in my experience, it just gets harder as the years go on."
"It's quite troublesome. Almost as if we're unnatural people."
Somehow, we manage to share a laugh together.
Isn't this fine? Living, as one should. Windows into a happiness that might have been worthwhile under different circumstances. In that way, it's a bittersweet feeling. But even these small glimpses of normalcy are moments I wouldn't like to forget. We bicker as though our time here in Gensokyo is limited. The hellish waves beneath the Sanzu River torture me, all to experience this inconsistent feud peppered with despair and excitement. Seeing Mokou here, letting her inhibitions simmer down, as I thought once before, makes her seem more human than most.
It continues, even as I sheath my blade and offer it in both hands. The carefree expression on her face dims to curiosity.
"Heh..." She wipes her eyes, "...Masashi?"
"Mokou." I answer, "Kill me."
The cold seems to hover in again.
"You-"
Her gaze rests on the sheath.
It's difficult to answer such a request, given the situation. But the philosophy of 'love' that I've only just deciphered demands this kind of ultimatum. Fujiwara is not often speechless, but confronted with the perfect crystallisation of her thinking, there isn't much retorting to do. Perhaps a little too accepting of that reality, she remains silent while accepting my sword. Handing off my own life, while meaningless now, at least demonstrates a willingness to change, or so I would like to think. The raspy sound of that blade screaming from its sheath seems more pronounced in her capable hands.
I close my eyes.
And then, I open them again.
Warmth.
Warmth like nothing else. Like the kind I knew before death. Shameless and greedy heat, livening my frozen body.
"...Fujiwara." I mutter after a few seconds, "This is a little-"
"Shut up."
I don't respond.
Another soul, so close by. When was the last time a hand found itself so tenderly wrapped around my waist? When I could see individual strands of hair dancing in the morning wind? I may have forgotten it - the reason why humans are so inclined to stick together. This comfort is beautifully intoxicating. Beyond explanation. It's almost enough to make me cry. Coming from Mokou, of all people, must mean that after all this reasoning and rationalising, throughout the complicated discussions of death and 'love', I can say that I've managed to get at least one thing right.
That, immortal or not, Mokou is still human.
"Are you coming back right away? Or are you going somewhere else for the winter?"
"Now who's being presumptuous?" I ask, "Who's to say I won't die for good this time?"
"If the Shinigami did their jobs correctly, you wouldn't have to wonder."
"Hm." I smile, "...Well, I'll be back by spring, in any case."
"Try to think about where you're going before jumping into any holes this time."
"Oh, she's even getting worried about where I might end up." I point out, "My heart's starting to flutter."
That loathsome embrace continues for some time. Perhaps it's the adrenaline still coursing through my body, but it seems to last forever. Being coddled in preparation for death is more embarassing than I care to admit, although a small part of me is proud that, for the first time, I'm somewhat ready for it. As pleasant as this may be, a dash of suffering in the Sanzu River will be good for getting it off of my mind.
"Mokou."
"Hm?"
"That sake we shared..." A pause, "It wasn't bad."
I can only imagine what expression she might be wearing. Two years ago, I might have gotten it right, but now, I can only hazard a guess.
She doesn't let me see, anyway.
Because, just a few seconds later,
the world turns black.
