Sacred-Profane Symphony — Neon Blossom Path —
The short novel Neon Blossom Path. A mysterious monk—an ascetic of Mount Hiei, or a vision of the heart? Ayaka, a novice sex worker; Yamagishi, a former banker; Sonomura, a former yakuza. Each faces their own wounds, as the “paradox of endurance” ripples across the darkness of the lake. The monk, both real and illusory, poses the question: Do you recognize where you truly stand within yourself? Thus begins a tale drawn by the neon glow and the wind off the lake.
Chapter 1: The Descent of the Purple Cloth
In the soap district of Ogoto, Shiga Prefecture, there was once a strange rumor circulating.
“A monk wearing a purple cushion on his head appears at the soapland, riding a Biwako taxi.”
The purple cushion is a solemn Buddhist ritual accessory, used by high-ranking monks during ceremonies.
Yet one day, it was worn on someone’s head, swaying in the back seat of a taxi.
A man who witnessed it along Kawasuji Street said:
“It was like a living spirit had escaped from a temple. He seemed to melt into the darkness of the lake.”
In the Ogoto soap district, everyone had heard this rumor.
“Maybe a monk from Enryaku-ji came to test our worldly desires?”
“No way, it’s just some horny old monk!”
The bustling chatter and laughter of the street’s touts mixed with the night breeze from the lake.
Manager Yamagishi first saw the monk on a quiet afternoon shortly after the beginning of spring, when winter’s chill still lingered.
The neon lights of Ogoto were asleep, the streets unusually still.
Takuya’s energetic voice rang out brightly over the muted street, calling for customers.
As a newcomer, he was responsible for attracting clients, using his quick wit and cheerful words—but most merely teased him, and no customers entered. He slumped in disappointment.
At that moment, a Biwako taxi cut through the clamor, its hazard lights blinking, and stopped quietly in front of the store, as if drawn to Takuya.
The taxi door opened. A monk, dressed in ceremonial robes and wearing a purple cushion on his head, stepped out. Takuya’s eyes widened at the bizarre sight.
Recovering quickly, he approached the monk politely.
“Are you a customer with a reservation?”
The monk silently shook his head.
“Ah, a walk-in, then. Very well,” Takuya smiled and hurried to the front desk.
“Yamagishi-san, a walk-in customer… some strange monk, wearing a purple cushion on his head.”
Yamagishi, sitting at the front desk, raised an eyebrow while smoking.
“A monk on the first visit… feels ominous. Might be a setup, stay alert.”
The monk approached the front, silently presenting a heavy drawstring pouch.
When Yamagishi opened it, coins spilled onto the counter with a clatter.
“What…? He’s paying forty thousand yen in coins?”
“All of it in coins!?” he asked nervously.
The monk lightly nodded.
“How many coins are there?”
For the first time, he spoke.
”…A thousand.”
‘A thousand coins…!?’
Yamagishi could hardly hide his surprise.
He guided the monk to the waiting area and returned to the counter to begin counting the coins, silently separating the 100-yen pieces.
First, he counted 150 coins for the bath fee of 15,000 yen.
Next, 250 coins for the service fee, and his hands paused.
His memories as a former banker resurfaced—the betrayals, the precarious balance of trust and secrecy.
Takuya returned from checking the reservations, noticing Yamagishi’s hands had stopped.
“Yamagishi-san, what’s wrong? You look strange.”
Yamagishi stubbed out his cigarette, smirked, and said:
“You’re clueless. Never seen a customer pay like this… gives me the creeps.”
“Are these temple offerings? But why separate the bath fee and the service fee? Complicated…”
“Some things in life, even if you know, you shouldn’t pry into,” Yamagishi replied.
Takuya tilted his head.
Yamagishi tapped the ledger behind the counter.
“The bath fee is for the bath. That’s straightforward. We’re a bathhouse.”
“Yes… I see…”
“The service fee… that’s the money the girls receive directly from the customers.”
“What!? So that doesn’t count as store revenue…?”
“It doesn’t. That’s why we’re completely legitimate as a bathhouse to the tax office or police.”
“But in reality…?”
“Don’t speak of reality! Got it?”
Takuya, still puzzled, asked again:
“So the girls keep all the service fees?”
Yamagishi sighed, closing the ledger.
“All of it? No girl is that stupid. The place, water, calls, towels, cleaning… all that costs something. Nothing’s free.”
“So where does it go…?”
“Watch. See her? She’s putting the envelope in the ledger drawer.”
It was a quiet, unrecorded “off-the-books” report.
On that day, apart from the monk, Ayaka served two other clients.
“We have to protect the girls. So we pretend to be clueless at the front,” Yamagishi explained.
He stared at the pile of coins.
“These coins… a risk for tax authorities or police. But the girls must get what’s theirs.”
Yamagishi decided:
“I’ll count these 250 coins and deliver them to Ayaka’s room myself. The front desk will take the risk.”
“You even call them offerings!”
“Cigarette money, 100-yen pieces, that’s all!”
The monk was served by the newly trained Ayaka.
Once, at a club in Gion, she had been deceived by a married man posing as a business owner, leaving her 5 million yen in debt.
She worked multiple jobs, lived alone, and became a soap girl in Ogoto to repay her debts.
Ayaka’s pure eyes never lied, even to the customers.
She delivered coins to the cashbox, converted part into bills, and returned the rest in the pouch to the monk.
Takuya realized the front desk was not just a cashier.
The weight of the coins seemed to carry a faint scent of prayer.
Ayaka was protected by Sonomura, a former yakuza. Despite his violent tendencies, he never struck her.
The Shinaigumi dissolved his gang membership out of pity, but she trusted his unyielding support.
Yamagishi observed Ayaka’s choices silently.
After the monk left her room, she quietly said:
“I didn’t do anything. The monk just sat in the corner, chanting… Namu-Amida-Butsu… quietly, all the time.”
“But under the cushion, his eyes… they were like a lake. Deep, dark… I felt he told me not to tell anyone. It scared me a little.”
Yamagishi snorted.
“A strange monk. Maybe some extreme training at Enryaku-ji… something like the perilous thousand-day pilgrimage.”
Takuya, relying on his knowledge, added:
“Sen-nichi Kaihōgyō, right? It’s a monk’s training at Mount Hiei, facing worldly desires.”
Many staff at this shop had been cast out by society: betrayed, impoverished, or defeated in life.
Yamagishi himself survived under neon lights, unable to forget betrayal.
Yet here, no one cursed society or others.
That night, he remembered the monk’s departing words:
“You’ve endured well. That’s the true strength. Handle it yourself, without relying on anyone.”
The words struck him. His “endurance” was not resignation but strength: bearing burdens without harming or leaning on others.
That evening, at the front desk, Yamagishi almost laughed—
He had foolishly believed himself weak.
Tears came before laughter.
For the first time, he recognized himself.
Lighting a cigarette, he watched the neon reflections on Lake Biwa, merging with the marble walls.
Outside, Sonomura waited for Ayaka, casually smoking and watching the lake.
“What was that monk about?” Yamagishi asked.
Sonomura smiled.
“Praying, maybe. Wanting to wash away the past, like us.”
Chapter 2: Ripples of the Paper Umbrella
Half a year later, on a humid summer evening when the rainy season had not yet fully released its grip, the neon lights were just beginning to awaken.
The lake breeze hung stagnant, carrying the scent of rain and dampness. Fewer customers than usual wandered through the streets, and Takuya, drenched by the rain, had been calling out from the front all afternoon.
At the entrance of the riverside street, a white umbrella swayed faintly in the neon glow.
As Takuya tilted his own umbrella to shield himself better, his eyes inadvertently glanced away—and at that very moment, there it was: a monk, wearing a purple cushion on his head and holding a white parasol, standing suddenly right in front of him.
Takuya froze, staring into the monk’s eyes, deep and tranquil like a lake.
The monk stepped slowly closer and spoke in a soft voice.
“You know, the strongest way to live is honestly. Even if no customers come, continuing to call out with your heart—that’s a fine thing.”
Normally a man who would flaunt his academic background, Takuya felt warmth rise in his chest and nodded sincerely.
“Thank you, monk. Somehow… I feel like I can keep going.”
The monk smiled silently and turned toward the shop.
Startled by the monk’s swift pace, Takuya hurried to the front desk and reported to Yamagishi.
“Yamagishi-san! The monk came again! This time on foot, with a parasol!”
Yamagishi exhaled a stream of smoke and laughed.
“Rain helps draw in customers. Normally, a monk would be a distraction, but with the rain and the monk, it’s a blessing. And a parasol… these days, who even uses those?”
The monk took a heavy drawstring bag from his kesa pouch and handed it to the front desk.
When Takuya explained it was for a walk-in customer, Yamagishi checked the early-shift free bookings—and by chance, called Ayaka.
Seeing the monk, Ayaka remembered those lake-like eyes from before and smiled lightly.
“You’re requesting me?”
The monk shook his head. She chuckled softly.
“Then it’s a coincidence.”
When Yamagishi opened the bag, coins spilled out, clinking and piling up on the counter.
With practiced hands, he silently counted four hundred coins. Though he thought, Here we go again…, he still could not get used to the weight of prayers embedded in the coins.
After a while, Ayaka finished serving the monk and returned.
“So, how was it with him?”
“I thought, ‘It’s you again.’ This time it was just the prayers, but for a moment he went silent. I heard something like a sigh. Under the cushion… his eyes looked sad.”
Yamagishi exhaled a stream of smoke.
“Sad? The monk? What the hell is he doing here, some endurance contest? Tch… really.”
Ayaka stopped by the front desk and gently placed an envelope with a tip.
Watching her, Reina handed her an iced coffee.
“Take a break and drink this. It’s hot out.”
A veteran in her thirties, Reina was the number-one-requested worker, one of the shop’s top earners.
A former high school teacher, her parents’ company had gone bankrupt, leaving her to shoulder their bank and consumer loan debts.
To avoid debt collectors, she lived in one of the vacant rooms in the shop’s top-floor dormitory—four six-mat rooms in total.
Reina slowly turned and murmured,
“Each hundred-yen coin… maybe that’s the number of earthly desires. Perhaps it’s the weight of the monk’s heart.”
Yamagishi snorted.
“Earthly desires, huh… then we’re swimming in a lake of them every day.”
That day, Sonmura’s car arrived as usual.
During Kyoto horse racing season, he distributed the Weekly Horse Racing Book by car, earning a living through illegal bookmakers.
The black window on the passenger side slowly slid down, and Sonmura’s wife appeared with a smile, handing over the book.
She had always supported Sonmura, who had difficulty using his hands.
Beneath her worn features shone a sunny warmth—a quiet strength that endured all hardships without complaint, similar to Ayaka’s.
Takuya received the paper with a small nod.
Sonmura leaned slightly from the driver’s seat and called to Takuya.
“Tell Yamagishi not to gamble! Got it?”
With a grin, he sped away.
From a distance, Yamagishi recalled Sonmura’s terrible drinking habits.
His lawful wife knew about Ayaka, yet she always waited silently for him to return.
Yamagishi hoped Sonmura would treasure that smile alone.
The rain cleared, the night deepened, and as closing time approached, Yamagishi spotted Sonmura waiting outside for Ayaka. Approaching him, he offered a cigarette.
“Even if you cut off your fingers, you still can’t quit drinking?”
Sonmura laughed.
“I can’t quit her—Ayaka. I’m no match for her.”
Yamagishi lit Sonmura’s cigarette and remarked,
“Your wife’s endurance is remarkable. Ayaka’s a strong woman too.”
Subtly, he left a warning.
The devotion of Sonmura’s wife and the deep love of Ayaka shone all the more brilliantly in the neon night.
Chapter 3: The Stillness of the Blossom Banquet
In the late autumn of that year, the wind crossing Biwa Lake had grown cold, and soon the harsh Hira winds would begin to bite.
The monk appeared for the third time.
Slipping past Takuya’s calls and dodging the taxis along Biwa Lake, he arrived at the shop, stepping out of a vehicle as if it had passed through without touching the rain.
When Takuya checked the reservations, the monk shook his head silently.
Takuya, composed, reported the monk’s return to Yamagishi.
As always, the monk presented a heavy drawstring bag at the front desk.
But today was different.
When Yamagishi opened the bag and coins spilled across the marble counter, the monk, as if suddenly recalling something, motioned for Ayaka to be called.
Yamagishi counted four hundred and thirty coins, more than usual including the service fee, exchanged some for bills, returned the remainder to the drawstring bag, and handed it back to the monk.
Immediately, breaking the silence of the waiting room, the hall attendant began to guide the way.
“Your reservation today: Ms. Ayaka. Please, enjoy your time to the fullest.”
Ayaka, dressed in a vivid red gown, appeared with a slight bow.
The moment her eyes caught the monk seated at the far end of the room, a faint smile appeared on her face.
“Oh! …Thank you for requesting me. Today isn’t just a coincidence, huh.”
The monk, with the purple cushion atop his head, nodded ever so slightly, saying nothing.
His presence before her was unchanged from before.
Yet to her eyes, something seemed subtly different.
The two walked side by side down the corridor and entered the private room named The Flower Feast.
The room, about ten tatami mats in size, carried a faint fragrance, so subtle it was unclear whether incense burned at all.
The monk entered, placing his purple cushion gently at his side.
He did not sit on it, simply letting it rest nearby.
Ayaka, without a word, sat quietly beside him.
After a moment, the monk spoke.
His voice was calm, even, yet carried a profound resonance.
“Perhaps today is the day for you, Ayaka, to confront what you have carried in your heart all this time.”
The air in the room grew slightly heavier. Ayaka drew a small breath, lowering her eyes and nodding.
“All this time?” — she understood all too well.
Yet to put it into words was no easy task.
The monk smiled faintly—a smile sharp yet warm.
“You’ve been carrying it all alone, haven’t you? Not seeking help from anyone.”
His words pressed painfully against Ayaka’s chest.
Unconsciously, she clenched her hands on her lap and lifted her eyes.
“Your troubles are not mere weakness. You carried them to protect something.”
As if seeing straight through her, the monk’s words struck the core of her being with overwhelming force.
In that instant, memories flashed through her mind like a revolving lantern.
Promises made at her mother’s bedside…
…the cold back of the lover she trusted…
…nights enduring the mockery of customers.
Each had torn at her heart, yet she had continued walking this path to protect her family and herself.
The first memory was the promise at her mother’s bedside.
In a small room of an old hospital in Yamashina Ward, her mother, with a faint smile beneath an oxygen mask, gently held Ayaka’s hand.
“Ayaka, take care of our family. You’ll be all right,” she whispered hoarsely.
The setting sun filtered through the window, coloring her mother’s pale face, mingling with the scent of medicine and disinfectant.
At fourteen, Ayaka carved her mother’s words into her heart, holding back tears as she nodded.
After her mother passed, her father sank into alcohol, neglecting work. Ayaka, after middle school, labored through multiple jobs—washing dishes in restaurants by day, working in snack bars at night—sacrificing sleep to survive.
The promise to her mother became the core of her spirit, giving her strength to endure any suffering.
Next came the memory of betrayal by a married office worker she met at a Gion club.
The man pretended to be a single entrepreneur, saying, “Ayaka, let’s create a new future together,” with a smile.
Trusting him, she borrowed from the shop, offering all her savings and taking loans from a black-market lender to cover the rest.
On the night she lent him five million yen, he promised to repay it immediately, yet disappeared by the following week.
Leaning against the cold concrete walls of her apartment, she cursed her own foolishness.
Still, she rose and chose the path of a soap girl.
To uphold her promise to her mother, and to trust herself.
Her first night, too, had pierced her heart with sharp pain.
A client scrutinized her body as if appraising it, saying,
“You’re new. You can still make money like this?”
In the dim room, his voice cut through her like a blade.
Biting her lip, she held back tears and forced a smile.
After the client left, she trembled before the mirror, adjusting her makeup, recalling her mother’s face.
“Protect the family,” she whispered to herself, welcoming the next customer without hesitation.
No matter how wounded, her eyes never lied.
Then, memories of meeting Sonmura also surfaced.
The ex-yakuza, expelled from his clan, remained violent when drunk but never raised a hand to Ayaka.
The first time they met at a Gion club, Sonmura said,
“A pure girl like you could easily be crushed in this world. But I’ll protect you.”
His words resonated in her lonely heart.
In his unwavering strength and honest eyes, she found salvation.
Knowing his drinking habits and past, she chose to trust him, believing that this time her choice would be right.
To her, Sonmura was a light supporting her scarred heart.
These memories raced through her mind in an instant, constricting her chest.
“But… I didn’t have to be the only one hurt to protect…”
Ayaka startled, meeting the monk’s gaze, furrowing her brows slightly.
“I thought getting hurt to protect was… just natural.”
“That is not true ‘strength.’ Your real strength, Ayaka, is protecting others without causing harm.”
Those words pierced deep into her heart, simultaneously unlocking something within.
She held her breath for a moment, then exhaled slowly, feeling the tension leave her shoulders.
The “cursed chains” her mother’s words had wrapped around her past self quietly unraveled.
She realized that the only support for living honestly had been her mother’s wish to protect her daughter—and this brought her a new salvation.
“Now I understand. Because of who I was, I can be who I am today.”
Her voice brimmed with unwavering determination.
For the first time, she straightened her back, pride lighting her eyes.
The monk nodded quietly, speaking gently.
“There is no need to blame yourself. Nothing in the path you’ve walked has been wasted.”
At that moment, a warm sense of release spread through Ayaka’s chest.
The long-burdened weight vanished as if it were a lie.
She closed her eyes, a faint smile forming.
“Thank you, monk. Thank you for… finding me.”
It was strange, yet heartfelt gratitude.
She felt profound respect for her own strength, for enduring and rising again.
Her hands relaxed on her lap, and calm relief enveloped her.
Her gaze lingered on the monk’s back, warmth quietly spreading through her chest.
The monk stood and spoke slowly.
“From now on, your life is yours to decide. But don’t forget to cherish yourself.”
Ayaka bit her lip lightly and nodded firmly.
“Yes. I will take better care of myself.”
With fear and anxiety fading, she chose the path of honesty with herself.
To live her future as herself.
This was Ayaka’s new resolve.
Walking to the shop’s exit to see the monk off, she moved forward.
The door opened with a light sound.
“I have fulfilled my connection with Ayaka. My role… ends here,” the monk said softly before smiling and quietly leaving the shop.
Ayaka watched the cushion shift with his back until the door closed.
She stepped forward instinctively, placing her hand over her chest.
Her heart brimmed with quiet gratitude and anticipation for a new beginning.
Back in the room, she opened the window.
A fresh breeze blew in, filling her mind with clear, serene peace.
“From now on… I’ll live more truly as myself.”
She whispered this to herself, narrowing her eyes, smiling from the heart, and lightly pressing her palms together in prayer.
Quietly, yet resolutely, she vowed to take her first step into a new life.
After finishing her service to the monk and leaving The Flower Feast, Ayaka reflected:
“This time, too, it was only prayers… but somehow… it felt finished. The monk looked this way at the end, slightly bowing his head. I felt he said, ‘Thank you.’ I can’t forget those lake-like eyes.”
Yamagishi glanced up involuntarily.
“He bowed? What, as if to say thanks?”
Ayaka hesitated to explain the strange occurrence to him.
Reina, waiting for her next client, sensed the moment and interrupted Yamagishi, speaking to Ayaka:
“Ayaka, take a break. Don’t overdo it.”
Reina often looked after the younger workers.
Her confidence as a room-holder and her gentle pride in shouldering debt supported her strength.
Ayaka left an envelope at the desk, lingered a moment, exhaled softly, and went on to the next customer.
That night, the lounge TV showed the news.
“The Hieizan ‘Sennichi Kaihōgyō’ at Enryakuji Temple is known as an extreme practice; those who complete it are rare…”
Yamagishi glanced at the screen, uneasy.
Reina hurried down from the break room, murmuring:
“Was that monk really training? Testing his desires here, apologizing to Buddha?”
Yamagishi laughed.
“The Sennichi Kaihōgyō is a grueling seven-year training, rarely leaving the temple. If that monk did it, he’s a genuine living spirit.”
Even while joking, Yamagishi felt something in his heart.
Could this place, where the sacred and the mundane intersect yet never truly meet, be special…?
If the purple cushion does not signify mere earthly desires but symbolizes the boundary toward enlightenment, then perhaps the thousand coins… represented prayers.
Yamagishi himself, caught in such an unfathomable interpretation, was sensitive to the indefinable presence there.
It was proof that this place had become a comfortable “home” for him.
And in Ayaka’s gaze toward the monk, he saw the fragile impermanence she shared with Sonmura—
a longing that could never fully meet.
Chapter 4 Pomp4: Farewell of the Stormy Waves
Carrying the monk’s words deep in her heart, Ayaka resolved to confront Sonomura.
Outside the closed shop, a slightly chilly wind blew down from Mount Hiei, brushing against her skin. Sonomura waited as usual, puffing on his cigarette.
Ayaka stood before him and lifted her eyes calmly.
“Sonomura-san, I won’t run away anymore. I’ll walk my own path, properly.”
Sonomura clicked his tongue softly, squinting through the smoke.
“Huh? Without me, you couldn’t survive in this city. Face reality.”
His voice, forceful as always, carried a trace of unease.
But Ayaka did not waver.
She met his gaze, her voice calm but firm.
“Thank you for protecting me all this time. But I’ll stand on my own. Whether you’re there or not, I’ll live my life.”
In her eyes shone the same profound, lake-like depth as the monk’s.
For a moment, Sonomura was speechless, overwhelmed by Ayaka’s strength.
For the first time, he recognized his own weakness.
When they first met, he had seen her only as a source of money.
Yet, like a reflection, he had projected himself onto her, each of them leaning on the other, trapped in a cycle of dependency.
Now, he faced the fear of confronting his past and embracing change.
Just as the sacred and the profane never truly intersect, these two too would not fully merge.
Yet, at this boundary, the quiet presence of a woman—always silently standing by—was clearly visible.
Sonomura tossed aside his cigarette and, glancing away, let out a wry smile.
“You’ve really changed… Fine. Live your life your way.”
His voice carried an awkward tenderness, tinged with the first stirrings of regret.
Even his thumb trembled slightly inside his pocket.
Ayaka nodded and smiled quietly.
“Thank you, Sonomura-san.”
With that, she bid farewell, fixing her gaze perturbed.
Without once looking back, she walked along the pitch-black lakeshore where the neon lights had faded, stepping resolutely toward tomorrow.
Believing that a light would surely appear.
It was a new step forward—a step that forgave her past self and embraced the future.
Chapter 5: Afterglow of the Neon
After closing, the front desk was quiet. The neon lights had gone out, leaving only the gentle lake breeze drifting through the air.
Yamagishi opened a simple ledger at the lounge counter and began tallying the delivery expenses paid by the girls.
Sushi, alcohol, and drinks from the refrigerator—bottled water and beer.
“Takuya, two bottles of water, 200 yen. Reina, sushi 3,000 yen, beer 1,500 yen, total 4,500 yen. Ayaka, juice 500 yen.”
As Yamagishi jotted notes in the ledger, Takuya laughed.
“Yamagishi-san, you’re really meticulous.”
“Idiot. The front desk has to be precise. You still don’t get it, do you?
Takuya, remember, water is free. Reina, the four coffees are on the house. Ayaka, from next month the shop covers the juice. Basically, drinks are free.”
Reina murmured thoughtfully, as if recalling something.
“The monk’s chanting… it really lingers in the heart.”
Ayaka nodded slightly.
“Yeah… it felt like I was forgiven. Even for all the times I tricked myself.”
Takuya interrupted their conversation.
“It’d be great if the monk comes again. Counting all those 100-yen coins is a real pain, though.”
Yamagishi snorted, closing the ledger.
“Everyone, you all did really well today. Good work. Alright, let’s close up.”
The lights at the front went out, and one by one they made their way home, fading into the afterglow of the neon.
The faint reflection drifting across the lake seemed almost like a guiding light, quietly watching over them so they wouldn’t lose their way.
Chapter 6: Echoes of the Chant
From that late autumn onward, the monk never appeared again.
The pouch, the thousand coins—none of it returned.
Yamagishi felt a quiet relief, yet somewhere deep inside, a faint loneliness lingered.
Seeing this, Reina laughed lightly and said,
“The monk… he really had incredible patience.”
Ayaka whispered softly,
“Yeah… he didn’t even lay a finger on me.”
Then, suddenly, from the empty waiting room, the television emitted a voice.
“Namu Amida Butsu…”
Yamagishi was startled by the chant and, almost unconsciously, began searching for the monk with his eyes. His own awkward movements made him laugh quietly at himself.
Ayaka, who had resolved to walk her own path after parting ways with Sonomura, watched him and smiled at the sight.
Yamagishi glanced at her sideways, a sense of relief filling him, and at that moment, the monk’s words returned softly to his heart:
“You’ve been patient. That’s truly the strongest thing of all.”
In that instant, Yamagishi felt a subtle presence deep in his chest.
It was the image of the monk, quietly counting one hundred-yen coins while chanting.
After finishing the thousand coins, the monk wore a look of relief and slowly walked toward him.
But then, for some reason, he suddenly stopped, as if something had blocked him, and stood still.
Curious, Yamagishi focused his eyes and approached, staring at the monk.
And in that gaze—
He saw the monk staring back at him… from within a mirror.
Realizing that it was himself, the figure gently vanished.
Yamagishi muttered unconsciously:
“Whether the monk was a living spirit or a ghost… it doesn’t matter. What matters is… whether you can notice where I am at all times.”
There was a faint trace of the monk’s presence in Yamagishi’s own words.
It was as if the monk, seated on his purple cushion, had left his final words for those who live in this place.
Yamagishi accepted the words silently, without surprise.
His thoughts—
They moved deeper toward the core.
By gently honoring their patience, the monk had guided them to ask themselves, “Is this truly right?”
He helped them recognize the unwavering certainty and strength within themselves, offering a kind of salvation.
That patience awakens people, leads them toward growth, and becomes the very source of strength to live even more fully.
What the monk intended was not to glorify endurance as a virtue.
It was, in fact, a paradoxical lesson.
That presence in late autumn, too, was a manifestation of the heart within, taking the form of the monk—
Was it not another version of oneself…?
Reina looked into Yamagishi’s quiet eyes and nodded softly.
“The monk… he left something in everyone’s hearts, didn’t he?”
Yamagishi gave a faint smile and said,
“Yeah… I thought just laughing it off was clever. But cleverness alone only lets you be trampled. I didn’t fight back. Maybe I should have been the dog that barked back then.”
Reina smiled wryly.
“Right… but by now, I’ve even forgotten how to bite back.”
Since that day, Ayaka no longer felt lonely.
Another “inner monk” quietly stayed by her side, watching over her—
She just felt it.
“Even if I falter, it’s okay. I’m not alone anymore.”
Simply thinking that was enough.
For a fleeting moment, here was a space where human beings, simply by being present for one another, shared a place to belong.
Merely being beside someone in silence was comforting.
And that alone was enough.
And that— was the greatest joy of all.
Chapter 7: Prayer of the Spring Breeze
Yamagishi stood on the bank of the Taishoji River, gazing intently at Lake Biwa.
Outside, Takuya was energetically calling for customers, and Reina was entrusted with training the newcomers.
Everyone working in this place faced themselves and lived as fully as they could along the paths they had chosen.
Reina’s kindness, Ayaka’s purity.
Takuya’s sincerity, and Yamagishi’s care for his companions.
He realized that this was the irreplaceable essence of “true strength.”
Even when deceived and betrayed, the heart that wished to protect those dear shone as one beneath the neon lights.
Each of them had been guided by the mysterious monk, seeing themselves in the ascetic, confronting the past versions of themselves.
Yamagishi, the strength to swallow betrayal.
Reina, the kindness to protect her companions despite the burden of debt.
Ayaka, the resolve to forgive herself.
Takuya, the hope to carve a future through his honesty.
And Sonomura, the courage to change along the boundary between love and despair.
Each of them discovered their own strength.
The path of neon blossoms swayed on the surface of the lake, and Ogoto’s night gently embraced desire and wishes alike.
The lights reflected in Lake Biwa seemed to quietly envelop their wounds and bonds with tender care.
From afar, the direction of Mount Hiei brought an unusually strong spring breeze.
Its whispering sound barely touched the lake, like the silent prayers of a monk dwelling quietly within their hearts――
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“The End”
Now that you have finished reading Neon Blossom Path, what lingers in your heart? The afterglow of neon swaying over Lake Biwa, the weight of a thousand one-hundred-yen coins, or the chant of Namu Amida Butsu echoing in the air? This short novel, set in the depths of Ogoto’s red-light district, depicts the phantom of sacred practice within the height of the profane, and asks, paradoxically, about the very essence of “endurance.”
At the core of the story lies the monk’s dual nature. Draped in a purple cushion, offering a thousand coins, chanting the nembutsu, he embodies the thousand-day ascetic pilgrimage of Mount Hiei. Yet in Chapter Six, when the nembutsu echoes from a television in the waiting room and an identical monk appears in the mirror, he is revealed to be “the self within”—an insubstantial inner vision. The act of counting a thousand coins symbolizes the grueling “endurance” of the pilgrimage, while the chant guides the cleansing of the heart. This duality fuses into the paradox: endurance is not a virtue, yet it is the source of growth.
What may have seemed like the excessive digressions into Ayaka’s past or Yamagishi’s reflections in fact mirror the repetition of counting coins and the steady rhythm of the nembutsu, allowing the reader to experience the passage of ascetic time. When, in Chapter Six, the monk in the mirror whispers, Can you recognize where I always dwell?, all that redundancy crystallizes as the process of “inner practice.” Ayaka learns to forgive herself, Yamagishi accepts betrayal, and the brothel itself begins to shine as a true place of belonging.
This short novel portrays the human dramas of a pleasure district with lyrical grace, while also liberating the “endurance” everyone carries. The monk, both tangible and phantasmal, rests beside you like the breeze off the lake, asking: From now on, which self will you live as? Close the page, and listen to the spring wind of Lake Biwa. There, your own prayer is surely resounding.
