Chapter 124: The Mournful Mountain Lotus Leaf

Sasaki Haruka looked around at the people surrounding her. No, to be precise, these were not merely people.

Indeed.

Whether it was the scarred man with a fierce demeanor, the disheveled man in an old suit, or the poet murmuring cryptic haikus, they were all spirits.

However, somewhat unexpectedly to Sasaki Haruka, these were not vengeful spirits.

They were simply souls of the departed, untainted by any malice.

This phenomenon was so peculiar that Sasaki Haruka momentarily forgot to be afraid.

“Joe-san?” she inquired curiously, turning to Joe Hashi for an explanation.

“Wait a bit longer,” Joe replied, picking up a cup and sipping some juice.

“Miura-san, have you been into a fight again somewhere?”

“Hmph, just taught a few reckless brats a lesson.”

“Fists flying wildly, blood and tears falling like rain, Mogamigawa.”

The group bantered as if oblivious to Joe Hashi, exchanging jokes and occasionally chatting familiarly with Grandma Sakurai.

Joe Hashi held his phone, seemingly browsing something.

Meanwhile, Asano Ariko enjoyed her skewers, completely indifferent to the spirits around her.

Seeing this lively gathering of spirits and her two relaxed exorcist companions, Sasaki Haruka suddenly felt as if she had transcended reality.

Am I truly performing an exorcism?

Given Joe-san’s nature, shouldn’t he have started blowing things up by now?

Lost in thought, the wind chime at the entrance jingled once more.

A man entered the tavern.

He appeared kind, his facial features gentle, dressed in clothing reminiscent of the 1960s or 70s. As he stepped inside, the others’ conversations abruptly ceased.

“What will you have today?” Grandma Sakurai asked softly, her eyes softening upon seeing him.

“No, nothing today,” the man replied, taking a seat beside Sasaki Haruka.

Naturally, he was a spirit as well.

“Alright then,” Grandma Sakurai said with a faint smile, as if simply looking at him brought her joy.

Sasaki Haruka couldn’t help but steal a glance at the man.

“Is he a stranger to you, child?” the man asked with a smile.

“Uh, I’m Sasaki Haruka from Shimogamo Shrine,” she answered instinctively, though she didn’t know why.

Normally, in the face of strange phenomena, such behavior would be ill-advised.

But in this tavern, an inexplicable force seemed to soothe her, making her feel as if she had returned home.

“Shimogamo Shrine? How nostalgic,” the man smiled but said no more to Sasaki Haruka, instead turning to converse with the spirits.

Their topics were nothing more than everyday trivialities.

It was as if they had never truly passed on, and everything was just as it had been in life.

“Joe-san, is it really okay for us to just sit here like this?” Sasaki Haruka whispered.

“You can observe the flow of spiritual energy in the air,” Joe Hashi replied, not directly answering but urging her to observe closely.

She activated her spiritual sight and looked carefully.

Soon, she discovered the source of the problem.

The阴气 (yin energy) enveloping Grandma Sakurai was slowly being drawn off from her, flowing into the spirits in the tavern.

Because too much阴气 corrupts ordinary spirits into vengeful ones, these spirits were absorbing only a little at a time, gently stripping the阴气 from Grandma Sakurai.

They were trying to alleviate the阴气’s influence on her.

Yet even so, the阴气 clinging to Grandma Sakurai was too heavy.

The efforts of these spirits alone were insufficient.

The worst outcome would be Grandma Sakurai succumbing to illness caused by the阴气, and the spirits becoming vengeful due to prolonged exposure.

“Why is this happening?” Sasaki Haruka asked, curiosity overtaking her fear.

At this moment, her fascination with the strange scene eclipsed any fear of the supernatural.

“Look at this,” Joe Hashi said, handing his phone to Sasaki Haruka, showing her some familiar photos.

They were materials from the police.

“Miura Taro, though he looks like a small-time thug, was actually a boatman at the Duck River Wharf. He often helped younger colleagues. The scars on his face were from saving a coworker during a work mishap. Later, he was stabbed to death while helping a woman who was being robbed. He died at the age of forty.”

“Sugiyama Yohei, a policeman in Pontocho, was in charge of this area for twenty years. Known as ‘Everyone’s Good Mr. Sugiyama,’ he was mistakenly killed during a brawl between gangs thirty years ago.”

“Muraki Renji, a wandering bard with scant records, died at thirty saving a drowning child. He was buried in the public cemetery.”

These deceased individuals were the very spirits sitting in the tavern now.

Sasaki Haruka fell silent for a long time after reading.

“And that…” she began, nodding toward the man beside her.

He still wore that gentle smile.

Looking beyond the man’s shoulder, she saw incense offerings.

Behind the incense burner hung a black-and-white photo of a young man.

The young man looked exactly like the man beside Sasaki Haruka.

“Sakurai Kurou,” she blurted out involuntarily.

Indeed, this man was the late father of their client, Mr. Makoto Sakurai, who died decades ago in an accident.

He was the true owner of the tavern “Mountain Lotus Leaf.”

“Have I been found out?” Sakurai Kurou chuckled.

“Even Koharu can’t recognize me. Haha, maybe my outfit’s not quite right?”

The Koharu he mentioned was presumably Mr. Sakurai’s daughter and his granddaughter.

“You always say your style is too old-fashioned,” Grandma Sakurai teased, laughing.

“But it can’t be helped; this is what we wore when we first met,” Sakurai Kurou replied with that carefree grin.

Sasaki Haruka was stunned.

“Aren’t you supposed to have been dead for a long time? There shouldn’t be any normal spirits left after so many years.”

This defied everything she had learned about exorcism.

“Well, we don’t really know either,” said the former policeman Sugiyama Yohei, stroking his chin.

“Maybe it’s because we heard Junko was in trouble, so we all ran back from hell.”

Miura Taro took a sip of sake and grinned.

“Called by an old friend, even from hell I return, Mogamigawa.”

The poet Muraki Renji softly recited.

“After all, everyone loves Junko.”

Sakurai Kurou smiled.

Sasaki Haruka had never studied mediumship.

Yet now, amid this tavern interwoven with spirits, she seemed to glimpse something profound.

It was the fleeting glimpse of an oiran parade.

It was meeting you beneath the softly falling cherry blossoms at sixteen.

It was the shy sake cup in the front hall of Shimogamo Shrine, dressed in white bridal robes and haori.

Within this tavern, laughter and tears, encounters and farewells.

On rainy days, final meetings.

When standing alone, the help extended by everyone.

One by one, friends departed, yet a light remained burning through the drizzle for someone.

Sasaki Haruka understood.

For these people, these spirits,

This tavern was no ordinary izakaya.

It was a home.

A place to stay anytime, with loved ones waiting.

There was no such thing as returning from hell.

These spirits had existed here all along.

Guarding the tavern, watching over Grandma Sakurai and her family.

It was a miracle only theoretically possible.

Yet it was the undeniable reality before her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Joe Hashi said as Sasaki Haruka remained lost in thought. He stood, passed by Grandma Sakurai, and took up a sculpture resting on the kitchen counter.

Through her spiritual sight, Sasaki Haruka saw the sculpture was saturated with unspeakable corruption, thick阴气 entwining it.

Bang—

Without a word, Joe Hashi drew his pistol and fired.

The fragile sculpture shattered into pieces.

At the same moment, accompanied by an untraceable wail, the阴气 clinging to Grandma Sakurai dissipated entirely.

“Thank you, thank you,” Sakurai Kurou bowed his head.

As a spirit, he seemed unaware of the sculpture’s existence and could only share his burden for his wife in the simplest way.

Though startled by Joe Hashi’s action, Grandma Sakurai quickly comprehended.

One wondered which memory the destroyed sculpture represented in her eyes.

“That’s the end of it,” Joe Hashi said, refusing payment. He carefully collected the fragments with a handkerchief, placed them into an evidence bag, and left the tavern.

Soon, the spirits accompanying Grandma Sakurai would gradually vanish.

They were guardian spirits, appearing only because of the sudden阴气 shift.

Before leaving, Sasaki Haruka glanced inside.

Grandma Sakurai, frail and aged, and Sakurai Kurou, youthful, leaned against each other with no thought of parting.

Behind them on the wall hung an old, yellowed, faded photo.

It showed the newly opened “Mountain Lotus Leaf” and everyone smiling.

“Hand in hand, growing old together,” Asano Ariko suddenly said beside her.

“Oh, so that’s what it means,” she murmured, slightly enlightened. For fifteen years old, these thousand-year-old verses still carried heavy weight.

Sasaki Haruka was at a loss for words.

The rain continued to fall.

The potted plant at the tavern’s entrance had somehow blossomed.

Its petals, soaked by rain, turned translucent.

Though colorless, the flowers bloomed brilliantly at night, painted by neon city lights.

Sasaki Haruka felt a stirring in her heart and suddenly remembered the flower.

Just as the tavern’s name suggested—the Mountain Lotus Leaf.

Its snow-white petals lose color when wet, becoming transparent.

A wildflower blooming in the mountains from late spring to early summer.

Its language was family.

And now, it bloomed with solemn grace.