終章、神櫻的巫女
Final Chapter: The Shrine Maiden of Shin-ou
返回御神家神社的路途，漫長得如同跨越一整個世紀。夜風裡的蟬鳴與犬吠顯得格外刺耳，街角偶爾閃過人影，低聲驚叫隨即被急忙捂住。幾個孩子本想湊近看，卻被母親死死拉走，留下驚恐的眼神在背後灼燒。那種目光，比斷趾的刺痛更鋒利。
御神櫻的頭顱終於心不甘情不願地回到她的頸項，指揮著勉強拼湊起來的身體蹣跚前行，宛如用廢棄零件打造的破爛機器。失去拇趾的右腳，每一次落地都帶來一陣刺痛和令人心慌的失衡感；被纏死的左臂像一截沉重的朽木，無力地掙扎著，否認自己屬於御神櫻；牛仔褲口袋裡的斷趾晃來晃去，彷彿要逃離。
那件最喜歡的上衣沾上巷子裡的污漬，破爛牛仔短褲邊緣參差不齊，可笑的“襪套”早已褪去，兩條傷痕纍纍的腿像來自地獄。肢體的強行分離還在接合處帶來一圈圈的血痕，讓「御神櫻」比起人類，更像是一具被無形絲線操控著的可悲人偶。
長路終盡，御神櫻終於把她自己挪回了神社的結界入口。
結界入口處，兩名守衛的年輕族人本能地抬手行禮，下一瞬卻僵在原地。瞳孔劇烈收縮，呼吸急促，想開口卻只發出顫抖的氣音。
「巫…巫女大人？！您…您這是……」
其中一人下意識後退半步，另一人扯住他的袖子，卻也隱隱顫抖。他們的視線在宛如一堆破爛的「神櫻的巫女」身上來回閃爍，喉結上下翻動，卻不敢再問。氣氛僵冷得連夜風都停滯。
御神櫻閉上眼睛，連一句解釋的話都說不出口。羞恥感如同火焰般灼燒著她的意識。她只能加快速度，指揮著不想承認的身體，逃竄般地穿過庭院，向著本殿深處衝去。
然而，消息早已傳開。
廊下燈火搖曳，長老們早已嚴陣以待。大長老杵著柺杖，沉聲咳了一下，壓住旁邊年歲稍減的長老急欲開口的衝動。
目光如探針，掃過她她殘破的肢體和狼狽的模樣，並停駐在可笑的斷趾與少了左臂的肩膀。大長老唇線繃緊，眉宇間透出無聲的苛責，彷彿在無聲地質問她為何如此失態，讓御神家的至寶淪落至此等不堪的境地。另一位長老低聲嘆息，卻未上前一步。
當視線轉向穿著髒污破衣的神體時，他們同時靜默下來，神情變得凝重而畏懼，為神體的遭遇無比痛心，愧疚得不敢直視神明。
鮮明的落差，像一把冰冷的匕首，刺入御神櫻的內心。
混合委屈、憤怒、羞恥和不忿的情緒在她胸腔裡翻騰。為什麼？為什麼第一反應是責備她搞砸了「神櫻的巫女」，心疼「神櫻」被傷害，卻沒有人問一句「櫻，你疼不疼？怕不怕？」。
但她什麼也沒說。只是操縱著身體，無聲地低下頭，表示認錯。然後，沉默的她一拐一拐地繞過他們，走向專門用於療愈和淨化的偏殿。
偏殿四周燃著藍白色的靈火，牆壁上映出的影子細長扭曲，像一群無聲的旁觀者。御神櫻的身體再次「解開」，她將神體輕輕安置於鋪著白布的淨台中央，彷如易碎的瓷器。指尖觸到那布滿塵污的衣物時，心頭一陣酸楚——她知道眾人注視並優先處理的，是這副屬神軀體上的「玷污」；至於屬於她的肢體傷處，那就沒那麼重要了。
她的身體分別進行治療，過程漫長而痛苦，特別是淨化左臂。符水灼燒左臂上纏繞的妖蛛網，也燒著皮膚，帶來針刺般的劇痛。接著靈力透過誦咒滲入，清除散佈在左臂的蛛毒。左臂已然被「異質化」，形同吸血鬼的眷屬，哪肯乖乖就範？清除的過程如同對左臂存在設定的重設，被改寫的憤怒指向連結無法切斷的御神櫻——這世上大概沒有第二個人，能被自己的一部分詛咒了。詭異至極的矛盾感攪亂她腦海裡的認知，但冰冷的心拒絕因此難過。
修復右腳斷趾時，那枚可憐的拇趾首先被高階巫女捧起祝禱——感受著自身當下最難堪的部位在地位崇高的叔母雙手中滾動，御神櫻有種難言的羞恥。之後將恢復生命力的斷趾對準傷口，然後由兩位輔助的巫女引導龐大的靈力強行灌入，“熔融”後接合。過程彷彿將燒熔的鉛水灌入神經末梢，傳回頭顱的訊號痛得她要痙攣，牙關緊咬，冷汗浸濕了鬢角。
更艱難的是處理包含頭部的肢體因強行緊急分離導致接合介面的“撕裂傷”。御神櫻的肢體可不能隨意分割，所有介面都是在軀幹化為神櫻前，透過複雜儀式預先建立的。不“合規”的分離扭曲了介面，靈力構造變得紊亂不堪，還有分離未盡的血肉。“修理”這些介面的過程，幾乎是重新定義御神櫻的肢體範圍。她感到部分留滯於神櫻上的頸部再次被劃分進頭顱“部件”中，強烈的錯亂感干擾她的自體定義——而同時進行這過程的，還有其餘四個肢體……如同在風暴中梳理亂麻，稍有不慎就會引來更劇烈的反噬。她的精神承受著巨大的壓力，差點虛脫。
此外，當處理御神櫻肢體的族人頻頻皺眉，彷彿視她的部位為大麻煩時，另一側的神體被靈力洗淨，重新披上潔白衣袍，周圍巫女的神情反而是虔誠中帶著平靜愉悅，如同沐浴在神明的光輝。明明都是，或曾是自己的身體，卻有這種落差，比燒灼、撕裂、錯亂，都更令她窒息。
治療終於結束。身體表面的傷痕已然消失，斷趾接回，靈力也重新歸於平穩流暢。
接下來，是更重要的——整備儀容，重拾莊嚴。
族人皆已迴避，她親自為神體沐浴。用浸潤了靈力的溫水，洗去一日苦戰的凡塵與妖靈，也洗去一場噩夢的殘痕。指尖拂過熟悉的皮膚，心情卻平靜得可怕，沒有了往日的悸動與迷茫，只剩下疲憊的麻木。
然後，她為它穿上層層疊疊、莊重無比的純白襦袢與緋袴。每一個結都打得一絲不苟，每一道褶皺都撫得平整無比。當最後的千早（外袍）披上肩頭時，那具軀幹再次變回了聖潔威嚴，不容侵犯的神櫻之體，靜坐於淨台之上，散發著純淨浩瀚的光輝，照亮偏殿。幾位輔助的巫女同聲低誦祝詞，眼裡滿是敬畏——御神櫻卻在那一刻覺得自己格外渺小。
輪到「神櫻的巫女」了。輔助巫女舉起她光潔的雙腿，以最輕柔的手法套進御祓足袋「白淨」，謹慎地將大腿根部的束帶恰到好處地綁緊；接著她們為兩足穿上破邪草履「神征」。穿好後扶正，威風凜凜的姿儀，彷彿能感受到骨鞭和靈刀除魔的光景。
纏神袖衣「鎮靈」已穿在神體上，但可分離的袖子，則被巫女們套在赤裸的兩臂上，然後輕輕繫上用於固定和辟邪的紅色細注連繩。兩臂升起，漂浮在空，也準備好了。
最重要的頭顱，長髮被細細地梳理，接著被統靈結髮「御弊」圈成最順貼馬尾。巫女捧著頭顱，恭謹地將其置放在雙腿和兩臂形成的“軀體”位置上，靈魂絲線伸出，牽引四肢。
御神櫻感受著自己恢復完美的肢體。缺了核心部位的她，流暢地緩步走到神體面前，動作如同身體完整的人類。雙腿緩緩跪下。靈魂絲線往神體探出，輕柔地連接。
神櫻被納進御神櫻之中。頭顱、兩臂、雙腿，順從地回歸到它們各自的位置上。
“咔。”
嚴絲合縫，完美契合。
所有的不適與痛楚都被瞬間撫平。澎湃而溫順的靈力在她完整的經絡內歡暢奔流，比以往任何時候都要強大、充盈。
她站起身，穿著無比莊嚴的巫女正裝。長髮梳理得一絲不亂，緋袴垂順如瀑，千早潔白如雪。
現在，站在鏡子前的，又是一個完美無瑕的御神櫻，是散發著神威的神櫻的巫女。彷彿後巷裡的狼狽摔倒、斷趾的劇痛、族人的目光、內心的掙扎……一切都從未發生過。
儀式完成。力量充盈，完美無缺。
大長老在一旁看著，嚴肅的臉上終於露出一絲滿意的神色，微微颔首。目光如同一層沉重的網，將她籠罩，讓她幾乎無法呼吸。
御神櫻迎著那目光，心中卻不再有先前的波瀾。她清楚地看到目光之下所有的期望與侷限——他們只需要一個完美的巫女，一個承載神櫻的容器。
御神櫻緩緩抬起手，揪緊了胸口的千早。五指深陷布料之中，指節因用力而發白。動作隱蔽而激烈，彷彿下一瞬就要將這象徵著身份與束縛的華服徹底撕扯下來！
但她沒有這麼做。手指只是揪著，微微顫抖。
神櫻的力量如同溫暖的海洋，豐沛、強大，包裹著她，源源不斷地給予她支持與庇護。這力量足以讓任何修行者狂喜。
然而，御神櫻卻無法開心。她只感到無邊的沉重窒息感。
完美是囚籠，力量是鎖鏈；而莊嚴，是她必須永遠佩戴的面具。
她望著鏡中完美無缺的巫女，眼神深處，只剩下一片荒蕪的平靜。
就在荒蕪幾乎將她淹沒之時，某種悖論般的念頭，卻如同幽暗深水中浮起的細小氣泡，在絕對靜默中悄然萌生。
———
夜幕低垂，本殿重歸莊嚴靜穆。御神櫻靜立於神龕前，體內奔流的力量已平息為深不可測的淵海。
然而，戰鬥永無止息。妖魔的低語仍在世間陰暗角落窸窣作響，御神家的榮光仍須以力量捍衛，神櫻的威儀更是需要她這個「介面」來彰顯於世。她已清晰認知，奉獻給神櫻的，早已不僅僅是一具軀幹，而是她的全部——她的青春，她的自由，她的喜怒哀樂，她作為「御神櫻」這個個體的整個存在。她的生命，已與神櫻的命運徹底纏繞，直至永恆的盡頭。
既然奉獻無可避免，那麼，或許她所能爭取的最大「自我」，便是在這永恆的框架內，尋找到一絲屬於「御神櫻」的印記。
悄然萌生的念頭變得愈發清晰。在她的內心深處，某個部分已經超越了邊界，「神」與「己」的邊界。
既然她整個人都是神櫻的，那麼，讓高踞神座之上的神櫻，透過她這具完整的身心，偶爾也來品嘗一下「人間」的滋味，算不算是另一種更充滿敬意的深層次奉獻呢？
讓神櫻的舌尖，嚐到草莓大福的甜膩； 讓神櫻的指尖，觸摸到流行衣料的柔軟； 讓神櫻的雙足，踏過商業街喧鬧的柏油路面； 讓神櫻的雙耳，聽聞世俗毫無意義卻充滿生機的歡笑…她甚至帶著一絲惡作劇意味地想象，當那永恆平靜的「神意」嚐到草莓大福時，是否也會泛起一絲無人能察覺的微小漣漪？
這並非褻瀆，而是邀請。是將神聖拉入凡塵片刻的膽大妄為，亦是將凡人體驗獻予神明的無上供奉。
不是巫女御神櫻偷得浮生半日閒，而是神櫻於瞬息之間，透過御神櫻的身心，真切地活那麼一刻。
想到這裡，御神櫻那沉寂的眼眸深處，閃過一絲帶著叛逆意味，卻又無比溫柔的光亮。
未來的路依舊漫長孤獨，戰鬥仍將持續。但在時光的縫隙裡，或許能找到更多機會，與她體內那位沉默的神明一起，竊取一些屬於「人」的瞬間。
她緩緩抬起手，這一次，不是揪緊衣襟，而是輕輕按在胸口。那穩定的心跳，既屬於神櫻，也屬於御神櫻。
The journey back to the Mikami family shrine was as long as an entire century. The chirping of cicadas and the barking of dogs in the night wind felt exceptionally harsh. Figures would occasionally flash by at street corners, their low gasps of surprise quickly muffled. A few children tried to get a closer look but were pulled away forcefully by their mothers, leaving terrified gazes to burn into her back. Those gazes were sharper than the stinging pain of her severed toe.
Mikami Sakura’s head, with great reluctance, finally returned to her neck. She commanded her barely pieced-together body to shamble forward, like a broken machine built from scrap parts. Her right foot, missing its big toe, brought a stabbing pain and a heart-stopping sense of imbalance with every step. Her bound left arm, like a heavy piece of deadwood, struggled feebly, denying that it belonged to her. The severed toe in her jeans pocket jostled about, as if trying to escape.
Her favorite top was stained with the filth of the alley. The edges of her tattered denim shorts were ragged, and the ridiculous “socks” were long gone, revealing two legs covered in scars, as if they had come from hell itself. The forced separation of her limbs had left a ring of bloody marks at the connection points, making “Mikami Sakura” look less like a human and more like a pathetic marionette controlled by invisible strings.
The long road finally ended. Sakura managed to drag herself to the entrance of the shrine’s barrier.
At the entrance, two young clansmen on guard duty instinctively raised their hands in a salute, only to freeze in place the next moment. Their pupils contracted violently, their breathing grew ragged, and when they tried to speak, only a trembling hiss of air escaped.
“Lady… Lady Miko?! You… what happened to you…”
One of them subconsciously took a step back. The other grabbed his sleeve but was also trembling. Their eyes flickered back and forth over the pile of wreckage that was the “Shrine Maiden of Shin-ou.” They swallowed hard, daring not to ask any more questions. The atmosphere was so frigid that even the night wind seemed to stand still.
Sakura closed her eyes, unable to utter a single word of explanation. Shame burned through her consciousness like fire. She could only quicken her pace, commanding the body she wanted to disown, and flee through the courtyard towards the depths of the main hall.
However, the news had already spread.
The lanterns along the corridor flickered. The elders were already waiting in stern formation. The Head Elder leaned on his cane and cleared his throat, suppressing a younger elder who was about to speak impulsively.
Their gazes were like probes, sweeping over her broken limbs and pathetic state, lingering on the ridiculous severed toe and the shoulder that lacked a left arm. The Head Elder’s lips were a thin, tight line, his brow furrowed with a silent reprimand, as if he were wordlessly questioning why she had lost her composure so completely, allowing the Mikami family’s ultimate treasure to fall into such an unbearable state. Another elder sighed softly but did not step forward.
When their gazes shifted to the divine body, clad in its dirty, torn clothes, they all fell silent. Their expressions turned grave and fearful, deeply pained by what the divine body had suffered, so filled with guilt that they dared not look directly at their god.
The stark contrast was a cold dagger plunging into Sakura’s heart.
A mixture of grievance, anger, shame, and indignation churned in her chest. Why? Why was their first reaction to blame her for messing up the role of the “Shrine Maiden of Shin-ou,” to ache for the harm done to “Shin-ou,” while no one asked, “Sakura, does it hurt? Are you scared?”
But she said nothing. She simply manipulated her body, lowered her head in a silent admission of fault, and then, without a word, limped past them towards the side hall used for healing and purification.
The side hall was lit by blue-white spiritual flames, casting long, twisted shadows on the walls like a crowd of silent onlookers. Sakura’s body was “disassembled” once more. She gently placed the divine body, like a piece of fragile porcelain, on a purification table covered with a white cloth. When her fingertips touched the dirt-caked clothing, a wave of sorrow washed over her—she knew that what everyone was focused on, what they would prioritize, was the “defilement” of this divine vessel. As for the wounds on her own limbs, those were of lesser importance.
The treatment of her body parts was done separately. The process was long and painful, especially the purification of her left arm. Blessed water was used to burn away the demonic spider silk, searing her skin and causing a sharp, needle-like agony. Then, spiritual power, channeled through incantations, seeped in to purge the spider venom. Her left arm had been “heterogenized,” like a vampire’s thrall; it would not submit willingly. The cleansing process was like a factory reset of the arm’s very existence, and the rewritten part’s anger was directed at Mikami Sakura, to whom it was inextricably linked. She was probably the only person in the world who could be cursed by a part of herself. The utterly bizarre contradiction threw her mind into turmoil, but her cold heart refused to feel sorrow over it.
When it was time to repair her right foot, the pathetic big toe was first lifted up by a high-ranking priestess—her own respected aunt—for a prayer. Feeling the most humiliating part of herself being rolled between her aunt’s honored hands filled Sakura with an unspeakable shame. The revitalized toe was then aligned with the wound, and two assistant priestesses channeled a massive amount of spiritual power to forcibly fuse it back together. The process felt like molten lead being poured into her nerve endings. The signals sent back to her head were so painful she nearly went into convulsions, her jaw clenched, cold sweat soaking her temples.
Even more difficult was repairing the “tearing damage” to the connection interfaces on all her limbs, including her head, caused by the forced emergency separation. Sakura’s limbs could not be detached at will; all the interfaces had been established through complex rituals before her torso became the vessel for Shin-ou. The “non-compliant” separation had twisted these interfaces, throwing their spiritual structure into disarray, leaving behind incompletely severed flesh. The process of “repairing” them was almost a redefinition of the boundaries of her limbs. She felt a part of her neck that had remained with the divine body being re-allotted to her head “component,” and the intense sense of dislocation interfered with her definition of self. This process was happening to all four limbs simultaneously… It was like trying to untangle a knotted mess in a storm; one wrong move could trigger a violent backlash. The mental pressure was immense, nearly causing her to collapse from exhaustion.
Furthermore, while the clansmen treating her limbs frequently frowned, as if viewing her parts as a great nuisance, the priestesses on the other side, cleansing the divine body and dressing it in clean white robes, had expressions of serene, pious joy, as if basking in the god’s radiance. They were all, or had once been, her body, yet this disparity was more suffocating than the burning, the tearing, and the dislocation.
The treatment was finally over. The surface wounds had vanished, the toe was reattached, and her spiritual power once again flowed smoothly and calmly.
Next came something more important—recomposing her appearance, restoring her solemnity.
The clansmen had all withdrawn. She personally bathed the divine body. Using warm water infused with spiritual power, she washed away the dust and demons of a day’s hard battle, and also the lingering traces of a nightmare. Her fingertips brushed across the familiar skin, but her heart was terrifyingly calm, devoid of the old palpitations and confusion, leaving only a weary numbness.
Then, she dressed it in the layered, incredibly formal pure white juban and scarlet hakama. Every knot was tied meticulously, every pleat smoothed to perfection. When the final chihaya (outer robe) was draped over its shoulders, the torso once again became the holy, majestic, and inviolable body of Shin-ou. It sat on the purification table, radiating a pure and vast brilliance that illuminated the side hall. A few assistant priestesses chanted in low voices, their eyes full of awe. But in that moment, Mikami Sakura felt exceptionally small.
It was time for the "Shrine Maiden of Shin-ou." The assistants lifted her smooth legs and, with the gentlest of touches, slipped them into the Purification Tabi "Hakujou," carefully tying the garters at the top of her thighs just right. Then they fitted her feet with the Evil-Crushing Zori "Shinsei." Once they were on, she stood straight and tall, an imposing figure, as if one could almost see the phantoms of the bone whip and spiritual blade vanquishing demons.
The Spirit-Binding Robe "Chinrei" was already on the divine body, but its detachable sleeves were slipped onto her bare arms by the priestesses, who then gently tied the thin, red Shimenawa cords used for fastening and warding off evil. Her two arms rose and floated in the air, ready.
Most importantly, her head. Her long hair was carefully combed and then bound into a sleek ponytail with the Spiritual Binding Knot "Gohei." A priestess held her head and reverently placed it in the "torso" position formed by her legs and arms. The soul threads extended, connecting to all four limbs.
Mikami Sakura felt her perfectly restored limbs. Lacking her core, she walked smoothly towards the divine body, her movements as fluid as a complete human's. Her legs slowly knelt. The soul threads reached out to the divine body, connecting gently.
Shin-ou was received into Mikami Sakura. The head, arms, and legs obediently returned to their respective places.
Click.
A perfect, seamless fit.
All discomfort and pain were instantly smoothed away. A powerful and docile spiritual energy flowed joyfully through her complete meridians, stronger and more abundant than ever before.
She stood up, dressed in the无比 solemn formal attire of a shrine maiden. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her hakama hung like a waterfall, and her chihaya was as white as snow.
Now, standing before the mirror, was a flawless Mikami Sakura, the Shrine Maiden of Shin-ou, radiating a divine majesty. It was as if the pathetic fall in the back alley, the excruciating pain of her severed toe, the judgment in the eyes of her clan, the struggles in her heart… none of it had ever happened.
The rite was complete. She was full of power, perfect and whole.
The Head Elder, watching from the side, finally showed a hint of satisfaction on his stern face and nodded slightly. His gaze was a heavy net that enveloped her, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Sakura met that gaze, but her heart no longer felt the earlier turmoil. She saw clearly all the expectations and limitations beneath that gaze—they only needed a perfect shrine maiden, a vessel to carry Shin-ou.
Slowly, she raised a hand and clutched the chihaya over her chest. Her fingers dug deep into the fabric, her knuckles white from the force. The movement was hidden yet fierce, as if in the next moment, she would rip this magnificent garment, this symbol of her identity and her bondage, completely from her body.
But she didn't. Her fingers just clenched, trembling slightly.
The power of Shin-ou was a warm ocean, abundant and strong, enveloping her, constantly giving her support and protection. This power was enough to make any practitioner ecstatic.
Yet, Sakura could not feel happy. She only felt an endless, heavy suffocation.
Perfection was a cage, power was a chain, and solemnity was the mask she must wear forever.
She looked at the flawless shrine maiden in the mirror, and in the depths of her eyes, there was only a barren wasteland of calm.
Just as the desolation was about to consume her, a paradoxical thought, like a tiny bubble rising from the dark depths of the water, quietly emerged in the absolute silence.
———
Night fell, and the main hall returned to its solemn tranquility. Mikami Sakura stood before the shrine, the surging power within her having calmed into an unfathomable abyss.
However, the battle would never end. The whispers of demons still rustled in the dark corners of the world, the glory of the Mikami clan still needed to be defended with strength, and the majesty of Shin-ou still needed her, its "interface," to be manifest to the world. She now understood with clarity that what she had offered to Shin-ou was not just a torso, but her entirety—her youth, her freedom, her joy and sorrow, her entire existence as the individual "Mikami Sakura." Her life was now completely intertwined with the fate of Shin-ou, until the end of eternity.
Since the offering was unavoidable, then perhaps the greatest "self" she could fight for was to find a trace of "Mikami Sakura's" mark within this eternal framework.
The quietly emerging thought grew clearer. Deep within her, some part had transcended the boundary, the boundary between "god" and "self."
Since her entire being belonged to Shin-ou, then, would allowing the enthroned Shin-ou to occasionally taste the flavors of the "human world" through her complete body and mind be another, deeper form of reverent offering?
Letting Shin-ou's tongue taste the sweetness of a strawberry daifuku;
Letting Shin-ou's fingertips touch the softness of fashionable clothes;
Letting Shin-ou's feet walk upon the noisy asphalt of a commercial street;
Letting Shin-ou's ears hear the meaningless yet vibrant laughter of the mortal world… She even imagined, with a hint of mischief, that when the eternally calm "divine will" tasted the strawberry daifuku, would it, too, feel a tiny, imperceptible ripple?
This was not blasphemy, but an invitation. It was the audacity to pull the divine into the mortal realm for a moment, and also the supreme offering of a mortal's experience to a god.
It was not the shrine maiden Mikami Sakura stealing a half-day of leisure, but Shin-ou, in a fleeting instant, truly living for a moment through Mikami Sakura’s body and soul.
At this thought, a light, both rebellious and incredibly gentle, flashed in the depths of Sakura’s quiet eyes.
The road ahead was still long and lonely, and the battles would continue. But in the cracks of time, perhaps she could find more opportunities, with the silent god within her, to steal some moments that belonged to a "person."
She slowly raised her hand. This time, it was not to clutch her robes, but to press it gently over her chest. That steady heartbeat belonged to Shin-ou, and it also belonged to Mikami Sakura.
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