410: Japanese folklore: Provincial
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Quick disclaimer, some stronger than usual violence and some slight adult themes this week. Please check out the post on mythpodcast.com for more info. This week on Myths and Legends, we're in the folklore of Japan, and we're in the countryside. We'll see that when an animal starts talking to you at a mountain temple, that's usually a terrible thing, unless they're great students.

We'll see how to respond when your boss falls off a cliff, and how to go grocery shopping, and how to go grocery shopping when you're being chased by tigers. The creature this week is a merman who wants to change the reputation of water creatures, one boy's trip at a time. This is Myths and Legends, episode 410, Provincial.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. Today, we're back in the stories of Japanese folklore. It's at some time during the Edo period, these stories all take place outside of Edo, or modern-day Tokyo, and in the mountains and the wild places, but not too wild. Mainly, they're in the provinces.

There are five interconnected stories, and I've linked them all in the show notes. And we'll jump in with an old farmer as he makes a tragic discovery. Kenshiro dropped the tool, but not out of choice. He dropped it to the ground and held his hand. It shook more now. It wasn't doing what he told it to. After saying goodbye to his wife two seasons hence, he knew what was coming.

She wasn't around to see this. Shaking, withering. And Shiro was grateful he had always done his own laundry, because incontinence found him more days than it didn't. Yeah, he was glad she wasn't around to see this. As a farmer, he had shaped and reshaped the earth so many times that he knew how transient it all was. They had no children, but he was grateful to be able to work until the end. He wanted something to do, though.

something small but lasting. Leaving his hoe in the dirt and standing alongside it, he felt the warm breeze of early summer. He would go on a pilgrimage to the great shrines of Ise. Then he would die. He still had friends and when he ventured into the taverns to tell them of his plans, half laughed, half envied.

One of the younger people of the village, the kid Kenshiro was astounded to learn was now in his 50s. Where had the time gone? Anyway, one of the younger men put together a collection. 100 yen. That way, Kenshiro would be able to have the honor and credit of presenting a decent sum to the shrines. He made it as far as the inn. A few villages over. ♪

An old man is sick, one of the monks said to the leader of his temple. He's at an inn down the road. I'm going to go see what I can do. It's adorable, right? The man in his 40s, the leader of the monastery, smiled at the monkeys. They arrived each morning as he read the sutras aloud. At first, he thought one of the monks or acolytes were playing a trick on him.

that they had trained two monkeys to come and sit and listen attentively to his lectures, because even the human monks had a hard time paying attention or staying focused for hours on end. At first, he thought that that was ridiculous. Who would train monkeys to sit quietly just to mess with their boss?

Then he thought it was the Middle Ages, and they lived in the mountains, and people had a ton of time on their hands, so it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Now he was back to thinking it was legitimate, because it had been days of this. They arrived just before he began, took a seat toward the back, listened the entire time, and then left. They didn't bite people, they didn't pull hair or steel, they just listened to the sutras.

So, the leader of the monastery continued to read. He had begun increasing his reading time beyond the quick and mandatory readings he required of the other monks, which was why the one was going down the road to the inn. The leader would keep reading. Willing and eager students, even if they were monkeys, brought out his inclination to teach. Forty-five minutes later, the man looked up with a smile. They looked up at him like students.

Then he glanced left and right. He was alone, the warm breeze turning hot as the sun passed overhead. So that concludes our lesson for today. What brings you out so regularly? He chuckled, closing the book.

"'We have come, Holy Father, because we like to hear the words and sermons of the Buddha, as read by yourself, and greatly do we desire to retain all the wisdom and virtues which we have heard you recite. Is it possible for you to copy out the great and holy Buddhist book?'

What? The leader of the monastery blinked. The monkey cleared his throat. He wasn't used to speaking, so he would try this again. We have come, Holy Father, because we like to hear the words and sermons of the Buddha as read by... No, yeah, I got that part, the man said. It... Yeah, he was... He supposed he... He could. It was frankly, though, it was rare that animals took an interest in Buddhism. So that was cool. You know what?

Sure, yeah, yeah, he would. He would make an effort to do what they asked and copy all the volumes of the great book. He smiled. He would need help, though. The laborer was going to work for the day. His wife kissed him on the cheek and handed him a bundle that she had prepared for lunch. She didn't know that he was leaving her. He stopped in the doorway. No, no, he needed to do it now.

He had been meaning to do it for a month. As he watched her burn in the sun and her soft hands grow more calloused, he would come home and the comfort of her arms would overwhelm him. It would be one more day stacked upon so many one more days. No, if he was going to do it, he needed to do it now. They were young. She still had time. They were young and her parents had been right.

She giggled. What? They were right about me. I'm not good for you. The laborer didn't look back as a tear ran down his cheek. She asked what he meant. Turning, she could see the tears in his eyes. He took her into his arms. How long had they been living like this? He had no friends or relations, no place to go. Each morning he went and sought for work and some nights he returned with a little money.

but most days it was nothing. They moved because they thought each place would be better, but no place was. Every day was worse than the day before it. Her parents had been right about him, and the world had finally wore down his pride enough that he could admit that. She clung to him. They both knew it would be difficult. She was willing to starve with him if she needed to. She loved him.

No, he said, stepping away. If there was one thing worse than this life he was living, it was watching her starve as a result. She was young. She could remarry. Now, she began to cry. But she didn't want to remarry. She wanted to remain with him, as she promised, until the end of her days, no matter how long or short that was. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves and looked at her, more resolved than ever. No, he said.

I'm leaving you. When I return this evening, make sure you're not here, he said. The tears blinded him so much that he bumped into a monk on his way out. Hey, watch yourself, Kaishu, the attendant monk, said as the laborer barreled into him. He apologized profusely and scrambled on down the road. You got tears on me, gross, Kaishu said. Then look to the man's house.

to the woman who was beside herself with anguish. He arched his eyebrows. Hmm, she's, uh, wow, stunning, even ugly crying. Any other day, he might have sidled on over and wedged himself into the evident gap between this woman and her husband, but he had somewhere else to be. The inn with the sick man was just up on his left, and then it was on his left, and then it was behind him on his left.

A sick old farmer traveling to some shrines. If the gods wanted him to be healthy, they wouldn't have gotten him sick. Sick young people have a hard time. Not much he could do for the man. There was a lot he could do for himself, though. And a lot he could do for the deputy governor's wife. He slid around back, did their special knock, and his clothes were on the floor in seconds. ♪

Ten minutes later, the deputy governor was home. Well, more accurately, he was just outside his home. His seal, the one he used to stamp official documents, was just inside the door. But from what he heard, he didn't want to see what was going on in there. That he knew who was making those sounds, but he had never heard them himself, that made it all the more painful.

He knew that something was going on. There were rumors around town. The Intendant Monk, but to be here, to hear it. There was another noise just behind him, and he spun. A servant. One of his servants. From the governor's office. The deputy governor exhaled. Now wasn't the time to confront his wife. And her lover. He was so grateful now wasn't the time. Yes, he whispered, catching the man's arm and directing him back to the road.

He recognized he was late. He would catch up with the governor in the procession. Well, see, that's the thing the man swallowed hard. The governor wasn't on the road. There was an accident. You see, you're the governor now because the governor fell off a cliff. As the deputy governor walked to the cliff his boss had just careened off of because apparently that was something that happened now,

He was a mixture of elation and despair. He was now governor. He was the most powerful man in the region, yet his own wife with some priest. He didn't begin to know how he would deal with that, but it would have to wait. His boss, the governor, had been crossing a suspension bridge when the horse he was riding caught a plank the wrong way and fell over the edge.

Not knowing that that was even possible, given most impossible things are thought such until someone does them, the deputy governor now had to go inspect the recovery. Everything had to be done according to protocol. His first order of business when they got back to the office would be to make a your boss fell off a cliff protocol, though he would avoid suspension bridges so it would hopefully never need to be put into use, for him at least.

Arriving at the bridge, the men accompanying the governor, or late governor, tore their eyes away from the tops of the cedar trees several dozen feet down from the bridge, stiffened, and ran to attend to their new governor. Their respect bolstered the deputy's own self-respect. These men were waiting for him. It was his time. "'You!' he pointed to the three by the cart. "'You!'

Take the cart back and return with fresh horses that didn't just watch one of their own careen off a cliff. Also, ropes. They needed to recover the body. He turned to the, like, 15 samurai. How many retainers does one man need? Go home.

He looked at the gilded carriage, or what he could see of it, glinting through the cedars. Such a waste. You, he pointed to the remaining servants, find sturdy trees. They were all going down to the ravine, and he didn't want to lose two governors in one day. The men, nodding and surprised that he was going down too, ran invigorated to the cliff's edge.

Travel hamper, the deputy governor heard. Oh, that's a good idea. He told one of the servants to rush and catch up to the ones heading back to the estate to get one. Get one what? The servant asked. Get a travel hamper? You just said it. The deputy governor pointed out. Oh, that's a good idea, the servant said. The deputy governor's stomach sank. The servant didn't say it.

Everyone else was gone. There was only one person left. Travel hamper! A voice yelled from the valley. The deputy governor sighed. Alive and likely clinging to a cedar tree, the governor had survived the fall. Right back where he was previously, the deputy governor's shoulders slumped.

Then he realized, no, he wasn't just right back where he started. He had been the governor. His orders, his words had spurred men to action. The governor being alive then and alive now didn't matter. He was still the same man. His shoulders straight once again, he told the servants to listen to their governor. He was going home. Then he thought about it.

Calling for the servant who was heading back to the estate, he said he needed the remaining cart and a driver, a samurai. Send the rest back on foot to get the travel hamper. The governor had survived by landing wherever he was. He could survive a little longer. I'll be back soon. No need to stable the horses. I just forgot my stamp.

The deputy governor called out toward the road. The samurai next to him furrowed his brow. Who is he talking to? He shook his head. Don't worry about it. It's not for you. The intended audience, though, ceased what they had been doing, and the house was silent. Smiling, the deputy governor opened the door. The house was a flurry of activity. The woman's maids weren't, well, a wall, but they were roadblocks.

One presented his seal with a smile. "'Perfect, thank you,' he smiled. A chest slammed shut in the back of the house. "'Where are you going?' the maid was flustered. She had likely been given an order in hushed whispers that the deputy governor should only be allowed to go so far. "'I'm going to see my wife, of course. Do I need permission from a servant to walk through my own house?' "'Step aside.' The woman did."

I was preparing for a bath. The deputy governor's wife greeted him when he slid the door open and found her in a robe. He begged her not to let him stop her. He just came by to say hello and how much he cared for her and... Oh, he called out to the servant waiting outside the door. The man appeared in the doorway as the wife stepped out of view. I have a chest of old clothes here. Please take it to the temple and donate it and its contents to the monks as a fee for chanting the sutras.

When you have loaded it, I will be out with a letter for them, the deputy governor said. What? The wife cried, stepping out and closing her robe tighter. Why was he doing that? The man laughed. First, they were his clothes in his chest. Second, he didn't even use them. Look, he jiggled the lid. He didn't even remember locking it. Not to get too fight club here, but you had to unload every so often, or the things you own end up owning you and so on.

It's heavy. The samurai struggled as he dragged the chest from the room. Shrugging, the deputy governor said he guessed he had more clothes than he thought, all the more reason to give some away. He turned to his wife. If there was a reason why he shouldn't take this chest right now, he would be happy to hear it. He grew serious. If there was something in there she couldn't bear to part with. Tears welled in her own eyes. She looked away. No, no, she was...

She was sorry. Sorry for trying to tell him what he could do with his chest. Nothing was so precious that she couldn't get rid of it, as long as he was there. As long as he would not lose himself to gaining more and more things to put in chests and leave her here, wondering where he went. He nodded. That he could do.

"'You guys really have some strong feelings about this chest,' the samurai said, as he finally loaded the chest into the cart outside. The deputy governor wiped his eyes with his sleeve and gave a letter to his retainer. "'Take the chest to the nearest temple, a few miles up the road. It's a donation to them for their diligence. For their faithfulness!' He practically yelled at the chest. As for him, he had to get back to the rescue effort. "'Uh, okay,' the retainer said."

With that, he spurred the horses onward. As he drove the chest down the road, he took in the sights. The mountains, the rivers, the farmer getting absolutely leveled to the ground by a slap outside the inn. Wait. ♪

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Kanshiro had gotten sick a few days out from home, he was the farmer at the top of the episode, and this was at the very start of his pilgrimage. He had stopped at an inn and, in addition to the money the people of his village had collected, he had a little of his own. He had used all of it in the previous few days. He left with his health and the 100 yen in his bag, the donation the village had collected, and he discovered down the road that he only left with his health.

He had asked the innkeeper to hold the money so he could avoid sullying it with his illness before the donation to the temples. When Kenshiro paid his bill and left, the innkeeper gave him the bag and wished him well. The inn was full of eyes Kenshiro didn't know, and he didn't want those eyes to see the money he carried around his neck.

So he had quickly shoved it in his bag without looking at it and started off. And it was about a mile down the road that Kenshiro found the bag was full of rocks. The innkeeper had cheated him. He ran back to the inn.

"'I can't believe you,' the innkeeper, Jinpachi, said when Kanshiro returned. "'I cared for you when you were sick. I looked after your money and trustworthiness, and here you're trying to blackmail me by calling me a thief?' Kanshiro said, "'Please, it wasn't much. It was only 100 yen. It was all he had. It was a donation for the temples.'"

"'You do this? You go around to different inns and play the feeble old man act, extorting money from anyone kind enough to help you?' the innkeeper said, slapping Kenshiro across the face. Kenshiro dropped to the ground as a cart went by on the road. The man driving it gasped and looked away, whipping the horses to move faster. "'You're lucky I'm not telling the governor about this,' the innkeeper said with a kick."

I'm afraid some punishment is necessary, or else you'll just con the next person down the road. He grabbed his walking stick and cracked Kenshiro across the back a few times, before letting his friends from the inn join. Blood stung Kenshiro's eyes as he lost consciousness. We're bringing him up now, the lead servant said. When the deputy governor returned to the bridge...

Branches made makeshift pulleys, as the rope holding the much-discussed travel hamper scraped and scratched, playing the apparently very lightweight of a full-grown man, but in mushrooms. "'It's full. How is it full of mushrooms?' the lead servant said, and he wasn't wrong."

The travel hamper was full to the brim with mushrooms. Mushrooms! They heard from the ravine. Why is it full of mushrooms? The deputy governor yelled over the edge. Because there are mushrooms down here! The governor cried back. The deputy governor sighed. Okay, great, cool, mushrooms. Just how about you get in the basket this time? Not the mushrooms. Travel hamper!

The man yelled back as the servants dumped the mushrooms onto the ground. And a little more mushrooms! I'm gonna bring a little more! No, just you! The deputy yelled. Whatever! The governor called back. And after a delay that told the group he was absolutely piling more mushrooms into that basket, he gave the signal for them to hoist him up.

Several minutes and several more sweaty servants later, they pulled the governor, chest deep in mushrooms, over the edge of the cliff. He stepped out and relaxed the rope. The mushrooms spilled out and they had to restrain the governor from going after those last few that tumbled over the edge. "You know," the governor said, throwing his arm around the deputy. This reminded him of an old Buddhist tale. Once, a monk was walking through the woods and he spotted a tiger.

Both of them realized at the same time what was happening, and the monk took off in a run while the tiger gave chase. The monk noticed a vine overhanging a cliff and decided to climb down, but upon grabbing hold and lowering himself, he noticed two things. One, the vine only went halfway down, and two, even if he did manage to survive the fall, there was another tiger at the bottom, pacing.

Still, he could linger for a moment, but then, two mice! There were mice above him chewing on the vine. Having minutes if he was lucky, but likely only moments, he gripped the vine and noticed, there on the cliffside, wild strawberries. As the tiger above him swiped, and the tiger below him paced, and the mice chewed at his lifeline,

He reached in and found the biggest, most delicious strawberry he had ever seen. And he was grateful, for if he hadn't been in that situation, he never would have tasted the berry. "'I've always wondered about that story,' the governor said. "'Never made sense until today.' But now he knew what it meant. That no matter who you are, you should never fail to take what might come into your hand.'

He had always governed his province with that same wisdom, albeit inadvertently, garnering taxes and enriching himself to his heart's content. That's not remotely what that means. The deputy governor pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. That story was a Buddhist parable on being present. The tiger that chased him was the past, to which he could never return.

The tiger at the bottom was the future and death, which is certain for all, and the mice were time, chipping away at even what we think we have. The strawberry was, of course, the present moment. It's all we have, and we should relish in it. Looking up, he saw his boss's attention wasn't on him, but on the beautiful woman walking by with the tear-streaked cheeks.

"'Hey, got a bunch of mushrooms. There was a tree down there that I fell into. It's a parable about kleptocracy and how great it is.' He heard the governor hitting on the woman walking by. His cringing was interrupted by reports coming from the inn. "'Hey,' the deputy governor tapped his boss on the back. "'There's a report coming from the inn. Apparently they beat an old man nearly to death for accusing the innkeeper of theft, and if I know the innkeeper, that absolutely happened.'

"'The innkeeper pays his taxes,' the governor shrugged. But the deputy governor stopped him before he turned back to the woman. "'Yes, he pays all the taxes, even the extra ones that go straight to the governor. That didn't mean he was above the law. Fine, handle it. I'm busy.' The governor turned back to the woman, making it clear that he would not be interrupted again. The deputy governor gathered a few retainers, and they rode for the inn."

On the way, the men were confused when the deputy governor slowed on the path up to the temple and glanced up at the growing crowd around the chest that had been donated earlier that morning. Laughing, the deputy governor rode on. Where is he? The group grew in both size and impatience by the minute as more and more monks filtered from the temple to see the grand treasure the deputy governor had donated to them for chanting the sutras. Thing was, though,

The donation came with very specific instructions. It was, with no exception, to be opened by the attendant monk, Kaishu, the deputy governor's retainer, sweating in the growing heat of the day, demanded to know where Kaishu was. There were things to do. It was unseemly for them to keep him waiting. He went out to see a sick man at the end, but that was like hours ago, the monks and acolytes said.

"'I can't go on waiting,' the retainer said. "'It had been forty-five minutes of this. "'They could do it if he commanded them to do it. "'Here. "'Producing a key, he handed it to a monk. "'Is that proper?' the man asked as he took the key.

They took another 15 minutes to decide whether or not it was proper, and if a samurai could legally kill them for following his explicit order. Quick sidebar, I'm not 100% sure on the law during the Edo period of Japanese history, but it's a safe rule of thumb that the answer to, can a samurai legally kill this person, is usually an unequivocal yes.

Luckily, they got word from the attendant when a quiet, weakened voice cried out from the chest for them to open it. Open it, please. The monks looked at each other, then the one with the key scrambled to fit it in the lock. Even the samurai was eager to see what was going on here, as usually clothes didn't speak. Though, I'll be real, if there was a folklore where the clothes could talk, it would absolutely be Japanese folklore. There's a thing where if items stick around long enough, they come to life.

They flipped open the chest to see, naked and huddled and weeping, the intendant, Kaishu. The monks pieced it together, almost as quickly as Kaishu rose, still weeping and begging forgiveness from the chest. The last any of the monks saw of Kaishu was him running naked into the woods and, for the rest of their days,

The monks held the deputy governor in quiet admiration for both his ability to thoroughly and publicly shame the man who had been making visits to his house while he was gone, and do it in a way that completely shielded him from the controversy of the affair becoming known. The leader of the monastery stopped copying momentarily at the sound of the weeping outside. What was that?

One monkey looked at the other and the first nodded. He would go check it out. You good though? You got everything you need? The leader of the monastery looked at the heaps and heaps of paper and the piles of food, mostly very small fruit that could be torn and eaten with your hands and teeth, and smiled a bemused smile. Yes, he will be fine. Thank you.

In the past few hours, 500 monkeys had come from the forest to aid the leader of the monastery in copying the sutras, bringing all the paper he would ever need and all the food anyone could eat.

It was touching, really. All his life, he had never considered ministering, much less preaching, to the monkeys of the forest. Yet, in a few hours, they had given him more than any human patron ever had to his temple. The days wore on. He learned of Kaishu's exit from his vocation. The governor was getting remarried, and the deputy governor and his wife donated a large sum to the temple.

in order to make up for their last donation, which was just a naked kai-shu in a box. So, life continued in the provinces. Each day, he would see to his duties, and then head to the back veranda to copy his volumes in peace, accompanied only by the two monkeys, who looked on the simple ink on pages like the greatest treasures imaginable. Then, one morning, a few years later, the hall was empty.

The monkeys had been bringing potatoes, mushrooms, wild fruit, and honey regularly. Each morning they piled food and sat, eating some themselves and leaving the rest for the monk. It was getting close to winter, though, and he thought maybe they had other things to attend to. Even people can't be spiritually minded all the time. We exist in the world and have to manage its various pulls this way and that. One day was no cause for concern.

Two days, then a week, though, something was wrong. It had been three years and they showed up every day. One week after they stopped showing up, he didn't make for the room in his papers, but donned his heavy cloak and made his way into the forest. What was usually serene today felt wild, dangerous. The monk clasped his cloak tighter and pressed on.

He never asked them where they went, though he supposed he could have. They could talk, after all. He knew where the monkeys congregated in the old forest, though, and found them standing in rows, with dozens more rushing in from the forest as he approached, hundreds of monkeys waiting for him. One emerged and took his hand. Walking side by side, it must have been a mile deeper into the forest when they saw the ring of monkeys around a pit.

The monk knew what he would see before he looked. As the monkeys parted, allowing him space, he approached the lip of the pit. The ground was loose. Even in winter, part of it had collapsed to reveal a sheer rock wall. The pit was too deep. One had gone in after some wild potatoes, deep in the part of the forest where the monkeys hardly traveled. The other had gone in after the first. The pit was too deep.

There had been no way out. The priest skidded down. The pit was easy enough to get in and out of for a human, and he would bury them. At the bottom of the pit, the corpses of the two monkeys held one another. By one or the other, cold or starvation, he knew death had come for them. He had no way of knowing that it wasn't the chill or the lack of food that killed them,

It was a broken heart because there at the bottom of the pit, knowing there was no way out, they despaired that the monk would think that they had deserted him. We'll finish our story, but that will, once again, be right after this. Ghostbed.

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love the fresh ground bird, the minced chicken, and they're ragdoll cats, so their coat is important to us. Because otherwise we have to brush them a ton to work out those mats. But since doing smalls, they've had fewer hairballs and a softer, sleeker coat. It's awesome. We kind of knew that ours loved poultry wet food, but if you have a picky cat, too, they have a sampler, so you can try everything they have to offer. And

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That's an additional 50% off when you head to Smalls.com and use promo code LEGENDS. Again, that's promo code LEGENDS for an additional 50% off your first order plus free shipping at Smalls.com. The rich man opened his door. The pounding in the night was too much. Wrapping his silk around himself, he squinted into the darkness outside and ordered the servant to come with a lamp. The light danced off the man in front of him.

His cheekbones were sharp and his arms held no excess. He was bone and sinew. His hands held no weapons, but he looked impossibly strong for his size and age. The rich man stepped back and gave a hand signal to the servant. His past was replete with creative business practices.

Sometimes the people he worked with did not see eye to eye, so he had special ways to communicate with his servants when the watchman might be needed. "'Your name is Jimpachi. Three years ago, I came to your inn,' the stranger said to the man in the doorway. "'Congratulations. Many people did.' The rich man laughed, saying, "'Get the watchman. Now!' With his left hand, the servant slipped out the back."

Many people stayed at his inn, but it wasn't the inn that made him rich. It was what the inn had done for him. In a mountain pass between the regions controlled by different daimyo, he stayed paid up with the governor in order to smuggle goods, to avoid taxes and cash in off various monopolies.

He got out of the smuggling business and went mostly legitimate two years ago when three samurai from a nearby daimyo tragically burned alive in his inn. "'Three years ago you stole the money entrusted to me. I sold my property to refund the people what they had given me to take to the temples. I have been a beggar and a wanderer ever since. I went to the shrines. I begged for the 100 yen. I paid my debt to them in my village.'

It took three years, but it's done, Kenshiro said. Chimpachi laughed out loud. 100 yen? He was wanted in three regions. And this man came here for 100 yen? He reached into his pockets and scattered the copper coins in the dirt. There you go. Probably a little bit more. Have at it, bud.

Quick note, this story was written later, but the yen didn't exist until the 1870s, created during the Meiji Restoration. The story had it, though, so I'm keeping it. 100 yen is less than one US dollar in 2025. A dollar in 1870 might be worth 25 today.

So that's some really rough math. Basically, Kenshiro wasn't asking for nothing, but even rounding up to $50 in 2025 money, it was almost nothing to a man like Jinpachi. But Kenshiro didn't bend to pick it up. He looked Jinpachi in the eye. He wasn't here for money. The part of his life where he cared about that like nearly everything else in his life was over.

"'I will die,' Kenshiro said. "'But before I do, I wanted you to know. "'Think not that I shall not be avenged. "'I shall be. "'You are young. "'I am old. "'This has sustained me, but it won't for long. "'Vengeance will overtake you soon.' "'He backed up, as if he knew the watchman was approaching from the darkness. "'This beggar came. "'I tried to give him some money, but he won't leave.'

The watchman nodded, then cocked his head, asking without asking whether Jimpachi wanted this man to leave and never come back. Something, though, about this man's smile, flickering in the lantern light, about his age, he no longer seemed strong.

But that very sinewy nature of the man that belied strength now seemed to be quickly evaporating, as if he truly had been existing only to come send that message to Jimpachi. Jimpachi shook his head for the watchman. This would just be a warning. But if the man returned, he would seek a more permanent fix. It turned out to be unnecessary, though. The watchman returned several minutes later with news.

The beggar died the moment he passed out of the city. Seemed to collapse, like his spirit just gave out. Some priest was overseeing his burial down by the riverbank. Jinpachi smiled. "Well, some problems take care of themselves.

The deputy governor sighed. The governor wasn't even doing anything. His wife had a baby. Great. Fantastic. It wasn't like he was up at 2 a.m. changing diapers. He probably hadn't even held his son, but no. When it was time to get up in the middle of the night to see to the official business, the governor couldn't be bothered. What is it now? The deputy governor rubbed his eyes.

The man, a servant of Jimpachi, wanted to see if the governor could send some of his retainers, his samurai, to Jimpachi's mansion. Oh, and why's that? The deputy governor shook his head. The government wasn't the protection service of the rich. He would be fine. He's being harassed by a murderous cloud of fireflies.

The servant said, and the deputy governor laughed. Of course he is. How many times have we heard? I'm sorry, did you just say murderous cloud of fireflies? He did because it was. Chimpachi had fallen over a week ago after a strange man had visited him in the night. It came on quickly and it progressed nearly as fast. Within a week, he was not only bedridden, but unable to move his limbs at all.

Worse than that, he was in perfect health and still took his meals and could pay for people to care for him until he recovered, should he recover. Then, however, the fireflies came. It started as one or two in his room. Then, as more and more came in through the windows and doors, he called for someone to put up the mosquito net.

They did so just in time, it seemed, because that night a swarm built up in his room, just outside the net, pressing in on all sides. His servants traced the trail of fireflies down to the river, to the grave that the watchman had dug that night, and to the hole in the ground by which the fireflies came out one by one. The servants tried to cover up the hole with like a rock or something, but they couldn't.

but they simply made and came out another, then another. They tried to catch them in the air, and they got several nets, but the fireflies kept on coming. A trickle that grew into a torrent. They floated until they, like all the fireflies before them, came to the bedside of Jimpachi. The deputy governor stood inside the house. The fireflies first clung to the net, then to the other fireflies,

and the rest flew around the room, landing on whatever they could. But outside the room? Nothing. Nothing except for the trickle of insects still making their way inside. Help me. Help me, please, Jim Poshy whispered from within. The deputy governor couldn't see him through the wall of fireflies, twinkling in the darkness they themselves created by choking every other light source in the room. They'll break through the net soon. Then I...

I don't know. I can't move. I don't know what they'll do. There was terror in his voice. Maybe he was right to be afraid. Pull everyone back, the deputy governor commanded. And Jimpachi began weeping softly behind the fireflies. Why? Get some samurai. Get some fire. Do something, the servant demanded. The deputy governor sighed. Walking as close as he cared to get to the wiggling mass that was Jimpachi's room...

He said there was no hope. He could call some samurai, sure. And they could, what, slice at the fireflies? It would be like fighting a cloud. And so far, they appeared to be endless. They could burn the fireflies or smoke them out, but that was just as likely to kill Jinpachi. The deputy governor clasped his hands and said, louder than the servant needed, that this was clearly divine justice.

So rarely in life do people get what they deserve, good or bad. But when justice actually comes, you don't stand in its way. He didn't need to imagine what Jimpachi did, because just the things he knew about the man would suffice. He didn't know what would happen when the net broke, but when it did, Jimpachi would die helpless and alone, abandoned by everyone he thought he trusted—

with all his ill-gotten influence and wealth, powerless to aid him in any way. "'I'll go to the governor, to the dime mill,' the servant trailed off. "'No, you won't. And if you did, what would you tell them? A man is being attacked by fireflies? Just go. You don't like him any more than I do. No one does.' The deputy governor said, turned, and left."

The servant thought, but only for a moment, and followed, trailed by Jimpachi's cries. The net tore a few hours later, and the fireflies swarmed in. The house was empty of everyone but Jimpachi at that point. It was a cursed place, where divine justice was being carried out, and where Jimpachi's screams were quickly cut short when, according to the story...

The fireflies climbed in his mouth, his nose, his ears, and his eyes. His thrashing torso could be heard rocking the bed, then muffled weeping for weeks. Jimpachi lived in agony for 21 days before dying, and people only braved the house when the fireflies dispersed one morning into the sky. ♪

"'Mother, why are we stopping?' The governor, or rather, the son of the governor, and the woman he met on the bridge that day over forty years ago, asked. He had become the governor after the death of his father the previous year. He kept the old deputy governor on, and the pair got along well. The new governor, the son, was nothing like the old. He was just and kind, principled and empathetic. He was promoted in six months."

Now, though, they were traveling home. Their original home, where he had been born and where his father had ruled for his entire life. But they were, apparently, taking a break. The mother looked out on the workers cutting reeds by the bay. She wasn't looking at the men working, though. She was looking at one squatting and eating his lunch by the road. Calling over her maids, the governor's mother wrote a quick note.

Another servant obeyed her summons, and she sized him up. "'I need your robe,' she held out her hand, and the servant obeyed without question. "'Go deliver this letter to the man squatting by the roadside. His back is burning,' she said. "'That's very kind of you, mother,' the governor said, but could tell his mother didn't hear him. She was still watching that man. "'A robe from the governor? This didn't make any sense,'

From the governor's wife, the lady's maid said. She passed the man the robe and the note, without touching him if possible, and the man quickly read it. To be fortunate, he thought. And so we parted. Why then, why then, do you live by Naniwa Bay? He looked up to the carriage, to the woman, sitting beside a young governor. It was his wife, the one he left.

She had married the governor. She was now a stately lady and a mother. His breath quavered as he called the maid back. "'Do you have an inkstone?' the man asked. "'And paper?' "'Without you, I am unfortunate indeed. I know how hard it is, how hard it is to live by Naniwa Bay,' the governor's mother read, and then looked at the man standing there among the reeds. She saw the man she had loved in her youth."

whose promise she had seen, but no one else believed, not even him. Together, they could have grown. They would have been okay. Apart, he was a broken man, cutting reeds by the bay, and she had comfort, but she would forever be stalked by the specter of who he was and what they could have been. "Mother, are you okay? Who is that man?" the governor asked. "Can't you see?

He's a reed cutter who needed help. That's all he is now. That's all he ever was, apparently. Let's go. The carriage thundered on, and the reed cutter dropped his tools and staggered on into the forest. "'Governor's here?' The temple was in a flurry. "'Not the governor, a governor, still,' the lead monk said. "'A governor was only a man, and they would treat him as they treated everyone.'

Everyone didn't bring two dozen retainers in with them, though the governor dismissed them when the temple began to grow too crowded. He said they could go walk to the gardens or pray. There was a mountainside behind the temple with blueberry bushes they could pick. He was not to be disturbed. I'm surprised you know our humble mountain temple, the leader smiled. I used to visit a long time ago. It was before your tenure, the governor looked around. Where was it?

The lead monk said that he had been at this monastery for 30 years now, so it was surprising that the still somewhat young man would have been here before him. But what was he looking for? What could they help him with? He said, long ago, the leader of the monastery was copying out the scriptures. What had happened to them? The current leader arched his eyebrows. This was the first he was hearing of such an endeavor.

The governor asked if there was anyone still around from those times. It would have been probably 40 plus years ago. Shaking his head, the monk said no, then paused. Wait, well, maybe. He snapped for one of the acolytes. Go get him. The hermit. As the acolyte rushed off, the monk explained that the hermit had been around back then. They think he had been someone important, but no one really knew anymore.

When people become too old to serve, they could go off and live on their own, cultivating themselves until death. He had come back maybe a decade ago and wanted to stay here. Ah, here he is, the monk said several minutes later, and the governor stood. He smiled at the man. You were alive, it must have been 40 years ago, when the two monkeys listened to the scriptures.

and the priest began copying them. The governor studied the wizened man with a long, white beard. "'I was a servant during that time,' the man said. "'Do you know where they are?' "'The monkeys?' "'Yes, sadly.' "'The scriptures,' the governor corrected. The man smiled. "'There was a secret alcove in one of the pillars of the temple. "'I was called away to a different temple after they died, "'and I could not bring the scriptures along.'

When I returned, it must have been ten years ago. Well, my eyes aren't what they were, and my hands shake. They will remain incomplete. No. The governor wiped a tear from his eye. No, they won't. I will finish them. Everyone but the old man stifled a chuckle. Who are you? The old man grew serious. I am the lord of Ichigo province, the governor declared. I am forty years old.

and I recognize you from the last time I was here. You were the monk who saw two monkeys listening intently to your readings, and you spoke to them. You gave them a chance. You respected them, and they gave you everything. Tell me, how do I know that? The old man's hand trembled, but not from his illness. You're one of them, one of the monkeys. I am, the governor smiled.

They started as dreams at first, then visions. I prayed and meditated until they became clearer, until I saw your face and remembered the temple. It took 40 years of searching, but I just wanted to come and say thank you and to finish your work. No, the man said, picking up the volumes before handing them to the governor. Not my work, our work.

After several hours, the governor left with his mother and retainers. The old monk died shortly after in his hermitage, as if he had been holding on to see his work completed. The governor devoted the remainder of his life to copying the sutras and completed 3,000 volumes in all. It's said that they are now kept in the temple of Kinodo, in Ichigo, as its most sacred treasure. ♪

This was a super meaningful episode to me. Not only because it explored themes of loss, legacy, and purpose, but because we were able to weave together five stories that I never thought I'd be able to use. As I probably don't need to say, but will anyway. These stories are not put together like this in the folklore. They are five different tales, but they do have overlapping characters, mainly monks, governors, and deputy governors...

So that's how I wove them together. Since we're somehow pushing an hour for this episode, I'll just say that if you want to support the show or connect with us or the audience, there are links to the membership and the discord and social media in the show notes. The creature this time is the Dinimara from Manx folklore. The Dinimara is doing his part. He's a merman, but doesn't like it that water creatures get a bad rap because they're always pulling people in and drowning and or eating them.

To me, that feels like less of a reputation issue and more of a "stop doing that sort of thing" issue. But the Dinimara knows you can only control yourself, and you should be the non-murderous, non-menacing change you want to see in the world. So the Dinimara is a helpful merman.

The Isle of Man is, and this should come as no surprise, an island. As such, to go anywhere in the world or to eat fish, people need to go on boats. The sea, then and still today, can be dangerous and unpredictable. Whether by magic or being able to simply read the currents, clouds, and wind, the Dinemara knows when deadly storms are going to crop up in the Irish Sea, and he wants to help out.

Additionally, because he's part fish and not only hangs out with fish all the time, but doesn't mind giving up a few to the islanders in order for them to be killed and consumed, he'll clue fishermen in on the best spot, but only if they make an offering. One famous tale of this is the boys' boat. Boys' boat! Sorry, I've listened to too much Magic Tavern. It wasn't a boat full of kids, but just seven unmarried guys who fished together.

And because they made friends with the Dinimara, he told them where to go. Eventually, everyone else caught wind and began following them because they and only they knew the best spots. They were also the only ones to listen to the warnings. Telling of a storm that was coming, the Dinimara told the boy's boat to pass on the message, but no one would listen. Their greed outweighed their caution and they paid with their lives. Only the boy's boat made it back.

After that, boats started sending at least one married guy on the boat because, even if they didn't make offerings to the Dinimara, they realized they could still stoke his sympathy because he couldn't bear to not warn a ship carrying a married man and be responsible for destroying a family.

There was one thing that Dinimara hated, though, and that was spam calls. I mean, we all do. But apparently the way to summon him was to whistle, and so people who whistled mindlessly would have the Dinimara showing up over and over again, and as we all know, spam calls can get on the nerves of even the nicest people. His version is less just hanging up and blocking the number, and more so letting them drown in a storm. So, yeah.

I guess be considerate and don't whistle on a ship in the Irish Sea. That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.