The main structure was a large, open-sided pavilion with a massive roof of slate-gray tiles. An external porch thrust out over the void was supported by a trestlework of pillars, each pier of which was fashioned from a whole cedar tree. Attendant buildings and cottages were dispersed among the surrounding groves and crags. Covered walkways connected the complex together so that upright granite scarps and dramatically twisted pines formed part of the architecture.

Aesthetes were drawn to the Cloud Terrace by its simulation of a way of life that had long since ended, and the villa’s Tokugawa masters — susceptible themselves to the lure of nostalgia and the seductions of self-indulgence — ensured that no hint of modernity obtruded in any obvious way. The cushions, screen paintings, tray tables and crockery were recent masterworks modeled on cherished originals; and the robes issued to guests were self-consciously archaic although newly made from fine silks and satins, authenticity of effect being more important to the Tokugawa than actual authenticity.

Ox-Blossom was met by the assembled editors in the main assembly hall. You have been here for a few days then?

We have indeed. Some arrived yesterday, others the day before. You are our only laggard.

Woman Seated Under Cherry Blossoms
BY Utagawa Kuniyoshi

The pleasure providers selected for the occasion of the final edit complemented the furnishings by radiating an aura of sweet wistfulness. Their hair was styled in an antique manner and their eyebrows plucked out to create the broad smooth forehead of the classic Heian beauty. They were costumed in seven layers of silk robes, the combinations of colors where they overlapped at the sleeves and bodice openings meant to exemplify the elegance of that earlier age; and they hid themselves simpering behind robe-draped screens and veiled their faces when on outings amidst the cliffs and grottoes or even when transiting between buildings, their timidity considered charmingly erotic. This semblance of reluctance was set aside during the long and liquid banquets that filled the afternoons and evenings at the terrace, however — the managing of modesty-veils during such celebrations judged an intolerable nuisance — and abandoned wholly during night frolics in the outdoor thermal baths, when the illusion of the disinclination felt by refined ladies to exposed themselves to the gaze of the world dissolved in the rustic ambience of sulfurous fumes and hot water.

Stacked against the inside wall of the main pavilion building were panniers filled with hand scrolls, printed books, bound manuscripts, and bundle upon bundle of loose sheaves of poems tied together with silk cords. A few of the panniers had been opened already and their contents arranged in piles of association although this seemed premature since criteria of assessment had not yet been determined. Ox-Blossom was prepared to defend “lightness” as an ideal, and he knew that others would support him; but the cabal of poets who wished to return to the “profound-depth” style of linked poetry would make demands requiring compromise and the occasional capitulation.

The first day was spent sorting and categorizing. The editors spread themselves around the large pavilion, some choosing the outer edge with its views of sky and distant mountains, others preferring the inner ambience of gardens and grottoes. Senior Editor Ox-Blossom occupied the central position in front of the tokonoma alcove. A haiga painting by their teacher hung there, depicting a flock of crows in twilight swirling above the leafless branches of late-autumn trees. Before it stood an upright Korean vase containing a single white chrysanthemum with not a speck of dust to be found on its petals.^[3] The pleasure providers served charmingly as messengers, carrying scrolls and manuscripts between editors and scribes, their mounds of silk robes rustling as they moved about the large open-air pavilion, conveying questions and comments and, upon occasion, clever witticisms which they pretended not to understand and often didn’t.

In the middle of the room three piles were established: one for poems and linking stanzas that had been accepted, one for the obvious rejects, and one for those still undecided, with a rationale for each decision entered into a log which could be reviewed should disputes arise later.