Ghosts had bodies, sometimes as concrete as those of living beings. From the way Yuyuko swayed like a cherry blossom in the wind, Mokou guessed hers weighed little more than air.
Mokou realised she had lost the thread of her tale only when Yuyuko opened her eyes, still languid with daydream. "And what was the forest like?"
"The Great Youkai Forest?" Mokou straightened herself. "It lived up to its name."
Yuyuko's eyes fluttered shut. "How so?"
Mokou breathed in. Yuyuko always wished to hear Mokou's account of places familiar to them both. As it happened, Mokou didn't mind recounting them. "It was teeming with youkai, obviously. In all seriousness, it could have been called the Fairy Forest and it would still have been true."
"Did humans ever visit there?"
"Not if they could avoid it. They said the atmosphere could suffocate you even if you didn't run into any youkai."
"And you?"
Mokou paused. She found herself staring at the invisible border between herself and Yuyuko, as though expecting it to suddenly make itself physically manifest.
"I went there a few times," she eventually continued, picking her words as though expecting to be interrogated over them. "It wasn't as dark as the darkest parts of the Forest of Magic, but there was always a pressure in the air."
Much like there was pressure in the air above her. The clouds looming over her were steely grey and densely packed, building up for a storm. The kind she hadn't seen in a few years.
She wondered how long it would take until the next time she was struck dead by lightning. Third time was the charm and all that.
The storm clouds didn't extend to Hakugyokurou. The skies behind Yuyuko were a pale, almost sickly white, cloudless and sunless alike. Against this backdrop, the ghost seemed even more alive.
Yuyuko nodded. Whether it was in agreement or with sleep, Mokou didn't know. "And the lighter parts of the Forest of Magic? What are they like in springtime?"
Are. A transient word. A word Mokou was happy to leave in peace.
She followed Yuyuko's lead and closed her eyes. A green path opened ahead of her.
She meant to stay away from the Pure Lands. Not because she feared she would taint them: she wouldn't have spent two weeks Heaven over a stupid bet with Kaguya if that were the case, admiring the endless fields of flowers and battling celestials offended by her presence. Rather, it was kind of repulsion, a sickness which struck her even before she set foot in the lands of the deathless. Like there was a parasite clinging to her guts which would only ease its grip when she turned and walked away.
And there she was, half a foot away from the Netherworld, telling stories to an ancient ghost.
"When you enter the forest from the east, the trees immediately blocked off all sound." She was there, breathing in the moisture that clung to the recesses of the terrain until it was as heady as wine. "The leaves are still in bud. but already there are flowers everywhere where the light touches. There is only one trail ahead. When you take it, the sound of your footsteps is drowned out by the warning calls of nesting birds."
Yuyuko hummed, her eyes still firmly shut. "How wonderful. I do so wish there were birds here as well."
"They grow quiet again as you keep moving. The path is filled with roots, but as long as you travel carefully, you can always find a safe footing. As you walk deeper into the forest..." Mokou waved her hand in the air in a way she hoped was fanciful. It didn't matter that Yuyuko couldn't see it. The ghost had alarmingly sharp senses and could reconstruct gestures from sound alone. "You come across a clearing with a white house."
"And who lives there?"
"A magician. A puppeteer, really. She isn't home today, so you walk on."
"A pity."
"When the path forks, you head north. There's a meadow to your left that will be overgrown with grass when summer comes, but for now there's nothing there but a blanket of white flowers. You continue on." She paused. "There's a fallen tree blocking the path."
Yuyuko frowned. "A fallen tree?"
"Yeah, well. Not even that forest is perfect."
Yuyuko hummed. "That's fine. It wouldn't be real if it weren't at all damaged."
Mokou meant to go on, but she could no longer hear the birds or feel the rough forest floor through her threadbare shoes. She opened her eyes.
Yuyuko stayed in place, slumped in slumber but still managing to radiate a queer kind of dignity. The only sign that she was awake at all was the smile she wore, sleepy but knowing.
What she knew Mokou could only guess. There was a reason why they only spoke of Mokou's life, and Mokou's world, and the world they had once shared. A reason neither of them cared to put into words.
It didn't matter. They shared a connection. That was all.
In the distance, Yuyuko's most recent gardener approached. Still called Konpaku, Mokou presumed. Perhaps she should have found out.
Instead, she stood up. "I should get going. How about next time I'll tell you about the time I drank with oni in Former Hell?"
Yuyuko's eyes sparkled. "Until next time, my friend."
Friend. Yes, Mokou quite liked being called that. It nicely masked the fact that Yuyuko didn't remember her name.
Maybe next time Yuyuko would ask for it, she thought as she slouched across the desert that had once been the Bamboo Forest of the Lost. Or maybe next time Mokou would simply re-introduce herself.
Next time.
When I went back some centuries later, Hakugyokurou was no longer there. The land still existed, but it was no longer the Netherworld. The area had become a land for the living, even though there were no living people around to populate it.
My surprise didn't last for long. Ministry reorganisations were rare even then, but not unheard of. The dead had simply gone elsewhere.
I walked through the land. It had become tainted, which mostly meant I felt comfortable walking across the wild rose bushes which had risen everywhere, even when they tore into me. All thorns, no blossoms. It was winter, after all.
The bleached corpse of Saigyou Ayakashi stood where it had died. Outlasted. Outclassed. To this day its story remains a mystery to me.
It was only after I walked around the tree that I noticed a single cherry blossom clinging to one of its thinnest branches. It looked so frail I tried not to breathe in its direction for fear it would wither at once.
It was the palest blossom I have ever seen. There wasn't even a suggestion of pink. Only a bloodless, translucent white, like the wings of a long since faded butterfly.
I watched it for a long time.