第參章、神無月裡的黃前
Chapter 3: Oumae inside the Kannazuki
週末，結衣駕駛著家中那輛老派的轎車，載著母親一夢駛離喧囂的都市。現代化的景緻如同退潮般迅速消失，取而代之的是越來越濃郁，有著原始壓迫感的蒼翠山林。當目的地漸近，空氣變得清冷濕潤，卻也莫名帶著了一絲沉甸甸的的凝滯感，恍若古老的結界。
隨著導航信號變得斷斷續續，車子最終轉入一條幾乎被蕨類和藤蔓掩蓋的狹窄山路。參天古木的枝椏在上空交錯，編織成厚重的穹頂，將大部分天光隔絕在外。車內的光線變得晦暗不明，唯有車頭燈切割開前方濃得化不開的幽綠。車輪碾過鋪滿腐殖質和落葉的路面，發出單調的沙沙聲。四周萬籟俱寂，連鳥鳴也罕聞，只有彷彿來自地底深處的深沉靜默在嗡鳴。
結衣握著方向盤的手微微收緊，指節泛白。一種彷若烙印在血脈深處的莫名熟悉感，與她「神無月結衣」意識所產生的強烈排斥感激烈交戰。這條路，她童年時必然走過無數次，但記憶卻像被強行洗去的羊皮卷，只剩下一些模糊不清的色彩和令人不安的觸感。
副駕駛座上的一夢卻顯得格外寧靜，甚至帶著如同歸巢般的安然與愉悅。她輕聲哼著一首旋律古老奇特的搖籃曲，那調子既非傳統和風，也非聖詠，音階起伏間帶著一種隱秘的哀傷與執拗，那是結衣幼時入睡前常聽到的。
「就快到了哦，我們真正的『家』。」一夢微笑著指向前方，語氣裡有一種難以言喻的深意。
山路盡頭，霧氣氤氳，一座彷彿從山體中生長出來的巨大宅邸顯露而出。它採用的是日式建築結構，黑瓦沉重，木牆因歲月而呈現深褐色，但仔細看去，某些屋簷下的楔形木雕（駒形）卻被巧妙地改成了抽象化的十字架形狀，而窗格上隱約可見的鏤空花紋，也透著切支丹那種將信仰隱藏於日常圖案中的獨特美學。宅邸周圍繚繞著的不僅僅是山霧，更是一種由靈力所構成，肉眼難以辨識的屏障，讓它看起來既古老，又遠離現世。
停好車子後，結衣剛打開車門，一股複雜的氣息便撲面而來——潮濕的泥土、腐木、常年燃燒的秘製線香，以及一種更深層的冰冷而陳舊的靈性塵埃，彷彿由無數意念長年累月所積澱而成。這氣味讓她的太陽穴微微鼓脹，平日刻意迴避而沉寂在體內的黃前血脈似乎開始與之共鳴，神聖之力則愈發蟄伏。結衣緊抓胸口，卻怎樣也無法抑制自身的變化。她有點驚疑地下車，一腳踩上屬於黃前的土地，卻感覺到有股不知為何的什麼，繞過她的涼鞋鞋底，攀上她暴露的腳，引發寄託於她腿部的神聖力量不安的波動和她本質中黃前部分的歡悅；轉化後會成為聖劍劍鋒的左腳，更是狠狠攥緊，就像是自動進行蓄力，準備迎戰。結衣心中一凜，雙手合十，在心中暗暗禱告，安撫自身的構成。
那扇鑲著銅釘的巨大漆黑大門，悄無聲息地滑開。兩位穿著深色訪問著，面容靜謐得看不出年齡的婦人——結衣的外婆和一位姨母——如同早已被程序設定好似的站在門內。她們臉上掛著弧度一致的溫和笑容，整齊地鞠躬，動作同步得毫無瑕疵。
「歸來就好，一夢，結衣。」她們的聲音輕柔得彷若預先錄製好的音軌，笑容溫暖卻像覆蓋了一層薄釉，看不出情感的漣漪。
「我們回來了。」一夢自然地回應，上前親暱地挽住母親的手臂，彷彿列車開入一個既定的運行軌道。
結衣努力擠出一個符合期待的笑容，遵循禮節回應。每次見到這些親戚，她都有種強烈的既視感：每個人都如同精密的人形聖器，言行舉止無可挑剔，卻總讓人覺得在那溫和表皮之下，運轉的是某種非人的集體性意識流。他們的關懷彷彿是執行某種儀式規程，而非發自個體的內心。
宅邸內部如同一個巨大的靈性迷宮。走廊漫長昏暗，兩側的紙門上繪著看似傳統花鳥，實則隱藏了無數細小十字紋與拉丁文禱詞片段的暗紋。空氣中靈力的壓迫感幾乎凝成實體，結衣感覺自己的皮膚泛起細小的疙瘩，那是一種靈魂層面的探針正在掃描她的觸感，測定並校準她的存在。她體內來自神無月家族的神聖力量，在此地被這濃郁的黃前家族靈脈“制服”，如同潛入深海的火種，並且被任意地觸碰、解析，就像幼兒手中的玩具；而另一種平日隱晦模糊的源自黃前血脈的古老底層系統，卻開始清晰地震顫、低鳴，渴望著連接，只是結衣不知道其將連向何處。
午餐在一間瀰漫著淡淡香氣的寬敞塌塌米房間進行。長長的矮桌旁坐滿了黃前家族的成員。場面看似熱鬧溫馨，長輩們溫和地詢問結衣的學業與生活，並談論她的基督教信仰。
說也奇怪，不知其所由，她有著黃前家族信仰應也屬於基督教的設定性認知（由誰設定？），卻又未曾聽聞家族成員明白直接地敘述這一點。除了嫁入神無月家的母親，她無法確認其他家族成員是否基督徒。他們只談論結衣的信仰，了解其認知和狀態，卻似乎迴避提及自身的信仰。
明明整個宅邸都暗含了異質基督信仰的痕跡，明明家族成員的言行都帶有同調於基督教教義的氣味，卻又洋溢著古老日本的超自然氛圍。
結衣感覺到一種益發強烈的抽離感。他們的對話精準地避開所有可能引發強烈個人情感或個人認知的話題，如同在進行一場優雅而空洞的社交儀式。笑聲恰到好處，眼神卻平靜無波。每一次提問更都像是早已設定好的對話模組，並無個體性的隨意。那種連語氣都保持一致的對話，讓她感覺不是在與親人交流，而是被某個龐大而冷酷的意識體，透過眾多軀殼同時凝視。
而當她嘗試將話題引向某些個人化的細節時，對話卻會如同觸及無形的規範般被立即切斷，親戚們便優雅地將話題引回「她」身上。笑容依舊溫暖，卻空洞得如同陶瓷表面的釉色，絲毫不起波瀾。
席間，一位舅媽用塗著淡淡口紅的嘴唇吐出讚賞的話語：「結衣的靈光愈發純淨了，不愧是承載了我黃前家『悲願』與『恩寵』的結晶。」另一位姨母則補充道：「這份力量需時常回到『根源』進行維護與祝禱，方能保持最佳狀態，這才是你存在的根本啊。」
她們在與結衣聊天，但又像是不是對著結衣說，而是穿透結衣，對著她裡面不知是誰的對象說。這些話語像帶著暗示力量的咒文，悄無聲息地滲透她的靈識，動搖著她以「神無月」為名的表層認知。她有了想要反駁的念頭，但念頭隨即不知為何地消解，彷彿驅動念頭的心緒被按下中止鍵。
無論是“異端”的想法還是“異教”的靈能，身處黃前本家的結衣，都沒有如同平日般躍起對抗的能力。
下午，母親以「恢復精神」為由，帶她穿過數道隱蔽的迴廊，來到宅邸最深處一個門戶異常厚重的獨立院落。這裡的空氣幾乎凝滯，瀰漫著用於安定靈體的特殊香料濃郁氣味，及一種冰冷、如鐵鏽般的金屬味。
一夢在一扇漆黑如墨，上用銀線繪滿複雜封印陣圖與隱匿十字的房門前停下。
「結衣，還記得這裡嗎？妳的『搖籃』。」一夢的聲音帶著催眠般的柔和與誘導，「妳幼時體弱，需要時常在此接受家族的『愛之注視』與『靈性調和』，這才能讓妳的身體與靈光茁壯成長。」
結衣的視線剛落在那扇門上，心臟猛地一沉，彷彿被看不見的巨手攥住。
「呃啊…！」一聲壓抑的呻吟從喉嚨裡擠出，她猛地後退數步，背脊狠狠撞上冰冷的牆壁，額頭瞬間被冷汗浸透。
無數由各個感官記憶的抽象知覺碎片湧向結衣 。那些碎片帶著不知往何處去的失重感，和強烈的被物化、被探測、被研析的冰冷恐懼。
「結衣？怎麼了？是靈脈共鳴太強烈了嗎？」一夢立刻上前扶住她，臉上寫滿了逼真的擔憂，關切的表情完美無瑕，彷彿剛才提及「搖籃」與「調和」的話語從未包含任何其他意味。
「沒…沒什麼！只是突然有點頭痛。」結衣強行壓下翻騰的噁心感與靈魂深處的尖叫，聲音虛弱而顫抖，「媽，這裡有股太濃烈的氛圍，我有點受不了，想去…去院子裡透透氣。」
她踉蹌地如同竄逃般，遠離了那扇彷彿連通著她存在本源的恐怖之門。
直到第二天傍晚離開，結衣都處於一種精神恍惚、記憶斷片的狀態。她感覺自己在這段時間裡似乎經歷了什麼，但又無法清晰回憶，只留下一些感官的殘響——冰冷的觸感、低沉的吟誦、還有被無數道無形視線細緻掃描過的身體記憶。返程的路上由一夢開車，虛弱的結衣沉默得像一尊石像，只是望著窗外那將黃前本家重新吞噬回去的陰鬱山林。
一夢體貼地沒有打擾她，只是溫柔地輕聲說：「好好休息，這次的『維護』很順利，你的靈光穩定多了。」
結衣不語，但心有所感。有什麼根本性的東西被觸動了。黃前本家就像一個巨大而黑暗的子宮，強迫她直面自己體內那個名為「黃前結衣」的應當熟悉卻是陌生的特質。那份與家族靈脈的深刻共鳴，那份對特定儀式環境的異常親和，以及那些恐怖的知覺碎片…都在尖銳地拷問她堅信的一切：
名為神無月結衣的聖女，其下隱藏的，究竟是什麼？
這個致命的疑問，像一枚由冰與鐵鑄成的種子，被深深埋入了聖女熾熱的信仰之心深處。
That weekend, Yui drove her mother, Ichiyume, out of the clamorous city in the family's old-fashioned sedan. The modern landscape receded like a swift tide, replaced by an increasingly dense, verdant forest that exuded a primal sense of pressure. As they neared their destination, the air grew cool and damp, yet it also carried a strange, heavy stillness, as if they were passing through an ancient barrier.
As the navigation signal became intermittent, the car finally turned onto a narrow mountain road nearly swallowed by ferns and vines. The branches of towering ancient trees intertwined overhead, weaving a thick canopy that blocked out most of the daylight. The light inside the car grew dim and uncertain, with only the headlights carving a path through the impenetrable emerald gloom ahead. The tires crunched monotonously over a surface covered in humus and fallen leaves. A profound silence reigned, so complete that even birdsong was rare; only a deep, humming quiet, as if emanating from the depths of the earth, thrummed in the air.
Yui’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. An inexplicable familiarity, as if branded deep within her bloodline, waged a fierce war against the strong sense of repulsion generated by her "Kannazuki Yui" consciousness. She must have traveled this road countless times as a child, yet her memory was like a forcibly scrubbed parchment, leaving only vague, unsettling colors and textures behind.
In the passenger seat, however, Ichiyume seemed exceptionally serene, even displaying the placid joy of one returning to the nest. She softly hummed an ancient and peculiar lullaby, its melody neither traditionally Japanese nor a sacred hymn. The rise and fall of its notes carried a hidden sorrow and an obstinate will—the same tune Yui often heard before falling asleep in her childhood.
"We're almost there. Our true 'home'," Ichiyume said with a smile, pointing ahead, her tone carrying an ineffable, profound meaning.
At the end of the mountain road, shrouded in a swirling mist, a massive estate revealed itself, seeming to have grown out of the mountainside. It was built in a traditional Japanese architectural style, with heavy black roof tiles and dark brown wooden walls weathered by age. But on closer inspection, some of the wedge-shaped wood carvings (komagata) under the eaves had been cleverly altered into abstract crosses, and the latticework of the windows faintly revealed filigree patterns that hinted at the unique aesthetic of the Kirishitan, who hid their faith in everyday designs. The estate was shrouded not only in mountain mist but also in a barrier formed of spiritual power, imperceptible to the naked eye, making it appear both ancient and far removed from the modern world.
As soon as Yui opened the car door after parking, a complex scent assailed her—damp earth, decaying wood, the ever-burning secret blend of family incense, and a deeper, colder layer of ancient spiritual dust, as if accumulated from countless thoughts over untold years. The smell made her temples throb. The Oumae blood within her, which she usually kept dormant and deliberately avoided, began to resonate with it, while her divine power grew more subdued. Yui clutched her chest, but she couldn't suppress the change within herself. With a sense of bewildered alarm, she stepped out of the car. The moment one foot touched the Oumae soil, she felt something bypass the sole of her sandal and climb up her exposed foot, causing the divine power vested in her legs to fluctuate with unease while the Oumae part of her very essence rejoiced. Her left foot, the one that would transform into the blade of her holy sword, clenched tightly, as if automatically charging power for a coming battle. A chill ran down Yui's spine. She clasped her hands together and prayed silently, trying to soothe her own composition.
The massive, lacquered black gate, studded with bronze nails, slid open without a sound. Two women in dark, formal visiting kimonos stood just inside, their faces so serene their ages were indiscernible—Yui’s maternal grandmother and an aunt. They wore gentle smiles of identical curvature and bowed in perfect, flawless unison, as if pre-programmed.
"It is good you have returned, Ichiyume, Yui." Their voices were as soft as a pre-recorded track, their smiles warm yet coated in a thin glaze that betrayed no ripple of emotion.
"We're back," Ichiyume responded naturally, stepping forward to affectionately take her mother's arm, like a train gliding onto its designated track.
Yui forced a smile that met expectations and responded with the proper etiquette. Every time she saw these relatives, she was struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu: each person was like a precision-made humanoid holy relic, their words and actions impeccable, yet one always felt that beneath the gentle exterior operated a kind of non-human, collective stream of consciousness. Their concern felt like the execution of a ritual protocol rather than an expression of individual feeling.
The interior of the estate was a vast spiritual labyrinth. The corridors were long and dim, the paper doors on either side painted with what appeared to be traditional flowers and birds but were, in fact, subtly embedded with countless tiny crosses and fragments of Latin prayers. The oppressive spiritual power in the air was almost tangible. Yui felt goosebumps prickle her skin; it was the sensation of a soul-level probe scanning her, measuring and calibrating her very existence. Here, the divine power within her from the Kannazuki family was "subdued" by the dense spiritual vein of the Oumae clan, like a flame plunged into the deep sea, arbitrarily touched and analyzed like a child's toy. Meanwhile, another ancient, underlying system originating from her Oumae bloodline, usually obscure and vague, began to tremble and hum with clarity, yearning for a connection to something unknown.
Lunch was served in a spacious tatami room filled with a faint, fragrant aroma. The members of the Oumae family sat around a long, low table. The scene appeared lively and warm, with the elders gently asking Yui about her studies and life, and discussing her Christian faith.
Strangely, for reasons she couldn't fathom, she held a programmed understanding (programmed by whom?) that the Oumae family's faith should also be a form of Christianity, yet she had never heard any family member state this directly. Other than her mother, who had married into the Kannazuki family, she couldn't confirm if any of them were Christians. They only ever talked about Yui's faith, seeking to understand her beliefs and status, while seeming to avoid any mention of their own.
The entire estate was imbued with traces of a heterodox Christian faith, and the words and actions of her family members carried an air of harmony with Christian doctrine, yet it was all steeped in the atmosphere of ancient Japanese supernaturalism.
Yui felt an increasingly intense sense of detachment. Their conversation precisely skirted any topic that might evoke strong personal emotions or individual opinions, as if they were performing an elegant but empty social ritual. Their laughter was perfectly measured, their eyes calm and unwavering. Every question felt more like a pre-set dialogue module than a spontaneous, individual inquiry. The fact that even their tones of voice remained consistent made her feel she wasn't conversing with relatives, but rather being gazed upon by a vast, cold consciousness through numerous physical vessels simultaneously.
When she tried to steer the conversation toward more personal details, the dialogue would be instantly cut off, as if it had brushed against an invisible rule, and her relatives would elegantly guide the topic back to "her." Their smiles remained warm but were as empty as the glaze on ceramic, showing no stirrings whatsoever.
During the meal, an aunt with faintly lipsticked lips uttered words of praise: "Yui’s spiritual light grows ever purer. She is truly the crystallization of our Oumae family's 'sorrowful wish' and 'grace'." Another aunt added, "This power must be frequently returned to the 'source' for maintenance and blessing to remain in its optimal state. This is the very foundation of your existence."
They were talking to Yui, yet it felt as if they weren't speaking to her, but through her, to some unknown entity within. These words, like incantations carrying suggestive power, silently infiltrated her spiritual awareness, shaking the foundations of her surface identity as "Kannazuki." The urge to rebut them rose within her, but the thought would dissolve for some unknown reason, as if the emotion driving it had been switched off.
Whether it was a "heretical" thought or an "idolatrous" spiritual power, Yui, in the Oumae main house, lacked her usual ability to rise up and resist.
In the afternoon, on the pretext of "restoring her spirit," her mother led her through several hidden corridors to an isolated courtyard in the deepest part of the estate, fronted by an unusually heavy gate. The air here was nearly stagnant, thick with the potent scent of a special incense used to stabilize spirits, as well as a cold, metallic smell like rust.
Ichiyume stopped before a door as black as ink, its surface covered in intricate sealing sigils and hidden crosses traced in silver thread.
"Yui, do you remember this place? Your 'cradle'," Ichiyume's voice was hypnotically gentle and suggestive. "You were frail as a child and needed to frequently receive the family's 'gaze of love' and 'spiritual attunement' here. Only then could your body and your spiritual light grow strong."
The moment Yui's gaze fell upon the door, her heart plummeted as if seized by a giant, unseen hand.
"Ugh...!" A stifled groan escaped her throat. She stumbled back several steps, her spine slamming into the cold wall as a cold sweat instantly beaded on her forehead.
Countless abstract sensory fragments, memories from all her senses, rushed toward her. They carried a feeling of weightlessness, of going nowhere, and the intense, cold terror of being objectified, probed, and analyzed.
"Yui? What's wrong? Is the spiritual resonance too strong?" Ichiyume immediately moved to support her, her face a mask of convincing worry, her concerned expression flawless, as if her earlier words about the "cradle" and "attunement" had carried no other meaning.
"It's... it's nothing! Just a sudden headache." Yui forcefully suppressed the roiling nausea and the scream rising from the depths of her soul. Her voice was weak and trembling. "Mom, the atmosphere here is too intense. I can't take it. I want to... I want to get some air in the garden."
She staggered away as if fleeing, distancing herself from the terrifying door that seemed connected to the very source of her existence.
Until they left the following evening, Yui remained in a daze, her memory fragmented. She felt as if she had experienced something during that time but couldn't clearly recall it, left only with sensory echoes—a cold touch, a low chant, and the bodily memory of being meticulously scanned by countless invisible gazes. Ichiyume drove on the way back. A weakened Yui sat as silent as a statue, merely staring out the window at the gloomy forest that was swallowing the Oumae estate once more.
Ichiyume was considerate enough not to disturb her, only saying softly and gently, "Rest well. This 'maintenance' was very successful. Your spiritual light is much more stable now."
Yui didn't reply, but she felt it in her heart. Something fundamental had been touched. The Oumae estate was like a vast, dark womb, forcing her to confront the part of herself named "Oumae Yui"—a trait that should have been familiar but was instead alien. The deep resonance with her family's spiritual vein, the abnormal affinity for a specific ritual environment, and those terrifying sensory fragments... they were all sharply questioning everything she held true:
Beneath the Saint named Kannazuki Yui, what exactly lies hidden?
This fatal question, like a seed forged of ice and iron, was now buried deep within the fiery, faithful heart of the Saint.
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