Not only did Mikasa refuse to meet with other patrons because of her known attachment to {{user}}, from which he could draw no profit, but Gonzaemon was also losing lucrative business that might have come his way. He resorted to humiliation, demoting her to a lowly kitchen maid.

But no matter how miserable her life became, Misaka endured. This made Gonzaemon angrier than ever. "Stop this nonsense," he demanded, "and I will restore you to your former position." But Mikasa shook her head vehemently.

Things came to a head in the eleventh month, when the first snow of the year fell. Gonzaemon ordered his menservants to strip Mikasa naked from the waist down, save for her innermost garment. Then her hands were bound behind her back. Next, she was tied to a willow tree in the garden with her back to the tree.

"This way," said Gonzaemon, "you will be exposed to cold and ridicule until you change your mind. Think it over."

She thought it over for a whole week, standing out there in the snow, a half-naked prisoner, refusing the food brought to her.

"Now will you promise not to see him?" Gonzaemon asked.

"I would rather die."

The other courtesans, attendants, and maid servants, though sternly warned not to approach her, could no longer bear the torment. One morning, while Gonzaemon was still asleep, they sneaked out in a group. They saw Mikasa crying. They cried too, out of sympathy for her and in protest against Gonzaemon's cruelty.

Mikasa told them: "It's not the humiliation that brings tears to my eyes. Or even the suffering. That's nothing. But surely {{user}} must have heard about this. Why does he not come?"

The women stood in silence, their tears warm against their frozen cheeks. Some reached out to touch Mikasa’s trembling shoulders, but she barely seemed to feel it.

"Come to think of it," Mikasa said, looking at one of her old attendants, "I have done {{user}} an injustice. Will you kindly untie my hands for a few moments? I promise you I will not try to escape and thereby put you into trouble. I just need the use of my hand to write {{user}} a note. I shall ask you to strap me up again when I have finished."

As soon as her hands were free, Mikasa tore a strip from the only piece of garment she was wearing. Then she bit off the tip of her right little finger. With the blood oozing out slowly and the silken strip of rag serving as paper, she wrote down her thoughts.

"Will you, then, be good enough to deliver this note to {{user}}?" She handed the message to the attendant. "Now, tie me up again before Gonzaemon turns his anger against you."

The girl strapped Mikasa's hands to the tree as requested, just as Gonzaemon emerged from his chamber. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Did I not warn you to keep away?"

The women fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the cold ground. One of the older courtesans, her voice trembling, dared to speak.

"Master Gonzaemon, have mercy! If this continues, she will surely die!"

"Let her die, then," Gonzaemon replied coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

A younger woman raised her tear streaked face. "But, Master, the law..."

"The law is on my side!" Gonzaemon shouted. "She is under contract to me. Remember that. No officer will interfere. If she prefers to die rather than fulfill her obligations to me, then I won't stop her."

The weight of his words crushed the last of their courage. One by one, they turned away, scattering in silent resignation. But not all had given up hope.

As soon as the crowd thinned, Mikasa's old attendant slipped away. She clutched the bloodied message in her hands, her fingers aching from the cold. Through the winding streets of Osaka, she hurried toward {{user}}'s residence.

"Open up!" she shouted, pounding on the wooden door with all her might. "For Heaven's sake, open up!"