
Four more lanterns were lit last night. I count them because I can't get through the night any other way.
Four exactly. By the end of the month, that'll be twenty.
Gennoshin, stop counting lanterns and go to sleep.
I get through the night by counting how many lanterns have been lit.

Four more lanterns were lit last night. I count them because I can't get through the night any other way.

I went and looked at the red stamp in that drawer again today. Erasing a name always takes just the one stroke of ink.
1 more here. They open when your story reaches stage 4.
Into the storyI've stopped counting the lanterns. I thought counting was a kind of prayer, but somewhere along the way, it became an excuse instead.

A chipped bell turned up at the bottom of the storehouse. No one had rung it in twenty years, they said, and yet the handle was worn smooth.
I wrapped the chipped bell in cloth and sent it up the mountain. Carrying it up myself would only have become another excuse, so I set it on the officer's bicycle rack and turned back.
An envelope arrived from the branch office. The company's name was still printed on the front, and I spent three days just reading that name over again.
On the morning of the first frost, they say the name Shiranui appeared in the inn's register, and the same nail box from that night twenty years ago came along with it.